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Night of Broken Glass--PART 6
By Junecleavage
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and violence. There’s character death and a lot of close calls.
Uber setting: It’s 1943 Berlin, and the Nazis are the Big Bad
PART 6
Tara stood outside the SS building, looking up at the heavy stone façade, her stomach doing flip-flops. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Well, except she’d lied to Donnie about where she was going. And the thought of being watched by the secret police made her more than a little paranoid. But she sucked up her courage and followed through on her plan.
She walked into the building and headed straight for the front desk. She asked what floor she could find Detective Blood on. Third. She took a deep breath and headed for the stairs. As she entered the third floor foyer her eyes quickly scanned the room. She let out her breath in relief when she spotted the man she’d come to see. She walked quickly to his desk and stood a moment, waiting for him to look up.
“I- I ha- have something for you,” she said finally.
##
Wow. Xander looked up from his file to find Tara Maclay standing before him. She wore a smart-looking suit under a fur-trimmed wool overcoat. She’d removed her hat. She looked more than presentable. She was easily the most beautiful woman to walk onto the third floor in all his time working here. He was struck speechless. And then his brain finally registered the statement she’d given, the one that made him look up in the first place.
“You have something for me?”
“For Detective Blood, actually,” she said, but her eyes flashed something else. That wasn’t the whole truth.
She raised her arm to reveal a small suitcase. “I thought the authorities should have Wilma Hermann’s property—what she’d left at my apartment, in any case. This is everything. I thought- thought maybe you’d fi-find something helpful among her things. And- and I don’t expect her to come ba-back for them. I’m leaving them with you. I- I trust you’ll know what to do with them.”
Xander stared at her dumbstruck, unable to tell for certain what side she stood on. He came around the desk and reached out for the suitcase she offered. “I’ll make sure Detective Blood gets this,” he assured with an uncertain smile, his heart pounding.
As he accepted the handle, though, he noticed something papery wrapped around its grip. He smiled politely, ignoring it for now.
“Is- is there anything else official that I need to do?” Tara asked, and Xander wasn’t sure what she meant. Was she wanting to do everything by-the-book to avoid becoming further ensnared in The Wilma Hermann Experience?
Xander grinned. “I- I think that about does it. I’ll make sure Blood sees this. Thank you for being so thoughtful to help us.” He paused a moment and she gazed at him expectantly. Oh! He reached onto his desk for a card and quickly jotted down his phone numbers—office and home. He handed the card to her with a quick, “Call me if there’s anything you need, or if you come across anything else that might be…helpful.”
She accepted the card with a smile. Guess he’d guessed right. “Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were warm and relaxed now. She nodded, reluctantly, it seemed, before turning and walking out the way she’d come. Xander watched her go, thinking again how lovely she was. Once she’d disappeared down the stairs, he placed the case behind his desk and unraveled the paper from the handle. It was a small envelope addressed, simply: “Willow.”
Xander mused at that. Tara should have addressed it to “Wilma”—right? Even if the agents had told her Willow’s real name, Wilma was the woman Tara knew, right? Or did Tara know Willow? And if so, how…and what did that mean? He carefully folded the envelope and stuffed it in his pocket.
##
On the way home on the bus, Tara watched out the window, her mind a mess. She was noticing new things. Not just the earliest indications that spring was just around the corner. She noticed a police van parked outside a brownstone and officers escorting a family into it. Was it just a coincidence that she was noticing this today? Had she passed by other similar scenes in the past and not noticed? As the bus clambered by the train yards, she looked at the trains sitting at the station as if for the first time. Every German knew that the police used the trains to transport prisoners to work camps. She watched now, wondering which trains might hold passengers bound for the countryside or Munich and which might be headed someplace considerably more grim. She knew the government must rely on this type of labor to help with the war effort. It was helpful to the nation. But she also had to stop and think about the human toll, to have so many people relocated to these internment camps, where they gave up their worldly possessions and status to be laborers. Were the Schragenheims from across the hall working at just such a camp? She thought about Mrs. Schragenheim, with her arthritic hip and wondered how useful she’d be as a laborer. Her mind would allow her to go no further than that.
She watched everyday people walking along the streets, shopping, working, going about their everyday business. She knew each of them must, as she did, wish every day that the war was over and that the nation could rebuild, that they could share in the prosperity of making a better Germany and a more cohesive Europe. Would things really turn out so rosy in the end? It seemed she was only beginning to appreciate a new level of sacrifice being made to ensure this future: not only were good men like Riley and her brother on the line, and not only did every German citizen have to “do without” in order to save resources for the war. But also now the liberties of the people were being sacrificed. Those of the Jews were the most obvious, of course. But now there was also the liberty of speaking out against the war, which was causing a severe backlash at the universities. Someone on the bus today whispered that the arrests had spread now to universities in Munich. Tara herself was under suspicion and surveillance for actions she’d had no knowledge of. She craned her neck to look at the faces of the other people on the bus. The woman with the crying baby. The young soldier with a duffel bag over his shoulder. The older couple sitting primly, their mouths set in straight lines. Were any of these people under the employ of the SS and tasked with following Tara?
She decided she didn’t care. Or at least she’d not let it cow her into fear. If she was being followed, then fine. She’d show them what an everyday German woman did every day.
##
Spike heaved an enormous sigh. Tara Maclay was a pretty but very boring woman. Aside from that thing with Red, of course. Which, now that he thought of it, put a smile on his lips. You just never can tell a book by its cover.
He’d picked up Tara’s trail after she’d left SS headquarters. The Harris boy had brought the suitcase in to him. The one that Miss Maclay had been so kind to drop off. He’d invited Harris to stay while he checked out its contents. Of course, he was just yanking the boy’s chain. He knew that Red was his friend. Maybe even his girlfriend (though a pretty shitty one, if that were true). So he’d made a great show of inspecting the goods.
“You ever look through something like this before?” Spike had asked the boy.
“A suitcase?”
“No, stupid. Not just a suitcase…evidence.”
Harris shook his head.
“Step up, sonny, and let me show you how the pros go about their investigations.” Spike knew that Xander would be helpless to leave. He’d want to know what Tara had packed in Red’s suitcase. Hell, Spike kind of wanted to know, too, and not in a strictly professional sense.
“So do ladies bring you their luggage often?” the boy joked.
“Don’t I wish,” Spike had huffed. “Or, on the other hand, that would depend upon the lady. This lady? Yes.”
Xander feigned detachment. “Yeah? Why’s that?” For a Jewish sympathizer working for the SS, Harris was a rotten liar. Or maybe just when it came to his chums.
“Well, she’s pretty, for one. Miss Maclay, I’m talking about.” Spike popped open the clasps on the case and opened the lid. “And her lesbian lover Red, too.”
Harris visibly paled and seemed to have some difficulty wrapping his tongue around the word: “Uh, le-lesbian, you say?”
Spike smirked. “Yep. As in girl-on-girl. Miss Maclay’s brother claims he busted in on them. Says he was pretty shocked, actually. Ever know someone who was, well, like that?”
“Uh, shocked?”
“No, dim-wit. Queer.”
The boy’s face was red. “No.”
Well, now you do, Spike had thought to himself.
In the meantime, Xander seemed to be turning the concept over and over in his head without it all adding up. “The lady who dropped off the suitcase. You’re saying she’s a lesbian?”
Spike shrugged. “Part-time one, anyway. Seems she’s engaged to an army officer. So there’s probably still some hope for her. Plus, she was mightily embarrassed when we questioned her about it. She has quite a cute little blush when she’s flustered.”
Xander held his tongue. Spike regarded him a moment.
“Well, enough chit-chat. Let’s see what Miss Tara has packed here for Fugitive Red.” He shot Xander a sidelong glance. “Ever looked inside a lesbian’s suitcase?”
Xander shrugged. “Uh, until today I didn’t know there was such a thing. Seems like there’s a word for everything. And a thing for every word. Go figure.”
Yep, young Mr. Harris blushed when he was flustered, too, Spike noticed. He turned the case around on the desk so they both could examine its contents. Spike bit back a grin as his finger caught the waistband of a pair of women’s panties. He spun them on his finger a moment or two, appreciatively of course, and then put them down. He ran his hands through the rest of the items there. A couple of nice-looking suits. A few other undergarments, and a very pretty black lace dress.
“Apparently the ladies like to dance. I wonder if Miss Maclay wears the pants.”
Spike fully expected Harris to deck him on that one. He could tell the boy was upset. But he kept his cool, saying lightly, “I’ll, uh, just leave you here to your laundry sorting. Thanks for the teaching moment. I learned a lot. And now I’ve got to get back to my desk.”
Spike let out a sigh and shoved the suitcase across the desk at him. “Here. Take it. I’m done. There’s nothing here. Dispose of it in the usual way,” Spike said. But at the last moment he’d grabbed the pair of panties back. “I think I’ll keep these as a souvenir,” he chuckled, spinning them on his finger again before tucking them in his breast pocket where the lace of them stuck out like a fancy handkerchief.
Xander’s eyes were filled with anger, horror and disgust, and he took the suitcase with no comment. The little chummy smile he tried to give fell flat. Spike chuckled inwardly. He’d have to remember to invite Harris over for poker some time.
##
Xander took the stairs slowly. It wasn’t that the suitcase was heavy. It wasn’t. Willow owned next to nothing. But he was still fuming over Detective Blood’s torture. Of course, Blood had no idea Xander knew the ladies whose honor he was wiping his boots on. He was just being the same evil pig he always was. But then, Xander also now had a rather personal thing he wasn’t sure he wanted to know about Willow. Or that Willow would want him to know. Because if she wanted him to know, she’d say something about it, right? In fact, he wouldn’t have believed Blood’s story at all, if it weren’t for the little Willow-addressed letter Tara had passed to him. That had made it all click into place. If there were something important, she’d tell him. He and Buffy and Willow had no secrets, right? The three of them were on the inside of the circle and everyone else was on the outside. That’s why they relied on each other and risked for each other, right?
He composed himself and then opened the door to find Buffy and Willow enacting a warm family tableau in his bachelor apartment. Buffy had on an apron (Where did she find that? Xander didn’t even know he’d had one). She seemed to be actually cooking something in the kitchen. He’d never imagined her cooking. There wasn’t much about her that had ever screamed domesticity. And the teen cross-dresser look just made it seem all the more incongruous.
“You look like I should give you some kind of Scout merit badge. Maybe for science,” Xander quipped. Buffy gave him a playful scowl.
“It just so happens I do on occasion cook things,” she retorted. “I’m just not sure what it is I’m cooking yet.”
“My guess is chicken,” Willow piped up from the table where she was hunched over a stack of textbooks. “She’s been at it a while. And, well, it smells kind of chickeny.”
“I didn’t know I had a chicken. Of course, I didn’t know I had an apron, either, so maybe you happened upon both of them in the same drawer.”
“No drawer,” Buffy chirped. “Auntie Willow took me to the butcher shop. And now, what a good auntie, she’s helping me with my homework.”
Xander put down the suitcase by the door. “Homework? Like a wanted political fugitive can turn in homework assignments?”
Willow looked up sheepishly. “Nah, it’s just me. I needed something to do to keep my mind off, well, other things. And, hey, I’m all about doing homework that never gets turned in. The whole learning for learning’s sake thing?”
Xander took a seat at the table across from Willow and pulled the little envelope from his coat pocket. His voice was gentle. “Uh, Tara dropped by my office today.”
Willow’s eyes went wide with what? Surprise? Fear?
“She brought your suitcase…and this.” He slid the envelope across the table and watched her expression brighten at the loopy letters that spelled her name.
“She- she brought you my suitcase? As in she walked right into SS headquarters and gave it to you?”
“Up three flights of stairs, and yes.” Xander smiled. “I had to let the detective take a look inside the suitcase—you know, for clues or whatever. But then I was told to dispose of it in the usual manner, which I took to mean I could bring it home to you.” He decided to omit the part about Spike keeping a pair of her panties. He’d felt violated enough just watching the bastard go through her things. He couldn’t imagine how Willow, the owner of said things, would take that nasty bit of…nasty.
Willow looked grateful and puzzled and worried. “The letter. Did they…?”
“She gave me the letter separately. I haven’t opened it. It was addressed to you.”
She smiled thoughtfully and nodded. “So it is.” She fumbled with it nervously, as if she were afraid to open it. Or felt awkward opening it. “How did she…? I mean was she…okay?”
Xander nodded. “She was fine. She really looked great. Walked in like she owned the place. Not nervous at all—well, except for the nervous stutter. But then that’s just part of her charm. She took my home phone number. Maybe she’ll call.”
Their eyes met in kind of a quiet understanding. He wanted her to know he knew and that it was okay. He rubbed her hand affectionately and rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go see what chickeny dish the young master is preparing for dinner.” With that, he left Willow to herself. And her letter.
##
The last letter Willow received had been Buffy’s mom kicking her out of their house. So her heart pounded wondering what this one might contain. There were any number of reasons that might have spurred Tara to write. For example, maybe she needed to rationalize to herself why it was for the best that she and Willow be apart. Or- or maybe she wanted closure, or whatever. A more formal and wordy good-bye than was possible during their brief telephone exchange. Then there was the possibility she’d say that what had happened between them was a fluke—hopefully of the nice variety, as opposed to something hellfire-and-brimstoney—and that this was the sort of thing they’d both get over. God, she’d die if Tara went on about Riley and how she’d suck it up and marry him and be happy about it, too. Maybe she’d try—and fail—to be more sensitive by suggesting Willow look for some other girl who was more like her and shared more of the same interests. You know, like, survival? Or maybe she’d make Willow’s stomach tie in knots by saying that she missed her. Yeah, longing was probably the worst thing Tara could express. Because that would just fuel hope for something hopeless. Willow felt her face redden. There was no way this could turn out good.
Xander tipped his head out of the kitchen. “Will. You’re over-thinking again. Just open the thing.”
“It’s- it’s what I do: I think. I’m an over-thinker. And I kinda think I’m going to die.”
“Get the squirrels in your attic off the treadmill and open it. Tara cares about you. How bad could it be?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought it through…”
“Will, she brought you your underwear…”
Willow shot him a look.
“…which I so totally did not rifle through or even touch…and, uh, now I’m going to shut up.”
Buffy yanked him back into the kitchen, and Willow turned back to the letter.
What she didn’t know was that this was only one of two letters Tara had written and sent this day.
##
A letter from Riley had arrived in the morning mail. Donnie had pulled it from the mailbox with a smile and deposited it on the table before Tara.
“A letter from your future husband,” he said a bit too chipperly, she thought. She’d be glad when he was gone. Which was a terrible thought, considering that meant she wished him to go back to the eastern Front, which she certainly did not: She just didn’t want to be here with him. It was too hard. They were quickly accumulating animosity between them.
She took the letter to her bedroom and climbed up onto the bed. She hadn’t changed the sheets. On purpose. She wanted Willow around her—or at least something of Willow around her—and especially now as she read the letter. She slipped her fingernail under the flap and pulled the letter out. It was relatively short. She smiled as she recognized Riley’s handwriting.
“Dear Tara,
“I’m writing for two reasons. First, I feel the need to say how sorry I am about the way we parted. You are my lifeline, my everything when I am out here. I feel so far away from anything human or safe or kind or civilized, and it helps immeasurably knowing you’re at home where everything is familiar and normal. It helps me to know that you’re carrying on with everyday living when everything here is so surreal and frightening. You are my rock. I love you. You’re the bright and shining future I hold on to. You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep. I’m sorry to be away so long and that you worry so much about me.
That’s why my second piece of news should brighten your spirits a bit. I’ve been transferred to a new post. Instead of fighting on the Front Line (guess I’m being rewarded for serving my time here), I’m headed for an administrative post at Ravensbruck. It’s a collection camp for women prisoners of war and their children. Mostly Gypsies and Jews. It’s not too far north of Berlin. So I’m hopeful that from time to time I’ll be able to make it back to Berlin for short visits. And you won’t have to worry about me being in the line of fire. I’m headed there immediately, and I’ll write again soon. Take care. I love you.
Riley
Tara fixed her gaze out the window, trying to imagine what it could mean that Riley was coming off the Front and closer to home. She felt immense relief. She’d always feared the worst for him, and now he’d be out of danger. Ravensbruck sounded like a much better place. She didn’t know much about the camps. Germans tended not to think too much about them. She knew there were many, and that for the most part they were collection points for captured enemies who were put to work to support the German war effort. She imagined they were hard places to be—difficult to keep peace and order—but she had never heard or read anything else about places like that, so it was hard to picture what his new job would be like. That Riley was going to be an administrator at a women’s camp gave her some hope. He’d be safer. It would be easier for him. He deserved that.
But what did it mean that he’d be closer to home? She looked around her room as if looking at it for the first time. She’d be leaving in a few days—a week tops, maybe. She’d close up these rooms, and along with them her life here. Riley and Willow. A chapter ending? A new one beginning?
She went to her dresser and retrieved some writing paper and a pen and went to her desk.
“Dear Riley,
I’m extremely relieved to hear you’ve been transferred someplace much safer. I know I’ll sleep better at night not worrying about you out there. Please see what you can do to get my brother transferred there with you! I know it’s not as easy as that, but I worry about him, too. He’s been here the last few days home on leave. We’ve discussed closing up the house and having me go out to the country to stay with Beth until things cool down here. So it may take a while for your next letter to reach me if you’ve addressed it here. I’ll be sure to leave instructions for the mail to be forwarded.
I know you love me. It’s good to hear you say it. And I’m sorry, too, for how we left things. Sometimes I just get angry at having so little of you. I think I took that out on you. I hope it wasn’t too much of a burden on your mind. I want you focused on keeping your head down. Don’t let thoughts of me distract you from what’s important.
With love,
Tara
She slid out a second sheet of paper and addressed it to Willow.
The things she wanted to say to Willow she had no words for. Or perhaps that wasn’t entirely true, because she’d said some of them aloud. The rest, though, existed more in muscle memory and impulse, in touches both sweet and urgent, in scents and tastes and in sounds decidedly nonverbal. She felt a heat rise in her cheeks as she stared at the page, letting her defenses down gradually, shyly, as if a button at a time. The things she wanted to say were there, just beneath her skin. If only she could will them to flow through ink the way they naturally did through her blood.
“Willow,
You’ve been gone for only hours and it seems like forever. I can’t stand it. I’m sitting here in my bedroom and it feels like our bedroom. It is our bedroom, and I’m wishing you were here. I hope you don’t mind that I’m keeping the slip you wore the other night. In return, I’m sending you something of mine to wear.
And this is either the most foolish thing in the world or the bravest. But I love you. I need to find a way to see you.
You’re not going to like this next bit: Donald is making me close the house and go out to the country. I’ve convinced him to let me stay a week or so before I go. You’d said something once about wanting to ride horses? Maybe there’s some way you could visit. I don’t know how. And please—though you’re clever enough to find some way out there—don’t come if it’s too much of a risk. I can travel more easily back and forth.
My brain is going over a hundred different plans for how to make this work. I don’t know if it can. But it’s all I can think about. You’re all that I can think about. I have to know what this is. I can’t lose you. I only just found you. My need of you…it staggers me.
Yours.
Tara
##
Willow’s heart was pounding. She’d sat holding Tara’s letter for what seemed like a half hour. She’d read and re-read the thing, absorbing everything about it: the words, the loveliness of Tara’s handwriting, imagining Tara sitting in her bedroom writing the thing, imagining what she must have been thinking when she wrote it, what she must be feeling now, wondering what she was doing right now. It was past 9 p.m. Dinner was over and she and Donnie would be reading the paper, right? And, mostly, she was near exploding at the thought that Tara wanted her in the same way she wanted Tara. This was all something marvelous and new, and, yes, she’d ride a damn horse if she had to just to be near her. In fact, she’d risk very much. In fact, if Xander and Buffy weren’t here right now she’d slip out the door and over to Tara’s--and damn the secret police, anyway. In fact, she could wait until her friends were sleeping and slip out then. She’d keep to the shadows. She’d wear a dark coat and hat…Thoughts like these kept tumbling in her mind. Each plan more outlandish than the previous one. She even contemplated borrowing Buffy’s Hitler Youth costume, except it was bedtime for all the little junior stormtroopers…She dropped her head in her hands, frustrated with the intensity of wanting to be there instead of here.
Buffy bustled into the room and stopped short. “Oh, no,” she breathed, her eyes like saucers. “Who died?”
Willow looked up and met a gaze that was absolutely serious and absolutely terrified. Of course. It was the first conclusion any of them would jump to at the sight of emotion. She laughed. It started as a chuckle and then grew. Buffy relaxed and joined in. The tension they’d been holding, trying to keep their shit together with first Giles’s and then Jenny’s deaths, slowly released. Their laughter was the equivalent of whistling past the graveyard.
“Nobody died. Tara…It was the sweetest letter anybody’s ever written me.”
“So you’re…happy?” Buffy looked like she was trying to guess at charades. Had she guessed right?
Willow nodded, though she knew Buffy could spot the sadness there, too, of course. That girl had an intensity of focus that was sometimes a bit unnerving.
“Yeah. I know that happy tends to look all unhappy these days. But this is definitely happy. And kind of sad, too, I guess.”
“Is it more happy or more sad?” Buffy seemed to be testing this notion of shades of un-happiness.
“Definitely more happy. Until I think about it and then it all feels hopeless. That’s where the sad comes in. Oh, and there’s definitely some mad in there, too. I’m really pissed at Hitler right now. I think I just may have to misspell his name in the paper.”
“You mean something like Shitler?” Xander had come in again, carrying a stack of plates and silverware. He motioned for Willow to move the textbooks so he could set the table for dinner. The air was indeed smelling rather chickeny, and Willow was famished. “All assholes get what they deserve in the end, and he’ll get his,” Xander said lightly.
“Yeah, but I hope it’s kinda soon because I don’t know how many more nice people I can watch get what that asshole deserves.”
“Here, here,” Xander agreed. He looked first to Buffy who seemed deep in thought and then at Willow who seemed equally in her own world and wanted to bridge the gap among the three of them somehow. “Wait! I have just the thing to make this little dinner perfect.”
Buffy and Willow finished setting the table. Buffy presented her roasted chicken and potatoes, laying them at the center of the table. And Xander brought in three glasses and a tall bottle of what appeared to be Polish Vodka.
“Where in the world did you score something like that?” Buffy chuckled disbelievingly. It was hard to get coffee, let alone imported liquor. And people these days seemed like they could use a healthy supply of both.
“Buffy’s friend Spike at the SS office gave it to me today. After he made me promise to come to his next poker game. Well, and that was after he made me help him go through…uh…some evidence…from one of his cases.”
Willow frowned and looked at Buffy. “Which one is Spike, again? Is he the SS guy Dawn said you were seeing?”
Buffy looked shocked. “I am not seeing Spike. He and I have…Well, I don’t know what we have. A sometime thing, maybe.”
The color was rising in Xander’s face, and it wasn’t from embarrassment. Willow motioned to the meal lain out before the three of them and suggested they eat it. They took their seats in silence and spent a moment dishing up plates. Xander opened the bottle of vodka and liberally poured for the three of them. He slammed his shot, his face still red.
Buffy grasped his hand, and then Willow’s, nodding for them to do the same. Willow took Xander’s hand in her own. Prayer time?
“Ok,” Buffy began. “The three of us. We’re a team. We’ve been a team all along. And the three of us together are going to help keep each other from, you know, getting what Hitler deserves.” She looked at both of her friends solemnly. “Amen.”
Willow’s voice was light, though she definitely caught the tension in the room. “That was a really nice way to keep the prayer, you know, secular.”
Buffy shrugged. “As far as I can tell, religion is a perpetrator in this whole war and ethnic cleansing thing. I think the God everyone invokes is really a hell-god. For all the good that’s doing, I prefer to place my faith in myself. And a couple of people I care most about in this whole stupid world.”
With that, Buffy and Willow swallowed down their vodka.
“Ok, that was some good stuff,” Willow nodded. “The Poles know their potatoes. Very nice of your friend Spike to score you a bottle.”
Xander’s face was still dark. “Her ‘friend’ Spike is the guy who wants you dead,” he said flatly.
Willow blinked, and Buffy sighed heavily.
“Of course, Xander. Everybody at the SS wants me dead. I’m a Jew and therefore in need of cleansing. It’s ok. I don’t take it personally any more.”
“You don’t understand. Spike. Killed. Jenny. And he’s the guy who showed up at Tara’s for you. He’s the detective. William Blood. He’s probably out there right now tailing Tara waiting for the two of you to slip up.”
The room was starting to spin with fragments of new information.
“Whoa,” Buffy said. “What do you mean that he’s waiting for Tara and Willow to slip up? Slip up how?”
“Wait,” Willow interrupted. “What do you mean you’re having a ‘sometimes thing’ with the guy who killed Jenny?”
Yeah, she’s having sex with the guy who is going to kill you.”
Buffy shot back at Xander: “And what do you mean you’re going to play poker and chum around with this guy if he’s so bad? Which I’m not denying—the bad part--by the way.”
Who first? There was so much that needed to be said.
Buffy downed another shot of vodka and decided to go first.
“Spike is not my boyfriend. He’s not my lapdog. He’s bad. He’s in it all for himself. I pay him money and he gets me papers. Ironically, he arranged to get Jenny and Giles’ papers. Anyway, he’s not someone we can trust. But who knows? Maybe he’s got just enough of a soul to let things slip every here and there. Like he let me pass when he and his partner had me cornered at the university fair and square. And he showed me your picture, Willow, because I think he wanted me to know he was following you and that he knew what you looked like.”
“He knows I’m your friend?” Willow’s voice was small and troubled. “Should I even be anywhere near you?”
“I think he’s cutting us some slack, but he’s SS, so he can’t let us completely off the hook. He has that partner…”
“The Preacher,” Xander filled in. “Creepy black eyes. Way more evil than Spike. Spike just thinks he’s bad. That Preacher Caleb is the real deal.”
“So that means The Preacher would probably turn on your friend Spike in a heartbeat if he thought something were amiss,” Willow ventured.
“Maybe. They’re all a bunch of jackals,” Xander grumbled.
Willow turned to Xander. “So you work with them. Do you think Spike knows you’re Buffy’s friend, too?”
Xander pondered this a long moment. “God, I hope not. He’s always treated me the same way: like I’m a doorstop. Well, until today.”
“What happened today?” Buffy asked.
Xander and Willow exchanged glances. Buffy nodded at him. “Come on. Let’s get everything out. No secrets.”
“Well, today, he invited me over for poker. But that wasn’t until after he had me help him rummage through the suitcase Tara brought in for Willow.”
Buffy shook the cobwebs from her head. “Tara walked into SS headquarters with a suitcase for Willow?”
Xander sighed. “She played the game. Handed it to me with instructions to give it to the lovely Detective Blood. But she was palming a letter for Will when she handed it over. I kept the letter to give Willow. And gave the suitcase to Spike. He and I had a bonding moment over your underwear. Which I’m so very sorry about! I am trying to black out those memories! God help me! But after a cursory look through your things he gave it back to me. To dispose of. I suppose he could have known I’d bring it to you. Maybe he even wanted you to have it. I’m just really confused. He should be here right now if he really knew I was a part of this. I have student dissident Buffy and Jewish fugitive Willow staying at my apartment eating chicken and drinking vodka.”
“So maybe he is cutting us some slack,” Buffy said. “Did he say anything else?”
Xander looked uncomfortably at Willow.
“He, uh. He told me some things about you and Tara I’d rather not repeat.”
Willow felt the heat rise up into her face and her stomach did a flip-flop. “What did he say?”
Xander wouldn’t meet her eyes. It took him a moment to put the words together: “He said you and Tara are, uh, close.”
“Close?” Buffy’s eyes narrowed.
Xander let out a deep breath. “He said you are Tara are, uh, lovers.”
There was a pause and then Buffy jumped in. “Well, that just sounds like Spike yanking your chain, Xander. Just typical bullshit…”
“It’s true.” Willow’s voice was barely a whisper, but she didn’t look away. She looked at her friends helplessly. “…And it gets worse. I’m in love with her.”
She kept going, fueled by fluster. “And see, this is wherein the happy and sad thing becomes an issue. Because she loves me, too. Even though I totally lied to her about the Jewish thing, and her brother is sending her to live out in the country, and now the Gestapo is following her around. Oh, and I’m screwing up her thing with Riley. I just couldn’t help it. And her letter to me—the one she gave to Xander—it’s clear she can’t help it, either. She loves me. She wants to see me.”
It took a couple of moments of silence and toe scuffing on the floor, but then her friends got over the initial shock of Willow’s confession. Xander smiled softly, tipping the vodka bottle to fill Willow’s glass again. She really looked like she needed it. “You’re a very lovable person. I’m glad that someone finally sees it and appreciates you for it.”
Buffy was more pragmatic. “I hope this whole thing isn’t a trap.”
Willow looked at her hands, feeling flustered and wrung out. Wasn't evreything a trap? Did that even matter? She had the one thing that made all the risk worth it. And Tara's letter proved that Willow had it. That piece of paper suddenly was the most valuable thing Willow owned.
##
More to come
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You write like a pro.
^^