Title:  Reflections

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG.  However, some content may be considered NC-17.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks:  I would never have started writing this without the encouragement and beta of DorothyL. She introduced me to the concept of fanfic and discusses BtVS with me endlessly.  I owe a tremendous debt to her insights.

Notes:   This is a sequel to “Enemies and Friends," but it is actually the first BtVS fic I wrote.  The writing of the bathroom scene predated the airing of “Seeing Red” by several months.  Also, nothing naughty is meant to be implied in the references to Spike visiting Anya at the Magic Box.  “Entropy” and “Seeing Red” aired well after I started this story, and I haven’t made any changes based on what happened after “As You Were” and “Hells’ Bells.”  Not because I don’t want to edit this, but because it’s just too hard to do after watching “Seeing Red.”   (Yes, I’m repressing parts of Season Six.  Isn’t everyone?)

        Buffy opened the door and stared in astonishment at Giles, who was standing on the threshold, gazing at her with a familiar expression that managed to be quizzical and affectionate at the same time.  It took her less than a second to move from surprise to joy, and she hugged him fiercely.

        “Why are you here?  Why didn’t you call to say you were coming?” she demanded.

        “You didn’t know?  I told Willow when she called—“

        “Willow called you?”

        “Yes, she said that . . .”  His voice trailed off, as he stared at her even more intently.  “Buffy, how are you?”

        “Huh?  I’m fine.  We’re all fine, health-wise and pretty good sanity-wise, I think. We even beat some bad guys.  Not much in the way of bad guys, but, the way I’ve been off my game since I came back from the dead, I haven’t had too many victories, so I was pretty much, hooray us.  Of course, we’ve had mysterious exploding statues, but, hey, this is Sunnydale.  Things haven’t been so good for Xander and Anya and Willow and Tara, though, but I told you about that last time we talked.”

        “What about Spike?”

        “Spike?”  Her gaze suddenly began darting about the room guiltily.  “Spike, he’s, well, he’s just fine too.”  Her gaze was so innocent, it begged for disbelief.

        He sighed, remembering many other conversations in which she had tried to pull the wool over his eyes.  Sometimes, if the matter was not serious, he had let her think she was getting away with it just to give her the pleasure of a victory.  This time, he needed to know the truth.  “Buffy, Willow called me and said, among other things, that Spike’s chip was deactivated.”

        “Among other things?” stalled Buffy desperately.

        “Yes, well, I can hardly say this, but she was insistent that you and Spike had—that is, that you and Spike—”

        “I can’t believe she told you! I wanted to break it to you gently.  Yes, me and Spike.  Yes. But, you need to understand, except I don’t know how to make you understand . . .”

        He grasped her arms. “Buffy, you don’t need to explain to me.  I’m sure that I probably don’t want to know very much about it anyway.  All I know is that it’s happened to you again, and I wanted to be here for you.”

        Instead of the deluge of tears he expected, she looked confused.  “What’s happened again?”

        His bewilderment increased. “You and a vampire.  Spike being able to hurt humans again.”

        “Oh,” she said in a voice that seemed oddly devoid of emotion.  “That.”

        “What’s been happening, Buffy?  Is he dead?  Have you been hunting for him?”

        “No, he’s not dead.  And I haven’t been hunting for him exactly,” she said in a small voice.

        His voice became exasperated.  “Buffy, before the Initiative put that chip in his brain, Spike was an immensely powerful and dangerous vampire.  You know that.  Yet you seem wholly unconcerned   Do you even have any idea where he is?”

        “Well, sure,” she said in a small voice.  He continued to stare at her until she admitted, “He went to pick up Dawn and walk her home from Janice’s house.”

        “What?”

        “Well, we don’t let her walk around by herself after dark.  Anya told me.  Spike was at the Magic Box when Willow called and said she couldn’t do it, so Spike went.  He was on his way over here anyway.”

        “Buffy, are you telling me you are still on friendly terms with him?  That you are continuing to have a – a – some sort of relationship with him?”

        “See, I knew you wouldn’t understand.  Major overreaction time.” 

        “Buffy, don’t make it sound as if I am the unreasonable one here!”

        “Well, you are, because I’m not doing anything crazy.  Spike has changed; he hasn’t hurt anyone since he got his chip out–well, I think there was a mugger, but that was just a broken collarbone, and he did punch the bartender at that demon biker bar in the nose, but I’ve met that bartender, and I’ve punched him once myself.  He may not be a demon in the strictest sense of the word, that’s the bartender, I mean, but—

        He interrupted, experience having taught him the futility of trying to make sense of her narrative flow. “Are you trying to tell me that Spike has not reverted to a murdering animal?”

        “Yes,” she said defiantly.  “He’s not evil any more.”

        At that moment, the front door crashed open and Spike stalked in, eyes blazing, as he growled in rage at someone behind him.  “Just let me get my hands on that little witch, I will carve her to pieces, I’ll twist every strand of hair off her head before I rip her throat open and –”  He stopped, almost panting with rage, as Xander and Dawn tumbled in the door behind him.

        “Spike?” asked Buffy, staring at him in bewilderment.

        He turned to focus on her, and pumped the air with his fist.  “I mean it, Slayer.  I am out for Willow’s blood over this, and you are not going to stop me.”

        To Giles’ horror, Dawn stepped forward and grabbed Spike’s hand. “Stop shouting so much.  We need to explain.”  She turned to face Buffy, and noticed the other figure in the room.  “Giles!”  Dawn let go of Spike’s hand and threw herself into the watcher’s arms. 

        Giles hugged her, but kept a watchful eye on Spike.  To his astonishment, the vampire seemed to relax a little, running his hand through his blond hair and shrugging his shoulders as if to release some unbearable stress in his neck muscles.  To his even greater astonishment, Xander stepped forward, nodded a brief greeting to Giles, and then said, “Spike’s a bit too much with the blood-thirstiness on this one, but I have to agree with the basic anger.  This time Willow has gone too far.”

        Buffy’s face shut down, and Giles’s heart sank as he saw the too-familiar look of pain come over her features.  It was the expression she bore whenever she was faced with a heart-wrenching decision.  She had faced too many such dilemmas already.  Giles had half-anticipated seeing that expression on her face when she first opened the door, because Willow had told him that Buffy was once again anguished by the necessity of killing her ex-lover.

        But it was Spike, who did not appear to be an ex in any sense of the word, who stepped forward and pulled Buffy into his arms, comforting her.  “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured.  “I overreacted.  We’ll work it out somehow.”

        “No, Spike, you totally did not overreact,” said Dawn.  “Willow tried to have me killed and frame you for my murder.”

        “What!”  Buffy pushed away from Spike’s chest but let him keep one arm around her.  “She did what?”

        “Maybe not,” said Spike.  His face was a study in hard planes and shadows, but his words were placating.  “She may not have intended that the Little Bit get hurt.  In fact, I’m sure she didn’t because she made bloody sure Xander would be there.  She just wanted to do the framing me part.”

        “Oh, and that’s okay,” said Dawn, sarcastically.  “She was just trying to get us to kill you for her.  That’s still murder, Spike.”

        “Can’t be murder,” he said coolly.  “I’m already dead.”

        “Stop this, and tell me what happened,” demanded Buffy.

        Finally, Buffy and Giles got them to sit down and tell the tangled story.  Willow had promised to meet Dawn at Janice’s house and to walk her home.  Because she was no longer living in Buffy’s house and because she refused to spend any time there when Spike was around, she wanted to take this brief opportunity to try to rebuild her relationship with Dawn.  But Anya had received an unusual phone call from Willow.  Willow said she was running late, and would Anya ask Spike if he could walk Dawn home.  Spike was indeed at the Magic Box dropping off some magical herbs Anya had asked him to help her find.  Willow actually spoke to Spike on the phone, giving him an address.  Anya and Spike both found this behavior extremely suspicious, given Willow’s recent hostility towards both of them.  Then Spike realized Willow had given him the wrong address; she had told him to go to a street with a similar name at least a dozen blocks away from Janice’s real home.  He went to get Dawn anyway, but Anya was leery enough to call Buffy and mention the conversation, but without repeating all their concerns. “Didn’t want to press the panic button, but it seemed like we two demons were being set up for something,” Spike commented.

        He was right.  Immediately after talking to Spike, Willow had called Xander and asked him to pick up Dawn.  

        The plan was too elaborate and had fallen apart.  Spike, heading for the correct house instead of being on his way to another neighborhood, fell in with Xander.  The two had already been comparing notes when they approached Janice’s house—and saw Dawn, apparently being attacked by Spike.

        “Huh?” interrupted Buffy eloquently.  She was already having trouble following the story, told as it was by three voices constantly interrupting each other.

        “It looked just like him,” said Dawn.  “He came to the door, and it looked just like Spike.  But he was acting weird, and I was already about to run away when he went all vamp-face and said he was going to kill me.  He grabbed my arm, but he didn’t attack right away; it was like he was waiting for something.”

        Before she was hurt, the real Spike had tackled the other vampire, and the two of them had fought, while Xander and Dawn stood by helplessly.  They were unable to help for fear of staking the wrong vamp.

        Then one of the vampires had staked the other, and Xander and Dawn had stood uncertainly, not knowing they faced the real Spike or the imposter.  “How did you determine the truth?” asked Giles.

        “Oh, he stared cussing in British,” said Xander.  “At about the fifth ‘bloody hell’ or the third ‘bollocks’, I figured we had the real Spike.”

        “I don’t understand,” said Giles, “What could lead Willow to do such a thing?  How can you be sure it was her?”

        “She’s been crazy about Buffy not rejecting Spike even when the Troika de-activated his chip,” said Dawn.  “It’s like she can’t think about anything else.”

        “Then why not just kill Spike?” said Xander.

        “Thanks for the suggestion, mate,” said Spike.

        “You know what I mean.  If she hates you so much, why all the murder mystery plot?  Why not just send a magically propelled stake through your heart?”
        Spike gave Buffy a measuring look, as if deciding whether he dared say something.  Before he spoke, Dawn said in a small voice, “Because Buffy and I would blame Willow for his death.  We’d be mad at her.  She wants us to be mad at him.”

        Spike nodded reluctantly.  “The Little Bit picks up the brass ring with that one.”

        Buffy sat with her hands clenched in her lap.  “Why?  Why does she need to break us up?  Why does she need me to hate you?”  She stared into his eyes.  “You know.  Why won’t you tell me?”

        “You won’t want to hear this.”

        “Tell me anyway.”

        The others watched silently, riveted by the intensity in their voices.  It was clear by the way Buffy and Spike’s gazes locked that they had forgotten everyone else in the room.

        “The witch is jealous,” said Spike slowly.  “She feels like she’s lost her best friend.”

        “Why?  I tried to be there for her, even when I was so messed up about the two of us that I—”

        “You being there for her is not what this is about, love.  It’s about me being there for you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.  I’ve had other boyfriends, and Willow never reacted like this.  She was always supportive, even most of the time with Angel.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was.”  He was as sarcastic as only he could be.  “You shared little girlish confidences about it, didn’t you?  Told her everything you were feeling, all your worries and joys, maybe even imparted the occasional bedroom detail—”

She misinterpreted the reason for his scornful tone.  “I never talked about you like that with her!  I never even told her it was going on, and when she found out, I didn’t—”

“Exactly,” he interrupted.  “Didn’t tell her other things that were going on either.  You didn’t tell her where you were before you came back to life, not until you were forced by that bloody musical comedy spell.  You don’t tell her much any more, do you?  Did she even really know how much of a world of hurt you’ve been in these past months?”

“I couldn’t tell her.  At first, it would have hurt her feelings, and then she was trying to deal with the magic thing.  Besides, I was too confused to talk to anyone but you.”

He nodded grimly.  “Willow wants to be number one with you, pet.  I’m not saying you make her hot, so don’t jump in and tell me I’ve a sick mind.  It’s not about shagging, it’s about sharing.  It goes deeper than sex.  You’ve always gone to her when you were feeling like a kicked puppy, and now it turns out someone else is holding your hand and listening to you pour your heart out.  She doesn’t want to need you, love; she wants you to need her.  And the way to make that happen is for me to be gone.  You’ll go cry on her shoulder, and she’ll have her Buffy back to take care of.”  He stared into her face, reading from her stunned expression that she was reluctantly accepting this devastating analysis.  “Which is why I need to go away, before she does something that will really hurt Dawn or you, love.”

“Run away?”  Buffy’s eyes blazed, and suddenly she and Spike were standing toe-to-toe, facing each other down.  “You are not going anywhere.”

“It’s safer for the Little Bit.  You can protect her here, and I can go—“

“Where?  Someplace where Willow can’t find you and destroy you?  If you leave Sunnydale, she could use magic to locate you and kill you.  I would never even know what happened to you, and I couldn’t live with that!  It would give her what she wants.”

“So you think Spike can’t take care of himself?  Or maybe you’re afraid that as soon as I’m out of your sight, I’ll go back to my old ways?  That without the Slayer looking over my shoulder and bribing me in the sack every night my eating habits will take a change for the worse?  Or perhaps it’s just the thought of that empty bed upstairs that you don’t like?”

Furious at this unexpected assault, Buffy raised a hand to strike Spike.  Before she could complete the blow, Dawn thrust herself in between the two of them.  “Stop it, you two.  We don’t need this now!  Besides, Buffy, you idiot, he’s just trying to make you so mad you’ll throw him out.”

Dawn’s last sentence struck home.  Both sisters turned identical gazes of evaluation at the vampire, who stepped back and looked rueful.  After a moment, he shrugged.  “It was worth a try,” he said.

Xander and Giles let out sighs of relief as the women relaxed.  No one questioned Spike’s analysis of Willow’s feelings.  “What do we do now?” asked Xander.

“I suggest we sleep on it,” said Giles.  “With luck, Willow has not realized you know she is behind this, and she seems to be trying to mask her role.  However, I suggest we warn Anya and Tara to beware of anything she may say or try to get them to do.”

“I’ll call Tara,” said Dawn.

“I guess I should call Anya,” said Xander reluctantly.

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Giles.  “I need to let her know I’m back temporarily and talk to her about the shop in any case.”

Xander looked relieved and embarrassed.  He left, with promises that he would be careful and that he would stop by the next morning to take Dawn to school.

Buffy looked at Giles.  “You’ll stay here tonight?”  He nodded. 

Dawn looked at the adults in consternation.   “And that’s all?  We’re not going to do something right away?”

Giles said, “I only wish I knew what to do.  Unless you want to endorse Spike’s earlier suggestion of bloodshed?”

Dawn grimaced.  “At the time, I was mad enough to—but, you’re right, what can we do to Willow?  I mean, she’s our Willow.”

There was a silence, which Spike finally broke.  “Besides, Little Bit, don’t you have homework to do?”

“That’s right,” said Buffy, “I seem to remember I only let you go to Janice’s because you promised to finish your math as soon as you got back.”  Giles was startled to hear the echo of Joyce’s voice in her words.

“I don’t believe this,” said Dawn.  “Even with everything that’s happened tonight, you expect me to do homework?” 

“Yes,” said Buffy and Spike simultaneously.

They watched Dawn stalk off towards the dining room, and Spike shrugged again.  “I still want to kill something,” he said.  “Want to patrol?”

“Okay,” said Buffy after a minute.  “We still need to track down that demon that was terrorizing those people in the park.  I suppose Willow won’t try anything else tonight, and, if she does, you wouldn’t be any safer here than in the park.”

“A bloody comforting thought,” said Spike.

Buffy was staring after her sister.  “Would you get the weapons?  They’re in the blue bag, but the strap broke last night.  Can you put them in the other thing?  I want to make sure Dawn is okay before we go.”

Giles, on the phone to Anya, watched Spike go through the weapons chest in the corner and then move to pick up a bag by the door.  As he transferred the weapons from one bag to another, the vampire was distracted by the sight of Buffy bending over Dawn, who was seated at the dining room table with a book in front of her.  As he watched the two girls, the movement of Spike’s hands slowed, and a pile of stakes moved from one bag to another.  Then, Spike froze for a moment as Dawn moved her head away from Buffy, only to relax when the teenager suddenly smiled and gave her sister a quick embrace.  Without looking, Spike dropped the item that he had been holding the past few seconds into the bag and stood up.  Giles, who had just finished his conversation, stepped over to look in the bag, his face intent.  He looked up, satisfied that his eyes had not been deceived.  The item had been a cross. 

“Spike?” said Giles, watching the vampire pick up an axe and swing it experimentally. 

“Hmm,” said Spike, dropping it and selecting an axe with a longer handle.  There was obviously nothing wrong with his hands. 

“Are you familiar with the theory of quantum mechanics?”

“Not intimately.”

“There is a notion that perception can distort actual matter.”

Spike snorted.  “Is that what you and the rest of the Nancy boys back at the council spend your days nattering about, watcher?  You need a spell back here in Sunnydale to remind you of reality.  The only theory I’m concerned about right now is one that involves the proper method of killing a Lomash demon.”

“I believe chopping off its head generally works,” said Giles, deciding not to mention his observation just yet. 

“This should do, then,” said Spike, shouldering the axe.

        Giles stayed up late, making a phone call to England and working on translating some books he had brought with him.  He finally nodded off on the couch some time after Dawn had gone to bed.  He was wakened by the sound of the back door opening, but his jet-lagged brain returned to consciousness only sluggishly.  It was a minute or two before he got up off the couch and made his way into the kitchen.

        He paused in the doorway, with the dreadful realization that the two people in the room had no idea they were not completely alone.  Spike was leaning with his back to the counter, eyes alight, as Buffy taunted him with something in her hand.  “Come and get it,” she purred.  “You know you want it.”

        She gave a gasp of laughter as Spike pulled her towards him and seized her hand, raising it to his lips.  Giles watched in horror as Spike licked something red and viscous from her fingers.  “Buffy!” he cried involuntarily.

        She spun around, pulling away from Spike.  The vampire swore a low-voiced, “Bloody hell,” and looked annoyed. 

        Buffy looked embarrassed and a bit guilty.  “Sorry, we didn’t know you were awake.”  She looked down at the substance oozing off her fingers.  “Oh, and sorry about this.”

        “Sorry?” said Giles incredulously.  It seemed inadequate.

        “Yeah, I know we shouldn’t have taken the last jelly donut when you’re a guest and I know they’re your favorite, but patrolling just makes you so hungry and—“ she stared up at him, aware from his stunned expression that an apology for swiping a donut was not going to help the situation.  “Anyway, we got the demon.  All gone and no longer menacing society.  So that’s to the good.  And now, and now, I think we need to stop disturbing you and go and – ”  She halted again, clearly at loss to explain where she and Spike wanted to go.

        “And clean up,” said Spike hoarsely.  “I mean after all that fighting, we need to wash our faces and our,” he looked down at Buffy’s hands, “sticky fingers, like good children.”  Still standing behind Buffy, he put his hands on her shoulders and began to guide her toward the stairs, walking backwards.  He seemed curiously reluctant to let Giles observe the front of his jeans.  “Because you know, cleanliness is next to, well, next to something I won’t ever be near, so I might as well—”

        “Oh, just go, both of you,” said Giles, unable to bear it any more.

        They stampeded up the stairs like a pair of naughty children, leaving him to stare in bemusement at the remains of a jelly donut.

        At the top of the stairs, Buffy stopped and pushed Spike away.  He was about to protest when he saw her step to the door of Dawn’s room.  He waited as she eased the door open, peered in, and then closed it again.  “All’s well?” he asked.  She nodded.

        “Good,” he said, and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her into the bathroom.  She slammed and locked the door, then reached for the buttons on his shirt.

        They undressed each other at a frantic pace, tossing their clothes to the floor and kicking them into a pile in the corner.  It was Buffy’s turn to grab him and push him into the shower stall, reaching for the faucet as she slammed the stall door shut behind them.  A moment later they were kissing frantically under the cascade of warm water, its smooth, ever-changing surface the only barrier between their naked bodies and their questing hands.

        Spike ran his hands over her breasts as his tongue opened her lips.  Buffy leaned back against the wall of the shower, hands in his hair.  Then his lips dropped from hers to touch her neck.  She moaned with a pleasure that had no trace of fear in it, but only increased as he dropped to his knees, his mouth moving over her breast and then her belly. 

        She braced her back against the wall, spreading her legs, as his tongue explored her.  She shuddered convulsively, her hands caressing his hair, but not needing to guide him as he read her every reaction expertly, knowing where to touch and when to pull back momentarily. 

        Suddenly, she gasped with a need to pleasure him as intensely as he did her.  She reached out, shutting off the water, and opening the door to the shower.  She pushed him, wet and dripping, out onto a towel that lay across the floor, and jumped astride him, leaning forward to meet his lips, strands of her wet hair mingling with his. 

        He reached down to guide himself inside her, but she pulled away, laughing.  “I’m not done yet,” she said.  “But some of us need to breathe when we do this, and you know how I hate being drowned.”  Her tongue moved eagerly across his neck, then her teeth gently teased his nipples before she took his full erection inside her mouth.  Eyes, closed, he touched her dripping hair, luxuriating in the knowledge that she found as much joy in pleasuring him as he had bringing her to the point of ecstasy.

        Finally, he pulled her away from him, his eyes telling her what he wanted next.  They wrestled for a moment on the floor, more disconcerted by the smallness of the room and their own wet, slick bodies than by any uncertainty in their lovemaking.  Giggling, Buffy tried to pull herself out of the morass of arms and legs by grasping the edge of the sink and standing up to face the mirror.  Spike’s arms came around her waist and his hot, moist body pressed into her back as he too stood up.

        She felt his erection slide between her legs and reached down one hand to help guide him into her.  Her head came up and she froze in shock.  For a moment, she had fully expected to meet his eyes in the mirror over the sink.  In fact, she thought at first that she had seen him, leaning behind her, in the slowly demisting surface of the glass.  But now there was nothing but her own naked body, her loneliness in the mirror belied by the feel of his arms about her, his chest pressing against her back, and his cock pulsing inside her. 

        She didn’t know if he shivered first, or if she did, but for a frozen moment they teetered on the brink of horror.  What had been a moment of near perfect release and love was about to be destroyed by that vast emptiness in the mirror.

        Buffy pushed him back away from her, then whirled around and knocked him to the floor on his back.  A moment later, she was astride him again, his erection inside her as she leaned her face over his, her eyes blazing as she murmured the words she knew she could only say at such a moment, because at any other time he would reject them as too painful to be heard.  “I love you, William, and I have invited you in here inside me because you are real, because this is real.” 

        In the morning, Giles came downstairs to find Dawn finishing breakfast.  “Did you sleep okay?” she asked.

        “Yes, fine, fine,” lied Giles, in a state of near exhaustion and jet lag.

        Dawn was not fooled.  “Sorry about the things that go bump in the night.  I’ve kind of gotten used to it, and I don’t say anything because Buffy and Spike think they’re being stealthy.”

        Giles decided to ignore this statement, but could not help wondering how those four episodes of bumping in the night (not counting whatever had gone on earlier in the bathroom) could count in anyone’s mind as stealth.  Fortunately, at that moment Xander knocked on the back door and opened the door to the kitchen without waiting for a response.  “Morning.  Ready for school, Dawnster?”

        “Almost.  Want some coffee?”      

        “I’ll help myself.  Any donuts left?”

        Neither Xander nor Dawn noticed Giles’ wince, because it was at that moment Xander saw what was in the sink.  “Yeesh!  What is that?”

        “Either something disgusting they killed last night or the remains of Spike’s breakfast.  I think he was mixing raw ground beef and bananas again.  His eating habits just keep getting weirder.  I wish he’d just go back to slugging down a pint of blood once in a while, but he’s gotten into this experimental thing that makes my diet look normal.”  She didn’t seem very concerned by this, and was calmly loading books into her backpack as she spoke.

        “So Spike is up already?” asked Giles.  Or again, the nastier part of his mind commented snidely.

        “I think he went down into the sewers before sunrise,” said Dawn.  “That way he can get around better during the day.  Probably safer for him than lurking here with all this sunlight around.”

        “Yes, of course,” murmured Giles, and watched her leave with Xander.  A few minutes later, Buffy came downstairs, looking, if not exactly cheerful, at least at peace and determined. 

        “I’m going to figure out some way to show Willow what she’s doing is wrong,” she told him.  “We just have to keep everyone safe and away from her until I can do that.  I know Willow.  Even if she has gone half-crazy with the stress from finding out she pulled me out of heaven and losing Tara and the magic, there’s still a good person inside there.  I’m sure we can get through to her.  Especially with you here.  Maybe her phone call to you was like a cry for help.”

        “Perhaps.  Actually, Buffy, before we plan too much, there’s something I feel I need to check out.  I’d like to go to the magic shop and spend time with some of the books there. There’s one in particular that has a, well, a prophecy that I investigated some years ago and that I think may have some bearing on this situation.”

        “Okay.”  She frowned slightly.  “Although I’m not a big fan of prophecies.  They always seem to have some Catch-22, or they don’t tell you the one thing you need to really know, or you don’t figure them out until after it’s all over and you know the answer anyway.  But if you’re going to be in research mode, just like in the old days, I think had better go to work.  Even with everything else going on, I need the money from this temporary job to pay the bills.”

        Giles planned to leave immediately, but he was so tired that after Buffy marched off to work, he fell on the couch and slept for a few blessedly peaceful hours.  When he awoke, it was already afternoon.  He went through the refrigerator, but found nothing more appetizing than cold pizza.  There were also some containers of disturbingly congealed blood pushed back on one of the lower shelves.

        Walking into the Magic Box was more difficult than he had imagined.  When he had last been there, the Scooby Gang had seemed fractured, but the possibility of healing had existed.  Now it seemed broken beyond repair.  Willow’s strange behavior, if it could be proven, was something more horrible than he could have anticipated.  Xander and Anya’s breakup was something he had foreseen, but hoped could be avoided.  He knew how much that relationship had meant to Anya and how much her tenuous foothold on humanity had depended on it.  He dreaded what he would find when he visited his old business partner.

        She was standing behind the counter when he walked in, and she looked up almost wearily.  There was none of the eagerness she used to show when a customer appeared, but no demonic anger, either.  She just looked sad and very tired.

        She stared at him for a long moment, and then rushed into his arms.  He held her consolingly as she sobbed into his shoulder, astonished that she could find so much comfort there, and that it seemed so natural to give it.   He murmured reassurances gently until she stopped crying and just stood in the circle of his arms.  “I’m so glad you’re back,” she said finally.  “I’ve felt so alone.  The others have tried to be nice, well, except for Willow, but I know they’re thinking that they can’t be close to me and Xander and I can’t help knowing that I’m bound to lose eventually.”

        “There, there,” he said, wondering as he did so if he could have thought of anything more inane and inadequate. 

        Before he could do more, a door slammed shut and Spike strode in through the cellar entrance.  He stopped, took in the spectacle before him, and cleared his throat with the false politeness of someone who does not intend to publicly acknowledge something that is both obvious and clearly improper.  “I’ll just be off again then,” he said in an even tone at odds with his dancing eyes.  Not even the recollection that Spike could surely kill him with one stroke of his fist kept Giles from longing to hit the vampire. 

        He released Anya with deliberate slowness.  “I assure you, there is no need for you to go.”

        Spike dropped all appearance of courtesy.  “Is it voyeurism you’re into now, watcher?  Because I have to tell you, I’ve never been fond of the spectator aspects.”

        “Very funny,” said Giles in a tone that clearly indicated it wasn’t. 

        “Oh, shut up, Spike,” said Anya.  She didn’t appear at all embarrassed.

        “Spike, I want to talk to you,” said Giles in as schoolmasterish a tone as he could manage.

        “Of course you bloody well do,” said Spike, with the air of someone anticipating a repeat of a lecture he has heard many times.  He pointed to Buffy’s training room.  “In private?”

        “That would be best,” said Giles, refusing to show annoyance.  He walked into the back room and looked around.  The water cooler was still there.  As if to cover some very British embarrassment at starting a discussion on a personal topic, he wandered over to fill himself up a glass. 

        “Let me guess,” said Spike, finding himself a chair and sprawling into it.  “You invited me in here to tell me that if I don’t keep on being a good boy you’ll stake me good and proper.  And, by the way, I’m not worthy of your precious Buffy and that if you could figure out a way to get her to give me up, you would do it in a heartbeat.”

        Giles took his time filling his cup before turning to meet the vampire’s satirical gaze.  “No, Spike, that is not what I want to talk to you about.  All of those things are quite true, of course, but since you are intelligent enough to figure them out for yourself, I had no intention of actually saying them.”

        Spike smiled.  Clearly, this was his idea of a friendly chat, and he was enjoying himself.  “What then, watcher?”

        Giles went into stall mode, and there was no need to cast about for a topic.  “I need to talk to you about Willow.  I’m concerned that if she is indeed behind yesterday’s attack, she may have already employed other means –“

        “If?” Spike interrupted.  “I had the impression last night you were convinced.  Now the little witch is getting the benefit of the doubt again.  I’m not saying we should burn her at the stake, but I’m feeling a might uneasy knowing that I’m target number one here and you’re waffling about and wondering if there really are any arrows in her bloody crossbow.  Hey!”

        Spike jumped as Giles’ cup tipped and spilled water over his arm and hand.  “Mind the coat!  It’s leather, you know.”

        Giles stared at Spike’s hand and sleeve.  The black leather duster’s good, better, and best days were all clearly part of the distant past.  “Yes, I can see it costs you a fortune in dry cleaning.”

        Spike strode over to the wall and picked up a towel, which he used to swat at his arm.  He was clearly more annoyed at the invasion of his personal space than any damage to the ancient coat.  Nonetheless, he removed the duster and hung it on one of Buffy’s practice dummies, his hand resting on the makeshift stand as he stared moodily at Giles. 

        Giles gazed back at the slouching figure gravely, removed his glasses, cleaned them carefully, replaced them, and gazed again.  As he put his handkerchief away in his coat pocket, he felt the bulge of the small bottle of holy water that he had emptied into the cup.

        “Well,” said Spike, not moving. “Are you going to tell me what the bloody hell is going through that bookworm infested mind of yours?  Do you believe me about Willow or not?”  He was clearly oblivious to the fact that his right hand was resting in a shaft of sunlight from one of the high windows.  Giles wondered what would happen if he did notice it.  Would it burst into flames because Spike believed that was what must happen?  Or would the sight somehow move the vampire to the next level in whatever transformation seemed to be taking place?  Giles couldn’t play a waiting game; Spike was in too much danger, and Willow’s sanity, if not her soul, seemed to be at stake.

        “This may surprise you, Spike, but at the moment I am concerned with something even more astonishing than Willow’s recent behavior.”

        “And what might that be?”

        “Your right hand, in fact.”

Spike raised his hand in front of his face.  He looked from the unremarkable digits to Giles with a mixture of suspicion and bewilderment.

        Before Giles could explain, the door to the shop slammed open.  Willow floated there, eyes black, clothes gusting out behind her.

        Spike didn’t waste a moment, but rushed toward her.  He was stopped in his tracks and thrown backwards against the wall.  He fell unconscious to the floor.

        “I knew he was here.  Anyanka lied to me.”

        Giles stared at Willow in horror.  “What have you done to Anya?” he demanded.

        She looked at him calmly.  “She’ll be all right, although she doesn’t deserve to be.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.”  She stared at Spike with loathing.  “Not even him.  At least not until I show him to you as he really is.  I’m just protecting you, really.  You’ll thank me.”

        She raised her hand and Giles, too, fell unconscious to the floor.

Giles groaned back to consciousness and looked up at four concerned faces.  Buffy, Xander, Anya, and Tara all smiled at him uncertainly.

“If it’s any consolation, Giles, you weren’t knocked on the head this time,” said Anya.  “Willow just used a spell to make you unconscious so she could kidnap Spike.  She did the same thing to me.”

“Spike,” muttered Giles.  “Something is happening to him.”  He realized that he was lying on the couch in Buffy’s training room.

“Not if I find out where Willow has taken him and Dawn,” said Buffy grimly.

“Dawn?”

“Afraid so,” said Xander.  “Willow showed up at school and said she needed to take Dawn home for a family emergency.  Her name was on the list of people responsible for Dawn, so she got away with it.”

“She must have used a spell to make Dawn go with her.  One of Dawn’s friends got suspicious and called me,” said Buffy.  “I sent up the bat signal for all the other Scoobies.  I figured we’d need everyone for this.”

“She hasn’t hurt them,” said Giles, sitting up.  “Not seriously.  That’s not what she’s after.”

“Not the most reassuring thought,” said Buffy.  “Not when you consider Willow’s past history for spells gone awry.”

“I could do a spell to try to locate them,” said Tara.  “But it would take some time.”

        “There may be a quicker way,” said Buffy.  She snatched Spike’s leather coat off her practice dummy and began rifling through the pockets.  She unearthed a lighter, a switchblade, a pack of cigarettes, a battered metal flask, a pack of cards, and some small change.  “No phone,” she said, looking at Anya.  “He may still have it with him.”

        “I really don’t think Willow will permit him to make phone calls,” said Giles.

        “We took some stuff from the nerds’ basement after they made me invisible and ran away,” said Buffy.  “Willow helped me go through the electronics stuff at first, but she kept getting distracted by the magical paraphernalia and stopped.  It was Anya who saw how I could use their fancy phones with the palm piloty stuff in them.  Spike said once I should get a LoJack for Dawn; this GED thing is better.”

        Xander looked confused.  “You want Dawn to drop out of high school and take an equivalency test?”

        “GPS, Buffy, not GED,” said Anya, rushing into the main room of the magic shop and logging into a computer.  “It’s tracking software.  It tells you exactly where you are by bouncing a signal off a satellite.  And it can communicate with this computer—if the phone is still turned on, of course.”  She stared intently at the screen.

        “I’ve been carrying one and I gave the other two to Spike and Dawn,” said Buffy as she and the others followed in Anya’s wake.  “Spike keeps forgetting his, but Dawn loves having one.  If she didn’t let the battery run down, we may be able to find them.”

        “Will Willow think of this?” asked Giles.

        “I don’t think so,” said Buffy.  “She pretty much expects us to rely on her for this kind of stuff.”

        “Got it!” said Anya.  “In fact, I’ve got both of them.  They’re together, here.  See, there’s a map and everything.”

        “The factory,” said Buffy.  “That makes sense.”

        “Why?” asked Xander.  “It’s a burnt-out shell.”

        “Willow wants to take Spike back to a time when he was evil,” said Giles.  “By choosing the factory, she is also taking him to the place where he lived when he committed his worst crimes in Sunnydale.  The factory is where he lived when he first came to town with Drusilla.”

        Xander was still intrigued by the display on the PC. “That was very James Bondy, Buffy,” he commented.  Anya, who was still sitting at the keyboard, looked up at him with frustration and hurt at his lack of recognition of her contribution.

        “Yeah,” said Buffy grimly.  She was already heading towards the door. “I just hope no one thinks they have a license to kill.”

        Xander followed her, trailed by Tara. 

“Good work, Anya,” said Giles softly.  She smiled, and the lines of stress in her face relaxed slightly. 

        On the floor of the factory, Dawn tried to raise herself to her knees, but felt herself bound invisibly and unable to move more than a few inches.  “Don’t struggle, honey,” said Willow.  “This won’t take long, and then everything will be better.”

        Willow was standing a few feet away, making some type of preparation for a spell.  She had a small box in her hand and was sifting through it.  “Here we go,” she said happily, pulling out a talisman.  Then she frowned at it.  “Why did I think that was the right one?” she asked peevishly.  “I never even wanted that.”  Absently, she shoved the thing in her pocket and began rooting in the box again.

Dawn thought that Willow seemed divorced from reality, as if she were in some weird fugue state.  Great, thought Dawn. Kidnapped again.  I’m stuck in a burned-out building with a psychotic witch and an unconscious vampire. 

The long room was missing part of a wall at one end, and sunlight streamed into that part of the factory.  However, the opposite end where Dawn huddled was murky and bleak.  The shaky remnants of a metal catwalk hung over her head, and huge shutters still blocked the light from above.

She turned to look at Spike, who was lying next to her, unmoving.  His still face seemed full of pain, and a trickle of blood as red as his shirt ran down one cheek.  Dawn hoped he wouldn’t wake up again.  Willow hadn’t bothered with a binding spell for him.  Every time he regained consciousness, the witch would simply use her power to make him bash his head against the concrete floor until he passed out again.  It wasn’t a spectacle Dawn enjoyed watching. 

“Willow,” she said slowly, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice, “I would like to go home now.  Buffy will be worried.”

Willow turned a face of rage on her.  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!  I know you’ve been hiding things from me, keeping things hidden.  But I’ve found out the secrets now.”  She pulled something that gleamed in silver and red out of the box.  “I know how to make them work.”

Dawn stared at the object.  “That’s Spike’s talisman,” she said.  “The one he thought I took.  You stole it.”

“So he accused you.  And I suppose he didn’t believe you when you said you hadn’t done it?”

“No,” said Dawn evenly. “He did believe me.”

“It would have been all right if you had taken it, Dawny,” said Willow consolingly. “It was meant for you anyway.  I’m going to show you how to use it.  And you can’t stop me, Buffy.”

Willow whirled around.  Buffy was kneeling beside Dawn and Spike. Giles, Xander, Anya and Tara were standing in the doorway.  “How did you get here?” Willow asked.  “Tara, did you do a spell to find me?  Tara, honey, did you betray me?”

“No,” said Tara.  “I didn’t do a spell.  Buffy and Anya figured it out.  But I would have helped in any way I could.  It wouldn’t have been betraying you, Will.  Don’t you see, you’re betraying yourself by doing this.  You have to stop, before you really hurt some one.”

“No, Tara,” said Willow in a frighteningly reasonable tone.  “I’m going to stop people from being hurt.  The real people, I mean,” she said, glancing at Spike, who was starting to moan and move his head.  “Not that thing that’s confusing you all.  Don’t bother trying to come closer,” she added casually.  “You won’t be able to.  I’m sure you’ve already figured out that you can’t move, Buffy.  But don’t worry.  This won’t take long.”

She stepped over Spike’s body and past Buffy to Dawn.  Buffy’s left hand was frozen on Dawn’s shoulder and her right rested on Spike’s chest.  “You can have a front row seat for the show.”

“What are you going to do to him?” asked Dawn.

“Nothing,” said Willow, surprised.  “He’s going to do it.”  She held up the talisman.  “I found out what this is for.  It seems that it helps you become what you really are.  And, can you imagine, he was carrying it around in his pocket.”

Giles, who had seemed about to speak, was silenced by this.  He stared intently at the talisman.

“Why did you take Dawn?” asked Xander, in an anguished tone.  “She has nothing to do with this.  Let her go.”

Willow shook her head.  “The talisman needs a catalyst, you see,” she said.  “Otherwise it takes too long to work.  And Dawny is the Key.  She can accelerate the process.  I won’t even need to do a spell.”

Tara gasped.  “Willow, no.  You can’t release the power of the Key!”

“Why don’t you trust me?” asked Willow peevishly.  “Don’t you remember that Glory needed a ritual and the moon and stars in a certain alignment to break down the doors to the dimensions?  Dawn won’t destroy the walls between the worlds if she just activates her powers just a little bit.  I thought you would have figured that out.”

“Even a little bit of the Key’s power is tremendous energy,” said Tara.  “You can’t control it.”

“I won’t need to,” said Willow.  She held up the talisman again.  “This will direct it.”  She knelt and with a sudden movement grabbed Dawn’s hand.  A small knife appeared in her hand and she slashed the girl’s palm.  Suddenly, Spike began to struggle to a seated position and his hand darted out, but before he could complete the movement, the witch dropped the talisman into the bright red stream that was trickling to the floor.

        Buffy and Dawn stood up and blinked at each other.  They were standing in the hallway of their own house, but it had turned into a long tunnel that went on endlessly in two directions.  There was no staircase, and there were only two doors within their frame of vision.   One seemed to lead into Buffy’s old room, and the other to what had once been their mother’s bedroom.

        “That’s funny,” said Dawn.  “Since I’m opening the doors here, you’d think my room would be around someplace.  But I guess this isn’t about me right now.”

        They became aware of banging and cursing coming from behind the master bedroom door.  Slowly they approached it, and recognized Willow’s voice.

        “You said you could open doors,” said Buffy.  “She needs help. Quick, let us in.”

        Dawn touched the door and shook her head.  “It’s not locked with a key.  She’s put up a bar on the other side.  There’s nothing even I can do about that.”

        Buffy kicked at the door but it didn’t even shake.  “I’m not strong enough to get through either.”  She turned around to look at a figure hiding in the darkness further down the hall.  “I don’t think even she could break through,” she said sadly.

        “No,” agreed Dawn.  “It’s not that kind of barrier.”

        Neither of them questioned their conclusions or the absolute certainty with which they were drawn.  They turned instead to the other door.

        Dawn stepped forward and took a key from her pocket.  Spike’s talisman gleamed at the tip as she slipped it into the lock.  The door slipped open easily and Dawn held it for Buffy to pass through.  “I have to stay here and hold it open,” said Dawn.  “The rest is up to you.”  She continued to hold the door as a dark figure slipped inside after Buffy and found some shadows to hide in.

        Buffy was now in Spike’s crypt, a transition that seemed perfectly normal.  When she saw what was inside, however, she frowned in puzzlement.  Lying on the rug in the middle of the floor was Spike, his face distorted into such a hideous version of his vampire guise that he was almost unrecognizable.  He was struggling and muttering low-voiced curses, but could not rise because of the shackles around his feet and wrists.

        Buffy turned her head and looked at the figure standing a few feet further back in the crypt, his head gently haloed in a shaft of light coming from the one high window.  It was also Spike, but not as she had ever seen him.  A lock of long light brown hair fell across his forehead almost into his eyes, and he was dressed in white.  It wasn’t until she saw the gentle and welcoming expression in his eyes that she felt sure this was her lover and returned his smile.

        “Hello, love,” he said.  “Hello, Little Bit.”

        “William?” said Buffy hesitantly.

        His lips twisted as if the thought gave him pain.  “I think I used to be,” he said slowly.  “I’m not Spike, exactly.  At least, not all of him.  But it’s been a long time, and that right bastard—“ he gestured at the figure on the floor— “has dragged poor William through some pretty ugly places.  For a time, he almost faded away entirely.  And I don’t think that what finally came back is the same silly bugger who left.”

        “You’re not,” said Dawn with the same certainty she had shown when examining the doors.  “You created yourself out of what was left behind from that first William and from the things you’ve done.  But that’s not important now.  What is important is that you have to stop him,” she gestured at the vampire, “from getting loose and killing you.”

        “The bastard used to keep me in chains.  I put a stop to that, but now the witch is trying to give him his strength back.”  William walked around one of the several tables that littered the room and stepped over to the vampire Spike, who snarled up at him.  He picked up a stake from the floor and held it to the vampire’s chest, then looked at Buffy and Dawn.  “I’ve tried,” he said.  “I thought I could do it, because I was able to put the shackles on him.  But I’m weak as a kitten when I try to use the stake.  I need you to do it for me.”

        Buffy knelt down beside him and took the stake.  She held it to the vampire’s heart and looked at the ugly, evil thing on the floor.  There was no good anywhere in it, she knew.  It was the capacity for horror and pain.  But there was power there too, a power that was pulsing in rhythm with her own beating heart.  She looked up at William.  “If I do this, you will die.”

        “I’m already dead,” he pointed out sadly. 

        “No,” she said, dropping the stake and standing up to face him. “You have never lived.  You can’t die without a chance to live.”

        He shook his head.  “Bollocks.  If you don’t kill him, he will get free.  I’ll be bondage boy again, and get to watch the show.  I’d rather die here, now, than be torn apart inside while the bastard goes after you two.”

        “No,” said Buffy, stepping forward and kissing him.

        Dawn rolled her eyes to the ceiling and hummed for a minute.  Finally, she lost patience.  “Stop that!  I can’t believe you’re Frenching in an alternate dimension.  You can do that at home.  In case you haven’t noticed, we have a problem here and this isn’t helping.”

        Buffy let William go and turned to Dawn.  “Any suggestions would be welcome.”

        “Hey, my job is to open doors, and I’ve done that.  You two are the grown-ups.  It’s your job to fix things.”

        Buffy and William looked at each other helplessly.  “Why is it so hard to think?” she asked.

        He shook his head.  “I’m not even all of me, pet. I don’t know much help I can be.”  Suddenly, he noticed the figure in the shadows and stepped back, alarmed.  “Who’s that?” he asked.

        Buffy started to look around her.  “Oh, she’s with me,” she said vaguely.  “Why are all these tables here?”

        William looked puzzled.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I never noticed the things until you two came.”

        “There were tables in my dream,” said Buffy.  “But they were all knocked over, like the rest of the furniture.”

        “The furniture usually gets knocked about when we shag,” said William in a vaguely hopeful tone.

        “No!” said Dawn firmly.  “I’m here, remember.  Besides, I’m sure it means something important.  Her dreams almost always do.  When did you dream about this, Buffy?”

        “Last night,” said Buffy, frowning in concentration.  It had been a bad dream, one where she had hurt Spike.  At least, she thought she had hurt him.  The details had slid away from her memory, as if they were too horrifying to remember.  There had been a lot of dreams like that recently, she realized.  But last night’s dream had certainly contained tables. Lots of tables.

        “If it was my dream, it was my mind,” she said.  “And I think I’ve been hiding something from myself.  Now, what do we know about the way my mind works?”

        Both William and Dawn rolled their eyes this time. 

        “As far as I can tell it’s raw intelligence fueled by good intentions, fighting rage, and a right scary passion for, well, passion,” said William finally.  “Usually articulated with confusing syntax.  And bloody bad puns.”

        Much to Dawn’s surprise, Buffy did not lose her temper over this.  “Puns,” she said slowly.  “Turn the tables.”  She stared at William and then at the snarling vampire.  “You need to turn the tables.”

        “That’s a pretty bad pun,” agreed Dawn.  “But what does it mean?”

        “Out there, which one of these two is in charge?” asked Buffy.

        Dawn pointed reluctantly at the vampire.  “His rules apply.  But not in here,” she said defensively.  “And this place is as real as—“ She broke off, her eyes widening in understanding. 

        “How much longer can you keep the door open?” asked Buffy urgently.

        “Long enough, I think,” said Dawn.

        William had both been staring at the sisters in confusion.  “Turn the bloody tables.  And how do I do that?” he asked.

Buffy now turned to William and locked her gaze to his.  “I’ll have to show you.  Do you trust me?” she asked.

        For an answer, he opened his arms in a gesture of acceptance.  She nodded, and shook her head fiercely.  Her features twisted for a moment, then settled into something like a vampire’s mask, but stranger and more beautiful.  The bizarre distortion made her look almost angelic, and there was no fear in his expression even when she grasped him by the shoulders and sank her teeth into his neck.

        William’s body went limp, accepting the assault passively, but the vampire on the floor shrieked and writhed with pain.  Then it gave a howl and seemed to pass into unconsciousness as Buffy released William and he dropped to his knees, his head lolling forward on to her shoulder.

        “I know this is just a metaphor,” said Dawn, her face scrunched up in disgust.  “But, ick.”

        Buffy ignored her.  The Slayer’s face relaxed into more human form as the figure that had been hiding in the shadows stepped up beside her.  It handed her a primitive knife hewn from some dark and heavy wood.  It had been polished until it gleamed almost like metal.

        Buffy turned to look at the First Slayer.  “Thank you.  But I’m surprised.  I didn’t think you would approve.”

        The First Slayer shook her head.  She actually smiled.  “I have been waiting for this one since before there was a word for time,” she said.

        Buffy pulled open her shirt and held the knife over her heart.  With a slow stroke, she slid it across her breast and a thin line of blood welled up.  William’s mouth slid toward it and he began to drink.

        “May I say again, ick,” commented Dawn, looking away.

        Buffy paid no attention.  Her face was contorted in ecstasy.  Suddenly, the vampire lying on the floor began to twist and fight against his bonds.  His wrists and ankles were bloodied in the struggle, until the metal of the shackles gave way.  With a cry of triumph, he rose to his feet, turning towards Buffy and William.  But his face had changed.  It was still a distortion of humanity, but now it resembled Buffy’s own transformation. 

        The vampire stood next to the First Slayer, and the two of them stared at each other, giving a nod of mutual recognition and respect.

        Dawn’s hands slipped.  The door slammed shut.

        Dawn looked around, realizing she was back in the factory and Willow was still bending over her.  Dawn’s hand stung with the shock of sudden pain.  She stared at it as another hand darted forward and grasped the blood-stained talisman.  It was Spike, finishing the movement he had started when Willow connected the talisman with the blood of the Key.

        We weren’t even gone for a second, thought Dawn.  It all happened between the moment Willow activated the talisman and the moment Spike tried to rescue me from it.  But Willow was right; I could control the power of the Key. 

        Her moment of self-congratulation was short-lived.  Willow gave a horrifying shriek and began to back away from them.  Spike took one look at the witch and pulled Dawn upright, thrusting her toward the doorway.  Buffy was starting to struggle to her feet, still held down by the remnants of the binding spell.  Dawn stumbled into Xander’s arms, and turned to see Spike face Willow. 

        “Show your true face!” screamed Willow.

        “What you see is what you get, pet,” said Spike, his features still human.

“It didn’t work, Willow,” said Buffy desperately.  “Look at him.  He isn’t a monster.  You have to stop this now.”

“No,” Willow said, shaking her head vehemently.  “You’ll see.  He’ll turn on you.  I won’t let that happen.”  She thrust out one hand and Spike flew through the air, soaring over the catwalk, his arms outspread.  He crashed into the blackened wall beyond with so much force his body smashed into its surface and was held there.  His head lolled on his shoulder and his eyes were closed.

“Spike!” Buffy screamed, not noticing Willow’s own equally anguished but wordless cry.  The Slayer began to climb up the catwalk, trying to reach Spike, but was distracted by horrified exclamations from Dawn and the others.  She turned to see them all staring at Willow.

The witch’s hands covered her face and she was screaming in agony.  Slowly, she lowered her arms, and Buffy saw that her friend’s features had been distorted into the human caricature of a vengeance demon.

“No,” she sobbed in horror.

“Yes,” said Giles in a sad voice.  “Willow was right.  The talisman distorts things into reality, not out of it.”

Demon Willow stopped crying and stared at her friends one by one.  What she saw in their faces hardened her own into rage.  “Yes, this is what I am now.  But remember that this is the price I am paying because each of you rejected me.”

“No, Willow,” said Buffy.  “We didn’t—“

“You did,” said Willow.  “You most of all.  Well, you won’t enjoy the thing you rejected me for, Buffy.  If I’m to be a vengeance demon, then I’ll take my revenge on you first.”  She stared at Spike’s unconscious body.  “Why don’t you enjoy a really good look at your lover?”

Willow vanished with the shriek of metal as all the shutters along the top of the factory were suddenly rammed open with magical force.  Light streamed in along the walls and over the catwalk, catching Spike’s body in the full glare of the afternoon sun.

Dawn screamed as Buffy raced to pull herself up the remains of the catwalk and along the wall.  Then sound and movement stopped as they all realized that there were no flames.  Instead of a flash of fire and a scattering of ashes, a few dust motes twirled serenely in the air around Spike’s face.  The shaft of light glinted off his blond hair and his skin looked incredibly pale and translucent in contrast to the bright red of his shirt. 

Buffy started into action again, rushing to reach him where he hung unmoving, his arms outspread, his body supported in the niche it had made when he crashed into the wall.  She pulled him away and dragged him to the edge of the catwalk, handing him down to the waiting hands of her friends.

They pulled him into the shadows, uncertain if that were still a necessary precaution.  He fell across Dawn’s lap, and she held him, looking up as Buffy jumped down from the catwalk and came to kneel in front of him.

Spike moaned and his head moved against Dawn’s shoulder.  They waited in anxious silence until he opened his eyes and looked at them.  “Bloody hell,” he said distinctly.&