TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 30/31)
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 "The Gift" 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: I've put a little bit of an "in joke" in this story. Kittens should be able to spot it...

* * *

Dawn sat hunched on the sofa, eyes unfocussed. Willow, beside her, looked little better. She had her arms around the fourteen-year-old, and listened. Her voice was nearly inaudible, even to Willow.

"She said," Dawn whispered, "that she understood. That she loved me, and to live. For her. The hardest thing about this world, she said, is living in it." At this last, her voice very nearly broke. Dawn opened her mouth to say something else. Exactly what would forever be a mystery, because she didn't say anything, although she tried several times. The lips moved, but no words.

"Yeah," spoke Oz. He crouched on the lawn, before the front porch. He's been sitting there for nearly an hour.

"I tried to jump instead," Dawn whispered.

Willow nodded. She'd already guessed as much. Dawn was the Key, and once the ritual began only when her blood ceased to flow would reality be saved. Of course Dawn would offer to sacrifice herself. Not that she'd be happy about it. Who would? But as Buffy had pointed out, she'd been fashioned out of Buffy herself. Dawn really was her sister, in every way that counted. Including their souls. Heroes both. Naturally Dawn's instinct had been to die if that's what it took to save others.

Just as it had been Buffy's.

"I did try..." Dawn nearly pleaded with them to believe her, "I did...!"

"Hey. We know." For some reason Oz's voice, no louder than Dawn's, overpowered hers. It nearly touched Willow herself. Nearly.

"We know, Dawnie," Willow repeated. Even to herself, the words sounded rote. A formula. The words weren't from her heart, merely what she was supposed to say. But she meant them. Didn't she?

The edges of her eyes began to water again. Why haven't I cried, Willow wondered. Dawn bowed her head. And Willow deliberately stroked her hair. But that was what Buffy did so should I or maybe that isn't such a bad thing it could be kinda familiar. Or something like that. After a few moments, gentle sobs came from her.

Willow hadn't cried. It had been days. But still, she hadn't cried. Unlike Dawn, who had wept herself to sleep more than once. Instead, Willow found herself thinking about how she should cry, how she should be mourning, how she really ought to be devastated beyond words. Rather than feeling nothing. No, that wasn't right either. Truth to tell, she did feel a sad loss that hurt almost beyond taking. But she felt it removed, somehow. As if the emotions belonged to someone she knew, even liked, but did not love. Mostly, she felt tired.

"I miss her so much..."

"We all do." Don't I? Of course I do.

Creaking wood behind Willow signaled the arrival of some one--no, some two. Xander and Anya sat on the other side of Dawn, eyes full of what Willow knew she should be feeling instead of faking.

"Hiya, Dawnster," said Xander gently.

"You're very lucky," chimed in Anya. Everyone looked at her. Even Dawn, who lifted her head, eyes growing huge as they bored into Anya. "Usually," Anya continued undauntedly, "when a loved one dies, the love goes bye-bye along with the person. I've a theory that's why it hurts so much. Its like your heart gets ripped out. But you've got multiple hearts. Or at least, multiple loved ones. Experience says that's more rare than most people think. Odd, huh?" She nodded, sagely impressed by her own wisdom.

Xander looked at Dawn. She looked at Oz. Then Oz looked at Willow.

Okay, I'm feeling something, thought Willow. I'm surprised. This is me feeling surprise because Anya just went off on one of her proclamations and everybody, even me, agrees with her. Yep. Cause for surprise. And fear because this has got to be a sign of some apocalypse.

Same old thing, then.

Why don't I cry?

* * *

Tara and Wesley watched Michelle stare at herself in the mirror. She'd been doing it quite a lot. Probably getting used to having a reflection again. Her reaction to solid food had been similar.

"Just curious..." Wesley said in a low voice, so low Tara figured Michelle could no longer hear it.

"How come she's human again?"

"Well, I did wonder."

"Me, too. All I can figure is that Ben's blood was also Glory's, so it had some kind of mystical properties. Ones that resulted in..." she gestured slightly in Michelle's direction. Wesley nodded.

"Giles thought much the same."

"How is he?"

"I'd be lying if I said he was fine. Still, he does seem to be coping. More or less."

"More less than more?"

"Unfortunately." He gave a little sigh. Of sympathy, most likely. The two Watchers had plenty in common, and in time they were all but certain to share this as well. Tara didn't know that much about the history of Slayers, but she rather doubted many outlived their Watchers. "The Council called a little while ago. It seems they knew."

"I suppose so."

"There are...well, signs and portents the Council knows to look for...they herald the selection of a new Slayer. Curiously, they initially offered their condolences towards me. Evidently they had assumed Faith was the one who..." He didn't finish his sentence, but coughed. Not a good thought for him, evidently. "I suppose," he continued after a moment, "their presumption was that if Buffy died, another Slayer would not be called. Came as a bit of a surprise, actually."

Idly, Tara nodded. She was worried about Willow. Her love had gone into a place where she insisted on helping everyone else deal with their grief. She was nearly acting as a second mother to poor Dawn, while letting Xander cry on her shoulder and staying up for hours hovering around Giles. Faith, meanwhile, found a constant nurse in her. Mutual support was one thing. This, though, smacked of obsession. Or compensation.

"...Mr. Travers himself," Wesley was saying.

"Excuse me?"

"I was saying--it was Quentin Travers on the phone. Who called."

Giles' footsteps came up the stairs, meeting Wesley and Tara in the hall. He took a moment to see where they were looking. "Ah. Yes. How is she coming along?"

"All things considered," said Wesley, "Miss Huggins appears to be slowly but surely welcoming her humanity back and adjusting well. No offense," he added at the end to Tara, who shrugged. She, more than he, knew how terrible a return from vampire to human could be. None more than she. Well, none alive.

"Quentin had some...well, odd news."

"Indeed?"

"He and some other members of the Council are on their way to Sunnydale even as we speak." Giles' voice lacked something. A spark, perhaps. Or just a terrible missing Something. In time, maybe, scar tissue would take its place. "The signs," Giles continued, "are that the next Slayer is already here."

"In California?"

"Actually--in Sunnydale."

* * *

Willow listened to Giles announcement and held Tara's hand. Although cold, somehow her hand seemed warmer than her own.

"So this Council," Gunn was asking "doesn't know about our girl Tara here?"

There was a pause, in which Giles started to say something, but didn't. Wesley jumped in. "Both of us felt a full disclosure of the situation should wait for an opportune time. Which is to say, they are aware a relatively young vampire was created by the Apostate and aided him as well as us. They know as well that she has continued to be of help, and that she is not one who hunts down humans as prey." He paused, letting all of them guess what the Council didn't know.

"But they don't know she and Willow are lovers." Anya. Straightforward. Honest. Blunt. As usual.

"Precisely," Giles muttered.

"Which begs the question," Wesley continued, "of how they might react. Keep in mind virtually every one of those arriving have in fact been Watchers for active Slayers in the past. Each has personally aided in slaying vampires, as well as other demons. I believe" he concluded, "they will need time to absorb the implications of the Prophecies of Aubergion."

Xander nodded, "To get used to the whole Vampire-With-A-Soul thing."

"Most especially after what happened with Angel," Wesley agreed.

"Wesley," said Dawn in a little voice. Everyone looked at her. "What are you saying? That Tara has to go away?"

"Only for a time," he answered. "A day or two at most. I hope."

"But," said Willow, "I can't leave here at a time like this. Dawn...she needs me right now. And...Faith." She could hear the whining in her voice, but nothing could keep it out.

"Will!" It was Xander. After months of his being a pathetic madman, Xander now had far more focus and purpose than before. Maybe his experience had been a catharsis? There was some quote--that which does not destroy me only makes me stronger. Who said that? "Will, have you looked at yourself? You're exhausted looking out after everyone but yourself."

"I can handle it..."

"No you can't," said a familiar voice behind them. Willow turned, to see Faith in the kitchen doorway. One arm was still in a sling, her free hand carrying a soda. She also still had a black eye, albeit a fading one. "Red, you've been running around taking care of us. You change our sheets, and cook our meals, and listen to us when we gripe...but what about you?"

She nearly responded with a reflexive "I can handle it" but then Tara squeezed her hand. Rather than reply to Faith, Willow looked at Tara. For a strange moment, she imagined herself reflected in Tara's single eye. Or was it imagination? Tara's hand reached up to stroke one cheek. It felt...good. Better even than the touch of her lover usually was. Almost against her will, she leaned against that hand, accepting the offer. Let me take this weight from you.

Let me help.

"Please," whispered Tara. "Come with me." Four words. They might as well have been four thousand.

Before knowing she was saying it, Willow spoke. "Alright."

* * *

It was well past sunset when Willow put her things into the car. Tara watched her. Watching Willow was a pleasure as always but now there was cause for worry. She had watched her beloved girl for many, many hours by now. Many times such watching had been covert. Tara doubted Willow guessed even now how often a vampire had been following her every move for almost a year and a half. She had seen the beautiful young woman dancing happily with Oz, weeping at his loss, struggling with various enemies at the Slayer's side.

Later, she'd watched Willow look at her with joy, her face lighting up as Tara came into view. That had proven a pleasure beyond words. By then Tara knew how to read this lovely lady. Knew when she was lying. Just as she knew when she was afraid, or determined, or amused. And knew...beyond doubt...knew Willow loved her.

Now, every glance and step screamed pain, loss, denial.

Willow insisted on driving. Tara didn't argue, but continued to watch her. And was rewarded with a sad smile. Can we survive this? Tara hated thinking it, but her love had suffered a terrible psychic shock. Such things changed people. Not always for the better.

Can we survive this?

The distance between the Summers home and Tara's lair was nearly an hour. Unfortunately, the most direct route--the one Willow as driver insisted upon--went directly past several devastated city blocks. Fire and ice had been the least of the travails inflicted by Glory's ritual. One set of storefronts looked as if they'd been gnawed by giant insects. Perhaps they even had. Then there was the church with the nearly perfect round hole in its center.

Seeing such things, Willow's face grew longer. And sadder. Yellow police tape marked lots of locations.

"Did you hear," asked Willow, "they got an official death toll. Not too bad. Seventy three."

In a major city that would be a horrifying number. Sunnydale wasn't even a minor city.

"Not too bad," repeated Willow. She almost believed it. Had to believe it.

"There could have been millions," noted Tara. "Or more."

"I know."

"Had you not weakened Glory, many more people would have died."

"Yeah," she breathed. There was more to it than that, then. Seventy three dead strangers touched her, but that grief was eclipsed. And as she thought on what she knew of Willow's life, Tara began to understand.

"In high school," she began, "you were like me, weren't you?"

"What?"

"An outsider. A geek. Someone without any fellows, alone and unwelcome."

She blinked. "That...that was a long time ago. Besides, I had friends. Xander, for one." Willow's voice rose in pitch. It was slight, but enough for Tara to pick up.

"Then...you became part of the biggest, most important of secrets. Special. Buffy may have been the Chosen One, but she chose you."

Willow parked the car with a jerk. Usually, she was a very careful driver. Now the angle was a little wrong, the car was too far from the curb and besides the fire hydrant was just a little too close. "I...I don't know what you're talking about. There's such a thing as nerd mystique, you know!"

And with that, she got out of the car, slamming the door. Tara followed as they both headed for the building where Tara hid during the day. Willow needed no help finding the secret entrance, of course. The speed with which she moved, though, was startling. Only with effort did Tara keep up. Of course, she hadn't really fed well since the fight, and her bones hadn't fully knitted from their cracks. Like Willow, she'd been trying to help others through the shock of Buffy's death. Another reason she understood--only too well--what her love might be going through.

They were halfway down the ladder when both sensed something was wrong. Both noted the angle of the tunnel was subtly wrong. Neither had been back here in days...

One side of the lair now bore a crack, at its widest nearly five feet wide, and running all the way up into the ceiling. Pulverized concrete lay in chunks and dust across the room.

"Earthquake?" Willow asked.

"Lots of minor tremors did accompany the ritual..." Tara began, "...that could be it."

But now Willow had approached the edge of one crack. "Tara," she said. "The edge of this looks melted."

A terrible thought came to Tara's mind, suddenly. "Where's Miss Xita?"

TO BE CONTINUED...