Xander woke with a start, sweating, tangled in bedclothes and memories. It was far from the first time, but that didn't make it any easier. It was Willow again. It was always Willow: screaming, crying, unconscious, black-eyed and trying to end the world. Willow in pain. He hoped he was wrong, but he felt he was seeing these flashes for a reason. He wanted to go to her, but he wasn't supposed to. There were five months left.

He'd asked Mrs. Rosenberg for Willow's phone number, and she'd obliged him, but he'd been too afraid to call—afraid to hear she was happy without him, afraid to hear she wasn't. She'd written a few times. She always said the same things: "I'm fine. I miss you," which, to Xander, were mutually-exclusive conditions. He was not fine missing her. He was afraid for her, and he didn't know why.

During the day, he tried not to think about her, or to think only of good memories. There were more good than bad. Why was he dwelling on these nightmares? They couldn't mean anything real, could they? But he was supposed to be the one who sees. Maybe he was seeing in his dreams what he couldn't let himself believe in daylight: that Willow was in trouble. And if she was, he had himself to blame.

"Xander, you ignorant slut," he chided himself for the thousandth time. Every time he tried to be positive about Willow, every string of good memories—they all ended the same way: with Willow in his bed the night they'd saved the world. He'd been dizzy with grief, relief at having lived, guilt over feeling the relief at having lived when Anya hadn't…every crappy emotion he'd ever tried to hide, all ganging up on him at once. That was no excuse. He'd had no right.

Of course she'd have done whatever it took to comfort him. She always had. Giles had said once that Willow was the best of all of them, and he'd been right. His best friend. His Willow. But she wasn't his. He'd acted like she was, taken comfort in her and so much more, and she'd given him everything she could give. Things she shouldn't have to. Things a lesbian doesn't give a guy, no matter if that guy is her best friend. He'd tried to rationalize it a hundred different ways, but it always came out the same: he'd taken liberties with his friend, and she needed a year to get over it. That is, if she ever did.

.

Willow woke up for the fourth time that night, uncomfortable, hungry, inexplicably sad. Well, not inexplicably. She looked out the window at the night sky, so clearly visible without any trees to block her view. Her old room had had a tree shading the window—shading the whole side of the house, actually—but this room was…well, her parents assured her it was hers as long as she needed, and it was a beautiful room, with built-in bookshelves all along one wall, an elevated reading nook by the window, everything she could ever want. But the thing was, it wasn't really hers. "Nothing is really mine," she sighed.

As if on cue, she was kicked in the ribs.

"I meant to say…well, the thing is, baby… Well, it wouldn't be right to claim ownership of another human being, what with slavery being abolished and all. And even if it weren't, it's more of a co-ownership type thing. A limited partnership, you know? We'll figure it out eventually," she said reassuringly. Whether her intent was to reassure the baby or herself, she couldn't say. If it was for her, she wasn't sure it was working.

"See, honey, your daddy isn't quite sure he wants to be part of the…er, company. Well, that is, he doesn't exactly know about the company. But I'm sure when he finds out, he'll be all over those third-quarter projections…"

Yeah, it wasn't working. For one thing, a fetus has very little business sense, and for another, Willow was pretty sure she was mixing about ten metaphors and none of them were helping her illustration. Not that she needed one anyway. The baby seemed more interested in jumping on her bladder than listening to a feeble explanation of why its parents weren't both aware of its existence.

"I wish I knew whether you were a girl or a boy, baby. Not that I have a room to decorate for you or anything… Oh! But don't be worried. Everyone will love you. We'll get this all figured out. I promise." It was a promise she was resolved to keep, for her baby and for herself. With her resolve face securely in place, Willow made her way to the bathroom. Again.

The next morning at breakfast, she made her announcement. "Well, I'm ready to do it."

"You're going to tell him?" Mrs. Rosenberg asked.

Willow nodded resolutely. Then slightly less resolutely. And then determinedly again.

"That's wonderful, honey. How?"

"Hmm. I don't know for sure yet, but…well, any ideas? I mean, from a psychological perspective, what would be the best way? I don't want to freak him out, but I'm pretty sure that's unavoidable. Should I just invite him over here and…uh, I guess just answer the door?" Her face clouded with doubt as she looked down at her tell-tale stomach.

Her mother got up and came around the table to give Willow a hug. She sat down next to her and patted her hand. "Sweetie, the important thing is that he has the opportunity to be involved. I know I can't promise you that he'll be immediately overjoyed, and even if I did make you that promise, you wouldn't believe it. You're still my smart, stubborn girl. You need to find out for yourself." She smiled at her daughter, and Willow smiled nervously back. "But there's one thing I can promise. This baby is going to be very special to both you and Xander. For all these years, you've been special to each other. Don't deny him the chance to take another role in your life. And, honey?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't deny yourself that chance, either."

Willow looked at her mother with wide eyes, a denial on her lips, but Mrs. Rosenberg put her hand on her arm to halt her protest.

"I know I haven't asked a lot of questions in the last couple of years. You may think I view your life and your…er, sexuality with clinical detachment—"

Willow grimaced. That's exactly what she had been thinking.

"—but you're still my little girl. It was hard for me to talk about those things with you. It still is. And I'm sure it's weird for you, too."

"Ha! Weird? Well, yeah. Understatement of the decade."

"I guess we can agree it's uncomfortable, but I do want to say just one more thing."

Willow looked skeptical, but nodded.

"I'm no expert on sexuality, but I feel like I'm an expert on my daughter and her best friend, and I know what you've been through together over the years. I know you had very strong feelings for Xander when you were in high school." She didn't want to embarrass her daughter, but she waited for her blushing nod before going on. "I know it hurt you that he didn't feel the same way. And I know you were terribly hurt by Daniel—"

"Oz, mom."

"Right. By Oz. And Tara was a kind and wonderful girl—"

Willow felt tears come to her eyes. "She was."

"—and her love was very healing to you. She was a special person, Willow. Everyone could see why you loved her, and nothing you do and no one you love after her will diminish that. Do you understand what I'm saying, honey?" She rubbed her daughter's arm and felt her own eyes welling with tears.

"Yeah, mom. I do. I just—I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't know if it's that simple. I don't know how I feel about Xander, and regardless of whether I can figure those feelings out and what they turn out to be, it might not matter to him. He's lost someone, too, and he didn't ask for this." She gestured to her overalls-covered stomach. "But even though I'm scared of what he might say or feel, even though I'm…well, pretty freaked out over the whole idea of breaking the news, I appreciate that you're trying to help. I guess a girl always needs her mom, huh?"

"I hope so, honey, because I always want to help, if you'll let me. And Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you call Buffy and hash out how to talk to Xander? I know you haven't spoken to her for a while, so it's about time. And she's always been able to help your confidence. Besides, whatever happens, you've got a little one to look forward to. Maybe you girls can talk about baby themes." She refilled Willow's juice and left her to her contemplations, which she knew were significant. She hoped that her daughter knew she always had a place to stay and a large list of people who loved her. Even more, she hoped Xander was at the top of that list.

.

To be continued...