Buffy was back.
They'd done it. She'd done it. Pulled Buffy out of some unspeakable hell dimension, rescuing her from untold evils…but at what cost? Willow wasn't completely ignorant of the consequences of magic. You had to give to get.
Willow rolled her neck under the steady stream of water of the shower. The warm water stung her various cuts and scrapes and although the long slashes on her arms had disappeared after the urn was broken, Willow could still feel each painful slice. She even thought she could see white scars where they had been, but that could just be a trick of the light. Even though she'd tried to keep the details vague for Tara and the others, Willow knew what she was getting herself into.
Give to get.
That much power couldn't be given to just anyone. You had to earn it. Prove yourself. Willow felt a surge of pride. The little, nerdy redheaded spaz had been given the power to cheat death. She was good enough for the gods to grant her request.
Buffy was back.
Willow knew she should be happy. This is what they wanted, what they needed, but she couldn't shake the image of Buffy right after. How scared she seemed. How lost. Like part of her was missing or something equally…bad. She looked hollow and Willow was suddenly worried that she'd messed something up. That she'd failed.
No, no. Buffy's just in shock. Being pulled out of Hell will do that to a person. But Buffy said she was okay. She used exactly those words. She was okay.
Willow shook her head, ignoring the way her wet hair stuck oddly to her forehead. It was Buffy, of course she was okay. Or getting there. Buffy was one of the strongest people she knew. She'd be, not fine, but alright. She'd be okay. She had to be.
The water was beginning to cool when it suddenly hit Willow. Buffy was back. Back meaning she'd been gone, really gone. Some part of Willow realized that she had to have accepted that Buffy died, that she and Tara were raising Dawn, that it was up to a former demon, a vampire, a carpenter, and a couple witches to protect the world while an ex-librarian offered support where he could, but now it suddenly didn't seem real. Once Willow had started preparing the spell, she's convinced herself that Buffy was just somewhere else waiting to be rescued. That all Willow had to do was hold down the fort until she returned. But Buffy had come up from the grave – had dug herself out of her grave. She wasn't just somewhere else. She had been truly gone.
Tara could hear the shower running as she folded back the blankets on the bed. Her actions were automatic as she tried to reign in her thoughts to resemble some sort of order. They had done the impossible to day; they'd brought Buffy back. She knew that the ritual would be powerful, that it would be dangerous, but nothing could prepare her for the oppressive sense of wrongness that had nearly suffocated her and penetrated, she thought, her very soul. She shuddered.
The ritual itself went against everything she believed – no, knew – about magic. You don't cast for selfish reasons and you sure as hell don't mess with the balance of life and death. And yet she had. Willingly. She had violated one of the most important sacraments of her faith because…because it seemed right?
Tara rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Moral crises gave her a headache.
When Willow had first suggested that they bring Buffy back, Tara had been adamantly against it. Buffy's death was a great loss and they should mourn her, but to try and change what happened, that went against nature. She had was upset when Willow brought up the possibility to Xander and Anya before they could discuss it further, but kept their arguments behind closed doors. It was better that way. It kept the others from questioning Willow's judgment. She was their leader now and had the plaque to prove it, and it wouldn't do well to shake their faith in her, not when it was only them standing between the evil of the Hellmouth and the world. Just as importantly, there was no reason to expose Dawn to that, not when her life was starting to come back together.
She'd relented eventually, of course. They needed a Slayer and with Faith…well, the one time she'd mentioned Faith the reaction she'd gotten from Willow and Xander was enough to table the idea. Still, Tara had done as much research as she could about what exactly would happen. There would be powerful forces at work, more powerful that Tara felt she should ever involve herself with. She justified it to herself, of course, that she wouldn't actually need to cast, only gather energy and focus on Buffy, but she couldn't fool herself for long. The magick was dark and it settled like a stone in her soul. It was a part of her now. A part of them all.
But she thought if that's the price we pay to save Buffy, then it's worth it.
It has to be.
Glancing down at the small clock on the bedside table, Tara noted that Willow had been in the shower for a really long time. Tara hoped she hadn't fallen asleep. Willow had already done that twice this summer and Tara was afraid that her girlfriend would one day actually manage to drown herself despite the weak water pressure.
Tara walked through the door of the bathroom and found Willow half slumped against the tile in the corner of the shower. Tara could see her shoulders shake with silent sobs, the only kind Willow would allow herself. Tara stepped over the ledge of the tub and without hesitation moved under the icy spray and pulled Willow to her. Reflexively Willow wrapped her arms tightly around Tara's waist, shivering more from emotional exhaustion than the cold. Tara reached up and tucked water logged hair out of Willow's face and pressed her lips to her girlfriend's forehead. She held them there and strengthened her hold on Willow. She'd lost count of how many times the two of them had comforted each other like this over the summer, taking turns as one would have a nightmare or the other would feel the weight of it all crash on their shoulders. They'd been each other's rock. Their safe place. Their home.
Eventually Willow shifted against Tara and the blonde stood up to help the other woman out of the tub. They changed for bed silently, never losing contact for more than a second, and settled under the covers.
A little over an hour later, Tara had fallen asleep tracing constellations on the freckles that spilled down from Willow's shoulder onto her collarbone. Tara's hand still rested on Willow's chest, her ring finger dipped the suprasternal notch. Willow lifted her head slightly to look down at the blonde, careful not to shift her so much that she'd wake up. They'd all been light sleepers as of late.
Despite this, Willow was pleased to hear the deep, rhythmic breathing coming from the woman next to her. Willow hardly noticed as she slowed her own breathing to match her lover's. It was something she had started doing shortly after waking up with Tara had become a regular thing. Willow felt herself relax with each breath. Tara had that effect on her. She made Willow feel safer and more comfortable than she'd ever felt in her entire life. Tara was everything good in her life and, Willow leaned over to kiss the crown of her head, she'd never been more thankful.