Willow glanced up from her book at the knock on the door. She got up slowly, taking the time to wipe her face free of tears and blow her nose once before answering the door.

No one was there, and at first she thought it was some sort of prank, but then she noticed the box sitting on the floor.

Frowning, she picked it up and went back into the room, closing the door behind her. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and sighed; just as glad no one had been outside the door. She looked a mess, from her hair, tangled and greasy around her head, all the way down her ratty old sweater and sweatpants-clad form, to her feet, covered in humongous puffy slippers. Her face was the worst: blotchy red and white, with visible tear-tracks and swollen, puffy eyes.

Willow sighed heavily at her reflection again, then picked up the box and went to her bed, sitting down with it in her lap. Right now she looked about as bad as she had just after Oz had left; now, however, her tears weren’t those of self-pity – no, these tears had everything to do with guilt.

She still felt extremely guilty about the will-be-done spell, but she hadn’t been able to let her tears out when Buffy was still in their room, because she knew it would make her friend feel bad.

It was Buffy she was worried about the most. The normally upbeat and quippy Slayer had been quiet and withdrawn in the week following the spell. Willow knew she was probably severely traumatized by the event of the spell – imagine, being in love with someone and about to marry one second, and the next, finding yourself kissing your mortal enemy! No wonder Buffy was acting weird.

Shrugging the thoughts out of her head, Willow set about opening the unmarked box. It was a little difficult, and when she finally got past the Duct tape, she blinked in surprise at the two giant Ziploc bags of chocolate-chip cookies.

Pulling the bags out of the box, she noticed a note beneath them, and pulled it out, recognizing Buffy’s handwriting from the Willow written on the outside. Unfolding it, she read,


Dear Willow:

You probably remember making all those batches of Guilt Cookies for me after the will-be-done spell went wrong. Well, I felt like I had to make you some, too. You see, I’m sure that right now you’re probably torturing yourself with guilt now that I’m finally out of the room, thinking you trivialized me.

So, I’m guilty that I’ve caused you so much guilt, especially considering how things turned out. I’m telling you first, so keep the secret, but let me tell you: after a lot of thought and sampling, I’ve decided. Spike lips: very, very, very good!

Don’t be guilty. Eat the cookies. And take a shower! I know what you get like when you’re mopey, and I won’t be back for another week (I have to baby-sit him all alone at home, remember? I could kiss Giles – except eww, Giles kisses. My poor mom...)

Love and guilt,
Buffy
(and Spike – he actually made the cookies, which is why
you can eat them at all. But the note’s all mine, I swear!)


Willow read the note three times, deciphering the Buffy quirks (trivialized instead of traumatized, for instance) and it’s general meaning. Then she put it down and slowly unzipped the bag. Holding a cookie in her hands and staring at it as if it were an alien, she turned it in her hands a few times.
Then she smiled, and bit into it with a crunch.