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Rating: PG-13
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Chapter Three
Home Is Where The Heartbreak Is
Part I
Written by Phil and Jules
*
Rupert Giles had never been a big believer in the existence of miracles. Oh, he had always known about and accepted the fact that demons, vampires, and even the occasional deranged Hell-God roamed the four corners of the earth, but an actual ‘honest to God’ miracle? Hardly. Which is why, as he approached the front door to the Summer's house, he couldn’t quite seem to get his mind around what had happened during the past few hours.
The events of this evening had been one enormous blur, starting with a semi-sloshed Spike dropping a completely incoherent and physically battered Tara off in his apartment without so much as a by-your-leave. Then, with the barest of explanations, dashing out again in search of a newly missing Dawn. Tara herself hadn’t been much help at all. Having apparently told Spike everything she knew about what had happened earlier, the girl had lapsed into a state of near catatonia, brought on no doubt by extreme mental and physical trauma. The head wound she incurred had looked particularly nasty.
Since he was in no fit state to drive any more than Spike had been, for precisely the same reason, Giles had been forced to call Xander and have him take them to the Sunnydale General’s emergency room.
The drive over had been filled with uncomfortable silence, occasionally punctuated by Anya making an inappropriate remark or two about the treatment of festering wounds and the effects of gangrene on the human body. Fortunately, it had been a very slow night at the hospital and they were able to get Tara in to see a doctor fairly quickly. Anya and Xander had stayed with Tara while the young doctor, who struck Giles as being barely old enough to be shaving, let alone practicing medicine, stitched up the young woman’s forehead.
Giles, feeling decidedly queasy from the combined effects of the scotch malt he had consumed that evening and Tara’s messy head injury, retreated to the lobby, in order to check his answering machine for any possible messages from Spike or Dawn. He had, of course been hopeful that the vampire had already found the girl, but what he had heard on the machine had shaken him more than anything he had ever dreamed possible.
“Giles. It’s Dawn. I’m-I’m home, and…I‘m, uh…okay. But listen. You’ve got to come over here right away. It-It’s Buffy. She’s alive.”
She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. Buffy’s alive. Alive…
And now, after rushing over in a cab, here he was, standing on the threshold of a place he had been to so many times before and yet, at this moment, which seemed so utterly alien to him. After what seemed like an eternity of being trapped in indecision and fear, Giles steeled himself and pushed the door open. In you go, Rupert, he thought to himself. What are you afraid of? What, indeed. The mind simply boggled.
It was very dark and quiet in the living room as Giles entered the house, his sense of foreboding increasing with each footstep. Noticing that the light was on in the kitchen, he went to investigate, hoping to find somebody who could explain to him exactly what was going on. As he reached the doorway he could make out the barest of sounds. It was low and muffled, and sounded for all the world like a sob. Like a wounded creature in desperate, unbearable pain. Added to that was the unmistakable aroma of burning tobacco.
“Spike?” the former librarian asked tentatively.
At the sound of his name, the vampire visibly tensed, but did not turn around from where he was leaning on the sink with both hands; nor did he raise his head, which was lowered over the sink. Instead he merely pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it carelessly on the cutting board next to the dish rack.
“Look here, are you quite all right?” Giles was amazed at the amount of concern he could hear in his own voice.
“Right as rain, Rupert, old boy,” Spike said in a falsely cheery tone as he turned to face the watcher. “Life’s just a bowlful of cherries and a plateful o’ raspberry scones, don’t you know.”
“Spike, I don’t really have time for this,” snapped Giles, suddenly annoyed by the vampire’s flippant manner. “What’s happened? Is Dawn-is she-”?
“The niblet’s fine, mate. She’s upstairs. She needed a quick shower, is all. They both did.”
“Both-you mean she and Buffy?” The words were out of his mouth before Giles could even process the information that he had just been given. “It’s true then. This isn’t just some sick, twisted joke?”
Spike let out a bitter sounding chuckle at that. “Oh, it’s sick and twisted enough, and it probably is a bloody joke. On all of us. But yeah, Buffy’s alive. For what that’s worth.”
Giles felt an icy fear growing in the pit of his stomach. No, it couldn’t be something that horrible. That couldn’t happen to her. Not to Buffy. Not to my darling girl.
The vampire seemed to sense his unspoken horror and quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not that. She’s human enough. She’s just not…all there.”
“What the devil do you mean, she’s not all there?” Giles hadn’t meant to raise his voice but he was finding it hard to keep control of his emotions and Spike’s vagueness wasn’t helping to quell the rising feeling of absolute panic he was experiencing.
“Keep your bleeding voice down, you prat,” the vampire snarled back at him. “Do you want them to hear this tripe?” His voice softened a bit. “What I mean is that she-she, oh sodding hell. She had to crawl out of her own grave, Giles. She had to scratch and claw and dig her way out like a frightened little animal. And Dawn had to help her do it. Do you have any idea what it’s like to climb through that nasty little hole, trying to get out before all that dirt comes crashing back in on top of you? No, of course you bloody well don’t. Why would you? Well, now she does.” The pain in Spike’s voice was apparent. Pain remembered…and now shared.
Giles understood. Whatever else he had done in his lifetime, Spike had loved her. That much they had all been forced to acknowledge on that dreadful morning in May. It was something the watcher could relate to very easily. What Buffy was going through right now must be hideous. Which brought Giles to another subject he would rather not think about, ask a question he already knew the answer to, but nevertheless, needed to ask.
“Spike, do you have any idea how this happened? Who’s responsible for it, I mean?"
The vampire stared at him in disbelief. “Are you that daft, watcher? You know good and bloody well who’s responsible for this mess. Or you should anyway. Let’s see here. I know it wasn’t Glinda, and I’m fairly sure it wasn’t you.”
“Willow,” Giles muttered. Of course it had been Willow. She was the only one with the power and the determination to do something like this. Something this…monstrous. He felt sick to stomach, and it wasn’t the whiskey or the blood this time. How could he have been so blind, so isolated all these months?
“Where is she?” He asked wearily.
Spike answered by pointing to the ceiling. “The witch is up in her room. Checked on her when we came back. She’s sleeping off the effects of whatever she did, I reckon. Couldn’t shake her out of it, but not to worry, Rupes. Your little protégé’ is safe enough. For now.” The emphasis that he put on the last two words left little doubt as to what Spike thought of the Wiccan’s actions this evening and what he would do about it if given half the chance.
Just as he was about to respond, Giles was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and the infusion of voices into the otherwise gloomy silence of the house.
“Giles? Willow? You guys okay in here?” There was no mistaking Xander’s less than dulcet tone.
“Bloody hell” the watcher muttered. “That was quick.” He turned back to the bemused vampire. “All right. I’ll need to handle this. You go upstairs and check on the girls. See if Dawn can get her-can get Buffy to talk to me for a few minutes. Oh, and Spike,” he said as the demon started to go out the kitchen entrance. “You touch one hair on Willow’s head and you’ll have considerably more to worry about than a mere migraine. I’ll deal with her when the time comes. You stay out of it. I trust I am making myself perfectly clear?”
“As a sodding crystal, mate, “ Spike muttered as he brushed past the irritated patriarch of the Scooby clan.
Giles sighed and followed him into the living room. There, a clearly confused Xander was watching the vampire march up the stairs while Anya was trying to get a still dazed Tara to sit comfortably on the sofa.
“Okay, I’m just a little out of the loop here, Giles,” Xander said uncomfortably. “Spike’s being more surly than usual. I just asked him if the Dawnster was okay and he told me to ‘piss off‘. I don’t have to take that from him. Best man or no best man.”
“Xander, what on earth are you talking about?” he snapped, at about the same Anya asked, “Spike’s your best man? Why didn’t you mention that?”
Xander’s discomfort was clearly growing “Honey, not now, okay? I’m trying to ask the nice man about the reasons why certain 'undead men walking' are beginning to look awfully stake-worthy again.”
“Oh do be quiet,” Giles interjected. “ Sit down the pair of you. I’ve got some extremely important news for all of you.” He looked over at Tara. “Is she saying anything yet?”
“Nothing of interest, no,” replied Anya. “Of course, it’s not like I ever understand half of what she says anyway…”
“Look,” cut in Xander again, without taking any notice of the hurt expression on Anya’s face, “What the Hellmouth is going on, Giles? You ran out of the hospital pretty fast, and that note you left with the ER receptionist? Vague, much?”
“Good lord, Xander, will you shut up for one moment? If you would just stop talking, I could tell you what you want to know. Something’s happened. Something incredible and wondrous and…” He stopped for a moment, overwhelmed by an incredible wave of raw emotion. Without even paying attention to what he was doing, he removed his glasses and began wiping them furiously. It took him a few moments to get control of himself before continuing
“It’s, well it’s Buffy you see, she’s…”
“Buffy’s alive,” Tara said abruptly, in a hollow, emotionless voice. “What? What do you mean Buffy’s al-?” And that was all Xander managed to get out before they all heard Anya gasp in disbelief.
Before he even realized it, Giles found himself staring at the top of the stairwell. Even though he had known she was back for over an hour, this was the very first time he was faced with the undeniable truth. There she stood, with Dawn at her side and Spike hovering behind them. The same girl that he had known and loved for nearly five years.
Well, no. Not quite the same. Wearing a white cotton bathrobe, her still hair still wet and hanging limply down past her shoulders, Giles thought that he had never seen her look so helpless and lost, not even on the night that had Glory had taken Dawn. She was dreadfully pale, paler even than the platinum blond vampire who trailed her and her sister down the stairs. And so thin. My God, she looks like she’s lost 20 pounds, he thought to himself. But it was her. It was Buffy.
"W-what, how-who...?" Xander managed to stammer out before lapsing back into disbelieving silence.
Anya's response was considerably more interesting to Giles. "Oh my God. She actually did it. I never really thought she could do it."
"Just a minute," the watcher said, an angry tone creeping into his voice. "Are you telling us that you knew about this beforehand, Anya?"
"Well," the ex-demon replied. "It's not like I did all that much. I just helped her get an Urn of Osiris, is all."
Xander looked decidedly uncomfortable at this. "Umm Ahn, you helped who get a what, now?
"Don't be obtuse, Xander." Giles snapped. "She means Willow. Willow did this." He couldn't hide the utter disappointment and shame he felt at this moment. "Why did you help her, without telling me?" he asked Anya with a touch of steel.
"Willow just-well she needed an urn and she knew that I could get one for her because, goodness knows, my head hasn't been stuck in a bottle of booze for four months..."
"Now just one bloody minute, Anya. Who exactly do you think you're talking to..."?
"Everybody. SHUT UP!" The voice came from behind them. Dawn's voice.
All of them turned to where Dawn was standing, holding on to Buffy's hand, her eyes filled with tears and at the same time blazing with raw fury. Buffy was weeping openly and clinging to her younger sister's side like a frightened child. Giles watched as Dawn guided the distraught young woman to the couch and sat her down next to Tara. Spike moved behind the sofa, placing himself directly behind all three girls like some sort of demonic watchdog, his glare pretty indicative of his current state of mind. At Giles nod, both Anya and Xander moved back a bit, giving them some breathing space.
Giles approached Buffy carefully, trying to do his best to avoid upsetting her further.
"Is she-how is she?" He asked Dawn.
"She's...better, I think." the girl responded, gently stroking her sister's hair. "She just needs a little time." She looked over at Tara. "Are you okay?"
The blonde witch nodded. "Yeah, I-I'm okay sweetie. Just a little shaken up." Looking at Buffy, she shook her head in wonderment. "I didn't think it was possible. She's really here. It's a mira..."
"A miracle?" came another voice from the top of the stairs. "Maybe. Maybe not."
It was Willow, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. As she came down the stairs, radiating an air of complete confidence, Giles could feel his heart sink even deeper into his stomach. There was little trace left of the sweetly innocent girl he had adored for so long. She reeked of power...and arrogance.
Suddenly, everyone was talking at once. Xander demanding explanations to questions he could barely form, Anya pleading with Willow to exonerate her, Dawn trying to reassure Buffy that everything would be all right, and underneath it all, the low, menacing growl of an extremely angry and overprotective vampire. It was all too much and not just for Giles. As he tried to get control of the situation, a tortured little voice cut through the din.
"Please...no more."
It took about all the energy she had left in her, but Buffy's plea brought everybody back to their senses long enough for Giles to realize what he had to do.
"Dawn, I think you should take Buffy back upstairs and put her to bed. Tara, you look as if you could use a good night's sleep as well, particularly after everything you've been through tonight. As a matter of fact, I think all three of you should settle in for the rest of the evening." He pointedly ignored the look of outrage that crossed Willow's face like a cancer. Time enough to deal with you later, young lady, he thought.
Tara merely nodded and took a hold of one of Buffy's arms and, together with Dawn, helped the fragile Slayer up the stairs, both of them brushing past Willow without acknowledging her presence. Spike moved to follow them but Giles stopped him short.
"Spike, just hold on for a moment. I may need you in a bit." The vampire looked rebellious, but thought better of defying the watcher openly.
Giles turned to the remaining scoobies, no longer in a mood to brook any kind of interference.
"Right. Now, Xander you and Anya should probably go too-just for the evening," he added as they both started to protest. "We'll all meet back at the Magic Box tomorrow afternoon. Right now, everyone needs to calm down and get some rest, and possibly contemplate the ramifications of their actions" That last bit was aimed directly at Willow, and everybody in the room knew it.
"Giles, I know you disapprove of what I did but it obviously worked..." the witch started to explain but he cut her off angrily.
"You know nothing about how I feel, and I obviously don't know as much about you as I thought I did. Not that it matters anymore. What's done is done, and we won't discuss it now. But we will, Willow. You can rest assured of that."
"Look, I don't remember much of anything, but I'm sure that everything will be okay," she replied defensively.
"Enough. This isn't doing anybody any good. Xander, please be good enough to give Willow a ride to her parents home." He turned back to the girl. "You will be able to stay there tonight?"
"Well, yeah, my mom's back in town for a while, and I have a key anyway, but I don't see why I should have to be the one to leave. I live here too, and I didn't do anything wrong," she added, sounding for all the world like a whiny and petulant child which, as far as Giles was concerned, she was.
"Xander, I think it would be best if you all left right now. There's nothing left to be done here for the time being. Anya, I may be a bit late in the morning so please open the shop up yourself."
Xander and Anya both nodded, knowing that there was no point arguing with the watcher when he had made his mind up on something. Willow on the other hand, seemed unwilling to let the matter drop.
"Hey, where do you all get off making decisions for me..."
But the discussion was over for Giles. He abruptly turned his back and began speaking to Spike.
"Come on, Wills," Xander said, grabbing a hold of her arm. "Let's talk about this in the car." And he and Anya half-dragged the pouting witch unceremoniously out the door.
"Oh. Good Lord," Giles muttered half to himself. This had been one hell of a night.
"Nice job, Rupert," the vampire said, smirking at him. “Way to get rid of the wankers. Very watcher-like.”
“Oh, do shut, up, Spike. Now it’s your turn to leave.”
“Hey, you can’t toss me out!” Spike was no more thrilled than Willow to be thrown out. “I’m not leaving them. Not this time. I won’t let them be hurt again.” The vampire said this with a fierce intensity that Giles recognized as being genuine.
“Listen to me, Spike. I am not tossing you out. I need you right now. Someone must patrol tonight. Nobody else around here is in any fit state to do it, and apparently the Buffy-bot doesn’t seem to be anywhere around.”
“Yeah, come to think of it, I haven’t seen her since the other night either. I wonder if she ran out of juice again, and Red just forgot to give her a boost. Mind being on other things and all.” The vampire seemed genuinely puzzled.
Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then I suggest you go out and look for her, err it, rather. I’ll check around and see if it’s here. Do a standard sweep of the east side cemeteries and report back if you find anything out of the ordinary. If not, I‘ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”
Spike started to say something, but obviously thought better of it and merely nodded the way Xander had a few minutes earlier. He vanished out of the door into the night without any fanfare, leaving Giles alone to contemplate what to do next.
The watcher sighed as he slipped onto the sofa, all of the energy finally draining out of his body as the incredible events of the evening caught up with him. Spike had been right earlier. This was a mess. A horrible, bloody awful mess, ultimately one of his own making, and one that he was going to have to try to clean up. It was also the most wonderful night of his life, which made his fear, guilt and uncertainty that much worse. Ah well, Giles thought to himself. Nobody said that being a watcher was ever going to be easy. With that, he got up and wandered into the kitchen to make himself a stiff pot of tea. He had the sinking feeling that tonight was only the beginning of a long journey for all of them, and it was one he’d rather not face without at least keeping a trace of civilization about. He only hoped that the girls had managed to remember to buy some tealeaves. The thought of facing the rest of the night with tea brewed from bags was simply to horrifying to contemplate. He was still British, after all.
* *
"Xander! Your Fruit-Loops are getting soggy!" Anya shouted from the kitchen.
"I’m not hungry," was the muffled response from their bedroom.
"You will be later if you don't eat now!" She responded.
"Thanks, mom," he called out bitterly.
Realizing her efforts were futile, Anya settled down at the kitchen table and poured herself a bowl of Trix, careful to keep the rabbit covered at all times. As she ate the fruity cereal, she tried to think of ways to fix things between herself and Xander. Things between them had been tense for almost a month now- ever since Buffy had come back. Anytime Anya would say something, Xander would come back with a short, irritated remark.
Anya really hated it. She hated the way he wouldn't listen to her, the way he kept his anger bottled up. No good ever came of Angry Xander, and Anya absolutely loathed having to walk on eggshells around him. Not saying exactly what she felt wasn't something Anya enjoyed, and she was about ready to vent.
He finally emerged from the bedroom, walking right past her without a "Good morning" or any sort.
"Come out to eat breakfast?" She asked.
"No," he answered. He picked up the newspaper lying on the counter, and sat at the other end of the table.
It took all of Anya's resolve not to verbally lash out at him, and she finished her cereal in silence. Glaring at him, she stood up from the table and cleared her dishes. She threw glances at him, but he was doing his best to ignore her. His eyes never left the print on the paper.
If there's one thing Anya hated more than Angry Xander, it was silence. Especially the type of angry-lover silence that was blanketing them at the moment. Determined to make him talk about something, Anya ventured over to the fridge.
"Xander? Where's the fruit punch?"
"In the fridge, by the cheese," Xander replied curtly. "Where you always keep it, Ahn."
"I see it," Anya exclaimed triumphantly, pouring herself a glass of the red liquid. As she drank it, she glanced over at Xander. He had been staring intently at the newspaper for a while now, but hadn't turned the page.
"I’m closing early at the shop today," she broke the silence. "Do you want to go to that restaurant you like so much?"
"No."
"How about the Bronze? There's always music and fun there," she tried again.
"No." Was his short response.
"Okay," she set her glass down, "You've been like this for a while and I want it to end. You know how I feel about Angry Xander."
"And you know how I feel about lying, Anya," he shot back, hastily folding up the newspaper.
"I didn't lie! It was more like keeping someone else's secret."
"That's not the point, Ahn. You knew how torn up I was about Buffy's death. You stood right in front of me and told me you'd be by my side, no matter what. Then you knew Willow's going to bring Buffy back and you didn’t tell me? That's not standing by my side, that's leaving me out of a really important loop."
"I wanted to tell you, Xander. I thought you should be the first to know, but Willow told me not to tell you-"
"Hey, if Willow told you to jump off a bridge, would you?"
Anya was taken aback. "Who are you, and why are you using elementary school arguments?"
"How does what Willow say have any affect on what you choose to do?" He clarified.
"Why are you so mad at me in the first place? You and Willow are Buffy's best friends, and Willow's been yours since you remember. Shouldn't you be mad she didn't tell you anything?"
"Leave her out of it."
"Are you defending her?" Anya's voice grew louder, laced with disbelief, "So what, just blame me for everything? You know being a human confuses me, and death confuses me even more. So when one of my friends decides to resurrect the other and all but threatens me to keep it a secret, what am I supposed to do?" Xander's glare didn't soften. "How am I supposed to know what to do?"
"You're supposed to love me, Anya. I'd think that honesty is part of that."
"Oh, and you're the perfect lover- is that it? I'd think that not being ashamed of who you're with is part of love too, and you all but hide your face when we go out. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing you're embarrassed by me?"
"How did this turn into a 'flame Xander' fest?" He asked, dodging her question. "You still haven't given me a good reason as to why you didn't tell me about Willow's plan to bring back Buffy."
"Since when do I need to explain all of my actions to you?" Anya retorted. When Xander didn't reply, Anya snapped, "How's this for you: Here I am, getting my purse."
Xander stared in confusion as she walked around him, snatching her purse.
"And this is me walking away from you and this stupid argument," she added, heading towards the door. "Is that enough explaining for you?" She finished, storming out.
"Anya, wait!" Xander called, sprinting to the hallway. For a fraction of a second, he feared that she wouldn't turn around, and the thought of losing her filled him with an intense dread. When she did stop and face him, he exhaled loudly- suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath.
"What?"
"Please come back," he begged slowly. "I didn’t want to argue, I- I just want to talk about it."
Anya contemplated the proposal, finally walking towards Xander. "I'm staying- under one condition."
"And that would be?"
"Angry Xander stays out of it."
Xander smiled, "Check. No Angry Xander."
Anya turned to face him. "I'm sorry, okay? If it makes you feel any better, I hated keeping a secret from you. Part of me wanted to tell, but the other part wasn't sure if I should. I was so upset I couldn't do my money dance that day."
Xander sighed, tentatively stepping closer to her. "I didn't mean to be so harsh. I'm just extremely stressed, and I needed to vent."
Anya nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. "Do you want to get married?"
Shocked, Xander asked, "Don't you?"
"Yes, but not if we're still arguing about so much. I mean, I've seen plenty of things go wrong in relationships, and I don't want it to happen to us. I don’t want to wind up hating you; wishing terrible things upon you- I did that for over a thousand years, and I'm ready for a change."
"Anya, honey," Xander began, "We've been together for about two years now. I know every detail of your face; I've listened to your dreams and soothed your nightmares. I know you absolutely loathe the Easter Bunny-"
"What's with that, anyway? Bunnies don't lay eggs!"
"…And I know we'll be great together," he finished. "It's completely normal and healthy for couples to disagree, to argue with one another."
"It's not just the arguing I'm worried about, Xander," she insisted. "It's the way you treat me."
Xander's face twisted with pain. "I don't want to hurt you-"
"I know. But if you're not proud to be my fiancé right now, what's to keep you interested in me as my husband? What if I fail you, what if you leave me?" Anya choked up, taking a deep breath. "What if I walk down the aisle only to realize you aren't there? I don't want to rush if it means I'll wind up with a shattered heart."
She collapsed onto the couch, as if too exhausted to stand.
"You know the last thing I'd ever want to do is shatter your heart, right?" Anya met his gaze, nodded her head yes. "I'm glad you brought up your fears, because I've been bothered with fears of my own, Anya," Xander admitted quietly. "Sometimes I lie awake all night, thinking about my parents. If I close my eyes, everything around me disappears and I'm only nine years old." his eyes were closed now, his voice hushed. "I'm huddled under my sheets, trying to block out the sound of my father yelling…" he paused, reliving the moment. "He never stopped yelling…"
Anya absorbed every word he said, incredibly touched he was opening up to her. She always knew Xander hated his parents, hated the way they fought. He had never gone into much detail, however, the subject of family caused him to clam up. Sometimes, after he woke up after a fitful nightmare, he'd just sit at the kitchen table and stare straight ahead, troubled thoughts flying through his head. He never talked about what horrific images those dreams held, and Anya ached to know them.
Xander's eyes were still glued shut, his mind reeling. "All I wanted was for them to be happy, to stop hating each other. I wanted them to love each other," his voice cracked, "To love me."
Anya stood slowly, wanting to hold him but afraid to touch him, to rip him out of his trance. Seeing him so torn up, hearing the misery in his voice ripped a hole in her heart. After centuries of causing pain upon countless men, all she wanted now was to soothe the suffering she saw in front of her.
"I hoped it would get better, but it only got worse. One night, their ritual-screaming match got out of control. Mom said things he didn't want to hear; he kept telling her to shut up-" Xander shook uncontrollably now, his voice wavering. "She wouldn't stop though, and he lost it. He hit her."
His eyes flew open, brimming with tears. "I'll never forget the sound of her crying that night. Every single gut wrenching sob made me loath my father, and I swore that night I'd never turn out like him." Tears spilled down his cheeks as he hoarsely whispered, "But what if I do? What if I turn into the very man I've hated all my life?"
Anya embraced him, pulling him close and letting her shirt soak up his tears. "You won't, Xander. You don't have it in you."
"I love you so much," he declared quietly into her ear. "I love you so much that the thought of ruining your future because of my past has been eating me up inside."
He pulled back slightly, looked her straight in the eye, "Please don't be upset with me," he pleaded. His nervousness and vulnerability showed clearly now, he was terrified of letting her down. "But can we please hold off the wedding for a little while?"
Anya's eyes began to water.
"I'm not ready," he admitted. "When we get married, I want to promise you the very best life I can give you…but I can't do that. Not yet. Will you give me some time?"
"Yes, Xander! Of course I will," she promised, her own tears of relief beginning to overflow. She pulled him back into their desperate embrace, this time it was she who soaked his shirt.
Xander held on tightly, glad he had voiced his troubles. He felt his anxiety and apprehension melt away as he realized he had made the right choice in speaking up. Amazed Anya had understood him so well, he also realized he had made the right choice in asking her to marry him.
Standing in the middle of their living room, clutching each other, it seemed as if no force could come between the two. The past had no bearing here; the couple had a future of their own- a future that wouldn't be tainted by an unfortunate history. A firm believer in making his own destiny, Xander Harris vowed to be the best damn husband Sunnydale had ever seen.
***
Even though Willow had been calling 1630 Rivello Drive home all summer, she felt like a complete stranger as she knocked on the door. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, leaving Willow alone to briefly consider leaving. Just when escape seemed perfect, the door opened slightly to reveal a smiling Slayer.
“Hey, Will,” Buffy greeted quietly, appearing to be quite happy.
“Hi,” Willow responded awkwardly. “I just came to-“ she stopped suddenly as Dawn appeared behind her sister. Upon seeing who was at the door, Dawn quickly turned away.
Willow cleared her throat. “I came to pack up some of my things.”
“Oh, right,” Buffy replied, opening the door and offering a silent invitation. “I, um, put some boxes in your room.”
Willow nodded, not sure what to do.
“I’ll be down here,” Buffy informed her. “Just holler if you need anything.”
Willow nodded once more, and began her trek up the stairs. Everything in this house was so familiar; the slight dents on the banister, the pictures on the wall. Yet Willow felt completely out of place, as if she were lost in an area she’d never seen before. She had walked down the hallway countless times, sometimes to say good night to Dawn and others she was stumbling towards her bed, wrapped in Tara’s embrace. Now she felt like an intruder, as if the house were protesting her presence with every creak of the floorboards.
As she passed through the entrance to her room, Willow was momentarily shocked. Her clothes were in various piles, her books stacked in different locations. Already at work, Tara had many of her things packed already. Tara sensed her presence instantly, glancing up from her work.
Willow stood frozen, her heart in her throat. She desperately wanted Tara to smile, to welcome her company. She wanted to be forgiven, wanted the blame to vanish.
"There's an empty box by the door," Tara stated icily. "You can start where ever you want."
Not quite the warm welcome Willow hoped for, she numbly followed orders and began placing her clothes in a box. With every article of clothing she placed inside, she tried to think of something to say. Several minutes passed in a painful silence, the only sounds were the faint scraping sounds the material made against the cardboard.
"Look, Tara, I-"
"Here's all your stuff from the dresser," she spoke at the same time.
"I think that wraps up just about every thing you need for your parents' house."
Willow glanced around. She had her clothes, favorite books, personal knick-knacks, but was missing a very vital part of her life.
"Where are my magick supplies?" Willow asked, noticing for the first time that they where nowhere in sight.
"I got rid of them."
"You what?" Willow exclaimed.
"I hid them. Locked them up," Tara stood firm, "You don't need them."
"I don't think you get to make decisions for me," Willow replied angrily.
"Why not? You seem to make decisions for everyone else."
Willow's voice lowered as she struggled to keep her temper in check. "Give me my magicks."
"No," Tara's voice was just as measured. "You don't need magick anymore. Look at where it's gotten you so far!"
"It got my best friend back so far, that's what!" Willow countered. "It helped get us through the summer when demons where roaming wild."
"And it almost got me killed!" Tara yelled, her voice filled with pain.
"No, it got you a cut and a few stitches," Willow sneered.
Tara was speechless. Willow's words cut her deeply, and she felt her anger boil over.
"You shot me with a bolt of magic, Willow. If I had landed differently, I could have snapped my neck!" Tara's voice rose, "And this was after you basically told me I was nothing but a pretty face to you!"
"I never said that," Willow replied defensively.
"Yes you did!" Tara cried shrilly. "You sat right there and said the most horrendous things I've ever heard in my life."
"I don't remember," Willow said quietly. Tara's expression softened, and she continued. "I was channeling dark forces, Tara. That wasn't me you heard; it was some creature with my voice."
Tara's face hardened. "You shouldn't even be touching those sorts of Magicks," she hissed. "You just got a taste of something powerful and now you've gone over the edge. Why can't you see that? Do you even listen when Giles or I talk to you?"
"Oh, please," Willow rolled her eyes spitefully. "I really don't need a lecture from you; I already got yelled at by Giles this week."
"You never listen, Willow! That's why we keep talking."
"I don't understand either of you! You're happy Buffy's back, right? So who cares if I dipped into some dark magic to bring her back? She's here, that's what's important. Stop treating me like an incompetent little child!"
"That's the only way you've been acting lately," Tara protested.
"I've been the incompetent one? I've been the only strong one all summer! Everyone else sat around while I was busy making things happen. I had to take action," Willow sneered, "Who else had the power to do it? You?"
Without another word, Tara brushed past Willow and stormed down the hallway. Willow flew out after her, grabbing her arm halfway down the stairs. Tara furiously shrugged out of her grasp, pounding down the remaining steps and pacing in the living room.
She quickly turned to Willow, stopped dead in her tracks. "You."
Willow looked confused. "Me?"
"You," Tara's voice was dripping with disgust, "You said almost the exact same thing to me when you were doing the spell," her eyes narrowed. "I think the only 'dark creature' speaking was yourself."
"I don’t need this," Willow replied, a bored tone in her voice.
"No," Tara corrected, "I don't need this."
"Please," Willow jeered, "You're whining almost as much as-"
Dawn bolted from the kitchen and raced up the stairs.
"You have changed, Willow," Tara continued. "I don't know when, but you've become a power-hungry control freak. You've crossed a line and you can't go back."
Willow continued to stare into Tara's eyes, almost in shock. There was no way Tara was doing this; no way Tara was dumping her.
"You've hurt me on so many levels, and somehow you always seem to blame it on me. I don't even know you anymore."
"What do you want from me?" Willow asked in disbelief.
"I want you to leave," Tara answered plainly.
A few beats passed between them before Willow cried, "What?"
"You heard me. I need away time from you. I can't bear being around you anymore."
Buffy appeared in the living room, tentatively speaking up. "Guys-can you tone it down? Dawn's really upset."
"Let me ask you what you think of this, Buffy," Willow replied, trying to think of a reason to stay. "Tara wants me to leave- basically telling me to move out. You think that's such a hot idea?"
Willow's smug grin vanished when Buffy failed to back her up. Her best friend in the world, the one she had risked so much for, just stood there, shifting her feet uncomfortably and looking anywhere but at Willow's face.
"Buffy?" She asked, suddenly becoming quite hurt, "You can't mean that...”
"I don't know, Will" the Slayer responded somewhat nervously. "Maybe what you need is be alone right now. Think about some stuff and all. Maybe?"
Willow's anger flared, any composure she had before was gone.
"You want me to leave too?" She exclaimed, incredibly wounded. Her expression hardened, her rage evident. "Fine, you know what? I'll give you two what you want. I just hope that you'll both be very happy together!"
She uttered a chain of words, and instantly her boxes were teleported downstairs. Willow hastily grabbed them, giving the other two women an icy stare as she headed to the door. One glance in its direction sent it flying open, and Willow quickly disappeared outside, effectively shattering Tara's heart and leaving Buffy in a deepened state of consternation.
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