Author: Patches
Email: in my profile, please read note in bio.
Rating: R – NC 17 (violence with –potentially- explicit sex in later chapters. Will update warning when necessary.)
Pairing: W/T
Spoilers: Up to Season 5 – “The Gift,” with many alterations and crossovers in the story line from “Tough Love” and “The Gift.”
Feedback: Yes Please! Prefer posted commentary, but if something’s really biting you, feel free to e-mail me. I am always interested in, and encourage, constructive criticism.
Disclaimer: Characters and dialogue taken for this story from BtVS are copyright of the writers and Production Company, ME (and all the rest of the legalese). The alterations and story beyond what is portrayed in BtVS are the twisted musings of my mind. I don’t own anything associated with BtVS and receive no remuneration for this work. And, unfortunately, “The Gift” was written by :joss and since I did use some of his dialogue and story as a jumping off point – ya, he gets a nod.
Magic Note: Magic is a skill (it’s not an addiction), period. Dark magic costs, white magic does not; the darker the magic the higher its cost. Dark magic is paid for after it is used.
Acknowledgements: Dark Magic Willow, first, I offer humble thanks to you for beta’ing for me. This story would be nothing without your guidance, encouragement and sage words. I can’t thank you enough for your insight and thoughtful feedback. You have redefined constructive criticism and taught me that writing is about “show” and not “tell.” Thank you! I too hope it lives up to its potential. To Mary (Queen of Scots) who said, So type and post away, good Patches—I’d love to see it! and gave me the courage to go forward with my tale. For episode transcripts I thank Psyche And finally, to the Tigger of my heart, for putting up with my obsession for writing (especially this story), and encouraging me to follow my dream.
Summary: The Prologue is based on “The Gift,” but you will find some significant changes to timing, setting of events, events and motivations. Some aspects of Season 5 really bothered me and I address them here in this story. A most significant change is that Tara is quite lucid. However, do not expect things to go exactly as they did in the show. Things will be very different in the following chapters, where the angst-o-meter is likely to blow off the scale. Finally, next time this preamble will be shorter, promise :)
BTW – Amy is still a rat. Amy will always be a rat.
)WARNING: This story is very, very dark; angst might be an understatement. Please remember that regardless of what happens, or what is portrayed in the chapters, Willow and Tara will be together, in love at the end. I will take good care of our girls – they’re just going to have a bit of a terrifyingly bumpy journey to get to the blissful ending.
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Prologue: Courage:
Giles closed the door of the Magic Shop, shutting out the daylight. “Glory has been busy.” Tara heard the weariness in his voice, saw the hesitation in his step as he walked toward the counter. Had he slept at all in the past two days?
“M-more?”
“Yes Tara, more. Many, many more. But these people are different somehow. They carry that same vacant look, as do all Glory’s victims. These ones, however, seem to move with a ... purpose. Oddly, they are all walking in the same direction.”
Willow’s red hair appeared from behind large stacks of books haphazardly strewn about on the table in front of her. Her face remained hidden. “Purpose? Purpose, as in going somewhere purpose? Like-”
“To a r-ritual,” Tara finished for her.
Giles looked shocked. He removed his glasses and wiped them with the chamois that always appeared out of nowhere. Glasses in hand, he tilted his head back. “Yes, of course, of course. That’s where they would be going. How could I have ... Buf,”
“Hey Willow,” said Xander, “do you realize that Tara-”
“Just finished your sentence for you,” Anya completed for Xander, the two of them happily talking over Giles.
Willow’s whole head emerged from behind her wall of books. She looked into Tara’s eyes. Tara sighed, rested her chin in her hands and sat spellbound by the sparkling green eyes that held her gaze, eyes that seemed to dance in the red glow of the afternoon sun. The corners of Willow’s mouth turned from frown to smile, catching Tara off guard with an enchanting Willow smile. Tara realized it was the first time anyone had smiled since Glory had taken Dawn. Willow smiled, and for a moment, Tara had hope.
“Oh good lord! The world is about to end. Can we please just stay focused for one minute.” Giles’ snapped at them. His words hung in the air and a fleeting moment of frivolity waned and was lost. Reality returned.
Everyone went silent, heads and eyes downcast. Tara felt her hair fall against her cheek. The only sound in the room was the painful beating of their hearts. She sighed, saw Willow return to her books, Anya hug Xander and Buffy cross her arms and glare at Giles.
“He’s right you know. Sun’ll be down soon. The platelet hasn’t got much time. She bleeds, we all die.” Spike appeared from the back room and broke the silence, saying the words they all feared to utter.
“At least now we know how to find her,” said Giles. Tara caught his gaze and held it. Giles’ eyes were troubled and belied the confidence in his voice. He continued quietly, “even if not where.” She might not be as powerful as Willow, but she could read emotion and intent. Eyes, she knew, were the window to the soul.
“Will, what‘cha ya got for me?” Buffy walked over to the table and peeked over Willow’s rampart of books, eyes questioning.
“Well, a couple of ideas. Well, notions, or theories based on wild speculation.”
“Don’t lose it on me now, Will. I need you. You’re my big gun.”
Willow looked horrified, eyes open wide, head shaking. “Let’s not go all crazy with the I’m a gun thing. Someone else should be the gun. I could be a maybe a cudgel, or a razor or a sharp pointy thing.
“Willow, you’re the strongest person here. You know that right?” Buffy’s voice was soft, compassionate. “You’re the only one that’s ever hurt Glory. You’re our best shot at getting Glory on the ropes. Will, you’re our best hope.”
“Not so big on the hope thing.” Willow looked at Tara, then back at the thick, musty volume open in front of her. She did not look at Buffy when she said, “Well ... I, I ... do sort of have this one idea...”
Both women fell into silence. Willow was hesitant. Buffy reached around and hugged her. Willow held on tightly, seeking the warmth and comfort of friendship.
“One idea in that, last resort, world’s gonna end kinda hope is lost kinda way, Buffy,” she whispered in her ear.
Willow broke the embrace and sat down. She heard Buffy walk around the room, talking with each of them, making sure everyone knew what to do. She flipped halfway through the great thick volume and removed a small book with a vermilion cover. It looked like it had been dyed with blood. The inside pages were thick. The script was dark rust. When she was certain no one was watching, she slipped the volume under her shirt and tucked it in the waistband of her pants. She shivered as the book touched her skin. It was the darkest of magics. She felt the mystical energy gnaw at the fringes of her soul.
Tara was still looking at Giles when Willow’s voice intruded on her thoughts, “Tara, honey, I need you in the basement.”
“Sure t-thing Will,” she searched Willow’s face, sensing something. “Willow?”
She felt the reassuring press of Willow’s hand in hers, though Willow kept her gaze on Buffy. “I found ... no, I just remembered something I forgot to, ah, ...forget.” It was an odd thing to say, even for Willow. Still holding Tara’s hand tightly, Willow led Tara into the dark basement.
Tara yelled up from the bottom of the stairs, “Anya! W-where’s the flashli...” They heard a soft thud from beneath them, and Willow’s voice called up, “never-mind.”
Sometime later, they re-emerged from the basement and were about to walk into the shop when Willow stopped and pulled Tara to her. “I love you Tara.”
Before Tara could reply, she felt the familiar warmth and velvety touch of Willow’s lips on hers. Felt Willow’s hands on her back, pulling her close so that every possible inch of their bodies touched. They did not hurry and for a brief moment, the apocalypse was meaningless.
“Willow,” Tara began when they broke the kiss.
“Shhh,” said Willow. “I know.”
Willow led Tara by the hand back into the Magic Shop. Buffy was the first to notice their presence.
“Hey girls, you’re back. Remember what you were looking for?” said Buffy, a hint of mischief in her voice when she noticed Tara and Willow were breathless and blushing furiously.
Willow stole a look at the clock. They had been down there a while. Tara didn’t seem to notice how long they were gone.
“Xander Harris! Why didn’t you think of that! We’re all about to die. You proposed to me, but they had sex.” Anya pushed Xander away and pouted.
“Oh, uh, NO! I mean I wish and all. Wish I’d been able to do that, instead of... Hey! Wait a minute. Anya, did you just say,”
Everyone, except Anya looked at Xander and said in unison, “PROPOSED?”
“Yeah. She told me to ask her again, if ... well – ask her tomorrow.”
There was a collective sigh but no one spoke. They all knew, it was February and apocalypses weren’t supposed to happen until spring.
Each turned silently and resumed their tasks, preparing weapons and doing whatever to stay busy, and to avoid talking about ‘what if.’
“Sunset,” said Tara.
“It’s time. Everyone ready,” said Buffy.
Tara looked at Buffy and thought, Her voice is so calm, it’s like we're going to a movie, not an apocalypse.’
Buffy lead them to the front of the shop, looked over her shoulder, took a deep breath, said, “Once more into the breech dear friends, once more into the breech,” and walked out the door.
Giles turned to Spike and smiled. “Perhaps there is hope for this night after all.”
On the street, they walked amid Glory’s army of the insane, toward the centre of town. The press of sentientless bodies separated the group. Tara and Willow were being held back by the press of the crowd while Buffy and the other Scoobies were being swept up in the quickening pulse of activity ahead of them.
Surrounding her and Willow the crowd prattled incessantly – words overlaying words, muttered pieces of rambling thoughts.
“W-what are they s-saying?” Tara looked worriedly at Willow. The crowd began to press against them, separating them from each other. Vacant eyes staring blankly, single minded in their purpose.
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
“Is”
The multitudineous seas incarnate, making the green one red.
“This”
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
“A”
YOU! Out damned spot.
“Dagger”.
Tara saw a man move from the group. He was not like the others. She looked into his eyes; they were black as the darkest cavern: ominous, evil, soulless. Before she could warn her, he ran to Willow, grabbed her and threw her to the ground. “Is this a dagger I see before me?” light reflected off the silver blade poised to plunge into Willow’s heart.
“WILLOW!” Tara screamed. “WILLOW! NO!” She lunged, her sole intent to stop the descent of the deadly blade. She threw her body recklessly against his back, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, released the knife and ran. Tara’s momentum carried her and she fell heavily, landing beside Willow. The knife clattered as it hit the pavement between them.
Buffy, hearing Tara’s urgent cry, bowled through the throng, knocking bodies aside. By the time she reached them, the man had disappeared back into the crowd. Willow and Tara lay winded, but very much alive on the ground.
“Will? Tara? Okay?” Buffy said, kneeling over them while searching for the perpetrator, or other signs of danger.
The others appeared, standing over them, faces like mourners at a grave sight, grim and full of despair. Tara realized they expected to find her and Willow dead. She shook the chilling implications of the tableau from her mind. It was the kind of foreshadowing she could live without.
“Fine,” Willow answered tonelessly.
“Just s-scared me. Willow, oh Willow. H-he just ... He had a knife. They’ve never been violent before. He was s-so different.”
Willow sat up and pulled her into an embrace. Tara could feel the slowing of her heartbeat as Willow’s arms held her securely.
“Willow, it was s-so awful, c-cold; it felt dead. B-but it wasn’t dead; it wasn’t a v-vampire; i-it was something else.” Willow said nothing but held Tara even tighter. Tara buried her face in Willow’s shoulder. She wanted to cry, but she could not. There would be time for tears later, when it was over.
“Willow, Tara,” said Anya, hands on her hips, sensing the danger had passed, “please do not die before it is time to die.”
“Thanks An, I’m sure they’ll do their best.” Xander frowned, but caught sight of the blade still lying between Willow and Tara. “Hey look Will, a souvenir.”
Willow looked down at the ground, picked up the sleek, engraved silver blade and slid it handle first into the sleeve of her shirt under her cloak.
“Oh, lucky me. A souvenir. A sharp pointy thing.” Her voice was hushed.
“Right! No more of this! We stay together. That crowd’s bloody ugly.” Spike’s voice rose above the din.
Everyone looked at him. “What? Well I do care, you know.”
“Every one all right? Tara, Willow, what happened?” Giles was the last to reach them, concern etched in the lines on his forehead.
Tara explained, and Giles responded, “Where’s the knife?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re fine, time’s a wastin’ and we’ve got an Apocalypse to stop.” Willow stood and helped Tara up. Then, as if remembering something important, she looked at Tara and said, “Are you okay baby?”
“As long as I’m with you, Willow,” she gave Willow’s hand a re-assuring squeeze.
“Everyone ready?” said Buffy.
“Lay on, Mac Duff, And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough!” said Willow.
“Isn’t that,” Spike began.
Giles looked at Spike. They both looked at Willow and said in unison, “the wrong play.”
They approached the tower. Rising ten stories, it stood like a harbinger in the night, silhouetted by the shimmering glow of the full blood red moon.
Anya, with her baseball bat resting on her shoulder, looked up. “What is that?”
“Steps to the very gates of Hell,” whispered Giles, following Anya’s gaze. His mouth was tight, the lines around his eyes deepened as if the tower itself was speeding the passage of time.
“The portal will open up there,” Giles continued looking at the platform at the top of the tower.
They all looked up, holding their breath.
Anya craned her neck, looked up at the tower and blinked once as the enormity of the structure and of their task hit her.
“Guess it’s going to be ... a little harder ... than we thought,” Xander’s voice trailed off. He put his hand in his pocket, feeling the engagement ring he wished Anya had taken from him. Would there even be a tomorrow to ask? He swallowed, struggling and failing to push away apocalyptic thoughts.
“Isn’t it always?” Buffy’s voice cut through their thoughts; it was a statement of fact, no one answered, not even Spike.
No one could answer her. They’re afraid, Tara thought. For the first time all of them together felt it. She sensed it, then saw it in their faces, in their body language, in their eyes; the uncertainty, the ‘what ifs’ were carved on each and every one of them, subtle changes reflecting doubt.
Tara watched them. The skin on Anya’s knuckles stretched and threatened to rip, so tight was her grip on the bat. Giles’ eyes, normally staid, glistened in the reflected light of the construction lamps surrounding the tower. Xander shuffled listlessly, and Spike paced like an animal in a cage.
Buffy stood apart from the group.
Tara looked to Willow for reassurance, for the Willow smile that held so much hope. There was no smile. Instead, Willow’s eyes were lost and afraid, and the green was hidden by the reflected garnet hue of the moon. For the first time in her life, Tara truly understood what fear was. No brave words were to be found. She understood fear, it was written all over them.
Tara looked at the cast on her hand. Body, mind, and spirit remembered pain felt in so many ways. How it had hurt when Glory crushed her bones and made her bleed. The agony as Glory tore Dawn from her arms. And now, the torture of wondering how many. How many of her family would live to see the red glow of the morning sun. Would anyone? She felt her heart hammering in her chest. How it all seemed so insignificant now.
They all stood at the base of the tower, Glory’s drones ignored them, her acolytes absent, preparing Dawn for the ritual. Buffy shuddered and reminded herself that they didn’t have to kill Glory, just prevent the ritual from starting.
She looked to them, “Remember, the ritual starts, we all die. And I’ll kill anyone who comes near Dawn.”
“It’s not even guarded, the tower. Why?” asked Xander.
“Because Glory thinks we can’t stop her,” Willow whispered under her breath. She reached over and rubbed her wrist. Beside the Dagon Sphere, she felt the cold metal of the knife blade pressing against her flesh, her pulse beating against it. Willow clenched her fist. The knife bit into her flesh at the base of her thumb. She felt a sharp pain and the warm trickle of blood run down her hand.
Buffy looked at the tower once more, then turned and said, “Will, Tara, you’re up.”
“Need anything?” Giles looked at Willow, eyes smiling softly, the hint of gentle kindness incongruous with their situation. She did not meet his gaze.
Her fear was palpable; Tara could feel it, on Willow, on them all. If this didn’t work… She shuddered and her heart beat faster.
“I could use a little courage,” whispered Willow. Tara reached over and grasped Willow’s hand. Her fingers brushed over Willow’s wrist where the Dagon Sphere lay hidden by magic in the sleeve of Willow’s blood red cloak. She prayed her masking spell would fool the Hell god. The spell was the purest of the white magics, and hopefully the most invisible. Squeezing tightly for the barest of seconds, Tara released Willow’s hand, hoping her touch was enough to give Willow the courage to do what needed to be done. Tara looked at the hammer in Buffy’s hand. To fight a God, use the weapon of a God.
Willow and Tara walked toward the swarm of humanity that was Glory’s work force, each a little cell sacrificed to sustain the Hell god. Beings devoid of thought, they worked mindlessly on one single task, completing Glory’s tower to bring apocalypse.
Tara watched Willow pause, clench her fists and bring her hands toward heart. As if gathering her life force she held her hands steady, breathed deep the acrid air, then threw her arms outward. Splayed fingers crackled with crimson lightning, dark power surged through her and the bodies of Glory’s army dropped wordlessly to the ground, unconscious. But as they fell, others moved to take their place.
From every direction they came, the mindless ones – empty vessels consumed by Glory’s appetite, and now her obedient slaves. Moving slowly, coagulating pools of the insane picked up where their comrades in madness left off. Acting on primal instinct, they sought to serve and to protect their god. Blank faces and empty eyes turned menacing; some dropped their tools and moved on them. Only a few, just enough to push them back. She and Willow had but one job, keep the odds even, give the others behind them a chance to guard the entrance to the tower while Buffy fought Glory.
Around her, Tara heard the clash of combat and the babbling of the mad. She knew the Scoobies would protect the tower with their lives, and she would protect Willow with hers.
So it began.
to be continued
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You know I've heard about people like me. But I never made the connection. They walk one road to set them free, And find they've gone the wrong direction. But there's no need for turning back 'cause all roads lead to where I stand. And I believe I'll walk them all No matter what I may have planned
. Obviously, you know that was intentional, I mean, it was Buffy speaking after all (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it ;p) But, I will tell you that I’m, ahem, looking up _all_ my quotes now.
