Fade to Black


They’d made mistakes, so many mistakes, as everyone does. They’d said things, done things that could never be taken back. Hearts broke, bones broke, trust was broken and nothing was left. They were crushed and crumbling, walking fragments of hurt and despair and something resembling love.

She tried to be strong. She tried to be brave and to do the right thing, though her heart and her soul screamed at her, marking her as a traitor, and rebelled. She’d left, as if the choice had been simple and obvious, as if she had wanted to go, to run, to deny comfort and forgiveness, as if she no longer had a heart that beat in her chest. She hid the tears until no one was watching. She silenced the sobs until no one could hear, and walked the earth as if a half of her was not missing, as if her tattered heart was not carelessly pinned to her sleeve.

For some, salvation comes in death. For others, it is found in a tiny spark of life. For Tara McClay, salvation took the form of a soulless vampire. He swooped down in the night, charming her with a smile and a vaguely familiar name, and then whisked her away into the dark, where fangs and blood and something much more sinister would hold her for eternity, or at least until another of her nine lives were gone.

Tragedy. Death. Generally, they follow a pattern. Generally, they come in sets of three. Generally, they are swift and shocking, even with ample warning and time to prepare. The first came with a message from LA:

He’s back.

They’d known what it meant, though more details were soon to follow. Apparently souls can be lost and souls can be won in a game of cards, and though no one anticipated that Angel might gamble his away, the reality of what it meant was no less real.

A vampire. A soulless, cruel, sadistic vampire was on his way back to town, simmering with vengeance and looking to settle a few scores. They knew he was coming and they knew what it meant. It meant that Buffy should be ready to fight. It meant that Spike should be prepared. It meant that Xander should watch his back, that Giles should be extra-cautious and that Willow should be on guard. Unfortunately, that was all they knew, never thinking that he might stumble across a forlorn, blonde witch carrying a box of magic supplies away from the Slayer’s house; never knowing that Tara might return his warm smile, unaware of just how much more dangerous the streets had become that night; never knowing that one of them would fall before the battle had even begun.

She’d appeared, three nights later, and immediately Willow knew that something was wrong. Something was off. Something simply wasn’t the same, but Willow was alone, and Willow was lost and Willow was heartsick enough to not care. An invitation was offered, a feral smile was her reward, just before a foot stepped over, a mask was dropped and the world as she knew it crashed down around her.

She had her, Tara knew, without a shadow of doubt. And she would have taken her, as she should have, had the timing been right, but newly enhanced hearing and a bodily dislike for slayers alerted her to approaching trouble. Before leaving, she left a promise and a spell, whispering of pain and horror and bittersweet gifts to come.

The door was pushed open and Willow was found, held still and stiff inside a barrier circle, but still alive. Magic buzzed and zipped around her, tempting and tormenting at the same time. It held Tara’s signature, though it was deeper and darker now than ever before. She explained easily enough what she had learned and what had been done, as if the words alone were not killing her, were not drawing away the last bits of life she still held, and it was a silent nod from the slayer that confirmed what was yet to be. As a stake was drawn and the door thrown back open, she wanted to protest, she wanted to insist that there was another way, but the buzzing magic and throbbing pain in her throat caught her words before they’d ever made it past her lips.

“Someone needs to stay here,” Buffy stated quietly, after all attempts at breaking the barrier had been tried. “She…They could be back. We need someone that can hold their own against…Him.”

“Guess I’m your man.” The voice, deep and British and strangely jovial came from the open doorway. “Sorry I’m late. Had some business to attend to.” The mussed blond hair and bruise forming under one eyes suggested as to the type of business he’d had, but all stayed silent and nodded their approval, turning and walking away.

He waited several minutes, certain that they were gone, before walking into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of tequila and a shaker of salt. Moving to the couch, he sat before her, watching her writhe and shake in pain and anguish and guilt and something akin to anger.

He took a deep gulp of the pleasantly burning liquid, before glancing toward the witch, a calculating smile playing on his lips.

“Looks like you got yourself into a bit of a jam.” His words met silence as Willow gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes. Propping one foot on an ottoman, the vampire sat back and regarded her with an air of careless observation.

“You know, I never agreed with them…about the magic stuff. Just need some control and restraint is all.” He heard her snort and knew what she was thinking. It was true, he’d never been known for having either quality, but he certainly was showing signs of them at the moment.

“Had a meeting with an old friend today,” he mentioned. Willow suspected that what he was saying was important, but somehow the pain of the barrier spell was just a bit more commanding of her attention. “Gave me this shiner. Made mention of start’n a family again. Crazy poof. Course, he does make some good sense, now and again.”

There was a lingering silence before he held up the tequila bottle.

“Like a shot, Red?” He waited a moment more. “No? How about a bit of salt then.” Carelessly tossing a bit of the white crystals in her direction, he hid the satisfied smile as he heard the magical pop of the barrier opening, followed by the relieved gasps of the redhead.

“Spike! How did you…You stopped the spell.” She struggled to sit up, her body still a tangle of aches and pains. “We need to go. She’ll be back. She’ll know that you broke the spell. She’ll know and…”

“Of course she’ll know,” he interrupted, his voice hinting that something more horrible was about to come forth. “Who do you think told me how to do it?”

For the second time in a day, the world fell back down, crushing her already broken spirit, burying it deep beneath the rubble. Before she could see, before she could understand, the vampire was before her, upon her, fangs sinking into her neck, an almost welcome pain compared to every other sensation rolling through her. Darkness, sweet, merciful darkness engulfed her even as a final thought occurred…The chip was gone, Tara was gone and Willow was soon to follow.

~*~

She struggled against the nightmare, drowning in a sea of horror and pain. She’d had dreams like this before, but never so vivid, never so horribly real. She struggled to break free, to open her eyes, to wrench herself away from the images that plagued her. Finally, a soft, sweet voice tugged at her, leading her away, leading her back from the tormenting images and hateful thoughts.

“Come on, Will. You’re having a nightmare, baby. Wake up.” Happy to oblige, Willow opened her eyes, granting a relieved smile as she saw Tara, soft and sweet and everything wonderful, lying next to her, brushing a bit of red hair from her face. “You were having bad dream,” she told her, as if Willow hadn’t already known.

“Tara,” she whispered, the word a sacred sound, “I…I thought…You were…It was…”

“Shhh, you’re here now, baby, with me, right where you’re supposed to be. Everything will be alright now.”

“Tara, I’m so glad you’re…” Her words faded to black as her eyes widened, seeing a large hand reach up and over her lover’s shoulder, followed by the cruel, mocking brown eyes of a former friend.

“Willow,” Angel cooed. “Finally up, I see. Thought you might never wake.”

The redhead shrank back, horror overtaking her once again, stomping on an already broken heart, crushing the minor shards that remained.

“Tara,” she whispered again. “I’m so sorry.”

The blonde looked back at the older vampire, letting out a soft laugh that reminded Willow too much of her former love. She wanted to reach out and tear the throat from the demon before her, take back a piece of what had been stolen.

Suddenly, without warning, the blonde pounced on her, fangs shining, golden eyes glaring down, a cruel grin curling her lips.

“Don’t be sorry, Will. This was the best thing to happen to me. I’m strong. I’m powerful. You could be, too. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be better than the rest of them, Will? Isn’t that what the magic was all about?”

Willow shook her head, as if the action could deny what she knew to be true. “It wasn’t about that. It was about helping people.”

“Oh, please!” Angelus shouted, having heard enough of the goody-goody talk in his bed. “It made you better, it made you stronger and it made you more even with the slayer. Helping people had nothing to do with it.”

Willow shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears, providing a temporary blindness that she welcomed with guilt and shame.

“I may be evil, but at least I can admit the truth,” he growled. “Having the power is all that matters. In the end, it’s survival of the fittest.”

“Come on, Will. Just say it. Say you want it and I’ll give it to you.” She could see the doubt in her eyes, knew that she was breaking her down.

“Don’t forget what we talked about, lover,” Angelus cooed, a hand reaching around to cup one full breast.

“Mmmm…yes, a present for the boy,” she murmured. “But really she should be mine.”

Willow was sobbing now, a part of her wondering where the strength to cry came from.

“You have the power here, Will. You have the ability to make it stop. One word from you and the pain ends. Are you ready to say it? Come on, I know you are.”

Willow took a few deep, panting breathes, pushing past the horror and pain, the throbbing on her neck where she had been bitten, the pinching of Tara’s nails where they dug into her hand, the way her chest heaved heavily, as if a great weight sat atop it.

“No.”

Tara jumped up, crouching over her. “Damn it! Just give in already! You’re so damn stubborn.” Suddenly, her face swooped down again, her expression a twisted mockery of something sweet.

“Do you think I ran, Will? When Angel found me, do you think I fought him?”

“I know you did,” came the hoarse reply.

“You’re wrong. I didn’t fight. I didn’t cry and I didn’t run away. I said ‘please.’ I said it over and over until no other word had any meaning. I begged him to take me, destroy me and make me his.”

“No, it’s not true.”

“I begged him to deliver me from a life with you in it,” she hissed in a cruel tone, “and I’m happier now than ever before.”

“Baby…” Before another word could pass her lips, Tara’s hand connected with her cheek, strong, jarring, dragging back the reality, a massive tidal wave of truth too horrible to believe, yet to absolute to deny.

“I am not your baby!” Tara hissed, her fangs dangerously close to the frantically pumping pulse beneath the pale throat. “Don’t ever…”

Her hand, ready to strike another blow, was pulled away, Willow finding Angelus to be her unlikely savior.

“Now, now, lover. You don’t know your own strength. Don’t want to break her just yet. Spike would be awfully mad.”

“That I would.” Willow tried to look up, hearing a voice from somewhere beside her, just before she felt the mattress sink down a bit more. Blackness, desolate unconsciousness threatened to over-take her, leaving Willow to wonder why it was taking so long. Turning her head, she forced her eyes open, the image, however blurred, still horribly familiar to her- Spike, shirtless, laying next to her, head propped up on one hand as he smirked at her.

She could hear Tara, behind her, doing something she didn’t want to see with the other male demon, and the last of her resolve broke away. Closing her eyes, she felt a cool, calloused hand touch her face, turn it toward the older blond.

“Open you’re eyes, Red,” he commanded, her voice low and controlled and terribly frightening. Her eyes yielded of their own accord and she found herself looking up at him, his eyes a raging storm of desire and emotion.

“You’ll be magnificent. You’ll be better than the rest of them and want for nothing. We four will rule the Earth as we were always meant to, tearing a bloody path along as we go.” The words were melodic as he spoke, a macabre poem written just for her. “Just say it, Red. Just say it and it’s yours.”

Her eyes devoured his, searching for a bit of life to steal from a corpse long dead, and finally her lips parted, the word slipping surprisingly easy from her mouth.

“Please.”

And everything faded to black.