Chapter 2.1

Beck parked his Bronco in front of the cabin, feeling a mix of guilt and annoyance when he saw Willow's car still in the drive. He knew he shouldn't have ran out on her and left her to deal with his grandmother's body. He knew she was going to ream him a new one for it but he felt he was justified. He felt the answers he received were worth the wrath he was about to face.

He slipped through the screen door into the silent and empty kitchen. He washed the nearly full coffee pot and the mug that had been made for him. Turning from the sink, he stared at the table. The chair he'd found his grandmother in was now empty and it all felt like a dream. Surely, if he walked down the hall, he'd find her in the bathroom braiding her hair and preparing to go open The Pub for the day. She'd probably lay into him for being out all night when he knew she needed him to work. All he had to do was walk down the hall and prove to himself that none of this had really happened.

He stepped toward the table and touched the notebook that laid there. The indentions from the words she'd written to Rafe were there. He knew the small markings that laid on the paper confirmed that wasn't just a terrible dream. He glanced at her glass of tea and the water ring that surrounded it from being left long enough for the ice to melt. He picked up a napkin from the little basket in the middle of the table. He laid it under the glass then left the room.

Sliding quietly into his dark bedroom, he pulled his shirt off, kicked off his shoes, and crawled into the bed next to Willow's small body. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face into her hair, and closed his eyes.

"Alistair is calling everyone to let them know that we aren't opening the restaurant today, " Willow whispered.

Beck nodded into the back of her head.

"They took Agatha to Le Doux's Funeral Home. I figured that's who you'd want to deal with."

He nodded again.

"You should have called and told me where you went."

He grunted.

"You know, Beckett, that's not what an apology sounds like," She said as she rolled over to face him, "I was worried."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, eyes still closed, "since you're still here, are you going to make breakfast? Waffles?"

She laughed, wrapping herself around him and resting her chin on top of his head. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head.

They laid in silence, intertwined with each other. Beck's breathing became heavy, telling her he'd drifted off into sleep. She could feel the little puffs of air hitting her collar bone as he exhaled. She laid there holding him, knowing that's all she could do for him at this point and it was what he needed in that moment. She closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep next to him.

Beck woke to an empty bed and the sun shining through the window against his face. He squinted and groaned as he rolled off the edge and crawled across the floor to pull the curtains closed. He rubbed his hands over his head and yawned. A savory smell filled the air. He was shocked that his grandmother would be cooking this late into the morning.

He grabbed a t-shirt out of the closest and pulled on a pair of jeans that were laying on the floor. Making his way down the hall, he let his nose and his growling stomach lead the way. He rounded the corner to the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks, his body swayed.

Willow turned to see him standing in the doorway, staring at her with sad eyes. "I don't make waffles. I was hoping French toast would be alright."

"Yeah," he nodded, "that's great."

He sat down at the table and stared at the glass still sitting there in front of his grandmother's chair. The ice was completely melted and the napkin he'd placed under it was soaked with precipitation. He glanced up as Willow set two plates filled with French toast and a bottle of maple syrup down in front of him.

"I kind of forgot she was gone," he poked at his food.

Willow planted a kiss on the top of his head then sat in the chair next to him. She pulled a plate in front of her and poured syrup over the top. She looked over at Beck then pointed her fork at him.

"Eat."

"Litha."

She looked up and raised her eyebrows.

"Litha. The summer solstice. It's in two days," Beck answered her unasked question, "I want to honor her at the ritual."

"She would love that," she nodded, thoughtfully, "Gwendolyn would probably be willing to perform..."

"I want to lead it."

"You do?" She set her fork down and stared at him, "That requires a lot power. I've never seen...I'm not sure you..."

"Not sure I what?"

"What I mean is," she wrapped a curl around her finger as she searched for the right words, "Beck, I've never seen you do more than conjure a little flame to light a burner on the stove. You have to be more in tune with your power, with the elements, to perform that ritual."

 "And you need to have a little more faith."

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"Please, trust me, Willow."

"I'll gather a circle for you. You'll need a strong group to pull this off," she surrendered, "Now, eat."

"I love you," he smiled, "from the bottom of my heart. You're my very best friend but I am not sure how much I trust your cooking."

"Shut up and eat," she grinned as she shoveled food into her mouth.