Title: Neverland Author: EasierSaid Feedback: Yes, please. Spoilers: None. Setting: AU. There is no Hellmouth, there is no slayer and no magic of the wicca variety. Just our girls and the rest of the Buffy characters living and loving in that great city by the bay, San Francisco. Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Please don't sue me Mutant Enemy. Notes: Phase 2 of The Plan. References to “Dopplegangland.”
Thoughts in italics
PART 71
The tea; she shouldn’t have had that cup of tea. Tara opened her eyes slowly, her bladder screaming at her to wake up, and her brow quirked as she became more fully aware of her surroundings. She was disoriented as she looked around; the light was all wrong for her bedroom. She twisted her neck and saw shadows that she didn’t recognize, smelled scents that didn’t belong in her apartment, and then her eyes flew open as she realized where she was. She sat bolt upright, knocking a pillow that had been placed under her slumbering head onto the floor, her heart thundering in her chest as her mind exploded into full consciousness.
Willow.
The blonde had fallen asleep on Marissa and Michelle’s couch, and from the look of things in the quiet, dark apartment, it had been hours since she decided to just rest her eyes for a moment while Michelle got her keys.
I didn’t call.
The blonde stood and immediately looked around. She didn’t know where the light switch was in the room, didn’t remember in her panic where her bag was to locate her cell phone. She took a step and stumbled, bumping into the coffee table and knocking something over. She needed to find her bag. She needed to call Willow and tell her that she was safe. She took another step and again stumbled. She looked down and disentangled her legs from a thin throw one of the married women must have placed over her as she slept. She threw the blanket onto the couch and brushed her hands over her face, exhaling sharply as she again tried to orient herself in the dark. Had she left her bag in the bathroom? Or by the front door?
Marissa quickly entered the room, tying the sash to her robe around her waist and then turning on a small table lamp. She rushed to the blonde’s side, placing her hands on the frantic girl’s arms to stop her from moving. “Tara. Tara, slow down. What’s wrong?”
“W-Willow,” Tara said wildly, her hands shaking. “I n-need to call her. I fell asleep a-and–”
“Okay, Tara,” Marissa said gently, her voice calm as she squeezed the blonde’s upper arms reassuringly. “We called her. She’s fine.”
It took a few seconds for the words to sink into Tara’s muddled mind. She relaxed, a small, relieved smile emerging on her lips before worry returned to her face, her brow knit. “Really?” the blonde asked, her voice small.
“Really,” the gallery owner said, her hands comfortingly squeezing the blonde’s arms again. “She’s fine. She knows you’re here and that you fell asleep on the couch. She sounded tired.”
“Oh,” the blonde said, looking down at the floor.
“She probably needs rest as much as you do,” Marissa said as she stepped back from the artist. “I told her that you had some work to do in the morning but that you’d be home around noon tomorrow.”
Tara nodded her head. Willow would be picking Buffy up at the airport at noon.
Marissa dipped her head until the blonde looked up and they made eye contact, the gallery owner smiling. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Tara said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I m-must have woken you up.” She looked to the floor again and noticed that the thing she had knocked from the coffee table was her backpack. The blonde’s brow quirked. One of the women must have put it there for her before they went to bed.
“It’s okay,” Marissa said. She reached over and picked the fallen pillow up off of the floor. “Let’s get you moved into the guest room. Far more comfortable than the couch.”
“Okay,” Tara said, nodding agreeably. She followed the woman into the guest room, carrying the backpack in her hand and then said goodnight as the frizzy hair woman left. Tara eyed her bag and then gave into temptation, pulling her phone from her bag and checking for messages. Of course Willow wouldn’t have called or texted. The redhead probably went to bed shortly after Marissa called. The blonde sighed and put the phone back into her bag, then slipped out to use the bathroom. She returned to the bedroom and then climbed into bed, resting her head on the cool pillow. She was nauseated, probably from lack of sleep, and she closed her eyes hoping that laying still would make the sickness recede. Within several minutes she was asleep, her spinning mind thankfully retired for the night.
She woke a little after 7:30 and ate breakfast with Marissa and Michelle, the three women congregating around the island in the married couple’s kitchen as they chatted sleepily over coffee and muffins. Anya called roughly an hour later to say that of course Tara could borrow the truck, anything for a customer buying that much paint, and besides, they were friends.
The four women went about doing the work that needed to be done, meeting at the studio just before 10:00. They organized the storeroom first, periodically grouping around the painting in the main room to discuss ideas on how to move the work without destroying it. As Marissa and Tara predicted the paint was still wet, so moving the work without irreparably damaging it would take tremendous amounts of luck and skill. The four women finally decided to carry the work down the stairs, gently holding the bars that stabilized the huge rectangle and hoping that in doing so they didn’t puncture the canvas on the other side. Once outside they gently loaded it in the back of the delivery truck. Michelle drove to the gallery—against Anya’s massive protestations and to Tara’s great relief—with the other three women precariously balanced in the back, gently holding the painting in place as they navigated the bumpy streets. They made it with one slip up, a series of finger prints on the lower left side which Tara quickly fixed with a palette knife. It was a miracle that they’d successfully moved the huge painting, and as Tara stood before it alone in the back storage area at the gallery, she couldn’t believe that something so beautiful was hers.
“Tara?”
The artist reluctantly turned her attention from the painting and looked over her shoulder. Michelle stood just inside the door, her keys in her hand. She smiled encouragingly. “Ready?”
Tara took a deep breath and nodded. She looked back to her painting, taking it in one more time. All of the love and the pain of its creation washed over her and she sighed, her stomach clenching tightly as she picked up her backpack and case of paints. She followed Michelle out of the gallery and toward her car in the nearby parking garage.
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Willow was groggy when she woke, her eyes blinking back the gray morning light slowly. She groaned and flopped her arm on the mattress as she rolled over, the comforter twisted around her body moving with her. She felt hungover, the emotional exhaustion from the last two days causing her to wake sluggish and slightly sick to her stomach. She quietly groaned and reached for her phone on the bedside table. She had forgotten to turn it back on before falling asleep and she guiltily thought there had to be at least one message by now. She powered the phone on and waited as it came to life, turning to face the screen when it buzzed. Three calls, all from Xander. She exhaled slowly. She owed him a call. He deserved to hear from her after everything he’d done for her over the last two years, yet the thought of calling him, of rehashing everything her mother said… She frowned and closed her eyes, the now-familiar sickness flaring inside of her. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the energy, and besides, if she did she’d start crying and she still needed to see Buffy in a few hours, to see Tara after that… She sighed and opened her eyes, deciding to text instead. She quickly typed out a message and hit send. It was only a minute before her phone pinged. ‘Love you Will.’ Willow pressed her lips together tightly and took a shaky breath. What would she do without Xander? She texted again and then sat up, blinking back tears as she put the phone on her bedside table and disentangled herself from her comforter.
She rose and leisurely showered, knowing that she wasn’t in a rush, but even with dragging her morning routine out she was still ready far earlier than needed to head to the airport. She tried to find something to do online, and even contemplated opening the server and working, but she was so nervous she couldn’t concentrate. Buffy’s apartment. She could go there. Maybe take the girl groceries. After all, with two weeks away Buffy’s fridge would be pretty sparse. The redhead had a spare key; it would be the friendly thing to do to stock her fridge with essentials. She grabbed her phone and headed downstairs, freezing momentarily as she entered the great room. Her eyes locked onto the two notes on the kitchen counter; one that Tara left and one she had left before heading to see her mother. Willow slowly walked to the counter and re-read her own note, then crumpled it up with a frown. She needed a new note. She took a small slip of paper and pen from beside the phone and wrote quickly, her nerves from yesterday over how to sign the note greatly dampened. For all she knew, Tara wouldn’t see this note either. She tossed the crumpled note in the trash, then quickly readied herself and left.
She walked up and down the aisles at Safeway slowly, half-listening to the easy listening music piped throughout the store as she perused the shelves. Milk. Eggs. Bread. Cheese. She looked down at the hand basket she carried and frowned. Milk. Eggs. Bread. Cheese. Because maybe, after she tells her best friend that she’s lied to her for two years, Buffy would like to partake in a tasty cheese omelet on toast. Willow sighed and threw a package of Oreos into the basket. She grabbed a few more impulse items and made her way to the front of the store, noting with some frustration as she waited in line that the trip didn’t kill as much time as she’d hoped. After checking out she went to put the receipt in her back pocket of her jeans and frowned, feeling something already there. She put the grocery receipt in her jacket pocket and then dug into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out small slips of paper, Tara’s name written on them in various colors of ink, the blonde’s name framed in little hearts. Anya’s store. The samples. Willow sighed, returning the slips to her back pocket. She really needed to do laundry soon.
She stopped by Buffy’s apartment and unloaded the groceries. The redhead looked around once done, wondering with morbid fascination where they’d be when she revealed everything. Standing at the counter in her kitchen? Sitting on the couch? The knot in her stomach turned, and she exhaled to try and keep her nerves from overwhelming her. She checked the time and decided to make her way to the airport. She arrived at the airport with a little less than an hour to kill, and spent the time nervously checking news and email on her phone. She paced at the foot of the escalator by baggage claim once the board showed Buffy’s flight had arrived, the redhead’s nerves building, until she saw Buffy descend into view, a tired, wide smile on her face. Willow smiled in return, and stepped forward to help Buffy with her bag.
**************************************************************
Tara felt like she had held her breath the entire drive home. Michelle kept quiet as they navigated the rain-slick streets, knowing that any attempt to engage the artist in conversation would be met with politely distracted answers at best. Tara thanked the spiky haired woman when she stopped her car in front of the artist’s apartment, the blonde noticing with a quick flick of her eyes up at her home’s dark windows that her apartment was empty. She didn’t think Willow would be home—she was undoubtably picking Buffy up at the airport any minute—but the redhead’s absence still made her stomach twist. She exited the car with a small smile and wave, and backpack and paint case in hand, headed to the front door.
The blonde took the stairs slowly, and put her key in the lock with a deep breath. She turned the key and then opened the door, slipping inside and locking the door behind her with her eyes trained on the floor the whole time. She was nervous about what she’d see on the kitchen counter. Did Willow leave her a note before she left? What would it say? She looked up and felt the wind sucked out of her. Her note was still on the counter; she recognized the paper, could see her handwriting and the blue ink she had used. But it was creased. Bent. The redhead had obviously held it at some point, her fingers pressing into the paper and leaving marks. But… it was still on the counter. Discarded. What was Willow's reaction to it?
And then Tara’s brow knit as she looked beyond her note. There was another, smaller slip of paper sitting on the counter next to the one she’d left. Tara dropped her bag and case and hurried to the counter, picking up the second note in her trembling hands. ‘Picking up Buffy. Talk when I get back?’ The blonde read quickly. And then Tara felt her breath hitch. ‘Love, Willow’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘Love, Willow.’ Even if it was just mimicry, or a kind gesture to sooth her embarrassment, it was more than she could have hoped for in the moment, more than she probably deserved given her disappearing act. That Willow didn’t hold it against her, that Willow didn’t hate her for leaving, was such a profound relief.
Tara quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, a dopey smile on her face. She looked around her apartment, noting the time on the microwave clock as she did so. Now what? She couldn’t imagine Willow simply dropping Buffy off; the petite blonde would inevitably invite the girl in, and if what was about to happen between them happened, Willow very well might be over there until nightfall. The blonde took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled as she realized she probably wouldn’t see Willow for a couple of hours at least. She placed the note back on the counter and took her jacket off, immediately noticing how chilly the apartment was. She crossed back to the front door and stowed her jacket and shoes by the secretary desk, then picked up her discarded backpack and case and headed to her studio, stopping to bump up the thermostat as she went. She placed the two item in the corner of her studio and then headed back out toward the stairs. She needed to shower—she was still entirely too colorful—and then she needed to find something to keep her distracted while she waited for Willow to return.
**************************************************************
Buffy and Willow spent the entire drive back to the petite blonde’s apartment discussing the girl’s trip. After a lengthy rant about how her flight home was the last time she’d ever lay over in Denver to save $100, the perky girl caught the redhead up on everything Dawn, much to Willow’s delight. It felt good to listen to her old friend sound so happy. Buffy effusively shared observations on what she liked about Boston, and was quick to apologize for not visiting while Willow lived there, saying that perhaps the two of them could fly back to visit Dawn in the spring, just the two of them, and Willow could show her around. Willow responded that she’d like that, thinking nervously that she hoped the offer would still stand after their long overdue conversation today.
They brought the petite blonde’s bags in and settled at the bar in the kitchen, Buffy quickly tearing off a piece of bread from the baguette Willow bought and woofing it down while Willow poured them each a glass of water.
“The grocery store run was above and beyond, Will. Thank you,” Buffy said, wiping her mouth as she swallowed her last bite.
“Well, a hungry Buffy is a cranky Buffy,” the redhead said with a slight smile.
“Thanks,” the petite blonde deadpanned. “So how have things been with you?” She asked, taking a small sip of water. “Like working from home?”
Willow swallowed hard, thinking about all of the little moments she got to spend with Tara this past week because of her office’s fumigation. How insanely precious the past week had been. “It’s been nice.”
The petite blonde nodded. She looked down at her hands before she spoke. “How’s Tara? Is she doing okay?"
"I, I don't know,” the redhead said, surprised by the question. “I haven't talked to her in a couple of days."
“Really?” Buffy asked, genuinely surprised. The two girls had been inseparable while she was away; it seemed like they’d spent every waking moment together. And living together… How could they have gone days without seeing each other?
“Really,” Willow confirmed with a slight head bob. She felt sick.
“Oh,” the petite blonde’s brow quirked. She looked up and guiltily met Willow’s eye. “Tara and I sort of had a fight Friday night,” she admitted. "As in, ‘I stuck my foot in my mouth and proceeded to hurt her feelings, aren't I a total jackass,’ fight."
"A fight?” Willow asked, confused. Friday night? But we were together Friday night…
"Yeah,” Buffy said as she puffed out a deep breath. "It was stupid. I, was stupid." The petite blonde looked at her old friend. "She didn't mention it?"
"No," the redhead replied, amazed. And then she remembered. Before they went on the roof Tara had gone to her studio to paint. There had been a phone call. She said it was a wrong number… The redhead thought, her brow knitting. Why had Tara lied?
Buffy sighed contritely. "I owe her a big apology. A huge apology. And honestly? I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to accept it."
Willow looked up at that. She warred with her next words. "What did you fight about?" She asked tentatively.
Buffy shot a look at the redhead and then shook her head. "It's not really important,” she answered with a sheepish smile.
Willow just nodded, distracted.
Buffy evaluated her old friend. The girl seemed so withdrawn. "Willow..." The petite blonde began cautiously.
"Hmm?" The redhead asked, looking up.
"Are you mad at me?"
Willow turned her full attention to the petite blonde and steeled herself. It was beginning. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm definitely not mad at you."
"Is it Xander?” Buffy asked hesitantly. “About his new job? Because I know you were hoping he'd move up here and now he probably won't."
The redhead shook her head. "It's not Xander."
"Then what's with the frowny face, Will? You look like someone ran over your computer."
Willow nodded in acknowledgement, her voice tight. "I had a bad day yesterday."
"Work?" Buffy asked, before quickly continuing. "Only, yesterday was Saturday, so no work. Though, it is you, so–"
"I saw my mom yesterday," Willow interrupted quietly. "She was in town. It didn't go well."
Buffy's brow furrowed. "Didn't go well? Why?"
"I told her something that she didn't like and we sort of had a fight," the redhead said, grateful that her voice didn't catch.
"About...?"
"About me being gay," Willow said simply. The redhead looked directly into her old friend's eyes. "I'm gay, Buffy."
"Oh," the petite blonde said, truly shocked. And then the words sunk in. "Oh..." So her gut feelings weren't always right. Her conversation with Tara on Friday… "Oh."
Willow waited patiently as the wheels in the petite blonde's brain obviously turned.
Buffy looked up and made eye contact. "Are you okay?"
And the question was such a huge relief. "I've been better," the redhead admitted tearing up, and the petite blonde moved forward and hugged her tightly.
They stood together next to the counter in Buffy’s kitchen for a long while, Willow wrapped in her best friend’s strong arms. “I love you, Will,” the slim redhead heard spoken softly into her hair as Buffy held her tightly. “This doesn’t change anything, okay?” The redhead couldn’t do anything other than nod, she was so choked up. After a long embrace, Buffy let go and met Willow's eye. “Do you want to talk about it, your mom?”
“No,” Willow said, shaking her head emphatically. “No.” She paused, her face twisting. “Buffy, it was awful,” she said as she looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. Buffy nodded and took the redhead back in another tight embrace, letting the girl compose herself with heaving sighs as she rocked her slowly.
“I’m here for you, okay,” Buffy said as she stroked her friend’s hair. “Anytime you want to talk.” She felt the redhead nod against her shoulder. After a long while, Buffy pulled back and looked her old friend in eye again. She spoke softly. “Does Tara know?"
"Tara...?" A crease formed between the redhead's eyes. "I, I haven't told her," Willow said as she wiped a few stray tears from her eyes, surprised by the question. On a list of first things Buffy would ask after inquiring after her mom, that was probably the last.
"But she suspects?" Buffy asked gently.
[“I]What…?[/i] Maybe?" Willow answered guiltily, still confused by Buffy’s line of questioning. Her flinch replayed in her mind and she swallowed down the sick feeling that had persisted since Friday night. Yes, she amended.
"Do you have feelings for her?" Buffy asked, and Willow felt the truth swell inside her.
"Yes," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She had to be honest.
Buffy nodded. The redhead could tell the petite blonde's brain was busy, and she didn't want to push. "Xander–"
"He knows," Willow confirmed, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"When did you tell him?” Buffy asked.
Willow took a deep breath. "I told him two years ago."
Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Wow." She felt like she had been punched in the stomach.
“Buffy–“
“Wow,” the girl repeated as she walked away. Willow watched anxiously as her old friend paced, the girl’s eyes trained on the floor, her mind racing.
“I’m so sorry,” the redhead said.
“Sorry,” Buffy repeated as she looked up. Her face was flushed red; Willow couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Buffy blush.
“I can explain.”
“Great,” the petite blonde said, nodding her head. “Because I really want to hear it.”
“Okay,” Willow said as she took a deep breath, twisting her hands nervously before her. She had practiced this so many times, but now, in the moment, it all seemed so forced. Fake. She looked her old friend in the eye. Best to just start at the beginning. “Do you remember when I visited you and Tara three years ago?” Willow asked.
“Of course,” Buffy said, her face twisting. “But what–“
“Three years ago, when I visited,” the redhead interrupted, her voice gentle, reassuring. “You left me with Tara to go to work; you spent the night at Riley’s.”
Buffy remembered. In retrospect staying with him that night had been so selfish, but at the time, with how in love she had been… She sighed as she was flooded with emotions from that time. Thinking about him and what they had had was jarring. It had been safe. She had been happy. How she had messed up that relationship… She swallowed hard and turned her attention back to the redhead.
“Tara and I went to the park,” Willow continued softly. “The Academy of Sciences museum.”
“I remember,” Buffy said nodding, her emotions careening wildly inside of her.
“I fell in love with Tara that day,” Willow said simply. “I didn’t know it was happening in the moment—it sort of hit me later on during that trip—but I knew that I loved her before we left for Sunnydale.”
The petite blonde was floored, both by the timeline and the intensity of emotion. ‘Love?’ When Willow had admitted to having feelings for the artist Buffy had expected a crush, like when Willow first started babbling about Oz back in high school. She expected that Willow would gush about how cute she thought Tara was, or confide that she was starting to think about Tara as more than a friend… But ‘love…’ Buffy shook her head. She was stunned. “Why didn’t you say something?” She asked quietly, the reality of Willow being in love with Tara, for years, apparently, starting to sink in. “We were in the car together for six hours.”
“I was scared,” Willow said. “I had never felt that way before, about anyone. And for it to be a girl someone…” She took a deep breath. “A-And I was still with Oz, graduating, living on the other side of the country… It was, really confusing.”
Buffy nodded, allowing her friend that. They made eye contact and Buffy nodded her head again, urging her friend to continue.
The redhead took another deep breath. “Do you remember when I visited you in Sunnydale two years ago?” Willow asked more gently, and the petite blonde nodded.
Buffy remembered that visit acutely. Seeing Willow had been such a breath of fresh air; she had needed it so badly, she had been suffocating. Her mom, dead for six months after a sudden illness, recovery and then aneurysm. Selling the house she and Dawn called home. In a contentious custody battle with her absentee father. Looking at a summer full of classes to make up for the ones she had to drop when her mom died, just so she could graduate and get a job that wasn’t at the Doublemeat so she could prove that she could support her sister… And Spike. She bit back the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of his name. How confused and degraded she felt in that secret relationship. Buffy struggled to remain calm as she was put back into that time emotionally, rage and embarrassment tearing through her veins.
Willow carefully evaluated her silent friend, the petite blonde’s face growing tighter by the moment, and decided to continue talking.
“I had just broken up with Oz…” the redhead said softly. “I was gay, and in love with someone who lived on the other side of the country, a-and I wasn’t her type; she probably never even thought about me, even…” She shook her head. “I had just gone through the hardest year of my life, doubting myself, wondering, was I really gay or was it a phase, and I was just so mixed up and confused. And when I got to Sunnydale… I felt like if I didn’t tell someone how I felt, that I was gay, that I was going to burst. I tried to tell my mom but it went so badly and…” She looked at Buffy, speechless and sighed. “I ended up at Xander’s and told him. I told him about falling in love with Tara, about how confused I was about what that meant for me, my future… And then the next day you showed up and you had us going on a double date with Richard and his friend…”
Buffy swallowed hard. Richard. She had forgotten about him. He was nice. Too bad she had never given him a chance. She had been too distracted by whatever it was she had been doing with Spike. She looked up at Willow and clenched her jaw.
“I wanted to tell you Buffy,” the redhead said earnestly, her brow knitting. “But when we went on that date… You were playing matchmaker and trying so hard to set me up with that guy… You looked so happy, for the first time in so long and it was just–” She sighed. “I’m Old Reliable, remember?” She asked, calling back to a high school conversation Buffy undoubtably had long forgotten. “People rely on me. I record shows that I think people will want to watch, or bring an extra banana in my lunch in case anyone’s hungry. I research where all of the best restaurants are,” she said, her face turning scarlet as she remembered doing that very thing for her mother the night before. “I didn’t want to let anyone down and I really didn’t want to let you down. Not when you had always been there for me and especially not when you were going through so much.” She waited for Buffy to speak, but the girl was silent. It was unnerving. “Buffy?”
“Wow. I." The petite blonde paused, organizing her thoughts. Willow and Tara. They got her through that dark time. Xander too, in his simple way. And she had failed them all. "I must not be much of a friend.”
"Buffy," Willow said, the petite blonde's words stinging. "You're my best friend."
"Your best friend?" Buffy raised her brows in disbelief, her face flushing red.
“You are,” Willow insisted, her voice hurt.
“But you don't trust me,” the petite blonde said, her pride wounded. “Not really."
"No, I do," the redhead surged forward. "I so totally do. I didn't keep this from you to be mean, or, or, mean."
"Then how come you didn't tell me until now?” Buffy said, her voice frustrated and hurt. “I mean, I know I wasn’t the greatest friend two years ago with everything that was going on–“
“Buffy,” Willow said, her brow deeply furrowing. She never thought that, and never meant to imply that to her old friend.
“I know I was selfish and self-centered–“
“No, Buff–“
“But after everything with Dawn and my dad and Spike; how hard I’ve tried this last year to move past all of that,” she said, meeting Willow’s eye. “God, the last three months,” she said, a false smile on her face. “How many times have we hung out since you moved to San Francisco?”
“I don’t know,” Willow said quietly, chastened.
“And before that? ‘Move in with Tara, Will,’” Buffy said, imitating herself from months before. “’You guys will get along great, Will,’” she continued. “‘Just get to know her, you’ll like her, Will.’”
“I–“ Willow stopped, shame flooding her features. “I know how this must seem. But, you have to believe me when I say I didn’t mean for it to get like this. When I told Xander– It just happened so fast and I got kind of overwhelmed, by it, and Xander was there and you weren't and then by the time you showed up I was sort of doubting everything again and I was just, afraid."
Buffy nodded, allowing her old friend that. "But at some point you stopped doubting.” She thought of Willow visiting Xander three weeks ago. How they must have talked about this, about Willow’s long-standing unrequited feelings for Tara, about how they’d kept this from Buffy for years because she… She seethed at the thought of them talking about her behind her back. “At some point in the last two years you stopped doubting. And yet you still didn't feel the need to tell me."
"I did," Willow countered, to Buffy's raised eyebrows. "Feel the need, it, it just, there never was a perfect time–“
"A perfect time?" Buffy repeated incredulously.
"Your mom died, and–“
"You're going to use my mom dying as an excuse?" Buffy asked icily.
"No, I. This is coming out all wrong." Willow said, frustrated. "I just, we didn't see each other, much, a-and when we did, it was just, such, bad timing. I couldn't be like, ‘Sorry your mom died, here's this big thing about me, la-de-da.'" She sighed. "And I didn't want to do it over the phone. I couldn't just call you up from a different time zone thousands of miles away and say, ‘How are things, oh I'm gay, as in, lover of women, not just happy.'"
"Of course you could have!" Buffy's jaw set. "You could have just called. Or wrote an email, or said it in IM, or in a text! If we were good enough friends, you would have. God, what did you think would happen if you didn't tell me face-to-face?"
"I don't know,” the redhead said, honestly unable to articulate what she had been so worried about. “That things would change, that you'd wig out–"
"Why would you think that?” Buffy asked, exasperated. “Why on earth would you think that, knowing how close I am to Tara?"
"Because it’s different—I’m not Tara. I'm Willow, old reliable Willow, your wing woman," Willow said, flustered. "Your trusty double-date partner, person, and I know how much that means to you, to have that, for me to be that person and I was scared that if I wasn't that person you'd–"
"What?" Buffy demanded.
"Be disappointed in me."
Buffy sighed, frustrated. “Maybe I would have—for like a half a second. I mean, not disappointed in you, but, yes, I have liked having you be there for my stupid straight double dates…” The girl paused. “But Willow, you're my best friend. You're like a sister to me. How could I not be happy for you? I mean, do you really think I'm that selfish?"
“Selfish,” Willow said, taken aback. “No, I–”
"And, god, the arguments I've had with Xander about you two–”
"Arguments..." Willow interrupted, shaking her head confused. "What arguments?"
Buffy shook her own head, her face red, brushing off Willow's question. “Have we really drifted so far apart that you and Xander would hide something this major from me for two years because of some stupid double dates?”
“No,” Willow sighed, frustrated with her inability to explain how she felt, why she had been afraid. “It’s not just the double dates–“
“Then what?” Buffy asked, exasperated. “What could it possibly be? Don’t you know that you can tell me anything—anything—and I’d be there for you? Be happy for you if you were happy? Willow, I love you.”
"I know, I just–” Willow huffed in frustration. "This is not how I expected this to go."
"Really," Buffy replied sarcastically. “Because you had like, what, two years to plan how I would react? What did you think I would say?"
Willow shook her head and said meekly, "I don't know."
The two women stood opposite each other quietly, tension thick. Buffy finally spoke. “I think you should go."
"Buffy," Willow replied, surprised to her core, her face falling.
"I'm super happy for you Will,” Buffy said, her voice wavering. “I really am, and in a week or two I'm sure I'll feel warm and fuzzy about you, but right now… Right now, my feelings are so hurt." She stopped speaking abruptly, tears starting to fill and sting her eyes. She swallowed hard to try and keep her composure. "I'm embarrassed, and my feelings are hurt, and I think I need to be alone right now."
“Buffy…” Willow said, her shoulders sagging.
“Please,” the petite blonde said again, fighting to keep the tears at bay.
"Okay.” The redhead nodded her head contritely. “I’ll go.”
“Trust me,” Buffy said, her voice quietly strong. “I fully understand the irony of saying that I’m here for you and then asking you to leave, but if I don’t have a chance to be alone right now I think I might say something I don’t mean and I really don’t want to do that.”
“Okay,” Willow repeated. She stood, her fingers twisting before her. She picked her jacket up off the kitchen counter and walked toward the door, turning before she took the handle in her hand. “I’m sorry." It was the second time in two days that she’d ended a conversation with those words.
Buffy just nodded. She watched Willow leave, and when she heard the door click behind her old friend, her face screwed up and she cried. She allowed herself to cry for a couple of minutes, the tears finally slowing down until she was left with just sniffles and a hitch in her breath. She quickly wiped her eyes and blew her nose, taking a deep breath to try and regulate her breathing. She couldn’t shake the old feelings careening inside of her. Her mom dead. Losing Dawn to her dad. Spike. And Willow. Willow, who had a been her rock, her breath of fresh air… and who she had apparently failed. She had been so closed off, for years. She thought about Willow, hiding in her room after she moved in with Tara, in love with the blonde but too afraid to say anything and her heart hurt. It hurt for Willow, it hurt for Tara—because she knew Tara loved Willow, too—and it hurt for her. When had she gotten so cold? Was it when her mom died? Or before that, when things with Riley didn’t work out? Or was it even earlier, with Angel? She ducked her head and then brought it back up. When was the last time she had really listened to what was important to Willow? She thought about all of the times she had avoided listening to Willow’s work stories because it hurt too much to have that constant reminder of her mom’s death, how many times she tried to distract the always-reluctant redhead with another stupid double date because she felt so lonely after what had happened with Riley and Spike. Kevin, Buffy thought, her face screwing up in shame as she remembered the handsy man she had surprised Willow with at Tara’s pre-gallery party.
She took a deep breath, and new thoughts filtered in. She had been closed off, yes, selfish maybe even, but how could Willow and Xander have excluded her from something so important? She thought of last summer at their friend Amy’s wedding, how the three of them had gone together, but really, it was the two of them and her. God, Xander knew when he moved to Boston; he likely moved there to help Willow, to be there for her, and where was she? Sleeping with Spike and lying about it. Buffy took a deep breath as the feelings from that time again threatened to overwhelm her.
She paced for a minute and then walked to the bathroom where she quickly stripped and took a shower. She washed the cross-country flight from her skin, her eyes stinging with anger and hurt. She stepped from the shower and roughly toweled off, her wet hair hanging around her shoulders as she made her way into her bedroom. She dressed in comfortable clothes and then sat on her bed, her jaw tight. She sat for a long time, still, collecting herself, organizing her thoughts and emotions. And then she stood, grabbed a few things from her bedside table and a workout bag from her closet. She picked up her phone as she exited her apartment, dialing as she locked the door. She took several steps toward the stairs and spoke when the other party answered. “Hi, Jim? It's Buffy."
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Willow drove away from Buffy’s apartment in a daze, giving no thought to where she was going except that it wouldn’t be home. She couldn’t see Tara like this. She was stunned. That the petite blonde thought Willow and Xander had kept this from her because Buffy was selfish, or a bad friend… It tore at Willow. And arguments. Buffy and Xander had argued? Her brow was deeply furrowed as she turned onto Geary, heading away from downtown toward the ocean. A detour at 16th took her to Clement and she followed that for a while before stopping, the Royal Grounds sign catching her eye. Several minutes later she was back in her car driving, the smell of a freshly made mocha tickling her nostrils.
She first visited Eagle’s Point three weeks after moving to San Francisco. Tara had recommended it in passing, saying it was one of her favorite places in the city. Located near The Legion of Honor museum, it provided stunning views of the Golden Gate Bridge and Baker Beach below. Tara had mentioned over dinner one night how often she liked to sit there and watch container ships go under the bridge. How calming she found it. How inspiring. Willow had visited the next day.
The redhead parked her car near the point and sat for a long moment, her hand reaching for the drink she had picked up at Royal Grounds. It had stopped raining, but the ground outside looked saturated and squishy. She assumed the nearby golf course would be closed for the day, and she turned and looked to the backseat of her car for something waterproof she could sit on outside. She found a Whole Foods reusable bag and grabbed it, tucking it under her arm as she exited her vehicle, the steaming cup of coffee in her other hand. She locked her car with a beep and headed toward the raised wood deck tucked amidst a short bank of trees. She could see her breath in the cold, crisp air, and she pulled her jacket tightly around her. The sky was dark, only a few patches of blue peeking through, but the bridge was clearly visible, the orange spires seemingly reaching up to touch the ominous sky.
She stepped up onto the empty deck, her footsteps echoing as she made her way to the railing. Not even the most persistent tourists would be out this way during a storm, and she enjoyed the solitude the recent shower had afforded her. She looked at the bridge and sighed. Iconic and familiar. She thought about how Tara described it, like it was hers, in a way, and she slightly smiled. Lucky bridge.
She turned, found a bench and walked over to it. She placed the reusable bag on the wet wood and sat down on it, resting the steaming cup carefully on the wood bench next to her leg. She was careful not to rest her back against the backing, or to tuck her legs up into contact with the wood; the last thing she wanted to do was get her clothes wet, to be as uncomfortable physically as she felt emotionally. She sat for a long while, not thinking of anything in particular, letting the cold air seep into her lungs. She felt numb. It had taken her three, long years to get to this point, and now that she was here… She took a deep breath. She was finally out. She thought back to that night after the park, how scared she had been, how terrifying it had felt to admit to herself that she was in love with Tara, and later that she was gay. It seemed so long ago. Three years. She had earned a master’s in that time. Started her second job post-college, moved cross country. She shook her head. Three years. And now, now she was out. She had gone through with her plan. Her mother knew. Buffy knew. And hopefully, in a short time Tara would know.
She took a shaky breath. She thought she’d feel relieved, that telling her mom and Buffy would be like lifting a giant stone off of her chest, but the uncertainty the truth had introduced into her life was just like lifting one stone off and setting a different, equally heavy rock into its place. Would her mom ever accept her? Would Buffy ever forgive her? The redhead took a deep breath and pulled her coat tight around her, the chill she felt coming from deep inside her. And Tara. Willow smiled softly to herself despite her roiling emotions, her heart skipping a beat in reminder of what was really important. Things would be different the next time she saw Tara. She’s no longer be “straight Willow,” silently pining, secretly flirting. She’d be out. She’d be strong. And she’d beg the girl for forgiveness before telling her everything. About how she fell in love with her that day in the park, the memory of them holding hands in the tulip garden getting her through some of the darkest times in her life. About how she had wanted to kiss her Friday night, about how she’d wanted to kiss her a thousand times before that, and how, if the blonde allowed, she’d kiss her every day for the rest of her life. All because she loved her. Ardently. Absolutely.
Willow took a deep breath and stood. She picked up the bag and the still-full cup. The mocha had long gone cold so she tossed it in a waste bin on her way to her car. She threw the reusable shopping bag in the back seat and started her car. With a quick check of the mirrors, and a confirmation that her head lights were on, she pulled away from the curb and headed for home.
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