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Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER 33: Heart and Soul

CHAPTER RATING: T

CHAPTER PAIRING: Dawn & Clem, Spike & Tara, Drusilla/Giles

TIMELINE/SPOILERS: AU after AtS "Not Fade Away"

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just fixing their mistakes!

CHAPTER CREDITS: n/a

CHAPTER NOTES: So sorry for the delay. School is back in session, so time is a luxury to me now. But, we're almost to the end now! Hang on, cuz the next couple chapters will be a bumpy ride!
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They rode in companionable silence for a few hours, each one afraid that any conversation might reveal too many secrets to the other.

After the awkward reunion outside the bar, Willow's stomach growled so loudly through her small frame that Angel couldn't help but notice her hunger. When she revealed to him that she had no food or money, he treated her to a very early breakfast at the Café Du Monde, where he watched her eat more beignets than he thought possible.

As her stomach filled, Willow blabbed her way through the situation. Angel tried hard not to let her see his disappointment upon learning that her powers were tapped out down there. And then he tried hard not to let her see his excitement upon learning that she had been staying with Spike. He couldn't let her go now.

Before resorting to kidnapping, he came up with a likely story. He was on his way to New York City to bring down Wolfram & Hart's base office there. He no longer had access to their corporate jet (for obvious reasons), but he managed to swipe one of those great cars with the necro-tempered glass. So, he was driving there. And, out of the goodness of his heart, he could make a little detour to drop Willow off in Cleveland. Hell, maybe Spike would want to help him with his Wolfram & Hart take-over?

Willow bought it.

He had been prepared to weave even more threads to form an elaborate tale, but apparently she was still the naive little girl he hoped she'd be. Good, because he had more planning and strategizing that he needed to do. But, only when he was sure Willow was not going to get powdered sugar all over the expensive leather upholstery in his car did Angel even consider opening the door for her.

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"Wow. Are you sure this isn't a Hellmouth?"

Dawn and Buffy peered out of the RV windows as Clem drove down the wrong street. They had made it to Detroit finally but were having a heck of a time trying to find that very-far-removed friend of Clem.

"Uhhh... you guys might want to make sure all the windows are locked. And the doors," the saggy-skinned demon replied, skirting Dawn's question. The look on Buffy's face told him that she knew what Dawn had been referring to: the day she came back to them, when the Hellions had ravaged Sunnydale.

The Slayer spoke up then. "I should patrol. While you guys are still looking."

Dawn and Clem shot her an are-you-serious? glance.

"I mean, it sure looks like these poor people need it." She tried to soften what she wanted to say. What she really meant was: this is too much like Sunnydale, too much of a reminder of loss—of him, of her sense of self, purpose.

When Dawn didn't reply to her, she added: "I need it." I need to feel in control of something—anything—again.

The younger Summers girl frowned, but went over to her duffle bag and pulled out Mr. Pointy. "You're lucky I rescued this for you." It was all she'd say to her sister's request.

Buffy held the stake in her hands as though it were a priceless artifact. It probably was.

This was not on Clem's list of possible activities they'd try in Detroit. Not at all. He cringed but relented, slowing down so that she could hop out.

Not until they were each certain that cell phones were in place and working did Dawn and Clem let Buffy go.

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Spike wished he could let Tara go. Not that he didn't want to be around her—not that at all. It's just that he wished she had the freedom to remain corporeal wherever she wanted to be. They still had no idea why she only materialized when he was near her. He definitely felt bad about that when she was around Willow. It took so much effort for her to gain any sense of touch with the other witch, and his soul ached for them like it ached when he thought of his absent Buffy. What was he supposed to do, stay in the room with them so they could make love? Hell, he'd do it if Glinda asked, and he was sure it wouldn't be a horrible chore, but there was something called dignity. And privacy. And respect. He loved the good witch enough to want to give her those.

Which is why he cast his eyes down, away from the mirror right now. She had been crying all day over Willow, and it broke his unbeating heart. He didn't know what to do. When he asked her what might help, she replied that she wanted to be warm again. So he thought and thought and, being room temperature himself, he came up with one idea: a hot bath. The only problem—she wouldn't be able to feel it unless she was corporeal, and she was only corporeal when he was near her. But, he was a gentleman under all the swagger, and she took him up on the offer.

So, there they were now—Spike sitting on the bathroom tile with his back to the side of the tub, and Tara immersed to her chin in steaming hot water and bubbles.

"Do you think she's safe, wherever she is?" the good witch asked softly.

Spike didn't know if she meant Willow or Buffy, so he answered for both. "She can hold her own, luv. Don't you worry about that."

She reached a warm, soapy hand out to his, gripping it tight. He returned the squeeze, running his thumb over her knuckles. This poor, poor miracle. He knew he'd do anything to protect her.

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Drusilla had been in the bath for what felt like hours. Giles was thankful he had used the facilities before she had this idea, otherwise his bladder might have burst. She was carrying on again, caught in some sort of vision that he couldn't translate. Was it something about Angel? Or the prophecy? Or just another argument she'd had with Miss Violet? She fussed and fussed, not even wanting the blood he offered her straight from the tap. Instead, she pouted that Spike always drew her a bath when she was unhinged. He was discovering that he had a lot to live up to.

So, he drew the bath, then he had to wash her hair very meticulously, rolling it up into curls while it was damp so that the shape would set.

When the doorbell rang, he nearly sighed with relief. Even if it was bad news, at least it was a moment for him to go back to his own life.

"Rupert!" the duet of voices sang out. It was Gertrude and Alva from the coven in Devon. They took in his slightly disheveled appearance and embraced him together, happy that they had made it in time. He did not miss the looks of relief that passed over the witches' faces when they found him alive and well.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all right! We've been trying to phone you," Gertrude continued as Alva peered at him more closely.

"Me? I've been trying to reach you, actually."

"What happened?" all three of them asked in unison.

Giles deferred to them, and they shared a tale that he wouldn't have believed if he hadn't spent so much time on a Hellmouth.

"A voodoo curse?" he asked, as if they were stretching the truth.

"We were sure it affected you too," Gertrude replied.

Alva butted in. "Polina was sure. Or, at least, sure something had happened to you. Insisted that we come to find you."

Giles was about to say something, but the creak of the bathroom door stopped him.

"Oh, you have company..." Gertrude's apologetic words died as Drusilla approached, naked and glistening. The color on the witches' faces matched that of the Watcher.

"Why, are these for me?" the vampire asked with delight.

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