Title: At Any Cost


Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula ( In case you can't tell, I'm a Star Wars freak )


Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )


Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.


Disclaimers: I own diddly squat, except the original characters. Otherwise the show would still be going and Tara wouldn't have died ..... yadda yadda yadda. Though it seems I own an apparent desire to talk like a mixture of Ned Flanders and the Soprano's. There's a scary thought.


Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.


Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.


Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.


Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.


Author's Notes: Well, this is the first fic I've posted on here. Hopefully someone will like it enough. If not, I'll have to resort to blubbering impotently, but that isn't much different from normal. This may get a touch dark at times, but rest assured our lovely ladies will come through it in one piece. Otherwise, I'll get clawed to death, right?


Thoughts are in italics.


Part 1.


May the 7th, 2002.


The first sensation Willow Rosenberg was aware of as she gradually swan her way towards consciousness was contentment. A pure, heady feeling that all was right in the world of Willow. A feeling due, in large part, to the woman she was snuggled up against.


Willow shifted minutely closer, and smiled lazily as Tara murmured appreciably in her sleep. Oh yeah, this hot mama yama's still got it, Willow crowed to herself.


Tightening her embrace, Willow burrowed her face into the nape of her lovers neck, luxuriating in Tara's unique scent. How could I have ever been so stupid to as to risk losing this? Losing her?


Satisfying a sudden masochistic impulse, the redhead allowed herself to dwell on all of the Scoobies disastrous personal lives of late. For herself, there had been her addiction to magic and the subsequent problems it, and her own actions, had caused in her relationship with Tara.


Buffy had indulged herself with a postmortem funk and ended up having an affair with Spike, of all people. Though strictly speaking, Spike isn't so much a person as the evil undead. Or is that a misnomer? Is there any other type of undead? I mean, sure he's helped us on and off for the last couple of years, but it's not like it was by choice, not at first.


Then there was Giles, who'd bailed on all them to skip off to merry old England on the spurious claim that he was holding them back. Holding us back from screwing everything up so monumentally, maybe. A slight grin flashed onto Willow's lips as a distinct mental image of Giles skipping though a field of flowers popped unbidden into her head.


Xander had managed to suffer a spectacular meltdown at his own wedding, and done what was quite probably permanent damage to his relationship with Anya. I might not quite get what he sees in Anya at times, but I would never have wished this kind of heartbreak on either of them. She was all too familiar with the pain and anguish of heartbreak.


Willow was forcibly snapped out of her marginally morbid ruminations as the warm, soft form in her arms rolled over and she found herself staring into the warm azure pools of Tara's eyes.


“What's going on in that busy little brain, sweetie?” murmured Tara sleepily.


“Huh? What do you mean? Why would anything be going on in my brain?” Willow found herself flustered for reasons she didn't particularly want to investigate right now.


Tara crocked an eyebrow in response. “Willow sweetie, neither one of us are really one to indulge in subterfuge. Mainly because we can't lie to save our lives.”


Willow hesitated. The prospect of mentioning all of their assorted problems terrified her. She still found it hard to believe that Tara was here, with her. That Tara had forgiven her for the violation of both her memory, and her trust. The lingering fear remained, that if Willow mentioned her betrayals, Tara would come to her senses and get as far away from Willow as she could. The very thought alone filled the redhead with an abject terror.


“Will?” Tara's voice was troubled now, concerned by her lover's uncharacteristic silence.


The faint tremble in the voice that Willow loved above all others was the straw that broke the camel's back. Tara loves me. I have to trust that love and I have to trust her.


“I ... was just thinking about how screwed up everything has been this past year. For everyone. How ... I screwed everything up. For us.”


Tara frowned, and shifted closer, until the two women were practically nose to nose.


“Willow, were you afraid to tell me that?” she asked, and Willow nodded faintly, biting her lip. “Why? You don't ever have to be afraid to tell me anything, sweetie.”


“I ... just didn't want to bring it up. To remind you ... about everything that I did. I was afraid that if I did, you would ...”


“That I would what? Come to my senses?” The sound of Tara's voice speaking words so very close to the ones in her own head made Willow shudder. Tara caught the movement and swiftly guessed the reason for it. She enfolded Willow in an embrace and pressed a kiss into the fine red hair that she had missed so much for far too long.


“Willow Rosenberg, I did come to my senses. That's why I'm here, with you. Because I love you. Because you are my home. You know that, right?”


“I used to. But then you left me.”


Tara pulled back slightly so that she could see her lover's melancholy face. “Will ...”


“No, I get it. You had to leave. It was the only way you could think of to get me to see reason. To acknowledge my mistakes.”


“And you did.” Tara urged, trying to transmit though both voice and touch just how much she loved this woman. Because she did, with every fiber in her being, every cell. One and all, every last part of Tara Maclay sang with pure, unadulterated love for Willow Rosenberg.


“Eventually I did. But it took me so long to see that you were right.” Willow scowled. “I'm supposed to be so smart! I'm knowledge gal! How could I ever have been so .... so dense! This last year we've all been so stupid and self-involved. It's ... it's like some evil puppet-master guy's been jerking us around for his own amusement!”


“Sweetie, you always have been and still are one of the smartest people I know. It ... it's just hard sometimes to see our own faults. This is real life, Will. People will always make mistakes, no matter how smart they are.”


Willow stared deep into Tara's eyes, hoping for a heartbeat that she could physically fall into them, to swim in their warm, limpid depths for the rest of eternity.


“You really do love me, don't you?” she asked, astonishment plain in both her voice and expression.


“How could I not?” Tara replied simply. Willow's face brightened, like the sun emerging from behind a thick back of concealing clouds, and the return of her animated smile made Tara's heart beat faster.


Willow recognized the sudden heat in Tara's eyes, and felt and an answering warmth blossom inside her. All of her doubts and fears vanished, replaced with a deep seated longing.


“You know, all this second guessing is fun and all, but I can think of a much better way to spend our time.”


Willow drew Tara close, and showed her in no uncertain terms just exactly what she had in mind.


**********


The first thing I felt as I clawed my way out of the darkness was pain. Pain and I are old friends, close comrades. There have been few days in my tumultuous life where I haven't suffered from pain of some sort, be it emotional or physical. In this case, this particular pain was purely physical.


It wasn't the pain of my shattered knee, poorly healed, even with the magics. Neither was it the pain from the ruinous scars of my throat, where an assassin had once come so close to ending my wretched existence, nor from my missing eye, or the phantom pain from the stub of the severed little finger on my left hand.


The pain from the fresh knife wound in my shoulder, a parting gift from my family, was a part of it, but marginal at best. No, this pain was the price I paid for my passage through the gateway. My muscles twitched and spasmed, and my blood burned like acid through my veins. The passage itself had felt as if I were being slowly turned inside out, and then immolated at an equally agonizing pace. Most other human's would not have survived, but I will never stop until my goal is achieved. I will not allow it.


But all of this was the price I paid, and I was happy to do so. For it brought me that one step closer to the fulfillment of the goal that had been, and still was, my obsession for the last two decades.


Sight returned, and I found myself staring upwards at a clear blue sky, only just lightening under the sun's earliest touches. After so long away, the blue skies of my home dimension still seemed strange.


Hearing returned next, and with it the ability to move. Ignoring the pain, I staggered to my feet. The glamours I cloaked myself in were second nature by now. They didn't render me invisible, but rather endowed me with a preternatural level of normality. To the unaided human eye, I was now utterly remarkable, to the point where anyone's attention would slide off me like water off a duck's back.


I found myself in an expansive park. A nearby sign named it Weatherley Park. Good. This is Sunnydale. A quick glance at the sun just rising on the horizon gave me an approximate time, early morning. Excellent. That gives me at least an hour to find my prey.


The steady slap of shoe leather against concrete drew my attention. A lone jogger, a leggy woman in bike shorts and halter top came into view. Intercepting her was easy, since my glamour rendered her virtually unable to acknowledge my existence.


A quickly muttered spell froze her in place as surely as if she had been turned to stone. Her eyes bulged as I let the glamour slip and my true form shimmered into sight directly in front of her. The effect is somewhat akin to stepping out of an incredibly thick bank of fog.


The jogger's sudden terror washed over me, thick and pungent, complements of the empathic talent that was both gift and curse. I forced myself to ignore her fear. Once you've murdered the closest thing to a family you'll ever possess, you'll find it gets easier to ignore the pain of perfect strangers.


I didn't have the time to be gentle. Snatching her by the jaw, I smashed into her mind, overwelming and ravaging it in seconds. The mind-theft gave me the information I so desperately needed. I was in the right place, at the right time. It's going to work. I will not fail. I can not fail.


I cast the woman aside, and released the spell binding her. She scrambled to her feet and fled without a single word. As I wreathed myself in glamour once more, I briefly considered killing her, but discarded the notion. She was not a threat, and I had better use for my energy.


Raising one hand, palm up, I focused on the empty space just above and harnessed the torrential flood of magic pulsing through me. Ten specks of glimmering light flickered into being above my palm, summoned into being by my magic and governed by my will alone.


As the sprites thickened and grew, I raised my hand to my lips and whispered their orders to them.


“Find my prey. Seek them out, wherever they might lie. Hunt.” With that final word, the sprites buzzed into the air, scattering in all directions.


The prey will not hide from me for long. Soon, by hook or by crook, fair means or foul, Willow Rosenberg will get everything that is coming to her.


To be continued ...

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

Great start...! Very well written. Looking forward to finding out more

_________________
'Tara Tarantula. Hairy black legs. Now that's a thought.'
-Sleek, Three Words

That was a brilliant start. You've got me intrigued already and I loved the scene at the begining with Willow and Tara. Can't wait to read some more.

This is really good! I can't wait to see what happens next.

this is intriguing. i will be patiently waiting for the next update. or as patient as i wait.

hahler

_________________
"Clark there is no such thing as vampires" James Marsters in 'Smallville'

G'day Kittens, one and all.


Feedback to the ... err ... feedback is up first, then on to the update.


sadie - Thanks a bunch. ( The exact nature of the bunch with which you are thanked is entirely up to you. ) If you want to know more, keep on reading, though I might have to warn you revelations might be a while coming, since I am an evil little git.


Shortstuff - Ooh! I'm brilliant! I never get tired of hearing that. Oh, wait a sec. You said a brilliant start. Ah, screw it. I'll take any complement I can get, even if I have to nick it. So I managed to intrigue you, huh? Woo hoo! That's a step up from confused and annoyed. There's more to read right after these messages from my sponsor ... err ... which would be me.


Soluna89 - Thank you, thank you very much. ( I apologize whole-heartedly for that crap impersonation of Elvis. ) If you can't wait to see what happens next, scroll on down.


hahler - Cool! A second vote of intriguing. I must be doing something right for a change. Will wonders never cease? Patience is a virtue, or so I've heard. I think it's highly overrated though, so feel free to be as impatient as you like. Though that might be because I'm not exactly a patient person myself.


Bye for now,
Paul.


Title: At Any Cost


Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula ( Yep, still a Star Wars freak. I don't think this ointment is working. )


Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )


Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.


Disclaimers: I sod bugger all, except my own deep seated mental trauma's, and way too much crap. Oh, and the original characters are a product of my very own little, warped imagination.


Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.


Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.


Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.


Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.


Author's Notes: The dialog at the very start of this chapter is shamelessly pilfered .... I mean loving borrowed from Seeing Red. The rest is mine, all mine! Bwhaaa haaa haaa! .... Ahem. Time for some more shock treatment I think.


Thoughts are in italics.


The story so far ... Well, Willow and Tara have had a bit of trouble getting out of bed, and a new potential Big Bad has turned up in town, with an apparent thing for Willow. Trouble is just bound to ensue.


Part 2.


Willow finished buttoning her blouse and looked up with a grin. “Hey. Clothes.”


“Better not get used to 'em,” replied Tara, regarding her girlfriend with a vixenish smile of her own.


“Yes, Ma'am.” The redhead's own smile grew warm as she reached out and hooked Tara by one of the belt loops on her jeans, pulling her into a passionate kiss. When the kiss ended, Tara tightened her embrace with a contented murmur, resting her head on Willow's shoulder, eyes still closed.


When they opened, Tara's eyes widened in mild surprise as she looked out the window into the backyard of the Summer's house.


“Xander,” she commented.


Willow reluctantly broke their embrace. I could quite happily stay in her arms for ever, but the unfortunate business of life demands otherwise. I can't spend all my time snuggling with Tara. Even if I really, really want to. Amongst other things. Willow's stopped her train of thought there, before she started to blush. That would just lead to teasing, which would lead to playing, which soon enough would end up with their new-found clothes going out the window.


“Ok, not quite the response I was fishing for.” Willow was feeling too happy to even try faking a pout, so she settled for a slight, wry grin as she walked to their armoire and pulled open a drawer.


“No, he's here” Tara explained, stepping closer to the window and pointing.


“Think they're making up?” Willow asked, delighted by the prospect. Division in the scooby ranks always left her with something of a bitter taste in her mouth.


Tara turned to face her with a delighted smile of her own. “I hope so. That's the best part.”


“Why, you know what?” Willow stated, donning her best thoughtful expression. “I do believe you're right in that assumption, Ms Maclay.”


“Would you care to further test that assumption, Ms Rosenberg?” asked Tara with a raised eyebrow and a sultry smile.


Faking panic, Willow flailed her arms wildly as Tara made to step closer. Tara obligingly stopped, happy for the moment to play along with Willow's game. She knew in the very depths of her heart that Willow would never willingly deny her anything.


“Oh no, little miss vixen. If I let you get with reaching distance of me, your charms will prove far too tempting to pass up. Then, the next thing you know, it'll be dark and we'll have spent the entire day in bed together. And that would be just plain wrong.”


“Oh yes,” Tara chimed in, her face suspiciously earnest. “Oh so wrong. Why was it wrong again?”


“Because ... we have ... um ... stuff to do?” Willow was floundering now, the memories of both last night's and this morning's passionate lovemaking flitting through her head. The parade of sights, sounds, smells and sensations were making it hard for the redhead to remain standing, let alone remain capable of coherent speech.


“Oh, right. That stuff we have to do.” The blonde nodded sagely. “What was that stuff again?”


Willow restrained a groan. I should have known she wasn't going to let me off lightly. Everyone else usually just sees the shy, gentle side of Tara. They don't know exactly how very deliciously wicked she can be at times.


“Well ... we have to eat. And ... and ... we have to help Buffy. With the nerd situation.”


“Oh,” replied Tara with what appeared to be a heartfelt sigh. “I understand completely.” The blonde's shoulders slumped and her head fell forward. For a single, terrible moment Willow feared that Tara's disappointment was real, as opposed to part of their little game. Then she caught sight of the sparkling glint in her beloveds eye, and the small, crooked smile that Tara wore on her oh-so-kissable lips.


“You are such a bad girl, aren't you.”


Tara raised her head, her smile blossoming into a full blown smirk. “You better believe it. And this bad girl is yours, Willow, 'til the day I die.”


A chilling premonition thundered through Willow like a herd of rampaging elephants at Tara's words, her good mood vanishing like mist in the face of the hot summer sun.


“Don't say that, baby!” Willow blurted. “Don't ever talk about you dying!”


Tara rushed forward, seizing her everything in tight embrace. She was astounded to find her beloved trembling in her arms. “Will, it's ok. I'm not going anywhere. I promise I won't leave you again.”


“I just don't know what I would do if I lost you, Tara. I don't even want to think about it.” Willow fought back a sob as she hugged Tara fiercely.


“Then don't,” Tara murmured in Willow's ear, stroking the redhead's hair soothingly. “Just don't think about it. Because I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”


**********


The sun was shining bright in a clear blue sky, and the birds were singing sweetly in the gently swaying trees. It was a scene of such natural, wholesome splendor that it almost turned my stomach. These days, I find myself more comfortable with scenes of death and destruction, murder and mayhem. They far better suit the darkness in my damned soul.


I lurk in the bushes, hidden beneath multiple layers of illusion and glamour. The most powerful concealment spell I know has rendered me virtually undetectable, but I'm still nervous. This close to Her, to the attainment of everything that for so long I have worked and sacrificed for, I can't afford to make even the tiniest of missteps.


Hence, the need to hide. If the slayer, or worse still, the two witches somehow ascertained my presence, discovered my plans, they would inevitably try to stop me. Such moralistic do-gooders as themselves, they couldn't help but try to stop me. That, I could not, would not, abide. So I lurk, hidden and silent, and wait as fate steps ever closer.


I measure every second, every heartbeat, every fleeting passage of time weighing down on me like the weight of the world on Atlas' shoulders. Every second brings the confluence of events that brought me here closer and closer.


But I am strangely calm. I have dreamed of this very moment for so very long now. I have focused all of my nebulous hopes and dreams on this rapidly approaching moment, but I am still cold and dead inside.


Even my hatred, which is all that has kept me going at times, seem barely there. What was once a raging inferno of emotion is now little more than a guttering flame. I am ... barren, empty. I scowl. Such soul searching is pointless. I am exactly what I sought to become, what I needed to become. I am a monster, plain and simple, because that is exactly what I needed to be to achieve this.


I switch my attention to the intricate, multiple, ever expanding layers of wardings I have woven around the Summers house. Nothing, from the smallest insect to the largest demon can enter or leave without my knowledge. I will allow nothing to interfere.


A lone sprite zips up to me, and buzzes it's information in my ear. I feel a cruel smile appear unbidden on my thin, gash-like lips. Fate approaches, on sneakered feat with cold metal in his hand and bloody-handed murder on his mind.


My fingers weave runes of fire in the air, raising the field of silence around my location in the grassy passageway leading to the Summers backyard. Anything within the field can hear sounds from without normally, but not vice versa. My natural appearance can be somewhat ... unsettling, and an errant cry of fear or surprise might bring the Slayer running. I am not willing to chance that happening, not now. Not so close to success.


He strides into view now, this man who has haunted my thoughts for my entire life. He's dressed all in black. How very cliché of him. The perfect stereotypical villain. How very little this insect knows of true evil. But he will. Oh, yes. He will learn. But still I wait, even though I quiver with the desire to act.


As he nears me, I feel him in my head. The rage at being thwarted, the arrogance that denies his own faults, the overwhelming pride that tells him he is bound to do great things. His rage is so like my own that it sickens me, but compared to my own, it is a sickly and weak thing. The fury that I earlier missed is building now, igniting into a white hot furnace in the crucible of my will.


He enters the field of silence now, completely unaware to both it, and my own presence. I wait until he is in the center before I spring my trap. The air at the borders of the field hardens into walls harder than stone. I let the concealment spell, and my own personal glamours fall away, so that I stand before him in all my tattered glory.


He recoils at the sight of me. I am used to the reaction. When the very sight of you has made small children flee in terror, you swiftly develop a thick skin to such things. It's why I put so much effort in my glamours; it's much easier to stab your enemies in the back when they don't notice you coming.


He raises the gun at me. Are his instincts telling him to fear me? That I am a threat? They should be. A whisper-thin lash of magic hardens the air around his weapon, and the bullet shatters against it harmlessly. He stares at his weapon in uncomprehending disbelief. I sense his anger, and my own hate and fury surge in answer.


“Mr Mears. You have no idea how very ... glad I am to make your acquaintance.” My voice is a rasp, little more than a whisper. The demonic assassin who ripped out my throat caused permanent damage to my voice. I never even considered trying to repair the damage, for such a voice serves to foster the image I have worked so hard to attain.


Warren Mears just gapes at me, as if incapable of speaking. It doesn't concern me. I have no particular desire to hear anything he has to say. I only want to hear him scream.


“Have you ever seen what happens to someone holding a piece of metal that has been heated to extreme temperatures, Mr Mears?” I ask the question in a polite, but mocking tone at the same time as I heat his pistol to white hot incandescence. He screams, and I bathe in the sound, luxuriate in it.


“Not to mention, what happens when that selfsame piece of metal is a loaded firearm.” Exactly after I speak, the pistol explodes as the ammunition cooks, and Mears screams again and falls to his knees. It is almost as if the weapon were performing on command, and I am quietly pleased by my timing.


I step forward and take his chin in one hand. My gentleness surprises me, as the greater part of me wants nothing more than to tear him to bloody scraps.


“I do apologize, Mr Mears. I am afraid that you will not me making your self-assigned appointment.”


“W... what?” he manages to whisper through what I hope is an agonizing amount of pain.


“Your little date with destiny? Where you were going to murder Buffy Summers? I am afraid you are going to be otherwise occupied.”


I read an unspoken question in his eyes, and smile. There is nothing of humor in my expression. It is a shark's smile, a tiger's smile, all teeth and predatory instinct.


“You are going to be busy with your own imminent, and eminently painful demise, Mr Mears. I have very particular plans for Ms Summers and her compatriots.”


He screams for help, and I laugh in his face. I feel his terror, and I consume it like a fine wine. My free hand snatches him by the throat, and I mutter the teleportation incantation. I require privacy for what is about to come next. In my personal opinion, torturing someone to death is not a performance art.


To be continued ...

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

Wow. What is it with Kittens and cliffhagers? You're all so good at them... ^-^ Can't wait to see who our mystrious nwcomer is.

-Sol

G'day, Soluna89.

Ah yes. The cliffhanger, that beloved method of simultaneously irritating your readers and keeping them begging for more. How I do love it so. That may just be because of the whole evil thing, but what the heck, it works.

You can't wait to find out who the newcomer is? Too bad, you're going to have to. I'm evil, remember? Never fear, his identity and motivations will be revealed. Eventually. Cue evil, maniacal laughter.

I suppose I'd better get back to writing part 3 now, huh?

Bye,
Paul.

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

Wow Darth Pacula you got this right!!


Well theres nothing wrong with Warren dying if it means Tara surviving, but can't help but worry that maybe I'll eat my words once our mystery baddie finds Willow and Tara. So what is this nasty's problem with our Willow? Why can't it just leave them alone to got with more of the which makes me and ??

Great going so far, will remain glued to my seat for more!! Cheers!

Libby

_________________
*** Why so damn absent-minded? Why so scared of romance? This modern love breaks me. This modern love wastes me! *** Bloc Party - Modern Love

Smile cuz you never know who may be falling in love with it!

Ooh, Paul--what a great start! I don't know of many fics that go up to that awful moment in Seeing Red and then delve into a whole other threat. It's a fantastic idea.

I also love that you're taking us into this villain's mind. What the heck happend to this guy? I'm trying to remember if he's someone we've already met...And why Willow as his particular target of enmity?

You give wonderfully visceral descriptions of both worlds, and the contrast b/w the two is esp. effective. Here's Willow, in happy shiny reunion land, and here's...Whatever it is.

Yikes.

I look forward to reading more.

Mary

Greetings and salutations to all of you marvelous felines. Which is my long winded way of saying, G'day all.

bigandblue - Glad you liked my comments on cliffhangers, Libby. Always nice when I can manage not to trip over my own tongue. Which is something of an achievement given that I can't actually stick it out more than a couple of millimetres past my lips.

I was pretty sure that not too many people would have a problem with Warren going to that 'Big Comic Book Shop in the Sky'. That being said, he's not quite dead yet, but things certainly aren't looking good for the wanker.

As for what's my villain's problem with Willow? Ah, well that would be telling. And I'm having too much fun being evil to tell you that just yet. Hopefully you'll enjoy the ride finding out.

P.S. Go the Welsh!

AntigoneUnbound - Well blow me down with a feather, Mary. What a singular pleasure to have one of my favorite writers on the board reading my drivel. I bow before you

I always find it interesting to delve into what makes a bad guy tick, and I'm glad you're enjoying it. It's not always an especially nice place to be, but it's always so much fun. Or is that just me? Meh. I'll just keep doing my own version of the the 'I am Evil Homer' dance.

As to who he is, and whether we've met him before? Bwhaa haa haa! You'll have to keep reading to find out. Ditto for what his beef with Willow is.

I'm glad you liked the contrast between the two viewpoints. That's what I was trying to go for, so I'm glad it's working. Willow wakes up all happy and content, and Mr No-name wakes up angry and in pain. Who would you rather be? I'm pretty sure I can guess which you would prefer.

Glad I could entertain you Mary, since you've given me so many hours of literary pleasure.

Well, I'd better get back to writing part 3. I should have plenty of free time coming up, since my brother/housemate is nicking off overseas for the next month and a half. No more distracting siblings. Ah, heaven.

Bye for now,
Paul.

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

Wow! Another great part and I'm still intrigued lol. Can't wait for part three.

G'day all. Replies to feedback first, then on to the update, post haste.

Shortstuff - Ah hah! Another intrigued! And a wow to boot! Maybe I should start keeping a count of such words that I get in feedback. Or perhaps I should just get a life. If you can't wait for part 3, well then wait no longer. It's up next. Thanks for reading.

Bye,
Paul.

**********

Title: At Any Cost


Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula


Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )


Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.


Disclaimers: The only thing I own at the moment is my troop of genetically mutated flying monkeys, and all they seem interested in doing at the moment is gnawing on the drywall and humping the furniture. It's such hard work being an evil genius. Especially when you don't quite fit in the genius category.


Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.


Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.


Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.


Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.


Author's Notes: Part 3 turned out a wee big longer than the previous two. It just didn't want to stop until I was nodding off at the keyboard last night.


Thoughts are in italics.


The story so far ... Well, Willow and Tara have reunited and are deliriously happy reconnecting with each other. Fate's little accidental hatchet-man, aka Warren Mears, was on his way to get a little gun happy with the scoobies, but got intercepted by our mysterious newcomer, who has the apparent intention of torturing Warren to death. Will Warren survive? Will anyone rescue him? Will they even try? Will the author stop asking questions that only he can answer? Only time will tell ...


Part 3.


After Willow's minor meltdown, she and Tara were content to spend the rest of the day quietly. In a similar fashion to professional soldiers, all of the scoobies had learned to make the most of quiet periods.


Loathe to part company for very long so soon after such a lengthy absence from each other's company, the two witches caught up on schoolwork in their room. In Willow's case, that largely involved rereading passages for classes scheduled a week in the future, and updating her color coded study schedule, the very sight of which brought a smile to Tara's face. What other people might classify as weird quirks were, to Tara, just another reason that she loved Willow so.


Xander and Buffy had apparently shared their contemplative mood. After making up in the backyard, and since Buffy didn't have to work at the local purveyor of greasy fake-meat, better known as the Doublemeat Palace, the two had spent the entire day together. The opportunity to bond over a marathon of cartoons and kung-fu movies had given the two friends a much needed chance to reconnect. By mutual, if unvoiced agreement, no mention was made of their respective relationship woes.


By the time night had crept upon the town of Sunnydale, and Dawn had exploded on the scene in a display of teen-aged exuberance, they had all gathered in the dining room of the Summers house. Ostensibly, the gathering was to discuss the nerd situation, but that was a thinly veiled excuse for an impromptu pizza party.


“So, Warren actually had an honest-to-god jet pack?” Dawn asked in disbelief around a mouthful of half chewed pizza. Tara briefly considered chiding the girl for her lack of manners, but a glance around the dinner table illustrated the utter futility of that idea. How is Dawn supposed to learn good manners when most of her role models are such slobs? Tara mused with an bemused sigh for her adopted family.


Xander was the prime example. The impressive gusto with which he devoured slices of pizza had left his face and shirt liberally dabbled with tomato sauce, and errant pieces of topping. Buffy wasn't much better. Not surprising given the rate at which she's devouring pizza. Must be nice to have a Slayer's metabolism.


Tara was eating at a much more sedate pace. No matter how many times Willow told, and showed her how beautiful she was, Tara still had trouble believing it. The feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness drilled into her by her father and brother from an early age were far more difficult to slay than any vampire. While Tara knew, thanks to Willow's unfailing support, that she was indeed a beautiful woman who deserved every good thing that happened to her, it was one thing to know something and quite another to feel it.


“Did you get a good look at it, Buffy?” Willow interrupted, her face a portrait of scientific curiosity. She didn't wait for an answer, instead continuing without pausing for a breath. “Do you think you could sketch it accurately? I might be able to ascertain how it works from an accurate sketch. Ooh, I don't suppose that you thought to hide the one that Andrew had before the cops came, did you? Because I'm sure that I .... what are you all looking at me like that for?”


All of the scoobies, Tara included, were staring at Willow with a variety of grins and expressions of mock-dismay.


“Will, how many times have we told you, you have to use your powers for good, not evil?” stated Buffy with a shake of her head.


“That way lies the dark side,” added Xander, nodding sagely as if his advice was the very epitome of wisdom.


Willow subsided, muttering good-naturedly under her breath that there was nothing especially evil about jet packs. Tara couldn't help herself from smiling brightly and stroking her lover's cheek, and Willow's fake sulk evaporated before it had barely had a chance to begin.


“Now, where was I? Oh yeah, his Nerdish-ness went and did a Goldfinger on me,” Buffy answered her sister's original question. Tara was glad to see that at least Buffy had the manners to swallow her mouthful before she spoke.


“Thunderball,” interjected Xander between ravenous bites. He was met with an array of confused expressions.


“The jet pack was in Thunderball, not Goldfinger,” he clarified. “Completely different Bond movies.”


“Whatever,” Buffy replied. “I couldn't believe it. It was just like that movie Xander dragged us to a couple of years ago. The Rocket something? It had that guy who played James Bond a couple of times?”


“It was the Rocketeer, Buffy, and Timothy Dalton.” All four women glanced at one another and simultaneously shook their heads sadly.


“What?” Xander asked, somewhat off put by his friends reaction to his display of movie trivia.


“Does anyone ever wonder if Xander is actually a plant, spying on us for the nerds?” Tara asked, keeping her face as straight as possible. It proved a rather difficult task given the expression on Xander's face.


“Well, he did recognize those Klingon love poems last night,” added Dawn brightly. “That's a mark against him.”


“Hey!”


“He has had nerdish tendencies for as long as I've known him,” stated Willow sadly, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe it had escaped her attention for so long.


“Me! What about you?” Xander countered, waving a chunk of garlic bread in Willow's direction like a duelist's rapier. “You're the nerd. I'm more of a geek.”


“Hey!” retorted Willow in a stunning display of her debating skills. “I am not a nerd! Not anymore, anyway.”


“What's the difference between a nerd and a geek anyway?” asked Dawn.


As Willow, Xander and Dawn engaged in raucous discussion over what exactly defined and separated nerds and geeks, Tara turned to Buffy with a wry grin.


“Hard to believe that this is the crack support team that's helped you to stop ... how many apocalypses now?”


Buffy waved a pizza filled hand blasély. “Oh, I stopped keeping count a while back.”


“Yeah, she ran out of fingers and toes,” quipped Dawn during a pause in the closely contested verbal battle she was involved in. Buffy's response was quick and to the point. She hurled a chuck of garlic bread at Dawn's head.


The teenager gleefully retaliated, and the meal swiftly dissolved into a fully-fledged food fight. As Tara ducked out of the way as best she could, she watched these people who had come to mean almost as much to her as Willow did. Her friends, her adopted family. A disparate group of misfits drawn together by Buffy's fight against the encroaching forces of darkness.


Together, they had stood shoulder to shoulder through the worst the Hellmouth could throw at them, and had come through victorious every time. Sometimes at great cost, Tara mused, seeing once more in her mind's eye that terrible moment when Buffy had leapt from the top of Glory's tower.


The blonde witch's heart swelled with pride for all of them, not least of all for herself. She was wanted, accepted, needed. It was a good feeling. Tara decided to show her love for all of these wonderful people that best way she could at that moment. She grabbed the nearest foodstuff to hand and joined in.


**********


Rupert Giles stood in the driveway and stared at the familiar house before him. A house that had grown increasingly familiar to him over the years, until it was almost a second home. The watcher shifted his shoulders beneath his trench coat. He wasn't especially looking forward to the coming confrontation. In truth, he dreaded it with every fiber of his being.


While Giles might not be able to claim any biological connection to any of them, in every way that mattered these ... exasperating, astounding individuals were his children. He loved them as such, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it aloud. But he had failed them, especially failed one of them in particular, and so he dreaded the storm to come.


Once more unto the breach. Giles squared his shoulder and started forward. The front door, unsurprisingly, was unlocked. Does no-one in this town have any comprehension of the meaning of the word security? He swiftly dismissed the guilty thought of how many times he himself had left the door of his flat unlocked.


He stepped quietly inside, wary of what he would find. His eyes turned to the right, to the dining room, and Giles froze rigid as he beheld the sight he had dreaded he would find. Buffy, his Slayer, his friend, his daughter, was slumped in a chair at the head of the table facing him. Her limbs akimbo, head tilted back, eyes closed. She was splattered with blood.


Dear lord, I'm too late. She's dead.


Giles staggered, overcome with emotion. No amount of British stiff-upper-lip attitude could help the watcher now, because she was gone. Again. I failed her again.


Then the impossible happened. Buffy's corpse opened her eyes and raised her head. Giles, despite his many years spent waging war against the forces of darkness, could do little more than gape in appalled shock.


Not this. Please God, she has survived so much, done so much good. Don't visit this final indignity upon her. Don't make me do what has to be done.


“Giles?”


The voice was exactly as he remembered it; clear and bright, even if it was currently flavored with surprise. She almost sounds alive. Dear God, help me.


Buffy bounded to her feet with far more energy than any other zombie Giles had ever seen. She started forward, face alight with startled delight.


“Giles, what are you doing here?” Buffy blurted, wincing slightly as she realized what she'd just said. “Not that I'm not glad to see you, because ... well see, I'm all with the happy, it's just normally you would call before you fly all the way from England unless there's an apocalypse, and oh my god I'm babbling like Willow now.”


“It's contagious,” noted another voice from around the corner, which in his shock Giles barely identified as belonging to Dawn. “So sad. I guess we'll have to put her down. There's nothing we can do for a case that bad.”


“Quiet, you!” Buffy shot back affectionately.


“I've been saying for years that Willow-itis would be the death of us all,” added Xander's voice. Both of them appeared behind Buffy, sharing her expression of mixed joy and suspicion, and just as equally splattered with blood.


“Giles, what's wrong with your face?” Buffy asked anxiously, as she drew near enough to see the watcher's expression. “You didn't have a stroke or something, did you?”


The blonde was finally close enough to Giles for him to understand. What he had at first mistaken for blood was actually tomato sauce. As his heartbeat slowed, and the organ in question tried to retreat from his throat, Giles lunged forward and caught Buffy in a tight embrace.


“An apocalypse is definitely coming,” Xander offered.


“Yep,” added Dawn. “We're all doomed.”


“So what else is new?”


Giles finally released Buffy, uncaring of the fact that he was now as liberally splattered with tomato sauce as Buffy was. For her part, the Slayer regarded her former watcher with a bemused smile.


“What's with the touchy feel-y welcome, Giles? You're normally more ... British.”


“Buffy ... I ... I just thought ...” The watcher's voice trailed off as Willow stepped into view, holding aloft an empty tub of ice-cream.


“Hey, what's the ruckus out here? And who ate the last of the ice-cream and put the container back in the freezer?” Willow shook the offending container accusingly. “Because that really ... Giles! You're here!”


Willow tossed the ice-cream container aside and rushed forward, arms spread wide to hug Giles. When the watcher stepped back with a look of bewilderment, she stumbled to a stop and let her arms fall.


“Oh, right. Sorry. You're too British to indulge in our frightfully American form of physical greeting,” she muttered, her face openly reflecting a mild hurt.


“He hugged Buffy,” Dawn informed Willow helpfully.


“He did? Giles? Is there an apocalypse coming? And why don't I get a hug? ... Giles, why are you staring at me like that?”


“Willow ...” Giles finally managed to stammer. “You ... you're ok?”


“What, me? I'm fine and dandy. In fact, I'm super fine with an extra helping of dandy.” Her voice trailed off beneath the weight of Giles' searching gaze. “Err ... why wouldn't I be?”


“I'd have to say you're more than super fine, sweetie,” stated Tara as she emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “I'd have to say you're foxy as well.”


If Giles reaction to Willow was peculiar, his reaction to Tara was positively comical. He recoiled, eyes bulging in shock, until his back slammed into the wall behind him.


“Mr Giles? A.. are you ok?” asked Tara, her stutter making what was now a rare appearance.


“Tara? ... You ... you're alive!” Tara blinked in surprise, but Willow looked positively panicked.


“What! Of course she's alive, Giles! Why would you even say something like that!” Willow yelped, pulling her lover into a protective embrace, even going so far as to pull Tara away from Giles as if he posed a threat.


Giles shook his head, his face a mixture of shock and amazement. He shakily made his way to a chair and sat down. After a moment's anxious waiting, he looked up at the scoobies.


“There ... there's a coven in Devon I'm acquainted with. They have a seer, who told me that Tara had been killed, and a dangerously powerful force of magic had arisen in Sunnydale. They imbued me with their powers, and I came to ... help.”


“Well, I think your seer needs the prescription on her crystal ball checked, because Tara isn't dead,” snapped Willow. “And she's not going to!”


“Sweetie, it's ok. Mr Giles didn't mean ...” Tara murmured, rubbing her hands soothingly along Willow's arms, seeking to disarm her lover's rampant fears with the simple magic of human touch.


“I know, baby,” sighed Willow, her brow furrowing. “I just hate anyone even mentioning the possibility of me losing you.”


“Uh ... Giles, shonky tea leaves aside, even if you thought Tara was dead, why'd you get all wiggy when you saw Willow?” Xander asked, shooting an apologetic glance at Willow for fear that he would set her off again.


Giles shifted uncomfortably. But before he could open his mouth, Tara spoke in his place.


“You thought this new power was Willow, didn't you?” she asked softly but intently. Giles hesitated as the other scoobies looked between him and Tara in disbelief, then finally nodded sadly. The room erupted in a furious out roar as Buffy, Xander and Dawn all spoke at once.


“That's impossible! Willow would never ...”


“Did you get hit on the head yet again, Giles?”


“What the heck have you been smoking over there in England?”


Everyone stared at Dawn. The teenager shifted uncomfortably, then shrugged. “What? It seemed like the right thing to say.”


“Giles, I couldn't be this ... new mega mojo baddie. I'm done with magic.”


Giles' head shot up, fixing Willow with an intent gaze that even now made her feel like she was back in High School. “What do you mean, Willow? Done with magic in what way?”


“I'm done with magic in every way, Giles. Me and magic are two things that ... er ... no longer have anything to do with each other whatsoever.” Her voice trailed off. Admitting to this man who had been her teacher in so many ways, who she had, and still did admire immensely, that she had become addicted was an idea that filled her with dread.


“Oh.” From the tone in his voice, Willow knew for a fact that this issue would be brought up again. She just hoped she would be ready for it.


“So, we have a new big bad to research?” interjected Buffy, drawing Giles' attention away from the upset witch. Willow could've kissed her best friend for that, if not for the fact that she would much rather kiss Tara instead.


“Ah ... yes, I suppose so,” replied Giles, drawing himself tiredly to his feet. “Though I would like to know exactly why all of you look like extras from one of Xander's appalling horror movies?”


**********


The next week passed slowly, as time seems wont to do whenever people least want it to. All of the scoobies' research on Giles' potential new big bad had proved irritatingly fruitless. Given the scarcity of information Giles' contacts in the coven at Devon had been able to provide, that fact wasn't particularly surprising.


Neither had their investigations into the coven seer's report of Tara's death discovered any information, a situation that Willow did not take at all well. Nearly the entire week had passed before she was willing to allow Tara out of her sight, and being separated for any amount of time still made the redhead anxious.


As the days passed, with Tara staying defiantly alive, and no new force of evil making it's presence felt with rains of toads or the like, the scoobies gradually began to relax from their state of constant wariness and began to revert back to their normal day-to-day routines.


Buffy continued to patrol, and reported nothing out of the ordinary, beyond the usual parade of supernatural predators for her to slay. Giles consumed pot after pot of tea, and continued to scour every source of information at his disposal, after assuring Anya that he was not planning to take back managerial control of the Magic Box. Dawn went back to school, and the barely restrained warfare that was the social life of a teenager.


Xander worked, both at his construction job, and at attempting to rebuild his relationship with Anya. Thus far, his efforts had earned him five hang-ups on the phone, three doors slammed in his face, and one especially teary request for him to 'go to hell and get poked in the butt with red-hot pitchforks'. He was convinced that he was making progress, since there was no mention of emasculation or evisceration.


In Willow and Tara's case, the two witches spent as much time together as possible. Even once Tara began to believe that her assurances to Willow that she wasn't going anywhere began to sink in, the two women were rarely found apart. This didn't concern either of them in the slightest, given that in both of their opinions, they had both spent far too much time alone of late.


As the week drew to a close, they sat in the dining room of the Summers house, involved in a subdued discussion with Buffy and Giles as to what their next move could be. That night's dinner had been a lack luster affair. The complete lack of progress of any kind, in any of the myriad of problems confronting the scoobies, had stunted everyone's appetite, even Buffy's.


“Is there any chance that the coven might have been wrong, Giles?” Tara asked wearily. “A.. about me ... and the other thing?”


Tara was careful not to actually mention the possibility of her own death. The tightening of Willow's grip upon her knee told her that even now, the redhead stubbornly refused to even consider it. The past week had been especially tiring for Tara. After all, it wasn't every day that you found out that you were supposed to be dead, and the effort she'd put into ensuring that Willow's fears of losing her didn't tear her lover apart, hadn't helped.


Giles slipped off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I honestly don't know, Tara. Given past experience, I'm inclined to believe in what the coven sensed. But given certain undeniable facts,” he stated, gesturing at Tara as she was one of those undeniable facts, “I'm prepared to admit the possibility that they were, indeed wrong.”


“I think that meant yes,” drawled Buffy from where she sat with her head face down on the table, cradled by her own arms.


“In essence, that's exactly what I meant, Buffy.”


“So, what now you're saying that Tara isn't going to die?” Willow demanded.


The watcher sighed and slipped his glasses back on. “Willow, I've explained this before. The seer at the coven told me that Tara was already dead, not that she was going to die.”


“I know, Giles. I'm sorry.” Willow reached out with her free hand, and squeezed Giles' in apology. “It's just the very idea, it just ...”


“It's perfectly understandable, Willow. None of us want to even contemplate losing Tara.”


“So how about we don't lose anyone,” Buffy stated firmly, her expression closely mirroring Willow's famous 'resolve-face'.


“We're too late.”


All four heads snapped around as one. Dawn stood just outside the dining room, one arm pointing into the living room where, until recently, she had been idly channel surfing.


“Dawn?” Buffy queried, springing to her feet and settling unconsciously into a defensive position.


“I found Warren,” stated Dawn plainly, then turned back into the living room. The others followed her quickly, to discover the television tuned into what appeared to be a news bulletin.


“... For those of you just tuning in, a ... horribly mutilated corpse has been discovered on the front steps of the Sunnydale City Hall. A source has just informed me that the body has been identified as Warren Mears, a local collage student wanted for questioning by the Sunnydale Police Department on several matters relating ...”


**********


Almost nothing I do is by chance. I do not indulge in whim or fancy, and I rarely allow myself to be swayed by matters of conscience or emotion. Such ... frivolous pleasures are not for me. Not so long as my ultimate goal remains unachieved. Until that day, my life will remain ruled by shadows, deception and misdirection.


As such, the public display of what was left of the wretched Warren Mears after I was finished with him was not an idle act. It serves multiple purposes. First, it was ... personally satisfying, and it will also serve as an admirable object lesson as to what happens to those who get in my way.


But first and foremost, it lessened the number of officers present at the Sunnydale Police Department. The sudden appearance of my 'little present' on the very doorstep of the seat of human power in this be-damned little town sent the majority of Sunnydale's police officers scurrying like ants.


So, when I limped into the headquarters of the SPD, it was a relatively simple process to cloud their minds. Cloaked in glamour, little more than mist and shadow barely glimpsed from the corner of the eye, I weaved between those few officers left. They do not see me. They do not hear me. Both seem something of a habit for the deluded citizens who dwell upon this hellmouth. The fools deserve to be prey for whatever hell-beast ends up devouring them.


Of course, I could simply have burned the building to the ground, and slaughtered every last person alive within, but such a crass display of brute strength would be a waste of power. Nor will I tip my hand at this early stage of the game. Far too much is uncertain, and I can not, will not risk everything I have worked for. Subtlety will suffice. For now.


I make my way upstairs, guided by helpfully posted signs. The door to the cell block is guarded by a single officer, a fat oaf who likely consumes more than I weigh in donuts each day. It is simplicity itself to whisper in his ear and plant a suggestion. The fool will spend the next half hour in the bathroom, fighting off a exceptionally bad case of diarrhea that he does not actually have.


Once the cop has groaned, and fled to the nearest toilet, I open the locked door with a wave of my hand and step inside. I hear a pair of voices bickering as I do so, and I smile. They are here. Good. Everything is going according to plan.


I spend a moment watching the pair argue. One of them is new to me, but the other ... the other I know. For a brief second, I see in my mind his face as I last beheld it. Eyes bulging in terror, mouth open in a silent scream, splattered with blood. My face twitches fractionally. I bore him no particular ill will, but for as long as I knew him, the voice of Andrew Wells set my teeth on edge.


I begin to pay attention to their argument. Andrew believes that Warren will come for him, rescue him. I find the idea ... doubtful. Especially given the state in which I left him. The other one, Jonathan, is scornful. It is almost enough to make me like him. It will not stop me from butchering him as I did Warren should I decide it is necessary, though.


Enough of this. I let the glamour fall as I stand before their cell door. Andrew responds as I anticipated; he shrieks like a small child and leaps away. Jonathan's reaction is marginally better. He only gulps and lurches backward. The sudden fear I feel from the both of them is invigorating.


“Gentlemen.”


“Who ... who are you?” Jonathan asks. He is afraid, but he is beginning to master his fear. I feel a twinge of respect for the whelp, and ruthlessly quash it. I can not afford to entertain such thoughts.


Andrew broke in before I could speak. “Did Warren send to to bust me out? Are we going to stage a jail-break?”


I glare at the fool, and silence his tongue with a flick of my fingers and a pulse of magic. Andrew's mouth flaps soundlessly for a few moments, then his eyes bulge. I feel a brief flare of appreciation from Jonathan before it is overwhelmed by resurgent fear.


“Mind your tongue in front of your betters, boy, lest I tear it from your very mouth,' I hiss, before I regretfully release the spell. I would prefer not to, but I may need to hear the imbecile speak. The fool sits down on a bunk bed so fast it is as if his legs had ceased to work. “I have been in recent contact with Mr Mears, after a fashion. But he will not be coming for you.”


“I kind of doubt you're here to bust us out of jail,” replied Jonathan, striving for calm, but not quite achieving it. “What is it you want?”


“What have you told the police about your crime?”


“Nothing!” blurts Andrew. “We're not stool pigeons!” Both Jonathan and I glare at the fool, and he subsides as rapidly as a burst balloon.


“You have mentioned nothing of the Slayer's involvement?”


“You know the Slayer?” Jonathan asks, his eyes narrowing.


I lunge forward, my magic gifting me with more speed and strength than any mortal man could hope to wield. My hand darts between the bars and snaps shut around his neck. Hauling him against the bars, I raise Jonathan from the ground one handed.


“Do not trifle with me, boy!” Lightning sparks from my eyes with the force of my fury, and I feel their fear of me triple. It is gratifying, and I soothe my anger enough to release Jonathan. “Answer the question!”


“We ... we haven't told the police anything about Buffy,” stammers the small man as he massages his throat. My grip will probably have left bruises.


“Excellent. See that you both keep it that way. I have plans for the Slayer, and her little friends too. Plans that would be thrown into disarray should they be entwined in the bureaucratic red tape of the human justice system.”


I pause to let my words sink in. I was careful to make them think that Buffy was the primary focus of my attentions. In the unlikely event that these two should communicate with the Slayer it is far better for the Slayer to think my attention is upon her, rather than Willow.


“Should such an event take place, I will be ... most vexed. That would not be ... healthy for either of you.”


“We won't talk!” Andrew nearly wails.


“See that you do not.” Reaching forward, I place a small cloth wrapped bundle on one of the cross-bars. “A farewell present from Mr Mears. Something very intimate of his. Think of this, should you ever feel tempted to cross my will.”


With that final word, I turn and sweep out, hiding beneath glamour once more. Just before the door closes behind me, I hear both of them scream as they unwrap my gift and discover Warren Mears' severed trigger finger. Their shrieks bring a cruel smile to my face, but my heart remains cold and filled with hate.


To be continued ...

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

from an unofficially named kitten board addict
you really have my interest peaked in this one as to who the dark stranger is
next update please fast


hahler

_________________
"Clark there is no such thing as vampires" James Marsters in 'Smallville'

That's so very dark. Like darkness within the darkness it birthed. And of course that nagging question as we read your words: "Who in the craphole is the guy and why's he got a hard-on for the Willow one?" For power, I guess. But why's he so icky and mean. Ickiness and mean are sure signs that you're evil one is . . . evil.



Well I mean. Nerd . . . Pizza. I think we all know the answer my friend.

Oh and heehee, the humorous joules oops, jewels. The Willow-itis bit and the Giles-hugging extravanganza!

The Giles moment was particularly noteable because you managed to mingle humor and exposition. YOU ROCK MY SOCKS (even though I'm wearing none. They're dancing in their drawer I assure you.) The whole "failed her" part was sort of heartwrenching and laughable at the same time. I didn't whether I should laugh or cry! I'm such a bundle of confusion!!!

But honestly, your idea for the plot Fabulous how you interchanged one horrible horrible horrible evil villain for a more dangerous and icky one. But one who shalt not kill, lest he (read: you) feel the wrath of the furry ones. Hehe, lest. I can't believe icky man said lest. Best word.

Anywho, merci for your story. Hoping for more!!!!

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sheep go to heaven. goats go to hell

Hmm... I wonder why The Unamed Evil (the first few lines of it's description read a bit like a Very Dark Magic Willow btw.) found it personally gratifying to kill/torture Warren? Past experience in another dimension perhaps? TUE hasn't done anything evil yet, killing Warren is considered charity surely .

Not sure who would ever believe Andrew on his word to keep quiet, doubt that was very wise . I like to guess at motives and such, can't determine one for TUE yet. It's current actions are good for the scoobies, yet that only seems to be a side-effect as TUE needs some scoobies for it's own plans.

For example, why wait until Warren is almost near his target with gun in hand? Why not kill him as soon as he gets the gun to begin with? Being so close to the Buffy home is hazardous and it doesn't seem to offer any advantage really.

Besides which it hugely annoyed and scared me that some witch-type thing could just magic it's way around that house. That should obviously NOT be possible. Once Willow gets over her stupid magic=evil perception she'll need to increase security pronto (plenty of motivation for that too, Tara lives there ).

I hope Willow will come to see that not the magic was nessecarely evil (it saved Buffy often enough) but the she (sometimes) used it. Takes more effort to solve that problem as opposed to throwing away all magic, sure.. but the end-result is better .

Giles' entry was a suprising twist, esp. the seer part. The strange thing is that the seer already saw Tara as dead, so it wasn't a changed future but different timeline or something?

I wonder if they ever asked Giles why he thought it plausible that Willow would be the big bad magic power? Should be a most interesting conversation. Much more interesting than Willow being 'done with' magic . I found it endearing how much Willow didn't want to hear about dying or being dead, must have been quite a shock to hear such predication of sorts.

TUE has nifty sarcastic humor at times btw. "Andrew believes that Warren will come for him, rescue him. I find the idea ... doubtful. Especially given the state in which I left him.".. hehe

Looks to be an interesting story definitly no blubbering required , thanks for posting it!! .

Grimmy

_________________
"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

G'day all.

Well, it's definitely Spring in Oz. I can say that with absolute authority because when I was out on a nice, peaceful Sunday morning walk, I got dive-bombed by a bloody magpie. Bloody pox-ridden birds and their stupid breeding season.

Right then, replies first, then on to Part 4.

hahler - You're addicted to the Kitten board? You poor thing. Here, have some complementary heroin. Is this update fast enough for you?

beanie - It's dark? Really? No-one told me! How the hell did that happen? Oh right, I wrote it that way.



I like that. Very ... I can't actually think of a good word to describe it, so I'll have to stick with good. Kind of bland, but what the hell.

Why is Mr No-name after the Willow-y One? Well, it could be for power, after all, the girl's got it in spades, even if she is refusing to use it at the moment. Might not be that too. You'll just have to wait and see.

Pizza, well what can I say. How could anyone not like a food that comes smothered in melted cheese. Arteries be damned!

Woo hoo! I rocked your socks! You might want to get them under control though, or they might just dance out the door and you'll be left sockless with cold feet. Don't want that.

Hey, if I'm causing multiple conflicting emotions simultaneously with this I must be doing something right.

You better believe that my villain is more dangerous than Warren. That's not saying too much though, since the reanimated corpse of a gerbil would be scarier than that wanker.

Glad you liked the lest part. It's fun to talk like that. Kind of like in Star Wars, where most of the villains are played by Brits with very proper speech patterns.

Don't worry, no lasting harm will come to our girls. I've no desire to spend the rest of my life running from pissed off Kittens.

Hope no more, Beanie, for more is up right after this.

grimlock72 - All right! Someone's asking questions. Yep, TUE does have something personal against the late, definitely-not-great Warren. As to what exactly that is, well I'm not telling yet. Yeah, there are certain similarities between him and DMW, but it's the differences that are going to be interesting.

Well, he hasn't done much that would count as evil yet I suppose, if you don't count torturing Warren to death. He definitely hasn't done anything nice though has he. I mean, he virtually mind-raped that jogger at the start, so he's not a nice guy.

Yeah, trusting Andrew to do much of anything besides screw up and make a dick out of himself is kind of wishful thinking, but we'll see how it pans out.

You're spot on about TUE's plans having beneficial effects for the scoobies at the moment, but the full scope of his plans haven't even been scratched yet.

As to why he waited until Warren was going to hit Buffy to intervene? Well, I don't want to give anything away, but lets just imagine that Warren has some kind of magical shielding device that inhibits locater spells. Otherwise, I would have expected Tara to be able to find his lair pretty easily.

Yeah, Willow needs to do some serious upgrades to their magical defenses, but on the show at least we only saw her doing those kinds of things when they were actually being attacked. Plus, TUE didn't actually magic any part of the house itself, more everything around it. If there's one thing this guy is good at, it's keeping himself hidden when he wants to be.

Don't worry, I'll be addressing Willow's use of magic, or the lack thereof at a latter stage.

With regards to the seer's belief that Tara was dead, I'm kind of seeing it as her seeing what was supposed to have happened according to Fate's design. What exactly TUE's meddling will mean for this, well we'll just have to wait and see.

Did you read my mind? You're not running around screaming 'The horror, the horror' so I'm guessing you didn't, but I address the why question that Giles raised in this very update. Creepy.

Yep, TUE has a skewed sense of humor. His entire world view is sorta skewed though, so it's no big surprise.

Check, canceling the blubbering. Thanks for reading, Grimmy.

Oy vey, these replies are almost an update by themselves. Oh well, I just like to ramble on.

Hoo roo,
Paul.

**********

Title: At Any Cost


Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula


Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )


Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.


Disclaimers: Well, I still own nothing but an ever growing DVD collection, a pair of cold feet, what feels like the start of a sore throat and that pesky flock of winged monkeys. Speaking of which ... give me that back you little winged bastard! OW! Stop biting me ...


Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.


Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.


Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.


Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.


Author's Notes: The author wishes to note that ... well he doesn't actually have anything to say. So .... er .... bye.


Thoughts are in italics.


The story so far ... Tara and Willow are back together, though somewhat shaken by the return of Giles, who turned up expecting to face off with Dark Magic Willow. Meanwhile, Warren has turned up, thought he might have to be taken into custody in a bucket, and our new player continues to screw with everyone he wants, the latest examples being Jonathan and Andrew.


Part 4.


“Are you ready to talk about it yet, sweetie?” Tara whispered in Willow's ear as they lay spooned together in bed. Her girlfriend's body was languid and relaxed in her arms, but Tara was sure that Willow wasn't asleep yet.


“Hmm?” Willow murmured sleepily, proving Tara's suspicions correct. “Ready to talk about what what, baby?”


“About what Mr Giles said.” As Tara expected, Willow's body went rigid with tension in her arms. Tara began stroking each space of bare flesh she could find on Willow's body. There was nothing sexual in Tara's gentle touch, not at this point anyway. Instead, she was trying to relax Willow, to bring the redhead to a point where she would be able to think as opposed to react on pure emotion.


“What is there to say, Tara? If Giles is right, you ... you're supposed to be dead, right now, not holding me in your arms.” Willow's voice was flat, and faintly bitter.


Tara shook her head. “No, Willow. Not that.” Tara paused, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. I have to get this right. I have to get Willow to understand what I'm talking about. But I'm afraid. Goddess, I'm so afraid that I'll hurt her.


“To be honest, sweetie, I think we've talked ... that subject to death. We both know how the other feels about it, and it's actually kind of creepy to keep talking about it.”


Willow turned to face her, mild panic and self-reproach on her open face. “Tara, I'm ... God I'm so sorry. I didn't think ... I didn't mean to ...”


Tara broke Willow's rambling apology by means of a soft kiss that left Willow blinking. “Will, I know you didn't mean anything by it. It's ok. Honestly, I'd be kind of hurt if you weren't a little freaked out.”


“Oh, I'm more than a little freaked out. I'm way freaked out. I'm so freaked out, I can't possibly freak out any more.”


That crooked smile that Willow adored so appeared on Tara's lips, and Willow kissed her again, deeper this time. The blonde responded with equal passion, and soon they were kissing with scorching intensity, as if they wanted to devour each other, body and soul.


Tara reluctantly broke away first, gasping for air, chest heaving in a way that only served to make Willow more excited. The redhead began to lean forward, eager to continue, but Tara gently but firmly pushed her back as she caught her breath.


“No, we have to do this now, Willow,” Tara panted. “If we don't, we'll just keep putting it off.”


“Ok, right. Put a hold on the hot lesbian lovin'. Check. Reluctant check, but still. What was it we were going to talk about?”


“About Giles thinking that you were this new power.”


Willow gaped in surprise. That was the last thing she had expected Tara to say. Well, perhaps not the last thing. That would probably something like ... she wants to run away and marry George Bush Jr.


“Why do we need to talk about that, Tara? It's utterly ridiculous!” blurted Willow.


“Is it?” Tara asked quietly. She reached out to hold Willow's hand, but the redhead slapped her hand away angrily and leapt out of bed.


“What? Do you really think I could just ... up and turn evil like that? Tara, do you really think that little of me?”


Tara jumped out of bed as well. Her first instinct was to rush to Willow, to hold her, comfort her, tell her that everything was ok, but the angry tone of Willow's body language told Tara in no uncertain terms that her lover didn't want to be touched.


“Will, sweetie, it's not like that ...” Tara pleaded, but Willow cut her off with a brutal slashing movement in the air with one hand.


“Really? Then tell me, Tara. How is it?” demanded Willow. “Is it because I'm an addict? Huh? Is that it? Or is it just some other gaping character flaw in me that only you have noticed?”


“Willow, please ...”


“No! Tell me, Tara! What is so wrong with me? Huh? What is it in me that's broken?” Both women were nearly in tears at this point.


“I was s... supposed to be d... dead!”


“No! Don't say that! Stop saying that!”


“Willow, when G... Glory stole my mind, you attacked her. You resorted to b... black magic and you attacked her!”


“No.” Willow's voice was suddenly barely more than a whisper. “Stop it.”


Tara did not heed her lover's plea. She knew, beyond a doubt that what she had started here had to be finished, to be brought out into the light and lanced, before it festered like an infected boil.


“If I d... died, if someone took me away from you, can you really say what you would do? How you would react?”


Willow fell to her knees, tears running freely down her cheeks. “No,” she begged. “Please don't ask me that.”


Tara dropped to her own knees before her distraught girlfriend. Reaching out, she cupped Willow's chin in one hand and raised her head so that they were face to face.


“Why not, Willow?” she asked gently, probing into the depths of Willow's emerald eyes.


“Because I'm afraid Giles was right!” Willow wailed, and collapsed into Tara's arms, sobbing inconsolably.


Tara held Willow close, rubbing her lover's back and whispering soothing words into her ears. Slowly, Willow's sobs slowed, and eventually stopped. She sat back up, wiping at eyes that were blotchy and red from crying.


“Shh, Willow. It's ok. Everything is ok.”


“No, baby. It's not ok. Giles was right, I know it. If anything ever happened to you ...”


“Sweetie, I'm ok. I'm fine, and I'm going to stay that way.”


“You can't know that, Tara. The life we lead, here on the hellmouth ...” Willow paused briefly, then grabbed Tara's shoulders in a desperate
grip. “We could leave. We could just go.”


Tara shook her head sadly, and pressed a soft kiss on Willow's forehead. “Willow, sweetie, you wouldn't be the same woman I fell desperately in love with if you could run away from what was right.”


“But ...”


“This is where you belong, Willow. It's where we both belong. Fighting the good fight, helping Buffy, saving the world. It's not just what we do, it's part of who we are.”


“I just don't ever want to lose you, baby. I'm lost without you.”


Tara sighed, and wrapped Willow in a tight embrace. “I wish that I could promise that would never happen, sweetie. But it would be a lie. I can't guarantee that. Even if we did leave, even if we never saw another vampire or demon again in our lives, I couldn't guarantee that.”


Willow huddled silently in the shelter of Tara's arms, the rasp of her uneven breathing the only sound she made. Finally, she spoke. “What if I fall, Tara. What if I slip, if I use magic again. What if I become what Giles was afraid of?”


“Everyone has the potential for evil inside them, Willow. Even me.” Tara shushed Willow's indignant denial before it had a chance to start. “But now we know your fears, we can guard against them. We can deny them any power over you.”


Tara paused to look deeply into Willow's eyes. Into the eyes of the woman she loved with all her heart, the woman whose very presence in her life had saved her from a lifetime of fear and loneliness.


“Willow, for a long time, I let my fears rule my life. I don't want that for you.”


“You lived your life in shadow,” added Willow with the ghost of a smile on her face. Tara beamed at the memory that Willow invoked.


“That's right, I lived my life in shadow. But you saved me. You showed me how to move past my fears, to deny any power they held over me. Now, it's my turn to save you. Let me save you, Willow Rosenberg.”


Willow finally smiled, and to Tara it was as if the sun had finally emerged after a month long thunderstorm.


“Always.”


**********


I dream as I lie curled in upon myself on the cold dirt floor of the cave where I have made my lair, where Warren Mears spent his final, agonizing week. Dreams can be beautiful things, full of light and grace. They can give us the strength to carry on through our darkest moments, inspire us to new heights.


My dreams are never beautiful, never peaceful. They are full of screaming, and pain, and suffering. The building blocks of my wretched existence. The taint of darkness that has burrowed through me almost from the time of my conception haunts my sleep. It is one reason I rarely sleep much anymore.


The taint is always there, whispering to me in my head, urging me to fall ever further into the abyss. Once, long ago, I fought against it with everything I had, every last scrap of will and strength I possessed. Then came that dark day when my life was destroyed, when my sole reason for living was stolen from me by capricious fate.


On that day, I stopped fighting. I succumbed. No, more than that. I embraced the taint, let it curl further through my soul, let it corrupt and twist everything inside me that had once so wanted to be good. I did it for power. I did it to come here, to this time and place. I have done so much evil, committed so many atrocities, solely to come here. To get to Willow.


This night, it is Willow Rosenberg herself who haunts my troubled slumber, Willow who taunts and baits me. She tells me I am weak, pathetic, a wretched excuse for a man who should have been smothered at childbirth. Part of me agrees with her.


She tells me I have failed. That I could never have succeeded. I am too weak, I lack the power to ever hope to achieve my goals. She howls in savage glee that I am broken inside, that there is a piece of me missing, that there always was. She denies me, and I finally react. I burn her, scour her from the face of the planet. I obliterate every single trace of my tormentor's existence.


I wake screaming. Tear run from my remaining eye. The cold, ice-blue crystal construct with which I replaced my missing eye is incapable of doing so. Even as I scramble to hands and knees, heart bounding fiercely, a cold, quiet place in my mind checks the wards I have woven around my lair. They are undisturbed.


I have not failed. I have not failed. I repeat the words over and over, a mantra dedicated to my obsession. I will not fail.


A deep, hacking cough rips through me, and I spit blood. The magic is scourging me from the inside, rotting my lungs in my body. No mortal creature was meant to wield the amount of power I have accumulated over the past two decades, and if it is left unattended, it will slowly kill me. I will need supplies if I am to reverse the damage. For that, I will need currency.


But that could wait. I hunger, not for food, but for violence. The darkest parts of my soul, my boundless hate and rage call for action. They call for the fleeting sensation of peace that the visceral thrill of the hunt brings to me. I hunger for prey. If there is one thing that Sunnydale does not lack, it is suitable prey.


I hunt.


**********


“So ... you really think Willow could have gone over to the dark side?”


Giles turned his head to face Buffy as they weaved their way between headstones. The watcher had to guiltily admit to himself that he had been lost in memory as opposed to keeping an eye out for threats. The simple act of patrolling with his Slayer brought back so many memories. Giles only noticed that he hadn't actually replied when he noticed the raised eyebrow with which Buffy was regarding him.


“So sorry, Buffy. I'm afraid I was lost in thought.”


“Yeah, that thought place is worse than a shopping mall parking lot for getting lost in. I'm glad I don't go there too often. Did you find your way out all right?”


“Quite. Thanks ever so much for your concern,” replied Giles dryly.


“So how about you answer the question then, watcher-guy?”


Giles sighed, and leaned back against a nearby crypt. Buffy took the hint and took up a perch on the edge of a tombstone, facing him.


“That's not an easy question to answer, Buffy. Did I think I was coming here to face Willow? I'm afraid I did.”


“So you do think it's possible.” Buffy sounded vaguely disappointed, as if she had wanted Giles to lie to her, to tell her it was all a mistake and that everything would be alright.


“Buffy, every single one of us has the potential to do evil inside of us, Willow included. Especially if something had happened to Tara.”


“Yeah,” Buffy replied morosely. “Like Will once said, love makes you do the wacky.”


“Err ... yes, quite right.”


“C'mon Giles, face it. All of our love lives have pretty much been disasters. When you lost Jenny, you went all lone-wolf Rambo and nearly got yourself killed. Xander's been a demon magnet since way back when, and then he pretty much did a Titanic to his own wedding.”


“He jumped onto the bow of a ship, and shouted that he was the king of the world to the accompaniment of the music of Celine Dion?”


“I meant more in the sense of the big iceberg ripping the ship open and killing everyone.”


“Ah yes, of course. How silly of me.”


“Don't even get me started on my own love life. There was the whole fiasco with Angel, the disaster with Riley, and God, please don't mention the insanity that was me sleeping with Spike.” Buffy realized what she was saying too late, and clapped her hand over her own mouth. But it was too late, the words had already been said.


Giles just stood there, jaw slack with surprise. Then, in contrary to all of her expectations, Giles burst into hysterical laughter. Buffy wasn't sure if she should be insulted, or relieved that Giles wasn't shouting at her. Instead, she found herself caught up in Giles' mirth, and found herself laughing along.


“Good grief, Buffy!” Giles blurted once he'd recovered enough composure to speak. “You slept with Spike? What on earth has been going on here?”


“What can I say? You're right, I guess we're all profoundly stupid.”


“Well, I knew that,” Giles replied in fond exasperation. “But I never expected you could all be this stupid.”


“That's us. Always exceeding your expectations,” quipped Buffy half-heartedly.


The two of them, Slayer and Watcher, sat there in companionable silence.


“Spike?” Giles finally stated, his tone thick with disbelief.


“Don't ask,” Buffy pleaded. “It's over, so ... just don't ask.”


Giles nodded in agreement. He was hard pressed to think of anything he would rather hear less of than the intimate details of Buffy and ... Spike. The very thought alone gave him shudders. He drew himself to his feet and held out a hand to Buffy.


“Shall we continue?”


“Indeed, let us continue,” replied Buffy in her best attempt at an English accent. It was so bad that Giles had to restrain another shudder.


“Please, don't do that ...”


“Giles, heads up!” Buffy shouted as she sprung to her feet, cutting him off.


A sprinting figure hurtled out of the night and crashed full on into Giles. The watcher hurtled sideways, crashing heavily into the same crypt he had been leaning against. The runner ricocheted the other way, tripping over the tombstone Buffy had just vacated and ploughing face first into the ground.


“Giles?” Buffy called out, and relief welled up inside her when Giles responded that he was ok. The Slayer cautiously approached the fallen runner, a stake at the ready, just in case.


Buffy's caution proved well founded when the runner lurched to his feet, revealing the tell-tale visage of a vampire in his game-face. What Buffy didn't expect, however, was the look of abject terror on the bloodsucker's face.


“He's coming!” babbled the vampire, his eyes wild and panicked.


“What?” Buffy asked, despite herself. “Who's coming?”


The vampire's eyes locked on Buffy's face, and she saw recognition bloom in his eyes.


“Slayer!”


“Crap,” muttered Buffy. Then the vampire threw a punch and suddenly she was too busy fighting to worry about the vampire's cryptic words.


**********


As I watched the Slayer fight with the vampire, I felt myself smile. Buffy moved, as always, as if she were part of a constantly fluid, brutal ballet. Once, I had wanted nothing more than to fight at her side, but those days were long dead and buried. Now, she was more likely to fight against me than with me. So be it. But the sight of her fighting still gave me a nostalgic thrill.


The vampire fell before her swiftly, clearly no match for her prowess. I had not doubted the outcome. One on one, I would wager on Buffy Summers against any mere vampire. For a slayer who had defeated a hell god, a single bloodsucker should pose no great challenge.


I felt a slight tang of disappointment when he dusted however. The chase he had led me would have made the kill all the sweeter once I had inevitably caught up to him. Still, I suppose I would have to be content with the sport his six companions had provided me. It's not like there is a shortage of vampires in Sunnydale.


I shifted slightly on my perch atop a mausoleum, and froze as Buffy spun in my direction. She heard me. Damn the keenness of her Slayer's senses. Still as sharp as ever.


“Buffy? What is it?” It was the Watchers voice. I guess he's back in the game. I hadn't been sure if he would turn up or not. It didn't matter. The presence of Rupert Giles would not overly affect my plans.


“I don't know. I thought I heard something.” The Slayer stared into the darkness, her gaze sweeping over where I hid, cloaked in glamour, several times. She didn't see me. Eventually, she shrugged and turned to her Watcher, asking him what he thought of the vampire's last words.


As they turned to leave, I felt a brush of power from the Watcher. My focus shifted immediately to the Englishman. My eyes narrowed as I quested towards him with a subtle flicker of my own magic.


Well, well, well, Giles. Aren't you just filled fit to burst with borrowed power. You could pose more of a threat than I had anticipated. That won't do. That won't do at all. Something ... shall have to be done about that.


**********


I sat quietly in the darkness, waiting. Patience is a virtue I learned long ago, and one of the few virtues I can still claim to possess. It had been simplicity itself to gain access to the room. No human built mechanical lock could hope to keep me at bay for long.


The faint scrape of a key in the lock signaled my prey's arrival. Silently, I rose to my feet and moved into the room corner with the darkest shadows. I vanished within those self same shadows.


The door swung open, revealing a silhouette cast by the lights in the hotel corridor. The figure stepped inside, closing the door behind them as they reached for the light switch. I moved with magically enhanced speed as they turned back around, so that my prey found himself face to face with me as the florescent lights flickered on.


“Why hello there, Ripper,” I rasped. The prey blanched, and before Rupert Giles could move, I struck.


To be continued ...

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

That's a rather evil cliffhanger, I wonder if it will be resolved next update. Those last words do offer an additional clue to who exactly is TUE though , together with the wanting to join Buffy's group fighting evil and his(?) thoughts about Willow taunting him (gender isn't mentioned in story as far I can see?). Add some magical capability and thats it.

Trouble is those clues don't point to any person I know of in BuffyVerse Puzzling... I most of all don't get the apparant hatred towards Willow TUE displays, that behaviour is very un-Willowish. So either it's not this Willow he is thinking about or his perception of events is rather different.

Still, if you hate Willow there's hardly a better way to make her life miserable than getting Tara killed. Which begs the question if this is purely a revenge mission or does TUE have a specific goal?
(and why does that vampire recognize him anyway, TUE came from a totally different place right??)

Yeah plenty of questions remain in this story

As for Willow going evil if/when Tara would be killed. Most anyone would go slightly crazy at such an event, a large percentage would also seek revenge. The trouble with Willow is that she has lots of power (still, even if she doesn't want it) and knowledge to actually execute that revenge and crazyness. Giles indeed also went a bit crazy when Jenny was killed, all he had however was crossbow and fire. Willow just has more means at her disposal, the reactions are the same across human beings.

I guess Giles and Willow won't a talk anytime soonish. It's interesting that all the glamours TUE uses don't shield sound to well. Maybe they can use that to build a TUE rader, much like in _Alien_ .

The whole titanic discussion was fun. Such dry humor, which I can easily see both Buffy and Giles using, if just to avoid the question asked.

TUE needs to check his facts on "For a slayer who had defeated a hell god" though. Buffy hardly defeated Glory single handed (come to think of it were did TUE get that info?), she just swung a hammer really hard. Willow had severely weakened her first and Giles eventually needed to finish the job. Yeah I prefer my Buffy series to end after season5, I like Willow saving Tara there ("she's with me" )

Enough rambling already (I get kinda protective of Willow after having seen season 6..yech), nice update

Grimmy

_________________
"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

ok im still addicted
you left some good clues in there and i think that i know who the new evil is. i want to see where you take this it is very.....................................


hahler

P.S. i am interested in seeing how and why xander came back from either from the future or an other dimension

_________________
"Clark there is no such thing as vampires" James Marsters in 'Smallville'

G'day all,

Sorry, no update yet. Those annoying little details of real life, like eating, sleeping, occasionally bathing, and going to work keep getting in the way. Stupid need to earn money. Bah. Anyway, on to some replies.

grimlock72 - Looks like I can rely on you to raise some interesting points, Grimmy. Not that I'm complaining. Hell, I like that you're questioning what's going on.

Yep, evil cliffhangers seem to be becoming something of a trademark here. A trend that will likely continue too. What's going to happen to the G-Man? Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?

I am sprinkling little tidbits about TUE's origin throughout the story. I'll be interested to see how long it takes before someone correctly ascertains what his connection to the scoobies is, because there definitely is one there. I just don't plan to make it too obvious.

One thing about the way Willow was acting in his dream ( you're right, TUE is male ) is that it was a dream, and one of his too boot. So what he saw in his dreams might not bear any resemblance to any form of reality.

You're spot on about killing Tara being the best way to make Willow miserable. Why is it then that he stopped Warren from doing so? Not to mention, how'd he know that Warren was going to kill her in the first place. Or did he even know that? Maybe he was just getting rid of the competition on principle. Evil principle, that is. I know of course, but I'm not telling.

A little clarification on the vampire's comment. He didn't actually know TUE, just that he was being chased by something that went through six of his buddies like a hot knife through butter. Basically, he was just scared shitless.

Yeah, TUE made a little slip there, letting himself be heard. The glamor's he uses are mostly visual camouflage. A TUE radar like the motion detectors in Alien? Sounds interesting. I can just see all the scoobies creeping around with that eerie beep sounding.

Glad you liked the Titanic quip. It was fun to write. They do all seem to use humor both to disarm tense situations, and to avoid uncomfortable topics.

You're right about Buffy having a lot of help to take down Glory. Still, TUE can only speak from his own point of view, and who knows where exactly he's getting his information. Oh right, I do.

Glad you're liking it so far Grimmy, so here's a wave back.


hahler - Right then, so I'm writing the fanfic equivalent of an addictive substance? I can live with that.

Ah ha! We have our very first guess as to Mr No-Name is - Xander Harris! Albeit from the future or another dimension. Okay, nice guess. Let's have a little look at it.

Well, they both only have one eye, after season 7 anyway. He possesses intimate knowledge of the scoobies, and their pasts. There's definitely been a connection between them at some point. And he knows Giles enough to refer to him as 'Ripper'.

All in all, not a bad guess. Are you right, though? .... What, were you expecting me to tell you? Not a chance of that. Sorry, but I prefer to keep you guessing. That whole evil part of my personality is flaring up again.

So, we have one vote for Alternate/Future Xander. Anyone else got a theory? Feel free to share them.

Bye for now,
Paul.

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

This is such a cool fic! I was trying to make a list of potential TUEs, and thought maybe Rack or Oz...

Cant wait for more!

~Sticks

_________________
Sticks: Spellbound Sapphic Saviour
JediBites.com | JediBites Forums

As for guess who TUE is, the clues don't line up yet for me:

1. Male
2. Wanted to fight evilness with Buffy earlier in life
Question: does that imply he never did or didn't think he did properly?
3. Magic abilities
4. Doesn't like Willow at all

Xander might match 1 and 2 (to some degree) but I find 4 and 3 especially a very hard fit. I first thought of Amy but she doesn't fit 1 nor 2 very much.

If we begin with a male with magic capabilities AND either a scooby or wanna-be-scooby... that just doesn't leave much possibilities. Jonathan perhaps but I think we would have seen that in the confrontation with this dimension's Jonathan. Besides, why would he hate Willow ???

clue#2 is causing me most trouble here

Come to think of it, how many males we know in the BuffyVerse with magic capabilities ?? Not that many. Got to think so more about this...

Grimmy

_________________
"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

Hey Paul
Well, this is fun. I like remakes of the latter seasons, and yours has such a good bad guy. It's all very intriguing: what's the origin of TUE and what's he up to?

If it wasn't for the fact that TUE is of the male persuasion, I'd be putting my money on DMW from a parallel dimension. As it is, I've no idea. I'm not convinced that TUE intends to harm Willow though. All of the thoughts about Willow are ambiguous: it seems to me he could be planning on setting up house (or should that be 'evil lair') with Willow as much as intending to hurt her. OK, maybe that's a stretch, but I'm interested to see where you take this.

Your use of the different POVs is very effective in getting across the feeling of each 'side' here. TUE's POV puts us inside his coldly evil thoughts, while the POV showing the Scoobies -what's that called anyway: omniscient, narrator, fly on the wall?? - displays the warmth and love in their lives despite their scary world.

Looking forward to the next update.

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

G'day, all.

If I might offer everyone a spot of unsolicited advice, if you possibly can, avoid the need for radiation therapy. Take it from someone who knows, it can kick seven kinds of shit out of your immune system. I swear, I seem to catch every little bug going around.

Right, now that little rant is off my chest, off to replies, then on to update-y goodness.


LtSticks - G'day Sticks! Always happy to meet someone who thinks my little story's cool.

Rack and Oz as potential TUE's huh? Well, Rack certainly mets the magical requirement, and he's an evil git to boot, so he's a definite possibility.

Oz ... well AntigoneUnbound did show that poor old dog-boy can make an effective villain in 'On Second Thought'. ( If you haven't read it yet, head over to the Archive and give it a squizz, you won't regret it. ) He could be harboring a grudge against Willow. After all, the strongest, most insidious hate is one that once came from a place of love.

Anyway, wait no longer, more more is here.


grimlock72 - Well now, Grimmy, you're really putting some thought into my little mystery. You raise some interesting points. I especially liked your question about point 2. Very acute observation.

However, being the evil git that I am, I just have to add a little something to the pot. The TUE might not be a cannon character, in which case ... well the best you can do is guess his relationship to the scoobies. Or I could just be blowing smoke.

Oh, it's so much fun being evil!


spells42 - Well, a big g'day to a fellow Aussie ( even if you are a cockroach. )

I'm glad you're finding it fun. I know I'm having a rare ol' time writing it. I'm especially glad you like the villain. The story wouldn't really work without him, so I've a soft spot for the ruthless bastard.

DMW from an alternate dimension? That's actually not a bad idea, even given the gender clash. It could be like that episode of 'Red Dwarf' where the crew run into an AU version of themselves where their counterparts have reversed genders.

Well picked up on the ambiguous nature of his thoughts re. Willow. Does he actually mean her any actual physical harm? Or, as you suggested, does he want to setup lair with her? I'm intentionally keeping the exact nature of his goals hidden, but I'm glad you picked up on the possibility.

By the way, that whole concept of setting up lair is hilarious. I had a whole skit going through my head with the two of them arguing over what curtains to hang in some dark, dank hole in the ground.

The use of different POV's to illustrate the massive difference between the way the scoobies and TUE view the world was a conscious decision. ( As opposed to all of my unconscious decisions, which never make any sense. ) I'm glad it works for you.

I think the term is omniscient third person, but I'm just a half-arsed amateur, so what do I know? Either way, all of the examples you gave work equally well.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy the next chapter, which incidentally is up right after this.


Bye for now,
Paul.


**********


Title: At Any Cost


Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula


Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )


Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.


Disclaimers: I regret to inform you that I don't own any of the Buffy characters. I wish I did, but I don't. I can't even claim to own those bloody flying monkey's any more. They staged a wee coup, and I'm writing this from the bathroom where I've barricaded myself in. But I'm cautiously optimistic ... what the hell is that .....


Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.


Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.


Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.


Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.


Authors Notes: I actually wrote a fair part of this chapter while I was fighting off yet another dose of the flu, so if it doesn't make any sense, that's why.


Thoughts are in italics.


The story so far ... The scoobies have been researching 24-7 to turn up anything about the new threat that Giles has revealed, but the only thing they've found is that Xander is especially susceptable to paper cuts. On a more disturbing note, their unknown enemy has identified a magically juiced-up Giles as a threat. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is not good news for the Watcher ...


Part 5.


“Has anyone seen Giles today?”


Willow looked up from her computer at the sound of Buffy's voice. She had been in the process of hacking into the Sunnydale Coroner's Office computer system, but had been suffering an unusual amount of trouble.


“Giles? No, I haven't seen him since he left on patrol with you last night,” she replied after a moments thought. “Why? Is something wrong?”


Buffy shrugged, her face conflicted. “Not really. I just thought he was supposed to meet up with me this morning when I went to visit the 'Dimwitted Duo'. He never showed.”


“You don't think anything is wrong do you?” Willow asked anxiously. The unspecified threat posed by Giles' 'new power' hanging over all of their heads hadn't exactly helped the general mood of apprehension that had been plaguing Willow since she had learned of Tara's supposed fate.


Buffy scowled, then eventually shook her head. “I don't think so. We did get in pretty late from patrolling last night, and Giles isn't exactly a spring chicken any more.” Buffy's scowl was replaced with a wry grin. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him I said that, Will.”


“So you think he's still curled up in bed?”


“Well, that or nose deep in yet another musty old book. You know Giles and musty old books. They're like catnip to him,” replied Buffy, settling into a chair opposite Willow's spot at the dining table. “How's it going with you?”


“Oh, well I think the coroner's office installed a new firewall,” stated Willow, relaxing somewhat now that they were discussing a less touchy subject. “It's proving kind of annoyingly good, actually. I suppose they had a few too many people hacking in. Um ... sort of like I'm trying to do right now, but don't worry, I'm still your go-to gal for all things computer-y.”


“Um, Will? Not quite what I was asking about. I meant how are you doing? What with all the revelation-y type stuff that's been flying around lately?”


“Oh, you mean the fact that the love of my life is supposedly fated to have died a week ago, and that I'm supposed to have gone over to the dark side?”


“Yeah. How are you doing with all of that?”


“Honestly, Buffy? I'm terrified. The idea of losing Tara scares me more than anything we've ever encountered. Just thinking about it ...”


“Willow,” Buffy stated her best friend's name firmly, and took her by one hand. “Tara is fine. She's going to stay fine too, even if I have to get way medieval on every last thing that walks, crawls or slithers in her direction.”


“Buffy, I know that! But ... there are no guarantee's that we can keep her safe, and it's driving me insane! I want a guarantee! I want to be absolutely sure that nothing bad will ever happen to her.”


“Will ...”


“I know, I'm being all unreasonable and extra-large with the wiggins, but I can't help it.”


“You're not supposed to be able to help it, Will. You love her, and love isn't safe. It's pain, and it's heartbreak. You open up your heart to someone and you inevitably open yourself up to that too.” Buffy's eyes had gone slightly distant as she spoke, and Willow wondered who the Slayer was thinking of. Goddess knows she's suffered more than her own share of heartbreak.


“Um, Buffy, is this supposed to be cheering me up?” Willow asked hesitantly.


“Well, if you let me finish? Love is all of those things, but it's also joy, and passion, and laughter. It's life, Will. It's what makes life worth living. If you let your fears of losing that love rule your life, then what kind of life will it be?”


A ghost of a smile brushed over Willow's lips at Buffy's words, so similar in intent to what Tara had said last night. “Tara was saying pretty much the same thing last night.”


Buffy grinned. “Then what the heck am I needing to tell this for? When it comes to this sort of thing, Tara's smarter than the rest of us put together. Though with Xander and me in the mix that isn't saying much.” Buffy's wise-ass grin told Willow not to take her self deprecating words too seriously


“So, what did the surviving nerds have to say for themselves?” Willow asked, secretly glad to change the topic.


“Surprisingly little, given their past form of running off at the mouth incessantly. It was almost like something had scared them into not talking.”


“Something like ... oh say, their friend getting murdered in a fashion that's new and disturbing even for the Hellmouth?”


“I don't know, Will. I think there was something more specific there, but I'm not sure what. That's kind of why I wanted Giles there. It's sort of hard to do good cop, bad cop with only one person. You kind of end up with just schizophrenic cop that way.”


“Don't worry, Buffy,” Willow advised as cheerfully as she could. “He'll turn up. After all, he's Giles. If all those blows to the head over the years haven't stopped him, nothing will.”


Buffy smirked in acknowledgment, and nodded towards Willow's open laptop. “So, having trouble with the highly illegal computer ... er ... stuff?”


“Oh, I'm almost there ... hey! I did it!”


“That's me, Buffy the good luck charm.”


Willow giggled, and the return of the redhead's natural good nature made Buffy smile broadly in satisfaction. “Hey, maybe you could rent yourself out ... I mean in a non-prostitute way, that is.”


“So ... where's everyone else?” Buffy asked, noticing that Willow's attention was beginning to shift back to her laptop.


“Hmm? Oh, Tara's upstairs with Dawn going over some homework.”


“Isn't that usually your job?”


“I think Dawn wanted a chance to spend some quality time with Tara. She's missed her.”


“She's not the only one, right?” insinuated Buffy with a wicked grin and a particularly expressive and lewd eyebrow motion. Willow felt her cheeks flush, but decided to wear her embarrassment proudly as a symbol of her love.


“What about Xander? Making another attempt to scale Mount Forgiveness-of-Anya?”


“Yep. Hope springs eternal, huh?”


“Do you think Anya will ever forgive him? Do you think he'll ever forgive himself?”


Willow shrugged. She hoped that Xander would be able to repair the damage his relationship had suffered, but she wasn't too sure how successful he could be. Every time she'd seen Anya, the former vengeance demon had wanted nothing more than to discuss, in excruciating detail, exactly how Xander should suffer. Excepting the little excerpt of her unintentional blue movie with Spike. I'm still trying desperately to lose that particular mental image. But Tara and I should go and visit her. I don't know if she really has any friends outside of the scoobies.


“So, do you wanna know what the coroner found out about Warren?” Willow asked, bringing up the document.


Buffy nodded, and stood. “My day just isn't complete without browsing through an autopsy report.”


“Ok, lets see what we've got then ...” Willow began perusing the file as Buffy read over her shoulder. The further they read, the more disturbed the two women got. The situation only got worse when pictures of the body itself began to appear. Eventually, Willow had to turn away in disgust, or chance losing her lunch on her own laptop.


“Wow ... that ... that was ... really disturbing. Well, I think we can rule out this having been the work of a human being,” Willow finally stated.


“Why do you say that, Willow?” Willow started at Buffy's question, surprised by the solemn expression on her friend's face.


“Um ... isn't it obvious? Because no human could ever do ...this to another person. Even Warren.” Willow's expression almost shouted that she was mildly shocked that Buffy even had to ask.


Buffy smiled sadly. Even after everything Willow's seen, she's still so innocent in many ways. She actually believes that. “Human beings have been doing truly horrible things to each other for just as long as demons have, Will. As nasty as this is, I don't think we can rule out a human being the culprit just yet. Are there any other clues in there we can use?”


Willow gritted her teeth, and steeled herself to return to the horrors contained in their purloined copy of the coroner's report. After a few minutes grueling examination, Willow raised her head with an even more disturbed expression.


“Whatever ... or whoever did this took their time. Some of the wounds on Warren's body had started to heal. The coroner estimated that the earliest wounds were inflicted roughly a week ago.”


“Around the same time Giles turned up with our latest entry in the apocalypse sweepstakes ... “ Buffy mused.


“There were no tool marks!” Willow suddenly shouted, and Buffy stared at her best friend like she'd suddenly sprouted a second head.


“So ... what, we know he wasn't beaten to death with a wrench?”


“What? No, I mean there were no tool marks in any of Warren's wounds. The coroner couldn't find any marks that should have been left behind if any of these cuts or broken bones were made using a tool. It's like they were all caused by ...”


Buffy suddenly saw what Willow was alluding to. “Magic. Warren was killed by magic?”


“I can't be sure, Buffy. But ... it seems likely.”


“Oh god,” Buffy breathed, as her mind processed the possibilities. She sprang to her feet. “Giles!”


“Buffy? What is it?”


“Last night, Giles and I ran into a vampire who was running from something. After I staked him, I heard something. I thought we might have been being watched, but I couldn't spot anything.”


Willow gulped as she realized where Buffy's train of thought was careening towards. “This could have been this new power Giles was afraid of. Which means what was watching you could've been ... Buffy, you don't think it went after Giles, do you?”


The grim expression on the Slayer's face was eloquent enough to answer Willow's question, and her stomach fell.


**********


Buffy and Willow had only stopped long enough to grab Tara and Dawn before rushing to Giles' hotel. All the while, Buffy had been blaming herself for not making her former watcher stay with them.


“Buffy, Giles insisted,” Dawn had stated, trying to cajole her sister out of a pointless, ever spiraling cycle of self-blame. “He said his back couldn't handle another night on our couch.”


“A bad back might be the least of his problems now,” was the only reply an adamant Buffy would give.


They reached the hotel in record time, even by Buffy's standards, which included at the best of times what could only be called a casual disregard for the speed limit. The locked door of Giles' room posed only a minor impediment. Before Willow or Tara could even suggest asking for a spare key at the front desk, Buffy resorted to the simple solution of kicking the door off it's hinges.


Buffy darted through, ready for trouble, while Willow, Tara and Dawn followed at a slower pace. Just inside the doorway, Willow found Buffy frozen, her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, transfixed on a motionless figure sprawled bonelessly on the floor.


Goddess, no! Not Giles! Willow stumbled to a halt, afraid to move, afraid to speak. To do either would make this potential nightmare all too real. Giles bore no visible wounds, but Willow knew all too well that magic could kill without leaving any such marks.


Neither Buffy nor Willow could move, even to check Giles, to confirm or deny what they both feared. Dawn hovered anxiously behind them, glancing between Willow and Buffy as if unsure what to do.


Willow tore her eyes from Giles' all-too-still form to flick a brief glance at Buffy. The Slayer wore an expression Buffy hadn't worn since her mother's death. It was a mixture of pain, anger and helplessness. She's the Slayer. It's her job, her calling, to fight. But this ... this is the one thing she can't fight.


Unlike the rest of them, Tara showed no such hesitation. The blonde witch rushed to Giles' side and dropped to a crouch, feeling at the Englishman's neck for a pulse.


“He's alive!” Tara exclaimed, her voice thick with a flurry of different emotions. Her pronouncement seemed to free Buffy and Willow of their self-imposed paralysis. Buffy rushed to join Tara by her former Watcher's side, while Willow went straight for the phone.


**********


In the end, it turned out that Willow hadn't needed to call an ambulance. Giles had recovered swiftly from his attack, with no worse side-effect than a strong headache. He had refused the paramedic's request to go to the hospital for a checkup. Giles had stated, once the paramedics had left, that he had suffered enough concussions to know the when he didn't have one.


Buffy had insisted that Giles move into the Summers' household, uncomfortable couch or not. The Watcher hadn't even tried to disagree, which was convenient since Willow had already checked him out. Giles actually appreciated being spared having to do the chore himself, since it also spared him the need to explain what had happened to the door Buffy had slain.


It wasn't until later that night, once all of the scoobies, Anya included, had gathered at the Summers house that Giles related what had happened after Buffy had left him at his hotel.


“He was waiting for me in my room,” Giles began, sipping at a cup of tea while holding an ice-pack to the impressive bruise on his forehead. “I have no idea how he managed to get in. I definitely locked my door when I left.”


“You'd be surprised how many demons learn how to pick locks,” Anya interjected. “It makes it easier to get to those victims who insist on trying to hide behind locked doors.”


“Anya ...” Xander began, but Anya rounded on him angrily.


“Not one word out of you, Harris,” she snapped. “I'm here for Giles, not to listen to you correct me. And why am I only just hearing about this big new threat now!”


“Anya ...” Willow began, but her voice trailed off uncomfortably as she realized she didn't know what to say.


“We didn't know if you wanted to get involved, Anya,” Buffy explained, earning a grateful glance from Willow. “Given ... how everything is at the moment.”


“I don't want to get involved. But you're my friends, and I don't want anything to happen to any of you.” Anya fixed a shamefaced Xander with a scowl, and amended her statement with a pointed sniff. “Well, most of you.”


“If we could perhaps leave the discussion of intra-group dynamics for a time when my skull feels less likely to split in half?” Giles stated, his tone dry enough to adequetly dehydrate foodstuffs.


“Sorry, Giles,” apologized Anya. “Please continue with the tale of your embarrassing defeat and maiming.”


“Yes, well. Where was I?”


“He was waiting for you in your room,” Dawn added helpfully.


“Well, he certainly seemed to know me ....”


**********


“Why hello there, Ripper.”


Giles froze in shock. Only seconds ago, he would have bet his life that he was alone in his hotel room. Yet, here he was, face to face with a total stranger who called him by a name he hadn't gone by in decades, and wished he could forget.


Giles had only moments to gain the briefest impression of shoulder-length pitch-black hair, sunken eyes and scarred face, before the intruder lunged at him. Faster than any natural creature had a right to move, his attacker was on Giles, slamming him backwards against the wall and snatching him by the throat in an iron grip.


A dry, hacking, mockery of laughter issued from his attacker's throat, which was marred by a thick, angry scar. A long, bony, index finger waved chidingly in his face as Giles sought to gather his wits sufficiently to tap into the magics lent to him by the coven.


“Uh-uh, Ripper. Let's not be having any of that foolishness, shall we? I'd rip you open from groin to gullet before you could get a spell off.” Even as he spoke, the same index finger the intruder had wagged in his face changed, the skin tearing open and the bone stretching and elongating into a ghastly claw. The transformation looked extremely painful, but the intruder's face didn't ever flicker.


Giles reluctantly released the borrowed magic building up inside him, and his attacker smiled benevolently. The dichotomy posed by that smile, and the menace inherent in the intruder's mismatched eyes only served to worry Giles further. Thankfully, the intruder's claw reverted back into a less threatening finger.


I guess I found our new power. Now I just have to mange to avoid dying.


Cocking his head, the intruder leaned in close, far too close for Giles' comfort. “You're not especially afraid of me, are you Ripper?”


Giles took a second to take closer stock of his opponent. The intruder was slightly shorter than the Englishman, with a slender, almost emaciated figure. The terrible strength present in the bony hand clutching him by the throat was obviously not natural in origin. The face was thin, and somehow gave an impression of being haunted. Pallid skin, sunken cheeks and deep, hollowed eyes gave his attacker the appearance of a corpse animated by a dark and terrible will.


A trio of scars slanted down his face, one of them running over the left eye, which had been replaced with a coldly glinting blue crystal. The remaining eye was completely pitch black, like a window into the darkness of the abyss. Every visible inch of bared skin was riddled with veins of pure black. Giles recognized both the eye and veins as being symptoms of a chronic overuse of dark magic. Though for a case of this magnitude, the magic use must have been going on for decades, at the very least.


“Should I be?” Giles managed to croak.


“Ah, there's that famous British stiff upper lip.” Thin, gash-like lips curled in a cruel half-smile. “Oh yes, Ripper. You really should fear me.”


“Are you going to at least introduce yourself?” Giles asked, determined to make the best of his precarious situation by learning as much about their new foe as he could. Whether or not I survive to make use of what I learn, I'll worry about later. “You obviously know who I am. It's rather rude not to return the favor.”


“Oh, I think not. I ... rather enjoy the prospect of you being at a loss for answers for that pretty little Slayer of yours. It must be so ... trying for you, the man with all the answers being completely in the dark.”


“Leave Buffy alone!” Giles tried to snarl. The claw-like hand clenched on his throat robbed his voice of much of the effect.


“Ripper, old boy, you're hardly in the position to tell me to do anything. But that is neither here nor that at the moment. We have ... other business to attend to.”


“I've nothing to say to you,” growled Giles.


“Oh, my dear, dear Rupert. I don't need you to talk," he rasped, face coldly patronizing. "You've been a naughty little Watcher, haven't you. Waltzing in here, swimming in borrowed power. Power you haven't earned, haven't sacrificed for.”


“What ...” Giles began, but the intruder pressed one finger against the Watcher's lips in an explicit order to be silent.


“There's a lot of power in you now, Ripper,” hissed the intruder. “Nowhere near the level of what courses through my veins, but still sufficient to make you a potential threat. I will not abide threats to my design, Ripper. So that pretty little power you borrowed? I think I'll take it.”


Does he mean ... I planned this for Willow, but with any luck ...


Giles' thoughts dissolved into a silent scream as the intruder's hand slammed against his chest. Orange lightning erupted from that hand and burrowed into Giles' chest. An agonizing pain ripped through him, a terrible sensation like liquid fire was pouring through his veins. The watcher felt as if his internal organs were being torn apart and dragged through the pores of his skin. But even through a pain that rendered
coherent thought an impossibility, Giles hoped.


“Ah! There it is. Such an ... elegant little trap.” As the intruder spoke mockingly, Giles' hope died a swift and lonely death. “So subtle, it would be so easy to miss. But then, it wasn't intended for me, now was it. No. You were expecting to catch dear, sweet Willow with this.”


How ... Willow? ... No!


“I don't feel any ... particular desire to feel a connection to every, single, mewling life on this wretched, misbegotten planet. I've more than enough pain of my own. So I think I'll just bypass your little trap ... like so.” The intruder twisted his hand to one side, and both the lightning and Giles' pain flared higher. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Giles slumped in relief.


His attacker smiled, and his smile was full, replete, as if he had just consumed a five course meal. He looked ... sated. “Thanks ever so much for that, Ripper. That was ... nifty.”


The last thing Giles saw before he was flung into darkness, was a rapidly approaching forehead.


**********


“He head butted you?” Xander asked. “Doesn't really seem like the sort of thing an evil magic-type-guy should do. I mean, sure doing the whole uber power suck thing I get, but head butting?”


“Would you have preferred it if he had, oh, say struck me with lightning, Xander?”


“That's not what I meant, Giles,” replied Xander, struggling to translate the thoughts in his head into a manner the others would understand. “It just seems ... sort of strange if he's supposed to be some magical big-wig, that he would resort to physical violence.”


“Maybe he just likes to hit people?” Tara offered softly. Willow slid an arm around her lover's shoulders to offer tacit support. Goddess knows Tara grew up with a couple of people like that.


“Perhaps. He did seem to derive a certain perverse pleasure in the pain he caused me.”


“This is pointless,” snapped Buffy. Everybody turned to regard the Slayer in surprise. She had been unusually silent ever since they had brought Giles back home. Willow had earlier surmised that Buffy was working through her fear and resulting relief over Giles' close call, and had decided to give Buffy the chance to work things out herself.


If Buffy wants to talk, I'll be there for her, but I don't want to push her into anything. She'll just get stubborn and refuse to admit there's even a problem to herself.


Now though, Buffy's face was a portrait of barely controlled anger. “Giles could have been killed, but we haven't really learned anything useful! We still don't know who this guy is, what he wants, or even what he even is!”


“Buffy, we will find all of that out,” urged Willow, trying to placate Buffy justifiable anger. “We just need time.”


“We might not have time,” declared Anya suddenly. “We just lost one of our biggest magical resources and boosted the opposition's in one fell swoop. With Willow on the magical wagon, that only leaves us with Tara.”


“Hey,” replied Willow indignantly, eager to answer what she saw as a slur against Tara's abilities. “Tara's a powerful witch!”


“I didn't mean anything by it, Willow,” Anya explained, utterly unperturbed by Willow's reaction. “It's just from what Giles has told us, Tara's way out of her league. Transmutation of his physical form on such a precise level? That's requires major league power.”


“I don't care how powerful this guy is,” growled Buffy. “He's already killed once, and he hurt Giles. We have to stop him fast. Who knows what he might do next?”


**********


I need supplies. No matter how powerful I am, there will always be spells that I can not cast with nothing more than pure willpower and hate. Not to mention the more mundane requirements like food and shelter. The cave in which I have thus far made my lair is sufficient for now, but I will shortly require a more permanent and secure location.


I could easily enough steal most of what I need, but the attention attracted might prove an unnecessary complication. Especially when it comes to the magical supplies. The proprietor of the local magic shop might prove to be an active practitioner of the arts, and simple as it would be to utterly destroy such an irritation, I have better uses for my time.


All of this had brought me to my current location, standing outside the largest bank in Sunnydale. If stealing the supplies I require is not a valid choice, I will simply steal what I need to procure them legally. In short, I plan to rob the bank.


I conjure forth my seekers, and send the sprites to explore the building. They have sufficient intelligence to find their own way in, through ventilation shafts and the like. After a few minutes wait, they fly back out and flock around me like a cloud of fireflies, buzzing their findings to me. Their findings are sufficient for me to assemble a mental picture of the bank's layout.


It is the work of minutes to disable their security system. No electronic system can withstand the will of a being who can command the very elements themselves. The front door takes even less time. Shortly, I stand before the vault door, behind which my prize waits.


I slip the knife from the sheath on my hip and slash my palm without a moments hesitation. The pain is sharp and bright, like little else in my life. Pain is reliable. Pain is constant. I learned the lesson that life is pain a long time ago. To believe anything else, is to believe a lie. A comforting lie, perhaps, but a lie nonetheless. Willow taught me that, though I doubt it was ever her intention to do so.


Daubing my fingers in the welling blood, I begin to trace a complicated series of sharp-edged symbols upon the surface of the vault door. I am only half finished when I hear it. The distinctive, sharp sound of a firearm being cocked.


“Freeze! Don't move!” shouts a tremulous voice from behind me. I berate myself. Careless. I did not consider the possibility of roaming security patrols. I had allowed myself to become caught up in the spell I weaved in runes painted with my own blood, and had not even sensed the human's approach. Sloppy.


Had I allowed myself to become this lax in Hyriault, my old master's assassins would have surely killed me years ago. This close to the achievement of everything, I can not allow myself to slip. Control is key. I must have control, over myself most of all. If I fail, everything I have done, every sin, every atrocity, every murder has been for naught. I will have sacrificed everything that was ever good inside me for nothing.


I widen the sphere of my awareness, and unleash my empathic talent. The guard is alone, and nervous. Probably the first time anything like this has ever happened to him. I imagine that the security company has a high rate of turnover, since this is Sunnydale. It may well be his first day on the job. Bad luck for him.


The guard overrides his earlier order, and instructs me to turn around. I do so. Let him think he actually is in control of this, for a few moments more at least. He gasps when he sees my face; I had not bothered with glamour and see little point in using it now.


“What the hell are you?” he whispers. Perhaps this fool knows more about the true nature of Sunnydale than most will admit. Even so, no such knowledge will help him now.


“I'm a monster,” I reply, truthfully. Reaching out with my mind, I wrench his weapon from his hand, and strip it in midair before his very eyes. He whimpers as the disassembled components of his weapon fall to the ground in a metal rain. His nervousness has become full blown terror now. I must finish this quickly, else he will surely flee. The prospect of needing to chase down and silence him is an unwanted complication.


“H... how did you do that?” asks the security guard in a strangled voice.


“Magic,” I tell him. I neither know, nor care if he believes me. I finish it quickly. A simple, firm gesture and the guard is hurled backwards through the air, slamming into the nearest wall with a meaty thud. As he slides to the floor, his head leaves a bloody smear on the wall.


I shrug. Dead or alive, he means nothing to me know. I return to my spell, and redouble my efforts in case the fool had called in for help. In a matter of minutes, the spell is complete. I trigger it with a single touch, and the runes burn for a split second with an eldritch light. The vault door swings open, and I step inside to claim my bounty.


“Show me the money,” I quietly rasp, with a mirthless smirk. Now I can begin my plans in earnest.


To be continued ...


Edited to fix a spelling mistake. I'm on way too much flu medicine at the moment.

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That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

Sloppy sloppy.... TUE thinks he's so smart, that might very well be his downfall. Sure he can force his way into the bank but that will leave as many traces if not more than just killing the owner of the magic shop. Those charachters on the vault door for starters....

Besides, even if you can control the elements you have to activly DO so in order to get past bank security (so I do security stuff in real-life, might influence me *slightly*, I suck at suspension of disbelief . It would have been smarter to drain the guard from all his blood like a vampire attack, nobody would have wondered about that

I do like that TUE slipped up in the bank, if only to proof that he's not infallible. He was concerned enough about the gun to take it of the guard, so he's not invincible either...gooood. That did worry me a bit in the earlier parts, how easily it all seemed to come to mr. TUE.

I wonder how usefull the coven's power will be to TUE if at all. It is white magic which should conflict with the stored dark magic. He just wanted it out of Giles, but letting Giles live is strange. I can't justify letting such a knowlable enemy live unless TUE intends a show-off or some psych. warfare.

The appearance description of TUE doesn't help much since clearly most of his appearance is influenced by a tiny bit to much use of magic. Should be interesting to see if a Vegance Demon who happens to be a shopkeeper at the local magic shop can see through the glamour or at the very least detect one is there.

I'm becoming worried about Willow, she's still not doing anything with her magic except ignoring it. That makes her virtually defenseless if someone (say an Unnamed Evil) wants to steal her power. I do get the impression that TUE wants to prove a point to some scoobies, likely a highly wrong perceived point but he wants to proof it none the less.

Much like Glory, TUE isn't handling his private war very efficiently. I also tend to doubt anybody who boast about their own power. What would really have happened if Giles had tried anything? It seems he did sense he wouldn't be killed, based on what?

TUE seems a bit stalkerish with regard to Willow. It might be wise for Willow to move away from Sunnydale. Surely TUE will follow and it will than be farther away from the Hellmouth which is a giant dark-magic supply basicly .

TUE doesn't want any strong powers interfering with his plans. That implies he does see Tara or Willow as part of his overall plan? Tara will surely attempt to defend Willow and if Tara gets hurt Willow will be might pissed. It was never established how powerfull Tara was on the show, but we know what a pissed of Willow can do

It is annoying not to know who/what TUE is nor his motivations and plan. As the scoobies are currently not really up to much of a defense that is worriesome.

Based on the attack on Giles I assume at least SOME wards will be placed around the house? I would recommend some non-magical tripwires as well, TUE will be looking for magical stuff (think _Predator_).

TUE could be Ethan Rayne almost, if not for the fact that Ethan has never wanted to fight evil (he just wants chaos, doesn't fit TUE's methodical approach).

TUE thinks he has planned this much better than he actually appears to have. Always says that he has gone to great lengths to plan this or that, yet ends up sloppily robbing a bank.... That could proof interesting later on.

Grimmy (who should really learn to give shorter feedback)

_________________
"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

Paul, I hadn't realized how many updates there were! Imagine my joy! Go ahead; imagine it. Pretty wild, huh?

OK, so like everybody else I'm trying to figure out who this wanker is. Here's the part that keeps throwing me (if indeed I read it correctly): it makes mention of two decades ago. WTF? Willow was just a wee one then. Hmm...Maybe I need to go back and read it again. I had one theory, and then I had another, but time unseated the first and gender the second.

You know, it's supremely evil but it once tried to fight that; wanted to be in the good fight by Buffy's side. Hmm...once more. But you know, no matter how evil it is, no matter how much dread it inspires, I cannot hate it completely b/c (a) you have alluded to some original humanity and (b) Andrew annoys the fuck outta him, too. Jeez, did I get sick of that shtick quick. (Tom Lenk was a fine actor; no disparagement intended of his portrayal. I just thought there was way too much Andrew in the limited S-7 eppies I saw.)

Interspersed within the building horror are such enjoyable moments of humor, to wit (as it were):



I also love the discussions re: the capacity for evil and the imperative of taking the joy before us b/c we have no guarantees of future ones. I love those kinds of considerations.

Great work, Paul!
Mary

G'day yourself, Paul. I may live in the land of the roaches but I'm born and bred a cane toad - up the mighty Maroons! In fact I come from Brisbane - a little place called Manly - you know it? I've been away a long time, but Brissy will always be home. I live in a pretty similar place now, except it doesn't get so hot, and we have surf!

Oooooo, Paul, the fic gets better and better - scary atmosphere in the last update. I hoped TUE would get caught with the magic transfer from Giles, in the same way it did for Willow in canon, but it seems to have seen the trap. I'm still hoping that somehow the good magic being sucked up by evil guy will somehow trigger a rejection in his body, but I guess TUE would know whether or not that was likely. Curious he didn't kill Giles while he had the chance.

HIs comment, 'that was nifty..' echoing a phrase much used by Willow, had me once again thinking .. DMW! but unless you've done the gender swap (as in RD - I love that show too tho' I've not watched it in ages. Don't remember the ep you refer to.) that's not feasible. It's funny, right from TUE's first appearance I've been favouring a DM Tara for the part, triggered by the 'family' references I think. I talked myself out of that, but my gut feeling is still saying 'Tara'. The family ref could apply to both W or T as it could mean the Scooby family or the Maclay family (I don't see Ma & Pa Rosenberg stabbing W, even in an alt dimension.). The way TUE refers to Willow is what makes me think it might be DMT, BUT the whole gender thing makes the speculation redundant, unless you're being very tricky. Hmmmmm?

Keep it up Paul. I'm happily anticipating your next update.
Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

G'day, all.

What's that I hear? Another update already? I guess one good point of staying home sick is that I've got plenty of time to write. The bad news is that I'm apparently hearing things now.

As is standard, replies first, then the update.


grimlock72 - Hi there, Grimmy. Yep, TUE does seem to have a high estimation of himself, and that's often a source of evil shooting itself in the foot. The reason he targeted the bank rather than each shop he required stuff from individually is that it would only be one crime as opposed to many. Plus, he's not too worried about human law enforcement.

Yeah, I didn't actually say what he did to circumvent the bank's security systems, but that's probably because I'm not a bank robber so I wouldn't have the first idea how to do it.

Yep, TUE does have his vulnerable points. He is technically still human, so a gun could theoretically kill him just as easily as anyone else.

As for him using the coven's magic, well DMW didn't have any problems did she? Apart from that whole backfiring trap of Giles', that is.

Why did he let Giles live? You are right, it doesn't make much sense to let such a knowledgeable enemy live, especially given TUE's ruthless nature. So you have to ask yourself, why did he?

I swear, once again you have read my mind, Grimmy. Either that, or I'm nicking your ideas. You will see what I mean in this update.

Yeah, Willow's magic situation is tricky, and I'm not going to make it easy for her, because ... well, I just don't think it should be, given everything she went through.

Yep, boasting about how powerful you are is a classic villain foible. But answer me this, is he actually boasting or just telling the honest truth? Hmm?

A big yes to your stalker comparison. TUE definitely isn't your average 'crush, kill, destroy' type. He works in the background, using manipulation and treachery to work his will.

He certainly does seem to have a place for not just Willow and Tara in his schemes, but all of the other scoobies as well. Can't bode well for them, can it.

Well, I suppose they could rig the perimeter of the house with flares, claymores and mines, but then what happens when the poor little paperboy wanders into it?

Yes, TUE is getting a bit slapdash at times. That's the problem with obsession though, the closer you get to it, the more you start to lose control. And when you're a sociopath with this much power, that definitely isn't good.

Don't worry about feedback size, Grimmy. I normally write a whole bunch as well, plus it tells me you're liking the story.

PS. A big shout out for coming up with what seems to be a popular acronym with TUE.

Thanks for reading, Grimmy.


AntigoneUnbound - G'day Mary, and welcome back. I did try to imagine your excitement, and when I came to, I was wearing nothing but a plastic horned helmet, a whole lot of whipped cream and someone else's underwear, handcuffed to a street light. Thanks for that.

Yes, you read right. The baddie's been working on this little scheme for twenty years. So how can it be targeted at Willow? Did she accidentally upchuck on his favorite shoes when she was a baby and thus earn his eternal enmity? Or is he some sort of seer, and is doing all of this because of something he saw Willow doing in the future?

I'm glad you don't completely hate him. The way I'm trying to write him is that he is, while scary and evil, also kind of sad and pitiable.

Is there anyone who Andrew didn't annoy?

Glad you liked the titanic bit. I'm quite proud of that. Also glad you're liking the more philosophical discussions. I find them interesting to write.


spells42 - G'day Anne. So you're a Queenslander in disguise? Aren't you going in the wrong direction? I thought everyone down south was supposed to move to Queensland, or is that just the soaps on TV?

I'm vaguely familiar with Manly, but I don't drive so I really only know the places near where I live, work and play. Definitely wouldn't mind less heat, though that might be a problem in winter.

Scary atmosphere, huh? Cool. I was trying to make people think TUE would fall into Giles' trap like Willow did on purpose, only to pull the rug out from under them. What might really blow your mind is this: did TUE spot Giles' little booby trap before he set it off, or did he already know it was there? Think about it.

The Red Dwarf episode I mentioned was the last episode in season 2. It ended up with Lister getting pregnant to his female counterpart, because in their world, men have the babies.

Good pickup on the family reference. That will be making a repeat appearance later, but are you right as to who this family is? Imagine me saying 'I'm not telling' in a sing song voice.

So could TUE be a male version of DMW or DMT? They are both decent possibilities, but the truth of the matter won't be revealed any time soon. I'm having too much fun being evil.

Don't worry, I'm enjoying this too much to stop writing it. Anticipate no more, part 6 is up next.


Enjoy,
Paul.


**********


Title: At Any Cost


Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula


Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )


Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.


Disclaimers: I don't own anything. Even myself anymore. Those bloody monkeys have enslaved me! But I'm plotting my revenge...


Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.


Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.


Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.


Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.


Thoughts are in italics.


The story so far ... Giles has been recovered safe and sound, albeit sucked dry of all the power he brought with him from the coven. Anya's finally in on the loop regarding the new threat, who incidentally has taken up bank robbery as a new hobby. The security guard who tried to catch him should really consider a career change, if he's still alive ....


Part 6.


Tara stood quietly before the window in the bedroom she shared with Willow and watched as the suburban vista before her was slowly bathed in the rising sun's warm light. The witch had woken up early, as was frequently her habit, but had found herself consumed by a strange lassitude. Normally, Tara woke up full of energy, an energy which often found an outlet through her love for Willow.


Thoughts of her everything convinced Tara to turn and check on her. She was gratified to hear the slow, deep breathing that signified that Willow still soundly slumbered. Tara took a few steps closer to the bed they once again shared, and found herself staring intently at Willow's sleeping face.


Tara's heart swelled with a love so vast and powerful that she thought her heart must surely break. How did I ever get so lucky? How could I have ever won this beautiful, magnificent woman? Every morning I wake, I am surprised that she loves me. Because she does. Shes loves me as much as I love her.


Reaching out with one hand, Tara made as if to lovingly brush her partner's cheek, but held back from actual contact, wary of waking her own personal 'Sleeping Beauty'. Willow's face, so bright and animated when she was awake, was almost childishly innocent in slumber, and Tara wanted to capture this very moment in time forever. To freeze it completely, emotion and all, so as to allow her to return over and over to this exact instance in time.


Smiling lovingly, Tara turned back to the window and resumed her observation of the world's awakening. Her mind turned inevitably to last night. The lovemaking she had shared with Willow last night had contained a distinct note of desperation, an intense need to forget their recent fears. Willow had needed to forget, to be swept away from everything she dreaded, and all of her insecurities on wings of passion, and Tara had granted her wish in every way she could think of.


No wonder she's still asleep. I must have really tired her out, Tara thought with a slight, crooked smile of pride.


A quiet knock at the door made Tara turn. She quickly checked that Willow's naked body was covered as she made her way to answer. She knew her lover would positively die from mortification if she where to accidentally flash Xander, or worse still, Giles. Rather than either of them, Tara found Dawn at the door, awkwardly juggling a loaded tray.


“Hey, Dawnie,” Tara greeted the teenager with a pointed glance at her burden. “What've you got there?”


“I made you two breakfast in bed,” Dawn proudly announced, beaming not unlike the proverbial Cheshire Cat in human form. “Pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice. Though the pancakes aren't so much funny shapes as they are ... weird blobs.”


Tara beamed back in delight, and managed to take the tray from Dawn after a few moments of precarious juggling.


“You didn't have to do this, Dawnie,” Tara gently protested.


“I wanted to. You know ... to show that I'm glad you're back. Plus, what with everything that's been going on, I figured you and Willow could use a little pampering.”


“Thank you, Dawn. I'm sure Willow and I will enjoy it a lot. Once she wakes up, anyway.”


“Willow's still asleep?” Dawn repeated, suddenly appalled by what she saw as a complete lack of forethought on her part. “I didn't wake you up, did I? I can take it back, try and keep the pancakes warm until ...”


“Dawn, it's fine. I can just wave the plate under her nose for a while and she's sure to wake right up.” If not, I'm sure I can think of a few ways to get her attention. “How's Giles?”


“Well, in between complaining about the state of his spine and sips of tea, he's practically joined at the forehead with one of his books, so I think he's doing fine.”


Tara smiled at the bizarre image that Dawn's words painted in her mind. “That's good to hear. What about Buffy?”


“She had an early shift at the Doublemeat, so she had to leave early to open up. I'd better get going, Tara. Tell Willow hi for me.”


“I will, Dawnie,” Tara replied warmly. “Thank's for breakfast.”


Dawn smiled as brightly as her name implied, then turned to leave. Tara closed the door on the teenager's retreating form and went to wake up Willow. The wafting scent of Dawn's pancakes proved insufficient to rouse the redhead from her slumber, so Tara gleefully resorted to more radical, and enjoyable tactics to wake her lover.


**********


There was no sound, not even that of my own faltering heartbeat. There was no smell, not even the stink of my own panicked sweat. There was no touch, even though my prison was a box scarcely large enough for me to fit in. There was no sight, only the empty blackness of the abyss.


There was nothing, and no-one. I was, as always, utterly alone in the darkness, with the sound of my own silent screams echoing inside my head. I could never, would never escape it.


I reared upright, a hoarse scream tearing from my ruined throat. In a blind panic, I hurl lightning in all directions, desperate for light and sound, desperate to smite any enemy who might approach. There were no enemies, of course, only the ethereal phantoms born of my own fears. For all my sound and fury, all I achieved was to blast a few errant rocks into powder.


I am not there. I am not there. I repeat the words desperately in my head, longing to believe them. But deep down, beneath the hate, beneath the rage, I do not believe my own words. In some ways, I am still trapped in that prison. But I got out, I survived.


It has been ... fourteen years since my imprisonment. Has it really been that long? But even now, I do not begrudge my old master's decision. He had no choice but to punish me, and most had believed I had gotten off easy. I wonder if he regretted that decision when I killed him?


The fellow student had never liked me, hated me on principle for being just a worthless human, unworthy of receiving the master's teachings. He had attacked me one day, confident in his own prowess. It had been him who shattered my knee. In return, I tore out a foot-long section of his spinal column and ripped off the top of his horned skull. Needless to say, I won the fight.


My punishment had been the Box. The longest anyone, human or demon, had survived with their sanity even remotely intact was five weeks. I stayed locked inside for six whole months. When they finally let me out, I could not walk, or even stand, but my mind was whole.


I had taken all of the pain, the terror, the disorientation and fed it to the darkness inside me. I fanned the fires of my boundless rage, and stoked the cold furnace of my hate. And for every, single last moment of torment I spent in my prison, I plotted and I schemed.


My old master had feared that I would hate him. I did not. He was, and still is, one of the closest things I have ever had to a father. He had feared that my punishment would make me into a monster, but I had become that before I had even crossed into Hyriault and sought him out as my teacher.


Even four years later, when he cast me out, and refused to teach me any more, to teach me what I needed to know, I did not hate him. Another ten years of constant warfare passed before I returned, at the head of a vast army formed of his greatest foes.


I cast down the empire he had built, an empire founded on peace and justice. I broke his body and stole his power. I drained his library, perhaps the greatest collection of magical texts any dimension has ever seen, dry. I killed his hopes, his dreams, and then, finally, I killed him. And I still loved him like a father when I did so.


His death still haunts me, as do so many others. Those of my family most of all. Some nights, I still see the look of sorrow, of disappointment in his eyes as I kill him, or that of betrayal in the eyes of my family. Once, I would have wept, but I no longer think I am capable of doing so. Like so much else, I burnt that capacity out of my wretched soul.


So I sit, alone in the gloom of my cave, alone with my memories, my own personal demons. They torture me, but I don't mind. It is far less than what I deserve. But I will never stop. I can not stop, until I am finished, until I have done what I came here to do.


Then, perhaps, I will finally have some measure of peace.


**********


“Willow, Tara? Could I have a moment of your time?” Giles asked as he sat in the armchair facing the lounge upon which the two women were seated. The firm tone of the Englishman's voice suggested that it was a matter of some importance. Willow and and Tara both directed puzzled glances at each other, then Willow nodded.


“What's up, Giles?” Willow asked, her hand reaching out on it's volition to seek the comfort of Tara's touch.


“Given my little ... adventure the other night, it would seem a prudent idea to circle the wagons, as it where. A ward of some kind around the house wouldn't be out of place at this juncture, given the nature of the threat we appear to be facing.”


“I already put one up around the house, Giles,” Tara offered quietly. Giles blinked in surprise, and Willow looked at Tara in astonishment, and what Willow herself was disheartened to find was a tiny stab of betrayal. “It will warn us if anything magical in nature approaches the house.”


“You placed a ward around the house? When did you do that?” Willow blurted. She managed not to voice the question that was bothering her more. Why didn't you tell me that?


“I did it last n... night, while you were in the shower, after we got Giles back home,” Tara replied, her entire bearing nervous. She flicked a glance at Willow's hurt expression, and tightened her grip on Willow's hand as if afraid that Willow would pull away.


“Will, sweetie, I just ...” Tara began.


“You didn't want to put me in temptation's path,” interrupted Willow. Tara looked at her lover apologetically, then nodded. “You didn't trust me.”


Tara looked up, cut to the quick by the note of pain and betrayal in Willow's voice. She released Willow's hand and cupped her beloved's face in both hands, staring intently into her eyes.


“Willow, I do trust you. I trust you with my heart, and I trust you with my life. I ... I just didn't want to rub your face in the magic.”


“Ok, sure, I can understand that ... but why didn't you tell me?” asked Willow. “Because that does feel like you don't trust me.”


Giles coughed uncomfortably, and both women turned to face him, somewhat abashed that they had completely forgotten the Watcher's presence.


Tara removed her hands from Willow's face and placed them in her lap, nervously twisting at the fabric of her skirt. She knew in the pit of her stomach that Willow would want to continue this conversation in private, and the blonde witch wasn't looking forward to it.


“Willow, I've been meaning to ask ... why are you no longer practicing magic?” Giles asked once he was sure he had both women's attention.


Willow's face fell as surely as if it were a brick dropped from the top of the Empire State Building. Oh goddess, no. Not this. I can't bear to see the disappointment in his eyes too. She bowed her head and fidgeted in manner that was surprisingly similar to Tara in less confident days.


“Willow?” Giles quietly asked again, well aware of the redhead's reluctance.


“Um n attic.” Willow finally mumbled, unwilling to look up and meet Giles' eyes.


“What was that, Willow?”


Willow sighed despondently, and summoned up every scrap of courage she could. She surprised Tara by reaching out for her hand again, desperate for the strength Tara's unconditional love lent her. C'mon Rosenberg, you can do this. Make it quick, like ripping off a band-aid.


“I'm an addict.” Willow finally looked up at Giles, and was both pleased and surprised to find no condemnation in his face, only compassion and warmth.


“What is it you are addicted to, Willow?”


Willow blinked in surprise that Giles didn't automatically guess, given their past arguments over her magic use. “I'm addicted to magic, Giles.”


Giles snorted loudly. “Rubbish. You can't get addicted to magic.”


“What?” both Willow and Tara exclaimed at the same time, astounded by Giles' claim.


“Giles, I did get addicted!” Willow insisted, feeling somewhat insulted by what she saw as Giles' blatant dismissal of her problem. “To magic! I was all with the craziness and the not being able to stop and the shakes and the withdrawal ...”


“It's true, Giles. You weren't here, you didn't see what the magic was doing to her!” Tara confirmed, equally as confused by Giles' reaction as Willow was.


“Willow, Tara, there is nothing inherently physically addictive about magic,” Giles responded, slipping off his glasses and beginning to polish them with a handkerchief. “If there were, what happened to you would have happened to a great many other people.”


“Sam told me about these shaman she and Riley knew in South America who got addicted!” insisted Willow.


“Who the devil is Sam, and what would she know about it?”


“Riley's wife, Giles,” Willow explained. “She works with him in special ops or whatever it is they call it.”


“Riley's married? Riley came back? Why the devil aren't I in the loop anymore?”


“Because you were on the other side of the planet?” Tara offered, trying her best to not sound snippy.


“Yes, and it's so difficult to pick up a phone,” grumbled Giles.


“Who cares about Sam or Riley!” Willow snapped. “Are you trying to say I'm just making this up! I was out of control, Giles. I almost got Dawn killed!”


“Willow, I'm not saying you don't have a problem. In fact, I thought I made it clear that I thought so before I left. I'm just saying that it isn't the magic itself that is the problem.”


“Oh great. So the problem is what ... me?”


Giles sighed. “Essentially ... yes.”


Willow gaped, unable to believe what she was hearing. From the white-knuckled grip Tara had on her hand, Willow was guessing that her partner shared her opinion.


“What? You ...what?” the redhead finally whispered, unable to form a proper coherent sentence.


“Willow, don't misunderstand me,” Giles stated soothingly, noticing that both women were understandably upset. “I'm not so much saying that there is a problem with you personally, but rather with the way in which you use your magic.”


“How the frilly heck is that not a problem with me!” Willow only barely resisted the compulsion to leap to her feet and shriek in Giles' face.


“You were never properly trained, Willow. You possess a great amount of power, it's true, but you were never properly trained how to use it, and when not to. You never learned proper control.”


“Power tends to corrupt, ... “ Tara murmured, as if just realizing something.


“... and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Giles stated, finishing the quote.


“What!” Willow yelped, unable to resist leaping to her feet now. “Tara, are you actually buying into this?”


“Sweetie ... I'm sorry, but it makes sense. If magic itself is addictive, then why haven't I ever felt it? I've been practicing magic for much longer.”


“Willow, please listen to us,” Giles added. “We only want to help you.”


“No,” Willow insisted, shaking her head stubbornly. “I don't want to hear this.”


“Sweetie, you could practice magic again,” pleaded Tara.


“NO!” Willow shouted at the top of her lungs, startling both Tara and Giles. “I don't ever want to use magic again. I don't ever want to risk hurting you again.”


With that final statement, Willow fled upstairs, leaving Tara look at Giles helplessly.


**********


The sun is heavy and warm on my back, easing the pain of my rotting lungs as I stand on the sidewalk and stare at the local magic shop. 'The Magic Box'. Something about that name tickles a thread of memory at the back of my mind. I try to remember, but I can't. If it is something important, I will find out sooner or later. Probably just as it explodes in my face.


After checking that my multiple layers of glamour are firmly in place, I open the door and step through, grating my teeth at the bell's overly cheerful jangle. I briefly entertain myself with the thought of ripping the bell off the door and melting it to slag. Something about the sound just sets my teeth on edge.


The store is, in general, much like any other. The difference lies in the actual stock on the shelves. The standard magical paraphernalia for the curious and amateurs is present, crystal balls, scented candles and a plethora of amulets, that while pretty contain no more magical significance than a fresh dog turd.


It is the other stock, mixed in here and there with the dross that interests me. The herbs, various ingredients with dubious names and even worse stenches, the books with real power. They sing out to me, pulse in harmony with the magic that constantly surges through my blood.


The young woman behind the counter looks up from an open ledger before me, and pastes an alarmingly bright and obviously fake smile on her pretty face.


“Good afternoon! How can I help you spend your money?” she asks bluntly, if cheerfully.


I blink in surprise. Well, that's a ... fresh approach to retail. I limp forward, trusting to the glamour to make my gait seem normal to the young woman, who I assume is the proprietor, since there is no-one else in the store. I sense a deep thread of sorrow running through her, but I ignore it. Whatever her problems are, they don't matter a whit to me.


“I need everything on this list,” I state, handing her the list I had compiled on a couple of sheets of scrap paper. She scans the list quickly, and it is almost as if I can hear the cash register in her mind ringing up each purchase.


“This will be very expensive,” she eventually tells me. Her voice seems conflicted between happiness at the sheer amount of money my list represents, and bitterness at her own decision to tell me so.


“Money is no object.”


My empathic talent picks up a sudden spike in the woman's emotions. It is as if she is struggling inside herself as to whether to be offended by my words, or filled with delirious joy. The joy wins out, and the shopkeeper's smile becomes genuine, not to mention twice as bright. Well, she certainly seems to like money to a disturbing degree. Good, she might be less likely to ask questions.


I watch her as she scurries around the shop, gathering the diverse items I require, making frequent trips back to the counter to place armload's of goods into a number of cardboard boxes. That same niggling sense that I am forgetting something is bothering me once again. It is rapidly beginning to become ... vexing.


There is something about this woman. It's something to do with her specifically. But what is it? I notice that she is glancing at me every now and then, and it is beginning to concern me. What is she looking at? Can she actually sense the glamour? Is she a practicing witch?


The shopkeeper collects the last of my purchases, and they join the rest in their new, temporary home. She sets to ringing it all up on the cash register with what seems to be almost a maniacal glee. It is, strangely enough, simultaneously disturbing and oddly endearing.


As she finishes her calculations, she presents the final bill with a flourish. She seems positively delighted when I do not wince at the astronomical size of the amount. That pleasure doubles when I pull out a roll of hundred dollar bills, the smallest fraction of last night's spoils. I count off the required amount, and slip the substantially smaller roll back into my pocket.


“That you for spending so much!” she states warmly, and there is nothing fake about it. “Please come back soon, and spend some more.”


I nod in a somewhat shell shocked manner and reach for the boxes containing my purchases.


“You really are very good at that,” she announces suddenly, and I pause, confused. “The glamour, I mean. I can barely tell it's there, let alone see through it. Are you extraordinarily ugly?”


I freeze in shock. She can sense the glamour. Crap. I have a mental epiphany, and the memories fall into place. Magic Box. Blunt. Inappropriate love of money. Vengeance Demon. Irrational fear of ... rabbits?


“Anyanka,” I mutter, dealing myself the mental equivalent of a slap to the head.


Her eyes suddenly go wide, and I can actually see the moment when realization hits her like a axe-blow to the head. In an instant, she is wearing the guise of a vengeance demon.


“It's you. You're this new power ...” she blurts.


So much for nice and quiet. My verbal response is somewhat more succinct. “Bugger.”


Her first blow dislocates my jaw, and sends me hurtling backwards into a shelf full of merchandise. She must be seriously pissed off, I think to myself as I fall to the floor, because she isn't even bemoaning the potential lost revenue.


She vaults over the counter and strides towards me as I struggle to my knees. I regain my feet, albeit shakily, just in time to have her break my nose.


She is shouting at me as I fall backwards onto my ass. “You hurt Giles! I like Giles, and I don't like people attacking my business partner!”


Grabbing me by the throat, she raises me off the floor, with the apparent intention of popping my skull like an especially disgusting zit. Well, this will never do. Time to stop playing silly buggers and fight back.


I grab the wrist of the hand holding me and squeeze. I feel the bones snap and grind together, and Anya yelps in surprise and pain. Most demons never expect a mere human to be stronger than them. She drops me, and I thrust a hand in her direction. The repulsion wave I hurl at her drives Anya staggering backwards, giving me room to work.


Anya cradles her broken wrist, and snarls wordlessly at me. Oh yes, you don't like me at all, do you. There are so very many unpleasant things you want to do to me. With one hand, I wrench my jaw back into place. The experience ... is not enjoyable.


“I am so gonna ...” she begins, but I tire of this foolishness.


“Oh, shut the hell up,” I snarl, as lightning flares from both of my hands, smashing into the unprepared demon with the force of a speeding freight train. It flings her backwards, clothes charred and burning, with sufficient force to smash clean through a thick support beam. Anya crashes into the far wall, denting it with the force of her impact, and falls to the floor, limp and barely conscious.


I limp towards her, a blazing inferno confined in one hand. My thoughts quest towards her and confirm what I suspected. The vengeance demon is barely conscious, and in no condition to continue our little ... spat.


Crouching at her side, I let the fireball dissipate, and spit a mouthful of my own blood on the floor. I grab her by the hair and yank her head up.


“If you were anyone else, Anya, I would peel you apart like an orange,” I hiss in her ear. I know she can hear me. “But I want you alive. I want all of you alive. However, you proved to be ... annoyingly vigorous just now, and I can't have that. So ...”


My other hand darts out, and rips the pendant from around her neck. The pendant that is the source of all her powers. Destroy this, and she is just another human, albeit one with a memory spanning eleven hundred years. She struggles impotently, but Anya is too weak now to put up an effective resistance.


I crush the pendant in my hand, ignoring the flash of mystical energy as I do so, and let her head fall. I limp back to the counter, and recover my purchases. As I carry them to the door, I call out a final farewell over my shoulder.


“Fare thee well, Anya. I'll see you soon. I'll see all of you soon.”


To be continued ...

_________________
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

So much for being stealthy...

Now I can't for the life of me figure out why Anya would attack a big new magic power with her fists. Anya is a lot of things but not dumb when it comes to magics and fighting, lots of experience after all I expected her to teleport out of the magic shop pretty much after being thrown into that bookcase. It just makes no sense to stay around a more powerfull enemy in such a bad situation. TUE didn't see through Anya's glamour, interesting...

Even if Anya hadn't seen the glamour (the more powerfull those need to be the easier they are to detect I guess) the HUGE purchase would have drawn attention all by itself. Again with the TUE not really thinking his actions through all that much. Obsession was indeed the word I was looking for by the way, thanks

My biggest question at the moment would be: why did mr TUE cross over to Hyriault in the first place?? He must be fairly old as well. The timeline just doesn't fit with Willow having done anything to mr TUE that long ago. They wouldn't have met, since Willow would be in kindergarten with Xander and Jesse at the time.

TUE is pretty good at self-deluding as well, suuuuure he didn't hate his old master...noooo. He just destroyed him and his empire because he loved him so much, rrrrright. I utterly fail to see why the Box punishment would have any correcting affect if used for so long. It could be a good detterent if used for short punishment but not so much for 6 months, by that time whoever's in there wont know or care WHY they're there. Ah well.

TUE is leaving information all over the place any time he comes into contact with a scooby. I understand he wants them all alive probably because he feels them owe him something and have to fess to it (preceived injustice comes to mind). Yet that does provide lots and lots of clues to the other scoobies; strength, speed, magic capabilties...

TUE is powerfull, but thats about it... not anything smart about whatever he's doing. Dumb, obsessed and powerfull makes a rather hazardous combination though. He's a bit like Warren in some ways.

Willow's reaction to "Willow, Tara, there is nothing inherently physically addictive about magic," is understandable. It's not easy to be told there's nothing external you can blame for what you did wrong. Even when not using magic at all Willow still have some personal faults, like everybody else really. Willow however wants to prevent hurting Tara again at all cost and she thought dumping magic would do that. The only way now would be to either change herself or not be with Tara anymore .

Willow needs some time to think things through, which unfortunatly she doesn't seem to get. Talking with Giles would help, he has some experience dealing badly with magic. On the positive side, it's not about dark magics vs. white magics then, didn't like the easy seperation anyway . No need to worry about using 'dark' magics to save Buffy once again, just don't overdose on it.. (cf. nosebleed in season5 after that teleport spell, I liked that direction much more)

It wasn't very nice of Willow to get angry at Tara for placing a (presumably) simple ward around the house. Willow wouldn't have wanted to help with that anyway and informing her doesn't seem nessecary to me. It certainly had nothing to do with Tara not trusting her, which Willow should realise herself as well. Willow seems horrible insecure. And again with the time needed vs. time given...

Time isn't on the scoobies side it seems, thats rather worriesome. At least Willow should realize now the her magic is not inherently bad.

edited to add:
What also worries me that the scoobies don't seem to be researching this new threat all that much. At least not efficiently, clearly the word 'ripper' which TUE used should narrow down the options a LOT.. so get with the researching Willow could help with that, no need to worry about magic for a while then.

edited to added even more:
Looks to me mr TUE is on a sort of farewell mission. Not that he nessecarely WANTS to commit suicide, but the descriptions of his body and internal organs don't sound like he will live long. That makes him more dangerous, although he already has nothing to live for besides whatever goal he has set himself.
(I promise to behave and be quiet now

P.S. Is it me or is that last line "“Fare thee well, Anya" awfully british or at least non-normal ??

Grimmy

_________________
"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

Holy gathering dread, Paul--who is this guy?!?

He remembers Anya (Anyanka); he sought out training w/ someone who apparently valued peace and justice, only to return and kill that father figure; he has a dim memory of Anya and her foibles...Is there some kind of time warp going on? Such that in one dimension this happened relatively recently but in another, it was 20, 14 years ago?

Here we could hear more of his human voice than ever before; even the use of such words as "crap" makes him more human, less eerie, somehow. And again, I cannot hate him: he hates that bell as well.

And finally, Paul, anyone who can use the word "lassitude" in a sentence has my respect!

Loving this!
Mary