A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



“We have to go.”

Buffy was momentarily stunned by the realization that the hoarse, choked voice urging them back to action was that of the broken vampire she held in her arms, rather than her own.

There was no question that Spike was right.

They had only been kneeling there together on the sidewalk in front of Buffy’s house for a few brief minutes, and it wasn’t as if Buffy had really had any choice in the matter. She needed Spike because of his knowledge of what was going to happen, and the vampire had been in no condition to go on, stricken to the ground in his sudden shock of grief for his lost sire.

But Willow was running out of time.

What was so very surprising was that Spike was the one who had called her attention back to that fact. Why did Spike care what happened to Willow, anyway?

Yes, he had a soul now…but in the midst of his own overwhelming grief, it was surprising -- and a little bit amazing -- to Buffy that the vampire was able to recover his composure relatively quickly, and return to the emergency at hand.

“You’re right,” she replied, slowly dropping her arms from around Spike’s trembling form. “We -- we’d better get going. We don’t know how much time we have.”

Now that they were both in control again, she felt awkward and a bit embarrassed by her spontaneous reaction of comfort and reassurance. In the moment when she had realized that Spike had just fallen apart beneath her, it had seemed that there was nothing else for her to do but to offer her understanding and sympathy, for a pain that she thought she knew just a little bit about.

She felt her face flush with humiliation to think how closely, how intimately, she had held the vampire in her arms…and how natural and strangely comfortable it had felt to do so. She turned her back on Spike, no longer willing to face him, and started off down the sidewalk.

“Slayer?”

Buffy stopped short, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She could barely bring herself to respond, but somehow managed a single word.

“What?”

*He must think I’m a total idiot.*

“Thank you.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise at the quiet words, startling coming from the lips of her mortal enemy.

**Is* he even my enemy anymore?*

“Um…you’re welcome,” she managed to mumble, without turning to face him. “It’s not like I could…not like there was anything else I could do.”

She started walking again, anxious and uncertain about this strange new dynamic between her and Spike. He fell swiftly into step beside her, keeping pace as she moved across town toward the place where Spike had envisioned Willow’s death at Angel’s hands.

“You didn’t.”

Buffy frowned, unable to make sense of the simple phrase. Thinking that she had a pretty good idea of what Spike was talking about, she replied dryly, “I find it pretty difficult to believe myself, but I’m pretty sure I did.”

“In the future I saw,” Spike clarified.

Buffy swallowed hard, but kept walking, not responding as she quickened her pace.

“Drusilla died…but it was later…and you…you didn’t really care all that much.”

Buffy hardened her resolve against the vulnerable sound of Spike’s voice, still much quieter than she was accustomed to hearing it. “I still don’t,” she informed him flatly.

“I know, but…still…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Buffy muttered. Spike opened his mouth to protest, but Buffy quickly cut him off in a dark, slightly warning tone, “No, I mean it. Really, *don’t* mention it.”

Without waiting to see if he would heed her warning or not, Buffy broke into a run, not sure whether she hoped more that he would or wouldn’t keep up with her.

**********************************

“You’re sure. This is the place.”

Buffy paced up and down the dark alley, searching for any trace of her friend or her boyfriend. She frowned, feeling the tension of frustration rising up within her as she scanned the place where Spike had said they would find Willow and Angel.

If they were lucky.

There was no one there.

“It *was* the place, in the visions,” Spike corrected, his voice low and grim. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the place *now*.”

“What are you talking about?” Buffy snapped, feeling a sense of regret even as she turned on the blond vampire, aware that it was not him she was angry with. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Spike frowned thoughtfully as he weighed the situation, thinking it through aloud. “Things have been different already. Not like they were in the visions.”

“Then…how can you be sure they were visions at all, Spike?” Buffy demanded, crossing her arms in exasperation. “What if it was just some crazy hallucination? If there’s already things that are different, then how can you be sure?”

“Because there’s enough things that *aren’t* different,” he reminded her, his piercing blue gaze locking onto hers. “Things that can’t be coincidence.”

Buffy frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “Then why…?”

“I think…” Spike began slowly, considering, “…I think that what I saw…was what would have happened…if I’d never seen it.”

Buffy stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “Huh?”

“I think that…the spell that’s letting me see the future…is letting me *change* the future. Because I’ve seen what’s gonna happen, I’m acting differently…*reacting* differently… and it’s making things change from how they would have been if the spell had never been done.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with wonder at those words…and then lit up with hope. “So… you’re saying that…maybe Angel *isn’t* going to hurt Willow. Maybe she’s all right…”

Spike’s brow furrowed. “Slayer…” he began in a gently warning tone.

“No, no…” Buffy interrupted excitedly, determined to speak her piece. “Since you’ve been changing things…like telling us about the visions and getting us to send Angel away and all…maybe it doesn’t play out the same way. Maybe Willow’s fine…”

“Or maybe she’s already dead.”

The harsh statement, spoken in a deliberately forceful tone to break through the Slayer’s desperate emotional defenses, made Buffy flinch, staggering slightly backward as if from a blow. Her eyes hardened with defensive anger, and she squared her shoulders defiantly, determined not to accept Spike’s words.

He didn’t know she was going to hit him until she did -- a hard, resounding slap across his face, a wordless reproach for words that must have come across as much crueler than they were intended. Surprisingly, Spike felt no anger at the blow, only a profound sense of compassion…because he knew the powerful grief that the Slayer was attempting to fend off with violence.

“She’s not dead,” Buffy declared in a voice trembling with rage and warning, daring him to say anything to contradict her. “She’s not. We have to find her.”

Spike slowly turned his head to meet her eyes, searching her gaze for a long moment, before finally nodding. “All right. Yeah. Let’s look.”

They searched until the hints of dawn began to glow on the horizon.

They found nothing.

***********************************

Buffy’s weary hand reached for the door handle. Before she could touch it, the door opened, and she found herself faced with the hopeful, fearful expression on the face of her other best friend. She felt her heart shatter a little more when Xander’s face visibly grew hard and closed to her, as he read the defeat, the sorrow, in her expression, and silently drew back to allow her and Spike to enter the house again.

“Did you find her?” Ms. Calendar asked anxiously, though the absence of Willow with them should have been answer enough.

Buffy shook her head, unable to bring herself to say a single word, as she walked across the living room and sank down on the sofa, leaning forward and resting her face in her trembling hands.

“No, she didn’t,” Xander answered for her, and his voice was cold and furious. “She didn’t find her, because she went too late. Because even though Willow tried to tell her she was scared of that undead, attempted-rapist *bastard*…the *vampire slayer* couldn’t get past the fact that the creep who tried to rape her best friend was her boyfriend.”

He wanted to hit her; it was clear from the vicious tone of his voice.

Buffy didn’t have the heart to look up, simply sustaining the verbal blow, taking it in and adding it to her own mental accusations.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible to anyone in the room but Spike.

“Like that’s good enough,” Xander practically snarled the words at her.

“Xander,” Giles spoke up in a severe tone of reprimand, moving to stand between the seated Slayer and the angry young man. “You need to calm down, immediately. Nothing has been established for certain. We may yet find Willow safe and sound, and until we do, it does her no good whatsoever to make such accusations.”

“This is a time when we should be sticking together,” Ms. Calendar interjected, moving to stand beside Giles and place a supportive hand on his arm as she faced the fuming boy. “Buffy’s doing the best that she can.”

“What we must do right now is focus on what is most important -- finding Willow. That is all.” Giles’ piercing blue eyes sought Xander’s sullenly downcast gaze. “Your anger and accusations can wait for a more appropriate time.”

Much to his chagrin, Spike felt the impulse to join them in leaping to the Slayer’s defense, as unnatural as it seemed. The threat in Xander’s dark eyes called out to something in him, demanding that he rise and stand between that threat and the Slayer that he would someday fall in love with.

As bloody terrifying a thought as *that* was.

However, he could also understand how her friends must feel at that moment. If Buffy had paid closer attention to Willow’s misgivings, and been a better friend to her, she likely would not have gone out on her own the night before, and likely would be safe and alive right now.

Because Spike was absolutely certain that the little witch was dead.

“Perhaps we should look for her again. If Angel has indeed taken Willow somewhere, they would have to stay in one place until nightfall,” Giles suggested, his tone calmer now that Xander had at least outwardly backed down.

Although she was obviously exhausted, Buffy rose to her feet again, a bit unsteadily. “I’ll go,” she offered quietly, her voice trembling with the beginnings of tears.

Spike was sure that he had never seen a Slayer less ready for battle than Buffy was in that moment.

Her Watcher seemed inclined to agree.

“No, Buffy,” he gently told her. “You’ve been out all night. You’re exhausted. You need to stay put. Jenny and I will take our shift looking for her, while you stay here and…keep an eye on Spike. He can’t go out in the sunlight, and soul or no, I’ve no intention of leaving him alone in my apartment.”

Buffy tried to find an objection to his very logical argument, but didn’t have the strength of mind or heart left to follow through. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

“Xander,” Ms. Calendar said quietly, turning toward the scowling young man. “It might be a good thing if you go by Willow’s house. You’re close to her family, aren’t you?”

Xander nodded, stubbornly silent.

“Yes, very good,” Giles remarked, nodding thoughtfully. “You should go by and find out if they’ve heard from her. Stay close to them and let us know if she returns.”

Xander looked up at the older man, his eyes blazing with resentful accusation. “She won’t,” he said coldly as he stalked out the apartment door, slamming it behind him.

**********************************

A few minutes passed in total silence once Buffy and Spike were alone in the apartment. The Slayer had returned to her position on the couch, her head in her hands. Spike would not have known that she was struggling to hide tears, had he not smelled the bittersweet, salty scent of them in the air.

He slowly, cautiously sat down beside her on the sofa, watching her carefully, trying to decide what he should say or do to comfort her. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he *wanted* to comfort her. His visions had revealed the feelings he would one day hold for her, with such vivid clarity that he was not quite sure he didn’t have those feelings already.

“Maybe she’s okay,” Buffy whispered suddenly, drawing his attention out of his thoughts. “Maybe it changed…like you said…maybe something changed it and she’s okay.”

Spike said nothing, unwilling to offer her a hope he was certain would be false.

“God, she’s dead,” the Slayer cried out, raising tearful eyes to meet his, pleading for the truth and a lie with the same look. “Spike, she’s dead…isn’t she?”

“We don’t…know that,” he cautiously replied, holding her gaze steadily.

“We…we can change things. We can use the things you’ve seen to make sure they don’t happen. Otherwise what’s the point, right?” Buffy reasoned desperately, almost frantically. “I mean…why would you get these visions for no reason? If there was nothing we could do about them? Right?”

“I don’t know,” Spike admitted with a helpless, apologetic shrug. “I don’t know who in the bloody hell *gave* me the visions, love. I’ve got no bloody idea, really, but it makes sense that we should be able to…”

“What did I do?” Buffy whispered, her voice low and strangely calm.

“You didn’t do this, Buffy,” Spike insisted with more conviction in his voice on this point. “This isn’t your fault…everything’s just happening so soddin’ fast…”

“No.” Buffy shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean…when…when you lost Drusilla. In your visions. You said I…I didn’t do what I just did, when it happened. What…*did* I do?”

Spike’s gaze lowered self-consciously, and he swallowed back a sob that rose in his throat with the fresh agony of his loss. It was a long time before he managed to regain enough composure to respond at all, and when he did his voice was low, barely controlled, as he finally admitted the truth.

“You laughed.”

Buffy stared up at him in stunned disbelief, her eyes wide and incredulous.

“You said…said good riddance. She didn’t deserve to live…and I deserved to lose her.” Spike swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the current and remembered pain. “You said you were glad she was dead…and you were glad that it was killing me.”

Buffy shook her head slowly, not even realizing that she was doing it, her eyes troubled. “No…no, I don’t care how evil she was, I wouldn’t have said that to you…”

“You did.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, taking that in. “You probably wanted to kill me. Probably tried, huh?”

“No.”

“No?” Buffy was skeptical. “Why not?”

Spike was quiet for a moment. “Couldn’t, remember?” he reminded her softly. “Chip. Remember…what I saw was…what would have happened if not for the spell…and the spell took the chip away.”

Buffy thought about that, sobered by the mental image of herself spouting such vicious, compassionless words, with Spike helpless to do anything to stop her.

“How did I turn into such an evil, noxious bitch overnight?”

“It wasn’t overnight,” Spike explained, his voice still quiet and subdued with his effort to suppress his pain. “In the visions I saw…Dru died much later on. Angel killed her. The details aren’t the clearest, because we only knew a little from him and Willow…after he…turned her. But it seems that the girl heard some things from Dru that Angel didn’t like her hearing. So he killed her. But…it wasn’t this soon. It was years from now. And -- a lot had happened to you in between.”

“And apparently I didn’t choose to let it make me ‘better’, did I?” Buffy quipped darkly, sighing as she lowered her head into her hands again.

Spike did not respond.

“But…if Dru wasn’t supposed to die until later…maybe it happened differently this time…right?” Buffy guessed with a faint, almost faded hope. “I mean…it’s possible… right?”

Spike still kept his silence, unwilling to hurt her with the truth, or to soothe her with a lie.

And he was quite certain that Willow was already dead.