Dibs!
Poor Willow, fighting with her addiction without fully admitting to herself how bad it has already become.


Her unconscious / reflexive use of magic certainly is a problem. Then again I don't know if stopping magical use completely is the right way to overcome her "addiction" or if she is just in dire need of some "professional education" in witchcraft as she got at the coven in England between seasons 6 and 7 in canon.



It's totally understandable but also very sad that Willow doesn't have the strength to admit to one of her friends: I have a problem and need your help!
And Buffy kind of being aware of the warning signs but ignoring them because of her apathy (and maybe also some feeling that if she acknowledged the problem / danger she would be expected to do something to fix it and not feeling capable to do so) is also very sad.

I'm kind of afraid that Willow might reach her lowest point soon (hopefully without getting Dawn hurt). But if it forces not only Willow herself but also Buffy and the others to realize that she has a problem she can't overcome without help, it might even be a good thing in the end.

Wills_redemption: you're instincts and thoughts are spot on! Thanks so much, as always, for leaving feedback!!

Notes: Originally, this was supposed to be part 2 of the last chapter, but I decided not to go that route, which put me back timewise but I hope is better for the story.

Feedback: yes please




Part 42: Smoke


There it was, the rift she knew was coming, a tear in the sky, purples and pinks growing, expanding, ringed in a circle of light folding in on itself. Tara stood on the platform too high in the air, jutting too far from a structure that was a house of cards. Below her, clearly seen despite the distance was Glory. The sadistic stretch of the god’s lips said that Glory believed she had already won and would wait, viciously patient, for Tara to cower and crawl back down, slip back under Glory’s hands and accept the fingers as they pushed into her skull. Tara knew that was what was expected of her. She knew she had to make a choice and that, either way, she would be lost.

Tara studied the widening gap under her. There were two more platforms now, as though they had always been there, one on either side. To her left, Willow stared into the void, a slim black jacket buttoned into armor. A hint of pastel blue, a soft sweater, peeked above the collar.

“We couldn’t find it,” Tara’s subconscious reminded her and she felt the ache of Willow’s restless grief. The way they had both tried so hard to be Amazons in the wake of Joyce’s death, how Tara felt that any minute, she too would crumble. She felt it all now.

Willow turned to her then, though there was no mirrored ache in Willow’s eyes. They were distant, entranced by a fire only Willow could see, the black of its smoke threatening to veil the green.

Tara turned to her right and there was her mother, crouched in the dress they had buried her in. Deep summer blue, now stained with grass and dirt. Shaking hands planted Black eyed Susans between the grates. Tara tried to remind her mother to pluck the weeds, but the words would not come.

The platforms shook violently, beams creaking and debris falling to the far away ground. Tara stumbled forward and fell on her hands, her fingers threaded through the open grid. Glory was pacing, agitated now. Within a blink the form had morphed into her father, him but not. He rarely paced. Tara had learned to fear when he did.

Tara didn’t know who it was below her. The choice was the same. But, she had the two women she loved beside her. Both so magickal, both hurt by magick. Tara looked into the purple-pink again, as it consumed the sky and would consume her, unraveling her as she fell.

A spot of red ballooned from her finger, dripping through the open spaces. Tara hadn’t realized she had cut herself. The structure shook again and now Glory was wildfire, racing up the stairs to stop Tara from jumping.

She underestimated me, Tara thought without pride or sorrow. Her toes hung over the edge. She called to her allies, her family, but her words were dead leaves, scattered in the wind.

The purple pink was wider now, promising death. But the light was wider too, death wasn’t always an end. Tara looked once more to the monster scrambling to snatch her back and then to the two whom she loved, whom she ached for more deeply than the endless space waiting to claim her. Her knees were bent, her thighs taut with energy. She felt her feet lift off the metal.

The tiny bed rocked on its metal legs as Tara jerked awake, momentarily panicked by the sensation of falling. She clutched the blanket to her chest, the rough material reminding Tara that she wasn’t in her own bed and she forced a long exhale to mute the sounds of heavy breathing. It was a practiced art, quieting quickly.

Rolling cautiously off the bed, Tara snaked bare feet into her boots. She wrapped her thick tunic cardigan around her shoulders and stealthily left the room. The four other travelers slept undisturbed.

Her dreams often drew her out of bed. Many nights in the Summers’ home, she had stolen from her bed, leaving an exhausted Willow tucked under the covers, to make herself tea in the kitchen. Many nights, she’d find Giles already sat at the kitchen table, his own cooling mug before him. They’d become friends that summer, bound by sleeplessness, fortified by a mutual love of ancient lore. As Tara reached the small seating area, she half- expected Giles to already be there.

The sky was overcast, the light of the city captured under the clouds. Tara pulled the sweater tight around her, fastening the tie to keep it in place. She’d forgotten how cold Oregon could get in the winter. There was a mist of dew, twinkling like iced fairy dust on the single bench. Four leafless alders standing like guards at its edge. With the sweater firmly under her, Tara sat and let the dream gain distance. She wouldn’t forget- dreams that felt as real as that stayed with her until she was able to let them go.

The bench faced eastward toward the Three Sisters, their pointed tops outlined dimly in the distance. That landscape was known to her. There were evergreens dotting wide grassy plains like freckles. Mists that stretched finger-like over dark volcanic rock. Majestic lakes formed by glaciers that had melted long ago- when she was very little, Tara had imagined them full of ancient water creatures.

Somewhere on the far side, in pockets of terrain, lived her father and brother, her cousin Beth, the town where she had grown up. And her mother, marked by a small plaque that undoubtedly slicked over by debris and ice. Tara wished she could be there to chip it away, so her mother’s name could always be seen. It would be the only reason she would ever go back there.

She had faced the mountain of her memories with a pounding heart, fearing that the panic would claim her. But as she took in the image before her, she found that the anticipation had been far more harrowing than actually being there. Slowly, her heart settled.

They couldn’t hurt her anymore. She, with her friends, her love, had refused them that power in Sunnydale and here, just a few hours away, she refused them again.

There were still scars, some very raw, but there would be no new ones. Not from them. It was strangely bittersweet, this letting go. Even though she knew they weren’t good for her, and that she was letting go bit by bit, there was still a mourning of what could have been. But mourning was a step towards freedom.

Someone approached from the direction of the rooms. Tara heard their steps before the flick of a lighter sparked like a shooting star. Tara stood, her hands poised for spellcrafting, every lesson of becoming a cool monster fighter locking into place.

The figure stepped closer then nearly stumbled over itself, not prepared to stop so quickly. A rolled paper poked between two fingers as she threw her hands up in submission.

“Sorry,” the woman said, grinning at her own startled reaction, “I didn’t expect anyone to be out here.”

Tara dropped her head in a nervous habit, before catching the motion and raising her chin. Her voice was still learning steadiness, “Th-that’s ok, I can l-let you have the space.” Under the faint lamp light, a young woman in a beanie and thick green sweats was revealed, a pair of cheap snow boots bunching the bottom of the pants haphazardly. She rocked in place, her energy reminding Tara of a benign kettle waiting to burst.

“No, please, I just wanted to smoke this,” the woman nearly spouted, and held out what Tara recognized to be a joint. “It helps me sleep,” the woman continued, “do you want some?”

Tara shook her head, “No, thank you.”

She had tried it once, after her mother died. In a time when everything felt meaningless and she couldn’t bear to be home. She’d been offered a hit by some teenagers who hung out at the park long past when the ‘good kids’ went home. Usually, Tara was one of those kids. The drug had made her feel panicked and out of control so she’d stuck to the vodka the kids often had on hand. But, for the spill of energy that was the woman next to her, Tara hoped the drug was calming.

She wasn’t ready to go in, not yet, but she prepared to anyway. What stopped her was a glimpse of a beloved symbol tattooed on the woman’s arm, lit as she raised her hand to bring the joint to her lips again. Three slanted lines, each dotted at the top, like a triplet of i’s leaning close to gossip. Awen. Inspiration.

It sat like a reminder, a longing for something to guide her words with the truth of her heart and not the tangle of inconsistencies in her head. To use all that she was feeling like clay, build it into something that would heal them all. The last time she’d been so inspired, she had sung to Willow in the park, lyrics borne of the truth of her love and the ignorance of her lover’s deception. Still, it had felt wonderful in the moment.

“I like your Awen.” Tara gestured slightly to the mark, she rarely felt bold enough to point, especially not at strangers.

Smoke was lodged in the woman’s throat, but her wide brown eyes blinked rapidly in pleasant surprise. “Are you Druid?” the woman asked after she had blown the smoke away from Tara, who shook her head.

“Wiccan.”

“Oh yay!” the tea kettle steamed, “I’m Regan, by the way.”

Soon, they were in a conversation, led mainly by Regan who shared that she was on her way to a ritual for Yule and to Tara’s delight, and a note for future destination, that there was a mini Stongehenge in Washington. Tara had shared Anya’s Yule/Solstice conundrum and they compared the beliefs of Wiccans and Druids.

When they came to why she was traveling, Tara had relayed that she was seeing her aunt for the first time in many years, it felt like a half-truth.

“Oh wow, Regan snuffed the joint on her shoe, tucking it into a little pouch that fit into her pocket, “I bet she’s excited to see you.”

Tara felt foolish. “She um, doesn’t exactly know I’m coming.” She kept her eyes focused on the Three Sisters, as if speaking to them, this stranger next to her a proxy for the land that knew her childhood fears, “I’m n-not even sure she w-wants to see me.”

“Shit, that’s brave.”

That was not a reaction Tara had ever expected. She glanced at Regan, and found the other woman looking back in earnest. A mirthless crook tipped Tara’s mouth as she looked to the mountains again.

“Or very foolish.”

“Are you scared?”

“Nervous," Tara clarified, “very.”

“But you’re still going?”

Tara pulled her sweater sleeves over her hands, and faced Regan more fully.

“Yes.” It was almost a question, the words ‘does that make me sound ridiculous?’ tacked on silently at the end.

“That’s brave,” Regan reiterated. Unlike Tara, she was spread across her space, wearing a wide, carefree grin that refused to be cast away. Tara could almost see all the gears in the young woman slow as her body was overtaken by the drug. Like someone had switched the radio from aggressive pop to smooth jazz.

They chatted lightly for a little while. About magick and nature, and being away from family. Tara had said that they were just in between, heading away from and toward family, however they defined it. Still, the pain in her heart resounded when named. She had already missed everyone when she’d still been in Sunnydale. Now, it felt both worse and better. At least now, she could return from her faraway place.

When Regan took her leave, Tara watched her slow movement until she was safely behind the door and then leaned back to take in the sky, watching gray clouds move with infinite patience.

Magick was an intrinsic part of who she was, it gave her wonder at knowing that the world held mysteries and treasures and it gave her hope, the connection to the earth, to others, helping her feel not so lonely when she was often alone. And yet, it was a force of destruction. Her mother’s health, both mentally and physically, Willow’s near obsession with it. These two women, who had stood on either side of her in her dream just an hour ago, both of them lost, distracted. But there as Tara took her leap. She looked to the mountains again.

Regan had called her brave.

And Tara understood the dream. It had to be her. In her own journey, she had to choose to jump, alone, but not alone. It would be so hard, so scary, and it might kill parts of her. But at the end of death, there is rebirth.

She didn’t feel brave. The truly brave never do.

_________________
You ARE Magic ~ Tara

Dibs!
Another great chapter! You are truly a master of words.

I won't try to analyze all the parts of Tara's nightmare, but these snippets struck me:


They feel almost as a premonition of "Dark Willow". That seems to indicate that in her subconscius Tara is aware that Willow is not only "nearly obsessed" with magic (as Tara later refers to in her awake state) but really in grave danger of being overcome by "dark" magic / magical "addiction". Maybe this awareness is locked in her subconscious out of self preservation (because Tara wouldn't have dared to leave Sunnydale if she consciously acknowledged the grave (in a worst case scenario even mortal) danger Willow is in).


Yay, go Tara for her strength!
I'm curious if she'll encounter her dad, brother and / or Beth on this "self finding journey" (no devaluation intended by the poor wording, I'm no wordsmith like you).



That description of Regan kind of reminds me of a younger Willow. And I guess Tara feels it too (although she doesn't acknowledge it consciously) and that's why she is able to talk to and connect with that stranger with (for her) surprising ease.


Beautiful imagery!


So Tara feels that she first has to "find" or even "evolve" herself before she can try to reconciliate with and help / save Willow (the latter needs she is obviously only subconsciously aware of).
To care for herself first instead of her loved ones is a tough (and totally unfamiliar) decision for Tara (and I'm not sure if it's a conscious one).
If Tara later had to find out that Willow lost her struggle against the "hold" of magic and severely injured herself or another member of their "family" in her abscence Tara would probably never forgive herself for that decision. But I trust that you won't let it be that bad and that everything will turn out right in the end.

Don't think I commented last time, Beta reading means I totally skip the thread sometimes I apologise. As you know, I loved this chapter. I love the inclusion of Regan and how the dream is described, you have such a fantastic mastery of language at times.

Can't wait for more!

_________________
- I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavours and then some -

Wills-redemption: that's awesome- thank you so much!



I agree, even though our Tara wouldn't necessarily know the jacket, the readers do, but I think Tara's dreams might be speaking to her



It's totally a self-finding journey!! its a good description- as for the rest, tbd

Regan is just a little bit Willow, with weed




Yes, she does. And this is what was missing in Tara's story in the show. Willow treated her very very badly and Tara needs to be at least on the path to being ok with her own stuff - she's been through a lot, and I know Tara is very unselfish (and she still is here) but also, there comes a point where one has take care of themselves or, like Tara says in the show, there'll be nothing left of her. She doesn't really know what's going on with Willow- no one does, yet.

Thanks so much for your thoughts!!


GrimCityGirl:

Totally relate (and thank you for being an awesome beta!!) and thank you for the wonderful feedback!



NOTES: Gah, I did not want it to take a month to update- it was life things but mostly writing things (which hopefully will mean the next chapter will be posted much sooner as it is almost already done- unless I get all edit-y, that happens) Also: kitty-corner means across the street diagonally- just in case its not a phrase in your part of the world Thanks for reading!!! I hope you enjoy- we are getting to turning point - almost.




Judgment Pt 1



The Night Before



Night had come a few hours ago and with it a twenty degree temperature drop, still in the 50s, but chilly and stark in the California air. Despite their jackets, both Willow and Dawn were shivering.

“We should have taken the car,” Dawn groused, her hands shoved deep into thick pockets.

“You said it wasn’t that cold,” Willow teased, not minding the walk despite the chill. It felt good to get out of the house. The open sky gave wider space, allowing the walls of memory to gain some distance. Next to her, Dawn snickered.

“Yeah, well I was wrong.”

“You know the theater will be cold too?”

“But we’ll have hot beverages to warm our innards,” Dawn replied brightly. Willow smiled at her, linking their arms together. The trials of the day still clung to her and she hoped Dawn’s presence would ground her, and would repair some of the guilt Willow still felt over snapping at Dawn that morning.

“Hot cider here we come.”

Decorative lights twinkled as they walked through the neighborhood towards Main Street. Holiday displays and adorned houses lit the darkness. Santas waved from their temporary lawn, or rooftop, homes. The scent of fire spiced the air.

They absorbed the festivity as Dawn went on about her day.

“So, Janice wants to go ice blocking with a couple senior boys, I suggested ice skating might be less hazardous to our health.”

Dawn hadn’t brought up Janice since Halloween, and after the events of that night, Willow was less than thrilled with the reappearance of her wilder friend.

Other memories from that terrible night slipped into Willow’s mind. The fights that had progressed between her and Tara, becoming the impetus for their break up. The clench in her stomach was back, feeling too familiar. Willow breathed in deeply, reminding herself for the hundredth time that day, that she had a plan. She forced the impending thoughts away and turned back to the light conversation with Dawn.

“Probably. Wow, I haven’t been ice skating in years.”

“We should go, bring Buffy, you know how she loves it,” Dawn pointed to a pentacle lit with purple lights that peered out of a nearby window, grinning like someone who was in on a secret.

Willow smiled and nodded, appreciating the connection, wishing Tara was there to see it. The symbol had always meant more to Tara.

“Sounds like fun,” Willow addressed the ice skating scenario, still watching the blinking star.

“Totally. Oh so today, Janice totally starts flirting with the Orange Julius guy, trying to get us free drinks." Dawn let go of Willow’s arm to free her hands, too excitable to not use them to emphasize. Willow was grateful for the distraction. She knew Saturdays were Tara days and Willow had been fighting her temptation to ask after her since Dawn had arrived home earlier.

“Did it work?”

“No, and thank god, that guy was like 30.” Dawn grimaced and Willow laughed at Dawn’s ageism, more than glad she thought the age difference inappropriate.

“So you went to the mall with Janice?” If Dawn caught on that Willow was fishing, she didn’t show it.

“Yeah, then Melinda met us after having brunch with her grandma, it was fun,” Dawn replied before her foot caught on a sloppily laid extension cord, running like a lazy snake across the sidewalk to plug into a sparsely lit tree.

Willow caught Dawn’s arm and steadied her before dropping her hands and catching them in front of her belly. They twitched and shuddered as if Willow’s thoughts, her impatient desire to say something were trapped and desperately trying to escape. With an inward grimace, and a shiver of anticipation, Willow felt the words flow.

“Oh, I thought today was, you know, Tara day.” ­­­Dawn shifted her gaze from the ground to a display in the opposite direction, but Willow caught the frown that flashed and then smoothed away, bringing her own frown forward.

“Oh yeah, she um, she couldn’t make it today,” Dawn said, too smooth to be the whole story.

“Oh, um, that’s too bad.” There was a beat of silence in which Willow struggled to not prod on. They turned on to Main Street and into a thicker crowd of people, closing in the space again. Willow clasped her hands in front of her, then released them to her side only to clasp them again an awkward dance of nerves.

“Speaking of,” Willow nearly squeaked out, “I was maybe thinking about, well, asking you or Buffy to invite Tara over for Christmas Eve. I just, I don’t want her to be alone for the holidays you know?” Willow glanced at Dawn, seeing the discomfort on the teen’s face grow.

“Um,” Dawn halted.

“I could clear out even,” Willow offered hastily, misreading Dawn’s mood. It wasn’t what she wanted, but now that the idea had been voiced, it made a certain sense. Tara should be with her family, even if that meant she wasn’t included. “J-just so she could have a few hours with you.” The smile she attempted drowned in a puddle of yearning. Dawn’s sympathetic eyes made her feel worse, she needed to keep this inside, for both of them. This was supposed to be a good night, a reprieve after the battle of the day.

“She’s not in town,” Dawn admitted, cringing as the truth came out. Tara hadn’t said anything about not telling Willow, it just didn’t feel like her place to say anything. But, they were both so sad without the other, and Dawn knew, secrets never made things better. She reconsidered that belief when Willow stopped abruptly, her watery eyes stricken.

“She- she left?”

“No!” Dawn quickly amended, “I mean, yes, but just for break. She’s just out of town. Briefly.” Willow nodded blankly.

“Where did she go?”

“She um, went to go see some family,” Dawn continued on quickly, even as Willow’s head turned sharply, her lips opened and ready to protest, “Not to the ass- I mean the jerkwads that were here. Her aunt, on her mom’s side. Up in Seattle.” The information swirled in Willow.

“Oh.”

It was all she could say. Tara had never mentioned an aunt to Willow, or any other member of her family that was worth visiting. At that moment, Tara felt foreign. So far away, so unreachable, this never shared part of Tara’s life widening the gap Willow desperately wanted to bridge.

“I would have told you but, you know.” Dawn gestured weakly, looking almost as pained as Willow.

“I get it,” Willow managed to push her legs forward again, Dawn matching her step. The Sun theater now visible just a few blocks away. Willow no longer cared about discretion and she weaved through passersby wishing they would all disappear. “Did she, um, say how long she’d be gone?” Dawn shook her head and Willow felt her heart palpitate and saliva gather under her tongue.

“She just said she’d be back for our New Year’s Day sundae,” Dawn offered. Adding quietly, almost to herself, “so we could have a sweet start to the year.”

Every sinew in Willow’s shoulders tightened and pulsed. She hugged herself tightly in an attempt to keep the feeling localized, controlled. To try and fool Dawn into thinking she was alright. She felt foolish. For holding on to this plan, one she was failing. Tara wasn’t even there. Every hope that she could succeed, every moment when she would count the days to give her something to strive for seemed like nothing but fantasy. Tara would be back, Willow believed that, but for how long? There was an aunt out there, a link to Tara’s mother, the woman who Tara had adored. In Willow’s panicked mind, there was no reason for Tara to stay. Not when she’d found family. She felt like she was being folded in half, crumbled into a ball.

Dawn watched the emotions flicker within Willow.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, sorry, just, you know,” Willow molded her lips into a smile, waving her reaction away.

“Yeah,” Dawn said commiserating, “I miss you guys together.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They walked in silence, both lost in thought as their destination grew nearer.

“Um, Willow, the theater is that way,” Dawn pointed out softly, almost apologetically. Willow blinked the haze from her eyes. She hadn’t realized the turn she was taking, down an alleyway that ended in darkness, but every hair pricked as the sensation moved over her. She knew what was down there now. And it called her with its siren song.

The theater was kitty-corner from them and Willow reluctantly moved them toward the box office, fighting the sob that threatened to release the torrent inside her. Dawn was looking at her that way again. All big blue eyes and honest forthright concern and Willow was afraid of her reaction. She couldn’t sit in the theater and not fall apart, she couldn’t push back the urge that was already making her irritable with want. She wouldn’t snap at Dawn again. The magic would distract her, ease her. Just a little.

They were at the window, a bubbly teenager under an elf hat waiting for them to purchase tickets. Willow lightly squeezed Dawn’s forearm, gaining her attention.

“I, um, I need to do something real quick,” Willow said as calmly as she could, not addressing the confused expression Dawn was giving her. Quickly, Willow shoved twenty dollars into Dawn’s hand.

“Get your ticket and the popcorn and I’ll meet you in there,” Willow had already started walking away, “I’ll be ten minutes tops. I’ll probably just miss the prequels.”

Dawn’s faint agreement barely reached Willow, who turned back at the mouth of the alleyway just as Dawn entered the building.

_________________
You ARE Magic ~ Tara

*dibs*

as you already know I love this story, and seeing how easily Willows addiction twists her decisions is so well done.

Can’t wait for your next update

_________________
- I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavours and then some -

My heart aches for Willow and Dawn as well. Poor Dawnie, torn if and how to tell Willow that and why Tara left town for the holidays, suffering as the bringer of bad news. And poor Willow, feeling so alienated from Tara and having to assume that she never told her about her aunt because she didn't trust her enough even before the breakup.


This is so heartbreaking, I just want to reach in and hug your Willow and tell her that she won't lose Tara and everything will be alright in the end!


NOOO!!! Now I want to reach in and hold Willow back! Of course she is deluding herself thinking that she could just get a quick "magic fix" at Rack's and join Dawn again at the theater afterwards. I fear she won't come back the whole evening. Hopefully Dawn won't try to look for her in the dark and will be able to contact Buffy to ask for her help (although I don't know how because the scoobies normally don't carry cell phones if I recall correctly).
I feel that I should assume crash position now because Willow's downfall is imminent...

GrimCityGirl: thanks for all your beta help and support!

Wills_redemption: Thanks for your feedback! And, um, assume crash position

NOTES: there's some angst, yep, angstapalooza. but you have to hit rock bottom right?






Ch 44: Judgment Part 2


The Morning After


It was too early for anyone to be awake except insomniacs and Type A birds, but Willow stood, in front of the bathroom mirror, red veins standing out in the whites of eyes that blurred with steam and introspection. Her bare skin was flushed from the heat of the shower water, and slick with the night she couldn’t scrub away. Even that was hazy, lost in the delirium she had been seeking until it had seeped out of her and left her feeling wrung. She’d wept fiercely into her pillow until falling into exhausted sleep, waking with a demon named guilt lodged in her stomach, its teeth sunk in deep.

Hand shaking, Willow wiped an arc through the gathered dew but she couldn’t meet her own reflection, focusing hazily on the white of the sink as she scrubbed her teeth aimlessly.

She hadn’t meant Dawn to see, had made sure she was safely inside the theater, heading toward the concession stand for artificial butter on too much popcorn. She had only meant to be gone for a few minutes. Willow squeezed her eyes tight. She’d been fooling herself. Time had no meaning in a place like Rack’s.

She did know, deep inside. But there had been that acid, that fiery burn that had become familiar and yet never felt quite the same twice. Willow knew she needed to douse it, calm it, as it burned under her skin, threatening to set her and everyone near her ablaze with her grief and rage. She couldn’t do that to Dawn. Sweet Dawn who kept bringing up Tara.

Tara, who had left town, who might be back by New Years- Dawn wasn’t sure. Tara who had gone to find family, the one thing she’d lost and then found again in Sunnydale, until Willow had driven a wedge in its center. Now Tara was reconnecting with one bound by blood and childhood.

What if she never comes back?

The alley had been too close, it felt like a joke, a cruel cosmic joke that last night Rack’s place was merely across the street from the theater, a siren compelling her through the broken waters of her psyche.

Dawn wasn’t supposed to come looking for her, but she had, and then Amy had brought her there, showed her the depravity of Willow’s abuse. Willow vaguely remembered Amy’s lips curling to the side watching as she stumbled from the back room into the waiting room, eyes blackened and how Rack stood beside her, painting Dawn’s pale, discomposed face with his own dark eyes. Even then, even as Dawn stormed ahead of Willow, angry tears coating her face, it hadn’t sunk in. The magic had done its job, and Willow had been in a selfish blissful ignorance.

Willow pulled the towel she had wrapped around her wet hair, releasing damp strands to drip down her shoulder blades until they air dried into faint waves. The towel missed as she weakly tossed it toward the hamper. Her throat constricted as she moved to pick it up, frustration building into grief as she felt the disappointment of having something else go wrong. She placed the towel where it belonged, knowing she could either fall apart here or start to move forward. The ache of Tara being gone thrummed on a constant wave, but first there was Dawn, waters that were closer and more volatile.

All she could do now was ask for forgiveness, maybe lay low for a while, after she made breakfast- she owed Dawn at least that.

Pancakes, Willow yearned, the pain and heartbreak in one breakfast food immersing her like those songs on the radio. The ones that somehow know the listener’s heart is wounded and dash it with melody and beats and will, despite it all, be listened to through the end every single time. I’m no good at pancakes, Willow sighed, she'd be making plain old cereal and toast.

In her room, Willow dressed trying to keep her mind on the now, on the task of groveling she had to do, again. The guilt that gripped her solidified that she was done with Rack’s for good. And today would be a new start. She would promise that to Dawn.

Shadows stretched long across the stairs, engulfing Willow’s feet as she slowly took each step downward. Her head throbbed in time. When she pushed into the kitchen, she was surprised to find Buffy seated on one of the tall stools, her back silhouetted in gray in the dim room. When Buffy didn’t turn, giving no acknowledgement of her presence, Willow felt sick. She fought the urge to flee back into her bedroom. She wasn’t ready for the conversation she knew was needed, but there was no way Buffy didn’t know she was there, and running away would mark Willow as guilty without knowing if Buffy even knew there was something to be guilty for.

“You’re up early,” Willow finally ventured, crossing to pour herself a cup of coffee from the pot already brewed.

“I haven’t gone to bed yet.” Buffy replied absently, her fingertip tracing the lip of her own mug, untouched coffee cooling inside.

“Oh, well then you’re up late,” Willow forced some mirth into her tired voice, wanting to dispel the tense air in the room. She took a first sip of coffee with a grimace, deeply swallowing the sludgy texture before scooping in generous spoonfuls of sugar. A few cars drove by, soft wooshes infiltrating from a space that wasn’t heavy with silence. Willow stirred slowly and yet the liquid spiralled faster, caught in its own inertia until it was a whirlpool. For a moment, Willow wanted to be sucked in.

It could be anything, Willow reminded herself, turning and leaning against the counter, its round edge pushing into her spine. She sipped at the sweetened coffee, studying Buffy over the rim of the mug at her lips, “Was patrol ok?”

For a few minutes Buffy simply stared ahead, fingers whitened from the firm grip around the ceramic. Willow waited, concern growing with each second. Finally, without turning, Buffy spoke, low and measured.

“Dawn was on the couch when I came home. She couldn’t sleep.”

“Buffy-“ Tears stung at Willow’s eyes, and her head dropped under the weight of the conversation she knew was coming.

“No,” Buffy said starkly, “I trusted you with her.”

“I know. I never meant for-“ Willow felt her stomach clench when Buffy shook her head, slight and tense like the tick of a clock. “It was a mistake. A really, stupid mistake,” with effort, Willow kept her voice steady and earnest, only a small crack breaking the few last words.

Buffy looked at her then, eyes narrowed, unaffected by the green apologetic eyes that pleaded with her. “What? You tripped and fell into some magick junkie lair, couldn’t find your way out ?”

“It’s not-“ Willow sputtered, the word junkie stinging like a slur. She held back any denial or correction, knowing the anger was deserved. A door shut between them when Buffy turned away again. It was too much like visions that had visited Willow, of a seemingly inevitable day when she would watch Buffy’s back as her friend walked out of her life.

Willow crossed to the other end of the center island. She and Buffy faced each other with gazes diverted- Willow’s darting nervously across the wood grain while Buffy’s remained steady, focused on a mark burned into the surface. Thick coffee churned in Willow’s belly and she set the mug down, pushing it further away in rejection. She raised her eyes then, finding Buffy’s own meeting hers with a mixture of reluctance and challenge.

“Please know. I never wanted Dawn to see that. I made- I made sure she was in the theater before I went.”

“I know, your pal Amy brought her in,” Buffy stated in monotone.

“She’s not my pal,” Willow denied sharply. The friendship, shallow as it was between her and Amy, was done. Whatever Amy had said to Dawn, it was enough, too much. “It shouldn’t have happened,” Willow continued, “I thought I would be gone for just a few minutes.”

“But it wasn’t a few minutes, Will,” Buffy laid out, “you never should have left her side!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I was just-“ Willow spoke in fractures.

“What if Amy hadn’t found her in the alley?”

“I know. I-“ Willow pleaded, cut off as Buffy came closer, her body hovering over locked elbows as she stood and leaned across the table. Willow’s lungs hitched, like boulders were being stacked on her chest, crushing her breath.

“You know what lurks in alleys Will? Vampires!” Fear and anger sent waves through Buffy’s tepid voice, like whispers of a language once known.

“Please, I was so-“ Tears of frustration began to pool in Willow’s eyes, she needed to breathe, needed a chance to explain.

“She could have been killed!”

“I know Buffy! I know!” Willow shouted in a burst, regretting standing before Buffy now, the onslaught carving valleys into her tenuous nerves. She balled her fists in an effort to keep calm, her body trembling like a plucked string. “I messed up. And I’m done with that place. I was going to say all of this to Dawn.”

“I don’t even want to know what that place was. And I don’t want you around Dawn right now,” Buffy thumped heavily back onto her stool, the numb walls of dissociation slowly rotting away as she protected her sister.

“She was terrified, Willow,” Buffy said pointedly, as to her it seemed that Willow, standing stricken before her, once again did not seem to grasp the gravity of her choices. “And most of that was by you- she said you seemed high Willow, and I don’t even want to know how she knows what that looks like, but she said you were completely gone and you didn’t even seem to care that she was upset.”

Each discrete pause between those last words felt like a blow, beating into Willow the knowledge that her aloof reaction to Dawn had been the worst thing she’d done last night. She’d been wrong, so very wrong, but she needed Buffy to know that it hadn’t been about ‘getting high.’ She had made a terrible choice, but it had come as a result of a torn mind and heart.

“I do care, Buffy,” Willow pleaded, shaky and wet, tears finally toppling onto her skin, “I- it was the magick, I was upset and I made a really bad judgment call-”

“Yes it was. And it seems like you’ve been making a lot of those lately, Will,” Buffy shrugged dismissively, lips twisted, holding back a tongue that Willow knew, was on the verge of telling her what she always knew it would- that Willow was a disappointing and foregone conclusion. It was judgment interpreted by Willow in a doctrine she had been reciting silently, underneath, for too long. It was created from a rage and a sorrow that gathered now like clouds under her skin, preparing for thunder.

“Like you have room to talk,” Willow shot back through gritted teeth. Sleep tangled red locks dropped from her shoulders as she met Buffy’s sharp jolted glare, an accusing one of her own staring back.

“What the hell does that mean?” Buffy started then shook her head, changing tracks. “No. This is about you. How it’s all about the magick for you. The power or the high or whatever, no matter what it costs anyone else.”

“You think it hasn’t cost me?!” Willow grasped at her shirt, the knot of her fist pulling at the fabric near her heart.

“Actions have consequences,” Buffy answered quietly, heavily. Almost to herself.

“Yes, they do. And I am reaping mine,” the pain that wrenched from Willow reached Buffy, tugging at soft empathy, grating against the anger that went beyond last night.

“And I am sorry Buffy, I am sorry that my actions have caused you to hate the world, to hate me.” Buffy opened her mouth but found there was nothing honest to say.
Willow continued with a frantic edge, seeming to gather volume and mass as she tumbled forward. “But don’t you dare say I don’t care! My actions, my magicks, saved us, so many times, and no one seems to remember that!” Under the skin, Willow’s flesh prickled, energy unbinding itself as restraint loosened. “You say I don’t care about the cost to anyone else, when my magick was keeping us alive last summer, keeping people safe! The cost of me not doing magick was far higher!” Willow’s limbs flew as she paced the space before Buffy, “we wouldn’t have beaten Glory without my power and you know it!” She pointed damningly. “When you needed the big gun there I was, and then I’m expected to just be fine when you put me back in a drawer and shut me away. At least I was allowed to bring Tara back before I had to tuck it all away.” The words cut. The stool legs scraped as Buffy pushed off and stood, taking a step toward Willow.

Upstairs, Dawn awoke with a start, muffled shouts filling her ears and tumbling her stomach. Slowly, she drew the covers aside, walking soft-footed into the hall, settling quietly on the top step of the stairwell. She wrapped her arm around a baluster, laying her head on the smooth wood as she listened, regretful for being the impetus of this fight. She heard Buffy’s voice hitch with more emotion than Dawn had heard since that last day on the terrible tower.

“That’s not fair Willow.”

“None of this is fair!” Dawn squeezed her eyes shut against the force of Willow’s rebuttal. “I tried so hard and everyone seems to forget that. How much they needed me, my abilities,” Willow swayed slightly in the center of the kitchen, the storm brewing, held under her skin. One hand gripped the opposite arm, fingernails digging into the flesh. Into the itch that was consuming her veins.

“And when I mess up,” Willow went on, her gaze focused nowhere and everywhere, her words bursts of wet air. “When I dare to use magick to help myself, I’m the worst person in the world. And I know you hate me because I, me with my magicks, brought you back.”

“I don’t- It wasn’t your choice to bring me back.” Buffy thought of running, of finding Spike holed up in his crypt. He would be there. He would help her forget.

“Then whose was it??” Willow’s arms were loose again, flailing in sharp lines, “We thought you were in hell, Buffy! And I am sorry that you are hurting and that you are sad but we needed you. Dawn needed you. I needed you-“

Buffy did not want to talk about this. Every day she felt the aftermath of her resurrection, every day it weighed her down until she felt numb. She longed for that feeling now, but she couldn’t run, not when Dawn had been in danger- so she would stay, but this conversation was not going to be about her.

“Maybe,” the concession came with a shrug, a dismissive jerk of the head, “But, I can’t help but think that mostly, you did it because you could, because you needed everyone to know how powerful you are.”

Willow saw it in the maelstrom of her mind’s eye, the vast gulf between them, the once lush flora of their friendship rotted into the ground. She couldn’t tend it on her own and it seemed Buffy was content to let it die. Willow swiped her face of tears, angry winds and debris slicing from the inside. She turned to go before she let go of the scream filling her lungs, the itch becoming unbearable. The hurt slipped out in three words before she made it to the kitchen door.

“Fuck you Buffy.”

Buffy was on her heels, catching the swinging door and shoving it back the other direction.

“No. This has to stop Willow.” She stopped, hands on hips, angrier than she expected to be and Willow turned with glazed, wild eyes.

“What, Buffy? What exactly has to stop?” Willow challenged, Buffy hadn’t been there, hadn’t cared to pay attention.

Dawn curled tightly into the post at the top of the stairs, half hoping that one of them would notice her.

“Spike said-“ Buffy started.

“Spike?!” Willow’s cut in, her incredulity followed by a mirthless laugh, “Yeah, of course it was Spike.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Buffy sneered, her own shame lashing out.

“What does that mean?” Energy pulsed erratically under Willow’s skin, rising through her pores to lick like flames as it searched, directionless, for release. Willow gave no sign of awareness, she was caught in the eye of a hurricane and it was all she could know as chaos churned within her. “It means you’re always with him! That he seems to be the only person you choose to be around!”

“That isn’t true-“

“Oh really??! Because you won’t patrol with me!” Willow clutched at her chest, pulling hard enough to rip the fabric of her top. The tiniest of red sparks, angry and persistent, slipped through her white knuckles, “You say ‘It’s too dangerous’ which we both know is shit! You say you just want to be alone, and then there you are- palling around with ol’ William the Bloody because you can’t stand to be around me,” Dawn gave into sobs, fighting to keep quiet, as Willow keened below her. She incongruously thought that it was too early in the morning for all this. When Buffy replied, Dawn wept harder at the ache in her sister’s voice.

“That’s not true,” Buffy shook her head repeatedly.

“Yes it is, Buffy. Things have been so hard,” each beat was met with a punctuated sob, hysteria stealing any other emotion away, “And you can barely look at me, you won’t talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you now,” Buffy tried to soothe but her agitation remained, the gathering of red in Willow’s palms apparent.

Willow spoke frantically, words overlapping, tears pouring down her face, “No you’re talking at me! And this- ” Willow back and forthed her hand between them, one finger pointed out in wild indication, comet tails of energy following her movements, “has been going on for months! This,” the hand waved again, “isn’t even about the magicks!”

“Then what’s it about Willow?” Buffy slowed her voice. The room tilted with instability. Dawn stood, feeling it too, watching with wide blue eyes, unable to tear herself away as Willow seemed to burn below her.

“It’s about the fact that nothing I do is good enough! I have tried but all anyone seems to see is when I fuck up! And I am fucking up! Because that’s who I am, that’s all I ever am!” Frenetic magicks sparked as Willow shook, uncontrolled. “And it’s all falling apart. It’s all-“

Buffy approached slowly, hands poised outwardly and open, as if a feral animal were before her, “Willow calm down.”

“She’s gone! She’s gone and I’ve lost everything! I-I can’t-“ The wail that ripped from Willow shook the walls with anguish, as she slipped from the eye and became the hurricane. She fell to her knees, energy cracking through the barriers, picking up and hurling items through the air. A lamp was torn from its tabletop, flying toward Buffy to be batted away by the Slayer’s reflexes. Glass all around shattered in a violent wave, books and small treasures taking flight.

A loud yelp whipped Buffy’s head to the top landing and she ran. Dawn crouched protectively under a shower of glass, the pictures on the wall skewed and fractured. Blood dripped down Dawn’s forehead. ­­

Faintly, Willow heard Buffy cry out Dawn’s name and she slumped forward, frozen in shock, the magick slipping away like a ghost.

Upstairs, Buffy carefully gathered Dawn from the rubble, escorting her into the bathroom, gathering first aid supplies that needed constant restocking. The wound was shallow, though it bled heavily from its placement. Neither sister spoke.

Downstairs, the living room was put back together, only the glass where Dawn had been remained. The front door closed silently, Willow on the outside, trembling as she walked away.

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You ARE Magic ~ Tara

Oof, it hurts so good. I was happy to read through this, knowing how much you put into it. It's such a well orchestrated dance of anger and shame and destruction. So many feels.

Seriously, you're doing a great job, keep it up!

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- I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavours and then some -

Series six is not an easy era to tackle as it where these people we have grown to sympathise with have become their own big bad. There's no school, mayor, initiative, hell goddess. Everything in the series is created by their hands. The nerd trio all effected by Buffy's actions, the scooby gang all feeling the effects of their years on the hellmouth. The thing is they don't realise it until 'once more with feeling' Then its trying to reset with 'tabula rasa'. The reset doesn't work and you have 'smashed' and 'wrecked' which you are handling brilliantly.
The time line of the show never made sense so the fact you've giggled it makes little difference. What you have done with this whole thing so far is capture the long dull ache and pain. The slow crippling of everyone as they have no scapegoat unless they want to blame each other.
Throughout you have given the long stare with all the down trodden emotion in it. They don't know what's in front of them but they cant look at themselves or behind them because its a nightmare.

In this chapter you made Buffy and Willow look at each other and well it nearly brought the house down. Pure, ugly, raw emotion which they cant hide from. Series six is meant to be about them being adults, taking responsibility for their own actions and I think going forward you're going to nail the transition from long stare without a destination to walking that line towards one. The emotions you capture are great and is in sync of those in series six. I look forward to seeing where you take this.

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One Shots - Basement Grotto - Door 25 - "You're My Always" - "Do You Like Cats?"
You don't have to write to contribute to the board, feedback can be its own event - Dubs Festive Advent Challenge - Fic Club - Pens Write A Holiday Story
Existing at some point, maybe - The Justice for Tara series.
*Rides in on a tricycle* Wanna play a game? - Five Minutes of Artistic Integrity - Those Three Little Words - Sassy Synonyms - Aradia's Antonyms

I was fighting back tears while reading this chapter. Willow's pain, dispair and self hatred was so raw and heartbreaking!
My heart ached for Buffy and Dawn as well. Regarding Buffy I try to see the positive side: that her numbness was shattered and she is able to really feel again (even if it's mostly pain now) is hopefully a breakthrough for her.
But Willow's situation after her "meltdown" here seems hopeless, even worse than in the canon episode "Wrecked": after the ugly confrontation with Buffy and having hurt Dawn directly with her magic outburst she probably won't dare to return to the Summer's home and ask for help. And I fear she won't go to Xander or make a long distance call to Giles to ask for help eather. And she couldn't contact Tara even if she wanted to. So where will she go and what is she going to do?
I fervently hope that Willow will still try to fight the magic and not return to Rack with some self destructive attitude (along the line of "Tara won't return to me and my family hates me and all is lost anyway so I might as well lose myself in the magic").

The imagery of your writing regarding their feelings was very powerful again. Those passages struck me the most:




I guess the next chapter will be from Tara's point of view again so I will have to stay anxious for Willow for a few more weeks...
But I hope that Tara will see her aunt in the next chapter and that she can help Tara fighting her inner demons (so Tara in turn might be able to help Willow when she comes home).

Okay,..WHOA! And WHOA again! Great chapter.
That was a lot for both Buffy and Willow to get out of their systems. I think this may be the first fic to have Willow voice what others have,....She was the 'big gun' Buffy and the gang relied on and then they just want her to turn it off.

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I will post replies to replies tomorrow

Notes: thanks for following this story!! I'm a little nervous about this chapter because it hasn't been as fine-toothed, but I didn't want to wait any longer. Hope you like it!




Ch 45: Seattle



Tara yawned widely, pushing back against her seat so she could stretch out her right leg, her foot hovering slightly over the gas pedal. Traffic had been stop and go since getting into Portland and finally eased up as she crossed the bridge over the Columbia River and into Washington State. It amazed Tara how taxing driving was, at least in these long distances; the interrupted sleep of the night before adding to her sluggishness.

After talking with Regan, she’d slipped back into the shared room, falling asleep quickly in her rented bed. Mere hours later, as sunlight faintly stained the drawn window curtains, her eyes had opened again. Something had tossed her from slumber, a grip of something being deeply wrong. In the messy and sudden wakefulness, Tara’s first thought was of her mother, that sensation tattooed in her psyche from years ago. She blinked into the fading darkness, and turned her body to the room, gaining her surroundings. There was nothing but a woman, dressed for the cold air, packing her belongings quietly on her bed. They met eyes, the woman’s bemused, Tara’s embarrassed, before each gave a slight awkward smile and returned to their own worlds. Covers wrapped around her, Tara cocooned herself, trying to contain the shivers of tension that rattled her. Her messenger bag lay beside her, facing the inside wall for safety. She reached inside and pulled out the phone. No messages.

Later, the feeling lingered like residue, a slick of discomfort that remained on her skin. Tara’s busy mind tried to pinpoint its source, but, she conceded, there was a lot to feel uneasy about. She’d been so close to her hometown. She was so far from home. There was a stranger, who should be familiar, that didn’t know she was coming.

She would call Anya when she stopped. Just in case.

On an open stretch of highway, Tara briefly closed her eyes, absorbing the crisp wind that whipped against her cheeks through the open car window. She breathed deeply, inhaling the unique, mossy, scent of the land and let it soothe her.

There was an ancient magic to the Pacific Northwest, something otherworldly and yet deeply earthbound - where local land spirits inhabited the hollows of cedars, weaving dreams in the mist. It was the magic of people who lived there long before her, whose land it was first- it was the magic of her childhood.

She’d felt it as she crossed into Oregon yesterday, the thick pines and redwoods humming, welcoming her back. She felt it when she’d entered Portland through a tunnel of ever reaching branches that whispered secrets amongst themselves. It lived in the unpredictable rivers that she drove beside, then over on a zigzag of bridges. The magic was in the overgrowth and the ring of fire mountains that rumbled reminders that the land was alive.

It wasn’t the throbbing pulse of magical energy that beat below Sunnydale. It was just as alive, just as potent, but less in your face about it, at least if you were a witch. Magic in the Pacific Northwest was ubiquitous, but accessing it was like finding a treasure in a secret cave. In Sunnydale, it was a package left on your doorstep, there for the taking if you knew how to unwrap it, but not always the gift you hoped for.

Rolling the window up halfway, Tara thought back to the shift she’d felt as she left Sunnydale. Willow had grown up in that energy, had learned magic with that constant offering. It had come so easily to her, of course it had, Tara shook her head fondly, lost in her perusal as she drove on autopilot. Willow was brilliant, and powerful, and had always taken a scientist’s approach to magic, always wanting to push the parameters. Sometimes it was the only thing that saved us. Tara took a deep swig from her water bottle and pulled her attention back to the road. This wasn’t a good topic while driving, too many dark alleys to lure her to dangerous distraction.

For now, she tried to focus on the land, the lush green with specks of gold. They were the lush of Willow’s eyes.

---------------------

After driving for two days, Tara grumbled at the fact that now she had arrived, finding a place to park became the most difficult part of her journey. Finally, after looping the surrounding blocks a few times, Tara squeezed the Hyundai in a recently abandoned space, secretly proud of her ability to parallel park.

The hostel was near Pike’s Place Market, which bustled with tourists and the smell of fresh fish. Good thing I’m a pescatarian, Tara thought, chuckling at her inner dirty joke as she took the narrow stairs that led into the hostel.

A young man stood behind the small check-in table and smiled warmly as Tara gave her information. His accent, West African Tara believed, added a warm lilt to the rundown of usual information and the brief tour. The space catered to the young and unique. Travelers on a budget. Tea and granola were available at all hours but one was expected to wash their own dishes. There were rooms full of games and books and someone played Wonderwall on a guitar nearby. Dawn would love it here, Tara decided, her heart missing the younger girl.

Reaching her shared room, Tara entered a space both bare and overfull, clean though, warm to the point of being stuffy. Tara shyly ducked past a trio of women chatting excitedly between themselves. American, maybe Canadian. Tara tried not to be annoyed with the chatter. She had chosen to get a shared space to save money after all, and that meant there would be others around, doing as people do. Like talking when she was a tired introvert and needed some quiet to lull her brain.

This was what you signed up for, Tara reminded herself, a sluggish kind of pep talk.

Finally, after trying to determine which bed was actually free, she moved to an empty one by the far wall, unsure if it was actually open or just tidy. She glanced at the talking women a few times then faced them, head lowered, waiting for an opening in the conversation.

“Um, s-sorry to interrupt,” Tara started when there was a brief gap, three heads turning her way, “but, um, do you know if this bed is taken?” She pointed a thumb at the bed behind her.

“Not that I know of,” the taller woman replied with a quick smile before turning back to her friends.

“Thanks,” Tara said, stowing her suitcase into the small storage space and locking it with the key. For a moment, she sat and let in the fact that she was here, in Seattle. She sighed, as much as she longed for a nap, it was time to make her next step.

She checked her phone, again finding no messages. Anya had said everything and everyone was fine when Tara had called her from the gas station. The feeling from this morning now too entangled with the excitement and nerves of what lay ahead to be decipherable. Checking that her aunt’s address was still stored in between the pages of The Little Prince - the book she carried like a security blanket, she tucked it securely back into her messenger bag and stood, smoothing her hands down her corduroys.

It’s time to be brave.

Wrapping her scarf around her neck she moved out of the room, wishing the still talking women a good night, quietly daring to interject herself into their ongoing flow.

By the time Tara had reached her destination, after a thorny twenty minute drive into Northeast Seattle, the nerves had returned in full force. She sat in the front seat, more than a little nauseous as she matched the address on the light blue craftsman house to the increasingly crumpled sheet of paper in her hand. Somewhere, where her thoughts functioned like a machine, Tara thought the house was cute.

She stepped out into the fresh air when her head began to swim, the reality of being there proving too much as she felt momentarily like she would pass out, or sob uncontrollably. She sat on the curb, hidden behind the Hyundai and pulled deep breaths into her abdomen trying to exhale all the thoughts that told her this was a bad idea. What was she expecting? Did she really want to dig up the past? But, she argued back, the past never left. There were so many ‘what ifs’ so many reasons why this could all go terribly, starting with the fact that she could be near hyperventilating in front of the wrong house, only Anya’s weirdly gotten info to point her here. Part of Tara wanted it to be true, that her aunt had moved, and she could turn around and go to sleep, and head back to Sunnydale tomorrow. Maybe, she’d go see that mini Stonehenge on the way back.

A voice, rising up from where she was strong and stubborn, rebelled, refusing to be disappointed. She’d fought monsters. She’d told her father, the man she could barely look in the eye, to go. She’d shattered her already devastated heart when she left Willow, knowing it was the only thing she could do. And this, this was scary too, but she needed to. If she were to try to start making peace with the ghosts of her past, she needed to.

Using the door handle, Tara pulled herself back up and regarded the house that was anything but foreboding. Mind held as blank as she could, she collected her bag, slung it across her body like a seat belt, and stepped into the street. She walked up the short staircase to the maple colored door. Swallowing once, she squeezed her bag to her side, and knocked.

Tara listened as steps drew closer and then the door opened. The woman was beautiful, in her early to mid thirties, dark curly hair that sat at her shoulders, friendly brown eyes set in caramel skin. It wasn’t Jaime.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, her eyes narrowing curiously, trying to puzzle out the figure before her. Tara imagined she looked like a deer in headlights standing there. She blinked and swallowed, pushing herself through the moment.

“Hi, I-I’m sorry to bother you. I was given this address. I’m l-looking for Jaime Byrne.” The woman leaned against the door jam, protectively blocking the opening. Behind her, Tara could see a lit Christmas Tree in the room beyond.

“And you are?” The woman asked, friendly enough but with an edge that left no room for mistakes.

“Tara, I’m, um, I’m her niece?” Tara fluttered nervously, hearing the fact go up in inflection. The woman regarded her for another few seconds, then yelled over shoulder to someone further inside.

“James!” Tara twisted the metal button of the bag clasp under her fingers.

“Yeah, babe?” The answering voice moved closer.

“Someone’s at the door for you,” the woman with the curly hair turned back to Tara, eying her thoughtfully. Tara shyly avoided the gaze, tracing the small patio littered with dormant plants and lingering dew. Approaching footsteps brought her gaze back, and then the footsteps stopped.

“Oh my god, Tara?” Jaime stood at the edge of a floor rug, just before the rust brown tiles of the foyer disappeared under it. Her brown hair swept up into spikes, the sides much shorter than the front. She wore loose fitting light jeans and a black faded band t-shirt. Jaime’s pale skin stood in contrast, almost colorless as she gaped at the visitor. Tara felt her own cheeks burn as she smiled and waved awkwardly.

“Hi, Aunt Jaime.”

Jaime stepped forward in a rush, engulfing Tara in a hug, the woman who answered the door forced to move back to avoid being trampled. Tara felt herself shaken from side to side in her aunt’s strong embrace.

Jaime, pushed back, hands clasped around Tara’s arms so she could fully take in the sight of her niece, “I thought I was seeing a ghost,” Jaime shook her head with mirth, “you look so much like Katie.”

“S-sorry.”

Tara winced and fought the impulse to apologize for saying sorry in the first place. Her mother was beautiful, and to resemble her was tremendous praise. But her mother was also gone, and Tara felt guilty in her imitation. She’d come there to unearth things long buried and already felt the guilt of future conversations. She once more doubted that she should even be there, but Jaime slung an arm around her shoulder, escorting Tara into her home, and that was enough to make the trip worth it.

“You’ve met Mari?” Jaime nodded to the woman now closing the door behind them.

“No, I was rude and didn’t introduce myself,” Mari offered her hand and Tara returned the firm shake, “Hi, I’m Mari,” she said before gesturing them further inside.

The house was older, signs of its age held in the scuff marks on the chestnut wood floor and the tiered molding around the ceiling. It was a house that had seen a lot of life yet was obviously well cared for. A mix of earth tones made the space cozy. The clutter of papers on a side table gave it a lived in feel. Jaime pointed and gestured as they ventured inside, naming off rooms until they reached a thick cream colored shag rug that sat like an island home for a rust couch with cream flecks and two deep brown fabric armchairs. Indicating to the couch, Jaime invited Tara to sit, taking one of the chairs herself, a coffee table sitting between them.

“Tara, can I get you something to drink?” Mari asked, trailing in behind them and hovering at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Water would be great, thank you,” Tara answered politely.

Mari nodded, her smile formal, before turning into the kitchen. It was clear that Mari was assessing her, deciding on whether or not she was welcome and the familiar feeling of being an intruder dropped in Tara’s stomach and she recognized the urge to bolt from the house. But she had come too far to run. She would go, if she was unwanted, but she wouldn’t make that decision preemptively. One of the greatest gifts of the past few years, of the growth she’d made, was beginning to accept that it was ok to take up space in the world. Even if I did just drop in out of nowhere, Tara thought ruefully, turning her attention back to Jaime. There, she found a beaming smile.

“Holy shitballs, you’re here!” Jaime slapped her own thigh in excitement.

Tara grinned at her aunt’s exuberance- at least she was half-welcome.

“I’m having a bit of trouble believing it myself.” Tara giggled, dropping her head shyly.

“How did you find me, anyway?” Worry twitched in Jaime’s dark blue eyes, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived, as long gone memories shifted to the now.

“Um, I have friends that are good with c-computers and stuff,” Tara raised her head, blushing sheepishly, “ I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything f-first- I just, I wanted to get out of town, and, um, th-thought I would try my luck. Th-thank you.” Tara smiled courteously at Mari as she was handed a glass of ice water, the smile melting into a delighted half grin as she watched Jaime accept a glass of ice tea with lemon she hadn’t requested from Mari, clearly grateful for the familiarity of the gesture. Mari smiled lightly in return, brushing Jaime’s arm as she started to move away, Jaime caught her hand, squeezing it, a brief look passing between them. Mari took the other chair and regarded Tara.

“So, why now?”

“What?” Tara’s brow furrowed slightly.

“What made you decide to look for Jaime now?” Mari expanded, still cordial, still on guard. And, Tara figured, fairly.

Tara took a sip of the icy water and placed it on the coffee table, careful to use one of the knitted coasters nearby.

“Well, like I s-said, I wanted to get out of town for a bit,” Tara looked directly at Mari before shifting her gaze to Jaime, “and, I w-was going through some things. I found this stack of pictures, and you were in one of them, and I w-wanted to see if I could find you.”

“Well, good work, detective, you did! I’m glad, kiddo.”

Kiddo. Images connected around the endearment of riding bikes hard through the trees, trying to catch up with Jaime. Of the jolt of the front tire against a determined root, of falling and Jaime’s voice asking if she was alright, calling her kiddo. So much time had passed, so many memories lost in the undertow of surviving her childhood.

“Thank you, me too. But I know I just kind of am-ambushed you. I-I’ll be in town for a few days if this isn’t a good time.”

“Nah. It’s ok. We were being lazy.” Jaime flopped her arm over the back of the chair, slouching further into the seat cushion.

“The only plans we had were snuggling up and watching a movie, but we can do that anytime, right, babe?” Mari added.

Both women regarded Tara expectantly, as though Mari had let out a secret that hadn’t been obvious from the moment Tara had arrived. Tara knew this test, she and Willow had done the drop unsubtle hints thing. Some people still hadn’t gotten it. Both women seemed so comfortable with themselves, with their relationship, the almost challenging stare, in Mari’s case, and almost nervous gaze, in Jaime’s, surprised Tara. But Jaime didn’t know anything about Tara anymore, except where she had come from.

“How long have you been together?” Tara asked easily, comforted when both women relaxed. Jaime looked to Mari with a grin.

“You better know the answer to that,” Mari took the opportunity to tease her partner.

“Three years, eight months,” Jaime answered, nodding like a star student.

“That’s wonderful,” Tara smiled softly at both women.

“It’s alright,” Jaime shrugged, earning a shove on her arm as Mari leaned across the space between them. The look Jaime gave Mari back was pure adoration.

“I c-can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Tara said, pulling the conversation away before they returned questions about her own love life. Revealing her similar sexuality would bring up questions Tara wasn’t ready to field, not with the broken heart she wouldn’t be able to hide. Soon though, she would tell them.

Jaime sipped on her tea, the ice making it watery, “Tell me about it. You went and grew up.”

“Yeah, you know, time…it does that,” Tara giggled, her lips quirking up on the left side.

For a long moment Tara and Jaime regarded each other, connecting through blood lines. Mari stood quietly and slipped back into the kitchen, giving them space.

“It’s good to see you, kiddo.”

“It’s r-really nice to see you too.”

A lump formed in Jaime’s throat as she took in Tara’s features, her niece’s soft smile curving full lips, the shape slightly crooked, shifting her high cheekbones unevenly. They were her sister’s features, passed from mother to daughter. Extending her hand over the coffee table, she reached for Tara, her thinner lips smiling sadly when Tara filled it.

“I am really sorry you lost your mom.”

Tara nodded, “I’m really sorry you lost your sister.” Tears slipped free before Tara could blink them away. Jaime nodded in return and Tara wondered if, like her, this was the first time Jaime was sharing her grief with someone who knew Kathryn. At home there had been grief, in its many different forms, but it hadn’t been shared. Here was the last real connection to her mother, and she had no idea why Jaime hadn’t come to say goodbye.

A carved wooden box slid across the tabletop and into Tara’s side vision. She followed the engraved art work up to the sprout of tissue paper, noticing that Mari had come back into the room. She accepted the offering, smiling awkwardly as Mari placed a kettle of tea and cups on the table before her.

“So Tara, did you fly here?” Mari asked, breaking the heavy moment, reaching for a moment to brush her hand over Jaime’s tight shoulder. She poured herself some tea, nodding at Tara to help herself, and sat on the edge of her chair, cradling the hot beverage in her lap.

Tara wiped at her eyes, her wet cheeks hot with embarrassment. She shook her head in answer, reaching for a cup.

“I drove.”

“From Oregon?”

Jaime didn’t need to fill in the details, Tara knew she was asking if Tara ever left Prineville. The ability to answer in the negative cued the embarrassed, shy girl to step back and she sat a little straighter. She would always be proud of getting out of Prineville.

“No, I’m in California,” Tara began, “for college.” And so many other reasons.

The conversation eased from there, turning to more restful topics like work and areas of study. Mari was a lawyer, which was about the last vocation Tara would have guessed for the woman clad in a t-shirt dress and leggings. Maybe, a masseuse or a social worker. I guess, she conceded to herself, lawyers probably don’t wear suits all the time. Tara considered that maybe it was constant scrutiny of facts and people that made Mari apprehensive of her. Her edge had softened, significantly, but Tara knew Mari would still cut if needed. And she knew it had nothing to do with being a lawyer.

Stirring in several spoonfuls of sugar into her own cup, Jaime had resumed her almost roguish charm, delighted to find that both she and Tara were in the arts. Though they were perhaps opposite ends, Jaime a graphic designer and Tara an art history major, Jaime claimed camaraderie with Tara like they were on the same softball team. Tara remembered this about Jaime, the ease with which she made Tara feel safe to come out of her shell. At least, when it was just the two of them, or three, when her mom was there too.

“Do you paint?” Mari asked.

“No,” Tara swallowed the sip in her mouth and placed the cup down carefully, “I would love to, but I n-never really took it up. I sketch though, sometimes. I’m hoping to be a curator, put shows together and the like.”

“Well I say you got the arty gene from me,” Jaime preened, chest puffed with a swagger, causing Tara to burst into giggles and Mari to roll her eyes in mock annoyance.

“Grandpa Jim was an artist too, right?” Tara asked of the man she’d never met and had only heard snippets about. She wondered if Jaime got her slimmer frame from him.

“Yeah kinda,” Jaime scrunched her nose making the ring that looped around her nostril shift into an angle, “he did, like, window displays for one of the department stores. He was a master of the holiday light display though. I remember having to squint to keep from burning out my retinas.” Mari had sat back into the chair now, her full laughter warming the room. Tara smiled as Jaime snickered at her own story, “he was kooky.”

“I wish I could have met him,” Tara said fondly.

“Yeah, me too,” Jaime replied, the space falling into a lull.

The room had grown dimmer, the night hours creeping in. Tara watched Jaime flick on a nearby lamp, knowing it was time to go, give the women their house back, but she wouldn’t feel right if she wasn’t completely honest with the intentions of her visit. She shifted in her seat as she struggled with bringing up a past best left alone, but-

Be brave, Tara.

She pulled in a slow breath to steady herself, ground her energy. Still, she played with the edge of the couch, flicking the rough material that created a border.

“Aunt Jaime?” The air behind her voice was effortful as Tara struggled to make it audible. Her aunt met her gaze and Tara was aware of Mari’s attention, “I do have some, um, questions?”

Say it Tara, but carefully.

“I mean, I c-came here, because I, I need to kn-know some things, about the past,” Tara hurried on, wincing slightly when Jaime’s lips squished together, frustrated that her stutter was making the words more awkward, “n-not tonight, I-I just,
w-wanted to put it out there.”

Being brave sucks.

Mari stood, clearly working her face out of the tension it wanted to reveal, but she couldn’t hide the agitation in her voice, “I’ll be in the bedroom.” Tara watched her go, fighting back the tears forming in her eyes.

“Excuse me for just a minute.” Jaime followed Mari, leaving Tara sitting alone on the island made of shag.

Nervously studying the thick fibers under her feet, Tara tried not to listen as voices traveled to her like distant ghosts. They rose and fell, words unwilling to be ignored as her ears caught them.

Snippets that formed a rough picture: ‘Don’t trust!’ ‘Little kid’ ‘I know that!’ ‘Please’. Sounds rippled and became distorted, hollow, joined by an inner ringing in her ears, as if trying to keep the noises out. Tara closed her eyes tight and when she opened them again, she stood.

When Jaime returned, Tara had gathered her things, her jacket already on and her seatbelt bag fastened. She was standing in front of a print of one of Frida Kahlo’s self-portraits, eyes tracing the bird that hung around the subject’s neck.

“Hey, kiddo, sorry ‘bout that. Domestic squabbles and all.” Jaime shoved her hands in her jean pockets, “don’t feel like you have to go.”

“N-no, it’s ok,” Tara wrestled away the crinkles on her brow, “I’m really tired anyway, and I barely got checked in.”

“Where are you staying?” Jaime asked, then called out, “Babe, Tara is taking off,” quirking a relieved smile when Mari returned to her side and took her hand.

“The Green Tortoise?” Tara said and asked, checking with her tone if they knew the place. As the trio moved toward the foyer, Jaime and Mari looked to one another, communicating silently again. Jaime asking something, Mari answering with indecision.

“Well hey,” Jaime let go of Mari’s hand to face Tara at the door, “We have plans tomorrow, but Tuesday I’m off at noon then am free for the rest of the week. Holiday’s and all,” Jaime shrugged and Tara saw just a little more of herself in the woman before her.

Tara nodded, feeling the weight on her shoulders ease. They exchanged numbers, Tara again thankful for the cell phone she had on hand, and made plans to meet for lunch.

Jaime hugged Tara tight, “It’s so good to see you.” It was the most vulnerable she had looked all night. “I’m so glad you got out of that place,” she added when they were face to face again.

“I had to.” Tara met the blue gray of Jaime’s eyes, knowing that Jaime would understand her.

The flicker in Jaime’s gaze told Tara she was right.

“Tara,” Mari stepped forward, her features soft, almost sad. She clasped Tara’s forearm lightly, “see if you can’t get out of your reservation for Tuesday night, and the nights after, you’re welcome to stay here.” Tara tried not to blink in surprise, murmuring, “Th-thank you, I will see what I can do.”

Both women hugged Tara and she returned their firm embraces.

Tara drove through the dark cold streets of the strange city, elated, confused, and exhausted, hoping that she could change her room to a single when she got back to the Green Tortoise. She needed the quiet to clear her head.

_________________
You ARE Magic ~ Tara

I’ve been looking forward to this. The Tara storyline has been intriguing so far. It’s always fascinating seeing the interpretations of Tara’s past. One episode and done, really did not do any Justice and the gap in series six which you are covering would have been a great place to flesh it out more instead of showing us that Tara is great with Dawn, a good friend to Buffy and has grown into a confident woman who stands up for the people she cares about. We already knew that Buffy writers, stop using her as a plot point and tossing her away when it doesn’t fit your agenda for Willow. Good thing there’s fanfiction like this one to correct their wrong doings.

You are showing us the intricacies of her past and I imagine through reconnecting with her Aunt again it would help work through a lot of her unresolved inner turmoil. Tara can’t go from abusive home, to leaving an abusive relationship to then go straight back to that relationship after one party, a failed wedding, basement rescue and coffee. It would take some really important self-realisation for her to go back, something she has to work out and the way you’ve written Tara’s story so far it heavily indicates hers will be found in the past. But it’s been a while since I’ve read it all so could be wrong there going off memory.

Nervousness seems apt to feel for this chapter (you shouldn’t be, its good stuff) as you capture it perfectly in the first half. You build great atmosphere through your detailed descriptions. The imagery of the landmarks surrounding the drive worked as Tara’s head races through thoughts as did the readers, picking up on the small things as it distracts from the foreboding thought of the end goal of finding the Aunt. It’s like the bouncing knee of nervousness but in thought form. It does the little up and down but ultimately it will have to stand and move towards what is causing the unease but for now focus on the little up and down until that time comes.

Then you add on that nervousness when they do come face to face bringing in that tension with Mari. Offering little flecks of comfort and connection with just the name kiddo. Familiarities of the past creating ease. This then gave a breakthrough for the invitation to stay.

I shall eagerly wait for the next instalment. Seems there’s a lot of relationship building coming for everyone.

_________________
One Shots - Basement Grotto - Door 25 - "You're My Always" - "Do You Like Cats?"
You don't have to write to contribute to the board, feedback can be its own event - Dubs Festive Advent Challenge - Fic Club - Pens Write A Holiday Story
Existing at some point, maybe - The Justice for Tara series.
*Rides in on a tricycle* Wanna play a game? - Five Minutes of Artistic Integrity - Those Three Little Words - Sassy Synonyms - Aradia's Antonyms

Needn’t worry about the chapter shirrey, it’s great! The introduction of her aunt and partner is well done and compelling and you’re great at presenting Tara’s troubled emotions with it all. As always, super excited to read more

_________________
- I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavours and then some -

Although I'm anxious to learn what will happen to Willow next, I also loved this chapter and am really looking forward to more interaction between Tara, Jamie and Mari.
I'm very curious if Jamie had some problems with her own magical powers in the past and if Mari knows about that.


I guess that Tara somehow felt Willow's "meltdown" of the last chapter from afar in her sleep?


I love how her love for Willow permeates her thoughts even after her sesolve not to think about her.


That indicates that Anya didn't know about Willow's meltdown when Tara called her. But considering the serious lack of honest communication between the scoobies in the last months, that doesn't say much.


I just want to hug Tara, praise her for her bravery and tell her everything will be alright!
From the snippets she heard of the quarrel between the couple I gather that Jamie has her own ghosts of the past (about which Mari knows - at least partially). I'm curious what future threat they (especially Mari) fear - that for some reason Tara's father and brother will pester them if they found out where they live? Or that magic will find Jamie again - in case she had a problem similar to Willow and has banned magic from her life because of it?
By the way I love the term "seatbelt bag", such great imagery once again!


I'm glad that Mari overcame her suspicion against Tara enough to invite her to stay at their home for the next days.

I can't wait for the next chapter but don't want to rush you either - although I would highly appreciate it if we could have an improvement on Willow's side of the story until (our real life) christmas...

Replies (a little late) for ch 44b

GrimCityGirl: thank you for reading through this chapter for more than a few drafts! It helped tremendously!!



thankyou so much!! and I love that phrasing!

Dub: Hi and welcome!! and thank you so very much for your thoughtful, astute, feedback!!
I never thought of it quite like that, but 100% agree, all in the theme of 'you can't magic your problems away'


Oof, that is so good!! They are all haunted by their own ghosts, and trapped as they continue dancing with them

damn, well said- I have to admit it wasn't directly intentional lol, but this is why feedback rocks! reader see things that I don't

Thank you so much Dub, I really appreciate your kind words and keen insight!!

Wills_redemption: You always have such a good grip on where things are going.



That's interesting! I actually thought I was going a bit easier with having Dawn only minimally hurt (I guess maybe that isn't clear yet though lol- Dawn will be ok ) but yeah, with the harsh argument with Buffy I can see it being worse....
As for the rest of that paragraph.... I am writing it now, well running scenarios through my head now... see later replies

Thanks for your continued, thoughtful, feedback! I really do appreciate it!

Mother D: Hi Mother D! Yeah, that was a doozy lol, I do agree that Willow and Buffy needed that purge, it was gonna come out sooner or later!



huh, I didn't think of that, but yeah, I cannot think of another- I feel like Willow would carry that with her, because she was the big gun, esp when Buffy was dead, wanted or not. It's good to hear from you! Thanks.

_________________
You ARE Magic ~ Tara

Not Just in a magic sense. The entire episode the only effective communication we see is from Tara at the beginning. Buffy tries to communicate but then the spell sets in. Now on the surface its them just taking pieces from around them and trying to work out what’s going on but the threat level for that monster of the week is minimal to make sure the focus is on the characters. Now if you are stripped back with no memories just your instincts and throughout nature if there’s two things together they try to communicate. Instead they make assumptions and just go with it. So Willow has Xander’s jacket, they must be together. Anya and Giles are next to each other so they must be together. Spike and Giles are both English so they must be related. We aren’t a rare breed like a lost indigenous tribe we are a small island with global travel links, two can be in a room without being related (depending on the county). They just constantly make the smallest of connections and accept them.

Then when the spell ends there is still no communication which is detailed in Smashed. Giles just ups and outs still after witnessing his slayer trying to kill herself through the medium of dance. So Buffy hooks up with Spike again, in Smashed he doesn’t know what they are, where they stand. Xander and Anya yet again ignore their complete lack of natural chemistry showing that their marriage might be a bad idea. Tara and Willow its tears all round, Tara packs her bags and Dawn just storms away thinking she’s been abandoned. Smashed, Tara and Dawn get their scene detailing it’s not the case. Willow gets the business from Anya saying that they all know why Tara upped and left her which Willow is nonchalant about which we are meant to take as her addiction has consumed her but again it’s a lack of communication between her and Tara.

Whenever there’s a break up on the show there is that final conversation which Tara and Willow don’t have indicating it could just be a break, Tara did say she needed space not it’s over, Willow jumped to the conclusion in her panic but Tara didn’t confirm or deny it. As a viewer it’s confusing and we are grasping at straws so between the characters how on earth are they meant to know.

Tabula Rasa is the perfect pair for once more with feeling. It’s the funniest episode but yet has the dark underbelly of now it’s time to face the consequences of those revelations (reset) but instead Willow takes that away. They have a great platform to work out some stuff and we do see the connection still between Tara and Willow. We see the protective nature Buffy has for Dawn showing she does have something to sing about. But they all completely suck at really talking and listening to the extent of truly hearing what each of them are saying.

I’m not just saying this because I gotta let it out but you have knowingly or unwittingly tapped into this throughout Wilderness. There’s no effective communication which is why 44b hits in particular because that’s the first instant of two characters who are really drowning possibly, hopefully starting to actually hear one another.

Thanks for the welcome.

_________________
One Shots - Basement Grotto - Door 25 - "You're My Always" - "Do You Like Cats?"
You don't have to write to contribute to the board, feedback can be its own event - Dubs Festive Advent Challenge - Fic Club - Pens Write A Holiday Story
Existing at some point, maybe - The Justice for Tara series.
*Rides in on a tricycle* Wanna play a game? - Five Minutes of Artistic Integrity - Those Three Little Words - Sassy Synonyms - Aradia's Antonyms

yes absolutely- I meant them magicing out of problems metaphorically (as well as literally) as it is used in Tabula Rasa and surrounding episodes.

They all, Tara mostly excepted, are looking for loopholes or distractions or different identities or just an escape

and there are definitely a lot of assumptions, which I agree is also reflective of how Willow takes in Tara's words, she assumes a few pretty drastic things that affects her behavior and beliefs- some of which has carried over as canon in the fandom at large it seems (although the show also muddies things a bit later) I am being vague because I want to tackle it in a later chapter, but overall I agree, I see Willow, when it comes to her own stuff as a pretty black and white thinker, and that hurts her growth. I do think Tara tries to communicate, but Willow lies again and again (after being an asshole at the Bronze), Tara says what it is, what will happen, and she carries through, I think Willow, in TR, is too caught up in her self-story to even know how or what to communicate.

As for how communication is used (or misused or lacking) in Wilderness, it is definitely something I am aware of, and done with purpose. And part of that, imo, is - sometimes we don't know what to say and sometimes, it all comes comes pouring out

"(depending on the county)" made me laugh!

_________________
You ARE Magic ~ Tara

Replies:

Dub: I am so glad!! I have said this before, but this fic was (is) originally written to explore Tara's story, I sometimes worry it gets lost in the Willow side of things, so I am glad you are liking it

Amen!



No, you have got what I am going for exactly!



I love this analogy! And that that effect came across in the chapter

Thanks so much for your comments Dub and thank you for the kind words!!


GrimCityGirl: Thank you!!

Wills_redemption: I am glad you enjoyed it!! And like I said before, astute observations and wonderings....


no matter what, these girls love each other always

me too!!

Jamie's story will come soon, and you are correct, there are definite reasons for Mari's reluctance


I think I should be able to do that not everything fixed for sure, but hopefully an improvement.. (spoiler: the next chapter has some Willow in it)

Thanks so much Wills_redemption!


Notes: not my characters except the ones that are, feedback is cherished, be well and stay safe!!





Wilderness

Ch 46 : Magic Stuff (or Dust)



The front window of the Magic Box bore a neatly scripted sign that read “Call it Yule, or call it Solstice: It’s real Cool to make a Purchase.” The letters in the word ‘Cool’ were written as if melting over a roughly drawn burning log. The ‘s’ in ‘purchase’ was slashed twice to form a money sign. Inside, Anya swept through the store, two young customers following as she motioned to a menagerie of candles that were on sale: ‘buy two get one free’.

Nearby, Xander shoved an unsteady stack of barbeque chips into his mouth, staring absently at a price gun and several small statuettes of the Holly King dotting the table in front of him.

“She said she wanted to be alone,” Xander chewed around his words, “but, like, should she be alone right now?” He looked to Buffy, eyes refocusing in a plea for advice.

In a nearby chair, sitting at its edge, Buffy’s hand jerked downward, gripping a small knife that sent wood curling away as she shaved sticks into stakes. She flicked uncertain eyes at Xander.

Dawn paused to listen, the duster in her grasp held mid-swish over the shelving unit. She tilted her head, feeling the large sticky bandage pull across her temple, its outer edge bent back away from her pulled back hair.

Buffy had been so concerned, so attentive when she’d dressed Dawn’s cut that morning. Now, after time had passed, after they had gotten some more sleep, she wondered if Buffy would withdraw again. From Willow, from her. Whatever happened that morning had revived pieces of her sister she hadn’t seen since Buffy leaped to her death, and a part of her was grateful to Willow for making that happen. But more, she was terrified for Willow, and, as much as she didn’t want to be, a little terrified of her. Mostly, she didn’t want Willow to be left alone. Dawn knew enough of loneliness to never wish it on anyone.

Finally, Buffy shook her head, so minutely Dawn couldn’t tell what it meant, and mumbled, “I don’t know, Xander.”

“Where did you find her?” Dawn asked. Buffy continued shaving bits onto the ground, ignoring Anya’s glower as she rejoined the group.

“She was outside the house, just, staring from the sidewalk,” Xander replied.

“What? She was just- standing there? Like a…” Dawn cocked her head, ponytail swishing back and forth as she searched for a metaphor, “Spike?”

“Like a Spike?” Buffy nearly choked on the vampire’s name.

“He lurks,” Dawn shrugged, weakly dusting the figurines before her.

Buffy twisted her mouth into a grimace and swiped her knife into the wood grain without further comment.

Anya glanced surreptitiously around the shop, checking the location of the two customers. Satisfied they were far enough away, she leaned forward, voice lowered, “Did she look all dark magicky?” Both Dawn and Buffy looked sharply at Anya and then Xander.

“No.” Xander’s defensive reply was quick and a little too loud. He continued in a sharp whisper, “She looked like she’d been crying. And kinda like she might throw up.”

“Well, that’s good,” Anya sighed and nodded.

“How is that good?” Dawn challenged, knocking one of the Holly Kings over with her duster, uprighting him quickly. Anya would make her pay for anything she broke, and Dawn did not want her measly spending cash to be wasted on little bearded men, even if he did look like Santa Claus.

“Not the crying bit, good that there was no bad mojo.” Anya clarified, still using her best stage-whisper. Buffy perched forward, newly formed stake clenched impatiently.

“Anya, can you please just close the shop so we can speak in audible tones?”

“No, I cannot,” Anya began, whisking away again as her customers approached the front counter, three candles in hand. Xander ogled her as she walked away. Dawn nervously dusted everything big enough to stay upright, Buffy simply rolled her eyes.

Anya wished the two consumers a fruitful season that would send them back for further purchases- the bell signaled their exit, leaving the shop empty but for the four Scoobies. Anya marched back, continuing as if there had been no break in conversation.

“It’s the day before Solstice/ Yule, you know what kind of money I would lose if I closed shop?” She placed her hands on her hip, indignant at the idea.

“Right, the almighty dollar,” Buffy grumbled.

“Yes, Buffy, the almighty dollar. I know what you all think: “Oh Anya is just so greedy, so obsessed with money,” Anya sing-songed, “But we need money. Money helps us survive- and, the more money, the better the survival.”

“Plus it keeps the shop open,” Dawn added, Anya nodding in smug agreement.

“Hey, I’m money’s biggest fan,” Buffy conceded, wiping dust from her jeans as she stood. Anya’s eyebrow raised in challenge. “Or, second biggest. It’s just the-dealing-with-outside-people-earning-it part that sucks.”

“I still say you should charge for slaying,” Anya said.

“So, Willow’s at her parents?” Dawn asked, bringing the conversation back around. Xander nodded, specks of chips sprinkling from his palm as he gripped another handful. They all knew Willow’s parents traveled abroad for the winter holidays- Xander had witnessed the effect of their absence year after year. She’d never let on, always wearing that brave toaster smile, but even as she had cheerily planned video nights at her empty house, she could never fully erase the hint of loss that lingered in her eyes. Xander released the chips onto the table.

“We need to call Tara, get her back here.”

“Oh my god!” Anya remembered, startling the others with her outburst, “Tara called, earlier. She was asking if everything was ok.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Buffy asked sharply. Dawn caught Xander’s eyes, a darting look that said neither of them completely agreed with Buffy’s vehemence.

“No. I didn’t know, did I?” Anya shot back, softening her tone as she sat at the table, “but she was worried.. You know how Tara knows stuff, I think she knew something was up.”

Xander shook his head, “Willow made me promise not to tell her.”

“And we won’t,” Buffy said pointedly, she and Dawn also taking seats.

Dawn toyed with the feathers on the duster, “I think she should know, she’d want to know.”

“No, Dawn.”

Xander wiped his hands on his shirt, smearing barbeque grease across the fibers, “I agree with the Dawnster.”

Buffy splayed her hands out incredulously, “You just said Willow asked you not to.”

The bell signaled and Anya leapt into shopkeeper mode, greeting the newcomers and guiding them away from the discussion that was heating.

“Yeah well, I’m not sure Willow gets to,” Xander hissed, balling the empty chip bag, the noise of the crinkle enough to shield some of his words. He kept it squeezed tight in one hand, leaning forward, eyes flashing, “and Tara should be here! Not off road tripping while Willow is all Phoenix Force.”

“What now?” Buffy demanded, half irate, more confused.

“He means that Willow lost control of her powers,” Dawn explained, “Haven’t you seen X-men?”

Buffy turned, raising her brows at Dawn, “Been busy.”

“Well, she did,” Xander started, his mind shifting gears on automatic as he looked at Dawn quizzically, “They don’t mention Phoenix Force in the movie.”

“I may have read the comics,” Dawn mumbled and Xander’s entire face softened with the love of fellow geekdom.

“I like you more everyday.”

“Can we focus?” Buffy raised her voice, “We aren’t telling Tara.”

The bell rang again and Anya stomped over, “Well, thank you for scaring away the customers.” With rolling eyes, Buffy huffed back against her chair. “We’re closed now though, so, go on, continue bickering.” Anya waved her hands between the other three.

Silence ensued, no one willing to be the first to dive back in.

“What if Tara does the yoga thing?” Anya asked, filling the space when no one else did.

“The what now?” Xander spluttered, the released bag now expanding with tiny pops. Anya snatched it and took it to the waste basket.

“You know, with the yoga sitting. Tara says she can always find Willow.”

“K- but we know where Willow is, was,” Buffy said.

“I’m just saying, they have a connection, she may already know something happened,” Anya explained, putting the price gun in Xander’s hand and nodded toward the little Holly Kings waiting to be stickered.

Dawn started pushing the figurines closer together, trying to be helpful, needing something to do, “She’s right. Tara always knows these things. She’s probably worried.”

“Look, she may have felt something, and if she needs us we’ll be there,” Buffy clasped her hands on the table, glaring pointedly at Xander, “but she’s not just 'road tripping', she is seeing family. And she needs to be able to do that.”
“Right, so much easier to walk away…” Xander snarked, triggering the price gun with a tense click. Both Anya and Buffy flared.

“Excuse me?”

“Walk away?!”

The price gun banged as it met the surface below.

“I’m just saying, if they’re so connected then why didn’t Tara do anything before Willow went all magick kablooey?” Xander flailed his words haphazardly, feeling helpless and looking for a target to blame. His hands flew about, “Tara’s supposed to be all ‘witchy knowledge woman’, where was she?”

Anya regarded Xander like he’d started handing merchandise out for free, “You heard them fighting. You know what Willow did. And then, Hel-lo?, we were all there when Willow supersized the mind wipe and I ended up thinking I was engaged to Giles- not to mention the rabbit infiltration!”

“And yet we all stuck around, that’s what friends do, that’s what family does.”

“At what cost Xander?!” Buffy started in, close to agitating herself out of her seat, “Willow manipulated Tara. More than once. Stole her ability to think for herself,” she finally pushed her chair back and rose, “She used Tara to fulfill her own needs,” something muted, unformed, pinged in Buffy’s mind, halting the words. She crossed her arms, holding that something in, “that’s, that’s not ok.”

“Bullshit.”

Three heads turned sharply toward Dawn as she glowered at all of them, her own arms crossed mimicking her sister’s.

“Not the Tara stuff, us being there,” Dawn clarified, “Everyone is always off doing their own things, even you Xander. So I call bull-crap.” Dawn kept her bold stare on Xander, “and don’t you dare put that on Tara! You have no idea what she’s going through.” A crackle broke Dawn’s unwavering defense of Tara, her heart aching for the mess that had become their lives. Xander withered where he sat, even as he scrambled to justify himself.

“I- ,” he waved at Anya then himself, “we’ve got a wedding to….” sighing, he sank back against his chair, accepting the dull jab in his elbow as it hit the wooden arm, “Summers sister tag team is not fair,” his pleading glance at Anya only got him raised hands. He was on his own.

He straightened, his lips twisting with fear, “We don’t know the magic stuff. We need Tara. No matter what Willow says.” The four regarded each other, Xander and Dawn grave, Anya concerned, Buffy shaking her head minutely.

“We could call Giles,” Dawn proposed, her stomach rumbling from the tension in the room.

Buffy gave a tight nod, “We will if we need to. But let Tara have this time.”

“I agree with Buffy,” Anya announced, “Tara asked me for help finding her aunt, and I helped her- it’s important,” She nodded at herself, moved the price gun away from Xander, and resumed tidying the shop for the next day.

“And as for Willow…,” Buffy let her voice drop off, clearly at a loss for what to do. Frustration brimmed at the situation, she was conflicted and exhausted, and itching to distract herself with patrol. If I can’t be at peace, she thought, collecting the newly made stakes and wood bits, at least I can kill the fuck out of things. Pocketing two stakes, she dumped the rest into a designated woven basket.

“I’m going to check on her tomorrow,” Xander stood, sweeping rogue chip bits off the table and into his hand. “She promised to call if she needed anything.”

“Buffy, should she be alone? Especially at night?” Dawn asked carefully.

“I don’t want her around you, Dawn.”

Dawn began to raise her hand to the bandage, it had tugged at her skin with every move, a constant reminder of that morning. She lowered the hand to her side, making a fist.

“She feels terrible, Buffy,” Xander entreated. He hadn’t been there when things went down. And Willow hadn’t wanted him to stay with her, but he knew Willow. She was his best and oldest friend and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her so shattered. When Buffy had died, they had all been distraught, shocked and shredded to the bone, but the Willow of this morning had been like ashes, the remnants of a burned out shell. And still, the first thing she had said, asked through a strained throat as she stood on the sidewalk, facing the place where she lived, was “Is Dawnie ok?”

He felt Anya’s palm cup his shoulder and smiled weakly, gratefully.

“Dawn’s right,” Anya said, squeezing Xander’s bicep as she slipped her hand into his, “what if she goes back to Rack’s?”

Buffy pressed into her temples with one hand, thumb and fingers stretched in opposite directions, “I’ll have Spike watch the area. He can feel his invisible junkie den thing.”

Anya crossed to the counter, working on the sales tally and Xander shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’m gonna drive by Willow’s, just see if she’s ok.”

“Ok, but if she gets crackly you just keep on driving,” Anya said, waving a pencil his way, unfazed by Xander’s scowl, “I need you safe.” With a puff of air, she rounded the counter and plucked a satchel filled with herbs from a glass jar, “Here,” she stuck out her hand and Xander took the item with a raised eyebrow, “it’s tea. It’s a detox and it’s calming. Give it to Willow.”

In one step Xander pulled Anya into his arms, kissing her softly, “I love you.”

Buffy returned from the training room, strapping her crossbow over her leather jacket. Dawn rearranged small crystals into neat patterns on a display case closer to the front. She was aware of Buffy’s side glance and then heard her sister ask Anya to look after her that night. It further imprinted that Willow wouldn’t be there. Everyone was leaving, all over again.

Buffy called a good night and headed out the door, Anya following to lock it behind her.

When Anya was occupied with her counting, and Xander preparing to go to Willow’s, Dawn slipped a rose quartz, carved like a heart, into her front jean pocket.

The ride to the Summers house was relatively quiet, and Xander left the engine running as Dawn and Anya climbed out of the car. He smiled, though both women could see it was strained, and promised to pick up movies on the way back.

Inside, Dawn stood in the foyer, the door falling shut behind her. The walls looked unfamiliar, changed. Anya turned when she didn’t hear Dawn following behind her.

“Dawn?”

“What are we gonna do?”

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You ARE Magic ~ Tara

Not at all. It’s important for both sides to be shown as the end result is a rekindling of a relationship and that’s not one sided. When it becomes one sided, well we get exactly where Wilderness starts. The Willow story line will no doubt enhance the Tara story once they do come face to face because you need to see the ugliness and effects of it to really appreciate the highs and how something so small can mean so much to someone. Be it a pet name or just a certain look that anyone else in the world would just walk on by to but makes their world stand still.


On to Chapter 46

You’ve got Dawn spot on. People often look past her but she is such a nuanced character with a bucket load of depth. She is the only character at the end of series six I didn’t want to pour igniter fluid on if they were on fire. Sadly not too far into series-doesn’t-exist she was getting the igniter fluid treatment too.

Dawn says it best in ‘Grave’ “You think I haven’t been watching this whole time?”

She has the ability because of this to connect to everyone. ‘Real me’ indicates a potential Willow level intelligence, her age gives her the same naivety of the world as Anya, ‘tough love’ she displays compassion on a level with Tara, series doesn’t-exist you get that conversation about just being human with Xander. They aren’t super heroes but they help just the same. Then of course her idol Buffy, she has that drive and determination to strive head first into the incoming storm. But constantly she gets dismissed, people leave her life and on top of that she’s a teenager. Of course she’s going to lose it and yell GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! Once a series and develop kleptomania.

Dawn really is the star of this chapter as she does connect to everyone. She can understand the different arguments but like always is dismissed, palmed off and her urge to steal sets in as a result. When actually Dawn is the one most connected to this as Tara and Willow were her surrogate parents at her lowest point. They’ve got this special connection. She should be listened too. Again that effective communication thing you do coming into play.

Yet again you create such a vivid atmosphere. I can imagine the scraping of wood from the stake making and the crunch of the chip eating with the crinkling of the packaging. Such grating and annoying noises which plays into this rather tense conversation they need to have. It amuses me that Anya doesn’t want them bickering as it might scare off the customers but yet she allows these irritating noises, not to mention the smell from the barbeque chips.

Another great addition.

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You don't have to write to contribute to the board, feedback can be its own event - Dubs Festive Advent Challenge - Fic Club - Pens Write A Holiday Story
Existing at some point, maybe - The Justice for Tara series.
*Rides in on a tricycle* Wanna play a game? - Five Minutes of Artistic Integrity - Those Three Little Words - Sassy Synonyms - Aradia's Antonyms

Love that sign, so Anya!


I'm glad Willow went to the "Magic Box", although she didn't dare to enter, but that she at least talked to Xander a bit after he came out to her and told him she'll be at her parents house.


Nice little comic relief!


I kind of understand Xander. He blames Tara because he doesn't want to admit to himself that he himself didn't see / ignored the warning signs indicating Willow's magical addiction, but he is also right in stating that of all the scoobies Tara as a fellow witch who is also somehow connected to Willow magicwise should have been able to notice Willow's downward spiral into a magical addiction she can't overcome without outward help. And I think she would have if she hadn't (subconsciously) blocked that connection and what her instincts told her because she is wrestling with her own problems.
Once she has worked through those with Jamies help she might come to a sudden clarity about the true extent of the danger Willow is in.

I'm pretty sure that Dawn took this amulet (?) for a purpose and not because of her cleptomania. My guess is that she wants to give it to Willow because of its healing powers (if I do recall correctly that Willow gave a rose quartz to Giles after Jenny's death because of those powers).


I'm very curious how those two characters - whose voices are often ignored by the "core scoobies" - are going to try to help Willow.

You’ve already heard my thoughts but just wanted to echo it here - I really adore how delicately you write these characters. There’s so much subtle depth in practically every exchange and this chapter might be one of the best examples of this. Buffy and Dawn especially are done so well, lovely to read as always!

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- I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavours and then some -

Dub: Yes to everything you said about Dawn. I love her. I am really glad she came across well here. Thank you so much for your feedback, and have a wonderful holiday (whether coming up or just past)!

Wills_redemption: I'm glad you liked the comic relief- there needed to be some lol. Dawn doesn't have any plans for the rose quartz, but good memory on the Giles/ Jenny thing- that would have been a cool connection but I admit I did not think of it. Happy holidays!!

GrimCityGirl: You are a rock star (I mean, literally, but also figuratively) . thanks so much for being an awesome beta and for still feedbacking here! Happy happy holidays!! now on to the challenge!!



Notes: Originally I had these two chapters as one, they worked better apart imo. If you are underage, I mean, its not probably not worse than you've seen on tv, but ... rated R to be safe.





Ch 47: Touch the Fire


“Spike!”

The heavy wooden door shook in the frame of the mausoleum under Buffy’s frustrated fists. She had been knocking and calling long enough for her knuckles to feel bruised, finally giving up and turning to rest her back against the door. There was no use kicking it down, Buffy knew if Spike was there he would emerge at the sound of her voice, letting her in with that smirk on his face- triumphant and smug that she had come to him. It infuriated her, called her out and shamed her. And, it lit a fire within her, not one of love, not even one of lust, not really, but a promise of passion, intensity. A secretive, contained chaos.

That wasn’t why she was here, Buffy reminded herself, not relieved nor disappointed, just frustrated. Angry. She wanted a focus- to fight or fuck or something. An image of Faith came to her mind and in that moment, Buffy understood the other slayer a little better. She wasn’t sure what to do with that realization.

Pushing off the door with an arch of her back, she stalked through the cemetery. She had lamented that she had lost her fire, wanting the flames back, but now, as the kindling began to spark, she was afraid of getting burned.

This was not the part of life she wanted again. Her best friend was in destruction mode, had been a threat to a sister who was growing up so fast that seasons had passed while Buffy lingered in dormancy. Everything was fractured and hard. Living was hard. Hadn’t she said that to Dawn once, before?

The bush to her left rustled, and Buffy tensed, her keen senses quickly ruling out local wildlife. She heard the branches slap back together and something emerge. She twirled, leg outstretched, connecting with the chest of a lanky vamp, sending him flying into a headstone. She was on him in seconds, and then off again. An open flannel shirt was the last to turn to dust.

She resumed her patrol, slipping back into her thoughts, feeling no better for the kill.

It was still relatively early, but the gibbous moon was hidden behind rare clouds leaving the night sky inky within the confines of the cemetery. Tomorrow was the shortest day of the year, yet despite the small window of sunlight, vamp activity was always low on the days surrounding the Solstice. Tara had posited once that maybe all the celebratory magic in the air threw the vamps off. Whatever it was, they were few and far between tonight.

Icy licks of wind sank into Buffy’s skin, stinging her like tiny slaps. She welcomed the feeling, it kept her present, kept the stormy thoughts a little farther away. She gripped her stake in pulses, adrenaline rippling through her palm as she scanned left and right for creatures of the night.

The light slipped, a minor shift in the deep gray shroud, but enough to gain Buffy’s attention. She whipped her head toward the edge of the grounds, locking on a shadowy figure moving at a brisk pace, its shoulders hunched against the cold. Human. Buffy squinted, trying to catch the person’s features, finding her heart pounding deeply as she wished for it not to be Willow shortcutting in search of Rack’s.

Stepping forward on silent, deadly feet, she traveled behind crypts and leafless trees as she paralleled the human’s pace. They both reached the boundary, the iron gate swinging open before the walker reached it. Buffy felt her stomach seize. The gates of the cemetery were locked after dark and whoever was walking through them now hadn’t laid a hand on them. Magick hummed in the air. Following cautiously as the person stepped onto the sidewalk, Buffy felt lashes of angry fire as the dim overhead streetlight revealed the pointed jaw of Amy Madison.

Before Amy could register anyone was there, Buffy was on her, the witch struggling against the Slayer’s strength as she was pushed against the metal fencing.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Buffy growled, inches from Amy’s face.

“What are you talking about?” Amy feigned, struggling to steady her voice, wheezing as Buffy’s hand clamped around her neck, the Slayer working every bit of her will to not squeeze harder. She released the witch’s neck to grasp her by the upper arms, rattling the bars behind her as she shook Amy.

“You took Dawn to that place?!” The color drained from Amy’s face, a ghost in the place of the dead, but she stammered on stubbornly.

“I helped! She was all alone in the alley!”

“So you take her somewhere inside,” Buffy spat. Amy opened her mouth, but Buffy cut off her excuses, “somewhere that is not a magic drug den!”

“It’s not-” Amy started, and Buffy shook her again. Amy’s eyes darted helplessly around her, searching for anyone else who might be nearby, “why are you mad at me! Willow is the one who left her!” It occurred to Amy then that Willow might be out there, nearby- she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The shaking stopped, but Buffy’s grip tightened, “We aren’t talking about Willow right now.” Amy’s laugh was unexpected and Buffy surveyed her with widening eyes.

“Of course not! Willow can do no wrong, right? Everyone loves Willow.”

“I will deal with Willow.” Buffy narrowed her eyes again, impatience and disgust fueling her against Amy’s scornful, near delirious, snickers.

“Sure, ok.”

“Was that what all this was?” Buffy pushed harder, pressing the witch back into the iron rails, “you put my sister in danger because you’re jealous of Willow?”

“Get off me!” Amy pushed back, all laughter gone. Buffy held her, eyes locked on the stubborn witch’s. She saw the defiance, the denial, and under it all, the frantic pulse of fear. Buffy stepped back, releasing Amy’s arms, but kept close, her proximity a threat in itself.

“You don’t come near my sister again, you hear me? You stay away from her, you stay away from Tara, you stay away from me.”

“I noticed Willow wasn’t on that list,” Amy shifted her weight forward, wearing a slick grin even as she rubbed at her neck, “so she is on your shit list. Good,” she sidestepped then slowly began walking down the sidewalk backward so she could face Buffy, “maybe she’ll be back at Rack’s more now. He loves him some Willow. She’s his Strawberry, you know.”

Without thought, Buffy erased the gap between them, punching Amy in the jaw. She began to pull back, step away, when Amy’s eyes turned black. Buffy was on her again, fists like piston’s sending Amy heavily to the ground, keeping her too preoccupied to utter a spell.

Buffy’s fist was raised again when she felt herself propelled backward, a strong arm around her waist. Her elbow flew back, only nudging the fast moving being behind her.

“Bloody hell, Slayer!” Spike wrapped both arms around Buffy, her thrashing slowing at his voice. She pushed herself out his grasp, spinning to face him but he was already there, as close as a whisper, his firm hands steadying her at the shoulders. He glanced toward Amy, satisfied as he saw Clem step between them, creating a friendly demon barrier.

“Buffy,” Spike soothed low and steady, waiting until she met his gaze, “she’s human, pet.” He didn’t need to say more, he couldn’t give a toss if Buffy beat the witch down, but he knew that Buffy would never forgive herself if she killed Amy. And Buffy knew he knew it.

Tears of frustration and sorrow built, and Buffy swiped them out of her eyes before they could fall. Spike took a step away at her nod, Clem following his lead but both stayed near as she glowered at Amy, her angry fire tempered but still alive.

“If you fuck with Willow, if you fuck with any of us, I will end you,” Buffy promised. Amy raised her head, wiping the blood from her lips, not moving away. The world seemed to still as the four of them waited for the next move, Clem finally breaking it with a wave of floppy skin.

“Hi, um, black eyed lady? I think maybe it’s time to move along. Skedaddle.” Amy glanced at him, then Buffy and Spike, before taking slow backward steps.

“Tell Willow I’ll be waiting for her. You know, in the magic drug den,” Amy taunted, finally turning and running when Buffy lunged toward her again.

At Spike’s restraining tug Buffy swiveled, her fist flying solidly into his chin.

“What was that for? I’m helping out here Blondie!” Spike worked his jaw, “She’s human, you don’t need that on your conscience.”

Rolling her shoulders to lose some tension, Buffy nodded, “Yeah.”

“Um, you two going to be ok?” Clem asked, squirming where he stood, clearly wanting to leave. Between two larger folds in his forehead, a kitten poked its head free, green eyes squinting as it sneezed into the night air. Buffy sighed heavily.

“Let the kitten go, Clem.”

“Right, all let go,” he hurried, the loose kitten scampering under a bush. With a final wave, and goofy smile, Clem headed in the opposite direction, calling as he left, “have a nice night! Good game Spike!”

“Bastard always cheats, usually he lets me in on it, though,” Spike’s cheeky grin dissolved as Buffy stormed past him, fists clenched. He moved his hand away from the pocket where he kept his cigarettes and trotted after her.

“Buffy, Slayer, what’s got you all balled up?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Spike,” Buffy grumbled, moving swiftly through the dark night, small clouds of condensation forming with each heavy exhale.

“Well it’s a good thing I showed up when I did,” Spike sidled up next to her, smirk back in full force and enhanced by a dirty leer, “and I think it would be might nice to show a bit of gratitude-“ His back hit the patch work trunk of an old oak, words dying with the impact, his torso pressed down by Buffy’s restraining hand.

Spike studied the wildness in Buffy’s gaze, two more cloud-breaths of air taking the space between them until Buffy smashed her lips onto his, fevered and desperate. He shifted his weight as she swung her legs around his torso, bark pushing unevenly into his back, directing them further into the darkness of the night. Their mouths wrestled and demanded. His hands gripping her hips, hers gripping the zipper of his black jeans. He shoved her jeans down her legs and turned them both around, Buffy rising up with her leg muscles, her back now pressed against the tree, using its fortitude as leverage to grind onto Spike. They fucked like wildfire roaring with destruction until it settled, the embers dimming to their death, leaving nothing but soot.

Tears pricked at Buffy’s eyes again as she regarded Spike, the release making them harder to restrain. The words from earlier that day, the feelings that had formed reluctantly wouldn’t be shoved away now. Spike watched as Buffy redressed, caressing her with a fondness that Buffy could never return. Because of who he was. Because of who she was. She was using him, manipulating him. It wasn’t the same as with Willow and Tara, Tara was as far from Spike as one could be, but, in the end, she had behaved like Willow. She had her reasons, but, so had Willow. And none of them made their actions acceptable.

The smell of smoke brought her back to the situation before her, which was Spike and his grin stepping toward her again and Buffy forcing herself not to take a step back.

“I-,” Buffy started, speaking to the ground before lifting her face, a great cloud lingering from exhale, “Do you think-? Something happened with Willow.”

Spike raised his eyebrow in question and Buffy told him of the events from the morning, he nodded in understanding, putting together why Buffy would go after Amy so viciously. He idly thought of dragging the ex-rat back to let her finish the job. Willow was in her own mess, but the Little Bit had been dragged along for the wrong ride and he would tear both witches apart if he could. It made him feel better when he thought like a killer. He puffed on his cigarette as Buffy continued on as if they hadn’t just shagged against an old growth. Typical.

“Would you mind keeping an eye out around Rack’s? I can’t feel it so-“ Buffy shoved her hands in her coat pocket, the chill infiltrating now that she was idle.

“I can do that, pet.” Spike mapped Buffy’s body once before meeting her gaze again. She nodded, moving the other way.

“Thanks Spike, I need to get back to Dawn.”

Buffy knew Spike was watching her go. She wanted to not care, wanted to not be confused, wanted the incomprehensible mixture of feeling reckless and restrained to stop. The hardest thing in the world is to live in it- she wanted to be brave, she just wasn’t sure how. ­

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You ARE Magic ~ Tara

CH 48: Embers


The low hum of the television had been a constant throughout the day, the mumbled voices cutting through the loneliness of silent thoughts. Company without expectations.

She’d arrived that morning through an endless stream of tears, burning hot and blurring her vision as shaky hands tried to match key to lock at her parents’ door. Once inside she’d stumbled through the empty living room and onto the large sofa. She tucked into a corner, a plush throw, pulled from the arm rest, laid over her. Willow squeezed her eyes tight, her stomach hurt from weeping, the sobs having finally exhausted themselves. She reached out for the remote, sitting in perfect angles on the coffee table, and switched on the TV. She needed the respite of distraction, and eventually fell into a deep but haunted sleep.

She awoke in the afternoon, a ball of tension under the throw, the stiff pleather cushion offering little comfort. She blinked at the screen, momentarily confused by the chaos of cartoon animations, and wiped at the path of drool that ran from her chin onto the sofa.

“Stupid white couch,” Willow grumbled, rubbing at dry and itchy eyes.

It took effort to sit up, every muscle exhausted. The fire that raged in her had died, leaving a pile of heavy ashes as its wake.

The low hum played on, a white noise throughout her day. Willow busied herself with small, thoughtless chores- tidying papers, sorting mail, rubbing dust away with her hands- before returning to the impractical sofa to sleep again.

It was after dark when Xander had woken her, his soft knock enough to pull her from a troubled nap. They said little, Xander simply waiting, watching. Willow was vaguely aware of the irony that she-of-the-constant-babble had nothing to offer, but everything seemed beyond words.

The gift of tea had surprised Willow, in particular that it came from Anya, but she had simply nodded, whispering, “Thank you.”

Later, Xander had lingered in the doorway, only shifting to go when Willow told him that she would be okay. Still, he left hesitantly, promising to check in the next day, an iota of relief softening his face at Willow’s small grin.

……….

The kettle was beginning to rattle, steam seeping through the small hole in the spout. Willow traced its pattern from where she sat, leaning heavily on her arms at her parents' breakfast table. She didn't particularly want the tea, but it gave her something to do and made her feel like she was being grateful for the gesture.

It was kind, she reminded herself, but she was reluctant to examine why Xander and Anya were being nice to her, why anyone was reaching out. If she thought about any of it, she would be led into feelings of unworthiness and anxiety over the inevitable deadline to their friendship. Because, Willow believed, there was no coming back from this. Willow imagined this morning’s incident as a cherry, on fire, topped precariously on a mountain of fuck-up ice cream- melting it to into useless soup. A bitter laugh escaped her and she clasped her hands over her mouth, the taste of ash on her tongue.

The screech of tea kettle startled her and she snapped her head toward the noise. With a shaking hand across her heart she stood , moving on numb feet to turn it off. Her whole body pounded as she switched the knob on the stove. Her head swam, the dying whistle of the kettle growing faint. The familiar itch began, like clockwork, magick flicking a match against the wall of her psyche, waiting for her to give it oxygen. Offering to build a new fire over the ashes.

Willow folded at the waist, sickened by her temptation, visions of blood running down Dawn’s forehead churning the empty contents of her stomach and she ran for the bathroom, hovering over the toilet seat.

She panted into the sitting water, dry heaves rocking her slight frame twice, before she pushed herself away, leaning against the cold side of the bathtub. The green walls seemed garish and impossibly bright around her, the white lattice patterns shifting in her vision.

The itch grew into a subdermal rash, magick hounding her like a relentless debt collector, demanding she open up, more persistent than before. Her body shook, but she knew what she was feeling wasn’t entirely physical. Something was waiting for her, impatient at being kept out. Tears returned, escaping under tightly closed eyelids.

There was no choice, Willow would not let the magick in, even to mingle with the magic already in her blood, her being- but beyond that Willow wasn’t sure of the next step. Wasn’t sure if she would be able to continue to shut it out.

She’d let them in before. These outside sources had knocked at her psyche and she had not only answered, she’d laid out the red carpet. It felt like when she had cursed Angel. She gagged again.

Shakily, she rose off the floor, her head still pounding and her mouth dry and a blank vastness of nothing but ash before her. She opened the cabinet above the sink, retrieving a small glass for water, filling it and drinking it down in one gulp. A bottle of aspirin sat on the second thin shelf, amidst a tiny forest of other bottles. She took two aspirin, washing it down with more water and paused before closing the mirrored cabinet door. She replaced the aspirin, running her fingers across the tops of the other bottles, reading each label like an afterthought. When she reached the bottle of Ativan, kept in constant supply by her mother, she gripped the ribbed cap, taking the bottle out, curling her hand around it, pressing it into her chest. Dry breaths traveled through her nostrils, her heart erratic, her mind on lockdown. She left the door open as she walked on leaden feet to her childhood bedroom.

The itching raged, the pounding boomed, but it was all muffled under the pile of dust that was Willow Rosenberg. Amongst the reminders of her younger days, painful and wonderful and often lonely, Willow sat on her bed for the first time in years. The floral pillow with its ruffled edges still sat propped against the beige wicker headboard. A tall blue-based lamp that was older than she was, sat vigil on the nightstand. She gripped the bottle, faced with what she was considering and, with nothing left to lose, let herself think about her life, her choices, her loved ones. Willow knew she had to make a choice.

There was hope, but little expectation, that she would get her friends back, have another chance with Tara, Tara who she would do anything for and yet hadn’t- Tara who lit her soul with the uproar of a joyous flame, and settled it with the murmur of a candle’s flicker. Willow had lost the fight, her fire snuffed out by her own fingers. All she had now was the ash, and, without Tara, Willow didn’t think she could rise out of them.

She observed herself in the reflection of her bedroom window, vaguely gray and thick from the cold. She had a choice.

And the choice she made was kindling- preparing the spaces for whatever was next. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and she didn’t feel joyous, but she had made a choice. Because she wouldn’t do that to her friends, even if they hated her. She wouldn’t do that to Tara, knowing that it would destroy her gentle spirit- and she wasn’t ready to go.

The bottle in her hand was inconsequential. Willow opened her palm, letting it fall to the floor unopened.

The temptations of magick still grasped at her but Willow remained seated on her bed, pulling from her memory a meditation of centering and ease that Tara had taught her so long ago. Tara had performed it nearly every day- Willow’s participation had always been sporadic.

Her legs crossed like firepit logs and her back straightened. She saw herself again in the glass, eyes sunken against pale skin, and she whispered, “Strong like an Amazon,” before closing her eyes with a deep, flickering breath. In the ashes, a tiny ember formed, candescent.

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You ARE Magic ~ Tara

Obligatory "I've already read it for beta purposes, but" comment -

I love how you focus on each character for these huge emotional pieces, you really flesh them out and I love your take on each of them, especially Buffy.

The Willow part, as someone with depression, is hard to read from a "goddamn why is it relatable even though magic doesn't exist and I don't do it" sort of way, it's very well done. You continue to outdo yourself!

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Woohoo! Double bubble.

Chapter 47

You never fail to deliver on atmosphere. There are so many levels to this one and you manage to unravel them to some clarity in the
end.

Its Buffy’s desire for something that manifest as thoughts of Spike. So you have that has the main level to start with then you add on the Vamp dusting adding in the natural slayer prey hunt element. So you have Buffy stalking her prey while Buffy’s thoughts are trying to prey on her. It’s a fight on two sides. The hunter and the hunted are one of the same.

I’ve said before about how they can’t look at themselves and you have managed to find an out or segue of sorts to bypass or at least have a longer but more spoon fed path to eventually look at herself. You do this through her relating herself to Faith. Now she can self-project. It’s like in ‘Who are you?’ when Faith is beating her body up calling herself disgusting.

Then you unwind it all through Buffy looking at herself by looking at Tara, Spike, Willow, Dawn which accumulates into Buffy knowing she has to step up because nothing is right. It all starts with one step and this one is Buffy asking Spike to keep an eye out on Rack’s. A small thing but where you’ve had these girls throughout the story so far it’s a massive piece of progression.

I liked the Amy confrontation, it was very much a ‘dead things’ vibe. That episode is where Buffy learns her limits and that scraping her face against the jagged rocks of rock bottom isn’t doing anything. Which is the feel I get from this chapter.

When going that dark you need some comic relief so bravo for your use of Clem. Nearly beat someone to death, have a kitten pop out of skin folds.


Chapter 48

And that right there Willow is what real strength is. It’s not the magic, it’s not the look of awe in people’s eyes at your intelligent prowess. It’s looking at yourself and choosing the harder path not because of what others want but because it’s what you want.

I’m not a Willow fan for so many reasons, yes she has her moments and I can pick certain periods where I do really like Willow but over all, she is Tara’s soulmate, she makes her happy so OK dream team, I’m on board. Tara balances out what I don’t like in Willow and brings out more of what I do like in her when they are together. Separate the team and Willow can stay in that alley.

This chapter for me gives what the show just failed to do with Willow at any point. She isn’t using anyone, she isn’t trying to impress anyone, she isn’t trying to fit in and she isn’t trying to be something she isn’t. She looks at herself and sees her. She sees how she has mistreated magic, she sees how her actions have consequences on others. She makes the choice to change, it’s not forced on her, its 100% Willow.

If the Show gave us this Willow then series-doesn’t-exist might have had some emotional baring instead of thinking the whole way through how the main three are nothing more than selfish, self-motivated, whining imbeciles.
I’m teetering on the edge of a Dub rant and saying Justice for Willow and I’m not even seeking that but I’ll have to see how it plays out. My expectations of Willow are low, not due to Wilderness but just in general.

Goes without saying, atmosphere you’ve got it. I certainly see why it was meant as one chapter due to both the self-exploration and decision to change but agree it’s better as two. It gives each character their moment. With everything they’ve been through they thoroughly deserved it.

Was waiting for these moments and it did not disappoint. Great stuff yet again Shirrey.

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[quote][/quote]".......but Willow remained seated on her bed, pulling from her memory a meditation of centering and ease that Tara had taught her so long ago. Tara had performed it nearly every day, Willow’s participation had always been sporadic."
This, to me, is a real turning point moment for Willow. ANY time she stops barreling her way along alone and remembers that there is lots of merit in the things that Tara tried to teach her can only be for her good.
Loving the way this story is going,.....Carry On.

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Amy taunting Buffy like this seems pretty stupid, she should have expected that Buffy would attack her afterwards. But then again she might have been fuelled by some subconscious self-hatred - Amy is a complex character.
I strongly suspect we haven't seen the last of her here- I'm curious what fate you have planned for her.

Clem hiding the kitten in his skin folds was hilarious.



Poor Buffy, battling with her reawakened emotions - nevertheless it's better than the numbness she felt since her resurrection.

I loved the fire / ash-analogy in both chapters especially this part:

(You meant "joyous flame" and just forgot the "l", didn't you?)

The following imagery was also great:



I'm proud of Willow for her choice. I don't see her as a suicidal person but that she played with the thought for a few minutes here is believable.


Yes, go Willow!
I'm curious if Tara somehow felt that Willow did that meditation (at least subconsciously).

I have to give props for daring (and doing it really well) to address Willow's suicidal tendencies.

Because they're there, in canon. I personally see three rather clear events (even though I can see the arguments that the first two aren't as obvious as I perceive them to be) in the show where they highlight them.

First one is when she steps out in front of a car following Oz' infidelity. Second one is in Wrecked because really, she couldn't have missed the huge slab of concrete like that. Third one is suicide by Cop/Buffy at the end of S6.

Then there's also the way she totally seems rather fine with dying in the process of casting the spell in Chosen.

So Willow, pills in hand being on the brink as she stands in the ruins of what had been her life? Totally in character.

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