He'd been hiding in the basement, waiting for Buffy to come home so he could beg her forgiveness, when the gunshots sounded. They were was so loud, his ears rang for several minutes before he could process the sound.
Then he was up the stairs like a bolt of lightning, following the smell of blood.
It wasn't hers, thank the gods it wasn't hers.
Avoiding glimmers of sunlight in the kitchen, the front hall, he took the upper stairs two at a time and burst into the master bedroom to find...
No.
Not her.
Pole-axed, he stumbled, dropping to his knees next to the two broken women, one bleeding and still, one clinging to the other, rocking her, begging and sobbing and praying.
Willow's head shot up, teeth bared, a snarl on her lips, and her eyes black as night.
And Spike grabbed her shoulders, shaking her as hard as he could, trying to drive out the dark magic he could feel spinning out of her before it could take hold, before it would destroy them all.
"WILLOW!"
He shook her again, snapping her head back, his fingers digging into her arms but not causing her anymore pain than the death of the woman in her lap, and Willow whimpered. As her head rocked forward Spike saw with relief that her eyes were back to normal, full of pain and confusion and loss, but human.
"Tara," she sobbed, and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to his shoulder, letting her cry as Tara lay between them.
And only then did Xander's cries from outside filter through the broken window.
End