DECEMBER 15, 2001

A shaking Willow pointed at the TV screen.

"That--that--stupid tree! Tell me they didn't use magic to make that get all better!"

She ran upstairs, and locked her door. A glaring Dawn waited to make sure she was gone.

"She even has to ruin the annual Charlie Brown viewing? I hate her. I mean, I really hate her."

"Dawn..."

"No, Buffy! Everyone at school thinks I did this to my hand on purpose, to get attention. Do we have to keep her here? Sell the house. But get--her--out! And if I see her druggie friend around here again, I'm breaking out the crossbow!"

Dawn now walked upstairs, carefully checking for any emergence by Willow. When her door clicked, Buffy gestured to Xander to follow her to the kitchen. There, he asked a painful question.

"Amy dared to show up here again? There are places you don't go, and for her, this house is about ten of those."

Buffy sighed.

"She's an addict, Xander. She was smart enough to only ask to borrow money, this time. But Dawn wanted to stake her, or find a giant cat. Maybe Amy was only an enabler. But in Dawn's mind, she loved Willow before Amy returned, and hated her not long after."

Xander started to boil some water for some hot chocolate. Finding a broken but sealed candy cane, he kept it aside to swirl in the hot chocolate, when it was ready.

"That's a powerful association. But I still have questions about Amy."

"As do we all, my friend. As do we all."

He sat back down as the water boiled.

"Nah, its not just 'how could she do this'? We've all been there. In fact, it was in her company that I did something pretty low, all of my own choice."

Buffy looked up.

"Then what're your questions?"

The water boiled, and Xander poured, foregoing marshamallows for the candy cane pieces.

"See, its like this. A diabetic will binge on sweets. A guy who's had a lung removed will smoke. Someone who's had a bypass or two will down a few kielbasi and beers. But usually--none of those people do this right after they've gotten out of the hospital. It may take a month. But unless the signs are way obvious, they don't do it within the first few days."

Buffy actually found herself enjoying the minty hot chocolate. So far twice this evening, her thankfully platonic friend's bachelor skills had livened up the cuisine. The first time had been when he dabbed lemon juice and pepper on the fishcakes prior to cooking, removing at last the eternal cardboard taste.

"Yeah. That's usually the time when the person is all vows and good behavior. But some addicts are worse than others. If my hate-list weren't so chock-full of power-addicts, some of them might be alive today. So to speak."

Xander shook his finger, just a bit.

"Yeah, but consider Amy. She has been burned by magic a total of three times, all in major ways that even a hardcore addict would have trouble ignoring. Her Mom's second childhood. My stupid love spell. The rat-ting at the stake. Now, she gets out of that, and automatically, she's 'Go Ask Alice'?. I checked. Her father's still alive. In the chaos after the Ascension, she somehow got graduated with everyone else. Not that much time has passed, and she seemingly was not aware as a rat. So I'm asking--why did she dip into pathetic so quickly? Willow was just out of control. But Amy had three big demos of why 'Magic Bad'. Addiction, I can accept. Stupidity--I'm there. But she was barely back in clothes  when she slipped back into the mystic needles of Munopor. That, Buff-meister, is a major non sequitur."

Buffy was about to correct him on this, as well as calling her 'Buff-meister'. But she stopped, and did neither. Instead, she merely said some simple words.

"Yeah. I guess that doesn't exactly follow, now that I think about it."

But Amy was an addict, and so was Willow, now, so their conversation quickly turned back to helping the friend they most cared for. Yet their stray thoughts were left to wonder about Amy's oh-so rapid reversion.

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A FEW WEEKS EARLIER, SUNNYDALE NEW HIGH SCHOOL

She smiled.

"So I do get a diploma?"

The clerk nodded.

"There were so many gone missing, after that last incident, we just decided to clear the ledgers, in case someone needed rehab or had amnesia. Oh--and it seems we have one of your personal possessions--although it was damaged in the final explosion."

Amy was in her glory. Human again, a diploma in hand, and a forgotten keepsake soon to be hers once more. The clerk brought out the box.

"This belonged to your mother, I believe. You can have it. We believe in fresh starts, as you might imagine. I know a trophy repair shop that  can have it as good as new for less than fifty dollars."

Amy's heart went in her throat, and that throat was now bone-dry. The threat was only a potential one. But what a threat to again live under. Maybe she was finally dead. Or maybe she was merely free, waiting to strike, gathering her formidable power. Amy decided then and there to start trying to feel really good, really fast.

When Amy left in a great hurry, the clerk shook his head and threw the broken cheerleader trophy in the garbage.

"Maybe it holds a bad memory for her."