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Title: Sky Full Of Synchronicity E-mail: jixers at yahoo.com Feedback: Yes, of course. I’ll have a large. Distribution: Any free fanfiction site, just tell me. Spoilers: World Series 2004 Rating: PG Pairing: W/T Disclaimer: All characters of BtVS are owned by Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon. If they were mine I’d have more than a Cubs ‘away’ cap and a sore throat from shouting “Wait until next year!” Summary: There are no such things as curses. Really. February 2004 Willow Rosenberg opened the dusty trunk with a grunt. Her great grandfather’s old steamer trunk had been in her family’s attic for as long as she could remember, but it had never seemed important before. There was supposed to be old pictures and other things from an era she could barely imagine. Something had happened that made finding out where her family had come from very important. The first thing that Willow saw in the trunk was a carefully wrapped picture. She unwrapped it to and stared into the eyes of young man with a confident smile. Stitched carefully into an old fashioned enlisted Navy hat were the words U. S. Armed Guard. A cannon emblem on his sleeve looked bright in the old picture. She picked up a packet of letters under the picture. She looked through the yellowed paper carefully, seeing the dates and the man in the photo, her great grandfather, came a bit more alive. 1917 and 1918 were in chronological order. She read of storms at sea, U Boat sightings and mines. The letter from September 11, 1918 jarred Willow as she looked at the date. She opened the thick letter and saw half a dozen snapshots. Another era looked back at her. Pictures of her great grandfather and men dressed like him were posed in front of various landmarks that didn’t mean much to her. A program from Game Five of the 1918 World Series was tucked into the letter. Underneath the fat letter was a telegram. Willow read the message that her ancestor had survived mines and U Boats only to die in the great influenza outbreak. She looked at the things that had been returned to her great grandmother, Sarah. The staged photograph of Sarah and the baby that would become Willow’s grandfather looking straight ahead was in a silver case. Willow looked at the incomplete last letter. Dearest Sarah,
I’m under the weather but I’m feeling better. I’m looking forward to seeing you and little Jacob so much I could almost curse this weakness that keeps me here. I’ll be home soon my lovely wife and then I’ll take my uncle’s offer. We’ll go to California, my love.
Willow stopped reading and hastily set down the bundle of letters. As she did so one picture slipped out and floated with a pirouette to the floor. Willow picked it up and saw her great grandfather and more men in uniforms like his between two Boston Red Sox players. She turned it over and read on the back names that were vaguely familiar. A shimmer seemed to cover the photo for a second and she felt a surge of power fade away.
But magic’s gone, she thought.
“Honey?” Tara called out at the bottom of the folding stairs.
“Don’t come up!” Willow called out. “Those are rickety!”
“I’m fine,” Tara started as Willow came to the top of the ladder.
“You’re not fine!” Willow protested. “You just got out of bed after trying to absorb all the broken magic and pulling me back from the other side of the collapsing Hellmouth and fainting and not waking up for two days. That’s on top of being newly and magically pregnant.”
“We’ve got to get going,” Tara said tiredly.
“Are you up to this?” Willow asked as she came down the stairs.
“I-I-I d-don’t think we’re going to get the loan,” Tara whispered.
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Willow Rosenberg untangled herself from the sheets and Tara’s embrace. She snuck down the stairs from the Summers’ made over attic, past Buffy’s, Dawn’s and Joyce’s room. Joyce and Giles now, Willow thought. Was that how it had always been or was it all those other realities being folded into this one when the Hellmouth collapsed? I guess we’ll never know.
Willow finally made it downstairs to sit at the dining room table and start her laptop. She looked up Babe Ruth and the Red Sox, curses and, as a lark, astronomy and astrology. She looked at the notes she’d been taking and felt an echo of the thrill she’d had when she’d finished a complicated spell.
“It’s obvious,” she whispered.
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“How much?” Tara demanded.
“It’s a sure thing, baby,” Willow began.
“HOW MUCH?” Tara roared.
“Two thousand,” Willow said in a small voice. “But it’s…”
“Two thousand dollars?”
“I sold a couple of…”
“Two thousand dollars?”
“Honey…”
Tara started to cry.
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“I see the Sox dropped two,” Tara said not looking up from her paper.
“They’re still in front for the American League wild card,” Willow said defensively.
“Oh…” Tara said putting her paper down.
“What is it?” Willow asked anxiously.
“I felt her move,” Tara said with a rueful smile. “And I think she was shoving.”
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“I don’t believe this,” Tara said. “They couldn’t sweep after eighty six years, could they?”
“No curses anymore,” Willow said with a smile as she took Tara’s hand.
“Didn’t help the Cubs,” Tara replied.
“You’ve got to have good steady pitching,” Willow insisted. “And a-a-ahhyeeoowch!”
“That was a real contraction,” Tara said suddenly looking pale. “It’s time.”
Willow calmly stood up, grabbed Tara’s case, called down the stairs, and directed various nervous peoples’ efforts. Willow was amazed at how calm she was as she went downstairs, got in the car, and belted up. She turned to back down the driveway and was rolling when she realized the seat next to her was empty. Willow looked sheepishly at Tara and the Summers-Giles family on the porch. Willow turned off the car.
“Forget something?” Buffy teased.
“Oh,” Willow grumbled. “Be quiet or I’ll faint, back up birthing coach.”
“Look at the moon,” Dawn said suddenly. “The eclipse is starting.”
They stopped at a red light as Tara let out another groan that tore at Willow’s heart. The redhead glanced at the moon being swallowed in the night sky. The last of the magic in the world was in the seat beside her. Willow reached for Tara’s hand. A faint whisper of magic passed over them and faded.
“Time to move on,” Tara said softly.
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“I want to go home,” Tara said as she broke out in a sweat.
“You’re doing great,” her nurse said. “You’re moving along pretty quickly.” The nurse looked at the monitor. “Here comes another contraction. You’re going to be a pretty quick labor, all things considered.”
Willow grabbed Tara and supported her as the contraction began.
“Dawn, look out the window,” Willow hissed.
The teen looked outside. The moon was the color of old blood. Dawn looked back to Willow. “It’s still dark.”
“Honey, it’s just the Earth’s shadow over the moon with the sunsets reflecting off the lunar surface,” Willow explained hearing the tension in Dawn’s voice.
“So why does part of me want to start a fire and hide because something’s eating the moon?” Buffy asked.
“You’re in touch with your primitive side,” Willow replied.
“Wait!” Dawn said quickly. “I can see a bright sliver!”
“She’s crowning!” the nurse said.
“Will, the Sox are still up in the bottom of the…” Xander said before he looked at Tara, turned ghost white and started to fall.
“Got him,” Faith said pulling him upright. Then she looked as Tara let out a clenched scream. “Oh my God!”
“Come on you two,” Joyce ordered as she guided them both to the door. “That’s why you’re on the outside list.” With Joyce’s help Faith and Xander barely made it to the door.
“I can see the real moon!” Dawn called out carefully not looking at the new life coming into the world.
“Don’t push!” the nurse ordered.
“Who’s pushing?” Tara snarled.
“Hi-oh my!” the doctor said coming into the room.
“Kate!” Tara snapped. “Get this thing out of me now!”
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Giles watched the clock carefully. There were a pair of new, healthy lungs in the birthing room. Joyce pushed open the door smiling like he’d never seen her smile before.
“Sarah Anne Rosenberg weighs seven pounds four ounces and she’s a redhead,” Joyce said before she reached out and hugged her husband.
“Can we see her?” Xander asked. “I mean after they clean her up.”
“Give them a bit,” Joyce said.
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Willow turned and looked at Tara as the door closed on the last of the group. Tara and Sarah were cuddled close together. The window blinds were open and when Willow turned down the lights a pale light slipped over mother and child. There was not even a hint of magic. Then Sarah yawned and Willow knew there would always be magic in the world. Tara looked at her with a sleepy smile.
“How did the Sox do?” she asked.
“I’ve got to go get some money and get our down payment for a house,” Willow said with a smile.
“In a couple of days,” Tara said with sleepy firmness.
“Maybe a week,” Willow agreed.
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“I still don’t believe it,” the manager of the sports book sighed. “This Series nearly wiped us out. I don’t suppose you’d want to give me a shot at getting some of that back?”
“Huh?” Willow said looking up from the zeros on the check. “Oh, bet again you mean.”
“Maybe some action on the Cubs?” the man asked.
“Are you crazy?” Willow said with a shake of her head. “That team is cursed!”
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Epilogue
August 2024
The red brick dust and green looked like home even if the signs were in a foreign script as Tara Rosenberg looked through her camera. There were thousands of people around her on the first base side of the diamond. From a dozen radios nearby she could hear the commentators running their mouths as her baby (never mind that this October she would be twenty) stepped onto the field. Sarah looked up into the crowd. Tara and Willow got to their feet and waved. Sarah smiled and turned toward the batters box. Against her will Tara listened to the commentators.
“…another missed hope this year.”
“You’re right. This team was the feel good story of the Olympics for the U.S. but we’re down by two, again, and it’s two outs in the bottom of the ninth again, with a frustrated pair of base runners on again for the third Olympics in a row. At least the Women’s Baseball team is guaranteed Silver.”
“Some people are saying there’s a curse on this team. Rosenberg’s stopped just outside the batter’s box. She’s still using that old-fashioned hickory bat made by, who is it? Her uncle?”
“Something like that. What’s she doing?”
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Sarah looked at the pitcher and felt the fear she’d felt since “The Machine” as they called her had embarrassed her in the exhibition game the first week Sarah had made the team. This time though she carried the photo printout in her pocket like she’d carried every other time she’d played this game since she was six. The photo print was a copy of her entire mixed up extended family around her in her first little league uniform.
Sarah stopped and let herself think about her family crowded around the old-fashioned plasma TV at home in California and her mothers in the stands.
I’ve got to get to her somehow, Sarah thought.
The bat almost seemed to come alive as she swung it. She brought it up without thinking about it. She looked over the bat at the left center field wall and did the easy calculation to come up with three hundred ninety two point one feet.
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“What’s she doing?” Giles asked.
“She’s calling her shot,” Xander whispered. The ‘cousins’ all gasped at his remark. They could hear him because they’d turned off the yammering commentators.
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The annoying Californian with the weird family and her archaic bat was challenging the best pitcher to grace this stadium. Then the Machine looked into those blue eyes and saw them crinkle as Rosenberg gave her a lopsided grin as the redhead slipped into her stance in the batter’s box. How dare she? There was only one answer.
The pitcher started her wind up but in throwing just a bit too hard she had taken just the slightest bit off her aim.
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In the stands Tara couldn’t look. She closed her eyes tight. Then there was the familiar sound of wood on leather at speed. Tara leaped to her feet just half a heartbeat before the rest of the crowd with Willow beside her. She saw Sarah watch the trajectory of the ball that no outfielder could catch and then glance towards the stands where her mothers were giving voice to the primal roar that swallowed all the rest of the sounds.
“That’s my girl!” Tara and Willow screamed joyously.
The End
Edited by: jixer at: 11/3/04 9:20 pm
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