TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 24/31)
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.

* * *

Tara had trouble getting down the ladder, but not too much. Oz preceded her, and was ready if catching a falling vampire proved necessary. But it didn't. Both of them were ready as Dawn came down as well. But it was Tara who could turn on the lights. For one thing, she could still see in the dark. And for another, she knew where the switch was.

Hundreds of tiny candelabra lights flickered. Dawn's eyes blinked, hopefully not just from the sudden light. A faint smile seemed to promise this was the case. Oz...took it all in quietly enough. So far that's how he seemed to take everything.

So far.

"Wow," Dawn was saying. "This might be the nicest vampire's lair I've ever been in. And I've been in a bunch." She stopped. "Proof, if anyone's listening, that I don't have a life." Scowling, she parked herself on a sofa and took another look around. "No TV?"

Easing into another chair, Tara answered. "Sorry. Lots of books, though."

"Just what I need. More homework."

Although she felt sympathy for Dawn, Tara's attention was on Oz. He sank to the floor, taking a seat there with no fanfare. Nor words. He took in the room with a simple glance of the area--exactly as she would, Tara realized. As a predator. Nearly a year ago he'd returned to Sunnydale, borderline ecstatic upon having found a way to control the wolf. Everyone had welcomed him home, forgiven him his trespasses and celebrated the success of his quest. Tara had watched from afar. She'd noticed how things remained tense between Oz and his former paramour Willow. Understandable. Maybe even inevitable. And she'd been there when it all came to an explosive collapse--Oz losing his temper, his own shocked terror as what was happening became obvious. His voice screaming to Willow "Run!" had quickly descended into a growl. Then the calm, almost zenlike musician had changed, morphed into a beast, while loathing twisted his face even more. Tara was honest enough with herself to think at the time she had killed a werewolf once before. Not that it had been necessary. Following him, she'd seen the Initiative soldiers capture the creature. Later, she'd been the one to tell Willow what had happened, although the rescue operation that followed had happened without her aid. The Apostate had wondered why she'd gone even that far. Her motive, so she'd claimed, was to win the Slayer's trust.

At the time, she'd even believed it herself. Had her Sire? She'd never know.

Now, Oz crouched in her lair, hidden behind dark eyes and a kind of rigid self-control she recognized. What to say? Or, was there anything to say? Did he know? Given his own powers, the answer to that was almost certainly positive. More importantly, what would he do?

"Oh!" exclaimed Dawn, suddenly. "A kitty!"

Sure enough, Xita had made an entrance. Black and tan, she approached the fascinated teenage girl on the sofa that was usually hers. Dawn did nothing but wait, and watch the sleek kitten. She sniffed at Dawn's shoes, before uttering a trilling sound halfway between a growl and a plea. Then she made the same sound again, insistently.

"Her name is Xita."

"Maybe she's hungry?"

"There're some treats in the drawer next to you."

Dawn reached for said drawer, under an attentive feline's gaze. Xita's tail began to twitch. As the box of kitty treats came out, she began to pace, her eyes never leaving the box and uttering several more trills.

"You want this?" cooed Dawn. "Here ya'go." She held out her hand with three or four of the morsels in it. Xita stared at her. Then trilled. Dawn looked at Tara.

"Put them on the floor. She's not used to you yet."

Obediently, Dawn did so. The kitten inched closer, quickly snagging one piece with her teeth then retreating a full five inches to munch down. Dawn, along with Tara and Oz, watched. Soon, Xita swallowed and began inching back for another treat.

"So. Why a cat?" Oz finally spoke.

Tara shrugged. "I like cats."

Oz nodded. "Huh." Whatever that meant. Or didn't.

* * *

Willow braced herself. After all, she was probably as safe as possible. Riley and Xander were both strong and muscly. Buffy was here in all her slayer-ness. Plus Giles, who really understood all kind of weapons when you came right down to it. Anya was no slouch either. Not terribly skilled but enthusiastic and anything but clumsy. So it followed logically that Willow was as safe as she could probably be--under the assaulting-the-stronghold-of-a-god circumstances.

So they made their way into the lobby of what looked like a rather nice condo. Buffy was in the lead, battleaxe in hand. Willow herself almost nervously repeated to herself the spell she'd been practicing. Not really practicing, really. Not in a real way. As in really casting the spell. But she'd gone over it in so many ways and she was pretty sure it would work. Probably.

"The stairs," said Buffy. "Let's not get trapped in the elevator."

Everyone nodded. They headed to the stairwell. Just in time, it turned out, as the elevator doors began to open. Everybody managed to get around the corner with relatively little noise. Willow herself was one of those peaking around the corner.

A man emerged from the elevator. Short, a bit wizened, in a nice black suit. From Buffy's description she thought this must be Doc, and glancing at Buffy's face as she looked at him pretty much confirmed it. The two robed minions flanking him made for pretty good clues as well.

"Her Worshipfulness," a minion was saying, "shall no doubt reward those most loyal to her."

"No doubt at all" the other minion piped in. Doc stopped to listen.

"Few could doubt, of course, and those who did would be fools indeed, your own great loyalty to the wonder that is Glory."

"Go on," Doc urged. His face had a kindly, patient expression. The minions cowered at it.

"W-w-w--we h-h-h-hoped you m-m-might..." the first minion's words trailed off.

"Put in a good word for us?" blurted out his compatriot. Before wilting as Doc fixed his gaze on the creature. Then, smiled.

"Her Glory will do as pleases her," he said mildly.

"YES!" cried out one of minions.

"OF COURSE!" echoed the other.

"I suggest," said the old man in a low voice, causing the others to go utterly silent, "you prepare for the rescue mission the Slayer and her friends are undoubtedly planning. Secure the brunette. Guard her."

"Even now, she awaits the Splendid Curvy One's return!" offered one minion in a rush.

"You interrupted me," Doc pointed out gently. The minion sank to his knees, weeping. "Never mind. Just get upstairs while I continue working with the woman. Go now." The two of them nearly tripped over each other heading back into the elevator. Doc, almost serenely, headed outdoors into the night.

Fully six seconds after he'd left the lobby, Buffy turned to everyone else. "Anya, Willow--you're the ones Doc hasn't seen. Follow him to where ever he's got my mom. We'll go up and rescue Faith."

"But...you'll need us..."

"You heard what he said. Glory's not here. If we hurry, we can get Faith out before she gets back. Willow," Buffy said intensely, "I'm counting on you." And with that she headed up the stairs. Riley and Giles followed. Xander was the last, sharing a quick kiss with Anya then a thumbs-up sign to Willow.

Anya looked at Willow. "C'mon. We'd better hurry." Business like as ever.

"Okay." Willow made a quick pace out of the lobby and onto the street. Doc, it turned out, wasn't far. They followed him. "I just wish Tara was here."

"I'm sure she's healing. Be out stalking the night again in no time."

Doc picked up speed. Anya and Willow did as well.

* * *

"Thanks for the ride," said Tara at last. She'd been thinking what to say to Oz for what seemed like forever. Probably two whole minutes.

"Don't mention it."

Which effectively cut off the next thing she was going to say. Not an easy thing, this talking with Oz. A year and a half ago, when he'd driven her and Faith to Los Angeles, it had been easier. Or had it? Yes, it had. They'd all had a goal, and had understood enough that silence came easily, comfortably. None of them had really wanted to talk.

Actually, Tara didn't really want to talk now. Just felt she should.

"Your kitty," Dawn suddenly spoke up. "She really is just a pet, right? Not some kind of snack?" The girl looked worried.

"Just a pet," Tara nodded.

"Good," proclaimed Dawn and went back to petting Xita. The kitten, meanwhile, realized she'd found a soft touch and was milking the situation for all the scratching and tasty treats she could get. Clever creature. "Has she ever brought you a mouse or a bird or anything?"

"A couple of rats."

"You didn't...feed on them, did you?"

"No." Why bother the girl with the truth after all? Blood is blood. Dawn's little sigh of relief told Tara she'd done the right thing.

Several more minutes of playing with the kitten were followed by an offhand remark. "Don't suppose kitty wants to get too close to you," Dawn said to Oz. "Dogs and cats, you know."

Oz just nodded. "You got a point."

"Doesn't know what she's missing," Dawn pronounced. Oz slightly (very slightly) smiled in response.

Tara suddenly had a thought. She'd grown up, learning from childhood the women of her family were demons in desperate need of control. Not as far back as she could remember had she once doubted this. Her sojourn to Sunnydale had only been a temporary respite before her destiny. Or so she'd believed. In fact, soon after arriving Tara had met a demon--The Apostate--who'd made her into what he was, a vampire. And then she'd discovered something. Until awakening the next night, Tara had believed herself part demon. Once she actually became part demon, the truth was viciously obvious. She'd been human. Completely. Obviously. Without doubt. The temptation to go home and have her entire family for dinner had been considerable.

Now, another lie clarified in her mind. Here she was, a demon. And she was in love. More, she was loved. In the room with her was a werewolf. Together they were protecting a little girl--not for hope of using her themselves but out of a genuine desire to protect. Not the behavior she'd learned to expect from demons. Her father had been wrong. No, both of them. For the Apostate had been just as blindly certain of his "truth" as Ezekiel Maclay.

"Tara?"

"Hmmm? What is it, Dawn?"

"Are you alright? You look...kinda intense."

Less than two yards from Tara, Oz was staring at her also. Both he and Dawn seemed very alert. Worried. Xita Kitty hissed, jumping off of Dawn's lap and scurrying under the desk. Not for another few moments did Tara realize why. Reaching up, she touched her now-furrowed brows. Running her tongue along her lips, she felt fangs. With an effort of will, she returned her face to its human visage.

"Sorry." Her voice was quiet. "I was...thinking about something. Remembering, actually."

"It wasn't anything I did, was it?" Dawn tried to smile as she made the joke. She almost made it. The grin wasn't quite right, and her eyes tried to laugh but failed.

"No. Not you." Tara leaned back, closing her eyes. "Somebody...else."

"Wanna talk about it?" An interesting question, especially coming from Oz.

"Not right now," replied the vampire. "But later. Yes."

"If there is a later," muttered Dawn.

* * *

Willow and Anya followed Doc for nearly an hour. He made his way through downtown Sunnydale, eventually ending up outside a half-empty office building. Doc went inside, forcing both young women to be more careful. Fortunately, he made his way to the second floor with little enough trouble. They watched him, first from the street, then the stairwell. Upstairs, a long hallway was empty.

"Now what do we do?" whispered Anya.

"Listen to the doors," said Willow.

Nodding, Anya did so. Willow herself followed suit. The first had no sounds behind it. For that matter, neither did the second or third or fourth. She stole a glance at Anya, whose disgusted look on her face showed the same results. Both put their ears to the next doors.

"Hey!" suddenly said Anya, "hey hey hey...!"

"Shhhhhhh..." hissed Willow. "Not so loud!"

Anya motioned for Willow to approach. She did so. They each pressed their ears to the door, listening with all their might.

"...which ones?" Doc's muffled voice was difficult to hear. And harder to make out.

But the voice that answered was female. Worse (or better) it was also achingly familiar, even if neither could make out a single word. She seemed to be explaining something at length though. Whatever it was, she ended it with a question.

"Excellent," murmured Doc from behind the door. Steps. Not many. The woman's voice asking something. And asking again. He didn't reply. Instead, he spoke to someone else. With a little shock, both Willow and Anya recognized the quality of his voice with the first words he spoke. He was on the phone.

"Hello?" he was saying. "Has Glory returned?"

As one, Willow and Anya stared at each other in horror. In sync, they tried the door. Locked. Then they began pushing at it, kicking. It held. Behind the door, they heard Doc raising his voice. "Tell her Magnificence that the Key is in the form..."

"CONFIGRERE!" Willow shouted, focusing her will. The door shattered inward! Both women rushed inside!

"...of the Slayer's sister Dawn!"

Doc was at an old, battered desk, a phone receiver in one hand. He looked up, his face clearly visible in the light from the streetlamp outside. Other than this, only a reading lamp on the desk provided any illumination. As Doc looked at them, both eyes went pitch black. With what was probably supposed to be a battle cry, Anya rushed at him, raising her mace as if to strike.

A tongue shot out of Doc's mouth--six feet worth. It struck Anya, sending her flying across the room into the wall. Then Doc turned to Willow.

Willow had taken out a handful of herbs and some consecrated dust. Her actions seemed in slow motion, at least to her. So do did those of the creature before her. Slowly, he braced himself in the direction of the red haired witch. Willow drew her arm back. Doc lowered his lower jaw, exactly as he had moments before when striking out at Anya. And Willow threw her arm forward, releasing the herbs and dust, which flew across the room in Doc's direction. Inside Doc's mouth, a tongue seemed to undulate and coil as the the herbs and dust made their way in a scattered arc in the air. Then, the tongue began to emerge--even as the dust and herbs struck its owner.

"APAGE TE! RELEGARE!"

Doc vanished. Willow had just enough time to realize blood was gushing from her nose before a thousand migraines pounded her into unconciousness.

TO BE CONTINUED