A Journey of a Thousand Miles
by Kirayoshi
Baby Steps
[reviews]
Chapter two;
Baby Steps
"So you thought you found the answer on that magic carpet ride last night,
But when you wake up in the morning the world still gets you uptight.
Oh, there's nothing girl that you ain't tried,
To fill the emptiness inside,
But when you come back down, you still ain't feeling right...
Don't it seem like kicks just keep getting harder to find
And all your kicks ain't bringing you peace of mind.
Before you find out it's too late, Girl you better get straight...
No, you don't need kicks."
--Paul Revere and the Raiders
"Kicks"
Willow read the sign on the door for the hundredth time; "Room 211, Victoria Ramirez, Councilor". She swallowed hard, and tried to summon the courage to knock on the door. She wasn't looking forward to this. She didn't want to bare her soul to Buffy or Tara, let alone a total stranger.
The door opened slowly, and a mellow voice, with a flavoring of Hispanic inflection, greeted her; "You want to come inside, Willow? Or would you rather wear a groove in the floor in front of my office?"
Willow let her shoulders sag, as her face turned red, embarrassed at being found out. Resigned to facing the ordeal, she pushed the door open slowly and entered the office. "So, you're Willow. Tara told me a lot about you."
"Well," Willow sighed. "So much for my making a good first impression."
Willow was surprised that Victoria's gentle laughter rang with merriment, not condescension. "Don't worry. Tara spoke in nothing but glowing terms about you. She cares about you, very deeply."
Victoria offered her a seat on a nearby couch, and Willow plopped herself down dejectedly. "Not that I gave her any reason, Miss Ramirez."
"Please," the older woman answered. "Call me Victoria." She pulled up a rolling office chair next to Willow, and sat down, leaning forward. "Tara and I know each other from campus. We talk about things."
Willow eyed Victoria guardedly. "What sort of things?"
Victoria sat back a little, and nodded. "The basics. For the record, yes, I know that the two of you were lovers. Yes, I know you and Tara broke up. And yes, I know that she still loves you. Now," she folded her arms, "I'm working on the assumption that you still love her. Am I correct in that assumption?"
Willow studied Victoria's posture and facial expressions. There was no hardness, no aloofness about her attitude. She wasn't condemning her or her lifestyle. One of her many fears regarding Victoria was that she wouldn't accept that Willow was a lesbian. She decided to give her the benefit of a doubt for now. "Yeah. I do. But it can't work between us. I can't allow her to get close to me again. I'm no good for her." She turned her face away from Victoria, unable to share her misery with her.
Victoria, however, wouldn't allow her new friend the luxury of trying to face her demons alone. "When you called me last night, you said you had some problem that you couldn't talk about over the phone. Would you care to talk to me about it here?"
Willow found herself fighting off an urge to squirm, and managed to keep a tight tether on her emotions. How could she explain her problem to this woman? Oh nothing really, I brought my dead best friend back to life, tampered with my girlfriend's mind, gave everyone I love temporary amnesia, and got stoned off a black magician's magic to the point where I put my best friend's sister's life in danger. Nothing you haven't dealt with before, right?
When Willow hesitated, Victoria caught her eye with her own gaze. "Look, if it's too soon for you to talk about it..."
"No," Willow said hurriedly. "It's just that I...I really don't know if you can really help me with this."
Victoria looked long and hard at Willow, examining her face and form with a professional calm. Her posture was sloped, curled, defeated. Her shoulders sagged, like they were supporting a terrible weight. Her eyes, though, they told her all she needed to know. Haunted, darkened with black circles. Victoria mentally wagered that Willow probably couldn't remember the last time she slept peacefully. If she had any doubts before now, they were erased by this figure before her. One who had literally gone through her own personal hell, and felt that Hell was what she deserved. And she had a good idea why.
She decided to take an alternate tack; "Tell you what. How about we play a little game. Sort of like Twenty Questions. I'll ask, and all you have to say is 'yes' or 'no'. Think you can handle that?"
"You mean like Bruce Willis did with Haley Joel Osment in 'The Sixth Sense'?" Willow asked.
"Something like that."
Willow shrugged her shoulders. "Sure, why not?"
"Okay," Victoria clapped her hands briefly, then sat in thought for a second. "Just to get it out of the way, have you been seeing dead people?"
Willow whipped her head around to face her, only to be greeted by a pleasant smile. Realizing that this was her method of breaking the ice, Willow relaxed visibly. "No, haven't spoken to any dead people." Technically, although the jury's still out on whether Spike qualifies, she admitted to herself.
"Good. Now," Victoria began in earnest. "Does your problem have to do with your relationship with Tara?"
Willow sat quietly for a second. "Yeah, sorta."
"Does it have to do with the reason you separated?"
"Yeah."
"Was the reason about money or financial issues?"
Willow shook her head. "No, not that."
"Infidelity?"
"No."
"Was it an addiction problem then?"
Willow dropped her head again. "Yes."
"Hers?"
"No."
"Yours then?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Now then, is this serious, do you think?"
"Oh yeah."
"And this is something you're trying to kick?"
"Yeah. I'm doing the cold turkey thing."
"Smoking?"
"No."
"Alcohol?"
"No."
"Drugs?"
"Uh, no."
Victoria held her breath briefly. This would determine it. "Dark magic?"
Willow shot up as though hit by a bolt of electricity. "Wha-wha-what are you talking about?"
Victoria shook her head, a dark, familiar chill threading its way down her spine. "Lady, how do you think I knew you were outside my office? I could feel your aura through the door. And trust me, I know what dark magic feels like."
Willow opened her mouth twice, but found herself unable to produce a sound. Finally she found her voice. "Uh, are you a witch?"
"Priestess, actually," Victoria confessed easily. "I'm with one of the local wicca groups. That's how I first met Tara."
Willow suddenly stood up and started for the door. "Well, this session's over, and I don't think I'll be coming back. Sorry to waste your time like this, but you can't help me, not really."
"You had a run-in with Rack, right?"
Victoria's sudden outburst stopped Willow dead in her tracks. She turned slowly to face Victoria, a sense of betrayal fueling the spark in her eyes. "How did you know? Did Tara tell you? Buffy?"
"No one had to tell me," Victoria said somberly. "I could recognize the stench of his corruption a mile away."
Willow stood silently for a few seconds, before racking sobs started to shake her frame. Victoria stood up and stepped beside Willow, allowing her grief to wash over her. She didn't initiate any contact, but when Willow sought out her arms, she didn't refuse her. For a few seconds she held Willow, allowing the storm to pass over her.
Eventually Willow stepped back and composed herself. Her breathing was still a little ragged, but she was able to speak again. "So I guess...I guess you know about Rack."
"Oh, all too well, child," Victoria led Willow back to the couch, and took her seat next to the devastated redhead. "Let me guess; a friend of yours set you up with him. A floating location, only witches and demons can locate his headquarters. And I'll bet he still has that plywood paneling in his waiting room, right?" Willow stifled a bitter smirk at the memory of her first encounter with the black mage. "He made you promises of power, of pleasure. He said he wanted to take a walk inside your soul, then he said you tasted like something sweet."
"He-he said that I t-tasted like strawberries," Willow stammered, fighting off a fresh wave of sobs.
"He told me I tasted like marmalade." Willow glanced suddenly at Victoria, who just nodded. "Yes, I was one of his girls. He hooked me on his black magic, just like he hooks everyone who thinks she can control the power he offers."
"So now you understand why I can't work it out with Tara?" Willow wailed. Victoria shrugged her shoulders, giving a questioning look. "Don't you get it? I'm a junkie! I can't do magic anymore, I can't allow myself access to that kind of power. And Tara'll just remind me of what I did to her, to the others, to Dawn! I can't allow that to happen again!" She couldn't speak any more, she could only weep bitterly.
Victoria sat quietly, allowing Willow to get the weeping out of her system. "Willow," she finally spoke in a soothing voice. "It's far more complex than a simple addiction, I'm afraid. The power is within you, it always has been. If you deny what is within you, that power will destroy you."
"But I can't do it anymore," Willow protested. "I hurt her too much! I can't trust myself. It's too powerful, I can't control it!"
"Yes you can, Willow," Victoria answered sharply. "You must, or it will control you."
Willow shook her head, unable to fully comprehend what she was hearing. A tiny portion of her mind screamed with joy at the prospect; magic, Willow, you can use magic again! Willow stifled that thought angrily. Never again, she vowed. She would never allow herself that hope, that opportunity to corrupt herself, ever again!
"Willow," Victoria continued to explain to her, her voice like the surface of a reflecting pond, calm and clear. "You are a natural mage, more than just a typical witch. You're power is within you, as natural as breathing. And since it's such an integral part of you, it's vital that you use it, or it will use you. Tell me Willow. Do you consider yourself a Wiccan?"
Willow opened her mouth briefly, to say 'Yes'. But then she stopped herself; she wouldn't lie to this woman, and she sure as hell wouldn't lie to herself again. After all she had done, she could no longer call herself a true wiccan.
She used her powers for her own pleasure.
She used her powers to alter Tara's memory, without Tara's permission.
She sacrificed...No, she butchered... a deer, to complete the spell to resurrect Buffy.
She resurrected Buffy, not for Buffy's sake, but her own.
She robbed her best friend of the glories of Heaven.
These were her crimes, against nature and against the Goddess. She was no true Wiccan, no true daughter of the Goddess.
"No," she whispered, ashamed of herself.
"But you did once, didn't you?" the older woman asked. Willow said nothing, she simply nodded her head. Victoria regarded the sad figure next to her; so much like herself at that age. Lost, afraid of her potential, shamed by her actions. Just like she was when she first ran afoul of Rack. Willow glanced briefly at Victoria, and could feel the waves of compassion and caring that emanated from her. She reminded her of Jenny Calendar, her first mentor in magic.
"Willow," Victoria said, "Wicca is not a source of magic in and of itself, but a means of understanding nature, through the Goddess. Your problem is that you see magic as being all black or all white. Magic depends on the intent of the user. When the intent is fair and noble, the magic is benevolent. When the intent is evil, then so is the magic."
"Sounds like the Force," Willow smiled wryly.
Victoria chuckled at Willow's observation. "Yes, kind of. Like any natural force in the world, magic can be used for either creation or destruction. And like any force in the world, it can corrupt if you use it wrong. But the corruption can be reversed, if you're willing to work at it."
Willow heard these words, and for the first time in Goddess-knew-how-long felt something akin to hope. After months in a terrible pit of her own making, she saw a rope ladder being lowered down to her. She thought of Buffy, of how much she owed her for the heartache she had caused her these last few months. After that, the answer was easy; "What do I have to do?"
Victoria nodded approvingly. "First, I would like to meet your friends. Their aid and support will be vital for your cleansing..."
>
Two newbie vamps near the college campus were Buffy's only challenge that night, and she was taking last lap around the cemetery before heading home. She had promised Dawn that she'd help with her homework before turning in. She wasn't expecting any major obstacles to her plan.
"Every time you say goodbye," an all-too-familiar voice sang out from behind her, "I die a little. Every time you say goodbye, I wonder why a little." Buffy slapped her forehead and groaned. She didn't want to turn around, knowing what she'd see. Suck it in, sister, she admonished herself. You can deal with this, you can deal with him.
She turned around, and sure enough, Spike was there, leaning casually against a tombstone, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. An almost happy smile lit his face as he sang to her. "Do the gods above me, who should be in the know, Think so little of me, they'd make me let you go?"
Buffy turned away from the serenading vampire, and picked up her pace. The sooner she got back home, the safer she would feel. "Why Slayer," Spike called out after her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get away from me."
"Go away, Pepe LePew," Buffy answered without turning her head. Don't look at him, don't make eye contact.
Spike grabbed her wrist and yanked hard, forcing her to face him. "I don't recall giving you permission to leave, Slayer," he snarled at her.
Buffy wrenched her arm away from his grip, and started off. "What part of 'Get the Hell out of my life' don't you get, Spike? I just want to be left alone! I want to go on with my life!"
Spike managed to jump in front of her, and Buffy almost landed on him in her haste to get away. "Your life?" Spike mocked her. "I'm trying to rescue you from that 'life' of yours. What kind of life is that? Out patrolling cemeteries every night, flipping burgers every day. Pretending you give a rat's ass about your friends, when they could turn up dead tomorrow and it wouldn't matter to you either way."
Buffy wanted to move, to run away from the seductive vampire as he continued to whisper to her. He spoke to something dark within her, and despite her own revulsion toward him, that inner darkness responded. He made her feel, more than anyone else since her resurrection. No matter that what she felt was animal lust, rage and self-hatred.
Spike lifted his hand to her face, and started to caress her cheek. Despite her own revulsion toward him, she found herself leaning into his palm, breathing softly. "You're not part of that world anymore, not really. You've been gone for one hundred and forty seven days, Slayer. Their lives have gone on without you. Let them go. Let it all go, darlin'. You're not even human, y'know. No my dear, not in any meaningful way. If you were, then I couldn't do..." He suddenly slashed her cheek with his fingernail, drawing blood. He licked the blood off his finger, smacking his lips at the taste. "Ahh," he sighed. "Just as sweet as I imagined. C'mon, Slayer. I'm your world now. I'm what you need. What you crave. Only I can ever satisfy you."
He leaned closer to her as he spoke, his voice a promise of dark pleasure. Buffy stood, transfixed by his measured cadences. He moved in closer, and ever closer, until his lips were a hair's distance from hers.
"Damn you, Spike," she whispered before he kissed her. She fell limply into his arms, putting up no resistance to his kiss. He grabbed her waist in one arm, and roughly started to caress her breasts with the other. Buffy found her hands moving without her volition, one hand playing with his chest, the other running fingers through his short spiky hair.
After nearly ten seconds of this, Spike pulled away from her, breaking the spell that held her in his thrall. "Now don't tell me you don't get off on that," he purred triumphantly at her.
Buffy said nothing. She simply pushed him hard into the nearest tombstone. When he tried to stand up, she kicked him hard in the midsection, forcing him to double over in pain. "Never. Touch. Me. Again!" Buffy shouted angrily at Spike. Before the hapless vampire could protest, she ran away from the cemetery, toward her house.
Spike nodded knowingly at the retreating Slayer. "Nice try," he chuckled aloud. "But I know you, Slayer. Better than you know yourself. You will be mine. Soon, you'll beg me for that release that only I can give you."
He stood up and smiled, as he contemplated what he would do to Buffy once she gave herself utterly to him. Yes, he decided, she would make a most obedient and loving Childe.
>
Xander knew that he was in hot water with Anya, and he couldn't blame her for being angry. He had promised to head straight for home after work, but some of his friends at the construction site had heard about his engagement, and insisted on buying him a beer to celebrate his impending marriage. He managed to limit himself to just the one beer, and remained mostly sober, but the time got away from him.
It was now three hours later than he had planned to be home, and he had forgotten to call Anya, to let her know where he was. He took his preferred shortcut home, straight through the graveyard, knowing that it might be dangerous, but not caring. It was a faster way home, and right now he feared disappointing Anya more than he feared any vampire. He concentrated on the path ahead of him, keeping watch for undead nasties as he ran.
A sudden scuffle caught his attention, and he stopped and ducked behind a nearby crypt, hoping that it wasn't serious. On the other hand, if he could truthfully tell Anya that he had rescued someone from a vampire, he might be able to score some sympathy points. He stood silently, his ears perked and ready for any sound.
"You're not even human, y'know." Spike's voice crooned over his victim. Xander dared to take a peek around the crypt to see what the neutered vamp was up to. He was taunting Buffy, and getting a little too close to her for Xander's comfort. "No my dear, not in any meaningful way. If you were, then I couldn't do..." He swiped his fingernail over Buffy's cheek, causing her to flinch in pain. Xander could distinctly see the drops of blood that coated his nail.
He made Buffy bleed. Xander blinked at the sight. Was Spike's chip no longer working? And if Buffy had known about this little development, why did she keep it a secret?
"Just as sweet as I imagined," Spike purred as he tasted Buffy's blood. "C'mon, Slayer. I'm your world now. I'm what you need. What you crave. Only I can ever satisfy you."
Xander blanched at the sight before him. Spike slowly craning his neck toward Buffy, who seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move. Or unwilling. She said something to Spike, Xander couldn't hear what, then Spike leaned forward.
He was kissing Buffy. Hard. Passionately.
And Buffy was accepting the kiss. Indeed, she was kissing back, just as passionately.
Xander turned away, unable to stand to see anymore. He ran blindly away from the graveyard, not looking back. He fought hard against the urge to vomit as he replayed the scene in his mind. Emotions warred within him, anger, jealousy, disgust.
Above all, he felt a deep-seeded sense of betrayal. He couldn't deny what he saw, how Buffy let Spike have his way with her. He knew that things were different for her since they brought her back that night a few months ago. But this...thing between her and Spike...
He felt like he had been kicked hard in the gut. He saw his friend, his hero, giving herself to the enemy.
When he made it to the apartment he shared with Anya, his fiancée was about to lay into him for being late. But one look at his stooped shoulders and his haggard face stopped her in her tracks. She approached him carefully, and asked, "What happened, honey? You got some bad news?"
Xander looked squarely at Anya, his voice a bitter tone of defeat. "The worst, Ahn. The worst."