Willow didn't want to return to the room where she'd lost everything that night, and so she turned the TV back on and watched it passively, the quiet more suffocating now that Dawn's company was gone. Eventually, Willow fell asleep on the couch to the crude noise of Beavis and Butt-Head reruns.

Her dreams were strange. It was her first night in Sunnydale, its magick weaving its way into her subconscious—it was bound to happen. But her dreams weren't filled with dark visions of the Hellmouth or the demons that lived below it. She didn't see herself murdering her friends, losing control of her powers like she so often did during her fitful rests in England. She dreamed of Tara, of soft hands caressing her and of herself caressing back. It was unfairly pleasant—too pleasant, like nothing was wrong in the world. But, and she didn't notice until moments before she awoke, something was wrong. For her hands were covered in blood—and as she loved Tara, touched her all over, by the end of it Tara was covered in blood, too. And eventually she realized that Tara had stopped moving. Then the fear and disgust trickled in—for how long had she been raping Tara's dead body?

Just as the dream shifted into a nightmare, far too early in the morning Willow was jolted awake by a loud friendly voice calling, "Dawnster! Time for school!"

"Yeah yeah," called another, "I'm coming."

The sounds of morning children's programming now on the TV filled any break in their speech, and Willow finally squinted in the early light to see Xander beaming at the door.

"Ugh," Willow mumbled, "Somebody turn off the lights."

"Sorry Wills, can't turn off the sun," Xander said, "Well you probably can. But… don't."

Willow just covered her face with the blanket and groaned.

"Aw, poor jetlagged Willow," said Xander, "I didn't realize you were sleeping down here. Go back to dreamland, we'll be quiet as mice."

"No, no," Willow grunted, removing the blanket from her head. "I'm up now."

"How're ya feeling today?"

"I dunno yet," said Willow with a sassy, exhausted grin, "I was kinda sleeping."

"I know, I didn't mean to wake ya," said Xander, "Sometimes I think the Dawnster needs a drill sergeant to get her outta bed."

"That sounds like you in high school, Xander," said Willow.

"You know as well as I do that all I needed was a 7am phone call from the Willster."

"Don't pretend you never let it ring. Then when you came in late, you said your phone was off the hook!"

"Sometimes it was!" said Xander, "When we fell asleep on the phone together. You know it happened."

"You guys are so cute, it's gross," piped Dawn as she descended the stairs.

"But look at me now!" said Xander, "Grown into a punctual and well-adjusted adult-man-person."

"This is so cool of you," Willow said, "Taking Dawn to school and everything."

"Well, y'know," said Xander, "I mean, Buffy's so busy, with work and everything, and then she's out slaying all night. She deserves to sleep in when she can."

"Well," said Willow, "Now that I'm here, I wanna help. Last year I was… well, I was so self-involved, I could have done more. I could have done anything, Buffy went so out of her way to help me even after… everything. I dunno, maybe I can cook, or take Dawn to school some days."

"Whatever you're comfortable with, Will. You, uh, good to drive? In a… car?"

"Yeah," Willow said, glancing at Dawn who gulped down some orange juice, "Yesterday was crazy. But I think I'll be okay now."

"Good to hear! 'Cause I was thinking," Xander said, "I have off later. Wondering if you wanted to hang today? Catch up since the ole' 'British Invasion'?"

"Oh, that sounds nice," Willow said. Her attention turned to her fingernails, "Actually… would you maybe wanna go with me to… Y'know, I didn't get to go to the funeral…"

"Say no more," said Xander, "I'll drop by around two-thirty." Dawn joined him at the door and they both waved goodbye, "Off we go!"

Willow tried to go back to sleep, but she was unsuccessful. She dropped by Buffy's room, desperate for company or for a task, something to do, but it seemed like the Slayer was sleeping in to prepare for a long night of patrols.

Willow glanced at a clock, and then she picked up the phone in the living room, dialing a well-remembered number. She craved guidance, and she knew just where to get it.

"Buffy?" she heard, "How's Willow?"

"Hi Giles," Willow said, "Ask her yourself."

"Willow!" said Giles, and Willow could hear how flustered he was, "Apologies, I assumed you would be sleeping."

"I slept," said Willow, "Buffy's sleeping in."

"How are you settling in? How are you feeling?"

"It's… I mean, I think it's good," said Willow, "The flight was kinda stressful—you know, trapped in a big flying box, I was afraid I might blow it out of the sky or something. Y'know, they've got all that security at the airports now but it doesn't really work when you're a living, breathing weapon." Her words came out an anxious jumble, so she took a deep breath, "But it was all fine."

"Good!" said Giles, "I mean, not good that you were afraid—but I'm glad it was all okay. I knew it would be. Obviously."

"I mean, on the way back to the house there was a little incident."

Giles was glad that Willow couldn't see his face redden and his shoulders stiffen over the phone. He held his breath, waiting for her to continue.

"I kinda…" Willow continued, "Well, I exploded the radio in the car. But no one got hurt! And I feel better now. It's just… so different here, Giles. There's a lot of darkness in the Earth. Like, a lot."

"It's the Hellmouth," Giles said, and Willow could almost hear him nodding.

"And with the part where it's all openy and everything…" Willow said, "It's gonna be hard. To control myself, I mean. To keep my magickal energies balanced and stuff. You know, the rootsy nature stuff only works when the roots aren't, y'know, the roots of all evil." She shut her eyes, imagined him before her and not on the other end of the telephone line, "But… this might sound crazy, Giles. But I think I can do it. I think I'm gonna be okay."

"That's not crazy at all, Willow," Giles said, "It's why I sent you back."

There was a longish pause. "I miss you, Giles," Willow said.

"Soon, Willow," Giles said, "You're doing great. Please be in touch."

Willow spent the rest of the morning walking through town—getting reacquainted with its energies, its tune. She stopped at the Espresso Pump and couldn't hold back her smile at the familiar sights and smells.

"Hi! Good morning!" she said as she approached the counter. It was still early, and not too crowded. She recognized the barista, but it didn't seem like he recognized her back. "Uh, can I have…"

Willow was prepared to ask for her favorite beverage, one of the delicious mochas she and Buffy had bonded over since high school. But she looked at the menu and decided against it, like Giles and Miss Harkness would berate her from across the sea.

"Uh… I'll have a… Mint Tea," she finished with a slight grimace. And when the barista handed the tea to her, she took it with a grimace. Even without the magick and everything—this was growing up, wasn't it? Getting boring old tea instead of mochas?

She left the Espresso Pump in somewhat dampened spirits, and continued her trek. She walked through the park, and her mind turned to Tara, who had sung to her on the very bridge she crossed now. She wasn't sure which hurt more—the fact that Tara was gone or her own betrayal of her. What had Willow been thinking, walking alongside Tara like everything was just dandy, letting her sing to her and then… and then pleasure her, knowing full well that Tara was all but brainwashed by her hand? She could hardly remember that dream now, the one she'd awakened from this morning, but she was sure that it was relevant. It took a lot of Willow's strength not to collapse out of shame right there in the park. It was strength she did have, though, at least for now, so she kept moving.

As the morning drew on and the sun rose higher in the sky, her mood improved. The sun on her skin felt good—the clouds too often covered its rays in England. She felt a little like a plant, drinking in the sunlight, converting it to energy through photosynthesis. If only she were a plant! Plants didn't turn evil, didn't abuse their girlfriends or try to murder their friends. No siree.

At one point, she stopped at a deli for some food. She was almost overwhelmed by the choices, almost missed having her meals selected for her. She got a turkey sandwich that she ate as she went.

It wasn't until her feet began to ache that she realized she didn't know where she was walking to. But she was following something, she knew. Something dark, the voice in her head cautioned her, but she continued anyway.

Out in the woods, on the edge of town, her legs halted. She looked around, quite unsure of what she was looking for, though she could feel the raging darkness. Soon she looked directly downwards, and she noticed that she was standing at the very edge of a large pit, a terrible chasm in the Earth, part of it covered by a horizontal tree that had certainly fallen as the Earth had crumbled beneath it.

This must be one of the pits that Giles had told her about, she reasoned. She decided that, while she was here, it would certainly behoove her to investigate—this was why she'd come to Sunnydale in the first place, after all. She peaked into the hole but found it too steep to climb and too deep to jump, so she breathed deeply and allowed herself to levitate, floating delicately into the crater.

"Illumine," she said, holding out her hand, and a small ball of light appeared to float beside her. The evil was so strong, it almost hurt her chest. She was glad that the pit seemed to be in the middle of nowhere—not for fear of the evil inside of it, but for fear that its darkness would cause her to lose control. But that something in her head soothed her, and with nervous curiosity she explored the cave.

It was small, the mouth that she was in, but there was an opening on one wall, a black tunnel that led to impenetrable darkness. She placed her hand on the wall beside the tunnel, and she could feel the monsters that hid inside—she knew she wouldn't be able to take them on her own. She could feel the tunnel connecting, like roots, throughout the town. To the other chasms that had opened already, and ones that surely would, and to the Hellmouth itself, that source of all their troubles that rested beneath the high school. She removed her hand quickly, panting, woozy from the energy of it all. Her senses were going wild.

She turned from the tunnel, to get away from the raging stimuli, and something else caught her eye.

An altar, newly erected by the looks of it, sat at the other end of the cave. It was small, crude. Rushed, even. Some branches around a bowl of sage, herbs scattered around the dirt and a carved stick, perhaps enchanted, sticking out of the ground. Beside it, a bowl of cheese. Willow racked her brain for what kind of ritual she was looking at. This wasn't like the yak cheese she once kept in her bra—this was… cheddar?

Something felt eerily familiar about the energy she could feel radiating from the altar. It filled her with hatred and disgust. But she couldn't place it, which frustrated her immensely.

She took mental note of the ingredients she counted and decided she would look into it later. She suddenly remembered that she had plans with Xander. She wasn't wearing a watch, but it was like she could feel where the sun was in the sky and she knew it was time for her to head back. She floated herself out of the pit and started back on her journey.

She thought she'd be tired by the time she returned to the house, but in fact she felt rather invigorated. She hadn't realized how long she'd been gone, and as she stepped into the driveway Xander was just pulling up.

"Will!" said Xander, "Ya ready to go?"

"Uh," Willow stuttered, having been walking alone for so long that she had briefly forgotten how to interact with other people, "Yeah!"

"Walk or drive?"

"Up to you, Xand."

Xander thought for a second, exiting the car and then bending his knees as though to test them out, "I could go for a walk."

"Then let's walk," said Willow. She didn't tell him that she'd spent all day walking. She would certainly rather walk than be holed up in a car, anyway.

They started walking, and Willow was surprised at how awkward it didn't feel. Xander didn't look at her the way Buffy did, all concern and wariness. When he turned his head in her direction, it was just in the way he always had. It made Willow feel like they were still seventeen.

They walked for quite a while, just chatting about Xander's job and silly things.

"Water?" Xander asked, holding out a plastic bottle.

"No thanks," said Willow.

Xander took a swig out of it himself, "No fizzy high fructose goodness, but this stuff is great! Who knew?"

"About… water?" Willow furrowed her brow.

"No one told me!" Xander laughed, "I've been drinking Dr. Pepper and Sprite since grade school."

"I know," said Willow, "Mixed together."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til ya try it."

Willow liked the idea that around Xander she could just forget it all, pretend it was like old times. But, just because she liked it didn't mean it was right. "Hey Xand?" said Willow, "Thanks for, y'know, stopping me that day."

"It's what best friends do, Wills," Xander said with a smile.

"I guess," said Willow, "Did you… in that moment, I mean. Did you really love me?"

"Of course." He smiled so warmly it made Willow feel guiltier, "Always."

"Okay," Willow murmured, "And I'm sorry for scratching you all up with magic claws."

"Yeah, that was uncalled for," Xander said.

Willow looked away in shame, and Xander chuckled, "Oh, I'm joshin'. It was three months ago," he said, so different from Dawn. Three months didn't seem like very long to Willow. "You're better now. I trust you. And I love you."

"Were you scared?" Willow said, "I mean, did you think I would kill you? 'Cause I would have."

"I guess I didn't care," said Xander, "We Scoobs face death so often, it's one of the less scary things, now." He paused, "I was a lot more scared after."

"After?"

"Well yeah," said Xander, and for the first time since Willow returned he looked vulnerable, "'Cause Giles said he was taking you to those witches, and we didn't know what they were gonna do to you. And you were so out of it and talking all crazy. There was definitely a sec there where I thought you were gonna be like that forever. I wasn't afraid you'd kill me, I was more afraid I'd lose you."

"What if I was?" Willow said, "I mean, what if I really lost my mind forever? Or they had to take my powers and mess me up?"

"Then I'd take care of you, Will. But I'd miss these talks."

Willow smiled a little.

"I don't know if you remember," said Xander after a short silence, "But when you were in that coma four years ago, right before you woke up… You know, I said the same thing. I said 'I love you'."

"Xander, you're such a mush."

"Do you remember that?"

"I don't know, Xand," said Willow, "I had head trauma. I just remember Oz being there."

Xander seemed a little disappointed, "Oh,"

"But…" Willow continued, "I mean, I didn't know it at the time but… I think, I think maybe I could… feel you. Your presence. If I remember real hard. Just… I felt so okay, like I knew you were there. Even if I didn't know it. Y'know?"

"I guess that's good enough for me."

"That was right before my first spell," said Willow.

"Yeah," Xander nodded, "I wasn't there. But I hear you were amazing." Now Xander looked down in some guilt of his own, "I knew you could do it. You know, I told Buffy to kick his ass. Not because I didn't think you could do it. But, y'know, he put you in a coma. And he tortured Giles. I… didn't want that guy saved."

It brought goosebumps to Willow's skin, the vengeance of it, "I also tortured Giles."

Now Xander seemed caught in some hard place, usually so good at the heartfelt talks but now feeling rather inept, like he stepped in something icky, "Er, right. Well, I've grown since then. We don't kick asses for vengeance. We kick asses for good. Right? I don't want anyone kicking Willow-ass. No matter what she did when she was evil and veiny."

It did make Willow feel better, that they all had the power to grow. "Evil veiny Willow is still me, Xander. She's not some Jekyll and Hyde alter ego. She's me."

Xander jabbed her playfully in the shoulder, "We all get cranky."

Willow snorted at that. There was a little silence before she broke it. "Oh, and Xander?" she said, "I, uh, I don't know if I ever really say it. But, I love you too."

"Yeah, I know," said Xander, giving her a quick hug, "You're not the only one who can read minds. I got the power of knowing you really, really well."

"Are you even a little afraid that I'm back?" said Willow, melting into the hug before pulling herself away, "I mean, what if it all happens again?"

"Then we'll deal again," said Xander. "Besides, I trust you. How many times do I gotta say it?"

"I don't trust me," said Willow, "And now… we have to stop the Hellmouth from opening? I mean, I can barely get my own darkness under control. I might lose it again."

Xander looked at her with this incredulous face that made Willow feel like her fears were founded in no reality—though she knew that wasn't true. They stopped walking, at the gate to the cemetery, and Xander said: "You ready?"

"Yeah," said Willow. She walked forward, leaving Xander behind her as she passed by a blur of headstones and foliage. It was strange, visiting the cemetery in the day when vampires wouldn't be lurking, when the only danger was her own grief. She knew where it was, somehow, the plot, and she approached Tara's grave like she was entering a battle.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out some stones, some that she'd collected in England and a few she'd found on her walk earlier that day. And as was Jewish custom she placed the rocks atop Tara's headstone, her movements awkward.

"Hi baby," Willow said, voice catching, "I miss ya." The presence of death in the cemetery was so strong. She couldn't feel Tara through it all, even though her decomposing body sat six feet beneath her. Tara was really gone!

But something in the back of her head said she'd never be really gone—she was always with her. But it seemed so ridiculous now. Willow took a very deep breath, stifling a sob. She couldn't lose control, not now. Not here.

"Tara. I, um, I didn't come here to grieve. Or mourn. I think… I don't think I can anymore. They never really let me grieve. In England. Because… because if I get too emotional, I blow things up." She chuckled sadly, "I don't want—… I don't deserve to—... I just came to say…" It was hard to get the words out while keeping everything else in, "Sorry. I wanna say sorry. Tara, I murdered in your name. I hurt your friends. I used you, Baby. I used your blood—and I used you before that. I'm so sorry, Tara. It's all my fault. This is what I get, it's the price for… All I did… everything I did before… You were the price, and it's not fair. You got no say. I took your voice away—your beautiful voice, you used it to sing to me and I took it away!" Willow fought to keep her tears from falling, refusing to be pitied. "I'm so sorry, Tara. But you can't forgive me. That's what I want to tell you. Look what happened last time you forgave me! I can't be forgiven. Ever. I don't want you to forgive me, I just want you to know… I know that I was wrong."

She could feel something, something rising in the Earth somewhere. But she ignored it, stood her ground. This was more important. "I left you, Tara. I left you there to rot. And none of it was the magicks—it was all me, it was all always me. Willow turned up to eleven, Willow on crack," she chucked a little at that, "I'm a bad person Tara. And I want to be better. Not 'cause I wanna be forgiven. I wanna be better for you. Because now the world doesn't have you, and it's worse off for it. But don't forgive me. Even if I make it through all this, even if I save the world or something. Don't you dare forgive me, Tara. Don't you dare—!"

Suddenly, the ground started shaking, and Willow watched as her stones were knocked off of their perch atop the grave. A wave of darkness washed over her, and she felt like she couldn't breath for a second. She stepped forward, a dizzy spell almost sending her to the floor, reaching desperately for something to steady herself. She clutched the top of the headstone.

"Will?" she heard as Xander came hurtling towards her from where he'd waited at the entrance. She did feel a little safer as he approached. "Will, are you okay?"

"A… Again…" Willow spat, "Happening again." She dug her nails into the headstone as dark visions flashed before her eyes. The shaking had stopped at some point, but she hardly noticed.

"The earthquakes, we think they mean more of those pits are opening up," Xander explained, "Will, can you hear me?"

"Guh," said Willow as she came out of her vision, "It's getting worse." She finally opened her eyes, stepping away from the headstone. And as she did she watched a drop of bright red blood splash onto the grass beneath her, "No! No, no, no…"

"Willow, you're bleeding," said Xander.

Willow ignored him and fell to her knees on the ground. She took her shirt sleeve and tried to wipe up the small splatter of red, but was already absorbed by the Earth. She pulled out blades of grass, digging uselessly, tossing them as far from Tara as she could.

She couldn't leave blood on Tara's grave. Blood on a grave became a ritual, and she wouldn't do that to Tara, like she did it to Buffy.

"Willow, it's okay," said Xander.

"No it's not," said Willow, "It's blood."

"The rain'll wash it away,"

"Then it's gonna become part of the Earth. Forever."

Xander put a hand on Willow's shoulder. "Everything becomes part of the Earth forever." There was so much wisdom in Xander's eyes then that Willow could have sworn they reminded her of Giles'.

Willow sighed, finally letting a tear fall, "Fine. You're right."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Willow said, "In England, I had these visions about what's going on here. It's getting worse and worse, Xand." She wiped her bloody nose messily on her sleeve and collected herself. But a rustling behind a nearby mausoleum called Willow's attention. "What was that?"

"Vamps at this time of day? Smell your nosebleed?"

"Maybe something else," said Willow, "Things go bump in the day, too, sometimes."

The bushes rustled again and Willow and Xander began to creep towards the patch of foliage, Xander's hands ready in fists and Willow's poised to cast. The rustling continued until from behind the crypt a doe appeared.

"Oh jeeze. It's just a deer," said Xander. "Let's go home, Will."

"Wait, no," said Willow, glancing back at Tara's grave and then at the deer, "I think… I think she wants us to follow her."

Xander just nodded, his trust unwavering. Willow took the lead and the doe brought them out of the cemetery and onto the road. They almost weren't sure what they were looking at, something small in the center of the road, until they got much closer: It was a fawn, laying deathly still, mangled and bloody, its hind leg bent horribly out of shape. Willow paled, sucking in a breath. Xander's hand flew to his mouth in a gag.

"Oh god," said Xander, "Is it dead?"

"No," said Willow, even before she bent down to investigate, "She's alive. She needs help."

"Is there a payphone around here somewhere? We can call animal control. Or a vet or something."

"There's no time," said Willow, "She's bleeding out."

The image of the fawn's blood was enough to make Willow vomit, or pass out like she'd done as a teen autopsying bodies out of a Scooby Doo lunch box. How did she still grow faint at the sight of blood and mangled flesh? After six years of this, after… after what she'd done to Warren? But she held it in, forcing resolve to color her cheeks instead.

"Xander, make sure there're no cars coming."

"What are you doing?"

"Magick." Willow pulled off her shoes and grasped for the energy of the Earth. This wasn't like in England—it was all darker here, and she had to fight harder to stay in control. And the fawn was different from the baby bird; it was larger, had a more complex anatomy. It would take much more energy to heal correctly.

Willow took a deep breath and touched the fawn's torso, ignoring the stickiness of its blood on her fingers. She could feel its shallow breaths and she could feel its pain. She shut her eyes, the light sounds of nature around her becoming soft static. Everything seemed to quicken, the beat of the Earth. She fell into tune with the faun's rapid heartbeat, her own quickening enough to match it that she began to feel faint. It was at least twenty minutes of ragged breaths and exertion before her eyes opened again and she slowly moved her hands away.

The fawn could walk now, its wounds partially healed. Nature would take care of the rest, and Willow was too drained to do any more. The light magic was so exhausting—and it had stayed light, even drawing on the dark energy of Sunnydale.

"Will, you're amazing," Xander said, reaching down to help her up.

As she moved to take his hand, Willow caught sight of her own. Her palms were coated in the fawn's blood, and she stared at them in horror. She glanced frantically back in the direction of Tara's grave, and then at her hands again. She felt deja vu, like she was back in that dream. She caught flashes of it in her memory, and she almost thought it was real. She did not notice the deer hobble away behind its thankful mother, just that her fingers seemed to burn beneath the red that covered them. The soft buzz of the Earth became a cacophony of confusion to her. Whose blood was on her hands? Was it Rack's, or Warren's? Was it the faun she'd sacrificed, or was it Tara's? She felt out of time, trapped in a nightmare, her eyes glued to her red-stained palms.

Suddenly, a rush of water fell over her hands, washing the blood away. She looked up to see Xander with that bottle of water, having poured it over her fingers. "You saved it, Will."

"But…" Willow said, "The blood…"

"Hey," said Xander, "Surgeons have blood on their hands too. Right?"

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference…" Willow said slowly, "...between helping and hurting."

Xander scoffed in this understanding way that only he could, "I think saving a baby deer from becoming roadkill is probably helping, Will."

"Ugh," Willow groaned, stumbling a little as she let Xander pull her up.

"You good?"

"Just tired," said Willow. Blood still stained her clothes and her sleeves, and the remnants of tears stuck below her eyes.

"Wanna head home?" Xander asked.

"No," said Willow, picking up her shoes and beaming at him tiredly, "Wanna get mochas?"