TITLE: Stasis
AUTHOR: head_rush
PAIRING: None at all
RATING: PG-13
EMAIL: head_rush100@yahoo.co.uk
SUMMARY: Picks up immediately where ‘Grave’ leaves off
SPOILERS: All of season and also somewhat influenced by spoilers of season 7
DISTRIBUTION: Sure, but please email me first :-)
DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Mea culpa, Joss. This was written for fun, not profit, so please don’t sue.

Where there was rage, there was numbness. Where there was power, there was emptiness. Where there was love, there was blood. Willow clung to Xander for hours before raising her face from the crook of his arm.

“You’d better get back,” she said. Get back to whoever was left. As if he’d read her mind, Xander nodded.

“I tried to call them, but what do you know, a big honking stream of energy shorted out my cell phone.” Willow made no visible response. “Come on, let’s go home.” Xander got to his feet, pressing his bunched-up shirt to the ragged slashes on his chest. He reached his other hand down to Willow. She took it, and allowed him to pull her up. Shakily, they made their way back down Kingman’s Bluff and back into the world.

***

Buffy rounded the familiar corner on Sunnydale’s Main Street at top speed, but stopped short of entering the Magic Box. The display window was cracked, and it was dark inside but for the occasional flash from loose electrical cables. For an eternal moment, she stood paralyzed. If she went in there, her worst fears would probably be confirmed. If she stayed here, the possibility that her friends were alive would remain open a little longer. Then the doorbell tinkled as Anya and Giles spilled out into the morning, squinting and dazed. Buffy caught her breath and her heart hammered. She was blinded by tears, and then Anya was hugging her and Giles was trying to, groggy as he was. Buffy blotted her eyes on her sleeve and looked her Watcher up and down. Anya would fill her in on what Willow had done.

“Giles… When we get home, you can have as many jelly doughnuts as you want.”

***

Forty minutes later, Anya bowed under the unconscious man’s weight as Buffy worked to ease the black trenchcoat from his shoulders.

“When he wears this coat, it makes me want to have sex with him,” said Anya. “Is that wrong?” Buffy grinned.

“Nah. But you’d better hope he didn’t hear that. Remember when you called him ‘ruggedly handsome’ that time? He was insufferable for days. Plus, Dawn’s upstairs, hopefully asleep.” Buffy hung up the coat. “Let’s get him onto the sofa.” Using a combination of brute strength, cushions, and throw rugs, the women managed to manoeuvre Giles into something resembling a comfortable position. They stood looking down at him, wondering what to do next. This was really Giles’ department. What would he do?

“Tea,” said Anya suddenly. “Giles would want tea. If he were conscious.” She disappeared to put the kettle on.

Buffy fetched the white first aid box that Giles had left when he’d gone back to England, in the hope that Bath would present fewer opportunities for its use. She balanced awkwardly beside him and studied his pale, battered face.

“How’s he doing?” Anya hovered with a laden tea tray.

“Soon find out,” said Buffy. “Give me a hand to get his sweater and t-shirt off.” When it was done, the Slayer and the vengeance demon sat back and took a collective deep breath. In addition to the gashes on his temple and the back of his head, Giles’ chest and stomach were a mass of unnatural colours. Buffy tipped him forward a little.

“His back’s the same.” She touched his arm lightly. “Giles, I’m so sorry I left you to face her alone.” She turned to Anya. “And I’m sorry I left you too. I really thought she’d killed you.” Her eyes were brimming again. “I didn’t know what to do… who I could save… if anyone. I didn’t have time to think.” She stared fixedly at a loose thread on the sofa. Anya bit her lip.

“He understood, Buffy. You’re the Slayer. You did what you had to do. Giles had the borrowed power to defend himself – for a while, anyway – but Dawn, Xander and those geeky guys wouldn’t have had a chance without you. I’m not proud to admit this, but I was hiding in the back of the store. I heard him tell you to go. I know he didn’t want you to stay for him.” Anya quirked her mouth a little. “I, on the other hand…” Both she and Buffy laughed at that, and the first of the tension began to drain away.

Back to the task at hand, Buffy popped the clasp on the first aid kit. “Usually Giles does the doctoring. I’m afraid of making it worse. I mean, where do I start?” She gestured helplessly. Anya nodded sympathetically.

“Ooh, look at his hands. I saw a man with hands like that once. His fingers fell off. Of course, I meant them to.”

“Of course you did,” said Buffy. “It’s strange,” she went on, “I never noticed… did Willow do that to his fingers, or have they been kind of crooked since Angel…” she trailed off.

“What?” said Anya.

“Never mind.” Buffy busied herself with carefully working the dried blood from Giles’ face and hands. She applied antiseptic ointments, then gauze pads wherever they would stick.

Anya and Buffy both gave a start when the front door opened and Xander shepherded Willow into the foyer ahead of him. He went straight to Anya, and enfolded her in a bear hug. Neither spoke, but Anya’s rekindled feelings were conveyed eloquently enough. At length she pulled away and turned to the girl hanging back in the doorway.

“Willow?” Anya regarded the hollow-eyed witch with a mixture of temerity and concern. Willow didn’t hear. She wasn’t too shocked to be confronted with Buffy and Anya again, and God knew she was glad to see them, but she was astounded to see Giles propped up on the sofa. So he survived. Thank God. She took a step towards him. Instantly, Buffy was in her way. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to hug her best friend, or throw her out of the house and her life forever.

“Buffy. I’m so sorry. Is he… can I do… anything?” As if there was anything she could ever do to compensate for trying to kill them all.

“I think you’ve done enough for one day,” said Buffy quietly. Regret passed over her drawn features. “I’m so glad you’re… here, Will… But I think you’d better just go up and get some rest now. We’re all exhausted.”

Willow nodded and slowly went up to face the empty bedroom. Anya helped herself to a handful of supplies from the first aid kit and grabbed her ex-fiancée’s hand.

“Come on, Xander. I’ve seen movies where women tend their wounded menfolk. It always ends with kissing at the very least.” She tugged him, unresisting, upstairs. Buffy watched them go, then heard two doors click shut. With a sigh, she turned back to the Watcher.

“Giles, how can you tell if ribs are broken?” She prodded gently here and there, then jumped as he suddenly gasped and pushed her hand away.

“Guess that’s how,” said Buffy. “Sorry, sorry.” She scrutinized his face. “You with me now, Giles?”

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth for a few moments before releasing the breath he’d been holding. “Bloody hell.”

Buffy jiggled her leg up and down anxiously until he relaxed a little and his eyes fell on the tray Anya had left.

“Tea?” he said, amused.

“Hospital,” said Buffy. “Then tea.” Pre-empting his reflexive protest, Buffy forged ahead, “Unless you’d like me to set your ribs for you.” Giles gave her a pained smile.

“Not bloody likely.” He braced himself to get up, then stopped. “Willow…”

“Is upstairs,” finished Buffy. “Anya and Xander can keep an eye on her. We need to get you… what’s that word you say? Sorted? Before you do anything else.” She stood up. “Come on, G-man. Let’s give those nurses something to talk about.”

***

When Willow heard the front door open, she moved to the window and watched Buffy help Giles into the waiting taxi. At least he was walking under his own power. She turned to look around the bedroom. Buffy had meant for her to stay in the guest bedroom, but she craved the simple comfort of familiarity, however agonising the associations. That was the bed that she and Tara had skipped classes one day to pick out. Those were the pressed flowers that Tara had given her when they went walking in the mountains. There were boxes of Tara’s clothes, as yet unsorted for the charity store. Giles was right: Tara would have been shocked and appalled at the reaction Willow had had to her death. She kicked a cardboard box and froze. Underneath was the poem Tara had written for her: an expression of love as thoughtful and direct as only Tara could be. She dropped to her knees and laid her hands over the sky blue papers. Her hands tingled. The next time she looked up, the sun had gone down.

The only person who had been able to make everything in Willow’s life feel right was dead, and Willow had made damn sure that nothing ever would feel right again. She was no good to her friends or herself, and certainly not to the world in general. Four days later, she decided to do everyone a favour. Willow summoned what little mystical energy she could muster, turned it in on herself, and began to conjure a spell to stop her breathing.

***

Anya, Dawn, and Xander were parked on the sofa in front of a ‘Silver Spoons’ marathon on Nick at Nite when Buffy returned from the hospital with Giles in tow. They all leapt up to greet him. Dawn threw her arms around the Watcher, and he tried to reciprocate.

“Careful,” said Buffy. “He’s still damaged goods.”

“Good to see you, Giles.” Xander was the next to hug him.

“And you. All.” Giles beamed at the little crowd that was so pleased to see him. “Xander, I never had a chance to tell you how well you did. You were marvelous. You saved us all.” Xander smiled, blushed, and shrugged.

Dawn piped up, “Hey, I thought they wanted to keep you in the hospital at least a week.”

“They did,” Buffy replied. “But he insisted on checking out early to go a few more rounds with Willow.” Giles gave her a warning look.

“Buffy.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m just not as forgiving as you seem to be.” She sighed. “Not yet, anyway.” Why don’t you make some tea, and I’ll let Willow know you’re… ah… home.” Buffy went upstairs, and for a couple of minutes all that could be heard over the television was the sound of doors opening and closing. At length, Buffy reappeared in the living room, frowning.

“When was the last time anybody saw Willow?”

***

Giles descended the stairs and looked from one troubled young face to another. “How has she been behaving? Has she spoken to any of you? Has she been eating… sleeping?”

“That’s a big none of the above as far as I know,” said Buffy. “There’s been some world-class throwing up and her room is totally trashed. Whenever I got up in the night, her light would be on. Sometimes it sounded like she was talking to someone. Maybe Tara. She’s just gone from her room to the bathroom. I don’t think she’s even been downstairs since she got back.” Giles nodded gravely.

“Has anyone tried to speak to her?”

“Well, yeah, we all did,” said Xander. “But she wouldn’t open the door. We didn’t want to push her. She’s had all she can take and way more.”

“Yes, I dare say she has,” said Giles. “But from what you’re saying, it sounds as if Willow’s afraid to let anyone get close to her. She’s probably terrified to really let herself feel anything, as the reaction is likely to be overwhelming. In case she loses control again. She’s dealing with it by, well, not dealing with it.” He took his glasses off, started to clean them. “But she won’t be able to keep that up forever, and when she does give in to it, I’m not at all sure that she won’t try something…” he trailed off.

“What’re you saying?” said Xander. “You think she’ll try to hurt herself? Or us?” Giles shook his head, repositioned his glasses.

“I don’t know. What she felt was incredibly painful, but those emotions were also inextricably bound up with mystical energies. It would be extremely difficult to know the point at which grief and anger were overtaken and magnified by the magicks… Or how much mystical energy may be left in her system at this point. It could flare up again, once she’s recovered a bit.” He studied a spot on the floor with great intensity. “I can’t allow that to happen. She certainly wouldn’t survive another episode like the other night.” Buffy put her hand on his arm.

“Neither would you. Or any of us, come to that.”

“We have to find her,” said Xander. “She can’t have been gone for more than half a day. She can’t have got farther than, say, a plane bound for Australia.” He slammed his coffee cup down. “Damn it! Why didn’t I go and check on her this afternoon?”

“Dawn, you stay here in case she comes back or calls,” said Buffy. “I’ll check her usual hangouts. Giles, maybe you’d better stay with Dawn. We don’t know how Willow will react to seeing you, and in any case, you’re not really Mister Action Guy right now.” But Giles was already grabbing his black coat from its hook by the front door. He was about to pull it on when he stopped, seemed to think better of it, and instead layered a blue flannel shirt over his t-shirt before taking off down the front walk.

***

By late evening, the smoggy warmth of a typical day in Sunnydale was giving way to the damp chill of the night, and Giles was running out of both ideas and energy. He’d done the rounds of the airports, the train and bus stations, the malls and parks. He’d even checked the bookstore cafes, where he knew Willow had liked to unwind while swathed in the aromatherapy of coffee and new books. There was only one place he hadn’t yet tried, and he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to. In a funny sort of way, it was almost a nostalgic experience for Giles to push open the well-used gates of the Restfield Cemetery. He had spent quite a lot of time here over the past few years. It wasn’t exactly homey, but it was more familiar territory than his new stamping grounds in Bath. He clicked on his flashlight and promptly stumbled on the uneven ground, catching himself just in time.

“Sod!” The sudden movement combined with the rapidly wearing off painkillers to make Giles feel quite faint for a few moments. He steadied himself with a hand on the door of the Alpert crypt as sweat broke out on his forehead, and the world turned black. If he were to faint, any vampire that came along would think it was their birthday. Giles took some deep breaths and blinked rapidly until his vision cleared. Then he realised that the door to the crypt was ajar. If Spike was in, and in the same sort of state that Buffy had described, this was a very bad place to be. He shone the flashlight into the dank little room. Thought he heard something.

“Spike?”

He pushed the door all the way open and swept the flashlight over the sarcophagus, over Spike’s ancient tv and armchair, over the masonry that had fallen in the wake of the fireball Willow had sent to kill Jonathan and Andrew… and Xander and Dawn. Giles flicked the light off, quietly moved away from the door, and settled himself on a discreet stone bench to wait. It was a very old trick, but considered a classic because it worked.

Two hours later, Giles was shifting uncomfortably for the umpteenth time when he finally detected a movement. Cautiously, he turned around as much as his ribs would allow. Willow stood framed in the doorway of the crypt, looking up at the stars. A few days ago she had felt that no-one, nothing, truly existed but herself, and so was free to dispense her own warped version of justice and mercy. She still felt alone, but small now. Insignificant. It was a relief. She hadn’t been able to summon enough power to kill herself, only to pass out and begin breathing again, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered without Tara – without anyone who gave a damn about her – not that anyone should. She could smell the sea in the distance, felt the cool damp grass under her bare feet. She thought of the whales migrating up the coast. Tara had loved to watch the whales. Willow shivered, clad only in a t-shirt and what Giles recognised as her favourite sweatpants. From a where he stood, she might almost be mistaken for the same sweet, insecure teenager who was always ready to help him with anything that needed doing, or to be the voice of reason when Buffy and Xander got carried away by the impending disaster of the moment.

“Hello.” His voice was calm, even, soft.

Willow snapped to attention, peered into the darkness. Giles? Oh God. Bad. He was the very last person she wanted to see right now. Okay, options. Run, stay, get back in the crypt. Or… fight? A wave of nausea rose up at the unbidden flashback to their last meeting. She’d hurt Giles enough to get him out of the way, and then she’d kept on hurting him, just because she could. In a weird way, she’d wanted him to be impressed with her ability to conjure all that power, just as a few years ago she’d wanted him to be impressed with her ability to help Buffy. She was in wicked trouble, all right. What’s the punishment for trying to destroy the world? The Watcher’s Council sent those special operatives after Faith when she’d killed a man, and that was nothing compared to this. What would… Oh God, he’s standing up. He’s coming over here.

Giles moved slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. If she was going to run, or God forbid, try to work any more magick, it would show there first. She didn’t look up to much right now - exhausted and pale, a bit panicky. When he came to within a few yards, Willow took a step back. Giles stopped.

“Can we talk for a little while?” His tone was serious, but surprisingly kind. He looked more like the world-weary ex-librarian she knew than the intimidating wizard that had appeared in the doorway of the Magic Box. He kept a comfortable distance, hands at his sides. Willow appreciated the effort he’d made to appear as non-threatening as possible. Maybe he’d been reading her psych textbook.

“I’d really like to be alone right now.”

Giles nodded, leaned against a gravestone. Willow shifted uneasily.

“Are you… okay?” What a question.

Giles nodded again. Deflected a discussion that would only serve to make her feel more guilty. “And you?”

Willow didn’t begin to know how to answer that. Well Giles, Tara’s dead, I tried to obliterate all life on Earth, no-one hates me as much as I hate myself, and I couldn’t even commit suicide competently.

“You used some magick today,” Giles went on. Willow’s heart began to pound. Of course he would have been able to detect the residual energies in her room.

“It was an observation, not an accusation,” he went on. “I was just wondering what spell you performed, and whether it had anything to do with why you left without telling anyone.”

“Giles, with all due respect, it’s none of your business.” Giles’ jaw tensed, but his gaze held steady. When had he started looking people in the eye so much? Wasn’t that un-British or something?

“I think I’ve earned the right to interrogate you just a bit, love.”

“The spell was directed at myself. It didn’t work, anyway.”

“I’m glad.”

Glad that she was all right, or glad that she didn’t have any power left? Did he know what she’d tried to do this afternoon? It was too dark to read his expression.

“I won’t be doing any more magick.”

“No, you won’t.”

That sounded final. She could do more magick if she wanted. Not that she wanted to. Not really. Might as well get this over with.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” said Willow. “The Council sent you to get me, so they can do whatever it is they do to the criminally insane?” Her hands were shaking, so she crossed her arms over her chest.

“No.” Giles moved a little closer. “The Council has no idea what’s happened, and there’s no formal body of magickal practitioners that has the authority to punish you.” He took a plastic packet from his backpack and held it out to her.

“Sandwich?”

The gesture was so unexpected that Willow almost laughed. There was no way she could eat, but she accepted it for the offering it was.

“Thanks.”

She sat down on the grass and drew her legs up to her chest. Leaned back against the smooth stone of the crypt. Giles was rummaging in the backpack again.

“Would you mind if I call the house and let whoever’s there know I’ve found you? They’re all terribly concerned.” Willow nodded. She put her head back and closed her eyes while Giles wandered a few feet away to make the call. He returned and eased himself down beside her. She tensed. Now she had a good view of the splints on his fingers and the bandages on his head. She looked back up at the stars.

“Dawn will circulate the news, as usual,” he smiled. “She says to give you her love.” Willow didn’t trust herself to reply.

“Giles, I’m okay. I just need to be alone for a while.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, love.” He paused for a few moments, and scratched his head absently. “I’m going to ask you a question, and you can answer it or not, but if you do, I want the truth. All right?” Willow nodded.

“What was the spell you performed this afternoon?”

“It’s over, Giles. I don’t want to talk about it. Please just go. I’m sorry I’ve caused more trouble for everyone.”

Giles had been known to exhibit the patience of a saint, but it had been a long day. He was tired, anxious, and in discomfort enough. Even more, he was furious that the others had allowed Willow’s addiction to magick to develop unchecked when, had it occurred to any of them to seek his advice – after all, what had he been there for, over the past five years? – he might have been able to help.

“Can’t you try to see past your own pain for a moment, and think about the effect you’re having on your friends? Each one of them risked their lives to help you. They’re trying to deal with what’s happened almost as much as you are, and running off like this isn’t going to help anyone, least of all you. Nobody hates you, Willow.”

The rush of anger was so sudden that even Willow was surprised when she stood up and rounded on him.

“Well, they should! You should, more than anybody! God, Giles, I tried to kill you! I hate myself, and I hate everyone in this world who can go on with their lives even though Tara’s dead! What I did to Warren was... was worse than anything you can imagine, and who knows when I’ll do something like that again, because I can’t... I don’t... feel anything! I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever find Jonathan and Andrew. Don’t try to be all sympathetic and understanding, Giles, because I know that no-one could have the things done to them that you have, and still...” she faltered, searching for the right words.

“Willow - ” The distress on Giles’ face only made it worse.

“Let me finish, because I’m only going to say this once. The spell I performed was for asphyxiation, okay? I wanted to do you, me, and everyone a big favour, but I didn’t have the power. So go ahead and call the Council or whoever you want, because I just don’t care.”

Giles struggled to his feet and glared down at her. “You keep saying that. About the authorities. Do you want someone to take the responsibility for making amends out of your hands? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Willow, but even if the Council finds out what you’ve done, they have no official policy for dealing with people who try to destroy the world. It doesn’t happen that often.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “In any case, I could easily have killed you myself.”

“I knew you wouldn’t really hurt me, Giles. That just makes it worse.”

The Watcher shook his head, slumped back against the crypt, took his glasses off, and sighed.

“You’re wrong,” he said gently. “I tricked you into taking the magicks I had. I knew it would be too much for you, and I knew it would probably kill one of us. I hoped that if anyone had to go, it would be me, but I was equally prepared for it to be you. It was absolutely my last resort, but you gave me no choice.”

They sat back down while Willow took that in, and before she could move away, he’d put one warm, strong arm around her. A very un-Gilesy thing to do. Several minutes later, it was he who broke the silence.

“And so, having survived all that, you tried to kill yourself.” Giles paused, cocked an eyebrow at her. “Stupid, much?” The attempt at levity was belied by his searching look.

“I guess.” Willow wasn’t so sure, but she couldn’t lie. This was Giles, who had saved her life more than once. He was the only grown-up who had ever treated her as an equal and a friend, and was still doing so in spite of everything. Willow was beyond exhausted. Her throat was so constricted she could barely breathe, and she battled down the urge to just scream and cry until the blackness took over. Giles was getting to her. She shifted awkwardly, hoping he would move away. Giles got the message, but left his arm where it was, and instead redirected the conversation.

“Do you really feel that I abandoned you all? That I ran away?”

Willow was grateful for the change of focus. “No. All that stuff I said about you leaving, and being jealous of my power was... God, I don’t know. We all missed you so much. I know you were... are... just trying to have a life of your own, and we’re not kids anymore, but everything here got so bad... and no-one knew what to do. And it just got worse and worse. And then Tara,” she finished quietly.

“You could have called me at any time. You know I would have done whatever I could. And by the way, ‘Hi Giles, we’ve just resurrected Buffy, hope that’s okay’ is a hell of a message to leave on someone’s answer phone.” He grinned at her, she laughed just a tiny bit, and this time couldn’t stop the tears in time.

Willow knew those tears were merely the spots of rain that signaled a flash flood was on the way. Instinctively, she drew on her growing reserves of mystical energy and began to mumble a spell to wipe out her short term memory. Giles moved so that he was crouching in front her, took her head in his hands, and forced her to look him in the eye. He spoke loudly and clearly.

“Willow? Stop it.” No response. Her pupils were growing dark again. “You’re not up to this. If you let the magicks work through you right now, you’ll die.” Giles quickly placed his left hand on the top of her head. “Exursa.”

“Oblivare.” Unthinkingly, Willow sent him flying into a nearby tombstone with a wave of her hand. She blinked, her concentration broken. The way Giles was lying there in the long grass, he looked just like he had the other night in the Magic Box.

“Oh shit.” She scrambled over to him on shaky legs. “Giles?” She shook him gently, distraught. “I’m sorry... God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, I...” she trailed off, frightened to entertain the possibility that she was losing control again. He groaned, cradling his head as she helped him sit up.

“This stops now, Willow. You can’t rid yourself of the magicks, and I can’t do it for you. There’s a coven near where I live. They’re extremely good at what they do, and I think they can help you. We’ll go to them after Tara’s funeral.” Giles wrapped his around her once again and this time she leaned against him. When the sun rose, they were both asleep.

END

STASIS (REVISITED) (Fic Re-Write)