Friday's Child

Chapter Fourteen

…

He'd failed her. Willow had needed the guidance of a firm hand, and he hadn't provided it. Giles took his glasses off, holding them loosely in his hand as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was sitting on the floor in Buffy's training room with Willow sprawled unconscious on a pile of mats beside him. He opened his eyes to gaze down at her.

She looked so innocent, like the shy child he'd met when he'd first come to Sunnydale to be Buffy's new watcher. He'd become something of a surrogate father to them all, and had watched Willow take to magic like a fish to water. She'd made mistakes along the way, rather like a bumbling pup learning the use of its legs, or so he'd thought at the time.

There had been such joy and passion in it all that he hadn't been able to bring himself to step in, not even after the mess she'd made with her Will be Done spell. His own magic had been steeped in the darkest parts of himself, and he… hadn't wanted to taint her.

Good show on that, old man, he thought in disgust. This is where his inaction had led. At a complete loss for what to do for her, he'd called the coven in Devon. Several members would be arriving in Sunnydale tomorrow evening to take Willow away. She was to be incarcerated for an undetermined amount of time and "reeducated" on the proper use of magic. Her power would be completely stripped from her for a time, followed by a slow reintroduction carefully controlled by the coven via a network of spells. Should she not toe the line, some of those spells would cause a momentary sharp shock.

If she gathered more power to her than she was allowed, there would be a shock and a loss of that power. Spells that weren't sanctioned or were altered in any way? A shock and loss of whatever power she had. More spells than she had specifically been allowed? More of the same. Even after all she had done, he'd thought it a harsh thing to do to a girl barely twenty years of age.

The coven leader had pointed out that she wasn't just a girl. She was a powerful witch who had committed very serious crimes against an entire city. If there was to be any hope of reintegration into society, she would have to first learn there were consequences to her actions. Only then could she be rehabilitated.

He would have continued to protest, perhaps even considered hiding Willow from the coven representatives if not for what had happened a mere hour ago. At the coven's urging, he'd cast a spell they'd faxed him to render the girl unconscious and alert him if she attempted any magic before they could get there. He'd done it, even though he'd considered it unnecessary. He'd thought Willow much too subdued by what she'd done to try anything.

And then he'd felt the spell activate, tugging him towards the Magic Box. He'd found Willow in the main part of the store, passed out with several sprigs of Lethe's Bramble strewn about. She'd been completely unaware of the coven's planned arrival, much less the intended punishment, yet she'd obviously been preparing some sort of forgetting spell. She'd learnt nothing, apparently. Instead of facing the consequences of her actions and the people she'd hurt, she'd planned to erase the memories of her misdeeds. To try to "fix" everything by throwing more bloody magic at it.

If she went to England and was merely held and retaught, she'd continue to avoid all consequences. She'd continue hurting people under the mistaken belief that she knew what was best. She needed that firm hand he'd failed to provide, and a set consequence to face for breaking the rules. It was what would be best for her. And, quite frankly, anything less would be an insult to her victims.

He reached out to gently push a lock of hair from Willow's face. He'd failed one of his children, and she was being sent away. I will not fail the others, he vowed. They were growing up, but human beings were not birds. Just because they had left the nest didn't mean that Buffy and Xander no longer had any need of him. And when they did, he would be there.

…

...

This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening. Willow knew she'd messed up. She'd hurt the people she loved. There had been a way, though, to make it all better. To take away the pain. But when she'd snuck into the Magic Box, something had gone wrong. She'd had enough Lethe's Bramble to take away the memory of her betrayal, and then the next thing she'd known, she'd woken up in Buffy's training room with a couple of strange women standing over her.

She could feel the weight of the spells they'd put on her. Magic that would supposedly punish her if she didn't do what they wanted. Part of her itched to test herself against it, to pit her strength against theirs.

Not now, she told herself. She'd go to England, maybe have some fun, and when she came back, everyone would greet her with open arms and tell her how much they'd missed her. Right? She looked uneasily at the people who had come to the Magic Box to see her off. Xander, Tara, and, strangely, Spike. No Dawnie, no Buffy, not even Joyce. Buffy's mom has almost been one to her as well, and she hadn't come. Maybe they were running late because of the baby?

Or maybe they aren't coming at all. She didn't want to think that. Because if that was true, maybe there really wasn't a way to fix things. She refused to believe that. There had to be a way. Spike had refused to let her make a grand gesture, to absolve herself of what she'd done to her friends, to the people she'd kil…. No, no, she couldn't think about that. That hadn't been her. Not really. She'd hadn't…. No one had been willing to accept an apology. Giles had stopped her from using Lethe's Bramble. That just meant she had to get creative. She could do that.

"It's almost time to go," one of the witches said, breaking into Willow's thoughts.

She swallowed hard. Already? No, she hadn't even really had a chance to say goodbye. "But, but Buffy…"

"Isn't coming, Red," Spike said quietly, looking her right in the eye. His were both hard and oddly compassionate. "Still a mite homicidal over what you tried to do to Thursday."

Oh. Right. All traces of compassion suddenly left his eyes, leaving Spike looking pretty homicidal himself. Willow shrank back and looked away, her gaze locking on Xander. He stepped forward to give her a quick hug, then backed away, not looking her in the eye at all.

"I… uh, have to get home. Anya's waiting," he mumbled.

"Xander, I…."

He did look at her then, and the sheer misery in his eyes hit her like a slap to the face. What had she done? Where was her happy, goofy Xan-man? "You've been my best friend since kindergarten, Wills, and I love you, but what you did to me? How you made me act and treat Anya? That was seriously messed up. I need time. Maybe… maybe when you can come home…." He trailed off and shook his head. "I need to go."

She tried to call out to him, but her throat closed up and the words wouldn't come. Oh god, what had she done? She hadn't meant to do any of this. She'd just been upset about losing her arm and being treated like a child. Sucking up the power from those forbidden books had been a mistake. Just a terrible mistake. Why couldn't anyone see that? She turned towards Tara, hoping for some understanding.

"Goodbye, Willow." Tara's voice was soft and sad, and there was a disturbing finality to her words.

Willow gave her a wobbly smile. "I'll, um, I'll call whenever they let me."

Her heart sank as Tara slowly shook her head. "No, Willow. I think it, it needs to be a clean break."

A clean break? What was that supposed to mean? She couldn't…. "Tara, are you… are you breaking up with me?"

She'd known Tara was upset. It was understandable after what she'd… what the arm… what had happened, but this? This just couldn't be happening. There were tears in Tara's eyes, but there was also strength and determination.

"You taught me how to be strong, Willow. How t-to not be a victim. If… if I'm going to be the person your love helped me to be… then I can't be with you. N-not after what you did to me. Goodbye," she said again, her voice breaking as she turned to go.

"Tara, wait! That, that wasn't me! It was…. The magic. I can stop the magic, just please don't do this!"

She wasn't stopping. Why wasn't she stopping? Without really thinking about what she was doing, Willow started to gather power. She just wanted Tara to stop and listen. Her thoughts and the magic both scattered as an unpleasant static shock sizzled through her entire body. Then Tara did stop and just looked at her, her expression saying clearly that Willow hadn't even lasted a full minute after claiming she'd stop.

"Please," Willow whispered. "I can fix it, just please…"

Tara turned away again and walked out the door, leaving Willow feeling numb. Why wouldn't anyone let her fix it? She'd made a mistake. She got that. She really did. That just meant she was supposed to fix it. There was a sigh behind her followed by a hand suddenly on her shoulder.

"Can't fix everything, Red," Spike said quietly. "Some things, it don't matter how much duct tape you slap on. They just stay broken."

"It's not fair!"

"Actually, it bloody well is. What you did to everyone? That wasn't fair. This though?" He shook his head. "You've made your bed, and now you've to lie down in it. Good luck an' all with that." He patted her on the shoulder before striding towards the door. Then he was gone, too.

No. He couldn't be right. Things didn't just stay broken. Except… she remembered kindergarten, suddenly, and the time she'd broken the yellow crayon. It had stayed broken, but she'd learned to be more careful. She turned to face the coven members.

"I'm ready to go," she said quietly. Maybe the only thing she could fix right now… was herself.

…

...

If real life was a Lifetime original movie, Buffy was pretty sure she'd be rushing to get to the Magic Box right about now for a last minute reconciliation with Willow. It wasn't, though, so she just curled up tighter against her mom. They were sitting together on the couch, the Summers matriarch's left arm around her eldest child while her right cuddled her sleeping granddaughter against her chest. Dawn was up in the attic, drowning her sorrows in soda and TV, leaving Spike, as he put it, as the sole representative of the Summers Clan.

The Summers clan…. When exactly had Spike become one of them? Not that she was arguing against it, she just wasn't sure when it had happened. Had it been when he'd had his name put down as William Summers on Thursday's birth certificate? Or had it been even before that? Either way, he'd been absorbed into the family. And Willow was being pushed out. Almost like they were trading one Will for another.

She frowned suddenly. Willow had done some horrible things, but so had Spike. He'd done more and probably worse, but he was being accepted while Willow was being cast out. Why was that okay? Even before he'd gotten his soul, Buffy had been getting closer to him while drifting away from her best female friend.

It's because he's a vampire, she realized. Vampires were specifically designed to eat people and be evil. Spike's struggle to turn his back on all of that was technically all wrong and perverted. Just as much as what Willow had done. The difference was, Spike's "perversion" was leading towards good.

"Do you want me to order some pizza?" Mom asked, drawing Buffy's attention. "We could bring down Thursday's bassinet and call Dawn down. Spike should be home before the pizza gets here, so we can just have a nice, family movie night."

Buffy smiled. "I like that idea." She carefully hugged her mother, then scooted away so the other woman could hand over Thursday and stand up. "No pineapples," she called as Mom went to call the pizza place. "Spike says he's going to 'bloody well suss out a way' for vampires to blow chunks if he even sees another pineapple."

"Gotcha," she said with a slight smile.

Buffy resettled herself on the couch and looked down just in time to see Thursday open her little eyes and yawn. She was so cute, bundled up in the blanket her daddy had knitted just for her. A hat from the same source was keeping her head warm. The baby smiled and gurgled at her before flailing one little arm. The tiny fist at the end wrapped around a lock of Buffy's hair and yanked. Hard.

"Ouch," she muttered, gently freeing her hair and replacing it with her finger. That finger was immediately inserted into Thursday's mouth and sucked on. "No blood until Daddy's home."

Her voice was thick with unshed tears. She'd almost lost her baby. If she had…. If Willow had managed to erase Thursday out of existence, Buffy would have killed the witch. And it wouldn't have been because of the ritual.

The front door opened, and there he was. The father (sort of) of her child. Evil, good, snarky, kind, a major asshole who had tried to kill her, a loving man who always tried to do the best for the women he loved. He was all that and more. And woven through it all, he was Friday's child. Loving and giving.

She patted the spot on the couch beside her and said, "Welcome home."