Might Have Been by Zahir

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon & Mutant Enemy own everything here but the story. I'm just borrowing and promise to give them back, none the worse for wear.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
http://zahir.150m.com
Just ask is all.
Feedback: Oh please!
Spoilers: Um, through to the beginning of S7.
Author's Note: This story takes place soon after Willow returns from England in early S7. Its just a little something I've been playing with in my imagination for awhile.
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: Reality starts to go bye-bye, and the reason is really very interesting. But as a result, everyone gets a major glimpse of alternate realities.

Buffy didn't answer her sister's question immediately. For one thing, it was pretty much rhetorical. Dawn had issues when it came to ending up ignored, but odds were she didn't really expect an actual answer to this one. So Buffy just stared at the street, at the cars breaking as fast as they could. Not that she blamed them. Sunnydale, California was not a place renowned for any snowfall, but less a blizzard. When said blizzard literally appeared with zero warning surprise quickly gave rise to shock. Even, from the look in some drivers' eyes, panic.

"Yeah, well." Dawn could usually be as voluble as any sixteen-year-old, but not this time. Or at least not much. "This probably has to do with what-ever-is-up at the Hellmouth."

"Uh...Buffy?" It was Willow. Moving awkwardly, still healing from her wounds, and with an even more worried expression than usual. "There's something wrong. Really wrong."

Silently Buffy cursed herself. Of course Willow might have meant herself, her own genuine physical pain! Having strips of yourself sliced off and eaten wasn't something Buffy herself had ever had to endure, but even if she had Slayer-strength would have sped up her healing. Willow was human. A witch – a scarily powerful witch – but human. "Willow?"

"No, I'm okay. It's just..." Willow shook her head as if tossing away cobwebs. "The ebb and flow – its been interrupted, somehow."

"Of the world. Time and life and magic and...well, everything." Willow said this last with little more than a whisper. At the same time she looked around her. The sun was shining. It was a bright fall day. Two minutes ago the temperature had been hovering near eighty. Since then a full inch of snow had fallen. No more flakes were falling, true, and what had reached ground was now melting, but the fear in Willow's eyes was just as real as that of the drivers and neighbors. Actually, to Buffy, Willow's fear seemed greater.

Hours later, as Buffy prepared to go out on patrol, Willow and Dawn were watching the local news. Sunnydale's reporters had long ago managed to make the bizarre sound no more than peculiar and today that skill was in full display.

"Freaky weather" continued the grinning anchorman "has come in several waves today. In some cases the sudden thundershowers actually gave rise to rumors of snowfall here in Southern California." He laughed at the idea. His co-anchor smiled sympathetically. She managed to convey a tolerant bemusement with the poor local citizens.

Willow snorted. "Sunnydale, with the highest number of crack addicts in the western hemisphere."

"What raccoons?" Buffy's face scrunched into what Willow thought was really an exaggeration of being puzzled. Personally, she thought it a defense mechanism. Buffy was oftimes too busy to study, and her academic studies suffered. It had even taken Willow years to realize her friend was far more intellectually inclined than she seemed. At first, anyway.

"Oh. Right." Buffy nodded. Yeah, folks in Sunnydale did a have a way of explaining away the extraordinary. There was a honking of a horn from the street. Buffy picked up her bag of weapons.

"I want you along, but I want you home and healing even more." Buffy spoke in a tone of command. She'd been getting better at it for years. "Besides, I don't like leaving Dawn alone."

"No heys, no buts, no arguments." Buffy headed for the front door. "See you guys later."

"Right-o," Willow called after her as the front door swung shut. Dawn just looked at Willow, managing to convey the vast angst of having a sister who just didn't take her seriously. "You don't mind spending time with me, do you Dawnie?"

Dawn sighed, then nodded. Yeah, Willow remembered that feeling. She smiled in sympathy, then undid the mute button. For the next several minutes they listened to the official explanation of strange events today. A few patients at the local hospital had left without permission, and without being seen evidently. The police had arrested a con man (or maybe a mental patient) at city hall who'd insisted he was the deputy mayor. A child's birthday party had become a mini riot when the local magician's bag of tricks went haywire (but at least the fire was put out quickly).

"I don't know. Its as if something has disrupted the flow of natural forces in the area."

"Maybe. Its possible." The phone rang. "Can you get that? I'm still kinda tender."

"No prob." Dawn headed for the phone. Privately, Willow was extremely worried and didn't want it to show too much. She'd noticed Dawn had a tendency to really go off half-cocked at moments of stress, and the disruption Willow felt was as serious as anything she'd ever experienced. One thing she especially didn't want to mention was what it felt most like – namely, when the hellgod Glory had tried to return to her own reality. Dawn had been a pivotal part of that ritual, her blood used to somehow open the gates between this and all other realms. That was a detail she had told Buffy, but only where Dawn could not hear. Willow felt zero desire to see again the kind of horrified shock on Dawn's face when looking at the damage done then.

"Summers residence," Dawn said brightly into the phone receiver. She was trying to be very grown up with that voice, Willow knew. It was exactly the same kind of thing Willow herself had done at that age.

Then Dawn's face took on the exact expression Willow had been afraid of seeing. Her eyes, suddenly huge, met Willow's. She extended the phone.

Jenny? For a couple of moments Willow tried to remember if any of Dawn's friends were named that, then she put the name with Dawn's expression and the feeling of disruption in reality. "Jenny, as in Miss Calendar?"

"Okay, am I the only one to think something weird is going on here?" Xander leaned against the mausoleum, catching his breath.

"Or his identical twin." Buffy didn't need to catch her breath. Being the Slayer, she hardly even broke into a sweat fighting a mere three or four vampires. Xander's presence and handy axe-wielding hadn't strictly been necessary, but had cut the fight short. She had a feeling that might prove important real soon. Not a good feeling, that.

"Identical twin! I like that theory! But no, it couldn't be that easy, could it?"

Xander grunted agreement. He took a breath, stood up straight, then hefted the axe in his hand. "Where to now, o fearless leader."

Just at that moment some more familiar sounds seemed to come from the direction where Buffy had pointed. Sounds of combat. Without waiting for an answer, Xander began a quick run. Buffy, naturally, was way ahead of him in seconds. He had the longer legs, but she was the one with Slayer strength and speed. Still, he arrived at the top of the hill and found her motionless, stake still in hand. Her gaze was fixed below, at the grassy area between two crypts. After a second, Xander stared too.

The vampire was familiar to them both. He was slender and black, in an extremely nice three- piece suit. Mister Trick, formerly chief minion of the late, unlamented Mayor of Sunnydale, slain over three years earlier. Despite his slender frame and natty appearance, he was delivering some powerful blows, and his demonic face was actually just a little more bestial than most undead. Maybe it was the contrast between it and the suit. Anyway, the blonde woman he was fighting seemed capable of defending herself. In fact, Trick's blows hardly ever hit home. She moved too fast, almost blindingly so, and her own blows were terribly precise. In fact, with a scissor-kick she managed to bring her opponent down while nearly spinning up and astride his back. Worthy of Buffy at her best, in Xander's opinion. As was the finale – driving a stake through his back, into his heart, changing the vampire into first a skeleton, then a rapidly dissipating cloud of dust.

She then rose up. The outfit was simple, nearly perfect. On her feet, sneakers. Loose jeans covering her legs. A green t-shirt with some kind of Celtic knotwork on the front. The jacket was also green, but tough enough to absorb blows.

The blonde took one look at them and approached warily, stake still in hand. Xander couldn't quite decide what was boggling his mind most. Obviously, this young lady was a Slayer. But that wasn't possible for a whole host of reasons.

The members of the coven hovered over their captive, hands waving and voices in unison chanting the words of the spell.

"When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
When the hurley-burley's done
When the battles lost and won!
There the bodkin shall be hurled
And we wear the crown of all the world!"

And then they waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the eldest of them uttered a great sigh. "Nothing."

"You know, I wondered about that..." started the usually-quiet witch, before being interrupted.

"Shakespeare! It was Shakespeare! You know – William Shakespeare?" She looked at the other two, clearly half-afraid they'd have no idea what she was talking about.

"And that isn't what we were asking, anyway," said the prettiest again. "We just wanted to know what the frell a bodkin was. What is it? Some kind of knife, maybe? Or a gourd? An article of clothing? Do you even know?"

Pretty soon the eldest witch's stare pretty much shut them up. "It doesn't matter. The point is – the spell didn't work. Now we have to figure out why." She glared at the prettiest witch, who had made a noise. "Do you have something to add?"

"Sure! Cause you're the biggest occult scholar here!" Her sarcasm was thick enough to cut. "Heads up people! This whole scheme has gone wrong from the very start! Sure, harnessing the power of what-er-name" she indicated the captive "sounds good, but unless we get every single detail exactly, absolutely, perfectly right then we're frelled!"

"Well, you did say," began the quiet one, "this was our best chance of taking over Glory's hell dimension."

"Yeah, but now one of you did something wrong and we're stuck here – where ever here is!"

"Because its always one of you two! Now, let me think." And she stormed off into the next room to pace. Her two fellow witches watched her go. It was a fairly big house, this, if oddly designed. The trees in the courtyard outside looked normal, though, and the place felt not too out of whack. Odds are, this place was just as slight variation of their own reality.

"Do you think anybody else felt it when we arrived?" asked the prettiest witch of the quiet one. She whispered, unwilling to disturb the pacing witch in the next room without good reason.

"Uh huh. So – we're likely to have visitors in the not-too-distant future, right?"

Now it was the quiet one who waited, and sighed. "With our luck, it'll probably be a Vampire Slayer."

Willow could feel her eyes getting bigger and bigger as she listened on the phone.

"And all of a sudden," Jenny Calendar was saying (or at least it sounded like Jenny Calendar so might as well call her that or was that right?) "my apartment is full of someone else's things. Willow? Are you there?"

"Stressed. Yeah. Stressed is a good word." Willow heard the octaves of her voice rise, but she couldn't help it.

"She's..." okay how to explain to the dead woman that the Slayer she was asking about (who she never met so why did she want to know anyway?) was in prison for twenty five to life? "...just...out. For now."

Pause. Then "I'm coming over. Make sure Dawn is okay. Remember – tonight is a full moon. And Angelus is still out there somewhere." Click.

"Willow, you look even more spooked than I feel." If that was so, Willow realized she must seem insane, because Dawn herself looked as if she needed about a gallon of tranquilizers.

"It'll be okay, sweetie. Its just..." Unfortunately, Willow couldn't think of anything to say. This was weird, even by Sunnydale standards. A frightening thought, that. And as she saw Dawn's face turn to the TV. set, jaw slowly dropping and finally letting out a tiny "eep" sound, Willow feared it was going to get worse. She didn't really want to turn and look. But she did.

"Ladies!" said Xander. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but that both of you appear to be Slayers seems pretty clear." He smiled, hoping the goofiness of same would have some effect. More specifically, a good effect. Sometimes his smiles just annoyed people.

"One where Tara is the Slayer and – evidently – people call me Alex. So," he turned and smiled at this version of Tara, "what we have is some kind of blending between realities. Like on that episode of Star Trek. Remember?"

Tara had begun to relax. "Buffy Summers is the Slayer?" Something about the way she said that set off an alarm in Xander's head. And in Buffy's as well, as one of her eyebrows began to rise.

"Okay," Xander tried to make his voice as soothing as possible, "so what is Buffy like where you come from?"

Tara shrugged. "Just a cheerleader, originally. Almost flunked out of Sunnydale High. Got turned by a vampire during graduation, back with Warren Mears tried to turn into a demon. Then the little twit...er, well...not you, but that Buffy got involved with this bleach blonde vampire looking for the Gem of Amara. Once he left, she tried to form her own fang gang but it was really pathetic..."

"Oh my god" Buffy's face was filled with horror. "Harmony. In your reality – I'm HARMONY??"

With raised eyebrow, Tara asked "What's wrong with Harmony? She's my best friend. I'd've never graduated high school without Harmony. You too, Alex. Her computer skills helped save the world a bunch of times. She's the one who restored Drusilla's soul. And without her there's no way I could've defeated the hellgod Oz. He was so powerful I might have died is she hadn't been there to help." She stopped, staring at the two of them. "Something the matter?"

It took a little while for Xander to remember how to use his mouth. When he did, at first nothing came out. "Restored Drusilla's soul?" The mind reeled. His boggle boggled. "The hellgod Oz?" Half-afraid of what SlayerTara might reveal next – especially about himself – Xander didn't dare ask any more questions. He looked at Buffy for support, guidance, anything!

Willow approached the TV. The word HELP certainly looked as if it were written in blood across the screen. A lip gloss commercial was in full swing – some gorgeous blonde actress or model showing off lots of different smiles. Once closer, Willow reached out with her senses. This might or might not work.

Soon Willow answered Dawn's question. "Its not. Blood, I mean." Knowing that, Willow got closer still. "Some kind of ectoplasm."

"Yeah. It should be. This isn't. What's more, this...whateveritis...has an aura. Pretty bright one, too." She stopped. On the TV. snippets of love scenes from an upcoming romantic comedy flashed across the screen. Willow felt her eyes water. Damn it. Why now? But then, why not? Not like she had come back to life all of a sudden, although with that phone call from Miss Calendar of all people. No! That had to be a trick. A trick.

"Willow?" Dawn's voice was a whisper. Right next to her and Willow hadn't even noticed.

"Sorry, sweetie." She turned. Instinct, really. Sharing a good laugh was one thing, but tears – few were those who wanted to share those. "Its just...Tara's the one who taught me how to read auras." Say more? Or had she said too much? Dawn had good reason to get all freaked about now, especially when it came to Willow and what she might do. Everyone did. Mustn't put more pressure on her, on them. "Just..." no good words came to mind. "Hearing Miss Calendar’s voice like that, you know."

A hand touched her shoulder. God, it felt good. Just a simple squeeze of reassurance, sympathy, general you're-not-really-alone-ness. "I understand," said Dawn. Those were her words, but Willow heard clear as brass bands just how much she understood. Pretty much everything. The blood. The phone call. Auras. Scenes of happy romance on the TV. Put it all together and you get depression stew, with a side dish of maudlin. Willow looked at Dawn. The tears blurred her vision just a little, but Dawn's eyes held all the empathy in the world. Poor Dawnie. After the last couple of years, she would understand, wouldn't she?

"Maybe," Dawn said, "somebody did a kind of resurrection spell?" Oh, the hope in her voice nearly made Willow actually bawl. Stifling that with a will, she shook her head.

"But you did say something was going on. The flow was getting all distorted, you said! Like some really super, super magicks were getting unleashed?"

Taking a deep breath, Willow nodded. "Yeah, and they are." Wipe away tears. Time for them and more like them later. Lots of laters. "But raising the dead means Osiris would have to get involved somehow. I'd know if somebody had done that anywhere around here. Kinda like how old Mr. Fogarty's leg hurts when the weather gets cold?" Dawn nodded. "Its like that, only not, cause its metaphysical while Mr. Fogarty's leg is just the physical without the meta."

For some reason that struck a cord in Dawn. "So because you did that spell to bring back Buffy, you'd feel it if someone else did the same spell?"

"Sorta." Right. Explain. A nice little lecture to shift modes or gears or whatever. Just what the doctor ordered. Whoever he was. "Its like being a chef. Once you do enough recipes long enough, you get to know what everything smells like. After awhile, you walk into any kitchen and it just isn't hard to figure out what everyone had for dinner the night before."

Dawn nodded. "So would it feel like halfway between an itch and a case of deja vu?"

"Yeah, that's it exactly!" Willow stopped. "Exactly," she repeated, suddenly suspicious about the exactness of Dawn's description.

"So," Dawn asked before Willow could say anything, "who's asking for help?" She pointed to the TV. screen with eyes grown wider with innocence.

"Hard to say," answered Willow, wondering what she'd just stumbled across. "My guess is some non-human entity reached out and tried to deliver a message to Buffy."

"Maybe." It could be a kind of trap, after all. Some of the enemies the Scoobies had fought over the years were clever enough to pull something like this. Pretend to be under attack, lure the Slayer to what they hoped would be her doom. Could be. Then again, maybe it was genuine.

The doorbell rang. Willow and Dawn both jumped. "Miss Calendar said she was coming over here," said Willow.

"Uh..." Willow hated ambiguous situations like this. What she wanted was some kind of clue to at least let her come up with a theory. As it was, this might really be Jenny Calendar, needing their help for all she knew. If it was, they had to give it. But then, a glamour to pretend to be her wouldn't be all that hard. Reluctantly, Willow focused, ready to wield her own powers one way or another. It took her all of a few seconds – the time to cross the living room and get to the front door – to quickly review several barrier and holding spells that should be able to contain anything for at least a few moments. Problem was, she was still weak from her attack by Gnarl.

Dawn, she was pleased to see, had decided to take no chances. Going to the closet, she'd grabbed a sword. Good. Hopefully, they were being over-cautious.

Through the peephole Willow saw – Jenny. Exactly as she should look, just a few years older but no less beautiful. With a worried expression on her face. Slowly, Willow opened the door.

"Willow," Jenny began as she simply walked into the foyer, "what's the moon tonight?"

Jenny very nearly flinched. In fact, the answer seemed to bother her rather a lot. Then she began to stare at the furniture for some reason. "Oh god," she breathed. "Here, too."

"My apartment – everything suddenly changed. And my car was gone. The moon is a quarter moon, when earlier this evening it was new. Then, there's this place. All the furnishings, they're just wrong." Now her gaze fixed on Dawn. "And since when has Faith's little sister started streaking her hair?"

Okay. Willow blinked. Hard. She looked at Dawn. They blinked together. Not quite so hard this time. After a few more moments, Willow found her voice. "Before we get around to answering your questions, we've got a few of our own."

The ex-high school computer teacher (well, ex-pretty much everything, really) did a take. Pulling back her head for a couple of millimeters, she answered in something like a monotone. "I am her Watcher, after all."

"I...was." Jenny was staring at them both now, and clearly noticing the sword in Dawn's hand as well as the wary expressions of both their faces.

"Cause, ya'know..." Dawn continued "...we thought you kinda weren't. We all were pretty sure you were..." she didn't quite finish.

Jenny took this rather well, all things considered. She didn't move. Didn't say anything. Soon they both realized she wasn't blinking or breathing, either. For nearly ten whole seconds. After ten whole seconds she finally did speak. She said "Oh."

Another pack of vampires attacked while Buffy and Xander (or "Alex" as their guest insisted on calling him) were giving SlayerTara a breakdown on how their reality worked. This particular pack numbered about six, but still didn't last long. Not with two Slayers waiting to turn them all into clouds of pooffiness. Xander hardly had to do anything. The whole fight took less than five minutes.

Buffy noted that SlayerTara's fighting style was different from her own. Oh, she had a lot of the same moves, the same basic strategies, but lots of little nuances were different. Had to admit, she was better at simply not getting hit. Avoiding blows altogether was a skill she'd clearly mastered even more than Buffy had, whose own style included more movement – leaping, for instance. Tara had nothing against jumping up with her superhuman strength, especially to gain an advantage. But it was interesting how she seemed to prefer to fight from below. In the corner of her mind, Buffy could see some advantages. While Buffy herself often let vamps get carried away in anger and frustration, until their instincts made them reckless, Tara evidently liked to let them think they were winning. She didn't show off her full strength, but used no more than was needed. Two of her three kills looked as if they'd been about to kill her when both suddenly turned into dust bunnies.

"Agreed," said Tara. "What's more, I think one of the guys you got was some one I already killed last week."

"Uh-huh," noted Xander. "Put that together with the weird two-minute blizzard earlier today, and I think we have proof positive reality tired and gone on a vacation."

"Or been drugged," said Buffy. "I think we need to go get into research mode. Sorry, Xander."

He sighed, then waved his forgiveness. Tara giggled. "You're certainly like Alex."

"Just to get some details right," Tara continued, "in this reality, you – Buffy of all people – are the Slayer."

"Alex is called Xander for some reason. Giles is, or was, your Watcher." She shook her head at that one. In disbelief? Buffy was frankly afraid to ask what Tara's Watcher's name might be. "Harmony evidently has your life, there's another Slayer out there named Faith somewhere..."

Tara ploughed on. "You have a sister named Dawn, instead of a brother named Connor, who is – or was – the Key. But you died, and came back?"

"Spike?" Tara's eyebrows shot up. "Back in high school he was the Master's favorite. Came after my mother, tried to frame Drusilla. Then went gunning – literally – for me. Drusilla staked him."

Buffy tried not to twitch at this news, and failed. Okay, it made sense. In a twisted, deeply weird way this Tara's story made plenty of sense. Still, it deserved at least a little twitching.

"I suppose as much as our lives are to you," offered Buffy, trying to be mature. "What about the Nerds of Doom? Did you have to face them last year?"

"Last year? No, actually there was this witch named Amy – trapped a demon and used its poison to get everyone to start hallucinating about a world where all our deepest desires came true." Tara shivered. "Creepy. Pretty soon we were all trying to kill each other. Meanwhile, Amy went around sucking the magic out of nearly every magic-user in Sunnydale. Tried to open the Hellmouth, the stupid cow. Thought it wouldn't eat her." She shook her head.

"What happened to her? In the end, I mean?" Buffy found this version of events almost cheerful compared to her own. Yet familiar. Again, with the making sense given the circumstances.

"Burned herself out, pretty much," said Tara. "And then got infected with the same poison she'd used on us. These days she's in a rubber room, screaming about how she's really a movie star."

"Gee, Xand, didn't know you liked Amy that much." Buffy guessed that was the reason for for his expression.

"You've mentioned that name before," noted Tara. "But she evidently doesn't exist in my reality."

"Because you were lovers," said Buffy simply. "True love, happily ever after, great passion of your lives lovers – and last year, our Tara was killed. Murdered. Right in front of Willow's eyes."

"She..." continued Xander "...went crazy. Really crazy. Which, by the way, was totally not something she could control. I mean, it must have been the worst thing in the world for her. She couldn't handle it. Well, who could?"

"Willow was more than just a little crazy," Buffy said. "She went out of her mind with grief. Turned homicidal. Flayed the guy who killed our...that is, her...Tara. Then went on a suicidal rampage where she tried to destroy everyone and everything – as in, the entire world. Without Tara, she just didn't care. Didn't want to care."

"In fact, she nearly did destroy the world..." began Xander but Buffy cut him off. She understood his pride at having stopped Willow, but this wasn't the time. Xander himself backed down, shame-faced.

"You see," Buffy went on, "our Willow is an extremely powerful witch. Too powerful. And when she saw Tara murdered, right in front of her, she just allowed all the darkest kinds of magic inside. Xander's right – she couldn't handle the pain."

Tara nodded. She'd been listening to every word they'd said, clearly absorbing it with the same earnestness and sympathy Buffy had learned to expect from their Tara. SlayerTara seemed to get it just as intuitively as her counterpart. "And if Willow sees me, it'll be like ripping open a wound in her heart, then pouring a cup of salt."

"Exactly," said Buffy. "Plus she still has all those powers. According to her, she'll have them as long as she lives. We can't run the risk."

"Besides," said the Slayer version of Tara, "you don't want to put her through any more pain."

Jenny Calendar shook her head. Sitting on the sofa, answering Dawn's questions, she reacted better to this situation than Willow herself was doing. An eye of calm in a tiny hurricane of wigging out.

"Sorry, not her either." And she did seem sorry. "But I might have figured out something of what's going on. Maybe. Willow – do you remember performing a magic spell with Anya back in high school? This was right after Cordelia broke up with Xander – and a side effect of the spell was to bring..."

Willow nodded vigorously, interrupting. "A vampire version of myself into this reality."

She couldn't help it. Willow felt herself twitch. "We get lots of them around here. Lots and lots. It being all Hellmouthy and all."

"I think," continued Jenny after a moment or two, "something like that has happened here. Or, more accurately, in this instance because here is clearly not the Sunnydale I call home. From what you've said, might I assume your Hellmouth doesn't attract packs of werewolves?"

"One wonders why a Slayer would end up here then," commented Jenny. "But that simply confirms it. Where I come from Dawn is Faith's sister, not this Buffy girl's, and I am her watcher."

"Traditionally, each Slayer does have only one watcher, yes. Is it different here?"

"Cause, around here," noted Dawn, "Buffy was technically dead for a little bit once. Or twice. But that's how Faith got to be a slayer. She was called when Buffy...needed CPR."

"I see. That would make sense." Jenny considered this. Again, Willow thought she was handling this situation very well. No need to bother her with messy details like her own murder, right? Although she was tempted to ask about Giles, and Oz, and... But that would logically lead to giving this Jenny the news about her own doppelganger. True, she seemed to be dealing quite well, but why push it?

Part of Willow said nothing, heard nothing, didn't even think anything. The surface part. Inside, she screamed. A thousand tiny flashes of memory – golden hair, a half-smile gloriously naughty, those eyes where Willow loved to bask, and kisses – all kinds of kisses – from little pecks on the cheek or ear, to furtive sacraments before anyone else knew – hungry kisses, playful kisses, slow kisses, fast kisses, showers of tiny kisses along a wrist or spine, worshipful kisses in a circle around the face. Countless. Too many to remember, though Willow often tried. And far, far few than should have been.

"Something's wrong," Jenny said in the silence. Dimly, Willow realized both Jenny and Dawn were looking at her. "Is Tara still a rat?"

"That...that was Amy," Willow managed to say. "Tara...our Tara...she's gone. Dead."

"Oh, I am sorry," said Jenny, then did a little take. Her eyes were more penetrating that Willow remembered. "I know you and Tara were close..." she began, then stopped. Willow had no idea what she did, but whatever it was registered something to Jenny. "You were more than close."

"Tara and Willow loved each other." Dawn said it. She said it well. The words were exact, accurate, without the slightest ambiguity. More, Dawn's voice had all the gravity she could muster. Oh god, it wasn't enough, not by half.

"She was my life." Even Willow barely heard herself. But then, a suspicion came to mind. One that hurt. "But where you come from – she and I aren't together?"

Wow, thought Willow in some corner of her mind. Deja vu. Years before, Jenny had had to confess her true identity to Giles. Her face had been the same mask as she was donning now – taking on a task unwanted in any way but much-needed. So Willow already had her answer.

"You and Tara are friends, certainly. Have been since high school. You're even roommates in college."

"But that's all." Not together, even in another whole reality where the Warren never...where Tara walked and breathed and read and laughed the way she should.

"My Willow..." began Jenny, stumbling a bit "...she has a boyfriend. Or had, until recently."

Another long silence. Jenny finally gave an awkward cough. "If we don't have Tara, is there anyone else you know who can perform magic? Xander tried some things once, I know, and they all seemed to work. Did he continue those studies in this world?"

Or maybe it was just a kind of weird reflection thing-y, because the very next instant Willow was saying "Xander?" in precisely the same surprised tone. And she felt herself blinking.

Jenny meanwhile looked surprised. "Yes, Faith's very proud. Actually, Willow, you're a major reason he won that scholarship. Well, that and the whole Halloween costume debacle with Ethan Rayne. Did that happen here?"

"Oh. You see, in my world, Xander found some white clothes and bought a stethoscope to complete his costume. And when the magic began, he became..."

Jenny shrugged. "He liked being a doctor. And he remembered a surprising amount of medical knowledge. In between that, and Willow's tutoring, plus his relationship with Faith, the boy just bloomed."

Willow could see the scenario of events too well. In high school, she'd only had eyes for Xander. She'd have hardly noticed someone as shy as Tara, or at least not noticed her in any romantic way. If Xander and the Slayer had become a couple, Willow would have buried herself in studies to deal with the pain. Once Oz came along, she would never have looked at anyone else. Evidently, either Oz wasn't a werewolf where this Jenny came from or that bitch Veruca had gotten slain by Faith. Or maybe she never even existed. Instead of Amy, Tara had turned herself into a rat, so years and years went by without any chance for Willow to really know her. Happiness beyond measure only inches away, but never seen. Tears began to well up. She beat them down with her will. It was getting to be more than a habit. By now, she had started thinking of it as a skill.

"A witch named Amy turned her back. Started hanging around the White Hats in college. I think maybe she had a thing for Xander. Anyway, she's in an asylum now, after being victimized by Glory. What's wrong?" This last was at Willow.

Jenny considered this. "Then, you're the one best suited for finding out how I got here."

"Actually," said Willow, "I don't think its just you. Really weird stuff has been going on all day, even weird for Sunnydale. Its as if..." she thought for a moment "...as if the universe was a deck of cards and somebody is starting to shuffle it."

"We need to find out who's doing that." Jenny was right. "Is there any kind of spell you can think of to do that?"

Ringing. Willow and Dawn looked at each other. By the third ring, Dawn was headed for the phone. "With any luck," she said "it'll be an alternate version of me who already took next week's psychology exam."

The Coven stared at their captive. Or, more accurately, one stared while the other two pretended and covertly observed their leader.

"Was it too much to ask," she hissed, voice low, "that you actually say the words of the spell correctly. After all," she waved a sheet of paper in the air "it was written down for you! How hard could it be? Honestly!"

The quiet witch just put her face in her hands and stepped back. Oh yeah. This was gonna get real ugly.

"Hard?" The eldest witch repeated the word so gently they could barely hear it. Sure enough, both of them cringed. Yep. Ugly. Beyond all description. "Exactly which words were hard? No, really – I want to know. I really, really do."

The quietest of the three witches started checking her pockets. She was all but positive some aspirin was in here somewhere.

Eureka! Better than aspirin – she found an old pair of earplugs. Slipping them into place, the quiet witch sat on the floor and closed her eyes, trying to pretend they were anywhere but here. None of these plans for achieving vast mystical power had ever worked before. Why did she keep letting herself get talked into yet another try? Especially when a perfectly nice demon kept proposing? Okay, child brides of demon lords rarely had what you'd call a good marriage, but she was far from a child. More importantly, she was sick and tired of the nonsense. Even worse than the botched schemes, was the bickering! Yeah, once this little plan blows up I'm out of here. Get me a nice little nest, raise some hellspawn of my own. The in-laws will be kinda a pain, harping about her human origins, but into every life some rain must fall, right? Better than this constant hurricane, she thought, eyeing the other two pointing fingers and screeching.

Xander put the phone down. He looked at them, seated on the sofa of his front room, and announced "Willow is going to do a scrying spell."

SlayerTara tilted her head slightly. She looked at the two of them almost sideways. "Gotta admit – you've got me curious about this Willow character. Is she cute?"

Most people tilted their head to the side. Buffy had noticed Tara tended to tilt hers upward, just as this version of Tara did. "Beautiful?"

"Wait a minute," Buffy couldn't let this go further. "Okay, yeah, Willow is a babe. Some self-esteem issues get in the way of that, but babe she is."

"Red hair," said Xander, "sparkling green eyes, thin but still a nice figure..."

Buffy looked at her counterpart. "No way I'm going to let you meet Willow. She's still so fragile she accidentally made herself invisible when she came back from England. I know for a fact she sometimes cries herself to sleep at night."

That seemed a really weird question. "The usual way," she answered. "You sob, your eyes get extra wet. Is it different in your world?"

Of course now Xander was asking himself the same question. Buffy could see it in his face. "Because we live in the same house, and she's been my best friend for years, plus sometimes I do get up in the middle of the night. Slayer hours make you get by with less sleep. Listen, I know what Willow sounds like when she cries and believe me, I've heard it coming from her bedroom. Okay? Satisfied? If she sees you, its gonna hurt. Then you're going to leave, providing we can get you back to that weirdorama world you come from. And when you do..."

"It'll be like losing her soul-mate twice." She got it. Tara's face said it all.

"As soon as they know something," noted Xander. "Then, we make a plan. Meanwhile," he picked up the remote and switched on the television. "Might as well relax, and I can make us some popcorn if you like? Assuming, Tara, you like popcorn? Or even have it in your neck of the woods?" That's when he noticed the news broadcast.

"...in what experts are calling a fairly remarkable example of mass hallucination. Again, Sunnydale citizens are urged to avoid the area of Bronze until local law enforcement can deal with what is being called quote, One of the worst gangs of violent angel-dust addicts this officer has ever seen, end-quote."

Xander shut it off and picked up his axe in one smooth movement. Experience, it shows. Buffy and SlayerTara were already standing.

"I'll call Willow when we're done," Xander offered. "See if she has any news for us."

The water in the bowl began to glow. Willow began to stir with the oak leaf, and images began to appear on the surface. "For that the world has split in twain," she intoned "show us the eye of this hurricane."

Personally, Dawn thought it a fairly weak couplet but Willow was under a lot of stress. So – not starting with the literary critique. Besides, as the water slowly stopped swirling, the glow coalesced into an image. One she easily recognized.

Jenny gave her a pleased look. Eager to get home, probably. Too bad. It was nice to have her around again. "You know where that is?"

Willow stood up, wincing just a little. Her cuts, probably. Not yet healed. "I'd better call Buffy and Xander."

"Just...tired." She broke into a deliberate smile. "Hey – the spell! It worked! Probably wouldn't if things around here were normal, or normal for Sunnydale, anyway. I'd...I'd better make that call." She headed for the phone in the living room.

"We'll just clean up here, okay?" Dawn called after her. No answer. Which only added to the worry in Jenny's face. "She'll be okay. Really."

"Dawn – my Willow...she's very unhappy right now. Oz, her boyfriend, became a werewolf. Then he cheated on her, with another werewolf. Finally, after trying to fight the change, he went and joined a pack. Faith had to slay him, because by then he'd become all beast. She's very desperately sad and lonely and depressed."

"I'm...sorry to hear that?" Dawn didn't know what else to say. For a moment she wondered if her alternate was some kind of protégé when it came to therapy or counseling – which would be cool, if weird. Except Dawn herself wasn't, so that wouldn't really be of much help.

"My point is – my Willow is a giggling cheerleader compared to yours. What's wrong?"

Taking a quick look to make sure Willow couldn't hear, Dawn answered in a low voice. "Kinda the same. Only actually different. Our Willow and our Tara, they had the kind of love that people write sonnets and stuff about. Really joined at the hip, happily ever after, soul-mate forever time. Willow's heart was ripped into tiny pieces when Tara died. She's still putting them back together. Slowly. Very slowly."

Jenny took all this in pretty well. Dawn had had to put up with some bad reactions every now and then from classmates or teachers before now. As a result there were words she once had only disliked but now despised. "Dyke" was one of them. Coming as it did sometimes with no warning, she'd developed her own sensor system, looking for the tell-tale signs. The face closing down. Eyes turning hard. Mouth getting a prim little curve of self-righteous disapproval. Jenny's reaction was the far more friendly Oh-I-Didn't-Know-That-Blink.

"I think," Jenny answered after a moment, her voice also low, "my Willow didn't have quite so much of an emotional investment with Oz."

"No. He was a werewolf, but not like yours, I don't think. He left because he just couldn't take being one anymore. Went looking for a cure. Came back with one, but by then Willow was with Tara, so..." she trailed off. It wasn't like there was a lot more to be said. Personally, Dawn had always liked Oz, thinking him cool in nearly every way. She'd been sorry to see the usually-unflappable musician go, not once but twice. Yet wishing Willow not to have found Tara just wasn't in the cards. "Willow...when Tara was here, her eyes were a lot brighter. And she smiled more. For awhile there, she had this magic problem, using spells in all the wrong ways. Almost like an addiction. Willow only got better because she knew that was the way to get Tara back. You could see it in her face."

At exactly that moment, Willow came back from the front room. She looked worn, but resolved. "No answer at Xander’s."

"Not while waiting to hear from me. They wouldn't do that." Which made sense, unfortunately. "So where would they go?"

For nearly a whole half minute no one said anything. Then the alternate version of Jenny spoke. "The news."

"No! I mean – lets' check the news and see if there was anything they'd be responding to."

"Okay, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say this is bad." Xander cast a sidelong glance at the two Slayers beside him. All three were in a crawlspace above the stage area of the Bronze. Xander had had some trouble climbing up, but two super-humanly powerful ladies to give aid did wonders for their progress. Now all three were in the shadows, watching the battle below unseen.

The wall literally shook as a vampire impacted into it, tossed with almost negligent power. He even left a dent in the bricks. Not that it made much difference. By now the walls sported at least a dozen such indentations, as did the floor. The vampire simply shook himself and went back to the fray. By now the many minions of the two ancient ones had been simply reduced to so much dust scattered around the room. Dozens of people lay hurt of bleeding. Most had fled at the earliest opportunity. A small minority still cowered, trying to somehow become invisible amid the carnage.

Kakistos lashed out with one hooved hand, catching the Master across the face with little enough trouble. It staggered the deformed creature, but hardly slowed him down. A backhanded swipe of a claw struck Kakistos with similar effect. Soon blows were falling with almost too much speed for Xander to follow.

"The one with the hooves is Kakistos," answered SlayerTara. "He the one who tried to open the Hellmouth my first year here in Sunnydale."

"Huh." Xander nearly said as much himself. He found the version of reality this Tara came from interesting, but also terribly disturbing. And was quite pleased at having so far avoided learning any more details than his twin – other than his being called Alex. With his luck, the possibilities for disaster and/or humiliation loomed large. High on the list was learning he and Larry were more than just pals. "In our world," he explained, "it was the other one who did that. Or tried to."

Xander had never seen Kakistos himself, only learning afterwards of just how powerful a vampire he'd proven. Extremely, as it turned out. As in Faith or Buffy alone had been not near enough. It had taken both of them acting in unison to take out Kakistos the first time. And that had been without another super-dooper nosferatu eager to duke it out.

Weirdly, he couldn't quite decide which of them was actually uglier. Captain Hoof-Hands was certainly unpleasing to the eye, and he had a scary amount of bulk to him as well. At the same time, he didn't look as withered as the Master, with his pointed ears and genuine snout.

"And while my heart is in it," he continued, "I don't think I've got enough of the combat chops to qualify as an edge."

Silence. Buffy blinking. Then staring at Tara. "I...don't want to think about that right now. Besides, we can't really count on that happening. Can we?"

Down on the floor, both bigass vampires had begun to growl as they beat at each other. Xander, while genuinely frightened of the whole display of inhuman rage thing going on, was also glad neither had yet noticed their presence. Instead, the two supervamps had grown tired of using their fists (or, in one case, hooves). Grabbing pieces of quickly broken furniture, they'd begun using these as weapons. It really shouldn't have surprised Xander to learn neither one had any trouble tossing around tables. Yet it did. More surprising – and disturbing – was their ability to simply absorb such punishment while barely slowing down. Furniture shattered against either one of them. Time after time. It was, in Xander's opinion, grossly unfair.

The battle was so fast and savage Xander almost didn't notice when things changed. Buffy and Tara, however, both stiffened suddenly.

In the Master's hands was a wooden leg. And not just any leg. This one went not to a chair but to a pool table, now broken under the impact of Kakistos landing on it. Snarling, the Master had wrenched the leg free, breaking one end in the process.

Lifting it high, the Master drove his wooden weapon with all his might directly into the other vampire's chest. It lodged halfway through before Kakistos' hooved hands managed to grasp the makeshift stake. He even managed to survive, preventing any further penetration

It still took nearly a minute for him to push the stake all the way through Kakistos, turning him into first a skeleton, then a quickly dissipating cloud of dust.

"There's a word for vampires that tough," murmured Xander, as the Master growled in triumph.

"I was gonna go with Kryptonian, but you're the experts." He looked down. "Just one of them now. That enough of an edge?"

The two of them leapt down, landing on the stage with perfectly timed thumps. The Master turned around, his fanged mouth still snarling, golden eyes still feral.

"Hi!" said Buffy. "Long time no see. Missed you. Actually, that's a lie – I didn't miss you. Not then," she pulled out Mr. Pointy, her favorite stake, "and not now."

But the Master's reaction was hardly what Xander expected. By now he was able to follow the scene of battle, even while scrambling down the ladder from the crawlspace onto the stage floor. Like now. And from the way the Master straightened up, gazing coolly at the two armed young women across and above him, he was anything but impressed.

"I don't know you," he said simply. "Either of you. But I admire courage. It has its uses." He began walking – no hurry, just a steady, unafraid pace – in the direction of the stage. "Perhaps you may have your uses."

"Yeah," added Xander, reaching the floor and stepping into the light. "You tell him!"

The Master instantly stopped. His eyes grew wide, and his lips curled in anger. Now his voice hissed. "Ssssslayerrrrrr."

Xander gulped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buffy and Tara looking at him, then at the Master, then at him again.

Slowly, deliberately, the Master turned all his attention to Xander. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time, Slayer."

"Okay, okay" the prettiest of the three tried pacing. Then she stopped and shook her hands for a few moments. "What do you do?"

The eldest witch had already grabbed the quiet one. "Get those out!" she shrieked. Obediently, her sister removed the earplugs and rolled her eyes. "There was a scrying spell...!"

"Yeah. I know. I felt it." She made no move, but looked up from the floor, where she was comfortably seated. "And you've got a plan, I'll bet." From her voice, it was crystal clear she dreaded hearing it.

"Whoever's casting the spell can't be very far from here." The eldest was at her most insistent. It was at times like this she was able to talk them into anything. And had. "By combining our powers we can bring them here."

"Are you crazy?" The pretty one whined. "What if they're more powerful than us?"

"Combined? All our powers combined?" She had a point. Few and far between were the witches more powerful than when this coven really focused itself. In fact, all they needed was a few strong doses of competence to make them mistresses of all around them. The quiet witch sighed.

All three joined hands. They took three deep breaths, in unison, then began to chant.

"We three refuse gather, wise and strong To refuse the siren call of fear, Let our foes who seek us out Hide no more but now appear!"

"It can take a few seconds to work, I guess," muttered the quiet witch, fleetingly thinking of the demon who had proposed last week. Before her sister had come up with the latest scheme for universe-spanning power.

As it happened, they didn't have long to wait. Swirling a few feet away from them was a cloud of blue sparkles, becoming larger and brighter like a twister. Not that there was any wind involved, but it looked like some kind of mystical tornado, and sure enough three figures soon appeared right in the center.

As the sparkles faded, they got a look at the arrivals. One was a teenager – tall, thin, with blue eyes and a few blonde streaks in her dark hair. The second was in her twenties. She had short dark hair, a sharply intelligent face and dressed like a businesswoman, or maybe a teacher. But the third...!

The third had red hair an inch or so past her collar. She wore a peasant blouse over a brown leather jacket and stared at the three witches with green eyes that looked anything but happy – or powerless. All three of the sisters could feel mystic might radiating off of her body.

Obediently, the quiet witch made a magical gesture. Her reward was to see the teenager and businesswoman come to a complete preternatural halt – not moving, not blinking, not even breathing. For now, they were completely outside of time.

Not so the redhead. It hadn't worked on her. Damn. That meant her powers were such that... oh hell. It just didn't bear thinking about. Except now she had to. Damn, damn, damn, damn.

The redhead lifting one hand in a claw-like gesture. Her eyes went totally black. All three witches flinched. Then the redhead spoke one word.

A mystic envelope instantly surrounded the three, like a bubble of glue or maybe plastic. Certainly every sound was now muffled, every movement slowed. The quiet witch saw the redhead's two friends suddenly unfreeze, which made perfect sense. This was a mystic barrier, right? It was bound to contain spells and such, which meant any attempt to use her own powers again would send them rebounding back. Great. Just great. This is it, she thought to herself. No more listening to hare-brained plans from either one of her sisters. Pazzuzu wanted her as his queen – she was ready to try on a tiara! Besides, she liked men who were tall and dark. Pazzuzu certainly fell under that description, and the she was sure getting around those wings wouldn't prove any great problems. Okay, she'd have to give up being on top. Small price to pay! Besides, the guy's tongue was a foot long! Why had she even hesitated?

All three of the ones who'd appeared were now staring at them through the mystical barrier. Of course the other two were struggling, and it was doing them no good at all. The redhead's eyes were back to normal, but her face showed plenty of resolve. Oh yeah, she was powerful. More powerful than all three of them combined. Great. Just great.

The Master's golden eyes focused on Xander. All of a sudden, those yellow orbs were the only thing visible. Nothing else was important.

"Come to me." The eyes spoke. Xander relaxed and took a step forward. He had to. After all, the eyes told him what to do and its not like he was going to disobey them, right? Who was he to disobey? He felt all those nagging doubts and personal desires just melt away...

Xander shook himself. Then he shook himself again. Blinking, he saw a collapsed skeleton in a pile of familiar-looking dust a few feet away. Tara and Buffy, stakes in hand were on either side of it.

"I can't believe how many times I gotta kill this guy," muttered Buffy. "Talk about your bad pennies."

"Which means we gotta pound those bones into powder. Trust me." Buffy looked up at Xander. "You okay?"

"Oh just great," he answered with a sigh, "just got turned into another man-bitch by some undead monster who thinks I'm good slave material. Does wonders for the self-esteem, let me tell'ya."

"Could be worse," said the slayer version of Tara. "My Alexander had the worse dating history imaginable. There was the life-sucking Mummy girl. And the were-mantis substitute teacher. At one point he tried to impress a girl by joining the swim team. Turned out the coach was experimenting on the students, turning them into creatures from the black lagoon. He actually took a Vengeance demon to the prom, can you believe it?"

Dawn stared at the three women encased in Willow's mystic bubble. "This one looks like Allysa Milano," she noted.

"Uh...guys?" Willow had gone to the far end of the room, having seen something that looked like it didn't belong. Once close to it, she become more convinced of that fact. "You'd better take a look at this."

Both were soon by her side, gazing at an object that fairly screamed supernatural at them. It was the color of wood, but inlaid with dozens if not hundreds of tiny glowing runes in nearly every color. More, it was the shape of an egg, but big enough to hatch a small motorcycle. Worse, it was swaying.

"Okay," Dawn said, trying to sound brave, and doing a better job than she thought.

Less than a minute later, all the writing had faded, and the swaying of the object had given way to full-bore rolling, and bucking even. Cracks appeared, with blue light pouring out into the room. From within the thing, something like kicking could be heard.

"Get behind me," said Willow. They did, which was difficult because Willow actually wasn't the widest or tallest of them. On the other hand, that made it easier for them to watch what was happening.

At last the egglike thing split nearly in half. Small shards flew off in every direction, but not enough to hurt anyone. From the center of it all, a figure in blue stood up.

Wings. Blue and gray wings spread out, nearly fifteen feet on either side. The figure, infused with blue light (kinda like an overexposure, Willow thought) turned to the three of them. A long gown was visible – several shades of blue in an elaborate and shimmering pattern. Visible too was braided hair reaching mid-chest.

With that, the light dimmed and the figure became perfectly recognizable. Willow's jaw dropped, which was probably rude but she couldn't help it.

"Okay..." Willow shook her head, "this is just getting too, too weird! First the weather starts doing just whatever the hell it wants, then Jenny comes back talking about how she's Faith's watcher – oh, and Faith's a Werewolf Slayer according to her – plus we get teleported by three refugees from old TV. shows, who're guarding a egg that contains an angel of all things...!"

"First things first, though." Anya stepped forward and pointed her finger. The three witches in Willow's bubble vanished in flash of blue light. "They didn't belong here. Now they're back home – and unless I miss my guess Piper is about to leave her sisters to get married. About time, too. Chicks need to leave the nest, you know?"

"But I promised an explanation!" Anya nodded. "Here're goes. Those three witches got the bright idea of capturing an angel – yours truly – in order to harness my powers and take over a hell dimension of their very own. Not being nearly as careful as they believed themselves to be, instead of sucking my powers dry, they ruptured a tiny hole between realities. Yes, Dawn?"

"Hard to believe, huh? That's because you only know the insecure version of me that got recruited by that Vengeance Pimp D'Hoffryn. Different realities, different events. In fact that's what makes different realities exist."

"And you won't. No offense, but you simply lack the mental capacity to understand." Yep, she was Anya all right. Jenny's raised eyebrow at this point was one Willow had seen on many faces mid-conversation with Xander's ex.

"Not infinite," corrected Anya. "Just...well, lots. There's a complex mathematical reason for it, but it involves factors human beings are just incapable of grasping at this point in their evolution. If you get reincarnated in a couple of million years, the answer should seem pretty obvious by then." She looked around at everyone. "Are we through with the footnote? May I continue?"

"Right," the angel proceeded. "So, I was able to nudge my captors – and not incidentally myself – into a reality where I was pretty sure to get some help. Then, I managed to send out a mystic SOS to your house" she pointed and then...viola! I think my plan worked rather well, don't you?" She smiled, obviously pleased with herself.

"Um...were you planning on returning reality to what it was anytime soon?" asked Jenny.

"Of course! I'm a Temporal Seraphim – we're in charge of maintaining the proper ebb and flow of the interdimenional ether! Give me a couple of seconds and I'll put everything to rights."

"...then...I have a request." She paused, frankly terrified of asking. It was so huge what she wanted. And she wanted it so much, with a desire that actually hurt. What if this version of Anya said...

"I know what you were about to ask. And give you credit – that detail would have been near perfect for your goal. One little change, a perfectly logical one that could be easily explained, and just about every dream you could desire would come true. I almost wish I could grant it."

"I'm not allowed to do that kind of thing. Sure, I could easily have Warren forget to load his gun that day. Tara would still be alive. You yourself would be untainted by the darkest magicks. Even Warren, for that matter, would still be alive and in prison somewhere, becoming the wife of a tattooed arsonist named Cyclops. But while I can do that, I may not." Anya the angel approached Willow, looking into her eyes. As an angel, her eyes were startling – full of whole galaxies.

"Listen to me, Willow. Life continues after physical death. We walk and we breath and we act to temper our souls, turning them into richer and more wonderful versions of what they were. Thus, across the countless eons, we grow wiser. Here's a bit of wisdom for you – Tara still exists. Just not here. One day, you two will meet again. And again. And yet again. Meanwhile, you need to live your life, to ready yourself for the next meeting."

With that Anya took a step back, and unfolded her wings to their full width. She began to glow again. "Oh," she said, her voice echoing from far away, "and don't expect to spend the next fifty years celibate. Not in the cards. Trust me."

Richard Wilkins III happily brought a tray of hot chocolate into the dining room. His daughter Faith and her Watcher were deep in conversation. Listening to the side was Willow Rosenberg, dressed as usual in the frumpiest and most shapeless clothes she could find.

"I'm not sure," replied Jenny, "instead they had their fair share of vampires. Lots and lots of vampires."

"So," Willow asked quietly, "do I still have Oz there?" The sadness in her voice nearly broke Richard's heart. The poor girl had gone through so much.

Jenny hesitated. "No," she said at last. "But their werewolves were evidently different. Not so insane, especially when the moon isn't full. And Willow, you found someone else, that much I know."

From Willow's expression, Richard could tell how much she doubted that. Poor dear. Hope is a habit, he kept telling her. One that needs cultivating.

"Well, nice to have you back, Miss Calendar!" he said, serving the chocolate. "Even if it was for only a few hours! And I must say the news you bring is just ablaze with possibilities, you know? For example, I think it bodes very well that our Willow here wasn't alone in this other Sunnydale." He beamed at her, managing to get the slightest trace of a grin in return. Lot of work ahead to bring that smile back. Not that he minded. A job worth doing was a job worth taking time at. "Although the notion of my Faith in trouble with the law does stress credulity!"

"You said it, Dad!" Faith toasted her chocolate at the painting he'd insisting on putting above the mantelpiece – the one of Faith in her Girl Scout Uniform, dozens of merit badges worn proudly.

She headed for the front hall, returning a moment later with a guest. "I think you know everyone."

Tara Maclay looked exhausted. She'd lost weight, which was a shame because she was actually a healthily full-figured girl most of the time. "Tara! You're just in time for some hot chocolate." He made a fuss of pouring her a cup. "As you know, scientists have determined that chocolate contains the same chemical ingredients as happiness. Which makes me wonder why anybody would bother buying antidepressants!" He chuckled and was rewarded with the smile in his daughter's eyes. She'd heard that joke a thousand times but she pretended not to for the sake of her old man. Golly, but he was a lucky fellow!

Jenny was seating Tara next to Willow. "We all know that Mayor Snyder is up to something," she was saying, "something mystical in nature. I was hoping Tara could be of some help."

"I'm sure she can," Richard handed her a cup of hot chocolate. Doing so, he noticed how both Tara and Willow shot a look at each other for the briefest of moments. He'd seen that kind of look before. That look was a seed, which with a little bit of watering could become a bud, then a shoot, then maybe even a bloom. The best kind of bloom.

"For the record, Tara," he said, "I want you to know just how welcome you are in my house." Then he winked. "Here, at least, you won't be alone. I promise."

Okay, that was enough for now. Best not to rush things. And as he caught a glance at Jenny Calendar, watching the two of them fairly covertly, he had an idea who this other Willow had found in the alternate Sunnydale.

Harmony felt like she was explaining what had happened for the hundredth time. She sighed. It wasn't that Tara was slow or anything. But being the Slayer took a lot of her concentration, so much it got in the way of...well, anything academic.

"It was some kind of portal between realities," Harmony repeated. Tara simply continued pace back and forth on the Maclay porch. "Drusilla got sucked in, along with some friends of hers, and they brought back this girl who's been stuck there for years."

"Ethan wasn't going into a whole lot of details," she replied, "but from what I gather it was a fairly low-grade hell dimension. Nice enough place, except for all the demons who enslave the humans – and not all the demons are that bad."

"Nope. Not really. Why, did you think maybe this was that other reality you got pulled into last week?"

Harmony blinked. "You've really had your thoughts on that place a lot. Was it all that much better?"

"Not better," Tara shook her head. "For one thing, I wasn't the Slayer. Oh, and I was dead."

"You have no idea. From what I can gather, your entire life was a carbon copy of Buffy Summers."

At that, Harmony's jaw dropped. Buffy Summers? The vapid tramp who'd made her life hell from sixth grade? The twit who got herself turned into a vampire and then proved just how incompetent a vampire could be? Buffy Summers – chief minion of the Nerd Squad trying to take over Sunnydale? "That's...just..."

"To say the least." Harmony could feel a headache coming on. She took off her glasses and quietly wiped them clean. "Uh...so...Ethan said he was bringing this girl back to Sunnydale. Its where she's from evidently."

"That sounds horrible. What about her family? I'm sure she could use some genuine care, if what you're saying is right."

"Right," she agreed. "But Ethan also said she's extremely bright. Brilliant, even."

Five minutes later, Ethan Rayne's car pulled up. Tara and Harmony stepped down to meet him, but he waved them off. Instead, he gingerly opened the passenger side door and helped out a girl. She was thin, with long red hair and bright green eyes. Harmony heard a tiny gasp and looked to Tara beside her.

"She's...so..." the slayer whispered "...beautiful." From the way Tara said that last word, Harmony suspected she could go on for maybe hours on that subject. But then, Tara was a deeply passionate person. It had been two years since Drusilla left Sunnydale, and Harmony had always suspected Tara would meet someone else, eventually. People with that much heart just didn't turn it off.

The redhead moved as if she hoped to make herself invisible. Ethan kept one arm around her shoulder, moving no faster than she did. "Come along...you're safe..." Harmony heard him say.

At the foot of the steps, the pair stopped. Ethan spoke soothingly, "These are friends, people who want to help you. Harmony and Tara. And ladies, allow me to introduce..."

"As a matter of fact, yes," Ethan's words stumbled a bit. His look to Harmony had plenty of questions, but all she could do was shrug. "Willow Rosenberg."

Not waiting, Tara descended all four steps and reached out her hands. The redhead took them, and gazed into her eyes.

Green eyes fixed on Tara's blue ones for an eternal second or more. Then she spoke.

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Might Have Been

by Zahir

Copyright © 2003

zahir@brainlink.com