Answering Darkness by Sassette

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. If we were still in Sunnydale, I'd be thinking 'brain-eating doppelganger' right now," Tara said, looking at her sandwich. "But that's ... it's really him. It's – God, it's amazing," she said, a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Yeah, well, don't count out the 'brain-eating doppelganger' thing," Anya said. "You'd be surprised what goes on in these small little towns.

"Here you go, girls," he said, setting down the glasses of apple juice. They ate in silence for a few moments, before Tara's father began tentatively asking her about her life in Sunnydale.

Tara was unsure what to tell him. Hellmouth? Scooby Gang? Slayer? Witchcraft? Finally, she settled on the safe topics, talking about school and her friends. Anya spoke about her shop, and Tara talked about Dawn. Anya spoke about Xander, then Tara haltingly began to speak of Willow, glossing over the reason for their recent break-up.

Mr. Roberts listened to this all in silence, only occasionally making a noise to indicate he was paying attention and interested, afraid to break the narrative flow between the two girls and cast them back into silence.

The sandwiches disappeared, and the juice polished off too, and Mr. Roberts had a firm picture in his mind of Tara's life in Sunnydale. There were her classes, where she did very well, ensuring her continued scholarship. Anya, her forthright and blunt friend who offered her a unique take on any situation. Xander, big and funny and loyal to a fault. Buffy, who like Tara, had lost her mother all too soon, and Dawn, who was young and confused and who Tara loved dearly. And Willow. He wasn't sure what to think of that. The church had always told him such things were wrong. The same church, though, had told him his wife and daughter were demons, so could he really believe everything they said? Didn't he need to look into his own heart and find his own truth? If he had only done that years earlier, things might be so different now.

"It sounds like you have a good life," he finally said when the conversation wound to a halt. "I'm ... I'm very happy for you," he said, standing up when Tara and Anya stood.

"We should really go," Tara said, a slight tint of regret in her voice that warmed him.

"I ... I would like it very much if you would ... keep in touch," he said hesitantly. "Call ... or write, if you'd like. I'd love to know what's happening with you."

"I will," Tara said, lagging behind as Anya made her way to the car. "Daddy?" she finally said, turning back to look at the man she wished had raised her, who was so different from the man she had known.

"I love you, too," he said, blinking back tears, seeing her mother so clearly in her face and manner. "You're so much like your mother, it takes my breath away," he said. "I'm so glad you're like her, and not like me," he finished. Tara simply nodded and walked to the car, listening as the door closed behind her.

"Wow," Anya said, repeating her first impression of the house as Tara got in the car.

The sound of squealing tires made her pause, and she glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing a truck barrel into view, stopping mere inches from her bumper. She froze as Donnie stepped from the truck.

"Hey Dad!" he yelled, looking curiously at the car, unable to identify its occupants. "Dad!" he called out again, slamming the truck door and approaching the car. "Tara?" he blurted, his jaw dropping as he recognized his sister.

Too fast for Tara to process what was happening, Donnie flung the door open, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her from the car. Anya tried to make a grab for Tara's waist, to keep her in the vehicle, but missed.

"You leave her alone!" Anya yelled, throwing open the door and making her way around the car.

Tara was stunned. This was what she had been expecting here – this anger and hatred ... and violence. But lunch with her father had lulled her into a sense of security, and she was no longer prepared for Donnie's aggression, so she did what she had always done. Instinctively, she curled into a ball and flinched away from Donnie as he kicked at her.

"You left, you whore! You left!" he accused, reaching down to pick her up again, even as Anya landed on his back, fists flailing. He tossed off the enraged woman, picking up Tara and shaking her hard. "After everything we did for you, you left. We helped you," he screamed, slapping her across the face. "We kept the demon from hurting people," he continued shaking her as Anya got unsteadily to her feet. None of them heard the sound of the door opening and closing.

A gunshot went off and they all froze, turning to see Tara's father on the porch, a rifle perched against his shoulder and aimed their way, having made his point with his warning shot.

"Step away from your sister, Donnie," he said firmly, his voice carrying over the distance.

"Y-yes, sir," Donnie said, an angry look on his face as he roughly pushed his sister away and stepped back.

"Now move your damn truck out of the way," he went on as Anya rushed to Tara's side, brushing the dirt off of her.

Donnie scowled, but obeyed, getting in his truck and slamming the door. He moved it out of the way, staying in the driver's seat with the engine running.

"Turn the engine off and get out," Tara's father said as he continued to aim the rifle at his son. With a string of expletives that made Tara blush, Donnie cut the engine, climbing out of the truck.

"I hope you're happy, you bitch," he said, a look of unspeakable hatred on his face.

Tara nodded wearily, climbing into Spikes car and turning on the engine. She threw it into gear as Anya hopped in, then quickly got the car turned around and sped off down the road, away from the hatred as fast as she dared go.

"Now that is what I was expecting," Anya said brightly. "Except for the gun part. I didn't expect guns."

"Small town in the mountains and you didn't expect guns?" Tara asked wryly, her relief at her father's assistance washing over her as they drove down Main Street passed the three stores that had so incensed Anya just a few hours before.

A brittle laugh escaped from Tara, and Anya looked at her strangely for a moment.

"All right? Oh, yeah, y'know ... I'm so used to getting pushed around and kicked by demons, having my own brother do it is no big deal," she said, another sharp laugh escaping.

"Maybe we should pull over," Anya suggested quietly, watching as Tara's hands began shaking.

"I ... I think you're right," she said, pulling to the shoulder, suddenly feeling cold and trembly as she sat there.

"You can drive?" Tara asked incredulously, looking over at Anya. "You could drive this whole time and you didn't take a turn?"

Tara laughed, doubling over and resting her head against the steering wheel as Anya watched her warily. Anya's fears were confirmed when Tara broke down into harsh sobs, clutching the wheel tightly in a death grip.

"Tara, breathe," Anya demanded as Tara continued to weep. "Please, breathe," she begged. "You need to calm down." She continued uttering soothing nonsense, trying to contain her panic, as Tara cried herself out, the high-running emotions of the day taking their toll.

"That's as may be, but we're stopping at the first motel we see. You shouldn't drive like this, and if we weren't stuck in a small town in the mountains with guns, I wouldn't let you drive at all."

Tara nodded wearily, starting the car again and pulling onto the road. They drove in silence down the mountain, Anya lost in thoughts of worry about Tara and Tara thinking about the strange events of the day.

She should be grateful, shouldn't she? That she had only received that reaction from Donnie, and that her father had actually stood up for her? It was certainly more than she had expected, but it was, if she was being honest with herself, less than she had hoped.

Still, she had her mother's things, and that's what she had gone for. And while she wasn't sure if she could handle staying in touch with her father, the option was there where it hadn't been before.

Lost in her thoughts, Tara almost missed the motel Anya pointed out. In something of a daze, she turned in, following Anya as she took care of securing the room.

"I asked if you wanted to take these very heavy objects into the room or leave them here in the trunk?" Anya repeated herself.

"We should take them in. Sorry," Tara said, sympathizing with Anya not wanting to carry them into the room. They certainly looked heavy. "I don't want to risk them being stolen, and I'd like a chance to look through them a little and see what's in there."

Anya nodded, resigned to her fate. Somehow, she had known Tara was going to say that, and though she had many reasonable arguments for leaving the trunks, she really didn't want to have an argument with Tara right now. Poor girl looked like she could be knocked over with a feather.

Faster than they had suspected, they got settled into the room, the trunks on the floor at the foot of the bed. Tara regarded the key her father had given her for a moment before unlocking the first one and opening it.

A sketchbook was lying on top, and Tara's jaw dropped when she saw it, recognizing it immediately.

"Oh my God," she said, lifting it out and holding it, afraid to open it. "I had no idea ... I thought this was gone."

"It's ... it's nothing," Tara said flatly, putting it back and shutting the trunk. "Just something I had thrown out when my mother passed away. I didn't know dad had kept it."

"Tara," Anya said as if speaking to a small child. "If you don't let me see what's in that book, I'm going to have to hurt you."

"And it's not like I'm going to go blabbing whatever it is around," Anya said. "So share with the girl who carried the damn things, okay?"

With a resigned sigh, Tara opened the trunk, slipping out the sketchbook and handing it to Anya, who flipped open the cover eagerly.

She looked at the first page for a moment, then turned it. Then turned the next and the next.

"These are ... these are all pictures of Willow," Anya said, pointing out the obvious. "I mean, they're really good pictures, but I don't know why you're so upset."

"Wait ... did you draw these?" Anya asked, turning back to the first one. "Because ... these are really really good." And they were. It was all there – every facet that made Willow's face so interesting. Not that she found Willow's face interesting, no – oh, Hell – who was she kidding? She was human. Now, at least. She knew an interesting face when she saw one, and Willow definitely had one. Another thought struck her. "How come I didn't know you were so artistic and talented? Why was I the last to know? We're supposed to be friends, and friends share, and I didn't know," Anya whined.

"I – you're the first to know," Tara confessed. "I haven't ... I haven't drawn anything since my mother passed away. I threw out all my art supplies, but ... it looks like dad kept them."

"Wait a minute. Didn't your mom pass over when you were seventeen?" Anya asked carefully.

"And you met Willow when you were ... 18? 19?" Anya pressed on, having identified two and two and on the verge of getting four.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Anya asked, a wicked little 'I told you so' smile on her face. "You have to get 'Fate Was Here' tattooed on your ass."

"Hey," Willow said softly, trudging into the room, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Hey," Buffy said, looking up from the papers spread before her and up at her pale shaky friend. "How are you feeling?" she asked, noticing for the first time how gaunt Willow looked, like a strong wing would knock her over. The dark circles under her eyes added to the overall impression of walking death, and Buffy wondered how she could have been so self-involved she hadn't noticed.

"Better," Willow answered. She still felt... off, but the long nap seemed to have done her some good. "Kinda' bored," she confessed. "Whatcha' doin'?" she asked, waving her hand at the papers and sitting down on the couch.

"I'm listing my assets," Buffy said ruefully, tossing her pen down and picking up a newspaper. "So far, I'm qualified to flip burgers."

"Well, it's not that bad," Buffy hedged. "There's always Giles' check, and the exciting world of exotic dancing."

"I refuse to let my best friend's life become a Demi Moore movie," Willow said firmly, pushing around the scattered papers and trying to find something to focus on. "Besides, aren't those prime slaying hours?"

"Buffy! That's a lot of money!" Willow blurted out. "You shouldn't live on this. You should invest it," she said quickly. "Because that's a lot of money – and how did Giles get so much money, anyway?"

"Back-pay," Buffy said succinctly. "And I know I should invest it," Buffy said glumly, letting out a puff of air, her shoulders slumping. "But what are Dawn and I going to live on if I do? Flipping burgers is looking better and better, but it only pays so much."

The door opened and Dawn bounced in, flopping into a chair and letting her backpack fall heavily to the floor. "I swear, they're doing a scientific experiment on us to see if carrying this much homework will cause us permanent spine damage," she groused, kicking at her bag.

"No, they just want you to learn," Willow responded. "Learning is all of the good."

"Sure," Dawn said, frowning at the redhead. "So says the girl who actually wanted to go to class today. It's just a waste of time."

"And you have so many better things to do?" Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow at her sister and pursing her lips. "Like, oh, I dunno... clean your room? Do the dishes? Get a job and pay for the house?"

"Fine," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "It's not like I see you getting a job," she groused.

"Hey!" Buffy shot back, making an indignant gesture at the papers scattered around her. "I'm very choosy about my work outfits. I'm trying to avoid wearing goofy uniform-type clothes that smell of grease and processed yuck food, or wearing no clothes altogether."

"Whatever," Dawn said, a smirk forming on her face. "Too bad you can't just mug people. You've got fighting down pat."

"Dawn... I am not going to be a mugger," Buffy said, leveling a look at her younger sister even as a thoughtful look crossed Willow's face.

"You do have the fighting thing down," Willow said, a frown of concentration pulling at her lips as her brow furrowed. "In fact, it's your strongest skill."

"No!" Buffy said incredulously. "I don't even believe you're suggesting that!" she went on, looking at Willow as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head.

"Oh, no!" Willow said quickly. "No with the mugging! Big no on the Illegal-Go-To-Jail-Type-Activities. But Buffy... you could give self-defense classes."

"It's perfect! You know all about the fighting and stuff, and you basically have a black belt a million times over. You just gotta' find out exactly what Giles has been teaching you, like, what kind of martial arts and whatnot, do a little studying to find out how it's taught when it's formal, then bam! Instant Buffy-Job!"

"That'd be kinda'... cool," Dawn offered, her eyes lighting up. "You could teach in your training room at the shop. Anya's always complaining that she can't use that space for inventory."

"That's even more perfect!" Willow exclaimed. "You could even work under Anya's business license, so you don't have to worry about that part at all," she said, grabbing a piece of paper and making notes. "Anya could put you on the payroll as an instructor, and keep a little bit as your rent. If she tries to keep too much, we can just point out that we could scrap the idea and she could continue getting nothing for the space."

"I... you want me to teach?" Buffy asked when the idea had fully penetrated her brain. "You want me to teach people how to beat up other people?"

"It'd be way cool, Buffy," Dawn insisted. "And it would be, like, your solemn slayer duty. You'd be teaching people self-defense, so they weren't so completely helpless when you jumped in and saved them."

"I do not want people trying to take on demons when they're attacked," Buffy insisted with a frown.

"Of course not," Willow agreed with a vigorous nod. "It's your class. You can stress the running of the away. And give people a clue what to watch out for. People know Sunnydale isn't safe, so it's like this... kind of empowering thing. It'll be great!"

"Besides. Your class means your dress code," Dawn broke in. "And you could work your hours around slaying."

"I'll, umm... I'll think about it," Buffy said with a nod. "I'll, umm... Willow?" she asked uncertainly, looking over and noticing that Willow was swaying slightly and she had gone even paler.

"I, uhh... oh, God," she said, getting up onto her wobbly legs and making for the bathroom as fast as she could manage.

"Okay... so glad I didn't have to deal with that all day," Dawn muttered, looking after Willow with a concerned look.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Buffy said, getting up to follow Willow to the bathroom. Reaching the door, Buffy heard that noise she had heard far too much of in the past 24 hours. She knocked lightly, then swung the door open, cringing at the miserable picture Willow made, backing away from the toilet, then leaning heavily against the wall, taking in deep gasping breaths.

"It... certainly doesn't look fun," Buffy agreed, dumping more magic baking soda and dumping some into the toilet bowl before flushing, trying not to think too hard about what the crackly stuff would feel like coming up.

"Way not fun," Willow reiterated weakly, letting her head fall back to rest against the wall. "In fact, I'm pretty much hating this."

"I'm... I'm so sorry you have to go through this," Buffy said gently, kneeling in front of her friend.

"Yeah, still," Willow agreed, even as a chill ran through her, causing a great shudder to move her. "Damn," she said, shivering again. "It's, uhhhh... it's really... cold in here," she went on, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked around. "When did it get so cold?"

"No, f-freezing," Willow said, continuing to shiver as her teeth chattered together.

"Okay, you're going to bed right now," Buffy said hurriedly, maneuvering Willow's shaking body into her arms and lifting her up. "Jesus, Will. You don't weigh anything," she said, taking the stairs two at a time and putting Willow down on the bed as a worried Dawn burst into the room.

"What is it? What's going on?" Dawn demanded as Buffy was tucking Willow under the covers, trying to get her shivering limbs settled.

"I don't know," Buffy admitted, looking on worriedly as Willow immediately curled up into a ball and huddled up under the covers, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead and upper lip.

"Can't... can't," Willow muttered through chattering teeth, her eyes shutting tightly.

Dawn stood, watching with wide-eyes as Willow's shaking got so bad she was convulsing, Buffy holding her down.

"Now!" Buffy yelled, looking over her shoulder, shocking the teen out of her stupor and sending her scurrying down the stairs. "Don't do this to me, Will," Buffy said sternly, holding down her friend. She watched in horror, glad for the layers of cloth between her hands and Willow's skin when the sweat on her face changed into a dark viscous fluid, beading on her upper lip and forehead, and tracking down her face from her eyes like tears.

"I don't know what's real... I don't know what's real," Willow mumbled, struggling against the unfamiliar weight pinning her to the bed.

"Dawn, get out of here," Buffy said quickly, looking back over her shoulder again.

"I can't... I'm just trying to keep her still. Go! Now!" Buffy said through gritted teeth as Willow's efforts to free herself became more urgent. After another moment of indecision, Dawn fled the room.

Snatches of strange phrases floated through the air, and Buffy looked back down at Willow with wide eyes, seeing her lips moving to form the words.

"Oh no you don't," she said, freeing up one hand and clapping it over Willow's mouth. Her hand touched the black stuff on Willow's face, and Buffy felt as if she had been burned, but not with fire. Fear and uncertainty, pain and rage seemed to sear her skin, but she held on, keeping her hand firmly over Willow's mouth. "Snap out of it, Willow," she yelled, looking into the black eyes of her green-eyed friend. "Stop it with the creepy eye thing," she went on, pressing Willow harder into the mattress. Still, the feelings burned through her hand, growing stronger by the moment.

Buffy felt helpless and angry, scared and hurt as she pushed down with all her weight and strength behind it. The flailing continued, then slowed, but Buffy continued yelling, giving vent to the rage inside of her, keeping Willow pinned. After a few more moments, the struggling stopped completely, snapping Buffy out of the dark place she was in.

"Willow?" she said, her voice hoarse and uncertain, pulling back and looking at her. "Oh, God, Willow?"

Willow lay there, completely still and unresponsive to Buffy's calls. Panicked, Buffy's fingers found Willow's pulse point, and she held her breath until the flutter of a heartbeat surged against her fingertips.

"God," Buffy breathed, relief flooding through her. "What was... ?" she wondered, staring at her hand and the black sticky stuff there. She grabbed the baking soda off the dresser, and sprinkled some on her hand, and the feelings that had fueled her, had made her hold Willow down until she passed out, completely disappeared.

"I..." Buffy began, a shocked look on her face. "I... stay back, Dawn," she said when Dawn made a move to enter the room. "Willow's kind of... leaking the black nasty stuff, and I got a little on me. It's... really bad," she explained.

Dawn nodded. "She said she's dropping everything and she'll be right over," she confirmed.

"Go downstairs and wait for her," Buffy said, her tone brooking no argument. Obediently, Dawn left to wait. "God, Willow... I had no idea," Buffy said softly, brushing a bit of hair back from Willow's face. "Is that what's inside you? Is that what you've been fighting all this time?" she whispered.

Buffy watched over Willow's slumber, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried not to think about what could have happened. Whatever was in that dark stuff had gotten a firm hold over Buffy from just a small amount, and she had almost... she didn't even want to think about it. No, it was best to think about it now. She could have killed Willow. She had gotten so angry, and been so scared, she could have easily snapped her neck the way she had been holding her down.

And Willow. God only knew what Willow had almost done...what spell she was muttering before Buffy had stopped her words. For all Buffy really knew, she could have leveled an entire city block.

Had she and Willow really just tried to kill each other? It seemed so unreal. Or maybe it was the only thing that was real, and the rest of this was just fake. Or all of it was a trick? Maybe all of it was the Trickster.

"Buffy?" Mary Ellen said tentatively, knocking on doorframe as she stepped into the room.

"Mary Ellen," Buffy said, turning to the newcomer. "She... started shaking. Said it was cold. She had just... upchucked more of the black stuff. And then she was... I dunno... convulsing, and I didn't know what to do. I held her down, and got Dawn out of here, and she started a spell, I think. I covered her mouth, but she was sweating the black stuff by this time, and I got some on me, then... I don't know. Then I... I felt... really angry and scared, and I just kept holding her down and pushing harder, and then she... uhh... she passed out."

Mary Ellen took all this in quietly, her gaze steady and non-judgmental as the words poured out of Buffy.

"Here, let me see her," Mary Ellen said, gently pushing Buffy out of the way and carefully rolling Willow onto her back. Without a word, she studied Willow's face intently, eyeing the black ooze on her skin. "We'll have to wake her up," she said after a few minutes that seemed to Buffy to stretch into an eternity. Without looking, she reached into her bag and drew a small bottle and a cake of soap.

"What's... ?" Buffy began to ask, only to fall silent when Mary Ellen unstoppered the bottle and a strong scent filled the air. Mary Ellen waved it under Willow's nose, causing it to twitch. Willow's face screwed up, then her eyes fluttered open, and she flinched away from the pungent aroma.

"I was... eww," Willow said, remembering yet another session in the bathroom. "Yeah... and then I was... it got so cold. Buffy brought me up here, and I felt like... I needed to let more of it out. It's building up. I felt like I was going to explode," she said hollowly. "I had to let it out, but Buffy had me pinned down, and I... I needed to move. To breathe, and I couldn't. I tried to cast a spell, but Buffy covered my mouth up, and then I really couldn't move. I kept trying and trying, and then I guess... I passed out?"

"That's right," Mary Ellen said with a nod. "Now, you need to take this soap and go shower. Right now," she instructed. "Touch as little as possible, but take a mental note of what you touch. We'll need to put the baking soda on it."

"I – I can't even touch things?" Willow asked incredulously. "Am I dangerous? I'm not safe to be around," she deduced, a touch of panic in her voice. "I can't... I can't be here – or stay here... it's... I -" she went on, full-fledged panic taking over, rendering her unable to form a coherent thought.

"Just go take the shower," Buffy said gently. "We'll worry about the rest of it later. Just... right now, go shower."

Willow looked at Buffy, studying her face carefully, then nodded. She slid out of bed, accepting the soap from Mary Ellen, then walked on unsteady legs from the room. Buffy and Mary Ellen sat in silence, watching the doorway until the sound of the water in the shower reached them.

"Well, we'll have to wash these sheets," Mary Ellen said, and Buffy quickly got up, helping her grab them and bundle them up from the corners. "Get the baking soda," she said, the bedclothes cradled in her arms as she made her way out of the room. Buffy did as she was instructed, then led the way to the washer in the basement, trying to formulate her thoughts.

"So what's going on?" she asked once Mary Ellen had the load ready to turn on once Willow was out of the shower.

"It's the steady stream of dark power being sent," Mary Ellen said wearily. "It's... it's building up, and Willow isn't equipped for that. No human is equipped for that."

"So what's it doing?" Buffy asked, a look of dawning horror slowly taking shape on her face.

"Casting all those spells was like a release valve. It actually made it safer for Willow. All that darkness building up in her... it wants out, and she doesn't have a way of doing that, so it's seeping out when it can," she explained further.

"Yes, I kind of figured that out at this point. So what's it doing?" Buffy tried again.

"It's making Willow very sick," Mary Ellen said flatly. "It's like a toxin. A poison."

"So... she'll keep throwing up? She'll get cold and sweat black oozy stuff? Until it goes away?" Buffy asked.

"Not quite," Mary Ellen said. "She'll keep throwing up and sweating black oozy stuff on the outside. On the inside, it's getting into her bloodstream. When it become too concentrated, she'll die."

"What?" Buffy yelled, looking up quickly at the door out of the basement, then lowering her voice. "What?" she repeated.

"She's going to die," Mary Ellen said helplessly. "We can delay it through cleansing, but it's too much. I didn't realize it was this bad. It's building up too fast."

"So unless Willow just goes with the Black Magick Mojo, she's dead?" Buffy asked, her voice cracking. "No! No, I won't accept that! There has to be another way."

"Then you have to break this connection. Someway, somehow, that dark power has to stop pouring into Willow, and I have no idea how you could possibly do that," Mary Ellen said.

"What about... spells? Rituals? Protections and things?" Buffy asked, her mind racing.

"You can slow it with cleansing rituals. A dark magick protection might help, or it might affect Willow and kill her faster," Mary Ellen explained. "Any other spells wouldn't be strong enough to stop it completely."

"There has to be something else," Buffy went on stubbornly. "I am not going to lose her," she said tightly, her eyes filling with tears. "I am not going to have to tell Tara that..." Buffy's voice broke and she stopped, coughing once, then continuing on. "I can't let this happen."

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. This sort of thing... it's beyond my experience. Willow's source is so intent on keeping her, I just..." she said.

"Not your fault," Buffy said shortly. "But I know whose fault it is. And I don't care if he is a Hell God. He's going to know lots and lots of pain."

"But from what you've told me, he's not even here," Mary Ellen protested. "He's in Hell. How, exactly, do you propose going after him there?"

"I have no idea, but I have to do something. I have to try," Buffy insisted. Then a thought occurred to her. "Wait... he needs Willow. He needs Willow to let him out, so he's not going to let her die, right?"

"Giles. I've got to call Giles," Buffy said, moving to the stairs and racing up to the living room. "He'll know. Or he can find out. What is the damn council for if not to find this stuff out?" she muttered.

"Buffy... I think Willow's got a couple of weeks," Mary Ellen said, catching up with the slayer. "But I'm not sure. I'll look up everything I can find on the subject and I'll see what could possibly slow this down. In the meantime, make sure Willow uses that soap twice a day, and keep the baking soda around."

"Thank you, Mary Ellen," Buffy said sincerely, grateful for the woman's willingness to help, even though she was the bearer of bad news. Still, Buffy would rather know what she was facing than have no idea whatsoever.

Mary Ellen merely nodded, then showed herself to the door. "I only wish I could do more," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

"Dawn," Buffy said weakly, turning to look at her sister who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her jaw clenched and tears in her eyes.

"I..." Buffy began, closing her eyes tight. "The dark power is killing her," Buffy confessed. "She can't hold that much inside her, and so she's dying."

"She can't hold that much?" Dawn asked, jumping on any loophole she could imagine. "So if she let it out, she'd be okay, right? Like, if she cast a few spells?"

"If she cast a few spells, the world ends," Buffy said. "She wouldn't want that, and you know it."

"So we get to sacrifice someone else to save the world?" Dawn asked bitterly. "How is that fair? How is it fair that we keep losing people, and the rest of the world gets to go about their merry way?"

"It's not fair," Buffy said tightly. "I know it's not fair, but that's the way it is."

"Well I hate it," Dawn yelled. "I hate it that everything always happens to us! I hate the Trickster, and I hate Glory, and all the Hellmouth bullshit we have to deal with! Why can't the rest of the world save itself sometime, huh?" she ranted, stomping around the room. "Why can't the rest of the world just figure out how to save itself?" she repeated, seeming to crumble in on herself as she collapsed into sobs.

"We'll figure this out," Buffy said determinedly, moving to sit next to Dawn and pulling her into her arms. "We'll get this all figured out, and Willow will be okay," she repeated.

"That's what you said about Mom," Dawn said in a lost voice. "Everyone said Mom would be okay, but she... she wasn't," she said.

"I know, Dawn," Buffy said bleakly. "But there was nothing we could do about that. We can do something about this. We just... we just have to figure out how to break this connection. If we can break the Trickster's connection to Willow, then she'll be okay. We just have to figure it out."

"It hasn't. Mary Ellen said that breaking the connection would do it," Buffy said, clinging on to any shred of hope she could find.

"So," Dawn said, wiping at her tears and sitting up. "Where do we start? And don't even try to stop me from helping," she warned. "I'm a hair-puller, remember?"

"I remember," Buffy said with a sad smile. "Oh my God!" she blurted out, her eyes opening wide. "How are we gonna' tell Tara?"

"So, exactly how did you two get together, anyway?" Anya asked, dipping a fry in some ketchup, then stuffing it in her mouth, chewing happily. A conveniently located McDonald's provided the junk food, and Anya was determined to get some good information out of Tara now that their objective had been achieved with a minimum of fuss.

"Pardon?" Tara asked, looking over at Anya with a deer in the headlights stare, her burger halfway to her mouth. Neither she nor Willow had ever given up any details about their courtship phase. Not that she particularly minded telling, but no one had worked up to asking her, and Willow dodged such questions.

"C'mon... give up the goods," Anya wheedled. "Here we are, miles from home, without cable, and it's the middle of the afternoon. Do you have anything better to do?"

"Well, yes... I could start looking through these books and things," Tara pointed out, gesturing at the trunks taking up most of the floor space in the little room.

"But Tara," Anya whined. "No one knows anything, or if they do, they're not telling the ex-demon," she added with a mutter. "Besides, it's not fair. You know all about how Xander and I got together, what with me granting a wish to his ex-girlfriend and all that."

Anya stopped mid-chew, a gleam appearing in her eye. "You mean no one told you that story?"

"Well... I know Cordelia made a wish, and it somehow made Sunnydale worse, and Giles saved the day by crushing your talisman," Tara offered up. "But no one has told me the specifics."

"So no one told you about Vampire W -" Anya began to say, only to cut herself off with a smirk.

"Well, now, I suppose I can't tell you that," Anya said with mock sadness, shaking her head. "A girl has to have some secrets," she said, her eyes as wide and innocent-looking as she could make them.

"Oh, now that's just not fair," Tara said, a small smile curving the edges of her lips. "Trade, then?"

"But I don't know how good your story will be," Tara protested mildly, taking a sip of her soda.

"That's true, but that's the risk you'll have to take if you want to hear about Evil Vampire Willow," Anya said with a wicked smile.

Tara choked on her soda, helplessly spraying some across the room. "What?" she gasped after her coughing fit had passed.

"Evil. Vampire. Willow," Anya said succinctly. "You've gotta' give something to get something, and you haven't lived until you've heard this one."

"I, uhhh..." Tara said, her mouth opening and closing on everything she could think to say, a slow flush crawling up her neck. Could she help it that she found the idea equally disturbing and intriguing? She was only human. What would Willow be like as a vampire? Clearly evil, because vampires were... evil. That's how it was. Only, Spike was kind of nice. When he wanted to be. And he wore that...

"You're thinking about the leather, aren't you?" Anya asked with a knowing look. "I can tell. You're imaging Willow wearing lots of black leather right now."

"Well, maybe she wore it... maybe she didn't... but the answer to that question won't be told until you tell me how you and Willow met. And not just how you met, but how you ended up spending time together."

An uncertain look crossed Tara's face, as she wondered whether or not to just tell Anya how they met. That was certainly a harmless story, wasn't it? But did she really want to know about Evil Vampire Willow? Maybe some things were left unexplored.

"Oh, and then there was the time when Evil Vampire Willow showed up in this Sunnydale. And met Willow. The real one – our Willow," Anya clarified.

"Well, it all started at a campus Wicca meeting," Tara said, a soft smile crossing her face.

"A campus Wicca meeting? Willow went to a campus Wicca meeting?" Anya blurted out. "No wonder she found a girlfriend. Those things are just lonely hearts clubs for lesbians."

Tara started snickering, unable to help herself. "With all the 'girl power' floating around those things, I could certainly imagine there were at least a few other 'sisters' at the meetings, but that certainly didn't explain the bake sales," Tara laughed, before stopping short, a thoughtful look on her face. "Of course, I like baking," she said with a shrug. "So I guess it's not that unheard of, huh?"

"Certainly not," Anya said with a nod. "Now go on... we haven't gotten to any good stuff yet."

"Well, Willow came to a meeting," Tara said, a shy smile spreading across her face despite herself as she pulled her legs up to cross under her. "She was... so pretty. I noticed that right off. I mean, how can you miss that?" she asked, lost in her memories. "And she sat down, and the meeting started, and I kept trying to keep myself from looking at her. She looked so familiar, but I had no idea where I had seen her before. By the time she was trying to talk these girls who knew nothing of Wicca into trying out actual spells, I knew that face looked so familiar because I had drawn it a hundred times."

Tara looked up, focusing on Anya, the walk down memory lane temporarily interrupted.

"Well, of course you saw her!" Anya protested. "Vision? Dream? Imagination?" she pressed.

"And what happened in those dreams?" Anya asked, waggling her eyebrows like she had seen Xander do a million times.

"She came to my house in a helicopter, and she took my mother and me far, far away," Tara said wistfully. "And we all lived together in a beautiful place."

"We'd take long walks and hold hands," Tara said. "And just talk about things. Silly things, really. I don't even remember what, but I remember the way her eyes would light up when what she was talking about excited her. And when I met her, it was all exactly the way I had dreamt it."

"That's... really amazing. Does seeing run in the family?" Anya asked curiously.

"Yes, it does," Tara said with a confirming nod. "At least, I know grandma and mother and I could all... sense things. Or we'd see little things before they happened. It was like deja vu, only much more often and more detailed."

"So what happened at the meeting? Did you talk to her?" Anya asked, getting back to her original subject. She'd pursue the dream angle later... she was sure she had more Willow stories around somewhere that she could trade.

"Oh, no," Tara said, shaking her head emphatically. "I mean, what could I say? 'Hi... I've been dreaming about you for years. Wanna' go back to my dorm room?'"

Tara laughed, a light musical sound. "No, I was trying to be more subtle than that. And oddly enough, that night I had the perfect opportunity to go looking for her."

"Well, I figured that maybe a spell could give people their voices back, so I went looking for Willow. I looked her up in the student directory and found out which dorm she was in, so I headed out to see her. Alone. At night. In Sunnydale," Tara said, a self-deprecating smile on her face.

"Did you die?" Anya asked, caught up in the story, her eyes wide. "Oh, listen to me," she said, smacking herself in the forehead. "Of course you didn't die... you're telling the story. Unless you came back," she went on. "Did you die and come back?"

"No, I didn't die at all," Tara laughed. "But I did get spotted by The Gentlemen, and they followed me all the way over to Willow's dorm. It was really creepy, because they moved so slow, kind of floating, like it didn't matter how fast you ran, they knew they'd catch you anyway," she said with a shiver. "Really creepy," she repeated.

"I made it into the dorm, and they were right behind me, floating down the hall towards me. I kept banging on doors, but everyone stayed inside, where they thought they'd be safe," Tara said, a fond smile on her face. "But not Willow, no. She came out to see what the commotion was all about, and ran right into me. We both fell down, and she... I guess she kind of twisted her ankle or something, and we both started running as best we could."

"I bet you both ended up running to a room with no exit, didn't you?" Anya said knowledgeably, nodding her head. "As much as we laugh about scary movies where people end up boxing themselves in, that's exactly what they end up doing. It's something strange about the human psyche, where they all feel safe in a room with only one entrance," Anya said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she made a face. "It's pure idiocy, if you ask me."

"Well, umm," Tara said, a sheepish look crossing her features. "Actually, we did. We ended up in the laundry room with no way to block the door. So we tried to push a soda machine in front of it, but it was way too heavy."

"Then Willow tried to move it with magick, but it was too much for her, and she kind of sat down and had this look like she had run out of options and didn't know what to do," Tara said. "And so I kinda sat near her, and looked at her, and she looked back, and I reached out my hand. Our fingers touched, and I felt it all the way up my arm, a kind of nice tingly thing, all warm and... just, really nice."

Anya's chewing slowed as she listened, imagining the scene in her head. "Then you had sex, right?"

"No!" Tara said vehemently. "I mean, I probably would have, if... I mean, well... I -" Tara coughed once, then took a deep breath. "Then we worked together, moved the soda machine in front of the door, and waited until we had our voices back and were rescued," she finished quickly. "Your turn."

"Fine," Anya said. "I can see you're not going to go back to the good details, so I'll just get my story out of the way."

"So, there I was, hanging out with Cordelia every day at Sunnydale High," Anya began.

"That's not important to the story," Anya said impatiently. "But for you information, I was an all-powerful Vengeance Demon. Enrolling in high school isn't that difficult."

"There I was... yadda yadda," Anya said absently, looking at the ceiling. "Right! And I kept giving her opening after opening, and she just wouldn't make a wish. It was just about the most aggravating case I had ever been on. Finally, she makes her wish. And what does she wish for? Decapitation? No. Disembowelment? No. Disease? Famine? Life-long hardship and ridicule? No," Anya related, growing more agitated by the second. "She finally makes a wish, and it isn't even about Xander!" she said. "She clearly didn't have this whole 'scorned woman' thing down."

"She wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale," Anya said sadly, shaking her head. "I mean, it was a fun wish. Lots of neat bad things happened, but... it... it wasn't the point. She was supposed to let me curse Xander, because he was the bad boyfriend, not the whole town."

"She... she wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale?" Tara asked incredulously. "How stupid is this girl?"

"Exactly!" Anya crowed. "Exactly my point! She could have wished for anything, and she could have given Xander any infliction known to man, given him any pain or torture... and she decides that it's all Buffy's fault? What did Buffy have to do with anything?"

"Besides that... she knew Buffy was the Slayer, right?" Tara asked, her mind reeling over the implications. "She'd already done so much to make Sunnydale safer."

"Oh, well, yeah," Anya said dismissively. "But my point is, she missed a great opportunity, and instead, she did something so bad it got noticed, and my talisman got destroyed."

"Well, since Buffy wasn't there, the Master rose, Willow and Xander got turned into vampires the night Buffy had originally saved them, Angel was the Master's captive, and Cordelia had no idea what to do in this vampire-ruled city. So she ends up getting killed, by Xander and Willow, mind you, but not before she told Giles that Buffy was supposed to be there."

"Thank goodness for that," Tara said, realizing that must have been the catalyst that led to Giles fixing the horrible situation. "But... Xander and Willow... they... killed her?"

"Oh, no... the Vampire Xander and Willow killed her," Anya said quickly. "BIG difference."

"Well, not a BIG difference, but still different," she hedged, trying to express herself as accurately as possible.

"Well, it's not," Anya said defensively. "Being a vampire doesn't add anything to your personality that isn't there... it just sort of... lets the deep dark parts of you that the good parts of you keep in line out to play."

"So... Xander and Willow could have... killed her anyway?" Tara asked, a worried frown on her face.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Anya admonished. "You're looking at the dark side here. The truth is, vampires are just like us, only we're the cattle, and they're the humans. So Vamp Xander and Vamp Willow killing Cordelia means that our Xander and our Willow could hunt food to survive, and that if that particular piece of food was constantly ridiculing them, they might even enjoy it."

"Actually, it's fascinating," Anya disagreed. "Think about it. Being a vampire means that the little thing in your head that says, 'don't do that... it's wrong' goes away. And things that are SO wrong that you wouldn't even consider them, suddenly become an option."

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" Tara asked wryly. "About sources? Leather pants in the closet?"

"Funny you should mention 'leather pants' and 'closets'..." Anya said, thinking of Evil Vampire Willow. "But I digress," Anya said, getting back on topic. "So, Evil Vampire Willow... there were parts of her that were still very Willow. Like how smart she was."

"Oh, no. The babbling comes from being unsure. Uncertain. Vamp Willow was at the top of the food chain, not at the bottom of the pecking order," Anya paused there, thinking over her last statement, wondering if mixing metaphors was a sign of impending insanity. Or maybe she was just tired. She was rather low on sleep. "Anyway, she invented this exsanguination machine that worked on a kind of conveyor belt thing for the Master, so they didn't have to hunt anymore. It was much more civilized that way," Anya said earnestly.

"Oh, well, no," Anya confessed. "She just realized that people were food, and pain fear and hunting were fun, and there really wasn't any need to play with the food."

"That doesn't sound like Willow at all," Tara said, frowning. "I mean, Willow loves playing with food," she went on, then stopping suddenly, her eyes wide. "And when I stop explaining things."

Anya grinned. "Xander likes that, too," she said. "But again, that's not the point. The point is, that a vampire is the person, with all their civilizing influences stripped bare, and their baser, violent tendencies brought out. Add that to an IQ that's off the charts, and it's easy to see why Vampire Willow was the Master's favorite."

"No, she's not," Anya agreed. "But she does have a lot of anger and hurt, and that leads to violence when it's not tempered by something. Vampire Willow didn't have anything to temper it with."

"What does Willow have to be angry and hurt about?" Tara asked. "She's so smart, and pretty, and..."

"Oh, tons," Anya said. "Didn't she ever tell you about how it was for her in high school? How it was growing up?" Anya asked curiously.

"What are you talking about?" Tara asked. "She... well, she said she was a spaz, but..."

"She was made fun of nearly every day," Anya said. "All the things you love about her... how smart she is, how she babbles when she's nervous, how she has no idea about anything that has anything to do with an outfit that is remotely -"

"I get the picture," Tara said. "All the cute stuff. The point?" she asked, wondering what it was that Willow had never told her.

"That's the stuff she's been made fun of for her whole life," Anya said. "She was terribly unhappy in high school, and if I didn't specialize in scorned women, I'd have been right there granting her a wish."

"It w-was... that bad?" Tara asked tentatively, her eyes full of sorrow. "I thought... I mean, she had Xander, and Buffy..."

"Right. She had Xander and Buffy and Giles. I love Xander, don't get me wrong, and I'm very glad he and Willow never really got together, but he treated her horribly. He didn't know any better," Anya went on quickly, jumping to Xander's defense. "He really didn't. Willow had such a huge crush on him, and he just sort of went on his merry way, having no idea, and mooning over every girl but her. Men are so clueless."

"Well, I sort of knew about that... I mean, that she had a crush on him, and that she and Oz broke up for awhile because of The Fluke," Tara said.

"Right," Anya said, nodding and picking up the story. "But did she mention how hurt she was when he started dating Cordelia in the first place? That he had chosen to be with a girl he had always hated instead of her?"

"Oh, God," Tara said, her face falling. "That must h-have been... awful for her," she whispered, her heart aching for the young Willow with the hopeless crush on her clueless best friend.

"Right. And Giles was always good to her, but that didn't make up for her parents," Anya went on.

"Her parents?" Tara asked slowly. "What about them? She doesn't talk about them much."

"Well, you know how well Willow did in school right? And how she's always been such a 'good girl'?" Anya asked. Tara nodded, then Anya continued. "So she was every parents' dream child, and I guess they figured she was fine on her own, so they pretty much ignored her. Every straight 'A' report card, every triumph... they didn't care."

"But... they should've been so proud of her," Tara protested. "She – I mean, she got accepted to so many good schools, and..."

"Right," Anya said. "And none of it was good enough for them to take any notice of."

"W-why didn't she ever... tell me?" Tara asked bleakly, staring at the far wall.

"Like you told her about drawing?" Anya asked, her lips pursed. "It seems like the two of you need some nice long talks."

"Well," Anya said, finishing off her burger, then folding up the wrapper. "Willow's been rejected or replaced by everyone who has ever meant anything to her. Why should she risk losing you?"

"Losing me?" Tara squeaked. "Losing me because her parents are stupid? And Xander – he's stupid, too!" she announced.

"Xander isn't stupid," Anya defended. "He was just young. Besides, Willow wasn't the one for him. Willow is the one for you, so it's a good thing they're not together, isn't it?"

"I... but -" Tara said, unsure of what to say in the face of such devastating logic. "Well, Willow and I aren't together."

"And she better not make a play for Xander," Anya said ominously. "Because he's mine."

"I think she's over the Xander thing," Tara said soothingly. "So... no attacking Willow, okay?"

"Yeah, I know," Anya said with a sigh. "It's just... Willow doesn't like me. I know that, and that's fine," she said resignedly. "I mean, I don't think she hates me anymore, but she doesn't like me, and I can't help but think that part of that is her Xander Reflex. Not," she went on, "that I think she still has a thing for Xander... but I don't think she'll ever think anyone's good enough for him."

"I don't think he'll think anyone's good enough for her, either," Tara said slowly. "They've been friends since they were very little."

"True," Anya said. "But have you noticed how they don't spend any time together anymore? Not that I'm complaining, because that gives Xander and I more time for sex, but it seems almost odd, doesn't it?"

"People grow apart," Tara said sadly, wondering what Willow was doing right then. She glanced at her watch. Willow would be out of class by now. Was she studying? Napping? Maybe goofing off on the internet?

"How'd we get so far off track?" Anya wondered, looking around as if the room could answer her question.

"Right," Anya said. "Anyway, I'm not sure what happened when Buffy went after the Master, because I stopped watching. That's when Giles summoned me and destroyed my talisman."

"So what about Willow meeting her evil vampire self?" Tara asked. "And did she really wear leather?" she went on, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

"Oh, yeah," Anya confirmed. "She wore these heeled boots things, and the leather pants, and the leather corset, and that off-the-shoulders red top..."

"Oh, yeah... but that's not even the best part," Anya went on. "The best part is when Evil Vampire Willow came to Sunnydale and..." She trailed off, looking speculatively at Tara. "Now, I only promised to tell you about Evil Vampire Willow, not the time Willow met her Evil Twin," she said with a smile. "So, I get another story."

"But, you said," Tara started to protest, only to stop when Anya raised an imperious hand.

"No, no... I said that the other story existed, not that I'd tell it," she said. "So, if you want to hear it, I want to hear about the big First Kiss."

"You wanna' hear about... oh, boy," Tara said, blinking several times, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes, that's definitely the story I want," Anya said. "I'd jump right into the first time you two had sex, but I don't want this story out of order, and I'm guessing it was probably the night Oz left after he came back."

"No need to explain right now," Anya said kindly, realizing how badly she was embarrassing her friend. "Just... stick with the kissing. That shouldn't be too hard, right?" she asked innocently.

"You're not as outrageous when it's just the two of us," Tara said thoughtfully. "Why is that?"

"Oh, because I do a lot of that on purpose now," Anya said with a grin. "I mean, I know better now, by human interaction conventions, but I still don't see the point. My inappropriate comments break tension and annoy people. I like that," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Besides, when I don't make them as often, they're so... glaring... and 'out there'."

"Ha Ha," Anya rejoined, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at Tara. "Don't try to stall any longer. Get to the kissing."

"Right. Kissing," Tara said. "Well, we, umm... we kept getting together for spells, y'know? She'd come over to my dorm room, and we'd talk about magick, and work on spells, and that kind of thing."

"Well, one time, I tried to give her my doll's eye crystal," Tara said. "The one you recognized."

"Well, yes and no. I tried to give it to her earlier that day, but she wouldn't take it," Tara recalled, remembering the strange hurt she had felt when Willow had refused her gift. It had seemed so right to give it to Willow, like Willow was meant to have it, and it had pained her when she hadn't accepted it. "Anyway, she said no, and then I asked if she wanted to come over later on to do some spells, and she said no again, because she was going to The Bronze with the Scoobies. Not that she said 'Scoobies'," Tara went on, "or that I even knew what a 'Scooby' was at that point."

"No, she got ditched," Tara said, frowning at the new meaning that event had after the things Anya had told her about Willow. She shook her head lightly, clearing her thoughts, and continued her story. "So she came over, and I was so happy to see her. She was really nervous, though, like she thought I'd kick her out the door. I was kinda' mad to be second, y'know? But... it was like... it didn't matter. I just wanted to see her, and there she was." A little half-smile spread across Tara's face, and her eyes lit up as she recounted her tale. "Then we did a few spells with the crystal, and it was like it was every time... I felt so connected to her... so close. And then it was late, and so she got up to go, and I walked her to the door. She gave me a great big hug, and we both just kinda'... held on, until we weren't hugging so much as holding each other, sorta' swaying a little."

Anya smiled at the picture that Tara painted, imagining the two girls so unsure of each other and themselves. Not that she'd ever admit to having anything remotely resembling a romantic streak, but it was a nice story, and something she could tell Xander later. And then smack him in the arm for not doing anything like that for her.

"Then she kinda' pulled back a little, sort of embarrassed, and she started babbling something, but I have no idea what she said, and our arms were still around each other. Then she looked up, and I looked up... and our eyes met. And then we were kissing," Tara finished, her lips pulling into a full smile. "She stayed the night, and we just talked, and kissed, then kissed and talked some more. It was... great. Wonderful. Thrilling."

"Now that is a good story," Anya said. "And I expect just as much detail when we get to the sex parts."

"Only if you have a story that's worth the detailed sex parts," Tara said boldly. "Now...Willow and Evil Willow... in the same room," she prompted.

"Right," Anya said with a nod. "So, I talked Willow into doing a spell to get my talisman back, because I hated being human," Anya related. "But it didn't work right, and instead of opening up a little hole so I could grab my talisman and be done with it, it pulled Evil Vampire Willow into this Sunnydale."

"Evil Vampire Willow shows up at The Bronze and beats up some guy, and then Buffy and Xander show up, and they see that Willow is vamped. They figured it was their Willow, because none of us knew what was going on. Evil Vampire Willow got away, and eventually we realized what was going on."

"I'd have freaked. I'd have absolutely freaked," Tara said, blinking, trying to imagine exactly how badly she would have freaked if she had run into a Vamped Willow without knowing that her Willow was okay.

"Yeah, I know," Anya said with a nod. "But Evil Vampire Willow got ahold of Willow somehow, and apparently they spent some... quality time together. I believe that in her traumatized babblings, Willow mentioned... neck-licking?"

"Oh, no... but Evil Vampire Willow was coming on to her un-vampire self pretty strong before Willow managed to knock her out? Drug her? I don't really remember how, and it's not like I was there, but she subdued the vampire, but not before getting an eyeful of her full-on leather outfit," Anya said.

"Oh, absolutely. But the best part's coming up. Evil Vampire Willow had gotten a gang of vampires together and they were holed up in The Bronze. So, Willow trades clothes with the vampire and -"

"I'm not! I swear I'm not. It was the only way, you see. There were too many vampires, so Willow had to dress up like her skanky alternate-universe self and walk into The Bronze. She did, and she managed to get a few of the vampires to go outside where Buffy dusted them, but she stayed in there awhile trying to pretend that she was an evil vampire," Anya explained.

"Oh, God," Tara said, covering her mouth with her hand. "This shouldn't be funny, but..." She giggled.

"Well, apparently, Evil Vampire Willow did a much better job impersonating Willow than Willow did impersonation Evil Vampire Willow," Anya said. "So then Evil Vampire Willow showed up at The Bronze... in Willow's fuzzy pink sweater."

"Well, the Scoobies rushed in and saved the day, keeping our Willow from being killed," Anya finished.

"But... what happened to Evil Vampire Willow?" Tara asked. "I mean, they didn't just... stake her, or...?"

"Oh, no... they couldn't. They felt like she was Willow, so they sent her back," Anya said, then added wickedly, "but not before she got one last grope in on Willow."

"I can just imagine her face when -" Tara said, stopping when Anya's cell phone rang.

"Hello?" Anya asked into the phone, sharing a look of trepidation with Tara. "Yes, hold on," Anya said, then held the phone out to Tara. "It's for you. It's Buffy."

Tara grabbed the phone quickly, bringing it to her ear with a shaking hand, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, Buffy? Is everyone all right? Did anything happen?" she asked hurriedly. Anya moved to the edge of her seat, leaning forward and trying to hear the answer, only to lift a shaky hand to her mouth when she saw Tara pale suddenly. "Oh, God," Tara said. "Goddess, no," she said again, her voice shaking.

The phone fell from her numb fingers, and it felt as though her world were crashing around her as Buffy's words played over and over in her head.

Anya picked up the phone, bringing it to her ear. "Buffy? What's going on?" She listened for a moment, then nodded, having expected something that bad from Tara's reaction. "All right. We're going to leave now. We're about two days out, but we'll drive all night if we have to."

Without waiting for a reply, she hung up the phone, then gave Tara a moment to sit while she gathered their things and getting it into the car. When she had done everything she could do by herself, she knelt in front of Tara, calling her name until she had her attention.

"Tara, I know this is bad, but we have to go. We have to get to Willow, right now," she said slowly and clearly, hoping her words got through. She watched as some of the shock faded away, and a steely determination entered Tara's eyes. "Yes, we have to get to Willow," Tara agreed, pulling herself together and standing.

Willow walked gingerly down the stairs, shivering slightly, an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt hanging loosely on her small frame. She had stayed in the shower, washing away the darkness until long after the water had turned cold.

She entered the living room, surprised to see the transformation. Gone were Buffy's papers, and instead, huge stacks of books from the magic shop covered the table. Her laptop was open in front of Dawn.

"Oh, I -" Dawn said, a guilty look crossing her features. "We... we needed to find some things, on the internet. I, uh...I didn't think you'd mind."

"Oh, of course," Willow said, nodding. "I don't mind. I mean, I prefer to be asked first, but... y'know, I was all in the shower and stuff. I guess you can't be expected to walk on in, huh?" she finished weakly, moving to sit on the couch.

Buffy grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, wordlessly wrapping it around her shivering friend.

"I'll, uhh... I'll just... get more coffee," Dawn said, rushing from the room. Only then did Willow notice the two steaming cups sitting on the table.

"Well, we've got lots of research to do," Buffy defended herself. "And we need all the help we can get. Xander's on the way over," she added needlessly.

"Well, I didn't think he'd be anywhere else," Willow said. "Hell God and all – that's a job for the Scooby Gang."

"Right," Buffy said, unable to bring herself to laugh at Willow's joke, the sick knowledge of what could happen to Willow sitting heavily in her stomach. While Willow had been in the shower, she had called Tara, and she had no idea how she was faring. Anya had said they were two days out, but Buffy had no idea how Willow's condition would progress, and even if she'd be coherent in two days time.

"Buffy? Is something wrong?" Willow asked slowly, a little frown on her face. "I mean, other than the stuff I already know about? Because you look like..." Willow said, trailing off, only to start up again in a panicked voice. "Buffy, what aren't you telling me? Did you get a phone call? Is Tara all right? Nothing happened at her father's house, did it?"

"No, Tara's fine," Buffy assured her. "Actually, I'm... really worried about you," Buffy said.

"Yeah, I'm a little worried about me, too," Willow admitted. "This is... really hard."

"It's... everything's worse than we thought," Buffy said carefully. "Willow," she went on, taking Willow's hand, her voice unusually serious, causing Willow's worry to jump several notches. "The Dark Magick that's inside you? It's... it's basically poisoning you. If it builds up too much and takes over your blood, you could -" she said, her voice cracking and then she stopped, unable to get the word past the tightness in her throat.

"God, Willow, I'm so... sorry," Buffy said, the words sounding empty and hollow in her ears.

"The Trickster keeps sending you the magick," Buffy answered starkly, her voice sounding raw and troubled. "It's building up inside you, which is why it's trying so hard to get out. It's why you feel so bad right now. It – the magick is going to eventually take over your blood."

"I -" Willow said, only to stop as she tried to digest the information. Her immediate thoughts all circled around Tara. How would she take it? Would she be okay once Willow was gone? Did she even know? Ruthlessly, she pushed the thoughts aside as tears welled up in her eyes. "I guess we got lots of work to do, then, huh?" Willow asked, all color draining from her face as she moved into the chair Dawn had vacated and pulled the laptop towards her. "We have to figure out exactly what my connection to the Hell God is, what exactly he needs me for, and those should give us some clues on how to stop him from pumping Dark Magick into me."

Willow hunched over the keyboard, her fingers flying, every now and again moving the mouse around and clicking, seemingly at random. Buffy watched for a moment, seeing the dawning horror and panic starting to creep across Willow's face.

"Rest? How the hell am I supposed to rest right now, Buffy?" Willow demanded, looking up at her with a fierce look on her face. "I need to not think about it right now, and in order to not think about it, I need to be busy. Because if I think about it, I'm going to..." she went on, her face crumbling. Tara's face swam before her eyes, and she realized that all she wanted to do was crawl into her arms where she knew she'd be safe. She choked back a sob, shaking off the thoughts, clenching her jaw and going determinedly back to the research and ignoring the worried looks Buffy kept sending her way.

"Of course I did," Dawn said. "And I... I kinda', umm," she said slowly, suddenly unsure as to whether or not her plan had been a good idea. "Yours might taste kind of funny," she confessed, looking over at Willow. "I put... I put some of that baking soda in with the sugar, so... I figured if you could kinda'... take out some of the dark stuff in your tummy, it might slow it down. From the inside."

"That's... that's a good idea, Dawn," Willow said. "That could help," Willow said with a small smile as a relieved look crossed Dawn's face.

"I... I had to do something," Dawn said weakly. "We can't lose you." Tears welled up in Dawn's eyes, and Willow immediately felt the need to reassure the scared teenager.

"You won't lose me, Dawn," Willow said fiercely, resolve face firmly in place. "I have no intention of leaving any of you."

A relieved look crossed Dawn's face. "Really?" she asked, handing over the cup of coffee and wanting so badly to believe Willow's words.

"And the donut man approacheth," Xander said, walking into the house with a big box of donuts in his hand. He set the donuts on the table, immediately pulling Willow out of her chair and into a hug. "How are you holding up, Wills?" he asked softly.

Willow leaned into him, returning the hug for a moment before pulling back. "Y'know... another day on the Hellmouth," she said lightly. "If one of use weren't in mortal peril, it wouldn't quite be the same."

"I know it's not," Willow snapped, her eyes flashing. "I'm... I'm sorry," she said, sitting back down heavily. "I just -"

"It's okay. I understand," Xander said, hunkering down next to her and patting her arm awkwardly. "So," he said, looking around the room. "Another Scooby all-nighter?"

"I'll get you some coffee," Dawn said, standing up and heading back into the kitchen.

Effectively dismissing her friends, unable to deal with the fear in their eyes, Willow turned back to her computer. Dawn had several files open that she had never seen before, but they were certainly informative.

"Giles used the 'infernal machine' and emailed me some files?" Willow muttered incredulously. "This really is the Apocalypse."

"Actually, he didn't send them," Buffy said, looking up from her book. "Apparently, he's on a team of Council 'rejects'... they get all the crap jobs. They consider Giles to be 'unconventional' and he's their hero," she went on wryly.

"Giles is unconventional?" Xander asked with a smirk. "Who knew our stodgy watcher-man was such a rebel?"

"Anyway, one of the guys on the team is some kind of computer-guy, which is why the Council really doesn't like him. That whole team is working on this, getting information and trying to decipher those prophecies. This guy will email updates whenever they have them," Buffy said, finishing explaining.

"Cool," Willow said absently, scrolling through the documents, translating the Latin in her head as she went.

She clicked open her email, seeing a message that had been read already, sent from England. She opened the message, hoping the actual email message had more information about what was in the documents.

Willow, I'm having one of my colleagues send you information on this infernal machine. It seems more efficient than letting you write things out longhand when I call; however, I will still call every time I send information to get an update on the happenings in Sunnydale, and to confirm that you receive these files. Included is the full text of the prophecy we're working on now, several documents relating to The Trickster, as well as a compilation of first-hand accounts of mystical events that may have included The Trickster. -Giles

"Ah... so that's what I'm looking at," Willow mumbled, clicking back to the documents. "Now," she said louder. "We think this witch who defeated The Trickster was related to me, right?"

Willow nodded, then turned back to her computer, opening up the files she had on her own genealogy. It had been a project she was working on, but had shelved several times over the last few years, what with Scooby things and school, then the responsibilities of taking care of Dawn and the Scooby Gang after Buffy's death. Would her passing leave a hole like that?

Determinedly, she pushed the thoughts away, going back to her research. It should be easy enough, really, with the groundwork she already had, to trace her line back through the women in her family, and see what she found.

Willow lost herself in her task, finding that the work allowed her to focus on something other than the startling revelations of the day and Tara's aching absence. The Scoobies worked around her in silence, for once the loud complaints and the jokes gone.

"What do you have?" Buffy asked, looking up sharply from her book, which was a big bust. Everyone stopped, and Xander gulped as all eyes focused on him.

"Oddly enough, I think it's about Angel," he said with a frown. "It... it kinda' fits, y'know?"

"Well, it talks about the three Hell Gods. The Trickster, The Beast, and The Scales."

"The Scales?" Buffy asked with a frown. "That's a pretty lame name for a Hell God. I think I'd be all pissed off if I were that one."

"It's about what function they serve. The Beast, Glory, was all about rage and fear ... primal-type stuff," he said slowly. "The Trickster is all reason and logic and cunning. Nasty guy, though. The Scales ... is kinda' ... not a guy OR a girl ... but something else."

"Right," Xander said with a nod. "Anyway, The Scales is just that ... the balance between The Beast and The Trickster. Anyway, The Trickster ... well, tricked The Scales into helping him banish Glory, which is why she was here."

"Well, they kinda' list a few of each Hell God's accomplishments, showing how they can influence things here, even when they're in Hell. The Trickster, apparently, supplied the big Dark Magick juice needed to curse Angel with his soul in the first place. At least, that's what I'm guessing. The details are vague here, but the timeline is right," Xander said, handing the book over to Willow.

Willow read in silence, looking over the passage Xander indicated, nodding as she read.

"Because it's a curse," Willow said hollowly, looking up with haunted eyes. "That spell doomed Angel to an eternity of torment – a past that haunted him that he could never atone for. And I did the same thing to him," she said starkly.

"Willow – you did what you had to do," Buffy said gently. "You didn't do it to send him into torment... you did it to keep him from hurting people. To keep me from hurting by having to kill him."

"Yeah, and that worked out so well," Willow said bitterly. "You had to kill him anyway, only you had to look him in the eye, knowing he had his soul back."

"That's..." Buffy said, her heart clenching as she remembered that moment with stark clarity. "That's not the point, Willow. You did it for all the right reasons."

"I did it because I could," Willow shot back. "I wanted to prove something to myself – that I was powerful enough to do it. But I wasn't," she said.

"No," Willow said with a shake of her head. "I... I felt something when I cast, like... some power surging through me. It was... euphoric. And then it was gone, and I felt so empty. That was him – The Trickster. That's when I opened the door and let him in, because I was too sure I knew what I was doing, and I didn't stop and think of the consequences."

Willow just nodded, a look of pure misery on her face. "It had to have been. He needed time to make his connection to me this strong, right? And he supplied the power for the original curse. It only makes sense that he would be paying attention when someone tried the curse again."

"So if he started his big Hell God plan way back then, what else has he been doing?" Buffy wondered aloud, the words falling heavily into the room.

"I – I don't know," Willow said softly. "It could be anything, and we wouldn't know. We'd have no way of knowing what bad things happened that were just us, or were helped along by him."

"Okay, The Trickster no longer seems all court-jester-y," Xander said with a frown. "His creepiness factor is steadily climbing."

"I'll... I'll be right back," Willow said, standing up and leaving the room. She grabbed the phone and the Rolodex, making her way into the kitchen and dialing. She paused, listening to the phone ring before it was picked up.

In the other room, Xander said softly enough to not be overheard, "Buffy, this is really freaking me out. Willow's taking this whole thing a little too calmly."

"Just... I just need to know how she is," Willow whispered brokenly into the phone. "Tell me she's okay."

"I know," Buffy whispered back to Xander. "I think... it's probably going to hit her all at once. And Willow snapping into a million pieces is not something I care to see."

"Thank you, Anya," Willow said, her voice grateful as tears welled up in her eyes. "I know you and I haven't really gotten along, but take care of her for me, okay? In case something happens before you get here. Make sure she's all right. She's always liked you, and she'll need a friend."

"I just wish Tara were here," Xander whispered back, turning to his book when Willow walked back into the room, wiping tears from her eyes as surreptitiously as possible and going back to her seat.

"I need more information," Willow said quickly, turning back to her research with a manic intensity that garnered worried looks from all the Scoobies present. "I have to know... what happened before and... I have to know."

She continued muttering, occasionally taking notes, as she continued tracing her genealogy. The Scoobies exchanged worried glances before turning back to their own books, determined to find a way to save Willow.

Willow frowned at her computer, having traced her ancestry back several generations to Scotland. As far as she knew, it was the only scrap of blood in her that came from that area, but it followed the female line back, and it was the right culture to have standing stones, so she felt she was on the right track. As encouraging as this was, it was eminently frustrating that she couldn't find anything further back than the woman who had come to America, and there was no evidence to suggest she had practiced magick of any kind.

With a sigh, she shot off an email to Giles' computer guy, filling him in on what she knew so far. It may have been a bust from her point of view, but since the Council was in England anyway, she figured they should have better records than she could get over the internet.

She really had to find the time to finish writing her Latin translation program, she mused idly as she switched over to the crazed ramblings of a madmen – a prophet whose words seemed to be about The Trickster and his rise to power. A sinking feeling in her gut reminded her that she just might be out of time – that she might never finish the program. Or college. Never get back together with Tara. Never travel. There were so many books she hadn't read, and so many places she hadn't seen. So many things she had never bothered to learn.

She continued reading through her tears, unable to make heads or tails of the document in front of her. It clearly made no sense, and while she might be able to figure it all out if she had a few months to study it, she was certainly no expert when it came to that sort of thing.

With another frown, she changed documents again, reading over their information on The Trickster. Her frown deepened the further she read. Where Glory was short-sighted and self-centered, The Trickster was calculating and philanthropic in a twisted Hell God kind of way. He saw humanity as a bunch of childish powerless Glory's... and as such, his goals seemed to center around leading humanity to a maturity of pure cold reason, untempered by compassion or altruism. Willow shivered as she read, finding that while the world wouldn't end if The Trickster made his way out of Hell, all of humanity would be subjugated to his will and pressed into worship.

Engrossed in her work, she blocked out the sound of conversation around her, until a round of mocking laughter echoed around the room. She looked up, listening to Dawn and Buffy and Xander talking about how worthless she was – how glad they were that she was going to die. She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes tight, tears streaming down her face as each word seemed to stab her through the heart.

In the silent room, each of the Scoobies heard Willow make a noise like a wounded animal, the sound startling them out of their reading. Each looked up to see Willow crying quietly, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.

"Willow," Dawn said, reaching out, only to see Willow flinch away as if she sensed the movement without the benefit of sight.

Xander looked on helplessly as Willow seemed to curl in on herself, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her head bending down. She rocked forward and back slowly, a strange keening sound punctuated by sobs filling the room.

"I don't know," Xander said, moving closer to Willow, but keeping his distance enough that he didn't startle her.

Willow heard each word, each taunt and jab shaking her to the core. She deserved this. She had brought all of this on herself with her own insecurities. But they were deserved insecurities – her friends weren't really her friends. They only cared as long as she was useful. Now, she was useless and dying and they were stuck with her, just waiting for her to stop... being.

"No," Willow moaned, hugging her knees tighter. "No..." she said again on a choked whisper. The loved her. She knew it. This was a trick. It was all a trick. No, their friendship and love had been the trick. Now she was seeing the truth. The truth was, none of them had ever loved her. Not Xander, not Oz... and not Tara.

"No," Willow said again, her heart breaking in two. Tara loved her. She knew it. She was rushing home to be with her – Anya had said so.

And then it was clear. Tara did love her. When she didn't know what was real, when she had nothing left to hold onto, she knew this to the very core of her being. Tara loved her. They might not be together right now, but that parting had hurt Tara every bit as much as it had hurt her. Tara loved her.

The shaking subsided, as did the voices, and after a long moment, Willow was able to raise her head and wipe at her eyes.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, looking at the concerned – and loving – faces of her friends. Her family. "It – kinda' got intense there for a minute."

"Thanks," Willow said, gingerly taking the cup, then downing the liquid quickly.

She gasped, pain ripping through her stomach. Xander rushed to her side as she doubled over, crossing her arms over her belly and grimacing. Her contents of her stomach roiled, and then it subsided. With a few shaky breaths, she extricated herself from Xander's arms and sat up, noticing immediately that she felt... lighter... freer... than she had in days.

"I-I'm sorry," Dawn said, a stricken look on her face. "I didn't know it... I didn't know," she said.

"No, it's okay," Willow said quickly. "I feel... I mean, it hurt for a bit, but... I feel so much better," she reassured the girl. "It's... it's really strange."

"But I should have realized," Dawn went on. "I mean, it made that weird hissing sound in the bucket."

"But you're okay?" Buffy asked from Willow's side, surprising Willow. She hadn't noticed Buffy move.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Willow said. "I... I think we better get back to the research."

"Knock knock," Spike said, opening the door of the Summers home and sauntering in. His coat was closed up, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Funny you should mention that," Spike said with a grin. "Because I was just playing poker with me mates."

"Kittens?" Willow asked, horrified. "You bet kittens?" A flash of sadness hit her as she remembered her beloved Miss Kitty Fantastico, who had disappeared that summer. A suspicious look crossed her face as she glared at Spike, until she remembered that Miss Kitty wouldn't have qualified as a 'kitten' at the time. Still... "You... you have to bet kittens, though, right?" she asked weakly. "No cats?"

"That's right," Spike confirmed, nodding. "However, it seems some temporal demon was cheating... out stealing cats, making them kittens again," he said, pursing his lips. "Doesn't change anything, or hurt the kitties, but still... it's just not done, y'know?"

"Well, I recognized this one," Spike said, moving one arm and gingerly unfastening to front of his coat, revealing a small bundle of fur. "Took me awhile to win her back, but..." he said with a shrug, gently handing the kitten to Willow, who mewed happily as if recognizing one of her mommy's and settling in her lap.

"Miss Kitty?" Willow gasped, tears stinging her eyes. "I..." She hugged the kitten to her, rubbing her cheek against the soft fur and listening to her purr. "Oh, Miss Kitty," she said, holding her away to check her over for any hurts. Finding none, she gave a relieved sigh, then let the kitten settle in her lap, laughing through her tears at her little kitty yawn as she settled in for a nap. "Thank you, Spike," she said, looking up at the vampire, then promptly bursting into tears.

"Hey, now," Spike said, a troubled look on his face. "No crying, all right? I hate seeing women cry," he muttered.

"It's... complicated," Buffy said slowly, watching Willow cuddle the kitten and give vent to her fear and anger at her situation. "She... really needs this," she whispered, pulling Spike into the kitchen and motioning everyone to follow her.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Spike asked angrily. "I show up with her lost kitten... and let me tell you, both Red and Blondie sobbed when that little bugger left, and now she's bawling?"

"She's... the Dark Magick is killing her. She can't cast spells, so she can't get rid of it. It's building up," she explained quickly.

Buffy nodded, her eyes filling up with tears. "But Willow's been kind of... she... it's like it hadn't hit her yet. I think seeing Miss Kitty made it all sink in."

"So we're just standing her in the kitchen while Red sobs her heart out?" Spike asked slowly. "I mean, I'm evil... what's your excuse for being heartless?"

"Especially you, you wanker," Spike said acidly. "Known her since she was five? Gonna' watch her die."

"I think she just needs some time alone," Buffy said, holding Xander back as he tried to get at Spike. "We're not being heartless," she snapped. "I just... I don't think... I don't think Willow would really let herself cry like she needs to in front of us. She's always been the strong one."

"Right – the Scooby Rock," Spike said, his lips pursed. "And her rock is off haring after her mother's things."

"So how do we save Red?" Spike asked, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, expecting Buffy and Xander to protest his involvement.

"Why would you want to help?" Buffy asked, unable to stop the question. "Honestly – you hate us. Why would you want to help?"

Spike took Buffy's arm gently, pulling her aside. "I have my reasons," he said in a hushed tone. "I may be an evil bastard, but I pay my debts. Willow gave the group a direction when you were gone... without her and Dawn, I wouldn't have had a reason to get out of my crypt in the evening. She kept everyone going, and though it pains me to admit it, that includes me. So I owe her."

"We hit the books," Buffy said. "Think you can handle sitting still long enough?"

Buffy just nodded to Spike, then the others, motioning towards the door with her head. They walked quietly back into the living room, seeing Willow curled up in the chair, Miss Kitty cradled against her chest. Her face was red and puffy from crying as she held the phone and awkwardly dialed with the same hand.

Willow lifted the phone to her ear, sniffling softly. A voice answered, and Willow froze, her eyes going wide. The Scoobies looked on, their concern rising as Willow continued to hold the phone to her ear, her jaw slightly open.

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Answering Darkess

by Sassette

Copyright © 2003

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