Disclaimer: None of the characters or the dialog are mine. I just play with them to keep myself from sleeping past my stop on the commuter train.

Huge thank you to Sanity Fair, who graciously betaed this chapter for me and hunted down all my comma mistakes. Any that still remain are mine, not hers. Thanks again to my reviewers as well - you rock. 

****************
Chapter 11
***************
 
“What’s the verdict?” Willow asked as Tara hung up the phone.
 
“I guess the spell worked, and she clearly has her own soul,” Tara answered. After waiting until after nightfall to hear from Giles, Tara had broken down and called him from their hotel room. She had been dismayed to hear the spell caused Buffy to lapse into tears again.
 
“Well, that’s good!” Willow said brightly. “If we know Buffy’s really here, then we just have to find the right spell to get rid of the amnesia, and she should be fine!”
 
“But what about the information Wesley found?” Tara asked pointedly. “Permanent personality changes? Psychosis? Profound, sometimes suicidal depression? What if the amnesia is the only thing protecting her from all that?”
 
“Are you saying that we should just… leave her as she is?” Willow replied.
 
“I’m only saying it might not be so simple. I mean, if someone has a bullet in their leg, you can’t just close up the hole on the outside, right?” Tara was desperate to get Willow to back off and see reason, but a small corner of her brain feared Willow was too deep into the magic to listen. “When Giles did the spell, Buffy thought it was taking her back to heaven. When it didn’t, she just broke down again. She cried for an hour, non-stop.”
 
“But that spell was harmless!” Willow protested. “It is literally impossible to hurt someone with that spell!”
 
“She wasn’t hurt physically,” Tara said. “But she clearly perceives things differently than we do.”
 
Willow paced, biting her lip, and thinking. “There have got to be some spells that can help. If we just treat the symptoms systematically. So first, get rid of the amnesia. Then we see how she is. If she’s depressed we can just…”
 
“Willow,” Tara said in a warning tone. Willow stopped pacing and looked at Tara curiously. “You’re doing it again.”
 
“Doing what?”
 
“You’re jumping straight to magic without considering any alternatives or any consequences!” Tara elaborated. “I know you mean well. Buffy’s your friend, and you want to help. But you can’t do this without consulting the others and without thinking about all the ‘what if’s.”
 
“But I am thinking of those!” Willow insisted. “If the anti-amnesia spell doesn’t work, what’s going to happen? She’s not going to get more amnesia!”
 
“Are you sure?” Tara said. “What if it leaves her completely unable to function? Or what if it works, and she’s immediately psychotic? Or suicidal? What if suddenly remembering everything just… overwhelms her completely that she has a breakdown?”
 
“What if it works, and she’s back to the way she was?” Willow retorted. “Everyone seems to assume all my spells are going to go wrong! Okay, a few have, but that was ages ago! I brought her back from the dead for Pete’s sake! What more do you all want before you trust me?”
 
“I’m just saying that even if it is done perfectly and works exactly as you intend, there can be unintended consequences,” Tara said wearily. “I don’t know why you have to fix it right now. I don’t see any harm in letting her alone for a week or two and just seeing what happens.”
 
“If someone was choking, and you knew the Heimlich maneuver you wouldn’t wait a week to see what happens!” Willow said angrily. “I know I can make things better right away, so why won’t people just let me do it?”
 
“Because it’s not your call to make!” Tara cried. “You can’t just go and… alter someone’s mind without their permission!”
 
“But Tara…” Willow began.
 
“Stop,” Tara said, turning away. “I can’t talk with you any more about this. You’re not listening to me. I need some time to myself.” Tara turned and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She ran a bath and got in, closing her eyes and trying to slow her breathing and focus her mind. She hated fighting with Willow more than anything. It hurt her somewhere deep inside to have any disconnect, any discord between her and the woman she loved. But she could not back down this time. Willow was headed for a very bad place, and Tara was not going to let her go there. I’d rather lose her as a girlfriend than lose her forever. Her thoughts raced and raced as she pondered what she could do to get through to Willow.
 
In the other room, Willow was furious. They all act like I just started doing magic yesterday! I know what I’m doing. If Tara was backing her up, she knew the others would go along. Willow rummaged in her bag until she found a bag full of dried herbs in the bottom. She pulled out a delicate sprig of dried flowers. Concentrating on Tara, she closed her eyes, waved her hand over the plant, and said, “Forget.” She took the flower and placed it under Tara’s pillow before getting undressed and climbing into bed.
 
In the hot bath, Tara suddenly found herself much more relaxed. Mmm. Feels nice. That was just what I needed. She got out of the tub and went to snuggle up to Willow. “Hey, baby,” she said to Willow, as she slid in beside her.
 
“Hey,” Willow replied with a smile. They sank into the pillows, kissing passionately while Willow thought, See? No one got hurt, everyone’s happy. No problem. She and Tara twined around each other with the argument magically forgotten.
 
******************
 
Buffy was finally asleep.
 
The evening had been long and wearing for everyone. She had cried for an hour, then lapsed into an odd sort of stillness. She radiated sadness and sat curled up next to Spike on the sofa. Once she got up and wandered as in a daze up to the bathroom, coming back to resume her place on the end of the couch. Spike got her to drink some water, but she wasn’t interested in food, other than to nibble a few crackers.
 
When Giles tried to speak to her, she turned away and hid her face – he clearly couldn’t help her, and although his spell hadn’t hurt she didn’t trust the magic. She wondered if this was all some sort of trick. I know they said this was home, but what if they’re only saying that to make me put my guard down? Why make me feel like the warm place and then stop? She was even starting to doubt her angel a bit. He couldn’t help her get back it seemed. She was tempted to run away, to find somewhere to hide. But when she looked at the angel all she could see was concern, pity, and love. When he looked at the others there was contempt, irritation, and anger, but when he looked at her it was always love. She didn’t want to leave that love, the only thing here that reminded her of where she had been. But the pain of trying to remember, trying to make sense of it all was too much, and she found it easier just to shut down, not think, and just drift for a while.
 
Spike had sensibly let her be after a while, sitting next to her and stroking her hair gently while talking with Giles about England or with Dawn about school. The conversation had no meaning for Buffy, but the murmur of voices soothed her until eventually she started dozing off. Spike had carried her up to bed, although it was only an hour after nightfall, and had stayed with her until she was well and truly out. Now he was coming down the stairs, rather drained by the whole effort.
 
“Is she asleep then?” Giles inquired.
 
“Yes, finally,” Spike answered, throwing himself into a chair. “Bloody exhausting that is. ‘M out of practice.”
 
“What do you mean?” Giles asked.
 
“I mean all this stuff was second nature when I was with Dru. Hundred years with a madwoman and you pick up some skills in soothing distressed females.”
 
“Do you really think Buffy’s crazy?” Dawn asked. “Like lock her up crazy? Like Angel said?”
 
Spike spat out a derisive laugh. “Angel doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, pardon my French. Look, I think Buffy clearly has lost some fundamental grip on reality. I mean she thinks I’m an angel for God’s sake. But I’ve seen madness, up close and personal. I’ve lived with a woman who would make jewelry out of body parts, have long conversations with dolls and invisible people, and spouted every bit of random blather you could ever think of. Buffy’s nothing like that.”
 
“So in your opinion, she isn’t really mad?” Giles asked.
 
“Mad is relative, mate,” Spike explained. “She doesn’t understand what happened or where she is. But I think a lot of that must be some form of amnesia or what have you. I also wonder how much of it is her own resistance to coming back.”
 
“Do you mean that she’s somehow keeping herself blocked off from us?” Dawn wondered.
 
“Think about it,” Spike said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “What does she have to come back for? Okay, there’s you in the plus column, Bit. But there’s also slaying, no mother, no money far as I can tell, no job, no education, no prospects. If the last thing you remember clearly was heaven, why the hell would you want to come back to all that?”
 
Dawn’s face fell a bit, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I know this is hard for her. But I need her, Spike! I don’t have anyone else!” She put her hands over her face and started crying, the stress of the day finally coming out in a flood of tears.
 
After a moment of gathering his mental strength, Spike forced himself to get up and once more console a hysterical Summers girl. “We’ll get her back, Bit. We’ll find some way of making this world somewhere she wants to be. I promise you.”
 
Dawn sniffled and sat up. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just been such a long day, and it’s just so scary to see her like that…”
 
“You’ve been doing an amazing job, Nibblet, make no mistake,” Spike said encouragingly. As Dawn got control of herself, Spike released her and stood up. “Listen, I need to go get some blood before you start looking like dinner, alright? Can you stay near your sister? Wake her up if she starts having another nightmare?”
 
Dawn nodded. “I have some homework to do. I’ll leave our bedroom doors open, so I’ll hear her.”
 
“Good girl,” Spike said. “Rupert, I trust you can keep them safe while I patrol and get something to eat?”
 
“I’ve nowhere else to be at present,” Giles responded.
 
“Right then, I’m off,” Spike said. He grabbed his coat and left in a swirl of black leather.
 
“I’m going to go do my homework,” Dawn said. Giles nodded his understanding with a tired smile and Dawn turned to go upstairs.
 
Giles stared at the closed front door for a second or two. He was torn. His watcher training had hammered into him the idea that vampires were unable to experience emotions such as love, concern, or pity. They were remorseless killers, seeking sustenance and cruel pleasures. They wanted food and sex and to terrorize; they were barely more than animals. They would cooperate with each other when it suited them and slaughter each other when it didn’t. They were strong and intelligent, and some had odd mystical talents. But stories of vampires being merciful were few and far between in the Watcher’s diaries. There was nothing in his training or his experience that allowed him to make sense of Spike. He had no soul; he was notorious for killing Slayers and part of the infamous Scourge of Europe – nothing in his history seemed to point to any good qualities whatsoever. Yet here he was, caring for the Slayer and her sister, in a way that none of her friends seemed able to. He was patient and seemed to know exactly how to calm and soothe the troubled girl. Giles shook his head over and over. It made no sense, but there it was. Spike cared deeply about Buffy and Dawn. What could all this possibly mean? He had no answer. He got up and went over to investigate Joyce’s liquor cabinet, intending to see if the answer lay in the bottom of a much-needed glass of brandy.
 
******************
 
Spike made his way down the street, pausing only to light a cigarette. He took a deep drag, grateful for the nicotine fix. Living in a house full of humans who objected to cigarette smoke was trying, especially when he was under a lot of stress. He needed to be out and moving, and he strode purposefully to the first of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries ready for some action. The night was quiet, and the first two cemeteries yielded no fledges or other creatures of the night in need of being eliminated. The lack of activity allowed his mind to wander back to the day Buffy died – the day the world had turned inside out for him.
 
After Buffy’s death, he had been ready to just give up. His immediate plans had been to drink himself into a stupor, and perhaps take a nap in the sun, not in any particular order. Dawn had begged him to take cover as he sat there, weeping helplessly at the sight of Buffy’s broken body. Her plaintive voice, so similar to her sister’s in some ways, had stirred him to at least crawl off into the darkness of a nearby sewer. He had lain on the floor of the pipe, not caring what filth he was resting in, for an unknown number of hours. When a rat had climbed onto him, intending on seeing if he was edible, he had roused himself enough to drag himself down the tunnels to his crypt, where he had passed out on his bed. He would probably still be there, wasting away to a skeleton, if it had not been for Giles. The watcher had come after a few days, bearing blood, cigarettes, and marching orders. “We need your help, and I am willing to pay you for it,” he had said in a voice that had held little of its former air of authority. “Sunnydale needs protection. Dawn does too. We can’t do it alone.”
 
“Keep your bloody money,” Spike had snarled with closed eyes. “Not your servant.”
 
“Whether you accept my money or not,” Giles had continued, “You cannot sit here alone and wallow.”
 
“Says who?” Spike had looked at the watcher with red eyes and hollow cheeks, daring him to answer.
 
Giles had taken off his glasses and rubbed tired eyes, also red from weeping. He had seemed like an old man as he said, “Buffy trusted you to protect Dawn and to be her ally. I didn’t share her trust at first, but I also know that the battle might have gone even worse without your assistance. I would be dishonoring her memory if I allowed one of her trusted allies to drop into a pile of bones.”
 
Spike had closed his eyes, once more fighting tears of rage and despair while he wrestled with his decision. To the end of the world, I promised her. Well the world didn’t bloody end, did it William? So I guess you still have a vow to keep. In the end he had struggled painfully to a sitting position, looked Giles in the eye and said, “What do you need me to do?”
 
Now as he entered the third cemetery on his mental list, he felt that he actually knew what his job was for once. Protect the Slayer, take care of her, help her find a way back to us. Seems like a good enough mission statement. The only problem with this mission was that it might actually be impossible, and that worried him. Every time she seemed to be making progress, the others would do some sort of spell, and it would knock her back ten paces. He wondered if at some point she would just retreat into her shell and refuse to come out at all. Just wish they would fucking lay off the girl for a week. Might be able to get somewhere.
 
He suddenly got that curious prickling sensation at the back of his neck that meant there was a vampire in the vicinity. Now we’re talking, he thought gleefully. A spot of random violence is just what the doctor ordered. Some distance ahead he saw a grave begin to erupt, hands clawing for purchase on the surface, just like he had so long ago, and like Buffy had so recently. Unlike Buffy, I didn’t have to breathe though. The vampire was soon tottering erect, dirt falling off his burial suit, looking around confused with his back to Spike. Spike sauntered up behind him, casually pulling out a stake when suddenly a large dark figure appeared from behind some bushes ahead of the new vampire. With a flash the figure was on the fledge, and in seconds a rain of dust was falling to Angel’s feet.
 
“Godammit, Angel, he was mine!” Spike growled angrily as he strode up to meet his grandsire. “Go find your own bloody fledges to dust.”
 
“Spike?” Angel asked, noticing the blond vampire for the first time. “What the hell are you doing here?”
 
“Patrolling,” Spike said. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get back to it and stay the hell out of my way.”
 
“It’s a free country,” Angel snapped. “Besides, I thought you were Buffy’s “angel.” Why aren’t you with her?”
 
“She’s asleep, and I need to hit the butcher’s,” Spike explained. He sighed and lit another cigarette, figuring rightly that he wasn’t going to be able to dodge some sort of discussion with his grandsire. Might as well get it over with. “So go ahead, Angel. Get the threatening and name-calling over with, so I can get some dinner and get back to the Slayer before she wakes and panics.”
 
Angel was taken aback for a moment. He had, truth be told, been headed over to Buffy’s in order to see what was going on and make sure Spike knew that he was being watched. It irritated him to no end that Spike had taken the wind out of his sails, and all he could come up with was, “Are you telling me I need to threaten you?”
 
“No, just figured it was what you do,” Spike sighed, sitting down on a tombstone. “Let me guess, you’re going to disembowel and dust me if I hurt her, and I’m evil and soulless and shouldn’t even be around her because I am unworthy to be in the same universe as her. Does that about cover it?”
 
Angel frowned. “This isn’t like you, William,” he said, trying to regain the upper hand somewhat. “You’re supposed to be the Slayer of Slayers, I thought. What made you decide to start playing nursemaid to them instead?” He too perched on a tombstone, staring Spike down as if over a field of war.
 
“I love her, Angel,” Spike said, He ground out his cigarette on the recently risen fledge’s headstone and looked back up at his grandsire. “I know none of you will believe it or anything, but I love her. Promised I would look after Dawn. That’s why I couldn’t leave when she died. That’s why I’m here now.”
 
Angel made a derisive noise. “Love. What do you know about love?”
 
“Know more than you do, you pompous ass,” Spike snarled. “I took care of Drusilla for a hundred years. I stayed all summer to keep my word to a dead girl. Where the hell were you when we were guarding the Hellmouth every night? Hell, where were you when we were fighting Glory?” His voice rose to an angry shout that echoed through the darkness.
 
“I was doing my job,” Angel barked back. “I was actually in another freaking dimension fighting demons. It’s not like I was sitting on my ass doing nothing.”
 
“Well then where were you all summer?” Spike demanded. “If you loved her so much, why the hell did you vanish after the funeral?”
 
“Because I couldn’t deal, alright?” Angel exploded. He got up and paced away, returning to lean against the tombstone again, crossing his arms and directing his next remarks to the ground. “I went off to a monastery in Tibet for a few months to get my head on straight. I loved… love her more than anything I ever have in my whole existence, and when she died it took me a long time to come to grips with it.”
 
Spike shook his head in disbelief. “You weren’t there, Angel,” he said quietly. “You didn’t fight tooth and nail to protect someone, only to get thrown off a tower for your pains. Broke damn near every bone in my body trying to protect Dawn. Then I finally came to and found her…” Spike’s voice broke a bit, but he swallowed and continued. “You got to see her at the funeral, when she was all dressed up and looking all peaceful. You didn’t have to see her lying there, broken. Nearly greeted the sunrise right then and there.” His voice trailed off into nothing as he fished out another cigarette and lit it, trying to keep a lid on his emotions.
 
Angel stared at this creature, whom he had helped create. He had taught Spike to feed, to torture, to take pleasure in the artistry of death. He had picked up a shy, awkward poet and shook him until he turned into a bloodthirsty killer. Somehow Spike had never entirely lost his humanity, despite Angel’s best efforts. What would I have done, had I been there? Angel found he couldn’t entirely answer that question, and it bothered him. Eventually, the silence stretched out too far, and for lack of anything else to say he asked, “How is she?”
 
“Hard to say,” Spike said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “She freaked out when Giles first got there, calmed down a bit later. Seems to like looking at pictures of herself and her family. I read to her, and she always asks for more when I stop, so I assume she likes that too. Then Giles came back from the big powwow and did that soul revealing thing on her.”
 
“And does she have her soul?” Angel asked, more than a little apprehensive.
 
“Yeah, for what it’s worth,” Spike said. “Spell freaked her out again though. She thought Giles was sending her back to heaven, and she spent a hell of a long time weeping her eyes out when she found out he wasn’t.”
 
“As I was telling the others, I really wonder if she shouldn’t be in some sort of institution somewhere,” Angel commented. “A Slayer who’s not in her right mind is a danger to everyone around her.”
 
Spike looked up at Angel sharply. “I swear to you, I will take her and vanish if you even try it. She’s not an animal you can lock up when she gets inconvenient.”
 
“Are you threatening me, Spike?” Angel asked menacingly.
 
“No. Promising you,” Spike responded in kind. “The person who is most in danger from the girl is probably me. If her Slayer mode kicks in while she’s still out of it, I’m probably not long for this earth. But the more time I spend with her, the more I think she’s not so much mad as terrified and traumatized. She was yanked out of heaven to wake up in a coffin. That would fuck with anyone’s head.”
 
“And you think that reading to her is going to snap her out of it?” Angel said. “She needs professional help, Spike. Not you.”
 
“Oh, and what are we going to tell the doctor? ‘Yeah, mate, she’s been dead for nearly five months and misses heaven. Other than that she’s fine.’ They’ll lock us up right next to her.”
 
“So you’re just going to hang around forever until she decides to wake up?” Angel snapped.
 
“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Spike said, standing up and looking Angel in the eye. “You may not like me, and you may not trust me. But you know that if I say I’ll do something, then I will bloody well do it. I said I would stay with Dru, and I did until she dumped me. For the record, I don’t think it will take Buffy that long, but everyone’s got to stop yanking her around for a while if she’s ever to get her bearings.”
 
Angel looked into those blue eyes, full of pain and determination, and he had to admit defeat. Spike meant every word. I could stake him. Right here, right now. Be done with him forever. But even as he thought those words, he knew he couldn’t. Buffy had been desperately afraid, like a beaten animal until Spike had shown up. As much as he hated and distrusted Spike, couldn’t risk hurting Buffy, even after all the water under the bridge. If I kill him, it might kill her, and I couldn’t do that to her. “You really love her, don’t you?” he stated flatly.
 
“Yes. Same as you,” Spike replied.
 
“I doubt that,” Angel said with his usual arrogance. “But if you say you love her, then so help me you’d better live up to that. I’m never going to trust you, Spike. I never liked you, and you were always a pain in my ass. But I can’t dust your sorry self if there’s even half a chance you could help her. So help her, or I’ll be back up here to finish the job so fast your head will spin.”
 
“May I go then, grandsire? Or do you have more threats to issue?” Spike said, tiring of the whole conversation.
 
“Get out of here, and do what you need to do,” Angel muttered. He turned to stalk away.
 
“Where will you be?” Spike called after him.
 
“LA,” Angel responded. “If anyone needs me, they know my number.” With that Angel vanished into the night.
 
TBC