EMAIL/FEEDBACK: Please! uberindigo@mediaone.net or filidh@rhiannon-silverflame.net DISTRIBUTION: Umm . . . new to this, not really sure what I'm doing. But if you deem it worthy of your site, you're welcome to put it up, I guess! It's in plain-text format here, but I've got the Word-format file on hand . . .

DISCLAIMER: The characters are, of course, not mine. Rather, they belong to Joss Whedon and Co., Mutant Enemy, Fox, the WB, and whoever else happens to own financial or legal stakes in the matter. I'm just borrowing them here for fun, not profit, because they spark my imagination.

If you can't deal with same-sex relationships, what are you doing on this page? Even if I could figure out how to twist your arm over the Internet, I wouldn't force you to read. That'd just be stupid.

SPOILERS: This story takes place just after the events of fifth season's "Family." Any and all episodes preceding "Family" are fair game for being spoiled, as reference is made to quite a few canonical past events.

RATING: PG-13

PAIRING: W/T, X/A, B/R (though only in reference)

SUMMARY: The trouble with the Maclay family didn't end completely when they left Sunnydale; there are still a few more things in store to make life a little bit more complicated for Tara and her friends. And Willow in particular finds herself struggling as circumstances spiral beyond her control . . .



Just Call it Magick

by Rhiannon Silverflame







Part One



Just another Scooby meeting.



A typical evening in Sunnydale, California--keg parties down at the local frat houses, a swingin' crowd at the Bronze, demons prowling the streets in hopes of wreaking havoc. Relaxation, fun, and a weird supernatural occurrence or two, all part of the package in this town.



Hence the Scooby meeting. The Gang was assembled in Giles's living room, catching up on the day's developments and generally just enjoying each other's company; these strategy sessions were often some of the most peaceful moments they shared with one another.



"Patrol's been pretty uneventful lately, eh Buffster?" This from Xander, who sat on the couch tossing a small leather bag into the air and bouncing it off his forehead.



"Pretty much," Buffy answered from her perch on the kitchen counter. "Didn't kick up anything but Spike."



"Like you said, uneventful."



"Uh-huh. But god . . . he's really starting to give me the creeps."



"Ironic," announced Anya, who strode in from the kitchen with a plate of freshly-baked cookies. "I think this would definitely qualify as ironic, don't you?"



Between tosses, Xander asked, "What would? The Slayer creeped out by the defanged V-chip vamp? Count me in. Censorship scares me."



Anya gave him a confused look. "I fail to see the connection between those two statements, but yes, I was talking about Spike." She set the plate down on the coffee table. "Macadamia nut white chocolate, anyone?"



A hefty leatherbound tome in hand, Dawn darted over from one of the bookshelves. "Ooh! I'm game!" Between mouthfuls, she continued, "This book is so way cool! That is, the parts of it I can read, but I bet the funky language bits would be cool too if I knew what they meant. Giles, can you teach me some of this stuff?"



"Whoa there, sibling unit!" Buffy hopped down from the counter and crossed to Dawn's side, neatly plucking the book from her sister's hand. "What are you trying to get yourself into now?" She eyed the printing on the book's spine. "_Glamours and Minor Incantations for Skin Blemishes_. They actually come up with enough for a whole volume on this?"



Xander shrugged. "Considering the fortune pharmaceutical companies rake in on acne cream each year, are you really surprised?"



"Put in those terms, I guess not." The Slayer narrowed her eyes. "What do you want to do with this, Dawn?"



Trying to adopt a nonchalant look, the younger girl shrugged. "I don't know. I was thinking maybe, you know, some of these spells worked the other way. Give Kirstie Simonton a case of acne to spell disaster for her social status, or something like that."



"Oh! I used to do spells like that all the time!" Anya offered, in her most helpful tone. "They're really quite easy. All it takes is--" A sharp glare from Buffy silenced her quickly, and without missing a beat, she went on, "Far more experience than you currently possess, and also that you finish all your homework. Because you have to be completely caught up on your homework before any acne-type spells will work."



Willow could see that the youngster wasn't buying it, and came to the rescue. "Cursing a classmate with zits sounds kinda vengeancey, Dawnie. What'd she do to you, anyway?"



Dawn scowled. "Kirstie is only, like, the barometer of coolness at Sunnydale Middle School. Everybody hangs on her every word just 'cause she thinks she's so hot. And she's always spreading nasty rumors about me."



"But still," Willow returned gently, "that's not enough reason, you know, to get all with the spell-induced hormone attack on her. Besides, just one little goof-up and you'll probably be the one impersonating a walking pepperoni pizza . . . so you might not want to get into that."



"Well, why not?" Dawn persisted. "It's not like I want to really hurt her."



Giles placed a hand on the young girl's shoulder and guided her, none too subtly, toward the desk. "Dawn, I think that's enough. Why don't you go ahead and finish your history essay?" Motion over on the couch caught his eye, and he turned. "Xander, *please* don't play hackysack with the runestones."



"Okay, okay, I get the hint," grumbled Dawn. "History first, acne spells later."



"Much, *much* later," Giles answered firmly. Much to his relief, Dawn didn't argue.



Over by the back wall, Tara perused another one of Giles's spell books, deep in thought. She turned when she felt fingertips brush her elbow, and met the smile on Willow's face with one of her own. "Hey there."



"Hey yourself. Whatcha looking for, sweetie?" asked the redhead.



"Nothing much," Tara answered. "I was just thinking about that spell you wanted to do, you know, the one to locate demonic activity? And I thought that maybe we could find a way to make it last longer."



"Kind of like a demon-radar?"



"Yeah, something like that. With Glory around but so little actually happening, it just doesn't feel right." She paused, catching the sudden warmth that shone in Willow's eyes. "What?"



"I know something that does feel right," murmured the shorter girl, wrapping her arms around Tara's waist. "Having you here . . . still . . . here with me, I mean, and not back in Cleveland with your family, all domestic and trapped and . . . alone."



Tara smiled and rested her forehead against her girlfriend's, taking in the sandalwood-and-soap scent of Willow's hair and the sensation of being loved that made her feel so safe. This girl was capable of some powerful magick, Tara knew, but nothing overwhelmed her more than the strength of Willow's feelings. They radiated from her in an aura that only Tara could perceive, one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.



"I'm so glad we found out the truth," Willow said softly. She kissed Tara on the lips with a gentle insistence. "I would love you anyway, even if your father had been right, and you really were part demon . . . but it feels so much better to know you're not hiding that from me."



Tara set the book aside and hugged Willow tight. "I know."



They shared a moment of silent relief. The ordeal of just ten days ago had been a draining one for them and the others. That Glory-orchestrated attack of the Lei-Ach demons hadn't been made any easier by the demon-blinding spell Tara had cast. Buffy and the others had forgiven her for it, though; in fact, they'd done so by coming to her defense with singleminded purpose. For the shy Wiccan, who'd felt so much on the outside of Willow's group of friends, Buffy's simple statement--"We're family"--had been an almost unbearable level of validation.



Most likely, Tara knew, she'd never really be as closely knit into the Scooby Gang as those who'd been there from the start. She was okay with that, but it felt good to belong, all the same.



And then there was the fact that Willow's friends--no, her friends as well, now--had chosen to stand up for her, even before Spike had solved the issue of her supposed demon side by popping her one in the nose. She'd cast a spell on them, nearly gotten them all killed . . . and they'd taken her side, declaring her one of their own. No questions asked.



She'd made the right decision in leaving home, she knew that now. It had taken all the resolve and courage she could muster to do so, but the payoff was more than she'd ever dreamed it would be. Here in Sunnydale she had friends, and here she'd found a sweet, selfless love that healed her soul and brought out strengths she'd never known she possessed.



Willow Rosenberg was here. So this must be home.



Talk about ironic. Her father had cited Sunnydale's dangerous-town reputation as basis for opposing her desire to study here. And certainly she'd had her fair share of demonic run-ins. But Tara had never felt safer anywhere in her life.



"So what do you think?" Willow was asking. "Xander and Anya will patrol with Buffy tonight, and we can go back to your place and work on that spell . . . after I do my comp sci homework, that is."



Tara gave her an indulgent smile. "You'll finish it in no time. So, yeah." She glanced around the room briefly, a thought registering. "Hey. Where's Riley?"



"Don't know. He's been AWOL an awful lot lately. He said he'd be here later, to help patrol . . . I hope he shows." Willow's face darkened briefly. "Now that he doesn't have to be Commando Boy all the time, it's not like him to disappear so much. It bothers Buffy too, I know it does."



Worry creased the blonde girl's forehead as she tightened her hold around Willow. Buffy and Riley had been going through some rough spots lately, it was true. There was something of a failure to communicate in their relationship that seemed to contribute to the difficulty. *I'm so glad my secrets are out in the open now,* Tara thought. *I don't ever want that kind of complication between you and me, Willow.*



"I'm sure he'll turn up," was all she said. Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, "We'll call him on it when he does, too. Make him watch, you know, a few episodes of Xena or something . . . he could pick up some tips on living with the Slayer."



It worked. Willow giggled, and Tara felt some of the redhead's tension draining away. "How's he going to learn anything from Xena?" asked Willow, slipping her hand into Tara's as they headed for the door. "Night, guys . . . good luck on patrol!"



Dawn and Giles waved; Anya snatched up the plate of cookies and chased after them. "You can't leave yet! Not without trying my new recipe!" Positioning herself between the two witches and the door, she held out the plate and smiled broadly. "Come on. A few for the road. Think of it as spell fuel! You *are* going to work on the demon-finding spell, aren't you? Especially since Tara no longer has an unnecessary cover to fear blowing?"



A few days ago, the comment might have hurt. But Tara merely smiled back and said, "Well, homework fuel, really. But thanks, Anya." She took a few cookies. "We're going to work on the spell later, though."



"They're good cookies," the ex-demon persisted, seeing that neither Tara nor Willow had actually eaten one. "Dawn will back me up on this. Right, Dawn?"



"Mmm-hmmmph," came the muffled reply from the corner.



"Go on. Try one." Anya, the eager grin still on her face, hadn't budged from the doorway. Tara shot Willow a bemused glance.



"Hit me," said Willow. "Cookies are a fun precursor to C++." She took all but one of the baked goods from her girlfriend's hand, and opened her mouth, waiting.



Tara laughed and held the remaining cookie up to Willow's lips. The shorter girl took an experimental nibble, and her eyes widened. "Oooh. Hit me again." She took another bite, this one much bigger. "Yummy."



To the confusion of the entire Scooby Gang, Anya's response was a very emphatic pout.



"Um . . . would you have preferred it if she'd told you she'd rather eat cardboard?" Tara asked.



"No. I'd be insulted. But you two are so adorable together." Anya skipped across the living room and plunked herself down next to Xander on the couch. "Xander, feed *me* cookies," she demanded, putting the plate in his lap. "I want us to be as cute as Willow and Tara are."



The whole gang shared a laugh at this, including Tara, despite the fact that she'd just blushed a brilliant shade of red. Good-naturedly, Xander complied. "God forbid we lose the cuteness contest, Ahn."



Anya munched happily on the proferred treat. "Nice and chewy," she declared. "Even I impress myself."



"Sorry, Anya, but I think Tara and Will still have you guys beat in that department," teased Buffy, who leaned over the back of the couch to swipe a cookie. "Not to step on your chef's ego or anything," she added, chewing, "since you do make a mean white chocolate macadamia for sure. Snack time's over though. We gotta patrol."



"Yeah." Xander was already putting on his jacket. "Much as I hate to walk out on dessert, we must leave the comfort and safety of the house in order to ensure the discomfort and death of the vamps who prowl Sunnydale tonight."



"Except me," Dawn grumbled. "I'm not going anywhere. I get to stay here and spend quality time with the French Revolution." She paused. "But if you leave me the cookies, I won't hold it against you."



"It's a deal, kid." Buffy set about gathering her weapons as Xander and Anya prepared to leave. "Tara, Willow, good luck with the spell. See you guys tomorrow?"



"Definitely. G'night!" Willow spared her friends a last smile as she and Tara opened the door and stepped out. "So . . . explain to me again how you think Riley could pick up Slayer-dating tips from Xena?"



"Oh, I don't know. I just thought, um, Gabrielle seemed to be pretty well adjusted to hanging out with the Warrior Princess twenty-four-seven, you know?"



"Yeah, life with a brooding crusader for good. I can see that . . ."





Part Two



It was nine-thirty in the morning by the time Buffy got home. *Did I miss the bit in Murphy's Law where it says that Slayer patrol activity shoots up exponentially right after complaining that it's been boring lately?* she thought wearily.



They'd rousted out a nest of vampires last night, managing to dust three of them, but not before the other three succeeded in getting away. Not inclined to let that slide, she, Xander, and Anya had gone on a half-blind chase through the Sunnydale sewers to hunt them down, and had a lovely run-in with a cranky demon en route.



*Well, it wasn't our fault she picked out a residence at a major intersection.*



So that had been fun. Loads of it. In the ensuing fight with the demon, they'd lost the trail of the fugitive vamps, who'd scattered in different directions. It had taken the rest of the night to find and finish them.



There was a familiar figure, rumpled and exhausted-looking, hunkered on the steps when she got to the house. "Buffy? You're just getting home now?"



"Yeah." The Slayer dropped to the porch beside her best friend. "Remind me to write and complain to the city about their super-shitty sewer schematic . . . pardon the pun."



"Pun pardoned. Alliteration pardoned, too."



"Unforgivable combo. How'd I let that slip by me?" Buffy caught Willow's troubled statement and oddly flat tone of voice, and brushed her own troubles aside. "Waitasec. Will, how long have you been sitting out here?"



"Oh . . . 'bout an hour, more or less. I figured you were sleeping and didn't want to wake you."



"You and Tara didn't have a fight, did you?"



"No, no fight, or anything like that," sighed Willow. "I just wanted to talk." She cradled her chin in her hands and gazed at Buffy, looking pitiful.



"Talk to me?" *Something you don't want to talk to Tara about?* Buffy laid a hand on the redhead's shoulder and leaned in, concerned. "You look awful, Will . . . my god, have you slept at all?"



Willow shook her head miserably. "Uh-uh, and I'm pooped. Tara and I stayed up most of the night trying to work the bugs out of the demon-location spell, and I think we got it mostly un-buggy. It's just some of the specifics that are still a little fuzzy."



*I know you better than that.* Buffy studied her friend's face and read the deeper implications there. "And that's not what's really bothering you."



A tense moment of silence.



Then Willow blurted out, "It started when we got to work on the spell last night."



*Not like her to cut right to the chase that way. This is really bothering her.* Buffy locked eyes with her friend. "You know you can tell me. What happened?"



"Oh god, I don't know. It's just . . . I think I understand now. Tara told me last night that she deliberately sabotaged the spell the first time we tried it. I'm not mad at her for itI know why she did it, so I can't blame her." Willow's face was flushed now, and the words spilled from her in a broken but rapid stream, tinged with frustration and a hint of anger. "And now she's so completely eager-beavery, about working on the spell I mean, like she wants to make up forfor everything. But what's everything, Buffy? What does she even *have* to make up for?"



"Will," Buffy began, but the other girl had picked up too much momentum.



"Oh god, Buffy, I can feel the difference in her! I can see how relieved she isnot scared of keeping things from me, not that she had any reason to, and . . . *how*, Buffy?" the hacker burst out forcefully. "How could her family treat her that way? It's hurt her so much . . . she's so sweet, she's a wonderful girl and I love her more than I ever thought I could love anyone, but for so many years they made her feel lower than dirt . . ."



Willow broke down sobbing then, and Buffy pulled her close, offering wordless comfort, feeling her best friend's pain.



"Tara's got you now, though, Will . . . she's got all of us," she finally murmured when the choked sobs subsided. "What the two of you have? It really is powerful, and it's beautiful. You've just got to hang onto that, and in time it'll make up for all the hell she's been through."



"She didn't deserve to be treated that way, Buffy," Willow whispered, raising tear-filled eyes to the Slayer's. "Nobody does. But especially not her."



Faced with the simple truth of the statement, Buffy found she had nothing adequate to say. "I know, Will," she replied instead. "I know."



They sat that way for a while, wondering why human nature sometimes encompassed so much fear and hatred. Despite everything they'd been through, all the evil they'd faced since high school, there were some questions that would always remain beyond their understanding.



They'd been there themselves, when their own mothers had nearly burned them at the stake as the supposed cause behind all the horrors of Sunnydale.



That had been different, though; when the town had almost become another Salem, it had been influenced by demons that incited fear and hatred, stirred up persecution, and fed on these things for their own evil purposes. This time, there was no cause but ignorance, purely human, and a misguided sense of family.



So the Maclays had invented the legend of demon heritage as a way to keep the women in their clan under control; that was the shadow of fear under which Tara had lived all her life.



The injustice of the idea appalled them both. There were some monsters that the Slayer and her friends still didn't know how to defeat; there were still some evils that defied all logic.



But as futile as it seemed sometimes . . . it was still, as always, a battle worth fighting.



"I should go," Willow said finally. "I've got class at ten-thirty, and Tara is probably worried about me. I left a note on the desk for her when I leftI was actually walking around since sunrisebut you know how girlfriends are. They always worry." She paused, an undeniably affectionate look in her eyes at the thought. "Well, um . . . you know what I mean."



Buffy smiled. "I've done the worry thing, yeah. Come on. You can give your girl a call while I fix us some breakfast, and I'll drive you back to campus, okay?"



"Okay."



Joyce Summers was still asleep, and Dawn--who'd been dropped off by Giles sometime the previous night--had already left for school, so the house was quiet when the girls entered.



"First things first," Buffy declared. "Waffles? Toast and eggs? Pancakes?"



Willow moved to the kitchen sink to wash her face and replied, "I'll have to vote for the toast and eggs, because toast and eggs equal quick, and quick is good with comp sci in forty-five minutes."



"Comin' up. Scrambled okay?"



"Uh-uh. My brain's enough of that for the whole day." A bit of a smile--Buffy would almost describe it as naughty--played about the corners of the hacker's mouth. "How 'bout sunny-side up?"



Buffy set the frying pan on the stove. "Works for me. Might be a good omen for the day." Then, without missing a beat, "Phone's on the counter, but you knew that."



"Yup." Willow had already found said phone by now, and proceeded to dial.



* * * * *



The phone's ringing jolted Tara from an already uneasy sleep; she never slept too well any more if Willow wasn't beside her. She rolled out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled across to the desk. "Hello?" It came out as more of a yawn than a greeting.



"Morning, sweetie." The voice on the other end of the line made her smile. "Did I wake you?"



Reading over the scrawled note on the desktop, the blonde girl answered, "Sort of . . . not really. I was mostly on my way to waking up already and wondering where you were."



She heard Willow giggle. "I knew you would, and I love you for it. I guess you got my note, but I wanted to call you myself, mostly 'cause you sound so cute when you're still just waking-uppy and everything. I'm over at Buffy's right now. She's going to drive me to class, but . . ." There was a pause, and Tara heard muffled conversation in the background. "Oh! Buffy says that Xander and Anya offered to take us all out to the Steakhouse at two-thirty. I could meet you at the Student Union after your anthro class, and they'll pick us up from there. Sound good?"



"Mmm," Tara acknowledged drowsily. "Sounds good. Listen, honey, I'm going to breakfast now, before I head off to French class. Have fun in comp sci . . . oh, and *please* don't forget to wear your seat belt?"



They both laughed at the light ribbing; Buffy was notorious as a driver, though not *quite* as bad as her friends' jokes might have indicated. But at the same time, Tara's constant concern for her well-being came through with absolute clarity.



"I will," promised Willow, touched. "Comp sci'll be fun enough. It's just drama, and the accompanying trembly knees, that still take some getting used to."



"You'll be fine," Tara reassured her. "Honey, I've really got to run before I'm late, but I'll see you after class, okay?"



Her lover sounded a bit crestfallen, Tara thought, as she replied, "Okay. I miss you."



*I always miss you when you're gone.* "Miss you too, Willow. I love you."



"Love you too, Tara . . . see you soon."



Tara stood there for a few moments after the line went dead, just staring at the receiver with a wistful smile on her face. It was amazing how just the sound of Willow's voice could make her feel so safe, so loved. Something warm and furry rubbed against her leg, and she set the phone down in order to scoop up the wriggling kitten and cuddle her close.



"Tell me something, Miss Kitty," she murmured, petting the cat's nose with one fingertip. "How did I get so lucky?"



Placidly revelling in her richly deserved attention, Miss Kitty Fantastico's only response was a rich, contented purr.



"Yeah," Tara told the cat, grinning. "I know exactly what you mean."





Part Three



Beginning Drama was an entry-level acting course that taught the fundamentals of the art. Acting required getting up in front of people and performing; it wasn't the sort of academic challenge to which Willow Rosenberg was accustomed, but it was a challenge nonetheless. And Willow was all about academic challenges.



Her previous class, C++ Programming and Application, was the sort of mental workout she'd always enjoyed ever since her first day of kindergarten. Drama, on the other hand, required less of her grey matter and more of the self-confidence she so badly wanted to build. C++ might be listed in the course catalog as Comp Sci 290, but this piddly little Theater 110 course intimidated her more. Go figure. A fairly shy Wiccan computer geek among aspiring starlets. There were days that Willow just had to laugh at the seeming absurdity of the situation. Other days, she just worried about doing well in the class.



Today was one of the latter days. So here she stood on the linoleum floor of Fremont Hall room 336, standing two feet across from Marianne Erwin and listening to the professor's instructions.



"When you're on stage, your job involves getting the audience to believe in what you're doing up there as the character you're playing. And you can't do that if your interactions with fellow actors aren't genuine. Believe it or not, the average viewer will be able to tell if you're reacting to a situation that you've already anticipated. Remember the importance of being in the moment." Professor Qin paced among her assembled students, making strategic eye contact with them as she made her way around the room. "The exercise we're going to do today seems fairly simple, but you may find it more difficult than it sounds. I've asked you to pair up and stand across from your partners; what I want you to do is communicate emotions to one another using no words, no facial expressions--only your eyes. I'll call out an emotion, and each of you is to feel that emotion . . . give that emotion to your partner . . . and receive it in turn, through nothing but your eyes, until further instruction. Understood?"



*Oh,* Willow thought. *A feedback loop. I can do that . . . I hope.*



"Now, remember," Professor Qin continued, "it's vital to be attuned to the emotional life of your character. These emotions have to be real--summoned up from somewhere inside you. I don't necessarily advocate the emotional recall techniques of the Method school, as I've said before since such techniques can put an actor in jeopardy of focusing on his or her own life, rather than that of the character. Nevertheless, as human beings, we are familiar with emotion through our own experiences. So at this stage in your training it's acceptable to tap into the things you've gone through to accomplish this task. Just remember to be in the present. Don't allow the experiences you are remembering to distract you from the fact that you are *putting on a performance.* Are you all ready?" She paused, took in the nods from her students. "All right, then: look your partner in the eyes . . . and . . . love. Give and receive love, only through your eyes."



*Easy one.* Willow let herself think of Tara, of the look on the shy young woman's face when they'd shared that birthday dance at the Bronze less than two weeks ago. Still focusing on Marianne's gaze, she thought of how it made her feel whenever Tara gently insisted that she get some sleep the night before an exam . . . how good it felt to know she warranted such special care. The emotion came easily that way.



"Now, excitement."



*Oh, that's a cinch.* Excitement was what Willow experienced every time she came home from chem lab, knowing that Tara would be there waiting for her so they could go to dinner together. She absorbed the eager glint in Marianne's eyes and responded in kind, even though her thoughts were occupied by the way she anticipated her pulse would quicken at 7:10 this evening, when she laid her hand on the doorknob of Tara's dorm room. She felt herself flush and forced her body to relax, kept a huge and goofy smile from spreading across her face.



"That's it, " Professor Qin encouraged. "Remember, you're communicating through your eyes alone. No body language. No facial expressions. We'll move on now; show relief."



*Relief. We feel that a lot in the Scooby Gang.* Willow picked up on Marianne's statement, returning it through green eyes that shimmered with the memory of knowing that her friends had accepted her lover as one of their own. She felt her shoulders sag like a weight had been lifted from her, the way it had been the night they'd rescued Oz from the Initiative and the choice she'd had to make became clear. Remembering the exercise, though, the young Wiccan quickly shifted her posture back into one of neutrality.



"Moving on again." The professor's voice was low, steady. "We'll shift slowly into a more negative emotional spectrum. Show your partner worry . . . give and receive anxiety."



*Know that one a little too well.* Willow reached back and tapped into recollections of a million nerve-inducing situations. Prominent among them was the time that she'd first gotten up the courage to introduce Tara to Buf fy--who'd turned out not to be Buffy at all, but rather the rogue Slayer, Faith, in Buffy's body, who'd managed to live up to and surpass Willow's worries by behaving cruelly toward Tara.



"Relax, Mr. Gutierrez. Keep that posture neutral. Suspicion, class; pick up a sense of suspicion from your partner and transmit one back."



*Hmm. Cause for suspicion? Here, on the Hellmouth? Who woulda thunk it?* The redhead's thoughts drifted instead to one of her current, more "mundane" concerns: Riley's increasingly unexplained disappearances. *What's that boy been up to? He has been acting weird these days, like he's keeping something from Buffy . . . from all of us. If he hurts her, ooooooh, I _will_ beat him with that shovel like I said I would. No . . . with a backhoe.* Abruptly, Willow remembered that this was supposed to be a group exercise, and focused back on Marianne's eyes just in time to hear Professor Qin's next directive.



"Excellent, class . . . now, build that suspicion into something worse. I want you to give and receive resentment; let your partner see anger in your eyes, and receive it in turn."



Willow's consciousness was slipping from the present, and she only half heard the instructions. *Anger? Oh, I've got anger . . .* When Tara's brother had threatened physical violence if she didn't come home with them, Willow had been about ready to beat him down herself. It hadn't escaped her, how all the confidence Tara had built up so slowly over the past year slipped away in a heartbeat when her father played his mind games of intimidation on her . . . how the young woman visibly shrank back each time Donny so much as made a move in her direction. The absolute, paralyzing fear that shattered Tara in their mere presence.



*Her own relatives! How could they hurt her that way? What kind of awful stuff could they have tried to make her believe about herself, her whole life, to make her that terrified? What . . . oh god, what else did they do to her?*



Realization jolted the hacker with a force so strong, she couldn't believe it wasn't physical. After the day that the Scoobies had met the Maclays, Tara had told Willow more about her childhood, but always in a halting, somewhat vague manner that seemed to take a great deal of energy out of her. It was obvious that she hated reliving the memories; they were hurtful ones indeed.



Willow Rosenberg had never been one to take kindly to people who did harm to those she loved. And her beloved Tara had endured more cruelty at the hands of her family than she'd let on in words.



There was no other explanation for why Tara's instinct was to protect herself from a blow if her father so much as raised his voice, if Donny even looked at her in a threatening way; there was no other reason that the girl's composure crumbled in an instant when Mr. Maclay's voice took on a sterner tone.



The thought of one of them laying a hand on her . . .



Willow saw nothing but a white-hot fog of rage, heard her breathing go shallow and ragged, felt her face flush warm. *Nobody's gonna treat her that way if--*



"Willow. *Willow!*" Marianne's alarmed whisper cut through the fog, and the hacker's vision somehow refocused on her classmate, who wore an statement of genuine alarm. "Calm down . . . it's just an exercise, okay?"



"Right . . . right. Sorry," she stammered. Shaken by the realization of her own loss of control, Willow schooled herself back to a relatively calm state, and she could swear that the effort left her sweating. It wasn't until she succeeded in regaining awareness of her present surroundings that she noticed the white-knuckled clench of her fists and the scant inches of empty air between her and Marianne--she must have closed the distance during her reverie.



*Oh, Goddess.* The redhead fought back a wave of nausea. *She has every right to be scared of the way I was acting . . . I know I am.*





Part Four



Shouts and laughter drifted over the warm breeze from the nearby group of students tossing around a football as Tara strode across the UC Sunnydale commons, on her way to the Student Union. It had been a great day so far. Last week's French exam had been handed back, and she'd gotten a perfect score on it; today's discussion in Native American Folklore had proved fascinating. There had been a wealth of insight in that hour, and it could really help her progress in her spellcraft.



She looked up at the clock tower that rose above the center of campus. 2:10&emdash;there was time to stop by and check her mailbox before meeting Willow and then the others for lunch. It was really too bad, Tara thought, that her sweetie had an organic chemistry lab tonight at five o'clock . . . but then, that gave her time to use Willow's computer to type up the philosophy paper that was due tomorrow afternoon. Scooby Gang meetings were important and good quality snuggling time vital, but homework had to be fit in somewhere during the day as well.



Fremont Hall was closer to the other side of campus, so Willow would be another ten minutes or so in getting here. Tara pushed the door to the Student Union open, gave her Women's Studies professor a passing smile, and made her way through the sea of college life on lunch break, en route to the mailroom.



She found her mailbox and twirled the combination lock, popping the door open to reveal a small bundle of mail that she perused on her way back out. A couple of magazines . . . an invitation to an upcoming Imbolc Sabbat&emdash;file that one away for reference, it would be fun for her and Willow to celebrate . . . a memo reminding her of Friday's group project meeting for her other anthropology class.



And a plain white envelope, with her name and address inscribed in her father's scrawling hand.



Fighting back anxiety, Tara tucked away the rest of her mail in her bookback and opened the letter. It was brief, not even filling up a single sheet of paper.



Tara &endash;



The drive back home took us about five days, so I've had plenty of time to think and come to a decision.



It's very clear to me that you have compelling reasons to stay in Sunnydale, however questionable and against my wishes they may be. Know that I don't approve. It's also clear that your redheaded friend is the major reason. I don't think I have to tell you my feelings on that.



I'm very disappointed in you, Tara. I tried my best to raise you into a fine, upstanding young woman, but it seems that you've rejected everything I taught you.



I can't figure out where I went wrong with you. But I am deeply hurt by your choice, Tara, and while your family still loves you, you've decided to turn your back on us. So it looks like I only have one option.



From now on, you are on your own. I can't in good conscience continue to support you if you're adamant about living the way you've chosen. There's no way of knowing how much of my money goes toward those magical things you're so fond of, either, so I'm putting an end to that.



Allowing you to go to that school was a mistake. I can see that you've fallen in with friends whose influence on you has been no good.



But you're an adult now, and I can't force you to come home, or to do what's right. That's entirely up to you from this point on. You've shown me that you're grown up, so I expect you to act like it. And adults fend for themselves. I'm sorry, but I don't think I have any other choice.



Your father,

Franklin H. Maclay



Tara stared at the page in her hand for some moments in benumbed shock, almost waiting for reality to sink in.



"Oh my god, he didn't . . . he couldn't do this . . ." But even though she read and reread the letter until the lines blurred one into another, the words on the page were still the same, standing out from the white background, fact engraved in harsh fountain-pen blue.



She could have hated him in that moment. But she didn't. Despite every hard word, every blow, he was still her father. Somehow, in his own incoherent way, he wanted what he thought was best for her. Tara never forgot that, even though she could never condone the way he had tried to carry out "what was best." She couldn't forgive&emdash;there was no forgiveness for such a twisted idea of love&emdash;but she did understand. Why he did what he did&emdash;the mindset that confined him to such a narrow set of options.



There was no forgiveness, no defense. Just . . . the facts.



Donny, Cousin Beth, and her father had been family in little more than name for years now. Not since her mother died&emdash;her mother, who'd so lovingly taught her the old ways and instilled in her a deep, abiding understanding of Wiccan belief&emdash;had she felt a loyal bond to her blood kin.



But still . . . even though her real family was here in Sunnydale, forged through equal measures of joy and adversity . . . she would always acknowledge her connection to her relatives in her mind, if not her heart. She shared their name, their features, their history&emdash;and this severance still hurt.



"Oh good! You're already here!"



She'd recognize that voice anywhere. Uh-oh. She's not going to like this. It occurred to Tara that she could avoid telling Willow about the letter, but she discarded the thought as quickly as it had come to her. It would upset her girlfriend, but . . . No more secrets between you and me. Especially since I'm going to need you more than ever now.



"Hey, honey . . . how was class?" Willow's fingertips brushed down her forearm and caught up her own fingers.



"Good," Tara managed. "Aced the French quiz, and anthro w-was really interesting." She noticed the stricken look on Willow's face. "Oh, sweetie, what's wrong?"



Willow sighed. "It's nothing. Really. Drama was just weird today. I was being reacty instead of acty, went kinda crazy with the whole emotional recall thing. It was exhausting. And freaky. I think I was about to go Slayer on my poor partner."



Tara winced. Of all the bad timing. Pissed-off Willow was bad news, and she hated to contribute to the cause. But she hated the thought of keeping a secret even more. "Hon, we have to talk," she began. "I g-got a letter from my father . . . not very good news. You w-w-won't like it very much . . ."



The fear that suddenly glimmered in Willow's green eyes burned into Tara and made her wonder if this had been such a good idea. "What is it?" The redhead's voice had a harsh edge to it now. "Let me see." She plucked the letter from Tara's fingers and scanned over it, disbelieving. "Oh . . . shit."



The seldom-used expletive slipped from Willow's mouth with frightening ease. As she raised her eyes to Tara's face, the taller girl could see the rage building there. Willow's face had gone white from the initial shock, only to flush brilliant red in the next second.



"How could he do this to you?"



"M-maybe . . . I think, Willow, now's not a good t-time to talk about it . . ." Tara faltered.



"The hell it's not!" stormed Willow. "Tara! Your family just disowned you! How the hell . . . god, the nerve! Your father just sat down and wrote this note to tell you you've been kicked to the curb? You're on your own? How . . . oh god, Tara, what are we gonna do?"



We. The choice of words wasn't lost on her. "Shh." Tara reached out to caress Willow's cheek in a steady, calming motion. "We'll figure it out, sweetheart. I promise. And maybe the rest of the Scoobies will have some ideas. We can talk about it over lunch." She would have liked to break down and cry herself, but what good would it do? The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene right now, and with Willow so close to hysteria, one of them had to be strong. "We'll figure it out," she repeated.



Willow gulped back a sob and shut her eyes; several tears squeezed past her eyelids to roll down her cheeks, where Tara wiped them away. "How can you not be mad?"



"Of course I'm mad. I'm mad, and I hurt, but Willow . . . he's my father. I know how he thinks, and there's nothing I can do to change his mind."



A car horn honked. They both turned in its direction to see Xander's purple Chevy Cavalier pull into the loading zone, Anya and Buffy in tow.



"Come on," Tara said. It was a struggle to keep her voice from breaking. "They're waiting for us. We'll tell them on the way, and maybe a nice big lunch will help, huh?" She hoped she was convincing enough.



One more sniffle from Willow. "Okay."



Tara felt the redhead's fingers seek out and entwine with her own, and they went to join the others. Friends were always a good thing to have at times like this.



* * * * *



By the time the soup arrived, everyone had been filled in on the situation.



"I don't think there's much we can do," Buffy was saying. "Not legally, anyway."



"Yeah," agreed Riley, who'd met them at the Steakhouse. "If I'm remembering all those lectures from Family Law correctly, you only have a really decent shot at a case if it's a minor involved. And since you're over eighteen, Tara . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head, not wanting to finish the sentence. The unspoken words hung in the air anyway.



"Well, what about school?" Willow persisted, concern in her voice. "Someone's got to pay UC Sunnydale for the tuition."



"Yes," Anya added. "Tuition requires money, and money requires a source of income."



"Financial aid is always an option," Riley said. "If your father won't claim you as a dependent any more&emdash;god, I still can't believe he's done this&emdash;you have a much better shot at getting grants. Scholarships, stuff like that. What's your major again?"



Tara swallowed a mouthful of minestrone. "Anthropology."



"Right. Well, give me a couple of days or so and I'll ask around, see what's available as far as anthro scholarships go. There's also the work-study program." Riley's military-trained mind was in high gear now, and he was completely focused on the problem at hand. "You could do what I do&emdash;be a TA for some of the entry-level anthro classes. It'll mean a big demand on your time, but it'll earn you some pocket money, plus credit toward the tuition and your degree."



Be a teaching assistant? That would require many hours at the front of a classroom or lecture hall in full sight of the entire class. We do what we have to, right? "That sounds good. I . . . I can do that." Tara managed a smile and hoped she could live up to those words. "Thank you, Riley."



Xander tapped his chin with his fork in thought. "At least you are covered through the end of this semester, right?"



"Yes."



"One more plus for UC Sunnydale in the administration department, then." Most schools in the University of California system ran on a quarterly schedule; only the Berkeley and Sunnydale campuses operated on a semester system. Students opined that it was a good thing for several reasons, mainly that it made classes and life a bit less hectic for them.



Riley leaned back to let the busboy clear away his empty soup bowl. "So how about this: I've got a psych department meeting in the Administration Building tomorrow. If you want, Tara, I can go around and pick up some forms and info for you. There's still a few weeks before any of the paperwork would be due, which gives you time to really think it over thoroughly."



"And I'll go online tonight when I get home, and check out scholarship search engines for you," Willow offered. She couldn't resist beaming proudly at Tara. "You do so well in class it shouldn't be a problem."



"Oh! And maybe Giles could use another hand at the shop!" Anya jumped in, clearly eager to be useful. "Of course, it would be his decision, but I could persuade him. Sales have gone up substantially since we instituted the new mail ordering system, and we plan to go online soon. I anticipate a drastic increase in business due to the power of e-commerce, and as I fully intend to monitor the cash flow, it would help to have someone else in charge of the formulary. You'd be an excellent candidate."



Willow brightened somewhat. "Oooh, yeah, she's really good at that! That's a great idea, Anya . . . and I think we should come to a temporary screeching halt here, 'cause Tara's looking kinda overwhelmed."



Tara could, in fact, feel moisture welling up in her eyes as she sat there, listening to her friends fire off ideas at breakneck pace. Once again the situation looked bad, and every one of them was here, helping her out. It was reassuring. This would be hard, but she'd get through it.



"Tara . . . you okay over there?" queried Xander.



She nodded. "I'm fine . . . at least I will be."



"Then why with the tears?"



"It's just that I r-really appreciate everything you're doing to help. All of you . . . you're all so w-wonderful . . ." Unable to continue, she dabbed at her eyes with a napkin and offered them a crooked smile.



Buffy regarded her warmly. "That's 'cause we love ya."



"Yeah." Willow's hand was on her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Me, especially."



It was right about then that their waiter appeared, burdened with a steaming tray of food which he set down on a folding stand.



"And on that warm'n'fuzzy note, lunch has arrived," Xander declared. "Perfect timing if you ask me. 'cause I don't know about you guys, but brainstorming really makes me work up an appetite."



Riley hungrily eyed the massive prime rib platter set before him. "I think we're pretty much unanimous on that."



Part Five



By the time they'd finished working through their meal, the doggie-bag-laden group headed back to campus, where they first dropped Willow off at class and then Tara at her dorm. The hacker had been noticeably agitated all evening, and after consulting with Tara, Buffy had suggested that Willow accompany her and Riley on patrol tonight. They hoped it might help her get her mind off the day's more upsetting events. Tara would have gone as well, except for the unfinished term paper that was due first thing in the morning; with her educational future on the line, she couldn't afford to slack off now.



"Night, Tara," Buffy said, "and I hope the paper goes well. I hate to take your girl away from you tonight, but . . ."



"It's okay," Tara replied. Buffy noted the irony of the fact that it was the other young woman giving her the comforting smile. "Thank you for lunch, Xander, Anya . . . and thank you all again for everything. I really mean that."



The Slayer reached out the open car window to give Tara's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to give any one of us a call. And that's a standing offer, okay?"



"I won't. Oh, and Buffy . . ." Tara leaned closer, and her voice took on an insistent tone. "Keep an eye on Willow for me tonight, will you please? She's so upset over all of this, and you know how she gets when she's upset. I don't want her doing anything . . . well, anything she might regret."



Buffy grimaced at the worry in the young woman's blue eyes, knowing that having to be apart from Willow, especially right now, was a decidedly unpleasant prospect for her. Damn Tara's family for having to make things even worse . . . poor Will is hurt enough about everything without this stunt they've pulled now. "Yeah, I've sort of picked that up from her all day." She sighed. "Don't worry, Tara. I'll look out for her."



"Thank you, Buffy . . . I'll see you guys tomorrow?" Tara gave them a final wave, then turned and walked toward her dormitory.



The three friends watched her go. "Poor girl," Xander said after a moment, with none of the sarcasm that was his usual trademark. "She's taking it pretty well, considering. If it were me I'd be way more pissed off."



"That goes for both of us." Buffy stared out the window, remembering Willow's words from earlier that day. "Nobody should have to go through that . . . and Tara's the sweetest girl in the world. If anyone could deserve it less . . ."



"And yet Willow's the one taking it the hardest," Anya observed. "Does this make any sense to anyone?"



Xander shifted out of park and moved into traffic. "Well, hey, I don't blame her . . . I can think of a few things I'd like to say to that rat bastard myself. And I don't even have half of Willow's right to care."



His girlfriend took that in. "If I still had my powers, oh, the things I could do to him," she mused. Her eyes widened with realization. "Oh. Oh god."



A frightened glance passed between her and Xander as their eyes met, underscored by Buffy's whispered curse from the back seat. Willow's tense, angry silence on the way to the restaurant had not been lost on them, nor had they failed to notice the frustration simmering in their friend's green eyes.



"Keep a close eye on her, Buffy." Xander's statement was as much a plea as it was an imperative. "If you want us to come with . . ."



"No, I think we'll be all right. Riley's going to meet us at the shop before we pick Willow up from lab. He'll be there to help me out."



"Like he was last night? He's got a funny sense of being there." The accusation hung in the air for a moment until Xander, regretting his harshness, groaned softly. "I'm sorry, Buff. Didn't mean it like that."



Buffy ducked her head and silently acknowledged that her friend was right. Riley's increasing, unexplained absences of late hadn't escaped her attention. She hated to doubt him, but . . .



"No big," she answered instead. "We'll work it out." At least, she hoped so.



* * * * *



When Tara entered her dorm room, she couldn't help feeling like something was missing; but then, she always felt like that when Willow was gone. The sensation was particularly strong at the moment, worried as she was about her girlfriend's agitated state.



She should be there with Willow on patrol tonight, looking out for her. Better yet-Willow should be wrapped up in her arms right here while Tara kissed her breathless and made very sure she had much more pleasant things to occupy her mind.



Yeah. If Tara had things her way, she'd convince Willow to blow off chem lab and forget about her own anthro paper. Both of them could stand to be cheered up right now, and she'd much rather spend the night in bed with her girlfriend, enjoying the taste of the redhead's kisses, the silky-soft curves of her body, the raw desire in her voice . . .



Making sure Willow knew in exquisite detail just how much Tara loved her, how much joy she brought to the blonde witch's life.



But that would just have to wait--the paper needed to be done, and there were roaming vamps to dispatch. Necessity was definitely cruel by times.



With an effort, Tara shook off the pleasant mental image and rifled through her bag. Pulling out notes and books, she set them down on the desk next to Willow's laptop; since they'd both been staying in her room that week, her lover's computer and books had taken up residence on her desk.



As she turned on the machine and waited for it to boot up, she moved to the stereo and put on the Loreena McKennitt CD that had been Buffy's birthday present to her. She found the music soothing, pleasant to listen to, and not too distracting--a combination that, she hoped, would take the edge off her anxiety and help her study.



When Willow's portable Macintosh finished its startup sequence, there was a bright yellow "sticky note" on the computer's screen, where Tara couldn't possibly miss it.



Hi cutie, it read,



I just got out of bed, and I miss you already. So, unless your busy schedule for today got altered for some reason, I'll be in chem lab by the time you read this, and chem lab is way further than you from the desk is from the bed. So it goes without saying that I'll miss you even more by then. I'll see you tonight for sure, though. I'd say you don't have to wait up for me, but you will anyway, so there's no point in saying so. Oh wait . . . I did anyway, didn't I? Well, there's still no point. I'll be thinking of you the whole time, just like I always do. I love you.



Yours always, Willow



P.S. I put some study snacks in the little fridge for you. And did I mention that I love you?



Tara smiled, minimized the window--somehow, she didn't want to get rid of the note entirely--and got to work, trying not to picture too vividly just what she wanted to do to Willow as soon as she got home.



* * * * *



Inside the limits of the Sunnydale East Ridge Cemetery, Buffy, Willow, and Riley made their rounds. So far they'd seen nothing, but Buffy, with that inimitable Slayer-sense of hers, had led them here, to the rundown back section.



It was old, going back to the town's earliest days, back when it was apparently de rigeur to liberally plant the grounds with crooked, droopy trees and other appropriately creepy flora. Perfect complement to the ornate Gothic headstones that were now crumbling.



Buffy tilted her head to the side and listened. Willow heard nothing, but knew better than to question her best friend's instincts. When it came to sniffing out vamps, a certain Ms. Summers was the expert.



"Over there," mouthed the Slayer, indicating a cluster of the creepy trees some thirty feet over to their left. Willow and Riley both looked in the direction she'd pointed to see slight movement, a flash of metal and dirty clothing.



Riley squinted at the shadows, sizing up their adversary, then held up four fingers.



Oh please, Buffy thought. Didn't anyone bother to tell these guys that the big-hair days of the Eighties are long over? Not that she was going to dust them as punishment for being behind on the fashion times or anything like that. It was just that they were vampires, and she was the Slayer. Therefore, the dusting. Nothing personal.



She slipped a stake--Mr. Pointy, bequeathed to her by the deceased Slayer, Kendra--from her back pocket, and advanced.



Like her, Riley held a wooden stake poised to strike. Willow had one too, though neither Buffy nor Riley could see it in her hands. They had, however, seen her leafing intently through a spellbook when they'd picked her up from chem lab. Still very much on edge about her best friend's emotional state, Buffy hoped fervently that she didn't plan to use it.



Dammit, she berated herself. Maybe bringing her along on patrol wasn't such a good idea . . . but at least here, I can keep an eye on her, right? Better than leaving her on her own to maybe do something rash.



That was when the four vamps emerged from behind the trees and caught sight of them, putting an abrupt end to Buffy's thoughts. Just as she tensed to rush her prey, she heard a chant intoned softly from behind her.



"Mighty heart of oak, fly true- let heart seek heart, turn flesh to dust anew!"



Oh, shit. Her enhanced Slayer's hearing caught the faint, keen whistling of Willow's stake as it hurtled through the air past her, veering sharply to strike a direct hit on the vampire who'd tried to dodge it, and barely had time to scream before she crumbled into dust.



Whoa. And this was the girl who, less than a year ago, had lamented her inability to float anything bigger than a pencil? Well, at least she's only using her spells on the vamps, and not plotting to do anything to Tara's family. Not that I know of, anyway. Score one for Willow, and big fat goose eggs for her and Riley.



That was about to change, though. Buffy charged the lead vamp, engaging him in a flurry of jabs and kicks that systematically knocked his defenses to bits and left her a clear path, through which she drove Mr. Pointy square into his chest. The wood pierce dhis heart and left her with a pile of dustiness at her feet.



She caught sight of Riley making easy work of his opponent, and stooped to grab Willow's discarded stake from the ground; it still hummed with residual energy from the spell.



"Will, catch!" She tossed the stake to her friend, who fielded it easily and went after another vamp. Then Buffy saw them, another half-dozen undead come to join the party. "Guys, we've got more company!" Good god. Yeah, definitely got to stop complaining about boring nights on patrol . . . thank you very much, Murphy and your stupid law.



Riley finished off his vamp and went to help Willow, grabbing the arms of the leather-jacketed Megadeth wannabe who'd been about to best the witch. Willow gave him a quick, wordless nod of thanks and rammed the stake home. Her eyes were hard; he couldn't help but notice.



The former soldier coughed a bit on the bit of vamp-dust he'd inhaled and darted to Buffy's side. His girlfriend was surrounded by the newcomers, but holding her own.



"Disperse!" They heard Willow shout out the command, and three of the six vamps went flying back, scattered by something like an invisible wrecking ball. One of them went sailing into a tree, where he was impaled by a conveniently positioned broken branch. He quickly dissipated.



"Man. She's on fire tonight," commented Riley as he knocked a knife from the hand of a snarling female vamp--at least, he thought it was female--dressed in fishnets and vinyl. "Sorry, darlin', but I just don't go in for that sort of thing."



Buffy grunted, ducked, and staked another vamp. "This mean our plans for a hot date at the Goth club are off?" She caught his startled gaze and smirked. "Gotcha." Two more vampires soared overhead, propelled by another one of Willow's spells. They landed in a dazed heap, only to be tackled and staked in quick succession by a petite redhead in high gear.



Willow looked toward them, and Buffy was frightened by the fury burning in those green eyes. So much so, in fact, that she was caught off guard by one of the two remaining vamps and only narrowly dodged a double-fisted blow. "Willow, don't--" she began, only to be interrupted by a claw-fingered swipe by the vamp. She slugged him hard in the face; Riley grabbed him and tossed him easily to the side. Too late, the ex-commando realized that he'd sent the vampire on a direct collision course with Willow.



He and Buffy heard their friend's shriek and dusted their vamp, then went tearing off to rescue Willow. They were momentarily blinded in their headlong rush by a bright flash that sent them staggering dazedly back.



By the time their vision had cleared again, they found the last vamp curled up, whimpering in terrified pain.



And Willow was gone.





Part Six



Tara jerked awake, drenched in cold sweat. After finishing her paper she'd decided to lie down for a bit, wrapped around the giant stuffed frog Willow had won for her at the UC Sunnydale Fall Carnival. It was a poor substitute for a certain redhead, didn't possess the same tendency to babble endearingly, and was nowhere near as comforting. But the room was cool, dark, and quiet, and it had been a long day; so she'd drifted off anyway.



Her sleep had been fitful, more draining than restorative, and Tara felt as though she were only floating just