Ch 7
Notes: Let's earn that R rating now, shall we?
Angst Level: Overall, higher than stiletto heels. Ch 7 is… well, I suggest hiding all sharp objects before you proceed.
Tara lay on her back, utterly exhausted. Miss Kitty had finally emerged from hiding and was tucked against her side, providing more comfort than a furry body that small should be capable of. The kitten's mysterious ability to disappear in the confines of the room had never been fully explained by either Tara or Willow. Contemplating the possibilities was giving her mind a rest.
Tara had been working all afternoon on shapeshifting. The degree of conceptualization of the form she was trying to create was intense- it might not be work that raised a sweat, but the effort was considerable. The fact that she was using Willow as her template, the only template she knew well enough to work from, was initially a pleasant idea. Thinking about Willow was never arduous.
She had pulled her chair up to her mirror, concentrating with her eyes closed for as much as a half hour at a time before glancing to see the result. Tara had been happy with her progress, having eventually gotten a near perfect replica of Willow-face looking back at her. It was as she was closing her eyes to try to correct her nose that it struck her. She was changing herself into Willow. Not just thinking about her. Tara was making herself into a virtual physical clone of her girlfriend. It was disturbing in so many ways.
She'd looked deep into her own green eyes, brow furrowing as she turned over the idea. Deep thought and anxiety warred for dominance of her features.
God, she's cute when she does that. Or... I'm cute? When I do that? When I'm her?
This wasn't just a pronoun question- it was a psychiatric dissertation in the making. Tara had looked away from the mirror, deciding she needed to do something else for a while. She'd thought of school work. She had a paper on Kafka due in a few days- but that really wasn't where she wanted her mind right now. Pre-Calc could be a safe haven from deep thought. It was the last math class she'd have to take for her graduation requirements- a fact for which she was profoundly grateful. Tara had wondered briefly if wearing Willow's face would make it any easier. She'd looked back at the mirror, grinning briefly.
A page of brain-numbing math later she had returned to the mirror. Willow's head was still firmly in place on her shoulders, which she was thankful for. Starting all over again would have been a lot of work and it indicated that once Tara had found a form, she wouldn't have to think about it to keep it in place. She'd turned her head back and forth, looking for flaws when the thought hit her.
How do I go back?
Tara had been working on Willow's head by default- it was the only head that she knew well enough to duplicate. If returning to her own features required the same visualization… how could you know what the top of your own head looked like? What pattern was in the folds of her own ears?
Her panic had been misplaced, it turned out. For whatever reason, returning to her own visage had been far faster than changing it had been. Fifteen minutes after she began, Tara allowed herself a sigh of relief. She looked back at her familiar reflection and noted she had managed to keep the horns gone, too. She checked against a couple of photos and found that she hadn't quite gotten herself right, but the fixes were quick. All but one. Her eyes were a problem. The photos weren't close enough to see the details and her irises just didn't look right when she examined them. Did they have flecks of brown in the blue? Just how blue had they been?
Tara still wasn't sure they were right, but her brain was too tired to take any more. The burn deep in her belly had gotten worse as the day went on, becoming harder to ignore as it flared higher. She didn't want to think about that hungry fire, nor what it craved to consume.
She shifted on the bed to glance at the clock. It shouldn't be long before food and the freedom of internet access arrived. She wondered who would get the job. Most likely Buffy- Tara couldn't see Anya abandoning the store on anything but official business. Grimacing, she wondered if she could get an escort for a bathroom run. At this hour there would be too many people in the hall to try it alone. She could hear them walking by, chatting about the hundred normal things that normal people talk about.
For a succubus to take a person's energy, she had to make some kind of fluid connection. That's what Willow had said, anyway, and Willow was very seldom wrong when it came to research. The… traditional approach was not one she cared to consider. Not unless it was Willow, and not until she made sure Willow would be safe. The fire inside wasn't going to wait, though- it was a need, a ravenous hunger that was growing to the point of distracting urgency. She had to consider the options. Blood was a possibility, but for the medical hazards. Saliva wasn't very attractive, but it was an option. Would plain old sweat work? Get a nice sweaty palm and find some friendly people to shake hands with? Somehow she doubted it would be so simple.
Further worry was curtailed by a brisk knock on the door that startled Miss Kitty from her place.
"Room Service!" The voice was clearly Buffy's.
"Just a sec." Tara stood quickly and flipped the lock on the door. As she pulled it open, Tara twisted her tail into a tight loop around her leg, well out of sight under her skirt. Buffy was a friend, but she was also the Slayer… which might mean a lot, or might mean nothing, but now that Tara had crossed firmly into the demon category, she had to remain cognoscente of just who she was about to see.
Hey, this is progress- I've got a sense of self preservation back.
Buffy was half turned away, scanning the hallway with deceptively casual disinterest that missed nothing. One hand was burdened with a generic take-out bag, while the other was hooked in the pocket of her jeans, hitching up one of those tunic-length shirts that had become so popular recently. Willow's laptop bag was slung over her shoulder, the strap digging a crease in Buffy's jacket.
"Hi. Thanks for coming by." Tara stepped back out of habit so that Buffy could come in. She'd been to Tara's room before, though until today it had always been related to finding Willow there or occasionally accompanying the two witches as they stopped by to pick something up.
"No big." Buffy took the two steps forward that carried her past the door frame, even as she turned her attention from the hallway back to Tara. In Tara's mind, time seemed to slow as she realized just how bad a mistake she might have made.
Talldarkhairbrighteyesclearskineyesthatsmilebeforeitreacheshismouthcleanshavenchinstraightwhiteteethbroadchestwithhairyoucanrunyourfingersthrough-
The deluge of information precluded hesitation. Tara planted an open palm squarely in the middle of Buffy's chest and shoved as hard as she could. The Slayer careened backwards across the hall, keeping her feet only by virtue of wall the there. Tara didn't even notice, her attention entirely focused inward.
What she had been thinking of as a burning hunger was nothing of the sort. It was a mild warmth, now that she had something to compare it to. Burning was what happened when Buffy had crossed the border of the Entemari ward. Something inside her had ignited and it was the sudden feeling that she was losing control of herself that had prompted the violent reaction to get Buffy beyond the warded space.
It was clear, now, that she'd been going about her shape-shifting entirely the wrong way. The lack of instinctive understanding that had been puzzling her had become abundantly clear. She didn't need her own template, her own perfectly conceived imagery- that wasn't what that power was for. It was for creating what her prey wanted to see.
Tara had always been able to see auras to some degree. It was so ingrained, in fact, that photos always looked a little odd to her because of the lack of that familiar sense. This wasn't to say that she read them regularly- that was far more difficult, requiring the focus to parse out patterns and variations into anything meaningful. That particular sense had gone through its own change since this morning.
She knew what Buffy wanted. Or not what. Who. The perfect person that exemplified her 'type', whom the sight of would draw her to before her consciousness had caught up. The flare of heat that had flooded through Tara had wanted to pull her into that form, the instinct she had wondered about rearing its head with nearly irresistible force. Be who she wants, take what you need.
One thing had given her the moment she needed to react.
Good God, I am not turning into a man!
The fire of her need told her that dangly bits weren't necessarily bad and not all of them would be dangly for long and it really wasn't such an unreasonable thing to do and Buffy wasn't going to object and she had to do this.
Her shock told her- get Buffy out of there. Now.
Shock had ruled. Tara sank to her knees, feeling like she was about to turn into a cinder. Her skin was still trying to crawl toward what she had felt from Buffy but she clamped down on it ruthlessly.
"Tara…" Buffy's voice brought Tara back into the time stream, her brain filling in a few simple statements of fact,
I'm a demon.
I have just committed an act of violence on the Slayer.
Ergo, I'm going to die.
Crap.
She raised her eyes to find Buffy still standing with her back against the wall of the hallway, fingers spread wide as if gripping the surface behind her. There were murmurs from down the hall- other students that had to have seen what had happened. The Slayer paid them absolutely no attention, her wide-eyed gaze locked on where Tara kneeled, one hand still on the door.
"What… was that?"
Tara had expected anger. Outrage. The rough sound of uncertainty was strange to hear. Even when Buffy was unsure, it tended to manifest in frustration or vehement demand for answers. She looked at the shaken Slayer through her warded doorway, taking in the uneven breathing and minute trembling.
"Things j-just got more complicated," Tara answered quietly.
Buffy seemed to realize there were other people in the hall and straightened, shooting a glare to each side of her to stave off any potential inquiry. The posture of confidence was reassuring, if only because it was familiar.
"I'm sorry, Buffy. I-" Tara started.
"Don't!" Buffy hissed. She seemed to be about to start a diatribe, but focused on a spot on the floor, visibly collecting herself.
"Are you OK?" Tara tried after moment, standing slowly.
"Yes. No. I-" Buffy stopped suddenly, her expression conflicted. "This is so wrong."
"You're telling me?" Tara said under her breath, not quite bold enough to push her sarcasm at the Slayer. Buffy was agitated, confused, and if she had been touched by Tara's uncontrolled ambient magic, had good reason to be.
"I am so not gay."
"I know." How had the effect taken hold so quickly? This ability to discern a person's preferences was new- could it be that everything else was still in evolution as well? Was it all getting worse?
"And even if I were- you're Tara. Willow's Tara. Very-much-not-available Tara, with whom I am very platonically friendly and do not think about that way."
"I know."
"I thought there was a protection thingy!"
"Doorway." Tara indicated with a little motion of her hand. She dropped her forehead against the frame in shame. "I w-wasn't thinking."
"What was that?" Buffy repeated, sounding marginally calmer now. "Willow said you had some kind of kooky fatal attraction thing going on- that was it, right?"
Tara nodded, blushing and finding it impossible to meet her eyes, "It's getting worse."
Buffy spent a moment in silence, which Tara was loath to break. Still preoccupied, the Slayer picked up the takeout bag from where it had been dropped and carefully set it just outside the doorway. Feeling silly, but knowing the need, Tara retrieved a hook-handled umbrella from her closet. The laptop bag had been added to the pile and Buffy stood back deliberately, almost against the far wall. She watched warily as Tara bent to draw the items inside, allowing none of herself to cross the warded doorway.
The takeout bag was dripping, but she didn't look inside, just set it out of the way. The inferno inside was pulling her outward, forward, toward what it knew it needed. Tara breathed deeply and tried to let the feeling dissipate into the air- to let it flow through her and away, like residual magic from a casting. The heat was untouched.
"You feel it too," Buffy observed quietly. Tara didn't deny it immediately, but clarified,
"N-not the same way. I… it's more like a hunger. Not for you, n-not for anyone in particular. Just- someone."
"Hungry and horny." Buffy said wryly. It sounded like she was referring to something, but Tara wasn't sure what. "So, do we know what happens? When you- do your thing?"
Do my thing?
"I mean, Willow seems OK. Worried, but researching like its going out of style," Buffy continued. As an afterthought she added, "Not that going out of style has been much of a motivator for her before-"
She must have caught Tara's frown at the criticism, cutting herself off quickly.
Tara allowed herself a measure of relief. Her Baby was alright. With what she was feeling now, she had irrefutable proof that it had been the right thing for Willow to leave. How long could Tara have lasted against this internal blaze, had it been Willow at the door- not only an instinctive target, but also the rational object of her affections?
About two seconds… God, I am such a pathetic horndog.
"She said she'd log in from Anya's PC so she could AIM or something like that." Buffy waved toward the laptop. She looked incredulous, "Her aim is kinda bad though, so you might want to be careful- did I ever tell you about the crossbow incident last May?"
"A-I-M. It's an, um, instant message thing," Tara pointed out quietly. She would have let the misconception ride, but that it sounded like it was leading to a story that Willow probably didn't want passed around.
"I knew that." Buffy amended. She looked chagrined enough that Tara started to feel bad for calling out the mistake. She changed the subject quickly.
"So, um… what do I owe you?" Tara looked back in the room, trying to remember where she'd left her wallet. It was also an easy excuse to concentrate on something other than how the heat was reaching out, tendrils crawling along the warded doorway-
"Willow already bribed me." Buffy dismissed with an easy smile, "I figure tutoring Dawn through Algebra II is already beyond the usual friend-type-obligation, but putting up with the whining? Totally worth some cheap Thai."
"You don't have to-"
"Really. No big." Despite the banter, there was still a sense of trepidation behind Buffy's words. She was rubbing her palms on her jeans as she spoke and there was a tension around her eyes. She started to step back, "So- I'm just gonna to head over to the hospital for a while before it gets dark…"
How could I be so self centered? I completely forgot… the world doesn't just stop because I have problems. Self loathing briefly eclipsed the grasping heat.
"How's she doing?" Tara wished she could make it sound more optimistic.
Buffy's smile faltered, "She says she's fine, but that could be, y'know, mom-speak for "I don't want to worry you"."
"Or it could be true?" Tara ventured.
"She's getting a CAT scan tomorrow, so I guess we'll find out." There was a forced hope that didn't quite reach Buffy's expression.
Tara nodded silently, dropping her eyes. Hospitals and mothers. She couldn't even think about it without remembering her own pain. Buffy needed support- of all people, Tara knew that. This wasn't the time for her to be adding to Buffy's burdens.
"Hey." When Buffy eyes were soft, with a hollow bravery that Tara saw right through, "Thanks. For asking. She'll be fine- we just have to show the doctors that on their silly machine."
"At least the demon lady hasn't shown up again." Tara halted, checking, "She hasn't, right?"
"Nah. Must've broken a nail on me or something, headed for the hills." Buffy's sarcasm was interrupted, "Careful- you've got an escapee."
Tara felt fur brushing by her. Miss Kitty had gotten over her aversion to the Slayer to make a break for the door. The witch held out a foot to stop her, but the feline slid around it easily.
"It's OK- I'll get her." Buffy started to stoop, but froze mid-motion.
Tara flushed, bending quickly to retrieve her kitten. When the foot had failed, she had moved to the next most obvious limb, sweeping the kitten back from the door with her tail. It had elicited a small mew of protest from the feline and a stare from the Slayer. The tail was again hidden in her skirt as she crouched over the squirming bundle of fur in her arms.
"Huh." Buffy was obviously trying to laugh off what she'd seen. "I guess a… tail can be useful?"
"Mew!" Miss Kitty agreed, her own tail waving against Tara's chest, tickling her neck.
"So… I'm gonna…" Buffy indicated toward the stairwell.
Tara gave her a grateful smile, raising a hand for a little wave goodbye. That was all it took for Miss Kitty to free herself, jumping toward the hall in a graceful arc. Tara tried to catch her, over balancing her crouch and falling forward. Her knee and hand hit the hallway carpet. Miss Kitty was trotting away from Buffy, but the Slayer wasn't making any effort to pursue. She just shuddered once before lunging forward, grabbing the neck of Tara's shirt.
This is bad.
There wasn't time for anything else to cross her mind before Buffy had thrown her to her feet against the door to her room. It slammed back against her bookshelf, knickknacks scattering. Tara's breath was driven out of her and she had no chance to catch it before she found Buffy's lips hard against her own. Her head was pressed back against the door, with no where to pull back to. The blaze inside wouldn't let her freeze and Tara found her mouth responding in spite of her inner protest.
Tara had known in abstract that the tiny blonde was strong but she'd had no concept just how strong. Despite her struggles to push the Slayer away, Buffy was pinning her easily against the door with one hand and the Slayer's panting had nothing to do with exertion as she drew back slightly. The look in her eyes was a horrible mix of animal lust, possessive frenzy, and a deep, almost indiscernible shadow of fear.
Tara dimly heard a wolf-whistle from down the hall and the look on Buffy's face shifted instantly, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits and her mouth drawing back to an almost-snarl. For a moment Tara wasn't sure who she was more afraid for- herself or the subject of that murderous glare.
How many people are going to have to suffer for you, Tara? How many!?
Tara tried to draw through the inferno inside her to call forth the magic that might save them both. A simple spell, intended to calm the wounded animals that she had too often brought home- one that had stilled the rearing horses as her father had put out a fire in the barn's hayloft where Donny had decided to try smoking.
"Aequo animo" As she invoked the words, she knew it had failed. Buffy's attention did return to her, but only long enough to hurl her toward the bed. She fell back on it as her knees hit, hearing the door slam shut but not seeing it. Tara started to roll away, only to find the Slayer straddling her hips.
"Buffy- stop. Please-"
If Buffy heard her, she gave no sign. Then her lips claimed Tara's again, hips grinding down as she did. She paid no heed to Tara's ineffectual attempts to push her back, hands fumbling at the top of her jeans.
Tara experienced a moment of sudden clarity. The raging wildfire within, the implacable Slayer, the knowledge of what she had become… there was only one way this was going to end. All she could do is try to make it on her own terms.
Buffy had gotten her jeans unfastened but hadn't moved to shed them yet, instead tearing off her coat as she thrust her slight weight down against Tara's groin. Through the insanity bloomed a moment of confusion. Buffy's voice was rough and urgent as she pleaded between uneven breaths, the arm that balanced her above Tara shaking with something other than effort.
"How? How do we-?"
Thank the Goddess for Buffy's lack of imagination.
"Slowly?" Tara wished it sounded less like a suggestion.
"Can't." Buffy groaned, eyes closing. Her back arched, pressing the length of her subtly muscular torso against Tara's, her free hand now diving for the waistband of Tara's skirt.
"Let me-" Tara felt her voice catch, unable to remain unaffected by the body moving against her, "I c-can show you."
She caught Buffy's hand in her own, gently urging it up. Buffy was again balancing above her, eyes fixed on the hand Tara had drawn up to her cheek. Tara kissed the Slayer's hand softly, feeling the immutable strength of it yielding to her.
Forgive me.
With that she acted- biting down hard below Buffy's thumb. Her head jerked painfully as the Slayer pulled back, the flesh under her teeth tearing from the violent motion.
The inferno howled triumph and took the path it had been offered. Tara felt her senses white out, aware only of the fire that raced into her friend. It consumed in savage glory, dispersing out of her as it spread. The relief was bitter, painful for the weakness it evidenced.
Stop! Stop! Isn't it enough yet?!
The fire mocked her, but it was weaker now and she began to emerge from its hateful brilliance.
Her awareness woke to the sound of a whimper from deep in Buffy's throat. Even as Tara released the Slayer's hand, Buffy's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed onto Tara, unconscious. The Slayer's slack hand had drawn a line of blood across Tara's cheek where she had fallen. A moment later a tear drew a parallel path down to the comforter.
Buffy's heartbeat was slowing, but regular against Tara's chest. She was breathing. Tara couldn't feel any joy in the knowledge she hadn't killed her. Not until she knew just what she had done. The glowing ember inside were a testament to her failure, its intumescent contentedness only adding to her shame.
Tara waited in silence, praying for Buffy to open her eyes. Minutes crawled by before she moved, gently shifting the Slayer's body until the witch could slide from beneath her.
How could this slight weight hold so much power? Tara marveled how small the form seemed, now that it was still. This was the guardian against the evil hordes that would take the world any chance they got… This was the force that had stood against that which made man fear the night...
And you just took that away, Tara. Do you understand now?
Tara backed away unsteadily even as concern told her to try to help.
Wake up, Buffy. Please wake up.
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Preview Ch 8-
Next time on Changes! A knitting needle, a hairbrush, Niven philosophy, Willow's face plastered against a window, hybrid SUVs, internal diagnostics, and a space heater. Coming soon to KB chat – We Know Drama.
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Though I'll be putting up more before all y'all get a chance to respond...
I'm curious to know people's reactions so far- not to the general story, but more to Tara's inner father voice, to how she is handling what she is becoming (or, more accurately, is now manifesting), to how the others' actions and reactions feel to you, and after this chapter- what do you think is appropriate justice? And when the action in question is known- what do you think various characters will do (or should do) in response? *Never squirms curiously* Does my take on dialog sound right- both inner and outer? Is the disorganized path of exposition confusing? Am I remembering the layout of Tara's room all wrong?
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