In just a few days, Willow was packed with a plane ticket in her pocket. She sat in the garden one last time, nervous and mournful. Suddenly the energy of the place seemed so much more enchanting, like she'd only explored a corner of it and there was so much more to do. Giles walked up to her, his face too gentle.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"No," said Willow, "I'm afraid."
He kneeled down, to be on her level, "What are you afraid of?"
"That I'll lose control. Go dark and veiny again."
Giles sighed heartily, "How many times do I have to assure you, Willow, your powers—"
"That they aren't gonna want me back."
"I can't promise you that the others will welcome you with open arms," he said, "But they need you."
"You really can't come with me?"
"Willow." His voice went low.
"Yeah, I know."
"It's not forever." Giles smiled a little, "Give it time. I will join you soon."
"Really?"
"Of course, Willow," he said, "I want you to get better. I don't want to abandon you."
That lifted some weight from Willow's heavy heart. "What are you gonna do while I'm gone?"
"Relax, maybe. For a moment," Giles said, and Willow realized that he'd been so busy taking care of her that he probably never got the chance to fully recover himself, "And research. I will move back into my flat but I will continue to work with the Coven to figure out how we can help the situation in Sunnydale. And then I will join you."
"Giles," Willow said, eyes getting watery, "Thank you so much. For everything. And I'm so sorry. I really am."
"I know, Willow. And I'm sorry too."
She looked at his eyes, "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
"If only I'd trained you, taught you… I let all this happen."
"Can we not throw a guilt party right now? Giles, thank you. Take it or leave it."
Giles smiled so warmly, and they embraced for a long, long time. "The car is waiting."
"Yeah. I should go."
They hugged one more time. Giles' arms wrapped around her forcefully, like he didn't want to let her go.
Finally, when they broke apart, Willow looked determinedly in the direction of the road and took the steps that would begin her journey. Giles took her bag behind her, and when she wasn't looking he slipped something inside of it. He watched her go, before following her quickly, worry and pride in his eyes.
The flight was terrifying. Willow had never been afraid to fly, nothing like that. She didn't travel much growing up but as a younger child she sometimes accompanied her mother to conferences and she'd never had any problems getting on a plane.
But the flight was 11 hours, with only one stop in the middle. And though when she'd first gone to England with Giles her powers had been weakened and she'd been conked out on tranquilizers for the duration, this time she was awake and she could feel the magicks flowing through her at their full strengths. She kept thinking intrusively about how none of the other passengers knew she could have the plane's engines exploding with a thought, or that she could smite the jet from the sky with an accidental twitch of her fingers.
And she could hardly feel the Earth, now, miles above its surface. She knew that the Earth was with her, in the air and in the metal of the plane and the fabric of her seat, but how could she remain grounded when she sat so far from the ground? She clenched her fists and grit her teeth, and each time she feared herself causing a disaster, it was the very manifestation of that very disaster in her mind that made her panic that she might make it a reality.
But every time she opened her eyes all was as it should have been. A calming voice in her head told her not to worry, but she still felt frozen in panic. She knew her anxiety was dangerous, that it was what would cause the disasters she worried about.
"First time flying?" asked the stranger beside her, an older woman with an english accent apparently noticing Willow's discomfort, "Just take a Dramamine and relax. You'll get used to it."
For some reason, Willow hated the woman. She had no idea what she was going through! Willow knew she was being irrational, but she imagined the woman choking on her wine and dying in her seat. With a gasp Willow opened her eyes that she'd squeezed shut and she was relieved to see the woman was fine.
It just wouldn't do, the constant anxiety, the constant fear that she would lose control and take the plane down with her. It was still the first flight! She opened her backpack and with shaking hands and pulled out a bottle of pills. She popped two of them in her mouth and swallowed them dry, shutting her eyes and waiting for the numbness to wash over her.
She was surprised when the healers at the coven prescribed her actual drugs. First knowing her history with addiction, and then just the fact that it all seemed unnatural. But Willow knew better than anyone that drugs were really just science mixed with nature in sterilized packaging. "Only for emergencies," the witches had warned her about the pills they would have her take when her out-of-hand emotions threatened her loss of control. They would dampen her anger, numb her anxiety. They couldn't stop her magicks, oh no, but they could help her control her emotions before her powers got out of hand. It was pleasant, sometimes, at least preferable to a magical binding, which the coven opted for in most situations. It made her feel not like herself, un-Willow. But sometimes she did not want to feel like Willow at all.
At some point she fell asleep, no longer feeling afraid that she might cast some terrible evil spell while she was unaware, and when she awoke again the plane was just beginning its descent into Chicago, where she had a layover.
She felt much better when her feet touched the ground again, and making it through the first several hours of the trip put her spirits up. She thought only for the briefest of moments that she should hop on another flight and head back to England and Giles, where it was safe, but seeing the bustling airport full of bustling people reminded her of her duty to help save their lives by helping Buffy. She wasn't up for tourism, though she had never been to Chicago, so she spent the layover getting pizza and then meditating in a corner at the airport.
Soon it was time to board again, and this time she was confident that she could control her powers until they landed. But the drug had worn off at some point while she was asleep, and now her anxieties shifted to her fear of meeting her friends again. Would they be waiting for her at the airport in California? Would they avoid her? Or insist on her constant supervision should she lose it again? She tried to sleep, but this time her nerves wouldn't let her. The hours went by so much faster, this time, and soon she could feel the jet making its descent. Earlier, she had been anxious for the flight to end, but now as travellers gathered their belongings she strove to be the very last off the plane.
What awaited her? She could feel relief again when her shoes touched the tarmac. But she also felt a familiar darkness, an anxious blackness that opened a pit in her stomach and simultaneously filled an emptiness in her soul. She came out of the gate slowly, like something was pulling her back. Her palms sweated, and she looked down instead of scanning the airport for her friends.
"Will!" she heard, then, and she looked up instantly, feeling almost betrayed by her own excitement. It was Xander, holding a big yellow sign that she could scarcely read. With him were Buffy and Dawn—they smiled, but they seemed almost as nervous as Willow herself.
"Hey guys," Willow muttered as she approached them, butterflies in her stomach.
They all seemed at a loss for words. Everyone looked so much… better, Willow thought. And she looked better, too, color in her skin and meat on her bones, no longer withering away from addiction or withdrawals. Xander gave her a warm hug, and when he retreated Buffy took his place before her.
Buffy looked deep into Willow's eyes, as though scanning for any trace of blackness. Willow smiled a little, and then Buffy gave her a hug, too.
Dawn waved awkwardly at her, but she did not move closer. She looked cautious, like a sudden move would send Willow over the edge. "Hi Willow," she said.
They drove home after that, Xander at the wheel and Dawn beside him. Buffy sat in the back with Willow, still watching her warily.
"So Will," Xander said, "Are you gonna tell us all about jolly old England?"
"It was fine," said Willow. What could she say? Mope about her tortuous bindings, or brag about all she'd learned?
"She's probably tired, Xand," Buffy offered, "Long flight."
"I actually slept for a lot of it," said Willow.
"Good," said Buffy. It all felt too awkward and too casual at the same time.
Willow was too distracted to hold a conversation, anyway—not that it seemed like Buffy or Dawn were very interested in having one. It was strange to be back home, to feel the unique energy of the Hellmouth that she'd never taken particular note of in the past. She hadn't realized how dark, how powerful the air was here until she'd been away from it—until she'd learned what it all meant.
She didn't like being in the car, boxed up, walls of metal separating her from the Earth. It was all the Earth, of course, everything that made up the car, her friends, herself. And maybe it was all in her head, but she felt uncomfortable nonetheless.
"Can I, uh…?" Willow started, but then guilt creeped into her chest, "Nevermind."
"What, Will?" Buffy asked.
Willow bit her lip, hesitant, "Can I open the window?"
"Really?" said Xander, "Will, the air is on. It's 90 degrees out there. You forget how the weather is here in SoCal?"
"Xander, open the window," said Buffy. Willow smiled shyly at her, though Buffy's gaze remained strictly scrutinizing.
It made Willow vaguely nervous, made her feel alone, but she was far more focused on the energy around her. The open window strengthened her senses, the hot breeze blowing back her hair.
Buffy watched Willow's face relax as the window rolled down, and then sized up the rest of her body, "What are you doing with your hands?"
Willow looked down. She hadn't noticed that her fingers were moving, flexing involuntarily, like she was stroking the waves of power in the wind. Of course Buffy questioned it; it was just the way her fingers moved when she cast spells. They were itching to cast, she could tell.
"Habit," Willow said, forcing her hands into tight fists instead.
Xander clicked his tongue, allergic to the awkwardness. He flipped on the radio, "How's about some FM, ladies?" The music itself was unremarkable, but it served its purpose of disguising the tension in the car.
Willow could feel the anxiety starting up again, Buffy's critical eye on her and Dawn's pointed silence, Xander's nervous jokes and every passing car reminding her that she had the power to crash theirs and kill them all in a split second. She took deep breaths, shut her eyes and grit her teeth against the thoughts. It wasn't like this in England—the Earth there wanted to heal her, but here it was feeding her darkness, she was sure of it. It was all too much! She had to go back, she needed to call Giles and he had to come get her. The pop music from the radio was hurting her ears and confusing her thoughts. She wasn't even home yet and she was already losing it!
Dawn screamed, suddenly, and the car swerved slightly. In Willow's mind she was brought back to her disastrous joyride less than a year before, Dawn in the passenger's seat as Willow used her magic to outrun a demon of her own creation in a stolen vehicle. It filled her with dread, and she shut her eyes waiting terrified for the car to crash.
But it didn't. "What the—?" Xander said with some alarm, "I'm pulling over."
"How did that happen?" Buffy asked as the car came to a halt.
"What's wrong?" Willow said, frantically opening her eyes, "What happened?"
"You didn't see that?" Buffy said, "The radio just went 'boom'!"
Willow blinked.
"Most of the dash looks okay," said Xander, "We just might have to go without any tunes for a while. Sorry Dawnster, no more before-school sing-along sessions for now."
"Hold on," said Dawn, "We just did circuits in science class. Radios don't just explode."
"Music-hatey demon?" said Buffy, "Like the opposite of the singing guy?"
Dawn eyed her, unconvinced. And Buffy reluctantly turned her head to look at Willow just as the witch was opening the door and stumbling out of the car.
"Willow," Buffy said, following her.
Xander opened his door and followed them, too, first turning back to Dawn whose arms were crossed over her chest, "Stay here. Let me know if anything else explodes."
"Will, where are you going?" Buffy called as she jogged up to her friend.
"I dunno," Willow said, "Back. I don't know what Giles was thinking. I'm not ready."
"You did that? With the radio?" Buffy asked.
"I think so."
"Look, I know not everybody likes Britney Spears," Xander said, panting as he caught up with them, "But you coulda just said so."
"I didn't mean to," Willow said, "I was just thinking, I dunno, 'this music's too loud'. And then… poof! I really didn't even know what happened. Suddenly everyone was just all, 'Ah! The radio!'"
"You exploded the radio…" Buffy said, "...Just by thinking it?"
"Ugh," said Willow, "I can't be here. It's the Hellmouth, it's you guys. It's me. It's all too much."
"Will, it's okay," said Xander, "It's just a radio."
"But what if it had been something else?" asked Willow, "What if it had been the engine? Or the brakes? Or everyone's brains?"
"You can do that?" Buffy said.
"Probably!" said Willow, "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be in a car with Dawn. Remember what happened last time?"
"Will," said Xander, "You're not driving. Everyone's gonna be okay with the Xand-man behind the wheel."
"Maybe Willow is right," said Buffy, some hesitancy in her voice, "I mean, maybe the car is making her too nervous. It's easy to lose control when you're nervous."
"I have—" Willow was going to bring up her pills, but she was so wary of falling into another addiction that she was hesitant to take more so soon. And she was worried that relying on medication to control her emotions would only make her seem more dangerous. "Nevermind."
"Fine," Buffy said, "Xander, drive Dawn home. We'll walk."
"Buff," said Xander, "We're still like four miles out. And, may I remind us all, 90 degrees."
"I'm the Slayer," said Buffy, "So if Willow's up for a walk and it makes us all feel safer, I'm down."
The offer felt warm to Willow, but she knew that Buffy would accompany her more as a supervisor, a babysitter, than as a friend. After all, they couldn't let their recently insane witch wander too far off her leash.
The women walked on the side of the road, Buffy leading the way like a bodyguard. Willow thought that no longer in the car she'd feel the warm protection of the Earth, but something still felt wrong. At one point, Buffy could sense that Willow was no longer behind her and she whipped around, expecting the worst.
But Willow had only stopped to remove her shoes. Buffy furrowed her brows, falling back to meet her. "What are you doing?"
"It helps me when I'm not wearing shoes," Willow said.
"O...kay…" said Buffy, "Will, you can't walk barefoot out here. This isn't dewey English grass. It's too hot, the cement is gonna burn your feet."
Willow pouted and stood, feeling the hot concrete sear the top layer of her skin. She stayed for a minute, walked a few steps, like she was trying to prove to Buffy that she could do it. But then her knees buckled and she had to lift her scorched feet from the ground. "Dammit."
"Put on your shoes. You were doing fine."
"It feels different, here," Willow said as she slipped on her boots and tied her laces.
"Hellmouth?" offered Buffy.
"No," said Willow, "I mean yes. But something else. It feels dead."
"I mean," Buffy said, "Besides all the living dead walking around… Will, we're in a desert."
Of course! Willow thought. In this part of California, Sunnydale was basically a desert—it didn't have the type of nature that England had. She wasn't disconnected— it was just different. Still, underneath it all the darkness in the Earth here felt too strong, and though for the moment it stayed below the surface she could feel its effort to rise above, could feel her own darkness itching to do the same.
She crawled away from her thoughts, for they were too stressful. Buffy walked beside her, now, head tilted to watch Willow closely, her stare hard. Willow looked away in embarrassment.
"Sorry," Buffy said, "I'm staring."
"I noticed. It's okay. You're the slayer, you have to size up your threats." Willow looked away, "They were always giving me weird looks. Like I might kill them."
Buffy was confused for a moment—but then she realized that Willow must have been talking about the witches in England, "Giles said… I mean, you came back early. Will, I want your real answer. Did we… was this all a mistake? Bringing you back?"
Willow stopped in her tracks, head down, "I…" She felt that nervousness, the chaos inside her that would allow her power to escape—and she pushed it down, soothed by an unheard whisper, clenching her fists and meeting Buffy's eyes, "No."
Apparently, that was enough for the Slayer, who finally wrenched her eyes from Willow and picked up her pace slightly, "Let me know if you need a break," Buffy said, "It's a long walk, and it's hot out."
"I think I'll be okay," Willow said, and she walked a little faster to match Buffy.
They were all but silent on the long trek. They stopped at a gas station to get some water and Willow fought to hide her exhaustion as the journey neared its end. What had she been thinking? Sure, she was fit now, but she wasn't "walk four miles in 90 degree weather" fit! Buffy, on the other hand, didn't seem phased at all, though as they approached the door to Buffy's home both girls were covered in sweat.
"Will, you good?" Buffy asked with a slight smirk on her lips and a glint in her eye at Willow's panting figure as the witch caught up with her. Was Buffy making fun of her? The thought excited Willow, the idea that the two could joke like pals again.
Willow just pouted and groaned in response, "Air conditioning," she gasped, "Open the door…"
Buffy fit her key in the lock, then stopped, "Will." She looked into Willow's eyes again, although her gaze was more friendly than judging now, "Do I have to worry about you blowing anything up?"
"I think…" Willow steadied her breathing, "Buff, of course there's a risk. I'm here 'cause the world needs to be saved, because that outweighs the risk. Or at least Giles thinks so. Right now, I'm good. But I can't tell you what'll happen tomorrow, or next week, or an hour from now. When I can't control it…" She sighed, "Giles thinks being around you guys will be good. We'll see. But I've learned all these things I can do to help, from Giles and the witches, like with the shoes. And as much as I want to save the world, my first priority is doing whatever I can to make sure I don't hurt you or Dawn. Or Xander. And if I do… if something happens… Buffy, you gotta stop me. Okay?"
Buffy nodded, finally opening the door. Willow rushed in, beelining for the air conditioner where she lifted her shirt to feel its cold air on her sweaty skin, "Sweet, sweet air conditioning…!"
"It's like the girl's never seen one before," said Xander, coming down the stairs with Dawn in tow.
"I didn't have one in my room in England." Willow explained, "Either it was an electricity bill thing or something about feeling the Earth in its natural state. I can't remember right now."
Xander was elated to see the goofy smile on Willow's face as she hugged the air conditioner. He glanced at Buffy, who smiled smally at him as well. "Will, I put your stuff upstairs for you. I don't know if you remember, but we have air conditioners up there, too."
Willow stepped away from the machine, her mood shifting once again. She didn't feel the threat of her magicks spilling out this time, just the whispers of grief beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.
Buffy noticed her distress, "Will, you can sleep on the couch tonight if you—"
"No," Willow said, "No, it's okay."
"Want me to come up with you?" Buffy said, "Or Xander?"
"No!" said Willow, "No, I mean… stay down here. Just in case…"
She marched up the stairs, hands shaking slightly.
"Buffy, shouldn't we—" Dawn started to say.
"Let her have a moment," said Buffy.
Willow walked slowly up to the room she'd shared with Tara. Joyce's former room. Goddess, how much death had this room endured? Maybe it was cursed. No, it was her that was cursed, she knew that. Tara had been a victim of Willow's own curse. She took a deep breath and clutched the doorknob, as if it were the only thing that could hold her up since her legs became jelly. The knob was cold, too cold considering how hot Willow felt. She turned it slowly and then stepped into the room.
She thought she could feel her. Remnants of her, anyway. Was that a thing, since this was the last place where she'd ever been alive? Maybe Willow was just imagining it—she imagined lots of things nowadays, voices in her head and colors in the air. She felt something crushing her soul, suddenly: Tara was dead! She'd thought it many times, but it hurt more now, like she'd forgotten.
The sheets on the bed had been changed, the carpet cleaned. Was that good or bad? Had Tara been wiped away? Or was it the tragedy of her death that was cleaned from the room? No, that could never be cleaned. It would live with Willow forever. But would Tara? Would Tara be with her, even now, after what she'd done?
She tried to clear the thoughts from her racing mind and she wandered closer to the bed. She could see it, by the window, where Tara had fallen. In her mind's eye Tara was there now, still laying on the red-brown carpet, face disturbingly peaceful. Willow blinked, and she was gone—and that hurt even more.
She moved closer to that spot, and she looked carefully at the floor. It had been cleaned well, the blood stains that had spattered elsewhere than Willow's shirt nowhere to be found. But looking carefully enough, she could see them, a few drops of Tara's blood permanently discoloring the rug. She placed her hand over them. It felt like the doorknob—why wasn't it warm? Tara's blood should be warm! She broke down then, magic not slipping from her fingertips but tears slipping from her eyes. She fell to her knees, sobbing.
Eventually, at least a half an hour later, the others creeped up to the room to see if Willow was okay. And what they found was not the threat they so feared, the angry witch driven insane by grief, but instead it was their friend, asleep, the excitement of the day having apparently caught up to her, curled up on the carpeted floor where Tara's body had once lain, drooling slightly and traces of tears still staining her cheeks beneath exhausted puffy eyes.
