Answering Darkness by Sassette

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them because Season 6 angst is running high, and I want my happy ending now, dammit! So I'm writing it – but it'll be a while until I get to that part, so bear with me (or "bare" with me if you're naughty).
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Please ask.
Feedback: Thank you..
Spoilers: Up to and including Once More With Feeling.
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: AU story about the source of Willow's black magick powers and how she, Tara, and the rest of the gang help save the world from the Trickster.

Time seemed to slow for Tara as Willow stumbled into the shop. Her simple words "I need help" echoed through her mind and tugged at her heart. As Willow fell, landing with a thud, Tara was on her feet and moving, flying past the Scoobies and to Willow's side. Her fear and concern moved her so quickly, not even the Slayer beat her there.

Her heart tripped in her chest as she cradled Willow's limp body against her, her fingers searching for the pulse point on her neck. She heard someone scream Willow's name.

A heartbeat, and another, and time returned to normal. Tara choked on a sob, relief washing over her. She pulled Willow up closer, one hand gently patting her cheek as Xander and Buffy knelt at their side, anxious looks on their faces.

"Come on, Baby – wake up," Tara urged. "Come on. Let's see those pretty eyes." Dawn, Anya and Spike stood close, but Tara didn't notice, her whole being focused on Willow's face.

After an eternity, Willow's eyes fluttered open, and she sighed an snuggled closer to the safe and warm place in which she found herself as a shaky Tara let her head drop forward, their foreheads resting together.

"Can you stand, Will?" Buffy asked, holding her friend's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"You're gonna' be fine, Will," Buffy broke in, giving Tara a moment to compose herself.

"Hey, it's okay," Tara said quickly. "You don't have to tell us right now. I bet you're tired, huh?"

"Who did this to you, Will. Just tell me who or what, and I'll take care of it," Buffy said, her voice low and intense.

"What?" Tara breathed, her brows furrowing. Had Willow managed to hurt herself with magick? Was that why she finally realized she needed help, or had something else happened? Maybe Willow was still unconcerned about the magick, and needed help of a different kind. Tara hoped not, and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to believe this was the turning point she had prayed for.

"I was out at the park, and I heard a scream," Willow went on, her eyes distant and her voice rough. "I ran towards it. Pretty stupid, huh?" she asked, her eyes focusing on Tara.

"No," Tara said, a small smile curving the edge of her lips as she remembered Willow running towards the sound of distress when Tara had been running from the Gentlemen. "It was very brave," she insisted, pressing her lips to Willow's forehead. "That's what cool monster fighters do."

A look of profound love, relief and gratitude crossed Willow's face at Tara's words, and Tara's smile grew. This was the Willow she had fallen in love with – the brave strong woman with the huge heart that demanded she help when others were in need, no matter the consequences.

"The same one we saw last night?" Xander asked. Willow nodded, turning to look at her friend.

"Yeah. So then I ran in, and the girl ran away, and I got hurt," she finished quietly. How could she explain about the magick? How could she tell them all in a way that they'd understand that it had just come to her, and that she'd been helpless against its call for release? And the vision – what would they think of that?

"Okay, gang," Buffy said, rising to her feet. "Grab some books, and head over to my place. Get Willow into bed, and get on the research – I want to know what this thing is, where it came from, and how I kill it," she said, her voice intense. "Spike, make sure they get home all right, then meet me at the park."

"Me? Meet you at the park." Spike asked, smirking. "A little moonlight stroll, eh? All right, then."

"No," Buffy said slowly, drawing out the word. "We're going to find this thing."

Buffy grabbed her large back of sharp pointy things and headed out of the shop, leaving the rest of the Scoobies standing around.

"Well, then," Spike said, smiling broadly at the group. "I guess Uncle Spike gets to make sure you kiddies get home safe, then it's playtime."

Dawn moved to the research table, her face pensive. "Are these the books we need?" she asked, pointing at the stack Xander had set on the table earlier.

"Yeah, those are the ones we usually start with," Xander said, hefting the books.

"Anything I can carry?" Dawn asked, looking around hopefully. The events of the evening had shaken her. First, the crystal, that she knew she had taken without permission, and now Willow was hurt and Buffy had taken off to patrol... she needed to feel useful.

"Let's see if there are some more books we might need," Anya said, taking Dawn's hand and heading towards the back of the shop.

Spike knelt next to Tara and the still-groggy Willow. "May I?" he asked, looking at Tara and motioning towards Willow.

Tara nodded, and Spike got his arms under Willow's body, lifting her easily. "Right then, Red. We're going to get you all tucked in, then we'll go find out what this new Bad wants." Tara hovered nearby, and though Spike would have liked some maneuvering room, he didn't complain, not when Tara was so clearly worried about her girl.

"I can walk," Willow protested, her voice barely audible and her eyes drooping. "Been doing it for years."

"Just humor us, okay sweetie?" Tara said, brushing a few strands of hair out of Willow's face.

"Got them," Anya said, as she and Dawn walked back in, each carrying several books. Tara looked at them, then remembered her own books, scooping them up from where she had dropped them then hastening back to Willow's side.

"Let's just toddle off then, shall we?" Spike asked, striding towards the door. Xander quickly shifted the books he was carrying, getting the door open and holding it for everyone leaving.

"Is Willow really going to be okay?" Dawn asked, slipping her hand into Tara's as they walked.

"Yeah, she really will," Tara said, nodding firmly. "It's scary though, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. I mean, she just kinda' came in and fell, and she's all scratched and stuff," Dawn went on, smiling a little when Tara squeezed her hand.

"I know," Tara said, looking over at Willow, who was trying to stay awake. "I'm scared, too, but it's natural to be scared when someone you love is hurt. We always fear the worst, Dawnie, even when we know it'll be okay. That's human nature. But Willow will be fine. She's just put out a lot of energy, like you did."

"She asked for help. Are you gonna' help her?" Dawn asked, cutting through all the extraneous concerns and jumping to the heart of the matter as only a young person can.

"It – it's not that simple, Dawn. A lot of stuff happened," Tara murmured, looking down at her feet as she walked.

"But you still love her. You said so. And if she asked for help, then we should help her, right?" Dawn pressed.

"I don't know what to do," Tara admitted bleakly, looking over at Willow cradled in Spike's arms as they walked. "I don't know if she can stop, and I – I can't be around her like that."

"No, she really truly loves you," he went on. "I know people – been looking at them for forever, seems like," he mused aloud. "Can't really remember the last time I saw two people more truly and deeply in love."

Spike paused, looking over at Tara. "Part of her thinks that the magick is why you love her, you know. I've seen it a million times. If she stops, she thinks she'll lose you anyway, and then she'll just be plain old Willow again without you."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Dawn said, frowning at Spike.

"Of course it is. It's complete and utter poppycock, but it's what she thinks," Spike insisted, walking on. "I know Red. I knew her before the magick, before Oz, before all of that."

"So did I," Xander cut in, glaring at Spike. "And she's not like that. She knows Tara loves her."

"Actually, it makes sense," Anya mused. "I mean, she and Tara got together over the magick thing, right?" Anya continued as they arrived at the Summers home, Dawn opening the door as they all trooped inside. "If she was really such a loser before, and she thinks Tara loves her because of the power, why give up the power, if she's going to lose Tara anyway? Either way – no Tara."

"She was not a loser!" Xander yelled, dropping his books heavily on the table in the living room.

"I'll just take her upstairs then, right?" Spike asked, not waiting for an answer and carrying the girl up the stairs. Tara followed, a pensive look on her face.

The room was quiet when the door shut, and Spike laid Willow gently on the bed. "This is getting to be a habit," he pointed out, stepping back from Willow's sleeping form.

"It's all right. You all keep me supplied with blood and violence, carrying Red here is the least I can do."

"Do... do you really think she thinks I'm only there for the magick?" Tara asked uncertainly.

"I think on one level she knows that's bollocks, but on the other, she's afraid."

"Of what?" Tara asked, her voice sounding helpless and small. "Have I ever given her a reason to believe that -"

"No, you didn't," Spike said, ducking down to meet Tara's eyes. "Hey. Listen, now. Red's afraid of herself more than anything else. She's afraid she's not good enough – that she won't measure up."

"Measure up to what?" Tara asked, confusion coloring her tone. "All I ever wanted was for her to be Willow. Sweet, brave, smart, babbling Willow."

"Yes, but she's always wanted to be useful. Powerful. You have to realize that she's been fighting the end of the world since she was in high school. She's seen her best friend die twice, and countless others."

"Well, enough of this. I really have to get going. Talk to her when she wakes up," Spike said suddenly, uncomfortable with the situation. It was like he was suddenly in the middle of one of his soap operas. The next thing he knew, he was going to start suggesting self-help books. Spike disappeared before Tara could say any more, so she climbed onto the bed and held Willow's hand as she slept.

"Dammit, Spike," Xander ground out when Spike appeared. "You have no right to judge her!" he yelled, grabbing his coat and slamming him into the wall.

"Easy now, pup," Spike growled. "I wasn't judging her – she's judging herself, and you just can't see it."

"Fine," Spike said, shrugging out of Xander's hold and going to the door. "Buffy's waiting for me."

The door closed behind him with a dull thud, and the remaining Scoobies looked at each other.

"Yes we are. Because we have to, and that's what we do," Xander said, looking up and frowning at his girlfriend.

"Oh, I know we have to... it's just that we never find anything. We're not the good research people. Giles and Willow are the good research people. They should be helping."

"Well, Giles is in England, and Willow is sleeping," Xander said, pointing out the obvious.

"Giles would have found it by now. Or Willow would have a clue. She'd be taking her little notes in her different colored pens, and she'd have some idea of what was going on. Maybe we should take notes?" Anya said.

"We could, but we haven't found anything worth writing down," Xander said. "Besides, that different colored pen thing is kind of... weird."

"I'm sure she does," Xander said, nodding at Dawn. "But if Willow decided to write all her notes in pig-Latin, Tara would think that was cute, too. But I don't suggest we try it."

"Tara thinks bunnies are cute, too. She's got a really twisted sense of cute," Anya pointed out. "Even when I was a demon, I didn't think bunnies were cute."

Xander stood, yawning hugely. "Coffee, Ahn?" he asked, looking over at the ex-demon.

"Sure. If we're going to be here all night instead of going back to the apartment for -"

"Anya!" Xander interrupted, gesturing towards Dawn with his head, his eyes wide.

"...cookies," she said slowly. "If we're not going to go have our cookies, then I might as well have some coffee."

"I don't think so, Dawnie," Xander said. "You're a little young to be getting into the heavy caffeine. Pretty soon, you'll start drinking, then smoking, and before you know it, you'll have a nasty heroin addiction."

"Right. And then you'll end up in jail with a large girlfriend," Anya broke in. "Not that there's anything wrong with having a girlfriend, just... not in jail."

"Not helping," Xander said, his lips pressed together in a tight smile as he looked over at Anya. "Besides, Dawnie, it's kind of late, and you should go get some sleep." "You can't send me to bed," Dawn said, going back to her reading. "Besides, I'm helping."

"I can too send you to bed," Xander argued back, taking the book from Dawn and putting it back on the table. "Look, I know you're all adult and whatnot, but you were in the hospital yesterday. So for everyone's peace of mind, just get some sleep, okay?"

"Willow's sleeping," Xander called after her, and her footsteps immediately quieted.

Tara watched over Willow as she slept, turning her head to the door when she heard footsteps on the stairs. The door creaked open, and Dawn poked her head in, her face worried.

"I just wanted to say good night," she whispered. "Xander and Anya sent me to bed," she went on, her face twisting into a look of righteous indignation. "Are they allowed to send me to bed?"

"Yes, they are," Tara said with an affectionate smile. She looked at the clock on the bed stand. "And they're right. You really should be sleeping."

Dawn's face fell, her hopes of Tara letting her stay up – because Tara certainly outranked Xander and Anya in the "bossing Dawn around" department – dashed. "Well, they're not really getting anywhere with the research thing. Xander doesn't want to quit, though – he's mad this thing hurt Willow, and Anya is just mad that Xander won't go home with her to have -"

"Uhh... cookies," Dawn finished weakly. "She is going to be all right, right?" Dawn asked, moving to the bed and looking down on Willow.

"N-no," Willow mumbled, frowning in her sleep, her eyes fluttering. Tara squeezed her hand, brushing her hair back from her face and making soothing shushing noises. "Frogs!" Willow called, her eyes fluttering open.

"Hey... hey," Tara said, as Willow looked around the room wildly. "Frog-free zone here."

"Hi," Willow said, her breathing calming down. "Hey, Dawnie," she said, looking over at the teenager.

"Hey, Willow," Dawn said, moving over to hug her. "I just came in to say goodnight. I'll, uh... leave you two alone," she said, hugging Tara, then leaving the room.

"Good night," Tara said as the door closed. "How are you feeling?" she asked Willow, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Pretty yucky," Willow said. "And everything's kind of jumble-y," she finished, waving a hand near her head.

"You should probably go back to sleep," Tara said, unsure of what else she could say. "And I should probably help with the research."

"They're doing research?" Willow asked, perking up. "Maybe I should come help, too." She would do just about anything to stay with Tara a little longer, right now. There was something so safe about being in her presence.

"Willow," Tara said exasperatedly. "I doubt you could stand up right now. You should sleep."

"Yucky? Jumble-y?" Tara said, squeezing her hand. "Nice try, research girl, but Dr. Tara insists you stay in bed."

"Can you tell me more about what happened?" Tara asked. "You don't have to," she said quickly at the sudden look of fear that crossed Willow's face.

"No, I'm not," Willow said softly, her eyes growing distant. She wasn't safe, herself, and she wasn't safe to be around. Not now, not with the new demon thing and the magick she couldn't stop. "I had some kind of weird vision-y thing," Willow said slowly, before Tara could comment. "I threw power at it without even meaning to, and then I fell. I felt so weak and kinda' drained," Willow tried to explain. "It leaned over me, looking at me with its big yellow eyes, and I just thought 'this is it – I'm done.'"

Tara's heart clenched at the words, the thought of losing Willow like that stealing her breath. Before she could speak, Willow went on.

"I asked it what it was, or where it came from, or something like that, and then I was somewhere else."

"Somew-where else?" Tara asked, her brow furrowing, her fingers entwining with Willow's, the smooth warm skin and the connection reassuring her that Willow was going to be all right.

"Yeah, like a village or something. On a hill, in a circle of stones. Only it wasn't me – I was in somebody else, and it was like I was just kinda' watching. And the demon thing was there, trying to get into the circle, and Angel was there, fighting the demon. I, umm..." Willow said, her voice catching. "I think I was the bad guy. I think I was summoning something big."

"Angel? W-what else do you remember?" Tara asked, knowing this was important somehow, but wishing she could spare Willow from recounting it.

"A portal kind of thing was opening up, and I was chanting in some language I didn't know. Angel ran away when the demon was winning. My hair was the wrong color, but I guess it wasn't, 'cuz it wasn't really me, huh?" Willow asked, looking anywhere but at Tara. "It was darker, but still red. And the portal was all yellow, and there was a man in there. He was stuck and angry and he wanted out, and I think I was trying to help him."

Willow nodded, then frowned, unsure. The magick she had been casting hadn't felt dark. Maybe the guy was just some poor soul trapped somewhere? "Maybe. I don't know. Maybe he was a good guy and I was helping him. Maybe the demon was trying to stop me. My eyes were blue," she said, the inconsequential detail popping into her mind. "Like yours."

"The portal closed up, and then I was back. I didn't want to die," Willow said, her eyes watering. "Not like that. Not when -" she said, her throat closing on the words. Not when Tara was so angry and hurt. She cleared her throat. "I told it to go away, and it did."

"Baby, are you afraid of me?" Willow asked in a small voice, a look of infinite hurt on her face.

"No, don't answer that," Willow said, tears welling up and spilling over. "I'm afraid of me right now. I don't know what's happening. I have so many questions, but I'm afraid of the answers."

"I should go," Willow said suddenly, sitting up and wincing as her body protested.

"My parents are out of town. I'll be by myself, and that's probably safest," she reasoned.

"Stay tonight," Tara insisted. "Just, go to sleep, and we'll talk in the morning."

"Get some rest," Tara said, her voice softening. "I'm going to go help with the research."

Willow listened to Tara's footsteps down the stairs, her mind racing. Had she accidentally unleashed something last night? No, she couldn't have. She had run into those vampires, but she hadn't cast anything new. And she would have known if anything had gone wrong. No, she hadn't summoned anything. But why did it obey her? Why did it like her magick? Why had the dark energy come to her, without her call?

Tara walked into the living room, surprised to see Xander and Anya actually researching and not using the alone time for an impromptu make-out session.

"Yes, actually, that'd be nice," Tara said, a grateful smile crossing her features. The last few days had taken a toll, and she was suddenly exhausted, the emotional outpouring of the days catching up with her.

"She's shaken up. And she's scared," Tara confided, frowning. Her eyes fell on the table, a large pile of pens in different colors lying about haphazardly. Anya picked up a pen and started writing in a notebook.

"Oh, well, we figured Giles is so good at research because he's British and boring, and Willow's good at research because she takes notes in colors," Anya said, proud of her reasoning. "I didn't think I'd be British or boring anytime soon, so I thought I'd give the pens a try," she finished earnestly.

"Is it helping?" Tara asked, curious as to whether or not anyone but Willow could make sense of multi-colored notes.

"Well, I wrote down the description Xander gave of the demon in red, and the names of any demons that meet all the criteria also in red. Demons that are close are in purple, and demons that have one or two similar characteristics in black. Any reference to a demon enjoying being hit with dark magick gets in blue."

"What do you have so far?" Tara asked, accepting the notebook when Anya simply handed it over. She read over the description, making mental notes so she knew what she was looking for, then looked at the rest of the writing. She stifled a helpless grin as she saw the remainder of Anya's notes.

Little hearts and the occasional "X+A" littered the page. "Nothing yet, huh?" she asked.

"You're welcome. And Willow makes what look easy?" he asked, flopping into his chair and pulling his book back onto his lap.

"And I'm just dumb," Xander said, frowning at the pages and turning the book over. "Cave man kind of dumb."

"Oh! I can add it to my notes!" Anya said eagerly, picking up a handful of pens and her notebook.

Tara related Willow's description of the demon, and the details of her vision, winding up her tale in a room full of a heavy silence.

"Wow," Xander finally said. "Do you think that was a real vision? Like that thing was in LA with Angel earlier?" he asked.

"It's more likely it was something that happened in the past," Anya said slowly, her voice thoughtful. "She asked where it came from, or what it was... it was probably the first incarnation of the demon."

"First incarnation?" Tara asked, glad someone had a clue as to what was going on.

"Well, not incarnation, like re-incarnation. Not for demons, anyway. It was the first time that demon was here, and not in Hell," she finished. "At least, that's the likeliest explanation. And Willow probably has a link to that witch, like a past life, or an ancestor or something."

"Well, she used the term 'village'," Anya said, looking over at Tara for confirmation. Tara nodded. "That's a pretty old term, which makes me believe it was probably not a modern kind of place. And Angel is two-hundred years old, so it could have been anytime between now and then."

"Are we sure it was really Angel?" Xander asked after a moment. "Maybe Angel was... I dunno, symbolic? Metaphoric? Kinda' a 'not really Angel, but meaning something else' kind of thing? I mean, are we sure this whole vision whatever is right?"

"It's not a Demon!" Anya said suddenly, leaning forward and shoving books aside. "Where did you put your books, Tara?" she asked, lifting things and shuffling things.

"Oh, umm..." Tara said, moving things around until they found the right stack. Anya grabbed the book she was looking for, flipping through it.

"A-Ha!" she said, finding what she was looking for. "It's not a demon, it's a construct," she said.

"Basically. It's something a denizen of Hell makes that isn't really a demon, so it has an easier time crossing over into this realm. When a demon or something can't get here, it can send a construct, which is fueled by it's dark power... hence the Sources reference... and does its bidding here," she said proudly.

"No, it has to be summoned," Anya said, moving to sit next to Tara and pointing out the proper passage.

Tara read the words, her mind reeling. Had Willow summoned this thing? Was that why it obeyed her commands?

"W-wait," Tara said, reading further. "It can get through a standing portal, if the portal is weakened," she pointed out. "A Hellmouth would certainly work."

"You either UnSummon it, or you push it back through the weakened portal. You can chop it up into little bits, making it unable to really do anything, but the pieces will try to find each other, and it won't really die," Tara said absently, reading the passage further. "The more powerful the demon, the more powerful the construct," she noted, murmuring out loud.

"Are we sure it was the Hellmouth? I mean, what can weaken a Hellmouth?" he asked.

"There are all sorts of spells that are like... they're like a key," Anya explained. "The Hellmouth is a locked door, and unlocking it means a construct can get through."

"Are we working under the assumption that it's the same construct?" Xander asked.

"Are we sure it wasn't Willow?" Anya asked, silence descending on the room as everyone looked at each other.

"She w-wouldn't," Tara protested, her tone indicating she wasn't really sure of that fact.

"No, not Willow," Xander said firmly. "She wouldn't let a big demony construct thing out."

"Well, not on purpose," Anya conceded. "But she's been playing with dark magicks, and who knows what might have gone wrong?"

"She would have felt it go wrong," Tara said, her confidence growing. "She would have told us if she had a spell go wrong like that."

"Would she?" Xander asked sadly, his face etched in lines of worry. "She hasn't really been herself lately."

"No, she would have told me when she told me about the vision," Tara said. "She wouldn't keep a secret that would hurt us, not like this. Not when this thing could kill someone."

Xander nodded, satisfied with the answer. He hated doubting Willow, hated that there was a part of him that didn't exactly trust her anymore.

"Why don't we call Angel?" Anya asked, breaking the silence. "We could ask him about the vision."

"'Hey, Angel... did you ever fight some demon guy outside a circle of stones with a witch there who may or may not have been Willow in a past life, or one of her ancestors?'" Xander said, mimicking holding a phone.

"So, which was it? Past life, or ancestor?" Xander said cheerfully, trying to change the subject. He could tell they were going to make him call. He just knew he was going to have to make the call.

"Probably a past life," Tara said thoughtfully, missing the insincerity of Xander's question. "Willow doesn't have any Celtic ancestry, I don't think, and standing stones are a very Celtic thing."

"Giles! We could call Giles," Xander offered. Anya leveled him with a look, handing over the phone.

"I don't know the number?" Xander asked. Anya handed him the Rolodex next to the phone.

Sighing, Xander looked up Angel Investigations, then dialed the number. Tara and Anya looked at him expectantly as he listened to the phone ring.

"Hi, Cordy. Can I talk to Angel, please?" Xander said pleasantly. "This is Xander," he said incredulously, frowning. "Look, Cordelia, this is important," he said. There was a pause, then he sighed heavily. "Yes, I'm still dating Anya. And don't call her that. In fact," he went on, his voice taking on a certain relish, "we're engaged to be married."

Anya had frowned, barely restraining herself from snatching the phone away and telling Cordelia she couldn't have Xander when she had realized who had answered the phone. Her frown faded away, though, at Xander's words, and a beaming smile crossed her features.

"Angel! Xander," Xander said, smiling back at Anya. "Look, we've got a situation here," he said after a moment. "No, no – that's okay. I just had a question," Xander responded to something Angel said. "Yeah, well, we've got this demon thing none of us have seen before, and Willow had a, kinda' a vision, I guess," Xander said.

"It was definitely a vision," Anya said helpfully as Xander tried to listen to her and the phone at the same time.

"No, I know you're not vision guy, but you were IN the vision," Xander explained. "Willow was on some hill, in a circle of stones, with this big ugly demon construct thing running up the hill, and you close behind. You and the demon fought, some portal thing opened, Willow was chanting, then it closed," Xander said, hitting all the important bits.

Alarm bells went off in Tara's head at Xander's words, and she paled, leaning forward and watching him intently.

"She's out patrolling while we do some research," Xander responded to Angel's question. He listened, the blood draining from his face.

"Oh, God," Xander said, his jaw hanging open after a long moment. "Are you serious? Because I'm not laughing." Xander listened closely, holding up a hand to forestall any questions. "Hold on, let me grab a pen," he said, gesturing for Anya's notebook and a pen. He flipped to a clean sheet and started writing as Angel spoke.

"I don't like this," Anya whispered, leaning in to bump her shoulder against Tara's.

"So what does this guy want? How do we stop him?" Xander asked. "No, don't you get all gloom and doom broody on me," Xander said, his voice rising. "Because we WILL stop him," he insisted, his jaw clenching as he listened to Angel's response. "Then we'll find her," he said, his voice clipped. "No, I don't know how! We just will!"

Xander shook his head as Anya opened her mouth to ask a question. Tara took Anya's hand, clutching it as they waited for Xander to get off the phone and tell them what was going on.

"I appreciate the offer," Xander said, the anger draining from his voice. "If we definitely need you, we'll call again, and I'll let everyone know." Xander nodded as he listened. "And Angel? Thanks," he said, hanging up the phone, his body still and his hand still on the receiver.

Tara woke up, draped all over Willow. Sometime during the night, she must have moved over and snuggled in, her body naturally seeking the comfort only Willow could bring. Xander and Anya had crashed on the couch downstairs, the consensus between the three of them being that they would have to share what Angel told them first thing in the morning.

"Shit," Tara said, looking around reflexively to make sure no one had heard her. Sighing, she gently disentangled herself from Willow and then paused. Why bother? Why pull away from Willow right now when she needed this so badly right now? To make a point? It would make things more complicated when Willow woke up, because they needed to talk, but she'd deal with that later.

She wasn't sure if she was making the right choice. She'd had so little practice making choices, really. The vast majority of her life was spent being told what to do and when to do it. The only real choice she had made in that environment was the one to secretly apply for college. With her grades, she had managed a scholarship, and all her father's objections had melted away beneath the knowledge that he couldn't legally stop her, and that the demon would bring her back.

It had been freeing, having those choices. Choosing her classes, her clothes, her room decorations. Still, she hadn't truly felt a part of that crazy college life until Willow, and then a whole new world of choices had opened up for her.

Tara tucked herself back in, resting her head on Willow's shoulder, a bittersweet smile crossing her face when Willow's arms reflexively tightened around her and the murmured incoherently.

Willow didn't have a choice anymore, Tara mused, the thought making her sad. If she was honest with herself, she wanted Willow to choose her over the magick. But now Willow didn't get to have that choice. Somehow, they had to make sure that Willow wasn't casting spells anymore. They weren't sure of the connection between Willow and the construct, but things looked extremely bad all over, and it was possible Willow's spells were aggravating the situation.

In her daydreams, this wasn't how this was all supposed to happen. Willow was supposed to need her so badly she gave it all up. She wanted Willow to make everything up to her... she wanted everything to be all right.

"I want make up sex, dammit," Tara said under her breath, squeezing her eyes tight against the knowledge seared into her brain by Xander's stunning revelations the evening before.

"Okay," Willow murmured sleepily, her eyes drifting open. Tara looked at her, a blush crawling up her face and her eyes wide.

"Umm...W-willow," Tara stammered, trying to decide which would be less uncomfortable – lifting her head to look at Willow, or burying her face in her neck. She compromised, looking over at the clock and staring at the numbers like they held the secrets of creation.

"That's me," Willow agreed, squinting against the sun pouring in the window. She choked back the words that would have shut the curtains, the color draining from her face. "Oh, God," she gasped, her stomach clenching as the spell rose up inside her, trying to get out.

"Willow?" Tara asked, sitting up, her hands moving to stroke the face that was twisted in pain. She looked on helplessly as Willow's body shook, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her pale skin.

Willow curled up around herself, her knees to her chest as she trembled, every muscle tightening painfully. The power coursed through her, scraping across her nerve endings and demanding to be released. She felt Tara's hand take hers, heard her gasp, then the pain eased, before fading away, leaving her shaking and breathless.

"Oh, God," she moaned, lifting a trembling hand to her face. A sense of relief coursed through her, now that the pain was gone, and with the realization that she had stopped it. Somehow, Tara had stopped the pain, but she had stopped the spell.

"What was that?" Tara asked after a long moment, kneeling next to Willow's huddled form on the bed.

"That wasn't a spell, Willow. You weren't casting anything. You just -" Tara trailed off, her mind replaying the image of Willow gasping and shaking and unresponsive to her calls.

Willow took in a shaky breath, then took a moment to let her muscles relax. She turned over, and looked up at Tara, her eyes troubled and her voice serious. "I spent all day yesterday trying not to cast anything. Xander finally made me see what was so obvious – that the magick isn't worth losing you. So I tried giving it up."

"Then what happened?" Tara asked her brow furrowing. "You had to cast because of the demon?"

"Not exactly," Willow said, her eyes welling up with tears as she looked away, unable to meet Tara's gaze with her own. "I wandered around all day casting spells without meaning to," she said finally. "I – God, I tried... I didn't even consciously think about it...I'd just be walking and there would be things and people, and problems, and I'd think 'Hey, that needs to be fixed,' and then there was a spell going on and I couldn't remember ever actually deciding to cast it, you know?" Tears tracked down Willow's face, and she brushed them away impatiently, intent on getting out her story. "So I kept walking and thinking, and I tried to pay more attention to what I was doing, but I just kept doing, and I couldn't stop it."

"You were casting magick all day," Tara stated flatly, unsure of what about the story she found more horrifying – Willow's spells, or her inability to stop.''

"But not today," Willow said, a small smile crossing her face. "That's what that was. A spell tried to kinda' sneak up on me, and I stopped it."

Tara wasn't sure what to believe. Was Willow telling her that she couldn't stop? That, instead of making empty promises she didn't plan on keeping, she had found herself unable to keep them?

"I don't know what to think," Tara said finally, standing up from the bed and moving to the dresser, open drawers and pulling out some clothes to wear.

"I don't, either," Willow confessed. "I always thought that... I always thought I was the one in control of it. That the magick did what I wanted it to, and that as long as I wanted it to do good things... helpful world-saving things... that it would all be okay. But its got ahold of me, somehow, and I... I'm not in control anymore," she finished, her voice a haunted whisper. "And I don't want that," she continued, her voice gaining urgency. "I don't want something else being in charge of me, even if – even if you can't-" she said, stopping as her throat closed up on the words.

Tara stood still, her hands resting on the drawer and her back to Willow as she spoke. "Even if I can't, what, Willow?" she asked, her voice steady and calm even as her heart ached for Willow.

"Even if you can't love me without the magick," Willow finally managed, her voice hitching on her sobs.

"Is that what you think?" Tara asked incredulously, moving back to the bed and sitting next to Willow. Willow kept her head down, great hiccups shaking her as she tried to breath through the tears. "Willow, look at me," Tara demanded, only to have Willow shake her head and scoot back on the bed. "Look at me," she repeated more firmly, grasping Willow's chin and lifting her eyes to meet her own.

Tara sighed at Willow's tear-streaked face, and the look of fear and rejection in her eyes. How had things gotten so complicated? When had it all gone so wrong?

"Listen to me," Tara said slowly, her face serious and her tone soothing. "You stayed with me – you took care of me – when I couldn't feed myself. I couldn't dress myself, I didn't know what was going on around me... I couldn't even string a coherent sentence together. And you think I'd leave you if you couldn't blow up demons with a few words? Do you really believe that I love you so much less than you love me?"

Willow shook her head weakly, her face miserable. "No... but I... Baby, I'm so much less. I don't deserve to -"

"You stop it right there," Tara said fiercely. "Did magick make you run out of your safe room into danger the night we met? No, that was just you. Did magick make you stand up for me against my father? No – just you. I have never – Ever -" Tara said, her words intense as she choked up. "I have never loved anyone the way I love you. I have never trusted anyone the way I've trusted you – can't you see that's why this hurt me so badly?"

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," Willow gasped out, completely breaking down. Tara pulled the sobbing girl into her arms, her own tears spilling as Willow continued her litany. They stayed that way, crying together, for forever before Willow pulled away slowly, Tara reaching up to wipe her tears away.

"It's me or the magick, Willow. I love you, not it... so don't feel like you'll lose me without it, because you won't. I can't stay with you when I don't know for certain that anything that happens or doesn't happen is real, you know? The magick has to stop. That's your choice."

"I want you," Willow said. "None of it... none of it means anything without you." Her face fell as she continued. "But I don't know if I can. I stopped it today, this once, but... I need help, Baby. I can't do this alone."

The door creaked and they both looked up, startled to see Buffy, Xander, Anya and Spike standing in the doorway, armed to the teeth and looking sheepish.

"Yeah, we thought something... I dunno... demony was going on," Xander said, letting the crossbow swing up and rest against his shoulder. Spike ducked back as he was almost hit in the head with the bolt, then let his 'game face' drop.

"I just wanted to listen," Anya said cheerfully, not-so-gently handing her stake to Xander with a backhand to the stomach and walking into the room, hopping onto the bed and enclosing both startled women in a hug. "Everything's going to be fine," she said, looking back over her shoulder and mouthing 'how was that?' at Xander.

Xander pulled a face, then gave a little thumbs up as Buffy walked into the room, joining in the group hug.

"She's right, you know. Everything is gonna' be all right," Buffy said, nodding determinedly. "And you don't have to do this alone, Will. We're all here to help you."

"Absolutely," Xander agreed, joining the large pile of womanhood on the bed and thanking his lucky stars.

"Well, now," Spike said, looking on with a mixture of amusement and disgust. "If you've all gotten your daily affirmations out of the way, we've got a Hell God to attend to?"

"What?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing as she looked up at Spike. A seeping coldness sunk into her chest. "Glory -?"

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. "Glory's gone. Definitely gone. But there were three Hell Gods, and apparently, that demon thing -"

"No, Baby," Tara said, holding Willow's hand and giving it a squeeze. "That was a construct. It got through the Hellmouth somehow, presumably sent by the Hell God who made it."

"You have one early night," Willow said weakly, her voice and eyes distant as her mind reeled, "and look at all the stuff you miss."

"Come on," Buffy said, standing up and moving to the door, Xander and Anya following. "We'll leave you two to get out of your pj's and we'll fill you in over breakfast."

"Oh. Yeah. That was a good idea," Willow agreed dully, standing up and getting dressed mechanically.

"Oh, sure. Fine. Just... y'know... Hell God and all. Mind spinning," she said. "Just a sort of brain-sucking best-friend killing, world-ending kind of guy. Or girl? Boy Hell God, or girl Hell God?" she asked, her brain latching on to odd details as she tried to maintain some semblance of order in her mind.

"Boy Hell God," Tara answered, used to the strange turns Willow's brain made when it was trying to process everything at once. "We'll tell you the whole story downstairs."

Willow and Tara walked down the stairs, hand in hand, more in comfort and support than any romantic inclinations, though each hoped this would be a turning point for them. All conversation stopped when they walked into the kitchen, a large box of donuts open on the counter.

"Help yourself," Spike said, leaning back against the sink and drinking blood from a mug.

The rest of the Scoobies sat around, eating their donuts with an intensity of concentration that could only arise from a guilty conscience.

"So what did we learn?" Willow asked, selecting a jelly donut and sitting at the table.

"Angel?" Spike let out. "Oh, bloody hell. You didn't tell me that part. Is that sodding nancy-boy going to come prancing up here?"

"No," Xander said, looking askance at Spike. "He's got something big going down in LA, so he can't be here. But he said to call if we need him, and he'll be here when he gets that wrapped up."

"Thanks," Buffy said, a half-hearted smile on her face as Spike fumed in the corner.

"Anyway, we called Angel," Xander said, picking back up with his story. "We told him about Willow's vision thing and he kind of freaked out. Apparently, when Angel was Big Evil Angel, he was working with this construct thing to help a Hell God come to earth. Some witch from the village nearby managed to close up the Hellmouth he was using, and Angel ran away when he realized he was playing for the losing team. So, the Hell God vowed revenge, slunk back to Hell with his construct, and is now, presumably, trying again here in Sunnydale."

Willow's hand slowly rose into the air. "My hand is up... I must have a question," she announced.

"Yes, the young nubile red-headed lesbian in the back," Xander said, nodding at Willow.

"Oh, sorry," Tara said, frowning at Xander's inappropriate, though undoubtedly accurate, description of Willow. "A construct is kinda' like a golum. A demon makes one, sends it to other planes, and it does its dirty-work."

"Well, demons are attached to the plane they naturally exist on. That's why summoning them takes so much magickal power. A construct doesn't have that connection, so it can pass between the planes easier," Tara answered.

"We have to send the construct back," Anya said. "That way, it won't be able to help the Hell God from opening the Hellmouth."

"You mean like... a spell?" Willow said weakly, a look of fear crossing her face.

"W-we're not really sure," Tara said. "It really depends on how it got here. I mean, if the Hellmouth is still weakened, we might be able to just toss it through, then we just have to strengthen it."

Willow fell quiet, lost in her thoughts. On one level, she was afraid of the idea of casting the spell, though she felt like she was the best person for the job. She had the most power, and it was dangerous, and she didn't want Tara anywhere near anything dangerous – especially a brain-sucking Hell God. On yet another, she felt useless and helpless in the face of her promise to try to give up the magick, when they so clearly needed a big powerful spell cast.

"No one's asking you to cast any spells, Will," Buffy said, reaching across the table and covering her hand with her own.

"I know. I mean, with the research. You need to know how the construct got here, how it plans on opening the Hellmouth, how this witch stopped the Hell God in the first place, because we might need to duplicate it. We'll need to know how this Hell God thinks. I mean, does he have a plan? Because if he has a plan, we just need to mess it up a little. Or is there some big prophecy thing going on? It would help if we could find it."

Smiles all around grew as Willow continued, everyone silent as she listed what they needed.

"I mean, are we talking about Glory, only a guy? He might do stuff different, or – oh Oh! He might have minions here in Sunnydale other than the construct! We need to look into that."

Tara slipped out of the room, a giddy smile slipping helplessly across her face as she walked into the book-strewn living room and stopped at the table there. She grabbed a pile of pens and the notebook, carrying them back into the kitchen and setting them silently in front of Willow.

"Thanks, Baby," Willow said, grabbing the pens and writing as she continued to speak. "We should call Giles. Find out if the Watcher's Council knows anything about this one. Did Angel have a name for him?"

"The Trickster," Willow said, a chill racing up her spine as she wrote the name in red ink.

"Damn Watcher's Council needs to get out of the 16th century," Willow grumbled, rubbing her tired eyes. "Couldn't they have all this stuff in a database?"

"Do they even know what a database is?" Tara asked. "Do I know what a database is?" she went on, a smile on her face. The Scoobies had moved all the books back to The Magic Box after they had polished off the donuts, Anya declaring that she needed to open the shop because there was money to be had, and she wanted it.

Willow gave Tara a wry look, and they both went back to their reading. Buffy was out, looking for anything at the two confirmed construct sightings, Dawn and Spike were at the Summers house, and Xander had some things to take care of at the construction site, leaving Willow and Tara to try to answer some of the questions on Willow's list.

"What color was the witch again?" Tara asked, pushing around the pile of pens on the table. Willow started to look up, her eyes tracking Tara's fingers as they picked up and discarded several different pens. She had such beautiful hands.

"The witch?" Tara prompted, her brow creasing. "What color?" Tara had been dubious about using Willow's colorful note-taking system, but once it had been explained, she realized how easy it was: just read the books, and write down anything that might be a reference to the Hell God, the construct, the witch, the spell, or the plan in a different color. It was the special notations for which book the information had been found in that had given Tara a headache, but even that had eventually been explained well enough she felt comfortable using it. Later, Willow would type up all the notes, listing possible connections for each one in still more colors, and they'd go over it all until something fell together.

"Oh, blue," Willow said, her eyes lingering on Tara's face before returning to her book. In just that glance, she had taken a picture in her mind, and that picture swam before her inner eye. The curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, and those bedroom eyes...

With a start and a stern internal lecture, Willow forced herself back to reading, a little frown of concentration crossing her face, only looking up to make the occasional note.

Tara watched Willow, her features softening as she stared at Willow's Study Face. She always looked so cute and so determined when she was studying, like a puppy trying to wrestle away a squeak toy. Though she was sitting still, only her eyes tracking across the page and her hand jotting down notes, she threw herself into the task with an energy and a focus that was almost palpable. It was impossibly endearing, and a small smile crossed Tara's face as she remembered long nights of just sitting and watching Willow read.

Willow couldn't help but feel those eyes upon her, pulling her from the world of research. She glanced up, catching Tara as she looked down quickly, a light blush rising on her cheeks. Still, Tara hadn't looked down quickly enough for Willow to miss the affectionate yearning look in her eyes, and it warmed her, a smile spreading across her face as she went back to reading. Tara had always done that – just watched her with those warm blue eyes as she was studying, making her feel like she was special and very well loved.

Tara bit her lip, hoping she hadn't been caught looking, but very sure she had. She raised her eyes slightly, keeping her head down, seeing that Willow had returned to reading. A part of her felt that this was ridiculous. Here they were, researching a Hell God, their relationship a big question mark, making eyes at each other in a public place. Still, another part of her felt that this was just natural and right, like no matter where she was or what she was doing, if she looked up, Willow was supposed to be there.

She was tempting fate, she knew, just putting herself in this situation. It was almost... normal, like nothing had happened to 'Them', and it was oh-so-tempting to just pretend that everything was fine, and that the feelings welling up inside her at the sweet sight of Willow engrossed in her Scoobyage weren't at odds with the hurt and betrayal. Really, she just wanted to believe that none of it had happened, that everything was fine. And if she were being honest with herself, she wanted to crawl across the table on hands and knees, slide into Willow's lap, and just kiss her senseless.

But she couldn't do that. There were plenty of reasons – many many reasons – not to do that. Tara let a rueful smile cross her face. Despite that, she wanted to, and the sooner she just accepted it, the sooner she could deal with it.

Did she want to deal with it? No, not really. Tara let out a heavy sigh, looking down at her book even as she pulled Willow's attention from the research. She wanted it to go away. She wanted everything to really be as nice and normal as it seemed. But she couldn't just go back, no matter how much she wanted to, and she couldn't just grab the girl and live happily ever after. Life was too complicated for that. Willow was too complicated for that.

Willow's heart clenched at the wistful but sad look on Tara's face. Frowning, she looked back at the book before her, wishing things were different. If only she hadn't gotten so out of hand. Willow shook her head, clearing the thoughts. That way lay madness and tummy rumblings. She couldn't change what happened. Well, she could probably mess around with time, but that really wasn't an option. Going back and doing it over would just mean that she still hadn't learned her lesson. Which she had, she mentally added quickly.

Still, she wished time would hurry up, and that she and Tara could work past this, or break up completely. Not that she wanted to break up, no no no... but things were sort of... up in the air, and it was uncomfortable. She probably deserved that, though, but Tara didn't. Tara deserved to be held and kissed and to have all her troubles just go away.

"Right now, I'm her troubles," Willow whispered aloud, too low for anyone to hear the words, staring blankly at the page before her. The letters took form automatically before her eyes, making words and sentences, pouring into her brain as she continued to think about the girl sitting across the table from her. Any other day – in any other circumstances – they'd be making out in the training room by now. Willow blushed at the thought, her mind turning over all the thoroughly inappropriate times and places they had snuck off together.

Then the words on the pages registered in her brain, and she re-read the passage, absorbing the information and frowning as it continued to not make sense. How could... ?

"Anya?" Willow asked, looking up briefly to see that she had pulled the ex-demon's attention away from the money before looking back down at the book in her lap, her brow furrowed.

"Yes, Willow?" Anya asked, moving to the table and standing next to her. Tara stopped pretending to read, letting her eyes rove over Willow's face and arms.

"How did Giles break your thingy, again?" she asked absently, staring intently at the page as if she could will the words to make sense.

"Giles didn't," Anya said, surprise evident in her voice. "Even Xander didn't. That happened a long, LONG time ago."

"Huh?" Willow asked, looking up as soon as Anya's words registered, a blank look on her face.

"I think Willow's asking about your Vengeance Demon Talisman Thingy, not your, uhh...Hymen Thingy," Tara said slowly, a blush crawling up her neck.

"Oh! I thought we were indulging in girl talk, which I would normally frown upon during business hours, but there is an unfortunate lack of customers," Anya said, nodding. "Giles smashed it."

"He just... hit it with something? No spells or incantations or... I mean, he didn't use, like, some kind of special weapon or something?" Willow asked.

"No," Anya said, sighing as she recalled the sight of Giles smashing her demonhood into little pieces.

"I'm positive," Anya said, her tone impatient. "That isn't the sort of thing a girl forgets."

A cheery bell sounded, and Anya perked up, looking towards the door. "Ooh! A customer. I have to go sell goods now," she said, nearly skipping with excitement over the prospect of a sale.

"What's up?" Tara asked after a moment as Willow gazed unseeing across the shop, the wheels in her mind almost visibly turning.

"It's just that this here says that a Vengeance Demon's talisman is protected, magically, I mean," Willow said, mentally pulling herself back into the magic shop and focusing on Tara. "You can't just smash it with something... well, I mean, you can, but it'll just bounce off, and probably break whatever you were doing the smashing with, or it would send out a nasty shockwave of magical energy that would knock you flat, and so Giles couldn't have broken it at all. Except that he did, because Anya is here and human, and Buffy came to Sunnydale, and Xander and I aren't vampires."

"I don't know," Willow said. "It's a mystery," she finally decided, her eyes lighting up. "We could ask, but he's in England and he hasn't called us back yet anyway, and none of us remember what happened in that other Sunnydale, so he wouldn't remember," she concluded, a glum look crossing her face.

"Maybe some things are just meant to remain a mystery," Tara said, a half-smile crossing her face. She couldn't help it – Willow was just too cute when she got her mental teeth into something. Really, she was just amazing to watch. The way that mind worked was a continued source of fascination for Tara.

"Still," Willow began, only to trail off, her nose twitching. A tingle spread across her body, just under her skin, but not a pleasant kind of Tara-Kissage tingling, but more of a painful feeling, like her leg had gone to sleep and was just waking up. Only it wasn't just her leg, it was all of her.

"Still – ?" Tara prompted, her brows furrowing at the strange look on Willow's face. Willow looked up, taking deep breaths and sniffing the air, her lungs filling with a familiar scent.

Her eyes tracked through the store, finding Anya and her customer discussing the merits of different kinds of incense for different kinds of spells. And some incense was burning, the sweet heavy scent filling the shop and Willow's senses, causing her breath to shorten and her heart to race.

"I -" Willow said, her throat closing on the words, causing her voice to break. "I need... " she tried again, different spells that used this particular kind of incense tickling the back of her mind, asking her to cast them.

Her blood pounded in her ears as the incantations for each spell screamed in her mind, fighting for dominance. She trembled, then stood abruptly, the loud clatter of her chair falling only registering in her hearing as a dull echo.

Tara stood as well as Willow swayed, moving quickly around the table, but not quickly enough.

"I have to go," Willow blurted, half-running half-stumbling away from the incense, away from the scent of magick, away from all of it. Her blood felt as though it were burning in her veins, boiling over with a dark power that was calling her.

Tara followed, calling Willow's name as Willow tripped entering the training room. She caught herself, stumbling forward towards the door that would lead to the alleyway. Falling to her knees, she whimpered, wrapping her arms about herself and shutting her eyes tight, her jaw clenching against the need to speak the words tearing through her brain.

Tara stopped her rush into the room, fear and revulsion rising up in her as she watched Willow. Slowly, she began to chant, raising her hands in a protective gesture.

"What are you – ?" Willow asked, her voice trailing off as she noticed the angry red sparks dancing along her hands. "I... I," she began, her heart pounding in her chest and her eyes widening in shock and fear. She breathed deeply, stepping back from Tara and shaking her head. "No... God, no – I didn't mean... I don't want..." she said helplessly, shutting her eyes tight and clenching her hands into fists.

Tara was torn, part of her wanting nothing more than to escape and run away from this darkness, but the other part wanting to rush to Willow's side and hold her close and chase it away.

"W-willow?" Tara asked, her voice shaky. She finished her spell of protection, then moved to Willow's side, kneeling before her. Reaching out, her fingertips tingled at their closeness to Willow's skin, her body, her heart, and her very soul demanding that she close the distance and touch this woman. "Willow," she said more firmly, coming to a decision and allowing her finger's to trace the soft line of Willow's cheek.

Willow heard Tara's call, and the fear and worry in her voice, but still the magic clawed at her from inside, threatening to rip her to pieces if she didn't let it out. Then, she felt Tara's touch, and she leaned into it. Where she felt the soft pressure of those fingers, the painful fire consuming her skin eased and was replaced with a burning of a different kind. "Tara?" she breathed, the name of the woman she loved powerful enough to break through the spells and past her lips.

Willow trembled, a few tears leaking out the corners of her tightly closed eyes. The sparks subsided, then stopped, and Willow's tense posture slumped until she was barely standing. Gingerly, she opened her eyes, and Tara noted their green color, and a bottomless well of sorrow and heartbreak.

"I'm sorry," Willow managed to say, her voice strained and raw. "I'm so, so sorry," she said.

"I'm here, Will," Tara said, her fingers slipping past her ear and burying themselves in red hair. With just a slight tug, Tara brought their lips together, brushing gently as she wrapped her arms around a shaking Willow.

That brief touch stole their breath and their inhibitions, their lips meeting again and again as everything else faded away; all the hurt and betrayal, the darkness and the pain became as nothing, their hands traveling over familiar territory eagerly and their lips meeting again and again.

Desire – need – pulled at them as the light of their love drove away the darkness. A moan, then another, neither sure which had made the sound. Nothing mattered but the feel of the other as their bodies pressed together, each needing to be closer.

Willow's pain fled, unable to exist in the same body experiencing the pleasure of Tara's kisses and touches. Her mind drifted hazily along on a sea of sensation as Tara's hand slipped under her shirt, stroking the smooth skin there. It was bliss. It was heaven. It was... wrong.

Tara pulled back when she felt Willow freeze beneath her, her eyes dazed and her lips swollen from their kisses. "W-what?" she stammered, her face flushing as she realized exactly how compromising a position they were in, and where exactly her hand was. Quickly, she pulled her hand back, rolling off of the redhead. Her head down, she lifted it briefly, risking a glance at Willow's face, only to regret it when she saw the panic in her eyes.

Willow had no idea how she had ended up sprawled on the floor with Tara on top of her. She couldn't remember exactly how or when they had gotten horizontal, and her mind skittered away from the repercussions of this event, instead happily turning over the logistics of the maneuver.

Shaking her head, Willow forced her brain to get with the now and say something to break the awkward silence. "We can't," she began, her words escaping before she really thought them over. "I mean, we can, 'cuz it's possible... I mean, we HAVE, and here on the mat, but with the rushing and the too-sooness and..." she trailed off, her thought processes grinding to a halt as Tara just sat there. "Aren't you going to say something?" she asked uncertainly.

"I... W-Willow, that shouldn't have h-happened," Tara said miserably, lifting her head, her eyes full of apology. She saw, clearly, what could have happened if things had progressed too far, neither being able to stop. With her feelings of uncertainty about Willow and their relationship, they both would have ended up hurt terribly – more than they already were.

"It's not your fault," Willow hastily assured. "I... I must have... I mean, it's too soon, and you wouldn't -"

"Yes, I w-would have," Tara interrupted, her eyes sad. "And it would have been too much, too soon. I -"

"I know!" Willow cut in. "And so we shouldn't, because I want you back – and duh, of course I want you back – but if we did... err, that... too soon, it would just... it would be bad. Very much with the bad. I mean, it would be good – because it's always good! But still with the bad. . And... you – you can't be around me. None of you can – I'm... I'm not safe. I... I could hurt you, or somebody... it's... I can't control this. It's too much. I'm like matches... I could – I could hurt somebody. I don't wanna' hurt anybody."

"You want me to go?" Tara asked slowly. On one level, she need to stay, and help Willow through this hard time. On another, being around Willow was too much of a temptation. She was too tempted to forget, to let her love for Willow rule her actions, and to let her body have its way with the woman she had adored and trusted above all others. Knowing this, and knowing just how confused and conflicted she was about Willow right now, her course was clear. She had to stay away from Willow, or risk tearing apart any love they had left.

"Go? But we were doing research... Hell God, witches, rituals...? I'll... I'll go. You stay. I need some air. The magic shop probably isn't the best place for me right now. I need to breathe," Willow said suddenly, disappearing out the door and into the alley before Tara had time to stop her.

"Tara? Everything okay in there?" Xander asked, knocking on the door as he slowly swung it open.

Tara rose awkwardly to her feet, straightening her rumpled clothes, shocked at what had just passed. Had all of that really happened? Did Willow just walk away?

"I don't know. She just... she said she needed some air. She, umm...she told me to stay away from her. Said she wasn't safe. And something about matches? She said she could hurt somebody." Tara explained, her eyes distant and troubled.

"Like matches? I think I might know where she went," Xander said, leaning out the door of the training room and calling to Anya. "Come get Tara, honey. She seems a little...umm...I think she needs to talk." With that, he disappeared out the back door of the shop, taking off after Willow.

"Are you okay?" Anya asked, looking into the room, seeing Tara standing there in the middle of the mat looking lost and alone. She frowned when she got no response from the Wiccan, and walked into the room, taking her elbow gently and leading her back out into the front of the shop.

"This whole thing sucks," Tara said glumly. "I mean... it's just so..." Tara made a noise of complete frustration, slapping the open notebook in front of her for emphasis. "It's like, the more she fights it, the harder it tries to take over. Almost like..." Tara stopped, frowning and leaning forward, peering at the notebook in front of her.

"Almost like... " Anya prompted, leaning in and trying to read whatever had disrupted Tara's train of thought.

"W-we think that witch from Willow's vision is her, right? From a past life, or an ancestor, or something?" Tara said, looking over the notes in front of her.

"Well, yeah, that's the most logical assumption. She has to have SOME kind of connection to that witch to have gotten that vision. You don't normally get a first person view of the past unless you're connected to the person you're viewing from somehow."

"What?" Anya asked, her head swimming as she tried to make sense of the multi-colored notes.

"'He who is formless and nameless, who delights in shadowed trickery'," Tara quoted, reading from the notes, "'cannot be commanded by any but one, descended from the line that kept him from Earth and Sky. His wrath shall be known to those so descended, and he will cause them great harm from the shadows, turning them against themselves, until such a one is too weak to defeat him.'"

"Oooh... a manipulative Hell God," Anya said. "Definitely different than Glory. She was about as subtle as... well... something that isn't subtle at all. Umm...me, for instance." Anya paused, frowning. " This witty simile thing isn't as easy as Xander makes it seem."

"Could... could W-willow's source be the Trickster?" she asked slowly, her stomach roiling at the thought.

"I... " Anya paused, blinking slowly. "That would explain a lot, actually. Like how she doesn't think she has a source. If he's the manipulative tricky type, she wouldn't necessarily know. And if she's the descendant of this witch, it makes sense that he'd kind of... take over before she could stop him. Then there's the whole Glory thing. She started in with the Dark Arts during that whole fight, and he'd have an interest in making sure she was defeated, as well as having enough power to lend to actually hurt her."

"That's w-what I thought," Tara said, letting her head fall forward against the notebook. She shook her head, groaning. "Goddess, no," she whispered, her eyes closing as her hands closed into fists.

"It... it'll be all right," Anya said lamely, gingerly patting Tara's back. She wanted to comfort the witch, but she found herself decidedly lacking in the real-life comforting experience, so she wasn't sure how.

"I... I can't stay here. I need to go," Tara said, rising to her feet awkwardly and straightening her rumpled clothes.

"Go?" Anya asked, sitting down at the table and setting the tea down in front of Tara.

"I'll... I'm...," Tara paused, and took a steadying breath. "I'm going away. For a few days, I've decided. Maybe a w-week," she finally said slowly.

"Away? Away where? And what about your classes?" Anya asked curiously. "Willow doesn't approve of missing out on a chance for scholastic achievement."

"Just... away," she said quietly, dodging the question, knowing perfectly well where she was going. "And Willow? You're leaving her here?"

"Anya... my mother had some things... some things she left me. She had all kinds of notes and journals and books and stuff that I think can help keep Willow safe. If... if there's a H-Hell God trying to keep her w-with him, then she's going to need some h-heavy protection."

"But – she needs you here!" Anya protested, wondering how she would feel if Xander abandoned her when she was being used by a Hell God for some nefarious apocalypse-y purpose.

"I... I know," Tara said, her eyes downcast. "But there's nothing I can do here. She's the one w-who's fighting this thing, and she needs to be able to fight without me. W-what I'm doing will just kinda'... break the connection between her and the Trickster. I h-hope. But, she's still going to have to deal with the darkness she's already got inside her. It's really the only thing I can do to h-help her."

"I understand," Anya said with a sigh. "But it's only a few days, right? Or a week at the latest?"

"Definitely. I'll get back here as soon as I can," Tara said firmly, a new purpose rising up in her. If what she suspected was true, Willow was going to have a long battle in front of her, and as much as it was Willow's battle to fight, she could at least give her the tools she needed to win. She wanted Willow to win – needed Willow to win.

"I should go now," Tara said, standing up. "I'll have to run by home and pick up some clothes and stuff."

"Good luck, Tara," Anya said, surprising the Wiccan by hugging her close. "And don't forget that you're helping plan the wedding as soon as we take care of this Trickster guy."

"I won't," Tara said as she left the shop and headed to the Summers home. She just hoped Dawn wouldn't freak too bad.

Xander held a piece of paper in his hand, looking it over and frowning as he walked. It was pitiful, really. Here he was, Willow's oldest friend, and this piece of paper was the only thing he had to help her with. But he wasn't a superhero. He wasn't Buffy, with her slayer strength, or Willow with her witchy powers. He couldn't beat someone up or say a few words to make Willow's problems go away, even though he wished he could. Hell, he wasn't even Anya, with her thousand years of experience and knowledge to call upon.

Still, he did what he had to do, and even when he couldn't do much, he did it – whatever it was. He did all he could, gave one-hundred and ten percent, and just hoped that it was enough.

But this might not be enough. All he could do was hand over this crumpled piece of paper someone had tacked up at the construction site. He had remembered seeing it, had remembering leaving countless others just like it lying around the house he grew up in – he had never really thought of it as 'home' – for his parents to find.

It had never helped, because they weren't willing to take that first step. Willow, though, was trying. He could see her struggling with this, fighting against the pull of the magic. On one level, he understood, because he had seen so much at home, but on another...

He sighed. There were some things he couldn't understand about it. He'd never been through it himself, and right now Willow needed the support and guidance of people who'd been there. Hence, the piece of paper he had made a special trip to the construction site to pick up, telling the gang that he had some things to take care of.

His footsteps took him automatically to the empty lot he suspected she had run to. He remembered it well, if not fondly, as they had played their often as kids. Just Jesse and Willow and himself, running around the overgrown lot, back when the most dangerous thing in their world was the occasional bit of broken glass lying around.

It had been – God, ten years ago, the last time they'd been there. He'd had a particularly bad day, having been bullied on the playground, his homework and lunch stolen. It was one of the few times he had bothered to do his homework, too. After that, it just kind of seemed like it wasn't worth the trouble to work that hard on something that didn't come as naturally to him as to Willow, only to have his efforts stolen away by bigger kids.

He had ditched the rest of the day, running to this lot where the three of them used to play, feeling like it was the only place he had any kind of control. Here, he and Jesse and Willow weren't three little kids, but whatever they wanted to be. Games of "let's pretend" certainly seemed childish now, looking back, but he knew that these games were his escape from a reality that wasn't always kind.

The book of matches had been lying around on the ground, and he'd picked them up on his way to the lot. He wasn't even sure why he had picked them up, really, but he had, slipping them into his pocket, then looking around to make sure he hadn't been seen. He was fully aware he was doing something wrong, both ditching school and picking up the matches he had always been told were dangerous, but he just didn't care at that point.

He'd started with twigs, but they'd smolder and then go out. That certainly wasn't much fun. Then he'd cleared an area and gotten a small pile of leaves together, and piling twigs onto that. That burned longer, but eventually went out.

By the time school had let out, he had a really little fire going and burning nicely, but it certainly seemed big. He had stared at it, entranced, until a hysterical voice and the sound of two pairs of running feet moving towards him broke him out of his reverie.

"Xander, that's a fire!" Willow had called out, pushing him out of harm's way and pounding it out with her hands in her panic.

She had gotten a few really minor burns, and he'd gotten an ear-blistering lecture from his friend about playing with matches. Jesse had chimed in now and then, backing up the girl he had a huge crush on, though she had no idea.

He remembered in a kind of blur his panic when it was clear Willow was burned, and Jesse's mad dash to find some water to soothe her hurts, all the while Willow angrily reading him the riot act about how matches weren't toys.

With a few tears and hugs, they had calmed themselves down, then went back to their homes, but they had never gone back to that lot, finding new places to play.

He reached the lot, his eyes finding Willow's hair over the top of some overgrown weeds. He moved towards her, pushing through the plants, only to stop and stare in shock when he saw her.

"Willow, that's a fire!" he yelled, unwittingly echoing her words. He ran towards her, his eyes not believing what he saw as he hastily shoved his piece of paper into his pocket. Willow sat, her cupped hands ablaze, a dazed look on her face. He wasn't exactly sure what was burning, but he had the sick feeling it was Willow herself.

Willow looked up abruptly, her eyes unfocused. He pushed her forward, grabbing her arms and placing her hands on the ground. She struggled against him, trying to pull her hands away as he pounded out the fire, wincing at the pain of the heat.

"Willow," he said catching his breath as the adrenaline drained out of him, now that the danger had passed. Slowly, he rolled onto his side. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" he managed to say.

"I – I..." Willow began, only to stop and stare at her hands in confusion. "What was I... ?" she asked, turning her hands over and inspecting them like she had never seen them before.

"Okay, now THAT was weird. Your hands were on fire, Willow," Xander said slowly.

"Hey, hey... easy now," Xander said, pulling her into a hug and gingerly patting her back with his sore hands. "I mean, hands on fire... just another day on the Hellmouth, right?"

"I was just... I mean, I didn't want to, but I was here, and Tara hates me, and I just don't know what to do anymore," she wailed.

"But I just used magic," Willow protested. "I wasn't going to. I promised I wouldn't and I did and now she hates me and it's all my fault."

"Tara doesn't even know," Xander said, his voice confused. "How can she hate you for something she doesn't even know about?"

"That's worse!" Willow declared. "I know, and I know she'll hate me now, and I have to tell her, because if I don't tell her, she'll REALLY hate me, and that's how I got into this whole mess in the first place, so how could I just not tell her?"

"Of course you'll tell her, but it was a mistake, Will," Xander said gently. "You're on the road to recovery. So you stumbled a bit. You have to pick yourself up and go on."

"It's too hard! I can't do this, with the hurt and the headaches and the tummy aches and the magic just won't leave me alone," she sobbed.

"Get ahold of yourself, Will," Xander said firmly, shaking her gently. "Come on, now, snap out of it," he ordered.

Willow's sobs subsided, and Xander's heart broke at the sad lost look in her watery green eyes. "Yeah?" she said weakly, letting out a little hiccup.

"Now, you used magic. That's okay. You try again. You've done really good so far, and you can't just throw that all away. You try again," he repeated firmly. "And this time, you'll go longer without any magic. And if you stumble again, you'll try again – again," he said, pausing and thinking that odd turn of phrase over before continuing. "And then you'll go even longer. And soon, very soon, the need to cast spells won't be as strong, and you'll have an easier time of it. But you have to get through the hard part, first."

"You can," Xander said with absolute certainty, and Willow let that belief in her wash through her, bolstering her courage. With a gentle touch, Xander brushed back her hair. "You can do anything you put your mind to, Willow. You always could," he said fondly. "And I know you want to get past this, and so you will."

"It's harder than I thought it would be," Willow confessed. "I didn't realize... I didn't know that... that I was this far gone."

"Well, the first step is admitting you have a problem," Xander said, pulling the rumpled piece of paper to Willow and handing it over silently.

Willow brushed away her tears, looking curiously at the flyer Xander had handed her, reading it over carefully. Then she read it again.

"You want me to go to AA meetings?" she asked, confusion coloring her tone. "But Xander, I don't drink."

"No, I want you to want to go to AA meetings," Xander clarified. "I know..." he began, then paused, taking a breath and settling his thoughts. He wanted to get this right. "You don't drink, I know that. But the point is, that all the people who go to these meetings has something in common with you, something that the rest of us don't have. They're all addicted to something that rules their life. They understand what it's like to have cravings and withdrawal and setbacks. I don't. I wish... I wish I had a frame of reference to be all Understanding Guy and Helpful Friend here, but I just don't. I'll help you in any way I can," he went on, his voice getting surer. "But I think these people can help you, too, and I want you to have all the help that you need."

"Where did you get this?" Willow asked, her hands smoothing out the wrinkled flyer, going for the trivial questions while her mind turned over what Xander had said.

"It was tacked up on a bulletin board at the construction site. I used to leave things like this around the house for mom and dad, so I always notice them," he explained.

"Oh, God, Xander, I'm so sorry," Willow said, her face miserable as she thought of Xander's parents.

"Hey – not your fault, Will," he said lightly. "Y'know," he went on, the lightness of his tone at odds with the serious sad look in his eyes, "they never got to the point where they thought they had a problem. They always said they could stop anytime they wanted to, y'know? And so they never stopped, and I really don't think they will."

"Willow, if you're going because you want me to feel like I've made a difference, don't," he said firmly. "Don't go for me, don't go for Dawn or Buffy or even Tara. They can be part of the reason, but in the end, you have to go for you, because YOU don't want the magic to be in the driver's seat."

"I'll go," Willow said more firmly. "I'll go to the meetings, because it can't hurt to try, right? I mean, I could hate it, or it could be totally wrong for a magic addiction, but I could at least try. It couldn't hurt. Could it?"

"No, it couldn't hurt," Xander said, smiling at his friend. "You're really gonna' go?"

"Yeah. The very next meeting they have, I'll be at," Willow said, nodding and putting her resolve face firmly in place.

"Umm... the next one is tonight," Xander said, pointing out the meeting times and dates on the flyer.

"Tonight?" Willow squeaked, her resolve face slipping. "Xander, I haven't had time to... to panic about this properly. New place, new experience, new people. I have to have my panic time. Panic time is absolutely essential for new things. Did I mention the strangers? Lots of strangers, all looking at me. Oh, God – I'll have to stand up and introduce myself! I can't – !"

"But the newness... and the people... and the newness of the people," Willow said, staring at the flyer.

"Look, Willow, you don't have to go tonight. But think about it. I think this is really important, and that it'll be really good for you, but it won't help if you're too panicked to get anything out of it."

"I'll... I'll think about it. About going tonight. I'll... I'll try to go. Tonight," Willow said, afraid that if she had any more time to think it over, she'd accidentally 'lose' the flyer and never go at all.

"Come on," Xander said, standing up and brushing himself off, then reaching down and tugging Willow to her feet.

"Oh, Xander," Willow said, peering at his hands when he winced. "You... you got burned," she said, a look of profound guilt crossing her face.

"Now we're even," he said with a smirk, slinging a companionable arm across her shoulders. "Let's get you back to the magic shop, Ms. Rosenberg. It'll be dusk soon."

"I... not the magic shop," Willow said, shaking her head. "I – I can't be around the magic stuff. It kinda'..." she trailed off.

"Yeah," Willow confirmed, nodding. "Anya was burning some incense talking to a customer, and I kinda' got..."

Xander nodded. "Home, then?" he asked, looking down at his very best Willow Friend.

"Yeah," she said, wrapping her arm around his waist as they walked. "Y'know, we don't do this nearly enough."

"Yeah. I mean, the whole time we were growing up, it was just you and me and Jesse, y'know? And now we're all caught up in our lives and our Scoobyage and our stuff, and we don't really talk much anymore."

"What's with girls and the random acts of violence?" Xander complained, rubbing his tummy. "And yes, he did. He had a huge monster crush on you, which he never did anything about because you had a crush on me, which I never mentioned, because he had a crush on you," he explained.

"Really?" Willow said, her eyes growing distant as she remembered the defiant young man they had grown up with. Xander had always been the funny one, and Willow the smart one... and Jesse – Jesse had been the rebel. Always getting into trouble, thinking up outlandish ways to bend the rules and dragging his two best friends into it. "Remember when we used to ditch school and go down to the market and buy bubble gum?" Willow asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Yeah. We volunteered to read to the Kindergartners, then lied about when and how long we were supposed to go do that, so we had an extra fifteen minutes to sneak away," he said, smiling at the memory. "I still can't believe Mrs. Calvert and Ms. Vacin never actually talked to each other about what we were supposed to be doing when. They believed everything Jesse said."

"But Jesse's grandma caught us, remember?" Willow asked. "To this day, the thought of ditching school gives me a major case of the heebie-jeebies."

"Sweet? Ha! Sweet to you, maybe. She adored you. She thought I was a little hellion corrupting her nice mild-mannered grandson," Xander rejoined.

"Hmm... she had no idea he was the bad apple," Willow said, a small smile on her lips. "He had such a way of making even little things an adventure. Remember that scary trail up on Mount JesXanWil?" Willow asked, referring to the hill behind Jesse's house they had named after themselves.

"Good Lord, yes. I had nightmares for a week, with all the stories Jesse made up about the place. I kept expecting something horrible to happen that time we hiked it," Xander said.

"Before we had real monsters," Willow said sadly, her thoughts turning to Jesse.

"Me too," Willow whispered, and they continued their walk in companionable silence, as a plan began forming in Xander's mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Answering Darkess

by Sassette

Copyright © 2003

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