Note: This chapter takes place in Selfless, Episode 5 of Season 7. They're sort of like scenes in-between what we, the viewers, saw. Think about them logistically and place them chronologically. Any questions, please feel free to ask!
"For god's sake, shut your whimpering mouth."
The magic had felt fudge-like: sticky, warm, and much too rich. With the spider gone, the shattering glass brought her back to herself and Willow stood back, gasping. It had taken more out of her—much more than she'd expected. She hadn't drawn from the earth this time, instead acting instinctively without thought to consequence. The aftertaste of the magic turned thick and sour.
Willow turned back to the girl, more afraid of herself than the spider that had nearly penetrated her barrier. Is that how Dawn had looked when I'd faced her? Tiny and frightened and alone?
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered.
It'd unnerved her. She was frightened at how easy it was still, after everything, to make the wrong decision. How instinctual it had become to pull from more powerful magics.
Despite months in England meditating, training, and focusing her energies, Willow herself could still be so easily unleashed. The person that haunted her, the one with black eyes and unchecked arrogance and selfishness, wrecking havoc because she could. Because she had wanted to. The Willow she never wanted to be again. The one she was ashamed of.
The thought of it filled her with fear, set her heart racing, skin itching.
"Giles, no," she said flatly.
"Willow you must. Magic isn't simply a box you lock and ignore."
"Uh, yes! I can! With the biggest lock ever and a side of throwing away the key, please and thank you."
"It's a part of you, it always has been."
God, she hoped not.
"And look at me, Giles," she shot back desperately, clutching at her chest. "Look where it got me," her mouth twisted.
"Magic isn't addiction, Willow," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It is choice."
"Choice? Choice!? You think I'd choose this?" she demanded. "Giles, I-I can't breathe."
"It was always there, Willow. The potential of choice."
Who was she then? The girl who forsook Harvard to stay in Sunnydale with Buffy? Or the one who chose magic because she wanted to and it was easy.
At first she'd gotten more power because she needed to: To help. Protect. Save. And then, she got more because she could. Tara was right. Tara was always right. She was so blind and it had cost her everything.
"Willow, the first successful spell you ever did was a vampire ensoulment. A rare feat for even a practiced and expertly trained magic-user. And yet you did so from a hospital bed with less than a year of self-taught magics. That type of magic doesn't come without a price. I should know, remember? We're the same, you and I. From the beginning you were on your own. Suffice to say, it was always within you. You were always strong with thirst that begat arrogance, perhaps, but also determination. Bravery. Strength."
She barked darkly. "Right, like I'm strong. Addict, Villain-"
"Scooby," he interrupts gently.
Amazon.
She deflates and looks at him wearily, so wearily. "I think I forgot, Giles. I forgot how how to be one." It comes out so small but his eyes, patient and kind, hold her steady.
She chooses.
"I can't," Willow said later when she met Buffy's eyes. "I'm sorry." As Buffy wordlessly turned to find Anya, emptiness filled Willow once more. She looked down shamefully as the front door slammed. When was the last time she was able to stand by Buffy's side when she needed her and faced the darkness together?
When she walked out that door, all Willow could see was the Buffy she faced against those months ago. It sickened her. Even with all the magics, it was never Willow's spells that were weak, it was Willow herself. The slip of control that morning at the fraternity was proof.
The magics, she realized with a start.
She might not be strong enough able to face Anya, to tell her the truths that burned too hotly in the shame of her heart, but she knew someone who could.
D'Hoffryn.
The walk back to her apartment was like molasses, slow and dark. Tears dried in layers on Anya's face, cheeks tightening as more still trickled down. Anya always hated crying, she found it so pathetically weak and human.
Which was exactly what she was, now. Again.
As the day roiled in her stomach, Anya absentmindedly wandered through the streets, keeping to the parks and side streets. All of her friends were gone, human and demon alike—she'd managed to betray both in one day. Flashes of the frat house carnage replayed in her mind and Anya ducked off the sidewalk to dry heave into the bushes.
She wiped her mouth with the edge of her sleeve and continued into the apartment she called home, empty as it was. She lethargically dropped the keys on the table and jumped, startled by the figure on the couch illuminated softly by a small table lamp.
"What are you doing here, Willow," Anya asked raggedly, too exhausted to be irritated.
"I lied earlier. I do get it. Needing them to hurt. Knowing they deserved it," Willow confided softly, hands in her lap, eyes downcast. "Hoping it would feel better."
Anya's stomach rolled again but there was nothing inside anymore. She could see tears brimming in Willow's eyes. Anya walked forward silently and sat in the chair opposite the couch but keeps a small distance, the space between buffering their hurts.
"We can be good again," Willow finally said thickly.
Anya barked a dark laugh, "Did you see what I did today, Willow?"
"I don't think that visual will leave me anytime soon, no," Willow admitted.
"Then how can you say that?" Anya accused angrily. "How can you say we can be good again after the things we've done."
"What other choice do we have?" Willow's voice rose to meet Anya's, "I close my eyes and I see—" she broke off and looked away. "It doesn't go away. I see him, and the cuts I put on Buffy and Xander's faces, and I just—" Willow deflated, looking out the window. "We can be good again because they want us to be. I don't believe in myself much these days, but Buffy's always been my hero, Xander's always been my best friend, and I trust them more than I trust myself, so. . . Fake it till you make it, right?" she finished with false cheerfulness. "All I want to do is give up, but the thing that keeps me going is knowing they wouldn't want me to. And I never want to hurt them again, so, I won't."
But Anya was too empty for saving graces. She had trusted Xander, once, and look where it had gotten her. She absentmindedly rubbed her finger where the engagement ring used to be. There was a rustle as Willow stood and shuffled to the door, but Anya made no move to escort her out.
Willow paused as she opened the door, "You're not alone, Anya."
Anya wished she could believe her.