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The dream sweeps up from the depths of my psyche with rapid force, puncturing my sleep with alacrity. Breathless with its brilliance, I wake with a start and find the space full of darkness. . . the way my world has been since. . .



“Buffy?” From across the room, Willow is watching me with the tired eyes of someone who has not been able to achieve solid sleep. “A dream?”



It’s what we’ve been waiting for. “Yes.” I close my eyes again and summon the courage to add, “It’s time.”



“Right.” Willow’s eyes are luminous as they catch a stray bit of moonlight that is peeking around the curtain. She reaches for the phone beside her bed to call Giles.



After my revelation a few days ago, Giles and Willow reluctantly agreed to aid me in my quest. Part of me believes that perhaps they’re coming with me to protect me from myself. . . to prove me wrong in a sense. On the other hand, they’ve seen enough of the mystical to expect the unexpected.



Willow is dressing across the room. My stomach tumbling, I scramble to throw on a pair of faded jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt. I run my brush through my long, blond strands until my scalp tingles with the motion, and I take a quick peek at my make-up-less face in the mirror.



My eyes are flashing emerald green, and my cheeks are flushed with excitement. Despite my restless sleep and the exhausting aftermath of my dreams, I have never looked more alive.



Pausing, I bite my lower lip. I’m questioning myself for the first time.



I told Angel that I’m not done baking. I cringe at my own bad analogy.



Am I ready to be with anyone?



I told Angel the truth. . .



. . . the truth as I saw it in the moment. . . a moment taut with tension, fear, and potential loss. . . a moment when I was still half-asleep, half-lying to myself.



How does a woman tell her forever love that she loves someone else when she’s denying it herself?



I may have been aware of it in the hours Spike and I spent cradled in each others’ arms, and I may have known in the quiet moments when we just looked at one another, at a loss for words to describe what we knew was to come. It was as if for once we had a clue. . . had a handle on the apocalypse at hand.



There were no wild cards. . .



. . . only a single truth. . . .



We had each other, and neither of us was running anymore.



“You coming?” Willow asks.



I re-focus, eyes wide. With her hand on the doorknob, Willow is holding the door open, letting in the night’s scent.



I smile.



Tonight, Spike is coming home, and Willow and Giles are helping me.





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