Another recently rediscovered story. Set during season 6.

Disclaimer: 'tain't mine.

X X X X X

She ran for her life.

Up alleys, down streets, through woods and fields, over hill and dale, she ran.

She felt like she'd been running for years – but really, it had been only weeks.
But weeks of running with almost no rest and it all blurred.

It had started slowly at first. First they'd gotten a phone call from Britain,
saying that Giles had mysteriously died in a fire.

Everyone was horrified.

Then Anya fell down the stairs of the Magic Box. Broke her neck.

It was then the glimmerings of suspicion first entered everyone's mind. "Once is
coincidence," he phrase went. "Twice is enemy action."

She had no idea how Angel and Cordelia and Wesley survived up in LA. Maybe
they'd just been out of sight, out of mind.

But they'd had no idea who they were looking for. Hadn't, after Spike had taken
an involuntary walk in the sunlight. They'd known it was involuntary because he
went kicking, screaming and protesting all the way. His screams still echoed
long after he died.

Hadn't, when Dawn had gotten hit by a bus. Being the Key had not saved her life.

Hadn't, when Xander had an accident on his site a few weeks later, and gotten
hit by a girder whose line had snapped in two. The contractor who'd provided the
wire, and the mechanic responsible for maintenance, swore that there hadn't been
anything wrong with the cable, no wear, no structural defects, nothing.

Hadn't even saved Buffy, when she was found with a bottle of pills in her hand a
note saying she wanted to get back to heaven.

It was only when it was only the two of them were left that she finally figured
it out.

And even then it wasn't because of any dramatic revelation. It was because she
revealed herself.

It had been the withdrawal from magic. She – she just couldn't do it. Cold
turkey had driven her insane.

And in her madness she blamed those around her. From those furthest away – to
those closest.

Willow'd killed them all.

And now, apparently, it was her turn.

She wasn't going to give her the chance. She ran.

She'd been running for weeks.

But she thought she was safe for the moment. She was holed up in a hotel room in
Boca Raton, Florida. Having left false trails ending everywhere from Tibet to
Challenger Deep. So she was taking a breather.

Then the door exploded from its hinges and Willow, black-eyed, floated in.

"You found me," she gaped.

Willow smiled grimly. "It's like I said. I will always find you."