When Willow awoke, the sun had disappeared from the sky. For a moment, she thought that she was still in England, that she'd overslept on one of those mornings she was to be up before the sun, as the coven sometimes ordered her, and Giles had come to wake her. But no, she couldn't feel Giles' presence at all. And she wasn't in her bed at the coven; it didn't smell like incense and everything felt darker. And she was on—the floor? The grief rushed at her again when she remembered her uncontrolled weeping of earlier. She must have fallen asleep.

She touched the carpet underneath her, "Oh, baby…"

She choked on another sob, but she was empty of tears. Then she stood stiffly, shuffling over to the adjoining bathroom.

She took off her clothes, but stared at the tub for a good long while. She needed to shower—she was still sweaty and dirty from the day. But something about the tub reminded her not of Tara, but of missing Tara. Of long lonely showers filled with scorching water and tears, blood from her nose after a long night out casting with Amy or Rack painting the water pink. Willow turned the water on, hot like it had been then, not minding that it burned her skin.

She'd missed dinner, she realized, so after her shower she grabbed a t-shirt and sweatpants from her suitcase and wandered downstairs to grab a snack.

As she descended the stairs she could hear noise from the kitchen, the sound of the sink and soft footsteps. And as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she reached the bottom of the steps, she could see Dawn at the counter, filling a glass with water from the tap.

"Why are you still up?" Willow asked. Her tone was regrettably nagging, Willow forgetting that she hadn't been Dawn's caretaker in a year.

"I was just thirsty," said Dawn, a little harsh. Like Willow was accusing her of something —like she had no right to.

Willow held back going into the kitchen, and instead she lingered awkwardly at the doorway. She didn't want to go near Dawn. Not without her permission to, anyway.

"We put your plate in the fridge," said Dawn, "We didn't know if you'd want to eat."

Dawn was clearly trying to ignore her, to shrug off her presence, but the girl's gaze landed on Willow nevertheless, scrutinizing. It was a look Willow recognized from her days as an awkward dweeb, a look that said, Why are you being so weird? Willow continued to stand strangely, fiddling with the band on her wrist, until Dawn quite pointedly stepped away from the fridge as if to invite her in. The gesture wasn't warm—it said, It's weirder when you just stand there.

Willow moved cautiously, guiltily, to the fridge. She pulled out the plate of food but the hearty meat and mashed potatoes made her stomach turn.

"What?" asked Dawn, "Not hungry?"

"I dunno," said Willow, "I'm hungry but my stomach's all rumbley."

"Sucks," said Dawn, and Willow couldn't tell if Dawn meant the word to carry empathy or disdain.

"I'll eat it for lunch tomorrow," said Willow as she put the food away and shut the fridge door.

Dawn turned her attention away. She opened the pantry, and Willow watched her curiously.

"I thought you were just thirsty?" Willow said.

Dawn said nothing, and from the pantry she pulled out a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

Pop-Tarts? In the middle of the night? Willow felt like she should scold Dawn. But did she have any right? She was conflicted, and bit her lip, "Dawnie, I don't think Buffy would—"

"You want one?" Again, the offer seemed frustrated. But as Dawn placed the sweet snack in the toaster, Willow craved one more than ever. She supposed it would okay—she wasn't Dawn's boss. What could she do, anyway?

"Sure."

Dawn dropped a second Pop-Tart into the toaster and pushed down the switch. As the pastries toasted, Dawn grabbed a couple of plates while Willow watched her with unease, still gripping the handle on the fridge door. Something in Willow's head was screaming at her to just act normal, but she couldn't. It was like she was trying to impress one of the cool kids.

Why did she remember Dawn as being so much younger than she seemed now? A year ago she had cared for Dawn like she was family. She was family. But had she lost her now? The things that Willow had said to her while she was under the influence of grief and magicks— Where had it all come from? She was terrified to think that a part of her felt that way about Dawn. How could Dawn ever trust her again? Was this—Dawn's cold indifference and Willow's frantic awkwardness—it for them now?

The toaster popped—and Willow was startled so suddenly from her thoughts that she let some magick slip. This time, it was her telekinesis that failed her, an ability that she had so studiously honed as a teen but now had only wavering control over. Dawn's glass of water, which sat beside her on the counter, unceremoniously tipped off the edge, and Willow made a mad dive to catch it.

She did catch it, only a few droplets splashing from the cup, and Dawn, who hadn't seen Willow tip the glass herself, for better or for worse, turned around now to see Willow bent stressfully and awkwardly towards her, the glass in her hand.

Dawn only stared at her in confusion, and then mild disgust, and Willow smiled sheepishly. Dawn removed the Pop-Tarts and put one each on a plate. She passed one to Willow, "Here."

Willow took the plate delicately, grabbing it with one hand and passing Dawn back her water with the other, and then stepping back away from Dawn like the proximity was poisonous.

Dawn took her plate to the couch and put the TV on low, as though Willow wasn't in the room at all. Willow followed her shyly, sitting rigid on the other end of the sofa.

They ate in silence for a bit, late-night reruns playing muffled on the screen. Willow savored her Pop-Tart, eating it in smallish pieces, moaning slightly as she chewed and earning herself a raised eyebrow from Dawn. Willow cleared her throat and put her plate on the coffee table.

"Do you…" Willow said, "Do you do this a lot?"

"Just when I can't sleep," Dawn said.

Willow bit her lip. Should she share with Dawn that she also had trouble sleeping these last few months? Would that bring them closer together, or would it anger the girl? Willow was guilty to learn that Dawn suffered from insomnia, and she was sure that she was a part of the trauma that had caused it.

"Yeah," said Willow, "I get it." Willow stood when she saw Dawn roll her eyes, and she walked more confidently back to the kitchen. "I have something that might help."

"No, Willow," said Dawn, "Whatever it is, I don't want it."

"Okay," Willow said, "It's just tea. Giles made it for me lots in England. Helps me relax."

Willow boiled some water, and sneaked back upstairs to fetch the container of dried leaves from her suitcase. And when she creeped back downstairs again it was like she'd never been away from the house, knowing intimately each squeaky floorboard and how many steps to take even in the darkness. Willow watched the kettle for several moments before returning to the living room to wait for the water to boil.

"Dawnie…" Willow said, "Look, um…"

"Please, Willow," said Dawn, and she seemed so adult, "Not right now."

"Okay." Willow almost walked back to the kitchen, the silence was so deafening.

"You're sorry, right?" Dawn asked, and it surprised Willow, "That's what you were gonna say?"

"I mean… yeah," Willow said, "I love you, Dawn. I would never…"

"But you did," Dawn said, "Even after… everything that had happened. You did it. Again."

"I'm better now."

"Really?" said Dawn, "Don't think I didn't notice what happened just there in the kitchen. Can you even control yourself?"

"I can! Mostly," said Willow, feeling anger somewhere inside and urging it away, "I mean, you can't control yourself when you steal—" Willow regretted the words as they left her mouth. Goddess, why did she always choose the worst things to say? Why on Earth did she say that?

"Oh my god," said Dawn, raising her voice, "Willow. Can't you see how this is different? Majorly different?"

"Dawn, shh! People are sleeping!"

"Willow!"

"No, you're right. I mean, I just mean, I'm really trying. But I'm not perfect. I'm… I'm getting better."

"I don't think they should have let you come back," said Dawn, "Not yet." There was something unspoken there. It sounded like, maybe not ever.

"The things I did… The things I said to you…" Willow said, "It all feels like a bad dream. Dawnie, never again. I won't do it ever again."

"But you are still doing magick," said Dawn, "You said you'd stop. But you are still doing magick."

"I can't stop, Dawnie," said Willow, "I mean, that's why it all happened. It's… It's a part of me. If I stop, I'll either go berserk again, or I'll die. Whichever comes first."

Dawn looked almost sympathetic as the water started to boil and Willow went to make her tea. The smell of the leaves reminded her of England, of Giles. It comforted her.

The conversation seemed forgotten, as Willow allowed her tea to steep and she carried it back to the living room, considering whether she should return to the couch or take the drink upstairs—although returning to her room to drown in grief again did not seem like a very enticing option.

"It's not really the magic," said Dawn rather suddenly before Willow could make her decision, "Or the things you said. I mean, I'm a moody teenager sometimes, and if I had that kinda power… I almost get it. Almost."

Willow furrowed her eyebrows at her.

"It's just," Dawn continued, "I loved Tara. We all loved Tara. And she died, and you made it all about you. And we didn't even get to be sad, because everyone had to go chase after you. I couldn't cry in my sister's arms, couldn't sit with everyone and talk about how much we loved her. 'Cause you made it all about you. All you could think about was yourself, so you left her there, on the floor, and I found her." She looked at Willow, "How could you do that to her, Willow? How could you leave her there?"

There were tears in Dawn's eyes, and Willow was dumbfounded. Goddess, how could she? She had used Tara's blood to mark a map to her first victim. She had still been using Tara, controlling her body without her consent, even after her death. Goddess, she'd forced Tara, the lightest witch she knew, to be a part of her murder scheme by using her blood in order to carry it out. Willow was reminded of the innocent fawn whose blood she'd drained to do the spell that would bring Buffy back and she shuddered internally at the dark comparison. Goddess, she'd set her mind on revenge, not love, and she left Tara in the very spot where she'd died, using the last of her that remained for her own evil ends. How could she?

Willow hardly showed how struck she was, the turmoil in her mind. She knew it all, of course. What she'd done, how it had been against anything Tara would have ever wanted. But to hear it so bluntly from another person, someone unafraid of how she'd react like the coven and Giles were... She stared horrified at her cup of tea, still yet to be drunk. She kept her face stoic, for fear that if she expressed her distress her guilt and grief would spill out, so uncontained that it would send her into another magickal episode. She waited for the voice in her head to calm her, to tell her that it was all okay. But it never did.

"Willow?" Dawn asked after too long with no response, "Willow? Say something."

Willow wanted to open her mouth, to defend herself, to apologize. But she couldn't move. If she did, it would all unravel and something would slip. She focused specifically on not shattering the mug between her hands.

"Will?" Dawn said again, "Willow, you can't just run away from your problems! Talk to me!"

Willow didn't respond still, and Dawn got up, switching off the TV.

"I'm going to bed," Dawn said.

"Dawnie…" Willow croaked, and Dawn stopped and watched her, "I… You're right. I made it all about me. I made her all about me, I made her revolve around me. I used her. Long before she… she…" Willow took a deep calming breath, "And I was wrong. And that's what I learned, what I'm learning now. I mean, it's too late, but… You know, I'm just one person in the whole Earth. And my power, it's not mine. It's the Earth's. I guess this is what happens when you give a control freak the power to control everything… But nature, and people, and feelings… I can't control that. I mean, I can… but I can't. I get that now. When it… happened… I left her, y'know, on the floor, because, you know, I guess somewhere I thought… nothing could happen that was out of my control, 'cause I could control everything. 'Cause I needed to control everything. Even after I tried… I just, I assumed, subconsciously I guess, that it was gonna get fixed. And I wasn't gonna bury her only for her to wake up underground like Buffy."

Dawn sat on the couch again, surprisingly close. "I felt that too. With Mom, mostly," she said, "Like it wasn't real, and she was gonna wake up. And why would we… why would we bury her if she's gonna wake up?" She sucked in a breath, "But Buffy didn't leave her. And if I'd been there when… I wouldn't leave her. Never."

"I… I was out of my mind. I didn't think. I never think anymore. I just do things, 'cause I have this power to make things happen instantaneously. No thinking required."

"'You don't think'. What's that big brain for, Will?"

"I don't know," Willow said, "I don't seem to use it very much."

"It's just…" Dawn said, "I was so scared, and so sad, and I wanted my sister and my friends. And they wanted each other, too. Do you think anyone wanted to run around fighting you when one of our best friends just died? Our family? Someone who's been like a mom to me?" Willow felt so guilty, "And even without you… you know, murdering that dealer guy and trying to kill me, it was so hard just not being able to sit down and be sad because this rampaging witch was going on a homicide spree. And it was like, I lost Tara, and at the same time I had to lose you, too. I've lost way too many parental figures now, Will."

Willow blushed a little, "Am I a parental figure?"

"You were! You and Tara took care of me last summer. And even before that. But now I realized you guys are all basically just kids. Especially you."

"Yeah," Willow said, "You're right." She sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't let you guys grieve. I guess I didn't even really think that you guys were also sad about Tara, because she was mine. Which was wrong. 'Cause she's not anyone's. I was just… so wrapped up in myself. Way before I went dark and veiny, too. But never again, Dawnie. I am here for you guys. When I use my powers, it's for others, for the Earth, for good. Not for me."

"Your tea is getting cold," said Dawn.

Willow took a long sip, and closed her eyes as she tasted it.

"Relaxing?" asked Dawn.

"Yeah," Willow said, "But not as relaxing as talking. Thanks." She noted how Dawn was eyeing her cup, "You sure you don't want any?"

"It's just tea?"

"Yeah," said Willow, "No magicks, no potions. Just dried up leaves. It's Giles' specialty."

"Fine," said Dawn, and Willow passed her the cup. Dawn sipped from it and made a face, "Uh, Willow? This is gross."

"You just have to get used to it," Willow said, "Giles used to make me the tea, and then I'd sneak into the kitchen and put loads of sugar in it. When he caught me he was like…" She did a mock British accent, "...'Now, Willow, that defeats the purpose. How can you be calm if you're jazzed up on sugar?'"

"Giles said 'jazzed up'?" chuckled Dawn.

"Well, no," said Willow, "Those weren't his exact words." She smiled a little, reminiscing, "They were so strict about my diet! At least at first. You woulda hated it, Dawnie. No soda, I had to eat all leafy green and no, like, processed meat. No candy, they wouldn't even let me have coffee because they said the caffeine makes me too jittery! Can you imagine? Me? Jittery?"

She was bouncing her knee anxiously, and Dawn looked at it pointedly, "You? No."

"This is why I never kept kosher," said Willow, popping one last piece of Pop Tart in her mouth, savoring it like it was a rare delicacy, "I love rules, but when it comes to food I prefer free reign. All I've wanted the last three months was a darn Coke."

"Sounds like Tara," said Dawn, "With the healthy eating, I mean. She was always telling me to eat my veggies."

Willow smiled sadly, "Me too."

"What does that have to do with the magick?" asked Dawn, "Your diet. In England."

"Oh," Willow said, "I guess everything has to do with my magick. Diet, exercise, learning, therapy. Every chapter in the self-help book, really. They wanted me to eat natural stuff, not processed, to be connected to the Earth. And, you know, with the emotional control. Sugar and caffeine and that stuff made me too anxious, too scatterbrained. In the beginning, at least. They laid off once I got the magicks under control a little."

"Do you have them under control, Will?" said Dawn.

Willow froze for a minute, thinking. Unwilling to lie but wary of frightening her friend. "I won't hurt you, Dawnie," she said.

"I think the sun's coming up," said Dawn, and Willow glanced at the window. Orange rays were just starting to shine through the trees, though time meant very little to the jet-legged witch.

"You should go catch a few more hours before school," said Willow, "Have some more tea if it helps."

Dawn took one more sip and gagged, "No thanks." She stood and went for the stairs, "Good night, Willow." She stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked back at Willow one last time, "Oh. And I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

Willow felt such relief at the simple statement that she could hardly contain her smile, and she hoped that through the darkness Dawn could not see quite how goofy Willow probably looked, "I missed you too, Dawnie."