11.
Connect the Dots


Seemingly indifferent to Willow's company, Buffy waited for the elevator. When I handed her that card, I got that she was gonna stumble across that room sooner or later. But why'd it have to be so soon?

Willow as a vengeance demon? Really? Now there's a cheery thought. I'm way too tired to deal with this crap now.

The doors opened and Buffy stepped inside. She leaned against the wall next to the controls and pressed the number three. S'pose I should be thanking my lucky stars that she's not upset. She has every right. She could be yelling and screaming. And my head could be pounding. Wouldn't that be fun?

The elevator began to descend. Buffy snuck a peek as Willow went to the opposite wall. Or I don't think she's upset. She doesn't look upset.

A bundle of leather hung folded over Willow's right arm. There was too much for it to just be one coat. It occurred to Buffy just how sweet it was for Willow to bring her coat too. And that she didn't deserve the sweetness. But mostly her brain was numb. Her thoughts wandered like a litter of curious kittens in a room full of butterflies. They were just as fuzzy, but not nearly so cute. Holding onto one of the squirmy, sharp-clawed little bastards for more than a moment or two was way too much to deal with.

When the doors slid open, Buffy glanced across the compartment. Willow was staring at her. It took a second for Buffy to understand 'why' and 'what.' She looked down. The left sleeve of her shirt was torn and bloody at the upper arm. Goddamned shovel. That was just wrong. She inspected the wound as they moved down the hallway. It looked a whole lot worse than it was. The cut had almost healed. I seriously need to find another gardener.

I'll add that to my list. It may happen sometime next year.

Buffy reached her room and entered, using her card. She was a little surprised that Willow didn't follow. She held the door and motioned her reluctant companion inside. Once Willow had joined her, Buffy shut the door and got right down to business. Getting clean was way overdue. She stripped on her way to the bathroom, pausing to toss her shirt in the trash and the rest of her clothes in the hamper. It's a shame. I kinda liked that shirt.

Another thing for the low end of my list. Replacing my shirt can go right after the gardener. I'll be doing good if I remember any of that tomorrow.

Buffy walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After giving it a moment to warm up, she adjusted the temperature, stepped inside and shut the door. Showers were never fun. The sensation of pins and needles made her cringe when the water hit her skin. At least it's warm.

Weird, the only thing that feels even remotely right touching me is her. I never would've guessed.

Skipping the shower gloves, she went for the sponge. On the best days, she couldn't feel well enough to know if she was scrubbing herself raw. Alone that was fine, but with Willow in the next room, paying attention was a better idea. She poured a little soap into the sponge and resisted the urge to rush through. That never went well either. It's not like it'd matter. I heal so fast now. I just don't want her flipping out on me again. I think we've hit our quota of that for the day. Maybe the week.

I can hope.

Buffy snickered. If she's not careful, I might get the impression that she actually cares about me. No good could come of that.

Even if it doesn't make any sense at all. How could someone like her possibly be attracted to me? I mean, look at me.

Buffy did just that. Even covered in soap suds, her body looked disfigured and gross. I don't get it.

I really hate it when the list of crap I don't understand gets longer than the crap I do.

Stepping back into the spray, she rinsed off and wetted her hair.

She's confusing, but the real stumper tonight is me. Luke's been calling me Mistress for years. Totally creepy. It always made me want to smack him.

Buffy grabbed a bottle of shampoo. Her shower was almost done. It couldn't be over soon enough for her. She rushed through washing, rinsing and conditioning her hair.

You'd think I feel the same way about Will. But no…that'd be way too sensey. She just implies it and I go all quivery.

She didn't even say the damned word!

I melted.

The huge difference…

She means it. And not just with the other stuff. This isn't business. It's something else. She means it in an 'I'll do anything to make you happy' kinda way.

I've never had that. I've never even dreamt of having that.

Weird.

No, I'm not gay. Not even a little.

Buffy was as clean as she was likely to get, so she turned off the shower and grabbed a towel on her way out. But technically, one of something can be an anomaly, right?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

She laughed at her own stupidity as she ruffled her hair with the towel. I'm such an idiot. Drying off worked out about as well as getting clean. It was a little easier to ignore because she was in control of what was touched and how. But really, both things amounted to a bunch of cringe-worthy sensations that she rushed through as fast as she could.

Not that I have a clue what I want, but I'm positive I don't want that in the literal way. It just seems silly. Like some sort of stupid game.

How could anyone want that? Willow made it sound like it was an actual need for Tara. I can't imagine needing to be hit, wanting to be humiliated. What I can imagine is taking someone's head off for it. That's about where my imagination on the subject ends.

All she had to do now was dry her hair. She hung her towel up and got to it. It puzzled her that she wanted so much to be done. It's not like that was fun. There's no sign that it's gonna get fun any time soon either. Being around Will's just stressful. There's so much shit.

Buffy turned the blow dryer on high and picked up a brush. The air felt nice. This was her favorite part of getting clean. She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, just enjoying the sweet fragrance of juniper from her shampoo. I could always sleep in the Jacuzzi. Like that hasn't happened before. I always wake up feeling like my brain's been poached.

She giggled. Really, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't want to spank Will for something, so I guess I can sort of see it. Usually it's just for opening her mouth.

Yeah, uh…

No.

The high-pitched whir of the blow dryer pulsed as she waved it over her hair. That combined with the warm currents of air made her feel numb. Her brain actually shut up. She enjoyed the dullness for a few moments before shutting the dryer off and leaving the room to face the music.

It wasn't late enough for the sun to really be bright, but on the other end of her room, closer to the bed there was a nice wedge of sunlight shining on the hardwood floor. She walked right into it.

Willow hadn't moved a muscle. She was still right where Buffy had left her. The coats were even still in her arms. And now, her brow was doing that crinkley thing again.

Smiling, Buffy glanced over her shoulder and said, "Special coating. Sunlight without those annoying, flamey side effects."

No answer came.

Wow. Well, so much for her not being pissed.

Why is it I'd rather face another twenty vamps than one pissed off Willow?

I gotta do something. Maybe if I just went to bed?

Nah. Not proactive enough. She'd probably still be standing there when I woke up.

If I was lucky.

There has to be something. What did she want?

Shit. She wanted to talk. Someone shoot me now. Please?

Why is it that guys are so much easier to deal with? You just tell them to beat it and they usually do. The last thing they want is to talk about their feelings.

Well. I guess it's time to test a theory. Let's see just how much she wants to make me happy.

Buffy made up her mind and turned around. I'm screwed. Plastering on a sweet smile carried her across the room. That was the best defense she had. She took the coats from Willow's arms and tossed them at the couch. Reaching for the belt of Willow's dress, Buffy asked, "You aren't turning into a prude on me, are you?" as she untied it.

Still nothing.

I'm so, so screwed.

Alrighty then, I've got nothing left to lose. It can only go up from here.

Let's see, is there's another tired old expression that fits? She mulled it came to mind. None that actually fit. You have to be pretty pathetic to have nothing left to lose. I know. I've been. It sucked. And I'd like to think we're a couple of steps above the bottom. I mean, I hope.

Hell, I may even beg.

She reached for the hem of Willow's dress and peeled it over her head. It surprised Buffy when Willow just raised her arms. This was gorgeous on her. It fit her so well. She couldn't bear to just cast the dress aside, so she took it over to the closet and hung it with the rest of her dry cleaning. While she was at it, she put up the coats.

Nothing had changed when she reemerged. At least she's not yelling. That's a start.

She paused on her way back to press a button on the remote that sat on the end table in the corner formed by the couch and loveseat. As the drapes slid into place, covering the long row of French doors on the back wall of the room, she walked over and took Willow's hand.

Buffy whispered, "I'm sorry." She bit her lower lip. I haven't said that in years. Not since—

And I've said it how many times to her?

Too many.

Buffy's apology was met the same way as everything else had been. She was crestfallen. She held Willow's hand and went to the bed, giving her the latitude to break free. To her surprise, she felt no resistance. She lifted the covers back, got into bed and moved over. I wonder if I'll have to put her in bed too.

The waterbed was so warm. It was wonderful. Buffy wanted to just relax and enjoy it.

Willow got into bed of her own accord, but she still wasn't talking.

After covering them both up, Buffy stared up at the ceiling and said the first thing that came to mind, "I don't understand." Brilliant start. I could just make a list.

When her words fell on deaf ears, she kept trying. "I don't see how someone could want that. It makes no sense." This is gonna be a really one-sided conversation. But I guess that doesn't matter.

"It freaks you out when you're not in control, right?"

The delicate sound of Willow's voice made Buffy smile. She rolled onto her side, propping her head in her hand. "Yeah…I mean, I guess."

Willow angled her head just enough to meet Buffy's eyes. "Then why's it so hard to believe that there might be other people who wig when they're in control?"

I love it when she does that. That makes complete sense now. Well, not really. Not complete. I still can't see the games, but the rest—that much is sensey. What else was there?

Buffy's forehead crinkled. There was a question, but it needed work. I'm not even sure how to put it. Or if I should put it. I may be pushing it. Keeping the conversation alive was more important, so she did the best she could."You said Tara didn't love you." Ugh. This may piss her off. But she's so bent on making me understand. Or I guess she is. Maybe… "I don't get how she could spend—" She lowered her eyes. "How could she do that and not care? It was like she was worshipping you or something."

Willow made a curious little sound, like she'd just discovered something new and intriguing.

That vocal tick and silence that followed made Buffy wonder if she needed to explain more. Or maybe I should've said less. I hope I didn't blow it. That'd be just my luck. I hate talking about this shit. Actually, I hate talking period. Doing is so much easier.

Willow appeared deeply thoughtful. Finally, she said, "I can see how you might think that." Extracting her hand from beneath the blankets, she brushed her hair back. As her hand came to rest on her tummy, she concluded, "I dunno. Maybe she did. But it wasn't like you mean."

"How else is there?" Buffy asked, realizing that she'd cut Willow off a moment too late.

"Oh, there are lots of ways," Willow replied, untroubled by the interruption. A sweet little smile warmed her face. Something about it set Buffy at ease. "No fair distracting me," Willow scolded playfully. "It'd take me all day to explain that. And I don't think you'd be any closer to understanding when I was done."

Willow scanned Buffy's face for a moment before pressing on. "What if I said, there's nothing that makes me happier than seeing you smile? Would you understand that?"

"Yeah," Buffy replied. The sheer lack of hesitation baffled her. She didn't even have to think about it.

"It's the same thing," Willow said. Her answer came so quickly and was so resolute that it took Buffy a moment to comprehend. In that moment, Willow filled in. "Seeing you smile, knowing that I made you happy makes me happy."

The real surprise was that Buffy didn't doubt it for a minute. But that solid feeling that came with sudden understanding didn't last. She reeled to catch up when Willow went on. "Seeing you tremble. Hearing you sigh and beg me for more. Panting and moaning. Making you feel so good. Better than you ever imagined you could feel. Watching every muscle in your body tense with pleasure. Listening to you cry out." Her eyebrow arched. "And knowing that I did that?"

Willow's eyes were filled with desire. Her was voice was like silk. And the smell of her washed across Buffy's senses. A tingle shivered down her spine. She wasn't touching Willow at all, but there was electricity between them.

Oh…'kay, well, uh…isn't she just full of surprises?

Buffy shut her eyes, struggling to shake it off. The rub was she wasn't even sure she wanted to. She just knew she couldn't.

Funny thing, I think I get it. That look in her eyes, that's not just about lust. She wants to, yeah, but it's more than that.

"So, what you're saying is there's a difference between love and sex?" Buffy whispered.

Willow chirruped, "Bingo," startling Buffy and snapping up her attention. Willow winked and turned to face the ceiling.

An uneasy giggle shook Buffy and jiggled the waterbed. Well…that's pretty much it for me. Good thing too. I might not survive another answer like that.

There was her, but asking about that. Not smart. Not even necessary. Questioning a good thing for no reason never turns out well.

I suppose I could ask this. "That control thing, is that what you need?" It took Buffy a second to realize what she'd said, then she stammered, "Not the—'cause—well, I really don't think…I'm not sure I could do that."

Willow spoke through a rampant case of the giggles, "Don't worry, Buffy. I'm pretty sure I don't want that." She made a sound somewhere between a sniff and a sigh. Calm and completely serious, she said, "But yeah…to some degree. I wouldn't be here if that weren't the case."

"Fair enough," Buffy replied.

A sleepy, comfortable silence followed. It was like some imagined weight had lifted. Willow never turned back. That didn't bother Buffy. She let her head fall, resting it on her upper arm and just watched. Willow's hand moved under the covers. She went from stroking her tummy to touching herself. She probably doesn't realize it. Or maybe she does and she hasn't realized she probably doesn't want to.

Which is just insane. Not to mention bullshit. I'm not even sure where she got that idea. It's not like I want to stop her. I truly couldn't care less.

But really, I do care. She's used to one thing and she does a complete one-eighty. How can that be good? That's part of why she's been flipping out.

I know there've been times when I just wanted to remove that part of my body. Like it'd do any good. That's just the last thing I want to feel and sometimes it won't—

Willow noticed, first the watching, then the touching. When she jerked her hand away, Buffy caught it and said, "No." She made it perfectly clear from her tone that this wasn't negotiable.

The crinkles returned again. Buffy considered reaching out to smooth them out. Instead, she smiled and gently placed Willow's hand back where it'd been. Willow moved with her, placing her arm around Buffy as she snuggled closer. "This isn't something I can give you, but that doesn't mean you don't need it," Buffy whispered. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't move her hand. Willow's fingers were so soft to the touch, moist and warm. The scent wafting up from under the covers was tantalizing. It made Buffy wonder whether what she'd said was true.

As her resolve wavered, fear crept in. Remembrances of being touched loomed in the haze. She wanted to recoil, but held her ground. Conquering fear was nothing new. Instinctively, she went to something familiar. Something she knew would be okay.

Their lips met. The passion was instant and volatile. Willow's hand moved, taking Buffy's along for the ride as they kissed. Willow's fingers slid inside. Breaking the kiss, she moaned into Buffy's mouth.

Supple skin rested under Buffy's fingertips. She wanted to run her fingers over it just to feel the texture, but she never got a chance. So many things happened at once, she barely registered them all. Willow brought her thigh up. It pressed against Buffy's center. White spots splashed behind her eyes. Lighting struck, filling the air with a charge. The hairs on her body stood on end. A tingle coursed over her skin. Almost through her skin. It wasn't unpleasant, but there was something infinitely dangerous about that moment. A sense of foreboding.

Something thick and rigid thrust inside her. Willow's nails bit into her ass driving it deeper. Her body tensed. It was irrational and she knew it, a hallucination just like the memories of her mother's lifeless eyes that haunted her. There was nothing.

Nothing.

Buffy clung to the rational, struggling to push the delusion away, but in her mind Xander's hands were all over her. It was just the blanket. She knew it had to be the blanket, but the light caresses made her want to scream. She needed to, but she couldn't find her voice. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear. They were more like mocking coos. She loved him so much. All of those warm, fuzzy feelings clashed with what she knew. Part of her swooned with pleasure, but deep inside, she felt sick.

Confusion consumed her. She felt helpless. Desperate for breath, she gasped. Her body was sticky and she hated it. Naked and trembling, she lay alone, feeling so small. Her throat was tight. She couldn't breathe. Gradually, it came to her just how stupid that was. She forced herself to stop. Somehow she'd gotten to the other side of the bed. The blankets were beneath her. She had no memory of moving. She stared at the ceiling, struggling to remember. There was something else. Something important.

"Buffy?" Willow's voice cut through the haze.

Reality crashed in and in that instant, it all meshed. Being a victim or being an assailant. The ideas came together into one cohesive thing. None of that was necessary. Buffy could practically taste it. She wanted it.

A burst of speed pinned Willow to the bed. Her eyes went wide with fear. Buffy held her wrists, glaring until Willow looked away.

"Only you," she whispered, pulling the blankets over them. When Willow met her eyes, she went on, "Never touch me like that again." She guided Willow's hand between them.

That's right. I'm giving you exactly what you asked for.

It was natural, instinctual, Willow understood.

Buffy felt Willow's finger slip away and held their hands still. "Not without permission." She eased her grip. "Now, cum for me."

Willow whispered, "Yes, Mistress."

Her reply caught Buffy by surprise again. A kiss had been in the plans, but she couldn't make herself move. She stared, trying to figure Willow out. Unable to see through the sheepish grin, Buffy finally chided, "Please don't call me that." A hint of a laugh caused her voice to pitch and tremble. She just wanted Willow to understand.

This isn't that. Or it is, but it isn't. We don't need those games. I don't want to play either of those roles. And I don't want that for her. Surely there has to be something in between.

The side Willow's face twitched. Her grin went from sheepish to silly and lopsided. When her expression finally broke into broad, cheerful smile, Buffy kissed it away.

The rhythm Buffy set was slow and steady. As she guided Willow's hand, soft, smooth skin, like silk, glided beneath her fingertips. She considered moving Willow aside. She wanted to feel everything, but decided to wait. She had time. And easing into this wasn't as scary. She imagined what it might feel like instead. That was enough. Perfect.

Breaking the kiss, Buffy looked into Willow's eyes. The passion was back, but Buffy longed for more. She wanted the same intensity without the pain. Tightening her grip on Willow's hand, Buffy thrust. It was just hard enough. Right on the edge of what she suspected would hurt.

Willow arched her back and moaned.

That's right.

Though their bodies barely touched, Buffy felt completely connected. Her body hummed, but she ignored her own prickling skin. She stole another kiss as Willow gulped for breath. The kiss deepened briefly until desperate yearning boiled over.

Willow tore free and cried out. The sound was like music, beautiful in every way. Buffy couldn't recall ever hearing her name and feeling more. Nothing she'd experienced compared.

She turned onto her back and lay perfectly still. The hand she'd used to control Willow rested on her pillow. She breathed in. The odor was so human, kind of salty, like sweat, only not. It was different. Tangier. It made her hungry. Her mouth watered. She considered tasting her fingers, but thought better of it. The look Willow might give her would be too much to take. Imagining was fine for now.

Willow snuggled up against her side. A comfortable stillness carried them closer to sleep. Buffy caressed the small of Willow's back, only vaguely aware of what she was doing. The gesture was soothing. Soft skin flowed under her fingertips. She would've been happy to let Morpheus have his way. He was a fickle, tricky bastard. But mostly his elusiveness was her fault. She wasn't sure whether the promise she'd made had just been in her head or if she'd said it out loud. Either way, show and tell hadn't been enough.

I really need sleep. We both do.

I can't. I won't. I know how I am. If I let this sit, I'll be up brooding all night. Either that or I'll be waking her up in a few hours to—

Yeah. No. That isn't fair. It doesn't matter whether I actually promised or not. I owe her this. If she's going to follow me, no matter what, she deserves to know exactly what I am.

Buffy shut her eyes, remembering something she'd wanted to forget for years. No matter how hard she tried, it'd never gone away. "It was the explosions," she whispered. This is gonna suck.

Feeling the 'huh' coming on, Buffy headed it off. "It didn't matter to me where I was or when it was. I'd just fed on a homeless man. The kind of person who's so lost, so out of touch with the world that—" she shuddered "—well, personal hygiene wasn't a thing. I was amazed and disgusted. He actually had fleas." She turned her head. Her attention came to rest on a thin strip of sunlight that shown in through a break in the curtains. It's amazing I'm here.

"My skin crawled as I lay on a warehouse floor. I was a wreck. Haunted, half insane, barely alive. A ghost." The list felt so corny Buffy followed it up by grumbling, "You know," and rolling her eyes. She slipped her hand under the covers. The smell wasn't right. It didn't belong with this. "At first I thought it was thunder, but the sound was too hollow. It didn't cascade and crackle. Just one great, booming thud after another. It echoed off the concrete walls. I was terrified until I realized what it was."

Willow kissed her. An innocent gesture meant to let Buffy know it was okay. That's all it took to crumble her resolve. Tears she'd been holding onto forever broke free. Desperate to move on, to focus on anything else, to get over it, she made herself speak through the tears, "I climbed to the roof. It was the most beautiful, horrible thing I've ever seen." She wiped her eyes in frustration. "Fireworks. It was New Years. I sat there, watching them and tried to remember how long it'd been. A week? Maybe two? Who knows?"

It felt like a long, dark, murky dream. Things hadn't gotten any clearer with time. And they hadn't actually gotten clear until long after that. All that was left was a blur surrounding a few lucid moments. "Can you imagine being alive somehow, but not really alive? The nights blended together. I don't know." Buffy gave up. Her hand fell to her side. "I have no idea when I died." She shook her head. "I needed to know. Something inside told me it'd be okay if I could just remember. I couldn't deal with the idea that she'd killed me on Christmas or Christmas Eve, so I told myself that it had to have been the twenty-third."

Feeling torn, Buffy sat up and slid to the edge of the bed. The desire to run away gnawed at her. It was the second morning in a row she found herself speaking words she never imagined she'd say, but there was no spite in her this time. She needed Willow to understand. She just wasn't sure how to do this without that. Malice had always been her shield.

Buffy stood up, walked into the light and parted the drapes. It was a beautiful morning. "It might've been before or after. I really don't know." Whispering her confession to the sunlit patio made it easier, "I lied. Or maybe, you might say, 'I bent the truth.' I had to. Knowing the date made the memories something I could deal with. The truth is, I'm nothing special, just a cheerleader who was raped, tortured and murdered." The light hurt her eyes. She squinted and turned away, keeping her back to Willow.

She wasn't anxious to know what Willow thought. That hastened her story along. "I killed again that night, this time for money. I got cleaned up. The next night I went to a familiar place. A coffee house I used to hang out at with my friends. Cass was there. She totally lost it." She strode to the closet to find her cigarettes. "It took her a while to even calm enough to talk. She told me that some old British guy had been snooping around looking for me." Having something else to focus on helped. Buffy spoke conversationally as she went through her jacket pockets. "My Watcher, no doubt. She was suspicious of him. He'd bailed right after my family turned up dead." Buffy emerged from the closet with a cigarette clutched between her lips. "Getting that little detail out of her was fun." The way she laughed said different.

It didn't help that Willow was sitting up now, watching her like a hawk. Buffy kept moving. A small crystal dish sat on the dresser between the closet and bathroom doors. It looked like an ashtray to her. She went and grabbed it up, dumping the jewelry out before she went on, "Cass thought she was delivering the bad news. She had no idea that I could still see their faces." She took her cigarettes, make-shift ashtray and lighter to the end table by the couch. "I pretended like I didn't know. Acting upset wasn't so much an act."

Once her hands were free, Buffy lit her cigarette and took a deep drag. Exhaling, she said through the smoke, "She knew my mom and dad weren't getting along. I told her I'd run away. She totally bought it." She rested the ashtray in her palm and walked to the foot of the bed. "There was another guy she described as 'hunky for street trash.' He wouldn't give up. He just kept hanging around. She said his name was Angel." She flicked her ash. "The name made my skin scrawl." At least the nicotine's helping.

At least I think it's helping.

"It wasn't that hard to put together." Another bitter laugh cut into her spiel. "Darla was a talker. She thought she had it all figured. Pretty obvious she didn't. Turning me wasn't a monumental mistake." She hissed. "Not even. Stupid bitch." Her cigarette became a distraction. She shaped the cherry against the bottom of the ashtray as she went on, "This vamp named Angelus had been her man. He was her inspiration. He liked to torture little girls. Kill their families, violate their bodies. Sometimes he'd turn them. Other times not." She sighed and took a drag. "That was before he went and got himself saddled with a soul. He was supposedly one of the good guys. Where was he while his bitch was—?" She stopped short. That was enough. "Whatever."

It took Buffy a few moments to collect her thoughts. She avoided Willow's attention by returning to the couch. When she finally did move on, it was by backing up. "Anyway, Cass had been my friend for years, but seeing her like that. The way she smelled. Her nervous little laugh. The smile when she realized it was me and I might be okay. That coy thing really smart girls do. All that emotion. I just couldn't stand it. I wanted her so bad."

It took half of her strength to turn around and the other half to admit the truth, "I killed her." She bolstered what was left with artificial patience. Too bad it doesn't so much pass for courage. "And she killed what was left of me." Smoke wafted out of her mouth. It hung in the air around her. Her eyes narrowed. "Sound familiar?"

Willow didn't budge.

Buffy was grateful for the silence. It made the whole thing easier. She could just talk. The window drew her attention. She made her way there. "Finding Angel was no big. I just went where I'd normally be." She couldn't make herself stop. The walking turned into restrained pacing. It was almost like running, just lots more controlled. "When he showed up, I got the full lecture. Chosen One, great force for good, blah, blah, blah…"

She took another drag and paused. The cherry on her cigarette was way too long. Holding it straight up and down, she tapped against the bottom of the ashtray. It splintered and broke apart. "Knowing why I died was totally helpful." Twirling the cigarette between her fingers, she held it at an angle against the bottom of the ashtray. The cherry formed into a cone as she said, "Apparently I was s'posed to be some sort of huge deal. There were supposedly even prophecies about me. Like I was some kind of messiah." She began to pace again. "Sheer and utter bullshit…or that's what I thought at the time."

Buffy took another sharp drag. "He said he was sorry." Her tone turned mocking. "That he'd failed me. He tried to reason with me. Said that he identified with me. 'All you want is to watch this whole world burn.' His words, not mine. He offered to help me and I killed him for it."

Completing another pass, Buffy turned away from the window. It shocked her when Willow met her gaze. Buffy almost walked headlong into her. As Willow led her back to bed, Buffy whispered, "He let me. He didn't even fight. That still blows me away." She crushed her cigarette out, placed the ashtray on the nightstand and dutifully crawled back into bed. "From where I sit right now, that was probably the worst mistake of my life."

Willow snuggled up beside her, but it was different this time. She gently guided Buffy to lie on her shoulder. Willow stroking her hair was better than nicotine.

"I came to Sunnydale to kill Darla's 'family'," Buffy whispered. "Spike, Drusilla and this old vamp who'd sired her called 'The Master'." Sarcasm thickened the last two words. "How pretentious do you have to be to call yourself that?" A snort of a snicker slipped out. Anger brewed just below the surface.

"It was dicey," she admitted. "Total 'Her eyes! What happened to her eyes?' shit. I almost didn't make it out of there alive the first time we met." Her expression turned thoughtful. "But you see, thing is, if you've got nothing to lose, you can totally win." The hot prickly feeling in her head receded. Gaining control was good, but without a little heat to fuel the fire, she was fading fast. "It's like a suicide bomber. You can't stop that. One person completely focused on a goal and willing to do whatever it takes can do anything." Her eyelids felt heavy. They drifted shut. "The second time I faced him, I turned The Master's churchy cavern into a crater. I'm not even sure how I survived. I didn't want to."

She felt kind of silly. Another change of power had happened right under her nose. She was happy to let go. It was nice to just feel that somebody cared. "Spike and Drusilla," she whispered. "Now that was a thrilling fight. Pretty much everyone sleeps." She sighed. "A five alarm fire is a foolproof way to ruin pretty much anyone's day. It's not like I knew anything about fighting. I had to fake it. The only reason I'm here today is pure, dumb luck. Go figure, I survived because I didn't care. I haven't cared for a long, long time."

Willow's hand had stopped moving. When Buffy checked to make sure she was awake, Willow met her eyes.

Holding Willow's gaze for more than a few seconds took more chutzpa than Buffy could muster. Her eyelids fluttered closed again as she mumbled, "Caring again—it's not easy, but I'm trying." She needed to get this over with. There was a point. Making it might be good. "You see, part of me will always be that broken girl." Just keeping her tone even was a chore. "I won't blame you if this changes things. You can walk out that door right now. I won't stop you."

Willow was amazing. Without hesitation, she replied, "No."

There was so much more she could've said. Buffy wouldn't have blamed her one bit for anything, even laughing. She almost laughed herself.

That one tiny word brought a smile to her face.