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 read the page for the fifth time, the words sinking into her consciousness. Giles had pulled her aside when she and Willow had finally come downstairs and handed her back her mother's book, indicating she should read the pages he had bookmarked.

"...where love is given and accepted freely, no Evil can flourish," she whispered, tracing the words much as Giles had hours before, tears stinging the back of her eyes. The handwriting was oh so familiar. The neat script of her mother's hand had painstakingly copied the words from another source, setting it down in this book she had spent her life compiling.

She turned the page and read the spell, a blush stealing over her features. It was certainly clear why her mother and grandmother had never attempted it. Had her mother known, somehow? Had she known that Tara would one day be in a position to use this spell?

And could she? Really, was this even an option? She read the spell again, turning the issue over in her mind and studying it from all angles. She didn't know. Would this help Willow? But more importantly, would it hurt her?

There was certainly nothing Dark about the spell. There was nothing of the Dark in this book anywhere. She read the spell yet again, searching for any clue – any way of divining the outcome. It didn't, in fact, call for two people to cast. Only one had to actually cast the spell, but the... her thoughts derailed and she blushed again. Mentally shaking off her embarrassment, she pushed her thoughts forward, knowing that this was important. The two involved in the spell had to gather the energy together. Could Willow do that without falling back into her addiction?

And still, Tara didn't know. Was Willow addicted to all magick or just dark magick? She didn't know. Were some things allowed, and others not? Would her participation in this ritual be like... non-alcoholic beer to an alcoholic, giving her the taste, but not the buzz?

It was confusing. There were no cut and dry rules for magick addiction, as far as Tara knew. It certainly wasn't something common enough that it was studied. If someone tried to study such a thing, they'd probably get locked away.

Tara looked down at the book, turning back the page and reading again the passage that had struck a chord in Giles, finding that it struck a similar chord within her. Hadn't Willow turned to Dark Magicks in the name of love? Hadn't it been her terrible ordeal with Glory that had pushed Willow over the edge in the first place?

Swiftly, she pushed all thoughts of Glory from her mind. Best not to dwell on that. For the sake of her sanity, she couldn't – didn't dare – dwell on that.

Instead, she allowed her thoughts to turn back to the book in her lap, and everything it represented. She allowed herself a moment to feel a sort of wondering gratitude that this book managed to touch so directly upon her life. And she allowed herself a soft, sad smile as she remembered the woman who had written it.

There were two other companion books to this one, her mother called the Book of Light. The Book of Dark, set down by Tara's many times great grandmother explored the nature of evil, and the demon within the MaClay women. Tara had read it, of course, and the memory made her shiver. It was important, her mother had told her, to understand exactly what the consequences were – just why they had to be so careful.

And so she had read it, learning the words and the spells therein, but not to use. No, never to use. To know. To understand. And, honestly, to fear.

She never spoke of it, not to anyone. Not the Scoobies, and certainly not Willow. She had heard, once, that the Book of Dark was based on another book – one she had never seen but was sure existed. She wondered if Giles had picked up the Book of Dark – if he had read it and knew. If he understood. If he, much like herself, feared.

Willow couldn't see it. No – there was no way she was letting her lover anywhere near that book. It made the 'Darkest Magicks' tome from the magick shop seem tame in comparison. She didn't even want to contemplate the horrors the original must have held. There had been no need to copy the original in its entirety – only the portions that could help the MaClay women understand what they were – what they could become – only these were copied and kept and handed down as both a gift and a curse.

The Book of Shadow was different. It held knowledge – some of it terrible, certainly – that also needed to be passed on. It held writings and spells, stories and prayers, much as both the Book of Dark and the Book of Light – only these were dedicated to the balance. The book had been written to be a repository of all the MaClay women needed to know to keep from losing their minds at the horror of knowing what they could do one day, and how to stop themselves from doing it.

It wasn't until Tara's grandmother dedicated her life to expelling the demon entirely that the Book of Light was started. Even towards the beginning, most of it was in her mother's hand. Tara's grandmother and mother had worked on it together, from the time her mother was a young girl, and her letters were awkward. But each letter and word was filled with love, and it warmed Tara's heart.

Warmed her heart, yes – but made her both angry and sad, knowing that those two incredible women spent their lives trying to defeat a demon that had never existed.

"Tara, have you... read this?" Giles asked weakly, a sick look crossing his face as he turned yet another page.

"Yes," Tara answered simply, looking up at him with haunted eyes. She remembered... she remembered her mother crying when she had given her the book. The devastated look in her eyes as Tara had grown more and more withdrawn the more she had read. The pain and anguish adding new lines to her tired face, and it seemed as though Tara's mother had aged before her very eyes every time she stuttered. Tara could almost – almost – remember the carefree girl she had been, outgoing and confident. Before she noticed the whispers, the fearful glances. Before she had read the book and understood.

She had gotten some of that back, being with Willow. Some of the old Tara, the Tara she barely remembered, had emerged, and she had stood tall and proud by Willow's side, their love allowing her to become the person she felt she had been meant to be – before she knew anything of demons. The sure knowledge that no such thing dwelled within her, just waiting to emerge, had lent her the courage to really let herself love Willow, holding nothing back as she had before her 20th birthday.

That night she had given everything she had to the young woman who made her feel special, even when she was at her worst. Magick, Willow had said. How painfully ironic that magick had eventually driven them apart.

Which, if she was honest with herself, still hurt. Being apart from Willow hurt more, she had found, but still... the pain of Willow's behavior was still fresh. On one level, she felt guilty about feeling this way in the light of recent developments, from Willow's illness to the Hell God's hand in everything. On yet another, though, she wondered. How much of that was The Trickster, and how much was just Willow? Could her Willow have done such a thing without interference?

But that question wasn't even important – not really. The really question was, could she, Tara, completely forgive the fact that she had, no matter the reason?

"All of it?" Giles wondered aloud, interrupting Tara's musings as he became increasingly aware of just how much dark knowledge the young woman seated next to an oblivious Willow possessed. He was grateful, once again, for Willow's astounding focus, as she concentrated on her infernal machine, and paid no heed to the exchange he was having with Tara.

"I... I had no idea," Giles said, his voice heavy with regret and sorrow. A thought occurred to him. "How old were you?" he asked gently.

"Ten," Tara said softly, looking down at the book in her lap, her hair obscuring her features in a gesture that was painfully familiar to the assembled Scoobies who all looked up from what they were doing. Tara pressed her hand flat against the page and tried to take comfort from the knowledge that it wasn't real. There was no demon.

"What?" Willow asked, looking up and noticing all the eyes in the room were shifting back and forth uneasily between Giles and Tara. "What's wrong, baby?" she asked, reading Tara's unease in the hunch of her shoulders and the way she was looking down determinedly, not making eye-contact with anyone.

"Everything's fine," Tara said, forcing a smile to try to reassure Willow. It was clear by the expression on Willow's face that she wasn't buying it, so Tara tried for a gentle pleading look. Willow's gaze softened, and she nodded slightly, but Tara knew she wasn't off the hook. Willow would grill her later, just not in front of everyone.

"I'm gonna grab a drink. You want anything?" Tara asked softly, thanking Willow with her eyes for not pushing the issue.

"Yeah, I'll have some more witchy pain coffee," Willow said, a rueful smile twisting her lips.

"I wish you'd stop calling it that," Tara said with a sigh, standing up. "Anyone want anything?" she asked, looking at each Scooby in turn.

A chorus of 'coffee' broken only by Giles' 'tea' came up, and Tara laughed lightly. "Got it," she said with a smile, going into the kitchen to get coffee all around, and some tea for Giles.

Tara opened the cupboard, standing up on her tiptoes and reaching high to grab the coffee mugs. Really, Joyce had been the only one who could reach them easily there, but no one wanted to move them. She placed the cups on the counter, then paused, her hands gripping the edge as she took a deep breath, her eyes drifting shut.

The only certainty she had right now was that she loved Willow. Everything else was this crazy maelstrom of swirling colors, mixing and blending and moving too fast to make any sense of. It was confusing and too much to take on right now – it was all too much to really absorb and resolve with all the things that were going on. But still, she couldn't stop the feelings.

She hated feeling this way. She hated the wondering and the doubts and the recriminations, verbalized or not.

But mostly she hated the guilt. She knew it was ridiculous to feel guilty about this whole twisted situation, but she did. There was a part of her that kept trying to find someone or something to blame for everything – someone other than Willow – and that part kept turning back on itself, pointing the finger at her.

If only she had been stronger, and helped Willow to understand the dangers inherent in taking magick too lightly. Then Willow would have never gone down that dark path – would have never sunk to that level, tampering with magicks she couldn't understand.

If only she had been weaker, and not rocked the boat, letting Willow find her own path without her nagging. No fight – no spell – no betrayal.

If only she had been better, somehow, and had been able to defend herself against Glory.

Her teeth clenched together as a wave of dizziness washed over her, and a pounding rose up in her head. Pictures flashed against the backs of her eyelids – pictures awash in a sea of blood.

A tiny whimper escaped her, and her knees buckled, her hands automatically finding purchase on the countertop and clamping down, stopping her descent to the floor.

"Tara, are you all right?" Giles asked, helping the girl into a chair, his face creased with worry as he watched her seem to fold in on herself, drawing her legs up underneath her and wrapping her arms around her chest. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, and she rocked, shaking her head as if trying to deny... something. "Tara?" he asked again.

She tried to shake away the pictures – to cast them out of her head, but they were back. She forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to calm her ragged nerves and hoping the scenes in her mind would pass – that they would subside and she wouldn't have to think about them – to process them.

Giles hovered nearby, completely unsure of what to do. He had seen this before – far too often – over the summer, and he knew from experience that alerting Willow to the problem was not what Tara wanted. Still, he wished he could actually do something for the girl, instead of stand nearby and wait.

After a few long moments, Tara started muttering, and though he couldn't make out the words, Giles recognized their cadence, and he relaxed marginally. Tara would be alright now, he knew, so her poured the coffee and his tea, then added the ever-present baking soda to Willow's drink.

Tara's breathing and heart rate eased, and the pictures faded. Weary blue eyes blinked open, and she smiled wanly at Giles, as he looked back, his expression troubled.

"You haven't been doing your meditations," he said, the words definitely not a question.

"I've been a little busy," Tara said softly, a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes curling the edges of her lips.

"Tara," he began, kneeling in front of the girl and placing a comforting hand on her arm. "You went through a horrible ordeal. None of us can possibly imagine... what that was like. I was... troubled when you refused to tell Willow about it, and I still think that it would be best to -"

"No," Tara said firmly, shaking her head. "She... she thinks it's all her fault to begin with. It's... my gift to her. My silence is my gift to her."

"And her support and love would be her gift to you, if you'd just let her -" Giles argued back.

"No," Tara said again, her features stern as she looked directly into Giles' eyes. "She... saved me... from that. And she's going through so much. I can't -"

"Can't what?" Giles asked gently. "Can't let her help you? Can't let her be the shoulder you lean on?"

"More excuses," Giles said briskly, standing up and looking down at Tara. "First it was Buffy, and now it's Willow herself. Just how many more crises are you going to allow to interfere with what you need?"

"You don't understand," Tara said, shaking her head and standing, edging around Giles to stand at the counter, looking down at the coffee cups.

"Then tell me," Giles said, removing his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. "You need to talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about this," Tara said, her voice harsh and low. "I don't want to talk about what it was like when that bitch stuck her fingers in my skull. I don't want to talk about how helpless and lost I felt, or how dark and lonely everything was. And I definitely don't want to talk about how I saw... all the things that she... like it was me," Tara choked out. "Like I did those things."

"You didn't do anything," Giles said firmly, pulling Tara into an awkward hug. "It wasn't you. You were seeing what Glory did," he assured her.

"It was... it's..." Tara started to say, then pulled her way out of the hug. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "The meditations stop the flashes. I won't forget them again," she said abruptly, grabbing a tray and starting to place the cups onto it.

Giles sighed soundlessly, knowing that Tara wasn't going to confide in him. It was a difficult role he played in this odd mix of heroes. Neither one of them, nor completely apart from them, he was the mentor. The guide. The adult.

But not for Tara. That was probably why he genuinely enjoyed her company so much, and why, once he had gotten over the shock and gotten to know the young woman, he was so happy for Willow. Tara needed no mentor or guide. She needed no adult. Before they had met, she had been very much on her own, and she had risen to the challenge, taking control of her life.

Though shy and reticent, she had always had a discernible core of strength and goodness, and he had been pleased to see it come to the fore as she grew more comfortable with herself. Willow had been that catalyst, he knew. Willow had done so much for Tara – would, in fact, do anything for Tara, wise or not – and it pained him to think that Willow could do nothing for her now, because she simply didn't know that anything needed to be done.

"Did you read the spell?" Giles asked after a pause, deliberately changing the subject. Tara merely nodded several times in response, idly arranging the cups in different patterns. "Do you think you will, umm, I mean to say that..." he said awkwardly, gesturing aimlessly.

"I think I should talk to Willow about it," Tara said after awhile. "I don't know if... it could go bad, or maybe not even work," she said uncertainly.

"I honestly doubt it will go badly," Giles said, his expression thoughtful. "Willow won't be called upon to actually cast..."

"But she'll have to, umm... gather energy," Tara said. "I don't know if that's... it could be too much for her. I don't... I don't want to ask her to do a spell."

"Talk to her," Giles urged. "I think... with the way you connected your dreams, naturally, it would... it would be rather the same. And so far, it's our only hope."

A faint grin crossed Tara's face as the absurd image of a holographic Giles kneeling before R2D2 and earnestly telling her she was 'our only hope' crossed her mind. Obi-Wan Kenobi she was not.

"Nothing," Tara said with another shake of her head, hefting the tray. "I'll talk to her about it. Tomorrow."

"I'll, umm... either way," Giles began, shifting where he stood and looking decidedly uncomfortable. "We'll move the research to the Magic Box tomorrow night, and Buffy and Dawn and I will stay with Xander and Anya," he said hurriedly, getting the words out as quickly as possible.

"I, umm... thank you," Tara said, thinking over the offer for just a moment before deciding it sounded like a good idea. Spell or no spell, she and Willow needed the time together.

"Right then," Giles said with a nod, taking the tray from Tara's hands. "I'll make the arrangements."

"I, umm... thank you," Tara said, thinking over the offer for just a moment before deciding it sounded like a good idea. Spell or no spell, she and Willow needed the time together.

"Right then," Giles said with a nod, taking the tray from Tara's hands. "I'll make the arrangements."

They walked back into the living room, and Giles set the tray down on the table when Xander helpfully cleared an area, pushing aside books and papers. He passed out the coffee, handing Willow the bright blue mug, then secured the tea for himself.

Tara reclaimed her seat next to Willow, sharing a smile with the girl when she looked up.

"It's... frustrating. Kinda' slow," Willow said with a shrug that didn't come off as nonchalant as she had intended. Giles' Rebel Englishmen had sent over tons and tons of files – far too many pages to read within their new time limits. Willow was running the documents through a language parser she had set up, hoping to narrow down the reading material to a manageable size, but so far had found nothing.

"I'm sorry," Tara said, unable to stop the slight quaver in her voice. She had so much to apologize for – so much to tell Willow, but how could she? And why should she? Why dredge up things that were over and done with, when there were so many other things they needed to discuss and to learn, to keep Willow safe?

"What for?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing as she looked carefully at Tara. She looked far too serious to be talking about Willow's mild grumblings at the glacial crawl her program was currently running at, but Willow couldn't even begin to guess what else was on Tara's mind.

"I, umm... nothing," Tara said finally, her lips pursed as she shook her head gently, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. "I'll, uhh... let you get back to it," she finally said, picking her book back up and pouring over the spell. Again.

"Something's up," Willow whispered, her face conveying her concern. "What's wrong, baby?"

"It's... it's really nothing," Tara whispered back, casting nervous glances at the assembled Scoobies, grateful to see them all absorbed in their research.

For a moment, Willow looked like she was going to press further, but she paused, her lips a thin line across her face. She nodded shortly. "Okay," she said slowly, turning back to her computer and trying to hide the stab of hurt she felt. But she would give Tara the space she needed. She owed her that. She owed her more than that, and she would just keep on giving for as long as it took for Tara to trust her again. It was the only way, Willow figured, she could possibly regain what she had lost.

Tara turned back to her book, her mind racing. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt Willow. And this... this thing going on inside her head would hurt her. She didn't want to be a burden, or a hassle – a source of pain. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but believe that if she was different – weaker and less sure – Willow wouldn't want her around anyway.

She had been so surprised when Willow had stood up for her against her family. There was a part of her that was still surprised that Willow had championed her so easily. But that was once. Problem over. Problem solved. Would Willow stay if she had to deal with all the little bits of baggage Tara carted around with her?

And that wouldn't even mean that Willow didn't love her – just that things would get to the point where everything was too much. She didn't want to be too much to Willow. On one level, she thought that Willow's love would keep Willow at her side forever, if she wanted it... but hadn't Willow's magick use become too much? Hadn't she left Willow?

She couldn't bear it if the same happened in reverse, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over her.

And it wouldn't be fair, not really. Willow had already done so much, and she was afraid that if she continued to need more – that if she continued taking from Willow – they couldn't possibly last. Willow would eventually feel like there was nothing left of herself, having given it all to Tara, and Tara was determined to see that that day never came.

"Hey, Giles," Xander said, looking up from his book and gaining the Englishman's attention. He had found something, and if it meant what he thought it meant, he really REALLY didn't like it. "You wanna' take a look at this?" he asked, handing over an open book. "Second page, about halfway down," he explained.

With a frown at the interruption, Giles took the book, settling it over the Book of Dark also open in front of him and began to read what had caused Xander pause. He trailed over a few paragraphs about auras and their colors, assuming that this hadn't been what Xander was referring to.

He stopped and read carefully. Reading an aura's power was tricky. Most people had some gradient of gray, the hue indicating their balance between light and dark, and the size of the aura indicating the magnitude.

Willow, he knew, was nothing of the sort. Or, rather, her aura was nothing of the sort. Mary Ellen had described to him in great detail what she had seen so that he could more effectively research it further than her knowledge allowed her to explain at the time.

There was a thread – well, a chord, really – of darkness coming from an external source, feeding into her aura an inky blackness. Her natural aura, though, was an almost pure white, the dark specks filtering through the layer of power and out to the edges, making a dark shell around her. That description was consistent with what Anya had spoken of earlier, and so he wasn't sure what had caused Xander alarm.

After the next paragraph, he paused, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, then read it again. He looked up sharply, his gaze finding Xander's face, then looking over at Tara who was sitting pensively, pouring over that spell once again.

Tara had a Shadow in her aura. Buffy had described it as this large pulsing black thing that was "icky".

Giles read the next section, his eyebrows slowly climbing up his brow at each sentence.

This was certainly... unexpected. And it didn't bode well for anyone, least of all Tara. The Shadow had no discernible external source, and so it was as much a part of Tara as her arms or her legs. And it represented her capacity for Darkness.

"Dear Lord," he uttered automatically, wincing slightly when he saw that every eye in the room turned to look at him.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Xander asked slowly. "Damn, I knew it was bad. Why do I always have to find the bad things? Why can't I find the nice happy things?"

"I'm sure you don't always find bad things," Giles said slowly, stalling for time as every face in the room was looking at him expectantly.

"I think... I think you should read this for yourself," Giles said after a long moment, handing the book over.

"If Tara feels like telling anyone, she will," Giles said sternly, looking over at Dawn. It was merely the potential for Darkness, not any Darkness itself. Actual Darkness or evil intent of any kind muddied the aura, interacting with the rest of it and creating the shades of gray discussed briefly in the text Tara was now reading. As long as she was careful, it would never be an issue, and he knew that Tara would be careful.

Willow started to lean in to read over Tara's shoulder, but stopped when Giles addressed Dawn, pulling back with a look of uncertainty on her face. Did she have the right to just read it with Tara? Wouldn't Tara tell her if she wanted her to know?

Willow chewed on her bottom lip and shifted, moving her mouse around aimlessly. What if it was something bad and Tara never told her? Then again – after what she had done, how could she expect Tara to confide in her, really? It was her job to be there for Tara, to love her and hold her and make all the bad stuff go away, but only if Tara wanted her to. Wasn't it her selfish need to make the bad things go away what started this whole thing in the first place?

Tara found and read the passage Giles had been referring to, her face paling. Immediately, she thought of the demon, then dismissed the thought. That wasn't possible, was it? Spike had punched her in the nose. She was human – she was as human as the rest of the Scoobies, and not a demon at all.

"It... it could refer to your, umm... knowledge," Giles said softly, indicating the Book of Dark in front of him, ready to offer up any possibility that popped into his head.

"It could," Tara said after a long moment. And it really could, she decided, if one interpreted the vague text in certain ways. She had a cast store of Dark Magickal knowledge in her head, and so, potentially, she could be a force of great evil. But that was true of anyone who practiced magick and read dark texts, wasn't it? And this one indicated that a Shadow was rather rare, and in the cases where one existed, it was so small it was hard to detect.

"Is it... I mean," Willow began uncertainly, cursing herself for prying even as she found herself unable to stop.

Willow went on, and for the first time ever, Tara tuned out her endearing babblings, lost in her own thoughts.

There were lots of possibilities, Tara mused. Her knowledge. Her power. These could lend themselves to Darkness if she fell into that pit. She'd just have to be careful. She'd just have to avoid it. And if she saw it coming, she could do that.

But what if she didn't see it coming? Willow certainly hadn't anticipated Glory's attack. Would she, Tara, have done the same in Willow's place? She honestly didn't know.

But a demon? She had laid that lie to rest – even her father no longer believed it. But maybe he didn't believe it because she hadn't changed, and maybe she hadn't changed because she was careful not to go down that road.

Perhaps the demon existed after all, but rather than just taking over on a certain date, it... needed to be invited out. It made a certain amount of sense in a totally logical way, but Tara's heart rebelled at the thought. She wasn't... evil... was she?

But if she wasn't evil, then what had she done to deserve all the things that had happened to her? The abuse of her family, the death of her mother, and the betrayal of her lover all crowded into her mind. On some cosmic level, had she deserved these things? If not for something she had done in the past, then perhaps for some sin of the future?

She felt like something was trying to bust out of her skull, her head throbbed so badly. So many questions and old doubts and fears rose up – things she had thought herself long past.

But if she were evil, how had she deserved Willow's love in the first place? Maybe she hadn't. She certainly never really felt like she had.

It was all too confusing and all too raw, and still her mind skirted around the thought that filled her with the most dread. She dodged it, hiding behind the demon, behind the magick, behind the books.

And that, she realized, was her greatest fear. That there was a very real, very dark part of her buried deep that could one day escape, terrible in its humanity in a way that something demonic never could be. Hadn't she read somewhere that victims of abuse often became abusers themselves? Their fear and hurt would manifest itself in anger, and they would lash out. She would lash out.

The fear in Willow's voice snapped Tara out of her mental cringings, and she jumped a little, her wide-eyes finding Willow's face. She quickly looked away, noting with a glance that the Scoobies had vacated the room.

"Tara, something's going on, and dammit, I wanna' know," Willow said with a frown. "I mean, it's...you... I don't want to be all prying girl, and I know I kinda' don't have the right to push, but I... something wrong. Really wrong. And I can feel it, in here," she said, patting her tummy where a full-on rumblings was going on.

"I just... I'm scared," Tara finally confessed, her shoulders hunching, and her hair falling forward to obscure her face. She wanted to just crawl into a ball and disappear, because then no one would see her. They wouldn't see her, and they wouldn't know. They wouldn't know about the things she could do, and the ways she could hurt them if she lost control.

"Baby?" Willow asked, her lower lip trembling as she brushed a lock of Tara's hair behind her ear, leaning forward so she could see her profile. "Baby, talk to me," Willow urged.

Tara made a decision then. A promise to herself, that no matter what happened, she would keep a reign on whatever darkness dwelled within her. She would be who and what Willow needed, and never fall short in her eyes. Maybe she was making a mistake, and maybe she would regret it later, but how could she tell Willow? How could she explain that Willow was living through Tara's worst fear – that of losing control of her power and sliding into darkness?

And Willow was being so brave and so strong, fighting against it in ways Tara doubted she could if she ever went that far. Maybe it was selfish, but she just couldn't find the words to tell Willow. She honestly didn't have the words.

"What's scaring you? Please, talk to me," Willow pleaded, her eyes filling up with tears as her heart was breaking.

Tara knew she had to say something – anything – to make the pain in Willow's eyes go away. Slowly, she shut the book, placing it on the table and pushing it away.

"I can't cast. You know that," Willow said miserably, hating the idea that Tara needed something from her that she couldn't give.

"You wouldn't have to," Tara explained, handing over the Book of Light that still lay open in her lap. "Here, read it," she said uncertainly.

Gingerly, Willow took the book, her eyes drifting shut for a moment. Even touching a spellbook was closer than Willow wanted to be to magick right now, but Tara had asked, and it didn't involve casting, so she opened her eyes and read the spell.

"You, umm... you want to... try... this?" Willow asked weakly, after reading the spell through twice.

"Do you?" Tara asked, facing Willow completely and searching her face for any sign of fear or doubt.

"Then we don't have to," Tara said with an air of finality. "I don't want you to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"Wait a minute," Willow said, holding up a hand. "I have to think about it. I mean, can't I have a little time to think about it? I don't know... I... there's no way of knowing what ..."

"It could go bad, I know," Tara said softly, her hand finding Willow's and grasping it lightly, rubbing her thumb over Willow's knuckles.

"No, I don't think it can," Willow said, a soft smile crossing her face. "Not this. Not this, with you," she explained, her voice a whisper.

The tone was one Tara knew well, and it sent a little giddy thrill down her spine that settled in her belly, chasing away all thoughts of darkness.

"So you, umm... you want to?" Tara finally asked, losing herself in Willow's eyes.

"We're kind of short on time," Tara said, a little frown tugging at her lips. "I... I can't lose you, Willow. I just can't. Not like this."

"You won't," Willow said fiercely, claiming Tara's mouth in a slow kiss that shocked her with its suddenness and intensity.

Tara responded, staking her own claim and raising a hand to cup the back of Willow's neck, holding her still as she took control of the kiss and ravaged her mouth. When Willow whimpered, she pulled back, resting their foreheads together and taking deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.

"Well, yeah, I mean... we always have dinner together," Willow responded automatically, then noticed the expression on Tara's face. "Don't we?" she tacked on uncertainly.

"Yeah, we do," Tara said, rolling her eyes and grinning. "But I mean, like, just us. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"You want to go out?" Willow asked, wondering when her unofficial house arrest had ended.

"Nope," Tara said, shaking her head. "I happen to know that a certain watcher, slayer, and teenager will be gone tomorrow night and part of Saturday."

"Oh," Willow said, nodding. "Oh! Just us, a house, dinner, and maybe this spell?"

"Then I would love to have dinner with you," Willow said, kissing Tara again briefly.

"And you can change your mind anytime," Tara said hurriedly. "I mean, about the spell. Anytime."

"So that's what was bothering you?" Willow wondered aloud, feeling like she was missing something. "The spell?"

"Actually, not completely," Tara confessed, pulling back and worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

"Is it... I mean, do you want to... talk about it?" Willow offered softly, taking both of Tara's hands and cradling them in her own. "You don't have to, I mean, you can... you can have secrets, but... I... I'll always listen. And be here. If you need to talk."

A little furrow formed between Tara's brows as she carefully considered the offer. She liked to think she wasn't stupid, and that she learned from her mistakes. And hadn't she made this mistake the first time, and endangered the Scoobies because she was afraid they would find out what she was?

She still couldn't tell Willow about her flashbacks to that horrible time with Glory. That would serve no purpose, not really. It would just make Willow blame herself. She couldn't do that to her.

But the Shadow? How could she keep that to herself? But how could she live with seeing disillusionment in Willow's face?

"Do you... do you remember that, ummm...the uh, Shadow thing? In my aura?" Tara asked slowly.

"Xander found some stuff about it. It's, umm... it's me. It's w-what could h-h-happen," she said, stumbling over the words, hoping that she somehow tripped across the right ones. "It's my potential for, umm, bad stuff," she said on a whisper. "It's possible that it, uh. I-it could be the, um, demon."

"There's no demon," Willow responded forcefully. "There is nothing, and I mean nothing, evil about you."

"But there is," Tara said, her face falling. "The Shadow is the... it's the bad part of me."

"And it's buried so deep and surrounded by so much good stuff it can't get out," Willow shot back. "You couldn't hurt a fly. Well, you could, I mean, you're physically able to, but you wouldn't. You're not mentally able to. You're the best person I know."

"It scares me," Tara said in a small voice. Willow's response was immediate as she pulled Tara into her arms, holding her gently.

"You're, umm... you're afraid you'll... be like me?" Willow asked uncertainly, a world of pain flashing in the depths of her eyes.

Tara shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I'm afraid I won't be like you. That if it takes over, I won't have the strength to fight my way back."

"Sweetheart, you're stronger than I could ever be. You're stronger than ten Willows. And it will never take over," Willow whispered into her ear, her throat tight with emotion. "Because you'll always be careful. Because you're always guarding against it."

Tara felt a wave of relief wash over her, and she clung to Willow, whispering her thanks to Willow, grateful for her gift of trust even as she wondered if she could trust herself enough to take it.

"So, big date tonight, huh?" Dawn asked with a sly smile, glancing over at Willow.

Willow shifted in her chair at the research table in The Magic Box, feeling both a thrill of excitement and the chill of nervousness teasing her spine.

"Well, we're sort of, ummm..." Willow hedged, looking over at the near-giddy teenager.

"Oh, come on," Dawn said exasperatedly. "Giles has us all staying at Xander and Anya's," she went on. "I'm young, not stupid."

"Just because they're going to be alone doesn't mean they're going to do anything naughty," Buffy objected, supporting her friend and automatically moving to derail Dawn from any discussion of sex. Being the adult one was difficult, sometimes. "But what intrigues me is that Tara kicked us all out of the house," Buffy went on with a frown, pinning Willow with her eyes as she speculated inwardly. "She's definitely got something planned, but she wouldn't tell us what."

"Yeah, I know," Willow complained. "I mean, I like surprises – surprises are great – but I like knowing about them first," she said absurdly.

"That kind of defeats the whole 'surprise' aspect of the surprise," Dawn pointed out reasonably.

"Still," Willow protested indignantly, then trailed off, realizing she couldn't really argue with that particular piece of logic. "It's just dinner, though," Willow went on. "I mean, she invited me to dinner, then kicked me out ... I'm guessing she's making dinner."

"Very logical," Buffy said with a nod. "But you'll have to tell us all about it tomorrow. Unless it really is something naughty. You can skip those details."

"Or you can share them," Xander piped in with an easy smile. "I'm your friend, and I'm here for you. I'm perfectly willing to lend my ear to a verbal replay of any naughtiness that goes on tonight. In detail, if need be."

"Well, someone has to make these kinds of sacrifices," Xander pointed out reasonably. "And I am the only one here who understands the whole 'girl attraction' thing."

"No, you're the one with an eerie fascination for the 'girl/girl attraction' thing," Dawn said with a smirk.

"Oooh, ouch!" Xander said, clutching his chest dramatically. "Score one for the Dawnster. Congratulations on joining the ranks of full-womanhood, and enjoy your newfound power to wound the hearts of men with just a few simple words."

"Stop complaining," Anya insisted, walking over to the group and standing behind Xander's chair now that she had successfully gained a customer's money and relieved herself of some unwanted inventory. "You're lucky Willow didn't smack you."

"That's why I'm sitting on the other side of the table," he said, looking up at Anya and grinning at her.

"Would you like me to smack him, since I'm within easy reach?" Anya asked Willow earnestly. Anya had learned a lot about female solidarity on her trip with Tara.

"That's okay, Anya," Willow said with a little smile. "No smacking necessary. But I'll take you up on that if he ever gets out of line."

"So, umm, Wills?" Buffy asked, looking up at a clock on the wall. "It's about time for you to be heading off to your date, isn't it?"

"You don't sound happy about this," Xander said with a frown. "Pretty girl, love of your life, alone-time and dinner ... why don't you sound happy?"

"I am happy," Willow insisted. "Ecstatic. Over the moon. And what do people mean by that, anyway? I mean, over the moon? What does that have to do with anything? Does that mean that you're really depressed when you're under the moon? Or, maybe – maybe that's where the term down in the dumps came from, because dumps would be under the moon, and y'know, down. Under. Same concept."

"Okay, breathe, Willow," Buffy said simply, laying a hand on her shoulder and giving her a little shake. "Nervous?" she asked kindly, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Why? It's just Tara," Dawn wondered aloud, honestly curious as to what was wigging Willow so badly.

"Just Tara?" Willow said. "No, no ... there is no 'Just Tara' ... there's 'Wonderful Tara' and 'Beautiful Tara' and 'Oh My God, She Thinks I'm A Babbling Idiot, Why Won't The Earth Open Up And Swallow Me Whole Right Now? Tara' ... but there's no 'Just Tara'."

"Right," Anya said with a nod. "And remember, if you get nervous, just picture her in her underwear."

Willow immediately began blushing, visions of a scantily clad Tara dancing through her brain as everyone just looked at Anya.

"What?" Anya asked defensively, looking back at the rest of the Scoobies. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do? I think I saw a special on public speaking, and how picturing people in their underwear is supposed to make you less nervous."

"Umm, thanks," Willow squeaked, coughing lightly. "I think I'll just, umm ... I'll, uh, go. Now."

"Giles!" Anya yelled, calling for the Englishman who was in the back checking on the inventory. What with him being here and all, Anya had insisted he do some work.

"Willow's ready to go now," Anya said, pointing at the redhead as if she weren't present.

"Absolutely not," Giles said with a frown. "Not with Constructs and the like around. We're going to take a car, since the thing can't run very fast."

"Right then," Giles said with a nod. "Don't forget to call Tara and warn her that Willow is on the way," he whispered when Willow was out the door. Quickly, he followed, reaching for his keys.

"Okay, is anyone else ready to vote Tara 'Sweetest Girlfriend on the Earth?'" Anya asked, putting her hand up in the air.

After a moment, three more hands raised as the rest of the Scoobies showed their agreement.

"Hey," Anya said, smacking Xander in the shoulder. "You don't get to agree with me," she said with a frown.

"No, you're the sweetest fiancée," Xander said slowly. "Totally different category." Anya expression softened, and a surprised and pleased smile crossed her face, her eyes twinkling.

"Oh, none," Buffy said with a shake of her head. "That particular brand of Willow Panic was the 'I have no idea what's going on' Willow Panic."

"Oh, Tara!" Anya let out suddenly, dashing to the phone. She picked it up and hurriedly dialed the number at the Summers Residence.

"Already?" Tara squeaked, shifting nervously. She had spent the entire day setting up, and it was already far nearer sunset than she had anticipated. Between casting the sacred circle for the spell and the special dinner she had planned, she had been extremely busy.

"Yes, already. This doesn't work if she isn't home before sunset," Anya said with a frown. "You know that."

"Oh, well, that's fine. Then Willow won't have to imagine you in your underwear. She'll be able to see it."

"Umm ..." Tara began, about to question Anya, then deciding she didn't really want to know what Anya meant. "I have to go ... get ready," Tara said hurriedly. "I'm leaving the phone off the hook, so if there's an emergency... oh, umm... just... try not to have an emergency, okay?"

Tara listened to the dial tone for a moment as she went over a checklist in her head. Had she remembered everything? She certainly wanted to get this right.

She put the receiver down, making good on her promise to leave the phone off the hook, and went to the closet, pulling out a simple dress that Willow had always liked. It was probably her nicest outfit, but casual, and as far as she knew, that was correct. But was it? The stuff she read said "nice clothes" or "best clothes" but... they didn't mean, like, formal wear or anything, right?

Tara gazed at her closet uncertainly, wondering if she should change. Of course, she'd really feel silly running around in an evening gown, and it wasn't like she had one handy anyway, so she decided to leave it. Quickly, she dashed to the bathroom, running a brush through her hair and returning it to some semblance of order. She had already dried and brushed it after her bath, but then she had finished up a few things, and it had ended up in a state of disarray once again.

"Oh, candles," she said out loud, checking the mirror once more. She had never really thought of herself as pretty, and she hadn't really cared. Taking the time and effort to worry about her appearance seemed silly when she really just wished she would be invisible anyway. It was easier not to be noticed – not to be talked to. Then she wouldn't have to worry about stuttering and making a fool of herself.

When had all that changed? Willow, of course, had been the impetus. But when exactly was that? Was there some defining moment where she decided she wanted to be attractive to the other girl, or was it a slow progression as Willow had skillfully and subtly drawn her out of her shell?

Not that she needed to dress up for Willow. She knew she could wear a burlap sack, and Willow would look at her with love and desire in her eyes – but she found that she got an extra thrill when she could halt Willow's brain functions altogether.

She was just lucky that Willow appreciated – and in some cases, even shared – her unique fashion sense. Her clothes weren't 'in' or 'fashionable', but they were a reflection of herself – slightly quirky, a little off-beat. Besides, she mentally added with a wicked twinkle in her eye as she moved to hall closet where she had a stash of candles, the skirts she had substituted for her baggy jeans made romantic encounters in unconventional locations a little easier. Less wrist strain.

She grabbed two candles and headed downstairs to the dining room where she had already set the table with the best china. She placed the candles on the table running along the wall, then turned to double-check the place settings. Everything seemed to be in order.

All the food was staying warm in the oven, she'd unscrewed the lightbulb in the refrigerator, and similarly, all the lights in the house were off. Only a series of slow-burning candles in each room already lit would light their way once the sun set, and Tara let herself relax for a moment.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to settle her nerves. Would Willow like this surprise? She really wasn't sure. The lack of computer use the following day would likely drive her a little insane, but Tara was sure they're manage.

"The computer!" she said, standing bolt upright and moving into the living room. Willow's computer was sitting there, humming happily, and Tara eyed it uncertainly. Touching Willow's computer without her permission seemed something akin to reading her diary. Still – it needed to be turned off.

"All right, you tyrant," she muttered, thinking about how much time Willow actually spent on the thing. "Your reign has ended."

Willow walked into the house to see her girlfriend wearing her favorite dress and eyeing her computer like a gunslinger who was about to draw.

"Ummm, hi," Willow said with a nervous little wave, looking back and forth between Tara and her computer. "Umm... problem?"

"Oh, Willow," Tara said, looking over and smiling, her posture relaxing. "That," she said imperiously, pointing a finger at the computer, "needs to be turned off."

"Umm... sure," Willow said, sitting down and checking the programs she had running. "There are a few things running right now, but I can turn it off later after -"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. "You shut it down properly, or I'm pulling the plug."

"W-what?" Willow squeaked, hovering over her innocent laptop protectively. "Pull the plug?"

"I'm serious," Tara said, then her expression softened. "No beeping computers, no research, no Hellmouth, no Hell Gods, no vampires, no slayers, no classes, no homework. Just us."

"Umm, okay," Willow said, an uncertain frown appearing on her face. Tara was acting kind of... odd. Still, she had asked Willow to dinner, and had gone to the trouble of cooking, and there were candles all over – candles? Willow grinned delightedly and quickly shut down her computer, snapping it closed with a resounding click. Candles were... romantic. And Tara was...

Willow let herself really look at Tara, her eyes roaming over the simple dress that flatteringly outlined her figure, in a shade of soft blue that made her eyes seem more intense. She took in those features she knew as well as her own, her grin toning down and becoming a soft, sweet smile.

"Thank you," Tara said, a pleased flush crawling up her neck as she dipped her head self-consciously. She had learned long ago not to argue with Willow about this. Even though she still thought 'beautiful' was a bit much, and perhaps 'pretty' would be more accurate, she had learned to just be thankful that Willow found her beautiful and to let it go at that.

"No, really," Willow said earnestly, rising to her feet, about to continue when Tara's posture stiffened visibly.

"Oh! The time!" Tara blurted out, then rushed from the room. Willow followed at a more sedate pace, frowning and wondering what had caused Tara such alarm. Her first thought was that something was cooking, but Tara had headed for the dining room.

Willow walked into the room and froze in the doorway in time to see a flaring match in Tara's hand as she lit the second of two candles. With a flick of her wrist, Tara extinguished the match, placing it in a little tray, then raised her hands to place her palms over her eyes.

Willow recognized the motion immediately, even though it had never occurred to her that she would ever see Tara performing the act. She slapped her hands over her own eyes quickly, surprised when she heard Tara's voice in sync with her own.

"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha'olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu l'hadlik neir shel Shabbat."

The words rolled easily off of Tara's tongue – she had practiced them long enough – and a sense of peace drifted over her and for some reason she thought of her mother. It occurred to Tara that her mom would have liked this – it had a sense of history and tradition to it, and the symbolism would have appealed to her as Tara found it appealing to herself. She let her hands drop, and a self-conscious smile played upon her lips.

"Tara?" Willow said uncertainly, entranced by the play of shadow and light from the Shabbat candles flickering across Tara's face. "I... you..." Words completely eluded her, and she found herself unable to catch hold of any as she trailed off into silence.

"Is this okay?" Tara asked, turning towards Willow, her face showing her trepidation. "I mean, I... I've kinda' wanted to do this for awhile, and I probably should have asked first, but -"

"Because I... I know you don't – I mean, you uhhh... haven't observed the Shabbat since we've been together, so I didn't know if it was, umm, important to you, or what, but I wanted to, umm...share this... with you," Tara explained haltingly, taking a small step towards Willow.

"How did you know?" Willow asked, gesturing to the candles and rocking her weight forward onto the balls of her feet and back.

"I, uhh... I kinda' umm... I looked it all up. When I, uhh, found out you were Jewish," Tara said, her eyes lowering as she chewed on her lower lip.

"Tara," Willow said slowly, her jaw sagging as she gaped at the girl. "That was before we got together."

"I know," Tara said simply, a shy self-conscious smile crossing her face. "I said I, uhh... I've been wanting to do this for a, umm... while."

"Why?" Willow asked simply, unsure of what she meant by that question. A million "why's" flittered through her brain. Why would Tara go to all this trouble? Why would she want to observe a tradition from a faith she didn't share? And why didn't this incredible woman just walk away from her and never look back, after she had hurt her so badly?

"Yes," Willow nodded, prompting Tara to continue. Willow's brain kicked in to high gear as she tried to understand exactly what had motivated Tara to go to all this work to set up a Shabbat dinner for her. She certainly didn't need Tara to do anything like this, and she couldn't fathom what had made her go to all that trouble – not that she didn't appreciate it. No, she felt... it was hard to really decide how she felt. Crazy in love, definitely. Warmed, assuredly. But... puzzled.

Tara sighed, trying to order her thoughts. It really was complicated. "At first I just, umm... I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to know everything about you, so I, uhh...I spent a lot of time in the library reading."

"That's... so sweet," Willow said with a sigh, her heart fluttering in her chest as she pictured Tara nervously requesting assistance finding books on Judaism. "But, Baby? If you've been planning this for years, why, umm...why now?" Willow took a step closer.

"That's the, umm, complicated part. Kinda' hard to explain," Tara said, letting out a puff of air and trying to compose herself. Why was she so nervous? She couldn't remember the last time she had been so ill at ease doing something for Willow. It was probably because she felt a little... well, silly. Here she was, putting together a Shabbat dinner for a faith Willow didn't necessarily subscribe to. But it was important to Tara that they share this. So how could she explain that to Willow?

"Try," Willow urged gently, taking that final step and reaching out, her hand finding Tara's and their fingers twining together. A warmth seemed to build and spread from where their palms pressed together, and Tara smiled shyly, looking up into Willow's eyes and seeing a familiar curiosity there, wrapped up in a soft and loving gaze.

"Well, there's the whole 'dinner with your parents' thing," Tara said wryly, squeezing Willow's hand gently. "I wanted to, y'know, kind of, umm...practice."

Tara's expression turned serious as she looked at Willow, her free hand reaching up to brush against Willow's cheek. "We, uhh, we can't really, umm... cast spells together, anymore," she said softly. "And that was... it, uhh... it was always such a spiritual thing, that we shared," she said, shaking her head, frustrated with her inability to express everything she was thinking.

"And you wanted to keep sharing something spiritual?" Willow guessed, looking into Tara's eyes and letting her love for this woman bubble up from her depths and suffuse her being.

Tara nodded, a relieved look crossing her face. "And, umm... Wicca... it's my religion, my faith. You've, uhh...you've shared in mine, and I kind of, wanted to, umm... I wanted to share in yours."

Right then, at that moment, Willow couldn't not kiss this woman. Willow wrapped her arm around Tara's waist, pulling her close, and gently claiming those lips with her own. Tara let out a little gasp of surprise, then relaxed, giving Willow's hand another squeeze.

The kiss was soft and sweet, and they lingered there, tasting each other leisurely. Heartbeats quickened and breaths grew ragged, their bodies pushing together. After a long moment, Willow slowly pulled back, resting her forehead against Tara's and taking deep breaths.

"If you spent days just kissing me, I'd be ready for the mental ward by the time you were done," Willow rejoined, a smile crossing her face. They rocked gently where they stood, and Tara smiled back.

"I didn't say where I'd be kissing you," Tara responded, her smile taking on a sultry quality.

"Oh, wow," Willow uttered as she felt her heartbeat pick up again at Tara's words. "Umm... we'll have to schedule a few free days as soon as possible, then."

"Definitely," Tara said with a nod before finding Willow's lips again for a quick kiss. With a determined look, she stepped back out of Willow's embrace, but kept their hands entwined. "So now we're supposed to sing and pray to welcome Shabbat?" she asked.

"Shabbat? Friday sundown to Saturday sundown? Jewish tradition?" Tara offered helpfully, a warm flush suffusing her body as she realized just how powerfully she affected Willow.

"Oh, right! With the candles and singing and wine, and dinner... definitely a dinner in there somewhere," Willow said.

"I, umm... I don't know any of the songs, though," Tara confessed. "I couldn't find any music or recordings."

"Oh, well, no problem," Willow said, pulling her brain out of its Tara-haze and back to the Shabbat at hand. "I could, umm, teach you, though... I mean, my voice – it's like rocks in a blender, only without the pleasant tones, or we could, umm... skip it."

Willow sighed happily, drinking in the warmth pouring from Tara's eyes. There was nothing she would refuse this woman, when she looked at her like that. With a nod, she agreed, and they sat at the table, their hands still clasped together. Carefully, Willow taught a song she had grown up with, and Tara learned quickly, repeating each line after Willow until she had mastered it.

"No, it's 'likrat kallah', not 'likrut kelleh'," Willow corrected gently, helping Tara with her pronunciation. With a determined look that made Willow's heart melt, Tara repeated the phrase, then sang the line, and Willow bounced giddily in her chair when Tara got it right. "Now the whole thing?" she asked, finding that sharing this tradition with Tara made it far more meaningful to her than it had ever been growing up.

Tara nodded and they began, singing the ages-old traditional song to welcome Shabbat, and Willow couldn't help but grin at Tara, her beautiful voice doing wonders for the piece. Willow certainly didn't sing half as well, and Willow's mother was even more hopeless.

The moment, Willow realized, was bittersweet. Though she was enjoying this time with Tara, she couldn't help but compare it to the Shabbat dinners of her youth. Shabbat used to be her favorite time of the week, when she and her parents would just sit and talk for hours. As she grew older, she came to resent their attempt at 'togetherness', becoming keenly aware through their attention on Shabbat just how much she didn't have their attention every other time.

Ruthlessly, she quashed the thoughts as she and Tara wound up the song, smiling with delight. Tara had gone to a lot of trouble to share this with her, and she refused to let dreary memories get in the way. This wasn't about her parents – it was about Shabbat; a day of peace and rest and togetherness. And she would do everything she could to make this first Shabbat for Tara a special one indeed.

Willow grinned broadly at Tara, and Tara couldn't help but grin back, the expression so joyous and infectious she was helpless against it.

"Now is usually the blessing of the children, but... I mean, we don't have any lying around, unless you picked some up somewhere, and... you didn't kidnap some kids so we could bless them, did you?" Willow rambled, her brain getting away from her again.

Tara laughed gently, then shook her head. "No, I'm trying to cut back on my kidnappings," she said earnestly, a discernible twinkle in her eye. At least, it was discernible to Willow, who knew when and where to look for it. Most people were fooled by Tara's perfectly innocent demeanor, but Willow knew just what an incredible sense of humor Tara had.

"Oh, good," Willow said with mock relief. "Because you're not supposed to have any monetary transactions on Shabbat, which means we couldn't post bail, and then, y'know, we'd be in the slammer until tomorrow."

"The slammer?" Tara said with a giggle, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what you hardened criminals call it?"

"The slammer, the clink, up-river," Willow listed off. "We hardened criminals have lots of names for jail, y'know, 'cuz we spend so much time there."

"You should consider being a crime boss," Tara said, nodding sagely. "They hardly ever go to jail. I mean, except for tax evasion. And you'd be careful on your taxes, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Willow said with a nod. "I may be a hardened criminal, but I'd never skimp on the taxes."

"So, umm, no kids... so we skip to the 'Shalom Alecheim'? That's another song, right?" Tara asked.

"Yeah," Willow said with a smile. "Though, technically, we could be kids, but it's a parent or authority figure kind of person who does the blessing, so we could skip. And, umm...do you want to learn this song, too?"

"Okay," Willow agreed, smiling again despite herself. She honestly couldn't remember when she had last had such a good time on Shabbat, and found herself wondering how she didn't just keel over at how incredibly adorable Tara was. "The Shalom Alecheim is a song to welcome the Angels for Shabbat, and to offer them our hospitality," Willow explained, unsure of how much Tara's reading had taught her. "Ready?" she asked, and Tara nodded again.

"Shalom aleichem, malachei hasharet, malachei elyon. Mimelech malachei ha'm'lachim, hakadosh baruch hu," Willow sang, and Tara dutifully repeated the line. They continued, Willow teaching Tara the last three verses.

"Thanks," Willow said automatically, then rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly. "'Thanks'," she mocked herself, sighing. "Like I wrote it or something."

"Like how sports fans high-five each other when their team makes a good play? As if they had anything to do with it?" Tara asked, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Exactly like," Willow said with a smile. "I'm just a spectator in the Jewish Songwriting stands, and I just high-fived myself. Clearly, I must be stopped. Before you know it, I'll be waving around one of those foam fingers and doing a little dance."

"Actually, I think I high-fived you," Tara responded with a giggle. "Though, I think I'd pay to see the Jewish-Songwriting-Fan Dance."

Immediately, Willow got up from her chair and began hopping from foot to foot and waggling her head from side to side, her arms straight down in a dance move she remembered from her childhood.

"Oh, but it was the Jewish-Songwriting-Fan Dance first," Willow said seriously, pausing for a moment, then returning to her dancing. "Those darn animators shamelessly stole it."

Tara stood up and enfolded Willow into a tender embrace, stopping the dance. "You're such a doofus," she said tenderly. "You make my heart smile."

Feeling downright giddy, Willow returned the hug, squeezing Tara close to her and rocking back and forth. "I'm your doofus," Willow said, laughing for no other reason than the sheer joy of the moment.

"So," Tara said, pulling her head back to look at Willow. "Since I lit the candles, you gonna' recite Psalms 31:10 to me?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"We could skip it," Willow said after a moment, kissing Tara lightly. "I mean, I'm not a guy, and my Dad always..."

"It's a misogynistic part of Shabbat," Willow argued. "I mean, I still have a hard time believing my forward-thinking feminist sociologist mother actually sat through that every week, just smiling and beaming at dad."

"It's not misogynistic," Tara said with a shake of her head. "Those were the times. It's realistic. I mean, it's not all applicable now, but considering when it was written, it's actually kind of sweet," she said thoughtfully.

"You want me to do the Eishet Chayil?" Willow asked skeptically, then sighed. "Darn it all, Anya was right – I am the butch one."

Tara laughed lightly, and gave Willow a little squeeze. "I figured we could do this again sometime and, y'know, umm... switch roles?" she said, her eyes wide and innocent even as her voice dripped with innuendo. "Take turns?"

"Yeah?" Willow said, pulling Tara even closer and letting their lips brush together. "Taking turns is of the good," she noted.

Willow scoffed, then stole another kiss. "Though I'm only doing the parts that don't make me want to disembowel myself with a spork, okay?"

"That's fair," said with a laugh, snuggling into Willow's arms and letting her head rest on her shoulder. Willow smiled and hugged Tara close, nuzzling her hair and breathing in its sweet scent.

Willow's eyes drifted shut as she recalled the verses, mentally editing them to reflect the woman in her arms. "A woman of valor who can find? For her price is far above rubies...She does her partner good and not evil all the days of her life...She girds her loins with strength and makes strong her arms...She stretches out her hand to the poor; she puts forth her hands to the needy...Strength and dignity are her clothing; and she laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom; and the law of loving kindness is on her tongue."

"Mmm... I can think of some other things I want on my tongue," Tara said dreamily, nuzzling Willow's neck and giving it a delicate lick, her nostrils flaring at the taste of Willow's skin.

"Tara!" Willow blurted out, the words and accompanying meeting of tongue and skin sending a distinct signal to the pit of her belly, starting a slow burn there. "You're, ummm... the, uhh..."

"Spicy talk?" Tara offered up, lifting her head and looking at Willow. "I have plans for you tonight. Did you know that?" Tara asked softly.

Willow nodded wordlessly, her hands gripping convulsively at the back of Tara's dress.

"I just want to make sure you're fully aware of my intentions," Tara remarked casually, her eyes hot and liquid as they looked into Willow's.

Tara kissed her then, slowly and thoroughly, eliciting a tiny whimper from the redhead. Just as Willow began to take over the kiss, her tongue seeking entrance to Tara's mouth, Tara pulled back.

"I'll get the challah and dinner, you get the grape juice," Tara said lightly, forcing her tone to remain casual as she walked into the kitchen, even though she wanted to toss Willow onto the table and have her way with her. Or get tossed on the table, and Willow could have her way. Either one was good. Either one was very good, she recalled, biting her lower lip to suppress a groan.

Still, there was the spell to do that night, and it was important that they didn't... finish before they started.

"Grape juice?" Willow asked in a daze, drifting into the kitchen, the only thing steady about her being her gaze, which never wavered from Tara's body.

"I never really liked wine. I figured we could sub in the grape juice. It's in the fridge," Tara explained, looking over her shoulder at Willow. "Besides, I wanted to have a clear head tonight."

Willow took a deep breath, her eyes widening perceptibly in the candlelit kitchen. She moved to the refrigerator, and shook her head, trying to clear it. Maybe she could just stick her head in the freezer, or maybe crawl in completely?

She opened the refrigerator door, immediately noticing something wrong. She closed the door with a frown, then opened it again. She repeated the action.

"Oh, no, actually," Tara said, picking up the challah and the dinner she had retrieved from the oven, left there to keep warm. "I took it out."

"Umm... honey? Is that why the candles? I kinda' thought you were just being all, I dunno'... romantic?" Willow asked, turning from the refrigerator and looking at Tara.

"Well, it is romantic," Tara said with a little shrug. "And there's also that 'no starting a fire' thing."

"Baby, my family isn't that traditional. Electricity does not equal fire," Willow pointed out. "Is that why you threatened to pull the plug on my laptop?"

"Yes," Tara said with an unrepentant grin. "And for a witch, electricity is too fire," she argued reasonably. "It's a mixture of fire and air, so it's a no-no tonight."

"All your spicy talk is fire and air," Willow shot back good-naturedly, opening the fridge again and looking for the grape juice. In the dark.

"Making love on the Shabbat is a double mitzvah," Tara called back from the dining room. "Double your blessings, double your fun."

Willow shook her head and laughed, wondering how Tara could possibly make her giggle and turn her on in the same breath. She pushed the milk aside and finally spotted the jug of grape juice, her eyebrows flying into her hairline when she saw the extra something only Tara could have left draped over it.

"Can't find the juice?" Tara asked after a few minutes, wondering what was taking Willow so long in the kitchen. She started to rise from the chair when Willow walked in.

"I think these are yours?" Willow asked, twirling a pair of lacy panties around her index finger with the jug of grape juice in her other hand, her eyes roaming over Tara's primly seated figure.

"Oopsie," Tara said, covering her mouth with one hand, her eyes twinkling. "Did I forget to put those on? I had a really busy day," she said, her face the picture of innocence. Which, Tara found, was hard to pull off when the intensity of Willow's gaze made a series of distinctly naughty memories flash into her mind.

It was obvious, Willow realized, that Tara was trying to drive her completely insane. Raving lunatic. Call the funny farm, and make a reservation, and could someone please arrange for Willow Rosenberg to be fitted for her new spiffy white coat with the special arms?

Well, if she was going to spend some quality time at a place called The Happy Dale, she sure as shootin' wasn't going to do it alone.

"Are you sure these are yours?" Willow asked earnestly. "Because we need to be certain."

"I'm, umm... pretty sure," Tara said cautiously, sensing that Willow was up to something. Willow carefully set the grape juice down, then knelt at Tara's side, running a hand up her leg.

"Only pretty sure?" Willow asked silkily, her fingers slipping under the hem of Tara's dress and trailing up and down the top of her thigh. "Maybe I should check? Just to be sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Tara said with a nod, her eyes drifting shut. The spell. She couldn't forget the spell. But that certainly didn't help her predicament, because her traitorous mind immediately called up images of Willow, panting and gasping on the floor when she had anchored the redhead on her journey to the nether realms.

"Are you sure you're sure?" Willow asked with wide eyes, her fingers slipping to Tara's inner thigh at the knee and inching upwards. "Because you weren't sure just a moment ago, and since I though we could trade, I need to be sure these are really yours."

"Umm, trade?" Tara gasped, her legs parting involuntarily, her hands gripping the table.

Willow nodded, forcing her hand to stop before reaching her goal. Oh, she wanted to touch Tara – to take her right now... her fingers tingled with the want of it, but she knew they had to wait for the spell. "Yes. Trade," Willow said, pulling a pair of panties out of her pocket and draping them across Tara's lap.

"Took them off in the kitchen," Willow confirmed with a nod, withdrawing her hand and moving to her own chair, wondering how she was possibly going to make it through dinner.

Tara took a deep breath and tried to settle herself. If this spell had been for anything less than saving Willow's life, she'd just chuck the whole thing and give in to her need. But she couldn't do that, and so she breathed, looking down at the table and trying to think of something that would cool her ardor.

"The Kiddush is next," Willow said solemnly, taking a few steadying breaths herself. Carefully, she poured the grape juice, holding the cup in her hand, the base resting on her palm and her fingers curled upward around it, and filling it to the very brim. She really wondered how her father managed to do that without making a mess, when she found that only a few drops spilled over, sliding down the side and landing in her palm.

She closed her eyes, concentrating as she recalled the words her father had said every Friday evening. Haltingly, then with more surety, she recited the account of the completion of creation on the seventh day.

Immediately following, she blessed the grape juice, a smile forming on her lips as she looked over at Tara fondly. Kiddush grape juice? That was so like her. "Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha'olam, borei p'ri hagafen." Fruit of the vine – surely grape juice counted.

Tara listened to Willow's words, taking in the lilting sound of her voice as it took on a rhythm and cadence that was sweetly familiar to her. It was the same Willow used when casting spells, and Tara couldn't help the little thrill of warmth she got hearing it again. She had been so sure that she never would.

Willow finished with the last of the Kiddush, her words ringing out surely. "Blessed are You, Eternal our God, who sanctifies us with the commandments, and delights in us. In love you have favored us with the gift of Your holy Shabbat, a heritage which recalls the deed of creation. It is the first day among holy days, reminding us of our going forth from Egypt. You gave us Your holy Shabbat as a treasure to grace all our generations. Blessed are You, who sanctifies Shabbat."

Willow gave a little self-conscious smile when she finished, taking a sip of the grape juice and passing it to Tara. Mentally, she sent up an extra-special thank-you for allowing her to love this woman – for bringing Tara MaClay into her life. She hadn't actually done anything she would call praying since Jesse had died, and nightmares became real and her life was filled with the terrible knowledge that the dead walked the earth. But now she felt her heart shift, back towards her faith, as she had felt it shift away from it on that night.

Tara took a sip of the juice as well, placing the cup back on the table, then removing the pretty cloth she had used to cover the challah. Challah, she had learned, was a sweet eggy bread shaped in a braid and she had run off to the store to buy some that morning once Willow was out of the house. She had briefly considered baking it herself, but had realized she had too much to do that day to try out a new recipe.

"Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha'olam, hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz," Tara recited, letting herself feel the words as they left her mouth.

Breaking off a piece of the challah, Tara sprinkled salt on it, tasting the bread. She passed it to Willow, who smiled at her and repeated the action.

Tara served up the dinner quickly, and as soon as the food was placed in front of her, Willow started eating, trying in vain to assuage a hunger that could only be sated by the woman at her side. She barely tasted the food, and certainly didn't look at it as she watched Tara chew and swallow.

Tara was similarly riveted, her body on slow burn as Willow's lips parted and her mouth opened, the food slipping inside and being consumed. Never in her life had Tara ever wanted to be a chicken casserole so badly.

On one level, Tara realized this was one of the more ridiculous thoughts she had ever had, but she really meant it. She wanted to be pressed against those lips, to feel those teeth sink into her, and that tongue sliding along every part of her. To sustain Willow – to give her everything she was.

As if reading her thoughts, Willow took in a shuddering breath, putting her fork aside and letting her hand drop to her lap, her fingers brushing over the rough texture of Tara's panties. She closed her fingers around them, the lace tickling her palm and sending tingles up her arm and down her spine to settle between her legs.

"I, umm... don't really want to finish dinner," she said tentatively, her voice husky and low.

"Me neither," Tara agreed, standing up and leaving her half-eaten meal on the table. She'd clean it all later. Much, much later.

Tara extender her hand, and Willow rose, turning Tara's hand and slipping her fingers between hers, their hands entwined palm to palm, facing the same direction as they had held hands in an empty laundry room late at night with monsters at the door.

At that first tentative touch of fingertips, a jolt shot through each of them, and their breathing hitched. As their palms pressed together, their eyes were fixated on that point, and a warmth spread through their bodies.

"Upstairs is good," Willow nodded, switching her grip on Tara's hand and pulling her to the stairs. They raced up, hand in hand, but when they reached the top, Willow had reached her limit.

With a low growl, she pushed Tara to the wall, pinning her there with her body, both of them gasping when their breasts pressed together. Willow groaned when she felt her nipples hardening against her bra, and she settled her hands on Tara's hips, pushing against them with her own.

Tara felt the back of her head hit the wall, and Willow's hands gripping her hips, the redheads body rubbing against her own. She had been on slow burn all night, and now that exploded within her as Willow's lips found her pulse point and the smooth fabric of her dress slid against her legs, being gathered into Willow's trembling hands.

"Gotta' check... gotta' make sure," Willow mumbled against Tara's skin, pulling the hem of the dress inexorably higher until it was gathered at Tara's waist. She didn't bother looking, just slid her hands down the smooth skin of Tara's thighs, her firm touch confirming that Tara wasn't wearing any underwear.

Tara's heart pounded in her chest and her head lolled to one side as Willow's hands burned a trail of fire across her skin, and down to her clit. She couldn't help but part her legs at the insistent pressure of Willow's hands against her thighs.

Willow took a deep shuddering breath when she felt Tara's legs parting for her, and she ached to feel Tara, to touch her and taste her. But Tara wanted to do the spell, she knew that. At that moment, it just didn't matter to her that the spell could save her life. What mattered to her was what Tara wanted – what Tara needed. Willow would give this woman anything, and so she eased away with a groan, her breath in heaving gasps to match Tara's.

She owed Tara this – this chance to save her, and she held on to that thought. She couldn't – wouldn't – tell Tara that if this didn't work, she had a back-up plan. That if things went wrong, and if the Trickster could possibly use her to open the Hellmouth, she'd have to leave Sunnydale. Alone. If Tara knew, she'd insist on going with Willow – Willow knew that. But she couldn't allow it. She couldn't allow Tara to watch her die, slowly slipping away from her. No, she couldn't.

"Bedroom?" Tara managed to say, her body protesting the lack of Willow's pressed against it. She had planned on teasing Willow shamelessly, to tempt and arouse – but she hadn't planned on turning them both on so much they almost made love in the hall. The spell had suggested twenty-four excruciating hours of abstinence to let the sexual energy build, and that was part of the reason Tara had sent Willow away that day. She just hadn't been sure she would make it, and if there was anything she could do to increase the chances of the spell being successful, Tara was determined to take it.

Willow nodded, and let herself be pulled towards the bedroom by Tara, her head swimming and her legs feeling a little wobbly. Tara opened the door and they entered, the door's movement making the candles throughout the room flicker.

The bed, Willow noted, had been pulled away from the wall. Tara must have done that during her day, as well as placed the candles around it, creating a sacred space for their spellwork.

"Clothes, off," Tara managed to say, sure that she wouldn't be able to use any words that required more than one short syllable.

Willow nodded again, her hands reaching around Tara's body and finding the ties that held it closed in the back. Her shaking fingers worked on the knots as Tara unbuttoned her shirt, then unfastened her pants, the cool air hitting her skin and making her shiver. An urgency spurred them on – a pounding need between their legs that demanded satisfaction.

"God, Tara," Willow whimpered, the stubborn knots resisting her efforts. "Turn around," she demanded, and Tara complied, awkwardly slipping off her shoes. As she turned, Willow shrugged out of her shirt, tossing it aside, careful to keep it away from the candles.

The knots finally cooperated, and Willow pushed fabric aside, exposing smooth skin and pressing her lips to it. Tara gasped and instinctively moved closer to those lips, barely remaining upright as she swayed. Willow finished off the knots, and pulled the fabric off Tara's shoulders, her hands caressing the soft curves there as the dress fell to the floor, pooling at Tara's feet.

Willow unfastened Tara's bra, and as soon as Tara felt her breasts freed, she turned again, letting the bra drop to the floor as she grabbed Willow's pants at the waist and tugged them down, letting her hands brush against bare skin and biting back a moan.

"Oh, Willow," Tara breathed, the name a benediction coming from her lips as she removed Willow's bra, their bare skin sliding together in a warm embrace.

Tara stepped into the circle of candles before she was completely lost in the moment, hanging on by a thread to the knowledge that they needed to complete this spell.

Willow paused, her eyes taking in the shapes and contours of Tara's body, highlighted by the candles and the soft moonlight streaming in the window. She was a temptress and an innocent, and angel and a demon, standing there naked before her. She was Eve, offering the apple to Adam, and Willow wanted it. She wanted it all.

With a few steps, she reached the edge of the circle, then stepped forward, the sudden feeling of warm air against her skin a marked contrast to the cooler air of the rest of the bedroom. Her desire for Tara still burned brightly and did not diminish, but the sense of urgency eased, and she let out a soft sigh.

"So, how do we..." Willow wondered, walking to Tara and placing her hands lightly on her hips, pressing her palms to the skin there and feeling the heat emanating off of her.

"Are you sure you want to?" Tara asked uncertainly, needing to know that Willow wanted this as much as she did. "It's kind of... intense."

"I trust you," Willow responded immediately, a slow smile spreading across her face. Tara smiled back, climbing onto the bed, and Willow followed.

"The, umm... drawing was kind of explicit, but I'm not sure how they, umm..." Willow began, only to stop when Tara placed her finger against her lips.

"Here," Tara said softly, sitting and facing Willow. "Your right leg goes over my left here," she instructed, and Willow obeyed. Tara mirrored the action, placing her right leg over Willow's left. "Now we just... scoot together, and wrap your left leg around behind me, and steady yourself with your right...yeah, like that," Tara explained. Willow gasped when her brain took in the full impact of their positioning, their legs wide open to each other, and their nether curls brushing together.

Tara smiled and took Willow's hand, pulling her upper body close, their taut nipples brushing together.

"God, that feels so good," Tara murmured, her arms winding around Willow's neck as Willow's hands slid around her back. Those hands slid down to the base of Tara's spine, trying to bring Tara closer still, but she resisted. "Shhh, Baby," she soothed, whispering in Willow's ear, making the redhead shudder as her hot breath caressed her face.

"Look at me... breathe with me," Tara urged softly, making eye contact with Willow.

Willow nodded, and concentrated, letting her breathing reflect Tara's. There faces where so close together, they breathed the same air, Willow inhaling on each of Tara's exhales.

"Good," Tara praised with a small smile, which Willow answered. Eyes locked together, Tara started the incantation. "By Earth in form of flesh, with which I touch her," she whispered, her mind becoming keenly aware of each place their bodies touched, skin on skin. She ran her fingers up Willow's neck and stifled a moan, feeling it – feeling Willow – but also feeling a touch on her own neck, as if she felt what Willow felt.

"By Air in form of breath, which I give her," Tara went on, her breathing slowing and deepening, Willow looking deep into her eyes and matching it.

Their eyes remained locked together, and when their breathing reached a perfect reflection of the others, Tara gasped, a flood of sensation transmitted to her through Willow's eyes. The air charged between them, their hot breaths playing across each others faces and lips.

Tara could feel a hot liquid energy pouring down her spine and pooling and gathering between her legs. She stifled a moan, biting down on her lower lip. Her breath quickened, and without conscious thought, Willow's matched it, and it was if they were one body, their breath controlled by one mind.

"By Water, in form of blood, which flows through my veins for her," Tara whispered, her voice ragged.

The white hot energy pooling within Tara released into Willow, and Willow shivered as it entered her, crawling up her spine and gathering in her head making her dizzy. She could hear her heart – no, Tara's heart – pounding in her ears. No, it was both of them, their hearts beating together.

She wanted to throw her head back and scream, but she kept her gaze locked on Tara's eyes... always Tara... until the energy in her head moved again, leaping across that chasm into Tara, connecting them.

"By the Fire, that is my love for her," Tara said. She knew she was dripping wet – could feel it running onto the bed, as well as the raging heat coming from the very core of Willow. She felt both her desire for Willow, and Willow's desire for her, coursing just underneath the surface of her skin, running deeper and deeper until it suffused her own being.

"Oh, God, Willow," Tara gasped, unable to keep her hands still. Willow's soft skin beckoned to her, called her in and begged her to touch, and she did. Her fingers roamed over Willow's hair, her ears and cheeks, trailing down her neck to her shoulders, and back up again, a sense of wonder filling her at how perfect Willow felt beneath her fingertips. Willow took in a shuddering breath as Tara gasped, even their moans and soft cries in perfect sync.

"I need... oh, Tara," Willow said, her own hands moving, up Tara's back and back down, her nails raking lightly over the skin there. Tara shivered in her arms, her breasts pressing more firmly against Willow's, and Willow barely kept her eyes open, her jaw clenching.

The energy moved through them and between them, slowly building in speed and intensity until it was a constant stream of love and desire. A sheen of sweat developed on their skin, their breaths coming faster and faster, and their hands roaming over the newly slick surfaces.

"God, I want to kiss you... to taste you," Willow groaned, her hands sliding up to Tara's breasts and cradling them in her hands, the soft fullness a study in perfection.

"I love the way you touch me," Tara gasped out, her back arching and her neck craning as she kept her eyes on Willow's.

"Please, touch me too," Willow begged, her fingers finding two taut nipples and brushing over them.

Tara almost came right then, the constant energy flowing through them faster, and Willow's words and her fingers touching her in places that fueled her need. Her hands found Willow's breasts, squeezing them lightly and brushing the nipples with her thumbs.

A whimper escaped Willow as Tara breathed in, her breasts pushing more firmly into Willow's hands as her chest expanded to take in the air.

With her right hand, Tara slid her palm over Willow's nipple, reveling in the feel of the hard nub pressing against her skin. She slid her hand up and down against it several times, before sliding it up to rest over Willow's heart.

"Bind this spell to our hearts," Tara murmured, finishing the incantation with ragged breath ragged. "Where love is given and accepted freely, no evil may flourish."

It was as though Tara's words signaled a dam breaking, or gasoline being poured on a fire. All at once, each ones love for the other raged through them, demanding that they give of themselves anything and everything.

Tara's mouth took Willow's, her tongue sliding past parted lips and into the depths there, and Willow groaned loudly, sucking eagerly on Tara's tongue, her hand sliding down between their bodies. Tara gasped as Willow simultaneously pushed her back onto the bed and entered her with her fingers, the sensation of Willow inside her ripping a cry from her throat.

She had no idea how Willow had managed the maneuver the way their legs had been entwined, but then she stopped caring when those fingers starting moving inside of her.

"God, Willow," Tara rasped, her fingers clutching at Willow's skin convulsively, her hand traveling down Willow's body.

"Oh, please, baby," Willow whispered raggedly in her ear. "I... I... God, I need..." she began, only to cut off and moan her appreciation when Tara's hand slipped between her legs, the fingers coating themselves in the wetness there, and trailing back up to stroke and tease her clit.

Their mouths tangled together, and there was no more talking, no finesse, just a fiery need and the dual sensation of their fingers surrounded by slick heat, and the pleasure coursing through them, stealing their breaths and their thoughts.

Willow brushed her thumb once, twice over Tara's clit, and that was enough, her back arching off the bed and her hips bucking against Willow's hand, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching convulsively as she came. Tara's fingers rubbed fiercely between Willow's legs, and she was lost, gasping and shuddering over the other woman, the veins standing out in her neck as she called out Tara's name.

The energy built inside them exploded outward as they came together, the candle flames around the circle flaring impossibly high, bathing the room in an intense light before fading into darkness.

Fingers stilled and withdrew, Willow collapsed on top of Tara, hearts thudding loudly in their chests as they tried to regain control of their lungs.

Willow slid up Tara's body, their sweat-slick skin pressing together, and found Tara's mouth with her own, pressing their lips together again and again before teasing those lips open with her tongue.

Tara's lips opened, and Willow's tongue entered, teasing her own. The firmness of teeth closing over her lower lip made Tara gasp, then moan when Willow sucked it into her mouth, running her tongue across it.

"More," Willow said, her voice low and throbbing with need. She moved her mouth down to Tara's neck, tasting the salty sweat there, and she hummed her approval.

"Willow," Tara panted, arching into the body pressed to her own. Willow continued her trek steadily southward, trailing her tongue down the center of Tara's chest.

"Do you want me, Tara? Do you want me right now?" Willow asked, her breath playing across Tara's breasts, smiling when she saw Tara's nipples harden visibly.

"Oh, yes," Tara breathed, need for this woman coiling tight and low in her belly again.

"God, I want you," Willow murmured, licking lightly at Tara's nipple, her smile broadening when Tara's hands tightened convulsively in her hair. "I always want you. Always need you. Always love you." She slid a leg between Tara's, her eyes fluttering shut and a moan escaping her at the heat and wetness gathered there.

"Please, Willow," Tara begged, her hips rocking against Willow's thigh. Torturously, Willow moved her thigh away, then returned to her journey down Tara's body.

"Anything you need, anytime you need it," Willow promised, kissing her way down Tara's belly, pausing to dip her tongue into Tara's navel.

Tara's hips came off the bed, straining to make contact with Willow's body and she whimpered, her hands tightening again in Willow's hair.

"Tell me," Willow insisted, settling herself between Tara's legs, and nuzzling the curls there.

"Taste me... please..." Tara gasped out, spreading her legs wide for Willow. "Make me come."

Willow groaned loudly, and slipped her tongue into wet folds, running it from her opening to her clit.

"God, yes," Tara encouraged, pressing her hips upward and towards Willow's hot mouth, the feel of her tongue against her heated flesh making her dizzy.

"You taste so good," Willow murmured, before taking another slow taste, sliding her tongue inside of Tara, then withdrawing gently.

"Ohhh, don't stop," Tara pleaded, her legs opening wider still, eager to feel Willow's tongue again.

"I won't," Willow promised, lapping at Tara's opening several times before entering again. Tara's taste and smell enveloped Willow, and she ran her tongue back up to Tara's clit, sucking on it and groaning around it. Rhythmically, she stroked the swollen bit of flesh with her tongue her hand sliding into place to tease Tara's opening with one finger.

Tara's hips rocked against her face and Tara was gasping and panting, her legs shaking, and Willow knew she was close. With another moan against Tara's clit, Willow slid two fingers into her, sucking hard.

Tara felt the whole world explode behind her eyes, flashes of color mixing and crashing in every direction as she came hard against Willow's mouth and hand, the whole world seeming to tilt as she screamed her pleasure.

Willow continued her ministrations, prolonging Tara's orgasm as much as she could, the feel of inner muscles clenching around her fingers very near enough to send her over the edge again, too. She stayed where she was as the last of the lingering tremors coursed through Tara's body, finally withdrawing her fingers and looking up at Tara's wide-open, but somewhat dazed eyes.

You'll have to excuse me, but I'm in a weird mood today. I haven't finished the update, but this THING just kinda' popped into my head. So I typed it up real quick.

But it's not a real update. It's a fake one. I basically just wrote a fake update for my own story – and good lord, could that be any weirder?

About a block away, the two sisters had grinned at each other, and Dawn had uttered the two words that caused even the slightest of sibling rivalry to flare up and take over, no matter how adult and mature the siblings in question became.

"Race ya'," Dawn had said with a grin as she took off, getting the obligatory head start.

"Oh, that is SO not fair," Buffy grumbled, standing still for a moment before breaking into a run.

"Like the Slayer Speed is fair?" Dawn yelled back as Buffy passed her with ease.

They were both laughing and breathing hard when they reached the door, though Buffy was more out of breath from trying to laugh, run and talk all at the same time than the actual physical exertion of running.

"You are such a dork," Dawn said, though the smile in her eyes took all the teenage-sting out of it.

"Okay, now I'm just a kid, but even I know that's not safe," Dawn said with a frown, pointing out the still-lit candles around the room.

"I guess they forgot about those," Buffy said with a shrug, moving around the room and blowing out the candles.

"Probably. I wonder if they're up yet?" Dawn said, a note of hope in her voice. The only thing Giles had told anyone about the evening alone he had arranged for Willow and Tara was that they were going to try a spell to block the Trickster from hurting Willow anymore, and that Tara wanted to have a traditional Shabbat with Willow. Dawn had thought it sounded like fun until Giles had explained that Tara wouldn't allow any electricity – which meant no TV, no stereo, and no computer.

"I don't know," Buffy said, wandering into the kitchen. The oven was on, and she peeked inside, seeing some dish of some sort she didn't recognize warming. "I thought they weren't allowed to cook?" Buffy asked out loud as Dawn came up behind her.

"Well, technically, that's not cooking," Dawn answered. "It's just, y'know, staying warm."

"Me neither," Dawn confessed. "But it makes sense to Willow and Tara, so ... y'know, whatever," she said with a shrug.

"Right," Buffy agreed. Dawn stepped into the dining room as Buffy continued to look at the food. She honestly had no idea what it was, but if Tara had made it, it was probably good.

Buffy looked up sharply when she heard a squeak from the dining room, shutting the over and getting into the other room quickly.

Dawn's hand covered her mouth and her face was beet red as she tried not to laugh, her eyes wide open as she gaped at the floor.

"What?" Buffy asked, coming up to stand next to Dawn. She gaped, then clapped her hand over Dawn's eyes. "I'm sure they were, umm ... doing laundry," Buffy said quickly.

"Laundry?" Dawn asked with a smirk. "Please tell me you can do better than that?"

"Well, you try to come up with G-Rated excuses for a couple pairs of panties lying on the floor of the dining room to share with your impressionable younger sister," Buffy complained.

A thump and an extremely loud moan drifted down the stairs, and Buffy's eyes grew wide.

"Umm ... magick shop?" Dawn asked, trying to pull back from Buffy's hand over her eyes.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, tugging her sister from the room and heading back out the front door, a wicked grin crossing her face as she realized just how much teasing potential this held.

"Look, Giles," Buffy said, exasperation evident in her tone and the set of her shoulders. "I'm the one who left the book, so I will go get the book. So stop looking like someone kicked your puppy. I'll take care of it."

"I really believe we should leave Willow and Tara alone for the remainder of the day, as promised," Giles replied, a little glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Well, actually, yes," Giles said, looking a little happier about the situation.

"Yes, yes – you wish I hadn't forgotten it in the first place. I heard you the first two thousand times," Buffy said, grabbing her coat and moving to the front door of the magick shop.

Giles, Buffy and Dawn had spent the evening eating pizza and watching movies with Xander and Anya at their apartment. First thing in the morning, they had come straight to the magick shop, books in hand, ready to start up their research again.

"And if they can't use it, I should grab Willow's computer, too," Dawn piped in. "I mean, she trusts me with it," she pressed on when everyone looked at her dubiously. "Seriously – I'll just check the email so the Watcher's Council can send us files. Nothing else."

"There is no way I am touching Willow's computer," Buffy said, holding up her hands and stepping back.

"Fine," Buffy said with a sigh. "Let's just go – and if Willow asks, it was all your idea, you moved it, and I didn't touch it."

The sisters departed, making their way to their home in the early morning fog. It was damp and chilly, and Buffy had to hand over her jacket when she realized Dawn hadn't had the good sense to bring one. Now Buffy realized why mom-types were always so obsessed with jackets... they probably learned quickly after handing over their own jackets once or twice.

As the sun rose, the haze burned off, leaving thing considerably brighter and cheerier. The sun had brought a renewed sense of hope, and Dawn and Buffy walked in silence, each lost in their thoughts as they considered the idea that maybe things weren't so bad after all. Maybe the spell worked, and The Trickster would be unable to affect Willow any longer.

When they arrived at the house, Buffy opened the front door, smiling as Dawn continued to laugh.

"Race ya'," Dawn had said with a grin as she took off, getting the obligatory head start.

"Oh, that is SO not fair," Buffy grumbled, standing still for a moment before breaking into a run.

"Like the Slayer Speed is fair?" Dawn yelled back as Buffy passed her with ease.

"You are such a dork," Dawn said, though the smile in her eyes took all the teenage-sting out of it.

"Okay, now I'm just a kid, but even I know that's not safe," Dawn said with a frown, pointing out the still-lit candles around the room. She spotted Willow's laptop, noting that if was turned off. "Wow – Tara was really serious about this, wasn't she?"

"I guess they forgot about those," Buffy said with a shrug, moving around the room and blowing out the candles. Dawn scooped up the laptop, and Buffy looked around, trying to find the book Giles had mentioned. He had said it had a black leather cover, and a strange symbol on it.

"Nope. I wonder if they're up yet?" Dawn said, a note of hope in her voice. The only thing Giles had told anyone about the evening alone he had arranged for Willow and Tara was that they were going to try, and that Tara wanted to have a traditional Shabbat with Willow. Dawn had thought it sounded like fun until Giles had explained that Tara wouldn't allow any electricity – which meant no TV, no stereo, and no computer.

"Well, technically, that's not cooking," Dawn answered. "It's just, y'know, staying warm."

"Me neither," Dawn confessed. "But it makes sense to Willow and Tara, so ... y'know, whatever," she said with a shrug.

"Right," Buffy agreed. Dawn stepped into the dining room as Buffy continued to look for the book. She made one last visual sweep of the kitchen, noticing a pile of books in the corner. She headed over and started to sort through them, finally finding the one she was looking for.

Buffy looked up sharply when she heard a squeak from the dining room, shutting the over and getting into the other room quickly.

Dawn's hand covered her mouth and her face was beet red as she tried not to laugh, her eyes wide open as she gaped at the floor.

"What?" Buffy asked, coming up to stand next to Dawn. She gaped, then clapped her hand over Dawn's eyes. "I'm sure they were, umm ... doing laundry," Buffy said quickly.

"Laundry?" Dawn asked with a smirk. "Please tell me you can do better than that?"

"Well, you try to come up with G-Rated excuses for a couple pairs of panties lying on the floor of the dining room to share with your impressionable younger sister," Buffy complained.

"Umm ... magick shop?" Dawn asked, trying to pull back from Buffy's hand over her eyes.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, tugging her sister from the room and heading back out the front door, a wicked snicker escaping as she realized just how much teasing potential this held.

"What I don't get is," Dawn said after a long moment as they made their way back to the magick shop. "How come their underwear was there but not the rest of their clothes?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face. "I mean, they had to take off the rest of their clothes to get their underwear off, right? So why would they leave the underwear and clean up the clothes?"

"Ummm..." Buffy stalled, her mind racing. "That's, a, umm... good question, Dawn. I have no idea. Why don't you ask them?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah, right," Dawn said with a smirk. "I can just see those two turning all shades of red and ducking the question."

"Hmm.." Buffy said noncommittally, letting the conversation die a much-deserved death.

They walking into The Magic Box, and Buffy couldn't help but wince a little when she heard that stupid cheery little bell. She had certainly gained a lot of satisfaction from ripping it right off the door, but unfortunately it had come back, and she new Anya liked it. Besides, Anya would probably charge her for it if she pulled it off for real.

"And you will never guess what we saw at the house," Dawn started excitedly, only to stop when Buffy shot her a stern look.

"I'm sure it was neither naughty, nor any of your business," Giles said, getting the book from Buffy and sitting down at the table, cracking the book and getting to work. "Well?" he asked, looking around at everyone. "Don't you have any reading to do?"

The gang jumped to it at Giles' words, everybody finding the book they had been reading last and getting back to work.

"Another day full of excitement and fun for the Slayer," Buffy mumbled, then got down to the reading.

"Hmm..." Giles said several hours later, frowning at the text in his hand. He spent a great deal of time frowning, he had found, every time they were researching something this big. He usually didn't like it, and he certainly didn't like it when things were looking so dire for Willow – or any of the others, really. He wondered how the spell had gone, then immediately shut down that line of thought in his brain. There were definitely things about that spell he sincerely wished he didn't know.

"Yes, Giles?" Anya called from the cash register, her face forming a pout as she lost count of the money. Of course, that meant she'd have to count it again. Anya's expression brightened.

"You know, I wish you'd look at me when you were asking me questions instead of continuing to read your book. Xander says that it's rude when I talk to people but keep counting the money, so it must be rude for you to talk to me and keep reading your book," Anya pointed out.

"You're quite right," Giles said with a sigh, looking up at Anya with a mildly annoyed expression on his face, marking his place in the book with his finger. "Have you sold that star chart?"

"Oh, no. It's awfully expensive. Most people just make do with paper," Anya sighed.

"Chalk? You're going to... mark it?" she asked, her eyes going wide. "I'll have to discount the price. It will be a USED star chart!"

"Yes, I'm afraid it will. But think of it this way. If I don't use the star chart, and the world ends, you won't make any more money ever," Giles pointed out.

"Oh, right," Anya said. "I'll just go get that star chart right now." Anya ran off to the back of the shop, rummaging through shelves and looking for the elusive chart.

"Yes, well," Giles said, rubbing his eyes gingerly. "I may have found the position the planets need to be in to herald The Trickster's return."

"So, wouldn't that mean we can't win? If those planets are in those positions?" Dawn asked uncertainly.

"Oh, no, not quite" Giles said, with a slight shake of his head. "Can you, umm... help me with these?" he said, indicating the stacks of books on the table and starting to clear them.

"Astrology is very tricky," Giles began. "And they do not, in fact, tell the future. The heavens are influential, but they don't actually make things happen."

"In a sense," Giles hedged, his manner making it clear that it was an imperfect comparison. "This book just describes a positioning of the planets and such that would indicate favorable conditions for The Trickster. They don't assure his success, nor his failure at any other time."

"Found it," Anya announced, rushing over with a folded up rough cloth in her hand.

"Thank you, Anya," Giles said, accepting the bundle and laying it out on the table.

"So what exactly is the position?" Dawn asked. "Like, they're all gonna' be lined up in a row?"

"Not quite," Giles said. "Here," he went on, handing over the book. "It's that," he said, pointing to a paragraph. The Scoobies gathered around, peering over Dawn's shoulder and reading along.

"It's like those things on a fork," Xander said seriously. "So are the planets going to be in the shape of a fork?"

"No, it's not a fork," Giles said with a sigh, smoothing out the cloth and regarding it carefully.

"Anya, is there a protractor around here anywhere?" he asked with a frown, pulling out some chalk and making a few marks on the cloth.

The cloth was an interesting depiction of the planets, with odd symbols everywhere, as well as what looked to be a seven calendars running in a circle along the edges.

"Oh, I've got one," Dawn said excitedly, opening her bag and pulling out a hot pink plastic protractor and presenting it to Giles.

Giles looked at the glaring piece of plastic and took it gingerly, a dubious expression crossing his features. "Yes, well, thank you," he said carefully, leaning over the chart and measuring angles of planets in relation to each other and the sun, drawing lines on the chart that, presumably, made some sort of sense to him.

"Well, yes, I suppose you can," he said, handing back the protractor. He instructed her, pointing out which angles to measure as he went back to drawing his lines, explaining what they were doing with each step. Dawn proved to be an able assistant, and Giles found that as he told Dawn the details, they cemented more firmly in his mind, helping him to avoid mistakes.

Buffy and Xander watched for a few minutes, then Anya went back to counting the money. When it was clear that this undertaking would take hours, Buffy and Xander went back to their books, picking up their reading.

An hour later, Buffy was confused. She was reading the book she had gone back to the house to retrieve that morning, knowing she had never read this book before, yet the passages seemed familiar. She was sure that she had read them somewhere.

"Xander, could you hand me that stack," she asked, a small frown on her face. Xander looked down, seeing that his chair was surrounded by several high stacks of books.

"That one. By your left knee," Buffy pointed out, and Xander obligingly slid it over, grunting with the effort. Buffy marked her page, setting the book on top of the chart and sorting through the stack, not entirely sure of what she was looking for.

"Buffy," Giles said, annoyance clear in his tone. "Please, not on the star chart."

"Fine," Buffy said absently, putting the book in her lap and continuing her search. She paused on a book she had been reading a few days before, frowning and picking it up. She flipped through the pages, before finding what she was looking for.

"These two books have the same stuff in them," she said, holding both books open and looking from one to the other.

"Well, this book you had me pick up today has more," Buffy said. "And it's the same stuff from this Watcher's book that you said was from an even older book. Like, The Old Book."

"Are you certain?" Giles asked, looking up and moving to stand next to Buffy, reading over her shoulder.

"Yeah, see? Here they're the same, but this one I got this morning keeps going," Buffy pointed out, stifling a protest as Giles lifted the book with the more complete passage right out of her lap.

"Yeah? Like, how remarkable? Maybe you'd like to make a few remarks? Maybe something that makes sense?"

"What?" Giles said, looking up. "Oh, right. This seems to be excerpts from a text that was lost – a text that holds... well, let's just say it's a good thing that particular text is no more. It's rumored to hold things that no one has any business dealing with."

"And the book I got this morning has more of it than the Watcher's did?" Buffy asked, an odd look on her face. "Who has more information than the Watcher's?"

"Tara, apparently," Giles said with a frown. "This book was compiled by one of Tara's ancestors."

"Yes, I know," Giles said, frowning as he flipped through a few pages, skimming over the words. "It... it has some passages I've never even seen."

"So how did they get more of the Big Bad Book than The Watchers?" Buffy asked again.

"Oh, Dear Lord," Giles said, rushing over to the counter and grabbing the phone. He dialed the number automatically, frowning at the busy signal, then hanging up with a sigh. "Dammit," he breathed. "We'll have to go back to the house," he said slowly.

"Oh, no way," Buffy said, shaking her head vigorously. "No way I'm going back to the Den of Witchy Lovin'."

"I'm afraid it can't be helped," Giles said simply. "Tara said she found several of these books in hidden compartments of her mother's things. This book has passages it simply can't have. I... I should have noticed. I should have seen..." Giles trailed off, mentally kicking himself in unpleasant places. He was a Watcher. It was his duty to notice these sorts of things, and he had allowed himself to be so preoccupied with the situation, he hadn't seen what was right in front of his face.

"So... what, exactly?" Buffy asked slowly. "You think Tara has this Big Evil book?"

AD 44b Here's the next bit – if anyone missed 44a, it's on page 18 of this thread (if you are using the 20 messages per page option ... if you're using 25 per page, it should be on page 14, I think).

"So... what, exactly?" Buffy asked slowly. "You think Tara has this Big Evil book?"

"And just how did we reach this fascinating conclusion?" Xander asked, his expression doubtful. "I mean, come on – what would Tara be doing with the Big Book O' Evil?"

"It's not what she's doing with it – it's what she isn't doing with it," Giles said cryptically.

"If she had a Book of Bad, she'd have said something," Buffy said flatly. "She's not the type to just ... keep that to herself."

"I didn't say she was," Giles shot back. "But the fact remains that she thought she was, and she didn't tell us."

"And just what's wrong with that?" Anya demanded. "Humans have an irrational fear of demons, even ones that are as good and nice as Tara, so why should she tell us? Besides, that's personal."

"I'm sorry," Giles responded, suddenly sounding very tired. "This whole thing just... it has me on edge. I feel like I'm missing something – something very obvious and very important. I'm not saying that she's hiding this deliberately," he went on, trying to explain what was running through his head. "I'm merely saying that she may have it. She doesn't necessarily know that she has it."

"And just how would she have a book when she doesn't know she has the book? Wouldn't not knowing mean not having?" Buffy asked.

"She's already found and opened several hidden compartments in her mother's trunks. I'm guessing that if she has it, and I rather think she does, then it's in yet another compartment," Giles theorized.

"Didn't she open all of those?" Dawn asked tentatively. "I mean, didn't she say, 'Hey, guys, this is all of them'?"

"Yes, but that's the compartments she could find and open," Giles said. "There may be more, and she either doesn't know about them, or was unable to open them, so didn't bother mentioning them."

"Fine," Buffy said flatly. "Let's go." She hated the idea of interrupting Willow and Tara ... no matter what they were doing. After everything they'd been through, they really needed this day of peace to not worry about anything more serious than what they would have for dinner.

"Fine – there's no need. I'm still going to be angry," Buffy said tightly, throwing books into a bag with little regard.

"This is to help them," Giles said seriously. "If I could give them more time to themselves, I would. We'll just have to give them some time alone when this is over."

"When will it be over?" Buffy demanded. "This whole thing has been going on for years and years, and we had no idea – and you think that it's ever going to be over? What are we going to do – march into Hell and kindly explain to a God that he shouldn't mess with Willow anymore?"

"No, Giles. Face it – this whole thing might never be over. It'll just be one thing, then the next, and the next. Angel, Willow, Glory – they're all links in a chain that goes way WAY back, and it pisses me off," Buffy nearly growled.

"And we have to do everything we can to break that chain, or you're right, it will never be over," Giles said sternly. "So pick up the books, and let's go."

Dawn watched the whole exchange in silence, her eyes wide. When Buffy nodded tightly and began packing the books with more care, she put the chalk away, pocketing her protractor and rolling up the star chart carefully.

"Should I close the shop?" Anya asked, half-hoping they would say no so she could generate more money, and half-hoping they would say yes so she didn't miss anything and could make sure Xander didn't witness anything he shouldn't.

"How about we give you a call if we need to, okay?" Xander said, kissing Anya lightly.

"Come on over when you close the shop," Buffy said, standing up and lifting the stuffed bookbag.

"I'll even pick up dinner," Anya said with a nod. "Just give me a call later to tell me what you want me to bring."

"That's sweet of you, honey," Xander said with a smile, giving his fiancée another kiss. "See you later, okay?"

"Oh, absolutely," Anya said, waving as they left the shop, heading to the Summers' house. "Well, at least we waited until today to have an emergency," Anya noted to the empty shop, then returned to counting the money with a little shrug. But even the money didn't soothe the worry in her heart.

The Scooby Gang piled into Xander's car, oddly silent during the drive. The route was familiar to Xander, being one he had driven many times in the past, and would likely drive many times in the future. Even so, there was a sense of strangeness all around him. He felt twitchy and strange.

That could, he supposed, have something to do with Giles' outburst at the shop, and what was pretty much an admission that he had no idea what was going on. Or perhaps it was knowing that he could very well be interrupting something extremely intimate between his best friend and her girlfriend when they arrived at Buffy's house.

Sure, he made jokes and all – what man wouldn't? He even thought about it on occasion. But the idea of actually – no. That was vaguely disturbing on a 'Best Friends Don't Do That' level. And yeah, there had been that whole Fluke thing when he had looked at Willow in a whole new way, but that was dead and buried and he was a much happier person for it. After that, he just thought of Willow as a sister. Her certainly loved her more than a friend, but it was a warm and fuzzy platonic love. And Tara – Tara was ... pretty much his sister-in-law, really.

So as he drove, he prayed to all that was holy that when they arrived at the Summers home, Willow and Tara were dressed and playing checkers.

All too soon, Xander pulled easily into the driveway, everyone piling out of the car. He lingered towards the back of the group as they cautiously approached the door, heavy bags of books in hand.

"So, ummm ... do we, uhh ... knock? Ring the bell?" Dawn asked uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

"I'm sure if they're doing anything we shouldn't see, they're doing it upstairs," Giles said with a sigh. "Just open the door."

Buffy and Dawn shared a significant look. From what they had seen that morning, Willow and Tara had definitely done something in the Dining Room. Of course, they really couldn't tell Giles that.

Taking a deep breath and readying herself for complete and total embarrassment, Buffy rang the bell and opened the door, calling out, "Hello?"

"Are you guys, umm ... dressed?" Buffy called out cautiously, Giles and Xander freezing behind her, their eyes widening.

"Oh, yeah, umm ... we're, uhh ... dressed. Mostly," Willow said, as the sound of movement and rustling cloth met their ears.

Cautiously, Buffy peered around the corner, seeing Willow and Tara sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table with a chess board between them. The game seemed to be in progress, but along with the chess pieces that had been removed from the board were several articles of clothing.

Tara had no shoes or socks on, and Willow was sitting in a bra and her pajama bottoms.

"Can I have my shirt?" Willow said in an undertone, looking at Tara with pleading eyes.

"You guys were playing strip chess?" Buffy blurted out despite herself, stopping Giles and Xander from entering the room.

"Hey – I thought you said you were dressed," Xander called out at the same time, his hand clapped firmly over his eyes despite not being able to see through walls anyway.

"Xander?" Willow squeaked. "I thought just Buffy and Dawn were home. I'm dressed for girl-company, but not boy-company. Buffy, you didn't say we had boy-company."

"Here," Tara said with a smirk, relinquishing Willow's shirt. Quickly, Willow pulled on the shirt, not really caring that it was inside out as long as she was covered.

"Mr. Giles?" Tara asked, her eyes widening. It certainly sounded like the whole gang was here. "Honey, your shirt is inside out," Tara remarked.

"Hold on," Willow said, raising her voice so the rest of the Scoobs could hear her. Quickly, she righted her shirt. "Okay, you all can come in," she said.

"Well, that certainly could have been worse," Giles muttered under his breath as everyone filed into the living room.

"It doesn't," Buffy said quickly. "There is absolutely no way to play strip chess, and young impressionable 15-year-olds who try to figure it out or invent a way get mysteriously grounded."

"I was just wondering," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "It's not like I was planning on playing strip chess with anyone."

"Uhhh, we weren't playing strip chess," Willow said quickly. "It was just, umm ... kinda warm in here. Y'know ... no electricity, no air-conditioning ... so ... umm ... it was all with the warmness, so of course, logically, wearing the uhh, bare minimum is the, uhhh... logical thing. No motive of an ulterior nature there," she finished weakly.

"Great save, sweetie," Tara whispered, her eyes twinkling as she reached out and took Willow's hand in hers across the table. "So, umm ... did something happen?" she asked, turning to the group.

"We are terribly sorry to interrupt," Giles said sincerely. "It's just that ... have you found any other compartments in your mother's things? Something you couldn't open, perhaps?"

Tara blinked slowly. "One of the things had another box in it. I couldn't figure out how to open it."

"I just ... they were magick. I just knew I could open them, and then I could," Tara said with a shrug.

"And this other box?" he asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them industriously. He was half-afraid Tara wouldn't have the book at all, and half-afraid that she did and it held all the answers. There was a part of him that was quite sure he wouldn't like any of the answers to this one, once they had them.

"It's not magick. It just has a number on it, and some symbols along the top and sides," Tara explained.

"Well, maybe it's a puzzle," Willow said, her eyes sparking. "Like a kind of ... you figure out the symbols, and then you know how to open it."

"Sure," Tara said with a nod, starting to rise. Willow stood quickly, keeping Tara's hand in hers, then giving her a tug to pull her to her feet. "Thanks," she said, smiling at Willow.

"Work? It's not work. Dad and I used to play puzzle games all the time on Shabbat. We'll just figure out how to open the box. It'll be like a game," Willow insisted, tugging Tara up the stairs.

Feeling quite sure that he didn't want to hear anything about Willow and Tara making a game of opening the box, Xander wandered into the kitchen. "Anybody need anything?" he called out.

Willow and Tara entered their room, and Tara immediately went to her mother's things, opening one of the trunks. Willow knelt behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck.

"Hi," Willow said softly, smiling against Tara's skin and leaving a light but lingering kiss there.

"Hi," Tara whispered back, her face creasing into a smile and her eyes taking on a warm glow.

"You will let me play with your box, right?" Willow asked, nipping at Tara's earlobe.

"Huh? Oh. Oh!" Willow said, sitting upright as realization of what she had said dawned. She relaxed and rested her chin on Tara's shoulder, turning to look at her lover, a wry smirk on her face. "I meant the puzzle," she said dryly, pointing at the trunk.

"Oh, that," Tara said, a blush crawling up her neck. "Well, yeah, okay," she conceded, finding the box at the bottom of the trunk and pulling it out. "You're sure you and your dad did these kinds of things on Shabbat?" she asked doubtfully.

"Oh, absolutely. He was always finding new puzzles and problems to throw at me on Shabbat," Willow said. "It was something we did together."

"Well, then, Willow Rosenberg, Puzzle-Solver Extraordinaire ... what do you make of this?" she asked, sitting cross-legged and resting the box on her lap. Willow scooted closer, wrapping her legs around Tara's and pressing against her back so she could see the wooden object.

"Hmmm," Willow said, her brow furrowing. She reached out and traced the number 13 in the very center of the lid, then looked at the other symbols.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Tara teased, twisting her neck so she could look at Willow's face.

Tara let herself relax, stifling the absurd urge to start giggling. Having Willow wrapped around her while she was thinking was focused on something else was an odd experience, certainly. Willow turned the box, examining the sides and the lid, shifting against Tara as she did so.

There were five different kinds of symbols on the box, Willow noted. Pentagrams, Eight-pointed stars, dots, lines, and triangles were strewn haphazardly around the smooth wood, and Willow counted, finding that the number of symbols was different for each one.

As Willow counted the symbols, Tara grinned to herself. She was a little disappointed by the interruption of their friends, but it had still been a wonderful day.

She and willow had spent the morning making love, and then Tara had insisted Willow sleep while she went around and cleaned up the candles and things. Willow had protested, but Tara had put her foot down, and Willow had acquiesced.

Once the dining room had been returned to its original state, and she had retrieved their panties, she had set out lunch and gone to wake up Willow.

Lunch had been fun and full of laughter, and Tara smiled at the memory. After that, she had been at something of a loss as to what to do, when Willow had suggested chess. Tara still wasn't sure exactly how she had been talked into playing the strip variety of that game, but she certainly wasn't sorry. No, she was only sorry that the game had been interrupted, because she was actually a very good chess player, and Willow had been pretty surprised.

"It's just ..." Tara giggled, her eyes dancing as she peeked back at Willow. "I have Sexy Thinking Willow wrapped around me, playing with my box," she explained, laughing again.

Willow chuckled, and grinned at Tara, dropping a little kiss on her shoulder. "I'll give you some lovin' later, baby. Let me finish this," she said, her eyes dancing as she turned her attention back to the puzzle.

"Eight eight-pointed stars, three triangles, one dot, two lines, and five pentagrams," Willow said, with a small frown, then her expression cleared and she laughed delightedly. "That's so easy!"

"It's the Fibonacci Series," Willow said, wiggling excitedly, then blithely pushing symbols in different combinations seemingly at random. Finally, she pressed down on the thirteen in the center of the lid. A little audible 'click' echoed across the room, and Tara turned to gape at her lover.

"Well, yeah, it was ... I mean, the Fibonacci Series," Willow said with a little shrug. "I mean, if you know it, it's just ... kinda' easy. Really. Because it's really distinctive."

"Well, it's this ... it's the mathematical series developed by Leonardo Fibonacci in the 12th century," Willow started to explain. "It's later been applied to all sorts of things, but you figure it out by starting with one, then adding the previous number to get the next number."

"But if it starts with one, then there's no previous number," Tara said with a little frown.

"Well, you can consider zero to be before one, so it goes one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen and so on. This one went up to thirteen," she said, pointing to the number thirteen in the middle.

"Yep," Willow confirmed, kissing Tara on the cheek, then flipping up the lid of the box.

A wave of malevolent energy poured forth and slammed into Willow, making her gasp as her eyes rolled back in her head and she barely held onto consciousness.

"Willow?" Tara called out, slamming the box shut, then turning to her lover. She had felt ... something ... dark and icky pouring out, but whatever it was, it had clearly hit Willow harder than it had hit her.

"Oh, God ... that hurt," Willow wheezed, laughing a little. As soon as the box had been shut, her world had righted itself, but she found herself a little out of breath. "Oh, wow – let's not do that again."

"Absolutely not," Tara agreed vehemently, pulling Willow close to her. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Oh, yeah, fine," Willow said with a weak laugh, pulling a brave face and sitting up. "What was in there?" she asked.

"Oh, ummm ... I don't know," Tara said with a little shrug and a half-smile. "I kinda' slammed it shut really fast, and didn't have a chance to look."

"Well, we should hand it over to Giles," Willow said, getting to her feet on unsteady legs.

"Hey, easy there," Tara said, steadying Willow's swaying form. "How about you get in bed, and I'll give the box to Mr. Giles?" Tara offered.

"I'm kind of ... I feel fine," Willow protested. "I just ... that felt weird. But I'm fine now. All with the good."

"Willow," Tara said slowly, her voice taking on a hint of admonishment. "You've been through a lot recently, and you just got hit by something weird. I'd feel a lot better about it if you'd just ... take it easy for a bit."

"Going down stairs isn't not taking it easy!" Willow said, her voice rising slightly.

"Hey, hey," Tara said, her face growing concerned. "I'm sorry. I'm just ... I don't know why that happened, and I ... I kinda' want to keep you well away from that thing until we know what's going on."

"No, you're right," Willow said weakly. "I just ..." How could she explain to Tara just how useless she was feeling right now? For the past few weeks, she felt like the most important things she had done involved vomiting and staying in bed, and she wasn't used to that. Not anymore. After spending so much time as a hardcore Scooby researcher, and then as the Big Gun witchy backup, this new passive role didn't sit well with her.

And then there was Tara. Tara was being wonderful – there was no doubt about that. Still, Tara kept acting like she wanted to wrap Willow in wool and leave her in their room forever, and Willow knew she couldn't live like that. She was sure Tara would get over it once this whole thing got solved, but it was starting to wear on Willow's nerves. Willow was a do-er, and she had spent far too much time just sitting recently.

"You know me – I like to know everything all at once," Willow said with a self-effacing smile. No, she wouldn't bother Tara with what she was feeling. Tara certainly had enough to worry about without her piling on something else. And this whole situation was her fault anyway – the least she could do would be to just cooperate. "Just ... let me know as soon as they figure something out, okay?" Willow asked, forcing a smile and hoping her drama classes had paid off.

"I will," Tara said. "And ... I'll be right back up. I'll drop this off with Giles and be back in a jiffy," she said, pecking Willow lightly on the cheek, then scooping up the box.

Willow sighed, moving to the bed and crawling under the covers. If she were being honest with herself, she had to admit that she really did feel pretty shaky after that whatever-it-was. Still, she just wished ...

"Wish what, Willow?" she asked herself aloud. "Wish that you weren't a magick addict and a burden on everyone you love?" she muttered bitterly.

She was supposed to be the strong one – to take care of everyone. Instead, everyone had been taking turns taking care of her – even Dawn.

She sighed and shifted her shoulders, trying to get comfortable. There was something kind of ... galling ... about how little she had been able to do for herself. And if her illness progressed – if the spell to expel the Trickster's influence and keep his darkness at bay hadn't worked – she would be able to do less and less.

Tears stung at Willow's eyes and she grew angry at the unfairness of it all. Tara didn't deserve to be stuck with her. If she was all sick and helpless and dying, it would ... it would break Tara's heart to see it. And how long would it take? How long until she just had so much darkness in her blood that it couldn't carry oxygen to her cells?

She would suffocate – drown in darkness, and Tara wouldn't be able to help her.

And she wouldn't do that to Tara – she couldn't. She couldn't let Tara be there for her and comfort her as she died slowly and painfully. She couldn't let Tara witness that.

Willow shook her head, clearing away the thoughts. It was pointless to think about this anyway. It was only if the spell didn't work that she had to worry about it. And even then, she wouldn't have any major decisions to make. That decision was already made.

She wondered idly if Tara would be very angry with her, or if she would understand and forgive if it came down to it and she had to leave Tara and Sunnydale behind, for their own good.

"Yes," Tara said. She moved her hands over the wooden surface, pressing each symbol as she Willow had done minutes before.

"And she figured it out that quickly?" Giles went on, his tone obviously impressed. Every time he thought he had fully grasped just how agile and quick Willow's intellect truly was, she did something to surprise him yet again. Solving this puzzle that quickly was no exception.

"I dare say I'm a brainy type," Giles said, his eyebrows raising. "But I doubt I would have figured this out that quickly." Giles felt the truth of his words. In many situations, all that Watcher training couldn't make up for the raw ability of Willow's mind.

Buffy looked over at the Tara and Giles curiously, then peeked around the rest of the room. Dawn was working diligently on the star chart and Xander was reading.

There were no handy gadgets, no war room with blinking little maps. Just a bunch of clueless kids and an Englishman. All guts, and no glory.

This was what she had been missing, she supposed. There was something about being the Slayer that kept her from feeling alive unless she was balanced on a razor's edge between destruction and salvation. And that's why, when she had returned from the dead, she hadn't really felt anything.

She had saved the world more times than she cared to remember, but still, she found herself looking around her house – her house now, not her mother's – and wondering how her mom had done it all. She hadn't noticed. She hadn't realized. There were a million little things that her mother had kept in the air, juggling them with little to no sign of stress or worry. She had just done what needed to be done.

That was at trait she had inherited from her mother. She needed a little more practice with the more everyday kinds of things, but hadn't she always just done what needed to be done? Gone in and killed the bad guy with no more 'thank you' or 'congratulations' than a sparkly umbrella on prom night and some late night pizza and movie fests?

"Careful," Tara said quickly, as Giles started to lift the lid. "It, umm... I felt something... bad... from it. Willow felt it, too, but it, umm... it kind of, well, it hurt her."

"Then... Hmmm..." he said, looking curiously at the box Tara had placed on the table. "How close was she?"

"How about we don't open the WillowPain box?" Xander offered up hopefully. "Because a hurting Willow is an unhappy Willow, and an unhappy Willow is a bad, bad thing."

"I think... I think she should be far enough away," Giles said carefully, his hand reaching out and tapping the lid. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he lifted it up and peered inside.

He could detect, on the outermost edge of his senses, a curious feeling of unease.

"No, it's more than that," Tara insisted, shaking her head a little. "It's... it's very dark. And it's... it doesn't want to be disturbed."

"I'm afraid it's going to have to get used to the idea," Giles said with a frown, removing the lid entirely.

Nestled in its wood frame was a book, though that was hardly surprising, Giles noted. The book itself, however, was very surprising indeed. Its leathery cover was ornamented with strange designs, its surface ripped and slashed and sewn back together. Giles' hand hovered just over the surface of the book, and he peered closer.

He wasn't sure if he could identify just what kind of animal skin was used, or the random odd stains around the gashes.

"Oh, dear," Giles breathed, pulling his hand back sharply, then turning to look at Tara. "How do you know?"

"I, uhh... I don't know," Tara said, backing away from it and shaking her head from side to side. "I just... it's... it's not a nice book."

"Okay, Ewww," Buffy said, staring at the book. Dawn and Xander were likewise staring, twin expressions of revulsion on their faces.

"Why don't we just put the nasty skin-book back? Please tell me we can just put the nasty skin-book back?" Xander pleaded.

"I... I dare say we can't," Giles said after a long moment, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly retrieving the book.

"Why not? I don't want to play with the nasty skin book," Buffy said, scooting away from it on the couch.

Giles sighed, a look of distaste crossing his face as his eyes were drawn to the book again. "This book was with Tara's mother's things. Presumably, it was passed down through the centuries. That means it was likely with Willow and Tara when Willow faced the Trickster in a previous life."

"So it, what? Can tell us how Willow got rid of him the first time?" Dawn hazarded a guess.

"I certainly hope so," Giles said, a look of approval crossing his face as he nodded at Dawn.

Tara just stared, unable to shake the strange feeling that this book was bad. It meant something bad. It held bad things – bad secrets that should never be brought to light. And it certainly contained powers that should never, under any circumstances, be wielded.

"I think I might," Giles said with a little nod, using the tip of one finger to open the book. The writing was small and cramped, and he had to lean close to read it, but it was still legible after all these years.

"Let me do some reading and either confirm or rework my theories, all right?" Giles said, glancing up at him briefly. "Tara, you should check on Willow. Buffy, Xander, you have your own reading. And Dawn, please, work on the star chart, but be careful. It's important not to make mistakes."

"Mr. Giles? Is it, umm... safe?" Tara asked uncertainly, moving close and keeping her voice low.

"Yes, it's safe," Giles assured her, patting her hand awkwardly. "But not for everyone," he added cryptically.

Tara nodded, letting Giles' assurances ease the rumblings in her belly, climbing the stairs and moving into her room. Willow lay on the bed, her eyes half-closed with Miss Kitty curled up on her chest.

"Hey, honey," Willow said, her eyes opening when she heard Tara come in. She had been drifting towards sleep, mostly because she didn't have anything better to do, and the feeling of Miss Kitty purring on her chest had been soothing. "So what's in the box?"

"It's a book," Tara said simply, neglecting to go into any detail. There wasn't any real need to tell Willow about how it made her feel or how her skin had crawled and visions of that terrible time when she had not been in her right mind had flashed across her inner-eye. No, that was in the past, and it was best to leave the past where it belonged.

"I don't really know," Tara said with a little shrug. "I didn't bother to stay and find out. Giles is reading it now."

"Oh, well, yeah... I guess that's okay, then," Willow said with a little shrug, her eyes downcast.

"What's wrong?" Tara asked softly, seeing a decidedly unenthusiastic look crossing Willow's face.

"Oh, nothing," Willow said quickly, her brow furrowing. "I think... I'm just a little tired," she confessed. She couldn't tell Tara how useless she was feeling, or how scared. It just wasn't right to dump that kind of thing on her when Tara had so many other things to worry about.

"Yeah? You gonna' take a little nap?" Tara asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing back a bit of Willow's hair.

"Okay, sweetheart. If you need anything, I'll just be downstairs. But, umm... I don't want you going down there while that book is out. So yell down if you need me, okay?" Tara requested gently.

Tara smiled sadly, wishing that Willow could join them. Wishing that Willow was all right. Wishing that lots of things were different. She kissed Willow softly on the forehead, then left the room.

Willow let out a shaking breath, moving her hand out from beneath the covers. A damp cloth hung limply from her shaky fist, and she uncurled her fingers gingerly, looking with wide eyes at the black inky stain on it, and the crackling energy there.

"I'm sorry, Miss Kitty," Willow said softly. "Am I moving around too much?" The Kitten didn't answer, only yawning and clambering off of Willow, padding across the blankets to Tara's side of the bed.

Willow threw back the covers, gaining her feet and pacing around the room agitatedly. She had thought she was prepared for this. She had considered the possibility and had formulated a plan, but now that it was here, her mind raced in every direction at once.

Had she done everything? Miss Kitty had food, and water. Dawn's homework for the weekend was done, and ready for Monday. Had she already given Buffy the electric bill? She'd picked it up with the mail, but had she given it to Buffy? She hadn't watered the garden all week – did someone else take care of that? Her laundry wasn't done. She didn't want to leave that unfinished.

Buffy had shaken down Willy for information, and Willy had said it was a matter of days. Just days until a Hell God would use her as the means to come to Earth, subjugating it to his Unholy Order. There just wasn't enough time. She needed to pack – to say things. She'd meant to fix the can opener, because it kept stalling out. She needed more time.

But she couldn't put this off. Staying in Sunnydale one minute too long could mean the difference between success and failure.

Her thoughts turned to Tara and she winced. Her mind had danced around Tara, avoiding thinking of her directly, but she could avoid it no longer.

She wished she could tell her what she was going to do – wished she could beg Tara to go with her. She knew, in fact, that Tara would go with her. But as much as she longed to have Tara near when it all became too much and she finally passed on, she couldn't – wouldn't – ask that of her. Tara still believed they'd get through this – that everything would be fine.

She knew it wouldn't be fine. Her choices were to die, or to release a Hell God, and that wasn't really a choice at all, was it? She also knew that if her condition progressed fast enough and far enough – if the dark magick overwhelmed her system – she would be completely out of control in her final hours.

"It's, umm... it's my turn to ask you to take care of your other mommy for me, Miss Kitty," Willow instructed the cat as she packed bag. "I can't be here right now, and she's gonna' need someone to give her lots of love. So cuddle close to her for me, okay?" Willow asked, and Miss Kitty stirred slightly, then settled back into her nap.

Willow felt tears welling up in her eyes as she looked around the room. A steady noise met her ears and she froze, then burst into motion, tossing the bag under the bed, then diving under the covers. A knock sounded, then the door creaked open.

"I thought you were gonna' take a nap?" Tara asked cautiously, looking at the obviously wide-awake Willow.

Willow affected a sheepish expression. "My brain's going," she confessed with a little shrug. "Since I can't go downstairs, can I have my computer?" she asked hopefully.

Tara rolled her eyes, a loving smile crossing her face. "Fine," she agreed. "And Anya's picking up dinner. What would you like?" she asked.

"Baby, you need to eat," Tara said, feeling like a broken record. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Tara sighed, casting a nervous look at her lover. It was obvious to her that Willow was upset about something, and unless she missed her guess, Willow was feeling equal parts helpless and left out. Willow never had been or ever would be the kind of person to just sit idly by during a crisis, yet that's what everyone was asking her to do. Still, even knowing that, Willow's tone stung.

"All right," Tara agreed after a moment. "I'll go grab your computer, and we'll talk about dinner later, okay?"

Willow nodded, a look of relief crossing her face. Tara kissed her lightly, then left the room, missing the sudden slump to Willow's shoulders as she practically fell back against the pillows, screwing her eyes tightly shut.

Willow remained still, only the steady rise and fall of her chest and the sound of her breathing breaking the stillness of the room. A new resolve filled her. No matter how much it hurt to leave Tara like this, she would do it. She had to, to save the world and spare the person who meant everything to her the pain of watching her die.

But she wouldn't give up. She'd keep hoping and fighting to find a way to live, and then she'd come back. And if she were very lucky, Tara would forgive her.

The door swung open and Tara returned, Willow's laptop precariously perched under her arm, carrying a plate and a glass. Willow glanced at the clock, and was surprised to see that Tara had been gone half an hour while she had renewed her decision.

"Hey," Tara greeted simply, setting the plate on the dresser, freeing up a hand to give Willow her computer. Tara set the glass down, then shuffled nervously. "I, ummm. I know you, uh, said you weren't hungry," she said hesitantly. "But I made you a sandwich in case you change your mind, or you're hungry later."

"That's... thank you," Willow said, a sad smile crossing her face. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. That's really sweet – not that you're not always sweet, but I'm being all grumpy girl, and bringing me a sandwich was extra sweet."

"You're welcome," Tara said warmly, a bright smile crossing her face. She sat on the edge of the bed, taking Willow's hand in hers. "I know it's, umm... really hard for you. To be sitting here when there's Scoobyage afoot," she continued her thumb tracing the lines of Willow's hand. "But we're all – we're so worried," she pressed on, her eyes fixed on their joined hands. "You've always been there for everyone. So thank you for letting us take care of you. For letting me take care of you."

Willow barely managed to stifle a look of dismay at Tara's words. She wasn't letting anyone take care of her, and that was the point. She knew her friends – she knew Tara – would take care of her to the very end if necessary, but she didn't know if she would be able to hold back the darkness. She didn't know if she would be able to hold back the magick, and she couldn't risk that. There was a part of her that wanted to give in to that comfort, but she wouldn't endanger them, or put them through the pain of watching her die.

"I, umm," Willow started, her voice catching as her throat grew tight. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" she finally managed to say, her voice low and husky. "You're everything to me. Everything that's good in the world – everything that's worth any price I've ever paid to keep the world safe."

Tara looked up at that, her eyes meeting Willow's. There was something about the intensity of Willow's words – a kind of finality to the tone – that worried her. "We're going to get through this," Tara said, her voice low and sure, for once the words flowing easily from her. "If I have to walk through Hell to keep you safe, I will," she vowed.

"There will be no walking through Hell," Willow said, her light tone breaking the seriousness of the moment. "I vote a big 'No' on the Hell-Walking issue. See my resolve face?" she went on, adopting the mentioned expression and earning a giggle from Tara. "Do not mock the resolve face," Willow continued with a fake frown. "The resolve face means there is no waffling on the Hell-Walking issue."

"Right," Tara said, her eyes twinkling. "No Hell-Walking. We're going to make sure Hell stays closed – no tourists, no pictures."

"Glad we got that settled," Willow said with a nod. Willow looked suspiciously at her lover, noticing a wide and goofy grin on Tara's face. "What?" she asked after a moment.

"You're just so damn cute," Tara said, unable to stop herself from giving Willow a little kiss. Willow smiled against Tara's lips, the moment bittersweet and profound.

"I refuse to get into a 'who's cuter?' argument," Tara said with a smirk. "Those last for hours, and we're both biased."

"I'm not biased," Willow shot back playfully. "I just have a very well-developed sense of cute."

"Fine, I'm cuter," Tara said, a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, the burdens I must bear," she added dramatically, letting the back of her hand flitter up to rest against her forehead for good measure.

"There is no burden I wouldn't carry for you," Willow said seriously, then mentally kicked herself at the way look Tara gave her. "So I'll be the cute on," she added, forcing her tone to be playfully dramatic.

"Now we're going to have an 'I'm the cute one' argument," Tara noted wryly. "That's a switch."

"How about we just decide we're equally cute, then?" Willow offered, earning a grin from Tara.

"Done," Tara agreed, kissing Willow again, then standing. "I should head back down to the others," she said regretfully. "Unless you need me here?" she asked, half-hoping Willow would give her an excuse to shirt her Scooby duties and spend more time with her.

"No, you go ahead," Willow said. "I've got my computer, a glass of water, and a nice Tara-made-sammich. I'll be fine."

"Okay," Tara said with a nod. "Give a yell if you find anything," she added, gesturing to the computer.

"Ani ohevet otach," Tara responded immediately, her heart lightening as she made her way from the room. Hebrew was... confusing at best for someone who had never studied it formally. She had wondered what the proper form of 'I love you' was, and now that she knew, she could say it. And she planned to. Often. It was something she had researched thoroughly, even back before she and Willow had gotten together. Before, in fact, a time when it had even seemed possible for Willow and her to ever be together.

And she had certainly wondered. Many times, she had wanted to say 'Ani l'dodi v'dodi li' to Willow, but she hadn't been sure of the appropriateness of such a statement. As best as she could tell, it mean simply 'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine,' and was used in wedding ceremonies. It had been on the tip of her tongue, but she had never said it. But she would, one day.

She practically skipped down the stairs, stopping cold at all the somber faces in the room. The Scoobies looked at each other, the silences and tension heavy in the air, the food sitting in front of them, forgotten.

"What?" Tara asked simply, standing in the doorway, her stomach dropping as her heart leapt into her throat.

"He said 'Oh, Dear Lord,'" Anya blurted out, pointing at Giles. "And it wasn't the usual 'Oh, Dear Lord,' it was a much more panicked and ominous 'Oh, Dear Lord'."

"What is it?" Tara asked again, stepping into the room and practically falling onto the couch, her legs suddenly feeling rubbery and weak.

"I'm afraid I have no good news," Giles said wearily. "I think I've discovered the nature of this book, how The Trickster was kept from the Earth, and Dawn has finished the start chart."

"And?" Tara prodded, bracing herself for the worst. No, not the worst – the worst was Willow dying. She refused to even consider that a possibility. She's brace herself for the second worst instead – an Apocalypse.

"I'm afraid Willy was being quite literal. Tomorrow night will be the best time for The Trickster to attempt opening the Hellmouth," Giles said, gesturing at the chart.

"But you know how he was stopped last time, right?" Buffy cut in. "Can't we just do whatever it was Willow did last time?"

"I'm afraid it's not quite that simply," Giles said, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach.

"Right, because it's never simply," Buffy sighed, her body tense as she waited for what could only be bad news.

"This book," Giles pressed on, unable to argue with Buffy's evaluation of life on the Hellmouth. "I believe it to be a necronomicon."

"The Necronomicon? Like in 'Army of Darkness'?" Xander asked quickly. "Oh, God, it even looks like the book from 'Army of Darkness.' We need a shotgun. And a chainsaw," he added, his nervousness keeping his mouth moving, even when he wanted to shut up.

"Didn't Lovecraft make it up?" Dawn cut in before Giles could continue. "I mean, the Necronomicon isn't real, right? It's just fiction?" she asked, her tone begging for reassurance.

"No, it's real," Tara said, all the blood running from her face, making her pale and shaky, her voice sounding dull and hollow. "It was written by the Mad Arab in the 8th century, and it's... not good."

"Will you all be quite?" Giles cut in before he could be interrupted again, his voice rising. Everyone subsided, giving him their full attention. "If you'll let me finish, you'll find you're all wrong. There is no 'The Necronomicon.' There is a series of books categorized as 'a necronomicon.' While the Mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred, did write a book in 730AD in Damascus, it was a fake and a failure. It was also, directly or indirectly, the inspirate for Lovecraft's fictitious version, and presumably in Xander's movie," he explained.

"He's right," Anya cut in. "The word 'necronomicon' merely means 'book of dead names', and there are several real ones and hundreds of fakes."

"Quite right," Giles said, nodding, then smoothly taking control of the conversation again before the Scoobies ended up derailing it. "They're meant to be a history of the culture and religion of a dying people. Some are fairly innocuous, but when a people like this one, who were betrayed and slaughtered, compile their knowledge, it's an extremely dangerous thing."

"So which necronomicon is it?" Tara asked slowly, absorbing the new information. "Which people?"

"I believe it is the necronomicon of the Pictii – we know them today as the Picts – so called by the Romans because of their tattoos," Giles said, pointing out the grisly tattoos on the book. "Honestly, no one knows much about them."

"Don't look at me," Anya said when every head turned her way. "They were before my time. They were pretty much wiped out by the Scots in the 9th century, by the first King of a unified Scotland, Kenneth MacAlpin, who called all the Pictish lords together, then dumped them into pits with blades in them, then hacked them to pieces."

"What?" she asked defensively. "Demons talk. They were before my time, but you hear things. The demon world was still talking about that one when I came on the scene."

"So they were evil? And that's why they wrote the Big Bad Book?" Buffy asked, after one last glance at Anya.

"No, they weren't evil, per se," Giles hedged. "But they had a very peculiar culture and religion that paid homage to all the forces in the universe. Good and evil, light and dark. They had a very unique understanding of balance."

"Which means what, exactly?" Tara asked after a new silence had settled over the room, the Scoobies looking at each other with worried and confused faces.

Giles gathered himself to answer, choosing his words carefully. "It means they had access to dark powers other peoples didn't know existed," Giles said wearily, his shoulders slumping, knowing his next words would adversely affect everyone in the room. "Including Glory."

Everyone gaped at Giles, then the room exploded in a maelstrom of voices as everyone started talking at once. Giles held up a hand and waited until everyone fell silent.

"This book has a ritual – a spell – to call upon the power of The Beast, allowing a person to wield it. I believe Margaret MacDonald – Willow – used that spell to defeat the Trickster. The Beast hated him so much, it was likely her only hope, and the consequences are slightly less when calling upon Glory's power in a cause she would support."

"It's likely that Margaret went mad, losing her sanity to Glory. And her descendants would be marked with darkness. Willow's rage and pain were unleashed by Glory's actions, her descent into dark magick triggered by her."

"So the Trickster is making his move tomorrow night, and he's already arranged for the death of the one thing we could call upon to stop him?" Anya asked. "Damn, he's thorough."

"I don't care how thorough he is," Tara said shakily. "He's not getting Willow."

"Did the, umm... spell work?" Giles asked delicately, cleaning his glasses and avoiding Tara's eyes.

"Perhaps we should take her some 'witchy pain coffee'," he said, making a face at the phrase Xander had coined. "To see if it was successful?"

"Tara," Giles said gently. "Are you... all right?" he asked hesitantly, grimacing inwardly at how inadequate and stupid the question was.

"No," Tara said honestly. "Mr. Giles, I'm scared," she added, sounding very lost and very alone.

Giles wanted to tell her that everything would be fine – to offer comfort and take her fears away. His training as a Watcher had been thorough and complete, preparing him for the noble fight for the salvation of the world. His head had been filled with the stories of Watchers and their Slayers, and their heroic efforts to keep the world safe. His education had been steeped in the glory and honor of it all. But nothing had prepared the idealistic younger man he had been for watching children throw themselves into battle, pitching themselves time and time again against the forces of darkness. Their very goodness was a trumpet's call – a rallying cry for the light and a challenge to the dark.

No, nothing had prepared him for loving these children – for wanting to stand tall and alone, and to bear the brunt of the evils of the world himself, wishing only to keep them safe.

He knew he had done many things in his life to be proud of. He had trained the most successful slayer in recent times – arguably the most successful slayer ever. He had helped avert disaster after disaster. But if he could be remembered for only one thing, he would wish to be remembered for loving these children. It was his finest achievement – his greatest glory – and it would be his honor to be remembered for it.

He rose from his chair and sat next to Tara, opening his arms and letting the girl fall against him. She cried as he held her, and he could feel his own tears welling up in his eyes.

"If I could... if I could take her place, I would," Giles said quietly. "She is so very dear to me. You're all so very dear to me."

Tara's tears subsided after a moment as she visibly gathered herself together, then nodded. "I know. But she wouldn't want you to," Tara whispered.

"Yes, I know," Giles confessed, trying to lend his strength to the young woman through his hold on her. "She's... she has such a very big heart. She feels things so deeply, hiding that behind her intelligence. But behind the logic, she's just..." Giles trailed off, knowing he needn't say more. He knew that of all the people who had ever known Willow, Tara alone understood the depths to her, seeing in Willow with a lover's eye what he had seen through a father's.

Xander peeked into the room, and Tara sat up, wiping her tears away. He looked back into the kitchen and nodded, and the Scoobies filed back in.

"I'll, umm... I'll just take the coffee up to Willow," Tara said, taking a deep breath and reaching out to take the steaming mug from Xander's hand. It was warm against her skin, and she made for the stairs, wondering how she could explain to Willow everything they had learned that day.

"As well as can be expected," Giles said with a sigh. "She's understandably worried. No, that's an understatement. She's scared."

"We're all scared," Xander said with a nod, finding Anya's hand with his and holding it tightly. "So, what's the plan now?"

"The only thing we can do is wait," Giles said, sighing yet again. He hated this whole situation, and as he looked over at Buffy, he realized she must hate it more. "We're on the defensive until The Trickster makes a move."

"I say we go," Buffy said with a nod. "I don't want to just sit here and wait for whatever plan The Trickster has to come to us."

"Right, because running worked so well last time," Dawn added, a sick look crossing her face.

"But this time we don't have crazy knights on horses after us," Anya added, a hopeful look crossing her face. "This running thing could be a very strong plan. If we get Willow away from the Hellmouth, we should be fine after tomorrow night."

"But what if The Trickster expects us to run," Xander added nervously. "I mean, this is guy is like, Captain Plan. He always has a plan. What if us running is part of his plan."

"That just might be a risk we'll have to take," Giles said softly, meeting Buffy's eye and nodding.

"I'll pack the weapons," Buffy said, then froze when they heard Tara yell from upstairs. Immediately, Buffy moved to the stairs, catching Tara as she stumbled in her haste to reach the bottom.

"What is it?" Giles asked, moving to Buffy's side and helping to hold Tara up, the girl shaking and crying in his arms.

"Tara what is it?" Buffy said, looking nervously up the stairs. Was Willow all right?

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Answering Darkess

by Sassette

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