Buffy clenched her eyes shut as sunlight filtered through her curtains and warmed her face. She wasn’t ready to face a new day, especially if it started in some hallucinated reality. Buffy reluctantly opened her eyes and found herself gazing at the unoccupied spot on the bed next to her. She let out a sigh of relief. Thank God! Buffy smiled as she imagined a miniature celebration taking place in her head. Tiny Buffys were gathered around a huge cake, cheering and hugging as multi-colored bits of confetti rained down from above.

Tearing herself away from the much more pleasant Buffy Land, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Buffy stretched her body, allowing her tense muscles to relax. She listened as a couple birds sang just outside her window. She walked towards it, feeling happier than she had felt for a long time. Genuinely happy. That is, until she saw Mr. Gordo.

Buffy’s eyes traveled between the bed and the stuffed pig, absolutely positive that she was holding it when she fell asleep. But, there it sat, in its rightful spot under the window. It was as if she had not touched the toy at all. Buffy picked up the pig, lifting it up to eye level. Her eyes narrowed angrily as she stared at its stitched grin, seemingly mocking her feelings of dread. Buffy lost control. In her rage over the situation, Buffy ripped away the soft, pink fabic of Mr. Gordo’s body, throwing pig’s fluffy insides wildly around the room. “Buffy? Buffy stop!”

She felt his arms wrap around her from behind, trying to slow her frantic ripping.

“Let me go! Don’t touch me!” she screamed, trying to escape Spike’s grasp. Her Slayer strength seemed to fail her in her distressed state, and Spike turned her around in his arms, pulling her against him.

“It’s ok, luv,” Spike soothed, “Let it out.” With that Buffy burst into tears, sobbing fiercely into his chest. “I’m here,” he whispered against her, “I’ll always be here.”
-----
Buffy’s screams filtered easily through the wall between their rooms, startling Dawn. She quickly abandoned the journal entry she was writing and rushed toward Buffy’s room. She stood just outside the door and watched as Spike held a crying Buffy in his arms, trying to bring her out of whatever it was that had caused her fit of rage. Not knowing if her presence would help or hinder, Dawn decided to wait it out in the hall. She must have stood beside her sister’s doorway for an hour or so, listening as Buffy’s cries eventually died down. She heard Spike say something unintelligible to Buffy, followed by his footsteps drawing near. As soon as he stepped out of the room, Dawn was ready for some answers.

“How is she?” asked Dawn, concern filling her voice.

“Better, but not good. Any idea what’s goin’ on with her?”

“No,” Dawn confessed, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“No clue, Nibblet... Although she was actin’ strange yesterday.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

Spike turned his attention back to Buffy, peering in the room to send a worried glance her way, “Might have somethin’ to do with the run-in she had the other night.” He turned back to Dawn, “Go tell Red to get her books ready, and give the newlyweds a call. We’ve got some work to do.”

Spike reentered the bedroom, walking over to sit on the bed. Buffy was laying with her back to him, her face pressed down against one of the soft pillows. After a few quiet moments, Spike reached over to Buffy and began to gently stroke her hair.

“Spike?” Buffy’s voice sounded as weak as she felt.

“Yes, pet?”

“I don’t belong here.”

“What? Of course you do.” His voice was comforting and reassuring, but Buffy knew better.

“You don’t understand.”

“Help me to understand,” replied Spike, desperately. “I want to help you, Buffy. But I can’t unless you talk to me.”

Buffy’s eyes were stinging once again as she tried to hold back a fresh flow of tears. She knew he was right, the only way she could find her was out of this reality was to talk about it and get help. But not from him. “Where’s Willow?”

She didn’t see Spike drop his head in defeat as he realized his wife did not want him by her side. He tried to hide the heartache in his voice as he answered Buffy, but he was unsuccessful. “Not sure. Downstairs I’d wager.” He left his position on the bed, moving towards the open door, “I’ll get her for you.”

Just before he left the room, he stopped in his tracks. Without turning around, he whispered to her, then continued on his journey to locate Willow.

Buffy clenched her eyelids shut as the tears worked their way out, dropping onto the pillow. Spike’s soft words echoed in her ears, “I love you, Buffy.”
-----
Reaching the base of the stairs, Spike could see that Xander and Anya were already in the living room, joined by Willow and a pacing Dawn.

They were sitting there, looking from one face to another, each friend waiting for the other to speak first. However, all eyes turned to Spike when he entered the living area.

He gave an acknowledging nod Xander and Anya, before directing his attention to Willow. The group watched somberly as Willow stood up, knowing she was needed. As she walked by, Willow patted her hand against Spike’s shoulder, then continued on her way to see Buffy.

Spike took the seat next to Anya that Willow previously occupied. He leaned his head into his hand, rubbing at his temple.

Seeing Spike obviously distressed, Anya spoke up, “I’m sure Buffy is not insane.”

Spike chose to ignore the comment.

“Anya!” warned Xander.

“What?” Anya retorted, “I said not!”

Meanwhile, Willow had stopped just outside the threshold of Buffy’s room. “Can I come in?”

Buffy had not moved from her previous position, but upon hearing her friend’s voice, she sat up in bed nodding her head in agreement. When Willow sat down beside her, Buffy took Willow’s hands in hers, “I’m going to tell you something, and you’re gonna think I’m nuts, but I need you to believe me. Please, please try!”

The desperation in Buffy’s voice scared the redhead, “You know you can tell me anything.”

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed upon hearing Willow’s words, “I hope so.” Choosing her words carefully, Buffy explained the situation. She decided it would be best to be as up-front and direct as possible. She started by telling Willow that a demon’s poison had caused hallucinations that seemed so real, she couldn’t tell whether she was having one or not. She told her friend about the reality she held to be real: Spike had no chance of being her husband, Xander had left Anya at the alter, and that she was instructed by real Willow to turn to imaginary Willow for help.

As expected, Willow was having trouble digesting this information, “So... am I real Willow or fake Willow?”

Buffy bowed her head as she answered quietly, “You’re the hallucination.”

“But how can I be? I mean,” Willow patted her hands here-and-there along her body, as if to verify she was solid, “I feel real.”

“I know, that’s what I’m saying,” said Buffy, “This reality seems to real to me, too.”

Willow’s worry doubled, “That’s because this is real.”

“No! No, you’re not listening to me!” exclaimed a very frustrated Buffy.

“I am, Buffy! And I know that you need my help.”

Buffy agreed.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Willow said, wearing her resolved face, “I’m gonna go downstairs and tell everyone about this demon guy and his poisoned poker. If there’s an antidote like you say, we’ll fix one up for you. It should stop the hallucinations, no matter which reality is the fake one. How’s that sound?”

Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes, smiling as she said, “Thanks, Will. Seems like I can count on you no matter what reality I’m in.”