Fic: Resolutions Evolution (New Years Theme) B/W PG13

[Silverna <silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx>]

Resolutions Evolution
by Silverna
(silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx)

This is a New Years themed drama fic for the Wiffy
board. It is the sequel to the Christmas themed
romantic fic Totally Snowed. Read that first.

DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own Buffy and
Co. Grizzle, Argh! 

RATING: PG13

SPOILERS: Set partway through Season 7. Willows back
from England. Spike is souled. The Potentials are on
the scene. Buffy and Willow kissed each other for the
first time at Christmas (in Totally Snowed) and it
is now New Years Eve. Canon events of Season 7 are
happening simultaneously but differently from on the
show. The Scoobys have already encountered uber-vamp.
B/W
* * *


Willow was trying to make a very important decision.
She pouted at herself in the mirror and leaned in
really close, trying to see if there was any
appreciable difference between the Cherry lipstick
adorning her top lip and the Raspberry along the
bottom. Which flavor did Buffy like better? She racked
her brains trying to remember Buffy eating berries of
any kind but all she came up with was a possible
strawberry incident. She pouted again.

"Looking hot!" giggled Dawn from the bathroom doorway.
Willow spun around and mock-glared at her before
anxiously re-scanning her reflection. 

"You think?" she asked.

"Ho boy, yes," teased the teenager. "Except that your
lipstick is two different shades, you're definitely
one bitchin' witch."

"Don't swear," said Willow. "You know Buffy goes
ballistic over that."

"Yeah, she's a hypocrite, I know," airily proclaimed
the teen. "Ooh, I like those pants. Are they leather?"

"I wish," sighed Willow. "They're imitation and it's
like being stuck to the couch in summer."

"But Buffy thought vamp Willow was way hot, I know,"
laughed Dawn and Willow froze with sudden shock,
staring at the tall brunette in the mirror. Dawn stood
stroking the velvety material of Willow's violet shirt
sleeve, oblivious. "New look," she commented. "Where'd
you get this?"

"I...uh...I..." Willow was at a loss. Finally she
spluttered out, "Y...you know?"

"About you and my darling older tyrant? Sure!" said
Dawn. "I overheard you guys on the phone the other
day. I don't know why you were being all kissy on the
phone when you like, live in the same house. Where
were you calling from anyway?"

"The mall," said Willow absently, staring at the
younger girl in what was still mounting horror. "I
wanted to know if she liked velvet."

"Uhuh," giggled Dawn. "Oh Buffy," she mimicked in a
high voice that was actually nothing like Willow's.
"It's so soft and touchable." Now she made her voice
deep and gravelly, highly unlike the Buffy-imitation
it was evidently supposed to be. "Just how I like you,
babe."

"We did not say that!" hissed Willow. 

"Same dif," said Dawn. "And before you tell me off for
eavesdropping, this is like, the most boring time of
year, and I'm stuck in a house full of girls who are
thinner than me and who won't stop bemoaning their
stupid fates. If you knew how many times I've had to
hear," she mimicked the English girl's accent. "'Oh
Dawn. Come New Years, I pray I shall live to see
another Dawn.' Hardy har har. That isn't even clever.
And now it's New Years Eve and my lameo sister won't
even have a party like normal people. Not even when
we're all gonna die. No fun for us, nope, instead
she's gonna patrol. She's a patrol-freak! And you're
like, Louising her Thelma. And how come patrol is like
a date and not dinner? This is your first official
date, right?"

"Um," said Willow. "Um, yes. Um...you're okay with
that?"

"You guys getting together?" guessed Dawn. "Of course,
silly. Just not the mean, stingy, lack of a party.
Between you and me, we're breaking out the uh, root
beer, the mome you guys blow this joint. But you two
dating? Sheesh. I mean, you're like my favorite
'friend of my sister' and I..." She risked a shy
glance up at Willow who had turned to face her and was
now looking all tender-eyed. "I think of you as my
friend, y'know. I mean, we hang out WAY more than
Buffy and you do and you're supposedly best friends,
so that makes us, I don't know, bosom buddies or
something."

Willow was grinning now, filled with happiness. This
was Dawnie completely forgiving her for the mad 'let
me taste your green power' display she'd put on months
ago in a fit of grief and rage. They were A-Okay. They
were friends again, fully. 

"Yep," she said, offering her thumb for a 'thumb hug'.
"Bosom buddies forever."

"Yay!" cheered Dawn, returning the thumb hug. "Now
tell me EVERYTHING."

"There isn't anything to tell," hedged Willow, looking
back in the mirror. Really the cherry said 'bite me'
more than the raspberry...

"Yes there is," disagreed Dawn, swinging herself up to
sit on the counter. "Like how did you decide to get it
on? Was there sparkage? Why didn't you get together
before? What about Kennedy? And...and Spike? Is Buffy
gay now? Did you turn her gay? How did you do that?"

"I did not turn her gay," protested Willow, rifling
through the drawer for a third lipstick option. "I
don't think you can even do that."

"But she wasn't gay before," said Dawn. At that,
Willow turned and looked at her. Dawn looked innocent,
her tongue held between her teeth just so. She also
looked sly.

"No," squeaked Willow, really unable to say anything
else.

"Unless she was in denial," suggested the teen,
swinging her booted heels against the cabinet in a way
that was extremely annoying. "That could explain the
beefcakes and the bad-asses."

"You," said Willow, poking Dawn in the chest now with
some ire, "have been hanging around Faith a little too
long. I hope you haven't been..." she paled. "Oh
Goddess. You haven't, have you? You wouldn't do that
to me? You can NOT have been gossiping about this."
Her hands clutched at Dawn's t-shirt.

"Nope! No way!" Dawn held up her hands and tried to
squirm away from witch-approaching-hysteria. "I
wouldn't do that. I mean, I wouldn't do that with just
anyone. You know me. We teenagers have to talk, it's
healthy. But no way in this world would I..."

"What?" asked Buffy. She was lounging in the bathroom
doorway with her hair all crimped and re-blonded. She
wore a tight-fitting lacy white shirt and equally
tight-fitting soft brown pants. The look was completed
by strappy shoes and one arched and irate eyebrow.

"Ah!" cried Dawn and escaping past a shell-shocked
Willow, she ducked past her elder sister, who merely
watched her go.

"She um," Willow swallowed. Could she see Buffy's bra
through that shirt? Was it...soft brown material too?
"She um, knows, y'know. About erm, us. Wow, you look,
wow."

"You like?" Buffy smoothed french-manicured hands down
her thighs and looked up at her best friend through
long lashes. "It was on sale. Well, after I smiled all
pretty at the clerk."

"I like," purred Willow, hurriedly settling on cherry
lipstick and fixing her lips. Her eyes kept darting
over to admire Buffy's reflection. "Wait...uh, you're
not mad?"

"That Dawn thinks she knows something?" Buffy rolled
her eyes. "C'mon, Will, what is there to know?"

"Um," Willow looked at reflection-Buffy doubtfully.
"Quite a lot, actually."

"Yeah?" Buffy's arms were folded across that
distracting chest. "Like what?"

"Um," Willow turned around and tried to read Buffy's
somewhat closed expression. Where was the slayer going
with this? "Well, y'know," she began weakly, "The
snow. Christmas! Snow for all! And...and mochas. And
the kiss. And mochas. And..."

"I kiss a lot of people," interrupted Buffy, and her
eyes were hooded. 

Willow stared back at her, feeling as though she'd
just been punched in the sternum, hard. The
generalized area of her chest hurt like crazy, and she
couldn't think what to say. "Oh," she finally said.
"Y...you do?" 

Buffy looked enigmatic. "Don't you?"

Something harder than the original nerdy Willow had
formed inside the witch over the years and now she
snapped that Willow into place. Much to her relief she
was able to come back with, "Not like that." She took
a step closer to this strange (or maybe not so
strange) version of Buffy and glared at her. This was
not fair! She'd put on cherry lipstick for this girl.
"Look, Buffy," she said, and her voice was serious and
thankfully, steady. "That kiss was big. Important. You
already aired all you excuses like three times over
and the thing is," she leaned even closer. "You went
ahead and kissed me anyway."

"I know, Will, believe me, I know." Buffy was
backpedaling, and moving backward into Willow's
lamp-lit room. She moved over to the bed, sat on it,
and crossed her ankles. Looked like she was admiring
her toe-polish. Looked up. "It was a great kiss," she
began. Willow waited weakly from the bathroom doorway.
"But," said Buffy, "It was just a kiss. Like any other
kiss. And although you're my best friend and I love
you..." She trailed off, eyed the ceiling and began
again. "What I mean is, I was making my resolutions
today."

"You do resolutions?" Willow's voice echoed in her own
ears and one hand was behind her, clutching the
doorway to hold herself up. Vaguely she wondered why
she'd never had this conversation about resolutions
with Buffy before. Surely they had...surely they had.

"I realized," said Buffy, now peering earnestly over
at her, perhaps to try and see her better in the dim
light, "that as my current resolution is to save the
world one last time, I, ah, shouldn't be involved with
anyone. Least of all, you."

"One last time?" echoed Willow. The other hand went
behind her to help hold her up. She no longer cared if
Buffy saw that was what she was doing.

"I don't expect to survive," said Buffy, and her voice
was dark. So were her glittering eyes. Slowly,
sinuously, she got to her feet and stalked to the
center of the room, where she held her hands out to
Willow in a silent 'come here and be held' gesture.
"Neither," she said, turning those dark, despairing
eyes onto the witch, "should you."

Willow felt cold all over. Buffy was reminding her of
how she had acted right after the slayer had come back
from the grave, and she couldn't believe that Buffy
was actually looking for some kind of make-up hug.
There could be no glossing this over. 

"You're not going to die," she lied. Her voice came
out high and desperate. Buffy lowered her arms and
they hung at her sides, looking out of place. The
slayer's voice came out at her soft, mocking.

"No I won't," she agreed. "Because I'm strong.
Invulnerable. And most of all, good. I deserve to win.
It's fair. I always win."

Willow choked in response. Why was Buffy doing this?
To her? Now?

"You on the other hand," Buffy's head titled to one
side, considering. "You're not ah, definitely good.
You're sorta just hanging onto the side of the angels.
With your wings all droopy and clipped."

Willow felt herself sliding down the wall. She
couldn't even try to stop her reaction.

"Y'know, Will," said Buffy, in her softest voice,
kneeling down to hold the witch in her regard, but not
scooting closer. "If you wanted to...join up with the
bad guys...do a switcharoo at the last minute, or
whatever? Or even now? I wouldn't hold it against you.
Hell, I wouldn't even be that surprised." Her eyes
were simultaneously sad and bitter. "You'd probably
have a better chance."

"I'd never!" gasped Willow, and that was all she could
get out before she dissolved in sobs, keeling over and
bringing her hands up over her head to hide herself
from Buffy. Hide herself from that probing, accusing
gaze. 

"Never," said Buffy, "is such a strong word." And
Willow heard the slayer crossing the short distance to
her, and settling down beside her to run her hand
comfortingly up and down her back in soothing motions.
Only it wasn't comforting. To Willow it was
patronizing and burning and she wanted to get away
from Buffy, and possibly never have to see her again,
but she didn't want Buffy's questions coming at her as
she escaped. So she stayed still and tried to choke
back the sobs.

"I could come with you," Buffy offered in almost a
whisper, and if it was possible, Willow went still
like a rock. "We could switch sides together," Buffy
clarified, still in the near whisper. Her hand stilled
on Willow's spine. "We could live through it," she
finished. Long minutes passed while they stayed in
this pose, one waiting, one's mind reeling. Finally,
Willow sat up. Her knuckles wiped furiously at her red
eyes and she sniffled. Her voice, when she spoke, was
scratchy and tense with some undefined emotion.

"Since when were you so fired up about living?"

If she'd meant to hurt Buffy, she got the pleasure of
seeing the slayer...smile? Buffy, smiling, kneeling
across from her, was now reaching up to cup her face
in that tender gesture that Willow loved. Only now
Willow was hating it, and not far away from hating the
slayer. She flinched away, and Buffy's eyes went all
wide and wounded.

"I thought," said the slayer, "that you'd be happy
I've changed my tune."

"At the expense of everybody else?" almost screamed
Willow. She couldn't help it. This was insane! Buffy
had gone insane!

"What if I go?" asked the slayer in her best
reasonable voice. "What if I switch to survive this
time? What if I said to you that I love you, and need
you, and need you to come over with me? What if that's
what this is all about?"

Willow closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow. When she
opened them again she stared straight into Buffy's
pleading gaze and said, "Then my New Year's resolution
is to get non-lunatic Buffy back and sane."

Buffy grinned at her. "What if I went right now?"

"I'd stop you," said Willow, and as if to prove it,
her right hand shot out and settled snugly around
Buffy's bicep. Her green eyes, red with crying, now
had disturbing black fringes convalescing at the
edges.

"I'm amazed," said Buffy, looking down at the arm in
wonder, "that you can touch me. You're the only one
who can."

"Say what?" said Willow, still clutching, but the
black sparks fading in her confusion.

"It must be because you're such a powerful witch and
possibly there's some sort of mind link between us as
well," went on the slayer. She clarified when Willow
just gaped at her. "Y'know, like that time you entered
my head and kicked me out of my Dawn-killing fantasy.
Also, there is the small factor of me being alive
again, again-oh."

Willow dropped the slayer's arm. She had a bad
feeling. The feeling only got worse as Buffy's face
and form gracefully morphed into that of her dead
girlfriend, Tara McClay. Willow felt all the blood
leave her face and shakes starting throughout her
body.

"Sweetie?" Tara reached for her but her incorporeal
hand passed right through Willow's chest. "What's
wrong?"

Willow was scooting backwards, putting all her energy
into the effort, and finding wall against her back,
was using it, desperately, to leverage herself up and
into a standing position. "Get away from me," she
cried out, and a translucent blue shield flickered up
briefly between them.

Tara eyed where the magic manifestation had been
uncertainly. "There's no need for that," she said
quietly, her hands out in a placating gesture that
Willow had often seen on her in life. "I'm not going
to hurt you, Willow. I could never hurt you. And
besides, dont you feel it?"

Feel what? gasped Willow, even as she started to
feel what this apparition must be talking about.
Something deep down, deep in the earth where shed
drawn the shields power from was rousing and reaching
up for her as she expended her magical energy. It was
raw, and rabid, and oh so, so very hungry. And the
power signature radiating off it&shed never sensed
anything quite so voracious. As it lapped with eager
teeth along her nerves she pulled her own magic back
inside and stuffed it down as hurriedly as she could.
She didnt want to attract any more attention from
that&thing. Wh&what is that? she sobbed out,
wrapping her arms around herself defensively. She felt
violated.

Tara winked. Me. Your beloved girlfriend.

"You're not her," hissed Willow, tears running down
her face in a smudge of ruined makeup. "And Buffy
wasnt B...Buffy. What do you want?"

Tara smiled sweetly. She was glowingly beautiful in
the ethereal lamp-light. "To add you to my
collection," she husked. "Buffy's my favorite of
course, but I'm willing to offer you equal airtime
until I get sick of tormenting your nearest and
dearest into an early grave. You've been evil too and
now that you're 'good'," Tara's voice was thick with
mock-concern, "your conscience must plague you." She
continued earnestly, "I can help you with that,
Sweetie. You don't have to hurt anymore. And after
all, it's only the natural way of the earth and the
balance. If you take something out...you need to put
something back."

"Buffy!" cried Willow, as it came to her suddenly that
if Buffy wasn't here with this monstrous thing, she
was somewhere else. And why wasn't she here? "What
have you done to her?" she spat at fake-Tara. She knew
it now to pretty obviously be the First Evil they'd
figured out was coming.

"Not me," said Tara, prettily, easily. "It was Angel.
He called and asked for help."

"Where?" asked Willow, wild-eyed and eyeing the door.

"Nearest graveyard," Tara told her, apparently not
reluctant to part with valuable information. "It
always struck me, dearest, that the cemeteries of this
place see more action than the night clubs. Oh sorry.
Night club."

Willow wasn't listening. She was edging towards the
bedroom door, then making a run for it. Much to her
surprise the First didn't follow her, though she
guessed (correctly) that it could flash into being
before her to block her at any given moment. She was
half-falling down the stairs in her haste when she
noticed that the Potentials plus Dawn were huddled in
a big group in the lounge, peering at something in
between them excitedly. One of them (she forgot their
names) was crying noisily, another was comforting and
Faith had her hand on Dawn's shoulder in an almost
proprietary gesture.

"Red!" That was Faith, sensing something big was up
and already on her feet as Willow clattered down the
last of the steps. "Uh, I mean, Willow. What's up?"

And Willow didn't have time for any of them, to answer
their questions, or to help them or be helped. Instead
she gasped out, "Buffy," and ran past, out the front
door. She heard a commotion behind her but ignored it
as she ran down the street, her longish red hair
whipping at her cheeks as she narrowed her eyes in
concentration and tried for a spell. Without
gut-wrenching grief and dark arts to fuel her magic
she couldn't travel on the air currents as she'd once
achieved, but she could surely speed herself up on the
force of her tenure as a witch and her mind-expanding
concern for Buffy. Little orange flecks of light
licked along her extremities as she muttered and
panted and ran and then her limbs were blurring, at
least to the eyes of a non-supernatural observer, as
her speed increased exponentially. The air felt
different now, solid, warm, and soft like melting
butter. She was cutting through it easily as she ran
with renewed determination. The cemetery wasn't that
far away. And she would make it. She had to. 

She rounded a corner and saw it. The sparks skittered
out as she ducked through a gap made by missing bars
in the fence. She ran, normally now, looking around
desperately, looking to see Buffy and crashed into
someone much taller and seemingly more dense. She
rebounded off and looked up, murder in her eyes, and
then paused. Angel. 

"Willow," he gasped, a pained look on his angular face
as he rubbed his stomach where she'd inadvertently
head-butted him. "Quick," he said. "She's over there."
And he offered her one large hand.

Willow stared up at him and it occurred to her that
she should be suspicious. She'd already seen her dead
girlfriend tonight, and Buffy had been dead after all,
twice, and now Angel...he'd died too. A couple of
times. Maybe the First could only appear as something
dead. It was a workable theory. "Show me the scar,"
she said and Angel's familiar stoic expression slipped
a little into familiar slightly-less-stoic bemusement.


"What?" he asked. "Willow, Buffy needs our help."

"The scar," she insisted.

"Which scar?" he asked, looking at her now like she
was crazy. "I've got a few." He blinked his dark eyes
slowly, the way he always did when he grossly
understated something. If it was an imitation, Willow
thought, it was a darn good one. Still, no more
naivety. She had to be sure.

"The scar where Buffy put the sword in you," she said
bluntly, and at least he cringed when she said that,
one hand moving protectively towards his own chest.

He studied her gravely. "Buffy needs us," he repeated,
but he was unbuttoning his black (surprise, surprise)
shirt. One button, two buttons... 'Hm, he has a nice
chest,' Willow thought then slapped herself mentally.
Didn't make it less true though. Three buttons, four
buttons...

And then she was flying backwards through the air to
land sprawled out painfully on the cold grassy earth,
struggling to work out what had happened, was
happening. There was a rushing, sucking sound filling
the air and as she squinted up she saw Angel, over
her, chest bared, with gaping wound backlit with
other-worldly orange light. The light spread out
behind him as though it was coming from Acathla (not
that she'd seen that, only heard about it) all over
again, and gees, his eyes were glowing orange too and
were filled with pain and aching betrayal.
"W...Willow," he gasped out, and reached one imploring
hand down towards her and then...

Nothing. The light, the hole, everything, it was gone
and mostly unbuttoned Angel stood there grinning down
at her. "Oops," he said, and now he looked like the
Angelus she remembered and hated. "Right show, wrong
girl. That little display's not gonna rub your spot."

Willow gripped the earth in her fingers and hated this
creature. Again it was with her! Tormenting her. Why?
And where was Buffy?

"Buffy," she ground out.

"She let me watch you know," said Angelus, slipping
easily into game face like it was a particularly
comfortable dinner jacket. He started stalking
predatorily around Willow's prone form. "I couldn't
touch her, you know, our touching issues, and besides
which, I can't touch anybody but you," he paused to
leer at her suggestively, and morphed into Buffy's
smaller form. Striking a pose, one hand on hip, Buffy
purred, "remind me to touch you again sometime." Then
she was morphing back up into taller Angelus and
continuing her diatribe with pleasure. "So I got one
of my minions, handy things minions, to fight her. I
must say, I always liked watching Buffy fight." He
squatted down beside Willow and rested one hand on the
ground for 'balance', placing it insubstantially right
through where her belly lay while she watched him in
glassy-eyed shock. "I bet you liked watching her fight
too, huh? Made you all hot and sweaty?"

"Why are you here?" asked Willow tightly. She sat up,
ignoring his invasive hand that she couldn't feel, and
managed to stagger to her feet. Looking around the
cemetery she searched for some sign of the slayer.

"It was a great fight," reflected Angelus, pacing
along behind the witch agreeably. "But seems my
uber-vamp as your little gang like to call it, was
well, uber, and Buffy, she's just a regular slayer."
He shook his head sadly. Willow whirled to face him. 

"What?" she said. "Did Buffy get hurt?" She watched
his evil eyes. Would he give her a clue?

"I'd like to say," answered Angelus slyly, "that Buffy
gave as good as she got. But hey. She didn't. My
minion is just fine and stronger than ever! I'm going
to enjoy watching him tear all those little
slayers-to-never-be apart from one gorgeous," he
kissed his fingers, "limb to another. I really, really
am." Suddenly Angel's menacing attitude disappeared
and his eyes turned inward. He seemed to be listening
to something only he could hear. Then he smiled again
and raised one hand in casual farewell. "Well, it
seems I've got some business AND pleasure to attend
to. So I'll let you get on with that grieving that
you," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "do so
well." And with that parting shot, he flickered out of
existence.

Willow stared at the place he had been, wondering if
she'd imagined it all. Then she remembered Buffy, and
suddenly the First, its plans, its quips: none of it
mattered. She was back to stumbling through the
graveyard, searching desperately for Buffy. In the end
she found her less than thirty meters away from that
final confrontation with 'Angelus', the slayer's
broken body hidden behind a large mausoleum that was
topped by the ironic statue of a graceful marble angel
taking flight. 

She rushed over to drop to her knees by her best
friend and was distraught to find Buffy looked more
hurt than Willow could ever remember before. The
slayers body was literally covered in abrasions and
bruises; she had two black eyes, a nasty gash at her
temple and her left arm was bent back under her at
what was certainly an unnatural angle. There were
three noticeable tears in that previously pristine
white shirt all marred with crusted blood and the long
one over her right ribs had fresh blood still seeping
out. 

Willow felt her stomach turn over. She grasped the
slayers right wrist, tried not to look too closely at
the mottled bruising along it (how had that got
there?) and felt desperately for a pulse. The problem
was her own hand was shaking so much she couldnt tell
if there was one. The witch tried to calm herself, but
her own breathing seemed to be increasing and she
could tell she was on the edge of full-blown hysteria.
She set down Buffys wrist and felt just over her cut
lip instead. And sat down with a thump. She had felt a
light, fluttery breath. Buffy was alive. Unconscious,
yes, badly beaten, yes, but alive. And for now that
was enough.

Willow was unaware of how long she sat there, staring
at Buffy through tearing eyes, trying to make her
beleaguered mind figure out the right course of
action. Maybe Im in shock, she thought dimly. It
had been a horrific night after all, with one
confrontation after another. And now, to find Buffy
like this&what should she do? The nearest phone was
through the cemetery and a block away. Shed have to
leave Buffy alone to go to it, leave the slayer
exposed and defenseless. What if Buffy died while she
was gone? The witchs hands shook. What would be the
point of leaving Buffy anyway? Buffy needed her, and
it wasnt like getting help was going to make the
situation especially different. Was it? She couldnt
decide. It would be nice if Giles was here to take
over. Or possibly a team of trained medical
professionals. Or somebody.

This is the worst first date ever, she muttered to
nobody in particular, scooping Buffys right hand up
again, to hold it clutched against the velvety
material of her shirt. See, Buffy, soft, she said,
for you. Because I know you like touching soft
things. And cheese of course. You like cheese. Green
eyes stared down at the slayers shadowed bloodied
face with a kind of unspoken longing. Do you like me,
Buffy? Like I&like you? Why did you wanna patrol for
our first date then, huh? Its what I call the worlds
worst idea ever. She sniffled. Buffy wasnt talking
back. Willow wanted to know the answers. Besides
which, it couldnt be good for Buffy to just be lying
there, could it? Willow needed answers and Buffy
resources and slayer-decisions. Feeling an odd sort of
steely resolve wash over herself, the witch moved into
action.

She got up on her knees again and grasped Buffy firmly
by the shoulders. Somewhere in the back of her mind
someone was pointing out (loudly) that it was bad
(very bad) to move unconscious people with injuries
but Willow-in-shock did not care about that. She just
wanted to see into Buffys eyes (if they werent
swollen completely shut) and ask her what to do. And
if she was okay. And if she liked her. So she grasped
Buffy and started shaking and calling the slayers
name, and demanding that she wake. And after thirty
seconds of nothing happening except for Buffys head
lolling back in a most frightening way, and the gash
at her temple beginning to bleed more badly in
response to aggravation, Willow changed course. 

She set Buffy down, picked up her right hand again,
and stared at her very hard. The witchs vision
blurred and she pictured candles burning in Buffys
unopened eyes (since she didnt have any on hand), and
she pictured herself falling forward into Buffy, and
merging. It was a variation of the spell she had done
to enter Buffys mind when the slayer had gone
catatonic after Glory took Dawn, only now she did it
more quickly, and without the ritual equipment needed
before. The deletion didnt matter so much. Willow was
more powerful now, more skilled after England. She
merely made sure not to draw on the earths energy,
but to stick to the magic of heart and mind.

And she was in.

She opened her eyes to find herself in the middle of a
noisy party, closely resembling her own senior high
school prom. A large brightly pained banner alerted
her to the fact that it was a New Years Eve party, as
did the silly hats, streamers, horn blowers, and
champagne being consumed in copious amounts. She
looked around herself in some confusion, disoriented
after the stillness of the graveyard. There were
perhaps a hundred people both familiar and strange,
friend and foe. There was The Master for instance,
dancing past in the arms of Glory the Hell God, both
dressed to the nines, giggling and fawning all over
each other. Willow pursed her lips. Eerie!

She turned and was confronted by Xander and Anya, both
dressed in a despicable garish version of the hellish
bridesmaid getup Anya had forced her to wear to their
disastrous nuptials. Happy Almost New Year! they
shouted at her in unison and then stood there,
grinning like idiots. 

You look truly vile, Willow told them. She wasnt in
the mood to be nice. Someone took her arm and she
snapped her head around to see&Buffy, looking
reflectively at Xander and Anya, her head on one side.
She was wearing a gorgeous silver strapless ball gown.

But they look happy, Buffy said. They do, right?
And thats all that matters.

If you say so, grumped Xander. Theres only so much
humiliation a man can take.

And youll take it until I say youll take it,
demanded Anya stridently. She smiled in a sickly sweet
way over at slayer and witch. And yes, thank you,
were very happy. Soon we are to be married! Youre
both invited. For the presents, you know.

Willow pulled away from Buffy to stare at the slayer
incredulously, with hands on hips. Youre lying
unconscious and bloody in some graveyard and THIS is
what youre fantasizing about? I thought your mind
would be some kinda blacked-out wasteland! Is this a
slayer thing or something?

Or something, said Xander, sounding much too chipper
for a man resplendent in a gaudy green dress. Yknow
our Buffster. Always taking it on herself that things
arent all happy and normal for the rest of us. Thats
all she wants. Us to have some sort of happy, and uh,
did I mention, normal existence. He looked over at
his demon girlfriend (she was in demon face now) and
shook his head sadly. So not going to happen.

It could! protested Buffy, turning to Willow
imploringly. Any day now!

Uh, yes, said Willow in a tone that said in your
dreams. She looked around again. You wish we were
having a New Years bash? Um, why didnt you let Dawn
arrange one?

Dawn appeared at Buffys other elbow, her skin glowing
green and her whole self flickering in and out of
existence like a hologram on the blink. Yeah, she
whined, why not?

Buffy frowned. What is there to celebrate? she said.
Were all gonna die soon anyhow.

We are not! screamed Dawn, and stamped her foot.
Unfortunately for her, this seemed to stamp her right
out of existence.

We might, said Xander.

Actually, chances are we will, corrected Anya.

Shut up you two, said Willow, Im fixing Buffy. And
since you arent real, I suggest you go and get drunk
on the bubbly. She ignored them as they brightened up
and skipped off obligingly.

Buffy was glaring at her. Youre ruining my party.

Your party, Willow told her, stepping in close and
surprisingly, slipping her arms around the slayer in a
fierce hug, is a farce. I dont know why youre here,
but I want you out there, with me. On some level, you
must know what Im talking about. She was relieved to
feel Buffy hugging her back.

Theres mistletoe, the slayer was whispering
hopefully.

No theres not, whispered Willow back. Thats
Christmas. This is New Years and we kiss at midnight.

How long till that? Buffy asked.

I dont know, said Willow, finally drawing back,
but my new resolution is to get you living past then.
Later on we can worry about kisses and other such
details.

Im living, Buffy gestured down at herself and
Willow really looked at her for the first time. There
was a long horizontal rip in the ball gown at Buffys
abdomen and the witch could see a sticky red substance
beneath instead of tanned skin. She looked up at
Buffy, aghast.

What is this? she asked. What are you doing here?
Is this some kind of prophetic deal?

Cmon, said ball gowned-Buffy, seemingly not
hearing, or choosing not to. She took Willows arm
assertively and guided her out of the celebratory
hall. Lets go outside, somewhere quiet. Then we can
neck.

What? gasped Willow but Buffy was pulling her along
quickly, courtesy of slayer-strength and they were
entering what looked like a janitors closet (how did
that lead outside?) and now they were coming out the
other side into a&cell? Yes, it was a cell, a dingy
little barred room with something chained at the far
end against a brick wall. Something that was pulling
at its chain, clanking its chain, and hissing and
growling at them, making the most feral noises
imaginable.

Wh&whats that? the witch gasped, as she shivered in
response to the sounds, now grasping Buffys arm of
her own volition.

Oh that, Buffy sounded dismissive. Yknow.

No, said Willow, and peering through the gloom she
found herself able to make out a tattered mane of
black hair, around white staring pupils in a black
face. Yellow teeth were bared in her direction and she
caught glimpses of white swirled designs drawn in some
kind of tribal pattern all over the naked body of the
first slayer.

I know her! Willow gasped, staring. The first slayer
looked like some kind of beast. No recognition was in
her rolling eyes.

Yeah? Buffy was disinterested. 

Its the first slayer, went on Willow. Look Buffy!
Youve got her chained in a cell.

Yeah, said Buffy. She wasnt looking.

As Willow continued to stare at the first slayer,
unable to look away, she saw something disconcerting.
As she stared harder she realized that the form she
saw before her of a young African girl was just a
guise. Magic was disguising her&it, and magic in
Willow helped the witch realize there was more to be
seen. She re-focused her eyes and ignored Buffy
tugging at her sleeve (weakly, like a little girl, not
with slayer-strength) and she saw a different girl.
This girl, still chained to the wall, and still making
guttural snarls of rage had matted hair of
golden-brown. This girls face and naked body was
covered in some sort of gray slime that dripped off
her, but never fell away to reveal the girl
underneath. Her eyes were burning hazel and her teeth
were bared, and her hands clawing in Willows general
direction were small and familiar. Willow knew her.

Buffy, she said, and her voice was hushed at the
discovery.

The chained slayer snarled.

No, said Buffy at her side and pulled Willows arm
harder.

Its the slayer, said Willow again with a kind of
awe. Youve chained the slayer up here in this dark
corner of your psyche. Why?

What do you mean, why? Buffy sounded mad now and she
stopped trying to tug Willow away and faced her
instead. It should be obvious. Shes dangerous, Will.
Shed kill you, kill our friends, kill us all. Shed
take me over and God knows what Id do. I cant let
her out. I cant.

Willow felt something sink into place, in some groove
inside the part of her own mind that she used to try
and understand the facets of her best friend. Thats
what you believe, she said still softly and with
growing wonder. Thats why you fade away from us all,
all the time. Youre only half of you.

No way, said Buffy adamantly and Willow wondered how
she could see her friends every angry feature in a
room so dark. Buffy tried to explain. Im me, Buffy.
Shes. The. Slayer. Theres a world of difference
between us and Im doing the only right thing I can.
She gripped Willow by the shoulders in a painful and
desperate hold. You should do this too, Willow. You
need to. Your dark side cant get out again. I hope
youve locked her up. I hope youre not trying to&
her voice dripped with disdain, merge.

Let go of me, said Willow harshly, and as she
struggled with Buffy she found that she was really mad
at the things the slayer was saying. She pulled away
with a burst of energy and found that she had pulled
them both out of the cell into a very different room.
They were standing in Buffys bedroom (of all places),
and injured-Buffy, the Buffy from the graveyard, was
lying on the bed and possibly dying. Argumentative
Buffy stood at Willows side, her arms folded over her
chest, her jaw set.

I dont lock my dark away, said Willow and her voice
was tight. She looked at Buffy, on the bed, not Buffy
beside her, praying that she could make her best
friend understand. If I did, the witch went on,
shed just be fighting all the time to get out. I
couldnt endure that.

If you did, said Buffy by her side, you never would
have tried to end the friggin world. Please note that
I have never done that. At least.

Willow felt tears start in her eyes. How could Buffy
completely minus the slayer be so cruel? That was
driven by grief, the witch explained tightly. How do
you really know when your world-ending grief comes
that you wont do the same? You havent walked in my
shoes, and youre not learning from my mistakes by
becoming a whole person. Youre just repeating my
mistake of completely denying a part of yourself. She
turned to peer at Buffy with brimming eyes. The most
powerful part.

Buffy looked back and Willow saw that she was crying
too, tears streaming down her disconsolate face. No,
Willow, she said softly. I wont let it out. I am
not the slayer. She turned away and looked at her
injured self on the bed. Isnt this what you came
here to do?

Willow followed her gaze. To help you? Yeah. I guess
this is the part where I try. And instinctively
knowing what to do, she walked to the bed and sat
cross-legged on it, along Buffys right side. She
picked up Buffys right mostly uninjured hand and
said, lets try some meditation. She closed her
eyes.

It was like swimming though mud. With each in-drawn
breath she reached for magical energy from the air
currents that were static and all around. With each
out-drawn breath she poured the energy into Buffys
unconscious body. She wished that Buffy was awake and
could help or at least ease her a bit in this; it was
uphill all the way. It was the weirdest form of
meditation shed ever done and meditation wasnt even
for healing, so she wasnt sure why she was doing it.
She heard a rustle and felt the bed move and her eyes
snapped open to see that Other-Buffy, the Buffy who
hated the slayer was now seated across from her along
injured-Buffys left side. Other-Buffy looked at her
with appealing blue eyes and offered both her hands in
a gesture that was pure déjà vu. 

And Willow reached out dreamily and took the proffered
hands, accepted the tentative half-smile on the
others face, and closed her eyes and started again.
It was just like the first time. Really, she didnt
know how this was possible, mediating with one Buffy
while the other was unconscious, drawing healing and
growing power from the earth now, which wasnt there
with them in Buffys mind. She drifted on clouds of
peace and measured breathing and felt Buffy warm and
close, and drifting there with her, offering up all
her golden strength. And she was channeling the earth
and that Buffy-strength into&Buffy and hoping that it
would work, that it would do something, anything.

And they were awake.

Buffy was moaning and opening her eyes, silvery in the
moonlight. Willow was sitting over her, stroking her
arm with quick nervous gestures, drinking the slayers
marred beauty in with anxious eyes. Yes, Buffy was
still injured. The cuts and bruises were just as
apparent, only now the serious gash at her temple was
mostly closed and her left bent arm had mysteriously
unbent and looked, if not unbroken, then&less broken.
The serious torso wound seemed to have stopped
leaking. Only one black eye was in evidence (Buffys
left) and both her eyes were clear and focused on
Willow.

Hi you, the slayer said.

Hi, whispered back Willow. Thats so cool. Weve
sped your healing up. At least, I think thats what
happened. If Id known about this years ago& And
then, You wont believe the night Ive had.

> From a couple streets over they heard raucous cheers
and a crowd of people beginning the annual countdown
to midnight. 

I always resolve, began Buffy, rolling painfully
onto her right side and using her good arm to lever
herself up. She made it into a half-sitting position,
cradled against Willows chest, her face resting
against the Witchs neck. Willows arms came up around
her, supporting her, holding the slayer to the witch.
Buffys voice cracked. I resolved, she went on, in
yknow past resolving that I was gonna win, yknow,
the big fight of the year. Kill the baddies, save the
goodies, and voila, successful slayer numero uno.

Uhuh, said Willow encouragingly. She was crying
again but far past caring. In the distance the
party-goers were blowing horns and screaming, Happy
New Year! and she didnt care about that either.

But thats all changed, said Buffy in a lost voice.
I dont think I can win this time, I really dont
think theres a chance in hell. I think Im gonna die
and its gonna hurt and I dont know if heaven will be
waiting this time round. So Im gonna change the
resolution to uh, something doable. Willow felt the
slayer smile against her neck before Buffy murmured,
someone doable.

Some fancy propositioning youve got going there,
joked the witch through her tears. Id say yes but
weve got to get you home and to bed, and then Ive
got more than one bone to pick with you.

Fighting sucks, said Buffy. She tried again to sit
up properly, and with those perennially shaking hands,
Willow helped her.

Yeah, said the witch. But making up&

Happy New Year, Will, said Buffy. She was smiling
her trademark weary smile.

Willow was forced to smile back. Probably not, she
said. But at least I have you.

Ditto, said Buffy, reaching up painfully to wipe
away a Willow-tear with her right hand. 

And really, that said it all.



































		
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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

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