by: Dacia
BtVS W/T PG
WARNING : This story contains the depiction of a loving, possibly even fulfilling relationship between two members of the same sex -- my sex, coincidentally.
DISCLAIMER : I do not own any of the enticing characters from BtVS, they belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui… and anyone else with an army of lawyers to back them up. The world may rest assured that I will never profit from this story in any mundane monetary sort of way-- ever.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS : Kudos to fine rattan furniture-makers everywhere!
TIMELINE : This story takes place a little over a month after The Dreamer Awakes. If you haven't read the rest of the series beginning with Vicarious Smoochies you will be so confused your head will probably explode.
SPOILERS : I did steal something out of Season 5, but you'd only notice it if you'd seen the episode anyway.
APOLOGIES : Yah, yah, I know… I lied about the last story being the conclusion of the series, it is so obviously not. I will make no such assertions this time around.
Willow was sitting in a rattan chair by the window, her legs folded beneath her. The warm glow of a summer nearly over surrounded her and she basked in the welcome heat. Her eyes were half-closed as she dozed, cradled in the sun's gentle embrace, and blissfully thought of nothing at all.
It didn't last.
The light changed hue, from bright yellow to burnt orange and red, signaling the death of another day. The scarlet fingers of sunset's glow raked fleeting paths down the line of her body, pausing to grasp futilely at the tips of her toes, then disappearing completely.
With the coming of twilight, Willow experienced the onrush of all the thoughts she'd kept at bay. The moon rose in the darkening sky, a luminous silver ship sailing through the burgeoning starry night, and Willow found one thing, one person, dominating her reflections, Tara.
The blonde witch was upstairs, safely ensconced in the bedroom down the hall beside Willow's-- originally intended to be the guest bedroom, it was now Tara's for the foreseeable future, as it had been for the last few weeks. Tara spent most of her day sleeping in that bedroom.
Willow shifted uncomfortably and reached for her red polar fleece blanket lying on the floor. With the onset of night, a pervasive chill was settling in, and it didn't help that she'd chosen to lease one of the older homes in Sunnydale. Although the house was beautiful with its burnished wood floors and wide windows, the lack of insulation could definitely be noticed on the rare occasions when the temperature nose-dived in California.
Hugging the blanket around her narrow shoulders, she wondered whether she should try and rouse Tara for some supper.
Ever since she'd brought the blonde home from the hospital-- ever since the death of her brother-- Tara had been different. The blonde had always been rather quiet, shy, but now she was withdrawn to the point that entire days could pass without her saying one word. Willow took pains to care for Tara physically. She bathed her every other day; a strangely impersonal task as the blonde would stare vacantly at the bathroom's tiled walls. The redhead would also spend hours brushing Tara's long, golden hair, gently braiding the delicate strands, or just leaving them loose to flow in shimmering waves across her shoulders. Willow was especially careful to make certain that Tara ate properly, though the other girl would often stare at her food as if faced with an insurmountable task, like climbing Mt. Everest while hopping on one foot, or flying to Mars in a Cessna with only a box of soda crackers for rations. The one thing Willow couldn't do however, was make Tara get better.
The blonde would go where you told her to, do what you asked, even answer questions now and then, admittedly with the fewest words possible, but Willow had to believe that was an improvement.
When they'd first brought Tara into the hospital, the witch had been all but catatonic, and covered in bruises and burns and a host of other injuries that Willow didn't even want to begin to catalogue, though each one was forever etched in her brain. The wounds were testimony of Tara's suffering under the tender mercies of the demon, Kalos, and Willow felt it was her duty to bear them witness. Now the wounds had healed, the worst leaving angry red scars that would fade given time, yet still, Tara remained mute. She slept the days away in her bedroom and spent her few waking hours staring vacantly at the ceiling… lost.
Willow shook her head angrily, refusing to indulge in self-pity. It wasn't as if she hadn't expected this. She'd known that it would take time for the girl to heal, to assimilate everything that had happened and to come to terms with it. And the redhead had been content with the knowledge that when the blonde had squeezed her hand in the hospital, somewhere deep inside, her Tara, was still okay. But it had been weeks now, and during that time only once had Willow seen a glimmer of her girlfriend's former self, and not because of anything the hacker had done.
Willow's green eyes shone in the darkness as she recalled what she found a few nights previous on the first marking of a grim anniversary.
She slipped from her office down the hallway in the dark, not wanting to disturb Tara, or Buffy who was also home, a rare thing as the Slayer had thrown herself into her work lately, staying out on patrol 'til the wee hours of the morning-- every morning. Willow skillfully negotiated the warped, wooden floor, avoiding all the creaks, and even the one tricky spot that squeaked everywhere but on the far left. When she reached the end, she automatically turned the doorknob for her bedroom, but something made her pause and decide to check on Tara before turning in. Opening the door on her right, she grimaced as the hinges threatened to protest, but thankfully remained silent. She ducked her head in, her eyes darting to the narrow bed against the wall, but it was empty. Panicky, she opened the door the rest of the way to reveal the wraithlike outline of the blonde witch leaning against the frame of one window. The drapes were tied open, and the gleaming light of the full moon cast its wide net across the room, illuminating everything; including Tara's rapt features, as she stared intensely up at the face of Selene, scrutinizing the pale lady's countenance. It was when a solitary tear fell, wending a path down Tara's face that the spell was broken for Willow and she came back to herself. Uncertain, but knowing she had to do something, the redhead entered the room and made her way toward the window, toward Tara.
When she reached the blonde's side, she was disturbed to discover the girl was shaking, and immediately, she placed tender arms around Tara's huddled form.
"Shh…" she soothed, "It's okay."
But Tara violently shook her off.
Willow waited patiently, her hands remained raised, their promise of succor wrapped around insubstantial air.
A fragile whisper eventually emerged from between cracked lips. "I killed him."
"No. Tara…" Willow replied, her heart breaking anew. "…you didn't."
The blonde shook her head and reiterated vehemently, "I killed him." Her watery blue gaze was still fixed upon the moon as she explained sadly, "My family, the people I love-- they're all gone." And then she slipped away again, her expression becoming flat and empty, her mouth slack.
Not knowing what else to do, Willow directed her back to bed, tucking the covers under her chin and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. She left her then, but with a fiercely whispered declaration, "I'm still here."
That was almost a week ago. Since then, they'd slipped back into their normal routine. During her blackest moments, Willow wondered if she'd dreamt the whole thing, as Tara remained as unresponsive as ever. The redhead felt perilously close to her breaking point, the brief surge of hope she'd felt only served to highlight the strain she was under. Her sleep was fitful, and sometimes she felt more tired when she woke up than when she went to bed. Looking after Tara was also beginning to affect her work, causing projects to be delayed. Worse still, Willow feared that her situation would begin to foster resentment within her, already she felt guilty for not shouldering her burden with more grace.
She longed for someone to talk with about everything, but Buffy never seemed to be available, out slaying night after night and sleeping most days. Sometimes Xander or Giles would drop by, but neither of them knew Tara particularly well, and their visits were generally short. One person who had surprised the hacker was Anya. The ex-vengeance demon had demonstrated an uncharacteristic amount of compassion and concern, coming by the house fairly regularly to check in on Tara's condition and give Willow a brief respite. But Anya had never been the easiest person to talk to, and despite her good intentions, she and Willow continued to treat each other warily.
The hacker fidgeted, suddenly restless in the chair and her stomach issued a gentle, but insistent rumbling that promised to increase in volume and intensity if not looked after soon. Willow sighed wearily, she should wake Tara, whether or not the blonde acknowledged it, food was a biological need that could not be ignored, a fact to which her stomach was attesting heartily. She was just so tired.
The witch awkwardly levered herself out the rattan chair, leaving the rumpled red blanket to enjoy the dissipating traces of her warmth.
As she mounted the stairs, she calculated in her head whether the pasta in the fridge would be sufficient for two, she decided it probably would. It being dusk, and Buffy wasn't home yet, Willow knew from experience that the blonde would not return for dinner. She also realized despite her stomach's audible posturing, that her own appetite would be sparse.
Reaching the blonde's room, an involuntary anticipation filled her as she turned the knob and gingerly opened the door, but just as quickly, a world-weary exhaustion set in once she spied Tara lying on her bed, staring vacantly at the roof as always.
An irrational flame of anger flared within her; anger at the world for putting them in this position, anger at Tara for allowing it to continue, for refusing to fight, and most of all, anger towards herself, for being unable to do anything about it.
The redhead flung the door open the rest of the way and strode into the room, intent on jarring the girl out of her lethargy. Scarlet strands of hair crackled around her head in a fiery halo as she gathered her energy, preparing to do… something, she didn't know what, anything to make Tara acknowledge her, to make her be a part of the world again.
She reached the bed and her knees strained against the frame. She was ready to yell, to scream her frustration. She bent to grasp Tara's shoulders, wanting to shake loose the vibrant young woman she knew was trapped inside. But as soon as her fingers made contact, the rage was drained from her, dispersed by the impassive form beneath her touch and the undeniable futility of it all. Wane blue eyes stared at a point fixed just beyond her shoulder, never wavering, and Willow crumpled at the sight.
"Tara…" her voice broke unevenly, carried on a wave of emotion. She lay her head on the blonde's chest, and though she tried to draw some measure of comfort from the steady rise and fall of the witch's breathing, it only served to heighten her sense of loss. Tara was a shell, living, breathing, but a shell nonetheless. What had made her so unique and so wonderful in Willow's eyes, that spark that had first drawn her to the shy blonde, it just wasn't there anymore.
"Tara, please..." Willow tore a reluctant confession from her throat, "... I know I said I'd wait, as long as it takes, but I don't know if I c--can do this." She forced herself to raise her eyes, to study the blonde's expression, "And, I d--don't even know if you want me too."
There was no change, not a flicker, not anything.
Willow's hands opened and closed reflexively, clutching the thin fabric of Tara's pajamas. The redhead vacillated, her composure cracking and reassembling from one moment to the next. She buried her face back into the blonde's chest, breathing deeply, surrounding herself with the familiar scent that was both soothing and disturbing.
"Please... please... please..." She prayed raggedly, not knowing whose favour, precisely, she was asking for.
Willow lay there, her strength ebbing with each passing minute, until she was prodded once again by the low gurgling of her stomach. Like an automaton, she rose from the bed, smoothing her rumpled clothing and features back into their proper places, and tucking the sheets around Tara's form. With precise movements she exited the room and descended the stairs intent only upon quieting her unsettled stomach.
It wasn't until she had already heated up the leftover macaroni and begun eating it, that she realized that she hadn't bothered to set aside any for Tara, that she hadn't even thought to do so. That fact was enough to send the redhead into another spiral of depression. It was the first time that she'd neglected her duties to the blonde, and hot tears stung her eyes.
She pushed aside the remaining pasta, her stomach churning at the thought of food, and considered whether or not to deliver the dish to Tara, was it even worth the effort? By forgetting about her girlfriend once already, hadn't she already admitted defeat? She was just so tired. She couldn't seem to think, to make a decision.
Standing up from the table, she lurched drunkenly to the rattan chair in the living room. Intent only on catching a few minutes rest, enough to put the world back into focus, back where it belonged.
She slumped in the chair. The red blanket left from before was balled up beneath her, but she hardly noticed the discomfort. Her eyelids hung wearily, and finally shut completely as she lay back, falling into a deep restful sleep, the kind that eluded her so often of late.
Something woke her. Someone was in the house. She didn't know how she knew, but there was... something. Was it Buffy? Willow dismissed that thought, the sun was still down and the Slayer wouldn't drag herself home until dawn. Who then?
Willow sat up carefully, willing the rattan chair to remain silent while she gained her balance. She perched on the edge of the piece of furniture, her ears straining to catch some sound of the intruder, but all she heard was the measured intake of her own breaths.
With a preternatural grace she slipped from the chair, not content with passivity, there had been too much of that of late. As she was debating the heft of an idol of Cybele, she noticed a soft glow bathing the burnished floor, a light being cast from down the corridor. Someone was in the storage room under the stairs.
Willow shuffled into the hallway, lured by the dull, tungsten glow from under the storage room door, and a strange anticipation filled her that had nothing to do with fear. The wooden barrier was slightly ajar, and she trailed a hand along its grainy surface as she peered inside. Within, her eyes sought out who had pulled the cord of the bare bulb, not daring to hope, but rewarded nonetheless as she found Tara standing among the cardboard boxes.
Her back was to the door, her head hung low as she looked at something in her hands. Willow debated whether or not to intrude, this was the first time she'd seen Tara leave her room by her own initiative. But in a moment, the decision was made for her, as the blonde altered her stance, turning enough that she spotted Willow hanging on outside the door. For the first time, in what seemed like such a very long time, Tara looked at Willow, really looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistened a watery blue, nevertheless Willow's heart was lightened, even more so when the redhaired Wiccan caught sight of the thick metal frame Tara held in her hands. The blonde followed her gaze, and bent her head over the metal and glass. Her hair fell forward to obscure her features, but Willow could still see her hands clutching the frame tightly. It was when her grasp finally loosened that Tara raised her head.
"Do I still have 'nice lips' ?" Her words were spun of glass.
Moisture gathered at the corners of Willow's eyes. "The nicest." She confirmed after a long while, her voice a bare whisper.
"And, can I still 'make you smile' ?" The other girl's face was filled with hopeful uncertainty.
"Tara, right now, you could probably make me fly." Willow declared with a wide grin.
The blonde witch's mouth twitched into an almost smile, and the two girls stared at each for a fraction of eternity, until Tara looked away sadly.
"What?" Willow tried to suppress the sudden rise of panic in her. "Please, Tara… What's wrong?" She took tentative steps forward.
"Oh Willow, I'm s--sorry." The blonde exclaimed, the reappearance of her stutter testifying to her state.
"For what?" Willow shuffled closer, she was almost at the other girl's side.
"For not t--trusting you enough. For not coming to you when this-- this all started." She lamented, blinking back tears.
"Tara, please. Don't apologize." Willow pleaded.
"But, I did things, things I'm not very proud of." Tara admitted in a small voice, her chin glued to her chest.
"Because of Kalos." The redhead placed a gentle hand on the other girl's forearm.
"But, I took your memories…" She said with hiccuped breath, eyes gazing down at the floor.
"It wasn't your fault." Willow insisted.
She dared, at last, to look up, "You're not mad?"
"No, Sweetie." Somewhat bemused, Willow wrapped her arms around the quivering girl. "How could I ever be mad at you?" Her lips were beside Tara's ear.
Willow held the blonde until her shuddered breathing began to subside, rubbing intermittent circles on the girl's back.
When she had recovered slightly, Tara asked again, her tone more leading than before, "You're sure you're not mad?" She leaned back to gauge the other girl's reaction.
"No." Willow was certain.
"Not even a little?" She hoisted one sceptical eyebrow.
"Ok, maybe I was… once-- just for a second." The redhead conceded with difficulty, then added in a rush, "But not now."
Tara waited.
"I'm not." The redhead insisted stubbornly, her colour rising.
Tara waited.
"ALL RIGHT! I'M MAD! Okay?" Willow threw up her arms and paced the small room erratically. "I mean, how could you do this?! I thought you loved me, that you could trust me. I'm mad, okay?!" Her chest heaved, and she glanced at Tara in entreaty, "But I don't want to be." She let out a long, slow breath.
Strangely, Willow's heated outburst seemed to have calmed Tara, settling some uncertainty within her. She closed the distance between them, and captured Willow's hands in her own.
"I'm sorry." The blonde repeated solemnly, and this time, her girlfriend didn't argue the necessity of her apology.
"I know you are." Willow sighed deeply, and touched their foreheads together. They stood there a moment.
"I missed you." The redhaired girl admitted, her face smooth and her eyes shut.
"I missed you too." Tara replied, her breath ghosting across Willow's skin. She waited, but the redhead added nothing further. "Now what do we do?" She questioned in a hush.
Willow's sea green eyes opened, revealing a swirl of emotion. Her forehead creased, "I don't know." She gnawed absently at her lip. "It's getting pretty late. Do you want to go back to bed?"
"NO!" Tara exclaimed, then amended, "I mean, I think I've slept enough already, don't you?" She thought about it for a moment. "I want to go outside."
Willow considered her request, then gave a silent nod. She went to fetch a couple of pillows and blankets. As an afterthought, she scooped up the red polar fleece from the rattan chair, and they stepped outside onto the back porch. The deck was small, but would suit their purpose just fine.
Willow arranged the blankets fastidiously and climbed in, beckoning the blonde to join her. Tara tucked herself neatly against Willow's side, enjoying this closeness that she'd once feared lost to her forever. Dark thoughts lurked at the edges of her mind, but the redhead's hand snuck out to twine with her own, keeping them at bay. Together, they lay on their makeshift bed, their vision riveted by the wide expanse of stars, the hazy swirl of the Milky Way and the radiant gleam of what could only be Venus.
The air was pleasantly crisp, and Tara inhaled deeply. The clean air tingled in her lungs, and she was saddened by the time she'd let escape from her, the moonlit nights she'd missed spending with Willow and the mistakes she'd made in the interim. She thought of all the trusts she'd violated, first among them being Willow's. Rolling onto her side, she released Willow's hand, and propped up her own head. Looking down at the witch beneath her, she asked, "How can I make things right with you?"
"Shhh… Tara," Willow reached up to stroke honeyed hair, and gazed into dark blue eyes. "Right now, it doesn't matter." She quieted the brief protest that followed, cupping Tara's cheek tenderly as she explained, "What does matter-- is that you're alive, and here, and you're going to be okay… what matters is this…" Willow lifted herself up so that their lips touched in a whisper of movement, then lay back down. "What matters…" she said with a hopeful smile, "… is that I love you."
Tara peered down at the smaller Wiccan, aware that a goofy smile had stolen over her features that somehow threatened tears as well. "Maybe you're right." She conceded, and leaned closer.
"Tomorrow's another day." Willow suggested, her soft breath feathering across the other girl's lips.
"Tomorrow…" Tara agreed, willing to let herself be carried away 'til then.
The End
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