First, acknowledgments...

My hearty thanks to current and former betas Calove, KK_D, Lillianmorgan, Married_n_Mich, and MyFeetShowIt, but they're not all. The next-to-last and last chapters were beta'd by the exotic, erotic Beanbeans. Yes, you heard right—here be smut! Those under the legal age to view smut, begone!

Thanks also to pinch-hitter betas Claudia_yvr and Curiouswombat, Curiouswombat who also helped with some Victorian ideas of Spike's, notably Victorian attitudes toward capital punishment, and to Calove and Julia_here for help with horsemanship terms, and Speakr2customrs for help with Victorian currency, weaponry, and allowing me to use his "nuclear button" idea. I thank Appomattoxco for her presidential slur and Mores0ul for the Chinese translation.

Thanks to Jeff the Wacky Wiccan, which reminds me, in earlier chapters, some pagan and Wiccan sources were googled and not properly credited. I tried to correct this, but in some cases, I could not track down who to credit. My apologies. If they're yours, please let me know and I'll credit you or remove them, at your discretion.

Big thanks due to the talented manippers who created the lovely fanart. This chapter is graced with one by the fabulous Kazzy_Cee. Previous chapters contain gorgeousness by Mary5958 and Darksideofme78.

If I've forgotten anyone, please know that I'm so grateful. I would never have finished this without you, my lovely readers. You've made me one very happy ficcer.

The poem in this chapter is by Dorothy Parker.

Dedicated to Diva_stardust, who believed in me.



The Long And Winding Road
By ezagaaikwe
Pairing: Spike/Tara
Rating: up to NC-17.
Spoilers: Something Blue, Seeing Red, Villains, Two To Go, Grave and well, all BtVS season 7 (although AU by then.)
Author Notes: Post BtVS and AtS.
Warning This part contains alludes to incest, and a sexual threesome.
Summary: Spike time-travels on a mission of mercy to rescue Tara, courtesy of Willow.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. I'm just having fun with them.
Feedback: Yes, please! To ezagaaikwe@yahoo.com



"Long is the way
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light"

II.432-3, John Milton, Paradise Lost.








William stilled all movement while a thousand warring thoughts collided in his brain and his world view rearranged itself.

The broken wrought-iron piece from his headboard fell to the floor with a metallic bong-g-g when Tara dropped it. Her ragged, pre-orgasmic breathing slowed a little... perhaps in apprehension that he'd learned her secret? The tension in her body eased only slightly and her other hand let go of the headboard she'd been bracing against while trying to achieve the release that had eluded her. She slid her arms around his back, whispering, "Please."

He repeated, "When were you gonna tell me you'd become a Slayer?"

She shifted beneath him. "Um..." She wriggled her hips.

"Spill."

"That's the idea." Her breathy voice tickled his ear and she undulated against him.

He held still, obdurate.

"Well, I was going to tell you, but I'd rather you just finish me off," she evaded.

"'Finish you off,' eh?"

He could feel a dark chuckle wanting to bubble up from somewhere deep in him. He brought forth his demon and ran the tip of one fang up her throat, raising a needle-thin welt that brought tiny beads of blood to the surface.

She shivered exquisitely.

"Don't you know that slayers an' vampires are natural enemies?" He suppressed the chuckle; he wanted to throw a scare into her, pay her out for her keeping him in the dark.

"Oh, shut up." She shuddered, arching her back and lifting her chin to give him better access. "Just do it."

He ran his tongue up her throat, licking away the traces of blood. The taste was still his girl, but richer, more powerful. Intoxicating. His voice rumbled against her neck. "I should make you pay." He licked her again, feeling his demon's textured tongue scrape roughly against her skin.

She shivered again, then threatened in a deadpan voice, "I'd like to see you try." She held her ground only a moment, and then collapsed into snorting giggles.

"Regular tough tootsie, eh? Always did like a woman who could kick my ass."

He reared up, flipping her over, and she landed like a cat on her hands and knees, the bed swaying. He smacked her on the arse—the promised "payment"—then plunged into her from behind. Her answering shriek was not of pain, but of surprise and joy. She braced herself against the broken headboard and pushed back against him, hard.

Desperate for more contact, he grabbed her torso, jerking her away from the broken headboard to press her back up against his chest and belly as he writhed over her back, grinding into her. She reared up, unbalancing him and they crashed to the mattress in a heap.

She wriggled away, only to twist round to face him and yank him on top of her. Their movements stilled, both stunned with the power of their joining. He lifted his face to look into her eyes. She nodded wordlessly, and their lips met in a long kiss.

The Tara-shaped hole in him was now filled. There was only one thing left for him to: he surged forward and filled her.

Tara sighed and shook her head. She rolled over and caught his eye, her out-flung wrist over her spread hair, gave him her gentlest smile, and said,

"Soldier, in a curious land
All across a swaying sea,
Take her smile and lift her hand —
Have no guilt of me.

Soldier, when were soldiers true?
If she's kind and sweet and gay,
Use the wish I send to you —
Lie not lone til day!

Only, for the nights that were,
Soldier, and the dawns that came,
When in sleep you turn to her
Call her by my name."

Her tone sweetly mocked his guilt and her slight smile broadened. Her eyes held no rancor.

"Oh, I did." He couldn't meet her eye. "Not exactly fair to them—" He caught himself. "Very nice. Where'd you get that?"

She shrugged, saying airily, "Oh, you know, college girl. Ex-college girl. I was withdrawing from school today, on my way to find you." She put her hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers.

"Not saying I don't want you," he admitted. "Or couldn't use you. Your slayerishness could come in handy, too, and I'm less afraid of losing you now. Although—" He clamped his jaw. Slayer or not, he could still lose her. Hadn't he killed two slayers himself? Unbidden, he felt the dreadful responsibility a Watcher must feel, the terrible inevitability of their loss.

"You're worried about me." It was a statement, not a question. "Look at me."

He turned unwilling eyes to meet hers. He had a momentary flash on the dead girl in the alley, and his resolution never to find Tara that way... to never involve her in this bloody business.

"The reason you went to see Mickey today? The Qwieng and B'tai gang?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What...?" he said, on a lowering note.

"They're settled. A non-issue."

He remembered to shut his mouth, but didn't answer her.

"You want details?"

Still speechless, he nodded.

Tara told him. The arts of war were familiar to him, but they were a revelation to her... the realization that she was set apart, her need for secrecy. In a rare instance of pillow talk, Buffy had once told him that it was like waking up to discover that she could skate like Dorothy Hamill, but couldn't tell anyone.

He missed some of what she was telling him, as he mused upon his old love, Tara, who had set her hand on fire to drive off Darla and Angelus, who collapsed in shock from the effort, the fragile human girl who—

Animated as a child with a new toy, she was explaining, "—you don't want to give them everything you have, but on the other hand, you don't want to... just tickle 'em, either, or you get your ass kicked. Well, you do until you, you know, wade in. I remember the first time I really let go, my fist went through this thing's face, at least I think it was its face, with a crunch like a box of strawberries. Really disgusting." She looked to him for comprehension.

He nodded, still distracted.

She went on, "What I really like are blades—always have, ever since my mother gave me her athame. I've got a collection started, even before I suspected that I'd—"

"Become a slayer." William wished he could get the dirge-like tone out of his voice. And why?—this was a good thing. His girl had just become one of the most powerful creatures on the planet.

"I know. I first suspected, when the Sunnydale spell didn't put me in bed for a week."

"I saw you."

"You were there? Again, I mean?" Her eyes went round.

He shrugged. "Yes, I thought I'd join the fun, but held back, thinking the First Evil might have a thought about pullin' me out of its hat, like a rabbit." He wasn't fully with her yet, still trying to sort out her new status and his old fear for her safety, weighing the risk of letting her stay.

"An evil rabbit—don't tell Anya!" Tara giggled, then sobered. "Well, it didn't," she said in her practical voice. "You're fine. We're fine. Don't worry, I can handle myself."

She rubbed her knuckles, upon which he could detect traces of bruises fading. Slayer healing. William had not noticed the bruises before, looking at her in the restaurant, at the huge ring she wore.

She changed the subject. "The upcoming L.A. apocalypse you're working toward—you lived through it before, right? Tell me about it." Her eyes gleamed.

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair. "Right debacle it was. Not much to say. 'Exit, pursued by a bear.' Or dragon, in this case. Most of us died. Well, 'died' is the wrong word where vampires are concerned. Me, it knocked arse over tit, rattling my brains." A muscle in his jaw worked. "Angel..." He was silent for a moment. "You weren't around when the dark slayer, Faith—she was evil back then—shot Angel with an arrow dipped in venom years back. I wasn't there myself, but he told me about it later."

"I heard about it." Her eyes were compassionate.

He spoke slowly. "Causes a long, painful... again 'death' is the wrong word. Point is, dragon's tail got venom, too. Has a stinger like that alien queen in Aliens. Got Angel through the heart. It… it wasn't a quick death."

heyoka... a contrary."

Tara only smiled blissfully. "Hmm?"

"Speak, woman!"

When she could catch her breath, she said, "Nothing wrong with that—Buffy never went along with the Slayer handbook, either. And me, I'm so far beneath the radar, it's not funny. I can be your secret weapon."

"Who knows you're a slayer?"

"No-one besides you. Well, I think Kennedy suspects. She thinks it's simply amazing how fast I pick up moves she teaches me!" She rolled her eyes, and then softened her words with a smile. "I don't use it often—I'm a witch, primarily. Not that it hasn't come in handy."

"No, I suppose not. Girl who looks like you... no right-thinking demon would suspect you of bein' able to lay 'em out in lavender." He snorted, thinking of the Qwieng and B'tai gang's surprise.

She nodded. "The few times I've slain, I don't leave witnesses. I don't want it to get around that I can clean their clocks. I keep it in reserve... I was sort of hoping you'd take it as my wedding gift to you." She lowered her eyelashes.

He gave her a long, slow kiss. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Oh, no! Smaller, if anything. This one is too big. It gets in my way." Her eyes widened. "But I love it. I usually wear it around my neck, like you do yours." She nodded toward the ring William wore on a chain, her handfasting token she'd given him. "I wanted to wear my rubies today. I'm glad I had them on when you found me."

She stroked them, while William watched, mesmerized. She was naked but had put the necklace on, her nibbled-upon nipples nearly as red as the rubies. She held the earrings up to her breasts, as though to hang them there.

To distract himself from her, he muttered, "About a ceremony?"

She pulled half the blanket over her. He was a little annoyed at how breathless he sounded. Some bad ass vampire! He didn't care if they ever tied the knot—not that he'd ever leave her!—but he wanted to please her. He was hard again, and though her slayer stamina could match his, he did not yet grasp it emotionally, so he banked his lust for the moment.

"Oh, I don't know. My mother was always in favor of long engagements. She said—not that I'm comparing us to them! She wished she and my dad—"

"Understood. When the time is right, we'll slip off to Gretna Green."

"What exactly are you hiding under that blanket?" She pulled the covers back. "Oh, my."

They spoke together, "Army of Slayers," then began to laugh.

"We always did think alike," William said, wondering when he'd been so calm and happy.

"This is gonna be fun!" she chortled. She gave him a quick grin and then her smile faded. "This Slayer calling... you know, it's rooted in darkness—there's a real temptation to misuse it. You mentioned Faith—she gave in to it once. I nearly did myself."

"Tell me."

"I let it go to my head a little. I got to thinking about my dad, and took a trip back home. Back in time, that is—1989. Slayer strength is so compelling... I, I got to thinking about administering a little 'country justice,' as we say down south."

William's features were hard. "Wouldn't blame you one bit. Thought of it myself."

"And held back!" Her eyes shone. "I'm so proud of you. Well, what I did—or didn't do—I thought of doing." She shook her head. "I ended up giving him a little forced empathy, like Eliza did to Xander, giving him your memories."

William flung his head up. "Wish she hadn't! Little git followed me around like a puppy for the better part of a year, all hero-worshiping." He snorted his disparagement.

She nodded. "It has that effect. Daddy and I got close, before he died."

"Did you?" William paused delicately.

"No, of course not. Natural causes. But I nearly slapped cousin Beth!" Her eyes sparkled, and then she grew serious again. "Anyway, here's my point. I told you before, that my father molested me."

"I remember." William's mouth was an ugly line, his knuckles white.

"He did not." Her eyes widened and held reverent amazement. "He did not." She shook her head happily. "Here's the thing about changing the time line: you go back, interfere with the 'normal' course of events—if you can call incest normal! He was so filled with shame at what he'd 'done,' before—they were my memories I gave him, remember?—that he did not do it this time around. As for me, first there's the painful memory, then a memory of a memory, like a remembered bad dream, then... healing. I mean, I know it happened, once, but it... did not happen, this time around. You know?" Her eyes sought his, needing him to understand. "I'm... whole."

William sat up and shook his head, speechless. Not in negation of what she'd said, but in wonder. The implications of time-changing were profound, if one could choose wisely.

She nodded, following his thoughts. "I know. The potential for good is far-reaching, and there's no better time than now."

His voice was grim. "You know it. Wolfram & Hart in the highest office in the land. I'm finishing up in L.A.—going after the low-hanging fruit before plucking the top rotten apple."

She spoke slowly. "Good. But there's more. I've been talking to Miss Harkness—"

He sat back on his heels and eyed her narrowly.

"I'm all right." Her voice was a touch impatient.

"'Talking to Eliza.' You want to explain that?"

"I can't. Some things you just can't. It's like when she asked me to print out the Internet for her."

"I see. I think I see. Go on."

"OK, it's like a long-distance phone call—through the veil that separates this temporal plane from the astral." Her eyes searched his, and then she shrugged. "She told me before, too, right before she died, but I didn't believe her then—"

"What."

"Well, the deal she struck with the Powers That Be...?"

"What!"

"She knew that empowering the potentials would bring about an end to the Slayer line, both Buffy's and Faith's. It would mean a temporary quashing of supernatural activity, like releasing a company of crack soldiers into a riot, but once the slayers were gone, it'd resume, worse than before."

"Not good."

"No. They turned down her first plan. So her counteroffer was to pick one of the slayers and give her some added attributes. Luck. Um, longevity." She looked away, diffidence in her eyes.

"You?"

Her eyes slid back to his. She nodded.

"How long 'longevity'?"

"I'm not invincible. I can be hurt." She rubbed her knuckles again. "But I'll live. Her long-term projection includes you and me on a... spaceship... five hundred years in the future." Already blushing, she turned redder.

"You an' me on a Satellite of Love?" William hooted. He composed himself, continuing, "Tara, love, I think she was a powerhouse, but that last year or so? Wandering." He smiled kindly, but shook his head. Queer old bird, that Eliza.

Tara dropped her eyes, and the subject. William had the distinct impression that they were not done discussing it.

"Hmm?" She washed down a dab of creamy Brie on French bread with wine.

"Up your sleeve. Any more tricks you're hiding from me."

"Nothing up my sleeve. Sleeveless, in fact." She waved her bare arm as evidence.

"Are you sure? Seems you've pulled two whammies on me in the last twenty-four hours—three, if you include your slayerishnss. Not that I'm complaining."

"Well..." She looked abashed.

"What! I was only kidding. There's more?" William was mildly alarmed.

"'In for a penny, in for a pound,' don't the English say?" She was holding back again, that much he could see.

"Tell me!"

With a thump all out of proportion for the creature's diminutive size and negligible weight, the cat Willow levitated to the bed and put one paw on Tara's leg. "Mrow?"

Like a Ginsu knife commercial, Tara said, "'But wait, there's more.'" She reached down to stroke the little red cat.

"What?" he repeated. She tried to look innocent, but she was really fearful about something, William could tell.

She kept her eyes down, petting the cat. "Um, that's Willow." She nodded toward the creature.

Not understanding, he said with patience, "I know that's Willow. I named it."

"You got it right. That's Willow."

"That's the witch." His voice was flat, disbelieving.

"Yeah. Miss Harkness said she'd been bad, but not too bad, so the Powers That Be were sending her back to help us."

William just goggled at her.

"I said I wouldn't allow it, without first getting your okay. But I know you feel badly about the other women, and maybe this way you could—"

He interrupted, "Not only women. What would you say if I told you Chuckie's namesake and I...?"

"Charles? You and Charles?" Her eyes were like saucers and she bit off a giggle.

William shrugged. "He felt so bad for me and wanted to comfort me. First time, the night I lost you. I said 'no' then, but about year or so later, when I was drunk, as I was pretty solidly that first year without you, I let him. Lad was a comfort to me, but not as great as he'd hoped. Pretty fellow like he knew the right moves—t'was back in his school days he'd learnt—but I couldn't let him know that it wasn't all he'd hoped it would be." William sighed in rueful remembrance. "So you see what a prize you're getting." His expression said, ‘Give it to me.’

Her eyelashes fluttered down to the purring cat, then up to his eyes. "I think you're a prize. I've waited long enough, and you—"

"You got that right!"

"So... what do you say about Willow joining us?" She gave him a shy look from under her lashes, and he momentarily forgot the question.

"Joining us? There she is." He nodded toward the cat, not believing her, but wanting to humor her. The cat gave a half-twist, the better to expose her belly to Tara's caresses, and looked up at William, her mouth curved in a familiar puckish grin. He faltered, and said doubtfully, "That's really Willow?"

The cat only grinned at him, the tip of her pink tongue showing.

William frowned with disbelief, and then said irrelevantly, "Poof'll be glad that destroyin' the world, or tryin' to, isn't such a crime. He's been all broodin' over his sins, it'll be good to get that off his plate." He tried for a light laugh and failed.

Tara scooped up the cat and held her against her cheek. The two of them regarded William. "Would you mind? If the Powers That Be allowed her to be incarnate once more?" Tara's voice held only a hint of nervousness, and no cajoling at all.

William tilted his head, regarding them. "You loved her very much."

Tara nodded, and the little red cat did a head-bump under Tara's chin, purring louder.

"I can't refuse you anything. Can't be possessive. I wasn't faithful to you—randy as Charlie Sheen—"

"I'm happy to say!" Tara interrupted. She held the cat with both hands. "This isn't penance. You can say 'no'." Her voice was level, but her hands curled protectively around Willow.

"You say we need her."

"We could sure use her," Tara admitted. "I don't like to say what I've seen. Eliza showed me The Sight, but I don't like to look that far ahead. This longevity... it's weird. You think you know what's to come, what you are. You haven't even begun. I mean, if I live, we must have won—will win—our battles, but Eliza told me over and over not to get cocksure. Each time, we'll need to fight as though it's life or death. Because it is. Nothing’s guaranteed."

"Some Big Bad redux down the pike, and we'll need the double-witch whammy?"

Tara nodded again. "She'll be more help to us in human form."

William leered. "Not to mention more fun."

He blinked and for an instant, saw the two witches sitting naked on his bed, leaning against one another, strawberry and cream, Willow deliciously slender, and his own voluptuous darling, both giving him veiled looks, unfathomable. He blinked again, and the vision vanished.

"I wasn't suggesting—" she began.

"No, I was. Always knew I had lesbian tendencies." He grinned. "I know you love me, and with this love-through-many-lifetimes thing Eliza saw for us, I'd be a cad to say 'no' if you wanted the witch back. Just so's you don't give me the heave-ho."

Tara dropped the cat—gently—and flowed up against William. "Never, never."

THE END