I know it's been a while (so long I've lost an h and a number), but I started working on DR again (for many, many reasons), and I think I'm going to be able to finish her (yes, I refer to DR as she. It's a sickness). So, there is still some work to be done, but I have the beats figured out for the final chapters (DR will clock in at 33 chapters when the fat lady sings, I am currently working on chapter 28). My hope is to shop DR over to Passion and Perfection or some similar corner of the Web when all is said and done. On re-starting this project I did some major and minor editing (typos, continuity issues, and what not) to the chapters already posted here. Currently, the DR Word docx is just under 500 pages, of which just under 400 pages have already been posted to the KB. Consider this an FYI for anyone who is interested in starting on this fic. What can I say, I am long wind-y to a fault. I do not have a Beta reader, so any and all errors are my own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tara woke up alone in the bed. Automatically her senses reached out and she felt Willow somewhere near, a delicate energy like snow flurries. Relieved, Tara turned from her stomach onto her back and barely held back a groan. As she’d expected, her back and shoulder muscles were tight, this despite careful stretching before and after yesterday’s workout with Buffy. Not good. Still, she knew she could feel, should feel worse, much worse. Rolling off the bed, Tara started in on the easiest of the routines Sam and Marty had taught her and the rest of the cadre, loosening if not entirely relieved the tightness. From easy she worked up to intermediate, adding balance challenges to her stretches, and soon most of the muscle tension was dissipated, leaving her with only a hungry belly with which to contend.
She was just finished making the bed when the door opened, and Willow came into the bedroom, dressed and with comb in hand, working her way through a tangle of damp red hair.
“The good news is that there’s still hot water; the bad news is that I can’t say how much. We’re up behind Buffy and Dawn, the hot water waster. But there’s other good news, I smell scrambled eggs.”
“That’s a lot of n-news.” Tara said. She smiled. “Good morning. Did you sleep w-well?”
“Like a top. Although I don’t really understand what that means. I went online once and looked it up. According to someone, sleeping like a top is sleeping like the kid’s toy, because tops spin on a single point, so in a sense they stay still, but tops move all the same, which makes me think sleeping like a log is the better cliché, but that’s way too much information for a pretty simple question. I slept well.” Willow said, finishing her discourse with a weak smile.
Tara’s smile was far broader. “Me, too. And that’s interesting. About the t-top, I mean.”
“I babble and most of the time for no good reason.”
“And I s-stammer, which is k-kind of ironic.”
“Me all with the words spilling out; you all with the word stumbles.” Finished with combing out her hair Willow set her comb on the dresser and started sorting through a small pile of mostly junk jewelry.
“Irony is kind of ironic.” Tara said, the words coming into her head from seeming no where. She pursed her lips a moment. “But you said that, not Tara, right?”
Willow turned around, her expression more puzzled than tense. She finished putting on a necklace and then moved to the bed, settling on the corner, leaving her legs to dangle along the side. “After kind of ditching on Tara to go out with Buffy, I was ditched by Buffy, and so I decided to head back to Tara. When I explained what happened I said something like “irony is kind of ironic,” which amused Tara no end. It happened when we figuring out if friendship was going to involve more than platonic coffee dates. We weren’t quite to the smooches stage.” Tara offered back a thoughtful “oh,” and Willow continued, switching topics, “So, I learned some stuff last night, some stuff I think I need to tell you about now, as opposed to later, even though later seems a lot less awkward. Not that it’s something wrong, just weird, and I need to stop with the word spillage immediately.” She stopped and offered yet another weak smile.
“Stuff.” Tara repeated as she also moved to sit on the bed, crawling to the center to sit cross-legged.
“Good stuff for you, complicated stuff for Buffy.” Willow said, moving to join Tara at the center of the bed, likewise crossing her legs. It was time to get to the point, and so she said it straightforwardly. “According to Spike, the tea isn’t so much helping resolve yours and Tara’s memories as settling together the parts of your soul. Spike learned about it from some African monks. Apparently it’s been used by African spirit walkers for centuries and, a while back, by Angel. When Spike said what it did, Buffy remembered Angel drinking it after he was sort of re-souled.” Willow shook her head. “Sorry going way off topic, there. The important thing is your memories. I mean both yours and Tara’s memories. You don’t have to worry.” Tara raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Willow took a deep breath. “From what Spike said, I’m thinking its all going to stick, which isn’t the best word to put on it, but you get it, right.”
“I’ll be able to remember my mom and Tara’s mom.” Tara said slowly, a hundred other possibilities spinning about in her head, but that one coming forth first.
“Pretty much. Right now, I guess your brain and your body are trying to resolve the overlaps, and a part of that’s tied to memories, but only a part.” Willow took another beat and another deep breath. “The Lethe’s bramble is mostly helping to resolve the other stuff, the soul stuff, I mean. I think it’s doing what you wanted. I think it’s making you . . . bigger. But . . .”
“You’re worried.”
“I’m worried because I don’t understand how it works. And, where you’re concerned, I’m can’t not be large with the wanting to know how. True, Spike’s been using it, too, but hello, Angel and he are both undead, and you’re not and . . .” Willow trailed off. “After I came back last night, I ran some ideas past Giles. He’s contacting Miss Hartness at the Devon Coven.”
“But you don’t think its dangerous.”
Willow shook her head. “Not dangerous, just mysterious. And I kind of hate those kinds of mysteries. Ones with little old lady detectives poking about English country towns are super. I’m just not big with the ones involving you having high fevers and spinning memory flash forwards.” A little more honesty was needed. “And I kind of have a thing about anything brambly.”
“Because you used it in a spell you put on Tara.”
Willow flushed. “That would be the thing.”
“It sort of c-creeps me out, too.” Tara said, but adding quickly because of the expression that formed on Willow’s face. “The Lethe’s bramble, I mean. Not knowing how its working now, not about what happened before. Plus it tastes like dirt.” The expression not moving, Tara took Willow’s hands between her own. “She forgave you, you know. For a-all of it. It hurt a lot. But she got it. I mean she understood the w-why.” Tara swallowed. “I g-guess given what you found out from Spike maybe I should say I understand the w-why.”
The moment was big. So big they both had to stop. Tara moved off the bed and held out her hand. “Ready for breakfast?”
Willow took a moment longer, and then she reached out and let Tara pull her off the bed. When they came to the door, Tara said Spike’s name and then “oh.” Willow nodded.
“That’s really big. I-Is Buffy okay?”
“I don’t know. She couldn’t talk about it last night.”
“She’s going to need space.” Tara said. “And she’s g-going to need her best friend.”
They passed through the door and Tara said “oh” again, and then “A-Anya and Xander.”
“Almost as big the awkward. Buffy and I are going to the Magick Box to tell them.”
In the kitchen they found Dawn and Buffy arguing over the toaster settings and Giles reading the newspaper. Domestic necessities took place, breakfast was eaten, dishes were cleared away. General announcements were made about errands and plans were firmed up about meeting at the Magic Box later in the afternoon. It was Tara who surprised the group when she announced she also had an errand to run, and then begged off all offers of rides because it was time for her to stop with the baby steps. Some but not much consternation was expressed. More probably than necessary reassurance was offered. Thus it was almost an hour later, when Tara, freshly showered, a warm mug of Lethe’s bramble tea in her belly, and dressed for the first time in twelve years in entirely new clothes, reached the corner of Revello Drive and Main and turned left to head downtown.
Late Sunday mornings in Sunnydale weren’t all that different from late Sunday mornings in Los Olivos, the last town Tara had lived in before heading out on her own. Some people sat out on their porches, others did lawn work. The cars on the road were relatively few, at least until Tara reached the edge of the downtown where traffic seemed to bottleneck, mostly due to some poorly timed traffic lights. She turned and continued on various streets, basing her decisions as much on her memories of her first day spent in Sunnydale as phantom flashes of earlier ones. She took note of street lamps and storm drains, broken pavement and flower beds. She turned left on one street knowing if she turned right she’d soon find herself at the old Sunnydale High School grounds. She turned left on another street and realized the broad avenue would return her to the University district. Her wanderings soon took her into the center of the downtown, where more and more memories began to collide.
Tara passed a used bookstore and realized it was there that she bought a book of magicks, shortly after starting at UC Sunnydale, a realization that sent her into a reverie of those first months of college, a time of loneliness and the sense of potential just out of reach.
Her scholarship had covered a private dorm room, which she loved because it meant she finally had the privacy to explore magicks, but regretted because it only furthered her sense of isolation. At home, her father had forbidden a lock on her bedroom door, and he and Donny would enter without knocking, which meant any attempts to explore her talent had to take place in the nearby woods and her two not terribly involving books of magicks had to be kept hidden under the floor boards of the barn. Having privacy for the first time in her life was the most wonderful of gifts, but still she could not help but long for a friend to share her joy. She tried study groups, even took part in an early morning yoga workout, but couldn’t seem to connect with the other girls, who seemed far more interested in rushing sororities or, to be fair, landing n the honor role than forming new friendships. Joining the Wicca group had been a somewhat desperate impulse. By the start of the first meeting she knew none of them possessed the talent, but she’d hoped to find some, a few, one who at least practiced the faith, even if she herself was somewhat of a pretender. And then one autumn day, amidst the crowd of want-to-bees and showboaters appeared the surprise of her life, and something more, when a slender red head sat down in the circle, claiming the chair that was positioned due north.
Her feet came to a complete stop. She’d seen the memory before, but not like this. It was the moment when everything changed; the moment when Tara’s life truly spit into a before and after. Nothing, not the death of her mother, not the quickening of her heart, not even her own death was so definite a divide. And then the screeching sound of a bus breaking to a stop at the next street corner pulled her out of it, reawakened her mind, and her eyes lit on another store, this one selling fabric, and she remembered it was there she picked out the fabric for the Renaissance fair dresses she’d made for herself and Willow, the ones they were wearing when Sweet came to town. Her gaze moved to the right and she saw the flower shop she and Willow had gone to the day of Joyce’s funeral. She began moving once more, one foot in front of the other, the best way to travel.
Tara came to an intersection and after a moment’s indecision crossed the street, turned right, and found the drug store where she bought chocolates and her sneakers. Through the window she saw the same cashier, his expression as grumpy as ever, but she didn’t stop, she was nearly to her destination, one more block and one more left turn.
Albert was sitting at the counter, a paperback novel propped in one hand and a half eaten sandwich in the other. He looked the same, a somewhat paunchy man with thinning grey hair, wire rimmed spectacles, and today wearing jeans and a Grateful Dead tee shirt.
“You’re back.” Albert said, dropping his sandwich onto his plate and standing up. “And looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“I found some . . . old f-friends. They’ve been looking after me.” Tara said, coming up to the counter. “You’re looking good, too. Business is . . .”
“Can’t complain. Used books mostly sell themselves. But here, why don’t you have a seat behind the counter. I put the tea on just a minute ago, and today I have peanut butter cookies.”
***
“A soul.” Xander repeated for the third time in as many minutes. “So Spike went and got himself a shiny new excuse for coming back to Sunnydale to do what?”
“Apologize.” Buffy said, her tone soft, her eyes distant.
“And that would make things what? Make things right? No, I don’t think so. No way. And what happens if he gets a happy, does he go all big and bad once more . . .”
“He wasn’t cursed, Xander.” Willow said.
“Right, he earned it.”
The three were sitting on the floor of the practice room cross-legged and facing one another. The conversation had been going on for approaching half an hour, most of the time stalled where it was now. Anya had returned to her cash register after the first ten minutes.
“Look, I have no idea why Spike did what he did.” Buffy stopped herself, seeming to understand the ridiculousness of her statement. “Okay maybe I have an idea. What he said was that he wanted to stop hurting people, and the chip wasn’t enough. He hasn’t asked for forgiveness. I think he wants to, but he hasn’t asked.”
“So he’s back in his crypt, a fridge full of pig’s blood, and spinning Dead Kennedys disks on the old CD player?”
“Pretty much.”
“Buffy, I don’t want him back in our lives. Neither does Anya.”
“I know. None of us do. The only reason Willow and I went to him was to ask if he could tell us anything more about the Lethe’s Bramble. Willow had this idea she wanted to run past him. I didn’t even think he was going to tell us about . . . the other thing, tell me, but it was kind of unavoidable.”
“Maybe, or maybe all those nights ago he was just thinking ahead. I mean come on can either of you think of a ‘cure’ that would cause a bigger wiggins. He knows all about what happened when Will pulled the spell. He was there for Pete’s sake.”
“Xander, he’s been taking the stuff himself.”
“To what, ease his pain?”
“Relieve the fevers and ease the confusion.” Buffy corrected. “I don’t think he’s lying, Xander. I do think he wants to help Tara.”
“Buffy, I know he brought her home when she was ‘confused girl’ loose on the streets of Sunnydale, but that doesn’t mean we should trust him.”
“On this one thing I think we can.” Buffy said. She looked at Willow. “What do you think?”
Willow had been hanging back mostly, letting Buffy and Xander argue it out. When it came to Spike, they were the ones who had histories, not she. “About Spike in general, I’m not really sure, but I agree we can trust what he said about the Lethe’s Bramble. Plus we keep forgetting Buffy remembered Angel using the stuff, too. Still, I’m kind of hoping the Devon Coven can confirm or deny.”
Xander leaned back on his hands. “Look there’s no way I’m going to be able to give peroxide boy any kind of a pass, soul or no soul. As for the coven consult, that sounds a lot more reasonable. Maybe we should even put in a call to Angel Investigations.” Xander chewed the side of his mouth for a moment before continuing, “Will, there’s something I’m not getting. My wig on it is on the Spike factor, because all things Spike lead to badness. Not the bramble, the bramble seems pretty good where I sit, all brambly goodness. And I’m thinking you kind of agree. So what’s your wig, I mean besides the past history with the stuff? Because I’m thinking there’s more to it than a past history of wrong spells gone wrong.”
Willow had been thinking about the same thing since she and Tara had talked earlier. “I guess its because I’m not sure if its magickal or medicinal.” Willow said slowly, figuring out what she thought as she spoke it. “If it’s just medicinal then I can trust it, but if its magickal then . . .” She trailed off, uncertainty visible on her face.
“Dawn made tea with it, Will. She didn’t do a spell.”
“I know, Buffy. And I know Spike’s more or less confirmed the idea. Still, magicks on magicks scares me.”
Xander sat forward again. “Will, is it really about the Lethe’s bramble, or is it more about the conjure.”
Somehow hearing what she already knew coming out of one of her friend’s mouths helped her see it. Willow nodded sheepishly. “Probably more about the conjure. It’s not that I want to learn how to do them, it’s just that I dislike . . .”
“Not understanding how Tara got better.” Buffy said. “Will, I get what you’re feeling. Right now it all feels pretty tentative, one minute she’s dying, the next her body starts heeling on fast forward, one minute she’s all sleepy girl, the next she’s awake girl. Yesterday, she was pretty close to kicking ass and taking names within a twenty-four hour turn around. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t think you can trust it.”
“It doesn’t.” Willow agreed. “Is this how you felt when Angel came back?”
“Kind of.” Buffy said. “Part of me, a big part of me, didn’t want to let him out of my sight. But I had too, not just for him, but for me, too.”
“I’m thinking there’s another elephant in the room, besides Mr. Overbite, I mean.” Xander said. “This is the first time you’ve not known where she was since she ran off that one night. She’s a big girl, Will. She’s lived on her own since she was what, seventeen?”
“Sixteen.” Willow corrected and sort of wishing they were still taking about Spike, not at all sure how their impromptu meeting shifted from what to do about William the bloody to all things Tara and Lethe’s bramble. “Okay, I get that I’m being kind of ridiculous. If anyone knows how to take care of herself, it’s Tara. I mean, hello, demon hunter, un-chosen slayer of her world’s Master, but she’s only just gotten well.”
“And she needed a little space.” Xander said, and then reacting to Willow’s expression, “Not from you, just space.”
“Am I really being all crowd-y.”
“Not all crowd-y, just a little crowd-y.” Buffy said.
“And it’s understandable. But again with the big girl point, Tara’s the woman with a mission. Space is necessary.”
“Don’t forget she gave you that super warm hug goodbye and a seriously sincere ‘see you later’ smile.” Buffy said, her eyebrows telling Willow they’d be discussing the hug and smile in further detail at a later date.
“In any event, I don’t think you need to worry, Willow.” Anya said, having come through the door a moment earlier. “It’s unlikely new Tara will run-off on you the way Xander ran-off on me. It’s not as if you’ve been casting spells to control her memory again. Or before, or whatever. Anyway, I stepped in to tell you she just called in; she’s at some bookstore eating cookies.”
“Called in?” Buffy asked.
“I gave her a cell phone yesterday after adding her to my friends and family plan. I’m certain Willow will want to switch Tara to her plan, but I thought for the short term my plan was adequate.” Finished with her message duties, Anya moved onto her more important task. “Xander, bring in another case of garlic candles. They’re moving like hotcakes.”
Irrepressibly happy over her announcement of successful commerce, Anya offered a sharp nod and a joyous hand clap before retreating into the main store, leaving Buffy, Xander, and Willow looking bemusedly at one another.
“Score one for Anya. We’re all with the sitting in a circle feeling worried and she’s . . .” It was pointless to finish the comment, and so Buffy did not.
“A cell phone.” Willow said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s also some sort of plan afoot for trapping Tara into holiday sales work.” Xander explained. “Finding good help is never easy, and providing Tara with a cell phone will only increase her debt.” Off Buffy’s look of confusion, he explained, “Begun with the original break-in and minor petty thievery and augmented with a certain stealthy restitution to Decker Hardware.”
Buffy mouthed a silent “oh.”
“Again with the I didn’t even think of it.” Willow said. “That’s so unlike me.”
It was time to end the meeting, and that case of garlic candles wasn’t going to move itself. Xander moved onto his feet and held out his hand to help Willow off the floor. “Willmeister, half the time your cell phone is out of juice, you haven’t upgraded in two years, and unlikely as it seems, Anya’s just all about the friends and the family these days.”
Buffy followed the other two and came onto her feet also. “If it would make you feel any better, Will, I’d be happy to off load Dawn onto your plan.”
Willow looked from one of her best friends to the other. “Next time I start slipping like that, be sure to tell me. I can’t let a thousand year old vengeance demon out technology me. I’ve got my street cred to consider.”
***
She was on her second cookie and listening to Albert’s version of the day the mayor of Sunnydale attempted his ascension when door opened and steps sounded from the back of the store. Surprised already because she’d thought they were alone in the store, seeing Mr. Giles walking up to the counter sent Tara into even greater surprise, and Giles’ expression was nearly as incredulous.
“Tara,” he said, pulling off his glasses to give them a good scrub, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Mr. Giles.” Tara began. “I didn’t expect to s-see you here either.”
It was time to bring his two guests back to Earth, so to speak. “Sunnydale is a small town, Rupert. As it happens, Tara and I are old friends.” Albert said. “We met a fortnight ago and,” he turned to offer Tara an arch smile, “and before that two, no I think a full three years ago. Coincidentally both times before she became involved with your Slayer.” Bring them back to Earth, yes, but only so he could send them into an even greater orbit.
“You knew m-me.” Tara said slowly.
“The Tara who was native to this reality often stopped by for tea and cookies and travel books. Never magicks, of course. Color me surprised, when you dropped two weeks earlier.” He looked intently at Tara over his tea cup. “I’m afraid I utterly misjudged you, my dear. Not once did it cross my mind that you were a conjurer. Really, I simply thought you’d strayed.”
“Strayed.” Tara repeated and asked.
“From one dimension to another. You seemed very lost and in a very bad way. I wanted to give you more than the little push I offered, but restrictions are restrictions for a reason.”
“You knew that Tara was from another reality?” Giles said, clearly not yet able to accept the information.
“Of course. There could be no other explanation.” Albert said to Giles before turning again to Tara. “Again, I apologize for not giving you more explicit instructions. This sort of thing is better resolved on chance than direction. Direct interference is usually more bane than boon. So, I’m taking it that you found your way home?”
Tara had been circumspect about where she’d been staying, long years of living cautiously not easily forgotten. “Yes, and thank you for mentioning the Magic Box.”
“As I said, I really did nothing, you it appears managed quite nicely.” Albert said, his smile now one that could be described only as demure.
More pleasantries were exchanged, Tara’s new hair cut was mentioned as entirely becoming, an additional round of tea was served, but soon enough it was time to get down to more serious matters. Matters that it was quickly apparent would have been better discussed over stiff drinks than cups of Earl Grey, at least if Tara drank. Giles was simply in his element.
“What sort of portents?” He asked, his tone a shade too eager.
“Unusual animal births, mostly. But the number of meteor falls has increased tenfold, and five, five mind you, incidents of spontaneous combustion in so many weeks, only two of human flesh, but all disturbing demonstrations. And quite frankly my tarot readings have been uniformly dark for the past month. Something is coming.”
A full month? If this was true, ‘oh dear’ would not describe the half of it. “You saw portents that heralded Tara’s arrival?”
“I’m touched, Rupert, you’ve never expressed interest in my tarot readings before.” Albert said, his tone decidedly less grim.
“How can you say that, I’ve always expressed the deepest interest in your daily pattern.” Giles countered in his driest tone, “What I’m simply noting is that if the portents announced Tara’s coming; it would seem my prophecy research has been entirely wrong headed.”
“Well, yes, I suppose if you’ve assumed prophecy would only see the apprentice.” Off Tara’s small gasp at his mention, Albert turned to Tara. “Rupert felt it prudent to fill me in on the current situation earlier this morning. Although he left out at least one key piece of information, namely you.”
“News of Tara’s coming to this reality has been understandably held closely by a rather select group.” Giles defended.
“And understandably so. Nevertheless, just as your Slayer’s resurrection was greeted by greater Sunnydale with little more than a collective shrug, I’m confident the return of Tara Maclay will likewise stir little in the way of curiosity, let alone gossip. Such is the nature of living on the hell mouth.”
“True enough.” Giles conceded.
Something about the give and take between the two of them told Tara, “The two of you have known each other a long time, h-haven’t you.”
“As I said earlier, we are old, if only sometimes acquaintances. Rupert and my sister went to university together, and as it happens he introduced Eliza to the man who became her husband, one of Rupert’s old sorcerer friends, a rather striking fellow, glowing eyes, billowy cape, perhaps you’ve met?” A subtle clearing of Giles throat pulled Albert back on task, “Right, right. As to the subject at hand, the portents remain unclear and outcomes uncertain, but what is growing more and more obvious is that some things new to this reality have come, and are coming, and some of this reality’s evil is arriving to bring them greeting. New vampire nests have formed on the west end of town, for one, and a pride of hellhounds has claimed a corner of Evergreen cemetery, for another. Rupert, I’m afraid your Slayer’s work is cut out for her this week and doubtless for the weeks ahead.”
“And I’m afraid I cannot disagree. It does seem evil is once again on the rise. As it happens, we knew of the vampire nests, but not the hound activity. Thank you for that. I’m sure Buffy will see to the hounds on tonight’s patrol.”
“H-Have you seen any evidence of demons coming from other dimensions?”
“No.” Albert said, turning to Tara. “You’re expecting advanced teams?”
Tara nodded grimly. “I did some castings of my own before I crossed. I’m not sure what he’ll send, but he’s going to try to scope the environment before he crosses. He knows in this reality the Slayer defeated the Master.”
“Do you have any idea why he wants to enter this particular reality?”
Giles question was one she’d been expecting for some time, and still her stomach lurched as she answered it. “Remember how I told you I was able to harness the unused magickal energy of my cadre, the apprentice is going to try to do a similar conjure here. And here there’s a lot more humans.”
“You managed a conduction conjure, Tara? That is impressive.” Albert said, even as his expression began to change, growing more and more grave as the implications became clear. “Of course here the population density is far higher . . . Your apprentice could easily initiate a chain reaction, one sweeping to every corner of our world.”
“Just past six billion.” Giles murmured. “Opening all of Earth’s hellmouths would only be a first step; soon he’d be able to claim . . . oh dear.”
“Reign over this dimension.” Tara said. “I suppose the only good news is that he doesn’t know the power he’ll have. Such a reign isn’t part of his ambition, yet.”
Their conversation continued a while longer, tuning at one point to a brief discussion of strategies, brief because they had very few, before shifting to other less dire subjects, accompanied by a final round of tea and cookies before the hour was reaching noon and Giles and Tara had to beg their leave to meet with the others at the Magick Box.
In Giles’ rental car, Tara asked a question that had been on the tip of her tongue for going on an hour, one that was more personal than was her habit, and so she blushed on the asking.
Giles smiled faintly, “Sometimes acquaintances means for a time we were in a bit of a feud. Albert’s work requires him to maintain a certain amount of distance from anyone affiliated with the Watcher’s Council. I, on the other hand, and somewhat selfishly, felt Albert could contribute more towards the demands of keeping the hellmouth closed. Of course I was younger than, and far more handsome and foolish.”
Tara said nothing in return, and a comfortable silence fell between them as Giles navigated Sunnydale’s small maze of narrow streets. But as they turned onto Maple Court, Tara hazarded one additional question, and this time she did not blush.
“Mr. Giles, would I be wrong to think you were already planning to return to Sunnydale before you heard about me.”
Giles turned and looked Tara in the eye. “No, you wouldn’t.”
***
Willow pointed the customer, a short woman wearing a pullover sweater Willow was almost certain she’d donated to last year’s Sunnydale clothing drive, towards the cauldrons and turned back to help another customer, a teenage boy interested in something “fun” for his little brother’s bar mitzvah. As far out of Anya’s hearing range as she could manage, Willow sent him on his way to a more appropriate retailer, before moving onto the next customer, a young woman interested in purchasing a new tarot pack.
Behind her, the bell above the door tinkled once more, and before Willow even turned round she knew it was Tara. She caught Tara’s eyes and winked a greeting before continuing with the customer, who was in the middle of professing her need for a new tarot pack, her “generic” Ryder-Waite deck no longer seeming sufficiently divinatory.
“I don’t know if I agree that the Crowley deck is more ‘accurate,’ although it’s certainly more esoteric,” Willow said walking with the young woman to the back of the store where an assortment of decks were displayed in a glass cabinet.
“What do you think of the Witches’ deck, then?” She asked, crouching down to peer through the glass.
That it’s insulting and completely idiotic, Willow thought. Aloud she said, “The tarot of the witches? Uhm, I know it was featured in some James Bond movie, maybe circa-Roger Moore. The pip cards are Marseilles-type, no illustrations. It’s not really my cup of tea.” Someone moved behind her, and warm fingers brushed near Willow’s hand.
“If you’re already f-familiar with the generic Rider deck, what about switching to the Waite-Smith version. The colors are more subtle which b-brings out the Smith designs and the backs are this b-beautiful Tudor rose design. It’s the pack I use.”
“Waite-Smith, huh.” The young woman said. “Can I see the open pack? I sort of like the illustrations on my deck, but the colors are so flat.”
A few minutes later, another satisfied customer left the Magic Box, leaving Willow to turn to her fellow sales clerk and deliver a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tudor rose design, huh.”
“Much nicer than the plaid.”
The two spent several moments quietly enjoying being back in each other’s company before Willow asked, “So how was your walkabout?”
“W-walkabout?” Tara said, her eyebrows knitting.
“You’re walk through town.”
“Oh. It was nice. I was able to get back my bearings. And I ran into Giles at this bookstore I visited the day I arrived.”
Something about Tara’s expression, or the way she’d said “bookstore,” told Willow “something” was up, but something also told her to leave it go, and so instead Willow volunteered, “Anya asked me to search downstairs to see if there’s another box of Hestia statues. The medium sized ones that are supposed to stand in a corner, not the tiny ones for the mantle. Anyway, she’s not seeing a box of them on the inventory, but she thinks she remembers seeing a box behind some cases of petrified animal parts. Since you’re so big with the customer service, want to help me take a look? You should be warned, I’m expecting spiders.”
As Willow had expected, Tara was undeterred by the threat of spiders, putting the two of them moments later on the steps leading to the basement. “So I’m thinking the petrified bits are over on the left.” Willow said, nervously, her senses on full alert for black widows, brown recluses, and the less dangerous but equally bone-chilling parson spider, a rolled up newspaper held overhead and on the ready.
“Willow, if you like, I could take point. I think I might be better with the squashing.”
Tara’s breath sifted through Willow’s hair, sending a far nicer shiver along Willow’s skin. “Nah, I’m already at def con three. If any of them try anything, it’s hammer time.” Willow paused. “Okay. A possible over mix of the metaphors there, but you get the idea.”
As soon as they were off the steps, Willow spotted a crate marked petrified hamster. With Tara in close tow, she made a beeline around it, and found five boxes stacked one on top of the next. Reading the labels aloud she noted “Iron cauldrons, cooper cauldrons, unicorn statues, probably a special order for Harmony-- I’ll explain later--skink root, and a box of , h-e-s-t-y.” Willow spelled out the letters she could see, the rest had been rubbed away.
Reaching overhead for box, Willow explained, “It should be H-e-s-t-i,” but I think Xander did the labeling and spelling was never his best subject.”
“Maybe you should let me grab it, Will.” Tara said, moving behind.
“No, no. I can get it.”
Willow had the box by its bottom corners and was moving it forward when the two below started coming along, all tipping towards her at once, but before she got conked, Tara reached up to catch the lowest of the three, steadying the teetering tower.
“But maybe I’ll let you do it anyway” Willow conceded as Tara swung the top box off the top and moved it to the floor.
“The label on top has been crossed out.” Tara said, squatting down to pull open the flaps. Inside were candles, and smelly ones at that. “These are not Hesita statues.”
“I think those are the slug candles Anya’s been trying to unload them for something like forever.”
“Definitely not Hesita statues.” Tara quickly resealed the box to staunch the smell. “Anya was p-probably confused by the label. We should fix it, the label I mean.”
“I’ll print out a new one upstairs.”
Willow stepped out of the way so that Tara could stand up. Without intending, her eyes traveled along Tara’s narrow frame, noting the hang of her jeans and the contrast between the sharp white of her tee shirt and delicate pink tones of her skin. “You look nice.” An observation that seemingly called forth an even nicer blush on Tara’s cheeks and neck.
“It’s the c-clothes. I was thinking this morning this is the first time in years I’ve been entirely dressed in new clothes.” Again Tara’s brows knit together. “I’m going to want to pay you back for them. Anya mentioned she might have a job for me. I owe her money, too. Did you k-know she’s lent me a cell phone?”
“I heard about the cell phone, which is great. And the possibility of a job, which is also great. But, the money thing . . .” Not sure what to say, what exactly Tara remembered, Willow bit down on the side of her lower lip, thinking, wondering if she should try to prompt the knowledge. But then Tara’s soft “oh,” told her it wasn’t necessary.
“Well, that answers that question.” Willow said. “About the memory thing, if you’d remember factual stuff, too. I mean besides the emotional stuff. Or maybe this is my emotional stuff.”
“You’re sort of . . . And the others don’t know.”
“I was already the queen of the un-cool in high school, telling my friends I sold my programming homework would have only guarantee ascension to lifetime office. I mean who does that, who sells her homework for profit? I wanted to be the girl dating the guitarist.”
“You’ve never told Buffy or Xander?” Tara questioned. “What am I saying? I sort of know you haven’t.”
“Tare, I’ve wanted to come clean. Xander wouldn’t care, but Buffy’s kind of weird about the money thing. She wants to live independently.”
“But you handle the house accounts.”
“Now that she’s working for the school district, Buffy’s salary makes up almost sixty percent of the monthly budget. That’s way up from her Doublemeat tenure.”
Tara’s expression was sympathetic, but her tone was firm. “You should tell her, Will. You s-should have told her a year ago.”
“I know. It’s just.”
She wasn’t really thinking, just moving, moving into Tara’s arms and settling her head on Tara’s shoulder, the way she’d done a thousand times before, the way she’d never done before. Arms closed around her back, cuddling her close.
“It’s not that I think she’ll be mad. I mean, I think she sort of figured it out, about my little side business, I mean. Like hello, what high school let’s a student teach the computer class. Plus, it’s not like I’ve ever had a regular job, so what’s been keeping me in mochas and laptop upgrades all these years. And, besides it’s not like I actually handled the sales. My dad did all that. I just wrote some extremely profitable code.”
“Hey,” Tara said, stroking along Willow’s back. “You don’t have to explain to me.”
Willow knew her voice would sound small and squeaky before she even spoke. “You’re not mad?”
“At you, for taking care of me, of course not. I get it, Will.”
I know you do, Willow thought, burying her face into Tara’s pullover.
“It’s weird.” Tara said softly. “Not you or the software thing. It’s weird remembering. I know stuff. I mean I was looking at some books in Albert’s store and I realized know about art history. I think I could pass a college algebra test, but I never finished high school. It feels kind of like cheating.”
Willow moved to look into eyes blue like the ocean before focusing on the scar that snaked down the side of Tara’s face. “It’s weird, but it’s not cheating. You’re here to save the world. And I think you’re saving me, too.” Embarrassed for reasons she didn’t entirely understand, Willow dropped her head back to Tara’s shoulder. A warm hand cupped against it.
“Maybe we’re saving each other.”
***
“So you chose now to share?” Buffy said over her mocha.
Willow and Buffy were sitting at a table in the Espresso Pump. They’d gone off on a caffeine and sugar run about thirty minutes earlier, leaving Anya to order around Xander and Tara, which seemed not to bother either of them.
“Tara said I should.” Willow said, noting one of the higher pitched squeaks her voice made when she was nervous. She hadn’t made that particular sound in months. “Are you pissed, wigged . . . maybe a tiny bit relieved?”
“That I’ve been living off the Willow Rosenberg welfare wagon for what, two years?”
Willow winced and Buffy stopped. An apology was sent across the table from hazel eyes to green.
“I know it was stupid. I should have just told you, but it was kind of tied up in the whole self-loathing-nerd thing. Plus I’d sold the software design so many years ago. Plus, there was my whole down with the machine period.”
“You thought coming clean would ruin your ‘daughter of nature’ street cred?”
Willow winced a second time. “Sort of.”
Buffy smiled. It was a smile Willow hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the smile she remembered from high school, the sympathetic smile offered when Cordelia’s little digs hit pay dirt. “I get it, Will. And, well, thank you, because I’m pretty sure there is no way I will ever be able to repay you.”
“Buff, I live in the house, too. And, I sort of think of you and Dawnie as family, and now Tara, too.”
“Just so everyone knows the Buffy-pants are the . . . Okay, strike that one because I have no idea where to go for the joke.”
They both laughed, and then Willow sighed with relief. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you about this for like forever.”
“And all it took was a little nudge from a certain blonde conjurer, who’d have thought?”
The subject shift happened lightening fast, and Willow needed a moment to catch up. When she did, she blushed accordingly, earning a very tiny Slayer-smirk for her trouble.
“So you two seemed pretty simpatico over breakfast this morning. And as for that goodbye hug this morning, a total portent for future smoochies. Dawn noticed it, too.”
“Smoochies. No. That’s not . . . You’ve been talking with Dawn.” The squeak was now reaching the pitch only dogs could hear.
“Not much. It came up while I was driving her over to the mall.” Buffy took another sip from her mocha. “This morning it just seemed like the two of you had found a way to . . . I’m not sure. Fit?” A third sip of mocha. “I’m not saying I think everything’s been resolved, only that this morning you two seemed more like the two and less like the one and one. You know?”
“It’s mostly, Tara. She’s been coming to terms with the soul blending memory mix thing. I’m mostly following along.” Willow said, while thinking about the hug she’d received in the storeroom, but not really received, more like claimed.
“But it’s weird, still, right?” Buffy put down her cup. “I mean it’s less weird for me and Xander, we were just the friends. And it’s slightly less weird for Dawn, because the whole surrogate mom thing is a lot less fraught.”
Willow nodded, her thoughts more clearly back in the hear and now. Neither of them had even blinked when Tara asked Dawn about her homework and Dawn explained she was caught up through Monday.
“It was like they’d had that conversation a hundred times before. Which in a way, they sort of did.” Buffy hesitated, but said, “Of course, surrogate mom isn’t really the same thing as partners in smoochies. I mean, you haven’t . . .?”
Willow blushed a deep scarlet. She’d realized where Buffy was leading, even braced for it, but the whole “hearing it out loud thing” still took her by surprise.
“Wow, I haven’t seen you blush this deep since high school. I mean you weren’t even close to this red when I accidentally walked in on you and Oz in the chemistry lab.”
“Not helping, Buffy.” Willow said, her voice strangled.
Definitely not helping as the high school memory of Buffy walking in on her in full orgasm collided with the memory of some of her and Tara’s more orgasmic moments in year’s past and the memory of a certain stolen kiss.
“Okay, to answer my own question. If you two are still making with the Platonic bunkies thing, than what exactly happened in the basement a little while ago? You were all with the blush when the two of you came back upstairs.”
How is that answering you own question? “Tara kind of hugged me.” Willow held up her hand. “Yes, she’s hugged me before. But this was different. Really different. I mean it wasn’t like before.”
“With your Tara.” Buffy prompted softly.
“Or like after the rejoining.”
“When she was all kitten-y.”
“More like I was kind of kitten-y.” Willow took a deep breath as the last of her blush faded. “Tara remembered about the money stuff. And I kind of freaked, not really freaked, but, you know.” She saw confirmation on Buffy’s face. She knew. “Anyway, I went in for this hug and then her arms were around me and it felt . . . nice. I mean just the nicest thing you could imagine.”
“Nice, but in a sort of . . .” Buffy hesitated. “Only a ‘sort of’ sexy way, not a seriously sexy way, but still really, really . . . nice.”
Willow didn’t want to hear another squeak, so she answered with a nod.
“You should ask her out on a date.”
The suggestions fell out of Buffy’s mouth onto the table and bounced toward the ceiling, or so it seemed.
“A date?” Again with the squeak.
“Yeah, like tonight. Take her out to dinner.”
“I don’t know, Buffy, apocalypse incoming, remember. Plus, weren’t the two of you going to patrol.”
“The latest apocalypse isn’t scheduled for another couple of weeks or so. I’ll take Spike on patrol.” Willow started to interrupt, her concern obvious, Buffy didn’t let her. “I need to come to terms with him, Will. Regardless of everything, he’ll be needed when this apprentice hits. And, if I don’t make some sort of peace with him, it’s just going to bug.”
“Bug isn’t the word, Buffy.” Willow said, forcing in a comment.
“No, bug isn’t the word. What he tried can’t be fixed, and I don’t have it in me to forgive. But I do have it in me to move on. And that’s my plan, this is me moving on. And I could use your support because Xander isn’t going to be able to give it, and without you on the okay, Dawn is going to be all with the wig.”
A mix of feelings bubbled inside Willow. Anger at Spike and all he’d done. But also the pleasure of being trusted, of being needed by her best friend. And so Willow decided to be what Buffy asked, to be the best friend, although that did not rule out continuing to give Spike the occasional dirty look, and making him know even though she was off the magicks, that didn’t mean she was incapable of carving her own Mr. Pointy, one with Spike’s name written on the shaft.
“I can be large with the support.”
“So let me be large with the take Tara out on a date. Take the afternoon off and go out and get her that dress you didn’t find yesterday. Besides, having you and she out from under foot will allow Dawn, Xander, and me to plan out Tara’s b-day celebration at the Bronze.”
Willow felt her eyes go wide, something she hardly ever noticed.
“October 16. This coming Thursday. Like you hadn’t thought about it.”
Willow blushed again. A blush of a completely different kind.
“Oh my god, you hadn’t thought about it.”
“I’m awful. How could I . . .”
“Stop, Will. No with the recriminations and regrets and all around bad feelings. Your plate has been super full. Over full. Way to much filler on the Willow plate. And so you’re allowed the brain fart.” Buffy fought down a grin. “Just this one. But allowed all the same. I mean, come on. You’ve been all in the middle of taking care and figuring out.”
“So have you, so has Dawn.”
“But we aren’t potential partners in the smoochies. It’s different, Will. It just is. Let it go and focus on the b-day gift. I’m thinking from you a shiny new cell phone.”
“Am I being territorial about that?”
“Yes, but Anya gets it. No one knows territorial better than Anya, so no worries there. I’m thinking about a leather jacket. Something for patrolling, and Dawn’s got this idea in her head about an antique silver pendant. She noticed Tara eyeing it in the window of Baldwin’s. I’m guessing Xander will probably go with something wood, and whatever Anya thinks of will probably cause either widespread confusion or red faces. And Giles will provide the stuffy British element.” Buffy stopped and seemed to take Willow’s measure. “Am I over reaching. I’m being all over reach-y, aren’t I.”
“No, no, stop. It’s me.” Willow took her own advice, she stopped, but only for a moment. “It’s us. We’re both being over-reach-y. Over Tara, but mostly I think this is us still figuring out we’re friends again.”
Another silence. This one of the kind Dawn would have called the warm fuzzy. They finished their coffee while reaching an agreement on festivities for the sixteenth, and then headed back to the Magic Box, where the late morning customer crush appeared to be over, permitting Buffy to make a case for grabbing some training time, and Willow, with a tiny push from Buffy, to duck out for a quick trip to Madeline’s, a dress shop she thought she remembered her Tara had always liked.
Walking along Madison, Willow made a face at her reflection off the windows of Belling Brothers Furniture. Her morning’s sartorial sense must have been overly tuned to “ocean’s away.” There could be no other explanation for why she was wearing her white boat-neck pull-over paired with her navy long skirt. All she needed was a jaunty little cap and she’d be ready to set sail on the Good Ship Lollipop. At least Tara seemed to like it; she’d smiled earlier in the morning when Willow had come through the bedroom door. Smiled, not grinned, and not with amusement, more like delight, but kind of muted: the lower lip slightly pulled under the other, major eye involvement, the kind of smile that made everything feel lovely and cozy, like sitting next to the fireplace while sipping hot chocolate on a blustery day, like . . .
Willow turned the corner, making a little skip over a small puddle, and then came to a not exactly screeching, but definitely definite halt. Another window, another check of her reflection, this time Mackenzie’s Bakery provided the honors. Same long sleeve tee, same navy skirt, still no jaunty cap, Willow leaned a little closer, concentrating on her face, the tiny muscles that controlled her eyes, the larger ones that controlled her mouth, she bared her teeth, opened her eyes wide, realized she was scaring customers, and continued on her way.
“Not good, so not good.” She muttered to herself, unaware of the two passersby who were giving her wide berth.
Now on autopilot, she turned another corner, and then a short while after that, one more, which took her onto Magnolia Boulevard and finally to Madeline’s Dress Shop. By the time she crossed the threshold, all emotional excesses were squared away, the hatches were battened, and any necessary ropes were coiled neatly on the deck. Forty minutes after that, shopping bags in hand, she was once again walking briskly along Sunnydale’s mean streets, which at this particular moment seemed anything but mean, and instead seemed oddly flower lined and hedge trimmed. The perfect complement to a sky filled with roly-poly puffy white clouds and a perfectly hung yellow sun. A day that could only make Tara smile.
***
Tara blew back a lock of hair dangling in front of her eyes and finished the shelf count of reptile and amphibian parts. Twenty seven pairs of frogs legs, fourteen sets of newt eyes and seventeen snake tongues, seven forked, ten not: she noted the figures on her yellow pad, stepped down from the ladder and glanced at the storeroom clock.
It was five minutes to three, and Willow and Giles said they’d be back in an hour. Secrets seemed to be afoot, or at least Willow seemed to have something on her mind when she returned form her earlier errand only to turn around to leave with Giles.
Tara stepped back from the ladder and turned in a slow circle, uselessly wondering, if I were Anya, where would I keep the Romany wood bark talismans.
***
Giles made a face as he set down his second cup of tea. Willow smiled sympathetically. “You’re here now, and so I’m sure they’ll bring back the Darjeeling in no time.”
“Lipton Orange Pekoe, the idea.” Giles said the hated name slowly and with the emphasis of periods after each word. “At worst I’d have expected British Breakfast. It’s this chai business. A simple black tea is deemed too mundane. A civilized assortment of English Breakfast, Ear Grey, and Darjeeling is deemed too complex.”
They’d been at the Espresso Pimp the past hour, talking less about tea (although Giles had expressed his displeasure two times already) and more about the coming evil, exchanging notes and ideas. It turned out sometime during Tara’s “long convalescence,” as Giles’ termed it, Willow had set up and forgotten about a Web tracking bot for identifying reports of “unusual” occurrences. Forgotten about until Giles’ happen to mention that an acquaintance of his was seeing portents. Embarrassed on realizing her mental slip, Willow ran back to the Magic Box to retrieve her laptop and on her return to the Espresso Pump began downloading what was soon revealed to be dozens of events large and small, and nearly all happening on what Giles’ noticed was a near perfect line of longitude.
But their discussion of odd animal births and strange combustions was come to its end, which left one final subject. Willow took the initiative.
“So, what did the Coven say? I’m guessing you’ve heard from Miss Hartness.”
“Her assistant, actually. Diana has made what she believes is a thorough background search on Lethe’s bramble and discovered a number of nineteenth century societies used it for esoteric purposes, specifically soul walking.”
“They used it to go on walkabouts?” Willow asked, surprised.
“No, they used it for coming back. Apparently, Lethe’s bramble is a kind of restorative, it helps reconnect body and soul. They theory is that the body left behind ‘shrinks’ from the soul’s absence, when the soul attempts its return, the body fights back, a fight most obviously witnessed by intense fevers.”
“Like fighting infections.” Willow said. “A fever is the body’s way of fighting off foreign influences.”
“Spike’s body would have ‘shrunk’ considerably over the hundred and some years it went without a soul.”
“And Tara’s body would have had to stretch to take on the parts . . .” Willow trailed off unable to complete her sentence. She focused her eyes on a glint of light shining atop the Sun cinema sign.
“It all makes a kind of sense. What is the soul but memories of lives present and past, of attachments to this reality and the divine. The river Lethe washes the body of the soul, the bramble which grows along side acts as trap.”
“A perfect substance for enacting spells having to do with memory.” Willow murmured. She pushed back on her own memories, the regrets of mistakes past. Other matters were more important. “Did Diana have any ideas about Tara’s memory flashes.”
“Nothing beyond what we’ve already construed. Willow, there’s no reason to think Tara won’t be able to continue to do as she’s been doing, making peace with the conflicts between her two histories. I suppose our only real worry is future memory storms resulting from her recalling the more traumatic aspects of our Tara’s life, but I imagine the worst has happened.”
“Remembering her murder.” Willow said, even though it was unnecessary. Giles grimaced. She stated to add, “the things I did,” but this time Giles stopped her.
“The period of bitter regrets is done, Willow. I’m not going to advocate for this American notion of closure, but I sincerely believe punishment for the past must end in due time, and due time has arrived. You are needed, Willow, by Tara, by Buffy, and by me. I realize sincere regret is very hard to move past, but move past you must. For all of our sakes.”
Willow looked into Giles’ eyes. “You believe that, don’t you.”
“With all of my heart.” Giles shifted about in his chair, as uncomfortable with his uncharacteristic “emotional excess” as with the hackneyed and so very American notion of “closure.” Indeed, it was only by Herculean effort that he managed to resist scrubbing the lenses of his glasses. “Now, it has struck me not all of Tara’s memory flashes are equally vivid, for example, earlier today I happened to mention in passing a book I know for a fact your Tara once read. From our Tara’s expression, it was clear to me she remembered the text, as well it was your Tara, not she, who’d read it. By no means, however, was the experience so all encompassing as her ‘remembering’ of our Tara’s death.”
Willow flinched, but only barely, at the word death; she also nodded. “It’s like if there’s some sort of trigger, a memory will come to her out of seeming no where. For example, she ‘remembered’ that Spike had come between Xander and Anya. And I think she’s also remembered that my Tara and Spike were almost friends. But like your example of the book, she wasn’t overwhelmed by the memories.”
“I believe I witnessed a similar example yesterday. Whilst I was showing Tara a training exercise I believe she had a recollection of me.” Giles leaned back in his chair. “Is it very hard for you, Willow? I cannot imagine the mixed feelings.”
“Buffy and I talked, yesterday.” Willow said, thinking Giles wasn’t expecting her to discuss her feelings with him, believing he was seeking assurance she was taking about them with someone, and so she was surprised by his next question. She took a moment to answer.
“When I look at her, I see her. She’s not my Tara, but I know she’s also not the person who crossed into our reality three weeks ago. She’s just her. And just her is pretty special.”
“Yes, she is.” Giles said.
They talked a while longer, thinking more on their research, and considering further the complexities of memory facing Tara, before returning to the Magic Box thirty minutes late and their trust in each other grown that much deeper. Both were coming back, returning from very different journeys, but returning all the same. Both were nearly there, both were nearly home.
***
Anya swirled her feather duster over the already spotless showcase that now ran down the middle of the store, Xander’s most recent improvement.
“Are you sure Giles isn’t planning a coup? He still hasn’t told us what brought him back to Sunnydale.”
Xander answered from one of the rear corners of the floor room, where he was almost finished sorting and counting the store’s inventory of silver candleholders. “Anh, I don’t think Giles has any interest in becoming shopkeeper again.”
“Even though the store is now turning a regular profit?”
“I can’t imagine Giles really caring about profit margins.” Xander muttered as he noted the inventory figure in his note pad. Anya’s annoyed sigh alerted him to his error. “Which isn’t to suggest that profit margins are unimportant or that shop keeping isn’t a noble profession. I’m only saying I think Giles is more himself as book-guy than sales-guy.” Xander slipped his note pad into the roomy side pocket of his cargo pants and then carefully closed and locked the door to the large vertical showcase.
Aware Anya was about to protest, Xander beat her to the punch. “Okay, I’ll give you he’s been playing his cards closer to the vest than usual, but you know Giles. He’ll tell us why he’s here as soon as he thinks it’s prudent.”
Anya walked back to the antique cash register and affectionately ran her fingers over the brass fittings that lined the top. “Did you just use the word prudent?”
“It was Tuesday’s word of the day. Wednesday’s was sophomoric and today’s is ileum. I have no idea how to weave the word ileum, which is part of the lower intestine, into conversation. The science words always suck that way.” Xander started to flush under Anya’s surprised stare. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t know you still did that?”
“Pay attention to the word of the day?”
“Try to impress me.”
Xander glanced down at his shoes and retreated into his “working man/salt of the earth” persona. “A man might spend most of his time pounding together chunks of wood, but that doesn’t mean he’s brainless.” He risked a quick glance at the vengeance demon that held his heart and was surprised to see a smile on her face he’d never thought he’d see again.
“You’ve got brains coming out of your ears.” Anya whispered. Quickly, before she had time to think, she darted across the store, kissed her ex-fiancé on the cheek, and then, just as quickly, darted back to her position behind the cash register.
His eyes back on his shoes, Xander grinned. “A compliment and a kiss. You’re filled with surprises today.”
“Finish your list of chores and you might get an even bigger surprise.” Anya blurted out just as a Willow and Giles came through the door.
Saved from having to come up with a comeback comment, Xander simply grinned and headed for the backroom. He had five more items on his list, a good hour and a half to complete them, and for the first time since May, he was a man who believed his plans would come to fruition.
***
(I'm sorry. When I posted this I did not realize the post was too lengthy and would cut off. I am adding a post to complete this chapter. Scroll past the next chapter post to find it. Again. I apologize for the confusion.)
Last edited by Tecnopagan on Wed Jan 13, 2010 11:14 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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