Sorry again for the delay and thanks for the reviews for the last part.

Willow lay in bed, dejectedly flicking crumbs off her green crocheted blanket.

Xander would obviously prefer to spend time with her unconscious self than her awake self if the way he'd gone running out of here was any kind of litmus test.

Buffy had come in freshly showered and gushing with how happy she was that Willow was wide awake again, but she'd been too exhausting. At least, that was the excuse Willow had used to get rid of her.

Really, she just couldn't get past the idea that Buffy was only being gushy because she thought Willow expected it. And, okay, Buffy's concern was nice, but if it was just for show, just because of the argument they'd had the other night, well… it wasn't real so what was the point of putting them both through the charade.

That was probably uncharitable, in fact, there was probably no charitable about it, but she was still feeling woozy and sick, really really sick. She just couldn't take the big best friends make-up thing right now. She didn't have the energy to do her part, she didn't have the concentration to accept Buffy's part and besides, in the back of her mind, in that tiny, shadowy part that she didn't really acknowledge, she'd already decided she wasn't forgiving Buffy until Xander had forgiven her.

She knew it wasn't fair, but she didn't care right now. She was feeling terrible all the time about the Xander thing, but Buffy and Xander were still all happy and friendly and close. She had been Xander's friend first! But that didn't seem to matter to anyone but her anymore. So why should Buffy be let off the hook, and be all la-di-dah with life again, if she wasn't.

So after maybe ten tense minutes, Buffy had left. Willow had been fidgeting on her bed ever since. Partly because she hated the way things were with her two best friends and partly because she'd obviously been sweating heavily all night and was desperate for a shower, but felt too sick to move.

It was twenty minutes later that Giles came in.

"Willow. I'm so glad you're awake." He came to the edge of the bed and took her sweaty, gross hand. "You had us quite worried."

"So I gathered." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Don't be daft. We're just all glad you're feeling better." He handed over a bottle of water and, noticing how eagerly she took it, said, "Are you hungry too. I could make you a sandwich."

She shook her head and put a hand to her mouth as the suggestion made her feel even more nauseous. "No food, please."

"Okay." He smiled tenderly. "Well, you'll be pleased to know I think I've found the cause of your affliction."

"Really?" She pulled herself higher up on her pillows.

"The spell you performed the other night – the one to lift the magical protection from the demons – may not have just amplified as it rebounded, but something in the spell they were using may also have changed its nature somewhat. It's not unusual among the more magical demons to have something woven into their natural defences that also acts as an attack mechanism. Of course, the Meluthian Hedrays aren't supposed to be magical, but I think this may be what we are dealing with all the same."

"Yeah, some witches do it too. Especially the darker ones." Willow frowned. "But that doesn't tell us what the spell actually changed into. I mean, if it had started making me get teleporty with it right then and there, I could understand the point, but why did it only start happening later?"

The expression on Giles' face alone was enough to make her extra uneasy.

"Now understand, we don't know anything for sure yet…"

"Giles, just tell me."

"I don't think the point of the spell was to make you teleport every time you sneezed. I think the spell attacked, is attacking, the magic inside of you. It's infecting the magic you already have and, well, damaging it in some way."

Willow sat quietly for a moment digesting that.

"So that doesn't sound good," she said eventually.

Giles shook his head.

"So it's like a virus?"

"In a manner of speaking. It would be fair to say that the spell is now living in the magical cells in your body. Unfortunately the results are going to be far less ordinary or as predictable as a bad headache and runny nose."

"I was thinking more of a computer virus anyway."

"Computers can get sick?" he asked, his expression horrified.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "You're joking, right?"

He looked offended. "Apparently I've just said something stupid. Although as I'm not the one talking about machines getting poorly, I'm not sure how."

She shook her head, smiling a little at him. "Giles, have you learnt nothing since we've been in the twenty-first century. Yes, computers can get sick, just obviously not like you and me. Mean people make viruses and send them out into the internet to pray on unprotected computers. It's big business for some people out there. The not so evil ones just mess your computer up – makes it do stuff you haven't told it to do. Kinda like if every time you said sit down it stood up instead… not that computers can sit down or stand up but you get my drift."

He sort of looked like he did. "Go on, what do the really evil ones do?"

"Copy all your personal details off your hard drive and then burn out your motherboard usually."

"And in layman's terms?" he asked, like he wasn't the only person under ninety who didn't know what a motherboard was.

"Steal your wallet and then kill you."

"I see."

"So do you think I have a magical computer virus?"

He sighed and perched on the edge of her bed. "Yes, I think I'm rather afraid that I do."

Silence fell between them and Giles took her hand again.

"So…" she asked after a while. "Not so evil or really evil?"

"It's too early to say for sure, but at the moment I think you should prepare yourself for not so evil. Clearly teleporting when you sneeze is an indication that some wires…" He tried to smile. "… have gotten a little crossed. The spell inside you is over-riding your own control over your magic. I understand this is enough to distress you, but keep in mind it could be worse. You could be sending out magical death rays every time you sneezed instead. Of course, if it gets worse, that might still happen…"

Willow's eyes opened wide in alarm and he trailed off.

"But we'll certainly find a cure before that happens," he continued with overenthusiastic certainty. "In fact I should probably get back to the books right now. Try not to worry. A…and try not to sneeze if you can help it. A little teleporting around the house probably won't do more than tire you out like last night, but if it should worsen… well, you might start teleporting farther a field."

He seemed to realise he was freaking her out more and more and stood up.

"I'll be back as soon as I have more news."

He squeezed her hand again and then almost ran from the room looking as panicked as she felt.

Willow's eyes stayed wide, unable to relax now. Hardly surprising! Giles hadn't exactly made any of that sound hopeful. She hadn't felt so rough while they'd been talking. Probably the sheer horror had quelled it for a little while. Now she felt sicker than ever though and slumped down further on her pillows.

This was all just one big fat unfair. Why now? Well, why ever, but especially now when she'd been being so good. She hadn't touched any magic – save the completely mundane exercises Althanea had been emailing to her – for a couple of months.

After she'd gotten a little zap-happy thanks to the lust spell she'd been really careful. Desperate to get a better control on her magic so that if another lust spell ever cropped up she wouldn't succumb so easy. It looked like that was all moot now, if her magic was going to get all out of control anyway. And she wouldn't even get the fun of picking the spells herself.

Something Giles said came back to her, about only teleporting around the house. She should have mentioned that she was pretty sure she had gone back in time too. If only by about a minute. She hadn't even known that was possible, not just for her but for anyone. Time travel was science fiction. Okay, so was most of what their daily lives involved, but time travel really was… well, fiction.

For the first time since she'd known him she really wished Andrew was around. If there was ever a geek who'd know the ins and outs of the realities of time travel it would be him. But he was in Oregon with his folks and Craig. Xander might know stuff, but then, Xander was hardly speaking to her.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin. What if this was really bad? What if Giles couldn't find a cure and her magic just got more and more unpredictable. It might be permanently corrupted, her hard drive wiped and, ultimately, her motherboard wiped.

With a gulp she pulled the blanket over her head.

Buffy stepped back from the stove, pushing steam-damp strands escaped from her ponytail behind her ears.

"Okay, yams a-boiling, cornstarch a-dissolving. What's next?"

Xander looked at the list on the kitchen table. "Now you gotta boil all the rest up together."

"Okay, that sounds easy enough." Buffy grabbed another saucepan from the cupboard and carried it to the chopping board.

She'd decided to do a little taster of everything today. Just so she could be sure she would manage tomorrow when it came to cooking for the whole family. So far it was proving harder than she remembered – and she was only on the first one – but she just kept telling herself it was because she wasn't used to the recipe.

"So how was Willow when you spoke to her?" Xander asked out of the blue.

Buffy was pleased he asked, even if she didn't have anything great to report.

"Stand-offish. She said she felt too ill to talk, but I think she really just wanted me gone."

It had hurt but she was too happy that Willow was awake and okay to let it get to her. They'd had a mini breakthrough the night before with the laughing. It would happen again. For now she was just going to take her mind off it with the cooking.

"Giles still seems really worried."

"You know Giles. Worry is his middle name. She's awake, talking and coherent enough to still be mad at me. She's going to be fine." She looked in the pan. "Right, honey, cinnamon, nutmeg."

She picked a fresh lemon from the side and started to grate the rind directly into the pan.

"Don't put too much in," he cautioned.

"I know what I'm doing," she lied chirpily. "But what exactly are you doing?"

He looked up from the many oily parts he had on a sheet of newspaper. "The truck's been guzzling gas and making funny noises. So I'm fixing it."

Buffy put the lemon down and turned to the table. "That's part of the truck?"

"Yep, part of the engine part anyway."

"Which part of the engine part?"

He looked from the parts to the mechanics book beside him to the stove. "Your yams are boiling over."

She turned back and lowered the heat, but spoke over her shoulder. "You have no idea, do you?"

"Sure I do. It's the part that's making the funny noise."

"That's reassuring."

"Hey, have I questioned your cooking ability this morning!"

"One or twice, yeah." Buffy turned long enough to grin at him and then poured a little fresh orange juice into the pan. "Why are you bothering with that this morning anyway?"

"I wanted to stay in the house but its too cold sit on the doorstep painting shutters and I don't have the cord I need to fix the phone. This was the only other indoor job I could think of."

"I'm not sure fixing greasy car parts is an indoor job. Especially on the kitchen table when I'm practising for Thanksgiving. If you wanna be near Will so bad why not take them up to her bedroom to fix?"

"Because I don't want to be near her that bad."

"You need to sort things out with her," Buffy stirred her mixture thoroughly with a wooden spoon.

Instead of answering, Xander countered, "Have you spoken to Faith about her session yet?"

She shook her head but didn't turn around. "I only saw her for two minutes this morning and I was too worried about Willow to talk. I don't know where she is now."

"Rubbing down the stables so we can start painting Friday."

Buffy nodded. "I'll catch up with her later then."

"I can always finish the yams off if you wanna go see her now."

"No, you'll ruin it."

"It's my recipe!"

"Yeah, so? I know your cooking repertoire, Xan. Pancakes, eggs, toast and microwave meals. Besides, Faith's obviously not dying to tell me all about it."

As she was taking the yams off the boil and trying to fish them out with a pair of tongs, there was a knock at the door.

"It's open," Xander called out, not bothering to move from his engine parts.

Buffy looked over her shoulder again and smiled to see who it was.

"Oz. What brings you to our neck of the woods? Wow, never thought I'd say that and mean it literally."

Oz smiled, his eyes casually checking out the kitchen. Seeing just the two of them, he came in.

"Willow was doing a thing for me and I wanted to see how she's getting on. I tried calling a few days ago but we got cut…" he'd spotted the telephone wire dangling uselessly from the wall-mounted phone jack. "…off."

Buffy smirked. "Bet you never thought you'd say that and mean it literally, either."

"Explains why I haven't been able to get through since."

"I'm fixing it," Xander said. "But until then we're making the cell phone companies a small fortune."

"I only have Willow's number and I didn't want to put any pressure on her."

Leaning over the counter, Buffy grabbed the pen and pad from beside the phone and copied three numbers down from the list pinned to the wall.

"That's Xander's, Giles' and mine." She tore the page off and handed it to Oz. "Should keep you going for now."

The contents of her saucepan began to boil and for a frantic moment she shuffled through pieces of paper on the counter, trying to find the one with the yam recipe.

"It's here," Xander reminded her. "Add the cornstarch."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Are you doubting my sureness? Do I not look surer than you right now?"

She glanced over as she picked up the bowl of cornstarch. "You look oily."

"Good comeback."

"Hey, I'm cooking here; and it just so happens that cooking and quipping come from the same part of the brain. So I can only do one or the other, okay?"

"Is that true?"

"Didn't you ever listen in biology?"

"Did you?"

Smiling at them, Oz tucked the list of numbers in his pocket. "So, is Willow okay?"

Buffy stopped stirring; remembering that she wasn't. She'd managed to forget for ten minutes or so, which was probably okay now that Willow was awake, but made her feel guilty all the same.

Should they tell Oz? There was no doubt he still cared about her and would want to know, but Buffy wasn't sure it was the best thing for Willow. Did she need the added pressure of a worried, hovering Oz? Giles had said she needed lots of peace and quiet. Willow wasn't going to get that if she had to try and avoid Oz, assuming she wanted to. It wouldn't help things between her and Kennedy either.

"Only she's seemed a little, I don't know, odd the last few times we've spoken."

Buffy almost laughed at that, wondering how he could sound so surprised about it. Since he'd arrived he'd been like the werewolf in their hen house and it was Willow he wanted to… well, eat.

Putting it like that, she decided, stirring the saucepan again, it was probably better if Oz didn't know. Now the immediate danger had passed and Willow was going to be fine. Maybe exactly what Willow needed to make her decision once and for all was some enforced bed rest and lots of nothing to do but think.

Xander obviously wasn't on the same thought-track as her. "Actually, she's sick. Some magic bug. Giles is pretty worried."

Buffy looked around to see Oz looking stricken. It was a weird expression to see on his usual calm face.

"Will she be okay?"

"Definitely," Buffy said, with more certainty than she had. "But she needs lots of uninterrupted rest…"

"She's in bed if you want to go see her." Buffy glared at Xander and he held his hands out. "What? It's nice to have visitors when you're sick. Here."

Using just the very tips of his oily fingers he picked a small bunch of grapes out of the fruit bowl.

"Give her these," he handed them to Oz. "Fruit and sick people go together like crackers and cream-cheese. Actually now I come to think of it, crackers and cheese and sick people go pretty well together too. Do we have any crackers and cheese? Did I somehow miss breakfast?" He rubbed his stomach, getting an engine grease handprint on his t-shirt. "Any chance those yams are done yet?"

"Do they look done?" Buffy snapped, annoyed with him. "Hey, Oz," she stopped him with a foot on the back stairs. "She's really not well, okay? That pressure you were talking about not putting on her, she really doesn't need it right now."

"I understand." He went up the stairs, get well grapes in hand.

"What are you suddenly so huffy about?"

"Willow's in bed, feeling lousy, and you've just sent Oz up there."

"So?" Xander went back to his truck parts.

"So, I can promise you Willow is thinking one of two things right now. A) Oh God, why can't Oz take the hint that I'm not interested, I feel way too horrible to deal with his unwanted attention right now. Or, B) Oh God, why did Oz have to see me like this. Now he's gonna lose interest and I feel way too horrible to do the necessary to keep him paying attention."

Xander stared at her for a beat and then back down at his work. "I'd forgotten how complicated you women are. If the situation was reversed, men would just think, 'Yay, sexy woman bringing me grapes and hopefully putting her cool hand on my feverish brow.' And then the thinking stops there. See, way less complicated."

"You think Oz is sexy?" Buffy smirked over her shoulder. "I thought Andrew was more your type."

"I don't have a man-type. We can't all get away with being slutty bisexuals like you."

"Hey! Watch who you're calling slutty, mister. I happen to have deadly accuracy with this wooden spoon."

"Sorry, but you gotta admit, that was a good comeback."

"Whatever." The mixture in the saucepan was thick and clear now so she removed it from the heat and plopped a knob of butter in. "We shouldn't have let Oz go up there yet. Not without one of us asking her at least. What if she wanted to see Kennedy first? Kennedy lives here. Kennedy's her most recent ex. She should have got first dibs on visiting."

"This is useless." Xander dropped a metal cog-shaped piece onto the newspaper with a thunk before looking up. "Like you said, she lives here, that gave her automatic first dibs. Obviously she doesn't want to see Willow as much as you think she does. In fact, she's made herself pretty scarce this morning. She hasn't even bothered asking how Willow's doing."

As Buffy poured the sauce over the tray of yams, she turned sharply to Xander, splashing the counter and her shirt with it.

"Does Kennedy even know she's sick?"

"How could she not know? Willow passed out cold on the kitchen floor."

"She was patrolling last night and I didn't stop to say anything this morning."

"Oops." Xander shrugged helplessly

"Ya think?"

Outside the back door Kennedy heard her name and paused, leaving Goorzar's harness only half unclipped. Instantly the young demon started to gibber about the straps holding her in place. She hated the restrictive harness, but it was useful for taking her on walks outside the camp.

They weren't walking now though and Goorzar decided to make her point a little better by pitch-poling forward onto her back and trying to wriggle out of it herself.

Kennedy didn't notice her antics any more than she noticed the fine rain that started to fall. Willow was poorly? And no one had told her because they just automatically assumed she didn't care anymore? Either she was a better actress than she gave herself credit for, or they were more stupid.

She hesitated for a moment, deciding between shouting for answers and sulking because no one had bothered to tell her. Knowing she'd go crazy with the not knowing, she slammed open the kitchen door, coming in on the tail end of their conversation.

"What's wrong with Willow?"

Xander looked up, startled by her abrupt entrance and she made an impatient 'tell me' gestures with her hand.

"We thought you knew," he said, his expression guilty.

Buffy was straightening up from putting a dish in the oven. She turned to face the back door where Kennedy was waiting, dripping on the floor.

"I was just about to come and find you."

"Well, I'm here so tell me now? Is she okay? Is it serious?"

Kennedy really hoped she was making a mountain out of a molehill, but from the looks on their faces she doubted it.

"I just heard Xander say she passed out!" she spoke with enough distress that Xander actually stood from his chair.

"She did, right where you're standing, and then she had a little sleep and now she's awake again," he said soothingly.

It didn't sooth, in fact it grated. "How long was this little sleep?"

"All night," he admitted. "But she's awake now and that's what matters, right?"

"Yeah," she muttered, leaning forward on the back of a chair, feeling the worst of the worry pass. "So do we know what it is? I mean did you just give me a heart attack because she has a head cold? Or is it as serious as you made it sound?"

Buffy came closer, wiping her hands on a tea towel before putting a gentle hand on Kennedy's shoulder.

"It's serious, but only because it's magical and we don't know a cure off hand. But Giles is on the trail and this is the stuff he's really good at. And now Willow's awake she can help him. They'll find something that'll make her better soon, I promise."

"Yeah, if I had a dollar for every time Giles and Will have put their heads together and cured Buffy from some nasty demon infection, I'd… have at least enough for a large, thick-crust pepperoni pizza. Man, I'm still hungry."

"Demon infections aren't the same as magic, though, right? I mean, demons might be supernatural, but surely when they get infected it's still just basic anatomy. But magic. Everyone keeps telling me how dangerous and unpredictable magic is – and now Willow's sick with it?"

She stared wildly around at them and they looked back, offering sympathetic looks but saying nothing. Maybe it was just that they'd already worked through the panic she was feeling now – after all they'd known all night while she'd been left in the dark alone – but it felt more like they were trying to hide how scared they really were, like she was a kid or… or an outsider.

"You can't tell me you two aren't worried about this?"

"Of course we're worried, but there's nothing we can do until Giles gives us something to do. Me and Xan, and you, we're out of our league with this magic stuff, you know that."

"Yeah, we don't know what we're doing. Magic flu is virgin territory for us," Xander backed Buffy up.

Kennedy's face fell further. "If this is all so unknown how can you be so calm?"

"It's going to be fine," Buffy promised, shooting Xander a glare.

"Yeah," he rallied. "Because, you know, what are virgins for if not conquering?"

Kennedy blinked at him and then started for the back stairs.

"I'm going to see if she needs anything."

"She has an Oz."

Kennedy turned back around slowly, not quite sure her brain had processed Buffy's blurted statement properly.

"I mean," Buffy started again. "Oz is up there, already doing that… the seeing if she needs anything thing. I just thought I should warn you. That he's up there. Seeing to her… but… but not in that kind of 'seeing to' way, just… I don't really know in what way." Buffy's babble finally came to an end and she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"Uh huh." It was really all Kennedy could manage in response. She could feel her hands, feet and brain starting to tingle with anger at the thought of him up there with her. "So I take it that means she's well enough to have visitors. Good."

"Not really what I meant," Buffy said as Kennedy turned to the stairs again.

Kennedy shrugged it off. "If I have to put up with him in my house, he has to put up with me in my bedroom."

"It's not your bedroom anymore," Buffy pointed out and once again Kennedy turned to face her.

"I left something in there that I need," she said, her voice calm, her eyes steady, the shake in her hands barely noticeable.

"What is it that's so important it can't wait until Oz is gone?" Buffy asked, exasperated.

"My girlfriend."

"Oh."

"Oz took fruit," Xander said. "You should probably take some too."

"Xander!" Buffy snapped.

"What? I'm feeling guilty now about not staying neutral. The least I can do is even the odds."

"But…"

"Fruit?" Kennedy walked back towards the table.

Xander held up the fruit bowl for her, but she bypassed it and went to the counter by the fridge instead. Two Calabasas had been left there. One large and tan for tomorrow, the other smaller and green for today.

Kennedy picked up the larger one. "Check."

"I was thinking grapes." Xander held the bowl out hopefully again. "Like Oz took."

Kennedy hefted the squash in her right hand a few times, liking the weight of it.

"I'd rather do something that sets me apart from the crowd."

"Like smashing a pumpkin in Oz's face?" Buffy stepped in the way as she walked back to the stairs. "Look, I know this sucks, and I'm all for you and Willow sorting things out, but I think you should wait until he's gone. The last thing Willow needs right now is you two fighting up there."

Even if that was true, Kennedy was in no mood to listen to reason. She moved around Buffy, not looking at her, and went up the backstairs, muttering, "Then you should have found the time to tell me first."

Buffy turned from staring helplessly at her back, to glaring at Xander. "Yeah, we should have."

"Hey, don't look at me like that! You're her guardian slayer. I hadn't even seen her today until just now."

"Guardian Slayer? What even is that?"

"Don't play dumb. I heard you and Giles talking about it the other day. Now you're retired you get to play pretend-Watcher."

"Now who's being dumb? I'm just helping her out. That doesn't make me any kind of Watcher!"

"Obviously not, if you can't even keep your Slayer in the loop over something you should have known would make her shoot off like a bottle rocket!"

"What would you know about it, Xander?"

Goorzar trailed her soggy wet harness around their feet, trying to bug someone into taking it off properly for her. Ignored, she left muddy paw prints all over the clean kitchen floor before hiding under the table, gibbering unhappily at their raised voices.