• Title: TACIT 11/11
• Author: StrangeQuark
• Feedback: Please
• Spoilers: Season 4
• Rating: NC-17
• Pairing(s): W/T, X/A, B/R
• Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and as a result, make no money from this endeavor.
• Summary: Season 4, off-screen moments, empty spaces filled in, a lot of angst, tribulation, and tenderness that could not see the light of day on network television.
**** Special Author’s Note -- This is the final part of the story, enjoy. ****
The door opened easily, “Somebody’s broken in.” Spike pointed out.
Spike and Tara walked inside, scanning the dim, cluttered space of the store, looking for Willow. Tara noticed the broken display and the various items strewn across the floor. She felt that there had been a struggle, and a fear that Willow may be injured had entered her mind. She tried to choke down the hard lump in her throat that had formed at the thought.
“Over here.” Spike said, motioning to Tara.
Tara stopped by Spike’s side; both of them stared in awe at the sight before them. Willow sat on the floor in her thin, wet clothes, rocking back and forth, under a sallow cone of light that spread from a small lamp. Her dirty legs were covered in small, bleeding cuts; her feet and ankles were dark and filthy. Her head hung over the opened book in her lap; her lips formed a rapid succession of shapes, streaming whispery syllables of a mysterious vernacular, as she rocked her body in a trance-like state.
Spike and Tara’s gaze was drawn to a subtle movement in the shadows off to Willow’s side. They could barely discern a female figure, dark and silvery, leering at them. The creature stepped forward, allowing the dim lamplight to reveal more of her shape. Her slow steps were full of authority and dangerous power. Her metallic skin shined under the faint light, revealing what Spike and Tara collectively beheld as the most strange and beautiful face that either of them had even seen.
The silver-skinned lady stepped casually over the oblivious Willow, placing herself protectively between Tara and the redhead. She stood before Tara and Spike, her statuesque body displaying a sheen like that of a brushed platinum sculpture, her hair like thousands of fine metal wires. Her voice was low, powerful, and threatening.
“Stay away from us.” The silver lady warned Tara with a malevolent glare.
Spike stepped back. Looking to his side, he noticed that Tara stood her ground.
“Get back, damn it.” Spike said through the corner of his mouth. “We don’t know what we’re up against here, love.”
“Listen to the corpse, tiny witch.” The silver one admonished, in a tone that almost seemed gentle. She tilted her head slightly, evaluating Tara with a casual curiosity.
Tara was frightened and beguiled by the ancient power and goddess-like beauty of the creature that faced her. She was frozen, unable to react, incapable of looking away. She forced her eyes shut, trying to break the thrall that the creature’s appearance was holding over her.
Tara’s breathing was heavy and erratic, her arms and hands clenched, her blue eyes opened to fix on the chrome irises of the she-demon. She raised her tense hands, inching up from her sides as she concentrated. Her body snapped, in one sudden, coordinated gesture, all of her limbs directing a strong force toward the shiny creature.
A violent, invisible explosion of energy propelled the witch and the demon directly away from each other. Both of their bodies slammed into the opposing walls of the space that contained the fury that Tara had unleashed. Spike ran to Tara’s side, helping her to stand.
“Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.” Spike urged as he pulled the arm of the now dazed Tara over his shoulders, to help her to stand.
Tara looked at Spike, sad, weakened and desperate. “Please help me.” She pleaded.
“I will not kill you.” The silver-skinned demon said, now crouched behind Willow, her arms encircling the entranced redhead protectively. “She wishes for me to spare you.” The demon said as her shiny fingers caressed the side of Willow’s cheek.
“Please let her go.” Tara begged, her voice conveying the tension of restrained tears.
“It is you who gave her to me. You brought this brilliant little mind into my service.” The creature stated as she brushed Willow’s damp hair with her gentle, metallic fingers.
“I didn’t know t-that I...” Tara started to declare with sadness and guilt.
“She belongs with me.” The demon interrupted. “She is a part of P’erDa’arulh. She added her own sequence into those in which I have been trapped for centuries. She altered the codex that my invocation has been concealed within.” The silvery one said as she continued to caress Willow’s oblivious face, her shining fingers brushing the softness of Willow’s moving lips.
“So you’re saying that she wrote herself into that bloody book?” Spike asked.
“On each page, she added to the order. She included herself.” P’erDa’arulh answered the vampire as she gazed upon Willow with affection.
Tara was silent. The guilt that she felt was familiar, almost easy to surrender to. She knew that her dishonesty had caused all of this to happen. If she had admitted her dark, demonic secret to Willow, then she never would have attempted the reversal spell, she would have known that the curse could not have been lifted safely. Her weakness and desperation had been fueling the calumny. Long ago, she had resigned to the fact that her demonic heritage would always cause misery for her and those around her, but she had taken a selfish pleasure in denial, pretending that she could be normal.
Her stream of self-pity faded with a hasty revelation. Tara could not recognize the exact nature of the change that she had felt, but she had begun to experience feelings that she had never felt before. The sensation had started right after the reversal spell, she had to dismiss it then; her grief at Willow’s sad condition and sudden departure had pervaded her thoughts. Her current desperation, her driving need to stop this demon and save Willow forced her to address the new, alien feeling that had been coursing through her thoughts, just under the surface of her consciousness, ever since her companion had run away from her.
She composed her strength. She stood tall and proud as she walked toward the demon that was caressing Willow. Tara’s boots proceeded across the mess that was the shop’s floor. Slow, even, confident steps crushing the small trinkets and shards of glass as she advanced on her mate’s silvery captor.
“Stay away.” P’erDa’arulh hissed as Tara’s slow advance progressed.
“You will let her go.” Tara said in a calm, commanding tone.
“You’ve got a death wish, blondie.” Spike said from behind Tara. “I like that.” He added.
Riley’s pulse quickened as he saw Ethan Rayne leave the bar that he’d been staking-out. He composed himself, trying to focus all of his effort into stealth and evasion as he prepared to intercept and subdue the felon. With his feet in place, he craned his head and torso around the corner behind which he had concealed himself. He watched his target walk with a slow, awkward, drunken gait down the darker side of the street.
As Riley began to creep his way out from behind his cover, he was startled by a finger tapping on his shoulder. He turned to see Buffy standing just behind him.
“So, Mr. Finn, this is how you spend your Saturday nights?” The Slayer asked.
“Shhhh.” He sounded and then pointed a finger in the direction where Ethan was walking.
“That’s…” Buffy started, her sudden revelation apparent in her facial expression.
“Shhhh.” Riley repeated.
The two nodded to each other, in an unspoken understanding of what they needed to do. They followed far behind the man, maintaining a careful watch of their surroundings as they proceeded.
Tara continued to approach the entranced Willow and her captor.
“Stay away from us.” The silver-skinned demon shouted, tightening her arms around Willow’s shoulders. “I will have to hurt you.” She added.
“Willow hasn’t finished. You have no real power here until she’s done.” Tara stated in a firm, calm voice as she stopped just a few feet from where P’erDa’arulh was holding the redhead. “You won’t be hurting anyone.” Tara added as she knelt down and extended her hand to remove the book from beneath Willow’s incessant stare.
As Tara’s fingertips touched the book, the shining demon lunged at her. The blonde witch was knocked to the floor in an instant, the cold, metallic skin of P’erDa’arulh’s fingers had wrapped around her throat. The shards of glass and debris beneath Tara were cutting into her scalp as she struggled with the she-demon, the back of her head shifting from side to side across the floor.
Spike ploughed into the side of the silver woman, knocking her off of Tara, forcing her to release the blonde witch from the chokehold that she had been maintaining. Tara rolled to her side, stunned, coughing; instinct forcing her hands to her throat as she tried to draw air into her lungs. She gagged and gasped as she watched Spike wrestle P’erDa’arulh.
“Get the book.” Spike strained to tell Tara through the throes of his demon-combat. “Get the damned book.”
Tara nodded in acknowledgement through her coughing and gasping, as she crawled to where Willow sat, isolated from the bedlam in her own oblivion. Tara clumsily reached for the book that rested in Willow’s lap, knocking it out of the redhead’s vision with a frenzied swipe, as she continued to gasp for breath.
As the silver demon continued to struggle, she knocked the back of Spike’s head against a table leg, paralyzing the vampire with pain. She returned her attention to Willow, who now sat motionless, the book no longer consuming her concentration.
P’erDa’arulh leapt toward Tara with a cat-like quickness, stopping just short of where the blonde witch lay. Her cold, chrome eyes were frantically searching for the missing manuscript amongst the disorder.
“You will suffer for that.” She said as her eyes met Tara’s.
Ethan was headed for his magick shop. He needed to prepare for the spell that would allow him to feed from the intense chaotic energy of the emergent she-demon. He started fumbling through his pockets, searching for the key that would open the shop’s front door, which he had spotted in the distance.
His clumsy, drunken hand was pulling the ring of keys from the hip pocket of his trousers when a voice interrupted the concentration that he needed to perform the task.
“Hold it right there.” Riley said from just a few feet behind Ethan.
The older man stopped and turned to face Riley and Buffy. He rolled his eyes as he let out a soft sigh.
“Couldn’t stay away from Sunnydale, huh?” Buffy asked rhetorically.
Ethan looked upon the pair that was confronting him. The young man held a gun, pointed at Ethan’s head. The young girl had a more casual stance; one leg extended slightly, her arms folded. He knew that the Slayer and her friend ‘meant business.’
“You two will have much greater things to worry about soon.” He warned Riley and Buffy, his inebriation clouding his speech. “P’erDa’arulh is awakening right now, and when she’s been freed, this whole town will suffer.”
Riley looked to Buffy, his gun still trained on Ethan’s forehead.
“Who?” He asked the Slayer.
“Just some demon. Giles knows all about her.” Buffy replied with a dismissive wave of her hand directed at Riley.
“So you must know by now that Spike has the book.” Ethan stated through a drunken slur. He was hoping that his diversionary plan would work. “He’s probably freeing P’erDa’arulh as we speak. And you two are just standing here, harassing an old man.”
“What makes you think that Spike has the book?” Buffy asked, with an accusatory tone. She recognized the thinly veiled tactic that Ethan was over-playing. He was trying to weasel his way out, redirect their attention. She knew that the book was nearly impossible for anyone to decipher in just a few hours.
“What book?” Riley asked, his head turning toward Buffy again.
“You’re the one who killed that guy from the Watcher’s Council.” Buffy declared, pointing her finger at Ethan. It was starting to make sense to her. “You have the book.”
“What book? Buffy what’s going on? Who’s Spike?” Riley turned to face the Slayer. “Would this be the same ‘Spike’ as the ex-fiancé that you said you’d made up?” Riley asked, feeling very excluded, beginning to feel a little betrayed.
“I’ll fill you in later.” Was Buffy’s dismissive reply.
“Hand over the book, Ethan.” Buffy demanded, extending her hand.
“I afraid that I don’t have it on my person at this time.” Ethan replied with a smug expression crossing his drunken features.
“Where is it?” Buffy asked, advancing on the spot where Ethan stood.
“I don’t know.” Ethan snapped at the Slayer. “And even if I did, do you think that I’d tell you?”
“Let’s take him in for interrogation.” Riley offered as he reached for his radio, pleased that Buffy didn’t contradict his suggestion as he had expected. “We can persuade him to talk.” He added in a solemn voice.
“You’re gonna love the detention facility.” Buffy teased the older man.
The pain in the back of Spike’s head was subsiding. As he was regaining his senses, he saw Tara writhing through painful convulsions on the floor. The silver demon stood above the tormented witch, her hands directing invisible waves of torturous sensation into the girl. Tara made no sound, and Spike could see that she was holding back anguished cries with a fierce determination, a sight that gave him even more reason to respect the blonde witch.
Ignoring his pain and fatigue, he charged at the demon, his weight striking her legs, upsetting her balance. She fell to the floor, disoriented, weakened; her struggle to stand revealed a waning of her power that both Spike and Tara had managed to notice.
With the nerves of her entire body still echoing wrenching pain, Tara stumbled over to the broken display, searching for something that she could use as a weapon. The herbs and potions had been scattered about the store, most of them soiled and broken. Next to some cleaning supplies, she noticed a different kind of potion behind the counter and snatched it into her hand.
Spike had risen to his feet, kicking P’erDa’arulh as she squirmed amongst the sharp fragments of glass and metal that littered the floor.
“How do you like that one?” He muttered with each successive blow. “Here’s another.” He kicked again.
The shiny demon seized his leg, pulling him to the floor on one fluid, violent motion.
“Oh, bugger!” He exclaimed as he realized that the tables had so evidently turned against him again. “Tara!” He shouted. “Cast a bloody spell or something!”
Tara tried to open the square metal can that she had gotten from behind the counter. The plastic lid on the container’s top would not open. Out of desperation, she slammed the side of the can into the broken glass that still framed the edges of the display case. She held in a scream as the thin liquid started to run from the hole that she’d made in the side of the container, flowing over all of the tiny, open cuts on her hand.
She ran for to where the book lay, opening its cover frantically. She shook as much of the remaining fluid from the container as she could, making sure to soak the cursed book, turning the yellowed paper of its damnable pages translucent. The ink of the symbols started to bleed and dissolve as Tara continued to shake the now empty can, desperate to get as much of the paint thinner onto the pages as she could.
P’erDa’arulh screamed, the sound hurt both Spike and Tara’s ears as it echoed within the small space in which they had been fighting. The demon’s body flinched and moved in spasmodic gestures, evidencing her deep connection to the now distorted contents of the book that Tara had ruined.
Tara ground the heel of her boot into the soaked pages, turning them into a dark gray pulp. She could feel the satisfying crunch as the bits of broken glass mixed into the sludge, signifying to her that the book had been mutilated beyond recognition.
A pair of hands rested on her forearms; shifting her attention form the messy pile that used to be a small, red, mysterious book.
“It’s over.” Spike said in a comforting tone as held Tara still. He nodded in the direction of the lifeless, silvery body that lay amidst the clutter.
Tara looked to Spike and started to cry. She couldn’t control the tears, the heaving sobs, and her sudden runny nose.
“Willow.” Tara sobbed, breaking free from Spike’s gentle cold grasp.
She walked over to the redhead who was still seated in the pale light of the small electric lamp. Fragments of glass pierced through her clothing as she sat down next to the girl, wrapping her arms around her unresponsive lover. She held Willow’s head to her chest, pressing the girl’s face into the space between her breasts.
“Willow, I’m so sorry.” Tara cried, her voice quiet and anguished. “Please come back, sweetey. Please.” She pleaded to the unconscious girl that she was cradling.
“She’ll be fine. She’s a strong one, she is.” Spike reassured, hoping that he was going to be proven correct.
Tara wanted to believe what the vampire said, but the guilt that she felt surrounding Willow’s predicament would not allow her the comfort of hope. Spike stood in silence, watching the two, touched once again by the depth of their connection. He listened to the silence that now surrounded the three, broken only by the occasional sniffle from Tara.
The blonde witch’s spirits rose when she felt Willow’s mouth moving against her chest, through the cloth of her shirt. She relaxed her tight hold around the girl, looking down to see her face. She was trying to say something, her eye’s half-closed, her breathing shallow. Tara tried to read Willow’s lips, but their movement was too small and subtle for her to discern the message.
Willow’s eyes fluttered a little, her body twisted slightly as she drew in a breath. Her pupils set on Tara’s for a moment, and then the lids of her eyes gently closed.
“Baby.” Willow sighed softly as her small body went limp once again.
It wasn’t the word, the pet name that made Tara smile. It was the fleeting instant of eye contact that assured her that Willow would be okay. Tara began to feel re-energized, confident and optimistic.
She had done it. With Spike’s help, she had saved Willow. For the first time in her life, Tara knew, beyond doubt, that she was smart, she was powerful, she was beautiful; all things that she had learned about herself through Willow.
“We should probably get her to hospital.” Spike said, interrupting Tara’s reflective moment. “I’ll go and try to find a taxi.”
“Spike,” Tara said, “If anyone asks what happened, could y-you just tell them that Willow did it all. I don’t want her friends to, you know, be any madder at her, and...” Tara paused and then explained further, “I don’t think s-she wants them to know about me.”
Spike tilted his head as he pondered the request. Moments later, he realized exactly what Tara was referring to.
“Right, mum’s the word.” He replied with a slight wink of his left eye.
Hours later Spike made his way back to his crypt. The injuries that he’d sustained over the course of the day were taking their toll on his physical and mental performance. He entered the cemetery walking slowly toward his home, when he had noticed the Slayer standing at the door to his hideaway.
“What?” He asked as he approached Buffy.
She stood, blocking the entrance to the crypt, her hands on her hips, a strange expression on her face. It was an expression that Spike never expected to see on the Chosen One.
“Where have you been all night?” Buffy asked.
“Dancing in a policeman’s costume at the Chippendale’s club. I’ve got to earn a living, you see.” He replied with a level, serious tone.
Buffy chuckled politely at the deadpan delivery of Spike’s statement.
“No, really, where were you tonight.” Buffy asked again with a slight smile lingering across her mouth from Spike’s previous humor.
“I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” Spike replied, a little bit of resentment entering his voice.
“Ethan Rayne told us everything. You’re off the hook.” Buffy admitted.
“Really? What did he tell you?” Spike asked.
“He told us about how he framed you, how we fell for it, where the book was. That sort of stuff.” Buffy said.
“I’m sorry.” The Slayer admitted softly.
“What’s that then?” Spike asked, cupping a hand around one of his ears, as to demonstrate trouble hearing the phrase.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was going to stake you. You were innocent.” Buffy admitted with humility.
Spike smiled, enjoying the fact that the Slayer had just apologized to him. He relished the subtle irony of the moment.
“Oh, yeah.” Spike interrupted his own reverie as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Willow’s in hospital right now. She’s going to be okay though. Nothing major.”
“What?” Buffy asked with alarm.
“She got a little tired after defeating P’erDa’arulh and she sort of passed out, so Ta-“ Spiked stopped himself, remembering his conversation with Tara at the magick shop. “Tonight, that is, I took her to the hospital, tonight… by myself.” He concluded, proud of his clever recovery.
“She defeated Pierre-deja-whatever?” Buffy asked, bemused and a little surprised at the news.
Spike looked up at the stars of the now clear, cold sky. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
Spike and Buffy sat next to each other; perched atop two tombstones that stood side-by-side. Spike regaled Buffy with the Willow-centric version of the scuffle in the magick shop.
“So the book’s been destroyed?” Buffy asked as Spike concluded his clumsily improvised, yet convincing account of the evening’s events.
“It’s nothing more than a wet pile of slop.” Spike confirmed.
“That was pretty nice of you to help Willow like that. Almost too nice.” The Slayer teased.
“I’m hoping that she’ll pay me.” Spike half-lied with a smile.
She hadn’t yet opened her eyes, but Willow knew that she’d awoken in a strange place. She was surrounded by unfamiliar smells, noises, and distant voices. Her entire body felt sore, she could feel the coarse, yet soft synthetic cloth of the sheets that covered her body. She gradually opened her eyes to confirm her suspicion. She was lying in a hospital bed.
She accepted the reality with calmness. She didn’t know how she got there, but felt that she must be in the right place, due to her body feeling so weak and sore. She tried to remember what could have happened to bring her to such a place, in such a condition. She remembered trying the reversal spell with Tara.
With suddenness, she sat up in her bed. She looked at her surroundings, trying to find a telephone. She needed to call Tara, to make sure that the spell had worked. Ignoring her general dizziness and discomfort, Willow turned onto her right side, looking down at the table beside her bed. She winced as she extended her arm to reach the phone, managing to hold onto it securely enough to lift it onto the bed, just beside her.
She tapped Tara’s number into the dial as she struggled to hold the receiver to her ear. She listened to the line ring, five, seven, nine, eleven times, before hanging up. She let her head fall against her pillow, sighing in disappointment.
A nurse walked into the room, noticing Willow’s wakefulness, she smiled and walked to the side of the bed.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Rosenberg?” The nurse asked.
“I’m kind of tired.” Willow replied, embarrassed to discover the tired, raspy sound of her own voice. She cleared her throat. “And sore all over.”
“What am I doing here?” Willow asked after a few seconds of silence.
“A pair of your friends brought you here last night.” The nurse replied.
“No, I mean what’s wrong with me?” Willow clarified her needs. “I don’t remember anything.”
“You came in here unresponsive, very low blood pressure, slightly hypothermic, some electrolyte imbalance…” The nurse apprised Willow. “Numerous lacerations on your legs and feet, no drugs or alcohol in your blood.”
“I guess that I was in some kind of accident?” Willow said.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Rosenberg, I don’t know.” The nurse concluded the conversation before leaving the room, resuming her rounds.
Willow lay in her bed, struggling to remember what may have brought her to the disrepair in which she found herself. Her memories seemed to end with the spell that she and Tara had cast. She recalled the sensations that had alarmed her so, the things that she had felt when her thought-forces interlaced with Tara’s.
She had felt demonic energy emanating from her partner. She had tasted and smelled the rank, acrid darkness of the curse that had been engulfing Tara. Willow had drawn it to herself, in a desperate attempt to save her lover from the unrelenting power of the affliction. With optimism, she surmised that she must have been successful, given her current surroundings. To face something so dark and powerful would certainly have taken the physical and mental toll that she believed to be recovering from.
A knock at the doorframe distracted Willow from her recollection.
“Hey, Will. You’re awake.” Xander said as he, Giles, Anya, and Buffy filed into the room, surrounding Willow’s bed.
“How are you doing?” Buffy asked, placing a hand on Willow’s arm.
“I’m kind of dizzy and achy.” Willow replied in a weak voice.
“We were all so very worried about the state of your health.” Anya said in a labored, rehearsed tone, looking to Xander afterwards for approval. “It’s good that you’re going to recover.” She added with slightly more emotion.
“Um, what happened?” Willow asked, with her eyebrows raised.
“You defeated P’erDa’arulh. There’s no doubt that you saved us all.” Giles explained. “You were able to corrupt the ‘encryption’ of her book so that she can never return. Her invocation has been irreparably altered beyond recognition.”
Something caught Willow’s eye, beyond her friend’s shoulders and arms, out in the hallway. She saw Tara standing alone, her side facing the doorway. She was holding something in front of her, her head leaning forward to look at it. She glanced sideways and made fleeting eye contact with Willow, looking away immediately after.
“I guess that’s why I’m so tired.” Willow declared to the group, feigning a yawn and lowering her eyelids.
“Well then, we should let you get some rest, let you regain your strength.” Giles offered on behalf of the group. “You’ve done an excellent job, Willow.” Giles remarked with a broad smile as he turned to leave the room.
“Feel better, honey.” Buffy said, brushing some errant strands of hair from Willow’s forehead.
Xander clasped the redhead’s hand. “Will, if you need anything at all, just call me.” He released his hold as he turned to leave, taking Anya’s hand in his.
Willow watched them file out, part of her very happy to receive the visit, part of her wishing that they would hurry out so that Tara would sit with her. She listened to the echoes of their voices grow fainter as they made their way down the corridor that lay beyond the door to her room, the door through which she gazed at Tara.
The blonde stood just outside, her head down, her eyes watching Willow’s friends heading down the long, bright corridor. When she was satisfied that they were at a safe enough distance, she turned to Willow, locking her eyes to those of her mate. She walked into the room, her countenance denoting an air of confidence that Willow was certain she had never seen before in Tara.
As Tara passed through the entrance to the room, she closed the door behind her with a fluid motion of her arm as she continued to hold her gaze on Willow and proceeded towards her. She arrived at the side of Willow’s bed, looking down at her.
“Tara.” Willow whispered. “Baby.” She added after a moment.
Tara reached inside the light jacket that she was wearing, her eyes still fixed on Willow’s. With a certainty of motion, she pulled a long-stemmed rose from inside her garment. She brought the flower’s petals close to Willow’s face.
Willow could smell the rose’s essence as she continued to look into Tara’s eyes. She felt the soft, cool petals brushing against her lips, moving in a slow caress as their delicate, satin texture seemed to kiss her mouth. She felt the welcome sensation of Tara’s fingers lacing between her own as the blonde’s digits embraced her hand with gentle force.
Willow had to ask, she didn’t want to interrupt the wonderful, encircling closeness that they were sinking into, but she needed to know what had happened. She squeezed Tara’s hand, a subtle pressure that Tara understood as a need to pause.
“The spell worked?” Willow asked.
Tara nodded in acknowledgement. She wasn’t ready to share the details, the facts of their tale that she preferred to keep hidden, finding a perverse but comfortable strength in her denial of her demon legacy.
“What happened to me? Did I really defeat P’erDa’arulh?” Willow asked, wanting more of her ‘missing time’ accounted for.
“You were wonderful.” Tara started in a soft voice. “After you reversed the curse on me, you went to find the her.”
Willow heard a confidence in Tara’s voice, a confidence that she had only witnessed in fleeting instances in the past. Willow grew to understand that Tara was different now; she was comfortable with herself. The redhead felt a smoldering sensation of inner joy at her new insight into Tara. Her mouth stretched into a broad smile as the feeling grew.
Tara was unsure of her partner’s mirthful outward reaction to the story, but continued anyway.
“You found her, f-fought her, and destroyed the book. You were so brave.” Tara smiled as she completed the last sentence, applying a slight increase in the pressure that her fingers held around her partner’s hand.
“So I’m kind of like a ‘hero’ now?” Willow asked.
“You’ve always been my hero.” Tara replied.
The two continued to look into each other’s eyes, sharing a silent conversation for several minutes.
“I have to go.” Tara broke the silence to see Willow’s expression sadden at the announcement. “I have some business to take care of.” She added.
“You’ll be coming back, right?” Willow half-pleaded. “To sit with me some more?”
“As s-soon as I can.” Tara replied with a warm, lopsided smile.
Spike sat, surrounded by the dim silence of his dusty crypt. He was trying to ignore the pain of his throbbing head and sore, stiff body. He had closed his eyes hours ago, but could not sleep. The sound of footsteps alerted him to a presence just outside of his home. He feared that it was another raid by the Initiative.
He slinked over to the heavy, metal door, standing just beside it. He was hoping to ‘get the drop on’ whoever was about to enter. Headaches or not, he wasn’t going to hide this time. As the door creaked open, he jumped at the figure that had entered.
He felt blasting, crippling pain throughout his head as his fingers made contact with his intended victim. Tara had managed to dodge the surprise attack, Spike had barely glanced her left shoulder. She stood and watched the Vampire gasping, clutching his head.
As the pain started to subside, Spike opened his eyes to see Tara standing above him, holding a large object in her arms. He stood slowly, the back of his head still pounded.
“Are you alright?” Tara asked.
“I just have a headache. A nasty one.” Spike replied, his eyes still bleary, his speech labored.
“I didn’t mean to s-scare you like that.” Tara apologized.
“No worries, I just though that it was those bloody soldiers again.” Spike replied. He looked to the object in Tara’s arms. “What’s that then?”
“It’s a present. For y-you.” Tara answered.
“A new telly!” Spike said with unrestrained, almost childlike excitement. He was smiling uncontrollably.
“Well, it’s kind of used.” Tara started. “It’s the best one that I could af-aford.” She continued. “I had to trade in some stuff at the pawn shop.”
“It’s got remote control.” Tara added with haste.
“What do you want?” Spike started to look suspicious.
“To thank you.” She replied.
Spike stood silent, a confused expression washing over his face.
“When we were looking for Willow, you said that y-your TV was broken, and I thought that y-you would like to have another one.” Tara explained, starting to feel that her generous idea was a mistake.
“Um, thank you.” Spike muttered, feeling very awkward and unaccustomed to receiving gratitude. He took the machine from Tara’s arms and placed it next to his old, damaged set.
“’Passions’ is coming on soon. I don’t suppose that you’d like to watch with me.” Spike offered his lame version of hospitality.
Tara stood silent for a few uncomfortable moments, not sure of the most tactful way to decline the invitation.
“Never mind.” Spike smiled. “You’ve got a sick little patient to take care of.”
Tara returned the smile to Spike, thankful for his understanding.
“Thank you.” Tara said again as she walked toward the heavy door of the tomb. “For everything.” She looked back to Spike and smiled as she left.
Willow was seated, in her underwear, on the edge of Tara’s bed. Her pants were on the floor, next to the spot where her feet dangled. The heat of her laptop was growing to be almost too hot for her bare thighs to handle, but she chose to ignore the sensation as she rapidly typed, trying to finish the term paper that she had failed to complete over the weekend.
Once she had been discharged from the hospital, the night before, she had refused to stop trying to catch up with the schoolwork that she’d neglected. Tara sat on the floor, just in front of her, placing small, pink adhesive bandages on the healing cuts of Willow’s legs and feet. Tara’s touch was gentle, occasionally caressing her partner as she tended to her wounds.
Willow stopped typing, her hands rubbing her eyes. She looked around Tara’s room, noticing that something was different. Something was missing.
“Baby,” Willow started, “Where’s your stereo, and your CDs?
“I gave them to charity.” Tara replied with a slight smile.
“Even the disk with the song on it?” Willow asked, her voice sounding sad.
Tara stood and walked over to her desk, pausing in the nursing duties that she had been so glad to assume. She opened a drawer and pulled out the orange-labeled compact disk, displaying it to Willow.
“Bring it to me.” Willow requested from her perch.
“I don’t have anything to play it on.” Tara said as she walked over to Willow, presenting the object to her.
Willow took the disk, and placed it in the CD-ROM drive of her laptop. She selected the appropriate track, making sure to configure the player to repeat it. After assuring herself that she was done, Willow placed the laptop onto the floor next to the bed.
The now familiar piano notes began to ring with surprising clarity from the computer’s small speakers.
“C’mere, Baby.” Willow said, patting the mattress next to where she was sitting.
Tara obliged, settling down on top of Willow after the redhead had brought her legs onto the bed, allowing Tara to slide her body in between them. As the female voice of the recording conveyed the lyrics of the song to which Willow and Tara had grown so attached, they closed their eyes and their mouths touched.
They held their tender kiss through several repeats of the song, as their hands stroked and caressed in an unhurried and joyous tactile communication of their tacit, reciprocal love. Willow would never know that she was kissing the one who had saved her life, and the lives of so many others. Tara would never know that her lips glided against to those of the person who had, unwittingly, drawn all of the demonic blood out of her. She would eventually discover that she was an ordinary human, but she would never know the truth as to why.
-- The End.
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Many thanks to everyone for taking the time to read and (hopefully) enjoy this story. It has proven difficult to write at times, but always rewarding. I'm kind of sad to have reached the end already, but I feel that the conclusion(s) are very 'even' and 'natural' at this point.
If you would be so kind, please share your comments and observations, taking the evolution of the story as a whole, if you would, but also detailing specific highlights (successes, failures, etc.) I'd love to read your feedback. It will help me to further develop my writing skills.
Thanks again-- SQ.
P.S. Anyone interested in a sequel?
Kinda confused here. Really can't wait for the next part! 
, thank you thank you for sharing this lovely fic. 
Awesome! I loved the way you got to the point without the story ever dragging. You said so much with few words. Your story was tight, compact and smooth. In my book, less is always more!
at: 9/12/03 7:20 am