Buffy was awfully bored. So many nights spent patrolling, a night off seemed exciting until she ended up spending it staring dully at the ceiling.

So, when she heard the front door opening, she eagerly heaved herself downstairs, fighting the twinges of pain in her mostly-healed gut, and met Willow and Faith at the door.

But she frowned when she saw what state they were in. Faith limped slightly and nursed a scarred hand, her eyes red—had she cried? Willow was covered in red marks that would surely become bruises. Her shirt was ripped and she held her arm still against her body, her wrist hanging limply at her side, some fingers bent grossly out of shape and clearly broken. She looked dazed, eyes dilated all wrong in the light of the house. Both women were disheveled and visibly exhausted.

"Guys," said Buffy, "You look terrible. What happened?"

"Demon," said Willow quickly.

"Jeeze," said Buffy, "I leave you guys alone for one patrol…" No one laughed. "Will, let me help you get patched up." She pulled Willow inside and nudged her gently in the direction of the bathroom. Then Buffy called to the kitchen, where her sister was making a snack, "Dawn, can you help Faith?"

"No," said Faith, "I'm good. Red made with the healing." She pulled Buffy aside and spoke to her softly, "I…— She hit her head. Please make sure she's okay."

Buffy didn't know Faith was capable of the amount of genuine concern she saw in her eyes at that moment. Buffy almost gagged; she had thought they were just screwing around. Was Faith in love? "Of course," said Buffy.

Buffy sat Willow down on the toilet lid and rummaged through the first aid kit.

"Okay, so this part isn't really my forte," she said, "But Dr. Buffy is in the house, and there's even a lolly in it for you if you're good. Turn around, lemme see your head."

Buffy parted Willow's hair in the back and dabbed the cut with some alcohol. Willow hissed.

"What did this?" asked Buffy, "It get away?"

"I took care of it," said Willow.

"Can't heal yourself?"

"Too tired."

Buffy started checking the rest of her for injuries. She took Willow's hand, flexing the cracked fingers. Willow yelped a little at the pressure and drew her hand away quickly, pained tears welling in her eyes.

"Sorry," said Buffy, taking Willow's hand again, this time tenderly by the wrist. She began to gently wrap her fingers, "Good thing you're not a lefty."

Buffy noticed more of those bruises along Willow's arms—the ones Xander insisted were the results of unwholesome activities. The quiet was awkward, only interrupted by occasional soft, pained whimpers from Willow. "You know," Buffy said in an attempt to diffuse the strange inexplicable tension in the room, "You don't have to keep things from me."

"Huh?"

"I mean," said Buffy, "You don't have to keep things from me. I won't be judgemental and stuff, I'm here for you," she said, "You know. I… I know about Faith."

There was a brief pause as Willow dropped her gaze to the floor. "Faith and I are done."

Buffy was checking Willow's stomach, where her shirt was ripped. She saw dark red smears that weren't blood.

Buffy chuckled, rolling her eyes, " Right. And was that demon the one wearing Faith's lipstick?"

Willow's eyes flickered to Buffy and the Slayer saw something terrible in them. "Faith and I are done," Willow said again. Buffy looked at her for a moment, froze. She felt something in her gut—not the pain from her injury, but sick realization.

She knew that look, the one in Willow's eyes, recognized it in herself. Suddenly this bathroom felt suffocating, dangerous. It all came together. Willow was too powerful, would never let a demon get to her—not these days. But Faith…

And that night Faith laid on the couch. Dawn had gone to sleep and the lights were off. Buffy must have put Willow to bed, too, she'd figured, because she couldn't hear any voices from the bathroom and it was dark upstairs. But rest evaded Faith. Of all the things she'd done, why did this feel like the worst?

Eventually, her exhaustion was enough to bring her near sleep. But just as her eyes began to droop closed, she was suddenly grabbed by the shoulders and flung across the room.

"What—?" she was dazed, "Buffy, I—"

"What did you do?" demanded Buffy, "How dare you! I'm gonna kill you, Faith! I'm gonna really kill you this time."

She punched Faith in the face, almost surprised by how good it felt. She punched her again, but Faith didn't fight back.

"It was an accident!" said Faith, "I didn't mean— I got confused. Is she okay?"

Buffy kept punching her, till blood was leaking from the dark Slayer's mouth. "Fight back!" said Buffy, "You know what a conscience is, Faith? Well I've got one. So fight back so I can kill you!"

Buffy seemed crazed, and Faith realized this went deeper, somehow.

Buffy kept attacking her, gleeful, deranged tears escaping her eyes, before she realized she wasn't attacking Faith at all, not in her mind's eye. She stepped back, the dark Slayer broken and bloody at her feet.

"And you have a soul," Buffy seethed.

Faith gasped, spit out some blood. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine," said Buffy, "On the outside. What is wrong with you?"

"Things just got out of hand," Faith gasped, "I thought she was enjoying it."

"You guys never heard of a safe word?" said Buffy, hunching slightly as her injury bit her from the exertion.

"Never really stopped to come up with one."

"Jesus Christ," said Buffy, "Faith, she's hanging on by a thread and everyone can see it. Why are you taking a chainsaw to that thread?"

"I'm sorry," said Faith, "It was that post-Slay thrill. I played too rough. I wasn't listening, I was in my own world."

"I want you out of my house," said Buffy, "Go find another motel, or go back to prison where you belong."

Faith nodded silently, and Buffy started to walk away. But she felt bad, wasn't sure Faith would be able to stand on her own, so she reached down to pull her up.

But Faith hissed when she grabbed her hand, and Buffy looked down at the scarred red skin across her palm.

"What happened to your hand?" asked Buffy.

"It's fine," said Faith, "Will healed it mostly."

"This is healed?" said Buffy, "It must've been brutal before."

"I didn't know…" said Faith, "I didn't know I was supposed to be scared. I didn't know what she could do. She almost killed me. She was like a different person. I think… I think I met Dark Willow."

"You deserved to meet her," seethed Buffy, "I only know one other person who deserved to meet her, and he didn't live through it."

More than what had happened, what struck Willow most in the next several days was that her distraction was gone. And, without Faith's hands and lips to keep her fears at bay, Willow spiraled, dipped quickly into an anxious abyss, the unease in her mind drowning out the Earth. The Earth, the magicks that still clawed at her, the voices in her mind: It all tried to shout through, to be the loudest and to steal her attention. Focus was all she had to stay sane. Wasn't it how she dealt with all of this trauma at the beginning? Research—it was research that she turned to, until she was buried in it.

"Shut up," she muttered, her mind too loud, "Shut up!"

She flipped furiously between the pages of a book with her good hand, the other still bandaged, her mind making loose connections between this passage and another, connections only a genius or a psychopath would see. She highlighted words in yellow, damaging the centuries-old text but not caring much. She jotted something down in a notebook, then leaned over the volumes and typed frantically on her laptop, slowed only by her broken hand. She sat on her bed, surrounded by texts, different-colored pens, her laptop and printouts. Her knees bounced furiously in their criss-crossed position, her fingers shaking.

Indeed, Willow quickly grew obsessed with the Hellmouth, with studying her powers. Amy's words had created an endless song of dread in Willow's head. Now, with nothing to keep her mind from the problem at hand, she was resolved to solve it.

She read frantically volumes about the greatest magick wielders of history. Tried to figure out once and for all what her deal was. Where did her power come from?

But she felt ultimately disconnected from the witches and warlocks she read about. It was all lineages and deals with devils, souls sold to demons and gods for an extra boost. She hardly felt like a witch when she read about them. It made her feel different, stupid, like she just wasn't getting something. It became all she could think about—the possibility that it might be her opening the Hellmouth.

Willow sensed something, a presence. The Slayer, and it filled her automatically with a new fear. There was a knock at the door and Willow jumped in her skin. She wanted to say 'Come in!', but all that came from her addled brain was: "Huh?"

"Will?" said Buffy, opening the door slowly, "Will— Oh god."

Willow frowned, not sure what had Buffy so shocked. But the Slayer was aghast at the state of Willow's room, and the witch herself. Willow was always exceptionally organized, not a pen out of place. But upon opening the door Buffy saw a portrait of disarray. Open books with dog-eared pages lined Willow's bed and desk, other texts stacked on the floor. Some pages were torn out and set to the side, laying face-up on the carpet or taped to the wall. Colorful post-it notes stuck out of volumes and to the wall behind her bed, and crumpled up notebook pages were strewn across the ground. And Willow herself looked exhausted, thin. She rocked anxiously back and forth on the bed, hair unbrushed and unwashed.

"Will," said Buffy, kicking some papers from her path, "What is all this?"

"Studying," said Willow.

Buffy bent over and picked up one of the crumpled pieces of notebook paper. She unfurled it and saw hectically scribbled notes, names she didn't recognize and abbreviations like HM and SD, sigils and symbols, roots or vines, veins, doodled and then crossed out.

"Studying for what?" said Buffy, "'Creepy Notetaking 101'? Hey, don't you have class today?"

"This is more important." The piece of paper flew from Buffy's hands, tearing in her grip, and she saw that Willow had stood and taken it from her. "Gimme that."

"Hey," said Buffy, peeved. But she looked at Willow and softened, "Hey. Hey, sit down. You're shaking. Will, you're not okay, are you?"

"I'm fine," said Willow.

"I came up here 'cause you didn't come down for dinner. Or lunch. Or yesterday's dinner. Or the one before that."

"Sorry," said Willow, "I forgot."

"You forgot to eat?" said Buffy. She looked around, saw a half-empty box of Pop-Tarts and a bag of pretzels, "I've hardly seen you in like four days. Since…"

"I'm just busy." Willow looked away and sat back on the bed.

Buffy scooched some notes aside and sat on the bed beside her. "Maybe we should talk about it," Buffy said, "I wanted to give you space, but your space is… kinda a pigsty."

Willow said nothing, but she stiffened at 'pig'. She looked down at her hands, tracing the veins in them with her eyes as they snaked underneath her bandages.

"Willow," Buffy said, "What happened… You know it's not your fault. Right?"

"It's not about that, okay?" said Willow. "I don't care about the Faith thing."

"You know," Buffy said, "I don't know if this… helps. But, uh, Spike tried to do that to me."

Willow's eyes widened, "What?"

"That day," said Buffy, "You know: the day when it all happened? Spike… he tried to rape me."

Willow stared at her for a long time, unsure what to say: "Huh?"

"He held me down and he tried to rape me," said Buffy, "I was hurt. I couldn't fight back. He didn't succeed, but he tried to rape me."

Then Willow laughed, and Buffy stared at her with wide, hurt eyes. "Of course he did," said Willow.

"Excuse me?" said Buffy.

"Sorry," Willow stuttered, "I didn't mean…" She shook her head, trying to remember how to have a normal conversation with her friend, "He's evil, Buffy. He threatened to rape me when I was in high school. And he tried to do that love spell on Drusilla… I mean, Buffy, he's a vampire. Vampires use women for their blood and their sex and then leave their carcases for the rats." She looked away, hung her head. Which is exactly what I did to Tara, she thought. Willow shook her head again to clear it, and suddenly remembered empathy, her only acquaintances the last several days having been unfeeling books, "Buffy, I can't believe that happened to you. I'm sorry. You… you could never deserve that."

"Well I guess that's the thing," said Buffy, "These things aren't handed out like coal on Christmas Eve. Faith is… It could have happened to anyone. She's a loose cannon. It's not your fault."

"Look at you, being so understanding and nice," said Willow, "Why?"

"What? Will."

"You know why I was screwing around with Faith?"

Buffy shrugged, "I mean, I can't say I'd jump her bones, but she's definitely sexy in a skanky homoerotic sorta way."

"Faith…" said Willow, "...is the only one around here who would give me what I deserve."

"What do you deserve?"

"Pain," said Willow, quickly, quietly, "Hurt. Punishment. What she did."

"Willow," said Buffy, "No one deserves what she did."

"Don't I?" said Willow, "What goes around, as they say, comes around."

"Will," said Buffy, "Nothing's going around. You're not a rapist."

Willow looked at Buffy like the Slayer couldn't have said anything stupider, "Yes I am."

Buffy froze for a second, "No,"

"Yes. I am," said Willow, "I raped Tara."

"No," said Buffy, panicking a little, "Will. You would never… If Tara said no, you would never."

"But she couldn't say no," said Willow, "What do you think… was the first thing we did, when I wiped her memory? The first thing she did…"

Buffy almost laughed in relief, "Well, Will, that's not like the same thing."

"Yeah," said Willow, "It's worse. Can't you see how that's worse?"

Buffy opened her mouth and then closed it a few times, words never quite making it past her chest. She felt rage at the revelation, not at Willow for what she'd done—in the grand scheme of the witch's misdeeds, this too felt like one they could overcome—but at herself for not piecing that together when it had happened. She'd let a rapist live in her house, with her sister!

"So yeah," said Willow, "Don't feel too bad for me."

Buffy looked at Willow now, and could see the regret in her eyes, could sense her self-reflection. And, for the first time, even with this violent revelation, Buffy felt like she might really forgive Willow, trust her again. "Is that why you didn't stop her? Faith?" said Buffy, "You're way stronger than any of us."

"Part of it, I guess," said Willow, "I promised her that I wouldn't use my magick to hurt her."

"But you did," said Buffy, "Sorry. I mean, did you do that to her hand?"

"Yes," said Willow.

"Well good," said Buffy. She looked down at Willow's wrapped fingers, "Hey, why don't you heal yours?"

"They'll heal on their own."

"You don't have to punish yourself," said Buffy.

But she did, Willow thought. Now that Faith wasn't around to do it for her. "What did Faith say when you kicked her out?" said Willow.

"The kicking was kinda literal," said Buffy sheepishly, "I was really mad."

"You beat her up?"

"A little," said Buffy, "But… But even with my fist in her face, even when I threw her across the room, all she could say… All she could ask was if you were okay."

"Huh," said Willow.

"She really, really cares about you," said Buffy, "I think she might be in love. She's just really bad at it."

"Oops," said Willow.

They stayed silent for a bit, and Buffy looked around the room, "Seriously. What is all this?"

"Just research," said Willow.

"About what?" said Buffy, "The Hellmouth?"

Willow tapped her fingers anxiously against her leg. "About me," she whispered, "Buffy, where does my power come from?"

"Um, is this a pop quiz?" said Buffy, "The Earth, right? I think I've heard you and Giles say it at least a thousand times."

"But why do I have so much of it?" said Willow, "I mean, the witches in England, some of them have been practicing for years and years. They are part of these long lines of powerful witches and I make them look like… Tinkerbell."

"Well, you took a bunch," said Buffy, "I mean, you got from Rack and Giles, and the books…"

"No, no," said Willow, "I could only do that because I'm tapped into… something. Inside me. I mean, when I did that spell to re-ensoul Angel? You know that took a whole coven the first time, right? It shoulda killed me, if it was gonna work at all. Why was I able to do that? Why do I have so much power?"

"Why now?" said Buffy, "I mean, why are you being all obsess-o girl about it now?"

"I—" Willow clenched her fists, "It's nothing. I just… I feel like something's wrong with me. I'm connected to this apocalypse somehow. You see what happens to me everytime the Hellmouth does the Hokey Pokey. I just want to know why."

"Hm," said Buffy, "Okay. I get it, I do. I mean, I know all about being tapped into some freaky mysterious powerful force. But Will, you can't bury yourself like this. I want you to go have some dinner. Take a shower and put on some new clothes. Go watch TV and don't think about all this for a little bit. We are going to figure out what's happening with the Hellmouth. All of us, together. And we aren't going to let it hurt you."

But will I hurt you? Willow thought. She wanted to elaborate, to tell Buffy that she thought she might be the one causing this whole thing, even if Giles thought it wasn't possible. But she just nodded and smiled slightly.

Content that Willow would heed her advice, Buffy stood. She grabbed the box of Pop-Tarts and tossed a few pieces of trash in the bin on her way out.

"Hey Buffy?" said Willow, the Slayer stopping at the door and turning to face her, "Thank you for telling me about Spike. I'm so sorry that happened to you and… I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you through it."

Buffy smiled sadly, hopefully, "Well, you're here now."