Turnabout

London

"Um, Giles?" Willow hung in the doorway to the new Council library conference room. Knowing that the elder Watcher would be less than pleased with her question, she hesitated before raising her voice. Giles was a study in concentration, bent over a scroll, brow furrowed, and finger tracing over arcane symbols. The library conference room served primarily as a place to spread out research rather than as a place to hold meetings. The formal conference room served for briefings and strategy sessions. This room had the familiar feel of the school library or magic shop with the table covered with books whose mustiness scented the air.

Willow cleared her throat and tried once more. "Giles? Giles? Can I talk to you for a minute?" She sidled into the room and into his line of vision.

"Hmm? Oh, Willow. Yes, I could use some help determining the source of this prophecy. I've not encountered this language before, and the little headway I have made suggests that we may be facing another demonic raising." Giles didn't look up from his study.

"Giles!" Willow's exasperation finally broke his concentration.

"Sorry. I'm a bit taken up here. Did you need something?" He gazed at her expectantly.

Willow took a deep breath. "Yes. I need you to come take a look at something. It's important. I, well, I kinda did something, and Ineedyourhelp." The last rushed out, barely audible.

Giles pulled off his glasses and began polishing. The foreboding generated by the undecipherable prophecy immediately took back seat to the warning bells that went off at this declaration. He fought down the urge to sigh and look put upon, despite the fact that he guessed this had to do with another unsanctioned spell by the young witch.

"Is this something I'm going to be upset by?" He asked quietly.

"Um, well, I didn't think so. But something is happening…" Willow led the way through the winding hallways toward the living quarters of the Council Headquarters. Not all the watchers or slayers lived on site, but Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Giles, and Andrew had chosen to make their home in the new edifice. After spending the last several years in Sunnydale with informal headquarters in first Giles and then Buffy's homes, the group had learned the convenience of combining working and living space. It became a situation they were loathe to change. Underlying the convenience, the choice reflected their need to be in proximity to one another for more personal reasons as well. While their mission focus extended to include innumerable new slayers and identifying and recruiting new watchers, they found their need for family increased.

"Something unexpected, I gather?"

"Nothing bad. No ending the world catastrophes or anything," Willow hastened to assure him. "Just a little weird, and I wouldn't even ask you to take a look, but it has to do with Xander."

"Xander," the Watcher stopped short in surprise. "Has he returned?"

"No," Willow bit her lip nervously.

"You think he's in danger," Giles offered as a statement rather than a question. He began to guess what Willow had done. He knew she had wanted to cast protection and locator spells on her friends, but he had advised against it due to her emotional connection to them. Despite her tremendous power, her weakness lay in the influence that emotion often had over her control. While he knew that the young woman would never intentionally hurt her friends, a miscast spell could do tremendous damage to her friends and hence to her own psychological well-being.

"I don't know if he’s in trouble. That's what I need your help to figure out." Willow opened the door to her room and led him in. Giles had not visited her private rooms before, deeming the respect of personal space as vital for people living and working in such constant contact. The bright colors and open air felt immediately welcoming. Rather than cross the interpersonal boundaries he erected for himself, he forced his attention on the young woman to avoid peering around at her living space. However, he could not help but notice the quartz crystals suspended in the window frame, casting prisms of color on the floor, ceiling, and walls.

"Okay, I know that you didn't want me doing any spells on anybody," Willow rushed on, wanting to get past the confession to the problem at hand, "and so I didn't do the location spells, `cause like you said, it's a total invasion of privacy, like putting tracers on people. And I agree with you that that nobody wants to be on a kind of magical leash or anything. Even though, now I'm beginning to wish that I hadn't listened to you `cause if I knew where Xander was, then I wouldn't have to be so worried, `cause I could just, you know, check on him."

"Willow, slow down," Giles held up a weary hand. After eight years of acquaintance, he was beginning to despair that the red haired witch would ever outgrow her babbling tendencies. "Go back to the beginning, and tell me what you did do rather than what you didn't."

"Okay," she led him to the crystals suspended in the window. "Each one of these is connected to a person's essence, their lifeforce."

"Do I want to know how you managed to acquire these essences?" Giles reached toward the crystals, but carefully avoided touching.

"Oh nothing bad, honest. I know this kind of thing is usually done with blood or, um, other, um, fluids," her cheeks flushed, "but I found a way to do it with breath."

"I see. Yes, many mystic texts connect the spirit and the breath. Hence those without breath are often those without souls, such as vampires." He found himself impressed with her connection. "And you asked people to breathe on the crystals then?" Giles studied her as she avoided his gaze.

"Not exactly. I kind of held them up to everyone while they slept. But I don't think that would change the spell any. I mean, breath is breath, right?" She looked at him pleadingly.

"I really couldn't say, I'm afraid." Giles turned to study the crystals once more. "Why don't you tell me more about what you think has gone wrong." He noticed a faint glow surrounding one of the crystals.

"It's this one," Willow pointed to the glowing crystal. "I noticed this one glowing this morning, and when I went to touch it, well, it's just strange. The glow is warm, but the crystal itself is the same temperature as all the other ones."

"May I?" Giles indicated the crystal. Willow nodded. He cautiously moved an index finger toward the crystal. He felt the slight warmth of the glow before touching the cool crystal itself. "How curious. And you noticed this just this morning?" Another nod. "Am I to understand that this is not a result anticipated by the spell?"

"No," Willow began to pace. "It's a simple state-of-being spell. It's just supposed to let me know if someone's hurt or in trouble or something. But it can't locate people. No tracer bits, I promise."

"What results does the spell anticipate?" Curious despite himself, Giles continued to finger the crystal.

"Mostly the crystals just act like regular quartz, reflecting light, looking pretty," Willow began, "but when the person connected to the crystal is hurt, the quartz turns a deep purple. When they die," She swallowed convulsively, "it turns grey or black. Those are the colors I paid the most attention to, but I think that yellow or orange means something good."

"Hmm, those are all natural colors for different types of quartz."

"Yep, using those natural earth things here. No black magics for this wicca."

"Er, yes. So the glowing and heat were not anticipated reactions." Giles turned from the crystals.

"No. That's why I need your help. This crystal is Xander's. Giles, something's happening to him, but I don't know what it is."

"You said the crystals indicate not only the bad, but also the good?"

"Yes."

"So it's entirely possible that this anomaly we're seeing indicates something beneficial to Xander?" Giles suggested without truly believing that the boy he had seen through numerous possessions and woundings would have escaped his Hellmouth life patterns.

"I don't want to take that chance. Giles, I want to find him." Willow looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Willow, I know that you care for him, but he asked in no uncertain terms that we let him go. He indicated that he would be in contact when and if he chose to return to this life. We have to accept that he is a grown man, and he has made his own choices about his life." Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Giles, I can't just do nothing!"

"You're right," his voice became steel, “you will not do nothing. You will discuss this spell with the coven." He held up his hand to prevent protest. "They must know the spells you've been casting. That was part of the terms of your continuing to learn magic." He fixed her with his Watcher gaze. She had the grace to look abashed. "Perhaps they can help determine the meaning of this," he relented. "In the meantime, we can call Angel to see if Xander has been in touch with him. He did say that he would keep in contact with us tgh tgh the agency." He cast another glance at the crystals hanging in the window. "I understand why you chose to go against my express desires, and if this spell does indicate that Xander is in trouble, I shall no doubt be grateful for that disobedience; however, I suggest you curb such inclinations in the future if you wish to continue working with the coven and the Council."

"Sorry, Giles," Willow joined him in staring at the quartz pieces. "I just couldn't bear having all this power and not doing anything to protect my friends."

"Even without their knowledge?"

"I should have asked?" Willow inquired in a small voice.

"You should have asked. It's unlikely that any of us would have refused you outright." He smiled genuinely. "You have more than proven yourself adept, Willow, but you must learn not to believe that you know better than all those around you. And you must learn that we do not appreciate being made unwitting subjects of your spells." He turned to leave the room but paused in the doorway.

"I wonder. The color of the crystals is meant to indicate the state of the person's life essence. Perhaps since the light and heat surrounds the crystal rather than altering its fundamental appearance this would indicate an outside force." He grimaced. "Xander does have a bit of history with being possessed. More than most, I'd wager."

"Oh no, not possession. Pfft." Willow made a dismissive gesture. "That was just a Hellmouth side effect, I think. Besides, isn't it like being struck by lightening or something. You know, never strikes twice. Well, I mean, Xander's been possessed more than twice, what with the hyena and the soldier and the whole Dracula-bug person thrall. But I think he's probably outgrown that by now. Or that probability must have finally caught up with him. So definitely not possession." She grinned at Giles, willing him to believe her.

"Yes, quite." Giles decided that his hypothesis would be better left to the coven. He did not want to know how Willow could be so certain that Xander was not under the effect of another possession.

Willow watched him leave, grateful that he had not pursued the possession theory. Long before Giles had forbidden her protection spells, she had cast a spell to prevent Xander from being possessed again. Underneath the joking "butt-monkey" comment that he had offered to Buffy and Riley, she sensed his helpless fear at having his very self taken over again and again by forces he couldn't control. After Dracula's appearance, she secretly searched for a spell powerful enough to ensure that Xander could never be possessed again. She strengthened his soul's connection to his body to ensure that even if a possessing entity could enter her friend, it could not overcome his control over himself. So possession was effectively out as a means to explain the strange manifestation around his crystal. But that didn't solve the mystery of what was happening. It looked like she was going to have to confess to the coven and enlist their help.


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Los Angeles

"How is he?" Angel looked up as Spike made his way down the stairs to the lobby of the Hyperion.

"Asleep."

"And you?"

"Hungry. What d'ya got to eat around here?"

"The kitchen's through here. There's blood in the fridge." Angel led Spike into the kitchen and shoved him into a seat at the table while he removed two bags of blood from the refrigerator and set them in the microwave to warm. The whirring of the microwave filled the silence. Angel contemplated the wan figure before him. Dying in the Hellmouth hadn't done anything for Spike's skinny frame. Guilt nagged at him for not being more involved in this creature's life. He had helped to create and shape the vampire before him, and then he had not only abandoned him but returned only to torment and attempt to kill him. Angel tried to make sense of the guilt. Surely his demon didn't feel guilt. That was an aspect of the soul. Or so he'd assumed. But why should his soul feel guilty for not aiding a vicious killer? The brooding vampire rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, admitting to himself that where Spike was concerned, nothing about the relationship was simple or clear. Yet amid the confusion, he recognized a genuine reluctance to continue their antagonistic estrangement.

Once he'd poured the blood into mugs, Angel sat down across from Spike and set a mug before him.

"So you'll stay h"
"

"S'alright with you?" Spike wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Of course. I'm not around much, neither is anyone else, so you'll have space here to ...um. That is…" Angel trailed off before taking a large swallow from his mug and continuing. "Okay, Spike what is it exactly that you want from me? Not that I'm not pleased that you're alive and safe. But with Xander?" He struggled against the surge of incredulous jealousy, not sure whom it was aimed at.

"Yeh, bit of a kick in the bollocks, innit?"

"What Viola said…" Angel hesitated to repeat the words as Spike growled. "Spike you know what it means. He's going to need more than just a good night's sleep. What do you intend to do?"

Spike shrugged. He sat back and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his duster. He lit one up as he considered.

"Help `im."

"Do you even know how? I don't know of any humans that ever escaped one of the Teilenon's stables."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Call it that. Makes him sound like a whore." Spike grumbled.

"Spike, you can't deny…"

"No!" Spike slammed his fist on the table and got up to pace. "He's hurtin' and he's in trouble, and he might think of himself like that, but he's still Xander. You remember him as some pathetic git from high school always gettin' himself into scrapes and needin' to be rescued. But I seen him grow up. Even took me in once or twice when no one else would have me." Spike stopped his pacing to turn his earnest gaze on his companion. "Sire, please. You got the Watcher and a whole bloody law firm. There must be something that can tell us how to fix him. We won't get in your way, and I'll take care of him."

Angel struggled to reconcile this vampire determined to save a single human with the self-centered killer he hunted with for several decades. He recognized in his childe's passion the desperation he had felt himself when it seemed that losing a single person he set out to help put his entire redemption in jeopardy. He stood and put his hand on Spike's shoulder, feeling the tension that strummed through the younger vampire.

"William." He stroked Spike's chiseled cheek with his other hand and sighed. "William, I know you think you can care for him, but you have to face the fact that Xander may not want help." As Spike moved to protest, Angel placed his finger over his opening lips. "No, childe, listen. You got him here, and that's good. I will help you, but you need to be patient. And you need to accept that Xander may not want to live. He's been through more than any human should ever have to endure even before being taken in by Viola. He might not be able to come back from that."

Spike's dropped his gaze as he felt tears prick. He couldn't articulate why it mattered to him so much that Xander be okay, but he refused to give up. He backed away from Angel's gentle fingers, unwilling to show too much emotion to the Sire he didn't fully trust again yet. Especially was feeling unsettled by his reaction to Angel's soft touch and words.

"If it was one of yours-—the cheerleader or the watcher or even that Gunn fellow—-would you give up on them? You said yourself, he's family." Even as he said it, Spike felt his heart constrict. Family meant companionship, belonging, and most important, love. The members of his family shifted so many times, but the need to have family never changed. Whether family meant the Scourge of Europe or the Scoobies, Spike clung tight. After the shattering of his first vampire family, Spike found himself haunted by the desperate fear of abandonment and clung more tightly. But the desertion of Drusilla taught him to mask that desperate clinging as well as the deep need to belong. Hence his strategy with the Scoobies had finally been one of feigned indifference, a strategy that kept him from being exiled despite the gnawing need for more that never fully got met for more than isolated moments. Xander had given him some of those moments, and those moments forbade him to abandon the man. Granted being here in LA complicated those families by bringing him back into contact with Angel, and didn't that confuse his sense of who he was. But he repressed those confusions and focused on Xander.

"Go to bed, Spike. Tomorrow, I'll see what I can do about finding help for Xander." Angel set about cleaning out their mugs.

"Angel." Spike paused, "thanks. For taking us in."

Angel didn't turn from the sink. "You're family."

Spike turned and walked back toward the lobby and the stairs that would take him to the two bedroom suite he had insisted on sharing with Xander. He had already removed the inner doors between the rooms. He'd had more than enough of Xander hiding behind closed doors, ta very much, although he anticipated at least a few more locked-in-the-loo scenes since he hadn't taken that door off yet.

He crept from his room into Xander's to check on the man before he crawled into his own bed for much needed sleep. Even in sleep, peace seemed to elude Xander. Spike watched as the man’s facial muscles twitched and he shifted restlessly. Spike settled gently on the edge of the bed. He reached out to stroke his friend's dark hair silently, wishing he could repair the damage he witnessed since he returned. The ride to Los Angeles had only reinforced his insights into the extent of that damage. As he crawled into his own bed, Spike found himself reliving that ride again, trying to glean any insight as to how he could help his charge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive began in an ominous silence with Angel driving and Gunn keeping an uncomfortable grip on his stake in the passenger seat. Xander huddled against the door in the backseat, as far from Spike as he could get. Legs pressed together, arms wrapped around his torso, and head down, Xander tried to make himself invisible, tried to sout out the men around him. He didn't have the energy to come up with any clever banter to cover up the night's revelations. Somehow he didn't think a well-timed pun could erase what his rescuers had heard and the last thing he wanted was more attention. As he shut out his immediate surroundings, his mind wouldn't let him escape, replaying the scene and the Mistress's words over and over again.

Spike watched as Xander continued to curl in on himself more and more. Angel and Gunn had begun a low conversation in the front seat, but after ascertaining that it had nothing to do with him or Xander, he tuned them out to concentrate on his seatmate. Eventually, the curling became a subtle rocking and Spike heard a low murmur begin. He slid closer to Xander and listened. "junkie whore…junkie whore…junkie whore…junkie whore…"

Once he discerned what Xander was muttering, Spike simply slid closer still and wrapped himself around the man, coaxing Xander's head onto his shoulder and stilling the rocking body. The seatbelt made the position a bit awkward, but he wasn't going to chance Xander getting hurt, despite the fact that his grandsire drove, well, like a grandpa.

"No, luv. Hush now." He petted the dark curls and began a low, rumbling purr. Angel shot a glance over his shoulder as he heard. Seeing his Childe draped around Xander brought memories of Spike giving similar comfort to Drusilla after one of her visions or a particularly brutal night at the hands of Darla or Angelus. This connection to Harris baffled him, and he disliked being the feeling that he was being used for little more than muscle and transportation. At the same time, his own history with Xander left him conflicted between guilt and jealousy. Guilt over the thought that he might have something to do with Xander's current condition and jealousy over his Childe's obvious connection to the human. The rest of the ride to LA passed with no conversation, and Angel led a subdued Spike and Xander to rooms in response to Spike's request for a two bedroom suite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, settled into his own bed, Spike found sleep elusive. After the conversation with Angel in the kitchen, Spike wanted nothing more than to curl up around Xander and protect him. But somehow he doubted the boy w tak take kindly to waking up with a vampire wrapped around him in a strange place. Calling himself a sentimental pillock, he pulled the comforter over his head and snuggled into the blankets searching for enough warmth to lull him to sleep.