The Long And Winding Road

By ezagaaikwe

Pairing: Spike/Tara

Rating: up to NC-17.

Warning: character death

Spoilers: Something Blue, Seeing Red, Villains, Two To Go, Grave and well, all BtVS season 7 (although AU by then) and AtS season 5.

Author Notes: Post BtVS and AtS.  This fic's not big with the 'splainy about how Spike got out of the pickle he and Angel's gang were in at the AtS series finale.  You just know it was damn heroic, though.  Big thanks to my betas Calove, Lillianmorgan, Married_n_mich, and especially to MyFeetShowIt for help brainstorming ideas.

Grateful acknowledgement to Appomattoxco for her presidential slur, to Calove and Julia_here for help with horsemanship terms, to Curiouswombat for Victorian attitudes toward capital punishment, to Jeff the Wacky Wiccan, to Kazzy_Cee for her glorious fanart, to Mr Google for help with pagan and Wiccan sources, to M0resoul for help with Chinese, to Speakr2customrs for his "button" idea, to the betas who pinch-hit for me, especially Claudia_yvr, and most especially, to my lovely readers. Blessings on you all!

Book One

Part One

"So let me get this straight, witch. You want to magick me back to the past to rescue Tara." Spike scratched his left earlobe and looked dubious. "Haven't you ever heard the word 'anachronism'? Or 'changing history'?"

"That's three words." Willow looked stubborn.

He gave her his best look of disdain. "Well, now. I don't know. Your track record for magical solutions to life's problems isn't exactly stellar."

"Come on, Spike," she urged. "You're recovered from the big fight...getting the seat of your pants scorched by Rodan. Aren't you up for a little excitement?" She tried on a persuasive smile and failed miserably.

Spike decided to be blunt. "Red, I know you loved her. But she's gone. There're some things you just have to accept--"

She burst out, "I can't!" She lowered her voice. "I can't. I've tried, really I have. I thought maybe Kennedy...but there's no one like Tara. I loved her so much. I still love her. Please help me. Please!" She began to cry, her nose turning red and starting to run.

"Here, now. Here, now." He patted her awkwardly. Spike hated crying women, well, unless you counted the good ol' days when he was actually trying to make them cry. Ah, those were the days, came the nostalgic thought. "Don't cry." He rummaged through his pockets and found a crumpled napkin with a phone number on it. After a moment's hesitation, he put it back in his pocket. "Come on." He heaved a sigh, knowing there wasn't much else he could do. "Put your head on my shoulder and have a good cry, then." He minded snot on his shoulder less than losing the bird's number. Buffy wasn't the only one who had moved on.

"Now, I'm not sayin' I'm convinced, but tell me your little plan. Maybe we can come up with something else. Talk to me."

Unseen by Spike, her face hidden on his shoulder took on a sly smile, but she sniffled and began in a hesitant tone, "Well, you know, or maybe you don't, that bullets were flying that day. I've experimented, and can travel back and forth a bit, but it'd take a lot more power to send you back three years...I'd go back myself but I don't want to get shot, too." She raised her eyes to his in appeal.

Spike snorted derisively and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't mean it like that!" she backpedaled hastily. "It's just...you're already dead so if you got clipped, you could just, you know, soldier on, and I'd pull you both back. It's a threefold problem, sending you back to the right time and place--that's teleportation--and then astral-projecting so I can keep an eye on you and make sure you have her and she's okay, and then bringing you both back safely."

"What about changing the past? I've seen Star Trek. Never turns out to the good."

"What about it?" she began stridently, and then backed down immediately. "Can you imagine someone like Tara bringing anything but beauty and goodness back into the world? So much was lost when she left it. It hasn't been the same since. It's like the sun was snuffed out." She lowered her voice even further. "Please, Spike. I don't want to beg, but I would do anything, pay you anything, get you anything. If it's Buffy, I know she still loves you, and I can..."

He cut her off. "Now, that's enough of that. No need to compound all these magical nips and tucks you're contemplating. Not sayin' I won't help. I think she was a right sweet girl, and for the record, I'm right there with you flaying robot boy and I wouldn't have minded helping, but I'm going to want a lot more assurance you can do this and not send me back a million years BC." He added in a thoughtful tone, "Although, the thought of those fur bikinis isn't altogether unappealing."

~~~

They had a long discussion about ways and means. And exactly how much power it would take to send him, a non-living vampire, back in time. Apparently, it was easier for a living person to time-travel. Something about their life-force being a charge to the "battery." Spike's major concern was that she wouldn't have the means or the power to control it. The it being how far back he was supposed to go, and if she could, in fact, return them both to the here and now if he actually wound up finding Tara.

"Don't worry about that," she said eagerly. "When you tell Tara what I'm trying to do for her, she'll help you. We used to cast spells in linkage. The combined power is synergistically greater than either of us are individually."

"Are you sure she'll approve?" He was skeptical of telling Tara much of anything except, "Come with me if you want to live," à la The Terminator.

"What do you mean?" There was that strident tone again.

"Well, my thought is that she was never a big fan of the easy magical solutions. When she learns that you've undone her death..."

"That doesn't matter! She'll be coming back to me. She wants me, just like I want her."

He was doubtful, but kept his doubts to himself. She was right about one thing, though. He was up for a new adventure.

~~~

She gave him proof that she could do it. A library book materialized on the coffee table, book marked with its withdrawal slip, dated a week in the future. Spike gave a low whistle. A small thing, but still! The plan began to take on reality for him.

"Now, here's the deal. It'll take time to summon the power to do this. It's a two-part process at this point. You'll be traveling in space as well as time, from LA back to Sunnydale, which as you know, doesn't exist anymore."

He gave her a look that said, Duh. "I remember, pet. I was there."

"And it's longer than I've ever traveled. I should experiment and try sending you on a couple of trips, just to make sure."

"Yeah, how about back to 1929? Got some stock I want to sell short before autumn. Keep me in Silk Cut and type AB for the rest of my unlife."

"That's a ways, Spike. Let's just focus on the problem at hand."

"You focus, witch. I'll grab your bird for you. Just you bring us both back, safe and sound."

>~~~

Spike paced restlessly while Willow puttered with her magical supplies in the next room. He wasn't interested in the minutiae of witchcraft. Presumably, she knew what she was doing. Oh, bloody fucking hell, what had he gotten himself into? A creeping sense of unease made him want to call it off. He had a clear sense that this was not one of his more well-reasoned decisions. He was long on the grand gestures and short on the good sense, he knew that about himself. It wasn't Willow's tears and pleading that had softened his initial refusal. It was his empathy. He had loved and lost more than once and he understood wanting it back, whatever the cost.

A growing hum like a dynamo began to emanate from the next room. Put him in mind of a road trip out West he'd taken with Dru, back when tourists could go into the bowels of Hoover Dam. Fine sport coming across unsuspecting tourists in the corridors, their screams masked by the roar of the turbines. Funny he should have euphoric recall of their kills. (This never happened to Peaches, he was sure.) He had enjoyed the power, felt himself the equal of the roaring machinery channeling the rushing water.

It was like that--a hum of overwhelming, unimaginable power. A voice sounded in his head. Spike, get ready. Protect Tara. Don't let go. I'll bring you both back safe.

~~~

It was like being born.

Spike was shoved through a tight passage that didn't quite...fit. It wasn't a smooth passage; he was pushed along, and then would appear to stall for whole minutes at a time, grateful he didn't need to breathe. He wished for sight, but perhaps this was something outside of the realm of the normal five senses, hyper-acute vampire senses though they were.

Willow's voice sounded again. You're almost there. The time's right, but where is Sunnydale?

Oh, fuck, he thought.

Oh, right. There you go. I can't see very well--I'll say goodbye for now. Take care of-- And out he popped, right into Joyce's bedroom. The witches', he corrected himself.

"Um, hi."

"Spike, what are you doing in our room?" Willow demanded. Tara just stared at him, round-eyed.

Spike didn't answer Willow's question. He looked at the living, breathing Tara. He could understand Willow, (the future Willow, he corrected himself), wanting her back. She looked beautiful, smelled delicious and well-fucked, and was so alive. He wanted to keep her that way.

He stared back, completely nonplussed. What could he say? "I'm from the future and I'm about to reshape the past, by keeping you from getting killed"?

From the back yard, a popping sound like firecrackers going off made him realize that Willow, his three-years-in-the-future accomplice, had cut it too fine. No time for explanations, so he did the only thing he could. He tackled Tara.

"Spike!" Willow yelled, "Get off her!"

From the floor, holding down the struggling Tara, he yelled back, "You don't understand! You sent me--I'm supposed to prevent Tara's getting shot. Get down! Don't want you buying the farm, instead. Now get down!"

An eddy of the current of power that had swept him back to this time, May 2002, rippled and pulled him once more. He held Tara tighter.

Willow--his Willow, future-Willow--didn't know her own strength. He felt the tight, pushing sensation of time-travel once more and lifted his head to catch a last glimpse of Willow's outraged face, her hand outstretched to zap him off her girlfriend. Spike saw her spin as Warren's bullet took the side of her head off in a shower of blood and bone.

The power of outraged-Willow's blast combined with the too-strong power of future-Willow sent Spike hurtling through time again, Tara locked in his arms.

~~~

They tumbled to the ground...where? Spike tried to take the brunt of the fall on knees and elbows. He had his suspicions where they might be, but preferred to keep them to himself for the moment.

At the mouth of the alleyway, a gas-lit streetlight shone yellowly through thin, smoke-tinged fog. The familiar smell was as distinctive as a fingerprint. Tara clutched his neck, hyperventilating with fear.

"What is going on?" she gasped. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as though she were afraid to open them.

"Easy, pet. We're out of harm's way for now. No bullets flying, anyways." He fervently hoped she hadn't seen that last spray of her lover's shattered skull. "Breathe easy. Breathe."

Cautiously, she opened her eyes. "Okay. Explanations, p-p-please. You were saying something about keeping me from getting s-s-shot? And where are we? Where's Willow? What just happened? Has Willow been up to...?" She closed her eyes, shook her head. "Oh, no. And you can get off me any time."

"Sorry, pet." He let her up. They were lying in a dank alleyway. They sat up and rested their backs against a wall, and she looked at him expectantly. "Explanations?"

Where to begin? "Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. Willow... Well, let me take it back a step. Or forward. Oh, hell. Time travel screws with language." He felt foolish, but bulled ahead. "You died. That popping noise was gunfire. One of the nerds' bullets went wild and hit you. Alternate universe, get me? You were killed, Willow went crazy and badness ensued. Long story. Three years later, Willow's better. It's 2005, and she wants you back. She's not over you." His eyes softened toward her, and she looked away. "Can you blame her? She sends me back, I grab you, no bullet and you don't die." He felt like a complete fool, and looked at her for encouragement, belief, something. "It's nice, isn't it, being alive again?" he ended lamely.

She looked at him skeptically. "I didn't die this time because you're from the future, sent to save me."

He held her eyes. "Yes."

"But I died then? I'm supposed to be dead? Willow can't change that."

He shrugged. "Afraid she did, pet. It's a fait accompli. Here you are."

She looked troubled. "No. No. She can't do that. Matters of life and death. She's got no right..."

"Well, it's not like she hasn't done it before," he pointed out.

"Buffy." She sounded grieved.

"Yeah."

"That was serious black magic. Although I suppose you could argue the end justified the means. The world needed the Slayer," she admitted. "What did she--how did she do this?"

"Buggered if I know, pet. You know more about that sort of thing than I do."

"I'm supposed to be dead. And here I am. If you shoved me out of the way of that bullet, we should still be on Joyce's bedroom floor. So how did we wind up here? And where's here?"

How to break it to her? "I was getting to that. Got a lot of power, that girl of yours. She sent me back three years, and across distance. It wasn't a smooth journey, sort of fits and starts, if you know what I mean. Well, I guess you do; you were on the second leg of the journey with me. Point is, she's strong, and doesn't have the...gas pedal...fine-tuned like she should've. Maybe she sent us a bit...far. I don't think we're in Sunnydale anymore. And I know it's not 2002 anymore, either."

"Keep talking."

"Like I said, your girl is powerful. And jealous and protective. So Willow--your Willow--2002-vintage Willow--fuck, this is complicated!" He shook his head. "She didn't understand me popping in like I did, throwing you to the ground. Probably thought the worst. Can't say's I blame her. (Evil, soulless killer here. Well, not soulless any more. Remind me to tell you sometime.) Well, just as she was about to fry me for touching her best girl, the...trip...got underway again. Willow, future-Willow's gas pedal got goosed. And your girl's slapping my wrist just...pushed the pedal to the metal, to mix a metaphor." He looked apprehensive.

"There's more. There's something you're not telling me." She bit her lower lip fearfully.

Bloody girl was too smart for her own good. Reluctantly, he said, "That bullet. The one that killed you. Previously, I mean. Willow--"

She gasped and choked back a sob, her fist over her mouth. "No!"

He pulled her against him, held her and crooned, "Now, hold up. The Willow where I came from is nowhere near that bullet. She's fine and probably looking for us as we speak."

"B-but, if my Willow died, then how could she be okay in the future if she didn't live to... to... to 2005?"

That puzzled him. If you traveled back in time and murdered your parents before you were born, how could you be born and live to travel back murder your parents before you were born...? Paradox!

He shook his head. "I don't know, pet. But we've bigger fish to fry right now." He nodded to the mouth of the alley, which was filled with hulking shapes.

"Lookee there. What do you make of it, Jack? Twist or Rob Roy?" This was spoken in a distinctly lower-class English accent by a greasy, loutish man approximately twice Spike's size.

Jack, three times Spike's size, answered, "Oh, it's a girl, right enough, lad's clothes or no. Look at those charlies--" He didn't finish, as Spike's fist smashed into Jack's mouth. Vamp-faced, Spike roared at the rest, "Who's next?"

They scattered like blown leaves, leaving Jack doubled over, cupping his ruined mouth and keening. Spike hauled him up by his shirt. "All right, Jack, answer one question if you can. What year is it?"

Jack just blubbered, spraying blood, mouthing hate.

Spike asked again, "One more time, big man, or I make your nose disappear like your teeth. What year is it?" He grabbed Jack's windpipe and started to squeeze.

"Ay-ee! Ay-ee!"

"Did you say 'eighty,' you great pile of shite? Eighteen-eighty?"

"Aye! 'Emme go!"

"Give us a kiss first." And he kissed Jack's bleeding mouth and then threw him away.

Licking his lips, he turned to Tara. "We've got to get out of sight. But I know more than I did five minutes ago and I've a plan of sorts."

She looked at him fearfully. "Your chip..."

"Is gone," he stated flatly. "And a good thing, too, or those tossers would be taking turns with you right about now. Willow sent me to protect you and that's what I'm going to do. Now, let's going."

She got up, hands nervously clutching her elbows.

He looked her up and down. "Nothing against trousers on women, but the way you're dressed is breaking the law here, as well as making you as conspicuous as hell."

She said, "Your hair--"

"Won't be in style for one hundred years," he finished. "Point taken. We need to blend in. But I know where we are, when we are," he glanced around him with a frown, "more or less. Got a plan."

They started out the alleyway, only to have Spike pull her back into the shadows. "This won't do. We need to cover up. Stay back there out of sight, and I'll be back in a few moments. I'll listen for you. If anything threatens you, scream."

Tara nodded dumbly, and retreated into a doorway.

~~~

Spike was gone too long. Something terrible pushed at the boundaries of her mind, and she pushed back, refusing to think about her death, Willow's death, or the cataclysm that had turned her life upside down within short minutes. This shouldn't be happening. This is Willow's doing. She could never leave it alone. Tara forced herself to stay calm, focusing on her breathing, and remaining still and as invisible as she could make herself.

About half an hour later, Spike returned with an armful of clothing. "Won't they be embarrassed when they wake up?" he asked no one in particular. "Here, wrap up in this." He handed her a long cloak and threw another cloak over his shoulders, stuffing a jingling pouch into his jeans' pocket in the process. "There's coin of the realm, and I've got something more for you to put on when we get home."

Tara shook her head, dazed and uncomprehending. "When we get home?" she asked, not quite sure what home Spike was referring to.

"My home. Where we're going, nothing will fit you, and there's no such thing as ready-to-wear." He rolled the rest of his booty into a neat parcel and tucked it under his arm. He offered her his other arm. "Milady?"

They set out on foot. It was not raining, but the damp fog made her skin clammy. They hurried. Spike's talk took her mind off the impossibility of their situation.

"If I can get us a carriage, I will. I know where we're going, but the question is 'when?' Too early, and we risk running into my bad self, and it'll be just peachy explaining that one. Too late, and the house will probably have gone for taxes. Always wondered what happened to the old place."

"Spike, stop. I can't...wrap my mind around this." She squeezed her eyes closed as though to shut out painful reality.

He looked at her pityingly. "It is as it is, sweetheart. You've got to face facts. I'll do my best to protect you, but if something happens to me, you can't stand there saying, 'This can't be happening.' Because it is. Your girl got us into this, and while I admit it's a bit of a pickle, it's better than you being dead, innit?"

She opened her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Not sure I agree with you, Spike," she said faintly.

He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. "Buck up, love. I'll get you back, safe and sound."