TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 27/31)
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
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up through and including "Weight of the World" as well as some stuff from "Angel."
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.
NOTE: Remember that poor vamp chick who was gnawing on Riley? The one who ran from Buffy and got skewered in the back by a thrown spear? Well, she's Michelle.

* * *

Tara wasn't used to trust. Neither as a verb nor a noun. Her life had seen it betrayed far too often, sometimes with terrific ruthlessness. The oh-so-wonderful Maclay clan to start with. Having the oldest, probably most evil vampire in existence as a sire did nothing to change this. She was also honest enough to realize she'd betrayed Buffy's trust--what little trust the Slayer might have had for her. Nor did she regret it. Which left her feeling no more inclined to believe without proof than before. Yet now, she was leaving a great deal to trust. Nothing less than survival, not simply her own but Willow's.

And she didn't like it.

For nearly three hours now Tara and the others had been making their way back to Sunnydale. Fortunately, the late Knights of Byzantium had been survived by their horses. Wesley, herself and Anya had all proved able riders. Xander, Gunn and Oz all managed, the latter surprisingly well for his first time. Or not. Willow rode with Tara, an arrangement made workable (as well as desirable) by their relative sizes.

Bouncing along on still-skittish beasts had done nothing to further conversation. Still, Tara could tell--from the way she held on, from her breathing, from a thousand little details--Willow knew Tara was more unhappy than she'd let on. Yet they couldn't talk about it. Not yet. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea yet anyway.

Now the motley (very, Tara thought to herself) group approached their goal. The Stephenson horse ranch. Xander, it turned out, knew Old Man Stephenson (he said it that way, with the capitals) and was sure he'd give them all a ride back to Sunnydale. This wasn't as straightforward as any of them would like, simply because Xander had trouble dismounting. Walking proved difficult as well. He was now officially limping with both legs. To be expected under the circumstances. Still, it delayed them. Xander headed up to the main house, while everyone else (other than Anya, who went with her boyfriend) waited. Gunn complained about his own legs, profanely if not loudly. Oz said nothing, just nodded in sympathy. Tara stared at them all. Herself, a vampire. A witch, the lovely and even more worried than she seemed Willow. A Los Angeles "homey" (was that the word?) who specialized in fighting demons. Oz the werewolf. Plus the prissy Englishman who represented an age-old secret society dedicated to helping teenage girls fight the forces of darkness.

Motley. Yes. Without doubt. The ex-demon and her now-psychic boyfriend headed up the hill certainly fit in.

Tara wandered over to a large tree, parking herself against the trunk, in the deepest shade. She realized the Ring of Amara made her immune to sunlight. Habits, however, were hard to break. And right now, she didn't have the strength to fight those habits. But at least she wasn't hungry. They had left several horses behind them, all but two now wounded slightly and left a little weaker for loss of blood. Animal blood. The equivalent of bread and water. But at least it had been warm, alive. Everyone turning away so as not to watch did little for her mood, though.

Now Willow approached. Tara hoped (oh so much) that her beloved would simply sit beside her and say nothing. Please, she said to herself, please.

Willow sat in front of Tara, her eyes huge and concerned. "Tara? Please talk to me?"

"I'll be alright." No need to add to her burdens.

"Still. Please?"

Tara didn't say anything for an eternal ten seconds or so. When she did, there was an undercurrent of bitterness. Faint, but very much there. "You are going to die. And I can't stop it."

Now Willow reached out and took Tara's hands in her own. "Not yet."

"Tonight."

"Maybe not even then."

"I don't believe that. Gods, how I wish...but...."

Trust me, Giles had said. He hadn't given a lot of details this morning. Barely any at all. Wesley had seemed to know what he was talking about, and after what seemed like a thousand pleas for trust Buffy had finally agreed. She had been nearly catatonic. To Tara, it seemed like she was an underground well full of tears, ready to erupt like a geyser but not yet, not yet. Her mother was dead. Riley had been killed in front of her. Now Dawn was in Glory's clutches. And no one, not even Buffy, had any idea how to stop her from bleeding the little girl to death, and in the process turning Earth into a chaotic version of Dante's Inferno. Exactly what Giles thought this ritual was going to do had been unclear. But he had insisted, begged, nagged. And she'd agreed. Eventually.

When Tara and Willow and the others had headed back to Sunnydale, Giles and Buffy had gone deeper into the desert.

Saying nothing, Willow brushed her lips against Tara's fingers. As a vampire, Tara's body was room temperature, in this case that of a warm summer day. Willow's lips were warmer still. A slightly moist warmth, that penetrated far deeper than the skin. She kept kissing her fingers, and each kiss reached deeper. Tara felt herself relax slightly. Willow must have felt it as well, for she looked up just then. Her eyes pierced Tara deeper than any kiss.

But Tara still believed she was going to see Willow die.

* * *

Willow met with no trouble at the hospital. She already knew in which room to find Faith, although the dark-haired girl's appearance startled her. Nearly half her face was bruised, with a noticeable swollen lip. Plus there was a cast on her arm.

Most of all she looked exhausted.

"Hey, Red. Was wondering when any of you guys would show up."

"Yeah, well...things have been pretty crazy."

"Tell me."

"No how are you? Okay? Well, I mean, you're obviously not okay but that can be a relative term..."

"Red?"

"Uh...yes?"

"Tell me."

So Willow did. She didn't limit herself to just what had happened since Faith had ended up in intensive care. First, she sketched in general terms what had been going on since since Willow had visited Los Angeles. Then what had occurred over the last few days, as well as the various aftermaths. About how they'd fled into the desert, hoping to lose Glory now that she'd learned Dawn was the Key. But the Knights of Byzantium somehow followed, driving the mobile home off the road. How they took refuge in an abandoned gas station, but not before Riley was killed. Faith's eyes grew more intense at this news. Willow didn't think that possible. She went on to explain how Glory herself tracked down the Knights, killing every one of them before snatching Dawn.

"What about Bee? How's she holding up?"

"Its like...if she was a puppet, a marionette...as if somebody cut her strings, you know?"

Faith nodded. "Yeah" she breathed.

"Giles insisted they do a kind of ritual, something about renewing her soul's strength. He didn't say when they'd be back."

"From what you say, if its not by tonight then so what? Good-bye universe?"

"Pretty much. But we're putting together everything we can. There's the Dagon's Sphere. Plus April--that's the robot I told you about. She's really strong. Xander's pretty sure he knows where Glory'll be. And Riley said some Initiative-type guys were on their way."

"Uh huh. What about you and Tara?"

"Tara...she's got the Ring."

"You told me."

"So, she should be safe. And she's made a suggestion I haven't told anybody else about."

"But you're gonna tell me? Just how edgy is it?"

"Well, you know I've been getting better and better at magic? But doing anything big takes a lot out of me. I mean a lot! Tara thought that if we worked together, our control would be better. Plus we'd be able to access that much more."

"Makes sense."

"Yeah. But..."

"But...?"

"We've only got one shot at this. All or nothing. No second chances--no we'll-get-it-right-next time because there isn't going to be a next time unless we get it right this time! Which means, we don't have the luxury of playing it safe." She looked at Faith.

"Just what're you talkin about Red?"

At first, Willow said nothing. Then, "Dark magic."

"How dark?"

"Really, really dark. Like summoning the Elder Gods and letting them do their will. Its very dangerous, especially if we lose control."

"Okay." Faith took this in stride. "Very dangerous. Which means what?"

"If an Elder God's powers were simply...let go...a chunk of the city might go all liquidy. Before boiling. Then evaporating away poof. Not too big a chunk, but...maybe a dozen square miles or so. Maybe."

"Is that all?"

"Uh...yeah. That's it. Pretty much."

Faith nodded. "Sounds like you could use a Slayer that's fully operational."

"Giles said that he and Buffy..."

"I mean me."

"But...but your arm! Plus with the bruising, and everything else, and..." She let her eyes take in Faith's ravaged form. But still, this was Faith and there was steel in her eyes. "Promise you'll be careful."

"Promise."

Faith reached out, and Willow helped her out of bed.

* * *

Tara had always had an excellent memory. Plus what most people took as an odd sensibility. Fewer realized just how both of these were augmented by a really first-class mind. Such were the truths she'd lived with for two decades, eventually learning them to be truths and wearing them as something like badges of pride.

Now, all these fit together in a scavenging expedition. The ruins of Sunnydale High crawled with vermin. Once she'd been squeamish and would have minded them. No more.

Up in what had once been a bell tower was a room. She'd spent many a night meditating there, sometimes fighting the Hunger. Other times she'd simply read. And in her odd/individual way, she'd decorated this room. Maybe it was coincidence, or karma, or whatever, that led her to take one particular item as an ornament. Were circumstances less dire, she might have contemplated the string of factors that led here.

Not today.

Climbing the ladder was no problem. That it was a new, different ladder might be. Someone had been here. Or was here. Recently. Now?

At the level of what had been her former lair, Tara crouched. She extended her senses. Yes. There was an intruder. More, another vampire. Secure in her own power, she deliberately stood. One foot rose--then descended on the half-crushed beer can. It made a satisfying crunch sound. Like an enemy's bones snapping in a quick press. Tara welcomed her rage, hoping for the chance to lash out. Self-control had been a long, long habit. And she was tired.

The sound of the can brought forth a stirring from the pile of rags in the corner. Farthest from any hint of light. Of course. From its sheath, Tara slid out a curved blade the length of her forearm. She felt her face shift, preparing for combat.

But the vampiress that rose up out of the rags bore no weapon. More, she was painfully thin, even for one of the undead. Hollow cheeked, with sunken eyes and unwashed black hair. Her bare arms looked like sticks. It took Tara seconds to realize here was one of the timid ones, those who lacked the fierceness to hunt regularly or the sophistication with which to seduce. Such rarely lasted. They were sloppy, or careless, or simply unlucky.

And this one looked familiar.

"Michelle?" The gaunt female reacted with what might have been a jerk if done instantly or at normal speed. She blinked. "Is that your name?" After another blink, she slowly shrugged. Did she not care? Or not remember? Which was more disturbing?

"Do you" the poor creature's voice was ragged "want to sleep?" Her eyes weren't quite focused.

"I'm Tara. Do you remember me?" Tara doubted it.

"Tar. Ra." She had trouble saying the word around fangs. Her expression didn't quite add up to recognition, though.

"Yes. Tara. And you're Michelle. You were at a bus stop, reading a romance novel. I came up to you, introduced myself. Remember?"

The expression on her face didn't change. Was she even listening? Could she anymore? Tara stared intensely, trying to spot a glimmer of the shy girl who'd been thrilled to have a blonde stranger flirt with her--thrilled but terrified. Later, as Tara had seized her, she'd been simply terrified, feeling her throat ripped open and her blood eagerly lapped up. At the time, Tara had been in a strange mood. Having taken far too much, Tara decided to be merciful and pressed her fresh-bleeding wrist to her victim's mouth. One swallow had been enough. But Tara hadn't stayed.

Now, nearly a year later, this was what Michelle had become. Gaunt, starved, brains half-addled by the blending of human with demon. The floor was strewn with the decaying remnants of rats, squirrels, even stray dogs. Each was desiccated. Many had been dead for days, if not weeks.

Michelle made a mewling sound, clearly tired and afraid. Of Tara? Or sunlight? Both?

"Go back to bed. I'll be leaving soon." Tara tried to make her voice soothing. Whether she succeeded or not was open to question, but at least Michelle (or what used to be Michelle) didn't bolt or attack. Slowly, Tara headed for the uppermost level. The stairs were mostly intact. As she headed for them, the gaunt creature behind scrambled underneath her rags.

Here was the other extreme of vampirism. Most of those transformed became vicious children with superhuman strength, with all the enthusiasm and lack of forethought that characterized the very young. In fact, the vast majority of vampires fit that description. Even the more intelligent Nosferatu were nearly always governed by raw hunger, a veneer of civilization simply serving that need. Others, like Michelle, became animals with little skill at pretending to be anything else. In her case, she was probably a scavenger, drinking from other vampires' kills. If lucky, some stronger undead would notice and take her as a pet, allowing scraps in return for sexual performance. Or, without such, she'd be forced to hunt tiny animals in every greater quantities, becoming more and more like the vermin she devoured.

Am I lucky to be different, wondered Tara? So different I fell in love? Different enough to meddle with horrors than face Willow's likely death. Does that make me wise? Enlightened? Or just more subtly cursed? Will my suffering be worse than Michelle's, simply because I retain the ability to feel more?

Tara didn't know.

Nor, as she found the piece of metal she'd expected, did she feel remotely close to an answer. But at least she had resolved to do what could be done. One hand closed over the object of her quest, and she gently headed back down. She did so quietly, hoping not to wake the monster she'd made from an innocent girl.

* * *

Hours later, Willow finished drawing the circle. A pentagram was within, and candles at each point. The pillow in the very center of the circle held the object of the spell. She found herself breathing hard. Praying, maybe? That this would work? Or for another failure?

Anya hesitated before lighting the candles. "This is probably a bad idea."

"Maybe," agreed Willow, "but we need to take some real chances now. End of the world and all."

"I know," said Anya. "But if anything goes wrong, we won't need any apocalypse to get hurt."

"True," said Tara. She stood to the side, the most important prop for the ritual in her hand. Even without her game face, she radiated unhuman intensity. Willow found this both frightening and exciting. "But we've had a lot of experience by now. And we're all in enough danger no matter what we do, this will only help."

"Yeah, okay." Anya resumed lighting the candles.

Willow finished the magic circle, then got out the book with the incantation. She waited for Anya to finish. Once she had, Anya stepped to her friend's side and took her hand. Both took very deep breaths. Several in fact. Oxygenating blood seemed a good idea before using your own body as a lens through which to focus eldritch energies. Couldn't hurt, anyway. Willow looked at Tara, who nodded.

So Willow began her chant.

"Dionysus, lord of transformations, hear now our plea!
Render shape once more onto its proper vessel!
Lend your will onto our own!"

She traced a magical rune in the air, which glowed green. A whiff of ozone followed. And the second part of the incantation followed.

"Loki, master of trickery, unleash now your power!
Make this unworthy one again what she was!
Ignite now your godly might!"

Another rune traced in the air, burning red this time. With a faint odor of brimstone.

Tara raised the object in both hands. Green and red reflected from its once-polished surface. Willow meanwhile, felt her nerves begin to shudder, while Anya beside her trembled. Taking several more breaths, Willow managed to speak again, but with difficulty.

"Ravana! King of devourers! Wielder of powers!
Accept this sacrifice of blood for blood!
Let DEATH mold flesh into new flesh!"

Hand shaking, Willow barely could force her fingers to take the needed position. She blinked. In an instant, she saw the world differently. Rather than light and dark, energies of magic rippled around her. Four souls glimmered in the room, like rainbow flames. Directly across from her, the red demon of Tara coiled within the fleshy shape. Willow pointed above her, at the bronze object.

"Transform!"

Each word had to be gasped out.

"Transform!"

Willow barely recognized her own voice. It seemed more liquid than ever before. Resonant as well.

"TRANSFORM!"

Pain cascaded from her hand as the power released, and Willow screamed. Dimly, she could feel a whirlwind gather, pulling the air from her lungs. Something clawed at her eyes from behind, while dozens of bells echoed in each ear discordantly. In a weird way, the thudding ache as her knees struck the floor was welcome.

Dizzy, she fell into darkness.

* * *

"WILLOW!"

Tara's own hands felt scalded from shattering the red hot metal sculpture. But she reached her love's side in less than a quarter second, looking into her face, aiming all her preternatural senses.

Alive. Thank all the gods, light and dark, Willow was yet alive.

Her glorious eyes flickered open.

"...Tara...?"

"Shhhh. I'm here. How do you feel?"

"...I'm...could be better." She licked her lips. "I think...maybe...a couple of thousand elves have decided to mine my nervous system for precious jewels." Eyes closed, she sighed. "That's what it feels like, kinda."

"Don't see any elves."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

Anya knelt beside them both. "Guys?"

Willow's eyes half-opened. Exhausted, yes. But more than alive, she was alert. Tara felt her own tension bleed away at that, at least. For a few more hours, Willow lived.

"Did it work?" asked Willow in faint voice.

Tara looked towards the circle. "Yeah," she said simply.

Anya took several steps, and extended her hand. The long-haired nude girl standing in the center of the circle took it, with some air of puzzlement. She also looked around the room, at the red-haired girl on the floor in the arms of a one-eyed blonde vampire. The walls around her were a disaster, the remnants of the once-comfortable Sunnydale High School Library. Now an overgrown ruin. Smoking, the pieces of a cheerleading trophy lay on the floor.

"Amy Madison, I presume," said Anya. "I'm Anya. Can you help us save the world?"

TO BE CONTINUED