__Power Tools And Forgiveness__
By Beadtific
It was a very pretty garden, but prowling around flowerbeds in the late afternoon sunshine was the last place
Willow wanted to be; she needed to see Buffy, and Giles. Now.
The coven had put up a few hurdles for her to jump, however. Her first task was to finagle her way into the coven
house carrying a weapon – the scythe. Veronica had finally stormed out into the foyer and listened to Willow’s
patient explanation that it was a mystical object and tied to the slayer. The redhead had added the extra spin
that the scythe might prove to be useful in helping her friends; she had no idea if that was true or not. The
bottom line was that Buffy had placed the weapon in Willow’s care, and she was not about to let the weapon out of
her possession.
“I don’t like it one bit, Miss Rosenberg,” Veronica finally said, eyes flashing. “But seeing as Giles and Buffy
are our only patients at the moment, we won’t have to worry about someone finding a weapon while in magicks
withdrawal, will we?” The High Priestess smiled a pointed little smile at her former patient, “That, and if we’re
going to get to the bottom of this mess, I have to let you in. If you would be so kind as to keep it in your room,
unless you absolutely must use it for casting, we would be very grateful.”
“Thank you, Miss Harkness,” Willow said gratefully, inwardly cringing that it had been less than fifteen minutes
into her visit and already her past had been thrown in her face. The High Priestess she remembered wasn’t this…
shrill. Maybe it was stress.
Veronica had left with a swirl of her black and white dress. “Get settled in, Miss Rosenberg,” she called over her
shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the garden in ten minutes to update you on your…friends.” Willow found herself being
shepherded down the hall by two coven members before she had a chance to object.
“Please excuse Miss Harkness,” apologized the taller of the two, Beth Raynard. “It makes her quite cross to sit on
the sidelines.”
“What? Sidelines? I mean, no, I’m not here to do that,” Willow started to babble. “I’m team-playing Willow.”
“I think what Beth means is that Miss Summers is the one who put *our* team captain on the bench,” explained the
other witch, Amber Jenkins, with a sympathetic smile. “Your Buffy has taken quite a dislike to her.”
“C-could you, um, tell me what that’s all about?” Willow asked.
Beth again took the lead, replying, “Miss Harkness will have to tell you the particulars, but let’s just say that
their initial meeting wasn’t a merry one.”
“Angela was observing,” Amber continued, “and she said that Mr. Giles was angry, too, and had them nearly out the
door.”
After Giles had said the coven was the one place for help, Willow was shocked. “What stopped them from leaving?”
she asked.
The two witches exchanged a concerned look. Amber said quietly, “We’ve probably said too much, but there was
something wrong with their bond – some thing that was a danger to their health.”
Willow snorted, but bit back her reaction. \\And whatever you guys did to them helped *so* much,// she sniped
silently.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Beth said seriously. Willow squeaked in embarrassment. The tall, dark-haired woman
gave her a twinkling smile, “Well, not really, but I’m a touch empathic. I can tell you that we did nothing to
cause Mr. Giles’ illness. Ask Veronica or Angela; they’ll be able to tell you what happened.”
“Yes,” Beth said, “I know Veronica can be prickly at times.” Amber snorted in agreement, and Beth gave her an
absentminded swat. “But she really does want the best for both of them. She’s always spoken very highly of Mr.
Giles. One of her most successful cases ever, though prone to taking a few risks.”
After that, the two had dried up as a source of information, and bundled Willow cheerfully into her room, pointed
the way to the garden, and scuttled off. Freshening up in her bathroom, Willow mused that there were a few more
odd undercurrents to this visit than she’d imagined.
Strolling towards a garden bench, Willow nibbled her thumbnail absently while she thought back on her
conversation with the two women. So far she’d had mostly cold and rather angry conversations with the High
Priestess, but she had asked Willow to come help. That had to stand for something.
Across the lawn, Willow saw Veronica walk swiftly out of the house toward her, the white streak in her hair
gleaming in the afternoon shadows. Her usually proud head was bowed, and her shoulders looked tense. As the
priestess walked towards her, Willow had a sudden frission of fear that Giles had taken a turn for the worse, and
clasped her hands tightly together in an effort to keep them from shaking. When Veronica came to a stop in front
of the red-haired witch, her face was filled with a dreadful sorrow. Willow felt a lump form in her throat.
“Before you go see your friends, Miss Rosenberg,” the dark haired woman said, unaware that her use of the plural
had caused Willow infinite relief, “I wanted to speak to you since I am not able to speak to Miss Summers.” With a
graceful gesture, she invited Willow to walk with her along the gravel path through the garden.
“So Buffy hasn’t told anyone what happened?”
“No,” the older woman said coldly, “She is, I presume, waiting for you.”
“And why is that exactly?”
“It could be that she can’t face the fact that Rupert is lying there unconscious because they couldn’t follow
simple instructions,” Veronica said, sneering slightly. She turned and looked at the young witch, eyes blazing.
“We *told* them it was inadvisable to be intimate with one another, but from the way we found them, it was obvious
they were attempting to see if there was a ‘no actual penetration’ loophole. Evidently they were wrong.”
Willow was blushing furiously with sympathetic embarrassment, “I see, I guess,” she said, “But if they were being
all sneaky and snuggly, why was Buffy’s room so tossed? Angela said it looked like she was trying to get out of
there in a hurry.”
A blush stained the older witch’s cheeks, and she turned away and began walking down the path again. Willow jogged
a few steps to catch up with her.
“Miss Harkness?”
“There were signs, other than debris left by Miss Summer’s untidy exit, that something disturbed both of them in
the night.” Veronica’s voice began to take on a certain guilty, prim quality, “There was a small patch of… mostly
stomach bile - Rupert’s - on Miss Summer’s tank top, and when we inspected further certain odors in Miss Summer’s
bathroom led us to believe she was also unwell.”
“Okay, and why does that make you sound a little guilty?” Willow felt her own temper begin to snap, “You didn’t
serve them up any spoiled bangers and mash did you?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” the priestess said sadly. “I’m afraid Rupert may have had one of his nightmares and
some of it may have leaked into the Bond and found Miss Summers as well.”
“Why would he be having nightmares, Miss Harkness? And why would you know about them?” Willow had stopped and
glowered at the older woman, who took a painful interest in a stand of bearded iris. She began plucking the spent
blossoms off the plants.
The older woman’s shoulders slumped. “I may have goaded him into it.” She glanced, shamefaced, at Willow. “Rupert
has a history of nightmares when he is under great stress – at least he has when he’s stayed here. The first time
he was here, when he was going through black magicks withdrawal, he had them almost constantly.” Willow shuddered,
remembering her own withdrawal nightmares.
“When he arrived after your Buffy’s death, he followed the same pattern. Nightmare, followed by becoming ill;
there were days simply didn’t eat dinner so that it wouldn’t be so bad. Not that it helped.” Veronica tossed the
dead blossoms behind a bush, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her fingers. Willow waited, teeth clenched.
The older woman took a deep breath and glanced up at Willow. “The nightmares are normally tied to his feelings of
guilt – and I’m afraid I dredged up quite a few of those memories last night. We had a dreadful row, well,
actually I did a lot of shouting and he just sat there, staring at his hands. When we said good night. I was
pleased that I had reminded him enough of past reckless behavior to do him some good. I do believe it backfired,
don’t you?”
The older witch laughed a little wildly, “I think that Rupert had a nightmare, Buffy felt it, and went to comfort
him, and well, they did what they did.” A flash of her steelier self peeked through, “Which was very foolish, but
no more so than I, by adding extra stress to a man with his history. I very helpfully set the stage for them to
need each other that night. And now, because I behaved like the worst sort of idiot, I can’t even make amends by
helping.” The older woman’s eyes were bright with tears, and she turned away from Willow to compose herself.
After a moment of silence, Willow was astonished to hear a derisive chuckle come from her companion. “Oh, Willow,”
she said, all her brittle, icy fasod at last shattering to reveal a gentler Veronica – one even warmer than the
young witch remembered. “I’ve muffed this thing rather badly.”
“Other than guilting Giles into nightmares, what happened?
“What happened is that what those two people have done scares the living daylights out of me, and I’m afraid I
believed the worst of your young friend.” The older witch’s hand shook as the tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Now she doesn’t trust me, and I for one don’t blame her.” They’d reached a sheltered area of the garden, and
another bench. A fountain burbled nearby. Veronica turned to the young woman, raising her eyebrows, and with a
tilt of the head, silently asked if her companion would like to sit. Willow made an ‘after you’ gesture.
“I’m not getting exactly why you would be so, um, upset about the Bond. It’s a good thing, right? I mean, after
they learn to control it and all.” Willow asked, turning so she could look in the older witch’s face.
“Supposedly so. I’m afraid I have a more jaded view of the Bond. My great-grandfather died of it.”
“The Bond killed him?” The hard knot of fear was reforming in Willow’s belly.
The priestess shot her a perceptive look, and shook her head. “It wasn’t like our two friends in there. Jonah
Coatsworth, my great-grandfather, tried to heal his slayer through the Bond when she was gravely injured. They had
not been Bonded long, and the attempt killed them both. They were the last Bonded pair known, until Rupert called
me a few days ago.”
“You were scared that sorta the same thing would happen with Giles and Buffy?”
Again, the older witch pinned Willow with a piercing glance, “Not scared; certain. Rupert came here after Buffy’s
death, half-convinced that if they’d been Bonded, he could have somehow prevented her death.” At the young woman’s
astonished gasp, Veronica smiled ironically, “Yes, cured her of a several-story fall, through a mystical portal, I
know. The grieving aren’t always rational.” To her shock, the older witch gave Willow a playful knock with her
shoulder, and the young woman laughed nervously. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, dear, if you don’t learn to laugh at
yourself how will you ever truly heal?”
“L-laugh? At what I did? Tried to do? I’m better and all, much, much better, but I never want to forget…”
“I didn’t say forget, dear. I said forgive. If you don’t, chances are you’ll never reach your full potential
because you won’t be in harmony.”
Willow gulped. “I’m trying,” she said in a tiny voice.
Veronica bumped her former student’s shoulder again, “That’s all anyone can ask.” She inhaled deeply, and her eyes
grew sad again. “Now, I have something to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“Apologize to Buffy for me. Tell her this foolish old woman was worried that she had taken her watcher to Bond to
prolong her life.” The priestess cast an apologetic look at Willow’s horrified face. “Yes, I did. Tell her I knew
she’d cheated death, several times, and believed she had found away to do it again. I was furious at my old friend
for allowing it to happen. But after seeing the way they were together, after I’d trampled all over them with my
questions, I realize I was a complete idiot.” She gave a rueful smile. “I’m a little protective of my friends.”
Willow giggled, “Really?” she drawled.
Veronica’s eyes danced, “Oh I’m afraid I pulled the full, disapproving school mistress act on your Buffy. Angela,
who was observing, told me I was just awful.”
“Oh no! That’s the worst thing you could have done! I mean me, I’m the kid who always wants the teacher to like
her, so that was the perfect thing to do to me, but Buff? Oh, no.” Willow shook her head, chuckling, “No wonder
she won’t talk to you; you probably remind her of Quentin Travers.”
“You take that back, Willow Rosenberg,” Veroncia said, in her iciest voice, “that’s a terrible thing to say.”
Willow just raised her eyebrows, and Veronica put her head in her hands and groaned. “You’re so right; I channeled
the spirit of Quentin Travers.”
“If you feel the urge to wear a tweed three piece suit and throw your weight around, let me know and I’ll perform
an exorcism.” They snickered over that a moment. A comfortable pause stretched between them.
“Miss Harkness?”
“Veronica,” the older woman corrected. Willow’s eyebrows shot up.
“Okay, now I know I’m in Bizarro World,” the redhead said, awed. “V-Veronica, tell me something. Um, we weren’t
this, ah… chummy last time I was here; in fact, you were Miss School Marm most of the time with me. What changed?”
The older woman smiled and sighed. “I need you, Willow,” she said simply. “Two people we care about are in the clinic
cottage over there, and I can’t help them without you.” She looked at Willow very candidly. “I won’t lie to you
and tell you I no longer fear your power; but I do know you well enough to believe you are no longer reckless with
the gift. Rupert told me that you asked your friend to kill you if you turned evil during the slayer activation
spell.” Willow squeaked, not knowing Giles had that bit of information.
“Oh yes, my dear, he knew. I think that would qualify as a sign that you are dedicated to the Light? Hmm?” she
said dryly. “I may have been less than cordial with you when I issued your invitation, but the Goddess gives us
the tools we need that are appropriate to the task. Who am I to question Her, when She thrusts a powerful tool,
such as you, into my hand?”
Willow laughed nervously, “I hope I’m the right one.”
Veronica stood and said, “We shall see. I do think so, though. And I must confess, even if Buffy would speak to
me, I’m not sure what I could do for them. I feel quite giddy that it’s being taken from my hands, really.” She
began to guide Willow down another path in the garden, toward a small cottage.
Willow’s ball of nervous tension reformed in her stomach and promptly spawned several hatchlings of anxiety.
“What do you mean, not sure what you could do?”
“First of all, their Bond, which was quite the largest we’ve ever seen, has been severed, and we have no idea how
that happened. By all rights they should both be dead; the flow of information through such a conduit would be
almost total. Angela, who is our most adept at viewing auras and bonds, says that the Bond wounds in Buffy and
Rupert were initially larger than they were when she viewed them earlier that evening, confirming that they
strengthened the bond by performing acts we’d specifically asked them not to engage in.” A bit of her icy
asperity crept back into her voice. “Angela has been able to examine both of them, and is mystified. The Bond
wounds seem to be healing, shrinking, but, it seems that there is still a small manifestation of the Bond in each
person – as if when it snapped, parts of whatever each of them were feeling was left in the other’s body.”
“Hmm,” Willow said, some ideas beginning to form. “And there is no real reason why Giles is in a coma?”
“None. He’s perfectly healthy.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“Talk to Buffy, Willow; find out if she can tell you more about what happened. I must tell you, she’s quite
distraught. We tried to give her a sedative…”
The blood drained from Willow’s face, “You didn’t – especially since Buffy wasn’t large with the trust. That was
such a Travers move.”
Veronica winced, “I’m afraid we did. Another lovely idea by me. Here we are, Willow. I’m going to stay just
beyond the path. Buffy doesn’t even like to see me, really,” her voice sounded sad.
“Okay, thanks,” Willow said as she stepped onto the path leading to a neat cottage. “Is there anyone else inside?”
“Angela, who is also a nurse, goes in and out. She keeps out of the way, though; watches through an observation
camera and monitors in the next cottage. She does go in to attend to Giles, usually when Buffy is asleep.”
“How long has Buffy been in there?”
Veronica blinked. “Since she woke up.”
“You left a frightened, angry woman, who has just been through some sort of traumatic experience, alone, in a
hospital ‘cottage’ for nearly two days with her comatose lover, and didn’t offer any other human contact or
comfort?”
The older woman’s face fell. “She wouldn’t let us; we tried to give her privacy.” she whispered.
“Buffy hates hospitals.”
Veronica’s eyes flashed, “Right now, she hates everything.”
Willow flashed back, “Let me see if I can fix that.” She turned to walk into the cottage.
“Willow?” The High Priestess’ icy voice was back.
“Yes, Veronica?” the young witch turned a bit warily.
“If you try to ‘fix’ things with anything but white magicks…”
“You’ll kill me; I know,” Willow’s tone was both weary and cold.
The older witch snorted, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “We’ll try.”
“Good to know.” Willow said lightly, and stood looking at her one-time teacher’s face, then turned away. When she
mounted the porch steps, she looked back one last time.
Veronica stood in the fading light, a study in black and white against the green riot of spring. She looked
frightened, and old.
* * *