Returning to my stories is the only thing that makes coming back from holiday bearable. I could happily write all day and never step foot in my office again. Oh well. Anyway, here is the next chapter for all my patient readers. Thanks so much for all the reviews! Only 10 away from 100! (Not that I'm counting or anything.) Enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Willow ran her fingers distractedly through her hair, making the red tangles rumple messily and giving her the slight appearance of one who had just got out of bed. Her features creased in concentration as sharp eyes darted across the screen. Even as the cyber chat of the Wiccan site filtered through her mind, the witch's thoughts were anything but focused.

The casualties of previous nights weighed heavily on the weary girl. They were fighting and training harder every day but each sunset brought more bodies. The vampires gloated and mocked each time they were just too few, too exhausted and too late to stop them. They were losing.

Willow quickly brushed off the weak moment. She couldn't afford to think like that. They'd find something; they always had before. Yet, a little voice murmured gloomily in the back of her head, they'd always had Buffy before. She suddenly thought how strong the others were, to have lived with this hopelessness hanging over their heads for so long and to still keep fighting. No, it wasn't hopeless she reminded herself – the forces of evil would be beaten back. Like always. Right?

Turning back to the information before her, the distracted Wicca rubbed at her tried eyes. Inspired by her research and chats with Jenny, she was keen to delve back into her magical studies as much as she was able to. So between the endless preparation and patrol, she had taken to scanning online sites and pouring over any volumes she could get her hands on. Curious for any spells she could work to their advantage, anything to help tip the scales in their favour. Her explorations had yielded several new rituals and charms she was eager to try out. Magic was like exercising a muscle in some ways; the more you practised, experimented and stretched your endurance, the stronger and easier to control it became. In her experience, channelling your energy into versatile power like that relied as much on physical strength as it did on mental and emotional. It was quite the cardio work-out when she thought about it. There was still so much she had to learn, and Willow was pretty excited about taking on the challenge.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as a small frown settled on her brow. Though…she might give it a few days before she visited the Magic shop again.

Leaning back in the stiff chair, she glanced over the small office she was currently sat in. Memories tugged at the corner of her mouth as echoes of past conversations whispered in her ear. Yet as much as she loved these walls, she couldn't deny the break the other day had done her good. She might have been getting just the tiniest bit obsessive with the research. Maybe. Just a little. She didn't want to make Giles look bad after all.

The library had kept a relatively safe sanctuary during the weeks she had been here. So much so that it had almost felt like old times. Willow would catch herself expecting to see Xander wander through the doors at any moment, flash that cheeky smile she adored and toss out a wildly inappropriate comment on the oppressive mood. The Watcher would sigh and despair at their inability to carry their duties with appropriate aplomb, as she tried not to giggle too loudly behind his back. Buffy would happily join in on the teasing before perching on the long table and filling them in on the latest bad she had faced off with.

The dreamy smile slipped off her face. She caught herself a split second before the first drop could escape her eyes. Every day, regret gained weight in her heart and her nights were tormented with unresolved conflict. She missed them. So much. Willow had sworn that she would try to stop dwelling on her decision, but had she been terribly naïve? People changed, lives changed. Nothing could ever stay the same; you could never go back to the way things were. Maybe some things were just never meant to be.

And now she had lost them. Her best friends in the whole world. She had done a flat-out exchange. Buffy and Xander for Oz. What kind of choice was that? It was impossible.

Willow stabbed a little too hard at the keys and shoved the mouse violently across the mat. Yet, it hadn't seemed like an impossible choice at the time. She had barely blinked at the life-changing sacrifice she had made. How could she have tossed it all away? Why didn't she stop and breathe; why didn't she take a moment to actually think about the consequences? Would… would she have changed her mind?

Her body flinched in silent objection.

Footsteps echoed through the main library floor, dragging a miserable Willow from her reverie. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at the screen and tried to remember what she had been looking for.

"Willow? You about?"

"Michael. Everything alright?"

"Oh Giles, hey. Yeah, everything's cool, just looking for the bookworm."

She couldn't help but smile at that. Not so very long ago she would have been upset at the nickname and ashamed of her nerdy habits – but little reliable Willow was growing up and taking control. Another slice of Xander-missage cut through her at the note of affectionate teasing in the other boy's voice.

"Goody! Research party!"

"Will, you need a life in the worst way."

The smile died on her lips. If only she could speak to them once more. She never even said goodbye… Shaking herself out of the memory, she heard the librarian direct the inquirer towards her dungeon. Willow frowned as she realised how much she had commandeered Giles's office since her arrival. Oops.

"Hey! How's it going?"

Twisting in her chair, she smiled warmly at the boy who swung his lanky frame into the small room.

"Well, I think I'm going a little cross-eyed but on the upside, my translating skills are definitely improving." She cast a thoughtful glance at the stack of books beside her. "Though, it's a bit of an anti-climax when you spend the better part of an hour deciphering something, only to find out the guy was talking about the best conditions for growing mandrakes." She shrugged. "And you?"

Mike laughed and flung himself onto the sofa. The old leather sighed under the abrupt weight.

"Hey, sorry but you knew what you were signing up for! Welcome to the office job from Hell, and you're practically full-time. Giles should start paying you wages or something."

Willow smiled a little sheepishly. "Ha, yeah. Maybe I feel a little guilty getting my room and board for free. Besides, I like to feel useful. Someone's gotta help Giles keep track of all these different collections. Y'know for a librarian, he's got a terrible personal filing system. He should really have these coded by date and language and demon species…"

Mike shook his head with a grin. "You're such a geek."

She blushed faintly in embarrassment before sticking her tongue out at him, feeling childish. He laughed and Willow took the opportunity to change the subject. "How are the war-wounds healing anyway?"

"Yeah, good." The student touched a hand just below his ribcage experimentally. "Just a dull twinge now and then but other than that, all better. I swear I'll never doubt Miss Calendar and her weird and wonderful potions ever again. She definitely knows her stuff. Now, why don't they teach that kind of thing in school? A hell of a lot more useful than that stupid Pythagorous theory if you ask me."

Willow missed the rest of Mike's grumble about the school curriculum. A frown crossed her brow at the mention of her fellow Wicca. Jenny had been acting strange towards her ever since last night. Not unfriendly or anything but just distant, a little off. She had caught the teacher watching her a few times, expression a confusing mixture of concentration and troubled anxiety before she quickly covered it with a light smile. They still talked and laughed and exchanged ideas, but there was something about the way Jenny was avoiding her gaze, turning away with something that felt almost like guilt, that was making her uncomfortable. She didn't know what had changed, but the thought that she had somehow upset her friend was churning nervously inside her, and she only wished she knew what she'd done. Willow thought briefly of consulting Giles before reluctantly dropping the idea. He'd been a little weird around her today too…

"What about you?"

Willow started a little as Mike's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up blankly for a second before her mind quickly caught up. "Oh," she glanced down at her hand, moving her fingers across her wrist as she twisted the joint gently. She had finally taken the bandage off last night and the bruise was now only a faint yellowish colour. "Yep, everything seems to be in working order."

"Cool. Hey, you alright?"

She looked over and quickly smiled, pushing aside her lingering worries. "Yeah, just…I dunno. Truthfully, think I'm getting a little bored. Stuck in here I mean. Kinda sucks being dead – but not." She slumped back in her chair and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "I mean I get why I have to hide and keep out the way…it's just, I'm beginning to feel a little like Bertha Mason." Catching the strikingly Xander-esque blank look on his face, Willow hastened to explain her random reference. "Cause y'know, Jane Eyre? The mad wife in the attic? Never mind, it-it was dumb. I'm in a weird mood today."

Mike shrugged and brightened up in response to Willow's glum expression.

"Oh, no it's not you. It's just - English Lit references? Lost on me. Oz is your man for that."

"Hmm?" Willow looked up with casual interest.

"Oh yeah." Mike pulled idly at the ragged cuff of his jeans. "Good at English, though he doesn't deserve to be. Pays even less attention than me from what I hear. But he always seems to test well somehow. Jerk."

Willow smirked at the muttered insult said with a grudging respect. She straightened her lips as he glanced up and over at her.

"You're not missing much in class, believe me. Besides, it's kinda cool - it's like you're our little secret!" He watched her raise her eyebrows and quickly assured; "Not in a creepy-stalker-obsessive way! More like… a secret weapon or something."

Willow blinked and burst out laughing. Mike grinned for a second before joining in, and for a moment the small office echoed with the sound of teenage mirth.

She had missed this. Getting to laugh over stupid things, feeling normal… having friends. Mike looked over at her and a strange look passed over his face. Willow caught his eye and her giggles slowly calmed, a questioning frown forming on her face. He shook himself.

"I'm sorry. It's just…you're so different. From her."

"Oh." Willow didn't know quite what to say to that. She thought she understood what he meant, but it was a subject they rarely broached. It was all still a little strange to think about. She fidgeted awkwardly. "Well, that's good. I mean, I'm glad not to be an evil vampire too. Not my idea of big fun."

"Yeah."

His face became unreadable. She watched him pick at the threads of his scuffed jeans, a little worried.

"Mike?"

He glanced up briefly before talking to the fraying fabric under his fingers.

"It's just…so weird to think that you and that - thing - were once the same person. When, when you're…" he swallowed hard but still didn't look up. "…turned, you're really gone aren't you? Everything, is lost. The things they do…"

He trailed off into silence and Willow felt a shiver ripple over her skin. She looked sadly at the quiet boy, who looked so young all of a sudden. They were all just kids in the end; lost in a world full of monsters, forced to fight things that none of them could really understand. She wanted to tell him that she was scared too, that she had never been the strong one. She had followed but Buffy had led; she had never had to fix things all by herself. Willow wasn't a leader, she wasn't a big hero. She was just a girl fighting because the battle had to be fought, and she always would as long as there was something and someone to live for.

"I only saw her once."

His voice had dropped to almost a whisper as he finally met her eyes. The soft words cut through Willow as sharp as a blade. She drew back an inch but held his gaze.

"That night."

The statement hung between them for a long second as a little more of the picture suddenly clicked into place. But did she really want to see it? She'd never even thought about the possibility that he could've also been there that fateful night. A slick, cold feeling slid into the pit of her stomach. Finally she swallowed and broke the silence. "At the, the factory?" She felt the need to speak, to encourage him to keep talking. He clearly wanted to get it out and she was morbidly fascinated, despite herself.

He nodded tightly, his eyes becoming distant.

"I'd never seen them before. Not up close. I mean I'd heard the stories and rumours, wild tales of people getting dragged off into the night by demons craving blood. I don't know…Things like that aren't supposed to exist in the real world. I guess it's so much easier to live in denial – no matter how blinkered and stupid and forced it is – when you don't have the proof of your nightmares, looking you right in the face and… smiling."

Willow's eyes widened as she soaked in every word. She saw the small shudder he attempted to hide at the memory. The memory of her; as she was, had been. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of the sick pain she'd inflicted on her friend. Even if it wasn't technically her - like he'd said, they were one and the same in some ways. Once more she felt the tug of a connection she couldn't quite cut to her parallel self. She wanted so much to reach out and hug the boy who was hunched over on the couch, to apologise for everything she had and hadn't done until he hugged her back, but she knew he needed to finish.

Her brow pinched in empathy as she waited for him to find his voice. His words rang in her ears, sounding almost unreal. He'd watched her terrorize and murder helpless innocents; the vampire she once was here had mocked their imminent death right to their faces and delighted in their hopeless fear.

No wonder he had hated her.

She was suddenly amazed that he'd managed to put it behind him as quickly as he had; was able to differentiate between her and the demon that had nearly killed him. A soft ember lit up within her chest, warming her heart and blocking out the creeping chill for a single moment. He'd had every reason in the world to never trust her again.

"What, what happened?" she asked as gently as she could, horrified curiosity getting the better of her.

Mike hesitated before shifting to sit up. "They had us all in these cages, like livestock." His mouth hardened in a bitter line. "I suppose that's what we are to them. You- her," he quickly corrected himself before taking a deep breath. "She was up with the Master on this platform, along with that other one. They were overseeing everything."

Xander. Willow felt her knees tremble and was thankful she was sitting down. She wasn't sure she could listen to the story of how her best friend died.

Mike's eyes had glazed over slightly as he recounted the memory of that tragic night. "The factory floor was full of them, it felt like they were everywhere, and he was addressing them all like a politician at some kind of great ground-breaking ceremony. Going on about progress and technology and the future of their kind." His face twisted in an angry, mocking expression. "He was going to show them a better, more efficient and civilised way of slaughtering us."

Willow watched as the lines on his face slowly softened into bare emotion. "We didn't know what was happening but we knew we were going to die. They were going to kill us off one by one in demonstration of his great vision. The girl beside me couldn't stop crying…" He faltered as the scene absorbed his mind. He remembered that one girl so well. For some reason her terrified, mascara-streaked face and bright pink nail varnish was burned into his memory; a bright snapshot amid the panic and adrenaline that filled that night.

She'd found his eyes for one searing second; wide and questioning and almost accusing, before her boyfriend pulled her into his chest to muffle her hysterical sobs, edging them both as far away from the door as possible. Well, he had assumed he was her boyfriend. He could have been a classmate, or her brother, or even a complete stranger for all he knew. People did that; clinging to each other for desperate comfort in their dying moments. Human nature was a curious thing.

Snapping himself out of the vivid image, he brought his attention back to Willow, only to find her looking so upset at his words that he suddenly debated if he should stop altogether. This wasn't really fair. It wasn't her fault. None of that was her fault. But he could see the wrongful guilt welling in her eyes and it hurt him much more than it should have. "Will, maybe I—"

But she shook her head, interrupting his tentative objection. "No. Please?"

He knew she was asking for his permission to continue. It was his story and his decision at the end of the day. Mike sighed. He may well regret this.

"They..." He paused and cleared his throat, trying to keep himself grounded in the present against the violent pull of the past. He swallowed hard. "They opened the gate and pulled someone out, a girl. I-I think I'd seen her around school before, but we'd never spoken. I didn't even know her name. They shocked her with something…to paralyse her." A familiar nausea washed over him as echoes of screams and grasping hands filled his mind. He'd been just out of reach. It was a horrible feeling, failing to save someone as you tried to save yourself at the same time. "They placed her in this machine…they wanted the blood fresh…" An involuntary shudder ran through his body, and he wished for the hundredth time that he could just forget the whole nightmare. Why did he have to remember? Why did trauma have a way of imprinting itself on his mind with such gruesome clarity? "The machine, it injected all these needles, it…drained her…still alive. It only took seconds."

Willow clutched a hand around her arm, expression one of sickened horror. Mike quickly moved on, rushing to finish the depressing story. His jaw twitched with the haunted anger that crossed his face as he spoke. "They brought him a taste of blood they had just pulled out of her and he raised the glass and toasted their accomplishment. Like they were so proud of the bright future they were creating… and she was just lying there, completely still - dead . Like a piece of meat on that steel table."

'The future! The future!'

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the voices back. He'd heard them enough through so many fitful nights since then, and the raging feeling of helplessness never really went away – no matter how many of them he managed to kill.

"Everything turned to chaos pretty quickly after that. I didn't really see what happened but suddenly people were shouting and scattering." He stared down at the floor between them and found he couldn't quite remember how this conversation had begun or what had possessed him to even think of dragging her down this wretched path with him. But it was too late now.

"I just remember that someone broke the gate and started pulling us out, trying to give us a chance to escape, I guess." He glanced up at her face. "Oh. Um...Angel, right?" Willow nodded mutely in confirmation, looking slightly dazed and a little pale.

"Didn't do much good. I suppose some chance is better than no chance at all, but all it did was send us straight into a massacre. There was too many of them, we were outnumbered and overpowered. People charged out, panicked and clumsy, and the vampires fell on us. Trapped and scared witless and struggling through a forest of limbs, we were pretty easy prey for them to pick off. It was like someone had rung a bell for feeding time."

He breathed out and clenched his hand into a fist to stop the shaking that was threatening to break over him. "I fell down behind a part of the machine in the trample. It was surreal. I could feel bodies at all sides, people running in all directions like no-one could find the way out. I couldn't tell who was fighting what, but people were dying everywhere I could see…"

Limp forms piling up around him as the vampires greedily drank their full. Occasional clouds of dusted bone and flesh that drifted through the scene. He never did see that girl with the pink nail varnish again.

"I just lay there." He looked to the other side of the room, his voice hard with self-reproach. "I hid. I couldn't move, I couldn't stop watching. It's true what they say about car crashes: it's morbidly compelling to see tragedy unfolding in front of you. Even though I could see it happening all around me, it felt kinda like a dream. Like I was only watching and wasn't really there. That's when they jumped in."

They. Willow bit her tongue to keep from speaking his name. It wasn't really him; she had to remember that.

"I kept glimpsing this blonde girl through the riot. She was at the centre of the fight, the one they were heading towards. I mean, I'd never truly believed in real demons before then, so of course I'd never heard of anything like a Slayer. Giles only explained all that afterwards. Looking back, she was incredible. I'd never seen strength and speed and moves like that outside of movies. But I just remember thinking…she didn't look scared." Mike frowned softly. "She was surrounded by death, but she didn't seem to react to it at all. It was like she was just going through the motions, like she was resigned to it all." He shook his head. "I can't imagine that: ever becoming so used to something, so used to death and horror and loss, that it doesn't even faze you anymore. I dunno, it just seems like it's gotta be a really sad and empty way to live your life."

And lonely, Willow whispered to herself. Tears stung the back of her eyes, threatening to spill over and never stop. The thought of Buffy, any Buffy, having such a hollow and defeated view of the world, tore through Willow's heart like a bullet. She was under no illusions. Slaying was a rough gig. Buffy had said so herself that too much alone time wasn't healthy. Without friends to help share the darkness that duty brought; to balance the jaded anger with love and daft jokes; to confront you over mistakes and stand by your side regardless - that dangerous destiny could crush the light from the strongest of spirits.

She'd had no-one. No Willow and Xander to confide in and laugh and argue with. No Giles to annoy and lean on, to trust to keep her right. To live in that world full time was to risk losing yourself to it.

Her doubt and regret from earlier came crashing back, so strongly that it felt like a bruising weight pressing inside her chest. She suddenly wondered what had happened to Buffy's mom in this place. Where had she been for the Buffy here?

"She managed to fight them off for a while. But when those two joined the fray, things went from bad to worse. They were brutal; they just seemed to be so much – stronger than the others. I saw him going for her…but I didn't see much after that."

"Mike."

He looked back at the sound of his name, gentle but firm, and resisted the urge to sigh in defeat. She wasn't going to let him spare her. He knew what that monstrous vampire had once been to her; a bond they had clearly retained in this reality, as warped and depraved as it had become, it had been hard for him to miss even during that short time he had watched them. For a moment he considered holding onto the omission and riding it out, she couldn't make him break his silence after all, but for some reason he found himself lacking the strength of will to lie to her. At least he'd given her the chance to make the call for herself. So be it.

"I didn't see a lot of their fight…but I saw her…she managed to stake him straight through when he came back at her."

Not knowing what else he could say that wouldn't betray his conflicting feelings on the event, he looked away, giving her the privacy to absorb her own pain.

Willow blinked slowly and realized she couldn't feel her toes. It was one thing to know her childhood friend had been a vampire here and died in a bloody fight months before her appearance in this world; it was quite another to know her other best friend had been the one to kill him. This universe sure had a sadly fitting sense of irony.

How could everything be the same here but so, so different? Buffy, a cold and hardened Slayer who'd not thought twice as she struck down just another vampire, never knowing that in another life, he was one of the greatest friends she could have ever wished for. This world had robbed them all of so much.

She curled her numb toes, but otherwise stayed perfectly still. The story wasn't over and she was determined to hear it out to the end.

"How did you get out?"

Mike jerked slightly as he turned back, as if her question had taken him by surprise.

"With difficulty," he said dryly. "The next thing I knew, I was being hauled up from the floor - I'd been found. I only caught a flash of amber eyes and teeth as he came looming towards my neck…I was too terrified to move and I couldn't catch my balance anyway to even try. It sounded like a wild animal in my ear and I just remember thinking: this was it...I was going to die, and stupidly wishing against hope that it wouldn't hurt, though I knew it could only be drawn-out agony."

His voice cracked quietly before he shook his head and sat up. He could feel Willow's eyes on him but didn't look her way, instead studying the old, oil painting on the office wall across from him. Some kind of sleepy river scene: full of green trees, patchwork fields and rolling hills hiding the odd church spire in the distance. Very English countryside. It dimly occurred to him that Giles was just outside those walls, working away in his library. The thought was somewhat comforting.

He heard the desk chair creak restlessly and reluctantly focused his attention back on the conversation.

"Obviously it wasn't to be though. Not just then anyway." He tried to shrug but it fell pathetically short. "I was shoved aside as someone else pried me from his grip and took my place. But at least they actually knew what they were doing." He managed a wry but genuine smile. The violent struggle had lasted several precarious moments before one practiced swipe cut through the vampire's chest and his rescuer had emerged, breathless and bleeding, from the cloud of dead ash.

"Oz saved my life that night, but I like to think I've repaid the debt at least a few times since then." He caught Willow's eye and she gave a shaky smile. "'Course I didn't know who the hell he was then and it wasn't exactly a time for introductions, as he rushed off across the room barely a second later."

Mike hesitated, his gaze flickering nervously away from Willow as the returning memory hit him hard. This was a part of the story he'd intended to gloss over but he wasn't sure that was an option anymore.

He was right. She was too quick at picking up things and he'd been too slow to cover his hesitation. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly in concern.

"What happened to him? Did you see?"

Oh, he saw alright. And he never thought the memory would cause him to feel anything but relief. Boy, this was confusing.

"Nothing, he was fine."

Mike looked to her face before he could stop himself, and winced. That was definitely the wrong reaction. Her brow furrowed and he could almost see the realisation slipping into place inside that wonderfully sharp mind of hers. He mentally kicked himself.

"Giles said I…" She looked up and fixed him with a piercing stare. "Mike, where was she?"

Mike held her gaze for as long as he could before finally breaking. He dropped his head and swallowed hard in his throat. The silence was deafening.

"Oh."

Her voice was soft with something almost like wonder. Oz. Wow, that was weird…and yet not. It actually felt oddly fitting. Like it was right, how things were meant to happen: a mirror act tying them together beyond either of their knowledge and across worlds. And again with the universe's ironic quirks, its strange and almost connective twists. Maybe life wasn't as random as it sometimes seemed.

That was certainly something everyone had neglected to tell her. Though, admittedly, it was a bit of a conversation killer. But at least now she knew how her parallel, vampire doppleganger had met her end – in some strange way, she felt she owed her that. Closure? Did that even make sense?

And somehow, the fact that it had been him brought a sense of peaceful purpose that she hadn't quite felt before. It was funny, but she was glad Oz had been the one to do it.

She smirked to herself. Well, at least that made them even.

Eventually she became aware of Mike watching her nervously. She smiled weakly and gave him a small nod to show she was okay with the revelation she had just learned; that she didn't hold it against them. A look of relief crossed his face and his shoulders relaxed an inch.

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" Mike eyed her in surprise. "Yeah. Yeah…It's just, hard to re-live it. Out loud. Guess I've not really taken the time to deal with this stuff properly." He saw Willow open her mouth to apologise and quickly added, "No, it's okay. It's just rough 'cause I've never really talked about it much, kind of stuck with the 'keep quiet and hope it goes away' theory. But it's probably good to discuss it, yeah?"

Willow smiled sadly. "Yeah."

"If it hadn't been for Oz and Larry, I wouldn't have survived that night at all. I was still stumbling about in the chaos when Larry grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me ahead of him. Shouting at me to follow Oz. The Master was busy fighting the Slayer and…" He cut himself off and pretended not to notice Willow flinch at his slip. He looked at her apologetically.

He remembered fighting his way through the factory, blindly hurrying after the only people who seemed to know their way around; dodging struggling forms and throwing off snarling bodies as they pushed past old storage and industry clutter. When they had burst out that door, falling into that pitch-dark side alley, the terror and relief had nearly floored him. All the noise was still echoing faintly from inside the building they had somehow miraculously escaped from, but it was no longer pounding in his ears. He had gulped in the fresh, cool night air like it was water; let it wash the nauseous smell of spilt blood from his head. He'd soaked in the black night sky, willing it to drive the images from his mind, to tell him that none of that had really happened.

'We have to keep moving. They'll be coming…'

"I was one of the lucky ones. Well that's what I just kept telling myself afterwards. When I couldn't sleep; when I didn't know how I was supposed to carry on as normal when the world had changed beyond all understanding; when I saw the empty desks in school; when I tried to tell my parents what was going on…"

He trailed off, features hardening in revisited frustration. People's capacity for protective denial was incredible. He should have known - after all, he'd been like that for long enough - but he'd quickly realised that once your eyes were opened to reality, it was impossible to shut them and become blind again. The blood on his clothes, the fear in his face, the endless disappearances and curfew laws – and still they dismissed his story. He loved his parents, he wanted to keep them safe, but their gently concerned and persistent dismissal had nearly broken him.

In the end he'd given up trying, just as suggestions of therapy had started to creep into conversations.

"I knew I needed to do something, I couldn't handle living through that and being slave to helpless fear for the rest of my life. I couldn't see that and do nothing. Maybe only half a dozen of us had got out of there alive…"

He stared at his fingers as they flexed around his leg, knuckles stained white with tension. As he watched, a slender hand softly closed over his trembling fist. He blinked. When had she joined him on the couch? Asking the question to himself and finding that he didn't care, he shifted his hand to catch hers and looked up. Her gentle green eyes were shining with private pain behind the tentative smile of understanding. She was hurting just as much as him. Mike recoiled from the thought that he was responsible for causing that sadness; but she wasn't blaming him, just as he couldn't blame her. He suddenly thought how this must have been for her, to hear how her friends had fought and died from someone who had actually seen it. They were just demons and strangers to him, but they had been family to her.

He squeezed her hand, not knowing what other comfort he could possibly offer someone who had lost so much. She returned it with a watery smile.

"So you found Giles," she offered quietly.

"Yeah. To start with I was just frustrated. No-one believed me and I didn't know what to do. I finally thought of Oz. He had known. He'd seen it and lived through it too. He had known how to fight them and he'd saved my life. If I wanted to know what was going on, if I wanted to help, I had to find him and the others who were doing something about it."

"The Scooby Gang," Willow whispered fondly under her breath, her eyes misty with memories. It was nice to know some things endured, in some kind of form.

The adopted nick-name was lost on Mike, who only gave a confused glance before continuing. "So Oz took me to Giles and when I made it clear I wanted to know everything and I wanted to fight, he did the typical Giles thing and launched into an afternoon-long lecture on the history of the Hellmouth, vampires, demons, the Master and the Slayers. I think he might have taken the 'everything' a little too literally."

The two exchanged a long-suffering smile. Even the most interesting of subjects were absorbed best in bite-size chunks. Even Willow, ever the studious learner, had her limits.

"In the beginning though, I was still so angry. At everything. At my parents for not believing me; at my friends for being too scared to fight; at Giles and Oz and Larry, as if they should have told me long ago; at the vampires for existing when nothing like that should; for everything that had happened in the factory…" Mike sighed, his eyes turning to the office door. "'Survivor's guilt', Giles called it. Quite common, so I'm told."

The two friends sat in silence then, emotionally exhausted and finally out of words. The touch of their hands the only thing tying them both to the physical present.

Willow moved first. Reaching out with a tentative touch, she drew them both together in a gentle hug. She locked her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, unbelievably grateful when she felt him wrap his arms around her back and return the embrace.

"I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "It wasn't…you."

Her eyes burned hot. "None of this was meant to happen. I just…I wish-"

She felt him sigh against her chest. "It's okay. Life happens how it happens. We just have to deal with what we get. Wishing can't change that. It's okay."

Willow swallowed back the bitter laugh. He wasn't meant to be trying to comfort her – she didn't deserve it. Not after what she'd done. This wasn't fair.

He must have felt her tremble, as his arms tightened around her in silent assurance and heart-felt apology. She gripped him back, with the same need with which she had held onto her friends so many times before.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sent a wave of love to her lost best friends, locked away but still breathing back in her home universe, wishing somehow it would find them again. To let them know one last time.

She sniffed and quickly wiped her eyes as they pulled apart. "I-" She cleared her throat and looked down at the couch they sat on. "I can't imagine what it must have been like: to have lived in this world for all these years; to lose…so many." She looked up and caught his gaze. "How do you do it? How do you keep going?"

Mike looked thoughtful as he worded his answer. "I suppose…the same way you do. For the same kind of reasons."

Willow nodded slowly. "It's a good fight," she mumbled softly.

She glanced across the office to the empty desk, covered with research, the flickering computer screen she had stared at all morning. Yeah, it was worth it. That's why they didn't give up: because they couldn't. Hope was the human condition, after all.

"Are you going to leave?"

Willow started at the abrupt question, jerking back to look at him. "W-What do you mean?"

"I mean if Giles, if they find a way to get you back to your own world – you're going to go, right? Anywhere's got to be better than here." He looked away, eyes dark with conflict. "And if you were never meant to be here in the first place then maybe…maybe it would be best…"

Willow's heart was jumping like it was trying to break out her chest; the instinctive reaction independent from her rational thoughts. Her tangled doubts echoed in her mind. Buffy, Xander, Oz…Where was home? Did it even matter now? The decision had been made and wasn't reversible. She wouldn't be strong enough to make the choice again anyway.

But they didn't know that. Were they still looking for a way to send her away? It had gone so long now without being really mentioned, she'd kind of hoped Giles had forgotten about it for good. If they forced her hand, she'd have no choice but to tell the truth, whether she was ready or not. But what if it really was an option? What if she could undo the deal, reverse the exchange and get back… Willow swallowed down a groan of frustration. There was no use thinking about that. She'd deal with that burnt bridge when she came to it.

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "I mean…it doesn't look so likely at the moment."

He frowned. "But, what will you do? If you really are stuck here I mean." He considered the possibility for a moment. "I mean, will you try to join classes and graduate or what?"

"Um…"

Ohh, she really didn't want to dig up these worries again, yet the questions kept coming back. Hiding out in the library was only ever going to be a stopgap solution. Eventually she was going to have to think of the bigger picture. Her future. What would she do? A death certificate on her official record wasn't exactly a great start to building a new life. Not graduating…she wouldn't even have a high-school diploma! Willow Rosenberg without any qualifications. No college, no job at MIT, nothing. In her old life, it wouldn't have been possible. She had always been the one with the plan - she knew where she was going - Xander and Jesse had been the drifters. They'd always joked that she'd had her majors picked out since Kindergarten. Now her priorities were all scrambled, her future was a big question mark, nothing was certain anymore and…and it was giving her a headache.

Mike was watching her curiously as she offered him a weak shrug. "Got me. Guess I'll have to wing it."

He raised an eyebrow, mouth curving in a grin. "That could be fun."

Their peaceful privacy was broken as the glass door was pushed open and a familiar head poked inside.

"Excuse me-"

Willow nearly rolled her eyes affectionately at Giles apologizing for entering his own office. The librarian looked to Mike pointedly.

"But I feel it falls under my School Staff obligations to remind you, you have a class starting in ten minutes."

"Yep, I'm all over that, trust me."

Giles hesitated for a second before seemingly determining that the student's response was in the affirmative, and with a nod he let himself back out.

"Typical that it would be computer science with Miss Calendar," Mike complained in an under-voice to Willow. "That's the only class schedule he actually knows."

She laughed as they both stood up from the couch.

"Thanks. For you know…letting me depress you," he said with an embarrassed shrug.

"Anytime," she said sincerely.

Mike looked towards the door then back, as if he was debating something. "Hey, um," he blurted. "I meant to say thanks again for the video." He grinned cheerily for the first real time since he had told the story of the night her double had been killed. "Nice pick, classic Carrey. Ever seen it?"

"Once, I think. When it first came out." If she remembered correctly, Xander had dragged her to the movies to watch it. Goofy, comic-like films were a favourite of his. She smiled softly at the memory.

"Well," Mike scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "If you ever, I dunno, fancy catching a repeat – you're always welcome to come over to mine. No big deal, just if you ever felt like a break or something, y'know."

"Oh." Willow stuttered, caught by surprise. "Cool, great, I-I mean, thanks. For the offer, I mean."

He gave a shy grin. "Hey, no problem. Well, I'd better get to class before Giles rats me out."

Willow nodded vaguely as she watched him leave the office, leaving her alone with her research again.

This wasn't a big deal. That's what he'd said, right? Friends invited friends over all the time. She'd spent most of her life over at Xander's, hanging out and watching TV, and it had never meant anything more (much to her disappointment at the time, but that wasn't the point) and ditto Jesse. It was fine. This was just like that. She slumped back into the desk chair and sighed. Except it wasn't. Ugh. Stupid, unforeseen complications - as if her life wasn't messed up enough!

This was bad. If she had been back in her old life, she could have done some damage control by asking Buffy to come too, help with re-enforcing the 'friends' message, but that wasn't really an option here. She couldn't really envisage Annie being up for movie-nights full stop, let alone anywhere near Willow and definitely not as supportive friend back up.

There was no way she could go over there just the two of them. Not like this. She couldn't take the risk. It was just the wrong message. But she liked Mike, a lot. She really didn't want to hurt him or push him away. She had so few friends here and there was no denying he meant something special to her. The thought of losing his friendship was like a stone sinking through her chest.

Damn it! She sure hadn't seen this coming and now she didn't know quite how to handle it. Avoidance and feigning ignorance would only get her so far, depending on how he reacted. Oh, Mike, why did you have to make things even more complicated? If you only knew the truth of all this. How many more people would she have to hurt to follow her heart?

Willow gripped her hair and groaned into her hands.

Crap.

o0o

Three hours 'til sunset.

Oz's pen tapped against the crumpled page of his textbook in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety. He seemed to notice this and with a sharp breath, the twitching hand was brought back under control.

His features were carefully composed into the usual blank expression of mild boredom that History class normally evoked. It wasn't that he didn't find history interesting… Well, he was pretty sure it could be interesting, and the class could even have proved a welcome distraction if he could be bothered to concentrate. But all of these facts were rendered irrelevant by the one big factor that Oz had already sat this exact topic in the same history class last year. Just one of the perks of failing to graduate. His absentee habits had finally caught up to him.

Still, he considered it a pretty big achievement that he was even still alive to be able to re-sit another pointless year. Another year on the Hellmouth. It wasn't like he had anywhere to go anyway.

It was just hard to get motivated about homework and class stats in the big scheme of things. Mind you, school wasn't really his thing to begin with. Staying alive was hard enough. And if the Hellmouth had its way, they may not have to worry about that much longer either. To be honest, class tests ranked quite low on their priorities. Yet the mundane seemed to find a way to push on regardless of the exceptional peril in which it existed. He supposed there was something almost admirable about that. Maybe; if you squinted. Mainly it was just a pointless distraction.

The burning sun dropped a fraction lower in the hot California sky. His body tensed instinctively, a primal shiver jolting through his system. Mr Jenkinson jabbed the chalk against the blackboard in emphasis of whatever point he was making. Tiny flecks burst free in a small shower of powder. At the back of the classroom, the fragments of chalk tickled his sensitive nose, almost making him sneeze.

Oz rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The boy two rows in front of him was itching for a smoke; the lingering stench of tobacco staining his clothes and hair made his desire clear to read. He wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant smell.

Gripped with the rising impulse to stand up and get the hell out of this enclosed space, he quickly tightened his hand around the edge of the desk in restraint. The sensation of being trapped in close quarters with people was not an encouraging one, as hundreds of scents continued to invade his supernatural senses, putting his already tensely wired body on edge. The predator clawed under his skin and at the back of his mind, nudging him with violent instincts that weren't his own. The wolf felt cornered, forced to be still when it all it wanted to do was run, to protect itself against the human threat that surrounded it. Oz twisted his head away and leaned back in his chair in an effort to simulate his usual ease.

Inside he was far from composed. The normally settled waters of his mind were churning in frantic waves as the pull of the animal that lurked inside him all the time, fought its way to the surface, ready to claim his body and consume his mind with a darkness he was helpless to escape from.

Two hours, forty-five minutes until he lost all control. Until he became just as bad as the monsters he spent every other night fighting.

Flipping the crinkled page to the next chapter a full minute after his classmates, the lean teenager resumed his slouched position. Distant sharp green eyes were miles away from the glum classroom setting. Contemplating what was coming, fighting the inevitable.

The bookcage awaited.

AN So, Mike V Oz. Any thoughts?