Title: Like Magic
Rating: PG13/R for eventual language and sexiness, also alcohol consumption if anyone is bothered by that.
Summary: It's her final semester of university, and Tara Maclay could not be more thrilled at the idea of leaving her old life behind: no more hometown, no more witchy rumors, no more dangerous obsessions with knowing redheads. But when the girl Tara has wanted (and disliked) since day one makes her a very tempting offer, will Tara take the high road, or show Willow Rosenberg a little something like magic?
Chapter OneIt felt somewhat disingenuous, unfair, unnecessary fuel for an unnecessary fire. Still, when Geology 102 rolled around at 3:15, Tara couldn’t help herself – she always looked. It was like a beacon, a devilish spotlight that blinded her even as it claimed more of her focus than she could afford. From her seat in the fourth raised row, Tara’s head sank further into the palm of her hand. Her eyes still managed to find a clear shot down to the first bank of auditorium-style seats, sixth from the right, twelfth from the left. A recent haircut left the spotlight smaller in size but no less infuriatingly difficult to ignore, and from here, the cropped, messy back shone like copper mixed with blood.
Willow Rosenberg tilted her head to the murmur of the blonde at her elbow, a short, light chuckle carrying easily over the quiet rumblings of the rest of the class. Tara closed her eyes. Why, why, why had she thought Rocks for Jocks would be a good way of snagging that last handful of credits? Of all the freshman courses in the world, this one was the most likely to attract other last-minute seniors. Like Buffy Summers, illustrious owner of the blond ponytail to Willow’s right. Like Willow herself, who by all accounts should have been a department head by now. Tara supposed that was the consequence of only caring about one thing and neglecting every other trivial detail, such as “graduation requirements.” Rosenberg may have been the darling of the Comp Sci hall, but Tara shouldn’t have been shocked to find her here.
That being said, it was only two weeks into the semester and already Tara found the mere thought of Geo 102 exhausting. An entire two hours of trying to look anywhere but down at that shining coppery head, an entire two hours of kicking herself for once again being unable to seat herself safely. It was like a goddamn drug.
When class finally ended, Professor Baynard having closed with a rousing lecture on seismology, Tara debated just hunching further into her chair and waiting it out. By the time she realized her mistake, it was too late.
“Maclay,” Willow said, standing on the level just below Tara with her hands in the pockets of her tight dark jeans. Her mop of hair fell over her forehead in a perfectly messy way, her greenish hazel eyes coolly amused. “Waiting for something?”
Tara met the other woman’s gaze with some reluctance. How was it that Willow, short and slim enough that Tara was pretty sure she could throw her down the stairs without breaking a sweat,
and standing on a lower level, could manage to look so imposing?
“Nope, I’m good,” Tara said. She didn’t quite have Willow’s brightly threatening tone down, but at least her voice was steady. “Do you need help?” she added, going for condescending.
The redhead smiled, a twisty little thing that made Tara’s stomach lurch in a not-entirely-unpleasant way.
“Sure do,” she replied. She jerked her head towards Buffy, who stood by the door like some kind of miniskirted sentinel. “We were wondering what you charge.”
Tara blinked. Willow was still smirking.
“Excuse me?”
“You know,” Willow went on. “Your little act. Your magic thing. Reading fortunes, telling futures, all that.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tara said, her mind a blur of surprise and irritation. She got to her feet, folding her laptop under one arm. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
She made to jog down the low steps leading to the lecture hall floor, but Willow grabbed her arm. The hair at Tara’s nape shivered on end at the touch, a thrill that added extra bite to her tone as she spun around and yanked her arm away.
“I’m not interested,” Tara snapped. She could still feel those thin fingers on her forearm, their grip quick and surprisingly strong.
“You haven’t even heard me out yet!” Willow sounded distressed, but it was faked; her eyes, greener in this light, glinted with that same wicked humor.
“I don’t need to. I’m not some kind of sideshow.”
“Willow,” Buffy called from the door. “Come on! If she won’t do it, she won’t do it.”
Tara glanced at the blond, then back at Rosenberg. Suspicion gave her curiosity, something she definitely didn’t need. Still…
“What is she talking about?”
The redhead cocked her head, sending a lock of bright hair spiking down to her nose. It was, to Tara’s great disgust, very cute.
“Buffy’s getting engaged,” Willow explained, making what looked like an attempt at sincerity. “I’m throwing her a party. We want you to read tarot, play it up, that kind of thing. A paying gig.”
Unsure if that addition was a potshot at her financial straits, Tara narrowed her eyes.
“You want me to play fortune teller at her
engagement party?”
“Faith wanted something else,” Willow admitted, “but I wanted you.”
But I wanted you. A tendril of something hot and sharp curled its way around Tara’s belly. She quashed it.
“Why?” she asked, years of practice keeping her face blank and bland. The redhead shrugged.
“We’re out soon,” she said. “I want to stay local, like a last hurrah.” There was that half-smile again, one corner of her mouth tilting up at an angle that really should not have been as attractive as it was. “And besides. We’ve spent four years calling you a witch. Might as well give you the chance to prove it.”
***
Tara flopped back on her bed, an Oreo minipack on her stomach. Otter-like, she dropped a cookie into her mouth and rubbed her forehead with her free hand.
She was conflicted. Actually, it was a little disappointing
how conflicted; Tara had thought that she was too old for this kind of bullshit. At 22, she'd had about a decade of practice ignoring comments about her questionable status as "the witch." Rumors had only started here because of the charming Cordelia Chase, the only other alum of Tara's high school to venture towards college. She suspected they'd chosen the school for the same reason - money, and its generous scholarship towards local students - but Cordy had quickly and deftly risen above whatever social status that implied and insinuated herself into a more popular crowd. Naturally, that process had managed to include setting herself apart from fellow townie Tara Maclay by virtue of just enough sly, offhanded comments to make sure that half their graduating class thought she was a hippie-dippy Wiccan, and the other half thought she practiced Satanism and had at one point sacrificed a chihuahua.
Tara hadn't actually cared all that much about the rumors; they were nothing new, and now that she was older, she understood that Cordy didn't even have anything particularly malicious by way of intent. She was just a nervous girl taking the easiest route to social ingratiation, and who was Tara to judge, really? It wasn't like she didn't have her own group of friends to gossip with, though their rumors tended a bit more towards the contemptuous. The fact that anyone that knew who Tara was had heard that she might be a witch wasn't a bad thing, since it acted as a fairly effective litmus test... but this was the first time someone had actually sought her out because of it, in four long years. And for it to be
Willow Rosenberg, of all people.
"You know what you should do here," she said aloud. In the corner, her guinea pig burbled happily. Tara squinted at Natalya, the pet she'd been suckered into buying with her first college girlfriend. "Don't judge me," she ordered, but the thing just sat on top of its plastic castle and chewed on nothing. If Tara didn't know better, she would have sworn Natalya was laughing at her. Not for the first time, she wished Erika had taken the damn fuzzball with her when she transferred to New York. It had been almost two years since they'd both been abandoned, and Tara still considered herself on eggshell terms with the animal; she could have sold her or given her away, but... Well.
Tara got up and reached for the bag of raisins by her bed. Natalya heard the crinkling and started squeaking in impatient excitement, snatching the gift out of Tara's fingers and retreating inside the castle.
"Smug little thing," Tara murmured, but fondly. Erika had said that Tara needed the company more than she would. At the time, Tara had taken that as a dig. Now, long after the sting of the breakup was gone, she could admit (if only to herself, in the privacy of her own head) that she was grateful.
She sat back on the bed, slumping onto her side to watch the guinea pig through the door of her little translucent house.
"What do you think?" she asked. "Is this some kind of Let's Scare Jessica To Death thing? Are they going to dump pig blood on me?" She paused. "Real pig, don't worry." Natalya finished the raisin and returned to her lookout perch. Tara sighed. "On the other hand, it's an engagement party. So they'll be drinking. Probably a lot." She rolled onto her back, remembering the Oreos and popping another one into her mouth. "So," Tara continued through the cookie, "if I wanted to be really devious and self-destructive, this could by my only shot."
Natalya chirped, hopping off the castle and trundling over to her water bottle. It rattled against the cage.
"But that's a bad idea, right? That's very immature. And I don't even care that much."
Rattle, rattle.
"Okay. You're right. It's a once in a lifetime chance. But isn't it really sleazy of me to do this just in the hopes of getting Willow wasted?" Tara considered this. "Definitely sleazy. So, but, listen - I'm not going to
do anything! Just do the tarot thing, read some palms, make some pronouncements; college girls love that shit. Even smart ones, which I guess these are, but that's why booze exists. It'd just be fun to see her off her game." Tara glanced over. Natalya was facing the opposite direction. "Come on, don't be like that. We both know there's no way in hell she'd actually go for - " Tara stopped herself. "I'm not going to try anything," she said again. "They're like a pack of wild wolves, anyway, they'd kill me if I..."
Red hair is shoved out of the face with one of Tara's hands; the other slides down the smooth, narrow waist as she pulls Willow close.
"What are you doing?" Willow breathes, shock and arousal turning that light, cruel voice heavy and slow.
"What I've wanted to do for four years," Tara whispers back, her lips brushing Willow's, and then the gap closes and she pushes Willow back into the wall and slides a knee between her thighs -Tara bit her lip and forced herself to focus.
Not cool, brain. The images retreated, but not for long. She'd have at least one Willow-dream tonight, she was almost certain.
"Maybe," Tara said then, not even pretending to address the guinea pig, "I just need to get it out of my system. See her drunk and sloppy and obnoxious, with the rest of her minions." No one, not even Willow, could be cool and collected all the time, and nothing was less attractive than a loud drunk. An idea struck, and Tara smiled despite herself.
And maybe Willow just needs to see a little magic.