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.

"Buffy! Down!" Xander yelled, the slayer immediately ducking, the wild swing of a vampire passing over her head. She thrust a stake forward, dusting the vamp in front of her, then spun swinging the stake again, creating another shower of dust.

Xander backed up, cradling his cut arm to his chest, dodging out of the way of the vampire throwing punches at him. It had smelled the blood and come directly for Xander, and Buffy had been unable to intercept it, busy with three other vamps.

The vampire in front of Xander disappeared, a spray of dust falling over him. He blinked the grit out of his eyes, and looked, seeing a pale and shaky Dawn standing there with a stick of wood in her hand. His eyes widened.

"Dawn, down," he yelled, and like her sister, she ducked at his warning. Xander went flying over her head, tackling the vampire and landing on top of it, ignoring the deep cut on his arm and wrapping his hands around its throat, keeping it pinned.

Giles and Anya were faced off with three more, and Buffy went to assist them as the vampire beneath Xander snarled and thrashed.

"Xander, here," Dawn said, and Xander looked over in time to see the bit of wood Dawn had used flying towards him. He caught it easily, and frowned at its blunt point, then gave a mental shrug, pushing it into the vampires chest.

He looked up, his breathing heavy and his arm aching, blood dripping down his arm. That was the third group of vampires that had wandered in since Tara had disappeared into the Hellmouth, and with their luck, he knew there would be more.

"Anya, you should take Dawn home," Xander said slowly, bending over at the waist and breathing heavily, a painful stitch in his side. He really needed to start jogging or something, he mused, his mind wandering off on odd tangents, because it was safer than thinking about Tara being in Hell. It was safer for his raw nerves.

"I'm not leaving," Dawn said stubbornly, shaking her head. "That vamp totally would have had you if I hadn't been here."

"Maybe," Xander allowed. "But you two should head out. Take the crosses and the holy water, and stay together. Better yet, take Giles' car."

"I think... I think that may be a good idea," Giles said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. His head throbbed where he had been hit by a vampire with a rock, but he had thankfully remained conscious and was otherwise unharmed.

"Alexander Lavelle Harris," Anya said, marching up to her fiancé. "You are not allowed to die without me, do you understand? Willow's run off to release a Hell God, Tara's in Hell trying to find her and probably incinerated, The Trickster could be walking out of that Hellmouth tomorrow night, and the only thing that makes any of that remotely bearable is that I'm here with you. So there," she added, nodding her head emphatically. "I can see that you're trying to get Dawn and I to safety, and we won't have it. Will we, Dawn?"

"I, umm... I think I'll pass on they dying part," Dawn said, swallowing heavily and looking around at everyone with wide eyes. "But Anya's right. We're staying. And, ummm... Tara's not really incinerated, is she?"

"I'm sure she's fine," Buffy said confidently, then her voice gentled. "But Dawn, I need to know that you're safe."

"And I need to know that you're safe," Dawn replied, her tone clipped. "What's the difference?"

"I'm older. I'm supposed to take care of you," Buffy began, only to be interrupted by her sister.

"Well, maybe I'm sick and tired of letting people make sacrifices for me, did you ever think of that?" Dawn demanded, her chin thrust out stubbornly and her arms crossed over her chest. "And why should you care if I'm safe or not? You got along fine without me before I existed."

"Dawn, don't say that," Buffy said, her voice low. "Don't you dare even think it."

"That's... that's not what I meant," Dawn said, her voice softening when she saw the real hurt in Buffy's eyes. The idea that Dawn believed Buffy didn't love her was a sore one with the slayer, Dawn knew, and she honestly hadn't meant to imply that. "I'm saying everything all wrong," she said, her voice frustrated.

"The what are you trying to say?" Buffy said sharply. "That I'd be better off without you? You're my sister and I love you. I can't even begin to tell you what it would do to me to see you hurt."

"I just mean that I'm the one who was still around when you were... gone, and I know how much that sucks. Do you think that didn't hurt me? So if I can do anything to help at all, I need to," she pleaded softly. "And I promise, I'll do what I just did... I'll hide behind those rocks, and I'll stay right there unless someone's about to get eaten," she promised, crossing her heart for effect.

A wry smile crossed Buffy's face as she looked at her sister. She remembered when she was fifteen, and had first learned of vampires. She hadn't handled it with nearly anything resembling the grace and strength that Dawn was displaying. Of course, Dawn had been aware of them much longer than she had at the time.

"Buffy, you were fighting when you were my age," Dawn added, hoping to press her point.

"I'm the Slayer. Super-powers, remember?" Buffy said, though Dawn could tell she was crumbling.

"Yeah, but I could get vamped on the way home," Dawn went on. "This way, at least you'll know. At least you'll have a chance to do something. And Xander and Willow were only a little older than me when they started fighting, and they didn't have superpowers."

Giles just watched all of this silently, a wave of pride washing over him. Finally, Buffy was learning. Finally, Buffy was standing on her own two feet, and not passing on her role as Dawn's guardian. Even so, it was a bittersweet feeling as he watched a bleak understanding enter Buffy's eyes.

It was very hard, he had learned, to realize that children grow up. He had felt it at each milestone Buffy passed in her life, and he felt it now as Buffy took responsibility for her sister, even though that was what he wanted for Buffy. Very difficult indeed, he mused, to see the child become the parent, and no longer need advice.

And it was a lesson Buffy was learning as she looked at her determined sister. She couldn't keep Dawn safe from all the evils in the world – not and expect Dawn to grow. She had to learn to stand on her own two feet, even as they all did.

"Behind the rocks – the whole time," Buffy said sternly. "Unless someone is about to get eaten. And when I say about to get eaten, I don't mean three feet away and walking. Next time, you wait until the vampire's teeth are moving towards Xander's throat, okay?"

"Hey!" Xander protested automatically, before his brain processed the thought. "Umm...what Buffy said. No risking yourself until the very last second," he said, looking sternly at Dawn.

"All right," Dawn said with a nod. "But if those teeth get anywhere near a throat, I'm there."

"She is so your sister," Xander said with a little half-smile. His life was strange, in a way, because he knew things that most people couldn't handle. Vampires, demons, Hellmouths. All of it – it was all something most people would run screaming away from. And it constantly amazed him that he was blessed with knowing these people – these brave souls – and was allowed to fight at their side.

"Take the holy water with you. You can throw them," Anya said, nodding cheerfully.

"But only if you see fangs," Xander reiterated. "Don't call attention to yourself."

"We'll have to start the Scooby lessons soon," Xander said, winking at Dawn and earning a grin. "All the little tricks of the trade. The best places to hide, the best way to run away, the -"

"Best place to buy donuts?" Buffy asked with an unrepentant grin as she needled Xander.

"And you would me to the core," Xander said, placing a hand over his chest, then shaking a finger in Buffy's direction. "I'll have you know that you're not easy to feed, little missy. It takes a strong man to go fetch food for the slayer."

Buffy's retort died in her throat as her ears perked up, a noise gaining her attention. An odd feeling in her gut, familiar and unwelcome, rose up. "Incoming," she said, all levity gone from her expression, instead a cold look of determination falling over her face.

They had all talked it over, Buffy remembered, when Tara had disappeared and they had dusted the fifteen vampires. Well, she had dusted most of them, but that wasn't important. The Construct had run off as soon as it realized the fight was not in its favor, but she couldn't afford to give chase.

Anya's phone call to Angel had alerted him that Willow might be on her way, and then they had all huddled together, trying to come up with a game plan.

It had been easy for Buffy to decide, really. Willow and Tara were in Hell. The only way out was through the Hellmouth. When Willow and Tara got out of Hell – and they would get out, assuming Willow was even there and not LA – they would be waiting to take the girls home and make sure they were safe.

And so they stayed, defending the Hellmouth against all comers, repelling vampire after vampire who were, as it turned out, gathering together to await The Trickster.

The Construct itself had returned several times, only staying long enough to know that the vampires would fail before fleeing again. Buffy wondered if it would return this time as well.

Tense and ready, Buffy watched the entryway closely, waiting for the vampires to enter. Would this be the moment one of them didn't make it? Would this fresh wave of vampires against the weary fighters overcome them? Would she fail to keep her loved ones safe?

No, of course not. She would stand strong, and they would all survive, because they had to. Willow and Tara needed them, and they wouldn't let them down. Certainly, they could guard the Hellmouth if Tara could march into Hell to save...

Willow rushed into the room, her breathing shallow and uneven, her balance off because of the arm that was in a makeshift sling and bound to her chest.

"You don't know what's in there," Buffy heard Spike yell, and then the vampire appeared right behind Willow, wrapping an arm around her and helping her stand.

"Willow?" Buffy said, her stake falling numbly from her hand as she took in her friends appearance. There were twin dark streaks down her face, and a sheen of black sweat on her brow. Willow was clearly having difficulty breathing, and Buffy had no idea if that was due to the mad dash she had just made, or the dark magick returning.

"Buffy," Willow gasped out, inhaling deeply, then doubling over in a cough. Spike got both arms around her and kept her from falling to the floor.

Immediately, Buffy rushed over, her face falling when Willow flinched back from her touch. Dawn jumped from her hiding place, rushing over, then stopping, bringing up a hand to cover her mouth. If Willow was here, then Tara had... ?

Anya approached the teenager, seeing from the look on Dawn's face that they were wondering the same thing. She wrapped a comforting arm around Dawn's shoulders.

"Can't touch me – not safe," Willow ground out when Buffy reached to help her again. "Tara?" she asked, as soon as she could manage to get the word past her throat. "Where's Tara?"

Xander got over his shock and made his way to the group, hovering around Willow anxiously. He wasn't too comfortable with the idea of Spike being that close to her, and he glared at the vampire.

"How come you can touch her?" Buffy asked at the same time, a matching frown on her face.

"Because I'm evil," Spike said, rolling his eyes as if the answer should have been obvious.

"Wesley?" Giles broke in, approaching the girl more carefully. She looked, he had to admit, bloody awful. But that was one question answered – obviously, Willow had left because the spell she and Tara had performed hadn't worked.

Willow just nodded, sucking in deep breaths of air, coughing again. "Tara... tell me where she is," she pleaded, looking at everyone's face turning away from her own.

"They're all up top. We came across some vampires, but Red here made a run for the Hellmouth. A few ran after her, so I did, too," Spike said.

"Who, exactly, is 'all'?" Buffy asked slowly, her voice equal parts hopeful and wary.

"Yeah, he's here," Spike said, nodding confirmation of Buffy's unspoken question with an unfathomable look on his face. "Angel, Wesley and Gunn are cleaning up, then they'll be here."

"So it'll be like a nice big reunion," Xander said with forced cheerfulness, clapping his hands together. "But now that we've established that, can we get Tara out of Hell?"

"Oh, God," Willow whispered, leaning heavily against Spike as the last of the strength left her legs. Spike held her up easily, but he frowned at the sudden weight, concerned by Willow's drop. "I... I didn't really think... she... I though... maybe a mistake? But she – with the... in the...?" Willow rambled, her voice quiet as she gesture weakly at the glowing yellow portal.

"She did," Buffy confirmed, her voice serious as she caught Willow's eye. She held Willow's gaze and waited until those green eyes focused on her before continuing. "But you are not going in there."

Buffy's words penetrated the haze that seemed to surround Willow's brain, and she snapped upright, jerking out of Spike's arms and standing tall. Her strength returned to her in a rush as the full realization of the situation hit her – Tara was in Hell, facing yet another Hell God, and Willow was the only one who could go find her. And she would... and she wouldn't be too late this time.

"Not going in?" Willow demanded, her voice low and tight. "Just who's going to stop me?"

"Willow, you can't. You can't let a Hell God out into the world," Buffy said earnestly. "We'll find another way. We'll save Tara, I swear, but you can't go in there."

Willow's anger left her, though the strength remained, and a mirthless laugh escaped her. Once that first laugh was out, she laughed again and again, her noise tearing itself from her throat.

"Oh, God, she's finally lost it," Anya whispered, earning a sharp but worried look from Dawn.

"Oh, God!" Anya said louder, her eyes widening with realization. "The Trickster isn't after you, is he?" she asked, and Willow confirmed with a nod, unable to stop the eerie laughter.

"That's a good thing, right?" Xander asked tentatively. "Yay us! No Hell God making it out of Hell, right?"

"He's after Tara," Buffy said flatly, the color draining from her face. "He's been after Tara this whole time."

"Give the girl a teddy bear," Spike murmured, the snide comment sounding as if it came out more by rote than sincerity.

Willow shook her head, the laughter dying away, and looked up, seeing that every eye in the room was focused on her, matching expressions of wary concern on everyone's face.

"I'm okay," she said slowly, pressing her hands to her face. "I'm okay," she said again, sounding more convincing.

"I'm afraid this is going to be a problem," Giles said softly. "We have no idea how Tara got into Hell, or even if she's still alive."

"She's alive," Willow said firmly, her lips pressing together into a grim, determined line. "I'd know it if she wasn't." She walked past her friends, approaching the Hellmouth, glaring at it like it was Glory herself.

"What did she do?" Willow asked, her attention focused on the Hellmouth as she raised her hand, palm flat, just centimeters away from the glowing surface. She could feel the energy radiating from the Hellmouth, warming her skin. "What did she do?" she asked again, her voice louder and more demanding as she turned her head and glanced back.

"She, umm... she walked up," Buffy said slowly, moving to stand next to Willow. "And she, uhh, she put her hand on it," she explained. "Then she kind of pushed it in, and stopped for a bit, concentrating. After that she kind of laughed and stepped through."

"No words? No spells?" Willow asked, her gaze sharp and a furrow of concentration wrinkling her brow as she studied the Hellmouth, keeping her hand just off the surface.

"You're sure? You were close enough to know?" Willow pressed. She knew she was being short with Buffy, and rude, but she didn't have time to be nice. She had to know everything, and she had to know it now.

"Slayer hearing," Buffy said, tapping her ear with one finger. "Willow, I'm sorry," she added in a softer undertone. "I didn't know. We all thought... we all thought you were in there."

"It wasn't your fault, Buffy," Willow said, her voice softening as she looked over at her best friend. "It's what The Trickster wanted. If anything, it's my fault. I never should have run off like that. Made you all worry."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Buffy said lightly. "We are so gonna' have a talk about that later. Soon as you go and get your girl."

"So you're going to let me walk into Hell?" Willow asked wryly, casting a sidelong glance Buffy's way.

"Just who's going to stop you?" Buffy said, the light banter breaking the tension and letting a feeling of hope well up in both girls.

"Willow!" Angel called, coming into the room, a stake in his hand and Wesley and Gunn right behind him. His eyes fell on Willow and Buffy standing next to the Hellmouth, and he felt a sense of relief roll over him when he realized they were both alright. Angel and Buffy looked awkwardly at each other for a moment, then they both dropped their eyes. There would be time for them to talk later.

"Do try to not run off like that again," Wesley said with a sigh, looking at the impetuous girl. She hadn't changed much in high school, in some regards – in others, he supposed she had changed a great deal.

"Did you find anything in those files?" Willow asked, turning her attention back to the Hellmouth. There had to be a way to get through. There just had to. "Anya? Do you know a way I could get through this thing?"

Wesley hesitated, wondering if Willow wanted Anya to answer first, or if he should start talking about what he had found.

"You can either open the Hellmouth completely, become a hell-creature, or hitch a ride," Anya listed off.

"Hmm..." Willow said, pondering the thought as she poked and prodded the Hellmouth. "Wesley?" she said, inviting the ex-watcher to speak.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat. "I found a few more translation errors that Rupert made," Wesley said, looking apologetically at the older man, who merely nodded wearily. Giles was well-aware that the translation of prophecies was more Wesley's field than his. "It's this part here... it seems to tell how Tara can defeat The Trickster."

"Go on," Willow said absently, seeming to barely pay attention to Wesley's words. He paused for a moment, nonplussed as it looked like Willow was ignoring him. "I said go," Willow repeated, her voice still distant, though the Scoobies all knew this tone of voice and the look on Willow's face. She was In The Zone.

They had seen it before, but they never got used to it – the way Willow seemed to not be paying attention to anything, yet she was gathering data, piecing it all together and making sense of it. As a joke, they had tested her once, everyone talking at the same time, just to see if she could take in all that information at once. She had, and it had almost been, eerie.

"She's In The Zone," Dawn whispered in awe, coming to stand next to Wesley. Once, when Willow was In The Zone, she had jokingly asked her to recite the powers of two, and Willow had started rattling off numbers all the way up to 262,144 before Dawn had burst out laughing and asked her to stop. "Whatever's going on, she's going to figure it out. Just talk – she'll hear you."

"I, ummm... yes, right," Wesley said hesitantly, then raised his voice. "It's a passage that says 'The Demon shall be reborn to her line – The Demon and The Demon's descendant shall be as one. The purity of that soul shall be hated by Him, and he will trick her into Hell. She will stand between the darkness without, and the darkness within, and only the darkness can save her.' It's... an odd phrasing," Wesley went on, "but likely significant because it is odd. Rupert had substituted 'power' for 'purity' as well as a few other words, but that's the one that struck me. Given the syntax of the sentence, 'purity' is more correct, yet 'power' makes more sense. How can a pure soul have darkness within?"

"Hitch a ride?" Willow asked, her brain switching gears at Wesley's words. She started pushing desperately against the springy surface of the Hellmouth with both hands. She could feel the surface tension of it – could feel the 'give' inside of it – but she couldn't break through it. It was like what was going on in her mind... there was something... more, here. Something that had to happen – something that would happen, that was very, very bad, and she was on the verge of figuring out what it was.

With the knowledge that there was something more to know, her need to get to Tara – fast – doubled, then tripled. The darkness within... something about... Tara's shadow, maybe? She was afraid of it, Willow knew – the phrase 'afraid of her own shadow' popped into her mind without her permission, and she pushed it away... it was irrelevant – Tara was afraid of what the darkness inside of her could do... of what it would do.

"Yeah. If some demon-type jumps through, you can go with it if you grab on. But you're probably going to die as soon as you get there," Anya added, her voice shaking. "So you really shouldn't try it. I mean, I know Tara is in there, but she wouldn't want you to go and get all dead to save her, and so we should figure out something else."

"I love her," Willow said simply, pushing her shoulder into the Hellmouth and grunting with the effort. "I have to try." She took a few steps back, then ran forward, hurling her shoulder into the barrier that was keeping her from going to Tara, a sense of panic welling up inside of her.

"Willow, stop it," Buffy said, grasping her arm gently. "You're not going to do any good if you hurt yourself, all right?"

Willow turned on Buffy, her eyes a little wild-looking, and her face pleading. She opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted.

"I'll go," Angel said, stepping up. "I'm a demon. You can hitch on me." He had been to Hell, he knew what it was like – and though he had hoped to never return, he would do that for Willow. Willow felt guilty, he knew, about restoring his soul, thinking the spell was a curse. But Angel knew better. It was a gift – a precious gift – and now that his unlife had a purpose and a focus – now that he had a son – he knew exactly how precious.

Buffy remained silent, her heart clenching at the idea of Angel returning to Hell, knowing that she no longer had the right to demand he stay safe – to demand he stay behind. She wasn't even sure she would exercise that right if she had it, she admitted inwardly. Not with Tara at stake – not knowing what Tara meant to Willow and Dawn.

"Vampires only count as half-demon," Anya said, shaking her head. "You can't get through the Hellmouth."

"But The Construct got out," Willow pointed out. "Isn't it weakened?" she asked, pushing harder on the Hellmouth, her whole weight behind it.

"Here," Angel said, moving to Willow's side and placing his hand carefully on the Hellmouth. Gently, he pushed his fingers in, breaking through the surface that Willow was trying so hard to penetrate.

He increased the pressure, his fingers stopping about an inch in. Shaking his head in frustration, he pushed harder, then harder still, until all of his supernatural strength was behind it.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike grumbled, stalking up to the group. Roughly, he pushed Angel aside, his game face stealing over his features. "No wonder soul boy can't make it. Stand back," he growled, reaching up to the Hellmouth and pushing. He grunted as his hand broke the surface, and pushed further in, and further still, his arm in up to his elbow.

"Umm... another reason this is a bad idea," Anya said slowly. "There's fire on the other side."

"You couldn't have just forgotten to mention that part?" Xander murmured, sidling up to Anya. He watched in surprise as Spike turned his head to glare at him.

"Spike, you don't have to do this," Willow said, laying a hand on his arm, even as her agitation rose. Part of her didn't care that Spike wouldn't survive if he helped, but a part of her felt like it would be wrong to accept that sacrifice from the vampire. Because he had been so kind to her, in his own Spike way, and because it just seemed wrong to accept a sacrifice from someone she didn't like most of the time and had tried to kill her on several occasions, she tried to give him a graceful out. "I know we can get it open another way. The Construct could come back, or I could figure something out."

"You and me, we got something in common, Red," Spike whispered softly. "I'll get you through. You go get your bird."

With a determined look, Willow pressed against the Hellmouth, letting all of her fear and anger over the situation well up in her. She didn't want Spike's help – didn't want to be indebted to him, even though she knew that, in a way, she already was. Still, it was frustrating and it make her angry, and she was oh so scared that she would somehow be too late, and that Tara wouldn't' be all right.

All the rage at The Trickster stole through her, and she felt it building and building, the darkness rising up inside of her. Still, she couldn't quite break through.

"I said I'd get you through," Spike said, turning to glare at her. "Just... hang on to me, all right? Before I change my bloody mind," he added on a mutter. "I'm off my beam."

Willow glared back, her eyes darkening and shading to black, meeting Spike's demonic yellow eyes evenly. She slid her fingers along his arm, hitting the Hellmouth, still connected to Spike, and she felt a tingle shoot through her. She pressed further, her hand getting past that first barrier.

Her eyes widened as she turned and looked at the Hellmouth again, seeing her hand trapped inside. It felt kind of... Jell-o-y. She wondered idly if it would taste like lemons? Did they even make a lemon Jell-o? Maybe it should be a red Hellmouth. Or a green one.

"Mind wandering, not good," she told herself sternly, firmly locking the silly scientist in her away. Her mind had the very bad habit of wandering away from her during the most important things – and things certainly didn't get any more important than this.

"Take your hand out," she told Spike. "I think... I think I can get through now."

Spike nodded, but didn't obey, getting his other hand in, then pulling his hands apart, bending and stretching the energy of the Hellmouth until a thin crack appeared.

Willow saw her opportunity, and she stepped through, feeling the Hellmouth close up behind her.

All sound ceased, except for a strange rhythmic 'whooshing' in Willow's ears, the peculiar energy of the Hellmouth pulsing all around her. She could feel the darkness inside of her answering that call, could feel it rising up and resting just under her skin, itching and begging to be released.

It would get her through the Hellmouth, and to Tara, and there was no way she was going to do anything that would keep her from running to Tara's side.

Not that she was running. The gooey inside of the Hellmouth was hard to move through, and she couldn't breathe. And everything was all sticky and jello-y and kinda'... squicky.

No, this would definitely not go down on her list of pleasant experiences to remember. But still, Tara was on the other side, and there was no question about moving forward – no question about whether or not this was all worth it – no question about whether or not this was a good idea.

She pressed forward because there were simply no options. Tara. Tara was in Hell. Tara needed her – was in terrible danger, and she didn't even know just how bad the situation was, and so Willow pushed on, her muscles straining against the goopy insides of the Hellmouth. She pushed and pushed, but everything was moving so slowly.

Frustration and anger and an urgent panic were her companions as she crept slowly along, the slick jell-o-yness sliding across her face and her hand. She still had Spike's coat on, one arm through the sleeve and the other in a sling against her chest, the coat draped around her, hanging down to her feet.

Her always-active mind pulled up strange inconsequential things, as it tended to do in the middle of a crisis. That's why she hated pressure – she couldn't stand it, and she knew she'd be babbling right then if she had been even semi-sure that opening her mouth would be okay. Things like how many licks did it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop jumped into her brain, or exactly why Spike listened to the Spice Girls – even thoughts of precisely how a half-camel would go about walking cropped up. Would it just kind of balance itself on its two legs and hop? Or maybe the pound made special little half-camel go-karts and it drove everywhere?

But related to all of those thoughts was Tara. Tara was an integral part of them – both their beginning and their end. Tara was essential.

She growled low in her throat, her lips pressed tightly together, pushing and pulling with her one good hand, shouldering into the thick gooeyness that was the Hellmouth for all she was worth.

'Traitorous Brain! Focus, Willow,' she told herself inwardly, her mental tone harsh and insistent.

And then she was out of the Hellmouth, and she couldn't think at all as the fires raged up around her. But before she could do more than feel their heat searing her lungs as she took a deep breath, the ground broke beneath her.

She fell, an icy chill shocking her with its intensity as a deep pool of water swallowed her, carrying her down into its depths. In vain, she tried to rise up, to reach the surface again, but the dark waters claimed her, pulling her deeper and deeper.

Vaguely, she became aware of a strange tightness around her ankle, and she looked down, strands of her hear floating around her eyes and head, obstructing what little visibility she had. Something was pulling her... pulling her deeper and deeper and – she could feel it – further from Tara.

Her lungs screamed their agony at being denied oxygen once again, but she held her breath, hoping she would be able to escape before she drowned. And it was cold... so very cold... the watery icy against her skin, making her shiver and her teeth chatter beneath her closed lips.

The downward descent stopped with a jolt, and Willow looked up, seeing what appeared to be ice above her head, and above that the flickering light of the fire.

She looked down, the murky waters clearer here, the bottom of the pool giving off an eerie glow. But she barely stopped herself from gasping when she saw the shackle and weight attached to her leg.

Panic filled her, and she thrashed about in the water, her lungs burning with the need for air. Her mind went completely blank and pure survival instinct took over as she kicked and waved her arm about frantically, jerking her body this way and that as she tried to free herself.

Tears of frustration and fear leaked form her eyes, unnoticed in the surrounding water and her movements slowed as the numbing cold seeped into her muscles.

Her mind spun and her whole body ached, her extremities starting to numb. Think. She had to think. She'd never get out of here – would never find Tara – if she couldn't think. And hadn't she promised? Hadn't she promised to always find Tara? Or had Tara promised her? She couldn't remember – why couldn't she remember?

Doggedly, she reached down, grasping the chain, the rusty surface scratchy against her palms, pulling for all she was worth, little bubbles of air escaping her. The chain, though, wouldn't break. She hadn't really expected it to – this was Hell, after all, and she was reasonably sure nothing convenient would happen.

She shook her head in the water, cursing her wayward brain for taking these tangents when she had more serious matters to attend to – like getting Tara and getting out.

Her head turned this way and that, looking for something – anything – that she could use to escape this. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the others.

There were people everywhere, their skin pale, their lips blue. Some struggled against their chains, pulling and screaming, great bubbles of air drifting up from their open mouths. Some merely drifted, the strange currents in the water carrying them around on the end of their chain, their eyes dull and hopeless. Still others were unmoving, their jaws slack.

Willow pulled on her chain again, only this time, getting her feet onto the sandy floor. She held on, using the weight to keep her there, then took a step, then another, then set her feet as best she could and heaved.

She almost smiled, but she moved again instead. She had no idea how she was going to get out of the water, or even if it was possible to do so, but she had a vague sense of the direction she needed to go.

Still, each movement was agony, both the nature of water and the almost burning cold slowing her down. But she kept onward. She had to keep going. As she passed one of the still figures, drowned and unmoving, its eyes popped open, and it started thrashing in the water, its pale white hands reaching for her.

Reflexively, she gasped, the water filling her lungs as her mind raged at her for doing something so stupid – for drowning herself when she had to find Tara. Dizziness swept over her as her lungs heaved in her chest, trying to draw in needed oxygen. Her vision blackened around the edges, and she fell, the hands that had clutched for her missing her entirely, even as she realized the true horror of this place – they all drowned, over and over again. And now it was her turn.

She choked then, a strange fit of coughing taking over her. Where was the air coming from? How did she have enough air in her lungs to cough at all?

A dark fluid poured out of her mouth, crackling as it flowed into the water, floating in a macabre imitation of a lava lamp towards the surface, and suddenly, Willow felt like she had just taken a deep breath of air.

Willow's eyes opened, and her vision cleared, and she saw the... person?... recoil away from her, its eyes focused on the darkness that had issued from Willow's mouth.

But she didn't have time to wonder about that. She didn't have time to analyze the situation, or figure out just how long she could survive underwater with the dark magick inside of her keeping her alive. Still, her mind turned it over as she moved onward, taking a few steps, setting her feet, then dragging the weight across the sandy floor. Hell, it would seem, considered her to belong there – and that made sense, in an eerie way. With so much of her body holding the dark power of a Hell God, why wouldn't she belong?

The thought was disturbing and had about a million different eerie strings attached to it, but it drew her attention away from the sheer terror of being submerged in HellWater – surrounded by poor souls doomed to drown over and over again for eternity – the chilling numbness of her limbs in the icy cold depths, and the pain in her chest where her lungs ached to be free.

Tara, she knew, would be thinking up ways to save these people. Errr, souls. Or whatever they were. Because it would be the right thing to do – the good thing. But Willow was all too aware that her time was running out, and though she wished there was something she could do to put an end to the... sheer cruelty and wrongness of the whole thing, she doubted there was anything she could do.

And what if she disrupted some kind of cosmic balance between good and evil by interfering? Her brow furrowed. Cosmic balance had a way of maintaining itself... she had read that somewhere. That paper – the one that one lady had written? What was her name.

The cold seeped into her, deeper and deeper, and she could feel the gears in her mind slowing. It was almost comfortable, the way her mind settled and relaxed. She was so used to her brain racing off in every direction that this almost seemed like a break – like a vacation. She couldn't really feel her fingers now, but that was all right. She really didn't mind. The way the iron chain had cut into them was uncomfortable – it was nice that she couldn't feel it anymore. Nice. A nice quiet vacation.

With a start, she shook off the lethargy, realizing that she hadn't moved as far as she thought she should have. She had to focus. A vacation without Tara wasn't a vacation at all, and so she had to go get her – to go find her, so she could properly enjoy her Hell Vacation.

She carried on, her efforts redoubling and a panic seeping into her consciousness. This was serious. This was urgent. This was Tara's life in danger. This wasn't like the SAT's where she could just take the darn things again if she didn't like her score – if she didn't score high enough on this test, a Hell God would escape Hell, Tara would probably be killed, and all her friends as well.

She counted them off. Three pulls. Five pulls. She kept going, feeling the darkness crackling inside of her lungs, the fiery feeling a stark contrast to the blood-chilling water around her. But she welcomed it.

It was ironic, she supposed, that The Trickster's attempts to kill her with Dark Magick was keeping her alive.

But no – his plan was to get Tara. Willow wasn't part of his plan at all, except as bait – if she were, then why had it been so difficult to get through the Hellmouth?

No – somewhere along the line The Tricksters plan had derailed. She would see to it that it unraveled completely.

Willow fell, completely disoriented as the chain disappeared, and she hit the hard stone floor hard, her head connecting with a solid crack.

A flash of light seared across her vision as a wave of pain and dizziness washed over her. She tried to take a breath, but couldn't, her lungs filled with... something. Nausea rose up in her, fierce and strong, and her stomach convulsed at the same time a deep hacking cough wracked her whole body.

Dark, angry magick poured out of her mouth, her whole body twitching as she both vomited and coughed up the thick black liquid. Her throat felt raw and hot, and her eyes teared up. The world spun and spun around her and all the while she shook, her lungs clearing the fluid from her airways.

But she couldn't get a breath around it... couldn't breathe, couldn't think – her head ached and she was so, so cold. And so, so tired.

The edges of her vision blurred as the world spun and she sagged against the rocky floor, everything going dark.

And in the dark, the whispers started, tickling the edges of her hearing, pulling her... somewhere... away... not in the direction she wanted to go at all. Tara was the other way. She had to get to Tara.

But she was pulled, deeper and deeper, into her mind, darkness swirling round and round and round and she fell and fell and fell, landing in a chair at a table. The table was familiar, as was the chair, and there was a crossword puzzle in front of her.

"No!" she yelled, looking around frantically. "No! I don't want to do the stupid puzzle," she screamed, tossing the paper away from her, looking over at the White Rabbit.

"You're running late," Anya said, looking at her seriously. "And punctuality is very important. Tardiness can result in lost revenue."

"Have to keep it all there... keep it all there... balance, balanced, balanced-er..." a low voice muttered to her left, and Willow turned her head. A stoop-shouldered little man with watery yellow eyes and red skin in a rumpled suit and tattered tie sat there, balancing teapots on a set of scales. A large hat sat upon his head, a tag that read "10/6" sitting atop it.

"Balance?" Willow asked, her face scrunching up. She looked around. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. The table sat in the middle of a garden, but that wasn't right – that's not where the table went. It was clearly an indoor table, and it couldn't be outdoors. Not like this.

"Oh, yes. Keeping a positive balance is very important," the White Rabbit – Anya – the White Rabbit said.

"No, no... not positive, not negative... balance, balance," the Mad Hatter muttered, shifting pots around and around. "I broke a pot... it's broken, broken... I have to make it balance."

"Late?" she squeaked, whipping her head around to look at the White Rabbit as those words sunk into her mind. "I can't be late!" Willow stood up, looking in every direction. She had to get to Tara. She had to find Tara.

"Running late, not late. There's a subtle but distinct difference," the White Rabbit said, nodding sagely. "But it's a very important date."

"No time to say 'Hello', Goodbye!" Willow muttered, gathering her blue skirt and apron up, and taking off at a run.

"And don't bother running – you're only dreaming anyway," the Dormouse called, his voice sounding like Xander's. "You can't save her here... you have to go back!"

"I can save her... I will save her," Willow said under her breath, her legs pumping as she sprinted full out across the field. She couldn't be late... she couldn't be late... it was a very important date. And why had they been fighting anyway? It was a stupid fight – it was all so stupid. She had to apologize – to make it right. Tara would understand. And then they'd make up, and they'd go out for coffee and food – kisses and gay love, and everything would be fine – fine.

She didn't notice the lush greenery all around her, only running and running, cresting a hill and looking down upon the fair, where all the cards marched about, manning booths and passing out food. A section was roped off and they played croquet, the little mallets and balls a bit more active than she was used to – but it was a cultural fair, so who was she to judge?

But she was late – the White Rabbit had said so – and she should have already been there. Should have been there. With Tara. Where was Tara? She had to run... had to find...

She sprinted off again, pushing her way through the cards, not caring what suit they were – numbers didn't matter – they were in the way, and she pushed them, and they were falling – falling like a house of cards, crumbling around her as her world came tumbling down and a familiar voice yelled, "off with her head!"

"Off with hear head!" It echoed around, the only sound other sound but the shuffling of cards as a hand was dealt... a hand was dealt.

And the cards landed and streams of light were pouring out of Tara's head, the Queen of Hearts sitting beside her on the park bench, her fingers imbedded in Tara's skull. Willow's heart lurched, and she screamed.

Two black aces and two black eights loomed before her, but Willow just batted them aside and ran – running... running towards that bitch Queen who had stolen her heart – her Tara.

The cards fell, and the Queen of Hearts stood, one hand placed lazily on her hip, a look of mocking, sneering disdain on her face.

"Off with her head!" she yelled, pointing at Willow, and the cards moved, shuffling towards her, but Willow didn't care.

"My nummy treat? She had to leave. She had an appointment... she said she was late," the Queen of Hearts said, shaking her head, her hair falling around her face.

"You give her back to me," Willow said, her voice dangerous and low as she stalked up to the Queen of Hearts, tossing cards left and right.

"Or what? Your little pal The Trickster will give you enough power to hurt me? I'm on to you," the Queen said, smirking. "You never had the power. Not to save her, and not to avenge her. None of it was you. You're worthless."

"You bitch!" Willow spat out, her body shaking with rage, her hand connecting solidly with the Queen's face before she could consciously decide to slap her.

"I'm a bitch?" the Queen asked indignantly, grabbing Willow by the upper arms and lifting her into the air. "You're the one who fell in line with his plans. You're the one who took my nummy treat and put it back into Tara. You're the one -"

"Shut up, shut up!" Willow screamed, thrashing about mid-air, kicking at the Queen as much as she could.

"You're the one who didn't finish the crossword. I told you that you weren't looking at the right questions. And you never found the right questions," she snarled, tossing Willow away from her. In a huff, she twitched her dress straight, then stalked off. "Off with her head!" she called over her shoulder, moving to her throne.

"What, you're not going to finish it?" Willow asked, rising unsteadily to her feet, glaring at the Queen, tears stinging her eyes. "Why don't you just finish it? Why don't you just kill me? I... Just kill me!"

"I can't," the Queen said with a simple shrug. "You took it from me. I can't win. Like that game of tic-tac-toe in that stupid movie you like so much and made Tara watch. But you won. You defeated me."

"You can't win," Willow said in a wondering tone. "Tara!" She took off running, away from the fair, away from the Queen... they weren't important – not now. Not the cards, not that bitch, nothing... just Tara.

She ran and ran and ran, breaking the treeline of a dark and eerie forest, the cool air in the shadows chilling her sweat-soaked skin. But still she ran, leaping bushes and dodging around trees, moving deeper and deep along the path.

"Willow!" a voice called, and she turned her head, seeing Buffy and Dawn in matching outfits.

"But you're Tweedle-Dumber!" Buffy retorted, her attention pulled away from Willow.

The shadows lengthened, and deepened, and Willow's steps slowed, her breath and the pounding of her heart unnaturally loud in her ears. It was dark... so very dark. She could barely make out the path at her feet, but she had to keep trying. She had to find Tara.

A fork in the path appeared suddenly before her, signs pointing in every direction with one word on them. Hell.

A strange light appeared, and she looked towards it, making out a smile, and then a pair a blinking eyes in the darkness, a deeper shadowy form around them. She stepped closer, her head tilted to one side as she squinted, making out the vague outline of a cat in the tree.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" Willow asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Willow's eyes narrowed as a creeping darkness spread from the cat, crawling around her, then seeping into her skin.

"You," she growled out, approaching the tree. Her anger sparked and she glared at the Cat... this damn Cat who had caused so many problems.

"Where is she? Where's Tara? I love her – how DARE you?" she demanded, eyeing the tree speculatively and wondering how she could climb up there so she could kick the Cat.

"How do I find her?" Willow ground out, kicking the tree instead when she realized she had no way of getting up there.

"Willow, you're late!" the White Rabbit yelled, running down the path and waving her arms frantically. "She's my best friend, and you're going to be late!"

"I... I have to find her," Willow stammered, her anger ebbing, as she turned to look at the White Rabbit.

Willow awoke with a start, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to take in her surroundings. She sat up quickly, noting the residue black crackling liquid on the ground next to her.

She blinked a few more times, disoriented and confused by the abrupt change. Where – ?

Then she remembered – all of it, and she thought she might be sick again. She clamped down on the feeling, her mind tumbling around as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

Spike's coat was still wrapped around her, though certainly more water-logged than when it had been handed over. Her jeans and shirt were soaked, her feet practically swimming in her shoes. She spun slowly, looking around the room.

It was a cave of some sort, with no apparent exit. At least, she mused, it was warm. Sometime during her dreaming, her limbs had thawed somewhat, and the feeling had returned. But how long had she been out? Was she too late?

The floor was hard rock, but the walls were just dirt. Behind her, though, was a solid wall of water, somehow not spilling into the room. On one level, she would have liked to study it – to learn and to know how it could exist anywhere.

But clearly the laws of physics didn't apply to Hell, and it didn't matter, did it? All that mattered was finding a way out of this place.

It wasn't underwater, and she wasn't drowning, though. That was a plus. Her eyebrows raised up as she took stock of her situation.

She had that kind of 'pins and needles' feeling in her hands and feet as the circulation returned, she was soaked, in a cave in Hell with no apparent exit, and there was no Tara to be seen.

A wave of hopelessness washed over her. Had she escaped the water to die alone in a cave? Had she gotten through so much only to fail now?

Her jaw set and clenched, her eyes narrowing and her brows drawing together her, the familiar feeling of her 'resolve face' filling her with renewed purpose. Hopelessness was irrelevant. It didn't matter whether or not it was impossible for her to succeed. It was impossible for that wall of water to be there without spilling into the room, and that happened – she'd just have to go save Tara whether it was possible or not.

It was a profound and simple truth, achingly sweet in how it struck her just then. She knew it – had known it for years. Had, probably, known it in other lifetimes and would know it in lifetimes to come. It was timeless in its constancy, yet brief, as this one lifetime was brief when compared to the infinite cosmos.

It was all-encompassing, completely consuming, yet a piece of her she could keep tucked away, safe from the cruelties and vagaries of life on the Hellmouth. It was her anchor and her shelter, and it gave her strength.

And so she thought about it – thought about loving Tara – like she hadn't stopped and really thought about it in far too long.

Because she needed the strength. She needed to be something greater than she had always thought herself – she needed to stop being the plain old Willow she had always been, and could not be the super-Willow who tossed around magick. She had to be the Willow who loved Tara, and that, she found, was the strongest Willow of all.

Willow felt that love welling up inside her – felt it tugging in a specific direction. To Tara. Tara was straight ahead, through the crumbling earthen wall. She didn't know how she knew it, but she didn't question it. She and Tara always knew how to find one another – in that respect the Cheshire Cat had been right.

"I didn't happen to do a bunch of drugs, did I?" she wondered aloud, remembering the vivid imagery from her dream.

Her feet propelled her forward, and her hand raised up, touching the warm dirt. A large clod of it fell away, and she pushed, her face twisting into a curious frown. Her hand broke through easily into an empty space behind and a small smile crossed her face.

She could do this – she could do the impossible, and with that thought she started clearing away the loose dirt.

After just a few moments, her impatience with the task grew, and she awkwardly untied the sling holding her arm in place. She flexed her arm a bit, noting that it still oozed out the dark magicky liquid, then tucked it into the free sleeve of Spike's coat. But it didn't matter, she mused as she re-wrapped it, forgoing the sling and just covering the cuts. As long as Tara was okay, what happened to her wasn't important.

Now with two hands, she started working again, ignoring the twinges of pain where the skin surrounded her gashes stretch and pulled. In a way, the discomfort was welcome, reminding her that she was very much alive – that she had somewhere to be – someone to save.

She continued working, her hands pulling away handful after handful of dirt as her mind inevitably wandered. What, exactly, had that whacky dream been about? The bit with Glory as the Queen of Hearts seemed obvious, her role as the bloodthirsty queen easily reconciled with the Scoobies' real life experiences with the Hell God.

She shrugged mentally, digging deeper and deeper, until a hole about the size of her head formed. She poked her head through, looking around, seeing a tiny narrow tunnel going off into the distance. It seemed to be going the correct way, so she redoubled her efforts, tearing at the earth, her hands becoming caked with the stuff, gathering up around and under her fingernails.

The Trickster as the Cheshire Cat made sense. She had never trusted the damn thing, and always wondered why Alice was so eager to do what it said. Its eerie smiley face, and the way it stood on its own head – that was just wrong. She frowned.

But the Mad Hatter with the broken teapot puzzled her. With one last grunt, she pulled down a big chunk of dirt, looking at her work with a sense of satisfaction. She'd have to crawl through the tunnel on her belly, but she had cleared an entrance she could just squeeze through, starting at about her waist's height up the wall.

She crawled in, the small space closing around her, and started moving, her shoulders brushing the walls. It was incredibly slow going, as she really couldn't get her knees under her at all, and pretty much had to just drag her lower body along using her forearms to move.

She inched along, her mind replaying the scenes from her dream, turning them this way and that trying to make sense of them. But they had been so weird – how could they make any sense? Somehow, though, she thought that they probably did. It was probably all symbol-y and meaningful, and was her subconscious' way of trying to clue her in to something important.

But she hadn't finished the damn crossword puzzle, so it was probably a moot point.

In a way, though, she felt like she had just walked into a classroom without having done the assigned reading, and for the first time had no idea what the topic of discussion was. The teacher was probably going to start talking, and she'd have no idea what she was talking about, and – and... God, the teacher would probably know she hadn't done the reading, and then call on her.

Shaking her head, she sighed, inwardly cursing her strange obsession with classrooms. Other people didn't do that – they didn't compare their whole life to school. Then again, other people weren't Willow Rosenberg.

She inched along, keeping her head down and moving forward – always forward. It was too cramped to really go back – but it wasn't like she would go back even if she could. Tara was ahead, and so that's where she needed to be.

Still, her brain kept calling up the cards and the forest, the tea party and the fair. And she kept on, feeling bits of dirt from the top of the tunnel falling on her head, and the waistband of her jeans scooping it up as she dragged herself onward.

First thing she'd do when she got home, after kissing Tara senseless, was take a shower. She so needed a shower. And if she was lucky, she could talk Tara into joining her. Yeah, that would be nice. Tara. Warm water. Soapy goodness. Naughty touching.

She sighed softly, her mind filling with Tara. The discomfort of the cramped space and the dusty air fell away, a peace settling within her as she thought of Tara's laughter, her soft smiles, the way her eyes glowed when Willow told her she loved her.

With that, she began moving faster, her mind turning over the logistics of crawling through a tiny tunnel and coming up with the most efficient movements to cover the most ground. She nodded a little in satisfaction when she thought she had it all figured out... her arm would go like so, and she could get a little traction with her toes, and she moved, managing to pick up her pace significantly.

She started to get frustrated, and her breathing became labored as she squeezed her way through the tiny space. How far had she moved? A few feet? A mile? She honestly had no idea, nor now long she had been crawling.

A moan sounded, and she paused, cocking her head to one side and listening intently. Another one, then another, coming from all around her.

Where was that noise coming from? She cringed as she continued, each sound of torment creeping in her ears and striking terror into her heart. Underneath the echo of voices, she could hear a subtle shifting – a rustling like earth was being moved aside, scraped out of the way.

No, many somethings, and they were in pain, scared and alone. She somehow thought they didn't mean her any harm, but she couldn't be sure, and a fresh wave of fear washed over her, sending a shudder down her spine. Visions of creepy crawly things with too many legs and eyes skittered across her brain, and she had to pause for a moment, taking a few deep breaths and willing the trembling in her limbs to subside.

A deep rumbling filled the world around her, and she felt the vibrations of the moving earth throughout her whole body. She snapped her head up, her eyes wide with fear. What now?

"You're trapped, Willow. You're falling for his trap," a deep resounding voice echoed through the earth, as if coming from the ground itself, surrounding her and pouring through her.

"No," Willow said, shaking her head lightly, then continuing on despite the disturbing shaking.

"I am. I have to be," Willow grunted, her sense of urgency rising up to a fevered pitch as she scratched and clawed and made her way as fast as she was able along the tunnel.

"You can't save her – you're not enough to save her. The Trickster saved her last time. You were just his instrument, and now you think you can defeat him?" the voice mocked, finding Willow's weak spots and torturing them mercilessly.

A soft cry escaped Willow as she continued to scrabble along through the dirt, whimpering with pain. "I have to be enough... I have to be enough," she chanted over and over as the voice continued.

"Did you think you had that kind of power? That you could just stick your fingers in a Hell God's head and return Tara to herself? No, you couldn't."

"I could... I did," Willow gasped, the tunnel starting to rise. The new incline made the route tougher, but she kept on, twisting and turning frantically and edging forward.

"It was The Trickster – it was always him. He was the one that made you worthwhile. Without him, you're nothing."

"No!" Willow cried out, panting with exertion as she continued onward and upward, bits of dirt loosening from the walls and sliding against her skin. "I won. Glory said that I won – that I defeated her. I saved Tara. She was lost, and I found her."

"That was a dream – just a dream. Glory knew – how could she not? She knew, in the last, that The Trickster defeated her. She could taste the flavor of his power when your fingers were inside her skull."

"I'm not listening to this," Willow muttered, closing her eyes tight and making her way by feel. "I'm not listening." It was childish and stupid, but she just wanted to stop and put her fingers in her ears and sing 'la la la' until the stupid voice went away – she wanted the words to stop. She needed the words to stop. But Tara was still ahead – the words didn't matter, she told herself, over and over. They didn't matter. Tara mattered. She had to keep going.

"Tara can," Willow said, a her mouth forming into a tight grim line. "I just need to give her a reason to try," she muttered, moving onward. She was getting closer, she knew. She could tell – she could feel it.

"It doesn't matter," Willow answered automatically, concentrating on moving forward.

The shaking and rumbling intensified, and Willow closed her eyes against the grit as the tunnel filled with dust. It covered her hair and face, seeping into her lungs as she breathed and making her cough. Cautiously, she let her eyes open just a bit, but she couldn't see anything but falling dirt as it rained down around her.

Desperately, she pressed on, moving through the cloud of earth in the air, pushing past the piles of it that were accumulating in her path. She couldn't stop now – had to keep going – had to keep pushing.

More and more fell, gathering on her shoulders and sliding down the collar of Spike's coat, onto her neck. The shaking continued, on and on, until Willow felt a little dizzy and like she was going to be sick – again, but still she moved forward.

The passage became harder and harder to get through, as she had to shove more and more dirt out of her way, with hardly any space to put it and push her way through, until finally she was completely enclosed – entombed deep within the earth, frantically trying to scratch her way out.

A small whimper escaped her throat, her eyes screwed up tight. She was trapped, just like the voice said. She was buried alive. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and her breathing was labored as the little pocket of air around her rapidly grew stale.

A stray thought entered through her mind, and she wondered if Buffy had been this scared? Had Buffy felt everything she was feeling now? The terror and panic?

"You deserve this," the voice said, its tone one of finality and judgment. "Pay your penance, Willow. You must pay for your crimes."

"I didn't know... I didn't know," Willow said, pleading with someone – anyone – to absolve her of the guilt she felt crashing around her as surely as the earth had done so moments before.

"You didn't think – hadn't planned for it. You would have left her buried there regardless," the voice accused, and Willow could not deny it. How stupid had she been to leave the coffin in the grave? How thoughtless? How...

But no – if she had known, she never would have left Buffy. She never would have let Buffy go through the pain and torture of crawling out of her own grave.

But she had, hadn't she? Did it matter if she meant it? No – the damage was done. She had to pay. It was the price she had to pay for the terrible things she had done to Buffy.

She cried, shaking with remorse and pain, her grief and guilt at her actions ripping through her. It was right. It was just. She deserved this.

A tiny little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she'd never see Tara again, and Willow's sobs redoubled. Never see Tara? The pain of that was so sharp she was surprised she couldn't feel a wave of warm blood washing over her body.

Still, she deserved it. She was bad... she was a bad person, and she deserved to never see Tara again. It was right, and it was good that she be punished like this.

"Oh, God," Willow groaned, her eyes widening. With a start, she shook off her guilt, forcibly pushing it down deep within her. Maybe she did deserve this, but Tara didn't. Tara didn't deserve to be subjected to whatever The Trickster had in store. Tara didn't deserve to be tricked into performing dark magick, or to unwittingly unleash an unspeakable evil on the world.

With a shout, Willow started tearing and clawing at the earth, pushing it away – any which way – it didn't matter. Her movements were frantic and wild, the skin of her hands breaking against the hard use she put it through as she cried and pulled, inching her way through the dirt.

The voice returned to her, but she blocked it out. She wouldn't listen to its outright lies and half-truths. She couldn't afford to – not if she wanted to save Tara.

She grunted and screamed her pain as she continued on, her fierce attack of the earth making headway. She was making progress, but she barely noticed, her whole world and focus narrowing down to the next handful of dirt, then the next, and the next after that. She cleared a space, then moved into it, then cleared a space again, and again and again.

And it wasn't just Tara she was fighting for. The whole world needed this – needed her, Willow Rosenberg, to keep the cosmic balance from skewing further, until it could not be repaired.

But didn't cosmic balance have a way of maintaining itself? She let the train of thought distract her as her body continued moving automatically, the earth falling away before her fierce determination. The entire cosmos, she decided, was on her side, and while that was no guarantee, it was a comforting thought.

Until a horrible realization washed over her, and the import of her dreams hit her with an intensity so sudden and shocking that her body stilled for a moment.

For the first time in her life, she cursed the knowledge, wishing she could make it just go away. With a new fervor that shocked even her with its intensity, she continued.

She knew what would happen when Tara completed the ritual – when she unleashed the dark magicks.

She knew exactly what it would do – and it was something The Trickster hadn't planned on at all.

And, God help her, she had to stop it. Tara couldn't go through that – couldn't be that. It would hurt her in ways that Willow didn't want to contemplate, her worst fears realized.

But she was getting closer, she knew it. She could feel Tara – could feel the energy seeping all around, that was both something she recognized and something deeper, darker – sinister.

She continued digging and digging, her hand finally breaking the surface, and a rush of fresh air hitting her, and a weak feeble light.

Still it was light, and she started yelling, begging Tara to stop – to not finish the ritual she had so clearly started.

"God, no... Tara, baby," she called out, digging the whole wider and wider. "Don't do this – please, God – baby, you can't... you can't!" She kept yelling and digging – digging and yelling, until finally – oh, God, finally – the whole was big enough that she could crawl her way out.

She was in a cave, cool and dark, the shadows deep and mysterious. Her eyes quickly found Tara, instantly taking in the familiar circle of candles, a book open on an altar before her, and a jet black athame in her hand where she knelt naked.

"Tara, no!" Willow yelled again, her upper body free of the hole as she continued climbing. Her desperation and fear for her lover tore through her, a wave of anger and pain following closely on its heels, and she could feel her eyes grow black.

Tara raised the athame, her chanting continuing, her left hand pressed palm down upon the altar, her fingers splayed. With a grunt, Willow pulled herself forward, her legs clearing the hole, and she gained her feet, her mind looking for a trick, a plan, a spell – anything – to stop what Tara was about to do.

Tara's eyes raised just then, meeting Willow's, and Willow's breath caught in her throat.

Tara's eyes... those beautiful blue eyes... were the deepest shade of black – so deep and so dark that Willow thought she would fall into them, and never ever escape.

A tear made its way down Tara's face as she prepared to unleash the darkness within her – the darkness she had always feared – and the athame lowered, shaking unsteadily.

"God, Tara, no," Willow called again, shaking herself from the spell of Tara's eyes and rushing forward, just as the keen edge of the athame cut into the flesh of the pinky of Tara's left hand.

Time seemed to slow for Willow, her whole being focused on the edge of the cruel blade, parting and spitting Tara's skin. A bead of blood welled up under the edge, slipping down Tara's finger and striking the altar, a deep resonating sound rising.

A crash, and Tara doubled over, her arms clasping her stomach, then a flash of blinding light centering in Tara's chest burst forth, then was gone.

Willow blinked twice, then her vision cleared, her breath catching as the huddled blonde form in front of the altar began to stir.

Willow felt her knees buckle, her legs no longer able to support her as all the blood drained from her face, and she fell. "No, oh God, no," she groaned out, more tears leaking from her eyes and streaming down her dirty face.

"Hey, Tricky," Glory said, ignoring Willow and looking into the shadows. "There's no place like home."

Tara cried as she set up the circle – the space she would need to perform this dark ritual. She couldn't bring herself to calling it 'casting the circle', because she had always associated casting a circle with love and laughter, happiness and joy.

She knew Dark Magick – she had been raised to know it, and her lessons in those arts reminded her obscurely of Trigonometry class. It was required of her to learn both, but she had prayed and prayed that she would never find cause to use either one.

A bittersweet laugh escaped her. Was Willow's bizarre habit of comparing everything to school contagious?

Was this why Willow always thought about something silly when there was a big crisis going on? Because it was easier to focus on something inconsequential than the realities of the situation they were facing?

A small smile crossed her face as she lit the candles, her mind turning back to the time she had first gotten a little glimpse of the inner-workings of Willow's mind.

They had been running from vampires, she recalled. It had been stupid, and foolish – completely irresponsible – but they had fallen asleep during a picnic in a secluded area of the park, and woken after sunset.

The picnic itself had been an oddity – though completely wonderful in Tara's estimation. She now knew that it had been wonderful in Willow's, too, but at the time they were fast becoming friends, each with no inkling of the deeper feelings beginning to develop within the other.

Still, the subject of picnics had come up, and they had discovered that they shared a weakness for the delightful outdoor meal. They had made vague plans to go on one together, but Tara had still been delightedly surprised when Willow had shown up for their next study date with a basket and a blanket in her arms.

The studying had gone well, and they had laughed and talked about nothing in particular for hours before the sun and their mutual enjoyment of each other's company had lulled them into a feeling of security. It was, Tara had learned, so very easy to forget that she was in Sunnydale, and all that meant, when she was with Willow.

In a mad frenzy, they had packed everything up, and headed back to the dorms. As often happens, they were chased, though Willow and Tara had both mutually pretended not to know the true nature of what was chasing them. How, Tara had wondered, could she possibly tell Willow that vampires were real? Magick was one thing, but the walking dead? Tara had noticed the unusually large vampiric presence in Sunnydale, but had no idea if Willow was aware of the significantly large undead population, or, like the rest of Sunnydale's residents, had just naturally developed a reticence to be outside at night?

She still wasn't sure how they had gotten away with – especially with the basket and blanket still in hand – but they had, practically falling into Tara's dorm room. As they looked at each other, each out of breath from running away from the "muggers", they had burst out laughing for no apparent reason, except the adrenaline coursing through them, and the sheer relief that they were both okay.

"W-what, uhh, are y-you, umm... thinking a-about?" Tara had asked, her eyes drinking in the sight of the beautiful face – cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair tousled – that she had spent so much time studying in her dreams.

"Do you think Bert and Ernie were living an alternative lifestyle?" Willow had blurted out, then immediately looked like she was so embarrassed she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole, causing Tara to gape at the girl.

"I guess, umm... they, uhh, could?" Tara had ventured uncertainly, eyeing the redhead like she'd never seen her before as Willow blushed. "I-it w-would be, umm, kind of, uhh, cute, if they were?"

"Oh, yeah," Willow had agreed. "Not that I think puppets necessarily have a sexual orientation, but if they did... I mean, two guys... one has this thing for his rubber ducky... living together and alone all those years, sharing a bedroom..." Willow had prodded, gesturing weakly with one hand and looking a little sheepish.

"Loving y-your, ummm, rubber ducky means y-you're, uhh, gay?" Tara had asked, a smile starting in her heart and spreading through her as she watched Willow wring her hands and shift her weight from foot to foot, a frustrated expression on her face.

"I didn't mean that," Willow had said slowly. "I mean, lots of people like rubber duckies. Rubber duckies are all... yellowy and happy... and they make bathtime fun."

"Y-yes. Very fun," Tara had agreed, nodding. "I, uhh... like the w-w-way they, umm... squeak," Tara confessed, beaming at Willow, and not even minding that she was stuttering around the other girl. Willow had a way of just waiting patiently as Tara struggled with the words that warmed her, and she could detect no mocker or censure from her.

"Yes!" Willow had agreed enthusiastically. "They squeakage is all... squeaky," she had finished lamely, still feeling a little foolish, but a bit better now that it seemed Tara was following her random line of thought.

"W-w-when I w-was, uhhh, little," Tara had begun, her eyes laughing as she spoke. "My b-, uhhh, the, umm, there w-were some, uhh...little rubber, um, boats? And the duck w-w-as the same, uhh, size, so it w-w-was like, W-whoa! Giant duck!"

"Exactly," Willow had said with a nod. "'Cuz if there were little people on the boat, the duck would be all giant and scary, and they'd think it was like one of those sea monsters they used to believe in. I used to leave the boat in the water when I pulled the plug, and watch it get sucked in by the whirlpool."

"I-isn't that, uhh... kind of, umm... mean? To the, errr, tiny sailors?" Tara had asked uncertainly, somehow hoping there was more to the story, despite the sailors in question being a figment of Willow's childhood imagination.

"Oh, well," Willow had said, scuffing her foot self-consciously and looking down at her sneakers. "I kind of used to have the rubber ducky swim over and rescue them, so the sailors wouldn't be afraid anymore, and they'd all be friends."

Tara had laughed, delighted at the story, impulsively taking Willow's hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze, a warm tingle shooting up her arm at the contact of skin on skin. Willow had just looked up at her, smiling shyly, then joined in the laughter.

Tara spared a wistful smile for the memory as she worked. How could something seem like a lifetime ago and just yesterday at the same time?

She had no idea, really, but the memory was warm and sweet, and she clung to it, letting it shield her against the cold and almost palpable bitter tang in the air. Her body moved and her hands worked automatically, the details of the necessary arrangements for this ritual firm in her mind.

The circle itself, the sigils at each corner – these appeared as her mind stayed firmly fixed on the memory of that picnic and the nighttime that had followed. But the circle was – wrong. It kept pulling her attention from happy thoughts, the strange alterations to the normal circle casting slight, but glaring to her practiced eyes.

Still, a part of her found this strange ritual familiar, the very different arrangement appearing with practiced ease. And that, she realized, scared her.

Had she done this before? When had she ever practiced this? No, she would have remembered, wouldn't she? Or, perhaps, the person she had been – back when The Trickster had attempted to escape Hell the first time – had practiced these dark things?

It had to be something like that. She had studied Dark Magick to learn the dangers as a map to that rough terrain so she could avoid the pitfalls. Or, more accurately, to give her the knowledge that stepping foot there in the first place was a bad idea.

Even when her life had been at its worst, she had not succumbed to darkness. She had not walked that road when other the children of the town had laughed at her, nor when her brother played his cruel tricks. Not even when her father had beaten her, or after her mother had died.

She knew, far too well, the consequences of walking that road. And though she had thought at the time that her fate was fixed – that darkness was her inevitable destination – she was in no hurry to embrace it.

The only time – the single, solitary time – she had even edged close to that path had been when she had feared that the life she had made for herself in Sunnydale was at an end. And, oh, that had been a harsh lesson. She was so lucky – so very lucky – that no one had been hurt in the ensuing mess.

She had known better – she had known that it was wrong to cast a spell on anyone without their knowledge. She had been so alone, though. All she had felt was a bone-chilling fear, and a terrible desperation.

That mistake still haunted her, deep inside. The consequences of casting a spell to keep a group of demon hunters from being able to see demons simply hadn't occurred to her. On top of the horrible guilt she felt, she felt rather foolish and stupid about the whole thing, too. How had she remotely imagined that casting that spell would be all right? Demon hunters who can't see demons?

It was her own shortsightedness – her selfishness – in that situation that even now made her stop and wonder what she had been thinking.

But she knew what she had been thinking. Even if everything had fallen apart – if her friends, and Willow, had learned of the spell and hated her for it – she still wouldn't have had to go back to her father's home. She had never wanted to go back. And wasn't a few more months – even a few more hours, really – with Willow worth it?

She looked up, and the circle was done. She let out a long breath and eyed her handiwork, musing silently that she was doing it again – only worse. She was jumping into Darkness to keep Willow at her side, trading the unequivocal safety of others for whatever time she and Willow would have left on the earth together.

A plain block of black stone sat before her, serving as an altar, the necronomicon open before it. The spell she vaguely knew from her childhood lessons lay before her, written in a strange splotchy ink that she was uncomfortably suspicious was blood.

A jet black boline lay next to it on the right, a shallow dish on the far side, a black stick directly in front of her, and a black stone goblet to the left. She had no idea what any of the items were made of, and she was reasonably sure she didn't want to know. It was more than enough that she could feel a sense of malice radiating from each, and she didn't want anything added to her sense of unease to test her resolve.

Because as much as it scared her that she was so very willing to do this, it scared her more to think that she would not.

She knelt before the altar, taking a few deep steadying breaths, then silently reading the words in the book before her, rolling the words over in her mind, testing the pronunciation before she had to say them out loud. Still, despite her resolve, a few more tears slid down her cheeks.

"Second thoughts?" The Trickster's voice came out of the shadows, seeming to slide through the air.

"Ah," The Trickster said lightly. "I guess it's too much to expect that you perform the ritual and like it. I'll just have to accept that you won't like it, at all. Or perhaps you will. Perhaps you've just been waiting for an excuse to push past your fears and find the strength to grab hold of real power."

"Dark Magick is not real power," Tara said heatedly, her eyes sparking as she glared into the darkness. "It's a shortcut. It's weak."

"Weak? No, no," The Trickster said, his tone that of an adult explaining something to a very small child. "Darkness is where true power lies. It takes real strength to grab hold of the forces of the universe and bend them to your will, but I wouldn't expect you to understand that. It's too great a concept for your limited mind."

"Any petulant child can grab hold of something and refuse to let go. It takes patience and wisdom to know what isn't yours for the taking," Tara said simply, her eyes falling to the altar in front of her.

"For those with strength, everything is for the taking," The Trickster said easily, a cruel laugh evident in his voice. "And I'll be the one doing the taking. You know that, right? That this ritual won't stop me. You and Willow won't stop me."

"We'll teach our children the right way. We'll teach them of you, so they'll know – they'll be prepared and won't fall for your tricks. They'll know respect and love for the world around them. They won't fall under your spell."

"I'm a God, Tara," The Trickster said, genuine mirth in his voice. "And a patient one. When your children's children are in their graves, and their children's children are old, and I am a distant memory – a legend. A myth. When they no longer believe, and the truth is lost to time – I will be there, waiting for the unwary. That is when I will strike. That is when I will escape."

"Then I'll spend my whole life trying to find a way to stop you," Tara said simply, her gaze steady and even, and full of determination as a well of anger she didn't know existed opened up inside of her. "Willow and I will find a way."

"You're free to try," The Trickster said. "But you and Willow won't be doing anything together if she dies, now will you?"

Tara simply nodded, her eyes falling back to the necronomicon before her, feeling a burning rage light inside of her. Her heart thudded quickly in her chest, and her whole body felt shaky and trembled lightly. Was this true anger? No wonder she had avoided it. It wasn't pleasant at all.

Still, it boiled inside of her, churning and churning, as she silently read over the words in the necronomicon. She would stop him. She and Willow would find a way. There was nothing Tara wouldn't do to make sure he couldn't harm anyone she loved ever again.

But first, she had to make sure Willow was safe. Then she could worry about saving the world.

She started chanting, her voice low and resonating throughout the chamber. The words rolled off her tongue with ease, line after line falling away as it drifted into the air, seeming to take on a life of their own as they bounced around the room, zooming this way and that, echoing strangely in the dark.

The candles she had lit went out one by one with a pop and a hiss, the shadows lengthening and reclaiming the space they had been driven from by the candles light. Lines forming letters, forming words, glowed on the pages before her, and Tara was able to read on despite the darkness.

The page turned at her beckoning, her hand not needing to come in contact with the paper, and she read on and on. Another page, then another, and she continued, her voice starting to feel rough with use. But she kept on. The Trickster would not win this. He would know her hate. He would know her darkness.

The air hummed with her words, a dark energy roiling about the room, none of the sound that had issued forth fading. Each word echoed on and on, filling her mind and her body with a deep resonating rumbling even as it filled the chamber.

Her arms raised up and held, palms facing the ceiling, her fingers stretched out away from her body, and still she continued on. The resonating sound seemed to shake something lose inside of her, and she could feel – oh, Goddess, she could feel – the Shadow... her core of Darkness, break free and start to spread.

Another page, and yet another, and still more until she had no idea how many pages she had read, or how long she had been reading. She only knew that her voice felt hoarse, her throat raw, and her arms were trembling in the air as she struggled to keep them raised. Still, she could not give in – could not stop – because then what?

Just the thought sparked the anger that had started to ebb as her fatigue rose. She would not succumb to something as pedestrian as being tired – no – human frailties would not stop her. She was more than that. She was better than that. She would save Willow. Destroy the Trickster.

Destroy? No. Stop – stop him. She wasn't the destroying type. She didn't even like to squish spiders. In the grand scheme of things, didn't spiders and The Trickster serve a purpose?

No, Willow had to be saved. There was a difference between falling prey to darkness to save someone, and committing the same act to harm. She clung to that difference. She needed that difference.

Yes, that was true. There were few things in this world she had ever truly hated, and all the others were abstract ideas. Prejudice. Injustice. Intolerance. Hatred itself. Never before had she hated an actual being – a creature – like she hated The Trickster.

That hate washed through her as she practically screamed the words of the spell, the resounding noise beating against her eardrums. She could feel the darkness inside of her spreading throughout her whole being, lying in wait just beneath her skin.

How long had she knelt there? She couldn't say – couldn't even begin to imagine.

The noise stopped, completely, without warning. One heartbeat the room was filled with a din that made her whole body tremble, and then nothing. Nothing at all.

She looked up, sensing a presence. It was familiar, in a far off kind of way, and as the darkness seeped closer and closer to the surface, the familiarity of that presence faded.

Her eyes met another pair. A young woman with red hair. She recognized her, vaguely, but then her hand came down, the sharp edge of the blade splitting the skin of her left pinky finger.

Tara's world exploded in a violent crash and whirl, then faded to nothingness, and Willow could only close her eyes against the blinding flash of light.

When Glory stood there, Willow knew she was too late. She was too late – she was always too late.

"Hey, Tricky," Glory said, ignoring Willow and looking into the shadows. "There's no place like home."

"No!" The Trickster roared, the shadows of the room rushing forth and consuming Glory, covering her and taking her from Willow's sight.

Willow clambered to her feet, rushing forward. Tara was in there – Tara was in there somewhere, and she had to find her. She had promised, hadn't she? She had promised she would always find her.

Despite her determination, Willow was thrown back, landing heavily against the floor, knocking the wind from her and jolting her head against the stone with a nasty thud when the shadows seemed to shatter, flying outward to the edges of the room and leaving Glory standing.

"Oh, I'm so going to enjoy this," Glory said easily, her fingers reaching up and toying with the ends of her hair. "Come on, Tricky," she said with a pout. "Come on out and play. It's been so long since we've played."

"How?" the shadows growled, dodging about the edges of the room as Glory advanced, stalking dangerously towards the deepest darkest places in the room.

"How?" Glory growled. "How? You're the smart planner, and you're asking me how?"

Willow groaned, rolling onto her side and coughing lightly. "She figured it out," she said weakly.

"What?" Glory asked politely, turning to Willow. "Did you say something? Did I hear a comment from the mere mortal who's going to die very, very fast?"

"I said that you figured it out," Willow said, getting unsteadily to her feet and swaying helplessly, catching herself against the wall. She felt so dizzy. "When I returned Tara to herself, you felt him, didn't you? You felt his power – knew I was using it. You knew it was a trick, so you put part of yourself into Tara. That's how we defeated you – the Ben you wasn't at full strength."

Glory smiled, then clapped her hands, her eyes lighting up. "Maybe I won't kill you right away," she said happily. "You figured it all out, all by yourself, didn't you?" she asked easily, strolling over to Willow, who watched her warily.

"I had some thinking time, y'know – with all the Hell-Crawling badness," Willow said slowly, trying to back away from the advancing Hell God.

Glory frowned, then looked down, noticing her nakedness for the first time. "Oh, that won't do," she said, looking up at Willow with angry eyes. "You dare look upon me? You dare?"

Quickly, Willow looked down, flinching back. She could feel the dark power rising up in her – she could feel it trying to take hold, but she grit her teeth and held on, her whole body shaking.

She braced herself for a blow, but when it came, she was surprised. She looked up when she heard it land, seeing that Glory had turned away from her, tossing her hair and striding back towards the shadows that were slinking away after having knocked her.

"Oh, that wasn't nice, Tricky. And speaking of not nice – let me think about what I'm going to do with you," she said.

"You can't do anything to me. We're balanced, remember? Evenly matched?" The Trickster said easily, his words coming from everywhere at once and not betraying his location.

"I'll find a way... don't you worry your ugly little shadowy head about that," Glory said with a cruel smile. "Do you have any idea what it was like being trapped inside that goody-goody?" she demanded, turning this way and that, screaming into the room. "She barely had any darkness at all – I had to stretch it all out to get inside. And then – oh, then! She was all sweetness and light, and had her darkness all caged in. Do you know what it's like being in a cage made up of happy thoughts?"

"Silence!" the shadows themselves seemed to roar, and then they moved, streaks of darkness shooting across the room, then retreating, each strand striking Glory, again and again. They knocked her back to the center of the room, the heavy blows landing and clearly hurting the Hell God.

Willow tried to get to her – to Tara – but she shadows knocked her back again and again. Still, she gained her feet after each fall, moving another inch or two, only to be knocked down again. She felt each blow like a baseball bat to her body, but she pressed on. She couldn't let Tara down. Not like this. Not when she had come so far.

And, dammit, she was going to get Tara out of this, and then she was going to get down on her knees and beg Tara to marry her. Sure, Hell was a strange place to make that kind of a decision, but Willow nodded her head emphatically anyway. When she made a decision, she stuck to it.

Glory held up her hands, slowing the shadowy attacks momentarily, but then they redoubled, coming at her again and again. Bruises welled up on her fair skin, and blood spilled from her lip where it had been split.

Would it be a Jewish wedding or a Wiccan wedding? A mixture of both? Could you even get all mix-y with weddings like that, or was there some kind of No-Mix Wedding Rule she didn't know about? She'd have to look that up.

"Did I say 'balanced'? Did I say 'evenly matched'?" The Trickster taunted. "Oops. Did I forget to mention that tied to Tara, you're as mortal you were tied to Ben?"

The word echoed across the room, and the shadows stopped, turning towards Willow.

"You leave her alone," Willow said shakily, wondering what kind of twisted crazy place had her defending Glory. Oh, yeah. Hell.

She staggered to the center of the room, and Glory lifted her head, pinning Willow with her eyes.

"You will return her," the voice of The Trickster snarled, and Willow started with surprise. "Why don't you let Tara come out long enough to finish removing her pinky for me?"

Then again, she rationalized, it shouldn't be surprising. The Trickster needed Tara. The whole Glory thing wasn't a part of his plans at all.

"You leave Tara alone!" Willow demanded, making it to Glory's side, despite her total unease with the situation. Tara had to be in there – she had to be.

"You bore me," The Trickster snarled, and Willow tensed, looking around uneasily.

"Tara won't help you if I'm dead," Willow said quickly. Her eyes widened as she looked around the room, taking in the total unreality of the situation. Even for a girl who grew up on the Hellmouth, talking two Hell Gods down to a stand-off was a little strange.

"Oh, but I have no problem killing you," Glory said, turning towards Willow and rising unsteadily to her feet. "And Tricky can't kill me at all, because then Tara really can't help him," she added silkily. "You wanna' see if a magick addict beats a Hell God?"

Willow started backing away. "Okay, maybe not a stand-off," she muttered under her breath, wondering what she was going to do next. She backs of her legs bumped against the altar, and she stumbled, falling off to the side, Glory kneeling beside her.

"Oh, no, little witch-bitch," Glory said. "You're not going anywhere." She reached out, her hands tangling in Willow's hair, pulling her roughly towards her, then incongruously stroking the red locks. "Your little girlfriend had such a nummy mind. I wonder what yours is like. Not that I have to steal sanity anymore," she added with a shrug. "But a girl's got to have a hobby, don't you think?"

The darkness started to gather, and Glory looked up, grabbing the stick off the stick off the altar and throwing it into the Darkness.

"By this Blood, I bind thee," she snarled, and The Trickster howled as a well of light rose up and spread, gathering the shadows, then containing them in one corner of the room.

"Glory, leave her alone," The Trickster demanded. "This won't hold. It's her blood, but you cast it. It Won't Hold!"

"So?" Glory asked, looking up with a smile. "You'll do what? Kill me? And the blonde witch you need so badly for your stupid little spell?"

She pressed the pads of her fingers to Willow's skull, then started to press, and Willow could feel each bit of pressure distinctly. The Dark Magick in her blood surged upward, screaming for release, and her whole body began to shake.

Glory back off uncertainly, eyeing Willow warily as she fell heavily to the floor.

No, Willow thought hazily. She couldn't die now... she couldn't... not when Tara needed her. Tara needed her, and so she had to save Tara. The Darkness, though, filled her, threatening to choke off her lungs, to overwhelm her blood, and to stop her heart.

She could feel the oozing darkness slink over her eyes, and a trickle of it run out her nose.

Willow shook again and again, trying to contain the power rising up in her. Would it hurt? She felt a little numb right now, and her whole body was tight, but it wasn't painful. Would it be painful when her heart exploded in her chest, or her lungs filled up with darkness and she couldn't breathe?

But no – she couldn't die... she couldn't let this darkness take her – couldn't let it kill her, because she had to save Tara.

She gritted her teeth as the pain started, and she screamed, the veins in her neck standing out in sharp relief. It was too much – it was all too much. Gasping helplessly, she fought back the pain, rolling onto her side, then making it laboriously to her feet.

Glory seemed to shift and shimmer before her eyes. First Glory, then Tara, then back. Willow's eyes widened at the eerie sight.

"Get back in there," Glory growled tightly, and then her form settled and she sat up, her upper body waving unsteadily as she tried to keep her balance. But her hand shot out, grabbing Willow's hair and pulling her over, her other hand finding its place on Willow's head. "I always get what I want, eventually," she snarled.

Willow's eyes shut tightly, her whole body tense as the darkness pounded away at her insides. She just prayed that Tara would make it out of this somehow.

"No!" Glory screamed, her head thrown back, her arms shaking as she tried to press her fingers into Willow's skull, even as those same arms tried to pull away.

"No!" Tara cried out. She had been in a dark and scary place, only vaguely aware of anything happening around her. But she had sensed Willow when Glory had drawn near – she had sensed Willow's presence and her fear, and she wanted to – needed to – soothe that fear.

Tara caught her, holding on and looking around. She wasn't completely sure what had happened, but she had felt Glory. The Hell God's presence, somehow, was something she was able to sense. There was some kind of connection between them, but what?

"Willow, baby?" Tara said softly, tears spilling over. "Baby, we gotta' get out of here. I've got to get you home, so I can take care of you."

"Can't," Willow gasped, curling her legs up to her chest. She felt Tara's fingers run through her hair, and she almost smiled at just how good that felt despite the pain racing through the rest of her body. Tara always made her feel better, no matter how badly she was hurting.

"Sweetie, you have to... we have to get out, and you have to let me help you," Tara said quickly, pulling Willow up into her arms, even as her own body started shaking. She looked around, trying to figure out what was going on – what they were facing, exactly, but Willow's shaking body drew her attention. She could figure it out later – whatever it was, it would have to wait.

Idly, Willow wondered why she was being so resistant to the idea. Let Tara take care of her? Let Tara help her?

It seemed so very simple, but hadn't she been resisting just that for longer than she cared to think of right now?

She had always wanted to be the strong one – to be there for Tara. No, not always. Ever since... yes, it was Glory... ever since Glory, she had needed to do everything for Tara. She had needed to keep Tara safe, and to make sure she was loved and happy, no matter the cost.

But what had it cost her, really? Hadn't that attitude been exactly what had pushed Tara away in the first place?

"Always, baby," Tara whispered, as she held Willow tightly, as if the very strength of her arms could keep Willow with her.

With Tara's promise, Willow let herself believe, even if that belief would come too late. She could, she realized, let Tara love her. She could let Tara take care of her and help her, even when she wanted to be the strong one.

"I can let you," Willow said, her teeth chattering as her body shook. She had no idea how much longer she had, but suddenly so much seemed so clear, and she had to get these words out – had to say them – had to know that Tara had heard them. "I can let you love me. You have to let me love you, too. Ani l'dodi v'dodi li."

Tara struggled against Glory's hold on her. She had figured it out – had figured out what had happened to her. Glory was inside of her, like she had been inside of Ben. They were part of each other now, and that knowledge tried to break her.

This was the source of the visions that had haunted her all summer. Why hadn't she told Willow? Why couldn't she have confided in her lover?

Perhaps, then, they would have found a way to fix all of this before it had started.

Willow's heart leapt into her throat when she looked up and saw Glory's face where her lover's should be. In the next heartbeat, it was Tara again, as they fought for dominion.

Her love for Tara suffused her entire being – it always had, and it always would. And though she had no idea if Tara had heard her words, she felt her. For the first time in a long time, she could feel Tara's love pouring out of the body Glory and Tara were fighting for, filling her up.

A scream echoed through her as she struggled to regain control of her movements, trying to wrest herself away from the Dark Magick so she could help Tara fight Glory.

Still, Tara's love for her went on, despite the shifting and shimmering as first Glory, then Tara, then Glory again appeared before her, the arms that held her tightening convulsively with each change.

And then her shaking stopped, and she froze with the sheer wonder of it. Tara's love for her, and her love for Tara, crept into every nook and cranny that existed within her, lighting each dark space and hollow, driving back each lingering bit of shadow.

She felt Tara fall away from her – saw out of the corner of her eye how she landed awkwardly – but she could not move to help. Her body was completely unresponsive to the commands of her mind as the light started chasing back the darkness.

A boom sounded and the light shuddered from across the cavern, but Willow didn't notice.

The two loves within her continued growing, swirling around and around, tickling her insides. They danced and played there, skipping along her heart and seeping deeper into her, merging and melding, until there was no distinction between her love for Tara and Tara's love for her – there was only their love for each other, and no room for darkness.

The black magick escaped out of her pores, running from the light and pushed from within. It gathered together, running off of her, down her fingertips, and dripping to the floor.

As if it had a mind of its own, it coalesced, sparking angrily and joining with itself, over and over, until Willow was completely free of it – until the last vestiges of the dark power The Trickster had poisoned he with were banished from within and sent back to the Hell from whence it came.

'Bind this spell to our hearts,' Tara had said, Willow recalled. 'For where love is given and accepted freely, no evil can flourish.'

The spell had worked, Willow realized with a start. It had worked perfectly, bound to their hearts. And as Willow's heart had finally dropped the last of its walls, had finally let Tara all the way in, there was no more room for darkness.

She felt light – she felt as though, within her, the very heart of goodness itself was beating strongly, singing out its song and calling to the light.

There were no shakes, no physical pains, no gasping for breath. The love she and Tara had for each other flowed through her very veins – it was in her blood, like oxygen being carried to each and every cell, vital for her continued existence.

And nothing – not fear, not doubt, not gods and monsters, not even Hell itself – could touch it.

She sat up, feeling whole and strong in ways she hadn't in so very long. She had forgotten the feeling of power and strength the love she and Tara had for each other afforded her.

But it didn't matter now, because she was back as she should be, loving and loved.

She barely noticed the Dark Magick pooling together, oozing across the floor towards the wall of light that contained The Trickster, trying to return to its source, as she turned her whole attention to Tara.

For once, her mind was quiet and still, focused wholly on the woman before her, who shook as Glory tried to take over completely. Her mind didn't wander off on tangents – didn't drift aimlessly, hoping to stumble upon some kind of 'safe topic'.

No. She was... focused, like she had only ever been once before, when she had taken on Glory in her quest for vengeance.

But there was no room in her heart for vengeance... no room inside of her for anything but Tara.

The love glowing inside of her gave her the strength to move her tired limbs, ignoring the lack of sleep, the tortures of literally crawling through Hell – everything. It was all as nothing as she pulled herself over to Tara's prone form, looking into the face there.

It was grotesque and fascinating all at the same time, the way the features she loved so well morphed and shifted into the countenance she hated so fiercely.

But that hate was irrelevant here. Hurting Glory was not her aim – she no longer felt the need to make the Hell God pay – she just wanted her Tara back.

She crawled closer, getting her hand onto Tara's chest, resting lightly over her heart. With eyes closed, she leaned in, letting her innate ability to sense Tara's nearness guide her, her mouth coming to rest against Tara's ear.

"Tara, baby?" Willow whispered urgently. "You gotta' come back to me, love. You have to let me take care of you, so you can take care of me, okay? We have to take care of each other."

The body beside her continued shifting and shaking, and Willow closed her eyes tighter, feeling her heart swell with their love, even as a sense of desperation started to rise up in her.

"I need you, Tara," she went on, her voice tight and low. "And you need me – you know you do. You're in a dark, bad place... so come out here where I can keep you safe. Come back and let me love you – you have to let me love you."

The shuddering intensified, and Willow could only imagine that the fight for dominance between Glory and Tara was growing more heated by the second. A shiver of fear made its way down her spine.

No, that wasn't possible. She refused to consider it any longer – she had faith in Tara – faith in the both of them, together.

"Come on, Tara," Willow urged, her voice taking on a pleading tone as she begged her lover to stay with her – to beat back the darkness. "You gotta' believe, baby. You gotta' have faith in us – you have to let me in. God, please, let me in. Ani l'dodi v'dodi li."

Glory seemed to fade, and the violent trembling increased, but Willow looked up to see Tara's face, scrunched up as if she in pain. But still, it was Tara's face – just Tara's face, not morphing into Glory at all – and Willow's heart sang at the sight of it.

"She's... fighting me," Tara ground out, whimpering and curling up in Willow's arms.

"Let me take care of it, baby. I'll help you – you just have to let me," Willow pleaded.

Tara nodded weakly, grabbing her stomach and inhaling a sharp breath as she fought to keep Glory trapped inside. "You'll take care of me," she breathed out, finally seeming to relax in Willow's arms, trusting the redhead to make it all better.

"Dammit, Glory," Willow growled, her voice at it's deepest. Her patience was wearing thin, her nerves stretched to breaking. She wanted Tara back, and she wanted it now. Right now. Hadn't she been through enough? Hadn't they both been through enough? "Get out of my girlfriend!" she demanded, sitting up and pulling Tara into her arms, cradling her and rocking her gently. "Get out right now!"

Willow shut her eyes again, resting her cheek on top of Tara's head and sending the love she felt for this woman in her arms to her. All her devotion, all her passion, all her love – this she sent, whispering over and over to her the words she found so easy to say now, after having said them the first time – because they were unequivocally true. "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."

Tara heard Willow's words, trickling in her ears and working their way to her heart.

Well, of course Willow loved her – she had always known that. At least, after the Glorious Night of the Extra Flamey Candle she had known.

But still, deep inside of her, she had never believed that Willow should love her.

She was bad – so very bad, but she wanted to be good. Shouldn't that count for something? Wanting to be good?

But she wasn't. She had been told so all of her life. There was something dark and twisted inside of her, just waiting to get out and hurt people.

Because how could believing there was a demon inside of her possibly compare to knowing there was a Hell God?

But no – that was all wrong. She wasn't Glory. She wasn't Evil. Glory didn't belong there... Glory wasn't a part of her. She had to get Glory out.

Willow's words found her heart then, and a soft smile crossed her face, even as she continued fighting against The Beast within.

She had made mistakes – people made mistakes, that's the way the world was. Willow had made mistakes, too. They'd hurt each other, let each other down, but they had never done anything evil. And they had never stopped loving each other.

And isn't that what Tara had thought? That somewhere in this whole crazy mess, Willow had stopped loving her when she had cast that spell on her to steal her memories away?

But it wasn't true – she could feel it now – could feel Willow's love wrap around her like a comfortable blanket, warm and soft. It crept into her, until it was like she was wearing that blanket on the inside, and she'd always have it with her.

How could all the ignorant people she had grown up with be right, and Willow be wrong? Willow was a brainy type – she knew things that the people of her hometown could never guess – could never dream. These were things they never could dream, even in their worst nightmares.

Willow knew evil – she had grown up on the Hellmouth – and yet Willow still loved her?

Tara felt the last of her doubts and fears fade away, sure of Willow's love and her own worthiness to experience it. She deserved happiness – deserved to be loved by this wonderful quirky girl, and to love her in return.

It was, she realized, the way it was all supposed to be – as if she really did have "Fate was Here" tattooed on her ass.

She giggled as Willow's love for her tickled her insides, the glowing wonderfulness of it all combining with her own love for Willow. It was a beautiful amalgam of happy, loving, fantastic feeling cooking up inside of her, and she reveled in it.

"Dammit, Glory – Get out!" Willow growled again, her breath tickling Tara's ear and making her giggle.

And then Tara's whole body jerked, the breath stolen from her lungs as a dark vapor poured out of her mouth, swirling into the air.

On one level, Tara thought she should be terrified, but she knew – somehow she knew – that everything would be all right. She was in Willow's arms, and what could be wrong with that?

The vapor continued to pour from her, gathering together a few feet away and starting to take on a vague form.

"Baby?" Willow asked, continuing her rocking and holding Tara gently, afraid she might hurt her as she watched the darkness streaming from Tara with wide green eyes.

Tara couldn't speak as the stream continued, the black smokey substance leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Finally, the stream stopped, and Tara gave a little cough before taking in a deep shuddering breath.

It was... an amazing difference, she realized, as she smiled up at Willow, who was looking back at her with such love and devotion in her eyes that it threatened to steal Tara's breath again. Everything felt – lighter. Happier. It was as if a great weight had been resting on her soul since she had been returned to herself – something that had added to her grief at Buffy's passing, and her hurt at Willow's betrayal. But with Buffy back and Willow forgiven, this thing had remained, making her doubt – making her fear.

Willow beamed back, happy tears dropping from her eyes. "Ani l'dodi v'dodi li," she whispered back huskily. Helpless to resist the allure of that face she loved so dearly, Willow dipped her head, her lips finding Tara's and brushing them lightly once, then twice, then again before settling firmly there.

Tara let out a happy sigh, her arms raising of their own accord and wrapping around Willow's neck, pulling her close.

Their love rose up within them, higher and higher, until each felt they would burst with it before it spilled over to the very air around them, manifesting itself in a brilliant white light.

Their lips stayed fastened to each other as they kissed again and again, softly and surely as the white light grew and grew, rising taller, until a pillar of the purest light encased them.

It rose upward and upward, crashing through the mountains atop them, and higher still into untold dimensions, a beacon of love originating in the very depths of Hell.

The need to breathe asserted itself, and Willow pulled back, her lungs working overtime as she leaned further in, nuzzling Tara's neck softly.

"Yeah?" Willow asked hazily, her mind firmly occupied with thoughts of the woman in her arms.

"Oh, you're going to have to get through me, first, little witches," Glory said, her eyes narrowing.

Willow broke out of her Tara-induced haze, her eyes widening as she saw Glory stalking towards them.

"Uhh, Tara?" Willow said, gulping audibly. "Pissed off Hell God," she said needlessly, raising a shaking hand to point.

Glory arrived at the pillar of light, squinting against its brightness. "Pissed off doesn't even begin to cover it."

"But we did you a favor?" Willow hazarded weakly. "I mean, you're all home and stuff – and didn't you want to get home? And you're not trapped in Tara any more, so – that's good, right?"

"Not that easy," Glory said dangerously, reaching out a hand, only to find that she couldn't penetrate the pillar. Frowning, she tried again, then again.

Tara watched Glory's attempts to reach them with an amazed expression. "Umm... sweetie?"

"Ummm... yeah," Willow said slowly, turning her head this way and that to take in their surroundings. "But, ummm... kind of... trapped?"

"Not that easy," Glory said dangerously, reaching out a hand, only to find that she couldn't penetrate the pillar. Frowning, she tried again, then again.

Tara watched Glory's attempts to reach them with an amazed expression. "Umm... sweetie?"

"Ummm... yeah," Willow said slowly, turning her head this way and that to take in their surroundings. "But, ummm... kind of... trapped?"

"Oh, well, that too," Tara said sheepishly, a weak smile crossing her face as she looked around. "Honey, you look awful," Tara said fondly, her eyes finally taking in more than just the fact that Willow was there and alive. Spike's coat was streaked with mud, as was the majority of the fair skin showing. Willow's hair was all tangled and matted against her head, looking more brown than its usual red color. Her face was pinched with fatigue, and her eyes had deep dark circles under them.

"And you're all scratched," Willow said with a frown, noting the scrapes and bruises marring the surface of her lovers skin.

"So, umm... now what?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she watched Glory pounding away at the pillar of light, unable to break through.

"Oh, ummm... I kinda'... didn't plan this far ahead?" Willow said with a helpless shrug, her arms tightening around Tara. "Which reminds me," Willow added with a frown. "You are in so much trouble when we get home. No Hell Walking, remember? We agreed. And, ummm... not that I'm being all complain girl, because I like a naked Tara, but... you're naked and we need to get out of here," she pointed out, shrugging out of Spike's coat and getting it around Tara's shoulders.

"I'm in trouble? Oh, no. You're in trouble. What were you thinking, anyway?" Tara demanded, as she sat up, putting Spike's coat on fully and wrapping it around herself. "Running off, getting captured, and dragged into Hell?"

"What were you thinking?" Willow shot back. "What part of 'No Hell Walking' isn't clear? So what do you do when I hop a train to LA? You just assume I'm in Hell and storm on in?"

A shattering sound tore through the cavern, and Willow and Tara both turned their heads towards the source, seeing the wall of light enclosing The Trickster break into a million pieces, releasing the shadows. They gaped as Glory stopped her pounding, leveling one last sneer at Willow and Tara before turning to face the approaching shadows.

"Umm... we're forgetting about the Hell Gods. Let's pay attention to the Hell Gods," Tara said quickly.

"Right," Willow said with wide eyes and a nod. "I'm all with thinking the ritual fleeing sounds good. You're not in trouble until we're all safe and, y'know, not in Hell."

"No, you're not in trouble until we're safe," Tara bantered back automatically, but there was no heat in her voice as they helped each other to their feet.

"Back off, Beast... those two are mine," The Trickster hissed, the shadows filling the room, until only the pillar of light containing Willow and Tara remained to break the darkness.

"Oh, no, Tricky," Glory said, shaking her head slowly. "I'm not stuck in little miss goody two-shoes anymore, so you can't beat me."

"If they start fighting each other, should we make a run for it?" Willow whispered, leaning in so her mouth was right next to Tara's ear.

"I don't know if that'll be safe," Tara said, shaking her head slightly, watching the Hell Gods face off.

"And I won't fall for it, anyway," The Trickster said in response to the soft exchange between Willow and Tara.

"I have an eternity to fight with Tricky here, and even though it's one of my favorite things, I can spare a few moments to torture two witches who have managed to piss me off," Glory said, turning back to the pillar of light. "You two kept my key from me when all I wanted to do was get home, your stupid friends killed my cute little minions and spoiled all my plans, and you were working for Tricky the whole time. And as if that weren't enough," Glory went on, placing a hand on her hip and glaring at the girls. "I had to spend four months trapped inside the nicest person who ever lived," she went on, her voice rising as she ranted. "And I kept waiting and waiting for her to just let a little darkness out – just a little, that's all I needed – and nothing did it. Not fighting demons without a slayer for three months, not a resurrection, not a betrayal – all that waiting and all that work? Then, nothing! It so wasn't fair!"

The shadows gathered as Glory spoke, swirling together, then coalescing into the vague form of a man, and Willow and Tara knew they were looking at the closest thing The Trickster had to a form.

"You may have defeated Glory," The Trickster said with a snarl, glaring at Willow. "But you won't defeat me."

"Oh, hey!" Willow said, a shocked look crossing her face. "I did defeat Glory didn't I?" she asked proudly, eyeing the pissed off pair of Hell Gods who were glaring at her menacingly.

"Yes, you did, baby," Tara affirmed, smiling up at Willow. "My hero. I'm all Glory-free, thanks to you. Again."

"Aww, shucks," Willow said, a blush crawling up her neck. "Tweren't nothin', ma'am."

"I'm going to enjoy having you both here," The Trickster said slowly. "Because the second you try to leave this safe spot, you're mine."

"Well, I'm thinking this isn't so bad," Willow said with a shrug, wrapping her arms around Tara from behind. "I mean, the decor could use work and all, but I'm with my girl, so... that should be okay."

A small smile crossed Tara's face, and she turned her head to press a light kiss to Willow's cheek, earning a grin from the redhead. "You say the sweetest things," she murmured.

"Just the truth, ma'am," Willow said lightly. "'Cuz if I have to be stuck in Hell forever, I'm thinking you're a nice person to be all sticky with," she went on, waggling her eyebrows outrageously.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" The Trickster asked slowly, his tone triumphant.

"Umm... honey? Are we forgetting something?" Tara asked Willow, her brow furrowing.

"Let's see," Willow said thoughtfully, resting her chin on Tara's shoulder. "In Hell, check. Two Hell Gods want us to experience endless pain and torment, check. They can't get to us in this middle of this neat light thing – and how did we do that, anyway? I mean, I certainly didn't do it on purpose, and I'm guessing you didn't, and I didn't even know that we could do that – did you know we could do that?"

Tara just shook her head in response, her hands rubbing the arms around her middle gently.

"Right, so – safe light pillary kind of thing, check. Can't leave unless we want the Hell Gods to get to us, check," Willow said. "I think that's everything."

"That's the problem with smart people," The Trickster said softly, his voice flowing over them. "You overlook the obvious. You're human, and mortal, and in a cage. Without food and water, you're going to watch each other die."

"Sometimes, Tricky, I can almost like you," Glory said, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she eyed the witches. "It's going to take awhile for them to die, though, isn't it? Two weeks, I think, if the witch-bitch conjures up some water."

"No, I'm not," he said, the light and happy tone to his voice at odds with its natural timbre and pitch, lending an eerie effect to the sound.

"Willow. You need to let Willow live, and have children, or you're stuck here," she said flatly, her eyes cold.

"Okay, hold on," Willow interjected quickly before The Trickster could respond. "First – what? Are you nuts? There's no way I'm going to wander off all tra la la and leave you in Hell, so don't even think about it. Second – he's not after me – he's been after you the whole time. And third – I'm not leaving you here, because, y'know, it bears repeating. In fact, let me say that again. I'm not leaving you here."

"I can make her go," The Trickster said lightly. "All you have to do is push her out of the pillar and finish the ritual, and I'll send her back. She can live a very long life, or you can watch her waste away into nothing."

"Oh, no – little Willow Tree isn't going anywhere," Glory said with a growl. "I owe that tramp pain."

"You're not dumb," Willow said firmly. "Just all distract-o girl, and worried about me. It's very sweet," she said, kissing Tara on the cheek, reveling in the feel of her soft skin against her lips. "You're very sweet."

"Willow, I can't watch you die," Tara said softly as her eyes welled up with tears. "Not again," she went on, shaking her head, then turning in Willow's arms to pull her close, needing to feel Willow, alive and whole and against her. "Oh, Goddess, I can't watch that again."

"Again? Huh with the what now?" Willow said, her voice filled with confusion as she returned the embrace, stroking Tara's back in soft soothing motions.

"I saw... I saw what would happen, if the dark magick killed you. I watched you die," Tara whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, God, baby, I'm... I'm sorry," Willow said, hugging Tara hard. "I'm here, now. And I'm okay. We're both okay, and we're going to get out of this."

"No, you're not," The Trickster said, his voice loud and booming, echoing through the chamber. "I'll let Tara go, Willow. She won't have to watch you die. And she'll be alive, and with her friends, and all you have to do is stay here."

Willow stiffened in Tara's arms, her eyes widening. It was a way out, for Tara at least. Refusing would be the selfish choice, wouldn't it? To hang onto her own life at the cost of Tara's? Part of her wanted to grab onto that chance for Tara's survival, to push her out of the pillar so The Trickster could send her back where she would spend the rest of her life with the other Scoobies. They would take care of her, Willow knew, and do their best for her. And they needed her – needed Tara

And really, that was what she had learned in the middle of all of this mess. Willow had always known that losing Tara would be the worst thing that could ever happen to her – worse, even, than her own death – so how could she expect Tara to feel differently?

"No deal," Willow said softly, finally noting that Tara was stiff as a board in her arms. She pulled back, meeting Tara's eyes with her own, holding that gaze steadily. "No deal. Tara and I stay together."

Tara let out the breath she had been holding, knowing that in Willow's place, she would be oh so tempted to agree – had, in fact, been very tempted when The Trickster had made her the same offer. She felt her body relax, and a brilliant smile crossed her face, lighting it up.

"We stay together," she affirmed, and it was a promise and a vow, a pledge of her heart and her life to Willow's, that they would fight to their last breath if need be to stay alive... together.

"Fools! Then you'll die together!" The Trickster bellowed, and Willow and Tara flinched at the sudden noise.

"Fools!" Willow repeated, lowering her voice to what she hoped was a threatening register, but really made her sound like she had a head cold. "You'll die together, and my black naughty evil will live on!"

Tara broke into laughter, taking up where Willow left off, her own voice lowering. "And once you're dead, I will continue to kick puppies and knock over little old ladies who cross the street!"

"But wait! Oh no!" Willow continued, her voice melodramatic as she raised the back of her hand to her forehead. "There are no puppies or streets in Hell! Curses! Foiled again!" she mock-raged, shaking a fist in the air, and Tara fell against her, laughing so hard tears streamed down her face.

"Oh, Goddess, that's..." Tara broke off as another wave of laughter broke over her, and Willow joined in helplessly. "That shouldn't be funny, but – don't these Big Bads ever come up with original material? Is there some kind of Evil Phrase Book?"

Willow howled. "Oh, God! An Evil Phrase Book! With things like 'you may have won this round, but you shan't win the next! I shall return!'"

"Or 'you cannot imagine the powers I possess! Tremble before me!'" Tara intoned.

"Oh, oh oh!" Willow said, wiggling excitedly in Tara's arms. "It's not a book! It's a language tape! So the evil wannabes can hear and learn the deep dark vocal tones," she said, dropping her voice on the last words to illustrate her point.

"You two don't know when you've lost, do you?" Glory asked in an annoyed tone. "Why is it that none of you stupid Scoobies can wrap your brains around the concept that I am a God?" she demanded to the air, throwing her hands up in frustration.

The two young women had just been winding down from their laughing spree, but then started up again at Glory's words, holding on to one another as their mirth danced in the air around them.

"No, no," Willow said, shaking her head. "You're supposed to say that in a deeper voice. Be all Darth Vader sounding. Like this: 'you two don't know when you've lost!' See?" she illustrated.

"Willow – I am your father, Willow," Tara said, in a passable Darth Vader voice.

"Come out here and mock me, little girls," The Trickster snarled, advancing on the pillar of light. "We'll see who laughs then," he finished in a tone that could turn blood into ice water.

"Ooohhh...great delivery," Tara said softly, a chill running up her spine. "But I'll stay right here, thanks. With Willow."

Willow beamed at Tara, kissing her lightly on the nose. "Definitely," she agreed, nodding emphatically. "I much prefer dying with lots of Tara-snuggles beforehand than dying after a long bout of Hell God torturings."

"Then I'll leave you to your snuggles and your deaths," The Trickster said silkily. "And when Tara's line dies out, leaving no female descendant, I'll be free of this curse, and anyone can let me out of Hell."

"No, I don't remember that part. Think he's lying?" Willow responded with a shake of her head.

"Probably," Tara said with a shrug, snuggling up to Willow on resting her head on her shoulder. "Does it matter? Either way, we're kind of stuck here, y'know? And it's still death by Hell God torture with lots of pain and screaming, or death by starvation with lots of snuggle-time."

"Mmm... Tara-snuggles," Willow said solemnly, squeezing Tara gently and rocking the previous girl in her arms.

"Be serious for a minute," Tara admonished, slapping Willow lightly on the shoulder, then giggling.

"You sure you want me to?" Willow asked softly, turning her head to whisper into Tara's ear, tightening her arms around her. "Because that's the part where I start crying and apologizing for not saving you. For not being good enough, and smart enough, to get us out of this. For getting us into this in the first place."

"Hey, it's not your fault, baby," Tara said soothingly, raising her head and taking Willow's face in her hands. "We've just been muddling along as best we could, trying to do the right thing and keep each other safe." Tara's heart clenched when she saw Willow's eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Oh, no, honey – don't cry," Tara urged, wiping the tears away with her thumbs and kissing Willow lightly on the lips. "Don't cry, baby," she said, their lips still pressed together. "We both made mistakes in this, but they were honest ones. They were because we didn't have all the information we needed to make good choices, not because we did anything wrong."

"I just... I feel like I failed you," Willow said, her voice bleak as her eyes drifted open, her sorrow evident in her gaze.

Willow's eyes widened in response to the question, and she shook her head emphatically, wondering how Tara could even ask her such a thing.

"Then you didn't fail me," Tara said firmly, kissing Willow again, their lips moving slowly and tenderly together, their love for each other flowing through the simple gesture, filling them with warmth.

"Well, I guess I'm just a big poo-poo head," Willow said dazedly, her eyes glazed over as she smiled slowly. "Silly me."

"Oh, my God!" Willow said suddenly, her eyes widening comically as she stared over Tara's shoulder. "I defeated Glory!"

"Umm, yeah," Tara said slowly, eyeing her lover with a puzzled frown on her face. "We went over that part."

"And you defeated The Trickster!" Willow nearly shouted, turning her gaze to look at her lover.

"No, no – in your past life! You defeated him, and that's why he needs you!" Willow said excitedly, grabbing Tara around the waist and jumping up and down giddily.

Thoroughly bemused, but trusting that this train of thought was going somewhere, Tara played along, jumping with her lover, and then honestly laughing as Willow's contagious enthusiasm seeped into her.

"Umm, baby?" Tara asked, still laughing lightly when Willow finally stopped the random jumping. "Are you going somewhere with that, or are we just patting ourselves on the back?"

"We defeated them, magickally, so we have the power to command them, magickally," Willow said, her eyes shining. "We have the power to get all commanding and stern with them, and shake our fingers, and tell them to go clean their rooms."

"You can command Glory as much as you'd like, Willow, but you know Tara would never dare attempt to command me," The Trickster said with a little laugh.

"Try it, Red, and I'll put your girl in a world of hurt, even if I have to spend eternity trying," Glory promised darkly.

"It's, umm... he's right, Will," Tara said slowly. "It's dark magick, and we shouldn't -"

"I was thinking more along the lines of bargaining chips, baby," Willow said with a soft sad smile. "Though I understand why you'd assume that I'd mean -"

"Oh, no!" Tara said quickly, her mind turning over Willow's idea, finding where Willow was going with it easily. "No, I shouldn't have assumed that. Y'know, assuming – it makes an ass out of me and Xander. But – bargaining chips? To the other, right?"

"Exactly – it wouldn't work the other way," Willow said, beaming at Tara. "You're so smart," she said softly, pure adoration evident on her face.

"Am not," Tara said with a blush, her eyes dropping shyly. "You're the one who thought of it. You're the brainy type."

"Well, I thought of it, but I didn't have to explain it to you," Willow said, nodding her head emphatically. "Only, like, three people in the whole world have a ticket for the Whacky-Willow-Thought-Train, and my dad is one of them, so I don't think that counts, because, y'know, I probably got it from him, and -"

"Third what?" Willow responded, her brow furrowing as she lost track of the conversation completely, her mind already racing away three steps ahead.

"The third person with a ticket on the Whacky-Willow-Thought-Train?" Tara said patiently.

"Oh, I don't know," Willow said with a shrug. "Probably some kid in the African Jungle. I just figured with all the people on the planet I've never met, at least one of them has to be able to understand Willow Brain."

"Is there going to be a part in here somewhere where you two step out of that pillar? Because I'm about to vomit. And I hate being ignored," Glory said acidly.

"Unless it involves Tara finishing the ritual, I'm not interested," The Trickster said. "That's the only thing you have to offer, because I know Tara won't attempt to command me."

"Really?" Tara asked, letting go of Willow to turn around, raising an eyebrow at the Hell God, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I was more than willing to perform a dark ritual and cut off my own finger to save Willow before – what makes you think I won't do it again?"

"You hate dark magick," The Trickster said slowly, his voice losing a slight measure of its confidence.

"I do," Tara affirmed, nodding her head and crossing her arms in front of her chest, a look of pure determination hardening her features as she glared at him. "So I'll hate doing it, but I'll still do it. Because if that's the only way to save Willow, then that's what I have to do."

"Oh, we have a deal for you, too," Willow said as she smiled sweetly at Glory, her eyes dancing. "This is kind of fun," she whispered an aside to Tara.

Tara turned her head, her features softening as she saw Willow bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Sweetie, I don't think the 'giddy little kid on Christmas' look is really the one we're going for," she said fondly.

"Chanukah," Willow corrected automatically, then schooled her features into her resolve face, settling down and stopping the bouncing. "It's an offer you can't refuse," she said with relish.

"Or we'll have Jimmy the Weasel make them swim with the fishes?" Tara asked softly, a giggle escaping her.

"Will you just get to the point?" Glory snapped impatiently. "I have places to go, souls to torture, and I'm sure my Hell Palace is completely run down. Tricky here probably took all my best minions."

"Oh, right," Willow said sheepishly, peering apologetically at Glory. "Here's the deal. You two agree to give us safe passage back through Hell and the Hellmouth, and we give you back our power to command you. Otherwise, we start commanding."

The Trickster laughed, a genuine sound of amusement escaping him. "All it takes is one tiny mistake in that ritual, and you'll be here in Hell for eternity. I refuse," he said simply.

"Oh, but you don't want to do that," Tara said slowly. "You see, I'm offering Glory the power to command you, so if she accepts and you refuse, you'll spend the rest of eternity as her lapdog."

"And Glory, I'm offering him the power to command you – same situation. You either both accept and keep yourselves on equal footing, or one of you has total control over the other," Willow added.

"I accept," Glory said, clapping her hands together. "Oh, you two are good. Clever, clever girls. Of course, once you're out of Hell, all bets are off, and I'll try my best to make your lives miserable, if I don't decide to just have one of my minions kill you outright.

"So what else is new?" Willow said wryly, exchanging a look with Tara. Danger they could handle – danger was like, an old friend, as twisted as that sounded.

"Come on, Tricky – make my millennia, and turn the nice witches down," Glory cooed, looking over at the other Hell God.

The shadowy form of The Trickster darkened, seeming to suck in the light around it. "I accept," he growled, the shadow whirling around the pillar. "Now step out from there," he added.

"Ummm... are we sure this is safe?" Willow asked, suddenly afraid that her brilliant idea had a hole in it she didn't see.

"Yes," Tara affirmed with a nod. "If either one of them breaks their promise, they give up control over the other. They one that breaks it can probably kill us, but then they're pretty much enslaved to the other one forever."

"Oh, good," Willow said weakly, taking Tara's hand in hers and squeezing gently. "You ready?"

"I'm taking my book... that's part of the deal. Willow and I, and my book... we all get out of here, alive and safe. Agreed?"

Palms sweating and hearts racing, but together, Willow and Tara stepped out of the pillar of light, bracing themselves for an attack that didn't come. Carefully, they made their way over to the alter, and Tara scooped up the necronomicon, placing it in the pocket of Spike's coat.

Willow looked at Tara and Tara looked at Willow, their shoulders shrugging in unison, and sheepish looks crossing their faces.

Was it really this easy? Tara wasn't sure that there wasn't one last trick in store, but somehow, she thought there wasn't. Glory didn't have very much to lose by letting them go, and they had, in fact, helped her get home. And The Trickster... this was his second chance, Tara knew. By letting her go instead of letting her die, he was gaining more than he would lose. Unless, of course, he wasn't lying about the curse ending if she died with no children. It was impossible to tell if that was the truth or not, though.

Willow and Tara walked, hand in hand, out of the cave and onto the windswept plain.

"I, uhh...kind of took a different route," Willow said with a shudder as she remembered the terrible things she had seen.

"Tara," a voice called from the darkness of the cave, and Tara turned, peering vainly into the gloom. "You'll have a daughter, one way or the other."

"I'll tell you later – when we get out of here," Tara promised with a worried smile.

"Baby, look," Willow said suddenly, pointing upwards, and Tara's eyes followed the line Willow was indicating.

There, over the mountains, the pillar of light extended, as far as they could see, and presumably beyond, shining against the blood red sky, a beacon of hope against the hellish wasteland.

"Oh, wow," Tara breathed, her eyes tracking the pillar upwards and upwards. "Did we do that?" she asked, her tone awed and wondering.

"You're pretty," Willow said as they turned and started walking, back towards the Hellmouth – back towards home.

"Oh, yes," Willow nodded. "I'm an outrageous flirt, coming on to all the pretty girls."

"And just who would these pretty girls be?" Tara wondered aloud, her eyes narrowing with mock-jealousy.

"Well, there's Tara – she's pretty. And, umm... ooh! That Maclay girl. What's her name? Tara? Yeah, her – she's gorgeous. And then there's -"

"I get the picture," Tara said with a laugh, pausing for a moment to kiss Willow lightly. "Now let's go home."

"Oh, home – I like this plan. This is a strong plan. Consider me 100% in favor of this plan," Willow said with a sigh full of longing as her mind inevitably turned to the idea of a hot shower, and just how darn itchy all the dirt on her was.

They continued on, each taking comfort in the presence of the other, until a glow in the distance marked the location of the flames they would have to pass through to return home.

Tara's face paled and she gulped, her steps faltering as she thought she could just hear the sound of the screams of the lost souls trapped in the fire. Somehow, it didn't seem fair – that she would brazenly walk into Hell, and return home unscathed, while these poor souls were trapped for eternity, feeling the flames consume them over and over, sapping their will and tormenting them endlessly.

"Baby?" Willow asked uncertainly, somehow sensing the tension within Tara as they continued walking.

"It's... it's h-horrible, Willow," Tara said slowly, her voice hoarse. "The, umm...the fires... they're... those poor people."

"Baby," Willow said softly, squeezing her hand. "You can't save everyone. I know you want to – I wish I could, too. But, it's like... there are some things we can't fix, and we have to just accept those."

"But i-it's not fair. I'm, ummm... that I'm going to, ummm get out," Tara said softly, her eyes downcast.

"Don't you say that," Willow whispered fiercely. "There is no one living, or who has ever lived, who deserves to be in Hell less than you do, do you understand? You're... you're so good, and wonderful, and giving and loving – and you've never ever done anything to deserve something like this."

"I just... I feel so guilty, that I made it through the fires, and they didn't," Tara admitted as they drew nearer the fiery barrier that marked the edges of Hell.

"Don't," Willow said, stopping short and grabbing both of Tara's hands, looking her dead in the eye, her expression completely serious. "You have nothing to feel guilty about," she said, alarms ringing in the back of her mind as she remembered her own feelings of guilt weighing her down, almost making her give up and keeping her buried alive. "And, I think... I think that's..." Willow began, a frown of concentration showing up on her face as she puzzled it all out. "I'm not sure, but I think that's what keeps people here – the guilt. Like, it weighs them down, until they can't move, and then they're stuck. They have to let go of their own guilt to get out. There's nothing we can do to help them."

"That makes sense," Tara said slowly, nodding reluctantly. "But I don't like it."

"I don't like it, either," Willow said, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't like it at all, but... we just... can we go home now? Please?" Memories of the things she had seen, the things that she had experienced here in Hell, flooded her mind, making her shudder helplessly. "I don't... I don't like it here. I just... I want to go home."

Tara just nodded, her own memories rising up, and they continued walking. With a determined gait, they strode up to the flames, only mildly surprised when they parted before them. That had been the deal, after all, and the Hell Gods dared not renege.

But the screams. Tara flinched at each moan and whimper, every scream rubbing her battered nerves raw. Human suffering lay all around, and she felt so powerless against it – so hopeless and fearful. Beside her, Willow trembled, her eyes wide as she looked around, her eyes watering from the heavy smoke rising up from the flames.

"You, umm... you went through... this?" Willow asked weakly, gesturing to the inferno blazing all around, the oppressive heat of the fire beating against them as they walked towards the glowing yellow Hellmouth.

"Yes," Tara confirmed with a nod, her voice oddly hollow as she remembered the feeling of the fire burning the flesh from her body, the terrible pain and agony as she had crawled her way forward, only the knowledge that Willow needed her keeping her moving.

"I love you," Willow choked out, squeezing the hand in her own, and looking over at this woman she was so very privileged and honored to love – so very blessed to have lover her back – taking in the quiet strength of her profile and marveling at the sheer beauty and wonder of it.

"I love you, too," Tara said simply, looking over at Willow, pushing back the horrific memories, and just letting herself feel their love flowing through them.

They reached the Hellmouth, then each took a deep breath, not needing to exchange any more words as they stepped into it, the jello-y yellowness surrounding them. It was, they both found, much easier leaving than getting through, each guessing that this was because they didn't belong in Hell – it wasn't where they were supposed to be, so returning to the Earth was easy in comparison to storming Hell itself.

Pushing their way through the oozing gooey mess, their eyes shut tight, they were both startled and relieved when, just a few moments later, they were through, standing in the chamber beneath the ruins of Sunnydale High, breathing in the sweet air of the land of the living.

"And this – you bastard – is for hurting my hand with your face!" Buffy yelled, delivering what looked like the latest in a series of blows to The Construct, the assembled Scoobies standing back with wide eyes as Buffy struck the creature again and again with a brutality and efficiency that shocked them all.

"I'm sick and tired of dealing with you," Buffy grunted, a kick landing, then another and another. "And your stupid vamp minions," she growled out, five punches landing in rapid succession, striking The Construct so swiftly it had no chance to recover between blows, or to regroup enough to deliver its own attacks.

"Huh?" Buffy asked, looking up towards the Hellmouth, pausing long enough to take a vicious right to the face. Her head snapped back, and she staggered a few steps under the force of the blow, then turned her attention back to The Construct with burning eyes. "Clear the Hellmouth!" she called out, rushing in again as Spike and Giles rushed over, grabbing Willow and Tara and moving them away from the Hellmouth.

"You," Buffy began, punctuating each word with a savage blow that knocked the creature closer and closer to the Hellmouth. "Son. Of. A. Bitch!"

Tara's eyebrows shot up, and she reflexively covered Dawn's ears with her hands as Dawn and the rest of the Scoobies tried to hug Willow and Tara and watch Buffy all at once.

"Go. To. Hell!" Buffy demanded, one last kick knocking The Construct into the Hellmouth, the portal recognizing one of its own and sucking the creature in, until it disappeared.

"There," Buffy said brightly, brushing off her hands and letting out a long breath. "I feel much better. Now where's my witchy love?" she asked, scampering over and wrapping her arms around Willow and Tara all at once. "I mean, the G-Rated version of that," she babbled, hugging her friends as her eyes filled up with tears. "Because all your non G-Rated witchy love goes to each other. Not that I want the non G-Rated kind, because, I'm not... not that there's anything wrong with... Okay, could I stick my foot any further in my mouth?"

Willow and Tara laughed, as they suddenly found themselves in the middle of a great big group hug, even the usually taciturn Angel joining in, smiling broadly.

Everyone seemed to talk at once, expressing their relief that they were safe, and peppering the two young women with questions until they both felt dizzy.

"Hold it, hold it!" Willow yelled, holding up a hand. "Home. Shower. Questions. In that order. If anyone has a problem with that, I'm going to do something mean. I don't know what, yet, but I'll darn well sure as shootin' think of something."

"Yes, well, I have a small problem with that," Giles said slowly, taking off his glasses and cleaning them, a sense of weary joy hanging in the air around him.

"How about home, shower, sleep, then questions?" he asked plaintively. "We've all been up for over twenty-four hours, fighting every imaginable kind of demon as they tried to gather here," he said slowly. "I rather think sleep is in order."

"Oh, sleep," Tara sighed, a blissful smile crossing her face. "I think sleep sounds lovely."

Willow looked at her tired Tara, hugging her close. "You've escaped the Wrath of Willow this time, Giles," she said lightly, smiling at the watcher. "Sleep sounds great."

A very exhausted group of cool monster fighters gathered up their weapons, their movements stiff and slow, then they trudged off silently towards the cars.

"Y'know, Red," Spike said with a smirk, sidling up to the two young women as they walked hand in hand out of the tunnels and into the fresh air. "That coat was just a loan. I'd like it back, now."

"Spike, I'd hate to have to hurt you," Willow said slowly, a small smile quirking the corner of her lips. "You are not going to ogle my naked girlfriend, so get used to being coatless for awhile."

"Can't blame a bloke for trying, luv," he said with a jaunty smile, before heading off towards his crypt. "Hey!" he called back. "When's this great question and answer session happening?" he asked, then added quickly. "Not that I care – just... seems a good time to get my coat back."

"Tomorrow night, Spike," Giles said slowly. "Dawn has school, and I doubt she'd thank us for having it without her. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I could certainly sleep for a day."

"Hey – how come you all get to sleep for a day, and I don't?" Dawn asked indignantly.

"If you're going to slay with the Scoobies, you're going to rise with the birds," Buffy said airily, grinning wickedly at her sister. "If you want to do the dangerous nighttime stuff, you have to keep up with your normal daytime stuff."

"Well, yeah, but Dawn doesn't know that. Besides, I didn't plenty of all-night world-saving followed by early-morning class in High School," Willow said softly.

"Baby, your schedule is on the refrigerator highlighted in different colors," Tara said, laughing lightly. "It's kind of hard to miss."

"We all did it in High School, Dawn," Buffy said, trying to appease her sister, and looping her arm with hers. "So just get used to it. Or, here's a wacky thought – leave the slaying to us."

"I, umm... we're going to head back. To LA," Angel said softly, turning to Buffy.

"I would rather like to hear about Willow and Tara's experiences in Hell," Wesley added in an undertone as Xander, Anya, Dawn and Giles started deciding the driving arrangements. Willow and Tara stood near the bantering group, holding each other close, seeming oblivious to the world around them. "They are quite a remarkable couple, aren't they?"

"It's the purest love I've ever seen," Buffy said softly, a fond look crossing her face as she followed Wesley's gaze and spotted the two young women holding on to each other.

"They're easy on the eyes, too," Gunn added with a grin. "I wouldn't mind hearing this story. Like – how come Tara's wearing nothing but Spike's coat?"

"There will be no asking my friends dirty questions," Buffy said with a frown, glaring at Gunn.

"Hey, hey – I didn't mean anything by it," Gunn said, raising his hands in defense.

"Buffy's right," Angel said softly, turning and looking at Gunn. "Be respectful of them, and go wait in the car," he instructed softly. "You too, Wes."

Wesley nodded, and grabbed Gunn's arm, pulling him towards the car, Gunn's look puzzled as he tried to figure out what he had said wrong.

"I'm, umm... I'm glad that Willow's all right," Angel said softly. "I know she's your best friend – how much she means to you."

"Thanks," Buffy said, her voice equally soft. "They're both... they're amazing people, and I'm lucky to know them."

"Buffy, I – I just want you to know, that... in a way, I owe Willow everything, for giving my soul back to me. And that I'm... I'm sorry I let you down – let them down – while you were gone."

"Hey, don't you have enough to feel guilty about, Oh Brooding One?" Buffy joked lightly. "It's not your fault," she continued on, her tone more serious. "The Hellmouth isn't your responsibility, and it's not your fault things were so crazy here over the summer."

"I know," Angel said with a nod. "But – God, I hope there's never a next time – but I wanted you to know that if there is, I'll be here. I'll help them, and keep them safe."

"Thank you, Angel," Buffy said with a nod. "You really are welcome to stay," she added, taking a few steps backward as she prepared to join the rest of the Scoobies.

"Well, I think Wesley will never forgive me if I don't let him hear this story firsthand," Angel said wryly. "But we'll grab a hotel. I know things will be crowded at your place."

"You okay?" Xander asked softly, rubbing Buffy's arm, and looking over towards Angel hopping into his car, joining Wesley and Gunn.

"I'm fine," Buffy said with a small smile. "They're going to show up tomorrow night for story time."

"Good, good," Xander said lamely, having no idea what to say to his friend, and instead just nodding.

"Girls, we're ready to go," Giles called out to Willow and Tara, who stood quietly together, their foreheads touching and their arms wrapped around each other.

Willow dropped a quick kiss on Tara's lips, earning a softy shy smile from her lover. "You ready?"

"God, yes. I really, really want that shower," Tara almost whimpered, the tension of the last few weeks catching up with her. She felt like she could sleep for a week.

"Oh, yes... a nice, hot steamy shower," Willow purred in an undertone, taking Tara's hand as they walked to the waiting cars. "I'm all itchy," she added with a sigh.

"Buffy, Giles and Dawn are staying at our place, so you two can have sex," Anya supplied helpfully.

"Yes, well," Giles said, coughing lightly, then continuing. "We'll run you two home to pick up Dawn's things, then go over to Xander's."

"Oh, good," Willow said simply, too tired to protest or pretend she didn't want the alone time with Tara. And even, it seemed, too tired to tell off Anya for being crude again. "I'm just too exhausted to fight for the shower right now."

"C'mon, baby, let's go home," Tara said bringing her free hand up to rub Willow's arm.

"God, you're so smart," Willow breathed out, climbing into the car with Tara right beside her. "And I love you. Have I mentioned I love you? Because I do – more than I can say. I'm all about the Lovey McLove Love as far as my Tara is concerned, and God, I need some sleep. And a shower. But not in that order. And not together, because people shouldn't sleep in the shower, because that's all dangerous and unsafe-like, and liable to lead to nasty water inhalations, or unwanted bumps on the noggin," Willow babbled, her voice trailing off as her head fell against Tara's shoulder and she fell asleep, feeling safe and warm, and very very loved.

"Hey, baby? Wake up," Tara whispered softly into Willow's ear, making Willow's face scrunch up in irritation as she shifted against Tara's shoulder. "Come on, baby. We have to go inside now," Tara tried again.

"You want me to just carry her?" Buffy offered in a hushed voice so as not to disturb Willow, turning in the front seat to look at Tara. Quietly, Dawn snuck out of the car to go grab her homework and a change of clothes to go to school the next day.

"No, let me try to wake her," Tara said, biting her lip uncertainly. She knew Willow was tired – she knew she was tired – and in a way, she didn't have the heart do disturb the rest that Willow so obviously needed. "Sweetheart, there's a nice shower just calling your name," Tara whispered, her tone cajoling. "Up and at 'em."

"Want me to try?" Buffy asked with a smirk, remembering all too well from the days of sharing a dorm room with Willow just how hard it was to wake her up.

"I guess I don't really want to wake her up," Tara said sheepishly. "She looks so peaceful." And she did, Tara considered, looking at Willow's face, snug up against her shoulder, so very relaxed and open in slumber. She looked, Tara decided, like some kind of fairy princess, with her flaming red hair and her charming features.

"Willow Rosenberg, you're late for class!" Buffy said loudly, making Tara flinch at the suddenness of the words and the sheer volume behind them.

She sat up bolt upright, her eyes wide, though her gaze was unfocused from the sudden shift into wakefulness.

"Class? Which one? I didn't do my homework!" she blurted out, looking around for her bookbag and the clothes she usually had laid out and waiting for her in the mornings.

"Shh, baby – you're not late for class," Tara said, pulling Willow into her arms. "That was mean," Tara admonished Buffy, though her eyes shone with amusement. It shouldn't have been funny, but lots of things recently shouldn't have been funny, yet oddly were.

"God, Buffy," Willow said slowly, a hand over her heart where it hammered in her chest. "Take a few years off my life, why doncha'?"

"But it worked," Buffy said with an unrepentant grin. "Now go upstairs, get that mud off, then crawl into bed with your honey and sleep until the pizza and video party disguised as a Scooby Near-Apocalypse Recap Meeting tomorrow night."

"I have class," Willow responded automatically, taking slow deep breaths as her heartbeat calmed.

"I'll skip if you will," Tara said, catching Willow's eyes with her own and regarding her seriously, brushing a bit of her hair back from her face. "You really need the rest, and so do I."

"Let's see how we feel tomorrow?" Willow offered up. Staying home with Tara really sounded... perfect. Still, she felt like she should at least give a token protest about missing still more school. She'd missed an awful lot lately.

"Okay," Tara agreed with a nod. "We can decide tomorrow. Now inside," she said, opening the car door and slipping out, then taking Willow's hand and tugging her to her side.

Dawn emerged from the house, a couple of bags in hand, then hurried over to Willow and Tara's side. "I'm so glad you two are all right," she said softly, dropping the bags and hugging them both fiercely, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Yeah – and we're going to stay okay, too. Promise," Willow chimed in, hugging Dawn.

Dawn just nodded, a watery smile crossing her face. "See you guys tomorrow," she said, slipping into the car. Willow and Tara waved as their friends said their good-byes and drove off, leaving them alone in the quiet night.

Tara frowned in concentration, likewise breathing in the cool night air. "Umm, no, I don't," she admitted with a shrug.

"Let's get cleaned up," Tara said, smiling at Willow and pressing a soft kiss to her mud-streaked face.

"That sounds so, SO good right now," Willow said, her hand finding Tara's, their fingers twining as they walked up the steps. Between the water and the dirt, she was streaked with mud, and she didn't even want to think about what her hair looked like. But it was all worth it – it was worth it and more.

Tara opened the door, noting sheepishly that it was unlocked. She hadn't spared a moment to think of the panic everyone must have felt when she had just gone off after Willow, without notifying them of her intentions. No, wait – Dawn had just been inside. She might have unlocked it. Tara frowned at the slow way her mind was plodding along, then decided it was probably a good thing, considering what she and Willow had just been through and how badly she didn't want to think about it. Still, she'd have to find a way to make it up to the Scoobies later, for scaring them by running off like that. Maybe cooking breakfast for everyone the morning after the pizza and video fest?

"What're you thinking about?" Willow asked, closing the door behind her and locking it, noticing the slight frown on Tara's face. Frowns weren't allowed – at least not right now. They could frown later, but right now, they were both safe and alive and whole and nothing else really mattered compared to that.

"Pancakes," Tara said with a crooked smile, tugging on Willow's hand and leading her up the stairs.

"Pancakes?" Willow asked, her brow furrowing. "Umm... are you hungry? I mean, we could eat, or... y'know, if you wanted to make pancakes, I... we could..."

"No, no," Tara said, shaking her head and laughing lightly, opening the bathroom door and flipping on the switch. "I'm thinking about making breakfast for everyone on Tuesday. I think I kind of freaked them out when I left the house and when I got through the Hellmouth. I was kind of, umm... focused."

"Oh, wow," Willow said, her eyes widening as her mind kicked into overdrive, her regrets overruling her decision to not dwell on things tonight. Tara looked at Willow quizzically as she turned on the water of the shower. "If you owe them breakfast I don't even want to think about what I owe everyone, running off like that. It was... so stupid," she admonished herself, a guilty expression on her face. "I... things could've been... I mean, I didn't tell anyone where I was going, just kind of... took off, like -"

"Willow," Tara interrupted, grasping her arms and waiting until Willow's unfocused gaze met her own and those green eyes she loved so much cleared as Tara fully gained her attention. "We have so much to talk about. Things that need to be said, things that need to be heard. I'm feeling so many... lots of different things, but I just... I want to focus on the good. Forget the bad stuff tonight. You don't get to think about that now. One thing at a time, and the first thing is..."

"Oh, right," Willow said, nodding her head. "I, my, umm... arm," she went on, looking at Spike's shirt wrapped around her forearm, the sharp pain from earlier that night now a dull throb.

"Oh, sweetie," Tara said, immediately zeroing in on the place she knew Willow was injured. "God, I kind of... wasn't thinking -"

"It's okay. Y'know, Hell Gods and all, it was kind of the least of our problems, and it doesn't really hurt, it's just kind of, throbby and a little itchy... definitely some itchiness. Is it supposed to be itchy?" Willow said as Tara carefully untied the arms of Spikes shirt and unwrapped it to check the wound underneath. "How's it, umm... look?" Willow asked, her eyes focused on Tara's face. It was the strangest thing. She knew exactly how beautiful Tara was, but something about this moment – this little piece of time – made the knowledge hit her between the eyes. While a part of her was saying 'duh!', another part was just goggling with wonder that someone so... gorgeous, inside and out, was hers.

"It's, umm... I... I don't understand," Tara said slowly, looking up at Willow, her face the very picture of puzzlement.

"What is it?" Willow asked, feeling Tara's warm fingers stroking the skin of her arm, a look of wonder on her face.

"I... I don't know how, or, umm why, but it's... there are no cuts here. It's..."

"What?" Willow asked, finally looking at her arm and seeing that the gashes in her arm were closed up, but not completely gone, three scabbed over lines marking her skin.

"I... I saw it. I saw the Construct hurt you," she whispered, her tone a mixture of anger and confusion.

"I'm sorry," Willow said miserably, her breath catching. "I, umm...I felt you, there. I should've stayed, or called, but it all – it kind of happened really fast after that."

"No, no," Tara said, shaking her head. "I know it happened fast, and you're safe, and I'm safe, and nothing to think about but your shirt, right?" Gently, she kissed Willow right where the worry lines showed up between her eyes when something was bothering her, keeping her lips there until she felt them fade away into nothing. Slowly she eased back, catching Willow's eyes with her own.

She searched Willow's face, seeing so clearly the wheels turning in her mind. Tara adored that about Willow – the way her brain was moving all the time, but it was a double-edged sword. It was endearing, but she knew that Willow needed some time and distance from this whole situation to be able to put it into perspective. Right now she was just worrying, and she needed to relax.

"I just... I did so many things wrong, I just... I can't," Willow began, her breath hitching. "I should've been better, or smarter, and I just... I -"

"Shh," Tara said softly, cupping Willow's face in her hands, and pressing her lips to Willow's, stopping her words.

"I know," Tara said softly, one hand stroking Willow's matted hair. "But not tonight. No 'what if's', no 'shoulda woulda coulda'... I can't – I can't think about that right now. I need to not think about it," she said plaintively.

"Oh, baby, it's okay," Willow said, her arms wrapping around Tara and pulling her close. "We won't think about it. It'll keep." And it would, Willow decided. There would be plenty of time to think about what had happened, but now wasn't that time. Mostly, what she really needed right then was to just let it go, and focus on the fact that she was with Tara, and they were together, and that everything was okay.

"Good," Tara said with a relieved sigh. "So now let's take off that shirt. And these pants. And those shoes," she said, letting her head rest on Willow's shoulder as Willow lightly rubbed her back. But she didn't move, instead letting the feel of a very warm, very alive Willow with her arms wrapped around her lull her into a sense of peace.

"Spike's coat... it's gotta go," Willow said. "Naked Tara good. Spike's coat bad."

Tara laughed softly in her ear, her tone light. "What? You don't think black leather is a good look for me?" she asked innocently.

"Everything's a good look for you," Willow assured her. "But, umm... coat, with the reminding of Spike. And Spike? Eww."

"You trying to get me naked?" Tara asked, a light smile playing across her features. "Ms. Rosenberg – I'm shocked."

"If you find that shocking, you'll be absolutely scandalized by what I'm gonna' do with you later," Willow said with a smirk, stepping closer to Tara.

"Yeah? Whatcha' gonna' do? Is it naughty?" Tara asked, lifting her hands to the hem of Willow's shirt, grasping the fabric and lifting. Willow helpfully raised her arms, sighing as the shirt was removed, and letting her arms drop back down and rest on Tara's shoulders, hugging her around the neck.

"Oh, yes. Very naughty," Willow said with mock seriousness. "I'm going to take you to bed and have my way with you until neither one of us can move."

"But first, I get to wash you all over, paying special attention to my favorite places," Tara said, cocking her head to one side as she considered her options, her hands drifting back to Willow's waist and working the button of her jeans out of the hole.

"Now who's all with the shocking?" Willow asked, dropping her arms and kicking off her shoes and socks as Tara toyed with the newly freed button.

"Mmm...Good point," Tara said, stepping back to unfasten the coat and slip it off. Gingerly, she reached past the shower curtain and tested the running water, then adjusted the temperature, ignoring Willow's appreciative gaze.

"You need more help with this?" Tara asked, leaning in to whisper the words into Willow's ear as she slowly lowered the zipper of Willow's partially opened pants. The room was starting to steam up from the hot water of the shower, and the thick heavy air surrounded Tara, seeming to press against her skin.

"Yes, please," Willow managed to squeak out, nodding vigorously. Tara smiled, sliding her hands down Willow's hips, working her fingers under her panties and pushing the clothing to the floor. Her hands slid back up, following the curves of Willow's body around back to the clasp of her bra, deftly undoing the hooks and pulling the material off her lover.

With a soft sigh, she wrapped her arms around Willow's shoulders and pulled Willow to her, feeling her bare skin brushing against her own. Between the hot steamy air and the sensation of Willow's body pressed up against her own, Tara felt a little light-headed. For just a moment, she closed her eyes, savoring the sensations coursing through her and letting her heart revel in the sweet sure knowledge that this amazing woman was all hers, and they were safe, and they were together.

Willow's arms came up reflexively, holding on to Tara when Tara pulled her close. Skin on skin was good, she decided, a dreamy smile curving her lips. She felt Tara tremble lightly in her arms, and she tightened her hold.

"Yeah, I just..." Tara began, burying her face in Willow's neck and breathing in the scent of her. "I love you so much," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I was so scared I'd lost you."

"Hey, hey," Willow said, turning her head so her words made their way directly into Tara's ear and straight to her heart. "You're not gonna' lose me," she said fiercely. "If Gods and Hell can't tear us apart, nothing can, baby. I swear it. I love you, and I'm not going anywhere. We belong together, and nothing can change that – nothing can touch it."

"We're going to run out of hot water," Tara said, a slight laugh shaking her frame as she mentally stepped back from what she was feeling and remembered her earlier words to Willow. There would be no more talk of bad things – now was a time to just be with Willow, and to know that for now, at least, everything was perfect because they were together.

"And cold showers? Not on my list of things to do tonight," Willow said, easing out of Tara's arms and taking her hand, stepping into the shower and pulling Tara with her. They both moaned their appreciation when hot water coursed over their skin, the spray soothing their tired muscles. Willow's arms snaked their way around Tara's waist, holding her slick body close and maneuvering them fully under the water, letting it course over their heads.

Tara smiled softly against the water streaming down her face, then stepped back, reaching for the shampoo Willow used. "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed, sweetie," she said, moving behind Willow, taking in a sharp breath of air when her breasts brushed against Willow's back. Gently, she tiled Willow's head towards her, then began to work the shampoo into the red hair.

"Where I get to do scandalous things to you," Willow said dreamily, relaxing at the feel of Tara's fingers moving against her scalp. They didn't often find the time to shower together, but there was just something so very soothing – so very intimate – about washing each other that Willow adored.

The sound of the water pounding against the tile around them was the only sound as soapy hands traveled tenderly across slick skin. Slowly and methodically, they washed each other, the water carrying away the reminders of their Hell, leaving them with touches that were both reassuring and arousing.

"I won't really hold you to that. The, uh, scandalous things, I mean," Tara said seriously after they had cleaned each other thoroughly, catching some water in her hands and pouring it over Willow's hair, the suds of a second run with the shampoo sliding down her neck and around her shoulders. She repeated the action a few times while Willow kept her eyes shut tight against the soapy water trickling down her face. "If you're too tired, or -"

"Oh, no, I'm not too tired," Willow said, an ill-timed yawn taking her by surprise. Tara just smiled gently, working some conditioner into Willow's hair.

"Baby, it's okay if you're too tired," she said softly, her fingers happily playing in Willow's hair.

"But I'm really not," Willow protested. "I mean, I am tired, but not, y'know, too tired, for, umm..."

"Doing scandalous things to me until neither one of us can move?" Tara asked lightly, rinsing out the conditioner.

"I just... I know I should be all with the sleep, but I..." Willow began, moving into Tara's arms and holding her close as she tried to find words for what she was feeling. "After all this stuff, I just... I need to feel you. Tonight."

"Shh," Tara soothed. "I know," she confessed, reaching around Willow to shut off the water before wrapping her arms around the trembling body against her. "I feel like, this isn't real. Like we didn't really face those things, and then make it out of there. And I – I need something real to hold onto."

"And we're real," Willow said, her arms tightening around Tara's body her breath hitching as she held Tara as close as she possibly could. "And I need that – I need something that's real and true. I need to love you tonight," Willow said on a whisper. Her lips found Tara's and pressed against them, the solid warmth of the body in her arms and the tingle coursing through her at the sweet contact starting to thaw an icy core of fear deep within her that she hadn't even known was there.

"I'm here," Tara pulled back to say before capturing Willow's lips again, her hands sliding up Willow's body to cup her face, her body arching into the redhead as those arms clung to her, Willow's hands pressing into her back. "It's real," she said again, breaking the kiss just long enough to say the words, her left hand trailing down Willow's arm and tugging it until she held Willow's hand in hers.

Slowly, she slid Willow's hand up her side, bringing it in front of her body to rest over her heart. With twin gasps as the need for air asserted itself, the kiss broke off, the wild beating of their heart sounding unnaturally loud in their ears. "Feel that?" Tara said shakily into Willow's ear, squeezing her hand. Willow nodded, the hastened rhythm under her fingertips proving Tara's words with each beat. "It beats for you – that's the truest thing in the world," Tara whispered hoarsely before guiding Willow's mouth back to her own.

It was a matter of moments before Tara found she was no longer in control of the kiss, Willow's mouth devouring her own. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she was aware of the feel of cool tile against her back, but nothing registered fully but the feel of Willow's body pressing into her and their tongues brushing together over and over, sending a warm glow racing through her body, igniting between her legs and leaving her breathless and dizzy.

"God, Willow," Tara moaned out against hungry lips, arching into the touch of Willow's hands sliding over her waist, the solid feel of them firm and sure as they traveled up to cup her breasts. "Baby?" she ground out, pulling her mouth from Willow's, only to be distracted from whatever she was going to say by the way Willow's lips immediately found her neck, brushing over the sensitive skin there, little nips and licks showing up intermittently.

"Yeah, baby?" Willow asked, her breathing ragged as she paused in her attentions long enough to focus in on whatever Tara was going to say to her. She had almost missed that Tara had said anything at all, the feel of soft skin under her hands and lips demanding all of her focus and all of her attention.

"Umm, I," Tara said, blinking a few times to clear her head. "Umm... shower stall. Wet floor," she finally managed.

"Oh, yeah – bruises hard to explain to Dawn," Willow said through her panting, nodding her head in understanding of Tara's request as she remembered a very specific and very embarrassing incident from the past summer. She stepped out of the shower, though her body practically screamed at her to stay pressed up against Tara.

As if hearing that call, Tara stepped out immediately after, pushing Willow back against the sink and kissing her deeply. With a little whimper, Willow's hands came up, holding onto Tara's shoulders to keep herself upright as she found herself arched slightly backward and off-balance, the thoroughly enjoyable way Tara's tongue was exploring her mouth doing nothing for her equilibrium.

"Sweetie, Willow," Tara ground out, her tongue flicking out to taste Willow's lips between words. "I... God, I need..."

"Right," Tara said on a ragged breath, moaning softly as Willow's lips found hers again, and they staggered towards the door, locked tightly together as Willow's hand found the doorknob. With a twist and a pull, the door swung open, the cool fresh air making them shiver and press more tightly together.

Wordlessly, soft lips pressing together again and again, they stepped into the hall, their still-damp bodies barely remaining upright as they tried to walk and devour each other at the same time, their need to be closer – as close as possible – raging through them.

"No bed," Willow decided out loud, pushing Tara gently against the wall, her thigh sliding between Tara's and pressing firmly up against her, earning a gasp from her lover, Willow's mind spinning at both the sound and the incredible feel of Tara's silky wetness against her leg. "Here. Now," she panted, gulping audibly.

Tara groaned loudly at the contact, her hands gripping Willow's shoulders as her head fell back against the wall with a dull thud and her body arched, pressing her aching center hard onto Willow's thigh. Sure hands found her breasts, teasing her nipples as she rocked her hips, grinding against Willow, a steady throbbing pressure building up deep within her.

"Tara, oh, God, Tara," Willow moaned against Tara's neck before finding her pulse point with her lips and sucking on the smooth tasty skin there, one hand leaving the soft fullness of Tara's breasts to grip Tara's hip, her own hips moving against Tara in an increasing rhythm.

"W-willow," Tara whimpered, one hand moving to her neck, her fingernails scratching lightly at the skin their as her hand moved up to tangle in her hair as she pressed harder against Willow's thigh. She bent the leg Willow was straddling slightly, her other hand moving to the small of Willow's back, urging her closer as Willow continued sucking on her neck, the pressure exquisite, and the hot hungry feel of Willow's mouth pulling another groan from deep within her.

Willow scraped her teeth across Tara's neck, whimpering slightly when she felt Tara's leg brush against her own center. She arched her hips towards it, feeling both torture and relief as her throbbing body found the contact it craved, her wetness sliding easily against Tara's skin.

"Oh, Willow – baby – faster," Tara urged, gasping out the words and drawing in shaky breaths, her hips pumping against Willow's in an ever-increasing rhythm. She could feel Willow panting against her neck, the hand against her hip gripping it convulsively, and the hand on her breast moving down her waist, slipping around her body to her ass.

"Oh, yes," Willow hissed out between clenched teeth, nuzzling her way from Tara's neck to her jawline, nipping at it lightly as she rocked against her lover, their wetness pressed firmly against each other's thighs as they rode each other hard in the middle of the hallway. "Baby, I -... God, I..." Willow said between pants, giving up on words and taking Tara's mouth in a kiss.

Tara felt the hand on her hip move, sliding over the top of her thigh to the junction of her legs, slipping between their bodies. There was no teasing caresses, no deft strokes, just Willow's fingers sliding through her wetness, and then into her, filling her body, and it was just what she wanted. This was what she needed – the feel of Willow inside her, stroking her in the most intimate of ways, pumping in and out of her body in a steady rhythm.

She gasped against Willow's mouth, their tongues tangling together, the hot wetness of Willow against her thigh calling to her. As much as she needed to feel Willow deep inside her, she needed to be deep inside of Willow. Her hand blazed a trail across Willow's body, finding the source of that slick heat, her fingers sliding inside with no hesitation, taking Willow fully.

"Yes – just like that," Willow managed to choke out, before words were lost to her, the feel of Tara so firmly inside of her, moving with her, and the way Tara's body felt against her fingers stopped her mind in its tracks, until there were no thoughts, no words, just this amazing feeling of loving and being loved, of taking and giving, as their bodies ground together, faster and faster.

Tara's breath hitched in a squeaky gasp, once, then twice, her hips and her fingers moving against Willow, that sweet torturous wonderful pressure inside her body breaking into a million pieces, shattering every which way across her nervous system, wave after wave of orgasm rolling over her and pooling back together, pouring itself out over Willow's hand.

Willow felt the tightening in Tara's body, and then the convulsive spasms of her release, and she felt herself follow where Tara lead, coming hard against Tara's fingers, the breath leaving her body as she gasped Tara's name, a light-headed dizziness and mind-numbing pleasure swept over her.

They were still for a few long moments as they recovered their breath and their strength, shifting against each other slightly, the feel of their bare skin pressed together soothing them and calling them back to themselves. Gently, they eased out of each other, standing together on shaky legs, soft touches and kisses and wordless murmurs exchanged as they recovered.

"Oh, yeah," Willow nodded against Tara's shoulder. With one last light but lingering kiss, they walked hand in hand to their room, climbing into the bed they shared and firmly shutting the door to the outside world behind them.

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Answering Darkess

by Sassette

Copyright © 2003

pink_overalls@yahoo.com