Jen & Thanatopsis - Thanks. "More insightful than they appear - LOL. Okay, let's keep going, holidays have been a productive time for this tale.
Mission Statement 1.4 “The New Slayer”
Disclaimer: Not for profit. JW & ME own the personnel, I’m borrowing them.
Reproduction: Not without author’s permission.
Rating: M15 adult themes, sexual references, violence, Kitten angst.
Update: Tara, returned as a vampire but seemingly unable or unwilling to harm Willow or anyone else, is hiding at Buffy’s house, pretending to be a bot. It’s a week or two after Episode 1.3.
It was just past noon. As happened every now and again in Sunnydale, the autumn weather had brought a swirl of mist and a blanket of leaden cloud in from the Pacific. The air was cool and damp and there was a whispered promise of rain later. Tara had taken advantage of the overcast sky and was sitting in the back garden of Buffy’s house. She was wearing a heavy hooded overcoat, jeans and boots, her only exposed skin her slender hands and the tip of her straight elegant nose. Nevertheless the vampire kept a weather eye out for any sudden breaks in the cloud and she was ready at an instant’s notice to dash for the safety of the open back door.
She sat on an old scuffed wooden bench, her legs comfortably stretched out, enjoying the sights and sounds of a mundane suburban afternoon. Tara had missed this. With Willow away at work for long hours during the daytime, there was little enough for the blonde to occupy her time other than by sleeping, reading, doing housework or succumbing to the poisonous siren call of the television. Tara wondered half-seriously if boredom was a factor in making vampires so savage and violent. At least she had the joy of looking forward to Willow coming home from work for lunch as well as in the evening. No, she decided eventually, it was definitely the blood lust. Speaking of which…
The sound of the front door opening reached the vampire’s keen ears, and a moment later she caught Willow’s scent. “I’m in the garden!” she called. A minute or two later, the redhead appeared in the back doorway. She smiled and walked across the lawn to join her lover. They kissed, Willow sat, reached into her backpack and pulled out a brown paper bag for Tara, followed by a sandwich for herself. Tara opened the bag and extracted a plastic beaker of blood. She rolled it in her hands in an utterly futile attempt to warm it slightly.
“My methadone,” Tara murmured, looking at it.
Willow paused in the act of chewing her mouthful of sandwich. She looked at Tara sympathetically. With her free hand she squeezed her lover’s arm. “Tara, honey, it’s your food. You – have a – a condition and you need a special diet. Defibrinated pig’s blood, grain fed, omega-3 modified. Besides, you look a bit like an invalid sitting out here all wrapped up like that.” The redhead smiled gently to show that she was teasing.
“I suppose I do,” Tara agreed, popping the top of the beaker and taking a cautious sip. “Severe allergy to sunlight. I think I preferred being allergic to shrimp. At least shrimp don’t pour down onto the earth’s surface for twelve hours every day. You don’t have to watch me drink this stuff if it upsets you,” she added.
“No it’s okay honey, I need to get used to it. Anyway, it’s nice to sit outside to eat for a change.”
“That’s true,” the vampire acquiesced. “I was going stir crazy in that house.” Willow nodded, and Tara noticed that she shuddered slightly. “Will, darling, are you still a little shaky from last night?” Willow nodded again and lowered her eyes, and Tara could see how forced the redhead’s apparent good humour was.
“Even Anya noticed it,” Willow said. “I’m just so tired today. I know it’s important to do, but can we – can I have a break tonight? I’ll just go to bed and sleep, okay? I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine Willow, really. You have to take your own time with this.”
“I’d better get back; I’ll be late,” Willow said in a small sad voice. They kissed and the redhead went back inside the house. Soon after, Tara heard the front door open and close. Tara finished her drink, got up, stretched, and went inside. For a few minutes she slowly wandered around the living areas, moving a picture here, an ornament there, though her mind was fixed on the events of the previous night.
On retiring to their bedroom, Tara had gently positioned Willow on a pile of pillows on the carpet and cast the spell to see the supine redhead’s aura in greater detail. What she had seen had confirmed her worst fears. The flow was uneven and there were significant disruptions. Worst of all, ringed by discontinuities, there was a shell of absolute blackness which no normal aura should ever possess. Gingerly, Tara had reached out with her mind and probed some of the damaged points, skirting around the forbidding dark area. Once or twice, Willow, although deeply relaxed and meditating, had moaned in pain, and Tara had ended the spell a little sooner than she had initially planned. When Willow had lifted herself out of her own trance, she had opened eyes filled with grief and hurt and reached out for the blonde. They had clung together for a long time, saying nothing, giving one another comfort and contact.
“This is so strange.” After a while Willow had begun to speak, haltingly, her voice coming as if from far away. “I knew all of those things that I did, what I said. I remember it all, but it’s as if it never really registered. It’s as if I just - read about it in a book. It was all about some other person. Nothing – resonated – until now.”
“I know,” Tara soothed. “Your flow, your spirit has been – disconnected in so many ways.”
“Why did they do this to me?” Willow wailed.
“Shh, shh,” Tara stroked her beloved, gently. “They were scared and they were in a hurry. I think they were trying to stop you from dying.”
“Dying?”
“The pain. It was more than a mortal body could stand. The only reason you survived it in the first place was because you had so much magic in your system. They had to isolate you from the pain.”
“But it’s still there, right? Inside me?” Tara nodded. “How will I ever be free of it?” Willow wondered.
“Time, darling. Time.”
“Tara? Hold me?”
Tara returned her mind to the present, finding herself in the front hall. She looked down and saw a couple of opened letters on the hall table. One was Willow’s bank statement; the other was a letter from an investment company.
The blonde witch read: “Dear Ms. Rosenberg,
Re: College Fund of Summers, Dawn Alice
In these uncertain economic times, it is more important than ever to save regularly. Accordingly, in order to keep your investment on track to reach the realistic goal that you have set, it is requested that you send…”
The letter was creased near the bottom, as if Willow had grasped it and partly crushed it while she had read it. Tara looked closer and saw a discoloured spot on the paper. She sniffed – the unmistakable salty tang of one of Willow’s tears. Tara glanced at the bank statement, looked at the empty beaker of blood still in her hand and bit her lip. Willow is struggling with life, Tara thought, she’s trying to do what’s right, and I come back and I’m just another mouth to feed and I’m bringing her pain. It’s so wrong. Not for the first time she questioned whether she was doing the best thing.
But I can’t deny my love for her. That is my only constant in this insane situation.Tara sat in the living room in silence for a long time, thinking, drumming her fingertips on the empty beaker, humming from time to time. At last she stopped, stood and walked to the phone.
“Willow? Hi, it’s Tara. No, nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering; the guys from ‘Dingoes Ate My Baby’? Yeah Devon, I remember that name – are any of them still in town? Okay, listen…”
(To be continued)