The Sacrifice by LilBit

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All the characters from BUFFY: THE VAMPIRE SLAYER are the property of Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy, Inc.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Feedback: Of course. Please!
Spoilers: Post-Chosen.
Pairing: Willow/Kennedy

Summary: The final battle is over but something terrible is happening to Willow. How far will Kennedy go to keep her safe?

"The doctor said they had to take him to surgery…to stop internal bleeding." Faith's voice quivered a bit, betraying her attempt to seem unaffected by Robin's grave condition. Though she made the statement while looking directly at Buffy, her words floated in the air waiting for anyone to catch them and give her a reassuring reply.

"He's going to be ok, Faith. He's strong," Kennedy said as she gently placed her hand on the shoulder of the rogue slayer standing to her side. She had never seen doubt on the slayer's face before and it looked uncomfortable on her, like ill fitting clothes. "You should sit down and try to relax. They'll let us know as soon as they finish." Kennedy slowly started to guide Faith to the row of chairs lining the back wall of the emergency waiting room. The older slayer willingly followed, slumped in one, leaned over and, placing her elbows on the top of her thighs, ran her hands through her thick, dark brunette hair.

The battered and somewhat broken army of now full fledged slayers and Scooby Gang members had arrived at the Santa Bruallo Hospital several hours earlier just as the sun was starting to part ways with another day. Medical attention for the seriously wounded was the first priority after the short farewell of sorts given by the core Scooby members to the giant 'hole' that was Sunnydale. Many had been lost and some of those who survived had wounds that would leave an ever present reminder of the day on their flesh. Scars would take other forms, too. Xander would carry his wound in his heart; grateful for the success of the battle and the survival of the world, 'again', but silently knowing that there would always be a sliver of disdain for the price that the success had cost him.

He had just returned from making a coffee run. "The only thing worse than being in a hospital", he commented while handing out the lukewarm caffeine boosters to their assigned recipients, "is drinking hospital coffee while in a hospital." Xander was doing anything and everything to keep his mind from thinking about his irrepressible Anya. He would break down later, when he was by himself, when he could reveal the scared little boy that he knew he really was without her by his side. But not now. Now he had to help his friends.

To his left, he noticed Faith in the chair dejected and looked over to Willow who was leaning against the wall opposite to Faith. The redhead caught his glance and gave a sad smile. He tilted his head slightly toward the slayer in the chair as if to ask, "What'd I miss?" Willow mouthed the words "Robin" and "surgery." Xander then felt badly for speaking so nonchalantly when he entered the room. When he'd left to get coffee, Wood was being attended to by a doctor but there hadn't been any signs that more was needed other than some fancy stitch work.

Buffy was still standing in the middle of the room. She hadn't moved since Faith spoke, only coming to life to take the cup of coffee offered by her dear friend and say thank you with her eyes. She had been seen already by a resident. Dawn had demanded it. Her slayer healing powers had made the stab wound in her side nothing more than a deep puncture. The baby faced resident had washed the wound, applied antiseptic and a bandage. He then told the blond slayer to "lay off any heavy work for a few days." She couldn't help but chuckle and dutifully replied that she'd try.

"Ok, we need to figure out what we do now. We can't stay here. The girls who needed medical attention have gotten it and now we need to find a place for us to crash 'til we get our ducks in a row." The blonde slayer said then turned her head to the right and looked at Faith, feeling genuine sorrow for her.

"I'll stay with Faith and the rest of you take the girls on the bus and find a motel. Where's Giles? He should go with you, too."

"He went to some administrative office thingy to take care of paperwork." Dawn stated plainly and quickly added emphatically, "and I'm staying if you're staying," staring Buffy directly in the eyes as she drew her line in the sand. She had been sitting in a chair behind her sister. If truth be told, Dawn wanted nothing more than to be anywhere than where she was. She'd had her fill of saving the world for a while. She just wanted to be with her big sister and feel safe, without having to worry or think about anything except what to feed her emerging hunger. But she knew Buffy wouldn't leave, so she would remain in the cold, sterile emergency room for however long it took.

Mouth beginning to open in protest, Buffy decided otherwise and returned a loving smile to her little sister knowing this argument was lost before it started. "OK, Dawn," Buffy said compliantly. She knew she had come close to leaving her sister once again and couldn't bring herself to make Dawn part with her so soon. Her sister needed her near, and the blonde slayer realized she needed her little sister just as much.

By the time Xander came around with the coffee, Kennedy was seated next to the rogue slayer, her hand now gingerly on Faith's back not knowing how else to console the woman. She took two cups from him and slowly lowered one to Faith's clenched hands which took it and merely gripped fingers around the momentary distraction. Though she hadn't known the rogue slayer that long, there was an untapped quality in her that Kennedy sensed. In spite of the stories she had heard from Dawn and Anya, she had decided to form her own opinion of the slayer's worth based upon her present actions and not past transgressions. Kennedy knew all too well the ill consequences that could befall a foolish and resentful youth. It was obvious to the younger slayer that Faith had had a difficult, if not tragic, past. The person she saw now was one attempting to rid herself of her inner demons, and for that Kennedy felt she deserved a chance.

Upon hearing Buffy's concession to Dawn, The younger slayer stood up, caught a glance from Willow and gave a small smile. "The girls were almost done making their phone calls last I checked. I'll go find Giles and gather up everyone."

Upon their arrival at the hospital, Kennedy had helped to get medical attention for the ones that were in need. She scoped out the facilities and found a bank of pay phones in the hospital's general lobby across the hall from the emergency room waiting area. With keen organization, she took the others to the lobby to begin the 'I'm alive and well' phone calls to parents or whoever else was waiting frantically for news. She had then asked her fellow slayers to wait in the lobby's lounge before she headed back to the others.

The younger slayer's ability to concentrate on her actions since her arrival was only possible because she knew her redhead had made it through the apocalypse unhurt. During the bus ride to their present destination, she had never left her girlfriend's side. As they sat together, Willow resting against her, Kennedy asked, more than once, if she was hurt. After witnessing Willow's transformation as the spell rushed through the witch like a flood, Kennedy knew in her heart that all was good with her girl. But her brain commanded that she get concrete proof. It wasn't until those emerald green eyes locked onto hers, a gentle hand lightly caressed her cheek and she heard her love reassuringly say, "No bruises, no bumps. I really am fine, Sweetie," that the younger slayer was at peace.

Standing now in the room with the Scoobies, Kennedy felt a new obligation. Before the final fight, the brunette had respected Buffy and Faith, even if she hadn't always agreed with them. However, because of the spell and their newly formed shared lineage, she was now connected to these slayers and that meant they had her loyalty. It took an avalanche of slayer power thundering into every cell in her body to make her understand that common bond, but she did, completely. What mattered to the slayers, mattered to her. What they protected, she would protect. And so, she gladly dealt with the other girls, to take just a little of the burden off their shoulders.

With Kennedy's words, Willow looked up and saw that beautiful face smiling back. She admired Kennedy for her willingness to help, her instinctive nature that made her handle this situation without request. The redhead mostly admired her girlfriend's tender ways and genuinely comforting words, both on the bus and at the hospital, to people she didn't know well and who, at times, had been harsh to her, though not always unjustified. This was a side of the brunette she unveiled sparingly to all but Willow.

Sensing that all was under control and events were coming to an end at the hospital, Willow realized that she wanted to be out of that place. It was a too painful reminder of the end result of fighting 'the good fight' against all that was evil in the world. She knew that this wasn't the end of the fight, just the end for right now, for the near future. She hoped. Although how long that would be was a bit tricky in a world of demons, multiple dimensions and magicks. She didn't want to think anymore about injuries, dead friends or lost possessions. When the spell's power, the scythe's power, went through her, she felt connected to 'all' existence. The witch wanted to hold onto that soothing feeling, own it for as long as possible, so that some speck of its magnitude might remain as a part of her and not just as the memory of the thing itself.

Looking at her lover, Willow wanted to be in her arms where she felt safe, like a scared child cradled by her mother after a bad nightmare. With her, she knew she would find the solace and peace she needed at this moment. She wanted to be held by Kennedy, hear the rhythmic sound of her heartbeat and drift off to sleep knowing tomorrow would be better day.

Emerald eyes followed as Kennedy started toward the hall entranceway. The younger slayer never made it out of the room because Giles marched in and stopped as he almost walked into Xander. He looked preoccupied but surprisingly full of energy-the success of the mission lifting the weight of doom from his mind.

"Good you're all here." Seeing Faith, he instantly knew that they were aware of Robin's situation.

"I see you know Robin is in surgery," he said seriously. "I've been told it may be a few hours before they can tell us anything."

"I've taken care of as much of the paperwork for the girls as I could. I heard some nurses talking about reports of a massive earthquake in Sunnydale, so, I…umm…used that as our cover. The staff didn't question anything. It appears apocalyptic wounds look much the same as those caused by collapsing earthquake debris. How lucky for us," he added sarcastically. "I think we should discuss an exit plan."

"Dawn and I are staying here with Faith until we get news on Robin. You and the rest need to find a motel where we can regroup and figure out our next move. You can either come back or leave a message for us with the nurse's desk so we know how to reach you."

After working out the final details, all but Faith, Dawn and Buffy headed toward the main lobby to the other slayers, Giles leading the way.

Kennedy waited for Willow and took her hand in her own; squeezing just enough to let the redhead know everything was going to be alright, that she would make sure of it. Willow looked into chocolate eyes. Getting to know Kennedy the past several months, she realized that her girlfriend possessed the qualities of a slayer even before infused with the slayer power. As sure as evil would someday show its ugly face again, the witch knew that the dark haired slayer would be there to fight it. It was the destiny for which she had trained so long, sacrificed so much and thought had abandoned her. From just the squeeze of a hand, Willow knew that Kennedy would do whatever was needed to protect them all. What that meant for Willow, she didn't want nor had the ability to contemplate at that moment. She let out a deep breath and continued to walk with her girlfriend.

Through their turbulent journey of friendship, distrust and hatred, the two slayers had somehow managed to escape with a clearer understanding of each other, and a shared hope that the future would be kinder to the both of them.

Buffy walked over and sat next to her one time enemy, now sister-in-arms. She motioned for Dawn to join her. There the three sat, exhausted, hungry and emotionally spent. They sat there, and waited…in silence, nothing more needing to be said.

It is all of existence, for all time and before. It has a name only because man was too small to comprehend that it was incapable of explanation—'The Great Mystery'. Many other names have been used to capture its form – god, universe, heaven. It has been revered and venerated by the significant and trivial alike. Religion, philosophy and science have tried to unlock its secrets, origin and order. The Great Mystery is the reason for being; it is being. Because it is, everything is connected. Time and matter are man made concepts. Their existence is fluid, dimensions existing simultaneously.

Because The Great Mystery encapsulates the connected, there must also be balance. Actions that create a shift in a dimension elicit an exchange, whether dressed in the vernacular garb of quantum energy, mystical events or spiritual miracles.

And so it was with the spell that unleashed the power of the scythe and awakened the world's vampire slayers. The 'creation' of untold numbers of these girls caused an alteration of The Great Mystery. Power was created which resulted in imbalance. This imbalance commanded a shift of energy to elsewhere. Because of birth, there must be death.

No one in the clanship could remember a time when the old woman was not among them. The creases etched on her worn, haggard face proffered a life that had experienced many generations, if that was possible. To say she was old was as descriptive as saying the ocean is deep. The old crippled woman had earned her respect because of her timelessness. She was also feared. Her thinning ghost white mane, cracked yellowing skin and twisted legs were more than reminiscent of folklore spirits that walked the earth to spy on mortals, taking score on their worthiness.

The old woman though had long since found no further need of her being, of continuing her journey on this plane of existence. She pondered on her ongoing ability to capture life in her lungs when other faculties were slowly abandoning her. Mobility and strength were becoming long, lost friends. She was losing her sight…but not 'the' sight.

She was the first and only to sense the infusion of energy not twenty-four hours earlier. It swept past her like a fall breeze, warm and welcoming but foreshadowing great change. Strong magicks had erupted, of that she was certain. The question of her continued existence was now answered. She was once again being led down her life's path. No words were needed from her, no meetings necessary. The truth would be revealed to her people soon. And so she waited.

The clanship of the Truxdeiro, to which the old woman belonged, was not the native people stereotyped in overproduced Hollywood movies. They did not live as a tribe, out in the wilderness and away from the trappings of modern civilization. They, for the most part, lived in and among the other residents of La Founita, a small town in southern California. They shopped at Wal-Mart, ate McDonalds and watched lousy reality tv, like the rest of America. But they were unlike their fellow citizens in one very important aspect. They had 'the way'. They were descendants of an ancient Central American civilization that could connect to the netherworlds. They were ferry masters, of sorts, among the dimensions.

Folklore has it that thousands of years ago, one of the clan's elders, grief stricken at the loss of her child, made such a humbling plea to the Gods to have her lost one returned that they acquiesced and bartered a deal with her. She would be allowed her child if her clan and their generations thereafter accepted to be keepers of the divide. It would be their obligation to be the turnkey from this to other dimensions. The mother, blinded by her own despair, agreed to the tender without consult with the other elders.

The child was returned and history began, the Truxdeiro carrying the weight of 'the way' like a slave's shackles. For in the beginning, the dimensions were always in flux, shifting to and from, beating down like the ocean's tides. It became not only a duty but a burden. The constant folding of dimensions had a draining emotional effect on the clanship. Many were too weak and succumbed to the fits. Over many generations, the clanship was able to centralize its power into a gifted few, ones that had a keen sense of the cosmic. Others among them deserted, wanting nothing more to do with their legacy. The dimensional fluctuations also slowed, balance and equilibrium finding their station in The Great Mystery. This brought some respite to the clan's people.

Eventually, over time, the remaining clan members made La Founita their home. This was not by chance. The area had a strong cosmic connection. It was in a direct line with Sunnydale, site of intense demonic activity, and Bandita, a small Mexican town known for its mystical bond. The Truxdeiro went, not by choice. Their 'gift' had always been kept from view from others, a surreptitious obligation. When inadvertently discovered, their fellow townspeople branded them as evil and ran them out.

And so was the clanship's cause for migrating to their present quiet little domicile to carry on their duty. Most tried to live the American dream; several, including the old woman, hung onto the ancient ways. Regardless of their vocation during the day, it was the gifted's calling to perform the rituals that transferred the lost and misdirected, be they corporeal or not, to their proper home. The rites still required elaborate ceremony with all clan members in attendance giving freely of their essence to assist in the subject's journey.

In this time, the anointed was one called Aguilo, the clanship's medicine man and La Founita's largest artichoke farmer. In the long ago, it was the old woman, but she had been judged by the elders to be too old and too weak in the ways to preside over the sacred duty. So now, she watched and assisted when called upon by the medicine man. And she was called, for Aguilo knew the old woman still contained a sea of knowledge he could but hope to learn.

Fearing further retribution, the Truxdeiro held their heritage like a hostage. Nothing was ever said within ear's distance of nonclan members. Communications between clan members were cryptic, never written and never in English. Sacred rituals were always performed away from the eyes of the nonclan, in a remote wooded area outside of town. Neither ritual dress nor adornment were worn nor displayed except at the consecrated site. The location was surrounded by rock formations that stood like sentry guards to the uninitiated. The ceremony, regardless of the object of the shift, was performed in a crude form of Spanish, the bastard child of the ancient's mother tongue – another obstacle to deflect suspicion. The whole was a sight to behold, humbling and frightening.

And so the clanship of the Truxdeiro went about their daily lives, not knowing when they would next be required to uphold their holy obligation. Not knowing that the next wave was about to hit the shore.

Kennedy was sitting in the chair by the motel room window awake for the last several hours. She was naked, legs bent up tight to her chest, arms grasped around them to keep the night's chill in the room from penetrating her. She was peering out the sliver of an opening in the window's curtains. Like everything else in the room, the window treatments were old, drab and in need of repair. They didn't quite fit the expanse of the window, causing a slight crevasse at the two panels' expected union. A soft, hazy beam of moonlight snuck its way through the parting, nipping the end of Kennedy's toes before ending its illuminating path across the shabby brown carpeting.

From the moment she sat in the scratchy, uncomfortable chair, she had been engaged in an examination of her situation. The redhead sleeping peacefully under worn out and over bleached sheets was the reason for her introspection. That woman had become the reason for everything the brunette did.

The motel they presently inhabited was about twenty minutes from the hospital. One of the nurses had given Giles the name and directions. "It's not the Ritz…hell, it's not even the Howard Johnson, but it's close and has a restaurant nearby." Accepting Giles' story that they had been out on a school field trip and accidentally got caught in the Sunnydale earthquake, the nurse figured a hot meal and a hotter shower were the main priorities.

So the Deering Motor Inn had become their post-apocalyptic sanctuary, for at least one night, a pit stop in what seemed to be their natural southern migration to LA, to Angel. Dusk had made its appearance and left by the time the motorized band of demon fighters pulled into the driveway. After parking the bus, for what Giles hoped would be the last time but knew was not, he made his way to the main office, while the rest of the passengers exited to stretch their legs. After a few minutes of spying her surroundings, Kennedy whispered into Willow's ear and then walked in Giles' direction.

When the dark haired slayer caught up to the watcher, he was already in discussion with the motel manager concerning the number of rooms needed, length of stay and payment method. "…We were caught up in that earthquake mess and I dare say I wasn't expecting to have to deal with this type of financial situation," Giles said with as much feigned uncertainty as he could muster. "Sir, if you could let us have the rooms tonight, I can get you the money in the morning." Kennedy heard actual pleading in his voice. 'Nice touch,' she thought.

Before the motel manager could reply, a tanned hand discreetly placed a small stack of twenties on the counter.

"There's four hundred. That should cover us for a few days if we need it." The statement was direct.

"Kennedy…You don't nee...You shouldn't…" stammered Giles as he adjusted his glasses, not knowing how to respond to the young slayer's action or how she came about the money.

She turned around and left, hearing silence and then Giles restarting his conversation with the man behind the desk. Of all the practical lessons that Kennedy's father had tried to teach her, only two really took hold. The one that proved itself right again this night was 'always carry money.' For her that meant her handy credit card, she never left home without it-or its PIN. Luckily, ATMs were everywhere, including hospital lobbies.

"Operation bathroom a success?" Willow asked when she felt arms wrap around her waist and lips on the side of her neck.

Shortly thereafter, Giles returned with a handful of room keys. Girls doubled up and hauled off to their rooms after receiving a key and one last 'I'm very proud of all of you' speech from the watcher. Xander roomed with Andrew, caught between the geek being a constant reminder of the reason Anya was gone and being the perfect distraction from thinking about her due to his incessant sci-fi babbling.

"Yes Willow, I have a room. Of course I drew the line at sharing. It just doesn't become a man of my age. I'm going back to the hospital to see if anything's changed."

With that, Giles walked up to Kennedy and handed her a room key. He gave her a look that let her know she had his gratitude, that he took her act, not as one meant to belittle the older man, but merely to lend a helping hand.

"Try and get some rest, this was quite a day for both of you. I'll see you in the morning." He turned, looked at the beat up bus, grunted and made his way up its steps.

After saying their good nights to the others, Willow and Kennedy headed to their room, the witch yawning and holding onto Kennedy the entire way. They entered and briefly scanned the interior. Both women knew the room had much to be desired. The only lights that worked were the one in the bathroom – a lovely flickering affect from the one fluorescent bulb, and the small lamp beside the bed. The patterned wallpaper was peeling in several places; water stains marked the ceiling over the door. The décor was traditional mountain scenery paintings bolted to the walls and furniture that had to have come straight from a discount overstock outlet store. The bathroom was small, the fixtures old, but at least the faucets didn't drip.

Once she decided that the room was acceptable, only because she had no other choice, Kennedy walked over to her redhead who was already sitting at the end of the queen sized bed. She kneeled in front of her lover and began to take off her shoes.

"Let's get these off your feet, baby," the brunette said and then began to massage her feet. Willow let out a soft moan.

After a few minutes, the young slayer gently slid her hands up Willow's legs, keeping constant contact as they inched up to her thighs, on to her stomach, one hand pushing up on the redhead's blouse to expose beautiful, silky skin. Once there, hands were accompanied by lips as Kennedy softly kissed the alabaster skin, tracing her tongue around the contours of her lover's belly button. She felt muscles recoil and a back arch slightly into her touch.

Kennedy stopped, moved her hands to the bed on either side of Willow and said with a seductive tone as she looked up to her the witch, "I can do lots of things that feel wonderful."

The reaction she got was not what she expected. In fact, it was no reaction at all. Her beautiful, green eyed goddess had fallen asleep. 'Never had that happen to me before,' thought Kennedy. But she didn't feel slighted or inadequate. She knew it was the day's events finally catching up to her witch. Exhaustion had been tapping at the door and it finally got invited in.

Kennedy pushed herself back off the bed and stood up. She quietly went around to the head of the bed and drew down the sheets. She went back to her girlfriend and gently unzipped her pants and slid them off. She slid her hands under Willow's blouse and eased it over her arms then head. There was a small stir by her redhead. The brunette decided trying to rid the witch of her undergarments would surely wake her up, so she opted to leave them be. She then tenderly put her arms underneath Willow, making sure not to wake her, and lifted her up and over to the waiting sheets. The younger woman pulled the covers to Willow's chin, leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead. Turning, she switched off the bedside lamp and left her witch to sleep. But a good night's sleep was not in store for the powerful witch.

"That feels wonderful." Willow marveled at the attentiveness of her girlfriend. They had both been through Hell, almost literally, and yet Kennedy still remembered the little things – Willow's love of a good foot massage. Kennedy had skillful hands which weren't limited to caressing toes. A warm sensation washed over the redhead and settled in her core. The brunette's ability to make Willow want was a puzzle to the redhead. She prided herself on being the kind of person who looked beyond the mere physical, who needed a strong emotional attachment to heighten the sexual interest. It had been that way with Oz and even Tara, the emotional bond driving the physical desire. But with Kennedy, those principles shattered.

She was drawn to the brunette like a kitten to milk. When the potential first arrived at Casa del Summers, Willow tried to ignore the flirtations, hiding in her grief, wearing it like a widow's black dress. But she couldn't escape the lure of those sparkling eyes and sweet smile, they pulled at her. She wanted to touch the brunette's toned and curved body, even though her heart told her she should not want. Kennedy's ease with her sensuality captivated the witch and peaked her curiosity to uncover its origin. Even with the girl's occasional bravado impulses, Willow still sought more of her.

Whether she wanted Kennedy or just the contact on her flesh was Willow's confusion. Her body had been neglected for a year and she now had a need to end its solitary. The First Evil, the impending apocalypse and uncertainty in her magicks, all weighted down on the witch and made for convenient excuses for stalling an examination of her feelings for the girl whose hands she now longed to be elsewhere on her body.

That's when the 'pulse' happened, again. Willow was sitting on the bed and suddenly felt as if hands, hundreds of them, were pulling at her through a gossamer veil. But the touch was not on her body but inside her, grasping at her at a cellular level…everywhere, moving around inside her but always behind an invisibly thin barrier. It was violent even though unnoticeable from her reaction. The force retracted in an instant and somehow took with it a part of her essence, her power. The episode left the witch overtaken by exhaustion and vertigo, forcing her to lie on the bed. 'Why does this keep happening?' was Willow's last thought before she fell into sleep.

The first pulse had occurred on the bus immediately after the Sunnydale farewell. They were on their way to locate a hospital, and Willow was trying to console Xander. At the time, she thought it only bad driving by Giles. There was a slight jerk, as if a wave came from behind her and was trying to pull her back. Only no one else moved. It was over as soon as it started and she felt slightly tired and queasy. The witch leaned against the seat back until Kennedy came and, worried, made her sit down. The new slayer immediately went on triage detail examining the state of her redhead. Willow decided the event was nothing more than the release of post-apocalyptic jitters and assured her lover she was fine. She would have retained that conclusion had it not happened, again.

The second pulse occurred in the motel parking lot, while Kennedy was on her bathroom expedition. However, this time the force was more intense and more expansive. The sensation engulfed her. Willow felt no evil connection to the thing around her, nor was it the same power she experienced from the spell. No malevolence or goodness, it just was, and Willow was its target. This time it entered her, a prickly feeling just below the skin, and then was gone. All in the blink of an eye. 'Something's up…' The witch pondered for an explanation. 'Must be the spell wearing off,' she thought sadly. She had wanted to keep that calming feeling and realized she was already losing it. 'Big mojo spell, must be aftershocks.' She once again resigned the matter as unimportant and waited for her girlfriend to return.

The fatigue and dizziness set in on her way to the motel room. It was like she was walking in thick mud, every step a challenge to the next. Willow held onto Kennedy, yawning, unable to hold back her sleepiness, using the brunette's strength to get her to the room. 'I just need to lie down and get a good night's sleep…' It was a command as much as an appeal, '…it'll go away.'

Willow's arrival into sleep after the last pulse came easily and deeply. Her body trying to restore its depleted resources, energy straining to regain a foothold. It was a marathoner's sleep. Though the body was rejuvenating, her mind soon wandered, unable to walk that same path. But the visions were unlike others the witch had had. She did not relive killing Warren, the killer of her beloved Tara, or her rage filled attempt to end the world – there was no angelic Tara telling her good bye as she faded from the redhead's trembling arms.

This dream world was surreal. Time was not present, not that time stood still or that it didn't seem to pass. Time just wasn't there, immaterial to the experience. Willow was floating, or more like suspended, not in air but in the dimensional plane. She existed but not in the physical, it was Willow in her pure form-energy. And she was pulsating and swaying, slowly succumbing to the force pulling all around her. She was scared…scared of losing herself to the nothingness, of losing contact with her world. She struggled against the abyss, trying to resist the temptation to let go…trying to call out. She fought to shift her essence outward, toward an unknown presence, a life boat for her soul. Then there was a voice, it spoke her name. She focused. The voice became shape; it was her young slayer who brought form out of the cosmic mist. Arms reached out and embraced, pulling Willow back, bringing flesh from essence, giving substance from nothingness…giving her mind peace once again. Tranquil sleep returned to the witch, sleep which grew deeper as her slayer gradually disappeared from her thoughts.

Kennedy couldn't sleep. She wasn't tired and knew nothing she did would make her sleepy. After putting Willow to bed, the brunette stood by the window, trying not to make a sound, so that her girl could fall into a peaceful deep sleep. While standing there, the younger slayer realized it wasn't just that she wasn't tired-she felt wired. But not in a drug induced way. 'Like a low grade shock to my nervous system,' she hypothesized. 'I wonder if this is a slayer thing? Will it go away?' her mind questioned. She knew she didn't have the answers to these questions and wouldn't until she had a chance to talk to Faith or Buffy.

Satisfying herself that she could move around without waking Willow, Kennedy walked near the bed, picked up Willow's clothes and went in the bathroom. She stripped off her own. Filling up the sink with hot water, she placed her and Willow's dirty, and in her case also blood stained, garments inside to soak. That chore accomplished, she turned on the shower. She had to wash the apocalypse off her skin and out of her hair.

It all started while she was in the shower. The steaming, hot liquid bullets pelted the brunette's back. She had scrubbed herself clean, from head to toes, and was now letting the water work out some of the tightness in her back. Realizing the shower was not the touch she needed to ease her pains, she turned around toward the shower head, put her arms out and rested her hands against the tiled wall. She lowered her head to let the steamy water cascade down her soaked raven tresses…she let out a slow deep breath. "I'm finally a slayer." She said the words softly but out loud as if to prove their truth. There was a tone of relief in her voice. All her hard work, for all those years had not been for naught. The emotional fortress that she'd constructed because of the fallout of her 'destiny' had been worth it.

'Thomas was right about me and you were wrong, dad,' Kennedy said as if talking to the man, 'the great Jackson Prescott was wrong.' She then quickly reminded herself, 'Not that you'd care to know about that or anything else in my life now. Turns out you and 'her' are more alike than I thought.' The last confession brought a snapshot to the brunette's mind…her mother's face. The memory was of a face last seen when she was ten years old, the face of a woman leaving her child without the slightest hint of sorrow or regret. Kennedy let the tears come, and with them the painful truths that were her past.

Jackson Prescott came from old money, not Vanderbilt old, but old enough. His family had made their fortune in banking. The youngest son of James Prescott, a name recognized throughout the world's financial circles, was naturally following in his father's very big footsteps. He attended the finest prep schools and was Harvard educated. He immediately took a position managing one of his family's international banking facilities in Chicago. He proved himself adept and quickly moved up the family's 'responsibility ladder', being in charge of a large conglomerate of international financial institutions by the age of thirty-two. He was a world traveler, at least in the sense of knowing all the world's airports by smell and the meeting rooms of all the finest hotels by décor.

He met her while attending a world banking symposium in Rio. It was five-thirty in the afternoon, on a Tuesday and he had almost forgone the reception. She was there with her father, the third largest land developer in Brazil. Jackson was introduced to Senoir Gonzalez by a mutual friend. After a hand shake, the elder gentleman spoke with a heavy accent, "Please excuse my manners, this is my daughter…"

Before he could finish, the dazzling bronzed angel by his side said, with hardly an accent,"Gabriella. Gabriella Maria Gonzalez. It is a pleasure to meet you. And your name is..."

It was the way she said her name, the sound her mouth made…Gabr-r-r-iel-l-a . Jackson instantly fell, not fell but more appropriately plunged, into love with her.

After having dinner together that very night, which led to breakfast in his hotel room the next morning, the two began a fierce and consuming romance. Jackson learned that Gabriella's family was actually from Costa Rica and considered part of the upper echelon of society. Their lineage included the clan chieftains of the original indigenous peoples. She was cultured, highly educated and worldly. To Jackson she was simply perfection; dark golden skin, soft as a whisper, raven colored hair that flowed like a waterfall down her back. Her eyes were the most penetrating dark brown he had ever seen. She could see his soul.

He soon found out though that his lover's tastes ranged from the refined to the seamy. Her angelic face belied the experiences she had already had in her short twenty-five years of living. Though apprehensive at first, Jackson soon discovered he could not deny the girl and gave into her darker side. He was no prude or saint; being immersed in a life of business up until their meeting only meant he had no time for relationships. He could be wild and decadent. Being an attractive, wealthy male, he had no problems procuring female companionship, of whatever variety or flavor he desired. He had always been discreet, making sure no scandal, of any nature, ever befell the good family name. So the two lovers journeyed into the sights, sounds, tastes and pleasures of those darker places in society that only the truly adventurous dare tread. With Gabriella, he felt he had the best of both worlds.

Much to his family's disapproval, he wed Gabriella a year later. Though she was of 'good stock', she was not 'American stock' and nothing Jackson said about her family or upbringing could change their minds. But he didn't care. For the first time in his life, Jackson Prescott had taken the path less traveled and he was happy in all spheres of his life.

Kennedy came into the world ten months later. Her name was a compromise to the Prescotts. It was that of a beloved patriarch and godfather to Jackson. To appease the Gonzalez', the newborn took the middle name of Gabriella's sweet grandmother-Francesca.

To all outward appearances, the Prescotts were a perfectly happy family, and they were for several years. Kennedy was dearly loved by her parents, if not so warmly received by her paternal relatives. However, by the child's third birthday, an undercurrent of unhappiness and resentment began to cut through their daily lives. Gabriella, the world traveler and experience seeker, found herself ill equipped at raising a child. Even with a nanny, she felt chained to her surroundings. Their life in New York held no consolation. She was used to living in luxurious apartments in constantly bustling metropolises. Now, she lived in a mansion in an exclusive area 'upstate' with only the women's auxiliary and the servants for adult company. Any type of activity, day or night, entailed precise planning and at least an hour's travel by whatever mode of transportation taken. She began to feel trapped in her life with no way out.

For Jackson's part, he had settled back into family business mode after his child's birth. He still desperately loved his wife, but the importance of the Prescott family's well being pulled strongly at his conscience. He dove back into his work, telling himself it was for his own family's best interest. It kept him away from his wife and daughter more often than he let himself admit. Gabriella never voiced discontent, and he assumed she understood his obligations. He didn't exactly miss their secret fringe lifestyle. He had had his taste and moved on and thought his wife had done the same, outgrowing the indiscretions of youth for a new experience, raising their daughter.

Kennedy finally felt the tide of her emotional lapse recede and control take its place. This was how she managed, how she kept her sanity with the invisible walls she had built around herself. She never asked for help, never appeared like she was anything but in complete control of her universe. But the darkest part of the night knew otherwise. For it was then that the brunette exposed all her insecurities, all her fears and doubts. Known to no one; revealed to no one but the empty night. It was a flaw learned from both her parents.

Finally composed, Kennedy turned off the shower and stepped out onto the cold tiled floor. She began to dry herself with the only bath towel available. 'Too rough and too small,' she thought to herself annoyed. As she finished toweling her hair, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She thought of 'her' again and the day her life changed forever.

Young Kennedy was five and should have been in bed, the grandfather clock in the great hall showed nine p.m. But she had heard commotion on the main floor and had to investigate. So she quietly made her way down the marble staircase. To the young girl's confusion, she saw suitcases, seven total in varying sizes, by the front entranceway. Her mother stood in the middle of the hall behind them. At first, the youngster thought her mother was going to visit relatives, something that the woman had been doing with increasing regularity. But young Kennedy quickly discarded that notion-too many bags. Then the door opened and her father hastily entered. He eyed the luggage before ever looking at his wife. The waiting taxi in the circular drive had raised his fear and the bags on the floor confirmed it.

"You can't leave. You can't just call me at work and say you're leaving. You have a life here." The words were said forcefully but with acknowledged resignation. He knew her decision once made would stand like stone.

"What about Kennedy?" He was desperate and grasping at guilt to crack the hard resolve.

Hearing her name, young Kennedy nervously shifted, scuffing her slippers on the floor just enough to bring attention to herself. Her parents turned and looked at the face of innocence.

Her mother was the first to turn away and stare intently at the front door. She then made the slightest of twisting movement of her head. Almost too small to notice, but it had happened…a side to side answer…no. She picked up the two smallest bags, opened the front door and left.

'I hate you for doing that,' Kennedy's mind sputtered. Her stroll down memory lane was now a full fledge run. She had draped the towel around her and was rinsing and wringing out the clothes she previously had soaking. As she hung them from the shower curtain rod, she wondered if they would be dry by morning, the garments being the only clothing possessed by the two women at the moment. 'Oh, well,' she thought smugly, 'we might have to stay in the room longer than we expected'-a proposition that sat well with the brunette. Self analysis and laundry-multitasking was the second lesson she had learned from her father.

Having taken that brief respite of happiness, Kennedy fell back to her inner retrospection.

The next several years were a blur to young Kennedy. Her father became almost like two persons in one body. He never talked about her mother, and had all evidence of her removed from the house almost instantly. His perfect life had been a sham and he wanted no reminders of his failure. When young Kennedy would ask where her mother was, he would always tell her she was traveling. She was never at a real place, one that Kennedy could point to on a map. It didn't take long before the girl stopped asking.

If her father was lost when it came to her mother, he was ever present for her. Young Kennedy began spending time with her father, real time, not the 'I'm home in time to kiss you good night' kind of time. They ate, read and played together. He took her to his office for visits and she took him to school for show and tell. He adored her and she worshipped him.

Kennedy had made her way from the bathroom and was now sitting in the chair by the window, the towel having been relegated to the bathroom doorknob. Modesty was never her strong suit. She checked on Willow on the way and determined that her witch was sleeping soundly. This brought a smile to her face and a warm feeling to her heart. She had witnessed too many a night when the redhead's sleep was fitful and interrupted by soft crying, although those episodes had stopped recently. The brunette could only hope that she was the cause of the change in Willow's sleeping patterns.

'Why couldn't it have stayed just you and me, dad…' she thought sadly and added with disappointment, 'I know you had to be lonely but why Julia.'

Julia Anderson became Kennedy's stepmother when she was eight. She was a former Miss Illinois, from a well respected family that was in the hotel business and she truly loved Jackson Prescott. Young Kennedy hated her. She was no longer the only object of her father's affections. She had never been good at sharing with others. Julia was not mean to Kennedy and she did try to treat the youngster like her own, which was the precise problem to Kennedy. She no longer wanted a mother…any mother. Her father had asked, then requested and finally insisted on civil behavior from Kennedy to her stepmother. So, they tolerated each other and because of it her relationship with her father took on an almost unperceivable strain.

Within a year, things had gotten better and worse. Emma, Kennedy's half sister, was born. 'At least you did that right.' The brunette loved her little sister. She was cute and funny and made her father smile like he used to when Kennedy was very young. The memories of her time with Emma were only pleasant. But a new sister also meant that she had even less of her father for herself. The eight year old Kennedy wasn't old enough to understand the new family dynamics; she was just a little girl who felt like she was losing her other parent. The strain between her and her father became a slight tear.

That was also the time that Thomas Sinclair entered their lives. 'You ended up being my savior in a way and I never got to tell you that.' The young slayer was saddened with that realization.

He had walked into their lives on a typically lazy summer evening just before Kennedy's ninth birthday. His arrival turned out to be anything but typical. How he got to the front door, no one knows to this day. The Prescott's confidence in their security system, locked steel entrance gates and video surveillance cameras lining the driveway, disintegrated that night, leading to a quick change in security companies. The maid led Sinclair into the study. Jackson agreed to meet the man only after the maid conveyed information about Kennedy from him that no stranger could know.

"Sir, I'm Thomas Sinclair. I've been sent from London to be your daughter's watcher. Mr. Prescott, your daughter, Kennedy, is a potential. She may be the vampire slayer one day." It was said as if he was talking about the weather, so matter of fact. Jackson Prescott's reaction was one of obvious distrust. He almost threw the Englishman off his property. He was not one to believe in fairy tales, but his time with Gabriella had made him at least willing to entertain the notion of the spiritual and mystical. Her heritage was rich with tales of the afterlife, spirits and curses. So, he allowed Sinclair to state his case. After several hours, the protective father was still not convinced but he did acquiesce to Sinclair meeting his oldest daughter the next day.

They hit it off instantly. Sinclair captivated the young Kennedy's attention with the story of her destiny, how she would be a champion, a protector…a great warrior. For the girl who felt pushed aside and rejected, this was a song of freedom. It was her 'happily ever after.' She knew she would be wanted and needed by everyone. For her part, Kennedy's openness to his remarks, her eagerness to begin and energetic attitude were firmly embraced by the watcher. He saw in the young Kennedy a wanting spirit, one who would leap first and ask questions later. He knew that would be her best weapon and her worst fault.

So began the preparation for the fulfillment of Kennedy Francesca Prescott's destiny. At first, her father would only allow training part time. Education was his first priority; he understood the critical role it would play in her life. She was still, after all, a Prescott. Within a short period though, Kennedy was training everyday after school. Her family's wealth assured her of the best education and upbringing. Her secret life's calling assured her of the best physical and tactical training. She never found it strange that she enjoyed the crossbow the way other girls her age enjoyed dolls.

Time passed and the young brunette became more proficient and more confident. She did well in school, knowing that was the passport to her true future. She spent more time with her watcher, training and learning. She no longer felt the emptiness from the lack of her father's attention. The tear in their relationship grew slightly larger.

'Ten was another banner year,' Kennedy smirked to herself. 'How could you let her come back into our lives, even for just that one day? That was so fucked up. How'd you expect me to react?' The questions would never be answered no matter how many times she asked. Her mother's return caused a severe regression in young Kennedy's progress. She didn't know her mother would be at Sinclair's house where she trained. Had he known the effects the twenty minute visit would cause, he never would have agreed to it. Kennedy's father had asked, and he never asked anything of Sinclair, so he said yes, assuming it would help his potential reconnect. The girl's reaction was like a firecracker in a barrel. She stomped, she screamed, she accused…she cried when her mother had no excuses, no apologies. "You're better off with your father," was the only attempt she made at an explanation. Kennedy didn't know why her mother was there and she didn't care any longer. She was still sobbing when her mother said good bye for the last time. There was no sadness on the woman's face, like she was saying good bye to an acquaintance.

'How could you not tell me she was coming. You knew, Thomas knew…Hell, even Julia knew.' Kennedy recalled not speaking to her father altogether for weeks. After that, there was a long period when she only responded in head nods and grunts. She stopped training and refused to see Sinclair. She started to get into fights at school and, for the first time, received failing grades. She ignored her father's pleas, and then demands, for her to talk to him. Their relationship became tattered.

'That's when you came to the rescue.' Kennedy could visualize Sinclair hugging her after he was finally able to explain his unwitting role in the tragic event. "I'm so sorry, Kennedy…I never meant to hurt you…I would never hurt you." He was the only one to say that, her father never did.

Kennedy knew that's when she really began to form into the person she was today. She started training again, with more fervor. She would be strong of mind and body. She was present in her father's life but not really a part of it, a shadow but not a real form. She became more independent but more emotionally closed off to others. She began to take on a headstrong attitude, unwilling to ask for help on the risk of being let down.

The years passed and the brunette matured physically as well. Kennedy accepted the fact that she had her mother's features, although she credited her Latin heritage generally. Jackson Prescott watched the evolution of his daughter. With each passing day, she looked more like her mother, the honey toned skin, beautiful coffee brown eyes and shiny raven colored hair. He loved his daughter, but there were times when he could not bring himself to look at her. In place of his time and affection, he gave her money and things – guilt became material possessions. His daughter was indulged her every request. Kennedy was becoming a free spirit like her mother also. She wasn't afraid to try anything. Prescott worried for his daughter, fearing she might spiral out of control. Her 'destiny' was enough to tilt her life out of balance; she didn't need to fuel the fire with wild behavior. He held onto the hope that Kennedy had enough of his common sense to keep from going ablaze. He could not have imagined the impact his daughter would have on the world.

It was almost midnight when Willow began stirring. At first, Kennedy didn't notice, still engrossed in her self interrogation. The whimpering brought her back to the present. She looked over to the small form in the bed and held her breath, secretly praying that the nightmares had not returned. The brunette presumed those dreams were about Tara, even if the redhead had never actually told her as much. She could use a crossbow and a sword like a master, she could now kill vampires in the blink of an eye and she'd help put an ass-beating on evil…so why couldn't she make the nightmares go away. Kennedy's visit with her past was forgotten in an instant. Willow was the only thought on her mind now…and she felt the unease of doubt humming in her ear.

Like shooting fish in a barrel, that was how the brunette viewed her 'romantic' proclivities. She wore her attractiveness with pride. She trained for physical perfection, for strength and finesse. Her beauty came naturally, but she tended to it, helped to bring out its full potential. When she was in the proper mood, feral desires running at a boiling point, she could make herself drop dead gorgeous. Her sexuality fit her like an expensive, Italian leather glove. Her 'orientation', obvious to her since age five, was as much her as her chocolate brown eyes or brilliant smile. She befriended it, kept it warm and alive, naively at first never thinking that the world around her could view it unnatural. She kept true to herself through the torment and ridicule from people who assumed different meant wrong.

Confidence was the end product of the peace she had about that part of herself. She didn't have problems meeting girls, or women – her standards were always the hurdle in starting any relationship. And she'd had relationships, not too many, not too few and of varying intensities – she'd made out, fooled around, had sex, fucked, and made love. She had cared for them all in some way and had even loved one perhaps, but she never felt like she 'needed' any of them...wanted – yes, but never a gut wrenching, heart pounding necessity for anyone…until she met Willow.

'You better not hog the covers.' Simple little come-on Kennedy thought as she watched her redhead's disturbed sleep return to serene. 'But it worked, the way you reacted; I knew you had to be gay.' She chuckled, 'God, if I knew then the mess I'd be in now...…' Her inner voice became serious, '…I'd of done the same thing.' Kennedy stared out the opening in the drapes to the moonlit expanse outside. 'I love you, Willow Rosenberg…I love you.' Kennedy had said those words to her girlfriend a hundred times in her head. That wisp of a girl, her goddess, had brought out in Kennedy such an intense emotion that the brunette was sure the heavens kept the word that described it. Her feelings for Willow were almost tangible; she could taste them on her lips and hear their melody every time she thought her name. When she looked into those emerald eyes, Kennedy wanted to be better, do better for the witch. She wanted to take away all the doubt, and fear and pain that engulfed the redhead and embrace her with only good and joy and laughter.

To be sure, Willow's elegant beauty initially captured her attention. Crimson hair that seemed to shimmer from the sun's rays even after the day had long since said good bye, a delicate frame that glided rather than walked upon the ground and freckled skin so perfect it made one shiver. As she persuaded the redhead to inch herself ever so slowly into dialogue, the brunette discovered the intelligence, the sincerity and the awe inspiring goodness of the woman. And of course, there was the intoxicating 'Willowbabble' – a continuous thread of nonsensical speech that took on a flowing, rhythmic life of its own. The young potential had seen strength in the witch that needed coaxing, reassurance, and an outstretched hand.

In the beginning, there was also a heartbroken woman, someone who couldn't laugh, enjoy, or live because of the guilt…because Tara was gone.

Kennedy shifted uneasily in her chair. 'She'll never love me like that.' Doubt had crept in and spoken. Her heart sank. 'She'll never really love me.' Her heart sank further. How could she expect Willow to release the hold she had on Tara's memory. Her love for Tara was profound, that was obvious from the redhead's reaction to their first kiss. 'Turning into your dead girlfriend's killer over the guilt from one kiss – kind of a give away.' Was it even possible for Willow to let go, especially for a self-admitted, over confident brat.

Kennedy knew that Willow cared for her on some level, and that it was more than just physical. The dark haired slayer had brought Willow back into the light after a year of darkness, made her realize that she was allowed to live again…to want to live again. But to love again, so soon? 'I'm just the stepping stone. I'm the one she has to have before she meets her next great love.' Doubt was staring her in the face and screaming. Kennedy's heart broke and she couldn't breath. Willow didn't need her, she needed this experience.

Tears formed and the slayer began to quaver. She didn't want to accept what her doubt told her, she wouldn't…could not. Like an alcoholic to the drink, Kennedy knew she couldn't let go. So she rejected the doubt, banished it from her thoughts. She would accept whatever Willow could give and tell herself it was enough. She needed, and she didn't want to know what those green eyes saw when they looked back at her. That was the reason she hadn't said those three powerful, little words to Willow. Hearing the truth, Willow's awkward silence after the words were spoken, would topple her world…and prove that Willow didn't love or need her, that she too would leave. So, in the silence of the moonlit room with no one to hear, came her solitary prayer – "I love you…" The words, barely a whisper, tangled in the tears falling down her cheek.

"Kenn…what's wrong?" Willow said softly, concerned. The brunette hadn't noticed her standing beside the chair.

Willow slowly left sleep behind, eyes flickering trying to capture the moonlit view of the room. She initially thought she was in her own bed in Sunnydale then quickly remembered the past events and her eventual destination to the present room with Kennedy. With that thought of the brunette, the redhead rolled over slightly to find the other half of the bed empty and unused. She realized that the brunette must have put her to bed, attributing her present state of dress, or lack thereof, also to Kennedy.

She strained to see around the room and found a shadow huddled by the window. Willow went to sit up but got a bit light headed, so she stayed motionless until the feeling passed. The witch took inventory: 'no nausea, no pain and other than the previous quite explainable head rush, no dizziness'. She was still tired, but not overly, a two out of ten on the weary scale. She determined she was fine and her concern turned again to the shadow. Quietly, she got out of bed, deciding not to turn on the bedside lamp. Walking toward the window, the shadow turned to form which, in turn, made the redhead stop at the sight before her and question, "Kenn…What's wrong?'

Willow stood watching the naked, curled up figure in the chair, waiting for a response to her query. Kennedy froze, never moving her eyes from their view outside. She was terrified that her girlfriend might have heard her proclamation. Silence was her only ally.

The redhead leaned closer and gently placed a hand on Kennedy's shoulder. The slayer trembled. She turned her head only slightly towards the witch, the need to hide her emotion pulling at her. But it was enough.

"Oh, Kenne…Sweetie…you're crying…w-what's wrong?" Concern turned to alarm. Willow had never seen Kennedy cry. She was a rock. Death, ueber vamps and spells gone awry hadn't brought tears and the redhead feared what had pushed her over the edge.

Closing her eyelids tightly to prevent any more traitors from escaping, the brunette took in a deep breath to regain her composure. Realizing Willow had heard nothing, she looked lovingly at her girl. "Nothing's wrong…I guess it all just sank in. I'm a slayer…you made me a slayer." She took Willow's hand from her shoulder into her own and brought it to her lips.

Moving to the front of the chair, Willow kneeled and stared into dark chocolate eyes. She knew the brunette was holding back. Her eyes gave it away. They were like a child who couldn't keep a secret. Fear was what Willow saw and she was certain that being a slayer was not the cause. She wanted Kennedy to confide in her, let her ease her pain.

"Baby…it's ok if you're scared…you can tell me…I wanna help…be there for you." Willow was now grazing Kennedy's cheek with the back of her other hand, wiping away the remnants of the brunette's momentary stumble into human frailty.

'…be there for you…' Those words gave Kennedy hope that Willow really did love her, that she could break down the barricade and let her true feelings be known. She focused on their entwined fingers resting on her knee. Then that stabbing feeling came back, that voice that she so desperately tried to exile. 'She's just being Willow…caring Willow.'

"Really, Will...I'm fine. Just…sorting things out and…I guess my emotions got the best of me." Putting on her best imitation Willow resolve face, she playfully mocked, "It won't happen again."

Looking at her lover, Kennedy decided to stop. Stop thinking about the past she couldn't change and the future that was not in her hands to control. She just wanted 'the now', to be with Willow…because there, even if for just a little while, she felt everything was possible. She was a slayer, her true destiny beginning, and evil was at bay. The brunette was with the woman she loved and that was enough.

Kennedy suddenly became very aware that she was naked and that her girlfriend was adorned by a lace bra and panties that made her breath hitch. No longer was it time for introspection, there was an immediate need for the physical. Kennedy lowered her legs to the floor, took her free hand and placed it behind the witch's neck, pulling her in. "I don't know about the hungry part, but the post-slaying horniness has kicked in-" she said seductively. Lips met, a slow, searching kiss, an invitation to more intimate contact.

A slight moan resonated from the redhead. She cherished the way the young slayer kissed, always with passion regardless of the intensity. "I believe you're trying to change the subject," she quipped. Willow knew she would get nothing further from the brunette, her chance to peek into the girl's heart gone, her stoic need for self-determination returned. She wouldn't push.

"Is that a bad thing?" Lips now whispering in the witch's ear. Her hand left Willow's and traced a path up the redhead's arm, stopping momentarily at the thin shoulder strap then continuing down it, pressing gently on the lacy material covering a perfect breast, erect nipple already pushing back.

"Mmm...not bad…definitely with the good." Willow's voice became uneven, a warm sensation sweeping through her, the feeling that always came when the girl was close. If she could not ease the brunette's troubled mind then she would satisfy her hungering body. She stood up, bringing the young slayer with her and pulled her into an embrace. Hands trailed across a tanned back. Lips found the brunette's collarbone and started a journey up to an inviting neck. Willow took her time, brushing her lips across aroused skin. She nipped at her girl's ear, sending a tingling sensation through the slayer. The redhead gasped when she felt strong hands cup her breasts and begin to gently rub.

Both women were leaning into each other, the contact of flesh on flesh fueling their desire. They pulled back slightly, green eyes fixated on brown. Words were no longer required. The need was urgent and their mouths came together, tongues explored and battled, the brunette's tongue piercing sending jolts of pleasure through the redhead. The excitement built, bodies rocking together, hands discovering curves and valleys.

Desire building to a peak, the slayer lifted the witch and carried her to the bed, never breaking their kiss. She lay her on the bed and stood there looking at that vision, the beautiful creature that had captured her body and soul. Green eyes stared back, longing…waiting…wanting. Kennedy moved onto the bed, the witch beneath her. They could feel their heat resonating, ragged breathes, pulsating centers that longed for release.

And so, in that worn motel room in southern California, the lovers found comfort in each other's arms…

The witch and the slayer made love until they were drained, their need satisfied. A naked Willow and Kennedy lay sleeping entangled in the sheets and each other as the sun peeked over the horizon, the infant day's light pressing through the opening in the drapes trying to illuminate the motel room. Willow stirred first, slowly pushing the murky sleep from her head. Her eyes fluttered open. She didn't move, eyes glancing around and realizing it was morning – although what time in the morning was a mystery. She was on her side, snuggled up against the brunette who lay peacefully asleep on her back. Her head rested on Kennedy's shoulder, one arm across the slayer's bronzed taut stomach, the other by her own side. The brunette's arm was wrapped snugly underneath Willow, their legs entwined. They were half covered by a bed sheet, which intrigued the redhead because she remembered the sheets following Kennedy off the bed during one of her 'explorations' to the witch's lower region.

Willow, fully awake now, remained still, not wanting to wake the brunette. She knew her slayer had not slept before she woke late last night, and she certainly had not slept afterwards until they both drifted off from exhaustion in the wee hours of the new day that had now invited itself into their room.

The older woman slowly and gingerly drew back from her slayer's embrace, far enough so she could take in the full view of the woman with whom she had begun to share a bed, and herself. Willow thought how easy it was to appreciate Kennedy's physical attributes. She was beautiful, sometimes to the point of breathtaking. She had a seductive smile that could make a saint want to sin and penetrating eyes that would melt a cynic's heart. Her body was bronzed and toned, with curves perfectly placed. Lying there next to her, Willow saw what inspired the likes of DaVinci and Michelangelo.

Kennedy was also proficient in bed. She was attentive and giving, taking her time and giving every touch purpose. She left no area neglected, no sensation unleashed. Throughout the night, as with their first time together, the brunette had brought Willow to the edge, dangling her there, begging for release, only to ease her back. Then she would take her to the precipice again, the redhead's stirrings intensified, almost uncontrollable…in sensory overload…waiting…until Kennedy …pushed…her…over. 'Amazing-' Willow thought to herself. She didn't know if Kennedy came by her abilities naturally, like her beauty, or if they were acquired through practice, like her fighting skills. Whichever it was, Kennedy had them in abundance.

Though the slayer's sensual and sexual side was obvious, Willow also knew that the girl possessed other qualities that she tried to hide from most. The brunette was brave, ready to fight for the cause, a trait that surfaced not long after she appeared at Buffy's. It didn't take much conversation for Willow to realize Kennedy was intelligent and well versed in many areas. She could be sarcastic but not in a hurtful way. She was loyal but not to the point of senseless blind faith. The brunette trusted her own instincts and wasn't afraid to question authority. In that way, Willow glimpsed a slight reflection of Buffy. She had a confidence which came off as arrogance at times. Willow perceived that as a watcher-instilled characteristic and a by-product of her upbringing.

Willow also saw in Kennedy her need to prove her point, to jump into any situation whether or not she had all the facts. It seemed to Willow that the brunette had to have her say to show she was worth getting attention, to prove she was needed. The brunette was by no means an open book; she was multi-faceted and Willow was just beginning to see the many differing sides. As she watched Kennedy sleep, the redhead pondered how the girl had emerged into the person she was.

Small bits and pieces was what Willow knew of Kennedy's background. The brunette said little about her past, keeping it secret like a covert military operation. Willow only knew she came from wealth because of a few stray remarks that escaped during a late night conversation between the two. Kennedy didn't act, talk or dress rich. And the redhead had seen the money type before, her high school episodes with the rich Cordelia Chase implanting a firm picture in her memory. Kennedy never acted like she was better than anyone else because of her family's bank account.

'Who are you?' The question was laced with a tinge of guilt. She knew little about Kennedy, but she hadn't sought out details either and that bothered her. She didn't know when her birthday was or her middle name, if she even had one. The redhead wasn't sure why she hadn't been more inquisitive, whether it had to do with feeling like she was betraying Tara or just being scared of letting another woman close. Looking at the beauty sleeping next to her now, she felt the answer – she wanted to know more.

The facts the witch did know were that Kennedy was nineteen, had a half sister and had started college before her watcher was killed and she was whisked to Sunnydale. Some of this information came from Giles and some from the girl herself. Kennedy stated that she had had a watcher during that first day at Buffy's. She had later on commented to Willow that she was too old to hang out with the other 'teeny bopper' potentials. That had led to a brief discussion of their ages.

That Kennedy did not have a perfect childhood was something Willow sensed as much from the things the brunette didn't say as those she did. The girl had as much as told her that she no longer talked to her father. She was certain Kennedy didn't make a call while they were at the hospital, no one frantically waiting for news that she was alright.

At the Bronze, during their first 'date', after Willow described her mother's reaction to her 'coming out', Kennedy recounted one of her parental experiences. She was seventeen and her stepmother had walked in on her and a girlfriend in a very compromising position. Thinking about the story now and their activities from earlier, Willow smirked at the thought that there were a number of positions that could have caused the stepmother to blush. The woman went directly to Kennedy's father with a story of deviant acts and immoral behavior. "What kind of affect will Kenn have on Emma?" It was a condemnation more than a question. "She's just a little girl, she looks up to Kennedy…she'll think that's normal."

Kennedy told Willow that her father had probably known, or at the very least suspected, his daughter was gay. She had never been interested in boys, and always diverted the conversation when brought up in any situation. Though not ashamed of being a lesbian, she never told him, discussing sex in any fashion with him was not an option. Her father never mentioned the subject either, leaving it in the background ignored like an unwanted gift that couldn't be returned. Kennedy's father knew that wealthy, prominent families didn't include 'homosexuals'; it just wasn't proper. Acceptance for differing lifestyles wasn't a guest ever invited to Rich America's dinner table.

"And that's how I got a bedroom in a different wing of the house-" Kennedy's voice tried to say the words nonchalantly to the redhead that night, but Willow could feel the deep disappointment. The witch was beginning to understand the cause of her girlfriend's 'tough' exterior. Her own father hadn't stood up for her. She suspected that wasn't the only disappointment in the girl's young life.

'God…you're beautiful, intelligent and rich. You should have the life most people only dream about.' Alabaster fingers had made their way to the brunette and brushed a stray raven lock from her face. 'But then again, you were a potential…how could you have had any kind of a normal life.'

Knowing how being a slayer had pushed Buffy and Faith away from aspects of a regular family and social life, Willow surmised there had to have been some similar occurrence for the brunette. As well trained as she was when she arrived, her watcher must have pushed her, drilling into her the duties of a slayer. Crushing her with the responsibility to be better, ready…to be hard. The witch saw some of that in Buffy and she suspected that was the reason she and Kennedy had butted heads on more than one occasion.

'That's why you don't complain…why you push so hard-' Willow was now tracing her finger along the still sleeping Kennedy's jaw line and down the soft skin of her neck. The questions came like bullets – 'Why don't you want anyone to see the real you? Do you doubt yourself? Why were you crying…Why me?'

Kennedy was pulled from sleep by the tingling sensation on her skin. She went willingly, knowing the source of the pleasure. 'Nice way to wake up.' Brown eyes opened to meet those of green.

Before Willow could answer, a shockwave of pain pulsated through her, pinning her back on the bed and leaving her unconscious.

Giles had returned to the motel, with Buffy and Dawn in tow, around 2 am. Faith had decided to stay the night at the hospital after they were informed that Robin would be fine. "Someone should be here when he wakes up." The rogue slayer still tried to appear unaffected by the events, but relief was evident in her voice. "I'll see you all tomorrow. Go get some rest…you look horrible." As the trio started to leave the emergency room, Buffy looked back and smiled when her counterpart mouthed 'thank you' to her.

Once in their motel room, the sisters quickly prepared for bed, too exhausted to eat, undress or even talk. Dawn wanted a good sleep, then she would think about food and a trip to the nearest clothes store. Buffy waited for sleep, unable to lose the thought that her world was completely different now. The load on her shoulders had gotten lighter, her future brighter. What that future would be and where, she wasn't sure, and that felt good. Buffy drifted off to asleep with a smile on her face.

The frantic pounding on the door instantly woke her and Dawn. The blonde slayer almost jumped out of bed. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, she cringed at the time – 7:24am. "Even on my first day off, I can't sleep in," she growled.

The pounding continued, accompanied by shouting, "Buffy…Buffy…wake up…something's happened to Willow.…" Buffy recognized the voice but never in such a desperate tone.

Hearing her best friend's name, the blonde quickly made her way to the door and opened it, staring directly at a frantic looking Kennedy. "Kennedy, what's wrong…What happened to Will?"

"I don't know…w-we were talking…then…she f-f-fell back…" Her words chopped, her voice chaotic, "…fell back hard…so hard…can't wake…her up." The sentence ended sounding as a failure on the younger slayer's part.

Kennedy's state made Buffy realize something terrible had happened, her hope for a new life already vanishing in the morning air. "Dawnie, stay here," she said as she grabbed the brunette's arm and commanded, "Take me to Will."

When they arrived at the lovers' room, Kennedy rushed past Buffy and went and kneeled beside the redhead who remained lying unconscious. Kennedy had covered the still naked witch with the bed sheet, to protect her modesty.

"Will…Willow...please, baby…wake up," she pleaded to her girl, stroking her crimson hair.

The sight before Buffy was unnerving. Willow lay motionless, more than just sleeping. Her face looked as if she'd been up for four days straight, fatigued and worn. That couldn't be her Willow, she told herself. She was fine just yesterday.

"Kennedy, tell me everything that happened after you left the hospital-" The time for uncertainty gone, she needed answers. And so the younger slayer recounted the events, leaving out all mention of her own mind ramblings and delicately addressing the subject of her and Willow's 'romantic' activities.

"I just woke up, a-and we were talking…and outta nowhere, it's like someone threw her…back down on the bed-" Buffy could see the disbelief in Kennedy's eyes. "…and then she passed out…I mean 'out'. I had to check her pulse, just to be sure she was…" The words trailed off. "I tried to wake her up…I r-r-really did." Resignation in her voice, Kennedy ended, "After trying…I don't know how long, that's when I came looking for you." That was the truth; Kennedy's only break from trying to revive her redhead was to dress.

Buffy was now standing by the redhead's bed, next to Kennedy. She had her issues with the younger slayer, but they were pushed aside. She placed her hand on Kennedy's head, "She'll be ok, we'll find out what's wrong – we always do." It was said as much to comfort the brunette as it was her. She had not lived through yet another apocalypse just to lose her best friend.

As the women remained silent, for want a solution, the redhead began to stir. Kennedy noticed first, a slight twitch to the redhead's mouth. Slowly, the witch drifted from the abyss. She felt drained, barely able to open her eyes. But she did, and was greeted by two very elated slayers looking back. Too tired to move anything other than her head, she said softly, "Houston, we have a problem."

After ten or so minutes, Willow had regained enough strength to sit up slightly. Getting out of bed was out of the question, not only because of her tiredness but also the extreme dizziness she experienced every time she made any significant head movement. It was dizziness to the point of nausea. She could talk though and recounted to her best friend and her new lover her latest episode. Then she told them about the previous occurrences that she knew now were all connected.

"Willow, why didn't you tell me about this before," admonished the brunette. "We coulda prevented this maybe…I woulda made you go to bed right away…keep your energy." Willow sensed her girlfriend was chastising herself for their late night tryst. "Sweetie, nothing you did affected this…and I didn't even put them together at first. So don't blame yourself." Then very quietly, "I wanted last night as much as you did."

They were getting no closer to a solution, so Buffy took the next step, "I'm getting Giles. Maybe he can think of some place to start with this, keep it from happening again."

"Uh, Buff…naked under here, don't want Giles to see my niblets." Kennedy choired in, "yeah, don't want Giles having a heart attack. Give us some time and I'll get her looking respectable."

"Ok, you've got fifteen minutes, then I'm coming in here with Giles, niblets be damned." Buffy smiled and turned to leave the room. She wondered if they could tell she was still frightened about the state of her best friend.

Once the blonde retreated, Kennedy carefully wrapped her arms around her witch. She had her redhead back and she didn't want to ever let go. "Red, please don't do that again. Comatose doesn't become you." Willow pulled the brunette back slowly and saw her eyes welling up. The affection was there and Willow felt good it was directed at her. "I'll try not to…I promise. Now how 'bout some clothes?"

A disheveled Giles opened his motel room door only to have Buffy come charging in proclaiming, "Looks like Evil's back and it's after Willow." The watcher saw Buffy's lips say the words but he couldn't make them register. He'd only had a few hours sleep, checking on the new slayers upon his return from the hospital and then making several calls to the few council members who remained. He now looked at Buffy in total bewilderment.

"Willow's been having 'episodes.' She says it's like something's sucking her energy from her…She passed out from the last one. Giles…She doesn't look that good." Her voice was sounding more concerned.

"Oh, my…that does sound disconcerting. But let's not assume it's something evil doing this." Giles began to ponder the possible explanations. "It could just be after affects from the spell," he stated calmly. "That was an exceptionally powerful spell Willow performed, and it may have reverberations of which we were unaware." He tried to soothe his blonde slayer. She had been through so much over so many years, he could see her already tensing, contemplating her next battle with the dark forces.

"Let's go see Willow and I'm sure we'll figure this out." He noticed Buffy didn't move.

After waiting the proper allotted time, Giles and Buffy returned to see and question Willow. She was still in bed, on top of the covers now, and she had on her clothes, which were clean and dry courtesy of Kennedy. She had regained some more of her strength; however, the dizziness was still present if she moved too fast or too much. Again, she recounted her story, this time giving additional information to Giles' probing questions. She had also begun to remember slices of her dream, nothing that made sense – floating essence, an endless expanse.

When they were done, Giles stared into the air, removing his glasses in the involuntary way of his when he was deep in thought. "What do you think Giles?" Buffy's question had a child-like tone.

"I would gather it is spell related, but we shouldn't be too hasty to rule out demons. It could be a demon was waiting to see if we got by the First to attack us in our weakened condition." He didn't really believe that was the cause of Willow's predicament but he was always the man of diligence, leaving no stone unturned.

"I'm going to call the coven." Like Buffy, he too realized there would be no break from their fight against the bad in the world. Their victorious acts from the previous day had been but yet one more battle won…the war continuing. "I suggest you all get something to eat and stay close until I get some answers." The watcher didn't know what else to say. He was perplexed and worried with what the redhead had said to him. The hairs standing on the back of his neck told him there was more to this dilemma than just aftershocks.

"Good idea about food. We must all be hungry and I know pretty soon we're gonna have a horde of slayers clamoring for pancakes." With that said, the blonde slayer headed for the door, Giles right behind her.

"I'll go get you some breakfast, Will-" Kennedy said as she started to follow the others.

"K-Kenn…" It sounded like a plea from the redhead. The brunette turned and saw scared green eyes.

"Uh…Buffy…do you think you can grab us food, too?" She would stay with her girl. A nod from the older slayer was her answer.

Giles and Buffy left and Kennedy returned to the bed, slid next to Willow and gently took her into an embrace.

"Try to rest. We're all on the job now. You're going to be alright…I promise." Hoping that would be enough, Willow pressed into the girl.

Aguilo woke up abruptly, his body covered in sweat that had also permeated through his undershirt and boxers. He was breathing heavily, like he did after a hard day in the fields. Touching the bed sheets around him, he felt that they too were damp. He knew that he had not had a dream or even a nightmare. The old woman had called them 'glimpses' – a hazy glance into the inter-dimensional plane that foretold an upcoming obligation of the clan. Aguilo called them 'fucking weird'. These occurrences were more like unconscious bouts of insanity. He always felt trapped, locked in the eternal ooze, unable to do anything except visualize the force that was a misplaced traveler in the great cosmic scheme. And he did see the entity; its essence always carried a slight translucent color. Sometimes, it was a pale blue or lavender. In instances when the transfer involved violent or corrupt aspects, the hue took on a deeper tone. Aguilo once commented to himself how he likened the color to Sherman-Williams 'rose blush' red paint. This time the color was a magnificent white. Aguilo knew he had to see the old woman.

By late morning, the newbie slayers had all had their good night's rest, eaten a hearty breakfast, and were in the early stages of becoming whining teenagers because of their complaints for a change of clothes. Luckily, during his late night phone calls, Giles had been able to have a council member wire money, and Xander, despite sight in only one eye, had insisted he make the early morning bus trip to the nearest Western Union to pick it up. Cash would not be an issue for the foreseeable future. Knowing that clothes were necessary, the watcher deployed Dawn and Andrew to take the slayers to a nearby department store. He had wanted Xander to go, but after being told about Willow's condition, the man refused to leave. "I'm not leaving the motel now. She might need me." It was all Giles could do to get Dawn to go despite her previous day's strong desire to 'mall it.'

So, off the bus went again, filled with still half-shocked, but at least fed, slayers and their chaperones. Their mission – to find clothes and other basic essentials for themselves and the others left behind. Dawn took it upon herself to pick out items for the three slayers and Willow; Xander gave his specifics to Andrew. Giles insisted that he would shop for himself, later. He feared he would be reduced to wearing a boy band t-shirt if left to the decision of teenage girls, or a Star Wars one if left to Andrew.

Kennedy was still in the motel room with Willow. They ate the food Buffy brought which made the witch feel a little better. Although, she deduced that was only because she hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. The redhead could sit up completely and the dizziness seemed to have all but disappeared. But she still felt generally exhausted. It was a little like how she felt after doing an intense spell…on empty. The witch didn't want to upset her girlfriend anymore than she already was, so she tried to concentrate on regaining her strength.

The dark haired slayer was having trouble keeping calm. It had been several hours and still no word from Giles. Patience had never been one of her better qualities and having Willow's well-being the focus just made things worse for her. She wanted to know what was going on, but didn't want to leave her redhead, too afraid another attack would happen if she wasn't there. So she started to pace.

"Kennedy, why don't you go see if Giles needs any help-" Willow could see the brunette was on edge.

"That doesn't mean it can't happen again, and you shouldn't be alone if it does." Kennedy's voice was adamant.

"You can't stay here all day, you'll…" Willow's words were disrupted by a knock on their door. "Maybe that's Giles now."

The brunette opened the door to a smiling Xander. "Howdy girls, and how are we this fine post-apocalyptic morning?"

"Gee, Will…heard you're putting on your own version of Fight Club. I'd stick with Moulin Rouge though, if I was you, less rough stuff and you can fantasize about Nicole Kidman."

"Come here and sit by me." The redhead was anxious to talk to her childhood friend. She knew he must have been devastated by the loss of Anya and she hadn't been able to be there for him.

"Sweetie, Xander's here now…he can keep an eye on me, right?" He nodded instantly. "Why don't you take a break, go outside, see Giles if you want."

Still hesitant to give up her post, the slayer looked at Xander. "I promise to take good care of her while you're gone." It was said like an official taking an oath for service.

Caving in, Kennedy responded, "Alright. But I won't be that long…I'll just go see if Giles has any info for us." She made her way to the bed and gave Willow a soft kiss on the forehead. Then she turned and headed out the door closing it behind her.

Faith had stayed the night at the hospital, eventually ending up in Wood's room after he left recovery. She slept on the uncomfortable chair next to his bed, holding his hand. Before she dozed off, her thoughts drifted to how she had let herself come to care for the man. They were different in so many ways, on so many levels. Though they shared the passion for demon fighting, she had to admit she was intimidated by his obvious educational advantage. Faith knew she wasn't stupid. She had more than her share of common sense. But, she wasn't book-smart. Her home life hadn't been conducive to studying. There were always drunken fights or loud arguments between her mother and the boyfriend-of-the-week to fill up her after school hours.

Faith ran away from her Boston home at the age of fourteen when she became the target of a drunkard's lust and fist. Her latest 'uncle', who had been around longer than most, had been left alone with her while her mother went out for groceries, which the young Faith knew meant bourbon. The man was unshaven, with greasy hair and bad breath. She was on her bed in the back room of the apartment just trying to be unnoticed and stay as far away from the man as possible. She had felt uneasy around him before.

Suddenly, the door to her room burst open and the man staggered in, walking to the side of her bed, never saying a word. The dark haired girl could tell her uncle was beyond drunk; he was shit-faced. He never said a word, his eyes seared into her. They were cold and unfeeling. Before she could move, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up to him roughly. His other hand captured her hair and jerked her head back. He then leaned in and pushed his hard, cracked lips against hers. He forced his tongue inside her mouth. She could taste a day's hard drinking on it and feel his scratchy stubble around her mouth. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes. He pressed against her, his erection felt through his dingy pants. The hand that had her arm pinned was now grabbing at her breast, squeezing hard, digging his dirty fingernails into her t-shirt and skin so forcefully it made her wince. But the hand didn't stop there. It quickly invaded her lower. There too the drunkard pawed at her, fiercely rubbing against her jeans as she tried to clench her thighs shut.

But uncle was not to be denied. His hand traveled to the top of her jeans and plunged underneath. Faith could feel callous, rough hands on her skin, between her legs…and then fingers rammed inside her…What she felt was beyond pain. She almost vomited.

Young Faith was being raped and she realized no one was coming to save her. She instantly protested, pulling her mouth away from his, and started to forcefully twist and pull, somehow managing to squirm out of the man's grasp and away from him. That only angered the drunk. He sprang after her and cornered her by the nightstand. "Don't ever do that again, you fucking cunt." That's when he hit her, with his fist, with a grown man's force. She buckled to the floor from the blow to the side of her head, in agonizing pain, barely missing the sharp corner of the small stand. She blacked out for a fraction of a second. The drunk hovered over the terrified fourteen year old. At that moment, somewhere deep inside, Faith told herself she had to get out or she'd be dead. She knew she had to act quickly. So she gathered up all her strength and in a swift movement, which caught the man off guard, brought both hands together and slammed them up into his crotch. He fell over curled up in the fetal position, his hands instantly grabbing his now obviously injured groin. "Don't YOU ever do that again, you fucking prick-" She spat the words at him.

Faith left home that night. She knew telling her mother would do nothing. The woman was weak, needing a man in her life and in her bed more than needing a decent life for her daughter. Her mother allowed her and Faith to live under horrible conditions just to have that connection. She ignored her men lying to her, stealing from her, fucking around on her…and hitting her. The woman would give a blind eye to the lustful glances at Faith by her lovers and tell her daughter they were just being friendly. The young Faith was smart enough to know that was not the life she wanted. Her unfortunate circumstances had made her tough. The prospect of a hard life on the streets would be a welcomed relief compared to the hell that was her home life. So she ran, and never looked back.

That night seemed like a thousand years ago to the slayer now. She'd come so far and fallen so deep, but still survived. She wondered if her feelings for Wood were only possible because of her long journey. Was he really different, the first guy to call her on her bullshit, or was she just only now ready to hear the message, to let someone in? She decided it didn't matter. She fell asleep still holding his hand.

Wood awoke slowly to the sunlight pouring into his room from the small window and felt a pain in his side when he tried to shift his hips. The movement of his hand brought the slayer from her sleep. "Robin…How do you feel?" She smiled at the principal.

"Yeah, well…couldn't handle another five minutes on a bus with those teenagers…slayers or not, they still get on my nerves." Her flimsy attempt to hide her true motive was not lost on the man. "Well, thank you for doing that…for whatever reason." The last part was stated with a hint of feigned conceit.

"Yeah, they all left last night and found a motel. Giles was back here for a little while and he gave me the lowdown on the place."

Wood shook his head in mock disgust. "I mean I'm a grown man who doesn't need twenty-four hour care. You look like you could use some sleep…real sleep…not the kind from an ergonomically challenged wooden chair."

Wood scanned the room and saw a big plastic bag that he presumed had to contain his clothes and belongings as its contents. "Get that bag. It'll have my wallet. I'm calling you a cab."

Giles hated computers. He liked the feel of an old book in his hands. Researching books was his passion. 'Well that certainly is not an option now.' The watcher was upset. He had spent the morning on the phone with the coven and the remaining watcher council members. The search for an answer was narrowing, but there were still several possible explanations for Willow's episodes. This meant Giles would probably have to research if his sources didn't come up with something soon and that meant he'd have to find a computer. He gave a fond memory to his library of Hellmouth paraphernalia now resting at the bottom of a very big hole.

He could do nothing until the bus returned from its shopapalooza, so he decided to inform the others of his progress to date. He also realized he was hungry, so that was added to his list of things to do before readying himself for the unpleasant task of possible battle with the cyber-space world of computers and the internet.

He ran into Kennedy as he was leaving his room. "Ah, just the man I was looking for," the young slayer said.

"No…well, kinda…I think she's getting some of her strength back." The statement sounded hopeful. "I just wanted to know if you'd found anything out yet?"

"Actually, I was just coming to gather everyone up so we could go over what the coven and council told me."

"Excellent, let's go find Buffy…I'd rather not be away from Willow too long." Giles saw the concern in the brunette's face and realized that the slayer really did have deep affection for the redhead.

"How are you really doing Will?" Xander knew he would be able to tell if his friend was holding back.

"I'm doing better…really…I'm just n-nervous because I…I can't figure out w-w-why this is happening."

He hugged her and softly said, "We'll find out. Nothing's going to happen to you."

"That's what Kennedy keeps saying." A warm feeling came over the witch with the mention of the brunette's name.

"She's right," Xander agreed, "And you know, she wouldn't let anything happen to you either. She's crazy about you." Willow bashfully smiled. "It's true Will. It's so obvious from just looking at her. The way she looks at you, that girl would climb Mount Everest if you asked her to."

The witch stared at her best friend and he could tell she had become uneasy. "What's the matter Will? Do you not want that?" She kept staring, fixated on his face. Xander thought the redhead was trying to find the right words to answer him – that is until she screamed.

This time the pulse wasn't quick or sudden. Willow was talking to Xander when she felt something enter her, slowly and completely. It became a part of her, like a parasite and began to shred her power, her essence, from her. This time it was painful, burning her alive from the inside painful. She heard an ear piercing scream and realized it was coming from her. This time, the pulse was brutal, both in mind and body.

Giles and the two slayers burst into the room just as Willow was shaking violently on the bed, as if in the throngs of a severe epileptic seizure, while a standing Xander looked on horrified. After what seemed an eternity, the witch became still. Her eyes strained to opened, theirs the look of a defeated warrior. She could barely see the figures in the room.

With all the strength she had, she tried to speak. It was barely audible, more like a whisper to the frightened onlookers in the room.

Aguilo sought out the old woman. She hardly slept anymore and often took to meandering walks in the woods. When he could not find her in her usual haunts, he retired to her old shack of a house and waited. He sensed great upheaval in the universe. The medicine man had never had a feeling this strong before. He was worried for his people, for the upcoming ceremony, which he was certain would occur and would surely take an immeasurable toll on his clan – one that was his people's obligation to accept.

The old woman came out of the woods behind her house. She felt Aguilo before she saw him. She knew why he was there and what needed to be done. She had been out wandering, preparing herself. Though she wasn't sure of her exact role in this mystical play, she knew it would be central to the impending balance of existence, of the fulfillment of destinies. She rounded the front corner of the building and saw her fellow clansman sitting on the porch step.

In the language of their ancestors they spoke. The medicine man stated, "We've been called." The old woman responded in kind, "Yes, there is much imbalance."

Before Aguilo could ask the old woman for more specifics, both experienced a sensation pass through them, like a wave of air drifting through a screen door. It left them tingling.

"Gather the clan. It's happening tonight." The old woman's words rung in Aguilo's ear.

"So…what…we're just supposed to sit here twiddling our thumbs and hope Giles gets lucky enough to get an answer from some Unabomber wannabe?" Kennedy was visibly upset and her tone matched in intensity.

"We can't fight if we don't even know what to fight. We have to give Giles a chance to give us something to work with," retorted the blond slayer.

"She won't die!" Buffy barked back quickly. She knew Kennedy was angry because she could do nothing to help Willow, the older slayer felt the same way. But she couldn't handle anymore of Kennedy's griping about it. They all understood the position they were in and Kennedy's dislike for it did nothing but make the blonde more on edge.

After her plea for help, Willow passed out again and did not regain consciousness for about twenty minutes. When she did wake up, it was only for a few minutes. She said nothing, straining even to breath. Then the witch fell asleep. Giles determined that her breathing and heart rate were fine, and she wasn't running a fever. She was visibly normal in all respects except for the fact that they could not wake her up. Giles knew taking her to the hospital would be useless since the cause of her condition was anything but earthly. Once they agreed that the witch was stable, the four went outside, just on the other side of the door leaving it open so they could watch the redhead.

The watcher then related the information gathered from his telephone calls. The coven had begun to sense a discord in the energy field around Sunnydale. The disruption had begun to spread outward, like the rippling effect from a stone thrown in water. They performed a spell to determine if demonic forces were the cause of the discord. It was not. However, that did not rule out the possibility that such forces were not involved, since the spell pinpointed origin and not later stowaways.

"There could be demons involved, targeting Willow perhaps to catch us off guard and attack her or the slayers." Giles hypothesized.

"But you don't think that's it…do you-" It was a statement more than a question.

He then went on to tell them the coven's and council members' other theory, the one they were almost certain was the culprit but desperately hoped wasn't.

"We think there's been a severe imbalance created in this world due to the spell. Making all the potentials into slayers has produced something that wasn't supposed to be, a tilting of the scales if you will…" Giles was now rubbing his forehead with his hand, trying to blend the right words for the greatest clarity. "You see, there are those who believe that everything exists in a balance…And when an event occurs that tips that balance, the universe…self-corrects, for lack of a better term."

"Are you saying there's no demon…that the cosmos is using Will as an equalizer?" Xander was confused.

"In a way-" Giles now had his glasses in his hand, cleaning a lens with a tissue he removed from his pocket; he did not want to explain the next part. "There is a void that has to be filled and Willow is the one to fill it." He decided not to give the entire explanation.

"If it's the power, why not get it from us…the slayers that were created." Kennedy asked.

Giles looked at her. "Willow is a very powerful witch and she did say she could feel all of you. Maybe the power, or part of it, is still there, a part of her, in some form. Or maybe it's just her own strength as a witch. It's the path of least resistance, really. Obtain balance from one instead of many."

Giles knew he could no longer withhold the last crucial piece of information. "We can't. The imbalance will be corrected…I'm afraid it won't end until…" He didn't want to say it. "…all the energy has left Willow."

"You mean…she's gonna…die…" Kennedy could hardly say the words; they came out in child-like fear. Her eyes diverted to the ground. "No…she can't die." The words cracked from her throat.

The blonde slayer refused death as an answer; she had seen ample loopholes in the inevitable before. "There must be something, anything, Giles to keep Willow from…" She couldn't bring herself to say the word.

Giles had replaced his glasses. He shook his head. "The only information I received was what I told you. Sunnydale is gone, so I have no books to research. There's no computer here and I don't know if I'd be any good at that…that is Willow's forte. I was given the name of a man who could perhaps tell us more about the imbalance itself, but not a solution. In any event, this person is quite the recluse and may be of no use in any regard."

"I say if there's a chance this guy may know anything, we gotta find him." Xander's deflated demeanor perked up with Giles' remarks. "Where is this guy?"

"From what I was told, he's supposed to be living about fifty miles west of here."

"Let's go get 'em." Xander had called out the cavalry and he was leading the troops.

Kennedy cut him off at the pass. "Wait, we need a plan, who's going and who's staying. And by that, I mean I'm staying here with Will." The brunette would not leave her witch just to track down the chance of a possibility. She needed to be near, to let her redhead know she wasn't alone, that she wouldn't let her go through this by herself, no matter what the ending.

With quick discussion, it was decided that Giles and Xander would go find the recluse and Kennedy and Buffy would stay. In case there was a demonic side to the current events, the slayers, who had since returned from shopping, needed to be notified and put on guard. The older slayer took on that responsibility while Kennedy was to keep vigil on her redhead. They then parted, each with their duty, each holding a part of Willow's fragile destiny in their hands.

As Buffy was on her way to gather the new slayers, she saw a taxi drive into the motel parking lot. Out stepped Faith much to the blonde's surprise. Faith paid the driver, glanced around her surroundings and eyed Buffy walking toward her.

"Yo…B, nice digs. Could you guys have found a dumpier place?" Her voice was cheerfully sarcastic. Though she had had some misgivings about leaving Robin, she was glad to be out of the hospital. She had spent too many coma-filled days in one of those bleach smelling institutions to ever want to voluntarily go back. Then she saw that look on Buffy's face. The one that told her all was not well and a plan of action was in the works.

"It's Willow.…" The blonde slayer then explained the morning events and Willow's previous bouts. She was methodical, not leaving out a single detail. Buffy knew Faith might be needed if they could decipher a cure for her friend, and she wanted her to have all the facts. Buffy ended with the group's present assigned duties.

"Will's sleeping right now, Kennedy's watching her. I'm going to call the girls together and give them the skinny on this whole thing." Buffy was in full leader mode again, never thinking it could be left to someone else. "You look like you need some sleep. I suggest you get some now while you can." The blonde's expression took on a slight pleading quality. "We might need you when Giles gets us some more info." Buffy wouldn't even consider the possibility that Giles and Xander would come up dry with the recluse. They had to get answers.

"I'm here if you need me…for anything. And I'm ok now if you want me to take care of the girls. You don't have to do this by yourself." The rogue slayer's words were sincere.

"No, it's ok…go sleep…b-but…thanks for asking." Buffy knew Faith's declaration was real and she knew she could trust her on her word although it felt awkward, like new shoes that hadn't been properly worn in.

After telling Faith her room key was waiting for her at the front lobby and watching her stroll away, Buffy headed to accomplish her mission. She enlisted the help of Dawn. The new slayers were told of the passing events and that there was a chance that demons might be involved. They were told to stay together, not leave the motel and be on the lookout for any suspicious happenings. Dawn was to be stay with them. Despite their being slayers now, the group of girls still didn't have much hands on experience, at least not as much as Dawn. Buffy informed her sister of Giles' and Xander's planned trip.

"I'm counting on you Dawnie to keep these guys under control. Some of them are still freaked out over yesterday. We have to have everybody ready to go into action if necessary...You need to be in charge here so we can help Will."

Dawn accepted her duty without hesitation. She worried about Willow and wanted to be with her to help, even if that meant just watching her sleep. She owed so much to the redhead for her comfort after her mother died, and for her strength after Buffy's short lived death. Dawn realized that if her sister wanted her to be with the new slayers, it was because that would aid Willow the most. So she gladly agreed.

"Just keep us up to speed on what's happening, and don't be scared to call us to help. We'll be ready."

Buffy smiled proudly at her not so little sister. She knew her newest commander wouldn't let her down.

Not too long after the group meeting, Giles and Xander left for their rendezvous with, what they hoped would be, the man holding a key piece of the puzzle. They received a map and directions to Hog's Bend, home to the recluse, from the day manager at the front desk. "You sure are getting a lot of use outta that bus. Can't say it looks too comfortable a ride but I guess it gets you where you need to go." The manager surveyed the bus which was parked in full view of the lobby's front window.

"Yes, it has. My only hope is that it continues to do so." Giles' comment was stated with reserved confidence. The bus had taken a few bumps and bruises, and the watcher thought he'd heard a whizzing sound from the engine when he returned from his late night hospital run. Not knowing much of automobiles, he assumed the condition was unimportant since no lights on the bus' dash lit up or flashed.

With that, the two men gave their thanks to the manager, loaded onto the vehicle and departed.

"Ok. It's a little after two, so we should be there, hopefully, a little after three." Xander was trying to calculate when they should be able to return to the motel. "I'm thinking we put the squeeze on this guy, get the info lickitty split, and get back to cosmo central by four thirty…five the latest."

"I don't' think we should get ahead of ourselves. We don't know if this gentleman is at home, if he'll be willing to talk to us or even if he has any helpful information." Giles wanted nothing more than to accept Xander's schedule of victory, but he knew success never came that easily.

"Come on G-man, so the guy's a loner, that doesn't mean he won't talk, especially once he knows a person's life could be on the line. Ya gotta think positive…what's the guy's name again?"

Though Kennedy had the least amount to do of the four, hers was the most unnerving. The brunette had been with Willow since Giles and Xander left. She sat watching the woman she loved slowly withering away. It was not a drastic transformation, certainly nothing for a B-rated horror movie, but it was there. She could see Willow's face thinning, her eyes sinking slightly into their sockets, the first step to an emaciated body. Her soft, supple lips had become dry and chapping. Her breathing was noticeably shallower and more labored. The brunette was witnessing the slow death of her lover and it was tearing her apart. The dark haired slayer felt useless, all her training and all her slayer strength were worthless to her at this moment. They were no more relevant than a eunuch in a whore house. She would give everything away, just to have her Willow back.

She was sitting in the chair where, just the night before, she had poured out her soul…and where now she wished Willow had heard her confession of love.

Unable to handle the thoughts charging through her mind-Willow's dying body, her death, the brunette's collapse into despair – Kennedy sprang from the chair and went outside. She had to rid herself of the imaginary demons that were encapsulating her in gloom. Outside she could breath, there was room to swipe those thoughts off her…she could get control again. And she did. Kennedy composed herself and began to contemplate what actions she could take to help her witch. "There's got to be something I can do-" she said out loud to herself.

"We all want to do something, Kennedy." The voice was that of the blonde slayer who had walked up behind the younger slayer. "How's Will?"

"She's…the same." Kennedy lied. She didn't want Buffy to worry more than needed for her best friend.

So the two waited and talked occasionally, uncertain when they would hear from Giles or Xander. The longer they waited, the more frustrated Kennedy became, the more vocal she got. She finally voiced her concern that waiting for Giles might be pointless and the outcome it could have for Willow.

"She won't die!" Buffy barked back. Buffy's patience had worn thin. She was about to chastise the younger slayer when the phone in the room rang. Both women raced in and Buffy was the first to reach the receiver.

"Hello...Giles, finally...what happened?" There was a long silence, Buffy listening intently, Kennedy holding her breath.

"Yeah…uh-huh…that was it? That's all he'd say?" There was disappointment in her tone.

The receiver hadn't even made it to its base when Kennedy questioned, "So…what'd they find out?"

Buffy's response was reserved, "All they got really was the name of a town not so close to here…La Founita."

The brunette examined that bud of information. Kennedy's eyes widened and she grew a confident smile, "Looks like a road trip."

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The Sacrifice

by LilBit

Copyright © 2005

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