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.

Willow was steadily beginning to realize that her cooking wasn't quite up to scratch, but she would never have gone quite as far as to admit that she couldn't boil water. However, as she was frantically trying to boil several pots at once in order to have enough to wash her rapidly growing pile of dirty clothes, she suddenly realized that she was overwhelmed by the rattling, steaming pots splashing vast quantities of liquid onto the stove top as they raged out of control. Her thumb had already been burnt and she had just scalded her forearm as she leaned over to try and remove a pot at the back of the stove that she had filled too enthusiastically to begin with. With her hands wrapped in cloths, she wisely decided to lift the pots at the front from the stove top. However, the last one hissed and spluttered at her as though daring her to try and move it. Willow eyed the boiling water as though she were staring at a demon intent on doing her harm. For all she knew, something had possessed her stove and was out to get her.

Through her frustration, she heard footsteps behind her and glanced quickly over her shoulder to see Faith enter the kitchen with a rather amused smile on her face.

"You have no qualms about facing several vampires at once but as soon as you get in front of that oven you're quailing like a kitten being forced to take a bath," Faith commented helpfully as she peered over Willow's shoulder.

"Thanks very much for that analogy," Willow replied in a strained voice as she struggled to get a better grip on the pot. "You know, you could offer to help!"

Wrapping her hand in a cloth, Faith took the pot from Willow's grip and quickly took it outside where she promptly tossed it in the tub Willow was preparing for the washing. When she re-entered the kitchen she found Willow with both hands in a bucket of cold water, her cheeks red and flushed from the exertion of the past half an hour. She glanced across at the row of pots next to her and realized that they still had to be carried out to her tub…and then she actually had to wash the clothes. By the time she was done with clothes, her stomach would be rumbling for dinner. It was a never-ending nightmare of household chores. She would have sooner faced an Atramen demon alone (provided she had matches of course).

"You know what?" Willow muttered as she lifted one hand out of the bowl to inspect her wounds. "I hate cooking…I hate washing, cleaning, ironing and anything that involves a feather duster instead of a sword!"

"I hardly need to remind you that you need to hire some servants," Faith said gently as she picked up another pot and started to carry it out of the kitchen. "Stop being so stint with your money!"

"I've never actually had money," Willow mused as Faith returned. "The thought of spending it seems abhorrent somehow."

Faith grabbed her wrist and examined the burns on Willow's fingers, she then looked back up at Willow with a no-nonsense expression on her face, "Either spend money…or suffer more burns…and more upset stomachs!"

Faith propped one hand on her hip, "You didn't hear me retching all night after your roast chicken? I swear to god Will, you nearly killed me!"

"Someone?" Faith interrupted. "You need more than one for a place as big as this!"

"You need a cook at least," another voice joined in the protest and both Willow and Faith turned towards the kitchen door to see Lara enter. "Or I promise that I will never accept an invitation to dine at Gordon Square."

The Museum Director had traded her normally dark and somber garments for a light, airy white dress that softened her entire countenance and made her seem far younger than her years, almost a girl. Her hair was also freed from its usual stern plait and hung loose about her face. Willow couldn't help but be reminded why she used to feel hot flushes in Lara's presence.

"Hello you," Faith lifted her eyebrows in surprise at the sight of her lover and her attire.

Faith crossed the distance between them to take Lara in her arms and deliver a rather passionate kiss while Willow could only stare at what was not happening between her and Tara. She eventually looked away as the kiss went on for what she felt was a little longer than necessary. However, even as she lifted the last pot to carry it out of the kitchen, she couldn't help but keep glancing at them with a sigh on her lips. Finally when she returned, Faith had drawn back, though only slightly, and there was a broad smile on her lips.

"I didn't realize Director Croft was making house calls today," Faith purred playfully, leaning in for another quick kiss.

Faith held Lara at arm's length and glanced over her shoulder to Willow, "Not what I was expecting to hear…is there something going on between the two of you that I do not know about?"

Willow tried to look as innocent as possible and lifted her hands as if to deny all knowledge of anything between herself and Lara. The last thing she wanted was to wake up to find a jealous Faith standing over her bed with a loaded crossbow.

"Nothing that you should worry yourself about," Lara reassured her. "Besides, Willow isn't exactly my type…she is entirely too skinny."

In response, Willow glanced down. Most of her body was concealed beneath a bulky apron that she had found hanging behind the kitchen door. It had no doubt belonged to the previous cook and she'd had to wind the ties around her waist twice. Still, she had to admit that the arms that protruded from her rolled up shirt sleeves were on the scrawny side. Just last week she'd been forced to put another notch in the leather straps on her breastplate in order to keep it firm and snug against her body. There was definitely no denying that she had lost weight in the face of the stresses in her life…and she blamed a little of it on her cooking.

Therefore considering it was the truth, she didn't have an indignant remark to say to Lara in reply. Instead she just shrugged. Faith's nod of agreement did not help matters through and she scowled.

"Do you mind giving Willow and I a moment alone?" Lara asked her lover. "I'll meet you upstairs in your room in a few minutes."

Faith brightened considerably and there was a wicked gleam in her eye, "I don't mind at all…it'll give me time to strap 'Monty' on."

"My thoughts exactly," Lara responded with another kiss and Faith practically ran out of the room.

Willow cocked her head to one side with her nose wrinkled in her confusion, "What's a 'Monty'?" she asked Lara as Faith's feet thudded up the stairs.

Lara smirked and took a seat on the corner of the table, "Umm, you might want to ask Faith when you're feeling adventurous one day…and you'll have to get your own."

Feeling none the wiser for Lara's cryptic answer, Willow continued, "Adventurous…you think I'm not adventurous? I would definitely say that I am an adventurous person…I mean, I fight vampires and demons for a living. I enjoy a good adventure as much as the next person…"

When the redhead stopped and saw the serious expression on her face all thoughts of the mysterious 'Monty' were banished and replaced by her concern for Tara, "You've spoken to her?"

Lara's nod caused Willow's heart to stop in her throat as she waited for further exposition. She had not expected Lara to fulfill her promise so soon.

Lara shook her head, "No…just listen to her, all her personal contact these past three months have been people talking to her, telling her what has happened to her. She needs time to tell her own story first…the story that is foremost in her mind," Lara tilted her head slightly to one side before she continued. "She wouldn't tell me…but I could sense that it pained her greatly…Willow, I must admit that I am worried that you will not be able to listen to her."

"It is Tara," Willow replied simply, as though that were enough of an explanation. She was confident that whatever Tara had to say, she would be able to listen…in fact, she was certain of it.

Although she thought that there was more advice Lara could offer, Willow was impatient to be with Tara. First and foremost she was ashamed of herself for being guilty of ignoring Tara's needs. A part of her had been convinced that if she could just tell Tara what had happened, everything would be alright. She had not stopped to consider that there were things she needed to hear first.

There were no further words needed between her and Lara Croft. She nodded her thanks and made to move past her in the direction of the stairs. As she did, Lara stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm. When Willow stopped she found herself drawn into Lara's firm embrace. At first she felt a mild sort of panic at being in such close proximity to the breasts she had admired for so long, but gradually she accepted the reassurance for what it was and allowed herself to sink into the welcoming arms. As warm and safe as she felt, Willow did not allow herself to linger long. She was desperate to be with Tara…and she did not want Faith to come down the stairs and find her in the arms of her lover.

As Willow mounted the stairs some moments later she realized that, although she was desperate to be with Tara and rectify her ignorance of the past three months, she was terrified. It was not Tara herself that she was scared of. The quiet blonde was hardly a threatening figure…except when she was a vampire. What she was terrified of was somehow failing at this task and alienating Tara forever. Although she had no reason to think of it as such, in her mind she viewed this as her last chance to break through the walls Tara had constructed around herself. With each step and each creak of timber beneath her feet, she drew closer to one of the most important conversations of her life. She glanced down at her attire and realized she still wore the over-sized apron. Hastily, Willow undid the ties and dragged it off, tossing it over the side of the banister. The shirt and pants she was left standing in were hardly more presentable. Willow shivered slightly and stopped in her room only long enough to get a woolen sweater. She continued towards the room at the end of the hall, deliberating keeping her strides small and slow.

Finally, after she could draw out the walk no longer, she found herself in front of the door. She lifted her knuckles and knocked gently.

The response was almost immediate, Tara spoke in a soft voice that barely travelled through the door, "Come in, Willow."

Buoyed somewhat by this, Willow entered the room and found it a little lighter than the darkness she usually encountered. The curtains were drawn back and one window was even opened to let in a small breeze. One thing had not changed; Tara was still perched in her usual seat beneath the window. Willow hesitated slightly, not knowing where to sit. She tossed up between taking a seat at the other end of the window seat…or on the bed; neither option presented an easy choice. The window seat seemed too close to Tara…and the bed, too far away. She finally chose the window seat but was sure to pick up one of the cushions and hold it on her lap like some sort of shield.

As Willow sat, staring down at the pillow in her lap she gradually realized that, unlike each of their previous interactions, the silence between them was almost comfortable. She found herself able to glance up at Tara and stare for several seconds, once Tara even caught her gaze and held it before they both drew away.

Almost half an hour passed in which neither Willow nor Tara said a word. While Tara remained seated primly with her ankles neatly crossed, Willow kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up beneath her. The pillow she was using as a shield had since been discarded.

When Tara finally spoke her voice was like the first few notes of music at the opening of a concert, "Please allow me to beg your forgiveness?"

Willow sat up a little straighter, almost leaning forward, "But there is nothing I must forgive you for!"

Tara turned and regarded her through her liquid gaze, "I fear there are many things that I have done…many things that I ought to offer penance for, and yet they are things that I know nothing about," she paused and drew in a shallow breath. "Tell me Willow…please, how do I ask forgiveness for something I don't remember doing?"

"Simple," Willow replied in a whisper, "You don't…you've done nothing wrong…you've never done anything wrong in your life."

Despite the intended reassurance implicit in her words, Willow saw immense sadness in Tara's eyes. It was the kind of sadness that would threaten to rip your heart out if you let yourself get drawn into it. However that was exactly what Willow wanted…she wanted Tara to let her in, to share what she felt. More than anything, she needed to know each of the thoughts and emotions that were running through the blonde's head. If she could just understand, then she could try and help her…but she needed to know first.

Before Tara spoke, she wanted to be able to reach out and press her fingers to the back of her hand…any small touch to at least give her a sense of contact. However, she merely managed to twitch her fingers in Tara's direction before leaving them resting on the pillow next to her. As much as she wanted to touch Tara, she couldn't quite bring herself to do it…not yet anyway. Willow bit her lip, pleading with herself to be patient.

"I did do something wrong, Willow" Tara eventually admitted. "I turned my back on the woman I loved…and I destroyed my life by choosing to marry…" she struggled to force his name out but in the end she simply spat, "him."

"You do not need to lie to placate me," Tara interrupted. "I could have turned my back on my family and fled to live out the rest of my life in peace and happiness with you…and yet I chose duty…you have no idea how painful my choice was…"

Willow wanted to interrupted, to tell Tara that it had been just as painful for her to be separated from the woman she loved. However, she kept her lips shut and did just as Lara had said…she listened. Tara cast her head downwards once again as she continued.

"I thought I knew what kind of man I was marrying…I knew he was cruel and vile…and yet I did not know the half of it," Tara paused to take a breath, when she let it out her whole body shuddered with some awful thought. When she turned to look at Willow her eyes were wet with tears, "I did not realize that one man could be so heartless…could inflict so much pain on someone he had vowed to protect and cherish. Every night…from the first…to right before my death…every night he came to me and took me with a brutality I did not think even he was capable of."

The intensity of Tara's words shocked Willow. Even if she had been capable of speaking, she would have been able to think of nothing to say in response. Instead she watched as the moisture that had been welling in Tara's eyes finally gave way. Two fat tears snaked down either cheek and dripped down onto her lap. They continued to fall in a steady stream but Willow could neither wipe them away nor offer a handkerchief.

Tara continued even though her voice was clogged with tears, "It was brutal…to go from the touch of a gentle and considerate lover…to someone who thought only of his own lust and need for dominance. He didn't need to strike me to force compliance, he was my husband, I would have done everything he asked of me…even though it repulsed me, just the thought of him laying his hand on me was enough to paralyze me with fear…and he hated that, he hated that I lay as still as stone while he satisfied himself. He hated it so much that he started to hit me, I cried…and that only angered him further. I never knew what he wanted."

For the love of god…please stop! Willow cried inwardly, she had to fight to keep tears of her own from falling, her lips trembled with the immense effort that this required, I can't sit here and listen to this…I just can't…

So while Tara continued, finally able to give voice to injustices committed over a century earlier, Willow could only sit and listen. She listened to the sufferings of the woman she loved and by the time she had finished, Willow was glad Edward Walsh was long dead otherwise she would have take her sharpest sword and sliced his manhood off…and then his head, regardless of who was watching.

When she glanced down she saw her hands were both balled into white- knuckled fists of anger and frustration. Frustration at the fact that Edward had been able to use Tara in the way he had and there was no question of him being able to get away with it, it had been his right. Where had she been throughout Tara's suffering? She had been cloistered away at Hagley Park…feeling infinitely sorry for herself and angry at Tara for making such an awful choice.

Tara explained how Edward had finally driven her to leave that night in Austria…with her dress already torn from his anger; she had dashed out into the night without caring what might befall her. Although her memories of the attack were little more than fleeting recollections, Willow could tell that she had welcomed death's freedom…even though it came through the violent and painful act of a monster.

Tara's voice finally trailed off and after a few minutes to gather herself together and wipe away her tears with the sleeve of her gown, she glanced up at Willow. Willow met her gaze, but only long enough to see the expectation inherent in her eyes. Willow didn't know what Tara expected her to do…to hold her, comfort her…or say something in reply. What could one say in response to such pain? I'm terribly sorry you had to live through that but you did choose him over me? Willow felt the tears finally begin to fall, but they were not tears of sorrow. Rather they were tears of rage that matched her balled up fists.

It was too much…everything was too much. Willow fought to hold herself together for the few moments that it took to escape from Tara's room but she failed and as she ran out the door she let out a gasping sob. She tore the short distance down the corridor to her room and slammed the door shut behind her, not caring that the jarring sound would reverberate throughout the entire house. Once inside, Willow's anger and frustration led her to pace about on the rug in the middle of the floor, unable to decide her next move. As she paced past her dresser, she dashed out her arm and swept everything that sat atop it to the floor. Her jug and pitcher, a few bits and pieces, her hairbrush and a bottle of perfume Abraham had given her all crashed to the floor.

Willow was immediately assaulted by the intense smell wafting from the pool of perfume on the floor. She remembered when Abraham had given it to her, a year before she met Tara…she had worn it throughout their relationship…and now it was gone, destroyed by her rage. With another sob, Willow backed away from the mess on the floor until she felt her bed pressed against her legs. She sank down to the floor and pressed her back against it. It seemed as though a year had passed since her playful banter with Faith in the kitchen that morning over boiling pots of water. She would have preferred to face every household chore ever invented instead of Tara's confession.

A few moments later there was a hesitant knock on the door, "Will?" It was Faith, no doubt disturbed from her 'playtime' with Lara, "Is everything alright?"

No, it's not bloody alright! Willow raged, placing her head in her hands, That bastard raped my beloved and I did nothing to help her…I wasn't there for her… She was immediately assaulted by the awful image of Edward Walsh tearing at Tara's clothes, stripping them away so he could paw roughly at her naked flesh…flesh that Willow had always caressed so tenderly. With a groan of pain she slammed her head against the side of the bed, trying to clear the images from her mind even as she imagined him taking her…

"Why did she have to tell me," Willow whispered to herself. "She could've kept it to herself, bottled it up and never let me know…I didn't need to know!" Later she would realize that her rational self would never allow Tara to force herself to do such a thing…but at that point, with such awful thoughts raging in her head, she couldn't think like that.

The door handle began to turn and Willow glanced to her left, she saw a boot she had taken off the night before and seized it. She then threw it against the door with all the strength she could muster.

"Don't be ridiculous…" was Faith's immediate response, but the door did not open.

In the silence that followed her shouts, Willow could tell that Faith was still standing outside the door. However a few minutes later she heard Faith's bare feet padding back down the hallway to her own room. Willow eventually lifted herself from the floor but it was only long enough to make her way down to the cellar to find herself something to drink. She made her way back to her room with a bottle of whiskey and tried to drink herself to the point where the images would stop and she could sleep.

Finally, with half the bottle sitting uneasily in her stomach, Willow wrapped herself in the bed covers and drifted off into a fitful, nightmare ridden sleep.

Although Tara had seen Willow struggle to maintain composure throughout the time in which she spoke, the liberating feeling of the weight of her memories gradually lifting from her own shoulders compelled her to continue. It was too late that she realized that the slender redhead, as strong as she was, was having difficulty coping with what she was saying. Tara didn't blame her, the memories of what Edward had done to her were so covered in filth that she had difficulty giving voice to them…even though they had occupied most of her thoughts during the months since her reawakening.

After her voice finally trailed off at the point in her story where she had died, she dragged her gaze up to meet Willow's, prepared to face the revulsion that she might find. She waited, just hoping that Willow was strong enough to listen to her words and yet still be able to offer her the comfort she needed. A few moments later, it became painfully clear that she was not. Willow lost her struggle and collapsed into sobs as she ran from the room. Tara let her go…she knew she should have prepared Willow for what she was about to say, yet she also knew that if she had stopped or taken a pause, the words would not have come.

She remained sitting at her window seat, staring out at the street as the afternoon slipped by, then evening came as the light grew dim…and finally night. Without much conscious thought as to what she was doing, Tara left her room. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get out of the house after so long spent within its walls. The corridor was dark and silent, the air thick and heavy…as though the house reflected the mood of its occupants. She slowed as she passed Willow's room before she broke into a sudden run and continued down the stairs, unable to leave fast enough. She paused only long enough to grab a coat in the hall before she dashed out into the night once again.

This time however, Tara carried Willow with her…for it was her coat which she had taken, and her scent lingered even as her feet carried her further away from the house on Gordon Square.

Willow awoke with the unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling that something or someone had left their night soil in her mouth. Coupled with this, there was an insistent and repetitive pounding within her skull that would not cease even after she rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head. As the pounding continued, she finally realized that it wasn't in her head at all. It was someone, an exceptionally rude and inconsiderate someone, ramming their fist against her door. She sat up with a sudden start and then felt a sudden rush of nausea and dizziness flood her body. With a groan, Willow sank back against her pillows in an effort to halt her rising need to vomit. She did manage to keep her eyes open however and saw that it was still the middle of the night; she had left her curtains open and only a weak light from the street outside filtered into the room.

Obviously ignorant of her suffering, the pounding on her door continued. Willow tried in vain to ignore it in the vain hope that whoever it was would simply leave but it became apparent that they were hell bent on seeking an audience with her, even prepared to risk her wrath to do it.

"For heaven's sake! What!" Willow demanded in a tone of voice that left no doubt as to her mood.

Almost immediately, the door swung open and a rather disheveled Faith entered wearing a robe. Her hair was unbound and unkempt about her face and there was a red smudge on her cheek that looked suspiciously like rouge. Willow propped herself up onto her elbows and saw that Faith's legs were bare from the knee down, the robe was also open slightly to reveal a bare chest. She snorted as she guessed that Faith would be wearing absolutely nothing beneath the robe. However, the expression that her friend wore on her face was not smug with pleasure…or even sympathetic to Willow's obvious illness.

Faith moved to the side of the bed and only needed to glance once at Willow's face, and then at the half empty bottle sitting on the table beside the bed to know what had happened. She appeared far from impressed.

"Willow, you know full well you are incapable of holding any form of alcohol whatsoever…what possessed you to drink half a bottle of something that has probably been sitting in your cellar for almost a century?" Faith growled.

Willow was in no mood to be scolded like a child, and she replied in a rather tart voice. "I'm an adult and I'll drink if I please! Was there a purpose for your visit?"

"Why the bloody hell would Tara be in here with me?" Willow snapped, the mere mention of the young woman's name was enough to taunt her with memories of their conversation earlier that day. Tara's words came unbidden into her head and she felt the same helpless anger once again. Her anger dulled however in the face of her pain and she flopped back against the pillow as she was unable to hold herself up on her elbows. "No, I haven't seen her since we spoke…and I ran out of her room rather abruptly and…well," Willow sighed sadly before continuing, "You were witness to the state I was in…"

"Well she's gone," Faith replied in a matter-of-fact tone, obviously seeing no point in breaking the news to Willow gently.

"What?" was Willow's eloquent reply, she once again sat up with a start but this time she was unable to stop the immediate vomit reflex, her stomach heaved violently and its contents would have covered her lap save for Faith's quick thinking. She shoved a receptacle into Willow's hands and waited patiently until the retching had stopped.

When Willow's stomach finally ceased its heaving and her head had cleared sufficiently she glanced down with a grimace at the messy, smelly result of her attempt to drown her sorrows. It was then that she realized the receptacle that Faith had so helpful provided was one of her best bowler hats. She glanced at the headwear and knew that she would never be able to wear it again.

She handed it wordlessly to Faith who accepted it gingerly. "It's your own fault, you smashed your basin."

Willow glanced in the direction of her friend's nod and saw the scattered shards of porcelain across the floor. She remembered dashing the items to the ground in her anger and she felt embarrassed at her loss of control. Stripping the covers away from her fully clothed body, Willow stood slowly to find that she had not even bothered to remove her shoes in her drunken state. She swayed somewhat but managed to stay on her own two feet. Upon a further survey of the damaged items on the floor she knew that the bowler hat had been Faith's only recourse, both her pitcher and basin had been reduced to hunks of porcelain.

Once standing, with the pounding in her head and nausea in her gut slowly receding, Willow turned her attention back to Faith and her rather unexpected, alarming statement.

"Tara's gone?" Willow repeated. Even as she spoke she could not remain still and waste time, she crossed to her wardrobe and withdrew a dark jacket and a small selection of weapons. "Are you positive she is not in her room? Or anywhere else in the house?"

Faith nodded in reply, "I was hungry after…well, let's just say 'strenuous activity', but upon leaving my own room I saw Tara's door wide open, a sight I am unused to seeing…rather than wake you I searched the remainder of the house but could find no trace of her, and your heavy coat is missing from the rack by the door."

"Your powers of observation never fail to impress me," Willow remarked as she tossed the jacket on to her bed while she strapped a sword around her waist. With the sword in place, she tugged the jacket on and stuffed its pockets with stakes, knives and firebombs.

Faith did not pause to question her, she knew as well as Willow just how dangerous the night was. "I will accompany you, wait a few moments for me to get something on other than a robe."

"I cannot afford to waste a second in looking for her, Faith," Willow replied as she checked her small arsenal, now that her flurry of activity was over, concern for Tara was foremost on her mind. "She's alone…she doesn't know this London well at all…oh god…she could be anywhere…"

Willow sagged slightly at this momentous realization. London was indeed a large city with a warren of streets that would confuse a visitor in moments…especially one as sheltered and naive as Tara. In a split second, Faith was at her side with a firm hand on her shoulder. Even dressed in nothing but a robe she still presented the picture of strength and confidence.

"And the longer you remain here, the more you injure your chances of finding her quickly, stick to the main routes, I'll take South towards the river, you head West towards the Park…Lara will also be roused to join in the search, and people from the museum will be contacted…we'll have dozens out looking for her Willow…trust that we will find her."

Comforted by Faith's reassurance, Willow nodded tightly and chose to exit via the window instead of the door; it was after all much quicker. She ignored Faith's call of 'we have a front door' and shimmied down the wall to drop lightly into the street. With her feet on the cobbles, she broke into an urgent run.

Tara had of course visited London many times in her youth, especially during the social season, but nothing could have prepared her for walking the cobbled streets alone, in the dead of night, with absolutely no idea where she was going. Yet for all her disorientation, she felt very little fear. There was something about the night that felt comfortable…that and the fact that Willow's coat felt snug around her body. Tara continued to walk, simply relishing the fact that she was once again outdoors after so long spent sitting by her window. By the time she contemplated returning to the mansion, she had lost all sense of direction and she turned around only to find an unfamiliar street stretching out behind her.

To her left was a dark, tree-filled expanse which she guessed to be Hyde Park. Although she knew better than to venture into such a place at night, Tara could not help but draw closer to the majestic oaks which rose up out of the earth and towered high above. It had been too long since she had felt the grass beneath her feet and heard the sound of leaves rustling above her head.

A twig cracked somewhere to her left and Tara froze. However when she turned her head to see a dark shape standing in the shadows, she did not feel as scared as she knew she ought to be. Instead, she calmly turned towards the street and the safety of its lights. She had gone barely a few paces when two more shapes dropped out of the trees above and landed without sound directly in front of her, baring her path.

A part of her knew she ought to be screaming and running for her life, but as the pale faced shapes came closer she stood her ground and kept her chin held high. Barely audible footsteps behind her told her that the third one had moved closer. The nearest, a tall man wearing a long, flowing coat, moved closer still, a smile on his lips.

"You do not scream or run…do you not fear us?" he asked quietly, his voice deep and soft. Following his words he drew his lips even further back into a wide smile, baring his twin fangs. "Or is it that you are too frightened for action?"

"You are vampires," Tara observed with a note of curiosity in her voice, she cocked her head to one side and studied the two in front of her closely.

The two in front of her looked at one another with bewildered expressions, as though wondering if their prey was in her right mind.

As they seemed confused by her actions and slow to move, Tara found herself remembering the night she had died. The same pale faces shining in the dark…the same sharp fangs, only on that particular night they had plunged into the soft flesh of her neck. Tara remembered the sharp, agonizing pain that had originated in her neck and then been sent coursing throughout her entire body as the life was sucked from her.

Although her memories ceased with the darkness, Tara instinctively knew that her physical form had somehow become one of these creatures…these monsters that stood in front of her. Her body went cold and she shuddered to think of doing what these creatures were now doing, stalking the night searching for helpless victims upon which to feed. Blood…they feed on blood, Tara shivered, sickened at the thought and yet there was an undercurrent to her revulsion. It was as though she knew what it was like to crave the feel of warm blood surging down one's throat, to watch with satisfaction as it pumped from the dying body of a victim.

It was at that point that Tara realized she did not fear dying…what she did fear was becoming such a terrible creature…again. She backed away slightly from the two in front of her, but a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that one was still behind her. She fumbled in the pockets of Willow's coat and her hand wrapped around a slim object. When she withdrew her hand, she found a length of wood lying in her palm. The sight of this object earned a laugh from the tall vampire in front of her.

"Look! It thinks itself a vampire slayer!" he mocked, taking a few steps towards her.

His movement was cautious, as though despite his words he was entertaining the thought that she could be capable of slaying him. However it became all too obvious that Tara had no idea what she was doing as she held the stake limply in her hand. As he came closer, she knew she ought to be doing something with the splinter of wood but instead all she could do was hold it. Into his heart! It needs to go into his heart! She was still simply holding it when he suddenly snatched it from her loose grasp and tossed it into the shadows.

Tara let out a sharp breath as her wrist was ensnared in a vice-like grasp. She was suddenly jerked backwards and her head tilted to one side, baring her neck.

Although Tara knew that they were discussing her very fate, she did not struggle. Instead she lay limply in the arms of the vampire who held her, had it not been for his grip on her body she would have fallen to the ground. Again she remembered the moments before her first death and the extent to which she had screamed and struggled against the creature. Despite all her efforts, she had been unable to even loosen his grip such was his inhuman strength. She knew that to struggle now would only incite their pleasure.

"Can't we at least chase it?" the woman pleaded, obviously not quite as hungry as her companion who professed to be starving. "I need to hear her screams!"

"And risk the chance of attracting unwanted attention?" The one who held Tara growled. "You forget where we are sister…no, it is best we do this quickly and quietly, the vampire hunter stalks these streets."

I do not want to die again. Tara thought as they argued around her, three voices blending into one unpleasant sound, I am meant to be here…I am meant to be with Willow! As the determined voices sounded in her head, Tara's fear was gradually replaced by anger until the point that her entire body trembled with an unleashed rage. Her captors merely thought she was scared out of her mind. Vampires burn…they fear the flame… Even as the words went through her mind, Tara had no idea where such a thought would come from. A well bred woman would never acknowledge that such a thing as a vampire existed let alone know how to kill one.

This knowledge however was of relatively little use, knowing how to kill them did not help her conjure up fire out of thin air. Thoughts of flames still danced through her mind. In her anger she visualized the monsters burning and writhing in the pain that they deserved. Suddenly, the night around her was made bright by a flame burning at the palm of her hand. The tongues of fire licked at the vampires clothing as he leaned over her body, all too quickly they caught hold and he stumbled backwards. As she fell backwards she saw his eyes go wide with surprise just moments before his entire body was engulfed. Seconds later Tara watched him explode into a shower of hot ash.

His two companions looked on with expressions of shock mingled with horror as Tara lay forgotten on her back in the slightly damp grass. She looked back and forth between the scorched grass in front of her and the source of the turned on her, still determined to finish what they had started.

As their clawed hands reached for her, Tara shrank back, scuttling backwards in an awkward, crab-like movement that could not possibly take her away from them fast enough. She turned over and only just managed to scramble to her feet before she felt a cold hand grasp the back of her neck and wrench her backwards.

"Unhand her I say!" an all too familiar voice cut short the cry that she was about to utter.

The vampire holding her turned just as she did, they both saw a darkly clad shape sprinting towards them. Moments later Tara found herself once again dashed to the ground as her captor freed his sword arm to engage this new, far more palpable threat. It was of very little use, however, the silver blade flashed in the darkness and sliced into his body before he had time even to defend himself.

Tara felt her body flood with relief at the sight of Willow, her red hair unbound and flowing about her body as she moved gracefully on her feet. She did not pause after dispatching the first vampire, continuing to move in a fluid motion to face the remaining vampire. The female snarled and looked as though she might rush at her, seconds later however she turned and began to flee the scene. She had managed no more than a dozen paces before Willow cut her down with a single broad stroke to her back. Her scream was cut short as her body disintegrated like her companions.

The short but violent combat was over as soon as it had begun and Willow re-sheathed her sword before she turned to walk back to where Tara lay on the ground. The blonde watched her former lover approach, taking in the strange sight of her clad in black, war-like clothes. The steely mask of battle was still on her face and she looked like a different person entirely.

"Willow!" although Tara's voice was tinged with relief at the sight of the redhead, there was a slight question in her voice as though she wasn't sure if this person was indeed the Willow that she knew.

"I saw the flames," Willow offered by way of explanation even though Tara had not asked such a question. She then regarded Tara with a strange expression on her face.

"I could ask the same question of you," Willow observed with raised eyebrows. "You are not the same Tara that died in Austria." She then turned and looked towards the patch of scorched grass where Tara's victim had turned to ash within the fury of her fireball. It was another Tara that had been able to wield the magicks…a Tara she thought was gone. She realized that she truly did not know who it was that sat on the ground in front of her.

Tara lifted her hand and stared down at it as though she still expected to find the flesh blackened by the fire that she had held in her palm. Instead she found the skin pale and unblemished, as though the fire had never danced on her palm.

"I-I…don't know," Tara admitted, still staring at her hand. "I wanted them all to burn…and then there was fire…"

Willow paused as though she was unwilling to approach Tara further. However, a second later she swayed slightly on her feet and eventually had to hunch over with her hands resting on her knees. Concerned, Tara rose to her feet and moved closer to Willow. Tentatively she reached out and placed a hand on her back.

"Were you injured during the fray?" Tara asked, although she had not seen the vampire's blade get close enough to strike.

Her question was answered a moment later as Willow's entire body heaved in a violent motion. She dropped to one knee and placed a hand on the damp earth as a small amount of liquid fell from her lips. Her body continued to heave, but nothing more emerged. When it had subsided, Willow tried to stand.

"Nothing so courageous I'm afraid," Willow gasped. She straightened with Tara's aid and wiped her lips with her sleeve. "The heady, dizzying effects of intoxication are fast giving way to a roaring headache and my body continues to try and expel that which has been expelled several times over already."

"Intoxication?" Tara gasped in horror. "The Willow I once knew would not drink to excess…"

"Stay your judgment!" Willow replied testily, she desired no lecture, especially not when the headache was starting to set in. She closed her eyes and pressed both her hands to her temples in a vain effort to curb the throbbing sensation.

Willow opened her eyes and glanced across at Tara. She could see that the blonde was confused…and scared. The rediscovery of her magical abilities had no doubt left her also wondering just who she was. It was not the time to be demanding answers in anger. Instead Willow closed the gap between them, slowly…until their bodies were almost touching. When she made the last step to bring them both together, she exhaled a short, sharp breath and wrapped her arms around the blonde. After the moment where Tara had woken on the plateau of Covasna, it was the first time the two women had been drawn into physical contact. They melded together perfectly as though they had never been parted.

Willow desperately wanted to be able to break down, to draw as much comfort as she possibly could from the embrace but she knew that it was the woman she held who needed as much comfort as possible. She was also acutely aware of the fact that she was drenched in sweat after sprinting along London's streets in her search for Tara. When she had seen the glow of fire in the distance, a part of her had known it was Tara…even though she believed her powers to have been extinguished along with her demon. There was much for them both to explore and understand, but now was not the time.

It was a good several minutes before the two women drew apart, Willow found Tara's cheeks shining wet with tears. As she reached out to wipe them away, Tara lent into her touch and nuzzled at the palm of her hand.

"It seems…" Tara paused and drew in a breath as she studied the redhead. Her face was coated in a light sheen of sweat that was fast drying in the cold night air. "It seems as though I no longer know you Willow Van Helsing…if I ever did…but I think…I think I should like very much to know you once again…despite your disturbing penchant towards intoxication and slaying fanged creatures."

"You're not saying that just because I saved your life are you?" even as Willow's hopes soared with Tara's words, she retained a small element of caution.

"No," Tara shook her head slightly. "I am fairly certain that you still retain some of the most admirable qualities of the Willow I once knew…"

Her voice trailed off as she leaned forward, before Willow could quite appreciate what was happening she found Tara's lips upon her own in the lightest of kisses. She allowed her lips to part slightly as Tara pressed forward to intensify the contact. Again it felt fresh and knew and a small part of Willow's brain wondered just how it was possible for two people to experience their first kiss more than once. However, the far larger part of her brain was occupied in trying to process the delicious sensations that were coursing from that contact. For another glorious minute they remained pressed together, Willow's hand clasped the back of Tara's neck and she trailed her fingers through the soft blonde hair that cascaded down her back.

When they eventually did part, it was with an element of reluctance and they both leaned in for another light brush of the lips before they finally stopped to process what had just occurred.

Tara stepped back and ran her tongue slowly across her lips as though she were still savoring the kiss. In response, Willow felt weaker still at the knees and it had nothing to do with the lingering effects of alcohol.

"One of them at least," as Tara spoke her eyes danced ever so slightly with mirth.

At that point, Willow felt a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Although it wasn't quite a smile…it was the start of one and it gave her hope that Tara's smile would once again fill her future.

For the walk back to Gordon Square and remainder of the night, Willow would not allow herself to think about the difficult healing process that was to come. She wanted a few hours to savor the fact that their renewed understanding had begun.

Once again, the large kitchen at Gordon Square was a bustling hive of activity despite the fact that there was just one person in the space. Willow, with her hair securely tucked out of her face and her body wrapped in the over-large apron, moved back and forth between the different pots on the stove. At all times there was a look of fierce concentration on her face as she struggled with the morning's breakfast.

Okay, porridge looking good…Willow experimentally prodded the gooey mess clinging to the bottom of the pot in front of her and frowned, Perhaps still a little lumpy. She added more water to the mix and gave it an energetic stir before turning her attention to the pot of boiling water on the back of the stove. With her hands securely encased in oven mitts, Willow picked up the pot and carried it to the tea pot. She poured the water atop the waiting tea leaves and stifled a yelp as the rising steam scalded an exposed area of flesh on the underside of her arm. She managed to bear the pain long enough to set the pot down. Willow sighed as she inspected the angry red mark and retrieved the little jar of salve Faith had seen fit to buy as a result of the inordinate number of times that she had managed to burn herself. It had been a thoughtful purchase as the little jar was already half empty.

After smearing the salve liberally on her arm Willow suddenly remembered her porridge. She dashed back to the stove to find the water had evaporated to leave a rapidly browning mess hardening in the bottom of the pot. Willow groaned and snatched the pot away from the oven before further damage could be done. She dipped a spoon to taste her creation and decided that it would be adequate enough…with milk and a liberal covering of brown sugar.

Willow looked up from spooning the porridge into three bowls to see Tara standing with a hand on her hip and a bemused smile on her face. Her mouth worked soundlessly as she tried to manage a greeting. In truth she had not expected to see Tara in the kitchen as she had still been taking her meals in her room.

She realized with a slight grimace that the blonde's smile was no doubt as a result of her own flustered appearance. Although she had not bothered to look in a mirror all morning, she could just imagine herself as a skinny figure wrapped in a dirty apron with scraggly, unkempt hair and bright red cheeks. Tara on the other hand looked as though she were about to pose for a portrait. Willow felt no jealousy whatsoever but she did wonder how on earth the blonde managed to look perfectly attired, coifed and composed first thing in the morning…or at anytime of the day for that matter. She suspected in was inherent as she had distant but distinct memories of waking up next to Tara to find her just as perfect. Willow snatched another glance up at the blonde and was rewarded with an arch of her perfect eyebrow.

"I have everything under control," Willow assured her, trying her best not to sound too emphatic with her refusal. While it was a well-known fact that her cooking was not exactly gourmet, she was certain that Tara had never even boiled water in her life…or any of her lives. In her current incarnation she was certainly ravishing…but that did not mean she could cook.

Tossing the pot indiscriminately into the sink, Willow took a seat at the table and motioned for Tara to do the same. As the blonde pulled her chair back Willow felt a pang of guilt, realizing that she should have swept the chair back for Tara in a gentlemanly fashion. She also noticed the bare wooden table without a cloth or napkins and her shoulders sagged at her complete lack of refinement. It was the first time that Tara had not taken a meal in her room and she treated it as though she was dining on her own.

"I'm sorry for…for this," Willow nodded towards the table. "I guess I should make an effort with company at the table."

"Well, it does feel slightly odd to take one's meals in the kitchen," Tara noted with no hint of snobbery in her voice. She looked around at the rather bare, purpose-like room before turning her attention to her breakfast.

Willow nodded in agreement. It had been so long since she had lived in the proper household that she had almost forgotten that only servants ate in the kitchen.

"Willow?" Tara asked quietly, she looked up towards and continued when she saw Willow attentively awaiting her question. "I do not mean to be rude…but what is this?" She tried to scoop up a delicate portion but could only manage an ungainly, brick-shaped lump.

"It is porridge…" Willow paused to shovel a spoonful into her mouth and shrugged, even she herself had to admit that it was a particularly bad batch with the consistency of wallpaper glue. "Have I not given you porridge every morning for the past month?"

"Yes, but I've never actually touched it," Tara admitted, she discreetly set her spoon down on the table and choose an apple from the bowl in the centre of the table.

"Oh," Willow mumbled, she felt oddly compelled to continue eating. She supposed her stomach had developed the ability to handle the rather solid food. When she swallowed it grated against her throat. "I suppose I should hire a cook."

"Are you going to stop at just a cook?" Tara ventured carefully. "A house of this size is in dire need of servants…a cook of course and a kitchen boy to assist. I should think a butler, a parlor maid and upstairs maid…driver…footman and a gardener."

Willow spluttered and several gobs of porridge came flying out of her mouth. She stared at Tara who responded with an even, serious stare of her own. "But we don't even have a carriage…or a garden for that matter!"

Tara's serious expression slipped into a grin and Willow realized that she was being teased. She blushed and concentrated intently on her porridge. However, this lasted only mere seconds as her breakfast was neither as interesting nor as palatable as Tara. When she glanced back up, Tara was resting back in her chair, happily gnawing on her apple. She spied a thin trickle of apple juice snaking down her chin and in her mind she imagined throwing herself across the table to clean it off with her tongue.

Such a pleasant thought occupied her mind completely until her gaze was rudely interrupted by the whirlwind appearance of Faith. The brunette swept into the room and immediately began searching the room as though she had misplaced something. She dug through the assorted pile of dishes in the kitchen sink and then through the racks of cutlery hanging above the bench. Her every moment seemed to be accompanied by an immense clatter. Faith scowled as she gathered up a handful of butter knives and inspected the edge of each. None seemed to be what she was looking for and she threw them down with a slight snort.

When she could ignore her no longer, Willow set down her spoon, "Can I help you with anything?"

"I hid them all," Willow replied promptly, before Faith could continue, she explained in an annoyed voice, "I'm thoroughly sick of you using them to sharpen your stakes! Each time I go to use one when preparing a meal I find the blade dull with wood shavings clinging to its length…there is an entire room full of sharp objects downstairs."

Faith narrowed her eyes with annoyance, "Downstairs being the relevant word here, Will…I can't be bothered going all the way downstairs! This is a kitchen…kitchens have knives."

Willow sighed a tortured sigh and reached into the pocket of her apron, she withdrew a wicked looking knife in a leather sheath that appeared better suited for sawing limbs than carrots, "Sharpen it after you're done! And your breakfast is getting cold."

Faith eyed the plate Willow indicated contemptuously, "Will, I'm sorry but there's no bloody way I'm eating your porridge." She followed Tara's earlier actions and gathered up a handful of fruit that she stuffed into the pockets of her coat.

"I shall employ a cook as soon as possible," Tara announced in a decisive voice.

Faith grinned and nodded towards Tara, "See…decisive thinking, that's what we need around here…cheerio ladies!"

Faith breezed out of the kitchen as quickly as she had entered, twirling the knife on her palm as she went. Willow sighed and gathered up her plate and Faith's, moving to deposit the uneaten porridge in the scrap bucket. Her mood improved when she glanced out of the kitchen window to find that the day had dawned particularly bright and clear as only a winter's day could. With a small smile on her face, she turned her back on the dirty crockery lying in the basin and imagined taking a relaxed stroll with Tara. Just the two of them in the sunshine, she'd wear her pinstripe with a snug coat and Tara would wrap an Indian shawl around her shoulders. The imagined scene was so domestic that Willow thought it might as well have been out of her dreams.

"It's a fine day out," Willow announced as Tara joined her to deposit her empty plate into the basin. "I was thinking…"

"Will…," Tara spoke just as Willow continued with ‘I was thinking' and both women cut themselves off, unwilling to interrupt the other. Although they had spent the better part of a week since Tara's late night stroll simply being in each other's company and getting to know one another again, there was still an undercurrent of awkwardness to everything they did. Whether it be talking or touching, everything was done with careful thought instead of on an impulse. "I'm sorry, please go on," Tara ducked her head.

"No, no," Willow waved her hand, trying to smile to put Tara at ease. "You were going to say something." Although Willow felt cheated of the opportunity to outline her plan for the day's outing, she did have to admit that it was her scheduled that dictated what they did. Although the museum was hardly busy, her work still kept her away from Tara most days of the week.

"Ready for what?" Willow asked the question even though she already knew the answer. She guessed that there would be no sunlight stroll.

Tara kept her eyes on Willow as she spoke, wanting to reassure herself that she had made the right decision, "To start uncovering who I am…or was…" Tara wrinkled her nose slightly as she thought through this strange paradox. "Who I used to be…"

Willow immediately reached out and took one of Tara's hands in her own; she lifted the pale hand to her lips and pressed a light kiss against her skin. She continued to hold her hand and offer Tara the reassurance of the contact between them, "I've long since given up trying to understand my life in such terms. I just want to be me…just Willow, and you should do the same…if finding out these things will help you to be Tara, then I will love you and protect you with all of my heart."

Love, the word lingered in the air even after Willow had spoken. It took the moment's silence for her to realize that it was the first time she had told Tara she loved her since the demon had been exorcised. Even before that, in their night of passion at Covasna, Tara had cut her short before she could say the simple words that meant so much. She honestly could not remember the last time she had told Tara just how much she loved her. It was a powerful emotional realization and she felt tears burn at her eyes.

"Will?" Tara asked, her lips parting with concern. "I-If you think that it is not the right time then I can wait…I did not intend to cause you grief…"

"Oh…no, no, no," Willow whispered, shaking her head as she spoke. "Your request is not the reason for my tears…I meant what I said…and I meant that I love you…and I believe it has been too long since I said those words to you."

"Oh," Tara let a pleased smile take a hold of her lips until she found herself grinning almost stupidly. While she had never thought that Willow did not love her…it was something else entirely to hear it confirmed. "Those are words I could never tire of hearing…please say them again?"

Tara drew in a deep breath as though fortifying herself with the words, "And you will help me…just to be Tara Maclay?"

Willow nodded in confirmation, "I will help you to be Tara Maclay…and I think I know where we should start."

As soon as Willow arrived at her intended destination, with Tara in tow, she immediately questioned her decision. She was standing in the training room, staring at the bookshelves that concealed the entrance to the cell in which the vampire Tara had spent over a decade in filth and abject misery. The hidden door no longer opened…and even if it did, there was nothing but a brick wall behind it. Months ago Faith and Myles had bricked over the doorway at a distraught Willow's command.

In the midst of her reflection, Willow felt a gentle touch at her elbow. She turned and looked at Tara who was standing directly behind her, so close their hips were almost joined.

Willow turned fully, she still felt uneasy with her back to the door, "Do you feel anything standing here? Chills? Are any strange memories coming to you?"

Willow frowned. It was all too obvious that Tara spoke the truth. Her face was almost expressionless, perhaps with just a hint of curiosity as to what Willow intended by bringing her down to the basement of Gordon Square. Given that she felt nothing, Willow was reluctant to let her know what had happened behind the wall and she decided that it was not the time to tell Tara…nor would it ever be. She would have to show her…

Willow remembered back to the circle of candles that Giles had arranged in the library at the British Museum and the small figure that sat, squat and peaceful at its centre. Once again she wished fervently that Giles were available to help them. While she knew the rudiments of the spell, having experienced it herself, it was another thing to be able to repeat it.

She was hesitant to suggest the procedure to Tara, especially when she stared back at her so expectantly. "There is a way that I might be able show you what happened…well, most of it anyway. It's called a memoria alveus and within it are contained the memories of several individuals, yourself among others. It was used on me and I think the same information would work for you."

"I do not know the science behind it…but I know that it felt as though I were there…it was difficult," Willow admitted honestly.

"What little I do know about what happened to me…dying and becoming a vampire, is awful enough without actually experiencing it," Tara let out a breath before she continued, "Even if I experience the memories held within that…" Tara struggled to remember the name of the tool Willow had mentioned. "That memory object…even though they are my memories…I still won't be that…person." That vampire…

"I know," Willow replied, making a conscious effort to keep her voice as neutral as possible. She also glanced away so that Tara could not see the accompanying expression on her face.

However, the blonde had already noticed and both women remained silent for several minutes. When Willow finally turned to look at her, she found with an expression on her face that could only be called sad.

"What?" Willow managed, slightly taken aback by the unexpected question. After a moment's consideration, she started to shake her head firmly. However, it was only after she had completed this adamant refusal that she realized there was no way she was being honest…with herself or Tara. "Yes…how could I not…I loved her…but please, I do not want to discuss this now…"

"My apologies…I just wanted to say that I know you do not intend to mould me into any particular image, Willow…and for that I am grateful," Tara inclined her head.

Willow let out the deep breath that she had been holding; relieved that Tara did not wish to pry further into what was a complex relationship that she herself did not fully understand. As she turned her back on the hidden doorway to the vampire's cell, she could not help but wonder if things were ever going to be ‘normal' between the two of them. Although the more she dwelt on it, the more she realized that theirs had never been a normal relationship according to the prescribed standards of the day. Now, as they stood, over one hundred years later, reality had become even further skewed towards the impossible. A resurrected vampire hunter with complete memories of her former life and a former vampire with memories only of her human life. It was enough to make any sane person's head hurt.

"This is difficult," Tara whispered breathily, as though she could sense what Willow was thinking.

Willow managed a smile, she reached up and brushed the back of her hand to the skin of Tara's cheek in a brief but tender movement, "You understate things so nicely."

"I want to experience the memories held within that object…and yet perhaps I ought not to be so hasty to do so. I fear what I will learn," Tara admitted.

You are right to fear, Willow thought as she nodded in response to Tara's statement but she could not bring herself to give voice to such a thought. "That is entirely your decision."

As though sensing Willow's mood, Tara then extended her hand and Willow did not need to be asked to take it. She slipped her fingers between Tara's slender, pale hands and squeezed it slightly. She then led her away from the bookshelf that concealed the sight of so much pain and suffering for both of them. She paused in the centre of the room, still holding Willow, and stared in amazement at the impressive collection of weapons and other implements that ran the entire length of one wall.

"This is going to take a little while to get used to," Tara inclined her head towards the racks. "The fact that you can wield all of these…especially considering you were once terrified of horses."

Willow grinned, happy to have her mind drawn back to more a more pleasant line of conversation, "I must admit that my terror of the ugly brutes has not abated."

"Just one among many," Willow replied honestly. "For as you well know, I cannot cook."

Tara laughed lightly as no answer was required to that admission other than a resounding agreement, she let go of Willow's hand and crossed to the weapon racks. The same hand that had held Willow's now touched everything from the hilt of a seventeenth century rapier to the burnished silver of a breastplate that had probably never been worn. She eventually settled on an odd looking weapon that appeared to be a bundle of sticks tied together.

"Ah, now that is something I can do," Willow joined Tara's side and gracefully withdrew the bamboo weapon from the rack to hold it out in front of her. "This is a stave used to practice the Japanese sword form of kenjutsu."

"Japanese?" Tara exclaimed in surprise. "Where would you have learnt such a thing?"

Willow shrugged, "Japan of course." At Tara's further exclamation of surprise she continued, "I travelled there a long time ago to seek something…a beautiful country with some beautiful people." Ayako's face floated into view and Willow realized she had not thought of the Japanese woman for some time.

"Of course," Willow nodded, she moved back to the centre of the room. With the stave in her hand and the anticipation of moving through the graceful forms of kenjutsu, she forgot about her troubled thoughts.

With one last long look at Tara, Willow closed her eyes and commenced with the forms. She slipped into the movements as though she had last performed them yesterday even though it had been months since she had used them in her training. Although she could not see Tara with her eyes closed, she sensed her presence and she was in her every thought as she moved.

The night was cold enough for Faith to find herself shivering despite the thick woolen coat and sailor's hat she wore. She glanced up at the sky, it was as clear as it could possibly be and the stars and thick wedge of the moon shone down on her. Faith scowled as she perched on the gable of a house, the moonlight illuminated almost everything, from the roof tiles upon which she sat, to the cobbles on the street down below. It was obviously not a good night for hunting and this had more than made itself evident in the fact that she had absolutely no contact with vampires. She withdrew her pocket watch and saw that she had been patrolling the close packed streets of London's poorer neighborhoods for almost four hours. Normally she enjoyed being out, searching for her prey, but on this cold night she would have preferred to be warm beneath the covers of a bed, her naked body pressed up against the equally naked body of her lover.

With a sigh, Faith tucked the watch back into her coat and decided that she would head home despite the lack of a single kill for the night. Still, she did feel some satisfaction in the fact that Willow had managed just two vampires herself for the whole week. Faith ignored the fact that they had been slain in just one night…within the space of a minute and she had not been out patrolling since. After a quick mental count, Faith worked her total out as six for the week…although she was tempted to make it six and a half as one had been inordinately large.

Faith stood and hopped lightly from the gable on which she stood onto the ridgepole of the row of houses. She easily balanced her way along until she reached the end of the row. Using the eaves and guttering of the house, Faith silently climbed down from her vantage point and back onto the cobbles. It was just as cold down below and she broke into a brisk walk, keeping to the shadows to avoid any attention from humans who were out this late at night. It was rather obvious that anyone who did walk these streets after dark was either a whore or a thief. Although Faith had no qualms about meeting either, she had no need for whores and the department had strict rules about killing humans whether they were scum or not.

She was again dreaming about a naked Lara Croft when she caught sight of several fast moving shapes out of the corner of her eye. Faith turned just in time to see a distinctly human shape disappearing into an alley. The swiftness with which they moved proved them to be no ordinary mortals. With a grin spreading across her face, Faith gave chase at full speed. She gave little consideration to the fact that there could very well be more than one vampire waiting for her around the corner.

Still, what she did find startled her somewhat. There was not one, but four fleeing shapes ahead of her in the darkness. All were running as fast as they possibly could…as though running for their undead lives.

"Errr, hello!" Faith brazenly yelled after them. Her call seemed to go unheard and she scowled with frustration as she continued after them. "There are four of you for god's sake! I'll play nice!"

Her taunts merely earned her a glance from the vampire trailing slightly behind. He looked back over his shoulder and Faith saw the absolute terror in his eyes. She continued to give chase but could not help but feel uneasy. She was a hunter to be feared of course but she had never elicited such a response from her quarry before.

When it became obvious that she was going to have trouble catching up to the four fleeing vampires, Faith decided to take an alternate route that she knew would put her in front of the potential kills. Veering off down a tight alleyway that was little more than a gap between buildings, Faith ignored the pounding in her chest and pushed herself as hard as she could. She was already tasting the sweet satisfaction of informing Willow she had bagged four in one night.

Suddenly Faith heard a blood curdling scream fill the night air, followed shortly by another. Without pausing a beat, Faith turned and took a route that would take her in the direction of the screams. Something or someone besides herself had obviously caught up to her prey. She immediately jumped to conclusions as to who it was, Rosenberg…bloody hell, those are my vamps! she thought angrily, wondering what had drawn Willow out even though it was not her night. For a brief moment Faith heard the clash of steel upon steel but the combat was short lived, followed by another scream.

Despite her haste, when Faith finally reached the scene of the skirmish she found nothing but scorch marks on the cobbles, fallen weapons and fast cooling ash floating in the breeze. She expected to find her redheaded friend gloating with a smug smile on her face but she was alone in the alley.

"Will?" Faith called tentatively, a chill wind stirred and she shivered violently as the cold seeped through her coat.

Instinctively she drew both her sword and pistol but there was no trace of whatever…or whoever it was that had slain the vampires. Faith scanned the area briefly but she soon realized that she did not what to meet whatever it was that had done this to four vampires in so short a space of time…not alone anyway. She turned and left the scene at a run, looking back over her shoulder several times. She idly wondered if there was a way she could let the rest of the department know that there was a powerful new demon on the scene and still claim the four vampires as her own kills.

If Tara had previously thought Willow to be somewhat excitable at certain occasions, she was introduced to an entirely different level of Willow- excitement when she saw the redhead in her natural environment. It was clear from the moment that the pair passed beneath the great columns of the British Museum that Willow was home, even more so than she was at Gordon Square. The excitement was such that it appeared as though she was showing off something that she personally had created. While Tara was thoroughly looking forward to finally seeing the place where Willow worked, she couldn't help but laugh at the sight of her in her pinstripe suit practically dancing around the foyer.

"Welcome to the British Museum!" Willow extended her arms above her head, up towards the ornate ceiling high above. "Private tours are this way, please follow me."

She held out her arm to Tara who took it, if only to keep the redhead in one place at a time. Willow steered her not towards the main entrance to the galleries, but rather a small, almost discreet door set into the wall off to one side. Tara couldn't help but lift her eyebrows with curiosity as Willow ushered her into the dark passageway that led downwards.

"Once you've seen one thousand year old vase you've seen them all," Willow reassured her as she caught the expression on Tara's face. "Although not to say that thousand year old vases aren't extremely beautiful and precious…just that the real work…my real work, is all carried out down here."

Willow led Tara down into the bowels of the museum. As they walked, Tara couldn't help but feel the atmosphere around them changing. It wasn't just getting darker as they moved down, the air felt more mysterious in a way. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as though she were treading ground she had already passed. A part of her suspected that she had walked these halls before.

Tara's heart leapt slightly as the voice seemed to come out of nowhere. It was only when she calmed down a little that she saw a black clad figure standing guard in a small recess along the hallway.

"Morning Farnsworth," Willow returned the greeting with a stiff nod of her head, however there was a twinkle in her eye that completely ruined any formality.

Tara also nodded toward the stern faced man, although she scurried past him quickly with a nervous glance back over her shoulder. Dark hallways and strange men standing guard were not exactly familiar aspects of the past she could remember, although they seemed to be very much a part of Willow's present. She stared at the redhead's back as she now walked slightly ahead and saw a confidence evident in her shoulders and her stride. Her gaze on Willow was interrupted as she came upon a row of portraits hanging in the hallway. She recognized the first immediately, despite the fact that the man depicted was far older than she had ever known him to be. Abraham Van Helsing's eyes stared out at her although they were not the same merry eyes that danced out of the portrait hanging in Gordon Square's parlor. They were sad and defeated, as though the years weighed heavily on him. There was also something else, something Tara recognized as a streak of cruelty…although it could have merely been the way his mouth was painted into a tight line. Tara found herself all too willing to tear her gaze away from Abraham's image, despite the fact that she had known him to be a kind, good man.

The remaining portraits did little to catch her eye save for the last two. One was of a steely haired old man with a piercingly direct gaze. Although Tara did not recognize him, she did recognize the name affixed below the painting. Rupert Giles, Willow had spoken of him often, and in glowing terms. The last portrait arrested her because of the extreme youth of the young man depicted, barely out of childhood. Tara also remembered seeing his body draped in a cloak lying on the battlefield at Covasna and even more vividly, the shattered expression on Willow's face when she learned of young Myles's death.

She realized she had fallen slightly behind Willow and scurried to catch up, however, before she reached the redhead's side there was a piercing whistle of appreciation from a nearby doorway. Tara stopped in her tracks and turned to see a grinning young man with his muscular arms rippling from beneath the leather work apron he wore. His hands were stained with grease and any number of substances Tara didn't want to identify.

"Howdy there little lady, Mr. Alexander Harris," he asked in a heavily accented voice. "And who might you be?"

"This is Miss Tara Maclay," Willow announced, stepping past Tara to put herself between her and Mr. Harris before the blonde could reply. "And I'm quite sure she did not take kindly to being whistled at like some kind of horse!"

Alex Harris wiped the smile from his face as soon as Willow opened her mouth and he had the decency to look slightly apologetic. He could not however help but risk another glance over Willow's shoulder towards the lovely blonde. Despite the young man's rather impertinent outburst, Tara blushed slightly at the attention.

"You will forgive Mr. Harris's manners, he's American," Willow added in a snappish voice, trying to move Tara along quickly.

The blonde however had none of Willow's turbulent relationship with the young man and she was determined to remain polite. She smiled and glanced down at her hand, "I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Harris, you'll understand if I do not take your hand."

Alex held up his large and very dirty hand and waved it slightly, "No offence taken, ma'am. If you'll permit me at some other time?"

Tara inclined her head politely, completely avoiding Willow's narrow gaze as she ushered her away from Alex Harris standing in his doorway.

"What a polite young man," Tara commented as they continued on. "I've never met anyone from the colonies."

Willow tried to suppress a snort of disgust at the mention of Alex as a 'polite young man' and only managed for Tara's sake. She covered up by explaining an important point, "America is no longer a colony…but you weren't to know that."

Tara lifted her eyebrows with interest, "No doubt only one of the important events I am not aware of?"

Willow bypassed her office and took Tara straight through to the library at the end of the hall, one of the more important rooms in the entire Museum by her reckoning. Since Giles's death, Lara had appointed a succession of young librarians to continue on with his work. However each had left within a week due to a number of strange circumstances

Given this rate of attrition, Lara had eventually given up. The library had been devoid of employees for almost a month and Willow was disappointed to see that it showed. Her beloved books were all coated in a thin layer of dust and the shelving trolley was full of books that needed to be returned to their shelves, no doubt left by lazy employees. Willow thoroughly suspected that Faith was responsible for a good portion.

"Do you require assistance?" Tara offered, moving to stand beside Willow as she used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the dust from the spines of the books on the trolley.

"I know exactly where everything goes," Willow assured her, "I won't be long…although I would sorely love to put a duster over everything."

"That would take you all week!" Tara exclaimed, emphasizing the size of the library by twirling to take it all in. When she turned back to face Willow her hands were on her hips in a stern fashion.

"Okay," Willow nodded with a smile. "I'll just re-shelve these few and then our tour will resume."

"You needn't hurry," Tara offered as Willow dashed off to move quickly about her task.

She then roamed the library at will, taking in row after row of books. Although they were all slightly dusty, each line of spines was immaculately perfect. All in all however, Tara did think the room somewhat large and cavernous. It was also exceedingly dark with the light being filtered out by curtains to avoid damage to the precious volumes. Instead of venturing down the rows, Tara kept to the centre aisle. She wasn't even entirely sure why the library should render her so nervous. She had nothing against books and had been known to read a few in her time, but something about the room as a whole caused the little hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.

Tara frowned; it was a barely audible sound, so quiet that she dismissed it as wind moving through window panes or down a corridor.

The second time around, she clearly heard the sound of her own name being called. Tara froze for a moment, hearing nothing immediately afterwards save the sound of her own breathing. Eventually she heard the slight squeak of the shelving trolley across the other side of the library.

"Will?" she called as she lifted her skirts and ran back towards the centre of the room. She was greeted by an eerie silence as she reached the centre, empty rows stretched in either direction. Tara was close to panic when she finally saw Willow's face peering around the end of a row. "Did you call me?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine," Tara admitted, she waved Willow back to her duties but not before the redhead blew her a quick kiss.

The simple action lessened her fears somewhat and she dismissed the voice as merely a figment of her imagination in the strange room. Instead of venturing out, she remaining standing in one spot, content to browse a magnificently drafted atlas which stood near the main entrance. She was surprised to find that not only was America no longer a colony, it was divided up into a bizarre and random number of sections, each with a strange name.

Several minutes later, she was still gazing in rapt fascination at the changes that had taken place in the world when she heard it again. Tara, this time the voice was so loud she turned around in expectation of someone standing just behind her shoulder. There was absolutely nothing there. As she pressed her hand against her pounding heart, she knew that it had unmistakably been a man's voice. Although it had sounded soft and hardly threatening, she knew she would find it difficult to warm up to any disembodied voice, regardless of how friendly it sounded.

Thankfully Willow and her trolley came squeaking back into view just a moment later. Tara was relieved to find that it was empty of books.

"Um Will…I-I'm a little tired, do you mind terribly if I sit down somewhere?" Tara asked, doing her best to keep her voice level.

Willow glanced towards the tables and chairs that lay nestled around the library and moved to pull one back for Tara. However the blonde gently laid her hand atop Willow's to stop her.

"Is there somewhere else?" Tara asked, trying to keep the anxiety from creeping into her voice. She also didn't want to tell Willow her reason for not wanting to linger in the library. "I-It's a little cold in here."

"Of course!" Willow replied quickly, fearing that she had neglected her duties as tour guide. "I was bustling around so that I didn't notice…my office is far warmer," she explained as she ushered Tara towards the library door, "Although that it probably because it is the size of a shoebox."

Tara gratefully exited the library and was relieved to find that, once in the hallway, she could not hear any trace of the haunting voice that spoke to her. The sensible side of her nature (which was by far the larger portion) thought that perhaps she was being entirely silly and she ought to tell Willow about what had just transpired. Perhaps it was entirely normal for staff at the British Museum to hear voices? Then again she thought of the unfortunate succession of librarians and suspected that they too had heard the voice and it had driven them to their unfortunate accidents.

She very sensibly decided that she would not trouble Willow with such a trifling matter. She regarded it as trifling because there was a very simple solution, she would simply not venture into the library in the future.

Willow remained entirely oblivious to Tara's haste to get out of the library and made her way to her office. She rather vainly hoped that Tara would notice her impressive new nameplate but remained disappointed as the blonde said nothing upon reaching the door. She was just about to swing it open when she turned at the sound of heavy boots thudding down the corridor. She didn't need visual confirmation to know who it was; no one's footsteps were as heavy as Faith's when she was hurrying and not trying to be stealthy.

"Last night's patrol didn't go entirely as planned," Faith announced in a breathless voice as she slapped a few rumpled sheets of paper into Willow's hand.

Willow glanced down at the paper and immediately recognized that the sheets were covered in Faith's straggly handwriting, "What's this?"

"My report from last night, I would fill you in myself but I've an urgent meeting with Lara," Faith saw the immediate suspicion in Willow's eyes and shook her head quickly in dismissal. "And not that kind of meeting either…this could be serious Will, read the report and I'll catch up with you later."

Willow stared back and forth between Faith and the papers in her hand. "I just can't believe you actually wrote a report," she commented in disbelief.

Faith threw her a sarcastic smile before continuing down the hallway, no doubt headed for the library and the elevator which ran directly up to Lara's office. Willow watched her depart and then absently pushed the door open to her office. Tara followed her in and amused herself with looking around while Willow scanned the first few sentences of Faith's report.

When Willow managed to draw her eyes away from the report, she looked back and forth between the piles of work on her desk and Tara standing patiently just inside the doorway. While a part of her wanted to sweep out of the room and close the door on the research, the scholarly, fastidious side to her nature kept her feet firmly in the room. A day spent in the sun with Tara would be glorious…and yet there was the constant pressure to stay ahead of the forces who worked against them. What if she took the day off to romp in the sun and Faith's encounter the previous night turned out of have dire consequences for them all? Willow did not want another potential apocalypse on her conscience.

She watched Tara silently until the blonde reached out to touch one of the African spears lying in the corner of her office. "I wouldn't touch that," Willow said quickly and Tara drew her hand away as though it had been burned, looking over her shoulder at Willow with a startled expression. "Um, I'm pretty sure there's a nasty curse on it…I touched it once and I broke out in spots for a week…and you don't want to know where the spots were."

Tara smirked at the tone of Willow's voice, "If it has a curse then why on earth do you keep it in here?"

It wasn't hard for Tara to pick up on the fact that Willow was exceedingly tense even with the light banter, "You seem worried, is everything all right?"

"I am terribly sorry," Willow admitted, wringing her hands slightly. "I have all of this work to get through, especially after Faith's report…which I haven't read fully yet…and when Faith actually sets pen to paper it's usually essential reading. Yet you're here with nothing to do…can you get home by yourself?"

However she spoke too softly and her voice went unheard as Willow continued, "Good gracious, I can't ask you to do that, what if something happened on the way…I know it's not far but with all things considered…"

"Willow!" Tara had to raise her voice slightly to interrupt the babbling redhead. She waited patiently until Willow finally ceased talking and stared back at her with her mouth twisted in an apologetic expression. It was adorable and Tara couldn't help but smile as she saw a padded chair in the corner of Willow's office and sat down, crossing her ankles delicately. "You will work and I will be quite content sitting here."

Willow was slightly taken aback, she stared at Tara perched on her seat for a few moments before spluttering, "This could take me several hours…what will you do?"

The small smile on Tara's face broadened for a second, "Watch you," she replied as if it were the obvious answer in the world.

It took a moment for Willow to see the playful glint in Tara's eyes for what it was and a few moments after that a red flush crept into her cheeks. She settled at her desk, safe in the knowledge that Tara was happily occupied…even if she couldn't quite understand how on earth watching her work could be an interesting pastime.

When Willow had to re-read her current sentence for the fifth time she realized that her productivity had significantly dropped to the point where trying to work was futile. As much as she wanted to finish reading and making notes on her current text, it would have to wait until the following day. She stifled a yawn as she glanced at her pocket watch to see it was almost six- thirty. The day had been less than productive indeed, although as Willow glanced across her office at Tara, she did not regret having spent part of the morning showing the blonde around the museum. The day had obviously taken its toll on Tara as well as she was nestled in the chair in the corner, fast asleep.

Willow did not wake her immediately; instead she sat staring for a few minutes. In no time at all she had a silly smile on her face and this was how Faith found her when she burst in. The brunette swept the door open and before Willow could say anything at the rude interruption, she slapped her hand against the doorframe with a look of disappointment on her face.

"Damn, I was hoping to catch you two in the act…or at least see something!" Faith turned just as Tara's eyes snapped open and she hastily wiped her chin in case there had been drool during her nap. "Seriously Will, you've got the second most beautiful woman in London asleep in your office and you're still working?"

Faith stifled a groan and swept across the room to reach out and slam shut the heavy book that was lying in front of Willow. The redhead immediately sneezed as a small cloud of dust was stirred.

"I don't mind waiting…Willow's work is important," Tara spoke up; she had stood and was in the process of stretching and yawning widely.

From the expression on Faith's face as she turned, it appeared that she did not share Tara's assessment of Willow's work. "You're just too polite to admit that you have been bored out of your mind all day."

"Nonsense!" Tara spluttered indignantly. "The museum is a fascinating place and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing where Willow works…" she paused and her cheeks colored slightly as she made an admission, "Although the afternoon was a little…boring."

A smug smile crossed Faith's face as she turned back to Willow, "Tara has spoken, it's time to pack up your little books and papers and leave for the day, Will…and not to go home and cook either, if I might be so bold as to suggest taking Tara out to a restaurant?"

"But last night's events would seem to create an air of urgency around my research," Willow protested, although she did look longingly at Tara as though more time alone with her would be appreciated.

"An air of urgency around what?" Faith interrupted. "Around vampires being killed by unknown forces? I would think that the only urgency that this would create is that of finding whoever was responsible and congratulating them on a job well done…and asking them to spare a couple for me, at any rate, all are things I can handle on my own for the time being."

Willow had to admit that Faith made a good point. She had been surprised to say the least to hear Faith's report that morning. Four vampires destroyed without any hint as to who might be the new player on the scene. As far as the staff at the British Museum were aware, there was no one else operating a vampire slaying operation in London. However the fact that they were killing vampires had to point towards the fact that they were probably on the same side.

"The two of you can enjoy a pleasant evening knowing that I will still be working," Faith continued, she moved towards the door, obviously satisfied that Willow did intend to close her books for the evening.

Faith merely grinned over her shoulder at her friend as she made her exit from the office. Just before she passed out of view altogether she gave Tara a quick wink although the blonde seemed to miss the point of the gesture altogether with her confused expression in reply. Faith supposed that winking simply wasn't done in her day.

She made her way up out of the bowels of the museum, pausing in her office only just long enough to retrieve her red leather jacket. From there it would be a short stop at Gordon Square to arm herself with her choice of weapons before heading out into the night. She briefly considered dropping by to pay Lara a visit but remembered that her lover was entertaining several of the museum's most influential patrons at one of London's finest restaurants. No matter how much she loved Lara, Faith would not consider putting herself through the torture of being in the same room as those portly, self-important bastards. Still, they were very rich bastards and generously donated large amounts to the museum…although of course never being told that much of their donation was actually going to fund a secret organization that fought demons and uncovered the dark mysteries of the world.

Instead of taking a direct route out of the museum, Faith decided to wander through the galleries. She usually did not find the time to look at the exhibits…or the inclination. Mostly as far as she was concerned they were misunderstood relics of the past, and unless they possessed magical properties or were very sharp and pointy, they were also largely rather useless. Still, she found it almost enjoyable, especially with the complete lack of snot-nosed children tearing along the corridors. She paused on the mezzanine floor of the African Hall and gazed down onto the carefully set out rows of cases below with the dominating diorama of a recreated African scene in the centre. Faith had to smirk, the diorama with its wax tribal figures and straw hut was so unlike the Africa that she had visited on several occasions it might as well have been depicting another country altogether.

As she was about to move out of the Hall, she spied something moving on the floor below. Her first instincts said that it was a night watchman. However she soon realized that the shadowy figure was moving much too quickly to be one of the portly, mustachioed men who strutted about the Museum after dark. Faith paused for a moment before ducking neatly behind a nearby column. She peered around the edge to see the first figure joined by several more until she counted six altogether. So far their movements were silent and stealthy, however seconds later she heard the slightly muffled smashing of glass on one of the display cases. She saw one reach inside and withdraw a small object, too small for her to ascertain what it was from a distance.

While Faith had never been as pedantically concerned about the ancient artifacts on display as some of her other colleagues, especially Willow, it nevertheless irked her to see that someone had decided to take something that wasn't theirs…and right in front of her no less. With her hackles raised, Faith leapt up onto the railing that surrounded the balcony.

"I say!" Faith shouted down to the museum floor. "I don't think that belongs to you!"

Her shout of course earned the undivided attention of the shadowy figures down below; all six looked up to see the strange woman standing high above them. Even stranger still was the moment where she leapt out from her perch on the railing and, as she fell, seized a hold of a flag which trailed down from the ceiling.

Faith let the silken fabric slip through her fingers at a controlled pace, although her speed was such that she practically flew down to the museum floor. The flag ran out some feet above the floor but she dropped lightly and rolled, leaping back onto her feet just meters short of the thieves. It was only as she stood to face them that she realized she didn't have a single weapon on her person save the short knife tucked into her boot. She drew it now and felt somewhat inadequate as she held the relatively tiny blade out in front of her, especially when the nearest thief drew his own weapon, a wicked looking black sword.

However, Faith was not one to worry at the comparatively small size of her blade, what grabbed her attention was the outwards appearance of the figures in front of her. If they had appeared shadowy from the balcony it was because each was entirely clad in black, from head to toe. Even their heads were shrouded in black fabric with no discernable slits for eyes or a mouth. Like the first, the other five all carried curved black blades which they drew in rapid succession. Faced with six opponents, Faith finally had to admit that the odds were not in her favor. She glanced towards a figure at the rear and saw that he carried in his hand the artifact that had been removed from one of the display cases. Faith narrowed her eyes and pointed towards him.

"I'd be putting that back if I were you…or things are going to get messy around here!" she growled in a low voice.

The shadow figure responded by tucking the thin, white object into his belt, obviously not intending to simply hand it over to the irate, possibly insane woman standing in front of him.

"Have it your way then!" Faith cried, just moments before flinging herself directly at the leading two figures.

She succeeded in knocking one to the floor with a well timed kick and slashing the other across the chest. Although she knew her blade had gone deep enough to tear skin, it appeared to have no discernable effect as he lashed out with his blade. Faith was forced to dive to the floor and roll to avoid the downswing. The black blade crashed into the stone floor where she had been standing a second earlier. By now, the figure she had kicked was also back on his feet, moving quickly towards her on almost silent feet.

Faith risked a quick glance over her shoulder at the sound of the voice; she saw three of the museum's liveried guards enter the African Hall. Although she had never been so pleased to see them, she doubted whether it was prudent for them to become involved in what threatened to be a one-sided affair. The three men were all swagger and bravado until they saw who Faith was up against. Faith could hardly blame them; the faceless, black clad figures weren't exactly the type of thieves they could usually expect to find prowling the museum after dark…in fact, thieves generally weren't brave enough to venture into the museum.

"What the bloody 'ell?" one gasped, immediately fumbling for the Webley revolver in his holster.

The other two followed suit, although it was clear from their sluggish actions that they had not had to actually draw their weapons in anger for some time, if ever. Still on the floor, Faith looked from the terrified guards back to the thieves and was surprised to find that they were not moving, even though a trio of revolvers was pointed directly at them.

"I suggest you hand over whatever it was that you took," Faith rose to her feet and straightened herself up, doing her best to appear as though she was confident in the skills of the men behind her. In actual fact she didn't trust them to hit an elephant let alone the swift moving thieves.

Unfortunately for Faith, the thieves shared her opinion of the night watchmen and en masse they surged forward. Almost immediately the three guards opened fire, the pop-pop of their Webley revolvers was amplified to a deafening crack within the confines of the hall. Faith was forced to dive out of their way. She then leapt to her feet to find that although some bullets were actually striking the figures, they had absolutely no effect. She watched in shock as she could see the projectiles tear into the fabric they wore chest, limbs and even their heads, but each strike had no effect. When it became apparent that they were not slowing down, the three guards predictably turned tail and ran. However, they were quickly chased down.

After watching in horror as one was torn open at the waist from a ruthless blow, Faith leapt to her feet and onto the back of the one nearest her. As she grabbed his body it felt strangely insubstantial and yet still firm to the touch. She wrestled it to the ground and as she stared down at the faceless mask, she felt somewhat off put…as though there truly was nothing behind it. The pause lasted for a few seconds before she instinctively felt the rush of a blade swinging through the air behind her. She rolled and it passed within scant inches of her head.

There was barely time for a pause, although the first stroke missed several more came in a flurry and she was forced to use one of the display cases as a barrier. Somewhere off behind her, one of the guards unleashed a blood curdling scream which was rather abruptly cut off.

Faith managed to cast a glance over her shoulder to see Alex Harris seize one of the thieves by the scruff of his jacket and through him backwards. With the powerful toss, the shadow thief slid across the ground and collided with a display stand.

"Will you be okay?" he asked nervously, watching as Faith forced her sword- wielding opponent to the ground with a swinging kick to the head.

"I will if you bloody hurry up!" Faith snapped, following her kick by plunging the dagger up to the hilt in the chest of her opponent. "Go!"

Alex Harris dashed out of the hall, leaving Faith and the rapidly dwindling number of security guards to face the seemingly unstoppable and faceless intruders. Even with her dagger protruding from its chest, the figure beneath her brought its leg up and shoved her backwards. Faith was tossed through the air, her flight halted by a stuffed lion on a plinth. The long-dead beast was knocked to the ground by her weight and she toppled over and landed on her head. She barely had time to groan before her eyes widened at the sight of a dark shape leaping down upon her. As she darted sideways to avoid the swing of a sword which could have cleaved her arm off at the shoulder, she could only hope that Willow was not long in coming to her aid…and that wasn't something Faith would usually admit to lightly, even to herself.

With Faith's departure, Willow's office had once more slipped into a comfortable quiet. She scraped her chair back from the desk and rose to her feet, pausing to retrieve her jacket which she had flung over the back of her chair.

"I am sorry that the afternoon was so dreadful for you," Willow tugged on her jacket and wandered around her desk to stand in front of Tara.

"Will, I said I was happy and I was…you have no idea how amusing it is to watch you concentrate," Tara said as she allowed Willow to help her wrap her shawl around her shoulders.

"Amusing enough to put you to sleep," Willow mentioned with a slight grin. She could barely resist gently flicking out a single finger to touch Tara's cheek as she passed the shawl over her shoulders.

The single brief touch naturally became something firmer. Willow pressed her entire hand against Tara's soft cheek and the blonde leaned into the touch, nudging her cheek against Willow's hand.

"What was I doing?" Willow felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips; she liked the direction of the conversation. Seeing Tara able to relax and smile was more than enough reward, although the promise of more to come was causing her heart to pound.

Grinning like an idiot, Willow grasped Tara's chin and tilted her face upwards. There was nothing but anticipation in Tara's eyes as she pressed forward gently but firmly and felt Tara's lips part beneath her own, followed by a soft gasp. The warm flow of air immediately rendered her knees weak and she flopped backwards against the desk behind her. Even with the movement, the contact between them did not break as Tara fell forward.

Willow's body which was now sandwiched between the desk and Tara, it was a situation that she was entirely content with as she clasped the blonde's back and neck with each of her hands. One of Tara's thighs was nestled between her own; as the contact intensified Willow spread her legs slightly and was rewarded by the increased pressure at the apex of her thighs. With wanton abandon she jerked her hips forward, grinding against Tara's thigh. The blonde responded by moving in tandem with Willow, creating a build up of friction which threatened to drive Willow over the edge even though Tara had barely touched her.

While Willow wasn't entirely sure that her first time with this Tara should be up against her desk in her unlocked office, she didn't think she could bring herself to pull away. Instead she desperately wanted more…she needed to feel Tara's bare skin beneath her hands but there was a maddening amount of fabric covering her body. She had to settle for cupping Tara's firm arse with both hands, helping her grind forward with a firm pressure. It was Tara who surprised her by fumbling at the buttons on her shirt, managing to undo just enough in her haste to have the room to reach in and tug Willow's woolen vest aside, exposing one of her breasts. She then broke off the kiss to dip her head and take the small parcel of flesh into her mouth.

"Oh good lord," Willow whispered fiercely as she felt Tara's hot breath on her exposed flesh, And I was the one who berated Faith for having sex on her desk! she though with a slight alarm. Any further reservations were swept aside as Tara teased and nibbled at her swiftly budding nipple. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips and her head tilted back, she stared unseeing at the ceiling for a few moments before closing her eyes and letting the intense sensations course through her body.

At the very back of her hazy mind, she thought she heard the door handle turning…

Both women were forced to fling themselves apart as the door to Willow's office opened without so much as a knock. They turned to see a rather pink cheeked Alex Harris standing in the doorway. He seemed unsure whether he should stand and grin stupidly or flee from the wrathful expression on Willow's face as she pulled her shirt closed.

"Okay, as much as I want to tell you two to go right back to what you were doing…" He paused for a moment as though fixing the earlier scene in his mind, then he continued in a rushed voice, "Faith needs your help in the African hall…pretty fast!"

Willow frowned, despite Alex's obvious need for urgency; she made no move, "What's the problem?"

"Um…big, black fellas…well, I think they must be fellas…although they could be anything," Alex explained in a breathless voice, "Faith's taking them on with a couple of guards, although those idiots probably couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag."

Willow finally recognized the urgency in the situation; it had to be serious if Faith was calling for her help. She turned to Tara who was looking slightly stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Willow glanced quickly around her office before deciding that the safest place was beneath her desk. Seizing Tara's elbow, she propelled her beneath.

"Stay here, if anyone comes in the door…" Willow threw up her hands for a moment. If anyone did come in, Tara would be defenseless. She turned to Alex and saw that he wore a brace of pistols at his belt. Without asking him, she snatched one from its holster.

Willow ignored his protest and checked the gun; it was fully loaded with silver tipped bullets…good against almost anything. She cocked it and handed it to Tara who was completely huddled beneath the desk.

"If anything comes in that door, just point and shoot!" Willow ordered. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

It was all she had time to say, she snatched a sword propped up in one corner and hoped that it would do the job. With one last glance over her shoulder at Tara, she ran out of the office and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Oh god," Willow whispered to herself as she sprinted down the hallway, following Alex closely, "Should I have left her there?"

"She's better off in there than where we're going!" Alex couldn't help but overhear her. "I didn't get much of a look at 'em but they were darned nasty looking from what I could see. "

Each took the steps leading up to the main level two at a time. When they emerged in the lobby they found only a few terrified museum hosts cowering behind the columns.

With that, both she and Alex dashed into the dinosaur gallery, passing beneath the grinning skulls of the mighty behemoths and towards the Greek Room. Each gallery was shrouded in shadow with the lights turned low for the evening. Already they could hear the distant sounds of battle, shouts and screams…metal upon metal, gun shots and glass smashing. They passed beneath the arch that separated the Greek Room from the African Hall and found a frenzied battle in full swing. Several of the night guards had formed a line and were shooting wildly in the direction of fast moving shapes at the other end of the hall. Willow immediately saw that Alex had been correct, from what she could see…they were big and black.

There was a massive crash to her right as a shape hurtled through the air and collided with one of the coffin-like display cases. Faith came to rest on her back in the middle of the case. There was a nasty gash at her temple.

"You appear to be doing splendidly without my help," Willow commented as she helped her friend out of the case and back to her feet.

"Funny," Faith replied archly, "This isn't a walk in the park Will…they've been pumped full of lead and slashed and stabbed but they're still all standing, I don't know what kind of demon can take such punishment."

Willow was introduced to one of the seemingly unstoppable foes before she had a chance to respond to Faith. A blade came swinging out of nowhere and she was forced to bring her own up just in time to block it. She almost gasped in surprise at the sight of its faceless head opposite her. Her surprise however did not last for long as she unleashed a flurry of spinning, slashing blows in the direction of the figure. Each blow was blocked efficiently but Willow could immediate see that its movements were too precise and calculated. It completely lacked any sort of innovation or creativity in the way it fought, whereas Willow made everything up as she went. She prided herself on her ability to adapt to different styles of fighting and the creature in front of her was easy to predict. She ducked inside its blows by using her smaller size to her advantage. Off balance, it parried awkwardly and with one swift stroke Willow was able to slice through its neck. The sword severed its head entirely but instead of the usual messy spurt of blood or explosion of ash that accompanied decapitation, there was nothing. The figure deflated as though it was no longer solid. What dropped to the ground appeared to be nothing more than a pile of dark rags. She stabbed at the pile with the point of her sword and found nothing substantial.

"Huh," Willow remarked t herself with interest; she then turned to seek out her companions and yelled in an urgent voice, "Go for the heads!"

On the other side of the hall, Faith glanced up at the sound of Willow's voice. She was more than tired of ducking and diving for her life and the announcement of a way to destroy the creatures was a welcome one. Turning back to the one who was currently pursuing her, Faith grinned and knew the tables were about to turn. She seized up a lengthy bone of non-descript origin and used it to batter the figure into submission to the point where she could wrestle the sword from its hand. It fought fiercely and she was knocked aside several times before managing to grab a hold of its wrist and fight the sword free from the vice-like grip of its fingers. As soon as it clattered to the floor, she seized it. With no small amount of pleasure, she brought it crashing down to decapitate the figure with one stroke. The clothes immediately deflated and lay in the shape of a body on the ground. She smirked and turned to find her next target.

Nearby, Alex Harris was on his back, struggling to keep one of the creatures from plunging its sword into his chest. He just managed to bring his knee up and use his strength to force it backwards. As it fell, he surged forward and laid into it with his fist, pummeling its head from side to side.

With a sigh of despair, Faith darted across and retrieved the blade that Alex's opponent had dropped as he fell. She then tossed it to the American and left him to finish it off, hoping that he was capable of doing that much.

Just beyond the spear cabinet, Willow appeared to be coping even though she had two opponents. Her blade flicked and darted in her customary style. Suddenly Faith was forced to duck as a blade whizzed over her head. She turned to face another of the shadowy warriors and her eyebrows lifted slightly as she saw it was the one who carried the stolen artifact at his belt. Faith narrowly avoided a swing of its black blade; however, as it passed to one side she danced around her opponent and brought her borrowed sword swinging around in a fierce backswing. It sliced into the figure's neck and he suddenly collapsed to the ground in the same manner as the others. The clothes that had once been filled out in the solid shape of a man fell flat and empty on the floor. Its sword clattered to the ground, followed by the lighter sound of the artifact. Faith stabbed at the buddle of clothes with her boot until she found what had been taken. She seized it up to tuck it into her boot and was rewarded with an angry howl from another of the figures who had been watching the fight as it transpired. Although there were no eyes, Faith could somehow sense that he was staring directly at the boot which held the prize.

Just as she prepared herself to face the challenge for the object, Faith saw the air just behind the figure appear to shimmer. A split second later there was a blast of ice cold air that erupted outwards from the source, it lifted her into the air and sent her flying backwards at speed. Moments later she landed in the centre of the African diorama in the centre of the display hall. She went crashing through the roof of the mud hut replica and crushed the wax models of the African children inside. While it was merely straw, wood and wax that she hit, the force of being thrown back left her breathless.

Willow on the other hand was further away from the strange event; she felt the intense blast of air but was merely slammed against one of the few remaining intact display cases. The glass cracked slightly with the impact of her body but remained intact. As the air continued to pelt her, she watched the figure in front of the shimmering space linger for a moment before it turned and ran directly into the source of the rushing air. At the point that his entire body disappeared, Willow realized it was a portal of some kind. Lowering her head, she rushed forward, struggling against the wind to reach it. As she did, every inch of skin which was exposed to the icy air felt as though it were being pierced by thousands of needles. The wind howled in her ears with such ferocity that she could barely hear Alex, who was yelling at her from off to the side. Still she pressed on, determined to follow the figure through the portal. However, just as she stretched out her fingers to see them disappear in front of her eyes, her entire body was roughly knocked to one side.

The weight was gone almost immediately and she turned to glare at Alex. The portal was still shimmering just meters in front of her and she dragged herself to her feet, hanging onto anything she could.

However, the portal suddenly closed and as abruptly as it had formed, the rushing, icy air was gone. A sense of still and quiet slowly descended over the African Hall as moving objects halted. A disappointed Willow realized that she was not going to find out where the portal went after all. Alex obviously did not believe it was gone for good as he reached out to seize Willow by the shoulders to prevent her from moving to the spot where it had been.

"Get your hands off me you cretin!" Willow growled as she tugged free from Alex's grasp.

With Willow's rather irritated attempts to get free, Alex immediately released his grip on her shoulders and held up his hands in defeat. With a scowl, Willow turned her back on him, not wanting to admit that he had probably been right in not allowing her to go through the portal. There was no way she knew where it went…or even if it was safe for her to travel via such a means. She immediately decided that further research was needed.

"Well that wasn't exactly how I thought my evening would turn out," Willow muttered, already wondering if there was material to be found regarding such phenomena.

The sound of a low groan interrupted Willow's thoughts and she turned in the direction it originated. She saw that the diorama at the centre of the African hall was almost completely flattened, with just a lone Masai warrior standing guard at the forefront. The groan sounded again and she recognized it as Faith.

Willow picked her way through the African diorama and eventually had to bend down to pick up pieces of wood and the arms of wax figures in order to dig Faith out from where she had landed. Eventually the brunette was uncovered and Willow helped her to her feet. From the expression on her face she could tell her friend was less than impressed at the events that had just transpired. She limped out of the diorama as though her entire body was a ball of pain.

"Okay, what the bloody hell was that?" she demanded, still dredging bits of straw out of her hair.

Faith hunkered down and withdrew a slender object from her boot. She gave it a quick glance before handing it over to Willow. The redhead examined the small object; it was about the length of her hand and pure white, although it felt more like metal than bone or stone. Its entire length was covered in intricate, engraved markings that did not resemble any writing or symbols she was familiar with.

Willow examined the object again, running her fingers over its length, "I think we're in trouble," she finally announced, "Could it have been possible that those men…those creatures were responsible for the slayings yesterday evening?"

"I suppose," Faith replied slowly, with a slight shrug, "Although why the hell would they attack vampires and us…that makes no sense."

"No," Willow replied in a worried tone as she went back to looking at the object in her hands. "It makes no sense at all."

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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