I am a lowly ficcer, I owneth not a jot; Joss Whedon's the Creator, see-- My story's all I've got!
Again, please ignore my ramblings and read.
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Part Three
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Oz wrote such beautiful music.
Willow sat in her desk chair, staring out the window, not paying much attention to anything other than the quiet strains of Oz's guitar, the soft music emanating from her tape player. He'd made the tape a few days ago, and presented it to her on their two month anniversary. He hadn't let her play it until he had gone home, however, and when Willow eagerly stuck it in the machine and turned it on, she was startled and very happy to hear that he'd written three songs, specifically for her. He wasn't much of a singer--she'd discovered why he insisted that the band only had him for instrumental support--but the guitar was beautiful, and a far cry from the pounding, throbbing music she normally associated with Dingoes Ate My Baby.
Of course, her first impulse was to race over to Buffy's house and play the tape so her friend could listen to it. When she realized the impossibility of that urge, her mood deflated, and she'd felt like crying.
Where had she gone? To be with Angel? Willow sank back against the seat, her eyes leaving the window and going blank as she considered the possibilities.
The spell had been successful, she was sure of it. Whether she could have done it without...whatever...taking her over, she didn't know, but with that help, she'd done it. The orb had glowed brightly, then disappeared, and when the presence deserted her, she was left with the firm belief that she'd succeeded.
But then where were Buffy and Angel?
Buffy wasn't dead, at least she knew that. Willow remembered briefly the day that Mrs. Summers had come to her house, acting kind of...fragile. It was the afternoon of Willow's first day back at school, and she'd asked Joyce eagerly when Buffy was coming back to class. The gang had been wondering earlier, she'd continued, oblivious to the older woman's look of pain, because we have a lot to talk to her about. Mrs. Summers simply sat down beside her on the couch and told her about the note her daughter had left.
Willow blinked, and realized that the tape had clicked off. Buffy had run away from home, from family, from friends--from responsibility. Was she with Angel? If the spell was successful, the vampire would undoubtedly feel horrible about what he had done, but would he push Buffy away or accept her forgiveness? If he had gone on by himself, had Buffy followed him?
Or was it like Xander had suggested? Could the spell have been too late? And if not, did Buffy even realize it had worked? She'd told Xander to make sure Buffy knew they were trying again. If she knew, wouldn't she have tried to hold him off as long as she could...?
Willow started. What if the spell had been successful but Buffy had to kill Angel anyway? The thought made her shiver. If Buffy had to kill Angel, she would want to be alone.
The spell. It all centred around the spell. Buffy's happiness, Angel's life, Giles, Xander, Cordelia, Oz...even Willow herself. It had to affect each one of them...and she'd taken it on herself to cast it, make sure it gave her what everyone wanted. Either way it could have gone meant tremendous possibilities for each member of their gang...
Willow stood up and began pacing. She'd insisted on performing the spell, hadn't listened to any other options. But what if the spell was the wrong thing to do? Buffy's absence seemed to suggest that possibility. What if she'd been wrong to force the magic?
What if, what if, what if...
Willow realized that she was breathing heavily. She wanted out of the room, wanted to be somewhere other than with these thoughts. She knew she was right to cast the spell; so why were her mind and her conscience telling her differently?
As she rushed out the door, Willow decided to go see Giles at the library. In the face of everything that had happened, he'd been steady as a rock. If she wanted to talk, he'd listen.
* What happens now? *
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