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Chapter Eleven

He nearly dropped the talisman to the carpet as he looked up and found piercing blue eyes shimmering with mirth. He registered his double first, and as Will clamped his lips tight and prepared himself for the ribbing he knew he’d be likely to give himself after revealing himself as a whipped tosser, he saw her. It seemed wrong somehow—that a Buffy from another world should know of his secret identity before he’d gathered the balls to spill it to his own. That this Buffy should hold no appeal for him whatsoever.

“What’s with the bauble? Dangerous bits of gear, those,” Spike advised wisely, his lips set in a grim frown.

Buffy immediately appeared contrite, turning to her vampire with tears streaking her cheeks. Will looked on in fascination and knew he’d have to extract that gem of a story, one way or another. First, he had to throw them off about the talisman. He couldn’t chance they bring it up with Liz—the silly chit obviously still hadn’t put two and bloody two together and he was going to be staked good and proper if she got wind of who her secret confidant had been the past twelve months from anyone but him.

“Nothing special,” he replied and almost immediately wished he could kick his own rear. Yeah, he was trying to fool his own double—probably the only creature in the world that knew him as well as he knew himself. Typical—being that Spike was him. And he was Spike. And they were all royally up the creek.

It was Buffy that cocked a sceptical brow and then smiled through her remnant tears. “Looks kinda special. And since you’re obviously trying to throw us off the scent, I’m gonna go with really special. So what is it?”

Will blinked. Christ. When was he ever going to learn to keep things hidden?

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, all right?”

Lightning fast, Spike had the thing out of the other vampire’s hands in a tick of the clock, and he and Buffy began to busily examine it. “Doesn’t look like my Liz Taylor special,” Spike admitted. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked all about to chastise Will like he was a recalcitrant child. “You should just tell her. A secret like this is bound to blow up in your face, and here’s a hint: you’re flammable.” Spike handed the talisman to Buffy, then stared at his double, arms crossed while he propped himself up in the doorway.

“Pretty,” Buffy commented distractedly, apparently mesmerised by the flashy lights deep within the red stone. She shook herself out of it and then handed the heavy jewel back to Will. “I’d tell her delicately. I can be almost certain she’s not going to take it well that she’s been worrying and sharing her secrets with a vampire—especially you.”

“Steady on, luv,” Spike objected. “What about romance and…romance?”

Buffy looked at him like he’d screwed his head on backwards and was talking to the hall and not to her. “Let’s take a walk down memory lane? How did I react when you first told me you had a little crush on me?”

“Oi! Who said anything about a crush?” Will denied, but the stony silence and the knowing twinkle in Spike and Buffy’s eyes was enough to crush any other objections to nothing.

“Slayer’s right. Might want to go delicately,” he advised. Then, as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, he stared at Buffy and licked his lips.

Equally hypnotised by the heat of fiery blue eyes, Buffy gulped and nodded. “Delicately. Uh huh.”

Will rolled his eyes and shuddered at their revolting display of unguarded lust and barged past them, not even apologising as Buffy bumped into the doorframe and said ‘ouch.’ “Get a bleeding room already,” he suggested and stomped down the corridor. Knowing he was in love with Liz and seeing another incarnation of himself get to live the dream he knew he’d never be able to made him want to hurl. God, he could really go for some killing right now. His hands itched to bust open some beasties face and be bathed in their blood.

But before he could make it down the stairs and out of the house, the witch stalled in fright in front of him. Her eyes wide and apprehensive, she slowly stepped back, easily recognising the twist of his lip and the flexing of his arms.

“Before you go getting confused, I’m the other Willow. The…uh…good one. The one you didn’t tie up and gag.” She grinned nervously and took a step back—which unfortunately tipped her backwards over the steps and she windmilled suspended in air, ready to feel the whistle of wind in her ears as she tumbled down the stairs—until Will grabbed her and hauled her a good couple of feet away from them.

“Christ on a stick. Maybe I should have!” he exploded, unable to decide if the hostility he still felt aimed at this one was because he could smell the darkness on her as well or because he couldn’t differentiate between her and the one downstairs. And then he took a quick count: Buffy and Spike were making out in Liz’s bedroom, he and Willow were doing a jig upstairs to escape a painful death for the witch, and Liz herself was probably in her safe zone where she’d always go to contact him. That meant the witch was left downstairs somewhere with no supervision. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, thrusting Willow to the side and taking the steps in one graceful leap.

The anxiety in his voice had been enough to ensure him a following and by the time the household had gathered around him he was grasping nothing but a tangle of ropes. Four worried sets of eyes met but William and Spike read each other as easily as a book and immediately echoed the other’s sentiment.

“Balls.”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There were serious unity issues in that house, thought Willow as she hurried away from her home-turned-prison. After struggling for hours both physically and mentally to break free from her tethers, she was too exhausted to do anything but a distraction spell to aid her escape. She was reasonably certain it would buy her at least an hour to distance herself, but she’d never cast a spell when this tired before, so who knew what she’d actually managed?

She’d become too cocky. How else could she rationalise away the fact that she’d never prepared herself a safe hole? One of those places the good cop/bad cop shows always told about when you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar and you needed to get lost fast—just long enough to hide from ones enemies and work out a way to make them all pay!

Willow breathed deeply, trying to centre herself and maybe regain enough focus to do a cloaking spell. The absolute last thing she needed right now was for Buffy and her merry band of clones to find her and mete out whatever punishment they’d decided on. She needed time to recover—to plan what she was going to do to fight back and squash Buffy into the ground. She had home world advantage here and she’d be damned before she’d let them take it away from her.

Which didn’t quite eradicate the cold or the dirt she currently found herself surrounded in. She needed somewhere safe—somewhere warm and possibly with furniture. There was only one place she could think of, and now that she’d reached the outskirts of town, Willow rolled her eyes. How typical that she’d think of the perfect place to hide once she’d travelled far beyond it.

Fatigue stretched along her limbs and Willow felt her knees buckle. Pushing a weary hand through her tangled hair, she heaved a sigh. There was nothing for it. Out here she was a sitting duck for any vampire that moved. She needed to be somewhere where she could not only hide out, but be protected as well.

Turning back to look into town, determination rolled down her spine and she took that first vital step to return. She wasn’t escaping like some nervous mouse. She was a force to be reckoned with and there was no way she was going to show that degree of weakness to her enemies.

Nerves made her skittish and Willow made sure to check every street thoroughly before she walked down it, surveyed every shadow for threats before she neared them. It felt like hours before she was forcing open the once familiar back basement entrance to the Harris’s home. The creak of the doors made the redhead feel sick inside. She rapidly blinked to stall the rush of tears inspired by memories she refused to relive, then darted a look around the property to be certain the sound hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention. There was no point worrying about the Harris’s hearing her. She could hear the blast of the TV from where she stood outside and had already noticed all the windows to the house seemed to be closed. It didn’t take a genius to figure they were both probably passed out drunk in front of the box.

Ice encased her heart as she stepped into the basement, quickly pulling shut the doors behind her. Nothing had changed. Xander had been preparing the space to be his private getaway from the dysfunction of upstairs before he’d been… Willow grinded her jaw and moved to the bed. She just needed to do the spell and then she could sleep and rejuvenate.

Quickly looking around the basement, the witch shuddered at the abandoned death of it. This would have been where Xander spent his newly adult years—had he survived losing his virginity. They could have had Scooby meetings here—well, ones that were of the unofficial because try as she might, there was no way Willow could picture Giles entering the dark, below ground living space.

Forcefully she pushed away the memories—the feelings screaming at her. She was above this now. She had no time for trips down memory lane. She had no place inside her willing to be opened up to the pain that grief brought along with it. Her friend was gone—her mentor was dead—and there wasn’t a damn thing that could be done about it but avenge the senseless acts until the bitterness left her throat. It never would while Buffy survived. Even if she hadn’t wrought the killing blow, it was the association with her that ultimately killed everyone. Xander had had a thing for slayers, and Buffy wouldn’t let him exploit it thus turning him onto the doomed path of Faith. And Giles…wasn’t she meant to protect her watcher above all others? And why had she left it to Jenny Calender and Willow to punish Faith to the full extent she’d deserved?

Reinforced anger and hatred fuelled her now and the witch hurriedly set up for her cloaking spell. Within a minute it was complete and the lethargy of success filtered through her limps and nerves until she could barely keep her eyes open.

Reassured of her safety for now, Willow huddled on the mattress, clenched her eyes closed and willed herself to sleep.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


“This is not good,” Willow muttered nervously.

“The last thing we should do is panic,” Buffy said, though as soon as her gaze met Willow’s, she couldn’t help but look down guiltily.

“It’s okay,” Willow conceded. “I remember how scary it was last time—even if I was on a huge power high and I was the thing that was terrifying.” The witch looked ashen, as though history was about to explode into a rerun, with her mirror-image as the starring villain.

“This isn’t you, Willow. Just because she’s you in this world, she’s not you, and I know you’re smart enough to understand what I just said, even if I’m not.” The weak grin that accompanied the declaration was enough reassurance for both females of the group, but it was short-lived as Liz entered through the back door and encountered them all in a huddle, Will hanging on furiously to the loose ropes as his jaw ticked in frustration.

“How the bloody hell did none of us notice the bitch was getting free?” he demanded before staring pointedly at the couple that had been unable to keep their hands to themselves since they’d entered the dimension.

Spike stared pointedly at the pocket that hid the talisman and Will’s lips straightened into a white line of fury. It was his fault. He’d thought with so many supposed heroes in the house he’d be free to touch base with Liz—and there was no way to express how eager he was for their doubles to get the hell out of his world and back to their own so he could have his and Buffy’s name back for keeps. He should have risked scaring her by not replying to her call and kept his eyes on the witch.

“She’s going to incinerate us all like bugs.” His matter-of-fact statement was met with cold silence, Willow shrivelling up inside herself at the stark confrontation of what she’d once been. “The bitch is going to go out there, power herself up and wipe us off the face of the earth.”

“Steady on with the doom and gloom, junior,” Spike ordered, his own tone toughened to an authoritative burr. “The Willow in this world might have been dabbling in magic, but we’ve got the real super witch right here. Our Willow could obliterate your Willow without batting an eye, so how about you calm down and stop scaring the girl.”

“Okay, so we actually have something in our favour,” Liz admitted grudgingly. “Thing is, our Willow is not only resourceful, she’s vengeful and sadistic. I suggest you think of something fast or our run here is going to end abruptly.”

Disappointment rolling from her back, Liz turned away and headed up the stairs to her room. She’d thought with Willow captured she’d had a chance to survive her former friend. The prospect of death settled heavily and Liz couldn’t think of one reason why she should bother to stay up and help plan a path for self-preservation. She felt so tired. All year she’d sidestepped Willow’s obvious objective to get rid of her and now it felt like whatever she did, the witch was going to succeed. Even bringing back help had achieved nothing.

“Where are you going?” Will demanded harshly, his patience all but dried up.

Liz didn’t answer him.





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