The next afternoon, a research session commenced, the Scoobies reading diligently from books Willow had picked up at Giles'. Buffy and Xander skimmed ancient texts while Willow did what she'd done best since she'd first met the Slayer: computer research.

"I did some patrolling," said Buffy, "The new pit opened right under the zoo. The zebras were… Well, they didn't make it."

"Shoot," said Willow, "It's happening more and more often. We gotta figure this out."

"Anything in the witchcraft arena, Will?"

"I mean," Willow said, "There's definitely spells that could be used to open the Hellmouth overtime, if wielded by a powerful enough witch. But we have no idea who that could be. Or if it even is a witch. Could be something totally different. It's just a theory, 'cause I saw this altar underground."

"Well," said Buffy, "Power's not subtle. Isn't there some way we could find that much of it?"

Willow's eyes lit up in a way they hadn't in a long time. "Oh, hey!" she said, "I… I guess so! Yea." The gears in her mind started turning, "Uh, if I combine a sourcing spell and a locator spell… I can probably pinpoint where that kinda power might be coming from. Maybe."

"Can't hurt to try," said Xander.

"Yes it can," said Willow, "You know it can."

"Will," Buffy said, "You don't have to do anything you don't wanna. Not if you're not ready.

The simple prospect of casting the spell made Willow's heart beat faster in her chest. This wouldn't be like healing the deer or the bird; she would have to tap into darker, more powerful magicks. Back in Sunnydale, its darkness surrounding her—who knew how easy it would be to fall off the wagon?

And that darkness—she could feel it so close now. Was she the only one who could chase it away?

Still, her resolve wasn't final until she felt that whisper in the back of her mind. It told her not to be afraid.

So, in the next half an hour Willow was burning incense and reciting phrases she'd scrawled in a college-ruled notebook. She could feel the power start to snake through her veins and in her mind's eye she imagined she was in England, supervised by Miss Harkness and Giles.

She spoke an ancient tongue, the words spilling awkwardly from her throat. As the spell continued, though, she found her voice, slipping quickly into a powerful cadence.

She pushed down the grief that was threatening to flood her mind—after all, the spell this was based on was one that Tara had taught her.

She cleared her throat, and turned the page in her notebook. Her chanting became louder. She let the climax of the spell, some powerful final word, rip from her throat with a gasp.

But Willow kept her eyes squeezed shut, afraid that something had gone horribly wrong, that she'd lost control and killed her friends, or that she'd open her eyes and they'd be black as ink.

"D-did it work?" she stuttered.

"You tell us, Will," said Buffy, "Open your eyes."

"Am I veiny? Is my hair black?"

"No, Will," said Xander, "You're fine."

"No one got flayed? Or smote?"

"'Smote'?" asked Xander.

"Willow, open your eyes," said Buffy.

Slowly she did, braced for a bloodbath. But all she saw was the proud faces of her friends and a small ball of light floating beside her.

She sighed in relief, then whispered to the ball of light, something in Latin.

Then they watched it start to move—first to its right, and then left, as if it was trying to get its bearings. But then it went straight down until it disappeared beneath the floorboards.

"Did it work?" Xander piped up.

"Uh," said Willow, "No." She furrowed her brow, leafing through her notes, "Dammit. Maybe I got the words wrong. Or maybe if I call upon the Norse Gods instead—they sometimes have better customer service."

"Well," said Buffy, "Maybe it's not magickal power we're looking for at all. Could be more demony."

"Yeah," said Willow, "I guess this is Square One." She sighed, "Sorry, Buffy. I really want to help us find Square Two."

"Don't be silly, Will," said Xander, "You are helping. We can barely read half these books ourselves."

"It's just," said Willow, "You know, it was such a big risk coming back. I need it to be worth it."

Buffy's face was understanding, wise. "Don't get caught thinking like that," she said, "Take care of yourself. Do whatever you need to do to be okay. Apocalypse comes second."

"Are you saying that because you care or because you know this Apocalypse won't matter if I go all veiny again?"

"You know the answer, Will," said Buffy, adding at Willow's look of uncertainty: "Hey. I'm proud of you for trying that spell."


The next week went better than Willow would have ever imagined when it had originally been decided that she would return to Sunnydale. They had research parties at Buffy's house like in the old days. Her friends were ridiculously patient with her and her control remained strong.

She returned to college and begged her professors to allow her to make up her missed assignments—to which they had agreed cheerfully.

"I just had some personal stuff going on last semester," Willow explained, keeping pace with one professor as she hurried across campus, "But I'll be so on it this time! I really want to complete the course."

"Of course, Willow," said her professor, "You're one of my best students. I was sorry when you stopped coming to class."

"Well be sorry no more!" The prospect of learning at the college again brought Willow so much excitement that she could hardly contain herself, "I'm back! And I'm—"

She could sense it just before it happened, cutting off her speech. An earthquake rocked the campus, and though the students and teachers around her seemed to keep their footing, Willow tumbled to the ground, overcome with the dark energy of the Hellmouth fighting its way open.

"Are you alright?" asked her professor when the shaking stopped, and Willow forced her mouth into a smile though she could hardly see her professor's face through the fog of darkness clouding her eyes.

"Yeah!" said Willow, standing again, "Just… instinct! You know, they say… get on the ground when there's an… earthquake…"

"Alright," said her professor cautiously, confusedly, "Well, I've got to get to class. I'll see you next week."

"Right. Thank you, Professor!"


So, as days went by Willow was pleased to return to her studies, and she noted how proud Giles and the witches would be that she was keeping her mind sharp.

But she had other duties, too, and now she was training alone in Buffy's backyard, practicing punches and blinking sweat from her eyes. It was more fun when Giles had helped her; the opponent and the need for his approval gave her motivation. Now, out in the yard throwing attacks at a dummy with pointed teeth, Willow hardly had something to focus on.

She could sense someone coming towards her, her bare feet in the grass reminding her she wasn't truly alone.

"What'cha doin'?" Buffy asked.

"Training," said Willow, trying to seem collected but feeling self-conscious of her skills under the Slayer's gaze.

"Isn't that my job?"

Willow paused and looked to Buffy, and then continued her assault, "Uh, the witches said I had to get fit. Learn to fight. Muscles and stuff. Body. Grounding. You know." Willow hated how she was panting, her words coming out in gasps as she exerted herself. She was stronger now, but she was no Buffy.

"Okay," Buffy said, "Well, you're breathing wrong. Try through your nose."

She did, and was embarrassed to be corrected by her friend. Willow liked to be the teacher. And being instructed by the older witches and Giles was one thing, but Buffy?

"Your angle's off too," said Buffy, "Your punch. That's gonna give you less power."

"Really?" said Willow. She tried to shift her arm, but it just felt more awkward.

"Here," Buffy took Willow's arm and moved it for her, "Try now."

Willow did, and then she continued her assault on the dummy, adding in a few kicks for good measure.

"Wow," Buffy said, "Will, you're pretty good."

"You're just saying that," Willow said, panting again as she took a break from her exercise. "I hate it. I don't know how you put up with this stuff."

"I never had a choice," Buffy said, and there was a mournful silence, "Besides, I like it. Lets me get out my anger. It feels good to punch stuff sometimes. And you can learn without books."

"That's what Giles said," Willow remembered, "That it's all, y'know, muscle memory, teaching your body. But I like the book stuff more."

"Giles give you the Slayer Training 101 in England?" Buffy felt hesitant to ask about Willow's time overseas, but the question seemed innocent enough.

"Yeah," Willow said, "I mean, he tried. It was easier training with him."

"As opposed to…?" Buffy glanced at the dummy.

"Less fatherly advice," Willow agreed.

"And less disappointed clicking sounds." There was a beat before Willow prepared to continue her workout, "Try that punch again."

Willow moved, ready to hit the dummy—but Buffy grabbed her forearm.

"Not on the dummy," she said, "On me."

"Buff," said Willow, "I'm not gonna punch you."

"No offense, Will," said Buffy, "But you are definitely not gonna hurt me."

Willow pouted, and then punched her softly in the shoulder.

"What was that?" said Buffy, "Again. Don't hold back. This is your chance not to hold back."

Willow realized how tired she was, then, of holding back: her emotions, her power, her grief. Her fist became firmer, and she punched Buffy once again. Again, and again—and then an arm came up to block her. Willow halted, afraid she'd hurt her friend.

"Don't stop," said Buffy, "Keep going."

Willow threw another punch, and Buffy blocked it. Again she tried, and she was blocked. She threw a surprise kick and caught Buffy in the side.

"Ooh," Buffy giggled, "Nice one, Will."

Willow continued her assault, Buffy blocking her effectively but Willow getting the occasional attack in, "Are we sparring?"

"Not yet," said Buffy, and she threw a surprisingly gentle punch at Willow's shoulder, "Now we are."

"Ow!" said Willow, "I mean, that didn't really hurt—how come?"

"Control," said Buffy, "Years pretending to be a normal teenage girl? I learned it pretty fast."

Willow was in absolute awe of her friend, then. Perhaps for the first time since she'd discovered that she was the slayer at all. To have such control over her strength, and to have accepted it, the responsibility and training, the discipline that it required—Willow envied her painfully.

Becoming lost in her thoughts, Willow pushed more and more force into her attacks, knowing that even her strongest punch was no match for the Slayer's thick skin. She was giddy, a goofy smile on her face that she would never have been caught dead sporting when she was training with the coven. Here she was, sparring with Buffy! And she could see by the sweat on Buffy's skin and the focus in her eyes that she was putting up a good fight, too. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she and the Slayer would have such a matched fight!

But they had, Willow realized, the pit in her stomach opening again. They had fought, just a summer ago, but then all of Willow's strength and skill was only an illusion of her magicks. Still, she was consumed with the rage and adrenaline of that fight as the memory filled her and her attacks became more violent and less focused. She forgot to ground herself, and when Buffy, focused on the fight and unaware of the shift in Willow's mood, finally tripped her and prepared to mime a stake into her heart, ending the fight, Willow reacted with one last shove that sent the Slayer flying into a tree across the yard.

Buffy recovered from the attack slowly, her head fuzzy as it had slammed against the tree. It took her a moment to realize what had happened, but she saw Willow shaking, still on the ground, eyes black and terrified.

"Oh my Goddess," Willow said, "Buffy—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…—"

"Willow," Buffy said, standing cautiously, "Look, I'm okay. Just calm down." She started to inch toward her friend.

"Don't! Don't go near me. Please," Willow said. Her fingers were flexing again, and Buffy noticed that the grass beneath her feet was dried and dead.

Buffy froze. She felt like she was coaxing an animal, "Will, it's okay. Deep breaths. Through your nose, remember? Everything's okay."

"No, Buffy," said Willow, "I… I don't have control! I can feel it, it's all spilling out."

Buffy took another step closer, and Willow backed uselessly into the wall, so supernaturally forceful that a large crack appeared in the side of the house.

"Shoot," said Willow, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Will," Buffy repeated.

"Stop saying that!" Willow shouted, the entire house rumbling as the lights inside flickered.

"Whoa, Willow," Buffy said, "Easy on the earthquakes. I'm just trying to help."

"Well you're not!" said Willow, "Stop… stop being so forgiving!" She grasped the grass around her in handfuls, like she was in pain, and those blades withered and died as well.

Buffy leaped over to her friend before she had a chance to stop her, grabbing her wrists and looking into her black eyes.

"Stop! Get away!" Willow said, "I'm gonna hurt you! Please, get everyone away."

Willow's wrist started to burn the palms of Buffy's hands like the hot asphalt had burned Willow's feet. Buffy flinched, but her grip remained.

"Will, get a hold of yourself," she said, "Remember the Earth? Rootsy nature stuff? Tune into that."

"The Earth is dark," Willow murmured, "It's got teeth."

"Okay," said Buffy, "Well so do you and me. Teeth aren't all bad. Just depends what you use them for. Couldn't eat cookies without teeth."

"The Hellmouth..."

"Nothing on the Hellmouth is too dark for us to handle."

"Except me."

"That's your choice, Will."

The burning under Buffy's palms faded away and Willow seemed calmer, though electricity still crackled at her fingers and black still tainted her eyes, though slowly it seemed to be giving way to the green beneath it.

"Guys? Are you okay?" came the voice of Dawn as she rounded the corner to the side of the house, "There was another earthquake—"

Willow was so startled by the new presence that her head whipped around instinctively, a knife from the cache of training weapons suddenly flying directly at Dawn's face. Dawn's terrified screech prompted Buffy's supernatural reflexes, and before the knife could hit its mark the Slayer's fist came for Willow's temple, knocking the witch instantly unconscious and slamming her head against the wall behind her as a sickening crack made its way to Buffy's ears. With Willow unconscious, the knife fell uselessly to the floor, inches from Dawn's face.