"Buffy," Willow begins a little while later, sipping a glass of orange juice. "You were the key."
They've moved to the couch, Willow sitting between Xander and Tara, who hasn't let go of her hand since.
"Um, hello," Dawn waves, "Sitting right here. I thought it was pretty well established that I was The Key?"
"You are," Willow affirms. "You're The Key-Key. Buffy was the key to what happened with this. Lower-case key."
"See, Dawnie?" Xander claps her shoulder, "You're still the only super special mystical ball of energy in town." Dawn rolls her eyes and crosses her arms in a very teenager-like way.
It took a few minutes for Willow to feel well enough to make it to an upright seated position, let alone a chair, though she still looked quite pale. Anya had suggested the high sugar content of juice to perk up Willow, who smiled gratefully at the suggestion and gladly accepted a glass. Soon she was able to continue her story.
"It all started last summer, when we brought you back."
"It was wrong," Anya interjects, as if proud of her moral compass, "I knew it."
"No," Willow says quickly with a frown. "Well, yes, maybe. But, it went wrong."
Eyes trained on Willow, no one notices Buffy freeze at the words, or Tara sliding an arm over to hold Buffy's hand. She squeezes it tightly, giving Buffy an intense look that leaves no room for disagreement.
"It didn't go wrong," Willow huffs frustrated, as her words trip over themselves. "I mean, we didn't do it incorrectly. The spell did what it was supposed to. But we were interrupted."
"The bikers," Xander recalls with a snap of his fingers. "They ran over the Urn thingy, breaking it while we were doing that scary channeling thing."
"Oh my god," Anya mutters. "And he flew—"
"Straight into Willow and Buffy," finishes Giles, who had taken off his glasses no fewer than three times in the span of five minutes.
"Pieces of him did," Willow explains. "His essence was fractured along with the Urn."
"So then why did he recognize me just now, and not Anya or Xander?" Tara asks. "They were there too."
At the question, Willow turns somber as shame again flickers across her face. "Because of where you were." She meets Tara's gaze, "Tara, I'm so sorry." Her voice cracks, "It was me. I did this to you. When you died. It's why I was so easily able to summon him."
"You didn't need ingredients to beckon Osiris; part of him was inside you already," Giles understands. "Tara's spirit must have still been lingering in the room after . . . after her death. And wherever Willow banished him to, she was accidentally swept along. His prison must have taken the form of what it was ensnared in . . ." he finishes, looking at Tara, "You."
Everyone is quiet—processing—when Spike suddenly blurts out, "That's why it bloody looked like Sunnydale."
Hot tears fall with Willow's nod. Giles twists his glasses. "And why Tara couldn't perform any magics. It was a soul dimension of sorts, devoid of mystical energy aside from itself. There was no source of power or energy, so to speak, to connect to."
"Until Spike," chirps Anya.
"Until me," Spike echoes.
Tara frowns, a look of intense concentration on her face as she stitches the pieces of the story together. "Spike's body was grounded to the world, but his soul connected on the plane I was in. And through his soul, I was able to reach magic on earth."
"Hang on, this is all well and good n'all, but that doesn't explain what just happened with Willow and Buffy." Spike says insistently, and with a growing lack of patience. "Why were the two of you glowing?"
"I made a trade." This, Willow is confident about. Her voice turns strong and even. "Giving Osiris the fragment of himself still inside Buffy for him leaving us alone."
"You offered to return part of his spirit in exchange for taking nothing in return," Giles confirms.
"Are you crazy?" Anya gapes, "Do you have any idea how insanely useful it is to have the help of a god in your back pocket? Need I remind you people, being able to call in godly favors comes in really handy in our line of work?"
Willow shakes her head, "It doesn't matter. It wasn't worth it."
"What could possibly be worth giving up a favor that big?" Anya asks incredulously. "You do remember the giant snake, right? And the hellgod?"
Having not spoken this entire time, everyone turns as Buffy finally finds her voice, "We couldn't risk him leaving with something that belongs to us." But her eyes, and Willow's, are focused only on one person - Tara.
She hadn't granted herself many comforts over the last several months but now, Willow snuggles contentedly into the veritable army of pillows and sips hot chocolate with a happy sigh. Her body is still a little heavy and uncoordinated, unable to make it up the stairs on her own, but warmth and strength infuses with each sip.
"I feel so fancy. Like a princess." she giggled drunkenly.
"Well don't get too used to it, princess," Xander grunted, "Next time you walk up the stairs yourself."
"Hey, I tried, but none of you would let me."
"Your own body wouldn't let you, Will."
The logic was sound, but she still pouted. "I bet Buffy wouldn't have had such a hard time carrying me."
"Yeah, well, she didn't call dibs fast enough, so the honor goes to your oldest, bestest friend."
"You didn't have to call dibs, y'know." A beat. The suspiciousness of it settles. "Wait. You didn't have to. Buffy could carry me as easily as a sack of potatoes. Why'd you call dibs?"
Xander sighs, knowing the gig is up.
"Because, as your oldest and bestest friend, I needed to tell ya something." Willow sobers immediately at Xander's serious tone.
"During the spell down there, I...I thought the worst of you, Will. Seeing you there, glowing, all magicked up, it made me remember after the bluff when there was no more magic, and I was...glad. I could do something, I knew how to help you. Everything was awful, but somehow, it felt like I'd finally gotten you back. Just...Willow. No magic, just...my Willow. The way it used to be. It was selfish and mean that I liked you when you were at your lowest. I don't want to be the kind of person who only feels strong when the people around me are weak."
"Xander."
He won't meet her eyes. "Xander," she repeats gently. His eyes are shining and his burden heavy. It's unfair for him to carry something that he shouldn't. "For a long time I thought being strong was about having power," she explains. "I know what true strength is now, Xander, because you reminded me. That day on the bluff, you were stronger than me, than Buffy, or Giles - anyone. Strength isn't about power. It's about who you are, how you love, and what you do with it."
He doesn't seem entirely convinces. "Historically, I haven't had the greatest track record of that. Just ask Anya."
"That's the thing about history, Xan. We can learn from it." A glint of light seems to penetrate his darkness. They share a knowing smile; having faced their own rock bottoms and created an even stronger foundation. "Now come, squire," Willow encourages in a bright voice, playful banter returning like a welcome friend. This darkness is behind them now. "Take me to the royal chambers."
Xander grins and poses dramatically. "As you wish, my lady."
Exhaustion catches up with her as she rests -truly rests- since before Glory. The past few weeks since Tara's return have been filled with sleepless nights of desperate research and anxiety and the months before with an empty aching inevitability of starting over. The previous two years have held nothing but death. The last time she'd been almost this content and relaxed was probably when it clung to her in red silken sheets the morning Tara died. It almost feels strange, soaking up leisure. As if she doesn't even recognize it. Between the itching of the Blackness and gaping maw of rebuilding a broken life, she'd forgotten what stillness felt like. True stillness. When the sound and fury and chaos of life stills to a meditative quiet, without the whispering shame or flushed guilt in the way. In this peace, she hears a still, small voice. Here, in the quiet, she knows who she is; everything she's always had the capacity to be - the good, the bad, the easy choices and the hard ones. She's finally...just Willow.
A gentle knock on the door jam pulls her from her thoughts. The hot chocolate still has a little warmth left in it. Willow looks up as the door opens and smiles.
She's home.