Rising from the Wreckage

Disclaimer: The characters and show all belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui, et al. No copyright infringement was intended. The storyline, however, is the sole property of the author. This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only and must include all disclaimers and copyright notices.

Summary: How are Tara and Dawn doing without Willow? Will they be able to let the redhead know how they feel? Now that Warren's on the loose, can he get Spike to join their folds?

Outside the large stone crypt, Warren stood with his hands shoved deep in his pants and his shoulders hunched forward. He watched the surrounding cemetery carefully, not wanting to be spotted by the Slayer or her friends. Darkness had just spread over Sunnydale, and although the local demon activity had been in a lull, Warren was not one to underestimate the creatures that walked the night.

Spike though, he was a whole other can of worms, wasn't he? A bad-ass vampire and the killer of two slayers. From what Warren heard, Spike had helped drink half of Europe dry. But now Warren knew what the chip did. The chip, that tiny piece of silicone and wiring that kept him at bay, kept him from harming humans. Spike was a neutered vampire, and Warren thought that it would be easy to convince Spike to go with Mr. Bester if he believed it was to have his chip removed.

Yes, Spike was altogether different. Spike was like a dog on a leash, behind a chain link fence even, and Warren could handle a dog.

There was still an underlying fear in his actions however. Spike might be neutered, and Warren knew that his chip was in working order; he'd checked it out himself. But Spike was able to hurt Buffy, wasn't he? Wasn't that the reason he'd come to have the chip looked at in the first place? And according to some local demon rumors, Spike and the Slayer had battled at monumental proportions a few months back, practically bringing down a condemned building around them. What if Spike's chip malfunctioned? What if he couldn't convince Spike to go with Mr. Bester? Surely there was more at stake than not getting paid.

Warren slid his hand out of his jeans pocket and looked at the small business card in his hand. 'Wolfram Hart, Attorneys at Law.' Damien Bester.

"A hundred and twenty five thousand." Warren whispered to himself before sneaking another look around the crypt. He straightened his back and took a deep lung-full of air. "Okay, Warren." He cracked his knuckles. "Easy money baby."

He cracked his neck, sending out soft, satisfying pops. He walked up to the crypt door and glanced back around one last time, making sure no one was in the area. "Easy money." He reminded himself softly before pushing against the heavy crypt door and stepping over the threshold into the caliginous confines of Spike's home.

Tara sat the small writing table in the bedroom she used to share with Willow, absently wiping away the flood of tears that cascaded down her face. She stared down at the notepad in front of her; clean, crisp white paper stared back, marred only by five simple words: 'Dear Willow, Please come home.'

Five simple words; yet to Tara they spoke volumes of how she felt. She knew she should say more, that she should tell Willow just how much she loved her, how much she missed her and didn't want to live one more day without her. Tara wanted to tell Willow that she understood, that she forgave, that everything would be all right. But Tara couldn't understand the addiction to magic; she couldn't understand the power, or the cravings for it. She couldn't understand the withdrawal or the long lonely nights of pain, when doing magicks would have been better than eating or sleeping.

Tara could forgive Willow for the forget spells, for the denial and the lies. They were a part of the need driving her forward. Tara wondered though, if Willow could forgive her for leaving. Would she forgive her for walking out of her life when Willow needed her the most? For taking the easy way out, just as Willow had with her magick? Was there room for understanding and forgiveness now that things were so bad, now that Willow was gone, gone because her friends had closed their eyes to her struggle, to her pain? Gone because she didn't think they wanted or needed her around. Could she forgive all of them for abandoning her, for driving her away when they should have been helping, loving her?

Would things really be all right? Would Willow get better? Would she come back to Sunnydale, to her friends, to Tara?

The blonde witch angrily tore the piece of paper from the pad and dropped it in the wastebasket with its brethren.

"Damn it…" she sighed heavily, wiping her sleeve across her tear stained cheeks.

Tara, startled, turned to see Dawn leaning against the doorframe. "Hey, Dawnie." Tara tried a smile but failed miserably.

Dawn walked into the room and knelt on the floor next to Tara's chair, instantly feeling the blonde's fingers run through her long locks. "I've been trying to write one too." Dawn said softly, looking at the wastebasket that brimmed with balled up pieces of Tara's heart.

Tara heard the strain in Dawn's voice and knew that sobs were not far off, but she wanted to be strong for Dawn, even though she was still so close to breaking down again herself. What Tara really wanted was for someone to hold her, to stroke her hair and tell her everything was going to be okay. But there was no one to do that now. Willow was in LA and it was her very absence that was cause of all their grief.

Tara slid to the floor next to Dawn, tucking her long skirt under her as she did so. "Come here." She whispered, pulling the younger Summers sister into her arms.

Dawn sagged against the older woman, torn between needing Tara's steady, strong arms around her and wanting to comfort her. The Scoobies were a confused and desperate sort, each wanting to comfort another, yet wanting nothing more than to be held.

Dawn's sobs began soft, her body hitching against Tara's as the two rested on folded legs in the middle of the floor.

"Shh…" Tara cooed softly to Dawn while her own tears began their decent down her cheeks with renewed vigor.

The blonde witch knew Dawn missed Willow, but she honestly hadn't thought the red head's absence was affecting her this badly. She thought it was she and Buffy that were really suffering. Quickly she chided herself for the selfishness, remembering that Xander and Dawn must be suffering nearly as much. They loved Willow too, hell anyone who ever met the redhead had probably fallen in love with her. It was insane to think Willow's absence wouldn't affect everyone. And the truth was, that it did.

Tara was drawn from her thoughts by Dawn's soft cries. She didn't realize at first what the brunette was going on about.

"It's all my fault… I'm so sorry…" Dawn continued, lamenting against the witch's chest.

Pulling away from Dawn, Tara looked at the flushed, tear soaked face, trying to catch her eyes. "W-what are you sorry for, sweetie?" She questioned gently, wiping the tears from Dawn's face with the pads of her thumbs, and cupped her face.

Dawn tried to shake her head, tried to break from Tara's grasp, but the warm hands on her felt too good. They felt like home, like love, and maybe a little like her mother's.

"Oh, Tara…" Dawn sighed softly before losing herself to another round of wrenching sobs.

Tara simply held the brunette, knowing it would be better to let her cry. She stroked her hair slowly, while cooing softly in her ear.

After a few minutes, Dawn's sobs subsided and the two rested in saddened silence, the only sound being Dawn's sniffles.

Dawn pulled herself upright, wiping the drying, cool tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. Tara smiled, reminded of a picture of Buffy and Dawn that hung in the upstairs hallway. Dawn looked no more than nine in the photograph. It must have been some sort of family celebration and both girls looked worn out from the day's festivities. Dawn though, her lips pouted and her eyes half lidded spoke of innocence, unaware of the horrors that would lay in wait for them. Tara had always assumed it was taken before Buffy's 'calling' because she had seen the same thing in Buffy. An innocence, not yet marred by fate and evil, by battle and death.

Now, roughly six long years later, their mother was gone and their father didn't seem to care, Dawn was actually the 'key,' and Buffy died, only to be brought back. With everything evil and awful that had come for the sisters, Tara could still see that innocent young girl done was, who only wanted to be held, perhaps rocked to sleep, told she was safe, and loved. Tara couldn't help but wonder about Buffy though. The big bad Slayer, killer of all things evil, and protector of the people. Did she need to be held, be comforted, rocked to sleep and assured that things would be okay? Tara knew the answer. She knew that both the Summers girls were missing that in their lives, and if Tara could do that for them, she would put on her strong face and take the challenge.

"Now then…" Tara pulled her legs out from under her and scooted backwards, resting her back against the bed.

Dawn looked down at her hands that she was folding and unfolding in front of her. Tara leaned forward, placing her own hands on the brunette's. Dawn glanced up and attempted a smile, but all she really accomplished was to raise one corner of her mouth. She fell onto her butt and crossed her legs.

"I… I um…" But the girl didn't continue, looking down once again at her folded hands.

After a moment Dawn looked up again, catching Tara's eyes. A silent tear slipped from her eye and Tara couldn't help but watch it's decent down the younger girl's flushed cheek. "I made Willow leave…" Dawn whispered almost too low for Tara to hear and let her chin sink to her chest.

"You?' Tara began to question. Instead though, she moved to kneel in front of Dawn, urging the girl to look up with a gentle nudge to her chin.

"No." Tara shook her head and motioned for Dawn to quiet. "Dawnie no, you w-were angry, you had e-every right to act the way you did. But you didn't make her leave sweetie. She had… has… a problem… and m-maybe…" Tara closed her eyes and swallowed the lump that had once again risen in her throat.

"W-we all let her down Dawn. It wasn't your fault. Willow didn't leave because you were angry… if anything she left because she hurt you, hurt everyone."

Tara shook her that line of thought from her mind, not wanting to get caught up in words that didn't change anything, didn't change how she felt, no matter what the past held. "We're going to get her back Dawn." Tara looked the brunette in the eyes. "Don't you ever think this was your fault, okay?"

"Good." Nodded Tara. "Now, no more talk about blame okay? I think we've all been doing that a little too much lately. Let's focus on getting W-willow back. Right?" She managed a small smile and was extremely relieved when Dawn matched it.

Without word or warning, Dawn launched herself into Tara's lap, wrapping her arms around her. "We're gonna get you guys back together!" Dawn cried, having missed the girls as a couple entirely too much in the last few months.

After several moments they broke from the hug, both relieved that some of the tension in their hearts had been eased away.

"Now," Began Tara, standing up and extending her hand for Dawn to follow. "What do you say we work on those letters? Tell Willow just how much we need her butt back here."

Outside of Tara's bedroom, Buffy began her retreat to her own room, wearing a tank top and her starched uniform pants. She held her hand over her mouth to keep the sobs silent as a heavy torrent of tears flooded her face and soaked the top of her shirt.

"Right then." Spike scooted off the tomb, landing on his feet. "So you're telling me these wankers, Wolfram and Hart, is it? Want to take this bloody chip out? Just like that?"

"That's what I hear." Warren trailed his finger along the dusty ledge that held a number of white, pillar candles. He looked at his finger, examining the dirt as if a visiting Mother-in-law.

"And you? What role do you play in all this?" Spike lit a cigarette, contemplating the possibilities, but not wanting to seem so eager for nerd boy.

Warren turned toward the vampire, noting the muscles that rippled along Spike's bear chest and arms. He really wished Spike would put on a tee shirt.

"Or what? You gonna hurt me? I know what you're chip does now Spike, so don't even think about threatening me. I'm doing you a favor."

"A favor eh?" Spike moved closer to Warren, the soft candlelight dancing across his pale features. "Then tell me this nerd boy, how exactly is it you know what they want with me?

"Look…" Warren stepped back, rounding the large stone encased coffin that was almost centered in the room. He needed space; he needed to keep his cool. "All I know is I'm sitting there having a beer and this guys comes in asking if anyone knows you and where he can find you. So I talked to him and that's when he told me about being able to get your chip out." Warren glanced at Spike. He was confident that he had already convinced the vampire. But Spike was arrogant and would make this as hard as possible. "He said something about killing the Slayer and knew you were the only one who could do it, yaw know, if you didn't have that chip."

That got Spike's attention full force. Kill the Slayer. He'd been on a leash in Sunnydale way too long. He'd forgotten his priorities. Kill the Slayer. It was what he'd set out to do in the first place, the only reason he'd come to this damned Hellmouth. And then the chip had made him weak, made him want her, maybe love her. He'd become a pussy-whipped vampire, sniffing behind his sworn enemy. If he got the chip out, none of them would even know what hit him. The Slayer and her friend would pay for the way they treated him, and they wouldn't even know what hit them. Oh yes, they would pay. Getting the chip out would be the answers to all his problems.

Inside, Warren was doing back flips and patting himself on the back. Easy money. He knew it wouldn't take much to convince Spike. Mention killing the Slayer, that's all it took really. "I have to make a phone call." Warren told him, turning toward the crypt door. "You stay here and someone'll come to get you."

Warren opened the door and looked around, squinting into the darkness, before launching into a trop to make it to a pay phone in order to call Mr. Bester. They would have Spike and he would have his money. All was well in his world.

Inside the crypt, Spike was grinning from ear to ear. "That's right kiddies, Spike's getting this sodding chip out and its gonna be a great day in Sunnydale!"

He picked up one of the half-empty whiskey bottles and took a few quick gulps. "You better wake up Slayer, 'cause this time when Spike comes for you, we're finishing this little dance, and I'm going to drink you dry!"

Spike took another swig of the liquor before throwing it into the wall, sending shards of glass and a spray of brown down onto the floor.

In a dimly lit convenience store parking lot, near the dumpsters and the air machine, Xander sat in his car, hunched over, his knuckles white with the death grip he had on the steering wheel. Almost silently he sobbed, his large chest heaving uncontrollably while his hot salty tears splashed onto his shirt. Beside him lay an open spiral notebook, half a page marked with black chicken scratch.

He was trying to be so strong for everyone. He was trying to be the man, to be their shoulder, their rock. But he was just Xander and he was hurting. His best friend was in LA with only Cordelia and dead boy to watch over her. It should be Xander watching over her. Xander and Buffy and Tara. They were her friends, her family. They were supposed to have protected her, watched out for her. What had happened that things got so bad so quickly? Were they all so fooled by Willow's logic, by her smarts, not to see her dive into self-destruction?

Not until Xander had tried to write out his thought, his feelings and fears, his love and need for his best friend, did he really allow himself to open up to the torrent of emotions running rampant inside him. Now that he had though, he was having a terrible time reeling them back in and gaining control. He needed Willow, he needed her to keep him sane, to keep him safe and calm. It wasn't that he never realized how much she meant to him, or just how much he needed her, it was just that he didn't want to admit that he did.

Xander took a deep breath and quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. He glanced around to see if anyone had taken notice of the big manly man bawling it up. Not seeing anyone, he picked up the notebook again and skimmed what he had written.

He dropped the book back onto the passenger seat and started his car. Another quick glance behind him and Xander backed out of the parking space, unaware of the man in black who had kept a watchful eye on him the entire time.

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Rising from the Wreckage

Chapter 11

By RedWillow

Reddwillow@hotmail.com