White Magic

Spike stood on the top step leading up from the basement into Buffy's kitchen -- and couldn't seem to make himself move a single step further. He cursed his own stupidity, clueless as to why, after weeks of longing to take just this very step, now that he was allowed to do so, he could not.

"Come on, Spike, we don't have all day here," Buffy sighed impatiently, a slightly warning edge to her voice.

That was all the further motivation Spike needed.

His weakened legs trembling, he stepped up into the dimly lit kitchen. The curtains had been drawn against the last rays of the setting sun, to allow him relatively safe passage from the underground room that had been his prison for so many days, and Buffy was waiting for him, leaning against the island counter in the center of the room.

"What's the matter, Baby?" she asked with exaggerated patience, sidling closer to him and placing her hands on his arms in a gesture that he could no longer help but see as more possessive than affectionate. "You should be happy today."

With an effort, Spike forced himself not to flinch at her touch, swallowing nervously, his eyes downcast. "I -- I know, Buffy. It's just -- what if I -- what if I mess it up? What if I c-can't -- can't convince them...?"

"You'll convince them," Buffy cut him off firmly, raising a hand to run softly through his hair, and with the gesture starting a sick sensation of fear in the pit of his stomach. Her smile was cold, menacing, as she added with deceptive gentleness, "Your survival instinct is too good not to, isn't it, Sweetie?"

This time Spike did flinch, his breath coming faster, shaky, at the clear threat in her words. He nodded quickly in response to her words, trying again hesitantly. "It's just -- Buffy, I try -- to do what you want -- I really do -- but sometimes I j-just -- just bugger it all up, love. I don't mean to -- and -- at the moment -- I'm just so soddin' scared...I'm sure to blow it, love, and make you mad at me, and..."

His words broke off in a frightened yelp, as in a lightning swift motion she had grabbed him and spun him around, slamming his back painfully against the counter, her other hand casually holding a razor sharp carving knife that had lain on the counter only an instant before.

He froze completely, his eyes closed against the terror of the moment, as she held one of his arms in a vise-like grip, her body pressed in close to prevent his moving away at all, while her other hand lightly traced the tip of the blade across his trembling lips.

"What -- so you're planning to fail me, Spike? Is that it?"

"N-no," he whispered, shaking his head desperately. "No, Buffy, that's not it, I'm just..."

"Shut up."

Instantly he stopped talking, as she trailed the blade slowly down from his mouth, across his throat, edging it slightly lower. He knew that she could kill him with that blade if she wanted to; she was definitely strong enough to decapitate him with it if she so chose.

He also knew that she wouldn't.

It was all the other horrific things that he knew she could do with that wicked blade that had him so petrified at the moment.

"You're going to pull it off, Spike," she told him softly, raising the blade again and tilting his head back with it, smiling with cold pleasure at the power she held over him. "You're a very good actor, Baby. I know you are. You're good at *lying*, aren't you, Spike?"

The disgusted, angry edge to her voice made him flinch, as he knew precisely what she was referring to. "Please," he whispered, shaking his head just slightly, tears welling in his eyes as he pleaded for mercy for "crimes" for which she had spent the last two weeks punishing him. "Please, Buffy, I'm sorry..."

"Why are you still talking, Spike?" she asked him calmly, still smiling, as she brought the blade to his lips again.

Immediately, he fell silent again.

She waited a moment before going on softly, "You'll convince them. I know you can put on a very convincing act when you want to. And if you screw this up, Spike..." She paused, relishing his terror as she pressed just slightly harder with the knife, now pressed against his cheek -- and then suddenly let up, taking it away.

"Don't worry," she sneered softly, "I wouldn't mess up that pretty face for the world, Sweetheart...besides..." As she spoke she slowly slid the hand holding the knife down his body, resting it finally on his rear, and tilting the blade at just such an angle as to place it directly between his legs, eliciting a soft gasp of terror from his lips.

She smirked, leaning in close and kissing him softly, without removing the blade, before pulling back to meet his wide, panicked eyes as she whispered, "...there are so many more interesting things to do with this knife...don't you think?"

Spike's lips twitched slightly, as if he was on the verge of more panicked, pleading babble, but he then bit his lower lip hard, as if physically forcing himself to keep silent, despite the remaining threat of the blade, pressed against his body through the denim of his jeans.

Buffy laughed softly, a low, dark sound, as she finally removed the knife -- and then her smile faded completely, as she held his gaze with jade eyes full of cold menace.

"If you should try anything *really* stupid, Spike -- like *deliberately* screwing around with my plan -- then you'll beg me to kill you, Baby. I'll make the last two weeks look like a trip to the circus. Am I making myself perfectly clear, Sweetheart?"

Spike dropped his gaze, visibly trembling by now, as he nodded shakily. "Yes, Buffy," he whispered, his tone soft and submissive.

"Good," she smiled again, laying the knife back down on the counter and roughly pulling him away from the counter, pushing him ahead of her toward the door. "Let's go."

*******************************

Dawn had spent the last two nights at Tara's house.

The first night, she had wanted to hear everything that Tara knew about Spike's strange disappearance, and her sister's even stranger behavior over the past few months. Buffy had easily agreed to let her stay overnight at "a friend's" house -- something that was in and of itself troubling, as not so very long ago, such a request would have resulted in an intensive third degree.

Dawn had fought back tears, as once again it was driven home to her how very little her sister seemed to care what she did anymore.

Tara had slowly, gently, told her the story -- leaving out the more personal parts, the parts that would simply be too devastating for the young girl's ears. It was bad enough that her sister was the abuser in an extremely abusive relationship; it was quite another thing entirely to inform the poor girl that her sister was guilty of a series of brutal sexual assaults against her partner as well.

The second night, Dawn had stayed at Tara's, simply because she did not want to be anywhere near her sister at the moment.

They had discussed it, and decided that it would be best for her not to let on to Buffy that she knew anything about what had happened, no matter how badly she wanted to angrily confront her sister with what she knew. Buffy was clearly unstable, and dangerous; and though she had not once lifted a hand against her sister yet, Tara was convinced that it would not be long before she extended her violent ways of dealing with things beyond just her relationship with Spike.

That was all the more reason, both girls felt, for Dawn to spend as much time at Tara's as possible.

"Buffy might not even notice if I just started staying over here all the time," Dawn pointed out, with no little resentment in her voice. "I mean -- she's always out late, and she never comes in to check on me anymore. And when I leave for school, she's usually still asleep. She doesn't question what I do in the afternoons, lately, so she'll probably never even notice."

Tara nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face as she reached out to gently take the younger girl's hand. "Until we figure out what's going on with her," she said softly, "it's actually a *good* thing that she's not noticing. It puts you in less danger."

"I guess that's something," Dawn added quietly, shaking her head in shocked dismay. "It feels so weird to be talking about *Buffy* like this -- as if she's the latest Big Bad, you know?"

Tara was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her tone was solemn, "If she's as messed up right now as I think she is," she pointed out regretfully, "she very well might be."

Both girls were silent for a moment, before Dawn finally spoke up again, swiftly and suddenly, almost as if she was afraid that if she didn't say it fast, she wouldn't find the nerve to say it at all.

"Do you think Spike is dead?"

Tara blinked in surprise, before responding slowly, "I hope not, Dawnie. I mean -- we have to admit it's possible. But -- it's also possible he got away. Not likely," she admitted when Dawn shot her a knowing look, "but possible. And -- it's also possible -- that Buffy's keeping him somewhere. That she made it look like he left town, so no one would look for him...what?" Her voice trailed off slightly, a frown on her face as she took in the expression in Dawn's wide, startled eyes.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Tara -- Buffy's been really weird about the basement lately. Like -- she put a padlock on the door, and told me not to go down there, because Giles sent her some secret weapon thing and she doesn't want me to get hurt. I mean, can you *get* any lamer than that?"

Tara did not even smile, as Dawn quickly went on, "She's so hiding something down there, and it's not a weapon. Tara -- do you really think she'd...?"

"I don't know," Tara shook her head, mingled hope and fear in her eyes. "But -- it sounds like something we should at least check out, don't you think? I mean -- it's definitely suspicious."

Dawn nodded eagerly, anxiously hopeful herself. "Okay," she began, her voice a little shaky. "So how's this for a plan? There's a Scoobie meeting today at the shop, and Buffy said I could go, so it'd look a little weird if I didn't show up now. And the last thing we want is her starting to be suspicious of me -- you know, actually *caring* what I do. She's home from work all day today, so it will have to wait until tonight. So -- tonight, while she's out patrolling -- we'll break into that basement. Okay?"

Tara nodded thoughtfully, not seeing any major flaws in that plan. "I'll wait down the street from your house, and you can call me as soon as she leaves. We need to get started just as soon as she's gone, because we don't know how strong that lock is, and we don't want her to catch us in the middle of breaking in."

"Right," Dawn agreed, excitement beginning in her youthful voice, her blue eyes shining now with a conspiratorial light. Her expression slowly sobered, as she looked up at Tara hesitantly again. "Do you -- do you really think she's got Spike down there?"

Tara shook her head slowly, at a loss. "I'm not sure, Dawnie. I -- I hope not. And then -- I kind of hope *so* -- because -- if she doesn't -- then -- then he's probably..."

"Got the picture, don't have to spell it out," Dawn breathed the words out in a rush, standing up from Tara's sofa and grabbing her book bag. "Scoobie meeting's in half an hour, if we go now you can just sort of, be shopping, when we start the meeting, you know?"

Tara easily read the silent message in the casual suggestion, that at this point Dawn would feel safer with her there, and readily agreed, "Okay. Sounds good to me. Let's just -- go in separately, in case Buffy's already there, you know?"

Dawn nodded, and headed out the door, wanting to make it to the Magic Box before dark.

Tara took her time getting ready to go, and then set out for the ten minute walk that separated her from the Magic Box. As she approached it, she prepared herself mentally for the emotionally taxing situation that a visit here always seemed to be lately. Willow always gave her those beseeching, desperate looks, and Buffy looked at her with barely veiled hatred and hostility -- while the others all just seemed to try not to look at her at all.

But if Dawn wanted her there, she would be there.

With Spike gone, it wasn't as if the girl had anyone else that she could really confide in, and at her age...

That thought shattered as Tara opened the door to the Magic Box -- and froze at the sight that met her eyes.

"...and I was so worried, I thought something happened to you, how could you just go off and leave me without even saying goodbye? I swear, I'd dust you myself if I wasn't so happy to see you!"

A deep, familiar laugh, warm as honey and soft as silk, cut through the young girl's frantic monologue, as he replied gently, "I'm fine, Bit...I was coming back. Would have said goodbye if I wasn't..."

"Where did you go?" Dawn demanded, finally releasing the death grip of the embrace she was giving him, looking up into his eyes, her own wide and searching.

But he was no longer looking at her, his wide blue eyes focused in trapped surprise on the stunned figure standing in the doorway.

"Tara," he whispered softly, the single word barely a breath.

For her part, she couldn't form words at the moment, so stunned to see him there, alive, free, and apparently healthy.

When she had been so frightened for him.

So -- so desperate, so terrified...

Her eyes narrowed slowly as she took in the sight of him, before she replied in a tone that was nothing like his soft, tentative one -- his name spoken in a terse tone of restrained anger.

"*Spike*."