Van Rosenberg II: Lord of Ice and Shadow by Alcy

Rating: R
Uber-Setting: Van Helsing/Dracula/Tomb Raider
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Buffy, Tomb Raider or Dracula characters. This fic is of course AU so no spoilers for any season.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Through the Looking-glass
Feedback: Yes please.
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: The year is 1898 and after the hectic events of the previous year, Willow Van Rosenberg is under the impression that she has earned a quiet life at Gordon Square, reading books, drinking tea and making love to her beloved Tara. Unfortunately she's out of tea, her relationship with Tara is strained and there's a new evil stirring in the world that will ultimately dash any hope of an early retirement. The quest for answers will take Willow and Tara from the British Museum, to Croft Manor and the icy wastes of the Arctic. It will be a journey of epic thrills and adventures with some old friends and a few new ones.
Webhost's Note: Special thanks goes to Chris Cook of Through the Looking Glass, MKF and Artemis for the graphics, wallpapers and source coding. Thanks, Chris!
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: As Willow tries to rebuild her relationship with Tara, a new danger arises.

Tara Maclay did not feel one hundred and thirty-seven years old. She stared intently into the window pane in front of her as she studied her reflection. Her golden blonde hair framed a somewhat pale, but otherwise very youthful looking face. Round, brilliant blue eyes stared back at her. She did not look one hundred and thirty-seven years old either.

And yet that was how old she ought to be, after all, a person that was born in 1761 ought to be one hundred and thirty-seven years old. In fact, given the impossibility of reaching such a biblical age, Tara knew she ought to be dead. Dead. She let out a long sigh and pressed her hand to the glass in front of her so she could no longer see her face…however now she could see the smooth, unlined skin on the back of her hand, yet another reminder of her age.

As far as Tara could hazard a guess at her age, she supposed she was eighteen. It was a guess determined in the most depressing of manners…by her death. She had been just eighteen when she died at the hands of what she now knew had been a vampire. It was at the moment of her death that her memories ended…she remembered shapes moving in the darkness, then an abnormally pale face descending towards her own just moments before she unleashed a chilling scream. Then there had been pain…and nothing…nothing until the battlefield over one hundred years later when she had woken confused and frightened. Although these feelings had disappeared immediately when she saw Willow…they had slowly crept back in the days that followed. They were days in which she had struggled to understand what had happened…and why so many years had passed. Willow of course had tried to explain…but her explanations were nothing short of horror stories and there were many things that could not be said at all. It eventually came to the point where Tara begged Willow to stop talking. Although Willow said that she understood intimately how Tara was feeling…she still begged her to stop, especially after Willow admitted that she had never woken to learn that she had spent decades as a foul, loathsome vampire.

The thought that she had become one of those pale, blood-drinking creatures, the same creatures responsible for her death, had sent Tara into a spiral of shock and denial. The days of processing this torturous knowledge had gradually stretched into weeks…and then months, finally to the point where she would not emerge from her room at Gordon Square.

So Tara sat at her window and watched the world outside pass her by. Gordon Square was a quiet street, but she saw enough of the fast moving world to know that she was not a part of it. Willow came to sit with her, often at first as she struggled with the tears and nightmares…then gradually less and less as her own silence made it difficult to communicate. A part of her wanted desperately to talk to Willow and fall into her arms, surrendering to her touch…but she could not bring herself to let that part triumph. She was terrified that, in a fit of madness, she would ask Willow to resume her story…and she already knew that there were things in her past she just did not want to know.

She knew full well that her silence had created a wall between them that caused the redhead immense pain. Tara saw it in her eyes. However, for all the pain and sorrow in her gaze there was something else that she did not understand. It was a pity of sorts, but one that left her feeling scared and alone. Although she desperately wanted to reclaim the relationship that they had once shared, this gaze frightened her to the point that she could not bring herself to even look at Willow.

It was the ultimate torture…not being able to simply look at the woman she loved more than anything.

Willow Van Helsing-Rosenberg yelped as the wooden practice stave caught her squarely across her unprotected ass. She darted backwards and away from the follow up swing as her best friend and sparring partner, Faith Winters, let out a laugh of triumph at her very palpable hit. Willow scowled and adopted an offensive stance as though she were determined not to let such a thing happen again, at least in this particular bout. Faith's next swings were all blocked with apparently effortless ease, although the look of fierce determination in Willow's eyes gave her away. Even though it was merely supposed to be a training bout, she was channeling all of her determination and energy into what she was doing.

Just as Willow blocked her latest swing, Faith suddenly found the tables turned and she was forced to give ground in the face of her attacks. Her feet moved quickly in a reverse across the practice mats as Willow surged forward, bringing her wooden stave down each time with such force that Faith felt her own stave reverberate violently in her hands. Still, she was not about to concede, especially not when it would further bolster Willow's already over- inflated opinion of her fighting skills. She ducked beneath a sweeping high blow that would have given her a football sized lump on the side of her head and quickly brought her stave forward to block Willow's reverse swing as she came back around. Faith then spun and delivered another solid blow to Willow's unprotected ass. A part of her knew it was bad form to laugh yet again at her hit but she couldn't help herself.

The small moment of mirth only infuriated Willow further, she darted forward with her rear still smarting from the blow and wiped the smile from Faith's face with a series of blows that drove her back further until she finally crashed against a suit of armor. The armor had previously been stacked neatly in the rack, toppled outwards and fell to the floor with a resounding clatter. Even with the dust from the fallen armor yet to settle, Willow continued to swing and Faith was forced to block. She eventually grew tired of Willow's angry blows and seized a shield from the rack, using it to block the staff. After one whack too many, the stave snapped in half. Faith seized one of the pieces so Willow could not pick it up and resume hitting her with it.

"Slow down a bit, Will!" Faith commanded, waving the stave at Willow from behind the shield. "You're going to do me a serious injury here!"

Willow kept the stave raised, she wasn't quite done, "We're not playing here. Are you going to say the same thing to a vampire…or a demon when they come at you with a battle axe? There's no respite for us, Faith, no mercy."

Faith scowled, "We're bloody training…although a part of me is saying that you'd rather knock my head off than show any mercy, what the hell is up with you?"

"Like I said," Willow shrugged as she twirled the remaining half of her stave around in her hand. "This isn't for fun."

Even as Willow started to shift into a defensive position, Faith tossed aside both the broken stave and the shield. Without warning she threw herself forward and tackled Willow to the ground. She landed hard atop the redhead and heard a grunt as the air was knocked out of her body. While she was still trying to regain her breath, Faith plucked the makeshift weapon from her hand and tossed it across the other side of the training room. She then seized both of Willow's hands and pinned them to the ground.

Beneath her, Willow's face was as red as her hair from a combination of exertion and embarrassment. She stared defiantly up at Faith with a small scowl on her face. Faith could not resist a grin, she looked like a petulant child.

"What is this all about?" she demanded, not letting Willow move in the slightest. "You're not usually such a sore loser."

"That is because I rarely lose," Willow replied quickly. "Now would you let me up? You're exceedingly heavy and you're squashing me!"

Faith ignored the jibe about her weight and shook her head, enjoying the feeling of having Willow pinned to the ground and helpless for once, "Not until you tell me what's got your knickers in a knot!"

"That was my first and only guess," Faith said, finally getting off Willow and rising smoothly to her feet. "It's always Tara."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Willow asked grumpily, still lying on her back on the mats.

"My meaning was fairly obvious," Faith shrugged. "You get all broody and bloody pissed off and I know it's something to do with Tara…well, either that or you didn't like the pie I made for dinner."

"The pie was bloody awful," Willow shivered at the memory of forcing the uncooked pastry down her throat until she could handle no more. If she thought Faith's cabbage soup was bad, it was clear that her pie was even worse. Even though they were engaged in a deep conversation, she couldn't help but pause to lament the state of their diet. "I've got plenty of money, why the hell do we have to eat cabbage all the time?"

"Look, it's the only thing I know how to cook okay?" Faith replied testily. "Anyway, I believe we were talking about Tara, not criticizing my cooking."

"I'm worried that she may never recover," Willow admitted suddenly, knowing that if she didn't get it out straight away then Faith would be forced to pry it out of her, a process that sometimes took hours.

"Who are we to say what 'recovery' means to her though?" Faith shrugged, she was not unsympathetic but merely stating the obvious. "Although we may want her to be a functioning member of this family, to converse with us…to have sex with you…"

"Faith!" Willow's redness increased. Although the seventeen-year old Willow Van Helsing had enjoyed an exceptionally healthy sex life with Tara, she could not imagine resuming their relationship. Not while things were so tense between them. She could no sooner imagine having sex with Faith.

"…that might not be what she wants," Faith continued, she paused before finishing quietly, "You might not be what she wants."

Willow knew Faith made perfect sense…and it was what she had been afraid of from the moment she realized that Tara was having difficulty accepting her new life. While she could not imagine resuming their relationship at present, she had held onto the hope that they would be able to go back to the way things had been…before Edward and the turning that had almost destroyed their lives. However, as the months went by and their relationship grew only worse, Willow felt guilty and ashamed at just the mere thought of being with Tara…as though it were in some way wrong.

"There's not a day that goes by that I don't wonder that. In removing the demon from her body the spell essentially returned her to the state she was in when she was turned…Tara is eighteen, Faith." Willow grimaced as she tried to rise into a sitting position, "And I feel as though I'm at least one hundred."

When it became apparent that Willow was struggling to get to her feet, Faith reached out a helping hand, "An eighteen year old who spent decades as one of the undead."

"Decades she doesn't remember," Willow pointed out in a tight voice as she rose to her feet. She crossed to the weapons rack and withdrew a fresh stave.

With a sigh of suffering, Faith retrieved her stave and took up a defensive stance. Thankfully when Willow began her blows were far less intensive or violent than they previously had been and she was able to enjoy the exercise instead of fear for her life.

"I know you're worried about her," Faith said between the cracking sounds of stave upon stave, "but I think you're underestimating how much she can handle…I think you should tell her everything."

"Oh you think that do you?" Willow asked in a testy voice as she parried another swing, "You know I've already tried…I got as far as explaining what life would have been like as a vampire before she begged me to stop."

"Explaining life as a vampire…well, that doesn't sound too bad?" Faith shrugged, she had begun to pant slightly.

"The seduction, rape and murder of innocents, the drinking of their blood," Willow began, "It was all a terrible nightmare to her…and to actually consider that those were things she had done, it was too much for her."

"Was it too much for you to learn that your lover had been turned into a vampire and then betrayed and murdered you?" Faith responded, changing tact slightly.

Faith resumed, forcing Willow to stop over-thinking everything as she continued to fight, "And you choose not to tell Tara because you believe she can't cope?"

"Well…yes," Willow admitted with a frown, she couldn't understand where Faith was coming from. "We are two entirely different cases, before I went into the mirror or experienced the memories held within the cache I had already experience so much…and even then it was extremely difficult for me, you remember what a head case I was when I emerged from the mirror!"

"My humorous memories of you running around London in your pajamas aside, my point is that you coped," Faith then grunted as Willow's stave caught her in the gut, it wasn't hard enough to knock her to the ground but she did have to pause and catch her breath, "You don't want Tara to know because you have decided that she can't cope…what if Giles had decided that for you, if he refused to tell you anything even when you were demanding answers?"

"It's completely different!" Willow protested, annoyed at what she perceived as Faith blaming her for Tara's state.

"Face it, Will, you think she can't cope because she's not as strong as you were…because Tara is essentially a well-bred eighteenth century lady."

"Yes!" Willow resumed striking out at Faith, the stave moving fluidly in her hands. "And in case you've forgotten, I remember what it was like to be a well-bred young woman in the eighteenth century!"

"I know you do Will, I'm just saying you should give her a little more credit, she may not be a talented demon hunter of your ilk," Faith blocked each of Willow's blows and then held up her hand for a brief respite as what she had to say next was difficult to say. "However, she did spend several weeks as a married woman with a violent husband. Do you think because she merely had to face being hit and raped by her husband that she isn't strong enough to learn what happened?"

"Faith, please," Willow whispered, not even wanting to know just how Faith knew those intimate details of Tara's life…they were details even she struggled to understand. "That is not what I am saying."

There was a small bout of silence between them as neither had anything to say in further response to Faith's observation. A minute later, Willow resumed the bout to keep her mind from thinking guilty thoughts. However, neither of them were enthusiastic about their actions and merely went through the motions. They traded polite blows back and forth across the training room. Just as she was about to bring her stave around in another sideswipe, Willow saw a pensive look pass across her friend's face and she lowered her stave altogether. Willow stopped her movements before she brought the practice weapon crashing into Faith's undefended body. Breathing heavily with exertion, she stood watching Faith, not at all comfortable with the amount of thinking she was suddenly doing.

As though finally realizing she was still in the room with Willow, Faith tossed her stave to one side to indicate that she was done with training. It was a merciful relief, they were both exhausted. Willow set her own weapon back in the rack.

"I know you love Tara no matter what," Faith began quietly. "But do you honestly think that the two of you can resume your relationship in the midst of all this turmoil you both feel?"

Willow turned to face Faith, at first she spoke quietly but as she went on her voice continued to rise in intensity, "I honestly don't know Faith…the Tara that is foremost in my mind is not the girl I knew in my youth, the girl who is upstairs right now…but the tortured vampire that I hated…and then loved. At the end…before Covasna, we were together and it felt right, it felt right Faith and I feel as though I've lost her all over again! How the bloody hell can you find something and lose it at exactly the same moment?"

"I can't tell you, Will," Faith said sadly, sensing her best friend's pain. "But I do know that the vampire's gone and although I hesitate to say it in this ever-changing world in which we live…and in our particular line of work…I don't think she's coming back. For all intensive purposes, the Tara that is upstairs, she's your Tara…and whether or not you two become lovers again, it's up to you to help her accept who she is."

As she wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt, Willow nodded reluctantly, "I know…how the hell did you become so damn wise?"

"I've always been wise…you've just never listened," Faith said as she reached out and laid an arm around Willow's shoulders in a gentle hug.

Before they left the training room both women reached out to lay a gentle touch on the framed photo that hung by the stairs. Their fingers caressed the glass as though they were touching a person instead of the image. As she passed it by, Willow cast a lingering glance over the photo even though she could summon it at will from memory. There were two people in the image, two smiling faces with the future ahead of them. One was her teacher and mentor, Rupert Giles and the other her assistant and dear friend, Myles Cavendish. Both had given their lives on the battlefield at Covasna…Giles had given his life to work the magic that saved her life and restored Tara to her human self. Dear, brave Myles had fought alongside them despite being so terribly young and inexperienced. Lara had found him lying on the battlefield with a single arrow through his heart, a mercifully fast but no less tragic end. Two dear friends, both now gone.

As Faith disappeared up the stairs ahead of her, Willow lingered for a while with her mind working overtime as it had done so often in the three months following Covasna. She missed Giles desperately, his wisdom and his guidance had been invaluable in every instance and she wished he were here to help her through this time, to help her get through to Tara. While she knew Myles wouldn't have too much to say about her problem, she did know that his grinning face would have cheered her up immensely. Whenever she thought of the young man, she bitterly regretted not letting him spend Museum money on the prostitutes in Paris. It was a relatively silly thought in the overall scheme of things…but it was something Willow would always regret.

When the bookcase door closed behind them, once again concealing the entrance to the training room, Faith headed straight for the kitchen, she was always famished after training. Willow bade her goodnight and ascended the stairs to catch a few hours sleep before she took to the streets that night. Although Dracula was dead, vampires and demons still stalked the city streets at night, preying on any soul unfortunate enough to be out on the dark streets alone. The work she did was still needed; it was work that Willow was almost grateful for. It kept her occupied, busy all the time…too busy to think about her.

However, even as Willow's body sagged with weariness she could not help but look at the closed door at the end of the hall. It was still relatively early in the evening and she could see a faint crack of light peering from beneath the door. Tara was still awake. Willow sighed and walked straight past her own room and came to a halt just in front of Tara's room. She listened for a moment but could hear nothing. Willow paused before she brought her fingers up to knock on the door and thought better of knocking, she half turned as though to leave. She stood outside the door for almost a minute, poised to return to her own room, but still feeling as though she had to see Tara…even if it was only to wish her a simple goodnight. Finally she turned back to the door and reached out with a decisive move to knock on the door. The knock itself was far from decisive, a mere tentative touching of her knuckles to the wood.

Not come in…she might as well have asked 'who is it?' Willow thought with a sharp pang, it would hardly have been anyone else standing outside her door. Faith gave Tara so much space it was as though the two women existed on a different plane of reality and Willow had not found the time or the energy to engage new servants. This was despite the fact that they had eaten Faith's cabbage soup and her own 'stew' so often that both dishes now caused her to gag slightly at the sight of them. However, the actual finding and engaging of servants was not high on her list of priorities. She knew that eventually she would have to attend to such practical matters, but until that time became absolutely necessary, she knew they would have to do without.

There was an awful pause, Willow feared that Tara would simply not answer her but then she heard a barely audible, "Come in."

Willow opened the door and entered slowly so as not to startle her. Tara was still sitting at the window; it was exactly the same spot in which she had been sitting that morning when she brought her breakfast. She was staring at something outside the window, although the fast falling dark made it difficult to see anything at all. Willow looked at Tara for a few moments, willing her to turn around. When it became apparent that she would not, she scanned the room and found the largely untouched breakfast tray sitting on the bedside table. She automatically crossed to the room to retrieve it, frowning when she saw that the porridge was untouched and the fruit had barely been nibbled on.

"Um…I came to see if you were hungry?" Willow asked quietly, she then looked down at the tray. "But I see not."

Tara finally turned away from the window to look at her through expressionless eyes; however she merely shook her head and then resumed staring out the window. Willow stood in the centre of the room holding the tray; she couldn't help but stare at Tara. Even though she could only see the slight curve of her pale cheek, her eyes roamed downwards over her neck which was left bare as her hair was neatly arranged atop her head. Willow jerked her gaze away as she felt like an intruder even though she had looked at the same skin many times…and seen more besides. Tara made no move nor gave any indication that Willow's presence was bothering her…but she did not make any effort to engage in conversation either.

Say something or leave, Will, Willow thought awkwardly, she took a few steps backwards towards the door but stopped short of leaving. Her movements were reluctant because she did not want to leave in the first place. She wanted to cross the floor and take up the cushion at Tara's side but the imagined look of fright on Tara's face was enough to prevent her from doing so.

"Tara?" Willow whispered, hoping to at least gain her attention and another glimpse of her blue eyes before she left. However, Tara did not acknowledge her question and remained staring at whatever it was that held her fascination outside. "Are you happy at Gordon Square?"

Willow put the question to Tara and gave her time to think it over. While it was obvious that she wasn't happy, Willow needed to hear her admit it…although for what reason, she wasn't sure. Almost a minute passed and Tara did not respond. Willow sighed and made to leave, balancing the full breakfast tray on one hand as she opened the door.

The quiet but sudden announcement almost caused Willow to drop her tray. She turned quickly but Tara was still looking out the window even as she continued speaking.

Something bad did happen here, Willow thought as her heart ached for the blonde, My brother imprisoned you for sixteen years in the basement…you were tortured and mad when you emerged. However she could not give voice to such thoughts. "I'm…sorry," she whispered, "I-I can find somewhere else for you to stay, perhaps with Lara, you remember Lara don't you, tall, brunette, Faith's…errr…friend…the Museum Director, I'll ask her…"

"Babbling?" Willow frowned, then felt her spirits lighten somewhat as she realized it was an almost flippant and yet poignant observation on Tara's part, "I guess I was…"

"I don't like this house…but nor do I want to leave," Tara admitted as Willow's voice trailed off. Her own voice faltered slightly when she tried to continue. "I-I…"

She finally turned around for the second time, although at first her gaze was downcast as she stared at her hands clasped in her lap. Willow waited expectantly and sure enough, after a few moments Tara looked up with a small sigh escaping her lips.

"I need to be here," she breathed. The unspoken conclusion to her sentence was simply, with you.

Willow's own breath was caught in her throat and she could not reply immediately, when she did her voice hardly carried further than her lips, "Me too."

The moment passed almost as quickly as it had arrived and Tara turned her gaze away, effectively ending the conversation. After waiting for a minute, Willow left the room and closed the door quietly behind her. As she walked down the hallway she realized that her eyes were brimming with unshed tears…she suspected that they were tears of relief but she couldn't be sure. Eventually, she had to set the tray down on the floor before she dropped it altogether. She too remained on the floor and allowed herself to give into the tears…just once more. Finally tomorrow held a possibility that had been absent from yesterday, or the day before that…

One foot after the other, left, right, left, right…Willow kept her eyes on her neatly polished black shoes as she walked a path she had taken many times. She had to admit that the shoes were rather dapper, new of course…but new shoes had warranted being stared at constantly as she walked. The truth was that she found the thought of returning to work for the first time after Covasna difficult and sad. While she would be able to walk along the corridor to Giles's cluttered workroom and find it still full of his oddities and inventions, she would not find the man himself there. There would also be no more cold cups of tea splashed down the front of her suit when she was running late.

Willow was so pre-occupied staring at her new shoes that she walked straight into a flustered businessman in a bowler hat. His hat tumbled from his head into the mucky gutter and he had a few choice words to say to her that better suited a sailor on the docks than a man wearing a crisp suit. Willow apologized profusely but moved away quickly, as he was still brushing the mud from his hat. She kept her head up as she walked and as she rounded the corner up ahead she let out a sharp breath at the sight of the Museum up ahead, dominating the passers-by walking along Great Russell Street. Willow paused momentarily to straighten her new suit, a black pinstripe affair that cost more money than she was paid in a month. Still, the suit and the shoes were the only luxuries she had purchased for herself since she had discovered that she was rather well off in the form of a safe filled to capacity with gold sovereigns. Although she quite enjoyed the knowledge of having all that gold within reach, her sensible self had won out and she had deposited the money into her account at the Bank of England. The bank had been only too happy to accept her gold…and Faith helpfully reminded her that money would collect far more interest sitting in the bank that it ever would have sitting in her safe.

Despite her newfound wealth, at no stage had the thought of not returning to work crossed Willow's mind. The Museum had been her life for so long that she could not imagine leaving. Even so, returning after a relatively long absence, Willow felt as though it was her first day at work as she trotted up the main steps. For some reason she decided that she would make a discreet entrance through the main doors rather than the employee only doors. However, as she passed beneath the mighty columns and received a welcoming nod from the doorman, she realized that she was subconsciously reacquainting herself with the building. The air inside the lobby was as draughty and cool as it had ever been and when she took the employees door to one side to descend down the stairs she was greeted by the familiar musty smell of the back of house corridors. Willow breathed in deeply and felt somewhat refreshed and even a little chirpier. However, her mood soon turned somber once again as she found two new portraits hanging in the portrait corridor, a short ways down from her brother, Abraham Van Helsing. Willow stopped to stare at the faces of Rupert Giles and Myles Cavendish. When she saw that each bore a prim brass plate with just their names she wrinkled her nose slightly at how impersonal it was. She made up her mind to speak to Lara about it as soon as possible. As she glanced back up to the portraits, she had to admit that the artist had done an admirable job. While both looked a little grander than they ever had in life, there was a wisdom about Giles and a mischievousness about Myles that reflected how they had been in life. Willow did make a mental note to leave a few instructions for the Museum when it came time for her to be immortalized in oils…if she were going to be doomed to hang in a corridor until someone decided to throw her portrait away, then she wanted to look her best.

Willow reached her own office but she did not enter or even look at her door, instead she continued down the hall towards Giles's workroom. The heavy brass plate had not changed, it still read Implements and Inventions but the ratty piece of paper that had previously been fixed above it was gone. She gently reached out and touched the space where the note scrawled with 'Dr Rupert Giles' had been.

Suddenly she heard the rap of metal on metal sounding out from within the workshop. At first her heart skipped a few beats but then she began to feel as overwhelming sense of hope…perhaps it wasn't too much to hope that a centuries old warlock knew how to cheat death. With his name and a smile on her lips, Willow pushed forward into the workroom.

The rap of metal upon metal ran out for several more seconds before it stopped. At the far end of the room a figure shrouded in shadows stood and moved towards her with purposeful strides. Willow almost immediately knew that whoever it was, it wasn't Giles. He was too short and broad to be the warlock. She instinctively found herself shrinking back towards the door a few steps but as he stepped into the light and his face was revealed her apprehension disappeared to be replaced by anger.

"Nice to see you again too, Miss Rosenberg," Alex Harris grinned, he pushed back the goggles he wore and twirled the hammer he held about in one hand.

Willow spluttered, speechless for a moment even as he stood opposite her and continued to grin with his ridiculous smile. Not only was he carrying one of Giles's hammers, he wore his leather apron and his safety goggles.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she demanded, having absolutely no time for pleasantries.

Alex didn't seem taken aback in the least by her rudeness, "This here's my new job, Miss Croft hired me last week."

"What?" it took Willow a while to realize what he had just said and all she could do was stand there stupidly.

"My new job," Alex repeated, "You know, fixin' up your weapons and making new ones…I've got this splendid idea for something new and improved…" he crossed to the table beside him and lifted an exceptionally large hand gun and the large bullet that obviously matched. "I dunno why you guys are bothering with crossbows when you could just use silver bullets in this here pistol…a darn sight better I would imagine!"

"Well, you just stay here and play with your pistol, Mr. Harris," Willow said as she turned to leave, And I'm going to make sure I ask Croft what the bloody hell she was thinking!

"Nice meeting you again!" Alex called after her, "Say, anytime you wanna show me around the museum…all the nooks and crannies, the little dark spaces where we could get lost…"

"I would love it if I did lose you," Willow muttered under her breath as she shut the door behind her and retreated towards the safety of her own office, still slightly queasy at the thought of Giles's workroom being violated by such a lout.

Drawing in a small breath, Willow paused by the door to her office. Someone had repainted her name which she remembered as being rather small and dull. It now very aptly read Willow Van Rosenberg and whoever it was had even seen fit to add a small subtitle, Senior Curator of Oddities. Willow frowned, she did not remember being a 'senior' anything when she had last been at work and she couldn't help but wonder if it was a promotion of sorts. That would be ironic, all those years of slaving away for a pittance and I get a promotion when I don't really need the money any longer..

Willow allowed herself a small smile, now all she needed was the prefix of Dr. sitting in front of her name. There was just the matter of finding the time to write her PhD thesis…and there was also the small matter of finding a topic to write about. She had so many ideas that pinning it all down to one seemed impossible.

After spending a few moments imaging that there was a 'Dr' in front of her name, Senior Curator Willow Van Rosenberg opened the door to her office. She was immediately greeted by the same array of smells that she had encountered when entering the employee corridors, although it was more pronounced. Willow was able to pick out the smell of old books, mingled with ancient artifacts and her musty old rag rug sitting on the floor. Everything was exactly as it had been when she left work, there was even a dirty tea cup sitting amidst the papers on her desk. She moved around behind the desk and drew her chair out. As she sat down she had the distinct feeling that she had never left her office.

Willow jerked her head up at the sound of the familiar, melodious voice and she instantly found herself with a broad smile on her face. Lara Croft stood in front of her, leaning casually against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. Although she had seen the Director of the British Museum many times since Covasna, her presence in this environment was enough to cheer her considerably. She even momentarily forgot about demanding why the hell Alexander Harris was working at the museum.

"I know, I realized that I would never be able to find someone half as talented as you that would work for so little money…so the job is still yours," Lara reassured her.

"What about my new title?" Willow pointed towards the smartly painted lettering on her door. "It doesn't come with a pay rise?"

Lara gave the door a brief glance but it was obvious she had already seen it, "Well not really…the Museum cannot afford to offer you much more than a token pay rise…and I thought that since…"

"You thought that since I came into a lot of money that I wouldn't need one," Willow finished, pretending to be exceptionally disappointed. She brightened a few seconds later. "You're right, the title is enough…and the money you're saving will be well spent I'm sure."

"Yes, I'm thinking of taking a trip to the Antipodean colonies later this year," Lara winked.

Far from being jealous, Willow immediately winced at the thought of such a lengthy sea journey. As far as she was concerned, someone else could accompany the Director on that particular trip…if she was actually going at all and the suggestion had not merely been to rile her about the lack of a pay rise.

"All quips aside, do you think you're ready to be back here?" Lara asked in a serious tone that meant she was well and truly finished with her jokes. "Because if you'd rather spend more time at home with Tara then I can…"

Willow interrupted her employer with a sudden, sharp shake of her head and an almost brusque reply, "No, I want to get back to work. I'll go crazy if I have to spend any more time alone and idle."

"You've hardly been alone and idle, Will," Lara replied slowly, trying to understand why Willow would even make such a comment. "I thought you'd have your hands full with…"

"I just want to come back to work!" Willow interrupted her again, this time her voice was sharp and insistent. She bit her lip shortly after her outburst to keep herself under control.

Lara couldn't hide her surprise at Willow's abrupt reaction; she stared for a moment before agreeing with a small nod, "Okay, we can start you off slowly…"

"I was thinking I would interpret Giles's Covasna spell, I know it's over but I have to understand what he did," Willow announced, her voice returning to a much calmer tone as Lara's line of questioning focused on something other than Tara. The spell had been weighing heavily on her mind for the past months and she was eager to unpick what Giles had done. She knew that the knowledge wouldn't change what had happened, but it would give her a sense of closure.

Lara glanced down at the leather folder that had been tucked under her arm; she seemed a little reluctant but eventually placed it atop the mess on Willow's desk. Willow undid the leather tie holding the folder closed and opened it to reveal a stack of papers covered in meticulous notes tucked into one side of the folder and on the other was a single sheet of paper. Unlike the notes which she knew were in Lara's hand, the single sheet was covered in a mass of scribbles and closely packed writing, corrections and amendments had been made and squeezed into every available space on the sheet. Willow did not need to be told what it was; she had watched Giles scribble on the paper many times on the way to Covasna. It was the spell.

"I thought you might say that," Lara said, not waiting for Willow to look back up at her, "So I've done some research of my own, probably not as thoroughly as you would have done it of course…but I think it's all quite clear."

Willow scanned Lara's notes and then the spell in an effort to digest everything at once. The original spell was plainly obvious, written out in a relatively neat hand at the centre of the sheet before they had discovered that the skull resided inside Willow. It would have been all so simple, find the skull and destroy it…however, the hasty additions made in the days leading up to Covasna were designed to first remove the skull from Willow's body and then destroy it. Willow frowned as she passed back and forth between the spell and the notes. She finally glanced back up at Lara.

"He did it on purpose," Willow whispered in a numb voice. "At the same time as he stripped the skull from my body…he stripped the demon from Tara's and then used the destruction spell to destroy both evils." She could not believe that Giles had not informed her of his intentions…even though she knew that if he had, both she and Tara would have tried to stop him, preferring to die rather than have him sacrifice himself. "Surely he must have known that such an undertaking would kill him?"

"This is Giles we're talking about," Lara replied sadly. "Of course he knew what he was doing."

Following Willow's words, a silence descended between them but it was not uncomfortable. Both women were remembering the centuries old warlock who had come to mean so much to them. For Willow, Giles had been so much more of a father to her than Ira Rosenberg had ever been. She eventually resumed scanning through Lara's notes, but only after scrubbing discreetly at both her eyes when they stun with inevitable tears. She managed to banish them away and hide behind a calm, business-like façade.

"Did you…" Willow swallowed awkwardly before she brought up the one person that she was still uncomfortable talking about. "Did you find anything to suggest why Tara's memory was wiped?"

"Yes and no," Lara began. "I could find no trace of intent to cause such a state in Giles's spell, and indeed it would have been a concern weighing on his mind at the time of composing the spell if he had known of it. I think it seems to have been a side-effect of removing the demon from her body."

"So the demon went…and took with it all her memories since her death?" Willow frowned even as she said it, struggling to make sense of such an explanation. "But would the restoration of her soul not have a countering effect?"

Lara shrugged, "Perhaps it does and Tara still retains her memories from the point at which she was ensouled?"

Willow shook her head slowly, "Unlikely, she can recall nothing from her time as a vampire…I doubt whether her memories would be that severely repressed." I hope to god that they aren't, Willow thought, remembering just how awful it was to experience nightmares and visions of memories without knowing what they were…still, the alternative was never knowing and she did not know what was worse.

"How is Tara, Willow?" Lara asked quietly, interrupting Willow's thoughts. "I just feel so strange discussing the mechanics of all of this when the two people concerned are my friends…I can see how you are only just managing to hold everything together and I wonder how difficult it must be for her."

At the first mention of Tara in a context other than the clinical discussion of the spell, Willow couldn't keep the hopeful expression from creeping onto her face, especially when she recalled the encouraging end to the conversation the previous evening. However, they were just a few words in the face of months of uncomfortable silence. This hope all too quickly faded to despair, especially at Lara's assessment of her own state of mind. Her first thought was to deny it outright and state that she was just fine…but she knew just how right Lara was. The bout yesterday with Faith had brought out some uncharacteristic and unpleasant traits and she was surprised her best friend had not seen fit to dress her down even more thoroughly. Her preoccupation with Tara was ruling her life.

"Yes, you do," Lara confirmed honestly. "Which is why I asked whether you were ready to be back at work…and then you snapped as soon as I mentioned Tara."

"I am truly sorry, Lara," Willow sighed, feeling guilty that she had snapped at one of her dearest friends. "Things are just the same as they were last week when you visited Gordon Square, she refuses to leave her room or open up to me…although I did have a somewhat encouraging conversation with her last night," Willow glanced up at Lara, wondering if she should share what she regarded as a private moment between the two of them. "She admitted that she needed to be close to me…that is a good thing right?"

Lara smiled encouragingly at Willow's once again hopeful expression, "It can't be anything but a good thing, Willow."

Willow could not return the smile, "She is undoubtedly the love of my life, but I've spent most of my life…" Willow paused and thought for a moment before correcting herself, "…my lives, apart from her. However now that she's as close to me as she's ever been…I feel so distant from her. I miss her, Lara, I just need her so much. Is it so very wrong of me to not be happy with just the mere fact that she is alive and safe but to want more of her? Is it wrong of me to want her at all?"

Lara finally moved from her position leaning against the doorframe. She folded herself elegantly into the chair in front of Willow's desk. Once seated, she reached out both hands across the expanse of papers and books that separated them and took Willow's hands in her own.

"I spent so many years watching and wanting Faith from afar…and all along she had wanted me just as much. I once thought it strange that two strong, confident women could not express their feelings for one another and I lamented the time lost that we could have spent together…but I can to realize that love is terribly complicated and although we want things to move quickly, everything happens according to its own plan. I know you don't want to hear me tell you to have patience…"

"I do not," Willow replied quietly, but he had to admit that Lara spoke nothing short of the truth.

"Well, sometimes love needs a helping hand…and I know it is not my place to intrude…in the least," Lara began. "But if you would like, I can speak to Tara."

"She has spoken to no one save me…and perhaps a few mundane words to Faith, I hesitate to think what you could possibly say?" Willow asked in a cautious voice

Lara shrugged slightly, "I don't think the content matters so much as simply having someone new to talk to."

Willow finally nodded tentatively, giving her agreement even though it was not really hers to give. Regardless of her mental state, Tara was still very much her own person and she had no right speak for her. Still, the old Tara knew Lara well; perhaps a part of her would be able to sense that she had a good friend in the Museum Director.

As Lara stood to leave, Willow remembered the other pressing matter that she had wanted to speak to the Director about, the intruder she had found in Giles's workshop. Alexander Harris. Just the thought of the man who had plied her with alcohol during her first field trip was enough to rouse her anger. If Myles had not been present, she hated to think where the situation would have ended up. Alex's intentions had not only been misguided…they had almost been sinister.

"Lara, I hope you don't mind me being frank…but have you misplaced your good sense since we returned from Covasna?" Willow asked, not caring if she sounded insubordinate.

Lara lifted her eyebrows in surprise, "I should think not." She did not go as far as to scold Willow for her poor manners.

"Then why the bloody hell did you hire that irresponsible, womanizing lout?" Willow demanded, "He is defiling Giles's workroom as we speak!"

"Mr. Harris?" Lara then merely shrugged, "The position was vacant…good weapon makers are actually quite hard to find, you'd be surprised just how many balk when they are told the purpose for the weapons that they make. Somehow most are under the impression that vampires and demons don't exist."

"That's all very well…but I think you could have been a little stricter with your standards!" Willow pointed out.

"Leave him be, Willow," Lara warned as she moved towards the door, "You may find in time that Mr. Harris can be a valuable asset…and he is more than eager to make up for his failings when you were wounded at Covasna."

"Thanks for reminding me," for Willow it was another reason to distrust Alex, he had been off chasing horses when Angelus had shown up. A physical confrontation with the powerful vampire had eventually led to her ending up skewered on a piece of rusty metal.

"He is under the strictest orders to be on his best behavior…any black mark and his time with the Museum will be swiftly terminated," Lara explained.

Lara silenced her with a steady look that Willow knew meant the conversation was over. She then left Willow sitting in her office with plenty of time to let both her anger over Alex and her sorrow over Tara create a rather unpleasant sensation in her gut. With a sigh she wondered if it had been a mistake to return to work as clearly she was not capable of dealing with anything.

While she was fervently grateful that Lara would speak to Tara, she worried that it meant she was incapable of helping her herself. A failure to help the one she loved was not something Willow wanted to admit.

Willow sighed as she closed the leather folder that still sat in front of her. She no longer wanted to spend the rest of her day analyzing the spell. What she wanted was to spend the rest of the day in Tara's arms…and every hour of every day for the rest of her life. Such a simple thing was currently an impossibility…it was uncomfortable even to imagine sitting in silence with Tara, the gulf between them was such that she felt as though she no longer knew the blonde. It was a terrifying thing to admit…it frightened her because she knew she could not live the rest of her life without truly knowing Tara. Willow fished around on her desk and located her research on Fiores demons, an innocuous topic that she knew she could concentrate on without dredging up uncomfortable thoughts.

Several sheets of paper and a few illustrations later, Willow had almost succeeded in achieving a busy state of mind that was focused on something other than Tara…almost.

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Van Rosenberg II
Lord of Ice and Shadows

by Alcy

Copyright © 2008

annagreaves@yahoo.co.uk

Van Rosenberg II Lord of Ice and Shadows

by Alcy

Copyright © 2008

annagreaves@yahoo.co.uk

Van Rosenberg II
Lord of Ice and Shadows