When She Was Wrong
J. Travis

Willow, edgy from life without Tara, beat her head against Joyce Summer's letter desk.  She wanted to see her girlfriend, but why couldn't Tara just understand the memory spell was really to protect what they had?  Tara was just being a bitch, she decided, while fingering the binding on Giles' ancient text.  She'd found it in Dawn's room and couldn't figure out why he let that kid borrow it.  No one seemed to trust her with magic, but Dawn?  It wasn't like Willow prayed to some random evil, and her magic helped Buffy.  Tara would learn to tough it along with everyone else.  If her lover couldn't grasp the concept of helping a friend, Willow decided Tara might just need a little wake-up call.  Who knew?  Buffy might even be willing to help, and it's not like Dawn could stop either of them.  Power, taking hold of the young witch again, was something Willow and Buffy held in spades. No, they had a royal flush in power as far as Willow could see.  Tara, Willow told herself, was jealous of a power she couldn't understand let alone have.

Briefly, Willow was horrified by her own thoughts. "What's wrong with me?" she asked her reflection in the mirror as she stood, "No wonder they hate me..." Shaking off the anger, she decided to get ready for the day. Sadly, Willow didn't understand that anger was taking over more than sense these days. Her rapid mood shifts were frightening. Maybe Tara was right, and maybe she was screwing with forces better left untapped. Everyone thought she'd just put the magics down for now, but they were a part of her. Willow could no more ignore magic than she could breathing, but did she have to consult dark magic for all the answers? No, but.... Willow almost heard the snap in her mind as it rubber banded back towards the inevitable thought, 'I'll do what I want.'

    With a flick of her hand and murmur in Latin, Willow was dressed and ready to face the day, but what to do about Buffy's depression?  She contemplated another forget spell, but using it a third time seemed trite and a lot boring. Darkness flashed across her eyes, 'I want something more,' she thought.  Eventually, Buffy would help her because it's what best friends do.  That in mind, Willow headed downstairs to see if the Summers sisters managed to get ahead of her for once.

    "Buffy?  Dawn?  You two up yet?" she called from the landing, "I have to get to class early this morning, okay?"

    Buffy opened her bedroom door, "Will, shhh!  Dawnie's still asleep.  She was all crankmeister last night, and I think she's getting sick-too bad healing spells aren't real.  Hey?  How come you can raise the dead but not cure a cold?"

    Willow laughed wryly, thinking of Tara's earlier objections over initiating the blackest of black arts to bring Buffy home. "Well, Buffy, I'm not sure...I just wish we could've saved Joyce. Oh!  I can make tea to soothe the savage Dawn if you want," she said smiling sweetly at her friend.

    "Yeah, that'd be good-later.  Get to class, and I'll call the brat's teachers, ugh, parenthood is not for the night-owls," Buffy stated matter-of-factly.

    Thoughtfully pondering Buffy's words, Willow found herself agreeing even if she was surprised to hear her friend refer to the kid sister as a brat.  Oh, Buff called Dawn worse now and then, but it was always said during typical sibling arguments or in affection.  The two girls had bantered back and forth a lot before Buffy died, but rarely did so now, and Buffy never called Dawn a brat in casual conversation.  'Hmm,' the powerful sorceress said to herself, 'maybe this will be too easy.'  Life was simpler without Dawn's constant whining, and Willow knew that for a fact because she was beginning to remember a life without the young teenager.  Odd, the spell wasn't meant to unravel.  The monks must not have accounted for a witch of such enormous power, and if Dawn was nothing more than a mystical key, tapping into her energy would pose no problems, ethical or otherwise.  'Use her for something more...what's a good word,' Willow thought, 'productive.'  She waved a good-bye to Buffy and walked out the door.

    Buffy Summers, still in her nightgown, padded downstairs as softly as possible.  Dawn's fever worried her, but not nearly as much as it would have a year ago.  In fact, her lack of concern over the girl bothered her more than the kid's illness.  Everything that should've meant something meant less each day.  Oh well, chalk it up to one bad night as well as a stupid, blonde, irritating, had it coming to him, vampire!  Spike, Buffy guessed, would be sleeping his injuries away and wallowing in his stupid romantic notions.  Why didn't he get it?  She didn't love him, couldn't, wouldn't, but she enjoyed forgetting heaven in his arms because Popsicle Penis sure had the bedroom abilities down.  The Slayer, caught up in memories for a minute, said aloud, "Damn, I'm turning into Faith!"

    With that idea in mind, she scarfed down breakfast quickly and opted to look for a new job.  Doublemeat Palace wasn't going to make ends meet, and God knew Hank Summers wasn't helping matters.  Perhaps temp work would be the answer to her prayers-not that she really prayed.  Thanks to Jonathan, the nerds were no longer a problem.  He'd already come forward and turned himself and the others in, and that meant Buffy might have a little free time. After beating the shit out of Spike, Buffy tried to tell the police she killed a girl and discovered said girl was Warren Meer's ex.  She knew he must have killed Katrina.  That made her decision easy, and she stalked Jonathan throughout the rest of the night.  'If not for me,' Buffy thought, 'he wouldn't have agreed to go to the police and do the right thing.  I guess I really am the law.'  She stretched and smiled while basking in the throes of a superiority complex second only to her ego.  Even while depressed, Buffy Summers had a knack for bolstering herself when it came to Slaying.

Later, after Dawn was awake, she'd visit Spike and throw him a bone-maybe.  A little blood, a bottle of booze, and shy smile would be enough to keep that piece of filth where she needed him.  Oddly enough, Buffy no longer cared what her friends thought about her bedmates, and if that meant screwing Spike blind to keep herself feeling better, so be it.  If anyone happened to find out, she'd deal. Dawn, romantic and foolish, would hope it meant a fairy tale ending, but sex doesn't always mean lovers. In fact, the idea of being "in love" was couldn't be further from the Slayer's mind.  Buffy snorted and said to an empty kitchen, "Better Dawn learns now," but damn it all if she hadn't forgotten to tell Willow the Nerd Herd was no more.  Oh well, that could remedied later.

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Tara nervously looked out the picture window again; this time, certain she saw Willow drive by in Joyce's car.  Instinctively, she knew if Joyce had lived, Buffy probably wouldn't have died.  Yes, the Slayer said she was saving the world, but Tara always had an idea she killed herself to get back to her mother.  In truth, Dawn should've been packed off to their father immediately, but neither Tara nor Spike could bear to see the teenager leave, and each pleaded her case last summer.  Tara, ferocious as a lioness in her defense of Dawn, was the real selling point, and the unlikely three spent most of their time comforting one another. They focused on the future and moving past the pain.  Willow told Tara she never felt left out, but Tara would always suspected otherwise.  Now here Willow was watching her again, and if she decided to stop at the apartment, she just might see Spike and fling herself at the nearest conclusion.  "Damn, Willow, just leave," Tara said as the SUV moved to park in front of the apartment.

"Pet?  You talkin' to me?  I'll leave if ya need me to, but I got to have a blanket." She almost screamed hearing his voice. "Sorry, din't mean to scare you."

    "Get down, Spike, now!  W-w-willow is out there," Tara almost shouted.

    "Red?  I haven't done a soddin' thing to that bint, witch," Spike muttered eying the woman warily, "Why do I need to hide from her?  She do this much?  Bloody hell, another stalker to hang around," Tara looked at him, shocked, "Me, sweets, I guess I kind of stalked Buffy last year,"

She relaxed some at his words, happy to hear the stalking part was said in the past tense, and told Spike to get in her room.  "Come on, we'll talk in there, and Willow will leave," she whispered, "Let's just say... Willow hasn't been too nice to me lately.  She's really angry I left and thinks I'm being selfish," Spike's eyebrow raised, "Yeah, I'm selfish because I'm not into surgical witchcraft-especially on my brain."

As someone who suffered through forced brain surgery, Spike could relate.  He nodded his head, and the two dashed into her room to talk.  There had to be some hope, resolution, any hint of a better future that didn't include staking, sunlight or burning, and he was sickened by the fact that facing Willow made him nervous-almost frightened.  What sort of poncy ass was he becoming?  Scared of that little slip of a thing?  'Not bloody likely,' he said to himself trying to recapture the vampire he'd been, 'take her out myself if it was me and her alone, yeah, right good idea that.'  Since Tara was in the middle, Spike had to admit he didn't want to see her get hurt, and if she was telling the truth, Willow just might be a little more dangerous than anyone guessed.  Tara managed to make to him feel welcome, worthy, and all too good about himself even if those feelings wouldn't last.  She accepted him in her home, trusted him with herself, she was damn well going to stay safe.

    "All right, kitten, it's time to tell me the truth.  How bad is it with Willow?"

    Tara withdrew into herself a bit-something Spike discovered he didn't like.  He watched her bottom lip slip between her teeth as she chewed, a nervous habit he assumed, but he wasn't going to let this topic drop.  "Come on, little one-"

    "I'm hardly little, Spike," Tara interrupted, "why do you want to know?  If you think you have to help me with Willow because I'm helping you, you're wrong.  I already promised, what is it you say?  I'm no welsher?"

    Spike snorted, "Americans!  Your accent is better than the whelp's, give you that, and no, this isn't about Buffy."

    She smiled a bit and continued, "Willow's been showing up here at least three times a w-week, but this is the first time she's gotten out of the car, Spike, maybe she just wants to talk.  I'm so stupid!  I can't let go of what she did...  Glory took everything from me, remade me!  Willow didn't make me insane, but she changed me, Spike, like I was a doll to manipulate-like your bot."

    "I'm sorry, pet, the bot was a mistake, but it wasn't real and you are.  And Tara?  Don't ever call yourself stupid in my presence again," Spike said seriously, "You love her and thought with your heart.  It makes you a feeling person-not stupid."

    "Umm, thank you," she replied, "Do you think she's gone?  Can you hear her?"

    Just as Tara spoke, a loud banging interrupted the pair. "I'd like to say she's gone, but your door is about pop off the hinges," the vampire growled.

    "Tara!"  Willow yelled, "I know you're there.  Come on, baby, open up, please!  Sweetie, I just want to talk.  Tara!  Open this door NOW!"

    "You can't avoid her forever; come on, we'll answer together.  The sun is higher now, pet, I'll be fine-you will too." Spike put his hand out and clumsily patted the shaking woman on her shoulder. "Just be calm, love."

    BANG!  BANG! THUMP! BANG!  In resignation Tara sighed.  "You're right, (BANG!) Spike, it's got to stop.  I need space and she needs to listen," Tara replied finding her courage yet again.  BANGTHUMP!  This definitely had to stop.

    "Willow, I'm coming!  Quit beating," Tara commanded as she walked across her living room to unlock the door, "You're going to break it."

    "Okay," Willow whined, "I just miss you so much."

    Tara opened the door and allowed Willow entry to the apartment, "Willow, you can't come here whenever you want.  I have neighbors who are still sleeping," Tara told her former lover, "besides, I didn't ask you to come here this morning."

    "I just wanted to see you," Willow pouted and glanced around the room, her eyes going wide, "What's he doing here?"  The whining and pouting quickly changed to a casual facade meant to hide a new, but deadly, edge in her voice.

    "Good to see you too, Red, Tara's just helping me with a project," Spike said warily.

    "Project?  What kind of project," Willow sneered, "she'd never help you...  Tara's too-"

    "Stop it," the blonde woman interrupted angrily, "Tara is right in the room and can speak for herself!  What do you need, Willow?  I'm not coming with you.  I live here now, and we talked about this already.  Stop calling, stop driving by, and don't come unless you're invited."

    Both Spike and Willow gaped in astonishment, and Spike felt his admiration of Tara increase tenfold.  She was actually tossing Willow out of her place!  It's about time someone told that little chit she was a pushy bitch.  This was fun, and Spike couldn't help but grin in satisfaction.

    Almost as if she'd read Spike's mind, Tara spoke to Willow, "You're pushing me.  It's not right and you know it.  As for Spike, it's my time to spend helping him, and it's none of your business."

    Willow's eyes narrowed, "He's evil!  I only want to protect you, and Buffy won't like this either, Tara."

    "Willow, thank you for your concern, but this is my life.  You don't get to tell me what is or isn't a good idea these days," Tara said quietly but forcefully, "And Buffy?  Well, she's never dictated my behavior, and I won't let her start now.  I had more than enough 'guidance' in my life.  Please go-now."

    With that said, Tara opened the door again and pointed Willow towards it.  She was sick of orders from others, and this really was the last straw.  Willow glared again at the vamp and cried a little for Tara's benefit, but she finally walked out the door.

    Both Tara and Spike slumped on the couch in relief, and he did let her cry on his shoulder.  Oddly, he found comforting Tara soothing.  It was nice to have someone accept his help without assuming he was up to the worst for once.  While Tara didn't seem to have visions or wax nostalgic over stars, Spike could picture Dru being very much like this if Dru had been allowed to live a normal life.  The possibility gave Spike all the more reason to feel protective of Glinda.  'No, mate, can't keep callin' her that,' he thought, 'that name don't quite fit anymore.'  Tara, not just the girl he could label "good witch" now, was a person with many facets who needed to be respected, in Spike's opinion.