TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 20/31)
AUTHOR: Zahir
FEEDBACK: Please. Pretty please. With sugar on top. And a cherry.
ARCHIVING: Just ask is all.
SYNOPSIS: This is an alternate history in which Willow never completed the Soul Restoration Spell. Of all the changes that flow from that one, the biggest is that Tara is a vampire. Oh, and Faith never worked for the Mayor.
COUPLES: W/T, X/Ay, B/R
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up through and including "Forever" as well as some stuff from "Angel."
DISCLAIMERS: Most of the toys I'm playing with belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I promise not to make money off them and to put them back none the worse for wear. My hope is that they won't sue me. Besides, I don't own much.

* * *

"So how long do we wait?" asked Riley.

Giles shrugged. "As long as it takes, I suppose."

"Any ideas on how long that'll be?" This from Buffy. Her sister, curled up beside her on the coach, asked the same question with her eyes.

"Uh...well...not long." He said this with such certitude Willow knew he was lying. It didn't help that all of them now looked at her.

"I don't know! I've never raised the dead before! How long has it been?"

Riley checked his watch. "Nearly an hour."

Willow still felt everyone was looking at her. She continued to wait. And worry.

* * *

Tara was a little surprised to find out Anya could cook. Not with any great skill, as it turned out, but adequately. She also had help, in the form of April who (predictably) was programmed with all the skills of a master chef. It took them nearly an hour to prepare the meat, the herbs and vegetables, then to simmer them in a mushroom and wine sauce.

"The stew really should simmer for another hour," advised April as Anya readied a small bowl.

"Fine," said Anya. "I'll remember that when I want stew to just taste good. Right now, I want Xander back." And with that she carried the cupfull of stew into the bedroom. Tara and April followed.

Xander sat, eyes unfocused, atop the bed he and Anya shared. He was humming a tune, or maybe two--he seemed to shift back and forth randomly. Anya took a seat in front of him.

"Xander?" Her voice sounded unusually childlike. It was almost startling. But as Tara considered how she herself reacted to Willow, she wasn't surprised.

"Honey?" Anya tried to get Xander's attention. He lifted his head, looking at her with something like pleasure. At least he stopped humming and a tiny smile creased his face. Just a shadow of one, but real. Anya smiled in return and used a fork to pick up a steaming slice of meat from the stew. "C'mon, Xander. Num num. Really." For a moment it looked as if Xander couldn't remember how to open his mouth. Then his jaw moved and he managed to aim his mouth at the fork. He chewed slowly, eyes never leaving Anya's, as if looking for approval. Or maybe she had become his anchor in a world that made no sense. Tara hoped never to find out. Chewing took longer than normal, but at last he swallowed.

"Good," said Anya. "Here, have another." Again, the same routine, like feeding a child--vaguely hideous for an adult. Some gravy remained on his lips, though. With practiced skill, Anya made a gesture and Xander licked his lips. She nodded approval. And he nodded back.

"Not right." It was the first words out of Xander's mouth since taking his meds.

"What's wrong Xander?" Anya put the next forkfull down.

"Can't be right," he said, looking around the room. His sunken eyes took in Tara, then April, then Tara again and one more time at April. "Can't be," he muttered.

They all waited.

"Anya?" He almost whispered, then took time to swallow some morsel still in his mouth. "Anya," he asked when done.

"Yes, Xander?"

"Am I...crazy?" His eyes looked unusually bright. Feverish, even. "Or...is Britney Spears really in your apartment?"

* * *

Okay, she wasn't imagining it. Willow knew everybody was looking at her. Staring, really. Hard. After two and a half hours, there was still no sign of the resurrected Joyce. She had performed the ritual. They were going to blame her. No, were already doing so.

When the phone rang, Willow felt relief. Dawn was the one who reached it, picking up the receiver. "Hello?" she said, impatiently. "Oh, okay Anya." She looked at Willow. "For you."

She took the phone with some feeling of relief. "Hi?"

"Good. Listen. You need to get everybody and go to the cemetery."

"The cemetery? Which one?" Out of the corner of her eye, Willow noted Buffy and the others perk up.

"I don't know."

"Anya--not making a lot of sense."

Over the phone, she heard the receiver change hands. The next voice she heard was a man's. "Willow?"

Willow felt her jaw drop, and her eyes pop. "Xander?" All around her, alertness shot up as everyone realized to whom she was speaking.

"Yeah, I'm better. Lots."

"But, but how? And for that matter, when?"

"Just now." He sounded very matter-of-fact. "As for how--well, lets just say that can wait. What can't is getting everybody to the Restful Acres cemetery as soon as possible, maybe sooner."

"You haven't told me why, though."

Xander paused. His voice had a different timbre in his voice as he answered this time. "I can't tell you how I know this. Because, truth is, I don't really understand. But this much is certain--that place is calling me for some reason. And Wil--its calling for help."

"Uh, how much has Anya told you about what's been going on?" In Willow's mind, a terrible thought had taken root.

"I know all about the Moon Demon."

"No, that's not what I mean. Did...did Anya tell you what happened with Buffy's mom?" Every single person in the room was staring at Willow again, but this time more thoughtfully, less maniacally. "Xander," she said slowly, "that's where she's buried."

Silence. Willow strained to even hear Xander breathe. Nothing. Then, one word. "Hurry."

* * *

All in all, Tara was impressed with how quickly Xander was coping. Over one month of insanity had left him out of touch with all sorts of events. Joyce Summers' death clearly hit him like a cannonball. And finding a Britney Spears-lookalike robot responsible for his recovery by cutting out and feeding him the heart of a Moon Demon was at the very least confusing. Plus learning he now had to trust a vampire, one who was sleeping with his oldest friend, made for a lot to handle. Tara suspected he was blinking rather more than needed. But all in all, his reaction to all this had been impressively calm.

Even more impressive--and unexpected--was the strange certainty he had something was Terribly Wrong at the cemetery. She found herself believing him. Hence she and Anya joined him in heading there. Fortunately, he could drive. Which helped in terms of speed.

"So what you're saying is that Buffy and Riley and Giles are all crazy?"

"Pretty much" agreed Anya.

"Okay." Xander sounded skeptical.

"Dawn, too."

"They haven't been catatonic or raving at all," added Tara, "but they have behaved strangely. Extremely so."

"Well, sounds like they've been through a lot. I mean, a lot! Couldn't it just be stress?"

Anya shook her head. "Nope. It was a Moon Demon. Tara felt it too."

"True," said Tara. "At one point I nearly set fire to a bar, just out of paranoia."

"No offense, Tara, but you are a vampire."

"But not a pyromaniac." Xander had to nod at this. He really was a bright person, despite the sometimes-silly demeanor.

"If she wasn't a Moon Demon," pointed out Anya, "then eating her heart wouldn't have cured you."

Xander looked a little sick. "Yeah. Thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome," replied Anya happily, hugging his arm, clearly oblivious to his discomfort but wildly happy to have him back. Tara quietly smiled at the sight. Xander himself relaxed slightly at Anya's touch. But he didn't slow down in his driving.

The sign at the graveyard was wrought-iron, a fairly wide arch above a two-lane road. Xander pulled in and parked as close as he could to the cemetery's center, in a circular area designed for funerals. All three of them popped out, Tara drawing her sword. Xander took the lead, headed straight for the northwest corner. Neither Tara nor Anya mentioned that was where Joyce Summers had been buried. They also didn't ask how he knew to go there. Tara in particular paid attention to every shadow, every sound.

Mrs. Summers' grave was simple. A plain headstone above plain grass, with flowers laid in memory by various visitors. Tara herself had left a bouquet of white roses the previous night. Now, those roses were scattered, along with the remnants of other flowers. Likewise, the grass was ripped up, revealing a gaping maw in the earth.

Slowly, the three of them approached. Even Tara found it uneasy looking directly into the violated grave. The casket lay open. And empty.

"Okay, this is the opposite of good," muttered Xander.

Tara hopped down into the casket. "Ah...Tara...?" Xander began.

"We need to find out something." She examined the lid and interior. Unlike the others, she didn't need a flashlight. "This was opened from the outside."

"Not exactly a surprise," offered Xander.

"But," Tara added, "the lining has been torn. By someone lying inside the coffin." She looked up at the couple standing above her.

"So what're you saying?" Xander asked after a moment, more than a little hesitant. Anya beside him looked less puzzled, but only slightly less upset.

"Mrs. Summers. She wasn't dead anymore when somebody dug her out."

It was Buffy's voice--icecold and furious--that replied. "And what do you know about that, I wonder?" Xander and Anya looked away from the grave, starting at the sound of the Slayer's voice.

"Hey!" said Anya. "This is how we found your mother's grave!"

"She's right, Buffy," offered Xander.

With a powerful leap, Tara reached ground level. She landed to see Buffy, Riley and Giles all armed to the teeth less than forty feet away. Dawn and lovely Willow were bringing up the rear. Tara deliberately sheathed her sword. What was needed right now--desperately--was listening and thinking, not fighting. She instantly resolved to go one step further. The Slayer was already approaching, stake in hand. Tara held up her gloved hands. As slowly as she dared, she pulled off the right glove, then removed the Ring of Amara. Everyone here knew that as long as she wore it, neither stake nor sunlight nor pretty much anything else could physically harm her. Deliberately, she tossed it to Buffy.

That certainly got her attention. Buffy stopped. She waited, long enough for Tara to pull off her other glove, revealing no rings on either hand. Now she knew--even if the one she'd tossed was a copy, Tara was not wearing the Ring of Amara. And she'd just made sure the Slayer knew it.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull," began Buffy.

"Never mind about me," interrupted Tara. "You need to find out what happened to your mother."

"She's gone, right?" said Dawn to Willow. "That means it worked?"

"Maybe..." said Willow.

"What worked?" asked Tara, suddenly alarmed.

"The resurrection spell," answered Willow. "Buffy and the others, they made me perform a spell to bring Mrs. Summers back."

"Made?" Buffy looked outraged. "We made you? Made you?"

"You seemed to think it a good idea at the time," added Giles.

"I thought not disagreeing with all of you was a good idea! None of you saw the looks in your eyes!"

Nobody said anything for the longest time. Tara recognized a standoff when she saw one--conflicting desires, plans, options all leading to a tension-laden pause where no one did anything. She herself didn't dare be the one to break it. Only Anya or Willow really were wiling to listen to anything she might say. Waiting was the only option Tara had.

Xander finally broke the silence. "Buffy, you wanted to use magic to bring your Mom back to life?"

"And why not?"

"Then you insisted Willow help?"

"I asked! That's all--asked?"

"Let me guess--you asked in full Slayer mode, am I right? As in I'm-asking-but-this-is-really-an-order?"

Buffy's face went still. Dangerously. "I. Don't. Do. That."

"HA!" Everyone glanced at Anya. "Sorry. I just couldn't help it." She didn't look sorry.

"You know, Buffy," ventured Riley after a moment, "you do lean kinda hard on folks sometimes."

"That doesn't mean I made Willow do anything she didn't want to," huffed Buffy.

"She says you did," he pointed out. "Wouldn't she know? Better than you?"

Now Buffy turned to Willow. It actually hurt Tara to see how Willow reacted as if she'd been slapped. But for all their sakes, she didn't dare intervene. She repeated that thought to herself like a mantra.

"You didn't want to bring my mother back to me?" whispered Buffy.

"I didn't want to raise the dead," said Willow. "But the way you were acting, I was afraid not to."

"Afraid of what?" She took a step towards Willow, who flinched and stepped back. "Of what?" Then, she noticed what had just happened. Her face softened, clearly upset. "Of me?"

Silence stretched again. This time it seemed to last even longer. After a minute or two, or maybe forty, Buffy shifted weight. She dropped the wooden stake in her hand. Her eyes shot between Willow, then Dawn (looking paler than ever), then nearly everyone else. But she did nothing but look.

Riley, dropping his battle axe, went to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Soon, the sound of muffled sobs were heard coming from his chest, where Buffy had buried her face. Gently Riley stroked her hair.

Tara and Willow met each others' eyes, understanding too well.

TO BE CONTINUED