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!

Sunnydale, 2002

Who would have thought fear felt so much like smothering?

It was as though someone were sitting on Tara's chest, squeezing off her breathing. She flailed like a blind person tangled in curtains, scrambling to re-enter the portal she'd just emerged from, but it was closed.

Tara stumbled as she landed, nearly tripping over her earlier self and Spike. He had the other Tara pinned down, shielding her from gunfire.

Blinded by tears, she scrubbed her eyes, straining to see the locked figures on the floor disappearing through the earlier portal. Screaming, "Spike!" she leaped after them, but that portal closed too. Her breath whistled in fear, sounding like the mother of all asthma attacks. She looked around, started violently, and jerked away from a patch of red on the carpet, unable to take in what she saw. The fierce color burned into her brain.

She ducked, remembering flying bullets. Shards of glass from the shattered windowpane tinkled as they fell from the frame.

Then a softer sound, Willow's fingers reflexively moving as her hand crept toward Tara.

Jerking as though she'd been stung, Tara flinched away, and then forced herself to look again. The patch of red was Willow's hair, lying in a darker red pool of blood. With a low cry, Tara flung herself to the floor and frantically tried to stanch the flow but it welled through her fingers and cupped hands.

Black was fading from Willow's leaf-green eyes, and the life was fading, too. Tara thought Willow was gone, but she heard her whisper faintly, "I'm sorry..."

"Willow!" Tara wept. She rocked over the body of her old love.

~~~

Living in Sunnydale, Xander Harris was no stranger to the weird, but to see Warren Mears appear at the side yard entrance, interrupting his reconciliation with Buffy, was upsetting to say the least. When Warren pulled a gun the shock factor ramped up to eleven. Xander had held his own against assorted badness ranging from shoddy contracting to a hellgod, but he froze at the appearance of Warren's gun.

He couldn't protect her.

Openmouthed, he stood rooted to the spot, and then Buffy shoved him to the ground to protect him. Warren opened fire and then fled.

Buffy had been shot! With a shout, Xander fell to his knees and fluttered over her, dabbing futilely at her welling chest wound. His thoughts churned in panic. What was needed? Compression? Heart massage? He struggled to remember health class CPR. Buffy was still breathing, but she was white with shock.

So was Xander.

Like a light bulb appearing over his head came the thought: cell phone! He fumbled it off his belt and punched in 911. They promised an ambulance and told him to apply pressure to the wound and keep her warm.

Tara appeared at the side door, looking like a sleepwalker in her long white dress. Her hands were bloody and so was her dress from the knees down.

"Tara! Not you, too! Did he hurt you, too?"

She gave him a confused look and shook her head. "I heard shouting."

Xander couldn't keep a little sob out of his voice. "Warren shot Buffy." He briefly lifted his hands and showed her the chest wound. He was confused himself. Why was Tara covered in blood and yet walking around unhurt? "What happened to you? Where's Willow?"

Tara said in a soft voice, "Willow's gone."

~~~

During the ambulance ride to the hospital, Xander tried halfheartedly to get a coherent story out of Tara, but in the face of her uncomprehending stare, gave up and concentrated his panicked thoughts on Buffy. His best friend, next to Willow, he thought in anguish. Thank God Willow was gone when Warren paid them his murderous visit! He had no idea what kind of punishment Warren deserved but he hoped it'd be good. He was fairly certain that Sunnydale's incompetent police would not figure prominently in Warren's ultimate fate.

The paramedics unloaded the gurney and rushed Buffy into the ER. They hooked her up to machines but Xander could tell from their tone (their words being incomprehensible to him) that the battle was being lost. He turned to Tara and begged, "Can't you do something?"

She blinked and dragged her attention back to him with a visible effort, her brow furrowed in concentration. "A teleportation spell? A bullet's so small. It can do so much damage, though..." Her voice trailed off and she shut her eyes tightly. She opened her eyes and said in a weirdly everyday tone, "You should try teleporting a dead horse. Now, that's difficult." She gave a little bark of hysterical laughter, and then her voice broke. "There's no life force to aid the spell." Her face crumpled and she began to weep.

Xander stared at her in horror. Clearly, she needed help, too, but Buffy was the priority at the moment.

"Riiiight," he said cautiously. "You want to take a stab at it anyway? I think we're gonna lose her if you don't. Please, Tara!"

Tara seemed to pull herself together, looked up and around, all business. She recited a few words in a language unfamiliar to Xander, and a veil appeared to fall between them and the hospital staff. It was as though they were in an oasis of calm in the middle of the bustling ER. The staff had ordered them to stand back, but now they were able to get close to the gurney, bringing their little cocoon of quiet with them. The doctors and nurses busied themselves with the surrounding equipment, and Xander and Tara had Buffy to themselves for a few moments.

Tara whispered, "It's a mind-clouding spell. It gives us an illusion of privacy. Let me find..." She focused on Buffy's bandaged chest, and then carefully peeled the bandage away. The wound was bubbling with Buffy's labored breathing. Tara closed her eyes and appeared to focus. A tiny fragment of lead, warped with heat and impact, emerged from the wound. Xander snatched it out of the air. A faint cloud of red spray came with it, as though Buffy exhaled a cloud of blood when the bullet left her. The spray dissipated and the hole gradually closed up.

Tara looked troubled. "I got the bullet out, but I'm not good enough to repair the damage that it did. Her Slayer strength should kick in with healing, though. I think she'll be all right."

As if in response to her words, Buffy opened her eyes and lifted her head. "What happened?"

Xander gasped, "Buffy! Oh my God, are you okay?"

"I'm..." Buffy stared around her in confusion. "How'd I get here?"

~~~

Buffy was discharged that afternoon. The doctors could not explain it. What appeared upon triage to be a sucking chest wound was entirely superficial. X-rays showed no bullet in her wound. They could see she was stable so they prescribed pain meds and sent her home.

As they rode home in the hospital shuttle, Xander looked Tara over. She was dressed in an outfit even more bohemian than her usual strange taste. She looked like the bride at retro-hippie wedding. The blood bothered him, though. Buffy and Dawn would need to try and get more out of her when they cleaned her up.

Where was Willow? He thanked God again that Willow had missed Warren's shoot-'em-up. Xander was more certain than ever that there was no chance Warren would be brought to justice, but he couldn't wait to try. Perhaps Willow could do a locator spell.

With a start, Xander remembered that Tara's strange vacancy had not been addressed. "Hey. Tara. You okay?"

She ignored him, and just stared as though in a dream, out the window of the shuttle.

Xander and Buffy exchanged glances. Buffy prodded Tara. "Hey. Are you hurt? Did they look you over?"

Tara turned to them and said, "It stinks here. Diesel fumes. I used to think Sunnydale was a clean little town, but it's...not."

"Huh?" Buffy blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. "Tara," she spoke her name gently. "Give me your hands."

Looking puzzled, Tara showed Buffy her hands. Buffy took Tara's hands in her own and examined them. "I'm going to look at your legs now. Okay?"

Tara didn't give permission, but she didn't appear to object as Buffy raised Tara's bloodstained skirt and ran her hands over Tara's legs. She was covered in dried blood but her own skin was unbroken. It was someone else's blood. With an awful sense of foreboding, Buffy's head shot up. "Hey!" she yelled to the driver. "Can you step on it, buddy?"

The driver pulled up to 1630 Revello Drive. Buffy bounded out of the shuttle, yelling over her shoulder to Xander, "Keep an eye on her." She took the front steps all in one leap and raced through the front door.

Xander helped Tara out of the shuttle and kept a hand on her elbow. "We'll get you cleaned up," he promised, unable to stop focusing on the blood. Uneasily, Xander shook his head. "Come on." He steered her toward the house. Tara was a little too much like her old brain-sucked-by-Glory self for Xander's comfort. He guided her into the house and led her to the couch in the living room, where he sat her down.

He heard Dawn crying upstairs. "Oh God, no," he muttered. He raced upstairs.

Xander couldn't believe his eyes. In Willow and Tara's room, Buffy held her weeping sister, shielding Dawn's face from the sight of Willow's body in a pool of blood. With a shouted, "Oh God no!" Xander now knew whose blood had been on Tara the entire time. He grabbed the sisters and started crying, too.

~~~

Buffy knew she had to pull herself together. "Dawn, sweetheart. Be strong for me, okay? We need to go downstairs. Tara needs us. Xander, will you make the phone call?"

Xander pressed the heel of his palm to each eye and nodded.

Whimpering, Dawn allowed herself to be led from the room and taken downstairs. She launched herself at Tara and they hugged and rocked. Tara, roused from her strange vacancy, started crying too.

Before the coroner's men arrived, Buffy tried to bathe Tara. She did not know what to make of Tara's strange undergarments—strange even for her—especially a canvas pouch sewn to the bottom of a corset she wore. Must be some kind of witchy thing, she thought, remembering Willow's shamefaced admission about keeping 'stinky yak cheese in her bra.' Buffy fought back tears again. Willow!

Tara would not give the corset up. She kept covering herself with handfuls of cloth at neck and thigh. Odd, Buffy didn't remember Tara being excessively modest. She really needed to bathe, though. Buffy knew that Tara and Willow had been going at it pretty hot and heavy yesterday and that morning, but the smell... Faint but unmistakable, it reminded Buffy of— No, that was impossible. Buffy shook her head, and gave up trying to persuade Tara to undress, concentrating on washing Tara's bloodied hands and legs. Head ducked, face and neck shielded with swinging curtains of hair, Tara allowed herself to be dressed in another loose dress that Buffy pulled over her head.

~~~

Later, after the coroner's men carried Willow's body out and papers were signed, Xander spoke strongly. "What do we do now? You think Sunnydale's finest will catch that...that..." He stopped, unable to find a word bad enough for Warren.

Buffy said, "I can't think about that right now. We've just lost—" she stopped, struggling not to cry. "Something will happen, but right now, we've just lost Willow. Don't ask me to make any decisions."

They sat on the couch, huddled around Tara, looking like disaster victims waiting for someone in authority to come and make decisions for them. Dawn was halfway in Tara's lap, and Tara curled her body around Dawn, crooning wordlessly. It seemed to comfort both of them.

Xander said, "I can't... wrap my mind around this. Willow—" He stopped and got control of his voice. "I could have lost you, too!" He reached for Buffy, over Dawn and Tara, and she hugged him around the girls, forming a pile not unlike orphaned kittens. "This is as bad as when we lost your mom."

Buffy nodded, unable to speak, and laid her cheek on Dawn's hair.

~~~

Much later, they tried to eat but gave it up as useless. Dawn ran for the bathroom and got sick, Buffy followed and gave her something to rinse her mouth with, and they returned to their huddle on the couch.

Xander looked lost and scared. "What are we going to do?"

Buffy roused herself from a comforting numbness that had taken hold of her. Sometimes her Slayerness gave her the ability to compartmentalize events too horrific to process otherwise. She shook her head. "We have to contact her parents. Do you know where they are?"

Xander looked at her with apprehension. "They're in Europe right now. But they moved away before that. Didn't you know?"

Buffy shook her head. "She never said. Maybe there's a cell phone number?"

"I'll look in her room, after—" He and Buffy exchanged wordless looks. Someone would need to clean Willow's room. He changed the subject. "I think we'll have to... you know, arrange the funeral. I don't know any other relatives. It's funny, she and I used to pretend that we were orphans. We weren't...but there was an...emotional truth to it." He changed the subject again. "We sure loved your mom." He shut up then, pressing his lips into a thin line and drying his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm gonna go find Kleenex."

Buffy stood up too, stretching the kinks out of her cramped muscles. She preferred action to this crushing helplessness. Tara and Dawn eased down into the vacated space, and Buffy sat down on the floor next to the couch so Dawn wouldn't feel she'd left her.

Xander returned with a box of Kleenex and Buffy took one and blew her nose. She glanced at her sister and Tara. Worn out with grief, they were asleep on the couch, Tara spooned up to Dawn's back.

Xander sat down on the floor by the couch and whispered, "What are we going to do about—" He nodded toward Tara. "Maybe we should have her looked at? A shrink?"

Buffy looked troubled. "She's sure not herself. Can you blame her? Losing the love of her life like that. Maybe she'll—" She stopped. What? Snap out of it? She remembered her devastation when Angel left her after graduation. What if she'd seen him die! "Let's see how she is in the morning. I don't think she should see the room the way it is. Do you want to...?"

Grimly, Xander nodded and they left Dawn and Tara sleeping on the couch.

~~~

A couple of hours later (interspersed with crying and one bout of vomiting), Xander and Buffy finished cleaning Willow's room. Buffy lifted one side of the bed and Xander rolled the carpet up. She mopped with hot water and bleach, while Xander wiped stray splashes of blood and stripped linen off the bed. Finally, they remade the bed and he helped her carry the carpet out back to the garbage. They took turns showering and returned to the living room. Buffy whispered to Xander, "Do you want to stay? Try to get some sleep?"

He whispered back, "I don't want to sleep but I don't want to go, either." He looked lost. "I wish Anya—" and then stopped. That was a lost cause.

As if in response to their whispering, Dawn stirred. "Buffy." She reached for her. Buffy knelt down and hugged her. "Buffy, where's Warren? What if he comes back?"

Behind her on the sofa, Tara moaned.

Buffy looked anxiously at Tara, but spoke reassuringly to Dawn. "Don't worry about him. The police know it was him, and they'll catch him. Xander and I are both eyewitnesses."

Dawn shook her head. "You couldn't catch him all year and you're the Slayer. What if he comes for you? Like you said, you're an eyewitness." Her eyes were huge with apprehension.

"She's got a point," Xander admitted. "Sunnydale police, not the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree."

"What am I supposed to do? Kill him? I'm the Slayer, not the highest court in the land. Warren's human. Let human courts decide."

"Like that's settled anything in the past," Dawn argued. "If you did... maybe it'd be called self-defense. I'd do it myself if I could."

Buffy chided her. "Dawn, don't say that. You don't really feel that way."

"Yes, I do! And you should too. He killed Willow, and made Tara all—"

"Gloryosky," put in Xander.

"—and he nearly killed you. He needs to pay," Dawn finished.

"Out of the mouths of babes."

"Xander." Buffy put on a 'don't interfere with my parenting' look.

"I'm just saying he's just as bad as any vampire you've sent to Dustville."

Tara spoke for the first time since getting off the shuttle. "Where's Spike?"

"Spike's... not on the team anymore." Buffy's expression said clearer than words: 'and I don't want to talk about it.'

Tara hung her head.

Xander, misinterpreting her body language, said, "That's one less thing to worry about."

Tara looked away and then said, "I need to make a phone call."

Buffy looked startled, and she and Xander exchanged hopeful glances.

"Sure," Buffy said. "You know where the phone is?" Then, appearing to think better of how much help Tara needed, added, "Let me get it for you."

She brought the cordless phone and Tara took it, handling it like it was an unfamiliar object, turning it over and looking at it blankly.

"Do you need help dialing?" Buffy asked gently.

Tara looked about to cry again, and whispered, "I don't know the number."

Buffy put her arm around Tara's shoulders. "We'll look it up for you. Who do you want to talk to?"

Tara started to cry again while they all watched in chagrin. After she got a shaky hold of herself, she said, "It's overseas, but I think you can reverse the charges."

Xander said, "You want to talk to Giles?" then added to Buffy, "Maybe calling him's not a bad idea?"

"No, not Mr. Giles." Tara clouded up again, and her lips trembled. "I'm not sure who—"

Buffy said urgently, more to the group than to Tara, "We need to get you some help, too. I can't believe that the hospital let her sit there and did nothing— "

Tara said, "Can we look it up? If Willow were here—" She bit her lip.

Dawn interrupted, "Let me. I can Google it."

Buffy and Xander looked relieved that the solution might be this easy. They followed Dawn into the dining room, where Willow's computer and gear covered one end of the table. They looked at Willow's familiar spot, and none spoke for a long moment. Buffy squeezed Dawn's shoulder, and then Dawn took a seat. "Okay, who am I looking for?"

Tara looked blank, then whispered, "I don't know. It's been so long... I'm not sure what they're calling themselves now." She looked about to cry again, and then said, "Can you look up 'The Westcott Select Academy for Young Ladies'?"

Buffy and Xander exchanged worried looks.

Dawn typed that into Google.com, and clicked the first hit. She skimmed the page and read snippets aloud, "'Founded in 1862 by Sir Charles Maxwell, a naturalized British subject born Kirill Mikhailovich Goldschmidt in Vladivostok... The first school of its kind to be entirely administered by women.... in 1881, Sir Charles turned over administration of the school to his wife the Hon. Ann Maxwell, and went on to create the hugely profitable investment consortium known today as the Westcott Investment Group, Ltd. ' and there's a link to its web page. You want that? I don't see a link for the school."

"See if you can find the school. Or a home phone number." Tara appeared to be making an effort to hold herself together.

"A home number—right!" Dawn snorted, and then backpedalled, saying gently, "I'm sorry, Tara. Hey, here's the school's page! It's called Westcott Women's College now. I just had to dig for it. Buffy, pass me the phone."

Buffy handed it over and Dawn dialed.

Xander whispered, "What time is it in England right now?"

Buffy shrugged.

They heard the tinny sound of the phone ringing, and Dawn handed the phone to Tara, who took it and held it like she had never seen one before. Dawn took the phone back and gently held it up to Tara's ear.

Tara listened, and then her eyes grew round. "Miss Harkness?"

~~~

Warren Mears was not seriously upset that the Slayer wasn't dead after all. He got the news in the demon bar where he'd gone to announce his triumph. An updated bulletin said that what appeared to be a gunshot victim was only a person hit by flying debris during a random shooting. No mention of the shooter. He was more upset that he wasn't a hero to the bar's denizens. He beat a hasty retreat, nonplussed but not seriously disturbed.

That night, the ten o'clock news gave out that Willow Rosenberg had been shot and killed by a stray bullet from that morning's shooting. Killing Willow didn't bother him. In fact, he was relieved. Willow was the one he feared the most, next to the Slayer. (Her reputation as a dabbler in dark magicks preceded her.) He knew he'd better finish Buffy off. With the Slayer out of the way, the rest were no threat. Then he'd collect Andrew...or not. He enjoyed the weaker man's adulation, but also subscribed to the adage, "He travels fastest who travels alone."

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Let Andrew and Jonathan sit in jail. That way he wouldn't have to divide up the spoils. Jail was a good place for weaklings anyway.

Warren packed the few things he wanted to keep as he left town: a couple of changes of clothes, the trio's rare collectables, and a whole lot of cash. He reloaded his gun, and pocketed the odd bit of additional firepower.

He didn't head out of town yet. There was one last thing he needed to do.

Warren headed to 1630 Revello Drive.

~~~

Tara's eyes widened even further and the pulse tapped wildly in her throat. "Miss Harkness?"

Eliza's brisk West County accent sounded far away over the crackling transatlantic connection. "Yes, my dear. So good to know you arrived safely!"

"I... Can I...?" Tara looked around the dining room, seeing her friend's confused expressions. She needed privacy. There was no way she could explain so they'd understand what was going on, and they would never believe her even if she did. "I need to use the bathroom." She scuttled away, clutching the cordless phone.

Safe in the bathroom, Tara cradled the phone. She whispered, "Willow's dead. He told me about it, but actually seeing it..." her voice broke, and it was several minutes before she got control of her voice enough to continue, "...not only that... I think he's dead, too. He said he'd catch up, but he didn't. Were you able to...?" She couldn't continue.

"No, dear, it wasn't possible." Eliza was quiet for a moment. "However, he is, well, I cannot say 'alive and well,' since he's neither alive nor has he been well. He's missed you terribly, poor soul. But he is in one piece and in this world."

"Oh!" Tara's voice broke again, and she began crying with relief. "Where is he?"

"Here, now!" Eliza spoke strongly. "I don't keep track of him. He's attending to business, as must you. You are stronger than you think, Tara. What did we teach you about focusing and staying in the moment? What is happening at this very moment?"

"I'm sitting on the toilet talking to you," Tara answered accurately.

"No, I mean, what are you facing? Willow is dead, and the next step is...?"

Obediently, Tara took a steadying breath and began, "We have to contact her parents, except they're out of the country, so I don't think—" she gulped. "There's a funeral to arrange and pay for, and I don't think there's any money for that."

"Money isn't a problem. Charles took excellent care of us financially, and you too."

"How is he?"

"Dear—" Eliza began tentatively, as though she were at a loss for words.

"How are you all? I miss you. Can I come back?" Tara sounded like lost child.

Eliza spoke slowly. "Dear... it's been 122 years since you left even if it only feels like a moment to you. Remember? Charles aged and died, as did my sister and my nieces. I'm only here myself through the most extraordinary efforts. You cannot come here; you have a role to play there and if you concentrate hard enough, you'll know that. Now back to business. You were saying?"

"Oh! Warren—Willow's killer—" Tara stopped again, to get control of her voice "—he shot Buffy, too—"

"Is she all right?" Eliza interrupted.

"Yes, I teleported the bullet, and she—"

"Oh, right. With her Slayer healing, she'll be all right. Oh, well done, my dear!"

"We're going to have to find Warren, because the Sunnydale police..." She trailed off, unable to express the hopelessness she felt.

"Are not the ablest?" Eliza asked with a touch of scorn. "That's the corrupting influence of the Hellmouth for you. Well, I fancy you'll sort him out. You know we rarely follow official channels—"

"Buffy doesn't want to take the law into her own hands."

Eliza's tone was very brisk. "Indeed! She's very young, isn't she? Never mind. Let me speak to her."

Tara interrupted frantically, "But where is...?" She began to cry, but stopped with a hiccup, "That's right, you don't know."

"Dear, he's away on business, and you must attend to business as well. Doing what's right in front of you, doing what is required, and taking responsibility. You can do this, dear. You've had a terrible shock, but you're strong."

Tara's voice was almost entirely gone, but she muttered, "I don't think I want to live without—"

"Nonsense! That is not the girl I know talking. You have a responsibility to uphold. A responsibility that is yours alone, that we know you can handle. That's why we sent you back. You can do this. Now let me speak with the Slayer."

~~~

Tara emerged from the half-bath off the kitchen. Buffy and the others had left the dining room and waited in the living room with expectant looks. Tara approached the sofa, holding the phone toward Buffy. "She wants to talk to you."

As Tara began to hand the phone to Buffy, a movement through the front window caught her attention. She saw a van pull up across the street, its lights dowsed before it came to a stop. A dark figure emerged from the driver's door, crossed the street, and came to a stop on Buffy's front yard. The dark shape merged with the shadows cast by the large shade trees on the lawn. The only indication anyone was there was the faint light glinting on a shiny object he held. Trembling, Tara dropped the phone.

~~~

During her conversation with Tara, Eliza wrestled briefly with her conscience, an unaccustomed event for her. The girl was so fragile! Perhaps Eliza should have been there, or sent William. Perhaps Willow's killing could even have been averted. Eliza knew that time traveling 122 years and emerging upon what must have been a horrific shock would traumatize anyone. She also knew that Spike was in a fever to see Tara again.

Eliza had sent him to sort out the Cleveland hellmouth.

It was not that Eliza was in love with Tara anymore. She recognized her infatuation years back for what it had been: a passing attraction for someone new and fresh, talented spiritually, and glowing with the first flush of her love for William. Eliza had wanted what she felt he did not deserve. Well, time and her partnership with William proved her wrong. She could admit that much.

It was cruel to keep them apart.

Eliza heard Tara gasp as the phone dropped to the floor. She winced at the squawk the phone made as it bounced on the hearth. (She might be 164 years old, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing.) She faintly heard several voices say, "Tara? What is it? Is someone out there?" and knew that she'd better investigate.

From previous dealings with Spike during various supernatural crises, Eliza had acquainted herself with Sunnydale and its environs. There was no time for meditation and soul travel. She opened a portal on the Slayer's front lawn.

~~~

Warren stuck the pistol in his waistband and readied the paralysis bomb. He felt a flicker of regret at having omitted a bazooka. Pitching had never been his strongest skill (getting picked last for baseball was more his speed) and he knew the grenade had to make it cleanly through the front window and into the living room if he wanted to gain the upper hand. He didn't like the odds of facing the Slayer and her pals unprepared. Once he'd stunned them, he could walk in and pick them off at his leisure. Well, after he had some fun with the Slayer.

After carefully engaging the handgun's safety (he didn't want to lose his other valuables, as he'd be needing them soon) he looked up and saw a voluptuous blonde girl in a long blue dress, silhouetted by lamplight in the middle of the living room. She looked up and saw him standing on the lawn. Her mouth moved as though she gasped.

"Mama!" he breathed softly. She was Willow's girlfriend, Tara. He remembered they'd been in the same math class at UC Sunnydale, before he'd dropped out for the full-time pursuit of robotics and world domination. He'd had a crush on her back then. Oh, this was going to be fun! He wondered if her revulsion at being dominated by a man would add to the experience. He couldn't wait to find out.

Just as Warren wound up for the pitch, a fiery dot appeared about two yards in front of him, growing rapidly into a burning circle about six feet in diameter. Warren thought briefly that it resembled something a trained tiger might jump through. But within the circle was no tiger. A lady stood in the portal, tall and imposing, white-haired, straight of spine, and burning-eyed. Like lightening striking, the air crackled with ozone.

Warren unwound. "What the—"

The woman snapped, "Vincire!"

Warren found himself paralyzed by invisible bonds. He bellowed, "Get this off me, you crazy old—" but she merely pointed to his lips and hissed "Bizaan-ayaa." Warren was silenced, collapsing to the ground as though he'd been pole-axed.

~~~

In the living room, Xander shouted, "Get down! " But Buffy had already pulled Tara off her feet, shoved Dawn to the floor, and dashed out the front door.

"You're hasty, my dear. You should look before charging into danger as you do. But that's the Slayer in you." Eliza looked Buffy over. She "remembered" her, from the glimpses she'd had of Spike's memories so long ago. She was a little thing, dainty as a china shepherdess, but with a stern no-nonsense air about her that Eliza found attractive. She knew that the black-and-white worldview Buffy held came from her strong moral convictions and her vocation. Her uprightness was tempered with an ability to compartmentalize the different roles she played, Slayer, sister, friend, and lover. She was fierce as an Amazon and as pretty as they come. No wonder Spike had been so besotted with her.

"Well, you clearly know who I am," Buffy agreed. "And you are...?" She trailed off, and looked down with amazement at Warren, lying immobilized on her lawn. "Warren Mears." Buffy spoke his name like a judge rendering sentence.

"I'm sorry, Miss Summers. I haven't introduced myself. I am Miss Eliza Harkness. I was speaking with Tara—"

"In England." Buffy's voice was flat with disbelief.

"Yes. I heard the commotion and thought I should drop by and see if you needed a hand."

Xander stood on the front steps, gaping at the shimmering portal, then at Miss Harkness and then back at the portal. He finally gained control of voice to mutter something.

Eliza said, "What, young man? Speak up." She glanced at the portal, and in an aside, muttered, "evanesco." It disappeared.

In spite of the dim streetlight, Xander looked as though he might be blushing. "I said, 'there is such a thing as a tesseract.'" He looked embarrassed to be quoting from a kid's book.

Buffy said "Huh?"

"A Wrinkle In Time, Buffy," supplied Xander.

"Saves nine?" Buffy prodded the prone Warren with her toe.

Eliza looked dryly amused. "I read that to my great, great, great, great, great, great-nieces. However, I'm 164, not a 'paltry few billion,' though 'wild nights are my glory,' I'll grant you." She offered her hand to the speechless young man. He had the startled eyes and dogged look of a hopelessly ordinary, though good, person assisting in an extraordinary mission. "You must be Mr. Harris. Why don't you and Miss Summers carry this..." she curled her lip "...person inside and we can continue this conversation where we're less conspicuous? With your permission, of course." She looked expectantly at Buffy.

"Okay." Buffy shut her open mouth and took Warren's shoulders. Xander took his ankles.

"One thing," Eliza cautioned. "I want to talk to you both at length about the upcoming crisis you face, but not in front of Tara and the child. There is something I need to do, but first we'll need to get Mr. Mears out of sight, and then I will ask you to bring him to me. But you'll have to arrange a safe place for Tara and your sister whilst we speak."

Buffy, unaccustomed to being managed, began, "Listen, lady, I'm grateful to you for wrapping up Warren and delivering him to me but—"

"Do you have a better plan?" Eliza, accustomed to doing little but managing, gave Buffy a cool grey stare.

Buffy's eyes widened with dislike but she made no reply. Eliza knew she would resist being given orders in her own home, but the young woman would need to accept it, and quickly.

Buffy and Xander carried Warren inside, and Tara flew into Eliza's arms. "There, there, child," Eliza said soothingly, patting Tara's back. To Buffy and Xander she directed, "Put him on the sofa, and pull the drapes." She whispered in Tara's ear, "It's all right. You're safe... and remember, so is he." Tara made no response. "Dear?" She looked at Tara in growing concern.

With unnecessary roughness, Xander dropped Warren's lifeless legs. They thumped off the arm of the couch and banged on the floor. Warren lie sprawled uncomfortably slantwise, glaring mutely at Xander, arms and legs invisibly bound. Losing control, Xander yelled, "Sucking chest wound, buddy!" He got right up in Warren's face. "Know what else sucks? You!" He thumped Warren's chest for emphasis, hard.

Buffy looked in two minds about intervening, but bullying the helpless might be where she drew the line. "Yeah, I don't like him either, Xander, what with the near-fatal wound and all but—"

To forestall an imminent explosion, Eliza said to them all, "Children, please accept my condolences on the loss of your dear friend. I am here to help in any way I can."

Tension defused, their eyes dropped, and Buffy and Xander muttered their thanks. Tears overflowed Dawn's eyes, and Tara left Eliza's arms to go her. Tara began to cry, too, soundlessly. Eliza would need to see to her, too. Perhaps William could... but first things first.

"Very well," Eliza spoke briskly, "I need to ready a place for Mr. Mears. I'll open a portal in an hour. I offer you a way out of your dilemma, due to the likelihood that he will never be brought to justice. My group will contain him, keep him from doing harm—which he seems to excel at—see to his humane re-education, and attempt to teach him empathy, which he is sorely lacking." She looked around the room. "Are we of one mind?"

Xander agreed with alacrity, while Buffy nodded but looked dubious, as though she were not used to solutions arriving so neatly on her doorstep. On the easy chair, Tara rocked Dawn on her lap while their tears slowed. Neither answered.

Eliza opened another portal, this time without the burning circumference. Xander commented on this, and Eliza made a dismissive gesture toward Warren, saying, "The other circumstance called for smoke and mirrors, I felt." She nodded to the group at large and stepped through the portal.

It disappeared with a faint pop.

~~~

"There's only one place to take them." Buffy looked grim.

Xander answered after a beat, "What? Are you nuts? After what Spike did—"

"Xander, I've had enough bossing around for one night." She widened her eyes at him and gave tiny shake of the head. "I'll get the coats." She left the room.

Xander followed her, muttering, "You're not really gonna leave them alone with Mr. Attempted-Rape?"

"He wouldn't hurt Dawn. I—he physically can't. Besides, he wouldn't. He likes Tara and he loves Dawn."

"Well, after the other night, I'd say all bets are off on what he's capable of doing."

"Dawn feels safe with him and Tara is a mess. I'm not leaving them alone in this house, after— We don't have a choice. Right now, he's all we've got."

Xander looked disgusted but shut up.

~~~

On the ride to the cemetery, Tara looked more alert. Not only was she willing to go to Spike, she seemed positively eager. Xander and Buffy exchanged baffled looks.

Xander parked outside the cemetery, grabbed weapons, and they made their way to Spike's crypt. Buffy shoved open the door without knocking. "Spike?"

From the armchair in front of the TV, Clem exploded in a shower of junk food. "Suffering cats!"

Buffy was nearly as startled. "Wha—?"

Clem clutched his chest. "Where did you come from?"

"Oh. Sorry, Clem, I—I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's, uh, it's okay, you just snuck up on me is all." He chuckled ruefully. "I was napping."

Buffy apologized, "I made you spill your snacks." He really was the most harmless demon.

"Nah, don't worry about it." He waved nonchalantly, wiggling his loose skin. "Like I need any more of this." He waved at the rest of them. "Hi, guys."

Dawn gave him a tiny wave, but Xander just scanned the crypt warily, as though Spike were about to leap out at the girls. Tara looked around expectantly, but said nothing, worry growing in her eyes.

Clem spoke hospitably, "Can I get you anything? I was about to mix up some Country Time."

"We're looking for Spike, actually," Buffy admitted.

Clem looked puzzled. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"He left town."

Buffy's face fell. "Oh."

So did Tara's.

Dawn spoke for the first time. "He just took off?"

Clem was expansive. "That's why I'm staying here for him. Sweet pad like this goes empty for a few days; you'll lose it for sure. Plus, I don't have a TV." He looked around, smiling with satisfaction.

Buffy was taken aback that he'd left without saying— Of course, after the terrible altercation in the bathroom, it was probably all for the best, but—

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you. He kind of left in a hurry, I guess." He went on making hospitable noises, but Buffy cut him off.

"We're fine, thank you. Um, you could do us a favor. Do you think maybe Dawn and Tara could hang out here with you for a while? We have some stuff we need to do—kind of an emergency—and, uh, I really don't want them to be alone."

Dawn reiterated, "I still don't see why we just can't—"

Buffy cut her off. "Dawn. We've been through this." She asked Clem, "What do you think?"

"No problem! I'd love the company." He smiled at Dawn. "Do you like Parcheesi?"

"Sure."

"Tara?" Clem looked puzzled when Tara didn't answer.

He looked from Buffy to Dawn. "She okay?" In an undertone, he added, "She's not herself, is she?" He gently took one of Tara's elbows while Buffy took the other, and they sat her down in the easy chair.

Xander seemed to be channeling Military Man, and returned from prowling around lower level of the crypt. Grim-faced, he still hadn't spoken.

Buffy hugged Dawn. "We'll be back as soon as we can. I promise." She tried to catch the eye of the unresponsive Tara.

"Bye." Dawn gave her a small smile.

"Bye." Buffy smiled back. To Clem she said sincerely, "Thank you."

Clem nodded to her. Xander opened the door for Buffy, but before leaving she turned back and asked Clem, almost as though she were ashamed, "Did he say when he'd be back?"

"Spike? No. Only that he could be gone a while."

Buffy's nodded tightly and left. No-one looked at Tara.

Outside the crypt, Buffy spoke urgently. "Xander, we have to hurry. She said she'd open the portal in an hour."

~~~

Tara sat in Clem's easy chair, hugging herself and rocking. Where was Spike? He said he'd catch up to her. Miss Harkness said the coven couldn't send him after all, and then for Tara to arrive as she had...Willow! ...no, don't think about her... think, if he'd had to wait for her... he would wait for her, wouldn't he?

He would have to have endured—how many years had it been, Miss Harkness had said? Funny, she'd changed so little. Her face was wrinkled and her hair had gone white but her essence was changed only in that it was stronger. She fairly radiated power. Why had she not been able to send him to her? Think, now. Miss Harkness said to focus. If Spike had had to live all those years alone, waiting to come back to her, would he have taken care to keep in one piece so he could get back? Or would he have been as devastated as she was now, and gone recklessly charging out into one fight after another? Would he have survived? He did survive—Miss Harkness said so. But she doesn't know where he is. Does she really know he's okay?

There was so much against it: Angelus and Darla thirsting for revenge, his own reputation as William the Bloody making him the focus of generations of slayers, and his more recently-minted souled self making him a target for demons. His own loneliness and hopelessness making him careless, perhaps? If he'd survived, wouldn't he have been here today?

What had Eliza said? He was safe? Oh, no. Clearly not. Tara had felt hope when Xander drove them to the cemetery (but wasn't the crypt the home of the other Spike?—her Spike's earlier self?) And again, no. No Spike. Where was he? There was only one answer. He must be dust.

It wasn't fair. Today was her wedding day. It was the happiest day of her life and the cruelest. Her thoughts went round and round in a circle, digging a little deeper with each revolution.

~~~

After the latest wannabe Big Bad was quashed in Cleveland, Spike booked a red-eye home.This time next year, Cleveland would be crawling with newly fledged slayers, and not a moment too soon, he thought with distaste.It was an ugly town with all the defects of any blighted Rust Belt city: poverty and pollution, but none of the charms of a big city.He couldn't wait to get back to San Francisco.

He drank and napped for most of the flight but awoke for the landing.He especially enjoyed the last few minutes before touchdown.The plane dropped low, almost skimming the surface of San Francisco Bay, the lights from the entire South Bay Area glittering across the water.The wheels bumped once, twice, and with a roar, the braking jet juddered to a stop.

Spike was first off the plane.He always flew first class, liking the booze, bigger seats, and attentive stews.No, that's not what they were called these days—flight attendants, he reminded himself.He'd lived through the first years of the twenty-first century twice now—best watch his PC "Ps and Qs."He'd be seeing Tara soon.

Fingering the ring he wore on a chain around his neck, Spike allowed himself the rare luxury of a fantasy of her.Was she as beautiful as he remembered, or had memory idealized her?No matter—he'd find out soon enough.He tabled persistent worries about getting to know one another all over again.To her, it would still be their wedding day.Their wedding night!

His eardrums popped as he debarked.The sea-level air in San Francisco felt softer and more humid than Cleveland, its polluted lake notwithstanding.He grabbed a cab and got home in good time, as the 2:00am bar rush was past.

Luckily, his associates had finished remodeling the garden-level apartment of Spike's Queen Anne house.He used to sleep in the big south-facing master bedroom upstairs, but one earthquake too many taught him that no amount of drapery would shield him from the sun when the curtain rods fell down.With San Franciscan nonchalance, Spike figured it was a small price to pay to live in the best city on earth, and went to ground.

The apartment was comprised of the old laundry room under the kitchen, part of the tuck-under garage (Spike drove small, expensive cars these days, so it was no sacrifice) and a bit of tunnel.Gary, the group's scholar, had pinpointed the city's nearest tunnel and they excavated a side tunnel to join it.It was sealed with a demon-proof door and shielded with the coven's best protection spells.Gary archly referred to the apartment as "the priest hole," an allusion to Spike's celibate status these days.

Their psychic, Gary's partner Dan, had decorated it.He had voted for subterranean Bauhaus but Spike overruled him, remembering Tara's fondness for antiques.The apartment was therefore tastefully traditional—mostly—with the odd objets d'art acquired during Spike's travels.North-facing French doors opened onto a walled garden.The night air was cool and damp.

Spike built a fire, microwaved a pint of blood, which he drank while checking messages, and then took a shower.He went to bed but was too wound up from the flight to get to sleep right away.He listened to night sounds: far-off traffic, the soft splash of water in the garden pond, raccoons fishing for his koi, most likely.Otherwise, the neighborhood was still, and Dan and Gary, sleeping in Spike's old bedroom upstairs, were dead to the world.Birdie's nephew, a part-time USF student and full-time demon hunter, lived on the top floor, and rounded out their team.Lad's room was too quiet—must not be home yet.Oh, right, he'd gone camping in the Sierras.It was with sharp reluctance that Spike agreed to Rain coming to stay in the first place—it reminded him too much of his failure to protect young Will.But Rain was nothing like Will, tough as hickory and seemingly unkillable.

Spike had just dropped off to sleep, when he startled awake.Dan had padded downstairs and was about to knock when Spike opened the door.With exaggerated patience, Spike said, "Yeah?"

Dan rumpled up his hair and looked puzzled."I was dreaming.Don' remember much, which is weird for me.Just a... real sense of unease, like just before the Loma Prieta semi-Big One."

Spike snorted."You're as useful as those earthquake-detecting pets."

Dan shook his head and looked more baffled, then shrugged."That's all."He gave Spike a brief hug, and shuffled back upstairs.He stopped at the top of the stairs."Oh, and a girl," he added.

"A girl?"

"Yup."Dan yawned."In a red and white dress."

"Candy-striper, huh?" Spike asked."She pretty?"

"I'm prettier."Dan yawned again, until Spike's jaws ached in sympathy."'Night, Spike.Good to have you home."He went back to bed.

Spike's bedside phone rang shrilly.

~~~

"The fuck!" Spike bellowed."You were gonna tell me when she got here!"

"It's magick, not rocket science!" Eliza protested."We could see the point in time we were sending her to, but not the date.It's not like those fanciful movies you're so fond of, with the pages of a calendar indicating the passage of time.We...'nailed it,' so to speak.She arrived at the moment you and she—your previous selves—departed for 1880.She telephoned to say she'd arrived," she finished lamely.

After a wordless growl of frustration and rage, Spike groaned, "Oh, you cocked up this time, Harkness, and so did I."He writhed inwardly, thinking of Tara's shock and disorientation. Not to mention the danger she'd been in!

"Don't swear at me, young man—" Eliza began frostily, but Spike cut her off.

"Where is she?"

"The Slayer and Mr. Harris tucked her and the Slayer's sister away before delivering this...package...to me."Spike could hear her revulsion."I need you here—"

"Yeah, well I need to see my wife, so cough up!Where is she?"

"She's with her friends—she's all right for now.I need you here right now."Eliza sounded unsure of herself, something Spike almost never heard in her voice."Never saw a young couple so taken up with one another," she muttered.

Not distracted by being referred to as one-half of a "young couple," Spike spoke witheringly, "You really don't get it, do you?"She did not reply."Oh, very well, open a door."He'd waited 122 years; he supposed he could wait another couple of hours.It was the middle of the night in California anyway.Best let Tara sleep.

"Come on over," Eliza said, relief evident in her voice.She opened a portal.

He stepped forward, into Eliza's small study at the coven."What's wrong with your place?Construction dust?"It was a little joke between them, Spike's apartment having taken the better part of a year to build.

"I've magicked it into a jail cell.The 'package' to which I referred is Warren Mears, Willow's killer, and as you well know, Tara's killer in the alternate universe Willow sent you back to remedy."She looked worried, and Spike's unease grew into real concern.

"Get to the point."He was in a fever to get back to Tara, but it looked as though the only way would be sort Warren out first.

"I've used a binding spell, removed his weapons, charms, talismans—any sort of magickal supplies, and even had Mr. Harris perform a," she spoke with distaste, "body cavity search."She shuddered theatrically.

"Bet he enjoyed that."Despite himself, Spike smirked."He's not all that formidable, is he?"

Eliza looked away, and then spoke reluctantly, "I took a look.Into his mind, as I did when I met you."She looked grieved but implacable."He is irredeemable.I dislike him as much as I used to dislike you.I don't know what to do with him.I cannot commit the ultimate sin, any more than I could against you.I wish you would—"

"Execute him?"

She looked away.

Spike smiled grimly."Sometimes it's handy knowing the likes of me, eh?What's one more black mark on my spotted escutcheon, eh?Okay, lead me to him."

"It's sunny, as you can see.I'll have to open another portal, into the cottage.It's shuttered, so you'll be safe, but be careful of him.He may try to escape."

"Yeah, yeah, let's just do this.Dying to get back to my wife, here."

She nodded and spoke the words, and a door opened into her stone cottage beyond the beech grove.

Before stepping through the portal, Spike turned to her and asked, "There isn't any chance you got it wrong?"

Eliza raised a hand and the doorway closed like a camera iris.She seemed to understand his moral qualms."Any chance he's not really guilty, you mean?"

Almost sheepishly, Spike nodded.Before he'd gotten the soul, he'd have had no reluctance tearing Warren's head off."Not goin' soft on you.Just want to make sure we've got it right."

"You have my word that that is what is evident from his thoughts.When I first clapped eyes on him, the creature was positively gloating, although not any longer.I imagine he'll do or say most anything to get you to free him.Three more things: the Slayer and Mr. Harris are eyewitnesses.While you may not be fond of Mr. Harris, he strikes me as reliable.And as you know, the Slayer is upright and honest."

Spike nodded.

"He was without remorse over killing Willow this morning," she continued, her face hard as granite.

Spike's mouth twisted as though he wanted to spit.

Eliza went on, "The last thing is...he was planning on raping your wife and the Slayer, before killing them.He's got a taste for killing women, I'm afraid."

Spike's usually mobile features shut down.He listened without expression."Right."

Eliza opened the door into the cottage once more and Spike stepped on through.

~~~

"Spike?" Warren sounded boyish and eager. "I wouldn't have recognized you, with the hair. That's a good look on you."

Spike smiled easily. "Figured I'd move with the times. Always been my strength." He looked around at Eliza's cottage. It was much the same, though unobtrusively modernized, and bore evidence of Warren trying to escape. He gave a little laugh. "Hell of a place, Warren. It's like a kryptonite cell built to hold Superman."

"It is, isn't it?" Warren laughed nervously. "Hey, I didn't know you'd read Superman!" he exclaimed, seizing what appeared to be an opportunity to be Spike's pal.

Smarmy little shit. "I found it lacking in subtlety," Spike said, not paying much attention, waiting for Warren to tip his hand.

Predictably, Warren returned to his misfortune. "The old lady thinks I've done something bad. Hurt Willow...Rosenberg? I don't even know the girl! I may have been...well, lurking on Buffy's lawn last night but that's easy enough to explain. I've got a little—well, you won't tell on me, will you?— crush, that is." He gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

Spike chuckled chummily with Warren, who looked more relieved as moments passed and began to laugh with him. "Not at all!" Spike reassured him. "Done a little lurkin' myself years past, crushin' on the Slayer." He lowered his voice intimately. "She's a hot one, isn't she, Warren?"

"Oh, yeah," Warren agreed fervently. He warmed to the topic. "You know, Spike, you and me, we could go places. Get ourselves a couple of girls, hell, help ourselves to pretty near anything we wanted!" He looked Spike over, as though wondering if he could let him into his inner circle. "I had a couple of—" he seemed to weigh the risk, and spoke daringly, "—partners in crime." Spike didn't look shocked by this, so Warren continued, "They were soft and stupid. I need some muscle. Someone with a brain. We could—"

"Where are they now?" Spike interrupted. Get Warren off girls, 'fore I do him here and now, he thought in disgust.

"Sitting in jail—"

"Sort of like you. 'Cept, they'll get a trial. Unlike you." Spike's voice was expressionless.

"I know! It isn't fair." Warren gave Spike another appraising look. "I could help you, Spike...if you'll help me. That chip—I figured out—it's for behavior modification, isn't it? My partners and I discovered an abandoned lab when we were scoping out a new lair. They were doing experiments on non-human life forms, vampires—am I right? When you had me examine your chip, I saved the data. I could deactivate it."

Spike pretended to consider Warren's offer, while wondering why he didn't just do it—twist the fucker's head off. The Initiative had removed his chip 125 years before, during Spike's previous journey through the 21st century, so no worries there. He was quite capable of harming a human, and though Warren was human (if entirely lacking in humanity), at this stage it was probably best that Warren didn't know that. Warren was the same age as Tara, and as different from her as possible. They're like snowflakes, humans, every one of them made from the same stuff but completely different.

Still talking, Warren sat down in Eliza's hearthside rocker, gesturing expansively toward the other chair. Spike fought back the urge to knock Warren into the fire. With distaste, he took the proffered seat, loathing the mockery of mateyness. He reminded himself he'd had enough experience infiltrating evil organizations. He could do this in his sleep. They were still at the "job interview" stage of the charade.

The faint whiff of fear emanating from Warren had subsided and he wore a fat pleased expression, his huge ego apparently congratulating him that he was going to get away with it. Why not just send him to Hell right now? Spike thought, picturing Warren's shock and horror upon arrival. He was a little bothered by his own dilatoriness. Was it only because Warren was human? Spike may have had a soul, but he lacked a bleeding heart. Did the poisonous little pustule have a bad childhood? Bad enough to explain this? Tara had been dealt a bum hand, too, but didn't work out her issues with mind control, sexual domination (hell, world domination) and megalomania. As always, power-mad pipsqueaks with delusions of world domination.

He steered his thoughts back to Warren's babbling. Warren had Spike high on a mountaintop, showing him the kingdoms of the earth. At Warren's mention of the Buffybot, Spike said softly, "Back to the women."

"Oh, yes!" Warren responded eagerly. "A 'bot's good but only so far. There's the utter compliance, which is nice, and lubrication—slipperiness—and body temperature are easy to achieve, but what's hard is getting that... randomness that women have, hell, excel at! Know what I mean?" He all but dug Spike in the ribs.

Suppressing an urge to smack him, Spike gave him his best approximation of a smile of evil complicity.

Warren unloaded his big guns. "Tonight, I saw the most beautiful—Spike, I know you like Buffy, but imagine taller, softer, bigger—" His hands described chest-high parabolas. "She's a dyke, but that doesn't matter. I developed this little gizmo, a cerebral dampener, and what or who she wants is not in the picture. You're a vampire, Spike. She could be a girlfriend and tasty treat, until you got tired of her and wanted more. And don't we want more!" He leaned in and said intimately, "I don't mind sloppy seconds."

A low humming in Spike's brain blotted out Warren's noise. With vampiric speed, Spike had Warren out of the chair and pinned up against the stone hearth. "Shut up! Just...shut up." He was not aware of it, but his face had changed. He leaned in, his stare fixing Warren like a pinned bug.

"Wha—? I don't get it. We're partners, aren't we? Oh! You want to be the boss. You can lead it. I had my turn, and it didn't go that well. I don't mind. You can do it." The preceding whiff of fear that Warren had given off now grew to a positive stink.

Did he have to spell it out for the boy? "Warren, you've been tried and found guilty. I'm here to carry out the sentence. If you have any messages you want delivered, any peace you want to make 'tween you and your maker, I'll give you a moment. Might do your immortal soul some good, but 't'won't keep me from doin' you."

"No! I heard you—talking to the old lady. You don't think I'm guilty. I haven't done anything except build a few toys. It's just—stuff! Petty crimes. I haven't hurt anyone!" Warren chattered, wide-eyed with panic. There was a strong smell of urine as his bladder cut loose.

Spike held Warren one-handed, fingers tight on his windpipe, not squeezing too hard. Yet. With the other hand, he counted off on his fingers. "One. Your girlfriend. The one you killed and tried to pin on the Slayer."

Warren choked, "It was... an accident!"

Spike ignored him and went on, "Two. In another timeline, you killed my wife. 'Cept, she wasn't my wife yet." He locked burning eyes on Warren's darting ones. "Three. Willow went mad with grief, sent me back to fetch her darling. My darling, now. Yes, Warren, that lovely girl you saw tonight is my wife. You shit." He gave Warren's windpipe a little squeeze and continued, "Four. Willow's spell sent the girl and me traveling through time, for which I might thank you, but the getting back to her is the most exquisite torture I've ever endured. So I do not thank you." He squeezed harder. "Five. You killed Willow and put my girl in danger." Warren's eyes bulged with terror as Spike continued to compress his windpipe, saying, "You exposed her to something she should not have had to see—her ex-lover dying in front of her."

A fresh stink told him that the terror had reached Warren's bowels. Time to squash this insect. "Warren, I don't think there's any hope for you. One thing I am certain of, though. You're not hurting any more women." With a sound like a cracking egg, he crushed Warren's windpipe and threw him thrashing to the ground. Warren's mouth moved helplessly as he tried to breathe, drowning in his own blood, and Spike watched the horror and shock fade from Warren's eyes as he passed out of this world and into whatever awaited him in the next.

~~~

From the scrying mirror in her study at the school, Eliza had watched what transpired between Spike and Warren at her cottage. She was drained from all the recent spell-casting, and teleporting any time soon was out of the question. Instead, she rode home in an electric cart that Birdie had pinched from a nearby golf course. Too tired to notice that some wag had affixed a bumper sticker bearing "My other car is a broom" to the back, she climbed in and quietly putt-putted the mile and a half home and parked in front of the cottage.

She spoke the necessary words undoing the protection spells, and the wards guarding her little home fell away.  Spike opened the door, standing well away from the square of sunlight that flooded the doorway.

"Sorry I can't hand you out," he said.

Muttering, "I am not an invalid," Eliza climbed carefully out of the cart and hobbled in the front door. She felt every one of her 164 years.

Once inside, she stared expressionlessly at a lumpy bundle on her floor. Spike had wrapped Warren's body in an old blanket and tied him into a neat package. Even without asking, she knew Spike had cleaned up the mess Warren must have made right before he died.  Eliza was fairly sure it didn't pass muster for Spike's hypersensitive sense of smell, but it was good enough not to offend an elderly human nose such as hers.

"Good.That's sorted," she said flatly.    "And how are you?"She gave Spike a penetrating look.

His face gave no clue of his feelings."Vampire, remember?  It's what I do."

"That's not all you do," she said in a mildly reproving tone, and went to the kitchenette.  She took out tea things and a flask.  "Do you want your whisky with or without tea?"

"Without," he said, accepting a glass from her.   "Shouldn't we get rid of the body first?"

"I need to fortify myself," she answered, without interrupting her tea-making.

"Here. Let me." Spike gently steered her to her chair and brought her a cup.  He looked a touch surprised that she allowed herself to be taken in hand like this. After the tea steeped, he brought the pot and poured her a cup.

She added a good-sized dollop of whisky into the cup and took several thoughtful sips before speaking. "The last time I took on a human was 1895.  It was a wizard who styled himself 'The Great Beast.' I believe that Aleister Crowley modeled himself upon the creature, but in his case, The Great Beast actually did possess the power that that paltry imitator only aspired to. The Beast was every bit as evil as Mr. Mears, and although not possessing the technological advantages Mr. Mears did, had dark forces at his command and the will to use them. He lusted after—"

Spike said sarcastically, "Wait. Don't tell me. World domination, right?"

Eliza detested being interrupted, but merely continued, "He wanted Ann."  She sniffed.  "And me, if you please!    Well, Ann in the usual way and me for my power.  He said he'd take us both, sort of a package deal.  Naturally we said, 'No thank you,' but he wasn't the sort to take 'No' for an answer."

"You killed him."

"Ann did, with my help.  He'd threatened to kill Charles, thinking perhaps that that was the only impediment to Ann succumbing to his charms.  I was immune, of course."

Spike smiled slightly.   "Didn't think she had it in her."

Eliza eyed him narrowly. "You were in more danger than you knew when young Will died."

"I knew.  Had to bring him home, though, didn't I?"  He sighed.

"What I'm getting at...   is that this is war.  "She nodded toward the body on the floor."I know he's not your usual foe, but he was no less the enemy.  If you'll recall—"

"Thanks, but I don't need a pep talk.  I'm not brooding, just...   thoughtful.  It's been over a century since I took out a human in that way—face-to-face 'n' all..."

"It's not always the heat of battle.  Ann and I killed The Great Beast over coffee and queen cake."  She was anxious to make it right.  "I don't say this often, but you have proved yourself an admirable person.  I'm very pleased... proud, really proud—to be allied with you."

Spike fidgeted uncomfortably and had trouble meeting her eyes.  "Let's just do this."  He arose from the table and picked up the blanket-bound body.  "If you're too tired to open a portal, I can tuck him in the cellar until nightfall, then get rid of it."

Eliza patted her lips with a napkin and said, "No.  You're right.    Let's dispose of him."With a nearly undetectable sigh, she spoke the words opening a small portal.   A distant roaring rumbled from it. "Be careful," she called.   "Just toss him in."

Spike complied, recoiling from the blast of hot air coruscating forth. "Hotter'n hell in there!"  As Warren's body was swallowed up, the portal snapped shut.

Eliza fanned herself with the napkin.  "Close.  It's the Port Talbot blast furnace."

Spike strolled back to the table with a little smile, pretending to dust off his hands.  "It's rather intimate isn't it, disposing of a body together?    I feel we should kiss or something."

Eliza was startled, and then her face crumpled into a rare grin.Giving him a little shove, she said, "Oh, you."

"Speaking of kissing, I want my wife," he said, growing serious."I know you're tired—all the portals, an' spells and such, locking up the littler Big Bad.  Just tell me if it'll be quicker for me to fly or wait for your batteries to recharge so you can send me to her.  But I'll fly if I have to."

Eliza closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself for the unpleasant task ahead, but Spike didn't give her the chance to explain.

"No.  No, no, no, no!  I don't like that look.  What?    She okay?  Tell me!" he demanded.

"No.She's all right physically, but her mind... she's had a terrible shock, losing both her lovers.  It's only been a day to her, but coming upon Willow's death as she did... it affected her mind.  I fear she may be going into a decline."

Spike stared in disbelief.  "'A decline'!" he bellowed.  "Could you be any more old-fashioned?  I'm nearly twice your age and I don't express myself in that bloody stupid—  What do you mean!  Is she off her rocker?"

Eliza bore his sarcasm stoically and admitted, "I believe that she's experiencing what is known as post-traumatic shock."

"Well, let's get her!  Come on, jump to, open a portal, as in five minutes ago!  Now, Eliza!"

She shook her head."This isn't the best time to tell you this, but you'll have to hear it soon enough.  You'll recall the last time you lived through 2002, up to the spring of 2003, The First Evil worked on you.  Through you.  I believe the modern term is 'mole.'  You were its tool.  Do you know—can you say for certain that you won't be used in similar fashion if you go there once more?  Its...'MO'...was... is to act through you and others who've died—"

Frantically, he interrupted, "No, I'm not buyin' it.  I'm wise to it and besides, Watcher found the trigger.  It's deactivated.  Liza, you're not keeping me from her."

"Can you say for certain that you won't put them in danger if you go there?  Put her in danger?" she repeated patiently.

"No!"

"One more thing," Eliza was relentless.  "This is a different world.  You and she changed it by coming back.  Willow is gone, Tara has taken her place, and yes, she'll need help.  A lot of it.    But what else is different?Two of you, and yes, I know your previous self is on his way to Africa right now in search of his soul, but how do you know that you won't increase the danger she's in?  We have certain advantages: we can provide the Slayer and her band with vital information; the coven can help from afar, and you can help—do help, sorry!—but I think it's best if you stay away from the Hellmouth while there are two of you.  Do you understand?"

The look he gave her was one of dazed incomprehension. "No.  No!  Of course I'm going to her.  We'll explain ourselves to the children—they're no strangers to the weird happenin' in Sunnyhell: two Xanders, Buffy an' Faith switchin' bodies—what's hard to swallow 'bout a little time loopin' and two of me?  She'll be glad to have me back—she'll not have had 120 years to go astray."

"William.  While you may not think you could be vulnerable to the influence of the First, I do.  It's not clear, really, when it started, but you'll recall it was 'awakened' by the Slayer's return from the dead... the second time, so in theory it could have been in operation from early this year, just biding its time.  Your behavior toward the Slayer... sorry, your earlier self's behavior was... alarmingly atypical."

Spike sputtered, "You... you... you have no idea the nature of my relationship with her!  It was all about fists and fu—She was a zombie, or next door to it, when her pals yanked her out of heaven.  What she had with me was the only thing that made her feel anything.  I know that it wasn't love, not like—"  He shut up and looked bereft."  What I'm saying is that comparing that train wreck of a relationship with what I had with Tara, implyin' it'd degenerate into that—"

Eliza began delicately, "That episode in the Slayer's bathroom—"

Spike winced.  "Don't."

"Remember, I've experienced your memories.  What you did—tried to do, is not the person I know.  Even your unsouled self, killer though you were, didn't—"

"Oh, didn't I?  What do you think I went an' got the soul for?  Bad man like me needs brakes."

"My dear boy..."

Spike looked wildly at her.  "Eliza, that won't help.  There's nothing you can say—"

She said quietly, "I'm only trying to say that I think the First was working on you, even then."

"You're wrong."  From the set of his shoulders and jaw, she knew that he was unmoved by her words.

"Very well.  You may be right, you may no longer be vulnerable to The First.  I cannot stop you if you are determined to do this, but the last thing I wanted to say is that this is uncharted territory.  Your other self needs to play his part.  This is a different world, changed by Willow dying, by Tara living—bless her!—and you being in it, too, with your other self.  I don't think you and he can both be there.  If you go there, you'll endanger them all.You'll endanger her."

Eliza didn't think she needed to speak her final warning, but she did in spite of herself.  "If you go back now, William, there is a very good chance the future could be affected too much.  The First could win and then you'd all be dead.Is that a chance you truly want to take?"

Without another word, Spike bolted toward Eliza's bed alcove, grabbed a blanket, and tore out the front door into the bright spring sunshine.

"William, stop!" she cried after him, but he was already out of sight. As quickly as her aching feet could take her, she hobbled to the cupboard where she kept magickal supplies, withdrawing items she ordinarily did not use: sweetgrass, an eagle foot, and feathers. She handled the sacred objects reverently and said a little prayer. Thank the Lord and Lady that Birdie's approach to magick was so eclectic! Eliza might not be able to make it rain yet, but she was damned if she couldn't produce a cloudy day.

~~~

Spike whipped along, cursing himself for every kind of a fool, shifting the position of the blanket over his head, and beating out flames when and where they would ignite. He paused for a moment in the ceremonial grove, taking advantage of the shade while coming up with a hasty plan. What possessed him to run like that? And in broad daylight? Easy—Tara needed him. He was damned if he'd stand by and let the Scoobies mismanage the First Evil while his girl filled in for Willow. Should have stayed and talked Eliza into sending him home. Persuaded her to open a portal, that San Francisco was far enough away from the Hellmouth, that he just needed to pick up a few things, hell, told her anything, and then high-tailed it for SunnyD. As it was, he needed to get undercover now and somehow contrive to get halfway around the world, whilst avoiding Eliza's meddling. No telling how opposed she'd be to him crossing her, or what means she'd use to stop him.

He felt a moment's anguish over Tara's pain. Intellectually, he knew that it would only have been a day for her, but he felt her shock and hurt as acutely as though it were his own. He pushed those feelings down. They were an all-consuming constriction in his chest and throat he could not afford. Right now, he needed coolness, cunning, and well, not to combust before reaching her! He looked around. The weather was favoring him. A heavy cloudbank had rolled up and thunder rumbled. Livid clouds lit up from within. Far from feeling it was ominous, Spike took it as a sign of favor and, now that he was shielded from the deadly rays of the sun, he loped back to the school, the blanket waving behind him like Superman's cape.

~~~

Birdie stood mixing up pancake batter in the kitchen of her little home in the made-over sheep shed. It had a quaint charm, like those old mews in London. She was happy here, with the frequent absurd feeling the stone walls were informed with the generations of contented sheep that had preceded her. But no sheep remained. The school's surrounding pastureland and moor had given way to the rolling manicured green of the neighboring Westcott Golf Course and Westbury Riding Academy. At least the school still had horses, she thought with satisfaction. That counted for a lot. Coming from South Dakota, you'd have thought she was born in a saddle, but she'd never ridden until she came here. In addition to the arcane arts, teaching horsemanship to the girls was her duty and joy. She was grateful to Spike for sending her to the coven—how many years ago? She'd been just a kid then, and on a dark path. Who'd have thought she would have blossomed like a prairie flower here in Westbury?

It was with deep satisfaction too, she thought of the riding master at the neighboring dressage school. True, he was half her age, but Westcott women rarely went for mates of obvious suitability. What mattered more was—what did Eliza call it?—"an uxorious desire to serve the women's mission." Friedrich had that, in spades, and such pretty blue eyes! Nearly as pretty as that other blue-eyed devil. Funny that Spike should be so much on her mind this morning.

She was about to turn from the window to the stove when she saw a flamboyant Pendleton blanket—her gift to Eliza—moving along at a good clip. From beneath it, smoke billowed forth and familiar Doc Martens pounded below. Stupid vampire had no business being out in broad daylight—! Birdie hastily shoved breakfast aside and hollered out the window in her loud Western voice, "Git in here!"

Spike veered toward the direction of her voice. He'd been heading for the school's garage, hoping for a vehicle with necromanced windows, but was pretty sure he'd find nothing. Plan B had been any vehicle and some spray paint à la his old blacked-out DeSoto, but Birdie's summons worked just as well. He needed to get under cover, and quickly.

Birdie held the door open and shooed him in, scolding, "Ho-wah! That blanket cost me 200 bucks, big guy! It's all scorched now." She ruffled his hair, beating the sparks out.

Spike waved her slapping hands aside and flung himself in a chair, narrowly missing the descendant of the cat he'd once warmed Tara with in the loft above them.

Birdie closed the door and turned to him. Fists on hips, she looked him up and down. "You look like you don't know if you're afoot or astride. Want breakfast? I was about to make pancakes."

"No."

"Coffee? Thirty-two years here and I still hate tea."

"No."

"I think I got blood left over from the last visit." She rummaged in the freezer and withdrew a couple of plastic pouches.

"Not hungry.

Something was definitely up with him. He was usually such a chatterbox. She put the pouches in the microwave and set it to defrost. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

He shrugged.

"Well, lemme guess. You come hell-for-leather from the direction of Eliza's—burning holes in my Yule gift to her, by the way—near-setting yourself on fire, and there's a big black cloud rolling up on a sunny day. I'd say there was a difference of opinion 'tween you and her. Am I right?"

He looked away.

"Well, at least she doesn't want to burn you up." She stopped prying and returned to making breakfast. "Want breakfast?" she repeated. "Pancakes," her voice lilted temptingly. "Rounds or funny shapes?"

Spike's face crumpled and he swallowed several times before muttering, "I'm getting off this... rocket ride. I've been a good boy longer'n I was evil, and I'm not just leavin' her to muddle along as best she can without me. Don't care. Don't care if it puts 'em in danger. I want my girl and I'm going to get her."

Birdie put aside breakfast, and brought coffee and blood to the table. "You'd better tell me everything."

~~~

Spike finished dolorously, "So you were right. She is a little cuckoo."

In an apparent non-sequitur, Birdie answered, "You know, Eliza shared your memories with me. She's like an elephant — she never forgets. I gotta say, I agree with her. That thing in the bathroom — that wasn't you. Remember our road trip? You were a perfect gentleman, damn you." She couldn't resist a little pout.

He just stared at her. "Back to my wife."

She settled down. "I'm getting there. If the First Evil was—is—starting to put out feelers...looking for a 'vehicle,' like we do when we soul-travel, I think it's best you steer clear of the Hellmouth until its hash is settled. But I agree with you, too. And your wife! I could feel her missing you, ten years before she was born! This need you have, to go to her in spite of what's sensible or safe—the Iroquois call it 'ondinnonk.' It's an impulse of your angelic nature."

He laughed without humor and muttered, "Don't have much of that. Just know I want her. 'Sides, Eliza'll have something to say about this. Don't fancy waking up on fire."

"Silly. Who do you think produced that?" She jerked her chin toward the window. The black clouds were now discharging fat raindrops. "She'd never hurt you... unless you turn evil," she finished brightly.

Spike just rubbed his temples as though they hurt.

Birdie pressed her lips into a thin line. "I have something to say about this, too. Araminta is grooming Phoebe to run the Devon coven, but I'm taking over here when Eliza retires."

Spike just looked at Birdie with speechless gratitude. A beautiful woman still, she wore her years like a mantle of grace and power. All he could manage was a whispered, "Thank you, Birdie." As much as he'd grown to appreciate Eliza over the years, and all the good that had been between them, she'd put him in an impossible position. He felt he couldn't bear the break that this would cause. He'd been this close to threatening the old woman.

Birdie was still talking. "It's like Dr. Freud and that id of his. You repress it with your superego, it makes you crazy. But ondinnonk's not this animalistic thing to be kept in line like the id—it's a source of wisdom and guidance. "With ondinnonk, you should listen to it. But I'm gonna help as well." She nodded firmly.

Spike relaxed with relief.

"So let's get busy. We'll let Tara know I'm coming for her, since you can't. You can call her right now. I've got an amulet I want to make for her and I want to mix up a potion." She stood up and began to clear off the table, giving Spike an encouraging look. "We'll fix her up, and you and she can get to the sexual healing." She gave him a wink. "No-one'll think to look for you here while I'm gone. I'll go bunk with Fritz for a couple of days."

"'The Lipizzaner stallion?'" He raised one eyebrow.

Birdie chortled appreciatively. "Hah! How'd you guess I call him that?"

Eliza was not the only one with a memory like an elephant, Spike thought as he dialed Buffy's number from memory. He then realized with a shock that she'd probably hang up on him, or at least, not let him talk to Tara. Hastily, he handed the phone to Birdie and said, "You ask for her."

Birdie took the phone between cheek and shoulder while she continued to grind exotic-smelling ingredients in a mortar. "Hi! Can I talk to Tara?" she said in a happy, harmless-sounding voice. "I'm a friend from school."

With his enhanced hearing, he could make out a noncommittal murmur on the other end, and then after a too-long wait, Birdie finally gestured with her shoulder to him. "Here. Take it."

Spike took the phone with eagerness mixed with trepidation. "Baby girl?"