Author's Note: My characterization of Willow might be off-putting for some. She begins this tale quite harsh. Not the harshest I've seen by far, but definitely not the same character we recall from the show. I considered softening her reactions when I looked at this again and came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be good for the overall story. We need to see her truly broken to recognize the progress she makes, even in the first few chapters.


2.
Willow Gambit


As Willow drifted on the edge of sleep, the sound of sprinkling water lulled her. Raindrops splashed her skin. They seemed so real. The illusion might've lasted longer, but the incongruent, acrid smells of smoke and rancid meat ruined it for her. Instead of wet and refreshed, her body felt distant and impossibly heavy.

Water spattered. It startled her. Her eyes snapped open. At first, she wasn't even sure it was water. The sound was loud, almost like a sprinkler hitting a window, only this was less of a thud and more of a clap. As she peered blearily around the room, the continued pitter pat conjured another image: Buffy in the shower. Now that has definite yumminess potential. The sound was just her wringing out her hair.

But it can't be. She doesn't smoke and this place is like a bar.

Well, I should know soon enough 'cause the wringing—that usually comes last.

Willow's mystery host turned off the water. She shut her eyes, listening to movement in the bathroom. It has to be Buffy, right? I mean, I—

She strained to remember. There was—

There was pain. A shitload of pain. My chest hurt so bad that it didn't hurt anymore. Her hand moved reflexively to check. She felt the thin, tattered fabric of her dress. Her fingers caught on a hole in the material beneath her right breast. A knot formed in her stomach.

Fuck me! That was real?

The bathroom door swung open. Willow didn't move. Moments later the click and faint yellowish glow of a light being turned on came from the opposite side of the room, closely followed by the crackley thump of a refrigerator door opening. Buffy had made her way around the bed. Next, Willow heard the flap of a plastic bag hitting something, probably the refrigerator. But not just any kind of bag, the sound was a solid thwap that brought heavy plastic to mind. Maybe a sterile IV bag? Bagged blood? But Buffy hates that shit. Liquid trickled into a glass. Finally, a microwave touchpad beeped a tinny little ditty.

Well, there's only one way I'm gonna know for sure… "Buffy?" The weak, scratchy sound of her own voice made Willow cringe. She turned toward the source of the disturbance and opened her eyes, immediately squinting because her vision was blurred. The back light wasn't exactly doing her any favors either.

The little blonde vampire was standing in front of a kitchenette set into a closet. Willow had trouble understanding the lumpy, bumpy, gnarled skin she thought she saw above the level of the towel Buffy had wrapped around her. It might've been a trick of the obnoxious light. Half a dozen blinks later nothing had changed, so Willow asked, "What happened? Did you get into a fight?"

Buffy muttered, "Huh?" more intent on warming blood than on anything to do with Willow.

Willow was about to press the point when Buffy stopped the microwave by stabbing at the door release. She removed the glass and walked over to the bed. "You're gonna want this," she stated matter-of-factly and set the glass on the bedside table.

That held Willow's attention for a second or two tops. She was way more interested in Buffy than she was in some stupid glass. Carefully tracking the vampire's progress around the room, Willow mentally inventoried the scars. I would've noticed those.

Buffy snatched up a shopping bag en route and vanished into the bathroom.

Alone again, Willow thought back, trying to recall whether she'd ever seen Buffy's chest or back before. The answer she came up with was somehow not 'yes.' Never more than you'd see with a v-neck top. That's so weird. I always thought it—well, I'm not sure I thought much at all. I just wanted to see more. Uh…

Returning her attention to the glass, she groaned. Goddammit, I hurt!

As she lay there like a lump—an ouchy, grouchy, grumpy lump—the details clicked—the wineglass; the blood; the crusty, cardstock feel of her dress; the hole with no scar; and the glaring fact that not breathing didn't seem to be an issue—it wasn't that hard to put together. So, she finally did it. Somehow I'm not shocked. I knew it'd happen eventually, or—

No, I'm way too useful. She wouldn't just let me go.

A memory snuck in, interrupting her cluttered thoughts. Buffy craned over her, all pointy teeth and bumpy brow. How she managed to look concerned—?

It was almost comical—something to do with her eyes. Yellow eyes—

Willow snickered and caught a whiff of—

What in the—?

Not breathing was far in a way preferable. God! That smell! "Ughhh…" She gagged. It was her dress. All that dry, crusty, long-putrid blood. That was the smell… Her nose wrinkled with disgust. How'd Buffy manage to sleep? I smell like a morgue drain and I'm only seeing one bed.

Willow concentrated on not breathing, because now that she had, her subconscious mind seemed bent on screwing with her. There's no way I've been here that long. Have I? How long does it take for blood to get this rancid? Days?

Uh…

She searched her memory. No surprise, being shot was the high point. It really left an impression. The whole split second of it. The replay looked more like ten minutes. Every detail was burned into her brain. The expression on Jonathan's face was priceless.

They were all priceless. None of the goodie-goodie good guys were ready for that. Guns are messy, loud, vulgar, violent…

I might've laughed if I'd had time, or the presence of mind not to fixate on the smoke erupting from the muzzle of the gun, the way it jumped in his hands, metal sliding back like a manual credit card imprinter, cashing out my life…

None of that's very helpful. It sure doesn't explain why Buffy's turned into some sort of bleeding-heart, after-school-special, parody of herself. I just wish she'd—

Shit!

Sonuvabitch. I said that. Exactly that. I'm sure I did. I was so livid I couldn't see straight and I used the word 'wish' in front of Tara. I made a wish. Of all the braindead, boneheaded, amateurish things I could do…

But I don't remember exactly what I said. I just wanted Buffy to stop acting like such a raging bitch.

Willow sneered so fiercely her nose twitched. Of all things, it tickled. Fuck! She scrunched and stretched her face to make it stop. Speaking of wish fulfillment…I was making all of her dreams come true. And she wouldn't give me the time of day. I had every reason to be pissed. I'd put months into that shit and she was treating me like—

Like—

Like she always treated me. Like so much trash. Like a tool.

God! I can't believe I—

She sighed. Tara, you evil, fucked-up, manipulative cow!

No. No, it's all good. It can't be. She wouldn't have. Tara loved creating—

A loud thump came from the bathroom. Willow turned her head reflexively toward the door, which was entirely pointless. It was still shut.

If this is all about me getting worked up and reading things in—stuff that's all wild conjecture—then what's up with—?

Buffy held me. She stroked my hair and whispered to me. And not mean stuff. Sweet stuff. There has to be a reason.

Willow asked, "Why?" when the bathroom door opened. I've got a dozen 'whys.' She can fill in the blank.

Striding across the room, Buffy muttered, "Why what?" Her attention was fixed on something else.

Oh, for fuck's sake! Willow sat up. Grabbing the pillows from the head of the bed, she propped herself up. "What do you mean 'why what'?" she replied. "Isn't it obvious?"

Buffy took a seat, casually crossing her legs.

When the only answer her 'sire' offered was to light a cigarette, Willow went off. "Why the fuck am I here? What the fuck happened? Where the fuck are we? How the fuck did we get here? What the fuck's wrong with you? And what the fuck is up with all those scars? You get what the fuck I mean. It's not that fucking hard, Buffy."

Rising to her feet, Buffy replied, "Look, Will, let's start small." She scooped up the ashtray, murmuring, "Like with your first question," as she slowly closed the distance between them. "I didn't get into a fight. As a vampire, you get to keep all those little mementos from your past." She paused at the foot of the bed to take a drag off her cigarette. "They never go away. But that isn't very good dinner conversation." Gesturing toward the glass, she prodded, "Now drink up like a good girl." She rounded the bed, tugging at the zipper on her tight black leather jacket. It closed another tick or two more, scrunching her breasts.

Willow stared shamelessly at Buffy's cleavage, but strangely, her mind wasn't on sex. Her brow furrowed. She was trying to fill in the blanks. What she wasn't being told. Mementos of her past? Like Jim Caviezel in the wake of a Mel Gibson production. There are scars that just won't fade. Yeah, umm…that can't seriously be the only answer she's got for me.

When Buffy's eyes narrowed, she dutifully picked up the glass and took a small sip. It was all Willow could do not to spit the blood out. Her body folded in agony. She let go of the glass.

It wasn't until Buffy slid in behind her and whispered, "It'll only get worse if you don't drink," that she calmed. Buffy wrapped her arms around Willow. Sometime between the stomach cramps and the retching, Buffy must've caught the glass because it reappeared. She helped Willow to steady it. As Willow drained it without protest, Buffy whispered, "Next on the list is a shower. Sorry, Will, but you look like hell. Once you're done, we can talk."

Willow stood up and peeled her little black dress away. She glanced down at the caked blood on her chest. Shaking her head, she made her way to the bathroom. She didn't even look up. Instead, she stepped straight into the shower, turned it on and meticulously began to scrub the blood away. She washed and kept washing until the water flowing down the drain was no longer brownish in color.

The water felt good, so she stood with her head bowed, letting it beat on her back. She let it flow over her face, something that wouldn't have worked before. It made the change seem even more real.

'Kay so…total mind fuck. A nice Buffy? That has distinct possibilities. But the smoking? That's gotta go.

How long was I even out? I'm all caught up with the 'been vamped' part. I can't say I'm really sorry. It sure beats the hell outta dying. And honestly, I don't feel all that different. A little closer to room temperature, but the water helps.

I still don't get why she saved me? Why would she bother?

It has to be Tara. She did this to screw with me. But I don't remember exactly what I said. I was so pissed off.

She racked her brain, trying to come up with the exact words she'd used. Every single one counts. That's how wishes are. If they can be twisted—

'I just wish Buffy could feel the same way about me the way I feel about her.'

No, that's not it. Not quite. It's close.

'I just wish Buffy had the capacity to feel the same way about me that I feel about her.'

Yeah, that might've been it. At least that's closer. But I was just talking about the naughty parts. I thought she was just frigid or too damned straight for her own good.

Oh shit. You gave her a soul! Tara. Talk about radical interpretations of the text! You nasty, cunty, jealous, unbelievable bitch!

Wishes!

But—well, it's not all bad. I'm still alive, so I guess I'll start adapting. I bet Buffy's confused as hell. There's no way I'm ever gonna let her know I did this.

Oh, and Tara, she looked damned good as a rat. I need to find her power center. Destroying it would reset the mojo, but there's no way Buffy would stop for me without it. I need to hide it and keep it safe, otherwise…no more Willow. As choices go…

Turning off the shower, she stepped out and grabbed a towel. After patting her face dry and rubbing her hair, she wrapped the towel around herself. A quick glance in the mirror finished cementing the truth in her mind. She's still got some serious explaining to do. She left the bathroom and walked right up to Buffy. "It's your turn."

"What part?" Buffy replied, meeting Willow's gaze.

"You first. What the hell happened to you?" Willow asked. Taking a seat on the bed, she began to go through the shopping bags. Well, Buffy's still got expensive taste. Another total shocker.

"We're not gonna talk about that…ever, so give it up." Buffy replied in a low, dangerous voice.

Willow muttered, "Yeah," but in truth, she was only half listening. The contents of the package were far more interesting than some sob story. I'm kinda glad she doesn't want to talk about it. She's already told me everything I need to know. A bundle of black silk brocade caught her eye. She pulled it out and unrolled it. The corners of her mouth twisted, forming a wicked smile. It's just like the one I have back home. She must've liked it. Holding the bustier up, she purred, "For me?"

"Well, it sure wasn't for me," Buffy replied snarkily. Taking the last drag off her smoke, she crushed it into the ashtray. "I thought you'd like it."

Willow removed the towel. Unhooking the front of the bustier, she wrapped it around herself, refastening it. "So, you were saying?" She got up and walked over to Buffy, turning her back. "Oh, and lace me, please?"

Buffy stood up and started to cinch the laces down as she remarked, "Look, I've said all I'm gonna. If you can't listen, it's not my fault."

Ignoring the prickle of annoyance, Willow waited patiently for Buffy to finish tying her laces. When the job was done, she pushed her bottom out until she made contact and wiggled.

Buffy took a step back and collided with the chair. Grace won out, but Willow ended up right where she envisioned. They were wrapped in a front to back embrace. Quickly shoving her away, Buffy spat, "Would you stop screwing around?"

Casting an innocent glance over her shoulder, Willow strode to the bed. Who needs a pet? She bent over to retrieve the next item. When she turned around, Buffy was smoking yet another cigarette while she studied the carpet at her feet.

Willow got back to business as she put the miniskirt on. "'Kay, so…how long was I out?" Stooping to remove the shoebox from the final bag, she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. That's all I really need. The rest isn't important. I sorta got the 'where' from the sound of traffic at—what is it? She glanced that the clock on the nightstand. Two a.m. We're in L.A. It's the only thing that makes sense. The 'how' doesn't matter. That she did is—

The answer, when it finally came, was delivered bluntly. "About a week."

Willow glanced up. Uh, wow…I was totally wrong about that. She placed her forearms over the box lid, crossing her wrists casually as she studied the little blonde vampire. The look was back. It's really messed up that after all this time—

Buffy exhaled. The air between them clouded.

Willow wrinkled her nose and waved away the smoke. When she looked up, Buffy was stamping her cigarette out. Turning her interest back to the box, Willow took out a pair of black stiletto-heeled thigh-high boots and began to remove the packing material. This is just too funny. The clothes are good. Nothing but the best in high-end hooker-wear.

She slipped on the first boot and zipped it up. No, she's not interested. Not at all. She never has been. All those times I caught her sneaking a peek—I was imagining it.

As she put on the second boot, Buffy's voice drew her attention, "Y'know, I did buy—?"

Willow looked up in time to catch the intent. Buffy averted her eyes and went straight for another cigarette. A giggle bubbled up. The witch didn't even try to contain it. She was seriously looking at my crotch. That's just too funny. I bet if she could blush…

"I noticed. I never wear those things," she replied impatiently, "Not unless I'm wearing pants. I don't know if you managed to figure this out yet or not…" rising to her feet, she strutted over to Buffy "…but here's a clue. I like to fuck. Underwear's just a complication." Extending a hand down, she demanded, "Now let's go."

And here's the rest of the story. The only 'rest' that really matters. She's scared of me. She wouldn't have kept me out so long if she wasn't. I can totally work with that. She probably did something dumb like have me ensouled in hopes it'd make some huge difference.

Yeah.

Raising an eyebrow, Buffy looked up, giving the witch an incredulous glare. She took her sweet time replying. "Where? It'll be light in a few hours."

Willow noted the rigid posture and sharp expression on the younger woman's face. It's ironic. All we've seen and done, it turns out that the one person she cares about besides herself is also the one who scares the hell out of her. Fear doesn't suit her at all.

And if that wasn't enough, I don't think she gets it.

An impish grin twisted her features. Let's see what she makes of this: "Well, unless you want to fuck me, I'm gonna go find a friend…and a snack."

Buffy replied, "Will, I've stopped feeding on humans," sounding all determined. "And I can't let you." She was even silly enough to place herself between Willow and the door.

"You think you can stop me?" Willow replied through a laugh. Another funny, you trained me well. I can find hatred without even trying. Now love…love's a bitch.

She looked Buffy up and down before seizing her magically and splaying her out.

Panic was written all over Buffy's face. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Please don't," she croaked through clenched teeth.

Lifting her off the ground, Willow pulled until she heard a series of pops. "Blame yourself when the monster you've created bites," she spat and spun around, stomping into the bathroom.

Once inside, she released her victim and slammed the door. A reflexive glance in the mirror revealed a view of the shower wall. It didn't come as a shock. But it made her feel foolish. She shrugged it off, picking up a hair brush and pulling it through her short locks.


Willow made her way purposefully to the door. Buffy was simply an obstacle to be stepped around. She watched the witch leave. The pain of four dislocated limbs was unspeakable. Her body shook and tensing her muscles to make it stop was just dumb. She gritted her teeth to contain a scream. The tears just came. She could no more stop them than Willow.

Well, that went about like I expected. And for my encore, I'm a ragdoll.

Sonuva-fuckin-god-damn—shit! That bitch!

I've never felt more useless in my life! Like I can do crap with that!

I remember what it was like to be in control. When did I—?

Goddammit! I hate her!

If I were actually half as smart as I'd like to think I am, I would've killed her when I had a chance.

Hell, I would've just let her die!

But no, I was a pathetic, conflicted wuss who had all these feelings.

And now, worse, I can't just let her leave. I'm so fucked in the head that I actually want to go after the crazy bitch.

Like she'd really leave. I'm way too much fun to fuck with for her to leave me in peace. She'll come back just to screw with me.

And stupid me. I just can't wait. I gotta try. At the very least, I may be able to lessen the impact. Maybe I can keep her down to about a five on the Richter Scale.

Whatever. I'm a moron.

Her shoulder cracked as it snapped back into place. Buffy screamed. Her arm flopped over her face. She bit down.

When she was finally healed enough to move, she grabbed her smokes and the keycard. This is so gonna suck. Tearing off after the witch, she tracked her scent to the street. It took her no time at all to round on her quarry.

She met Willow's gaze. The black hair, eyes and the general level of badness were easy enough to shrug off. She held her hands up in a halting gesture and demanded, "Will, seriously, don't."

Yeah, so what happened to the whole 'sire' thing? I thought I was supposed to get a little control for my trouble. Like maybe just enough to stop her from tearing me limb-from-limb. That'd be nice.

The expression on Willow's face suggested that she might be watching a particularly amusing child. She placed her hands on her hips and snarked, "When did you get all noble? Protecting them. Seriously? Louis much?" She marched past Buffy, pushing her out of the way. "You're boring me."

Buffy didn't back down. She outpaced the witch and stopped right in her path. This is getting old quick. I suppose I could—

"I'm hungry. Move or I'll move you," Willow spat.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the threat and grumbled, "Then move me," folding her arms across her chest. "Look, Will, here's the sitch. You'll move me. It'll hurt like hell. But that doesn't matter. I'll still come after you."

It amused Buffy that simply hearing the truth made a little of the witch's anger fade. She reinforced the idea. "Sensing a pattern?" Unfolding her arms, she held them out in an inviting gesture. When nothing immediately came of the offer, she prodded, "Better hurry. Time's a wasting. It'll be daylight soon."

Willow quirked an eyebrow, giving Buffy a look that suggested she might be obtuse. A few seconds ticked by before the witch rolled her eyes and shoved past again. Shaking her head, she marched off down the street.

Or not.

Fuck!

Okay, so…this isn't exactly working out like I hoped. If the best I've got is annoying…

Buffy ran to catch up, but she didn't make it far. When she got within ten feet of the witch, something grabbed her around her middle. The concrete wall she hit cracked on impact. She slid to the ground, landing in a heap. It was a lot like that cartoon thing with the shepherd's crook. "Ouch," she groaned. "That went well." It took her a moment to shake off the pain and spring to her feet.

Shit.

Nope. Here I go again being all noble…like an idiot.

She brushed the dust off her leather. Obstinately, she tore off after Willow, calling out as she sprinted, "Let me simple this up for you, Will. Either kill me or don't. I'm not backing down." Yeah, look at me go. The real smiting should start any second now.

Spinning to face the charging vampire, Willow placed a hand on her hip and pointed out. "There's a fine line between stubbornness and stupidity. And you're seriously pushing it."

Buffy skidded to a halt. She had no idea why Willow didn't just turn away, but she wasn't gonna question it either. Instead, she held the witch's gaze. She has a point. I am being pathetic. After all the shit I've done, I suddenly grow a conscience?

Yeah, that's sensey.

Like, somehow I'm gonna make up for my Elizabeth Báthory M.O. with a miraculous streak of kindness. I'm running with a serious deficit in the plus column.

Actually, I could mutilate a bus load of nuns just for kicks and my sitch wouldn't change. Damned is damned.

I'm acting like some sort of pathetic cliché. Like Angel, the brooding vampire. Yeah…he was fun. All thirty seconds of him. Or worse—like she said—Louis.

Shit! That's it.

"You may be on to something," Buffy admitted. This is pathetic too. Her posture relaxed. But it's something I can live with. "This is gonna sound way too Anne Ricey—as you so sweetly pointed out—but there are a couple of crack dealers that hang in a parking garage up here. One of them's even kinda cute. Compromise?"

"And they don't use?" Willow asked.

Buffy replied through a smirk, "I'd smell it. Remember me?" She brushed past the witch, setting off purposefully toward their goal. Killing the evil-doer. Gotta love a good cliché. The good news is, these guys are seriously bad news, so it's not like I'll be murdering the next Albert Schweitzer, whoever he is.

Willow matched pace with Buffy and started to coo, "Yeah, you used to love to hunt. It was what you lived for. Inflicting terror and pain." Her words or, more specifically, the tone of her voice made Buffy grin. The witch gave her a sidelong glance and purred, "That's my girl," trailing off into an amused snicker.

As Buffy turned into the garage and started up the ramp, she asserted, "Only the bad guys from here on. We kill to thin out the other predators."

"Works for me. It's really doesn't matter much so long as they're cute," Willow replied, placing a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Wait for me. Don't come till I do."

When Buffy said, "Alright," and gave her a nod, Willow strutted away. Not that she planned to obey. Buffy shadowed the witch, circling silently around behind the dealers.

Going through all the motions, it took the witch under a minute to press the cute one against his car. The other dealer tried to appear bored. It wasn't working for him. He kept sneaking glances. When Willow put her arms around his friend's neck and pulled herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist, the second mark's attempts at nonchalance utterly failed. He was thoroughly engrossed in the spectacle as she positioned herself. The cute one groaned. Willow's body drifted down, settling into place.

Buffy used their preoccupation to her advantage. She slipped in behind her victim. Her right hand closed over his mouth, stifling the impending scream, while her left wrapped around his torso. She towed him to the other side of the car before sinking her fangs into his neck. Shifting her bite, she opened up the wound. Blood poured into her mouth.

Her victim sputtered and wheezed, but her grip on his chest was too tight for him to breathe. Flailing his arms and legs, he fought frantically, trying to break her hold. His life or death struggle was no more than a minor annoyance. It dwindled as he weakened.

She closed her eyes, greedily drinking in the warm pulses of thick, sweet fluid. Weird, this is the one thing that really brings me any peace at all. And I thought I could throw it away? Will's right, I am an idiot. She wished with all her might it would last. But at the same time, understood, like everything else, this was fleeting.

The panting sounds coming from the two lovers grew more desperate as her victim's heart rate slowed. They blended into a sort of strange chorus. It doesn't matter. None of this shit matters. All that matters is this one little sound. Ignoring the other two, she focused intently on the one. The frail pitter-pat of a single human heart. Wrenching hard at her victim's head, she crushed across his chest, trying to milk every last drop from him. His heart stuttered and fell still. She quietly lowered him to the ground.

Her head bowed in concentration. She forced her human mask to return. When she looked up, only her eyes betrayed her true nature. She licked her lips clean before striding around the car. Moments later, her eyes tingled. The sensation was very subtle and easy to miss. But it was important to her. It told her the mask was complete.

Taking position a few feet from Willow, she leaned casually against the car to wait. She cast a sidelong glance at the two enthusiastic lovers. The witch's head was craned back. Her body moved in a rhythmic cadence against the man's.

Y'know, I just don't get it.

This was currently the only show in town, so Buffy gave in. I mean I totally get being horny. Who doesn't? It's annoying as hell. What I can't see is why you'd ever want some random stranger to touch you like that. I don't even want that from people I know.

Panting and crying, Willow's back arched. She hung from the stranger's neck. He cupped her ass, guiding her thrusts and keeping her in place.

It's supposed to feel good. Looks like it does, but…

It never did for me. Of course, the list—it's less than stellar. The first and last guy I was with—

The muscles in Willow's neck and shoulders corded. She made noises that caused Buffy to wonder if she was in pain. That's more like what I'm used to. Pain. Lots of pain and creepy-crawly stuff, like there are ants swarming all over my skin.

Xander got off on torturing me. He loved to make me squirm. And boy did I work for the wish fulfillment.

A detail caught her eye that caused her pause. This is totally weird. Her hair color's returning to normal. Really slowly. It's subtle.

That's just messed up. Is this somehow good for her? I mean, it just looks gross.

Finally, the part she could actually relate to arrived. Willow's face transformed. She seized the man's head and wrenched it to the side. The writhing didn't stop when she buried her fangs in his neck. He didn't even notice. The only sign that something might be wrong was that he gradually weakened. Eventually, his knees buckled. As he slid down the side of the car, he took Willow with him for the ride.

Buffy smiled as the witch dismounted her victim. "Quite a show. I'm not sure whether I should applaud or not." Funny, she never kissed him. She used to kiss Tara. And she's tried to kiss me more than once. I guess if she kisses you, it means she loves you.

Willow curtsied gracefully and replied in a husky voice, "Thank you," as she tugged her skirt down.

"Get his money and ditch the drugs," Buffy instructed dryly. Rounding the car, she threw her victim across her shoulders and set off toward the dumpster in the far corner of the garage.

Moments later, Willow came into view, appearing perfectly human except for one large detail. It was funny to watch her manhandle the limp man into the dumpster. She slammed the lid and remarked, "Nice take…they were quite the enterprising fellows." She held out her hand, smiling when Buffy took it.

"Let's get home," Buffy said, towing the witch along with her. "I can smell the sun."

"Yeah, I always wondered about that. Now I know what you mean," Willow replied. Wiping the trace of blood from her lips, she licked her fingers. "Don't you miss it?" she asked, giving Buffy a quick glance.

"Miss what?" Buffy responded, not quite certain which 'it' Willow might mean. Do I miss the sun? Yes. Did I miss the kill? Absolutely. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I guess that can get chucked onto the pile with all the other shit—

"Sex," Willow replied emotionlessly.

Buffy almost fell over. "You're kidding, right?" She lost it when Willow shot her an 'I'm dead serious' look.

Oh yeah…I miss that…like I miss sunlight exposure, or a maybe nice face full of holy water. I miss it lots. Rushing a little to catch up, she was a bit surprised as the witch took her hand again.

Giving Buffy another thoughtful glance, Willow stated, "I don't think I am."

"No. There's nothing to miss," Buffy responded, fixing her eyes on the ground directly in front of her. "Look, Will, I'll leave the fucking to you. Let me handle the planning."

Taking the pack out of her jacket pocket, she pulled out a smoke and began to pat her clothing. A small bulge in the hip pocket of her leather pants caused her to pause. She placed the cigarette between her lips and replaced the pack, fishing out her lighter. Click, flip, puff, and the tension seemed to magically bleed away. Yup…they help…


Amy tugged at the hem of her shirt, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. Absently brushing her hair back, she pushed the door open, putting on her best fake smile. She made her way to the bed, leaning in to kiss the slayer lightly on the forehead. When Amy withdrew, her smile returned. She whispered, "How you holding up?" meeting Faith's eyes.

"Not bad," Faith replied, but it was plain that she was putting up a front too.

Amy reached out to gently clasp her friend's hand. It was hard for her to remain calm. Seeing her like this is—

She cleared her throat. Intent on keeping the conversation flowing, she asked the obvious question, "What happened?"

Faith's brow crinkled as she grumbled, "No crying over me," entirely ignoring the question.

Amy's resolve crumbled. The tears welled up. She was damned to stop them. Dammit. I wish she hadn't said anything. I might've been able to—

Seeing Faith like this simply broke her heart. How could this happen? This is bullshit! She's the strong one. She hung her head. "Can't help it," she mumbled. As teardrops dripped from her eyelashes, she cupped her face in hand and mopped them away.

Faith pulled the witch carefully over the bed rail into a gentle hug. "Give me a few. I'll be up and around. It's really not that big a deal," she whispered.

"Not a big deal?" Amy replied, "Is there something I missed? Giles told me they had to take one of your kidneys." Pulling out of the embrace, she backed up, settling into one of the hard hospital recliners.

Amy met the vacant stare the slayer gave her and grumbled, "So, quit stalling. What happened?" She took a deep breath and angrily wiped her face with her hands. Her back ached already from the horrible chair. The pain gave her something else to dwell on, but she scooted around anyway, trying to get comfortable.

After ruefully shaking her head, Faith recounted the events. "Standard shtick. I was at The Bronze and this vamp left with a meal ticket in tow. So I did my thing. Y'know, the one they pay me so well to do." She sighed and tried unsuccessfully to stifle the wince that followed. "I get out back and the vamp has him pinned, so I hit her. And that was it. End of show. She moved like nothing I've ever seen. Sloppy…" she combed away the strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes "…all over the place. No style at all. But you don't need style when you're that fast. I'm just lucky her aim wasn't any better. It was total amateur night, with a wicked new twist."

"Slayer-vamp?" Amy asked, already knowing the answer.

Faith grumbled, "She had to be," wincing again as she tried to adjust the pillow behind her head. "She moved like the queen bitch herself." Amy got up and tried to help. As she fussed with the pillows, Faith continued to speak, "I have no clue why she's here—" she paused to lean forward "—and her highness has dropped off the radar. Not that I'm complaining about that last bit."

Amy leaned back to meet Faith's eyes and stated the obvious, "We've got trouble." Worried isn't a good look for her. I'm so used to her silly confidence.

Faith snarked, "Ya think?" Shifting slightly, she clutched her side.

Moving to leave, Amy said, "I'll let the others know." Yeah, we're seriously screwed.

"Thanks," Faith replied, turning to face the window.


Moving around the room, Buffy made sure the door was chained and the drapes were tightly drawn. She went to the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. When she got back, Willow was already in bed.

"All I could get with a fridge was a single queen," Buffy commented. As she slipped under the covers, the naked little witch tucked up against her. Buffy rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the expected bullshit factor. I should've saved that board. Getting her onto it would've been a party, but worth every single bruise.

"No skin off my back."

Buffy rolled her eyes again at the tactless remark and grumbled, "Look, if you just have to touch me…" reaching over to switch off the lamp "…don't do it light. None of that gentle shit. It makes my skin crawl." If she doesn't knock it off…

Willow snickered and purred into her bedfellow's ear, "I think I can handle that."

"Oh, and don't get used to this. We're leaving tomorrow," Buffy grumbled, trying to settle for sleep. Saying 'no' is pointless. It's like she's got a filter where the word's concerned. At least she's taken the hint and firmed up her grip.

Brushing Buffy's hair away, Willow gently kissed her neck. "Where we headed?"

Buffy flinched. The kiss sent chills ups her spine and not the good kind. Like they're ever the good kind. The only time I ever get that is when I do something I know is monumentally stupid and live to not talk about it. Reaching back to rub her neck, Buffy replied in an arid voice, "Back to Sunnyhell." The crap I put up with.

Just when she recovered from the last round, more movement caused her to almost leap out of bed. As the witch craned over her, appearing totally aghast, Buffy gave her a furious glare.

Completely at ease, Willow met her gaze and asked, "Why in Samael would you want to go back there?"

Buffy shook her head. When the annoying little witch finally settled in behind her, she answered the question, "Some friends of mine from out of town are visiting. I need to give them a warm welcome."

"Friends?"

Buffy pressed against the witch to increase contact so her skin would stop crawling. "Yeah, you know, the slayerettes," she responded through a sigh. "I have no clue why, but I can feel them moving. They're headed for the 'Dale and so am I. I need to get to them before they get to me. It's only a matter of time. If you really do love me, you'll help."

"Oh boy," Willow mumbled, kissing the nape of Buffy's neck again.

A few peaceful moments slipped by before the next intrusion. The hand threading beneath her tank top didn't quite cause Buffy to flinch. She tensed, but Willow applied pressure and lifted her hand instead of dragging it each time she moved. This wasn't nearly as awful as Buffy remembered. She allowed it without protest. It even concerned her that she found it strangely comforting. She actively decided to give the pondering a rest.

After a few moments of careful scrutiny, Willow whispered sleepily, "I do, you know."

"I know, Will."