Fic: Resurrection 4/? Exit Today B/W NC17

[Silverna <silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx>]

Exit Today
by Silverna
(silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx)

This is an angsty fic dealing with Buffy's
resurrection. It is the fourth in a series starting
with 'Out of Nothing', then 'Into Everything', then
'Enter Tomorrow'. It will be followed by another:
Dawn Breaks.

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

RATING: NC17 (Sex scenes, Language) 

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

Buffy's hands ached as she held Willow down. She was
sitting astride Willow. The witch was stretched out
beneath her, on the concrete alleyway between the
ruins of the old tower and a warehouse. Willow's red
hair was wild and mussed all about her head. Willow's
green eyes were almost black with need. Willow's hands
were clutching the sides of Buffy's open pajama shirt
in a pointless attempt to gather the slayer in closer.


"Buffy," husked the witch, an entreaty.

"Willow," said Buffy, an acknowledgment that the witch
had spoken. The slayer gazed down at Willow's bared
breasts, just beneath her own. Willow's torn shirt was
pooled over by the tap. Willow's bra, jeans and
underpants were abandoned nearby. Naked Willow was
pale and slender, with small breasts crowned in pink.
Buffy moved her head to peer further down at the wiry
russet hair between Willow's legs. She felt her own
body flush hotly in response, a wash of something
indefinable rippling from her blond head to her
blistered toes. Buffy closed her eyes in response to
it. Oh, to feel...

"What do you want?" whispered Willow, still trying to
tug Buffy down to her. Buffy opened her eyes again.
Willow's eyes were pleading and her face was tinged
with red from being looked at.

"You," said Buffy hoarsely, an admission that was torn
out of her. Willow's eyes flickered closed and a small
smile graced her lips. When she opened her eyes, they
had turned demanding.

"Show me then," the witch said, and it was a
challenge.

Buffy's lips curled up in a snarl. Then she lowered
herself onto her forearms and kissed Willow. The
slayer could feel her breasts pressing against the
witch's uncomfortably. Buffy's mouth was driving
against Willow's, which was opened invitingly. Willow
didn't exactly taste good. Buffy's tongue registered a
combination of blood from where she'd already nipped
Willow's lips, morning-breath, and warm, moist skin
and spit. But it tasted right.

Willow's arms wrapped around the slayer, under her
shirt. Buffy felt Willow's nails raking across the
welts the witch had already put there, even through
the kiss. The pain was good, so good. It hit the nerve
endings sharply; it made her feel alive. She grinned
against Willow's lips with her teeth. The witch bucked
and moaned. Buffy felt Willow's pelvis move beneath
her own and groaned in the back of her throat. She
wanted that friction. She needed it. The slayer tore
her mouth away from Willow's desperate caress and
moved so that she was straddling Willow's left leg.
Better.

"Buffy?" said Willow.

The slayer answered by shuffling down the leg with
soft grunts, so good, before leaning down again to
lick long strokes around Willow's left breast. The
taste was skin, and salt, and a something else that
shouldn't be there, a slightly bitter potency.
'Magic', she guessed. Who knew you could taste it?
Willow was writhing, her breast coming up towards
Buffy's attentions as her back arched off the
concrete. Buffy found herself licking the side of the
areole, and heard Willow strangle a cry. It felt
crinkly and soft. She stretched out her tongue to
barely graze the center. Willow cried out again.
Buffy's left hand reached up to stroke along Willow's
neck without looking. She could feel the witch's head
moving from side to helpless side. She smiled
knowingly against the breast. Then leaned back
slightly and blew a soft gust of air on the nipple.

"Buffy, ooh!" Willow sounded delirious.

"I'm here, Will," said Buffy, softly, knowingly. She
sat up to watch intently as Willow's eyes snapped back
open at the nickname. 

"Buffy?" said Willow disbelievingly. One of her hands
had come up in an attempt to hide her trembling bottom
lip.

"Fuck you," said Buffy, with a cold enjoyment. "Did
you really think that this is all it would take for us
to be back to that?" And she moved herself up and
against Willow's leg with devastating slowness, making
sure to drag her own left thigh against the apex of
Willow's legs. Tears welled in the witch's eyes as she
wrapped her hands around Buffy's neck and successfully
pulled her forward so the slayer was leaning down over
her. 

"Show me what it will take," Willow spat, and her
hands were squeezing. "Is this it? Does this do it for
you?" Buffy was still. She made no move to free
herself, no move to do anything except smirk down into
Willow's glazed eyes.

"That's all you've got?" the slayer taunted, her voice
scraping with effort. "I thought lesbians were
supposed to have beefed-up fingers."

Willow squeezed harder. Her own face was turning red
with effort. "Oh you're such a clown," she hissed.
"Always with the snappy comebacks. But you never
manage to say the right things when it really counts.
Why is that Buffy? Can you tell me now?"

Buffy was wheezing. Buffy was also controlling
herself. The slayer inside wanted to rip Willow's face
off for this but Buffy kept her arms resting lightly
on Willow's shoulders, maintaining her own precarious
balance. She felt Willow's fingers (surprisingly
strong in this moment) bruising her windpipe, pressing
hard against it so that the breath was no longer
getting through, but she absolutely refused to gasp
for air. There was no way she could talk to answer.

"Tell me!" Willow screamed, and her fingers dropped
away. Then the witch started to shake, eyes wide and
staring, no doubt in realization of what she'd been in
the process of committing. Buffy breathed again, and
her throat felt like fire, and the pain was good. It
resonated through her bones. She watched Willow shake
beneath her, felt it through the crotch of her pants
and crooked her lips at her so-called friend. 

"You're so unfair," the slayer rasped out. "You never
give me what I want."

"Same to you," gasped Willow, and she squirmed out
from under Buffy and rolled herself up in a ball, and
cried. She looked like a lost little girl. Buffy
crossed her own legs and sat there, watching. She
didn't feel anything as Willow sobbed heedlessly. Not
pleasure, not pain. Buffy just...was. Drifting in
space. In the back of her mind an ethereal memory
drifted by too: Heaven and the steady-rock knowledge
that Willow, her Willow, was warm and safe and happy.
Obviously a lie. Buffy shuddered. She didn't want the
memory. Memory hurt. The slayer looked at her aching
hands and saw they were red and inflamed. She pressed
them against her temples and closed her eyes. She just
wouldn't think. That was it. If she could stop
thinking...there. Nothing again. Better.

She folded her arms over her naked chest and looked
back over to Willow. Naked Willow. Something stirred
in her belly and she knew it at last to be desire.
What a joke! She could feel something finally and it
happened to be lust for her best friend, mixed in with
an unhealthy helping of hate and rage. Buffy wondered
if she should start hating herself now too. It seemed
appropriate (given the circumstances) and she almost
felt guilty for not doing so. She looked at Willow and
she felt like it was from far away. There was her best
friend, all small and childlike and needing the
slayer's love and protection. 'I have nothing to
give,' thought Buffy gloomily and knew it to be the
final truth. So there was no point in her feeling
guilt. But it might be smart to get Willow to put her
clothes back on.

"Willow," she said to the weeping fetal form. "We
should go to the house." The form stopped crying
abruptly and started sniffling instead. Buffy waited
until a tiny, devastated voice managed:

"Home?"

"Yeah," said Buffy. "Wanna get dressed?" She watched
as Willow sat up, still sniffling, and rubbed at her
eyes with the heels of her hands. When Willow risked a
glance her way, Buffy looked back blankly. She thought
maybe Willow wanted a reaction on her part, but she
didnt have one. Finally Willow got up, shuffled over
to her clothes and dressed. Buffy watched this,
without real interest. Willow was very slow, probably
because she was still shaking. Buffy watched the witch
pull up her panties, pull up and zip her jeans, and
re-hook her bra. Then Willow picked up the torn shirt
and considered it, obviously concluding that it was
past the point of wearing. She balled it up and
stuffed it partly in one jean pocket (why, Buffy
didn't know). Then she turned to the wreckage and
started climbing back up it. 

Buffy didn't bother to shift and watch Willow now. She
figured the witch had left something in their
makeshift sleeping place, but she wasn't interested in
what that might be. Instead Buffy looked at a crack in
the concrete, and thought about how much her hands
were hurting. Feet too. It was always the little pains
that were the worst. Time passed on by. Eventually she
heard peripheral noise that meant Willow was a few
feet away and walking over to her. Then she saw
Willow, as the witch crouched down on her knees in
front of her, now respectably dressed in her buttoned
up long black furry coat.

"Buffy," said Willow, and her voice sounded carefully
blank. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Alright," said Buffy diffidently. She watched as
Willow reached out to her hesitantly, and was suddenly
unsure of what was going on. The witch was taking the
sides of Buffy's open pajama shirt and beginning to
button them up. Buffy merely watched this. Willow
started at the second top button, made clumsy by
trembling fingers. Buffy looked at Willow's chin. It
was quivering the way it always did when Willow was
really upset about something. Willow moved down to the
next button. Buffy regained the presence of mind to
wonder why she wasn't pushing Willow away and doing
this for herself. On the fourth button Buffy felt
Willow's fingers brush against the sensitive skin
between her breasts. She breathed in strongly,
wondering at the tingle of desire left in the wake of
Willow's fingertips. It was a revelation to feel
something instead of nothing. Like an oasis in an
unending desert. She watched as Willow's fingers
hesitated in response, then Willow went on. Buffy let
her. 

Finally Willow finished her task and spoke up. "There,
that's done. Alright, we're all ready. Can you get
up?"

Buffy started at that. Of course she could, couldn't
she? She nodded but found that she was still sitting
after Willow was standing up. Back to staring at that
crack in the concrete. How odd. 

"Take my hand," instructed Willow in a voice that
cracked. Buffy looked up. The sun was behind Willow
and she was disheveled and...and...beautiful. Buffy
drank the vision in. When had Willow become beautiful?

"Alright," said Buffy and took the proffered hand.
Willow levered her up into a standing position but
once she was up, the slayer's legs were all wonky and
she almost fell back down. She stumbled drunkenly and
Willow caught her, holding her around the waist with
some difficulty, then pulling Buffy's right arm over
her shoulder and holding it there. 

"Are you hurt?" asked Willow, sounding breathless and
frightened.

"No," said Buffy, but her own weight sent her sagging
to the ground again, in spite of Willow's assistance.
The slayer sat heavily, legs bent in front of her,
arms lax by her sides. Buffy looked at her own knees
accusingly. She seemed to be broken. Willow was down
beside her again and was touching her neck hesitantly.
Her fingers trembled there like butterfly wings. Then
Willow felt her cheek.

"What is it?" the witch was asking. Her cool hand
pressed pleasingly against Buffys forehead.

"Don't know," mumbled Buffy. 

"Your skin's hot," said Willow. "You have a fever."

"Don't get sick," corrected the slayer. Willow didn't
answer. She was standing again, and looking around,
probably for a phone. 

"I'm not sick," said Buffy, and tried to prove it by
clambering back up onto her feet. There she swayed and
blinked her eyes repeatedly to clear the new haze from
her vision. But I seem to be broken, she muttered.
The slayer felt Willow at her side again, made all
warm and comforting by the furry coat. Willow was
adjusting Buffy's right arm over her own shoulder
again, and making encouraging noises. Willow's left
arm was wrapped around Buffy's waist. 

"This is nice," said Buffy, as they started walking.
She felt Willow start next to her, due to the pleasant
proximity of their bodies.

"What, being sick?" asked Willow incredulously. Buffy
wished she could see the witch's face.

"No," the slayer slurred, "it's nice leaning on you."

Willow didn't answer, didn't seem to react this time.
Buffy heard her breathing heavily as they navigated
the corner of the warehouse into another ally. The
slayer was walking for herself, but each step felt
heavy and slow, like it was pulled from a muck-hole.
Buffy felt hot and tired. About halfway down the ally
she realized Willow was crying again, which was kind
of annoying, but Buffy was too tired to ask why it
was. She felt her eyes starting to grow heavy and
blinked once, twice. She was so tired. The need to go
to sleep again was strong, and growing steadily. She
stumbled and heard Willow curse beside her. Then she
was aware of the acrid stench she now associated with
magic filling the air around (her eyes were now mostly
closed) and that was Willow's voice, muttering some
incantation. 

When she opened her eyes again, she looked up into
Willow's resolve face at a weird angle and green eyes
too dark with power to be truly green, but not exactly
black. 

"What are you doing?" Buffy said.

"Carrying you," answered the witch, just as Buffy
realized this for herself. That was Willow's arms
under her shoulder blades and knees and Willow's chest
against her arm. Willow seemed...stronger, she was
setting a fast pace, striding along the alleyway with
a clear destination in mind. She even looked strong.

"Why?" asked Buffy, feeling her own head start to loll
backwards. She pushed it back up with an effort.

"Seemed the thing to do," said Willow
matter-of-factly. "What with you keeling over in the
bad side of Sunnydale, and us having decided to go
home." She was chewing her lip, noted Buffy, never a
good sign with Willow. It meant she was upset, didn't
it? Along with that quivering chin thing she sometimes
did...or was it the tongue held between lips just so?
Her mind was cloudy and the knowledge was just out of
reach.

"Are you really so mad at me?" said Willow, and Buffy
could make out anxiety in her voice. The slayer felt
confused.

"Uh, about?"

"I didn't mean it," said Willow, and now her chin was
quivering. So, definitely upset then. Not good. "I
mean," went on the witch, "I did mean to raise you, I
couldn't go on without you, but I didn't mean...for
you to hate me. How can you?! And youre messed up, I
can tell. You're hurt and I can't make it better. You
won't let me!"

Buffy's head ached as she tried to follow this. In the
end all she could come up with was a weak, "let you do
what?"

"Levitate!" said Willow out of the blue, and Buffy
stared around herself incredulously as they appeared
to be walking up a flight of invisible stairs to step
easily over the top of an eight foot barbed wire
fence. The fence was kind of familiar. 

"You did that?" asked Buffy, feeling dizzy, as they
walked over and down through air. "Whoa, you're
powerful."

"Thanks," said Willow absently. "But c'mon, tell me.
Is what I did so hard for you to understand?"

"Everything's hard to understand," said Buffy. She
noted thoughtfully, "I think you're upset."

Willow's eyes met her own at that, noticeably more
green. 

"You have pretty eyes," Buffy said.

"Oh Buffy," said Willow and her mouth was twisting
with what looked like pain. "Why can't you be like
this all the time?"

"I am," said Buffy, and she was certain it was true.
But she wasn't certain what it was.

"This sucks," said Willow to the world at large. 

"What?" said Buffy.

Willow's arms tightened their hold on her, she could
feel that. "Everything," said Willow tremulously. "The
way you've been. What you've done. What I've done. The
way you're sick now so we can't deal with it properly.
The way stupid things are always happening in this
stupid, stupid town so that nothing every gets dealt
with. Stupid town."

"Stupid," agreed Buffy. They were walking down a
street now, and Buffy wondered why the mother with the
pram was staring at them funny. Her skin was hot and
clammy and she noticed suddenly how dry her mouth had
become.

"I feel sick," she moaned and Willow's eyebrows rose
in response.

"Not terribly surprised. I told you," the witch said.

"I hurt," said Buffy pitifully. "I want my bed."

"I'll get you your bed," said Willow, and Buffy's
blurring vision made out resolve face again. She
watched it trustingly. The witch continued. "I'll get
you your stuffed Gordo. I'll get you juice and I'll
make sure Dawn keeps the teenage drama down."

"Sounds good," slurred Buffy, blinking heavily.

"I'll get you home," said Willow and she sounded like
she was making some kind of solemn promise. "I'll take
care of you and I'll be there when you're better and
h...h...hating me." A stifled sob. "I will."

"Silly Will, slurred Buffy, "I could never hate you."
And the tiredness swept her over a cliff into
oblivion. Her head lolled back.

The last thing she remembered was hearing Willow
crying.

* * *

Tara spilt the orange juice. 

You spilled it, accused Dawn, only she wasnt
accusing, she was just saying, and now she was going
over to the sink to get a cloth.

Taras head was pounding. They were having breakfast,
her and Dawnie, and the sun was streaming in the
window and everything looked bright and appallingly
normal. But it wasnt. It never would be again. She
pressed the heel of her right hand to her eyebrow. A
migraine was beginning.

Are you okay? Dawn sounded scared and young. She was
young though. And Sunnydale was a scary place. So it
was only natural that the teen should sound&

Tara? asked Dawn again. Tara looked up. Dawn was
standing three feet away with the cloth in one hand,
and her other resting lightly on Taras shoulder.
Dawns eyes were wide with concern.

Im okay, Dawnie, lied the witch. Just tired. And
worried. She rubbed her eyebrow. Willow should be
back by now.

Do you think she found Buffy? asked Dawn, moving to
sit across from Tara, and mopping half-heartedly at
the juice. 

Yes, said Tara, and her voice came out as a wretched
sob. Dawn looked up alarmed.

Why are you& she began but was cut off by a cloaked
and smoking figure in black barreling through the
kitchen door. 

Spike! cried Dawn as the door slammed shut, and she
sounded relieved to see him. 

Nibblet, he acknowledged, stopping in the shadows at
the kitchens far end. Sabrina. Curtains, would
someone mind?

Oh right. Dawn was up and tugging at them. Its not
really dark enough. Can I borrow your blanket? She
gingerly picked up the smoking black thing that was
chucked near her and stood on a chair to pull it up
into position. There, better.

Thanks a bunch, said Spike, now sauntering over to
turn a chair around, and seating himself guy-style, at
the head of the table. So&slayer made it home
alright?

Tara looked at him, fighting back her tears. She
noticed the tired smudges beneath his piercing blue
eyes and the way he was concealing his nervous
anticipation of their answer. In that moment,
unnatural creature of darkness aside, he reminded her
of herself.

Shes still gone, said Dawn. You didnt see her
last night? She um, didnt come to you?

Well, I saw her, revealed Spike. He paused to reach
for his smokes and lighter, as the two women stared at
him.

You did? squeaked Dawn. When? Where?

Tara frowned. Spike was enjoying this.

In the street, said Spike, we spoke a bit and then
she too-doodled when you guys roared up in
watcher-mans ride.

Dawn folded her arms indignantly. What?! You never
said!

Well, I didnt realize things were so uh, serious,
said Spike uncomfortably. I just thought she was out
for a jaunt is all, and you were all riding her a bit
hard. Look, about this heaven thing&

The kitchen door crashed open again. Tara turned to
look, and out of the corner of her eye saw Spike
leaping back out of his chair with a yelp to avoid the
sunlight. The blond witch stared as Willow strode in
and past them, not appearing to see them, or more
importantly, her. An unconscious Buffy was cradled in
Willows arms. Tara gaped as her girlfriend marched
out of sight, around the corner and up the stairs.

Wow, said Dawn, before following as fast as she
could.

Sjust not right, muttered Spike, leaning gingerly
past a bar of sunlight to daub his cigarette out on a
mostly empty plate. Well, what say we go see whats
up?

Tara stared at him through blurring eyes. You go,
she said, and after giving her a confused look, he
went. Tara sat there and looked at the jug of juice.
She didnt feel like going. She didnt feel like
seeing. She just wanted to hide. Above her she could
hear people moving around, and the rumble of voices.
She sat there listening. Eventually the phone rang and
she listened to it ring. It took six rings (she was
counting) before someone upstairs answered it. Tara
was relieved. That meant she definitely didnt have
to.

After an indeterminate period of stalling, Tara got up
and wandered into the lounge. She wondered what was on
TV. She wondered what was happening upstairs. Did they
need her? Did anyone really need her? She sank down on
the couch and looked at her hands. Maternal hands
her father had called them. Good for working, good for
tending things. Did Buffy need tending? The slayer had
looked hurt. Buffy was hurt inside too. Tara could
practically feel it every time she risked a glance at
Buffys aura. The colors were all wrong now. The witch
could also feel it every time she opened up her
empathy. A gaping hole in Buffy where emotions should
be. Not just a hole, but a black hole, sucking
everything in from all around, sucking at Tara,
putting her at mortal danger of falling in and being
torn apart.

What Willow had done just wasnt right. Tara clenched
her maternal hands tight. It shouldnt be allowed.
Only, what exactly had Willow ended up doing? Silly
Willow. Careless, emotional Willow. And&powerful
Willow. Why had Willow done the spell, against all her
entreaties otherwise? What had she really done? To
Buffy, and to them all? 

What was Willow doing to her?

* * * 

Buffy stinks. Dawn announced this while sitting at
the foot of Buffys bed and watching Willow, seated in
a chair, clean up Buffys infected hands with a bowl
of water, a needle for digging out grit, some
antiseptic cream, and bandages.

Hmm, said Willow. She was distracted.

Shes totally ruined those PJs, noted Dawn. What
was she doing?

Willow thought about that. Really, there was no easy
answer, and certainly no completely true one that she
wanted to tell to Dawn. Time for some major
censorship.

She was, uh, sleeping at the old ruins of, yknow,
Willow paused uncomfortably, Glorys tower.

Dawns mouth formed an O. She looked down at Buffy
in a kind of horror, than looked searchingly to
Willow. B&but why?

The phone rang.

Tara will get it, said Willow, and picked up the
needle. There was something mashed into an abrasion
between thumb and finger on Buffys left hand. Shed
have to dig it out. Gross.

Dawn stared at the phone on Buffys bedside table. It
rang a third time. Then a fourth. She might not,
said Dawn, and moved to pick it up on the sixth ring.
Hello?

Willow half-listened to the one-sided conversation
while wrinkling her nose and putting most of her
concentration into getting the grit out. Stubborn
grit.

Shes back! Dawn was saying. A pause. I dont know.
Willow says the old tower. A longer pause. Um, okay.
Are you coming over now? Pause. Okay. Okay, I will.
Tara. Yeah, downstairs somewhere. Spike too. Pause.
I dont know. Hes always here. Pause. Gees, who
can sleep now? Its daylight! Pause. Thats stupid.
Sure, well wait. Okay. Okay, bye.

That was Giles, the teen announced, returning to her
previous position at the foot of Buffys bed.

Uhuh, said Willow, poking her tongue out as she
concentrated. There, and there. Was that one a
splinter or a spot of dirt?

Ladies. This was Spike, now lounging in the doorway.
What did Englands finest have to say? he asked
Dawn.

Giles sounded mad, revealed the teen. And hes
coming over.

Dandy, said Spike. 

Willow wiped more dirt off Buffys hand. Not a
splinter then. She reached for the cream. 

So what was the slayer up to then? asked Spike, far
too casually.

She was sleeping at the ruins of Glorys tower! Dawn
revealed. She sounded incredulous all over again. 

Spikes eyebrow arched. Oh yeah? he said.
Sounds&kinky. He stared at Willow as she glanced
back at him nervously. 

The witch went back to lightly rubbing the antiseptic
cream over Buffys cuts. She felt herself tense. She
could feel the vampire still looking at her, at her
and Buffy on the bed. She just prayed he wasnt
smelling them too.

It sounds sick! Dawn corrected, and she sounded
genuinely upset. Somethings wrong with her, Spike.
She came back all gloomy and catatonic and staring
into space and&

Whoa there, little bit, said Spike, crossing to pat
Dawn on the shoulder. Im sure big sisll be fine.
She just needs some time.

Hes so strange around Dawn, Willow thought,
finishing with Buffys left hand and picking up her
right. The witch wondered if Spikes behavior was
really all about impressing Buffy. How could it be?
Buffy certainly wasnt being impressed right now.

Time for what? asked Dawn, wrapping her arms around
her chest.

Maybe, said Spike carefully, not answering this,
the slayer came back wrong. He looked down at
Buffys prone form appraisingly.  

What? yelped Dawn. No! No, Buffys fine. Shes
normal. Just different. Youd be different too if
youd gone to heaven and done& she trailed off
weakly, heavenly stuff. She frowned disconsolately.
It must be weird to die.

It is, said Spike. 

Willow looked away from them then. Why were they in
here anyway, distracting her from her all-important
task? As she picked the needle up again, she looked
around vaguely for Tara. Where was her girlfriend? The
blond witch was really good at patching people up, a
natural healer. And Willow could really do with some
help.

Her hands are infected? That was Spike, crossing
over to the opposite side of the bed to get a better
look. Aint she the slayer anymore?

What? asked Willow, shocked enough to look back up.

Slayers dont get infections over nothing, said the
vampire, gesturing at Buffys hands. Didnt Buffy get
some kinda sodding injury practically every night I
knew her, and all without so much as an ouch?
Somethings up with her. Came back wrong.

No! said Dawn again. 

Um, Willow looked at Buffys peaceful face. It was
clean now, and at rest. Had Buffy looked like this
when she lay underneath the still standing tower, all
dead and gone? And they all stood around and cracked
apart? Willow couldnt remember.

What was in that spell, Red? asked Spike, and his
voice was smooth and dangerous. Are you sure you got
her&all back?

And Buffy heard you and Tara fighting! Dawn added
suddenly, as though shed just remembered. Right
through the walls, every word! Thats so freaky.
Remember you told us all about it. Buffy could never
do that before.

Oh she did, huh? said Spike. Not exactly her normal
range of powers, is it?

I concur. The voice came from the open doorway,
calm, measured, and unutterably British. Willow looked
over her shoulder at Giles, startled, and he looked
back, face in shadow. Buffy is altered, Giles
pronounced and they all stayed silent, processing
that. I propose we examine the spell that, Giles
paused and his voice came out noticeably deeper,
Willow used. Also we need to help Buffy talk about
her experiences. If she holds what happened inside it
could be fatal. To Buffy, or to one of us. We need to
help her, he stepped further inside, adjust to
reality.

Good plan, said Spike sarcastically. Willow wondered
why the vampire was being sarcastic. Maybe he just
didnt like Giles. She didnt like Giles very much
these days. He was so&preachy. He was walking over
now, and standing beside her chair.

And then shell be normal again, right? checked
Dawn. And&and happy? Like she was before?

Buffy was never happy, said Willow. She could feel
their eyes, their accusations boring into her as she
said it. Wasnt anybody on her side? She was just
telling it like it was.

She told you that? asked Giles and he sounded
disbelieving. Like he was challenging her, challenging
her right to know things about Buffy.

Im her best friend, said Willow. She looked back at
Buffys hands and gasped. They looked as though Buffy
had just torn her own way through the unforgiving
earth, as she crawled out of her coffin. The witch
felt sweat break out on her forehead. She looked up to
see if the others had noticed too.

In name, Giles was saying smoothly. He wasnt
looking at Buffys hands. You need help too, Willow.
You need to start listening to others for a change. Do
you have any idea what the power you accessed can do
to a mortal?

Willow almost snarled at him. How dare he tell her she
wasnt really friends with Buffy? She was a better
friend to the slayer than he had ever been,
self-righteous, weak and useless bastard that he was.
Do you have any idea what I could do to you? she
asked him, and she felt the magic slow-burning in her
blood.

Arent you a good witch, Red? put in Spike. Theres
no need for threats now. He was eyeing her and Giles.
Were all friends here. He looked back down to Buffy
and his face went soft. Willow scowled to see it.

Willow? Dawns voice was imploring. She sounded
scared. Willow ignored this and curled her lip at
Spike. Where did bleach-boy get off? He wasnt friends
with any of them. Okay, maybe he was sort of friends
with Dawn. And Buffy. No, no, that wasnt right. How
could Buffy let a soulless vampire befriend her? Was
she crazy?

Your control seems to be sadly lacking, Giles was
saying now, in what she considered to be his most
uptight and annoying voice of all. We want to help
you, Willow, despite the dangerous forces youve
foolishly toyed with. You should count yourself lucky
to be sane.

Willow gritted her teeth. She was close to hating
Giles in this moment, and her skin felt tight and
itchy over the power steaming within. But this,
Buffys bedroom, with Buffy sick in the bed, this
wasnt the place or time for&what she wasnt sure.

Buffys hurt, she said, refocusing everyones
attention. Her feet need cleaning up next, and I
think shes got a gash on her leg. Then she needs a
wash. What she doesnt need, what I dont need, is all
of you standing around here making the process longer,
and not helping one iota. One iota! What I do need is
penicillin for the infection and you guys to do some
research as to why Buffys even hurt. She hid her
anger behind her most serious look and caught them all
in it. NOW would be good.

Very well, said Giles, ushering the other two out.
Dawn looked eager to go and Spike sauntered out after
her with a last speculative look at Willow. But,
clipped out Giles, we two are going to talk later
about what you did.

Fine, said Willow tightly, turning her attention
back to Buffy. Giles could think whatever he wanted
to. What he didnt realize was that he wasnt in
charge here. He was a meandering has-been, out to get
his affirmation from helping Buffy but no longer
needed. No, they didnt need him and he probably
sensed it too. And when it came to magic, he was
really just a rank, arrogant amateur. Knew nothing
really. Risked nothing. 

Willow finished bandaging Buffys right hand and set
it at the slayers side. She stroked the slayers
sleeping face and smiled down at her tenderly. You
Buffy, she husked, are worth the risk. Any risk at
all. Why cant they see that? She didnt let herself
look at the welts on Buffys neck.

* * *

Xander and Anya walked hand in hand down the street,
on their way to the Summers residence.

How can she be sick? Xander said.

Yeah, agreed Anya, pretty sorry excuse for a
slayer.

I mean, Xander went on worriedly, slayers dont get
sick.

Ooh ooh, I know this one! said Anya, squeezing his
hand so tightly that he yelped in pain. They do when
their watchers drug them.

Giles wouldnt do that again, said Xander, covertly
slipping his hand out of his girlfriends. Owie! Anya
was mighty strong. Probably an ex-demon feature. Ew,
he didnt want to go there& I hope Dawnies doing
okay, he said, wondering if the teen would be a
blubbering wreck when they got to their destination.
Maybe shed need some of that
affectionate-older-brother attention.

Who cares how shes doing, said Anya snipishly,
grabbing at his hand again and missing as he yanked it
away. Shes not real anyway.

She is too real! Xander glared at his girlfriend.
Really, Anya said the craziest things sometimes. Make
that all the time. Still, he loved the way her lips
pouted when she went all whiny&and her tight butt.

Oh please, said Anya. Her butt wiggled in her
indignation. Xander hung back a pace to watch in
interest. Am I the only one with logic? she
complained. Dawns a ball of mystical energy, not a
real person.

Well sure, when you look at it that way, said
Xander, sticking his hands into his pockets
uncomfortably and catching back up. But shes real
now. And shes our friend. Thats all that matters.

No its not! Anyas hands were up in the air and she
looked extremely put out. Shes a phony. You only
care about her cause she had a crush on you and your
male ego is all stroked. And everyone else only likes
her because they were implanted with fake memories.
Her hands went to her hips. Excuse me for finding her
egocentric and annoying.

Xander rolled his eyes. Youre one to talk, he
muttered under his breath. He looked sideways at his
girlfriend to see if shed heard. She hadnt, and was
launching into a rant:  

Its not healthy, Xander! Maybe its my one thousand
year perspective, but I can see that the memory I have
of Dawn cleaning the Magic Shop out for me is
baloney.

That really happened, argued Xander. He paused, brow
wrinkling. I think.

No it didnt! screeched Anya. Its completely out
of character!

How can it be? said Xander smugly, if Dawns not
even real?

I dont know, cried Anya. But it is! That whiny
brat is a magnet for weird cultists and insaneo gods
and theres more of that out there, I can tell you
right now! You think theyll leave us alone? They
wont, you stupid man, nuh-uh! Theyll keep attacking
and trying to unmake the key and well end up dead and
mashed into the concrete before we can even have my
beautiful wedding. She looked on the verge of tears.
Or before we have that steamy honeymoon sex you like
to talk about so much, or before we have our
half-demon kids and I live out my normal life for an
appallingly short space of time. I cant do shorter,
Xander!

I know, he said, taking her hand up again, feeling
compassionate and oddly disturbed. Anya was just being
Anya, but she was also making his brain throb with her
good point. And there was a good point in there
somewhere. He was sure. He wanted to forget about it
again. He rubbed his thumb comfortingly over Anyas
hand. The honeymoon sex will be great, he told her.

Its bad for Buffy too, said Anya, looking at him
beneath her lashes. He knew she was trying to
manipulate him when she did that. Usually he let her;
it was far easier. 

How do you mean? he asked suspiciously, rising to
the bait.

Well look at us, said Anya, were so happy
together. Mr & Mrs Xander Harris to be! Healthy and
normal.

Uhuh, said Xander, feeling all prickly around the
collar. Why did he keep feeling all constricted when
she did the wedding-talk thing?

And then theres Willow and Tara, went on Anya.
Sure theyve sworn off men and turned into Lesbians,
but at least they have hot orgasms.

Mmm, said Xander. Where was this going?

But Buffy, said Anya, who really isnt all that
unattractive&

Hey! said Xander, then thought better of it. Sorry
honey, you were saying?

She could get a man, said Anya. A live one without
the soul problem even. But does she? Nooo. Instead she
chooses a life of no free meals and&and&

Yes? wondered Xander.

Abstinence! hissed Anya, like it was a dirty word.
She does it because of Dawn yknow.

Does she? said Xander. He was growing confused.

Of course, said Anya. The slayers obsessed with
her. Theres no time for anything or anyone else. Its
always Dawn this, Dawn that. She made a face and
started imitating Buffy in a whiny voice, Protect
Dawn, Anya. Protect Dawn, bloodsucking-monster Spike.
Protect Dawn, Xander my slave, like youve got nothing
better to do. Dawn is all that matters! We must save
the world at the expense of Anya and Xanders precious
lives! We must save Dawn instead!

Uh, said Xander, It wasnt that bad, Sweetie-pie.
Although now you mention it, it was kinda annoying.
Still, Dawn needed us.

You dont seem to understand, said Anya with growing
frustration. Dawn is like a piece of antique china,
like that one I wanted you to buy me off eBay, so I
could crush it.

She is? wondered Xander.

Shes valuable, allowed Anya, people like her. A
lot of people want her for their own. But if I said to
you, hey Xander, the world is ending and Im just
going to stand here and protect this teacup with my
body, you go and die over there&

Oh, said Xander. He felt breathless as the
implication finally filtered in. Oh, he said again,
even more weakly. This was bad. Why was Anyas logic
making sense? Why, why, why?

I mean, Anya went on, Dawns a human right now,
sure. As in, human today. What was she last year, huh?
What will she be in a months time after the next
cultists come door-knocking?

Human today, Xander said weakly. Oh God.

Today, repeated Anya meaningfully. Only today. You
want to risk your life, our future, for that?

No, whispered Xander, and he felt sick to his
stomach to be admitting it out loud. His brain ached
and his nice safe worldview was spinning completely
out of control.

Neither do I, said Anya firmly. Someone should
really say something.

Okay, said Xander and was relieved when his
girlfriend finally shut up, apparently satisfied. 

He didnt know if he could ever be satisfied again.
































	
		
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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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