Chapter 5: Enter Necromancer, Stage Right
Giles slowly walked back into the main room of the Magic Box. He hadn't heard everything, but he had a fairly good idea about what might have occurred. When he entered the room, he saw Willow sitting on the floor, her back against the alchemy section. Her hair looked much darker than usual, a frightening reminder of the murderous side he had faced months before. The bright orange color, however, was slowly returning to the tresses. Oz was gone.
Doing his best to project calm energy, Giles strode over to Willow and gently took a spot on the floor next to her, propping himself up against the bookshelf. Willow leaned over onto Giles' arm and wept. Giles reached across with his other arm and stroked Willow's hair, doing his best to comfort her. Giles' calm and nurturing exterior belied the turbulent storm of conflicting emotions beneath. He was profoundly sad for Willow, feeling her pain as though it were his own. He was also angry at Oz for hurting Willow, even accidentally. And he was glad that Oz was gone, though he hated himself for feeling this way.
It took a few minutes for Willow to cry herself out. She did some more breathing exercises, this time much more successfully. She was completely exhausted in every way. "Giles," she whispered, "what if I can never be with anyone ever again? What if I can't…" She let the implication stand without saying the words. "What if I can never do that again? What if I can't control myself? Am I just going to be like Angel, forced to be chaste so I don't get homicidal?"
Giles took a deep breath and let it out in a gust. "Willow, I hardly think that one failed romantic rendezvous is enough to form the basis of your entire future. Angel is cursed, you are not. Maybe you need to do more work before you can be intimate with someone, but that doesn't mean you are destined to be alone forever." As he ended his little speech, Giles' eyes roamed the room and spied a small pile of clothes a few feet away. He realized it was Willow's shirt and bra. He had a lot of feelings upon identifying these artifacts, none of which could be separated out enough to be named.
Willow lifted her head from Giles' arm and reached a hand through the front of the jacket still draped around her shoulders. As she wiped her face, she conceded, "You're probably right. I'm just…so scared. I knew coming back here would be hard, but I feel like my heart is getting squeezed inside my chest every five minutes. What if it never gets easier?"
Giles affected a flippant air, hoping to goad her into a little levity. "Well, Willow, if it never gets easier, you will at least learn how to deal with these things as they come. But I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the hard part. And look, you're handling it."
Willow snorted. "Yeah, right," she intoned sarcastically. "I'm the paragon of handling it."
Giles stood up, embarrassed at the grunt he gave when he heaved himself off the cold floor. "No," he assured her, "I'm being serious. Think about how you've responded each time things become overwhelming. You've practiced your breathing. You've cried. You've talked to your friends openly and honestly. Where is the weakness there? What do you see that you're doing wrong?"
"Giles," Willow said with exasperation, "I'm falling apart every two seconds. I don't think I've gone a single waking hour without crying. One minute I'm laughing, then I'm furious, then I'm sobbing all over myself. I'm going crazy. I'm the messiest mess who's ever lived."
Giles crouched down, facing Willow. A deadly serious expression rested on his face. "Willow, you and I have very different definitions of strength." He kept his eyes focused on her face until she raised her eyes to meet his. The love he had for her was clear, and she could see that he had total faith in her. She was bolstered by his trust, something she wasn't sure she deserved, but was trying to accept.
Willow sniffled, and her expression and body language made it clear that she wouldn't continue to argue the point. Coming back to her senses, Willow realized she was almost topless in front of Giles. She hastily scanned the room for her clothes.
Giles realized what Willow was thinking and tactfully stood up, finding a reason to face away. Willow quickly grabbed her clothes and stole into a corner of the shop where Giles couldn't see her. She hadn't put on a bra and shirt so hastily since leaving gym class in high school when she was late for a chemistry test. She did more work on her breathing, then wiped her face and smoothed over her hair.
Giles ducked behind the counter and squatted down, pretending to organize the paper shopping bags. When he heard Willow approaching, he slowly rose, careful to wear a totally neutral expression. Giles and Willow turned towards the front of the shop at the same moment, the sound of rain spattering against the window drawing their attention.
Just then, Buffy and Xander scooted in the door, bringing a gust of chilly air with them. Xander had dirt on his face and a scrape above one eye. Buffy looked tousled but unscathed.
"We have a problem," Buffy announced.
"We just fought like…eight dead guys," Xander explained, running his hand through his mop of black hair. "Well, I don't know if they count as dead anymore since they were, you know, moving around and attacking us. And one of them was a woman so I guess they weren't all guys. I think I'm helping less and less the more I talk here."
Buffy nodded and dropped her coat on the table. "This necromancer guy needs to be dead like, yesterday. He's going to have half the cemetery up and about by next weekend if we don't act fast." Buffy paused, cocking her head at Willow. "Wil, you okay?"
"Yep, I'm fine, fine is me," she replied. Then, taking in the meaning of what Buffy and Xander were reporting, Willow furrowed her brow like she always did when she was curious. "So you haven't actually fought the main guy yet? Just the…cronies?"
"Yep," Buffy answered. "All soldiers, no general. Hey, where's Oz?"
Giles broke in. "He had to go. Do you have any sense of where this demon is? Does he have a hideout or base of operations here in town?"
"Well," Buffy began, turning cautiously to Willow, "that's what I was hoping to talk to you about. Willow, I know you just got back but we could really use one of your locator spells right now. If we knew where to look, even what part of town, that would be a huge help. I wouldn't ask except this really is an emergency."
Willow could tell Buffy had been practicing this request in her head on the way to the shop. "I don't know if I even could pull it off, much less do it safely," Willow replied. She truly wanted to help Buffy but she wasn't exactly confident in her ability to control her magic right now.
Buffy looked from Willow to Giles, then back to Willow. She let a moment pass. "Will you try?"
Willow went through the mental checklist. People were in danger. Magic was the only recourse. She was serving the greater good.
Willow exhaled slowly. "Yeah, okay. I'll try. But if I start going all goth-y again, you better be ready to knock me out. I'm not kidding."
"One concussion, coming up," Buffy nodded.
"Hey, hey, only IF I get evil again. Don't go smacking me in the head just for fun."
"I'll try to contain my violent urges."
Willow rolled her eyes at her friend, but was already starting to gather the ingredients for the locator spell. She had done it multiple times before and it wasn't very complicated, but this would be her first attempt at using magic since getting back to Sunnydale. She wasn't in Bath anymore, and she wasn't surrounded by a coven of strong witches. She was on her own.
Within minutes, she had prepared the materials and set up shop at a table in the rearmost part of the store. The sun had set and Giles dimmed the lights of the shop slightly. He and Willow lit several candles and Willow sat down, a look of nervous concentration on her face. She stared down at the map of Sunnydale and began to chant the words of the spell. Her shaking hands performed the necessary functions, sprinkling ingredients over the map. Willow's anxiety started rising and she imagined all of the ways that the spell could go wrong. It might not work at all. She might accidentally hurt someone. She could light the map on fire for all she knew. Anything could happen. Why was she doing this? She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready.
Her voice cracked and squeaked as her chanting started to falter. Glowing lights began to gather on the map, but as soon as they appeared, they fizzled out. "Shit!" Willow exclaimed, and a burst of energy blew Willow back against the wall of the shop. She collapsed on the floor, barely conscious.
"Willow!" Giles, Buffy, and Xander cried. Giles got to her side first, gently cradling her in his arms, careful to hold her head and neck still.
"Jesus, is she alright?" Xander shouted. Buffy was calling Willow's name, trying to rouse her friend. Willow was groaning, but she wasn't all there.
Giles, his voice a thin wisp on the air, called to Willow. "Willow, wake up. Wake up, Willow."
After a tense moment, the witch's eyes fluttered open, her drowsiness quickly giving way to panic. "What happened?" she asked, looking up into Giles' concerned face.
"You were doing the locator spell," Buffy explained, "but something went wrong and you got knocked on your ass pretty hard. You were out of it for a second."
"I told you not to concuss me unless you had to," Willow sarcastically chided her friend.
Buffy smiled in relief. "Well, I'll try to remember that next time."
Willow rolled her eyes, then winced in pain as Giles helped her up. "Oh, yeah, next time. Like I'm thinking about doing that again."
Out of Willow's sight, a flicker of annoyance crossed Buffy's face and it was clear that her focus was on the necromancer demon, now that she knew Willow was okay. Buffy knew better than to say it aloud, but she had really been counting on Willow's locator spell to work, and now she was out of options.
Xander pulled Buffy aside and spoke to her with quiet intensity. "Buffy, I know why you asked Willow to help you, but don't you think this is all moving a little fast for her? I mean, she's been back in town, what, a day, and you're already annoyed that she's not pulling her weight and helping you slay demons?"
Buffy's voice was a harsh whisper. "Xander, I get it, I really do, and I don't want to see Willow get hurt. And I definitely don't want to jeopardize her recovery. But this demon guy isn't going to stop for no reason. He needs to BE stopped, and the only one who can do that is me. I need to find this guy before the walking dead population of Sunnydale outnumbers the living. I need Willow's help. I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice."
"Well, you need to find another way. I'm not going to let her try this again. We'll figure something out." Xander stared into Buffy's eyes to make sure he was making himself clear. Buffy eventually nodded, then brought her hand to her forehead in worry, unsure of what they could possibly do to stop this demon.
Giles got Willow to her feet, although she was unsteady and clearly in pain. For the fifth time, she refused his request that she go to the hospital just to be safe. "I just want to go home and rest. If I don't feel better in the morning, I'll go to the doctor, I swear."
Giles set his mouth into a line, clearly displeased that Willow was refusing medical treatment, but not willing to take her against her wishes. "Buffy," he called, "Willow needs to go home."
"Oh, uh," Buffy's eyes scanned back and forth rapidly as she figured out the logistics. "Would you take her home, Giles? The night is young and I don't think Xander and I got the last of the necromancer's, uh, puppets. I need to patrol."
Giles nodded. "Alright, I'll take her. Xander, will you patrol with Buffy? I don't like the idea of her being alone while we still have no idea where this demon is."
"On it," Xander replied, and he and Buffy hastened to the exit. The door slammed shut behind them and Willow winced at the noise.
"Come now, Miss Rosenberg," Giles said as he guided her out back to his car, "if you're refusing medical treatment, I'm at least going to make sure you get into bed safely."
As Giles steered Willow into her bedroom, he turned on her bedside lamp and gingerly seated Willow on the edge of the bed. He helped her out of her jacket and slid her shoes off, folding the jacket and placing it atop her shoes in a neat pile by her bedroom door. As awful as Willow felt, she enjoyed a moment of affectionate amusement at Giles' fussy Britishness. Giles knelt on the floor in front of Willow, looking up into her face with open concern.
"Willow, I know you'll likely hit me for saying it, but is there any way I could persuade you to let me take you to hospital?"
Willow felt a soft smile creep onto her face. "Giles, really, I'm okay. I mean, not I'm feeling great, but I just got kind of shaken up is all. I shouldn't have tried doing a spell. Magic has a way of making you pay for it if your heart's not in it. I was too tired, distracted, and nervous. It was stupid to try."
Giles rose and turned to sit on the bed next to Willow. He put his arm around her consolingly, noting a large bruise just starting to form, the bluish hue peeking out from the neck of her sweater. "It wasn't stupid, Willow. You wanted to help, and you felt you needed to try. Now you know a little more about your limits and you have a clear goal to work on in your training. We can work on a locator spell next week if you're feeling up to it then."
"By next week, we're going to be partying with a hundred corpses. Buffy needed my help now, tonight, and I let her down." Willow hung her head. Her back and neck were starting to stiffen from being knocked against the wall of the shop.
"Willow, you're already bruised enough. I don't think beating yourself up more is going to make you feel better. What you need now is some quality sleep."
As he spoke, Giles stood and gently maneuvered Willow so that she was fully lying on the bed. She let herself be moved and decided not to make a fuss. She was lucky Giles hadn't driven her straight to the hospital against her will.
Willow closed her eyes and let her body begin to relax. Giles turned to leave her in peace, but Willow quietly pleaded, "Don't go."
Giles turned back to face Willow and felt his heart swell with affection for her. He spied the chair where he had spent the previous night, and felt a twinge of guilt over his tactless behavior that morning. Willow deserved better than that.
"Alright."
Willow scooted all the way to one side of the bed, lying on her side facing the night stand. She drowsily patted the other half of the bed behind her. Giles had not been expecting an invitation to share Willow's bed, but he knew neither of them had ulterior motives. Willow needed to feel safe. Giles would of course provide that for her.
Giles climbed onto the bed, the springs creaking with his movements. He placed himself in the "big spoon" position behind Willow, leaving what he hoped was a suitable amount of space between them. He reached across Willow and turned out the lamp, casting the room into total darkness. He let his hand rest on Willow's arm and moved his face closer to the back of her head.
"Good night, Willow," Giles whispered. He chastely kissed the back of her head, his nostrils full of the smell of her shampoo.
"Night, Giles," Willow replied, already well on her way to falling asleep.
Giles awoke some amount of time later. It was still full dark and he couldn't see a clock from where he was. His hand was still on Willow's arm, and he could feel her even breathing as she slept peacefully beside him.
He mulled over his concern for Willow. She represented an improbable combination of fragility and power. Parts of her were incredibly strong, and Giles had often been awed by the grit she displayed in some of her darkest hours. At the same time, however, she had been shaken to her core by the events of the last several months, and her self-confidence had been shattered. Her anxiety crept into every aspect of her life, made so much worse by the remorse she felt over her actions after Tara's death. She had to find a way to get past the guilt, practice her magic, and regain her sense of self. One of those alone would be a tall order, and Willow was trying to do all three at once.
Giles tried to parse out the issues in his mind. He had spoken to Willow about her feelings of guilt a dozen times, and every time they came back to the same concept: Willow felt the need to be punished. She had expected to be, and had told him so when they were in England. Willow had always been a person who revered authority and felt comforted by external authority structures. She worked hard to please her teachers, avoided breaking the law, and took etiquette very seriously. Giles appreciated these things about Willow, but now they were getting in the way. She couldn't accept that her own self-loathing and moral struggles constituted sufficient punishment; she needed an external force to hold her accountable. That's the only way that it would "count."
In his role as the school librarian, Giles had occasionally been in a position to enforce rules or punish students, although it was rare. Buffy and her friends had always been envious of his ability to dole out detentions, but the truth was that he had very little power at the school.
Suddenly, Giles had an idea. Years before he met Buffy and Willow, when he had left university and rebelled against everything he knew, he fell in with a rough crowd. Besides summoning Eyghon and occasionally joyriding in stolen cars, Giles had also gotten pretty deep into the BDSM sex scene in London. To his own surprise, he had found himself a natural dominant, relishing the feeling of power over others. He hadn't been much for all the leather and crass affectations of those who demanded to be called "Sir" or "Mistress", but the control – that was something he took to very easily.
Part of the control was meting out punishment. If his partner disobeyed his explicit command, a swift consequence must follow. If he told her to be quiet and she cried out, he might smack her on the ass. If he told her not to orgasm and she did anyway, he might place her body in a stressful position and tease her until she shook uncontrollably, the sweat standing out on her forehead. Although he always felt ashamed of this past and considered these tendencies to be brutish and perverse, he had to admit that he enjoyed them immensely. He loved when a woman gave herself completely to him. After all, none of his partners have ever been forced to do anything – consent was extremely important in these activities, and they could have called any session to a halt at any moment. He also felt a twisted sort of pleasure by establishing rules that his lover was bound to break, then punishing her for it.
Maybe, he thought, that's what Willow needs. She is so caught up in her need to be punished that she can't move on in her life. He spent a moment luxuriating in all of the things he would do to Willow if he had free reign over her.
Rupert, you're disgusting. He face burned with a sudden wave of shame and self-loathing. Obviously, you have feelings for the girl, but now you're thinking about bending her over a desk and spanking her, as if that's supposed to be some sort of therapy? As if it's not for your own sick enjoyment? You're horrible. She trusts you.
Giles batted the idea around in his head back and forth but didn't manage to come to any conclusions. He knew what he wanted, but he struggled to ascertain if such a course of action might serve to help Willow. At his core, that was most important to him. A part of him was in agony as long as Willow was, and he was desperate to help her.
Willow cooed and shifted on the bed, rolling over and eliminating the space between her and Giles by settling against his chest in a gentle cuddle. His hand, which had been resting atop her arm before, delicately shifted to her back, welcoming Willow into his embrace. Giles' thoughts became more clouded than ever.
