Note: This chapter takes place in Same Time Same Place, Episode 3 of Season 7. They're sort of like scenes inbetween what we, the viewers, saw. Think about them logistically and place them chronologically. Any questions, please feel free to ask!
Walking into their old room last night was nothing compared to the horror that drowned Willow at the sight of that body, lying skinless at the base of the site. Images of ropes in a darkened wood flashed, and panic overtook Willow instantly. She stumbled backwards—as if scorched—trying to breathe, but oxygen was suddenly missing. She sucked in deep breaths trying to fill her lungs but but the air didn't come fast enough. Dizziness assaulted her and she barely made it back up the ladder.
What have I done . . . Did I do this, she thought for a moment before mentally going over the checklist the coven had taught her. As the panic threatened to overwhelm her, Willow clung to her meditation techniques, concentrated on her breathing, and sank into the earth.
The panic settled, changing into the steady, regular flow of Scooby action. It was familiar, even after months of being away. So, there was something skinning people. Ok, no big. She could do this. If this was a test, they sure picked one hell of a pop quiz. No shortcuts this time, no going big, either. She'd do things the right way this time, the natural way. She might be powerful enough to figure this out by herself, but she didn't have the control yet. So it wasn't worth the risk. Willow might not know where Buffy, or Xander, was, but she did know someone who could help her. She would not allow herself to do it alone, she needed a checks and balance system. She would build in a fail-safe and forcefully slow down the magics. She'd lost the thirst to push herself. She didn't want to be powerful anymore. She just wanted to be Willow.
So she would figure it out. The regular way, with some good, old fashioned Scooby detective work.
Her mental list was short, really only one name was on it, but it was worth a shot. Insane in the basement, Anya had said. Time to find out just how crazy Spike really was.
Ever since that night in the chapel with Buffy, Spike has stuck to the high school basement. Their plan has overwhelmingly been a disaster, with Spike scaring Buffy and Tara more than makes it worth trying to go out again. He isn't okay. This is abundantly clear now. But after that, things have been mostly fine. While Spike sits—off to the side leading against the wall, popping sunflower seeds—Tara has set up a makeshift research table poring over the miraculous books lying open before her.
Tara stopped visiting the Magic Box months ago, not long after she arrived in this farce of a Sunnydale. Once the initial hysterics of her situation wore off, naturally she went to the shop in the hopes of finding a spell or ingredient to help her escape. But when she went, all she found were empty spaces. Most of the books were blank—huge swathes of white between clumps of text she was already familiar with. There were even vacant places on the shelves where objects and ingredients once were. That didn't stop her, of course. She delved deep into whatever material she did find: gods and goddesses, resurrection, deities of the afterlife, the Osiris spell they spent weeks working on before they brought Buffy back. It was all there—everything she had ever looked up during Scooby research.
She left no spell unspoken and no page unread. But no matter what Tara did, nothing worked. Where once there was connection in life, Tara found a gaping void. It was as if she were missing a limb: the magic that was part of her being, woven into the fibers of her cells; the magic that she was born into, and connected her to every good thing in her life. The magic that was such a big part of her relationship with her mother...that kept her warm and soft when life was cold and hard. That brought her to Willow—to Buffy, to Dawn, Xander, Giles, and Anya.
Magic was how she saw the world, it colored every living thing and connected it all. Here, she felt that great connection severed. Living in greyscale, a consuming and aching emptiness surrounded Tara. No matter what material she found at her fingertips, there was nothing she could do with the information. It was inert and useless, just like her.
Resigned to her empty existence, she stopped going to the Magic Box to spare herself the pain. She built herself into routine at the house, to abide without hope; and told herself to endure. She had no choice.
But Spike brought that spark back to her—not just hope, but magic. The earth. The connection. So Tara braced herself and returned to the Magic Box one more time; steeling her heart for the disappointment and pain that had shaded her world for so long. But her miracle continued. The moment she stepped through the door, she released the breath she'd been holding and stared around in awe.
The shelves were full. No books were missing. And when she picked one at random to fan through, every single
page was filled. She felt the earth again and let it infuse her with strength, energy, and most importantly, hope. She brought books by the armful back to the basement and got to work.
Spike perks up as if hearing something in the distance. "Someone's here," he says, breaking the silence.
Tara looks up from her research and freezes. "Here?"
"Sorry," he corrects. "Not here-here. There," he clarifies, referring to the 'real world'. Tara's shoulders relax. "It's your girl," he says a moment later.
She should have been preparing herself. It was inevitable, Willow coming back from...wherever she was. She just didn't expect it to be here, in the school basement of all places. Or now.
"You went away," Spike speaks to a Willow she cannot see, "You've been gone since…" he trails off, the open ended ellipses haunting Tara with the death she hadn't known she'd suffered. "Tragedy," he says, a moment later. "Is there blood? You did it once. I heard about it." Tara freezes. It takes everything to not to dwell on the possibilities of that sentence. Spike walks forward several steps. "Slayer's here too. And Xander." Tara inches closer, not able to help herself even though it brings her no closer to her loved ones.
"There's a body," he explains to Tara. "Everyone's talking to me. No one's talking to each other." Spike turns to face over his right shoulder suspiciously. "Someone isn't here. Button, button, who's got the button?" She wonders if he's gone off again, but he seems clear-headed, controlled. "My money's on the witch," Spike accuses triumphantly.
Tara's eyes linger in the direction Spike looks, knowing that on the other side, somewhere, Willow's alive. Willow—who she last saw splattered with blood and shock—alive. Even as he says, "Red's a bad girl," she can't stop that awe from making her heart sing. "They think you did it. The Slayer and her boy. They think you took the skin."
That, finally, is enough to pull Tara's attention back to the matter at hand. They think you took the skin.
"The what?" Tara whispers. Surely he's mistaken. That couldn't have been. But the smell of Lethe's bramble wafts unbeckoned and turns her stomach. Her knees feel weak and she reaches out to steady herself but misses the wall and buckles to the floor.
"Finally," Spike says, relieved and also irritated, "They're gone." He turns, noticing Tara on the floor and quickly kneels, concerned. "Hey. You alright?"
Tara feels lightheaded. "What happened?" she asks hoarsely.
"Buffy and Xander were here—"
She shakes her head, "No. Before. What happened?"
"S'not my place, love," he says a bit regretfully.
"I c-c-can't-"
Spike seems genuinely remorseful he can't help further. "Really, I don't know what happened. Wasn't here. Was off getting this useless soul."
Her eyes are pleading. She can't bear to know; can't bear not to either.
He sighs. "As I said, only heard about it. It's nothing good. Nothing you probably haven't guessed already, now, deep down." The gaps in the answers speak volumes. "It's always the quiet ones, innit?" he finishes softly, eyes far away. She has a feeling he's not just talking about Willow, anymore.
'Made the earth scream', he said. 'They think you took the skin.'
Tara knows enough. And with the sick feeling in her stomach, she leans forward to heave.