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[JDMeans@xxxxxxx]

Disclaimers
Hey, you think Buffy would have gone near Spike without at least a canister 
of garlic spray if I owned the show? If it's Buffy, it's Joss, Marti, Mutant 
Enemy and Fox.

Archives
Please do. Just get my name right.

Feedback
Give me a happy at JDMeans@xxxxxxx

Rating
PG-13 to R for angst.

Summary
Two friends begin their recovery from the darkness that threatened to claim 
them. But Spike and Rack are still out there. And for Buffy and Willow, 
their only salvation may be in each other…

A Journey of a Thousand Miles
By Kirayoshi


"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
--Chinese proverb


Chapter one;
Stuck In A Moment

"I'm not afraid of anything in this world
There's nothing you can throw at me that I haven't already heard
I'm just trying to find a decent melody, 
A song that I can sing in my own company.

I never thought you were a fool,
But darling look at you
You gotta stand up straight, carry your own weight
These tears are going nowhere, baby.

You've got to get yourself together,
You've got stuck in a moment and now you can't get out of it.
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment and you can't get out of it."
--U2
"Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of"


God, she thought to herself, when did it go so wrong?

Buffy asked herself that question time and again, especially for the last 
three nights. She was standing in the doorway of Willow's room, watching as 
her friend had finally stopped thrashing in her bed, and finally settled into 
a restless sleep. She had curled up into a fetal ball on her bed, her body 
covered in sweat, her once-lustrous red hair matted and plastered against a 
face grown sallow and sunken. Buffy could see her friend still shaking and 
twitching even in her sleep, and flinched with each spasm, knowing that she 
was in part responsible. What kinds of nightmares were plaguing the 
redhead's slumber? What demons visited her in her rest?  

Her room now looked strangely incomplete now. Buffy glanced at the shelves 
and the desk, seeing blank spaces that weren't there before. Magical 
artifacts and books that occupied those spaces were now packed away in 
cardboard boxes in the garage. She had helped Willow pack them away two days 
ago, the day after the incident.  

After Willow dragged Dawn along to a floating magic dealer. After she got 
her fix from a warlock named Rack. After she drove a stolen car to escape a 
demon that she had summoned in her intoxicated state, with Dawn in the 
passenger seat. After she wrapped the car around a telephone pole, breaking 
Dawn's arm in the process. After she collapsed on the ground, wailing 
piteously, confessing that she couldn't stop, begging for help.

No matter how mad she was at Willow for hurting Dawn, and she was extremely 
mad, Buffy could not and would not abandon her friend. Especially since, in 
the end, it was her fault.

It was because of my calling, she cursed herself silently as she watched her 
friend suffer in her sleep, that she became a witch in the first place. And 
how many times had her magic come in handy in the past? Restoring Angel's 
soul, discovering arcane spells to defeat demons, healing Tara's mind from 
Glory's power. All that power, all that promise for doing good. And now, 
her power had turned against her. She sacrificed her chance to attend 
Harvard, or Oxford even, to remain in the Hell that was Sunnydale. All for 
Buffy. And now her decision to stay and help fight 'the good fight' was 
killing her.

Buffy vowed that she would do whatever she could to help her friend. She 
owed her that much. She helped Willow box her spell books, her candles, her 
blest herbs, her vials and bottles, her yak's cheese ("Don't ask," was the 
only thing Willow would say about that), and all of her other magic 
equipment. She stood by her bedside for the last two nights, watching as 
Willow thrashed and squirmed, sweat fountaining off her face. She held her 
hand, mopped her brow with a cold damp cloth, and did any small thing she 
could do to comfort her as she faced her withdrawal.

Buffy wasn't exactly in a position to be condescending to Willow in her 
ordeal. After all, while Willow was falling under the influence of her dark 
magics, Buffy was dealing with an obsession of her own. An obsession just as 
dark as any magic. An obsession in a black leather duster jacket and short 
bleached hair.

An obsession once known as William Exeter. Now known as Spike.

Spike stirred something in Buffy, something primal, something animal. But it 
was something dark and sinister, something that ignited her nerves when she 
was with him that one night, but left her with nothing but shame and 
self-loathing the morning after. She hated him, she wanted nothing to do 
with him. But she couldn't deny the pull he had on her.

This time last year, she had told him that he was beneath her. Now, she 
wasn't so sure.

It wasn't that he improved in her eyes, but that she had fallen so far.  

Was that it, she asked herself. Did I couple with him because I don't think 
I deserve better? Am I punishing myself for having fallen from Heaven, for 
being alive when I'm supposed to be dead?

Am I nothing more than a walking corpse?

The fact that Spike could actually do her damage, that he could actually hurt 
her, that's what clinched it. Whatever Willow had done to bring her back, it 
backfired somehow. She wasn't back, not fully, not in any real sense. She 
didn't feel love like she was once able to. She couldn't show compassion or 
friendship to the degree she enjoyed. She could only feel the negative 
emotions; fear, anger, hatred, disgust.  

She didn't know what she was anymore. Was she human? Demon? Some 
half-formed combination of the two? Something that simply never existed 
anymore? Or some glorified zombie? She didn't know herself anymore.

She didn't know if she was any better than the things that she hunted.

She didn't know.

And not knowing was killing her.

<<>>

"Okay," Tara murmured as she nailed a crucifix to the front door of the 
Summers house. "The cross is in place, holy water and garlic cloves buried 
at the threshold and under all windows, all proper incantations incanted, I'd 
say this house is as vamp-proof as it'll ever be."

"Thanks, Tara," Buffy smiled at the taller girl. "I just don't trust Spike 
anymore, and I don't want him near Dawn while I'm out on patrol."

"I thought Spike really liked Dawn," Tara mused. "And besides, as long as he 
still has that chip, he can't hurt anyone, can he?"

That's not true anymore, not really, Buffy thought, but kept her dark musings 
to herself. "Hey, it's government tech, you expect it to last that long?" 
Tara smirked at Buffy's humor. "Besides, he doesn't have to actually hit 
anyone to cause damage. I remember how he tried to turn us against each 
other before we went up against Adam."

"You think he would do that again?"

Buffy just smirked. "Yeah. He'll do what he wants to. He doesn't have a 
soul, he just has a chip."

"I guess," Tara nodded. She never fully understood Spike; he always acted 
like he was still the Mack Daddy of all the Sunnydale Vamps, but there were 
times, like when he risked all to rescue Dawn from those biker demons a 
couple of months ago. That night when they did the spell, when Buffy 
returned. The night when all was supposed to be right with the world. But 
it wasn't right. Not really.

Buffy, however, knew exactly what he was capable of, and she wasn't going to 
share that information with anyone, not as long as she could help it. She 
could easily predict what Xander would do if he heard about Buffy's coupling 
with Spike; first he'd go through the roof, then he'd accuse her of betraying 
the gang. And she was no longer certain that he'd be wrong.  

"Hey, can we talk for a sec?" Tara asked suddenly, and Buffy was grateful for 
the distraction. 

"Sure," she answered as she and Tara took seats at opposite ends of the 
couch. "What's on your mind?"

"I was wondering how Willow was doing," Tara admitted. "It's been a while 
since I've seen her."

"Ah, Willow," Buffy answered slowly. "She's okay. Well, not so much okay 
as, well, kinda sucky. She's been going through a rough time of it, with her 
quitting magic."

"Withdrawal, huh?" Tara asked. Buffy nodded silently. "I've seen this 
happen once before," Tara said quietly as she sat, nervously rearranging her 
hands on her lap. "A friend of mine, when I first started practicing Wicca. 
Started getting into darker magic, real heavy stuff. It changed her, made 
her harder, more withdrawn from her friends. She ended up testing a spell 
that was supposed to give her the power of flight." She looked intently at 
her lap at the sad memory. "She never regained the use of her legs. And she 
actually asked me to help her die during her withdrawal. She thought she 
could handle the dark stuff, but it ended up handling her."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed sadly. "I'm just glad that it only took the car crash 
to make Willow realize how deep she was in it. Dawn's arm will knit, she'll 
be fine. I'm just glad it wasn't more serious."

"Same here." Tara looked straight ahead, not particularly observing 
anything. "I'd like to talk to her, Buffy. I know someone who may be able 
to help her. She's handled addictions as a counselor before."

"I dunno if Willow's gonna want to talk to a shrink," Buffy admitted. "She 
was bound and determined to go through this alone."

"Well, she's not the only one here who has a resolve face," Tara smiled.

<<>> 

"I am…" she announced as she located the spaghetti, "THE IRON CHEF!" Dawn 
balanced the package of angel hair on her cast while grabbing a jar of pasta 
sauce from the cabinet. Tonight, she had agreed to make dinner while Buffy 
spoke with Tara, and Willow holed herself in her room. She had said 
something about doing some online investigation of the recent diamond theft, 
and seeing whether she could find any evidence of demonic activity involved 
with the case.  

She located a Teflon pan, and started to brown a package of ground beef, when 
she noticed Willow, still in her pajamas and robe, padding her way into the 
kitchen. "Hey," Dawn greeted her. "Signs of life from the redhead. You 
okay?"

Willow gave a non-committal shrug of her shoulders. "Can't complain too 
loudly," she muttered. Her voice was still small and weak, her eyes 
bloodshot and framed by dark circles. Willow glanced briefly at the cast on 
Dawn's right arm, and turned away sharply.  

"Yo, Willow," Dawn asked, "Buffy has me on strict orders to make sure you eat 
something. And I'm got spaghetti being prepped. You interested?"

"You're cooking?" Willow arched an eyebrow at the younger girl. "I dunno.."

"Hey!" Dawn grimaced, "what's wrong with my cooking?"

"Five words, Dawn," Willow smiled weakly at her, "'peanut butter and banana 
quesadillas'."

"Sure, bring that up," Dawn raised her eyebrows. "Hey, all greatness is the 
result of experimentation, right? Don't worry, I'm sticking to tradition 
here, I don't mess around with spaghetti."

Willow smirked slightly, and Dawn chuckled at her reaction. "Well, thanks 
anyway. Maybe I'll just have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

"One PB and J, coming up," Dawn dropped the pasta and sauce on the counter, 
and grabbed a loaf of bread from the cabinet. "Okay," she commented as she 
poked her head into the refrigerator. "We got crunchy, and we-we got crunchy. 
You good with crunchy?"

"Fine," Willow waived her hand.

"Okay, for jelly, we got grape, and we got strawberry…"

"GRAPE!" Willow said a bit quickly, and rather loudly. "Grape is fine." In 
the back of her mind, a blackly seductive man whispered to her; you taste 
like strawberries. She shuddered at the memory of Rack, and what she became 
because of him.

"You okay, Willow?" Dawn poked her head up over the fridge door to examine 
the redhead. Willow dropped her head, unable to face her friend's sister.  

"Okay? I haven't done 'okay' since…oh, I don't know anymore. Tara's gone, 
Buffy doesn't really trust me, and I hurt you, all because of my magic."

Dawn stared intently at Willow. She needed to let her foster sister know 
that she wasn't alone. She placed her good hand on Willow's cheek…the one 
she slapped after the accident…and guided Willow's face to look at her own.  
"It's okay, Willow. Tara's still around, and Buffy hasn't given up on you.  
You made mistakes, but you're dealing with them. You're trying to make 
amends. And I can't imagine how tough you have it. The least we can do is 
be there for you."

"You sure?" Willow found herself fighting back the urge to cry as she was 
confronted with Dawn's forgiveness. "I mean, I don't blame you for being mad 
at me…."

"Yeah," Dawn admitted. "I was mad. I vented. But I'm not mad anymore. You 
need me, I'm there. Just call me Support-o-Girl."

Willow choked back a sob, and asked Dawn, "You mean we're cool?"

Dawn raised her cast, and smiled. "I now pronounce us cool."

Willow choked back her tears as she accepted Dawn's offered embrace.  
"Thanks, Dawnie," Willow wept quietly on the younger girl's shoulder. "I 
won't let you down this time."

"I know you won't," Dawn assured her. The two friends disengaged the hug, 
and Dawn went back to her cooking.  

"Uh, Dawn," Willow asked, while Dawn was chopping mushrooms. "You've been 
hanging with Tara lately, right?"

Dawn stopped and placed the knife down on the cutting board. "A little.  
Why?"

"I dunno," Willow turned her head away, to hide her growing sorrow. "I was 
wondering how she was doing? I mean, probably better off without me, but 
still--"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Dawn offered. "She's in the living room 
right now, setting up an un-invite spell around the house. Apparently 
Spike's been getting uppity lately."

Willow's eyes snapped open and her head jerked up at Dawn's words. "Here? Oh 
Goddess," she moaned. Her eyes darted toward the back entrance, hoping for a 
possible escape route. "I can't let her see me like this! I gotta…"

"Too late," the familiar voice of the woman Willow had betrayed stopped her 
in her tracks. She turned around slowly, afraid to face her, but knowing she 
had no choice now. "Hey, Willow," Tara greeted her as warmly and as sweetly 
as Willow remembered her. The sight of her former girlfriend made her 
physically ache for the chance to hold her in her arms once more.

"Hey, Tara," Willow squeaked as the power of speech seemed to desert her.  
She saw Buffy standing by the doorway, either to offer support to her friends 
or to block Willow's last chance of escape. Willow tried to smile for Tara's 
benefit, but she knew she wasn't fooling anyone. "You're looking good."

"Thanks," Tara answered. "You look…well, you look…"

"Emaciated?" Willow volunteered.

Tara chuckled sympathetically. "I was going to say 'tired'. I guess the 
last few days have taken a lot out of you."

"Yeah," Willow admitted. "And I earned every restless night, haven't I? 
Threefold retribution and all that."

Tara wanted to run to Willow and embrace her, but feared spooking her. She 
just shook her head vehemently, saying, "No, Willow, it's not true. You 
don't deserve this pain, no one does. And you don't have to go through this 
alone, honey."

"Thanks for lying, Tara," Willow lowered her head in mounting shame. "Oh, I 
left all my magic stuff in the garage. You want anything, go ahead and 
pillage. Anything you don't take with you will be landfill by the end of the 
month."

Tara turned to Buffy, who nodded her head quietly. She looked back at 
Willow, who simply lowered her eyes again. "You're really giving up the 
magic, are you?"

"I have to, Tara," Willow said plainly. "I misused it. I used it on you 
against your will, I nearly got Dawn killed because of it…and…and I have to 
get rid of it. I can't do it anymore." She sat down at the breakfast table 
and lowered her head onto her hands. Hesitantly, Dawn placed the sandwich 
she had made for Willow on a plate and placed the plate in front of Willow.  
The sandwich went ignored, as Willow began to sob softly.

Tara stepped forward, standing behind her once-lover. She placed her hand on 
Willow's shoulder, and when she didn't try to shake the touch off, she 
ventured forward. "Tell you what, hon. I'll take your magic stuff with me, 
and we'll have Anya stash it at the Magic Box. When you're ready, it'll be 
there for you."

"No, Tara," Willow spoke firmly. "I'm through with magic."  

"Don't say that, Willow," Tara pleaded with her. "It's not that bad, you 
just need to distance yourself for a while. To cleanse yourself."

Willow turned her head to face Tara, her haggard features screwed into the 
familiar sight of her resolve face. The terrible sight of what her beloved 
had become through the dark magic she had used silenced Tara with a shudder.  
"Don't you get it?" Willow wailed. "I'm an addict! I can't let myself go 
down that road again. It'd be like bringing an alcoholic into a bar. I 
can't do it anymore." She swallowed hard and brushed Tara's hand away from 
her. "Don't fight me on this, Tara. We're not together anymore, and we're 
not going to be together again. I love you, babe, and I always will, but I 
can't be with you anymore. I can't get that close to magic again. I'm 
sorry, but it has to be this way." She pushed the plate away from her, and 
got up from the table. "Sorry, Dawnie, I just lost what little appetite I 
had." She rushed out the door, not noticing Buffy as she barreled past her.

She rushed into her bedroom, threw herself on the bed, and allowed her grief 
to consume her. All she had wanted was to help. That's why she turned to 
magic. To help her friends, to help Buffy. To restore Angel's soul. To 
save Buffy from the demons and monsters of the Hellmouth. To restore Tara's 
sanity. To bring Buffy back to life.

But these feats required power. A power that Willow thought she could 
control. And now that power which she tapped into so freely was destroying 
her. Her usefulness to the cause was no more. She was a danger to her 
friends, to Tara, to Buffy. She decided in that moment, with a terrible 
certainty, what she had to do. She slowly rose from her bed, grim purpose 
filling her being, and located a suitcase in her closet.  

"Willow," Buffy's voice slowly filtered through the miasma of her 
self-loathing. "How long are you gonna hole up in there?" When Willow 
didn't answer, Buffy tried again. "Okay, Wills, I'm gonna just camp out here 
until you let me in. You okay with that?"

Ten seconds later, Buffy heard the door unlatch, and saw Willow's worn face 
peering out at her. Upon entering the bedroom, Buffy first noticed the 
suitcase. "So," she said casually. "Planning a little trip?"

Willow said nothing, she just plopped herself down on the bed, folding her 
hands on her lap.  

"Willow," she spoke in the most comforting tones she could summon. "I know 
what you're going through. I was there, remember? I blamed myself for what 
happened to Angel, what he did to Jenny, to Kendra…to you. I thought the 
best thing I could do for everyone was to run away. I was wrong then. Just 
as you're wrong to try and face this…thing yourself."

"What other options are there?" Willow whispered. "There's not exactly a 
Witches Anonymous group out there. No twelve-step program for magic 
addicts."

Buffy sat next to Willow on the bed, and placed her hand on Willow's knee.  
"Maybe there is." She withdrew a slip of paper from her pocket, and handed 
it to Willow. "Tara's out in the garage grabbing your magic stuff. She gave 
me this card." Willow looked at the name and number on the card: Victoria 
Ramirez, Councilor. "Tara said she's a nice lady, and that she handles 
addiction cases at the college."  

Willow snorted derisively. "No way she's seen a case like mine."

"Hey, who knows?" Buffy offered brightly. "She lives in Sunnydale, she may 
have seen everything." That got a chuckle out of Willow. "Look, Willow, 
whatever you do, don't do it alone. Not when you don't have to." She got up 
from the bed, and faced Willow once more. "Look, I'm going to get Tara 
safely back, then I'm going out on patrol. Don't make any decisions for a 
while, right?" Willow sniffed, and nodded her head.  

As Buffy was on her way out the door, Willow spoke; "Buffy?" The slayer 
turned her head toward her friend. "Don't die on me."

"I'm not planning on it," Buffy smiled for Willow's benefit, and left.

Willow allowed her grief to wash over her, through her and past her. She 
finally managed to control her wracking sobs, to dry her eyes, and to regain 
some semblance of coherent thought. She glanced at the card in her hand, 
looking at the phone number beneath the name.

Don't do it alone. Not when you don't have to.

Buffy's words rang through her head, resonating with a clarity, a wisdom that 
Willow needed to hear.  

She reached across the bed, taking the phone in her hand, and dialing the 
number. After three rings, a gentle voice greeted her; "Hello."

"Victoria Ramirez?" Willow asked.

"This is she," the woman answered.

"Uh, hi. You don't know me, but my friend gave me your number…"

TBC