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Title: The Database
Author: YellowQuirkyTeacup
Feedback: Welcome and plentifully, please.
Spoilers: None.
Setting: AU. There is no Hellmouth, or any magic involved (except the magic of love, heh heh.)
Rating: PG-13, maybe. I'll let everyone know if that changes.
Disclaimer: Willow, Tara, Faith, Buffy, Anya, Miss Kitty and any other characters I decide to include, along with miscellaneous quotes, belong to Mutant Enemy. I am not making any profit from this enterprise. No copyright infringements are intended or made with prior knowledge. Everything else is original material and I beg you not to steal it for your own gain without asking me first.
Chapter 1
Janna popped open the top of the red rust-bucket, peering inside. She gave a low whistle and turned to face the owner of the car, who stared right back at her with an anxious face.
“Looks like we have a problem,” Janna remarked.
“We certainly do,” Tara muttered, glaring at the screen of her silver laptop, which everyone told her was out of date, but she couldn’t be bothered to replace. Tara always said that, in her line of work anyway, it didn’t matter how old the technology was, so long as it worked. It was the content of the files she saved that counted far more than how efficient the files themselves were.
And right now, she thought, pouting, the content of the files wasn’t good at all!
“Face it,” Tara told herself, “you just can’t finish writing this story until you know more about cars.”
And that was exactly the problem. Tara Maclay was easy on the eyes if she did say so herself, great with kids- although her only baby was her cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico- she was an inventive cook, and she had just begun to make a name for herself writing short fiction for gay magazines. But, she had to admit, there wasn’t much she knew about automobiles except how to drive one, and her mind was a bit foggy on what all the little fiddly bits were labelled even then.
Being a big girl, Tara had long ago recognised this fault in herself, and read a whole lot of information about cars on the Internet, and in books at the Sunnydale Library. She had hung around surreptitiously when people had begun complaining to anyone who would listen about their punctured tires and stiff gearsticks. She had even gone to a car race, which was an experience never to be repeated.
Leaving Janna and her mysterious customer, Tara got up from her chair, wincing as her creaky muscles announced their annoyance at sitting in the same place for several hours. Padding down the hallway to the kitchen, Tara poured herself a glass of water from the blue jug next to the sink and leant against the cupboards. Sipping her water slowly, she peered out over her tiny garden, watching a couple of small birds hopping about foraging for food. Hoping they wouldn’t meet an unhappy end at the paws of Miss Kitty, Tara finished the water and aimlessly wandered around the apartment. She felt restless and pinched, as though her skin was too small.
The apartment where Tara lived, she and another girl named Georgia who was often out, was a 3-bedroom place with a small kitchen and bathroom. The girls got a bedroom each, both not big enough to swing a cat in- not that Tara had tried- and the extra room was used as a storage space by Georgia and a kind of office by Tara. Georgia usually came home in the wee hours of the morning drunk with an equally inebriated one-night stand, all hulking and hairy and likely to leer at Tara on their way out the next day. Not the best deal in the world, to a girl who liked her peace and quiet, but it was a thousand times better than living at home, it was cheap and it was one of the few places that let her keep a pet. So, Tara stayed.
When Georgia came home with a boyfriend, or put loud music on, Tara wore earplugs. When Georgia ate the food in the fridge with ‘TARA’ in neat letters on the Tupperware, Tara simply ignored her. When Georgia made snide comments about Tara’s non-existent love life, Tara shrugged. And when Georgia threatened to throw her out of the house, Tara came home with Faith, her best friend, who just happened to be scary as hell when you got on her bad side.
“Why do you stay there, T?” was one of Faith’s most frequent queries, along with “When you gonna get yourself a nice girl, T?” and “T, would you hate me if I killed your cat?”
And Tara would try to remember all the nice things about the apartment, so that she could be telling the truth when she replied, “I like it there.”
Because sometimes, Tara did. She liked how the washing machine would whir soothingly as it soaped the clothes. She liked watching the busy street from her bedroom window, when the rest of the world was going to work. She liked that it was only a ten-minute walk from the apartment to the restaurant where she worked 6 nights a week. She liked in the middle of the day when she was typing away, working on a new story, and she liked pottering around in the evening making dinner for herself with Miss Kitty purring and twisting around her ankles. But most of all, Tara liked that it wasn’t home, the home she’d grown up in, where her father used to hit her if dinner wasn’t made by the time he got home from the pub.
Flopping down on her bed, Tara stared at the fine cracks spreading out across the ceiling like a dark spiderweb. When she’d moved out, she’d been sure that she would find a cute girl who she would fall in love with at first sight, and vice versa. Badda-bing, fairytale! But after two years, she only had a trailing string of failed relationships to show for it, and the only non-straight girl in her life right now was Janna.
Well, Tara thought amusedly, you couldn’t call Faith completely ‘straight’, per se. Faith is… Faith. She flirts with anything that has a pulse. But she’s like my sister. Running her fingers over her faded duvet cover, Tara blew out her breath contemplatively. And really, not my type.
Tara jumped as her mobile phone began to ring insistently. Rolling onto her side, she grabbed the phone and smiled as she glimpsed the caller ID.
“Speaking of the devil… well, thinking anyway,” she murmured, putting the phone to her ear. “What’s up?”
“Hey, T,” Faith’s confident voice sounded slightly scratchy through the connection. “How’s the story?”
“Um… it’s okay,” Tara stalled, not wanting to admit that she was still stuck in the exact same place she had been 2 days ago.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Listen, there’s this great band playing at the Bronze tonight and I am officially ordering you as your Fun Coach to be there. Whaddaya say?”
“I don’t know, Faith,” Tara mumbled. “This is the only day I have off work, and I was kinda going for a quiet night in.”
“You mean a boring night in,” Faith corrected her, then continued, “Anyway, if you wanted quiet you shouldn’t have moved in with the G-Monster. I am not taking no for an answer, T. You know I will literally drag you kicking and screaming from your house.”
Tara winced, knowing full well that Faith would make good on her promise if necessary. She sighed exaggeratedly, then said, “Let me check my schedule, Miss Lehane. Oh hey, look, I think I’m free tonight!”
“Wicked! I’ll see you at 9 on the dot, and don’t be late, madam!” Faith laughed, and hung up.
“Yeah… wicked,” Tara echoed, listlessly throwing the phone down onto her bed. She was feeling down about her story and didn’t really want to spend the night partying at the Bronze, trying to be cheerful with Faith.
On the other hand, Tara thought, attempting to look on the bright side, maybe this is just what I need. Loosen up, get the ol’ creative juices flowing.
Now, what shall I wear?
***
At 9 o’clock sharp, as promised, Tara stood at the entrance to the Bronze, nervously picking at her skirt. After at least 15 minutes of trying on various mix-and-match outfits from her meagre wardrobe, she had eventually gone with a long, flowing earthy-coloured skirt, an emerald top with flared sleeves, and a beige jacket. Not exactly vixen material, she sighed ruefully, but it’s the best I can do. Squaring her shoulders, Tara walked inside. Ridiculously, even though she knew Faith was waiting for her, going in alone made her feel horribly friendless, or perhaps as though she had been stood up on a date. You’re being stupid, Tara chided herself. You’re gonna have fun tonight, and that’s an order.
Tara made her way over to the bar, gingerly threading past dancing couples and tables that were obviously trying to trip her up. She knew that this was where Faith would be, and if she wasn’t here yet, Tara would be easily visible to Faith when she arrived. Tara craned her neck, trying to spot her friend in the crowd.
The lights of the Bronze were a dim yellow, except for a bright white spotlight which illuminated the band on stage. The band, which appeared to be called ‘Dingoes Ate My Baby’, judging by the poster and the painted sign on the drum kit, were playing a melodic rock song that was, in Tara’s opinion, rather catchy. She smiled.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she spun around in alarm, then relaxed when she saw the grinning face of her best friend.
“Faith!” Tara yelled indignantly, punching the other girl on the shoulder. “You scared the life out of me!”
“I live and breathe to scare you, T,” Faith replied, grinning widely as she wiggled her butt along to the music. As usual, that butt was clad in black leather pants, which were accompanied by a tight black singlet and a black leather jacket. Her long dark hair was out and flowing over her shoulders.
“I’m sensing a colour theme here, Faith,” Tara teased her.
“Shut up,” Faith smirked good-naturedly. “Damn, I need a drink.”
Sauntering over to the bar, she ordered a shot of vodka from the bartender, knocking it back quickly and pursing her kiss-me red lip-sticked lips at the taste.
“How you can swallow that stuff is beyond me,” Tara commented, perching on one of the long-legged stools around the bar.
“That’s cause you’re too straight-laced,” Faith said decidedly, signalling the bartender for another shot. “You gotta learn to live a little, T.”
“Would you rather ‘live a little’ or live past the age of forty?” Tara countered.
“Ooh, good one.”
“You know it…” Tara trailed off as she heard the words ‘giant squid’ faintly underneath the pulsing beat of the new song the band were playing. “Hey, did you just hear someone say ‘giant squid’?”
“Nope, but I do hear the dance floor calling my name. It’s saying, ‘Faith, Faith, come dance on us with your sexy boots. And bring Tara as well. She’s far too uptight- Hey, are you even listening to me?”
The out-of-place phrase had piqued Tara’s curiosity, and she turned, trying to locate where it had come from. Her eyes fell on a petite blonde woman who, Tara realised with amusement, was attempting to catch the attention of passers-by without much success.
“Hey, you there, I bet you have some stuff that you… need to know… about…” The woman sighed. “Come on, guys, you must need to know something. You can’t all be brainiacs!” Tara watched with amusement as the woman turned to another woman with curly blonde hair standing next to her. “Anya, they’re not listening to me!”
“That’s because you’re doing it all wrong!” the curly-haired woman, Anya, explained patiently. “Honestly, Buffy, you are useless at sales pitches! Watch this.”
Handing Buffy her drink, Anya hopped up on a table and cleared her throat. “People of Sunnydale,” she announced, “here you all are, buying alcoholic beverages and getting drunk so that you don’t have to think about how miserable your lives are! Well, you’re all ignorant, and that stops now!” The smaller woman, Buffy, watched with open-mouthed amazement as people stopped what they were doing and listened to Anya’s speech. “My friend, who unfortunately couldn’t be here tonight,” Anya continued, “has designed an innovative new website in order to cure you all of your ignorance! If you want to know something, you can guarantee this amazing website will give you the answer. Oh, and,” Anya looked disgusted, as though she was trying to swallow something foul, “cause my friend is insane, the website won’t cost you any money. However,” she brightened, “if you are in the mood to spend some cash, come to my extremely expensive sex counselling company-” Anya broke off as Buffy elbowed her, then reluctantly continued, “if you want to use the know-it-all website, grab one of these pieces of paper and we’ll write down the URL for you. If you are a highly attractive single man who is good in bed, you can also have my phone number-” Anya was cut off again as Buffy dragged her down from the table, one hand firmly clamped over the talkative woman’s mouth.
Tara giggled. I wonder if she talks like that all the time. I pity her boyfriend. She jumped as the woman in question tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hey,” Anya chirped brightly. “You look like someone who needs to know something. Have a piece of paper.”
Faith knocked the paper out of her hand. “She’s not interested, lady. Quit harassing my friend or I’ll-”
“N-no, Faith, it’s okay,” Tara reassured her friend. She turned to Anya, “W-would this w-w-website tell me about c-c-c-” Tara blushed furiously, trying to get the words out. Her nervous stutter was one of the many things that she hated about herself. Unfortunately, the more frustrated she got, the more she stuttered. She wet her lips and tried again, “C-c-c-”
“Canaries? Croutons? Crepes?” Anya guessed. “Ooh, ooh, I know, is it condoms?”
Tara blushed even redder, if such a thing was possible. “C-cars!” she yelled.
“Yeah, quite right, I don’t know what I was thinking. Condoms… why would I say that, I mean look at you, you’re clearly gay!”
Anya leant over the bar to scribble down the website URL onto the paper with a chewed-on blue pen. “You know,” she mused, peering at Tara, “that speech problem could be the product of long-repressed sexual urges. Would you like me to write down the number of my sex therapy company, too?”
Faith’s face was positively murderous; she looked ready to leap on Anya. Luckily, Buffy materialized in front of them as if out of nowhere and grabbed the other woman’s arm.
“Anya, leave the poor ladies alone,” she scolded. Catching sight of Faith’s expression, she mumbled, “I think we’re done here.”
Tara could hear Buffy whispering heatedly as the two women walked away, “Anya, you can’t just go up to people and lecture them about their sex lives…”
Tara and Faith looked at the crumpled piece of paper sitting on the bar. Faith went to sweep it onto the floor, but Tara shot out her hand and scooped it up.
“What are you doing, T?” Faith exclaimed. “That’s gotta be a load of rubbish!”
“I don’t know,” Tara murmured, putting the paper into the pocket of her jacket. “Something tells me this could be exactly what I need.”
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"Alternate universes don't stay put. Trying to send him to a specific place is sort of like ... like ... trying to hit a ... puppy, by throwing a live bee at it. Which is a weird image, and you should all just forget it."
-Willow
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