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Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER PAIRING: Willow/Tara, Spike/Buffy

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions.
Willow's map glowed in two spots, just as she had hoped. One spot was in her makeshift southern California, while the other was in...umm...Chicago? Detroit? Cleveland? Pittsburgh? New York? Somewhere in between?

Yeah, so drawing wasn't her strong point. Good thing the glowing didn't show up in another part of the map—the part that included the non-US portion of the world.

"He's somewhere...important," Tara said pensively. "I sensed he was drawn there, maybe by memories."

"New York!" Willow exclaimed. "He'd totally go there, cuz...oh..." She deflated. "Nikki Wood, the Slayer." She frowned a bit. Was that still a good memory, or a bad one?

Tara flitted back and forth, pacing ethereally, but Willow couldn't see it. She had expended a lot of energy on the spell, particularly the part that drew Spike's mother to him. Thankfully, Willow trusted in her powers for that brief moment, otherwise who knows how long Tara would be M.I.A. For the time being, at least her voice was reaching Willow.

"Should we try to find Buffy first?" Tara asked.

Willow gathered the map and let the wind scatter the remaining traces of their spell. Even the offering had turned to fragrant ash.

"No. Not until we really have Spike back."



"Yep, Big Bad is back!" Spike growled as he dusted a few vamps behind The Phantasy. Those losers clearly thought they'd get a quick bite to eat at the local club's goth/industrial night. Didn't expect a full meal like this, did they? Bastards.

Still, nice way to iron out the kink in his shoulder from sleeping awkwardly earlier. Boy, what a dream he'd had. He knew it was just madness, but he didn't care—those moments with his mother were so real. His memories of her were buried so deep inside him that it had to mean something if he dreamt of her. Especially what she said. After all he'd done, after what he turned her into—she still looked at him as her world. Whether it be madness or a trick, he didn't care. It was everything he'd ever wanted that wasn't Buffy. Oh, and Glinda—how did she sneak herself in there? He thought of her every so often, but he couldn't imagine what would have made him dream of her. It had broken his heart to find out upon his return to Sunnydale that she had died, particularly at the hands of that wanker Warren. If only he had made a snack of him that one night instead of trying to get back at Buffy. Sure, it would have hurt like hell for a while, but what was a migraine when it could have prevented something like Tara's death and Willow's almost-apocalypse? So, to see Tara again in his dream, that was a pleasant surprise. He'd always liked that one. Never played the game of betrayal that the Slayer's friends seemed to partake in often. Part of that was because she was a good soul—he had always felt that coming off her in waves. But he knew the other part of it was because she was (and would always be) an outsider. And that's the part he felt kindred to. Perhaps they were from different ends of the spectrum, but he and the witch had an understanding because of that status that none of the others would ever be able to share.

Spike wished he could remember all the details of his dream. The parts with his mother were the most vivid. Down to the very scent of her. The parts with Tara...well, they felt cloaked in magic, as if he wasn't supposed to remember. But he was good at breaking rules, and dreamworld or reality—mere planes of existence couldn't stop him. Beyond the warmth that she left him with in the dream, he remembered her words. He wasn't forgotten. Spike smiled involuntarily at that. What else had she given him? He concentrated hard, the way he remembered doing when he was disembodied in those first days at Wolfram & Hart. Through the milky haze of his memory, his mind latched on to...oh...oh... now, wasn't this a treat!




"Ow!" Tara squeaked.

"Where are you? Willow asked, stopping momentarily from her packing. "What happened?"

Tara clutched her breast for a second. That was weird. "Must be taking a while for the effects of that spell to wear off." She floated behind Willow, assessing her progress. "Almost ready?"

Willow nodded gently.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," Willow lied. The truth of the matter was that she was terrified. Terrified of not finding Spike, and terrified of finding him.

Tara sensed this and willed a warm breath at the back of Willow's neck. She could see the red-headed witch relax a bit at that. "I'm with you. You'll be fine."

Tara's soft voice brought an extra beat to her heart. Even beyond death, Willow loved her more than she thought could be possible.

"Thank you for... you know..." Willow waved the magically-hacked airline ticket towards Tara's voice. She had no idea how else she could have gotten to NYC otherwise. Her money situation was practically non-existent, and she definitely didn't have enough power right now to teleport there—not even with Tara's help. She knew Tara would not have normally approved of her using magic (or her computer skills) in this way.

But, "the universe owed Spike at least this much," Tara had reasoned and thus relented.

So, with a few glances around the sparse little room, Willow gathered what remained of her life and left Argentina for good.





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