The Third Antichrist Series

by Tales From The Script

*Episode 4 Now UP! and FIXED!!* Spike is the Slayer, and Buffy is the vampire hoplessly in love with him. Roles are Reversed and secrets are revealed in Sunnydale. S/B and X/A. Please Read and Review.

4. Strawberry Narritive

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 702—Strawberry
Writers: Kimi & ScarletNicky


Authors' Notes: This is the second episode of our alternate Season 7. Two of the scenes in this episode are re-workings of Kimi's story "Voices in the Dark."
Also, thanks to Epiphany for a story idea that is foreshadowed here.

For those who said they would prefer to read narratives rather than scripts, this is actually the second chapter of our re-write of the episodes into story form.

Alternate Season 7 Website: www.talesfromthescript.com.

Disclaimer: This ain't a real episode. Unfortunately. But we'll be happy to write one whenever Joss wants us to.


ACT I

There was a full moon lighting the way and several nightlights scattered all over the grounds. Illusia was a bright place, even at night, Willow thought, as she and Amy walked in the high wet grass near Agatha's pond.

Illusia. What beautiful name for a place, Willow said. It was a fairy tale name for a fairy tale locale.

Like a fairy tale? Yeah, kinda like that. Except real, Tara had told her in a dream.

It was the kind of name that suited the home of Agatha Allen, a woman who had secluded herself from the outside world, preferring to live in a universe of her own making, where the rules of magic supercede natural law. And who could blame her really? Who wouldn't want to escape a world where death is the only certainty and love only serves to make the inevitable tragedies more pronounced?

Yeah. You can tell my grandma's rich. Only rich people give their estates names, Amy theorized. In fact, only rich people call where they live

I admit, your grandmother seemed pretty strange at first, but now she seems... Willow considered, pretty strange. But in a good way.

Amy agreed, meeting a Willow smile. I couldn't believe she said all that stuff to you the first day. But then again, she's always been kinda like that. Direct. Likes to get a reaction. Put you on the spot. I think she thinks that's good for people, making them commit to a direction.

Maybe she's right. I'm actually getting sorta used to her now. And she's helped me a lot with control, Willow admitted. Now I feel like I'm gaining the same power and control I had when I went dark, without the, y'know, darkness. She said she can teach us that teleportation thing that Anya does.

Amy asked, enthused. Cool. She must be even more powerful than I thought. I knew she was good at teaching and stuff, but I never knew she was all that powerful. I mean, sometimes it seemed like she was, but then later I always thought it might have been an illusion.

Hence, the name, reasoned Willow. You know, I thought I saw rainbow-colored trees earlier today, but when I went up to them, they were just normal.

Yeah, she makes things like that happen a lot, Amy added. She used to let me see unicorns when I was younger. Cause I was into them. Bet I would have loved all this wet high grass when I was a rat.

Willow laughed.

But I had a tyrant for an owner and she kept me locked up in a cage, Amy continued.

Willow stopped walking, feeling a little sting.

Wh-? Amy, I-I didn't keep you locked up all the time...did I? she asked defensively. I mean, me and Buffy got you out and played with you on the bed, and-and we got you one of those wheel thingies and fed you and...I had no idea you felt this way.

I'm just kidding, Amy laughed. Actually, I don't remember much about it. Which is probably a good thing. Otherwise, I'd probably go insane. Well, more insane.

You think you're insane? asked Willow.

Well, probably, Amy answered, as if it were no big deal. You don't think you are?

Well, I'mmmm...quirky. Unusual. Some may even say eccentric, Willow conceded. That doesn't necessarily mean I'm a modeling candidate for the Fall straight jacket line.

Amy grabbed her playfully by the arm. Girlfriend, come on. Why are we here? I was a rat for three years. Bound to be some residual issues from that. And you? You tried to kill all your friends and destroy the world. Babe, I hate to break it to you, but even the average postal employee keeps the carnage confined to the office.

Oh yes, please bring that up as often as possible, Willow said wearily, because we can just never talk enough about that.

I'm not trying to throw it in your face. I'm just saying we are, by society's standards, insane.

Are not, Willow responded eloquently.

Having reached the pond, they finally stopped walking.

Mmm'kay. A little sanity test, Amy proposed. You believe in witches, Amy stated, grinning smugly.

Well, yeah.



Willow nodded.

Demons, mummies, trolls, fairies, little sisters that are really blobs of—

Well, that's not fair, Willow interrupted. Those things are rea—hey, I don't believe in fairies. At least, I haven't seen any yet.

I know those things are real, but most of society doesn't believe in them and thinks you're crazy if you do.

Willow looked into the distance, contemplating. Was there something to this?

My point is, don't worry about it. Embrace your inner nutball, urged Amy. There are millions and millions of average people in this world, Will. Just thank The Goddess we're not two of them. We're crazy. Not that there's anything wrong with that, she finished, using the false-PC tone that usually accompanies that last sentence.

Willow turned back toward the water, still thinking about what Amy had said.

As she looked into the water, ripples appeared. They began to take shape, come forward. Faces. Faces made of water had formed all over the pond. Amy and Willow looked at each other, then back at the water, stunned. The faces began to speak all at once, all saying different, but essentially the same things. Their voices were watery and sluggish, like records played at too slow a speed.

heeeellllppp uuussss ssssaaaavvvveee uuussss coooolllllddddddd lossssttttt
ssssaaaavvvveee uuussss heeeellllppp uuussss coooolllllddddddd saaavvvveee— the water faces beseeched them.

Willow looked at Amy, weirded out. Amy just looked back matter-of-factly and said, See, now that's what I'm talking about.

Black.


ACT ONE

The beast will have seven heads and ten horns, and that one of its forms has the body of a leopard, the feet of a bear, and the mouth of a lion, preached Rupert Giles, standing before his congregation, Bible open in his hand.

Anya, Buffy, Dawn & Xander were seated at the big table of the magic box, listening to him.

Then it mentions that it derives its power from the dragon, he goes on. Perhaps that means Satan himself, or possibly it refers the dragon form as being the one in which he's the most powerful.

He seemed pretty damn powerful in all of them, Xander pointed out. If he disguises himself as a boy band singer, then I have a feeling a teenybopper's gonna kick our asses. A pause while he considered this. Which I really hope he doesn't do, because I can't think of anything more humiliating than having my ass kicked by Justin Timberlake.

Dawn smiled at him.

I thought all that stuff in the Bible about the Beast or the Antichrist or whatever was just symbolism, Buffy said. Not to be taken literally.

Well, it seemed pretty literal the other night, Giles reasoned. But if we accept what he said, Mabus is playing a role. Fitting himself into the prophecies contained in the Bible, Nostradamus' quatrains, the Codex

It never really occurred to me that those predictions about the Antichrist might really happen, Buffy interrupted That all those religious fanatics might be right.

Oh, lots of religious fanatics are right, insisted Anya. Everyone looked at her with trepidation, feeling a bizarre off-topic story coming on. I remember, there was this dimension once where the people worshipped this little pink thing that smiled and looked like a stuffed bear, except with a really long nose.

Awww, that's cute, said Dawn, starting to like this story after all.

He was. He was soooo cute Anya agreed, smiling. And anyway, they argued about the words he'd allegedly spoken centuries before, and divided into groups, and developed competing legends of what would happen when he retuned.

That seems a little irrational, said Dawn.

That's what I thought, too, Anya agreed. I mean, after hundreds of years, this stuffed bear's going to return and reign over an entire planet of sentient beings. Yeah right! But a friend of mine was there for a dismemberment seminar one time, and what do you know, the little feller showed up and banished about half of them to some hell dimension where they had all their skin peeled off and were then roasted and eaten by piglike things.

They all looked at Anya, disturbed. She just smiled and bounced perkily. Then she looked around and saw that the others hadn't found the story quite as amusing as she had. What could be...? Oh yeah, the roasted of other living creatures may not have resonated well with them.

Oh, don't worry, Dawn, Anya began in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. I'm sure he just roasted the bad ones.

Giles cleared his throat, hoping he could quickly recover the meeting from its detour into the absurd.

Well, at any rate, we need to study every prediction that might pertain to Mabus. If he is trying to fit himself into them, then he will be making his moves dependent on his reading of the very same predictions. So we'll research, plan, and hope he isn't as invincible as he seems, Giles pronounced.

Well, he's not completely invincible, Dawn reasoned. I mean, he was gonna sacrifice me or whatever, and you all stopped him. He couldn't finish the ritual.

We didn't stop him, Dawn, Buffy reminded. We just made things inconvenient for him. He could have still beaten us. Easily. And then done anything he wanted. He just decided not to. He would have had to kill me and Spike and Xander first, and he didn't want to do that. He wants us all alive, to watch.

Why would he want that? asked Xander.

Giles went over the possibilities in his mind, coming up with one that seemed logical.
Perhaps there's no point in becoming God if there's no one to witness it. No one to fear or worship you.

The others took this in. It seemed plausible. It was very difficult to get into the mind of a being like Mabus. Someone or something that whose appearance and motivations seemed so alien.

I don't buy it. I think there's more to it than that, the carpenter decided. It's not just that he wants us to fear him. He needs us to. I think it's part of his power. Like the Fear Demon.

Buffy decided Xander might be on to something. She hadn't completely believed the entity when it had laughed off its choice of victims, children, as inconsequential. No, there had been a reason children were chosen. And a reason he wanted to terrify, rather than simply kill them all straight out.

Hmm, you may be right, she agreed. It seemed like he said something like that when I asked him about the child murders. He taunts us where we're most vulnerable. Like with Spike.

Speaking of which, Giles said, steering the conversation toward the other unfortunate topic that he didn't want to bring up today.

Wonder where he went? Dawn asked worriedly. You don't think Drusilla has him, do you?

Well, they did disappear at the same time, Anya recalled, and he was hardly in shape to take care of himself.

Yes. It would make sense to assume Drusilla took him, Giles admitted.

This opened up possibilities Dawn didn't like considering.
Maybe she just took him back home, Dawn advanced, hopefully. To his crypt. She did seem worried about him. She changed sides to save him.

Her eyes pleaded for someone to say something optimistic.

Wonderful. Woody's got his Juliet Lewis back, Xander said contemptuously. Hope those crazy kids pack up their dollies in that DeSoto and have all kinds of wacky bloodletting hijinks...far away from here.

Someone should check on him, Dawn decided.

Don't even think about it, Dawn. Drusilla could be with him, warned Buffy.

Spike wouldn't let her hurt me, Dawn stated.

Dawn, I can't believe you, Xander said, getting a little hot. You know what that monster did to Buffy.

He risked his life to save me, Dawn countered. He saved all of us.

That was incidental, Dawn, said Xander, his voice rising. It was all done to impress Buffy. Just another angle to try to get with her. And even if Drusilla's not there, what about Spike? He was gone a long time. He talked about changes.

That's true, Giles said, various scenarios playing out in his brain. And we still don't know where he's been.

He probably went to try to get the chip out, Xander figured. What if he succeeded?

He still wouldn't hurt me, Dawn insisted.

Do you really think he can control himself? Ask Buffy if he can.

Buffy looked embarrassed. Clearly something she doesn't want brought up. Doesn't want to remember.
I can make you feel it.
Dawn just looked down. She hated this subject, too, and what it said about someone who had once been something of a hero to her, and now was...what?

Buffy began.

No, I'm saying this, because it needs to be said before somebody does something stupid, Xander insisted, refusing to be silenced before saying what was necessary, Spike cares about you, Dawn. I believe that. And maybe he even thinks he loves Buffy in his own contorted way. Maybe he even wants to be better. But he can't. When it comes right down to it, he's a vampire. Soulless and evil.
He let that sink in, then spoke directly to Buffy.
And anybody who forgets that, even for a second, is playing with fire.


In the same room that Agatha Allen had read Amy and Willow several pages of a strange and oddly familiar book called Amy and Willow waited for the older ladyto again make an appearance. We join them in mid conversation.

No, don't mention the pond, Willow directed in a hushed tone.

Why not? Amy whispered back.

Because we don't knowwhy she made it. If she did, explained Willow.
And because I don't trust her is the part Willow left unsaid. There were reasons. Reasons for the story she'd read them. Reasons for the faces made of water in the pond. But what were they? And why did Agatha vacillate between doting grandmother and strict instructor? And most importantly, what were her true motivations?

Agatha walked in, smiling at the girls.

I trust you both slept well, she said, the air of formality always present in her voice. Anything interesting happen last night?

Amy shook her head and answered too quickly. No. Pretty uneventful.

Agatha asked, clearly not believing. You weren't in your rooms. You were out for hours. Surely something interesting happened during that time.

She knows, Willow thought.

Were we not supposed to go out? Amy asked hesitantly.

Of course you can go out, dear, Agatha laughed. Illusia isn't a prison. There are wondrous sights to be seen here. I just thought you might want to share them. But
very well, keep your secrets. Now, let's get started with your training.

Amy looked at Willow as if imploring her to come clean about the water faces.
Willow gave Amy a stern look that said no,' without knowing exactly why. Willow was sure that Agatha knew exactly where they had been the previous night, and that Agatha knew Willow was aware of it. As their eyes regarded one another, that understanding passed between them. Still, Willow had the feeling it would be best not to bring it out in the open. She wasn't even sure why.

Agatha walked across the spacious room, beckoning the two young wiccans to follow.


Hours later, when late morning had become early afternoon, Agatha, Amy and Willow were in the middle of the ocean. Or at least they appeared to be. Each was surrounded by a glowing air bubble. Jellyfish, sea horses, stingrays and other ocean life swam all around them. It reminded Willow of when she and Tara had taken Dawn to Ripley's Aquarium almost a year ago, just before they'd brought Buffy back. The tension of the morning had receded, and now all three women were smiling, delighted.

Now relax, concentrate, and slip back into reality. Make the transition smooth, Agatha coaxed.

Willow closed her eyes and waved her arms, concentrating. A current of power passed between her outstretched hands. The illusion around them began to break down, the sea life now swimming against a background of walls and chairs and tables, rather than blue ocean water and plant life. Then the sea creatures themselves dissolved, completing the illusion's deconstruction. The ocean and the air bubbles were gone now, the three women having slowly drifted back to the floor. They had never left the room.

You can make the illusion real, said Agatha. If it seems real not only to you, but to
everyone else in your environment, then it is real.

Willow looked at Agatha and realized her feelings about the woman were just as undecided as ever. At times, she seemed like someone totally untrustworthy, someone whose stories would only be lies. Someone who wanted to manipulate and usurp and destroy. But right now, she was a patient teacher. Someone who genuinely seemed to care about Willow.

I really want to thank you for all your help these past few days, Agatha, Willow told her. Last year, I got addicted to magic, and I thought the only way to deal was
to quit completely. But then after Tara, well, I couldn't stick to it.

There's nothing wrong with using magic, Willow, Agatha assured, as long as you use it the way it was meant to be used. Most human beings use only a small percentage
of their brains. If we could learn to channel all the powers of the mind, we
could accomplish almost anything. Even alter reality.

I was never very powerful until I used dark magick. Then I was filled with
rage, Willow lamented.

You don't have to be enraged to be powerful. In fact, you are more powerful
if you are controlled. Not giving in to your emotions. The ultimate power is
being able to control your environment, rather than having it control you.

Yeah. I understand. And I want you to teach me that, Willow told her. But there's this other thing I want you to help me with, too.

What's that, dear? asked Agatha.

Willow was a little self-conscious about bringing it up. It would almost certainly sound stupid and infantile. But to her it was...maybe a way to heal. A peace offering.
Well, there's this ball of sunshine thing I've been working on for Buffy, she began. To
try and cheer her up. Well, I was thinking you might help me with that. The
last time I saw her, I tried to bury her underground and turn her sister
into a little energy blob, so, y'know, I kinda hate to go home empty handed.

Agatha smiled at her, amused.


Now early afternoon had become late afternoon, and the training session had reached its end. Atired Amy and Willow were heading back to their rooms, Willow trailing a little behind. As Amy walked into one room, she began to notice something strange, and slowed down. Something was wrong. She felt as if she was in unfamiliar territory.
This room wasn't here before, she thought.
Willow? Did you--? she started to ask, but when she looked back into the hallway she had just come from, she didn't see her friend. In fact, it now seemed as if she were completely alone in the house. And that wasn't all. Come to think of it, it didn't even look like a hallway anymore. Instead, she saw another room where the hallway had been. Revolving rooms? Was Agatha doing that? Another test of some kind?

Warily, Amy crept into the room. No one was there. But the door was open on the other side, inviting. Inviting her into yet another room. Maybe they went on forever. There were doors on every side, all leading to rooms that weren't there before. And it seemed to have gotten darker inside the house. The place had become a maze, Amy realized.

Amy began repeatedly calling out for Willow as she rapidly ran through the rooms, her panic and confusion mounting. It had become very dark, and Amy had to feel along the walls to find her way. She felt her way through another doorway, took a few steps, and suddenly her feet started spinning. She tried to run, but the floor beneath her was moving.

Suddenly, a light came on, and she could see where she was. The walls were wire, the moving floor below her a wheel. Which seemed more than a little familiar, although she could barely remember those days now. There was s a bowl of water to her right. She was in a hamster cage.

She jumped off the wheel onto the floor without looking, and landed just next to...a rat trap, bigger than she was. A glob of cheese bigger than her head had been placed in the middle. Before she had a chance to fully process all this, a deafening meow' came from above. She looked up to see that the source was a giant cat. The cat was blocking the back way out, and Amy had to dodge a flailing paw as she ran across the room toward a small doorway on the other side. The paw landed right behind her, just missing her with its strike, and she had to slide head-first to squeeze through the opening.

Emerging in the next room (thankfully one without felines), she could still hear the cat scraping the wall and wailing in frustration on the other side. Amy tried to gather some composure as she stood up and looked around. She found herself in a room filled with mirrors on all sides, and when she looked into them and saw...

...that she had the head of a RAT. Amy screamed and Agatha appeared out of nowhere, sliding up next to her.

Awful, isn't it? Agatha asked condescendingly. To have nowhere to look but at yourself? Inside yourself. Your true self.

Wh-what's going on? asked rat-headed Amy. This room wasn't here before.

Oh yes, it was always here, Agatha goaded. You just couldn't face it. And who can blame you? If I were you, I couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror either.

Amy Rat was horrified, hurt.

Grandma? Why are you saying these things to me? You sound like mom.

The mention of her mother didn't evoke the reaction Amy had hoped.
I taught your mother everything she knew...but not everything I know. And she was my greatest failing. There's no reason she shouldn't have succeeded in stealing your body and keeping it. It's such an easy trick.

I don't understand... Amy moaned, hoping this was just some unorthodox training exercise, that it wasn't really happening.

Agatha fixed Amy with a demented glare. Amy looked back, very afraid, barely able to meet her grandmother's stare. Her mouth opened, as if she were about to scream.

Your mother was right about one thing, Agatha mused. That firm young body is wasted on you. And your power. About the only thing it ever got you was turned into a rodent. Which is probably a better ending than you deserve for being such a failure, she spat.

Amy started to cry.
No, no... she begged.

And look at me. I'm running out of time! My spirit is young, but my body is wearing out. I have so much to contribute. And you, you'll never do anything. You're all used up. See??

Amy turned her head and looked into the mirrors. She was still rat-faced, but Agatha now wore HER face.

You know, the old saying, youth is wasted on the young.' Finally, somebody's done something about it, Agatha said with the satisfaction of a job well done.

No! Not again!! Amy Rat protested in vain.

It's your fate! declared Agatha. You can't escape it! You've earned it, my little rat!

Amy took off running through the maze of dark little rooms. She didn't know where to go, but she had to get out. Just get out and go anywhere else. Escape was the only thought she could form. She saw a light and headed for it. Agatha's voice shouted after her as she ran.

Run, little rat! Run! But you're an old rat! About to die! Never know when a vulture might be circling!

Amy found the light. It turned out to be an open door, leading outside. To somewhere else. She went through the doorway, running in a panic. As her eyes began to get adjusted to the light, she heard a sound: a loud shriek from above. She looked up. At first it was blurry, but as it came into focus, she could see that they sound had come from a giant vulture.

Amy stopped, paralyzed in fear as she saw it swoop down, talons clenched. She looked up and screamed in absolute terror. It's eyes open, glowing red, and it fills the Amy's world.


Tired, Willow made her way into her room, completely oblivious to anything that might be happening to Amy. Something caught her eye. It was a book, lying on the bed. She walked over and plopped down on her stomach on the bed, picking it up. It was the book.

She looked at it in wonder, afraid to look inside. Tentatively, she turned a few pages. Pages she's seen before. But there were other pages, Agatha had told her. The story she'd heard had been far from over. And if what Agatha had read her led up to what was Willow's present, then the pages after that must foretell her future. Wouldn't that make sense? All she had to do was turn the pages. Turn the pages and know her destiny.

She paused, trying to make a decision, then closed the book, lying it back on the bed in front of her.
Nope. That's okay. Some things I don't wanna know.

Suddenly, Willow heard a scream outside. She ran to her second story window and looked down. She saw what appears to be a humanoid rat, looking up, putting its hands in front of its face in a futile gesture as a giant vulture picked it up in its talons. Was this real? For just a brief moment, the vulture's head tuned in Willow's direction. Electric red dots were its eyes. That's when Willow knew where she'd seen the bird before. It had been in the trees on her parents' street. Except that hadn't really happened. That had been a—
Yes, this is a dream, Sweetie, but that doesn't mean it isn't real.

Recalling Tara's words, Willow started to run out of the room, but something stopped her. On her bed, the book had come alive. Its pages were flipping on their own. Frightened, she went slowly over to it. She just stared, wanting to close it, but afraid to touch. She didn't want to look at the pages, afraid of what she might see, but like Lot's wife, she looked anyway. Couldn't resist.

It flipped quickly past the earlier pages she'd seen before. It stopped briefly on a new page. A rat-faced woman getting scooped up by a giant bird of prey.

That horror being established, it flipped again. Transfixed, Willow looked down at the book, horror growing. It had now reached the last page. Strawberry lay in the middle of the pond where Amy and Willow had seen the water people. Her eyes were open, glassy and lifeless. Willow Rosenberg stared down at the image of her own death.

Blackout.


ACT II

Agatha sat calmly on Amy's bed, reading her granddaughter's book and wearing her granddaughter's skin. It was actually a graphic novel called Sandman: Prelude & Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman.

She looked up without surprise as Willow rushed in, carrying

Oh God, Amy, Willow panicked. I'm glad—I thought—I thought you were a rat again.

Willow heard Amy laugh. The voice was her friend's, but the laugh wasn't.

Pack your stuff. We gotta get out of here, Willow commanded, in too much of a hurry for explanations.

Why? I'm just starting to enjoy myself, was the reply.

Your grandmother, she's lost control of things, Willow theorized. Something's happened. I don't think it's safe here anymore.

Willow saw Amy look up at her, still not acting too worked up. Apparently she wasn't doing a very good job of conveying the seriousness of this to her friend.

Oh, I never lose control of anything, Strawberry, came the reply. Especially here.

Willow stared at her, processing. It didn't take long. she breathed.

I knew it wouldn't take you long. I could tell you were the brighter one, Agatha admitted, with just a trace of disappointment. I'm counting on your intelligence to help us both out here. And your ability to reason.

Once I see something reasonable, Willow countered, shock turning to resolve.

I'm going to give you reasonable. You're a smart woman, Strawberry. And a smart woman knows her limitations.

You just gonna sit here paraphrasing Dirty Harry all day, or are you going to explain how someone could betray their own granddaughter out of vanity? Willow asked, refusing to be bullied. If Agatha expected to find Willow an easy way out kind of girl who would do anything to avoid conflict, she was about six years too late.

Vanity? Is that what you think it is? Maybe you're not so smart, after all, Agatha chided.

Then why don't you explain it to me?

I don't want her looks. I want her time. Mine was running out. She was wasting it anyway. As far as betrayal, she betrayed herself, Agatha rationalized.

So you did the same thing to her Catherine did, said Willow, recalling the body swap engineered by Amy's late mother back in 1997.

My daughter stumbled on a good idea every once in a while. Her problem was in the execution. Well, inexperience, you know, Agatha mused.

Willow asked the inevitable question: Is she dead?

Agatha looked back at Willow, as if shocked that she would even suggest such a thing.

Of course not! What kind of monster do you think I am? her friend's stolen mouth asked.

Is that a rhetorical question, or are you expecting an answer?

Agatha laughed. No Dr. Doom stuff here, but genuine laughter.
I like you, Strawberry. That's why I'm going to give you a choice.

You mean like hanging or electrocution?

Agatha laughed again, clearly impressed with Willow's grace under pressure.
I told you, I have no reason to kill you. And Amy, she's not dead, just...somewhere else.

When's she coming back? I'd like to see her, Willow continued, still playing this verbal game with Agatha, where the lines were all cosmetic and the true questions and answers were hidden in easily translated code. All the while, Willow was preparing herself mentally for a fight to the death, and her countenance showed it.

Agatha picked up on this and met her mood. Her good humor turned to a cold glare, her words no longer cryptic. When I no longer rule Illusia, she stated with finality.

That soon? Willow retorted, a boast understood.

I'm counting on you to be smart, Strawberry, Agatha repeated, issuing a warning with Amy's eyes, for both our sakes. You can fight me to the death if you wish, but we both know how that turns out.

She nodded at the book Willow was holding, and the reference was understood.

Or you can relinquish the power willingly. I should think it would be an easy decision. What have you done with it, besides try to kill your friends and destroy the world?

I wish I got paid a royalty for every time somebody says that, Willow replied, her voice and eyes still displaying no emotion.

The point is if you can't wield the power, give it up to someone who can, explained Agatha.

You? What was all that about using magic the way it was meant to be used?

This is how it was meant to be used, Agatha replied passionately. You tried to use it to destroy. I'll use it to create. To improve. I'll make the whole world as breathtaking as Illusia.

Drowned souls living in the lakes, giant vultures scooping folks up, girls turning into rats. Wow, who wouldn't want to live in a wonderland like that? Willow deadpanned. Folks'll be lining up for tickets. I for one can't wait for that glorious new era to begin.

Always dwelling on the negative, lamented Agatha. No wonder your girlfriend left you.

Finally, Agatha got a reaction. Willow's face betrayed an emotion, anger. The first she'd shown since learning who it was she was really speaking with.

Oh, don't look at me like that, Agatha discouraged. I can destroy you with a thought, and we both know it. Now get out of here. You have some thinking to do.

Willow stood still.

You have until tonight. I'll meet you outside after dark. You know where, said Agatha, pointing at the book in Willow's hand. Don't make me hunt you down, she said, playfully now. We'll still end up there. It is written. It is done. She paused to let the words sink in, then added, I trust you'll make the right decision.

And with that, Agatha turned her attention back to Neil Gaiman, no longer even acknowledging Willow's suddenly unimportant presence. The conversation was over.

And despite all her bravery, Willow looked inside herself and realize dshe had no idea what she was going to do.


Back in Sunnydale, Anya was closing up the store. A face appeared at the door, slightly startling her. It was Giles. She opened it, happy to see him, but his face was grave. Her look instantly changed to match his.

Uh-oh. Who got killed now? she asked, the first question that came to mind.

Ah, n-no one, Giles stuttered, thrown. I just came by to tell you something.

She moved aside and he walked in.
Uh, okay. What is it? she asked with trepidation.

I'm leaving tomorrow, he stated flatly

Anya's face showed her disappointment. She'd asked him to stay less than a week earlier. Hadn't that meant anything to him?

Why? Where are you going? she asked, slapping him like had in Tabula Rasa. With this Antichrist goo-thingy about, how could you?

That's exactly why I'm leaving, Anya, he answered, although in truth that was only one of the reasons. I'm going back to London, only temporarily. I'm going to involve the Council in our battle with Mabus. We may need their resources, plus many of the members are more familiar with the relevant prophecies than I am.

But he could strike at any time, Anya reminded.

You'll all have my number, and I'll return the moment something happens, but to be honest, I don't know how much good I'll be in a fist fight with Mabus. Or Buffy herself, for that matter, he added with worry. I think I can be of more help this way.

I was afraid of this. Dawn could tell, too. She told me last week you were getting restless. Is it that friend you told us about?

Well...yes, that has a little something to do with it. More than a little, if he were to be honest. So many people he loved were in Sunnydale, but it had been the scene of so much tragedy, as well. It had been the place where he'd lost Jenny. Where he'd lost Buffy. Where he'd lose her again if he stayed around long enough. Wasn't how Watcher/Slayer relationships were supposed to end? When he'd finally gone home, he'd found a new life, a new purpose, and maybe even a new chance at love. At forty-eight years of age, at that. And now he found he wasn't so eager to return to being the father figure to children who weren't even children anymore. At my age, one can't afford to take chances when someone comes along. You never know when it's your last chance, he explained.

Wait till you get my age, Anya said with a raised eyebrow.

He smiled. Her youthful appearance made it easy to forget she had over a thousand years on him. He realized she was trying to comfort him about the age thing. Maybe she wasn't so bad with subtlety after all.

I just think you could be more help here, she continued. And I'm not just talking about Mabus. About...being a friend. To someone who doesn't have any.

Getting it, Giles said, You have friends here, Anya.

No, I don't, Anya corrected. Xander has friends. Xander was my connection to them. Now I don't have that connection anymore and I'm on the outside. I don't fit. Not here, not in the demon world.

Do you still love Xander? Giles asked pointedly.

Anya answered, her eyes lowering at the shame of it.

But you don't believe you can reconcile with him? he followed-up.

I believe Xander when he says he loved me. But I don't know if he could have ever married me. Even if that old man hadn't shown up, looking back I don't think he'd have gone through with it, she concluded.

Giles looked at her, surprised at this statement.

I'm a demon, Anya said, wrapping up all the complexities and factors in the failing of their relationship into three words. Xander has issues with demons.

Imagine that, Giles said.

Some people are just prejudiced like that, Anya went on, not getting Giles' sarcasm. But if you'd seen his family at that wedding, boy, let me tell you, they had no room to talk. One of my demon friends said Xander's father was the most sickening man he'd ever met. And that demon lives on an all-vomit diet!

I'd suspect Xander might agree with him. About his father, not the diet, Giles grimaced.

Do you think Xander's right to feel the way he does? Do you think I'm not good enough for him? she asked, her eyes searching Giles' face. It was important to get an honest answer to this one.

No, Anya, I don't believe that at all. And I don't think Xander believes that, either. But Xander, he sees the world in black and white, in certain terms. I envy him that, sometimes, Giles said, his voice heavy with the weight of tough decisions and pyrrhic victories past. It makes decisions easier to make.

Just because a decision is easier for you to make doesn't mean you're making the right one, Anya pointed out.

I understand that, Anya, he agreed. And speaking of decisions, have you made yours yet?

What do you mean? she asked.

Well, you said you felt like an outcast in the human world and the demon world. Have you ever thought it may be because you have one foot in each? Perhaps it's time for you to choose, he challenged.

That's just the thing. What's wrong about seeing black and white. There was always some humanity in Anyanka, she explained. And there's always been some Anyanka in Anya.

So you can't choose one over the other? Separate the two? The human and the demon? said Giles, beginning to understand her dilemma.

Once you've been both, you can't ever go back. You can't just make a wish and change who you are, she said, her sadness evident now. Giles feared she was about to cry. I tried, but no matter how you choose, the other part is always there. And no one can accept that. So you end up alone.

Giles suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for this demon/woman, who may not be perfect, who he'd first met as an enemy, but who now he believed was honestly trying to do the best she could now. Which was really about as good as any of us could do. He went over and hugged her gently. Oh, Anya. You're not alone, he promised, offering that friendship that he now realized she was desperate for.

Anya accepted that friendship, letting the sobs go as Giles held and comforted her. Suddenly, Giles was aware that he no longer knew exactly when he would be boarding that flight back to England. He did know, however, that it wouldn't be tomorrow.



Dawn slowly pushed the door to Spike's old crypt open. Having been there several times since Spike left, she'd gotten accustomed to the hum of low voices on the old television, the smell of Jiffy Pop popcorn on the old hotplate that the demon had brought over from his apartment. That smell had been replaced by the pungent odor of burnt cloth and scorched wood. Her nose burned slightly.

And it was so dark without the flickering of the TV. A little illumination leaked in from the grate from the street lights outside the cemetery, but the trees blocked most of it. The crypt was a study of spooky shadows. She blinked as her eyes adjusted slowly to the low light.

The teenager took a breath and slipped inside.

"Go home, Nibblet." It was a feeble, wistful command, but a command nonetheless. The breathy words traveled like a broken bird around the room and landed at Dawn's feet.

She stepped toward the voice, not completely sure where it came from, but surmising that he was as far from the door as he could get. Suddenly, the smell made more sense; the trap door to the lower level was open - something that hadn't happened while Clem was staying there.

"Why did you come back?" she said in a harsh voice.

There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by silence.

"Xander said you hurt Buffy," she said taking another step forward. "Tried to..." she shook her head, unable to say it. "Hurt Buffy," she repeated.

There was a shadow of a movement against the wall, like a hand waving her off. She could almost see now - pick out the chair, the television.

The old sarcophagus in the far part of the space.

She stalked toward it, angry. "Talk to me, dammit! Did you?" she snapped. "Did you try to hurt my sister? *Rape* my sister!"

His next word rolled out like a groan. "Bit..."

"Don't call me that!" she cried out, rushing toward him. Her hands found him before her eyes did, as her long thin fingers wrapped around his upper arms.

Emaciated upper arms.

She stopped, shocked at what she felt beneath her hands. He jerked away.

"Oh, Spike..." she breathed. "What have you done?" Dawn realized that tears were running down her face. Tears of anger, and now fear.

He tried to back away from her, burrow into the wall. "Never meant to hurt her," he choked out, his own tears making his voice rough. "Not her. Not ever."

"Why did you come back?" she asked again, all anger gone, as her arms dropped nervelessly to her sides. She tried to look at his face, see his eyes, but the ambient light only lit the sharp planes of his face. Until he covered his face with his hand. Slowly, he slid down the wall and came to rest at her feet, pulling his knees to his chest.

She stood over him, becoming furious all over again as his passivity. "I hate what you did," she spat out. "Xander told me. I didn't believe it." She pushed out a ragged breath. "Couldn't believe it. Now I see..."

All she could see was the top of Spike's head. He didn't respond, didn't even look up.

"Tell me you didn't do it!" she screamed, as she dropped to her knees. "Buffy won't say. Says I won't understand. Tell me!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks unheeded. She saw the glistening of matching ones on his own face.

"Lie to me, Spike! Please! Tell me you didn't!" she yelled into his face, almost begging.

She was crying, sobbing out the words as she hit his chest with her fists. He sat quietly, hands by his sides on the cold hard slate, body jerking from the blows.

"Why did you come back?" she asked plaintively, anger subsiding as her sorrow overwhelmed her. She sunk against him, hands still on his chest, feeling his rending sobs. "Why did you go?" she whispered. "Why did you go?"

She felt him take a deep breath to control his racked body. He put a hand on her hair lightly. "Had to, didn't I? After what I did - what I tried to do. Had to fix it. Make it right." He laughed bitterly. "Now I know. Never be right," he muttered.

"But you're sorry," she said quietly, hiccupping lightly. Raising her head, she tried to search his face. "Tell me you're sorry," she demanded petulantly.

He shook his head. "Some things you can't come back from, no matter how you try." His voice was raw with pain.

"Did she hurt you? Is that why you hurt her? Cause I know you and her were..."

Spike's voice took on some of its old, characteristic hardness. "No, Dawn. Not her fault. She broke it off. No screamin', no yellin'. Said she was sorry." He banged his head against the wall. Dawn winced. "Stupid git... that's me... wouldn't take no for an answer. Stayed after her - worryin' at her. And then..." He broke off abruptly.

"You have to tell her!" Dawn hissed. "Tell her you're sorry. Fix it! It can't be all you. You've got a side. I know you do!"

Spike's stern voice interrupted her rant. "Dawn. Don't have a side. Don't deserve a 'side.' What I did was wrong. Evil." He chuckled, a sad, hollow sound that served as an undertone to his next whispered words. "Was right all along, she was. Fancy that."

He sat up and pushed the teenager gently away, and slowly got to his feet, bracing himself against the wall. He looked down. "Go home, Nibblet. Big sis'll be worryin'. I've given her enough grief and so have you. Not givin' her extra."

He walked toward the trap door, his footsteps sounding sad and defeated. Nothing of 'Spike' in them. She felt a surge of anger at that.

The footsteps stopped. "Go home." He disappeared down the stairs.

Wrapping her long arms around her now cold body, she got up and headed to the door, ignoring the tears drying on her face.

Never looking back, she hugged herself tightly and took the path toward home.

Her Spike was gone.

Fade out.


ACT III

Buffy immediately noticed Dawn's red-rimmed eyes as she came through the back door to cut through the kitchen to her room upstairs.

"Dawn?" she questioned, concerned. "What..."

The teenager didn't turn. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong," she growled angrily.

Her older sister started after her, then stopped in uncertainty. She wasn't sure whether to follow or give Dawnie her space. Finally, she turned back toward the sink and picked up a sudsy plate.

Dawn came back in the kitchen. "I went to see Spike," she said in a cold voice. The teen had obviously changed her mind about talking.

Buffy spun around, soap foam flying from her fingers. "You did what? Are you nuts? With Drusilla in town?"

"So? I had a stake. I can handle myself." Her younger sister faced her defiantly. "And he was at the crypt. Alone." Her eyes glittered darkly. "Something's wrong with him," she said accusingly.

Turning back to the sink, Buffy tried to sound unconcerned. "Well, he *is* Spike," she said with a fake chuckle.

She shook her head. "Not Spike. He's different. Not... cocky. Not anything. I think he's broken." Dawn's eyes grew hard. "Don't you care?"

The slayer sighed, as she considered her words. "Of course I care," she said quietly.

It seemed to satisfy the teenager. "I tried to ask him about...what Xander said..."

"Oh, Dawn..." She closed her eyes in dismay. She shook her head. "What did he say?"

"Not much," Dawn said tightly, angry again. "He was too busy crying!" Dawn stalked up to Buffy. "He acts like it's all his fault - you and him and all that. But I don't believe it. I don't believe it was all him."

"No," the slayer breathed out. Dawn waited, but she didn't elaborate.

The teen's control broke. "Somebody tell me *something*!" she said angrily, stomping her foot. She fumed for a moment at Buffy's back. "You did stuff to him, too, didn't you?" she said with certainty. "Didn't you?" she clipped out, almost shouting.

Buffy turned around and met her sister's eyes, a sad look on her face. "Sit down, Dawn."

She started to disobey her. Tossing her hair back off her face, she looked Buffy in the eye. Instead, she sat. Buffy landed on the edge of a chair nearby.

"I was messed up last year. Real, real messed up. And I didn't feel like I could tell anybody. You didn't need to hear it. Will and Xan? They didn't *want* to hear it. Spike did. So we talked. A lot. Cause I didn't have to hide anything from him... or pretend to be okay. And then, things just... got out of hand."

"You did do something." Dawn nodded in satisfaction.

Buffy laughed ruefully. "Something? I did a lot of 'somethings.' I was angry. I was scared. And he was there. To catch 'The Worst of Buffy 2001.' I punished him for how I felt about... well, life."

"So Xander was wrong."

"No..." Buffy said slowly, as she pushed out a ragged breath. "Not wrong. But he doesn't know everything. Or anything." Shaking her head, she grimaced. "Doesn't matter now, though. It's over and done and ..."

"Buffy," Dawn blurted out, "I don't think he's eating. And he's messed up way more than you were. He acts crazy. But not, you know?" She leaned forward, anxious to make her older sister understand. "He sounds so lost, so sad. Buffy, I'm scared. No matter what you and Xander say, I love Spike and I'm scared!"

"I don't know what I can do, honey," she said gently.

"Do?" the girl said angrily. "I think you've *done* enough! Undo it. Fix it!"

Buffy reached out and put her hand over her sister's. "Dawnie, probably the best thing I can do for him is stay away," she said honestly.

Snatching her hand away, Dawn jumped out of the chair. "Oh, right," she said furiously. "Cause that's what you're good at, isn't it?" she hissed. "If he helped you at all, you *owe* him! He helped you, didn't he? Even with...everything, he helped you?"

Buffy dropped her eyes and stared at the table.

"You may be the slayer, but you're a coward," she spat out, angry tears welling up in her eyes. "If something happens to him, I'll go to Dad. I swear I will," she threatened. "Cause I won't be able to stand to look at you!"

"Dawn!"

"I mean it. Fix this. Fix *him*!"

"Honey," Buffy said, taking a deep breath, "I don't think it's as bad as you think. You know how dramatic he is." She smiled shakily, still hurt by the threat. "This is Spike. He'll be fine. He always is."

"Buffy, I almost wrapped my fingers around his whole arm! He's starving! And you don't care?" she said, voice rising incredulously, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I can't..."

"I hate you! Hate you!" Dawn screamed. "You *do* something or I'm calling Dad tonight!"

Head in her hands, Buffy listened to the thud of Dawn's angry run up the stairs.



Buffy didn't remember deciding to leave the house. In fact, she distinctly remembered deciding not to. And yet, here she was, closing the front door behind her. She had grabbed her keys, put her shoes on, and gone outside on auto-pilot. As if a different part of her, one she thought she had buried (don't think about the evil bloodsucking fiend), had taken control of her body. When Buffy turned around, she saw Xander, walking toward her. Lost in her own indecision, she hadn't even heard him drive up.

Oh, hey, Buffy said, a little guilty. What are you doing here?

I came to talk you out of going where it is you're going, he said decisively.

Going on patrol? Buffy pretended. You've never tried to talk me out of that before.

Buffy, this is me you're talking to, he reminded her. I know you, and right now my bullshit-ometer is on overload.

She stopped and puts her hands on her hips. Well, that façade had lasted all of five seconds.

Okay. Fine, she dropped the act. Maybe I am going where you think I am. I haven't made up my mind yet.

I think you have, Xander responded, having none of it. The question is, why?' What do you expect?

I don't know, Buffy admitted. I just...Dawn went to see him. She's real upset.

Well, so am I! I don't—was Drusilla--? His brain immediately conjured up the unpleasant image of Dawn unwittingly walking into the crypt to find Drusilla, waiting with open arms and deranged smile. Dawn, finding her final resting place nestled amongst Miss Edith and all the other dollies. Her eyes open and blank like theirs.

No. Drusilla must have dumped him and left. She was probably out feeding, Buffy speculated.

But if she had been there...

Yeah, I know. I told her, but...she takes a few fighting lessons from Giles and now she seems to think she's ten feet tall and fang-proof.

Unfortunately, it looks like she does. But you didn't answer the question. Why are you going? Xander asked again, not letting her side-step the issue.

I don't know, she said. Maybe she did know somewhere inside, but she was afraid to go looking for the reasons. Dawn said some things...about how he was. The things he said. I just have to hear it from him.

Hear what? Xander asked. He'll say anything, Buffy. Haven't you realized that yet?

Dawn said he was different this time. He wasn't cocky. He wasn't defending himself.

What defense is there?? He tried to RAPE you, Buffy! Xander reminded her, exasperated that it was even necessary to do so. What does it matter what he says now??

Buffy couldn't answer. Xander made a good point. An irrefutable one, in fact. And yet
She looked at him with eyes that pleaded for him to relent. Reluctantly, he got the message. Xander knew he was close to over-stepping. He wasn't her father; he wasn't even her Watcher. He had no right to forbid Buffy to go see anyone, or presume to be able to make decisions for her. But she hadn't thought clearly in the past when it had come to vampires she was sexually attracted to. She had protected him when he'd gotten himself into messes. What kind of friend would he be if didn't try to do the same?

I just don't want you to get hurt, Xander sighed. You've been so much better lately. You've been adjusting, getting back into life, getting your groove back. I can't help but believe it had something to do with that bastard being gone. And now that he's back, I just don't want you to let him infect you with his disease again. Drag you down.

That's not what this is about, Buffy said, not finding the strength to argue after her emotionally draining talk with Dawn. I won't let that happen again. I'm not in that place anymore, she said.

I've tried to understand how you let him get so close. Tried to be fair, Xander said, his voice calm, but still with a trace of frustration. But it just defies explanation.

Buffy took a deep breath, contemplating how to explain something she didn't even fully understand herself.

When I came back...I couldn't feel, she began. I was numb. I just needed to feel something...intense. Dangerous. Powerful. Whether it was good or bad it didn't matter, as long as it was intense. It was unhealthy, and it couldn't last, but...

She looked into Xander's eyes and gratefully saw that he was understanding her.

And now? Do you still need that feeling? he asked, afraid of the answer.

No. I'm not where I was then. Who I was, Buffy answered truthfully. I'm me again. And that's not what I need anymore.

Xander breathed a little easier at this. He relaxed and laughed softly, reflecting. Y'know, the other day I thought of a conversation we had years ago. You and me and Willow. When we compared love lives and how we had all dated mantises and robots and vampires and such, and we were all doomed to end up alone. She nodded at the memory. Now, here we are, years later, he continued. I'm just getting over a broken engagement with a demon, and you've just split up with another vampire. Did you ever think maybe we gave up on the human race too soon?

she said, and her thoughts turned immediately to Riley. Riley Finn had been a good man with good intentions, and he had loved Buffy intensely and completely. He had been the kind of man Buffy believed she should want. She had respected him, and almost loved him. But not quite. He had been missing something, some necessary ingredient that brought out the passion in her. Maybe Dracula had been right, that she was drawn to the darkness. But she had followed that darkness, hadn't she? And found out that although it was so seductive, in the end she didn't like where it led. Was that still what she wanted? No, she didn't think so. If Dawn was right that the night in the bathroom had been the catalyst for some kind of change in Spike, then it had also been one for her, too. And I intend to do something about that. Next boyfriend has got to have a soul, she pronounced.

A pulse wouldn't hurt either, Xander added, immediately recalling Angel. They don't have to be dead for it to be intense or powerful.

I know, Buffy accepted. And I don't have to be with someone right now. I'm okay. I'm complete. And when I am with someone again, it will be because I want to. And it will be someone I can trust as much as I trust you. That's really important to me right now.

Xander tried not to read too much into that last comment, instead focusing on the positive fact that Buffy was emotionally strong again. Strong enough, he figured, to withstand any manipulative trick Spike might have in store. But he still wanted to add one more reminder. Be careful with him. You don't belong down there in his world, Buffy. He belongs in a grave, but you don't.

Buffy nodded. I know that. I do, she said, accepting that she and Xander would probably never see the enigma that was William the Bloody quite the same way. Xander's view of him was very simplistic: vampire, soulless, evil, sexual predator, only restrained from serial murder by a piece of metal in his head. Buffy's was much more complex, always evolving. She had seen him at his most monstrous and frightening, and she had also seen examples of human tenderness and emotion. He had surprised her many times, such as when he was willing to be tortured to final death rather than expose Dawn to Glory. And after returning from the dead, she had been equally surprised to find that he had stayed with her friends and did his best to protect Dawn, despite no prospect of any reward from Buffy. But he had surprised her in the bathroom, too. Despite all her insistence that she hadn't trusted him, the truth was she had, up to a point. She had slept next to him, knowing he could kill her despite the chip. She had trusted him not to hurt her. And then he had. And while she still believed hers was the more accurate view of Spike, the results hadn't borne that out.

Please. I can't stand to lose you again, Xander said quietly.

You won't. The thing with me and Spike. It was destructive. And it's over, she said conclusively. But I need this, Xander. I need closure.

Xander realized he wasn't going to talk her out of it, but he was still determined to have his say. His voice was soft, but his words were not. You want closure? Stake him. God knows he's given you enough reasons. And he'll never be out of your life until he's ashes. Deep down, you know that.

Having said his piece, Xander turned and walked back toward his car. Buffy watched him go, feeling tired and uncertain.



The night was still as Willow walked to the pond, mentally preparing herself to battle for her life. She had done that before, on many occasions, but usually with her best friends Buffy Summers, Xander Harris and Rupert Giles at her side. But they weren't here now. Willow had tried to bury Buffy and her sister underground, and blasted Giles and Xander with dark magick. Put simply, she had tried to kill them, and maybe those bridges were burned forever. Willow was alone, and deservedly so.
She looked into the pond, but at the moment the faces were quiet, unseen. So was Agatha. Willow turned her back to the pond, facing the house, awaiting Agatha's arrival.

Finally, it came, and not the way Willow had expected. The wind kicked up, blowing steadily harder. Willow had to shield herself against it. She looked up to see a whirlwind descending, bringing Agatha with it. Willow was reminded of her own exit after skinning Warren, except in reverse. This was a descent instead of an ascent. She had to wonder if the similarity was intentional. Agatha so loved symmetry.

The cloud dissipated, and Agatha, again appearing as Amy, took a bow, smiling, holding the story book in one hand. Willow was unamused.

I suppose you've had time to think about my offer, Agatha opened.

Well, I've been pretty busy with other things, but it's crossed my mind.

Agatha waited.

And...what exactly are you proposing? I'm just supposed to hand over my soul or something? Willow asked, although the answer would not effect her decision. That had already been made.

Of course not! What do I want with your damn soul?? I don't even use the one I've got! Agatha laughed. Willow would have to admit, she made a good point with that one.
I just want your power, Agatha clarified. And I'd suggest you give it willingly. You've already met some who didn't. They're the ones who lost their souls.

On cue, behind Willow, the voices started up. She turned around to look into the pond. The water faces arose to the surface, once again taking up their despondent chant.
heeeellllppp uuussss ssssaaaavvvveee uuussss coooolllllddddddd lossssttttt
ssssaaaavvvveee uuussss heeeellllppp uuussss coooolllllddddddd saaavvvveee—

Willow wasn't freaked out this time. She had pretty much expected this. She dismissed the voices as casually as possible and looked back at Agatha. Agatha stepped forward, her arms outstretched. Take my hand, Strawberry, she urged. Relinquish the power. Face it, you weren't meant for it. You don't have the ambition. You don't know what to do with it, how to handle it responsibly. You don't even want it, do you? Don't you want a normal life with your friends? Won't they be more likely to accept you back if you don't have the world-destroying power anymore? Give me the power...and walk out of here.

Willow gave Agatha an accepting look. Her hands reach for Agatha's. Agatha smiled triumphantly, reaching back for Willow. They joined hands

and a BOLT of orange energy ripped through Agatha, knocking her back.

That's what I've supposed to have been learning here this week, right? How to use power responsibly. See? I'm learning! I know enough not to give it to you, Willow said, raising her arms and firing another energy bolt, white this time. It took Agatha off her feet and deposited her in the grass. Agatha looked dismayed.

Now that would be irresponsible, Willow declared, firing again. Agatha squealed with Amy's voice, writhing in pain.

Now I will be walking out of here. And if you want to do the same, you'll put Amy back like she was right now! Willow ordered. She punctuated the warning by firing her most powerful blast yet.

Agatha cried out, and then she was quiet.

Agatha had fallen to the grass, still, apparently unconscious. The only sound remaining was the drone of the damned water faces, telling Willow how cold they were, and imploring her to help them/save them. That, and the crackling of power around Willow herself, now subsiding.

Suddenly, there was a huge disturbance in the middle of the pond behind Willow. It happened so quickly she couldn't even react. A giant sea snake in the middle of the water rose up, uncoiled, and struck at Willow. It was so large that it was able to catch her in its mouth, picking her up into the air. She screamed, startled, flailing in vain.

From the snake's twisting mouth Willow looked down to see Agatha, rising up from the ground as if she had never been hurt at all. Which was probably the case, Willow resigned.

You made your choice, Strawberry, Agatha said regretfully. You chose magic.

The sea snake ducked under the water, pulling the helpless Willow with it. She had given Agatha all she had, although it had apparently had little or no effect on the older witch, and now she was as drained as she had been after she and Amy had abused magic all night long. After the first night she'd been juiced up by Rack. She struggled underwater, in the mouth of the sea snake. Then she was momentarily freed as the snake disappeared. It had never been there, after all, but that didn't mean it wasn't real enough to kill. Willow climbed to the surface, taking a deep breath as she emerged above water. The legions of water faces implored her to take away their torment.
heeeellllppp uuussss ssssaaaavvvveee uuussss coooolllllddddddd lossssttttt
ssssaaaavvvveee uuussss heeeellllppp uuussss coooolllllddddddd saaavvvveee—

Willow observed that the water people had entire water bodies now, and they were no longer content with begging her. Now they were more insistent, pulling at her. She struggled to stay afloat. Agatha just walked to the water's edge, regarding her calmly and with false regret.

And it's like I tried to tell you, with magic there are always consequences, she said.

Willow was pulled down again. She fought at the pleading water people, their aqueous whispers all around her. When she floated back up again, she could see Agatha, kneeling, looking at her all I-told-you-so.

I guess now you'll never forget that, Agatha taunted.

Finally, Willow has lost her battle. Her struggles have ended. The faces were now drawing back into the pond, and finally the water was placid again. Willow's body became still, lifeless in the water. She sank beneath it, arms and legs outstretched, eyes open.

Satisfied, Agatha turned away and heads back to the house, opening the book to the last page.

Deep down, you knew it was going to happen, she said to her unhearing victim. You saw it all before.

Agatha looked down at the book. It was open to the same page Willow had looked at with horror earlier in the day. The pretty red-haired witch Strawberry lying in a pond, drowned.

And somewhere back behind Agatha, Willow lay in an identical state in an identical pond. Life mirrored art.

Blackout.


ACT IV

Silence. Illusia was quiet, quiet as death, except for the gentle, peaceful sounds of the water. Willow's body was sinking into the lake, her final descent. Suddenly, a whisper echoed through the water.

came a watery voice.

Although she was pretty sure she was dead, or at least had been a moment ago, Willow made out the voice, and recognized it.

she called, and after a moment she realized she'd heard the name out loud, despite the fact that she hadn't spoken.

Remember how you said you would always find me? Tara's voice called again, through the darkness. Well, it goes both ways. Although we live in different worlds, I will still always find you.

Tara came into view. Her body drifted face-to-face with Willow. Tara was a light in the dark water, an angelic glow all around her. Willow could now see by Tara's light. She appeared to be nude, although it was hard for Willow to tell because the glow nearly obscured her body. She could only see Tara clearly from the shoulders up.

Willow drew one logical conclusion: Tara had an angelic glow because now she was an angel. And she had come to retrieve Willow from this dimension. Are you here to guide me? To bring me across to the other side? Willow asked without speaking.

Tara shook her head. No. It's not time, she said, and Willow noticed that Tara's lips had not moved either. The conversation was transcending the spoken word.

Then why...? Willow's thought began.

Tara answered it before it was fully formed. Remember what you promised me? To believe in nothing but yourself and me. No matter how things look. No matter what you think is possible.

Willow remembered. Write your own story, Tara urged. Don't believe hers. You think you know. What's to come, what you areYou haven't even begun.


And Tara put her arm around Willow's neck, pulling her close. She opened her mouth and pressed it to Willow's. Willow was surprised at first, but quickly responded, basking in her lover's strength. They were kissing passionately now—can't we just skip it? can't you just be kissing me?—Willow's arms wrapped around her. The glow that had enveloped Tara now swirled around Willow, and they were both bathed in color.
Willow and Tara were together, floating as they had on occasions before, except that this time they were hovering in water instead of air. Finally, the glow was so bright and intense that Willow could feel it obscuring them both. She no longer felt her lungs bursting, needing air. Had she been breathing? Was she alive or dead? Did it even matter? No, it didn't, Willow decided, as she gave herself over to Tara and the Glow in the most perfect moment of her entire existence.


Agatha was enjoying the moment herself, as she walked away from the lake, triumphant, her arms wrapped around the story book, hugging it to her breast. But behind her, a faint glow began to appear on the pond's surface. It quickly spread. Soon, the entire lake was lit up, but Agatha just continued to walk away from it, oblivious.

Soon, the glow receded, but something else emerged. It was Willow, crawling out of the pond and into the high grass. She looked up in Agatha's direction. She was rejuvenated...and majorly pissed.

Willow called to Agatha from far away.

Stunned, Agatha stopped walking. For the first time, something had happened that she hadn't anticipated. Incredulous, she turned around to see Willow, on her feet now, dripping wet and walking toward Agatha.

Where are you going? You aren't just gonna leave me hanging, are you? Willow asked her. What about that ball of sunshine? You said you'd help me with it, Willow reminded. I want to give it to my friend Buffy. We have a lot in common now, me and Buffy. We've both drowned.

Agatha couldn't believe what she's seeing. How could this be happening?

Did I ever tell you what Buffy did to the person that drowned her? Maybe I should show you, Willow threatened.

Agatha looked down at the book in confusion. But-but the story was complete.

Yeah, but it lacked that special something. I mean, don't you hate it when a book is too predictable? I always like it when they throw in a twist at the end. Don't you?

A blast of mystical energy came from Willow, lighting up the night. It struck Agatha. She screamed as her body twisted into an impossible position.

Agatha grunted in rage and with a burst of willpower, she flung off the energy. But as she looked at Willow, her eyes showed fear now. Fear of the unknown. Now Agatha was unsure of what would happen.

Where are you getting your power, Strawberry? I should have it all.

How can you take it? Willow asked. You don't even know where it comes from.

I know everything there is to know about power! Amy insisted, furious at this unexpected turn of events.

Then you should know that love is the most powerful force there is. The one thing that can succeed when everything else has failed. A good friend taught me that, said Willow, thinking of Xander, on his knees, telling her he loved her over and over even as the pain wracked his body. Pain she was inflicting. And still he loved her. And that's one force you have no knowledge of.

Okay, so you've reclaimed your power, Agatha acquiesced. But do you think that's enough to beat me? You can't begin to fathom my power. All the power of all the witches and warlocks who've been trapped in that lake. They all belong to me. My power is that of legion! she yelled.

No, I don't think so. I think your power is deception. Fear. You win because you make people believe it's inevitable, Willow deduced. Your story is your power. But I don't believe everything I read. Time for a re-write.

Willow held out her hands and pinkish energy zapped from them to the book. Agatha gasped as the book was sucked from her hands. It flew onto the ground between them, pages turning furiously.

As Willow's power flickered like lightning in the air, the pages were revealed intermittently in the light. Words and pictures disappeared, as if erased from the pages. New words were being typed by an unseen writer. A rainbow of color swirled through the air and landed inside the pages. Pictures began to appear.

Agatha panicked and reached for the book. She turned the pages desperately, looking for the last page. Willow couldn't see what Agatha saw; didn't need to. She already knew what was there. And though she couldn't see the illustration, she could read it through Agatha's terrified face. Agatha looked up at Willow in awe.

This world is just as it is named, isn't it? Willow asked calmly, in control. Illusia. It's an illusion. You have no power. There are no souls in the lake. There are no snakes in the water or unicorns in the woods. You tried to trick me into giving my power to you, because you really couldn't take it.

Willow's eyes glowed red, but did not black over this time. No need for dark magick. Her own brand would do just fine. She fired her thickest burst of magical energy yet. It lifted Agatha off her feet and catapulted her through the air all the way down to the edge of the lake. As she tried to shake off the effects of the landing, she was grabbed from behind by the hair.

Willow waved her hand, causing light to appear in the edge of the lake. Helplessly, Agatha looked into the water, seeing her reflection and...

...she was old again. She looked herself over in disbelief. She no longer had Amy's body. How?

You're a trickster. That's your magic. But magic has consequences, Willow said, turning her own words back on her. That's the one thing you said that wasn't a lie. Time to face them.


Willow looked up into the night sky. A large shape blocked out the stars, swooping down. Agatha turned to look up at it. It was the giant bird, descending. In the darkness, all Agatha could see were the glowing red eyes, coming closer, bearing down on a new victim.

she screamed, the first of a series.

Agatha's screams grew further away as Willow saw the old witch picked up by the bird and taken off into the night sky. Then the shapes of the bird and Agatha became an electric blue cloud of energy, which streaked back toward the ground, splattering into the book. The book bounced off the ground, slammed shut audibly, and landed back on the grass.

What's going on? Willow?

Willow turned to find Amy lying near her in the grass, in the very spot where the bird had picked her up earlier. Agatha no longer ruled Illusia.

D-did a giant bird pick me up? Amy asked, understandably confused.

was Willow's simple answer.

So, did it pick her up, then? Because for a while, it kinda seemed like I was—Am I a rat?

No. I changed you back, remember? Willow could have been talking about either instance, and she didn't elaborate. And there was no bird either. Except in the story. Amy looked at her, even more lost than ever. I'll explain it later, Willow offered. On the ride back home.

So you think you're ready to go home now? Amy asked her, noting that Willow seemed more confident, definitely, but not exactly normal.

Yeah. I'm ready. You might have to drive a while. I'm pretty drained. I feel like I could sleep for days, Willow said, starting to sound a little more like herself.

agreed Amy. Hey, do you think we should pack first, or should we just make a run for it?

We can pack. There's nothing dangerous here. Unless you count me.

Willow smiled, but Amy didn't return it. She was still trying to figure out what the hell had gone on, and just who her friend had become.

Amy had to ask one last question. Where is my grandma? Now?

Willow walked over to the book, which was still lying on the ground. She bent and picked it up, turning to the last page. She held the book open in her left arm, her right hand giving off sparkles of light for them to see by.

The last page looked to be a copy of an earlier one, except now it was an old woman instead of a rat-girl who was being carried off by the giant bird.

Looking closer, Amy saw that the old woman didn't appear to be a drawing at all, like the rest of the book, but a photograph. It almost looked like she might have been moving, struggling in the grip of the bird's talons. She might have even heard a tiny sound.

Willow shut the book. Amy saw that even the cover had changed. The house and grounds were now on the front, with mists all around. And the title was no longer but

Right where she wanted to be, Willow explained. In a world made out of a fairy tale.

So not one part of this was real? asked Amy.

Willow paused, considering. One part of it was, she said.

Amy looked at Willow, waiting for her to explain, but she never did. She just continued to stare into the dark lake. Finally, Amy gave up.

Well, I'm going to pack and start loading the car. Coming?

Still staring, Willow answered in a distant voice, In a minute.

Amy walked away and Willow knelt down at water's edge. She put one finger into the lake, tracing a ripple in the water with just enough magic to make it glow faintly.

Bye bye, baby. I'll always love you.

In the watery glow, a trick of the light made it look as if she could almost make out Tara's face under the water. But then the ripple stilled, the glow was gone, and so was Tara.

Willow got back to her feet and began the slow walk in the darkness back toward the old house.



Buffy slipped into the quiet crypt. The contrast struck her immediately. No flickering of a hundred candles, no light from the old television.

Out of habit, she went to the table where the long matches used to light the candles were kept. They were still there. She struck a match and lit one of the squat pillars. It sputtered as the overlying dust caught fire and burned. The wick flared twice and held steady.

As if in answer, Buffy heard a scrambling sound in the lower level of the crypt. Turning, she stood for a moment staring at the trap door, before picking up the candle and starting down the stairs.

A harsh voice croaked out. Go away.

She swung the candle around, trying to pierce the darkness. Squinting, she tried to catch a glimpse of the vampire, but all she saw was blackened debris.

Silence hung in the cavern, until a hollow laugh broke the silence. 'Spike' doesn't live here anymore, pet.

When did you get back? she asked, ignoring his statement.

Finally, his words reached her. Dunno really. Days. Months. She could imagine him shrugging. S'all the same. Ask Clem. He knows.

Buffy continued to look around the room, trying to see him. The echo of his voice made it difficult to tell where he was – and the single candle did little to help. Where are you?

Suddenly, she heard it again. A scraping of fabric against stone. Nothin' for you here, Slayer. Nothin' good, anyway. Please, just go.

Like that's gonna happen. You upset Dawn. She upset me. And I want to know where the hell Drusilla is.

Dunno. Don't care, really. About anything. She heard more shuffling. S' a lie. Care about everything, he muttered. Every buggerin'...

Stop it! Buffy was losing patience fast. And Dawn was right. Something was really wrong.



With that more forceful no,' Buffy realized where he was. She moved toward the wall, realizing that his voice was low – as if he was sitting down. Bending as she walked, she moved toward his voice, being careful to avoid the wreckage and burned fabric. As the candle surged, she caught a glimpse of white hair. He was sitting on the floor, huddled in a nest of scorched cotton – what was left of the spread that had been on his bed. His hands were in his hair – dark brown with pale blond tips. His knees were pulled up to his chest.

What's wrong? she said quietly, carefully inching forward to try and see his face.

Suddenly, he laughed an ironic bark of a laugh, bitter and hollow. Angry that he'd scared her, she reached for his shoulders. She gasped. He was as thin as Dawn had said. Skeletally thin. Frail. In her surprise, she loosened her grip, and he burrowed back further into the wall and his nest.

Oh, God, she said, sitting back on her heels aghast. Spike, what happened to you?

He began chuckling. It had a dry sound that made her nauseous. Been thinkin' about that. As he continued to chuckle bitterly, she wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself as she began to feel cold and scared.

Always thought he was such a bleedin' wanker, after. Always cryin' and moanin'. Lost all respect for him. He choked on the last words. We all did.

Spike, what have you done? she asked fearfully.

I just wanted it to stop, Buffy, he said simply, sounding reasonable. I wanted to be like I was.

Her eyes widened, but her voice was flat. You got the chip out.

There was a puzzled silence. She waited for the answer, fingering the stake in her pocket that she'd brought with her. Finally, he replied. Dunno, really. Funny, that. Maybe. Dunno. Maybe... His voice sounded vague, dreamy.

Buffy's fingernails dug into her own arms. She wanted to jerk him up out of the corner and yell at him until he yelled back.

Always whinin' and broodin'. Eatin' rats when he thought no one saw. Didn't get it. So bloody superior. His voice caught. Who's the poof now? he muttered with a thickening voice. She realized he was crying, just like Dawn had said.

she cried shrilly. Stop it!

A shaking hand reached out to touch her face. She froze, as the candle lit the tears rolling down his cheeks. So sorry, Buffy. Never wanted to hurt you.

She took a shuddering breath and sat woodenly until his hand dropped away. I know that. I knew it that night. But I was really mad at you. And then, you were gone, and...

Had to do somethin', didn't I? he chided her gently. Couldn't go on... that way. And the chip? Well, that's when things went bad. Thought it was makin' me weak, soft... He shook his head. Evil, just like you always said. Like you *all* said.

Spike, please stop it. Buffy was beginning to panic. She reached up to rub her burning nose and realized her face was wet. Come upstairs. Taking a breath, she steadied her voice. It's... dirty down here.

He looked around, as if seeing the space for the first time. All burnt up, innit? I was burnt, too, you know? Fought a demon with flamin' hands. Marked me up good, but I beat him. Beat em all. Should a seen it, Buffy. His voice thickened again, as tears threatened to fall once more. He took a deep, shaky breath.

I set em up, and knocked em down. Took all they had, and then some. Got what I went for, too. He started laughing hysterically, irony coloring the shrillness. This! My *reward*. He gasped with laughter. What a cosmic joke! From hell to more hell. The laughter trailed off, as he caught his breath. Buffy sat quietly, waiting for him to continue. He sighed. God, I feel for Angelus, right bastard that he is. It *is* a bloody curse.

Buffy stared at him. You have a soul? she whispered.

he said quietly. Doesn't fit very well, does it? He turned his face back to the wall.

You went out and *won* a soul? she asked harshly.

His eyes filled up with tears again. I couldn't... I didn't... He put his head in his hands. Can't stand it, Buffy, he said, voice muffled. Thought I could. But I can't do it. It hurts. And being all alone, livin' this...

She reached out and touched his shoulder. I'm here. Dawn's here. You're not alone.

He sobbed once and buried his head in her lap. She reached down and touched his hair. Shhh. It's all right. Shhh.

Fade out.