mollyig: thanks for the early reply,
even though that teensy tiny teaser was not much to go on:
ok, yes. i have realised just what a piddly little bit of crap that teaser is, and you kinda need the next part to know what's going on, so, here it is:
(BUT i only have so much fic written, and when that runs out, i don't know what will happen about updates, anyone reading my other fic will know that i am completely hopeless with updates and utterly lazy, so the updates will come, but we'll see just how often they do when we get there, won't we?
)
~~~~~~~
The next day Willow Rosenberg sat at her computer, staring daggers at the screen.
Why can’t I get this to work?! Damn bugs… Needless to say; she had not gotten much sleep the night before, but it was something she was used to. Something she would just have to deal with. After all, it was her own doing, wasn’t it? Only herself that caused the nightmares, caused the hellish situation she saw at night more often than not. There was, however, one thing she had not touched during her homicidal streak,
one thing. Her everything.
Stop thinking about her, she’s never coming back. And it’s not as though I deserve anything good to happen to me. Not after what I did, Willow thought, bringing up a hand to wipe a forming tear from her already sore eyes. Though she felt the guilt all the time, at every moment of the day and night, it still hurt her to think of what she had become. Of what an insult she was to everything she believed in. What an insult she was to her
No, not mine. She’ll never be mine again, Tara.
Tara. Just the name brought a lump to her throat and tears to sore eyes. The name of the woman she could once call ‘hers’ but never would be able to again.
Oh, God, I miss her so much. What would she think of me, now? the distraught redhead asked herself. She had been away from the blonde Wiccan for nine months. Nine whole months of sheer torture. First, straight after Tara had left her, due to the magic, she had had to give it up. She had gone through painful withdrawal, the shakes, the nightmares, the sickness, the nosebleeds, the cramps, all to earn back Tara’s love. But they never got that far. Just when she thought she was earning back Tara’s trust, the worst happened. The most terrible thing that could have happened. Warren shot Buffy. And she couldn’t handle it. Her best friend, her anchor to the world was gone. She had tried to bring her back, but it was no good. It was too late. And she was dead. At the sight of Buffy lying bleeding on the grass in her own back yard, she snapped. She couldn’t contain the magic within her. She went on a rampage. She killed two people. Two, in no way innocent people, but it didn’t matter that they were evil. They were human beings. And killing a human was evil. By destroying them, she had turned into them, destroying herself. Through a cunning trick from Giles and a crappy talk from Xander, she had been brought back. Then she left again.
She had travelled to this place, getting busses and more busses until she found herself in a place that was so self-involved, so utterly ignorant, that she could find a decent job, yet still not have to socialise with other human beings. She could work from home, not talking in person with anybody. If she didn’t have to talk to anyone, she didn’t have to let anybody know her terrible secret. The same shameful secret that still, most nights, had her trembling, sweating and literally aching to use the magic that she could not. She could not only not use the magic because Giles had done a spell on her after she left, purely from good magic, therefore making it impossible for her to override it that effectively bound her magic, not allowing her to ever use the dark arts again, but because she wouldn’t. She would not
allow herself to go back to that dark place. It was simply something that would never happen again, no matter what the circumstances. And anyway, she had lost everything – everyone who had ever meant anything to her. But still, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Tara – where she was, what she was doing…. who she might be seeing.
No. Stop. Stop this. Get over it, she’s never coming back. Willow stopped that particular train of thought…it almost always brought her pain not only in her heart, but in the form of powerful magic cravings.
Willow sighed, frustrated, and went back to her computer. She began to type – there was no other word for it – angrily, as if showing her displease to the computer program. After a few minutes of glaring at the screen and unsuccessful attempts at debugging the program, she was startled to hear a knock at the door – she didn’t have a bell, because she never got visitors.
Warily, Willow pushed back her chair and got up. She took a quick look at the clock on the wall – 7:25, it was autumn, therefore, after sunset. Being fully aware of the dangers of inviting a stranger into her home, even opening the door after sunset, she scanned the room for a weapon of some kind, her heart beating hard and fast in her chest. She sighed, irritated, after not being able to find much of the weapon variety.
The knock sounded again on the door, louder and more insistent, this time. Willow felt a quick flash of panic spread from her chest out into her body. In a swift motion, she picked up a candlestick by the fireplace. All the apartments in this particular building had fireplaces leading up to a very smoky chimney.
Why the hell do I have a candlestick?…. I don’t even burn candles…. The handle on the door turned sharply, as someone (or something, which was more likely) turned it, trying to get in – they couldn’t, however, for it was locked.
Ok, Rosenberg, not the time… Willow brought her mind back to the problem at present and padded nervously over to the door.
Slowly, her heart racing, she turned the key in the lock and gingerly opened the door a crack. Who she saw standing on the other side with a very accusing look on their face made her drop her candlestick and feel suddenly as though her legs were made out of jelly.
“T-Tara?” she asked disbelievingly.
ps: please excuse spelling and grammar errors, i started to proof read this but got through about two paragraphs before getting bored and thinking 'fuck it' *shrug* and i know about the irony, i am not blind
"I'm not gay - I'm just Trevor's bitch." - some drunken guy about his sexuality
"Oh, bugger off, you BROLLY!" - Anya to Giles on his use of the english language
"We'll all be a lot happier without the constant whining....Mom, Buffy, Tara, Waah" - DMW to Dawn
)
BUT I have rudely been pushed into it (well, sort of) – blame Piper. 
lol, i think it's great so far! Nice detail work! 
Now stop talking to me on MSN and start writing more you lazy butt! hehe 
- oh piffle, i'm not scared of your ickle chainsaw 
Aly xxxx 
oh no, wait - you said "format of"... ok