Hey there! Thanks for stopping by! This is just a bit of Wuffy bro feels drabble. Something I pondered up while watching the sixth season of Buffy, and how painful Willow's magick withdrawals must have been, from that one small scene we saw. So, please, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or situations described. They are credited to Joss Whedon.


Secrets They Never Told Anyone

Everything was so hot. Willow was so hot. She tossed and turned on her bed; she had stripped down to her bare essentials, only leaving on a thin bra and small pair of underwear. But she hardly noticed, didn't care. Sweat dripped from her every pore, like tiny droplets of lava escaping the dormant volcano that was sure to blow. Her skin writhed and twitched, and her breaths were coming up in short gasps, ragged and wheezing. This is what she got, for getting addicted. Withdrawals are for addicts; she was an addict. Everyone had always said, withdrawal is a bitch. But it didn't matter right now, she could chastise herself later. Right now she was just so hot. She rolled onto her side, panting, wrenching her eyes open, looking for something, anything to help cool her down. All the windows were open, the fan was on, it was 4 in the morning, on a fall night; she shouldn't be so hot. Why was she so hot? Her frantic thoughts led her to the idea of a bath of ice. She could so easily wave her hand and have a tub full of ice- but no! She had to fight it, fight herself. It was only the first night. She couldn't relapse on the first night.

She rolled onto her back again, spreading her limbs to make a star shape, still panting. She longed to feel the touch of her lover, have those comforting arms embrace her; but she knew they wouldn't, yet. Soon. That was why she was putting herself through this. For Tara. Everything was always for Tara. How could she have been so stupid? Again with the chastising. It needed to wait.

Everything was suddenly so cold. A chill went up Willow's body, staring down in her feet, and working its way up to the very top of her head, leaving behind a trail of chicken skin and hairs-on-end. Willow lashed out and grabbed the blankets, curling in on herself, whimpering, turning her back to the door. At some point she had started crying, and the tears left unbearably cold stains on her cheeks. She wrapped herself into a Willow burrito; she had pulled up the sheets, then the under-blanket, the comforter, and finally, on top, a fleece throw. And still she shivered. She shivered so harshly, the entire bed was moving. Willow huffed as she breathed, trying to suck in a deep breath, only to find herself unable to. The extreme cold had overtaken her entire body and she wanted so badly to slip into peaceful slumber in order to escape the tortures of her withdrawal. It was painful and all-consuming; Willow could hear the blood rushing in her ears as her heart thumped loudly, making Willow feel like her head was pounding with each beat. She couldn't hear anything, only the rushing of blood in her ears that sounded as if she was standing under a waterfall.

There were suddenly two warm hands on her back, caressing her softly. Without even opening her eyes, Willow knew they weren't Tara's; but somehow her mind convinced her they could be. They were too small, too callous, too weathered to be Tara's, but her mind still allowed her to believe they were her blond lover's. Willow instantly relaxed; her shivers calmed, though were not completely quelled, and her heavy breaths slowed to more relaxed inhales. The gentleness of the touch helped with the believing it was Tara, in her room, on her bed, helping her through her magick withdrawals. A soft voice was cooing to her, and it was definitely not Tara's; but still, Willow closed her eyes tighter, muffled the sound and was then able to make herself believe it was Tara's voice. This was the only way she was going to get through this, and she knew it. And maybe that was why it was so easy for her to believe the person in her room was Tara, even though every fiber of her physical being knew it wasn't.

The stiff hands made their way into Willow's hair, massaging the tense scalp underneath the rivulets of red locks. Willow began to feel the claws of slumber plucking at her eyes, as her body began to relax further. The withdrawals were pushed to the back of her mind as the rough hands caressed her rather softly. Tara, it's Tara, Willow told herself desperately as her mind began drifting away from her. After a few long minutes, the caressing stopped; Willow was on the brink of slumber, in that state between pure, blissful sleep, and barely holding on to consciousness. The other person on her bed, her imaginary Tara, leaned over and whispered into her ear. "Good night, Will. Sleep well." And it wasn't Tara's voice. It was higher in pitch, and had a roughened tone to it.

Willow clenched her eyes shut tighter and curled harder into herself. Tara, it was Tara. She had to believe it was Tara. Oh, how she wished it was Tara. Willing herself to turn around, Willow slowly maneuvered her body around, keeping her eyes tightly shut, and leaned in to the warm other body. "Tara…" she muttered. "Good night, Tara." That was all she was able to muster before slumberland consumed her and she was released into a blissful sleep, where withdrawals couldn't reach her and it was, in fact, Tara sitting on her bed with her.


Once she was sure that Willow was asleep, noted by the soft sighs of escaped breath that pushed past Willow's slightly parted lips, Buffy slid from the bed, careful not to move it, for fear of waking the slumbering ex-witch. Once off the bed, she leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Willow's forehead, before tucking in the blankets to keep the red head comfortable. "See you tomorrow," she mumbled under her breath, the words barely audible and barely spoken.

Buffy exited the room quietly and shut the door behind her without a sound.


Author's Note: So yay! That's it. Please let me know what you think! Rand R is highly appreciated! Love you all