Emily Cales' daughter, Kara, was a happy baby who grew into a beautiful little girl. Kara had her mom's curly, red hair, with her dad's dimples. No one was sure where her green eyes had come from, though. Kara met all her benchmarks for development at the right times, was perfectly healthy and tested well.



Then suddenly, Kara began waking up shaking and terrified. It broke Emily's heart the first time Kara looked up at her, eyes choked with tears, telling her she was afraid monsters were going to take mommy and daddy away. At first Emily thought it was just a phase, but the situation continued to worsen. Kara couldn't be in a room alone because the monsters were waiting. She didn't like to go outside after dark because she was certain vampires would get her.



Kara's fears became so pronounced that she couldn't sleep unless she was in bed with her parents, touching both of them. Emily and her husband, Jason, had to take their four-year-old to see a therapist. Doctor Pierce said Kara was suffering from delusions about vampires and werewolves. Doctor Pierce thought their daughter might be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and seemed convinced they were abusing Kara. After a brush with child protective services, they found another doctor who said Kara was schizophrenic. Doctor Melon wanted to put her on anti-psychotics even though he'd only spoken to Kara for twenty minutes. Emily had walked out with her daughter in tow, more angry than she'd ever been in her life.



Emily and Jason were convinced they'd never be able to go out on a date, take an overnight trip or you know, have sex again, when Kara suddenly just...grew out of it. Emily thought Tara and Billy moving in next door had a lot to do with Kara's improvement. They'd first met at the park a block from the house.



Normally, Kara didn't take to new people right away, but the moment the little blond-haired boy approached her, Emily's daughter was laughing and eagerly taking his hand. Emily watched at a short distance within Kara's view. She was surprised that her little one didn't look up once to see if her mom was in sight, as Kara normally did.



Emily noticed a pretty woman standing on the edge of the playground, also intent on the kids; she had long, silver hair tied back in a French braid and wore an ankle-length sundress is turquoise. To Emily, she looked exotic, like an artist, someone she wouldn't normally meet in the suburbs. Intrigued, Emily walked over.



"Our kids seem to be getting along," Emily said, smiling encouragingly.



The strange woman turned to her; her green eyes sparkled and her smile was so benevolent, Emily was tempted to give her a hug.



"My son is rather an inward little boy, it's wonderful to see him connecting. I'm Tara and that's Billy," Tara said, pointing at the blond bundle of energy tugging on Kara's hands.



"Emily," she said, touching her chest, "and Kara is my daughter. She's normally kind of inward, too. Your accent is lovely, are you English?"



"Yes, we moved to the states a few months ago. I came for school and wanted to return to raise Billy here. It took a long while to find something in my field and in Buffalo."



"Why Buffalo?" Emily asked, arching an eyebrow and wrinkling her nose. She'd been trying to leave the outskirts of the city for years, but Jason's job was too lucrative and her parents were close by.



"It was important for Billy. We have family here. We just bought a house on Connecticut Drive," Tara said.



"Oh my God! Is it that big, blue Victorian with the birch tree in the front yard?"



"Yes," Tara said, nodding.



"That's right across from us!"



"Wow, how wonderful. I've been meaning to introduce myself to the neighbors," Tara said. Her eyes had darted back periodically to the children as they spoke. Billy and Kara were on the swings, trying to see who could pump the highest. Tara was watching them and smiling, with glossy eyes that hinted at tears.



"It's like they were just waiting for each other," Tara said.



They talked while the kids swung and then began to explore the jungle gym. The women figured out that the children were not only the same age, but they had the same birthday.



"How funny, we should do a joint party," Emily said, instantly wishing she hadn't spoken so soon. She didn't want to impose, seeing as she'd only known the woman for about forty-five minutes. Tara could sense her regret at the suggestion and patted her arm.



"That would be super, but you know how kids are. He'll probably want something dinosaur themed and she'd want to have Disney princesses," Tara said.



"Yeah, you're right. So you mentioned work, what do you do?"



"I teach. I'm heading up a new robotics program at the University of Buffalo."


"Wow! Just wow, that's amazing."



Tara giggled.



"Thank you!"



"What does your husband do?" Emily asked.



"Oh, I'm not married. I was seeing a nice woman for awhile, before we moved, but that kind of ended," Tara said.



"I'm, so...right. I just assumed, I mean, Billy looks so much like you. Was it hard to adopt, seeing as you're...single?" Emily backtracked, her hand flopping around in a way that mimicked her floundering words. Tara just kept smiling serenely.



"Billy's not adopted, he came into this world the usual way, after many shots of tequila and a lapse in judgment."



Emily laughed a little too hard at the joke.



"So you used to not be...I'm really sticking my foot in my mouth, huh?"



Tara laughed and so did Emily, grateful that her new neighbor seemed to be so patient.


"You are, but it's fine. The night after my brother died I was kind of overwrought. I went to a pub with some friends and ended up being consoled by a fellow named Simon. It was a one-time thing, you know, something like a fever caused by grief. Nine months later, little Billy was born and it felt like I'd gotten a piece of my soul back. Simon didn't want to have much to do with us, by then he had gotten back together with his own wife and they were expecting a daughter, but we're still friends."



"I'm so, so sorry, about your brother and about digging into your personal life. I've been kind of weird lately. Kara has been having some problems with anxiety. I had to leave my job because she was having so many issues that I was calling off all the time. I used to be a graphic designer and I headed up all these projects and I graduated from NYU but now all I do is watch 'Finding Nemo,' three times a day and try to keep my daughter from being convinced there are vampires in her closet waiting to kill us. Which makes her sound like a freak or something and she isn't, she is a bright, sweet, loving little girl, but she normally doesn't express that to other people besides my husband and me—"



"And you feel isolated?" Tara asked, tilting her head slightly.



"Yes. I haven't talked to a grown up who wasn't my husband or one of Kara's doctors in a really long time," Emily said.



"It's, alright I understand completely," Tara said, smiling in a way that made Emily believe her.



"Do you think I'm crazy over-sharing neighbor?"



"Not crazy, and I think talking can be a positive thing. People need each other and sometimes they don't have the strength to say so. I have something that might help Kara sleep better. We can stop by my place and I'll get it for you, if you'd like," Tara said.



"Is it like an herbal sedative, because I'm not really comfortable giving her that," Emily said.



"No, it's a stuffed pig. His name is Mr. Gordo," Tara said.



Kara and Billy ran up to their mothers, hand in hand.



"Billy's going to teach me how to box!" Kara shouted.



Emily laughed, but noticed Tara was smiling tightly.





That night Kara clutched the toy Tara had given her and drifted off without incidence. Emily was so used to hearing her daughter crying to be let into her room, that when she didn't, Emily woke up in a dead panic worried something was wrong. Emily slipped quietly into her daughter's bedroom to find Kara sprawled out on her bed, snoring softly, with the pink pig in her arms.



In the weeks that followed, the children played together every day. Emily was relieved her daughter was finally making friends, but she still thought Billy was a peculiar little boy.



"I found him painting her toenails today, Jay," Emily told her husband. She was brushing her teeth over the bathroom sink. She could see her husband through the open door. He was standing before their closet in their blue bedroom, picking out his clothes for the next day. He had a meeting in the morning with his boss. Jason was a graphic designer for a major clothing manufacturer and dressing well was a prerequisite for the job.



"Maybe he's like his mom, I hear it's genetic," Jason said, dithering between his blue tie and his red one.



Emily spit and rinsed her mouth before returning her brush to its case.



"I don't think the kid is gay. That would make me feel a little better, actually. He always has to be touching Kara in a way that seems strange for children. He pets her hair and sometimes they just sit and look at each other. He was holding her face in his hands and gazing into her eyes."



"But she's not scared any more and she's actually got a buddy, Em. I think you're reading way, way too much into it," Jason said, arranging his shirt on a hanger with his slacks.



"He calls his mom by her first name," Emily said.



"That's more on Tara than on him."



"Kara wants to have a joint birthday party at the ice rink. Pirate princesses," Emily said.



"Good, that'll save on rental fees and we can split on the cake," Jason said, finally satisfied with his choice for the next day. Emily rinsed her face and then patted her skin dry with a brown towel. She hated those towels; they were the same shade as the bathroom tile, which she also hated, but they couldn't afford to replace.



"He's teaching her how to use a punching bag."



"Save me the trouble," Jason said. Emily knew by the tone of his voice he wasn't taking her seriously.



"He gave her a nickname. Now she won't respond unless I call her Buffy," Emily said, arranging the despised towel neatly on the faux aged copper rack beside the medicine cabinet.



"Em, I was with them all afternoon and he seems like a sweet, sensitive little boy. After they play-fought he sat down and had a tea party with her. Are you maybe feeling replaced because you're not her whole world anymore?"



"No!" she said, then after considering his words, "Possibly. Are you smoothing this over because you want to have sex tonight?" She walked into her bedroom and watched her husband peel off his t-shirt, the motion ruffling his black hair.



"Possibly," he said with a smirk as he hopped into bed.



"You're lucky you're cute," Emily said, jumping in after him.

For her twelfth birthday, Buffy's mom said she and Billy could buy their own decorations for their party. Since they didn't have a ton of guests, mainly just her cousins and Billy's friend, Declan, Tara had suggested they have a small get together at their house. Buffy was annoyed Billy wasn't more excited to ride their bikes to the Party Store and spend the ten dollars she'd been given for their celebration.

"Get whatever you want, Buffy," Billy said, doing lazy figure eights down the middle of the empty street past the neatly manicured lawns and rows of houses. She watched his slim, straight back sway with his pedaling and the black streamers on his handlebars tumbling in the breeze. Billy always had to have everything that color. She knew it was silly to argue with him because he'd probably want to buy black crepe paper and balloons, but she did anyway.

"It's not fun unless you pick it too," Buffy said, struggling to catch up with him.

She hadn't told him she was going to be the one to bake the cake this year. Buffy wanted to surprise him and make Billy proud of her. He was always acting more grown up than her and she wanted to prove she could do things, too. At this rate though, he probably wouldn't care, she thought in frustration.

"Fine. Batman. I want everything Batman even though I don't even really like that anymore because theme parties are for babies. Now you tell me you want it all unicorns and we'll do Batman fighting unicorns."

"See, that wasn't hard," Buffy said, glad she could at least annoy him. Lately Billy had been acting like they weren't best friends anymore. He'd look at her like he wanted something but then he wouldn't say what. They rode in silence for a while, and she plucked up her courage to ask him for the millionth time what was going on.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I want you to kiss me again, like you used to," Billy said. He just blurted it out without a second thought, as though he hadn't said something completely crazy.

"We never kissed," Buffy said.

"We Frenched," Billy said, with a laugh.

"Oh my God, we did not!" Buffy said, covering one of her burning red cheeks with her hand, forcing the bike to veer for an instant. She was disgusted and intrigued by the thought of putting her tongue in his mouth, but more of the first one.

"When we were married you'd let me," Billy said, with a smug smile on his face.

"Yuck, I did not. We were never real married, just fake married when we were like five."

"Yes we were! You let me do it all the time."

"That's, like, with spit. I wouldn't ever do that. No one really does that."

"They do on T.V."

"Well, they get money for that."

"I bet your parents do."

"No, they don't," Buffy said, knowing she was lying but not wanting to lose the argument.

"Mendacity, that's a sin, kitten," Billy said.

"What's that even mean?"

"Untruths, lies, falsehoods. You really ought to read more, pet," Billy said.

"Stop that. Quit acting like you're all...not exactly the same age as me. And why can't you ever call me Kara?" she asked.

"Because you're Buffy. And you can pretend you don't remember anything, but I know you do," Billy said.

At that moment a man's face flashed in her head, one with high cheekbones and blue eyes, like Billy's except he was much, much older. A grown man who was touching her in places no one had the right to and who had blood on his mouth. Her blood.

Buffy jerked the wheel of her pink bicycle and turned around without saying a word. It took a little while for Billy to realize he was alone. When he did, Billy followed her, catching up quickly because of his longer legs.

"Hey, I thought you wanted to buy poncey decorations?"

"No, you're right. It's stupid. In fact, let's not even have a party this year," she said.

"Stop, Buffy, please," Billy said, but she was outpacing him. She would be home soon and then she could lock her door and hold Mr. Gordo and that face would go away. She made it to her blue, clapboard house with the yellow shutters. Buffy ditched her bike in the front yard, not caring that her dad would lecture her about thieves and the cost of things for not putting it safely in the garage. Billy was on her heels, asking what the bloody hell was wrong with her and before she could make it to the front door, he'd grabbed her wrist. Billy tried to yank her into a hug, but Buffy flipped him over. He was probably regretting talking her into taking those Tai Kwando classes.

He landed with a fwump on the grass and started laughing.

"It's not funny," she said.

"You're right, not funny, very not funny," Billy said, still chuckling. He sat up and touched the back of his head. When he brought his open hand before his eyes, Billy's fingers were wet with blood. Buffy was on the ground in a second, kneeling behind him so she was eye level with the injury. Buffy tentatively lifted his blond hair to examine it more closely.

"It's just a scratch, I'll put some stuff on it," she said, solemnly. Buffy took his hand and led him into the house. They walked upstairs and Billy followed her into her parents' brown bathroom. Buffy rummaged through the medicine cabinet, found some cotton balls and antibiotic ointment. Billy sat on the closed toilet and she tended to him, daubing the sore spot until she was satisfied he wouldn't die of a massive infection.

"Why'd you run away from me?" he asked.

She delicately twisted the cap back on the tube of Neosporin and put it away. Then she threw the cotton in the trash.

"I don't know. You're being weird lately," Buffy said.

"What's the harm in a kiss, love? " Billy asked.

Buffy moved to the sink to wash her sticky hands, turning the taps on. The white soap slithered from hand to hand under the stream of warm water. Billy was watching her washing up and it was making her uncomfortable. He always seemed to be studying her lately instead of just being with her.

"You're freaking me out," Buffy said.

"Do it once and I won't ask again," he said.

Buffy shut off the faucet and dried her wet hands, considering him.

"If you promise not to talk about us being married anymore, or anything like that, I will," she said.

"Cross my heart," he said, making an x on his chest, "do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?"

"Oh, right," Buffy said.

She found him an extra toothbrush and side-by-side they cleaned their teeth. Then they went down the hall to Buffy's bedroom. It was a given they'd go to her room and that they'd shut the door; Buffy wasn't sure why it made her so nervous when they actually did, though.

Buffy's room was painted white with purple violets bordering the ceiling. The same flowers were embroidered on the cream colored, eyelet curtains, which Buffy swiped closed, as though the neighbors would be watching them. Maybe it was because Buffy knew she was doing something wrong. Billy sat on her bed, running his palm against the velvety quilt. Buffy tiptoed across the floor and then plopped down beside him.

"So we just go, then?" Buffy asked.

"I guess, yeah," Billy said.

They stared at one another for a moment.

"You're the one who wanted to do this so bad, you start," Buffy said.

Billy rolled his eyes at her and then put his hands on her shoulders. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Buffy wasn't sure what to do next. It didn't feel like much of anything, but it was nice. She liked being this close to him, she liked that it was Billy who was doing the kissing. Buffy shut her eyes and sighed. The kiss ended at she looked at him.

"That was good. Right?"

"Let's try it with our mouths open," he said, hopefully.

"Um...O.K."

He pulled her to him again and she opened her mouth, worried about drool. Then it was happening and his tongue didn't feel as strange as she thought it would, but there was something else nagging and wrong.

When Buffy closed her eyes she saw the older man again covered in blood and he was shouting at Tara. In Tara's lap she held the gory body of a blonde girl.

"Give her to me, I've got to turn her—"

"No Billy, you can't," Tara said.

“For fuck's sake Tara, she and I agreed that's what I'd have to do if she was mortally wounded. We decided–“


“Can't you feel it, Billy? She's dead, she's already dead,” Tara said, her head bowing over the body.

And Buffy knew that the dead body was hers, just as the vampire named Billy was, too.

Buffy shoved Billy away and crawled up the bed until she was cowering on the other side. He reached for her but she slapped his hands away.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, looking into her flushed face pleadingly.

"You're gonna hurt me," she whispered over her folded arms. She'd drawn herself into a tight ball.

"I would never hurt you."

"But you did before. You're one of the monsters," Buffy said.

"Buffy, no, I love you—"

"Not Buffy. I'm Kara, I'm Kara, I'm Kara," she said, rocking back and forth.

Billy tried to get her to make eye contact and respond to him, but the girl refused. He knew her parents wouldn't be back until Sunday; they were going to some concert and Buffy was supposed to stay over with him. He couldn't leave her alone like she was begging. The only thing to do would be to ask Tara what was wrong.

Tara was in the kitchen boiling jars for canning when Billy came running in through the back door. She was about to remind him to take off his sneakers when she saw the look on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, snapping off the burners on the gas stove.

"Buffy."


Tara was alone with Buffy for about a half hour, while Billy paced in the hallway upstairs. When his mother finally came out, Billy rushed over to her.

"What did you do to her, is she o.k.?"

Tara took a deep breath.

"She's going to sleep for another few hours. When she wakes up she's not going to remember the kissing, which, by the way, you are way, way too young to be doing, or anything that came afterward," Tara said.

"I'm older than you, I should be able to bloody well kiss her anytime I want, and how dare you mess with her mind! You can't wipe someone's memories as you see fit, that's making them into what you want them to be," Billy said.

"You're eleven years old, no matter what you think you know and you're still my son. And I didn't wipe her memory, I'd never do that. She'll remember everything, eventually. Now let's go downstairs and have a cup of cocoa. We have some things to talk about," Tara said.

“I'll be twelve in a week,” Billy mumbled as he followed her down the steps, making sure she got the full effect of his sullen stomp and theatrical lip pout. They settled into the kitchen and put on the kettle. Tara dropped extra marshmallows in his cup, a sure tip off things were very, very bad. He sat on one of the metal chairs with the white, plastic seat.

Tara was silent as she poured the hot water and set the plain, black mug before him. She settled her long, green skirt around her as she sunk onto her seat, reminding him of a water lily. They sat silently in the Cales' efficient, blue kitchen with the sleek, silver appliances, listening to the hall clock tick. Billy noticed Tara wasn't drinking anything. She tilted her head slightly as she searched his face and touched her hands together on the table as though in prayer.

"Billy, what do you remember about the time before you were born?" Tara asked.

"You look exactly the same," Billy said, taking a sip of his cocoa. Tara always got the temperature perfect, he had no idea how she always could; whenever he made hot chocolate the first taste burnt his tongue.

"That's sweet," Tara said, in a way that was as good as ignoring the compliment.

"No, it's true. I found those pictures you hid in the attic. You haven't changed at all and that was like twelve years ago. It's because of the magic with the tattoos, right?"

“That, or good genes. Now, quit trying to butter me up and tell me what you recall about Buffy."

"We were married," Billy said, fidgeting with the handle of his mug.

"Do you know that because of the picture or is it from your head, like what you remember about the tattoos?"

"The picture reminded me and then the details came back. I knew it was us, even though she doesn't look the same. Her hair and the way her face is are different, like her chin is more pointy now and her nose is fatter along the bridge. She doesn't have that little bulb at the tip of her nose, either, but it's still her. Her eyes are exactly the same as I remember. That was why I started calling her Buffy in the first place, I think, because I always knew, even if I didn't have all the specifics," Billy said.

"What else?" Tara asked, her eyes staring steadily into his.

"Married people stuff," Billy said, looking away shyly and chewing on a ragged cuticle.

"You mean sex?"

"Do you want details? That's doubly awkward seeing as you were my sister and now you're my mum," Billy said. Tara's face reddened.

"No, I want you to be clear."

"Yes, sex."

"You're way, way too young for that, Billy."

"I'm sick of being too young. I've got no control over anything. Everything is so boring, school is boring. As soon as they bring up something new I remember everything about it, anyway. The only good thing is having class with Buffy, but it can't be the way I want it to with her. I want to get a G.E.D. They do that here, don't they? Get a proper job so when Buffy graduates from high school we can buy a house and get married," Billy said.

Tara ran her hands through her long, silver hair and let out a frustrated huff.

"You are eleven years old. This isn't Victorian England. You could go to University early, your marks are good enough to do that. I would be happy to help you find more challenging classes, but you're not quitting school to become a what? A streetwise bootblack?"

Billy groaned and pushed his cocoa away.

"It's taking forever, getting big. I hate it. I know what I want right now."

"No, you don't. If you really understood what was going on, you'd realize that this time, right now, was probably the most you'd spend with her, ever. Grownups don't usually get summers off to play all day and watch movies. I know it's frustrating, but life is bloody frustrating, Billy. You have a chance here to do something extraordinary with your time on this earth. Most people never get an opportunity like this. Don't waste it by being petulant," Tara said.

"What do you mean, was probably?" he asked.

Tara sighed and then crossed her legs. She rested her head on her hands.

"For your safety but mostly for hers, I think it's best we move back to England—"

Billy's chair scraped across the floor and he was standing up.

"No, no, no!"

"You don't get a say in this."

"Bloody right I don't, when the hell do I ever get a say? Didn't ask for any of this, did I?"

Tara stood and put her hand on his shoulder. He snapped away from her grasp, his body moving like a fishing line going tight.

"If you want to be a man for her so badly, then do it now. You can give her the childhood she didn't have the first time."

"She said I was a monster. Is that why we have to go? Did I...what did I do to her? Are you afraid I'm going to do it again?"

"Calm down."

"I'm not calming down until you tell me what happened."

"When you're ready to know, you'll remember," Tara said.

"Why don't you tell me," Billy said.

"Because I love you."

"I need to know now!" Billy shouted.

As he spoke the words, the depth and detail of his previous life roared through his conscious mind like a tsunami, leaving devastation in its wake. Tara was able to catch her son before he collapsed on the ground. She picked him up as she had so many times when he was a baby. Tara carried Billy into the Cales' living room and set him down on their green sectional couch. She sat beside him and he crawled into her lap. It took him a full minute to recover his words.

"Take it away. I don't want to know anymore, mummy," Billy whispered.

"I can't," Tara said, sadly, threading her fingers through his hair. It was already going silver, as was their family curse.

"Why not?"

"Because the spell I did to help you is irreversible. When you were three you remembered everything and you begged me to kill you, Billy. You said you were bad,” Tara said, a crackle in her voice. She took a deep breath and continued, “the Saving Grace lets you forget things until you're ready to deal with them, you need to know, or you ask to know. I performed it for Buffy just now. If we stay, she won't be able to come to things in her own time. You and I would be a constant reminder of what happened to her. Do you understand, Billy?"

He nodded.

“When she understands, she won't want me around anyway. I hurt her so much, just like she said.”

“You don't know that for certain, darling. The connection between the three of us is strong and she loves you.”

“She doesn't know what I really am.”

“Yes she does and so do I. You're a good person, Billy.”

“You have to say that, you're my Tara.”

She chuckled.

“I'll help you. Just let me.”

Billy rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffled.

“O.K.,” he said.

"After the birthday party, I'm going to send you to be with Simon for a while. I need to finish up with my job and sell the house. Your dad's been wanting you to stay again for a long time, anyway," Tara said.

"Marta hates me."

"No, Marta loves you, she hates me for my man-stealing ways. Besides you can spend time with your little sister, she adores you."

"I don't want to do this."

"Neither do I, but you know it's right, don't you?"

The pain of everything that had happened between himself and Buffy the first time was raw. His memories returning ripped open the wound again. Billy had trapped Buffy, suffering, in between worlds. Billy couldn't do something like that to his girl again, especially because disregarding her needs for his own again was so tempting.

"I do. What can I tell her?" Billy asked.

"Blame it all on me, alright?"

***


Buffy woke up feeling really good, if a little confused. The last thing she remembered was riding her bike to the party store. Billy had been kind of a pill, but they'd agreed on Batman fighting unicorns, except for some reason that didn't seem right anymore.

Heavy dread settled in when Buffy realized she was alone. Billy normally slept on the floor, or sometimes he'd snuggle up next to her; her parents freaked when he did that, but Tara never seemed to care. Her mom and dad were gone for the night, so where was Billy?

Buffy got out of bed and padded from room to room upstairs. All of them were Billy-less. She skipped downstairs and found him sleeping on the couch in Tara's lap.

"Is everything alright, sweetheart?" Tara asked.

"I was by myself. It was kinda scary," Buffy said.

"You were never alone, we were here the whole time," Tara said, reaching her arm out to Buffy. The girl went to her and let Tara give her a quick hug before lounging beside them on the couch. Billy woke up, and sat upright, embarrassed Buffy had seen him cuddling with his mom.

"Hey," Billy said, scraping sleep crumbs out of the corner of his eye with the edge of his fingernail.

"Hey, what's up?" Buffy asked, worried about the look that was passing between her best friend and his mother.

"Billy and I have to move, Buffy. We're going back to England."

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. Buffy should have been surprised, but she wasn't. Even though it didn't make any sense, Buffy was certain Billy leaving was her fault.

"I'm sorry," Tara said.

"But you're my best friend," Buffy said, looking past Tara to Billy.

"You're mine, too, but there's nothing I can do."

"When are you coming back?"

"Not in the foreseeable future," Tara said.

"But why?" Buffy asked.

"My mom said—"

"Billy's dad wants to be closer to him and I need to find another job," Tara said.

Buffy kicked the bottom of the couch with the back of her foot.

"I hate this," Buffy said, her shoulders slumped.

"I hate it, too," Billy said.

Tara thought the same thing, but instead of confusing things further by expressing her feelings, she stood up to give the kids a minute.

"I'll make us some supper, guys. How about chocolate chip pancakes?"

Billy nodded and Tara left the two alone. Buffy inched closer to Billy and they put their arms around each other. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Could you live with us instead?" Buffy asked.

Billy laughed and she looked at him with a smile.

"No, I've got to go. I'll miss you so much," he said, tilting his head so he could kiss her forehead. Buffy lifted a small hand to his face.

"Miss you too," Buffy said, tracing his cheek with the tip of her finger.

"I'll write every day," Billy said.

"Me too, I promise," Buffy said.

Nine Years Later

Kara was kind of an enigma, even to Poppy, who was probably her closest friend. The girls were roommates all throughout undergrad and had moved to Pennsylvania together for medical school where they were sharing a cramped apartment in the Oakland section of Pittsburgh. Poppy got the sole bedroom because she had a boyfriend and Buffy slept on a futon in what could generously be called their living room. It was basically a faux, wood-paneled hallway leading to the galley kitchen and bathroom.

Living in such tight quarters fostered a type of closeness. Poppy knew Kara used pads instead of tampons and that she had a soy allergy which almost killed her when she was ten. Kara's brand of eyeliner was Urban Decay and her shade was Smokey Camel. Kara slept with a stuffed pig named Mr. Gordo. Poppy knew embarrassing, inconsequential details that clutter up a life, but she didn't know the big stuff, like if Kara was straight or gay and whose name she muttered under her breath when she thrashed within her chronic nightmares.

Even though Kara was very pretty, with her long, bottle-blonde hair, her hourglass figure and her flawless skin, she never dated. Ever. Kara spent most of her time on homework, working at the University library or volunteering. After a night of drinking Poppy had asked Kara point blank if she was a virgin. Kara had tilted her head and for a second Poppy thought her friend was going to throw up. Instead, she said:

"I think, technically I still might be, but I don't really feel like I am."

"Did you have sex, then?"

"Kind of; no. No I haven't," Kara said.

Kara loved dancing, but she only went out with a few of their male friends to the local gay bar where she didn't drink or flirt with the random lesbian who might find herself there. The few times Poppy came along, Kara danced alone the entire time, a rapturous expression on her face as she moved to the music with her eyes gently closed.

The gay bar thing spurred much speculation among Poppy's friends about Kara's perpetual singlehood. The talk irritated Poppy, because it was no one's business. Besides, Poppy had her own theories about Kara's sexuality. Poppy was pretty sure her friend was interested in guys, from the way she'd get nervous around cute boys. Kara had single-handedly founded the University's suicide hotline and also started teaching a rape prevention class that eventually reduced sexual assaults on campus by half. Poppy thought her friend might have been working through her own issues by helping other people. She said as much when another girl basically trashed Kara at the sorority open house sophomore year.

“I think she's uber-prudish or maybe one of those born again virgins. She wears that fucking cross around her neck all the time. She probably slutted it up in high school and now she wants everybody to think she's miss pure and good,” the girl said, much to the discomfort of everyone around her. The other girls were quiet, hoping the subject would change when Poppy spoke up.

“Shut your poisonous mouth you pit viper!” Poppy shouted. She wasn't sure why she'd gone for all the snake imagery.

“What?”

“She's concerned about rape victims and helping suicidal kids, plus she never dates. You do the math you insensitive twit!”

Poppy had stormed out, not waiting for a reply.

That turned out to be a positive thing. She would've moved into the sorority housing and Poppy would have missed out on living with Kara. Poppy was fairly certain she wouldn't have had the confidence to take the advanced science classes which led her to switch her major from communications to pre-med. Kara helped her with her studies, too. Kara would always put her own needs on hold to help another person. Still, no one ever really seemed to get too close. After four years of school, practically everyone on the UB campus knew Kara, they all liked and admired her, but no one was compelled to keep in touch even three months later.

Since they'd been living in Pittsburgh, Poppy had discovered a new bend in the labyrinth that was Kara Cales. Poppy had never known Kara to engage pop culture; her roommate would watch movies in passing to be part of a group, but was hard pressed to name a favorite. Her musical tastes were completely outdated—Poppy teased that she wouldn't listen to anything recorded after two thousand and ten. The books she read were school related, aside for a penchant for trashy romances and goofy fantasy stories about telepathic unicorns.

Flying in the face of all this, Poppy had deduced that culturally-clueless Kara was obsessed with an English artist and graphic novelist. It wouldn't have been so strange, but he was the type of character the word "zeitgeist" had been tacked onto; a darling of intellectuals and the ineffably cool. Kara was all bright, former-cheerleader smiles while Will McClay wrote about dark subjects like death and pain. His artwork had a dramatic palate of reds, grays and black. Poppy was pretty sure Kara didn't own anything that wasn't primary colored or pastel with sparkles.

Kara had gone so far as to buy paper copies of his books; she stashed them under the futon mattress like she didn't want anyone to know she had them. It would have been kind of sweet if it weren't so sad that Kara was ashamed to care about something personal. Poppy walked in on her roommate reading his live feed once and Kara hid her laptop like she'd been caught downloading porn.

This fascination hinted at depths Kara was determined to conceal and Poppy was equally determined to exhume. Poppy felt like solving the secret of Will McClay would finally open Kara to the wider world, or at least, to her.

For Kara's twenty-first birthday, Poppy's friend had shyly suggested they go to see an exhibit of some of Will McClay's work. Poppy had readily agreed, hoping to gather more insight. They were going with Poppy's boyfriend, Constantine.

Connie hadn't stopped gushing since they'd boarded the light rail about the other artist at the exhibit.

"He's appropriated the technological trappings of the turn of the century and made these exquisite objects out of outmoded machines. The one with the iPhones is kind of kitschy, but it's still pretty clever. I can't believe they're pairing someone so innovative with Will McClay. Maybe they're supposed to comment on one another but it's still baffling—"

Kara perked up at the mention of her favorite artist and she shifted in her seat, her large eyes glowing in the dim interior.

"I love Will's work,” Kara said.

Poppy looked up at her boyfriend, adjusting her engineered-fur shawl. Even though it was August, the air was chilly enough for a coat. It wasn't cold enough for fur, but Poppy couldn't resist the snowy-colored, genetically-simulated polar bear wrap. She'd chosen to wear all white, heightening the shawl's visual impact and to contrast pleasantly with Kara's red, satin dress.

“That's why we're going tonight, honey,” Poppy said, looking at her refection in the dark window and running her fingers through her short, black curls.

Constantine wrinkled his nose, making his gold-framed eyeglasses bounce.

"You really like him? I mean you must if you're on a first name basis. Granted, I did, before he got popular, but then his work dropped off. I mean how many portraits of your mom should you paint? Granted, she's lovely, but Christenson did the Oedipal fascination thing to death, didn't he? I mean that literally, too, but who wants to think about that, right? Anyway, his books are better, but still kind of pedestrian. I mean naked women, how pedestrian can you get? It's nothing compared to Sauranson's satirical potato chip bags—"

"Hold on, there, sex partner, you think naked women are kind of ho-hum?" Poppy asked, halting her boyfriend's list of rhetorical questions.

"Pedestrian, yeah, but only in an artistic sense. The male form isn't any less pedestrian, if that's what you're implying," he said.

"I really wasn't, but now that you mention it—"

"I don't think the male form is pedestrian, unless it's a naked guy walking," Kara said, raising her eyebrows.

"So when it comes to naked forms you're more interested in the male ones?" Poppy asked.

Kara ducked her head down and then looked out the window.

"How can you make something so normal sound so weird?" Kara asked.

"Actually, being turned on by nude men is sort of weird. Women are much less visual than their male counterparts," Constantine said, knowingly.

"Shut up," Poppy said.

They finished the ride in tense silence.

***

The gallery was in Bloomfield at one of the sleek new rococo-style buildings with the white, porcelain facades. The neighborhood was on a recent upswing after nearly twenty years of decline following a fire that destroyed a corridor of historic structures. It had been a horrific tragedy that occurred in the winter of two-thousand eight. One of the apartment complexes had been set on fire and then occupants fleeing the building had been murdered, picked off one by one. None of the attackers had ever been apprehended. The lone survivor, a guy named Daveon Plissey, said the killers' faces were disfigured and they were talking about a slayer. Plissey's statement led to several rumors: one involving vampires, the other one was about drugged bikers into Satan worship and the heavy metal band Slayer.

About sixteen years later, with the help of a government grant, several local developers bought up the property and transformed the area. Gone were the few, remaining Italian-American businesses, replaced with posh stores selling luxury goods like jewelry and designer clothing. In a misguided bid to thwart some of the local uproar against the dramatic change in the neighborhood, the unofficial nickname for the area was adopted. The gallery they were going to was on Blood Street. People who'd been opposed to the gentrification were doubly offended by the glib nomenclature. Despite all the public grumbling, though, the place was thriving. There was so much new money infused into the city because of the cybernetics boom. The technology was supposed to do everything from cure cancer to reverse aging, but mostly people used it to download porn, listen to dubious, politically charged opinion and trade creepy fanfic about CSI:Miami.

Kara wondered if Billy knew his work was showing on the very first place they met, and how much he really remembered about what they'd been to each other in that other life. Kara hadn't seen Billy since the day after their twelfth birthday party. He'd reiterated his promise to write every day, but he didn't. She sent e-mail after e-mail and got one sentence responses until after a few months, Kara gave up. She'd send birthday cards that were not reciprocated, until the time when she didn't.

Once she reached high school, Kara hadn't actually forgotten Billy, but he wasn't in the forefront of her thoughts every day. Missing him was something she'd grown used to, like a person who learns to ignore nagging pain until it's just the background noise of life. She started participating in extracurricular activities to cope with her loneliness, but soon her interest became something else. Kara found she loved a challenge and she hated passing up the opportunity to do fun, regular kid stuff. Kara was a cheerleader, a mathlete, class president, head of the chess club and the homecoming committee. She kept up on her boxing and martial arts training, too. Her mom joked she was happy when summer rolled around because she finally got to see her daughter.

In Kara's still moments she would think of her old friend. Perhaps that was why she allotted herself so few still moments. Kara would imagine what he was doing, or rather, the images of him would come unbidden into her mind. Usually they were mundane things; Billy having tea with Tara or reading a book or drawing. His sketch book was ever-present and he'd draw in the middle of class or while watching television. Before she'd drift off she'd see him, usually sprawled out on his bed, face pressed against his drawings.

Billy ushered her to sleep but her dreams belonged to someone else. They belonged to Spike. When she closed her eyes, Kara saw a man dressed in outdated clothes, shaking out his umbrella. He looked through her like she was invisible and Kara knew his name was Spike. His blue eyes reminded her of the sky after a rainstorm, the way the world felt vulnerable and new, though it was neither. The umbrella dream started when she was about thirteen, and it continued, every night for years.

As she got older, the Spike dreams began to change. Most were flashes of his face or little scenes from a shared life, like him standing over a stove cooking or working over a punching bag or laughing. Kara loved the ones when he'd laugh. She understood in a vague way that they were really about Billy, but she wasn't sure why. The knowledge seemed to be just beyond her understanding, like brushing straining fingers against something unseen in the dark. More vexing was the conviction she had known, once, exactly what it all meant.

The truth didn't reveal itself until junior prom.

Kara had gone to the dance with her friend Josh. They went as friends—he'd been very clear on that point. Later she'd realize he'd been afraid she'd turn him down point blank if they went as anything else. It wasn't that she didn't like Josh; in fact if she'd been inclined to date anyone it would have been him. He was funny, smart and really cute; Josh was about her height with dark eyes and hair. The idea of dating anybody made her feel really, really uncomfortable though; like hyperventilating and throwing up uncomfortable. Kara was fairly certain there was something wrong with her but didn't want to tell anyone. The last time she got all expressive about her fears, the state tried to take her away from her parents.

Kara welcomed the chance to experience a rite of passage without having the pressure to get groiny by the end of the evening. Both Kara and Josh had been having fun treating their night out as a joke. They got goofy outfits at Goodwill a week before the big dance. Kara wore a crazy, ankle-length brown and white giraffe-print dress and Josh had a shiny, gold suit. They patted themselves on the back for spending less than fifty dollars total. Her mom got a huge kick out of their costumes, conceding she'd done something similar for her prom.

They'd forgone the ritual of corsages and boutonnieres then went to the banquet hall where their prom was held, in all their finery. Once they'd met up with their friends, Josh asked Kara to dance. He looked so nervous, she couldn't say no. Kara was surprised how unselfconscious she felt on the dance floor, even though she'd never really done it before. As she moved to the music, Kara became aware of her body in an entirely different way. When she looked into Josh's face, Kara wanted him to be someone else.

They danced and talked. It was the most fun Kara had had in a long time, but she still felt something fundamental was missing. After the prom king and queen were crowned, the students were handed their commemorative water goblets, then shown the door. Josh got quiet on the ride home, which was fine by Kara as she was utterly exhausted. They pulled up to the house and she said a quick good night. Josh put his hand on her arm when she started to step out of the car.

“Wait, did you have fun tonight?” he asked.

Kara smiled to cover her confusion.

“It was great. I always have fun with you, Josh. What about you?” she asked.

“Yeah, I always have fun with you, too. You're my favorite person in the whole world, did you know that?”

“Huh?”

Josh dipped his head down and set his lips against hers. Kara didn't move, not an eyelash, not a breath. Her first kiss came back to her in vivid detail; Billy tasting like Pepsodent and the gritty feel of his thumb stroking her sweaty neck. Kara remembered more than that, too. She realized Billy was the same person as Spike.

She remembered her first death.

Josh pulled away and saw her pained expression.

“I'm sorry, I thought you...can we still be friends?”

Her eyes swung away from the distant point at which she'd been staring and swiveled to his. She couldn't speak or stop trembling and was panting very hard. Josh fumbled through his pockets until he found his emergency inhaler because he thought she was having an asthma attack. When he pressed the plastic stem against her mouth, Kara shook herself out of her stasis. She moved the inhaler away.

“I don't have asthma.”

“It looked like you could use it. Are you O.K.?”

“Yeah, I'm so sorry,” she said, a brief smile bowing on her face before it made a hasty exit.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

“Yeah, that's fine, thank you,” Kara said.

He escorted her along the short path from the driveway to the front steps. They stopped there and Kara searched for some explanation, finding none that would make any kind of sense.

“I”m sorry...could you maybe not tell anybody about my weirdness?”

“Sure, as long as you don't tell anyone about the paralyzing power of my lips. It's kind of a trade secret seeing as I'm in the spy game,” Josh said.

“I'll take it to the grave,” she said with a relieved smile.

Kara gave him a quick hug and thanked him again. After Josh left, instead of walking in through the front door, she ran around the back and climbed the tree leading up to her window. She couldn't bear speaking to her parents just then. They were downstairs watching a movie on the couch and didn't hear her slip inside. She changed out of her ridiculous dress and put on a pair of pajamas, then crept into bed.

Kara's thoughts were roiling and she figured it would be hours before she fell asleep. However, within a few minutes, Kara was out and dreaming.

She was lying on a bed in a chilly room and staring out an ice-glazed window. There were no curtains on the window, only venetian blinds and the bed had plain, white sheets. On the marble windowsill were seven white candles melting into puddles.

She'd lit them for Christmas, one for each person who'd died. It was supposed to make her feel better; it had on other Christmases, when there were fewer candles. She lifted her hand and looked at the short, neat nails. There was a ring on nearly every one of Kara's fingers, a ring for every candle, every person. They were just lights glittering in the dim room now. It was New Year's Eve and she hadn't heard from anyone. The year before her friend, Wesley, had shown her how to bake fruit cake and let her have a glass of eggnog spiked with blackberry brandy, even though she wasn't yet twenty-one.

She'd thought he'd at least send a card this year, but he hadn't. There were only her candles, her rings and the photographs on the wall. She sat up in bed and then stood examining her body critically as teenage girls are apt to do. Kara's dream legs were slimmer, too and she was much less hippy, but her breasts were a cup size smaller. All in all, a trade off, she guessed and wondered which version Billy would find more appealing. Kara looked up from her self-appraisal and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She was overall shorter, thinner and blonder than in her waking life. Her dream self's lips were fuller and her nose was more narrow, but those details faded in the background quickly when Kara noticed the scar across her face. For an instant she wondered where it came from when suddenly, she remembered.

Angel, the boy she'd loved, the boy who was turned into a vampire had sliced her face the night he murdered her mom. Buffy's mother had invited him in, not knowing he'd been changed. Buffy hadn't told her she was the slayer; her mother didn't understand such things could exist. He drained her mom and tied Dawn to a chair. Then he made Dawn call Buffy to tell her their mom was missing. When Buffy walked into the house she saw Joyce's corpse splayed out on the floor and was rooted to the spot. That's when Angel grabbed her; that's when he did it, while Dawn sat helpless in the corner.

“Now no man will ever touch you, but don't worry. I'll make sure you don't die a virgin,” he said.

Kara covered the strange face with a jeweled hand. She turned and saw a flash of pink out of the corner of her eye.

Mr. Gordo was there in the dream, as always. Whenever her nightmares got too intense, he would appear and save the day. Kara could hug Mr Gordo and the badness would stop. Even though the dream made her feel like her world was ending, Kara didn't want to opt out yet. She knew this was something which had happened in her other life, and desperately wanted to figure out what it all meant.

Kara went to the window and extinguished the flames before exiting the sparse bedroom. She walked through the living room to the small bathroom, knowing all the while which way to go. She opened the medicine cabinet, took the toothpaste out and brushed her teeth, then swept on some perfume. It smelled sweet, like cotton candy. She traced her lips with some shiny, pink gloss and looked at herself in the mirror.

There wasn't a reason not to talk to Spike any more. Kara's dream self, Buffy, knew she had nothing left to lose. Buffy had trouble remembering the last time someone touched her without using their fists. She needed to feel something other than dread. Buffy gave her reflection one more cursory glance and fluffed her hair. She slipped on her pink flip flops and walked out of the bathroom then ran through the rest of her apartment and out into the hall. She locked up the place and whispered a spell under her breath, feeling the air thicken slightly around her. She made the trek to Spike's place and knocked on his door.

Spike answered and she nearly lost her nerve. She was really going to do this, perform oral sex on a perfect stranger? She'd only seen it done in movies and wasn't sure if she could even do it right. But she had to be near him, she had to get close to someone or she was going to go crazy.

If he pushed her out of the room, if he said no, Buffy would let the next vampire win, because she couldn't live like this anymore.

“Hi,” she said.

Suddenly, Kara was jarred out of the dream by the sound of her cell phone going off. She groped in the dark until she found the mobile in her purse. Kara put the cellular to her ear.

“Hel—“

“It's midnight, young lady. Where on earth are you?”

“In bed, upstairs in bed,” Kara mumbled.

A few seconds later, her mother opened her door and barged into the room holding her mobile in her palm.

“What's up?”

“Tired, super-tired,” Kara said, crawling to the edge of the mattress and setting her phone down on the nightstand. She dragged herself into a sitting position as her mom walked closer. Emily stopped just short of the bed, glaring sternly and tapping her foot.

Kara looked at her mom, overwhelmed with gratitude that her mother was safe and her dad was downstairs. They were healthy and alive and Kara didn't have to kill any monsters. She wasn't all alone in the world.

Kara wrapped her arms around her mom's waist. Emily's fury subsided, slightly and she returned the embrace.

“What happened, did Josh do something? Were you drinking?”

“No, Josh was a perfect gentleman and the only thing we drank was a bottle of warm Gatorade he had in the back seat of his car. I think it might have made me a little light headed, but other than that, we're clean,” Kara said, her voice muffled.

Emily pulled away and looked directly into Kara's eyes.

“Don't you ever scare me like that again,” Emily said before leaving.

After her ill-fated prom night Kara began having more detailed dreams about Spike.

As the years went by, the story of her former life slowly unfolded. Sometimes the nightmares became too terrifying and she would be compelled to grab onto Mr. Gordo, but as she got older Kara withstood more. Kara fully comprehended why Billy cut off contact with her. They'd hurt each other so much, all because she couldn't bear to stay away from him. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to repeat all that misery in his new life. She was still drawn to him, anyway, like planets lining up around a sun.


Kara wished she could stop aching for him, dreaming of him and seeing his face every time she had an unguarded moment. Her longing had destroyed him the first time around. Billy had made it plain he didn't want to give her that chance again; he'd never responded to her messages.

Still, her birthday wish was to go see his show and be close to the objects he'd labored over. These were the stories that helped him to sleep and greeted him when he awoke. These were the paintings he'd created with his own hand. At least they could share this, Kara thought, even if it was done in mutual isolation.

Kara and Poppy pushed open the clear glass double doors and walked into the gallery arm in arm. Constantine trailed behind them, carrying his girlfriend's wrap. They were greeted by an enormous image of the first Buffy's face, rendered in shades of gray except the scar running through her lip, which was painted bright red. The name of the exhibit was painted beneath: A Shadow Fell Across Her Face.

Poppy did a double take in front of the sign.

“She's like you,” Poppy said, tilting her head, slightly.

“Maybe in the eyes,” Kara said with a shrug.

Their heels clicked on the bamboo floor and echoed off the stark, white walls. They went through the long hallway toward sounds of polite murmuring from the main gallery. They turned the corner and entered the large space. Other art lovers were milling about, holding glasses of wine, all wearing black or white.

“Was there a dress code?” Kara whispered.

Poppy took out her phone and pulled up the advertisement for the event, scanning it nervously.

“Shit, yeah, I'm sorry. But it was only a suggested one, not required, so they won't escort you out,” Poppy whispered.

“It's nice to know fascism is alive and well,” Kara mumbled.

“I think it's nice when companies impose standards. Casual wear was getting disgusting. In Europe people dress up to go out, it wasn't like that here until they started improving standards. I mean, you always look lovely, Kara, but what if someone had decided to show up to an event like this wearing jeans,” Constantine said, scoffing out the last word. Then his eyes went wide and he covered his mouth with his hand.

“Right, and it's the artist, too,” Constantine said, inclining his head toward a fellow slouching in the corner, “you think he heard me?”

The man with the bad posture was Billy. He was wearing a pair of black jeans frayed at the cuff and a white, silk t-shirt. His black boots looked old, but someone had polished them to gleaming. His nails were also black and he was fingering a silver ink pen.

Kara stopped.

He looked up, saw her staring and dropped the pen.

Billy was walking toward her and she noticed he moved differently than Spike. He didn't seem to be checking the exits or sizing up the other people in the room to see if he could take them down. Even as a human being there was a violent tension in Spike's carriage. Will's gestures were free of that coiled menace, like someone who'd grown up never having to fight his way out of a situation. Other than his gait, the two men were remarkably the same; both had silver hair and bright, blue eyes. Will had high cheekbones, but the rest of his face was a touch softer. Over his left eyebrow instead of a scar was a black cuff piercing the middle.

“Great, he definitely heard me,” Constantine said just before Will reached their group.

Will was standing in front of her after all of these years, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes shining. His lips were doing that thing where they looked drawn up for a kiss. She worried he might think she was stalking him or, at the very least, being a nuisance. Kara tried to speak, but all she could manage was a squeaky sigh.

“Do you want to go back to my place, kitten?” Will asked.

Kara nodded.

Will stretched out his arm, splaying his fingers. Kara watched the muscles in his forearm shift as she took his hand. The contact of his skin on hers sent a flush through her body and she knew Will felt it, too, by his smile.

As he led Kara from the room, Poppy began to follow them. Constantine lightly caught her wrist.

“Why didn't you tell me she knew him?” Constantine asked with a groan.

“She doesn't, we have to stop her—“

“Come on. She's not the type to go home with a man she doesn't know, no matter how well he draws.”

Poppy shook his grip loose.

“So you're saying he's the big secret?”

“Didn't you see the way they looked at each other?” Constantine asked.

“I...shut up,” Poppy said, folding her arms.


***


Kara wasn't sure what was happening, or even if it was real. Billy was holding her hand and she hadn't thought that was ever going to be possible again. She knew inviting her to his house wasn't something done out of politeness to an old friend and for the first time Kara felt hopeful about her prospects with him. They walked for about a block to a renovated, red, brick row house. They went up the steps and Will fumbled through his pocket until he produced a key. He seemed focused on unlocking the door when he tilted his head up and smiled at her.

“Like the hair a lot,” he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“It felt right. Your piercing looks good,” she said, nearly touching the piece of jewelry before withdrawing her hand.

“It felt right, too,” he said.

Billy pushed the door open and they entered his flat.

He flipped a wall switch and the overhead Tiffany light came on, illuminating a plastic-wrapped, black, Queen Anne-style couch with scrolled, silver feet. It was the only piece of furniture in a space otherwise filled with unpacked boxes. Billy gestured vaguely toward the disordered living room with a swipe of his hand.

“Sorry, still moving in. Kitchen's all fixed up, though, if you're feeling peckish,” Will said as he set the lock. Having finished his task, he seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands. He finally put them on his hips, but it seemed almost like he was posing.

“I'm not, but thanks. How long have you been in Pittsburgh?” Kara asked.

“Day before last. Tara's coming next week to help me settle in,” Will said.

“Did you know I was here?” Kara asked, smoothing her satin skirt. She'd worn it because red had been Will's second favorite color when they were young, and she didn't own anything black.

“I thought you might be. I felt it more than anything,” Will said, quietly, having as much difficulty finding a place to rest his eyes as he had his hands.

“Me, too. I mean about tonight, but I wasn't sure if it was just me wanting to see you,” she said.

He glanced up at her.

“Buffy—“

“It's not Buffy anymore. I'm Kara now,” she said.

He sighed and his shoulders seemed to get closer to the floor.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. You're not Billy anymore, either. We've both changed.”

“You're right. There's a pull between you and me, but it doesn't have to be like it was before.”

The four feet of floor in between them seemed to triple in size.

“What do you mean?” Kara asked.

Will looked into her eyes.

“I'm not expecting anything from you.”

“But...what if I want you to expect something?”

Kara stepped toward him and put her hands on his waist, right above the spot where his own were resting. She moved deliberately, keeping her eyes on Will's until the last moment when she caught his mouth up in a cautious kiss. His eyes fluttered closed and his hands went to caress her jaw. The delicacy soon gave way to need. She whimpered as their tongues wove. Kara grabbed a handful of hair, tugging it sharply. He half laughed, half moaned, the sound vibrating in his chest. She broke the kiss, holding him like a puppy at the scruff of the neck.

“You still like that?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” he said, the words no louder than an exhalation, “is that all you remember?”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, too and they nearly fell into another kiss.

“I remember everything,” Kara said.

He touched her face with the tips of his fingers, tracing the contours of her cheek.

“And you still want to be here?” he asked.

“It's been killing me to stay away,” she said.

Their lips met again and they delved into each other. During the course of the kiss Kara unconsciously pushed Will until his back was flush against the door. Her hands slipped under the sleek material of his t-shirt and wandered over his bare skin. His whole body was shaking when their mouths snapped apart.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded yes, his chin nearly touching his chest.

“Want to show you something upstairs,” Will said.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and they ascended the wooden staircase to the second floor. There were three doors, one open and clearly leading to a small bathroom. Will went to the door on the left and they entered what looked to be his bedroom. It was in slightly better order than the downstairs. The bed was made up with red sheets and there were no boxes on the floor. Beneath a large window at the end of the room was an onyx colored dresser. Kara walked over to the place where he slept and sat down. On the white wall across from her hung a huge, mirror in an black frame carved with curly cues and fleur-dis-lis.

“You can watch yourself while you're in here. That's kind of naughty,” she said.

“The novelty of having a reflection again hasn't worn off, love,” he said. Kara felt embarrassed and crossed her legs at the ankle. Will sunk down beside her, his hands in his lap. He studied his fingers as he spoke.

“I love you, I tried not to, but you're part of me,” Will said, his voice cracking, “you're in my soul, doesn't matter what you call yourself or how you look. Was yours the moment our eyes met.”

She brought his chin up so he could see her face.

“Will, I love you, too,” Kara said. She kissed him tenderly and he lowered her onto the bed before stretching out next to her. Kara let her hands rest on his shoulders. Will dragged her dress to her waist and skimmed her hips with trembling fingers. Her stomach was bubbling with nerves as he touched her white, lace panties.

“I don't have any protection, love,” Will said.

“It's alright, I'm on the pill.”

“So you've done this before?” he asked, with a half smile, giving her an Eskimo kiss.

“Not since you,” Kara struggled for words, looking into his eyes as though she could make him understand without them, “I hoped—”

He shook his head .

“Doesn't matter.”

“It does, though. I don't feel comfortable...I can't be like this with anyone but you. I need you to know how much this means to me,” Kara said.

“I do know. There hasn't been anyone, there's no one else for me. I passed up chances to date and, you know, be with other girls, but it was no good without you. You're it for me and I promise, Kara, tonight won't be like last time. I won't hurt you,” Will said.

“I know you won't,” Kara said.

Will hugged her, his breath hitching and his eyes wet. They undressed each other carefully as though turning the pages of a book made fragile with age. Each gesture revealed part of a story that was nearly lost. Their naked bodies were glowing reflections in the glass before them; their movements like the flickering of candle flames. Will looked so much like her memories of him, though his body was much less the polished weapon Spike's had been. Overall, the lines of his form were softer, just as hers were.

“You're so beautiful,” she said, as she laid beside him, her touch purposeful over him.

“Not disappointed?” he asked, his eyes shadowed by a rippled brow.

“Are you? I mean, I look even more different than you do.”

“God no! Love every part of you,” he said, kissing her lips.

They caught up on the intervening years by caressing every novel bit of flesh. Will suggested a game of show and tell, starting with the jagged scar on his left shin.

“That happened just after I left. Simon saw I was pretty low with missing you so he took me camping in Brighstone Bay on the Isle of Wight. I tripped over one of the tent stakes and landed on a broken bottle.”

“Oh!” Kara said, descending on the spot with kisses. He laughed.

“It was a long time ago, all better now. What about you?”

“Mine's more embarrassing,” she said.

Kara rolled onto her stomach and showed him the cicatrix on the top of her leg.

“I fell off the pyramid when I was cheerleading the homecoming game my senior year. I caught myself on the edge of the bleacher on my way to the ground.”

He slowly licked the faded mark until he reached her ass and then bit the plump swell. Kara moaned and wiggled, trying to inch the cleft between her legs closer to his mouth. Will grabbed her hips and held her fast to the mattress as she writhed.

“Ah, ah, kitten. Much more to see. Don't you want to know what happened when I took a tumble off my half-sister's skateboard?” he asked, mirth evident in his voice.

“Well, yeah, but you're all with the yummy distraction,” she huffed theatrically. He let her go and Kara flipped onto her side, her grin betraying her playfulness. Will crawled beside her so they were facing. He angled his jaw up, pointing to a white line under his chin.

“Three stitches.”

“Impressive,” she said, stroking the old injury before kissing the spot. Her fingers traced the curve of his throat before giving way to more wanton caresses. She was taking the measure of him; consuming the feel of his chest, his waist and the firm ridge of his hip. His pupils had nearly blotted out his iris by the time Kara's fingertips skimmed over his crinkly, silver pubic hair. The coarse curls provided contrast to his smooth skin. He sucked in air when she touched his erection. Kara wrapped her hand around his cock, giving it a firm squeeze. He bucked into her hand and moved closer until he was moaning against her cheek. Kara lifted her leg and slung it over him while continuing to stroke him off. Wordlessly, Will's hand found her clit and his fingers began to rub over the slippery flesh. A hushed cascade of vowel sounds, Oh's and Ah's were rising from her mouth.

Will slid a finger inside her, making Kara feel overfull even though she was so wet the moisture was glossing her upper thighs. They touched each other like that until Will whispered: “We should stop, before I come.”

“I want you to. I'm yours,” she whispered.

Just before his orgasm overtook him, Will jerked his hand from between her legs. Will held his breath as he came with a thick thread of semen surging against her stomach. Kara kissed the corner of his parted lips and felt tears pressing on the back of her eyes. He'd retained that habit of holding his breath through two deaths, she thought. Kara scooped up his cum with the flat of her hand and licked it off without thinking of how vulgar it might look. She only wanted to taste it because it was his. Will watched her with round eyes until she was done.

“Sorry, was that kind of gross,” Kara said, as she took in his expression.

“Are you mad? That's the sexiest bloody thing I've ever seen,” he said.

“Well, it's still early,” Kara said, smirking.

Will tackled her and they were kissing luxuriously. His skin was so hot and she couldn't restrain her grateful tears anymore. Billy was alive and untainted.

They'd both been saved.

He tore himself away from her mouth and began setting a path of kisses down her throat, toward her breasts. She wiggled away.

“Just want to kiss you,” she said.

“Come on kitten, let me taste you, get it soft and wet so I can slide inside you,” he said.

“But smoochies are so nice,” she said. Kara remembered how good he could make her feel with his tongue, but she felt embarrassed to let him please her that way. It made her feel so vulnerable.

He chuckled and smiled down at her.

“You're always like that—“

The smile broke into a frown as he remembered it was actually their first time.

“Please, love,” he whispered. She closed her eyes and nodded yes. Will knelt between the v of her legs, pushing them further apart. She squirmed as he stared at her open pussy. He brought his tongue to the sensitive flesh, lapping at her clit. Kara's self-consciousness receded as she watched him. Will was burrowing his nose deeper against her labia and his eyes were rapturously closed. The way he uncoiled his body was so sexy. He was grinding his cock against the mattress in time with each suck of his mouth and with each thrust the sides of his ass contracted. She wanted to grab each round, muscular half and drive him deep inside her.

Will eased his finger into her and the walls of her vagina felt vacuum-pack tight. He stretched her, gradually wedging in another finger and keeping his tongue in play to soothe her pain. When she'd get close to orgasm he'd slow down, keeping her right on the edge. It felt like he manipulated her pussy for hours before he finally stopped, leaving her dizzy and wanting.
“Do you want me, kitten?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow and panting over her prone form.

“Please yes,” she said.

Will covered her with his body and then brought his mouth to hers. They kissed, tongues tussling, while he teased the sore opening of her vagina with the sleek head of his cock. Then they were looking into each others' eyes.

“Take a deep breath for me, love,” he whispered.

She did.

“Now exhale,” he said.

When she did, he pushed into her. The penetration ached, but she didn't feel like she was being ripped open like the first time. He was looking down at her with such adoration, the ecstasy transforming his face.

“Tell me when to move,” he said.

Kara nodded. She felt his weight on top of her and began dragging her hands up and down his back. Kara grabbed his ass and pulled him forward. Will started rocking against her and the friction felt so good. More than good. The pain and pleasure were mingling sweetly, informing one another until she threw her head back, whispering: “More.” Will increased the pressure and her legs spread further. She lost herself to the sensation and her delayed orgasm throbbed through her.

“Fuck yeah, just like that, love. Come for me,” Will sighed in her ear.

Will slowly withdrew and then laid next to her. Kara hoisted herself onto her side and nuzzled his chest.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

“Love you,” she said.

As she drifted off to sleep, Kara realized it had taken her two lifetimes to feel such a sense of peace and well being.

***

Kara awoke in Will's arms with a fresh day shining through the window. His breath was making a snuffly purr that was intensely adorable. She went to the bathroom, came back and listened to his heartbeat until he awoke.

“Hmmh?” he asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” she said with a sleepy smile. His grin spread like warmth over his face and his puffy eyes twinkled.

“Hello, love,” he said with a stretch, “give me one minute and then I need to show you something”

“I thought you showed me last night,” she said, giving his nipple a lick. His chest hopped like she'd jolted him with electricity.

“Oi! Something else,” he said, giggling.

Will got up and took his own trip to the bathroom. He returned and they lingered beneath the blanket, kissing. Kara realized she had no idea when the comforter had materialized on top of them, probably after she'd passed out. When he was finally able to dredge her from their shared comfort, Will went to the dresser and plucked out a white t-shirt. He tossed the top to Kara and she caught it with one hand. She examined the tag and nodded with mock appreciation.

“Wow, one hundred percent cotton. This was definitely worth getting out of bed for,” Kara said.

He rolled his eyes at her and then pulled on a pair of boxer briefs he'd taken from the bottom drawer.

“It's not a t-shirt, silly bint,” he said, poking the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

“Since we're both up-up I should probably call Poppy and let her know I'm still alive,” Kara said.

“Come with me first,” Will said.

Kara stood up and walked to Will. He took her small hand in his larger one and together they went across the hall to the closed room. Before they breached the threshold, he made a point of looking her in the eye.

“I didn't lie to you, before, I mean. I did write every day.”

“You wrote me?”

Kara's brow contracted for an instant and she shook her head, trying to puzzle him out.

“That's how the drawing started. I was better at making pictures...well, you'll see for yourself,” he said, turning the knob and opening the door.

The room was full almost floor to ceiling with piles of black sketchbooks. Will went to the nearest pile and snatched one from the top, flipping it open. She stood beside him and looked on with wonder at the scene depicted in a simple cartoon.

Billy was labeled with an arrow. He didn't look just like her friend, but he had the general feeling with the exaggerated cheekbones, blue eyes and wavy, light hair. In that particular adventure, he was watching television with a little thought bubble that said, “I am bored.”

“I'm sorry I never showed you before, love. After awhile I thought maybe you'd moved on from us.”

“Kind of impossible seeing as I kept dreaming of you. I didn't last night, though. Maybe now the nightmares will stop. They always got better when we were together, Billy.”

Kara leaned in and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. When it ended he held her and nuzzled her neck.

“I want you to stay with me.”

“You mean move in?” she asked, pulling away from the embrace. He cocked his head and pursed his lips.

“To start. I still want to marry you, if you want that.”

She grinned, the expression chasing away the rest of her lassitude.

“I do. But I want to read my letters, first,” she said.

So they spent the rest of the day becoming reacquainted with each other in every, single way.