FIC: Answering Darkness

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 22

Leaving

Tara opened the door slowly, slipping into the house. 'Home,' she thought, a bittersweet smile crossing her face. In her early years, her mother had been her home. That house she grew up in held no memories she looked back upon fondly, except the ones revolving around her mother and grandmother.

This place was different, though. The house - the home - she lived in was full of happy times and laughter, pain and sorrow. It was just a place, technically, like any other, but Tara would always feel like this place where she and Willow had spent the summer caring for Dawn would always be her home.

And she was going.

"Hello?" Dawn called out, trying to discern who had walked in from her place on the couch.

"Hey, Dawnie," Tara said, walking into the room where Dawn and Spike sat, watching television and painting their nails. Spike relaxed when he saw that it was Tara, having tensed up and started to stand when he had heard the door.

"Hello there," Spike said, sitting back down and propping his feet up on the table.

"Hi Spike. Thinking of setting up your own beauty parlor?" she asked teasingly, as he went back to painting Dawn's nails a bright red, gingerly holding the brush so as not to smear his own black fingernails.

"It was Dawn's idea," he said indignantly. "I'm surrounded by the bleedin' Estrogen Brigade," he added in an undertone. They could take potshots at his masculinity all day long, and he wouldn't care. Much.

"Oh, absolutely. Definitely my idea," Dawn said firmly, nodding. "How was that?" she added in a whisper, looking at Spike.

"Very convincing," he said dryly, peeking up at her, then going back to her nails.

"What are you doing home so early?" Dawn asked, looking over her shoulder at Tara. She saw the smile fade from Tara's face, only to be replaced by a pained and uncertain look. "Did something happen with Willow?" she asked, a worried frown appearing on her face as the tummy rumblings started up again.

"Sort of," Tara said slowly, unsure of how much she wanted to share with the rest of the group. She wasn't sure, really, that the Trickster was Willow's source. Was she really prepared to panic the whole group over a theory? Even if that theory made perfect sense? "I'm going away for a few days," Tara said finally, figuring that was safe.

"What? Willow drove you away again, didn't she? She did spells, didn't she?" Dawn accused, pulling her hands from Spike and standing to face Tara.

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. "Willow's in a bad place right now, but she's … she's not really why I'm leaving." "Did I do something?" Dawn asked, her hurt evident in her eyes. "Is it because of the spell I cast? I didn't mean to - I mean, I … I just wanted to make things better, and it was just that once. I'd never do that again, now that I know …"

"'Course not, Dawn," Spike broke in, standing up and blowing gently on his nails, a worried frown on her face. "Tell her," Spike demanded of Tara, nodding at Dawn.

"He's right," Tara said, stepping into the room. "Of course you didn't do anything, and it isn't because of the spell. I found a few things researching, and I need to go pick up some books and notes and stuff my mother had. I'm just going to be gone a few days. A week at the most."

"Does Buffy know? Does Willow know?" Dawn asked, somewhat reassured by Tara's words, but not wanting her to leave. "I mean, there's a Hell God Construct running around, and … "

"No, they don't know yet. But these things will help," Tara said. "My mother had some books that we don't have at the magic shop. Some of them are … well, they're very old … and powerful, and I'm not even sure what's in them, really, but I think they'll help. No, I know they'll help," Tara said, a thoughtful frown playing across her features.

"You just know?" Dawn asked slowly. "Like you knew Buffy and Faith had switched bodies," she said, the words not a question.

"Kind of. It's just … a feeling," Tara said. "Well, then," Spike said, pursing his lips. "How are you getting there?" he asked reasonably.

"I … I'm taking the bus," Tara said.

"The bus. The bus? Do you have any idea what kind of sickos ride those busses? No, no … that won't do at all," Spike said, shaking his head. "That family of yours is bad news, and I would know. Oh, bloody hell - take my car, so you can get away in a hurry if you have to," he finished grudgingly.

"Spike, I couldn't," Tara protested.

"Oh, just take it," Spike said impatiently. "It's not like I ever get to use the bloody thing. I mean, sure, you'll want to clean all the stuff off the windows so you can see, but it runs. And it's not like you can't walk anywhere you want to go in Sunnydale anyway."

"Are you sure?" Tara asked.

"Of course. Wouldn't of offered if I wasn't sure. But… ummm… you'll have to wait awhile 'fore I can give you the keys," he said, holding up his hands and wiggling his polished nails. "I'm guessing you don't want to reach into my pocket and nick them yourself," he said, a wicked smirk on his face.

"Umm, no," Tara said, a blush stealing over her features. "I'll … uh, I'll just go pack a few things while your nails dry." Tara went up the stairs, disappearing from their view.

"Do you really think she might need to make a getaway?" Dawn asked in a whisper.

"She might, yeah," Spike admitted. "But don't you worry none. She's a witch and a big girl. She can handle them. No problem."

"But they're so … mean. I didn't like them," Dawn said.

"Mmmm," Spike said noncomittaly. "I'll … I should go help her pack," Dawn said, a worried look on her face.

"Your nails aren't dry yet," Spike pointed out. Dawn looked at him, indecision plain on her face. "Oh, go on then. Spend some time with her before she goes. I'll just … watch TV then."

Dawn nodded absently, leaving the room and heading up the stairs after Tara. If Tara had a feeling she needed to go, then Dawn trusted that, but she couldn't help but worry about Tara heading off all by herself. Cautiously, she peeked around the doorjamb as Tara was placing several shirts into a gym bag.

"Knock knock," Dawn said. "You need any help?"

"Dawn," Tara said smiling at the teenager. "I got it, but thanks. Come on in, though." Dawn entered the room, sitting on the bed and bouncing a few times, pulling her legs up and folding them beneath her. "Are you going to be all right, for a few days?" Tara asked.

"A week at the most, right?" Dawn responded, smiling brightly, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "What could possibly happen in a week?"

"Right. Nothing dangerous ever happens on the Hellmouth," Tara said dryly. "Promise me you'll be careful?" she went on seriously. "No sneaking out after dark? No ditching school? No skipping breakfast?"

"I promise," Dawn said, rolling her eyes, even as the concern warmed her. "But just for the week, right? When you're back, it's cool if I … I dunno … join a gang, get a tattoo, and stay out until four in the morning?" she asked brightly, an impish look on her face.

It was Tara's turn to roll her eyes as she grabbed sever pairs of pants from the dresser and put them in the bag. "Dawn," she said in a warning tone. "It's never okay to join a street gang, you can get a tattoo when you're eighteen and no one can legally tell you what to do, and you can stay out until four when you're married and have three kids."

"I can get a tattoo?" Dawn said incredulously.

"When you're eighteen," Tara reiterated, narrowing her eyes. "At a tattoo parlor that's safe and sanitary," Tara added, then had another thought and went on. "And if you get anything tacky, I'll get some sand paper and scrub it off."

"Ow," Dawn winced at the thought. "But I can get one? When I'm eighteen?"

"Yes," Tara confirmed, zipping up the bag and sitting down next to Dawn. "Any other urgent decisions that need to be made before I got?"

"Do you have to go?" Dawn asked quietly.

"Oh, Dawnie," Tara said, pulling Dawn into a one-armed hug. "I'll be back before you know it."

"A week at the most. You promise?"

"I promise, Dawnie," Tara stated firmly.

"You're not just going for the books, are you?" Dawn asked perceptively.

"No, I'm not. I need a little time, and some space," Tara admitted, working her feelings out in her head as she spoke.

"So it IS because of Willow," Dawn broke in, scowling.

"No, it's because of me, and what I need," Tara disagreed.

"I don't understand," Dawn said.

Tara took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she ordered her thoughts. "It's lots of little thing, kinda'. I have lots of things to work out, up here," she said, tapping herself on the forehead. "And … it's like, I live here now, right?" she asked, waiting for Dawn's answering nod. "I came here to Sunnydale, but in some ways, I never really left the house I grew up in behind. It's like I'm here, but - I dunno. Mentally? Emotionally? In some ways, I'm still there, and I don't want to be. I never really … I didn't have the strength to go back. There's kind of a difference between leaving someplace and just sort of … going to another. I never really left there … I came to Sunnydale, and to college. Now, I'm finally ready to leave there. Do you understand?"

"Umm … was that English?" Dawn asked, a small smile on her face. "Because you kind of lost me somewhere between Sunnydale and mental institutions. Or whatever."

Tara smiled, trying again. "It's like, if you go TO someplace, you're not really closing the door behind you. When you actually leave a place, you close the door. So, I'm not leaving Sunnydale. I'm just 'going to' my old house, so I can finally leave it."

"That kinda' makes sense," Dawn said, a little smile on her face as she noddd. "I like how it's all perspective-y and deep."

"I don't feel deep," Tara said, sighing.

"How do you feel?" Dawn asked, curious.

"Nervous. Jittery. I mean, I haven't been there in - what - two years?" Tara answered.

"I bet everything seems smaller," Dawn said sagely. "When I went back to my elementary school playground, everything seemed smaller."

"That's because you got taller," Tara said with a laugh. "I haven't grown."

"Yes, you have," Dawn said seriously.

"I - " Tara began, starting to protest, then pausing, her mind turning over the changes she had gone through in the past two years. When did you scared little girl grow into a confident young woman who faced demons and Hell Gods? Was she really that different? "Thank you, Dawn."

"You're welcome," Dawn said. "But it's not like I had anything to do with it," she said, standing up as Tara grabbed her bag and stood.

"I … I should get going," Tara said, her eyes downcast. "But not leaving," she added quickly.

"You better not be leaving," Dawn said, in a mock-threatening voice. "Or else, we'll just come and get you," Dawn went on, as they walked down the stairs. "Do you need anything else? Like, should you take some food, or…"

"I'm fine, Dawn. I've got everything," Tara said, patting her bag. She kept telling herself over and over that the faster she got going, the faster she'd be back, and yet she found herself reluctant to go. Was this what she was supposed to have felt when she left her father's house two years ago to go to college?

"Oh, keys … right," Spike said, standing and fishing in his pocket for the keys when he noticed Dawn and Tara had come downstairs. "It's parked near my crypt. I'd walk you over, but I look funny with a tan," Spike said with a sardonic smile.

"I could walk you," Dawn offered.

"Thanks, Dawnie, but it'll be dark by the time I get there. And no being out by yourself after dark. You promised."

"Okya," Dawn conceded. Tara hugged the girl close.

"I'll see you in a week," she said, giving a good squeeze, then opening the door. Spike flinched back in reflex as a stream of sunlight filtered into the house.

"Don't scratch my paint," he warned her. "I might not be able to kill you, but I'll think of something extremely horrible to do that doesn't involve attacking you directly and getting a migraine, so you drive safely."

Tara nodded, a small smile on her face. "Gee, I'll miss you, too, Spike," she said. "I'll be careful with the car."

"Well, while you're at it," Spike said, a scowl in place. "You might as well be careful with yourself too," he said shortly, moving back to sit on the couch. Tara smiled, then waved at Dawn, walking out the door.

"Well then, back to the nails," Spike said brightly, his eyes daring Dawn to bring up his strange 'niceness.' Of course, if she did, he would just point out that he wasn't actually being nice. Just polite is all. It certainly didn't mean that he gave a damn one way or the other about what happened to Tara. He just wanted to make sure his car got back, and it couldn't very well drive itself, could it?

"I don't feel like it," Dawn said glumly, flopping onto the couch.

"Fine by me," Spike said easily. "But don't look so down. She said she'd be back, and that one's word is as good as gold."

The ringing phone interrupted whatever reassurances Spike was going to add, and Dawn picked it up with a sigh. "Hello?" she said, a touch of impatience in her voice. "Oh! Giles!" she said, her tone brightening. "You got our messages? Buffy's not here right now. Great, but … what time is it there? What are you doing awake? Wait! I don't want to know, do I? No, on second thought, don't answer that question either." She paused, listening. "Uh-huh? Are you sure we don't have that book? Oh, yeah, okay. Okay, I'll write it down."

Spike grabbed some paper and a pen, handing them over to Dawn as she continued nodding. She made an occasional 'go on' noise, jotting down whatever it was Giles was saying. "Okay, I think I got it," she said. "Do you want me to have Buffy call you when she gets in?"

Spike peered over her shoulder, looking over the cryptic words and scratching his head in puzzlement.

"Any idea what it means?" Dawn paused again, and Spike leaned his head in, trying to hear what Giles was saying. "Oh, okay. Yeah, we'll work on it. No, I think you should talk to Buffy about that. Uh-huh. Good night, Giles. You should try sleeping sometime - it's good for you. Yes. Good Night."

"Good ol' Giles finally call in, eh?" Spike asked, reading the scrap of paper again. "What's all this, then?"

"Giles offered to take the next flight out of England. I told him he should talk to Buffy about that," Dawn said. "I mean, it'd be great to have him here, but it's kinda' like … you can only take someone leaving so much, y'know?" she said sadly.

"Buck up, nibblet," Spike said, frowning down at her, unsure of what to say.

"Anyway, he found this … I dunno … kinda' prophecy thing. He thinks it might be a reference to the Trickster, but maybe not."

"Hey - don't get all 'Scooby-All-Work-No-Play' on me here. You don't have to think about Hell Gods all the damn time, y'know. Now, if something's bothering you, out with it," Spike demanded. "If you keep it bottled up, well … that's bad."

"It's just …" Dawn said, trailing off, a miserable look on her face.

"Just what? C'mon, then - tell ol' Spike."

"Everyone's always leaving me," Dawn said, her voice choked.

"Hang on now, nibblet. You hang on right there. No one's leaving you, not on purpose. I mean, Tara just went, but that's because she's got a damn good reason, and she's going to be back as soon as she can. But no one's leaving you," he insisted, holding her shoulders and ducking down to look her in the eye.

"Dad left. Mom and Buffy … they left, too. And Giles, and now Tara's gone, and …" Dawn said, stopping as her voice broke.

"Look here," Spike said sternly. "Your Dad's obviously a rotter who doesn't know a good thing when he's got it. Your mum was a fine lady, and he's got these two great daughters. You're better off without him, if he doesn't have the sense to see how great you are. And your mum … she didn't want to leave you, but sometimes you don't have a choice. And in a way, she didn't leave you at all, because she loved you, and that will always be with you, no matter what."

"But I need her so much," Dawn whispered.

"Now, Dawnie," Spike said, pulling the girl into an awkward hug. "You'll get by. You've got lots of people who care about you, and you're a bloody smart girl with a lot going for her. You'd probably do fine on your own, if you had to. But you don't have to, and that won't change."

"Until someone else dies," Dawn said bitterly.

"Life isn't one big death after another," Spike growled. "Don't you dare think that. Not everyone in your life is going to leave you. Buffy came back, and so will Tara. You're just sad now because it's gonna' be a whole week, and that seems like forever when you're fifteen."

"Oh, so now I'm just the stupid little kid?" Dawn said angrily.

"Hey - I didn't say that at all," Spike said, frowning down at Dawn. "Don't twist my words. All I'm saying is, that Tara will be back, and you'll be fine, and that everything's going to be okay, all right? So, let's just watch some TV and wait for your sister to come home, shall we?"

Dawn nodded, blinking back the tears that had been welling up in her eyes, then sitting on the couch, swiping the remote control from Spike and smirking.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" he growled, content to let her have her victory as he propped his feet up on the table and leaned back. Maybe those sensitive talks weren't so tough after all.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 23

Support

Willow watched the shadows deepen from her seat on her parents' porch. Her slim body was wrapped up in a heavy blanket, shivers wracking her frame at odds with the light sheen of sweat upon her skin. A cold chill enveloped her, and her fist tightened and released convulsively around the flyer in her hand.

Only yesterday - how could it only be yesterday? - she had sat just like this on a park bench until the night and the demon had come for her. And, she knew, it would come for her again.

She should have felt safe, there on her parents' porch, surrounded by the familiar. At one point in her life, she remembered vaguely feeling like her parents would always protect her, and make her problems go away. That was before she had learned that her problems were her own, and no one could help her with them.

They hadn't understood, or maybe hadn't wanted to understand, the isolation of being brilliant - of being different. They had only taken this for granted, and given her an autonomy that required she use that intellect to take care of herself. Was that why she had such a hard time with this addiction now? She couldn't be sure, but it made sense in a purely logical sort of way - that she had been expected, because of her innate intelligence, to never falter or fail.

And she hadn't, until now.

At one time, she had felt sorry for the average Sunnydale resident. They walked along, blissfully unaware of the dangers of living on a Hellmouth. Blissfully unaware, in fact, of the very existence of a Hellmouth. But not her, no. Not Willow Rosenberg. She knew, and she fought.

There was some measure of comfort and control in the knowing. If she was only strong enough, and smart enough, and brave enough, the world wouldn't end. It was up to her, and not the vagaries of fate. Prophecies were discovered and unmade, apocalypses averted, and demons slain, all with her knowledge and assistance.

Then the unthinkable had happened. Buffy died. There was no slayer on the Hellmouth, and then it had truly been up to Willow. She had known her role as slayer support, and fulfilled it, and they had always won. But then the heavy mantle of leadership had fallen to Willow, and the world still needed saving. So she had dug a little deeper, tried a little harder, and led the Scoobies to more victories.

But at a price.

And now she didn't feel sorry for the average Sunnydale resident. She envied them. They went about their lives, concentrating on living instead of the impending doom. They took no risks, they paid no price, and at the end of the day, they slept soundly in their beds.

She, Willow Rosenberg, couldn't save the world. She couldn't even save herself.

Now she stood at the bottom of a pit, with slippery icky slimy walls. Everything she truly wanted was at the top. Her friends. Tara. College. Tara. Freedom. Tara.

Except power. Power was there with her in the pit. Power >was< the pit. From the bottom, she could incinerate demons with a word. She could keep her loved ones safe. She could feel in control.

The only thing she couldn't do, was leave.

Is that what she really wanted? To drag her friends into this pit, wrap them in wool, and keep them safe from the world? On one level, yes. But did she have the right to do it? Take away their freedom and give them security? No. A thousand times, no.

A sick feeling twisted her stomach, and she gagged, her empty stomach heaving, but nothing coming up. She had done that and more. Her need to control her surroundings had made her take away Tara's freedom, in exchange for her own security. Not for Tara, but for Willow. And it made her sick just to think about it.

What had she done? What had her - her hubris cost her?

Everything.

Dear God, it had cost her everything.

Except, somehow, it hadn't cost her a second chance. Her friends, even now, were standing around the pit, asking her to come out. Xander had even remembered to bring a rope, she thought with a humorless laugh, feeling the crinkly edges of the wrinkled paper against her palm and fingers.

What had made her think that might made right? That because she had the power to do something, she should?

She didn't know.

The whole world was a shadow now, the moonless night only interrupted by the occasional sprinkling of stars and the harsh orange light of a streetlamp. Night had fallen, and it had brought friends.

The dead were walking, right now, Willow knew. Demons and constructs and horrible things lived were out there.

But she had somewhere to be, and dammit, she was going to go, and no stupid demon or whatever was going to stop her.

"Let me just get changed," she said into the night, rising to her feet. She shuffled into the house, her blanket wrapped around her, the flyer still clutched in her hand.

She emerged again, and hour later, fresh from the shower, but still feeling shaky. She took the first step, off the familiar porch, then another, down the drive. Each subsequent step carried her along her path, taking her closer to what, in the metaphoric sense, would be her first step in her fight against the magic that controlled her.

The community center came into view all too soon, and her steps faltered. "The newness of the people," she muttered under her breath, edging a few steps closer, then taking a step back.

"Well, don't you look like hell? And I'd know," Spike said, stepping into the orange light.

"What are you doing here?" Willow asked, her voice growly and rough.

Spike scowled, and moved to sit next to her, Willow automatically scooting aside to make room. "Well, rumor has it that you have a meeting to attend," Spike said slowly. "And as your friends love you, they wanted someone to make sure you got there safe."

"Why you?" Willow asked, frowning. It would be so much easier if Buffy and Xander - and God, Tara … wouldn't it be nice if Tara showed up? - walked up right now and told her she was going. She would, too. If any of them came to her, they'd just march her inside, and she wouldn't have to decide.

"Because it has to be your choice, or so they said," Spike said, scowl firmly in place as he took a drag of his cigarette. "And as I don't give a damn one way or the other, they figured I was the 'no pressure' choice of escorts."

"Why do you do this?" Willow asked suddenly. "I mean, I know we keep you in money and blood and all that, but you hate us, y'know? I mean, you said so a million times, and I know you have a thing for Buffy, but why do you keep helping? Why do you keep showing up and running errands and being all - nice. And stuff," Willow trailed off lamely.

"Love makes you do crazy things, Red," Spike said slowly, his eyes pinned to the red glow at the tip of his cigarette. He watched the smoke drift into the air, making a lazy pattern, then disappearing. "It's like … I'm a vampire. Big Bad and all that. You - you're this smoke, you see? Full of sound and fury and signifying nothing."

"Shakespeare," Willow said, a delighted smile on her face. "Except I'm not loving the comparison," she went on, a frown setting on her features.

"Nothing personal, Red," Spike said with a smirk, amusement glinting in his eyes. "All you humans are. You're here such a short time. You have these whirlwind lives that leave this pretty pattern, and then - poof. Gone."

"I'm not seeing your point."

"Nevermind," Spike said, standing, and dropping the cigarette to the steps. He stepped on it, grinding out the fire with the toe of his boot. "I guess I'm just feeling pensive tonight."

"All self-analyzing-y?" Willow asked. "Me too."

"Well," Spike said, clearing his throat. "You going to this meeting, or can I go pick a fight with something?"

"Do you ever… ?" Willow began, only to stop. Spike looked on, expectantly.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you ever," Willow began again, gathering her thoughts. "I dunno. Do you ever just wonder - what's the point? Like, why do we put ourselves through this? Why do our friends even bother with us?"

Despite the vague question, Spike somehow knew what she meant. "Let me tell you something, Red. Life and friendships … it's all about what people can do for you. Your friends want something from you, and that's why they bother."

"Well, that's cynical," Willow complained.

"No, it's not," Spike said. "Because the best thing you can do for a person - what your friends want from you - is to love and to be loved. You're doing a shit job at both right now, and frankly, I think you're a nutter, throwing away a great girl like Tara."

"What?" Willow said, rising to her feet. "She left me," Willow shouted.

"No, you pushed her away," Spike said bluntly. "And you bloody well know it. And I know it. And you know I know it, so don't bother lying to me. You're a terrible liar anyway."

"God, I am such an idiot," Willow said, flopping back down and resting her head in her hands, the flyer dropping to the ground.

"Question is, now that you know what an idiot you are, are you going to continue being an idiot, or fix it?" Spike asked, picking up the flyer and shoving it at her.

"I thought you didn't care either way," Willow said slowly, taking the flyer and looking at it closely.

"I don't," Spike said, his voice curt. "I'm a big mean evil bad vampire, who is doing this as a favor for Buffy, because I want to get into her pants. Now will you stop questioning my motives, because I think they're pretty bloody clear, and choose."

Willow nodded, a slight smile on her face at Spike's agitation. As far as soulless vampires went, Spike wasn't all that bad. At least he was honest, which was more than she could say for herself right now.

"All right," Willow said, walking quickly to the door before she changed her mind. She stopped, then looked over her shoulder, seeing Spike standing just a few inches away.

"What? I figure I might as well go in and get warm, since I'll be walking you back," Spike said, his voice indignant. "And don't think you can tell me to take off, because I'm not going to lurk in the parking lot like a spooky vampire until you're done, so get used to it," he finished impatiently.

Willow merely nodded, and then opened the door.

She walked in, looking around the unfamiliar room, at all the unfamiliar faces, and hesitated. There were chairs set up, and a lectern, and a little table with coffee and snacks. It looked friendly enough - almost like a Scooby meeting. Only with alcoholics.

She stepped further into the room, looking about uncertainly as the other people mingled before the meeting started. She glanced at her watch, noting that things were due to start in about ten minutes. She scanned the seat, wondering if she should sit up front. She always did in class, but was this like a class? Oh, God, should she have brought a notebook? Pens?

"Hello," a kind voice attached to a kinder face said at her elbow. "You two are new," the old woman said, her brown eyes smiling at them. "Come in, come in. I know it's a little intimidating at first, but you're free to just up and leave any time," she went on.

"I'm … I'm not really sure …" Willow began slowly.

"What to expect?" the woman asked. "I'm Mary Ellen," she said, extending her hand.

"Willow," Willow said, taking the offered hand.

"Pretty name," Mary Ellen said. "Is this your boyfriend?" she asked with a smile that could only be called 'wicked'. "He's certainly handsome."

Spike let his annoyance at the boyfriend question slide, puffing up with pride at the woman's assessment of his dashing good looks. "I'm Spike, and I'm just a … friend," he said. Sure, friend was stretching it a bit, but he couldn't really explain that he was a vampire doing a favor for the slayer by escorting her pet witch to an AA meeting.

"Oh, yeah," Willow said, snapping out of her daze. "Definitely not a boyfriend. SO not a boyfriend," she said.

"She came!" an excited voice yelled from the corner, followed quickly by the rushing form of Dawn, racing over and giving Willow a great big hug.

"Of course she did," Buffy said, following at a more sedate pace behind her sister. When Dawn finally let go of a shocked Willow, Buffy pulled the redhead into a hug and whispered, "I knew you would. I knew you were strong enough."

Mary Ellen beamed at the group of young people. They had come in earlier, saying their friend might be attending the meeting, and wanted to know if they could stay to show their support. It always warmed her when loved ones cared enough to help. And in this specific case, with Willow Rosenberg, she knew a great deal of help would be needed.

"Where? How did - ? What are -?" Willow said, returning the hug weakly as he shocked brain tried to wrap itself around this new development.

"Add in a who, when and why, and I think we'll have it all covered," Buffy said wryly.

"Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the knife," Xander said, sneaking up behind Willow. She spun around, and Xander looked at her sheepishly, obvious tears welling up in his eyes. "Hey, Wills," he said, hugging his friend close.

"Xander, I -"

"I just thought … I just thought you could use some friendly faces," Xander said, sniffing. "I'm so proud of you."

"But I haven't done -" Willow began to protest.

"No, but you got here," Xander said, pulling back and grasping her shoulders. "That's so much more than so many other people do."

"Umm … Tara didn't …" Willow began to ask.

"She doesn't know you're doing this," Xander said kindly.

"And we can only stay for half the meeting," Dawn piped in.

"You're … you're gonna' go?" Willow asked, her voice trembling.

"It's all right, dear," Mary Ellen broke in, laying a comforting hand on Willow's arm. "We're holding a double meeting tonight. The first one is Open, which means friends and family are allowed to attend. The second is Closed, so it's just the alcoholics. You don't have to stay for the second meeting. In fact, you don't have to stay for this one. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, or if you feel like this group isn't right for you, you're free to leave at any time."

"Okay," Willow said, nodding. "Do I … do I have to … I don't know, sign in, or something?" she asked.

"No," Mary Ellen said with a smile. "We don't keep track of our members at all. This is completely voluntarily, and anonymous, so there's no pressure. You're always welcome at meetings, whether you come to every single one, or you've been gone for years."

"Thank you," Willow said, a shy smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, now THAT'S pretty," she said, returning the smile.

Willow blushed, then looked around at all of her friends. "Should we -" she began, then stopped, realizing that this was her show. Her friends were here to support her, not do this for her. She had to make her own decisions. "Let's sit down," she said, and the group followed her, finding a row and seating themselves.

The meeting began with little fanfare. An introductory speaker said a few brief words about the purpose and structure of AA, then other speakers were introduced.

They all said the same thing, but Willow was mesmerized. All the speakers, different people, with different backgrounds and experiences, spoke of how their addiction controlled them. They spoke of how the alcohol ruled their lives, interfering with their jobs and families. Different people, with so much in common, stood and told their stories, and it was as if Willow herself was speaking.

They talked about how they felt when they drank: free and powerful when they were, in fact, out of control and weak. Willow knew the feelings. She knew the loss. She knew these people, as if they were related somehow, through their common problems.

Some of the stories were hopeful, full of success and strides. Some were hard to listen to, as people told of the destruction they had brought upon themselves. But all were the same.

One speaker in particular caught Willow's attention. They closed her speech with words she had heard before, though she didn't recall where. When the man started the words, the rest of the room chimed in, saying them in unison.

"God grant me the Serenity, to accept that which I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference," they said, the words seeping into Willow's mind. She mentally tacked on a 'without magic', and felt that the words fit somehow.

The meeting wrapped up, and a hat was passed. Willow looked on, wide-eyed. She >knew< she was supposed to bring something.

"It's voluntary," Xander said, placing a few bills into the hat and passing it down the row. "There aren't any actual dues."

"I still should have brought something," Willow whispered back, frowning.

"You didn't know, Wills," Xander said, standing and stretching as people he noticed other people moving from their seats and starting to mingle.

"I am never touching alcohol," Dawn said, as she, too, rose.

"Good," Buffy said with a satisfied smile.

"That's why you let me come to this on a school night, isn't it?" Dawn said suspiciously.

"Ya' caught me," Buffy said with an unrepentant grin. "How you doing, Will?" Buffy asked, looking down at the seated redhead.

"It's so strange," Willow said slowly. "It's like, they know me. Like they know exactly what's going on in here," she finished, tapping herself on the forehead.

"So you think this could help you?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, I … I think it just might," Willow said, a smile crossing her face. "I … I feel kinda' … hopeful."

"It was depressing," Spike muttered, his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped. He stared at the floor, not looking up at the Scoobies who glared at him.

"It was not depressing," Xander said slowly.

"Then how come you cried, Mr. Manly?" Spike rejoined.

"Spike," Buffy said in a warning tone. "I'd hate to get dust all over this carpet."

"Oh, sure. You need a favor, it's "Hey, Spike … walk Willow to her meeting,' but I express one opinion, and it's 'I'd hate to get dust on the bleedin' carpet,'" Spike complained, scowling and patting his pockets. "We staying or going?" Spike asked testily, looking at Willow.

"I - I'm not sure," Willow said.

"Just being here was great, Willow. If you want to go home, we'll walk you," Xander said quickly.

"I … I kinda' … I think I want to stay, at least for awhile," Willow said.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike said, leaning back in his chair and sighing.

"What is your problem?" Buffy asked, glaring at the vampire.

"Oh, like any of you lot can claim a drinking problem. That means I get to stay and make sure Willow gets home safe," Spike mumbled.

"Willow," Mary Ellen said, approaching the group. "You staying?" she asked, curious. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I need to know how many chairs to set up."

Willow looked over at Spike, a question in her eyes. With an annoyed look, Spike nodded grudgingly. "Yes, we're staying."

"So make that two chairs," Spike said dryly.

"Oh, are you …?" Mary Ellen asked.

"Yeah, I got a drinking problem," Spike said sourly.

"It's not required that you stay. This only works if you want it to," Mary Ellen said kindly.

"No, I'll stay," Spike said, a small smile making the corner of his lip twitch when he saw Buffy silently mouth 'Thank you' at him.

"We're really proud of you, Willow," Buffy said, hugging her friend as she, Dawn, and Xander prepared to leave.

"Thank you guys so much for being here. It … this really meant a lot to me," Willow said, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You know we'd do anything for you, Will. We're just really glad you're taking these steps to help yourself," Xander said, getting his own hug. "But … we need to talk tomorrow. Scooby stuff," he whispered in her ear.

Willow nodded solemnly, noting the serious look on Xander's face.

They said their goodbyes, and Willow stood there, shifting nervously. Now that it was just her - and Spike - she wasn't so sure she could do this. Would she have to introduce herself? Oh, God … would she have to talk about her problem? This was a public place. If she spoke, that would be public speaking. She voted a big 'No' on public speaking.

"Relax," Spike said, as they all moved to the new arrangement of chairs, sitting in a circle in the center of the room.

"I can't relax," Willow whispered. "There's going to be speaking, and I'm new, so they'll want me to talk, and I can't talk in front of people - especially people I don't know, because they're going to think I'm an idiot and I'm not sure what exactly I could say. 'Hi, I'm Willow, and I magic is ruining my life. My girlfriend left me because I cast a spell on her to make her forget we had a fight about how much magic I was using.'"

"They won't force you to talk," Spike said as they sat down. "Just join in if you want to."

This meeting started much like the other one, with a shorter introduction, and then individuals telling their stories. Some were clearly shy and more comfortable talking to the smaller group, and this made Willow feel marginally better.

They went around the circle, some people just introducing themselves, others telling about their difficulties, their decisions to stop drinking, and the little things that had gotten better since they stopped. When the person to Willow's left was through, all eyes turned to her.

"I, uh … my name is Willow," she said, stopping to gather her thoughts. "I … ummm … I have a problem. But you all know about that, really. I've been listening to you all night … well, of course I've been listening all night - it's not like I have cotton in my ears or something," she joked. "But - it's like, you all know exactly what I'm going through. Which, you do, because you're going through it, too. I mean, not the exact - but still the same and I think I'm done now."

The group smiled at her and nodded, politely moving their attention to the next person in the circle as Willow let out a relieved breath. She'd managed to keep it down to minimal babble. As she was congratulating herself, she had the horrid realization that Spike would speak left.

"Name's Spike," he said, scowling at the room. "Been dry about a year," he went on, pausing to acknowledge the congratulations that came from around the room. "I drank for a long time before that, though. It was … everything. It's what I thought of when I woke up, and it's the last thing I did before sleep. I - I couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. But I did, and why isn't really important, is it?" he asked, a smirk forming.

Willow shifted uncomfortably, the only person in the room who knew what Spike was talking about. Something about the meeting took on a sinister air as Spike continued.

"I used to write poetry, you know," he confided, his lips twitching at Willow's surprised look. "Didn't know that, did you? Well, I fell in love with a girl. Wrote her awful poetry. Just, bloody awful. In fact, that became a little nickname of mine. People called me 'William the Bloody' because I wrote 'bloody bad' poetry," he went on, a self-mocking smile on his face.

Something seemed to buzz in Willow's brain as Spike continued, a little tingling that started off innocently enough, but spread.

"So, this girl wouldn't give me the time of day, you know?" Spike went on. "Too far above me, and all that rot. And the mockery continued. One guy even told me he'd rather have a railroad spike driven through his head than to listen to any more of my poetry," he said with a smile Willow knew well. It was the one he wore right before he was about to bite someone.

It occurred to Willow, that these people were all in danger. There was a vampire in their midst, and they didn't know it. They could be slaughtered like lambs, and it would be just like Spike to give up giving up his 'drinking problem' in a setting like this.

"So I fell in with a bad crowd. We'd go out and drink all night - sleep all day. I met a girl in that group. Dru. She really understood me. She really loved me. But we broke up, and drinking wasn't as much fun without her."

Was Druscilla here? Willow looked around the room, as if expecting the vampire - vampiress? - to step out of thin air and start killing people. Had Spike found Dru again? Did she figure out a way around Spike's chip?

It was certainly possible. And the way Spike was smirking and smiling evilly, as if he had something horrible planned, it seemed even likely. She had to do something. Anything. She couldn't let these people all get killed.

Willow's mind cast around for a plan. She was no match for Spike. There was no way she could take him on, but what else could she do?

Four different spells immediately jumped into her brain, each perfectly capable of ending Spike's unlife and saving these people from his torment.

Mary Ellen rose from her seat silently as Spike continued to talk. She knelt in front of Willow, placing a hand on her arm and rubbing it gently. Willow looked up, her scared panicked eyes looking into Mary Ellen's sad ones.

"He's tricking you. See the truth," Mary Ellen whispered, and Willow jolted out of her reverie. Confused, she looked across the circle, seeing Mary Ellen still sitting in her seat, looking at Spike with a compassionate expression.

A strange noise assaulted her ears, and Willow slowly turned her head, seeing Spike … having a breakthrough?

Willow blinked, then blinked again. Spike was crying. No, Spike was sobbing.

"And - it's like … I've never been good enough," he finished, leaning against the man next to him who patted his back gently. With a final sniff, Spike sat up, wiping at his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Willow sat frozen in her seat. She wasn't sure which was more disturbing - that she had almost given in to her addiction at a meeting she went to for the purpose of helping with her addiction - or Spike bawling.

"Equally disturbing, in different ways," she whispered to herself, wondering what had just happened to her. Spike hadn't been smiling his 'I'm gonna' kill something' smile … he'd been sniffing and crying, and she'd missed most of it. And he was no threat. His chip was firmly in place, and hurting people would have caused him much more pain than it was worth.

So why had she seen things so differently? And had Mary Ellen really crossed the room, or was she going completely insane?

Lost in her thoughts, Willow didn't hear the rest of the meeting, but no one seemed to mind. Numbly, she stood, trying to figure out what had happened. Clearly, something of the mystical Hellmouth variety had just gone on. The Trickster? But why would he want her to kill Spike?

"Willow?" Mary Ellen said as people began filing out the door.

"Huh? Oh! Hi!" Willow greeted, returning to her surroundings.

"I just wanted to give you this," Mary Ellen said, handing over a card. Willow glanced down at it, the words familiar, with a subtle change.

"Goddess grant me the serenity to accept the things I should not change, Courage to change that which I should, and Wisdom to know the difference," Willow said quietly, reading aloud. "That's … that's not the serenity prayer," she pointed out needlessly.

"I know," Mary Ellen said, a mysterious smile crossing her face. "But I think this is a little more appropriate for you, don't you think?"

Willow nodded dumbly, unsure of what to say.

"My phone number is on the back. Call me if you need anything, day or night," Mary Ellen said, before walking off.

Willow stared as Mary Ellen left, a million questions racing through her brain. Mary Ellen certainly didn't seem dangerous - just like, a nice old lady. But appearances could be deceiving on the Hellmouth.

"If you tell anyone … ANYONE … about this," Spike said in an undertone as he tugged her out the door and started walking to Willow's house. "I'll buy a gun and take the pain that comes when I pull the trigger."

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 24

Tara and Anya's Excellent Adventure

"Tara!" Anya called, running up to the blonde and stopping, bending over, hands on her knees as she gasped for air.

"What is it?" Tara asked, her eyes wide as she turned, the squeegee in her hand flinging water in a wide arc. Anya recoiled, getting a face full of sudsy soapy fun, and spluttering. "Did something happen? Is everyone all right? Willow?" she questioned as Anya wiped her face, a resigned expression settling itself there.

"Well >that< was an auspicious start," Anya muttered. "Everything's fine," she reassured Tara, taking the squeegee from her hand and beginning to industriously clean the last of the strange black substance off the windows of Spike's car.

"I can do that," Tara protested, trying to retrieve her squeegee, only to be pushed aside with a none-too-gentle bump of Anya's hip. "Are you sure everyone's okay?" Tara asked suspiciously, taking a hint and stepping back.

"Yes, everyone's fine. I mean, as far as I know. This IS Sunnydale. They could have all been vamped for all I really know. Except the sun isn't quite down yet, and I'm pretty sure they're all inside."

"Then how come you're here and not at the shop?" Tara asked nervously.

"I closed the shop for the night. For the week, actually," Anya said casually, a frown on her face.

"What? What happened?" Tara asked, visions of demon mayhem wrecking the shop running through her mind.

"Well, Xander found Willow, which is good. Then I told him you were leaving town, so I told him about the possible Trickster angle. Then Dawn called in a panic, because she got a weird message from Giles. Apparently, the Watch-But-Do-Nothing-Even-If-The-World-Is-Ending Council found some kind of prophecy thing hidden in the ravings of a madman, and they're translating it now," Anya explained.

"That still doesn't tell me why you're here," Tara protested. "Or why you closed the shop when there is money to be had."

"Don't," Anya said in a warning tone, waving the squeegee at Tara, "mention the 'm' word."

"Who are you and what have you done with Anya?" Tara deadpanned.

"Shut up and drive, Wicca Girl," Anya scowled, tossing the squeegee and opening the passenger side door of the car. "No taunting me," she insisted, sliding into the seat and slamming the door.

Tara stared, nonplussed. She opened the door and sat behind the wheel, looking over at the ex-demon. "Did … did you need a ride home?" Tara asked curiously.

"Oh, definitely," Anya said. "Xander packed me a bag."

"A bag?" Tara asked, starting the car and pulling it smoothly away from the curb.

"Right. We're going to be gone for at least a few days, right?" Anya asked.

"We? No, no no … " Tara said, shaking her head. ">I< will be gone for at least a few days."

"Oh, but I'm going with you," Anya said innocently. Or, as innocently as she could manage. "Didn't I mention that?"

"No, you did not mention that," Tara said, pulling up to Anya and Xander's apartment.

"There's no way you're going alone," Anya said carefully. "I know you can manage just fine without another Scooby along, but Scoobies stick together," she insisted with an emphatic nod. "Dawn has school, Buffy has slayer duties, Xander has a job, and Willow - well, you're doing this partly to take some time off from her, so that leaves me. Oh - and Spike has that spontaneous combustion problem. And I'm self-employed, so I've already made arrangements to close the shop for the week."

"But -" Tara began to protest.

"And I have this," Anya proudly proclaimed, holding aloft a cell phone and waving it at Tara. "So if there's any kind of emergency, everyone can get ahold of you. Wouldn't you be worrying yourself sick over how everyone is doing on the Hellmouth without you?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"No 'buts'!" Anya interjected. "I am going with you and you no longer have a say in the matter."

"Anya, honey," Xander said, bounding up to the car, a bag in his hand. He knelt next to the car and leaned in the open window, stealing a kiss.

"Did you pack the -?" Anya began to question.

"Yes," Xander said with an indulgent grin.

"What about the -?"

"Yes."

"And that thing with the -"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Xander assured her. "I have packed everything you requested in my uniquely manly yet domestic manner."

"Oooh … like how you cook breakfast in that frilly apron?" Anya asked, a delighted smile on her face. "I want to be there next time you pack a bag for me," she declared.

"Sure thing, sweetie. Hi, Tara," Xander greeted belatedly.

"Hi Xander," Tara said weakly. "Thank you both, but I really don't need -"

"Yes, you do," Xander said, a serious look on his face. "Well, you don't, but - " Xander trailed off, gathering his thoughts. "Tara, we're your friends. You're going back to someplace you haven't been in two years, and while we all know that you're perfectly capable of doing it on your own, why not have a friendly face with you if you can?"

"Anya, do you really want to give up a weeks worth of money?" Tara asked, changing tactics.

"Well … " Anya hedged.

"Anya," Xander said in a warning tone.

"I - but Xander … she brought up the money! It's not fair that she brought up the money! All that beautiful nice-smelling bits of paper that can be exchanged for goods and services," she finished wistfully. Tara let a triumphant grin cross her features, only to fade away at the look of resolve that took over Anya's face. "But friends can't be purchased with money, and you're my friend, and I don't have very many of those, so I'm going."

"I -"

"And I have the phone! See the phone! It's small and portable and will allow us to communicate with friends and loved ones who may experience mortal peril in our absence."

"Okay."

"So it's very important that the phone and I accompany you on -"

"I said 'okay'," Tara said, an amused smile crossing her face, even as her heart was warmed by the friendship these two offered. She was so very thankful that their friendship had remained, even when her relationship with Willow had self-destructed.

"Well, then," Anya said with a cheerful smile. "Let's go on our Excellent Adventure before I think about the money some more and change my mind."

"Bye, Honey," Xander said, leaning in for one last kiss. "Bye, Tara. We'll call if anything happens, but you two call if anything happens on your end, too, okay?"

Tara nodded, then pulled away from the curb, heading out of Sunnydale.

"'Excellent Adventure'?" Tara finally questioned after several minutes of silence.

"Oh, yes. Like Bill and Ted, only neither one of us says 'dude', or is in possession of a time-traveling phone booth," Anya said.

"Xander made you watch that movie?" Tara asked incredulously. "That was >extremely< unkind of him."

"We've been going through all the classics in alphabetical order, so I can become well-versed in human pop culture," Anya explained. "Oh! I'm an ex-demon, and you thought you were a demon, so that has to count for something, right? That can take the place of Bill and Ted's surfer-boy demeanor."

"And the phone booth?" Tara asked, playing along.

"A vampire's car is a much better mode of transportation than a future-guy phone booth," Anya said. "Because we're not trying to travel through time. And while we don't have a history report, we have a Hell God to research."

"We could start a band," Tara added. "We could call it 'Wyld Demons'."

"And neither one of us can play the guitar, so it's perfect," Anya jumped in excitedly. "And our music can bring about the closing of all Hellmouths, thereby ensuring the safety of future generations."

"There you go. We'll save the future with our badly played 'Wyld Demons' music and spout pithy phrases like 'Be Excellent to Each Other'."

"Don't forget to party on, dude," Anya added with a giggle.

Then Tara started giggling.

They both laughed, letting some of the tension of the upcoming trip ease, the sound echoing through the car as they passed the sign marking Sunnydale's city limits.

As the laughter died down, Anya replayed the conversation in her head, a puzzled expression on her face. "That wasn't actually funny. So why were we laughing?" she asked.

Tara's only response was to grip the wheel as she laughed harder.

"Are you laughing at me?" Anya asked uncertainly. "No, of course not," she went on as Tara laughed helplessly, her body shaking. "Xander explained friendship to me, and you're my friend, so you wouldn't laugh at me. You must be laughing with me, only I don't understand the joke."

Tara's laughter eased off as the genuine distress in Anya's tone filtered through her mind. "It's just … how much sleep have you gotten in the last few days?" Tara asked.

"Not much," Anya admitted. "Lots and lots has happened."

"Exactly. So, when people are tired, things seem much funnier than they are. Then there's the stress."

"Stress?"

"Yes," Tara said, nodding. "We haven't been sleeping because of all the things that have been going on, and the things are scary and dangerous. That creates a lot of tension. Laughter helps ease that, so we're more likely to find little things funny when we're under pressure."

"Oh, so, we think Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure is actually funny because Willow's dark source is a Hell God?" Anya asked bluntly. "That kind of makes sense," she added with a giggle. "I mean, it's clearly the best movie Keanu Reeves has ever made. Except maybe for The Matrix, because that was nice and violent."

"Can we - umm … can we not mention the whole 'Hell God' thing for awhile?" Tara cut in.

"Sure," Anya cheerfully agreed. "What would you like to talk about instead? I could tell you stories about my Vengeance Demon days," Anya offered excitedly.

"Those stories are a little … gorier than I'd like right now," Tara said tactfully, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Well, it's all fake violence, really. Like in the movies. Because none of it ever happened in this reality. Once Giles destroyed my amulet, all the wishes were reversed," Anya explained.

"How much would that have changed?" Tara mused.

"Oh! Oh my God!" Anya burst out suddenly, making Tara start, the car swerving wildly on the deserted highway.

"What?" Tara asked, her eyes wide as she regained control of the car.

"I didn't eviscerate your many-greats grandfather!" Anya explained.

"What?" Tara asked again, her tone startled.

"Well, I did … it just never really happened, because my amulet was destroyed. Which means, that wish didn't come true," Anya said, a feeling of relief washing over her.

Wordlessly, Tara pulled the car over. She quickly hit the hazard lights, then put the car in park. Slowly, she turned to face Anya.

"Start again. At the beginning, please," she requested.

"Remember when we were researching the Dark Sources, and we talked about witch burnings?" Anya asked. Tara nodded. "And I talked about that white witch who wished her husband wouldn't hurt her daughter anymore?"

"I remember … that w-was … they w-were … related to me?" Tara questioned uneasily.

"Yes," Anya answered.

"H-how do you know that?" Tara had to ask. Her great something grandmother burned at the stake? It made sense, sort of … could that be where the demon legend of the MacClay women had originated?

"That crystal - the one you dropped at the shop. After telling that story, I recognized it. The daughter, Fionna, wore it," she explained. "I didn't notice before … I just … I didn't know if I should tell you," Anya hastened to add.

"Fionna?" Tara asked weakly. "That w-was my mother's name."

"It couldn't have been your mother," Anya said. "It was … at least a hundred years ago. Some of the years in there kind of run together."

"I … It's a family tradition. We're named for our great-grandmothers," Tara explained.

"I, umm … I thought the magic came through your mother's side?" Anya asked tentatively.

"Yes. Yes, it does," Tara confirmed absently, her mind racing. Her great-great-great-grandfather had been eviscerated, but not? His wife, her grandmother a few times removed, had been burned alive? Tara shuddered, then rolled down the window, suddenly feeling warm.

"But her name was MacClay. Fionna MacClay. So she was on your dad's side," Anya reasoned.

"My father's name is Roberts. Steven Roberts," Tara said in a monotone, facing forward and starting the car up again.

"But I thought - " Anya began, only to trail off, a confused look on her face.

Tara put the car in gear, moving back onto the highway before answering the unasked question. "H-he let you all call him 'Mr. MacClay' because h-he didn't w-want to explain. The w-women in my family have kept the MacClay name for hundreds of years. They people in the area know that any w-woman named 'MacClay' is … evil," she explained in a broken, halting voice.

"Maybe you should pull over again," Anya suggested, unsure of what to say to this revelation.

"No, I'm fine," Tara insisted, staring grimly ahead into the night.

"Tara … I'm … I'm so sorry," Anya said, feeling the words were completely inadequate, but having some kind of irrational need to say them anyway. "You're not evil. You're the most non-evil person I know."

"I know that, now," Tara said, nodding slowly. "But I always thought … I always thought that one day I'd …"

"Go nuts and wreak the evil havoc on your poor unsuspecting town without the guidance of the strong menfolk?" Anya offered up.

"Something like that," Tara admitted, her lips twisting into a wry grin. "But when you put it like that, it sounds kind of …"

"Stupid?" Anya said helpfully.

"Yes, stupid," Tara acknowledged with a sigh.

"It's not so stupid, though," Anya said. "You were raised to believe it your whole life. Your mother believed it, and her mother before her. You had no reason to question it - no reason to doubt."

"Until I came here," Tara said with another nod. "Then I had all the reason in the world. I wanted it to not be true so badly, but I knew - I knew, deep down - that I was just lying to myself. That I was being selfish. How could I have been so wrong?"

"No, how could your father have been such an asshole," Anya corrected. "I bet you were scared more than anything. That you knew you weren't evil, but thought 'what if'. 'What if' you really were a demon, but you didn't stay with the people you thought could control you? It's because you're such a good person - and I mean, >sickeningly< good - that it worked. You almost went back."

"But I didn't," Tara said firmly. "I got out. And now I'm going to pick up the last of my mother's things, and then I'm never going back again."

"Umm … Tara? Are you sure your father would have kept them?"

"He couldn't have thrown them out," Tara said.

Anya looked skeptical. "He … didn't seem the sentimental type."

"No, he couldn't have. They're protected," Tara explained.

"Oh!" Anya said, comprehension dawning. "You mean magically."

"Yes," Tara confirmed.

Silence fell over the car, nothing but the empty highway and the glow of their headlights before them.

"So," Anya said, pressing her hands together. "Are we there yet?"

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 25

Doorways

Willow walked cautiously up the path to the door, her footsteps hesitant. A wave of sadness washed over her. This had been home, and now … now it was … not.

She and Tara had been so happy there, before she had gone and ruined everything. She wasn't sure exactly why she had been asked to come over, except that Xander had mentioned Scooby stuff the night before and Buffy had left a message on her parents' answering machine asking her to come over after her classes.

Would Tara be there? Would Tara very pointedly Not Be There? Willow wasn't sure which prospect scared her more. After the - interlude? heavy make-out session? bad magick attack? - at the Magic Box, she was more confused than ever about where, exactly, she stood with her ex-girlfriend.

"Ex-girlfriend," Willow whispered aloud, standing in front of the door. Knock? Go in? "Never thought I'd have one of those," she muttered. Ring the bell?

Willow regarded the closed door thoughtfully, the weight of her loss settling over her shoulders. This never used to be a door. Doors could be closed. At one time, she had thought it was more of a … an archway. Or a path. She was free to walk it every single day.

Now it was a door. And closed. Closed to her.

Like Tara.

She couldn't open the door, no. She couldn't just open it up and walk in like nothing had happened, because things had happened. Bad things - things that were her doing. And that's probably what hurt the worst: that she had been the one who had made it a door.

But doors could be opened, couldn't they? If she just knocked, or range the bell … or kinda' loitered until someone walked by … the could be opened. But someone on the inside had to open the door. They had to want to let her in. She wasn't sure she had that anymore.

No, she knew she didn't. But maybe, one day …? When she wasn't the kind of person people didn't want in their living rooms …?

Willow shook her head, reaching out a hand and pressing her finger to the doorbell. "What the frilly heck am I talking about?" she said to herself. "Or, not really talking - more of a thinking thing. Except now. Now I'm talking to myself, and isn't that a sign of insanity? Or does babbling not - hi!"

"Willow," Buffy said, holding the door and stepping out of the way. "Come on in. Xander should be here any minute."

"I got your message," Willow said. "Well, obviously, I got your message, because I'm here. Not that I've never stopped by before, but what with the … things - the bad things, and all, I would've called first, if I was just stopping by."

"Sit down, Will," Buffy said with a half-smile at Willow's nervous ramblings.

"Right. Sitting. That bendy-knee thing," Willow went on, sitting on the couch. "I'm, umm … I'm not in trouble, am I?" she asked uncertainly. Buffy's message had been fairly vague. "I mean, I know I am, but … I'm not for any new stuff, right? Not that there's any new stuff," she went on quickly. "No - nothing new … just classes, and no magic. Well, there was that kind of bad moment when I realized I didn't have a pen with me, but I just borrowed one. No conjuring at all, because that's not my thing anymore. Totally magic-free."

"It's okay, Willow. You're not in any trouble," Buffy reassured her, sitting down.

"So why'd you call? Not that you need a reason or anything, and -"

"Nervous much?" Buffy said kindly, humor evident in her voice. "Look, Willow - we're all really proud of you right now. There's just some Scooby stuff we need to go over."

"Oh, good," Willow said. "Yay Scooby stuff. Definitely down with the Hell God free zone here," Willow said, nodding.

Buffy clasped her hands in front of her, wishing like crazy that Xander would show up already. He had some news of the Hell God variety, but hadn't shared it yet, and the only thing Buffy could think of was the fact that Tara had left town, and she was pretty sure that wasn't a topic she wanted to be the one to broach to Willow.

"So, where's Tara?" Willow asked as casually as she could, her gaze flitting across the room landing on everything but Buffy.

Buffy looked up sharply. "Tara?" she asked weakly.

"Yeah, you know - Tara," Willow said, her eyes finally finding Buffy. "Blonde, Wiccan … really cute. We used to date."

"Oh, that Tara," Buffy said. "She's not here."

"She's not? Is she at the magic shop?" Willow asked, then shook her head, holding up a hand to forestall Buffy's answer. "Never mind. That's not fair to ask, is it? I mean, it's not like I have the right to know what she's doing every second of every day. Or even any second of any day. Not anymore," she finished her eyes watering.

"Willow," Buffy began, taking one of Willow's hands and holding it between her own. "I -" Buffy stopped, unsure of what to say.

"Buffy?" Willow asked, fear evident in her voice. "Did something … happen? Tara's okay, isn't she?" Willow stood abruptly, panic rising up when Buffy didn't answer immediately. She began pacing. "She's not sick or hurt - not in the hospital? Oh, God … is she in the hospital? We need to be there," her voice raced on, her feet carrying her towards the door at her last words.

"Willow - she's fine. She's not in the hospital. She's not sick and she's not hurt," Buffy said, finding her voice to reassure Willow.

"But something's … wrong? You have that look on your face," Willow accused, pointing a frantic finger at Buffy. "It's the 'I can't tell Willow what's going on because she'll freak out' face!"

"I do not have a 'I can't tell Willow what's going on because she'll freak out' face," Buffy protested.

"Well, maybe not that one exactly," Willow hedged, wringing her hands together. "But you do have I 'something's happened but I don't know what to say' face, and you're definitely using it!"

Buffy took a deep breath, looking down at the carpet. "Tara left," she admitted bluntly.

"Left? Like, she went to the store or something …?" Willow asked, her mind trying to reach any conclusion but the obvious one.

"No. She's coming back," Buffy went on quickly, realizing that Willow must be thinking the worst. "She'll be back," she said again. "But she's going to be gone maybe a week."

"Did she say why? Or where? It's … God, I can't believe I >did< that," Willow said, rubbing her face with her hands and remembering how they had parted the last time she had seen Tara.

"She and Anya found something. She needed some of her mother's things."

"Some of her mothers … ?" Willow asked, her body going completely still, a slightly dazed look on her face. "She didn't … she's not …" Willow began shaking her head from side to side. "No … she can't … she couldn't have …"

"She went back to her father's house," Buffy spelled out Willow's fear.

"But - they … they think she's evil. She can't be around them. They're bad for her," Willow argued, going over every reason why Tara couldn't have possibly done exactly what Buffy said she had.

"The same could be said for you," Buffy's voice echoed unnaturally in the room.

"What?" Willow asked, a look of profound hurt and stunned disbelief on her face. She knew Buffy was right, but she had never expected her friend to actually say that to her.

"I said, maybe what's she's going for is worth it," Buffy repeated herself, a concerned look on her face. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine," Willow said weakly, confusion evident in the expression on her face as she let her suddenly numb legs bend slowly, finding the couch and a seat with one hand. Gingerly she sat, looking at her friend. "You said that what she's going for is worth it? That's all you said?"

"Yeah," Buffy said slowly. "What did you think I said?"

"Nothing," Willow lied, frowning.

"Hey, kids," Xander said, coming into the house. "Are we all ready for our Scooby update."

"Tara left town," Willow said starkly.

"I know," Xander said with a nod. "She and Anya found some things and Tara wanted some stuff her mom had. She thinks it will help."

"When did you know?" Willow asked, standing up again.

"Huh?" Xander uttered.

"When did you know? When did she leave? Why didn't you tell me?" Willow demanded, advancing on her friend.

"I knew last night. She left last night. And I didn't tell you because you've got more important things to think about right now," Xander said soothingly.

"Nothing is more important than Tara," Willow stated in a low controlled voice. "I can't believe you didn't tell me. And you just let her go? Alone?"

"Well I told you now. And it's not like a 'let' her go … what was I supposed to do? Sit on her? Tie her up and toss her in the basement?" Xander responded curtly. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, his features softening. "I just - I didn't really know what to do. Anya went with her, so she's not alone, and you had that meeting, and I just -"

"No, I'm sorry," Willow said, slumping back into her seat, her anger leaving her as abruptly as it had come. "Just … that's a kinda' big thing, y'know? And I wanna' know that stuff when it happens, not a day later, okay?"

"I promise," Xander said solemnly.

"And Anya went with her?" Willow asked, fighting valiantly against the little kernel of jealousy that sprung up within her.

"Yeah. We knew you wouldn't want her to go alone, and that … well, we figured a friendly face wouldn't hurt," he explained.

"So what's the big Scooby discovery?" Buffy asked, changing the uncomfortable subject.

Xander somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable. "It's bad," he said slowly.

"Xander, what is it?" Willow asked, seeing the slightly sick look on his face.

"Look … Tara and Anya don't know for certain. It's just a theory," he cautioned.

"Xander - could you just spit it out?" Buffy asked impatiently. "Kinda' needing the 4-11 on the Hell God."

"It's …" Xander paused, taking a big breath. "Tara and Anya think that maybe … maybe this Trickster guy is Willow's source," he explained.

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked with a frown as all the color in Willow's face drained away.

The room seemed to cave in around Willow as Xander's words sunk in. The air felt heavy and think, and Willow's lungs labored to pull in the needed oxygen to keep her functioning. The room shifted then swam before her eyes.

"It means that - " Xander began, only to stop and stare at Willow as she fell over on the couch. "Willow?"

"Oh, God, Willow?" Buffy said, quickly moving from her seat to kneel in front of Willow and checking her pulse as Xander leaned over the unconscious redhead and began patting her cheek gently.

"Come on, Wills," he said, panic evident in his voice.

"Huh?" Willow said, her eyes blinking rapidly as she flinched away from the hand patting her face.

"Jesus - don't do that," Xander demanded.

"What he said," Buffy added, sitting back on her heels and taking a shaky breath.

"What?" Willow asked, her mind trying to wrap itself around her suddenly horizontal position, then inexorably drifting to the last time she had done that - only yesterday. Only, yesterday, there had been Tara kisses and fun things. This wasn't nearly as fun. "Did I … faint?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, yes you did," Xander informed her. "And there will be no more of that, young lady," he said, wagging a finger at her.

"Did you eat anything today?" Buffy asked with a frown, placing a hand on her forehead. "You're not running a temperature."

Willow frowned as she replayed the days events in her mind. Waking. Dressing. Class. Break. Class. Break. Class. Parents' house. Here. "I think I forgot to do the food thing."

"No replacing magic with an eating disorder," Xander said sternly, wagging his finger again.

"Food! I can do food," Buffy said quickly, standing up and jogging into the kitchen. Willow sat up, her head spinning slightly at the change of altitude.

"Easy there," Xander said, catching her by the shoulders when she faltered.

"Why don't we have any food?" Buffy called from the kitchen after the sound of cabinets being opened and closed carried into the room.

"You know, Willow," Xander began, his voice gentle. "You never could do anything right. Why did you think magic would be so different? You've screwed up everything but school, and - who but you gives a damn about that? Oz, Tara … they left you because you're so inadequate. I don't think either one of them really ever loved you. Oz pitied you, and Tara was just overcome by the attention."

"What?" Willow squeaked. "You can't mean that," she protested, her eyes wide.

"Of course I do. You're a total failure in everything that's ever mattered. If your magic was so great, why couldn't you just save Buffy in the first place? Why did she have to die? And don't even get me started on the whole 'Tara brain-sucked' thing. That was your fault, too," Xander said seriously, his voice taking on a mocking tone as it echoed through the room. Willow put her hands over her ears, flinching back from her lifelong friend and shaking her head violently. "Tara's such a great girl, and you screwed it up. We all love her. In fact, we like her a hell of a lot more than we like you. Why do you think Buffy kicked you out and asked her to stay?"

Willow stood, her whole body trembling as she ran for the door on shaky legs. Xander followed her, his longer stride letting him catch her and spin her around before she could escape. Each word was like a blow, and Willow's body jerked like she had been struck.

"We never really liked you. We just needed your hacking skills. Then you showed us that a witch could take care of those things. Now, we have a likeable witch. We don't need you. We don't want you. You shouldn't even be here," Xander went on.

"No!" Willow yelled, pushing Xander away from her with all the force she could muster. "We were friends," she cried out, tears streaming down her face. "How can you say that?" she demanded. "How can you say that to me? How >dare< you say that to me?" Willow's eyes shifted to black, magic tingling within her as the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end.

Willow looked at Xander's stunned face as he lay sprawled on the floor, and with an effort, she turned and opened the door, running into the night and slamming it behind her.

"What's going - ?" Buffy asked, running into view.

"I don't know," Xander said, struggling to his feet. He opened the door, and ran outside after Willow. "But I'm going to find out," he called over his shoulder.

Willow stumbled as soon as she reached the street, her hurt and anger settling in her belly like a physical ache. With a groan, she doubled over, falling onto her knees. Her stomach rebelled, and she vomited, hot streams of magic pouring from her mouth and spilling onto the street.

"Willow," Xander called, kneeling next to her.

"Get away from me," Willow hissed, turning her head and glaring at her onetime friend.

"Willow, you need help," Xander said slowly.

"Like you care," she spat, before turning and heaving again, more inky black filth issuing forth.

"Oh, God, that's nasty," Xander said, a green pallor rising up onto his face as the angry stench of the - whatever it was - hit his nose. Willow continued vomiting, her pain and anger draining as the fluid left her body, leaving her lying limply.

"What the hell was that?" Buffy asked, kneeling beside Willow and lifting her into her arms.

"No," Willow protested, attempting to free herself, but only succeeding in wriggling slightly.

"I have no idea. I was just telling her that there was no way we were letting any Big Bad have her - Hell God or not - and she just kinda' … flipped out. She started saying things, like 'how can you say that?'" Xander explained as they walked back into the house. "I have no idea what she meant," he finished weakly.

Buffy nodded, letting Xander get the door, and walking inside. Carefully, she laid Willow down on the couch, pulling a blanket over her.

"Buffy?" Xander said slowly.

"Yeah?"

"I think we're in way over our head here," he admitted. "I mean, the meetings were great and all, but did you see … that stuff?" he asked, waving his hand towards the door.

"Yeah, I did," Buffy said, a thoroughly disturbed look on her face. "That was … really gross, and really … scary."

"So what do we do?" Xander asked, a plaintive look on his face.

"I - " Buffy began, stopping when the phone rang. "Hello?" she said into the receiver. "Giles!" she exclaimed, a look of relief on her face. "Oh, God, it's so good to hear from you."

"Giles?" Xander asked, a wide grin spreading across his features. If there was anyone who would know what to do, it would be Giles. And they had to do something. Xander shuddered, as he tried to imagine going through the things Willow was clearly experiencing. Or not so clearly experiencing, like this most recent thoroughly confusing episode.

"No, not now. That's not important. Look - there's something really wrong with Willow," Buffy said urgently. "She's … it's like she's sick. She's been off the magic, but she … she kinda' … threw up this … stuff. Smelled bad, all black and icky. No, it wasn't normal vomit," Buffy insisted after Giles' interjection. "Yes, I'm sure. Normal vomit doesn't do the crackly electricity thing."

"What's he saying?" Xander asked, moving closer to Buffy, an expectant look on his face.

"Look, Giles - we need to help her. We don't know how to help her." Xander nodded, agreeing with Buffy's assessment of the situation, even though Buffy wasn't paying attention and Giles couldn't see him through the phone. "Mary Ellen? How do you know Mary Ellen?" Buffy asked incredulously. "We met her at the AA meeting Willow went to last night," she explained. "Okay … hold on," she said, grabbing a scrap of paper and a pencil. "Okay, go ahead," she said, jotting something down. "Great - we'll call her right now," Buffy said, with a relieved smile.

"Mary Ellen?" Xander asked incredulously. "She knows about this stuff?" Buffy nodded absently as she continued listening to Giles.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said flatly. "No!"

"What?" Xander asked urgently, only to step back when Buffy glared at him.

"I'm sick and tired of this, Giles. First Dawn, now this. I won't have it! No!"

"Oh, God," Xander said, stepping back again, trying to distance himself from what he was sure was going to be extremely bad news.

"I know," Buffy said, weary defeat in her voice. "Look, I need to call Mary Ellen. Yes. Okay. Good-bye."

"What's going on?" Xander asked when Buffy hung up the phone.

"Apparently, Mary Ellen is a seer. Full-on white witch. She shops at the magic shop, so Giles knows her," Buffy explained.

"Tell me the bad part, Buffy," Xander said seriously.

"It seems the Trickster needs the descendant of the witch who defeated him to let him out of Hell," Buffy whispered. "So it looks like he's going to be seriously after Willow, because she's some kind of doorway for him. Giles only has a partial on that prophecy thing - they're still working on it."

"Buffy - no … that can't … I mean … damn."

"Yeah, that about sums up my feelings on the subject."

"So now what?" he asked uneasily.

"I have no idea."

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 26

Through Hell

"I could be driving through hell itself, and I'd have no idea," Tara mused aloud. The headlights, even on high, barely illuminated the road in front of her. Rain fell all around, but the highway was straight and deserted, and she really didn't care that she was driving too fast. She had somewhere to go and somewhere to get back to, and a sense of urgency that propelled her forward as surely as her foot pressed onto the gas pedal.

It was day two of the Road Trip Through Hell, as Tara had taken to mentally calling it. Or, technically, it was night two, as they had slept a good portion of the day away and were pushing on to the next town to make up the time. Of course, they really didn't need to make up time, as they had ended up driving most of the night the night before.

The night before had certainly been interesting and given her plenty to think about. But right now she didn't want to think about it. She wanted the peace and the quiet, but the rain had a strange effect on her that leant itself towards introspection. Without her consent, her mind turned towards the phone call they had received the night before.

"Hello?" Anya asked, having fumbled for the cell phone and gotten the thing open. It rang in her ear, causing her to start once again. She pulled it away, pressing a button, then lifting it to her ear again. "Hello?"

She paused, clearly listening to whoever was on the line. Tara's heart pounded in her throat, at both the startling suddenness of the phone call, and worry about why they were being called in the first place.

"Did something happen with the shop? Is the money all right?" Anya asked quickly. "Well, you said all the people were fine, so I assumed something had happened to my money," Anya she replied to whatever was being said defensively.

Tara let out a relieved breath, vague images of Willow or Dawn … or any of the Scoobies, really … being attacked by some shadowy demon leaving her mind at Anya's words.

"Oh. She went? Really?" Anya asked, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. "That's … that's wonderful, Xander," Anya said, her smile growing. "I know how much that meant to you."

Tara smiled too at the obvious love in Anya's voice. It was clear that something good had happened to Xander, and that Anya was sharing in his joy.

"I love you too," Anya said, an uncharacteristic look of devotion crossing her face, making Tara wonder if this Anya - this woman who was so clearly in love - was the one Xander was used to seeing. "But this call is costing money, so I should go. Call if anything else happens."

Tara smirked. Now >that< was the Anya she was used to.

With a little sigh, Anya disconnected the phone, turning to beam at Tara.

"Something good happened?" Tara asked, hoping the conversation had finally turned away from Willow.

"Oh yes, definitely," Anya said.

"What?" Tara prodded when it seemed Anya wasn't going to continue.

"Willow went to her first AA meeting tonight," she announced.

"What?" Tara asked. "But Willow doesn't drink," she said, that being the first thought to pop into her mind.

"Oh, I know … but she clearly has a problem with Dark Magick, so the overall situation is similar, if not exactly the same on the specifics. It was Xander's idea."

"So Xander made her go to a meeting?" Tara asked, part of her hoping this would help the Willow she had fallen in love with come back, the other part failing to see how forced attendance at an AA meeting would accomplish that.

"No," Anya said, shaking her head. "Xander says he's read a lot about AA over the years," Anya said, her words making Tara's thoughts turn to Xander's confession about his own parents' alcoholism, and she suddenly understood why this was so important to Xander. "The only way it works is when it's voluntary," Anya explained. "So Xander just gave Willow the flyer and told her to think about it. Apparently, she showed up, and Xander and Buffy and Dawn and Spike were already there to show their support. Willow didn't know they were going to do that. She was pretty surprised."

Tara nodded, her mind envisioning a nervous Willow working up the courage to go to a meeting by herself, and the relief and gratitude she must have felt when she saw her friends there. An irrational stab of jealousy cut through her at the thought that the rest of the Scoobies had gotten to be there for Willow while she, herself, was driving through a storm.

"Did you know about this when you came and found me?" Tara asked.

"I knew that Xander had given her the flyer, and that he was going to go, but I didn't know everyone was going to be there. He must have gone over to Buffy's and told them what was going on."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tara wondered aloud.

"Xander and I discussed it. We didn't think … we didn't want to get your hopes up, or have you get disappointed in Willow if she didn't go," Anya explained.

"Maybe I would have wanted to be there," Tara said, even as she asked that question of herself. Would she have gone if she had known? Would that have helped Willow, or hurt her? She would have liked to have gone, but would that have just thrown them back into the uncertain ground where each had no idea where they stood with the other?

"Would you have gone?" Anya asked curiously.

"I don't know," Tara confessed.

Anya dozed beside her, occasionally stirring when a deep roll of thunder would cut through the patter of the rain. Intermittently, a flash of lightning would flare bright against the outline of the mountain peaks in the distance, the electric lines of blue dancing across Tara's vision for a few moments after they had passed. The brief glimpses of the barren landscape all around the highway stayed with her until the next flash.

It certainly could be Hell. With the emptiness and the darkness and the storm all around, it wouldn't surprise her to learn that was exactly what Hell looked like.

"Who am I kidding?" she asked the rain. "This >is< Hell," she mumbled bitterly. Here she was, driving away from the home she had made towards the nightmare she had left behind, with the cruel knowledge in her mind and heart that the one person she had trusted above all others had lied to her and manipulated her. She had to clamp down on the urge to drive about forty miles an hour faster and just let the Goddess decide whether or not she was going to make it to the next town.

"This isn't Hell," Anya said groggily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, then hawning hugely. "It's 'Middle of Nowhere California,' but I can understand why you'd get the two mixed up. The only difference really, is that Hell has more people in it."

"I was just … thinking out loud," Tara explained weakly.

"Yeah, well, stop thinking gloomy dark things," Anya demanded. "It's weird and eerie and goes against the natural order of things."

"Why do I always have to be Ms. Pollyanna Sweetness and Light?" Tara shot back.

"Because you >are< Ms. Pollyanna Sweetness and Light," Anya said reasonably, even as she tried to figure out what a 'polyanna' was. "Should I put the Spice Girls back on?" Anya offered helpfully, reaching for the tape deck. "We were having fun singing along, and I'd much rather be having fun than not."

"I still can't believe Spike had that in here," Tara said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself.

Anya let a little triumphant grin appear at Tara's returning good humor, but said nothing, preferring to gloat in silence, just this once.

"I really figured him for more of an ACDC kind of guy. Or Ozzy Ozborne," Tara said.

"He thinks Ozzy Ozborne is a wannabe wanker, and not really evil at all," Anya said. "We talked about it once. You know, like each of us would come up with a person, and we'd debate 'Really Evil, or just Unpleasant By Human Standards'. In fact, we play that game every time we end up stuck in the same room with each other."

"So who qualified for really evil?" Tara asked, instantly curious.

"Most serial killers," Anya started, trying to remember how the conversation actually went.

"Only 'most'?" Tara asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah," Anya said, as if Tara hadn't previously known that two and two equal four. "Like that one guy who said that his dog told him to do it. True Evil knows no shame."

"Didn't he 'shamelessly' blame his poor innocent doggy?" Tara asked.

"True. But dodging responsibility is more pathetic than Evil. It shows a lack of dedication. That's why really Evil bad guys just kill minions who try to shift blame when something goes wrong," Anya explained.

"Okay," Tara said, nodding. "So who else?"

"Well, Willow came in on the conversation once, and put forth Bill Gates," Anya said, staring thoughtfully out her window at the rain and missing the look of hurt and longing that crossed Tara's face at Willow's name. "At first, Spike and I were skeptical, but she made a great case."

"So who else?" Tara asked with forced cheerfulness, desperately trying to get the subject off of Willow.

"Tara?" Anya asked, something in Tara's tone making her look up sharply at the driver. It was clear to her that her ill-thought-out mention of Willow was bringing back Tara's gloomy mood, and that just wouldn't do.

"Yes?" Tara asked, forcing a smile and glancing over at Anya.

"Everything's going to be okay," Anya said firmly.

"Everything? Which everything?" Tara asked, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Global warming? We'll fix the ozone layer?" she asked, warming up to the topic and getting on a roll. "Gay marriages will be legalized everywhere? Hot dogs and hot dog buns will have the same number of edibles in their packages? Britney Spears will be exposed as a no-talent cock-tease?"

Anya blinked, taken aback by Tara's words. "Did you just say 'cock-tease'?" she asked incredulously.

A warm flush crawled up Tara's neck. "Umm … yes?" she answered uncertainly. "Can we talk about something else?" she asked, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Sure," Anya said, going back to her original topic. "I meant that everything will be all right between you and Willow, and that we'll get this whole Hell God thing sorted out."

"It's not that simple," Tara protested on a sigh.

"I never said it would be simple - I just said it would all work out," Anya clarified. "I mean, you two are just like Xena and Gabrielle."

"We're lesbians?" Tara asked, trying and failing to find a connection. "And how do you have all this free time to watch TV?" she wondered.

"I make time," Anya said proudly. "I'm trying to learn more about how humans interact. I mean, I've been human for several years now, but I still sometimes feel like I'm saying or doing the wrong thing. Did you know that while humans say they value honesty, they lie constantly?" she asked, curious as to Tara's opinion on this phenomenon she had noticed. "It's like, they're all bitter and angry when they're lied to, but when it's >them< doing the lying, then it's okay. That really doesn't make any sense to me. It's easier to just tell people exactly what you think at all times."

"I - I guess … it really depends on >why< the person is lying," Tara said slowly, wondering what Anya's point was. "What's your point?" she finally asked, realizing the best way to find something out from Anya was to just ask her.

"No point, really," Anya said cheerfully. "It's just something I've noticed on TV, that's all."

"Ummm … okay," Tara said, nodding. A conversation with Anya, she had learned, was an adventure. It's like Anya had a map that led to her point, but one never knew whether she was going to just jump right to it, or take the long and winding scenic route to get there. Not that Anya was the type to hem and haw around a point - she'd just get caught up in her honest curiosity about existing in a human society. Which, Tara supposed, was pretty understandable, given her background.

"Anyway, you two are definitely lesbians, but I was talking about how you belong together, like Xena and Gabrielle do."

"If the word 'soulmate' comes out of your mouth, I may have to gag," Tara warned, feeling like this was a topic she really didn't want to discuss with Anya right now. "And it's a bad idea to make the driver gag."

"You don't believe in … that thing?" Anya asked curiously, avoiding the word.

"It's just … overused, like 'soulmate' this and 'soulmate' that is everywhere you turn around. I think that if there is such a thing, it would be really really rare," Tara explained.

"How come you get to use the word and I don't?" Anya complained. "Nevermind," she said quickly, "because I have a point here. It definitely exists, and it's definitely rare. It was always a great coup in the Vengeance world when you could get two souls that were destined to be together to betray the other, because it would stay with them in each reincarnation until they worked out the issue. That's why you two need to work this out - because it's going to stay with you."

"Willow and I aren't … I mean, we love each other, yes, but … " Tara protested weakly.

"Bull. Two witches who just happen to end up on a Hellmouth and work magick together stronger than they do apart? And I mean the light stuff, not the heavy dark stuff. Willow totally took a shortcut there, but come on," Anya said. "That has 'Fate' written all over it."

"I don't care if it has 'Fate Was Here' tattooed on its ass," Tara said, her voice dropping in volume on the last word as she squirmed a little in her seat, uncomfortable with her own swearing. "That still doesn't change what Willow did to me."

"Xena wanted to kill Gabrielle's baby, Gabrielle lied to her, then Gabrielle pretty much killed Xena's son, then Xena dragged Gabrielle halfway across Greece tied to the back of a horse, and everything worked out for them," Anya pointed out.

"My life is not a TV show!" Tara said testily. "And Xena didn't ever take away Gabrielle's choices, did she? Everytime Gabrielle wanted to leave, Xena let her, didn't she?"

"You were going to leave Willow?" Anya asked incredulously. "I thought you two were just fighting."

"That's not the point. The point is, we'll never know if I was going to end up leaving her. We'll never know if that fight would have resolved itself, or if it would have broken us up, because Willow took away my ability to make an informed choice on the matter, and that really pisses me off!"

"That's good," Anya encouraged her. "Let out your feelings. You've got to vent."

"Don't tell me you watch Oprah, too?" Tara said on a sigh, feeling her anger drain away from her, leaving her feeling empty and hollow inside.

"Xander has it set up so the VCR records it," Anya explained. "And you're going to forgive her," Anya went on relentlessly, as Tara mentally threw her hands in the air, realizing there was no way she was going to be able to change this subject before Anya had her say. "Because you're just like Gabrielle. You're just full of goodness and light and love."

"How come Willow gets to be Xena?" Tara muttered with a little frown.

"Because she's done terrible things that she may never forgive herself for, even if you do," Anya pointed out. "Now that she realizes just how wrong she was, and just how badly she hurt you, I'm not sure she'll ever get out over it."

Tara blinked, her mouth working soundlessly as her eyes teared up. Sometimes … sometimes Anya surprised her. They'd be having a perfectly ridiculous conversation, and suddenly, something would come out of her mouth that just nailed her between the eyes with the suddenness of it. For someone whose experience with humans consisted mostly of wreaking havoc in their lives, Anya's peculiar insight and way of looking at things was … dead on. She was, Tara realized with a sinking heart, right.

"Of course, that makes Buffy and Xander Hercules and Iolaus," Anya went on, working out the parallels as she went. "And Spike is … well, Spike is … Callisto," she went on. "And I get to be Salmoneus! That noble and dedicated man, travelling the countryside and bolstering the Ancient Greek Economy."

And sometimes, Tara thought with a relieved little giggle at escaping the heaviness of Anya's previous words, Anya was totally predictable.

"Can we turn the Spice Girls back on?" Anya asked hopefully, finally sensing that Tara wasn't necessarily enjoying the parallels between the Scooby Gang and Xena: Warrior Princess like she was.

"Sure. Which one?" Tara asked with a relieved grin. If anyone had ever told her she would one day feel relieved to be putting on the Spice Girls, she would have laughed in their face.

Anya handed over a tape merely labelled 'Spice', and Tara popped it in. She needed some mindless entertainment right now, and she meant that in the loosest sense of the word 'entertainment'. Though, she had to admit inwardly, there was something inherently funny to her about listening to an ex-Vengeance Demon who used to grant wishes belting out, 'Tell me what you want, what you really really want!'

Anya bounced excitedly in her seat, then composed herself, waiting for the first song to start. The intro to 'Wannabe' started up, and Anya and Tara started bouncing in unison, Tara occasionally taking one hand off the wheel as they did the synchronized choreography they had worked out the first two times they had played through the tape.

"Isn't there something wrong about enjoying this so much?" Anya finally asked into the silence once the tape was finished and Tara thoughtfully rewound it.

"Usually, I'd say yes. Enjoying the Spice Girls is wrong. Very wrong," Tara said, nodding at her own point. "But since we're planning on teasing Spike with it, I'd say it's for a good cause."

"Good," Anya said, nodding firmly. "I'd hate to feel bad about enjoying this."

Tara opened her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a shrill little ring.

Anya jumped in her seat, letting out a little shriek, causing Tara to jump.

"Hello?" Anya asked, remembering to hit the button first this time. "The people? The money?" she asked before Xander could get a word in, assuming it was Xander.

Tara's heart raced again, as she figured it would every time the cell phone rang. Anya had been right. It certainly was handy to have the phone around, but every time it rang, she assumed the worst, and her imagination ran away with itself, offering up scenario after scenario, each more horrible than the last.

"Ewww," Anya said, a sick look on her face. "Black crackly stuff? Right in the street?"

"What is it?" Tara asked, the color draining from her face. "What's going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Anya said, looking over at Tara with a frown and covering the mouthpiece of the cell phone. She quickly turned her attention back to the phone conversation when Xander's voice continued on in her ear. "Uh-huh. So what did you find out when Mary Ellen got there?"

"Mary Ellen?" Tara asked. "Who's Mary Ellen?" she demanded.

"Shh!" Anya said. "No, not you, Xander. Chatty Tara needs to be quiet so I can hear what you're telling me."

Tara gripped the wheel, clenching her jaw, wondering if she should just pull over. Had something happened with Willow? Maybe this whole trip thing had been a stupid idea. Maybe she should just pull back.

"But she's okay right now, right?" Anya asked for confirmation.

Tara clenched her jaw tighter, clamping down on the questions that were demanding to be let out. She knew that she needed to let Anya talk, so she could find out what was going on, but she wanted to know now.

"Anything else I should know?" Anya asked after a good long pause in which Tara guessed Xander had explained most of the situation. Anya nodded several times, even though Xander couldn't see her, as the sound of the rain echoed unnaturally in the car.

"All right. I'll tell her," Anya said. "I love you," she finished, then disconnected the phone.

"What is it?" Tara asked, a feeling of dread washing over her.

"It's Willow," Anya said bluntly.

"Is she all right? Is everyone else all right? She didn't hurt anyone, right?" Tara asked rapidly.

"She's fine, everyone else is fine," Anya reassured Tara. "She had some kind of weird episode. She was just talking with Xander when she kind of freaked out and tried to run away."

"What?" Tara asked incredulously, wondering what could have happened to make Willow run from Xander.

"Anyway, it was pretty bad," Anya said. "Xander says he has no idea why she reacted like that. They were just talking, and then - Bam! Willow flipped."

"That's … that's really not good," Tara said. "Did she use magick?"

"No, and apparently, that was part of the problem," Anya said slowly.

"No, that's good," Tara insisted. "Willow shouldn't be using magick."

"I know, but she had a kind of … a Dark Magick build-up, I guess. There was lots of it in her system, and it wanted out. She ended up running outside and vomiting Dark Magick into the street. Mary Ellen cleaned it up."

"Oh, Goddess," Tara breathed, her heart aching for Willow. "We should go back," she said, firmly, slowing the car down.

"No," Anya said quickly, placing a hand on Tara's arm.

"Willow needs me," Tara insisted. "This … this is … much worse than I expected."

"Yes, it is," Anya agreed. "But that's because of The Trickster. They've pretty much confirmed that he's the source, so getting your mother's things is probably more important now, right?"

"I - " Tara began, indecision washing over her. Rush to Willow's side? Go after her mother's things? What, honestly, could she do for Willow right now? Was she even positive that her mother's things could be of any help?

Yes, she was. She didn't know how, but she was sure.

"Give me the phone," Tara demanded, speeding back up. "I want to talk to her," she said.

"She's sleeping right now," Anya said. "Xander says she looks terrible, and she really needs the rest."

"Who's Mary Ellen?" Tara finally asked, replaying the conversation in her mind.

"She's a witch. You've seen her, actually. She shops at the shop. Older woman, really colorful sweaters. Apparently, she's sponsoring Willow in AA. They called Giles when Willow flipped out, and Giles said to call Mary Ellen, so she knows her stuff."

"Giles said so?" Tara asked.

"Yes," Anya assured her.

"I guess … I guess that's okay, then. So what did Mary Ellen have to say?" Tara asked.

"She's a seer, apparently," Anya started to explain.

"Wait a minute," Tara said quickly. "She's not addicted to Dark Magick too, is she?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

"No, of course not," Anya said. "We wouldn't let another Dark Magick user within a mile of Willow if we could help it. No, she's actually an alcoholic, but she knows about Dark Magick addiction. She recognized it in Willow right away, apparently, and was able to trace Willow's magick to its source."

"How? If Willow hadn't been casting, there's really no way to do that kind of a trace," Tara said, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.

"That's part of the problem. There's a steady stream of dark power from The Trickster into Willow," Anya confessed.

"But … that's impossible," Tara protested. "Those take time to build, no matter who is doing the building."

"I know," Anya said. "Mary Ellen says it looks like The Trickster has been building a connection from his end for years."

"Years?" Tara asked. "What other Dark Magick has Willow been doing that I don't know about? She wasn't doing that before I met her, right? I mean, she wasn't when we met, so how could she have … ?"

"They don't know yet," Anya said with a sigh. "They're looking into it."

"So what >do< they know?" Tara snapped. "I'm sorry," she said, immediately contrite. "I'm just … scared. And worried. And … Goddess, why does this all have to be so complicated?"

"It's okay," Anya said. "I know I'd flip out if Xander had somehow called the attention of a Dark God," she went on soothingly, her words having the opposite effect.

Tara merely nodded, waiting for Anya to continue.

"Okay, let me try to get this all right. Telling you in bits and pieces isn't really working," Anya said. "The Trickster is definitely Willow's source. She had an episode during her meeting and Mary Ellen noticed it, so she figured out who Willow's source was. Then she had another episode with Xander, and they called Giles. Giles said to call Mary Ellen, then Mary Ellen showed up."

Tara nodded, having gotten that much already. "So what, exactly, is an 'episode'?" she asked warily.

"The Trickster is clouding Willow's perceptions. He's twisting what's going on around her to make it seem hurtful or threatening, trying to tempt her into using Dark Magick. Mary Ellen did some kind of divination, and she saw this kind of lingering dark cloud all around Willow."

Tara's eyes went wide. "Oh, God. How long has that been going on?" she asked.

"They don't know," Anya answered grimly. "They just know that she was afraid that Spike's chip had stopped working at the AA meeting, and that she thought Xander was saying really awful things to her at Buffy's house."

"Can they stop it?" Tara asked.

"They're going to try to, once she wakes up," Anya said. "But they're not sure they can."

"But if they can't stop it, Willow could … she could hurt someone," Tara said, the awfulness of the situation washing over her, leaving her with a sick taste in the back of her throat.

"They know. They're doing all they can," Anya said. "And we're going to check your mother's things to see if there's anything useful in there."

Tara nodded, her face ashen. "What else? I'm sure there's more," Tara said, dread washing over her.

"Well, you know how Dawn is the Key?" Anya asked, not sure how to explain this next part and keep Tara on task at the same time, knowing the wiccan would want to immediately turn the car around.

"Is Dawn all right?" Tara asked quickly.

"She's fine - everyone fine," Anya repeated.

"Then what is it? I don't like it when you stall, Anya. It makes me very nervous."

"It's … you know how we think Willow is the descendant of that witch who closed the Hellmouth in the first place?" Anya asked, unable to keep herself from stalling again.

"Yes," Tara said slowly.

"That gives Willow a certain amount of power over The Trickster. Like, if Glory suddenly showed up again, Buffy would have extra power against her, because Buffy defeated her."

"So … Willow can stop him?" she Tara asked. "That's … that's good news, right? I mean, she could keep the Hell God from coming to this plane, right?"

"Well, yes, theoretically," Anya said. "But the point is, The Trickster really shouldn't be able to affect her at all, and we don't really know why he can."

"Please tell me that's it. Please tell me that's the extent of the badness," Tara pleaded.

"The Trickster needs Willow to open the Hellmouth. If he can trick her into opening it, he gets in," Anya finished with a sigh.

"That's it. We're going back," Tara said firmly.

"Tara, we really can't," Anya insisted. "Your mother's things. Focus on your mother's things, and how they'll help Willow," she said.

Tara took a deep shuddering breath, then nodded mutely, her face grim.

Without a word, Tara firmly pushed the Spice Girls tape back in, but neither woman sang along or did the choreography.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 27

Hope

Willow woke slowly, groaning at the soreness of her abdominal muscles. She felt them tighten, then spasm, and then she was leaning over the side of the bed, blindly grabbing the strategically placed bucket and vomiting that nasty black crackly stuff.

"Okay, Ewww," Dawn said, peeking into the room. She really wasn't sure if she should walk over and help Willow, or run away. Willow progressed to dry heaves, her eyes watering as she gagged. With a few gasping breaths, she sat up, then doubled over as coughs racked her body.

"Ewww," Dawn said again, wrinkling up her nose and walking gingerly into the room. She sat carefully next to Willow, grabbing a glass of water off the nightstand and handing it over. Willow gratefully accepted the water, taking a few ginger sips.

"Yeah, eww," she finally agreed when she could get words past her throat.

"Okay, so are you going to be doing this for a long time, or … ?" Dawn prompted, grabbing a box of baking soda off the nightstand and dumping some into the bucket. Immediately, a hissing sound was heard, then subsided.

"What was that?" Willow asked, her natural curiosity moving past the "ick" factor.

"Magick Baking Soda. Mary Ellen kinda' infused it with witchy goodness," Dawn explained, putting the box back down. "It neutralizes the … ewww stuff, so that it isn't dangerous."

"Oh my God … it's dangerous?" Willow asked weakly, fear and guilt filling her eyes.

"Hey … it's not nearly as dangerous in the bucket as it is in a spell, okay?" Dawn said soothingly, rubbing Willow's back. "Of course, if you'd just pick the right spell, you could have Tara back. It was totally dumb of you to get caught and drive her away."

"Okay," Willow said wearily. "Is this that stupid Trickster thing again, or are you just being a teenager?"

"Huh?" Dawn asked, pulling back to look at Willow.

"I guess that answers that question," Willow said, falling backwards onto the bed with a sigh. "Why am I here?" she asked suddenly, her brow furrowing and her lips pulling into a frown.

"We're not going to have one of those deep and meaningful philosophical conversations, are we?" Dawn asked, her eyebrows raising.

"No, I mean … >here< here … in … uhh … Tara's room," Willow explained, her heart tripping over the idea of calling this 'Tara's room' instead of 'our room.'

"Because you're sick, and we're going to take care of you until you're better," Buffy said, walking into the room and standing next to Dawn, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Aren't we?" she asked, looking at her sister.

"Oh, definitely," Dawn said, nodding vigorously. "You just stay here until you're feeling better. Do you need anything? Food? Blankets?"

"Urk. No food, please," Willow said, her guts roiling and her nose wrinkling up.

"You need to keep your strength up, Wills," Buffy said kindly, directing a worried look at her friend.

"No, I …" Willow said, her mind turning over exactly how she could avoid putting food into her upset tummy. "I have to go to class!" she blurted out in a panic, the thought suddenly striking her. She threw the covers aside and swung her legs over and moved to stand, only to be interrupted by a slayer hand smack dab in the middle of her chest.

"No," Buffy said, her lips pursing. ">You< need to lie back down and get some rest. You're not going anywhere today, even if I have to sit on you to keep you from moving, so don't even think about it."

"But the school! And the learning!" Willow protested.

"You're obviously nuts," Dawn said flatly. "If Buffy let me stay home from school, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"And you," Buffy said, levelling a serious stare at Dawn, "are going to school, so don't even try it."

"But come on," Dawn wheedled. "We're having an emergency here. I could help look after Willow while you and Xander do your Scooby stuff."

"Nice try," Buffy said flatly. "But it ain't gonna' work."

"Fine," Dawn huffed, standing up and walking out of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Buffy watched her go, a sad fond smile on her face.

"How are things with Dawn?" Willow asked quietly.

"They're fine," Buffy answered brightly, only to have her face fall moments later. "It's … pretty rough," she confessed. "I sometimes feel like … listen to me," she continued wryly. "Here I am, dumping my problems on you when you've got your own stuff to worry about."

"No," Willow protested, shaking her head. "Do the dumping. I like the dumping. Not that I like that you have problems, or that things are hard right now, but I'm the best friend, and the dumping is what friendship is all about."

"I think this might fall under the 'kicking them while they're down' category," Buffy said. "You've got enough on your plate."

"Like you don't have just as much? Or more?" Willow shot back. "Buffy, I don't want to be another burden for you. I don't want to be another thing you have to tiptoe around or … something that you have to take care of. I … I just want to be there for you, and I know that what you're going through is just … I can't even imagine," she went on, choking up a little more with each word. "So don't you dare think that you're dumping on me."

"Thanks," Buffy said simply, moving to the door. "I gotta' see Dawn off to school. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Promise?" Willow pressed.

"I promise," Buffy affirmed, nodding her head once. She shut the door quietly behind her, then bounded down the stairs, walking into the living room as Dawn was putting her books into her backpack.

"Hey," Buffy said by way of a greeting.

"Hey," Dawn said, looking down as she zipped up her backpack.

"You, uhh … you didn't really expect me to just let you stay home from school, did you?" Buffy asked uncertainly. Things had been all topsy-turvy since she had come back from the dead, and it was like she kept expecting the ground to open up beneath her, or the sky to fall or something. The humdrum of every day life jarred her to the core, and made her completely unsure as to where she stood anymore.

In a corner of her mind, she was guiltily glad of the distraction the Hell God brought. It grounded her, and gave her a sense of purpose like nothing up to that point had. Even, she admitted to herself, caring for Dawn.

"No," Dawn said, a wry look on her face. "That would be too much to ask for, wouldn't it?"

"Dawn," Buffy said, her tone serious. "I just … there are things that everyone has to do. And for a fifteen-year-old, school is one of those."

"Buffy, it's okay," Dawn said, exasperation evident in her voice. "You're not seriously apologizing for making me go to school, are you?" she asked incredulously.

"No?" Buffy responded. "No," she said more firmly at Dawn's strange look. "It's just that … I know it's been … weird. Having me back. And I know I haven't been … exactly the same. It's … I can't really explain it," she said, shaking her head. "Things are hard, but … I just want you to know that I'm trying. And that if I'm not always … what you need me to be - it's not because I don't care."

Dawn blinked once, then twice. She had noticed Buffy's distance - her indifference. How could she not? It had gnawed at her and needled her until she was pretty sure that Buffy really didn't care.

"So it's …" Dawn began, her eyes watering. "It's, umm … it's not … me?" she asked quietly.

"God, Dawn, no," Buffy said, moving to her sister and wrapping her in a hug. "I just … there's so much that should be normal and familiar that's all … strange and … sometimes I can't make sense of things, like it doesn't make sense, y'know? Like the whole world is this big scary crazy place that just doesn't make sense."

"The world doesn't make sense," Dawn affirmed, letting herself fall into her sister's embrace. "It just kinda' … is."

They stood like that for a few more minutes, until the doorbell rang. Dawn pulled back, wiping at her eyes and avoiding her sister's gaze.

"Sister bonding time over?" she asked, hefting her backpack and resting it on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Buffy said, giving Dawn one last squeeze on the arm.

"Okay," Dawn said, nodding and sniffing. She walked to the door, opening it up to see a smiling Xander ready to take her to school. "And Buffy?" she said, stepping out the door. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Dawn," Buffy said as the door closed and her sister left for school. She shook her head, wiping her own tears away. It hurt, saying those things to Dawn. It hurt to feel those things and to talk about it, but she had to. She had no idea if it was the right thing to do - Dawn was only fifteen, and it was an awful lot to dump on a teenager, but … maybe it would make things … better?

Wearily, Buffy trudged up the stairs, letting out a puff of air and pulling herself upwards by the banister. One sensitive chat down, one to go, she told herself, pushing open the door and walking into Willow's room. Or, Tara's room. She really preferred, she decided, thinking of it as 'Willow and Tara's room'.

"Hey," Willow said, looking up from where she was picking dejectedly at the comforter over her lap.

"Hey," Buffy said, moving to sit at her friend's side. "You still bummed about the missing school thing?" she asked, rubbing Willow's upper arm.

"I … umm … what, exactly, happened last night?" Willow asked dully.

"I - which part of last night? 'Cuz lots happened," Buffy said, not knowing where to start.

"I … I think I … ummm … I think I almost … hurt Xander," she confessed, her eyes filling with tears. She brushed them away impatiently, wondering where all the crying was coming from. It seemed like she did an awful lot of crying these days.

"It wasn't your fault, Will," Buffy said firmly.

"No, it was. It was like -"

"No. You didn't know what was happening," Buffy persisted.

"But I did," Willow said, her voice sounding hollow and small as she stared unseeing at her hands in her lap. "I knew it was Xander. I thought he was … I thought he was saying mean things, but … I almost … Buffy, if I had gotten mad enough, I could've killed him."

"But you didn't," Buffy said. "And I don't think there's enough mad in the world to make you hurt Xander on purpose. You were in a completely different place, and you still managed to run away instead of lash out. You're a good person."

"No, I'm not," Willow said, her face pulling into a little frown. "I … I can't believe some of the things I've done … I just …" she said, gesturing weakly with one hand. "I can't believe …"

"Willow," Buffy said firmly. "We all make mistakes. We all do things we regret. But you didn't do anything permanent. You didn't do anything lasting. Everything's going to be okay."

"That's what I can't believe," Willow said, her face scrunching up into the very picture of miserable self-disgust. "I can't believe that it's going to be okay. Or that I deserve for it to be okay. I can't believe in me anymore."

"I believe in you," Buffy said simply.

"How? How can you believe in me after … after what I did to you?" Willow responded.

"Because I can believe that if our situations were reversed, and I only knew what you knew, I'd have done the same thing," Buffy said, brushing a lock of hair back from Willow's face.

"That's doesn't excuse -"

"Yes, it does," Buffy said, trying to lift the mantle of guilt from Willow's shoulders. "I've … I've done a lot of thinking the last few days. With all this stuff going on … it's made me think. What if I weren't here?" she asked aloud. "What if you were all threatened, and there I was in my nice warm and happy place, without a care in the world and with no idea that everyone I love is hurting and scared?" Buffy's lower lip trembled as she continued, even though her own words seemed to pierce her heart like a sword. "How can I be so selfish as to think that was a good thing?"

"How can you be so noble that you think being in Heaven is a bad thing?" Willow asked, her tears leaking out and spilling over her cheeks.

"Well, it wasn't >bad<," Buffy said, a tremulous smile forming. "But I think … I think that if I had to choose between the knowing and the not knowing … I'd rather know. It's like … I've finally remembered why I jumped off the tower in the first place. It wasn't because I was giving up, but because Dawn needed me."

"That's not fair to you, Buffy," Willow protested. "You've done so much … you've given so much, and we just … we took you away from the peace you deserved."

"It'll still be there. In the meantime, Dawn needs me, and you and Xander and Anya and Tara. Really, the whole world needs me, but just between you and me, I don't like to think about that part," she added conspiratorially. "The pressure, you know."

Willow cracked a smile at that, a little breath of laughter escaping.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Willow said seriously, looking at her friend. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to hold everything together without you."

"You're the strongest person I know, Will," Buffy said, shaking her head. "Because you do this without Slayer Powers. You always have, even from the beginning. You and Xander amaze me," she confessed.

"We just … we're your friends," Willow protested. "Friends stick by each other."

"Sure," Buffy agreed. "When you need a truck to move your stuff, or you need help with your homework. You two were always there, even when the world was ending."

"But we didn't really do anything," Willow went on. "You're the one who always saved the day. You're the hero, Buffy."

"Do you remember," Buffy said, her voice thoughtful. "Do you remember when we were sixteen and The Master was rising? And I, uhh … I died, that first time?"

"How could I forget?" Willow asked dully.

"I was completely ready to blow off my destiny to go to a dance," Buffy admitted, her voice reflective. "And do you know what happened?"

"I … you were?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing. "What - what happened?"

"I talked to you. I saw the sick look in your eyes when you talked about how the vampires had gotten into the school, and how your world wasn't safe anymore," she said. "I … you were such a good friend, I needed you and everyone who was like you, to be safe."

"Buffy … you … you died … because I got freaked by a vampire attack?" Willow asked incredulously. "Knowing that you were gonna' die?"

"Yup," Buffy confirmed.

"So how is knowing that I not only pulled you out of Heaven, but I got you killed in the first place, supposed to help?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Because we saved the world that night. And I couldn't have done it without you and Xander," Buffy said simply. "So don't you dare tell me that you and Xander did nothing. When things got too rough, you two, and Giles and Mom and Dawn … you're the reasons why I kept going. You're why I kept fighting. It's just … I had forgotten that for awhile. With Mom being sick and Glory … everything seemed so hopeless."

"And now?" Willow asked tentatively.

"Things are … better. Like, I can … I can do something here. I don't know what yet, or how, but … I couldn't have done anything where I was. Here, I can," Buffy explained. "I feel hopeful, like I haven't in a long time."

"That's … that's really good, Buffy," Willow said, nodding slightly. "Really good."

"Yeah, I think it is."

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 28

The Prodigal

Tara couldn't repress a shudder as she drove past the city limit sign. If she hadn't known it was there, she wouldn't have seen it, so overgrown was the foliage on either side of the narrow two-lane road. The sign itself was the only indication of civilization for a few more miles, until, Tara knew, Main Street sprung up seemingly out of nowhere, with a few stores on either side of the road.

Further back on Main, she knew, the road worsened, until later on still, it was more of a dirt track than a road. A turn to the right and another mile, and there would be the Roberts home.

"So this is it? This is the place?" Anya asked, looking around curiously at the trees all around. "It's pretty," she said optimistically.

"Yes, it is," Tara agreed, nodding slightly. A rusted Ford rattled past them going the other way, the driver levelling a suspicious glance at the unfamiliar car.

"Mm ... friendly," Anya said, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

"They don't like strangers much," Tara affirmed.

"But you're not a stranger," Anya said. "You grew up here."

"No, I'm worse than a stranger," Tara said quietly. "I'm one of the Demon MaClays."

"Demon my ass," Anya said, snorting indelicately. "These people obviously need an education on all things demonic. What kind of idiot thinks you're a demon?"

"The supersitious kind," Tara said with a shrug. "I don't blame them, you know. They don't know any better. They were raised to believe it their whole lives."

The trees fell away, and there was Main Street. Tara shifted in her seat uncomfortably, her hands gripping and releasing the wheel rythmically.

"There are only three stores," Anya pointed out with a frown. "No wonder they're so cranky and quick to point fingers - they only have three stores!"

"Mmm," Tara said noncomittally as they rolled past the plain wooden buildings. "There," Tara said, pointing down to her left, along a road that intersected Main Street. "The church is right down there. There's only one, and the entire town goes to it. And there," she said, pointing down the other way. "There's the school, kindergarten to eigth grade."

"What about high school?" Anya asked curiously, remembering the bustling energy of Sunnydale High.

"There's a school bus that comes to take the high schoolers down the mountain," Tara said, jerking her thumb behind her. "There aren't enough people up here to have our own high school, so they bus us in."

"Was it a big school?" Anya pressed on as they passed the last of the buildings and headed out the other side of the main area of town.

"Oh, yes," Tara said, nodding. "Kids from a really big area went there. It w-was nice, because lots of people had no idea w-what I was."

"What you father >told< you you were," Anya corrected firmly as the pavement on the road ended, the car bouncing slightly on the dirt track.

"Right," Tara agreed. "But I didn't know that. I w-was always surprised w-when anyone was ... nice to me."

"Of course people are nice to you," Anya said. "It's almost impossible to >not< be nice to you. Even Spike is nice to you."

A crooked smile crossed Tara's face. "Thanks," she said simply, turning at a mailbox that said 'Roberts' in what had once been neat black letters, but were now cracked, peeling, and faded.

The trees blocked the view to the house, but Tara knew it was there, further up and on the left, around a bend in the road. She felt ... really strange being in this town. Something about it just seemed ... so surreal, as if her life before Sunnydale - before Willow - had been a nightmare, the one bright spot the mother she had adored. Now, it was like falling into a familiar nightmare, only knowing, this time, that it was, indeed, just a dream, and that the real world would be calling her back.

"Wow," Anya said, her eyes wide as they turned the corner. The house Tara had grown up in was huge, and Anya's practiced eye could see how beautiful it would be, if it weren't in that horrible state of disrepair. A barn - a real live barn - sat behind the house and off to the right aways, and Anya had a hard time thinking of the Tara she knew growing up out here. No, that wasn't quite right - she could imagine Tara enjoying the peace and solitude, as well as the abundant expanse of nature all around, but she couldn't see her living in, well, squalor.

It was, Anya decided, too bad Tara's father let the place go like this. A newish looking truck sat next to an RV, a line of laundry extending from the front porch to the vehicle.

"It's ... not quite like I remembered," Tara said quietly, bringing the car to a stop.

"Well, it would be gorgeous if it had a coat of paint, the laundry were inside, the weeds were pulled, the grass mowed ..."

"Mom did all those things," Tara interrupted. "And me. We did all that upkeep. The barn is probably spotless. And the fields."

"Ah. I see," Anya said, nodding. And she did. Clearly, Tara's father was waiting around for a woman to look after him.

"I suppose ... I should go in?" Tara said uncertainly, a pained look crossing her face.

"I'm right behind you," Anya said, pushing her door open. "Or beside you, or in front of you. Whatever you need," she offered.

"Right," Tara said, letting out a shuddering breath and opening her door. She stepped out into the chill air, slamming the door and wrapping her arms around herself. She walked towards the front door, her eyes darting nervously from side to side.

What would they do? Wasn't that what she asked herself every day after school? What would they do to her that day? She had never known - had never been able to predict what kind of mood her father or her brother would be in on any given day. Would they feign happiness at her return? Would they try to make her stay? Would she be met with anger and recriminations? Would they try to make her leave, without her mother's things?

"Tara?" Anya asked uncertainly when the other woman had come to a stop, her eyes wide and staring, her breathing shallow.

"I'm ... I'm okay," Tara said, looking down at the ground and shaking her head. With an effort, she raised her head, her chin high, then dropped her arms to her sides and squared her shoulders, taking one confident step after another until she was up the stairs, on the porch, and standing in front of the door. A steely and determined look entered her eye as she raised a fist to knock. She could do this. Demons and Hell Gods, remember? she told herself. What was one man and an overgrown boy?

She rapped on the door smartly, then lowered her hand, staring straight ahead. The sound of muttering and footsteps met her ears, and the door swung open. Nothing could have prepared her for the first look at her father after two years.

The man she remembered as strong and vital was a pale shadow of his former self. He seemed smaller and stooped, his usual rigid posture bent slightly. He carried himself gingerly, as if afraid he would break. He was thinner - much thinner - and his hair had taken on new streaks of grey. The normal healthy complexion was gone, his skin pale. His face looked haggard, creased with lines she had never seen before.

"Tara?" he breathed, his eyes tearing up as if he couldn't believe the sight before him. His arms came up, and Tara stepped back, a suspicious look on her face. With a sigh, he dropped them, a look of heartbreak on his face. He opened the door, and stepped back, clearing the way. "Umm ... come in, please," he said, his voice raspy.

Tara stepped past him, careful to keep her distance, and Anya followed, a thoughtful frown on her face.

"I ..." he said, his face still shocked. "I can't believe you're here," he finally said, motioning for the two ladies to precede him into the living room. Tara almost lost all of her composure when she stepped into the room, memories of her mother washing over her. She had spent many hours with her mother there, while her father and Donnie settled the animals in the barn for the evening every night.

"Please, have a seat," he said, motioning to the couch and seating himself in the chair. The room still bore her mother's distinctive stamp, the warm inviting colors of the rugs and furniture unchanged. Only the thick layer of dust on everything spoke of her mother's long absense. "I'm ... I'm sorry for the mess," he apologized slowly. "I ... I don't come in here very often."

"I ..." Tara began, suddenly realizing she had no idea what to say to her father. "I came for mother's things," she finally said, just going right for the point of her visit.

Steven Roberts nodded wearily, knowing it was too much to hope that his daughter had come to see him. "It's all in the attic," he said. "I ... I wanted to throw it all out, but I just ... I couldn't," he explained. "I knew ... she wanted you to have them."

"Oh, umm ... this is Anya," Tara said, belatedly introducing the ex-Vengeance demon.

"We met once before," Anya supplied helpfully when Mr. Roberts' eyes fell on her. "In Sunnydale."

He nodded once, remembering the girl - no, woman - sitting on his couch. And his Tara ... she was a woman now, too. Gone was the awkward and stuttering child, and in her place was this poised young woman. What kind of strength had it taken to bring her here, to this place where she had known so much pain?

It was, he realized, a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He had irrevocably damaged his relationship with his daughter - he knew that. Still, he was curious and found himself wanting to know this person better, though he knew he didn't have the right to ask. It was strange, he realized, how clear things were now. The beautiful child his wife had given birth to was no demon, nor had his wife been such a thing. He had let fear and superstition rule him - he had let the pressure of this town dictate his actions, despite knowing deep in his heart that he was wrong.

"I ... I'll help you with her things," he offered suddenly, breaking out of his reverie and focusing once again on the two young women sitting uncomfortably on his couch. "You can take anything you want, of course."

This was, Tara realized, nothing like she had expected. She had expected hurt and anger and ... fear, but this? Looking at her father, she saw a broken man, and in that instant, she realized how much she loved him despite everything. There was no going back, of course - how could one just forget years of abuse? But now, with her life her own, she could feel pity and sorrow for this man who seemed so very different from the one she had known growing up.

He stood, then made his way to the stairs. "I'll bring it all down," he said, not looking back as he left the two stunned young women.

"Well, that was ... weird," Anya said when Tara's father had left the room.

"I ... I have no idea what just happened," Tara said slowly, her jaw slack as she stared at the stairs where her father had disappeared.

"I still think he should be turned into something nasty. Or he should get some bizarre and painful disease," Anya said sourly, sitting back and crossing her arms, glaring at the stairs. "He's ... he did awful things, and he tried to take you out of Sunnydale."

"I ... Good God, who was that man and where's my father?" Tara said in a wondering tone. A heavy banging sound and a muffled curse drifted down the stairs, followed by the slow thud of heavy, careful footsteps.

Mr. Roberts appeared again in the stairwell, a chest in his arms as he carefully navigated the stairs.

"Do ... do you need help with that?" Tara asked uncertainly.

"No, I've got it," he said, making it to the bottom of the stairs and setting the chest down carefully. "There's one more just like it, and that should be all her things. Here," he said, approaching Tara carefully, as if approaching a wild animal he expected to bolt at any moment. Slowly, he extended a hand. "It's the key," he said, placing the key in the hand Tara automatically raised in a defensive gesture, gently closing her fingers over it.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and Tara was caught up in the profound sadness there.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"No," he said, stepping back and shaking his head, biting down on his lower lip, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't thank me. I've never given you anything to thank me for. I've never given you anything," he said, continuing to back away. "Not even my name," he said, his voice choked with bitterness and regret. He turned quickly, moving up the stairs, his shoulders stiff with tension.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Anya whispered. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to be supportive by not being here?"

"I think ... I think that would be best," Tara said slowly, staring after her father.

Anya nodded. "You scream like a girl if you need me," she said, moving to the trunk and starting to drag it down the hall to the door, grunting with the effort. "I mean, you ARE a girl," she said inbetween pulls, "so of course you'd scream like one. But I mean one of those really high-pitched ones that could wake the dead. I don't want to not hear you."

Tara nodded numbly, wondering what kind of bizarre alternate universe she had stumbled into. Was her father ... actually ... sorry? Her brow knit with confusion. She wasn't prepared for this. She hadn't planned for this. She had no idea how to react to this.

She heard the front door open, and the dragging sound of the trunk moving onto the porch, then the Thud Thud Thud as it fell down the stairs. She certainly hoped there wasn't anything breakable in it. Then the heavy and careful footsteps sounded, and her father was walking down the stairs, and she still had no idea what to say.

Tara's father set the trunk down, looking over at his daughter, seeing the obvious confusion on her face.

"I think ... I think I owe you an explanation," he said slowly. "And an apology, if you'd be willing to hear it."

"I ... umm ... yeah, I'm a little confused here," Tara confessed. "Last time I saw you, you were ..."

"Trying to ruin your life?" he asked, his voice heavy with bitterness. "I ... I can't really explain or justify why I treated you the way I did. I don't ... I don't even really understand it myself," he said, his eyes staring blindly at the wall, his voice thoughtful and reflective, as if he were saying whatever popped into his mind. "But I know I was wrong," he went on, obvious tears welling up in his eyes. "And I know that nothing I can ever say or do can take back what I did. But I just want to say," he said, turning his eyes to Tara, "that you're my daughter and I love you. I've always loved you, and you did nothing to deserve a father like me."

"I ... I don't know ... I can't ..." Tara began, tears filling her own eyes. How long had she waited to hear those words from her father? How long had she hoped and dreamed that he would say them, and mean them, only to hear them now long after she had given up on that dream ever coming true?

"I'm an old man," he said. "Your brother is going to inherit this farm, and I'm going to be buried on the family plot. I've lived here all my life and I'm going to die here. This is all I've ever known or understood. You," he went on, "you've always been something that ... didn't fit in here. Not because you're bad, or a demon, or anything like that, but because you have something in you that's ... too wonderful to die here. Your mother had it, and you have it, and Donnie and I don't. We'll never ... we'll never know anything but this town, and somehow, I didn't realize that you needed to know more. Maybe the world needs you to know more."

"Daddy?" Tara asked, her voice small and her eyes wide.
"Yeah, baby girl?" he asked, moving to kneel in front of his daughter, hesitantly taking her hands in her own.

"Why?" she asked simply. "Why did you do those things?"

He bowed his head, sobs shaking his frame. "Tara, I -" he spoke haltingly. "I was so afraid of your mother, and you. That you two were something beyond my control ... beyond my experience ... beyond me ... it scared me. It scared me so bad that I never stopped and thought about ... about what I was doing to you two. I loved you both so much, and I - I never wanted to ... to hurt you."

"But you did," Tara said, her face settling into the hard lines of anger. "You made my life a living Hell," she went on relentlessly, anger clear in every word.

"I know, I know," he said, nodding helplessly, his eyes closing tight. "I know what I did to you, and I have to live with that every day for the rest of my life. And still, it isn't enough of a punishment. That pain, as much as it hurts, isn't enough for what I did. And I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but I you deserve to know that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?" Tara asked incredulously, gripping his hands painfully. "You're sorry that you beat me? That you let me believe I was evil and destined to hurt people?"

"Yes," he said, raising her head and looking her in the eye. "I know that's not good enough. I know nothing can ever be good enough. I'm not asking for anything here, because I lost any right to ask anything of you a long, long time ago. I just ... I just need you to know that ... that I was wrong. And that I'm sorry. And that I'm ... I'm so proud of the woman you've become, despite me."

"What do you know about the woman I've become?" Tara asked bitterly, standing up and walking away.

"I ... I've been getting copies of your grades. I've even spoken with some of your professors. They all talk about what a joy you are. How smart and eager to learn," he explained. "I know ... I know I shouldn't have done it ... that you're an adult and it's none of my business. But I had to know - I had to know what kind of person you had become."

"Why? Why were you checking up on me? So you could figure out the best time to try to drag me back home?" she asked.

"No!" he said quickly, his eyes wide with panic. "Absolutely not! I don't want you here," he said, flinching at the look of hurt that flashed in Tara's eyes that she couldn't hide quickly enough. "Not like that," he said hurriedly. "Donnie still ... he still thinks of you as a demon. He ... I'm sorry, Tara. I'm so sorry. He hates you. So, no, I don't want you here. I don't want you anywhere near him," her father explained. "I want you to live your life and be happy, and I hope you can forget about this place and everyone in it and all the bad things that happened here."

"I'd rather remember," Tara said hollowly, her eyes sad as a vision of Willow flashed in front of her mind's eye.

"I was checking on you because I ... I just wanted to know something about my daughter," he said sadly. "I'll, umm ... I'll carry this trunk to your car, so you can be on your way."

"I ... thank you," Tara said, her gaze finding her father's face as he nodded grimly. He made it to the door before he stopped and stood.

"I would ... I would like to hear about ... your life in Sunnydale," he said softly. "You're more than welcome to stay for lunch, if you would like."

Before Tara could respond, he walked out the door.

Tara blinked slowly, completely flummoxed, as her father carried her mother's trunk out the door. Stay? For lunch? In this crazed Twilight Zone place where everything she had ever believed about her father was turned completely upside down?

Without her permission, her mind turned to a time long ago, before she had understood what people believed she would become. Her father had ... it had been her birthday, she believed. Maybe not. Maybe it was just a regular day, but it had been ... fun. Her father had started teaching her to ride a horse, and she had been a natural. She remembered his beaming smiling face. She didn't even remember how old she'd been at the time - just that he had been proud of her and her accomplishments. And when she had finally fallen off, as it was inevitable that she did, he had scooped her up in his arms and cradled her as she cried, carrying her into the house and to her mother, who had given her ice cream.

A sad, wistful smile crossed her face at the memory. Did she have a chance of regaining some of that, or was it a trick? Was she ready to remember the good times and let some of her bewilderment and anger go?

A wry look crossed her face and she smirked. Was her father ready to hear what her life was like? What is was >really< like - Hellmouth and girlfriend and all?
"Tara?" Anya called, walking into the room and dusting off her hands. "He's settling the stuff in the trunk," she said. "He, uhh ... we're invited for lunch," she said with forced brightness. "Do you ... you don't want to stay, right?"

"I think ... I just might," Tara said. "I mean ... so far it's been ... okay, right?"

"Sure," Anya agreed. "If some kind of freaky doppleganger took over your father trying to keep us to stay so he can kill us is okay."

"What?" Tara asked incredulously.

"Sorry. Living on the Hellmouth makes me look for the scary and demonic explanation first," Anya said, her expression as close to 'sheepish' as Tara had ever seen. "You really want to stay?" she asked seriously.

"Would that be okay with you?" Tara asked carefully.

"This is your deal," Anya said, putting the ball back firmly in Tara's court. "I'm the moral support, so I will support you in whatever you choose."

"Right," Tara said absently, lost in thought. She snapped back to the present when her father walked in, a look of despairing hope on his face, as if he were a puppy who had been kicked once too often but was hoping from a kind word and a pat from his master.

Tara was torn. How many times had she approached her father with the same look on her face? He didn't deserve anything from her. He didn't deserve her consideration or her time, but only her anger and, at best, indifference.

"So what's for lunch?" she asked, a small smile spreading across her face as her father's expression lit up.

"Umm ... just sandwiches, if that's okay," he said, moving eagerly to the kitchen. "I have turkey, ham, and roast beef."

She wasn't, Tara realized, her father. She couldn't do to him what he had done to her. Hadn't she always dreamed of having a good relationship with her father? She had. And though that dream had gotten lost as the dream of a child as she moved to womanhood, something about it still resonated within her. She wasn't sure if she'd ever forgive herself for missing this chance to find out if her father really was sorry if she just left now.

"Roast beef, please," Anya said politely.

"Great," he called from the kitchen. "And you, Tara?" he asked, poking his head around the doorway.

"Turkey," she said.

"Go on and have a seat at the table, girls. We're going to rough it with paper plates, if that's okay?"

"Just fine," Tara called, a little warm spot in her heart growing as she listened to her father humming as he made her a sandwich. It was a simple, little thing, really - a sandwich. But Tara could remember countless times she had prepared a meal for her father, and not once could she remember him doing the same for her. It was ... kind of nice.

"It has to be a doppleganger," Anya muttered under her breath, remembering the man she had met in Sunnydale those years ago.

"Did you say something?" Tara asked, looking over at Anya.

"No, nothing," Anya said innocently, keeping a wary eye on the kitchen in case Tara's father burst out with a bone saw to open up their skulls so he could get at their brains. She knew of several shape-shifting demons who ate brains.

He walked out of the kitchen, juggling plates and napkins, placing the sandwiches in front of the girls. "Oh, drinks!" he said, realizing his omission. "Soda? Juice? Water?" he asked.

"Juice, please," Tara said.

"Yes, juice will be fine," Anya seconded.

"Okay," he said, leaving the room to get the drinks.

"Okay, this really is weird," Tara confessed.

"Yeah. Not what I expected," Anya agreed.

"Yeah. If we were still in Sunnydale, I'd be thinking 'brain-eating doppleganger' right now," Tara said, looking at her sandwich. "But that's ... it's really him. It's - God, it's amazing," she said, a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Yeah, well, don't count out the 'brain-eating doppleganger' thing," Anya said. "You'd be surprised what goes on in these small little towns.

"Here you go, girls," he said, setting down the glasses of apple juice. They ate in silence for a few moments, before Tara's father began tentatively asking her about her life in Sunnydale.

Tara was unsure what to tell him. Hellmouth? Scooby Gang? Slayer? Witchcraft? Finally, she settled on the safe topics, talking about school and her friends. Anya spoke about her shop, and Tara talked about Dawn. Anya spoke about Xander, then Tara haltingly began to speak of Willow, glossing over the reason for their recent break-up.

Mr. Roberts listened to this all in silence, only occasionally making a noise to indicate he was paying attention and interested, afraid to break the narrative flow between the two girls and cast them back into silence.

[Sassette]

The Prodigal (continued):

The sandwiches disappeared, and the juice polished off too, and Mr. Roberts had a firm picture in his mind of Tara's life in Sunnydale. There were her classes, where she did very well, ensuring her continued scholarship. Anya, her forthright and blunt friend who offered her a unique take on any situation. Xander, big and funny and loyal to a fault. Buffy, who like Tara, had lost her mother all too soon, and Dawn, who was young and confused and who Tara loved dearly. And Willow. He wasn't sure what to think of that. The church had always told him such things were wrong. The same church, though, had told him his wife and daughter were demons, so could he really believe everything they said? Didn't he need to look into his own heart and find his own truth? If he had only done that years earlier, things might be so different now.

"It sounds like you have a good life," he finally said when the conversation wound to a halt. "I'm ... I'm very happy for you," he said, standing up when Tara and Anya stood.

"We should really go," Tara said, a slight tint of regret in her voice that warmed him.

"I ... I would like it very much if you would ... keep in touch," he said hesitantly. "Call ... or write, if you'd like. I'd love to know what's happening with you."

"I... I'll ..." Tara began, suddenly unsure.

"Just think about it," he said, ushering the girls to the door.

"I will," Tara said, lagging behind as Anya made her way to the car. "Daddy?" she finally said, turning back to look at the man she wished had raised her, who was so different from the man she had known.

"Yes, Tara?"

"I love you," she said quietly.

"I love you, too," he said, blinking back tears, seeing her mother so clearly in her face and manner. "You're so much like your mother, it takes my breath away," he said. "I'm so glad you're like her, and not like me," he finished. Tara simply nodded and walked to the car, listening as the door closed behind her.

"Wow," Anya said, repeating her first impression of the house as Tara got in the car.

"Yeah, wow," she said, slipping the keys into the ignition.

The sound of squealing tires made her pause, and she glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing a truck barrel into view, stopping mere inches from her bumper. She froze as Donnie stepped from the truck.

"Hey Dad!" he yelled, looking curiously at the car, unable to identify its occupants. "Dad!" he called out again, slamming the truck door and approaching the car. "Tara?" he blurted, his jaw dropping as he recognized his sister.

Too fast for Tara to process what was happening, Donnie flung the door open, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her from the car. Anya tried to make a grab for Tara's waist, to keep her in the vehicle, but missed.

"You bitch," he yelled, throwing her to the ground.

"You leave her alone!" Anya yelled, throwing open the door and making her way around the car.

Tara was stunned. This was what she had been expecting here - this anger and hatred ... and violence. But lunch with her father had lulled her into a sense of security, and she was no longer prepared for Donnie's aggression, so she did what she had always done. Instinctively, she curled into a ball and flinched away from Donnie as he kicked at her.

"You left, you whore! You left!" he accused, reaching down to pick her up again, even as Anya landed on his back, fists flailing. He tossed off the enraged woman, picking up Tara and shaking her hard. "After everything we did for you, you left. We helped you," he screamed, slapping her across the face. "We kept the demon from hurting people," he continued shaking her as Anya got unsteadily to her feet. None of them heard the sound of the door opening and closing.

A gunshot went off and they all froze, turning to see Tara's father on the porch, a rifle perched against his shoulder and aimed their way, having made his point with his warning shot.

"Step away from your sister, Donnie," he said firmly, his voice carrying over the distance.

"What?" Donnie asked incredulously.

"You heard me. Step away from her, and do it now," he restated.

"Y-yes, sir," Donnie said, an angry look on his face as he roughly pushed his sister away and stepped back.

"Now move your damn truck out of the way," he went on as Anya rushed to Tara's side, brushing the dirt off of her.

"You okay?" Anya asked in an undertone.

Tara nodded, watching the unfolding scene with interest.

Donnie scowled, but obeyed, getting in his truck and slamming the door. He moved it out of the way, staying in the driver's seat with the engine running.

"Turn the engine off and get out," Tara's father said as he continued to aim the rifle at his son. With a string of expletives that made Tara blush, Donnie cut the engine, climbing out of the truck.

"I hope you're happy, you bitch," he said, a look of unspeakable hatred on his face.

Tara nodded wearily, climbing into Spikes car and turning on the engine. She threw it into gear as Anya hopped in, then quickly got the car turned around and sped off down the road, away from the hatred as fast as she dared go.

"Now >that< is what I was expecting," Anya said brightly. "Except for the gun part. I didn't expect guns."

"Small town in the mountains and you didn't expect guns?" Tara asked wryly, her relief at her father's assistance washing over her as they drove down Main Street passed the three stores that had so incensed Anya just a few hours before.

A brittle laugh escaped from Tara, and Anya looked at her strangely for a moment.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"All right? Oh, yeah, y'know ... I'm so used to getting pushed around and kicked by demons, having my own brother do it is no big deal," she said, another sharp laugh escaping.

"Maybe we should pull over," Anya suggested quietly, watching as Tara's hands began shaking.

"I ... I think you're right," she said, pulling to the shoulder, suddenly feeling cold and trembly as she sat there.

"Should I drive?" Anya asked.

"You can drive?" Tara asked incredulously, looking over at Anya. "You could drive this whole time and you didn't take a turn?"

"Well, how hard could it be?" Anya asked seriously.

Tara laughed, doubling over and resting her head against the steering wheel as Anya watched her warily. Anya's fears were confirmed when Tara broke down into harsh sobs, clutching the wheel tightly in a death grip.

"Tara, breathe," Anya demanded as Tara continued to weep. "Please, breathe," she begged. "You need to calm down." She continued uttering soothing nonsense, trying to contain her panic, as Tara cried herself out, the high-running emotions of the day taking their toll.

"I'm ... I'm okay now," Tara finally said, feeling drained and tired.

"That's as may be, but we're stopping at the first motel we see. You shouldn't drive like this, and if we weren't stuck in a small town in the mountains with guns, I wouldn't let you drive at all."

Tara nodded wearily, starting the car again and pulling onto the road. They drove in silence down the mountain, Anya lost in thoughts of worry about Tara and Tara thinking about the strange events of the day.

She should be grateful, shouldn't she? That she had only received that reaction from Donnie, and that her father had actually stood up for her? It was certainly more than she had expected, but it was, if she was being honest with herself, less than she had hoped.

Still, she had her mother's things, and that's what she had gone for. And while she wasn't sure if she could handle staying in touch with her father, the option was there where it hadn't been before.

Lost in her thoughts, Tara almost missed the motel Anya pointed out. In something of a daze, she turned in, following Anya as she took care of securing the room.

"... or take them in?" Anya asked, only to have Tara do a double-take.

"Did you say something?" she asked, finally returning to the present.

"I asked if you wanted to take these very heavy objects into the room or leave them here in the trunk?" Anya repeated herself.

"We should take them in. Sorry," Tara said, sympathizing with Anya not wanting to carry them into the room. They certainly looked heavy. "I don't want to risk them being stolen, and I'd like a chance to look through them a little and see what's in there."

Anya nodded, resigned to her fate. Somehow, she had known Tara was going to say that, and though she had many reasonable arguments for leaving the trunks, she really didn't want to have an argument with Tara right now. Poor girl looked like she could be knocked over with a feather.

Faster than they had suspected, they got settled into the room, the trunks on the floor at the foot of the bed. Tara regarded the key her father had given her for a moment before unlocking the first one and opening it.

A sketchbook was lying on top, and Tara's jaw dropped when she saw it, recognizing it immediately.

"Oh my God," she said, lifting it out and holding it, afraid to open it. "I had no idea ... I thought this was gone."

"What is it?" Anya asked, peering over Tara's shoulder.

"It's ... it's nothing," Tara said flatly, putting it back and shutting the trunk. "Just something I had thrown out when my mother passed away. I didn't know dad had kept it."

"But ..." Anya protested.

"It's nothing," Tara insisted.

"Tara," Anya said as if speaking to a small child. "If you don't let me see what's in that book, I'm going to have to hurt you."

"It's private," Tara shot back.

"And it's not like I'm going to go blabbing whatever it is around," Anya said. "So share with the girl who carried the damn things, okay?"

With a resigned sigh, Tara opened the trunk, slipping out the sketchbook and handing it to Anya, who flipped open the cover eagerly.

She looked at the first page for a moment, then turned it. Then turned the next and the next.

"These are ... these are all pictures of Willow," Anya said, pointing out the obvious. "I mean, they're really >good< pictures, but I don't know why you're so upset."

"I -"

"Wait ... did you draw these?" Anya asked, turning back to the first one. "Because ... these are really >really< good." And they were. It was all there - every facet that made Willow's face so interesting. Not that she found Willow's face interesting, no - oh, Hell - who was she kidding? She was human. Now, at least. She knew an interesting face when she saw one, and Willow definitely had one. Another thought struck her. "How come I didn't know you were so artistic and talented? Why was I the last to know? We're supposed to be friends, and friends share, and I didn't know," Anya whined.

"I - you're the first to know," Tara confessed. "I haven't ... I haven't drawn anything since my mother passed away. I threw out all my art supplies, but ... it looks like dad kept them."

"Wait a minute. Didn't your mom pass over when you were seventeen?" Anya asked carefully.

"Yes," Tara confirmed.

"And you >met< Willow when you were ... 18? 19?" Anya pressed on, having identified two and two and on the verge of getting four.

"Yes," Tara said again.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Anya asked, a wicked little 'I told you so' smile on her face. "You have to get 'Fate Was Here' tattooed on your ass."

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 29

Trying

"Hey," Willow said softly, trudging into the room, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Hey," Buffy said, looking up from the papers spread before her and up at her pale shaky friend. "How are you feeling?" she asekd, noticing for the first time how gaunt Willow looked, like a strong wing would knock her over. The dark circles under her eyes added to the overall impression of walking death, and Buffy wondered how she could have been so self-involved she hadn't noticed.

"Better," Willow answered. She still felt … off, but the long nap seemed to have done her some good. "Kinda' bored," she confessed. "Whatcha' doin'?" she asked, waving her hand at the papers and sitting down on the couch.

"I'm listing my assets," Buffy said ruefully, tossing her pen down and picking up a newspaper. "So far, I'm qualified to flip burgers."

"That good, huh?" Willow asked, her face scrunched up in sympathy.

"Well, it's not >that< bad," Buffy hedged. "There's always Giles' check, and the exciting world of exotic dancing."

"I refuse to let my best friend's life become a Demi Moore movie," Willow said firmly, pushing around the scattered papers and trying to find something to focus on. "Besides, aren't those prime slaying hours?"

"Oh yeah, huh?" Buffy muttered, her frown returning.

"How much did Giles give you, anyway?" Willow asked absently.

"Here," Buffy said, handing over a notebook.

"Buffy! That's a lot of money!" Willow blurted out. "You shouldn't live on this. You should invest it," she said quickly. "Because that's a lot of money - and how did Giles get so much money, anyway?"

"Back-pay," Buffy said succinctly. "And I know I should invest it," Buffy said glumly, letting out a puff of air, her shoulders slumping. "But what are Dawn and I going to live on if I do? Flipping burgers is looking better and better, but it only pays so much."

The door opened and Dawn bounced in, flopping into a chair and letting her backpack fall heavily to the floor. "I swear, they're doing a scientific experiment on us to see if carrying this much homework will cause us permanent spine damage," she groused, kicking at her bag.

"No, they just want you to learn," Willow responded. "Learning is all of the good."

"Sure," Dawn said, frowning at the redhead. "So says the girl who actually >wanted< to go to class today. It's just a waste of time."

"And you have so many better things to do?" Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow at her sister and pursing her lips. "Like, oh, I dunno … clean your room? Do the dishes? Get a job and pay for the house?"

"Fine," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "It's not like I see you getting a job," she groused.

"Hey!" Buffy shot back, making an indignant gesture at the papers scattered around her. "I'm very choosy about my work outfits. I'm trying to avoid wearing goofy uniform-type clothes that smell of grease and processed yuck food, or wearing no clothes altogether."

"Whatever," Dawn said, a smirk forming on her face. "Too bad you can't just mug people. You've got fighting down pat."

"Dawn … I am >not< going to be a mugger," Buffy said, leveling a look at her younger sister even as a thoughtful look crossed Willow's face.

"You >do< have the fighting thing down," Willow said, a frown of concentration pulling at her lips as her brow furrowed. "In fact, it's your strongest skill."

"No!" Buffy said incredulously. "I don't even believe you're suggesting that!" she went on, looking at Willow as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head.

"Oh, no!" Willow said quickly. "No with the mugging! Big no on the Illegal-Go-To-Jail-Type-Activities. But Buffy … you could give self-defense classes."

"Huh with the Huh?" Buffy asked.

"It's perfect! You know all about the fighting and stuff, and you basically have a black belt a million times over. You just gotta' find out exactly what Giles has been teaching you, like, what kind of martial arts and whatnot, do a little studying to find out how it's taught when it's formal, then bam! Instant Buffy-Job!"

"That'd be kinda' … cool," Dawn offered, her eyes lighting up. "You could teach in your training room at the shop. Anya's always complaining that she can't use that space for inventory."

"That's even more perfect!" Willow exclaimed. "You could even work under Anya's business license, so you don't have to worry about that part at all," she said, grabbing a piece of paper and making notes. "Anya could put you on the payroll as an instructor, and keep a little bit as your rent. If she tries to keep too much, we can just point out that we could scrap the idea and she could continue getting nothing for the space."

"I … you want me to teach?" Buffy asked when the idea had fully penetrated her brain. "You want me to teach people how to beat up other people?"

"It'd be way cool, Buffy," Dawn insisted. "And it would be, like, your solemn slayer duty. You'd be teaching people self-defense, so they weren't so completely helpless when you jumped in and saved them."

"I do >not< want people trying to take on demons when they're attacked," Buffy insisted with a frown.

"Of course not," Willow agreed with a vigorous nod. "It's your class. You can stress the running of the away. And give people a clue what to watch out for. People know Sunnydale isn't safe, so it's like this … kind of empowering thing. It'll be great!"

"I … guess that would be … kinda' okay?" Buffy tentatively agreed.

"Think it over," Willow said.

"Besides. Your class means your dress code," Dawn broke in. "And you could work your hours around slaying."

"I'll, umm … I'll think about it," Buffy said with a nod. "I'll, umm … Willow?" she asked uncertainly, looking over and noticing that Willow was swaying slightly and she had gone even paler.

"I, uhh … oh, God," she said, getting up onto her wobbly legs and making for the bathroom as fast as she could manage.

"Okay … >so< glad I didn't have to deal with that all day," Dawn muttered, looking after Willow with a concerned look.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Buffy said, getting up to follow Willow to the bathroom. Reaching the door, Buffy heard that noise she had heard far too much of in the past 24 hours. She knocked lightly, then swung the door open, cringing at the miserable picture Willow made, backing away from the toilet, then leaning heavily against the wall, taking in deep gasping breaths.

"This … is no fun," Willow groaned, crossing her arms over her stomach.

"It … certainly doesn't look fun," Buffy agreed, dumping more magic baking soda and dumping some into the toilet bowl before flushing, trying not to think too hard about what the crackly stuff would feel like coming up.

"Way not fun," Willow reiterated weakly, letting her head fall back to rest against the wall. "In fact, I'm pretty much hating this."

"I'm … I'm so sorry you have to go through this," Buffy said gently, kneeling in front of her friend.

"My fault," Willow said with a half-smile. "Reaping what I sowed and all that."

"Still," Buffy said.

"Yeah, still," Willow agreed, even as a chill ran through her, causing a great shudder to move her. "Damn," she said, shivering again. "It's, uhhhh … it's really … cold in here," she went on, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked around. "When did it get so cold?"

"It's fine in here. Perfectly warm," Buffy said, frowning.

"No, f-freezing," Willow said, continuing to shiver as her teeth chattered together.

"Okay, you're going to bed right now," Buffy said hurriedly, maneuvering Willow's shaking body into her arms and lifting her up. "Jesus, Will. You don't weigh anything," she said, taking the stairs two at a time and putting Willow down on the bed as a worried Dawn burst into the room.

"What is it? What's going on?" Dawn demanded as Buffy was tucking Willow under the covers, trying to get her shivering limbs settled.

"I don't know," Buffy admitted, looking on worriedly as Willow immediately curled up into a ball and huddled up under the covers, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead and upper lip.

"Can't … can't," Willow muttered through chattering teeth, her eyes shutting tightly.

"Dawn, call Mary Ellen," Buffy ordered. "The number's by the phone."

Dawn stood, watching with wide-eyes as Willow's shaking got so bad she was convulsing, Buffy holding her down.

"Now!" Buffy yelled, looking over her shoulder, shocking the teen out of her stupor and sending her scurrying down the stairs. "Don't do this to me, Will," Buffy said sternly, holding down her friend. She watched in horror, glad for the layers of cloth between her hands and Willow's skin when the sweat on her face changed into a dark viscous fluid, beading on her upper lip and forehead, and tracking down her face from her eyes like tears.

"God," Willow groaned, her eyes snapping open to reveal the blackness there.

"Willow, you're scaring me," Buffy yelled, leaning heavily on her.

"I don't know what's real … I don't know what's real," Willow mumbled, struggling against the unfamiliar weight pinning her to the bed.

"Mary Ellen's on her way," a breathless Dawn said, rushing back into the room.

"Dawn, get out of here," Buffy said quickly, looking back over her shoulder again.

"Buffy!" Dawn yelled. "Do something!"

"I can't … I'm just trying to keep her still. Go! Now!" Buffy said through gritted teeth as Willow's efforts to free herself became more urgent. After another moment of indecision, Dawn fled the room.

Snatches of strange phrases floated through the air, and Buffy looked back down at Willow with wide eyes, seeing her lips moving to form the words.

"Oh no you don't," she said, freeing up one hand and clapping it over Willow's mouth. Her hand touched the black stuff on Willow's face, and Buffy felt as if she had been burned, but not with fire. Fear and uncertainty, pain and rage seemed to sear her skin, but she held on, keeping her hand firmly over Willow's mouth. "Snap out of it, Willow," she yelled, looking into the black eyes of her green-eyed friend. "Stop it with the creepy eye thing," she went on, pressing Willow harder into the mattress. Still, the feelings burned through her hand, growing stronger by the moment.

Buffy felt helpless and angry, scared and hurt as she pushed down with all her weight and strength behind it. The flailing continued, then slowed, but Buffy continued yelling, giving vent to the rage inside of her, keeping Willow pinned. After a few more moments, the struggling stopped completely, snapping Buffy out of the dark place she was in.

"Willow?" she said, her voice hoarse and uncertain, pulling back and looking at her. "Oh, God, Willow?"

Willow lay there, completely still and unresponsive to Buffy's calls. Panicked, Buffy's fingers found Willow's pulse point, and she held her breath until the flutter of a heartbeat surged against her fingertips.

"God," Buffy breathed, relief flooding through her. "What was … ?" she wondered, staring at her hand and the black sticky stuff there. She grabbed the baking soda off the dresser, and sprinkled some on her hand, and the feelings that had fueled her, had made her hold Willow down until she passed out, completely disappeared.

"Buffy?" a scared voice asked from the doorway. "What's … ?"

"I …" Buffy began, a shocked look on her face. "I … stay back, Dawn," she said when Dawn made a move to enter the room. "Willow's kind of … leaking the black nasty stuff, and I got a little on me. It's … really bad," she explained.

"Is Willow … gonna' be alright?" Dawn asked tentatively.

"She's asleep," Buffy said. "Is Mary Ellen coming over?"

Dawn nodded. "She said she's dropping everything and she'll be right over," she confirmed.

"Go downstairs and wait for her," Buffy said, her tone brooking no argument. Obediently, Dawn left to wait. "God, Willow … I had no idea," Buffy said softly, brushing a bit of hair back from Willow's face. "Is that what's inside you? Is that what you've been fighting all this time?" she whispered.

Buffy watched over Willow's slumber, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried not to think about what could have happened. Whatever was in that dark stuff had gotten a firm hold over Buffy from just a small amount, and she had almost … she didn't even want to think about it. No, it was best to think about it now. She could have killed Willow. She had gotten so angry, and been so scared, she could have easily snapped her neck the way she had been holding her down.

And Willow. God only knew what Willow had almost done… what spell she was muttering before Buffy had stopped her words. For all Buffy really knew, she could have leveled an entire city block.

Had she and Willow really just tried to kill each other? It seemed so unreal. Or maybe it was the only thing that was real, and the rest of this was just fake. Or all of it was a trick? Maybe all of it was the Trickster.

"Buffy?" Mary Ellen said tentatively, knocking on doorframe as she stepped into the room.

"Mary Ellen," Buffy said, turning to the newcomer. "She … started shaking. Said it was cold. She had just … upchucked more of the black stuff. And then she was … I dunno … convulsing, and I didn't know what to do. I held her down, and got Dawn out of here, and she started a spell, I think. I covered her mouth, but she was sweating the black stuff by this time, and I got some on me, then …. I don't know. Then I … I felt … really angry and scared, and I just kept holding her down and pushing harder, and then she … uhh … she passed out."

Mary Ellen took all this in quietly, her gaze steady and non-judgemental as the words poured out of Buffy.

"Here, let me see her," Mary Ellen said, gently pushing Buffy out of the way and carefully rolling Willow onto her back. Without a word, she studied Willow's face intently, eyeing the black ooze on her skin. "We'll have to wake her up," she said after a few minutes that seemed to Buffy to stretch into an eternity. Without looking, she reached into her bag and drew a small bottle and a cake of soap.

"What's … ?" Buffy began to ask, only to fall silent when Mary Ellen unstoppered the bottle and a strong scent filled the air. Mary Ellen waved it under Willow's nose, causing it to twitch. Willow's face screwed up, then her eyes fluttered open, and she flinched away from the pungent aroma.

"What … ?" she asked, looking around.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Mary Ellen asked kindly.

"I was … eww," Willow said, remembering yet another session in the bathroom. "Yeah … and then I was … it got so cold. Buffy brought me up here, and I felt like … I needed to let more of it out. It's building up. I felt like I was going to explode," she said hollowly. "I had to let it out, but Buffy had me pinned down, and I … I needed to move. To breathe, and I couldn't. I tried to cast a spell, but Buffy covered my mouth up, and then I really couldn't move. I kept trying and trying, and then I guess … I passed out?"

"That's right," Mary Ellen said with a nod. "Now, you need to take this soap and go shower. Right now," she instructed. "Touch as little as possible, but take a mental note of what you touch. We'll need to put the baking soda on it."

"I - I can't even touch things?" Willow asked incredulously. "Am I dangerous? I'm not safe to be around," she deduced, a touch of panic in her voice. "I can't … I can't be here - or stay here … it's … I -" she went on, full-fledged panic taking over, rendering her unable to form a coherent thought.

"Just go take the shower," Buffy said gently. "We'll worry about the rest of it later. Just … right now, go shower."

Willow looked at Buffy, studying her face carefully, then nodded. She slid out of bed, accepting the soap from Mary Ellen, then walked on unsteady legs from the room. Buffy and Mary Ellen sat in silence, watching the doorway until the sound of the water in the shower reached them.

"Well, we'll have to wash these sheets," Mary Ellen said, and Buffy quickly got up, helping her grab them and bundle them up from the corners. "Get the baking soda," she said, the bedclothes cradled in her arms as she made her way out of the room. Buffy did as she was instructed, then led the way to the washer in the basement, trying to formulate her thoughts.

"So what's going on?" she asked once Mary Ellen had the load ready to turn on once Willow was out of the shower.

"It's the steady stream of dark power being sent," Mary Ellen said wearily. "It's … it's building up, and Willow isn't equipped for that. No human is equipped for that."

"So what's it doing?" Buffy asked, a look of dawning horror slowly taking shape on her face.

"Casting all those spells was like a release valve. It actually made it safer for Willow. All that darkness building up in her … it wants out, and she doesn't have a way of doing that, so it's seeping out when it can," she explained further.

"Yes, I kind of figured that out at this point. So what's it doing?" Buffy tried again.

"It's making Willow very sick," Mary Ellen said flatly. "It's like a toxin. A poison."

"So … she'll keep throwing up? She'll get cold and sweat black oozy stuff? Until it goes away?" Buffy asked.

"Not quite," Mary Ellen said. "She'll keep throwing up and sweating black oozy stuff on the outside. On the inside, it's getting into her bloodstream. When it become too concentrated, she'll die."

"What?" Buffy yelled, looking up quickly at the door out of the basement, then lowering her voice. "What?" she repeated.

"She's going to die," Mary Ellen said helplessly. "We can delay it through cleansing, but it's too much. I didn't realize it was this bad. It's building up too fast."

"So unless Willow just goes with the Black Magick Mojo, she's dead?" Buffy asked, her voice cracking. "No! No, I won't accept that! There has to be another way."

"Then you have to break this connection. Someway, somehow, that dark power has to stop pouring into Willow, and I have no idea how you could possibly do that," Mary Ellen said.

"What about … spells? Rituals? Protections and things?" Buffy asked, her mind racing.

"You can slow it with cleansing rituals. A dark magick protection might help, or it might affect Willow and kill her faster," Mary Ellen explained. "Any other spells wouldn't be strong enough to stop it completely."

"There has to be something else," Buffy went on stubbornly. "I am not going to lose her," she said tightly, her eyes filling with tears. "I am not going to have to tell Tara that …" Buffy's voice broke and she stopped, coughing once, then continuing on. "I can't let this happen."

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. This sort of thing … it's beyond my experience. Willow's source is so intent on keeping her, I just …" she said.

"Not your fault," Buffy said shortly. "But I know whose fault it is. And I don't care if he is a Hell God. He's going to know lots and lots of pain."

"Buffy, surely you don't think -" Mary Ellen started to say.

"Why not? I've done it before," Buffy shot back.

"But from what you've told me, he's not even here," Mary Ellen protested. "He's >in< Hell. How, exactly, do you propose going after him there?"

"I have no idea, but I have to >do< something. I have to try," Buffy insisted. Then a thought occurred to her. "Wait … he needs Willow. He needs Willow to let him out, so he's not going to let her die, right?"

"I don't know," Mary Ellen said.

"Giles. I've got to call Giles," Buffy said, moving to the stairs and racing up to the living room. "He'll know. Or he can find out. What is the damn council for if not to find this stuff out?" she muttered.

"Buffy … I think Willow's got a couple of weeks," Mary Ellen said, catching up with the slayer. "But I'm not sure. I'll look up everything I can find on the subject and I'll see what could possibly slow this down. In the meantime, make sure Willow uses that soap twice a day, and keep the baking soda around."

"Thank you, Mary Ellen," Buffy said sincerely, grateful for the woman's willingness to help, even though she was the bearer of bad news. Still, Buffy would rather know what she was facing than have no idea whatsoever.

Mary Ellen merely nodded, then showed herself to the door. "I only wish I could do more," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

"What did she mean?" a tight voice behind Buffy asked.

"Dawn," Buffy said weakly, turning to look at her sister who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her jaw clenched and tears in her eyes.

"What did she mean 'Willow's got a couple of weeks,'?" Dawn demanded.

"I …" Buffy began, closing her eyes tight. "The dark power is killing her," Buffy confessed. "She can't hold that much inside her, and so she's dying."

"She can't hold that much?" Dawn asked, jumping on any loophole she could imagine. "So if she let it out, she'd be okay, right? Like, if she cast a few spells?"

"If she cast a few spells, the world ends," Buffy said. "She wouldn't want that, and you know it."

"So we get to sacrifice someone else to save the world?" Dawn asked bitterly. "How is that fair? How is it fair that we keep losing people, and the rest of the world gets to go about their merry way?"

"It's not fair," Buffy said tightly. "I know it's not fair, but that's the way it is."

"Well I hate it," Dawn yelled. "I hate it that everything always happens to us! I hate the Trickster, and I hate Glory, and all the Hellmouth bullshit we have to deal with! Why can't the rest of the world save itself sometime, huh?" she ranted, stomping around the room. "Why can't the rest of the world just figure out how to save itself?" she repeated, seeming to crumble in on herself as she collapsed into sobs.

"We'll figure this out," Buffy said determinedly, moving to sit next to Dawn and pulling her into her arms. "We'll get this all figured out, and Willow will be okay," she repeated.

"That's what you said about Mom," Dawn said in a lost voice. "Everyone said Mom would be okay, but she … she wasn't," she said.

"I know, Dawn," Buffy said bleakly. "But there was nothing we could do about that. We can do something about this. We just … we just have to figure out how to break this connection. If we can break the Trickster's connection to Willow, then she'll be okay. We just have to figure it out."

"You're sure? What if it's already done too much damage?" Dawn pressed.

"It hasn't. Mary Ellen said that breaking the connection would do it," Buffy said, clinging on to any shred of hope she could find.

"So," Dawn said, wiping at her tears and sitting up. "Where do we start? And don't even try to stop me from helping," she warned. "I'm a hair-puller, remember?"

"I remember," Buffy said with a sad smile. "Oh my God!" she blurted out, her eyes opening wide. "How are we gonna' tell Tara?"

"How are we gonna' tell Willow?" Dawn asked with a mirthless laugh.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 30

Girl Talk

"So, exactly how did you two get together, anyway?" Anya asked, dipping a fry in some ketchup, then stuffing it in her mouth, chewing happily. A conveniently located McDonald's provided the junk food, and Anya was determined to get some good information out of Tara now that their objective had been achieved with a minimum of fuss.

If one discounted the fight with Donnie and the very large rifle.

"Pardon?" Tara asked, looking over at Anya with a deer in the headlights stare, her burger halfway to her mouth. Neither she nor Willow had ever given up any details about their courtship phase. Not that she particularly minded telling, but no one had worked up to asking her, and Willow dodged such questions.

"C'mon … give up the goods," Anya wheedled. "Here we are, miles from home, without cable, and it's the middle of the afternoon. Do you have anything better to do?"

"Well, yes … I could start looking through these books and things," Tara pointed out, gesturing at the trunks taking up most of the floor space in the little room.

"But Tara," Anya whined. "No one knows anything, or if they do, they're not telling the ex-demon," she added with a mutter. "Besides, it's not fair. You know all about how Xander and I got together, what with me granting a wish to his ex-girlfriend and all that."

"What did she wish for, anyway?" Tara asked curiously.

Anya stopped mid-chew, a gleam appearing in her eye. "You mean no one told you that story?"

"Well … I know Cordelia made a wish, and it somehow made Sunnydale worse, and Giles saved the day by crushing your talisman," Tara offered up. "But no one has told me the specifics."

"So no one told you about Vampire W -" Anya began to say, only to cut herself off with a smirk.

"Vampire what?" Tara asked, her brow furrowed.

"Well, now, I suppose I can't tell you that," Anya said with mock sadness, shaking her head. "A girl has to have some secrets," she said, her eyes as wide and innocent-looking as she could make them.

"Oh, now that's just not fair," Tara said, a small smile curving the edges of her lips. "Trade, then?"

"Now >that's< fair. You first," Anya insisted.

"But I don't know how good your story will be," Tara protested mildly, taking a sip of her soda.

"That's true, but that's the risk you'll have to take if you want to hear about Evil Vampire Willow," Anya said with a wicked smile.

Tara choked on her soda, helplessly spraying some across the room. "What?" she gasped after her coughing fit had passed.

"Evil. Vampire. Willow," Anya said succinctly. "You've gotta' give something to get something, and you haven't lived until you've heard this one."

"I, uhhh …" Tara said, her mouth opening and closing on everything she could think to say, a slow flush crawling up her neck. Could she help it that she found the idea equally disturbing and intriguing? She was only human. What would Willow be like as a vampire? Clearly evil, because vampires were … evil. That's how it was. Only, Spike was kind of nice. When he wanted to be. And he wore that …

"You're thinking about the leather, aren't you?" Anya asked with a knowing look. "I can tell. You're imaging Willow wearing lots of black leather right now."

"Am not!" Tara protested, her cheeks burning.

"Well, maybe she wore it … maybe she didn't … but the answer to that question won't be told until you tell me how you and Willow met. And not just how you met, but how you ended up spending time together."

An uncertain look crossed Tara's face, as she wondered whether or not to just tell Anya how they met. That was certainly a harmless story, wasn't it? But did she really want to know about Evil Vampire Willow? Maybe some things were left unexplored.

"Oh, and then there was the time when Evil Vampire Willow showed up in >this< Sunnydale. And met Willow. The real one - our Willow," Anya clarified.

Now that, Tara mused, sounded far too good to pass up.

"Deal," Tara said quickly. "You have a deal."

"Great," Anya said with an excited little bounce. "Now talk."

"Well, it all started at a campus Wicca meeting," Tara said, a soft smile crossing her face.

"A campus Wicca meeting? Willow went to a campus Wicca meeting?" Anya blurted out. "No wonder she found a girlfriend. Those things are just lonely hearts clubs for lesbians."

Tara started snickering, unable to help herself. "With all the 'girl power' floating around those things, I could certainly imagine there were at least a few other 'sisters' at the meetings, but that certainly didn't explain the bake sales," Tara laughed, before stopping short, a thoughtful look on her face. "Of course, I like baking," she said with a shrug. "So I guess it's not that unheard of, huh?"

"Certainly not," Anya said with a nod. "Now go on … we haven't gotten to any good stuff yet."

"Well, Willow came to a meeting," Tara said, a shy smile spreading across her face despite herself as she pulled her legs up to cross under her. "She was … so pretty. I noticed that right off. I mean, how can you miss that?" she asked, lost in her memories. "And she sat down, and the meeting started, and I kept trying to keep myself from looking at her. She looked so familiar, but I had no idea where I had seen her before. By the time she was trying to talk these girls who knew nothing of Wicca into trying out actual spells, I knew that face looked so familiar because I had drawn it a hundred times."

"How >did< you do that, anyway?" Anya asked softly.

Tara looked up, focusing on Anya, the walk down memory lane temporarily interrupted.

"Well, I saw her," Tara said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything.

"Well, of course you saw her!" Anya protested. "Vision? Dream? Imagination?" she pressed.

"Dreams," Tara said with a soft sigh. "I saw her in my dreams."

"And what happened in those dreams?" Anya asked, waggling her eyebrows like she had seen Xander do a million times.

"She came to my house in a helicopter, and she took my mother and me far, far away," Tara said wistfully. "And we all lived together in a beautiful place."

"Then what? After she took you to the beautiful place?" Anya asked.

"We'd take long walks and hold hands," Tara said. "And just talk about things. Silly things, really. I don't even remember what, but I remember the way her eyes would light up when what she was talking about excited her. And when I met her, it was all exactly the way I had dreamt it."

"That's … really amazing. Does seeing run in the family?" Anya asked curiously.

"Yes, it does," Tara said with a confirming nod. "At least, I know grandma and mother and I could all … sense things. Or we'd see little things before they happened. It was like déjà vu, only much more often and more detailed."

"So what happened at the meeting? Did you talk to her?" Anya asked, getting back to her original subject. She'd pursue the dream angle later … she was sure she had more Willow stories around somewhere that she could trade.

"Oh, no," Tara said, shaking her head emphatically. "I mean, what could I say? 'Hi … I've been dreaming about you for years. Wanna' go back to my dorm room?'"

"Well, why not?" Anya asked seriously.

Tara laughed, a light musical sound. "No, I was trying to be more subtle than that. And oddly enough, that night I had the perfect opportunity to go looking for her."

"Really? What happened?" Anya asked, picking up her neglected burger again.

"The Gentlemen," Tara said. "You remember them, right?"

Anya nodded, still chewing, and motioning for Tara to go on.

"Well, I figured that maybe a spell could give people their voices back, so I went looking for Willow. I looked her up in the student directory and found out which dorm she was in, so I headed out to see her. Alone. At night. In Sunnydale," Tara said, a self-deprecating smile on her face.

"Did you die?" Anya asked, caught up in the story, her eyes wide. "Oh, listen to me," she said, smacking herself in the forehead. "Of course you didn't die … you're telling the story. Unless you came back," she went on. "Did you die and come back?"

"No, I didn't die at all," Tara laughed. "But I did get spotted by The Gentlemen, and they followed me all the way over to Willow's dorm. It was really creepy, because they moved so slow, kind of floating, like it didn't matter how fast you ran, they knew they'd catch you anyway," she said with a shiver. "Really creepy," she repeated.

"Then what?" Anya asked.

"I made it into the dorm, and they were right behind me, floating down the hall towards me. I kept banging on doors, but everyone stayed inside, where they thought they'd be safe," Tara said, a fond smile on her face. "But not Willow, no. She came out to see what the commotion was all about, and ran right into me. We both fell down, and she … I guess she kind of twisted her ankle or something, and we both started running as best we could."

"I bet you both ended up running to a room with no exit, didn't you?" Anya said knowledgeably, nodding her head. "As much as we laugh about scary movies where people end up boxing themselves in, that's exactly what they end up doing. It's something strange about the human psyche, where they all feel safe in a room with only one entrance," Anya said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she made a face. "It's pure idiocy, if you ask me."

"Well, umm," Tara said, a sheepish look crossing her features. "Actually, we did. We ended up in the laundry room with no way to block the door. So we tried to push a soda machine in front of it, but it was way too heavy."

"Of course," Anya said, nodding again.

"Then Willow tried to move it with magick, but it was too much for her, and she kind of sat down and had this look like she had run out of options and didn't know what to do," Tara said. "And so I kinda sat near her, and looked at her, and she looked back, and I reached out my hand. Our fingers touched, and I felt it all the way up my arm, a kind of nice tingly thing, all warm and … just, really nice."

Anya's chewing slowed as she listened, imagining the scene in her head. "Then you had sex, right?"

"No!" Tara said vehemently. "I mean, I probably would have, if … I mean, well … I -" Tara coughed once, then took a deep breath. "Then we worked together, moved the soda machine in front of the door, and waited until we had our voices back and were rescued," she finished quickly. "Your turn."

"Fine," Anya said. "I can see you're not going to go back to the good details, so I'll just get my story out of the way."

"Okay," Tara said happily, going back to her food as Anya spoke.

"So, there I was, hanging out with Cordelia every day at Sunnydale High," Anya began.

"Wait … how'd you enroll?" Tara asked.

"That's not important to the story," Anya said impatiently. "But for you information, I >was< an all-powerful Vengeance Demon. Enrolling in high school isn't that difficult."

Tara nodded, satisfied with the answer, and went back to her food.

"There I was … yadda yadda," Anya said absently, looking at the ceiling. "Right! And I kept giving her opening after opening, and she just wouldn't make a wish. It was just about the most aggravating case I had ever been on. Finally, she makes her wish. And what does she wish for? Decapitation? No. Disembowelment? No. Disease? Famine? Life-long hardship and ridicule? No," Anya related, growing more agitated by the second. "She finally makes a wish, and it isn't even about Xander!" she said. "She clearly didn't have this whole 'scorned woman' thing down."

"So what did she wish for?" Tara asked.

"She wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale," Anya said sadly, shaking her head. "I mean, it was a fun wish. Lots of neat bad things happened, but … it … it wasn't the point. She was supposed to let me curse Xander, because >he< was the bad boyfriend, not the whole town."

"She … she wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale?" Tara asked incredulously. "How stupid is this girl?"

"Exactly!" Anya crowed. "Exactly my point! She could have wished for anything, and she could have given Xander any infliction known to man, given him any pain or torture … and she decides that it's all Buffy's fault? What did Buffy have to do with anything?"

"Besides that … she knew Buffy was the Slayer, right?" Tara asked, her mind reeling over the implications. "She'd already done so much to make Sunnydale safer."

"Oh, well, yeah," Anya said dismissively. "But my point is, she missed a great opportunity, and instead, she did something so bad it got noticed, and my talisman got destroyed."

"So then what happened?" Tara asked, letting the matter slide.

"Well, since Buffy wasn't there, the Master rose, Willow and Xander got turned into vampires the night Buffy had originally saved them, Angel was the Master's captive, and Cordelia had no idea what to do in this vampire-ruled city. So she ends up getting killed, by Xander and Willow, mind you, but not before she told Giles that Buffy was supposed to be there."

"Thank goodness for that," Tara said, realizing that must have been the catalyst that led to Giles fixing the horrible situation. "But … Xander and Willow … they … killed her?"

"Oh, no … the Vampire Xander and Willow killed her," Anya said quickly. "BIG difference."

Tara nodded, looking a little relieved, and then Anya continued.

"Well, not a BIG difference, but still different," she hedged, trying to express herself as accurately as possible.

"What?" Tara asked. "What do you mean 'not a BIG difference'?"

"Well, it's not," Anya said defensively. "Being a vampire doesn't add anything to your personality that isn't there … it just sort of … lets the deep dark parts of you that the good parts of you keep in line out to play."

"So … Xander and Willow could have … killed her anyway?" Tara asked, a worried frown on her face.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Anya admonished. "You're looking at the dark side here. The truth is, vampires are just like us, only we're the cattle, and they're the humans. So Vamp Xander and Vamp Willow killing Cordelia means that our Xander and our Willow could hunt food to survive, and that if that particular piece of food was constantly ridiculing them, they might even enjoy it."

"That's … that's awful, Anya," Tara said slowly.

"Actually, it's fascinating," Anya disagreed. "Think about it. Being a vampire means that the little thing in your head that says, 'don't do that … it's wrong' goes away. And things that are SO wrong that you wouldn't even consider them, suddenly become an option."

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" Tara asked wryly. "About sources? Leather pants in the closet?"

"Funny you should mention 'leather pants' and 'closets' …" Anya said, thinking of Evil Vampire Willow. "But I digress," Anya said, getting back on topic. "So, Evil Vampire Willow … there were parts of her that were still very Willow. Like how smart she was."

"How so?" Tara wondered aloud. "Did she … I dunno, babble?"

"Oh, no. The babbling comes from being unsure. Uncertain. Vamp Willow was at the top of the food chain, not at the bottom of the pecking order," Anya paused there, thinking over her last statement, wondering if mixing metaphors was a sign of impending insanity. Or maybe she was just tired. She >was< rather low on sleep. "Anyway, she invented this exsanguination machine that worked on a kind of conveyor belt thing for the Master, so they didn't have to hunt anymore. It was much more civilized that way," Anya said earnestly.

"So she was a kinder gentler vampire?" Tara asked dubiously.

"Oh, well, no," Anya confessed. "She just realized that people were food, and pain fear and hunting were fun, and there really wasn't any need to play with the food."

"That doesn't sound like Willow at all," Tara said, frowning. "I mean, Willow loves playing with food," she went on, then stopping suddenly, her eyes wide. "And when I stop explaining things."

Anya grinned. "Xander likes that, too," she said. "But again, that's not the point. The point is, that a vampire is the person, with all their civilizing influences stripped bare, and their baser, violent tendencies brought out. Add that to an IQ that's off the charts, and it's easy to see why Vampire Willow was the Master's favorite."

"But Willow isn't violent," Tara added.

"No, she's not," Anya agreed. "But she does have a lot of anger and hurt, and that leads to violence when it's not tempered by something. Vampire Willow didn't have anything to temper it with."

"What does Willow have to be angry and hurt about?" Tara asked. "She's so smart, and pretty, and …"

"Oh, tons," Anya said. "Didn't she ever tell you about how it was for her in high school? How it was growing up?" Anya asked curiously.

"What are you talking about?" Tara asked. "She … well, she said she was a spaz, but …"

"She was made fun of nearly every day," Anya said. "All the things you love about her … how smart she is, how she babbles when she's nervous, how she has no idea about anything that has anything to do with an outfit that is remotely -"

"I get the picture," Tara said. "All the cute stuff. The point?" she asked, wondering what it was that Willow had never told her.

"That's the stuff she's been made fun of for her whole life," Anya said. "She was terribly unhappy in high school, and if I didn't specialize in scorned women, I'd have been right there granting her a wish."

"It w-was … that bad?" Tara asked tentatively, her eyes full of sorrow. "I thought … I mean, she had Xander, and Buffy …"

"Right. She had Xander and Buffy and Giles. I love Xander, don't get me wrong, and I'm very glad he and Willow never really got together, but he treated her horribly. He didn't know any better," Anya went on quickly, jumping to Xander's defense. "He really didn't. Willow had such a huge crush on him, and he just sort of went on his merry way, having >no< idea, and mooning over every girl but her. Men are >so< clueless."

"Well, I sort of knew about that … I mean, that she had a crush on him, and that she and Oz broke up for awhile because of The Fluke," Tara said.

"Right," Anya said, nodding and picking up the story. "But did she mention how hurt she was when he started dating Cordelia in the first place? That he had chosen to be with a girl he had always hated instead of her?"

"Oh, God," Tara said, her face falling. "That must h-have been … awful for her," she whispered, her heart aching for the young Willow with the hopeless crush on her clueless best friend.

"Right. And Giles was always good to her, but that didn't make up for her parents," Anya went on.

"Her parents?" Tara asked slowly. "What about them? She doesn't talk about them much."

"Well, you know how well Willow did in school right? And how she's always been such a 'good girl'?" Anya asked. Tara nodded, then Anya continued. "So she was every parents' dream child, and I guess they figured she was fine on her own, so they pretty much ignored her. Every straight 'A' report card, every triumph … they didn't care."

"But … they should've been so proud of her," Tara protested. "She - I mean, she got accepted to so many good schools, and …"

"Right," Anya said. "And none of it was good enough for them to take any notice of."

"W-why didn't she ever … tell me?" Tara asked bleakly, staring at the far wall.

"Like you told her about drawing?" Anya asked, her lips pursed. "It seems like the two of you need some nice long talks."

"But we had talks!" Tara protested. "Lots of talks - good talks."

"Well," Anya said, finishing off her burger, then folding up the wrapper. "Willow's been rejected or replaced by everyone who has ever meant anything to her. Why should she risk losing you?"

"Losing me?" Tara squeaked. "Losing me because her parents are stupid? And Xander - he's stupid, too!" she announced.

"Xander isn't stupid," Anya defended. "He was just young. Besides, Willow wasn't the one for him. Willow is the one for you, so it's a good thing they're not together, isn't it?"

"I … but -" Tara said, unsure of what to say in the face of such devastating logic. "Well, Willow and I aren't together."

"And she better not make a play for Xander," Anya said ominously. "Because he's mine."

"I think she's over the Xander thing," Tara said soothingly. "So … no attacking Willow, okay?"

"Yeah, I know," Anya said with a sigh. "It's just … Willow doesn't like me. I know that, and that's fine," she said resignedly. "I mean, I don't think she hates me anymore, but she doesn't like me, and I can't help but think that part of that is her Xander Reflex. Not," she went on, "that I think she still has a thing for Xander … but I don't think she'll ever think anyone's good enough for him."

"I don't think he'll think anyone's good enough for her, either," Tara said slowly. "They've been friends since they were very little."

"True," Anya said. "But have you noticed how they don't spend any time together anymore? Not that I'm complaining, because that gives Xander and I more time for sex, but it seems almost odd, doesn't it?"

"People grow apart," Tara said sadly, wondering what Willow was doing right then. She glanced at her watch. Willow would be out of class by now. Was she studying? Napping? Maybe goofing off on the internet?

"How'd we get so far off track?" Anya wondered, looking around as if the room could answer her question.

"I guess … we started talking about Willow," Tara said, also looking around.

"Right," Anya said. "Anyway, I'm not sure what happened when Buffy went after the Master, because I stopped watching. That's when Giles summoned me and destroyed my talisman."

"So what about Willow meeting her evil vampire self?" Tara asked. "And did she really wear leather?" she went on, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

"Oh, yeah," Anya confirmed. "She wore these heeled boots things, and the leather pants, and the leather corset, and that off-the-shoulders red top …"

"Really?" Tara asked, her voice squeaking once again.

"Oh, yeah … but that's not even the best part," Anya went on. "The best part is when Evil Vampire Willow came to Sunnydale and …" She trailed off, looking speculatively at Tara. "Now, I only promised to tell you about Evil Vampire Willow, not the time Willow met her Evil Twin," she said with a smile. "So, I get another story."

"But, you said," Tara started to protest, only to stop when Anya raised an imperious hand.

"No, no … I said that the other story existed, not that I'd tell it," she said. "So, if you want to hear it, I want to hear about the big First Kiss."

"You wanna' hear about … oh, boy," Tara said, blinking several times, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes, that's definitely the story I want," Anya said. "I'd jump right into the first time you two had sex, but I don't want this story out of order, and I'm guessing it was probably the night Oz left after he came back."

Tara's face turned a bright red. "W-well, it … I mean, there w-was …"

"No need to explain right now," Anya said kindly, realizing how badly she was embarrassing her friend. "Just … stick with the kissing. That shouldn't be too hard, right?" she asked innocently.

"You're not as outrageous when it's just the two of us," Tara said thoughtfully. "Why is that?"

"Oh, because I do a lot of that on purpose now," Anya said with a grin. "I mean, I >know< better now, by human interaction conventions, but I still don't see the point. My inappropriate comments break tension and annoy people. I like that," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Besides, when I don't make them as often, they're so … glaring … and 'out there'."

"That actually made sense," Tara said. "Should I be worried?"

"Ha Ha," Anya rejoined, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at Tara. "Don't try to stall any longer. Get to the kissing."

"Right. Kissing," Tara said. "Well, we, umm … we kept getting together for spells, y'know? She'd come over to my dorm room, and we'd talk about magick, and work on spells, and that kind of thing."

"And?" Anya prompted.

"Well, one time, I tried to give her my doll's eye crystal," Tara said. "The one you recognized."

"Oh! So you gave it to her when you first kissed?" Anya said.

"Well, yes and no. I tried to give it to her earlier that day, but she wouldn't take it," Tara recalled, remembering the strange hurt she had felt when Willow had refused her gift. It had seemed so right to give it to Willow, like Willow was meant to have it, and it had pained her when she hadn't accepted it. "Anyway, she said no, and then I asked if she wanted to come over later on to do some spells, and she said no again, because she was going to The Bronze with the Scoobies. Not that she said 'Scoobies'," Tara went on, "or that I even knew what a 'Scooby' was at that point."

"Then what happened?" Anya asked. "She changed her mind and ditched us?"

"No, she got ditched," Tara said, frowning at the new meaning that event had after the things Anya had told her about Willow. She shook her head lightly, clearing her thoughts, and continued her story. "So she came over, and I was so happy to see her. She was really nervous, though, like she thought I'd kick her out the door. I was kinda' mad to be second, y'know? But … it was like … it didn't matter. I just wanted to see her, and there she was." A little half-smile spread across Tara's face, and her eyes lit up as she recounted her tale. "Then we did a few spells with the crystal, and it was like it was every time … I felt so connected to her … so close. And then it was late, and so she got up to go, and I walked her to the door. She gave me a great big hug, and we both just kinda' … held on, until we weren't hugging so much as holding each other, sorta' swaying a little."

Anya smiled at the picture that Tara painted, imagining the two girls so unsure of each other and themselves. Not that she'd ever admit to having anything remotely resembling a romantic streak, but it was a nice story, and something she could tell Xander later. And then smack him in the arm for not doing anything like that for her.

"Then she kinda' pulled back a little, sort of embarrassed, and she started babbling something, but I have no idea what she said, and our arms were still around each other. Then she looked up, and I looked up … and our eyes met. And then we were kissing," Tara finished, her lips pulling into a full smile. "She stayed the night, and we just talked, and kissed, then kissed and talked some more. It was … great. Wonderful. Thrilling."

"Now >that< is a good story," Anya said. "And I expect just as much detail when we get to the sex parts."

"Only if you have a story that's worth the detailed sex parts," Tara said boldly. "Now… Willow and Evil Willow … in the same room," she prompted.

"Right," Anya said with a nod. "So, I talked Willow into doing a spell to get my talisman back, because I hated being human," Anya related. "But it didn't work right, and instead of opening up a little hole so I could grab my talisman and be done with it, it pulled Evil Vampire Willow into this Sunnydale."

"Wow," Tara said, motioning for Anya to continue.

"Evil Vampire Willow shows up at The Bronze and beats up some guy, and then Buffy and Xander show up, and they see that Willow is vamped. They figured it was >their< Willow, because none of us knew what was going on. Evil Vampire Willow got away, and eventually we realized what was going on."

"I'd have freaked. I'd have absolutely freaked," Tara said, blinking, trying to imagine exactly how badly she would have freaked if she had run into a Vamped Willow without knowing that her Willow was okay.

"Yeah, I know," Anya said with a nod. "But Evil Vampire Willow got ahold of Willow somehow, and apparently they spent some … quality time together. I believe that in her traumatized babblings, Willow mentioned … neck-licking?"

"What?" Tara asked. "They … I mean … they didn't …"

"Oh, no … but Evil Vampire Willow was coming on to her un-vampire self pretty strong before Willow managed to knock her out? Drug her? I don't really remember how, and it's not like I was there, but she subdued the vampire, but not before getting an eyeful of her full-on leather outfit," Anya said.

"Willow must have freaked," Tara said.

"Oh, absolutely. But the best part's coming up. Evil Vampire Willow had gotten a gang of vampires together and they were holed up in The Bronze. So, Willow trades clothes with the vampire and -"

"You're kidding," Tara broke in.

"I'm perfectly serious," Anya assured her.

"No … you're making this up," she shot back.

"I'm not! I swear I'm not. It was the only way, you see. There were too many vampires, so Willow had to dress up like her skanky alternate-universe self and walk into The Bronze. She did, and she managed to get a few of the vampires to go outside where Buffy dusted them, but she stayed in there awhile trying to pretend that she was an evil vampire," Anya explained.

"Oh, God," Tara said, covering her mouth with her hand. "This shouldn't be funny, but …" She giggled.

"Then Cordelia let Evil Vampire Willow go," Anya said.

"Huh? Why?" Tara asked. "Again - how stupid is this girl?"

"Well, apparently, Evil Vampire Willow did a much better job impersonating Willow than Willow did impersonation Evil Vampire Willow," Anya said. "So then Evil Vampire Willow showed up at The Bronze … in Willow's fuzzy pink sweater."

[Sassette]

Girl Talk (continued):

"That … oh, yeah … I know that sweater," Tara said, wincing.

"Right. Bad-ass vampire. Fuzzy pink sweater," Anya said with a smirk.

"So, umm … then what?" Tara asked.

"Well, the Scoobies rushed in and saved the day, keeping our Willow from being killed," Anya finished.

"But … what happened to Evil Vampire Willow?" Tara asked. "I mean, they didn't just … stake her, or …?"

"Oh, no … they couldn't. They felt like she was Willow, so they sent her back," Anya said, then added wickedly, "but not before she got one last grope in on Willow."

"I can just imagine her face when -" Tara said, stopping when Anya's cell phone rang.

"Hello?" Anya asked into the phone, sharing a look of trepidation with Tara. "Yes, hold on," Anya said, then held the phone out to Tara. "It's for you. It's Buffy."

Tara grabbed the phone quickly, bringing it to her ear with a shaking hand, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, Buffy? Is everyone all right? Did anything happen?" she asked hurriedly. Anya moved to the edge of her seat, leaning forward and trying to hear the answer, only to lift a shaky hand to her mouth when she saw Tara pale suddenly. "Oh, God," Tara said. "Goddess, no," she said again, her voice shaking.

The phone fell from her numb fingers, and it felt as though her world were crashing around her as Buffy's words played over and over in her head.

Anya picked up the phone, bringing it to her ear. "Buffy? What's going on?" She listened for a moment, then nodded, having expected something that bad from Tara's reaction. "All right. We're going to leave now. We're about two days out, but we'll drive all night if we have to."

Without waiting for a reply, she hung up the phone, then gave Tara a moment to sit while she gathered their things and getting it into the car. When she had done everything she could do by herself, she knelt in front of Tara, calling her name until she had her attention.

"Tara, I know this is bad, but we have to go. We have to get to Willow, right now," she said slowly and clearly, hoping her words got through. She watched as some of the shock faded away, and a steely determination entered Tara's eyes.
"Yes, we have to get to Willow," Tara agreed, pulling herself together and standing.

[Sassette]

Answering Darknes Part 31

Research

Willow walked gingerly down the stairs, shivering slightly, an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt hanging loosely on her small frame. She had stayed in the shower, washing away the darkness until long after the water had turned cold.

"I don't know Latin," Dawn's tremulous voice drifted up to her.

"We'll find what we need," she heard Buffy's voice answer firmly.

She entered the living room, surprised to see the transformation. Gone were Buffy's papers, and instead, huge stacks of books from the magic shop covered the table. Her laptop was open in front of Dawn.

"Dawnie?" Willow said in a soft voice. "My laptop?"

"Oh, I -" Dawn said, a guilty look crossing her features. "We … we needed to find some things, on the internet. I, uh… I didn't think you'd mind."

"Oh, of course," Willow said, nodding. "I don't mind. I mean, I prefer to be asked first, but … y'know, I was all in the shower and stuff. I guess you can't be expected to walk on in, huh?" she finished weakly, moving to sit on the couch.

Buffy grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, wordlessly wrapping it around her shivering friend.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

"Better," Willow said with a small smile. "All squeaky-clean."

"I'll, uhh … I'll just … get more coffee," Dawn said, rushing from the room. Only then did Willow notice the two steaming cups sitting on the table.

"You're letting Dawn drink coffee?" Willow asked incredulously.

"Well, we've got lots of research to do," Buffy defended herself. "And we need all the help we can get. Xander's on the way over," she added needlessly.

"Well, I didn't think he'd be anywhere else," Willow said. "Hell God and all - that's a job for the Scooby Gang."

"Right," Buffy said, unable to bring herself to laugh at Willow's joke, the sick knowledge of what could happen to Willow sitting heavily in her stomach. While Willow had been in the shower, she had called Tara, and she had no idea how she was faring. Anya had said they were two days out, but Buffy had no idea how Willow's condition would progress, and even if she'd be coherent in two days time.

"Buffy, I'm … I'm sorry," Willow said miserably, sniffing. "I never meant to-"

"I know, Will," Buffy said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

"Buffy? Is something wrong?" Willow asked slowly, a little frown on her face. "I mean, other than the stuff I already know about? Because you look like …" Willow said, trailing off, only to start up again in a panicked voice. "Buffy, what aren't you telling me? Did you get a phone call? Is Tara all right? Nothing happened at her father's house, did it?"

"No, Tara's fine," Buffy assured her. "Actually, I'm … really worried about you," Buffy said.

"Yeah, I'm a little worried about me, too," Willow admitted. "This is … really hard."

"It's … everything's worse than we thought," Buffy said carefully. "Willow," she went on, taking Willow's hand, her voice unusually serious, causing Willow's worry to jump several notches. "The Dark Magick that's inside you? It's … it's basically poisoning you. If it builds up too much and takes over your blood, you could -" she said, her voice cracking and then she stopped, unable to get the word past the tightness in her throat.

"I could die, couldn't I?" Willow asked softly, her eyes wide.

"God, Willow, I'm so … sorry," Buffy said, the words sounding empty and hollow in her ears.

"Exactly how does that work?" Willow asked calmly.

"The Trickster keeps sending you the magick," Buffy answered starkly, her voice sounding raw and troubled. "It's building up inside you, which is why it's trying so hard to get out. It's why you feel so bad right now. It - the magick is going to eventually take over your blood."

"I -" Willow said, only to stop as she tried to digest the information. Her immediate thoughts all circled around Tara. How would she take it? Would she be okay once Willow was gone? Did she even know? Ruthlessly, she pushed the thoughts aside as tears welled up in her eyes. "I guess we got lots of work to do, then, huh?" Willow asked, all color draining from her face as she moved into the chair Dawn had vacated and pulled the laptop towards her. "We have to figure out exactly what my connection to the Hell God is, what exactly he needs me for, and those should give us some clues on how to stop him from pumping Dark Magick into me."

Willow hunched over the keyboard, her fingers flying, every now and again moving the mouse around and clicking, seemingly at random. Buffy watched for a moment, seeing the dawning horror and panic starting to creep across Willow's face.

"Willow, you need to rest," Buffy said, leveling a stare at the redhead.

"Rest? How the hell am I supposed to rest right now, Buffy?" Willow demanded, looking up at her with a fierce look on her face. "I need to not think about it right now, and in order to not think about it, I need to be busy. Because if I think about it, I'm going to …" she went on, her face crumbling. Tara's face swam before her eyes, and she realized that all she wanted to do was crawl into her arms where she knew she'd be safe. She choked back a sob, shaking off the thoughts, clenching her jaw and going determinedly back to the research and ignoring the worried looks Buffy kept sending her way.


"I have coffee," Dawn said, entering the room slowly, a tray in her hands.

"Did you make me some?" Willow asked, her voice hoarse.

"Of course I did," Dawn said. "And I … I kinda', umm," she said slowly, suddenly unsure as to whether or not her plan had been a good idea. "Yours might taste kind of funny," she confessed, looking over at Willow. "I put … I put some of that baking soda in with the sugar, so … I figured if you could kinda' … take out some of the dark stuff in your tummy, it might slow it down. From the inside."

"That's … that's a good idea, Dawn," Willow said. "That could help," Willow said with a small smile as a relieved look crossed Dawn's face.

"I … I had to do something," Dawn said weakly. "We can't lose you." Tears welled up in Dawn's eyes, and Willow immediately felt the need to reassure the scared teenager.

"You won't lose me, Dawn," Willow said fiercely, resolve face firmly in place. "I have no intention of leaving any of you."

A relieved look crossed Dawn's face. "Really?" she asked, handing over the cup of coffee and wanting so badly to believe Willow's words.

"Really," Willow assured, taking the cup, then squeezing Dawn's hand.

"And the donut man approacheth," Xander said, walking into the house with a big box of donuts in his hand. He set the donuts on the table, immediately pulling Willow out of her chair and into a hug. "How are you holding up, Wills?" he asked softly.

Willow leaned into him, returning the hug for a moment before pulling back. "Y'know … another day on the Hellmouth," she said lightly. "If one of use weren't in mortal peril, it wouldn't quite be the same."

"That's not funny, Will," Xander said with a frown.

"I know it's not," Willow snapped, her eyes flashing. "I'm … I'm sorry," she said, sitting back down heavily. "I just -"

"It's okay. I understand," Xander said, hunkering down next to her and patting her arm awkwardly. "So," he said, looking around the room. "Another Scooby all-nighter?"

"I'll get you some coffee," Dawn said, standing up and heading back into the kitchen.

Effectively dismissing her friends, unable to deal with the fear in their eyes, Willow turned back to her computer. Dawn had several files open that she had never seen before, but they were certainly informative.


"Dawn?" she called out.


"Yeah?" Dawn called back from the kitchen.

"Where did these files come from?" she asked curiously.

"Giles sent them from the council," Dawn answered back.

"Giles used the 'infernal machine' and emailed me some files?" Willow muttered incredulously. "This really >is< the Apocalypse."

"Actually, he didn't send them," Buffy said, looking up from her book. "Apparently, he's on a team of Council 'rejects' … they get all the crap jobs. They consider Giles to be 'unconventional' and he's their hero," she went on wryly.


"Giles is unconventional?" Xander asked with a smirk. "Who knew our stodgy watcher-man was such a rebel?"

"Anyway, one of the guys on the team is some kind of computer-guy, which is why the Council really doesn't like him. That whole team is working on this, getting information and trying to decipher those prophecies. This guy will email updates whenever they have them," Buffy said, finishing explaining.

"Cool," Willow said absently, scrolling through the documents, translating the Latin in her head as she went.

She clicked open her email, seeing a message that had been read already, sent from England. She opened the message, hoping the actual email message had more information about what was in the documents.

Willow,
I'm having one of my colleagues send you information on this infernal machine. It seems more efficient than letting you write things out longhand when I call; however, I will still call every time I send information to get an update on the happenings in Sunnydale, and to confirm that you receive these files. Included is the full text of the prophecy we're working on now, several documents relating to The Trickster, as well as a compilation of first-hand accounts of mystical events that may have included The Trickster.
-Giles

"Ah … so that's what I'm looking at," Willow mumbled, clicking back to the documents. "Now," she said louder. "We think this witch who defeated The Trickster was related to me, right?"


"Right," Buffy confirmed with a nod. "That's our current working theory."

Willow nodded, then turned back to her computer, opening up the files she had on her own genealogy. It had been a project she was working on, but had shelved several times over the last few years, what with Scooby things and school, then the responsibilities of taking care of Dawn and the Scooby Gang after Buffy's death. Would her passing leave a hole like that?

Determinedly, she pushed the thoughts away, going back to her research. It should be easy enough, really, with the groundwork she already had, to trace her line back through the women in her family, and see what she found.

Willow lost herself in her task, finding that the work allowed her to focus on something other than the startling revelations of the day and Tara's aching absence. The Scoobies worked around her in silence, for once the loud complaints and the jokes gone.

"I think I found something," Xander said, surprise evident in his voice.

"What do you have?" Buffy asked, looking up sharply from her book, which was a big bust. Everyone stopped, and Xander gulped as all eyes focused on him.

"Oddly enough, I think it's about Angel," he said with a frown. "It … it kinda' fits, y'know?"

"What is it?" Dawn pressed.

"Well, it talks about the three Hell Gods. The Trickster, The Beast, and The Scales."

"The Scales?" Buffy asked with a frown. "That's a pretty lame name for a Hell God. I think I'd be all pissed off if I were that one."

"It's about what function they serve. The Beast, Glory, was all about rage and fear ... primal-type stuff," he said slowly. "The Trickster is all reason and logic and cunning. Nasty guy, though. The Scales ... is kinda' ... not a guy OR a girl ... but something else."

"A hermaphroditic Hell God?" Willow asked, a confused look on her face.

"Right," Xander said with a nod. "Anyway, The Scales is just that ... the balance between The Beast and The Trickster. Anyway, The Trickster ... well, tricked The Scales into helping him banish Glory, which is why she was here."

"So how does Angel tie into this?" Buffy asked quietly.

"Well, they kinda' list a few of each Hell God's accomplishments, showing how they can influence things here, even when they're in Hell. The Trickster, apparently, supplied the big Dark Magick juice needed to curse Angel with his soul in the first place. At least, that's what I'm guessing. The details are vague here, but the timeline is right," Xander said, handing the book over to Willow.

Willow read in silence, looking over the passage Xander indicated, nodding as she read.

"But why would a bad guy make a good vampire?" Dawn asked.

"Because it's a curse," Willow said hollowly, looking up with haunted eyes. "That spell doomed Angel to an eternity of torment - a past that haunted him that he could never atone for. And I did the same thing to him," she said starkly.

"Willow - you did what you had to do," Buffy said gently. "You didn't do it to send him into torment … you did it to keep him from hurting people. To keep me from hurting by having to kill him."

"Yeah, and that worked out so well," Willow said bitterly. "You had to kill him anyway, only you had to look him in the eye, knowing he had his soul back."

"That's …" Buffy said, her heart clenching as she remembered that moment with stark clarity. "That's not the point, Willow. You did it for all the right reasons."

"I did it because I could," Willow shot back. "I wanted to prove something to myself - that I was powerful enough to do it. But I wasn't," she said.

"The spell worked," Xander puzzled out. "Of course you were powerful enough."

"No," Willow said with a shake of her head. "I … I felt something when I cast, like … some power surging through me. It was … euphoric. And then it was gone, and I felt so empty. That was him - The Trickster. That's when I opened the door and let him in, because I was too sure I knew what I was doing, and I didn't stop and think of the consequences."

"Oh my God," Xander breathed. "That long ago?" he asked, his voice squeaking.

Willow just nodded, a look of pure misery on her face. "It had to have been. He needed time to make his connection to me this strong, right? And he supplied the power for the original curse. It only makes sense that he would be paying attention when someone tried the curse again."

"So if he started his big Hell God plan way back then, what else has he been doing?" Buffy wondered aloud, the words falling heavily into the room.

"I - I don't know," Willow said softly. "It could be anything, and we wouldn't know. We'd have no way of knowing what bad things happened that were just us, or were helped along by him."

"Okay, The Trickster no longer seems all court-jester-y," Xander said with a frown. "His creepiness factor is steadily climbing."

"I'll … I'll be right back," Willow said, standing up and leaving the room. She grabbed the phone and the rolodex, making her way into the kitchen and dialing. She paused, listening to the phone ring before it was picked up.

"Anya?" she said quietly. "It's Willow, but don't tell Tara I'm on the phone."

In the other room, Xander said softly enough to not be overheard, "Buffy, this is really freaking me out. Willow's taking this whole thing a little too calmly."

"Just … I just need to know how she is," Willow whispered brokenly into the phone. "Tell me she's okay."

"I know," Buffy whispered back to Xander. "I think … it's probably going to hit her all at once. And Willow snapping into a million pieces is not something I care to see."

"Thank you, Anya," Willow said, her voice grateful as tears welled up in her eyes. "I know you and I haven't really gotten along, but take care of her for me, okay? In case something happens before you get here. Make sure she's all right. She's always liked you, and she'll need a friend."

"I just wish Tara were here," Xander whispered back, turning to his book when Willow walked back into the room, wiping tears from her eyes as surreptitiously as possible and going back to her seat.

"I need more information," Willow said quickly, turning back to her research with a manic intensity that garnered worried looks from all the Scoobies present. "I have to know … what happened before and … I have to know."

She continued muttering, occasionally taking notes, as she continued tracing her genealogy. The Scoobies exchanged worried glances before turning back to their own books, determined to find a way to save Willow.

Willow frowned at her computer, having traced her ancestry back several generations to Scotland. As far as she knew, it was the only scrap of blood in her that came from that area, but it followed the female line back, and it was the right culture to have standing stones, so she felt she was on the right track. As encouraging as this was, it was eminently frustrating that she couldn't find anything further back than the woman who had come to America, and there was no evidence to suggest she had practiced magick of any kind.

With a sigh, she shot off an email to Giles' computer guy, filling him in on what she knew so far. It may have been a bust from her point of view, but since the Council was in England anyway, she figured they should have better records than she could get over the internet.

She really had to find the time to finish writing her Latin translation program, she mused idly as she switched over to the crazed ramblings of a madmen - a prophet whose words seemed to be about The Trickster and his rise to power. A sinking feeling in her gut reminded her that she just might be out of time - that she might never finish the program. Or college. Never get back together with Tara. Never travel. There were so many books she hadn't read, and so many places she hadn't seen. So many things she had never bothered to learn.

She continued reading through her tears, unable to make heads or tails of the document in front of her. It clearly made no sense, and while she might be able to figure it all out if she had a few months to study it, she was certainly no expert when it came to that sort of thing.

With another frown, she changed documents again, reading over their information on The Trickster. Her frown deepened the further she read. Where Glory was short-sighted and self-centered, The Trickster was calculating and philanthropic in a twisted Hell God kind of way. He saw humanity as a bunch of childish powerless Glory's … and as such, his goals seemed to center around leading humanity to a maturity of pure cold reason, untempered by compassion or altruism. Willow shivered as she read, finding that while the world wouldn't end if The Trickster made his way out of Hell, all of humanity would be subjugated to his will and pressed into worship.

Engrossed in her work, she blocked out the sound of conversation around her, until a round of mocking laughter echoed around the room. She looked up, listening to Dawn and Buffy and Xander talking about how worthless she was - how glad they were that she was going to die. She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes tight, tears streaming down her face as each word seemed to stab her through the heart.

In the silent room, each of the Scoobies heard Willow make a noise like a wounded animal, the sound startling them out of their reading. Each looked up to see Willow crying quietly, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.

"Willow?" Buffy asked uncertainly, starting to rise as Dawn rushed to her side.

"Willow," Dawn said, reaching out, only to see Willow flinch away as if she sensed the movement without the benefit of sight.

Xander looked on helplessly as Willow seemed to curl in on herself, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her head bending down. She rocked forward and back slowly, a strange keening sound punctuated by sobs filling the room.

"What do we do?" Dawn asked, afraid to reach out again.

"I don't know," Xander said, moving closer to Willow, but keeping his distance enough that he didn't startle her.

Willow heard each word, each taunt and jab shaking her to the core. She deserved this. She had brought all of this on herself with her own insecurities. But they were deserved insecurities - her friends weren't really her friends. They only cared as long as she was useful. Now, she was useless and dying and they were stuck with her, just waiting for her to stop … being.

"No," Willow moaned, hugging her knees tighter. "No …" she said again on a choked whisper. The loved her. She knew it. This was a trick. It was all a trick.
No, their friendship and love had been the trick. Now she was seeing the truth. The truth was, none of them had ever loved her. Not Xander, not Oz … and not Tara.

"No," Willow said again, her heart breaking in two. Tara loved her. She knew it. She was rushing home to be with her - Anya had said so.

And then it was clear. Tara did love her. When she didn't know what was real, when she had nothing left to hold onto, she knew this to the very core of her being. Tara loved her. They might not be together right now, but that parting had hurt Tara every bit as much as it had hurt her. Tara loved her.

The shaking subsided, as did the voices, and after a long moment, Willow was able to raise her head and wipe at her eyes.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, looking at the concerned - and loving - faces of her friends. Her family. "It - kinda' got intense there for a minute."

"Here," Dawn said, handing over the long-forgotten and cold coffee.

"Thanks," Willow said, gingerly taking the cup, then downing the liquid quickly.

She gasped, pain ripping through her stomach. Xander rushed to her side as she doubled over, crossing her arms over her belly and grimacing. Her contents of her stomach roiled, and then it subsided. With a few shaky breaths, she extricated herself from Xander's arms and sat up, noticing immediately that she felt … lighter … freer … than she had in days.

"That was … whoah," she said slowly.

"I-I'm sorry," Dawn said, a stricken look on her face. "I didn't know it … I didn't know," she said.

"No, it's okay," Willow said quickly. "I feel … I mean, it hurt for a bit, but … I feel so much better," she reassured the girl. "It's … it's really strange."

"But I should have realized," Dawn went on. "I mean, it made that weird hissing sound in the bucket."

"I didn't think of that, either," Willow said.

"But you're okay?" Buffy asked from Willow's side, surprising Willow. She hadn't noticed Buffy move.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Willow said. "I … I think we better get back to the research."

They all nodded, moving back to their study spots and picking up their books.

"Knock knock," Spike said, opening the door of the Summers home and sauntering in. His coat was closed up, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Buffy said wryly.

"Funny you should mention that," Spike said with a grin. "Because I was just playing poker with me mates."

"Oh, God … with the betting of the kittens?" Buffy said with a groan.

"Kittens?" Willow asked, horrified. "You bet kittens?" A flash of sadness hit her as she remembered her beloved Miss Kitty Fantastico, who had disappeared that summer. A suspicious look crossed her face as she glared at Spike, until she remembered that Miss Kitty wouldn't have qualified as a 'kitten' at the time. Still … "You … you have to bet kittens, though, right?" she asked weakly. "No cats?"

"That's right," Spike confirmed, nodding. "However, it seems some temporal demon was cheating … out stealing cats, making them kittens again," he said, pursing his lips. "Doesn't change anything, or hurt the kitties, but still … it's just not done, y'know?"

"How'd you find that out?" Buffy asked, wondering what Spike's point was.

"Well, I recognized this one," Spike said, moving one arm and gingerly unfastening to front of his coat, revealing a small bundle of fur. "Took me awhile to win her back, but …" he said with a shrug, gently handing the kitten to Willow, who mewed happily as if recognizing one of her mommy's and settling in her lap.

"Miss Kitty?" Willow gasped, tears stinging her eyes. "I …" She hugged the kitten to her, rubbing her cheek against the soft fur and listening to her purr. "Oh, Miss Kitty," she said, holding her away to check her over for any hurts. Finding none, she gave a relieved sigh, then let the kitten settle in her lap, laughing through her tears at her little kitty yawn as she settled in for a nap. "Thank you, Spike," she said, looking up at the vampire, then promptly bursting into tears.

"Hey, now," Spike said, a troubled look on his face. "No crying, all right? I hate seeing women cry," he muttered.

"It's … complicated," Buffy said slowly, watching Willow cuddle the kitten and give vent to her fear and anger at her situation. "She … really needs this," she whispered, pulling Spike into the kitchen and motioning everyone to follow her.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Spike asked angrily. "I show up with her lost kitten … and let me tell you, both Red and Blondie >sobbed< when that little bugger left, and now she's bawling?"

"She's dying, Spike," Buffy said bluntly.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"She's … the Dark Magick is killing her. She can't cast spells, so she can't get rid of it. It's building up," she explained quickly.

"Oh, God … does Tara know?" he asked, frowning.

Buffy nodded, her eyes filling up with tears. "But Willow's been kind of … she … it's like it hadn't hit her yet. I think seeing Miss Kitty made it all sink in."

"So we're just standing her in the kitchen while Red sobs her heart out?" Spike asked slowly. "I mean, I'm evil … what's your excuse for being heartless?"

"Hey!" Xander said, offended.

"Especially you, you wanker," Spike said acidly. "Known her since she was five? Gonna' watch her die."

"I think she just needs some time alone," Buffy said, holding Xander back as he tried to get at Spike. "We're not being heartless," she snapped. "I just … I don't think … I don't think Willow would really let herself cry like she needs to in front of us. She's always been the strong one."

"Right - the Scooby Rock," Spike said, his lips pursed. "And her rock is off haring after her mother's things."

"Tara's on her way back, though," Buffy confirmed.

"So how do we save Red?" Spike asked, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, expecting Buffy and Xander to protest his involvement.

"Why would you want to help?" Buffy asked, unable to stop the question. "Honestly - you hate us. Why would you want to help?"

Spike took Buffy's arm gently, pulling her aside. "I have my reasons," he said in a hushed tone. "I may be an evil bastard, but I pay my debts. Willow gave the group a direction when you were gone … without her and Dawn, I wouldn't have had a reason to get out of my crypt in the evening. She kept everyone going, and though it pains me to admit it, that includes me. So I owe her."

"That just may be the nicest thing you've ever said," Buffy said softly.

"Don't get used to it," Spike said petulantly. "I'm still evil."

"You're the Diet Coke of Evil," Buffy said with a smirk.

"You take that back! Right now," Spike insisted.

"Or what?" Buffy shot back. "You'll glare me to death?"

"Fine," Spike said tersely. "So how do we help Red?"

"We hit the books," Buffy said. "Think you can handle sitting still long enough?"

"Whatever it takes."

Buffy just nodded to Spike, then the others, motioning towards the door with her head. They walked quietly back into the living room, seeing Willow curled up in the chair, Miss Kitty cradled against her chest. Her face was red and puffy from crying as she held the phone and awkwardly dialed with the same hand.

Willow lifted the phone to her ear, sniffling softly. A voice answered, and Willow froze, her eyes going wide. The Scoobies looked on, their concern rising as Willow continued to hold the phone to her ear, her jaw slightly open.

"Tara?" Willow whispered raggedly.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 32

On the Road Again

Tara didn't know what to think, or what to feel, so she just drove. A numbness, startling in its totality, stole over her mind and heart, until she was nothing more than the person operating the machine that would take her closer to her goal. She tried not to think about where she was going and why, because probing that topic caused instant pain so sharp and deep it physically took her breath away.

So she drove on, having no idea how long they had been on the road already that day. She thought hard about the highway, keeping her inner voice quiet … thinking about the road and the lines, and those little reflect-y bumpy things. The hum of the engine, and the slightly static-y feel of the radio - there was nothing else - could be nothing else, without intense, searing pain.

The phone ringing distracted her momentarily, Anya answering it. Anya paused a moment, her gaze shifting over to Tara, then responded to whoever was on the line. "Hi, Xander. Tara's doing okay. We're coming back to Sunnydale as fast as we can."

But that wasn't quite true, Tara thought idly, glancing at the speedometer. Eighty. She let her foot fall a little heavier on the gas pedal. Ninety. She pressed harder. A hundred. She spared a moment to pray that there would be no cops on the road she took back to Sunnydale.

"Of course. Tara's my friend," Anya said, her face shifting subtly in a brief look of pain before she carefully composed her features, trying not to betray the true nature of her conversation. "I consider Willow and Tara both to be my friends. And you take care of Willow, you hear me? You make sure she's fine when we get there. Tara needs her."

Anya hung the phone up silently, nodding with satisfaction as she saw that Tara was moving at a much faster clip. The phone call from Willow had shaken her, making her realize exactly how much the Scoobies stood to lose, should anything happen to the redhead.

"That was Xander," Anya said, wondering if lying to her friend was really as bad as everyone told her it was. Surely, in this situation, when Willow had specifically asked that she not let on that it was her, it was okay?

"I figured," Tara said, her eyes trained straight ahead as they practically flew down the road. Anya looked out the window dejectedly, casting about for something - anything - to say to Tara.

"Say something," Anya finally demanded. "Anything at all. But please, stop just sitting there looking like
she's already gone, because it's unnerving."

"I … I can't," Tara said, her voice raw. "I can't talk right now, Anya."

"Then listen. Did I ever tell you about the time Xander got syphilis?" Anya asked brightly.

"What?" Tara asked, shocked out of her stupor, pathetically grateful for the distraction. "Xander
has syphilis?"

"Oh, no … he only had it temporarily. For about 24 hours, tops?" Anya explained.

"How do you get temporary 24-hour syphilis?" Tara wondered aloud. "That's … that's not possible, is
it?"

"Of course it isn't. But it was a Hellmouth thing," Anya said breezily.

"Ahh … of course," Tara said, nodding in understanding. "But … how does someone get temporary
24-hour syphilis from the Hellmouth?"

"Well, be quiet, and I'll tell you," Anya said with a laugh. "There we were, Buffy and Willow and I … at
the dedication for the knew cultural center at the college."

"Oh, I remember that - didn't they uncover the old Sunnydale Mission during the groundbreaking?" Tara
interrupted.

"That's right. Only, it was more like, Xander uncovered the old Sunnydale Mission during the groundbreaking. He was there with his construction crew, digging. In a tank top. Mmm…" Anya trailed
off, a wicked gleam in her eye. "All … sweaty, and …"

"I get the picture," Tara interrupted, heading off Anya's lust-filled haze in an attempt to get her back
on-topic.

"Oh, right. Well, there he was digging, and then the ground gave way, and he fell into the mission," Anya
said.

"He was the one who fell in? I remember reading about that in the school newspaper," Tara recalled.

"MmmHmm," Anya confirmed. "So, as it turns out, he accidentally unleashed the vengeful power of the
Shumash Tribe. Their 'Justice Spirit' arose, duplicating the horrors they had suffered at the hands of the people colonizing the area."

"But revenge isn't … nice," Tara said with a frown.

"Well, no," Anya hedged, inexplicably feeling a little hurt at Tara's assessment of what had, in effect, been
her profession for a thousand years. "But it's fair. It's always fair," she said. "Except that they hurt Xander," she added with a frown. "I didn't like that part at all. But when they killed the lady in charge
of the cultural center and cut off her ear, and when they hung the priest … that was almost … poetic."

"The spirit did what?" Tara asked.

"Oh, well, some of the tribesman were hung, so the spirit duplicated that. And there was a bounty out on
them … an ear was brought back to prove a kill, so they killed the teacher in charge of the cultural center and cut off her ear," Anya said. "Of course, Willow wanted to find a way of banishing the spirit, or appeasing it, without anymore killing. She figured that was only fair, because they honestly had suffered
so much. Giles was totally against that. It was a spirit that was hurting people, and he wanted it to stop immediately, no matter what they had to do."

"So who won that fight?" Tara asked curiously. She could, in all honesty, see both sides of that argument
as having valid points, though she tended to think Willow's take was … nicer.

"Neither, actually. The spirit realized that Buffy was the greatest warrior in Sunnydale, so it got a bunch of its spirit friends and laid siege to Giles' place. At that point, we didn't really have a chance of figuring out how to appease them. It was either kill them or die," Anya said.

"So how does the syphilis tie into this?" Tara asked after a moment.

"Oh, I left that part out!" Anya said quickly. "Part of what happened to the Shumash involved being stuck
in a mission, and left there for all sorts of diseases to spread. Xander got all of them. He was really, really sick. Syphilis was just one of the diseases."

"Wow … that's … really awful," Tara said. "But it turned out okay, right?"

"Right," Anya said with a happy little nod. "Once they killed all the Shumash spirits, everything cleared right up, so Xander's p-"

"I get it," Tara said wryly. "No need to spell it out."

"But, that's sharing, isn't it? Aren't friends supposed to share?" Anya asked, honestly curious.

"Yes, it's sharing, but some details are private, especially when two people are intimate. That sort of thing is just for you and Xander, so you don't need to tell the rest of us. In fact, when those details are a secret just between the two of you, it makes them more special," Tara answered.

"Hmm … I suspected that was the reason," Anya said after a moment. "But I still don't see it. I certainly don't feel sex with Xander is any less special just because I may happen to mention -"

"Playing 'shiver me timbers'?" Tara asked with a grin.

"Exactly!" Anya said excitedly. "So you understand?"

"Oh, yes, I understand," Tara said. "You don't feel bad about sharing these things, and we're your friends, so you share. It makes perfect sense. It's just that because people generally think of these things as being private, we sometimes feel like it's wrong for us to know, y'know?" she said, trying to convey her thoughts on the subject.

"Does it really bother you?" Anya asked, tilting her head to the side and regarding Tara carefully.

"Mostly, I just think it's funny," Tara said with a little smile, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. "I just … don't want to hear the syphilis details, or the post-syphilis all-cleared-up-details," she admitted.

"Deal. But I can still make inappropriate comments at inappropriate times without making you angry, right?" Anya pressed, needing to be reassured that this woman, who was really the best friend she had, wasn't actually offended by her behavior.

"No - that will never make me mad," Tara said.

"So now it's your turn to share details," Anya said eagerly. "Did Willow ever have any funny diseases?" she asked, then went on before Tara could comment. "Of course, the only other person she was ever with
was Oz, and I don't think he ever had anything. Well, except for the lycanthropy, and that can only be
passed through biting. But on the other hand, it's possible he could have bitten her during sex, but she'd be a werewolf now. And if she were a werewolf, she wouldn't have broken up with Oz, because that's why they broke up in the first place. But on the other hand - am I running out of hands? - I think that if Willow had met you while Oz was still in the picture, she still would have chosen you, eventually."

"I … really? You think so?" Tara asked, the warm glow she got at the end of Anya's ramblings making up for the things she had said earlier on. While she certainly didn't want to think of 'Oz', 'biting' and 'sex' at the same time, let alone at the same time as 'Willow', the idea that Willow would have chosen her anyway warmed her all the way through.

"Oh, definitely," Anya said. "It would have been a lot harder for Willow, and she wouldn't have let anything actually happen while she was with Oz, but she would have eventually broken up with him to be
with you."

"I was … I was so surprised when she chose me. Even after everything we had done together, I never thought - I always thought that if Oz came back, or if another boy showed any interest…" Tara said, her voice trailing off as she remembered that magical night when Willow had chosen her.

"So you didn't think Willow was serious about the two of you?" Anya questioned.

"Well, how could I? I mean, we knew each other for such a long time before you all even knew I existed. We started kissing before that, and … I just kind of thought that, well, she liked me well enough, as a person - but I never actually though that she was in love with me. It was … the best surprise of my life,"
Tara said.

"I remember the look on your face when Oz walked in," Anya remembered. "You looked like … you'd had your guts ripped out … and I would know, because I've seen lots of people who'd had their guts ripped out."

"That's what it felt like," Tara said softly. "It was like … I couldn't breathe anymore, and I just … I had
to be anywhere but there. But the worst was when Willow came over before she had made up her mind. We talked, and from the things she said, I was completely sure I was going to lose her. Then she came over
later. It was nighttime, and I was alone, curled up on my bed, just hoping I would fall asleep and the pain would stop for the night, knowing that neither one would happen. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them together, and I just… I wanted it to stop."

"And then?" Anya asked.

"I heard a knock at the door, so I made my way over. Half-hoping, half-afraid that it was Willow. Certainly, no one else ever came to my room, y'know? But I opened the door, and she was standing there with a lit candle in her hands," Tara reminisced, a faint smile edging her features.

"Candles are very romantic," Anya said knowledgably.

"Mmm," Tara agreed. "So she came in, and I was still sure she was going to break up with me to be with Oz. Not that we were officially together or anything, but still. I felt like she was breaking up with me. But this tiny little glimmer of hope kinda' grew inside me, which, in a way, made me feel worse, because I knew that when she crushed that, I wouldn't have anything left."

"But she didn't, right? I mean, she chose you right then?" Anya asked, unsure of exactly when everything had happened.

"She did," Tara said, a beatific smile lighting up her features. "She tried to explain, and I stammered something about how I understood, and that she needed to be with the one she loved. And then she said that she was, and … I felt my heart stop. And then when it started beating again, I knew in that moment that from that day on, it would beat for her."

"I bet Xander never says those kinds of things about me when I'm not around," Anya muttered quietly enough so as not to break into Tara's story.

"I thought I knew what it was to love her before, but after that moment, I lost every piece of myself. Still, there was a part of me that couldn't believe. So I kinda' said, 'you mean … ?' and I trailed off, chickening out. And she just nodded and said that she did, and then she said she'd make it up to me, starting right then. And then I blew out the candle," Tara said, her eyes aglow with warmth and love.

"And >then< you had sex!" Anya said triumphantly.

"W-we made love, yes," Tara confirmed, a blush crawling up her neck.

"So how was it?" Anya asked eagerly.

"I -" Tara started to say, unsure of whether or not she should even bother answering this question. Would Anya let it go if she said it was none of her business. "It was … amazing," she said with a helpless little shrug. "I mean, neither one of us had any idea what to do … with a woman and all, and … so we just kinda' … took it real slow. All night." Tara's blush grew as she remembered that night, and how shy and tentative they were. Still, it was as though Willow knew just how to touch her, and where, to drive her wild. And Willow had been so responsive, her groans and cute little squeaks filling the room as Tara loved her.

"All night?" Anya squeaked. "Xander can't go all night! That's not fair!"

"Then maybe you should have hooked up with Willow," Tara said with a laugh.

"But I like Xander's penis. Willow doesn't >have< a penis," she complained.

"Well, then it's a trade-off," Tara said with a smirk, even as she thought 'Thank the Goddess.'

"Hmph," Anya said, bouncing against the seat back and crossing her arms. "I want both. I want Xander's penis with Willow's stamina."

Tara blinked once, then blinked again. She chewed the inside of her lip, then bit her tongue. "No comment," she finally said, staring straight ahead at the road.

"What?" Anya demanded, turning in her seat to face the driver. "You have something to say, so out with it!"

"I've forgotten what it was," Tara said airily.

"That's just not fair," Anya whined, her shoulders slumping.

"You're right. It's not," Tara agreed, unwilling to share.

"Fine," Anya said, realizing she was getting nowhere fast. "Now what do we talk about?" she wondered aloud.

"What's with the bunny thing?" Tara finally asked. "Seriously … what's scary about bunnies?"

"What's not scary about bunnies?" Anya asked. "They're truly vicious creatures. You honestly have no idea."

"But that's just it … none of us have any idea. We all think bunnies are cute," Tara said.

"That's because you can't see it. I mean, how can you miss the teeth, and the way they hippity-hop? No natural creature of this world should be able to move like that. They're cunning and mean, and the damage they can do is … unspeakable," Anya finished with a shiver. "And could we not discuss bunnies when driving all alone on a deserted highway at night?" she asked. "This is giving me the creeps. I mean, next thing you know, the car is going to break down, my cell phone battery will die, and we'll be surrounded by desert bunnies bent on destruction. Then I'll be wounded in the leg," she went on, her agitation clearly visible as she squirmed in her seat. "It'll get infected, and you'll have to cut it off, and we only have a pocket knife, and while we're gone, the shop will get broken into, and I'm going to start PMS'ing any day now!"

"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Tara asked, a look of puzzled awe on her face.

"Well, it could happen," Anya said defensively. "And do you see what the bunnies do to me? They instill fear and panic and bizarre scenarios. We just need to add in the Initiative figuring out that I was a demon and deciding to do tests on me and parachuting in a unit, and it will be the worst night of my human life!"

"Okay," Tara said with a puzzled nod. "I can see now how bunnies are clearly evil and dangerous, so let's not speak of such things anymore."

"Good," Anya said.

They drove in silence, distracting thoughts of bunnies only keeping Tara busy for a few more moments before her thoughts turned inevitably to Willow. Sweet, smart, cute, funny Willow, who ran towards danger and forgave betrayals and stood up to mean fathers and brothers, all without knowing the full story. Willow, who loved her, and needed her, and was trying so hard to get clean.

Willow who was dying.

She had avoided the thought, chasing it away when it tried to seep into her brain, but she couldn't fight it off any longer. Willow was dying. Silent tears tracked down her face, even as a fierce resolve filled her.

Willow was dying.

Not if she could help it.

There had to be something - anything - that she could do. She couldn't sit back and watch the love of her life die, no matter what crazy things had come between them. She would defend Willow with her last breath if need be, or storm Hell itself and demand The Trickster let her go.

Her hands tightened on the wheel, until her knuckles glowed white in the night. She wouldn't let it happen. She would stop it. It couldn't happen - it was unthinkable. A world without Willow in it? How could she live in such a world? Why would she want to?

No matter the pain Willow had caused her, no matter the shaky state of their relationship, the fact remained: Willow was a part of her, and she was a part of Willow. If Willow were taken away, she knew that what was left of her wouldn't be worth a thing. Breathing hurt just thinking about it - she couldn't imagine what the actual loss would do to her.

"How fast does this thing go?" she muttered, pressing down harder on the gas. One-ten. One-twenty. The car began to shake a little, but held, and Tara kept it there, tearing through the night as if the denizens of hell were on her heels.

But she was going towards those denizens, because they had their claws in Willow, and she had to stop them.

"Tara?" Anya asked uncertainly, glancing at the speedometer.

"Yes?" Tara said tightly.

"We're, uhh … going kind of fast …" Anya offered up hesitantly.

"I know," Tara said, her face set in determined lines.

"We're not going to stop tonight, are we?" Anya finally asked after a few more minutes of silence, as the miles ticked away.

"No, we're not," Tara confirmed.

Anya merely nodded, letting the seat back and closing her eyes, getting comfortable. "Wake me up in three hours or so," she said calmly. "This road isn't very bendy, so I'll take a turn tonight. If you drive for two days straight, we're not going to make it."

"You can't drive," Tara pointed out, glancing at the ex-demon.

"I've done nothing but watch you drive for about three days," Anya said. "I think I have it figured out. And while I might not feel comfortable driving as fast as you, you can get some sleep, and we'll still be making better time than we would when I insist we stop so you can rest."

"Fine," Tara said tersely. "Three hours."

Anya nodded, satisfied with the response, and let herself drift off into sleep. Tara let the darkness and the quiet settle around her like a comfortable blanket. She needed that … she needed the feeling of solitude to let her emotions have free reign.

Love for Willow was the foremost, and the most familiar. It had been the prevalent feeling in her life for so long, it was like it lived in her skin, or in her very blood. It was as much a part of her as her blue eyes.

Then there was the pain at the thought of losing Willow. That felt different, but familiar. She was used to worrying about Willow - as a Scooby, Willow was constantly exposed to danger. But this - this wasn't the same. That had been a nebulous vague worry. Vampires. Demons. Stubbed toes. She loved Willow, and so she worried. But this - this certainty that, as things stood - unless something was changed - Willow was going to die? That feeling unsettled her, set her teeth on edge, and sent sharp daggers of pain lancing towards her heart.

But it was the anger that she was ashamed of, and why she needed the comfort of solitude. She couldn't let anyone know about the anger. She was so mad - at Willow, at herself, at the whole world - that she didn't know how she was holding back the screams. But she did hold them back. Mustn't wake Anya. Mustn't let her see.

Tara let these feelings roll around inside her as she drove, pushing the car to its limits, she assumed. For all she really knew, this car could do twice this speed, but she couldn't risk it. Her need to be by Willow's side quickly was tempered by her need to arrive in one piece. She certainly couldn't do Willow any good if she managed to get herself killed on the way home.

Though it was the anger that made her ashamed, it was that feeling that scared her - the feeling that it might not be so bad if she died tonight. That way, she wouldn't have to watch as Willow slowly died, day by day, growing weaker and angrier as the Dark Magick seeped into her blood. She wouldn't have to watch those green eyes she loved so much shade to black as Willow fought the urge to just cast one last spell. She wouldn't have to watch Willow take her last shaking breath.

But no - that was the coward's way out. Willow was still alive, and she needed Tara now more than ever. As attractive as the idea was of waiting for Willow to arrive in the afterlife, instead of waiting for Willow to leave in this one, she knew she couldn't do that. She would see Willow again, in this life, and she would fight for her, and as long as there was that last shred of hope, she'd keep fighting. Her heart wouldn't let her do otherwise.

Tara glanced at the green glow of the clock on the dash. Three and a half hours had passed, she realized with a start, easing up on the accelerator. The shaking smoothed out around one-ten, and she slowed further, finally easing the car to a stop at the side of the road.

"Anya," she said, gently shaking the sleeping form in the seat next to her.

"Huh? Wha'?" Anya said, rubbing her bleery eyes.

"Do you still want to take a turn?" Tara said, the emotional toll of the day finally catching up with her, making her realize how exhausted she was, now that the car had stopped.

Anya nodded. "Let me just …" she said, opening the door to the cold night, her eyes popping open. "Cold! Cold!" she exclaimed, releasing her seatbelt and jumping out of the car, hopping up and down. "Okay … I'm awake!" she declared, huddling up slamming the door, running over to the driver's side.

Tara unlocked the door, wearily crawling into the other seat, her limbs feeling heavy and awkward. She was stiff and sore, and her back and her leg ached. Why hadn't she noticed these things before?

"Because Willow is dying, and they're completely unimportant," she whispered bleakly, answering her own question as Anya slipped into the car.

"Okay," Anya said, taking a deep breath and releasing it. Smoothly, she pressed down on the brake pedal, then released the parking brake. She checked the mirrors, seeing no headlights - which wasn't surprising, because she couldn't remember the last car they had seen - then eased out onto the road, her motions a little jerky, but quickly smoothing out. "There - this isn't so hard," she said, taking one hand off the wheel to rub the sleep out of her eyes and drifting into the other lane.

"Both hands," Tara said quickly, making Anya jump.

"Right," Anya said. "Both hands on the wheel," she muttered under her breath, settling in for the long drive. She eased the car up to forty, feeling as though she were driving way too fast. "This is so weird," she mused. "I'm going one third the speed you were, but I feel like … it's really >really< fast. Why didn't it feel this fast when you were driving?" she asked.

"Because it's different when you're the one driving. You're more aware of what the car is actually doing," Tara mumbled, settling into the seat and letting her heavy eyelids drift shut. "It makes sense when you … think .. about it," she muttered, drifting off into an exhausted sleep, even as she finished speaking.

Anya nodded with satisfaction, looking over at the sleeping form. "Okay," she said to herself. "I'm driving a car. This is a big responsibility. But I've leveled cities and destroyed kingdoms. This shouldn't be too tough."

Tentatively, she eased up to fifty.

The miles ticked by, Anya experimentally increasing her speed as she grew more comfortable behind the wheel. She had a few bad moment when the road turned, but she managed to navigate the twists without waking Tara or killing them, so she considered it a success, even if she did have to cross that annoying double-yellow line. Who made that rule, anyway? What did it matter if she crossed the line when the road was all empty?

She relaxed into her drive and her musings about the idiocy of traffic laws, content to follow the road and let Tara sleep. She was worried. Tara had taken quite an emotional beating the last week, and now with this Willow thing on top of it? It was amazing to Anya that Tara was still standing. Not that she was standing, or was even conscious, but she meant that in the metaphoric sense. Only the deep shadows and slight lines of tension around her eyes and mouth spoke of Tara's worries.

Still, Tara was clearly exhausted to anyone who knew her. The fact that she had driven so late into the night showed her strength and determination. She hoped, for her own sake as well as Tara's, that the Scoobies would pull off another miracle, and save Willow.

The sharp chirp of the phone startled Tara out of her uneasy dreams, and she reached automatically for the glove box, popping it open and picking up the phone. Anya had jumped a little in her seat, inadvertently pressing on the gas and making the car shoot forward, but regaining control of both herself and the car after just a moment.

"Hello?" Tara said, her voice groggy with sleep. Silence greeted her on the other end of the phone, and she sat up, frowning. "Hello?" she asked again, and still only silence greeted her. A strange feeling settled into her stomach. "Willow?" she said tentatively.

"Tara?" Willow asked back, her voice a ragged whisper.

[Sassette]

On the Road Again (continued)

"Willow, baby?" Tara said, sitting up ramrod straight, her voice urgent and pleading. "I'm coming home, sweetheart. You hang on for me," she said, her voice breaking.

"I should be okay for a few weeks," Willow answered, her voice shaky. "I … I need you," she said, the words coming through the line as if they had been torn out of the depths of Willow's heart without her permission and passed on to Tara. "I- I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I … I don't have the right to -"

"You have every right," Tara said fiercely. "No matter what else is going on, I love you." Tara bit her lip, trying to hold back her own tears as Willow's quiet sobs echoed over the phone line. "Don't cry, baby," she said softly. "Please don't cry. I'm going to get there as soon as I can."

"I just … oh, God, I needed to hear that so badly," Willow managed to get out. "I love you so much, Tara … and I'm so sorry that I … that I let it all get this bad."

"None of that matters," Tara said quickly. "Just concentrate on staying well - on figuring out how we're going to save you, because I refuse to let you -" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Die," Willow said starkly. "The word is 'die'."

"Don't you say that," Tara said, her voice choked. "You are >not< going to die, do you hear me?" she demanded. "I might need time, or space, but … baby, there's nothing I couldn't forgive you, do you understand that? Except this. If you die on me, I … I don't know if I could ever forgive you that," Tara said, her own sobs making her words hard to understand.

"You can't mean that," Willow said, her voice catching. "After what I did - how could you forgive me?"

"Because I love you, and it was a mistake," Tara said. "It was a stupid, hurtful mistake, but it was still a mistake. A bad judgement call. But you've learned your lesson, sweetheart. I have too," she finished on a broken whisper. "I think … I think we've both learned far too much from this one," she said, getting a mirthless laugh from Willow.

"I have learned my lesson, Tara … I swear it to you," Willow said. "I … I look back now, and I can't … I can't believe how utterly wrong I was. I can't believe that I would do such a thing, to you of all people."

They both fell silent, each listening to the other breathing on the line, taking comfort in the fact that the other was there, if only over the phone.

"Miss Kitty says hi," Willow finally said with a sniffle after several long moments.

"Miss Kitty?" Tara asked, her brow furrowing.

"S-Spike found her," Willow sobbed. "She's okay, but she's a kitten again," she said, forcing the words pass the tightness in her throat. "Hear her purr?" Tara heard the sound of the phone moving, then the distinctive rumble of a purring kitten. She couldn't help but smile when she heard the sound. "Baby?" Willow asked, when she brought the phone back to her ear.

"I'm here," Tara confirmed, a watery smile on her face. "Put Miss Kitty back on," she requested.

"I'll hold her up so we can both hear," Willow offered, the sound of Willow's breathing and Miss Kitty's purrs reaching Tara's hearing, bringing back sweet memories of lazy mornings past.

"Miss Kitty? You take good care of your mommy Willow until I get there, okay?" Tara softly requested, wiping at her eyes. "You give her lots of love and attention for me, all right?"

"She's nodding her little kitten head," Willow said, and Tara could hear the smile in her voice.

"Good. I trust Miss Kitty to know how to take proper care of you," Tara said.

"I should … I should get back to the research," Willow finally said, her voice sad and lost. "We've found out a few things, but … not enough."

"Not enough, yet," Tara said, stressing the last word. "We'll get past this, baby, I swear it."

"I don't wanna' hang up," Willow said, sniffling again.

"I don't want to either," Tara said, holding the phone like a lifeline. "But baby … I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise. And you have to do the research. We have to find a way to fix this, because I refuse to let you go."

"I love you, baby," Willow said again, needing to express what was in her heart. "More than anything … I - I don't have the words to tell you -"

"I already know," Tara said. "Because it's how much I love you."

They both sat in silence for a moment, taking comfort in their brief connection before each disconnected their phones, neither willing to say 'good-bye'.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 33

The Morning After

"I don't believe we're having this conversation again," Buffy yelled. "You're going to school. You can't just miss it."

"But Willow's really sick," Dawn responded tearily. "I can't … I can't be somewhere else."

"You have to, Dawnie," Willow said, coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe. The heat from the shower made her face look flushed and healthy, except for the deep hollows under her eyes and the painful thinness apparent under the robe. "Besides," Willow went on before Dawn could marshal her teenaged arguments. "I'm going to class today," she said firmly.

"No," Buffy said firmly. "You both listen to me. Willow, sick. Willow stay home. Dawn healthy. Dawn go to school."

"No," Dawn and Willow said in unison, turning on the Slayer.

"No fair ganging up on me. Besides, Slayer strength, remember?" Buffy said. "I'll drag you to Xander's car if I have to," Buffy said, pointing at Dawn. "And the 'sitting on you' threat still stands," she said, turning to Willow.

"Look," Willow said wearily. "I've been thinking. It made sense yesterday, because we didn't know what was going on. For all we knew, staying in bed would help me. But it won't. I've already vomited up a bunch of the yucky stuff, and I had my Blessed Be Soap shower. Staying home won't help, and I need … I need to do something normal," she finished in a tremulous voice.

"Fine," Buffy said flatly. "Then I 'm going with you, and we're taking the baking soda," she declared, walking into the bathroom and grabbing the box. "And you," she said pointing at Dawn. "You have no reason to stay home if Willow isn't even going to be here."

"You're really going to school?" Dawn asked, looking over at Willow.

"Yeah, I really am," Willow said determinedly. "See the resolve face?" she asked, pointing at herself.

"Yeah, I see the resolve face," Dawn said with a half smile, her eyes sad as she wondered how much longer she'd be able to say that.

"And I promise, once we're both home, we'll work on your homework together, okay?" Willow said.

"I'd like that," Dawn said with a smile. "But shouldn't we be concentrating on the research?" she asked, her face falling. "I mean… there's lots of stuff we still don't know."

"I know, but I'm waiting for some information back from the Watcher's Council. It should help us narrow the search and speed things up," Willow said. "Once we have that, we'll do more efficient research. Besides … Geometry … it'll be fun. I like geometry."

"That is so twisted," Buffy muttered, brushing past the two of them to head into her room. Nummy sushi pajamas were all well and good when one was planning to stay home for the day looking after a sick friend, but not really appropriate for the UC Sunnydale campus.

"Can I get anything for you?" Dawn asked uncertainly. "I mean, I'm already dressed and good to go, and you don't have a lot of time," she said, indicating Willow's robe.

"Actually, some magicky-goodness coffee would be great," Willow said, heading to her room to change, sending a silent 'thank you' to Xander for going to her parents' house for some clothes. Apparently, they had been home, back from their trip, but they hadn't asked many questions when Xander had shown up. On one level, she was grateful for small favors, because Xander was a terrible liar, but on another, it kind of worried her that someone could just show up at her house and say 'Hey, Willow sent me,' and her parents would just let them take whatever. Of course, it >was< Xander, and they'd known him all his life, but still.

"But - but … that was all pain-inducing and not fun," Dawn said with a frown.

"Yeah, I know," Willow said with a sigh. "But … I really did feel better afterwards. I think it helps to neutralize some of that stuff before I digest it, y'know? And getting witchy goodness into the old bloodstream certainly can't hurt."

"Well, okay," Dawn said, heading down the stairs to make another Cup O' Coffee Pain. "I bet none of the other kids have to make magick coffee," she muttered to herself. "Then again, none of the other kids have the smartest person in Sunnydale helping with their homework," she decided, figuring it was a fair trade. Things looked better this morning - more … hopeful, somehow. Her mom had died of natural causes, so there wasn't anything the Scoobies could do … but this? This was a Big Bad. The Scoobies always pulled through when a Big Bad reared its ugly head.

And they'd fix this, Dawn was sure of it. And she'd even get to help this time, so she didn't feel so useless and stupid. It was … nice. Well, except for the Willow possibly dying part. That worried her, and gave her a >major< tummy rumblings. But still, Willow had shown her how she organized her notes in different colored pens, so she had recopied them for her. Not the most exciting assignment in the world, but it had freed up Willow to do her computer thing, and so she had contributed.

She just wished Tara were here. Tara had said that her mother's things would help, and she trusted Tara. If Tara said they would, then they would, so she was glad Tara had gone to get them … but still, she needed the older girl's steady presence.

It had been a strange summer, just the three of them and the Buffy Bot. Willow had been so busy keeping everyone together, that Tara had really taken care of her. In a way, it was like having two parents again. She had gone to summer school to catch up in the classes she had tanked due to her mother's illness, and Willow had somehow managed to find the time to help her along, so she really understood the material, despite the short class-time.

Dawn put out some food for Miss Kitty, smiling at the thought of Spike stopping off to buy food for the kitten before bringing her over. He had surprised everyone but her when he had left for a moment, reappearing with a bag of cat food.

But it had been Tara who had made her lunches, and talked to her about her feelings. Tara had asked about her day, and listened to everything she had to say. And if she missed Tara, she could only imagine what Willow was going through.

Upstairs, Willow moved stiffly into her clothes, moving carefully to avoid stretching her sore stomach muscles. But she determinedly eased into her jeans, knowing that she needed the sense of normalcy that attending class would bring.

Once dressed, she tentatively hefted her book bag, finding it heavier than she remembered. Or maybe, she mused, examining the scrawny appendage emerging from her t-shirt, she was just weaker.

She left the room, heading down the stairs to the kitchen, smiling when she saw that Dawn had already put out food for Miss Kitty, who was contentedly having her breakfast.

"Here you go," Dawn said, handing over the coffee.

Gingerly, Willow took a sip, wincing when it hit her stomach, causing it to roil. Still, she finished the coffee in minutes as she waited for Buffy to get downstairs.

"Hey," a freshly showered and dressed Buffy said, walking into the room. "Everybody set for another exciting day full of learning and growing?" she asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Willow said emphatically, as Dawn groaned.

"Did you get your lunch?" Buffy asked, nodding happily when Dawn displayed the plain paper sack.

"Thank you for packing cookies," Dawn said with a little smile. "I really like those."

"I know," Buffy said. "I always liked having those in my lunches, too."

"Umm, Buffy?" Dawn said tentatively, Buffy getting a worried look on her face at the tone of Dawn's voice.

"Yes?" she said warily.

"I was thinking …" Dawn began.

"And that's >never< good," Buffy teased.

"Brat," Dawn muttered, before starting again. "I'm … well, I'm fifteen now, and I was thinking of getting a job. After school. To help out and stuff," she said in a rush.

"Dawn … you need to concentrate on school," Buffy said gently. "And doing all the fun things that fifteen-year-olds do."

"Buffy," Dawn said seriously. "I peeked at the papers you left out. I know how bad it is."

"Dawn, I'll take care of it," Buffy insisted. "I don't want you to have to work."

"Then how about I work just a little, for my own spending cash?" Dawn offered. "Then you can do groceries, rent, utilities and all that grown-up stuff, and I can take care of my own movie tickets and school snacks and stuff."

"How about we talk about this some more later, okay?" Buffy said hesitantly.

"Later never gets here," Dawn said in an exasperated tone.

"I promise, this time we'll really talk about it," Buffy assured her. "I want to think about this before I say yes or no."

"Buffy?" Willow said, toying with the handle of her coffee cup.

"Yes?" Buffy said, turning towards Willow.

"It … it kind of makes sense, though. I mean, I know Tara and I didn't really contribute anything money-wise this summer, and I was thinking that … if I make it … I want to get a job and pay you the rent I owe you," Willow said.

"Will," Buffy began gently. "You and Tara spent all summer taking care of Dawn for me. That's priceless. You don't owe me anything. And don't you even think about not making it, because you're going to make it."

"I figured you'd say that," Willow said wryly. "To both parts."

"Well, I'd have to be anything less than predictable," Buffy responded in kind. They all heard the front door open, then shut, and moments later, Xander appeared.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted cordially, nodding at Dawn. "You ready to head out to school?"

"Yes," Dawn said, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her shouler.

"And we need a ride over to the campus, if you have time," Willow said.

"To the campus?" Xander asked. "Ahh… Willow needs her bookish learning," he said, nodding understandingly. "Sure, let's go."

"Thanks," Willow said, grateful to avoid another lecture about staying home, glad that Xander seemed to just know why she needed to go.

They all headed out to the car, arranging themselves in their seats, Dawn calling shotgun. Buffy automatically opened her mouth to protest, then realized that riding up front was one of those 'cool' high school things, and she might as well just let her sister have it.

They rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Willow didn't notice as Xander kept glancing at Willow in the rearview mirror, his mind racing. She looked bad. Very bad. She was still Willow, so she was pretty, but her hair and her eyes weren't as shiny as he was used to, and she looked thinner than usual. He had figured that the stress of last night had put the dark circles under her eyes, but that sleep would help. No such luck. She looked … she looked like she was wasting away, if he was honest with himself, he noted with pang of pain spearing through him.

He honestly couldn't imagine his life without Willow in it. He couldn't, in fact, remember a time when Willow wasn't there - it was like trying to imagine a world without McDonalds, or television. Willow was a constant, and it was like she was turning into a variable.

A sad smile crossed his face at that thought, as he remembered all those extra helpful tutoring sessions with Willow. Her intelligence and her inner strength had helped form him into the man he was. He had no idea how his life would be different, if there had been no Willow in it, but he imagined it would be worse in ways he wouldn't even want to consider.

Would he have graduated from high school? Would he even have survived high school? Would he have joined up with Buffy in the first place, and become a member of the Scooby Gang? Would the world have ended?

He loved Willow - dearly - but he wasn't in love with her … and if he was this bad off, what was Tara going through?

Anya was … certainly unique. There was no other woman like her in the whole world - that he could say with certainty. And God, how he loved that woman. He wished she were here now, so he could talk to her about everything he was feeling. Usually, talking about feelings wasn't really his thing, but what he was feeling was so intense, he felt like he needed to let it out. Somehow, despite her lack of experience with human things, her peculiar world-view managed to help him put things in perspective. She had a way of looking at humanity that always challenged him, always surprised him, and always helped him increase his own understanding. As a member of the Scoobies, he needed that. As a man, he needed that.

Honestly, he needed her.

But with everything he was going through, Willow had to be feeling ten times more. At least. And Tara was out there somewhere, too.

He pulled the car to a stop in front of the high school, smiling and waving at Dawn as she jumped out, heading over to a group of her friends.

"See you after school," she called, turning to wave.

"Bye, Dawn," they each called in turn, making the teenager roll her eyes, even as a smile crossed her face.

"Should I have done something really embarrassing to her?" Buffy wondered aloud, climbing into the front seat and buckling up as Xander pulled away from the curb. "Maybe I should have done something really embarrassing. Mom always did something embarrassing when she dropped us off at school," she mused with a thoughtful frown.

"Like the time she got out of the car and hugged you before she let you go in?" Willow asked, a lost twinkle returning to her eye at the memory.

"Or the time she went racing after you because you forgot your lunch?" Xander added.

"Yeah, like those times," Buffy said, smiling wistfully. Everyone now and again, what she looked back on how she had interacted with her mother, and wondered how she could have behaved that way. It really didn't matter, she now realized, what anyone thought. Her mother had been a wonderful woman, and she regretted each and every time she had allowed herself to be embarrassed by her actions.

"Yeah, my mom never did anything like that," Xander said, his eyes sad. "But I remember the time your mom let me crash at your place, even though you weren't home, when my parents accidentally locked me out of the house."

"My parents wouldn't have noticed if I'd forgotten to wear a >shirt< to school, let alone forgotten a lunch," Willow said ruefully. "I wonder if they'll even notice if I die?" she mused aloud, then immediately regretted the words when she noticed the stricken looks on Buffy's and Xander's faces in the mirrors.

"Please don't say things like that," Buffy requested, her jaw working as she fought back tears.

"I'm … I'm sorry," Willow apologized. "I'm … being really a big ol' stupid-head, aren't I?"

"It's not that," Xander said slowly. "If you need to talk … about anything … we're here for you," he said, Buffy nodding to back up his statement. "It's just that … we're all hurting. We can't even imagine what you're going through right now - what's going on in that busy brain of yours. And it's like … the idea that … that anyone could just not notice? If you were gone? That's crazy-talk."

"I know … your parents haven't always been … there," Buffy said. "I mean, I know that … my mom was kind of the Scooby Mom. The parental figure that actually knew what was going on … and that you've had to keep lots of things secret from your parents, but they do love you, Willow. You can't doubt that."

"And we love you," Xander added, tearing up and not caring if it ruined his manly image. "And don't you forget it."

"I love you guys, too," Willow said her voice catching. She cleared her throat, and shook it off. "So, back at Buffy's house this evening?"

"Wild demon-horses couldn't keep me away," Xander said emphatically.

"Right," Buffy agreed, nodding.

"Do you ladies need a ride back after classes?" Xander asked, pulling up to the campus.

"Well, I only have a few classes this morning. I'm done around noon, so we can walk," Willow said.

"Nope," Xander disagreed. "I'll come get you at my lunch break, okay? I'll meet you both right here."

"Thanks, Xander," Buffy said gratefully, worried about how weak Willow had seemed recently. She didn't want her making a long walk, if she could possibly help it.

"Yeah, thanks, Xander," Willow said, leaning over the car seat to give him a hug, then getting out of the vehicle, stepping out into the sun. The sun felt good against her skin, warming her and chasing away the chill she hadn't seemed able to shake for the past few days.

Both girls smiled and waved at Xander as he left, heading off to the construction site.

"So what's first?" Buffy asked, taking Willow's heavy book bag and slinging it over her own shoulder.

"I can carry my own books, Buffy," Willow protested.

"Nope. I'm carrying them, so no arguments," Buffy said sternly.

"Does this mean we're going steady?" Willow teased, batting her eyelashes outrageously.

"Sure, if I don't mind getting turned into a toad by the Wonder Wiccan," Buffy said with a laugh.

"Tara would never do that," Willow said, a smile crossing her face.

"For you? Tara would do anything," Buffy said. "So … what is first, anyway?" she asked, following Willow as she walked across the campus to her first class with easy familiarity.

"SQL Programming," Willow answered.

"Sequel programming?" Buffy asked with a frown. "Like, where do you schedule Terminator 2 in your TV line-up, and how do you take out all the swearing?"

"No," Willow said with a smile. "'S' 'Q' 'L' … it stands for 'Structured Query Language'. It's database stuff. Computer stuff," Willow explained.

"Do you even need to learn anymore computer stuff?" Buffy asked with a frown.

"Well, no, not really," Willow said. "I mean, there's still plenty I don't know, and we're getting into parts I'm not completely familiar with, but I picked up the basics in high school, hacking the DMV database."

"You hacked the DMV database in high school?" Buffy asked incredulously, her voice carrying. She lowered her tone when Willow made a 'shush' gesture. They walked into the computer lab, quickly finding seats, Buffy pulling up a chair next to Willow. "I don't remember you doing that," Buffy said, her voice a whisper.

"Well, it wasn't for Scooby stuff," Willow said with a smirk. "It was… extra-curricular."

"Jesus, Willow … I had no idea you were such a rebel. Hacking for fun and dating girls - what's next? A tattoo?" Buffy shot back.

"No!" Willow said incredulously. "Why would I get a tattoo?"

"To put the cement inbetween the bricks you've piled together that is your 'bad girl' image?" Buffy said with a laugh.

The class started, and whatever Willow would have responded with was lost in the flurry of activity that ensued. Not that anyone moved from their seats, because Buffy would have noticed as she kept scanning the room and checking for signs of danger. Not that she expected trouble in the middle of the day in the middle of a class, but there was certainly no reason to take chances. Especially with Willow.

Buffy watched Willow typing furiously, completing the examples long before the teacher had finished explaining it. Something about computers seemed to just 'click' with Willow - she wasn't even taking notes. She just listened with rapt attention, her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed dangerously, as if daring the concepts to attempt to evade her. Then a little sparkle would light up her face, and she'd start typing away, the correct information appearing on her screen.

The other students, Buffy saw, peering around curiously, were following along at the teacher's pace, clearly not as comfortable with the Terminator 2 stuff as Willow was. She bit back a giggle as she imagined Willow leaving this class every weak with an ominous "I'll be back" directed at her terminal.

Lost in her silly musings, taking a reprieve from the stress and pain of the last few days, Buffy didn't notice right away when the class was over.

"Come on," Willow said, pulling at Buffy's arm, her book bag over her shoulder.

"Okay," Buffy said, neatly pulling the book bag away from Willow and throwing it over her own shoulder. Willow merely rolled her eyes, then led her friend to her next class.

"Now what?" Buffy asked, jogging to catch up as Willow took off at a fast clip across the campus.

"We only have a few minutes before Women's Studies," Willow explained, keeping up her pace.

"Women's Studies?" Buffy asked incredulously. "Do you get extra-credit for all the up-close Tara studying you've been doing?" she wondered aloud.

"No, silly," Willow said, laughing again. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to be at school. "Though with this teacher, I wouldn't be surprised. She's a big ol' walking, talking stereotype," Willow confided. "Of course, now that I've said that, I'm going to find out later that she's actually straight."

"So what >is< on the curriculum for this class?" Buffy asked, following Willow into the amphitheater style classroom.

"Right now we're going over the historical reasons for the "women's role" in society today," Willow as she walked towards the front of the class, where she always sat. Buffy stopped her with a hand on her arm and shook her head, scowling.

"I know you like sitting up front, but I want to be able to see the room," Buffy said in a whisper.

"Do you think something's going to happen?" Willow asked, a worried look appearing on her face.

"I'm in 'better safe than sorry' mode," Buffy confided. Willow nodded, heading back up the aisle to find some seats in the back of the class.

They settled themselves with a minimum of fuss, Willow getting out her textbook, a notepad, and several pens.

"So what, exactly, are the historical reasons for the "women's role" in society?" Buffy asked curiously, hoping that with a little background information she might have a chance of following the discussion in this class.

"The very basics are that, because men are stronger and women actually give birth, in primitive society, the men went out and got the food, because it was dangerous, and the women stayed home with the children. The women were capable of doing what the men did, but the men, again - stronger - and you really only needed one man left to impregnate a bunch of different women to ensure the survival of the tribe. In that way, men were actually kind of expendable, which is why they did the dangerous work. That evolved into the structure we have today, where many people still believe that the woman belongs in the home and the man should be the breadwinner," Willow hurriedly explained as the teacher - who really was a walking, talking stereotype - walked to the front of the class and began setting up. "But the point is, in today's society, there's nothing dangerous about earning money, because it's not like we're going out and poking bears with spears anymore," Willow finished off.

"That … actually makes sense," Buffy said, quickly quieting when the teacher began her discussion.

Despite the background information, Buffy found her attention drifting anyway. Willow was an active participant in the discussion, her points well-made.

It would be, Buffy realized, a tragic loss if Willow died. Not just for the Scoobies, but for the world. I mind like Willow's could do so much good. It was amazing, really, to watch that mind at work, as she alternated between making points she clearly believed in, and playing devil's advocate to keep the discussion going.

She could, Buffy found, work both sides of an argument with equal ease, and Buffy found herself wondering why she didn't join the debate team or something. She smiled to herself when one of Willow's brilliant points snow-balled into a full-on Willow Babble, realizing that maybe debate wasn't the best forum for Willow to shine. She had the class laughing, and was clearly making her point anyway, but this was clearly her element - the classroom.

The discussion swirled around Buffy, but she tuned it out, periodically sweeping the room with her gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling that going to class today had been a bad idea, but Willow certainly seemed to be enjoying herself - and how could she deny Willow something that clearly meant so much to her.

Class concluded with the teacher assigning several chapters for their next session, and Buffy stood, grabbing Willow's book bag before she had a chance to protest.

"Ready to go?" Buffy asked, relieved that their day was over without any untimely interruptions of the Hellmouth variety.

"Yeah," Willow said, her face aglow.

It was truly amazing, Buffy mused, exactly how much Willow enjoyed this. She couldn't really understand it herself, finding that sitting still for that long really wasn't her cup of tea. Still, Willow looked happy for the first time in a long time, and Buffy was glad they had come to school today.

Willow babbled excitedly as they crossed the quad, her hands flying as she gestured to make her points. Buffy couldn't help but smile at how animated Willow was, and she wondered if her talk with Tara the previous night had anything to do with her improved mood. She had heard several 'I love you's' on Willow's end, as well as seen the soft expression Willow always got when Tara said the same. She hoped she was right.

A scream cut through the peaceful energy of the campus, and Buffy turned, seeing for the first time what could only be the Construct racing towards them.

"Run," Buffy said, handing the bag off to Willow, her face falling when she saw the dark magick eyes.

"I … Oh, God, I -" Willow said, her stomach heaving.

"Run," Buffy said again, pointing her towards the spot where Xander would be waiting for them and giving her a little shove.

Willow's whole body trembled, and she gave her head a little shake before obeying Buffy and taking off. Buffy moved to intercept the Construct, tripping him up as he headed after the redhead.

With a roar, it stood, trying to push past Buffy to get to Willow, seemingly startled to find that the small human female in front of it couldn't be moved as easily as it had planned.

"Oh, no," Buffy said, landing a flurry of blows on its chest. "You're not going anywhere," she said, ending the combination with a kick to the head.

The Construct bellowed, then attacked, making sweeping swipes at Buffy with its claws. Buffy ducked under the blows, landing a kick at what she assumed was more or less its knee, then dancing back. It attacked again, and Buffy caught its arm, letting its momentum carry its bulk over her shoulder.

She maintained her hold on its arm, twisting it, then striking at the joint, hearing a satisfying crack. Something akin to fear showed on its inhuman face.

"You tell your boss that if he wants Willow, he'll have to go through me," Buffy spat, looking up when she heard the sound of a car approaching. She looked up, seeing Xander driving across the grass. With one last punch to its face, she jumped into the car as the Construct ran away, screaming its pain.

"Are you okay?" Buffy said, turning in her seat and looking back at Willow, huddled up in the back seat as Xander drove his car off the curb and pack onto the road, peeling out and making for her house.

"Fine," Willow nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. "You?"

"You're not fine," Buffy said, crawling over the front seat into the back, checking Willow over.

"No, I'm fine … I just … it's … I gotta'," she stammered, her face losing all color as she desperately tried not to vomit.

"Xander, pull over," Buffy demanded. With a worried look, he complied, pulling the car over to the curb as Buffy helped Willow to the door.

Willow's heaved, the darkness leaving her crackling with malevolent energy. Buffy pulled the baking soda from Willow's book bag, sprinkling it on the substance. It hissed and fumed for a moment, then cleared, and Buffy saw that it was still crackling.

"That should've been enough," she said worriedly, sprinkling some more as Willow settled herself into the back seat again, gasping. She watched, waiting for the reaction to die down, satisfied when all that was left was a thick black sludge. She closed her door, then nodded to Xander, feeling obscurely better that she had finally had a chance to pummel the Construct.

Xander sped off towards Buffy's house, keeping a wary eye out for police officers and Constructs. At last, he turned the corner onto Buffy's street, slowing down when he noticed a strange car in her driveway.

"You expecting company?" he asked uneasily, pulling up to Buffy's curb.

"No," Buffy said with a frown. She got out of the car, moving cautiously towards her door. "You two stay here," she said slowly, walking up the drive. Willow and Xander ignored the order, staying right behind Buffy, in case she needed any back-up. "I said stay here," she hissed, turning and glaring at her friends."

"We're Scoobies - it's what we do," Willow said with a shrug, her book bag held awkwardly behind her, as if she were just waiting to swing it at something. Xander had a large wrench in his hands, and he brandished it menacingly.

"Yeah … what she said," he uttered.

Buffy rolled her eyes, throwing her front door open and rolling to the left, coming to her feet in front of …

[Sassette]

The Morning After (continued):

"Giles?" she asked incredulously.

Giles looked up sheepishly, a bit of string in his hand, Miss Kitty batting at it with her little paw.

"Perhaps I should have telephoned first?" he said sheepishly.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy breathed, her anger at his leaving rising up alongside her total and utter relief at seeing him.

"Well," he said, standing up and removing his glasses and cleaning them industriously, his eyes on the floor. "I know you're all perfectly capable of handling this situation yourselves, but … it is an unusual circumstance, and I felt I needed to be here," he explained, his eyes finding Willow's as he put his glasses back on.

Xander and Willow stood behind Buffy, book bag and wrench at the ready as they stared open-mouthed at Giles.

"Giles," Willow said, dropping her back and rushing to him.

"Willow," he said warmly, holding the girl close somewhat awkwardly, but with great affection. "How are you handling things?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eye.

"I … I haven't cast anything in two days?" she said, a tremulous look on her face.

"Well, I dare say that's quite good," Giles said with a smile. "I … I know how difficult this is for you," he began.

"Do you?" Willow asked with a frown. "Do you really?" she demanded, pulling back from the man who was like a father to all of the Scoobies.

Buffy and Xander looked at each other, then left the room, going into the kitchen and letting Willow and Giles hash things out.

"I'm … I'm afraid I do," Giles said, going and closing the front door. He walked back into the room, pacing nervously. "I … I had a bit of a problem with dark magick myself, in my younger years," he confessed. "It's … It's why I was always warning you away from it."

"Why didn't you ever tell me that?" Willow asked, confusion in her eyes.

"Well, it's not something I'm terribly proud of," he said mildly. "And … it's difficult for a man to … let himself appear 'less' in the eyes of his children. And I know I'm certainly not your father, but … all of you are like children to me," he went on, tears welling up in the unflappable man's eyes. "I'm … I'm afraid I've failed you, in this. And so, I'm so very deeply sorry."

"I … God, Giles … I only wish my father were like you," Willow said, sniffing back her own tears. "I -"

She broke into sobs, looking so lost and scared that Giles couldn't help but pull her into his arms again. "There there, now," he said soothingly, getting a giggle from Willow. Who says 'there there, now?' she wondered.

"Listen to you," Willow said, pulling back with a sniff. "You take off for England, and you come back all Super-British," she said with a watery smile.

"I do suppose my americanized speech patterns have all but disappeared," he allowed.

"Yes, I do suppose you've all but gotten stuffier going back," Willow teased.

"Willow," Giles said, his voice and face serious. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I - did you find out anything new? Any new bad news that had you hopping on the first flight from England?" Willow asked warily.

"Well, no, not exactly," Giles hedged. "It's just … that when Buffy told me how ill you were, and how much danger you were in, I felt I had to be here. Imagine my surprise when no one was home when I arrived," he went on, his eyebrows raised.

"I needed to go to school," Willow said, as if that explained everything. And, Giles decided, it really did.

"I see," he said, nodding. "Well. I brought several books with me. I'm afraid the Council doesn't quite know I borrowed them, but my colleagues have assured me they'll cover for me, and keep working on the problem with the resources available over there. They'll send me updates with … the infernal machine," he said, realizing that it truly was the perfect way of referring to that contraption Willow was so fond of. "In the meantime, we'll get this all figured out. I have books, I have Scoobies, and an incredibly cute and playful kitten," he said, sitting back down and taking up his bit of string. "What more could a man ask for?"

"How about a Slayer that isn't pissed off and able to see right through you?" Buffy demanded from the doorway of the kitchen, stalking into the room. It was too pat. Too convenient. Giles hadn't mentioned flying over - and they had been attacked by the Construct just that afternoon. Something was wrong, she sensed it. Something was off.

"Pardon?" Giles asked, standing up as Buffy reached him. Without preamble, she grabbed him by his lapels, lifting him off his feet.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, shaking him.

"Buffy!" Willow called, rushing to her side. "Buffy, let Giles go," she demanded.

"This isn't Giles," Buffy insisted, turning to look at Willow.

"I dare say that I >am< Giles," Giles said, resisting the urge to defend himself, knowing that wouldn't help his case.

Buffy turned back to glare at the whatever-it-was, only to see The Look. The Annoyed Look. The Look that only Giles could make.

"Oh, God, Giles," Buffy said, letting him back onto his feet and straightening out his jacket.

"What was that all about?" Giles wondered aloud, glad to be back on the ground.

"I just … I was in the kitchen, and I was thinking, and it just seemed … too good to be true that you were here. And we've had such a problem with this Hell God making Willow believe things, I just thought …" Buffy tried to explain.

"You thought I was another trick?" Giles asked gently, giving Buffy's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It's perfectly understandable. I realize we're all under a great amount of stress - you lot more so than myself, as I haven't been here, but still. I understand."

Buffy nodded, relieved that Giles had understood so easily.

"Well, I think we should probably get back to the research, yes?" he said, looking around.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," Willow said slowly, nodding her head, trying not to think too hard about Buffy picking Giles right up off the ground.

"You. Shower. Now," Buffy said, pointing at Willow.

"That's a good idea," Willow agreed, going to the stairs.

"Shower?" Giles asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Mary Ellen made some special magicky soap that helps to pull the dark magick gunk out of Willow," Buffy explained.

"Oh, that is rather clever," Giles said. "It's a good thought. And she made baking soda as well?" he inquired.

"Yeah. It has … a really interesting reaction to the stuff," Buffy said.

"I did a little reading, and ingesting it could help slow it down as well," Giles offered up.

"Oh, good," Buffy said with a relieved sigh, sitting down and poking around the pile of books on the table. "Dawn's been putting it in Willow's coffee."

"Good, good," Giles said, nodding. "So where did Xander go off to?" he asked, looking around the room.

"Ah, he snuck out the back. He had to go back to work," Buffy said. "So, umm … where should I start," she asked, indicating the pile of books.

"Why don't you fill me in on what you've learned so far?" Giles asked, wondering if there had been any new developments since he had last heard from the Scoobies.

"Well, we learned a little about how the three Hell Gods work. With the Beast, the Trickster, and the Scales as the balance between the two," Buffy explained.

"You say it's a balanced triumverate?" Giles asked curiously.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "It's a balanced triumph net."

"Hmm," Giles uttered.

"What 'hmm?'" Buffy questioned, leaning forward in her seat.

"Well, if the Scales works to keep a balance between the Trickster and the Beast, then Hell is out of balance," Giles explained his thoughts. "So it seems that the Scales would be interested in either restoring Glory, or kicking the Trickster our of Hell entirely, leaving him as sole ruler."

"It," Buffy corrected.

"It?" Giles said, his brow furrowed.

"The Scales isn't a boy Hell God or a girl Hell God. It's and 'it' Hell God," Buffy explained.

"Oh, well … that's … fascinating," Giles said, wondering why that bit of information was offered up. "What else have you learned?" he asked carefully.

"Well, you told us that the Trickster needs Willow to get out of Hell. Have you found out anything else on how that all works?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," Giles said, shaking his head. "That prophecy seems to be the most likely source of information, but it's proven to be a tougher nut to crack than we had initially thought. Anything else?"

"The Trickster supplied the dark power for the first soul-restoration spell used on Angel," Buffy said quietly.

"What?" Giles asked sharply.

"The first time Angel got his soul back … it was the Trickster's revenge against him. The Trickster was responsible for it, and lent the power needed to pull it off," Buffy explained further.

"Dear God," Giles said slowly. "That means that the Trickster has been watching Willow for …"

"Three years," Buffy said hollowly. "He's been building up this connection with some kind of plan for her for three years."

"Patient fellow, isn't he?" Giles observed, his frown deepening as his mind raced.

Willow came down the stairs, a pair of pajamas on, ready to settle in to study. "Hi. Anything new?" she asked, looking around.

"Well, if you would check your electronic mail, we can see if the Council has sent anything," Giles suggested.

Willow nodded, sitting in front of her laptop and moving her mouse around. She opened her mail and quickly scanned the content, her face going unnaturally pale. "Umm, Giles?" she squeaked.

"Yes?" Giles said, quickly moving to Willow's side.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" Willow asked, pointing at a paragraph. Giles read it quickly, his face clearing.

"It means that, in order to get out of Hell, the Trickster needs to trick you into crossing the Hellmouth of your own free will, then participating in a ceremony to free him - also of your own free will," Giles said slowly.

"A ceremony that involves cutting off my own finger?" Willow said, her voice high as the squickiness of the idea hit her.

"Well, yes. And I dare say I doubt you'd do that of your own free will," he pointed out.

"Good point," Willow said, relief running through her. "But can we not share the details with everyone else?" she asked. "I'd rather they didn't think about it … it's … pretty gross."

"I don't see why not," Giles agreed.

"But … he's going to let me die if I don't cooperate isn't he?" she asked bleakly.

"We'll find another way, Willow. We will," Giles insisted.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 34

Truck Stops and Traffic Cops

"Are we there? Why are we stopping?" Tara asked, awaking with a start from a disturbing dream. It had seemed familiar … all grey mists and darkness, and Willow always just out of reach. She shook off the last vestiges of unease, looking around her with tired eyes.

"We're not there, and we're stopping because I'm tired, I'm hungry and we both smell bad," Anya said with a scowl, pulling into the parking lot of Aunt Emma's Diner.

"W-we don't have time," Tara said, rubbing her eyes and yawning hugely as Anya pulled the car into a parking space, well away from any other vehicles - which was a good thing, as she managed to take up two spots.

"We've been driving all night and all day. We haven't stopped. I'm tired and I'm hungry and if you'd stop and think about it for just a minute, you are, too," Anya stated. "So I'm taking the keys," she said, suiting actions to words and removing the keys from the ignition, then dropping them down her shirt. "And this car isn't moving again until we've taken a little break."

Anya was, she had to admit to herself, really worried. Of course she was worried about Willow - everyone was worried about Willow. But she was also worried about Tara, and herself. They'd been in the car for an extremely long time, stopping long enough to use the restroom when they stopped for gas, then heading out again, with only Twinkies and Mountain Dew standing between them and starvation.

Tara was pushing herself too hard. Anya had tried to talk her into stopping at a motel for at least a few hours, so they could get some real sleep on a real bed, but Tara had merely told her to sleep in her seat if she was so tired, and that she'd keep driving. Something about driving for ten hours straight had to be bad for Tara, so Anya was worried.

"But we're almost there," Tara protested. Four hours. They were just four hours out of Sunnydale, and she could almost feel the peculiar energy that came off the town.

"Which does us no good if we die," Anya insisted stubbornly. "And again … we both smell. And you need to brush your hair. Oh, God - what does my hair look like?" she wondered aloud, turning the rearview mirror and gasping at the sight. "Besides," she said, her voice gentling, as she turned to look at Tara. "You're about to snap into a million different pieces. We're going to get there, you're going to take one look at Willow, and you're going to just start crying and crying, and what good will that do her?"

"You're right," Tara finally admitted, allowing herself to feel the exhaustion. But she was scared - she was completely afraid that if she allowed herself to stop, for just a minute, she'd be too tired to start again, and she wouldn't reach Willow fast enough. She had to be there, and she had to be there soon. But if she fell asleep behind the wheel, or was too tired to spot a police officer, she'd really be delayed, or maybe she wouldn't even make it there at all.

"Well, all right, then," Anya said with a nod, getting out of the car and groaning at the stiffness in her body. The human form, she decided, was not designed to sit in a car for any great length of time, which only proved what sick people car designers really were. You would think they'd design a vehicle that was comfortable enough for these lengthy road trips.

Tara unbuckled her belt, getting tangled up in it momentarily before getting free. With a little grunt, she shoved the door open, then stepped out, swaying unsteadily.

"You okay?" Anya asked, walking around the car, stretching her legs as she went.

"Yeah … my legs are just kind of … rubbery," Tara said, closing the door and leaning on the car heavily for a moment.

"Ready to go?" Anya asked gently. Tara simply nodded, and they made their way across the parking lot, a trucker beating them to the door and opening it gallantly, with a little half-bow.

"Allow me, ladies," he said kindly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. He reminded Tara obscurely of Giles, in his polite manner and the general good-naturedness she sensed in him. Tara and Anya nodded their thanks, preceding him into the diner as he tipped his battered ball cap. The man stopped for a moment, indecision evident on his face as he noted the haunted sadness in the blonde's eyes, something about the soulful expression touching him.

Anya went immediately to the counter, sitting down on the padded circular stool, spinning back and forth a little to keep moving. Somehow, it felt good to sit, yet bad to sit. It was certainly strange.

Tara gingerly sat next to her, her stiff legs and back protesting the movement, exhaustion evident in ever line of her body.

The nice trucker seated himself next to the girls, shaking his head a little. "Been on the road awhile, huh?" he asked knowingly, recognizing the signs. "You two ever been to a truck stop diner before?" he asked kindly.

Tara shook her head no as Anya leaned over the counter so she could look past Tara and right into the trucker's eye. "If you want to have sex with either of us, forget it," she said flatly. "I'm engaged, and she's gay," she announced.

"Well, then," the trucker said, blushing and laughing self-consciously. "I think my wife would object if I had anything but the best of intentions. You just both look tired, that's all," he explained. "And I happen to know that they got washrooms with showers in 'em you can use," he said, pointing towards the back. "And before you accuse me of anything again," he said, pointing a beefy finger at Anya, a laughing look in his eye. "Them showers have got locks, so it's private."

"Oh, well, thank you," Anya said brightly, picking up a menu and scanning the contents. "I'm glad to learn that you're merely a nice man with no ulterior motives."

"What'll you have?" a harried waitress asked, wiping down the counter, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"Coffee," Tara said, fumbling for a menu.

"You gotta' have more than that," the trucker said with a frown. "The name's Hank," he offered up.

"I'm Anya, and this is Tara," Anya said politely.

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a thick wallet. "This here's my wife, Mary," he said, pulling it open and displaying a picture of a smiling blonde woman in a simple dress. And here," he said, turning to the next picture. "These are my kids, Little Tommy and Alice."

"You have a beautiful family," Anya said sincerely, leaning across Tara to see the pictures. Tara looked up, a slight smile crossing her face at the picture of the laughing, happy children in front of her.

"Yes, beautiful," she said, reaching out to trace the picture with one finger, sadness evident in her features.

"You showing off the wife and kids again, Hank?" another trucker asked, moving to sit next to Anya at the counter.

"These two ladies are taken, Mac," Hank said with a laugh.

"What, I can't be friendly to new folks?" Mac shot back indignantly. "Besides, they're the nicest things to look at that have walked in here in a long time. Damn sight prettier than you," he bantered.

"Sara," Hank said, turning to the waitress. "Get these two the trucker special number one, on me," he said, nodding at Tara and Anya.

"Oh, we couldn't," Tara started to protest, only to be interrupted when Hank raised a hand.

"Now, now," he said. "I insist. Besides," he went on to explain. "My wife would have my hide if she found out I ran into two young ladies riding down the trucker highways all by their lonesome looking all lost and sad without helping out. You two aren't lost, are ya'?" he asked, her face showing nothing but sincere concern.

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. "We're going home. We know the way."

"So what brings you two out here?" Mac asked curiously. "Not that I'm complaining, but we don't see many people who aren't truckers out in these parts, and certainly not two such lovely ladies."

"Thank you," Anya said with a smile, remembering what Xander said about the correct way to respond to a compliment. "We've been on a road trip, and now we're heading home."

"If you don't mind me sayin', you two look like you haven't slept in awhile," Hank added in with a frown. "You having some kind of emergency? You two need money for gas, or a motel, or something?" he asked, reaching for his wallet again.

"No," Tara said quickly. "We have money, we're just … we're in a hurry," she said. "It's a long story."

"All right, then," Hank said, appearing satisfied with the answer, and leaving his wallet where it was. Sara returned with the coffee, placing four cups on the counter, and leaving them to add in their own cream and sugar, but keeping an ear on the conversation. Mac was right - they certainly didn't get two people like these two in here … well, pretty much ever, and she was curious. Besides … had one of them really said that the other was gay?

"So tell me about your feller," Hank said, looking over at Anya.

"Oh, Xander," Anya said, a smile crossing her face. "He's wonderful. He works in construction, and he's very manly and strong, and he buys me nice things, and we have a very nice apartment," she said, her face glowing.

"Sounds about right," Mac laughed. "How about you?" he said, looking over at Tara. "You got a feller, too?"

"I, uhh…" Tara hedged.

"Nah," Hank said, looking over at Mac with a smile. "She's got a girl if she's got anything," he said, remembering Anya's previous words.

"That right?" Mac asked with a smile, pulling out his keychain and displaying a rainbow keychain. "I get lots of flak from the guys about this, but my sister's a lesbian. She's a great girl," he said. "Hey! If you don't have a girl, I could introduce you to my sister," he said, his voice ending on a hopeful note.

"No, thank you," Tara said politely. "I h-have a girl," she said, her lower lip quivering.

"Oh, Jesus, I didn't mean to upset you," Mac said quickly. "Is … are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm … I'm fine," Tara insisted unconvincingly.

"So tell us about your girl," Hank said gently. "She pretty?"

"Beautiful," Tara said, a sad smile crossing her face. "She's … she's got this red hair, and bright green eyes, and she …" she went on, trailing off as she found words to be too inadequate to describe Willow. "Sara?" she called, summoning the waitress. "You want to see a picture?" Tara asked, as the waitress walked over.

"You got pictures?" Mac asked with a smile. "You could be a trucker," he said, paying Tara the highest compliment he could. It was a long-standing tradition to compare pictures of girls with the other guys.

"You need a refill, sugar?" Sara asked, a coffee pot in her hand.

"Well, umm, no," Tara said to Sara, then looked over at Mac. "Not on me… all my pictures of Willow are framed, where I can see them all the time. W-we were… we were having a fight when I left, so … I didn't bring any," she admitted.

"Well, then, whatcha' need?" Sara asked impatiently.

Tara stood up, reaching over and plucking the pencil out from behind Sara's ear, grabbing a napkin and looking at it thoughtfully. The pencil felt smooth and familiar in her hand, but different from when she was writing. It was as if her fingers instinctively knew, without her brain mentioning it, that she was going to draw, and they grasped the pencil as if it were an extension of her hand.

She moved her hand quickly, outlining the shape of Willow's face and shoulders. Then the smooth line of her jaw, and the careless way her hair fell around her face. An ear took shape, and a half-smile appeared on Tara's face and her eyes glowed with love as she transferred her feelings for this woman through the pencil into the picture of her she was creating.

Anya, Hank, Sara and Mac fell silent, watching as Tara's inner vision took life on a rough napkin. The smiling lips appeared, and the nose Tara found so adorable, and then Willow's laughing eyes. Tara lost herself in the process, feeling a piece of herself slide home after she had blocked it off ruthlessly after her mother's death.

How appropriate, she mused, that Willow had indirectly returned it to her.

It only took a few minutes for the picture to take shape, despite how rusty Tara was. She had drawn Willow so many times - she had studied that face with such fierce concentration - that she felt as though she could draw it in her sleep.

When she was done, she looked up, startled to find a group of trucker's around her. The low buzz of conversation hummed in all directions.

"That's her girlfriend," one said to another.

"Damn … did she just draw that? Just now?" another asked, looking around at the answering nods.

"Oh my God," Anya said. "It looks exactly like her," she went on, looking up at the other truckers. "That's Willow," she said, pointing at the napkin.

"Good Lord," Mac said, peering closely at the napkin. "You were having a fight with HER?" he said. "She's … damn. She's gorgeous."

"It's … it's a long story," Tara said, coming back to the here and now from that special place she went when she was drawing, her sadness and fear hitting her with a jolt.

"Hey, hey," Hank said gently, patting Tara's shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay," he said, sincerely hoping he was right.

"Yeah," a trucker in the back piped up. "You head home, you get your girl, you kiss her senseless," he said, offering up his advice.

"I … it was a really bad fight," Tara said in a whisper, her finger's tracing the lines of Willow's face, her eyes bleak with misery. "She … she got caught up in some bad stuff," she said, her voice sounding strained in the silent room as everyone stopped and listened to her.

"Alcohol? Drugs?" Mac asked quietly, leaning in.

"Pretty much," Tara said miserably. "I - I just didn't know what to do anymore. And I just couldn't stay with her like that."

"So what happened?" Hank asked.

"She started getting help, but I'd already left town - I visited my father," she said with a watery smile. "We've … never been close, but … it was a good visit. I - things are better there, now. But I just wish … I wish I had stayed with her. Been stronger, y'know?" she said, tears tracking down her face. "That I had helped her through it."

"You did the right thing," a trucker in the back said, wringing his cap in his hands. "If my old lady hadn't left me when I started the heavy drinking, I never woulda' sobered up," he confessed to the room.

"I - she's -" Tara said, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob. Startled, Hank reflexively pulled Tara into a hug, letting her cry on his shoulder. "She's really sick," Tara managed to say through her tears. "She might not make it, and I'm so - so scared."

Anya's own tears slid down her face as she rubbed Tara's shoulder, looking around curiously at all the trucker's in the room who seemed to be tearing up beneath their manly facades.

"You couldn't have known that would happen," Hank said, rocking Tara gently. "And you're gonna' make it home, and you're gonna' see your girl, but first you're going to cry and get it all out. I bet she's gonna' need you to be strong. I bet she's gonna' need to cry when she sees you."

"That's right," Anya said encouragingly. "So you just keep crying," she went on, continuing to rub Tara's back.

Tara soaked up the comfort like a sponge, exchanging it for the tears of grief and pain pouring out of her.

"I'm, umm … I'm gonna' go call my wife," one trucker mumbled, heading out to the payphones in the parking lot to speak to his family, and to give the pretty young girl some privacy.

A chorus of "me too" went up, and the trucker's filed out, each moving to stand in line at the pay phones, not caring how long the line got, or how long they had to wait for the phone to be free, or that the sun had gone down and it had gotten remarkably cold out in just a short time.

Tara felt her fear and anguish rising up, then release a little with each sob and hiccup, unashamedly soaking Hank's shirt. Hank gamely held on, letting Tara express her pain, not caring that he had a schedule to keep. Instead, he let the girl break down on his shoulder, thinking about how helpless and worried he would feel in her place.

Anya got up as well, going to the car and grabbing two bags with a fresh change of clothes and their toiletries. That shower sounded better and better, and she knew Tara would need one in a bit, and she was satisfied that Tara would be safe with Hank while she was gone.

Without a word, Sara returned the plates of now-cold food that had been ordered for Tara and Anya, telling the disgruntled cook that she'd need fresh ones in a bit. After another ten minutes, Tara's cries began to ebb, and she pulled back, a little embarrassed at her display in a public place in front of a large group of strangers.

"Feel any better?" Hank asked, brushing a bit of Tara's hair back.

Tara nodded wordlessly, sniffing and wiping at her eyes, looking everywhere but at Hank.

"Hey," Hank said, ducking his head to find her eyes. "Don't you dare be embarrassed. Not for loving someone that much."

Tara smiled shyly, nodding again, feeling drained, but better than she had since she had received that phone call from Buffy the day before. She felt … ready, actually. Prepared. She felt like she had fallen apart and pulled herself together, with the help and support of a room full of truckers. The thought made her giggle a little, the absurdity of the situation hitting her.

"Yeah, it's an odd place to break down, huh?" Hank asked, understanding shining in his eyes.

"Yeah," Tara agreed, her voice a little raw. She cleared her throat, then looked around the room, seeing the line of truckers at the payphones through the wide front windows.

"Here," Anya said, returning minus her cell phone. She felt bad that all the truckers had to wait to make their calls, so she had handed her phone over, asking them to keep it short. The grateful truckers had immediately promised to pay her cash for the time they used, and Anya had taken that opportunity to haggle out a price that gave her a nice little profit. Not a big profit, because that would be heartless, but just enough of a profit to make her glad she lived in America.

She handed over Tara's bag, and Tara took it gratefully. Hank helpfully pointed out the showers, promising to watch their seats while they were gone.

The shower area was neat and tidy, and Tara could see why it was a popular truck stop. The shower units had a locked door leading to a tiny dressing area, and then a curtain leading to a tiny shower, but it would get the job done. It was a nice place, with friendly people, good amenities … if she were a trucker, she'd try to stop there, too. The thought of sitting up in a big rig, in a flannel shirt, a ball cap and boots made Tara giggle again, the picture too ridiculous to take seriously.

She turned on the water, adjusting the spray, then stepped in, not caring that the temperature hadn't warmed yet. The cold water stunned her into full awareness, chasing away the last vestiges of sleepiness, and giving her renewed strength. She washed quickly, finding that being clean put her in a much better mood. That coupled with her cathartic release in a room full of strangers helped her put her situation into perspective.

Willow would die - IF they failed to save her.

So she wouldn't fail.

She stepped out of the stall, drying quickly, then dressing, sliding the clean clothes on with a sense of relief. Her wet hair got pulled back from her face, and she just left it, deciding to let it dry in the car. When she walked back into the dining area, Anya was already there, two plates of food on the counter.

Seeing the large pile of food waiting for her made her stomach growl conspicuously, and she blushed lightly. She hadn't really realized just how hungry she was for real food. Hank and Mac sat made quiet conversation as she and Anya dug in, polishing it all off in record time.

"Well, now," Mac said. "How you feeling?" he asked.

"Much better, thank you," Tara said sincerely. "And thank you," she said, turning to Hank.

"Don't mention it," Hank said, a blush crawling up his neck. "Look … me and the boys were talking, and … if you ever need anything," he said, his voice trailing off, handing over a napkin with a phone number on it. "We'd really like it if you'd keep in touch … let us know how you're doing," he mumbled self-consciously. "And if you ever need anything, you call that number. That'll get my cell phone, and if I'm not nearby, I'll get on the radio and call up one of the guys, okay?"

"I … thank you," Tara said, touched by the gesture.

"No problem… just … go take care of your girl," Hank said, standing up and removing his cap as Tara and Anya rose to leave. He smiled when both girls gave him a hug before walking out the door, Anya stopping just outside to collect her cell phone and her money.

"Keys?" Tara said once they had made it to the car.

"Oh, right," Anya said, handing them over. They got into the car in silence, pulling away from the truck stop and heading out down the road.

"That was certainly … strange," Anya said slowly, looking back at Aunt Emma's Diner disappearing in the distance.

"Yeah, it was," Tara said thoughtfully.

"I mean, who ever heard of a big group of lesbian-friendly truckers?" Anya observed.

"I … that is … pretty strange," Tara agreed, a giggle welling up helplessly as she pressed down on the accelerator, flying down the highway.

"Shouldn't they have been making threesome sex jokes?" Anya asked curiously.

"They probably would have if I hadn't sent them into panic-mode by crying all over them," Tara admitted wryly, checking the rearview mirror and speeding up when she saw no lights behind them.

"True. Xander makes jokes, but not when you're crying on him," Anya observed.

They fell silent, switching on the radio and racing towards Sunnydale with renewed spirit and purpose. Tara felt as though she had gotten her second wind - or was she on her third wind by now? - and as the miles ticked by, she felt a sort of calm descend upon her. Soon, she would be with Willow, and she could hold her in her arms and keep her safe. They could work through this - together - and everything would be all right.

Tara glanced into the rearview mirror again, noticing two sets of headlights in the distance. She slowed down a little, still well above the speed limit, trying to discern what kind of car it was behind her. Weary traveler? Police officer? Trucker?

With a jolt of panic, her question was answered as the lights got closer, then the red and blue of the police flashed.

"Oh, crap," Tara breathed, glancing down at the speedometer and seeing that she was a good twenty miles over the limit. Automatically, she began slowing, preparing to pull over.

Anya immediately grabbed her cell phone, dialing a number. "Slow down some more, but don't pull over yet," Anya instructed, turning in her seat to look behind her. She heard the phone ringing in her ear once, then twice, then it picked up, Tara slowing down, a look of pure panic on her face.

"Hank?" Anya said urgently into the phone. "There's a cop behind us, running his lights, and he's gonna' pull us over," she said in a rush. Tara slowed further and eased towards the shoulder, unsure of what to do, and glancing over at Anya.

Suddenly, the headlights behind the officer crossed the double-yellow line, a dull roar filling the air as it picked up speed, the long form of a truck flying past them. The police officer stayed behind them for a moment, then jerked into the other lane, chasing after the truck that sped up further once the officer's were on its tail.

"Hank?" Anya asked into the phone. "You still there?" She paused, listening to his answer, smiling. "Thank you so much, Hank," she said with a smile, disconnecting the phone. "One of the guys who was at the stop was right behind the cop. He's gonna get him off the highway so we can keep going. Apparently, chasing after a truck that won't pull over is more important than catching us. Something about shipping illegal drugs."

"They're … they're not gonna' get in trouble, are they?" Tara asked with a frown, not wanting someone getting arrested on her behalf.

"Hank says this guy will be fine … that he can talk his way out of anything," Anya assured Tara.

Tara let out a relieved breath, her body shaking as she kept the car at the speed limit, driving at what seemed a sedate pace in comparison to the speeding she had been doing for the past four days. They crawled along, getting several miles down the road before seeing the police car turn off the highway after the truck, still speeding along.

Once the danger had passed, she pressed down on the accelerator, speeding off down the highway and praying that was the only officer they would run into on their way home.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 35

A Little Death

"Well, nothing like a little death on the horizon to perk up a group," Spike observed, walking into the room and looking around at all the grim and determined faces.

"Do shut up, Spike," Giles said acidly, glaring at the vampire.

"All I'm saying is, Red's not dead yet, and until you show me the corpse, I refuse to believe that she's going to die," Spike went on. "Even then, I wouldn't be too sure of it," he said, glancing at Buffy before continuing. "You Scoobies have a way of landing on your feet, that's all. I mean, do you have any idea how many times I've tried to kill all of you? And usually, I'm a very efficient killer."

"Umm … thanks?" Willow asked uncertainly, feeling oddly reassured by Spike's words, but feeling like she shouldn't be. She was feeling a little better, having just taken a third shower for the day, but still kind of shaky and weak.

"You're welcome," Spike said cheerfully, seating himself on the couch between Dawn and Buffy and grabbing a book.

"What are you doing, Spike?" Giles asked exasperatedly.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Spike shot back, his voice defensive. "I'm helping."

"Giles, let's not argue about an extra pair of eyes, okay?" Buffy said gently, stopping the watcher from protesting. "Right now I'd make a deal with Satan himself if it's keep Willow safe."

"Don't even joke about that," Giles said, pointing a stern finger at Buffy. "According to this, most of the fables and myths regarding 'selling your soul to the devil' sprang up from stories about the Trickster."

"So this guy is … Satan?" Buffy asked uncertainly. "The Biggest Bad himself?" she squeaked.

"Certainly not," Giles said. "Satan, if there is such a thing, merely seems to have been given the credit for some of the Trickster's work. Which only makes sense, really. The Judeo-Christian mythos only allows for one ultimate evil, and so all evil acts must be attributed to that one source," Giles explained.

"Interesting," Buffy allowed. "But does it help us save Willow?" she pressed.

"Not that bit, no," Giles admitted. "But that's part of research. We read lots of useless things hoping to find something of value."

"Right," Buffy said with a nod. "Then I'm doing great with getting useless stuff out of the way."

"More coffee?" Xander asked, standing up and moving towards the kitchen.

"Yes, please," Willow said absently, scrolling through her most recent email from the Watcher's Council.

"Okay," Xander said with a wince, knowing he'd have to spike Willow's coffee with the witchy pain. "Anyone else?"

"Me, too," Dawn and Buffy managed to say in unison.

"All right, Witchy Pain Coffee for Willow, and two with lots of milk and sugary goodness for the Wonder Twins over there. Got it," he said with a nod, entering the kitchen.

"I think I might have something," Willow said, looking up from her screen, then rereading the passage. "Well, Giles' Rebel Englishmen have something, but still," she muttered, looking it over.

"Rebel Englishman?" Giles asked in a droll tone. "I believe those are called 'Americans'."

"They traced my ancestry back to a little fishing village in Scotland on the Isle of Mull," Willow said, ignoring the interruption. "There are Council records about stories coming from there about the Devil and the Betrayer causing havoc and terror. It kind of fits."

"Yes," Giles said, taking off his glasses and frowning, his mind churning the new information. "The Betrayer could be Angel, or the Trickster himself. The Devil could be the Construct. But I don't recall any standing stones on the Isle of Mull," he went on with a frown.

"It says here that they were destroyed by the Devil," Willow said. "There's no record of them outside the Council."

"But nothing about the witch that defeated them?" Giles asked putting his glasses back on a blinking his tired eyes a few times.

"No, nothing," Willow said with a frown. "Wait …" she said, reading further. "No, that's … weird…" she continued.

"What's weird?" Buffy asked. "Weird like Hellmouth weird, or weird like Al?"

"Hellmouth Weird," Willow confirmed. "It looks like 'The Devil' >was< the witch that defeated the Trickster. She went up to the standing stones alone, and there was a strange storm out of nowhere. The standing stones were destroyed, and the odd happenings stopped. The villagers believed she had caused all the problems with her witchcraft, and that the stones being destroyed was the judgement of God, making it impossible for her to spread her evil. She fled, but they don't know where she went. Hardly seems fair," she groused. "She saved all of them."

"And the Betrayer?" Giles asked.

"They can't be sure whether the Betrayer was another witch or not," Willow said slowly. "Not yet, but they suspect so. The townspeople tried to burn both of them, afraid that they were demons."

"So none of these accounts can determine how the Trickster was defeated?" Giles pressed on.

"Not how he was defeated, but you remember that stone that hurt Glory?" Willow said. "The Betrayer had something kind of like that. It was a magick stone that kept the Trickster from deceiving you."

Something about the new information seemed to tickle the back of Giles' mind, but he couldn't quite place the bits of the puzzle that he needed. With a frown, he went back to his reading, learning more about the Trickster and his methods.

It felt … good, in a way, to be back. He just wished the circumstances weren't so dire. Of course, if the circumstances weren't this dire, he wouldn't have come back. Not yet, at any rate. Still, the Scoobies worked like a well-oiled machine at his direction, reading the books and passages he assigned them, gleaning from them the information they needed.

Only Willow worked outside of his influence, just as she always had. She had an unusual gift for finding information, especially on her … computer. It had always been like that. He had to push and prod the rest of them into finding what was needed, but Willow - Willow always found something unexpected. Something useful. If it weren't such a damn short-sighted organization, he'd have recommended her to the Watcher's Council years ago.

He looked over at Willow with sad eyes. She really didn't look like herself. She had always been rather little, but now she looked frail, almost, her natural vitality subdued, her healthy complexion pale.

"Do they have the Devil's name?" Giles asked suddenly, looking up from his books.

"Yeah, she was Margaret MacDonald," Willow answered, giving the name she had received in the email as belonging to her ancestor.

"God, I could use a cheeseburger," Buffy groaned as Xander walked in, distributing the coffee.

"Oh, fine. Wait until I'm all ready to sit down and get comfy before sending out the errand boy," Xander said, his tone making it clear that he didn't mind. "Okay, food run," he said, clapping his hands together. "What does everyone want?"

Everyone called out their orders, and Xander nodded, filing the information away.

"I'm fine," Willow said, turning back to her computer. She sipped at her coffee, wincing as it hit her stomach, feeling the need to race to the bathroom yet again. With a grimace, she stood her ground, sipping more of the coffee and getting it into her stomach to help counteract the dark magick buildup there.

She had just started up a search of several mystical historical databases, looking for references to the Trickster, the Devil, and the Betrayer, along with the Isle of Mull and a date range between the years 1810 and 1860. Her previous look at just the Trickster had gotten way too much information to slog through, and she was hoping to narrow the search.

"You sure?" Xander asked, a concerned look on his face. "You've barely eaten anything for a couple of days now."

"I know, but … I haven't really been hungry," Willow confessed. "And my tummy's been all upset. And that greasy food really doesn't sound … good … right now."

"Okay," Xander acquiesced. "But … try to eat something soon, okay?"

Willow merely nodded, looking back at her computer and seeing that it was processing. This was the part she always hated - the waiting. Usually, it was just from her own natural impatience - her need to know things right now instead of ten minutes from now. But lately, the down time had given her way too much time to think.

Self-reflection should be a good thing, she mused. But now, surrounded by people desperately trying to save her from dying, she couldn't hide from the truth anymore. The power of the dark magick had been … incidental. There was something almost comforting about the idea that she had been drawn to the power, like it was some kind of drug, as if that would mean this whole thing weren't really her fault.

But she had realized something that day, as she helped Dawn with her homework, the situation reminding her of high school. She had come to realize that it wasn't the power she craved, but the escape. With the magick, she wasn't Good Old Reliable Willow Rosenberg. She wasn't Buffy's sidekick. She wasn't some useless nerd always getting into danger and needing a rescue.

There was a subtle difference, she had realized, between the power and the empowerment. It was the latter that she had craved so badly. Her need to be useful. Her need to impress. Her need to contribute. Her need to be accepted. Her need to be loved.

But who was she trying to impress? Why would she go out of her way to gain the love and acceptance of the very group of people who had always loved and accepted her, unconditionally?

Because way deep down, she hadn't believed she had deserved that from these people.

She hadn't believed in them, because she couldn't believe in herself, and that was the source of her problems. It was the source of the worst betrayal she had ever committed against another person, when she had tampered with Tara's memories. It wasn't that she wanted to control Tara, it was that she was so scared that she didn't deserve her love, that when things got a little rough, she overcompensated. Grossly. Outrageously. Thoughtlessly.

That afternoon, she had found the doll's eye crystal in the nightstand, and she had just held onto it, staring at it, the full force of what she had done hitting her with startling clarity. And in those moments, she had understood what had caused everything. Her own insecurities and lack of faith in herself had led her to extreme lengths in seeking the approval of others.

Willow stood and stretched, looking back down at the computer and seeing that it was still searching. She looked up at everyone, still reading diligently, her eyes automatically trying to find the face that wasn't there.

"I'm gonna' take a break," she said, glancing at her watch, and walking into the kitchen. She picked up the phone and hesitated a moment. Would they be at a motel getting some rest? Were they stopping for food?

She dialed the number before she could change her mind, knowing it by heart because she had looked it up several times, then talked herself out of calling. She heard the ring in her ear, and her heart started beating faster, knowing that she'd be talking to Tara soon.

The phone rang again. And again. Willow heard the front door open as Xander returned with the food, placing one hand over her free ear and turning her back to the entryway to the living room so she could concentrate on the rings.

Willow frowned, listening to the phone ring in her ear, wondering where Anya and Tara could be and why they weren't answering the phone. Were they okay? Could they be just stopping somewhere, having left the phone in the car? Were they in jail? Were they lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding and broken and unable to call for help?

"Willow?"

Willow dropped the phone from suddenly nerveless fingers, her body stiffening. Xander couldn't be back already. It was too soon.

"Willow," she heard again, the love and longing in that voice stealing her breath away. Slowly she turned, half-afraid to look, sure that what she was hearing too wonderful to be true.

"You're not Xander," she said absurdly, blinking owlishly.

"I should hope not," Tara said quietly, her eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

"I … but … how? You were two days out?" Willow gasped, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest.

"We drove all night," Tara confessed, standing just inside the doorway and gazing at the redhead with soulful eyes. She loved looking at Willow, and she ached to go to her, but she was rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight. It worried her, even as it reassured her, seeing Willow. She looked tired and pale and Tara couldn't help but wonder how she had lost so much weight in just four days. But still, she was there - alive and whole.

"But … but … two days out," Willow said helplessly, tears stinging her eyes. "You can't be here already. You can't. Not that I don't want you to be, but …"

She trailed off as Tara moved, taking tentative steps towards her. Her eyes drifted shut when Tara raised a hand, her fingertips just barely touching the side of her face.

"Are you real?" Willow asked shakily, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, her body trembling. "Are you here? Or is it another trick?" she asked huskily, leaning into the touch helplessly, despite her fear that if she opened her eyes, Tara would be gone.

"I'm real," she heard Tara say, and she felt the nearness when Tara stepped closer, and those arms she had longed for slipped tentatively around her. "You look so fragile," Tara whispered brokenly. "Like you might break."

"I won't break," Willow promised, taking a deep breath then opening her eyes, her own arms sliding up and around Tara's body and letting herself believe. In Tara. In them. In herself.

And then Tara pulled her close, her arms closing around her. As soon as she was firmly in Tara's arms, it was like a dam broke inside of her, and Willow clung to her as if she were her life raft in a stormy sea. And she was, Willow realized, as she choked out Tara's name.

"Willow, baby," Tara whispered with a sigh, her eyes shut tight as she clasped the redhead tightly to her. "Oh, God, Willow."

"Tara … honey, I …" Willow said, pulling back and sniffling as she fought back her tears.

"Don't say it. Don't say anything," Tara said, pulling Willow back to her and clamping down on her own tears. "We both have a lot to say, but it can wait. Just … just let me hold you."

Willow nodded against her neck, reveling in the feel of Tara's body against her own, her face burying itself in her hair.

"I can't believe … you're here … you're here," Willow said over and over, mumbling against the soft skin of Tara's neck.

"I'm here, baby," Tara soothed as Willow began to shake in her arms, rubbing her back gently. "I've got you," she whispered, and those three words seemed to break down the last of Willow's defenses, and she was stripped bare as she began crying, fear and relief mixing together in a maelstrom of confusing emotions that rocked her to her core.

"You're essential," Willow choked out, needing to convey to Tara all that she was to her.

"I'm sorry," Tara gasped out, her own tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

"I'm sorry I drove you away. But you're here now," Willow mumbled, as they swayed a little in each other's arms, the rocking motion soothing them. "That's all that matters."

"I should have been here," Tara argued, her feelings of guilt surfacing.

"You couldn't have known," Willow said. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"I love you," Tara finally whispered, hoping that it was enough to make up for her failings.

"God, I love you so much," Willow replied, snuggling closer to Tara and smiling a little when she felt her arms tighten further.

Tara gave into it then, letting her heart sing out her joy at having Willow in her arms, and she swore later she could hear Willow's heart returning the song. They rocked each other gently, neither feeling the need to say anything further at that time, reveling in their reunion and letting all their fear and doubts go, taking strength from their bond.

"I really hate to break this up," Xander said, honest regret in his voice. "But you've been monopolizing the kitchen for half an hour, and we're all out of coffee," he explained, raising the empty mugs in his hands with a sheepish expression.

With shaky breaths and shy smiles, they each pulled back, their hands joining naturally. Willow couldn't help a giddy smile from growing across her face when she felt Tara's thumb tracing her hand, the movement so familiar and loving that she felt it to her very core.

"Yeah, I should, umm… probably say hi to everyone," Tara said slowly. "I sorta' found out where you were then rushed back here," she confessed to Willow.

"I - yeah … and I … have a search running," Willow said breathlessly, squeezing the hand in hers.

"Oh, we unloaded the car," Xander said as Willow and Tara stood there, looking into each other's eyes and very noticeably not moving towards the living room. "But we didn't want to just go looking through your mom's stuff," he said to Tara.

Tara nodded, but Xander somehow doubted that she had heard a word he said, she was so clearly lost in looking at Willow.

"Oh, right," Tara said with a start, looking up at Xander. "We really need to go through those things," she said, looking back at Willow. "Mom did tons of research on blocking dark forces. She … she hoped to cure the demon thing."

"Right," Willow said, trying to work up the resolve to get back to work, but wanting desperately to just stay close to Tara. Her indecision must have shown on her face, because Tara chuckled and smiled at her.

"C'mon," Tara finally said, moving toward the living room and tugging on her hand. Willow followed, knowing deep in her heart that she would follow this woman anywhere.

"Tara!" Dawn called out, jumping up from her seat and bolting over. She had wanted to say hello earlier, but Buffy had stopped her, telling her that Tara needed the time with Willow. That had satisfied Dawn, and her tummy rumblings had eased, knowing that Willow and Tara were as good as back together. She smiled when she noticed that Tara only gave her a one-armed hug, refusing to let go of Willow's hand. That was a good sign - a very good sign indeed.

"Tara," Giles said, his voice warm, but considerably more composed than Dawn's had been.

"Mr. Giles," Tara said with a smile, giving him a one-armed hug as well. Buffy and Xander got in their hugs, too, pathetically grateful that Tara was back.

"You didn't scratch the car, did you?" Spike called from the couch, barely looking up from his book.

"No, I didn't scratch the car," Tara said. "But I let Anya drive," she added impishly.

"You what?" Spike demanded, looking up sharply. "Did >you< scratch the car?" he asked, turning towards Anya.

"Of course not," Anya said. "I'm a very safe driver," she added indignantly.

"Anya, honey," Xander said slowly. "You don't drive at all."

"Well I learned," Anya shot back. "Tara was tired and had to sleep, but she refused to stop, so I drove."

"You don't know how to drive and you drove my car?" Spike said.

"Hey - I'm not the one who almost got pulled over," Anya said, pointing at Tara, who bit her lip and looked down at the floor, trying hard not to giggle. "If Hank hadn't given Tara his phone number, we would have gotten a ticket, too."

"Actually, you would have gone to jail," Spike said with relish. "The car's stolen."

"Who's Hank?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing as she frowned.

"You gave Tara a stolen car?" Buffy yelled, turning on Spike.

"I just offered … she's the one who said yes," he said, holding up his hands in a protective gesture. "Defenseless vampire here … no killing the guy who can't fight back."

"Stolen?" Tara squeaked. "I was doing 120 just about the whole way back!"

"One-twenty?" Willow asked, tugging gently on Tara's hand to get her attention. "And who's Hank?"

"Hank is the nice trucker we met at Aunt Emma's Diner," Anya supplied helpfully. "And Tara would have driven the car faster, but it started shaking at 120, so she didn't want to push it."

"Some trucker gave you his phone number?" Willow asked indignantly.

"It wasn't like it sounds," Tara finally said, turning to Willow with a wry look. "Once I told the entire diner about how I was rushing home to make up with my girlfriend, they sort of … adopted me. Hank gave me his number just in case I ran into any trouble on the way back."

"Oh," Willow said, blinking twice. "Does that mean you're a trucker mama now?" she asked, grinning delightedly. "Wait a minute," she went on, frowning again. "You told a diner full of truckers that you had a girlfriend?"

"Well, after Anya told them all I was gay, and Mac tried to set me up with his sister, I told him I already had a girl," she said shyly, squeezing Willow's hand.

"Mac has a gay sister? Who's Mac?" Buffy asked, her eyebrows raising. "How in the world did you find lesbian-friendly truckers?"

"Oh, dear lord," Giles uttered, taking off his glasses and cleaning them industriously, trying desperately to block out the conversation buzzing around his head.

"That's just what I asked Tara when we left," Anya said excitedly. "It >is< pretty bizarre, isn't it?"

"Honey, why'd you tell them all Tara was gay? It's really not their business," Xander asked gently.

"Well, when Hank was being friendly, I told him that if he wanted to have sex with either of us, he could forget it, because I'm engaged and Tara's gay. Was that wrong?" Anya asked innocently, making Tara chuckle. "Besides, Tara didn't mind. Did you?"

"Not at all," Tara said with a smile.

"So then what'd ol' Hank do?" Spike asked curiously, caught up in the narrative.

"Oh, he showed us pictures of his wife and his two adorable little kids," Tara said, joining in the narrative fun.

"Mac said that showing a picture of your girl is a trucker tradition when Tara showed them a picture of Willow," Anya cut in. Tara's eyes grew wide, and she glanced meaningfully at Anya, hoping she wouldn't tell the rest of this story. She wanted Willow to know about her drawing - wanted to get back into it - but she wanted to tell Willow herself.

"You had a picture of me?" Willow asked delightedly. "And you showed it to a bunch of truckers?"

"They said you're hot," Tara confided, earning a blush.

"Oh, she didn't have a picture," Anya offered up, having missed Tara's look. "So she stole the waitresses pencil and drew one on a napkin.

"They thought a stick-figure Willow was hot?" Xander joked.

"Actually, the drawing was really good," Anya said, leaning back on the couch and reaching into her pocket, pulling out a carefully folded but slightly rumpled napkin. Xander peered over her shoulder curiously as Anya unfolded it gingerly.

"Oh my God," Xander said, gently taking the napkin from Anya's hand and holding it up to the light so he could see it better. Dawn raced over to his side, her jaw dropping when she saw it.

"You drew me?" Willow finally asked, confusion evident on her features. "I didn't know you drew," she said slowly.

"I haven't in a long time," Tara said quietly.

Determinedly, Willow walked over to Xander, pulling on Tara's hand and dragging her with her when she tried to stop her, an embarrassed look crossing Tara's face. Imperiously, Willow held out her hand, and Xander relinquished the napkin.

Willow's eyes widened when she saw herself - the same face she saw in the mirror every morning, sketched out in loving detail. Each little piece was a perfect rendition of her features. It was her face, but it wasn't.

Here, in her hand, was what Tara saw when she looked at her, and the vision made her heart skip a beat. Every little thing Willow had never liked about her face was there - each flaw and imperfection - but here in the picture, drawn by Tara's hand as seen by Tara's eye, it looked … beautiful. She, Willow, was beautiful in a way she had never considered herself before.

"I … is that what you see?" Willow asked, tearing her eyes away from the picture and looking at Tara.

Tara merely bit her lip and nodded shyly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"No, don't be embarrassed," she said, pressing a soft kiss to Tara's forehead. "It's … I love it. I love you."

"I - I wanted to … to show you my drawings myself," Tara confessed quietly. "But I … that's the first thing I've drawn since my mother …"

"Oh, honey," Willow said, pulling her into an embrace. The Scoobies shifted uncomfortably around them, looking everywhere but at the two women hugging in the middle of the room, but Willow and Tara didn't notice them, lost in their own world. "You … you're very talented. It's … it's really amazing," she said, pulling back to look at the picture again. "Can I have this?" she finally asked. "Can I frame it?"

"Of course you can have it, silly," Tara said, kissing her softly on the cheek. "You can have all my drawings."

"There are more?" Willow asked excitedly.

"My … my dad … h-he kept them," Tara said.

"Can I see them now?" Willow pressed.

"Later," Tara promised. "Right now, we should do the research thing."

"Actually," Giles said, coughing delicately. "You and Anya have had a very long drive, it's late, and we've gotten through quite a bit of material tonight. I think we should all get some rest and resume tomorrow," he said.

"Great idea," Buffy said, standing up and swinging her arms. "I'm going to go patrol … see if I can run into that Construct thing again."

"I'll go with you," Spike said, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat. "We've got lots of hours until sun-up."

"Does this mean Xander and I can go have sex now?" Anya asked, standing up and tugging Xander with her.

"Yes," Xander said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. He had missed Anya, and all the crazy things she said, so he couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed right now.

"Well," Giles said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them again, coughing lightly. "I'll just … make up the couch and get some rest, and I'll see you all tomorrow."

"Fine," Dawn said, standing up in a huff. "Just have all the fun breakthroughs while I'm at school," she went on, moving to the stairs. As she walked past, Buffy grabbed the back of her shirt, tugging her off the stairs gently.

"Your homework all done?" she asked.

"Yes," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "Willow helped me with it this afternoon."

"Good," Buffy said, nodding, then hugging her sister. "Good night."

"Good night," Dawn said with a little smile.

"Good night, Dawn," Tara said before looking around the room. "Where are-?"

"We muscled them up the stairs," Xander answered. "They're in your room."

"Thank you," she said simply, smiling and waving as Buffy, Spike, Xander and Anya filed out the door. Moments later, Anya rushed back in.

"I had fun," Anya said, giving Tara a great big hug. "We should do that again sometime, when we don't have to worry about Hell Gods and things."

"It was fun," Tara agreed, remembering fondly the happy parts of the trip.

Anya smiled happily, bouncing out the door, humming 'Wannabe', making Tara laugh.

[Sassette]

A Little Death (continued): THIS SECTION IS RATED 'R'

"What was that all about?" Willow asked slowly. Tara tugged on her hand again, pulling her playfully up the stairs.

"Guess what Spike had in his car?" she asked, an impish smile lighting her features.

"Blood?" Willow hazarded a guess.

"Four Spice Girls tapes," Tara said, laughing at the thunderstruck expression on Willow's face as she stopped in her tracks right outside their door.

"Spike listens to the Spice Girls?" Willow squeaked.

"Uh-huh," Tara said, nodding. She opened the door, feeling a sense of peace settle around her as she walked into their room. It felt so good to call it that again. Their room.

Willow walked in, closing the door behind her. "The Spice Girls?" she asked again, her image of Spike turning on its side and dancing the hula.

"If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends," Tara sang softly, performing the choreography she and Anya had put together. "Make it last forever, friendship never ends."

"Oh, god, stop," Willow said, holding her stomach and laughing.

"If you wannabe my lover, you have got to give," Tara pressed on, grinning at the sound of Willow's laughter. "Taking is too easy … that's the way it is!"

Willow wheezed helplessly, falling onto the bed and laughing harder, Tara flopping down next to her and joining laughing along.

"Oh, I needed that," Willow finally said, a few more chuckles shaking her frame.

"Anything you need, anytime you need it," Tara said seriously, leaning up on one elbow and looking down at the redhead.

"Yeah?" Willow asked, a little smile on her face.

"Mmmhmm," Tara confirmed.

"Well, I need to see these other drawings," Willow said, her smile growing.

"Right now?" Tara asked uncertainly, not sure she wanted to get into the conversation her drawings would naturally lead to right at that moment.

"Yes," Willow said, nodding emphatically.

"Well, okay," Tara said, rolling off the bed and gaining her feet. "I'm gonna' get in my pajamas first," she said, moving to the drawers and pulling out a nightgown.

"Oh, umm … should I, uhh …" Willow said, motioning towards the door, suddenly uncertain as to exactly where they stood with each other.

"Umm … how about … you, uhh … help?" Tara offered slowly, looking up at Willow through her eyelashes.

"Help?" Willow said, her voice cracking on the word like a pubescent boy. "Oh, umm … sure," she said, walking over to Tara. "I, uhh," she began, moving her hands towards Tara's body several times, then drawing them back.

"Hey," Tara said, lifting Willow's chin so that their eyes met. "C'mere," she said softly, pressing a light kiss to Willow's lips and tugging her into her arms.

Willow's eyes drifted shut, her arms wrapping around Tara in return. All too soon, the kiss ended, but the embrace lingered, and Willow let herself relax in Tara's arms.

"Okay," Willow said after a moment, pressing her lips gently, reverently, to Tara's neck. "Let's get you changed," she said, pulling back and tugging Tara's t-shirt out of her jeans. Tara lifted her arms over her head, letting Willow pull it completely off, then pulled her in for another hug, humming her approval when Willow traced the soft skin of her back.

"Let's get you, too," Tara said, turning in Willow's arms and opening a drawer as Willow pressed her cheek to her back in a hug. Tara smiled and pushed around several articles of clothing, finally finding the comfy flannel pajamas with the happy little monkeys on them and pulling them out. "Off with the comfy sweats, and on with the comfy monkeys," Tara said, turning back around and tossing her nightgown and Willow's pajamas on the bed.

"Shoes," Willow instructed, and Tara laughed, kicking off her shoes as she tugged Willow's top up and over her head, leaving her short hair in a state of adorable disarray. Tara found herself unable to resist the cuteness, and leaned in again, pressing her lips to Willow's for several long moments as Willow expertly unclasped and removed her bra.

"Nice," Tara murmured, getting another hug, and biting back a moan as their bare breasts pressed together.

"Uh-huh," Willow agreed, nodding into Tara's hair. Tara tilted her head up to place a light kiss on Willow's temple, her hands sliding down Willow's sides and past her hips, taking the fabric of her sweat pants with them.

"Commando?" Tara asked, raising an eyebrow as Willow stepped out of the pool of material at her feet. "Oh, honey," she said before Willow could respond, her brow furrowing as she lightly traced the visible ribs on Willow's torso.

"I, uhh … haven't been hungry," Willow confessed.

"That's not good for you," Tara admonished, reaching around Willow to grab her pajamas. She helped Willow step into the bottoms, then slipped the top over her head, tugging her arms into place. Willow smiled, feeling absurdly like a three-year-old, but completely loved and cherished by the woman standing topless in front of her.

Then again, maybe she didn't feel three years old, she mused, a warm flush steeling over her as she gazed at Tara's breats.

"I thought you wanted to see drawings," Tara said with a knowing look, causing Willow to blush harder and snap her green eyes up to meet Tara's blue.

"Well, I …" Willow stammered. "Right … drawings."

Tara smiled, moving her hands to her waist to unfasten her jeans.

"No, let me," Willow said softly, reaching out and undoing the button. She lowered the zipper, then hooked her thumbs under the jeans and Tara's panties, sliding them past her hips and letting them fall to the floor. "You're so beautiful," Willow said on a sigh, letting one hand rest gently on Tara's waist.

"Thank you," Tara said, her own color rising.

"Here," Willow said, turning and picking up Tara's nightgown. Tara raised her arms, and Willow slipped the nightgown onto her body, tugging the smooth fabric into place. "There," she said, smiling at Tara.

"I'll grab the drawings. You get in bed," Tara offered, moving to the trunk that held her art supplies and lifting the lid.

"Okay," Willow said happily, feeling as though everything was right in her world. None of it mattered, really. Not the Hell God. Not her illness. None of it could touch the joy and contentment she felt sharing this time with Tara. She got into the bed, turning off all but one light, situating the pillows behind her so she could sit up comfortably resting against the headboard.

Tara paused, her hand resting on the sketchbook, a flash of uncertainty rushing through her. Was Willow ready for this? Was she ready to tell her?

Her hand closed on the book, and she lifted it, cradling it against her chest and rising. No more secrets, she decided inwardly. With wary resolution, unsure of the reception this revelation would receive, she crawled into the bed, sliding under the covers and snuggling up to Willow's side, her head resting on her shoulder.

Eagerly, Willow took the book, raising her knees and resting it against them. She flipped back the cover, and stared.

It was her, again, but younger. She supposed she was maybe, twelve? Thirteen?

"I … how did you do that?" Willow asked in amazement. "That's exactly what I looked like. I don't think I showed you any pictures, or …"

"Turn the page," Tara said. With a puzzled frown, Willow complied, seeing her own face again, only a little older. Her face wasn't as lean as it was now, and she guessed she was probably fifteen or sixteen in the picture.

"Did Xander show you old pictures or something?" Willow asked. "How … I mean, you drew these while you were on your trip?"

"No," Tara said softly, shaking her head against Willow's shoulder. Willow tucked her chin back so she could look down at Tara's face, seeing the slightly worried expression there.

"Then when?" Willow questioned.

"Before my mother died," Tara said, turning her head so she could look back at Willow.

"Before - ?" Willow said, gaping at Tara.

"Yeah," Tara said. "I … I used to dream about you. When I was little, you were my best friend," she confided solemnly. "And when I grew older, I used to dream that you'd come to my house in a magic helicopter, and you'd take my mom and me away to someplace where we'd be happy and safe all the time."

"I … you did?" Willow questioned weakly.

"Yeah. I did," Tara confirmed.

"Why - why didn't you tell me that before?" Willow wondered aloud. "And … you … you didn't feel … safe? At home?" Willow questioned tentatively, fearing the answer.

"No," Tara said, shaking her head, her eyes watering. "It … my dad and Donnie, they'd … umm," she started, pausing to compose herself.

"Hey," Willow said, closing the sketchpad and setting it aside, scooting down and turning so she was lying face to face with Tara, reaching up a hand to gently trace the lines of her face. "What'd they do, baby?" she asked gently, trying to meet Tara's eyes with her own, only to find that Tara kept glancing away.

"They'd, uhh … I remember once, when I was … oh, eight. Nine, maybe? Mama and I went on a walk, and she was teaching me about the plants," Tara related in a small child-like voice, her eyes troubled and distant. "She was gathering some up in a little basket, and then she took my hand, and we walked back to the house. It got dark, and kind of spooky, but Mama was there, so I wasn't scared. And then we got into the house, and Papa grabbed her basket. He started yelling, and he was … he was so angry. Then Mama told me to go to my room, so I went up the stairs, and Donnie was waiting for me at the top," she said, her voice trailing off.

"Then what happened, sweetheart?" Willow asked gently, her eyes sad as she looked at Tara.

"Donnie said that Papa was gonna' hit Mama, and that she deserved it, because she was evil," Tara said simply. "He said that I was evil, too, and that Mama and I had to be kept in line, so that we didn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. He said we deserved it, because we were bad. I called him a liar, and tried to move past him, but he pushed me down. Then he sat on my chest and pinned my arms with his knees, and told me to listen. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. Then I heard Papa and Mama yelling at each other, and then I heard the hitting. I started crying, and Donnie slapped me hard, in the face. Just once, but he said that as I got older, he and Papa would have to hit me more, to keep the town safe."

Willow's chest ached and her jaw was clenched tight, a deep anger rising up in her. She pushed it down, but it called to the darkness inside her, lending it strength and weight. She shut her eyes tight, her body taut as a bowstring.

"I -" Willow ground out through clenched teeth, pulling Tara fully back to the present.

"Shh," Tara said gently, rolling onto her back and pulling Willow into her arms. "It's okay," she soothed, stroking Willow's hair as she trembled. "I got out, and I'm okay now," she said sincerely. "Everything's okay now."

"But … how could they … you're so … and they," Willow said, lifting her head and opening her eyes. Tara flinched when she saw the black inky pools where she usually saw her beloved green. "They … I …" Willow stammered, her whole body starting to shake.

"Willow," Tara said, looking deep into the black magick eyes for the first time. And found, oddly, that she couldn't hate what she saw. There, in the swirling inky depths, she saw pain and fear - Willow's pain and fear, and instead of the revulsion, she felt only sorrow and compassion and a deep bottomless love for this woman who felt so strongly, with all of her being, on Tara's behalf.

"I … I can't," Willow groaned, shutting her eyes tight again, darkness leaking from the corners as she convulsed. Tara's heart ached, and she saw - truly saw - exactly how torturous stopping the magick was for Willow. How much strength did it take for this woman to clamp down on these emotions, and stop herself from casting? Feeling that strongly, Tara wondered if she could do the same.

It was … scary, seeing Willow's eyes shift to that eerie blackness, but … Tara knew, like she knew how to breathe, that Willow was fighting the darkness the Trickster kept sending with everything she had. And that, Tara realized, made all the difference. And if the root of Willow's problems rested in her lack of faith in herself, then Tara would just have to have enough faith for the both of them.

"I love you," Tara said simply, reaching out and brushing her fingers against the black tears, gasping when she felt exactly what Willow was feeling - all her rage and heartache transferring through that touch. "Willow, come back to me," she whispered as the blackness disappeared, leaving only a natural trail of tears sliding down Willow's face.

"They … hit you?" Willow asked, her eyes fluttering open, revealing an aching sadness in their green depths, and she reached out to cup Tara's cheek in one hand.

"Yeah," Tara admitted, nodding her head a little and taking in a deep shuddering breath. "Are you okay?" she asked, brushing away Willow's tears gently with her thumb.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Willow breathed, a fiercely protective streak welling up inside. "It's … this darkness is building, and I'm fighting it - God, I'm trying. I'm trying so hard."

"I know you are," Tara said, leaning in, Willow's eyes fluttering shut as Tara brushed soft kisses across her eyelids. "I know you're fighting, baby - and I'm here to help you fight it."

"I didn't know … I'm so sorry they … God, how could they?" Willow asked, looking a little lost. "And I … I just …I wish I had been there. I wish I had been your best friend when you were a little girl, and that when you were older I had come for you in a magic helicopter. I wish I'd taken you and your mother away to someplace you could be safe and happy," Willow said, her voice heavy with regret.

"Things happen for a reason," Tara said, her voice serene. "And if I had had a nice home life, I never would have come to Sunnydale. I never would have met you."

"I - That … that can't have been worth it," Willow said tremulously, her face falling. "I'm sorry that … that I'm not what you've deserved."

"It was worth it," Tara said seriously.

Tara opened her mouth to say more, but stopped when Willow spoke in a rush. "What happened when you went back?" Willow asked quickly. "Are you … did they … You're all right? You're okay?"

"I'm fine. It was … really strange," Tara said slowly. "It was … almost like my dad was a different man. He was polite, and respectful. We talked, and he … he said it wouldn't make up for what he did, but he was sorry. And that he'd been wrong, and that he'd let the people of the town and his own superstitions and fears overrule his better judgement in how he treated my mother and I."

"I … Tara, that's …" Willow said, unsure of how to respond to that development.

"That's pretty much what I was thinking," Tara said wryly. "I … just didn't know what to think. Then Donnie showed up," Tara related. "He hasn't changed."

"He didn't …" Willow said slowly, her voice low.

"Hurt me?" Tara asked. "No, but he tried. Dad realized that Donnie was outside as Anya and I were leaving, and he came out on the porch with a gun."

"A gun?" Willow asked incredulously. "A gun."

"MmmHmm … and he pretty much threatened to shoot Donnie if he didn't back off and let me go in peace," Tara said, a look of wonder crossing her face as she thought of her father sticking up for her.

"I guess … I guess your dad … changed?" Willow said uncertainly.

"I think he really did," Tara said, a full smile crossing her face. "I, umm … I still don't know if I want to go visit, or have him here, but I think … I think I'll probably write to him. About how things are going here. He had lots of questions about Sunnydale."

"Are you okay with all of this? Happy?" Willow questioned.

"Yeah," Tara confirmed. "It's … I had given up hope of ever … of ever really knowing my father. And then, it was like - it was just handed to me. Like a gift."

"Then I'm happy for you," Willow said, letting go of the anger she wanted to hold against the man on her lover's behalf. "You have … such a big heart," she said, a tremulous smile on her lips. "I've never known anyone who could love as selflessly as you."

"You can," Tara said softly, brushing a lock of Willow's hair behind her ear.

"No, I … I'm very selfish," Willow disagreed with a frown, her eyes full of pain and regret. "I've been … I've been selfish."

"No, not selfish," Tara disagreed with a shake of her head. "Scared. You've been scared."

"Yeah, I'm … I … I've been doing a lot of thinking, 'cuz y'know, this whole 'gonna die in a couple of weeks' thing, it … sorta' makes you think," Willow started to babble, only to stop when Tara pressed a finger to her lips.

"No talk of dying," Tara said seriously. "Because I'm not letting you go." Her words slipped in Willow's ears, and made their way down to wrap gently around her heart, holding her fast to the here and now, making the chances of her dying seem … ridiculously small in the face of such utter certainty.

"Okay," Willow agreed after a moments pause, letting her faith in Tara dispel her fears. "But I … I've still been thinking, and I realized that … I've been so stupid about the magick because I'm so scared that … that I'm … that I don't deserve the people in my life," she confessed slowly.

"Is this about how people treated you in high school?" Tara asked gently.

"I … yeah," Willow said. "How did you know about -?"

"Anya and I had lots of time to talk," Tara said wryly. "She … she told me about what high school was like for you. And I just … I want to go back there and grab everyone who made you feel less than you were by the shoulders and just … shake some sense into them," she confessed. "It's … they made fun of you. I don't like that."

"I was pretty damn ridiculous," Willow said, unwittingly defending those who had hurt her so badly. "I … I didn't dress right, I didn't say the right things … I was too smart, and not pretty enough. I just … I never saw why such wonderful people would care about me, when not even my parents ever gave a damn. I mean, the only time my mom ever really took notice of what I was doing, she tried to burn me a the stake."

"No," Tara said, shifting so they were laying side by side again, facing each other. "They were stupid thoughtless kids who didn't realize what a treasure you are. And you're parents - Willow, I don't know how two people who are so clearly dumb had a daughter as smart as you. And the stake thing was a Hellmouth thing, right? I mean, even Joyce got all caught up in that. So you listen to me," she went on, her voice intense, capturing Willow with her gaze. "You're beautiful, and I love how your brain works. And the way you babble … it's just … it's the most endearing thing in the whole world," she went on, earning a shy smile from Willow. "And who cares if you weren't wearing the latest fashions? You were surrounded by shallow morons, but that's not your fault."

"Thank you," Willow said, letting herself really hear and believe the words as Tara spoke them. In her mind, she had always known that what Tara said was true, but in her heart? She had always felt like something was wrong with her - something terrible, or why else would people make fun of her like that?

But hearing it from Tara - knowing that Tara knew just how unaccepted she had been, and was still there with her, snuggled up in bed - it gave her heart something to hold on to. It gave her heart something to believe in.

"You're welcome," Tara said, kissing Willow gently. "I love you, you know," she said seriously, brushing a bit of hair back from Willow's face. "More than anything." Their lips brushed, again and again, then their eyes fluttered closed as they made firmer contact, both caught by surprise by a rising need that demanded they re-connect on the most basic level.

Tara gasped, a slow burning starting up in the pit of her stomach and spreading as Willow's tongue reached out tentatively to trace her lips, her hand resting delicately on her hip. Tara reached her hand up to Willow's jaw, tracing it lightly, then urging her closer, opening her mouth to the woman she loved.

Their kiss deepened with twin moans, and Tara shifted back, pulling Willow with her until Willow's warm, firm body lay fully upon her own, her delicious weight pressing her into the mattress. Hands traced lightly over shoulders and arms, their kisses slow and tender.

Willow's heart raced as she felt Tara's soft body moving beneath her, and Tara's hands tracing whisper soft caresses along her back and shoulders through her flannel pajama top. She pulled back from the kiss, taking in deep lungfuls of air before diving back, drawn helplessly to the lush fullness of Tara's lips. Tara's breath caught in the back of her throat as Willow's mouth descended upon hers again, this time hungry and passionate. She let her hands trail down Willow's back, easing them back up under her shirt, raking her nails softly across the skin there and making Willow shiver.

Their kisses slowed and eased as they explored each other's mouths, each feeling as if it had been too long since they had last kissed like this. Playfully, Willow nipped lightly at Tara's lower lip, a slow smile spreading across both their faces before their kisses intensified again, their joyful passion rising.

Willow was always aware, in the back of her mind, of this kind of pressure, pushing her towards magick and darkness, her insecurities and fears threatening to break loose from the place she had locked them tightly within her. Tara's touch and kiss pierced the very heart of her, the light of their love chasing back the shadows, freeing her from her prison.

"Are you okay?" Tara asked slowly, pulling back when she tasted the saltiness of Willow's tears on her lips.

"More than okay," Willow said, raising herself up on her elbows, a beatific smile crossing her face.

"Do you… do you need to stop, or …?" Tara asked uncertainly.

"No, I don't want to stop," Willow said. "Umm … do you? Want to stop?" she asked carefully. "Because if … I mean, if you're not ready, I -"

"I don't ever want to stop," Tara said. Willow bit back a groan when Tara's fingers and palms brushed over her achingly hard nipples as she slowly pushed her shirt up her body. Their eyes locked as Tara reached behind Willow, pulling the back of her shirt up to her shoulders, that contact breaking when Willow had to duck her head as Tara kept pulling. The shirt slid down Willow's upper arms, landing on Tara's chest, her forearms still encased in the fabric. "No, stay," Tara said, when Willow started to sit up, intent on removing the piece of clothing entirely.

Instead, Willow merely nodded, caught in Tara's eyes as Tara ran her fingers lightly up her sides, over her shoulders, then back down the front, trailing around the curves of her breasts, and past her ribs. Willow's eyes drifted shut as she bit her lip when Tara slid her hands up her stomach to gently cup her breasts.

"Oh, God, I've missed you so much," Willow moaned, her head dropping forward, her forehead resting against Tara's as Tara teased and pinched her nipples.

Tara adored Willow's body - every dip and curve and angle. And touching Willow? It thrilled her, the feel of Willow's skin against her hands sending shockwaves of arousal through her body and to her core. But the angle was awkward, so Tara arched her hips, pressing into Willow and turning them over, lifting Willow's arms, still tangled in her shirt, over her head, grinning wickedly as her lover gasped at the sudden change of positions.

Willow opened her mouth to speak, only to have her words stolen away by a groan when Tara immediately ducked her head, her tongue finding her nipple and lavishing it with attention. Two strong hands held her elbows easily, keeping her arms raised as Tara's leg slipped between her own.

Reflexively, Willow's back arched, pressing her nipple against Tara's mouth, her action rewarded when Tara began suckling on it gently. Willow really had no idea how she had been tossed onto her back so easily, but she couldn't complain - didn't have the breath to complain, anyway.

Tara toyed with Willow's nipple, alternating a gentle suction with light nips and licks, groaning softly when Willow's hips arched against her thigh, feeling the heat of her lover through the meager layers of fabric separating them.

"God, Willow," Tara moaned out, moving to the other nipple and pressing her leg firmly against Willow's center, the heat radiating there calling to her.

"Tara … Tara, I need … God," Willow ground out, rocking against Tara's thigh.

"What do you need, Baby?" Tara asked, her breath playing over Willow's nipple making her shiver.

"You," Willow gasped, even as Tara's hand started drifting down her body, torturously slow. "Now, please," Willow begged, Tara's fingers blazing a trail of fire across her skin to dip teasingly below her waistband, tugging the elastic down around Willow's hips to grant her easier access.

"Tell me," Tara requested, freeing Willow's arms and moving back up to kiss her gently, her hand sliding further into her pants. Willow tossed her shirt off the bed, reaching up and tangling her fingers in Tara's hair, pulling her head down and kissing her deeply.

"Inside … I need you inside," Willow gasped out against Tara's mouth. Tara moaned, sliding her fingers through Willow's wetness, the slick heat coating her fingers. Willow whimpered as Tara entered her, arching her hips to taker her lover into her body more fully.

"You feel so good," Tara groaned, their open mouths brushing together, Willow's hands, sliding down Tara's body to her waist, gathering the silky fabric there in her hands and pulling it up past Tara's hips

"God, Baby, you're so wet," Willow murmured, her fingers teasingly trailing along between Tara's legs, then gasping as Tara started moving inside of her, pumping in and out slowly.

"Take me," Tara demanded on a whisper, groaning when Willow complied, her fingers entering her slowly. "Oh, God, Willow …" Tara moaned, raising herself up on one arm and straightening it, pumping her hips on Willow's fingers and gazing into her eyes as they gave each other the most intimate caress.

"So good … so good," Willow mumbled, her eyelids heavy as her hips rocked against Tara's hand, unable to tear her eyes away from the look on Tara's face. The loving, wanting look, that thrilled her, knowing she had put it there.

"Oh, yes, Willow," Tara gasped, moving her hand and her hips faster, then biting down on her lower lip, watching Willow's face display all the pleasure she was giving her, and the love she had for her.

Their moans and cries filled the room as they moved faster - harder - against each other, their eyes never leaving the other's face.

"Willow, baby … I'm … so … close, so close," Tara managed to say, her words barely intelligible through her gasps.

"Oh, Tara … Tara, baby," Willow responded, pulling Tara down on top of her as they came together, pleasure coursing through their bodies in waves, meeting and multiplying and returning, again and again until they lay together limply, gasping for air.

"I … I …" Willow started to say as she slowly, gently, withdrew her fingers.

"MmmHmmm," Tara agreed lazily, a satisfied smile stealing across her face as she, too, withdrew.

They laid snuggled together, floating a foot above the bed, exchanging soft touches and smiles, and the occasional gentle kiss, neither needing to say with words what they had said with their bodies moments before.

Edited by: Sassette at: 4/1/02 10:53:03 pm

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 36

Shadows

Everywhere, a gray mist swirled, cool against her skin as she walked through it. She waved her hands, trying to separate it … trying to see something. Anything. Tara struggled to discern any shapes or marks around her to get her bearings, but there was nothing. Nothing but the gray mist and the pounding of her own heart, unnaturally loud in her ears.

Then, a flash of red. She followed. The ground was level and her steps easy as she walked, then ran, eager to reach her destination.

Willow.

Willow was lost.

She had to find her.

Was she getting turned around? Going the right way?

Another flash of red, to her left. She turned, then ran, calling Willow's name.

"I'll find you. I'll always find you," she heard as it echoed across the expanse of gray nothingness, returning and returning again. The words rolled around her, echoing back to her as if she had been their source.

But Willow had said that.

Hadn't she?

She turned all the way around, again and again, before she caught another glimpse of red.

Willow.

She stumbled forward, the ground rougher here, and rocky. Where was Willow? Again, she called out her lover's name, the name feeling odd on her lips, yet familiar.

Margaret?

She had to find Margaret. They had been apart for so long.

Tara paused, looking around he in confusion and trying to make sense of the grayness. She had seen Margaret, hadn't she? She heard a noise ahead, and she started climbing, up and upthe gray mist giving way to jagged dark gray stones against a coal black sky.

Margaret?

Willow?

Was she Margaret or was she Willow? And who was she looking for again?

Her lover. Her lover needed her, and hadn't she promised to find her? Or had her lover promised to do the finding? She had to keep looking.

She continued her climb, the slope getting steeper as she went, until she was moving forward awkwardly on hands and knees, no longer able to remain upright.

The sharp edges of stone cut into her flesh, cruelly ripping it to shreds, but still she pressed on, the physical agony far less tormenting than the searing pain in her soul at her separation from her beloved.

She crawled for days and weeks - months and years - and still there was nothing. Nothing but the black sky and the rocks and the pain, and a burning deep inside of her that moved her inexorably forward, until her blood ran hot and dark like a river down the stones, her flesh healing just as it became so torn she could not go on, only to be torn again.

Each time the flesh fell from her hands, stripped from her body down to the bone, and her knees were so destroyed they would no longer bend, she paused. Then, she felt her failure to her core, the sharp pain of her loss nearly paralyzing her. Her body didn't matter to her - only reaching the top mattered. Or the bottom? Which way was she going? Up or down?

She didn't know or care - she just had to get there - had to get to her lover and look into her laughing green eyes.

And then she was there, after decades of toil, on a broad flat plain of obsidian, the mountain she had climbed nowhere in sight. She was at the beginning, or the end. Of what, she couldn't tell.

She wasn't sure where she was, or now, having reached it, where she should go.

Her stinging hands pulled her attention, and she looked at the black ichor running from her wounds, dripping down her fingers and pooling at her feet.

She fell to her knees, her screams ripping through the eerie stillness, pounding her fists against the smooth glassy surface, leaving a sticky trail of blackness behind.

Her screams turned to wails, and she pulled her hands to her, dragging them palm-down across the obsidian and looking around her with wild and desperate eyes.

A flash of red.

She jerked her head around, trying to find it again.

There it was.

She looked down, seeing the dark smears she had left glowing and transparent. With a sob, she pressed her face to the surface, her eyes drinking in the sight of her lover. Her mate. Her everything.

And she was there, too. There, but not there. There, but watching, as if seeing a distant half-forgotten memory from the wrong angle.

She pounded her fists as she watched, trying to break through the surface. She pounded, again and again, but nothing could crack the cold ground she lay against. Her frustration grew as she watched the two women sitting on a hillside within a circle of stones, crying.

"There has to be another way," she heard.

"There isn't. I've looked. Believe me, I've looked," was the agonized response, and the two women
reached for each other, falling into each other's arms.

"But the cost?" I can't lose you. I've only just found you." Tara sobbed helplessly at those words as she watched the scene unfold, knowing instinctively how their story ended, and thinking of Willow. Oh, God,
Willow - she had only just found Willow again. How could she lose her now?

"I don't know what will happen. It's … it's dangerous. But I swear, if it takes all eternity, in this life or the next, I will never give up searching. I will find you. I will always find you."

Tara felt the truth of that promise settle into her soul, the words giving her some measure of comfort in this dark place. But here - here was a vision of the past. And she was in the present, and there was no Willow. She sat up, scanning the emptiness around her again, curling into a ball and whimpering when she realized how alone she really was. No matter who was around, without Willow, she was alone.

"Tara?" she heard, and her heart skipped.

She sat up, looking around her again, hope surging within her. She would find Willow. She'd searched for an eternity, and now she would find her.

"Tara? Wake up, baby," she heard Willow's voice call, and she was bound to heed its request. The dream faded around her as she struggled out of her sleep, her eyelashes fluttering open to look into concerned green eyes gazing down at her.

"Hello, Sleepyhead," Willow greeted, a delighted smile crossing her face. "Normally, I'd let you sleep, 'cuz I love watching you sleep, but you know me - I'm all 'worry girl' and you were kind of tossing and turning and it didn't look like it was restful at all, and you're frowning, and that can't be good."

"Baby?" Tara interrupted as Willow took a breath to continue.

"Yeah?" Willow said nervously. "Damn. I knew I should've let you sleep, 'cuz - hey - it's sleep, and it's good for you and Anya said you were No-Sleep Tara the whole time you were gone, and -"

Willow found herself unable to continue her self-recriminations as warm, soft lips pressed insistently against her own, eliciting a happy little squeak from the redhead. After a long moment, Tara pulled back, pressing a quick loving kiss to Willow's forehead.

"Umm … hi," Willow said shyly, looking down at her lover as she settled herself back down on her pillows with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Hi yourself," Tara said, reaching up and brushing back a strand of Willow's hair. She smiled lazily at the other woman, feeling happy and content to be there with her, within easy reach. She remembered the images from her dream, but the feelings of helplessness and pain had disappeared when she had opened her eyes and seen Willow there looking back at her. "What time is it?" she asked, unwilling to look away from Willow to check the clock herself.

"Eleven AM," Willow said with a smile. "I'm sorry I woke you, but I was kinda' worried about ya'."

"Eleven AM?" Tara asked, sitting up again and looking at the clock.

"Well, we didn't actually sleep until about three in the morning," Willow said slowly. "And you were already tired. I shouldn't have kept you up," she said with a frown.

"And what are you doing up?" Tara asked, her own frown crossing her face. "You're just as tired, if not more tired, than I am. And I don't like that you … you've lost a lot of weight, Willow," she said seriously, placing her hand on Willow's side and tracing her ribs with her thumb.

"I'm okay," Willow said earnestly. "In fact, I haven't felt this good in a long time. No vomiting, no shakes, no weird visions and things. I feel great."

"Did you eat breakfast?" Tara asked concernedly. "And just how long have you been up?"

"Yes, I ate breakfast," Willow said, a small smile crossing her face and her eyes taking on a warm glow
at Tara's concern. "And I had an eight o'clock class."

"You went to class?" Tara squeaked. "Honey, you've been sick."

"I know, but … I missed class on Tuesday. I didn't want to get behind."

"Willow," Tara said, affectionate exasperation evident in her voice. "You could miss every single class and just go take the tests, and you wouldn't get behind. Tuesday and Thursday is - what? Physics and the 'Math That Would Make My Poor Brain Melt Right Out Of My Head'? But Physics isn't 'til later, right?"

"It's not that hard," Willow protested. "You could so totally do it if you wanted to. And yeah, Physics is at two."

"If it's not that hard, why'd you have to go when you've been sick?" Tara shot back.

"I - I'm sorry," Willow stammered, buckling under Tara's obvious displeasure. She certainly hadn't meant to upset her - she'd just … she'd woken up in such a good mood, and Tara looked like she needed her sleep and she hadn't wanted to wake her, so she'd just … gone to class. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Hey, it's okay," Tara reassured, seeing the flash of hurt in Willow's eyes. "I'm not your boss, I'm your girlfriend. I just … I'm worried about you."

"You're my girlfriend?" Willow asked, her whole face lighting up.

"No," Tara deadpanned. "I stay up most the night making love to >all< the girls who aren't my girlfriend."

Willow blushed, looking sheepish. "Well, okay, duh - stupid question, Rosenberg. But - we didn't really talk about … that, and I didn't want to just assume."

"Then consider this our talk," Tara said firmly. "Not that I won't leave you again in a heartbeat if you ever do anything that hurtful again, no matter how much it tears me up inside to go," she added quietly.

"I can't promise I won't," Willow said seriously, reaching out and tracing Tara's face with a finger. "But I can promise that I'll never do anything that hurtful on purpose again. That I'll always think about how things affect you before I do them. I might mess up - not with the magick, because I'm through with that - but I might do something that hurts you, but I promise I'll try not to. That if I ever do, it won't be because I was being thoughtless or disrespectful."

"I can accept that," Tara said seriously. There was something comforting about Willow's promise - like it was far more believable than a promise to never hurt her. People hurt each other - that's just the way relationships worked. But Willow's promise to think first, and to always consider her - that was something she could believe in. "So how was class?" Tara asked, needing to get away from the heaviness of the previous topic. Everything that had happened the past several days had been so … jarring, so earth-shattering, that she longed for a little normalcy.

"Buffy went with me," Willow said quickly. "And she made sure I had food and everything."

"You made Buffy go to your 'Brain Pain' math class?" Tara asked with a giggle, remembering one time she had picked up Willow's math text book and flipped through it, the symbols and formulas swimming before her eyes and making absolutely no sense.

"She, uhh … kept making paper airplanes," Willow said sheepishly. "She kept tossing them when the teacher was writing stuff on the board. I tried to tell her she'd hate that class, but she insisted."

"Well, I'm glad she was with you," Tara said firmly. "You shouldn't be out by yourself."

"I'm not an invalid," Willow groused.

"I know you're not," Tara said. "I just … Hell Gods? Constructs? I'm worried. I can't help but worry," Tara defended herself.

"It's … it's kind of nice," Willow said shyly.

"What is?" Tara wondered.

"You. Worrying about me," she said, suddenly finding the comforter on the bed extremely fascinating and staring at it intently.

"I'll always worry about you," Tara said, cupping Willow's face in her hands and lifting her eyes to meet her own. "It's part of loving you," she went on, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

"I'm scared," Willow finally confessed in a small voice when the kiss ended, lifting her own hand to cover Tara's. "I - I don't really … I don't know what to do. And everyone's … they're all freaked, and I can't - they can't see how … how much this scares me, or they're just going to freak even more."

Tara listened to Willow's words, pulling her into her arms and rocking her gently. "Me, too," she said softly into Willow's hair, tucking the red head underneath her chin and holding Willow close. "I'm scared, too, but … we'll figure something out. We have to."

Willow stayed there in her arms, soaking up the comfort and love Tara offered, and pouring out her fears.

"Tara?"

"Yeah, Baby?"

"I … I really don't want to die," Willow said, her voice trembling. "I mean, yeah, duh - no one wants to die, right? And it's stupid to think that I couldn't - because I'm a Scooby and it's dangerous. But, I … I want to finish college. I wanna' be a part of the ritual tag-team grilling of Dawn's prom date. I wanna' get all wrinkled and gray and ornery with you, terrorizing the neighbor kids and yelling at them to stay off our lawn," she said with a sniffle.

"Hey - the neighbor kids can play on our lawn if they want," Tara protested, stroking Willow's hair and rocking her gently.

"See? That's a fight we might never have!" Willow explained. "I wanna get to be the crazy mean lady who lives with the really nice lady who bakes cookies. And I wanna' get to laugh at all the clueless people who'll think we're spinster sisters."

Tara laughed gently. "You're going to be a sweet old lady, and you know it," she said. "And I'm not letting you out of that. I … I can't imagine doing any of those things without you."

"I'm sorry," Willow said contritely. "I'm wallowing, aren't I?"

"You're allowed to wallow, Willow. You can be my Willow-Wallower," Tara said emphatically. "You need to vent, and I'll listen to all of it. This is your safe place, remember?"

"No, this is my safe place," Willow said, giving Tara a little squeeze. After a moment of quiet comfort, Willow sat up, kissing Tara lightly on the cheek. "I think I'm done wallowing for right now. You wanna' get out of bed, or sleep some more?"

"That depends," Tara said thoughtfully. "Care to join me?"

"Will you actually sleep if I do?" Willow asked suspiciously.

"No," Tara said cheerfully, a broad grin crossing her face.

"Why, Miss McClay," Willow said, feigning shock. "Are you propositioning me?"

"That depends," Tara said, sitting up and running her hands up and down Willow's sides. "Are you saying yes?"

Willow's answer was a soft slow kiss, and Tara hummed her approval, wrapping her arms around Willow's neck. Slowly, Willow lowered Tara back to the mattress, never breaking the contact of their kiss.

A knock sounded at the door, but they both ignored it.

The knock sounded again, and with an exasperated sigh, Willow lifted her head to call out, "Go away. I'm kissing my girlfriend senseless." With that, she went back to it, kissing Tara thoroughly as she giggled.

"As much as I hate to interrupt quality smooching time, Mary Ellen is here to check on Willow," Buffy called through the door. "And Willow? Your computer is beeping, and it's making Giles nervous."

"I'm being kissed senseless," Tara called out, pulling away from Willow long enough to say the words. "Come back later," she said, pulling Willow closer as Willow, too, began to laugh between kisses.

"I'm not dealing with a nervous Giles any longer," Buffy insisted. "So you'd both better be dressed when I open this door in about three seconds." Buffy paused, then added nervously, "you ARE both dressed, right?"

"No. We're totally naked," Willow yelled, only to have her assertion ruined by Tara's peals of laughter. Cautiously, the door opened, and Willow and Tara sat up as Buffy poked her head in with a wary look on her face.

"Liar," she accused Willow, leveling a mock glare on the redhead. Buffy stifled a grin at Tara and Willow's mussed clothing and hair.

"Okay, what do you need?" Willow said capturing Tara's hand in her own.

"You. Downstairs. Stop the evil beeping, and go see Mary Ellen," Buffy said pointedly.

"Gotcha," Willow said, standing up and turning back towards Tara. "You gonna' go back to sleep, sweetie."

"Nah," Tara said, stretching languidly. "I've been having weird dreams."

"Tell me about it later?" Willow questioned, her eyes concerned.

"Absolutely," Tara agreed, then tugged Willow down for one last kiss.

"Right, umm … I'll just … go now. Computer beeping and nervous Giles and all," a flustered Willow said.

"Come on, Will," Buffy urged, venturing into the room to grab the arm of Willow's sweater and tug her from the room. "Geeze, you'd think you'd have gotten that all out of your system last night," Buffy muttered as they went down the stairs.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Willow answered, a blush crawling up her neck.

"Hmmm … me, coming back from patrol. Me, walking up the stairs. Me, hearing strange noises from the master bedroom in the otherwise quiet house despite the extremely late hour," Buffy said, her lips twitching.

"We were, ummm… I mean, we -" Willow stammered, her eyes wide.

"I >know< what you were doing, Will," Buffy said, smirking at her friend. "So stop trying to explain before you hurt yourself, okay?"

"Umm … yeah. Good idea," Willow said enthusiastically. "This is a strong plan, and I'm very happy to be a part of it."

"Whatever," Buffy said with an affectionate look and a roll of her eyes, pushing Willow gently into the living room.

"Willow! Good morning," Mary Ellen said, standing up with a kindly smile. "Your Mr. Giles seems to be very nervous about the beeping. I'd fix it, but I don't know anything about Apple computers. My son showed me how to use Windows," she explained.

"Well, it's mostly the same," Willow said. "Mostly," she stressed. "There's some big differences in software and definitely in the underlying OS, but … it's the same kind of point and click interface," she explained, sitting in front of her computer and clicking an icon. "See? I just had mail. Beeping taken care of."

"Well, that did look rather easy, didn't it?" Giles asked curiously, peering over Willow's shoulder.

"I can show you how to use it," Willow offered, looking up at Giles.

"I … I'll just stick with my books," Giles hedged, backing away from the machine. "Lovely talking with you again, Mary Ellen," Giles said. "I'll just … be in the kitchen."

"What was that all about?" Willow wondered at Giles' hasty retreat.

"Mary Ellen told Giles this was like a … ummm - Well," Buffy started to explain.

"A gynelogical exam. Can I help it if the dear man believed me?" Mary Ellen asked innocently.

"You told Giles … but … I -" Willow said, shock evident on her face.

"When you get to be my age, you've got to take pleasure in the little things. Telling your Mr. Giles that this was a very … personal matter amused me," Mary Ellen explained, no hint of remorse in her tone or features. "He's got to learn to know when people are lying outright to him."

"Umm … okay," Willow said slowly, her brow creasing in confusion.

"You ready?" Mary Ellen asked carefully.

"Oh, umm … sure," Willow said nervously, sitting down in the center of the rug in the clear space Buffy had made moving the table.

"Now, I want you to relax, Willow," Mary Ellen said. "I know this is hard for you, but I'm just going to sprinkle some herbs in a circle around you, chant a little, then look. Okay?"

Willow just nodded, trying to relax and stamp down the fear rising in her. She had been really out of it last time Mary Ellen had performed this ritual around her, and she wasn't sure how she would react this time. Would she freak out? Would the dark magick rise up in her and demand she cast? She honestly had no idea, and it scared her.

"I said relax," Mary Ellen said with a little smile, looking at Willow sitting stiff as a board in the center of the circle she had made.

"What's going on here?" Tara demanded, coming down the stairs and seeing Willow sitting in the middle of a magickal circle.

"I'm not casting," Willow said quickly, turning her head and craning her neck to look at Tara standing behind her.

"She's not casting," Buffy assured, nodding quickly.

"I'm just checking to see how bad the dark magick build-up is," Mary Ellen explained. "You must be Tara. I'm Mary Ellen."

"Umm … nice to meet you," Tara said warily, looking at the circle, then back up at Mary Ellen. "This won't … hurt her?"

"Of course not," Mary Ellen said firmly. "It's just to see how she's doing, and how much dark magick she has in her system right now. It doesn't actually >do< anything … it just lets us look at what's already happening. We're hoping it's gone down a little, or at least hasn't gone up very much."

"Okay," Tara said, moving to sit on the couch next to Buffy, watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes.

"Umm … honey?" Willow asked after a moment, looking straight ahead at Mary Ellen again.

"Yes?" Tara asked.

"Could you … maybe stop glaring? It's making me nervous."

"Oh, sorry," Tara said, forcing herself to relax and composing her expression. Willow nodded, and Mary Ellen began, sitting across from Willow outside the circle and chanting in a language that seemed to tickle Willow and Tara's ears, as if they should know it.

A gray mist rose up in the circle, then coalesced around Willow as she shuddered, trying to relax and maintain her focus on not casting any spells. The herbs used, thankfully, had no scent, and when she closed her eyes and didn't look at them, the voices in her head remained silent.

The mist moved, a core of deep black hovering on Willow's skin, surrounded by a clear white. The white and black mists moved around each other, swirling and twining together in a never ending dance. A thick black strand of the vapor formed at Willow's middle, pointing towards the Hellmouth and ending at the edge of the circle.

Mary Ellen nodded to herself, watching carefully. She couldn't hide her surprise when another blanket of mist arose, forming itself into another thick strand, this one the purest white, stretching from Willow's heart towards Tara.

When the brilliant white strand broke the circle, meeting with Tara's heart, Mary Ellen nearly swallowed her tongue. The mist spread where it hit Tara, encircling her whole body, maintaining its perfect whiteness. Buffy also looked shocked, and edged away from Tara, afraid she would interfere with the spell if she touched any of it.

Mary Ellen watched, fascinated by this new development. There was no way the mist should have broken the circle, at least none that she had ever heard of. But the explanation was obvious. These two young women shared a bond that defied even the laws of magicks.

Tara sat perfectly still, ignoring the mist around her and watching Willow carefully, searching her face and posture for any sign of pain or fear. She'd put a stop to this immediately if it in any way hurt Willow. The mist got thicker, and Tara had flashes of her dream, only now the mists were perfectly white, instead of the gray she had seen in her sleep. As she strained to see a flash of red, she didn't notice the inky black sphere that grew in front of her solar plexus.

But Mary Ellen noticed. It certainly didn't surprise her - no one was as perfectly white as Tara had appeared to be at first. She watched carefully, looking between Willow and Tara, monitoring the changes. The black sphere in front of Tara grew to the size of a fist, but then stopped, the black mists not intermingling with the white mists.

A shadow. Mary Ellen had certainly heard of such things, but she had never in her entire life seen one, or even known anyone who had seen one. The white mists around Tara swirled around the blackness, containing it.

She looked back at Willow, frowning as the intermingling white and black grew darker, then darker still. It seemed as though the dark magicks within Willow had receded somehow, because her level was down quite a bit from the last time she had checked her, but now it was compensating, and moving in faster. Whatever had happened, it was dangerous.

She looked at the connection between Willow and Tara, pleased to see that it remained a pure and perfect white. One thing was certain - she had never seen anything so bizarre in her entire life.

A few words, and the mist disappeared.

"Well?" Buffy asked expectantly, as Willow and Tara tried to regain their breath. There was something very eerie about undergoing that ritual. Neither had felt unsafe or threatened, but the obscured vision left them both shaking, and Willow immediately turned to look to Tara when the mists disappeared.

"It's … very strange," Mary Ellen said slowly. "Something happened to Willow," she went on.

"What? What happened? What's wrong?" Tara asked, sitting bolt upright and leaning forward.

"But … nothing happened! I'd know if something happened, right?" Willow asked quickly.

"Hey, it's okay," Tara said soothingly, scrambling off the couch and moving next to Willow, pulling her into her arms. "It >is< okay, right?"

"It's … sort of okay," Mary Ellen hedged. "She's … a lot of the dark magick cleared up, but it's coming back at a much faster rate."

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked, frowning as she remembered the doctors who had told her things she hadn't understood before getting to the upshot.

"It means that we're still looking at about two weeks before it overruns her system, and if whatever happened happens again, we're looking at less time. It's moving about three times faster now," Mary Ellen said bluntly.

"That's bad," Willow said, frowning.

"W-we need to find out what happened," Tara said, her face determined. "And we have to stop it from happening again."

"And we need to be careful," Buffy put in. "If the Trickster thinks he has less time, he's going to step up his plan. We have to keep Willow away from him, and that Construct thing. Sorry, Will," she said, looking at the redhead. "No more class until we have this all sorted out."

"But - I can't miss any more," Willow protested, only to be silenced when Tara leveled a stern look at her.

"I think Buffy's right," she said carefully. Her gaze softened at the crestfallen look on Willow's face. "I know what going to class means to you, but we have to be careful. We don't know what the Trickster wants with you yet."

"Umm … actually, yes we do," Willow said. "We haven't had a chance to really fill you and Anya in on the research stuff yet."

"What did you find out?" Tara asked.

"He needs to trick me into crossing the Hellmouth, and then performing a ritual that will free him there," Willow said.

Tara blinked once, then twice, absorbing the information.

"Mary Ellen?" she finally asked, looking over her shoulder at the elderly woman. "Why is the dark magick building up now? It wasn't before, right?"

"No, it wasn't. I think … I think you would have felt it," she said, eyeing Tara carefully. From all she had heard of Tara, she would have been aware if the build-up had occurred in her presence. "It's building up because Willow isn't casting anymore."

"I see," Tara said, a stricken look crossing her face. "I need to take a walk," she said abruptly, letting Willow go and running out the door.

"I … wha -?" Willow asked in a daze.

"Who with the huh?" Buffy said, standing up and staring at the door.

Willow pulled herself together, frowning. "I'm, umm … just …"

"Go," Buffy said, and Willow nodded, taking off out the door and running to catch up with Tara.

Tara heard the footsteps behind her, and picked up her pace. It was probably Willow, but it could possibly be Buffy, she reasoned. Buffy might have made Willow stay behind, because it wasn't necessarily safe for Willow to be out.

[Sassette]

Shadows (continued):

Tara heard the footsteps behind her, and picked up her pace. It was probably Willow, but it could possibly be Buffy, she reasoned. Buffy might have made Willow stay behind, because it wasn't necessarily safe for Willow to be out.

"Tara!" she heard Willow call, answering that question, at least. But there were so many other burning questions raging through her mind right now.

Willow watched as Tara cut into the park on the corner, heading away from the street. She followed, worried about Tara, and wondering what could have possibly made her bolt from the room like that.

"Tara? Dammit, Tara! Wait up," Willow demanded, still following. They ran through the park, and Willow was surprised at how fast Tara could move. She had seen Tara run before, but mostly when they were being chased by something big and evil, and Willow hadn't had time to ponder how fast they were going. It was really either 'fast enough to live' or 'slow enough to die'. But this - this was fast, and Willow was having a hard time keeping up.

Tara kept running, dodging through trees and staying off the paths, finally coming to a stop in the middle of a playground. She flopped onto a swing, looking around the deserted area with tired, miserable eyes.

Willow came crashing out of the undergrowth, her lungs laboring as she cursed under her breath. "Tara? What's the matter?" she asked as she came to a stop, then moved forward at a more sedate pace.

Eyes full of guilt and pain raised themselves to look into Willow's eyes as Willow knelt before her. "Answer me something?" Tara asked raggedly as Willow placed her hands on Tara's knees for balance.

"Anything," Willow promised.

"If … if I hadn't asked you to stop … if you were casting right now? Would you still be dying? Would the world end?" Tara asked, her voice cracking.

Tara waited for her answer, her mind racing around itself. She would have preferred to have thought this all through in solitude - her thoughts too chaotic to burden Willow with right now. She had so many things racing through her brain that had to be sorted, and she wasn't like Willow. She couldn't just - think things and have them fall into their neat little places all categorized and cross-referenced. And so she ran when the thoughts started, but Willow - Willow had followed.

"I … Tara?" Willow said uncertainly, her eyes growing wide.

"Answer me," Tara ground out, her face determined.

"I … no. No, I wouldn't be dying, and no, the world wouldn't end," Willow admitted, unable to lie to this woman, even to spare her pain. There had been too many secrets - too many doubts and fears, and Willow refused to live with them anymore. If she only had a few weeks left, she wanted to live them being completely open and honest with the one person she loved more than anything else.

"Then it's my fault," Tara said, her gaze unfocused and her face a study in agony. "I … I'm killing you," she gasped out, her voice distant and dull sounding, lacking any of the vibrancy and warmth Willow was used to hearing.

"Stop it," Willow said tightly, grasping Tara's shoulders and turning her to look into her eyes. "Look at me," she demanded, repeating the command until Tara's eyes focused on her. "This is >not< your fault. Don't you dare even think that."

"How can I not?" Tara shot back, self-disgust written all over her expressive features. "You're going to die, and if I hadn't …" her voice broke, and she stopped, raising a hand to her lips as she struggled to compose herself as Willow looked on, searching for something - anything - to say to make Tara believe. "If I hadn't left you … you'd be okay."

"No, I wouldn't be okay," Willow denied, shaking her head vehemently. "I'd be … God, Tara - can't you see that the spells were killing me? You're the one who made me see it. You're the one who made me believe it. I … my body is … yeah, I could die. >Could< die … not 'will die'. But … Honey, if … if I hadn't stopped … a big piece of me … the best part of me … the part of me that makes you love me - that would already be dead."

"I love all of you," Tara insisted. "I just … I couldn't stay with you."

"And you did the right thing," Willow went on. "I - God, who knows what I would've done? I was - I was so out of control and all 'let me fix that with magick' about every little thing … I … I could've really hurt someone. Or killed somebody. I - it was wrong, sweetheart. I was wrong. And now I'm doing the right thing."

"Well it's not fair!" Tara yelled, getting to her feet and kicking the loose sand under the swing set. "I just … God, it's not fair. You … you're doing so well, without the magick … and this - I can't lose you."

"You'll never lose me, baby," Willow whispered into her ear, hugging Tara from behind. She felt Tara's arms come up to rest across her own, her eyes drifting shut as she heard Tara murmur … something.

"Hmm?" she questioned, not quite catching the words.

"Cast a spell on me," Tara said again, her voice a little louder this time as she turned her face towards Willow. Willow went completely still, her jaw dropping open.

"I … what?" she said, as Tara turned in her arms to look her right in the eye.

"Cast a spell on me," Tara said for the third time, her voice rising. "I don't care what … turn me into a frog. Take my memories. But just … cast. Something. Anything."

"I … what?" Willow said again, a wave of confusion rolling over her. She backed away slowly, shaking her head, her fists clenching and unclenching. "I … you can't mean that," she said, her voice hoarse and low. "It's … it's gotta' be a trick." Those words … that request coming from Tara just seemed wrong. Almost obscene, like … like the whole world had turned upside down.

And if Tara's suggestion that she cast magick to save her life was wrong, then just how selfish and short-sighted was her own previous attitude of casting a spell to fix every little thing she didn't like in her life?

"No trick," Tara said, her steady gaze growing uncertain, her shoulders slumping as she seemed to fall in on herself. "I … I don't know what I mean," she said miserably. "I - you … you have to realize, that … I don't have a single memory that's worth your life," she said fiercely. "All of them together aren't worth your life."

"You don't know what you're asking me," Willow got out, her head shaking her denial. "I … God, Tara. I'd … I'd - no. No."

"I'm sorry … I'm sorry," Tara said, falling to her knees in the sand, wrapping her arms around her middle. "I can't … I keep thinking that - it's like, it doesn't matter. It's like everything I've ever believed - what I've been taught my whole life about magick is … none of it is as important as you," she managed to say, tears tracking down her face.

"Tara," Willow said seriously, kneeling before her a wiping her tears away. "I - I'll say this once. I'd rather die than cast a spell on you," she said, pulling Tara into her arms as she began to sob. "I'd rather die than be the Trickster's tool. I'd rather die than … than to be that person who … who hurt you so badly."

"But this is hurting me," Tara gasped, her whole body aching at the thought of losing Willow. "I - God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry … I never - I never should have asked that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Willow soothed, stroking Tara's hair. "It's okay, baby … just … don't ever ask me that again. I … I don't know if … I hate seeing you hurting so much. It rips me up inside … but … God, just don't ever ask me again."

"I won't," Tara promised. "I won't … I'm sorry … I didn't mean -"

"I know, baby … you're just scared, like me," Willow said, kissing the top of Tara's head and rocking her gently in her arms. "I know."

"And you know I'd die for you?" Tara asked quietly, her ragged breaths calming as she pulled herself together. "I know people say that … but … I really mean, that if I could give my life for yours, I would in a heartbeat."

"I know," Willow said simply, brushing Tara's hair back from her face. "I … I'd do the same, though. There isn't anything I have that I wouldn't give to keep you safe."

Unaccountably, Tara started giggling.

"What?" Willow asked, a little smile playing about her lips at the sound of Tara's mirth.

"I just … Oh, God," Tara said, giggling harder.

"What's so funny?" Willow asked again. "'Cuz I'm not getting the joke here, and I'm feeling a little left out."

"It's … it's not even that funny," Tara said through her laughter. "I just … I'm just imagining us, out on patrol, throwing ourselves at the same vampire, asking him to bite us and let the other one go."

Willow giggled, too, the scene playing out in her mind. "I'd be tossing my hair back and saying, 'oh, no - I have a lovely neck … you should bite >me<,'" Willow offered up.

"And then I'd say, 'but you can't bite >her< … she has red hair, and every vampire knows that redheads get stuck in your teeth,'" Tara said with mock solemnity before laughing again.

"And then Buffy would stake him from behind, and he'd just look really confused before he went poof," Willow said, joining in the laughter and hugging Tara tight.

"When this is over, let's go somewhere," Tara said, snuggling into Willow's arms. "Somewhere sunny and warm and happy where we can frolic and definitely >not< cry. I know some truckers - we could hitchhike."

"Anything you need, any time you need it," Willow promised.

"I really am sorry," Tara whispered, looking at Willow with watery blue eyes.

"Hey, no more crying," Willow cajoled. "And It's okay," she reassured Tara. "Hearing that from you … it … it kind of … it put it all in perspective for me, y'know? Like it was so wrong to hear you suggesting it that … I really realized just >how< wrong it was for me to do it in the first place. Y'know?"

"I … I guess that makes sense, but … still. I'm sorry," Tara said again. "I … I had no right to ask that of you."

"You have every right to ask anything of me," Willow said, kissing Tara lightly. "But now you've asked, I've answered, and … that's it."

"Okay," Tara said, nodding her agreement. "I … I won't mention it again."

"Good," Willow said, kissing Tara again. "You ready to go home now? I bet Buffy and Mary Ellen and Giles are kind of worried. You really took off."

"I … sorry," Tara said sheepishly as they helped each other to their feet. "I figured someone would follow, but I … I kinda' hoped I could lose them so I could work this out on my own."

"Baby," Willow said, her eyes sad. "You can talk to me about anything."

"I know," Tara said, nodding. "I just … I can't believe I … I asked you to cast. I … it was one of the things going through my head, and - I didn't want to do that to you. Not without thinking about it. Not - not like I did."

"C'mon," Willow said, taking Tara's hand and entwining their fingers together. "Let's just go home and do the research thing, since I've been barred from attending school."

They walked hand in hand, enjoying each other's company and the fresh air and sunshine. "Willow?" Tara asked after a moment, looking up at the sky. "Thank you."

"For what?" Willow asked, looking over at Tara.

"For saying no," Tara said simply, returning Willow's gaze with loving eyes.

Willow blushed and ducked her head, that look of adoration warming her through and through. "I … you're welcome."

"Do you think … that cloud looks like a bunny," Tara said, looking back up with the sky.

"You've been spending too much time with Anya," Willow said, bumping Tara gently with her hip. "The ears are too short, see?" she went on, pointing up at the sky and illustrating her point with gestures. "It looks like a kitty. A sneaky kitty."

"A kitty?" Tara asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Oh my God! Miss Kitty Fantastico!" Willow yelped suddenly, making Tara jump. "You haven't seen Miss Kitty yet," Willow said excitedly. "Come on," she said, tugging on Tara's hand and breaking into a jog.

"Miss Kitty?" Tara said, hurrying to keep her arm from being pulled off by Willow's enthusiasm. "Oh … I … I totally forgot. What kind of mommy am I?" she wondered aloud.

"You're a great mommy," Willow said sternly, still pulling Tara along. "You just got in real late, and we had to put her up in Dawn's room because she kept sitting on the books while everyone was trying to read them."

"Then lets go see her," Tara said with a laugh, racing ahead and taking her turn to tug on Willow's arm.

Buffy, Giles, and Mary Ellen watched bemusedly as the two laughing women practically skipped into the house, then raced up the stairs.

"I gather they worked things out," Giles said slowly, blinking once, then turning back to his book.

"I guess so," Buffy agreed, as the sound of a door opening then closing reached her ears. She turned back to her own book, only to look up again when she heard squealing.

Giles blinked.

"I … umm.." Giles stammered, a blush crawling up his neck.

"Oh, no," Buffy said, shaking her head. "I don't think they're … are they?"

"I refuse to think about it," Giles said.

The sounds of creaking bed springs floated down the stairs, and all the eyes in the room widened.

"Well, it's nice to hear two young people enjoying themselves," Mary Ellen said with a smirk.

"Mary Ellen!" Giles said, his astonishment evident on his face. "I'm sure … there's a perfectly innocent explanation."

"Right," Buffy muttered, turning back to her book, only to look back up with a puzzled expression. "Are they in Dawn's room?"

"Oh, I'm certain they … not in Dawn's …" Giles said faintly.

The sound of the door opening and closing again reached them, and Willow and Tara came down the stairs, Tara's arms full of Miss Kitty.

"Spike found Miss Kitty," Tara announced needlessly, a broad grin on her face.

"She missed her mommy," Willow said, reaching around Tara to stroke Miss Kitty's furry little ears.

"You were … greeting your cat," Giles said with something like relief in his voice, eliciting strange looks from Willow and Tara.

"Anything new and exciting?" Willow asked, kissing Tara lightly on the cheek, then sitting down in front of her computer.

"Yes, well," Giles said, removing his glasses and squinting for a moment, before putting them back on. "It would seem Tara has a shadow."

"Doesn't everyone have a shadow?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing.

"That's what I said!" Buffy pointed out.

"It's … not that kind of shadow," Giles said.

"It's a dark spot in an aura that doesn't intermingle with the rest of it," Mary Ellen explained. "It's like … it's potential darkness that hasn't done anything yet."

"And I have … I have a shadow?" Tara asked, her eyes going wide.

"You know what they are?" Giles asked, delighted he wouldn't have to explain.

Tara nodded. "I … my mother thought … she thought that the … the demon would show up as a shadow. She - she kept searching for years and years, trying to find hers, but her aura was perfectly white."

"So she didn't have one?" Mary Ellen asked, unfamiliar with Tara's family story.

"I - I don't think she did … but … I have one?" Tara asked again. "I - I have a shadow?"

"Hey," Willow said, taking Miss Kitty out of Tara's arms and putting her on the floor, ignoring her mew of protest. "That doesn't mean anything. It's … you're not a demon, okay? Don't even think about it."

"But how did you see it?" Tara asked, looking over at Mary Ellen. "They're tiny, like, just a little speck. That's why mom kept searching and searching."

"Tara," Buffy said slowly. "The, uhh … dark thing? The black stuff surrounded by white stuff? It was about the size of my fist. There's no way to miss it."

"I … Oh, God," Tara said, sitting down abruptly as her legs gave out. Tara's mind reeled at the implications.

"Hey, hey," Willow said, rubbing Tara's arm. "That must have been from me. It's not you. It - I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really sorry."

"The connection between you two was perfectly white as well," Mary Ellen said, shaking her head. "There hasn't been any dark power transferred between you two, or we would have seen it."

"Then the Trickster - he … he must have done something to the spell. I mean, Tara was outside the circle, right? You shouldn't have been able to see her at all, right?" Willow asked quickly, her mind casting about for any and all plausible explanations.

"That's certainly possible," Giles said, nodding. "We can't rule it out, but on the other hand, we can't confirm it, either."

"It won't hurt her? It's not actually doing anything?" Willow asked, looking back and forth between Mary Ellen and Giles.

"No, it can't hurt her," Mary Ellen said. "That thing is just potential. Unless Tara does something to release it, it'll just sit there."

"See?" Buffy said encouragingly. "Nothing to worry about. No aura-shadow-thing can do anything."

"I … but -" Tara stammered.

"No 'buts'," Willow said firmly. "If you were a demon, you would have turned into one last year, remember? But you're not. So don't even think it."

"I - you're right," Tara said slowly, her mind clearing. "There has to be some other explanation. And right now, that explanation isn't as important as figuring out how to get you better," she said, looking over at Willow. "So - what have you all found out while I was gone?" Tara asked.

"I'm afraid not much," Giles said. "We know the Trickster needs to get Willow into Hell, and that she would have to perform a ceremony to release him. We know that the witch who defeated him originally seemed to work with another witch. At least, that's what we can glean from the accounts the Watcher's Council have sent us. Willow's ancestor seems to have been that witch. It all fits. She was in the right place at the right time, and the Trickster is focusing his attention on Willow."

"Anything new on the Construct?" Tara asked.

"Only that it seems to know Willow's class schedule," Buffy said, a wry look on her face. "It showed up on campus yesterday."

"It showed up on campus?" Tara asked incredulously. "And you went to school?" she said, turning her attention to Willow, who at least had the good grace to look contrite.

"Buffy went with me," Willow said weakly.

"You let her go?" she said, turning back to Buffy.

"Well, I couldn't just tie her to the bed," Buffy protested. Tara's anger vanished instantly at Buffy's words, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. "And I need to get a better bead on this thing, anyway. It's the Trickster's best shot for getting Willow into Hell."

"Really?" Willow asked, a blush covering her face. She had noticed Tara's reaction to Buffy's declaration about not tying her to the bed, and was desperately trying to change the subject.

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "The Construct can pass into this realm easier than a full demon, but it can pass back just as easily. If it grabbed you and jumped through the Hellmouth, it's possible you would make it into Hell alive."

"That … umm … I'm not liking that idea," Willow said. "Not that I want to be in Hell and dead. Definitely preferring alive and in Hell, but … it's the Hell part I'm not loving."

"You're not going to get pulled into Hell," Tara said firmly. "Even if I have to tie you to the bed," she couldn't resist adding, her innocent expression at odds with the wicked twinkle in her eye.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Giles said absently, looking back at the book in his hands.

"No, but it's fun," Willow said, then sat up straight, her eyes wide as she clapped both hands over her mouth. "I didn't just say that out loud, did I?" she asked plaintively as her face turned a bright red. She looked over at Tara, seeing an answering blush cover her features as she looked down and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Yes, you did," Giles said. "Now, see what else you can find out about Margaret McDonald while I read this book and try not to pull my ears off my head in hopes of never hearing such things again."

"W-who's Margaret?" Tara asked, looking up at the name.

"That's the witch," Willow said, opening up her most recent email from the Watcher's Council.

"That was … the witch?" Tara asked weakly. "The one who defeated the Trickster?"

"Yes, that's right," Giles said, looking up from his book. "Do you know something?" he asked carefully, studying Tara's face.

"I … someone named Margaret was in my dream," Tara said. "It was … I was somewhere dark and scary, and I was looking for Willow. She wasn't there - I … I couldn't find her. I kept calling for her, but then I was calling for Margaret. I climbed a mountain, and … I saw two women talking. They … it was us," she said, looking over at Willow. "Only it wasn't us. It was you - Margaret. And me."

"I think we'd better look through your mother's things," Giles said after a moment to digest the information. "Because if you were there, you were the other witch."

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 37

Mothers and Daughters

"Maybe I should go help her," Willow said, frowning up at the stairs.

"She said she didn't need any help," Giles said patiently, not looking up from the book in his hands.

"Well, yeah," Willow hedged, "but she's been up there for a long time, and with the helpfulness, she could be back down here, where all the research action is. We don't want Tara to feel all left out or anything right?"

"Willow," Buffy said, a little smile crossing her face at Willow's agitation. Nobody, Buffy knew, could get worked up over nothing quite like Willow could. "She's looking through her mother's things. Give her another ten minutes or so before you go barging in, okay?"

"But ..." Willow started to protest, only to trail off. "Stupid, Rosenberg," she muttered, looking back at the little bar marking the progress of her file download. She had insisted that Tara needed to look at her mother's things alone. Willow shifted uncomfortably in her chair, tapping a pencil on the table. It had seemed to Willow like a very private thing, for a mother and daughter to share, and so she had opted to stay downstairs. Now, with Tara having been upstairs for three hours, she wanted to stand up and kick herself in the head for being an idiot.

"Go upstairs," Giles said, his voice full of exasperation as he rolled his eyes at Willow's fidgeting.

"Right," Willow said eagerly, immediately standing up and bolting up the stairs. Once she reached the door she hesitated. She didn't want to intrude, and she knew that Tara's mother had meant the world to Tara. Still, she was getting kind of worried. Her respect for Tara's privacy and her unease at Tara's absence warred within her. She knew that whatever Tara found, she would eventually share with her, no matter own private it was, but ... it just seemed right to let Tara look everything over first by herself. Then again, what if Tara needed her? What if Tara was feeling lost and alone and needed Willow Hugs?

"Come in," she heard Tara's voice call. Because it was muffled by the door, Willow found she couldn't get a read on what Tara was feeling from the tone. She turned the knob, easing the door open and poking her head in, worried eyes finding Tara, sitting in front of a trunk with her back to the doorway, her legs crossed under her in her usual manner.

"I ... umm," Willow said, unsure of how to explain her presence.

"Was worried? And kicking yourself for telling me to do this alone?" Tara asked mildly, turning her head to look at Willow, a sad sweet smile on her face.

"Are you okay, Baby?" Willow asked, entering the room and closing the door softly behind her. "You've been up here for awhile, and I thought that maybe you'd ..."

"Need a hug?" Tara finished the sentence for her, her eyes falling to her lap and her shoulders dropping. "Because I do," she said quietly.

"Awww, honey," Willow said, crossing the room with a few long strides and dropping to the floor behind Tara, and tucking one leg under her, the other resting next to Tara, bent at the knee, her foot resting flat on the floor.

Slowly, Willow pulled Tara back against her chest, her arms wrapping around her middle. Tara let her head fall back on Willow's shoulder with a sigh, one arm resting on Willow's bent knee, and the other stroking the smooth skin of the forearms hugging her close.

"Wanna talk about it?" Willow murmured into her hair, turning her head a fraction to place a light kiss on her temple.

"She kept a journal," Tara said, her voice tired. "I never knew," she went on, shaking her head a little in wonder. "She wrote in it every single day, and I never knew. She - she starts each entry 'Dear Tara', like she knew I'd see it someday. Like it's full of things she wanted me to know, but didn't think she'd never tell me."

"You never snuck into your mom's stuff?" Willow asked curiously.

"No, never," Tara said. "Except that once ... I got into her trunk, and there was a little compartment in it. I managed to get it open, but it was really tricky. That's when I found grandmother's doll's eye crystal. At least, I think it was grandmother's," she said, a wistful look on her face. "But Mom was ... she was so ... sad ..." she went on, her eyes filling with confusion, "when I found it, I never looked through her things again. I tried to give it back, but she told me to keep it. And I did, until I gave it to you."

"I ... I found it, in the dresser yesterday," Willow said slowly. "I...I thought we lost it?"

"Dawn must have found it," Tara said. "I found it in her room last week. I ... I want you to have it."

"Still?" Willow asked, hugging Tara tighter.

"If ... if it's too much for you - I mean, if it will make you want to cast ..." she said hesitantly.

"No," Willow said, a thoughtful look on her face. "It - it doesn't. I must have sat with it for an hour, and I just ... I felt really clear."

"It does that," Tara said with a slow smile. "It's a nice crystal."

"Very nice," Willow said with a smile, nuzzling Tara's neck, making Tara wonder if they were still talking about the same thing. "What did you find in your mom's journal?" she asked after placing several delicate kisses up Tara's neck to her ear.

"She was ... very sad," Tara said slowly. "I remember being really little, and catching my mother looking at me, and her eyes were so loving and sad, I ... I just walked up to her and crawled into her lap and hugged her."

"Why do you think she was so sad?" Willow asked after a moment, feeling like this was something Tara had to share.

"I found the entry she wrote when she found out she was having a girl," Tara said, her hand drifting down to hover over the cover of the journal in her lap. "She ... she cried. She wrote that she was so happy to be pregnant, and that from the moment she knew she was pregnant, she loved me. But she cried because it broke her heart to know that my family would have to hurt me to keep me safe." Tara paused, taking a deep breath. "She really believed in the demon. I ... I always, somewhere inside, wondered why she never just took me away from Dad and Donnie. Why we didn't just go somewhere we could be happy."

"That … that must have been so hard for her," Willow mused aloud, her gaze distant as she tried to put herself in Tara's mother's place. What would she do if she were sure she was a demon? What would she do if she were sure she'd hurt people if she left?

"It … I sometimes thought that … a mother is supposed to love you more than anything," Tara said on a whisper, her voice so faint Willow could barely make it out. "And … I'd get so mad at her," she confessed, her voice lost. "I was so angry that … that she put the world first. That she chose keeping other people safe over keeping me safe. Stupid, huh?"

"No … not stupid," Willow disagreed, shifting her wait to put her other leg alongside Tara and pulling her as close as she could given their respective positions. "I … It makes perfect sense, baby, and you didn't do anything wrong. You were really young, weren't you? You stopped being mad when you got older and understood, didn't you?"

Tara nodded her confirmation of Willow's words. "But I … I got so mad at her again when she died. It was like - she got out and she left me there with them. I wanted to go, too. I wanted to follow her wherever it was she went, and I - I remember running out into the woods and just … screaming into the sky because she left me behind."

"Oh, Honey …" Willow said, murmuring comforting nonsense words into her hair and rocking her gently.

"She … she wrote in here, why she didn't leave," Tara said quietly, a look of aching peace on her face. "I … I finally understand. I thought I did when I got older - that she couldn't leave because she was afraid she'd hurt someone. But I was wrong. She didn't choose the world over me. She was afraid that if she took me away >she< would hurt me. She w-wrote that she … she wanted me to know what it was like to have a parent who loved me and would never hurt me. Someone I could trust."

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Willow murmured, wondering what else she could say.

"Why? My mother loved me, more than anything in the whole world," Tara said simply, a small smile crossing her face. "She … God, I'm so tired of crying," Tara said with a mirthless laugh, wiping at the tears spilling over onto her face before putting her hands back on Willow's arms and relaxing into the comfort of the warm body behind her. "The last entry in there is … it's just before she died. She was really sick, and she knew it, but - she decided not to fight it. To just let it take her, because she prayed to the Goddess that without her, I wouldn't have a reason to stay. That I'd get out and make a life for myself."

"And you did," Willow said, her heart swelling with pride at Tara's strength. She had come by it honestly, though, if her mother's words were any indication. Willow marveled at the selflessness of Tara's mother, but then realized it wasn't all that surprising. Tara was her mother's daughter.

"I did," Tara agreed, nodding. "And I think … I think she's watching me, and that she knows. She … she asked about you, y'know."

"About me?" Willow squeaked.

"MmmHmm," Tara said, murmuring her agreement. "She wondered if I was ever going to meet that redheaded girl, and if I was ever going to figure out that I was gay and in love with her," Tara said with a little laugh. "She wondered if you name was really 'Rose'."

"You called me 'Rose'?" Willow asked, wondering if she should be horrified by the name or impressed by how close it was.

"And we lived in a little thatch-roofed cottage surrounded by flowers and a white-picket fence. Mom had her own room, because she was a grown-up, so we had to share," Tara murmured, smiling gently at the childhood memory.

"And how old were you when you decided you were going to sleep with me?" Willow asked, arching an eyebrow and smirking.

"Oh, seven? Eight?" Tara said with a giggle. "We had slumber parties every night."

"Lesbian slumber parties?" Willow pressed.

"No, not lesbian slumber parties," Tara protested. "I was eight!"

"Still sounds kinda' racy for an eight-year-old," Willow replied, kissing Tara's neck again.

"Honest, all we did was eat junk food and watch movies," Tara said, letting her head loll back to give Willow more room. "Well," she said with a sly smile. "Until I was about fifteen or sixteen. >Then< they were lesbian slumber parties."

"I knew it!" Willow said triumphantly, then reaching over to nibble on Tara's ear. Tara murmured appreciatively, lifting her hand and running it through Willow's hair.

"Baby … not that I'm not enjoying this, but …"

"I know," Willow said, reluctantly releasing the tasty bit of Tara. "Research."

"Right," Tara said. "So we should, uhh … nip this in the bud."

"No, I'll nip you in the bud later," Willow said huskily. "I don't even know what that means," she went on in her normal tone of voice. "But it >sounded< naughty."

"Yes, yes it did," Tara agreed with a laugh as she sat forward, allowing Willow to stand.

"You want me to stay, or …" Willow said, gesturing towards the door.

"I'd … I'd actually like to finish looking at this stuff alone," Tara said, her eyes pleading for understanding, hoping Willow wouldn't be offended.

"Of course, Baby," Willow said easily, bending to place a light kiss on Tara's tempting lips. "I know you haven't had any time alone with your mom in a long while."

"Thank you," Tara said gratefully. "It … it really is like she's here," she mused aloud. "And I promise to introduce you two later, okay?"

"Absolutely," Willow agreed with a nod. "But, umm … could you give me a little warning? 'Cuz I think I should dress up. Don't want to meet your mom in jeans. I … kinda' wanna' make a good impression."

"She won't care what you're wearing, silly," Tara said, her eyes dancing. "She'll just care how much you love me."

"With everything I am or could hope to be," Willow said seriously. "I should … get back downstairs," she went on, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious by her bold declaration. "I'll, umm … I'll be downstairs, unless I go on a food run, or something," she went on, gesturing towards the door and backing away, part of her wishing she could just stay and sit and simply look at Tara.

"I'll be fine," Tara said with a smile. "I'll be down in another few hours, I think."

"Okay," Willow said. "I love you," she added right before she slipped out the door, smiling as she heard Tara's answering 'I love you, too' follow her down the hall.

Tara's mother had been … a remarkable woman, Willow realized. She knew that Tara had always had a lot of pain and anger mixed in with her love for her mother, and now she hoped that reading those journals had allowed her to come to a place where she could be at peace with her memory. She thought it would, and remembered the kinda' … serene look on Tara's face when she had spoken of her mother and the sacrifices she had made.

"Everything all right with Tara?" Giles asked, looking up as Willow entered the room.

"Yeah, she's fine," Willow said. "She found some of her mom's journals and was kind of reading them. She said she should have the books sorted and down here within a few hours or so."

"I'm gonna' make some cocoa," Buffy said suddenly, nodding emphatically and standing. "Do you two want any?" It was … just a little thing, but Buffy's mom had always made cocoa, and something about knowing that Tara was upstairs reading her mother's journal made Buffy ache for her own mom. She was sure that her cocoa wouldn't be as good - her mom had made the best cocoa - but she hoped that in the making of it, she would somehow feel closer to her.

"Cocoa would be lovely," Giles said, looking up with a smile.

"No, thank you," Willow said, looking at her computer and frowning as her mind raced.

Buffy went into the kitchen, wondering if that was why women grew up to be like their mothers - that they hoped they would feel closer to them by doing the same things in the same ways.

"I think … I think I'm going to take a little walk," Willow said slowly, standing up and stretching. "I'll be back in a bit."

"But - there's the Construct to consider," Giles said, frowning at Willow. "Wait for Buffy and take her with you."

"I … Giles, I … I kind of feel like being alone right now. I'll be really really careful, I promise. Like, someone who's always extra-careful times ten," Willow promised.

"I … I think this is an extremely poor idea," Giles protested. "Did something happen with Tara? Did you two have a fight, or -?"

"No, nothing like that," Willow said quickly. "Tara and I are … we're good," she said, a smile lighting up her face. "But I ... I kinda' ... I need to think about some things. Lots of things to think about."

"All right," Giles said with a sigh, trying to remember if he had ever been able to forbid the Scoobies to do anything. Even if he had, they were all adults now, and though he was concerned, he doubted the Construct would be able to find Willow. "But you will be extremely careful? Extra-careful times ten?"

"Times a hundred, even," Willow said with a nod. Giles nodded his ascent, and Willow grabbed a jacket, heading out the door and down the drive, pausing on the sidewalk and looking up and down the street. She turned right, then started walking, the day clear and bright with little fluffy clouds dotting the sky. She found the sneaky kitty cloud, seeing that it had turned into a snake.

"At least it's not a frog," she said aloud, shuffling her feet as she walked. She had a vague plan forming in her mind, and she had no idea if it was a good one or not. Tara's discovery of her mother's journals had struck a chord within her, and she had been thinking about it ever since. Tara had loved her mother with all her heart, but … she hadn't really known her, not really. She had been surprised by what she had found in those journals, and it made Willow wonder.

Her mother, Willow had always believed, didn't understand her at all. Was it maybe possible, that it was she, Willow, who didn't understand her mother?

Her head raced as her feet carried her at a more sedate pace along the sunny sidewalk, eventually leading her to the door of her parents' house. Willow looked up in surprise at the familiar dark wood, her hand lifting to trace the grains. With a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed that her mother's car was in the drive.

Was this even worth it? What did she hope to accomplish? Tying up lose ends, just in case?

Before she could answer those questions to her own satisfaction, she found herself opening the door and stepping inside. "Mom?"

"Willow," Sheila called out, stepping into the room. "Now, this is a surprise. What brings you here?"

"I just … though I'd stop by and visit. Since I was in the neighborhood and all," Willow said slowly.

"Well, come on in," Sheila said. "I was just fixing myself some lunch. Would you like anything?" she asked politely as Willow seated herself on the couch in the living room.

"No, thank you," Willow said, clasping her hands and resting her forearms on her knees, looking around the room and nodding her head, blowing out a puff of air as her mother puttered in the kitchen.

"Is anything wrong?" Willow's mom asked without preamble when she seated herself opposite Willow with a mug of coffee in her hand.

"Wrong?" Willow asked, looking up sharply with a look of startlement on her face. What could she possibly tell her mother? Hell God? Witchcraft? Dying? "No, nothing's wrong," Willow said slowly. "Everything's fine, in fact." Willow noticed a look of hurt flash across her mother's face, then disappear just as quickly.

"So there's nothing wrong?" Sheila pressed.

"No," Willow insisted. "Why would there be something wrong?" she asked, letting some of her confusion show.

"Well, you normally don't stop by. And I know you stayed here a few nights, because Alexander came by to pick up some of your things you had left," Sheila said. "So I assumed something was wrong. Did you have a fight with that friend you're living with? Bunny?"

"It's Buffy," Willow corrected automatically, rolling her eyes and wondering if it would finally sink in this time.

"Buffy. Right," Sheila said with a scowl. "I'm always getting that wrong," she observed, surprising Willow with the admission. "How is Buffy doing? I was very sorry to hear about her mother," Sheila went on, honest interest on her face.

"She's … it's tough," Willow said carefully. "But she's holding up pretty well, all things considered."

"And she's taking care of her sister? Isn't she in high school?" Sheila asked.

"Yes. Yes, she is," Willow nodded. "Buffy is Dawn's legal guardian."

"And you help out? Around the house and with Dawn?" Sheila guessed.

"As much as I can," Willow allowed. "Mostly I help with homework and stuff."

"You were always quite the student," Sheila said, a fond smile crossing her face.

"I didn't think you noticed," Willow muttered, looking at the carpet.

"I noticed," Sheila said, frowning at her daughter. "And you seem to have not noticed that my hearing is unusually sharp."

"Well, you never said anything," Willow said defensively, leaning back on the couch and crossing her arms.

"Is this what this visit is about?" Sheila asked after a moment. "Whether or not I noticed that you're incredibly bright, ambitious, and organized?"

"No, I …" Willow said, shaking her head. "I … I guess it is," she finally said, her brow furrowed as if she had just come to that realization. "I mean, you … you and Dad never said … anything. I figured none of it mattered to you."

"Didn't matter?" Sheila asked, her eyebrows flying into her hairline. "Willow, do you have any idea how proud we are of you? Don't you know that your father has been bragging about your SAT scores and your scholarships for years now?"

"How could I?" Willow demanded. "It's not like you said anything. And you never noticed … well, anything. I … how many times did I stay out all night in high school without a call home? How long did it take you to notice every time I got a haircut? How many mysterious bruises and cuts did I come home with? For all you knew, I was in a gang, doing drugs, and having sex all the time, and you didn't even notice!"

"I -" Sheila began, then stopped, flummoxed by Willow's outburst. "Now, Willow," she started again. "I realize that your father and I didn't -"

"Stop it!" Willow shouted, standing up. "Stop it with the condescension and the analysis and the touchy-feely psychobabble! Just tell me why you never >did< anything!"

"When I was a girl," Sheila said after a long moment, "times were very different. My mother … she -" Sheila stopped, taking a long breath. "She watched me like a hawk. I felt very … trapped. And untrusted. I felt like she was always waiting for me to fail, or to falter. I was a good child. I did everything I was supposed to. I studied hard, I got good grades. My friends were all good children, too. But every infraction of the rules, imagined or real, no matter how minor, resulted in very strict discipline. I promised myself I would never do that when I had a child."

"So you let me do whatever I wanted because your mother didn't let you do anything?" Willow asked, raising an eyebrow at her mother and staring at her with a look of disbelief.

"My mother picked out what I would wear to school each day. She took me to get my hair cut and told the stylist how to cut it. She chose my food. She chose my college. I wanted you to have the freedom to be your own person, and I wanted you to come to me if you ever needed guidance, but I didn't want to impose my guidance on you if it wasn't wanted or needed," Sheila said, trying to explain. "I … I think … I think I overdid it, didn't I?" she asked quietly.

"Just a little," Willow said, holding up her forefinger and her thumb very close together.

"I'm sorry, Willow. Neither your father or I ever meant to hurt you," Sheila said. "It certainly wasn't disinterest on our part. We just … we thought that if we trusted you, and if we gave you room to grow, you would do the right thing and grow into your own person. You've always been incredibly self-reliant. Even when you were very small. I remember you imperiously demanding that we teach you to read, because you wanted to do it yourself. You didn't want us reading to you," Sheila said, a strange mixture of pride and hurt on her face.

"I … I don't really remember that," Willow said slowly, understanding beginning to dawn on her.

"I do," Sheila said, a bittersweet smile on her face. "You thought we were teaching you too slowly, so you ended up teaching yourself. I'll never forget the day you came into the room with 'The Cat in The Hat' tucked under your chubby little arm, and you crawled onto your father's lap, and you read it to him."

"Did I really?" Willow asked weakly.

"You did. He just about popped the buttons of his shirt, he was so proud of you," Sheila remembered. "And then there was the time he taught you to use a calculator. I think you were … four? Five? You already had basic arithmetic down pat, but you were so impressed with the 'toy' that did it for you."

"Why do I sense there is more to this story?" Willow wondered aloud.

"Well, your father was using the apple system," Sheila explained.

"Like the computer?" Willow asked.

"No. The fruit," Sheila said. "He'd push the buttons for you and say, 'two apples plus two apples equals four apples.' And then you'd copy what he did, and he'd use another apple example. You must have played with the thing for hours, and your father went back to his work. Eventually, you went and found him and tugged on his pants leg, the little calculator in your hand, and you looked up at him and very seriously asked if it worked with oranges," Sheila said, laughing at the memory.

"I don't remember that, either," Willow said slowly.

"Between that and teaching yourself to read, your father and I realized just how gifted you were. We almost enrolled you in special schools, but you were so set on going to school with Alexander."

"Now that, I remember," Willow said, sitting back down and smiling softly. "I was so excited about getting to go to school, and that I already knew someone there."

"We had such a hard time trying to decide. You have an incredible mind, but we didn't want your social development to be stunted by those schools," Sheila said slowly. "I … I think, I hope, we did the right thing in letting you choose for yourself."

"I used to wonder what my life would be like if I'd gone to a special school," Willow said slowly. "I got teased a lot for being so smart. I used to wonder if I'd … I don't know … fit in better, someplace else."

"And now?" Sheila asked.

"Now I'm glad I went to good old Sunnydale High," Willow said with a smile. "I … my friends. Buffy, and Xander, and all the things we did in high school. I wouldn't trade that for anything."

"And staying in Sunnydale instead of going Ivy League?" Sheila pressed on.

"I'm … that's been the best thing in the whole world," Willow said, her face glowing as she thought of Tara. "I would have missed so much going anywhere else."

"I somehow doubt that," Sheila said with a smile. "You're an exceptionally gifted young woman, and I can't imagine you wouldn't have made the most of any opportunities presented to you, no matter where you went."

"They wouldn't have had Tara," Willow said before she could censor herself.

"Tara?" Sheila asked curiously.

"She's … everything," Willow said, not having any other way of explaining her bond with the other woman, her eyes lighting up and a broad grin crossing her face.

"You're in love," Sheila stated. "With a woman."

"Yes, I am," Willow said, raising her chin defiantly, as if daring her mother's disapproval.

Sheila blinked twice, her lips twitching. "Then I expect you to bring her by for dinner."

"That's it?" Willow blurted. "I'm gay, and you expect her by for dinner?"

"It's not what I would've chosen for you, but you've always known your own mind," Sheila said slowly. "And I'm not going to suddenly give up my policy of 'non-interference' now."

Willow blinked, absorbing her mother's response with a sense of surrealism. "Are you sure?" she finally asked.

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to ask?" Sheila responded. "It's a phase, or it's not. This is forever, or it's not. Either way, she makes you happy, doesn't she?" Willow nodded enthusiastically in response, finding she didn't have any words. "Then bring her by for dinner."

"I … okay. I'll ask her, and we'll see what we can arrange," Willow said, a shy smile crossing her face. "I … I really hope you like her."

"I think we probably will," Sheila said. "I can't imagine you dating anyone unpleasant."

"No. Definitely not unpleasant," Willow agreed, her thoughts turning to Tara once again. "And I should probably go. She's waiting for me."

"Don't be a stranger," Sheila said, rising to her feet when Willow stood and walking her to the door. "I know your father would love to see you."

"I'll stop by," Willow said, opening the door and stepping onto the porch. "And Mom? I love you."

"Even though I never noticed the six times you stayed out all night without calling, the three mysterious slings, two head wounds, four cuts requiring stitches, countless bruises and scrapes, and one hospital stay?" Sheila inquired innocently.

Willow stood there, stunned for a moment, before breaking into a smile. "It still took you five months to notice a major hair change," she said.

"You're right," Sheila went on. "I'm a terrible mother," she said, shaking her head in mock despair. "Willow," she went on, her expression serious. "I may not have always done the right thing, but I always did what I thought was right. I'm sorry if I was wrong."

"I love you," Willow said again, heading down the drive.

"I love you, too," Sheila called, waving at her daughter, and standing in the open doorway, watching until Willow walked out of sight.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 38

Being Willow Rosenberg

"' … and she will be tricked into Hell, caught between the darkness without, and the darkness within, and only the darkness can save her,'" Giles read aloud, a frown etching his features.

"Your face could freeze that way," Buffy observed, handing over the cocoa.

"Oh, thank you," Giles said absently, sipping at the sweet, hot drink.

"Now what was that you were mumbling?" Buffy asked, sitting down and grabbing a book.

"It's … a think I have a partial on this prophecy. 'The Devil, reborn to her line - The Devil and The Devil's descendant, as one. The power of that soul shall be hated by Him, and she will be tricked into Hell, caught between the darkness without, and the darkness within, and only the darkness can save her'," Giles repeated. "Clearly, the Devil and the Devil reborn are Margaret and Willow," he postulated.

"And the whole darkness savey thingy?" Buffy asked.

"Frankly, I have no idea," Giles admitted, a look of frustration crossing his face. "It … hmm …" he said, ordering his thoughts. "It … a different bit of text has this to say: 'He who is formless and nameless, who delights in shadowed trickery cannot be commanded by any but one, descended from the line that kept him from Earth and Sky. His wrath shall be known to those so descended, and he will cause them great harm from the shadows, turning them against themselves, until such a one is too weak to defeat him.' I think they're actually from the same prophecy."

"And that means …?" Buffy prodded.

"The text the Watcher's Council has, and a few we have here, are excerpts from an older text, written down by the descendants of Celtic Druids during the 9th century. Much of it had been passed down in their oral tradition, and finally transcribed by a very powerful sorcerer, along with his personal notes and observations. Visions. That sort of thing. That particular text has been lost, and -"

"As much as I appreciate these random history lessons, I was asking about that bit you just read. What's it mean?" Buffy tried again.

"I'm not sure, but it seems to say that, The Trickster is attempting to weaken Willow. That somehow, she … she has the power to command him," Giles said. "If he's feeding her Dark Magicks, getting her addicted to them, and now overloading her body with them, who's to say that she isn't able to command those same magicks without his permission? Usually, a Source can deny a spellcaster's entreaty, unless the caster is more powerful than the Source, in which case the Source can be commanded. But The Trickster is … well; he's a God. For Willow to be able to command him, she would have to be … more powerful."

"So Willow's a God," Buffy said flatly. "I'm so not buying that."

"Yes, well, not to say she is a God, exactly," Giles said. "But in arcane battles, defeating an enemy gives one a certain power over them. Pitting yourself magickally against a magick foe, it's … it's like a duel, of sorts. And the loser of the duel is … I guess you could say 'indebted' … to the winner."

"So Willow unloaded some major witchy power on a God in a past life, and so that God owes her some favors?" Buffy asked. "Then how come he can mess with her?"

"I'm not sure," Giles said, frowning. "I suppose Willow either hasn't come into her power, or she hasn't actually tried to command him. But it's as if … it's like her birthright, Buffy. Her destiny lies in defeating the Trickster. Or, at least in facing him."

"So what happens if Willow gets all large with the butch on this guy?" Buffy went on, suddenly feeling like they were playing twenty questions. Couldn't Giles ever explain everything all at once?

"'Large with the butch?'" Giles responded, confusion written all over his face. "I'm not even going to try to decipher that one. I assume you mean to ask what would happen if Willow attempted to command The Trickster. Unfortunately, that would require active casting, which would be a very dangerous thing for Willow."

"Actually, it's a good thing," Buffy said earnestly. "It would get the yucky stuff out of her system, and she'd probably be okay."

"No, she would not," Giles said, a note of finality in his tone. "She could very well be one spell away from being so addicted, that she won't stop casting until she kills herself, likely taking half of Sunnydale with her."

"It could get that bad?" Buffy asked. "I mean … this is Willow. Responsible. Level-headed. Smart."

"Yes, it's Willow," Giles snapped. "And Willow has a problem. One spell could be all it takes to … to send her down a spiral of destruction."

"Spirals Bad," Buffy declared. "Big 'no' on the Spiral of Destruction."

"Good," Giles said, turning back to the prophecy in his lap. "I'm glad we've got that settled."

"Anything you need me to look at?" Buffy asked, pushing the top book on the stack with her forefinger, seeing how far she could move it without toppling it over the edge.

"What? Oh, yes," Giles said, grabbing a book seemingly at random from the pile. "Read that one."

"Gotcha," Buffy said, taking a fortifying breath and diving into the world of research.

They read in silence, only the occasional sound of a turning page interrupting the tableau.

"Where is Willow, anyway?" Buffy finally asked, looking around the room. "She go back upstairs to be with her honey?"

"No, she went for a walk," Giles said distractedly, his eyes still on the book.

"She did what?" Buffy asked incredulously. "She … how could you let her go for a walk with that Construct thing after her?"

"Buffy," Giles said patiently, looking up at the Slayer. "I cannot even begin to imagine the things going on in Willow's mind and heart right now. She said she needed some air, and she needed to be alone, and I respect her wishes. She also promised to be extra-careful times ten," he added wryly. "I didn't like it, either, but … she's an adult and has to make her own decisions. I certainly have no authority over her. Now get back to your reading, and leave Willow alone. She needs this time."

"Fine," Buffy said, sitting back with a huff. "But don't come crying to me when the Construct walks up with a ransom note from The Trickster saying, 'Give Me the World, or the Redhead Gets It'."

"She will be fine," Giles said again.

"Extra-careful times ten?" Buffy asked, seeking reassurance.

"Most definitely," Giles agreed, turning back to his book, immediately frowning as he attempted to puzzle out the meaning.

Buffy subsided, going back to her book, reading about the Hell God Triumvirate as Giles continued to unravel the ravings of a madman.

"Hey," Tara said later, wandering into the room, her eyes on the floor and her arms full of books. "I … I have some, umm … things. These books are … pretty old."

"Well, let's see what you have," Giles said, closing his book and putting it on the table, rubbing his tired eyes and trying to stop the frustration flowing through him. He felt like he was getting nowhere fast, the scraps of text having multiple meanings without the full context.

"Here," Tara said simply, unloading the pile of books into Giles' arms as he stood. He cradled the books carefully, sifting through the stack. Most had no titles, just a plain leather binding, and a feeling of oldness to them.

"Did you read through any of these?" he asked curiously, opening the first book.

"No, I … I just found them. There were some little compartments in the trunk, like where I found a crystal when I was a little girl? They were kind of hard to open. Where's Willow?" she asked, looking up and immediately noting Willow's absence.

"This is … this seems to be a spell book of some sort, but it's … there's some writing here at the front that seems newer," Giles said, flipping a few pages and comparing how faded the ink was towards the beginning compared to later in the text. "That's odd. Usually newer writing would be in the back," he continued, frowning a little.

"Willow?" Tara asked again.

"Oh, she went for a walk," Giles said absently, sitting back down and placing the stack of books on the table. "She's … hmm," he said, losing his train of thought as he fell into his research.

"A walk?" Tara said slowly. "As in … outside? By herself?"

"Yes, but she's being extra careful times ten," Buffy piped in.

"You let her go on a walk all by herself?" Tara demanded, turning on Buffy.

"Hey - I was in the kitchen making cocoa," Buffy said defensively, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "If you want to yell at someone, look at Mr. You-Can-Call-Me-Books."

"Giles?" Tara said again, concern welling up inside of her. Willow could be … anywhere. Or she could be hurt. Or she could get attacked. She could be in the process of being attacked right at that very moment. Concern gave way to panic. "Giles? How long has she been gone?"

"Hmm? What?" Giles said, looking up from his book. "Oh, Willow. About … and hour or so. I suppose she'll be back any minute."

"She's been gone a whole hour?" Tara said, heading towards the door, her agitation clear in her movements. "Anything could have happened in an hour."

"I forgot to mention the Wrath of Tara in my reasons why letting Willow go on a walk was a bad idea," Buffy told Giles seriously. "I'll help you look," Buffy said, jumping to her feet and heading towards the door.

"I don't think that's necessary," Giles objected. "And Willow specifically said she wanted to be alone."

"Willow doesn't get to be alone right now," Tara said heatedly. "Or if she wants to be alone, she gets to do it in a room by herself in the house that has the Slayer in it. She does not get to go waltzing out the door like there isn't a Hell God after her."

"Hi guys," Willow said with a smile, waltzing in the door like there wasn't a Hell God after her. "I just -"

"Where the hell have you been?" Tara demanded, grabbing Willow around the waist and pulling her close, making it impossible for Willow to answer when her lips were greeted by Tara's in a fiery kiss.

"I guess I won't help you look," Buffy said, spinning on her heel and walking back into the living room.

Willow gasped in surprise at Tara's rather … uncharacteristic greeting. Not that Tara never kissed her like this … no, she had very fond memories of similar smoochies, but certainly not with Buffy standing there and Giles in the next room. Of course, Buffy had just left, and Willow found herself pinned against the front door and unable to consider the matter further as her brain stopped functioning and all she could do was hang on to Tara as she was kissed thoroughly.

"Wha -?" Willow managed to utter, blinking slowly when Tara slowly broke away from the kiss.

"Don't you ever do that again," Tara said sternly, looking into Willow's eyes, her fear draining away as she let her head drop down against Willow's shoulder and felt her warm and alive body pressed close.

"I, uhhh," Willow said, her hand drifting up to rest gently on the back of Tara's head, holding her gently. "I think that was exremely bad negative reinforcement. Not that I'm complaining - no nothing of the complainty variety here."

Tara let out a weak laugh, then lifted her head and regarded Willow seriously. "I was extremely worried when I came downstairs and found out you were walking all by yourself."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking a walk," Willow protested, torn between feeling insulted that Tara seemed to think she needed a keeper and warmed that by her concern. Warmed won out, and Willow's expression softened. "I'm sorry I worried you, Baby," she said, kissing Tara lightly. "And, umm … could we kinda' …move? The doorknob is digging into my back."

"Oh, Honey," Tara said immediately, backing off and giving Willow room to step away from the door. Willow immediately stepped back into her arms, holding her. "Did I hurt you?" Tara asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Willow said with a happy little sigh, snuggling up against Tara. "But my back is kinda' … owie."

"Where? Here?" Tara asked, her hand finding what she thought would be a close approximation of where the doorknob would have hit Willow's back and rubbing gently.

"Mmm … little lower," Willow murmured.

"Here?" Tara tried again, moving her hand down slowly.

"Lower," Willow instructed again.

"There?" Tara asked.

"Right there," Willow agreed, nodding against Tara's neck.

"Honey … that's not your back," Tara protested with a laugh, even as her hand squeezed the firm flesh.

"It's not?" Willow asked innocently, lifting her head and looking at Tara with wide eyes.

"All right, you two," Buffy called from the other room. "We can hear every word you're saying, and I do >not< need these visuals. We get it. You're both minxes. No need to demonstrate further."

"Sorry," Willow called contritely, even as Tara started laughing, a light blush covering her features.

"So where were you?" Tara asked lightly.

"I … I'll tell you about it upstairs," Willow said, tugging on Tara's hand and moving her towards the stairway.

"I don't think there's anything in the Mrmmmfr report about The Trickster," Buffy called out again.

"Buffy," Willow said, managing to mix both innocence and exasperation into her tone. "I just have some things to tell Tara."

"Fine. Abandon the Slayer to the books and go have your snugglies," Buffy pouted, picking up another book and sighing.

"Can we not discuss 'snugglies'? Please?" Giles asked slowly.

"Definitely no snugglies," Willow said, poking her head into the room and nodding. "Just talking. Of the non-spicy variety," she said emphatically, then started up the stairs.

"No snugglies? None at all?" Tara asked in a whisper, following Willow and getting her mouth right next to her ear.

"Maybe a few," Willow whispered back, a smug smile crossing her face as she pushed open their bedroom door. "What the Watcher doesn't know, won't hurt him."

"Cool," Tara said, the single word bringing a smile to Willow's face, as any use of slang by this woman did. There was just something … endearing about the way Tara said some words.

"I went to my mom's," Willow said without preamble when Tara shut the door, moving to the bed and sitting down, bouncing a little when she landed.

"Really?" Tara asked, then realized that it made perfect sense. Of course Willow would want to go see her mother. "And? How was it?" she went on warily, hoping that the visit had somehow managed to be a good one.

"Y'know," Willow said thoughtfully as Tara sat down next to her, taking her hand. She fell back onto the bed, letting her breath leave his in a whoosh of air. "It's like my whole childhood now makes sense," she went on in a wondering tone as Tara also fell back, entwining their fingers together. "Y'know, in a sort of 60's hippie what-the-hell-kind-of-child-rearing-philosophy-is-THAT kind of way," she said, turning her head and looking at Tara.

"Yeah?" Tara said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "So it was a good visit?"

"It was. Really good. It's like … I kinda of … I get it now," Willow went on. "I finally understand that … she's just a person. A woman. Becoming a mom didn't make her some kind of super-person who always knew the right thing to do. She just muddled on as best she could, just like the rest of us."

"That's a pretty big discovery," Tara said with a nod, rolling over and resting her head on Willow's shoulder, putting her leg across Willow's and her hand lightly on Willow's chest, resting above her heart.

"Yeah," Willow said, nodding. "And I don't know if she's changed, or if I have. Probably me. But I - I know why she did things the way she did. And I know that she … she and Dad are proud of me."

"How could they not be?" Tara said. "You're Willow," she remarked, as if the fact of being Willow should be a source of pride to anyone who came in contact with the young woman.

"Yeah, I am," Willow said, a small smile crossing her face. "I … I've spent so much time trying to figure out what that really meant, y'know? It's like … there's this person that I am, and this person that I'm supposed to be, and I … I couldn't make them match up."

"And?" Tara prompted, enjoying the closeness and the sound of Willow's voice, and the way her breath played against her hair.

"Talking with my mom helped me to figure it out. I've always tried to live up to their expectations - doing well in school, being responsible. But today I found out that the only expectation they ever really had was that I go my own way. That I be me," Willow said.

"So they don't care if you drop out of college or join a cult or dye your hair green?" Tara asked with a smirk, knowing Willow would never do any of those things.

"They'd probably be okay with the college thing, because I could get a job tomorrow. The cult thing would throw them a little, what with the Jewish thing. And dye my hair green?" Willow wondered aloud. "How 'Anne of Green Gables' would that be? 'But the peddler man told me it would dye my hair a beautiful raven black'," Willow said grandly.

"You've read those books?" Tara asked, lifting her head to look at Willow. Willow merely raised an eyebrow at her. "Sorry, silly question," Tara conceded with a roll of her eyes. "You've read everything."

"I wanted to be Anne of Green Gables so bad when I was little," Willow said with a chuckle.

"You >are< Anne of Green Gable," Tara said dryly, letting her head back down to rest on Willow's shoulder. "Y'know, it took me years to figure out why the part where Diana married Fred pissed me off. Like she was cheating on Anne or something," Tara said with a giggle.

"That always pissed me off, too," Willow said with a puzzled frown. "Will you be my 'bosom friend'?" she added wickedly, waggling her eyebrows even though Tara couldn't see.

"I better be your only bosom friend," Tara responded, letting her hand trail down to cup Willow's breast.

"Definitely my only bosom friend," Willow said with a nod and a smile, arching into Tara's touch. "My mom wants to meet you," she mumbled with heavy-lidded eyes.

"What?" Tara squeaked, pushing herself up to look down at Willow, pressing down on her breast.

"Ow!" Willow said, her eyes widening.

"Oh, sorry," Tara said moving her hand quickly off of Willow's chest and onto the bed. "You okay? That kind of … surprised me."

"Yeah," Willow said, rubbing her breast and pouting. "Surprised me too."

"Awww, honey, I'm really sorry," Tara apologized, her brow furrowed. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Yes, please," Willow said immediately, moving her hand out of the way. Tara dipped her head, letting her lips drift all over Willow's breast through the fabric of her shirt, slowly covering every inch. With a final kiss, she lifted her head again, looking into Willow's eyes and seeing love and desire there.

"Now what was this about your mom?" Tara asked, gulping audibly and trying to keep in mind that Giles and Buffy were right downstairs.

"She wants to meet you. She invited us to have dinner over there sometime," Willow said slowly, taking a deep breath and trying to compose herself.

"Did you … I mean … you told her? About us?" Tara asked slowly.

"MmmHmm," Willow confirmed, raising her hand up to lazily brush her fingers against Tara's cheek.

"I thought … you were waiting for the right time?" Tara said, processing the idea that Willow had actually told her parents about her.

"It was the right time," Willow said firmly. "In fact, it was long overdue. You're the most important person in my life, and I'd like them to know you."

"I … then I guess we're going to dinner," Tara said faintly. "What … I mean … what should I wear? Or say?"

"Wear whatever you're comfortable in, and say whatever pops into your head," Willow said with a smile. "And don't you dare be nervous. They're going to love you."

"I … I'd settle for them just liking me," Tara said, a quirky smile drifting across her lips. "And they were okay with it? I mean … the whole gay thing?"

"Well, Dad wasn't there, but Mom was fine," Willow said. "She pretty much said that I needed to find my own way. That I had to be me. And being me means loving you."

A delighted smile crossed Tara's face, her eyes lighting up with love for Willow Rosenberg.

A bemused smile crossed Willow's face as she drank in the expression on Tara's.

"What?" Tara asked self consciously,

"It … you," Willow said, composing her thoughts. "The way you look at me sometimes … I mean, you look at me all the time, which I know, 'cuz I'm looking at you too, but sometimes it's … I can see in your eyes just how much you love me, and I … I can't breathe. Like, no matter what I've done or will do sometime in the future, I'll never be worth that, 'cuz - hello? What good could anyone possibly do that would be worth that? 'Cuz it's like the big life prize. It's like, I'm the winner at the Game of Life because you love me, and I … I don't understand … how, or why … I'm just … really grateful. Like big-time grateful. Like 'hey - look at me … counting my lucky stars - and hey - there's like, millions of them up there, and I haven't even made a dent in how many there are.'"

"You say the sweetest things," Tara said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling and her features softening into a look of total adoration. "But you do deserve -"

"There it is again!" Willow said. "It's the 'I Love Willow' look, and it's … wow. It's like somebody … you … have your hand around my heart and you're just holding it gently and keeping it all safe-like, and I know there will never be a place that safe for it, and I wonder how I lucked out and got it? Because there has to be, like, billions of people on this planet who would want it and -"

"Sweetie," Tara said with a quirky grin. "There are only six billion people on the planet."

"Exactly my point! And they all would wanna' be me, if they could just see the way you look at me," Willow said with a helpless little smile, as Tara's quirky grin broadened to the point where it could only be called 'goofy'. "And I'm not even that lovable," Willow went on. "I mean, I have to be somewhat lovable, or you wouldn't, y'know? But it's like >nobody< is >that< lovable. Except you … because you're that lovable and more, and I just -"

"As much as I'm enjoying the random Tara Worship," Tara said, an embarrassed flush crawling up her neck as she pressed a finger to Willow's lips to silence her. "I feel like I have to butt in here and point out that you're the most lovable person I know … or could ever know. There's nobody like you, and I wouldn't want anyone else."

"Yay me," Willow said with a grin, kissing Tara's finger. "Lucky me."

"Do … do you really think you … I mean, that - that you don't … deserve me?" Tara asked seriously.

"Well, I … I don't think anybody is good enough to deserve you," Willow answered in kind.

"I'm just a person, Willow," Tara said slowly, covering Willow's mouth again when she opened it to protest. "I have flaws, and I make mistakes. Bad qualities. Lots of those," she pressed on. "I … I always thought that … that it was me who didn't deserve you. "I mean … you're so smart and pretty, and you're this courageous Cool Monster Fighter, and you're funny and sweet … and I was this shy frumpy nobody with a bad stutter and no friends. I just … I can't imagine what you saw in me."

"I'm just the one who got the chance to see what was always there," Willow said gently, kissing Tara's finger again.

"You're the only one who wanted to try," Tara whispered. "Being chased down by Silent Grinning Demonic Surgeons was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Ahh, romance on the Hellmouth," Willow said with a giggle, earning a smile from Tara. And it felt like that - like every smile bestowed upon her by this woman was something to strive for. To earn. To be rewarded with. "But still - I'm just … I'm lucky no one saw. I'm lucky that you didn't find someone else first."

"Who else would I have found?" Tara asked, a sly smile crossing her face.

"Well … somebody. A hypothetical somebody who's smarter and cuter than me … and maybe … has a nice car. A house. A job," Willow listed.

"If there were a hypothetical somebody, I still would have searched for you. I've been looking for you as long as I can remember," Tara said, her eyes twinkling, knowing that Willow couldn't argue with that.

"Oh, yeah," Willow said with a soft smile. "Drawings and slumber parties." The thought ran around in her mind for a moment. "You really would have looked for me? Even with the perfect hypothetical somebody around?"

"If they weren't you, then they weren't perfect," Tara said, kissing Willow on the nose. "And yeah," she added seriously. "I really would have looked for you."

"Do you think … I mean … is Giles right? That kind of 'past lives' thing?" Willow asked skeptically.

"Yeah, because y'know, 'past lives' are so much less believable than demons and spells," Tara said dryly, a fond yet exasperated look crossing her face.

"Well, it's just that … if the whole 'past life' thing kind of pans out, it's like fated. For us to meet and all," Willow said, trying to explain. "And that's kinda …" she trailed off, a puzzled look crossing her face.

"Kinda' what?" Tara prodded with a frown, her eyes troubled.

"Oh, no," Willow said hurriedly, seeing the expression on Tara's face. "Not that it's a bad thing. 'Cuz it's a good thing. Lucky thing. Lucky star-counting winner at The Game of Life Willow here, who is definitely not thinking it's a bad thing."

"Then what's wrong, honey?" Tara asked slowly.

Edited by: Sassette at: 4/12/02 10:18:13 pm

[Sassette]

Being Willow Rosenberg (continued):

"Well, it's like, what if it is Fated? And you and me are all pre-destinedy and so there's like, no choice," Willow said, her brow furrowing as her mind raced along all the various implications of the idea. "So, what if we got together because of some cosmic plan, and not because we wanted to?"

"But we do," Tara said, still not seeing the problem. Was there a problem? "I mean … at least - I do," she added uncertainly.

"Me too!" Willow blurted out. "Don't think I don't, 'cuz I do, and I've never this much, and I don't think I ever could … y'know, with someone else or anything. I just … my brain is going, and you know how I get. Because if this was Fated, what else is? Like … maybe I was always just 'Fated' to get A's on everything, and maybe every paper I ever wrote was total crap, and the teacher's just kinda' … 'oh, Willow Rosenberg, she gets an A and I don't have to read it, but I just can't seem to figure out why'. Because there weren't ever any marks on them, except that one time in third grade when the teacher underlined one of my sentences and said I ended a sentence with a preposition. But it was only that one time! So what if they didn't read them, and they just kinda' stuck and A on it, and I've been academically inferior this whole time, skating by on Fate instead of brainy-type things?"

"Oh, Willow," Tara said, letting her forehead fall against Willow's shoulder, her whole body shaking with laughter. It was a strange sensation. There was something about the twists and turns that Willow mind made that … aroused her, really, if she were honest with herself. And when Willow's brain was doing its thing, she inevitably babbled, which made her heart smile. That strange combination of joy and desire stole over her, and she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her. "You're absolutely right. The idea that we were destined to meet and fall in love logically proves that you're an academic fraud," she added with mock seriousness, looking solemnly into Willow's face.

"Really?" Willow asked, her eyes wide.

"Of course not," Tara went on, laughing harder.

"Well, I don't think it's funny," Willow said in a huff, a pout firmly in place.

"Oh, Baby, I'm not laughing at you," Tara said, hurting her case by continuing to chuckle.

"You're laughing. And I'm the only one here," Willow argued.

"It's just … the things your brain jumps too," Tara said between giggles.

"Well, it's possible," Willow said defensively, frowning at Tara.

"Yes, it is possible," Tara agreed with a nod. "And you're just the only person on the face of the earth who would have thought of it. I love the way your mind works," she went on tenderly, tracing Willow's brow reverently. It was both a blessing and a curse, she had long since realized, having a mind like Willow's. She could see possibilities and angles that no one else would consider, and made connections out of thin air that, when explained, made perfect sense. "You amaze me."

"I just kind of … get carried away," Willow said sheepishly.

"No, you're just … your brain is always moving. It's … really cute," Tara said with a smile.

"Cute?" Willow asked, a smile crossing her face as the pout disappeared.

"And sexy," Tara said, dipping her head and kissing Willow slowly. "Do you have any idea what just watching you read does to me?" she asked after a long moment.

"Umm … no?" Willow offered tentatively, her voice cracking like a teenaged boy's when Tara shifted her weight, lying more fully on top of her.

"Mmm," Tara murmured, lightly brushing her lips around the curve of Willow's jaw, following it up to a tasty ear. Once there, she couldn't help but nip lightly at the tempting lobe, then trace it with her tongue, earning a little sigh from Willow. "When you get that concentrating look," Tara confessed on a whisper, pausing to continue her attentions. "After the first five minutes, I find myself wondering how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Willow pop," she said wickedly, fastening her lips to that spot just below and behind Willow ear that she loved so much, sucking on it gently.

"Tara!" Willow gasped out, her eyes popping open.

"Just trying a little spicy talk," Tara giggled, going back to her task and slipping her leg between Willow's, pressing lightly against the juncture of her thighs.

"Ummm … not that I don't like that," Willow said, her eyes drifting shut again. "'Cuz I do. You know I do," she added, her voice lowering. "But umm … Giles and Buffy are downstairs."

"Then you'll have to be quiet," Tara said, trailing her lips down Willow's neck and sneaking a hand under her shirt.

"Umm … honey?" Willow said, arching into the touch, Tara's warm fingers blazing across her skin. "I, uhh … God," she said, her brain skipping like an old record when Tara's hand cupped her breast. "Where was I?" she squeaked.

"You were just about to let me strip you naked and do naughty things to you with my tongue," Tara murmured against Willow's neck, her fingers slipping around the edges of Willow's bra and finding a tight nipple, stroking it lightly.

Willow groaned softly, at both the warm wetness settling between her legs and the knowledge that they certainly couldn't continue what they were doing. "Giles," Willow murmured.

"Honey," Tara said, raising her head and smirking. "I know you had a crush on him in high school and all, but now is not the time."

"I mean Giles … he's downstairs," Willow said piteously, her eyes begging Tara to stop and begging her to continue.

"Do you want me to stop?" Tara asked seriously, letting stilling her fingers.

"Yes. No," Willow said, her brow furrowing and her breath catching as the natural rise of her chest brushed her nipple against Tara's fingers. "Yes. But no. I don't know?"

"We really don't have time, do we?" Tara asked sadly, a pout forming on her lips.

"No, we don't," Willow sighed, her voice heavy with regret.

"Mmm… so we get to do the responsible thing and go back downstairs?" Tara asked, her pout melting into a rueful smile.

"Yeah, 'cuz, they're kind of expecting us. And they're right downstairs," Willow said.

"And I want hours and hours," Tara said firmly, nodding her head and placing a light kiss on Willow's lips.

"Hours are good," Willow agreed, nodding as Tara removed her hand from its happy place and sat up, pulling Willow into a sitting position. "Hours are very good. Tonight?"

"Oh, definitely," Tara said with a smile, sealing the deal with a kiss.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 39

Discoveries

"I'm here," Anya announced, entering the Summers house with a few hefty tomes under her arm. "I have closed the shop and have made myself available for research."

"I … you closed the shop?" Buffy asked, blinking at Anya owlishly as the words from the page of the book she had been reading swam before her eyes.

"Yes, I closed the shop," Anya said, her voice … curiously chipper.

"And why did you close the shop?" Giles asked, removing his glasses and blinking his tired eyes.

"I sold enough merchandise to make up for any losses I might sustain by my early closure. And, in fact, each day that I'm open this week is pure profit, because I was planning on being out on the road with Tara longer," Anya said earnestly. "Besides. I might have found something."

"What did you find?" Giles asked, putting his glasses back on hurriedly and reaching for the books in Anya's hands. Anya handed them over with an excited little bounce.

"I mean, it's not really good news," Anya said seriously. "But I found it. I did the research thing inbetween customers instead of counting the money again, and I found it."

"What, exactly, did you find?" Giles asked, opening the first book and turning to the helpfully marked page.

"Please tell me it's something about Tara's ancestor - that Betrayer chick, so I don't have to read this whole thing?" Buffy said piteously, flipping through the book in her lap.

"Tara's ancestor?" Anya asked.

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "It would appear that Tara had an ancestor in the same place and time as Willow's and the defeat of The Trickster," he explained.

"Did someone say our names?" Willow asked, entering the room, fingers entwined with Tara's.

"Were they orgasm friends?" Anya asked seriously.

"Well," Giles said, coughing lightly. "I dare say they likely were."

"What are we talking about?" Tara asked slowly, her brow furrowing.

Anya looked over at Tara knowingly, mouthing the words 'Fate Was Here' and pointing at her ass.

"Oh, ummm … the whole Betrayer and Devil thing?" Tara hazarded a guess.

"What was that?" Willow asked Tara in an undertone, casting a suspicious look at Anya.

"I'll explain later," Tara promised, squeezing the hand in her own lightly.

"So what did you find?" Giles asked again, frowning at the page. "Oh, yes, I see," he mumbled, reading the words carefully.

"So what's that?" Willow asked, moving to stand behind Giles and looking over his shoulder, smiling when she felt Tara stay next to her, their shoulders brushing.

"Hmm? What?" he said distractedly, then looked up at Willow. "It seems to be a prophecy of some kind," he mused.

"Oh, no," Anya corrected him instantly. "It's an accounting. It's already happened."

"What already happened?" Tara wondered aloud.

"The tipping of the scales in Hell," Anya explained. "That passage tells about how Glory came to earth and what that did to Hell."

"I'll bite," Buffy said. "What did it do to Hell?"

"It threw it all out of whack," Anya said. "It made the whole thing unbalanced, because without The Beast to act as a counterweight to The Trickster, The Scales is all lopsided."

"Then why did they boot her out?" Buffy asked. "I mean, I kinda' get it. I certainly woulda' booted her out of anywhere I was. But if the unbalancey thing is bad, why?"

"From what I can tell, it's all part of The Trickster's master plan," Anya started to explain.

"She's right," Giles said slowly, quickly re-reading the passage. "It would seem that The Trickster somehow managed to deceive The Scales and make it believe that Hell could remain in balance without Glory. With their combined powers, they cast her out of Hell, but The Scales was worried about the balance here on earth with a force such as Glory around, and so it combined her with a human - Ben - to sort of … even the scales," Giles finished weakly.

"That bastard," Willow ground out. As Giles had explained, Willow felt a deep-seated anger take hold of her. The Trickster had done all of this? . Tara's insanity was his fault. Glory trying to kill Dawn was his fault. Buffy's death - his fault as well. Her own magick addiction. How many people had Glory killed outright because The Trickster had her tossed out of Hell? How much suffering had he caused?

"Hey, honey?" Tara said gently, squeezing Willow's hand when she felt the body next to her start to shake.

"I just … I hate him," Willow said on a hoarse whisper, her body shaking as she shut her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to fight the bile rising up. "He … I. Hate. Him."

"Baby, no," Tara said, turning to Willow and hugging her close with one arm, her other hand still holding tight to Willow's. "Don't give in to that," she whispered into Willow's ear, rubbing her back gently. "The whole Glory thing is behind us," she soothed, pushing down her own dark remembrances of that time.

"I'm sorry, but I'm with Willow on this one," Buffy said, her voice a growl. "Pretty much hating him. Can I kill him?" she asked, looking over at Giles.

"Yes, because we all fared so well against Glory," Giles observed dryly.

"He's … a very bad man," Anya said emphatically. "And he's extremely smart, so we need to be thinking straight. Or, thinking 'clearly' if you're gay. Because that would preclude the whole 'straight' thing. My point is, he's obviously been planning this whole thing for a very long time."

"W-what does Glory have to do with his plans?" Tara asked slowly, turning her eyes to Anya.

"Don't you see? He was planning on Glory being a one-way trip. That she would throw Hell out of balance, and that The Scales would eventually try to kick him out of Hell, too, so the balance would be restored," Anya explained.

"So we stop him," Willow said firmly.

"Well, yes and no," Anya said. "I mean, definitely yes, because … well, we like having you around. Xander and Tara would be very depressed without you, and I wouldn't get orgasms or girl-talk for >months<."

"Umm … thanks?" Willow asked confusedly.

"You're welcome," Anya said politely before continuing. "But the bad part is, that an unbalanced Hell is bad."

"How bad is 'bad'?" Buffy piped in. "Like, 'shoes not matching purse' bad, or 'buckle up for the Apocalypse' bad?"

"I'm afraid it's rather bad," Giles said, looking back at the book. "It's … Hell has to be balanced, or it throws the whole universe out of balance."

"Huh with the what?" Buffy said.

"It's like … The Scales balances The Trickster and The Beast, the way that the earth balances what we would call 'Heaven' and 'Hell'," Tara said slowly, clearly understanding the concept and trying to articulate what she saw in her mind. "It's like two sets of scales balanced on another set of scales. Only, the two mini-scales can completely throw off the big scale."

"Cosmic light and order. Cosmic dark and chaos," Willow murmured, letting go of Tara's hand and practically running to the couch, turning her laptop towards her and running her hands lightly over the keys before striking a series in rapid succession, her brow furrowing.

"What is it, Baby?" Tara asked softly, moving to sit next to Willow. Willow scooted closer when Tara sat, so that they remained in contact from their shoulders to their knees, and Tara smiled softly, a blush crawling up her neck at the subconscious gesture. Willow's eyes remained on the screen, as if she were only aware of Tara's presence on the physical level, instinctive and instant.

"It's, umm …" Willow said distractedly, frowning as she clicked through several screens. "Something I read. A cosmological treatise."

"Oh. Rachel Jones?" Giles asked, looking over at Willow. "Her paper on the balance of good and evil forces?"

"Right," Willow affirmed with a nod. "Only she postulates that good and evil are merely one duality in a whole slew of cosmic dualities. Like … Order and Chaos. Light and Dark. Male and Female. Love and Hate. It's … I ran across it awhile back," she continued absently, still searching for the file.

"And you read this … for fun?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"It's an extremely interesting piece," Giles said defensively on Willow's behalf. "Dr. Jones is one of the premiere minds in cosmological studies."

"Dr. Jones?" Buffy asked with a smirk. "Does she have a hat and a whip and a gun?"

"And that strange boy who follows her around proclaiming that she doesn't have time for orgasms?" Anya added.

"No, she does not," Giles said with a roll of his eyes and an exasperated sigh.

"So she >does< have time for orgasms," Anya concluded. "That's good. I know I'm much happier when I've had -"

"For the love of all that is holy, do NOT finish that sentence," Giles cut in.

"Here it is," Willow said triumphantly, bringing up the document with a smile.

"But I'm not sure how applicable it is," Giles hedged, looking over at Willow.

"Well, maybe not directly," Willow affirmed. "But it does go over some of the consequences of things being out of balance. And they give out PhD's in cosmology?" she asked as an afterthought, looking over at Giles.

"Well, the Watcher's Council does run a mystical university of sorts," Giles confessed. "It's just … not very applicable to anything outside being a member of the council."

"And I'm just now hearing about it?" Willow wondered aloud. Not that she would have gone. No, she would have stayed in Sunnydale. But for Giles not to mention it? Did he think she was a fraud? An academic fraud fated to get A's? "It's a school! With learning! Scooby-type learning!"

"Except for a few notable exceptions, you already know more than the instructors at that school," Giles said gently, a small smile crossing his usually stoic features. "And while you would be an asset to the Council, they don't deserve you," he added frankly.

"Oh," Willow said quietly, a blush stealing across her face.

"See? No academic fraud," Tara whispered in her ear, having read exactly what Willow was thinking on her expressive face and earning a happy sidelong glance with a bonus smile. "My little Willow Pop," she added, unable to help herself. Willow had that 'study' look, and some decidedly non-studious thoughts were racing their way across Tara's brain.

"You're thinking that now?" Willow asked in an undertone, looking over at Tara with wide eyes, praying that Buffy's slayer hearing wasn't picking up the exchange.

"Oh, yes," Tara confirmed with a happy little nod and a decidedly naughty twinkle in her eye. Willow's eyes were drawn to the movement as Tara's teeth worried her lower lip, and a little self-conscious half-smile crossed her face.

"I know you two want to go have sex now, but we're all waiting to find out what happens when the cosmic scales are out of whack," Anya protested. While she certainly approved of quality orgasm-time, she didn't like it when people kept her waiting. Even if those people were her friends. Besides, Xander wouldn't be there for hours, and if Willow and Tara were going to have an orgasm break, she wanted one, too.

"We were talking about studying," Willow protested half-heartedly, skimming through the paper, her attention divided between the words on the screen, Anya's comments, and Tara's silently supportive form sitting next to her. And Tara's hands. And Tara's body, so close to her own. And Tara's …

Shaking herself out of her Tara-full reverie, Willow tuned out the conversation buzzing around her, reading over the paper and gleaning from it all the useful facts and speculations she could find.


"So this means I have to read this whole thing, huh?" Buffy asked dejectedly, looking over the ancient book.

"Yes," Giles said emphatically.

"Fine," she said with a huff, curling up to read the section Giles had said was the newest, even though it was at the front.

"I think … I think I have this all figured out," Willow said carefully, quickly scrolling through the document and going over the salient points again.

"Let's hear it," Anya said excitedly, still proud of her original discovery.

"Well, it's like … everything is in balance, right? But good and evil are made up of all these other dualities. Light and Dark. Order and Chaos. Love and Hate. None of those are good or evil in and of themselves," Willow explained.

"Hate isn't evil?" Tara asked incredulously, frowning at Willow.

"'Nothing is either good or evil, but thinking makes it so,'" Giles quoted softly. "Hate isn't evil, when it is truly righteous. Hating injustice. Intolerance. Evil itself. How can hating those things be evil?"

"Right," Willow said with a nod. "And evil loves pain and anger … that kind of thing," Willow illustrated. "So good and evil need to be in balance, each having an equal amount of those dualities within them."

"What happens if they're not?" Tara asked.

"That's what the paper isn't clear on," Willow admitted sheepishly. "The author theorizes that a lack of balance throws the cosmos into whatever extreme is doing the throwing." Willow frowned. "Did that make sense, or am I all non-sensey?"

"No, that made sense," Tara assured her. "It's just kinda' … didn't answer the question."

"Sorry," Willow said with a helpless shrug. "It's like … The Trickster is order, right? So if Hell is out of balance because Glory is gone, the order side of evil is stronger. Because it's stronger, it basically wins out against a balanced 'heaven'. Which means that your kind of a fascist martial-law type things gain power here on earth."

"Didn't we already figure that out?" Tara asked.

"Not exactly," Giles answered. "We had concluded that The Trickster coming to earth - passing through the Hellmouth - would have that effect. However, it appears as though that is the inevitable conclusion whether he makes it out of Hell or not."

"It speeds up his timeline," Anya said wisely. "And it gives him a stepping stone to take over the heavens, if he wants to. He could basically end up ruling the entire cosmos. And this would be very, very bad."

"So he wins at least a partial victory no matter what," Giles said slowly, his face paling. "Because Glory is … gone."

"But if that skank bitch were still here, we'd all be dead by now," Buffy said, looking up from her book. "And can I say this is just weird? Tara, does your family have a history of smoking bad monkey crack?"

"What?" Tara asked, looking over at Buffy with a confused look on her face.

"One of your ancestors was on some kind of bad acid trip here," Buffy explained.

"Still not getting anything here," Willow piped in, her own questioning look on her face.

"This beginning part is this whole huge kinda' diary like thing for stuff that never happened," Buffy said with a pout. "Like she had some weird dream thing, and wrote it all down."

"I … we kinda' … we see things, in our dreams," Tara said hesitantly. "All the women in my family. Well, all of them on my mom's side."

"What does it say?" Willow asked curiously.

"It talks about her life after her mom got burned at the stake and her dad died. It says she got sent away to an orphanage, then moved west and made a life in Oregon, raising her children to be good little Wiccans," Buffy explained.

"My family isn't from Oregon," Tara said with a frown. "None of us have ever lived there."

"Wait. Did you say 'burned at the stake'?" Anya asked slowly.

"Yeah. Then the last bit talks about how none of the rest of it ever happened, and that she hid away all the family secrets in a trunk, until the day the 'one who needed them' came and opened it up," Buffy said.

"Does it say how the dad died?" Anya pressed on.

"It's icky," Buffy hedged, wrinkling her nose.

"Buffy, just spit it out," Tara said, her eyes growing wide as she realized where Anya was going with this line of question.

"He got gutted," Buffy admitted. "There's a pretty detailed description in here."

"Eviscerated?" Anya asked, needing the clarification.

"Yeah, that's the word she used," Buffy said with a nod, and a sick look on her face. She certainly shouldn't have a problem with gory deaths, what with being the Slayer and all, but vampires just went 'poof' and all the other demons she killed she tended to do without blood. The description of the evisceration had really been … kinda' squicky.

"She saw. She saw what her life would have been with the wish," Tara said slowly.

"What wish?" Willow asked, taking her girlfriend's hand and giving it a little squeeze.

"Anya granted a wish to an ancestor of mine," Tara said. "She wished … I mean, she was being burned … at the stake," she related haltingly.

"She wished her husband couldn't hurt her daughter anymore, so I killed him," Anya said, cutting to the chase.

"Good," Willow said with a tight-lipped smile. "He … he did what … what your dad did, right?"

Tara nodded her confirmation, glancing down at the floor, her hair falling into her face.

"Hey, sweetie," Willow whispered, hugging her girl and putting her mouth by her ear. "None of that can hurt you anymore."

"But don't you see? It wouldn't have happened," Tara said.

"What?" Willow asked.

"If … I mean, she saw. She saw what would have happened, and she was happy. She lived her life without being the MaClay Demon. Her … her children would have been … happy. I - I w-would have been happy," Tara managed to get out.

"Except my talisman was destroyed," Anya said, glaring at Giles, even though this Giles had had nothing to do with it, and, in fact, Anya was pretty happy herself with the whole being human thing. It was a force of habit to be angry about losing her talisman more than anything else.

"Oh, honey," Willow said, her eyes full of sadness as she looked at her girlfriend.

"And Willow and Xander would be vampires, and Giles and I would probably be dead," Buffy said. "And Anya would still be a demon, Dawn would never have existed, and the world would have ended in a million horrible ways."

"I know," Tara said quickly. "And I wouldn't want that other world … even if … I mean, the way I grew up … it was … it's worth it. It's worth having you all here."

"No one would have ever thought you'd feel differently," Buffy said gently. "I'm just pointing it out, in case anyone forgot."

"Like anyone could forget Big Ol' Skank Vampy Me," Willow said bitterly, scowling. Tara stifled a chuckle at the expression on Willow's face. She looked like a three-year-old who had been told 'no' one too many times.

"You look so cute like that," Tara whispered in her ear, earning a giggle from Willow.

"Hey - no private spicy talk," Buffy complained good-naturedly, mock-glaring at the two women.

"Oh My God," Willow said suddenly, sitting straight up, her eyes going wide.

"I guess Tara's getting better at the spicy talk," Buffy said to no one in particular.

"No. Well, yes, but that's not what I'm … I mean," Willow stammered. "I … I figured something out. I mean … it kind of … came to me. It's … The Trickster can use me because I'm human. I have a soul. I'm all soul-y. I'm soul-girl. And that soul is the same one that stopped him last time. Vampire Skanky Leathery Cleavagey Slutbomb Me wasn't … I mean - no soul. No kids."

"The Trickster let the other Giles break Anya's talisman," Tara said in a wondering tone, realizing what Willow's ramble meant.

"He what?" Giles asked incredulously.

"Anya said that the other you didn't do anything special to break her thingy," Willow said.

"My talisman thingy, not my hymen thingy," Anya clarified with a nod.

"Ummm … yeah," Willow said slowly, looking at Anya funny before continuing. "So, the … the thing got broken, but you can't just get all smashy with it … you have to do spells, or use something special to do the smashy goodness, so it …. It shouldn't have worked. But it did work, because we're here now, and Anya isn't a demon. So, The Trickster must have done something."

"He couldn't have used a Vampire Willow for his plans. He needed human Willow. Or he needed Willow to have daughters, and for Willow's soul to be reborn back into her line," Tara finished up.

"They're finishing each other's explanations," Buffy said to the room at large again, a small smile crossing her face. "That's so cute."

"That's … extraordinary," Giles said slowly. "He must have put a great deal of planning into this whole thing. We've unwittingly fallen in line with his plan several times, and probably countless others that we'll never figure out," he mused, wondering for the first time if he had done the right thing killing Glory. He had not doubted his actions before, though he had sincerely regretted the necessity of killing Ben as well, secure in the knowledge that Glory had been a clear and immediate threat to everyone he loved, as well as the world at large. Still, had he opened the way for something worse? Or did The Trickster have countless contingency plans for every action they could possibly take?

"It's like … it's like he knows what we're going to do before we do it," Tara said with a frown.

"Temporal singularities," Willow said softly, a twinkle in her eye despite the seriousness of the situation.

"What?" Tara said carefully, guessing that a wildly technical explanation was soon to follow.

"Oh, it's … it's this really new theory. I looked up all kinds of alternative universe theories after that whole thing with Big Skank Me. And it's kind of … well, it's all weird and stuff, but it's interesting," Willow said earnestly.

"Like your cosmic thingamijiggy paper was interesting?" Buffy asked sweetly.

"I like this stuff," Willow defended, tossing a throw pillow at the Slayer and pouting when she neatly knocked it out of the air and to the floor.

"I know you do, Baby," Tara soothed, rubbing her thumb along Willow's knuckles.

"But what does it have to do with The Trickster?" Giles asked slowly, knowing deep in his gut he was going to regret the question.

"Well, it's this theory that's based on fractal mapping and chaos theory," Willow started to explain, earning groans and rolled eyes around the room. "No, no," Willow said quickly. "It's really really interesting."

"If you're a superbrain," Buffy said with a smirk.

"I want to hear about it," Tara encouraged, smiling lazily at Willow. She loved the way Willow got excited about new scientific discoveries - It was almost as good as watching her read.

"It's basically like … there's an infinite number of possible realities. Like, when I wake up tomorrow, I could go out for bagels, or everyone in Sunnydale could. But maybe we don't," Willow began to explain.

"Oh, well … that clears everything up," Giles said dryly. "A Sunnydale bagel shortage. That makes perfect sense."

"I'm not finished yet," Willow said with a pout.

"Do go on," Giles said with a little smile.

"So, where was I?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing.

"Bagels?" Tara offered up.

"Right. Bagel-y goodness. So, there are all these different possible realities made up of everyone's choices. But in some cases, once a series of choices are made, there's only one inevitable outcome, regardless of what choices are made afterwards," Willow went on.

"Example?" Giles asked.

"Well," Willow said slowly. "Assuming Buffy and Angel and Miss Calendar and I were all met while Buffy and I were still in high school, me casting the soul restoration spell could have been a singularity," Willow offered up.

"But lots of things could have prevented that," Buffy said with a frown. "I mean … Angel and I could have not ended up in bed together."

Willow leveled a look at Buffy, one of her eyebrows rising up.

"Okay, eventually," Buffy admitted with a sheepish look.

"Right. Now, >when< Angel lost his soul could have changed, but not the fact that he did, and that my reaction would be to try to cast that spell," Willow said. "Because there was no way I was going to not try."

"So you're saying that The Trickster isn't predicting events … he's arranging them?" Tara asked slowly.

"Exactly," Willow said, beaming at Tara, making Tara smile back automatically. "Well, according to this theory. It's certainly not set in stone."

"It does make a certain amount of sense," Giles said, his brow furrowing as he concentrated on the new concept. "Like, with you and Tara in a relationship, and Glory in Sunnydale, Tara being hurt by Glory and your subsequent dark magick use could have been a certainty."

"Oh, he's good," Anya said on a whisper. "He's really good."

"What?" Buffy asked, looking over at Anya.

"Destroying my talisman. I mean, not only did he get Willow un-vamped, but he got Tara to Sunnydale. Because what are the chances Tara would have ended up on a Hellmouth if her home life had been happy?" Anya wondered aloud. "Because a soulless Willow certainly wouldn't have called to her."

"What's up with that, anyway?" Buffy asked curiously. "This whole 'past life' thing?"

"I think … I think that, ummm … Willow and I were .. . kinda' … meant to find each other," Tara said with a blush.

"Yeah. You two should get 'temporal singularity' tattooed to your asses," Anya said seriously.

"Anya!" Willow protested. "There will be no tattoos. Big no on the tattooing."

"Right," Tara said with a nod. "Though, umm … I was thinking that, ummm…"

"No," Willow said immediately, raising both eyebrows at Tara. Tara's eyes widened, her lower lip moving into pout position, and Willow's face softened. "We can talk about it later," she said with a sigh, squeezing Tara's hand. Tara smiled happily. "But we'll just discuss it," Willow said quickly. "I'm not saying 'yes' now, okay?"

"Like you won't say yes later," Anya scoffed. "We all know Tara has you completely whipped."

"I am not whipped," Willow protested, her voice rising.

"Honey," Tara said softly, trying to stop a fight before it started and squeezing Willow's hand, giving her a pleading look.

"I am not whipped," Willow muttered, subsiding.

Anya raised her hand in the air, making a whipping motion and subsequent sound effect.

"Anya," Tara said in a warning tone. "Please stop teasing Willow."

"But it's fun," Anya protested. "Besides - I don't have orgasms with you."

"You better not even think about it," Willow cut in with a scowl.

"So why should I listen?" Anya finished, ignoring the interruption.

"Because I'm your friend?" Tara offered up.

"Oh, fine," Anya said, a childish scowl to match Willow's crossing her face. "Just play the 'friend' card. That's not fair! You know I don't have very many of them."

"As fascinating as it is to watch Tara actually keep you two in line, could we get back on topic?" Giles asked tentatively.

"What was the topic again?" Anya asked innocently. "Oh, right … we were talking about how whipped Willow is."

"I am not whipped!" Willow said again.

"Guys," Buffy broke in. "I swear I'm going to bust some serious slayer action on both of you if you don't cut it out right now."

"But this is how I interact with Willow," Anya protested earnestly. "I enjoy my interactions with Willow. I want to have as many interactions with Willow as I can before she dies."

"Willow is not going to die," Tara shot back, harsher than she had intended. She knew Anya meant well, and that in her own way she was being complimentary, but the idea that Willow's death was a foregone conclusion hurt.

"It's okay, baby," Willow said soothingly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Hello?" Anya said. "Temporal Singlurities? Megalomaniacal HellGod who's even smarter than Willow? Even if Willow lets him out, Willow's the only one who can defeat him. What are the chances he's going to let her live? And even if she faces him, what are the chances he doesn't have a plan for that?" Anya pressed on. "Not that I want it to happen," she said defensively, backing away from all the angry faces in the room.

A wave of protests rose up from Tara, Buffy and Giles as they all spoke over each other. Willow sat silently, a thoughtful look on her face as she seriously considered Anya's words.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 40

Puzzles

Willow liked puzzled. No, that wasn't quite right. Willow loved puzzles. She adored them. They made her brain do an excited little dance at another chance to excel and break through all expectations of her ability to solve them. Or anyone else's ability to solve them.

There was just one problem.

Her life depended on figuring this one out. Not only that, but possibly the Fate of the World.

And Willow hated pressure. She voted a Big 'No' on pressure. There was no waffling on the Pressure Issue. She was even ready to run for Mayor on a No Pressure platform if the idea of giving a speech in public didn't completely contradict what she would be campaigning for.

Hence the tummy rumblings. In fact, now that she was thinking about exactly what hinged on figuring all of this out, and how much of that counted on her, she was feeling decidedly nauseous. She could feel a bead of sweat make its way down the back of her neck, and a warm flush crawl up her face and her breathing quicken.

This was a Hell God with a plan. A plan they had unwittingly fallen in line with more times than Willow really cared to think about, her mind reeling with the idea that they had probably fallen in line more times than they would ever know.

How could they possibly stop that? What kind of bizarre strange move would they have to make to completely disrupt his plans and keep the world safe, at least for a little while as they tried to figure out how to stop him completely?

And what would that really take? Balancing Hell? But Glory was gone, and so there could be no balance, unless they got rid of the Trickster altogether. But how did someone fight a Hell God? At least Glory had been in Ben's body, and they had a few aces up their sleeves - but the Trickster himself had, as it turned out, been one of those aces. And how had she, or her ancestor, or however she should refer to someone who was her in a past life, but also a great-great-great and a few more "greats" grandmother, defeated him in the first place?

Would she have to face him? >Could< she face him?

"Honey?" she heard Tara call, worry evident in her voice even though it sounded like it came from a great distance. "Willow?" she heard again, barely making out the words through the great whooshing noise in her ears.

"I, uhh …" Willow stammered, rising unsteadily to her feet. "I gotta …" She stumbled where she stood, wondering idly what the hell she had tripped on, since she hadn't actually moved, sinking down to one knee. Laboriously, she clambered back to her feet, waving off the sea of swimming hands reaching out to her to help.

"Willow," Tara said again, outright alarm ripping through the haze and pulling Willow's attention.

"Urg," Willow uttered, pushing past her concerned friends and falling into Tara's arms. "Dizzy. Bathroom," she mumbled, her mouth watering as her stomach roiled.

"Oh, Baby," Tara uttered miserably, her gaze taking in the glassy look to Willow's eyes, the pale complexion, and the beads of sweat gathering on her face. She got on of Willow's arms around her shoulder, and looked over with a grateful expression as Buffy quickly stepped up and grabbed the other side, the two women hurrying Willow towards the bathroom.

"Seasick. Hate boats," Willow muttered, the floor pitching and roiling under her. "Stupid whales."

"Is she gonna' be okay?" Dawn asked nervously, looking over at the assembled Scoobies. She wasn't allowed to help with the actual research until she finished up her homework for the day, but she found it comforting to be in the room with all the people she loved. "And, umm … whales?"

"We went on a whale-watching trip in the third grade," Xander explained, her brow furrowed with concern. "Willow was really excited, but once we got on the boat, she spent the whole time being really sick."

"Oh, eww," Dawn said, trying to block out the sounds of Willow being conspicuously sick filtering out of the bathroom, along with the extra-disturbing crackling noise of the dark magick yuckiness. It wasn't so much knowing that Willow was being sick that set her teeth on edge and gave her a major tummy rumblings - it was knowing deep in her gut just how close Willow was to not making it. Sure, she had faith in the Scoobies. They had certainly saved the world often enough. Still, she had had faith in the doctors as well when they had said her mom would be all right, and … she hadn't.

"Hey, Dawnie," Xander said quietly, seeing the distressed look on the teenager's face. "Everything's going to be all right. We've got the Evil Fighting Dream Team here, and we're going to make sure it's all right, okay?"

"But … I just … this is all so -"

"I know," Xander said, his voice still low. "I'm scared, too."

"Xander is quite right," Giles said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, holding his place in his book with a forefinger. "We're not going to let anything happen to Willow. Now that we're aware that something out there is attempting to hurt her, we can stop it."

"How?" Dawn asked, a hard edge of bitterness to her voice.

"Just because we don't know yet, doesn't mean we'll fail," Giles said, his eyes shining with determination.

"But he's already won. Glory's dead," Dawn protested. "Doesn't that destroy the whole cosmic balance thingy?"

"We'll fix it," Xander said firmly. "Because we have to."

Buffy wandered back into the room, her face pale. "I'll never get used to that," she said slowly, flopping down onto the couch and pulling the old book back into her lap.

"Yeah, it's kind of … crackly," Xander agreed, his face scrunching up.

"Just wait until she starts vomiting blood. Then it'll be >really< disturbing," Anya piped up helpfully.

"Okay, eww," Buffy said slowly, her face pulling into her frown. "Could we not have those kinds of visuals, please?"

"…right back," Tara was saying as she came back into the room. "Baking soda?" she asked, looking around. Xander grabbed the box, tossing it to Tara, who caught it awkwardly but successfully. "Thanks," she said, meeting Xander's eyes, then turning to the rest of the group. "H-has it been this bad the w-whole time?" she asked, her face scrunching up as she forced the words past the worry and guilt.

"Pretty much," Buffy said gently. "But … it's been better since you've been back."

"It was … uhm … w-worse?" Tara asked, her eyes wide.

"I mean … not that you going was a bad thing," Buffy quickly backpedaled. "I mean, not that we didn't miss you. So, it was bad in that respect, but … muchly with the okay. It's, I mean… it's not your fault, Tara. You couldn't have stopped this, and …"

"I know what you mean," Tara said with a small nod, a frown pulling at her face as she hurried out of the room, wanting to get back to Willow.

"Magicky baking soda?" Willow asked quietly, still kneeling in front of the toilet.

"Yeah," Tara said, brandishing the box and kneeling next to Willow. She sprinkled some into the bowl, hearing the soft hiss as the opposing magicks mixed.

"I wonder what kind of reaction that is?" Willow mused, peering into the bowl and watching the bubbles. "I mean, is it kind of a magicky chemistry thing where they're passing little enchanted electrons around?"

"I have no idea," Tara said with a soft smile, brushing Willow's hair back behind her ear.

"I think I need more of the witchy pain coffee," Willow said glumly, sitting back and looking decidedly miserable.

"I think you need to take a break and get some sleep," Tara said seriously.

"Can't," Willow said with a helpless little shrug. "We need to know more stuff, and it's … it's like … my brain is going all Energizer Bunny, and if I go upstairs and lie down, I'm just going to be thinking about all the stuff I could be doing, and then I wouldn't be doing it, so it would really be all time waste-y for me to just sit there, when I wouldn't be sleeping anyway, see?"

"Could you at least try?" Tara asked, a sigh escaping her as she regarded Willow. On one hand, she agreed. Willow's brain was probably the best equipped to be figuring out what the Trickster was up to and how to stop it, but on the other she could see how sick and hurting Willow already was, and she wanted her to rest. It hurt her heart to see Willow in such pain, and she wanted it to stop. But really, what was the best way? Let Willow stay up, or make her rest?

"Can I take a notebook with me if I lie down?" Willow countered, a hopeful expression on her face. She felt driven to keep working, but somehow she couldn't deny Tara anything.

"I suppose that will work," Tara said. "But no sitting upright. And you're not getting coffee. I'll bring up some food, and you'll eat every bit of it. You're still way too thin."

"Can I sit up kinda' almost upright? Like all reclined like Cleopatra?" Willow questioned, trying to work out all the rules before she inadvertently broke one and incurred the wrath of Tara. "Ooh!" she added, a gleam in her eye. "Will you sit with me and feed me grapes?"

"Sure," Tara said with a smile, kissing Willow lightly on the cheek, then standing up. She pulled Willow to her feet, laughing at her question, only to have the laughter die away when Willow swayed unsteadily. "Hey, no fainting," Tara demanded, her eyes widening.

"I think … I'm … okay?" Willow said unconvincingly, leaning heavily against the sink to avoid falling over and pulling Tara with her. Not that being on the floor with Tara was a bad thing in and of itself, but falling there could get her baby bruised, and she couldn't have that, no matter how dizzy she was.

"You're not okay," Tara said. "Buffy!" she called out, leaning her head out the door as she kept Willow upright.

"What?" Buffy asked breathlessly, scrambling into the room just a few scant moments later. She had heard the worry in Tara's voice and immediately leapt to her feet, dashing for the room.

"She's dizzy," Tara explained, not taking her eyes off of Willow, who was still leaning heavily on the counter, her knees bent as if her legs couldn't support her wait.

"I'm fine," Willow protested weakly.

"Oh, no you're not," Buffy said immediately, scooping Willow up into her arms and carefully maneuvering her out of the cramped space of the half-bath.

"Need to brush my teeth," Willow protested.

"No, you need to lie down," Buffy said sternly, carrying Willow to the stairs with an agitated Tara right behind her.

"Need smoochies," Willow mumbled. "Have to brush teeth."

"Not from me, you don't," Buffy said. "Does she always have a one-track mind like this?" she asked Tara over her shoulder as she reached the top of the stairs.

"I demand a toothbrush! I know my rights," Willow declared in a wavering voice as Tara hurried to open the bedroom door and keep out of Buffy's way at the same time.

"I'll get your toothbrush, baby," Tara said in a mollifying voice. "Just … lie down for now," she went on. "You got her?" she asked Buffy, looking over at the Slayer.

"Is that a serious question?" Buffy countered with a half-smile. "I'll settle her in, you get her toothbrush before she tosses all the toothpaste in the house into Boston Harbor."

"Need a sink," Willow protested, trying to sit up as soon as Buffy placed her on the bed.

"Willow, you can't stand up," Buffy said slowly, watching Willow waver as soon as her shoulders left the mattress.

"I can stand," Willow protested with a frown, trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed, only to have her efforts dashed by that dastardly Slayer. She looked up at her best friend and her frown deepened.

"The frown won't work," Buffy said, folding her arms across her chest. "It's the Wrath of Tara, or deal with the frown, and frankly? I prefer the frown," she confided, grabbing Willow's legs at the ankles and swinging them back onto the bed. "Now lie down before she gets back in here and we both get into trouble."

"You're pancake-whipped," Willow muttered. "Where's Anya when you need her? Sure, she's right there when I fold like a house of cards stacked by a three-year-old, but now? Oh, no," Willow complained, lying back down and continuing. "Here you are, all … you're like pancake batter. All gooey and beaten down and pancake-whipped."

"She makes great pancakes," Buffy said defensively. "Can I help it if she makes great pancakes?"

"Mrrrow?" Miss Kitty warbled, slinking out from under the bed and blinking curiously at Buffy. Soundlessly, she jumped onto the bed and padded over to Willow awkwardly on the uneven surface, sniffing her delicately and sneezing.

"Even Miss Kitty thinks I need to brush my teeth," Willow said, her voice heavy with fatigue. The room was spinning around her and she couldn't seem to make things stay in the right place. She closed her eyes with a huff, letting her head fall back against the pillows.

"I'm back," Tara said, bustling into the room, her hands full. "Here, sit her up," Tara requested.

"See?" Willow said accusatorily, opening her eyes to glare at Buffy as Buffy complied. Tara slid in behind her and Willow scootched back, forgetting her fit of pique once she was comfortably nestled against Tara's body, a lazy smile crossing her face.

"Here," Tara said, getting a leg on either side of Willow's body and holding her hands out to display their contents. "Toothbrush, toothpaste, glass of water, and spitting cup," she said.

"You really think of everything, don't you?" Buffy said, a smirk crossing her face.

"Thanks, baby," Willow said, trying to focus on the items swimming in front of her eyes, making a wild guess as to the location of the toothbrush and trying to grab it. She missed.

"Honey?" Tara asked worriedly. "Can you … I mean, umm… do you need … some help?"

"No, I can," Willow said, her brow furrowing in concentration as she tried to get the toothbrush again.

"Here," Buffy said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking the two glasses from Tara's hands. Wordlessly, Tara uncapped the toothpaste, squirting a bit onto the toothbrush and then dipping it into the water quickly.

"Open," she instructed.

"Tara, I can," Willow started to protest, only to stop when Tara nudged her into silence. Buffy looked away but continued her cup-holding duties.

"Open," Tara said again, and Willow opened her mouth, feeling completely absurd yet relieved at the same time. Her arms didn't seem to want to follow her instructions, and she was having a little difficulty finding the toothbrush. Carefully, Tara brushed Willow's teeth, the odd angle hard to manage, but she eventually got the hang of it.

Willow giggled helplessly, finding the situation strangely funny.

"Willow, this is serious," Tara admonished with a frown.

"Hw cn vis we seewus?" Willow muttered around the toothbrush.

"Spit," Tara ordered, and Buffy helpfully held out the cup. Thankfully, Willow's aim was better here, or else Buffy was just a world-class spit-cup holder, as she managed to get the foamy toothpaste into the cup.

"Rinse," Tara said, and Buffy held up the water glass to Willow's lips. Willow sucked in a mouthful of water, then swished it around in her cheeks, leaning her head back on Tara's shoulder.

"Spit," Tara said again after a moment, studying Willow's pale face and letting her fear at this new development show on her features. Willow was clearly as weak as a newborn, and dizzy as well as nauseous and Tara felt somewhat helpless in the face of this.

Wearily, Willow lifted her head, spitting into the cup Buffy held up and then inhaling a deep breath through her mouth, satisfied with the minty freshness she found.

"Okay," Willow said, a small smile drifting across her face.

"Now, you're going to sleep," Tara ordered, moving to shift out from under Willow.

"No, stay," Willow protested, turning onto her side and resting her cheek against Tara's shoulder.

"Looks like you're on pillow-duty," Buffy observed, setting the glass of water on the nightstand. "I'll just, uhh … take these," she said, grabbing the toothpaste and shifting it into the hand with the spit-cup, then gingerly taking the toothbrush between two fingers and holding it away from her body.

"But I need to do some reading," Tara protested. "And Willow needs food." Willow snuggled closer, her eyes drifting shut and Tara's arms automatically closed around her.

"I think you're stuck," Buffy said dryly. "We'll handle the research and the food. Willow's not well, and you've got to be pretty tired, too," she went on. "Seriously, just take a nap. We'll wake you guys in a couple of hours so you can eat and check on Willow, okay?"

"But -" Tara protested, even as she shifted Willow into a more comfortable position.

"No buts," Buffy said. "Besides - how much work are you going to get done down there while you're worrying about Willow up here?"

"You're right," Tara said, a self-deprecating smile crossing her face. Buffy nodded, satisfied with her win, and left the room, managing to shut the door behind her. "Willow, honey? You'll get a crick in your neck like that," Tara said, rolling Willow onto her side despite her sleepy protests and getting her leg out from under her.

"Tara," Willow murmured, immediately rolling back and settling herself on Tara's prone body. Tara felt Willow relax against her bonelessly, and something about the movement worried her.

"Get some rest, baby," Tara said softly, kissing the red hair tucked under her chin. "I'm here."

"Tara?" Willow uttered.

"Yeah, sweetie?" Tara asked, caressing Willow's hair, her arm tightening across her back as Willow snuggled closer.

"Things're all spinny. Hard to move," she mumbled. "'s scary."

"I've got you, baby," Tara said, inserting as much reassurance into her shaky voice as she could. "You just rest."

"Y'stay?"

"Always. I'll be here when you wake up, okay?"

"'Kay."

Tara's eyes stayed open and she stared at the ceiling as she felt Willow's breathing even out against her. She stroked Willow's back soothingly, as much to comfort herself as to comfort the woman sleeping so trustingly in her arms, her mind turning over everything that had happened so far.

[Sassette]

Willow felt herself slipping into slumber, and was surprised when that wasn't where she ended up. Instead of the blackness of sleep, or more accurately, the waking up again part - because she couldn't remember actually sleeping, right? - she found herself at her parents kitchen table.

Her parents were nowhere to be found, but the room was just as it always was. It had not, in fact, changed for as long as she could remember. A cleared plate sat in front of her, and a glass of orange juice that was, she decided, neither half empty, nor half full. The glass, clearly, was twice as big as it needed to be to hold that amount of liquid.

Very inefficient.

She looked around, then down, surprised to see the blue footy pajamas she knew she had grown out of long ago. Except … her feet were dangling high off the floor, suspended from her legs that appeared to be way too short. Frowning, she regarded the table. It certainly seemed a lot higher, too. Was she in some weird alternate dimension where her parents were giants? Or was this even her parents' house?

With a shiver, she looked around, her head whipping from side to side, half-expecting to see a goose waddle onto the table and lay a golden egg right in front of her. But there were no egg-laying geese to be seen, golden eggs or otherwise. In fact, there were no geese at all, and she frowned harder.

Shouldn't there be geese? It >was< Sunday, afterall. And how come she couldn't remember milking the cow that morning?

That's right. She had sold it. To the old man for the magic beans. No, that wasn't right. To the young man, in the black hat. For the crossword puzzle. She had sold the cow for a puzzle.

The crossword puzzle and a pencil appeared on the table before her, and she shifted excitedly in her chair. She loved crossword puzzles. They were much harder than logic puzzles or math puzzles. With those, she could just close her eyes real tight, and the answer would jump into her brain, or she'd know just how to figure it out like she had heard them all before. But crossword puzzles were different - they were words, and words were harder than numbers. She liked numbers, but she liked words, too, so she was happy to do the crossword puzzle.

She picked up the pencil awkwardly, and scrambled in the chair until she was kneeling on the seat and leaning over the table, peering at the puzzle before her, the white and black squares staring back, waiting for her to fill them in and reveal their secrets.

She smiled, and looked up, her dimpled cherub's face smiling back at her from the mirror across the way. She waved happily at herself, the pencil still clutched in her hand, and giggled, her wild and scraggly red hair sticking out in all directions. Mommy would insist she brush it before she left for school, and Daddy would laugh. But only if they made it past the giants.

The first one was easy, and Willow filled in the word 'HELLMOUTH' to describe 'the portal where you live'. That was clear. She knew that much, at least - she had always known that. The next one was harder, and she stared at the paper, regarding the clue. "Sunrise?" she muttered aloud, looking at the three empty squares waiting for her. "Three letters for sunrise?"

She skipped that one, moving to the next. "Who wants you dead?" the clue read, with six squares available. Willow frowned, her brow furrowing. 'TRICKSTER' didn't fit, and neither did 'CONSTRUCT.' Xander? Xander wanted her dead!?

No, that couldn't be right. She'd have to go back to that one, too.

She went on, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the next clue. "In love with Willow forever" it read, and she grinned. "TARA" she wrote in, adding an extra little smiley face after the last 'A' and grinning with satisfaction. The letters fit the available spaces perfectly, as if that name were meant to go in that spot for all time.

Released from Hell.

Released from Hell?

Angel? No. That was five letters. She needed nine.

Trickster would fit, but he was still in Hell, wasn't he?

"Oh!" she said, quickly filling in 'CONSTRUCT' and beaming at the paper. The Construct had been released from Hell. She filled in the next few quickly, putting in "BESTFRIEND" for the clue "Buffy" and "GILES" for the clue "English father-figure who liked to wear tweed". Those were certainly simple enough.

The next one made her scrunch up her face in concentration, her tongue poking out as she tried to fill in the blanks. A demon but not a demon? 'ANGEL' didn't fit.

"Darn those six-letter clues anyway," she muttered, boldly using language she had heard her mother use in hushed tones. "And three-letter clues," she amended, frowning as she recalled the 'Sunrise' thing. "Multiples of three. I'm clearly having trouble with multiples of three. What's wrong with three? I like three," she added petulantly, her lower lip poking out. Maybe she was too young to be doing the crossword puzzle all by herself. But she certainly didn't have anyone else here. "I guess three doesn't like me," she said, her eyes full of sorrow as she gazed at the crossword puzzle.

"But I can help you with that one," Wesley said, peering over her shoulder, then looking at her with a kind smile.

"But I want to figure it out," Willow said, shifting in her chair.

"Then think, Willow," Wesley encouraged. "You've got to think. A demon, but not a demon," he added.

"It's a hard one," Willow said, her brow scrunching up.

"I know it's hard, but that's because you don't think of this person as a demon. You never have, and you never could," Wesley said gently. "But others have."

"But 'Tara' doesn't fit," Willow said slowly, seeing what Wesley was trying to tell her.

"Do you know her real name?" Wesley asked with a frown, peering closer at the crossword as if he expected the number of letters needed to fit the clue to change from six to four.

"Oh, I know that," Willow assured him seriously. "Oh!" she said, gently pushing Wesley away and writing in "MACLAY".

"Very good, Willow," Wesley said with a beaming smile before fading. "Well done!"

"I guess that wasn't so hard after all," Willow mused, then turned to the next clue. "Now … 'He Was There'. Who was where? Five letter," she said aloud, chewing on the end of the pencil. "Oh, 'ANGEL'", she said, writing the name in. "Maybe I need to talk to Angel?" she wondered.

She moved on to the next one, dismissing the notion with a shrug. Crosswords weren't so hard. Maybe she was better at them than she thought. She frowned when she saw the next clue. 'The World' But what about The World? She looked over at the boxes, a perturbed look crossing her face when she saw the number of spaces available shifting from five to eight.

"Well, that's not fair," she grumbled, peering closer at the boxes, and seeing that an interconnected clue on the 'down' side was also shifting. When 'The World' was five spaces, 'Willow' was five, but when 'The World' was eight spaces, 'Willow' was four. That was clearly a hard one. She moved on.

'LOSANGELES' she filled in, writing in the city where 26 across lived. That one was easy enough. Everyone knew that. He had a website.

'Prevents the Trickster's Visions' was the next clue, and Willow chewed on her lip. Magick Rock? No, that didn't fit. She quickly counted the spaces. Fifteen.

"Darn," she muttered, realizing it was a multiple of three. So it had to be a tough one. "I need another hint," she complained, glaring at the clue. The letters shifted and changed, rearranging themselves into different shapes, and she reread the clue. "Tara gave it to me? Tara gave me lots of things. Everything. 'Everything' doesn't fit. And it doesn't stop the Trickster's visions, either."

She was on the 'down' column now, so she looked at the page again, noting that the 'L' in 'LOSANGELES' was the last letter of the word. "Oh, well, that's helpful," she grumbled, moving on.

"Let 14 across out. Same as 11 across," she read slowly. "But if it's the same, how come this one has four letters and 11 across has three?" she said, her features twisting. "Sunrise. Let the construct out. Same as 11 across, which is three. But this one's four." She frowned again, tapping the paper in front of her. "That doesn't make mathematical sense," she said, voicing her displeasure with the stupid crossword puzzle. "It doesn't add up."

"Oh, but it does add up," Glory said from her seat across from Willow. "It does when you think about it."

"I'm still mad at you," Willow scowled. "In fact, I pretty much hate you. You should go away. You're a bad woman."

"No, I'm a dead woman," Glory said. "And you can't bring me back like you did your 'BESTFRIEND', even though that would fix everything, wouldn't it? Those clues are easy, but it's not important. Who cares how the Construct got out? You need to know something else."

"Something else?" Willow asked, peering down at the paper and frowning. "I still don't like you. Why are you helping me?"

"I don't like you either. You're so … uppity. Where's the fawning? Where's the attention, and my cute little minions? You don't understand that I'm a God, not really. You never did get that. So why are you listening to me?" Glory raved, then smiled and stretched lazily, squeaking and shifting in her blood red dress. "You're a real drag, you know that? Next clue, come on," she said, snapping her fingers.

"Fine," Willow sulked, looking at the next clue. "Five letters. Defeated the Trickster," she read dully, glancing up to glare at Glory again. "It was Margaret McDonald," Willow said. "Or me. But those don't fit."

"Honey, maybe she went by 'Marge'," Glory supplied helpfully, smirking when Willow wrote in the name. But Willow was careful to write the letters in lightly, in case she needed to erase them later. She still didn't trust Glory.

"I don't trust you, either. You're the bitch who hurt me," Glory spat.

"That's a bad word," Willow said with a frown, looking around anxiously. "Mom might hear you."

"Oh, fine. Have it your way," Glory said, glaring at Willow. "I'll just go back to the non-existent limbo nothingness I came from." Suiting actions to words, she disappeared, and Willow glared at the empty seat.

Willow subsided, then looked back at the crossword. She didn't like 'MARGE' as an answer, so she erased the letters, thinking harder. "Maybe … yeah," she said, writing in "DEVIL". The Devil defeated The Trickster. She knew that … she just needed Glory to be gone so she could remember.

"What a bitch," she muttered, then looked up sharply, expecting her mother to walk in. She sighed with relief when the room remained empty. "Stupid Glory, making me use naughty words and naughty spells. I'm very seldom naughty, but Glory made me naughty," she went on in a low grumbly tone, looking for the next clue.

"Don't 'blank', it makes an ass out of you and Xander," she read, a frown crossing her face.

"Oh, come on. You have to remember that one," Jesse admonished, clambering up onto the chair next to hers, his own footy pajamas in place. Still, the footy pajamas, and Jesse himself, were much bigger than her. He looked as he did when he died, a tall and thin teenager, a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. "Don't you remember?" he asked quietly.

"I remember," Willow said softly, reaching out and grabbing Jesse's hand in her own. "How could I forget?" she asked, looking at her old friend. "How could I ever forget you?" she wondered aloud, a heavy sense of guilt settling in her gut. They had been the best of friends, the three of them. Jesse and Xander and herself. How could she let a day go by without at least sparing a thought to this person she had shared so many childhood adventures with?

"Because you're an adult now," Jesse said kindly. "You don't have to think of me every day, you know. I want you and Xander to have your own lives."

"But you were … you were our best friend. The very best," Willow protested miserably. "And I … I wish Tara could meet you. That you could meet Tara. She's …"

"I know," Jesse said with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. "She's hot. I mean, if you weren't going to go for me, at least you picked a good one, y'know?"

"You like her?" Willow asked quietly, her eyes begging him to say yes.

"Of course I do," Jesse reassured her. "Who couldn't like Tara? She's the purest, kindest, most loving soul. I didn't think I'd ever consider anybody good enough for my Willow," he said with cocky grin. "Not Xander, not Oz … but Tara? She's … she fits you, Willster."

"Thanks, Jesse," Willow said with a relieved little laugh.

"Besides," Jesse continued, a wicked gleam in his eye. "The whole girl/girl thing is hot."

"You sound like Xander," Willow said with a laugh, a broad grin crossing her face.

"Yeah, but you get pissed off when Xander says it," Jesse said with an answering laugh.

"You could always do that," Willow said in a wondering tone. "Xander was always so jealous that you could get away with so much."

"All part of my charm," Jesse said with a little shrug. "It just … never really worked with the cheerleaders, y'know? But the teachers and the rest of the girls loved me."

"I remember," Willow said fondly. "I'm sorry that I … I mean, I didn't … I didn't know that -"

"Hey - I didn't want you to know," Jesse said. "I had it all planned out. We were going to grow up and move away, then meet each other again here in Sunnydale where I'd profess my undying love for you and we'd live happily ever after. I didn't want to date you in high school. I wanted to marry you when we got older."

"I'm sorry you never had the chance to get older, Jesse," Willow said sincerely.

"Me too," Jesse said with a sad little smile. "But I get to watch you and Xander grow up, and it's nice. I'm … I'm so proud of you both."

"Hey," Willow said suddenly, her face pulling into a frown. "Are you really here?" she said, poking him gently in his side.

"Yes and no," Jesse said obscurely.

"That's not helping," Willow said sternly.

"Well, I'm in there, aren't I?" he said, tapping Willow's chest lightly over her heart. "And in there," he went on, tapping her forehead.

"Yeah," Willow said slowly, prompting him to continue.

"And you and Xander know me so well, you always knew what I was thinking and feeling. So, you know what I think and feel about you, and Tara, and about you and Tara, and all that other stuff," he said reasonably.

"But you're not really here?" Willow asked sadly.

"In your dream? No, I'm in the dream. Don't you see me? That's all anybody is, Willow. We're just what you perceive us to be," Jesse said.

"Have you been reading 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' again?" Willow asked in an accusatory tone. "Is this where you tell me that reality is the meeting of the objective world and the subjective experience of the observer?"

"Hey - you loved that book and you know it," Jesse said with a laugh. "It was Xander who's brain just about blew a fuse over it."

"I'm still surprised you talked him into even giving it a try," Willow said. "He never liked to read ahead like we did. It's a senior year book. Or college."

"I've enjoyed our chat, but you're forgetting your puzzle," Jesse said with a sad smile. "You need to concentrate on the puzzle. Don't let outside thinks distract you. It's too easy to get distracted right now."

"It's 'ASSUME', isn't it?" Willow asked with a fond smile as a shimmering image of the three young friends standing around appeared over the table.

"Don't assume. It makes an ass out of you and me," Shimmery Xander said seriously to Shimmery Willow.

"Right," Shimmery Jesse said, nodding sagely and trying to keep a straight face. "When you assume, it makes an ass out of you and Xander."

The three shimmery friends dissolved into laughter - even Xander, and they continued their discussion.

"I don't even remember what it was I said in the first place," Willow said with a nostalgic look on her face as the shimmering image disappeared. She looked over at Jesse, only to see an empty chair where her friend had sat. "Thanks, Jesse," she said on a whisper. "I'll try not to make an ass out of Xander, okay? He does fine on his own," she finished with a sad smile before turning back to the next clue. Jesse had said to not be distracted. So she'd concentrate. She could do this.

"I'm assuming things. I'm assuming things," she chanted, moving on to the next clue. "Your light. My light?" Willow frowned. She was so full of darkness right now, did she even have a light? At least, a light that was nine letters? "What does light do?" she asked aloud, looking up and staring at the mirror across from her.

The features of herself as a six-year-old gave way, shifting into her current face. In the mirror, she saw Tara walk up behind her and wrap her arms around her, but she couldn't feel it. It was as if she were watching her future self.

"Light chases away the Darkness," Tara whispered. "And Darkness swallows the Light."

"Could that be any more cryptic?" she and her future self both asked, their words echoing around the room.

Tara laughed gently, a sparkling happy sound that tickled its way into Willow's ears and to her heart, making it feel all warm and full. Yes, that was it. Her heart was full with Tara's laughter - with her joy.

"They chase each other round and round the mulberry bush," Tara said wisely.

"The weasel popped me. I'm a monkey," Willow said glumly.

"But you're my monkey," Tara said with a smile. "And I'll chase off that nasty old weasel for you," she promised.

"But that just makes him angry," Willow said with a scared frown. "Then he … he gets mad and comes back. Angrier and angrier. I don't want to piss off the weasel."

"Then we'll run him out and build a wall," Tara assured her.

"But we … what if he … umm … breaks the wall?" Willow asked uncertainly.

"He can't. Not if we build it together," Tara promised.

"But I can't play with walls. Not anymore. I promised," Willow said unhappily.

"I … I think that … this would be okay," Tara said hesitantly, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I mean … if it was just to keep away the angry weasel."

"But that's … I mean, the angry weasel wants me to play with walls. So I shouldn't. I wish I could. Then I could stay in the yard and chase you around the mulberry bush instead," Willow said sadly.

"I like it when you chase me around the mulberry bush," Tara said with a sigh, resting her chin on Willow's shoulder, her arms wrapped around her waist from behind. "We have to get that weasel out of our yard. He has to stay out."

"But … how do you keep an angry weasel out of the yard without building walls?" Willow said on a whisper, her voice bleak.

"A fence?" Tara said hopefully.

"A wall is made of bricks. Or concrete," Willow said with a thoughtful frown, her face scrunching up tight. "A fence is made of wood. Is wood okay?"

"I think … I think that if it's … if you grew it yourself. In your own trees. That should … be okay," Tara said hesitantly, turning the idea over in her mind. "I mean … trees are natural, not like bricks. People make bricks. Nature makes trees. Like you. You're a Willow tree."

"Could we … I mean - if we chased away the weasel, and made a fence out of the nature-tree … would it work?" Willow asked uncertainly. Yet another puzzle. Walls and trees, and what was the difference, really? Was there? Did the man-made bricks and the nature-made trees have so little in common?

"You wouldn't really be building the fence," Tara said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You'd be helping the fence grow. We could do it together. A fence of trees."

"I … I'd like to stay with you," Willow said, her eyes shining with love for her girl. "I don't want to leave our yard. Not so soon. Not when we haven't had all our chasings."

"But you'll never chase a weasel again, right?" Tara asked, needing to be certain - to be sure that Willow wouldn't repeat the same mistakes.

"Never," Willow vowed, her voice fierce. "No more weasels in the yard. And no chasing them."

"All right," Tara said, kissing her softly on the cheek, and the young Willow felt it, like the ghost of a caress against her face. She smiled when Tara stood and walked away from the other her, deeper into the mirror, knowing that Tara would be there when she awoke.

"Oh, the puzzle!" Willow exclaimed with a little squeak. "That didn't help with the actual puzzle," she muttered, frowning as her eyes traced over the paper and found her spot. But she felt like she and Tara had worked out a different puzzle. Together. She liked that.

Willow stared at the puzzle again, then felt her body shake.

No, not shake. Shift. Like, she was being jostled, only there wasn't anyone there to do the jostling. She heard a sleepy groan, and it made her smile. She recognized that noise.

She shifted again, and her eyes flickered open, as Tara stretched lazily under her. Their usual sleeping position was reversed, with her head, arm and leg draped over Tara's body, snuggling into her. She smiled into Tara's shirt when she heard and felt her yawn.

"Sorry," Tara said meekly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"'sokay," Willow mumbled happily, hugging Tara closer with her arm and her leg. "You'd really chase away the weasel?" she asked tiredly.

"Of course," Tara said, scooching down so she was closer to Willow and could press sleepy soft kisses onto her face, making the redhead's eyes flutter shut and a contented smile cross her face. "We don't want him in our yard."

Willow's eyes flew open.

"What?" she squeaked, coming fully awake. Tara's body stiffened and she pulled away from Willow, a worried look in her eye.

"Did … I mean, uhh … that w-was - umm …us? Really?" Tara stammered.

"I didn't cast," Willow said quickly, sitting up. "I mean, you were here the whole time, and we didn't cast anything, 'cuz you would have known if we did, and I certainly didn't do that by myself, because I wouldn't even know how. I mean, there might be a way to, but if there is, I don't know it."

"Shhh," Tara said, sitting up and hugging Willow. "I'm sure there's an explanation," she soothed, stroking Willow's hair as the redhead's body shook.

"I didn't cast … I didn't cast," Willow muttered over and over, her face buried in Tara's neck. "I swear it. I swear."

"I know, baby," Tara said, rocking her gently. "I know. How are you feeling?" she asked, cradling Willow's head with one hand, her other arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

"Better," Willow said in a small voice. "But scared. How did we -?" They had shared dreams before on a few occasions, but it had required that they cast a spell together to find themselves on the same path when they made their dream journeys.

"It was a tree, not a brick," Tara said with a soft smile.

"Huh?" Willow said, pulling back to look at Tara. "Tara, honey. I know we had the same dream, and that I followed the conversation at the time, but baby? It didn't make any sense."

"It's … it's like, there's a difference between 'casting' magick and 'being' magick. Do you understand? Like … we don't cast when we're making love, but we … we kinda' float anyway?" Tara explained.

"At least one of us knows what's going on," Willow said with a sigh, letting her head rest on Tara's shoulder again.

"We'll figure this out, Willow. We will," Tara promised.

But Willow had this odd feeling that she already knew what she had to do to trick the Trickster, and that Tara wouldn't like it one bit.

[Sassette]

Answering Darkness Part 41

Resonance

"Well, that's really quite … beautiful," Giles murmured, tracing the line of text with his fingers. He held the book reverently, honored by the trust Tara had placed in him when he had placed it into his hands. It was a book she had been keeping in its place in its trunk, intending to read it herself. There were three such books, each one handwritten by one of the MaClay women - the summation of their endless search to rid themselves of a Demon that had never existed.

Tara had emerged from her room briefly, carrying three books with her and explaining that she and Willow had just shared a dream. At first he had been shocked, then angry at the gross irresponsibility inherent in casting spells together, only to be calmed and chagrined when Tara had explained that their dream-sharing had been an accident.

Still, she needed to know how they had done it, and she hoped the answers would lie within this text, or one of the two others sitting on the table waiting for him.

She had insisted on staying to help with the research, only to be voted down unanimously by the rest of the Scoobies who told her that her place was upstairs. Buffy had reaffirmed her promise to wake them later and bring them food, but for now, Tara's place was with Willow, she had said. After a few token arguments, Tara had acquiesced, and now Giles was reading the gentle flowing script of Tara's mother.

It seemed to be a large assortment of things. Spells, passages from other texts, rituals and prayers, all put together in one place. All spoke of light defeating the darkness, filled with hope and longing and warnings against folly. Each was beautiful in its own way, but the passage he was currently on struck a chord within him, for he recognized its truth in the two young women who were resting together upstairs.

"Woe to the Child who embraces the Darkness in the name of Love, for Love will be smothered by that Darkness," he murmured, reading the words aloud. "And the Darkness will grow and fester, cursing her existence and her Love until it is faced with Love's Light. For the Two shall become as One, and the Song of the Heart will be heard, Resonating through the fabric of all Creation. No Darkness can face this Light. No Darkness can face this Love. Its Beauty will make the Good-hearted weep, and the Evil cower. The Darkness may swallow the Light, but the Light will dispel the Dark, drive it from the soul, for where Love is given and accepted freely, no Evil may flourish."

"That's … kinda' nice," Buffy said softly, having stopped her own reading to listen to Giles' words. "I mean, the whole bit with the growing and the festering isn't of the good, but the rest of it is … I like it."

"Me too," Dawn said with a smile. "Does that mean Willow's gonna' be okay?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure," Giles said, gingerly turning the page, being extremely careful with what was both an heirloom and a rather impressive text. "There's an accompanying spell …" he said, trailing off as he read the words.

He snapped the book shut and removed his glasses, pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning them industriously.

"Well? Will it help?" Dawn asked, confused by Giles' actions. Didn't he want to read the spell and figure out if it would help Willow?

"The spell seems to be … of a somewhat … personal nature," Giles hedged, coughing lightly. "I think it's best that Tara read it for herself."

"It doesn't matter," Spike said with a frown, looking up from his book briefly, then going back to reading. That Hell God may be a blighter who was picking on the wrong group of people, but Spike had to admit - he had style. Sure, he preferred the whole 'maiming and killing' angle himself, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a well-thought-out plan. Especially one that got results like this. He chuckled softly, then turned the page.

"And what do you mean by that, ol' Spikey-boy?" Xander asked in a deceptively mild tone, his features hard and cold as he regarded the vampire.

Spike looked up and stared back at Xander. "All I'm saying is, you got two witches, one who is off the mojo. They can't cast a spell together. Willow casts, the dark magick takes over, ruins the effect of the spell anyway because it can't be cast with dark magicks, and then Boom! Evil Willow runs off and opens the Hellmouth."

"Spike," Giles said, returning his glasses to his face and leveling a glare at the vampire. "I'm not going to pretend to have any idea why you're here and ostensibly helping. However, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I would as soon drive a stake through your heart as look at you. If you have something constructive to add, do so. Otherwise, do shut up."

"You think it isn't constructive to point out why Willow casting magick is a bad idea?" Spike asked incredulously. "Am I the only one in this room who realizes that magick has a price? That when you send that stuff out to the universe, it comes back for you?"

"And what I'm saying," Giles said carefully, "is that this will be Tara and Willow's decision, not ours."

"So you're going to just let them do something to destroy the world as you know it?" Spike shot back.

"I trust them, Spike," Giles said, stressing the 'them' in his statement. "They'll do the right thing, and as far as we've been able to tell, they're the only two who can do anything."

"And can I just point out how much that sucks?" Buffy said, a full-fledged Slayer-frown crossing her face. "Who made it 'Pick on the Wiccans' month, anyway?" she demanded to no one in particular. "Hello? I'm the Slayer. I get to be in danger. It's my job. Would the Universe please stop messing with my friends?"

"I'm not even sure which part of that statement to start disagreeing with first," Giles said, a look of ultimate annoyance crossing his face. Buffy had to smile a little at that look. Was it weird that she missed that look? "But all signs seem to indicate that Willow and Tara's involvement in this issue would have happened no matter what other outside influences arose," Giles continued. "Perhaps they would have met earlier, or later, but they would have met. And together, they might be able to stop him."

"I'm back," Anya announced, a wide grin on her face as she entered the room. "I grabbed everything I could find on reincarnation and the human soul," she said proudly, moving to go sit next to Xander. "Though I could probably tell you most of what's in there," she tacked on, frowning at Giles.

"Oh, yes, thank you, Anya," Giles said, looking up at the ex-demon before turning back to his books.

"So anything new?" Anya asked. "Do we know why Willow could cast a spell without casting a spell yet?"

"No, we don't," Xander said, patting her knee and kissing her lightly in greeting.

"How about how she was able to get past the dark magick?" she pressed on.

"What?" Giles asked, the question catching his attention.

"How she got past the dark magick," Anya repeated as if speaking to a small child. She sighed when she saw the blank look on Giles' face. "Dark magick and light magick don't mix. They're like oil and water," Anya explained. "That's in its pure form. When it's mixed in something, they react badly, each on destroying the other. Like the crackly yuck stuff and the baking soda. Someone like Willow is naturally light with a little bit of darkness. When more darkness gets piled on top of that, it covers up the light magick, like a shell. Light magick has to punch through that shell to be cast. The dark magick basically won't let her cast any light magick without some serious power output on her part," Anya explained.

"How about involuntary casting?" Giles questioned, his sharp gaze fixed on Anya, making her fidget in her seat like she had when she got stuck in high school and hadn't done her homework. What kind of idiot tried to assign geometry to an ex-vengeance demon?

"That's even harder to do. Involuntary casting is all about emotion - it's pretty much nature drawing on your energy instead of the other way around. So things happen that you don't really mean to have happen, but there's no way light stuff would get through a dark magick shell," she said.

"But why not?" Giles pressed further. "If it's based on emotion, and the person is experiencing positive emotions … ?"

"Doesn't matter. The negative energy in the dark magick stuff counteracts it. It's like … involuntary magick is extraordinarily powerful," Anya said slowly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to order her thoughts in her mind. "It's … it isn't cast. It just IS. Someone who is free of all opposite influences, like free from light magick if you're a dark practitioner, or vice versa if you're the opposite - they don't say some words and toss some ingredients - the underlying forces of magick just kind of … move themselves through these pure conduits and do things."

"' For the Two shall become as One, and the Song of the Heart will be heard, Resonating through the fabric of all Creation. No Darkness can face this Light,'" Giles quoted softly, a thoughtful look on his face. "Tell me, Anya," Giles requested. "Can the dark magick shell be temporarily dispelled? Through light magick?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," Anya said. "In fact, it can be destroyed altogether if its not being rebuilt. That's basically what Mary Ellen's baking soda is doing. It's breaking up the dark magick barrier, but the Trickster keeps sending more, so it replaces itself."

"Then that still brings us back to stopping the Trickster outright," Giles said with a sigh.

"But that's my job," Buffy piped in. "I fight Evil. I go out, I hit it really hard, it goes away. That's how it's done," she insisted.

"Yes, well, not in this case," Giles said, pulling another of Tara's family books towards him and opening the cover. He frowned, recognizing the first passage immediately. "Though I'm loathe to think it, it's likely that only Willow and Tara can stop him."

"But - I'm Action Buffy. Well, I >should< be Action Buffy. Now I'm Sit Here And Wait Buffy. I hate that," she groused.

"By all means, go out and patrol," Giles said absently, grabbing another text and opening it to cross-reference the passage. "The Evil Dead certainly aren't going to sit around while we do our research."

"Patrol?" Buffy asked, perking up and looking longingly at the door. Her gaze fell back on the books. She looked back at the door. Willow needed her. Willow needed this research to get done so that she'd be all right. But hadn't she done a lot already?

"You could maybe check out Willie's," Xander offered slowly, seeing how antsy his friend was. "You know, see if you can get the skinny on this Trickster guy from the local demons. Maybe find out where the Construct is, or if there's anybody else working for him we need to worry about it."

"Great idea, Xander," Buffy said, her eyes lighting up. "Dawn, don't stay up too late," she said, standing and kissing her sister briefly on the forehead. Dawn got the long-suffering look on her face only a teenager could pull off, but leaned towards the contact, rolling her eyes even as she stifled a smile. "I'll be back after a few sweeps and a run by Willie's. You guys gonna' handle dinner?"

"I'm on it," Xander assured her.

"I'll go, too," Spike said, rising to his feet. "Watch your back and all."

"I'll be fine, Spike," Buffy said absently, missing the look of hurt that crossed his face as she grabbed a coat and some weapons.

"Yes, I dare say you should remain here," Giles said with a frown. He certainly didn't like having Spike around, but he liked the idea of Spike tagging after Buffy even less. "We're already losing one pair of eyes. If you're going to be useful, get back to reading."

"Fine," Spike said stiffly, sitting down and picking his book up as Buffy left the house.

Buffy jogged lightly to the street, warming up her stiff limbs, then kicking up to a faster pace. She felt all eird after sitting still for so long, pouring over books and attempting to get some meaning out of cryptic words that hadn't even made sense when they had been written down hundreds of years ago.

Research really wasn't her thing.

But this was. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air enter her lungs, crisp and clean. She dodged the glow of the streetlamps, instinctually keeping to the shadows. It had been something of a revelation when she had first noticed doing that. After returning from … heaven? … she had stayed away from bright lights, keeping to the darkness as much as possible.

It had been disturbing at first, when she had noticed it, but now it was just kind of … comforting. Like a security blanket, in a way. She hated the violence and the pain that fighting brought, but there was this strange quality to the darkness that made her feel safe. It struck a chord in her being that vibrated through her and told her that this was where she was needed, where she was in control, and where she belonged. The night was her time.

The day was filled with bills and chores and responsibilities she had never been adequately prepared for. The night, however, was something she had lived in for the past six years, and it was an old friend in comparison. A friend with violent tendencies, sure, but a friend nonetheless.

Had she felt this way Before? She couldn't remember. She knew that she had felt very differently about a lot of things Before, and since coming back, she wasn't always clear on where the lines were drawn. Or maybe there were no lines. Maybe there were squiggly dashes in random patterns that only made sense from way up high, and if you tilted your head to one side and kind of squinted.

Still, she felt at peace here, in the graveyard. She walked along the pathway between the stones that juttedfrom the earth, some new and clean, standing straight, the others old and worn and askew. There were many graveyards in Sunnydale, of course. Between the high daily body count and the walking dead, there was a pretty big demand for them. But since she had been back, this one called to her. Like she belonged here, walking among the dead.

In a way, she herself was the walking dead. Buffy shivered, then felt a strange but familiar tightening in her stomach. She found a stake in her hand before she had time to even process the signals her senses were sending to her, and then she was rolling away as a dark form went sailing over her head.

She came to her feet in a flash, the sharp piece of wood in her hand finding the heart of her victim and dispersing it in a shower of ash. The tingling, however, didn't stop.

Before she could puzzle out the full ramifications of that, an orderly group of vampires stood before her, lined up three by two and standing at attention.

"You see the price of disorder?" a vampire said, stepping from the shadows. "The rash one is naught but dust, and even the Slayer is given pause as she looks upon us."

"Oh, I'm just deciding which one of you to introduce to Mr. Pointy first," Buffy said, getting into a fighting stance and eyeing them speculatively.

"Attack," the lead vampire said, and the vampires advanced.

Six to one. This, Buffy mused, was likely to get interesting.

The front three reached her as she held her ground, swiveling to and fro to keep each in her sights. A well-coordinated attack followed, each moving in simultaneously instead of watching like idiots, only to find an empty space where Buffy had been as she rolled backwards out of the way.

They continued advancing slowly, gauging their opponent. They had heard of the Slayer. Who hadn't? But they had also heard that she had been gone that summer, and had been different upon her return. And their newfound tactics gave them an air of cool confidence as their stolen blood sang in their veins, calling for the kill. And for the blood of the Slayer.

"Y'know, as fascinating as this is," Buffy said casually, backing up a step for each step they advanced. "I have a bartender to interrogate," she finished, hopping onto the gravestone she knew was behind her. A quick underhanded stab slipped right by one vamps defenses as the other two tackled her off her perch. She fell heavily to the ground, but her arm was free, having been swung away from her body when the two vamps had connected.

She brought her arm back around swiftly, finding one vamps heart through his back and blinking and grimacing in the subsequent shower of dust. The third vamp pinned her arm, moving his head to her neck. Buffy struggled, trying to flip the vamp over, but found herself unable to move her arms. In a last ditch effort, she partially sat up, effectively pressing her neck into the vampire's face.

He tried to latch on, just barely breaking the skin when Buffy rocked back suddenly, using her knees to send the vampire flying over her head. She rolled to her feet once again and saw the other three vampires moving carefully around the gravestone.

"Okay, four to one," she muttered, pulling another stake from her jacket, twirling them in her hands and turning her body and backing away so that all four vampires were in her line of sight.

She paused a moment, sizing them up, her thoughts drifting away from her and into the night. This was what she lived for. Fights in the dark with undead creatures she couldn't help but feel a strange kinship for. They crawled from their graves, even as she had, and were thrown into an existence of fierce violence, fighting to survive in the dark. They didn't know peace, as she had known it. Could they ever? Were their souls set free when she dusted them, or were their souls already free from the excruciating process that had made them nothing but blood and flesh?

She had never feared the dark as a child. There were no monsters, no hidden dangers. Just a comfortable stillness she had always enjoyed. But now she was older, and she knew better. And she had been thrown to this new darkness, strange and terrifying, with the understanding that she would not survive it. That one day, the darkness would take her.

A swift kick, and one was knocked back, but two more jumped in, trying to use their greater weight to take Buffy to the ground. It didn't help as Buffy got a stake in front of her, letting one vamp impale itself as she stepped into the dust, letting the other fly past her.

The first one she had kicked away came back, and the other grabbed her from behind, his supernatural strength pinning her arms to her sides. The last - the one she had sent sprawling before the next three stepped up - regained his feet, moving towards her.

"You never learn, do you?" she muttered, ducking down and bending over, sending the vampire holding onto her flying into the one directly ahead of her, breaking its hold and taking her stance.

Then the last was upon her, a right cross sending her reeling back and making her head spin. A flash of light seared across her vision as the fist connected with her face, and a ringing in her ears drowned out all sound.

Time seemed to slow as the snarling vampire moved in. Reflexively, her hands came up, blocking his blows, then slipping through his defenses, her stake driving through his chest - crushing through his ribs with the force behind it - and rupturing its unbeating heart.

Her eyes drifted shut as the shower of dust spread around her, and a small smile drifted across her features. It was clear, now. She had been Chosen - not to be a victim of the dark, but to be its champion.

The last two advanced, and she let them, grinning broadly as they attacked her, blocking their blows and returning them. No, she was not a victim of the dark, but its savior. She would make it what it had been for her when she was young - safe and warm and monster-free.

The vampires had no chance under the renewed vigor and strength of the Slayer, the two to one odds giving them no advantage as she bore up under the brunt of their blows, pushing them back, gaining ground, and finally, ending their existence in a fantastic shower of dust.

They were invaders - interlopers - into the night. It was a part of her, and she was a part of it, and they couldn't touch her here - not unless she let them.

The vampire leader applauded, a small smile playing across his demonic visage.

"You work for him, right?" Buffy said without preamble, recognizing that the newly organized vamps were likely influenced by the Trickster, at the very least indirectly.

"He is my master, yes," the vampire said.

"Well, you tell him from me that the nighttime is mine, and I've never been one for following rules," she said.

The vampire slipped into the shadows, but Buffy wasn't worried. She would stake him later, after he had delivered her message. He couldn't hide from her - not in the dark.

"You follow his rule without knowing," came the voice of the vampire as it left the area.

With a scowl, Buffy started off. She'd run by Willie's, then head back and make sure everyone was all right. She didn't expect any trouble at the house, but even if there was, between Giles, Xander and Spike, they could handle it.

As usual, the room when silent when Buffy walked in. She stifled a giggle. There was something so ... Old Cheesy Western about walking into Willie's with a couple of stakes in her pockets. Maybe she should make little holsters for them?

"I don't want no trouble," Willie said quickly, immediately noticing the quiet that had come over the bar.

"I don't either," Buffy said, seating herself on a stool. "And I'd really rather not punch you this time, too."

"Oh, yeah, okay," Willie said with a nod. "You gonna' ... I dunno, pull me over the bar? Maybe kick me a little?"

"Look, I just want you to talk. Without the display, okay? I'm kinda' in a hurry," Buffy said. "I'd rather not have to get all She-Ra Princess of Power on you."

"Huh?" Willie returned.

"Look - organized vamps. Some guy named The Trickster. Big trouble brewing. Just talk before I have to remove some of your teeth in the not-so-nice-and-gentle-way."

"F-fine," Willie stammered, looking around uneasily and hoping his peculiar clientele wasn't going to turn on him for talking to the Slayer. "Word is, he's a real bastard, but fair. They say he's gonna' show up within the next few days, y'know? And that he's gonna band everyone together and make the whole world a safe place for his chosen people. Not that he's referring to people, mind you - all the demons."

"A couple of days?" Buffy asked. "Are you sure?"

"That's the word," Willie said, backing up and holding up the bar towel in his hand defensively. "I'm just repeating what I'm hearing, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know ... anything else?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, kind of," Willie said slowly, her brow furrowing as he thought. "They say it's like ... well, there are a lot of new demons in town. The Hellmouth kinda' calls 'em, y'know? But it's like right now the Hellmouth is getting some kind of signal boost, like suddenly it's an FM radio instead of AM, right?"

"I gotcha'," Buffy said, nodding and moving to rise.

"Could you ..." Willie began, only to trail off when Buffy looked back at him.

"What?" she asked.

"Well, could you kinda' ... pretend to be pissed off, like I didn't tell you anything?" he asked uncertainly.

"Fine," Buffy said with a sigh, then continued, raising her voice a little. "Willie, you little weasel," she yelled, grabbing his shirt and shaking him. "You're the boil on the butt of humanity! You're the scum between the toes of all mankind! I can't believe you would betray your people with your silence!" She released him with a little push, then stormed out of the bar.

Buffy immediately broke into a run as soon as she was out the door, heading back to her house. If what Willie had heard was right, their timetable had just been upped. Whatever the Trickster had planned, he expected it to work within the next few days, and that meant Willow was in danger.

It felt good, though, to be running. To let her legs and arms carry her through the night, the whipping against her face. It felt good to feel.

And she was, she noted, actually feeling. A smile crossed her face, and she ran faster.

[Sassette]

Resonance (continued):

The familiar street, then the house, loomed before her. She gained the steps with one bound, then opened the door, walking into the light and warmth of her home and her friends.

It was nice, she realized, to be welcome in the light. So many slayers before her had existed solely in the night, their lives nothing but the darkness they couldn't understand even as they tried to save it. But that's what they didn't understand - they weren't fighting the dark - they were cleansing it. Making it good again.

But she was lucky. She had these people who reminded her why it was worth it. Because it was worth it. Any price was worth making the world, light or dark, safe for these people.

"Hi guys," she said, shutting the door behind her.

"Buffy," Giles greeted with a smile. "How was patrol?"

"Six organized vamps in some kind of fighting unit," Buffy related. "Willie says the Hellmouth is attracting even more big ugly friends than usual, and that the word on the street is, The Trickster expects the Hellmouth to let him out in a few days."

"A few days?" Giles asked, his eyebrows raising. "Dear Lord," he muttered.

"Right," Buffy said with a nod. "Willow and Tara okay?" she asked.

"They're fine," Xander said. "Well, we think. I mean, they're not making any noise, so they're probably fine."

Buffy rolled her eyes, then headed to the stairs. "I'm just gonna' check on 'em real quick," she said, taking the stairs two at a time. She knocked lightly on the door, mindful of the one embarrassing incident when she hadn't knocked first and the eyeful she had gotten.

"Yeah?" a sleepy voice called.

Slowly, Buffy opened the door, peeking her head in. "How are you two doing?" she asked softly, seeing Tara blinking blearily at her.

"Fine," Tara said slowly. "Willow's still sleeping," she added needlessly.

"Then I won't bug you," Buffy said. "I just wanted to check."

"Is it time for us to get up?" Tara questioned, craning her head to look at the clock.

"You two are fine where you are," she said, a small smile crossing her face. A Willow-sized lump was sprawled over Tara under the covers, the top of Willow's red head peeking out from the blankets.

Buffy's hearing picked up a squeak, and the Willow-Lump shifted, and a voice murmured, "no frogs in the bathtub." Stifling a laugh, Buffy left the room.

"No ... no frogs," Willow said again, her face pulling into a frown and her voice growing more insistent.

"Honey, there are no frogs in the bathtub," Tara assured her, slipping her hands under the blanket to rub Willow's back soothingly.

"Y'damn right," Willow said emphatically, her head nodding against Tara's shoulder.

Tara giggled, unable to stop herself. Sleepy Willow was so incredibly endearing. And perfect. And wonderful. And sweet. She could go on and on.

Willow grumbled a protest as her personal mattress bounced beneath her, shaking her with the giggles. She raised her head and blinked twice, her gaze unfocused, but still finding Tara's face.

"Hey," she said softly, a slow sweet smile crossing her face as her vision cleared and she saw Tara. Now that was the perfect way to wake up.

"Hey yourself," Tara said, smiling back and brushing a bit of Willow's hair from her face. "How are you feeling?" she asked on a whisper, something about the moment keeping her from speaking at a normal level.

"Mmm... I'm feeling all ramfeezled," Willow said with a sigh, letting her head drop back down to Tara's chest.

"Ramfeezled?" Tara asked with a laugh, wrapping her arms around Willow and hugging her tightly. "What in the world does 'ramfeezled' mean?"

"Look it up," Willow said impishly, returning the hug as best she could from her half-across-Tara's-body position.

"Why?" Tara asked innocently, rolling Willow onto her side and turning to face her, kissing her lightly. "I have a walking talking dictionary right here."

"Because you learn it better if you look it up," Willow said stubbornly, reaching up a hand and stroking Tara's cheek. Tara's eyes drift shut and she hummed happily, pulling Willow into a snuggle and sighing.

"But then I'd have to get out of bed," she murmured against Willow's neck.

"Oh, well, we can't have that," Willow said, hugging Tara around the shoulders as Tara moved slightly and nuzzled her collarbone. "It means tired, but y'know? Tired gets used too much, and it's not even that good of a word. Poor 'ramfeezled' is a great word, but nobody ever uses it. And it sounds like it means 'tired' more than 'tired' does, kinda' like 'fizzled'. Because that's how I kinda' feel ... all fizzled out and ramfeezled."

Tara laughed and kissed the conveniently located collarbone, grinning at Willow. She kissed her softly, pressing gently against those lips that she knew could go on about the merits of 'tired' versus 'ramfeezled' for a good ten minutes.

Willow smiled against Tara's mouth, feeling all ramfeezled, but happy. Definitely happy. Though, she needed a better word for 'happy' if she objected to using 'tired'. Jocund, maybe. Yeah ... ramfeezled, but jocund. She was chock full of ramfeezley jocundity, because Tara was here and they were together, and all snuggly and kissing, and that was oh so nice.

"You're babbling right now, aren't you?" Tara asked, moving back just a fraction, her breath playing across Willow's lips.

"Uh-huh," Willow said, her hand moving from Tara's shoulder to play happily with her hair. "Ramfeezley jocundity," she said with a smile, her mind still playing with the idea as Tara laughed softly and trailed little kisses all over her face.

"Honey?" she said inbetween kisses. "I'm pretty sure 'jocundity' is right, but I'm almost positive there is no such word as 'ramfeezley'."

"Fine," Willow said with a mock frown. "Just spoil the breadth and depth of my jocundity with your infernal logic."

"I'd rather get rid of your ramfeezley-ness," Tara said seriously, placing a last lingering kiss on Willow's mouth. "Are you okay? Do you need water, or food, or maybe more napping?"

"Mmm," Willow murmured, stretching her tired and aching body. "Other than the tired, I'm feeling kinda' good," she said, a hint of wonder in her tone. "We should probably get with the researchy stuff," she went on, a hint of regret and a kind of childish 'but I don't wanna'!' tone in her voice.

"Hmmm ... I don't want to, either," Tara said softly. "I'd rather stay here."

"I just want to spend the rest of my life using chocolate to fingerpaint the entire works of Sappho in the original Greek on your back and licking it off. Is that too much to ask?" Willow asked plaintively.

"Oh, wow," Tara said, blinking, somewhat taken aback by Willow's statement.

"What? You have something against chocolate?" Willow asked innocently, a wide smile crossing her face as she caressed the body part she wanted to use as a plate. "I could use whipped cream instead."

"No, chocolate is fine," Tara squeaked as Willow pressed her close and started kissing her neck.

"O'course," Willow's muffled voice came to her ears. "You're tasty without it," she said, licking the soft skin over Tara's pulse point lightly.

"Oh, wow," Tara said again, her breath quickening and her pulse picking up under Willow's mouth.

A knock sounded at the door. "Hey, guys, I brought dinner," a soft voice came through the wood.

"You should really eat something," Tara said seriously, her concern for Willow warring with that desire that was always smoldering just under the surface. "And you're all ramfeezley. You should rest."

"I don't want to eat ... food," Willow said wickedly, sucking lightly on Tara's pulse point.

The door started to open, and Willow jumped back, glaring crankily at the door. Buffy entered backwards, balancing a tray in her hands. She turned, and spotted a disgruntled and rumpled Willow sitting up in bed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Buffy said with a chagrined smile. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"She was just starting to wake up anyway," Tara said quickly, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. She quickly arranged a couple of pillows behind Willow and settled her there.

"Thanks, honey," Willow said, unable to stay cranky when her best girl - the best girl - was showing such automatic tender care for her, like it was impossible for Tara to do anything else. Which, she mused, was probably true. She scootched aside to give Tara room to lean against the pillows, too. She didn't want her girl getting a crick in her back.

"Okay, kids," Buffy said, placing the tray across their laps. "Dinner a la' Anya, so ... be nice," she said with a smirk.

"How's the research going?" Willow asked.

"We'll go over it when you two are up and around," Buffy said pointedly. "No research talk in here. You two eat, then nap again, or come downstairs, but for now, just ... stay here," she went on, then left as quickly as she had entered.

"Oookay," Tara said, drawing out the word and raising her eyebrows as she looked over at Willow.

"Yeah, that was ... weird," Willow agreed. "Though, she's probably just worried. Y'know."

"Or she's hiding something," Tara said with a frown.

"Nuh-uh," Willow said, shaking her head. "No talking about it - Dr. Buffy's orders."

"Right," Tara said, her features softening as she looked back over at Willow. "Dr. Buffy's orders."

[Sassette]

Because this fic is so long, and it's painful to open this thread, stuff has been shuffled around. And that's four and a half hours of my life I'll never get back ... that'll teach me to write places other than at home (and good golly, THAT was an awkward sentence, but I'm a little too tired to care).



**W.I.: No, the Smitten Squad doesn't have to start over. And when everything is settled and not so crazy, and xita has time to send me the old thread, I'll find a place to put up all the fake updates and things so y'all can refer back to them. I know you guys had a great time doing those, and I had a great time reading them, so as soon as they're available to me, I'll find a way to make them available to you.



**maudmac: Thanks *G* I'm glad you gave it another chance, and you liked it. I know the stream-of-consciousness thing was extremely weird ... I'm actually kind of surprised that >anyone< got past that. Heh ... and anyone can join (or not join ... repeat after me "I am an Individual" ... ) the squad, so ... have fun *G*



**jomarch: Ooh ... more cheers? Yay!



**tommo: Gosh, thanks *G* It's incredibly nice to hear things like that ... it makes me feel like less of a freakin' weirdo for sitting down and writing it in the first place. And I have to admit ... I get upset with a poorly written Anya, too ... because there are so many incredibly fun things you can do with her. Ummm... that came out sounding a lot more lesbian than I had - aw, hell - who am I kidding? That came out >exactly< as lesbian as I intended.



**Canadian Kitty: Sorry, no joke. Some of the parts I have planned out might be too much stuff to all go in one part, but if I stick to the gameplan, this story is quite done on Part 50. Then I'll probably do an epilogue to tie up any loose ends, and then Boom! Done Fic!



**Pixie: You hit refresh 20 times? Damn, you're a trooper. Hopefully, it'll now work after the third or fourth try



-Sass