TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 25/31)
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.

* * *

The world throbbed.

Oh no. That wasn't the world. Just seemed like it because all the pain and throbbing the entire world was supposed to contain had somehow ended up inside her head. How had that happened?

"Willow?"

And now Anya was screaming at her. Okay, whispering. But it felt like screaming.

"Willow?"

"Stop...just...quiet, okay?" Every word out of her own lips echoed against Willow's skull. She opened her eyes to blinding light. Not enough to see much, but still--blinding. Somehow, she lifted all forty tons of her hand, reaching her face in just over seven hours. Or half a second. She wasn't sure there was a difference right now. Sticky. Her hand was sticky now. With deep red stuff.

Blood.

"Willow...?" Anya ventured again, at what must be the lowest decibel level possible for anything human. "You need to wake up."

Damn. Why did that have to be true? But it was. She began to move her limbs, which set off a dozen new explosions behind her eyes and made her groan. Hands--Anya's presumably--helped her sit up. The impulse to vomit was great, but controllable. Barely. No more teleportation spells, Willow vowed. She peered around the dim room. "Doc" she asked?

"Gone. Went poof. Too late to keep him from telling about Dawn, as it turns out, but the spell worked just fine."

"Uh...thanks."

"What about Dawn?" said a woman's voice from the shadows. It was a pleasant contralto, kindly in tone. But there was something in the sound of that voice Willow didn't like. A liquid something. She knew that voice, had known it for years. Nothing liquid had belonged to it before. Of course, that voice's owner hadn't died before then. She gazed at the direction of the voice--managing to spot a blurry shape in the shadows.

"Mrs. Summers? Is that you?"

"Why...yes. I believe so." She remained seated on what Willow presumed was a sofa. Probably fairly beaten up if it matched the rest of the furniture. "Do I know you?" The shape of the head tilted.

"Yeah. Willow. Remember?"

The silence that followed set off all sorts of tiny alarms in Willow. A quick look at Anya set off some more--she looked queasy. Anya wasn't one to turn queasy. "Wil. Low." Joyce Summers voice repeated. "Willow. Are you my daughter?"

"No! But...she and I are friends. Best friends!" Willow found herself rapidly, a little desperately, nurturing a hope that the only thing wrong with the resurrected Mrs. Summers was a touch of amnesia.

Just a shade too slow, the shadowy figure turned to Anya. "Then you're my daughter?"

"Sorry," Anya shook her head.

"No?"

"Positive."

"Oh. Dear." But now the figure lapsed into another silence. Willow stood up. It still set her brain sloshing around inside her skull cavity but by gritting her teeth she managed. She took a couple of unsteady steps to the door. Towards the light switch. As her hand reached for it, Anya's voice piped up.

"You might not want to do that."

Willow hesitated. She suspected Anya was right. But there was an awful decision that might have to be made, and she'd have to make it. The switch moved, flooding the little office with light. Then Willow turned around.

It was the eyes that were the worst. Joyce Summers had had very nice eyes--kind, clear, intelligent. These were unfocused, but worse, they were nearly colorless. Each iris was grey, a pale grey that seemed almost white. A latticework of red veins surrounded them, while each pupil was no more than a tiny black pinprick. On closer observation, though, her skin wasn't much better. Pale lips were the most noticeable, making the polite smile she aimed now at Willow somehow ghastly. Oh yeah, the teeth. Yellow. Or brown? No, both.

"Do you know where my daughter can be found?" the shape of Joyce Summers asked. Willow just kept staring. Against her will, but without pause. Very faint mottling marred the surface. Right now she was as pale as Tare, but vampires don't have bruise-like purple splotches. That liquid quality in her voice hadn't really grown worse, had it? "I know she's the key to...something. That's what I told my doctor."

Anya and Willow exchanged a look.

* * *

At the hospital, Tara and Oz escorted Dawn into the Waiting Area. They were met by Buffy, Giles, Riley and Xander.

"How's Faith?" asked Oz.

"Bad," answered Buffy in a flat voice. "They're going over her now. She's got broken bones, and probably a concussion." Her voice cracked a little at this last. Riley quietly took her hand and squeezed. She took a deep breath before going on. "But she'll be alright. She's a slayer. We're tough. Any word from Anya and Willow?"

"Not yet," said Tara.

"What about Mom?" said Dawn in a small voice.

Buffy looked at her sister. "No sign of her at Glory's." The two of them hugged.

Giles coughed after a few moments, breaking the awkward silence. "So Tara," he said, "you seem fully recovered."

"Nearly," Tara agreed. "And a good thing, too. You're likely to be needing me. Is there any word from Gunn or Wesley?"

"Actually, they checked in a little while ago," said Riley. "Got the Knights of Byzantium staked out, but nothing further to report."

"Gotta love three-sided apocalyptic battles," muttered Xander. "I mean, it just gets too easy good guys versus bad guys." Which earned him a little smile from both Buffy and Dawn.

Now a familiar-looking Doctor approached them all. Tara felt every sense go alert as she recognized him. Ben. He looked very concerned, terribly sincere, but Tara knew he was somehow connected with Glory. And his being here could not be good.

"Ah...Miss Summers?" He took a step back as the entire party glared at him. Each had a different level, but in unison they were all anything but friendly. Tara hoped he was most frightened by her, but wasn't quite upset enough to shift her features and make sure. "Oh. Kay," the intern began, "I just wanted to come and give you a report on your friend." He took another little step backward. Then plunged ahead. "She has multiple fractures in one leg, a compound fracture in an arm, and a broken collarbone. You were right, by the way, there is a concussion but not too serious. Evidently. In fact, she seems quite a bit healthier than she should be. All things considered." As one, Buffy and her friends continued to stare. "Well. The lacerations and bruises are pretty superficial, although they probably sting like hell. And--this isn't too horrible but she probably needs to see a dentist--Faith has lost a molar. It seems to have been yanked out. Anyway, she's under observation right now so there's no reason..."

"I don't want you treating her." Buffy's voice was icy.

"Uh..."

"Do you understand?"

"No. I don't. Why don't you..."

"Whether you get the reasons or not, I don't care. Do you understand my orders?"

Ben looked like he was about to argue, then thought better of it. "I'll tell someone. Trade off for another case. Okay?" When Buffy didn't say anything, he scampered off.

"Should we follow him," asked Riley.

"No," said Buffy, "we need to stay together."

That was when Willow walked in. Against her will, Tara felt herself react to her presence. Some muscles automatically relaxed, while her senses sharpened just a little bit. And when the redhead's eyes pierced her, she felt worse and better at the same time. Oh how I fear that anything might happen to you, thought the vampire to herself. How mightily you shape my life now. You look hurt, exhausted and unwell. Did someone cause this? How can I keep myself from slaughtering whoever was responsible...? Because you would not approve. Tara trembled in self control.

Everybody else moved to meet the worn-looking Willow.

"What happened?" This from Dawn, clearly appalled at Willow's appearance. She was visibly pale, and holding a paper towel stained with blood against her nose.

"Oh, just some magic that really was too much to handle. Almost. Uh, Guys? Can I talk to Oz and Tara please? Alone?"

Like the red sea, everybody parted and looked at the werewolf and the vampire in the rear--the two who hadn't moved. Tara realized in a flash that Oz had had the identical reaction as herself. And now they acted in unison again. Each walked up to Willow and joined her around the corner in a hallway...

* * *

An hour later, Willow was (still!) waiting for the migraine medicine she'd taken to kick in. And it didn't help that she simply could not afford to lie down right now. If Glory didn't know Dawn was the Key, she would soon. Eager to get Faith to the hospital, Buffy simply hadn't had time to deal with every single minion in the condo. Some of them were bound to have gotten Doc's message.

"Soooooo..." said Buffy, obviously antsy. Her most basic reaction to stress was to seize control, and now even letting Giles drive Oz's van was eating away at her. "What happened to Doc, exactly?"

"Told you," Willow said wearily. "I said the words and he disappeared."

"But where is he now?"

"Don't know."

Everybody was listening to their conversation. Not that they could help it. The van wasn't small, but it wasn't that big either and carrying six people didn't exactly discourage crowding. Or eavesdropping.

"Willow?" Dawn's voice sounded fragile. Her look was steel. "Did you see any sign of Mom?"

Okay here it was. Breathe normally. She needs to believe you. Buffy, too. Its for the best no matter how you look at it. As Willow creaked open her eyes, she caught both Summers girls pleading with their looks.

"Just before Anya and I broke into the office, we heard Doc say some words. I'm pretty sure they were part of a spell. And it sounded like some kind of banishment. He said 'reverti' at least three times. That's Latin for 'return.' I think...maybe he sent her back once he got what he wanted from her."

The van was suddenly very loudly silent. For a full minute.

"Mom told him?" Dawn looked in shock.

"Oh, Dawnie--I think it wasn't really your mother. Just part of her. The room, it kinda smelled...well, bad. Like, dead." Willow squirmed as she said this. The discomfort was real. Only the full cause of it was a lie. But she had to tell this lie. She had to.

Dawn put her head on her arms, hiding her face. Buffy gently stroked her hair, offering a comfort in something other than words. The sight made Willow long for Tara.

Now Giles brought the van to a stop. Gunn and Wesley were waiting for them at the corner, and they managed to fit everybody inside after only three minutes of groaning and squeezing. In the midst of it all, Giles managed to brief them on where things stood.

"Well," he'd begun, "the good news is that Faith is alive and in a doctor's care. The bad is that Glory knows Dawn is the Key. Oz, Tara and Anya will be meeting us with some alternate transportation."

Gunn did a take at this. "What kind of alternate transportation?"

The Watcher shrugged. "Something large enough for us all. Hopefully, fast as well."

"Fast? Why fast?"

"Because Glory knows," said Buffy. "And she's too powerful. Now that she knows, we have to get out of here. Fast."

Willow could feel how uncomfortable everyone was at this. In fact, Gunn and Xander both looked something akin to shocked. But Willow saw how utterly desperately certain Buffy was. She also saw something else--the ragged tatters events had left of her nerves. Flight might be the right choice. Maybe it was the only choice. Probably, it was. Yet there was only one possible reason Buffy would plan on running away so quickly and without argument.

She believed she was going to lose. What had happened to Faith must have been the final straw.

No one said anything as they headed out to the old factory.

* * *

Anya looked worn as Tara entered the office, followed by Oz. She immediately noticed something else--that Anya was standing in the corner of the office, as far away as possible from what had been Joyce Summers.

"Am I glad to see you two," said Anya, all but sighing in relief. "What took you so long?"

"I had to stop by my lair."

"Hello," said the colorless thing with Joyce Summers' shape. It was dead. Tara knew what was alive and what wasn't. After all, she was both. This was dead. Animate, yes. But far from alive. "Are you my daughter? I seem to remember my daughter is a blonde." The timbre of voice was a good imitation of kindliness. But that's all it was, the mystic equivalent of muscle memory. Neither compassionate nor cruel, this...thing...pretended to listen.

Now Tare looked at Anya, who wouldn't meet her gaze. It must have been uncomfortable in the extreme for her to react this way. But then, Anya was curiously fragile when it came to genuine emotion. And passionate. She had liked Joyce Summers very much. The past hour must have been subtle torture for her.

"My name is Tara," she said. The dead thing didn't blink at this. It didn't' blink at all. Nor did it react. Yeah, this could get unnerving real fast.

"Are you comfortable?"

It cocked its head, considering. "Not...uncomfortable."

"Good."

"Tara? Oz?" Anya spoke up. She had a box in her hand. "I searched the desk and found this. Had to break a couple of locks to do it. That much security probably means they're important." The top of the box flipped open.

Inside the box were scrolls. Tara was tempted to read them now, but she had a clear set of priorities. "Thanks, Anya," she said. "You're probably right." She took out an envelope. With a glance at the unblinking thing on the sofa (still in the same polite position it had before), Tara removed the picture inside. It was a nice photograph. Handsome even. And a couple of dozen times more alive than the creature that had the same face.

Oz's hand grabbed her wrist.

"What?"

"I'll do it."

Tara didn't--quite--do a take. "Hey, I'm the killer."

"But you and Willow..." He left that hanging. So. Oz knew. "This shouldn't lie between you." Deliberately, he took the photo from her hands. Some part of Tara thought she shouldn't let him do this. But the larger part realized his wisdom. Were our positions reversed, she wondered if she'd have done the same. Tara continued to wonder this as the photo left her touch, and he held it with two hands. He didn't hesitate more than a fraction of a second.

Oz ripped the photo in half.

And the thing with Joyce Summers' shape vanished.

TO BE CONTINUED