Title: Tara and Willow – Raiders… – Part Four Author: Katharyn Rosser & Chewster Feedback: Absolutely, yes please. Love to engage in the discussion about the story. Spoiler warning: Nope. And if you’ve not seen a film from 1980 then just tough luck, I’m not keeping it a secret. On the other hand, you’ll probably think we’re genius for such an amazing story. Distribution: This story was written for Pens. Pens is its home. No archiving off Different Coloured Pens and the Kitten Board please. No conversion to eBook or other formats please. Enjoy it here. Summary: Tara has vouched Willow, kind of makes you think they know each other… right? We’ll get into a little of how as we go along… Disclaimer: We don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS, Raiders of the Lost Ark or Indiana Jones. All rights lie with the production companies, writers etc. We are making no money from this series of stories however any original characters and situations remain my property. As this is a retelling of Raiders of the Lost Ark and references other Indiana Jones films, a lot of dialogue and nearly all of the plot has been taken from that movie. Other lines may have come from the script but were not seen in the movie and so could appear to be original when in fact credit belongs to the scriptwriter. Other elements are all the writers. It’s a complex mix and we will not be trying to allocate credit line by line. Rating: Occasional, tasteful, adult situations and contextual bad language. However by and large equivalent to the movie. Couples: Well, no one as we open, but Tara and Willow forever. Text convention: Use of italics denotes either special emphasis if used for a single or a few words in a sentence OR first person thoughts if used for a whole sentence. Notes: We’re into original material (after a fashion) for this scene and an original character here in Tara who didn’t of course, exist in the real Raiders and as such we do need to introduce her character, though we’ll get more on her background as we progress. Now you might be saying ‘But – but – I thought Tara would be Marion’ (or maybe you’re not saying that since we named Joyce as the Abner Ravenwood stand-in.) Well, no. There’s stuff in that Indy/Marion relationship dynamic in canon that was actually a little… umm, exploitative and we didn’t want to write around. Also, this way is MUCH more fun. Trust us. And it is 100% FAQ compliant. Do not attempt to second guess where we’re going or feel afraid of it… Katharyn (who now has to refer to herself in the third person in joined up notes GRRR) is also in uncharted territory. I (f*ck it, just I) hate not knowing how long a part will be before I start. I want to structure towards natural scene breaks. However, actually, the scene changes in movies are much faster than novels/fan fic. As such I almost have to just give you a number of ‘chunks’ as there’s kind of a mini-climax in every scene. Well, most of them. We should note that the history of Nazi Germany is messed around with (as it was in the movies) in terms of the years things happened and what was known in the wider world. And talking of climaxes… (That’s a really bad lead in, since it’s for a later scene not the first one you read below…) Character map: This will only show characters so far revealed in the story, but just to keep things straight between this version and the canon… Willow Rosenberg = Indiana Jones, Tara Maclay = Tara Maclay, Rupert Giles = Marcus Brody, Faith Lehane = Belloq, Riley = The never to be seen again snake in the plane, Joyce Summers = Abner Ravenwood. Thanks to:
“So when was the last time you were in my bedroom, Rupert?” Willow asked.
“I – I’m quite sure you were about six years old.”
“Ten,” she corrected. “You read to me from the Iliad.”
“Every day for two weeks, while your father was away,” he recalled.
“In Greek,” she pointed out.
“You did, finally, get it,” Rupert told her. “Though I like the place better now.” What had prompted the question was that he’d been moving around, prodding at things. Looking, like any archaeologist would, at the setting in which he found himself. Even an archaeologist who’d been absent from the field for some years. Ensconced in academia.
But there were treasures hidden here that he wasn’t supposed to unearth. It was a lady’s bedroom, after all.
Or it could’ve been. If she’d been a ‘lady.’
“Well?” she asked, taking her hat from him as she packed. She’d only been hoping and even if this didn’t come off, there was always Marrakech.
“They want you to go for it,” Rupert told. “And they’ll pay.”
“Good work, great work! I knew you could do this.” It had seemed like there’d be no choice, but getting them to agree to it… It’d needed her to leave the room to let the men work things.
Men plus… one woman.
“Actually – it wasn’t really - ”
“And the museum? The museum gets the Ark when we’re done?” she followed up. It might be the height of optimism, but it was the Ark… the agreement had to be ironclad. He’d have realised that and dealt with things carefully… right?
“Of course!” His excitement over that little fact overwhelmed his need, for a moment, to say anything else about how he’d managed to get the men from Army Intelligence to go along with this.
But how much of it had been the influence of the much younger woman from the Naval Intelligence branch?
Tara Maclay.
Tara had vouched for her in there right when they’d been about to walk away, but had she been decisive? Possibly there was only one way to find out.
“So where will you start?” Rupert asked as she discarded her Marrakech plans and focused solely on the bigger picture.
Just think, a few days coming back from Peru and she might’ve missed this, the biggest thing the field had seen in… essentially forever.
“Joyce, of course. She’ll be in danger now, but I think I have a line on where I can find her. A better one than the Nazi’s will have anyway.”
“You do appreciate that as a Jewish-American woman, they’re unlikely to be sympathetic to you?” Rupert’s voice was laced with concern. Three years since Hitler came to power and Germany, one of the powerhouses of the scientific community, had fallen completely under the control of the nightmare. Men and women they’d both respected and corresponded with – Jewish or not – either forced from their tenure and into exile or joining up in the service of the greater Nazi ideal.
And some… some hadn’t been heard from again.
Those who hadn’t even been out in the field and run afoul of something else.
“The last thing I need is their sympathy,” Willow said as she considered the next item to pack. There was no point in taking too much. As was usual in these situations, she’d end up ditching more than she could carry – or losing it. No valuables outside of sentimental attachments and practical considerations.
“Quite. But – you know, this is really rather exciting. Five years ago, I’d have gone after it myself.”
Make that twenty-five and in the company of a number of jolly good chaps. Nothing wrong with that, it was just who her old friend was. Convivial, intelligent and wise. But not suited to this task. The man had once gotten lost in his own museum, let alone out in the field.
She pushed the whip into the bag. She was sentimentally attached to that, but it came in damned useful. No one ever expected a bullwhip. No one. Or even understood the uses to which it could be put.
“Do you think she’ll still be with her? With Joyce?” she asked, hesitating. There were a couple of things about all this that did give her pause. And they were nothing to do with either the archaeology or the danger.
Women.
“Probably,” he admitted. “Look, Willow, be careful. This isn’t like anything you’ve done before.”
“Sure - ”
“No, it’s not. The history. The powers of the Ark – the consequences if you were to fail…”
“Hey, old man, who’s failing?” She didn’t happen to believe that the Ark was all the things that it was said to be, but she did believe that it was real. A golden chest, containing stone tablets? Sure, why not? Box of horrible death and lightning bolts? Not so much.
“Quite. But please do be careful.”
Willow pushed her gun into the top of the bag. Just to make the point. “Hey, you know what a cautious girl I am.”
------------------------
“You can come out now,” she said after Rupert had left.
That familiar click of the sensible heels as Tara Maclay crossed the hardwood floors. It didn’t take much imagination to visualise just how her ass had been wiggling the last time she’d run into this woman wearing heels either. “He knew you had someone here?”
“He guessed.”
“My perfume, I presume?” Tara guessed.
“Amongst other things.” She shrugged. “He knows my reputation.”
“I thought discretion might be the better part of valour and all that,” Tara said, tapping the end of a cigarette against the gold case that… Willow recognised it. I gave her that. In Delhi. Not as valuable as it appeared, but… Tara had kept it.
“Not in here, please,” she said.
Tara raised an eyebrow as she walked into the room but put it away.
“So this is the great Doctor Rosenberg’s bedroom. I don’t suppose it sees many visitors. Aren’t most of your girls ‘on the road’, as it were?”
“Stories of my conquests have been greatly exaggerated,” she point out, trying to ignore the obvious attraction she was feeling. Giddy excitement wasn’t something that sat well with her image but… it was there, all the same. Running around like a puppy would’ve been possible.
Tara Maclay… Tara Maclay in a uniform skirt and with her hair tied back just… All she wanted to do was reach out and let that hair free, free to hang around Tara’s face.
Free to hang around my face. And not the only thing that’d be hanging. Things. Parts. Hands in interesting places.
“If you say so,” Tara said.
How to respond to that? “I haven’t seen you since Delhi, I thought, somehow, I might.”
Last year. And it’d seemed like a long year in some regards. Like this one.
“That’s right, Doctor. Delhi.”
Delhi… Where one day, after everything they’d been through in and out of the bedroom, Tara Maclay had melted into the crowds and out of her life.
Which is usually my trick. It’d been interesting to experience it from the other side. And frustrating as hell for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was that she hadn’t been half done with a woman she’d grown more than fond of during their shared adventure from Shanghai to Pankot palace and back to Delhi.
“Doctor?” Willow asked. “You didn’t used to be so formal, Lieutenant Commander.”
“What he didn’t tell you - ?” Tara said, not backing off as Willow moved closer to her. Closer to that delicious scent and what was that perfume anyway?
“Tell me what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Doctor Rosenberg.”
“You used to call me Willow,” she said, guessing Tara was trying to stay professional when she felt anything but.
“I used to call you Rosenberg.”
“You called me Willow towards the end… in Delhi.” Closer still, there was no reason for two people to be so close except one. So close they could feel each other’s breath. Almost hear her heart beating.
“Doctor will be just fine. Or Rosenberg if you prefer.”
“Are you along for the ride then?” It was a guess, but it made sense in the face of this professionalism. Tara Maclay wasn’t made for sitting behind a desk. Though she’d have looked quite beautiful there, just like she did anywhere else. And the uniform and the skirt… truly suited her. Not as luxurious as the dress she’d been given at Pankot but… that had taken Tara out of her element.
This was better.
“No, Doctor,” Tara corrected. “I’m not along for the ride. You are. This is my mission. That’s what your friend Doctor Giles - ”
“Professor Giles.”
“That’s what your friend Professor Giles forgot to tell you.”
“No, he didn’t forget, he just neglected to,” she replied. As to what Tara had announced? Who was in charge? For now she was willing to let that slide. The girl could think what she liked. Navy. Always kind of delusional but they had the best uniforms… Oh yes, they did. Tara had confirmed it for her. She’d been looking forwards to it for a while. “You don’t call. You don’t write,” she said.
“I’ve been busy,” Tara said. “If you’ve not noticed we’re building up towards another war if the Nazi’s and the Japanese continue as they are.”
“Well, we’ve all been busy,” Willow reached up to touch her cheek. “But I thought we had something, doll.”
“Don’t call me ‘d-doll,’” Tara said, shaking her head. “And this right here, this is why I call you Doctor Rosenberg. We need to maintain a p-professional relationship.”
“Hmm, and how is it – exactly – that professionals conduct a relationship? Do they only do it at the office?”
“Stop,” Tara said as the touch turned to a caress and then slipped back into her hair, seeking the pins that held it in place.
“I used to think I preferred you in pants,” Willow said. “But… the uniform has its compensations.” Her other hand was sliding the skirt upwards, bunching it. “I’ve always hoped to see you in uniform, one day. Buy you a drink.”
“Stop,” Tara said weakly.
“Say it again, Lieutenant Commander. Say it one more time… and I’ll know you mean it.”
But the naval officer didn’t say a word.
At least not until she’d sighed, moaned and gasped…
-----------------------------
So what could she tell herself?
That it was easier to pull her hat down over her eyes? No, what sort of answer was that?
Travel could get to anyone; spending days on various planes making their way from the East Coast of the US, over to the west and from there to Hawaii had been rough enough. Factor in the flight down to Wake and the fact that they still had a quarter of the distance around world to travel and… Yeah, she might be able to understand why Tara – sorry, that was Lieutenant Commander Maclay - was being standoffish with her.
Or maybe it really was what had happened back at her house before they’d even set off. Since they’d given her the job there’d been that one night and then the rest of the time had been spent on the journey.
Tara had known what she was getting into, of course. They’d known each other in every way back in India last year and… in her mind she’d always had something different planned if they ran into each other again. But, even though it had started promisingly, so much for thinking they might pick up right where they left off though.
Even if bed was where they’d parted that time too. When Tara had snuck quietly out… Of course, on that occasion, Tara had left her something to remember her by too. She’d never had reason to wonder whether it’d just been the relief or another kind of adventure. They’d had a connection and Tara’s gift had confirmed it.
Never had cause to wonder until now… that was.
Finally though, she just had to ask. “So, are you going to be cold and aloof the whole way there?” She was leaning sideways to keep their conversation somewhat private. If Tara could’ve had another seat, on the other side of the plane, Willow was pretty sure that might’ve been her preference.
And she’d lost the uniform too, now that they’d left US territories where it was a passport rather than a hindrance. On balance Tara in pacific theatre whites had been less impressive than the Atlantic black but… either had been very different to her current outfit. Instead she was wearing civilian clothes, good looking civilian clothes. Of course, Willow had always known she had good taste.
Better taste than me, at least.
“I’m not being aloof,” Tara told her firmly.
“See, there you go again.”
“Believe me, this isn’t me being aloof. You’d know if I was being aloof.”
“Professional then? Is that what we’re calling it? Look, honey, I just - ”
“Please don’t call me ‘honey’, Doctor Rosenberg. Or ‘doll’ or ‘sweetie’ or – well, anything like that.”
“Okay, sure, Lieutenant Commander Maclay. Sure. I just want to know where we stand because, last I checked, we weren’t standing at all. Seemed a lot like lying down and doll, we weren’t sleeping.”
Somehow, she just couldn’t help herself. The things she was driven too with Tara. Picking up where they left off with barely a ‘hello’, then challenging her to admit feelings that didn’t seem to be there. Smooth… Wanting to kiss her every damn time she lifted up her eyes and their gazes met.
“Do you really want to know?” Tara asked.
“Yes, I really want to know. I mean what is it? Are you embarrassed? Have I got bad breath?” Because I know you enjoyed it every bit as much as I did. It was like… It really was like they’d never been apart. They’d needed each other. They’d needed that time together and what it had done for them – God, yes, she’d needed what it’d done for her.
A girl can take care of herself, but it’s a whole load better if someone else takes care of it for her.
And from the heights of those passions into the depths of… whatever this was. Tara had spent most of the trip doing crosswords and reading books that she tore through and then gave away to her fellow passengers. She was obviously intending to travel light, which was good. That bag of hers must’ve been just filled with books.
Tara sighed. “Oh, for goodness sake. It’s nothing to do with – Look, the man, in the back row, left hand aisle seat – no, don’t look!”
Willow forced herself to stay still, after all they were trapped on a plane for the next ten hours. He wasn’t going anywhere. But yeah, she really, really wanted to look now Tara had said something. And actually – she didn’t want to point it out – Tara had actually said ‘look.’
“What about him?”
“He was on the flight from San Francisco to Hawaii.”
“And?” She knew what the ‘and’ was, but better that Tara was talking to her because this still didn’t explain anything about them.
“And he was on the flight from Hawaii to Wake. Now he’s - ”
“Once you get to Wake, there’s not exactly a lot to stick around for. He could be going anywhere.”
“He’s an agent.”
“Takes one to know one, I guess.”
“You’re right, maybe it does.”
“So… we didn’t ever think that this would go smoothly and without a hitch,” Willow pointed out. They’d talked about plenty of code words and back up plans in case of separation etc. And she happened to know that Tara had about one thousand dollars of assorted currencies secreted about her person.
She’d just been hoping to have another chance to find out exactly where.
I put salt in my brassiere, last time out. What have you got? Gold coins? Must be uncomfortable.
“Not with you involved, no,” Tara said.
“Hey! I think I resent that.”
“Well, that’s your tough luck now, isn’t it?”
Why was this so hard? Okay, they’d met in what might be considered a stressful situation and followed that up with more and more stressful situations, but somehow – along the way – they’d found a connection with each other and parted on good terms.
Hadn’t they? Seemed like it, from the meeting they’d had when Tara Maclay had walked back into her life, stood up for her and probably helped win her this opportunity of a lifetime. Then… well, then they’d reconnected in other – physical – ways too. It’d felt like a first time for both of them in a long while.
So maybe it had been simple need?
But now?
“So, I’m not even going to get a kiss?”
“You’re absolutely right, you’re not.”
“Okay, so what do you want to talk about for the next few hours? Or are you just going to do more crossword puzzles?”
Tara pursed her lips, reacting to the criticism she’d laced the question with. Yeah, okay, I’m feeling a little bitchy. I think I have cause.
“No,” Tara said. “You’re right. We should talk.”
“Oh. Well… good.” I think. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Is there anything I need to know about you and Professor Summers?”
“You mean aside from the fact I’ve known her my whole life?” she asked.
“I mean the part where you’ve not spoken for ten years and actually, it’s twelve,” Tara supplied.
“Well, if you know that, then you know what it was probably about – don’t you?” Willow challenged, sitting straighter, but keeping her voice low enough it wouldn’t carry to the man Tara had spotted at the back of the plane.
“The daughter?”
“That’d be her.”
“You slept with her?” Tara asked mildly as if she was just professionally interested.
Is that what this is all about?
“No! Absolutely not - I mean, not like you mean. Yes, I slept with her all the time – when we were kids. I mean, I practically lived at their house when my Dad was away.”
“So?”
So why the disagreement then? That was what Tara was asking and though she might’ve hoped that there was some personal motivation behind the question, Willow couldn’t dispute that there was also a professional need to know at work. As an experienced agent from US Naval Intelligence, Tara Maclay did need to know what she was getting herself into.
“So… there was a disagreement,” Willow said. “Things I did. Things I didn’t do. Don’t worry, she’ll tell you all about it if we run into her.”
“But d-do I need to worry about it?” Tara asked.
“No. You don’t.”
“Okay then,” Tara conceded, willing to allow her that amount of privacy.
“And – for the record - I absolutely did not sleep – in that way – with Joyce’s daughter.”
“I said, okay.”
“I just wanted it to be really clear – because, this isn’t an ex-girlfriend we might run into. If she’s there.”
“But?” Tara asked, sensing it.
“If we do run into her daughter then… you might not want to make our history obvious. Just a thought…”
Was that all they were? History?
“B-believe me, Doctor Rosenberg, it wasn’t going to be how I introduced myself to anyone.”
“Good to know. So… What do you want to do about the Nazi in the back row?” Willow wondered.
“Do?” Tara asked. “We’re over the Pacific. Unless you want to throw him out of the plane?”
It seemed a like a reasonable question, given the events not long after they’d first met.
Willow glanced back, camouflaging it as much as she could. And she ended up meeting the bald, bespectacled man’s eyes all the same as he peered at her over his newspaper.
A leather coat, despite the distance travelled and still to be covered, rested over his lap.
Yeah, he looked like anyone’s idea of a Nazi. But that wasn’t enough evidence to throw him out of a plane.
“Hold on,” she said.
“What – what are you doing? Will - Rosenberg!” Tara’s grab for her arm failed to connect and she headed to the back of the plane.
“Making sure,” Willow said. Looked like a Nazi. Sweated like a Nazi. Maybe he’s going to sound like Nazi too?
“Hey, Mac, got a light?” she asked, bending beside the man they suspected. Not that she doubted Tara’s judgement but it was best to be certain. Besides, she wanted to look this guy in the eyes. It’d be good if he knew that she knew. And that she knew he knew she knew. Then they’d all know where they stood.
Or sat, right now.
“I do not smoke,” he replied in a plainly European voice which almost sounded as if he knew the game was up
“Okay, thanks. Auf weidersein.”
“Weidersein.”
Yeah, exactly, Mac.
---------------------------------
No matter where they ended up on this trip, it’d already been like taking a step back in time, Tara had thought.
Just over a year before, Willow Rosenberg had walked out of her life – no, that wasn’t exactly fair, she’d walked out of Rosenberg’s life. The point was that the good Doctor had been wearing that same leather jacket, a very similar shirt, boots and pants she’d gone to change into now.
Oh, and the hat.
Rosenberg never went anywhere without that hat. Offering to buy her another hadn’t helped either. In India they’d been to all sorts of lengths to make sure the hat was okay. Sometimes at the risk of their own lives.
But… she couldn’t argue with the results.
Not about the look the fedora gave her nor what she’d seen that Willow Rosenberg could accomplish.
She’d stood up for Doctor Rosenberg, traded on the Secretary’s good opinion of her to get him to weigh in and support consulting Willow Rosenberg as long as there hadn’t been anything overt to suggest she might with Doctor Summers and in league with Nazi’s. She’d never doubted it, but that had been the compromise she’d had to make. Her army counterparts had been there to make that judgement.
One way or another, she knew that the Doctor wouldn’t let her down.
That was the (other) great thing about her. She got the job done. Always. Maybe in a roundabout way and after way too much excitement. But the job got done. She may not have believed the reputation that had built around Doctor Rosenberg in certain circles – any of the reputations – but she’d seen the results for herself.
This woman would like to believe that fame and glory were her motivations – and she did clearly want to be thought of as the best and most daring woman in her field – but in truth there was nobility about what she did too.
Keeping ancient objects out of the hands of unscrupulous people who’d lock them away from the public in some bank vault or private collection. Sharing knowledge. Teaching. She’d actually snuck into the back of Rosenberg’s last class before they left and you could see why they were packed out. Her students put up with a lot, of course, since she was frequently away for weeks or months at short notice.
But still they came.
And it was because she was a great teacher too.
How many of Doctor Rosenberg’s rivals - the serious rivals whose degree of seriousness was shown off by their lethal intent – still taught?
Not many, she’d be willing to wager.
And thinking of rivals, they were going to have to do something about that Nazi. Not that he’d taken any action to thwart or frustrate them so far, but she had no intention of leading him all the way from Shanghai to Nepal and right to the door of Professor Joyce Summers.
And her daughter… Whatever was going on there. Even if Rosenberg denied they’d ever been intimate, there was… something.
Even so, it was proving difficult to stay angry – no, not angry more… aloof from her.
I shouldn’t have let her take me to bed.
I was carried away. She carried me away… and I needed her… I’ve needed her too long already.
“Feel better for that?” she asked as Rosenberg returned to her seat carrying a bundle of clothes she’d recently been wearing for the flight so far.
“Why?” the other woman asked. “Don’t you think I look better?”
“Better? No,” Tara said. “More comfortable, absolutely.” She reached over and straightened the fedora. It was a game they’d used to play. She’d find the right angle for it and Rosenberg would move it again and – there she went.
“You’re looking more comfortable yourself there, Lieutenant Commander,” she said.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it for approval. Last time around they’d all been caught on the hop, only equipped with what they could carry. Back then Rosenberg had a kid – Short Round - to carry their stuff, so she’d had the hat, whip and all her gear while she’d had… nothing but a few dollars and the dress she’d been wearing when Rosenberg and that blonde singer had dropped into her life from the window they’d jumped out of.
Literally dropped into her life... Three seconds later… Someone else’s car? Maybe just the getaway car Short Round had been driving. Three seconds that changed the world…
This time though? She’d changed, she was wearing a very comfortable and practical ensemble. Dark pants, a black silk blouse and carrying a jacket for protection against the cold.
“You know we’re going somewhere it snows, right princess?” Rosenberg asked her, looking her over. It was a comment on the black, of course. Standing out against the snow.
“Actually, I heard that when it really snows up there, you can’t even see your hand in front of your face.”
“Maybe, but it’s not always snowing. They’ve never sent you off into the mountains before?”
Actually, no. Most of her work had been at least vaguely connected to the ocean and it was hard to think of anywhere less connected to the ocean than Nepal. Landlocked, thousands of miles from blue water and of no strategic significance whatsoever. Certainly not in naval terms.
It was a land blessed with snow, lots of mountains and hardy local people you could – once they were on your side – trust to the end of the earth itself.
So, since some of those people would likely have been hired by their enemies, it was reassuring to see Willow Rosenberg back to the person she’d been in India last year.
Also, with the whip and the revolver, she looked more prepared.
Of course, she was carrying a weapon of her own. “Tell me,” Rosenberg said, peering at her .45 Automatic. “Just where were you hiding that while we’ve been on the plane.”
“Certainly not where you were thinking,” Tara said. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Me?” her partner asked, feigning innocence. “Doll, my mind wasn’t in the gutter. It was between your legs.” She winked and then was reaching for their bags, leaving Tara stood behind her musing on the fact that the only holster she had ever worn strapped to her inner thigh had been for a measly .22. Somehow though, she couldn’t find a way to say it. It was the outfit, she was sure it was the outfit. It was like Willow became someone else when she was wearing it.
The real Willow Rosenberg.
The Rosenberg I fell for. Could I have been so ‘professional’ with her if she’d been wearing that the whole way?
Making… love, in her bedroom before they left. Maybe that had been a mistake or maybe not. But it’d almost been like a mistake made with another person, not the one who had gotten off the plane with her.
And perhaps not with the person she’d known in India. They were both a year older. They’d both been through different things.
“Are you ready?” Tara asked as they prepared to disembark, blushing at where Rosenberg had taken things. But, what had she expected? This was the same woman that had seduced her, loved her and left her.
Made me leave her… Before she left me. Pride made me walk away, before she did.
She glanced back to where the German was still sat, still reading that everlasting newspaper that he’d still not exhausted.
“Doll, I was born ready.”
“Don’t call me doll.”
“Sure, Tara.”
*******************
_________________ ------------------------- If I wanted a little pussy, I've got my own to play with.
Chance in *Chance* -------------------------
Last edited by Katharyn on Mon Feb 11, 2013 2:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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