The One Who Does Magic

Chapter 3

Willow had to force herself to move on. She missed Kennedy, but not as much as she still missed Tara. Not as much as she missed Buffy and Dawn. Not as much as she missed Xander. She was supposed to be finding herself; she was finding herself lacking. Without her friends around her, loneliness became her nesting material. That scared her. She could do that kind of thing to herself, but not to someone else.

Her mother had called the night before and filled her in on the progress of their new house. They were rebuilding in Sunnydale. Many people were. Just east of the gaping hole in the ground, that is. It should have shocked Willow, but it didn't. She knew the value of pulling together, of healing. She hoped she could apply those principles to her own life. She was going to try. She had asked for help.

The Rosenbergs had been somewhat hands-off parents, and as an adult, Willow had often felt that her mother viewed her homosexuality as an interesting sociological notation more than a real part of her daughter's life. The clinical detachment was a blessing for once. She didn't want to talk to her mother about being gay—or a witch, or whatever else she turned out to be. A topic had come up, though, and about that they had spoken freely. It had felt good.

Nothing was settled yet, but Willow felt comfort in knowing she could go home again. Now that she had made up her mind, details were immaterial. Willow would always have a job, being able to work anywhere she could take her laptop. She had also thought about maybe opening a greenhouse or nursery once Sunnydale pulled out of economical shock. She wanted to grow things, not destroy them. She had destroyed enough in the last few years, not the least of which was herself.

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It had been one of the weirdest calls he'd received in his life, but Xander was still smiling over it. He had been in Zambia for five months. It was the most rewarding work he'd done since he'd realized he was good at building things, but while he knew that it would become an annual experience—a pilgrimage he would make over and over in the years to come—it could not be his whole life.

He wasn't sure he'd get the chance to make any one thing his whole life, or even if that was a good thing for a person to do, but he knew one thing: he needed to go home. Now he had the opportunity. Willow's parents had called him. They wanted him to join the finishing crew working on their new house in Sunnydale. Always viewing Xander as an honorary member of their family, the Rosenbergs had pulled a few strings and gotten him a permanent job if he wanted it. He did. He wouldn't let a big hole in the ground be the last impression he made on Sunnydale.

Flying in on the last leg of his journey home, Xander found that more of Sunnydale was intact than he had imagined. Five months ago, it had seemed as though the world were caving in, leaving nothing behind. But something had been left. The will of the town was still there. New homes were sprouting up on the periphery of the old, the town growing in a new direction. One without Hell boiling underneath.

At the job site, Xander hugged Mrs. Rosenberg as they began a personal tour of the home she assured him he was welcome to visit even after the final nail was in place. She hoped he would be one of the family again. She asked after his parents. They'd moved to Arizona, but had promised to visit once Xander had put down roots. He didn't feel old enough to have roots; then again, he felt ten thousand years old sometimes, older than Anya, older than previously-a-ball-of-energy Dawn.

The home would be beautiful. It was an American bungalow style house with large rooms and three fireplaces. There were dual master suites. Xander joked with Mrs. Rosenberg that she couldn't stand sleeping with the old man anymore. She laughed, but assured him the marriage was fine. "We hope Willow will stay sometimes. Soon, we hope." She patted his arm.

"That's the best reason I've heard to get this dump slapped together on time," Xander joked. He was beginning to remember his smile.

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"Darling, you're pining away. Come home." Mrs. Rosenberg heard her daughter sigh and knew she was taking the wrong tack. Willow was still a stubborn girl; she wouldn't be pushed. There was only one person who, historically, could convince her to do anything, and that person was definitely not Willow's mother.

"I'm just not quite…ready. Not yet. I mean, we said a year. It's not fair to spring—"

"It's not fair not to, Willow. You can't assume he won't want to be a part of this. I've seen a lot of him lately. He's grown up, honey. He deserves the right to be—"

"—shocked out of his mind? Scared to death? Mom, that's how I've felt for the last six months. I can't do that to him. I—I can't do it to me. What if he doesn't want anything to do with me? What if he can't handle it?"

"What if he can?" Mrs. Rosenberg asked gently. She heard a sniffle on the other end of the line and knew she was getting through. "You know, honey, you can't wait any longer if you want to fly home, and I don't think a cruise is very practical."

"I know, mom. Listen, I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I know I need to decide this now. I have some thinking to do. Just, please, promise me you won't say anything to Xander. Please?"

"Of course I won't, Willow. It's your news, your life. But just bear in mind, it's his life, too. He'd want to know."

"I hope you're right."

"A mother is always right, Willow," Mrs. Rosenberg said as cheerfully as she could.

"Really? Because I don't feel very right right now." She sighed again. She felt hyperventilated with sighs.

"Oh, sweetie. Come home. I know you need to think about it. I won't harp anymore. I'm asking for your sake. You need to be with people who love you, and there are more of those around here than you think."

"Thanks, mom. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

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To be continued...