“Okay,” Dawn said slowly aloud to no one but herself, glancing cautiously around her bedroom. “I am officially freaked out. Anya? Anya, are you still here?”

There was no response, no movement, nothing to indicate that she was anything but alone in the room.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, sitting down on the side of the bed. What had she done?

It was not like she didn’t think that Xander deserved whatever happened to him…because she really felt that he did. She still felt furious when she thought of the way she had found him threatening Spike, how terrified her friend had been of Xander, how sick it had made her to see the person she had once idolized, looked up to, and at one point crushed on majorly, acting like nothing more than a cruel bully to the person who…well, the person who currently held those same positions in her life.

No, she certainly felt that Xander had it coming…whatever “it” was. She just knew from personal experience that vengeance wishes could be very dangerous things, and it was no easy matter to undo them if necessary. That was why even in the vengeance she planned to exact upon Warren, Anya’s part was as small as possible. Dawn was only going to wish into existence the parts of her plan that she couldn’t possibly carry out herself.

She tried to remember the exact words of her wish, so she could try to figure out what the possible consequences might be.

She had wished…for Xander to understand what Spike was feeling. Her eyes widened as she considered the possibilities. Would Anya make Xander go through the same things Spike had been through? As angry as she was at Xander, that thought *did* make her feel a little sick, knowing what she did about the details of Spike’s ordeal.

After all, Xander had been like a big brother to her for most of her life, and no matter how angry she was with him, she didn’t like to think of anyone she cared about having to go through that, ever again.

And would this vengeance wish have any effect when it came to the other vengeance wish? The important one, the one she was preparing for? She hoped that Anya’s fulfillment of vengeance on Xander would not involve anything that would effect her ability to carry out her vengeance wish on Warren. If it did, and it couldn’t be undone…

Oh, it was just such a mess and so confusing! Why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut until Anya had left?

But it was too late now. Anya was probably carrying out the wish as she spoke. She would just have to wait and see what happened…and hope the consequences for her hasty words were not too great.


When Anya stretched out her hand toward Xander, moving forward to touch him, the sense of security he had felt at her assurance not to hurt him fled in an instant.

“What are you doing?” he demanded anxiously, backing away with his hands in front of him. A tiny part of his mind, the part that had begun to feel a little twinge of guilt the moment he had left Buffy’s house – the part he had tried hard to make shut up – reminded him of the irony, as only a matter of an hour or so ago, he had had Spike reacting in much the same way to him as he was now reacting to Anya.

“Would you relax, Xander?” she snapped irritably. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? You know, there are a lot more painful, permanent ways I could have chosen to fulfill this particular wish, but I said I’m not gonna hurt you, and I’m not,” she assured him, and he stopped moving as she approached him. She shrugged slightly and amended, “Not really, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a slight tremble in his voice, backing away again. But the couch was directly behind him now, and he stumbled backward, falling down onto it. As Anya drew nearer to him, and he realized he had nowhere to go, he felt panic closing in. Helpless. He was helpless to stop whatever she was going to do to him.

“The wish was for you to understand what Spike is feeling,” Anya explained softly, her green eyes full of compassion, and Xander wasn’t sure if the emotion was for him, or for Spike, or both. “And I’m going to show you.”

His eyes widened in a partial understanding, as an idea of what she might have in mind began to form in his head, but before he could move away, she reached out her hand and touched his head. Suddenly the world was spinning around him, the couch, the apartment, everything familiar and normal flying away into a whirling vortex of color and light.

He was light-headed and dizzy, and felt the darkness surrounding him, as if he was about to pass out. And then, he thought he did. He felt nothing, knew nothing, for a brief time – he wasn’t sure exactly how long.

Slowly, he began to return to consciousness. He felt cold, hard concrete beneath his back, and opened his eyes. His dimly lit surroundings were completely unfamiliar to him, as he carefully rose to his feet, trying to get his bearings. As his eyes began to focus again, he recognized it as the lower level of Spike’s crypt – his bedroom. He had been here only once before, when Buffy had been invisible and he had gone to see if Spike had seen her and…

Ugh. That was not a memory he wanted to relive, now that he understood what had really gone on that day.

“How do you feel?” Anya’s voice very near behind him and to his right startled him, and he jumped, whirling around to face her.

“C-can’t you wear a bell or something?” he snapped in an irritation born of fear. “Do you have to always go sneaking up on people like that?”

“Are you sick? Dizzy?” she asked, ignoring his jibes, seeming genuinely concerned about his well-being. “Cause you know, jumping around in time and space can make you feel a little nauseous.”

He paused, taking in the surprising fact of her concern for a moment before replying grudgingly, “A little on the dizzy side. It’s passing, though. So what is this? Why are we here?”

“So you can see things through Spike’s eyes,” she answered quietly. “And see where you’ve gone wrong in judging him so harshly.”

“I’m not wrong,” he insisted. “Anya, if you knew what he did to Buffy…”

“I don’t need you to tell me,” she interrupted him, her voice low and serious. “I heard her cries for vengeance, too. Back when it happened.”

“What?” Xander was stunned. He could not understand how Anya could know what Spike had done, and still help him…still take his side in this. After a moment, he asked, “So, why isn’t Spike turned into something even *more* disgusting, or missing his most important parts, or some equally horrible and grotesque punishment?”

“Because she didn’t really want it. Vengeance. It wasn’t really…*about* him needing to be punished for what he did.”

“How can you say that?” Xander demanded, furious. “Of course he deserved to be punished!”

“Xander,” she said in a tired voice, shaking her head sadly. “By that point they’d both hurt each other so much and in so many different ways that it was pretty hard to say who was ahead at that point. I don’t think anyone – including them – was keeping score anymore.”

Xander was still unconvinced, but was unsure what to say to that. He looked down toward his feet…and his eyes widened in surprise as he took in his clothing. Black boots, jeans, t-shirt…and a very distinctive, unmistakable long black leather coat.

Spike’s clothes.

“Um…Anya…” he began questioningly, with a slow downward gesture toward the outfit, an odd feeling of dread starting in the pit of his stomach.

“Think of this as a dramatic recreation of the past,” she explained expressionlessly. “And you’ve been cast in the role of Spike. Only…it’s not going to feel like a recreation, Xander. It’s going to feel very real to you. It’s going to *be* real to you. And it’s not going to be easy.”

“Oh, yeah,” he scoffed. “It’s going to be terrible, I know. It must be really hard being a vicious killer and rapist with absolutely no sense of morality.”

Anya said nothing. Soon enough, she knew, she wouldn’t have to, and her words weren’t having the effect that what Xander was about to experience would, anyway.

Suddenly, he seemed to realize something, and turned to her, frowning, “So…not that I’m complaining, cause I mean, I understand that the whole ‘Warren’s slave’ deal was no picnic…but if this whole deal is so I can feel Spike’s pain or whatever…why are we *here*, and not in Warren’s house?”

“Spike’s pain didn’t start at Warren’s house,” she answered immediately, and he actually felt an odd chill at the quiet certainty in her voice.

“So…is this gonna take a while, cause I had a full night of moping over my total loss of *everything* planned,” Xander asked, trying to cover his growing apprehension with a weak joke – as usual.

Before she could answer, they heard a loud crashing noise from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps across the floor toward the ladder to the lower level.

“Who?” Xander asked, but Anya cut him off, staring at the ladder with a somber look on her face.

“You might not want to talk to me while other people are around. You can see and hear me…but no one else can.”

When she did not seem inclined to answer his question, he did not say another word, just glanced back toward the ladder…where Buffy had just appeared, a slow, seductive smile forming on her perfect lips, as she approached him with the measured graced of a predator.

*Oh, yeah,* he thought sarcastically, as the realization began to hit him of just what was about to happen. *This is gonna be really hard!* And that was the last thought he had before the Slayer grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and slammed him forcefully down onto the bed.


“Ok, Buffy, everything’s ready,” Tara’s soft voice announced in a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation, as she walked from the living room into the kitchen, where Buffy and Spike were waiting for her to get everything ready to perform the healing spell.

“Ok,” Buffy said brightly, smiling her encouragement at Spike. “We’re ready.” She was very much aware that he was not comfortable with the whole affair, and was doing everything in her power to keep him from backing out of it.

“Right, then,” Spike said, drawing a deep, shaky breath. “Ready.” He was obviously trying not to look as nervous as he felt as he followed Tara toward the living room.

He had always been very uneasy about the use of magic, and was not terribly thrilled with the idea of being the focus of a spell, even if it was a simple healing spell, and even if it was the gentle, very non-threatening Tara that was performing it. Magic always had consequences, he had told the others, after they had brought Buffy back, and hadn’t that proven to be terribly true?

Buffy followed behind him toward the living room, but was stopped short when he suddenly came to a halt and whirled around directly in front of her, anxious blue eyes pleading with her.

“Buffy…*I’m* not ready,” he admitted apologetically. He paused before going on, “I don’t want to do this, love.” He sounded so miserable that she just couldn’t continue to push him, no matter how badly she wanted him to go through with it, no matter that it was for his own good.

“Well…then let’s not do it,” she replied, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. It was his call, after all. But she failed miserably in the attempt.

He sighed, knowing he had lost this argument already when he saw the hurt look in her eyes, those deep green eyes that had such a mesmerizing effect on him. “No – no, I – I *need* to do it,” he conceded reluctantly. “You’re right, pet. It has to be done.”

Buffy immediately felt guilty, knowing he was only giving in and agreeing to it for her sake. “Really, Spike,” she assured him, meeting his eyes firmly. “If you don’t want to do this – you don’t have to. Do you *want* to do this, Spike?”

The choice itself meant so much to him. He felt a sense of warmth and security flowing through him at the realization that if he asked her to, she really would tell Tara to go home and forget the whole thing.

*She really loves me,* the thought came to him as a new revelation, as the fact he had really already known hit him again. It was as if his subconscious kept reminding him, just in case he should forget, or think it was all in his head.

“What do *you* want, Spike?” Buffy urged him gently, holding his gaze, and he was drawn from his reverie.

*You…to love you…to please you…to make you happy…* “I…I want to be able to walk -- *really* walk -- again, Buffy,” he said softly.

She nodded slowly. “Okay, then. Let’s do this. You’re perfectly safe. I’m gonna be right there the whole time, and Tara’s done this a million times before. Right, Tara?” She smiled expectantly at the witch, who was giving her an odd look.

“Well…sure,” she said hesitantly. “Lots of times. Only…well, only on humans,” she admitted. “But the general idea is the same. It should work exactly the same.”

“*Should*?” Spike echoed dubiously, glancing uncertainly back at Buffy.

“Spike, this magic is perfectly harmless,” Tara assured him, stepping forward, her voice soft and even as she met his eyes earnestly. “There’s nothing dangerous in this spell. The worst case scenario is that it won’t work at all. Okay?”

He found the reassurance he sought in the honesty of her expression. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you here, Tara.”

She smiled reassuringly and said in a warm voice, “I won’t let you down.”

He really tried hard to relax and not be afraid, but as Buffy and Tara helped him to lie down on the living room floor in the center of the circle of herbs Tara had made there, Buffy could feel the tension in his body, feel his arm trembling slightly under her hands.

Apparently, Tara could sense it as well, because as soon as he was lying down, she said softly, “I’m going to do a little pre-spell spell, to help you relax, okay? It’s kind of like a…a magical sedative…okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded his consent, and Buffy realized that he must be pretty freaked out to accept the use of a “magical sedative”. Even she thought that sounded a little suspicious.

Tara dipped her fingers in a paste she had made of some crushed herbs and water and touched her fingertips to his forehead, then to his chest, right over his still heart, murmuring in Latin as she did.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so nervous or shaky. A warm, hazy sort of feeling began at his chest and radiated out, a soothing, comforting heat. He was no longer really aware of his surroundings, which slowly dimmed around him. A sense of tranquil well-being, like drifting away, came over him, and his fears slowly faded away.

And then he sensed nothing at all, as a comforting warm darkness enveloped him, and all he felt was peace.