Summary: Set post-Chosen. After the Slayers are activated, the balance between good and evil is disturbed, and the Scoobies are flung to the far corners of the world to respond to the crisis. In the midst of all of this, will they be able to keep their relationships strong? Or will they be divided by circumstances and torn apart by fate? Follows my short story Yesterday.
Rating: PG-13
1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: 15 :: 16 :: 17 :: 18 :: 19 :: 20 :: 21 :: 22 :: 23 :: 24 :: 25 :: 26 :: 27 :: 28 :: 29 :: 30 :: 31 :: 32 :: 33 :: 34 :: 35 ::
“…Now that you mention it, we have seen more demon activity lately. After Faith took care of the Demos, things got pretty quiet, but there have been a lot more demons and vampires around. Zoë’s been keeping the girls pretty busy, and so has Arnold. I hadn’t really thought about what it might mean…” ~Excerpt from an email from Willow Rosenberg to Rupert Giles
Willow disentangled herself from Oz, trying not to wake him.
“Where are you going?” he mumbled sleepily.
“I need to check on something,” Willow replied.
“Need my help?”
“It’s a magical sort of checking.” Her voice was apologetic. She hated leaving him out, or for him to feel as though she was keeping a wall between them, but there were things that he wasn’t sharing with her also.
She supposed it was simply the nature of the game.
“Hurry back,” Oz said, giving her a quick kiss and settling back down to sleep.
Willow couldn’t blame him for being hesitant about getting out of bed. They had been pulling long patrols lately—all of them—and it was only five. The sun wasn’t over the horizon yet, which was exactly why she was awake at this ungodly hour. Sunrise was a potent time for spell-casting.
She set up her circle, preparing to call on the goddess for true sight. She wanted to know whether Xander’s report of increased demon activity in Africa was at all related to what was going on here.
Plus, there was Buffy and Spike’s run-in with a vampire/demon tag-team that didn’t bode well; the last time that happened, Adam had been running the show. It seemed to indicate that something more powerful was calling the shots.
Willow had hesitated to perform this ritual, knowing that it was a serious matter to ask for assistance. The powers tended to prefer it when humans helped themselves, rather than relying on divine intervention, but she didn’t feel as though she had a choice.
If it was true—if the darkness was gathering—then the time for her to perform Miriam’s request was also drawing near, and Willow would prefer to put it off as long as possible.
After setting up the circle, Willow set up her brazier, and prepared the other ingredients she would need. This early in the morning, she didn’t need to fear being interrupted by the Slayers or Watchers. It was unlikely that anyone would be awake for hours yet.
She began her chant, dropping into the light trance she’d learned during her time with the coven and cast the first herb on the fire. Under certain circumstances, it would induce hallucinations, but as she was using it now, the ingredient merely made her more receptive.
Once she was certain that it was working, Willow cast the next handful onto the fire. This one caused a plume of blue-green smoke to drift up, and she started into the whorls and eddies, opening her mind to whatever she might see.
Willow swallowed hard when she saw the face of a Demos demon, then behind him a host of other demons and vampires. She could see herself and Oz trying to hold the door to the school closed, then the entire scene seemed to disappear.
Now, she saw an army of Slayers, all of them armed, their faces wearing identical expressions of grim determination. In front of them was a horde, comprised of demons that Willow had never seen before—and she swore she could see a dragon. Behind the demons was a rip in the sky spitting blue fire, and she knew that it would be her job to close the rip before more demons came through.
Finally, she saw Buffy standing alone on a hill, overlooking a city that appeared to be devastated, although by what Willow couldn’t have said.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Tara’s face appeared in the smoke. “Tara?” she whispered, unable to believe her eyes.
“I don’t have much time.” Her voice was the same—sweet and serious. There was such strength there, and not for the first time did Willow wonder why she had been the one to survive. Tara would have done a better job. She would have understood more.
Willow swallowed. “What is it?”
“The darkness is gathering for one last push. The First Evil was merely the spearhead, ripping a hole big enough for the rest to enter.”
She felt her stomach sink. “Then it was my fault.”
“The Eye of Beljoxa lied,” Tara replied, her words blunt and to the point. “It was a servant of the First, hoping to convince you or Buffy, or one of the others to take matters into your own hands. At the very least, it was trying to sow dissension and distrust.”
Willow shook her head. “I don’t understand. What threw the balance off?”
Tara’s sigh smelled of ashes from the fire. “There was a choice made—several, actually. Good and evil usually have an equal hold over the hearts of people, but there was a moment when evil had the upper hand, and that was all it needed.”
“What do I need to do?” Willow asked, knowing that if Tara’s time was short, she needed as much concrete information as she could get.
Tara smiled. “Just what you’re doing. Find the Slayers, train them, love.” Her face softened. “I’m happy for you, Will.”
“I still miss you,” Willow admitted.
“I know.” Tara’s figure appeared fully in the smoke, and her voice was whisper thin when she said, “When the time comes, trust Miriam. She’s right about Buffy and Spike.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Never stop fighting, or the darkness will win.”
She was gone in the next breath, and Willow wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. She wasn’t sure that she’d gained any new information; Willow had already decided to trust Miriam, knowing that there was no other choice. Ending the fight before it was won wasn’t an option, although Tara’s words indicated that there wouldn’t be an end—ever.
But she’d known that already, too.
Maybe what she’d really needed was to have Tara’s blessing, to know that she was okay, that she was still somewhere, in some form, and it certainly seemed she was.
That didn’t assuage the ache in her heart.
~~~~~
Oz hadn’t been sure what awaited him in Brazil. He’d been in a lot of places in the world over the last few years, never settling down, never able to call one location home. There was a piece of him that always knew that Willow was his home, and he’d never be content without her.
When he’d heard about Sunnydale, he’d had no choice but to make sure that Willow—and the others—were safe. As soon as Giles had told him that Tara was dead, Oz knew that he had to see Willow again—face to face.
He couldn’t deny that there was a certain amount of hope there, that he wanted her to welcome him back with open arms, that he wanted a chance to start anew.
Oz had never believed that he’d actually get that chance, however.
Sitting in the small kitchen, he watched as she brewed coffee and sliced fruit. “You okay?”
“Huh?” Willow glanced up, clearly distracted. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“How did the thing go this morning?”
He could see the debate in her eyes as she decided whether to tell him the truth. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted.
His eyebrows went up, and he accepted the cup of coffee she held out in silence, knowing that she would explain sooner or later, having said that much.
“It’s just—I saw Tara.”
“Oh.” Oz couldn’t help but think that he would always come in second to the dead woman. Not only was she dead, and therefore more likely to be afforded the saintly status that many of the departed take on, but she hadn’t screwed up as badly as he had.
And Willow had chosen her, when you got right down to it. Oz knew that he was a poor replacement.
“She—she gave us her blessing.”
He blinked, having no idea what to say to that. “I see.”
“She also said that the darkness is getting ready for a final push,” Willow said, hurrying on. “I saw—I think some really bad stuff is coming, and I still don’t know what to do about it.”
“Maybe we don’t have to do anything but keep fighting,” Oz suggested. “That’s what we’ve done before, and it’s always worked out.”
“That’s basically what Tara said.”
He watched her face, could see the struggle that she was going through. Willow was struggling with something, and she didn’t know how to tell him; he’d seen that look on her face before. “You can tell me, Willow,” Oz said gently. “Whatever it is, I’ll be here for you.”
She hesitated a moment longer, and then the tension seemed to leave her. “Do you know Miriam?”
Oz shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“She’s the head of the coven,” Willow explained. “And she was my teacher when I was there.”
Oz nodded to show that he understood. They’d caught up on quite a bit since he’d arrived; Willow had told him everything—from her descent into darkness after Tara’s death, to what she’d done in the Hellmouth in order to stop the First.
“She told me that there was a battle coming, a big one. It might even be the battle, the one that pretty much ends things.”
“If we lose.”
“If we lose,” she agreed. “She also told me that Spike’s going to be in danger, and that Buffy is going to try to save him, but I can’t let her. That if I do, they’ll both die.”
Oz could see the problem in that scenario. Buffy certainly wouldn’t thank Willow if she arrived too late to save her boyfriend. He was well acquainted with the Slayer’s insistence on protecting the man she loved.
Although Buffy wasn’t really the Slayer anymore.
“She didn’t say that Spike was going to die, though, right?” he asked, wanting to reassure her any way he could.
Willow hesitated, then shook her head. “No, and she gave him a ring that will allow Buffy to find him anywhere, but—”
“But losing her boyfriend for any length of time makes Buffy crazy, and you’re afraid that she’ll blame you.”
She nodded. “I don’t want to lose my friend, Oz, but if I don’t, I think we might lose the war. The bowl doesn’t show things that aren’t true, or that won’t come to pass. If it’s too uncertain, it won’t show anything at all.”
“Then you don’t have a choice,” he replied gently. “Buffy will understand once you explain that to her.”
Willow buried her head in his shoulder. “Do you ever wish that we were back in high school?”
He thought about it for a moment, thought about the terrible innocence of that time, how little he’d really known about himself, about betrayal and courage and living with the beast inside.
“No,” Oz replied honestly. “We know too much now to go back there—and we knew too little then.”
After a moment’s silence, Willow raised her head, revealing green eyes swimming with tears. “Do you ever wish we were normal?”
Oz didn’t need any time to think about that question. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
He meant the kiss he gave her to be a comfort, and he hoped that it would do some good.
~~~~~
Zoë stood in front of her mirror, straightening the dress she wore, half-thinking that she’d be better off changing. Surely it was a little too revealing, showed a few too many curves. She wasn’t thin like Willow, and she never would be.
“It’s okay to be voluptuous,” she reminded herself. “Men appreciate that.”
Well, some men did, anyway. She’d known plenty who appeared more interested in someone a bit more waif-like than she’d ever managed to be.
It was her third date with Arnold, and she was beginning to realize that she liked him—a lot. More than liked him, actually, and with that feeling came the pressure to impress him, and the fear that she never would.
“This is stupid,” she told her reflection fiercely. “You’re friends, and if there’s something more there, then we can find out together.”
“They say the first sign of madness is talking to yourself.”
Zoë whirled to find Rhoda standing in the doorway. “Oh. You startled me.” Rhoda let out a low whistle, and Zoë suddenly noticed Ximena and Matilde standing behind her. “Is there something you need?” she asked stiffly.
“A hot date?” Rhoda suggested, slipping inside the room with the two other Slayers, and closing the door behind her. “Seriously, Zoë. Arnold is going to flip his lid. When did you get that dress?”
She shrugged, trying to make it seem as though she bought a new dress every day—even new blue dresses that hugged her curves and cost a month’s salary. “Just a day or two ago. I saw it in a shop window as I was running to the market.”
“You are a beauty,” Matilde said admiringly. “I wish I could wear a dress such as that one.”
Zoë felt herself flush. “Oh, well, I thought maybe I would change. I don’t think it looks as good on me as—”
“Stop right there,” Rhoda ordered. “Don’t even say it, because Matilde is right. You look amazing.” She held up a bag. “All you need are a few finishing touches.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Cosmetics,” Teresa said precisely. “You wear little.”
“I don’t think—”
Rhoda nudged her towards the bed. “Don’t think,” she said. “Just put yourself into our capable hands, and I promise that Emrys will end up ripping that dress off.”
“I’d rather not have it ruined,” Zoë said primly. “I spent too much for that.”
“Then have him take it off slowly,” Matilde said with a dimpled grin. “Much more fun that way.”
Zoë could see that she wasn’t being given a choice in the matter. “Very well. I will entrust myself to your capable hands.”
Although, she wondered what she was getting herself into even as she said the words.
~~~~~
The first and second dates with Zoë had gone so well that Arnold was wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. His brother had been the ladies’ man, not him. He’d barely been able to get a girl to look at him twice, and now…
Now it seemed almost too good to be true, which was what had him worried.
He checked his watch for the fifth time and wondered what was keeping her. Zoë was always early—at least, she always had been in the past. Her door had been closed as he’d wandered past it a few minutes ago, however, and he’d heard feminine giggles. Some of the Slayers were probably chatting with her, and their duties obviously came first. He should just be grateful that they’d been able to steal a night away again.
And that Willow and Oz seemed happier staying in than going out.
“Rhoda’s with her,” Willow said as she came down the hall. “She’ll be out shortly.”
“Rhoda?” Arnold echoed. “Is something wrong?”
Willow smiled mysteriously. “No. Don’t worry so much.”
“Do I look alright?” he asked, pushing the words out in a rush. It might be their third date, but he was beginning to realize how much he liked her, and how much he wanted her to like him in return.
“You look great,” she said, the ring of truth in her voice. “Don’t worry, Arnold.”
He didn’t tell her that was almost all he did these days, whether it was over the Slayers or his budding relationship with Zoë. “Thank you.”
“There, you see?” Willow asked, glancing down the hall. “I don’t think you had anything to worry about.”
Zoë took his breath away. Her dress showed off curves that her everyday clothes tended to hide, and she’d done something with her makeup. Although he wasn’t sure what it was exactly, he knew that he liked it.
“You look marvelous,” he managed to stammer out, cursing himself silently for a fool.
Her smile was mysterious and pleased all at once. “Thank you. So do you.”
Arnold wanted to kiss her. He hadn’t yet, but he wasn’t sure that now was the right time, with Willow and several other pairs of curious eyes looking on. “Shall we go?”
He’d made reservations at a restaurant that Rute had recommended, and they shared tapas and compared notes on the Slayers. After a glass of wine, Arnold felt brave enough to brush his hand over hers, and was pleased when she slipped her hand into his as they walked back to the school.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Zoë began slowly.
“Anything,” he replied, wishing the evening would never end.
“I—”
Her words were cut off in a gasp, and Arnold fell to his knees as he felt white hot pain shoot through his side. He couldn’t catch his breath to reply as she called out his name, and he heard her shout of anger as his vision grayed out.
Clamping his left arm to his side, he fought for consciousness, not wanting to leave her at the mercy of whatever had attacked him.
As he blinked back tears, Arnold saw a knife clatter to the ground in front of him, and he reached for it, scrabbling for the handle. Zoë fell beside him, and he saw from her expression that she didn’t think that she was going to survive.
“No,” he whispered, and forced himself to his feet. The knife that Zoë had wielded was in his hand now, and the monster wasn’t looking at him. Throwing himself at the creature, all Arnold could do was hope for a lucky shot, and that his weight would be enough to drive the weapon home.
He didn’t have the strength to do anything else.
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