Things had been strained within the group. Sure, things were always strained to some extent. You couldn't know the things this group knew and do the things this group did and not have a perpetual weirdness going on.

But this time around, the weirdness, the strain, it was all different. The group had lost its leader and, to some extent, its focus. Giles wasn't really a Watcher without a Slayer. He stayed to be Dawn's guardian, but it was a strained relationship. Dawn appeared to be suffering from survivor's guilt. Xander and Anya were engaged; that was something new. Spike, for unknown reasons, was still hanging around. Nobody wanted to bother with asking him to leave town, so instead they just incorporated him into the group. Tara was always at odds with him, and she was slowly withdrawing from Willow. Willow. It had fallen to her to hold the group together through this very rough stage. And all she wanted to do was fall apart.

But the bad guys just kept coming. No rest for the weary and broken-hearted. Nope. There were always fledglings to be dusted, new threats to be thwarted. Now the "sidekick" was centerstage, and the pressure was killing her.

Willow sat back from the table in the magic shop and gripped the arms of her chair. Her brow was deeply furrowed in thought. There was a book open before her, but her eyes weren't focused on it. She'd already read the page a dozen times. Hiershas. That was what they called themselves. They'd been around since the Renaissance. Human. Black arts magic. But they'd given up blood rituals and sacrifice at the turn of the last century, which was cause for question as to why the latest body found in Sunnydale had the ritual markings of a Hiersha sacrifice.

She was too busy having an "unreality" moment to really concentrate her intellect on something useful. No, instead Willow was thinking to herself "did we ever really use to go Bronzing?" And she was trying to remember the way Buffy looked wrapped in Angel's arms. She couldn't even remember what the sting of seeing Xander and Cordelia felt like. But that was reality, wasn't it? No. Angel and Cordelia lived in LA now. Xander worked in construction and is engaged to be married. We blew up the school and Giles bought the magic shop. I'm a real witch and I have a girlfriend. Willow smiled to herself. And Buffy's gone. The smile became a grimace.

She stood up from the book, but didn't bother to close it. "Giles, I have to go."

"Alright, Willow," was the muffled reply she received from across the room. "Be careful."

"Always," she answered and left.

She didn't notice the figure that came out of the shadows and began to follow her.

He'd been checking up on her since she got out of the hospital, watching her movements when he was with them, following her places when she didn't know he was there. He knew she was wearing thin. What Spike didn't know was when she was going to start ripping at the seams. She wasn't cut out for this; this wasn't her duty. But he'd made her part of his. Her. Dawn. Hell, even the Watcher and the ex-demon and the boy. Buffy would have wanted someone looking out for them, and so he was.

They just didn't know it.

Willow was staying at her parent's house over the summer, but she spent a lot of nights with Tara. Tonight, however, she couldn't fathom being indoors at all. So instead of walking home like she'd meant to do, she started walking towards the cemetery. She wandered to the grave of her best friend and said a few words broken by sobs. She passed Joyce's grave and told her she'd always be there for Dawn. And then Willow kept wandering until she was deep in the woods, where she slumped to her feet, crying, and began drawing a circle around herself in the dirt.

What does she think she's doing? Spike asked himself when the young witch didn't go home. He had half a mind to catch her now and drag her to her home. Then he saw that she was going to Buffy's grave. He couldn't fault her for that; many were the nights that he was there himself. But she didn't stay there. She just kept ambling about. She did know it was night and she was in Sunnydale, right? There were beasties about. He was proof.

She knew it was wrong to mess with the elements. She didn't care. She felt numb. Grief. Fear. Loneliness. Despair. They had all added up and left her with nothing. There was still one thing she could feel. Power. She started whispering.

And midnight-clad figures in the night began listening.

The calm of the night turned to a cool wind, and the clear sky became a cloud cover. Willow's whispering turned to chanting. She closed her eyes and felt the power start to run through her veins.

Spike hung back in the trees, watching her. He understood what she was doing. So did the other figures that had begun approaching the kneeling witch. Figures Spike didn't notice because the sounds of their movements were lost in the rustling of the leaves overhead.

As the gentle rain began to fall, Willow turned her face to the sky. It felt good. She rose to her feet and held her arms to the sky. She'd made this and it was calming to her soul. She was in control. With a half-hearted glance to make sure no one was around, she started unbuttoning her shirt and kicking off her shoes.

When Spike saw the first appearance of her bare shoulders, he was intrigued. When he saw the expanse of her back as the shirt fell all the way to the ground, he looked down. He would so get yelled at if she knew he was there. He argued with himself that he wasn't averting his eyes to be good, but to be gentlemanly. Vampires could do that if they wanted. Yes they could.

When Willow was just in her jeans and her bra, she threw her arms to the sky again and shouted "More!" The rain began to fall in sheets. She gasped and shivered, then laughed and began doing the Snoopy dance.

A dagger glinted behind one of the trees and a voice said "She will be a fine sacrifice." Another voice commented "Wait until she breaks the circle."

And Spike argued with himself that watching after the Slayer's pals didn't make him a softie... it made him a romantic. And making sure the witch was protected was noble and you couldn't be noble if you were peeping at who you were protecting... and being noble didn't have to mean you were good... evil could be noble...

...and Willow was spinning in the rain, not carefree like a child, but frantic like a madman, her head tossed back, her arms from her sides, trying to make herself dizzy enough to fall down...

...and robed figures were encircling...

...and Spike finally told his newly developed "conscious" or whatever it was to sod the hell off cause if he was gonna make sure some chit wasn't devoured, he sure as hell had the right to watch her frolic in her underthings. He looked up. It seemed like slow-motion to him. Willow twirling frantically until she toppled over, arms and legs sprawled over the circle she'd drawn, scattering it. And four dark shadows descending on her. She screamed, but Spike was already on his way to her.