When She Was Wrong
J. Travis

Note: Thank you to all who review. It's very much appreciated, and I owe a huge thank you Linne again. Without her, I'd be pulling my hair out trying to fix the things that are right in front of my face.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is the end all, be all, happy, chewy, center of the Buffyverse. He, along with the nice people at Fox, Mutant Enemy, and anyone else who legally owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer, make all the money for the creation of these characters. I like to play with their toys, but I put them away when I'm done.

The name Vékell was put together after sifting through several Old Norse Dictionaries, and Old Norse names. I hope I have it right.
 

Two weeks passed and still no word from Giles, but Tara wasn't expecting quick results from him. Truth be known, when Tara would stop at the shop or call, Giles indicated more than once he was still incredibly angry with Spike and slightly irritated with her as well. No one spoke to Buffy of the research. Tara knew it was for the best. Spike had done what she asked and avoided the Slayer, thank the Goddess. The hard part would be seeing Buffy at her birthday party this weekend. Not that Tara wouldn't do anything for Dawn, and it was Dawn who'd begged her to be there, but being around Buffy and Willow left Tara's stomach in cold knots. Tara felt at a loss for what to say around Buffy, and she was fearful of Willow. Discussing the situation with Spike helped, and the two of them decided to pretend everything was normal.

Since he'd left her place, Tara found herself a little lonely and jumping at shadows. Last night she woke up at least six times half expecting to find someone hovering over her bed. Even her pushy neighbor upstairs noticed Spike was gone, and that meant Robert was making passes at her whenever he saw her. Fed up, tired, and in the mood for company, she set out from campus to Spike's crypt. Who knew? Maybe Spike's poker buddy, Clem, would be there too. The three of them could have dinner together. Clem was a lot of fun, and hanging out with two demons over and at Willy's place had some real advantages. Willy didn't serve much in the way of food, but the man made an awesome vodka tonic. Spike explained it was because he threatened to have Willy beaten to a gooey paste if he gave Tara any of the cheap stuff. To her delight, Tara discovered vodka, tonic, and lime were delectable in small quantities. Yes, hanging out with the guys sounded like a really good plan.

She pulled her MG into the cemetery and parked near Spike's place. He made it clear she wasn't to come after dark, but sundown wasn't due for another fifteen minutes. It also paid to keep precautions in mind. Tara, raised by hicks who at least had a few basic manners, never barged in on Spike. She knocked only to hear a voice answer, "Come in, pet! Bloody hell, Clem, clean up that mess before she gets in here," the witch laughed wondering what the two of them could be up to this time as she opened the door.

"Hi, Spike. Clem, what are you doing?" asked Tara.

"Hey, Tara! We had a poker game last night, and look at the clean sweep we made off with," Clem answered.

Spike growled, "Look at the mess made by the clean sweep. You want a kitten, love?"

Tara smiled at the frolicking balls of fluff and stood back for a minute. The last thing she needed was another responsibility, but saving a kitten from an untimely death would be a kindness. Plus, she missed Miss Kitty Fantastico.

"Sure, Spike, can I choose?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way, pet, pick," the platinum blonde demon answered, and Tara was struck again by the angelic vision of him. As men went, he had to be the most beautiful she ever met.

Tara picked up each kitten and stroked their fur, played a bit, and admired all of them in turn. But one of the kittens stayed back a bit from the group. With its' sapphire-like eyes, Tara was immediately drawn to it. "Here, kitty, come on," she whistled to it, "come on, little one, I won't hurt you."

"Tara, sweets, that one is a bit on the feisty side. You might want another," Spike advised.

Smiling at Spike she said, "He's perfect then." Determination was a gift of Tara Maclay's, and she decided this cat was hers. Lucky for her, she also had a gift for understanding animals. Being raised on a farm had a few perks. Soon, the little kitten, pure white coat shining in the dim crypt light, came haltingly towards her- much to the amazement of Spike and Clem. Neither of the demons had been able to entice that cat from under the chair to the carrier for anything. Here stood Tara, and she had him snuggled and purring in her arms.

"You're right amazin'! I've been trying to get that soddin' beast back to the cage for at least half an hour, Tara, how'd you do that, eh?" Spike wanted to know.

"I guess I don't scare him, Spike, it's not like I want to eat him."

Clem and Spike laughed. The three friends decided a few days ago that the guys wouldn't discuss cat recipes, and Tara would overlook their vile snacking habits.

"All right then, ducks, you gonna name the creature or shall I prepare a sauce?" Spike kidded.

Tara shrieked in mock horror before answering, "You can't pulls names from ether, Spike, I need to think about it," she held the cat at eye level and looked him over, "hmmm, you look like an Edmund."

Clem chortled, "Edmund? For a cat?"

"Edmund the Bastard, Clem, from King Lear," Tara smiled at both demons and the kitten, "he redeemed himself when no one thought it was possible."

Silence hung in the air for a moment until the vampire decided he wanted a change of conversation "I was at the Magic Box this morning," Spike said turning towards her, "old Rupe's been trying to call you today. Have you been back to the apartment since class?"

"No, but I had a couple tests to study for, and I wanted to use the art lab. Oh, Clem! Don't let me forget to give you the painting I did for your place." Tara replied pulling her gaze away from her new pet. She worked on the piece all week long, and she felt it turned out pretty well considering her experience with oils was more limited than watercolors. The painting, deep and vibrantly colored, showed a scene at a small table in Willy's bar with Spike and Clem laughing over some joke or other. Willy, in the background, was pouring each of them an English ale. She'd had to get an empty can from Willy because she wanted to make sure the script was just right in the painting, Boddington's English Ale. She didn't know if Spike or Clem actually drank the stuff, but she thought it was a nice touch.

Clem smiled a huge grin, "Cool, thanks. I can't wait to see it."

"Oi, when am I gettin' me own pretty little picture?" Spike wanted to know.

"You're welcome, Clem. When you ask, Spike, and did Giles give you any information?" Tara inquired.

"Redirecting the topic doesn't get you out of handing over the watercolor, you know which one. Watcher told me a little, but it sounded vague. Something about a holy cauldron having the answers. Doesn't mean anything to me, pet, and he said Harris is better. Thought you'd want to know. What in hell happened to the git anyway?"

Tara did know which watercolor, but she didn't consider the self-portrait one of her better works. She never liked photos of herself; paintings weren't much better. She'd only done the piece for an assignment. For now, Tara ignored his remark and answered his question, "Buffy said he was mugged. Anya was really upset about all of it, and now she's thinking of postponing the wedding. At least, that's what she told me when I saw her a few days ago," Tara wasn't sure why, but she had the feeling Anya was hiding something from everyone. Why couldn't these people just talk to one another?

"Anya? Saw her at the store too, love, the chit was right brassed off about something. I don't know what. When Harris walked in to see her, she sent the wanker packing," Spike told her, "maybe there's something else to postponing the wedding than worry over the whelp's health."

Tara smiled when Spike's statement mirrored her own thoughts before saying, "She hasn't said anything to me. Holy cauldron? I think I've heard of it, Spike, I can't remember where."

Clem broke in, "Do you two want food? I'll even head to The Magic Box with you. I can be a buffer, but I'm starving."

"Bugger that, Clem, you'll come along for the fun of it. 'Sides, I can't wait to see the look on the old Watcher's face when I bring you to the store. Dinner sounds good-feeling a bit peckish meself."

"Great," Tara's voice sounded almost giddy, "I was hoping to catch you two for food and drinks. I've got a day off tomorrow. Spike, I wanted to ask you something if it's okay."

Spike's eyes ran over Tara, and she felt her cheeks flame as he said, "Sure, ducks, what is it?" She would swear the devil could make a woman wearing the stylish gear of an astronaut feel naked.

"Are you comfortable here? I mean...it's not my business, but w-whatifyoumovedintomyplacebecauseitseemslikeareallygoodidea?!" Tara rushed forward. Her words came out loud and strung together in an almost meaningless garble. She had been lonely, and she wanted someone around she trusted. Plus, she enjoyed Spike's company. He was funny, smart, and he didn't have a problem with her love of cheese grits for breakfast. 'Some traditions die hard,' she reflected, 'guess I'll always be from the south.' Though she was happy she'd lost the accent thanks to speech therapy, there were pieces of southern life Tara loved-especially the food.

Spike and Clem gaped open-mouthed at her. "What did you say? Tara, you'd better breathe," Clem told her.

"Pet, what?" Tara thought she saw a hint of grin play across Spike's lips, "Did you ask me to move in with you?"

"W-well, yes," she replied making her voice sound bold, "I hate living alone, Spike, I love the apartment. Not the neighborhood, and I kind of miss having you around."

"Why me, Tara?"

She pondered the question before answering. Not only was she concerned with Spike's saying no, she didn't want him to be uncomfortable. "I've thought a lot about this. Over the past couple weeks, it's been really good to have someone to talk to, Spike... You've been a good friend. I'm also hoping I can return the favor," she stated quietly without actually mentioning Willow or Buffy. Willow was getting pushier with her ex-lover. It was frightening and a little disgusting. Giles, supportive of both girls, didn't want to listen to tales of drunken late night calls, stalker-like behavior, and sometimes inappropriate demands. Spike, on the other hand, listened to the horror stories and sat with her through most of it while offering nothing but a reminder that Tara wasn't in the wrong. While he hadn't actually spoken to Buffy, he did say he'd watched her burst into his crypt several times. True to his word, he kept a good distance and would head to Tara's rather than confront the Slayer. Now that his injuries were healing, he'd been sleeping over at Clem's place during the day rather than risk exposure to Buffy. The three of them seemed to end up at Spike's crypt early every evening, but they were careful to leave before Buffy began her usual rounds.

The answer must have pleased Spike enormously because he beamed, "Sounds like a plan, love. Can I bring my furniture? The good stuff I keep in the basement. I'll get rid of the telly and chair if they won't fit."

Tara smiled gently, "You don't have to get rid of your stuff. It'll fit."

Clem offered to help the vampire move, and it was decided between the three of them, the sooner the better. Dinner, The Magic Box, packing and moving were on the agenda. Tara was thrilled to have Spike for a roommate. For whatever reason, she found herself growing fonder of the vampire each day, and Clem was an added bonus.

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Anya, depressed and feeling sick, busied herself around the shop while waiting for Tara and Spike. At least Giles bothered to tell her they were coming this time. He wouldn't discuss what he found out, but it was nice to be included on some level. Working out a new merchandising plan kept the shopkeeper busy, and Anya liked the concentration the job required. It gave her focus and relief, and relief was an absolute necessity after the worst night of her life.

It was difficult to grasp that it'd only been two weeks since Xander was injured. While his concussion wasn't serious, he couldn't remember much of what happened, and Anya's first thought had been joy that Xander was alive. Her second thought had been of heartbreak, and she could still see Xander's scrawled wedding vows whenever she closed her eyes. All her planning, worrying, money spent for a wedding that wouldn't happen, was nothing compared to the trashing her heart had taken. If he'd been honest months ago, things might be different now.

When Giles said she was still needed at work, Anya listened and threw herself back into the job. Only in Giles had Anya confided, and he was kind enough to offer his bed while he took the lumpy couch. Her first few days at Giles' place were spent weeping, watching soaps and getting hysterical over little things like spilled coffee. By now, she was certain all of Xander's friends knew what happened. Still, Anya wondered why neither Buffy nor Willow offered any insight or even advice to her. As for Spike and Tara, Anya knew they hadn't been in touch with the Scoobies, and she'd asked Giles to keep his mouth shut. Dawn, thank goodness, either didn't know or was just being kind by not yammering away about the mess. She'd showed up at the shop that afternoon and chattered over the trials and tribulations of ninth grade just like always. Giles finally sent her home before darkness could engulf the town forcing Buffy to come get her younger sister. That would not be good considering the non-Scooby meeting soon to be in progress.

"Giles, we're low on rosemary. I'll need to reorder this week," Anya told her partner.

"Rosemary? I realize it's used in some basic spells, but we've been selling at least fifty pounds a week out of bulk stock. Perhaps we've got a few customers who are inclined towards the culinary arts," Giles replied, "it would be rather nice to believe we have to more to offer the community than occult supplies."

"Aromatherapy, it's part of why we make the money we do. When will Tara and Spike get here? I don't want to sit around here all night," she complained, though that's exactly what she was hoping to do.

"Oh yes, because you have so many more pressing engagements like eating all of my ice cream," Giles sniped trying to get a rise out of the woman. He grew more distressed over his business partner day by day. She refused to even speak to Xander, and she hid whenever Buffy or Willow came to the apartment because neither women had been very compassionate towards Anya when they did show up at the apartment. The Watcher had to admit it was puzzling-almost heartless of the two girls. He hoped the situation would improve soon.

"I told you I'll replace it,"

"Yes, yes, I believe you did, but you'd best get two pints. With all the confectioneries you've consumed lately, I'm quite surprised you remain as slim as ever," that would surely get her attention.

"It's my metabolism. I also take the time to stay in shape," Anya replied her voice flat and vacant. Giles sighed and shook his head.

When the bell over the door announced Spike and Tara's arrival, both Magic Box owners were relieved. It was time to get to business.

"Tara, it's good to see you again," Giles said conversationally, "Spike, I assume you've no new information for me?"

"Sorry, Rupes, can't say as I have," Spike answered.

"Fine, we'll get to the heart of the matter, Anya, please put up the closed sign," directed Giles just before he shrieked, "AHHH! Oh good lord, what is that?"

"Careful, Watcher, that's my friend and associate, Clem," Spike told the stunned man in front of him, " he's a demon, obviously. Losing your touch, mate?"

"Hi, Mr. Giles, right?" Clem inquired.

"Uh..yes," Giles cleaned his glasses while speaking, "are you helping Spike and Tara in this matter?"

"No, we're just poker buddies. You know how it goes, a few drinks, some hot wings, and a few kittens on the side," Clem stated brightly as he leaned forward to shake the Watcher's hand. To Giles horror, Tara was actually smiling at both creatures, and it seemed Clem and Spike even gave Anya reason to grin.

"I see, well, let's get started then. Would you prefer to have a seat in the office while we have our meeting?"

"No, you go right ahead," with that, Clem stationed himself in a chair with the latest copy of Cat Fanciers. Apparently, this month's feature dealt with getting nasty hairball stains out of your carpet and upholstery.

"It's all right, Mr. Giles," Tara spoke up, "Clem wont breathe a word, and we've got things to do when we're done here. Spike said you had information about a cauldron?"

Tara's wisely timed words grabbed Giles' attention, and he was more than happy to focus elsewhere.

"I'm not sure what the object is, Tara, but we're looking for answers. I researched the spells, and I don't know if anyone ever tried to resurrect a slayer before Buffy. The Council has no record of it, and Travers was hesitant to discuss the matter. I'm really quite surprised you allowed Willow to go through with this spell," Giles cleared his throat, "considering how many cases of resurrecting ordinary humans did go very much wrong."

"Watch it! You don't know Red that well, old man," Spike warned, "you don't get to blame this on Tara. Do you even recall where you were when Willow was decided to play God? On a plane to England, that's where."

"I'm well aware of that fact. As for blame, I'm not blaming anyone. Don't be absurd, but Tara has always been more sensible with magic, Spike. The truth is, I believe you're both correct in saying something is wrong with Buffy. We'll have to tell her soon, you do realize that." It was a statement rather than question. "I've found reference to a 'holy cauldron'. The verses are old and not translated easily, and I will also admit my Scandinavian languages are rusty. Still, let me read what I've found thus far. 'Chosen, she is. Dead, she was. Returned, to life with more death. The answers lie in the Holy Cauldron."

"Holy Cauldron... It sounds so familiar, but I'm not sure," Tara mused. She knew the subject would bother her until she remembered why it was familiar.

Anya, watching the group intently, leaned forward and laughed. It was a desperate and angry cackle as she told them all, "You won't know it because it's not an 'it' in the way you're thinking. It's a being. Vékell, and the name's only a more recent incarnation. Holy Cauldron's not something you'll find, Giles, not unless She wants you to."

"What? How do you know this, Anya?" demanded Giles.

"You should've shown me the books. I was raised with Vikings, Giles, Old Norse is something I just know. You know how old I am. Why bother going over that again? Giles, Vékell uses the name as a joke. Most of what was my language mutated into the Norwegian, Finnish and Swedish people speak now. The name means holy cauldron, and I've heard it was more more common for boys. Still, it wasn't name I'd heard until I met Her. Anyway, the Vékell I knew is older than existence because Vékell watched the universe itself form," Anya explained, "She's beyond powerful, Giles, She liked my heritage. We talked a lot about the Baltics, the Vikings, the seas, what a proud people the conquerors were... The first time I met Her, She went by another a name even I couldn't pronounce. That was eight hundred years ago."

"You knew about a being of such power and never thought to tell any of us. Anya--"

"No, Giles, you will not lecture me about this. The last time I saw Vékell was twenty years ago. At a birthday party in New Orleans! She sent me to some far corner of the universe for daring to interrupt some baby's first birthday because Vékell doesn't like vengeance. She likes me, but not vengeance. You can see why our paths didn't cross much. D'Hoffryn hates Her. After the new name was adopted, She gave people a gateway to get a little information about Herself because She likes giving humans mystery. She, or He depending on the whim, changed all the old texts. It suited Her. Vékell blinked, and it as done. That's the only reason you've got the two words holy cauldron in your hands right now," Anya informed him. "Why would I tell any of you? I didn't tell anyone I knew Dracula until he showed up on the doorstep. Some of us aren't name-droppers. Besides, it's not like we're talking about some ancient evil bent on destroying the world while stupid boys ask women to marry them!"

Tara, Spike and Clem turned to the former demon and openly stared. Giles' gaze softened towards Anya before he asked, "You're sure Vékell isn't evil?"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure of that. Vékell loves a good prank, but evil? No. You remember the miracles at Lourdes? That was Vékell. She did it because it was fun for Her. Fatima? That was Her too. Most sightings of the Virgin Mary are Vékell," Anya told the bewildered group.

"Anya," Tara asked, "how do we talk to this person? We need answers, fast."

Giles broke in, "Is this Vékell a god, Anya? Higher power? What?"

"If you want answers from Her, you might consider lighting a few candles and saying several rosaries, Tara. She used to like it a lot when She was playing at being female. I don't know what She is, Giles. If She's taken a male form, you'll be happy to know Vékell no longer impersonates Satan or Tyr. You know, the Norse God of War. There was a time when She wasn't quite so concerned with stupid humans and their petty lives. She changed. According to Vékell, humans are worth preserving." At this point Anya was getting upset and frustrated. "You think Glory had power? Glorificus has nothing on Vékell. Not years, not power, not anything. Vékell comes when Vékell decides, and only if the case is worthy of Her time." Finally done, Anya Jenkins burst into tears, and Tara moved from her seat to comfort the sobbing young woman.

The witch asked, "That bad, sweetie?"

"Xander dumped me. No, I think I dumped Xander. Damn it! Tara, I don't know what happened, but Xander didn't want to get married," Anya spoke through copious tears. Tara comforted her friend while Giles, Spike and Clem watched with sympathy. No one really knew what to say. It would take some time to process the new information about Vékell and Xander.

Giles finally spoke, "Tara, would you all mind escorting Anya home? She's staying with me until her circumstances are settled." Tara merely nodded in response.

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Spike watched Tara comfort Anya. He couldn't get over the fact that Tara just knew what people needed from her, and somehow she managed to make Demon-girl feel better. The ponce had done her an ill turn, and Spike wondered if Anya considered going back to the vengeance trade. Maybe she was holding out on Harris, but that immature little prat brought this upon himself, and he certainly didn't deserve Anya. No sympathy was due in that corner.

As Tara assisted the crying woman in Giles' apartment, Spike couldn't help but notice how beautiful the witch was. 'Mate, you don't need two unattainable women in your life,' he said to himself. Still, he found the more time he spent with the bird, the more time he wanted to spend with her. Buffy, though on his mind constantly, was beginning to pale compared to Tara. The idea that he was comparing Buffy to Tara was alarming. Not that he didn't love the Slayer or like or want what was best for her, he just saw Tara as a person whose life was full because she embraced it completely. Buffy, on the other hand, avoided life's obstacles-unless they were Slayer related. Despite Willow's increased harassment, Tara refused to let herself cower from living. That was a quality Spike could admire in any being. With Tara, Spike felt himself soften, care about others as well as her, and want to be better for himself because she accepted him as better already. He could see that much in her eyes and hear it in her voice. As they came to know each other, Spike was easier simply being himself. Even Clem noticed Spike's fondness and made a point of reminding him Tara was a lesbian.

Still, the simplest gestures were graceful on his new roommate, and Anya's small sleeping form being covered with a blanket was no exception. Tara exuded nurture, warmth, love, and generosity. The fact that her family was filled with bastards made her even more astonishing, 'Bloody hell, I'm a damn Nancy-boy! This girl doesn't need me.... should tell her I'll stay in the crypt,' Spike thought, 'but I don't want to.' If Spike were totally honest with himself and Tara, he'd admit he liked the idea of taking care of her because she was receptive to his concern. She didn't treat him like garbage. He also wondered if Buffy would ever let him into her life that way, and would it change his growing feelings for the woman right in front of him? When Tara turned to him and smiled, light emanated from her entire being. Why would anyone risk losing her? Willow was a damn fool.
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Dawn watched TV and munched her popcorn quietly. She was alone. Willow left without saying a word, and Buffy didn't bother coming home from work-again. Whenever Dawn tried speaking with her sister, a wall went up between them, and there were moments Dawn wished Willow had left Buffy in her grave. Now that Buffy was back, she seemed less touchable than in death. Tapping the mute button and wiping her hands, Dawn Summers reached for her journal. For years, diaries were a source of solace, but lately Dawn wrote letters to her mother in them. She knew Joyce was in a better place, but writing to her mom always made Dawn feel a little better. Like someone might be around to listen.

Dear Mom,

Buffy thinks I don't know anything. I'm no little girl, but I am really scared. Willow's just spooky, Mom, she sits in her room and it smells all the time. Incense and herbs, but something nasty under it all. I want Tara. I want Spike too. They talked to me when they were here! Buffy doesn't talk to me. I don't think she really sees me, and sometimes I think Willow sees through me. She'll say things about doing spells with me to "discover your origins, Dawnie", but I don't care! I hate them sometimes, Mom, I want you to come back to us. Janice said Buffy gives her the wiggins. She's right. If Tara and Spike were here, at least I know I'd be safe. Do you know what Willow said to me last night? She told she sees before I was here. I'm so afraid the monks' spell is starting to dissolve. Mommy, will I be with you if that happens? I'm just afraid, and I can't tell anyone. Buffy patrols all the time or bitches about Spike. I told her he probably got tired of being treated like crap, and she told me to shut up or she'd make me. Someone's here. I have to go now, but I love you, Mom. I miss you.

Dawn grabbed her journal and ran upstairs at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. If Willow or Buffy walked in, they'd want to know what she was doing. Better just to pretend she'd done nothing but watch cartoons and done her homework this evening. When the doorbell rang, she was startled and wondered who'd be coming over this late. Tara already called and asked if Dawn wanted company, but Buffy said that wasn't a good idea since Dawn had tests in the morning. Her sister also claimed it wouldn't be good for Willow. Maybe Xander decided to visit, but that didn't make sense either. Dawn looked out the window and saw an unfamiliar car in the drive. She raced back downstairs to check the peephole; no one was there. Just the car, but who leaves their car at a strangers' house? A crash came from upstairs and a man's voice clearly said, "Oh this is just perfect! All right then, time to get to it, and let's hope the Calvary wasn't alerted."

Fear washed over Dawn, and she ran towards the coat closet to hide. It obviously wasn't a vampire, but human beings weren't above breaking and entering. She hid for at least ten minutes. Gathering her courage, she sped towards the dining room when the sound of feet came rushing down the stairs. There was nowhere to hide in there, so she crawled under the table. The last sound she heard was the front door slamming. Someone didn't care if he was heard or seen. Dawn crawled from beneath the table towards the kitchen to call 911. Just as she reached the phone, the back door swung open to reveal Willow carrying a bag of groceries, "Hey, Dawnie, what's up?"

"SHHH! Willow, somebody might still be upstairs. I'm calling the police," Dawn told the witch, "didn't you see the car out front?"

"No, there's no one there," Willow told the frightened girl, then added, "Are you certain you heard someone?"

"YES! Oh my God, he was upstairs. I heard his voice, Willow, I'm not stupid."

Willow replied, "Calm down, Dawnie, let me check, okay? Then we'll decide what to do," Willow turned and left the teen in the kitchen. She had no intention of calling the police; after all, it wasn't like they could actually explain all the weapons lying around in the house. The doors to the bedrooms were open, like always, but a light was on in Willow's bedroom and the bathroom. She was prepared to teleport anyone she ran into if necessary, but she was certain the intruder was already gone. The sisters' rooms appeared untouched. Willow's room was a disaster area. There were pieces of clothing scattered across the floor, and Willow's make-up bag was emptied onto the bed. Drawers and closets were open, but they weren't as messy as Willow expected from a burglar. At first, nothing seemed to be stolen, the mess was made quickly and it appeared fairly focused. Only personal belongings were touched. The jewelry box, once shared by both witches, was emptied, and jewelry was scattered across the dresser. Willow noted an absent locket that belonged to Tara. She'd hidden it in the lining of the box after Tara moved out, and then Willow claimed it was missing. Willow had given it to girlfriend on their first year anniversary, and each side contained a different picture-one of each woman. Other than that, nothing else appeared to have been taken. Someone knew what he wanted. Except the witch didn't believe it was burglary. Quickly, she ran to the bathroom for a cursory search and discovered the Summers' hairbrushes were tossed on the floor. Willow's brush was missing. Someone needed pieces of Willow's life specifically, and that meant a spell.

"DAWN," she shouted downstairs, "I need you."

Dawn ran up quickly and asked anxiously, "What's wrong?"

Willow looked over the girl and tried to sense whether or not she was lying when she questioned, "Have you been in my things, Dawnie? I won't be mad, but I want the truth." The older woman's eyes changed to dark briefly, but it was gone before Dawn noticed.

"No! Willow, someone was in here, I swear. We need to call the cops," Dawn's eyes widened as she said, "or Buffy."

"It's okay. I believe you," Willow assured Dawn, "Buffy went to find Spike tonight, sweetie, some demony thing. The police can't help us, I mean, how would we explain all the weapons? I doubt social services would ignore that you were here alone when a break-in occurred." The last thing Willow wanted was a nosy social worker to send Dawn off to her father or to a foster home. There was a lot more ground to cover, but Willow's studies produced some surprising results about mystical energy. While Dawn wouldn't ever be able to open the portal to Glory's home again, she was still The Key. Pure in its' essence and extremely powerful. Willow also discovered that she could skim power from Dawn without the girl's knowledge, and it wouldn't harm her in the short term. Prolonged and repeated draining would probably kill her, but Willow needed the magic buffet to boost her spells.

"Yeah, but do you think we're safe?" Dawn asked.

"Absolutely. Come on, let's make some cookies. Dawn, I'm sorry you were scared...," Willow added her best smile as she said, "and alone. We'll wait for Buffy together."

"Sure, Willow," the teen answered, but she hated the oogly vibe Willow gave off more recently.
 

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Buffy tromped through the graveyard without much thought. She felt dissected most of the time. As though two distinct parts of herself were at war, and the real Buffy was losing no matter what anyone might say. The brief respites from the darkness were fewer and further between. It didn't help that Spike was AWOL, and she was alone again. She'd checked his crypt late each night for the past two weeks, but he was never home which pissed Buffy off completely. On her way to Spike's place tonight, she'd run into at least a dozen vampires and killed them all with ease. It happened in such a blinding fury that Buffy would be hard pressed to deliver the details to Giles.

They surrounded her, quickly, like they'd known exactly where to go, but they must've been fledglings to rush her at once like they did. Not a one of them tried to play with her. It was very much wham, bam, dust again, and Buffy was a little disappointed. Lately, killing gave made her feel more right than anything else. When the first two vamps reached her, they grabbed her arms and tried to hold the Slayer back, but Buffy gained leverage on the nearest headstone. She thrust her legs forward and kicked her body up and over the potential captors whom she killed fast and hard. One stake in each hand, and Buffy Summers wasn't playing either. The words Giles spoke to a very young and inexperienced slayer came back to her, "Remember, Buffy, balance is key. As soon as your feet leave the surface, you are a vulnerable target. See to it you know your ground." Well this was ground Buffy knew better than any other.

There was no casual banter during the fight. The remaining vampires hesitated for a split second, but it was enough to give Buffy the time to grab two of them and knock their heads together. The blow was pitiless and cracked their skulls open. Bits of blood-covered brain glistened in the moonlight. A primal need to kill these creatures filled Buffy at the sight of the blood. With two dead and two soon to be dead, Buffy concentrated on the remaining eight. Kicks, blows, and stakes flew in rapid succession. When there was nothing but fine dust surrounding her, Buffy looked at the two surviving vampires crawling below her. They were mewling in pain. The female was even crying and begging. Buffy watched curiously then delivered a neck snapping blow to its' head. The other she dusted. Still, the injured female writhed and groaned in its' misery, but Buffy did nothing. She wondered if it could heal sufficiently to get underground before dawn. She also wondered if vampires ever suffered from brain damage. Inside Buffy's head, the voice she was beginning to think of as The Other pleaded with her to just kill it. Finally, she did and shifted her mindset back to finding Spike.

"Stupid vampire," she griped, "you so owe me some explanations," Buffy announced as she barged into Spike's crypt.

Oddly enough, Spike's TV and chair were gone. Assuming he'd moved everything to the basement, the Slayer walked towards the back of the mausoleum to climb down the rickety ladder. Jumping to the ground, Buffy was ready to beat the shit out of Spike when she realized she was facing an empty room. Everything was gone. The clothes, candles, bed, and weapons were nowhere to be seen. The only remaining box contained a few pictures, clothes, and old stakes-all belonging to the Slayer. Rage built in her tiny frame, coiling, pounding, and a scream was set loose that echoed throughout Sunnydale's underworld to set the teeth of those most people fear chattering. Buffy Anne Summers would find William the Bloody, and he would give her what she wanted because he had no choice. Evil was to be used. Evil was to be abused, and ultimately, evil was to be destroyed at the whim of its' master.

Deep in the Slayer's mind, a tortured piece of who she was cried for release. She never wanted this, but it was Willow's gift and curse. A little play to be acted, but, like all plays, the ending was predetermined.

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Spike stood at Tara's door and watched the witch sleep. Endowing her features and hair with silver, moonlight shimmered over her pretty form. She slept with abandon, and it made the vampire smile. Sprawled easily, like a young child, across the entire bad, Tara sighed in her rest. The poor kitten she'd adopted couldn't stay on the bed for fear of being tossed around by his new mistress. Leaning down to stroke the beast, Spike took in the smell of lavender that permeated the room, and it soothed his frayed nerves. He wasn't sure what had woken him, but his first impulse had been to check Tara. Her repose appeared tranquil while Spike kept watch, but when she said aloud, "You were borrowed once," a chill twined around his heart. Like Dru, Tara talked in her sleep, and Spike would bet Piccadilly Square her dreams weren't just dreams.

On the surface, Tara gave people the impression of being flat and lifeless. Spike resented that others didn't always see her strength of character and beauty. He'd noticed it the first time Willow brought the woman into Giles' flat. She wasn't all fire and ice like Buffy or perkily cute like Red, but Tara was beautiful. Spike often thought of Degas Dance School when he saw her. Like the girl from the painting who stands quietly looking towards the floor, Tara usually stood apart from the crowd attempting to hide herself, but it only made her grace more apparent. Tara was a warming breeze just before the spring begins. She was the hint and promise of more if you bothered to get to know her, and Spike wanted to know her. After a shared dinner, before toddling off to her bed, Tara had turned to Spike that evening and made a shy and surprising request, "Spike, w-would you mind if I painted you?" He could still hear her voice-a soft glow punctuating each word. For once, Spike avoided a snappy response or bit of sarcasm and simply acquiesced. Her brilliant smile and shining eyes were more than enough reward, and sitting for Tara would be a pleasure. Oh, he wouldn't be able to talk to her most likely, but he could drink in her presence. His only demand was that he heal up properly before setting his mug to paper, and her response was etched across his heart, "You're always beautiful," words spoken with absolute sincerity. Whatever Tara spoke, Tara believed, an endearing quality.

Drawn away from memories of their earlier conversation, Spike noticed the sleeping woman was no longer resting peacefully. Her limbs were jerking, and she'd started frowning. Before the dream could become a full on nightmare, the vampire decided to roust the woman but to no avail. In fact, the more urgent Spike's shaking became, the deeper Tara seemed to fall into her dream.

"Come on now, love, wake up for old Spike," he told her, "you're scaring the Big Bad here. Tara, s'not nice to scare the thing that should be terrifying you," Spike rambled words and phrases at her. "What in soddin' hell are you dreaming about?"
 

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Tara stood in a desert she'd never seen wearing a dress she'd never owned. Her hair, softly up in an unfamiliar style, was slowly being pulled down by the hot winds surrounding her. She tried to move, to speak, to do anything, but she was forced to stand and see the scene unfold. Three women stood in the distance, and as they came closer, Tara realized one of them was herself and one was Buffy Summers. She didn't recognize the third woman who was best described as primal. The other Tara smiled at her, but neither Buffy nor the woman she circled was aware of the real and frozen Tara. She realized that the Slayer was speaking to both of the other women, and Tara's reflection, it was the only word she could think of, appeared to be answering for the unknown girl. Suddenly, the drama playing before her flattened, and Tara found herself sitting in a movie theater next to herself. It struck her that whatever was happening wasn't a dream, and fear creeped its' way into her stomach.

When the other Tara spoke to her, "You were borrowed once. It's why you need to see, understand, remember the Buffy you knew is gone. I know you're confused and tired, but you need to understand," the fear heightened

The seat dropped from beneath her, and Tara screamed as she fell towards a pool of white energy. She realized it was Glory's portal, and her fear escalated to terror. The other Tara continued to speak to her, "Death was her gift. Find the urn, Tara, find it. It doesn't matter if it was broken, find it. It's time to see the rest." The world turned to darkness when the portal was sealed, and Tara watched Buffy's body fall to the ground a second time. This time, she also saw Buffy's soul depart, and when Buffy stepped through a doorway between worlds, it was Joyce who greeted her.

Her own voice called to Tara, "I'm sorry to do this to you."

Suddenly, Tara Maclay was forced into reliving Buffy's life, up to her death on the tower, in the span of seconds. Every detail, every mundane exercise, every face known to the Slayer, and all that Buffy had ever experienced was now Tara's as well. Angel, The Master, Adam, Willow, Xander, Parker, Riley, Drusilla, Glory, and Spike were all there. Whatever Buffy suffered, Tara did too, and she was certain she'd be insane by the time it was all said and done. Any joy belonging to Buffy was also Tara's to remember at will. Those were the memories she was clinging to for the moment. Just as Buffy jumped from the tower again, Tara was pulled out of the Slayer and told, "Vékell deems you worthy. There will be no more tests," Tara woke screaming only to find herself being held by Spike. Through Buffy's memories, Tara knew the Slayer would never love this man; she might respect his fighting skills, but Buffy would never see Spike as anything more than William the Bloody.

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Spike held Tara through the remainder of the night. She cried and said she needed to sort out her dream before telling him the details. Right after she'd woken, he'd comforted her and tried to get her to go back to sleep, but she was too edgy. Fearing he was making it worse, Spike decided to leave her alone. When he told her he should let her rest, she shocked the hell out of him as she grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the bed. Oh, Spike was certain Tara only wanted to be held, but he lay beside her mesmerized. He couldn't sleep, didn't want to either, so he contented himself with listening to Tara's finally easy breathing. Her lavender scented linens mixed with her own raspberry like fragrance was a bittersweet reminder of his mother's garden in the spring. Tara even wore an old fashioned white nightgown, virginal, which made him smile. Dru would've called her the lamb for the slaughter, but Spike only thought of those old days with distant fondness. He even wondered how Tara might look in one of the flowing gowns. The corsets, bustles, gloves, and hats; there was something to be said for a little mystery, he believed. While she slept, he contented himself with memories. It was better than worrying when there was nothing to kill or fix.

So many aspects of Tara brought Drusilla, England, and his mum to mind lately. If there was a God, He'd thrown this girl into his path as His own twisted joke. With every motion, act of kindness, or simple gesture from the witch, Spike wanted Tara more for himself. At the same time, he wasn't sure he didn't love Buffy, but he did acknowledge Buffy was a fixation that bordered on insanity. Even if his feelings for her were real, they weren't healthy. Spike didn't delude himself about the dysfunction he and the Slayer shared. Tara was easy to like, but Spike found her someone he wanted to protect and cherish, and that would make her easy to love. His demon, as well as whatever bit of humanity he owned, sensed it happening, and he speculated on whether or not he was capable of loving two humans. Now that would be a nasty little surprise, but as Tara grew brighter for him, Buffy dimmed. The Slayer was all molten rock and steel-passion personified. Still, it was angry passion that couldn't be compared to the softness of the woman next to him. Buffy wasn't the woman he'd loved before she died, but knowing that didn't change that he did have some feelings leftover for her, but what? He knew that loving Tara was probably a bad idea, and it would likely get him kicked out of his new home. Still, he couldn't help what he was beginning to feel. When she turned to him in her sleep, casually tossing her arm across Spike's chest, he heard a little whisper from the woman, "Spike." At least she wasn't dreaming of Willow. Spike grinned and thought maybe there was hope for him after all.

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Outside the apartment house, three sets of eyes tried to pry into Tara's windows. Ethan Rayne simply marveled at the purity of magic the girl possessed. It seemed the entire house was covered in her aura. Harmony Kendall complained of a broken nail and whined over the loss of her beloved Blondie Bear-she'd sensed him inside. Hidden in the trees, Buffy Summers stood above them; she didn't care about the odd couple below her. Her concern was Spike. He'd get what he deserved soon. Tara, strangely enough, had been in her mind earlier that night, and Buffy sensed power as well. A new power that wouldn't bode well for what she was becoming.