Answering Darkness by Sassette

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

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

Tara didn't know what to think, or what to feel, so she just drove. A numbness, startling in its totality, stole over her mind and heart, until she was nothing more than the person operating the machine that would take her closer to her goal. She tried not to think about where she was going and why, because probing that topic caused instant pain so sharp and deep it physically took her breath away.

So she drove on, having no idea how long they had been on the road already that day. She thought hard about the highway, keeping her inner voice quiet... thinking about the road and the lines, and those little reflect-y bumpy things. The hum of the engine, and the slightly static-y feel of the radio – there was nothing else – could be nothing else, without intense, searing pain.

The phone ringing distracted her momentarily, Anya answering it. Anya paused a moment, her gaze shifting over to Tara, then responded to whoever was on the line. "Hi, Xander. Tara's doing okay. We're coming back to Sunnydale as fast as we can."

But that wasn't quite true, Tara thought idly, glancing at the speedometer. Eighty. She let her foot fall a little heavier on the gas pedal. Ninety. She pressed harder. A hundred. She spared a moment to pray that there would be no cops on the road she took back to Sunnydale.

"Of course. Tara's my friend," Anya said, her face shifting subtly in a brief look of pain before she carefully composed her features, trying not to betray the true nature of her conversation. "I consider Willow and Tara both to be my friends. And you take care of Willow, you hear me? You make sure she's fine when we get there. Tara needs her."

Anya hung the phone up silently, nodding with satisfaction as she saw that Tara was moving at a much faster clip. The phone call from Willow had shaken her, making her realize exactly how much the Scoobies stood to lose, should anything happen to the redhead.

"That was Xander," Anya said, wondering if lying to her friend was really as bad as everyone told her it was. Surely, in this situation, when Willow had specifically asked that she not let on that it was her, it was okay?

"I figured," Tara said, her eyes trained straight ahead as they practically flew down the road. Anya looked out the window dejectedly, casting about for something – anything – to say to Tara.

"Say something," Anya finally demanded. "Anything at all. But please, stop just sitting there looking like she's already gone, because it's unnerving."

"Then listen. Did I ever tell you about the time Xander got syphilis?" Anya asked brightly.

"What?" Tara asked, shocked out of her stupor, pathetically grateful for the distraction. "Xander has syphilis?"

"Oh, no... he only had it temporarily. For about 24 hours, tops?" Anya explained.

"How do you get temporary 24-hour syphilis?" Tara wondered aloud. "That's... that's not possible, is it?"

"Ahh... of course," Tara said, nodding in understanding. "But... how does someone get temporary 24-hour syphilis from the Hellmouth?"

"Well, be quiet, and I'll tell you," Anya said with a laugh. "There we were, Buffy and Willow and I... at the dedication for the knew cultural center at the college."

"Oh, I remember that – didn't they uncover the old Sunnydale Mission during the groundbreaking?" Tara interrupted.

"That's right. Only, it was more like, Xander uncovered the old Sunnydale Mission during the groundbreaking. He was there with his construction crew, digging. In a tank top. Mmm..." Anya trailed off, a wicked gleam in her eye. "All... sweaty, and..."

"I get the picture," Tara interrupted, heading off Anya's lust-filled haze in an attempt to get her back on-topic.

"Oh, right. Well, there he was digging, and then the ground gave way, and he fell into the mission," Anya said.

"He was the one who fell in? I remember reading about that in the school newspaper," Tara recalled.

"MmmHmm," Anya confirmed. "So, as it turns out, he accidentally unleashed the vengeful power of the Shumash Tribe. Their 'Justice Spirit' arose, duplicating the horrors they had suffered at the hands of the people colonizing the area."

"Well, no," Anya hedged, inexplicably feeling a little hurt at Tara's assessment of what had, in effect, been her profession for a thousand years. "But it's fair. It's always fair," she said. "Except that they hurt Xander," she added with a frown. "I didn't like that part at all. But when they killed the lady in charge of the cultural center and cut off her ear, and when they hung the priest... that was almost... poetic."

"Oh, well, some of the tribesman were hung, so the spirit duplicated that. And there was a bounty out on them... an ear was brought back to prove a kill, so they killed the teacher in charge of the cultural center and cut off her ear," Anya said. "Of course, Willow wanted to find a way of banishing the spirit, or appeasing it, without anymore killing. She figured that was only fair, because they honestly had suffered so much. Giles was totally against that. It was a spirit that was hurting people, and he wanted it to stop immediately, no matter what they had to do."

"So who won that fight?" Tara asked curiously. She could, in all honesty, see both sides of that argument as having valid points, though she tended to think Willow's take was... nicer.

"Neither, actually. The spirit realized that Buffy was the greatest warrior in Sunnydale, so it got a bunch of its spirit friends and laid siege to Giles' place. At that point, we didn't really have a chance of figuring out how to appease them. It was either kill them or die," Anya said.

"Oh, I left that part out!" Anya said quickly. "Part of what happened to the Shumash involved being stuck in a mission, and left there for all sorts of diseases to spread. Xander got all of them. He was really, really sick. Syphilis was just one of the diseases."

"Right," Anya said with a happy little nod. "Once they killed all the Shumash spirits, everything cleared right up, so Xander's p-"

"But, that's sharing, isn't it? Aren't friends supposed to share?" Anya asked, honestly curious.

"Yes, it's sharing, but some details are private, especially when two people are intimate. That sort of thing is just for you and Xander, so you don't need to tell the rest of us. In fact, when those details are a secret just between the two of you, it makes them more special," Tara answered.

"Hmm... I suspected that was the reason," Anya said after a moment. "But I still don't see it. I certainly don't feel sex with Xander is any less special just because I may happen to mention -"

"Oh, yes, I understand," Tara said. "You don't feel bad about sharing these things, and we're your friends, so you share. It makes perfect sense. It's just that because people generally think of these things as being private, we sometimes feel like it's wrong for us to know, y'know?" she said, trying to convey her thoughts on the subject.

"Does it really bother you?" Anya asked, tilting her head to the side and regarding Tara carefully.

"Mostly, I just think it's funny," Tara said with a little smile, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. "I just... don't want to hear the syphilis details, or the post-syphilis all-cleared-up-details," she admitted.

"Deal. But I can still make inappropriate comments at inappropriate times without making you angry, right?" Anya pressed, needing to be reassured that this woman, who was really the best friend she had, wasn't actually offended by her behavior.

"So now it's your turn to share details," Anya said eagerly. "Did Willow ever have any funny diseases?" she asked, then went on before Tara could comment. "Of course, the only other person she was ever with was Oz, and I don't think he ever had anything. Well, except for the lycanthropy, and that can only be passed through biting. But on the other hand, it's possible he could have bitten her during sex, but she'd be a werewolf now. And if she were a werewolf, she wouldn't have broken up with Oz, because that's why they broke up in the first place. But on the other hand – am I running out of hands? – I think that if Willow had met you while Oz was still in the picture, she still would have chosen you, eventually."

"I... really? You think so?" Tara asked, the warm glow she got at the end of Anya's ramblings making up for the things she had said earlier on. While she certainly didn't want to think of 'Oz', 'biting' and 'sex' at the same time, let alone at the same time as 'Willow', the idea that Willow would have chosen her anyway warmed her all the way through.

"Oh, definitely," Anya said. "It would have been a lot harder for Willow, and she wouldn't have let anything actually happen while she was with Oz, but she would have eventually broken up with him to be with you."

"I was... I was so surprised when she chose me. Even after everything we had done together, I never thought – I always thought that if Oz came back, or if another boy showed any interest..." Tara said, her voice trailing off as she remembered that magical night when Willow had chosen her.

"Well, how could I? I mean, we knew each other for such a long time before you all even knew I existed. We started kissing before that, and... I just kind of thought that, well, she liked me well enough, as a person – but I never actually though that she was in love with me. It was... the best surprise of my life," Tara said.

"I remember the look on your face when Oz walked in," Anya remembered. "You looked like... you'd had your guts ripped out... and I would know, because I've seen lots of people who'd had their guts ripped out."

"That's what it felt like," Tara said softly. "It was like... I couldn't breathe anymore, and I just... I had to be anywhere but there. But the worst was when Willow came over before she had made up her mind. We talked, and from the things she said, I was completely sure I was going to lose her. Then she came over later. It was nighttime, and I was alone, curled up on my bed, just hoping I would fall asleep and the pain would stop for the night, knowing that neither one would happen. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them together, and I just...I wanted it to stop."

"I heard a knock at the door, so I made my way over. Half-hoping, half-afraid that it was Willow. Certainly, no one else ever came to my room, y'know? But I opened the door, and she was standing there with a lit candle in her hands," Tara reminisced, a faint smile edging her features.

"Mmm," Tara agreed. "So she came in, and I was still sure she was going to break up with me to be with Oz. Not that we were officially together or anything, but still. I felt like she was breaking up with me. But this tiny little glimmer of hope kinda' grew inside me, which, in a way, made me feel worse, because I knew that when she crushed that, I wouldn't have anything left."

"But she didn't, right? I mean, she chose you right then?" Anya asked, unsure of exactly when everything had happened.

"She did," Tara said, a beatific smile lighting up her features. "She tried to explain, and I stammered something about how I understood, and that she needed to be with the one she loved. And then she said that she was, and... I felt my heart stop. And then when it started beating again, I knew in that moment that from that day on, it would beat for her."

"I bet Xander never says those kinds of things about me when I'm not around," Anya muttered quietly enough so as not to break into Tara's story.

"I thought I knew what it was to love her before, but after that moment, I lost every piece of myself. Still, there was a part of me that couldn't believe. So I kinda' said, 'you mean... ?' and I trailed off, chickening out. And she just nodded and said that she did, and then she said she'd make it up to me, starting right then. And then I blew out the candle," Tara said, her eyes aglow with warmth and love.

"I -" Tara started to say, unsure of whether or not she should even bother answering this question. Would Anya let it go if she said it was none of her business. "It was... amazing," she said with a helpless little shrug. "I mean, neither one of us had any idea what to do... with a woman and all, and... so we just kinda'... took it real slow. All night." Tara's blush grew as she remembered that night, and how shy and tentative they were. Still, it was as though Willow knew just how to touch her, and where, to drive her wild. And Willow had been so responsive, her groans and cute little squeaks filling the room as Tara loved her.

"Well, then it's a trade-off," Tara said with a smirk, even as she thought 'Thank the Goddess.'

"Hmph," Anya said, bouncing against the seat back and crossing her arms. "I want both. I want Xander's penis with Willow's stamina."

Tara blinked once, then blinked again. She chewed the inside of her lip, then bit her tongue. "No comment," she finally said, staring straight ahead at the road.

"What?" Anya demanded, turning in her seat to face the driver. "You have something to say, so out with it!"

"Fine," Anya said, realizing she was getting nowhere fast. "Now what do we talk about?" she wondered aloud.

"What's with the bunny thing?" Tara finally asked. "Seriously... what's scary about bunnies?"

"What's not scary about bunnies?" Anya asked. "They're truly vicious creatures. You honestly have no idea."

"But that's just it... none of us have any idea. We all think bunnies are cute," Tara said.

"That's because you can't see it. I mean, how can you miss the teeth, and the way they hippity-hop? No natural creature of this world should be able to move like that. They're cunning and mean, and the damage they can do is... unspeakable," Anya finished with a shiver. "And could we not discuss bunnies when driving all alone on a deserted highway at night?" she asked. "This is giving me the creeps. I mean, next thing you know, the car is going to break down, my cell phone battery will die, and we'll be surrounded by desert bunnies bent on destruction. Then I'll be wounded in the leg," she went on, her agitation clearly visible as she squirmed in her seat. "It'll get infected, and you'll have to cut it off, and we only have a pocket knife, and while we're gone, the shop will get broken into, and I'm going to start PMS'ing any day now!"

"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Tara asked, a look of puzzled awe on her face.

"Well, it could happen," Anya said defensively. "And do you see what the bunnies do to me? They instill fear and panic and bizarre scenarios. We just need to add in the Initiative figuring out that I was a demon and deciding to do tests on me and parachuting in a unit, and it will be the worst night of my human life!"

"Okay," Tara said with a puzzled nod. "I can see now how bunnies are clearly evil and dangerous, so let's not speak of such things anymore."

They drove in silence, distracting thoughts of bunnies only keeping Tara busy for a few more moments before her thoughts turned inevitably to Willow. Sweet, smart, cute, funny Willow, who ran towards danger and forgave betrayals and stood up to mean fathers and brothers, all without knowing the full story. Willow, who loved her, and needed her, and was trying so hard to get clean.

She had avoided the thought, chasing it away when it tried to seep into her brain, but she couldn't fight it off any longer. Willow was dying. Silent tears tracked down her face, even as a fierce resolve filled her.

There had to be something – anything – that she could do. She couldn't sit back and watch the love of her life die, no matter what crazy things had come between them. She would defend Willow with her last breath if need be, or storm Hell itself and demand The Trickster let her go.

Her hands tightened on the wheel, until her knuckles glowed white in the night. She wouldn't let it happen. She would stop it. It couldn't happen – it was unthinkable. A world without Willow in it? How could she live in such a world? Why would she want to?

No matter the pain Willow had caused her, no matter the shaky state of their relationship, the fact remained: Willow was a part of her, and she was a part of Willow. If Willow were taken away, she knew that what was left of her wouldn't be worth a thing. Breathing hurt just thinking about it – she couldn't imagine what the actual loss would do to her.

"How fast does this thing go?" she muttered, pressing down harder on the gas. One-ten. One-twenty. The car began to shake a little, but held, and Tara kept it there, tearing through the night as if the denizens of hell were on her heels.

But she was going towards those denizens, because they had their claws in Willow, and she had to stop them.

"We're not going to stop tonight, are we?" Anya finally asked after a few more minutes of silence, as the miles ticked away.

Anya merely nodded, letting the seat back and closing her eyes, getting comfortable. "Wake me up in three hours or so," she said calmly. "This road isn't very bendy, so I'll take a turn tonight. If you drive for two days straight, we're not going to make it."

"I've done nothing but watch you drive for about three days," Anya said. "I think I have it figured out. And while I might not feel comfortable driving as fast as you, you can get some sleep, and we'll still be making better time than we would when I insist we stop so you can rest."

Anya nodded, satisfied with the response, and let herself drift off into sleep. Tara let the darkness and the quiet settle around her like a comfortable blanket. She needed that... she needed the feeling of solitude to let her emotions have free reign.

Love for Willow was the foremost, and the most familiar. It had been the prevalent feeling in her life for so long, it was like it lived in her skin, or in her very blood. It was as much a part of her as her blue eyes.

Then there was the pain at the thought of losing Willow. That felt different, but familiar. She was used to worrying about Willow – as a Scooby, Willow was constantly exposed to danger. But this – this wasn't the same. That had been a nebulous vague worry. Vampires. Demons. Stubbed toes. She loved Willow, and so she worried. But this – this certainty that, as things stood – unless something was changed – Willow was going to die? That feeling unsettled her, set her teeth on edge, and sent sharp daggers of pain lancing towards her heart.

But it was the anger that she was ashamed of, and why she needed the comfort of solitude. She couldn't let anyone know about the anger. She was so mad – at Willow, at herself, at the whole world – that she didn't know how she was holding back the screams. But she did hold them back. Mustn't wake Anya. Mustn't let her see.

Tara let these feelings roll around inside her as she drove, pushing the car to its limits, she assumed. For all she really knew, this car could do twice this speed, but she couldn't risk it. Her need to be by Willow's side quickly was tempered by her need to arrive in one piece. She certainly couldn't do Willow any good if she managed to get herself killed on the way home.

Though it was the anger that made her ashamed, it was that feeling that scared her – the feeling that it might not be so bad if she died tonight. That way, she wouldn't have to watch as Willow slowly died, day by day, growing weaker and angrier as the Dark Magick seeped into her blood. She wouldn't have to watch those green eyes she loved so much shade to black as Willow fought the urge to just cast one last spell. She wouldn't have to watch Willow take her last shaking breath.

But no – that was the coward's way out. Willow was still alive, and she needed Tara now more than ever. As attractive as the idea was of waiting for Willow to arrive in the afterlife, instead of waiting for Willow to leave in this one, she knew she couldn't do that. She would see Willow again, in this life, and she would fight for her, and as long as there was that last shred of hope, she'd keep fighting. Her heart wouldn't let her do otherwise.

Tara glanced at the green glow of the clock on the dash. Three and a half hours had passed, she realized with a start, easing up on the accelerator. The shaking smoothed out around one-ten, and she slowed further, finally easing the car to a stop at the side of the road.

"Do you still want to take a turn?" Tara said, the emotional toll of the day finally catching up with her, making her realize how exhausted she was, now that the car had stopped.

Anya nodded. "Let me just..." she said, opening the door to the cold night, her eyes popping open. "Cold! Cold!" she exclaimed, releasing her seat belt and jumping out of the car, hopping up and down. "Okay... I'm awake!" she declared, huddling up slamming the door, running over to the driver's side.

Tara unlocked the door, wearily crawling into the other seat, her limbs feeling heavy and awkward. She was stiff and sore, and her back and her leg ached. Why hadn't she noticed these things before?

"Because Willow is dying, and they're completely unimportant," she whispered bleakly, answering her own question as Anya slipped into the car.

"Okay," Anya said, taking a deep breath and releasing it. Smoothly, she pressed down on the brake pedal, then released the parking brake. She checked the mirrors, seeing no headlights – which wasn't surprising, because she couldn't remember the last car they had seen – then eased out onto the road, her motions a little jerky, but quickly smoothing out. "There – this isn't so hard," she said, taking one hand off the wheel to rub the sleep out of her eyes and drifting into the other lane.

"Right," Anya said. "Both hands on the wheel," she muttered under her breath, settling in for the long drive. She eased the car up to forty, feeling as though she were driving way too fast. "This is so weird," she mused. "I'm going one third the speed you were, but I feel like... it's really really fast. Why didn't it feel this fast when you were driving?" she asked.

"Because it's different when you're the one driving. You're more aware of what the car is actually doing," Tara mumbled, settling into the seat and letting her heavy eyelids drift shut. "It makes sense when you... think .. about it," she muttered, drifting off into an exhausted sleep, even as she finished speaking.

Anya nodded with satisfaction, looking over at the sleeping form. "Okay," she said to herself. "I'm driving a car. This is a big responsibility. But I've leveled cities and destroyed kingdoms. This shouldn't be too tough."

The miles ticked by, Anya experimentally increasing her speed as she grew more comfortable behind the wheel. She had a few bad moment when the road turned, but she managed to navigate the twists without waking Tara or killing them, so she considered it a success, even if she did have to cross that annoying double-yellow line. Who made that rule, anyway? What did it matter if she crossed the line when the road was all empty?

She relaxed into her drive and her musings about the idiocy of traffic laws, content to follow the road and let Tara sleep. She was worried. Tara had taken quite an emotional beating the last week, and now with this Willow thing on top of it? It was amazing to Anya that Tara was still standing. Not that she was standing, or was even conscious, but she meant that in the metaphoric sense. Only the deep shadows and slight lines of tension around her eyes and mouth spoke of Tara's worries.

Still, Tara was clearly exhausted to anyone who knew her. The fact that she had driven so late into the night showed her strength and determination. She hoped, for her own sake as well as Tara's, that the Scoobies would pull off another miracle, and save Willow.

The sharp chirp of the phone startled Tara out of her uneasy dreams, and she reached automatically for the glove box, popping it open and picking up the phone. Anya had jumped a little in her seat, inadvertently pressing on the gas and making the car shoot forward, but regaining control of both herself and the car after just a moment.

"Hello?" Tara said, her voice groggy with sleep. Silence greeted her on the other end of the phone, and she sat up, frowning. "Hello?" she asked again, and still only silence greeted her. A strange feeling settled into her stomach. "Willow?" she said tentatively.

"Willow, baby?" Tara said, sitting up ramrod straight, her voice urgent and pleading. "I'm coming home, sweetheart. You hang on for me," she said, her voice breaking.

"I should be okay for a few weeks," Willow answered, her voice shaky. "I... I need you," she said, the words coming through the line as if they had been torn out of the depths of Willow's heart without her permission and passed on to Tara. "I- I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I... I don't have the right to -"

"You have every right," Tara said fiercely. "No matter what else is going on, I love you." Tara bit her lip, trying to hold back her own tears as Willow's quiet sobs echoed over the phone line. "Don't cry, baby," she said softly. "Please don't cry. I'm going to get there as soon as I can."

"I just... oh, God, I needed to hear that so badly," Willow managed to get out. "I love you so much, Tara... and I'm so sorry that I... that I let it all get this bad."

"None of that matters," Tara said quickly. "Just concentrate on staying well – on figuring out how we're going to save you, because I refuse to let you -" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Don't you say that," Tara said, her voice choked. "You are not going to die, do you hear me?" she demanded. "I might need time, or space, but... baby, there's nothing I couldn't forgive you, do you understand that? Except this. If you die on me, I... I don't know if I could ever forgive you that," Tara said, her own sobs making her words hard to understand.

"You can't mean that," Willow said, her voice catching. "After what I did – how could you forgive me?"

"Because I love you, and it was a mistake," Tara said. "It was a stupid, hurtful mistake, but it was still a mistake. A bad judgment call. But you've learned your lesson, sweetheart. I have too," she finished on a broken whisper. "I think... I think we've both learned far too much from this one," she said, getting a mirthless laugh from Willow.

"I have learned my lesson, Tara... I swear it to you," Willow said. "I... I look back now, and I can't... I can't believe how utterly wrong I was. I can't believe that I would do such a thing, to you of all people."

They both fell silent, each listening to the other breathing on the line, taking comfort in the fact that the other was there, if only over the phone.

"Miss Kitty says hi," Willow finally said with a sniffle after several long moments.

"S-Spike found her," Willow sobbed. "She's okay, but she's a kitten again," she said, forcing the words pass the tightness in her throat. "Hear her purr?" Tara heard the sound of the phone moving, then the distinctive rumble of a purring kitten. She couldn't help but smile when she heard the sound. "Baby?" Willow asked, when she brought the phone back to her ear.

"I'm here," Tara confirmed, a watery smile on her face. "Put Miss Kitty back on," she requested.

"I'll hold her up so we can both hear," Willow offered, the sound of Willow's breathing and Miss Kitty's purrs reaching Tara's hearing, bringing back sweet memories of lazy mornings past.

"Miss Kitty? You take good care of your mommy Willow until I get there, okay?" Tara softly requested, wiping at her eyes. "You give her lots of love and attention for me, all right?"

"She's nodding her little kitten head," Willow said, and Tara could hear the smile in her voice.

"I should... I should get back to the research," Willow finally said, her voice sad and lost. "We've found out a few things, but... not enough."

"Not enough, yet," Tara said, stressing the last word. "We'll get past this, baby, I swear it."

"I don't want to either," Tara said, holding the phone like a lifeline. "But baby... I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise. And you have to do the research. We have to find a way to fix this, because I refuse to let you go."

"I love you, baby," Willow said again, needing to express what was in her heart. "More than anything... I – I don't have the words to tell you -"

They both sat in silence for a moment, taking comfort in their brief connection before each disconnected their phones, neither willing to say 'good-bye'.

"I don't believe we're having this conversation again," Buffy yelled. "You're going to school. You can't just miss it."

"But Willow's really sick," Dawn responded tearily. "I can't... I can't be somewhere else."

"You have to, Dawnie," Willow said, coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe. The heat from the shower made her face look flushed and healthy, except for the deep hollows under her eyes and the painful thinness apparent under the robe. "Besides," Willow went on before Dawn could marshal her teenaged arguments. "I'm going to class today," she said firmly.

"No," Buffy said firmly. "You both listen to me. Willow, sick. Willow stay home. Dawn healthy. Dawn go to school."

"No fair ganging up on me. Besides, Slayer strength, remember?" Buffy said. "I'll drag you to Xander's car if I have to," Buffy said, pointing at Dawn. "And the 'sitting on you' threat still stands," she said, turning to Willow.

"Look," Willow said wearily. "I've been thinking. It made sense yesterday, because we didn't know what was going on. For all we knew, staying in bed would help me. But it won't. I've already vomited up a bunch of the yucky stuff, and I had my Blessed Be Soap shower. Staying home won't help, and I need... I need to do something normal," she finished in a tremulous voice.

"Fine," Buffy said flatly. "Then I 'm going with you, and we're taking the baking soda," she declared, walking into the bathroom and grabbing the box. "And you," she said pointing at Dawn. "You have no reason to stay home if Willow isn't even going to be here."

"Yeah, I really am," Willow said determinedly. "See the resolve face?" she asked, pointing at herself.

"Yeah, I see the resolve face," Dawn said with a half smile, her eyes sad as she wondered how much longer she'd be able to say that.

"And I promise, once we're both home, we'll work on your homework together, okay?" Willow said.

"I'd like that," Dawn said with a smile. "But shouldn't we be concentrating on the research?" she asked, her face falling. "I mean...there's lots of stuff we still don't know."

"I know, but I'm waiting for some information back from the Watcher's Council. It should help us narrow the search and speed things up," Willow said. "Once we have that, we'll do more efficient research. Besides... Geometry... it'll be fun. I like geometry."

"That is so twisted," Buffy muttered, brushing past the two of them to head into her room. Nummy sushi pajamas were all well and good when one was planning to stay home for the day looking after a sick friend, but not really appropriate for the UC Sunnydale campus.

"Can I get anything for you?" Dawn asked uncertainly. "I mean, I'm already dressed and good to go, and you don't have a lot of time," she said, indicating Willow's robe.

"Actually, some magicky-goodness coffee would be great," Willow said, heading to her room to change, sending a silent 'thank you' to Xander for going to her parents' house for some clothes. Apparently, they had been home, back from their trip, but they hadn't asked many questions when Xander had shown up. On one level, she was grateful for small favors, because Xander was a terrible liar, but on another, it kind of worried her that someone could just show up at her house and say 'Hey, Willow sent me,' and her parents would just let them take whatever. Of course, it was Xander, and they'd known him all his life, but still.

"But – but... that was all pain-inducing and not fun," Dawn said with a frown.

"Yeah, I know," Willow said with a sigh. "But... I really did feel better afterwards. I think it helps to neutralize some of that stuff before I digest it, y'know? And getting witchy goodness into the old bloodstream certainly can't hurt."

"Well, okay," Dawn said, heading down the stairs to make another Cup O' Coffee Pain. "I bet none of the other kids have to make magick coffee," she muttered to herself. "Then again, none of the other kids have the smartest person in Sunnydale helping with their homework," she decided, figuring it was a fair trade. Things looked better this morning – more... hopeful, somehow. Her mom had died of natural causes, so there wasn't anything the Scoobies could do... but this? This was a Big Bad. The Scoobies always pulled through when a Big Bad reared its ugly head.

And they'd fix this, Dawn was sure of it. And she'd even get to help this time, so she didn't feel so useless and stupid. It was... nice. Well, except for the Willow possibly dying part. That worried her, and gave her a major tummy rumblings. But still, Willow had shown her how she organized her notes in different colored pens, so she had recopied them for her. Not the most exciting assignment in the world, but it had freed up Willow to do her computer thing, and so she had contributed.

She just wished Tara were here. Tara had said that her mother's things would help, and she trusted Tara. If Tara said they would, then they would, so she was glad Tara had gone to get them... but still, she needed the older girl's steady presence.

It had been a strange summer, just the three of them and the Buffy Bot. Willow had been so busy keeping everyone together, that Tara had really taken care of her. In a way, it was like having two parents again. She had gone to summer school to catch up in the classes she had tanked due to her mother's illness, and Willow had somehow managed to find the time to help her along, so she really understood the material, despite the short class-time.

Dawn put out some food for Miss Kitty, smiling at the thought of Spike stopping off to buy food for the kitten before bringing her over. He had surprised everyone but her when he had left for a moment, reappearing with a bag of cat food.

But it had been Tara who had made her lunches, and talked to her about her feelings. Tara had asked about her day, and listened to everything she had to say. And if she missed Tara, she could only imagine what Willow was going through.

Upstairs, Willow moved stiffly into her clothes, moving carefully to avoid stretching her sore stomach muscles. But she determinedly eased into her jeans, knowing that she needed the sense of normalcy that attending class would bring.

Once dressed, she tentatively hefted her book bag, finding it heavier than she remembered. Or maybe, she mused, examining the scrawny appendage emerging from her t-shirt, she was just weaker.

She left the room, heading down the stairs to the kitchen, smiling when she saw that Dawn had already put out food for Miss Kitty, who was contentedly having her breakfast.

Gingerly, Willow took a sip, wincing when it hit her stomach, causing it to roil. Still, she finished the coffee in minutes as she waited for Buffy to get downstairs.

"Hey," a freshly showered and dressed Buffy said, walking into the room. "Everybody set for another exciting day full of learning and growing?" she asked.

"Did you get your lunch?" Buffy asked, nodding happily when Dawn displayed the plain paper sack.

"Thank you for packing cookies," Dawn said with a little smile. "I really like those."

"Umm, Buffy?" Dawn said tentatively, Buffy getting a worried look on her face at the tone of Dawn's voice.

"Brat," Dawn muttered, before starting again. "I'm... well, I'm fifteen now, and I was thinking of getting a job. After school. To help out and stuff," she said in a rush.

"Dawn... you need to concentrate on school," Buffy said gently. "And doing all the fun things that fifteen-year-olds do."

"Buffy," Dawn said seriously. "I peeked at the papers you left out. I know how bad it is."

"Dawn, I'll take care of it," Buffy insisted. "I don't want you to have to work."

"Then how about I work just a little, for my own spending cash?" Dawn offered. "Then you can do groceries, rent, utilities and all that grown-up stuff, and I can take care of my own movie tickets and school snacks and stuff."

"I promise, this time we'll really talk about it," Buffy assured her. "I want to think about this before I say yes or no."

"It... it kind of makes sense, though. I mean, I know Tara and I didn't really contribute anything money-wise this summer, and I was thinking that... if I make it... I want to get a job and pay you the rent I owe you," Willow said.

"Will," Buffy began gently. "You and Tara spent all summer taking care of Dawn for me. That's priceless. You don't owe me anything. And don't you even think about not making it, because you're going to make it."

"Well, I'd have to be anything less than predictable," Buffy responded in kind. They all heard the front door open, then shut, and moments later, Xander appeared.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted cordially, nodding at Dawn. "You ready to head out to school?"

"To the campus?" Xander asked. "Ahh...Willow needs her bookish learning," he said, nodding understandingly. "Sure, let's go."

"Thanks," Willow said, grateful to avoid another lecture about staying home, glad that Xander seemed to just know why she needed to go.

They all headed out to the car, arranging themselves in their seats, Dawn calling shotgun. Buffy automatically opened her mouth to protest, then realized that riding up front was one of those 'cool' high school things, and she might as well just let her sister have it.

They rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Willow didn't notice as Xander kept glancing at Willow in the rearview mirror, his mind racing. She looked bad. Very bad. She was still Willow, so she was pretty, but her hair and her eyes weren't as shiny as he was used to, and she looked thinner than usual. He had figured that the stress of last night had put the dark circles under her eyes, but that sleep would help. No such luck. She looked... she looked like she was wasting away, if he was honest with himself, he noted with pang of pain spearing through him.

He honestly couldn't imagine his life without Willow in it. He couldn't, in fact, remember a time when Willow wasn't there – it was like trying to imagine a world without McDonalds, or television. Willow was a constant, and it was like she was turning into a variable.

A sad smile crossed his face at that thought, as he remembered all those extra helpful tutoring sessions with Willow. Her intelligence and her inner strength had helped form him into the man he was. He had no idea how his life would be different, if there had been no Willow in it, but he imagined it would be worse in ways he wouldn't even want to consider.

Would he have graduated from high school? Would he even have survived high school? Would he have joined up with Buffy in the first place, and become a member of the Scooby Gang? Would the world have ended?

He loved Willow – dearly – but he wasn't in love with her... and if he was this bad off, what was Tara going through?

Anya was... certainly unique. There was no other woman like her in the whole world – that he could say with certainty. And God, how he loved that woman. He wished she were here now, so he could talk to her about everything he was feeling. Usually, talking about feelings wasn't really his thing, but what he was feeling was so intense, he felt like he needed to let it out. Somehow, despite her lack of experience with human things, her peculiar world-view managed to help him put things in perspective. She had a way of looking at humanity that always challenged him, always surprised him, and always helped him increase his own understanding. As a member of the Scoobies, he needed that. As a man, he needed that.

But with everything he was going through, Willow had to be feeling ten times more. At least. And Tara was out there somewhere, too.

He pulled the car to a stop in front of the high school, smiling and waving at Dawn as she jumped out, heading over to a group of her friends.

"Bye, Dawn," they each called in turn, making the teenager roll her eyes, even as a smile crossed her face.

"Should I have done something really embarrassing to her?" Buffy wondered aloud, climbing into the front seat and buckling up as Xander pulled away from the curb. "Maybe I should have done something really embarrassing. Mom always did something embarrassing when she dropped us off at school," she mused with a thoughtful frown.

"Like the time she got out of the car and hugged you before she let you go in?" Willow asked, a lost twinkle returning to her eye at the memory.

"Or the time she went racing after you because you forgot your lunch?" Xander added.

"Yeah, like those times," Buffy said, smiling wistfully. Everyone now and again, what she looked back on how she had interacted with her mother, and wondered how she could have behaved that way. It really didn't matter, she now realized, what anyone thought. Her mother had been a wonderful woman, and she regretted each and every time she had allowed herself to be embarrassed by her actions.

"Yeah, my mom never did anything like that," Xander said, his eyes sad. "But I remember the time your mom let me crash at your place, even though you weren't home, when my parents accidentally locked me out of the house."

"My parents wouldn't have noticed if I'd forgotten to wear a shirt to school, let alone forgotten a lunch," Willow said ruefully. "I wonder if they'll even notice if I die?" she mused aloud, then immediately regretted the words when she noticed the stricken looks on Buffy's and Xander's faces in the mirrors.

"Please don't say things like that," Buffy requested, her jaw working as she fought back tears.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Willow apologized. "I'm... being really a big ol' stupid-head, aren't I?"

"It's not that," Xander said slowly. "If you need to talk... about anything... we're here for you," he said, Buffy nodding to back up his statement. "It's just that... we're all hurting. We can't even imagine what you're going through right now – what's going on in that busy brain of yours. And it's like... the idea that... that anyone could just not notice? If you were gone? That's crazy-talk."

"I know... your parents haven't always been... there," Buffy said. "I mean, I know that... my mom was kind of the Scooby Mom. The parental figure that actually knew what was going on... and that you've had to keep lots of things secret from your parents, but they do love you, Willow. You can't doubt that."

"And we love you," Xander added, tearing up and not caring if it ruined his manly image. "And don't you forget it."

"I love you guys, too," Willow said her voice catching. She cleared her throat, and shook it off. "So, back at Buffy's house this evening?"

"Do you ladies need a ride back after classes?" Xander asked, pulling up to the campus.

"Well, I only have a few classes this morning. I'm done around noon, so we can walk," Willow said.

"Nope," Xander disagreed. "I'll come get you at my lunch break, okay? I'll meet you both right here."

"Thanks, Xander," Buffy said gratefully, worried about how weak Willow had seemed recently. She didn't want her making a long walk, if she could possibly help it.

"Yeah, thanks, Xander," Willow said, leaning over the car seat to give him a hug, then getting out of the vehicle, stepping out into the sun. The sun felt good against her skin, warming her and chasing away the chill she hadn't seemed able to shake for the past few days.

Both girls smiled and waved at Xander as he left, heading off to the construction site.

"So what's first?" Buffy asked, taking Willow's heavy book bag and slinging it over her own shoulder.

"Does this mean we're going steady?" Willow teased, batting her eyelashes outrageously.

"Sure, if I don't mind getting turned into a toad by the Wonder Wiccan," Buffy said with a laugh.

"For you? Tara would do anything," Buffy said. "So... what is first, anyway?" she asked, following Willow as she walked across the campus to her first class with easy familiarity.

"Sequel programming?" Buffy asked with a frown. "Like, where do you schedule Terminator 2 in your TV line-up, and how do you take out all the swearing?"

"No," Willow said with a smile. "'S' 'Q' 'L'... it stands for 'Structured Query Language'. It's database stuff. Computer stuff," Willow explained.

"Well, no, not really," Willow said. "I mean, there's still plenty I don't know, and we're getting into parts I'm not completely familiar with, but I picked up the basics in high school, hacking the DMV database."

"You hacked the DMV database in high school?" Buffy asked incredulously, her voice carrying. She lowered her tone when Willow made a 'shush' gesture. They walked into the computer lab, quickly finding seats, Buffy pulling up a chair next to Willow. "I don't remember you doing that," Buffy said, her voice a whisper.

"Well, it wasn't for Scooby stuff," Willow said with a smirk. "It was...extra-curricular."

"Jesus, Willow... I had no idea you were such a rebel. Hacking for fun and dating girls – what's next? A tattoo?" Buffy shot back.

"To put the cement in between the bricks you've piled together that is your 'bad girl' image?" Buffy said with a laugh.

The class started, and whatever Willow would have responded with was lost in the flurry of activity that ensued. Not that anyone moved from their seats, because Buffy would have noticed as she kept scanning the room and checking for signs of danger. Not that she expected trouble in the middle of the day in the middle of a class, but there was certainly no reason to take chances. Especially with Willow.

Buffy watched Willow typing furiously, completing the examples long before the teacher had finished explaining it. Something about computers seemed to just 'click' with Willow – she wasn't even taking notes. She just listened with rapt attention, her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed dangerously, as if daring the concepts to attempt to evade her. Then a little sparkle would light up her face, and she'd start typing away, the correct information appearing on her screen.

The other students, Buffy saw, peering around curiously, were following along at the teacher's pace, clearly not as comfortable with the Terminator 2 stuff as Willow was. She bit back a giggle as she imagined Willow leaving this class every weak with an ominous "I'll be back" directed at her terminal.

Lost in her silly musings, taking a reprieve from the stress and pain of the last few days, Buffy didn't notice right away when the class was over.

"Okay," Buffy said, neatly pulling the book bag away from Willow and throwing it over her own shoulder. Willow merely rolled her eyes, then led her friend to her next class.

"Now what?" Buffy asked, jogging to catch up as Willow took off at a fast clip across the campus.

"We only have a few minutes before Women's Studies," Willow explained, keeping up her pace.

"Women's Studies?" Buffy asked incredulously. "Do you get extra-credit for all the up-close Tara studying you've been doing?" she wondered aloud.

"No, silly," Willow said, laughing again. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to be at school. "Though with this teacher, I wouldn't be surprised. She's a big ol' walking, talking stereotype," Willow confided. "Of course, now that I've said that, I'm going to find out later that she's actually straight."

"So what is on the curriculum for this class?" Buffy asked, following Willow into the amphitheater style classroom.

"Right now we're going over the historical reasons for the "women's role" in society today," Willow as she walked towards the front of the class, where she always sat. Buffy stopped her with a hand on her arm and shook her head, scowling.

"I know you like sitting up front, but I want to be able to see the room," Buffy said in a whisper.

"Do you think something's going to happen?" Willow asked, a worried look appearing on her face.

"I'm in 'better safe than sorry' mode," Buffy confided. Willow nodded, heading back up the aisle to find some seats in the back of the class.

They settled themselves with a minimum of fuss, Willow getting out her textbook, a notepad, and several pens.

"So what, exactly, are the historical reasons for the "women's role" in society?" Buffy asked curiously, hoping that with a little background information she might have a chance of following the discussion in this class.

"The very basics are that, because men are stronger and women actually give birth, in primitive society, the men went out and got the food, because it was dangerous, and the women stayed home with the children. The women were capable of doing what the men did, but the men, again – stronger – and you really only needed one man left to impregnate a bunch of different women to ensure the survival of the tribe. In that way, men were actually kind of expendable, which is why they did the dangerous work. That evolved into the structure we have today, where many people still believe that the woman belongs in the home and the man should be the breadwinner," Willow hurriedly explained as the teacher – who really was a walking, talking stereotype – walked to the front of the class and began setting up. "But the point is, in today's society, there's nothing dangerous about earning money, because it's not like we're going out and poking bears with spears anymore," Willow finished off.

"That... actually makes sense," Buffy said, quickly quieting when the teacher began her discussion.

Despite the background information, Buffy found her attention drifting anyway. Willow was an active participant in the discussion, her points well-made.

It would be, Buffy realized, a tragic loss if Willow died. Not just for the Scoobies, but for the world. I mind like Willow's could do so much good. It was amazing, really, to watch that mind at work, as she alternated between making points she clearly believed in, and playing devil's advocate to keep the discussion going.

She could, Buffy found, work both sides of an argument with equal ease, and Buffy found herself wondering why she didn't join the debate team or something. She smiled to herself when one of Willow's brilliant points snow-balled into a full-on Willow Babble, realizing that maybe debate wasn't the best forum for Willow to shine. She had the class laughing, and was clearly making her point anyway, but this was clearly her element – the classroom.

The discussion swirled around Buffy, but she tuned it out, periodically sweeping the room with her gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling that going to class today had been a bad idea, but Willow certainly seemed to be enjoying herself – and how could she deny Willow something that clearly meant so much to her.

Class concluded with the teacher assigning several chapters for their next session, and Buffy stood, grabbing Willow's book bag before she had a chance to protest.

"Ready to go?" Buffy asked, relieved that their day was over without any untimely interruptions of the Hellmouth variety.

It was truly amazing, Buffy mused, exactly how much Willow enjoyed this. She couldn't really understand it herself, finding that sitting still for that long really wasn't her cup of tea. Still, Willow looked happy for the first time in a long time, and Buffy was glad they had come to school today.

Willow babbled excitedly as they crossed the quad, her hands flying as she gestured to make her points. Buffy couldn't help but smile at how animated Willow was, and she wondered if her talk with Tara the previous night had anything to do with her improved mood. She had heard several 'I love you's' on Willow's end, as well as seen the soft expression Willow always got when Tara said the same. She hoped she was right.

A scream cut through the peaceful energy of the campus, and Buffy turned, seeing for the first time what could only be the Construct racing towards them.

"Run," Buffy said, handing the bag off to Willow, her face falling when she saw the dark magick eyes.

"Run," Buffy said again, pointing her towards the spot where Xander would be waiting for them and giving her a little shove.

Willow's whole body trembled, and she gave her head a little shake before obeying Buffy and taking off. Buffy moved to intercept the Construct, tripping him up as he headed after the redhead.

With a roar, it stood, trying to push past Buffy to get to Willow, seemingly startled to find that the small human female in front of it couldn't be moved as easily as it had planned.

"Oh, no," Buffy said, landing a flurry of blows on its chest. "You're not going anywhere," she said, ending the combination with a kick to the head.

The Construct bellowed, then attacked, making sweeping swipes at Buffy with its claws. Buffy ducked under the blows, landing a kick at what she assumed was more or less its knee, then dancing back. It attacked again, and Buffy caught its arm, letting its momentum carry its bulk over her shoulder.

She maintained her hold on its arm, twisting it, then striking at the joint, hearing a satisfying crack. Something akin to fear showed on its inhuman face.

"You tell your boss that if he wants Willow, he'll have to go through me," Buffy spat, looking up when she heard the sound of a car approaching. She looked up, seeing Xander driving across the grass. With one last punch to its face, she jumped into the car as the Construct ran away, screaming its pain.

"Are you okay?" Buffy said, turning in her seat and looking back at Willow, huddled up in the back seat as Xander drove his car off the curb and pack onto the road, peeling out and making for her house.

"You're not fine," Buffy said, crawling over the front seat into the back, checking Willow over.

"No, I'm fine... I just... it's... I gotta'," she stammered, her face losing all color as she desperately tried not to vomit.

"Xander, pull over," Buffy demanded. With a worried look, he complied, pulling the car over to the curb as Buffy helped Willow to the door.

Willow's heaved, the darkness leaving her crackling with malevolent energy. Buffy pulled the baking soda from Willow's book bag, sprinkling it on the substance. It hissed and fumed for a moment, then cleared, and Buffy saw that it was still crackling.

"That should've been enough," she said worriedly, sprinkling some more as Willow settled herself into the back seat again, gasping. She watched, waiting for the reaction to die down, satisfied when all that was left was a thick black sludge. She closed her door, then nodded to Xander, feeling obscurely better that she had finally had a chance to pummel the Construct.

Xander sped off towards Buffy's house, keeping a wary eye out for police officers and Constructs. At last, he turned the corner onto Buffy's street, slowing down when he noticed a strange car in her driveway.

"No," Buffy said with a frown. She got out of the car, moving cautiously towards her door. "You two stay here," she said slowly, walking up the drive. Willow and Xander ignored the order, staying right behind Buffy, in case she needed any back-up. "I said stay here," she hissed, turning and glaring at her friends."

"We're Scoobies – it's what we do," Willow said with a shrug, her book bag held awkwardly behind her, as if she were just waiting to swing it at something. Xander had a large wrench in his hands, and he brandished it menacingly.

Buffy rolled her eyes, throwing her front door open and rolling to the left, coming to her feet in front of...

Giles looked up sheepishly, a bit of string in his hand, Miss Kitty batting at it with her little paw.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy breathed, her anger at his leaving rising up alongside her total and utter relief at seeing him.

"Well," he said, standing up and removing his glasses and cleaning them industriously, his eyes on the floor. "I know you're all perfectly capable of handling this situation yourselves, but... it is an unusual circumstance, and I felt I needed to be here," he explained, his eyes finding Willow's as he put his glasses back on.

Xander and Willow stood behind Buffy, book bag and wrench at the ready as they stared open-mouthed at Giles.

"Willow," he said warmly, holding the girl close somewhat awkwardly, but with great affection. "How are you handling things?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eye.

"I... I haven't cast anything in two days?" she said, a tremulous look on her face.

"Well, I dare say that's quite good," Giles said with a smile. "I... I know how difficult this is for you," he began.

"Do you?" Willow asked with a frown. "Do you really?" she demanded, pulling back from the man who was like a father to all of the Scoobies.

Buffy and Xander looked at each other, then left the room, going into the kitchen and letting Willow and Giles hash things out.

"I'm... I'm afraid I do," Giles said, going and closing the front door. He walked back into the room, pacing nervously. "I... I had a bit of a problem with dark magick myself, in my younger years," he confessed. "It's... It's why I was always warning you away from it."

"Well, it's not something I'm terribly proud of," he said mildly. "And... it's difficult for a man to... let himself appear 'less' in the eyes of his children. And I know I'm certainly not your father, but... all of you are like children to me," he went on, tears welling up in the unflappable man's eyes. "I'm... I'm afraid I've failed you, in this. And so, I'm so very deeply sorry."

"I... God, Giles... I only wish my father were like you," Willow said, sniffing back her own tears. "I -"

She broke into sobs, looking so lost and scared that Giles couldn't help but pull her into his arms again. "There there, now," he said soothingly, getting a giggle from Willow. Who says 'there there, now?' she wondered.

"Listen to you," Willow said, pulling back with a sniff. "You take off for England, and you come back all Super-British," she said with a watery smile.

"I do suppose my Americanized speech patterns have all but disappeared," he allowed.

"Willow," Giles said, his voice and face serious. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I – did you find out anything new? Any new bad news that had you hopping on the first flight from England?" Willow asked warily.

"Well, no, not exactly," Giles hedged. "It's just... that when Buffy told me how ill you were, and how much danger you were in, I felt I had to be here. Imagine my surprise when no one was home when I arrived," he went on, his eyebrows raised.

"I needed to go to school," Willow said, as if that explained everything. And, Giles decided, it really did.

"I see," he said, nodding. "Well. I brought several books with me. I'm afraid the Council doesn't quite know I borrowed them, but my colleagues have assured me they'll cover for me, and keep working on the problem with the resources available over there. They'll send me updates with... the infernal machine," he said, realizing that it truly was the perfect way of referring to that contraption Willow was so fond of. "In the meantime, we'll get this all figured out. I have books, I have Scoobies, and an incredibly cute and playful kitten," he said, sitting back down and taking up his bit of string. "What more could a man ask for?"

"How about a Slayer that isn't pissed off and able to see right through you?" Buffy demanded from the doorway of the kitchen, stalking into the room. It was too pat. Too convenient. Giles hadn't mentioned flying over – and they had been attacked by the Construct just that afternoon. Something was wrong, she sensed it. Something was off.

"Pardon?" Giles asked, standing up as Buffy reached him. Without preamble, she grabbed him by his lapels, lifting him off his feet.

"Buffy!" Willow called, rushing to her side. "Buffy, let Giles go," she demanded.

"I dare say that I am Giles," Giles said, resisting the urge to defend himself, knowing that wouldn't help his case.

Buffy turned back to glare at the whatever-it-was, only to see The Look. The Annoyed Look. The Look that only Giles could make.

"Oh, God, Giles," Buffy said, letting him back onto his feet and straightening out his jacket.

"I just... I was in the kitchen, and I was thinking, and it just seemed... too good to be true that you were here. And we've had such a problem with this Hell God making Willow believe things, I just thought..." Buffy tried to explain.

"You thought I was another trick?" Giles asked gently, giving Buffy's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It's perfectly understandable. I realize we're all under a great amount of stress – you lot more so than myself, as I haven't been here, but still. I understand."

"Well, I think we should probably get back to the research, yes?" he said, looking around.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," Willow said slowly, nodding her head, trying not to think too hard about Buffy picking Giles right up off the ground.

"Mary Ellen made some special magicky soap that helps to pull the dark magick gunk out of Willow," Buffy explained.

"Oh, that is rather clever," Giles said. "It's a good thought. And she made baking soda as well?" he inquired.

"I did a little reading, and ingesting it could help slow it down as well," Giles offered up.

"Oh, good," Buffy said with a relieved sigh, sitting down and poking around the pile of books on the table. "Dawn's been putting it in Willow's coffee."

"Good, good," Giles said, nodding. "So where did Xander go off to?" he asked, looking around the room.

"Ah, he snuck out the back. He had to go back to work," Buffy said. "So, umm... where should I start," she asked, indicating the pile of books.

"Why don't you fill me in on what you've learned so far?" Giles asked, wondering if there had been any new developments since he had last heard from the Scoobies.

"Well, we learned a little about how the three Hell Gods work. With the Beast, the Trickster, and the Scales as the balance between the two," Buffy explained.

"Well, if the Scales works to keep a balance between the Trickster and the Beast, then Hell is out of balance," Giles explained his thoughts. "So it seems that the Scales would be interested in either restoring Glory, or kicking the Trickster our of Hell entirely, leaving him as sole ruler."

"The Scales isn't a boy Hell God or a girl Hell God. It's and 'it' Hell God," Buffy explained.

"Oh, well... that's... fascinating," Giles said, wondering why that bit of information was offered up. "What else have you learned?" he asked carefully.

"Well, you told us that the Trickster needs Willow to get out of Hell. Have you found out anything else on how that all works?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," Giles said, shaking his head. "That prophecy seems to be the most likely source of information, but it's proven to be a tougher nut to crack than we had initially thought. Anything else?"

"The Trickster supplied the dark power for the first soul-restoration spell used on Angel," Buffy said quietly.

"The first time Angel got his soul back... it was the Trickster's revenge against him. The Trickster was responsible for it, and lent the power needed to pull it off," Buffy explained further.

"Dear God," Giles said slowly. "That means that the Trickster has been watching Willow for..."

"Three years," Buffy said hollowly. "He's been building up this connection with some kind of plan for her for three years."

"Patient fellow, isn't he?" Giles observed, his frown deepening as his mind raced.

Willow came down the stairs, a pair of pajamas on, ready to settle in to study. "Hi. Anything new?" she asked, looking around.

"Well, if you would check your electronic mail, we can see if the Council has sent anything," Giles suggested.

Willow nodded, sitting in front of her laptop and moving her mouse around. She opened her mail and quickly scanned the content, her face going unnaturally pale. "Umm, Giles?" she squeaked.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" Willow asked, pointing at a paragraph. Giles read it quickly, his face clearing.

"It means that, in order to get out of Hell, the Trickster needs to trick you into crossing the Hellmouth of your own free will, then participating in a ceremony to free him – also of your own free will," Giles said slowly.

"A ceremony that involves cutting off my own finger?" Willow said, her voice high as the squickiness of the idea hit her.

"Well, yes. And I dare say I doubt you'd do that of your own free will," he pointed out.

"Good point," Willow said, relief running through her. "But can we not share the details with everyone else?" she asked. "I'd rather they didn't think about it... it's... pretty gross."

"But... he's going to let me die if I don't cooperate isn't he?" she asked bleakly.

"Are we there? Why are we stopping?" Tara asked, awaking with a start from a disturbing dream. It had seemed familiar... all gray mists and darkness, and Willow always just out of reach. She shook off the last vestiges of unease, looking around her with tired eyes.

"We're not there, and we're stopping because I'm tired, I'm hungry and we both smell bad," Anya said with a scowl, pulling into the parking lot of Aunt Emma's Diner.

"W-we don't have time," Tara said, rubbing her eyes and yawning hugely as Anya pulled the car into a parking space, well away from any other vehicles – which was a good thing, as she managed to take up two spots.

"We've been driving all night and all day. We haven't stopped. I'm tired and I'm hungry and if you'd stop and think about it for just a minute, you are, too," Anya stated. "So I'm taking the keys," she said, suiting actions to words and removing the keys from the ignition, then dropping them down her shirt. "And this car isn't moving again until we've taken a little break."

Anya was, she had to admit to herself, really worried. Of course she was worried about Willow – everyone was worried about Willow. But she was also worried about Tara, and herself. They'd been in the car for an extremely long time, stopping long enough to use the restroom when they stopped for gas, then heading out again, with only Twinkies and Mountain Dew standing between them and starvation.

Tara was pushing herself too hard. Anya had tried to talk her into stopping at a motel for at least a few hours, so they could get some real sleep on a real bed, but Tara had merely told her to sleep in her seat if she was so tired, and that she'd keep driving. Something about driving for ten hours straight had to be bad for Tara, so Anya was worried.

"But we're almost there," Tara protested. Four hours. They were just four hours out of Sunnydale, and she could almost feel the peculiar energy that came off the town.

"Which does us no good if we die," Anya insisted stubbornly. "And again... we both smell. And you need to brush your hair. Oh, God – what does my hair look like?" she wondered aloud, turning the rearview mirror and gasping at the sight. "Besides," she said, her voice gentling, as she turned to look at Tara. "You're about to snap into a million different pieces. We're going to get there, you're going to take one look at Willow, and you're going to just start crying and crying, and what good will that do her?"

"You're right," Tara finally admitted, allowing herself to feel the exhaustion. But she was scared – she was completely afraid that if she allowed herself to stop, for just a minute, she'd be too tired to start again, and she wouldn't reach Willow fast enough. She had to be there, and she had to be there soon. But if she fell asleep behind the wheel, or was too tired to spot a police officer, she'd really be delayed, or maybe she wouldn't even make it there at all.

"Well, all right, then," Anya said with a nod, getting out of the car and groaning at the stiffness in her body. The human form, she decided, was not designed to sit in a car for any great length of time, which only proved what sick people car designers really were. You would think they'd design a vehicle that was comfortable enough for these lengthy road trips.

Tara unbuckled her belt, getting tangled up in it momentarily before getting free. With a little grunt, she shoved the door open, then stepped out, swaying unsteadily.

"You okay?" Anya asked, walking around the car, stretching her legs as she went.

"Yeah... my legs are just kind of... rubbery," Tara said, closing the door and leaning on the car heavily for a moment.

"Ready to go?" Anya asked gently. Tara simply nodded, and they made their way across the parking lot, a trucker beating them to the door and opening it gallantly, with a little half-bow.

"Allow me, ladies," he said kindly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. He reminded Tara obscurely of Giles, in his polite manner and the general good-naturedness she sensed in him. Tara and Anya nodded their thanks, preceding him into the diner as he tipped his battered ball cap. The man stopped for a moment, indecision evident on his face as he noted the haunted sadness in the blonde's eyes, something about the soulful expression touching him.

Anya went immediately to the counter, sitting down on the padded circular stool, spinning back and forth a little to keep moving. Somehow, it felt good to sit, yet bad to sit. It was certainly strange.

Tara gingerly sat next to her, her stiff legs and back protesting the movement, exhaustion evident in ever line of her body.

The nice trucker seated himself next to the girls, shaking his head a little. "Been on the road awhile, huh?" he asked knowingly, recognizing the signs. "You two ever been to a truck stop diner before?" he asked kindly.

Tara shook her head no as Anya leaned over the counter so she could look past Tara and right into the trucker's eye. "If you want to have sex with either of us, forget it," she said flatly. "I'm engaged, and she's gay," she announced.

"Well, then," the trucker said, blushing and laughing self-consciously. "I think my wife would object if I had anything but the best of intentions. You just both look tired, that's all," he explained. "And I happen to know that they got washrooms with showers in 'em you can use," he said, pointing towards the back. "And before you accuse me of anything again," he said, pointing a beefy finger at Anya, a laughing look in his eye. "Them showers have got locks, so it's private."

"Oh, well, thank you," Anya said brightly, picking up a menu and scanning the contents. "I'm glad to learn that you're merely a nice man with no ulterior motives."

"What'll you have?" a harried waitress asked, wiping down the counter, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"You gotta' have more than that," the trucker said with a frown. "The name's Hank," he offered up.

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a thick wallet. "This here's my wife, Mary," he said, pulling it open and displaying a picture of a smiling blonde woman in a simple dress. And here," he said, turning to the next picture. "These are my kids, Little Tommy and Alice."

"You have a beautiful family," Anya said sincerely, leaning across Tara to see the pictures. Tara looked up, a slight smile crossing her face at the picture of the laughing, happy children in front of her.

"Yes, beautiful," she said, reaching out to trace the picture with one finger, sadness evident in her features.

"You showing off the wife and kids again, Hank?" another trucker asked, moving to sit next to Anya at the counter.

"What, I can't be friendly to new folks?" Mac shot back indignantly. "Besides, they're the nicest things to look at that have walked in here in a long time. Damn sight prettier than you," he bantered.

"Sara," Hank said, turning to the waitress. "Get these two the trucker special number one, on me," he said, nodding at Tara and Anya.

"Oh, we couldn't," Tara started to protest, only to be interrupted when Hank raised a hand.

"Now, now," he said. "I insist. Besides," he went on to explain. "My wife would have my hide if she found out I ran into two young ladies riding down the trucker highways all by their lonesome looking all lost and sad without helping out. You two aren't lost, are ya'?" he asked, her face showing nothing but sincere concern.

"So what brings you two out here?" Mac asked curiously. "Not that I'm complaining, but we don't see many people who aren't truckers out in these parts, and certainly not two such lovely ladies."

"Thank you," Anya said with a smile, remembering what Xander said about the correct way to respond to a compliment. "We've been on a road trip, and now we're heading home."

"If you don't mind me sayin', you two look like you haven't slept in awhile," Hank added in with a frown. "You having some kind of emergency? You two need money for gas, or a motel, or something?" he asked, reaching for his wallet again.

"No," Tara said quickly. "We have money, we're just... we're in a hurry," she said. "It's a long story."

"All right, then," Hank said, appearing satisfied with the answer, and leaving his wallet where it was. Sara returned with the coffee, placing four cups on the counter, and leaving them to add in their own cream and sugar, but keeping an ear on the conversation. Mac was right – they certainly didn't get two people like these two in here... well, pretty much ever, and she was curious. Besides... had one of them really said that the other was gay?

"Oh, Xander," Anya said, a smile crossing her face. "He's wonderful. He works in construction, and he's very manly and strong, and he buys me nice things, and we have a very nice apartment," she said, her face glowing.

"Sounds about right," Mac laughed. "How about you?" he said, looking over at Tara. "You got a feller, too?"

"Nah," Hank said, looking over at Mac with a smile. "She's got a girl if she's got anything," he said, remembering Anya's previous words.

"That right?" Mac asked with a smile, pulling out his keychain and displaying a rainbow keychain. "I get lots of flak from the guys about this, but my sister's a lesbian. She's a great girl," he said. "Hey! If you don't have a girl, I could introduce you to my sister," he said, his voice ending on a hopeful note.

"No, thank you," Tara said politely. "I h-have a girl," she said, her lower lip quivering.

"Oh, Jesus, I didn't mean to upset you," Mac said quickly. "Is... are you okay?" he asked.

"Beautiful," Tara said, a sad smile crossing her face. "She's... she's got this red hair, and bright green eyes, and she..." she went on, trailing off as she found words to be too inadequate to describe Willow. "Sara?" she called, summoning the waitress. "You want to see a picture?" Tara asked, as the waitress walked over.

"You got pictures?" Mac asked with a smile. "You could be a trucker," he said, paying Tara the highest compliment he could. It was a long-standing tradition to compare pictures of girls with the other guys.

"Well, umm, no," Tara said to Sara, then looked over at Mac. "Not on me...all my pictures of Willow are framed, where I can see them all the time. W-we were...we were having a fight when I left, so... I didn't bring any," she admitted.

Tara stood up, reaching over and plucking the pencil out from behind Sara's ear, grabbing a napkin and looking at it thoughtfully. The pencil felt smooth and familiar in her hand, but different from when she was writing. It was as if her fingers instinctively knew, without her brain mentioning it, that she was going to draw, and they grasped the pencil as if it were an extension of her hand.

She moved her hand quickly, outlining the shape of Willow's face and shoulders. Then the smooth line of her jaw, and the careless way her hair fell around her face. An ear took shape, and a half-smile appeared on Tara's face and her eyes glowed with love as she transferred her feelings for this woman through the pencil into the picture of her she was creating.

Anya, Hank, Sara and Mac fell silent, watching as Tara's inner vision took life on a rough napkin. The smiling lips appeared, and the nose Tara found so adorable, and then Willow's laughing eyes. Tara lost herself in the process, feeling a piece of herself slide home after she had blocked it off ruthlessly after her mother's death.

It only took a few minutes for the picture to take shape, despite how rusty Tara was. She had drawn Willow so many times – she had studied that face with such fierce concentration – that she felt as though she could draw it in her sleep.

When she was done, she looked up, startled to find a group of trucker's around her. The low buzz of conversation hummed in all directions.

"Damn... did she just draw that? Just now?" another asked, looking around at the answering nods.

"Oh my God," Anya said. "It looks exactly like her," she went on, looking up at the other truckers. "That's Willow," she said, pointing at the napkin.

"Good Lord," Mac said, peering closely at the napkin. "You were having a fight with HER?" he said. "She's... damn. She's gorgeous."

"It's... it's a long story," Tara said, coming back to the here and now from that special place she went when she was drawing, her sadness and fear hitting her with a jolt.

"Hey, hey," Hank said gently, patting Tara's shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay," he said, sincerely hoping he was right.

"Yeah," a trucker in the back piped up. "You head home, you get your girl, you kiss her senseless," he said, offering up his advice.

"I... it was a really bad fight," Tara said in a whisper, her finger's tracing the lines of Willow's face, her eyes bleak with misery. "She... she got caught up in some bad stuff," she said, her voice sounding strained in the silent room as everyone stopped and listened to her.

"Pretty much," Tara said miserably. "I – I just didn't know what to do anymore. And I just couldn't stay with her like that."

"She started getting help, but I'd already left town – I visited my father," she said with a watery smile. "We've... never been close, but... it was a good visit. I – things are better there, now. But I just wish... I wish I had stayed with her. Been stronger, y'know?" she said, tears tracking down her face. "That I had helped her through it."

"You did the right thing," a trucker in the back said, wringing his cap in his hands. "If my old lady hadn't left me when I started the heavy drinking, I never woulda' sobered up," he confessed to the room.

"I – she's -" Tara said, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob. Startled, Hank reflexively pulled Tara into a hug, letting her cry on his shoulder. "She's really sick," Tara managed to say through her tears. "She might not make it, and I'm so – so scared."

Anya's own tears slid down her face as she rubbed Tara's shoulder, looking around curiously at all the trucker's in the room who seemed to be tearing up beneath their manly facades.

"You couldn't have known that would happen," Hank said, rocking Tara gently. "And you're gonna' make it home, and you're gonna' see your girl, but first you're going to cry and get it all out. I bet she's gonna' need you to be strong. I bet she's gonna' need to cry when she sees you."

"That's right," Anya said encouragingly. "So you just keep crying," she went on, continuing to rub Tara's back.

Tara soaked up the comfort like a sponge, exchanging it for the tears of grief and pain pouring out of her.

"I'm, umm... I'm gonna' go call my wife," one trucker mumbled, heading out to the pay phones in the parking lot to speak to his family, and to give the pretty young girl some privacy.

A chorus of "me too" went up, and the trucker's filed out, each moving to stand in line at the pay phones, not caring how long the line got, or how long they had to wait for the phone to be free, or that the sun had gone down and it had gotten remarkably cold out in just a short time.

Tara felt her fear and anguish rising up, then release a little with each sob and hiccup, unashamedly soaking Hank's shirt. Hank gamely held on, letting Tara express her pain, not caring that he had a schedule to keep. Instead, he let the girl break down on his shoulder, thinking about how helpless and worried he would feel in her place.

Anya got up as well, going to the car and grabbing two bags with a fresh change of clothes and their toiletries. That shower sounded better and better, and she knew Tara would need one in a bit, and she was satisfied that Tara would be safe with Hank while she was gone.

Without a word, Sara returned the plates of now-cold food that had been ordered for Tara and Anya, telling the disgruntled cook that she'd need fresh ones in a bit. After another ten minutes, Tara's cries began to ebb, and she pulled back, a little embarrassed at her display in a public place in front of a large group of strangers.

Tara nodded wordlessly, sniffing and wiping at her eyes, looking everywhere but at Hank.

"Hey," Hank said, ducking his head to find her eyes. "Don't you dare be embarrassed. Not for loving someone that much."

Tara smiled shyly, nodding again, feeling drained, but better than she had since she had received that phone call from Buffy the day before. She felt... ready, actually. Prepared. She felt like she had fallen apart and pulled herself together, with the help and support of a room full of truckers. The thought made her giggle a little, the absurdity of the situation hitting her.

"Yeah, it's an odd place to break down, huh?" Hank asked, understanding shining in his eyes.

"Yeah," Tara agreed, her voice a little raw. She cleared her throat, then looked around the room, seeing the line of truckers at the pay phones through the wide front windows.

"Here," Anya said, returning minus her cell phone. She felt bad that all the truckers had to wait to make their calls, so she had handed her phone over, asking them to keep it short. The grateful truckers had immediately promised to pay her cash for the time they used, and Anya had taken that opportunity to haggle out a price that gave her a nice little profit. Not a big profit, because that would be heartless, but just enough of a profit to make her glad she lived in America.

She handed over Tara's bag, and Tara took it gratefully. Hank helpfully pointed out the showers, promising to watch their seats while they were gone.

The shower area was neat and tidy, and Tara could see why it was a popular truck stop. The shower units had a locked door leading to a tiny dressing area, and then a curtain leading to a tiny shower, but it would get the job done. It was a nice place, with friendly people, good amenities... if she were a trucker, she'd try to stop there, too. The thought of sitting up in a big rig, in a flannel shirt, a ball cap and boots made Tara giggle again, the picture too ridiculous to take seriously.

She turned on the water, adjusting the spray, then stepped in, not caring that the temperature hadn't warmed yet. The cold water stunned her into full awareness, chasing away the last vestiges of sleepiness, and giving her renewed strength. She washed quickly, finding that being clean put her in a much better mood. That coupled with her cathartic release in a room full of strangers helped her put her situation into perspective.

She stepped out of the stall, drying quickly, then dressing, sliding the clean clothes on with a sense of relief. Her wet hair got pulled back from her face, and she just left it, deciding to let it dry in the car. When she walked back into the dining area, Anya was already there, two plates of food on the counter.

Seeing the large pile of food waiting for her made her stomach growl conspicuously, and she blushed lightly. She hadn't really realized just how hungry she was for real food. Hank and Mac sat made quiet conversation as she and Anya dug in, polishing it all off in record time.

"Much better, thank you," Tara said sincerely. "And thank you," she said, turning to Hank.

"Don't mention it," Hank said, a blush crawling up his neck. "Look... me and the boys were talking, and... if you ever need anything," he said, his voice trailing off, handing over a napkin with a phone number on it. "We'd really like it if you'd keep in touch... let us know how you're doing," he mumbled self-consciously. "And if you ever need anything, you call that number. That'll get my cell phone, and if I'm not nearby, I'll get on the radio and call up one of the guys, okay?"

"No problem...just... go take care of your girl," Hank said, standing up and removing his cap as Tara and Anya rose to leave. He smiled when both girls gave him a hug before walking out the door, Anya stopping just outside to collect her cell phone and her money.

"Oh, right," Anya said, handing them over. They got into the car in silence, pulling away from the truck stop and heading out down the road.

"That was certainly... strange," Anya said slowly, looking back at Aunt Emma's Diner disappearing in the distance.

"I mean, who ever heard of a big group of lesbian-friendly truckers?" Anya observed.

"I... that is... pretty strange," Tara agreed, a giggle welling up helplessly as she pressed down on the accelerator, flying down the highway.

"They probably would have if I hadn't sent them into panic-mode by crying all over them," Tara admitted wryly, checking the rearview mirror and speeding up when she saw no lights behind them.

They fell silent, switching on the radio and racing towards Sunnydale with renewed spirit and purpose. Tara felt as though she had gotten her second wind – or was she on her third wind by now? – and as the miles ticked by, she felt a sort of calm descend upon her. Soon, she would be with Willow, and she could hold her in her arms and keep her safe. They could work through this – together – and everything would be all right.

Tara glanced into the rearview mirror again, noticing two sets of headlights in the distance. She slowed down a little, still well above the speed limit, trying to discern what kind of car it was behind her. Weary traveler? Police officer? Trucker?

With a jolt of panic, her question was answered as the lights got closer, then the red and blue of the police flashed.

"Oh, crap," Tara breathed, glancing down at the speedometer and seeing that she was a good twenty miles over the limit. Automatically, she began slowing, preparing to pull over.

Anya immediately grabbed her cell phone, dialing a number. "Slow down some more, but don't pull over yet," Anya instructed, turning in her seat to look behind her. She heard the phone ringing in her ear once, then twice, then it picked up, Tara slowing down, a look of pure panic on her face.

"Hank?" Anya said urgently into the phone. "There's a cop behind us, running his lights, and he's gonna' pull us over," she said in a rush. Tara slowed further and eased towards the shoulder, unsure of what to do, and glancing over at Anya.

Suddenly, the headlights behind the officer crossed the double-yellow line, a dull roar filling the air as it picked up speed, the long form of a truck flying past them. The police officer stayed behind them for a moment, then jerked into the other lane, chasing after the truck that sped up further once the officer's were on its tail.

"Hank?" Anya asked into the phone. "You still there?" She paused, listening to his answer, smiling. "Thank you so much, Hank," she said with a smile, disconnecting the phone. "One of the guys who was at the stop was right behind the cop. He's gonna get him off the highway so we can keep going. Apparently, chasing after a truck that won't pull over is more important than catching us. Something about shipping illegal drugs."

"They're... they're not gonna' get in trouble, are they?" Tara asked with a frown, not wanting someone getting arrested on her behalf.

"Hank says this guy will be fine... that he can talk his way out of anything," Anya assured Tara.

Tara let out a relieved breath, her body shaking as she kept the car at the speed limit, driving at what seemed a sedate pace in comparison to the speeding she had been doing for the past four days. They crawled along, getting several miles down the road before seeing the police car turn off the highway after the truck, still speeding along.

Once the danger had passed, she pressed down on the accelerator, speeding off down the highway and praying that was the only officer they would run into on their way home.

"Well, nothing like a little death on the horizon to perk up a group," Spike observed, walking into the room and looking around at all the grim and determined faces.

"All I'm saying is, Red's not dead yet, and until you show me the corpse, I refuse to believe that she's going to die," Spike went on. "Even then, I wouldn't be too sure of it," he said, glancing at Buffy before continuing. "You Scoobies have a way of landing on your feet, that's all. I mean, do you have any idea how many times I've tried to kill all of you? And usually, I'm a very efficient killer."

"Umm... thanks?" Willow asked uncertainly, feeling oddly reassured by Spike's words, but feeling like she shouldn't be. She was feeling a little better, having just taken a third shower for the day, but still kind of shaky and weak.

"You're welcome," Spike said cheerfully, seating himself on the couch between Dawn and Buffy and grabbing a book.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Spike shot back, his voice defensive. "I'm helping."

"Giles, let's not argue about an extra pair of eyes, okay?" Buffy said gently, stopping the watcher from protesting. "Right now I'd make a deal with Satan himself if it's keep Willow safe."

"Don't even joke about that," Giles said, pointing a stern finger at Buffy. "According to this, most of the fables and myths regarding 'selling your soul to the devil' sprang up from stories about the Trickster."

"So this guy is... Satan?" Buffy asked uncertainly. "The Biggest Bad himself?" she squeaked.

"Certainly not," Giles said. "Satan, if there is such a thing, merely seems to have been given the credit for some of the Trickster's work. Which only makes sense, really. The Judeo-Christian mythos only allows for one ultimate evil, and so all evil acts must be attributed to that one source," Giles explained.

"Not that bit, no," Giles admitted. "But that's part of research. We read lots of useless things hoping to find something of value."

"Right," Buffy said with a nod. "Then I'm doing great with getting useless stuff out of the way."

"Yes, please," Willow said absently, scrolling through her most recent email from the Watcher's Council.

"Okay," Xander said with a wince, knowing he'd have to spike Willow's coffee with the witchy pain. "Anyone else?"

"All right, Witchy Pain Coffee for Willow, and two with lots of milk and sugary goodness for the Wonder Twins over there. Got it," he said with a nod, entering the kitchen.

"I think I might have something," Willow said, looking up from her screen, then rereading the passage. "Well, Giles' Rebel Englishmen have something, but still," she muttered, looking it over.

"Rebel Englishman?" Giles asked in a droll tone. "I believe those are called 'Americans'."

"They traced my ancestry back to a little fishing village in Scotland on the Isle of Mull," Willow said, ignoring the interruption. "There are Council records about stories coming from there about the Devil and the Betrayer causing havoc and terror. It kind of fits."

"Yes," Giles said, taking off his glasses and frowning, his mind churning the new information. "The Betrayer could be Angel, or the Trickster himself. The Devil could be the Construct. But I don't recall any standing stones on the Isle of Mull," he went on with a frown.

"It says here that they were destroyed by the Devil," Willow said. "There's no record of them outside the Council."

"But nothing about the witch that defeated them?" Giles asked putting his glasses back on a blinking his tired eyes a few times.

"No, nothing," Willow said with a frown. "Wait..." she said, reading further. "No, that's... weird..." she continued.

"Hellmouth Weird," Willow confirmed. "It looks like 'The Devil' was the witch that defeated the Trickster. She went up to the standing stones alone, and there was a strange storm out of nowhere. The standing stones were destroyed, and the odd happenings stopped. The villagers believed she had caused all the problems with her witchcraft, and that the stones being destroyed was the judgment of God, making it impossible for her to spread her evil. She fled, but they don't know where she went. Hardly seems fair," she groused. "She saved all of them."

"They can't be sure whether the Betrayer was another witch or not," Willow said slowly. "Not yet, but they suspect so. The townspeople tried to burn both of them, afraid that they were demons."

"So none of these accounts can determine how the Trickster was defeated?" Giles pressed on.

"Not how he was defeated, but you remember that stone that hurt Glory?" Willow said. "The Betrayer had something kind of like that. It was a magick stone that kept the Trickster from deceiving you."

Something about the new information seemed to tickle the back of Giles' mind, but he couldn't quite place the bits of the puzzle that he needed. With a frown, he went back to his reading, learning more about the Trickster and his methods.

It felt... good, in a way, to be back. He just wished the circumstances weren't so dire. Of course, if the circumstances weren't this dire, he wouldn't have come back. Not yet, at any rate. Still, the Scoobies worked like a well-oiled machine at his direction, reading the books and passages he assigned them, gleaning from them the information they needed.

Only Willow worked outside of his influence, just as she always had. She had an unusual gift for finding information, especially on her... computer. It had always been like that. He had to push and prod the rest of them into finding what was needed, but Willow – Willow always found something unexpected. Something useful. If it weren't such a damn short-sighted organization, he'd have recommended her to the Watcher's Council years ago.

He looked over at Willow with sad eyes. She really didn't look like herself. She had always been rather little, but now she looked frail, almost, her natural vitality subdued, her healthy complexion pale.

"Do they have the Devil's name?" Giles asked suddenly, looking up from his books.

"Yeah, she was Margaret MacDonald," Willow answered, giving the name she had received in the email as belonging to her ancestor.

"God, I could use a cheeseburger," Buffy groaned as Xander walked in, distributing the coffee.

"Oh, fine. Wait until I'm all ready to sit down and get comfy before sending out the errand boy," Xander said, his tone making it clear that he didn't mind. "Okay, food run," he said, clapping his hands together. "What does everyone want?"

Everyone called out their orders, and Xander nodded, filing the information away.

"I'm fine," Willow said, turning back to her computer. She sipped at her coffee, wincing as it hit her stomach, feeling the need to race to the bathroom yet again. With a grimace, she stood her ground, sipping more of the coffee and getting it into her stomach to help counteract the dark magick buildup there.

She had just started up a search of several mystical historical databases, looking for references to the Trickster, the Devil, and the Betrayer, along with the Isle of Mull and a date range between the years 1810 and 1860. Her previous look at just the Trickster had gotten way too much information to slog through, and she was hoping to narrow the search.

"You sure?" Xander asked, a concerned look on his face. "You've barely eaten anything for a couple of days now."

"I know, but... I haven't really been hungry," Willow confessed. "And my tummy's been all upset. And that greasy food really doesn't sound... good... right now."

Willow merely nodded, looking back at her computer and seeing that it was processing. This was the part she always hated – the waiting. Usually, it was just from her own natural impatience – her need to know things right now instead of ten minutes from now. But lately, the down time had given her way too much time to think.

Self-reflection should be a good thing, she mused. But now, surrounded by people desperately trying to save her from dying, she couldn't hide from the truth anymore. The power of the dark magick had been... incidental. There was something almost comforting about the idea that she had been drawn to the power, like it was some kind of drug, as if that would mean this whole thing weren't really her fault.

But she had realized something that day, as she helped Dawn with her homework, the situation reminding her of high school. She had come to realize that it wasn't the power she craved, but the escape. With the magick, she wasn't Good Old Reliable Willow Rosenberg. She wasn't Buffy's sidekick. She wasn't some useless nerd always getting into danger and needing a rescue.

There was a subtle difference, she had realized, between the power and the empowerment. It was the latter that she had craved so badly. Her need to be useful. Her need to impress. Her need to contribute. Her need to be accepted. Her need to be loved.

But who was she trying to impress? Why would she go out of her way to gain the love and acceptance of the very group of people who had always loved and accepted her, unconditionally?

Because way deep down, she hadn't believed she had deserved that from these people.

She hadn't believed in them, because she couldn't believe in herself, and that was the source of her problems. It was the source of the worst betrayal she had ever committed against another person, when she had tampered with Tara's memories. It wasn't that she wanted to control Tara, it was that she was so scared that she didn't deserve her love, that when things got a little rough, she overcompensated. Grossly. Outrageously. Thoughtlessly.

That afternoon, she had found the doll's eye crystal in the nightstand, and she had just held onto it, staring at it, the full force of what she had done hitting her with startling clarity. And in those moments, she had understood what had caused everything. Her own insecurities and lack of faith in herself had led her to extreme lengths in seeking the approval of others.

Willow stood and stretched, looking back down at the computer and seeing that it was still searching. She looked up at everyone, still reading diligently, her eyes automatically trying to find the face that wasn't there.

"I'm gonna' take a break," she said, glancing at her watch, and walking into the kitchen. She picked up the phone and hesitated a moment. Would they be at a motel getting some rest? Were they stopping for food?

She dialed the number before she could change her mind, knowing it by heart because she had looked it up several times, then talked herself out of calling. She heard the ring in her ear, and her heart started beating faster, knowing that she'd be talking to Tara soon.

The phone rang again. And again. Willow heard the front door open as Xander returned with the food, placing one hand over her free ear and turning her back to the entryway to the living room so she could concentrate on the rings.

Willow frowned, listening to the phone ring in her ear, wondering where Anya and Tara could be and why they weren't answering the phone. Were they okay? Could they be just stopping somewhere, having left the phone in the car? Were they in jail? Were they lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding and broken and unable to call for help?

Willow dropped the phone from suddenly nerveless fingers, her body stiffening. Xander couldn't be back already. It was too soon.

"Willow," she heard again, the love and longing in that voice stealing her breath away. Slowly she turned, half-afraid to look, sure that what she was hearing too wonderful to be true.

"I... but... how? You were two days out?" Willow gasped, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest.

"We drove all night," Tara confessed, standing just inside the doorway and gazing at the redhead with soulful eyes. She loved looking at Willow, and she ached to go to her, but she was rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight. It worried her, even as it reassured her, seeing Willow. She looked tired and pale and Tara couldn't help but wonder how she had lost so much weight in just four days. But still, she was there – alive and whole.

"But... but... two days out," Willow said helplessly, tears stinging her eyes. "You can't be here already. You can't. Not that I don't want you to be, but..."

She trailed off as Tara moved, taking tentative steps towards her. Her eyes drifted shut when Tara raised a hand, her fingertips just barely touching the side of her face.

"Are you real?" Willow asked shakily, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, her body trembling. "Are you here? Or is it another trick?" she asked huskily, leaning into the touch helplessly, despite her fear that if she opened her eyes, Tara would be gone.

"I'm real," she heard Tara say, and she felt the nearness when Tara stepped closer, and those arms she had longed for slipped tentatively around her. "You look so fragile," Tara whispered brokenly. "Like you might break."

"I won't break," Willow promised, taking a deep breath then opening her eyes, her own arms sliding up and around Tara's body and letting herself believe. In Tara. In them. In herself.

And then Tara pulled her close, her arms closing around her. As soon as she was firmly in Tara's arms, it was like a dam broke inside of her, and Willow clung to her as if she were her life raft in a stormy sea. And she was, Willow realized, as she choked out Tara's name.

"Willow, baby," Tara whispered with a sigh, her eyes shut tight as she clasped the redhead tightly to her. "Oh, God, Willow."

"Tara... honey, I..." Willow said, pulling back and sniffling as she fought back her tears.

"Don't say it. Don't say anything," Tara said, pulling Willow back to her and clamping down on her own tears. "We both have a lot to say, but it can wait. Just... just let me hold you."

Willow nodded against her neck, reveling in the feel of Tara's body against her own, her face burying itself in her hair.

"I can't believe... you're here... you're here," Willow said over and over, mumbling against the soft skin of Tara's neck.

"I'm here, baby," Tara soothed as Willow began to shake in her arms, rubbing her back gently. "I've got you," she whispered, and those three words seemed to break down the last of Willow's defenses, and she was stripped bare as she began crying, fear and relief mixing together in a maelstrom of confusing emotions that rocked her to her core.

"You're essential," Willow choked out, needing to convey to Tara all that she was to her.

"I'm sorry," Tara gasped out, her own tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

"I'm sorry I drove you away. But you're here now," Willow mumbled, as they swayed a little in each other's arms, the rocking motion soothing them. "That's all that matters."

"I love you," Tara finally whispered, hoping that it was enough to make up for her failings.

"God, I love you so much," Willow replied, snuggling closer to Tara and smiling a little when she felt her arms tighten further.

Tara gave into it then, letting her heart sing out her joy at having Willow in her arms, and she swore later she could hear Willow's heart returning the song. They rocked each other gently, neither feeling the need to say anything further at that time, reveling in their reunion and letting all their fear and doubts go, taking strength from their bond.

"I really hate to break this up," Xander said, honest regret in his voice. "But you've been monopolizing the kitchen for half an hour, and we're all out of coffee," he explained, raising the empty mugs in his hands with a sheepish expression.

With shaky breaths and shy smiles, they each pulled back, their hands joining naturally. Willow couldn't help a giddy smile from growing across her face when she felt Tara's thumb tracing her hand, the movement so familiar and loving that she felt it to her very core.

"Yeah, I should, umm...probably say hi to everyone," Tara said slowly. "I sorta' found out where you were then rushed back here," she confessed to Willow.

"I – yeah... and I... have a search running," Willow said breathlessly, squeezing the hand in hers.

"Oh, we unloaded the car," Xander said as Willow and Tara stood there, looking into each other's eyes and very noticeably not moving towards the living room. "But we didn't want to just go looking through your mom's stuff," he said to Tara.

Tara nodded, but Xander somehow doubted that she had heard a word he said, she was so clearly lost in looking at Willow.

"Oh, right," Tara said with a start, looking up at Xander. "We really need to go through those things," she said, looking back at Willow. "Mom did tons of research on blocking dark forces. She... she hoped to cure the demon thing."

"Right," Willow said, trying to work up the resolve to get back to work, but wanting desperately to just stay close to Tara. Her indecision must have shown on her face, because Tara chuckled and smiled at her.

"C'mon," Tara finally said, moving toward the living room and tugging on her hand. Willow followed, knowing deep in her heart that she would follow this woman anywhere.

"Tara!" Dawn called out, jumping up from her seat and bolting over. She had wanted to say hello earlier, but Buffy had stopped her, telling her that Tara needed the time with Willow. That had satisfied Dawn, and her tummy rumblings had eased, knowing that Willow and Tara were as good as back together. She smiled when she noticed that Tara only gave her a one-armed hug, refusing to let go of Willow's hand. That was a good sign – a very good sign indeed.

"Tara," Giles said, his voice warm, but considerably more composed than Dawn's had been.

"Mr. Giles," Tara said with a smile, giving him a one-armed hug as well. Buffy and Xander got in their hugs, too, pathetically grateful that Tara was back.

"You didn't scratch the car, did you?" Spike called from the couch, barely looking up from his book.

"No, I didn't scratch the car," Tara said. "But I let Anya drive," she added impishly.

"You what?" Spike demanded, looking up sharply. "Did you scratch the car?" he asked, turning towards Anya.

"Well I learned," Anya shot back. "Tara was tired and had to sleep, but she refused to stop, so I drove."

"Hey – I'm not the one who almost got pulled over," Anya said, pointing at Tara, who bit her lip and looked down at the floor, trying hard not to giggle. "If Hank hadn't given Tara his phone number, we would have gotten a ticket, too."

"Actually, you would have gone to jail," Spike said with relish. "The car's stolen."

"I just offered... she's the one who said yes," he said, holding up his hands in a protective gesture. "Defenseless vampire here... no killing the guy who can't fight back."

"One-twenty?" Willow asked, tugging gently on Tara's hand to get her attention. "And who's Hank?"

"Hank is the nice trucker we met at Aunt Emma's Diner," Anya supplied helpfully. "And Tara would have driven the car faster, but it started shaking at 120, so she didn't want to push it."

"It wasn't like it sounds," Tara finally said, turning to Willow with a wry look. "Once I told the entire diner about how I was rushing home to make up with my girlfriend, they sort of... adopted me. Hank gave me his number just in case I ran into any trouble on the way back."

"Oh," Willow said, blinking twice. "Does that mean you're a trucker mama now?" she asked, grinning delightedly. "Wait a minute," she went on, frowning again. "You told a diner full of truckers that you had a girlfriend?"

"Well, after Anya told them all I was gay, and Mac tried to set me up with his sister, I told him I already had a girl," she said shyly, squeezing Willow's hand.

"Mac has a gay sister? Who's Mac?" Buffy asked, her eyebrows raising. "How in the world did you find lesbian-friendly truckers?"

"Oh, dear lord," Giles uttered, taking off his glasses and cleaning them industriously, trying desperately to block out the conversation buzzing around his head.

"That's just what I asked Tara when we left," Anya said excitedly. "It is pretty bizarre, isn't it?"

"Honey, why'd you tell them all Tara was gay? It's really not their business," Xander asked gently.

"Well, when Hank was being friendly, I told him that if he wanted to have sex with either of us, he could forget it, because I'm engaged and Tara's gay. Was that wrong?" Anya asked innocently, making Tara chuckle. "Besides, Tara didn't mind. Did you?"

"So then what'd ol' Hank do?" Spike asked curiously, caught up in the narrative.

"Oh, he showed us pictures of his wife and his two adorable little kids," Tara said, joining in the narrative fun.

"Mac said that showing a picture of your girl is a trucker tradition when Tara showed them a picture of Willow," Anya cut in. Tara's eyes grew wide, and she glanced meaningfully at Anya, hoping she wouldn't tell the rest of this story. She wanted Willow to know about her drawing – wanted to get back into it – but she wanted to tell Willow herself.

"You had a picture of me?" Willow asked delightedly. "And you showed it to a bunch of truckers?"

"Oh, she didn't have a picture," Anya offered up, having missed Tara's look. "So she stole the waitresses pencil and drew one on a napkin.

"Actually, the drawing was really good," Anya said, leaning back on the couch and reaching into her pocket, pulling out a carefully folded but slightly rumpled napkin. Xander peered over her shoulder curiously as Anya unfolded it gingerly.

"Oh my God," Xander said, gently taking the napkin from Anya's hand and holding it up to the light so he could see it better. Dawn raced over to his side, her jaw dropping when she saw it.

"You drew me?" Willow finally asked, confusion evident on her features. "I didn't know you drew," she said slowly.

Determinedly, Willow walked over to Xander, pulling on Tara's hand and dragging her with her when she tried to stop her, an embarrassed look crossing Tara's face. Imperiously, Willow held out her hand, and Xander relinquished the napkin.

Willow's eyes widened when she saw herself – the same face she saw in the mirror every morning, sketched out in loving detail. Each little piece was a perfect rendition of her features. It was her face, but it wasn't.

Here, in her hand, was what Tara saw when she looked at her, and the vision made her heart skip a beat. Every little thing Willow had never liked about her face was there – each flaw and imperfection – but here in the picture, drawn by Tara's hand as seen by Tara's eye, it looked... beautiful. She, Willow, was beautiful in a way she had never considered herself before.

"I... is that what you see?" Willow asked, tearing her eyes away from the picture and looking at Tara.

"No, don't be embarrassed," she said, pressing a soft kiss to Tara's forehead. "It's... I love it. I love you."

"I – I wanted to... to show you my drawings myself," Tara confessed quietly. "But I... that's the first thing I've drawn since my mother..."

"Oh, honey," Willow said, pulling her into an embrace. The Scoobies shifted uncomfortably around them, looking everywhere but at the two women hugging in the middle of the room, but Willow and Tara didn't notice them, lost in their own world. "You... you're very talented. It's... it's really amazing," she said, pulling back to look at the picture again. "Can I have this?" she finally asked. "Can I frame it?"

"Of course you can have it, silly," Tara said, kissing her softly on the cheek. "You can have all my drawings."

"Actually," Giles said, coughing delicately. "You and Anya have had a very long drive, it's late, and we've gotten through quite a bit of material tonight. I think we should all get some rest and resume tomorrow," he said.

"Great idea," Buffy said, standing up and swinging her arms. "I'm going to go patrol... see if I can run into that Construct thing again."

"I'll go with you," Spike said, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat. "We've got lots of hours until sun-up."

"Does this mean Xander and I can go have sex now?" Anya asked, standing up and tugging Xander with her.

"Yes," Xander said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. He had missed Anya, and all the crazy things she said, so he couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed right now.

"Well," Giles said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them again, coughing lightly. "I'll just... make up the couch and get some rest, and I'll see you all tomorrow."

"Fine," Dawn said, standing up in a huff. "Just have all the fun breakthroughs while I'm at school," she went on, moving to the stairs. As she walked past, Buffy grabbed the back of her shirt, tugging her off the stairs gently.

"Thank you," she said simply, smiling and waving as Buffy, Spike, Xander and Anya filed out the door. Moments later, Anya rushed back in.

"I had fun," Anya said, giving Tara a great big hug. "We should do that again sometime, when we don't have to worry about Hell Gods and things."

Anya smiled happily, bouncing out the door, humming 'Wannabe', making Tara laugh.

"What was that all about?" Willow asked slowly. Tara tugged on her hand again, pulling her playfully up the stairs.

"Guess what Spike had in his car?" she asked, an impish smile lighting her features.

"Four Spice Girls tapes," Tara said, laughing at the thunderstruck expression on Willow's face as she stopped in her tracks right outside their door.

"Uh-huh," Tara said, nodding. She opened the door, feeling a sense of peace settle around her as she walked into their room. It felt so good to call it that again. Their room.

Willow walked in, closing the door behind her. "The Spice Girls?" she asked again, her image of Spike turning on its side and dancing the hula.

"If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends," Tara sang softly, performing the choreography she and Anya had put together. "Make it last forever, friendship never ends."

"If you wannabe my lover, you have got to give," Tara pressed on, grinning at the sound of Willow's laughter. "Taking is too easy... that's the way it is!"

Willow wheezed helplessly, falling onto the bed and laughing harder, Tara flopping down next to her and joining laughing along.

"Oh, I needed that," Willow finally said, a few more chuckles shaking her frame.

"Anything you need, anytime you need it," Tara said seriously, leaning up on one elbow and looking down at the redhead.

"Right now?" Tara asked uncertainly, not sure she wanted to get into the conversation her drawings would naturally lead to right at that moment.

"Well, okay," Tara said, rolling off the bed and gaining her feet. "I'm gonna' get in my pajamas first," she said, moving to the drawers and pulling out a nightgown.

"Oh, umm... should I, uhh..." Willow said, motioning towards the door, suddenly uncertain as to exactly where they stood with each other.

"Umm... how about... you, uhh... help?" Tara offered slowly, looking up at Willow through her eyelashes.

"Help?" Willow said, her voice cracking on the word like a pubescent boy. "Oh, umm... sure," she said, walking over to Tara. "I, uhh," she began, moving her hands towards Tara's body several times, then drawing them back.

"Hey," Tara said, lifting Willow's chin so that their eyes met. "C'mere," she said softly, pressing a light kiss to Willow's lips and tugging her into her arms.

Willow's eyes drifted shut, her arms wrapping around Tara in return. All too soon, the kiss ended, but the embrace lingered, and Willow let herself relax in Tara's arms.

"Okay," Willow said after a moment, pressing her lips gently, reverently, to Tara's neck. "Let's get you changed," she said, pulling back and tugging Tara's t-shirt out of her jeans. Tara lifted her arms over her head, letting Willow pull it completely off, then pulled her in for another hug, humming her approval when Willow traced the soft skin of her back.

"Let's get you, too," Tara said, turning in Willow's arms and opening a drawer as Willow pressed her cheek to her back in a hug. Tara smiled and pushed around several articles of clothing, finally finding the comfy flannel pajamas with the happy little monkeys on them and pulling them out. "Off with the comfy sweats, and on with the comfy monkeys," Tara said, turning back around and tossing her nightgown and Willow's pajamas on the bed.

"Shoes," Willow instructed, and Tara laughed, kicking off her shoes as she tugged Willow's top up and over her head, leaving her short hair in a state of adorable disarray. Tara found herself unable to resist the cuteness, and leaned in again, pressing her lips to Willow's for several long moments as Willow expertly unclasped and removed her bra.

"Nice," Tara murmured, getting another hug, and biting back a moan as their bare breasts pressed together.

"Uh-huh," Willow agreed, nodding into Tara's hair. Tara tilted her head up to place a light kiss on Willow's temple, her hands sliding down Willow's sides and past her hips, taking the fabric of her sweat pants with them.

"Commando?" Tara asked, raising an eyebrow as Willow stepped out of the pool of material at her feet. "Oh, honey," she said before Willow could respond, her brow furrowing as she lightly traced the visible ribs on Willow's torso.

"That's not good for you," Tara admonished, reaching around Willow to grab her pajamas. She helped Willow step into the bottoms, then slipped the top over her head, tugging her arms into place. Willow smiled, feeling absurdly like a three-year-old, but completely loved and cherished by the woman standing topless in front of her.

Then again, maybe she didn't feel three years old, she mused, a warm flush steeling over her as she gazed at Tara's breasts.

"I thought you wanted to see drawings," Tara said with a knowing look, causing Willow to blush harder and snap her green eyes up to meet Tara's blue.

"No, let me," Willow said softly, reaching out and undoing the button. She lowered the zipper, then hooked her thumbs under the jeans and Tara's panties, sliding them past her hips and letting them fall to the floor. "You're so beautiful," Willow said on a sigh, letting one hand rest gently on Tara's waist.

"Here," Willow said, turning and picking up Tara's nightgown. Tara raised her arms, and Willow slipped the nightgown onto her body, tugging the smooth fabric into place. "There," she said, smiling at Tara.

"I'll grab the drawings. You get in bed," Tara offered, moving to the trunk that held her art supplies and lifting the lid.

"Okay," Willow said happily, feeling as though everything was right in her world. None of it mattered, really. Not the Hell God. Not her illness. None of it could touch the joy and contentment she felt sharing this time with Tara. She got into the bed, turning off all but one light, situating the pillows behind her so she could sit up comfortably resting against the headboard.

Tara paused, her hand resting on the sketchbook, a flash of uncertainty rushing through her. Was Willow ready for this? Was she ready to tell her?

Her hand closed on the book, and she lifted it, cradling it against her chest and rising. No more secrets, she decided inwardly. With wary resolution, unsure of the reception this revelation would receive, she crawled into the bed, sliding under the covers and snuggling up to Willow's side, her head resting on her shoulder.

Eagerly, Willow took the book, raising her knees and resting it against them. She flipped back the cover, and stared.

"I... how did you do that?" Willow asked in amazement. "That's exactly what I looked like. I don't think I showed you any pictures, or..."

"Turn the page," Tara said. With a puzzled frown, Willow complied, seeing her own face again, only a little older. Her face wasn't as lean as it was now, and she guessed she was probably fifteen or sixteen in the picture.

"Did Xander show you old pictures or something?" Willow asked. "How... I mean, you drew these while you were on your trip?"

"No," Tara said softly, shaking her head against Willow's shoulder. Willow tucked her chin back so she could look down at Tara's face, seeing the slightly worried expression there.

"Before my mother died," Tara said, turning her head so she could look back at Willow.

"Yeah," Tara said. "I... I used to dream about you. When I was little, you were my best friend," she confided solemnly. "And when I grew older, I used to dream that you'd come to my house in a magic helicopter, and you'd take my mom and me away to someplace where we'd be happy and safe all the time."

"Why – why didn't you tell me that before?" Willow wondered aloud. "And... you... you didn't feel... safe? At home?" Willow questioned tentatively, fearing the answer.

"No," Tara said, shaking her head, her eyes watering. "It... my dad and Donnie, they'd... umm," she started, pausing to compose herself.

"Hey," Willow said, closing the sketchpad and setting it aside, scooting down and turning so she was lying face to face with Tara, reaching up a hand to gently trace the lines of her face. "What'd they do, baby?" she asked gently, trying to meet Tara's eyes with her own, only to find that Tara kept glancing away.

"They'd, uhh... I remember once, when I was... oh, eight. Nine, maybe? Mama and I went on a walk, and she was teaching me about the plants," Tara related in a small child-like voice, her eyes troubled and distant. "She was gathering some up in a little basket, and then she took my hand, and we walked back to the house. It got dark, and kind of spooky, but Mama was there, so I wasn't scared. And then we got into the house, and Papa grabbed her basket. He started yelling, and he was... he was so angry. Then Mama told me to go to my room, so I went up the stairs, and Donnie was waiting for me at the top," she said, her voice trailing off.

"Then what happened, sweetheart?" Willow asked gently, her eyes sad as she looked at Tara.

"Donnie said that Papa was gonna' hit Mama, and that she deserved it, because she was evil," Tara said simply. "He said that I was evil, too, and that Mama and I had to be kept in line, so that we didn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. He said we deserved it, because we were bad. I called him a liar, and tried to move past him, but he pushed me down. Then he sat on my chest and pinned my arms with his knees, and told me to listen. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. Then I heard Papa and Mama yelling at each other, and then I heard the hitting. I started crying, and Donnie slapped me hard, in the face. Just once, but he said that as I got older, he and Papa would have to hit me more, to keep the town safe."

Willow's chest ached and her jaw was clenched tight, a deep anger rising up in her. She pushed it down, but it called to the darkness inside her, lending it strength and weight. She shut her eyes tight, her body taut as a bowstring.

"I -" Willow ground out through clenched teeth, pulling Tara fully back to the present.

"Shh," Tara said gently, rolling onto her back and pulling Willow into her arms. "It's okay," she soothed, stroking Willow's hair as she trembled. "I got out, and I'm okay now," she said sincerely. "Everything's okay now."

"But... how could they... you're so... and they," Willow said, lifting her head and opening her eyes. Tara flinched when she saw the black inky pools where she usually saw her beloved green. "They... I..." Willow stammered, her whole body starting to shake.

"Willow," Tara said, looking deep into the black magick eyes for the first time. And found, oddly, that she couldn't hate what she saw. There, in the swirling inky depths, she saw pain and fear – Willow's pain and fear, and instead of the revulsion, she felt only sorrow and compassion and a deep bottomless love for this woman who felt so strongly, with all of her being, on Tara's behalf.

"I... I can't," Willow groaned, shutting her eyes tight again, darkness leaking from the corners as she convulsed. Tara's heart ached, and she saw – truly saw – exactly how torturous stopping the magick was for Willow. How much strength did it take for this woman to clamp down on these emotions, and stop herself from casting? Feeling that strongly, Tara wondered if she could do the same.

It was... scary, seeing Willow's eyes shift to that eerie blackness, but... Tara knew, like she knew how to breathe, that Willow was fighting the darkness the Trickster kept sending with everything she had. And that, Tara realized, made all the difference. And if the root of Willow's problems rested in her lack of faith in herself, then Tara would just have to have enough faith for the both of them.

"I love you," Tara said simply, reaching out and brushing her fingers against the black tears, gasping when she felt exactly what Willow was feeling – all her rage and heartache transferring through that touch. "Willow, come back to me," she whispered as the blackness disappeared, leaving only a natural trail of tears sliding down Willow's face.

"They... hit you?" Willow asked, her eyes fluttering open, revealing an aching sadness in their green depths, and she reached out to cup Tara's cheek in one hand.

"Yeah," Tara admitted, nodding her head a little and taking in a deep shuddering breath. "Are you okay?" she asked, brushing away Willow's tears gently with her thumb.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Willow breathed, a fiercely protective streak welling up inside. "It's... this darkness is building, and I'm fighting it – God, I'm trying. I'm trying so hard."

"I know you are," Tara said, leaning in, Willow's eyes fluttering shut as Tara brushed soft kisses across her eyelids. "I know you're fighting, baby – and I'm here to help you fight it."

"I didn't know... I'm so sorry they... God, how could they?" Willow asked, looking a little lost. "And I... I just ...I wish I had been there. I wish I had been your best friend when you were a little girl, and that when you were older I had come for you in a magic helicopter. I wish I'd taken you and your mother away to someplace you could be safe and happy," Willow said, her voice heavy with regret.

"Things happen for a reason," Tara said, her voice serene. "And if I had had a nice home life, I never would have come to Sunnydale. I never would have met you."

"I – That... that can't have been worth it," Willow said tremulously, her face falling. "I'm sorry that... that I'm not what you've deserved."

Tara opened her mouth to say more, but stopped when Willow spoke in a rush. "What happened when you went back?" Willow asked quickly. "Are you... did they... You're all right? You're okay?"

"I'm fine. It was... really strange," Tara said slowly. "It was... almost like my dad was a different man. He was polite, and respectful. We talked, and he... he said it wouldn't make up for what he did, but he was sorry. And that he'd been wrong, and that he'd let the people of the town and his own superstitions and fears overrule his better judgment in how he treated my mother and I."

"I... Tara, that's..." Willow said, unsure of how to respond to that development.

"That's pretty much what I was thinking," Tara said wryly. "I... just didn't know what to think. Then Donnie showed up," Tara related. "He hasn't changed."

"Hurt me?" Tara asked. "No, but he tried. Dad realized that Donnie was outside as Anya and I were leaving, and he came out on the porch with a gun."

"MmmHmm... and he pretty much threatened to shoot Donnie if he didn't back off and let me go in peace," Tara said, a look of wonder crossing her face as she thought of her father sticking up for her.

"I think he really did," Tara said, a full smile crossing her face. "I, umm... I still don't know if I want to go visit, or have him here, but I think... I think I'll probably write to him. About how things are going here. He had lots of questions about Sunnydale."

"Yeah," Tara confirmed. "It's... I had given up hope of ever... of ever really knowing my father. And then, it was like – it was just handed to me. Like a gift."

"Then I'm happy for you," Willow said, letting go of the anger she wanted to hold against the man on her lover's behalf. "You have... such a big heart," she said, a tremulous smile on her lips. "I've never known anyone who could love as selflessly as you."

"No, I... I'm very selfish," Willow disagreed with a frown, her eyes full of pain and regret. "I've been... I've been selfish."

"No, not selfish," Tara disagreed with a shake of her head. "Scared. You've been scared."

"Yeah, I'm... I... I've been doing a lot of thinking, 'cuz y'know, this whole 'gonna die in a couple of weeks' thing, it... sorta' makes you think," Willow started to babble, only to stop when Tara pressed a finger to her lips.

"No talk of dying," Tara said seriously. "Because I'm not letting you go." Her words slipped in Willow's ears, and made their way down to wrap gently around her heart, holding her fast to the here and now, making the chances of her dying seem... ridiculously small in the face of such utter certainty.

"Okay," Willow agreed after a moments pause, letting her faith in Tara dispel her fears. "But I... I've still been thinking, and I realized that... I've been so stupid about the magick because I'm so scared that... that I'm... that I don't deserve the people in my life," she confessed slowly.

"Anya and I had lots of time to talk," Tara said wryly. "She... she told me about what high school was like for you. And I just... I want to go back there and grab everyone who made you feel less than you were by the shoulders and just... shake some sense into them," she confessed. "It's... they made fun of you. I don't like that."

"I was pretty damn ridiculous," Willow said, unwittingly defending those who had hurt her so badly. "I... I didn't dress right, I didn't say the right things... I was too smart, and not pretty enough. I just... I never saw why such wonderful people would care about me, when not even my parents ever gave a damn. I mean, the only time my mom ever really took notice of what I was doing, she tried to burn me a the stake."

"No," Tara said, shifting so they were laying side by side again, facing each other. "They were stupid thoughtless kids who didn't realize what a treasure you are. And you're parents – Willow, I don't know how two people who are so clearly dumb had a daughter as smart as you. And the stake thing was a Hellmouth thing, right? I mean, even Joyce got all caught up in that. So you listen to me," she went on, her voice intense, capturing Willow with her gaze. "You're beautiful, and I love how your brain works. And the way you babble... it's just... it's the most endearing thing in the whole world," she went on, earning a shy smile from Willow. "And who cares if you weren't wearing the latest fashions? You were surrounded by shallow morons, but that's not your fault."

"Thank you," Willow said, letting herself really hear and believe the words as Tara spoke them. In her mind, she had always known that what Tara said was true, but in her heart? She had always felt like something was wrong with her – something terrible, or why else would people make fun of her like that?

But hearing it from Tara – knowing that Tara knew just how unaccepted she had been, and was still there with her, snuggled up in bed – it gave her heart something to hold on to. It gave her heart something to believe in.

"You're welcome," Tara said, kissing Willow gently. "I love you, you know," she said seriously, brushing a bit of hair back from Willow's face. "More than anything." Their lips brushed, again and again, then their eyes fluttered closed as they made firmer contact, both caught by surprise by a rising need that demanded they re-connect on the most basic level.

Tara gasped, a slow burning starting up in the pit of her stomach and spreading as Willow's tongue reached out tentatively to trace her lips, her hand resting delicately on her hip. Tara reached her hand up to Willow's jaw, tracing it lightly, then urging her closer, opening her mouth to the woman she loved.

Their kiss deepened with twin moans, and Tara shifted back, pulling Willow with her until Willow's warm, firm body lay fully upon her own, her delicious weight pressing her into the mattress. Hands traced lightly over shoulders and arms, their kisses slow and tender.

Willow's heart raced as she felt Tara's soft body moving beneath her, and Tara's hands tracing whisper soft caresses along her back and shoulders through her flannel pajama top. She pulled back from the kiss, taking in deep lungfuls of air before diving back, drawn helplessly to the lush fullness of Tara's lips. Tara's breath caught in the back of her throat as Willow's mouth descended upon hers again, this time hungry and passionate. She let her hands trail down Willow's back, easing them back up under her shirt, raking her nails softly across the skin there and making Willow shiver.

Their kisses slowed and eased as they explored each other's mouths, each feeling as if it had been too long since they had last kissed like this. Playfully, Willow nipped lightly at Tara's lower lip, a slow smile spreading across both their faces before their kisses intensified again, their joyful passion rising.

Willow was always aware, in the back of her mind, of this kind of pressure, pushing her towards magick and darkness, her insecurities and fears threatening to break loose from the place she had locked them tightly within her. Tara's touch and kiss pierced the very heart of her, the light of their love chasing back the shadows, freeing her from her prison.

"Are you okay?" Tara asked slowly, pulling back when she tasted the saltiness of Willow's tears on her lips.

"More than okay," Willow said, raising herself up on her elbows, a beatific smile crossing her face.

"No, I don't want to stop," Willow said. "Umm... do you? Want to stop?" she asked carefully. "Because if... I mean, if you're not ready, I -"

"I don't ever want to stop," Tara said. Willow bit back a groan when Tara's fingers and palms brushed over her achingly hard nipples as she slowly pushed her shirt up her body. Their eyes locked as Tara reached behind Willow, pulling the back of her shirt up to her shoulders, that contact breaking when Willow had to duck her head as Tara kept pulling. The shirt slid down Willow's upper arms, landing on Tara's chest, her forearms still encased in the fabric. "No, stay," Tara said, when Willow started to sit up, intent on removing the piece of clothing entirely.

Instead, Willow merely nodded, caught in Tara's eyes as Tara ran her fingers lightly up her sides, over her shoulders, then back down the front, trailing around the curves of her breasts, and past her ribs. Willow's eyes drifted shut as she bit her lip when Tara slid her hands up her stomach to gently cup her breasts.

"Oh, God, I've missed you so much," Willow moaned, her head dropping forward, her forehead resting against Tara's as Tara teased and pinched her nipples.

Tara adored Willow's body – every dip and curve and angle. And touching Willow? It thrilled her, the feel of Willow's skin against her hands sending shockwaves of arousal through her body and to her core. But the angle was awkward, so Tara arched her hips, pressing into Willow and turning them over, lifting Willow's arms, still tangled in her shirt, over her head, grinning wickedly as her lover gasped at the sudden change of positions.

Willow opened her mouth to speak, only to have her words stolen away by a groan when Tara immediately ducked her head, her tongue finding her nipple and lavishing it with attention. Two strong hands held her elbows easily, keeping her arms raised as Tara's leg slipped between her own.

Reflexively, Willow's back arched, pressing her nipple against Tara's mouth, her action rewarded when Tara began suckling on it gently. Willow really had no idea how she had been tossed onto her back so easily, but she couldn't complain – didn't have the breath to complain, anyway.

Tara toyed with Willow's nipple, alternating a gentle suction with light nips and licks, groaning softly when Willow's hips arched against her thigh, feeling the heat of her lover through the meager layers of fabric separating them.

"God, Willow," Tara moaned out, moving to the other nipple and pressing her leg firmly against Willow's center, the heat radiating there calling to her.

"What do you need, Baby?" Tara asked, her breath playing over Willow's nipple making her shiver.

"You," Willow gasped, even as Tara's hand started drifting down her body, torturously slow. "Now, please," Willow begged, Tara's fingers blazing a trail of fire across her skin to dip teasingly below her waistband, tugging the elastic down around Willow's hips to grant her easier access.

"Tell me," Tara requested, freeing Willow's arms and moving back up to kiss her gently, her hand sliding further into her pants. Willow tossed her shirt off the bed, reaching up and tangling her fingers in Tara's hair, pulling her head down and kissing her deeply.

"Inside... I need you inside," Willow gasped out against Tara's mouth. Tara moaned, sliding her fingers through Willow's wetness, the slick heat coating her fingers. Willow whimpered as Tara entered her, arching her hips to taker her lover into her body more fully.

"You feel so good," Tara groaned, their open mouths brushing together, Willow's hands, sliding down Tara's body to her waist, gathering the silky fabric there in her hands and pulling it up past Tara's hips

"God, Baby, you're so wet," Willow murmured, her fingers teasingly trailing along between Tara's legs, then gasping as Tara started moving inside of her, pumping in and out slowly.

"Take me," Tara demanded on a whisper, groaning when Willow complied, her fingers entering her slowly. "Oh, God, Willow..." Tara moaned, raising herself up on one arm and straightening it, pumping her hips on Willow's fingers and gazing into her eyes as they gave each other the most intimate caress.

"So good... so good," Willow mumbled, her eyelids heavy as her hips rocked against Tara's hand, unable to tear her eyes away from the look on Tara's face. The loving, wanting look, that thrilled her, knowing she had put it there.

"Oh, yes, Willow," Tara gasped, moving her hand and her hips faster, then biting down on her lower lip, watching Willow's face display all the pleasure she was giving her, and the love she had for her.

Their moans and cries filled the room as they moved faster – harder – against each other, their eyes never leaving the other's face.

"Willow, baby... I'm... so... close, so close," Tara managed to say, her words barely intelligible through her gasps.

"Oh, Tara... Tara, baby," Willow responded, pulling Tara down on top of her as they came together, pleasure coursing through their bodies in waves, meeting and multiplying and returning, again and again until they lay together limply, gasping for air.

"MmmHmmm," Tara agreed lazily, a satisfied smile stealing across her face as she, too, withdrew.

They laid snuggled together, floating a foot above the bed, exchanging soft touches and smiles, and the occasional gentle kiss, neither needing to say with words what they had said with their bodies moments before.

Everywhere, a gray mist swirled, cool against her skin as she walked through it. She waved her hands, trying to separate it... trying to see something. Anything. Tara struggled to discern any shapes or marks around her to get her bearings, but there was nothing. Nothing but the gray mist and the pounding of her own heart, unnaturally loud in her ears.

Then, a flash of red. She followed. The ground was level and her steps easy as she walked, then ran, eager to reach her destination.

"I'll find you. I'll always find you," she heard as it echoed across the expanse of gray nothingness, returning and returning again. The words rolled around her, echoing back to her as if she had been their source.

She turned all the way around, again and again, before she caught another glimpse of red.

She stumbled forward, the ground rougher here, and rocky. Where was Willow? Again, she called out her lover's name, the name feeling odd on her lips, yet familiar.

Tara paused, looking around he in confusion and trying to make sense of the grayness. She had seen Margaret, hadn't she? She heard a noise ahead, and she started climbing, up and up the gray mist giving way to jagged dark gray stones against a coal black sky.

Her lover. Her lover needed her, and hadn't she promised to find her? Or had her lover promised to do the finding? She had to keep looking.

She continued her climb, the slope getting steeper as she went, until she was moving forward awkwardly on hands and knees, no longer able to remain upright.

The sharp edges of stone cut into her flesh, cruelly ripping it to shreds, but still she pressed on, the physical agony far less tormenting than the searing pain in her soul at her separation from her beloved.

She crawled for days and weeks – months and years – and still there was nothing. Nothing but the black sky and the rocks and the pain, and a burning deep inside of her that moved her inexorably forward, until her blood ran hot and dark like a river down the stones, her flesh healing just as it became so torn she could not go on, only to be torn again.

Each time the flesh fell from her hands, stripped from her body down to the bone, and her knees were so destroyed they would no longer bend, she paused. Then, she felt her failure to her core, the sharp pain of her loss nearly paralyzing her. Her body didn't matter to her – only reaching the top mattered. Or the bottom? Which way was she going? Up or down?

She didn't know or care – she just had to get there – had to get to her lover and look into her laughing green eyes.

And then she was there, after decades of toil, on a broad flat plain of obsidian, the mountain she had climbed nowhere in sight. She was at the beginning, or the end. Of what, she couldn't tell.

Her stinging hands pulled her attention, and she looked at the black ichor running from her wounds, dripping down her fingers and pooling at her feet.

She fell to her knees, her screams ripping through the eerie stillness, pounding her fists against the smooth glassy surface, leaving a sticky trail of blackness behind.

Her screams turned to wails, and she pulled her hands to her, dragging them palm-down across the obsidian and looking around her with wild and desperate eyes.

She looked down, seeing the dark smears she had left glowing and transparent. With a sob, she pressed her face to the surface, her eyes drinking in the sight of her lover. Her mate. Her everything.

And she was there, too. There, but not there. There, but watching, as if seeing a distant half-forgotten memory from the wrong angle.

She pounded her fists as she watched, trying to break through the surface. She pounded, again and again, but nothing could crack the cold ground she lay against. Her frustration grew as she watched the two women sitting on a hillside within a circle of stones, crying.

"There isn't. I've looked. Believe me, I've looked," was the agonized response, and the two women reached for each other, falling into each other's arms.

"But the cost?" I can't lose you. I've only just found you." Tara sobbed helplessly at those words as she watched the scene unfold, knowing instinctively how their story ended, and thinking of Willow. Oh, God, Willow – she had only just found Willow again. How could she lose her now?

"I don't know what will happen. It's... it's dangerous. But I swear, if it takes all eternity, in this life or the next, I will never give up searching. I will find you. I will always find you."

Tara felt the truth of that promise settle into her soul, the words giving her some measure of comfort in this dark place. But here – here was a vision of the past. And she was in the present, and there was no Willow. She sat up, scanning the emptiness around her again, curling into a ball and whimpering when she realized how alone she really was. No matter who was around, without Willow, she was alone.

She sat up, looking around her again, hope surging within her. She would find Willow. She'd searched for an eternity, and now she would find her.

"Tara? Wake up, baby," she heard Willow's voice call, and she was bound to heed its request. The dream faded around her as she struggled out of her sleep, her eyelashes fluttering open to look into concerned green eyes gazing down at her.

"Hello, Sleepyhead," Willow greeted, a delighted smile crossing her face. "Normally, I'd let you sleep, 'cuz I love watching you sleep, but you know me – I'm all 'worry girl' and you were kind of tossing and turning and it didn't look like it was restful at all, and you're frowning, and that can't be good."

"Yeah?" Willow said nervously. "Damn. I knew I should've let you sleep, 'cuz – hey – it's sleep, and it's good for you and Anya said you were No-Sleep Tara the whole time you were gone, and -"

Willow found herself unable to continue her self-recriminations as warm, soft lips pressed insistently against her own, eliciting a happy little squeak from the redhead. After a long moment, Tara pulled back, pressing a quick loving kiss to Willow's forehead.

"Umm... hi," Willow said shyly, looking down at her lover as she settled herself back down on her pillows with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Hi yourself," Tara said, reaching up and brushing back a strand of Willow's hair. She smiled lazily at the other woman, feeling happy and content to be there with her, within easy reach. She remembered the images from her dream, but the feelings of helplessness and pain had disappeared when she had opened her eyes and seen Willow there looking back at her. "What time is it?" she asked, unwilling to look away from Willow to check the clock herself.

"Eleven AM," Willow said with a smile. "I'm sorry I woke you, but I was kinda' worried about ya'."

"Well, we didn't actually sleep until about three in the morning," Willow said slowly. "And you were already tired. I shouldn't have kept you up," she said with a frown.

"And what are you doing up?" Tara asked, her own frown crossing her face. "You're just as tired, if not more tired, than I am. And I don't like that you... you've lost a lot of weight, Willow," she said seriously, placing her hand on Willow's side and tracing her ribs with her thumb.

"I'm okay," Willow said earnestly. "In fact, I haven't felt this good in a long time. No vomiting, no shakes, no weird visions and things. I feel great."

"Did you eat breakfast?" Tara asked concernedly. "And just how long have you been up?"

"Yes, I ate breakfast," Willow said, a small smile crossing her face and her eyes taking on a warm glow at Tara's concern. "And I had an eight o'clock class."

"Willow," Tara said, affectionate exasperation evident in her voice. "You could miss every single class and just go take the tests, and you wouldn't get behind. Tuesday and Thursday is – what? Physics and the 'Math That Would Make My Poor Brain Melt Right Out Of My Head'? But Physics isn't 'til later, right?"

"It's not that hard," Willow protested. "You could so totally do it if you wanted to. And yeah, Physics is at two."

"If it's not that hard, why'd you have to go when you've been sick?" Tara shot back.

"I – I'm sorry," Willow stammered, buckling under Tara's obvious displeasure. She certainly hadn't meant to upset her – she'd just... she'd woken up in such a good mood, and Tara looked like she needed her sleep and she hadn't wanted to wake her, so she'd just... gone to class. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Hey, it's okay," Tara reassured, seeing the flash of hurt in Willow's eyes. "I'm not your boss, I'm your girlfriend. I just... I'm worried about you."

"No," Tara deadpanned. "I stay up most the night making love to all the girls who aren't my girlfriend."

Willow blushed, looking sheepish. "Well, okay, duh – stupid question, Rosenberg. But – we didn't really talk about... that, and I didn't want to just assume."

"Then consider this our talk," Tara said firmly. "Not that I won't leave you again in a heartbeat if you ever do anything that hurtful again, no matter how much it tears me up inside to go," she added quietly.

"I can't promise I won't," Willow said seriously, reaching out and tracing Tara's face with a finger. "But I can promise that I'll never do anything that hurtful on purpose again. That I'll always think about how things affect you before I do them. I might mess up – not with the magick, because I'm through with that – but I might do something that hurts you, but I promise I'll try not to. That if I ever do, it won't be because I was being thoughtless or disrespectful."

"I can accept that," Tara said seriously. There was something comforting about Willow's promise – like it was far more believable than a promise to never hurt her. People hurt each other – that's just the way relationships worked. But Willow's promise to think first, and to always consider her – that was something she could believe in. "So how was class?" Tara asked, needing to get away from the heaviness of the previous topic. Everything that had happened the past several days had been so... jarring, so earth-shattering, that she longed for a little normalcy.

"Buffy went with me," Willow said quickly. "And she made sure I had food and everything."

"You made Buffy go to your 'Brain Pain' math class?" Tara asked with a giggle, remembering one time she had picked up Willow's math text book and flipped through it, the symbols and formulas swimming before her eyes and making absolutely no sense.

"She, uhh... kept making paper airplanes," Willow said sheepishly. "She kept tossing them when the teacher was writing stuff on the board. I tried to tell her she'd hate that class, but she insisted."

"Well, I'm glad she was with you," Tara said firmly. "You shouldn't be out by yourself."

"I know you're not," Tara said. "I just... Hell Gods? Constructs? I'm worried. I can't help but worry," Tara defended herself.

"You. Worrying about me," she said, suddenly finding the comforter on the bed extremely fascinating and staring at it intently.

"I'll always worry about you," Tara said, cupping Willow's face in her hands and lifting her eyes to meet her own. "It's part of loving you," she went on, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

"I'm scared," Willow finally confessed in a small voice when the kiss ended, lifting her own hand to cover Tara's. "I – I don't really... I don't know what to do. And everyone's... they're all freaked, and I can't – they can't see how... how much this scares me, or they're just going to freak even more."

Tara listened to Willow's words, pulling her into her arms and rocking her gently. "Me, too," she said softly into Willow's hair, tucking the red head underneath her chin and holding Willow close. "I'm scared, too, but... we'll figure something out. We have to."

Willow stayed there in her arms, soaking up the comfort and love Tara offered, and pouring out her fears.

"I... I really don't want to die," Willow said, her voice trembling. "I mean, yeah, duh – no one wants to die, right? And it's stupid to think that I couldn't – because I'm a Scooby and it's dangerous. But, I... I want to finish college. I wanna' be a part of the ritual tag-team grilling of Dawn's prom date. I wanna' get all wrinkled and gray and ornery with you, terrorizing the neighbor kids and yelling at them to stay off our lawn," she said with a sniffle.

"Hey – the neighbor kids can play on our lawn if they want," Tara protested, stroking Willow's hair and rocking her gently.

"See? That's a fight we might never have!" Willow explained. "I wanna get to be the crazy mean lady who lives with the really nice lady who bakes cookies. And I wanna' get to laugh at all the clueless people who'll think we're spinster sisters."

Tara laughed gently. "You're going to be a sweet old lady, and you know it," she said. "And I'm not letting you out of that. I... I can't imagine doing any of those things without you."

"You're allowed to wallow, Willow. You can be my Willow-Wallower," Tara said emphatically. "You need to vent, and I'll listen to all of it. This is your safe place, remember?"

"No, this is my safe place," Willow said, giving Tara a little squeeze. After a moment of quiet comfort, Willow sat up, kissing Tara lightly on the cheek. "I think I'm done wallowing for right now. You wanna' get out of bed, or sleep some more?"

"That depends," Tara said, sitting up and running her hands up and down Willow's sides. "Are you saying yes?"

Willow's answer was a soft slow kiss, and Tara hummed her approval, wrapping her arms around Willow's neck. Slowly, Willow lowered Tara back to the mattress, never breaking the contact of their kiss.

The knock sounded again, and with an exasperated sigh, Willow lifted her head to call out, "Go away. I'm kissing my girlfriend senseless." With that, she went back to it, kissing Tara thoroughly as she giggled.

"As much as I hate to interrupt quality smooching time, Mary Ellen is here to check on Willow," Buffy called through the door. "And Willow? Your computer is beeping, and it's making Giles nervous."

"I'm being kissed senseless," Tara called out, pulling away from Willow long enough to say the words. "Come back later," she said, pulling Willow closer as Willow, too, began to laugh between kisses.

"I'm not dealing with a nervous Giles any longer," Buffy insisted. "So you'd both better be dressed when I open this door in about three seconds." Buffy paused, then added nervously, "you ARE both dressed, right?"

"No. We're totally naked," Willow yelled, only to have her assertion ruined by Tara's peals of laughter. Cautiously, the door opened, and Willow and Tara sat up as Buffy poked her head in with a wary look on her face.

"Liar," she accused Willow, leveling a mock glare on the redhead. Buffy stifled a grin at Tara and Willow's mussed clothing and hair.

"You. Downstairs. Stop the evil beeping, and go see Mary Ellen," Buffy said pointedly.

"Gotcha," Willow said, standing up and turning back towards Tara. "You gonna' go back to sleep, sweetie."

"Right, umm... I'll just... go now. Computer beeping and nervous Giles and all," a flustered Willow said.

"Come on, Will," Buffy urged, venturing into the room to grab the arm of Willow's sweater and tug her from the room. "Geeze, you'd think you'd have gotten that all out of your system last night," Buffy muttered as they went down the stairs.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Willow answered, a blush crawling up her neck.

"Hmmm... me, coming back from patrol. Me, walking up the stairs. Me, hearing strange noises from the master bedroom in the otherwise quiet house despite the extremely late hour," Buffy said, her lips twitching.

"I know what you were doing, Will," Buffy said, smirking at her friend. "So stop trying to explain before you hurt yourself, okay?"

"Umm... yeah. Good idea," Willow said enthusiastically. "This is a strong plan, and I'm very happy to be a part of it."

"Whatever," Buffy said with an affectionate look and a roll of her eyes, pushing Willow gently into the living room.

"Willow! Good morning," Mary Ellen said, standing up with a kindly smile. "Your Mr. Giles seems to be very nervous about the beeping. I'd fix it, but I don't know anything about Apple computers. My son showed me how to use Windows," she explained.

"Well, it's mostly the same," Willow said. "Mostly," she stressed. "There's some big differences in software and definitely in the underlying OS, but... it's the same kind of point and click interface," she explained, sitting in front of her computer and clicking an icon. "See? I just had mail. Beeping taken care of."

"Well, that did look rather easy, didn't it?" Giles asked curiously, peering over Willow's shoulder.

"I... I'll just stick with my books," Giles hedged, backing away from the machine. "Lovely talking with you again, Mary Ellen," Giles said. "I'll just... be in the kitchen."

"Mary Ellen told Giles this was like a... ummm – Well," Buffy started to explain.

"A gynecological exam. Can I help it if the dear man believed me?" Mary Ellen asked innocently.

"When you get to be my age, you've got to take pleasure in the little things. Telling your Mr. Giles that this was a very... personal matter amused me," Mary Ellen explained, no hint of remorse in her tone or features. "He's got to learn to know when people are lying outright to him."

"Oh, umm... sure," Willow said nervously, sitting down in the center of the rug in the clear space Buffy had made moving the table.

"Now, I want you to relax, Willow," Mary Ellen said. "I know this is hard for you, but I'm just going to sprinkle some herbs in a circle around you, chant a little, then look. Okay?"

Willow just nodded, trying to relax and stamp down the fear rising in her. She had been really out of it last time Mary Ellen had performed this ritual around her, and she wasn't sure how she would react this time. Would she freak out? Would the dark magick rise up in her and demand she cast? She honestly had no idea, and it scared her.

"I said relax," Mary Ellen said with a little smile, looking at Willow sitting stiff as a board in the center of the circle she had made.

"What's going on here?" Tara demanded, coming down the stairs and seeing Willow sitting in the middle of a magickal circle.

"I'm not casting," Willow said quickly, turning her head and craning her neck to look at Tara standing behind her.

"I'm just checking to see how bad the dark magick build-up is," Mary Ellen explained. "You must be Tara. I'm Mary Ellen."

"Umm... nice to meet you," Tara said warily, looking at the circle, then back up at Mary Ellen. "This won't... hurt her?"

"Of course not," Mary Ellen said firmly. "It's just to see how she's doing, and how much dark magick she has in her system right now. It doesn't actually do anything... it just lets us look at what's already happening. We're hoping it's gone down a little, or at least hasn't gone up very much."

"Okay," Tara said, moving to sit on the couch next to Buffy, watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes.

"Umm... honey?" Willow asked after a moment, looking straight ahead at Mary Ellen again.

"Oh, sorry," Tara said, forcing herself to relax and composing her expression. Willow nodded, and Mary Ellen began, sitting across from Willow outside the circle and chanting in a language that seemed to tickle Willow and Tara's ears, as if they should know it.

A gray mist rose up in the circle, then coalesced around Willow as she shuddered, trying to relax and maintain her focus on not casting any spells. The herbs used, thankfully, had no scent, and when she closed her eyes and didn't look at them, the voices in her head remained silent.

The mist moved, a core of deep black hovering on Willow's skin, surrounded by a clear white. The white and black mists moved around each other, swirling and twining together in a never ending dance. A thick black strand of the vapor formed at Willow's middle, pointing towards the Hellmouth and ending at the edge of the circle.

Mary Ellen nodded to herself, watching carefully. She couldn't hide her surprise when another blanket of mist arose, forming itself into another thick strand, this one the purest white, stretching from Willow's heart towards Tara.

When the brilliant white strand broke the circle, meeting with Tara's heart, Mary Ellen nearly swallowed her tongue. The mist spread where it hit Tara, encircling her whole body, maintaining its perfect whiteness. Buffy also looked shocked, and edged away from Tara, afraid she would interfere with the spell if she touched any of it.

Mary Ellen watched, fascinated by this new development. There was no way the mist should have broken the circle, at least none that she had ever heard of. But the explanation was obvious. These two young women shared a bond that defied even the laws of magicks.

Tara sat perfectly still, ignoring the mist around her and watching Willow carefully, searching her face and posture for any sign of pain or fear. She'd put a stop to this immediately if it in any way hurt Willow. The mist got thicker, and Tara had flashes of her dream, only now the mists were perfectly white, instead of the gray she had seen in her sleep. As she strained to see a flash of red, she didn't notice the inky black sphere that grew in front of her solar plexus.

But Mary Ellen noticed. It certainly didn't surprise her – no one was as perfectly white as Tara had appeared to be at first. She watched carefully, looking between Willow and Tara, monitoring the changes. The black sphere in front of Tara grew to the size of a fist, but then stopped, the black mists not intermingling with the white mists.

A shadow. Mary Ellen had certainly heard of such things, but she had never in her entire life seen one, or even known anyone who had seen one. The white mists around Tara swirled around the blackness, containing it.

She looked back at Willow, frowning as the intermingling white and black grew darker, then darker still. It seemed as though the dark magicks within Willow had receded somehow, because her level was down quite a bit from the last time she had checked her, but now it was compensating, and moving in faster. Whatever had happened, it was dangerous.

She looked at the connection between Willow and Tara, pleased to see that it remained a pure and perfect white. One thing was certain – she had never seen anything so bizarre in her entire life.

"Well?" Buffy asked expectantly, as Willow and Tara tried to regain their breath. There was something very eerie about undergoing that ritual. Neither had felt unsafe or threatened, but the obscured vision left them both shaking, and Willow immediately turned to look to Tara when the mists disappeared.

"It's... very strange," Mary Ellen said slowly. "Something happened to Willow," she went on.

"What? What happened? What's wrong?" Tara asked, sitting bolt upright and leaning forward.

"But... nothing happened! I'd know if something happened, right?" Willow asked quickly.

"Hey, it's okay," Tara said soothingly, scrambling off the couch and moving next to Willow, pulling her into her arms. "It is okay, right?"

"It's... sort of okay," Mary Ellen hedged. "She's... a lot of the dark magick cleared up, but it's coming back at a much faster rate."

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked, frowning as she remembered the doctors who had told her things she hadn't understood before getting to the upshot.

"It means that we're still looking at about two weeks before it overruns her system, and if whatever happened happens again, we're looking at less time. It's moving about three times faster now," Mary Ellen said bluntly.

"W-we need to find out what happened," Tara said, her face determined. "And we have to stop it from happening again."

"And we need to be careful," Buffy put in. "If the Trickster thinks he has less time, he's going to step up his plan. We have to keep Willow away from him, and that Construct thing. Sorry, Will," she said, looking at the redhead. "No more class until we have this all sorted out."

"But – I can't miss any more," Willow protested, only to be silenced when Tara leveled a stern look at her.

"I think Buffy's right," she said carefully. Her gaze softened at the crestfallen look on Willow's face. "I know what going to class means to you, but we have to be careful. We don't know what the Trickster wants with you yet."

"Umm... actually, yes we do," Willow said. "We haven't had a chance to really fill you and Anya in on the research stuff yet."

"He needs to trick me into crossing the Hellmouth, and then performing a ritual that will free him there," Willow said.

"Mary Ellen?" she finally asked, looking over her shoulder at the elderly woman. "Why is the dark magick building up now? It wasn't before, right?"

"No, it wasn't. I think... I think you would have felt it," she said, eyeing Tara carefully. From all she had heard of Tara, she would have been aware if the build-up had occurred in her presence. "It's building up because Willow isn't casting anymore."

"I see," Tara said, a stricken look crossing her face. "I need to take a walk," she said abruptly, letting Willow go and running out the door.

"Go," Buffy said, and Willow nodded, taking off out the door and running to catch up with Tara.

Tara heard the footsteps behind her, and picked up her pace. It was probably Willow, but it could possibly be Buffy, she reasoned. Buffy might have made Willow stay behind, because it wasn't necessarily safe for Willow to be out.

"Tara!" she heard Willow call, answering that question, at least. But there were so many other burning questions raging through her mind right now.

Willow watched as Tara cut into the park on the corner, heading away from the street. She followed, worried about Tara, and wondering what could have possibly made her bolt from the room like that.

"Tara? Dammit, Tara! Wait up," Willow demanded, still following. They ran through the park, and Willow was surprised at how fast Tara could move. She had seen Tara run before, but mostly when they were being chased by something big and evil, and Willow hadn't had time to ponder how fast they were going. It was really either 'fast enough to live' or 'slow enough to die'. But this – this was fast, and Willow was having a hard time keeping up.

Tara kept running, dodging through trees and staying off the paths, finally coming to a stop in the middle of a playground. She flopped onto a swing, looking around the deserted area with tired, miserable eyes.

Willow came crashing out of the undergrowth, her lungs laboring as she cursed under her breath. "Tara? What's the matter?" she asked as she came to a stop, then moved forward at a more sedate pace.

Eyes full of guilt and pain raised themselves to look into Willow's eyes as Willow knelt before her. "Answer me something?" Tara asked raggedly as Willow placed her hands on Tara's knees for balance.

"If... if I hadn't asked you to stop... if you were casting right now? Would you still be dying? Would the world end?" Tara asked, her voice cracking.

Tara waited for her answer, her mind racing around itself. She would have preferred to have thought this all through in solitude – her thoughts too chaotic to burden Willow with right now. She had so many things racing through her brain that had to be sorted, and she wasn't like Willow. She couldn't just – think things and have them fall into their neat little places all categorized and cross-referenced. And so she ran when the thoughts started, but Willow – Willow had followed.

"I... no. No, I wouldn't be dying, and no, the world wouldn't end," Willow admitted, unable to lie to this woman, even to spare her pain. There had been too many secrets – too many doubts and fears, and Willow refused to live with them anymore. If she only had a few weeks left, she wanted to live them being completely open and honest with the one person she loved more than anything else.

"Then it's my fault," Tara said, her gaze unfocused and her face a study in agony. "I... I'm killing you," she gasped out, her voice distant and dull sounding, lacking any of the vibrancy and warmth Willow was used to hearing.

"Stop it," Willow said tightly, grasping Tara's shoulders and turning her to look into her eyes. "Look at me," she demanded, repeating the command until Tara's eyes focused on her. "This is not your fault. Don't you dare even think that."

"How can I not?" Tara shot back, self-disgust written all over her expressive features. "You're going to die, and if I hadn't..." her voice broke, and she stopped, raising a hand to her lips as she struggled to compose herself as Willow looked on, searching for something – anything – to say to make Tara believe. "If I hadn't left you... you'd be okay."

"No, I wouldn't be okay," Willow denied, shaking her head vehemently. "I'd be... God, Tara – can't you see that the spells were killing me? You're the one who made me see it. You're the one who made me believe it. I... my body is... yeah, I could die. Could die... not 'will die'. But... Honey, if... if I hadn't stopped... a big piece of me... the best part of me... the part of me that makes you love me – that would already be dead."

"And you did the right thing," Willow went on. "I – God, who knows what I would've done? I was – I was so out of control and all 'let me fix that with magick' about every little thing... I... I could've really hurt someone. Or killed somebody. I – it was wrong, sweetheart. I was wrong. And now I'm doing the right thing."

"Well it's not fair!" Tara yelled, getting to her feet and kicking the loose sand under the swing set. "I just... God, it's not fair. You... you're doing so well, without the magick... and this – I can't lose you."

"You'll never lose me, baby," Willow whispered into her ear, hugging Tara from behind. She felt Tara's arms come up to rest across her own, her eyes drifting shut as she heard Tara murmur... something.

"Cast a spell on me," Tara said again, her voice a little louder this time as she turned her face towards Willow. Willow went completely still, her jaw dropping open.

"Cast a spell on me," Tara said for the third time, her voice rising. "I don't care what... turn me into a frog. Take my memories. But just... cast. Something. Anything."

"I... what?" Willow said again, a wave of confusion rolling over her. She backed away slowly, shaking her head, her fists clenching and unclenching. "I... you can't mean that," she said, her voice hoarse and low. "It's... it's gotta' be a trick." Those words... that request coming from Tara just seemed wrong. Almost obscene, like... like the whole world had turned upside down.

And if Tara's suggestion that she cast magick to save her life was wrong, then just how selfish and short-sighted was her own previous attitude of casting a spell to fix every little thing she didn't like in her life?

"No trick," Tara said, her steady gaze growing uncertain, her shoulders slumping as she seemed to fall in on herself. "I... I don't know what I mean," she said miserably. "I – you... you have to realize, that... I don't have a single memory that's worth your life," she said fiercely. "All of them together aren't worth your life."

"You don't know what you're asking me," Willow got out, her head shaking her denial. "I... God, Tara. I'd... I'd – no. No."

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," Tara said, falling to her knees in the sand, wrapping her arms around her middle. "I can't... I keep thinking that – it's like, it doesn't matter. It's like everything I've ever believed – what I've been taught my whole life about magick is... none of it is as important as you," she managed to say, tears tracking down her face.

"Tara," Willow said seriously, kneeling before her a wiping her tears away. "I – I'll say this once. I'd rather die than cast a spell on you," she said, pulling Tara into her arms as she began to sob. "I'd rather die than be the Trickster's tool. I'd rather die than... than to be that person who... who hurt you so badly."

"But this is hurting me," Tara gasped, her whole body aching at the thought of losing Willow. "I – God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I never – I never should have asked that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Willow soothed, stroking Tara's hair. "It's okay, baby... just... don't ever ask me that again. I... I don't know if... I hate seeing you hurting so much. It rips me up inside... but... God, just don't ever ask me again."

"I know, baby... you're just scared, like me," Willow said, kissing the top of Tara's head and rocking her gently in her arms. "I know."

"And you know I'd die for you?" Tara asked quietly, her ragged breaths calming as she pulled herself together. "I know people say that... but... I really mean, that if I could give my life for yours, I would in a heartbeat."

"I know," Willow said simply, brushing Tara's hair back from her face. "I... I'd do the same, though. There isn't anything I have that I wouldn't give to keep you safe."

"What?" Willow asked, a little smile playing about her lips at the sound of Tara's mirth.

"What's so funny?" Willow asked again. "'Cuz I'm not getting the joke here, and I'm feeling a little left out."

"It's... it's not even that funny," Tara said through her laughter. "I just... I'm just imagining us, out on patrol, throwing ourselves at the same vampire, asking him to bite us and let the other one go."

Willow giggled, too, the scene playing out in her mind. "I'd be tossing my hair back and saying, 'oh, no – I have a lovely neck... you should bite me,'" Willow offered up.

"And then I'd say, 'but you can't bite her... she has red hair, and every vampire knows that redheads get stuck in your teeth,'" Tara said with mock solemnity before laughing again.

"And then Buffy would stake him from behind, and he'd just look really confused before he went poof," Willow said, joining in the laughter and hugging Tara tight.

"When this is over, let's go somewhere," Tara said, snuggling into Willow's arms. "Somewhere sunny and warm and happy where we can frolic and definitely not cry. I know some truckers – we could hitchhike."

"Hey, no more crying," Willow cajoled. "And It's okay," she reassured Tara. "Hearing that from you... it... it kind of... it put it all in perspective for me, y'know? Like it was so wrong to hear you suggesting it that... I really realized just how wrong it was for me to do it in the first place. Y'know?"

"I... I guess that makes sense, but... still. I'm sorry," Tara said again. "I... I had no right to ask that of you."

"You have every right to ask anything of me," Willow said, kissing Tara lightly. "But now you've asked, I've answered, and... that's it."

"Good," Willow said, kissing Tara again. "You ready to go home now? I bet Buffy and Mary Ellen and Giles are kind of worried. You really took off."

"I... sorry," Tara said sheepishly as they helped each other to their feet. "I figured someone would follow, but I... I kinda' hoped I could lose them so I could work this out on my own."

"I know," Tara said, nodding. "I just... I can't believe I... I asked you to cast. I... it was one of the things going through my head, and – I didn't want to do that to you. Not without thinking about it. Not – not like I did."

"C'mon," Willow said, taking Tara's hand and entwining their fingers together. "Let's just go home and do the research thing, since I've been barred from attending school."

They walked hand in hand, enjoying each other's company and the fresh air and sunshine. "Willow?" Tara asked after a moment, looking up at the sky. "Thank you."

Willow blushed and ducked her head, that look of adoration warming her through and through. "I... you're welcome."

"Do you think... that cloud looks like a bunny," Tara said, looking back up with the sky.

"You've been spending too much time with Anya," Willow said, bumping Tara gently with her hip. "The ears are too short, see?" she went on, pointing up at the sky and illustrating her point with gestures. "It looks like a kitty. A sneaky kitty."

"Oh my God! Miss Kitty Fantastico!" Willow yelped suddenly, making Tara jump. "You haven't seen Miss Kitty yet," Willow said excitedly. "Come on," she said, tugging on Tara's hand and breaking into a jog.

"Miss Kitty?" Tara said, hurrying to keep her arm from being pulled off by Willow's enthusiasm. "Oh... I... I totally forgot. What kind of mommy am I?" she wondered aloud.

"You're a great mommy," Willow said sternly, still pulling Tara along. "You just got in real late, and we had to put her up in Dawn's room because she kept sitting on the books while everyone was trying to read them."

"Then lets go see her," Tara said with a laugh, racing ahead and taking her turn to tug on Willow's arm.

Buffy, Giles, and Mary Ellen watched bemusedly as the two laughing women practically skipped into the house, then raced up the stairs.

"I gather they worked things out," Giles said slowly, blinking once, then turning back to his book.

"I guess so," Buffy agreed, as the sound of a door opening then closing reached her ears. She turned back to her own book, only to look up again when she heard squealing.

The sounds of creaking bed springs floated down the stairs, and all the eyes in the room widened.

"Well, it's nice to hear two young people enjoying themselves," Mary Ellen said with a smirk.

"Mary Ellen!" Giles said, his astonishment evident on his face. "I'm sure... there's a perfectly innocent explanation."

"Right," Buffy muttered, turning back to her book, only to look back up with a puzzled expression. "Are they in Dawn's room?"

The sound of the door opening and closing again reached them, and Willow and Tara came down the stairs, Tara's arms full of Miss Kitty.

"She missed her mommy," Willow said, reaching around Tara to stroke Miss Kitty's furry little ears.

"You were... greeting your cat," Giles said with something like relief in his voice, eliciting strange looks from Willow and Tara.

"Anything new and exciting?" Willow asked, kissing Tara lightly on the cheek, then sitting down in front of her computer.

"Yes, well," Giles said, removing his glasses and squinting for a moment, before putting them back on. "It would seem Tara has a shadow."

"It's a dark spot in an aura that doesn't intermingle with the rest of it," Mary Ellen explained. "It's like... it's potential darkness that hasn't done anything yet."

Tara nodded. "I... my mother thought... she thought that the... the demon would show up as a shadow. She – she kept searching for years and years, trying to find hers, but her aura was perfectly white."

"So she didn't have one?" Mary Ellen asked, unfamiliar with Tara's family story.

"I – I don't think she did... but... I have one?" Tara asked again. "I – I have a shadow?"

"Hey," Willow said, taking Miss Kitty out of Tara's arms and putting her on the floor, ignoring her mew of protest. "That doesn't mean anything. It's... you're not a demon, okay? Don't even think about it."

"But how did you see it?" Tara asked, looking over at Mary Ellen. "They're tiny, like, just a little speck. That's why mom kept searching and searching."

"Tara," Buffy said slowly. "The, uhh... dark thing? The black stuff surrounded by white stuff? It was about the size of my fist. There's no way to miss it."

"I... Oh, God," Tara said, sitting down abruptly as her legs gave out. Tara's mind reeled at the implications.

"Hey, hey," Willow said, rubbing Tara's arm. "That must have been from me. It's not you. It – I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really sorry."

"The connection between you two was perfectly white as well," Mary Ellen said, shaking her head. "There hasn't been any dark power transferred between you two, or we would have seen it."

"Then the Trickster – he... he must have done something to the spell. I mean, Tara was outside the circle, right? You shouldn't have been able to see her at all, right?" Willow asked quickly, her mind casting about for any and all plausible explanations.

"That's certainly possible," Giles said, nodding. "We can't rule it out, but on the other hand, we can't confirm it, either."

"It won't hurt her? It's not actually doing anything?" Willow asked, looking back and forth between Mary Ellen and Giles.

"No, it can't hurt her," Mary Ellen said. "That thing is just potential. Unless Tara does something to release it, it'll just sit there."

"See?" Buffy said encouragingly. "Nothing to worry about. No aura-shadow-thing can do anything."

"No 'buts'," Willow said firmly. "If you were a demon, you would have turned into one last year, remember? But you're not. So don't even think it."

"I – you're right," Tara said slowly, her mind clearing. "There has to be some other explanation. And right now, that explanation isn't as important as figuring out how to get you better," she said, looking over at Willow. "So – what have you all found out while I was gone?" Tara asked.

"I'm afraid not much," Giles said. "We know the Trickster needs to get Willow into Hell, and that she would have to perform a ceremony to release him. We know that the witch who defeated him originally seemed to work with another witch. At least, that's what we can glean from the accounts the Watcher's Council have sent us. Willow's ancestor seems to have been that witch. It all fits. She was in the right place at the right time, and the Trickster is focusing his attention on Willow."

"Only that it seems to know Willow's class schedule," Buffy said, a wry look on her face. "It showed up on campus yesterday."

"It showed up on campus?" Tara asked incredulously. "And you went to school?" she said, turning her attention to Willow, who at least had the good grace to look contrite.

"Well, I couldn't just tie her to the bed," Buffy protested. Tara's anger vanished instantly at Buffy's words, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. "And I need to get a better bead on this thing, anyway. It's the Trickster's best shot for getting Willow into Hell."

"Really?" Willow asked, a blush covering her face. She had noticed Tara's reaction to Buffy's declaration about not tying her to the bed, and was desperately trying to change the subject.

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "The Construct can pass into this realm easier than a full demon, but it can pass back just as easily. If it grabbed you and jumped through the Hellmouth, it's possible you would make it into Hell alive."

"That... umm... I'm not liking that idea," Willow said. "Not that I want to be in Hell and dead. Definitely preferring alive and in Hell, but... it's the Hell part I'm not loving."

"You're not going to get pulled into Hell," Tara said firmly. "Even if I have to tie you to the bed," she couldn't resist adding, her innocent expression at odds with the wicked twinkle in her eye.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Giles said absently, looking back at the book in his hands.

"No, but it's fun," Willow said, then sat up straight, her eyes wide as she clapped both hands over her mouth. "I didn't just say that out loud, did I?" she asked plaintively as her face turned a bright red. She looked over at Tara, seeing an answering blush cover her features as she looked down and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Yes, you did," Giles said. "Now, see what else you can find out about Margaret McDonald while I read this book and try not to pull my ears off my head in hopes of never hearing such things again."

"That's the witch," Willow said, opening up her most recent email from the Watcher's Council.

"That was... the witch?" Tara asked weakly. "The one who defeated the Trickster?"

"Yes, that's right," Giles said, looking up from his book. "Do you know something?" he asked carefully, studying Tara's face.

"I... someone named Margaret was in my dream," Tara said. "It was... I was somewhere dark and scary, and I was looking for Willow. She wasn't there – I... I couldn't find her. I kept calling for her, but then I was calling for Margaret. I climbed a mountain, and... I saw two women talking. They... it was us," she said, looking over at Willow. "Only it wasn't us. It was you – Margaret. And me."

"I think we'd better look through your mother's things," Giles said after a moment to digest the information. "Because if you were there, you were the other witch."

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Answering Darkess

by Sassette

Copyright © 2003

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