The Girl from Away

Buffy keeps it PG, her thigh stopping well short of any dangerous areas. Her hand cups Faith’s neck, thumb rubbing along her jaw. “Is this okay?” Buffy asks softly. 

It’s more than okay. Faith’s hand slides underneath Buffy’s t-shirt to rest on the warm skin of her side. “Yeah, this is good.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, her breath warm on Faith’s nose, “it is.” 

Chapter 8

Warm breath rhythmically tickles her neck. An arm cradles her, a soft hand resting under her shirt, on her stomach. Faith opens her eyes, momentarily tense and disoriented, then she remembers the night before—talking softly with Buffy until they fell asleep. She relaxes back against Buffy, her hand resting over the blonde’s arm. 

“Morning,” Buffy says softly, still half asleep. She presses her lips to the nape of Faith’s neck.

Faith’s eyes close as a little tremor of pleasure runs through her. She smiles. “Morning. Forgot where I was for a minute.” 

“Woken up with a lot of strange women?” Buffy jokes lightly. She begins to softly stroke Faith’s belly, occasionally scratching with blunt fingernails.

“Stranger than you?” Faith asks skeptically, pretending to think. 

Buffy’s nails dig in a little harder.

“Kidding,” Faith says quickly, pressing herself back against Buffy as if she can escape her fingernails. “You fight dirty.” 

“Okay, hair puller,” Buffy says against Faith’s neck.

Faith turns over so they can see each other. Buffy blinks sleepily, her hair sticking up in some places. Faith doubts she’s ever woken up to anything this beautiful before.  She tucks some stray hair behind Buffy’s ear and leans forward, giving her a soft kiss. “I pulled your hair because I like you; even preschoolers know that trick.” 

“You must have eaten a lot of paste in preschool if you—”

Faith’s lips silence her. “B,” she says when she finally allows Buffy to breathe again, “don’t make me kick your butt so early in the morning.” Over Buffy’s shoulder, she catches sight of the sketch she saw last time she was here—the one that looks just like her. 

Buffy watches her, knowing what she’s looking at. “Is that super weird?” She asks, when Faith looks back to her.

“Not super,” Faith says honestly. It’s at least a little weird though. Seeing the sketch makes her think about all the nights Buffy spent in bed with the other Faith, which makes her wonder how similar they are in bed, and then that makes her feel weirder. She tries to focus. “We’re slayers. What isn’t weird about our lives?” 

That’s true. Still, Buffy thinks she detected a bit of wigging out in Faith’s face just now. “This has to be near the top of the list.”

Faith considers this. On the one hand, it’s like she realized this chick she digs still sleeps with her ex next to the bed. On the other, the ex is like… her clone, so it’s kind of like Buffy sleeps with her next to the bed. But on a third hand (counting on one of the species with three hands obviously), maybe she’s the clone, and Buffy’s only into her because she looks like the other Faith. 

“You’re thinking big thoughts,” Buffy accuses. “It’s too early for big thoughts.” She tugs lightly at the end of Faith’s hair.

Faith takes her unsubtle hint and meets Buffy’s eyes. “Sorry,” she says. 

They’re close together, Buffy’s hazel eyes staring into Faith’s. “What are you thinking?” Buffy asks in a whisper, her fingers threading in Faith’s hair. She lightly scratches the brunette’s scalp as she waits for an answer. 

Faith blinks slowly, as Buffy’s fingers threaten to relax her so much she tells the truth. Looking at Buffy across from her, not a stitch of makeup adorning her face, hair tousled, soft smile playing across her lips, Faith knows exactly what she’s doing here. Buffy’s gorgeous. She’s a phenomenal ass-kicker, which is something Faith always admires in people. The other Buffy had these things too, and she was just as smart and funny, but this Buffy is the total package. She never makes Faith guess what she’s thinking. She’s open and sincere, and in Faith’s experience, not a lot of people are like that. There are a million things to draw Faith in, but there’s one thing that she can’t figure out. What the hell could Buffy possibly see in her? Faith knows she’s beautiful. She’s got eyes, after all, but beyond that, what is there really? She’s a fugitive convict with blood on her hands. A high school dropout. Her baggage wouldn’t fit in the cargo hold of a plane. The only answer that makes sense sits in the frame on the bedside table. 

“Faith?” Buffy asks, when Faith hasn’t answered.

Widening her eyes, Faith answers, “I was thinking Marcie could be in here with us right now, and we’d have no idea.” 

Buffy’s gaze bounces around the room quickly, as if Marcie could be seen in any case. “Oh, my God, that’s so creepy. Why didn’t you lock the door when you came in?”

“Didn’t think you were gonna invite me to bed,” Faith says truthfully, but with a little teasing in her tone. 

“Well,” Buffy says with a smile, “next time, lock it.” She knows Faith wasn’t really thinking about Marcie, but she doesn’t think pressing her further will help things right now. Obviously, the situation between them is a little strange. Okay, a lot strange. Buffy can’t say she doesn’t still love Faith, or think about her, because she does. She’s always going to. Faith was such an important person in her life, and it’s not like they had a normal break-up. Being torn away from your lover at literally the hand of a god isn’t something you just get over. But she’s done the time, tried the whole stages of grief thing, and at this point she thinks she can say she’s at acceptance. She just wishes she knew how to say that without overwhelming Faith.

“Next time?” Faith asks hopefully. 

Buffy smiles, kissing her firmly. “Next time,” she promises, as she sits back. Glancing over Faith’s shoulder, she looks at the time. “We better get up if I’m gonna get breakfast in before work.”

Faith’s arms squeeze a little tighter around her.  “Wheaties,” she advises, “breakfast of champions. Also, fast.” 

“I know exactly what’s gonna happen here,” Buffy says, but allows herself to be tugged closer. “You’re gonna distract me, and then I’m gonna go to work hungry and dirty.”

“You’re just gonna sweat anyway,” Faith points out reasonably, as she lowers her lips to Buffy’s collarbone. 

Laughing, Buffy pushes her back. “Later!”

Faith takes this rejection good-naturedly. “Fine,” she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “but I’m eating all the cereal.” 

Buffy stands as Faith does, and gives her a kiss on her way to the door. “I was in the mood for pancakes anyway.”

XXXXX 

Faith’s still grinning when she steps out of Buffy’s room. The smile abruptly falls from her face when she hears a choked gasp from the other end of the hall.

Faith freezes, hand falling away from the doorknob. 

“I can’t believe this!” Willow declares from where she stands by Tara’s bedroom door, clearly angry.

Tara appears in the open doorway behind her, looking worried. “What’s going on?” 

Willow gestures toward where Faith is standing, looking sick. “She was coming out of Buffy’s room.”

“Oh,” Tara says, understanding. Her concerned gaze focuses on Faith for a moment, before she reaches for Willow’s arm. “Honey, let’s talk in here.” 

Buffy’s bedroom door opens and the blonde steps out, clearly having heard what’s going on in the hallway. She steps slightly in front of Faith, facing her friends. She doesn’t speak immediately, just looks at Willow calmly.

The site of Buffy standing in front of Faith, both of them rumpled from sleep and clad in pajamas irritates Willow further. Emotions race across the redhead’s face, but she seems to settle on scorn. Shaking her head, she turns to follow Tara back into her room. 

Buffy flushes, bristling in anger. She’s not going to put up with Willow’s attitude in her own home. “Do you have something to say, Will?”

Tara winces, knowing Willow’s not going to resist this challenge. 

“Yes, I do,” Willow confirms, wrenching her arm free of Tara’s grip as she stalks a few steps up the hallway. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Buffy looks unimpressed, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “I was thinking I’m an adult, and I don’t need your permission to do anything.” Faith looks nervously between the two friends. She’s never seen Buffy get really angry at Willow. 

Willow’s eyes bounce to Faith and then back to Buffy. She swallows hard. “You asked us to give her a chance, and I agreed because we’re desperate.” She shakes her head. “This is too much. You can’t ask me to accept this.”

Buffy stands firm. “I’m not asking you to accept anything.” 

“So what,” Willow demands, getting some color in her cheeks, “you just don’t care what we think? She hurt us, Buffy,” she adds passionately. “She humiliated Tara! She held me hostage!”

Faith seems to shrink a little further behind Buffy as each of her wrongs is stated aloud. Her hands are clenched tight, shoulders rapidly tensing. 

“She killed people! I know you weren’t here for it, but how can you just not care?”

The hallway is quiet after Willow’s outburst. Tara puts a restraining hand on her shoulder, urging her to stop talking. Willow stands there, chest puffing in anger, not even caring that she’s raised her voice and probably woken Dawn and Ayan. 

Buffy’s lip curls into the sneer she usually reserves for people she finds immensely stupid. Like Principal Snyder and certain members of the Watcher’s Council. When she speaks again, her voice is shaking in anger. “How dare you?” She asks, through gritted teeth. “After everything you’ve done?”

“B, it’s okay,” Faith tries to say. 

“Buffy,” Tara joins pleadingly, but Buffy barely even hears her. She’s thinking of the shy, happy smile on Faith’s face this morning when they woke up together. The tentative offer to stay in Sunnydale if she had a reason. Willow could so easily destroy that little spark of hope Faith’s got, and Buffy will be damned if she’s gonna let that happen.

“You did that spell on me without my consent,” Buffy accuses, taking a step forward. 

Willow blanches, shocked that she’s brought that up. She takes a step back, bumping into Tara’s shoulder. “Buffy,” she begins imploringly, “I—”

“You could have killed me,” Buffy continues as if she hasn’t spoken, eyes flashing angrily, as she stalks closer, bridging the distance between them. “The ifrit killed three people. By my count, you’ve got one up on Faith.” 

“Buffy!” Tara interjects more forcefully, calling the slayer’s attention to her. Tara shakes her head, looking at Buffy pointedly.

Getting control of herself, Buffy lowers her voice. Her mouth loses the sneer, but her look is still hard. Standing in front of Willow, she says, “You needed help, and when you got it, we welcomed you back with open arms. I forgave you.” 

Willow begins to cry softly, and Tara puts her arm around her shoulders.

Buffy can’t allow herself to soften. She doesn’t want to keep having this conversation over and over. “Where’s your forgiveness, Will? Why are you the only one who gets to make mistakes?” 

“I’m not,” Willow protests, through her tears.

"Then why can’t you let it go?” 

“Because she hurt you!” Willow yells, getting some of her anger back.

Buffy pauses, seeming to deflate a little. Then she shakes her head. “She never hurt me. I’m not her.” 

“I meant—”

“This isn’t about Faith at all,” Buffy realizes, her brows drawing together. “You can’t deal because it reminds you that I’m not her.” The look of stunned hurt on her face makes everyone in the hall pause. 

Willow shakes her head, her earlier anger fizzled instantly. “That’s not true.”

“You’re never going to accept me, are you?” Buffy asks, the hurt in her voice enough to twist all of their hearts. “I’m always going to be the replacement, and any time I do something un-Buffy-like, it’s going to be like this.” 

“Buffy,” Willow says, trying to reach for her arm, “please… that’s not true.”

“Don’t,” Buffy says, pulling her arm out of reach. 

Willow tries to go after her, as Buffy retreats down the hall, but Tara holds her arm. “Just let her go,” she says softly.

XXXXX 

When Faith quietly lets herself in, Buffy is sitting on the edge of her bed. Her forehead is creased, her lips downturned, but her eyes are dry. 

Faith closes the door behind her, waiting for Buffy to look at her. When she doesn’t, Faith crosses the room to sit down beside her. She places on hesitant hand on Buffy’s back. 

Buffy looks over at her, and the sadness in her eyes makes Faith’s heart ache. “Are you okay?” She asks, remembering that Faith might be upset too. She got derailed when she realized what really underwrote Willow’s malice toward Faith.

Faith looks incredulous. “I’m five by five,” she answers quietly. “Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?” 

Buffy considers this, then she nods. “I’m okay. I guess on some level I already knew she felt like that.” It makes her sad, that her relationship with Willow is really at this point, but it’s not a surprise. And it’s not like she doesn’t feel kind of the same. She misses her Willow, the shy, smart, sweet girl who knew Buffy’s heart. That girl, with her big dreams and her unfading loyalty, seems to bear little resemblance to the Willow of this realm.

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Faith suggests, trying to reassure her. “Maybe it really is just about me.” It’s not a particularly happy thought, but at least it’s expected. Faith knows she’s done a lot wrong in her life. She doesn’t expect everyone she hurt to forgive her quickly, or at all. And Willow’s right. She did hurt Buffy, hurt her probably more than anyone. The professor went quickly, but Buffy, she got the most of Faith’s attentions, and that was not a good thing. 

“I don’t think so,” Buffy sighs. She shifts so that she’s facing Faith on the bed, and tucks her ankle under her other knee. “After I got here, when we thought there might be a way to send me home, Willow came up with this idea, a spell she thought would switch us back.”

From the look on Buffy’s face, Faith knows this story isn’t going to have a happy ending. 

“It was dark magic,” Buffy says. “Giles and Tara thought it was too dangerous. Giles thought that she might be able to get the other Buffy back here, but they couldn’t be sure that I would end up at home. We decided not to do it.”

“She did it anyway,” Faith says, recalling what Buffy said in the hall. A feeling of dread sits in her stomach. 

Buffy looks down at her hands, face twisting into a frown. She nods.

“What happened?” 

“It went wrong,” Buffy answers. “Way wrong. The spell… it was to switch our souls—mine and Buffy’s, I mean. Instead, she sent mine on vacation in the ether. Dawn found me unconscious when she got home from school. It took Tara and Giles weeks to undo what she did.”

“Jesus,” Faith says under her breath. “That’s so messed up.” She’s angry that no one would call and let her know this had happened to Buffy. She knows that’s unreasonable. They weren’t even talking at the time, and there was most likely nothing she could have done. Still, thinking of Buffy, unprotected and vulnerable, betrayed by her closest friend, it makes Faith’s blood boil. 

Buffy nods her agreement, still looking troubled.

“And what about the… what did you call it?” Faith wants to hear the rest of the story. 

“Ifrit,” Buffy replies. “Big, flamey, and incredibly smart. They’re not supposed to exist on the same plane as humans, but the spell created a hole big enough for one to slip through.” She shudders, thinking about it. “It killed three people before they were able to send it back. After that, Willow stopped doing magic.”

She’s starting to get why Tara would say they’d be in even more trouble if Willow went back to magic. 

“She had had problems for a while,” Buffy adds, “but that was kind of the giant boulder that broke the camel’s back.”

“Wow,” Faith says, taken aback by these revelations. She never would have anticipated Willow doing something like this to Buffy. Back when she first came to Sunnydale, the two girls were extremely close. Faith was actually jealous of how much attention Buffy paid to Willow. 

A knock on the door causes Buffy to sit up straighter, her sadness going behind a neutral mask. “Yeah?” She calls.

The door cracks open, and Dawn looks in. 

“Come in,” Buffy encourages, and Dawn opens the door further.

She looks at Faith. “Can I talk to Buffy alone for a minute?” Her tone is surprisingly civil, and Faith quickly gets to her feet. She smiles at Buffy, then heads downstairs, leaving the sisters to talk. 

Buffy musters up what she hopes looks like a happy smile. “What’s up, Dawnie?”

Dawn doesn’t fall for that happy act for an instant. “I heard you guys yelling.” 

Sighing, Buffy pats the spot beside her on the bed.

Dawn sits beside her, casting a concerned gaze at her sister. 

“Do you want to tell me I’m making a mistake by getting involved with Faith, too?” Buffy asks tiredly. “Because I gotta tell you, I’m not really in the mood.”

“Buffy,” Dawn says, in her you-are-so-annoying voice, “slow your roll.” 

A slight smile forms on Buffy’s lips. “Then what?”

Dawn may act like a brat more often than not (what else are little sisters for?), but she loves her sister. She knows she was the deciding factor in Buffy’s decision not to try Willow’s spell. She knows how hard Buffy works, to keep their lives moving as normal, to make sure Dawn is safe and taken care of. She probably won’t say it out loud any time soon, but Buffy is her hero. She is the person Dawn loves and admires most in the world. She always has been. For Dawn, Buffy now is no different than the Buffy she’s known her whole, mostly fabricated, life. This is her big sister, and Dawn knows her very well. She knows that Buffy’s always been sad, ever since she got here. Buffy hides it very well, but this is Dawn—the girl who read her diary and spied on her conversations through the wall. There is no hiding from your sister. That’s how Dawn knows how much happier her sister is with Faith here. She doesn’t get it, but maybe she doesn’t have to. “I came to tell you that I don’t like Faith. I still don’t trust her.” 

Buffy opens her mouth to protest, but Dawn covers her mouth with her hand. She continues without being interrupted, “But I trust you, and I just want you to be happy. If Faith makes you happy,” Dawn shrugs as if Buffy is insane, “I can deal. At least she’s alive.” Dawn smiles sarcastically. “So hey, you’re moving in the right direction!”

Buffy smiles, her eyes looking watery. “You’re kind of an awesome sister, you know?” She grabs Dawn’s shoulders, dragging her into a tight hug. 

“The very best,” Dawn agrees cheerfully, over Buffy’s shoulder. “You should raise my allowance.”

“Don’t push it,” Buffy warns, squeezing her tighter. 

Dawn gasps. “Buffy! Air!”

XXXXX 

The bag of blueberries dips harder against her palm, and some float through the air before disappearing. Buffy smacks blindly, trying to hit Marcie’s hand, but missing. “Pack your own snack next time!” She complains, over the sound of Marcie’s snickering.

Marcie steals three more successfully. Giving up, Buffy offers the snack to Faith and Tara, as the four of them trudge through the woods. Technically, the snack is her dinner, after getting stuck at work for an extra class. She’s looking forward to a hot date with a frozen pizza when they get back home. Tonight is supposed to be a trial run. Tara, Faith, and Buffy will remain on the outskirts of the property, ready to provide back-up if Marcie gets into trouble. Meanwhile, the plan is for Marcie to basically stroll up to the building. If all goes well, she’ll come back without issue. If it doesn’t, they’ll be attacked by a field full of mutants and who knows how many insects. 

Selima and Giles are providing secondary back-up, stationed further back and out of what could generally be considered the danger zone. That is, if they’re not too busy necking in his car. Oh, God. Gross. Gross mental images. Buffy shakes her head to clear it, as the group arrives at the break in the woods, and sees the vineyard laid out before them.

“So this is it,” Marcie states, surveying the land. 

“This is Casa de Psychowitch,” Faith confirms, eyes searching the darkness for any signs of danger. All looks quiet at the moment, but then it looked quiet the last time they were here, too.

“I’ll be back,” Marcie says, without further ado. 

Buffy reaches out, and actually manages to snag one of Marcy’s sleeves. “Wait,” she says, “let’s go over the plan again.”

Marcie sighs as if bored. Then she says, “Vampire, six o’clock.” 

Still holding her sleeve, Buffy turns. Spike steps free of the shadows.

“What’s he doing here?” Faith asks, curling her lip in disgust. 

“Forget him,” Buffy instructs, turning back to Marcie and the task at hand. “If you get in trouble, you’ll send the signal.”

“Think ‘birch beer’ really loud,” Marcie confirms, “and let the witch know exactly where I am. This is a great plan, by the way. Yours, Buffy?” 

Faith covers a chuckle with a staged cough.

Buffy spares her a glare, before addressing Marcie again, “She’ll know where you are, but so will Tara, and we’ll get you out. If she realizes you’re here, it won’t matter if we use magic. The most important thing is getting to you.” She releases the invisible woman’s sleeve. “I’m trying to keep your annoying ass safe.” 

A loud smack precedes her reply. “And my ass appreciates that.” With that, Marcie saunters off.

“Is she gone?” Buffy asks a moment later, still unsure. “And she just slapped her own butt, right? You guys heard that, too?” 

“She’s gone,” Tara confirms, laughing.

“So now, we wait,” Faith says drolly. Depending on whether Marcie gets eaten by a gopher on steroids, this night could be very boring. 

“I’ll be right back,” Buffy informs them, walking back toward where they saw Spike a few moments earlier.

Faith watches her as she disappears into the trees, feeling a little stung. There’s no reason for it. She knows Buffy doesn’t feel like that about Spike, and she’s gay besides, but just the fact that the vamp’s still alive, that Buffy allows him to spend time with her, well, it’s… annoying. 

“You could stake him,” Tara says, semi-seriously. “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

When Faith looks at her sharply, Tara’s leaning back against the fence, a smirk on her lips. “Are you reading my mind?” Faith asks, suspicious. 

Making no attempt to smother her grin, Tara shakes her head. “I just hate him too.”

Faith adds this to the ‘Things I Like about Tara’ list in her mind. She moves closer, leaning forward against the fence, so she’s watching ahead while Tara watches behind them. “You think this is going to work?” 

Tara shrugs uncertainly. “Willow thinks so.”

At the witch’s name, Faith feels her good mood falter slightly. “She still mad about this morning?” 

Tara frowns. “I guess so. I called her earlier, but she hasn’t called me back.”

Tara has been really nice to her since she got here, and Faith really appreciates that. It must be weird for her, being put in the middle of this thing with Willow and Buffy. Faith squints at her in the dark, trying to decide what to say. 

“What?” Tara asks self-consciously.

Deciding to take the plunge, Faith answers, “I’m sorry about what I said… when I was in Buffy’s body.” 

“Oh,” Tara says, seeming kind of embarrassed.

Uncomfortable with apologies, even after all this time, Faith looks away, out into the field. “And thanks, you know, for being so decent since I got here.” 

Now, Tara smiles. She puts her hand on Faith’s for a moment before releasing her. “No thanks needed.”

They stand in companionable silence for a few minutes, while Faith wonders what Buffy could possibly doing with Spike for all this time. Then she hears the soft sound of footsteps approaching them. They’re moving fast. Faith stands up straight, signaling Tara to do the same. 

The steps have almost reached them, but she doesn’t see anything. “Marcie?” Faith asks quietly.

“It’s me,” a slightly out of breath Marcie confirms. “We’ve got a problem.” 

XXXXX

Amy stands in front of the large mirror, running a brush gently through her captive’s hair. She’s tied ropes around her chest and legs, keeping her firmly in the chair, so there’s really no way of escaping the brush. “Isn’t this nice?” Amy asks, with a sweet smile. Her eyes are jet black, and stray sparks of energy occasionally zap from the hairbrush, ensuring that there is really nothing nice about the experience. 

Willow grimaces, as Amy drags the brush through her hair again. Her arm is still throbbing, littered with half healed bites from the flood of deformed rodents Amy sent scurrying into her apartment this afternoon. Fortunately, Xander hadn’t been home at the time. Unfortunately, Willow was. Presumably Amy transported her here after she passed out from the pain. Also the terror. Willow isn’t ashamed to own up to that. They looked a little like mice, but were horribly misshapen. They had too many eyes, for one thing, and they slithered more than walked. She hopes they at least left behind a mess so Xander has figured out that she was abducted.

Amy stops the downward stroke of the brush abruptly, tossing it carelessly across the room. It clatters as it lands on the stone floor. Amy flicks her wrist, and Willow’s chair lifts off the floor, floating in air. It follows Amy as she crosses the room, headed for the large fireplace. “Do you know why I invited you here tonight, Willow?” Amy asks, as she retrieves a small pouch from the mantle. 

“No,” Willow says, trying to keep all fear from her voice. Invited would hardly be the word she would use.

The witch takes a pinch of powder from the bag, and tosses it into the fireplace. Blue flames lick up the stone surface, before settling into a normal appearing fire in the hearth. “It’s a very special night,” Amy informs her, crossing to the table and plucking a package from it. She sets Willow’s chair down beside the fire, and sends a much more comfortable one scurrying their way, before plopping down into it. “You and me, we’re the same. We’ve both tasted it,” she says, unconsciously wetting her lips with her tongue. “We both have the gift. So much power,” she says, finger-walking up Willow’s arm. 

Willow tries to shrink away, but the magic ropes only tighten around her chest.

“You’re choosing to smother yours,” Amy says, with a look of pity, “but it’s okay. I understand now.” She pats the package in her lap. “We both have things holding us back. They want to control us, stop us from being what we’re meant to be.” 

“I don’t understand,” Willow says, increasingly concerned, as Amy’s pats to the package become harder.

Amy sits up, black eyes staring intently into Willow’s. Then she smiles serenely. “I’ll free you,” she promises. “You’ll see. Nothing and nobody will control you anymore. Just like she won’t control me.” 

“Who?” Willow asks, afraid of the answer.

Amy grins, getting to her feet. She unties the binding on her package, letting layer after layer of paper wrapping fall away. “My whole life,” she says, as she works, “she never thought I was good enough. Well, look at me now.” She sheds the last piece of paper, and holds up a gold plated statue of a cheerleader. “Look at me now,” she repeats to it, her voice enraged. 

“Amy,” Willow says, dread creeping into her voice. “You don’t want to do this.”

Amy smiles that sweet smile again, stepping closer to Willow. She runs a gentle hand over her hair. “I have to,” she says. “And when we’re done here, we can take care of your problem.” 

“My problem?” Willow asks, gaze trained on the statue. Its tiny eyes are darting around frantically.

Amy is no longer listening. Her focus is wholly on the statue she’s clutching in both hands. 

“Don’t,” Willow tries again, more desperately, “Amy—”

It’s too late. With a little giggle, Amy tosses the statue into the flames. The flames turn blue around it, as the metal begins to melt. Trapped within it, Catherine Madison screams.