"Xander, you have to be more careful," Tara reminded him, still a little shaken from watching him drop to the ground in the graveyard just a half hour before.

"Yes, you should listen to her, Xander," Anya said as she paced around the table in the back of The Magic Box. "Do you need more bandages? Or some ground bear's liver? Or maybe I have some—"

Willow silenced her with a look, although the lines of worry crossing Anya's forehead showed no signs of retreating.

"He'll be fine, Anya. I promise."

"See, Ahn, I've been trying to tell you everything will be fine. Before you know it, I'll be back out there, going toe to claws with another bumpy, hairy demon."

"Maybe we should talk about that," Willow said, and Xander looked hurt. They'd had this conversation before and he still hadn't changed his mind.

"Hear me out, Xander. There's a reason Buffy usually patrols—patrolled—alone. We're a little conspicuous out there in a big group. Easier to track, easier to distract, especially when some demon grabs my oldest friend and starts to drag him off to his spooky lair...Xander..." She looked at him, hoping he'd understand her this time.

"We did it all summer, Will! And we did okay. I can't let you go out there by yourself. You—"

"Yes, you can. I've come a long way. I may not be able to stand with them hand-to-hand, but I don't need to." Willow shot Tara a warning look before Tara could speak up. This was not the time to get into the 'just what kind of magic should we be using' lecture. That magic had saved all of their lives, and it had returned one that had been unfairly lost. "Listen to me, when Buffy was...gone...it drew every lowlife in a hundred mile radius straight to Sunnydale. But if I can go out there, wreak a little magical havoc, maybe I can keep them from looking twice at the 'Sunnydale for Demons' travel brochure."

"We've always done this together, Will," Xander said. He didn't want to admit he might not be able to provide any real help.

"And that was fine. Then. But things are different."

"I still don't see why we can't help. We were helping, weren't we?" Xander whined.

"The spells I have to do to keep things under control out there, they're a little dangerous." She watched their eyes widen, and she hid her annoyance. They clearly feared the magical power she'd attained. "They're not dangerous for me, just for anyone else who might be around. I just don't want any of you getting in the way."

"I don't understand what the problem is," Anya interrupted, looking at Xander. "Willow is perfectly willing to let you stay safely at home. Then Buffy will realize the Slayer is supposed to slay, not mope all day and sleep all night, and everything will go back to normal."

"Anya..." Xander's voice warned her.

"No, Xander. I've tried being patient and I don't like it. I don't want you getting hurt again, and besides, Willow is ten times as good as you are out there."

Willow's hand flew to her face, covering her eyes. This wasn't how she'd hoped this conversation would go.

"Anya, why don't you take Xander home and let him get some rest? We'll talk about this later," Willow said, trying give her friend a way to salvage his ego.

Anya helped Xander out of his chair and led him away from the table, fussing quietly over him.

But Xander wasn't looking at Anya, he was still looking at Willow. Not with anger or embarrassment, with something else. Was it...concern? Willow's stomach did a few turns on the uneven parallel bars when she understood his expression. He was worried. For her.

She went to him, touching him lightly on the arm, just above the gashes the Grollnik demon had left behind. "Don't forget your purse, behind the counter, Anya," Willow said, giving herself a few sentences' worth of privacy with Xander. "I'll be careful out there, Xander. I'm more powerful than I was even a few months ago. I've got a lot of tricks up my sleeve."

She was hoping to see his worry melt away. Maybe not completely, but he had to admit she was right. Didn't he?

"Xander, we brought Buffy back, but I don't have the tools to do it again. I don't want to lose her, or you, or," she continued, looking back at their friends gathered around the table, "any of them. I can protect them until Buffy is ready."

Hours later, Willow still privately wondered why Xander's concern for her didn't subside at all, despite the logic of what she'd said.

They don't understand the power I have, she thought. They could never possess or control this power themselves, so it scares them.

"It's like they don't trust me," Willow whispered, watching her reflection run a brush through her hair. Sure, they'd love it if she stayed shy, comic relief, hacker Willow for the rest of their lives. Useless except looking through dusty books and playing the eternal second fiddle to Buffy.

Willow shook her head, trying to clear it. Willow had long ago resolved to bury the gawky teenager who'd been envious of Xander's Buffy infatuation. She loved Buffy, as much as she loved Xander. Loved her enough to risk her own life to bring Buffy back from the dead.

"Willow," Tara began as she toweled off her hair, "I think you're being a little hasty going it by yourself. And the magic you're using...I really don't think—"

"Forget," Willow whispered, and she turned in her chair to smile at Tara.

"Did you say something a minute ago, sweetie?" Tara asked as she climbed under the covers.

"No, no. It's okay." Willow replied, and she pushed away from the vanity to join Tara in bed.

Down the hall, the room to Buffy's door had been closed for hours.

Giles had looked in on her earlier, and unless she was better at feigning sleep than he gave her credit for, she'd been soundly dreaming for hours. And just like the previous two weeks, she was likely to sleep through the night, through breakfast, and through the goodbye kiss Dawn had started placing on her sleeping sister's forehead before heading off to school.

Giles had assured them that Buffy would re-adjust to the world in her own way, but secretly, he was troubled. For now, he observed her behavior while spending his nights on the Summers' living room couch. He had no desire to rush Buffy into anything, just to support her.

Sleep hadn't shown a hint of its arrival for Giles, and he slipped away to the kitchen for one more cup of tea. Damn what the Americans seemed to think about caffeine before bedtime, a cup of tea was his preferred way to unwind before bed.

He left the light in the kitchen off, his tired eyes comfortable in the darkness. He'd spent his day, like so many in his life before it, poring over one old, dusty book after another. He'd hoped to discover what Willow had arrogantly bumbled her way into with this resurrection spell, and part of him had foolishly thought he might find a reason to believe Buffy could overcome her current troubles and return to her former self.

There are repercussions for every action, he knew, especially something as dangerous as what Willow had done. The thaumogenesis demon, a side effect of the resurrection spell, was quite a price to pay in itself. As Xander told the tale, it had almost succeeded in sending Buffy back to where she'd come from.

However, Willow was truly troubling. The look in her eyes when they'd faced off in the kitchen a few weeks ago had been unsettling. The mere notion of Willow threatening anyone was the antithesis of the image he'd had of her, prior to his departure.

She'd backed down, of course. She had softened so quickly, it had been easy to tell himself the agony she'd felt over Buffy's death had pushed her to attempt the dangerous spell.

He looked through the kitchen window as he steeped his tea, and wasn't surprised a bit to catch a glimpse of Spike's blond head moving around in the darkness.

Giles went to the back door and opened it abruptly.

"Oh, it's you," Spike began, his voice slightly raised in surprise. "I came here because I heard the man-child got on the wrong side of some big, hairy nasty. Wanted to see what he wanted. The demon, that is. Not Xander. Couldn't care less what—" Spike stopped himself. "Care to fill me in, or should I just be getting out of what's left of your hair?" Despite his threat to leave, he made no move to do so. The dance of feigned nonchalance he had to perform to get the information he wanted wasn't nearly over yet.

He hadn't asked the question directly—was it another demon who'd shown up in Sunnydale to take a shot at the weakened Slayer, or was it just more run of the mill Sunnydale nonsense—but he knew His Stuffiness understood him. Always did understand me, Spike thought, even back in the day.

"Spike, have I ever told you how much I didn't miss our little chats while I was away?" Giles sighed. He didn't really want to admit how much they'd needed Spike while Buffy was...gone, much less how much they still needed him now. "From what I gather, the demon did mention Buffy specifically, yes."

"Sod it," Spike whispered. "So, did they get him, then? Let me guess, the Wiccan took him out. No, no, don't tell me. I know—the Slayer decided to come out and play for a change tonight, didn't she?" He kept the hope from his eyes, though he doubted Giles could see well enough in the dark to catch it. If Buffy had missed patrol again tonight, that would mark two full weeks of her absence.

Spike had covered every inch of the city since the sun had set, hoping against hope he'd catch just one flash of her blond hair as she dusted some vamp or beheaded a demon unfortunate enough to cross her path. But he'd seen nothing, he'd even missed what sounded like a less than epic battle with the Scoobs and the Grollnik demon.

"No, I'm afraid, the demon escaped. It appears the Grollnik surprised them with its speed, injuring Xander in the process. Willow was forced to turn her attention to defense, and it escaped. And more than likely, it is still seeking out its prey."

"Until I find it, and re-educate it a little, that is," Spike replied. "I'll take care of this one solo, right? Just remember this the next time I need a favor."

Giles stood on the porch long after Spike had disappeared from view, wondering just when, exactly, he'd let another vampire into his confidence.

Upstairs, Buffy slept as her mind found the only solace she'd found since her abrupt return to life.

In her dreams, she was in the light again. Warm and safe. She knew her mother was nearby. There were no more concerns, pressing on her, crushing her under the weight of responsibility. For Buffy, there was no more death, no more pain, only peace.

She slept as if she never wanted to awaken again.

Spike, now over two miles away from the house, found himself returning again. The Grollnik demon was out there, waiting to be dealt with, but he couldn't. Not yet.

He moved with purpose now. Moved with intention. At length, he found himself under Buffy's window, feeling the familiar desire to sweep her away from here to a place where he could watch over her.

Spike climbed soundlessly up the trellis and perched himself where he could watch her sleep. It was the first time he'd seen her in days. The sight of her soaked into him, fueling him to go out and do what needed to be done.

Three hours later, after he'd finally finished torturing the Grollnik demon, he was annoyed to discover it hadn't made him feel at all better.

"Spike!" Willow yelled, slightly out of breath. "I've already told you to stay out of my way."

"Uh-uh, Red," Spike replied, keeping pace with her easily, "Told you once, told you a hundred times. Long as you're out here, you're in my territory. Me: creature of the underworld. You: fluffy little college bird." Willow looked at him angrily through her fatigue. Must be losing it, Spike thought to himself. For a second there, he'd actually been a little scared of the mini-witch.

"I've got these two. Why don't you go see if they have friends?" Willow continued the pursuit and Spike backed off, but just a bit. He stayed close enough to come to her aid, should she need it.

Willow used her knowledge of the graveyard's layout to her advantage, and took a shortcut placing her right in the path of the fleeing pair.

Willow's eyes clouded with black as she yelled, "Transverbero!"

Spike was ready to run into the fray when he saw the vamps approaching Willow, but he found he was entirely unneccessary. The witch just chanted some Latin nonsense and they dusted as if she'd staked them.

Willow wobbled a little before she regained her composure.

"Well, that spell took a chunk out of you, dead language girl," Spike said as he approached.

"Didn't know whether it would work. Neat, though, huh?" Willow's voice sounded a bit heady, as if she was woozy from the effort of the spell. "See, the spell actually stakes the vampire, only without all that contact and fighting."

"You'll have to excuse me if I'm not completely taken with it. Not really a fair fight, is it? Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you, Broom Hilda."

"I wonder how many of them it will work on at once..." Willow speculated.

"Now, hold on. Say you get cornered by ten vampires and find out it only works on five of 'em? What will you do then? Read 'em one of your sodding college textbooks until they stake themselves of boredom?"

"No, I...Listen, Spike. Stay out of my way. I don't need your help." She started to walk away, but then turned back. "Or next time, maybe you'll find yourself a little too close to my anti-vamp spell."

Willow jogged away from him, over a small hill and out of his sight. This time, he let her go.

"Bloody mewling slayerettes," Spike cursed, "always in some kind of mess they can't get themselves out of." He'd left Willow alone in the cemetery but he was still beating himself up over it.

Spike figured it was just a matter of time before the witch was bound to run head-first into a good bit more harm than she'd bargained for.

He'd had enough of the Watcher's excuses and stalls. The old Buffy was inside Sleeping Beauty somewhere, and Spike had decided to go get her back.

He reached the house and peered through the living room window. Giles was on the couch with a cup of tea and a book.

Knock me over with a feather, who'd have thought he'd be curled up with a book? He took a second to enjoy lurking in the darkness around the house. His life just hadn't had enough enjoyable lurks lately.

He circled around to the side of the house, climbing the trellis again. This time, however, he wasn't there to enjoy the show.

"'Bout time I started something around here," he said, as he jimmied the lock on Buffy's window.

"Buffy," he hissed, trying to strike a balance between making enough noise to awaken her without disturbing the rest of the house. "Slayer!" he whisper-yelled, moving a little closer to the bed.

He didn't want to get too close to her before she was completely awake. The odds on a drowsy Slayer staking him first and asking questions later made him more than a little uneasy.

When she didn't stir, he reluctantly made his way to the bed. He put his hand on her shoulder, which was unbearably soft under his rough hands, and shook her gently.

"Buffy...Love?" She murmured something he couldn't quite make out.

She looked so beautiful, sleeping with the moonlight playing over her face. He suppressed an urge to kiss her, even if he could claim afterwards he'd only done it to wake her up.

He stood there, contemplating what to try next when she suddenly sat upright in bed, and whispered something. Had it been, "Mom?"

"I wasn't doing anything," he said. Nothing wrong with a pre-emptive strike to keep yourself out of trouble.

"Spike," she questioned him sleepily, "what do you want?"

"It's nothing like you think. Swear it. Came to talk to you about your friend, the witch. Getting a little uppity, if you ask me."

"Willow?" Buffy still sounded confused.

"She's the one. Judging by how she laid into me tonight, she's got designs on being the only one. If I didn't know better, I'd say she had her eye on your job, Slayer."

"What are you talking about, Spike? Is it possible for you to just tell me instead of bantering me to death?"

Spike couldn't hide his smile. This was the first sign she'd shown of being the old Buffy, his Buffy, in weeks. He filed it away to savor later.

"Who do you think's been out offing the baddies since you took down your shingle?"

"I haven't...I'm just trying to figure some things out." She hugged the bedcovers, pulling them around her.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't. But I think you should know your pal has made herself a nice little solo act. One that'll get her killed, one way or another. I've been keeping my eye on her, but tonight she was pretty convincing when she told me to sod off."

"Spike, I need you to help her. Just give me a few more days."

"Love to, Slayer. But I can't guard her as the pile of dust she threatened to turn me into."

"Willow wouldn't do that. She didn't—" Buffy thought on this for a moment, "She didn't really say that, did she?"

"Manner of speaking. Told me to stay out of her way, or she might not be able to shield me from the effects of her magic. She's killing vamps without laying a hand on them now, did you know that?" He felt a little silly describing it. "Psychic staking, looked like to me."

"Spike, that's ridiculous. Do you know how ridiculous you sound?"

"Don't know what else to call it," he shrugged. "But—the bit about leaving her alone—she sounded serious enough."

"Are you honestly telling me Big Bad is afraid of little Willow?" Buffy sounded amused.

Spike's pride flared for a minute, and he longed to back down and salvage what was left of it. But he'd come here to say something, and he wouldn't leave until it was said.

"I'm telling you, the witch is in over her head. She's messing with things that shouldn't be messed with, you hear me? She's not," he searched for the word, "right," he finished, lamely.

"You must be slipping, Spike," Buffy said. "Used to take more than one little threat to get you running scared."

"I'm not scared for me," he blurted out. "I'm scared for her, and for you just being around her."

"Get out," she said. "If you lay one hand on Willow, I'll kill you before the chip can."

Spike's frustration came out as anger, despite the promise he'd made to himself on the way over to stay calm.

"You'd have to get out of bed first, Slayer," he said, lowering himself back through the window. "I'm probably not the only one who thinks she's off. Ask the Watcher, if you don't believe me."

For the first time in more than a dozen days, Buffy found herself utterly without the desire to go back to sleep.

"So, what does a girl have to do around here to get a wake-up call?"

Giles nearly dropped his book in surprise.

"Buffy! You're, er, well, here you are," Giles stammered. "Are you not well?" he asked, filled with the flustered brand of concern Buffy had come to expect from him.

"Spike just paid me a visit."

"Oh, my. And the subject of this visit was?"

"Is Willow home yet?"

"No. In fact, she's not."

"Giles, why didn't you tell me she was out there by herself? What were you thinking?"

"I'm not sure what we've been doing, actually. Once you," he paused, considering his words, "stopped patrolling a two weeks ago, all of us took on the responsibility together." He stopped again, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of being completely honest with her. "Xander was injured—it wasn't serious—but Willow felt she could be more effective without feeling responsible for the rest of us."

"So, explain to me the part where you all gave up and let her go out there alone?"

"I wasn't there, Buffy. I've been rather, er, preoccupied, as of late."

"Preoccupied? Giles! With what? What could possibly—"

"With you," he said, interrupting her. "With you," he repeated, more softly, and he reached out to take her hand. "I understand how overwhelmed you've been since your return, but worrying over your welfare has been all I could think about. I'm afraid, I've let certain other of my responsibilities fall to, well, fall to Willow, as it happens."

Buffy had wondered how her friends had been reacting to her recent bahavior, but she hadn't anticipated how overwrought her Watcher had become.

"Giles, I—"

"There's something else you should know, Buffy. You know about the demon bikers you encountered on the night you, er—"

"Crashed this mortal coil party again?" Buffy supplied helpfully.

"Yes, quite." Giles took off his glasses and begun fidgeting with them. "They attacked Sunnydale once it became common knowledge that a Slayer was no longer protecting the Hellmouth."

"But they're gone now."

"Ah, yes. They have, indeed, left. But your disappearance over recent days has sparked new rumors about the city being unprotected. Certain...undesirable beings...have begun to venture into Sunnydale, trying to confirm those rumors. Someone had to stay here, to ensure your safety."

"So, no big. Something's gunning for me? Well, been there, done that, got the stakes to prove it."

"Buffy, I know you're trying to be brave right now. But I have serious doubts about your readiness to resume your duties. One fight with Spike can't have been the magic elixir to give you the strength you've needed. Or at least, if it was, I wish I'd had the foresight to arrange it before tonight." His eyes warmed into a smile.

"Look, I can't deny things have been...difficult. They have been."

"Buffy, may I ask? What is this burden you've been carrying?"

"I've been, uh," her voice trembled, "dreaming."

"And you find these dreams disturbing?"

"No. Yes. Giles, it's kind of...both. They're not disturbing while I'm having them. The disturbing part is the waking up. The dreams...they're of a place I...didn't want to leave."

Giles considered what she'd said. If she meant what he feared she did, it would mean coming back had been a journey of pain and torture for her.

A noise at the back door pulled them away from their conversation.

"Willow?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"Probably. But we should be on our guard, nonetheless."

They went together to the kitchen's entrance, and let out a collective sigh of relief when they saw Willow using her key to let herself in the back door.

"Little late for a study group, isn't it Will?" Buffy asked her. Willow reacted as if she'd been cattle-prodded.

"Oh! My—Buffy! You're up!"

"Yeah, people keep saying that," Buffy answered.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay? Everything's been fine, we've been covering things. You don't need to worry. Unless you want to. But even then, maybe you shouldn't. Okay. Stopping now." Willow's rapid-fire nervous talking left Buffy unfazed. After years of being Willow's friend, she was used to it.

"Will, I'm sure the fort has been held down and the bale has been toted, with you here to do it. But I think I can take the slaying duties back again." Buffy smiled and tried to mean what she was saying. It wasn't that she didn't want to fall back into the more familiar rhythms of her former life, but the lure of her dreams still seemed too strong for her to resist.

"You can take your time, Buffy. You should see me out there. I've perfected this—" she stopped short, looking quickly over at Giles. His disapproval of her magical activities had become more and more pronounced since their argument in the kitchen over Buffy's resurrection spell. Giles radiated distrust whenever she mentioned even the most innocent of spells. "Well, anyway. I'm safe out there, trust me."

"That's really great, Wills, really. But I don't think we'll get rid of the scum until they know the Slayer is back in town for good. It's me they're after, so it's me they should fight."

"I can help you, Buffy. Just wait until you see what I've been working on," Willow ventured.

Buffy looked deeply into the eyes of her longtime friend, the one who had loved her enough to risk her own safety to bring Buffy back to the world.

"Have you at least been taking Spike with you?"

"He's been there, off and on. When he's in the mood for a fight." It was a bit of a lie. Spike had been keeping to himself more since Buffy's return than he had over the summer, but it mostly Willow's fault for failing to keep him informed.

"There's no reason for anyone else to get hurt. Starting tomorrow, it's back to solo slaying for me," Buffy told her. "I appreciate everything you've done, Willow, but it's time for me to take over again."

"O-okay, whatever you say." The softness disappeared from her face, and she turned quickly to leave. "I'm beat," she called over her shoulder. "Goin' to bed."

When Buffy was sure Willow was out of earshot, she whispered to Giles, "Spike told me the oddest thing, Giles. He seems to think Willow's one step away from going all Darth Vader-y on us." Buffy looked at Giles carefully. "That means he thinks she's about to turn—"

"I do know what you mean by that, Buffy," he replied, lost in thought. "His fears are not entirely unwarranted."

"Explain?"

"I realize this sounds a little melodramatic, but Willow toyed with forces she can't begin to understand when she brought you back." He added, "Not that the results weren't—well, simply glorious. But for the first time, I began to have serious doubts about Willow's ability to stay away from frivolous or dangerous uses of magic. Certainly, I've begun to doubt her ability to moderate herself, and to be unaffected by the powers she can call upon."

"Giles, again. Tell me why someone didn't wake me up before, say, half past a week ago?"

"Because, Buffy. As concerned as I've been about Willow, I have been much more concerned for your well-being."

"Oh, thanks. Does the laying on of the guilt come naturally, or did they teach you that in Watcher school?"

"I can sense how overwhelmed you are. I'm still concerned for you, Buffy. Whatever battle you're fighting in your sleep, it's obviously very important for you. Do not underestimate it."

"Why?"

The question rang in Spike's head. It seemed as if his entire frustrating existence could be summed up in that one word.

Why had he allowed himself to care about them? None of them, except Buffy, occasionally, seemed to be able to stomach being around him, unless there was something that needed killing. And now Willow had made it clear they didn't even need him for that.

But Buffy—he'd actually seen the old Buffy there for a second, in the dark. The Buffy who'd grown to tolerate him, count on him at times, even. But when it came down to it, when he had to bring her news she didn't want to hear, she'd made it clear what she thought of him.

"Stopped short of calling me a bloody liar..." he whispered through clenched teeth. It was all insane.

Willow's playing with the darkest of dark magic, Watcher doesn't seem to care, Slayer doesn't do, well, anything, but all anyone seems to be sure of...is who I am, Spike thought.

Spike, good for a little mayhem.

Spike, who has to come to the back door, begging for scraps of information about Buffy.

Spike, whose word can't be trusted.

Why did he put up with it?

"Because you love her, you dumb git," he said to himself, and stopped walking. He was dumbfounded. He knew there was a fire between them. He'd even accepted how deeply he'd begun to care about her well-being, and that of the Niblet. But...love? The kind of love he'd once clumsily tried to put into verse?

But the final 'why' was the cruelest question of all. Why couldn't she ever love him back?

Part of him wondered when he'd become this pathetic creature. The rest of him knew the true answer; he had always been this pathetic creature.

Buffy ducked just in time, avoiding a roundhouse kick. She swung her right leg to trip the vamp she'd been fighting, and was upset to see him avoid it. He turned and ran, and Buffy followed him, feeling a little ridiculous for not having ended this fight several skirmishes ago.

"He should be dust by now," she said, breathing harder as she ran. She tried to put it from her mind, but it kept bothering her. She felt more out of practice fighting now than she had in the first days after she'd been brought back.

In contrast, she'd only felt completely natural that first night when she was fighting the demon bikers. Now she'd be lucky to dust one measly vamp.

She'd closed on him slightly, enough to take a running leap at him. The vamp was thrown to the ground when she made contact, and Buffy rolled, her stake at the ready. But when she looked where she'd expected him to land, she saw only grass.

"Buffy! Are you okay?" A familiar voice called to her from nearby, and Willow appeared from behind a tree.

"Yeah, I just have to find—"

"He's gone. Well, he's dust. I staked him from afar," Willow said. "It's actually pretty easy to do, once I got the hang of it."

Buffy looked at her friend, wondering if it really was that simple. Willow wasn't out of breath from running, wasn't nursing a sore abdomen where she'd been sucker-punched, and wasn't disoriented from trying and failing to stake one young, inexperienced vampire. All of which Buffy was, without the slaying at the end to make it all worthwhile.

"I had a look around the rest of the graveyard before I saw you chasing him. It's pretty clear. I think we can head home."

"Willow, I thought we'd decided you'd be taking some time off."

"No, you decided. You and Giles," Willow said, a sudden anger in her voice. "In case you just missed it back there, I saved your ungrateful behind."

"In case you missed it, Will, I'm the Slayer," Buffy said, saw the hurt on Willow's face. Willow turned to leave, and Buffy tried to stop her with an apology. "Willow, stop. That didn't come out right."

"No, it's okay, Buffy. I know what you meant. I know who you are and how important you are. I'm the one who brought you back, remember?"

"Will, you know how much I appreciate all the help you've been to me. But right now...I think I have to do this alone."

"Buffy, I'm not letting you die again. I can feel how weak you are, you know. Even though you try to hide it. You don't want anything to happen to me? Well, I don't want anything to happen to you, either."

"Hey, last time it took a big ol' dimensional rip to get rid of me," Buffy tried to joke, "I don't think one skinny vamp has my number this time."

"Oh, so I get it. I was good enough to give you your life back, but not to help you now?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to come back? Or maybe that I was happy where I was?" It slipped out before she could stop it, because it had been on her mind all night. She was out here stalking vampires when she could be in bed, dreaming of the light and peace she'd had to leave behind. She could be back with her mother instead of stalking around in the dark, staking vampires and hating her life.

Willow looked at Buffy, her mouth open in shock. She clearly had never considered Buffy hadn't wanted to be resurrected.

Willow turned and ran from the graveyard, aimlessly putting space between herself and Buffy. Eventually, she found herself at the front door of The Magic Box, using a key Anya didn't know about. She headed for Buffy's training room, at the rear of the store.

Willow saw the punching bag, and felt a sudden desire to whack it with all her might. She punched into it and drew her hand back, shaking it to dissipate the pain. She didn't know how to punch it correctly, but she hadn't imagined bad form could cause this much pain.

"Incurso!" she yelled, fueling the spell with her anger. The invisible blast struck the punching bag, tore it from its moorings, and hurtled it across the room. The plaster on the wall where the bag had impacted was cracked and some of it was crumbling away. Seeing the effects of her magic filled her with a newly-familiar feeling of power.

"Maybe I can't do it your way, Buffy. But I can do it mine," she yelled. She felt a bit crazy, talking to herself, but the words continued to spill from her.

"Xander brought you back once, and you wanted to come back. You thanked him. But if I bring you back, I get from you is ungrateful silence. But it was always different with Xander, wasn't it? He loved you so much, in a way he never loved me, and you just fed off that didn't you? Didn't you!" Tears came to her eyes.

"It's always been about you, Buffy. Ever since the first day I met you. You give the orders and we follow, isn't that how it works? But let one of us become as powerful as you, and you're scared you won't be the center of attention anymore. I brought you back, and you can't even acknowledge how powerful I've become or how much I can contribute now. You'd love it if I went back to being nerdy computer geek Willow, always looking to you for advice and acceptance. Well, that Willow is gone now. You have to deal with the new Willow, like it or not. And if you're not with me, you're against me. Did you hear that?"

The uncharacteristically strong sound of her own voice rang off the walls around her, wrapping her with the intoxicating feeling of her own power.

"I brought you back! That was me, suffering for you, being tested for you! And now you tell me you wish I hadn't done it?"

Well, that just wasn't good enough. If Buffy wanted to wallow in her memories of the afterlife, she could go right ahead. And if she got in the way...

Willow listened to the sound of her own breathing, trying to make some sense of the blur of noise in her head.

"And if you're set on going out and getting yourself killed, Buffy, maybe it should be me who sends you back instead."

Hearing the words out loud made her feel physically ill. She couldn't believe she'd said it, even just to herself. But everything had turned inside out and upside down, and her power was the only thing left that made sense to her.

She wanted the rush all the time. Directing the group's patrolling over the summer had honed her skill, but only whetted her appetite. When she'd begun planning Buffy's resurrection, she'd feared she wouldn't be strong enough to withstand the tests and the pain.

But she'd loved it. And the one person she'd hoped would understand had reprimanded her, as if she'd been a child caught stealing cookies before dinner.

Willow knew, deep within herself, it had become her responsibility, her destiny, perhaps, to take over the protection of the Hellmouth. What other purpose could her newly discovered powers have? They were not the skills of a sidekick. She could slay twice as many vampires in a single night as Buffy ever had, and she could do it without breaking so much as a nail.

She loved Buffy, but it stung that Buffy didn't seem to return her deep devotion. If she did, she'd have been grateful to be rescued by Willow.

"I'm going to help you retire, Buffy. And if we can't do it the nice way, we'll do it the hard way."

Willow let herself in the front door of Buffy's house, finding Giles in his ever-present perch on the living room couch.

"Willow," he nodded at her, but did nothing else to acknowledge her presence.

"Giles, has Buffy gotten back yet? I ran into her out there, and now there's something I have to tell her."

"Willow, I understand you're eager to help Buffy as you always have. But I'm sure if you take a moment to consider what Buffy really needs, it is to resume her life as normally as possible. You need to follow her lead in this matter, Willow."

And every other matter, Willow thought to herself.

"Giles, that's what I need to talk to her about. I want to apologize." Willow looked at him, bleeding sincerity from every pore. "And I think I should apologize to you, too, come to think of it."

His tight features relaxed, and his eyes crinkled into the smile he seemed to save only for Willow.

"I, er, I'm sure that's not necessary. We've all been a bit high-strung of late. I'm not sure any of us, save Anya of course, have been behaving normally."

"I gotta agree with you there." Willow paused, letting the moment pass. "So, where's Buffy? I think it's about time she joined the love-in, don't you?"

"I'm afraid she's already gone to bed. She returned about a half-hour ago, and went directly to her bedroom. I didn't even get the opportunity to inquire how her patrolling went."

"That's okay, I guess I'll just talk to her in the morning. Good night, Giles."

"And, yes, good night to you too, Willow. Sleep well." He went back to his book and Willow left him to it, moving quietly up the stairs.

She entered Buffy's room quietly, looking around for a suitable object. It didn't take her long to find one. The perfect item to help her with her spell was sitting on Buffy's desk. Willow picked it up, held it in her outstretched hands, and whispered, "Somniculosus." When she was done, Willow crept out of Buffy's room, taking pains to soundlessly close the door.

"You're back," Tara, leaning out of their bedroom door, welcoming her.

"Safe and sound, sweetie," Willow responded, searching Tara's eyes for any sign she suspected anything.

"Come to bed? We can even sleep in a little. I don't have a class until 11:30, and I think your first isn't until noon."

"Sure. All of a sudden, I seem to feel really tired."

"Oh, my poor girl," Tara cooed, rubbing Willow's shoulders as she passed.

Willow decided it was safer to use the forget spell on Tara, just in case she'd seen her coming from Buffy's room. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Anyone tried to wake up Buffy?" Dawn asked. Giles had cautioned her not to expect too much from Buffy too soon, but Dawn clearly wanted her sister back. Desperately.

"Dawnie, I just don't know about that this morning. Buffy had kind of a hard night out there." Dawn looked disappointed as Willow answered her.

"But hey! She was out there, right? So that's a step in the right direction," Tara added. Her back was to Willow as she faced the rangetop, frying bacon, and she didn't see the angry look Willow shot her in response.

"Could you take this tea and toast out to Giles, since we can't seem to entice him into the kitchen?" Willow handed the tray to Dawn. "We'll bring your breakfast out to the table in a minute."

Dawn sensed she was being dismissed so the two girls could talk in private.

"Hey, are you guys getting rid of me so you can talk about Buffy? 'Cuz if you are, I wanna know. Whatever it is, I can take it."

"No, that's not it at all, Dawn. I promise. We just have some 'us' stuff to talk about," Willow answered. Dawn looked only slightly less suspicious, but left the kitchen anyway.

"So, about Buffy," Willow began. "Be careful not to get Dawnie's hopes up. Buffy was, well, more than a little out of practice out there last night. I don't know how quickly she'll be able to adjust."

"Y-y-you're right," Tara said, her stammer returning.

"Hey, you okay?" Willow asked, wondering why Tara, who had recently gained enough confidence to leave the stammering in her past, found this topic disturbing enough to exhibit her nervous habit again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired." She changed the subject abruptly. "I think I've tortured this bacon enough. Let's take it out to the table."

Buffy slept soundly upstairs, but not peacefully.

She was in the light again. She felt her mother's presence, which should have calmed her, but something didn't seem right. She wasn't really here; it didn't feel real. Being back in the light now was just a hollow reproduction of the real experience.

She wanted to move away, to let it go, but the dream changed when she struggled. The light was still there, but the feeling of peace and completeness she associated with it disappeared. Instead, she was drowning, trapped, as if unseen hands were holding her down.

Clarity cut abruptly through her dream and reminded her she was asleep. None of this was real, but she couldn't escape. It was as if she'd forgotten how to wake herself up.

Suddenly, she was awakening inside the coffin. The panic, the searing pain in her bloody and flayed hands as she'd tried to break through the wooden lid, she relived it over and over. One moment she was basking in the peace and tranquility, the next she was clawing and scratching for release, deluged in dirt and the remains of her own coffin.

Her body showed no signs of the struggle within. She breathed deeply, her head gently supported by her pillow.

She's still in bed, Giles thought. He looked at his pocket watch and noted, with worry, that it was nearly eleven o'clock.

He was a bit uncomfortable. No matter what kind of surprises his Slayer had thrown him in the past, he'd always found himself adapting, finding the best way to help her through each new challenge. But he now found himself in uncharted and disturbing territory.

Buffy was back and having great difficulty adjusting, and he wasn't at all sure what the correct course of action was. He wasn't sure how to motivate her, if he should motivate her at all. Perhaps pushing her toward a resolution which would never quite fit for her would be an ultimately destructive way to deal with the situation.

He'd known from the first moment he'd met Buffy he'd have to, quite literally, throw out the manual where she was concerned. But he'd never before felt so alone, so adrift in possible solutions without a clear indication of which was the correct one.

Buffy, herself, had expressed a strong desire to settle back into a familiar routine. She had seemed so resolute when they'd spoken two nights ago. He'd seen the focus in her eyes, the spark she had whenever her Slayer instinct asserted itself. He remembered that spark from the first times they'd trained together; he'd been relieved to see the concentration he'd feared was lacking in her.

He laughed at himself. If only he'd known, when he'd first met her, how wrong his initial fears had been. That young girl, her impractical wardrobe, her lack of interest in the more scholarly aspects of demon-hunting; he'd seen but a shadow of the remarkable girl she'd turned out to be, during those first sparring lessons.

"Ah, but that's it, isn't it?"

Giles headed for Buffy's room with new purpose, satisfied he'd thought of a less stressful way to re-acclimate Buffy to her former self.

"Er, Buffy? Are you...presentable? I thought you might like to try your hand at a little training this afternoon. I believe it might serve to focus your..." He trailed off after he stole a glance in Buffy's direction. She was eerily still, an unpleasant reminder of how she'd appeared after the battle with Glory, all those months ago.

Giles moved closer to the bed, brushed her hair away from her eyes, and felt the will to awaken her almost leave him. It seemed to cruel, somehow.

With regret, he placed his hand on Buffy's shoulder and shook. He used a little pressure at first, and then more as his panic rose. He bent down, leaning his ear to her mouth to listen to her breathing. It was, as it had appeared, even and deep. He pulled her arm from beneath the covers and found her steady pulse under his fingers. There was color in her cheeks, and she looked perfectly healthy. Save one thing, of course.

He was utterly unable to rouse her.

He headed for the kitchen, hoping he could remember where the spare set of keys to Joyce's unused car could be found. They were, thankfully, in the second drawer he checked, and he was behind the wheel of the ungainly vehicle and on the road just minutes later. Time was of the essence. He couldn't leave the defenseless girl alone in the house for very long.

He couldn't believe where he had decided to go to enlist help, but it was unquestionably the best solution.

Spike awoke with a start; the slightest hint of a noise on the upper level of the crypt was enough to pull him from his bed. He tried to gauge what time it was, and estimated quickly that it couldn't be past sundown...not quite yet. So, it wasn't a vampire out there, or if it was, they'd taken quite a chance just to call on Spike in the middle of the day.

Spike ascended the ladder from his bedroom, poking his head out to get a glimpse of his uninvited visitor. He thought he was prepared for anything, from a demon looking to get into a little mid-day violence, to the Niblet stopping by after school.

He honestly didn't believe his eyes when he caught a flash of a tweed jacket, so he raised his head again to get a better look, and laughed out loud when he realized who had come.

"She's not here," Spike yelled, and watched the stuffy Englishman stiffen in surprise. "Not the Slayer, or the Bit."

"Ah, Spike," Giles sputtered, gathering his composure. "I'm not looking for either of them. In fact, I've come to ask you for a favor."

"Case you haven't noticed, it's still daylight out there. So unless you came by to borrow some whiskey, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to—"

"It's Buffy," Giles said. He watched Spike feign complete nonchalance, utterly failing to cover his concern.

"What about her? Last time I talked to her, she made it pretty clear she didn't want help from the likes of me. And if that's the way she feels, then she can go right—"

"Listen to me, Spike. I can't awaken her. She's fallen asleep, and I can't rouse her."

"Did...did you get her to the hospital? Is there anything they can do?"

"It's nothing like that. Her pulse, her breathing, she seems completely normal. I'm fairly certain I know what's happened to her, and I don't think the problem is medical. I'm not even sure if this is the first time this has happened since her return. She has been sleeping quite a lot lately, and we haven't taken it upon ourselves to disturb her until this morning—"

"Except me," Spike answered, looking a little defensive. "She probably didn't mention it to you, but I stopped by to have a bit of a chat with her a few nights back. She didn't pop up right away, but it didn't take more than a minute or two. And before you pull out the stake, I had something important to tell her about one of her little pals. Between me and her, so don't go—"

"Was it about Willow?" Giles studied Spike's face, seeing mild surprise at the mention of Willow's name.

"Something about her isn't right. And before you go defending her, you haven't been around to see how she's—"

"No, I rather do believe you, I think," Giles said. "But before we speak any further, there is Buffy to consider."

"Have you just left her there? Who's protecting her? Is Xander there wielding his bloody hardhat at any passing demon who fancies taking a chunk out of the Slayer?"

"That's what I've come to ask you. I need you to protect her while I run a few errands of my own."

"Well, if it's still light out there, I'll need a blanket. Wouldn't do much good to Buffy as a charcoal briquette." Spike hurried downstairs. "Promised myself I wouldn't get involved in this again," he said, once he was alone. He grabbed a blanket from the bed, wished he had a little water to douse it with, grabbed his favorite weapon, cursed a few times, and hurried back to join Giles on the ground floor.

A few minutes later, he was sitting in the passenger seat, hurtling blindly toward Buffy's house. He could tell from the feel of the car Giles was already driving far above the speed limit, but it didn't stop Spike from demanding a little more pressure on the gas pedal. Spike could feel the heat of the sunlight beginning to penetrate through the blanket. His skin had just started to feel uncomfortably warm when Giles spoke.

"We're here, Spike." Giles guided Spike into the house, but the vampire was clearly familiar with the layout, even while blind. Giles tried not to speculate whether that familiarity was gained while Spike was their enemy, or after he'd become their ally.

"We're not in the clear yet. We need to search the house, make sure there's no unwelcome visitors." Other than me, Spike finished in his head.

"Yes," Giles agreed. "It would be faster if we split up," he began, "but as I'm not sure where curtains may have been left open..."

"Right, just hurry up about it. And if you'd close those," he gestured toward the living room window, "before you started out, I'd appreciate it." Once the room was reasonably dark, Spike perched on the couch, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

Giles went first to Buffy's room. He needed to see she was safe. Her room was clear, as was the rest of the upstairs.

Downstairs, the kitchen, dining room, and basement also were free of possible dangers. Giles double-checked in his mind that he'd remembered to pull the curtains shut in each room. He didn't want to return here later only to find Spike had been unable to protect Buffy because he'd become a pile of ashes after having to enter a sunny room to defend her.

By the time Giles had completed his survey of the house, Spike was no longer in the living room, which was somewhat unsurprising. He headed back upstairs and found Spike right where he'd expected him to be, in Buffy's doorway, dumbstruck, watching her sleep. Giles passed behind him, continuing toward Willow and Tara's room. He hoped he'd find what he was looking for quickly; it was the kind of thing college students were likely to have tacked up on the wall, or otherwise in plain sight.

"Ah, there," Giles said, snatching a printout of Tara's course schedule from the corkboard over the nightstand.

"I shall be back in an hour, at the most." Tracking Tara down at the college shouldn't be too difficult, but it was likely they'd also have to stop at The Magic Box for some supplies.

"She's in good hands," Spike said. "Nothing's gonna lay so much as a finger on her while I'm here."

Spike absently noticed the click of the front door when Giles left, but he didn't bother to follow behind and lock it. Anything coming here to gun for the Slayer wouldn't be stopped by a measly deadbolt, but it was unlikely anything would come here in the middle of the day. Even your garden variety demon still preferred to do his thing after the sun went down.

He focused again on Buffy, watching her sleep. Though he could plainly see she was breathing, he wouldn't be satisfied until he saw it up close.

His cold hand hovered over her mouth, feeling the warmth of her breath, as the other hand grazed her forehead, testing her temperature. He turned to leave, but she looked so sad, so alone, he couldn't even deny her his own poor company. He pulled a nearby chair over to the side of her bed, angled it so he could see both the door and the window, and began his vigil. And sitting there, next to her, he had a sudden urge to tell her everything, anything he'd ever wanted to tell her.

It all just poured from him. Some of it—stupid, silly, inconsequential things, as well as the things he'd rather not admit to. How much he'd hated her. How much he loved her now, and how much he had once hated himself for loving her. He found himself describing exactly how he'd felt, that night she'd leapt to her death to save them all. How much he'd hated himself for allowing it to happen. He told her how he'd felt, that first moment when he'd realized she was actually back. He tried to find words for it all, and when he couldn't find the right words, he stammered and stumbled his way through all the wrong ones.

And through it all, she was there. Silent, impassive. Unable to throw him out and unable to forgive him. Spike tried not to imagine what she would have said or done in response.

"There's a reason I haven't told you all this. I'm afraid you will forgive me, that you'll start to accept me for what I've become. And that would be the worst thing for you to do, to get mixed up with the likes of me any more than you already have. I don't deserve you. As angry as I've been since you threw me out of here a few nights ago, I know it was the smartest thing you've done in ages. You could never be with me, and, truth be told, Love, I could never be with you. I'd have to watch you wither and die, or watch you get killed at the hands of the next thing bent on destroying the world. And I can't even watch you like this. How could I possibly survive losing you again?"

Tears came to his eyes, which he brushed away. He couldn't keep a clear head while he was here, so close to her. If he was to be any use to her at all, he'd have to wait for Giles downstairs. As he left, he brushed his fingers across her cheek, foolishly hoping it would awaken her.

Feeling strangely lightheaded and more than a little sick, Spike slumped into the couch and practiced looking unaffected. Strictly for the Watcher's benefit, of course, he thought.

Giles made his way toward the building a passing student had identified as Smythe Hall. Tara was scheduled to be in Smythe's room 236, in "Brave New World: Theories in Dystopian Fiction of the Twentieth Century". Giles considered for a moment how little he actually knew Tara; every course on her schedule came as a bit of a surprise to him. He hoped she'd grown to trust him enough to follow him on this occasion without protesting.

Room 236 was simple enough to find, on the second floor, near the staircase in the center of the building. Giles looked through the small window in the classroom's door, trying to find Tara in the sea of students.

He found her, sitting in one of the rows closest to the back of the room, and he realized he'd never catch her attention from here. Despite the importance of his task, he still was still uncomfortable interrupting her class.

"Er, yes. I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I must speak with," he looked at Tara, "one of your students."

Tara was already gathering her books and notes, stuffing them into her bag. Giles led her from the room, stammering more apologies to the professor as they left.

"Is something wrong? Willow...Buffy?" Tara whispered.

"You could indeed say something is wrong, but I'd prefer not to speak of it here. If you could come with me to help me determine the nature of our problem—"

"Are they okay? Is Willow okay?"

"She's quite fine, at the moment, I'm sure. Perhaps I could explain it more ably while we're on the way...?"

When they were alone in the car, Giles confided only his general concerns, not the details. He wanted Tara to form as few conclusions as possible before they reached Buffy; this way he could be sure she would make her determination as objectively as possible.

Tara was already familiar with the type of spell he needed her to perform, but Giles retreived an armful of books that might be useful later from The Magic Box. Before they could leave the store, they had to spend time, too much time, searching for the specific type of stone and candle Tara's spell required.

When they'd gathered everything Tara thought she would need, Giles drove quickly back to Buffy's house, hoping there was still time to perform the spell before Willow arrived home from her classes.

At the sound of the front door opening, Spike jumped to his feet and was a blur as he moved to a defensive position at the foot of the staircase.

"Spike, we're—oh, good lord!" Giles exclaimed.

Spike smiled a little in spite of the seriousness of the situation; he'd always enjoyed putting a good fright into someone.

"Just like old times, right?" Spike said, his face relaxing from its vampire features to its human ones.

Still recovering, Giles spoke slowly, "Could you remain here, Spike? We need absolute privacy to—"

"No one gets up these stairs, long as I'm here," Spike said, and Giles patted him awkwardly on the shoulder in thanks.

"S-so, you just need to know if there's a spell on her?" Tara asked. "You know, Willow would be so much better at this. Could you not find—"

"I'm sure your talents are more than up to the task, Tara. Do you need me to do anything to assist you?"

"No. Uh, well, probably not." Tara took the stone and candle from her bag. She lit the candle, sat cross-legged on the floor, and closed her eyes.

She tried to picture Buffy in her mind, tried to feel if there was anything blocking her. She murmured a few phrases, asking for help to complete her task.

Tara's eyes flew open, and she saw Giles gaping at Buffy's bed. A translucent azure light, undulating gently as it formed itself around Buffy's body, was now visible.

"Tara, is that...does that mean—"

"Something's there."

"Could it be forcing her to sleep?"

"Y-y-yes, it could. B-but, Giles. This has to be a mistake. I can feel her...I can feel Willow. Like she's echoing back to me from the spell. But she wouldn't, she would never do this on purpose. It must have been an accident."

Giles stared grimly at the proof of the spell as it covered Buffy, then turned to examine Tara more closely.

"I need you to break this spell, if you can do it without harming her."

"I'm sure Willow can undo it..."

Giles heard Tara's deep loyalty to Willow in her words, but also saw the glimmer of doubt in Tara's eyes. If his fears about Willow were correct, trusting Tara to stand with them was a gamble—and a gamble with poor odds, at that. He had to hope Tara had also sensed something happening to Willow, and had to hope further that Tara would want to bring Willow back to her old self as badly as he did. That was quite a lot of perspective, he realized, to expect from a young person in love.

"I'm sure she can, as well. But I am asking you to help me, Tara. This may be difficult for you, but I'm sure it is within your abilities."

"Sure, I'll do whatever I can to help," Tara said, and the nagging doubts she'd had about Willow, combined with this new development, all began to sink in. "C-could you bring me the other books from the car? And I might need someone to get more things from the store."

"Yes, yes, of course. Anything you need. Just call."

When Tara was alone, she looked at Buffy, whose skin was oddly purplish under the blue glow covering her. "What has my girl gotten herself into," she wondered aloud. Tara tried to push the fear from her mind. Finding a counter-spell would be a challenge. Not to mention, it could be a bit dangerous. Tara would have to make some assumptions about the original spell, and if those assumptions were wrong, there could be unpleasant side-effects.

"As soon as Willow gets home and straightens this out, she can tell me what happened, and we'll be able to lift the spell, together," Tara said, both believing and not believing the words that came from her own mouth.

"Well?" Spike questioned Giles as soon as he reappeared downstairs.

Giles weighed how much he could afford to divulge.

"It appears there is something affecting Buffy and forcing her to remain asleep."

"Something—courtesy of the bubble, bubble, toil and trouble twins, right? So what's the blond one doing upstairs with Buffy, alone?"

"I don't believe Tara has had a part in this."

"But when it comes time to choose sides, which way d'you think she'll go? How can you trust her up there—"

"The same way I can trust you, Spike. Because I am left with no other choices," Giles pushed past him, heading back toward the car.

The words stung Spike, reminding him he was only grudgingly tolerated. But there were more important things to consider. As soon as Giles left the room, Spike returned upstairs. He had to know what side Tara was on.

"Have you figured it out yet?" he asked from the doorway, and watched a startled Tara drop the book she'd been holding.

"I-I've got a few ideas. It'll be easier once Willow gets home."

"Don't be daft. The only thing you'll be doing when Willow gets home is deciding which side you're on. I know you've grown attached to Red, but you should ask yourself which side you think your little girlfriend's put herself on, and if she'd do this just to knock Buffy out of the game."

"N-no. I-I'm sure w-we'll find out it was all a m-mistake. Willow would n-never—"

"Bollocks. You'll do much better to have straight in your head what you're going to do."

"My Willow would never—"

"And if she's not your Willow anymore?"

Tara fell silent. Her greatest fear put into words made it seem like a much more realistic possibility.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Spike said, and left Tara alone with Buffy.

Tara tried to focus on the words, tried to think of what kind of solution she should be searching for, but she repeatedly found herself flipping past unread pages, lost in worry.

Giles juggled a stack of books while opening the front door, only to find the phone ringing once he got inside.

"Figured you didn't want me answering that," Spike said, as he reclined back into the couch.

Giles dropped the books onto the stairs in front of him, and hurried over to the phone. He answered it with a breathless, "Yes, hello?"

"Giles? We have to talk about the inventory you took out of here. You did sign those papers, and that means all those things belong to the store. So, you know, we should keep them here, where people can come and give me money for them. Don't you think that sounds—"

"Anya," Giles stopped her mid-whine. "Those things I removed from the store are very important for all of our safety. Including yours and Xander's." He could almost hear Anya's attitude change when she heard this would somehow benefit her boyfriend.

"Well...I guess it's okay."

"There's a bit more. I may need to borrow a few more items before the night is through."

Anya was gripped with distress. All those lovely items with the pretty price tags on them. She tried to picture more of the store gone, and was almost too traumatized to continue speaking.

"Well, certainly, Giles. Is there anything else?" Anya had found it was easier to say something that was actually the opposite of what you meant if you made yourself smile as you did it. She was forcing herself to smile so intensely now, it actually affected her speech.

"Actually, if you could call Xander, get him to pick you up, get Dawn from school, and come back to Buffy's house, I think that would suffice."

"Close the store!" Anya exclaimed before she could stop herself. "What a terrib-" She took a few deep gasps, and continued, "What a great idea! Yes sirrie, I've been thinking all day about how I really need more time away from the store."

"Marvelous, Anya. I knew I could count on you." Giles hung up the phone, confused as only Anya had the power to make him.

"Mind if I ask you a question, then?"

Giles whirled around, finding Spike just a few feet away.

"I do wish you would stop sneaking up on people," Giles said.

"Well? My question? Or should I say Watcher, may I?" Giles gave him a get-on-with-it look, so he continued. "What's the plan then?"

"Plan?" Giles stalled, though he knew what Spike was asking.

"When the head witch shows up. What's. The. Plan."

"I think you should let us handle this, Spike. I'm sure you'd be happier protecting Buffy."

"Way I see it, the road to Buffy's safety goes right through Red's neighborhood."

"Listen to me very closely, Spike. You are not to lay a single finger on the girl."

"Can't, remember? Witches, even drunk-on-power witches, were still human the last I checked," Spike said, tapping his head. "Or did you forget? Can't imagine you'd be all comfy-like talking to me in Buffy's living room otherwise."

"No, no. Of course not."

"Just wanted to remind you. If it turns out the broom-rider's going against her old gang...I might not be of much use."

Giles saw in Spike's eyes the same look he'd seen the night Buffy died, and uncomfortably looked away.

"Spike, I can assure you. It will never come to that."

"And Watcher, I can assure you...you lie for bollocks."

Spike strode slowly back to the couch and slumped into the pillows again.

Giles had stopped Xander from going upstairs to interrupt Tara several times, admonishing him that every second Tara spoke to him about her progress was a second she wasn't using to lift the spell.

Just as Giles thought he'd have to throttle the boy for inventing excuse after excuse to go upstairs, Tara came down, rubbing her eyes. They all waited, looking at the girl expectantly.

"I-I, well, I mean, I th-think I know what the problem is." Tara stopped, looking at them nervously.

"And this problem is, what, exactly?" Spike asked, just sarcastically enough to hide his concern.

"The spell isn't centered on Buffy. It's centered on...something else. An object. The safest way to break the spell is to break the object."

"Is that all?" Spike asked. "Let's get on with breaking things, then," and he started upstairs, until Giles caught his arm to stop him.

"We can't just—" Giles began.

"You know, I can't believe this is me saying this, but I think Spike is right." Xander broke in. "As much as I admire Buffy's decorating sense, if it takes some vandalism to break the spell, I say we break things."

"There's no w-way of knowing if the object is even still in the house," Tara whispered. "I-I tried a spell to s-see if something in her room seemed especially magical, b-but I can't be sure it could be f-found that way."

"Let me get this straight," Xander asked, clearly panicking now. "Buffy's been put to sleep, she can't wake up, and we can't wake her up until we destroy something which may or may not be anywhere near here? I'd say we should send Spike after whoever did it to beat the information out of him, but we also don't even know who did it? Have I got all that right?"

Spike raised his eyebrow at Giles. "D'you want to tell him, or should I?"

"We still don't know she did it. O-o-or even if she did, we still don't know if it was an accident!" Tara looked at Giles, and pleaded, "Just wait for her to come home. She'll straighten all of this out."

"Who'll straighten all of what out? Did I miss something?" Willow's voice called from the doorway of the kitchen. "I guess I should have come in through the front door, so you could hear me coming. Give you a chance to pretend you weren't all just talking behind my back."

"No one's talking behind your back, Will," Xander said quietly. "We're just trying to figure out what happened."

"Oh, I'm sure that's what it is, Xander. I'm sure this isn't 'what did Willow do this time'."

Giles was sickened to think his coddling of Willow, hoping she'd come back to purely ethical uses of magic on her own, had put Buffy into harm's way.

"Then it's quite simple," Giles began. "Tell us you had no hand in Buffy's current condition, we'll apologize, and we can set about reversing the spell." He studied the girl's face, and saw her guilt married with her desire to lie her way out of it.

"Giles, I..." Willow stopped, considering her options. "I can explain." She looked at Xander, needing someone's support, and saw his stunned disbelief. "I didn't want to hurt her. She insisted on going out and fighting, and she was going to get herself hurt." Willow turned to Giles, trying to appeal to his protective nature, "She wasn't up to it, Giles, and she was trying to hide it from you. It was the only way I could think of to keep her from getting herself killed...until I could convince all of you that I had everything under control."

"Break the spell, Willow," Giles commanded.

"I will, but not now." Giles turned away, shaking his head. Willow tried again to convince him she was right. "Giles, she's happier this way. And we're happier, because she's safe. I'll get the slaying under control, and as soon as I do, I'll break the spell. Then she won't need to go out, and we'll all be fine."

"Tell me what the focus of the spell is."

"I won't do that, Giles."

Giles turned to face her, wanting her to see the depths of his anger with her.

"Get out of this house."

"Giles, what? I...You can't—"

"I will remove you by force if it proves necessary. You may fancy yourself all-powerful, but I assure you, you do not want to challenge me."

"Tara," Willow said, uncertainly, "tell them I would never..." Willow saw Tara's eyes, a mixture of sadness and anger. "Sweetie, say something."

"I'm not sure what I can say," Tara said, her voice barely audible.

"Go," Giles added.

"It's the picture of Xander, Buffy and me. Just break the frame on Buffy's desk, okay? Listen, I'm sorry."

"Go," Giles said, more insistently this time.

Willow looked one final time at Tara, to see if her lover would jump to her defense. At Tara's tearful silence, Willow turned and ran from the house.

"D'you think that was wise," Spike asked Giles quietly. "She's pretty powerful, and now it seems she's got a bone to pick with us."

"What would you have me do? Allow her to continue living here, in her delusional state? I'll go out and find her, talk some sense into her, once we've dealt with Buffy's situation."

"Why don't I go? Talk to her, bad to bad?"

"Spike, I appreciate the offer. But you must be so livid with her that—"

"Think I'll risk the headache, eh?"

"Precisely."

"I'm not nearly as brassed off with her as you are. Tell the truth, I'd be a little afraid to leave you alone with her. I kinda like Red, even if her methods don't sit right with me."

"Perhaps you have a point, Spike. I may have dealt with the girl too hastily in my anger," Giles admitted. "Bring her back here, if you can."

"You got it. One witch, minus the 'on the lam', coming up."

Spike left the house, following Willow into the twilight. He summoned up his predator's instincts, trying to guess what her next move would be. Then it hit him, where she would go if she had nowhere else to go, and wanted to work out a bit of aggression.

"Just have to follow the trail of dust, I expect," he said to himself, and headed for the graveyard.

Giles walked to Buffy's room, picked up the picture frame on Buffy's desk, held it overhead, then sent it hurtling to the ground. The glass smashed, and one corner of the frame came apart when it impacted with the floor. The much younger and more innocent faces of Buffy and her two closest friends looked up at him, as if silently asking him how they had gotten into this mess.

Giles stared at the fragments of glass and the scratched photograph, wondering how he'd been so blind.

"Giles?"

"Buffy? How are you feeling?"

Buffy shook her head and held back tears. She took in a wavering breath, and tried to speak.

"It...it was awful. Everything was beautiful and perfect, but then I had to dig my way out, and I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't see. I didn't know where I was, I just knew where I wasn't, not anymore." She looked at him, vaguely aware that he couldn't possibly understand. "Over and over and over," was all she could add.

Giles held her limp body tightly in his arms, trying to give her some comfort.

"You're safe now, Buffy. We'll work it all out, I promise," he whispered to her.

But I'm not. I'm not safe and I'm not fine and I don't even want to be here, Buffy thought, crying into his shoulder.

Giles stroked her hair, wishing he could think of something to say.

"Giles," she said, looking up at him. "Thank you, but I think I really need to be alone right now."

"Are you quite sure, Buffy?"

"I need some time. I'll be down soon."

Spike watched from a distance as Willow dusted two vamps at once, psychic-style, as he'd watched her do a few days before.

"Don't let anyone know you're here with me," she said, not even looking at him. "Didn't you get the memo? I'm evil."

Spike tried not to show his surprise. He thought she hadn't noticed him yet.

"I dunno, known a lot of evil in my time," he said. "Hell, I've been a lot of evil in my time. I don't think you're it. Lost your way, is all."

"So that's what you all think, isn't it? Poor little Willow, lost control of herself and doesn't know what she's doing. Well, I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm saving lives. I'm protecting people. I rescue my friends when I think they're trapped somewhere, I don't just sit around and philosophize about how to adjust to what's happened."

"I don't doubt you had the best intentions," he said, thinking about that old saying and the road to Hell.

"All I did was stop watching and start doing."

"Ah, well, that's where you're wrong. See, I can take care of myself, just like you, right? But I know what I am. You and me, we're backup. Buffy's the boss, she's the Slayer. We help her, not the other way 'round."

"And that's where you're wrong, Spike. There's not another Slayer to get called if we lose Buffy, is there? Faith is the Slayer. But she's all crazy and in jail, so we're stuck. Someone has to be ready, and that's what my power is for, I know it. I brought Buffy back to do this job, but she can't. If they don't understand that—"

"You'll what? You gonna take on all of us? Who are you protecting then?"

"I never wanted to start this. It's not my fault if Giles can't see what's right in front of his face. And you're ignoring it too, aren't you? You're both just as scared as I am she'll get herself killed out here again. The only difference is, I won't let that happen. I don't care how I have to protect her. She's back in this world, and she'll stay here, whether she wants to or not."

"Listen, this isn't the way—"

"You don't know what the way is. Who re-magnetized your moral compass? The only reason you help Buffy is to impress her, so she'll give you a chance to be with her." Willow muttered a quick spell under her breath, "Censeo," which would make Spike more suggestible. "But you're a fool. Buffy would never have you, not after what happened with your friend Angelus. She won't take the chance of you turning on her like he did. And don't think she isn't constantly reminded of what you are. All she has to do is touch your hand to feel how cold you are. You don't have a chance with her, Spike."

Spike's mouth dropped open at Willow's version of the brutal truth.

"Think about it, Spike. How many times have you noticed how attracted she is to you? It's obvious she's drawn to you; we can all see it. But why do you think she won't let herself admit it?" Willow paused, letting her question sink in. "She never will. If you were smart, you would have given up already."

"I...I have. She's made herself clear."

"But there is a way she'd accept you, Spike," Willow said, her voice velvet to Spike's ears. She walked closer to him, and she could see him leaning closer to her, the spell forcing him to hang on her every syllable. "Turn her," she whispered.

"No," he said, in spite of his sudden desire to do just that. "I'd never do that to her. She wouldn't be Buffy, not my Buffy."

"Oh, I'll restore her soul, Spike. Without that inconvenient 'moment of happiness' thing."

"No. You're further gone than I thought."

But he didn't leave, Willow noted. She almost had him.

"She'll be exactly what you are, so she'll be able to accept you. You won't have to watch her die, as long as you can protect her as well as you've protected yourself. And I won't have to lose her again, and neither will Giles, or Xander, or Dawn. Everyone wins, Spike. But it's the only way you can win at all."

"Nice little plan you've got there, Red. But I couldn't turn Buffy even if I wanted to. Little matter of that—"

"Is that all you need from me?" Willow held out her hand, palm up, and said, "Semoveo." And at Willow's command, a small, flat, piece of metal sat neatly on her lifeline.

"Is that the—"

"That's your chip, Spike. I'll put it back, if you want it, after you've done what I asked."

Spike's body surged with power, power the chip had suppressed.

"I could just kill you now, you know."

"But you won't. Because you know I'm right. I wouldn't have removed the chip if I thought you wouldn't agree with me."

"You're mad," Spike said, and he walked away from her as quickly as he could.

Spike found himself drawn back to Buffy's house. He wanted so much to turn back, but simply couldn't.

You can always change your mind, he thought, and sat on Buffy's back porch.

"We've had some nice talks here, me and you," he said, running his hand over the planks of her back stairs.

He pictured some other vermin, too much like himself, coming to her house after hearing the Slayer was weak and had become easy pickings. He imagined a bumbling, unworthy wanker of a vampire killing Buffy and bragging about it later in some flea-bitten dive.

No, he thought. She'll either die or be turned with only the Watcher and the master carpenter to protect her. And if she's turned, it should be—it will only be by me. He climbed up the trellis to Buffy's room, then stood there, staring at her, trying to make his decision.

"Where's your chip?" she asked him, and she felt, rather than saw him stiffen in surprise.

Spike hadn't thought he'd have to face anything other than her unconscious form, and he couldn't explain how she could know the chip was gone. At the sound of her voice, he saw the madness in what Willow had suggested. He stammered out an apology and turned to leave, when he heard Buffy's whisper reaching out to him from where she rested.

"You know what, Spike? Do it. Drain me until I'm gone from here again. Send me back." She turned the side of her face further into the pillow, away from him, exposing the full, unprotected expanse of her neck.

The Change took Spike before he could stop it; his fangs descended and his forehead wrinkled. Selfishly, he'd give anything to have Buffy with him for eternity, but he knew, whatever spent eternity with him, it wouldn't really be her.

Some hopeful, foolish part of him protested, At least some part of it would be her. Which is more than you'll have if she goes out slaying and gets herself killed.

"Don't make me ask again, Spike. I don't think..." her voice broke, "...I can."

Her neck glistened in the moonlight, drawing him closer. He leaned over her, and felt the familiar thrill he got from being this close to her. His lips brushed against the smooth skin of her neck, and he felt her pull away. He pulled back a little, uncertain what he should do next.

In the silence, he listened to the quick but steady rhythm of her breathing and watched as her shoulders relaxed toward him. He could feel her falling into him, her body and her soul. She arched her neck, silently asking him to begin again.

He settled next to her on the bed, molding his body to her back.

If she has to go through the pain, she should feel some of the pleasure of this, he decided, thinking back to his own experience so long ago with Dru. A pang of guilt reminded him he was misleading her. Buffy wanted a release back to heaven, but he knew he was unable to give that to her. He couldn't let her go again. Sometime in the eternity they'd have together, she'd forgive him for his weakness, for his inability to let her go.

He brought his mouth back to her neck, allowing his teeth to graze her delicate skin. Again, he felt her react, but now she shivered in his arms instead of shrinking from him. One suggestive pull on her shoulder induced her to turn toward him. He saw the slightly drugged look in her eyes, and his mouth descended onto hers. At the merest touch of their lips, he could feel how her weariness and pain were winning the battle within.

I can take that from you, he thought. He wanted so much to take that from her.

He felt her lips, her mind, her body completely under his control. He nudged her onto her back and moved over her, supporting his weight with his hands. He covered her, his body burning in each place it touched hers, as if her glowing skin was sunlight searing its way through him. He felt as if he'd still be able to see an image of her, burnt onto him, had he been able to pull away from her.

But that was unthinkable. He'd never pull away from her, not now that he finally had her.

She tried again and again to raise her chin upwards, to urge him back to her neck. Each time, he found her lips instead. The time will come, Love, he thought, not wanting to rush through even a second of the exquisite feel of her under him. He allowed the full weight of his body to rest on her, freeing his hands to slip lightly over her body. He felt drunk, dizzy, as he caressed more of her sweet skin through the thin cotton of the shirt she'd worn to bed.

Finally, his lips teased her by moving downward. Soft kisses inched their way from her lips to the strong line of her jaw as he traced a slow line toward her neck. Her hands found the sides of his face, and her strong arms kept his lips close to her skin. The sound of her pulse nearly deafened him, nearly drowned out the sound of her, whispering to him.

"Change, Spike. Do it, I don't want to be here anymore."

Her words startled him. He realized his face had smoothed and his fangs had receded; he wasn't sure when. Sometime, as he'd kissed her, he'd become the man, and not the monster.

He looked at her pliant, beautiful body lying beneath him, and a wave of grief overcame him.

"I can't—I can't do this, Buffy."

Her eyes, when he finally found the courage to seek them out, were filled with so much he could hardly bear to keep her gaze. Surprise, disappointment, relief, fear...and so many other things he couldn't even name.

He removed himself, standing near her bed just long enough to make her one last promise.

"I'll never darken your life again."

And he was gone as quickly as he'd come.

Spike made one last stop on his way out of the house. He found Giles at the dining room table, surrounded by Buffy's friends.

Probably trying to come up with some kind of game plan, he thought. Hope they weren't counting on me.

"Spike, ah, yes. I'm glad you've come back. Were you able to locate Willow?" Giles asked.

"I need a word with you," Spike said, looking at Giles. "In private," he added.

"Listen, anything you found out about Willow, we all want to know," Xander demanded.

"Watcher, you either hear this alone, or you won't hear it at all," Spike warned, and headed toward the back door.

Giles followed, and when they were alone on the porch, he waited for Spike to divulge his information. Had this been a year ago, he would have thought Spike was waiting for an offer of money before he told them anything.

"Listen. I'll give you the short version. First, Willow's off her nut. She's set on taking over the slaying and protecting us all to death. Second, she yanked out my chip," Spike continued despite Giles's shocked expression, "Third, she told me to come over here and sire Buffy because she wants her 'safe' and out of the way. Fourth, before you stake me, I didn't do it. And I'm not going to. Fifth, Red's in the graveyard. If you hurry and round up the troops, you can probably still find her there. But be careful. She means business, and she's not shy about using magic to get her way." He paused, surprised at what he planned to say next. "And finally, I'm leaving town. And I'm promising you, right now, I'll never lay a hand on Buffy or the Bit. Just tell Dawn goodbye for me, right? Tell her to mind her sister."

"Wait, wait. Stop. Are you certain Willow really removed the chip? You certainly don't seem like your old self."

"I'm not," he said, shrugging. "Bugger all if I know why. I could take a swing at you, if you like, show you the chip won't kick in. But I don't think you'd like that much."

Spike turned and walked away, and Giles had an entirely inappropriate urge to stop him.

"Don't tell me I've actually grown fond of the bloody prat," Giles whispered as Spike disappeared.

But there was no time to linger on this turn of events. They had an impossible task to prepare for. Again.

Upstairs, Buffy made her decision.

She'd been ready to quit. If she was being honest, she'd wanted to quit every moment since she'd been back. She'd pretended she wanted to carry on, she'd gone out patrolling, and she'd tried to fit back into her own life.

But she hadn't really meant it, not until now. Lying here in the dark, thinking about the mess Willow had gotten herself into, Buffy found she'd lost the desire to give up. She couldn't, not anymore. Not as long as she could still save Willow.

Her tears had long since dried, and it was time for her to do what she had to do.

"We need to go," Giles said to the group, once he'd taken a moment in the kitchen to compose himself.

"Where? Why? Giles, what's going on?" Xander demanded.

"It's Willow. I feel somewhat responsible for not addressing the issue much earlier, but her dalliances with too-powerful magic may have caught up with her. If we're to ensure her safety as well as ours, we need to try to reach her. Now." Giles studied Tara carefully, waiting for her to protest, but Tara appeared as resolute as he felt.

"Giles, are you sure? This is Willow we're talking about, right?" Xander was still unable to believe this wasn't all a big misunderstanding.

"I'm afraid so, Xander," Giles sighed, knowing he had an uphill battle ahead of him with Xander. "I think we're all aware how dangerous Willow's resurrection spell was, and I think we've all noticed Willow's increased use of magic. This, along with the the recent changes in her behavior—"

"So, she's a little free with the spells, Giles, that doesn't prove—"

"Xander," Giles interrupted him, "you should be aware...Willow put the sleeping spell on Buffy. And, I've just learned, Willow has also removed the behavior modification chip from Spike."

"I don't believe you," Xander said, shaking his head. He banged his fists on the table as he got up from his chair. "Why would Willow do that?"

"Willow asked Spike to come here and sire Buffy," Giles said, knowing how difficult it would be for Xander to believe it. Giles wasn't sure he believed it himself.

"And we're trusting Spike over Willow now?" Xander yelled.

"Spike wouldn't lie," Dawn said, quickly coming to Spike's defense. "With or without the stupid chip."

"Without the chip, Spike is nothing but a murderer. And he'll be after Buffy."

"He was after Buffy. And he had me. But he didn't go through with it," Buffy said, startling them all as she spoke from the doorway of the dining room. "Even though I asked him to," she added.

"Have you all gone crazy?" Xander asked.

Giles felt the time slipping through their fingers, and tried to re-focus the group.

"Xander, I would like as much as any of you for this be one big misunderstanding. The only way for us to know the truth is to confront Willow. Before he left town, Spike told me where we can find her. If we hurry."

"Left town?" Dawn asked, looking even more upset.

"Whose side are you on?" Xander turned on Dawn, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Buffy's," Dawn answered, her jaw set and her eyes hard.

"I'm not gonna let any of you hurt Willow," Xander stated, letting go of Dawn.

"None of us want that, Xan," Buffy interjected.

"I have no intention or desire to do anything of the kind," Giles agreed. "We must be prepared to protect ourselves, but I see no reason why we should have to do battle with Willow. Our Willow is still in there, and can be reasoned with. I'm sure of it." Giles walked to Xander, and addressed him directly. "If we are to be successful, we will need your help, perhaps most of all."

"Get this through your heads, all of you. I'm only going so I can straighten this out," Xander said.

"We need Spike," Dawn insisted, refusing to get up from her chair.

"Dawn, it's complicated," Buffy began, "but we have to worry about Willow right now."

Dawn got up from her chair, folding her arms over her chest, but she no longer argued.

"Giles, maybe just you, Xander, and I should go," Buffy suggested.

"I'd considered that. But with an unchipped Spike out there somewhere, there's too much potential risk. I'm sorry, Dawn, but if he reverts to the old Spike, I'd prefer we were all together."

"What should we take with us?" Tara asked. "We're not taking any w-weapons, are we?"

"Of course not," Buffy answered emphatically. "We're not going there to fight."

"Tara, do you think you can protect us if Willow tries to use magic against us? I have no intention of attacking her, but I do want everyone to remain safe." Tara nodded in agreement, and Giles continued, "To that end, we should stop by the store, and pick up anything you believe you will need. And there's no time to lose. We should drive."

Buffy began to gather everyone in the living room, leaving Giles and Tara alone in the dining room.

"Do you think we can get her back?" Tara asked him, her voice soft with trepidation.

And Giles, although he was utterly unsure of anything at this point, spoke the words he knew Tara needed to hear.

"I am certain of it."

Xander's car followed behind as Giles led them to the cemetery. Too slowly, Xander thought, suppressing an impulse to flash his brights.

"I want to help," Anya said, interrupting his thoughts of frustration.

"Just being there will help, Ahn," Xander replied. "It'll help me."

"I want to do more." She turned to face Tara, who was riding in the back seat. "I can help you. I may not be a witch, but I learn new things rapidly." Tara looked reluctant to accept her help, so she added, "I learn new things that can protect Xander especially rapidly."

"I-I can show you a couple of things, I think," Tara said, scooting closer to Anya's seat to show her a page of the book she'd been studying. If there was one thing Tara could appreciate at the moment, it was the desire to protect someone you love.

Giles, Buffy, and Dawn were already discussing how they should proceed by the time Xander parked the car and walked over to them.

"Ah, Tara," Giles said, as Xander, Anya, and Tara approached them, "I'd like you to be ready to protect whomever Willow seems to be the most—"

"Here's an idea," Xander interrupted, "Why don't I go in alone?"

"Xander, I don't think that's wise. Willow could be—"

"I don't care what Willow could be, Giles. I know what Willow is. She's the girl who's been my friend since before I can remember. I've known her longer than any of you. I'm the one who can straighten this out."

"You will be very important to what we're about to do, Xander," Giles said, "but I think it's unwise to underestimate the risk of speaking to her alone."

"Give me ten minutes," Xander bargained. "She won't do anything to me. And Buff? You know how much noise I make when I get injured. You hear that, you come running."

"Xander, I don't think—"

"No. He's right. Xander goes in alone." Buffy interrupted her Watcher. "If I hear one peep, I'm coming in there after you. Now go in there and get her back."

Willow watched as the newly-awakened vampire started to emerge from his grave, and decided to let this one get all the way out before she dispatched him. He'd already broken a large enough hole in the coffin's lid to get through. He was just trying to push enough dirt out of the way so he'd have room to pull himself out.

I wonder how long it took Buffy to do that, she thought, before she could stop herself. You went through far worse than that, bringing her back, she reminded herself. All so that Buffy could be ungrateful in return.

The vampire finally pulled himself free of the grave, staggering with bloodlust. Willow whispered her staking spell and almost yawned with boredom as she watched it work flawlessly. Again. Killing them one at a time was far too easy for her now.

The figure approaching her now, though...this was far more interesting.

"Come to watch the freak show?" she asked.

"No, Will. I came to talk to you," Xander said, closing the ground between them.

"Same difference, isn't it? Come and see the witch trying to do the Slayer's job."

"You don't want to do this, Willow. I know you. And you don't."

"Do you really know me anymore, Xander? Or is our friendship just a pleasant childhood memory now? It's all Anya now, isn't it?"

"And you have Tara, Will."

"The difference is that I actually love Tara. I love her so much, I think I'd die if she left me. You don't even know what I'm talking about, because you just use Anya as an excuse. But you've been using your obsessions as an excuse for years, so why should I be so surprised now?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Ever since Buffy made it clear she'd never have you, you've been doing it. You keep dating these women you don't even like. You never liked Cordelia. You never even pretended to like Faith; you just slept with her. And Anya, she's the crown jewel. She's a vengeance demon, Xander. You know what she'll do to you if things don't work out? But that's what you want, isn't it?"

"That's not true. Even it it was, what does this have to do with us? With you and me, and our friendship?"

"It has everything to do with it, because we haven't been friends for years. Not since you decided you had to replace your fixation on Buffy with a parade of women who'd treat you badly enough to make you forget what you really want. Buffy. Why...is it always...about Buffy?"

"It's not—"

"I'm not even in the picture anymore, Xander. You never needed me, because I wouldn't abuse you so you could take your mind off the pain."

"That's not—"

Willow began whispering something, and a tombstone to Xander's right exploded.

"You missed, Willow. I'm over here. But you knew that. I knew you couldn't hurt me. You can't hurt any of us. So let's sit down and—"

Willow pointed at Xander, and a deep cut appeared on his right arm. He cried out in pain.

"I don't think so, Xander. I'm not done yet."

"Willow! Calm down! Let's talk," Xander stalled. He looked around, and was relieved to see Buffy and the others approaching.

Willow followed his line of sight, though she knew what she'd see.

"There's the golden girl," Willow greeted Buffy. "I knew I couldn't keep you down long. Not when you could be here, telling me how bad I've been."

"I've seen what you can do, Willow. And it's impressive. But you need to calm down and think about what you're doing," Buffy said.

"If it's so impressive, then why did you try to stand in my way?"

"Because I was afraid this was hurting you. You can't tell me you don't—"

"No! That's not why at all," Willow yelled. "It's because you were jealous. I had the power to bring you back, and you could hardly bring yourself to thank me. Then you saw me doing your slaying easier than you've ever been able to do it, and you couldn't take it. You had to hold me down, turn me back into that geek who was always stuck in your shadow."

"None of that," Buffy shot back, "is true. Not one word of it." She saw Willow's eyes grow wide with anger, and knew she had to explain. "But I know you believe it, and I haven't been much of a friend for letting you believe it. But you don't really understand at all."

Willow's chest heaved with rage, and Tara began a protection spell to cover Buffy. It was clear she was the focus of Willow's anger.

"Hera, I request your benevolent guidance. Protect her...custodia," she whispered, hoping Willow wouldn't notice.

Willow's eyes darted away from Buffy and found Tara. She smiled and said, "You don't honestly think I'd let you do that, do you? Infectum reddere...revoke." To prove her point, she put her palm out toward Buffy, and said, "Depulso!"

The spell hurled Buffy backwards. Her body smacked into Tara's with great force, and the two girls landed in a heap several yards away.

"Willow! Think about what you're doing!" Giles shouted to her as he came forward, as Xander, Anya, and Dawn ran to help the girls.

"Are you okay?" Dawn asked her sister, and helped her up.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said, but she was obviously stunned and still recovering. "Help Tara," she ordered Xander.

"Her wrist is broken," Xander said, wincing as he looked at the unnatural way Tara's hand hung from her forearm. "Anya, get her and yourself out of here. I'll send Dawn after you."

"No," Tara protested. "Anya has to stay here."

"She's gotta get you out of here. You're hurt," Xander argued.

"So are you, Xander. Look at your arm," Anya said.

"It's nothing. I'll be fine. But you should get Tara to a—"

"That's not it. My spell should have worked. Willow must be able to block me, I'm not even sure how." She coughed, and took in a wheezing breath.

"Tara, try not to talk. You may have broken some ribs, but you're going to be all right." Xander tried not to think about how badly she needed medical attention. If Tara cared for Willow as much as he did, he knew Tara would never leave this place before things were straightened out.

Giles interrupted them with a string of questions.

"Tara, have you experienced any memory loss recently? Or disorientation? Any mood swings, unexplained depression or euphoria?"

Tara tried to concentrate through the pain to answer Giles.

"Now that you mention it," she began, "Yeah. I've felt really weird lately. I k-keep forgetting where I've left things." Tara felt like crying, but didn't have the energy. She realized what Giles was suggesting, but she'd thought the forgetfulness and 'unexplained euphoria', as Giles had put it, were just part of being in love with Willow. "So you're saying she..." Tara trailed off.

"Willow has been using magic to subdue you, to make you forget things, perhaps to make you agree with her." Tara shut her eyes, blocking it all out. "Given the control she's developed over you, I doubt there is a spell you can perform which Willow cannot easily remove."

Xander looked at a terrified Anya and said, "I guess it's up to you."

"I'll assist you, of course," Giles said. "I may not be as practiced as either Willow or Tara, but I do know my way around these books." He gave what he hoped was a look of encouragement to Anya, then turned back to Xander. "We shouldn't chance moving Tara if at all possible, but get her out of here if it comes to that."

Buffy looked back at them anxiously, Dawn at her side. She wasn't having much luck making Willow understand that none of them wanted to hold her back.

"We love you, Will," Buffy said, in desperation. "You can send Spike after me, and I still love you. We can work this out. Don't throw away everything you are to us over this. Just...let's talk about it." Buffy wasn't even sure what she was saying anymore. She wanted to scream at Willow for everything she'd done, but that would get them nowhere. Willow felt undervalued and alienated, and that's what had driven her away. Yelling at her for it would only make things worse.

"Listen to yourself, Buffy," Willow spat back. "You'll say anything to make things the way they used to be."

"You're right! I'd say anything to make things right again, to get you back."

"To get simpering, bookworm, unimportant Willow back, you mean."

"No. To get you back. My friend, who would never have done any of this."

Giles and Anya struggled over Tara's book, trying to invoke the protection spell Tara had attempted. The attack Willow had used on Buffy wasn't strong enough to hurt the Slayer, but they couldn't be sure Willow wouldn't start using more powerful spells if she felt threatened.

Behind them all, Xander had an idea. Tara was now unconscious, and he decided to use it to their advantage.

"Will! Stop this now," Xander said, pushing past Giles and Anya, who tried to stop him as he passed.

"I should have known you'd be against me," Willow said, turning her attention to Xander. "No matter how long we've been friends, there's always been someone more important than me. Were you ever really my friend?"

"I don't think you believe any of that. I think you know how much I love you, how much Buffy loves you, how much we all love you. But even if you don't believe me, are you going to kill me for it? Are you going to kill me too?"

"Kill you...too?" Willow asked, looking around nervously. And then she saw Tara, crumpled and lying on the ground.

"No! I never meant to...This is your fault!" She yelled to none of them in particular. Willow ran to Tara and fell onto the ground next to her. "This is your fault," she said again, her forehead falling forward to rest on Tara's shoulder.

Willow's back shook as she cried, moaning sobs tore from her throat and echoed over the crumbled gravestones that surrounded them.

"This is my fault," she choked out amongst the tears. "This is my fault. It's my fault," she repeated. "I just wanted to be important. I thought I was protecting everyone. I wanted Buffy back, for her to be okay. I didn't want you to get hurt again, Xander. And Giles, I just wanted you to respect me. And Tara..." she said, brushing back Tara's blond hair from her face, "I just wanted her to love me."

Xander fell to his knees next to his oldest friend, and put his arm around her shoulder. He tried to pull her away from Tara, met with a little resistance, but then Willow gave in. She cried against his chest, repeating it's my fault over and over again.

"Willow, shhhhh, Willow," he whispered to her. "We can still help her. It'll be okay. You didn't really mean to hurt her. You didn't really mean to hurt any of us. You were just confused."

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Even if she is okay, she'll never forgive me."

"She loves you. She'll forgive you. And so will everyone else."

"But I'll never forgive myself," Willow said, and broke away from him, reaching for Tara's hand and holding it against her own cheek.

"Buffy, get to a phone. Call an ambulance. I think it's all over now," Giles whispered to her, and Buffy sprinted from the graveyard.

"Can we come in?" Xander asked, standing in the doorway of Sunnydale Hospital's room 313. Willow turned in her chair, met his eyes, then looked at the floor.

"Sure," she answered, and turned her attention back to Tara. "She's asleep now. She was awake before. They said she broke a few ribs, but she didn't puncture a lung. Her wrist will take awhile to heal, though. And she's got some terrible bruises."

Buffy and Xander came in, standing uncomfortably in front of Tara's bed.

"Listen, you guys. I...I can't even begin. If you never want to see me again, I'll understand," Willow said, the words rushing out of her in rapid Willow fashion. "I don't think any of those things any more. I'm still going to practice witchcraft, but I'm going to take the advice of a much wiser witch," she said, looking at Tara, "and re-learn how to use it appropriately. And then we'll see if she can ever really trust me again."

"Listen, Will, we've all wigged out before," Buffy intentionally downplayed the nearly cataclysmic events of the past few weeks. "What's one more wig between friends?"

"How can you ever forgive me?"

"Well, don't ask me," Xander said, "but we already did."

Willow smiled at Xander. She really wanted to believe him, but after the things she'd said to him...

"Hey, Xander?" Willow asked. "Those things I said to you, back in the graveyard...? I didn't really mean them. Anya makes you happy, and I can see that you love her. Part of me is still jealous that I'm not the closest person to you anymore. I guess I never got used to not being your sleep-over friend anymore...wait, that didn't come out right."

"No, no, Will. It's okay. I know what you mean. And you'll always be my best friend. There's no one for you to be jealous of."

"And you," Willow said, turning to Buffy. "I don't know how to apologize."

"You don't have to," Buffy said.

"But I want to. I was jealous of you, too. Of the power you have, of how everyone trusts you and relies on you."

"But I'm not that person. Not without all of you to help me."

"I know that now. But I was also so mad at you, for not thanking me when I brought you back. I never, never thought you were happy where you were. I thought we were rescuing you from some Hell demension."

"I know you did. I can't imagine what you went through, thinking I was trapped. And then what you had to do to bring me back...Thank you for caring about me enough to do it."

Willow's expression darkened. "But Buffy, what I did with Spike..."

"But he didn't do it. End of story," Buffy said, more casually than she felt.

"I—I can't find the chip. So I can't put it back. We have to worry about Spike again, because of me."

"I can't explain it, Will, but I don't think we have anything to worry about," Buffy said. "I've been to his crypt, and, except for his furniture, it's empty. He took everything he could carry, and he's gone. He left town. So he's no longer my jurisdiction."

"Home from the hospital?" Dawn asked, looking up from her textbook to greet her sister.

"Yep. And Tara's doing much better."

"Did you see Willow?"

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. She's also doing better."

"So, did you forgive her?

"Dawn," Buffy said, warning her she was being a little too nosy.

"What? I'm just trying to figure out who gets forgiven around here. See, you've got Willow, who lied to everyone, put the sleep whammy on you, sent Spike here to kill you, broke Tara's wrist, and cut Xander's arm. And then you've got Spike, who protected you while you were under the sleeping spell, didn't kill you, and left town because he knew you couldn't trust him anymore."

"Dawn, those are two different—"

"No, they're not! You just don't want to admit Spike isn't like Angel. Spike's changed, Buffy. He's my friend, and he'd never hurt us. He doesn't need the stupid chip."

"He is a very dangerous vampire, Dawn. He could decide tomorrow that you'd be more fun as a vampire, and he'd turn you like that," Buffy snapped her fingers to demonstrate.

"No, he wouldn't, Buffy. And you know it," Dawn said, starting to cry. She slammed her book shut and ran up the stairs, slamming the door to her room when she got there.

Buffy had lied, at least a little, to Willow in Tara's hospital room. Spike's crypt wasn't completely empty.

Buffy sat on the sarcophagus, staring again at what he'd left behind.

One envelope, white. Five letters on the front, spelling out her name in Spike's odd handwriting.

She hadn't been able to open it. Actually, on her last visit, she hadn't even been able to pick it up.

She knew she should be concerned that Spike, without the chip, could return to hurt her or her friends. But she didn't think they would ever see him again.

Or if they did, and this was the crazy part, she didn't think they needed to fear him.

She turned the envelope over and over again, enjoying the feel of the rough paper under her fingers.

What could he possibly have had to say to her?

Buffy heard a noise outside, and she dropped the envelope back onto the stone slab. She'd come in here while she was patrolling, although she'd promised herself she wouldn't, and something might have followed her here. She moved into the most shadowy corner of the crypt, hiding herself and readying for a fight.

She wasn't too surprised to recognize the intruder, once he'd entered. Even if she hadn't become accustomed to the shape of his body and the way he moved, his unnaturally blond hair would have given him away. Once his back was to her, she crept out of the corner, came up behind him, and held a stake loosely against his back.

He put his hands up, knowing he'd been caught, and braced himself to turn to dust. When she didn't push the stake through him, he turned around, slowly, and wondered why he had even come back here.

"Why'd you come back, Spike?" Buffy asked him, and he chuckled in response.

"You always could read my mind, Slayer. I was just asking myself that."

"Well?" She asked, pushing the stake closer to him.

"I left something behind," he said, and plucked the envelope from the lid of the sarcophagus.

"Gee, I thought that was mine. Has my name on it and everything."

"Yeah, well, changed my mind." He looked at her, and looked down at the stake just inches from his heart. "I know you won't believe me, but I had no intention of coming after any of you." He tried to read her eyes. "Not even Xander," he added.

Buffy smiled at the macabre joke in spite of herself.

"Listen, Spike. I didn't get a chance to thank you. For not going through with it."

"'Thank you for not killing me, Spike?' That's not your style, Slayer."

"A year ago, I think you would have done it without a second thought. And...I...even asked you to do it."

"Knew you didn't really want me to. Truth is, neither did I." He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and decided he should tell her the whole truth. "Wasn't gonna kill you, anyway. If I'd done anything, I'd have turned you." He watched her face carefully, knowing she could decide at any second to rid the world of him, and he wouldn't resist.

"I think...I figured that out...later."

"So, could you just kill me, or should I take this," he held up the envelope, "and be on my way?"

"What does it say?"

"You don't want to know," he said, his eyes pleading with her to drop the subject.

"Why don't you read it and let me decide what I want to know?"

"Slayer..."

"Read it to me, and I'll let you go." She pulled the stake away from his chest.

"You don't want—"

"Sit!" She yelled, and pushed him back toward the sarcophagus. He pulled himself up onto its lid, and Buffy demanded, "Read!"

He sighed, broke the seal on the envelope, and pulled out the letter.

"Dear Buffy," he started. "Before I leave, I have a confession to make. When I went to your bedroom last night, I didn't go there to," he looked up at her, and asked, "Haven't we already covered this part?"

"Skip to the next thing," she said, pointing the stake at him.

"Fine. Turn you into a vampire, blah blah," he said, and his eyes found the next pertinent part of the letter. "And I know you can never forgive that. It was selfish and weak, things I've excelled at during my worthless existence. It was selfish because I," he paused, looking at her briefly before his eyes darted back to the paper he held, "love you." he finished. "And I know you can never love me back. Weak, because I knew I couldn't bear to live without you again. I could live forever, if I'm careful, but sometime in the next seventy years, I'll lose you again. I thought, if we were both the same thing, you might be able to love me. And we might have that forever to spend together. But it was wrong, and I couldn't do that to you." He looked at her again, but her face was unreadable in the darkness of the crypt. "I'll keep my promise to stay away from you and yours. I know you can't trust me without the bloody chip to keep me in line." He broke from the letter again to comment, "Guess I broke that promise already, didn't I, Love? In my own defense, I didn't know you'd be here tonight." He looked from her, to the paper, and back again, and concluded, "That's pretty much all. Are we done playing 'humiliate the Spike' now?"

Buffy took the letter from him and scanned the contents. He had stayed true to what he'd written, but he'd left out the last line. She read it aloud, "I will love you forever. Spike."

He grabbed the paper back from her, grumbling, "Didn't think you needed to hear every word."

"Spike—"

"Can I go now, or are you planning to kill me anyway?" Spike interrupted, and jumped down from where he sat.

"I think we can find you another television. Most of your furniture is still downstairs. I don't think you've been gone long enough for anyone to really start looting. I'll help you bring your things back in, if you want."

"What?" he asked, truly incredulous.

"Have you fed since Willow took your chip?" she asked.

Spike shook his head, trying to clear it. This conversation was suddenly all over the place, and he wasn't really following it.

"No. It might sound pathetic, but I'm sticking to butcher's blood. I've grown rather fond of it."

"Why are you really not feeding?"

He looked into her questioning eyes, and he was unable to lie to her. "Thought of it makes me sick." He brightened a little. "Maybe Red really didn't take out the chip..."

"Hit me, then."

"What?" He shrank back from her. "Just when a bloke thinks talking to you can't get any more confusing, you go and prove me wrong."

"Hit. Me. To test the chip," she explained. "I can take it. It's not like you haven't done it before, and here I still am."

Spike shrugged his shoulders, pulled his arm back, and punched her in the abdomen. She staggered backward, absorbing the impact. Spike bowed his head with regret.

"Nothing. Not even a spark," he told her.

"So," she said, straightening up again. "What you're telling me is, you have no chip, but you also have no interest in feeding on anyone."

"Buffy, I..." he stopped. "No, I don't." He let himself hope they'd found a loophole just for a second, and then thought of Dawn, and Buffy, and how terrible it would be if he ever hurt them again.

"So, see, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," he said, emphatically. "You can't take any more chances. Not after what happened with Angelus."

Buffy shuddered a bit at the memory, and he knew she'd have to agree with him. He started to leave, knowing he had to let her go.

"I can't let you go, Spike."

He turned around, naked hope in his eyes.

"Why's that, Slayer?" He asked her, seductively.

"Because, you know, Dawn would miss you too much."

"Oh, she would, would she?"

"Yeah. Dawn, she's grown attached to you. Doesn't know what she would do without you."

"Can't have that, can we?"

"So, can I assume that Dawn is begging me to stay?"

"Don't push it, Spike. Just tell me what I should tell Dawn."

"Tell her I can help her with that English homework, after all."

"Right," she nodded. "So, want to help with the slaying?"

Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Might as well. Telly's gone. Nothing better to do." He followed her, trying to stay cool. "So, when you were saying all that stuff about Dawn a minute ago, you were really talking about yourself, right?"

"I said," she paused, turning to look him straight in the eye, "don't push it, Spike."