• Title: TACIT 1/?
• Author: StrangeQuark
• Feedback: Please
• Spoilers: Season 4
• Rating: PG at first, eventually NC-17 in later chapters
• 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.
Main Entry: tac·it
Pronunciation: 'ta-s&t
1 : expressed or carried on without words or speech
2 a : implied or indicated but not actually expressed
Part 1
It was a bad day. She woke up late, she was late for her first class, and she missed any chance that she may have had to eat some breakfast. With her concentration diminished, she performed miserably on a test in her second class, and couldn't focus on either of the lectures from her last two classes. Despite all this, she looked forward to that evening, when she and her new friend Willow would get the chance to try a spell. Tara admitted to herself that the spell wasn't really what she looked forward to the most.
It was Willow that she anticipated eagerly. Friends did not come easily to Tara. She was never comfortable around other people. She felt as if her reality was merely parallel to theirs. She saw things that the others could not. She was scared of the things that others casually dismissed. The things that others yawned at impressed her. Things that the others were unaware of amused her. She had alienated many people by laughing at something, only to discover through an attempted explanation, that the humor in her reality was vastly different than theirs.
Who was this Willow Rosenberg, and why did she 'get it.' Was she pretending to 'get it?' Nobody had ever 'gotten it' except for her mother, and she wasn't alive anymore. "Maybe Willow is from my reality too?" Tara mused.
She had made a friend in Willow. A friend the likes of which she was uncertain could be real. She had always maintained a distance from people for fear of rejection and ridicule, but she couldn't keep Willow at such a comfortable radius. She trusted Willow, and didn't try to understand why.
After her last class, Tara decided that she would need supplies for the spell that she and her friend had agreed to attempt. She had suggested a simple spell that the two would have no trouble executing, but Tara felt that the spell-casting was the main reason that Willow wanted to meet with her, and she wanted to make sure that Willow had a reason to keep seeing her. The intensity of her insecurities would not allow her open herself to rejection.
While she waited at the dingy bus kiosk near the campus of U.C. Sunnydale, she unfolded one of the schedules and tried to decipher which bus went where and at what time. When the appropriate bus pulled up, she got on and was soon on her way to downtown Sunnydale.
When she entered the small, poorly lit shop, she allowed her eyes to adjust from the bright daylight of the late afternoon. Her nostrils caught the combined scent of the herbs and roots that comprised most of the store's inventory. After selecting the few items that she needed, the sight of a small, distressed book within a pile that was strewn upon one of the dark, antique tables near the entrance to the shop caught her notice. It struck her that the arrangement was a perfect subject for a still life, so perfect in it's flawed composition. She disturbed the odd symmetry of the scene by removing the small timeworn book.
It was old indeed. There was no publisher nor ISBN number mentioned on the inside cover. As she thumbed through the pages, she realized that the book’s contents were in a language of which she wasn't familiar. The odd text seemed more of a series of repetitive sequences of characters than a dialog. She closed the book softly and looked at its featureless dark red cover and faded black fabric binding. There was no title. Out of curiosity, she decided to purchase the book along with the supplies that she needed for her spell.
The store clerk rang-up her purchase and placed the items in a brown paper bag, making a point to exclude the book with no title. When Tara opened the bag to place the book inside, the clerk snapped to grab her wrist.
"That should not sit with the herbs." said the clerk firmly, but gently.
"Oh. S-sorry." Tara replied, blushing as the clerk released her politely firm grip on Tara's wrist. "I didn't kn-kn-know." Tara said as she looked down to avoid the eyes of the clerk.
Tara left the awkward moment in the shop behind her, mentally cursing herself for being so foolhardy with an unknown object. She wished that there were another magick shop nearby so that she would never have to go there and face her embarrassment again. Noting the position of the sun, she unfolded her bus schedule and tried to decipher when the bus that would return her to the campus would arrive. Tara figured that the bus back to U.C. Sunnydale would arrive in about five more minutes. A few minutes later, she impatiently looked at her watch.
She consulted the timetable again, and she felt a little panic. She was looking at a holiday schedule, and it wasn't a holiday. Her shoulders sank as she realized that she had missed her ride back by ten minutes. The next bus wasn't due to arrive for another ninety minutes. Willow would be waiting for her at her dorm in about forty-five minutes. She didn't want to disappoint her friend.
Tara decided that she could walk the four miles back to the dorm. "Some people walk up to five miles in an hour." she reassured herself. Placing the mysterious book in her knapsack, and carrying the bag of magickal herbs in her arm, she started to walk back towards the campus.
About an hour later, exhausted, sweaty, and aching, she arrived at the door to her room to find her friend Willow sitting on the floor of the hallway just beside it. Willow looked up, breaking her empty gaze at the spot of floor in front of her. Tara expected the redhead to be, at least, a little angry due to her tardiness, but Willow actually looked relieved to see her, which caught Tara off guard.
"Hey!" Willow said with a sudden cheer evident in her face. "I was beginning to think that you were asleep, or maybe out partying, or something more fun than..." Willow trailed off as she noticed the fatigue and exhaustion that weighed down Tara's movements.
"What happened?" Willow asked as Tara unlocked the door to her room. "You look exhausted." Added Willow, concern in her tone.
Tara motioned Willow inside her room and the two entered.
"I'm just s-stupid." Tara deprecated herself. "I can't r-read a bus schedule." "So I had to w-w-walk back here."
Willows features drooped slightly and her eyebrows shifted, involuntarily expressing concern. "How far did you have to walk?" Willow asked.
"Maybe four miles." Tara sighed more than spoke as she removed the brown paper bag from her hot, damp hand and set it on her desk.
"You should have waited for another bus." Willow tilted her head, accentuating her sympathetic posture.
"I didn't w-want to make you wait." Tara said quietly, looking at the floor.
"Tara, I'm not worth walking one mile for, let alone four." Willow said softly as she joined Tara in examining the same featureless piece of floor. The redhead began to realize that Tara might be as much a lonely outcast as she. The two of them, young college students, on a Friday night, neither one of them invited to, or interested in attending, the many parties that were probably starting all over the campus.
"I think you are." Tara said cautiously, her face relaxed and tired, one corner of her mouth trying weakly to manage a smile. Willow stopped her own face from betraying her guilt. She felt as though she had been the reason for her new friend's suffering. There was an awkward silence between the two.
Willow looked at her surroundings, unable to bring herself to look at Tara. There was so much to take in. There was a wondrous and strange collection of new and very old. Tiny points of light bathed old leather-bound books with their miniature electric halos. The darkly painted walls offset by the silvery plastic of a portable stereo. The rough wool of an old throw rug and the smooth sheen of the wooden floor which it partially covered. "Contrast," Willow thought. "Tara is all about contrast."
The redhead looked at her new friend with a weak smile. She observed light, smooth skin and dark, textured clothing. From Tara's long delicate skirt to the hard, black leather of the combat-style boots that peeked out from beneath. Tara was a study in contrast.
"Why was this person so interesting?" Willow pondered mentally. Maybe it was the redhead's lack of friends throughout her young life that made this new acquaintance so fascinating. It had never been easy for Willow to make friends. She was always the unintentional outsider. She used to try to fit-in, to gain acceptance, to be included. Like most people, she wanted to belong. So many failed attempts to connect with others had fostered a shyness in her that further exacerbated the problems that she had connecting with people. She had the Scoobies, but they were all heading in different directions now. She held the hope that college would give her a place to be herself and be accepted at the same time, but it still seemed to be full of the same exclusive groups and cliques that damaged her self-esteem in grade school and high school.
She thought of the group of 'Wicca’s' that she had met with in the previous weeks. It was a closed circle of misdirected interest. It was a group whose exclusivity was in contradiction to the core beliefs that it claimed to cherish. She remembered the way that they had dismissed her ideas. She remembered the one who wanted to speak, but couldn't. Willow felt for that unknown girl. She identified with the shy one.
Since befriending Buffy, Willow was growing. She was starting to realize her place in the world. Sometimes, she surprised herself with how outgoing and assertive that she was starting to become. But after the heart-crushing rejection that Oz had left her with, the old self-doubt was again weighing upon her. Quiet introversion was a lonely, but safe refuge for Willow. She didn't trust anyone as much as she used to. Tara was the exception, the first exception to the implicit 'Willow won't be able to make any friends' rule.
"I still can't believe that you walked that far just for me." Willow said, her eyes briefly meeting Tara's. "Maybe next time, I could come with you." Willow offered. Then her eyes widened, her face unable to contain the excitement of her sudden idea. "We could go together!" she eagerly exclaimed.
Tara looked down at her arms, which were folded, across her chest, betraying her insecurity. A smile pulled at the corners of Tara's lips, one corner more strongly than the other.
Willow was always interested in seeing that lopsided smile. It was part of the charm that her new friend had. It wasn't always easy to get Tara to smile, and when she did, Willow felt a genuine sense of accomplishment.
Willow spouted, "You must be exhausted. I should go so that you can rest. Your feet must be all achy and stuff. 'Cause when you have to walk so far and you're not used to walking that far, and you've already..."
Tara shook her head vigorously and smiled at Willow. The redhead stopped mid-babble and looked off to her side nervously.
"I'm not helping, am I?" Willow offered.
"You don't h-have to go." Tara said quietly. "I'd like you to stay... If you w-want to?" Her stutter embarrassing her, Tara decided to stop speaking and sit down on her bed. Tara's sore legs and feet felt some minor relief as she took her weight off of them.
"I'll stay for a little while then?" Willow tentatively offered as she moved to sit down cross-legged on the floor as to face the spot where Tara's legs dangled over the edge of the bed.
As they sat in silence, facing each other, looking awkwardly and deliberately at nothing, Willow said with a strained warmth in her voice, "We don't have to do a spell, you know, if you're tired and stuff."
Not knowing if this meant that Willow would get up and leave, Tara chanced to say "I don't kn-know if I can concentrate..." her statement interrupted by a sudden yawn, so sudden that she barley got her hand up in time to politely cover her open mouth. “This is how I spend my Friday nights." Tara ashamedly thought, "Boring my friend who probably thinks that I'm obsessive because I walked..." Tara's thoughts were abruptly halted by a strange sensation.
Willow was leaning forward and untying one of Tara's boots. Tara sat and watched, completely disarmed by what was happening. Willow untied the other boot and began to loosen the laces enough that she could remove it from Tara. Although uncomfortable about Willow's actions, Tara was relieved when her boots were removed, and her throbbing feet were free.
Willow didn't know what she was doing. Tara's boots were right there in front of her, below her eye-level, and she couldn't think of anything better to do than to help the girl out of them. She felt the hot, smooth leather change shape as she slid the boots off of Tara's feet. She felt the intricate curves that had imprinted into the contours of the tough leather slide between her fingers and palms. She had never before undressed anyone, not even Oz. It was awkward, and strangely interesting. Willow leaned further forward to place the boots in an empty space beneath Tara's bed.
"What are you doing?" Tara asked uncomfortably. Tara was in conflict. She felt the caring, gentle touch of her friend's hands, and enjoyed it immensely, but it felt strange to sit idly by and watch someone enter her personal space. What if Willow would find her, as she found herself; disgusting? The feeling of vulnerability was further accentuated when she felt more strange sensations.
"Shhh..." Willow softly sounded as she pulled the damp socks off of Tara's sore feet. Willow looked at the reddened skin and took one of Tara's feet between her cold, dry palms and firmly squeezed.
Tara gasped a little at the sensation her friend’s cold little hands clasping around her hot, tired sole. She felt the gentle pressure and gradual release of the small, yet powerful hands around her. Each firm, gentle squeeze seeming to energize, each release relaxing her further. Tara was unaccustomed to pampering, and exhaustedly decided to enjoy all of the new sensation that her mind and body were experiencing at the hands of her friend.
Willow felt the heat leave Tara's tired foot and soak into her cold hands. She felt the soft, fleshy parts that covered the hard, bony parts. She felt the soft skin, and the hard, smooth nails of the toes. She firmly rubbed her thumbs and fingers against the sensitive sole. She had never noticed, with such detail, anyone's feet before. She saw for the first time, the poetry of form, the rugged functionality, and the delicate grace and sensitivity of Tara's. She closed her eyes and relished the sensation of touching another so innocently, yet so sensually. "It's natural to comfort a friend." Willow rationalized to herself. "A friend who would walk four miles, in a hurry, so that she wouldn't disappoint me." Willow's own strange thoughts were lulled by the sensation of the warm flesh compressing between her fingers. She settled into an organic rhythm of tension and release that comforted her as well as Tara. Willow shifted her attentions to Tara’s other foot.
Tara abandoned any thought of protest and reclined her whole body backwards onto the bed. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm bath of closeness in which she was now lazily awash. "Mmmmm..." A soft purr escaped from her throat as she surrendered further.
Willow felt the corners of her mouth pull up into a smile as she heard the sound that confirmed her attentions were not just relieving her own stresses. "This is nice, you know." Willow quietly admitted. "Like one of those stress-management ball-things that big CEO-types are supposed to squeeze."
Tara insecurely smiled and said, "My feet are probably all, you know, gross. You shouldn't touch them."
Willow responded by taking each of Tara's feet, one into each hand, and firmly squeezing around Tara's toes until she heard the sharp inhalation that signaled the time to release. As she released her grip slowly, she was further rewarded with a faint “Ooohhh..." from Tara.
"Feeling a little better?" Willow asked.
"Um, yeah." Tara replied softly as she slowly sat up, only to hide her eyes behind her hair. "You've got nice h-hands." Tara admitted, blushing slightly out of her returning sense of vulnerability.
“Thanks." Willow responded simply to fill in the empty space left by Tara's compliment. “Would you like to try a spell or something?" Willow paused, “Like maybe tomorrow night, when you aren't so exhausted?"
Tara pulled her legs up onto her bed and rolled onto her side. She pulled her hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, making eye contact with Willow. "I feel kind of re-energized now." Tara smiled. "Maybe we could, you know, t-talk?"
Willow's eyes widened slightly. "Tara still wants to hang-out, even though we aren't going to do a spell?" Willow contemplated. A smile completed the eager look on the redhead's face.
They sat and talked with each other late into the night sharing tales of their pasts. Exchanging stories of childhood, stories of fun, and even stories of sorrow. They both felt the bond of their friendship grow very quickly as they mutually discovered that their various likes and dislikes coincided so closely. When Willow left for the night, they had agreed to meet for lunch the next day. Tara had mentioned something special that she wanted to show Willow, and the redhead’s curiosity was piqued.
After Willow left, Tara settled her body into bed, and lazily pondered her Willow-encounter as she drifted off to sleep. "Willow is special," she decided, "I willingly let her into my space. I willingly let her touch me... just an innocent act of friendship, but why did it seem so intimate?" Tara's mind slowed further as she recalled the luxurious sensation that she allowed herself to be subjected to by the redhead. "She's so special, don't screw it up Tara.” she chastised herself before nodding off.
Willow returned to the lonely, empty room that she shared with her best friend Buffy. She prepared for bed and slid under the covers, her mind less than quiet after what had happened between her and Tara. "She probably thinks I'm some kind of weirdo. Waiting outside her door like a puppy, touching her like that, she probably just wanted to be polite by not asking me to leave." Willow's mind returned to the sensation of touching Tara. She hadn't touched anyone like that before. She felt so compelled to comfort the blonde. Maybe she did it because she felt unloved and rejected. Maybe she needed the contact because of her own selfish need rooted in her desperate loneliness. She settled into a fitful sleep.
If you want some more, part 2 is coming soon...
Thanks in advance for your feedback.
Snuggles by morning? Smoochies soon? A girl can only hope...
