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TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 22/31)
AUTHOR: Zahir
FEEDBACK: Well, yeah!
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" and maybe a detail or two from "Weight of the
World."
DISCLAIMERS: 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. Honest.
* * *
INTERLUDE
"I don't mean to be rude..."
"Oh, not at all! You're my guest, after all."
"Very well."
"Yes?"
"Where am I?"
"Somewhere safe."
"Really?"
"Of course. Don't you feel safe?"
"Well..."
"Oh dear. I fear my hosting duties are ending up neglected. One of the
perils of bachelorhood, I fear. Can I get you anything? Some tea? Cocoa? Perhaps
some homemade cookies? I have some..."
"No, that's all right."
"You're sure?"
"Positive. Later maybe."
"A rain check."
"Exactly."
"I'll hold you to that."
A very pregnant pause.
"May I ask another question?"
"Well, why not?"
"Who are you? And--I know this is a second question, but still--who am
I?"
"That's alright. My name doesn't matter, really. I'm one of those people
who's pretty much his job and not much else. Its been ages since anybody has
called me anything else. Truth to tell, I think I've forgotten my name."
Chuckling. "But you can call me Doc. Everybody does."
"Alright, Doc. And what's my name?"
"Joyce. Your name is Joyce."
END OF INTERLUDE
* * *
Willow followed Xander into the Magic Shoppe reluctantly. Despite everything,
this was one place she did not want to be right this second. It was too much.
Not that the universe cared, of course.
Even expecting it, seeing him was a shock. Curiously enough, the shock was
cushioned by some others. He's wasn't alone.
"Hi, Oz."
"Hey." Willow's first boyfriend almost smiled as he turned and saw
her. Gunn and Wesley, sitting nearby, said nothing. Perhaps sensing this was
something private? And what were they doing here anyway?
"Ah, Willow," said Giles, coming from the back room with Buffy and
Dawn in tow. "You're here. Excellent."
"I'm here," agreed Willow, "and Xander and Buffy and--oh yeah,
Oz! Along with Wesley and Gunn. Why not?"
"Faith insisted on going on a patrol," added Wesley. "In case you
were wondering."
"Truthfully?" She paused for effect. "Yeah. I was."
"But what the hell are all of us doin' here, is that it?" offered
Gunn. "Faith, she gets this dream she's needed back at the Hellmouth. We're
her backup."
"Okay." She turned to Oz. "And how long have you been hanging out
with Faith?"
"Don't," he said. "Went to this karaoke bar in LA. This psychic
told me to come here."
"Green?"
"Yup."
"Horns? Red eyes?"
"That's him. Snappy dresser."
Willow sat down. She needed to sit down. Needed it real bad. "You
see," continued Giles, "it seems we've been given aid at what I assume
is a crucial time in our struggle against Glory."
Buffy was looking grim. "There was no sign of Mom at Doc's place."
"I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as he's going to be." If anything, Buffy managed to look
grimmer. Silence followed for a moment, then the telephone rang. Giles went to
pick it up. He spoke in a low voice.
"What are we going to do now?" asked Dawn. She'd obviously been trying
not to cry. "Where's Mom?" Her sister put her arm around her.
"From what Giles has been telling me," began Wesley, "the Powers
That Be certainly take a dim view of Glory achieving her objective.
Unfortunately, as things stand at present, someone close to Buffy is in all
likelihood being held by her--or her worshippers. Quite honestly, I fear what
that may portend."
"Talk English!" Dawn almost yelled. Her voice cracked, and she turned,
hiding her face against Buffy's chest.
Wesley looked abashed. He spoke again only after several seconds of
uncomfortable silence. "Glory or her people have your mother. They can
force her to get them things. Or threaten her to get Buffy to do the same."
Nobody wanted say anything after that. Willow could see why. She couldn't
imagine one word to make things better. But worse--that was easy. One thing in
particular came to mind. A horrible, maybe supremely needful thing if they were
to save Dawn. But Willow couldn't bring it up. Not now.
Giles came back from the phone. "Willow," he said. "Anya is at
the hospital with your friend April. She said to tell you that Warren Is Himself
Again. I trust you understand what that means?"
"Yeah, Giles, I do. Thanks."
Just then, Riley entered through the front door. "Hi everybody," he
said before stopping short. "And I do mean everybody," he finished,
taking everyone in at a glance. "Or nearly. Where's Faith and Tara?"
"On patrol," offered Gunn.
"Tara said she was going to try and get information from one of Glory's
minions. She knows roughly where in town she might find one."
Willow felt rather than saw Oz's eyes on her. "She said that?"
"Yeah." She felt just self-conscious enough to let her hand stray to
her collar. Good. That'll keep him from looking at your throat. Just wave your
hand in that vicinity and Oz'll be sure to ignore that.
"Not to be too much of a downer," said Riley, "I've got some bad
news. But there's some good news on top of that."
"Go ahead," said Buffy. "We could use some."
"I checked with some guys I know in the SPD. Seems over a dozen citizens
have spotted bands of men wearing chain mail wandering in alleys, parks,
cemeteries over the last forty eight hours."
"The Knights of Byzantium," breathed Giles.
"Who're they?" asked Oz.
"Religious fanatics," answered Wesley, "among other things
devoted to defeating Glorificus and all her minions."
"This is bad?" said Gunn. Wesley, in an eerie echo of Giles, took of
his glasses before replying.
"Unfortunately, yes. You see, as far as they're concerned, the Knights
alone have the purity and even the right to combat evil. Everyone else is either
a dupe, a victim, or evil themselves."
"Gotta love those wacky conservatives," muttered Xander.
"Especially the ones still trying to stomp out this printing press
fad."
Almost despite himself, Giles nodded. "Quite."
"Plus the fact they want to destroy the Key," added Buffy between her
teeth. She looked at Riley. "You said you had good news?"
"Kinda," he replied. "I called in a favor. Within one week an
X-Ops Team will be here for the express purpose of dealing with Glory and her
followers."
"Wow. How did you manage that?"
Riley shrugged. "The government knows demons and things like them exist.
And that Sunnydale is a hotbed. Glory's been preying on ordinary citizens plus
she's been amassing what looks like a small army right on the Hellmouth. It
wasn't too hard a sell."
"Unfortunately," noted Giles, "her power is enough to take on a
small army."
"Well, a small army is what's on the way. I figure with all of us as backup
that should increase our odds at least some."
Dawn was looking at everyone again. "What about Mom?"
* * *
Tara hurt. She hurt more than she had since dying, and that had hurt plenty. Of
course this time she wasn't going to die, but in some ways that didn't help.
What did help was the knowledge that she'd heal faster now that she was a
vampire.
And towards that end she did what she had to. Sunnydale wasn't a large city. The
alleys and back streets she traveled by were not rat-infested. In nearly half a
mile she'd only caught five, draining each one dry. Disturbingly, three had
gotten away. At last she'd done something that bordered on treacherous. Next to
a dumpster near campus she found another vampire feeding. He looked like he
might have been an athlete in life--built like a barrel, broad shoulders, the
like. The woman in his arms was already dead, but he was still drinking, sucking
the blood from her neck with slurping sounds.
Slowly, carefully (in part because of her still-healing broken hand) Tara drew
her sword. Its tip was snapped off. A pity. Not that it mattered for her
purposes. With skill, she approached the other vampire from behind.
Deliberately, she made a noise.
He looked up. Faster than any human (although slower than usual) she swung and
took his head. Dust sprayed in every direction as he died.
Wasting no time, Tara fastened her own mouth onto the dead woman's gaping throat
wound. And drank. It took her a surprising amount of time before she was full.
By then, she found her hunger no longer pounding in her ears or tempting her to
bite into her own arms to drink.
Limping, she made fairly good time to the Magic Shoppe. The front door seemed
heavier now, or at least turning it required more effort. Lights inside
disoriented her for a moment, but she heard the sounds of people. Gasps, chairs
moving, a smothered curse. Hopefully, those weren't customers.
Then...Willow.
"Tara!" Like some kind of guardian spirit she was there, eyes full of
worry. And love. Enough to rekindle anyone's will to live. Or so it seemed to
Tara.
"Willow..." Was that her voice? It sounded like a raspy frog.
"Danger," she managed to get out. After that, she was dizzy. Falling,
or did it just feel like falling? No, it was indeed falling--or would have been
but for Willow catching her.
She didn't even mind feeling her broken bones grind together, if that was the
price of being in Willow's arms. I must be delirious, thought Tara to herself.
Otherwise, I really should try writing romance novels...
* * *
INTERLUDE
"So I'm a mother, you say?"
"Precisely. You have two fine daughters. Lovely girls, really."
"Can I see them?"
"Eventually, of course. The only reason you can't right this moment is
because we're trying to get your memory back. Not having them here helps."
"How can that be?"
"They would be a distraction."
"I'd've thought they'd be a kind of support."
"Well, that too. But there is another possibility. We can use your
understandable desire to see them as a tool, a device for helping recover your
memories. Do you understand?"
"Maybe."
"How about a demonstration?"
"Alright."
"Here are a series of photographs. As you can see, they are all the
identical size. Roughly half of them show things which are important to your
past and to your memories. The others have nothing to do with you at all. What
we need is for you to choose the ones who do have meaning for you."
"But...I don't remember."
"Ah, your conscious mind doesn't remember, that's true. But your
unconscious most certainly does. This exercise is to help you access those
memories. Are you ready?"
"I suppose so."
"Then choose."
Five minutes later...
"Let me see."
"I'm not finished yet. Almost, though."
"Well, let's see what you've done so far."
"Very well. I can't say why but these pictures of an axe, a sunrise and a
crucifix just drew me somehow."
"That's very good. It means the process is working. And I can tell you this
much--all these choices do indeed reflect things from your past?"
"Really? The one that puzzled me was the axe. Was I a lumberjack?"
"Now, now--no hints. That would be counterproductive. You've one more
choice to make. Which picture?"
Another half-minute.
"I think...this one."
"You're sure?"
"Is that right? No--I know. No hints."
"But this is your choice, then?"
"Maybe...yes. For some reason, I'm sure. But what would be so special about
a picture of a key?"
"Well, we'll just have to find out, won't we?"
END OF INTERLUDE
TO
BE CONTINUED