The sound of the front door slamming woke Tara up. It was still early – too early for Saturday morning – but she was so jumpy right now it took very little to rouse her.
 
Tara felt so precarious living in this house – like she was constantly walking along a high ledge, just about to fall. She was sleeping in the master bedroom that by all rights should be Buffy’s. Or Giles’. Or anyone else’s other than hers. She was sure they were all just patiently waiting for her to leave. The room, at least, if not the house.
 
She heard footsteps pounding up the stairs: Dawn or Spike. Except Dawnie’s never up this early on a weekend…. Then a door opened and almost-but-not-quite slammed shut.
 
Buffy’s room.
 
Tara squeezed her eyes shut. She hated this. She didn’t want to know their secrets. Not without them choosing to tell her, anyway.
 
There had been times, last year, when she’d thought she was finally becoming a part of the group in her own right. She’d felt like she was building a new family for herself. But then she’d been brain-sucked.
 
Even though Willow had been amazing all through the during part – so full of love even though Tara’d had nothing to give her in return – it was clear afterwards that the others’ attitudes towards her had changed. They’d stopped seeing her as her, Tara, and relegated her to the girlfriend zone again. And Tara knew Willow’s crazy-fierce overprotectiveness was a factor in that. But in the immediate aftermath of Buffy’s death, none of that had bothered Tara overmuch. There had been so many other things going on. And she’d felt so cared for, so safe. She had always assumed that there’d be time. Time for Willow to calm down, and time for her to rebuild the fledgling relationships she’d had before.
 
But now? Not following Willow out of the house post-memory-spell had stopped the clock. This group had never coped well with interlopers – especially significant others. She couldn’t imagine that a definitely-on-a-break-maybe-even-ex-girlfriend would stand a chance. Her best hope with them was getting back together with Willow. But without Willow as part of the package, she wasn’t convinced she even wanted to keep them as friends. Or that she should. They were Willow’s family to all intents and purposes – and Tara had learned in high school that you can’t keep your exes’ families, no matter how much you might want to.
 
Tara could never regret the last two years of helping in her own small way to save the world. But for her, it had never been about Buffy like it was for Xander and Willow. Tara didn’t need to be here to keep helping.
 
Would I miss any of them if we lost touch?
 
Dawn maybe…. I think we would’ve found a connection even if we’d met some other way.
 
In the end, it all came down to Willow. If Tara wanted to get back together with her, then she needed to stay. And if she didn’t, she needed to go. Maybe even leave Sunnydale.
 
Tara knew with absolute certainty that she loved Willow; she was her forever person. But Tara didn’t know if it was possible to fix broken trust at this level. Because how could there be love without trust?
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Anya had yelled at Giles for what felt like five lifetimes about closing on a Saturday in the run-up to Halloween. After that, their conversation had started sort of drifting through Xander’s ears without really registering. Individual words and phrases penetrated – HR idiots; Vegas office wanted Jenoff gone; long-term recruitment of the Magic Box – but really? He had no context for any of it and he might as well have been listening to the grownup trombone in a Peanuts cartoons.
 
It made Xander feel unbearably young. Doubly so because his brain was still mostly stuck looping around the fact that Anya and Spike had been secretly seeing each other for months. They’d had this whole relationship he’d never even suspected. And yeah, sure, it was a business relationship, but…. Why didn’t she trust me enough to tell me?
 
Okay. I know exactly why she didn’t.
 
But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And clearly she’d been talking to Giles a lot, too. They had this whole shorthand going that made their conversation even harder to follow. Have they been talking on the phone all this time, too? He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a proper dad, but he’s kept in closer touch with my fiancée than he has with me.
 
Ex-fiancée.
 
Xander felt sick – and for the first time, actually almost glad he and Anya had already split up. This, this thing now, was exactly what he’d always worried about most with her – that he was too young for her, too inexperienced. Too stupid! And he’d been right. Clearly, she’d needed other people – other men – to fill in the gaps.
 
Well … Spike isn’t a man, but he’s got the boy-parts, which is the thrust of the – un-think! Un-think! No Spike and thrusting in the same sentence!
 
Anya’s memory-free description of Giles suddenly popped into his head – “my very attractive business partner”.
 
Oh God! Now I’m thinking of Giles and sex! Where’s the brain bleach when you really need it?
 
“Xander?!” Anya said, clearly not for the first time.
 
“Wha—? Sorry. I kinda got lost in my own head for a minute.”
 
Giles shot him a disappointed look, making Xander feel even more useless.
 
“Look, uh, why don’t you guys keep talking. I’ll just keep on with the moving stuff. And then when it’s time for research or action or, you know … lunch … just let me know.”
 
“Oh,” Anya said, clearly surprised. “Okay. Thank you, Xander.” And then she smiled at him, and it was blinding and genuine and it made the sick feeling even worse.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
“Hey,” Dawn called out from the kitchen doorway.
 
Tara jumped guiltily, dropping the textbook she was reading. She gasped out, “Oh, hey, Dawnie,” feeling awkward and even more guilty for feeling guilty in the first place. Tara internally berated herself: this is your kitchen, too. At least for the time being.
 
Dawn brushed past her and pulled down all of the blackout blinds that Tara had just raised.
 
Or maybe not so much.
 
Dawn pulled out her box of bran-of-death and the chocolate milk; unfortunately she’d already eaten all of the mini-marshmallows. Just before she poured the milk into the bowl, she turned away from the counter and gave Tara a quizzical look. “So what’s the deal with you and Willow?”
 
Tara let out a squeak of nervous laughter. She took a sip of her tea. “You really d-don’t do subtle, do you?”
 
Dawn shrugged. “I don’t think Summers women can. Denial, on the other hand….”
 
Tara gave a sympathetic wince. “I haven’t spoken to her since she left the other night.”
 
Dawn’s eyes widened – she hadn’t really expected Tara to answer her at all, let alone like that. “Not even on the phone?”
 
Tara shook her head.
 
Dawn frowned. “How come? I mean … you and Willow are like the poster couple for good conflict resolution.”
 
Tara laughed again, this time more genuinely. “Only in comparison to the other Scoobies.”
 
Dawn stopped short, shocked. “Yeah, denying the conflict and skipping over the resolution is kind of a Scooby thing.”
 
Tara nodded. “There’s no energy left for fighting at home after they’ve done all the saving-the-world stuff.”
 
Dawn frowned at her. “‘They?’ Don’t you do it, too?”
 
Tara looked down at her hands. “I’m still pretty new at all this. And I, um, I mostly missed out on the last apocalypse.”
 
“Oh,” Dawn said, suddenly ashamed. “Right. Sorry.” She turned back to her breakfast, the silence now awkward and uncomfortable.
 
Tara stared at the blinds, wishing she felt confident enough to go re-open them.
 
 Dawn slipped onto a stool and wolfed down her cereal as quickly as possible to avoid having to taste it. When she was finished, she rinsed her bowl in the sink and put it in the dishwasher.
 
Just as she reached the kitchen door, she turned back to Tara. She looked so sad. “Are you okay?” Dawn asked hesitantly.
 
Much to her own surprise, Tara suddenly burst into tears. Mr Giles was the only person who’d thought to ask her that in the last week. And even he’d been pretty perfunctory about it.
 
Dawn was beyond freaked. Tara wasn’t supposed to break down. All through the summer, everyone had had weepy moments – even Spike – but Dawn had never seen Tara cry. Not once. “Do you want a hug?” she asked. “Or, y’know, I could ignore that you’re crying. ‘Cause total expert at denial here.”
 
Tara stared laughing through her tears. “A hug w-would be nice,” she said.
 
Dawn went over and put her arms around her. Tara hugged her back.
 
When Tara had mostly recovered herself, Dawn said, “There’s a Bond movie marathon on this weekend. D’you maybe wanna watch some of it with me?”
 
Tara gave her a watery smile. “Who could turn down Miss Pussy Galore?”
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Xander was awkwardly holding up a box while trying to unlock the door to Richard’s house
 
“Hey, Xander,” Willow said.
 
Xander dropped the box, but instead of falling and breaking, it paused mid-air, and wafted gently to the ground. He stared down at it. “How’d you know to come here, Will?” He turned around to look at her.
 
“Anya told me.” Suddenly looking hurt and confused, Willow asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you guys were having problems?”
 
Xander sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I went over to Buffy’s to tell you the other day, but I, uh, I didn’t want to lay any more crap on you.”
 
Willow frowned, feeling a mixture of gratefulness and guilt.
 
Xander unlocked the door, then picked up his box. He gestured to Willow to go in, and once she had, he followed her.
 
They sat down on Richard’s couch.
 
“Why did she dump you?” Willow asked. Suddenly sounding fierce: “You want me to turn her into a toad?”
 
Xander let out a yip of nervous laughter. “No toads! And Anya didn’t dump me. It was mutual.”
 
Willow gave him an arch look. “‘Mutual’ is code for getting dumped.”
 
“Not in this case.”
 
“C’mon, tell me what she did. Was it awful?” Willow was giving him that best-buddies grin of hers – the one that always came before such innocent joys as the We Hate Cordelia Club.
 
“Anya didn’t do anything,” Xander said, quietly but firmly. He took in a deep breath. “I hit her, Will.”
 
Willow’s face crumpled. “No.” She started shaking her head back and forth. “No, you would never….”
 
“But I did.”
 
“She said something, didn’t she? She twisted you up until you had no choice—”
 
“I had a choice, Will.” Xander’s voice was hoarse. “I have always had a choice.”
 
“But why? What did she say?”
 
Weak boy can’t get it up worm won’t ever turn useless worthless too scared to fight back so stupid not even worth making me sick I dare you I dare you I double dare you to hit me so pathetic can’t even hit a weak defenceless girl scaredy-cat powerless limp-dick pussy bet you’d cry if I even touched you—
 
“Nothing.” Xander’s eyes were burning. “It wasn’t her fault.”
 
“Were you possessed?”
 
Xander laughed hollowly. Not this time. No excuse this time. “No.”
 
“But you’re not like that, Xander. You’re not.”
 
“Yeah, I am,” he said sadly. He grabbed onto Willow’s hand. “It scares me, Willow. What if it happens again? What if it’s worse?”
 
Willow had tears in her eyes. He envied her. He wished he could cry.
 
“But your dad….”
 
“When I did it,” Xander said softly, “I didn’t remember any of that stuff.”
 
He watched realisation dawn on Willow. “Oh my god, it’s all my fault.” She had come expecting to spend a pleasant afternoon trash-talking Anya and helping Xander move. Not this. Never this. “Xander, I’m so sorry.”
 
“Yeah,” Xander said. “I get that.”
 
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
 
“No more fix-it spells, Will,” Xander said.
 
Willow looked stricken.
 
“I think … I think we probably would have split up anyway. Eventually.”
 
“Well, yeah,” Willow said. Duh!
 
Xander gave her a sharp look. “I still love her, Will. Don’t think this means I don’t.”
 
“Sorry, sorry.”
 
“But it didn’t have to end like this. It shouldn’t have.”
 
Willow hung her head. “I’m so sorry, Xander. I wish I could fix this for you.”
 
Xander smiled sadly. “I know. But you can’t. No one can.”
 
Willow nodded uncertainly.
 
“You do get that, right?”
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
“Just how many ‘clients’ do you have in this side business of yours?”
 
Anya shrugged. “Some? I don’t know! It’s all very casual. We’ve always tried to find things for good customers – you know that. The only difference is that I started paying Spike to source things directly.”
 
“Carving up demons for parts.” Just like the Initiative.
 
“Mostly, yes!” Anya snapped. “What is your problem, Giles?”
 
He stared at her. “Fully half of our suppliers are demons now. And your mail order clients are … unsavoury at best. How do you know you’ve not been colluding with Wolfram and Hart for months?”
 
“So what if I have? The Magic Box is more profitable than it’s ever been. And I don’t sell anything in the kind of pathologically stupid combinations you used to.”
 
“I never knowingly dealt with demons!”
 
Anya snorted. “Sobekian bloodstones ring any bells? How about Khul’s amulet?”
 
Giles’ eyes narrowed. “Knowingly being the operative word, Anya. You can’t possibly think to have so many dealings with evil without becoming tainted!”
 
She slumped back against the sofa. “What do you want from me?”
 
Giles sighed. “Wolfram and Hart are powerful and they are seductive. You’ve changed so much for the good in the time that I’ve known you. I would hate to see you … backslide.”
 
“I’m human now, Giles. I can never go back to what I was, even if I wanted to.”
 
“You are vulnerable, Anya. And if Wolfram and Hart have you in their sights….”
 
“You don’t trust me, do you? That’s what all this is about.” Anya laughed. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
 
Giles looked at her, heartsick. “I don’t trust anyone to win against Wolfram and Hart.”
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
It was nice, hanging out with Dawn. There was a boatload of stuff Tara would never dream of talking to her about – she was still only fifteen and Tara figured she’d already had more than enough of dealing with adult issues. But she was funny and kind and Tara felt no pressure from her. Tara wondered if Dawn felt the same way about her.
 
“You are so totally hot for Tatiana.”
 
Tara flushed. “Maybe a little.”
 
“I think Sean Connery is better-looking now than he was then,” Dawn mused.
 
Tara giggled. “You know he’s wearing a toupee in every Bond film?”
 
Dawn gasped, scandalised. “No!”
 
Tara nodded.
 
They went back to watching the film.
 
“Are you gonna move out?” Dawn asked suddenly.
 
So much for a stress-free movie marathon. Tara sighed. “I don’t know.”
 
Dawn frowned. “I think you should stay.”
 
Tara looked over at her, truly surprised. “You really want me to? Even after – well, you know.”
 
Dawn nodded. “You’re … neutral. I think we need someone neutral around.”
 
“Oh,” Tara said, swallowing her disappointment. “I guess I can see how that could be good.”
 
“Plus I’d miss you,” Dawn said, a hint of shyness creeping into her voice.
 
Tara smiled. Maybe they aren’t all just waiting for me to move out.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Buffy’s first conscious thought was that she felt deliciously warm and safe.
 
Then she tried to open her eyes and couldn’t.
 
Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind, she knew this was because she’d fallen asleep too soon after crying, but the sense-memory of not being able to open her eyes to escape her dream was too recent. Adrenaline flooded her system and the edgy thrum of panic started skittering up and down her spine.
 
Then she realised her legs and arms were pinned, and she could feel breath against her neck plus a boatload of vampire tinglies.
 
She started pushing and shoving and jerking against the heavy limbs holding her in place.
 
Spike semi-consciously lifted his face up from his now-violently-moving pillow in time for Buffy to blindly head-butt him.
 
“Ow! Fuck!” Spike jerked his chest away from her back and moved straight into the range of her jabbing elbow quickly followed by a flailing foot. He fell off the other side of the bed with a crash.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Dawn winced at the noise from upstairs.
 
“I’m sure they’ll be fine, Dawnie,” Tara said, sounding anything but sure.
 
Dawn gave her a withering look.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Finally free, Buffy rolled up into a sitting position against the footboard and rubbed at her eyes until they mostly opened.
 
“Spike?” she asked, wincing.
 
“Why’m I on the floor?” he asked, dazed, still lying where he’d fallen.
 
“Um, my eyes wouldn’t open.”
 
 He sat up a little unsteadily and blinked owlishly at her over the edge of the bed. “Open now, yeah?”
 
She nodded.
 
“‘M I ‘llowed back in?”
 
She nodded again.
 
She watched him clumsily pull himself up into bed – eyes already closing – and crawl under the covers. Then he collapsed facedown into a pillow, gave a single whole-body twitch, and went completely limp.
 
“Spike?” she whispered.
 
Absolutely no response.
 
Who knew you could literally kick Spike out of bed without waking him up? Buffy shivered. Just like Dawnie.
 
She realised with a start that this was the first time he’d ever slept in her bed – or at least, the first time when they were both aware and in full possession of their faculties. She was amazed by how alive he looked – still breathing and making tiny movements and sounds. Just like a real person.
 
He murmured something incoherent before shifting again, hugging a pillow to his chest and shuffling down in the bed until the covers were up to his nose and his freezing cold feet were burrowing under her bum.
 
It felt so intimate. And therefore terrifying.
 
It was also incredibly uncomfy sitting on feet-sicles.
 
Buffy slipped out of the bed. It was way past time she got up anyway.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Tara was making grilled cheese sandwiches for her and Dawn by the time Buffy – clean and dressed – finally made it downstairs.
 
She gave a little wave and slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
 
Tara gave her a welcoming smile, then turned back to a crucial stage in the grilling.
 
“Is Spike awake?” Dawn asked.
 
Buffy flinched. I don’t even rate a ‘hello’. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she really does think I hate her. “How would I know?” she asked, pouting a little.
 
Dawn just kept staring at her, perfectly expressionless. “So he’s downstairs, then?”
 
“I guess.” Buffy shrugged – she hoped nonchalantly; Dawn thought guiltily.
 
“Okay,” Dawn said blandly. “He usually gets up around 2:00. Maybe I should take him down a cup of tea or something.”
 
“No!” Buffy squeaked. “He, um, he told me he wanted to, uh, catch up on some sleep today.” She nodded several times.
 
Dawn shot her a death-glare. “Whatever.”
 
They sat in uncomfortable silence, watching Tara cook.
 
When Tara finally flipped the sandwiches onto plates, Dawn grabbed hers and stomped out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, the TV switched on.
 
Buffy groaned and dropped her head onto her arms.
 
Tara gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “You want a sandwich?”
 
“Not so hungry,” Buffy said, raising her head blearily. “Oooh, but coffee….” She got up and started preparing the coffee maker.
 
Distantly, they heard the hum of the bathroom fan, followed by the shower starting up.
 
Buffy dropped the bag of filters, spilling them all over the floor.
 
They both carefully avoided looking at the basement door.
 
Tara cleared her throat. “Maybe he was dying his hair?” she suggested.
 
“Right,” Buffy said hoarsely, clutching at the excuse like a drowning woman. “Must be.” She started picking up the fallen filters.
 
“So,” Tara said. “Um, anything interesting happen on patrol last night?”
 
“Yeah, actually,” Buffy said, standing up, grateful for the distraction.
 
Tara looked up with a worried frown. “Bad-interesting?”
 
“No,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “Just weird. This vamp threw all this money at me, said, ‘Take it, just please don’t kill me!’ I think he was even crying a little.”
 
Tara frowned. “Way weird.”
 
“Yeah,” Buffy said.
 
“So did you kill him?”
 
“Of course!” Buffy snapped. “Slayer, The, remember? It’s what I do.” All that’s left of me.
 
Tara ducked her head. “O-of course. Just if he was begging….”
 
“He was a vampire, Tara. Not so much with the sympathy-making.”
 
“Right. Vampires bad. Got it.”
 
“Exactly.” Buffy nodded her head decisively.