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Dianna Wears Red

Fifth Test

We run along side the road, from one streetlights glow to the next, for a moment I was worried that passing cars would notice us; silly wiccan, this is Sunnydale.

I can barely breath, yellow and green dots are flickering in and out in my vision. I hear this rasping deep in my chest every time I exhale. My feet are leaden and it takes conscious effort to hold my head up and not just watch the ground pass by.

The Hunter, who is still cradling Buffy to her chest, hasn't even broken a sweat.

"We're almost," Inhale, ow, exhale, ow, inhale, ow, exhale, ow. "There." I gasp. "Just," Ow. "Another block."

"We should rest," The Hunter says calmly; God I hate her. "You can stop, I'll go on ahead."

"No," I shake my head and nearly fall over from the effort. My feet fall heavily; a few steps more progress. "I," Inhale. "Stay with Buffy. '"Sides, you'd have to deal," Thud, thud, thud, yay three more steps; I want to die.  "With Joyce."

"Joyce?" The Hunter inquires, taking long even strides with long strong legs that I will, in no shape or form, be jealous of. I normally would be, but I'm focusing on breathing.

"Buffy's," Whee, pretty lights. "Mother."

"Mother," The Hunter repeats. Hey, either I'm suffering for auditory hallucinations or did The Hunter sound nervous just then? "Is she protective?"

"Let," Gasp. "Me put it this way," I focus on my shoes, ignore the fireball where my lungs should be, look at my pretty shoes and keep moving! "Mama bear."

"Mama Bear," The Hunter repeats, without slowing down. "Shit."

"Uh-huh," I nod, grinning; at least I think I'm grinning. I'm so tired, facial muscles might be all loose and zombiesh.

We run for a bit in silence. Okay, honestly I stagger about while The Hunter moves at a brisk walk. "Here," I point to Buffy's house. I pull myself up the steps and lean on the doorbell for probably too long. "Wait just a second." I gasp.

Far too quickly the door opens, Joyce says from the doorway. "Oh hello Willow," she says, smiling in that 'mom' way. At least I think it's a 'mom' way, my mom never smiled like that; maybe once or twice when I was a baby. "This is a nice surprise; is Buffy with-" her eyes flicker downward.

It's dark, the lighting is poor and what's left of the Council Member all over my outfit probably blends in with the shadows well.

Personal query: I am currently wearing the remains of another person, why am I not flipping out?

Later.

"Oh my God," Joyce almost screams. "Willow are you alright? Get inside we have to-"

"Fine, I'm fine," I move towards her. "It's not mine, not even a good persons; it's-" Joyce cuts me off; she just put it together…if I'm here and I'm all yucky then the most important question would be-

"Where's Buffy?" She blurts, cutting me off..

Where's Buffy. Exactly.

She stops staring at my shirt, glances over my shoulder behind me.

I turn around and see what Joyce sees.

The Hunter, cradling Buffy like a baby, is standing below on the steps. The yellow light from the streetlamps crawls over Buffy staining her flesh the color of puss. Her burned limbs are lost in the shadows, the cracks in soles of her feet and palms stand out in bright red relief.

"Buffy," Joyce whispers and barrels right past me. "Oh my poor baby," she says tearfully. She brushes Buffy's face with her fingers; the next second she's all fire and anger. "Did you do this to her?" Joyce screams in The Hunter's face. "Did you?"

The Hunter flinches back, trying to get a word in, "Uh-"

"Give her to me," Joyce interrupts.

"I've got her, ma'am," The Hunter tries to protest.

"I said," Joyce hisses leaning forward. "Give me my daughter!"

Without another word The Hunter complies and Joyce effortlessly cradles Buffy to her chest. Joyce shouldn't be able to do that, Buffy is nearly a hundred pounds of dea-…of sleepy weight. Ninety-five pounds I mean, you're a lovely ninety-five pounds of sleepy weight, Buffy. Joyce turns to face me, eyes shiny, "She's so light, Willow. She shouldn't be so light."

She also shouldn't be able to carry Buffy like that, but I shouldn't be able to cave in a building with a word and a fatman shouldn't be able to torture a woman I love because of some archaic organization.  So in all consideration Joyce carrying her daughter so easily because Buffy has been…has been….

Oh God, oh God, God, God, God, God, God….

Swallow and bite down, bite down on it now you stupid, stupid wiccan; bite down good, I need to throw up. Calm, calm. What happening now? Right, I understand; the shock of Buffy's torture is beginning to hit me full force. I hadn't had time to really process it until now. There were other things to do, save her get her home and now that those are done. Keep it together, don’t collapse now, we can't afford, I'm- the world spins, can't feel my legs.

"God," I mutter clenching my teeth. A hand on my shoulder keeps me from collapsing. The Hunter stares at me, I shake her hand off. This is her fault and I'm not going to forget that despite her help.

I hold the door open for her Joyce; she carries Buffy inside and I move to follow. "Willow," The Hunter calls out to me.

I face her, "What is it, and make it quick."

"Two things," The Hunter replies. "First you're out of balance. You used a lot of power tonight, too much for the wrong reasons; you have to correct that or the slope will increase."

"What are you talking-" I try and say.

"Second," she interrupts me. "Don't trust the British guy, the one you called Giles."

That gets me angry. "Sure, yeah that makes sense, just oodles of it. I can see all the sense pudding on the ground around your feet."

 I straighten my shoulders and glare up into The Hunter's face. "I'm supposed to believe you, the woman who captured Buffy for The Council, and watched them torture her, when you tell me not to trust one of the few people I consider family. That's really a good idea," I snap my finger. "Wait, no it isn't."

The Hunter shakes her head slightly, "Family as in parental figure I'd bet," she says. "And how often have you known parental figures to do things they really shouldn't because they think they know what's best for everybody? You know how it goes, 'because it's for their own good?"

I can't reply to that. I look through The Hunter trying to think of something to say to knock her down.

Nope, can't think of a thing; thanks heaps imagination.

The Hunter shrugs slightly, "Adding that he was taught by and is part of the same organization that ultimately did all this would be a little pointless wouldn't it, but, it's still something that you should keep in mind."

"Something to think about, Willow," she says walking backwards still staring at me. "Just something to think about."

And then the shadows swallow her and The Hunter is gone.

I close the door behind me and then lock it.

***

While I was outside Joyce must have put Buffy on the sofa and then covered her with a blanket; she's now kneeling by Buffy with a first aid kit, a bucket of water and some torn sheets. Dipping the shreds of cloth in the warm water she dabs less tender burns covering her daughter's arms.

"This probably stings a little honey, I added bleach to the water," Joyce tells Buffy. "And I'm sorry about that; this won't take long though. I promise, dear, and soon you'll be fine. I've seen how fast you heal, it's really amazing."

She dips the rag she's holding into the bucket and then starts to dab at one of Buffy's feet.

I notice, standing where I am in the entrance way, Joyce's hand is trembling. If she herself notices it she's not letting on.  Joyce dips the rag back into the water, in an instant it goes from crystal clear to a pale pink. The rag drips water on the rug and the sofa; adding to the mess that Buffy's blood is making to the once perfect living room. Joyce's trembling worsens but she resolutely tries to keep cleaning her daughter.

"Goddamnit!" Joyce shouts throwing the now bloody rags back into the bucket.

Muddy red water slops all over the rug. "I hate your healing so fast Buffy," Joyce says, her eyes are filling up. "I hate how you need to be able so heal fast and I hate so much wondering-"

Out of the corner of her eye she spots me and stops cold; she takes a deep shuddering breath, another and then a third. "Willow," she says calmly shading her eyes with one hand. "Could you please finish cleaning Buffy's injuries? I'm going to call an ambulance."

"Uh, Mrs. Summers?" She's going to kill me, I just know it. "There's some other things going on and sending Buffy to a hospital would really complicate those, um, things. Could you, maybe, just call Giles and the rest of the gang," I pause. "Please?"

Joyce stands up and walks over to me, "Do you know what's going on young lady?" she asks me quietly. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. "Do you know why this is happening to my little girl? Can you explain this to me in words so that I'll be able to understand?"

"Not, uh, everything, Mrs. Summers, no. But I think I have a better idea than most."

"And after this meeting starts will it be 'suggested'," Joyce makes quote marks in the air with her fingers. "That I go to my Gallery, maybe do an inventory?"

"No!" I gasp. "No never Mrs. Summers, you're Buffy's mom and- I mean," I shake my head fiercely. How could she even think I'd ask- "We'd never, or even I'd never, nobody would ever-"

"No one ever tells me anything," Joyce suddenly explodes. I flinch back; she doesn't notice.  She's not looking at me anymore, just over my shoulder in fact. "I find out Buffy's a Slayer and her first lover was a vampire nearly two years after the fact. Then off she goes to college and now the first time she 'visits'," Again with the quotes. "I find her here in the kitchen with her best friend. This isn't that strange until I find out that they're now lovers and then when Buffy comes over again-" Joyce's voice cuts off, she shakes her head fiercely.

"Why won't you tell me anything?" Joyce asks me, locking me in place with her 'Mom-Vision'.

"Uh-" I stammer. "She- Buffy doesn't want you to, er, to er worry." Oh, yes. That makes sense. Good job, good job.

"Well I do worry!" Joyce thunders. "I'd worry if she was a normal girl and doing normal girl things. That she's a," Joyce waves her hands around, trying to find the right phrase I guess. "Supernatural warrior of some sort," she wipes at her eyes. "You can't understand."

"No," I whisper, "I do understand. In my own way."

Joyce starts to get that look on her face my mom did whenever I contradicted her, I press on. "It's not the same way as your worrying, Mrs. Summer, but every time Buffy goes out to patrol I worry. I love her, I love your daughter and so," I shrug. "I worry."

"In your way, Willow," She admits.

I nod, "Yeah, you're right. It's not the same."

Joyce out of nowhere smirks slightly. She stands up, "I'll go make those phone calls."

As she walks past me I grab her arm, "Mrs. Summers?"

Joyce stares at me, "Buffy will be alright," I tell her. "I promise."

She opens her mouth to say something, looks puzzled for second then nods at me before leaving the room. After Joyce is gone I go over to the sofa and sit down on the floor. I take one of Buffy's hands in mine, as I touch it a few flakes of blackened skin break off and drift onto the carpet. My stomach heaves. I open my mouth and bite down on my knuckles.

Mustn't scream, or sob or break down. I promised Joyce and will keep my promise. Reaching out I tuck an errant lock of Buffy's hair behind her ear. "There," I say to her. "You- You're looking better already."

I lace the fingers of my right hand with Buffy's; remember how she should feel Rosenberg, I instruct myself, remember how soft and strong her fingers are, pay no attention to the slight crackling sensation of her dead skin crumbling and you had also better not consider what exactly that liquid is sliding between your fingers. No, you just have to keep in mind how Buffy should feel and be felt, and don't throw up while you're at it.

I stare at Buffy's face, remarkably it's almost untouched. Her lower lip looks a little ragged, like she's been chewing on it. She probably has, she does that when she's trying not to react or scream in pain. I've seen her do it many times while I've nursed various aches, or wounds. Some dirt smudges her forehead and cheeks and there are some muddy tracks where she must had let a tear or two slip free. Other than those though her face, my Buffy's face, is damage free.

I take a deep breath, "Buffy, I'm going to try something. Someone said, someone told me, and she's not a friend but I think she's right; she said I have to restore some balance that I might have knocked off its keister tonight. I might have gotten a little wiggy with, um, the magic."

I squeeze Buffy's fingers tight, ignoring the slippery, cool sensation, "So I'm going to try fixing it. I'm going to try and heal or help your own healing. Help you, help yourself," I smile, don't want to; it's not a smile time, it just happens. "I love you, you know that. Never really tried to heal anyone before. I mean I wanted too," I shrug. "Never got around to that level. Then again I never wanted to accidentally knock a building over either.

Tears spring up; I blink them back, "So here's um, the plan. It might not work you know. Nothing might happen or," Deep breath. "Or I could take in to much and well pop," I make an exploding gesture with my free hand. "Cause that's what I'm going to do: Gather up the light and, I guess, try and channel it. This will be a, well maybe not as risky as being lesbians in some regards. I could just wind up dead and not loathed by humanity at large. Yay! See? Silver lining in everything, you just-" I can barely see her through my tears. "You just gotta think- Oh God Buffy they hurt you so badly. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I want to cry, the pain, guilt, whatever comes surging over me and I want to go with it, to just drown in it. No, I won't. I won't go with it and go numb. With my free hand I wipe my eyes, "That won't help will it, hon?" I sniffle and force a smile that she can't see. "I'll admit I'm scared, you're scared every night you go out though. You've never told me, and I'll never ask but I know. I bet you know I know and we could get into a huge conversation about who knew what the other knew and whether you knew that I knew that you knew and…oh it would be wonderful." I sigh. "We don't have time, do we love?"

Shifting forward on my knees I kiss her on the cheek then settle back down. Crossing my legs I look at her again, maybe for the last time. "Love you, here we go."

Leaning forward I place my hands over Buffy's heart, anyone walking into the room might think I was trying to cop a feel; as Buffy loves me I do not have to cop anything and besides this is a laying on of hands.

A laying on of hands, one of the oldest ceremonies of healing in the history of the world; the idea being for one to act as a conduit for the more friendly energies around us. Of course in this day and age people are kept distant from the sick or injured; that doesn’t change the fact that, regardless of intent, a touch, a caress, holding a loved ones hands can make all the difference in the world.

My intent is deliberate, my goal to heal, and I'm willing to do anything, anything to achieve it. So, taking a deep breath, I open myself.

Is it me? Is it just me? Am I the only person who does this? Someone who, despite pain, or fear, or pleasure or love, there's always some tiny part of me coolly taking note of everything around me. Do only I do this? Does this make me some sort of freak?

Right now it's agony, wave after wave rampaging through my head and I should be distracted, I should be unable to focus, to be aware of this and keep such a clear memory. I know for example that the clock behind me is striking a little past quarter the hour, I just heard Joyce hang up the phone. I also know that to keep my self from screaming out loud I bite my tongue. I can taste it, coppery and salty, flowing between my teeth. I think there's a little bit dribbling over my chin, can't…won't take my hands off Buffy to wipe it away.

Hands.

Hands, hands, hands, my hands or her hands, maybe our hands…they're burning. They are burning our hands. Zig zagging, crisscrossed lines of fire mark my hands, I can't- I can't bend my fingers. They're burning; oh god they're burning, she's burning, I'm burning.

Her flesh is calling, calling to the white, to be healed and I've just let myself be the conduit. So much, so much, so much, she's, they're, sucking in so much. Hungry, they, Buffy, she, them so hungry. I can't gather, can't collect fast, give fast enough.

Can't take it. Hurts. Burning in her memory, burning in the white. Scream, can't. Tongue doesn't remember how to work.

What's happening? Pain is happening; muscles are locked, I'm crosslegged in a room; have I ever been here before? Where is here? Who's she? Who's this naked woman lying on the…um…God, pain and white and pain and white. They're hurting her. Who's hurting her? Who is she? Someone I love. Why?

 Because.

Sofa!

She's lying on a sofa. That's what that thing is called, a sofa. And behind me is the television, around the corner the kitchen. I know where I am, I know this place it's …uh, gimmie a second, it's right on the tip of my tongue.

So much, her need is so great, pulling in all the energy, freely offered white and she's accepting it all, through me, can barely see, barely keep my hands on her chest; whoa. She's beautiful! But…I know that, I always have. She's special that's why I'm doing this, she's special and I've become a conduit for white to help her. I love her.

I don't know who she is anymore, so full of white, no room left for her name or this place. So full, so bright, so hurting, so good going to explode.

I look at her, I love her. Love her, love you, heart beats out love.

I don't even remember my name.

"Willow?"

With a gasp I yank my hands from Buffy's chest.

Buffy, her name is Buffy. I'm Willow, I love her, she loves me, homesexuali- I hate that damn limerick.

Right, to recap, I'm Buffy, no she's Buffy, I'm Willow and she was hurt and I wanted to fix her. Help her, heal her. This is her Mom's house; we came to her Mom's house. Her Mom, Joyce is Buffy's Mom's name. Hi Joyce! Called Giles. Giles is British and therefore, by law, is not allowed to have sense of humor. Poor, poor Giles.

I helped Buffy!

I think.

"Willow," the woman in the archway says. She's talking to me; I think she's talking to me. I am Willow yes? Yes. "Are you okay?"

"You bet," I say. I try to give her thumbs up, fingers refuse to cooperate. That shouldn’t be a problem, fingers are not thumbs; in this instance though,  my thumbs are stubborn thumbs.

"What was that light?" Joyce, no Mrs. Summer, no Joyce; both, neither. Who cares?

"Healing," I point to Buffy. "Promised to help, so I did."

Joy- Mrs. Joyce walks over to Buffy and lifts one of Buffy's hands. The blackened, crusty skin and scabs flake away under her touch. Underneath we both see, slowly being revealed as more of the dead flesh peels or falls away, smooth, pink, soft skin.

Joyce looks down at me, I'm sitting on the floor, comfy soft floor…rug…whatever. There are tears in her eyes, dripping down her cheeks, "You did it," Buffy's Mom whispers. Yes, henceforth the sometimes Joyce, sometimes Mrs. Summers will be: Buffy's Mom. "You healed her."

Aw, she's crying harder now. What's wrong Buffy's Mom? Did a man hurt you? Is that why you're crying? Did a man break up with you? Smash your tender heart? You should do what I do when a man breaks up with me, I sing 'Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair" really, really loudly for a very long time! It works.

Or so I think, men don't break up with me because I don't like men. I'm a lesbian. 'People think that we're just friends, actually we are lesbi-' Arggh…stupid limericks!

Yes! I am a lesbian, free from the tyrannical yoke of males, to love who I wish, where I wish and not have to accept two point five children in some distant future. I can also leap tall buildings with a single bound!

Buffy's Mom kneels down besides me, cups my face in both hands and turns me to face her, "You saved my little girl," she says very seriously staring me in the eyes. "Thank you."

I want to tell her about my neat-o lesbian magic powers! I want to enlighten her on just how snuggly her daughter is on cool evenings, I also want her to know why I still think Knight Rider is a cool show even though I'm in college.

Instead I say, "I have a very bad headache."

And it all goes black.

***

"Willow, can you hear me?"

"Hmmm?" I mumble; I reach down looking for the blanket to pull over my head. Light filters through my eyelids.  I've got a headache and I can't find the blanket.

 Nuts.

"Willow, its Giles, are you awake?"

Giles? Giles is in our dorm room? At this ungodly hour?

"Giles get out of our room!" I lurch upright. "Ow!" I cry and grab at my temples as my headache gains strength. I squeeze my eyes shut until the spotlights and gongs in my brain dull down to a bearable groan.

Blinking a few times I see Giles crouching down in front of me. "Actually we're not currently in your room, Willow." He says gently. "We are in fact in the middle of Mrs. Summers' living room where, until a short time ago, you were passed out." He stands up and offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me to my feet.

"Giles when-"

"I arrived at most half an hour ago," he interrupts me. Giles never interrupts unless he's anxious, worried or angry. "Upon my arrival I find you, as I said, passed out and the entire room soaked in magical energy and you without so much as a basic circle of protection. I had to ground all the ambient power, which was quite careless of you.

"How long-" I try to ask.

Interrupting me again Giles replies, "Just over half that hour," He's really pissed. "I came in response to Mrs. Summers' frantic call about you arriving with a strange woman. Buffy being unconscious and all three of you covered in blood."

At Buffy's name I rush over to the sofa, "She's much better," Giles says. "Despite your carelessness your efforts were not in vain."

"She's okay?" I ask. Buffy still slumbers, her body covered by the fuzzy blanket that usually hangs off the back of the couch. I reach out and fold back one corner of the blanket.

"She is better," Giles says sitting down in one of the large chairs across from us. "The wounds that Mrs. Summers described most horrifically have for the most part healed."

I take one of Buffy's hands in my own and brush my fingers across  the blackened blood and burnt skin, my stomach clenches, heaves, under my touch the crusty materials flakes away exposing whole, unblemished, if a bit tender, rosy pink skin.

"I did it," I whisper more to myself. "You're going to be okay."

"Yes you did, she still needs to be cleaned up a little but she will be ultimately fine." Giles says and his voice sounds tight and stressed. "The most pressing question on my mind is why."

"Why?" I ask. I'm not grasping something, I'm running a little behind I think.

"Yes," He snaps; his voice getting louder. "Why was there any need for Buffy to be magically okay'ed as you put it? What events occurred that made it necessary, and most importantly-" Just as he's about to bellow he breaks off.

Giles takes a deep breath and lets it out his nose, behind his glasses he stares at me; in his glasses I can see it, them, his fear, concern, anger and frustration are practically crackling inside him. He takes another breath and blinks and just like that all signs of his anxiety are gone.

He's British.

"And most importantly," he continues far too calmly. "Why didn't you inform the rest of us?"

"I still have a headache," I answer unhelpfully.

Joyce, who has been standing their sorta out the way the whole times speaks up, "I have some headache medicine, would you like some?"

"Aspirin free?" I answer. "It upsets my stomach if there's aspirin."

"I think so," Joyce replies with a nod. "I'll be right back."

She almost seems grateful to dart out of the room.

I sit down on the floor, besides the sofa, keeping Buffy's hand in mine; my thumb drifts over the pulse point in her wrist and the gentle thrum, thrum, thrum of her heart counters and dulls the pounding still going on in my brain.

"We didn't contact you," I start slowly. "Because there wasn't time."

"Time," he repeats.

I nod. Buffy grunts slightly, sounds a little distressed. I reach up with my free hand and touch her forehead, stroking her. She sniffs once or twice then settles down.

"We…we had a fight," I continue. "Yesterday and she wasn't back this morning."

Giles leans forward, resting his chin on his fists; not saying anything just listening. "So I panicked a little, did a guide spell," I say. "It failed."

He raises his eyebrows slightly, "It was blocked then." He murmurs.

"Duh," I mutter. "I didn't know that at the time and I really panicked. Did some silly things, checked the papers, scared some students then I tried to reach out to her and, well, The," The what? Sensations? Experiences? Sheer skull crushing, brain peeling agony? "Feelings, the pain knocked me out. I couldn't take it."

Yeah.

They were feelings; kinda in the same way most psychos are 'a little crazy'.

"So you knew she was in trouble then, Buffy I mean." Giles says.

I stand up; the floor hurts my butt even with the carpet. Sitting back down on the edge of the sofa I stare at Buffy. Most of the blood has been washed off her face. Joyce must have done some more work on her while I was taking my second nap.

"Yeah, I woke up hours later and she was there, in my room. Just waiting for me."

"She?" Giles asks me.

I shrug, he's going to hate this part; that I trusted or at least followed some totally unknown woman. He can't understand, heck I can't understand why I did it.  I was out of my mind, almost literally. Thinking back on it I can't even remember clearly what the Hunter said. I do remember we need a new wardrobe though, ouch…and clean the rug….

All that aside though what should I tell Giles? Lie? Say I was forced; that wouldn't really be a lie, kinda. I was forced, in a way, I did the forcing though or, um, it had to be me, us, I don't know why, I'll probably never know why but I knew then, just like I know now that it had to be done that way.

Inhale.  "She said she was a hunter; big girl, woman, dressed in animal skins. She had captured Buffy as she was ordered to. She felt bad about it, needed help getting Buffy back. Said there wasn't time to get other, meaning you Giles, help. I wasn't thinking straight so I agreed to follow her lead." Exhale.

Giles doesn't look as upset as I thought he'd be. He looks at nothing for a few minutes, "Hunter," he mumbles then he comes back, glances at me. "Never heard of her," he says with a shrug of his own. 'Continue, then what happened Willow?"

Joyce re-enters the room, wordlessly hands me two small pills and a glass of water. I swallow them, drink the water and hand the glass back to her. She sets the glass down on the coffee table and stands there staring at me. It takes a few seconds for me to get the message.

I let go of Buffy's hand and slide down the sofa giving Joyce room to sit down beside her daughter. Now I have to tell Giles about how I caved in the front of warehouse, nearly got my head taken off, Buffy beating down a steel door and killing a man. Oh and lets not forget the little bit about the other people talking to me through Buffy and how Buffy is 'sleeping'. That should be a big hit with him. And I have to do this all, now, with the added bonus of that sour, acidy feeling in my stomach that wants me to be very angry at Joyce for making me move. I don't want to be angry at Joyce.

"Um, where was I?" I say, trying to delay.

"The Hunter had taken you to where Buffy was being held," Giles answers.

I glance at Joyce; she's staring right at me, no intention of going anywhere.

The first words are not that hard; I'm kind of pleased with myself that I crushed the warehouse. I shouldn't be, it's probably not a good thing to be feeling a little smug. When I get to the actual crushing Giles' expression doesn't change. Joyce lets out a little gasp. I risk another quick glance at her.

No, please don't look at me like Mrs. Summers. It's still me. See? Its just me, just Willow. I mean I'd never want to do anything like that again. Really I wouldn't. I'd never hurt anybody! I'm still little Willow Rosenberg who everybody made fun of all the time and even though I probably really could show them now I won- I mean…I mean wouldn't. No, never! Gotta stop thinkin' this way; gotta stop. Look Mrs. Summers, look at this smile. It's the same ol' Willow smile I've always had.

Really.

Giles clears his throat.

I blink, oh. "Oh, sorry." I mumble. "Got, heh, lost in thought."

Deep breath. Keep going.

Now it gets hard. Not the big boned Fatman, the gun at my head, the crazy, angry expression on The Hunter's face….

"H-he had me," I squeak. "Said he was going to kill Buffy, said it was in her own interests, he was about to kill me." My fingers ache- Oh! I'm squeezing my pants legs. Wow, my knuckles sure can get white.

"Then Buffy knocked down the door," I keep speaking. My mouth is running by itself. I can't stop staring at my fingers. Squeeze the clothing, knuckles go white, release the clothing, knuckles go red. "Fatman started going crazy, really panicking. Said it was impossible, that The Slayer shouldn't be able to take a steel door off its hinges like that."

Giles starts slightly at the word 'steel' , almost leaps out of his chair, he  catches himself, sits back, tries to look relaxed.

"Then we saw Buffy," I say. I start to describe her, how she looked and when I get to telling about her eyes, those ice, ancient eyes, Joyce sobs just a bit, just a tiny bit. I see her jump, out of the corner of my eyes. The pounding, my headache, I can hear it. Thrumming and beating…a giant pendulum roaring across my head drowning out all other sound. I can't hear my self speak, at least my tongue is really busy right now and not in a fun way eith-

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My head turns, it's being dragged I don't want to see….

Joyce is staring at me; her lips are tight, pulling the skin of her face tight against her skull. Her soft, mom-features are gone; the kind I wish my Mom had. The color is draining from Joyce's face. Slowly she raises one hand to her mouth and covers it, with her other hand she reaches behind her and, without looking, unerringly strokes Buffy's hair. She's still staring at me; with tears brimming, face pale she won't stop staring at me. On the plus side I don't think I'm talking anymore.

"Buffy killed him then?"

I snap around, Giles, still sitting calmly looks back at me. "Huh what?"

"The Fatman I believe you named him," Giles says. "Buffy killed him?"

 So that's where I left off. "I'm not sure, I mean yeah, I guess. I mean I think I have a lot of him on my shirt and The Hunter wouldn't let me- I was pretty out of it Giles and-"

Hold it.

Back up.

Did I jus, yeah I thinkI did. And I didn't realize this before because why?

I flip.

"Oh my God!" I shout. "I'm wearing part of the man on my shirt!!"

I leap to my feet; I've got to get this shirt off! Have to get it off now!

Get it off, get it off, and get it off, gedditoffgeddidoffgeddioff!!

"Willow!" Giles grabs my hands, making me stare at him. "No! No!" I shout in his face. "My lover, kidnapped, tortured. Gun. My head! Headache! She's, she's not there! She's gone away, Giles! Buffy has gone away!" I tug, pull, let me go Giles! I have to go Giles, please! "She- No, they or it, or she or maybe she and they. They said Buffy is resting! Let me go!"

He does, just as I pull.

Ow.

He let me fall on my butt!

That's going to bruise.

"Giles," I say quietly. "I'm wearing a large part of a man's head on my shirt."

He crouches down beside me, "Yes Willow," pause. "I can, quite literally, see that."

"Giles," I say, still quiet. "What happens now?"

He sighs, "Buffy has killed a human being. Should The Council find out they will…well after that disaster with Faith I'm not sure anymore."

Oh. Right. Forgot to mention that little detail.

"Giles?" Now I'm very quiet.

"Yes Willow?"

Too quiet.

"What, I didn't quite catch that," Giles says. He leans forward.

"I said: they were Council." I don't look at Giles. It's easier to stare at my new Jackson Pollock shirt.

"Who were?" Giles asks.

I start to stand up and, I have no idea why, brush off my pants. "They, Fatman, his men. They were Council." Brush, brush, brush. "They hired The Hunter, they tortured Buffy, they tried to kill her and me, and Buffy killed…,well The Fatman at least."

"Good."

I jerk my head around to stare at her.

"I’m glad my daughter killed them, they deserved it. They tried to hurt my little girl, those bastards." Joyce's says; her tone is even and controlled. Her eyes on the other hand…and I thought Buffy was scary looking when she was angry!

"Joyce, please-"

"Shut up, Rupert," she cuts him off. "They did this to her," she pulls back a corner of the blanket, revealing the still harsh burns, now blisters at worst, that criss-cross up the length Buffy's arm and shoulder.  I didn't manage to heal all of her it seems. "They would have done, God only knows what else." Joyce shakes her head.

"Broken her," I say. My fingers clench of their own volition; it's such a foreign thing, to see my hands as fists. "They wanted her broken. He said it was for her own good; that she was 'misbalanced'. That they were merely restoring the balance. He just, they just wanted her broken really. Or dead. Either way they'd be in control."

Giles walks back to his chair, sits down, takes off his glasses and tucks them in his pocket. He rubs his eyes a few times. "They must have found out about Buffy's condition."

"Sure, so they try and help," I snort. What's left of Fatman is starting to dry out and, not only is it a bit icky. Yech, it's starting to chaff too. Not really comfortable crusty brain matter, humph, this is not how I thought I'd spend my day.

Giles has stopped rubbing his eyes, now he's massaging his temples. His eyes are fixed and far away. Joyce is silent now, apart from whispered comforts that Buffy can't hear; I can hear them though and I don't want too. Giles stands up suddenly. "Joyce, might I have a word?" He glances at me. "In private?"

Joyce stands up slowly, obviously reluctant to leave her daughters side. After some hesitation though she does. "I'll watch her, Mrs. Summers," I say, trying to be helpful, trying to be included. 'I love Buffy too you know', I can't say. Joyce gives me a pained and, if I try really hard to fool myself, maybe an only half forced smile.

Which if fine with me; I'll get to be alone with you Baby, just you and me…for a little while. No, I'm not greedy hon, just want a little time with you. I'll share you when they come back…I'll even pretend not to mind.

"I know you will," Joyce manages to say. "We'll be right back."

Whatever.

The door swings shut behind them, I scoot over right next to Buffy and grab her hands.

"Take your time guys," I whisper to myself, kissing Buffy's fingertips between word. "It's not like you're going to hurt Buffy or anything.

***

"You're going to do what?!" I shout right in Giles face. If I wasn't ready to kill him I'd waste time being surprised he didn't get knocked over. Instead he grimaces slightly, "Willow, please-"

"No," I shout. "No I will not try and understand, not even for a please with sugary sprinkles and, uh, and…" nuts, hit a blank space. "Stuff!" I finish lamely.

"You want to put her back in the box!" I scream at him. "Are you insane? Did you hit your head rushing over here? Or is this some British thing? Idiocy in the face of danger?"

Giles blanches slightly and risks a glance at Joyce who's staring at me, eyes wide, which is easily understandable as I really want to rip these two stupid adults apart! And I love them more than almost anything. "That box, that cage they put her in," I take a deep breath. "It nearly destroyed her! My Buffy,"  A quick glance at Joyce. "Our Buffy," I amend. "Was hurt so badly that she's…she's gone away!"

"Yes, exactly," Giles says leaping into the breach. "She's gone away, the Feral is in control now, or could be. The last time that happened it wiped two villages in northern Russia off the map." He takes a step closer and says softly, almost fatherly. "It's not a box, or a cage, Willow. It's a safe environment where the danger of the Feral can be contained and Buffy can rest, so she can return to us."

"What about what she said?" I insist, poking Giles in the chest with every word.. "Your 'safe environment' is still a prison. She has to be free!"

He grips my shoulders gently, I almost shake them off , that would be immature, "Who said, Willow?" He asks, still using that fatherly voice that, about two seconds ago became suddenly very annoying. "Just this other? A mysterious voice with bright, as you said, ancient blue eyes?  That's not good enough I'm afraid." He says with a shake of his head. "It could be a form of possession, or something even worse."

Now I want to slap him.

"What?" I boggle. "What happened to trust me? Did the last three years never happen?" Now I shrug out of his grasp and back up a step. "What about all that team stuff; even you admitted The Scoobies were important. You turned your back on The Council for us, for her!" I point behind me where Buffy is still asleep or comatose…no don't think like that. She's asleep.

"You don't understand-" He tries to start one of his speeches.  Oh right, like I'm going to listen to that old line.

"Explain it to me then!" I challenge him.

Giles doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at me. Maybe trying to figure me out.

 "Willow," he says in that quiet, deathless voice of his. "Buffy is not there any more. The Feral is and I assure you, if the Feral is free it will cause more destruction and death than the Mayor could have if he had actually partnered up with Angelus."

He takes a deep breath, "And is that what Buffy would want? To be a danger?"

I stare at him. My stomach shrinking, getting colder and harder by the second.

"She wouldn't want to be a hurt to anyone," Giles continues, his face, his tone both pleading and apologetic. "Not the people she protects, not her family, or her friends," he gets quieter, and quieter. "Not you."

There it is; the last thing.

I can't change his mind. I know that now.

"You're scared," I say, weakly. "You're scared because The Council did this to her!"

Giles crosses his arms, dismissing the idea of his being afraid. For good reason, I said it to sound desperate, he bought it, "It's what Buffy would want, her loved ones  to be safe," He says. "It's for her own good as well.

The Hunter's words come back to me, 'because it's for their own good.'

"Mrs. Summers," I turn to her. She's been standing  there silently the whole time, sitting in one of the chairs staring into the empty fireplace as if there were an actual fire there. "Don't let him do this, please."

She looks at me, blinks, "What? Oh…" Another blink. "No…no I'm sorry Willow. I agree with Giles on this. He filled me in completely and that, in addition to what Buffy herself has told me," her voice trails off.

The room is quiet, still.

"I think," Joyce continues finally. "No, I know this is what Buffy would want." She repeats Giles word for word. She gets up, crosses the room. Joyce is not much taller than me; this time I get the distinct impression that she's looking down on me. I let her, I don't like it. I'll allow it for now, not gonna like it, but I'll let her. "Everything will be fine honey," She says to me. She sounds like she actually believes it.

And I know what I have to do. I just hope one day they'll forgive me.

I turn around slowly and sit back down on the sofa. I reach out and stroke Buffy's cheek. Giles follows.

"Willow?" he asks. Not wanting to intrude. He's wants to do what's right and will end up destroying her; he's still polite. He'll always be polite.

I smile up at him, this must be startling. "You know I love you, Giles, right?"

That definitely catches him off guard and he actually swallows. "Well," He fumbles the words. "That's um, that's very, I mean to say- I'm quite fond of you too, Willow." He manages to stammer. "However I'm not sure how that has anything-"

"Mrs. Summers," I override him. I hold out my hands to the both of them. Haltingly, as if they don't trust me and they shouldn't. Oh God, oh God I'm sorry; they take my hands. Joyce's hand is cold, clammy, a little moist, a yucky gooky feeling. Giles' hand is dry and warm and only trembles a little bit.

"You guys are the best parents I know," I say, looking at both of them. "Which is kinda strange cause, well, Giles, y'know never even had children." I give him a sidelong glance. "You never have had children have you?"

He smiles softly, in that charming way of his. He's feeling better, no longer needs to be fierce and grrrr. He thinks I've given up and in a way, he's right, "No Willow," He says quietly. "I've had no children."

"I love my parents," I continue.  "You know that. I mean, sorta have too. You guys though, you've both taught me so much. You're the best adults, no, best friends I know of that in that area."

Joyce and Giles exchange glances; they think this is the surrender that, under their guidance all will be well. As I said, they've taught me so much and one of the things I've learned is: When to stop listening.

"And that's why," Deep breath. "That's why I'm sorry."

At the word 'sorry' Giles tries to pull his hand away, his mouth opening in alarm.

"No," I command. Putting power, my power into the words. So little left, black and white dots are already flying in front of my eyes; I have enough though. Even if this breaks something I have enough, I have to have enough.

 "Don't move," I command. "Don't speak, don't see, don't hear, let no worldly consequences forbear to intrude upon my made silence, till sun pierce skies at dawns ascent or I release you by my consent."

Both of them freeze, then their knees buckle and they collapse. The loud thump of Giles hitting the floor galvanizes me to leap up, or I try, the room spins violently and I almost miss her. I don't though; I grab Joyce and ease her down almost falling in the process. Essentially they're asleep and will wake at dawn, totally refreshed and, I'd bet, feeling pretty spiffy. Except for the mind numbing panic, fear, and sense of betrayal.

Which is my fault.

Something hot and wet trickles from my nose, down my lower lip. My tongue flickers out and I taste that coppery thick taste of blood. I stand up slowly, the room is only a little wobbly…I can get to the door easy. Oh, excuse me Giles I didn't see you laying there. Sorry.  No, no…silly Rosenberg, ignore the pain; yes, it's blinding, white, shiny and comes in waves like a really pissed off tide. So what? Be…tough about it. C'mon…let's go. One foot in front of the other.

I walk past them, open the front door and, "I know you're out there." I say to the dark. My head feels like it wants to explode…again. Didn't I go through this kind of trauma last night?

"I said I know you're out there, you know I know, and I know you know that I know…so…we both know what the other…." I sigh. "I'm really tired," I mutter to myself.

"And I'm right behind you," The Hunter says calmly.

"I knew that too," I say without turning around. "Joyce left the back door open again. I need your help, but you knew that as well, didn't you?"

The Hunter only grins.

END

Authors Notes: What? So it took a while. The next one will…oh who knows?