**TX: And you're so cute when you beg *G*
**Willowfan: Thanks! Though, we are nearing the end of this fic. But yes, I've got everyone so far in one file, and I plan on sending it off to the W/T ff sites as soon as it's done and, umm ... actually edited.
**mollyig: Yeah, well, Tara didn't have all the information she needed to realize that this was a bad idea. And as always, mollyig, thank you *G*
**BigMac: Thanks - there are few things more fun than a kick-ass Tara *shrug*
**Karzia: Heh ... if you're thinking what I'm thinking, you could very well be right. The Trickster knows his stuff, and now Willow just needs a reason to run into Hell after Tara.
And now, I shall post for you the fruits of my insomnia ... I woke up at an indecently early hour today, so here the first part of 48
Title: Answering Darkness Part 48 - Trains
Author: Sassette
Feedback: Can be sent to
pink_overalls@yahoo.com Summary: Willow and Spike are on the train bound for LA. Spike hates LA
Spoiler Warning: Up to and including "Tabula Rasa" in Season 6.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For the purpose of this story, all events of Tabula Rasa took place exactly as shown in the series; however, no subsequent episodes will affect this piece. We're splitting from canon here, because I impatiently began writing this before 'Smashed' and 'Wrecked' aired.
Answering Darkness - Part 48
Trains
By Sassette
"Oh, bloody hell," Spike growled, his touch surprisingly gentle as he eased Willow into a seat, removing his leather coat in quick jerky motions, then yanking off the button-down shirt he wore open over the t-shirt.
He passed the wadded up shirt to Willow, who took it absently, her gaze distant and unfocused. She held the wadded up shirt in her hand, but made no movement to do anything with it.
"Damn it, Red," Spike said, shrugging back into his coat, then taking the shirt out of her limp hand. He sat next to her, then pressed it to the wound, attempting to stop the flow of blood. Willow was so out of it, he could probably get away with a taste, but he remembered the bitterness in the flavor from before. It probably wasn't worth it, what with her still being a witch capable of killing him outright and all.
The train continued clattering away from the station, leaving Sunnydale further and further behind. Spike looked out the window, the lights running along the ceiling bouncing back off the glass, making it impossible to see the world outside the train.
Until the next stop, there really was no world outside the train, Spike mused. It was on it track, and it was running its course, and for everyone on the train, the world ceased to exist. There was just the train, the people on it, and the next station.
Unfortunately for him, the only person he knew on the train was spaced out, he was hungry, and if he wanted to eat, they'd have to go to Angel's.
God, how he loathed LA.
"Snap out of it," Spike growled, waving his hand in Willow's face.
Willow jumped in her seat, becoming suddenly aware of the searing pain in her arm, and the warm stickiness against the skin there. Spike's presence registered next, then the movement of the train.
"We're … I mean, the train left already?" she asked, looking around, her brow furrowed. Awkwardly, she tried to fashion a sling out of the shirt Spike had pressed to her arm. "Duh, of course the train left already," she muttered to herself. "You're sitting on the train, and the train is moving, and you asked if the train left yet?"
"Let me do that," Spike snapped, taking the material and wrapping it around her arm, then tying the arms of the shirt around the back of her neck. "What the hell happened to you back there?" he asked when he had completed his task, sitting in the seat opposite Willow and bouncing against the back of the chair a few times. "Never seen you freeze in a fight like that before. Well, not since before I got chipped."
Willow frowned. The Construct had been there, on the platform. She remembered that clearly. But then she had sensed something that had stopped her in her tracks.
Tara.
Tara had been there. She hadn't seen the blue glow of the tiny tinkerbell light so much as felt it, and she wondered idly if the masking charm worked both ways. Still, she >had< felt it - had known that Tara was there, and that had set her mind to racing.
She'd be worried. She must have seen the Construct hit her. Had she still been there when Spike had tossed her onto the train? Did she know that the train had gotten away?
"God, I'm so stupid," Willow moaned, lifting her left hand towards her face, then realizing she didn't have the energy. She let her head drop forward, meeting her hand halfway and rubbed her eyes wearily.
"No argument here, Red," Spike said with a dry laugh. "Would this be a bad time to say 'I told you so'?" he queried innocently.
"Yes," Willow said, looking up and frowning at Spike.
"Well, I told you so," Spike said with a self-satisfied grin.
"Didn't I just say this was a bad time?" Willow asked, looking up and around as if appealing to someone else, only she and Spike were the only two people in that section of the train. "Or am I just talking to myself here?"
"Tickets, please," a voice said, making Willow jump as the conductor appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Awkwardly, she reached into her pocket, drawing forth her ticket and handing it to the man, who punched it twice with a hole-puncher, then handed it back.
He repeated the action with a silent Spike, then wandered off down the train, moving into the next car.
"Well, I don't give a damn if it's a bad time," Spike said in a low voice, lifting his feet up and resting them on the seat next to Willow, laying his legs diagonally across the space between them. "You pulled an incredibly stupid stunt tonight, and you're just now figuring it out? It took getting hurt to make you realize it?"
"No," Willow said quietly, sighing in resignation. Spike was going to have a field day with this one. "Tara was there. I … felt her. She saw the whole thing."
"Oh, well, that's just great," Spike said in disgust. "Your precious Scooby Gang probably thought I kidnapped you. And your bird is going to be all pissed off and worried. Buffy'll kill me. And that's if Angel and his Scooby Rejects don't dust me first."
I really wasn't fair, Spike mused inwardly. His lungs didn't work anyway, but staying outside for one last cigarette was going to be the death of him.
"They probably suited up and headed right for the train station," Willow said, her expression settling into a tiny frown and a furrowed brow as she thought. "And they probably know where we're headed. They could've asked the ticket guy. I mean, how many people bought tickets tonight? They know I wasn't gone very long, and since Tara was there, she knows what I was wearing."
"And your point?" Spike asked testily.
"I'm trying to figure out if they know we got away from the Construct," Willow said, displeased with the interruption as her mind turned over all the possible angles.
"Famous," Spike muttered. "You mean to say that they could be sitting there thinking that the Construct has you? Right now?"
"I said they suited up and headed out, didn't I? There's probably not any sitting involved," Willow said.
"How can you sit there and be so calm when your bird is probably worried sick about you? What if she takes off for the Hellmouth to try to get you back?" Spike said.
"She wouldn't do that," Willow said with a little shake of her head. "That would be stupid."
"And it was so smart for you to go running off and taking on a Hell God all by yourself?" Spike retorted, snorting indelicately. "If she thinks you've been hurt and are being dragged off to Hell, there's no way she's going to sit by and do nothing."
"I -" Willow began to say, only to close her mouth with an audible click. She really had no argument against that. Spike was right. That's exactly what Tara would do, and she hated it. She hated the idea that Tara would put herself in that much danger for her. Didn't Tara know that all she wanted was to keep Tara safe?
"What? You think you love her more than she loves you?" Spike pressed on. "Well, I got news for you, Red. She loves you every bit as much as you love her, only you won't let her. You keep giving and giving, but you won't take a damn thing from her. And here she is, trying to give and give to you, and she won't take a damn thing either. You're both cracked."
"Love is about giving," Willow said defensively, her chin coming up.
"No, fairy tales and poems are about giving," Spike said. "Love - real love … real down and dirty living and crying and laughing and bleeding love … that's about giving and taking."
"That's selfish," Willow protested.
"That's life," Spike shot back. "My heart may not beat, but every bit of it belongs to Buffy, and God knows that if she gave me anything - anything - I'd bloody well take it and you wouldn't hear me crying about it."
"But -"
"I'm evil?" Spike finished for her. "That doesn't mean I don't feel it. That doesn't mean I can't see it when it's there … and Tara loves you. I'm not stupid - I've been around for a very long time, and I've seen more lovers … real crazy-in-love lovers … than you can imagine. I'm >not< stupid. I have eyes. I have a brain. I understand love. And the love that lasts lets both partners contribute. Equally."
"Tara and I both contribute," Willow said weakly.
"Right, so you told her all about how you were feeling, and how worried you are, and how you wanted to leave so she didn't have to watch you die, right?"
"Well, no," Willow admitted. "But I couldn't do that - she would have talked me out of it."
"She wouldn't have been able to talk you out of it if you were right," Spike said, shaking his head. "And don't get me started on how bleeding inconsiderate it is to run off to die alone."
"I didn't think I got you started on any of this," Willow said with a frown, racking her brain and trying to remember at what point, exactly, she had actually asked for Spike's opinion. "In fact, I think you're just sitting here and lecturing me, when you have no idea what's going on in my head - and, and - what I'm feeling, or what it's like to be in this thing with all the badness happening around me and worrying that everyone won't be safe and all, and it just really, really, sucks."
"You just don't understand that you needed to stay for her sake, do you?" Spike said, shaking his head again. Sometimes, talking to a Scooby was like talking to a brick wall. They were all so damn stubborn - and Willow was the worst of the lot.
"And you don't understand that I'm doing this for her," Willow ground out.
"Do you think she's happy now that you've gone? Do you think she isn't worried sick about you? Honestly, I think we should get off at the next station, turn around, and go back," Spike muttered.
"No, we can't," Willow said, though she sounded unsure of herself. "If I go back, the Trickster could get out of Hell."
Spike looked at Willow speculatively, cocking his head to one side. "You don't know, do you?" he asked in a wondering tone. "She never bleeding told you. Dammit, I told her to tell you, and I know Giles told her to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Willow asked, sitting up straight, her brow furrowing deeply. "Her who? Her who didn't tell what?"
"Tara didn't tell you about the flashbacks," Spike said with a sigh, his suspicions confirmed by the blank look on Willow's face. "Not so nice when you're the one being left in the dark, is it?" he added with a sneer.
"Flashbacks? What flashbacks? That sounds bad, all flashy and backy … to what? When did this happen? Why didn't she say anything?" Willow asked.
"I don't think it's any of my business, and I shouldn't interfere," Spike said, shaking his head.
"When has that ever stopped you?" Willow wondered.
"Well, it could possibly be helpful, and after being force-marched to the train station with a cross in my face, being threatened and punched, then fighting off the Construct and saving your sorry life without so much as a 'Thanks, Spike!', I'm just not feeling very helpful," Spike said.
"Spike, please," Willow said, her wide green eyes tearing up, her voice low and sincere.
"Oh, bloody hell," Spike said, reluctance heavy in his voice. "Fine. Just remember that I don't care either way, all right?" Spike went on, waiting for Willow's nod of agreement before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Tara's having flashbacks of Glory torturing and killing people."
"What?" Willow yelled, shooting up from her seat and bumping her head on the overhead compartment.
"What part of 'Tara is having flashbacks of Glory torturing and killing people' isn't clear?" Spike wondered aloud, frowning at Willow.
"I think it's the part where >Tara< is having flashbacks of >Glory< that involve >torturing and killing<," Willow said, her knees buckling as she dropped into her seat. "She didn't tell me? That's … she talked a little about what it was like, but she never said …"
"That's because the flashbacks started after," Spike said. "Oh, and the flashbacks? She's having them from Glory's point of view, so she feels like she's the one doing the murder and mayhem," he added, smirking as Willow's face paled. Served her right.
"You're making this up," Willow said slowly, her eyes rising to meet Spike's. It was, she knew, Tara's worst nightmare - that she would hurt someone. Her gentle, loving Tara feared doing injury to some innocent bystander, a leftover feeling from the time she thought she was a demon. Certainly Tara would have told her … ?
Willow kicked herself. It was her fault. She must have done something wrong when she had reversed the damage Glory had inflicted upon Tara. She must have messed up somehow - done something - that transferred some sick and twisted visions into Tara's head.
All her fault.
"There!" Spike yelled, pointing at Willow. "That right there is why she didn't tell you. You're blaming yourself, aren't you?"
"What? No!" Willow said, pursing her lips and shaking her head, her eyes wide. "That would be silly."
"You," Spike said, shaking his finger once, a sardonic expression stealing over his features, "are the worst liar in the entire world."
Willow took several breaths, her mouth opening and closing before she had a retort. "So?"
Spike just laughed, banging his head against the back of his chair several times, then pulling his feet of the seat across from him and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She has to do extra meditation twice a day to keep the visions from coming. To stop herself from seeing what feels like her hands ripping people to shreds, covered in blood."
"Stop it," Willow whispered, her eyes screwing shut, her body stiff with tension in the chair. "Just … stop. Please."
"And you left her," Spike went on mercilessly. "First, you sucked out her memories - but did you take the ones that were really hurting her? No, you were selfish and took away a little fight that doesn't actually mean anything. Then when she came back, because she needed - SHE needed - to be with you during all of this, you ran off and left her alone with those memories that aren't hers. So while you were trying to be all noble and giving, you managed to rip her heart out. How's that feel?"
"I said, shut up," Willow snapped, her eyes flying open.
"It's not too late," Spike said quietly, his features softening. Willow's glare really was getting better, but it was still kind of … cute. Not that he'd ever tell her that. Or anyone, for that matter. "We can still go back. She needs you, whether you're find and dandy, or sick and dying, she needs you."
"I should have hurt that skanky bitch worse before Buffy killed her," Willow seethed, her eyes shading to black. Spike pressed himself back against his seat, holding his hands up defensively.
"Now, now, Red," he said slowly. "No need for the black magick eyes, okay? Nothing to hurt here. Nothing to kill … just a nice chipped vampire who's being helpful and sharing information. And saved your life back there," he added quickly.
Willow took a deep steadying breath, trying to calm the maelstrom of emotions flooding through her. She closed her eyes, then steadied herself, letting them drift open again.
"I said stop it," Spike blurted out, the sheer eerie factor of Willow with black eyes making him twitch. Inwardly, of course, because he sure as hell wouldn't let her know she scared him.
"What? I -" Willow said, turning to the window and looking at her reflection in the glass there, her hand drifting up to trace her own eyes, seeing for herself they were still dark with the magick. "Spike, I need, umm … something to drink. Like, now," she said, her voice panicky.
Spike immediately reached into his coat, pulling out a flask and offering it to Willow silently.
"Something that, uhh, isn't alcoholic?" she asked gingerly.
"Fine," Spike said, getting to his feet. "I'll see what I can hunt up." With that, he wandered down the aisle, muttering to himself, then exiting the car.
Willow retrieved her bag, opening it up and pulling out the box of baking soda with shaking hands. She should have taken the shower with the magicky soap before she'd left, or put the baking soda in the water and had some. Now - now she had the black magick eyes and she didn't know how to get rid of them.
She could feel it, the power, crackling just under her skin. It would be so easy, and it was so very tempting, to just give in to it. To just let it flow through her and out of her, into the night. She could turn night into day. Or stop the train in its tracks. Or perhaps even turn it around and head back to Sunnydale.
by tommo » Wed Apr 17, 2002 2:38 am 
Ok going to have to think of Tara going commando.......and Willow also...................still thinking it...................still thinking it.................thinking........
