Bloodletting

Connect the Dots

Ignoring the company, Buffy waited for the elevator. When I handed her that keycard, I got that she’d stumble across that room sooner or later. But who knew it’d be so soon?

I’m way too exhausted to deal with any of this.

Oh well…

The doors opened and Buffy stepped inside. She leaned against the wall next to the controls and pressed the number two. I’m just glad she isn’t pissed. She probably has every right.

The elevator began to descend as Willow went to the opposite wall. She grabbed both of our coats. That was nice of her, but I don’t see why. The last thing she should be is nice to me.

When the doors slid open, Buffy glanced across the compartment. Willow was staring at her. It took a second for Buffy to understand why and what. She looked down. The left sleeve of her shirt was torn and bloody at the upper arm. Goddamned shovel. That was just wrong. She inspected the wound as they moved down the hallway. It looked a lot worse than it was. The cut had almost healed. I guess I’m just lucky this is all I ended up with. I seriously need to find another gardener.

I’ll add that to the list. It may happen sometime next year.

Buffy reached her room and entered, using her card. She was a little surprised that Willow didn’t follow. Holding the door, Buffy motioned her inside.

When Willow entered, Buffy got right to the business of getting clean. It was way overdue and she felt grungy. She stripped on her way to the bathroom, pausing to toss her shirt in the trash and the rest of her clothes in the hamper. It’s a shame. I kinda liked that shirt.

Another thing for the low end of the list, replace my shirt. That can go right after the gardener. Odds are, I’ll forget about both by tomorrow.

Buffy walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After giving it a moment to warm up, she adjusted the temperature and stepped in. Showers were never fun. The sensation of pins and needles made her cringe when the water hit her skin. I remember when this used to feel good. At least it’s warm.

The only thing that feels even remotely right touching me is her. I never would’ve imagined.

Picking up a sponge, she poured a little soap into it and resisted the urge to rush through. That never went well. She had to be careful. It was hard not to scrub her skin raw. It’s not like it’d matter. I heal so fast now. I just don’t want her flipping out on me again. I think we’ve hit our quota of that for the day. Maybe the week.

I can hope.

A wry grin curled the corners of her mouth and Buffy snickered. If she’s not more careful, I may get the impression that she really cares. No good could come of that.

How could someone like her possibly be attracted to me? It doesn’t make any sense at all. I mean, look at me.

Buffy did just that. Even covered in soap suds, her body looked disfigured and gross. I don’t get it.

I really hate it when the list of crap I don’t understand gets longer than what I do. It’s annoying.

Stepping back into the spray, she rinsed off and wetted her hair.

And here’s the real mind fuck. Luke’s been calling me Mistress for years. Totally creepy. It always made me want to smack him.

Buffy grabbed a bottle of shampoo. Her shower was almost done and not a moment too soon. She hurried through washing, rinsing and conditioning her hair.

You’d think I feel the same way about Will. But no…that’d be way too sensey. She just implies it and I go all quivery.

She didn’t even say the damned word!

I melted.

Game over.

The huge difference…

She means it. And not just with the other stuff. This isn’t business. It’s something else. She means it in an ‘I’ll do anything to make you happy’ kinda way.

I’ve never had that.

I’ve never even dreamt of having that.

Weird.

No, I’m not gay.

Shutting off the shower, she climbed out and reached for a towel. After patting her face dry, she rubbed her hair.

Not even a little.

But technically, one of something can be an anomaly, right?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Buffy laughed at her own stupidity as she dried off. Not that I have a clue what I want, but I’m pretty positive I don’t want that in the literal way. It just seems silly. Like some sort of stupid game.

How could anyone want that? Willow made it sound like it was an actual need for Tara.

I can’t imagine needing to be hit, wanting to be humiliated.

What I can imagine is taking someone’s head off for it. That’s about where my imagination on the subject ends.

All she had to do now was dry her hair. She hung her towel up and got to work. It puzzled her that she wanted so much to be done. It’s not like that was fun. There’s no sign that it’s gonna get fun any time soon either. Being around Will’s just stressful. There’s so much shit.

Buffy turned the blow dryer on high and picked up a brush. The air felt nice. This was her favorite part of getting clean. She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, just enjoying the sweet fragrance of juniper from her shampoo. I could always sleep in the Jacuzzi. Like that hasn’t happened before.

She giggled. Really, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t want to spank Will for something. Usually just opening her mouth.

So I guess I can sorta see the sense.

Yeah, uh…

No.

The high-pitched whir of the blow dryer pulsed as she waved it over her hair. That combined with the warm currents of air made her feel numb. Her brain actually shut up. She enjoyed the dullness for a few moments before shutting the dryer off and heading out the room to face the music.

She stepped out of the bathroom into muted morning light. It wasn’t late enough for the sun to really be bright, but on the other end of her room, closer to the bed there was a nice wedge of sunlight shining on the hardwood floor. She walked right into it.

Still right where Buffy had left her, Willow hadn’t so much as moved a muscle. The coats where still in her arms. And now, her brow was doing that crinkley thing again.

Smiling, Buffy glanced over her shoulder and said, “Special coating. Sunlight without those annoying, flamey side effects.”

No answer came.

Wow. Well, so much for her not being pissed.

Why is it I’d rather face another twenty vamps than one pissed off Willow?

I gotta do something. Maybe if I just went to bed?

Nah. Not proactive enough. She’d probably be standing there when I woke up.

If I was lucky.

There has to be something. What did she want?

Shit.

She wanted to talk. Shoot me now!

Buffy made up her mind and turned around. Women really are a pain in the ass.

Oh well, time to test a theory. Let’s see just how much she wants to make me happy.

Marching across the room, Buffy put on her best smile. She took the coats from Willow’s arms and tossed them at the couch. Reaching for the belt of Willow’s dress, Buffy asked, “You aren’t turning into a prude on me, are you?” as she untied it.

Still nothing.

I’m screwed.

Alrighty then, I’ve got nothing left to lose. It can only go up from here. Let’s see, is there’s another clichéd expression that fits?

Huh. None that I can think of. Neither one was exactly true. I mean, I can hope.

Hell, I may even beg.

She reached for the hem of Willow’s dress and peeled it over her head. It surprised Buffy when Willow just raised her arms. This was just gorgeous on her. It fit her so well. Buffy couldn’t bear to just cast the dress aside. She took it over to the closet and hung it with the rest of her dry cleaning. While she was at it, she put up the coats.

Nothing had changed when she emerged from the closet. At least she’s not yelling. That’s a start.

Moving to the end table between the two couches, Buffy pressed a button on the remote. As the drapes slid into place, covering the long row of French doors on the back wall of the room, she walked over and took Willow’s hands.

Buffy whispered, “I’m sorry.” She bit her lower lip. I haven’t said that in years. Now, I’ve said it to her twice in as many hours. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Her apology was met with the same effect as everything else. Buffy was crestfallen. She held Willow’s hand and went to the bed, giving her the slack to break free. To Buffy’s surprise, she didn’t resist. Pulling the covers back, Buffy got into bed and moved over, wondering if she’d have to put Willow in bed too.

The waterbed was so warm. It was wonderful. Buffy wanted to just relax and enjoy it, but Willow worried her.

Willow got into bed of her own accord, but she still wasn’t talking.

Talking.

About what?

After covering them both up, Buffy stared up at the ceiling and said the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t understand.” Brilliant opening line. I could just make a list.

When her words fell on deaf ears, she kept trying. “I don’t see how someone could want that. It makes no sense.” This is gonna be a really one-sided conversation. But I guess that doesn’t matter.

“It freaks you out when you’re not in control, right?”

The delicate sound of Willow’s voice made Buffy smile. She rolled onto her side, propping her head in her hand and said, “Yeah…I mean, I guess.”

Willow turned her head to face Buffy and whispered, “Then why’s it so hard to believe that there might be other people who wig when they’re in control?”

It’s neat how she does that. That makes complete sense now. Well, not really. Not complete. I still can’t see the games, but the rest…

What else was there?

Buffy made a face. Her forehead crinkled. There was a question, but it needed work. I’m not even sure how put it. Or if I should put it. I may be pushing it. Keeping the conversation alive was more important, so she did the best she could.“You said Tara didn’t love you.” Ugh. This may piss her off. But she’s so bent on making me understand. Or I guess she is. Maybe… “I don’t get how she could spend—” She lowered her eyes. “How could she do that and not care? It was like she was worshipping you or something.”

“Huh,” Willow muttered. It was a curious little sound, like she’d just discovered something new and intriguing.

That tiny vocal tick and silence that followed made Buffy wonder if she needed to explain more. Or maybe I should’ve said less. I hope I didn’t blow it. That’d be just my luck. I hate talking about this shit. Actually, I hate talking period. Doing is so much easier.

Willow appeared deeply thoughtful. Finally, she said, “I can see how you might think that.” Lifting her hand from under the blankets, she brushed her hair back. As her hand came to rest on her tummy, she concluded, “I dunno. Maybe she did. But it wasn’t like you mean.”

Buffy asked, “How else is there?” realizing that she’d cut Willow off a moment too late.

Unhindered, Willow replied, “There are lots of ways.” A sweet little smile warmed her face. Something about it set Buffy completely at ease. “No fair distracting me,” Willow scolded playfully. “It’d take me all day to explain that. And I don’t think you’d be any closer to understanding when I was done.”

Willow scanned Buffy’s face for a moment before pressing on. “What if I said, there’s nothing that makes me happier than to see you smile? Would you understand that?”

Buffy replied, “Yeah.” The sheer lack of hesitation stumped her. She didn’t even have to think about it.

“It’s the same thing,” Willow said. Her answer came so quickly and was so resolute that it took Buffy a moment to comprehend. In that moment, Willow filled in. “Seeing you smile, knowing that I made you happy makes me happy.”

The real surprise was that Buffy didn’t doubt it for a minute. But that solid feeling that came with sudden understanding didn’t last. She reeled to catch up when Willow went on. “Seeing you tremble. Hearing you sigh and beg me for more. Panting and moaning. Making you feel so good. Better than you ever imagined you could feel. Watching every muscle in your body tense with pleasure. Listening to you cry out.” Her eyebrow arched. “And knowing that I did that?”

Willow’s eyes were full of desire. Her was voice was like silk. And the smell of her, it filled Buffy’s senses. A tingle shivered down her spine. She wasn’t touching Willow at all, but there was electricity between them. Buffy closed her eyes, struggling to shake it off. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

Oh…’kay, well…she’s just full of surprises today. The funny thing, I think I get it.

Opening her eyes, Buffy met Willow’s gaze and whispered, “So, what you’re saying is that there’s a difference between love and sex?” I think she said that before, but—

Smiling, Willow chirped, “Bingo.” She winked and turned to look at the ceiling.

Buffy giggled. Well…

That was pretty much it for me. Good thing too. I might not survive another answer like that.

There was her, but asking about that. Not smart. Not even necessary. Questioning a good thing for no reason never turns out well.

I suppose I could ask this. “That control thing, is that what you need?” It took Buffy a second to realize what she’d said, then she stammered, “Not the—’cause—well, I really don’t think…I’m not sure I could do that.”

Willow spoke through a case of the giggles, “Don’t worry Buffy. I’m pretty sure I don’t want that.” She made a sound somewhere between a sniff and a sigh. Calm and completely serious, she said, “But yeah…to some degree. I wouldn’t be here if that weren’t the case.”

“Fair enough,” Buffy replied.

A sleepy, comfortable silence followed. It was like some imagined weight had lifted. Willow never turned back, but it didn’t bother Buffy. She let her head fall, resting it on her upper arm and just watched. Willow’s hand moved under the covers. She went from stroking her tummy to touching herself. She probably doesn’t realize it. Or maybe she does and she hasn’t realized she doesn’t want to.

That’s kinda bullshit. I’m not even sure where she got that idea. It’s not like I want to stop her. I could care less.

But really, I do care. She’s used to one thing and she does a complete one-eighty. That can’t be good. It’s part of why she’s been so wigged out.

I know there’ve been times when I just wanted to remove that part of my body. Like it’d do any good. It’s the last thing I wanna feel and it just won’t—

Willow noticed, first the watching, then the touching. When she jerked her hand away, Buffy caught it and said, “No.” She made it perfectly clear with her tone that this wasn’t negotiable.

The crinkles returned again. Buffy considered reaching out to smooth them down. Instead, she smiled and gently placed Willow’s hand back where it had been. Buffy settled into the curve of Willow shoulder and whispered, “This isn’t something I can give you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

Buffy wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t move her hand. It rested over the back of Willow’s, allowing it the freedom to move. Her fingers were so soft to the touch, moist and warm. The scent wafting up from under the covers was tantalizing. It made Buffy wonder whether what she’d said was true.

As her resolve wavered, fear crept up. Remembrances of being touched loomed just under the surface, fragments in her memory. Buffy wanted to flee, but held her ground. Conquering fear was nothing new. Instinctively, she went to something familiar. Something she knew would be okay.

Their lips met. The passion was instant and volatile. Willow’s hand moved, taking Buffy’s along for the ride as they kissed. This was all just a negotiation.

To be continued…

So many things happened at once, the sensations were overwhelming. Buffy barely registered them all. Willow’s fingers slid inside. Breaking the kiss, she moaned into Buffy’s mouth.

Incredibly supple skin rested under Buffy’s fingertips. She wanted to run her fingers over it just to feel the texture. She never got a chance.

Willow raised her thigh, pressing it between Buffy’s legs. Willow’s hand seized her ass. Nails bit in. Buffy’s body tensed.

White spots flashed. Somewhere deep inside, the animal took over. Buffy wasn’t driving anymore. She was reacting. Her hips bucked. It felt so good, like standing in a thunderstorm. Lighting strikes and the air fills with a charge. The hair on your body stands on end. It tingles. There’s something infinitely dangerous about that moment. This sense of foreboding.

She felt something thick and hard thrust inside her. It wasn’t rational and she knew it. There was nothing. Still, her mind fucked with her.

Buffy felt Xander’s hands on her skin. His touch was so gentle. Soft caresses made her want to scream. She needed to, but she couldn’t find her voice.

He whispered sweet nothings. It disturbed her that they were more like mocking coos. She loved him so much. All of those warm, fuzzy feelings clashed with what she knew. Part of her swooned with pleasure, but somewhere deep inside, she felt sick.

Xander wanted to know. He always wanted to know, but she never told him. The secret was hers. It always made him mad when she refused to talk. She hated keeping secrets from him, but it was the right thing to do.

Anger always made him violent. Buffy hated upsetting him, but she thought it was for the best. Anal sex was supposed to feel dirty. Nothing changed, but at least it gave her a reason to feel violated, sore, and sticky.

Confusion consumed her. She was totally helpless to do anything about it. Desperate for breath, she gasped.

Her body was sticky and she hated it. Naked and trembling, she lay alone, feeling so small.

Her throat was tight. She couldn’t breathe. Gradually, it came to her just how stupid that was. Buffy the vampire was hyperventilating. It was ridiculous.

There’s something else.

Buffy forced herself to stop. Staring at the ceiling, she struggled to remember.

This was important.

“Buffy?”

Willow’s voice cut through the haze. Reality crashed in and in that instant, it all meshed. Being a victim or being the abuser.

Control.

The ideas came together into one cohesive thing. Buffy could practically taste it. She wanted it.

None of that’s necessary.

A burst of speed pinned Willow to the bed. Her eyes went wide with fear. Buffy held her wrists and glared until Willow looked away.

“Only you,” Buffy whispered. That’s right. I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.

Guiding Willow’s right hand, Buffy pulled under the blankets between them. “Never touch me like that again,” she said.

It was natural, instinctual, Willow knew. Her fingers slipped inside.

Buffy held their hands still and whispered, “Not without permission.” She eased her grip. “Now, cum for me.”

Willow whispered, “Yes, Mistress,” as Buffy craned down to kiss her.

Buffy paused to smile before capturing Willow’s lips. Guiding their hands, the rhythm Buffy set was slow and steady. Skin so soft and smooth, like silk, brushed her fingertips. She considered moving Willow’s hand aside. Buffy wanted to feel everything, but that could wait. She imagined it instead. This was perfect. It sent just the right message.

Even this is mine.

Breaking the kiss, Buffy looked into Willow’s eyes. The passion was back, but Buffy longed for more. She wanted the same intensity without the pain. Tightening her grip on Willow’s hand, Buffy thrust. It was just hard enough. Right on the edge of what she imagined would hurt.

Willow arched her back and moaned.

That’s right.

Though their bodies barely touched, Buffy felt completely connected. Her body hummed, but she ignored her own prickling skin. Willow gulped for breath beneath her. Buffy focused on her. It felt amazing.

Buffy took Willow’s head in her hand and stole another kiss. She was too consumed by desire to struggle now. As Buffy deepened the kiss, desperate yearning boiled over.

Willow tore away and cried out. The sound was like music, beautiful in every way. Buffy couldn’t recall ever hearing her name and feeling more. Nothing else compared.

When Willow quieted, Buffy rolled onto her back and lay perfectly still. The hand she’d just used to control Willow rested on her pillow. She breathed in, imagining the taste. That was enough for now.

Willow snuggled up to her side and Buffy embraced her. She caressed the small of Willow’s back. The gesture was soothing. More soft skin flowed under her fingertips. She wondered how she could’ve possibly doubted this. It was perfect.

They needed to sleep, but before that she owed Willow one last thing. She deserved the whole truth not just pieces. If she was going to follow no matter what, she should know exactly what she was following.

Closing her eyes, Buffy remembered something she’d wanted to forget for years. No matter how hard she tried, it had never gone away. She whispered, “It was the explosions.”

Feeling the ‘huh’ coming on, Buffy headed it off. “I didn’t care where I was or what day of the week it was. I’d just fed on a homeless man. The kind of person who’s so lost, so out of touch with the world that—” she shuddered “—well, personal hygiene wasn’t a thing. I was amazed and disgusted. He actually had fleas.”

Buffy turned her head. Her attention came to rest on a thin strip of sunlight that shown in through a break in the curtains. It’s amazing I’m here. “My skin crawled as I lay on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. I was a wreck. Haunted, half insane, barely alive. A ghost.” She slipped her hand under the covers. The smell was just too much now. It wasn’t right. “At first I thought it was thunder, but the sound was too hollow. It didn’t cascade and crackle. Just one great, booming thud after another. The sound echoed off the concrete walls. I was terrified until I realized what it was.”

Willow kissed her. It wasn’t invasive, just a peck. Something to let Buffy know it was okay. That’s all it took to crumble her resolve. Tears she’d been holding back for years broke free. Desperate to go on, she spoke through them. “I climbed to the roof. It was the most beautiful, horrible thing I’ve ever seen. Fireworks. It was New Years. I sat there, watching them and tried to remember how long it’d been. A week? Maybe two? Who knows?”

Buffy wiped her eyes in frustration. “Can you imagine being alive somehow, but not really alive and not knowing?” She gave up. Her hands fell to her sides. “I have no idea when I died.” She shook her head. “I needed to know. Something inside told me it’d be okay if I could just remember. I couldn’t deal with the idea that she’d killed me on Christmas or Christmas Eve, so I told myself that it had to be the twenty-third.”

Feeling torn, Buffy sat up and slid to the edge of the bed. She fought the desire to run away. It was the second morning in a row she found herself speaking words she never imagined she’d say. “It might’ve been before or after. I really don’t know. But knowing the date made it something I could deal with.” She stood up and walked into the light.

Parting the drapes, she looked outside. It was a beautiful morning. She whispered, confessing the truth to a sunlit patio, “I lied. Or maybe, you might say, ‘I bent the truth.’ I needed to. It made the story something I could tell. The truth is, I’m nothing special. Just a cheerleader who was raped, tortured and murdered.” The light hurt her eyes. Buffy squinted and looked away.

She half-expected for Willow to say something. It hastened Buffy along. She could imagine what Willow thought.

Turning her back on Willow, Buffy stood in the pool of sunlight and whispered, “I killed again that night, this time for money. I got cleaned up. The next night I went to familiar place. A coffee house the girls and I used hang at. My friend Cass was there. She totally flipped out.”

She strode to the closet, offering as she went, “When she calmed enough to talk, she told me that some old British guy had been snooping around looking for me.” Going through her jacket pockets, Buffy located her cigarettes and lighter as she remarked, “My Watcher, no doubt. She was suspicious of him. He bailed when my family turned up dead.”

Emerging from the closet, Buffy laughed. It was a dry, bitter sound. The laugh died a pitiful death when she said, “Getting that little detail out of her was fun.”

There was a small crystal dish on her dresser between the closet and bathroom doors. Buffy grabbed it up and dumped the jewelry out before she commented, “Cass thought she was delivering the bad news. She had no idea that I could still see their faces.” She took cigarettes, make-shift ashtray and lighter to the end table by the couch. “I pretended like I didn’t know. Acting upset wasn’t so much an act.”

After setting her cigarettes down, Buffy lit one and took a deep drag. Exhaling, she said through the smoke, “She knew my Mom and Dad weren’t getting along. I told her I’d run away. It worked like a charm.”

Willow was carefully tracking her every move.

Resting the ashtray in her palm, Buffy walked to the foot of the bed and said, “There was another guy she described as ‘hunky for street trash.’ He wouldn’t give up. He just kept hanging around. She said his name was Angel. It wasn’t hard to figure out.” She flicked her ash. The nicotine was helping. Artificial patience. Let’s see if it subs for courage.

Buffy made eye contact and continued, “Cass had been my friend for years, but seeing her like that. The way she smelled. Her nervous little laugh. The smile when she realized it was me and I might be okay. That coy thing really smart girls do. All that emotion. I just couldn’t stand it. I wanted her so bad.” Taking another drag, she admitted the truth, “I killed her. And she killed what was left of me.” Smoke wafted out of her mouth. It hung in the air around her. Her eyes narrowed. “Sound familiar?” she asked.

Willow didn’t move. She didn’t say a word. It was like she was frozen.

Buffy was actually kind of grateful for the silence this time. It made the whole thing easier. She could just talk. Turning away, she strode back to the window and said, “Finding Angel was no big. I just went where I’d normally be.” She couldn’t make herself stop. The walking turned into restrained pacing. It was almost like running, just lots more controlled. “When he showed up, I got the full lecture. The Chosen One, great force for good, blah, blah, blah…”

She took another drag and paused. The cherry on her cigarette was way too long. Holding it straight up and down, she tapped into the ashtray and said, “Knowing why I died was totally helpful.” The cherry splintered and disintegrated. Twirling the cigarette between her fingers, she held it at an angle against the bottom of the ashtray. The cherry formed into a cone as she commented, “Apparently I was some sorta huge deal. There were supposedly even prophecies about me. Like I was some kind of messiah.” She began to pace again. “Complete bullshit, or that’s what I thought at the time.”

Buffy took another sharp drag. “He said he was sorry,” she said in a mocking tone. “That he’d failed me. He tried to reason with me. Said that he identified with me. ‘All you want is to watch this whole world burn.’ His words, not mine. He offered to help me and I killed him for it.”

Completing another pass, Buffy turned away from the window. It shocked her when Willow met her gaze. Buffy almost walked straight into her. As Willow led her back to bed, Buffy whispered, “Like I said, he let me. He didn’t even fight. That still blows me away.” She crushed her cigarette out, placed the ashtray on the nightstand and dutifully crawled back into bed. “From where I sit right now, that was probably the worst mistake of my life.”

Willow snuggled up beside her. But it was different this time. She gently guided Buffy to lie on her shoulder.

Buffy continued her story to the soothing sensation of Willow stroking her hair. It was lots better than nicotine. “Spike and Drusilla. Now that was a thrilling fight. Pretty much everyone sleeps.” Her eyes grew heavy and drifted shut. The need to finish was the only thing keeping her awake. She whispered, “I didn’t know anything about fighting. The only reason I’m here today is pure, dumb luck. Go figure, I survived because I didn’t care. I haven’t cared for years.” She grinned. “Caring again…it’s not easy, but I’m trying.”

Buffy felt kind of silly. Another change of power had happened right under her nose. She was happy to let go. It was nice to just feel loved. She still had to speak her mind. There was a point to all of this. Struggling to keep her tone even, she whispered, “You see, part of me will always be that broken little girl. I won’t blame you if this changes things. You can walk out that door right now. I won’t stop you.”

Willow was amazing. Without hesitation, she replied, “No.” There was so much more she could’ve said. Buffy wouldn’t have blamed her one bit for anything, even laughing. She almost did.

That one tiny word brought a smile to her face.

Sleepy and comfortable, Willow played possum, waiting for the inevitable. It’s pretty bad when just trying to keep things simple gets complicated.

She focused on the man who’d slipped into the room through the patio door.He wasn’t a man at all. That he’d entered without opening the door was a pretty good indicator. There were others, but they were lots more subtle. If he’d come within five feet of the bed, he wouldn’t be anything at all.

Gotta give him credit. He didn’t.

He was on the couch, watching them and waiting. I suppose I could toss him back outside, but I’m kind of curious. Besides, he’d probably just come back. They’re kinda pesky that way. Best to just hear them out.

I should probably be a little more concerned, but I’ve got more important stuff to worry about.

Touching her last night was dumb. It should’ve been obvious. I just—

I wanted her so much.

Stupid me.

What amazed me was how quickly she recovered. Really, it was scary.

Thing is, I think Buffy knows exactly what she needs. She may not know that she knows, but instinctively—

I was careful after that. I told her only what she needed to hear. Not that I didn’t mean every word. All three of them. But I gave her room. And she was able to—

What she said was terrible. Just awful. But she was amazing.

I knew what she told me was too—I dunno, ‘neat’ isn’t the right word. There was nothing neat about it. But it was just too convenient.

‘Simple,’ there’s a good word.

Well, maybe not.

Anyway, it was obvious that she glossed over stuff. Like she said, she couldn’t make it through all that at once. It needed to be told in pieces.

Not that I ever imagined she’d tell me the rest.

I just have to be patient and let her lead. She’ll tell me what she needs. Only she can really fix this. And I think she will. I think she really wants to.

The weird thing is that I think once she figures this out, it’ll be really normal.

I mean, not normal, normal, but it seems like what she wants is something, umm…

Normal.

That’d be nice. Just being in love. Having something…

Uncomplicated maybe? No, uncomplicated doesn’t work either. There’s nothing uncomplicated about Buffy. Or me for that matter. It’s just—

It’s probably too much to…

Buffy stirred.

…hope for.

Umm, yeah…just a smidge.

When she tried to sit up, the man cleared his throat.

Uh-boy…here comes. Maybe I should’ve—

Buffy shot upright in bed, clutching the bedspread to her chest.

Proactive might’ve been better.

Well, I could try to stop her. Wouldn’t that be fun? Next I could take a nap on some railroad tracks. Then maybe I could go pet the pretty kitties down at the zoo.

He drawled, “Name’s Whistler.” His thick East Coast accent took Willow off guard. Brooklyn maybe? One of the five boroughs, anyway.

It’s not fair, y’know? East Coaster’s just have much cooler accents. They sound tough. Out here, if you hear an accent, it either makes you think the person’s stoned or a candidate for racial profiling.

The drapes started to slide open.

I need coffee.

Moving so fast that Willow almost missed it, Buffy reached back. She flung something and a whimper sounded from across the room. Uh, yeah…that’s pretty much how I thought that’d go. He doesn’t sound nearly so tough now.

Whistler exclaimed, “Hey! This was my favorite shirt!”

Pain came through in his voice, but he didn’t attack. Willow was tempted to look up and see how badly he was hurt. I’d run if I were you.

Buffy stretched. This time Willow saw the knife. It didn’t stick around long. It was gone from her hand when Buffy snarked, “What thrift store’d you steal it from?”

The knife thudded and Buffy reached for another.

See, it’s a solid plan.

Whistler was at the door next time he spoke, “Okay…okay…I’ll be downstairs.”

The knife flew from Buffy’s hand.

Opening the door, Whistler said, “Hey, Goldilocks…” the knife hit the wall with thump “…it’s not like I asked for this shit assignment.”

Buffy grabbed another blade. She was really pissed now. Willow tried to watch her throw it. The movement was just a blur.

As Whistler departed the room post haste, grumbling, “I just go where the Powers send me,” the knife struck something solid. The door slammed shut. His voice echoed from the hallway. “I’m beginning to think they hate me!”

Rolling out of bed, Buffy tromped to the door, muttering the ‘Carlin Seven’ under her breath. A few creative additions made the list, none of them TV friendly.

Willow stifled a giggle. Just another day in paradise…

Buffy checked the door before she asked, “Will, you awake?”

“Yeah, I’ve been awake,” Willow mumbled and sat up. She brushed her hair back and waited, half expecting Buffy to be upset. Not exactly sure why, but she isn’t. At least not at me.

Buffy disappeared into the closet, grumping from inside. “Killing before coffee makes me cranky.”

Willow stood up and nearly landed on her butt. She’d just sort of kicked her shoes off next to the bed the previous night. Now they made an excellent obstacle on which to demonstrate her extraordinary grace. Her legs were a little wobbly when she finished falling all over herself. Some vampire I am. She kicked her shoes out of the way and took a tentative step. When Buffy emerged from the closet with an armful of leather, Willow caught her eye and asked, “Killing? Why killing?”

Placing the clothes on the top of her dresser, Buffy opened a drawer and took out a pair panties. She grumbled, “Demon in my room, Will,” as she rushed to put them on. The tone of her voice made it seem as though she felt Willow might’ve missed some critical detail.

Willow found her legs and crossed the room. “Got that,” she said. Buffy passed her an over-sized t-shirt. Willow accepted it, pulling the shirt over her head as she asked, “When was the last time you stuck a knife in a demon…” looking down, she found the tag and turned the shirt “…and it didn’t, umm…” she threaded her left arm through a sleeve “…try to rip your arm off and beat you with it or—” wriggling her left arm through the other sleeve, she tugged the shirt down “—y’know…do something equally demony and violent?”

Hooking her bra, Buffy replied, “Pretty much never, but—”

Cutting her partner off before she could object, Willow said, “Hear him out. If he makes a move, then yeah, but—” She smiled sheepishly.

Buffy didn’t look impressed. “But, Will,” she whined.

Willow grinned at the lengths to which Buffy took a four letter name. It was funny. Shrugging, she added, “I’m curious, aren’t you?”

As Buffy strode through the dining room, Whistler’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“God damned vampires! Only thing in the house is coffee and blood.” Both he and the chair groaned when he flopped down.

Oh, cool, Will put the blood up. I totally spaced it. Buffy slowed to hear what else the little weasel had to say.

The chair squeaked. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t leave here in trash bags. I got news for the bosses, a serial killer with a soul…still a serial killer.”

Buffy snickered. I couldn’t have written a better introduction myself. That was good.

Whistler was all sorts of interested when she entered the room. Buffy could’ve cared less. Ignoring him, she walked to the counter. Coffee was far more important than some greasy little demon.

He said, “Look, kiddo, gimme a chance here. Next guy they send won’t be half as charming.”

She removed the used filter from the coffeemaker and inquired, “Next guy?” as she tossed it in the trash. Yeah, whatever…anything would be better. This asshole looks like a skinny Louie De Palma.

“Yeah…I got no idea why, but you caught their attention. This won’t stop with me. Next guy—think ‘Predator’,” Whistler grumbled.

His chair creaked again as Buffy got out a new filter. Oblivious, she measured out the coffee, grabbed the pot and went to the sink to fill it. After turning on the filtered water tap, she put the pot under it and turned around.

Whistler sat opposite her at the large granite island countertop in the middle of the kitchen. He didn’t exactly look well. But she didn’t exactly care.

“You got anything better for this?” he asked, motioning with his free hand to the bloody dishtowel he clutched with the other.

I think that’s the most hideous Hawaiian shirt ever. Dunno what he’s bitching about. A red spot on that…it’ll never show.

Seriously, there should be laws.

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned to finish making coffee. When she was done, she strode over to the island to reclaim her knife. Leaning against the counter, she absently toyed with the blade and remarked in a bored voice, “Means nothing to me. They send it. I kill it. The only reason I’m not dragging your mutilated corpse out the door right now is because of Will. So start talking and make it good.”

Whistler looked Buffy up and down before he replied, “Okay…but keep in mind you asked, Blondie.” The click of heels on ceramic tile announced Willow’s arrival. His interest turned to her.

Buffy caught the look on Whistler’s face and immediately wanted to throttle him. That ended when she glanced at Willow herself. It was just a quick peek. But the peek turned into a double-take. And the double-take caused Buffy to turn on heel and stare.

Willow had on the most beautiful georgette halter dress. The crinkly beaded, pale mauve silk clung in all the right places and flowed in all the rest. Her calf-length, handkerchief hemmed skirt with floral lace accents swirled around her legs when she reached for some coffee cups. Starting at the heel of her t-strap sandal, Buffy traced a line up the back of Willow’s leg to where the seam of her silk stockings disappeared under her skirt.

There might’ve been drool if Whistler hadn’t started to run his mouth again. “See, thing is…” His tone was low and careful at first. “Since you got your soul back…” but tension rose in his voice “…it’s been business as usual, brutal death, explosions and mayhem.” The last few words, he just blurted out. “Don’t you own a conscience?”

“A what?” Buffy snorted and began to laugh hysterically. She calmed when Willow drew near, reaching around her to place a cup of coffee on the counter.

Whistler sounded at wits end. “A conscience, y’know? It should twinge a little when you do something wrong.”

Buffy wasn’t gonna give him shit. I can’t believe this dork. Go figure, I get the one demon with a priest complex.

Leaning casually back, she rested her elbows on the counter. Her attention lingered on the black velvet choker that encircled Willow’s throat. A thin strip of silver banded its front and from it hung a six pointed star. It was kinda pretty. But Buffy knew the truth. It was a collar. Tara had worn something very similar. The image, all five seconds of it, was extremely unhelpful. Buffy pushed it from her mind as she told Willow so without saying a word.

Returning to the matter at hand, Buffy twirled the blade between her fingers. It would’ve been so simple to turn and fling it. Maybe his face this time? That might slow him down. The internal debate must’ve shown because Willow won with a reproachful look.

Buffy sighed, reaching around Willow to pitch the knife into the sink. When it hit the target with a clang, Buffy licked the blood from her fingers. She cocked an eyebrow and Willow smirked.

Holding her at arm’s length, Buffy returned to ogling. It was a much better waste of time. Sure beats the shit out of confessing my sins to some freakish little sleazeball who broke into my house and bled on my floor. The maid’s gonna have a fit.

She looks absolutely gorgeous. Somehow, she managed to dress, fix her hair and put on makeup. All in under ten minutes.

Magic.

“Don’t you feel the least little bit of guilt?”

Whistler’s question fell on deaf ears. Buffy was way more interested in the kiss her gaze had earned. She ran her fingertips over the rough, crinkled fabric at the curve of Willow’s hips. The annoying little demon faded into the background as Buffy found the small of her witch’s back. Bare skin, supple and smooth, flowed under her hands. It was the perfect complement to the tenderness of the kiss. Soft lips caressed hers. Willow tasted sweet. Buffy lingered just savoring the flavor. That was until what’s-his-face started to babble again.

“Let’s look a minute at what you’ve done since you got your soul back, kid.”

Why can’t he just shut up? It’s not like I care.

Breaking the kiss, Buffy picked up her coffee cup and took Willow’s hand, leading her over to a small table in the corner of the kitchen.

Whistler had to turn around to face them. He raised an eyebrow. “First thing…you turn one of the most powerful witches in the western hemisphere into a demon. Not like she wasn’t already a nightmare, what with all the help you gave her before, but—”

Willow’s face lit up and she interjected in a perky voice, “Really? Most powerful?”

Oh, jeez…yeah, but she does. Go figure, I was vetoed by the redhead and her cute little pout. That shit never used to work on me. I’m seriously getting soft.

Giving Willow a glance, Whistler said, “Not the point, dollface.” His attention returned to Buffy. “Then you spent the next five full days tryin’ to lose your soul. Like you could.” He snickered. His tone turned mocking. “Wishes.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t till crunch time that you bothered with the witch’s soul. And then, only ’cause you were concerned for you. And there’s the little matter with the car.”

“They were lawyers!” Buffy spat defensively.

Exasperation won out. Whistler exclaimed, “You parked a Gruppe B Porsche in the lobby of a major law firm, Blondie! Subtle, you’re not.” He wiped his face, lingering to rub his eyes.

Buffy was the picture of ignorance when she countered, “A what?” This may warrant a slight reevaluation. Pricking with him is just too much fun.

When Whistler finished accosting his face, he muttered under his breath, “The car, kiddo…y’know, the million dollar Porsche?”

Speaking up, Willow interjected, “You did what?” She got the words out, but just barely before the giggles claimed her.

“Oh, who cares about the damned car? Okay, it was a shame, but their entire lobby came straight out of the Ikea catalog. Forcing a rethink was a public service,” Buffy snarked and joined the ranks of the comically impaired.

Whistler didn’t seem to care that he’d lost his audience. He continued to explain, “That was the law office of evil incorporated. But you didn’t know that. Did you?”

Not really, but that Ikea thing was a pretty solid clue.

“You got lucky,” Whistler said. “More anarchy and chaos, just for fun.”

Buffy glanced up. Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Mr. Preachy Pants’ was struggling to keep a straight face too. See? Even you think it was perfect.

Shaking his head, Whistler tried again, “Thing is, kiddo, the whole ‘Jiffy Pop soul’ bit. Gypsies?” He chuckled. “You couldn’t have cheesed that one more if you’d tried. I’ve got a little secret for you about gypsies. They’re known for a coupla things, bad hygiene and holding grudges. That little spell the old man used wasn’t written as a kindness.”

The laugh had been nice, but it was over. Buffy wiped her eyes, growing madder and madder as the little slime yammered. Who the fuck does he think he is? Most people have the good sense to back off when I use this glare. But this idiot, he just keeps droning on. I wonder if he taught history in a past life.

“The whole idea is to make you guilt. Why you girls seem immune is beyond me. But Angel…he was living on rats when you offed him ’cause of that little spell. And he was set to be the Powers next big hitter.”

The only reason Whistler got to finish was that he’d piqued Buffy’s curiosity. “Angel? You mean Angelus? He deserved what he got,” she spat. Righteous indignation, it’s a good act. Up until yesterday, it was the only act. Now, the guilt he’d sermonized nagged at her. She took a sip of her coffee to cover and asked, “And what do you mean ‘hitter’?”

“Angel was gonna be our next champion. Had him all lined up. Then Darla, that stupid bitch, she really screwed the pooch for us,” Whistler offered in a dull voice.

Buffy peered into her coffee cup as Willow asked, “What was…the ‘Jiffy Pop’ thing. What do you mean ‘Jiffy Pop’?”

Funny, he’s acting like Willow’s soul’s a big, but he hasn’t mentioned mine once. What’s the diff?

“Don’t miss much, do you, sweetheart?” There was lightness to his tone that faded when he explained, “Your soul’s as slippery as a greased weasel. Spell’s got a major hitch. You get a happy—anything real—and it falls out.”

Buffy looked up. The little slimeball was grinning at Willow. Buffy didn’t need to look to know. She could just imagine the expression on the witch’s face.

Whistler seemed delighted. He teased, “Like playin’ with fire doncha?” giving Willow a wink. “Getting’ all snuggly with Blondie there.”

Buffy glanced at Willow. You sure I can’t kill him?

Somehow picking up on the thought, Willow shook her head.

Shit!

He’d be lots less trauma dead.

The room went silent. It gave Buffy a little, much needed time to think. She sipped at her coffee. It was getting cold. She pushed it away, propped her head on her hand and stared at the table. Why’s he not worried about mine? You’d think he’d be a little more stressed. It’s not like I’ve been perfectly harmless. In the grand scheme, I’m actually worse than Will. Guilt, ‘Jiffy Pop souls’ and million dollar Porsches, those are pretty much the high points.

No, he said something. We just got so wrapped up in the funny, it just slid right by. What was it?

He was talking about me trying to put things back like they were. What else was I supposed to do? I had to try. He snickered and said ‘wishes.’ I blew it off.

Buffy glanced up. Willow still looked pretty upset. Well, this should improve things. “What’d you mean before when you said ‘wishes’?” Buffy asked bluntly.

When Willow cringed, Buffy knew she was onto something.

Whistler sounded no less delighted when he replied, “Only know what they tell me, kid. Your soul’s permanent. Your little friend…hers is hangin’ by a thread.”

I’m gonna kill him. This first. Willow looked absolutely shamefaced. If she could blush, it’d be…

Buffy demanded, “Spill.”

Willow only took a few seconds to crack. Getting up to fetch another cup of coffee, she admitted the truth. “It was me. But I didn’t ask for that. I asked for—uh…something else. You can guess. Tara twisted it around to hurt you. You know how she was.” When she finally turned to face the room, Buffy held out her coffee cup and Whistler looked needy.

Head in hand, Buffy passed her cup off. She wasn’t sure what to think. Her mind spun as she looked at the details. I rescued Willow. Once things cooled off, she was so adamant about getting that necklace back. To save her own ass. Breaking it would’ve undone the wish. I would’ve walked right by her. And look at how quickly she disposed of Tara. To hide the evidence, or was it like she said? Either way, it’s still pretty bad.

A fresh cup of coffee was placed right under her nose. Buffy barely registered it.

But I guess it really doesn’t matter where we started off. Like Whistler said, I tried everything I knew to put things back. It only makes sense that she’d protect her own interests. It’s not like she used me. I did that of my own accord. Just because I was missing a few details…it really doesn’t change much.

This other stuff’s different. We’re making real progress. Or I think we are. And it feels good. Or at least it feels good when it doesn’t feel awful and confusing as hell.

Fuck, I dunno…I’m not sure how to feel anymore. Like that’s new.

All soft and sheepish, Willow asked, “You’re not mad?”

“Not mad. No clue why, yet,” Buffy replied in a hushed, thoughtful voice.

“Yeah, so…this is touching, but on a clock here,” Whistler interjected impatiently. “Powers got your number, Blondie. They want you to play champion. Figure you volunteered by gutting their last choice.”

Buffy was still pretty much spun by the first few revelations. The word ‘champion’ nearly made her stammer. But Whistler didn’t let up. “See, thing is…you gotta knock off the bloodbath. So let me make this simple for ya. If you saw it in ‘Fight Club,’ it’s prob’ly a bad thing. Torture’s not really their style.”

Her attention snapped to Willow when she asked, “Really? We are talking about—?” gesturing vaguely at the ceiling.

Buffy didn’t even bother to look at the sleazy demon. Her eyes turned down. She took a sip of her coffee.

Willow snarked, “But it was okay for the Catholic Church? Remember that little party they threw called the Spanish Inquisition? Or, hey…here’s one that hits close to home, how about the Salem Witch Trials?”

A faint grin warmed her face, but Buffy really wasn’t interested in their feud. Me, a champion for good? Whistler’s right, they sound desperate.

Her voice thick with mirth, Willow added, “Torture not really their style? Want me to go on? I think their followers wrote the book on abhorrent behavior.”

“Okay…you got me there, Red. Again, just the messenger,” Whistler said. “I just know that humans—regardless of how screwed up—they tend to change. It’s part of the condition. Killing ’em…it’s prob’ly bad, whatever your thoughts. So, you might want to figure a better way. Plus, takin’ out the evil-doer? Though I can sorta see why you girls might wanna take a page from a homoerotic vampire romance, I think you got more class than that.”

Okay, I’ll bite. If for nothing else ’cept the funny.

Clearing her throat to draw their attention, Buffy redirected, “Go back to this ‘champion’ thing. They want me to play hero?”

“You heard it, Blondie. I’ll prob’ly get fired for sayin’ this, but I think they’re nuts,” Whistler replied. His tone turned thoughtful when he added, “Guess it’s that you’ve been doing the right thing, the wrong way, for all the wrong reasons for so long. They figure if they can get your motives straightened out, you’ll be one hell of an ally.”

Buffy asked, “What do—?”

Cutting her off, Whistler replied, “Same thing you been doing, cupcake. Keep the slayer alive. That’s your first job.”

Buffy faced Whistler and said, “Been keeping her alive,” putting her hands up is if to say, ‘duh.’

Whistler shrugged. “Like I said. But you need to cut the shit and get over there. Something’s coming down tonight. Something big. Who knows, you do good, the Powers may even perma-soul your little girlfriend. Not a bad plan from where I sit.” Rising to take his leave, he added, “It’s been a blast, ladies. Don’t call me.”

“Girlfriend?” Buffy mumbled. What business is that of his? Irritating little prick! She considered for a moment or two whether beheading the little sleazebag would work. When the debate ended, he was long gone. Girlfriend?

Guess it’s totally fair, what, with the smoochies and umm…but I—

Whatever. I may as well cut my losses. Girlfriend it is…

Willow detested wearing hosiery, even the really nice stuff. The way it stretched and clung to her legs made her feel smothered. It always had. Her mom made her wear tights when she was in school. It was improper for a young lady to show her legs. Willow hated them. They were so warm that they made her feel all sticky. While she knew that the two things weren’t even remotely similar, they somehow inextricably connected in her mind. She struggled to focus on the icky memories to avoid thinking about anything else.

Nice try, but there’s a teensy little problem with that. It’s all connected.

If the prospect of losing my soul wasn’t bad enough, I had to go and…

I didn’t know. I just thought—

Buffy had been silent since Whistler left. Willow didn’t dare look. As the car rolled down the driveway, she stared at her hands, afraid she’d really screwed up.

I wanted Buffy to understand how sorry I was. I’m even sorrier now. I made a huge mess of everything.

Somehow, I don’t think I can bake my way out of this one like I did when I was younger. There’s a minor hitch. We don’t really eat. We don’t need to. Food tastes funny. I can only imagine how bad oatmeal raisin cookies would be. All grainy and bland.

Ick.

I could always get a really pretty hooker for her to feed on. Someone clean…no diseases or drugs. Of course, that also means really young.

Yeah.

Wouldn’t that be nice? Truly touching…she’d flip out.

Maybe losing my soul wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t guilt about every last little thing I’ve ever done.

The pain had passed. Willow almost wished it hadn’t. She was tempted to scoot around in her seat to make it worse. Knowing how a thing’s made makes taking the easy route almost irresistible. I didn’t want to, but focusing on how much I love her wasn’t that hard. It’s sort of a theme, if not a total obsession.

It’s not the same as before. I don’t feel the same way.

Do I really want to go back?

It sounds like it wouldn’t be all that hard. I’d go from actually caring about what she thinks and how she feels to just wanting to fuck her. All the pain would go away. I could just…

Be hollow.

Be consumed by hatred.

Be the kind of monster that makes something like this.

The metal gates swung open, allowing the car to pass. Buffy pressed the accelerator. The sound of the roaring engine and shrieking tires accompanied the car whipping onto the highway.

Willow clung to the armrest to keep from sliding around in her seat. It didn’t work. A fresh twinge of pain burned through her crotch. Sudden movements are bad. That’s one of the limits of this thing. The more you resist the harder it clamps down. She gritted her teeth and mopped a tear. I deserve this.

As the car reached speed, memories of getting dressed ran through her mind. Willow was just sick over the pain she’d caused. I wanted to make her happy. And me looking pretty obviously does.

Willow was going through her drawer of lingerie for a slip that would work. She needed one. Her dress was way too sheer. It was such an innocent thing. But nothing in her room was all that innocent. Most of it wasn’t even what it appeared to be. She hated being there. All of the memories it brought back. Rushing to finish, she stumbled across the lavender lace garter belt and thong.

Holding the lingerie, Willow remembered creating it as she ran her fingertips over the gold lining inside the thong. It shimmered and swirled when she touched it. It’s so beautiful. One of the most complicated, challenging things I’ve ever done. Pity, it’s also one of the most evil.

In spite of everything else, it still makes me proud in a tummy twisting, knot forming kinda way. The combination of science and dark magic, stuff right on the edge. I was a regular Doctor Frankenstein, creating life from inert material. It never occurred to me how awful it was. Why would it? I didn’t need to worry about that. It wasn’t for me.

Tara always collapsed when I made her put it on. She cried out like she was having the most amazing orgasm ever. It was hard to tell whether it was pleasure or pain, or the combination of both. She got off on pain.

How bad could it be?

When I put it on, I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but I figured I deserved whatever I got.

Magical rape.

I used to do that. It was psychologically one of the most traumatic things I could think of. You can’t get much more evil.

Now I know. I know exactly how it feels to have something you can’t control clamp down, splay you open and penetrate you in every conceivable way. It’s indescribably horrible.

I fell too.

I fell and I wept.

The worst thing is, Tara didn’t know. And I never bothered to tell her. The more you fight, the more upset you get, the more it hurts. It must’ve been excruciating. I know she despised me for it. That would’ve only made it worse.

No, that wasn’t the worst thing. Not even close.

Tara used to love the violet wand. Weird kink. It was right on the edge. So extreme, it could be intensely painful or extremely pleasurable.

I took that idea and used the living metal as a conductor. Modern technology combined with the arcane. I was half afraid that the electricity would destroy my creation. The power source was a problem too. It couldn’t be small. I wanted to leave a lasting impression. So, I came up with a magical solution. It leeches power from the wearer’s environment. How much depends on exactly what’s around. Needless to say, it’s not something you’d wanna use around a relay station.

It made an impression alright. Tara was incapacitated for half an hour. All she could do was scream.

But it didn’t destroy my progeny. If anything, it just made it mad.

Leaning forward, Willow took her purse from the floor and looked through it. I have to tell her. She needs to decide. After locating the black lipstick case, she set her purse down and stared at the golden alchemical symbol for sol on its end. She shuddered. I must be insane. But it’s not like I have a choice now. It won’t respond to me. It’s bound to my Mistress. I’m at her mercy.

Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to force a neutral tone. “I have something for you,” she said, holding out the lipstick case in her palm. I know she told me she wasn’t mad. But she seems mad.

She said she didn’t know why. Maybe she figured it out.

She should be mad.

I’d be mad.

Buffy took a sip from her travel mug before glancing at the lipstick case and giving Willow a funny look. “Trying to tell me something?”

Willow couldn’t believe her ears. Buffy was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. “No,” Willow replied. The shock came through in her voice. She took another breath before moving on. “It’s not what you think. Just put it in your pocket and let me explain.”

Oh-boy. Now I get to figure out how to explain. I hadn’t thought of that. What do I actually tell her?

The car slowed. They were entering the city limits. Well, I’ve got about ten minutes. I need to figure something out.

How about the truth?

‘Buffy, I made this really, really horrible piece of lingerie. Think ‘The Bride’ meets Sir Isaac Newton’s secret wet dream. And because your girlfriend’s not just the world’s first wiccan mad scientist, but also a guilt ridden wuss with a massive inferiority complex, I was stupid enough to put it on. How’s a little revenge sound? I think I deserve it.’

Yeah, that should work.

Uh…how ’bout this instead?

“Open the tube and turn it clockwise for pleasure, counter-clockwise for pain. I’ll let you decide what I deserve,” Willow said. That’s as simple as it gets. Her attention fixed on Buffy. The real beauty is that your victim doesn’t know. It really is torture. Clockwise has a similar but completely opposite effect to the reverse. Willow wasn’t sure what to expect. She ended up watching the process, almost able to hear Buffy’s thoughts. ‘Do I really wanna know?’ dwindled, giving way to, ‘Probably not.’

She’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, but putting it off is good too. I’m just glad I don’t have to—that vampires don’t have the same physical needs.

That was the worst. Tara was forced to deal by her own body. After the first time, she learned to grovel.

Buffy pocketed the lipstick tube and said, “Drink your breakfast. It’s getting cold.” She took a pair of small, wire-framed sunglasses down from the visor and put them on before having another sip from her travel mug.

I’ll grovel too, if that’s what it takes. She deserves a good grovel. I was so horrible. And with the coffee…I’ll be among the physically needy by morning.

Trying to push down the ickiness, Willow took a drink from her travel mug like a good girl. The weird thing is that she seems so normal. I mean, quiet, yeah…but I expected her to completely ignore me. I’m not getting the silent treatment like I thought. She’s just really preoccupied.

Giving her partner a perplexed glance, Willow took a chance at making small talk by asking, “Why the sunglasses?” She couldn’t see what difference the violet lenses might make. Maybe she just likes for the world to look like a big grape?

“It’s a thing with me. I can’t drink and not go a little bit vampy,” Buffy replied. Sliding the glasses down her nose to reveal her amber eyes, she glanced at Willow.

“Are mine?” Willow asked.

Pulling up to a traffic light, Buffy signaled and made the right onto a cross street before she confirmed, “Yup. And you got a bit of the bumpy brow. You can control that. You just have to concentrate. But the eyes are a tough one. I never got it.”

Once the car was chugging happily along in second gear, Buffy put her hand in her pocket. Willow got really nervous. Relief came in the form of Buffy pulling out a cigarette. I never thought I’d be happy to see one of those nasty things. I need to get over the wig already. She’s not mad. She’s just worried about, umm…

Doing her job?

Now that’s kinda funny.

Buffy lit up and took a deep drag, needlessly flipping the ash out the window. She opened the console and sorted through it without taking her eyes off the road. Locating a pair of sunglasses, she tossed them in Willow’s lap.

Willow picked them up. They were nearly identical to the ones Buffy had on. Willow grinned and put them on. “Spares?” she asked. Her view of the world didn’t really change that much. Things were just a bit darker.

“Part of the trick is learning to hide. Looking human, no matter what,” Buffy remarked as she maneuvered the car around a left-hand turn.

Giggling, Willow said, “So, now you’re giving me lessons in subtle. Too funny.”

Buffy offered Willow a mischievous glance and snarked, “We’re on a mission from God to save Faith. We got a half tank of gas, a pack and a half of cigarettes, its dark, and we're wearing sunglasses.”

Willow groaned. Slouching down in her seat, she put her hand over her face, feeling like a complete idiot. Yeah. She’s fine. I’m still the one with the issues. I should seriously take a clue. This is getting so predictable, it’s just tedious.

Note to self: it really is all in your head.

“What’s up with all the smoke?”

Buffy’s question went right over Willow’s head. Before she really registered that something was wrong the car started to slide.

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