When She Was Wrong
J. Travis

Chapter 7 pt. 2

Giles slumped into the seedy motel chair and picked up the phone. If Quentin Travers thought he could get away with avoiding this conversation, Giles would crawl, scrape, and kick his away across the world to beat the answers from the man if necessary. Rather than wasting his own dime, he placed a collect call to the Council and was almost immediately rewarded with a warm, "Mr. Giles, we're so glad to hear from you."

"Thank you, Miss Penshaw, Is Quentin around right now?"

"Yes, I'll transfer your call," Giles had always liked Sylvia Penshaw. She was a nice woman, and he'd never understand how Travers had managed to hire her, "There you go, he'll be right with you."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," as always, she sounded genuine.

For a moment classical music played softly in Giles' ear, soothing, then a brusque voice interrupted the mellow tones, "Rupert, is there a problem?"

"We need to talk, Quentin."

An uncomfortable silence, almost palpable, crossed the Atlantic and continental US over the phone lines, "It's Miss Summers, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ethan Rayne said I should speak with you, and then I spent much of the evening in the company of something I have no words for other than Goddess. Vékell was the name she chose."

"What does she have to do with you or the Slayer?"

"I honestly don't understand-yet. What the hell is happening to Buffy? If you're holding out on me, I swear--," Giles was angry and unable to finish his statement. He was certain the Council had once again withheld vital information, so why bother with threats. Rupert Giles had never felt more helpless in his life.

Quentin Travers sounded evasive to the other man's ears, "We aren't precisely certain what's wrong."

Giles remembered everything Ethan had told him and intended to use the information to the best advantage, "What does Isabella Mazzioni have to do with John Travers?"

Gasping, Quentin demanded to know where Giles had heard the name, but Giles only repeated his question. Finally, the older man answered, "My grandfather was her Watcher as you already know," Travers hemmed a bit before continuing, "He fell in love with Isabella. She was nineteen, and he was well into his forties. The Council didn't approve, and neither did she, frankly. She was removed from his care to your family's estate, Rupert. It's a black period in my own family history I'd rather not remember, but it does have bearing on Buffy Summers."

"And what exactly happened after that? It must be pretty bad, Quentin because there is no mention of this in the old journals, and my grandfather and father never discussed this with me."

"Your father was twenty and serving in the military. Most of the young men did their time in World War II, you know that. By the time he came home, it was already done. Those involved agreed not to share the story."

"And you?" Giles temper simmered in anger.

"My father was horrified by what Grandfather did, Rupert, he told me and made me swear it would never happen again. Any Watcher who even hints at having more than professional feelings, or fatherly as you do which is also discouraged as you already know, is automatically dismissed."

Giles stomach churned, "What exactly did John Travers do to this girl?"

A tired sigh reached the former librarian's ears, "He followed her to your home, lied to your grandfather and claimed our Council had approved and agreed to a marriage between himself and Isabella." Travers cleared his throat, "It was an embarrassment-can you really blame me for not wanting this in the journals? The girl was angry and ran. She stumbled, Rupert, right into the arms of a witch who needed her blood. We never discovered why.... Hell, man, no one could even discern how Isabella was killed so easily! All the evidence was destroyed, but the one account I read in my father's personal diary states she was lying, unbound, on an alter while blood streamed from her throat. Oh, God, Rupert! This follows me all my waking hours, man! John Travers raised her, and before you ask, it was the same ritual used for Buffy Summers. Isabella came back, and things seemed all right for a time, but it was so obvious she hated the man. She always claimed she had no memory of dying and barely any of slaying -- It seemed pointless to push her according to your grandfather."

Giles interrupted, "And your grandfather was allowed to remain a member of the Council?" His mind reeled in horror, "Quentin, you have to tell me the rest, for Buffy's sake."

"No! I'll tell you the rest for your sake, but not hers. She's dead to you," Quentin's voice was pain filled, "Isabella Mazzioni ran away again. You have to understand, Rupert, London was in a panic! It was January 20, 1943. Forty-four London schoolchildren and one teacher had been killed that afternoon during an air raid. Isabella took advantage of the curfew, hid in shadows, she was murderously angry and very difficult to track. John Travers managed to follow her probably because she allowed him to, Rupert, and what he found... You must swear you'll never repeat this!"

For the sake of information, Giles would have sworn to a hula dance naked while Spike threw money at him, "Done, you've got your oath."

"She'd torn apart her family, everyone. Her younger siblings were hanging from the rafters in a church, and they'd been eviscerated... Your grandfather was so angry with mine when she ran that he followed John Travers, he saved his life that night. Before Isabella could kill John, Percy shot the girl."

Amazed and horrified, Giles found himself sickened that a Watcher was forced into killing a Slayer, even an insane and murderous Slayer, "Why did it happen?"

"Rupert, we still don't know. I am sorry, but if it's happening again, you realize what must be done? She'll eventually lose all sense of who she was. Isabella was depressed and suicidal before she'd ever been brought back, and while it might take Buffy Summers longer to deteriorate, it will happen."

"Suicidal?"

"It's speculation, but that's why I believe she was found dead without having fought her attacker... There was no autopsy, so we'll never know for certain, but my father's diary mentioned no signs of magical force used on the body. I wish to God I knew who the witch was, Giles."

Giles hung up the phone and began crying.

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Meanwhile, back at Clem's place, Tara tossed and turned in the large bed. She'd sat with Dawn until the girl fell asleep then tiptoed into the room across the hall. It was a large room with plenty of windows and an airy light feel. The bedroom had been decorated in soft blues and antique white. The master bath was huge and completely stocked with any toiletry a visiting guest might want, it had been cleaned recently too. Tara suspected Clem hired someone to keep the place going in his absence. The bedroom was meant to be inviting and restful, and it succeeded. Two windows, side by side, gave the resident a beautiful view of the Pacific coastline. There were shutters inside that could be latched for privacy or to block out the morning light. Tara closed the shutters and looked about; on the dresser, several candles of varying lengths, all a cream and honey colored beeswax, were arranged artfully. She quickly located some matches and lit the candles.

Despite the soothing fragrance and atmosphere, Tara's mind continued to worry over Vékell's words. Willow might die, and what about Buffy? If she and Spike planned on having any kind of relationship, Tara decided they'd be better off discussing what all this might mean. While she was truly over Willow, she knew that she'd grieve if her former lover was killed, and Tara assumed Spike would be just as unhappy to see Buffy die. Slipping from the bed, the witch reached for a robe and crept quietly from her room, down the hall, and downstairs.

There was a light emanating from beneath the door to the basement. At least Spike was awake, and she could hear the faint murmur of a television, so she knocked.

"Just a minute," Spike answered, and she could hear the sounds of him getting up from a couch or bed. His footsteps fell heavily on the stairs, but the door cracked open, "Tara? Love, you all right? Sorry, come in."

"Thanks," she looked around nervously, "um..it's nice down here."

"Told ya' it was," he smirked.

There was a billiards table, plasma TV, an oversized office desk, several tasteful paintings of English hunts, and the overall feel of the room was undecidedly masculine. "What did he do?"

"Clem's dad? Imports and exports. Imports mostly, all of it legal too! That demon was brilliant, but Clem took more after his mother-he's got her creative streak. He plays a helluva bass guitar," Spike smiled warmly, "Can't sleep, ducks?"

"Not really, wanna come upstairs?" Tara hesitated a moment, "I-I don't want to be alone, Spike, and then there's Willow...Buffy..."

Spike pulled the young woman closer, "Shhhh, s'not the time to fret over it, Tara, we can't do anything tonight. Come on, let's you get tucked in and off to sleep."

Tara reached for Spike and pulled him closer, determined to convey the message, and she kissed him as thoroughly as he had her earlier, "I don't think I want to sleep."

Spike broke away and asked, "You sure?"

In answer, she grasped his hand and led him up the stairs. The master bedroom, warmed now by all the candles, glowed and cascaded across the vampire's skin. Tara had the fleeting thought that he was as nervous as she was, unable to make the first move, so she did instead. Discarding the bathrobe, she sat on the bed and motioned for Spike to join her. He'd tossed on his jeans before answering the door downstairs, but grinned before removing them.

"Can we take this slow?"

"Anything you want, pet," and his eyes conveyed the message that he truly meant the words, "lie flat on your stomach, eh?"

He didn't take off the nightshirt she was wearing, and Tara wondered what on earth he could see in her. "Trust me, Tara?" His voice held notes of longing and desperation, that someone, anyone, would just for once trust him.

"Always," she replied and Spike kissed the top of her head.

Tara rolled onto her stomach and immediately felt her foot clasped gently, almost reverently. There was a brief moment of silence and then a quiet sigh as Spike began massaging Tara's right foot. It was exactly what she needed, and all of her limbs began relaxing. Spike did the same with the other foot, then moved up Tara's calves, "So pretty," he whispered, Tara sensed near awe in his voice and she blushed.

Soon, she found herself soften as Spike kneaded her tired muscles. By the time he finished her shoulders, she couldn't help but sink into a sleepy stupor. His hands, taking heat from her own body, had ceased feeling cold almost from the instant he began touching her, and as the tension was released, the young woman drifted into an easy state of mind. She hadn't thought it was possible after the horrifying party earlier in the evening, correction, yesterday, but she it was nice to let go for a few moments. It was well past two in the morning; she knew she should get some sleep, but Tara wanted to be awake, enjoy her time with Spike as long as possible, and then the two of them could deal with what needed to be done later.

"Pet, you awake?" Spike's words were barely a murmur, and Tara assumed he spoke softly to avoid waking her.

"I'm still with you," she replied.

The vampire asked Tara to roll over, "Time to loosen up the front a bit, eh?"

She complied and again sank into her thoughts, though she could see Spike as well as hear him now. Again he started at her feet, moving up her legs, and working away all the tension in her thigh muscles. Finally, he leaned over Tara and gently kissed her.

The couple kissed hesitantly at first, Spike eventually asking, "Do you want to stop?"

"Do you?" She wondered if her voice betrayed the mixture of worry that he'd say yes and hope that he'd say no.

Spike's eyes appeared to search her face, "No, just want to make sure...you know...make certain we're not doing anything you'll regret later."

In answer, Tara pulled the vampire closer to her. She knew neither was ready to admit loving the other, but both were ready to continue moving forward with their lives. For the first time since high school, Tara was interested in a man, okay, he was a demon too, but she'd always sensed so much more from Spike than his vampiric nature.

Excepting his eyes, there was none of the softness about Spike to which Tara had grown accustomed in Willow. While she watched him move from massaging one limb to the next, she studied his angles, tendons, muscles honed to a cat-like finesse. His touch was soothing, and her body began to feel like soft butter, melting into the sheets. Eventually, Spike's touch lightened as he traced lazy patterns across her legs, not pushing at the nightgown. To Tara, he seemed almost shy, afraid to make the next move that would mean they could never go back to being simply friends who relied on one another. She decided for him and sat up, pulling the simple cotton shirt over her head. Spike exhaled forcefully, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Knew you were beautiful, kitten, just not this beautiful," he grinned, nearly intoxicated just by the sight of her bare shoulders, hips, and breasts. Candlelight darkened Tara's blue eyes, making them almost black, and Spike wanted to drown in her, live inside her, know what she was contemplating as she thought it. She'd always just been there in the background, watching, waiting, but he'd always seen her and even liked her when she was trying to hide from everyone. Oh, he'd admit he'd been too obsessed with Buffy to notice much of anyone else, but everything changed the night Tara helped him. She didn't help him to get anything in return; Spike was surprised to find he liked that quality in a person. Now he had Tara, and as he learned every trace of her body, the image of Buffy, dancing at the edge of his mind, dissolved until only Tara remained.

They spent the night exploring one another. Tasting, touching, and finally realizing together what making love with a person, rather than only at the demands of another, meant. For Spike, it was an enlightening experience. He understood that Tara gave as much, or more, than she asked for, and she met every moment with a passion equaling his own. He'd expected her to be nervous and withdraw, but Tara wasn't as inexperienced as he'd initially assumed. Having a lover just as involved as he had always been was better than he could've hoped. In the quiet afterwards, Tara fell asleep cradled against Spike who thrilled that she didn't push him out of the room, try to crawl away, or call him names for simply loving her. He hadn't said the words, not yet, but he knew it was a matter of time before he did, and he instinctively knew Tara would be the person to reciprocate and mean it.

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In the dim light, Dawn tossed and turned in her bed unsure of what had woken her. She'd been afraid at first, but she was certain Spike and Tara would already be racing for her room if there was a problem. Again she thought she heard the sound of a window opening, and the teenager sat up, wild eyed, and stared at her door. Maybe Spike went out to smoke?

"Spike?" Dawn's voice trembled, "Tara?" No one answered, but the silence was more ominous than the previous noises had been. Dawn might have attributed it to the house settling in the dark if she hadn't been so upset by the everything Vékell had told her earlier. In all the years she'd known Willow, Dawn never would've expected the witch to harm a living soul, but she'd changed dramatically in the past couple of months. After Tara left, Willow acted so depressed and angry with her old girlfriend one moment only to turn around and whine about how much she missed Tara the next. It was scary, but Buffy wouldn't listen to Dawn about her fears. Now Dawn understood why. Buffy didn't care because Buffy wasn't really Buffy, but what was she? The teen tucked her knees under chin and listened intently, but she didn't hear anything except a gentle breeze blowing against the house while the waves caressed the beach. Maybe it was nothing. Dawn shrugged and scooted under her covers again thinking, 'I'll have to thank Clem for letting us stay here. Down comforters are way nicer than Motel Six,' and she began drifting off to sleep in the cocooned warmth.

When the teenager slipped into a dream, Willow Rosenberg entered the room and smiled, "Hey, cutie, we're going on a little trip. Tara belongs to me, and Buffy is going to be fine, but I need a little help from you, sweetie. Hide and seek is over." There was a rush of noise, color, and light, and Dawn and Willow were gone from the house before Spike or Tara even had a chance to wake.