Just thought I would let you know I'm still reading and enjoying your writing, although lately just lurking. Too much time (and brain! ) used up in college assignements to spare for other activities :(
All your commentaries about the process of writing are too awesome to miss. They might even come in handy for my studies! (I study English language and literature as well as translation). When I have more time, I'd love to go back and read it all in more detail. It has always been a mistery to me, how people manage to write fiction. I guess I just lack the imagination for it, so it's a good thing you writers are willing to share!
And since I mentioned the "willingness to share", I should add that I've been reading what you and others said in "the art of leaving feedback" thread, and I think that made me decide to give at least some tiny useless "still like it!" feedback, if only to let you know I'm still reading and appreciating your story. Plus, also because I read your stats post and thought 15 were too few!

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Ich bin für Liebe, ich bin für die die's lieben zu leben; ich bin für die, die Liebe geben auch wenns schwer ist im Leben. - Curse, "Widerstand"

I’m away at conference, which is the main (but not only) reason that Changes is being delayed. Fie! Fie on all obligatory social networking!

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TinyAnt- It was sweet of you to speak up again. I do wonder about who reads this little experiment and every voice who speaks up is appreciated. A bit of comfort- the 15 in those statistics were the number of people, not the number of replies. I have a few folks that write in after every chapter, and some that have only written in once. Overall, it was 15 people. I think I’m up to 17 now… I’d have to check.

I know that typing up responses in something other than your native language is time consuming (my emails in Japanese take me about 4 times as long as in English, and that’s with friends who won’t mind a few mistakes) and that extra effort makes it that much harder to find the time. When you have the time, I appreciate your words, but I understand the intervals in between.

It was also lovely to hear that you’re enjoying my blog-like commentary on this process. When you say “you writers” and suggest that I might be useful to your studies, I have to put up a big caution sign… There are things that I am good at. Writing fiction is not (yet?) one of them. As such, the commentary I provide is just that; commentary. It isn’t instruction, guidelines, or even particularly informative… but hopefully it is entertaining and maybe it’ll help somebody else out there realize “hey, if even she can do it, I can do it too!”.

On the imagination thing… here’s a challenge for you. Take a part of this story. Any part. Say “what if…” and take it from there. What if Miss Kitty hadn’t tried to escape, and therefore Buffy hadn’t been caught by the Draw? What if Jean hadn’t shown up, but just called? What if Jean turned out to be really, really evil, rather than exceedingly grey-zone-ish? What if Willow had exploded at Buffy instead of being swayed by the Slayer’s partial breakdown? What if Buffy died when Tara bit her? What if Anya had been the one delivering that night (let’s skip Dawn on that thought line, please)? What if Willow had walked in on Tara’s initial shifting experiment? What if Willow had insisted on joining Tara for the sessions with Jean? Think about it. What happens as you consider the consequences? You know the characters- how do they react? How do those reactions affect those around them? Imagination is is what you are now doing... and my story is not so far from this model. I changed one thing, in my own "what if", and applied rules to it. If I were making a full world or running primarily OCs I could accept your compliment for what it is, but I'm not, so I won't. ^.^;

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An Invitation

In a monumental show of arrogance, I am inviting anyone and everyone to join in the Changes experiment. This relates to what I was writing to TinyAnt, above. Pick a point of departure (the smut lovers can start with Chapter 1, I suppose) and say "what if...", then write a short scene/drabble/whatever with what comes to mind. Comedy, drama, horror- whatever floats your boat. Labeling clearly that these are not in the main storyline (with a big ol’ red warning if you are going the smut route, for us prudes) would be nice for the sake of the readers, but otherwise? Go for it.

Oh, wait- if it isn’t Kitten-friendly, Foo might spank you, so be a bit mindful.

This is a blanket invite- not a limited time offer. If no one wants to try it, I won't be crushed. It's just like a writing challenge, except more ego-centric.

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More sketches are now up and in a new format. I apologize for the ads and popups- I'm too cheap to pay for a site that doesn't have them.
Changes Sketch Album

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Woot! Technopagan updated! *Never’s hand twitches over the mousepad* Must… not… click… yet…

Never,

I read your challenge several nights ago, and I want you to know that I really took it to heart, and wracked my brain to see where a new story might arise if something were to happen differently from the tale told thus far. After re-reading some of the earlier chapters, a question struck me, and I manipulated that question into a premise with all kinds of possible outcomes and story-telling potential. There was just one problem: I have tremendous difficulty writing fiction.

Non-fiction or analytical pieces are relatively easy for me to write, if only because in both of those cases there are almost always tangible things that I can point to and say "See? I didn't completely pull that out of a magic top hat, I have proof!" But good fiction -especially fiction about Willow and Tara- has always been nigh impossible for me to compose.

I'd like to make an aside at this moment, if I may (I promise that it's relevant). I grew up in and around Houston, a surprisingly metropolitan area with modestly progressive sensibilities, especially when compared with other areas of the state of Texas. One example of that progressive sensibility is the fact that Houston is home to one of the five Pacifica radio stations in the entire country, and on this station on Monday nights is a wonderful program called Queer Voices. I realize now that I was extremely lucky to have had direct access to a program like QV in my latter formative years, but that's getting beside the point.

On one of their recent programs, Daniel Williams, a board member for the Houston-based Transgender Foundation of America, was participating in a round table discussion about the segregations between the Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual community and the Transgender community when he made a comment that I found resonant:



I first discovered and fell in love with Willow and Tara as a couple nearly ten years ago. In that time, I have read countless romance stories about Willow and Tara as well as other lesbian couples, I have listened to countless discussions about the queer experience on QV, I have talked to and become friends with gays and lesbians at college meetings and I have even studied a few pieces of classic feminist literature. Yet even with all that time and effort, there will always be certain things that I can never be nor ever truly understand:

Being a Woman. Growing long hair and dressing up for the Rocky Horror Picture Show on every odd Saturday night makes for a poor replica of a life time of experiences and interactions and desires as a human being with two fully functioning X chromosomes (Never mind the physiological and psychiatric differences as a result of prolonged testosterone exposure. There's a wonderful interview on This American Life with a butch-lesbian-turned-transman about the effects of Testosterone on how people experience, among other things, desire). Furthermore, there are frequently subtle yet noticeable differences in the writing patterns between men and women, differences that are easier to discern in the works of others than in your own, and the part of me which values gender neutrality is terrified that these discrepancies will appear in my scribbling and thus make me that much more indistinguishable from the next Joe Theplumber or Johnny Sixpack.

Being Gay. As much as I enjoy being a friend of a friend of Dorothy, so to speak, my life-long attraction to women, with little corresponding interest in men and within the context of my being male, prevents me from having anything more than a vague understanding of the ostracization and isolation faced by most gay people, as well as the elation of actually finding someone compatible out of millions of others who won't even look at you.

Being in a Relationship. To date, I have yet to have a serious, emotionally involved romantic relationship with anyone. I have only ever heard or read second hand accounts of such interactions from my parents, television and romance novels/fanfics, which is akin to saying that you know how to handle crocodiles after having watched Steve Irwin (R.I.P.).

So if you think that you're arrogant in asking others to tweak a story that you've personally crafted, imagine my hubris in writing about no less than three concurrent issues upon which I have absolutely no right to comment, never mind messing with someone else's creation. >_<

Finally, when it comes to fiction writing, I have an unfortunate proclivity to write scenes that tend towards the melodramatic. If anything, this is a function of what captures my imagination, as well as the difficulties that I have in extrapolating character behavior and dialogue after a certain point. My mind loves to latch onto the big moments, the scenes wherein the entire universe is turned completely on its ear with but a whisper upon the wind and within the blink of an eye. These moments are the ones in which people are forced to make a change, sometimes subtle, sometimes Earth-shattering, that forever alter the course of their lives.

However, it is after the moment has passed and the new course is being navigated that things become difficult for me to extrapolate. How will this change affect the plans that were already in motion? What if it eventually interacts with other elements within the story in such a way that the original plot outline is rendered completely untenable or results in being figuratively painted into a corner? Also, how will the change affect the development of the characters? How can I realistically convey this change and make it meaningful without the characters becoming unrecognizable? For me, chaos theory, the highly sensitive dependence of a system upon initial conditions, as applied to plot and character development is extremely daunting. Additionally, what is too mundane or banal to depict after having made such a monumental decision? Is anyone really interested in what Truman had for dinner after having ordered the dropping of the Atom bomb?

So, in spite of all of the insecurities that I have just told you about, regardless of all of the shortcomings I have just professed, I went ahead and wrote a little drabble anyways. Conceit? You betcha! Read at your own discretion. ^_^

(A quick note about the earlier Dune reference: I have to apologize, I grew up in a family of space cadets and science fiction junkies, and as such I sometimes take for granted that a person with whom I'm speaking will understand a specific reference to a scene from a Sci-Fi book or movie. In this case, "For he is the Kwisatz Haderach!" is the final line of the final scene of the 1984 David Lynch film in which the acolytes of Muad'Dib hail him as a messianic deity with near-omnipotent abilities to reshape the physical and political landscape of the known universe without limit. This diverges significantly from the ending scene of Frank Herbert's novel where Muad'Dib's powers are revealed to be more subtle, not nearly as grandiose, and require at least the tacit support of the Emperor and other political leaders. When someone quotes the Kwisatz Haderach line in real life, they're generally making a playfully supportive joke about someone who has done something note-worthy and unique by totally overacting a ridiculous line.)

P.S: The SD sketch of Willow grabbing Tara's tail is just too cute. ^_^

_________________
"As Willow placed a kiss on her hair, Tara tucked her head underneath Willow's chin and breathed in the scent of Willow's skin. She fell back into her dreams while silently telling Willow the words of her heart, her lips brushing against the soft skin of Willow's neck."

-- "Doppelganger Redux"

Story Premise--Changes: What if the Tara Draw Experience kicked in earlier than in the original story? Like a lot earlier?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of BtVS, the context from which I am drawing them, nor the premise of the NeverChosen's story Changes upon which this is based.

Rating: R for disturbing imagery and extreme mental self-flagellation.

Angst Level: Very, very high. Emo children would swoon with half as much drama placed upon them.

Author's Note: This is something that I've written, re-written, gotten frustrated with and trashed 3/4 of before settling on a quick drabble over the course of a week or so, since I first saw Never's call to literary arms. It hasn't been beta'd beyond Spell Check, and any suggestions or criticisms would be appreciated.

***Changes: The Morning After***

"You know, a tail could be... useful."

***

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

A part of her knew that it was, in fact, happening, and yet another part of her knew had always known that this would happen, that this was the only thing that could happen.

That same part of her that whispered promises of nails piercing through her bones and molten lead pouring over her flesh, that saw her love as an unredeemable sin and cowed her with shame and self-loathing, the part that she had spent so long trying to bury now came directly to the fore and bombarded her from every direction with an unbearable pressure. She could feel the weight of the onslaught compressing her being and her knees beginning to buckle under the strain. The only thing that kept her from collapsing under Atlas’ burden was the mantra that she repeated to herself fervently.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

The shrill staccato screeching of a car alarm suddenly filtered through the thin dorm room walls for a moment, and a short moment later it was gone, but it had served to break the trance into which Tara had entered. She looked yet again at what she knew all along was already happening.

Willow, the only woman after her mother to have shown her love and kindness and a desire for her simple presence, now lay nearly motionless on the bed of their dorm, pale and gaunt, yet almost serene.

She should have known this would happen. She had known, for a very long time now, that this would happen, and yet she had pretended that this outcome was all but inevitable. But now she was confronted with the truth that she had for so long denied: She was to be forever enjoined from the peace of mind and simple joy of a normal life, of loving companionship, because of her innate wickedness. The damned may only bring pain and misery and suffering upon those near to them, after all, and she was most certainly damned.

The tail was only one exhibit out of many.

Her legs, having valiantly held her upright for such an unbearable eternity, finally folded in on themselves beneath her, and Tara fell to her knees beside the bed, her newest body part landing dully atop the back of her left calf.

Her tail.

She'd woken up, and had found a tail attached to her.

Her tail.

She'd not only let Willow stop her from fleeing, from preventing the destruction assured by her mere presence, but she'd also let herself be drawn into Willow's amorous advances and to indulge a hunger that she'd at first mistaken for her previous yearnings for the redhead's touch, a thirst that she hadn't recognized until she was already drinking more and more from her love than she could give and still survive...

Her tail.

As far as divine signals of imminent doom went, an extra prehensile appendage appearing on her posterior overnight ranked up there with lightning bolts repeatedly striking the same spot over and over again to the tune of the 1812 Overture. And what had she done with that warning? She'd admired the light show, tapped her toe to the beat, and then had danced barefoot upon the still-smoldering glass while twirling a giant metal-mesh umbrella.

So, not only was she an abject sinner and a walking plague, she also apparently had the IQ of a cheerleader in a campy slasher flick. Great.

Tara's lips almost quirked in a self-effacing smirk for a moment before the devastating truth of the situation suddenly hit home: She'd hurt Willow, badly. So long as she was near Willow she would certainly continue to hurt her, and eventually Willow would be dead at her hands.

And, if her demonic heritage continued to assert itself as aggressively as it had within the past 24 hours, Tara was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before she couldn’t see that as a bad thing.

Evil is evil, Tara.

A very unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.

She would have to leave.

It was the only solution. Better for her to live alone and to complete her metamorphosis into a monster in some other part of the world than to…

She gazed mournfully at Willow’s prone form, her breathing deathly soft and painfully shallow.

She would have to leave.

***

A/N: Yes, I realize that this was a really short drabble, but ultimately I really wasn't comfortable writing any more than this. I felt as though I was taking huge liberties to write as much as I did. My apologies if I took Tara's spiral of despair too far with the opening paragraphs, but I wanted to mix in some of the imagery that her Father the Ass would doubtless have used on her as a child to instill fear in her. I wanted the opening paragraph to convey how much control over her own faculties and suppressed memories Tara had lost as a result of Willow's incapacitation.

I tried to write in a scene in which Tara tries to call Buffy and tell her that Willow's been hurt before she ran off to parts unknown, but the internal dialogue got bogged down and I had to finally excise well over half of what I'd written.

Anyways, hope this sparks some imagination about what else could happen in this universe.

Love, Ryan.

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"As Willow placed a kiss on her hair, Tara tucked her head underneath Willow's chin and breathed in the scent of Willow's skin. She fell back into her dreams while silently telling Willow the words of her heart, her lips brushing against the soft skin of Willow's neck."

-- "Doppelganger Redux"

Ch 16

Angst Level: Overall, higher than the increase this year in the US trade deficit with China. This chapter is OK-ish.



The night was again nippy, the trio braving it had each bundled up in what passed for deep-freeze gear in Southern California… a second layer. They traced a wending path across Shady Oaks cemetery, going only fast enough to keep them warm.

"The monarch during t-the French Revolution was..?" Tara asked, glancing around again like a jittery chipmunk.

"Louis," Buffy responded decisively from just ahead, strolling around the barely visible tombstones in no particular hurry.

"Ah, but which one?" Willow needled, shivering with her hands thrust deep into her fuzzy collared shepherd's jacket. She'd managed to thaw her immediate feelings toward Buffy before patrol began, thanks in no small part to Tara's concerted intervention, but a return to her usual warmth had been too much to ask for. "You're coverin' about a thousand years of Louis-s there. Not to mention one of Donald Duck's nephews."

"My cunning plan is revealed. Dammit." Buffy seemed oblivious to the undercurrent of deferred hostility and didn't sound even remotely upset. "The eighth?"

"Sixteenth… one of their last." Tara scanned her memory for something else eminently testable. "He was executed in..?"

"A public square?"

"I think she was going for a year, Buff."

"Ah… 17… 1792?"

"Close- he was imprisoned in '92, but killed in '93." Tara froze at the sound of a twig breaking somewhere to their right, reaching out to Willow both to alert her and potentially for reassurance. This was hardly the first time since they'd started patrolling, and by now Tara had figured out that she could catch one of Willow's sleeves without much more than an unpleasant prickle from the charm her girlfriend carried.

"Too loud for a vamp- don't worry. Buffy'll tell us when we get one." Willow broke stride only long enough for Tara to rejoin her, untroubled grin firmly in place. For all her frustration with Buffy and their increasingly thorny friendship, she had never questioned the Slayer's abilities. The blonde nodded, feeling foolish for the umpteenth time that night. There was little to no chance that the witches would notice a vampire before Buffy did. Still…

"I thought we were supposed to be a kind of lookout?" The new moon and tree cover made it difficult to see even the irregularities of the ground, forcing her to pay attention to her feet as a raised lump of grass reached up to attack her boots.

"Well, yeah. It's not always easy to tell if there's more than one- and when they try to get tricky? Scooby backup has saved the day many a time." A chuckle sounded from up ahead, sparking Willow into a defensive huff, "Hey! I remember distinct day saving- in a nocturnal sort of way!"

"Plus, you keep me from spacing out," Buffy added amiably, "Not to mention the study time- private tutor and all."

"Doesn't t-the talking tell them where we are?"

"Be vewy qwiet, we'a huntin' wampaiyaz." Buffy stage-whispered, drawing an involuntary snerk from Willow.

"It's this thing with vamps- they think that anyone coming to a cemetery is like getting dinner delivered without having to tip. Unfortunately, they tend to be right- but yay for us, because they find us as often as we find them. Ergo, more poof-iness for your Slayer hour."

"Can I vote for them not finding us first?" Tara kept the words under her breath, scanning across the cemetery again. Knowing what was out here was one thing. Knowing that you were probably going to see it, another. And jumping at every little thing because you can't seem to trust your friends enough to believe they wouldn't have brought you along if it was really that dangerous? It was a very big thing. A thing that danced in the back of her mind mocking her cowardice. Not that Willow's long lecture on safety, followed by a seemingly unending list of patrol tips that had spanned the entire patrol of Restfield Cemetery had done anything to put her at ease.

"OK- hit me again." Buffy waved vaguely. "I didn't do well enough on the other tests to be able to skip this final and still pass… unlike certain other people I took Psych with last year."

"What kind of person would skip a final just because they could?" Willow spoke in the scandalized tones of an erudite idealist.

"Sacrilege." Tara confirmed solemnly. Not that she approved of slacking, but there was a time and place for everything- and if she'd had the luxury, she'd have been just as happy to skip out on this quarter's finals. Sadly, the problem with finding out that the demon you've turned into is still pretty thoroughly you and has a chance at living a relatively mundane life is that you have to prepare for that mundane life. That meant keeping up in the classes that brought in the Financial Aid that she lived off of. It also meant rescheduling her classes, now that she had to consider things like job-hunting once she graduated. The finality of her birthday had been both a conviction and a reprieve- no future meant no worry. Beyond who she might kill, maim, or dismember, anyway- that had been worth more than a few sleepless nights.

"Um… who was the lead political rabble rouser at the beginning of the Revolution?"

"Ooo- I know this one. Necker!" Buffy spun to walk backwards for a moment, reveling in her triumph.

"Three guesses why she remembered that." Willow snorted under her breath.

"Be nice." Tara entreated as quietly as she could. Buffy gave no sign of having heard, but it was unlikely that the Slayer's sensitive hearing would have missed either portion of the exchange.

"Got one." Willow's attention was suddenly focused and she held out an arm to keep Tara from proceeding. The blonde squinted into the darkness, not sensing anything as they started walking again in a new direction, falling further behind the Slayer's hastened strides.

"Y'know, if that's the shirt they buried you in, I can see why you'd get the whole murderous urges thing."

Buffy's voice rang out loud and clear, bringing the witches to a sudden halt. Tara could just make out the battle being joined and looked to Willow for what to do… except she was nowhere to be seen.

After a moment of panic, a tug on her skirt revealed that Willow had ducked behind a sizable tombstone and that she should follow suit. The redhead peeked around the side, whispering commentary as she did.

"See- you don't watch for vamps- you watch Buffy. She does this head thing when she's found one, and then you just wait for the quips to know when she's got'em."

Tara peeked over their cover too, watching in fascination as polar forces of the supernatural duked it out. She'd seen Buffy training and glimpsed one or two demon fights that had spilled onto campus, but this was her first view of the Slayer in her element. Through it all she was unflappable, bantering with her opponent with no apparent difficulty.

"See that- she started using that kick after she got hit with it about a year ago. And there- looks like she's down, but, bam! Right in the knees." Willow's enthusiastic running description of the violence unfolding before them briefly reminded Tara of the reasons she didn't watch boxing. All that joy over people hitting each other couldn't be right. "Did you see- never mind. Gah- I'd normally try to get a little closer, but…" Willow seemed to think better of her words.

"…but I'm new and I'd probably be in the way." Tara completed without rancor. "I get it."

She got an apologetic shrug in response, followed by a conciliatory, "everybody starts somewhere. Xander and I were much with the ritual hiding for ages- and you'd be amazed how well I can duck-walk under cover even to this day."

Willow demonstrated, creeping to a slightly better viewing post. Tara followed and, despite her girlfriend's encouraging nod, was fairly sure she made less of a walking duck and more of a sitting one if the vampire Buffy was fighting had any attention to spare.

"She's normally pretty quick on the staking, but capturing is a little tricky- we've only done it a couple times, and usually it's just by accident." Willow took a sudden breath. "And this is where the Scooby forces come in." She broke cover and took a few steps forward, yelling, "Buffy! Another above you!"

The first vampire took the opportunity to lunge at the Slayer as soon as she looked up, tackling her to the ground. The second vamp leapt down, stomping where Buffy's head had been moments before, but her quarry had already twisted from the vulnerable position. There was a gathering charge in the air like clouds heralding a storm and Tara saw her girlfriend raise a hand.

"Guscio prottetivo!"

It was too far for a shielding spell- too far for most spells that could be applied to the situation- but Tara felt the trailing edge as it coalesced anyway, forming a shell between the lady-vamp and Buffy. It confused the vampire that rebounded from it, but in a matter of two heavy fisted strikes the spell shattered. Air rushed from Willow as if she had been the one hit, but she immediately waved off Tara's concern. In the moment she'd looked away, she missed the sight of the first vampire being killed- or dusted, technically- but still heard the beginning of the scream cut off by the whoosh of the vampire's demise. She stared for a moment, feeling she should see something from the passing.

"Good grief- c'mon." Willow grabbed Tara's arm and pulled her into a run. The contact was fleeting, but her arm tingled at the thorny sensation that even her jacket hadn't fully insulated her from. She saw now that Buffy had taken off, pursuing the lady-vamp that had come to the conclusion that she was outmatched.

"Hate. When. They. Run!" Willow puffed as they sprinted, trying in vain to keep Buffy in sight. Tara didn't reply, but concentrated on not stumbling on the uneven grass. It was sheer luck that she hadn't worn her clogs today- the boots weren't running shoes, but at least she didn't have to worry about them flying off.

There was a flash of a pale arm, a sound of impact, and suddenly Willow was no longer beside her. In an ungraceful skid, Tara spun to a stop. Before she could fully register what had happened, she found herself faced with a vampire- the first one she'd seen up close, discounting Spike. His golden eyes and ridged brow were much the same, but the malicious smile held no question of his faith in his fangs.

"Diana- moonlit huntress and protector, st-"

Tara fell, realizing in a delayed burst of pain that the vampire had hit her. It wasn't a bop on the nose, or a slap to the cheek- he'd hit her hard enough that she folded over the fist in her gut and wondered if she would ever be able to breath again. In her swimming vision she could see where Willow lay stretched out on the ground, moving sluggishly, but had no further chance to confirm her love's safety before a handful of her hair was seized and used to pull her upright again.

"A witch? Must be my lucky night- I always wondered how your kind taste." His words were as unimaginative as Buffy had always said, but Tara found that they were far more sinister sounding when spoken with cold little wafts of air across your bared neck by a deadly predator pulling you back, off balance, against him. She still couldn't speak or even breathe, let alone find the calm to summon the magic within her, and without the ability to move her head there was nothing she could see to use to throw at him telekinetically. He bent towards her neck, fangs bared in gleeful malice. Tara braced for pain, but was hit with inspiration rather than emotional surrender.

She suddenly stopped resisting, dropping to the side the vampire had pulled her head toward as she drove a boot down on his foot. He grunted, losing his grip on her hair, but the hand on her arm remained unyielding. She dropped from her human guise as she took full advantage of her small freedom, slamming her head backwards.

A howl shattered her ears even as the grip on her arm faltered. The vampire's greater height prevented her from hitting his nose, but she'd felt one of her horns strike bone. She would never have guessed she'd have a use for the stubby, pointed protuberances, but was now profoundly thankful for them.

She was loose but just beginning to gasp her first wheeze of aching breath as she stumbled forward, feet seeming oddly detached from her control. In the corner of her eye she saw the vampire with a bloody hand to his brow, more annoyed than hurt. In a roar he was on her again, his fist connecting this time with her face. Bursts of light blinded her as the shock radiated in slow motion from cheek to head to neck, the force throwing her backwards. There must have been a crypt there- she hit something that kept her upright despite having lost her sense of where up really was.

"Feisty little bitch-"

She felt her shoulders seized and she was yanked forward, her vision clearing just in time to see the glow of those yellow eyes from scant inches away. Her head lolled to the side bonelessly at the hard shake her gave her, neck uncooperative after its latest abuse.

"I don't even know what you are, but I bet you go down just as sweet."

The fangs were so much larger up close- she hadn't appreciated them before. They were long, wider than typical canines… would they be as sharp as her own little fangs? Would they slice her throat open with the mercy of a papercut, or tear like blunted skewers? What did a vampire feel when they took the blood of the living? Was it like water to the throat of a dying man? Their hunger- was it anything like the avarice of the burn within herself, igniting as it consumed, then retreating in the ashes of its wake?

The instant crystallized, her thoughts drawing into focus. Even as the vampire's fangs pricked her skin Tara grabbed him, sinking the claws she'd forgotten she had into his sides as she turned her head. The bend to bite her had left the vampire's neck as open to her as hers was to him, and she sank her teeth into it without a second thought. With her intentions clear, the burn inside flared through her, leaping into the connection the bite had formed-

…and collapsed back in on itself with a furious blaze, reducing her hope to so many cinders.

The vampire jerked away, throwing her violently back against the crypt and himself backward with a look of utter disbelief.

"You bit me… You. Fucking. Bit. Me."

"Diana, moonlit huntress and protector, stay the hand-" She got further this time, but the vampire was lunging at her again and Tara sacrificed the spell to dodge away, miraculously escaping a third capture.

The snarl that followed was directed downwards, drawing Tara's eyes to the source of her miracle. A rattled Willow clung to one of the vampire's legs with the dogged determination of an ornery six-year-old, but was in the rapid process of being shaken loose. The vampire turned, kicking Willow awkwardly in the chin. The angle was so poor that the blow was largely ineffectual, but it still spurred Tara into an action she otherwise would never have considered, leaping onto the vampire's presented back.

Once she was there, she wasn't entirely sure what to do. She'd gotten the vampire's attention back off of Willow, but was in no position to do anything more than hang on. Between the two of them they could probably over-balance him, but he was tall enough that Tara couldn't get her feet on the ground solidly enough to push without letting go. Thrashing violently, it would only be a matter of time before he was free again.

A squeak of dismay cut through the animal noises and Tara found herself nearly flying off as the vampire's struggles redoubled. The mental respite of clinging had reminded her of the next tactic she tried, trying to recall the practice of the prior day. It was markedly harder to bring forth the form when she was clinging for dear life.

Just as the vampire reached around and got hold of her jacket, the shift to Serena-form fell into place. Tara struck out against the ground, using her increased height and mass to shove them both off their feet. The vampire twisted impossibly fast and instead of taking the fall with his face, Tara found herself hitting the ground with the weight from above driving what little breath she had regained back out of her. She held on regardless, knowing all too clearly that once the vampire was loose, being flat on her back was going to make for very few options.

"Gaaaaah!"

It wasn't much of a war cry, but the result was spectacular enough to make up for it. Tara felt her arms collapse as the body above her atomized, showering her in cold ash. With the weight against her removed she gasped for air, drawing the particles into her lungs and inciting a coughing fit. Eyes watering and throat raw, she shifted back to herself and felt Willow's hands helping her sit up.

"Are you alright?" Her girlfriend's voice was worried, but the face Tara made out in the darkness also carried a note of pride. Starlight glinted off unshed tears, but the smile below them was as genuine as the embrace she found herself wrapped in. Her heart still trying to pound free of her chest, breath still harsh in her throat, the rising sense of nausea and elation, the tingling that seemed to pervade every inch of her skin- all proof that she was alive. She clung to Willow as fiercely as she was being held, trying to reground herself in the world she'd almost lost.

Dimly, almost beyond her detection, her girlfriend was speaking, "I've got you. You did great. It's okay now." The cadence of the voice meant more than the words and she let it carry her down from the overwhelming high of simple survival, her heart crying out that she was alive.

Willow held her until the world began to make more sense, the essence of her being resettling in its proper place. Her consciousness began to retrieve its fragments- to hear the breeze in the trees again and feel the chill of the night brush her sweaty brow- to sense the slowing hammer of her heart. In sequence, others fell in to place- the arms firm around her, the fuzzy collar of Willow's jacket against her chin, the slight rocking in time with the whispered words. In the wake of the tiny world the fight had collapsed her into, it was all so fresh- the sensation magnified as the filters on her perceptions fell away to let in a world too often taken for granted.

Her girlfriend must have noticed her coming back to earth, sliding back enough that they could see each other. After a moment just gazing, feeling the warmth of the other's breath caress bruised faces, the last of Tara's senses returned to her. The taste of cold, unclean flesh coupled with the taint of half congealed blood finally rose to reach her awareness and she twisted away, gagging violently.

"Oh, God…" It was more of a moan than a statement. Bringing her hand to cover her mouth she found her chin was still sticky with the vampire's blood, triggered another wave of revulsion.

Willow held her until the worst had passed and Tara sat back, scrubbing her sleeve across her face. A cardigan was a small sacrifice to ridding herself of that foul stain and even once it cleared she couldn't help but feel the memory of its cling. The lingering taste of death remained, only now it was mitigated by the acrid familiarity of her stomach's attempted rebellion.

As if she knew the source of Tara's distress, Willow drew her face forward, kissing her once softly on her forehead, then her nose, before gently claiming her mouth. The taste of Willow flooded over any other, banishing them to memory- the horrors fleeing before the overwhelming awareness of Willow lips and Willow tongue and Willow mouth. Her skin's tingling gave way to heat that seemed to radiate through every inch of her from a furnace in her core proclaiming that she was alive. Willow's hands only incited it further, the gentle guiding exchanged for better purchase as their lips met again with greater force.

Breaking away for the space of a breath, Willow's head dropped, the hand behind the back of Tara's head urging her face up toward the stars. Her eyes flickered closed with a gasp as she felt Willow's lips again, this time over the stretch of her neck so recently endangered, each kiss a determined reminder; this is love- this is security- this is mine.

Tara's hand clutched against Willow's back, instinctively trying to pull her into closer contact, but instead her girlfriend jerked back with a hiss. The resistance to releasing the redhead told Tara the cause- her claws had sunk through the leather of her jacket, piercing solidly into the flesh beneath. The blonde yanked her hands back to herself, careful not to catch them against anything in their path.

"A-are you okay?" They both were breathing fast, both from their mounting ardor and the suddenness of interruption. Tara clenched her hands into fists in her lap, claws digging against her palms as she tried to find a serene center in her inner firestorm that would let her shift back to human form. A glance into Willow gave her all she needed, her form following the guide it was given.

"I'm fine- better than fine-." Willow pushed herself to standing abruptly, unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with injury. She helped pull Tara to her feet and within the same motion they found themselves in another liplock. A short stagger and the redhead was pressed to the side of a steadying crypt wall, hands waging a frantic campaign to drive away what little sense Tara still retained. Lightheaded, she pulled back only long enough to seize another breath, but found Willow evading her when she dove back.

"Nnng- gr-graveyard," The redhead's words were barely coherent as she twisted her hands into the blonde's cardigan, head arching back against cold cement.

It was another round of evaded kisses before the meaning penetrated Tara's mind and she exercised the extreme control required to halt her actions. "Graveyard," she repeated Willow's words in urgent misery, glancing around once before offering, "home? Now?"

"Now." The redhead nodded forcefully, chest heaving.

Their lips and bodies met once again before Tara turned, pulling them both in the direction of the campus. Willow tugged sharply the other way, soliciting a questioning look.

"Parents' place. Closer."

"Parents?" Tara furrowed her brow.

"Beijing? Shanghai? Hong Kong? Not here," Willow reassured, pulling in the new direction. Tara sighed relief and hurried with her.

"Guys! Hey guys!"

With twin groans they slowed.

"Buffy…" Tara looked unhappily back to see Buffy manhandling a badly beaten lady-vampire toward them.

"Screw Buffy." Willow growled, pulling on her arm again. Tara shot her a disapproving glare and the redhead sighed mightily. Without waiting for Buffy to get any nearer she called out, "We tried- it didn't work!"

"Oh." With that Buffy made a beautiful judo throw out of the vampire's last-ditch effort to escape, staking her unceremoniously even as she hit the ground.

"We're heading back-" Tara spoke in a rush, and Willow finished for her, "Now! Right now! With the leaving!"

"Can I walk you?"

"No!" They chorused before taking off at a giggling jog, interrupted only when they needed to remember the feel of each other to buoy them onward.

-----------

Buffy shook her head ruefully as she watched the two exceedingly horny witches disappear. She sighed with a wry little grin, but then furrowed her brow and sniffed.

Rosemary and sulfur- it was faint, but too strong to just be residue. The Slayer searched the ground with her eyes, finding a broken string and the protective charm attached to it. She picked it up thoughtfully, looking toward where the witches had disappeared for a long minute. Whatever judgment was needed, she made and with a shrug pocketed the charm and strolled back into the night.

--------------------------------TBC in Ch 17
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Reply

TZep- First of all, thank you so much for taking me up on the challenge. I had a suspicion that I was asking something too time consuming to actually have any hope of receiving- I appreciate being wrong.

Though I discussed your comments/scene in chat, I thought I would reemphasize here for other readers- in now way was that overdone. Life shattering events, followed by consequences both dreaded and foreseen but not averted… that is worth just about any degree of despair you care to write. Besides, you broke it up with that fun part in the middle;



*chuckles yet again after reading this* She has Buffy's IQ? I feel sorry for her already. And regarding writing things you haven't personally experienced… ^_^ you guys guessed some of mine but there are more things, just in chapter 16, that I'm fudging.

On the criticism side (ask and ye shall receive…)-



I'm wondering if you either meant either:

A) and yet another part of her knew- had always known- that this would happen, that this was the only thing that could happen.

B) and yet another part of her had always known that this would happen, that this was the only thing that could happen.

I also wondered about using three different cultural frames of reference in the following paragraph- Atlas (Greek), a mantra (Indian), and the Biblical hellish imagery. Two would pass unnoticed, but three gave me a moment of pulling out of the story and into "am I missing something connecting these three?".



This line sounds to me like "She pretended it was almost inevitable" rather than what I think you were going for; "She pretended it was not inevitable."

I should mention that I liked your formatting. The spacing added significantly to the meaning of the wording.

Overall, you succeeded in the best way- I reached the end, put on my pouty face and said "There's no more?" I feel vaguely cheated at not getting to read the phone call, but I understand that it would either break the steady flow of imagery with dialog or break the impact of the dialog with imagery. I think that, given the length of the piece, you chose wisely… though if there were a different drabble… of just the phone call… it would be a different take on the same situation- focusing on the dialog/interaction to show the internal conflict. Hmmm… I also find myself wondering why Tara would think that it's OK to turn into a monster elsewhere- while my Tara's reaction wasn't suicidal, she has yet to cause Willow harm. In the face of what she has done, thinking what you have her thinking, would the next step be trying to rid the world of her burgeoning evil? Would she ask for Buffy's help in this?

^_^ Another sign of a good scene- it makes ya think.

-Never

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More sketches are up on the Changes Album

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editted twice because I'm an idiot sometimes.

I was wondering how come Tara wasn't getting stung when they were kissing... I wonder if she'll realize before or after... I'm sure either way she's not going to react well...

Too bad the vampire biting theory didn't work....

Great chapter!

_________________
Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

Great update.

Ch 17


Angst Level: The overall story level is higher than the number of people who don't realize that Medicare is socialized medicine. Ch 17 is brutal and also the closest to an explicit scene as you will ever see in this fic.



The door fell open suddenly under the weight of two ardent witches. The keys were barely pulled loose from the lock before being tossed aside in favor of other ways that hands were needed. Tara's tail shoved the door closed behind them, her feet too busy trying to keep them balanced in the disorganized push toward a couch, a bed- at this point a table or a wall or even the carpet would do. Her senses were alive as they had never been before, and every one filled with Willow.

Her girlfriend tugged her in some vague guidance and Tara followed without really noticing where they were going, nor paying heed to the bric-a-brac knocked aside in their wake. She was beginning to appreciate the uses of a tail now in maintaining their balance, saving herself time and again from either overbalancing or having to separate precious inches from her lover.

Willow had no such luck and backing toward the couch turned into an "eep", followed by a graceless flop onto the cushions. Tara was pulled down with her, resisting only enough to prevent their heads from smacking together en route. Shucking her cardigan and her love's jacket had taken place somewhere along the way, though she didn't remember it. It was irrelevant, as irrelevant as the other clothing that hampered them. In the time it had taken them from the cemetery to the house there had been no more than a dozen words exchanged. Irrelevant, all of it.

Everything irrelevant, next to Willow.

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The incessant beeping was the first thing Tara had noticed. It filtered into her slowly, at first an annoyance, then gradually boring into her brain. There were patterns to it, how one tempo overlapped the next, the monotonous blend of sounds differing only by their distance to where she sat. Such a mechanical sound, and yet every one a sign that life had prevailed another moment. It was not a sound meant to convey hope and it did that job admirably.

Sunnydale General Hospital made no attempts at creating a comforting environment in their emergency department. There was no room for it, between patient rooms, little pull-down boards that substituted for desks that the doctors and nurses used, carts of equipment, and what seemed like an excess of people. They were in a relatively roomy area, their section having rooms rather than just curtains, and a central island covered by computer monitors that the nurses clustered around. Someone was screaming from within one of rooms, muffled by the closed glass door and cut off from sight by the curtain drawn across it. It wasn’t a fearful scream, or a pained one- just a scream of incoherent, aimless demand. It only rattled Tara further, layering over the smells of antiseptic and vomit, the yellowed fluorescent lighting so brightly incongruous for 6am, creating a miasma of unease that ate slowly through her. Perhaps this was the root of “dis-ease”- the unsettled stress of so much misery all coalesced in one place.

She assumed there was misery. She hadn’t really noticed on the way in, trailing behind the nurses and fighting the need to know what was going on. The paramedic had told her at one point- they could tell her what they were doing, or they could do it, but one was going to have to delay the other. She’d fallen back, answering questions by the dozen, though she would be hard pressed to recall anything she’d said. It was too fast and too slow, all at once.

Tara slumped lower in the uncomfortable plastic seat, adding a new crimp in her tail. How long had she been here? It felt like half a lifetime now, but they’d entered just after four am. So short a time, and the doctor had moved on. Their nurse, Gertie, popped by every few minutes checking machines, adding a bag to those draping the IV pole, and making vague reassurances in response to Tara’s questions. There was only one thing she wanted to know, but couldn’t find a way to ask that would get her an honest response. Was Willow going to be alright?

The stock answer seemed to be “she’s stable now”. Stable didn’t mean much. The breathing machine hissed about every four seconds. The line that jumped with the beeps of the heart monitor told her nothing- it didn’t look like the ones on TV, but Gertie had told her that they often didn't. She couldn’t tell her what it did mean, of course. “You’ll have to ask the doctor” was the second favorite phrase, followed by “she’s busy now” when Tara promptly asked when she could talk to the doctor again.

Saying “again” was charitable. When Tara had been allowed into Willow’s room, it was plain to see why she had not been allowed to stay originally. The trash was overflowing with plastic, torn sterile sleeves, and blue gloves. There had been someone in blue scrubs clearing away a set of metal instruments exiting as she wavered in the doorway. There were words to describe Willow. Vibrant. Animated. Spritely. The foreign figure breathing through a tube held in her throat by two tight tape twists was none of these. Her pallor was so pronounced that it now resembling the vampire they had dusted… was it that same night? IV lines ran to both arms, the bags they connected to seemingly far too much fluid for such a slight body to absorb.

Dr. Prasad had swept in with a metal clipboard in hand, telling the nurse trailing her to page Psych again if they hadn’t shown up within the next five minutes and see if Six’s first set of enzymes were back. Tara hadn’t yet moved from her place just inside the door, forcing the doctor to sidestep around her. Flipping out a penlight from a holster that also counted a set of large, bent scissors, a clamp with a roll of tape hanging from it, and a set of laminated cards among its varied occupants, the doctor checked Willow’s eyes, followed by using the back of her pen to do something to one limp foot.

What followed had been a bewildering array of questions- some kind, some pointed, some intensely personal, some generic. The doctor wrote as Tara answered, looking up only when she needed to convey either need for more information or to cut off what must have been unnecessary detail. She finished with a decisive click of her pen and a last glance at Willow. Tara was sure she stammered something out at that point, but the answer was curtailed by a crackle from what looked like a half-size walkie-talkie that hung next to the doctor's pager indicating that the MVA they were expecting had arrived in Trauma Two. All she got as the doctor rushed out was the pronouncement- Willow was stable now and she would be admitted to the ICU as soon as they got a bed.

She’d been tempted, after an hour, to go to the nurse’s station and ask when that would be. Demand to see the doctor. Demand an answer. There were others that did that- yelling, threatening legal action, or just caustically showing their scorn for the care they observed. The nurses took all this with bland grace and gave answers that never satisfied their recipients but got them to leave, whether in a huff or grudging acceptance. The nurses would return to work as if nothing had happened, or at most roll their eyes.

Patience had its rewards. At that point Gertie had brought her the chair and apologized for “the howler”, telling her how the hospital had picked the worst possible time to renovate the psych pod and how everyone was suffering for it. Tara nodded as if she knew what a pod was, imagining something that belonged in the X-Flies. Gertie hadn't had time to speak further, rushing out at the sound of retching next door.

Since then she had been lost in thought, staring at the subtle rise and fall of the redhead's chest. She wanted to hold her, but some part of her kept saying that this was not Willow, could not be Willow, and that touching her would somehow make what she was seeing true.

"Room eight, room eight, room eight-"

Tara's head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice. Xander. She wondered for a moment how he knew. She hadn't had the presence of mind to call anyone- it hadn't so much as occurred to her until this moment.

"Here- she's here-"

"Sir, only two people in the room with the patient."

"Me, Buffy- that's two."

"There's already-"

Tara stood, backing away from the door without meaning to do so as Willow's two closest friends entered in a rush. Xander took the two long steps she hadn't been able to take in the last hour, at Willow's side before he even saw Tara in her place in the corner. She couldn't meet his eyes, ducking her head before she could see the anger, the hood of the sweater she wore obscuring any view that her hair didn't curtain. Buffy stood in the doorway, whether from the same shock Tara had felt, or to cut off her exit.

"Wills- it's me, it's Xander. I'm here. Buffy's here." He had taken one small, unresponsive hand, almost hidden in his careful grip, his other hand on the raised side rail so that he could balance above his friend. The pain in his voice was plain, "Will? Willow?"

The ventilator clicked again, hissing out another breath. Xander shuddered at the sound, looking away, looking at anything else for a moment to collect himself. In doing so his eyes fell on Tara. She winced, but this time did not shrink away from the accusation in his gaze.

"What happened?"

--------

"Is patrol always like that?" Tara started to sit up a bit during a brief lull, but aborted the move when her belly reminded her painfully of its earlier abuse.

"More or less- long stretches of boredom punctuated by abject terror." Willow grinned self-consciously, her hand passing feather-light over Tara's stomach in deference to its injury. "Monster-fighting not quite as cool as you thought?"

"Different..?" Tara tried not to look at her blood smeared sleeve as her eyes found the cardigan she had abandoned earlier crumpled in the entryway.

"Y'know, if I knew how it would end, I'd have brought you on patrol a long time ago." Willow was nuzzling her neck again, seemingly immune to the stench of vampire dust and the dried sweat of fear. Her hand abandoned its ticklish path for more dedicated activity, almost driving away Tara's awareness of that smell until a thought occurred to her. She caught the hand, urging it back out from under her shirt despite the look of consternation Willow had as her head rose.

"Shower?" She suggested, letting the intense look she wore tell the rest of the plan.

"Shower… private shower… with no dormmates." Willow considered for a fraction of a second before matching her lover's wicked grin.

----------

"What's wrong with her?" Xander's voice hadn't risen in volume, but Tara's lack of response seemed to trigger a turn toward censure. Even in anger, he slipped Willow's hand back in place with care before turning on Tara. Whatever his next words would have been, he lost as he saw her face. It would not be the purpling bruise on her left cheek that gave him pause, changing his protective concern for Willow into fully formed animosity.

She had seen him in certainty, in humor, in fear, in confusion- but never in anger, and she found herself shrinking away from the sight. If it were undeserved, she might have stood her ground, but… She hugged her arms more tightly against herself, her dark rimmed eyes turning again to the comatose form on the gurney behind him.

The hood of the Wellsley College sweater she had swiped out of Mrs. Rosenberg's closet hid her horns and partially concealed the ridges leading to them, but so far she'd had to trust that the coloration around her eyes could pass for overzealous goth makeup. The centered focus for shifting had been absent since the initial panic.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Xander took a step forward, hands rigid at his sides, words cutting away the steady sounds of the ER to a pocket where only this room existed. "Never mind- I know what you did. But- God- why?" The last was in a confused desperation, asking her for a reason to forgive. It was something she couldn't give.

"I t-t-thought-" She swallowed the word that wouldn't form, shaking her head. Another hiss from the ventilator broke the pause.

"You thought what? That it was too hard to wait? That there wasn't another way?" Now his voice raised a notch, "There is always another way. Another choice."

"She said-" Tara squeezed her eyes shut as she confessed her stupidity, her weakness, "S-she was okay last time. She wanted me t-to..."

"And you just said "Okey dokey"? You knew what you were doing to her! You knew it was dangerous!"

"No fighting in the ER, folks, or we start enforcing the two-visitor rule." The voice was far too awake for the hour and carried an inappropriate hint of humor. A man in green scrubs and a white coat with laden pockets leaned against the door frame with an ER chart and a second clipboard. Unlike Dr. Prasad his name was not embroidered on his coat, but a teasing voice from the hall provided an impromptu introduction,

"Dr. Tautashep, 'bout time you got here- took the long way?"

"Yeah, by way of declaring a guy on four." He shot over his shoulder. "Sorry about that. Miss Summers, am I right?"

At Buffy's lack of recognition, he wilted slightly. "We met- in the OR waiting room?"

"Oh. Hi." Buffy's tone was clear; not interested, move on. She radiated the detached calm Tara associated with times of crisis.

Addressing all three of them now, the doctor spoke somewhat more formally, "Dr. Ben Tautashep- I'll be taking care of getting Miss Rosenberg admitted to the ICU."

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

Tara's tail licked over Willow's calves like the caress of waves on a lakeshore. The redhead was draped over and beside her, curves conforming to hers in a moment of peaceful unity. She could have sworn there would be heat waves rising off the two of them, but still felt no inclination to separate from the tranquil warmth she held. Their breathing was the only sound as they basked in the contact of languid stillness.

Willow's chin was balanced on her left hand, which rested on its favorite portion of Tara's chest. The blonde felt the fingers there undulating subtly in time with the motion of her tail, gently absently the flesh beneath without upsetting the regard of the green eyes above. Tara matched the gaze, a contented grin forming at the rare inner quietude she observed there.

The grin faltered as it disturbed her swollen left cheek, setting off a fresh twinge. Willow's own war wound consisted of a reddened, slightly abraded patch at the angle of her jaw. She'd said that she'd likely get a sore reminder of the initial strike across her neck in the morning, but for now its only evidence was a tenderness on part of her collarbone that Tara had discovered in the course of their shower.

Seeing the wince Willow raised a tentative right hand, gingerly tracing at the edge of the aching bruise as her eyes softened in sympathy. Tara caught the hand in her own, lacing her fingers with the redheads and turning her head to ghost a kiss on the palm. When she returned her eyes to Willow's she found a question there. She paused the lambent passes of her tail and raised an eyebrow slightly in inquiry.

"Show me."

It took a moment for Tara to understand what the barely voiced request meant, and a moment more passed as a futile waft of sorrow passed through her. Loosening her hand from Willow's she closed her eyes, she let her demonic features surface and tried to hold onto the feeling of her old form as it melted away. The room was lit only by the reflected luminescence of a streetlamp down the block and Willow's face turned slightly into the stark shadows it cast.

Even though the redhead had witnessed the change before, Tara held her breath as she opened her eyes. Willow's hands slipped away, but only to prop herself up far enough to lightly kiss the worry from her face as she murmured,

"Love you…"

The hand Tara had rested on Willow's back slid down to her hip, claws grazing across the skin. The sensation drew a shiver from her lover, as well as another round of kisses somewhat more intent than the last. As the redhead's breathing began to quicken again she pulled away long enough to plead,

"Why?"

"Why?" Tara echoed, her mind again not filling in the rest of the question.

"Why haven't you-" Willow's eyes searched as she looked for the right word.

Tara supplied it flatly, "fed?"

She wouldn't let her girlfriend minimize what would be done to her. She had held back the burning inside, fighting the instinct to consume since the moment they made contact and every moment since. The Draw would not retreat until the need it served was filled, taking hold again even before their sweat had begun to cool. There was a cruelty to her choice, but also a reason.

"To be sure that I could choose not to." She drew her claws across her lover's side again, the tips dragging minutely. Willow didn't move away, her breath catching as another shiver followed. Oh yes, she definitely liked this. "Because you deserve better."

Willow made a disapproving noise but didn't stop her attentions to voice an objection. Tara was rapidly losing her ability to form coherent sentences, but there was more that needed to be said.

"Because you are my lover, my love, and not my prey."

She could feel the surface of the bed falling away from beneath her as she molded against Willow, utterly weightless but anchored from rising further by the press of the body above her. Whatever force sustained it continued to increase until she was fully supporting Willow midair. Her voice dropped further with a final, husky promise.

"Because I knew… I could take you higher."

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"I have her old chart and the ER notes, but I still have to go over the whole thing from the start. It's a lot of questions, a lot of which you've already answered, but there is a reason we go over this so many times." Dr. Tautashep flipped one of his papers over and pulled out a pen, scanning between the three. "Anyone family?"

"No- she… she doesn't want her relatives contacted." Xander said, looking away suddenly, "Giles has her legal paperwork- he and Ahn 're parking."

"So… someone witnessed the event?"

Tara nodded, not looking up. Dr. Prasad had been distracted and the nurses always rushing, but Dr. Tautashep was paying attention and would focus on her even further when she spoke. She tried again to find some passing sense of calm that would allow her to shift into fully human form.

"Let's start from the very beginning…" the doctor prompted.

Sliding down into the chair again she hunched over, facing the gurney rather than the doctor. If he saw what she was, he gave no sign, but listened as she began to recount the story. This was the third time she'd told it, but every time it played in her mind anew.

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

Willow lay bonelessly, legs entangled with Tara's as she recovered her breath. Sated in mind, in body, and in demon if not in spirit, Tara continued to stroke the flat of the redhead's belly with her claws, having just let herself fall back into her natural form. There had been a brief period before they had become a liability that had revolved around a giggled suggestion of "look ma, no hands" but Tara had quickly shifted to the human version of herself that a glance into Willow provided her. She recalled with amusement Willow's gasped protest at losing the convenient handhold that her horns had provided, but any disapproval had disappeared quickly.

In the aftermath of feeding on the last occasion Willow had been coherent for only a matter of minutes before drifting into the unrousable sleep that had lasted through most of the next day. Her girlfriend's head lolled toward her, eyes opening and the corners of her mouth slowly turning upward.

"Hey… you okay?" It was the one and only thing she had to know before she could let her lover sleep.

The next breath ended in a thoroughly contented sigh as an answer, drawing a smirk from Tara before the guilt for what she'd had to do settled back in. Now Willow would sleep, lose more class time, be without her magic for who knew how long… and this couldn't continue. Whatever help the Hellmouth was giving, the verdict from all sides was the same- at some unknown point, she would hurt Willow. Possibly in a permanent way. Possibly in a fatal one.

"Will..?"

"Fit as a very, very fatigued fiddle." Willow's hand covered hers, stopping its passage. The redhead's brows knit suddenly and despite audible exhaustion asked, "Do you smell that?"

Tara sniffed and shook her head. Willow's hand tightened around hers and the redhead started to prop herself up on her other elbow. She looked away and then back at Tara, voice still a rough whisper, "Do you smell that?"

"I still don't." She focused, but all that came to her senses was the smell of stale house and witchy lovin'. Again Willow looked toward the window, sniffing with continued confusion before turning her eyes back on Tara again.

"Do you smell that?" The intonation, the look she gave- it was the same as the last time she'd asked.

"Will?" Tara started to sit up herself, concerned.

"Do you smell that?" A trace more confusion this time.

"Honey, you're scaring me." Willow's foot was twitching against hers and Tara curled her toes over it, only to find the leg beginning to spasm as well.

In a rush of air that was almost a scream erupted from lips drawn back over teeth clenched in a rictus grimace her love fell back to the bed, hand gripping painfully tight over Tara's. She pulled up on it hard as her neck arched backwards, the muscles standing out in complex cords, her body in a taut backward bend that over balanced and fell away from the blonde. The painful angle her wrist had been twisted into forced Tara to almost fall on top of the redhead before she could yank her hand free. Time stood still until the tension dropped away as suddenly as it had begun and Willow seemed to collapse in on herself.

"Sweetie?" Tara held tightly as her lover shuddered, eyes wide and unfocused, rolled so far up that they almost disappeared under her lids. Voice rising in panic, she tried to turn her girlfriend's face toward her but her neck was still arching back too far, "Willow?!"

That was when the seizure fully took hold.



-----------------------------------------------------------------TBC in Pt II
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Replies


SJ- Thank you, as always.

leonhart- Well, since there was more than one person who suggested the vampire thing, it seemed reasonable that the girls would try it too... but there's the fundamental issue that vampires are dead. Kinda hard to suck the life outta a corpse. ^_^ As to her reaction? Well, she already knew the plan if vamp-biting didn't work, so once, um, events were set in motion, there wouldn't be much reason to wait. Plus there's that whole "I almost died" rush.


General- I'm surprised no one here said "ew" about the vamp-dust/blood flavored smooch. Above and beyond the call of duty for poor Willow...

To those who were in chat, I forgot to mention... the parody I showed you may never be posted- if it is, it won't be any time soon. My inhibition switch is stuck in the "on" position outside of chat at this point.


-Never

Aww, poor girls... Hope Willow's okay... and that Tara doesn't do something reckless out of guilt...

_________________
Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

There's a nice balance in your writing,you get the pacing and angst levels just right.
Great update.

OOOOOOOH!
fantastic update!
Poor Will
Can't wait for the next update!!

_________________
Strange Awakenings - Heaven

Hey Never
The last couple of updates were very exciting. I was swept along by the action - both the scary, fraught action with the vamps, and the tense, focused action that followed.

The hospital scene had me protesting all along that Tara wouldn't hurt Willow, so I was waiting to see what had really happened. You had me unwillingly convinced that Willow's state was a result of Tara feeding, and then erased that with the flashback. Willow's happy (understatement, I know) state after the lovemaking was a relief, but then you slipped the knife in.

The repetition, not only of Willow's words but of her actions - as if she was on a closed loop (sorry, that's the programmer coming out) - was very scary, very real, and let us experience Tara's confusion and fear.

Gimme more... um, please?

Just on a side note, I know how real and freaky this 'looping' is from 'this one time' when I came off a horse and was knocked unconscious. When I was coming to, I repeated a phrase several times (I only remember saying it twice) and I very clearly remember how that completely freaked out the girl I was speaking to. Apparently I'd been riding around and talking for 20 minutes or so before that, which makes it even creepier. So that scene of Willow's brain shortfusing was very real to me.

Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

Replies


leonhart- One of the gang doing something reckless when faced with guilt/grief? Neeeeever. ^.^

SJ- *stares in shock* Words! Of the more-than-two variety! @_@
I'm glad the jumping thing works for you, pace-wise (I assume your comment was directed specifically at this chapter, though I will flattered either way). I figured it gave me a way to drop little bits out of both scenes without really missing anything… and the jump keeps the hospital part from being all dialog and the house part from being all action. It also decreases the chance of desensitization to the differing kinds of badness in each.

tarawillow<3- You won't have long to wait. I'm hoping to have Pt II done in time for chat on Fri night… And yes, Willow is rather getting the short end of the stick in this story. I mean- stuff is happening to Tara, but Will gets to deal with all of it without being able to really change any of it.

spells42- I'm glad I'm sucking you in (success!) to my tale. I didn't realize, actually, how the concurrent scenes could be misleading… I just had in mind that there was some delay in the effect of feeding (unless Tara were in such a state as Buffy found her- but that was extenuating circumstances), which Willow mentioned after she woke up last time. Between that, the prevailing theory over the cause for greater "efficiency" that caused succubus feeding to evolve in this direction, and Tara's motivation to keep the non-amorous aspect of their activities as being of lesser importance, it seemed logical that she would delay the act of feeding as she did. The consequences of not feeding are great (Buffy incident), there was a false sense of security (last time went OK), there was the 'just survived a brush with death' high, the hunger is significant, no other solution has presented itself, and then you add Willow-lips… so, again, the idea that Tara would feed off her girlfriend seemed plausible. Not to mention dramatic (this is, after all, entertainment). ^_^

With regard to reality showing up in fiction- why make stuff up when the truth is so much scarier? Despite having witnessed seizures before, I also did some research to keep my facts straight and consistent with what I've decided is happening.

Thanks for reading!
*goes back to sharpening her emotional knife*

-Never

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

It was mentioned to me that my writing can be kinda dense- which is actually a compliment to me, since that's the kind of stuff I like to read. It made me think I should share a little something I did about a week ago in a fit of geekdom; I indexed the difficulty of reading my stuff.




Ref: http://www.usingenglish.com/glossary/fog-index.html



Ref: http://www.usingenglish.com/glossary/co ... index.html

--------------So where do I stand?------------------------

My fic, based on the average of a random sample (via random.org) from 5 pages of each of my two files, using the second paragraph on the page with more than 2 sentences in it:

From the first (Ch 1-11) file's pages 6, 33, 60, 93, 103
Fog: 5.35, 10.84, 8.94, 13.6, 9.28 Ave= 9.6
C-L: 8.16, 9.6, 8.67, 8.27, 8.4 Ave= 8.62

Full Page 98;
F: 5.0 (dialog drops it due to short/incomplete sentences)
C-L: 9.37 (doesn't take syllables into account)

From the second (Ch12-16) file's pages 2, 21, 47, 76:
Fog: 10.49, 12.84, 9.0, 15.2 Ave= 11.88
C-L: 8.7, 8.36, 9.75, 14.7 Ave= 10.38

Full Page 82;
F: 5.84
C-L: 10.69

Complete File Ch 1-16
Fog: not feasible to calculate
C-L: 5.89 (474,116/101,573) – 0.3 (5.5) – 15.8 =
27.492 – 1.65 – 15.8 = 10.04

Changes is American 10th grade reading level.

Ch 17 Pt II


Not for the faint of heart

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


"She just kept shaking- I called 911… she told me all I could do w-was watch."

"How long did the first one last?"

"I don't know. It… it seemed like a long time, but…" Tara shook her head again. "She said to check the time, but I didn't see a clock- I couldn't leave her-"

"It's all right. If you've never seen one a seizure can make just about anyone panic." The doctor glanced at Xander's rigid anger, then Buffy's expressionless mask before looking back to her, emphasizing, "you did everything you could."

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

The light was on now, yet somehow the scene felt that much less real for the clarity it provided. A cordless phone was pressed to one of her ears, the operator asking her question after question. Tara kneeled behind Willow on the bed, her knees helping to keep the redhead on her side as she continued to convulse, one hand on her shoulder to keep her from rolling over entirely, careful to keep the spastic motion from raking the cruel claws across her love's pale skin.

Willow's cheeks had faded from their former flush, going from pale to almost blue in cast. The sound of her teeth grinding was sharp, grating over Tara's already frayed nerves.

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

"And what happened when it stopped?"

"She just went limp- I tried to wake her up , but…" She shook her head for the umpteenth time, hands clenching in her lap. Her claws were digging painfully into her palms, barely concealed from view.

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

"Willow-" Tara's voice was choked in her effort not to yell her unresponsive girlfriend's name. The calm voice of the operator told her to speak quietly, not to shake her, that she might be confused. "She's still not w-waking up- why isn't she waking up?"

Tara heard distant sirens like a wash of ice over her senses, focusing them entirely on that trace of hope. Not sure whether it was better if her girlfriend could hear her or not, she whispered as much for herself as for the redhead, "Hold on, Sweetie. Only a few more minutes- they'll be here soon."

In a moment of detachment she wondered if she should cover Willow. Her girlfriend had peed the bed some time in the process- she would be mortified if she had any awareness… better that she wasn't.

Willow's breath was coming in gasps that seemed too few and far between, the blue of her lips darkened to a near bruise-like purple but for a bright red trickle of blood across them. Her cheek was still twitching where Tara touched it gently with a clawed hand as she wracked her brain for a spell that could help until the paramedics arrived.

Clawed. She felt another jolt of panic as she tried to shift into human form and failed. Again- no result. If not herself- she tried to remember the portfolio she'd practiced, but another movement from her girlfriend drew her attention.

Willow's shoulders curled inward, arms straight at her sides, wrists flexed sharply into clenched hands, her head tilting back another inch. She went rigid again, toes curling under so tightly that the tendons of her feet stood out in grotesque relief.

"It's happening again," Tara whimpered into the phone.

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

"How long between?"

"Five, six minutes." She'd timed the second round, the third. The fourth had been happening while she scrambled for her cloths- trying to cover her tail, her horns as the paramedics pulled into the driveway.

"And she never woke up."

"No."

"And she'd never had a seizure before today- you're sure?"

"I don't think so-"

"No. Nothing like that." Xander spoke up, his tone still harsh.

"Any medical problems you know of?"

"Nothing." Xander had taken over, arms crossed and glaring at Tara once more. "Never."

"No diabetes? Blood pressure problems? Any family history of epilepsy? Never had meningitis or encephalitis?"

"No- she was fine. She got hay fever sometimes in elementary school, but even that went away. There was nothing wrong with her before this."

"Any history of head trauma?"

"Not recently." Xander seemed reluctant to offer something that everyone in the room but the doctor knew was unrelated. "She had a concussion in high school. Had to stay overnight here but they let her go the next day."

"Is she on any medications?"

"No-" Xander's patience began to thin, "Look- didn't they ask all this before?"

"Yes, and I'm asking again. In the absence of her family, there might be something she," he pointed at Tara, "doesn't know that you do. Seizures have a hundred and one causes- the more I find out, the more likely I can help her." The doctor was unruffled but raised his eyebrows as if waiting for more before returning to his questions. "So she doesn't take anything- how about vitamins? Alternative medicines? Herbal stuff? Birth control?"

Xander snorted humorlessly at the last one.

"Yes." Tara looked up suddenly, feeling like an idiot. She'd forgotten to even think of it as medication. "She's on, um, Breverin? Brevicon? Borvicon? Something… it's an orange box?" The doctor nodded, noting it down.

"What? I mean- why?" Xander's agitation didn't break, the question pointed as if this too were her fault.

Tara flushed. Of course Xander wouldn't know. It wasn't exactly something you talked to a guy about, closest friend or no. She glanced over at the doctor, hoping for a moment she would be spared the explanation, but he was also waiting for what she had to say.

"If you need to, I can get the rest of the history in private…" he prompted, pointing his pen out of the room. Xander swelled in outrage while Buffy seemed not to hear. Tara shook her head. This wasn't the time for modesty.

"She started in… high school? She wasn't getting her, um, cycle- it stops w-whenever she quits taking them." In another situation she could imagine Xander sticking his fingers in his ears and complaining about 'girl stuff' traumatizing his fragile sense of manliness, but today it made no impression on his scowl.

"Hormone regulation for amenorrhea." Dr. Tautashep translated, seeming satisfied. "Anything else?"

"Multivitamin… sometimes. She forgets a lot." Tara hunched further at the criticism she was implying. "She complains they're horse pills."

"Probably has calcium in it, then. Any herbal stuff? Homeopathic? Smoker?" Tara's shake of the head brought on the next set of questions. "How much does she drink?"

"She hardly ever does-" Xander picked a spot at the floor to stare at. "She says she likes inhibitions a lot more than regrets."

"As far as you know- any of you- has she ever done any street drugs?"

"No. God- she wouldn't even know how to get them." Xander's indignation mirrored Tara's own, but she merely shook her head.

"You'd be surprised. Huffing? Buys a lot of cold medicine? 'Borrows' meds from anyone?"

Some part of Tara wanted to get angry, to be offended by the implications that Willow was that kind of person. The doctor wouldn't know, though. How could he tell from just a nearly lifeless body covered by a single sheet and no voice to speak for itself? Even then- there were premeds who had illicit stashes of Ritalin, honor students without a smirch on their record who were found with Aricept hidden in their closets. She settled for another sharp shake of her head.

"She won't even take a pinecone home from the state park and you think-"

The doctor interrupted before Xander could finish his explosion, "I think nothing. I ask because I have to find a reason that a basically healthy nineteen-year-old girl is in the ER. Most common things that do that- drugs, alcohol, trauma. The same big three that put most people her age in the ER."

"Let him do his job Xander." Buffy's command was the first thing she had uttered and there was a subtle change in Xander's posture as he stood down. "Mom had to tell them the same stuff for her headaches."

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

The siren screamed overhead and the back of the ambulance seemed to lurch every few seconds as they changed direction. Somehow they had put an IV in Willow's left arm, the male paramedic clamping the arm down while the lady medic slid the needle in deft defiance of the combined shaking of both target and the vehicle they rode. An oxygen mask had already been strapped over the redhead's face but her skin hadn't lost its sallow sheen.

A little T-shaped device was pressed to one of her fingers and there was a snap, blood welling as it was moved aside. A dab on a strip was fed into one of the abundance of devices strapped to the walls or pulled from the endless cabinets. The man started jotting notes intermittently as a fluid bag was hung from the ceiling.

"Glucose is 112- you push the lorazepam yet? BP… Christ, do you think that's from muscle contracture?"

"Shit-" The lady's eyes flicked to Tara, who had been relegated to the front seat as they worked, craning back to try to see what was happening. In a false calm the lady continued, "I hope so."

The radio crackled loudly, startling Tara such that she fell back in her seat.

"What've we got, Monty?" The static didn't entirely cut out the convivial tone.

"Nineteen-year-old female in status. New onset- no obvious cause. Gimmee some numbers guys- you got a pressure yet?" Monty called into the back, swerving gracefully around a newspaper delivery truck.

"220/115, heart rate 150s, breathing's agonal, was sat-ing in the low 80s on 100% nonrebreather, sugar 112." There was a pause. "She's stopped breathing again- I'm bagging her."

Monty relayed the information, adding, "The girlfriend saw it- she's with us. ETA in… five."

"I'll put on a fresh pot of coffee for ya-" The static cut out.

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

"Alright, I need to ask you to step out for a while I do the physical. Gertie will call you back in as soon as I'm done."

Tara nodded numbly, trying not to think about yet another stranger's eyes on Willow, the poking and prodding indignities that were inescapable when she lay so vulnerable. She stood, finally approaching the bed. Willow's hair was still plastered to her forehead by a sheen of sweat, the abrupt rise and fall of her chest her only movement.

I'll be back soon, Sweetie.

She hugged her arms tighter around herself, still unwilling to touch the waxen figure. Real, but unreal…

While Dr. Tautashep pulled on a pair of blue gloves Xander filed out sullenly, followed by Buffy. Tara began to follow, only to feel a touch from the doctor.

"In here you can pass, but people are gonna notice you in the waiting room- if you take the ambulance door you can get out without being seen." He suggested quietly, unfazed when Tara's startled eyes met his. "The nurses are starting to get suspicious, too… I know you want to stay, but there's not a lot of sympathy for demons in here."

She nodded mutely, which seemed to satisfy him.

"I… I d-did this to her." She confessed to the doctor's back in a whisper. He nodded that he'd heard, pulling his stethoscope down from around his neck and her words started to tumble out, finally reflecting the panic she'd felt from the beginning. "I don't even know what I did- I don't know how to fix it-"

"We'll do what we can about the physical problems and hopefully the rest will follow." With that Dr. Tautashep slid the stethoscope in his ears in tacit dismissal.

Tara wavered at the door. She couldn't leave. She couldn't just abandon Willow when it was her own fault her girlfriend was in this state. She stared at a clawed hand and tried once more to call up her guise of humanity.

Nothing.

Someone else's would have to serve. Tara looked up, opening her eyes to look into Dr. Tautashep, through his aura to what lay beneath. There was a ghost of an image, but it flickered out like a candle before she could focus it. Furrowing her brow she backed away mentally to examine his aura.

It was unlike Jean's or Dawn's- in them Tara had found an unreadable haze, with not even a hint of what ideal might lie in their subconscious. The doctor's was erratic, clear one moment and fragmenting the next, giving momentary glimpses of his sleepiness, his genuine concern, a streak of suspicion- and it was gone again.

She didn't have the emotional reserve to spare for mysteries when he showed no hint of threat. She scanned the hallway, focusing in on a rotund nurse's offering. The shift snapped into place and she waited a moment to make sure she had her equilibrium before heading out the way Xander and Buffy had gone.

It wasn't far. Xander was hovering near the door, clearly waiting for her. He did a double-take at her new appearance before his face darkened further. Somewhere in Tara's mind it registered that no one had seen her demon form before except Willow, let alone any other shifting. It was bad enough to show them what she was, but under the circumstances it was just adding fuel to the fire.

"You! You did this to her! Fix it!" He flung his hand back toward the ER door, his loud words lost in the cacophonanous drone of the waiting room.

"I can't." She collapsed into a chair, dropping her head into her hands. She didn't have the will to face him- any of them. Not now.

"It's a magic thing, right? So magic it back!" He was looming over her, yelling now, but the more frightening presence was the small figure behind him. Buffy just watched silently with arms crossed in front of her, face unreadable but eyes utterly unyielding.

"I d-don't know how." This body's voice sounded strange to her ears, somehow even more vulnerable than before.

"Oh- oh that’s rich." Xander quieted slightly as a security guard passed through, eying him. His motions were still sharp, almost aggressive, and she winced as he lay into her again. "She 'wanted' this? What happened to the 'long term' of long term exposure?"

"I don't know," she repeated. There were things that would have made it worse than the first time. The spell Willow had cast earlier had been no mean feat- plus there was no telling if she still had lingering effects from Sunday. It was Wednesday, no, Thursday now. By Jean's estimates, she shouldn't have needed another victim for at least three days, and it shouldn't have hit a typical person as hard as it had hit Willow. Wasn't her quickening supposed to be over?

She tried to put together the timeline, but her mind wouldn't cooperate, taking Xander's words instead and holding them to her in a mental cilice. Even as her heart bled from his latest round of denunciations, she only wished there were something she could give him to make his fear go away. He had his own love for Willow, as did Buffy- both as valid as her own. They had a right to express their pain and if she could not allay their fears, she could at least offer an outlet for their helpless need to feel they were doing something.

She wished she had that luxury.

"Xander, I just finished reviewing Willow's living will with the secretaries- intake people, rather. Can't call anyone a secretary anymore." Giles' voice emerged behind her, sounding strained. She noticed tiny drips on the grey of her sweater, evidence of silent tears she hadn't realized were trailing down her face.

"Can you believe- they wouldn't let us back there at first! Family only- they have her file! We're on the damned list and they didn't want to check!"

"It's been sorted." Giles' words made clear that he was in no mood to join the tirade.

Tara's respite from Xander's wrath was short lived as his eyes fell on her again, eyes narrowing as he hissed, "God- can't you even wear your own face for this?"

"I t-t-" She swallowed, settling for shaking her head as she dropped it in further shame.

"Nevermind. You're a demon- this," his gesture included both the ER and her, "this is just what you do."

There was nothing she could say and no voice was raised in her defense.

Gertie appeared at the door barring the waiting room's access to the inner ER, scanning the room and quickly zeroing in on them. "The doc's done if you want to come back in- it'll be a few hours at least before she goes upstairs."

Xander gave one last look of loathing before hastening after the nurse. It seemed Buffy paused too in her own moment of silent regard, but then she turned as well. Tara began to rise, but found a hand fall heavy on her shoulder. It carried the bite of one of the protective charms and did not fall away as she was firmly pressed back in her seat.

"Stay." Giles was standing just behind her now, and however neutrally phrased, it was not a suggestion. Tara looked up at him, shoulder progressively tensing under the sting of contact but unable to draw away without doing so forcefully. He didn't look directly at her, but continued with a quiet steel,

"Despite my better judgment, I trusted you. Not only with Willow, but with Buffy… it is her duty to protect the innocent from the supernatural. She has accepted that but she is too willing to believe the best in people- especially those she considers her friends… but you are forcing her to make a choice."

Tara knew what he meant but still felt the chill of the implied threat. Whatever Buffy had felt before, in endangering Willow Tara had crossed into the realm of a potential danger. Whether that potential necessitated action was up to the Slayer and the Slayer alone to judge.

"I'm sorry." It was in all ways inadequate, but all she had to offer.

Giles gave her a measured look, searching her face for something that he must not have found. "If Willow does not survive… I will not allow the burden of slaying a friend fall on her again."

"If that happens, you won't have to."

The numb certainty must have carried in her voice. Giles dark mask broke into momentary understanding before his features settled into the tired intensity she knew from late night research sessions. His hand fell away from her shoulder, now almost numb from the sustained shock of contact, and he moved like an old man to sink into a chair beside her.

"Hey! I brought the donuts." Anya appeared, lifting a carry-pack of donut holes in illustration. "We can bribe the nurses now."

"Lovely." Giles looked in askance at the smiley face adorning the box and sighed.

"It's a well known fact- leave a box of donuts in your ICU room and the nurses check on you more." Anya dropped into the chair on Tara's other side, looking somewhat unsettled when she looked at the witch. "You are Tara, right?"

Tara flushed, examining her hands in her lap and nodding slightly.

"Well, good. It would have been awkward if the person who was with Willow in the middle of the night wasn't you."

For some reason, the words were comforting. Anya was examining her critically, but in the upset of her mind Tara found that she didn't care enough to squirm under the scrutiny.

"Pretty, but it doesn't suit you." Anya pronounced.

They sat in silence for another moment, listening to the whimpers, groans, screaming children, and impatient adults that swirled around them. At length Giles spoke again carefully, as if not trusting himself to say what he intended.

"Is there a reason you aren't trying to heal her?"

"Th-the spells I know wouldn't help… for a papercut or to help with pain maybe but…"

"We both know you can do better than that."

"I can't. The rituals… they'd never let me." She looked up toward where the main hospital's rooms were.

"Willow made very clear in her papers that she wanted her faith to be practiced openly in her vicinity and supported the use of whatever alternative therapies that her power of attorney felt appropriate- there is a limit to what the hospital setting will allow, but she was fully aware that what sent her to the hospital might not be something they were fully prepared to deal with. The wording is such that we can argue almost any ritual with the administration. I suggest you find a way to make use of that." The glint in his eyes was still hard. "Soon."

"You'll need to get stuff for that, right? I'll take her," Anya volunteered, standing quickly and dropping the box of donuts unceremoniously in Giles' hands.

She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to go search frantically through books when Willow was here, hurting. Needing her… but it was an emotional need, and if the physical wasn't addressed, the emotional might not have a place to exist for much longer. There was no way to predict the course of what she'd done to her lover. "I can't leave her-"

"She's not even awake- what good is it to stare at her?" Anya made it sound like genuine question, but the point was made and Tara dropped her head. Anya was right. It was only her own emotional state she was treating by being here, offending those who loved Willow by her simple presence.

She stood and let Anya herd her away, trying not to feel every step of the distance she put between herself and her love.



----------------------------------------TBC in Pt III

Note: Tautashep is actually Tautashép, but I'm too lazy to drag out the symbol menu repeatedly.

Edited to add: New picture up on the Changes Album

Aww, poor everyone! I forgot how big of an ass Xander is when he's being self-righteous (a la Buffy/Angel in season 3) but you've captured it perfectly... I can't wait to see what happens next!

_________________
Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

Yay for great update-y goodness... Xander sure is an ass... I truly hope Willow very very soon wakes up and forgives Tara...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

You get the pace and balance right in each chapter.
Great update.

Ch 17, Pt III

Rating: Still pretty rough.


The streets were beginning to fill with the early wave of commuters as Anya drove them back toward the Magic Box. Tara huddled in the passenger's seat, trying not to let the vibrating grumble of the car coax her eyelids any lower. They'd made a short stop at Tara's dorm, upending her bookbag and throwing anything she might possibly need into it. She had an idea where to look up rituals of the magnitude she needed; the ones that would ride the line between strong enough to make a difference and so strong as to overwhelm her control.

When Anya broke the silence Tara jumped, realizing she had begun to drift asleep against the window. The steady sound of the car still called to her, but she scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes and looked to the ex-demon.

"Sorry?"

"I asked when you last slept."

"After the, um, bug hunt." She tried to figure out how long ago that was, but her sense of time was getting progressively more muddled.

"For how long?" Anya demanded, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

"Enough." It had to be enough.

"Translated into hours, I'm betting about three- if you went to class."

"I slept through one of my lectures?" It didn't matter and only made her feel more exhausted to think about it. She stared at a man getting out of his car, setting a takeout coffee cup on the roof as they passed him.

"Fine. Four hours out of seventy-two." Anya pulled up to the store and parked. She looked at Tara seriously, "This is big magic. Healing spells are incredibly touchy in the best of circumstances, let alone when you're half asleep and don't even know what you're trying to fix."

"I have to do this." Tara climbed out of the car stiffly and started toward the Magic Box, lacking the energy to argue the point.

"Of course you do," Anya responded sharply, "I wasn't saying you shouldn't."

Tara just stared at her, not trusting herself to speak without snapping out something she'd regret later, then remembered she'd left a book she needed in the back. She pulled her bag from the seat behind her, almost overbalancing with the unexpected weight. Anya retrieved her own bag and opened the shop door.

The bags were set aside as both women descended on the shelves. The ex-demon did not expound on her earlier comments, nor object to the haphazard way Tara was pulling books and piling them on the table as she rejected each.

"Would doing an inner scrying help figure out what to do?"

"No- to do a deep enough dive would take too much energy… even if I found something, I might not have the power left to fix it."

"But if the fix is ritual, you might-"

"A ritual can't carry a healing spell entirely- there's too m-much involved without getting guidance and there's too much that can go wrong to de-personalize it." She tried to soften her temper, knowing that Anya was trying to help, but she was running short on empathy and her tone showed it. She mentally reigned herself in, breathing deeply before she looked to see Anya trying to mask her hurt. "It's like you, um, said- it's big magic."

"What about this one?" Anya passed over the book she held open, tapping the page.

Tara skimmed it, brow furrowing. This wasn't going to be enough and called on a few powers she didn't usually deal with, but it gave her an idea. She glanced up at the book-loft, wondering.

"Don't go there." Anya advised in clipped tone, not looking from where she scanned the shelves for another book. Tara felt her cheeks flush in both embarrassment and irritation.

"It may be what I need to-"

"Dark magic. Distraught demon." Anya leveled her eyes on Tara's. "Don't. Go. There."

Tara felt her jaw clench at the words and she dropped the human guise she'd been wearing as she hissed, "there is no such thing a-as 'dark' magic, and even if there were- isn't that what demons are supposed to use?"

"Oh, very dramatic." Anya sounded eminently unimpressed. "The stuff up there is there because it's dangerous- either to you or to your target. The only healing you're going to find is going to be transference or reciprocity based, and frankly, you still don't seem like the type for blood sacrifice."

"Then what am I supposed to do?!" Tara added another book on the stack behind her, the enormity of the task before her crashing in all over again. "I'm not Willow- she might have the power to do this, but I…" She dropped down on one of the bench seats, book hugged to her chest as she looked toward the hospital as if she could see her love from where she sat. "I'm just me."

"Good." Anya started sorting through the books they'd pulled with an agitated energy. "You can borrow power, but you can't borrow finesse- and finesse?" She made a derisive sound. "Not Willow's specialty."

Borrow.

Tara's eyes widened as she thought about it, wondering why she hadn't realized before. Too many years practicing solo perhaps. Willow had enthused for a week about the spell she'd put together that allowed Buffy to destroy Adam. Tara hadn't been thrilled with that one- if anything serious had happened to Buffy while they were linked it could have been disastrous for them all, plus there had been the lingering influence from tapping into the First Slayer. The lingering aggression that had bled into her girlfriend's personality for those few days hadn't been directed at Tara, but had still been a deeply disturbing look at what lay within her girlfriend's psyche. Nietzsche would have had a field day.

Tara pulled out the very first book she'd selected, flipping to the spell she'd known to look for, but rejected off hand. She'd done enough joint casting with Willow to familiarize herself with using the energy of others in her craft, but this was going to be a little different. She estimated she could weave three lines into the ritual before she'd have to delegate a second to do the actual casting. Three was auspicious in its own right, but the choice of who she would need to help her was a problem. Giles might know what to do and Anya continually surprised her with the range of magical knowledge she possessed, but they weren't ideal for what she had in mind.

She choked back a despairing chuckle, searching for an inner calm that would let her think this through clearly.

"Anya… this- if I tied it into the Frison Reversion do you think it might..?" Another set of eyes would have to replace her own fractured sense of judgment.

"Depends on your sources." Anya pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. "You want to use Xander for this, don't you."

"He… he's the least likely to cause a reaction. Buffy w-would be best for the base, but I have to… the Slayer thing is strong, but it's not going to cooperate. With Xander's… harmonics? He's already tuned in with Willow, so if the balance breaks- it's like a safety net." She didn't mention about the wildcard factor that a Hellmouth-native added to the mix. It only made him more compatible at minimum, and if she was lucky, the theory she and Willow had discussed would be right and he'd have an undiscovered magical talent to utilize.

"True," Anya hurumphed.

"All I need is for them not to fight it…" She started to formulate her arguments, trying to anticipate where the ex-demon would take her objections. Protesting that she wouldn't hurt anyone was a lost cause given her recent track record.

"As long as you aren't looking for deep and abiding trust, I can get Xander for you." Anya looked up in time to see Tara's surprise at her easy concession. "What? You'd burn out before anything happened to him- that's what the loop here is for." She tapped the page between them. "He needs to feel like he's helping or he'll keep going on about 'demon-blah-blah, evil-blah-blah, should've-known-blah-blah'. He has no idea how upsetting that is."

"Why..? I mean- you're not, um… anymore, so…"

"You wouldn't talk crap about the military to Riley just because he's out, would you? And he actually chose to leave." Anya continued testily, "everyone seems to forget that I didn't choose this."

"So you'd go back?" Tara tried to imagine Anya as a demon. She had heard all the stories, mostly from Anya herself, but it was like listening to your grandparents talk about when they met; as much as you knew it was true, it seemed too far fetched to credit. Grandparents have always been grandparents, parents have always been parents, and Anya had always been human in her mind.

"Oh, I've adjusted to civilian life now- after the way he cut me off, D'Hoffryn would have to make a pretty sweet offer before I'd work for him again." Tara sensed that it was still a sore point with the ex-demon and decided to drop it. Anya sounded like she needed to talk this through with someone who could offer more than distracted comforting sounds and Tara didn't have it in her at the moment.

She combed her hair back out of her eyes with the tips of her claws. The spell would take the lock from the second book from her dorm and had a built-in assumption that allowed the addition of the Frison Reversion she needed. Now it was just a matter of the least glamorous part of spell-craft; logistics and preparation. And the last little matter. Tara sighed. "I just have to get Buffy's help then."

"Buffy'll probably jump at anything that looks like a last ditch, desperate, against-all-odds dramatic showdown. It keeps her from having to think too hard."

Tara winced at the analysis but had to admit it was at least partially accurate. She stood, pulling the primary tome with her only to have Anya push it decisively back on the table. Her questioning look was met with a shooing motion.

"If you're going to do anything with Xander, you're not doing it on three hours sleep."

"Four?"

"Four, then." Anya was somehow managing to propel her back toward the training room despite Tara's brain telling her feet quite sternly to stop.

"There's not time- I need to get…" she waved at the spell's prodigious list of components, some of which required significant manipulation and mixing before use.

"It's in English. I can read and you'd end up asking me where to find half of it anyway. Not to mention the mess you and Willow always leave the jars in."

"We put them back in order."

"In her order. Who in their right mind uses phyla to organize herbs?" Anya had herded her to the ever-popular mat pile, where just the prior night she'd given up her prescribed pre-patrol nap to placate Willow. The redhead had felt so betrayed over the Key's identity being kept from her... Tara's mind stopped cold, even as a pillow was pushed into her hands- the same nail-polished stained one she'd had before.

The Key was a permutation of magic in its purest form. It had a purpose, but within that it was supposed to be infinitely adaptable… and she couldn't touch it. It wasn't 'it'. It was Dawn. There was no way to know what using any part of the Key's energy would do to her, and there was the question of scale. This was a big spell she was going to attempt, but everything they'd read so far made it sound like using the energy of the Key would be like… like her spell was a house fire- big, daunting, dangerous- and she opened the floodgates to Niagara Falls to put it out. She'd put out the fire, certainly- the question was whether there'd be a house left afterwards. Or a neighborhood. And then there was getting those floodgates to close again…

"I'll wake you when I've got everything together." Anya gave her a gentle shove and Tara felt herself fold over into a loose curl around her pillow, clinging to it rather than putting it to its intended use. Her mind teased her with the possibility. What if the Key was the answer? What if she was playing it safe again, taking certainty of mediocrity over the chance for absolute success or total disaster? If she took the risk herself, the potential gain for Willow… with the right ritual, keeping most of the magic in a feedback loop to Dawn while shunting off just what she needed… if it behaved like the magic she was familiar with. There was no guarantee of that.

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"She's WHAT?!"

Tara awoke with a start, knowing she'd fallen asleep only by the angled light streaming in one of the room's high windows. Since the first exclamation Buffy's words had been muffled, but there was no mistaking that an argument had ignited in the Magic Box's main room. Pushing herself into a seated position and rubbing her gritty eyes, the witch tried to compose herself for the coming confrontation. She could just make out the loudest of the exchange and felt the weight of guilt dropping on her.

"Oh- And she thought a little beauty sleep was the answer?!"

Anya said something incomprehensible in response that lasted a while, after which Buffy quieted somewhat. Tara stood slowly, achy and slightly lightheaded as she adjusted to full waking. She had a brief fantasy of a shower and brushing her teeth, but shook it off. Sleep had been a necessary evil- clean was only a luxury. She left the pillow where it was and headed toward the door to the main shop.

Into the breach… She didn't hesitate, nor try to conceal the marks of the demon in evidence on her. There was no need to insult Buffy's intelligence by hiding, not when the most damning proof of what she was lay in Sunnydale General.

Buffy was in her stance-of-not-listening, arms crossed and feet wide, glowering at an unperturbed Anya.

"You don't understand- it's not a matter of 'try harder'. If it were, Willow wouldn't screw up so much." The ex-demon didn't look up from whatever she was busying her hands with.

"I get it- this is CostCo-size magic stuff-"

"I don't think you do get it. I got the Most Efficient Vengeance of the Decade award in 1860 from a major healing spell. The guy decided to sacrifice his wife to cure his mistress' tuberculosis- so part way through I just appeared and poked him in the ribs. He was ticklish." Anya's face carried a smug little grin for a moment. "His hold on the spell slipped- everything the disease had affected was hit. Even though her brain was herniating, she stayed conscious- I remember her lungs pretty much exploded after twenty minutes… they sounded like bubble wrap first…" The nostalgia faded from Anya's voice. "He was still linked to her, so he got to feel it all- he used the knife he was going to sacrifice his wife with to try to kill himself, but he missed and just punctured his stomach. Just as well. He died from the infection it caused about a month later, the majority of which was spent tied to his hospital bed near insane from intractable pain the doctor's couldn't find cause for. His wife-"

"I get it." Buffy reiterated with more force and some queasiness, directing her attention to Tara. Before she could say whatever bitter words she had readied, the witch rushed to speak first. There was one thing she had to know before she answered to the Slayer's demands.

"How is she?"

"She… um, Giles said they took her off the breathing machine about an hour ago but she's still in bad shape." Buffy's eyes dropped and she looked uncomfortable but she still spoke in command rather than suggestion. "Look- whatever you're doing, you need to do it in the next couple of hours. My mom has to be down south by four-thirty to get admitted for her thing tomorrow."

Tara nodded, scanning over the neatly organized stacks on the table. Her world had contracted to Willow, but that didn't mean the same went for everyone. She'd forgotten about Mrs. Summers' surgery on Friday, not to mention that her original surgeon's 'neck rupture' meant she'd have to go out of town.

"I didn't get the braiding finished and you'll have to do all the personal bits, but everything else is here." Anya headed off the conversation.

It was an impressive array. Tara had been sure that she'd have to substitute for a lot of the less common materials but as she ran a claw down the list there wasn't one that hadn't been measured, cut, ground, mixed, calcinated, reconstituted into little plastic phials, or retrieved from the Magic Box's lesser used storage boxes.

"I didn't know you did magic." Buffy was peering at the assembly with a trace of suspicion, seeming to have given up on whatever commentary she'd been attempting before.

"Spell casting I never got the hang of- but if you can read, you can ritual." Anya sounded proud, weaving the strands in her hands into a complicated five-part knotted rope. She checked a printout on the table against her handiwork before tying it off and handing it to Tara. "Unless you're Willow, in which case you summon your vampire twin instead of the carefully specified amulet you actually wanted."

Tara tried to process this and ended up relegating it to the "future conversations" file in the back of her brain. She started packing a file box, reviewing under her breath as she did which part each item would play.

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Tara pulled the first heavy box out of Buffy's car, her muscles protesting more from general fatigue than the weight. Buffy took the second, squinting back at the hospital, which was reflecting the noon glare in a blinding radiance against them. Birds were chirping, the sky was clear and blue.

It was wrong. Willow was hurt, and the world went on, uncaring. Tara fixed her eyes on the asphalt in sensory denial and trudged toward the building.

Buffy had gotten antsy in the silence as she drove, but must have mirrored Tara's feelings about the inappropriateness of the cheery pop music the radio had to offer. She'd settled on telling Tara how Giles had stayed late when her mother had another 'episode' after Buffy had gotten home. It was on his way home that he'd seen the ambulance at the Rosenberg house- he'd believed briefly that one of Willow's parents had some misfortune, calling the dorms before he put the lack of response there together with what he had seen.

Tara had nothing to say in response, just clasping her hands tightly in her lap and staring at them in silence. She'd taken it as a good sign that she could shift to human version of herself without having to resort to scanning people in the street for a template.

Willow was still in the ICU, which turned out to be only slightly less noisy than the ER. A team of white coat-clad young doctors was present, looking like ducklings as they trailed after the crabby-looking older doctor. Dr. Tautashep was among them, looking somewhat the worse for the wear and scooting away from the group to grab one of the nurses.

"Norma, did the read on four's repeat head CT get back yet?"

"You'll be the first to know- you might want to float a swan on her…"

Tara ignored the medico-babble. It wouldn't do her any good to try to decipher it and, even if it was Willow they were talking about, she knew better than they what needed to be done.

The room was smaller than she'd hoped, deserted but for its single patient, and was again partitioned from the central nurses' station by glass. The curtains had been pulled part way but Willow was still easily visible, tiny in the white- sheeted bed.

Without the breathing tube she looked more peaceful, though Tara had no way of knowing if this were true. The machine itself was still present, an ominous specter standing at ready. It seemed that the IV bags had multiplied since the ER, as had the different chirping sensors. She found herself grinning at the incongruous nearly-empty box of donuts on the counter, a large note proclaiming that they could be taken freely, but the box was not to leave the room.

"How do we do this thing?" Buffy asked flatly.

"Just set the stuff down and give me a half hour or so…" Tara glanced out at the nurses' station, so clearly visible through the clear walls. "Are we allowed to close the curtain?"

"Until they say otherwise." With a decisive yank they gained some degree of privacy. Tara felt the weight of Buffy's eyes on her as she opened the first of the boxes, and she didn't want to meet that guarded stare. After a minute the Slayer spoke again, quietly, "If I can't help I'm going for coffee- you want anything?"

Tara shook her head, unfolding the pre-inked tarp she'd brought. This was not a ritual that called for fasting, but she was fairly sure she didn't want anything in her stomach once things were underway. When Buffy opened the door the sounds flooded in for a moment.

"We're gonna have to come back on our lady in eight- she's got a religious thing…"

"Can't it wait till we're done rounding?" The crabby looking older doctor was earning his description.

"Would you interrupt if it were Communion? Last Rites?" That was Dr. Tautashep, challenging as politely as his weary voice would allow. Tara set down her handful of ziplock baggies and slid a piece of the curtain aside, catching the door before it slid back closed.

"I'm just, um, setting up… if you need…" She waved a hand toward where Willow lay. The crabby doctor needed no second invitation, sweeping in with his retinue of highly-educated, white-backed goslings in tow.

"Ben, you're up- you've got twenty minutes till you hit your 36, so I want the short version."

"Miss Rosenberg is a nineteen-year-old, right handed female brought to the ER this morning a-"

"Animals are female. Humans are women or ladies. And I said the short version- we can read the checkout page ourselves. What changed since we rounded this morning?"

"Her blood pressures been all over the place- she's still spiking to 190s over 130 when we drop the nipride, but a half hour later she's running 80s over 50s. Heart rate's labile, 60s to 120s, but her telemetry strip's been steady throughout. RT extubated her at eleven, she's at 94% on non-rebreather now…"

Tara stepped back and stopped listening. Lab values, medications, tests she'd never heard of were covered. They had their job, she had hers. She quietly began the blessings on the space, on the cord to connect, on the blade to sever, on the book to remember, on the seed to begin anew, and… she paused at the flame to clear the way, glancing back at the doctors. The crabby one had his eyes on her, frowning at the candle in her hand.

"I'm not familiar with your faith, but this is a medical facility first and foremost. No candles, no incense, nothing that can carry disease." He blended smoothly back into a lecture about eclampsia and how this wasn't it.

Eventually they filed out, reassuring her without saying much of anything. As the last in line slide the door shut behind him she heard one of the lady docs start up, "Do you remember that voodoo guy we had last month? Threw a fit about not being allowed to bring a live chicken to his room- take a wild guess what he was in for."

"Psittacosis?" It was Dr. Tautashep again, sounding put-upon.

"Got it in one. There is hope for you yet, kid." The chuckling was good natured, but didn't entirely lose its condescension.

The next half hour was a blur of meticulous setup, during which the room was adapted as best possible to the spell's needs. The curtain had finally been left partway open in concession to the nurses outside. After the third different nurse's visit to check on Willow she'd figured out that they were intensely curious but not quite bold enough to ask, and most importantly, weren't going to interfere. If it meant Willow was getting more attention for their curiosity, so much the better.

She drew the last of the lines across Willow's arm around the IV, bracing her hand to try to lessen the tremor that she'd developed and rechecked a piece of the pattern against the one on the back of her wrist, making sure she hadn't mirrored anything by accident.

Tara had lapsed in this part of her practice in the last three years and even now it added to the tightness in her throat as she reviewed the gestures of the lock. They were at once foreign from disuse and achingly familiar. She looked to the heart monitor, where she'd discovered a clock reading earlier. It was time for the others.

She didn't have far to go to find Buffy, who was settled in a corner of the lobby speaking to Riley. Tara hesitated as she saw Buffy's mask slide, turning to a fragility that seemed foreign to the Slayer's features.

"I can't be everywhere… Giles, Xander- they're the only ones left to help."

"Buffy, I…"

"I don't know why you didn't show that night-" She leaned closer into his side even as Riley started to draw away. "But that's okay. I know you had a reason." Her voice faded almost out of Tara's hearing, "I trust you. I don't think I've ever dated someone I could really say that about, but… I do. And I need you."

"I won't miss patrol again, Buffy-" His resolute pledge was cut off.

"It's not just patrol, Riley," she asserted, baring the brittleness she too often hid, "I need you. I need someone safe and solid that I can go to in all th-this insanity."

Tara leaned against the wall, unwilling to interrupt. Riley's posture had stiffened at Buffy's words, conversely withdrawing further.

"I need someone who can take care of himself, can face the darkness too." Buffy laughed mirthlessly. "Cuz, hello! Not going to disappear any time soon… You don't get safe and ass-kicker together very often, and I don't want you to think this is all about me, because it shouldn't be, but… I need you."

Something had shifted in the dynamic before Tara- some decision had been arrived at that she didn't even know the problem to. Even as Buffy became aware of her presence, hardening back into her usual role, there was some easing deep within her that Tara didn't need an aura to see. The man at her side, not yet sensing they were not alone, bent his head to kiss the crown of Buffy's head lightly.

"I love you, Buffy, and I'm here. As long as you need me… I'm here." With that he squeezed her shoulders with one massive arm and stood, finally seeing Tara hovering at the room's periphery. From the look on his face, he knew what she was and what had happened, but hadn't entirely reconciled the ideas. Her nod to him went unreturned as he passed her, heading for the elevators.

Buffy eyed the inked patterns that covered both of Tara's hands and wrists to where they disappeared under her sleeves. "Are we ready to do this? Xander should be back any minute- he and Giles are setting up some kind of distraction."

"There's some of, um, this," Tara indicated her hands, "that I have to…"

Buffy followed her back toward the ICU without affirmation, pausing only for a moment in the doorway to Willow' room as she took in the sight.

"Willow's stuff never looked like this."

"Good." Tara didn't elucidate her answer, just indicated for Buffy to sit in the one chair, then hesitated. "I need to, um… over y-your heart…"

Buffy gave her a very Buffy-esque hairy eyeball, which was absurdly comforting after the stoic expression she'd been holding for so long, snapped the curtain shut again and pulled up her shirt. "Can this stain?"

"Only till it dries?" Tara set her book beside her and began to copy the lock onto Buffy. If she weren't so emotionally strung out she might have been flustered, but the surreal feeling only allowed her enough presence of mind for her work. That and the bite when her skin brushed Buffy's- she must still be carrying the charm. Tara couldn't blame her for the caution.

"You know how much that tickles, right?" Buffy was looking everywhere but at her, Tara noticed absently, tracing the line she was working on across to link to Buffy's third chakra, then began the intricate diagram that would radiate there.

There was no warning when the room door was yanked open and Xander stalked through the curtain. Tara froze and Buffy seemed to have a desperate discussion with herself whether to yank her shirt back down and risk staining it. Xander, too, exchanged scowl for gape and stood frozen for long seconds before thrusting out an accusing finger.

"Crazy-witch-demon-magic-seduction-" It was the shotgun approach to expressing his condemnation, resulting in absolutely no coherent meaning.

"You get one too." Buffy informed him flatly, having settled on saving her shirt rather than her modesty. It wasn't as if her underwear revealed more than her bathing suits would, now that Tara thought about it. She reaffirmed her decision to stick to one-piece suits.

Xander did his goldfish impression as he tried to come up with an appropriate retort. At some point he'd forgotten to renew his glower and the change was a refreshing one. If only his heart would soften as easily as his face. Tara added the last set of dots to Buffy's markings and pushed herself up off her sore knees. "Give it a few m-minutes to dry before you touch anything," she advised softly as she turned to Xander.

"Can't I just get a hula-girl?"
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Posted in chat on 6/5/2010
Ch 18 next week!

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Replies-

leonhart- Xander is consistent in his anti-demon sentiment, and if you add in that Willow is the one who was hurt… his reaction is fairly predictable. He didn't really process the demon thing throughout the Buffy Incident (Could you imagine Tara as the culprit?), and when he visited Willow during her first convalescence, Tara wasn't around. In both cases Tara was detached, emotionally, even if his brain knew she was at fault. He might've had a snide remark or two, but Tara's not telling.

Zampsa- I don't think anyone expects Willow to do anything but forgive… in fact, she might not even realize that there is something to forgive. It wasn't Tara's intent to hurt her and she was aware of taking a risk- and she's been pretty clear that she doesn't want Tara looking elsewhere, given how much more dangerous the biting thing is and the ramifications of the, uh, traditional method.

SJ- I have to ascribe any pacing success to my subconscious… the balance (dark vs less dark- inner vs outer) is a little more deliberate- I'm rereading every time I sit down to type, so I get some sense of just how heavy-handed I'm being... but only a vague sense. As with many, I suffer from selective own-writing-blindness.

Thank you everyone, for your continued support. ^_^ It means a great deal to me these days.
-Never

Sorry I missed the chat debut... but I love the story. So I'm not diggin the willow in a coma bit, I'm sure you understand, but I am enjoying the way you're handling it. I'm particularly enjoying the medical stuff, the rounds, the terms, and the fact that it doesn't leave me rolling my eye-balls at unrealistic presentations. So... I'm crossing my fingers that this ritual works/ Helps/ Makes Tara quit kickin her own butt!!!

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"Love is like a piano, dropped from a four story window. And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time." ~ Ani

Yay for great update-y goodness... Good that Xander has calmed down some to co-operate with Tara...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Hope the spell works! And that Willow can calm Xander down...

_________________
Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

Alright.. I pretty much skimmed the whole things through, bookmarked to be read again later...

Well, Tara is a half demon, succubus, or whatever more (if there will be more surprise in the future); refused to feed on Willow, dully noted (a good thing though, signs that she cared about Will). Things on several last chapters: Tara screwed up.

Know how's that feel, been there, done that. Major suckage, heavy guilt, felt pretty shitty for the last two years. Though... even rat can change to tiger (or phrase something similar, forget) when it's forced to the corner. If life story is a fan fiction though, perhaps those that that were hurt can back off a little and give a breathing space. Even human have limits being played down for so long (will never happen. Heh, non-west culture sucks. 'You're still young... suck it up... blah blah blah.' Beaten -non literaly, to submission). Wonder when Tara explodes though... Understand where Xander, Buffy, and even Giles stand. Still though, things sucks. Hang on there Tare, there's always silver lining when you have major sucks in your life (what's the line again?)


Nevermind, just sharing

Re-reading in my to-do-list! Good one NeverChosen


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Well then, onto the challenge talk.

You caught me there. I think you really hit the point with 'what if' assumption and using characters' reaction to make a story line. It really hit me then. I started writing fan fiction five years ago and stopped after the first two years; diminished, more likely. The saying 'practice makes perfect' cannot be truer. It does affect my writing skill now. I have overloaded imagination with little way to express them on the paper (or keyboard, whichever preferred).

I tried to write now and then, and got stuck in the plot. I could write for about five pages (A4 paper) and suddenly I've passed four hours without realizing it; with stiff back and all the dessert of pain following. The next time I tried to connect the dot with second chapter, the connecting line vanished. Characterization is quite hard for me, making them dance with their own saying... character; and all without making them seemed too out of character.

I wonder if deep understanding of each character is a must in writing fan fiction. About the English as second, third, language thing... perhaps that implication is true after all. Although, that won't stop me from trying.

Thanks for your insight. It was really helpful.

Zampsa- I think it's less Xander cooperating with Tara than Xander doing whatever he can for Willow… which he has to put up with Tara to accomplish.

leonhart- Well, we must remember that if healing spells were particularly effective, there would be a lot more of them tossed around and they'd probably have been recognized by at least part of the medical community. Perhaps that's an efficiency question, or perhaps it's from all the dangers that Anya described for us- we shall see next chapter how it all went.

Bewitchedyke- The chat showing is always a load of fun, but I know- real life takes precedence.
Medical stuff I can do with some confidence, though I wonder if I overdo it… after all, most of the medico-babble means zilch to non-health care folks. The communication gap is a big chunk of health care, though, as well as the anxiety of having all this information flowing around you that you know is important, might tell you what you want to know, but makes no sense. So I try to ride the line between letting folks 'in the know' get enough info that they can take an educated guess at the underlying processes going on, while hopefully not boring everyone else.
"Make Tara quit kicking her own butt"? How likely is that? She just put Willow in a coma! There's not a spell in the world that would get her to feel she'd made up for that.

Perchipper- You'll probably get this on your non-skim read-through (woo hoo! I've written something worth a second read!), but I thought I'd clarify; there is no 'half' succubus. Succubus kids are human if they're a boy, pre-succubus if they are a girl. It's part of the 'obligate parasite' idea- there are a lot of parasites that require a host to reproduce. Based on the Maclay 'legend', this is an exclusively female trait with 100% expression/penetrance… which is a headache to try to explain in terms of real genetics.
Re: Limits. Limits are interesting to write because every person has them, but they involve deviating from the character's usual behavior when they are hit. It can be read as horrible characterization when overused or overdone, or can provide that human frailty that makes the character real.
As to the writing difficulties you've noted, I can offer a suggestion or two… outlines can be useful to provide known points of transition/connection. I'm not using one here (though I've written a calendar now, as I had trouble keeping track of scheduled events and what day of the week it was), but in a 'proper' story I'd have one written up before I started anything. It's only an outline- sometimes it has to be adjusted if the story doesn't flow naturally within it- but the bit of structure helps keep things cohesive.

I would say no, not each and every character. Your primaries, though, you should have a good grasp on. Everything has to go through the filter of that character's perception, so you need an idea of where they're coming from. To make it even more complicated, well written characters tend to change over time. How would S6 Willow react to VampWillow? I don't know what to say about getting that characterization right (heck, I can't even be sure I'm doing it right myself)… I have a lotta years of tabletop roleplaying experience, so I've been stepping into characters for a long time and figuring out how I/they'd act, given a different personality/history/skill set. Using someone else's character designs is new for me, but the fundamentals are (I hope) the same. It's about acting through the lens of the character rather than superimposing yourself on them.

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Process Stuff

Storytelling
or
Why I can be a beginner at this, but not totally suck. Just mostly.

This vaguely ties in to what I was writing in the stargazing scene…
I am only a grudging believer in the concept of ‘talent’. Talent is recognition of that unfairness that some people are just plain better at things for no good reason, to the general disgust (or admiration, depending on your outlook) of those around them. I find that being told “you are so talented” is vaguely insulting. It pretty much says that the speaker believes that I am good at what I do because I just am. No practice, no training- just talent. Grrr. Even people with talent have to do something to improve. There’s a girl I taught a bunch of art stuff to that pretty much left me in the dust after about a year- but what showed talent wasn’t the work she produced. In the beginning, it was better than most, but not so much that a person who’d put some effort into it wasn’t comparable. It was the speed with which she improved that tells me there was some kind of talent involved. Or it could possibly mean that I am not inclined artistically and so my perception was skewed by my own sluggish advancement. I was proud of having been part of her learning, but there is always that mean little voice in my head trying to call foul.

I noted at the beginning of Missing (my only other fanfic, now residing in the archives) that I am new to this whole writing thing. This is mostly true. I am new to writing fanfic. I have never had a creative writing course and the San Diego Public School System did not think that those kind of skills would bolster their standardized testing scores, so it wasn’t really covered. As such, any kind of fictional prose writing is, as I said, very new to me.

Storytelling isn’t. I differentiate these because there is crossover in skills. I was briefly an animator. I never published, but I have drawn a fair number of comics and done mockups (story, sketchy figures, layout- like a storyboard, but for a static media) of many, many more. I played tabletop RPGs for many years, and was the GM for most of them since around age 14 or 15, which meant designing a lot of new scenarios and playing a great many NPCs. I did cartooning-type illustration, which involves telling your story in a single frame. When I came up with storylines that were too expansive to draw in the time I had, I noted them down. One of those files is about 40 pages… of just notes. So the concept of telling stories is anything but new. It’s the medium that’s uncharted territory for me. Having gone through the process of training myself in a bunch of those artsy things I mentioned (yes, trained- I figured out what needed work and then drew those things over and over, pose after pose, layout after layout), I know better than to take up a new media and expect to be anything but mediocre in it.

Changes is my training in trusting myself. I told myself I would never post anything publicly unless I was utterly sure I could finish it. That meant writing the whole thing before hand. Then there was my obsessive editing. Then there was the realization that non-linear writing wasn’t the best way to do things and even more editing to compensate. I looked at the experience of writing Missing and decided that improv would help me write without backtracking, show me (I hope) that I could finish without knowing the journey, and get me into doing a storyline in the order in which it occurs. Well, it’s not improv, but it’s definitely been a learning experience already. Not the one I expected, but one that I think I needed. Still need- I’m not done yet. ^_^

Another way to take this. Nothing that you learn is wasted. It may not be obvious where it will go, but you never know when your skill will have a tangential benefit.


-------------------
A question to readers; there is a saying about "write what you know" that I've had to ignore more than I'd like during the course of this fic. Worse, I'm sure that there are readers who know a heck of a lot more than me about some of these things. Anyone have a guess as to what any of those things are? I'm curious how obvious my ignorance is.

Accidental double post removed.

Great update.

Ch 18


Angst Level: The overall story level is higher than the passenger load of an Odakyu subway car in rush hour. Ch 18 is not quite as bad as the last, but still pretty darn dark.

...


Tara lay alone in her room, curtains drawn against the fading light outside, her head buried under one of her pillows. It still carried the scent of Willow, but that couldn't distract her from the unrelenting agony ricocheting through her skull every time she breathed.

Or moved.

Or thought much.

Her stomach whined as it twisted, reminding her that it had spent the better part of twenty-four hours on empty. It must have a short memory- it had so far rebelled against even the water she'd tried to wash her mouth out with.

Headaches seemed universal when a witch pushed the boundaries of her abilities, but the other effects varied immensely. Tara's mother's had expressed in vertigo, while Willow tended to get nose bleeds that didn't stop for hours at a time. The redhead would rather faint before she'd let them take her to the hospital, and so far the policy had worked out for her. It had still scared Tara to death the first time to see her love's triumphant grin, stained scarlet under a mass of blood-soaked tissue. The headaches hit the redhead later than Tara, but she doubted they were any less crippling in intensity.

Tara whimpered as her stomach growled again, setting off another round of mortars in her head. How Willow could go through this time and time again in her push towards increasingly powerful spells was a mystery that Tara didn't want to solve. Pain existed for a reason- it told you to stop, go back, and don't try it again.

The times Tara had knowingly cast herself into this pit of misery, she could now recognize as some part of her seeking the pain- a punishment she felt she deserved that would take her away from the more devastating ones her grief had inflicted. She still held on to the guilt for how her grief had faded, even knowing how unreasonable it was.

She'd unearthed that tarnished sorrow today, opening the section in her Book of Shadows that chronicled her mother's teachings, drawing out from a box of history too painful to leave in view a faded string of bones. It was a strange thing to pass on to your daughter, but human bone wasn't something easily found… at least, not within the circles Tara chose to associate with. She'd wondered, when Giles had stopped in to inspect the proceedings, whether he would recognize it for what it was. If he had, he gave no sign, but disappeared to set off whatever distraction he had planned.

The spell itself had gone as well as could be expected. Xander had been upset that no obvious change had occurred in Willow, while Buffy had merely looked disappointed as she stood ready to guide Tara's fall into the chair she had set up behind her. Xander had made a snide remark earlier about putting her feet up, but the reasoning had been simple- if she fainted, the hospital would want to check her out, if only to clear itself of liability. She couldn't allow that- not when the scans would turn up not-quite-normal-human findings.

By the time she'd dropped in the chair her vision had mostly greyed out, the sounds in the room hidden behind a ringing that heralded the headache about to hit. She had cast out a hand, blindly searching for the trashcan she'd dragged near, knowing what came next. If she could feel anything beyond nausea and pain, she would have been thankful that she'd kept her hands off the nurse-bribing donuts. As it was, she got to wonder if vomiting hard enough could turn your stomach inside out. In a way, she envied Willow's bloody backlashes- at least she could still function through them… and blood seemed so much cleaner.

After the first round she'd slid low in her chair, trying to regain the breath her heaving hadn't properly let through. With air her sight returned, showing her Buffy hovering in reluctant concern and Xander at Willow's side, ignoring the blonde witch. She croaked out a few instructions to Buffy to fully disengage the ritual as the anticipated headache slammed into her, followed by the next course of intestinal rebellion.

She hoped someone had picked up after her, or at least snuffed the illicit candles. The trip back to her dorm was largely a blur, dominated by light and pain. Someone had pressed a bottle of water into her hands along with a barf bag, which turned out to be a well pair combination. Tara had tried to simply wash away the acid taste in her mouth, only to end up curled around the bag as she choked.

Willow would recover- she was sure of that now. She didn't know what form it would take or how long, but within the grasp of the ritual she had been able to sense the imbalances righting themselves under her direction. Xander had proved less of a magical null than he seemed, making another data point in favor of the Hellmouth-native theory. It was a good thing, as the Slayer had turned out to be even more difficult to wrangle than she'd thought. Siphoning away the healing power had been easy enough, but it only accelerated what already existed- throwing Willow's decline into a deadly plummet before the spell-locks had severed that connection. Tara had done some improvisation at that point, shifting to channel the Slayer's power through the pattern Xander's presence provided. Given the guide to follow, it had been much easier to coax the magic she shaped into the task she desired.

There were a few divinities that needed heartfelt thanks when this was over. Tara might have been able to come up with the idea she had used, but there was no way she could have figured out how to implement it without help. This was the thing Willow had trouble grasping. The gods and goddesses they invoked were less often present to power their spells, but more to keep them from going wrong when the inevitable unpredictable events occurred.

Miss Kitty mewed pitifully, the small impact of her jump onto the bed like a shockwave through Tara's brain. The sound was mercifully unrepeated, replaced by the feel of a small, warm creature making a place for itself in the fetal curl of Tara's body. The vibration of the purr that followed should have sent her neurons into another spasm, but somehow it seemed to give her a focus to escape to. Tiny paws massaged her belly, little prickly claws sticking slightly in the Wellesley sweatshirt she still wore.

Feline magic… she surrendered gratefully to the assault of exhaustion that had been waiting just beyond her pain, dropping into deep sleep within seconds.

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

"Hi sweetie…"

The world was a strange, achy place. She fought to look around, every motion like it had to pass through a lake of molasses before her body would respond. It was just as well. Every time she moved she found a new place that was sore or twinge-y. This waking thing was overrated.

"Will? Will- it's me. Look at me, honey …"

Had she always felt this way? She wasn't sure. Had she always been here? Maybe this is where she was planted, roots growing from her arms to suck at fluid bags strung nearby, fluorescent lights shining to nourish her… that didn't seem right. She squinted at the thing that weighted her legs to the bed, kicking at it weakly before discovering that her legs didn't want to move from their current rhizosphere just yet and only quivered at her commands. Ow-y.

"Y-you've been unconscious… Will? Can you understand me?"

The sounds were coming from beside her and a hesitant touch helped guide her face towards it. Her neck protested and she heard herself make some kind of sound in response. The moving thing withdrew its touch sharply, hugging its root to itself. It seemed sad. That made Willow sad, but she wasn't sure why.

"I… I'm sorry. I s-should… I called my dad and I… I'm going home. I should've gone before…"

There was something that grated inside at those words. Was "I" a bad word? There had been a lot of 'I's. Somehow it seemed like bad words should have four letters and hard consonants. The moving thing before her wasn't hard. It was good… kind… and she didn't know why she knew that. She should know.

"I had to see you." Apology in the sounds.

The thing grew suddenly and Willow withdrew instinctively, eyes widening before she remembered that it wouldn't hurt her. When so much hurt it was hard to believe that as it reached out again, but then it stopped before it made contact with its paw. No. Not paw. Root? "I'll be back soon, sweetie…"

It disappeared between one blink and the next, sending Willow's mind into a brief panic. Did everything disappear? Had the good thing at her side been a bubble? Where do the bubbles go when they pop?

"She… she just woke up. W-willow Rosenberg. I don't think she knows what's going on."

The sounds settled in warm coils over Willow's fraying emotions. It hadn't popped, only reconfigured its coordinates. That was good. Maybe it would come back?

"The neurologist said she was still having silent seizures when he was here this morning- she could be obtunded for a while."

Obtunded? Willow thought hard. She was fairly sure she wasn't fat, but it sounded like they were talking about her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe everyone here was a Willow. That made sense- they could be a grove, like the ones in Florida orange juice commercials. Commercials?

She started to drift into the waving leaves of her mind, waiting for the wind to touch her, too. Maybe that would be bad, though… her leaves were red- they might fall off…

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

Tara stepped into the Greyhound station, looking warily around her. She'd missed the morning bus by virtue of her still-pounding headache, but had managed to drag herself into a semblance of functionality by mid-afternoon. The second one was a night run on the way down from Fresno, giving a time gap that was a mixed blessing. It had given her time to clean up, write a note for when Willow woke, and stop by the hospital before she left, but on the down side, had left her in a sparsely populated public locale after dark.

Willow had warned her at length about bus stops and train stations. The more logical vampires tended to haunt them, taking advantage of those in transit to avoid disappearances being immediately noticed. Having people waiting around was a bonus, and despite being very well lit, there wasn't enough utilization of the facilities to provide the safety of a crowd. The herd factor. There must be some understanding of the situation by companies and local government- neither station was manned, with all transactions handled by ticket vending machines.

There were two other people in evidence; a scruffy man in his late thirties holding the hand of a tired looking young child. Tara gave a little wave and a grin, but the dark haired little girl just stared at her in response.

The stop by the hospital had been both uplifting and nerve-wracking. She sat beside Willow for about ten minutes, running through her mind all the things she wanted to say. The important parts were in the letter she'd written, now tucked under Willow's pillow in hopes that the redhead would find it before the other Scoobies did.

Charlotte, her nurse for the day, had dropped by and let Tara know that Willow was 'out of the woods'. She'd been taken off the blood pressure IV, the ventilator had finally been removed, and her temperature had normalized- the nurse had said something about the resilience of young people as she changed one of the fluid bags. They said that unless she had a new problem, she was set to 'go to the floor' soon. That sounded ominous, but turned out to be the phrase for going from the ICU to the regular area of the hospital.

Willow had looked better, too; less waxy in her pallor, without the sheen of sweat that had kept her hair stuck in little bits to the sides of her face. If Tara hadn't seen her before, though, she would still have been alarmed. The redhead's lids were mottled purple from broken blood vessels, matched by tiny pinpricks of blood around her nose, mouth, and fingers.

Then she'd woken up, confused to the point that she seemed almost an infant, looking everywhere but understanding nothing. She hadn't said a word, responding only with a little frown and an adorable little wrinkle between her eyebrows. She'd heard some of the nurses talking before they realized she was there, and three words stood out in sharp relief. Anoxic brain damage. She'd long since decided that she was headed home, but if there had been any question, that had put it down. The nurses had quickly reassured her that the confusion wasn't unusual just after waking, and not to worry until worry was warranted.

She'd had plenty of cause to worry. Just because Willow was getting better, it didn't mean she wouldn't have any permanent effects from the experience. Magic could only do so much- frequently it could do little more than right what other magic had wronged. Without Buffy, any spell she'd used on Willow would have only removed the impetus for decline, not actually halt it, and certainly not point her in the right direction. Sacrificial or transference magic, as Anya had said, could do more- she knew that much in theory, if not the practice.

Could she have done a spell like that? Knowing what it entailed?

Yes. For Willow, yes.

Of course you could, Tara. You already sacrificed her, so why not another to fix your mistake.

Because my own blood-

-would be useless, Tara. A demon's sacrifice of tainted blood? What's that worth?

"Miss?" The scruffy man had taken a step or two towards her, making a welcome interruption in her train of thought. "Do you know when the bus is supposed to get in?"

"At, um, nine?"

"Got a few minutes then…" He squatted down next to his daughter. "What do ya think? Grab a little something before mom gets back?"

The little girl nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of one hand. "Br'kfast?"

Tara squelched a smile. When she was that age, her mother had declared an upside-down dinner night sometimes- eggs, ham, toast, or sometimes waffles. The withheld smile faded from her mind as she wondered what her father did for his meals now. He'd never made anything beyond a frozen dinner or a microwaved bowl of leftovers to her knowledge. He even swore off grilling, saying it was her mother's devious way of trying to weasel out of cooking.

"Sounds good to me, pumpkin." Then man stood suddenly, too fast. Tara dropped back a step only a moment before the vampire showed his true face, smiling widely under eyes turned gold and vicious. "Glad you weren't feelin' picky."

Tara's eyes fell on the child, who was now sporting her own set of fangs and maleficently eager expression. "Make her run, Daddy…"

The concept of a child vampire had occurred to her before in passing, though she wondered why one would ever be sired. Every victim of a vampire didn't turn- if they did, their numbers would quickly explode beyond their prey's capacity to sustain them. Even here in Sunnydale, where Giles had indicated the turn ratio was much higher than the norm, there was something conscious that a vampire had to do when they made that choice. Spike had told them three methods, all of them horrifyingly lewd and none of them remotely likely, and it seemed that the Watchers had only theories.

For a child to be cut down was upsetting enough, but for one to be perverted into a predator was wrong on a fundamental level. Children were cruel, even intentionally so, as Tara well knew. Given the power of a vampire and not even the memories of self-control, how much creative horror would they inflict on a world where even their prey would never take them seriously?

It wasn't time to muse. The father was spreading his hands, "What are you? Stupid?" An animal snarl erupted from his throat and he bared his fangs at her, making a little lunge forward like a boy chasing off a stunned rabbit.

Tara didn't feel like a rabbit tonight. She felt like someone with a headache, a stomach that managed both churn with nausea and gnaw with hunger, a guilty warmth that taunted her with what she'd had to do to quiet it, no magic to draw on, and no energy to run, let alone fight. She sighed, wondering where the terror of that night in the graveyard had gone, and turned her spent gaze on the pair.

"I think you've m-mistaken me for someone else." She hated the break in her words, but her voice stayed calm. She brought up a hand and shifted into her demon form, raising a longsuffering eyebrow over the claws interrupting her line of sight to the vampires.

What had failed spectacularly on Anya when she'd done it in frustration worked remarkably well when presented in a more blasé manner. The father slumped, while the child grimaced at her as if she were a plate of brussel sprouts.

"Daaaaddy-"

"I'm sorry, pumpkin- she looked human-"

"You promised a runner tonight! You promised!"

"We'll get you one- it's just gonna take a little longer. And what about Mommy?"

"I want it now! I'm huuungry!"

Tara wondered why she could face two hungry vampires without breaking into cold sweat. She should have been happy about pulling off a bluff that had potentially just saved her life, but she just felt numb. Her headache was the only thing that penetrated that detachment, and even that was only pain.

She was going home. Home to a place that wasn't home- that hadn't been her home for years. When she'd broken away, she had done so with the intention of cutting her ties permanently, hoping that time and separation would heal the guilt of leaving. Her father hadn't said much when he had come for her, but he hadn't had to. She could fill in the blanks with only what had been etched into her mind over the years.

The vampires were bickering and the noise was starting to inflame Tara's headache. She'd drifted over to a support pillar, leaning against it as her tail flicked idly around her ankles, looking up the street vacantly for the bus. If the vampires were here when the bus came, they'd probably follow someone and get their 'runner'.

Passed along your death sentence to a stranger and you say you aren't evil? You never could take responsibility for your actions, could you Tara.

She thought about the hospital, of the other sentence she'd passed on to her own girlfriend. What if she'd woken again, alone? Riley, Giles, and Xander would be covering the patrol route, Buffy was at a La Quinta in San Bernardino with Dawn, and here she was. What if Willow didn't see the note? Tara had asked that it be sent with her when she was moved to the main floor, but what if that had been lost in a nursing shift change? Willow would be frantic if she couldn't reach anyone- only Anya was home, and that was hardly where the redhead would call first.

Tara glanced back at the vampires, an idea flitting through her.

"Um, guys?" When two pairs of golden eyes turned on her again, she finally felt her heart speed up as she pushed her luck. Could vampires really hear your heartbeat? "If you wanted, I saw a frat boy with a, um, forty climbing the wall at Oakview on my way here."

DaddyVamp looked relieved, while KiddyVamp held her unconvinced pout. Tara forced herself to look away, as if retreating back into her thoughts in nonchalant disregard. It wasn't hard, though now her thoughts centered on two bickering vampires hearing her deception for what it was.

"See, Honey- that's not far."

"The drunk ones smell bad!"

"Then we better go quick, right?" Daddy's cajoling tone was syrupy sweet. She almost pitied him the potential of an eternity with this whining.

"Fine. He better run though."

Tara allowed herself a sigh of relief when she heard them go, KiddyVamp still whining about having to walk. The guys should be covering Oakview in the first part of their sweep if they made the usual start from the Magic Box. With any luck they'd catch these two and make the world a little safer place.

Or maybe you just set a couple of vampires on them and you'll see their obituaries on Monday, Tara.

They'll be fine- this is what they're expecting to find.

Xander's bruises haven't faded yet, and yet he's going to fight them. What excuse do you have, Tara?

I…

Never you mind. It's alright- you're coming home. We'll take care of you here.



---------------------------------------------------- TBC in Pt II
Posted in chat 6-11-10 at 9pm PST. On time, for once.

SJ- Thank you, as always. I appreciate your presence.

--------------------------------
Preview, Ch 18, Pt II-
Next time on Changes: a hammer, snakes, California's seasons explained, Old Faithful, and packing… so far. Still working on it.

*no, not that kind of packing. The noun. I'm still a prude, thank you.

-Never

*sigh* Sorry- double posting has been deleted here. These are the result of getting a "server error" when I post the first time and then resubmitting. Let's hope I learn from my mistake this time...

The chapter got posted twice and it confused me as i was scrolling down, but I hope someone catches Tara before she gets too far... I have no doubt that Willow will go after her, but I hope it doesn't come to that...hopefully Tara goes back, or somebody stops her....

_________________
Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

Yay for great update-y goodness... I truly hope that Tara very very soon figures out that her only chance of happiness and cure is with Willow... I truly hope that the Scoobies deal with those two vampires without too much trouble and without injuries...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Great writing.