FIC: Her Willow
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Willow and Tara are the property of Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy and the UPN.
Spoilers: Everything up to "Wrecked"
Summary: This one's Tara-centric. Thoughts and what not after "Wrecked."
Notes: I am open to any thoughts, constructive criticm, etc. It's intended to be the first of a few parts. Oh, and this is my first fic.
Tara stood at the window, her long arms wrapped around her waist, as if trying to protect herself. Against what, she thought? The answer was simple—Willow. It was always Willow. Every thought, every movement, the tangible and intangible—all of it had Willow’s name emblazoned across it. How had they gotten to this point? There was a time when being with Willow was like being reborn every day. All the sensations of life, from simple to complex, were revelations---absolute and perfect epiphanies cascading into one glorious stream…love. They reveled in it. It wasn’t like a drug, not really. Drugs implied addiction, and that’s not what it was. What they had was like breathing, sometimes slow and regular, other times quick and offbeat, but always rhythmic and natural. So this—what had happened with Willow—was like a noose around their love, tightening until all the breath had been squeezed out. But was it dead?
“No. Please no.” Tara bit her lower lip and hugged herself tighter. She wished Willow was here now just holding her, brushing her hair away from her face, whispering words of comfort. Willow was great with comfort. Was. Before the dark spells. The magic had transformed her into a wholly selfish person. It was about power now, getting power, wielding it, and though unintentional, hurting people in the process. Tara’s brow furrowed as she though about the last spell Willow had cast, a spell that nearly cost the Scoobies their lives. She turned away from the window and walked slowly to her chest of drawers. She brushed her fingers across a framed picture of she and Willow in happier times.
“I love your smile,” Willow grinned adoringly at Tara.
“I love yours more.” Tara replied.
Tara brushed the memory away by pounding her fist on the chest of drawers. The anger stirred at the pit of her stomach. She felt it rising through her body, becoming a hard ball of fury. It just wasn’t fair! This woman had come into her life armed with the ability to stir her out of her miserable self-imposed isolation. A woman who, with a warm smile and sincere mind-blowing affection, managed to save her—yes, SAVE her. Because if it hadn’t been for Willow, Tara would be playing housewife to her father and brother, hiding in her room, withering slowly, dying a little more each day, her potential unrealized. It was too hard to fathom. A life without Willow…a life without love.
Tara’s body started to tremble. Fear stabbed at her heart, a fear that she would never be with her Willow again. The Willow of old. All goofy grins, smiling eyes, and sweet elbow rubs. The anger took over. She grabbed the picture and threw it across the room. She watched as the glass shattered. For a moment, she felt a release. A wave of satisfaction rode through her body, settling the angry embers within. But then panic seized her.
“Willow,” she cried out in desperation. She ran to the picture, lying face down, and gingerly shook off the shards. She traced Willow’s face with her index finger whispering, “I still love your smile.” She closed her eyes and hugged the picture to her chest, rocking slowly, back and forth, letting her mind and heart swell with lovely memories of her Willow. Patchworks of love from when Willow wanted to be snuggled, caressed, hugged, and held—such blessed simplicity.
The high-pitched phone ring disturbed Tara’s reverie. Still clutching the picture, she walked to the phone on the nightstand.
“H-hello?”
“Tara…” The voice on the other end was ragged but unmistakable.
“Dawnie?”
“Yeah. Tara, um, something’s happened. It’s uh… I’m hurt, and Willow…” Tara closed her eyes and felt the tears moisten her eyeleashes. She swallowed the Willow lump in her throat and sighed. Not again.
