Fic: Resurrection 3/? Enter Tomorrow B/W 18

[Silverna <silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx>]

Enter Tomorrow
by Silverna
(silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx)

This is an angsty fic dealing with Buffy's
resurrection. It is the third in a series starting
with 'Out of Nothing', then 'Into Everything'. It will
be followed by another: 'Exit Today'.

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

RATING: PG13

SPOILERS: Set beginning of season 6. Departs from
canon. Read 'Out of Nothing' and then 'Into
Everything' first.
* * *

It was 1am in the morning, and Buffy hadn't come home.


In the Summer's home, an eerie familial scene was
playing out. The Scoobys sat around the dinner table
and ate a very late dinner, eyeing each other and
squirming in what had to be, the most uncomfortable
silence ever. The dinner was unpalatable, being as it
was last night's leftovers reheated (some sort of
chicken and macaroni concoction). Tara had served it
with Dawn's unwilling assistance, Anya had poured the
flat coke and Giles, wisely, had made himself tea.
Xander sat eating out of a jar of pickles he'd
discovered, next to Anya who was sniffing at her food
with evident disgust. Across from them Willow was
building a macaroni sculpture while Tara ate
microscopic particles of food. Next to Tara at one
head of the table, Dawn glared at everybody else. At
the other head Giles looked weary, and sipped his tea.

"Where is she?" said Dawn into the silence and
everyone froze. 

Xander who had paused with one pickle mid-air,
commented, "Thats the million dollar question!" and
popped it into his mouth.

"Are you sure this is edible?" asked Anya in her most
anxious voice, waving her fork at her plate. She
stared poisonously across the table at Willow. "It
doesn't look edible."

"Why are you looking at me?" said Willow with a filthy
scowl.

"Sweetie," said Tara in her best calming voice.
Willow's scowl increased. 

"Buffy should be home by now," said Dawn. She was
shifting fretfully on her seat. "And we've looked all
over the neighborhood. There's nowhere left!"

"Nonsense," said Anya, turning her attention onto the
teen. "She could be lying in some ditch somewhere.
Next to the road. Or in an ally. Really, when you
allow for that, the possibilities are endless."

"Anya honey, shut up," hissed Xander, popping another
pickle with an air of nervousness.

"Squabbling will get us nowhere," announced Giles. His
face was haggard in the bright overhead light and he
failed to project his normal air of, 'it will all be
okay'. So the Scoobys ignored him.

"I don't have to shut up," said Anya waspishly, poking
Xander in the bicep, hard. "You shut up."

"No, you shut up," he said, poking her back. She
exaggeratedly moved her chair away from his with a
grating sound.

Giles rolled his eyes, then took his glasses off to
rub at them. Tara looked over to him worriedly.

"I'm sure Buffy is f...fine," the blond witch said.
"She probably just needs to be alone for a little
while."

"How long?" asked Dawn. "It's been like, hours
already."

"Well then longer than that obviously," said Willow.
Her voice was frayed. She was staring down balefully
at her macaroni sculpture as though she wanted to
pulverize it with magical power. Tara flinched in
response to her tone. But Dawn was too young and
invulnerable to notice.

"She's so selfish," said Dawn of Buffy. "I need her.
She can't just run out. She only just got back."

"That's the sort of egocentric claptrap that forced
her off," said Anya cheerily. She paused for a moment,
squinting her eyes than added, "young lady," for good
measure.

Dawn looked like she was going to choke with rage.
Tara reached out to her in a placating gesture. Giles
set his glasses down. Xander covered his eyes and
groaned out,

"That's so not what I meant by 'good influence'."

"But its how Stuffy Tweedmore talks," argued Anya,
using her eyes not so subtly to indicate Giles. "And
HE'S a good influence. Or so you say."

"ENOUGH!" Willow cried, slamming her hands down on the
table-top full force. She made use of the leverage to
leap to her feat and stand there, glaring at them all,
but most of all at Anya. "Stay here, all of you. I'm
getting Buffy back."

"You're what?" Xander had gotten to his feet in
response to the outburst, and now stood there gazing
across at Willow, the jar of pickles still hefted
ridiculously in one hand. "You know where she is?"

"Sit down, Xander," hissed Willow. "Stay here and keep
your," she paused and fought for control of her
emotions, "girlfriend under control."

"Fiancée," corrected Anya.

Willow closed her eyes and started counting under her
breath.

"Honey?" That was Tara of course, one tentative hand
running down Willow's clenched forearm. "You really
know where Buffy is?"

"I can find her," insisted Willow, not answering the
question.

"No doubt you can," said Giles, from where he still
sat playing idly with his glasses, an odd pose to see
him in. His voice was cold and controlled, much the
way it had been each time he addressed Willow since
she had played the major role in raising Buffy. "But
should you? Is it what she wants? Or," he wiped at his
mouth savagely with one slightly trembling hand,
"doesn't that matter?"

Tense silence. Willow wasn't looking at Giles, just
standing there, quivering with the anticipation of
being gone. Tara's eyes were veiled as she looked up
at her lover. Dawn was sulking, arms crossed over
chest, covertly glancing between Willow and Anya. The
ex-demon had pursed lips and a nasty expression. She
also had one possessive hand clutching at Xander's
trousered thigh across the 1 meter distance between
where she sat and he stood.

"You can't judge me," Willow said at last,
dismissively, still without looking over at Giles. She
stepped around her lover's chair and made to step past
his, toward the door. She was forced to a stop when
Giles deftly grabbed her by the arm with surprising
strength. He looked up at her, his face angular and
different without the glasses; his eyes alight with
strange fire. Perhaps he wore the glasses as a sort of
disguise. 

"Oh can't I?" he said softly, his accent clipped and
never more evident. "You're above even that, are you?"

Willow sneered down at him, heedless of the others
listening, shocked. "I'm above you," she said, and she
meant it with every fiber of her being.

"We'll see," said Giles, and he let her go. Her arm
burned where he'd grasped her but she ignored this and
concentrated on exiting the dining room. Her long
black furry coat was hanging on the rack and she put
it on, glad she was otherwise fully dressed (in a
green blouse and jeans). Her hand was on the doorknob
when she sensed her lover getting up to come after
her. Willow didn't pause. Instead she was out the
front door with a slam, and striding down the front
walk. 

"Willow!" Tara sure enough was running out after her,
coatless. Willow kept walking. She made it to the
letter box when she felt that soft familiar touch on
her shoulder, spinning her lightly around. She let
herself spin and stood in the gateway, facing her
taller lover down. Tara was fidgeting in front of her,
arms folded and biting her lip in a gesture that
Willow knew was pure nerves.

"I'm not sure," said Tara gently, "that this is...such
a good idea."

"Oh?" said Willow.

"I mean," Tara chewed her lip. "Gi...Giles is right.
Maybe Buffy doesn't want to be found. By us I mean.
Maybe she needs to be...away from us." Her pale blue
eyes begged Willow for understanding.

"Away from me you mean," said Willow flatly. Tara
didn't say anything. Just looked down. "Well," said
Willow, "I don't want that. So it doesn't really
matter what Buffy wants. She needs me. And I'm going
to be there for her."

"But that's not right," said Tara, even more softly,
her lip now quivering miserably. "You can't force
Buffy to feel what you want her to feel. And you can't
know what's best for her just because you want so
bad..." She stumbled to an awkward stop.

"Say it," Willow's lips were a hard line. Tara
stumbled on:

"So...so badly to fix her. Willow. Have you thought
that, that maybe, Buffy can't be fixed?"

Willow's right hand shot out and she slapped Tara
across the cheek, hard. Then she gasped in the back of
her throat in pure reaction. Tara was staring at her,
face white (and a little red on that cheek), eyes
moist and leaking pain. They stood together in that
moment, mutually shocked.

"Goddess," whispered Tara finally. Her own hand moved
up to cup her cheek in reaction, but she lowered it
again before it made the full assent. 

"Tara," said Willow, her own green eyes wide. Then she
turned away from her shell-shocked girlfriend and
started running down the street. Her mind was buzzing
it was so full or thoughts and reactions but it was
too much to actually think anything in particular.
Halfway down the street she managed to think something
definite and it was all about Buffy. She saw that dead
look on the slayer's face when Willow sobbed out that
she was in love with her. How could that dead look be
true? That wasn't what she wanted. She imagined
herself saying, 'I love you' and Buffy looking
disinterested.

She shook her head adamantly, denying her tears,
denying her pain for now. It was time to find Buffy.
Regardless of what&everyone said, Buffy needed to be
found. The slayer had stood there in her bedroom while
she, Willow, stood 5 feet away in Taras arms and
Buffy had nothing to say but, shut up? Not, I love
you too, Willow. Not, lets be friends again Willow,
because Im dying without your affirmation of my
existence. 

Somethings wrong with me, Willow muttered to
herself, and she knew deep inside herself that it was
true. She couldnt deal with this Buffy-absence. It
was killing her last shred of self-respect. She froze
in some dark alley shed inadvertently run down and
she put both her hands up in the air, palm out.
Find, she intoned, and the green firefly light,
previously only for finding lost Tara popped into
existence. Change, ordered Willow, and the light
flickered once, twice, than with a fizzle became a
silvery-blue. Find Buffy, said Willow and the light
obeyed. Willow smiled (not a very nice smile), and
followed it. 

The firefly cut down the dark alley and Willow saw
she was forced to climb a barbed wire fence. Stuff
this, she said, as the light buzzed impatiently on
the other side, wanting to be away. Levitate!  And
it wasnt so very hard after all, to start walking up
the air beside the fence, like she was climbing a
flight of invisible steps. Power seemed to be at her
beck and call on this cold, unthinking night of
everything changing forever. Taking it had never been
so sinfully easy. Childs play.

She was halfway down the next alley when she heard
footsteps (soft to be sure but there) gliding up
behind her. Vampire, she guessed and raised one hand
with her back still to the creature. Fire, she said
and orangey flames licked up into life, tonguing along
each finger. Who needed Latin when you had Raw Power?

Crap! cried the vampire, scudding to a halt inches
from Willows back, yes, with no small degree of
difficulty. Willow turned around with what she labeled
a pleasant smile. Miscellaneous vampire didnt look
too reassured. Easy, easy, he gasped, hands up and
stumbling backwards. It was an honest mistake,
really! I thought you were just another mortal snack
when uh, obviously youre so much, his eyes were
bugging out of his head, more.

Tell me why I shouldnt kill you, said Willow. She
looked admiringly at the flames stroking along her
raised hand. They didnt hurt at all! Groovy. 

Vampire guy looked even more terrified and actually
got down on his knees in some kind of supplication.
B&b&because I can be v&very useful to you, Oh Mighty,
uh One. I can uh, serve you and do stuff for you
thats, erm, beneath you. I may seem uh, weak and
p&pitiful&

Willow smiled down at him.

B&but Im not! he said, his voice squeaking with
fear. Im strong, strong I tell ya, and I can do
missions and stuff if you want, Mistress. Anything you
want. Anything.

Willows fire-hand sputtered a bit and suddenly went
out, with a whoosh of smoke. She frowned at it
perplexedly. Strange, she muttered.

Vampire guy looked less fearful and got to his feet,
dusting off the knees of his jeans while keeping one
eye on the witch. That one eye grew big as he made a
connection. Hey, he said, youre that uh
witchy-girl that travels around with the slayer?
Arent ya? Arent ya?

Willows eyebrows shot up and she forgot her smoking
hand, putting her hands on her hips. Unfortunately the
hand was still hot and singed her jeans. Yow! she
said, pulling it away again.

Vampire guy lost some more fear. Yeah, I recognize
you, he said. That red hair, the magic, you gotta be
that lesbian witch the little dude went on about.

Willow re-forgot her hand. Lesbian witch? she said.
Thats nobodys bees-wax! The lesbian part, that is,
the bad-ass witch part is free domain! Not that Im
ashamed of my ah, lesbian heritage, its just not the
sorta thing I want ugly little monsters talking about
in bars, or hey, anywhere! Who told you that anyway?
She tapped her nose. Because it may not be entirely
of the truth.

Little guy, repeated the vampire. Jonty, Jonno,
some wussy name like that. Him and his two buddies
keep hitting all the demon clubs trying to fit in. He
laughed derisively. Like we cant smell nerd-dom all
over them. They just wanna hang out with us cause
humans wont accept them.

Willow put two and two together. Jonathan, she said.
And whoever. Look&

Ive seen your friend, mentioned the vampire with a
sly look. He was standing casually across from her
now, apparently fearless again, and also appeared to
be picking his right fang. Yuck. 

Who? said Willow, fascinated in a grossed-out way by
the fang-picking. She had forgotten to be menacing.
Everything about this night was surreal.

The slayer. Vampire guy looked triumphant than
confused. The uh, first one, I think. Little blond
vampiress. Sexy teeth.

WHAT? Willow was flabbergasted. Buffys a vampire?
NO!

Yeah, shes definitely a vampire. Vampire guy
swaggered with self-importance at how he seemed to
have one up on this crazy witch. Got that whole dead
vibe going strong. Or at least shes some sorta demon,
or something. But Id guess vampire. Cause, hey,
theyre a dime a dozen in this hellhole town.

He wasnt prepared for the crazy witch with now two
hands aflame to be in front of him, shaking him,
holding him aggressively by his fake-leather collar.
The fake-leather burned and assaulted his sensitive
nostrils and he could feel his undead skin beginning
to crawl and scorch beneath the semi-protective
covering. Hey! he cried, back to real fear.
Lemmego!

You saw her& Willow swallowed down something, her
teeth?

No, no! cried poor vampire guy. Just saying she was
hot. Its an expression, is all. Sexy teeth, yknow.
Didnt mean nothing. I didnt see nothin. Let go, let
go!

Willow regained some composure. She stared up into
vampire guys terrified (now smoking) face, and
discovered something. This was fun! Am I cooking
you? she found herself purring, licking her lips as
she noted how his vamped out face was bulging with
demonic veins, apparently about to go up in smoke. Her
flaming hands had burned right through the leather
and were clutching at the cold, slick skin beneath. 

Vampire guys teeth were rattling in his head as his
blood literally began to boil. Crazy witch! he
screamed even as the skin began falling away from his
bones into a coating of finest ash. Then he exploded
outwards into rain-of-dust and Willow stepped back
distastefully, holding still flaming hands out in
front of her.

Flame off, she tried, unsuccessfully. Uh, desist!
Maybe it was the word, maybe it was the tone, but
thankfully the fires blinked out and that stupid smoke
wafted up again. Willow wrinkled her nose. That one
needs some work, she decided. She turned on her heel
to look for the firefly light. Ah, there it was,
hovering over just near the corner. She headed back
after it. All in a nights work, that vampire-dusting.
No, dusting seemed too soft a word.

It took several streets for her hands to cool down
enough that she felt confident about putting them near
her clothing and by the time she started paying real
attention to her surroundings again, she recognized
exactly where she was. The light had come to a halt,
hovering near her head and up ahead in a clearing was
the wreck of the Glorys tower. Willow shivered. She
loathed this place. She dimly remembered Dawn
recounting to Tara how the tower had fallen completely
down when Dawn had gone after out-of-it-Buffy right
after the slayers resurrection. Willow frowned. She
wished she knew exactly what had happened that night.
It could be useful. 

Eyeing the wreckage uncertainly, the witch started
forward. Dust hung in the air and she could almost
sense an aura of blackest despair clinging like alien
mold to everything in sight. Nothing could grow here
but that. It was poisoning the very air, she was sure.
Tall twisted metal spires reminded her of dinosaur
skeletons. Dead relics of a dead world, a dead time.
She stumbled up and over blocks of concrete and steel
and wondered why on earth Buffy was here. What was she
doing? After all, there was nothing left to leap off!
What other fascination could this hole possibly hold
for the slayer? There was something sick about it.
About Buffy.

Find Buffy, she mouthed to the firefly light, which
seemed to be as hesitant as her about what to do next.
Reluctantly the light jerked forward, then stopped,
then jerked forward again. Willow followed. Once she
almost fell and cut herself on a jagged pipe, but she
stopped herself with one well placed hand, just in
time. Breathing heavily she looked up and saw the
light stopped again, this time hovering at the
entrance to a kind of cave in the wreckage that looked
suspiciously like a gaping, hungry maw. I am so not
going in there, muttered the witch, talking to
herself to try and stop her own involuntary shivering.
Unless of course, she pulled herself up closer,
its where Buffy is, she finished weakly, seeing the
bare and bloody feet just inside the entrance. This
sucks.

She peered inside. It was late, very late. Would Buffy
be asleep? Or maybe dead and lain out like the Lady of
Shallot, only without a lake and without a boat and
without a ceremonial gown? A shell of herself, never
to wake again. Willow shook herself. Really, she had
to get a grip on herself, on everything. She stood
there gripping a jutting rail in the wall for balance,
bent her head, and looked in again. There were
evidently holes in the enclosures roof, because the
moonlight was wafting in there and the witch could see
quite well. 

She saw Buffy, stretched out on her back, dressed in
her little-girl cow pajamas, face lax and innocent in
sleep. Willow looked for a very long time. She drank
in the shadows under Buffys eyes (deep, deep shadows)
and the soft planes in sleep of what was these days, a
harsh face awake. She paused on Buffys lips, parted
just so. She saw the smudge of dirt on Buffys cheek
(kinda cute  it made the witchs hands itch to
tenderly rub it away). She saw the hollow of Buffys
neck at the neck of those fuzzy pajamas, and imagined
she could see the pulse that fluttered there, beating
strongly, on and on and on. She saw Buffys hands
lying carelessly by her sides, and she noted that they
were red with scratches and looked inflamed. Stupid
Buffy. The girl didnt know how to take care of
herself properly. Was Willow the only one who cared
about taking care of Buffy?

She saw the rip in Buffys pajama leg and the abused,
blistered feet and suddenly, something in Willow was
screaming out silently, screaming out for Buffy to
wake up and notice her: to see her, really see her.
Buffy! she cried out hoarsely, and she didnt
recognize the wreck of her own voice. Buffy, I need
you. And she was down on her hands and knees and
crawling into the gaping maw of the beast, of death,
and stretching out beside her former best friend.
Buffy, sobbed Willow as she moved incessantly along
the slayers left side, trying to get in close and be
safe and okay again. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. The slayer
slept on and Willow was free to adjust Buffys left
arm and wrap her own left arm around Buffys fuzzy
midriff with a feeling of abject relief. She burrowed
her face (wet with tears) into Buffys cool neck and
breathed in the familiar scent with another little sob
of relief. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.

The twisted concrete was the most uncomfortable bed
Willow had ever chanced in her life, but she barely
noticed. The stars overhead through the gaps were
beautiful, but she didnt see them. She kept moving
along Buffys side, shivering now with cold and
reaction and crying out her own secret pain into
Buffys neck. The slayer was senseless to Willows
cries asleep, just like she was when awake, and Willow
had never felt a twisting in her own gut that hurt
more. The twist was that knowledge: her hurt meant
nothing to Buffy anymore. So Willow cried, and
shivered, and hugged Buffy, and moaned low in the back
of her throat. And if the pain didnt go away, it
certainly abated after half an hour of this, and
Willow, tired beyond belief, fell into sleep. She was
unaware that she had done so.

* * *

Buffy awoke when the first stream of sunlight splashed
her face. She opened her eyes tiredly, squinted up
through the gaps in the roof, and turned her head to
the side, away. And stared. Willow was there, her pale
face inches away, and now that Buffy thought about it,
she could feel Willows arm holding her, and Willows
length along her own. Buffy frowned. The pleasant
feeling of this place was gone. Gone with the coming
of Willow. 

She sat up, not caring that she had to wrench away
from the witch to do it. Rather she felt glad that it
was a necessity. She didnt stop to see if her actions
had woken Willow. She crawled from her haven instead
(painfully) and got to her feet on the already baking
concrete outside. Her body was stiff to the point of
agony with cramps from sleeping on such a bed. Her
bladder was screaming for attention. The concrete was
frigging hot and burning her too-tender feet. She
looked around for somewhere to&oh hell, anywhere would
do. Here even, over to the side. She squatted down. 

Buffy? Willows voice, wafting from their sleeping
place. Buffy closed her eyes and ignored it. Willow
had no right! She finished her business and pulled her
pants back up feeling skanky to the max. Her tongue
was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Pulling her arms
up behind her in a long and fairly hurtful stretch,
she surveyed the scene for a promising sign. There, at
the base of the rubble, connected to an adjoining
building. Slayer-vision allowed her to see what
appeared to be an intact tap. What luck. With even
more luck, the water would be toxic. 

Buffy? Willows voice louder now, filled with sleepy
confusion and ever-present accusation. Buffy cringed
away. She started climbing down the rubble, navigating
the wreckage toward the promise of water. Willow
wasnt supposed to be here after all. Let her find her
own way home. Buffy! Willows voice was strident now
and when the slayer risked a look back she saw the
witch standing up, outside the tent, hands on hips
and glaring down at her. Where do you think youre
hightailing it off to? spat the witch, voice thick
with anger. Buffy chose not to answer. It was a lot
easier. She didnt want this, Willow screaming at her
when she should be alone and at peace. Let Willow
scream at the air. Buffy was dead to it. She kept
going

The slayer heard the witch start after her (carelessly
from the sound of sliding rubble), and so, sped up
accordingly. She saw a shortcut and took it, leaping
out and dropping down a good 10 feet to land awkwardly
in a crouch below, her extremities stinging from the
force. Her mind reeled as her injured hands made
themselves re-known. Buffy grimaced and stretched her
aching body all the way out again as she stood up.
Something had pulled wrong in her back during
sleeping, and now snapped back into place. Buffy
oomphed (it had hurt), and picked her way over to the
now nearby tap. Her feet were killing her. Who would
think blisters would beat a broken arm for pain? She
was pretty sure they did. Of course, it would be
easier to compare if her arm was currently broken&

She ducked down by the tap and wrenched it on with a
slight hiss as one puffy hand got rubbed the wrong
way. Liquid sustenance was foremost on her mind.
Survival instinct maybe? She ducked her head and
tasted the water. Musty. But it was cool and cold and
she was incredibly thirsty, so Buffy cupped her hands
and guzzled it down eagerly, then held her head under
the tap and let the water run through her grimy hair
and wash the dirt from her face. She was still
engrossed in this when some sort of force grabbed her
body and flung her away from the tap, up through the
air to be held stiffly in place against the nearby
wall. Buffy growled and put out all her formidable
strength against the invisible barrier, but to no
avail. 

It was Willow she realized who now stood 10 meters
away on the flat, one hand raised dramatically and
eyes a definite black. The witch took several paces
closer and smiled a small, tight smile for Buffys
benefit. Buffy, she said earnestly, dangerously, I
wont be ignored.

The slayer felt a mindless rage beginning to thrum
through her veins. How DARE Willow? Willow her
ex-best-friend would know how Buffy felt about being
trapped, and Willow this demoness-from-hell was using
that to her own best advantage. How DARE Willow try to
control her? Dictate to her? Buffy could live her own
damn life.

Let me go, Buffy ordered.

Make me, Willow said.

I will, threatened Buffy. 

Oh yeah? taunted Willow. How, pray? By not talking
to me? By ignoring me until I collapse under the power
of not being noticed by Buffy the Great&the
Great&the&argh!...stupid Great Noticer!

And at this guest appearance of original-Willow,
something in Buffy broke and she felt the rage swell
up completely and consume her. Willow! she screamed,
the veins in he neck bulging as she tried
unsuccessfully to move her head. WILLOW!

The witchs eyes widened in shock. It looked really
weird now that Willow was sporting black eyes. And
suddenly the slayer was free. In an instant she was on
Willow, grasping her roughly and shoving her up
against the wall where shed been trapped, seconds
before. 

I, grated Buffy, hate you. I hate you. I hate your
face, I hate your stupid voice, I hate your friggin
control freakin thing, whatever the hell it is. I
hate that you wont stay out of my life. Its my life,
Willow. Not your life, my life. My life, my life, my
life. She was chanting, and blind except for a red
haze that she could see Willows frightened and
strangely enough, exultant face through, up really
close to her own. Hate and hot indignation were
flooding through the slayer, filling up her veins with
pumping blood and sparking shocks of emotion.
Willow, ground out Buffy, and the name didnt fit
right in her mouth.

And then she was kissing the witchs mouth, kissing
those parted, so-surprised lips hard and fast and with
a sudden passion of feeling that meant Buffy was swept
away, and gone somewhere else on the tide. Willows
hated form was soft and so very there beneath her,
entirely of now and the present. Willow was pushing
helplessly against her and that was what Buffy wanted
and her hands had moved off Willows arms to be
cupping her face, roaming over those cheeks like a
blind man searching out a brand new face. Buffy
realized that the sound she could hear through the
blood pounding in her own ears was Willow moaning with
a kind of anguished eagerness, and Willow wasnt
pushing her away, she was holding the slayer in a
death-grip and writhing against her in desperation.

Buffy pulled away gasping for air, for reasons. I
hate you, she whispered, only she said it the way
that lovers wonderingly say the reverse. Willow was
gazing at her with softest green eyes, smudged with
black round the edges. The witchs lip was trembling
and her hands were somehow wrapped loosely around
Buffys neck. Buffy was holding Willow to the wall,
holding them in place. The slayers right thigh was
pressed up between Willows legs, and her injured
hands were still cupping Willows face. A moment
passed, then the slayers right hand moved to stroke
along Willows cheekbone, in a gesture that was quick
and savage. 

Willow blinked in response. Okay, she whispered
back. They stared at each other. There was no-one
else. And Buffy felt another surge of hot emotion roll
through her at Willows concession. She was glad. She
could make her enemy pay. She kissed Willow again,
ripping at that trembling bottom lip with ungentle
teeth and urgency. Her hands moved down to pull at
Willows blouse, using slayer-strength to tear it at
the shoulders.

Wait! gasped out Willow, and now she was pushing
Buffys chest back. The slayer paused, on the brink of
not pausing at all, her eyes hard with desire. She
stared tensely into Willows face that had gone white
with sudden panic. 

Whats gonna happen? Willow asked her tremulously.
You know, the witch swallowed hard, tomorrow?
Wheres this going, uh B&Buffy?

The slayers eyes flickered. One hand brushed over
Willows collarbone in a gesture both erotic and
faintly threatening. Screw tomorrow, Buffy husked.

Willows breath hitched. Tara? she worried aloud,
eyes pleading for a solution.

Buffy just shrugged. Screw her, she said flatly.

The slayer watched as Willow struggled against passion
for a moment with cold reason but the predator in her
could sense the battle was fading already. She knew by
the way Willows hands were playing nervously just
under the bottom of her pajama shirt. And then Buffy
couldnt wait any longer, and she didnt care what
Willow wanted. Only apparently Willow wanted the same
thing as she did, because the witch had initiated this
last kiss and Willows hands were raking up her back
now, leaving long scratches behind. Buffy gasped for
breath through the kiss and continued ripping Willows
shirt right off. 

Nothing else mattered.



























		
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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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