Chapter 5

Will Power

Willow is the kind of person one should be very, very grateful that they had a moral compass the size of Nebraska. Witchcraft aside, the things she can do with computers is frankly terrifying.

Of course it also helps that said moral compass spins entirely free of any obligation to the laws of man, so when I asked her if it is possible to fake some ID she turned to look at me like I was insane.

"Why fake it when you can just hack the government systems and get the real stuff made for you?" She turned her attention back to the TV. "Just gimme a name. Plus anything else you wanna screw with. Age, birth place, sporting achievements, medical history… launch codes." she waves a stern finger "I won't do grades though, so don't even ask."

"Obviously. Some things should be sacred." I say.

"You're Darn tootin' mister." She furrows her brow. "Though, maybe we should go with 'miss' though. I mean that's kind of the whole point." I sigh and stuff my mouth full of popcorn. On her little screen Ferris Bueller sings into his shower nozzle and breaks the fourth wall. He winks at me.

Willow's dorm is a double, but Sunnydale being Sunnydale the mortality rate has kept the second bed empty. Half the room is, in fact, neat and completely untouched by Willow's possessions. Another invisible line she will not cross (insert resolve face here). This side of the line is a landslide of two conflicting part of Wills that haven't meshed fully yet. Homework neat and filed, school books tagged and organized by day, wall planners timed to the minute, and oh so many highlighters. And then the witchy part, which seems to thrive on a tumbling rumblin chaos. Strange bowls with stranger contents, jars of 'huh?' and 'wah?' and often 'ick' and 'no,no,no,no'. She keeps rat eyeballs in the little bar fridge next to her the Mountain Dew.

Like I say, be grateful she is of the good. Well, good-ish.

It has been nice rebonding with Willow these past three days, but something is still off about it all, and it feels like it goes beyond mourning the absence of Oz. Even with the honking great dollop of good old fashioned Jewish guilt she piles on top of her plate, it doesn't really explain it to my satisfaction. It feels like the magnets are not just weak with our little wicca, they are flipped over. It occurs to me I haven't seen her and Buffy within the same space in all that time.

"So with her room mate from hell back in said hell, why didn't you hack the dorm roster and move in with Buffy?"

"Offered. She didn't want to. She wants the room to herself."

"oh." I said. oh, indeed.

"So, Buffy patrolling tonight? Been a while since I let the undead taste my mighty wrath."

"Maybe." She says, rather blankly. "She's probably studying with Tara."

The way she lingers on the new Scoobies' name hits a familiar note with me, and I find myself lingering on memories that verge very into the uncomfortable. I draw my knees up to my chin and fold my arms around myself. I think of wild brown eyes and a lip stick smirk that makes my stomach flip and ache. Willow's green eyes following Buffy and Faith, arm in arm, as they head out of The Bronze to cause some mayhem. Will's little monster was green too.

Tara is a witch. Not just a witch, but born witch with a line stretching back into the primordial. I glance around the room with fresh eyes and this time I don't see the chaos, I see a mind hell bent on improving her witchcraft. Books flung open with ingredients spilled here and there, bookmarks and notes hurriedly written, not highlighted and filed. My friend seemed numb to me, but when I look back at her, her eyes are glazed over, twitching now and again, she isn't watching the movie but mulling over something complicated in her mind.

Buffy has a shiny new best friend again, a new witch. I don't understand Buffy sometimes. Nobody could replace Willow for me. She needs… hmmm.

A name. This is gonna be hard.

"Wills, do I look like a Sandra to you?"

"Definitely not." She says, and pops a ball of popcorn in her mouth.


Giles greets me in his hallway. Glasses are off. Cheeks a little flushed. He is rubbing the back of his neck. Uh oh. This is bad.

"What did I do? I can undo it." I say, instinctively, then wince. "Or perhaps clean it up. No, seriously what?"

"Uh, this is rather awkward." He says. My eyes shoot to the couch and my former burger shoots to the very pit of my stomach and braces itself.

"You want me to go." I sigh.

"Well, yes." He says, then stammers "no, no, I mean… it's just… well, I want you to know that you are absolutely welcome here."

I see what Buffy means about 'but face'.

"But?"

"But… this is rather delicate, uh, I have an old friend visiting from England tonight, and for the next week or so. Depending on… uh."

I blink. Clickity clicksville.

"Oh… a "friend" friend." I throw in air quotes for no added cost.

"Er, yes… quite."

"Oh… uh… okay." I can't help but grin. "You sly dog you."

"I am sorry for the late notice, but she, well, shared her feelings about the nature of the trip and…"

"Surprise booty call, say no more. Strange young… girl sleeping on your couch not the image you are going for."

"Quite. I took the liberty of booking you into the motel though. I hope you don't mind."

"Giles, it's cool man. Bro code and all, still stands. I think. Gimme a minute to grab my stuff and… well... have a great night.


It hits me as I rock up to the motel. Denial girl… uh… guy, that's me, remember. Well, it hits me just as my eyes fall on that greasy yellow motel sign.

THE motel. HER motel.

It hasn't changed since last I was here. Still proudly rocking it's two star rating.

This is just great.

The middle aged woman behind the counter is stern faced. She gives me serious shifty eye which I deflect with my cheesiest awkward grin. She hands me the keys and mutters that "my gentleman friend paid in advance". I bid her goodnight and make my way out into cool night air.

No.

No way.

Of all the rooms. This place has so many, why? How?

I hover by the door, squeezing my lungs and the key fob so hard they hurt. But my curiosity is nothing but perverse. So, for some reason, I find myself unlocking the door and letting it swing wide.

It's more or less the same. Cleaner by far than when Faith lived here. All the broken chairs replaced and punch holes in the walls plastered over. But the bed looks the same. A flash of a smile and the press of warm, soft flesh against my chest, the pain of her holding my wrists down… and then… another time altogether.

I have forgotten to breathe again. I feel like I am choking.

"I need another room." I say, slamming the key fob down with shakey hands. Small hands, weaker hands. Fragile looking hands. Hands that I don't even know how to punch with. "Please."

"What's wrong with the room?"

"Nothing. It's great. Just… please, anything you got that is other."

"Honey, I gave you the biggest room we had because you staying so long."

"Smaller is fine. Please."

I dunno why, but it felt like I had to tell her, or at least get it our of my throat.

"I lost my virginity there." I say far too loudly, and wince at her expression. "It wasn't…" I take a deep breath and whisper "it wasn't an experience I want to remember."

Her demeanor changes completely. She presses a new key into my hands with a sympathetic pat. Her voice comes soothing and low.

"This ones on the top floor, far side. It's real pokey, but we will change you up as soon as a bigger one becomes free." My face is blazing hot as I mumble my gratitude and make for the door.

"Oh and honey? Damn vending machine is on the fritz something fierce. Anyone can just thump it and candy drops right on out."

She turns away and goes back to watching the TV.

The hot water doesn't last for long, but I didn't care. I know some things don't wash out.