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[A/N: Time is a relative thing. When you are planning or awaiting something great and wonderful, it seems to take years. When bad times are afoot, time can be endless. And good wonderful moments are gone in a blink. Its going to progress like that now. Everything will move too fast and then stop. And no, I haven’t forgotten about the other scoobies, they’ve just not been the focus of the storyline so far. The title is from the Scottish Play (Hecate to the 3 sisters, Act 1, sc 5; the quotes as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, still in place.]

Previously: Everything is in place for Willow, but Giles is coming home and Spike’s gotten a rather cryptic message . . . and life is about to get more complicated.

9. Shall raise such artificial sprites.

Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.
Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paraliponmena, 1851

I’m not dead yet.
Monty Python and the Holy Grail


Coming back hadn’t been a mistake. Hadn’t been altogether smart either, but upon hearing Spike’s concern’s when he’d relayed the prophecy and his unspoken ones, Giles had rushed back. Now, almost a month later, with absolutely nothing more on it, Giles was beginning to rethink the immediacy of the situation.

His arrival had been, as he’d requested, a surprise to the girls. Spike had kept his counsel, and while both Tara and Dawn had been overjoyed at his return, Willow’s reaction had been somewhat different.

Willow was not overly happy to see him. He’d tried drawing the girl out, but in the time he’d been back, Giles had been unable to breach the distance he’d felt.

Had he known that was the last thing Willow wanted, Giles would have been more worried than he already was.

**************************** ******************************

Willow was in a holding pattern. She didn’t dare perform the retrieval until Giles was gone, knowing he would do everything in his power to stop her. Or at least believing it. Forced to wait, forced to keep all thought of the ritual from her mind, lest someone find out, or she inadvertently blurt it out in a mindless fit, Willow chafed at the restrictions. Resentment and anger had begun swirling, finding a focus on the two men. Spike, for calling Giles home and Giles for heeding the call.

She only hoped Giles would return to England and stay there.

*********************** ******************************

They were no closer to understanding the prophecy, well that wasn’t entirely true. Some of it was just way too obvious. The mention of the souled one could only mean Angel. Spike and Giles both agreed to that. What they couldn’t agree on was who the seer was and the yellow one. Spike had a theory the red one was Willow, but Giles wasn’t necessarily convinced. The unspoken hope they both carried but stoically refused to mention was the identity of the lost one that will return.

While it remained unspoken, both men hoped without hope that the lost one was Buffy.

*********************** ******************************

Tara was exhausted, mentally, physically and any other “ly” she couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to remember. Life with the scoobies and Willow was like constantly being on the edge of a knife. Never knowing what would literally, pop up out of the woodwork. But she wouldn’t change it for all the money in the world. She was loved, for herself, accepted and part of something that was greater than herself. The fact that she was currently so tired she couldn’t see or think straight was immaterial.

But that too was okay. Because summer session was over, and she could finally get some much needed rest. Mr. Giles was back home, Spike was guarding over them like a rabid dog, doing the majority of the patrolling without complaint, Dawn was nearly done with her summer school, and Willow. . . . Tara shook her head. Something was up with Willow. It could just be her own exhaustion worrying her girlfriend, which would only make sense, but Tara had this niggling little tickle in her back, just between her shoulders that said it was a little bit more than just a worried Willow. Maybe it was just the exhaustion, maybe it was just the paranoia that had set in after Glory had sucked her brain, she just couldn’t really tell. That in itself was something.

Willow’s aura was off just a tiny bit. . . swirling with a brownish-red color that Tara hadn’t seen before. Again, it could just be the worry about her, since it was something that had shown up during the Glory crisis, even though recently it seemed to be getting stronger.

Catching her image in the mirror, Tara suppressed a grimace. She looked exhausted. Her eyes looked bruised and the dark circles beneath highlighted just how gray her normally healthy skin looked. Lank mousy brown hair hung down past her face, and it was an effort to just stand there. Sighing deeply, Tara turned around and decided that today, she was going to do nothing. No books, no cooking, no anything. In fact, she was going to soak in the tub and then maybe, she’d get dressed.

Two hours later, when Willow got home, Tara was curled up on their bed, a towel still wrapped around her hair and a loose robe around her. She was sound asleep.

Willow felt like she had dodged a bullet.

*********************** *******************************

It was beginning to feel like she’d been in school her whole life. That life consisted of long moments spent inside a building she’d come to hate, interspersed with brief moments spent elsewhere. Moments that used to be full of Mom and Buffy and home and pizza and other good things, like being with Buffy’s friends and sometimes stolen moments with Spike. Now . . . now there were no more Mom or Buffy moments, and bare moments with the others. The best lately had been when Spike babied her, letting her just be. Whatever mood she found herself in, he just let it go, didn’t try to cajole her out of the sulks, didn’t give in when she was wallowing, but shielded her from the over-protective worrying of Giles and Xander. Sometimes it just drove her crazy, the way they treated her.

Summer was nearly gone and still she sat inside this building. It was, she had to admit, partially her own damn fault. But really, it was the hellmouth’s fault. When she really thought about it, all the misery of the last couple of months could be laid directly at the gaping mouth of hell. Dawn sat at her desk, absentmindedly studying for the summer-school finals that were scheduled for next week. And oh, boy, was she sooo happy about that. Once that was all over and done with, she would have approximately 15 whole days when she wouldn’t have to actively think about being in school. It so wasn’t enough time.

She wished there was some way she could have taken back some of the dumber things she’d done this past year, especially the skipping classes. Dumb ass, she thought about herself momentarily. A soft sigh escaped her, as she wrinkled her forehead. All right, enough woe is me pity girl. Her lips thinned, determination suddenly bringing her back to the class. Looking around, Dawn realized she didn’t want to do this at all next summer. Making a promise to herself, she resolved that no matter what happened around the hellmouth or the scoobies, she was not spending another summer making up classes.

Aside from spending her days stuck inside, and that every blood relative she had was gone, things weren’t so bad. She had Spike, which made up for not having a dad, and she had Tara. Okay, so neither was her blood, but both were family. And since they were family, Dawn felt safe in admitting that she was a little bit worried about Tara. This morning, before she left for school, she had taken a good look at the older woman and realized that she didn’t look so good. In fact, Tara looked like hell. Dark bruised circles were under her eyes, her hair was all this way and that, and her coloring was just off. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she didn’t like it at all. Tara needed to take care of herself. Dawn made a decision that when she got home, she was going to clean up and take care of Tara, instead of the other way around.

Only one more class to go, and then she was free for the weekend. Making her way through the somewhat crowded hallway, Dawn was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear her name being called, until someone touched her arm. “Dawn?”

Ms. West had concern written all over her features. As far as the adults went, she wasn’t a bad sort, and Dawn got the feeling that her compassion was real and not faked like some of the other teachers. “Dawn, I wanted to ask you how you’re doing. Got a minute to talk?”

“Um, yeah. But I have another class.” Dawn answered while Ms. West pulled her aside.

“Its ok, I just wanted to touch base with you and see how things are?”

“Oh you know, its just . . . hard sometimes. But my sister is, well, she’s doing the best she can.” Dawn shrugged, trying not to let on what was really going on at home. “We’re good.”

There was enough anxiety in the girl’s voice to let the social worker know that while she was telling her what she wanted to hear, Dawn Summers was still trying to come to grips with her grief. And that in itself was a good thing. Grief was something that only time could assauge, and even then, it never really truly disappeared. But moving on was completely natural, even though it was sometimes the hardest thing the ones left behind could do.

The smile Dawn got caught her off-guard, but the next words out of the woman’s mouth really threw her for a loop. “So, how long was your father in town?”

“My father? You met my father?” Dawn was completely speechless. No way had this woman met her dad, because Hank Summers hadn’t stepped foot in Sunnydale in at least three years. And there was no way he would come to town and not see her. Or would he? Did he hate them that much?

“Yes I did. I paid a home visit not long before regular session was over. It was during the day and I must have woken him up. I can see where you get your beautiful blue eyes from, and your nose.”

Dawn’s assessment of this woman took an unexpected nose dive. What kind of ditz was this? Her father at her house in the spring? Nahuh, did soo not happen. And then, listening to her, Dawn realized just who this woman thought was her father. “Your father has such gorgeous eyes, but why on earth does a man his age bleach his hair?”

If she hadn’t been standing with her back against some lockers, Dawn would have fallen over. This woman thought Spike was her father.

****************************** *******************************

It took a couple of days, but once the weekend arrived, Tara was looking and feeling much better. The dark circles had started disappearing and she was actually looking forward to cooking for everyone. Dawn had been wonderful over the past couple of days, really pitching in to help, and most especially not whining when things didn’t go her way. Which, truth be told, she’d been known to do. Poor Dawnie had grown up a lot this summer. Unfortunately that growing up had come at such an awful price.

But time was working in their favor and Dawn, well all of them, were working on getting over the double loss. Because as much as they each had their own mothers, Joyce had mothered all of them at some point. And they all missed her, almost as much as they missed Buffy.

****************************** *******************************

For nearly a week, Dawn had focused on the brief conversation with Ms. West. How weird was it that she thought Spike was her father. What on earth was the woman thinking? Aside from the obvious, Spike being a vampire, he wasn’t nearly old enough to be her father and . . . eeewwww . . . the thought of her mother and Spike was just icky. Coz, like, he was much closer to Buffy’s age – he had to be. Well, he would most likely be if he wasn’t dead. . . or undead. Dawn remembered overhearing him tell Giles that he was turned by Drusilla in 1880, but not how old he was.

Spike was very forthcoming about life after turning, but didn’t say much about time beforehand. Although she suspected that he might tell her if she asked the right way. Sometimes, Spike could get on a roll and not realize just how much he revealed, like when he talked with Giles late at night. Or when his guard was down, Spike could and would talk for hours. Dawn wasn’t sure if it was because he liked the sound of his own voice or that he was just looking for the attention. There were lots of things she had found by eavesdropping. She knew he loved to read, especially the classics, he could quote poetry at the drop of a hat, knew more about history and the demon world than Giles, and had an intense craving for really spicy foods. She knew that he’d liked and respected her mother, that he barely tolerated Xander, that he loved her sister and Dawn knew that Spike loved her also.

Really, that should be enough.

Why now, since Ms. West had talked to her, wasn’t it?

****************************** *******************************

Rupert knew his time in Sunnydale was limited. He and Spike had spent the last month, since his abrupt departure from London, trying to formulate a plan and reasons why his presence was still essential in Sunnydale. So far, the best they’d been able to come up with, was his familiarity with and knowledge of the hellmouth. The Council was well aware of Spike’s nightly patrols, another thing that the Council hadn’t mentioned or questioned Giles on until he’d appeared to file his report.

That had been a particularly unpleasant interview with Quentin Travers. It had almost appeared like a tribunal, with three other senior Watchers, aside from Travers, present and a stenographer. Travers had asked a series of questions, grilling him for nearly a full day, and Rupert had not expected the relentless questioning, nor the tone in Travers’ voice. He’d been more condescending than normal, his tone indicating his contempt for the chipped vampire. When they’d asked him why Giles willingly trusted the Slayer of Slayers, he’d answered unhesitatingly, “my Slayer trusted him in the battle against Glory. Buffy trusted this vampire to protect her sister at all cost. Nothing he’s done in the past few months has led me to believe that will change.”

It had bought them some time, but Giles couldn’t afford to delude himself. He was going to have to return to London, justify his future stay in Sunnydale and get a reprieve for Spike. All in a day’s work. Rupert nearly snorted into his tea. Irony abounds.

His primary concerns were Spike and coming back. And of those two, he’d almost be willing to forego, at least for a time, returning to Sunnydale to ensure Spike’s safety. Yes, irony certainly abounded in his life.

Only now he had to go back to London, and Spike wouldn’t be happy. Unfortunately he couldn’t avoid it.

**************************** *******************************

Willow breathed a sigh of relief once Giles had boarded his plane. She wouldn’t truly relax until it was airborne, but he was gone, and she could now put the plan in motion. Nothing and no one was going to stop her. The potion she was going to feed the girls was ready and Spike would be out patrolling tonight.

The time was now.

*************************** *******************************

Feeding the girls the potion along with dinner, Willow was forced to wait until it started working. Everything was ready. The frame and other supplies were all stowed away near Glory’s tower, which Willow had decided was the most logical place. It was where Buffy had disappeared, the last place anyone had seen her alive. Basing her decision on what had happened with Angel’s return, it made perfect sense.

The girls forgot everything, even their names. Leading them out the door, Willow nearly laughed at the simplicity of it all. As long as the rest of the night followed this pattern, she was home free.

Assembling everything while the girls dumped water jugs into the bullhide, Willow stopped for a moment, thinking that they looked like a real-life variation of the Mickey Mouse scene from Fantasia. Giddy with success, Willow did laugh softly. This was gonna be such a walk in the park.

Sprinkling the necessary herbs on top of the water, Willow grasped Tara’s hand. Holding it over the side, she sliced the other girl’s palm open, letting the blood drip down. Chanting softly in Latin, Willow folded Tara’s hand closed, then grabbed Dawn, performing the same motions on the younger girl.

One drop she let fall.

The water began swirling, changing into a dark mist, like the color of caramel milk swirled with gold and silver, moving faster and faster.

Two drops she let fall.

And the words changed, flowing effortlessly from Latin to the original obscure tongue in which they were first spoken.

Swirling more rapidly, the waters lapped against the sides, glowing more silver than gold.

Again the words changed, becoming softer, despite the harsh consonants. The water, opaque now, was caramel gold shot with silver and green.

The portal Dawn’s blood had opened and Buffy’s death closed, flickered and pulsed above their heads, but no one noticed.

Three drops she let fall.

The waters boiled, mist rising and the portal flared on a particular phrase, then sparked, pulsing in time with the boiling water.

Willow’s chanting died out, but the waters and the portal pulsed on. Light flared, distant thunder roared, lightning flashed between the portal and the pool and everything went black.

Three miles away, in the depths of earth and wood, hazel eyes snapped open.





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