**TX: And thank you for the helpful kicking - always appreciated
**blameburner: Messing with Willow? Me!? Oh, no, I'd >never< do that. And of course they're going to live happily ever after. They just, y'know, have to go through hell first.
**Karzia: I think the strip chess rules would probably send LOTS of high schoolers to the chess club *G*
**TX(again): Sorry, sorry ... here it is. It's kind of short, though. And cliffhanger-y. I was going to wait until I had a bit more so I could end it in a nicer spot, but I decided to post this so you wouldn't find me and beat me up *G*
This is a REALLY short update, and I'm sorry about that ... I got more distracted than I had expected I would. I have an eight hour class tomorrow, so I really have to sleep now, and I don't know when I'll have the next bit up. Probably Sunday evening at the latest.
This is only the first section of this update - more to follow.
Title: Answering Darkness Part 45a - Glory
Author: Sassette
Feedback: Can be sent to
pink_overalls@yahoo.com Summary: A few questions get answered. But just a few. I wouldn't want to ruin everything, y'know?
Spoiler Warning: Up to and including "Tabula Rasa" in Season 6.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For the purpose of this story, all events of Tabula Rasa took place exactly as shown in the series; however, no subsequent episodes will affect this piece. We're splitting from canon here, because I impatiently began writing this before 'Smashed' and 'Wrecked' aired.
Answering Darkness - Part 45a
Glory
By Sassette
"The Fibonacci Series, you say?" Giles asked curiously.
"Yes," Tara said. She moved her hands over the wooden surface, pressing each symbol as she Willow had done minutes before.
"And she figured it out that quickly?" Giles went on, his tone obviously impressed. Every time he thought he had fully grasped just how agile and quick Willow's intellect truly was, she did something to surprise him yet again. Solving this puzzle that quickly was no exception.
"She's a brainy type," Tara said, a small smile playing across her lips.
"I dare say I'm a brainy type," Giles said, his eyebrows raising. "But I doubt I would have figured this out that quickly." Giles felt the truth of his words. In many situations, all that Watcher training couldn't make up for the raw ability of Willow's mind.
Buffy looked over at the Tara and Giles curiously, then peeked around the rest of the room. Dawn was working diligently on the star chart and Xander was reading.
And this, Buffy realized, was how the world was saved.
There were no handy gadgets, no war room with blinking little maps. Just a bunch of clueless kids and an Englishman. All guts, and no glory.
This was what she had been missing, she supposed. There was something about being the Slayer that kept her from feeling alive unless she was balanced on a razor's edge between destruction and salvation. And that's why, when she had returned from the dead, she hadn't really felt anything.
She had saved the world more times than she cared to remember, but still, she found herself looking around her house - her house now, not her mother's - and wondering how her mom had done it all. She hadn't noticed. She hadn't realized. There were a million little things that her mother had kept in the air, juggling them with little to no sign of stress or worry. She had just done what needed to be done.
That was at trait she had inherited from her mother. She needed a little more practice with the more everyday kinds of things, but hadn't she always just done what needed to be done? Gone in and killed the bad guy with no more 'thank you' or 'congratulations' than a sparkly umbrella on prom night and some late night pizza and movie fests?
And she could do it again. She could get back into the swing of things.
All she needed now was something to punch.
Many times.
Really hard.
"Careful," Tara said quickly, as Giles started to lift the lid. "It, umm … I felt something … bad … from it. Willow felt it, too, but it, umm … it kind of, well, it hurt her."
"Actual physical pain?" Giles asked, his eyebrows raising.
Tara merely nodded in response.
"Then … Hmmm …" he said, looking curiously at the box Tara had placed on the table. "How close was she?"
"About a foot away," Tara answered.
"Well, I … hmmm."
"You already said that," Tara pointed out, the corner of her mouth quirking up.
"How about we don't open the WillowPain box?" Xander offered up hopefully. "Because a hurting Willow is an unhappy Willow, and an unhappy Willow is a bad, bad thing."
"I think … I think she should be far enough away," Giles said carefully, his hand reaching out and tapping the lid. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he lifted it up and peered inside.
He could detect, on the outermost edge of his senses, a curious feeling of unease.
"Can't you feel that?" Tara asked softly.
"I do feel a little uneasy," Giles confessed.
"No, it's more than that," Tara insisted, shaking her head a little. "It's … it's very dark. And it's … it doesn't want to be disturbed."
"I'm afraid it's going to have to get used to the idea," Giles said with a frown, removing the lid entirely.
Nestled in its wood frame was a book, though that was hardly surprising, Giles noted. The book itself, however, was very surprising indeed. Its leathery cover was ornamented with strange designs, its surface ripped and slashed and sewn back together. Giles' hand hovered just over the surface of the book, and he peered closer.
He wasn't sure if he could identify just what kind of animal skin was used, or the random odd stains around the gashes.
"It's human," Tara whispered. "The designs are tattoos. The stains are blood."
"Oh, dear," Giles breathed, pulling his hand back sharply, then turning to look at Tara. "How do you know?"
"I, uhh … I don't know," Tara said, backing away from it and shaking her head from side to side. "I just … it's … it's not a nice book."
"Okay, Ewww," Buffy said, staring at the book. Dawn and Xander were likewise staring, twin expressions of revulsion on their faces.
"Why don't we just put the nasty skin-book back? Please tell me we can just put the nasty skin-book back?" Xander pleaded.
"I … I dare say we can't," Giles said after a long moment, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly retrieving the book.
"Why not? I don't want to play with the nasty skin book," Buffy said, scooting away from it on the couch.
Giles sighed, a look of distaste crossing his face as his eyes were drawn to the book again. "This book was with Tara's mother's things. Presumably, it was passed down through the centuries. That means it was likely with Willow and Tara when Willow faced the Trickster in a previous life."
"So it, what? Can tell us how Willow got rid of him the first time?" Dawn hazarded a guess.
"I certainly hope so," Giles said, a look of approval crossing his face as he nodded at Dawn.
Tara just stared, unable to shake the strange feeling that this book was bad. It meant something bad. It held bad things - bad secrets that should never be brought to light. And it certainly contained powers that should never, under any circumstances, be wielded.
"Do … do you know what it is?" Tara asked slowly.
"I think I might," Giles said with a little nod, using the tip of one finger to open the book. The writing was small and cramped, and he had to lean close to read it, but it was still legible after all these years.
"So, umm … what is it?" Xander asked after a moment.
"Let me do some reading and either confirm or rework my theories, all right?" Giles said, glancing up at him briefly. "Tara, you should check on Willow. Buffy, Xander, you have your own reading. And Dawn, please, work on the star chart, but be careful. It's important not to make mistakes."
Everyone looked at each other uneasily, then went about their assigned tasks.
"Mr. Giles? Is it, umm … safe?" Tara asked uncertainly, moving close and keeping her voice low.
"Yes, it's safe," Giles assured her, patting her hand awkwardly. "But not for everyone," he added cryptically.
Tara nodded, letting Giles' assurances ease the rumblings in her belly, climbing the stairs and moving into her room. Willow lay on the bed, her eyes half-closed with Miss Kitty curled up on her chest.
"Hey, honey," Willow said, her eyes opening when she heard Tara come in. She had been drifting towards sleep, mostly because she didn't have anything better to do, and the feeling of Miss Kitty purring on her chest had been soothing. "So what's in the box?"
"It's a book," Tara said simply, neglecting to go into any detail. There wasn't any real need to tell Willow about how it made her feel or how her skin had crawled and visions of that terrible time when she had not been in her right mind had flashed across her inner-eye. No, that was in the past, and it was best to leave the past where it belonged.
"A book?" Willow said, her brow furrowing. "What kind of book?"
"I don't really know," Tara said with a little shrug. "I didn't bother to stay and find out. Giles is reading it now."
"Oh, well, yeah … I guess that's okay, then," Willow said with a little shrug, her eyes downcast.
"What's wrong?" Tara asked softly, seeing a decidedly unenthusiastic look crossing Willow's face.
"Oh, nothing," Willow said quickly, her brow furrowing. "I think … I'm just a little tired," she confessed. She couldn't tell Tara how useless she was feeling, or how scared. It just wasn't right to dump that kind of thing on her when Tara had so many other things to worry about.
"Yeah? You gonna' take a little nap?" Tara asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing back a bit of Willow's hair.
"Yeah, I think I will," Willow said with a little nod, yawning hugely.
"Okay, sweetheart. If you need anything, I'll just be downstairs. But, umm … I don't want you going down there while that book is out. So yell down if you need me, okay?" Tara requested gently.
"I will," Willow said with a nod. "You do the Scoobyage."
Tara smiled sadly, wishing that Willow could join them. Wishing that Willow was all right. Wishing that lots of things were different. She kissed Willow softly on the forehead, then left the room.
Willow let out a shaking breath, moving her hand out from beneath the covers. A damp cloth hung limply from her shaky fist, and she uncurled her fingers gingerly, looking with wide eyes at the black inky stain on it, and the crackling energy there.