Rating: PG-13 Feedback: I am genuinely interested in both positive and negative feedback on all of my writing, from emoticons to tearing the work apart. If you have something to say, please say it. If you’re concerned about posting critique publically for whatever reason, I am amenable to receiving it via PM.Notes: The entirety of chapter 4, including ‘Reframing,’ take place across the episodes “This Year’s Girl” and “Who Are You?” Content disclaimer: Sex: no. Angst: Yes. Violence: No. I don’t own this disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction that takes place within the Buffyverse. The entire Buffyverse ( including setting, characters and plot) property of its owners, including but not limited to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The episode “Who Are You” was written by Joss Whedon. No copyright infringement is intended by this work. However, any material within not copyright any other party is copyright me. Acknowledgements: Thanks to my awesome beta reader, dlline. Those canon scenes that everyone likes? She's the reason I left those in. I was going to cut them. So if you like them, thank her. Acknowledgements II: Thanks to wayland and Ariel for being great alpha readers, even on sort notice.
Notes: The date of today's update is honor of wayland, who still hasn't forgiven me for last year's April Fool's day joke. Thanks for liking me anyways, Clare!
Chapter 4 Part 4: Reframing Tara took in the sight of the large building in front of her. “It, um, looks like a warehouse.” She knew Willow was excited about coming here, and didn’t want to offend. It still looked like a warehouse.
“That makes sense: it actually used to be one. Or, I guess you could say that it still is one. It’s just, now the wares that it houses are booze, bands, and . . . Some b-word that means ‘teenagers.’” Willow dropped Tara’s hand and pointed excitedly at the door. The sudden lack in warmth made Tara acutely aware of the cool evening air. Warmer by far than it would be at home at this time of year, but still cold enough to prompt Tara to bundle her arms to her chest.
“They only charge cover when they have live music,” Willow explained. “No one’s at the door, so they must just be playing CDs over the sound system.” Tara smiled at the detail: from Sunnydale to physics, Willow had a tendency to play tour guide. It was a charming window into how Willow saw the world, and it made Tara feel special.
“Can they get decent acoustics, being a warehouse and all?” Tara didn’t know much about sound, but she knew that Willow did, and she wanted to keep Willow talking.
“Right, you’ve never been inside. I keep forgetting.” The comment made Tara smile: if she had been before, she wouldn’t need Willow to be her tour guide. “It’s just . . .” Willow nodded familiarly to some guys smoking outside the door, who opened it for them. “I can't believe you've never been here. The Bronze is the coolest place in Sunnydale. Course, not a lot of competition there . . . I think the vending machine at Burgin's came in second.” Tara tried to focus on Willow, but the smell that hit them as they made their way into the center of the room was familiar. The crowd, the noise, the sticky feel to the floor, they were all familiar too. Familiar and uncomfortable.
“Y-you used to come here a lot?” Tara didn’t want to sound judgmental. But she couldn’t help wishing that Willow had never been to a place like this. Or from wishing that they were back in her room, alone.
“Lived here.” Willow looked around, clearly happy to be on such apparently familiar turf. “Me, Xander . . . ,” Willow’s face suddenly fell. “. . . Buffy.” The way Willow’s demeanor changed was more than enough to tell Tara that Buffy was there. So when she followed Willow’s gaze deeper into the crowd, towards a small cluster of people standing and chanting by the counter, Tara was not at all surprised to see a short blonde woman she recognized from countless pictures.
Willow had brought her here because Buffy was supposed to be elsewhere, hadn’t she? She hadn’t said as much, but Tara could only guess. It was just hours ago that Willow had explained how she wanted to keep Tara to herself. And when Tara had accepted that, Willow had asked Tara here. Had taken her hand as they walked. It was already so much. She couldn’t ask Willow to step any further. And as Willow stood there, Tara realized the situation Willow was in: she might suppose that Tara would be upset if she asked to leave. Tara prepared to lean in and whisper a quick “let’s go” into her ear.
“Wow, I didn’t think she’d be here,” Willow said before Tara could move. There was a false cheerfulness about her that Tara didn’t recognize. It threw Tara, and instead of pulling at Willow’s arm, she just looked back over at Buffy. But then Willow’s hands were at her elbow. “Come on,” she said, her smile warm and genuine again, “I want you to meet her.” One of Willow’s hands slid down to her own and she pulled Tara through the crowd.
Just as Willow’s head turned toward Buffy, Tara caught sight of Willow’s tongue peeking through her smile. Ecstatic, Tara ducked her head. She knew that smile, that excitement and happiness in Willow. To see it here, as she brought Tara to meet her best friend . . . it was exciting in its own right. But more than that, she’d wanted this meeting for so long. To finally meet the girl Willow had told her about since the first days of their friendship. But then, Buffy was so important to Willow, so clearly admired by Willow, that Tara was afraid she’d be a disappointment.
Willow’s hand dropped her own, and signaled that they were there. Time to look back up, and not embarrass Willow. Nervous, she crossed her arms against her chest.
“Hey, Buffy!”
“Willow. And - uh . . . .” Buffy looked to Tara, clearly waiting for an introduction.
“Buffy, this is Tara.” The sound of happiness and almost . . . pride? . . . in Willow’s voice fueled Tara’s happiness.
“Hi.” Tara wanted to say more, to tell Buffy how much she’d heard about her, how much she’d looked forward to meeting her. But she couldn’t, not without gushing. And she couldn’t gush without letting on how important her relationship with Willow was.
“So we’ve never met?” Buffy confirmed. Tara shook her head, too nervous to try talking again. “Okay. Cool. I'm having a thing with names.”
“Tara was in my Wicca group,” Willow explained. Tara nodded slightly hearing it; in the year and a half she’d been in college, she’d heard people refer to new friends by how they met them countless times. It was the simplest way to explain who she was.
“Uh huh.” Buffy didn’t sound particularly interested, but then again, Willow had mentioned that Buffy didn’t seem to keen on Willow’s interest in magic as of late. That was fine with her: Tara was happy to keep it as something precious between the two of them.
“So, what’s up?” Willow asked as Buffy headed for a nearby table. Tara felt a hand on her arm as Willow directed her to a chair, while Buffy had landed on the couch. “Patrol a no-go?” Tara was impressed with the economy of words: by mentioning patrol, Willow not only let Tara know where she thought Buffy would be, but also let Buffy know that Tara was in on her secret identity. The thought helped Tara relax: Buffy would surely understand that Willow sharing this information meant that Tara was both important and trustworthy.
“I got tired. The whole Faith thing . . . I wanted to let off some steam.” Tara tried to listen for any disapproval in Buffy’s voice, but found herself distracted: Willow sat on the arm of her chair, rather than over on the couch next to Buffy. Not close enough so they touched, but close.
“Good for you. You shouldn’t work yourself too hard.” It was important to pay close attention, to understand the dynamic between Willow and her best friend. Buffy’s opinion of her, Tara knew, was sure to be important to Willow. Yet, she could feel Willow at her side; the warmth pouring off of her and across the few inch gap between them. At least when Willow spoke, it was an excuse to look at her.
“That’s my philosophy.” Buffy threw her arms behind her head. There was an easy confidence about her. No wonder Willow was so drawn to Buffy: her charisma filled the whole space.
“Anyone want a soda?” Willow asked.
Tara looked up at Willow. “Water?” She caught Buffy shaking her head out of the corner of her eye.
As Willow stood and walked to the bar, Tara let herself watch. She hadn’t had a chance to just sit and stare since Willow arrived in this new outfit. The translucent top had given her shivers all night that were completely unrelated to the temperature. And the skirt . . . .
Tara realized she’d looked too long, and snapped her gaze back down to her lap, embarrassed. Buffy’s presence had transformed the evening: it wasn’t about her and Willow, it was about Buffy and Willow. Willow’s friends were a tight-knit group, and this meeting, this first impression, was essential.
“So you guys have been hanging out a lot lately, huh?” Tara looked up, the unexpected question pulling her out of her internal chastising. Perhaps Buffy hadn’t seen the staring for what it was?
“Yeah, she’s, um . . .” fantastic? Amazing? Gorgeous? “. . . she’s really cool.” Tara smiled. It was easy to praise Willow, and Buffy was certain to be happy to hear it. Tara relaxed a little: she could do this.
Buffy looked over towards Willow and grinned. “So, Willow’s not driving stick anymore. Who would have thought?”
Tara’s mood shattered.
“I guess you never really know someone until you’ve been inside their skin,” Buffy continued. Tara’s head spun. The words finally coalesced into meaning. She knows. This shouldn’t be happening. Couldn’t be happening. It was her mistake that had led Buffy to these conclusions, her behavior that Buffy had seen. But they were conclusions she made about Willow. Tara knew she should deny it, to say that it was her, not Willow. That all Buffy had seen was the cliché helpless crush of a lesbian on a straight friend. Tara wanted to get the words out, to shake her head, anything. But she couldn’t. It took everything she had to keep her composure.
“And Oz is out of the picture?” The interrogation continued, relentless. “I never did see two people so much in love. She just couldn't get enough of old Oz.” Tara knew those kinds of words: words that were meant to cut and tear. She’d heard them before. They still hurt.
Tara found her voice again, but rather than using it to deflect attention from Willow, she used it to staunch the bleeding from the latest attack. “She, um, said he, uh, uh, w-w-w-w-w-went—”
“He w-w-w-w-what? You gonna get that sentence out sometime tonight?”
Tara lowered her head. She felt ill. The noise, the smell, the embarrassment, and the bullying all came together to create a hauntingly familiar situation. It couldn’t have been a minute since she’d felt safe and secure, and now she was suddenly seventeen again.
“Buffy, guy in the corner,” Willow said. The sound of her voice grounded Tara in the present once more.
“Yeah,” Buffy said appreciatively. “Good call.”
“What?” Tara looked up at Willow. She felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Surely, Willow wasn’t going to check out boys with Buffy?
“Vampire,” Willow explained. The knot in Tara’s stomach unclenched the tiniest of fractions.
Willow and Buffy exchanged words above her head, but Tara didn’t hear them. She needed to leave, with or without Willow. To get away from this situation, from this woman Willow called her best friend. But if Willow stayed . . . she would have to confess, to warn her what Buffy had seen.
Buffy got up and walked away. Tara didn’t know how long she had alone with Willow, how much time they would have to talk. She had to act, and act now. But for the first time, she found herself afraid to talk to Willow. It completed the impression that she had stepped through the looking glass.
There was a soft, warm hand on her knee, and Tara looked up to see Willow sitting on the table, her face concerned. “Hey,” she began softly, “I know vampires are scary, but it’s just the one. Buffy’ll take care of him in no time. How are you doing?”
“I . . . .” Tara stood sharply. “I don’t feel well all of a sudden. I’m going to head back.” She kept her head down and to the side as she spoke; she couldn’t bring herself to look Willow in the eye.
“Tara?” Willow’s voice was uncertain. Tara heard her stand, then felt shaking hands in her own.
“Will you walk me?” Tara looked to Willow and pled with her eyes. She couldn’t bear to try to explain what had happened while they were still here. Neither could she bear the thought of going home alone.
“Yes, of course.” Willow turned her head briefly towards the wall opposite the main entrance. “But we need to wait for Buffy to get back. I don’t want her to worry about us.”
“W-well, if we’re going, we should let someone else have the table.” Tara pulled Willow back towards the door. “C’mon, we can wait over by the door, right?”
“Uh, I suppose.” Willow seemed confused, but Tara didn’t stop to explain. Buffy wasn’t supposed to be long, after all. Thankfully, Willow simply followed along, though when Tara glanced back at her, she saw that Willow’s head remained turned the opposite way. From the new angle, Tara could finally see what Willow must have found so interesting: a back door. Tara got her all the way to a pool table they’d passed on their way in before Willow pulled them to a stop. “Hang on. We shouldn’t go too far.”
“Can you, um, make my apologies? When she’s back?” They were so close to leaving. The last thing Tara wanted was to go back in and face Buffy again.
Willow frowned. “You’re sure you don’t want to?” Tara could only shake her head. Willow opened her mouth, but closed it again without speaking. Instead, she turned away, so she only partly faced Tara. The motion made Tara pull her arms to herself: all she wanted was to be closer to Willow, but instead she was driving her away. She just couldn’t think of an alternative. It would be better once they got to her room. Wouldn’t it?
Without a word, Willow rapidly stepped away, and Tara watched her walk to where Buffy had reentered the club. From the distance, she couldn’t hear the words they exchanged, and she was quite grateful for the fact. Still, it was hard to see Willow move so quickly from her side to Buffy’s after what Buffy had said.
At one point, Buffy and then Willow looked over at her, and Tara’s skin crawled. She’s not your friend, Willow. Not the way Tara understood friendship. Not the way that Willow seemed to understand it, either.
Tara watched Buffy suspiciously as she waited for the conversation to wrap up. Would she say something about what she saw? Ten minutes ago, Tara would have sworn that no, Buffy would never do something like that. Wouldn’t taunt or tease Willow about something so personal and so confusing: not in private, let alone in public.
But that was ten minutes ago.
It was hard to watch them talk. Not that it would have been easier to be over there. But something about Buffy felt . . . jarring. At first, Tara dismissed it as a reaction to her humiliation. As the interminable seconds dragged out, however, she changed her mind. It was something about Buffy. It was uncomfortable, and Tara didn’t like it. As Tara watched, a slow smile spread over Buffy’s face. It was the opposite of watching Willow smile: it was scheming—almost cruel—and it left Tara feeling cold.
Finally, Willow returned. “Everything’s all set. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. Please.”
Willow pointed towards the door, and Tara gratefully headed out. Even with Willow at her side again, the space seemed to actively constrict around Tara. The smell of the alcohol, the roar of the crowd: it was all too much for her. She pulled her crossed arms closer and closer to her body until she finally made it outdoors.
When she stepped out of the building, Tara paused and took a deep breath. The cold air stung as it hit her lungs, but she was grateful for it: it meant she had escaped. Though she wasn’t sure exactly how to make her way home, simply stepping out into the night made her feel much closer to home, and in turn that made her feel safer.
A glance towards Willow reminded Tara what an absurd feeling that was. Visibly tense, Willow was looking up and down the alleyway Tara had considered so superior to indoors. Vampires, Tara remembered. How could she have forgotten? Just minutes ago, Buffy had gotten up to slay one. But Willow had too much practice to forget. The thought was more chilling than the winter air.
“This way,” Willow said, a weak smile on her face. She pointed down the direction they had come from before. Tara knew it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes that they were here, probably less. It felt like hours.
Despite the reminder that the night was, itself, dangerous, Tara couldn’t help breathing easier with every step they took away from the Bronze. She found herself able to think increasingly clearly, the fog clouding her thoughts slowly dispersing into the night.
So, Willow’s not driving stick anymore. Who would have thought?
Buffy’s teasing echoed in Tara’s ears, buffeting Tara’s confidence with each repetition. Willow adored Buffy, and spoke of her constantly. She was supposed to be safe. How had it all gone so badly? Every part of the moment was wrong. Buffy had jumped to conclusions about Willow, not Tara. Yet, Willow had done nothing. It was Tara who had erred, Tara who let her desire get the best of her. Why hadn’t Buffy simply judged Tara?
It didn’t make sense. What kind of friend would say things like that?
When Buffy had made assumptions about Willow, Tara had known she should counter them. Should speak up for the woman she loved. In fact, Buffy may have simply been, very crudely, asking if Willow returned Tara’s feelings. I didn’t tell her no.
Tara felt her cheeks burn. Why hadn’t she?
It’s too close to the truth. The thought settled uneasily into her stomach. She had told herself over and over that it was alright that her feelings ran deeper than Willow’s, that this chance to be in love mattered more than that disparity. But tonight, when push came to shove, when all she had to do was tell Buffy that Willow didn’t share that attraction, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it because the idea terrified her: the same idea she’d managed to convince herself was totally fine.
Then, in that moment of fear, that moment she was too paralyzed to act, Buffy had twisted the knife. Oz. Tara hadn’t forgotten about Oz in this past week. Hadn’t forgotten that, especially early on, Willow said that Oz would return.That his departure to who-knows-where was only temporary. And she knew that when he did return, that this thing between them, whatever it was, would be over.
The one-two punch had knocked her confidence out cold.
And now I’ve locked those fears into a pressure cooker, and walked out into the night. Could vampires smell fear? Tara had no idea. But if they could, she was sure that she was alerting every vampire in Sunnydale to their location.
A touch to her shoulder made Tara jump and turn around. “Aah!”
It was Willow. She put her hands up and took a quick step back. “It’s just me!”
Tara nodded, and Willow put her hands down. She didn’t step closer again, though, and the startled look on her face changed to a forlorn one. Tara stared. When they left the Bronze, Willow had been tense. Now she looked miserable. Tara had been so caught up in her self-recriminations she had simply followed Willow on autopilot: it wasn’t as though she could explain herself before they got back to the room. But seeing Willow’s pained expression was too much. She had to do something.
“W-willow, I—”
Willow grabbed Tara’s arm, and pulled them into an overhang in front of a store. Willow looked at Tara for a long moment, eyes wide, until her lip began to quiver. Then she looked quickly away.
“I’m sorry.” The whispered words barely made it to Tara’s ears.
“What? I don’t . . . Willow, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Tara was confused. Willow had been extremely gracious the whole evening.
Willow looked back to Tara. She looked like she was about to cry. “But, I didn’t tell Buffy that I . . . that you . . . that we . . . .” She hung her head again. “Isn’t that why you wanted to leave?”
Tara blinked once in disbelief. Then twice. She shook her head vehemently. “No.”
A vulnerable look on her face, Willow looked up again. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Tara carefully put a hand on her shoulder, and the next moment found Willow pressed into her chest, her hands at her waist. Tara pulled her arms around Willow’s back and hugged her close. “You need to wait to talk to her until you’re ready. I didn’t expect you to tell her just because we ran into her out of the blue. I know you’ll want to be prepared for that conversation.”
Willow’s head nodded against Tara’s shoulder. “Yeah. I really do.” Tara felt Willow take long, slow breaths. When those breaths evened out, Willow pulled back, and moved her face directly in front of Tara’s. The large smile on her face instantly calmed the storm of unpleasant emotions inside Tara. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For understanding.” Tara felt Willow’s fingertips dig into her hip, and watched her head tilt slightly. Her face moved closer. Tara had seen her do this many times before, but couldn’t believe it was happening here. “You’re amazing.” The warm breath of the words and soft edges of Willow’s lips brushed against Tara’s mouth. Willow closed the last few millimeters distance and kissed her soundly. Even as Willow pulled firmly at Tara’s hip, the moment wasn’t sexual. It was grounding. It cemented them together.
When Willow pulled back, there was an even bigger smile on her face than before. “I told you: not embarrassed. Just confused.” She gave Tara a quick squeeze. “But I know I like kissing you.”
“I like kissing you, too.” Tara smiled. Here it was, right in front of her: how much Willow cared for her. She wasn’t just a lesbian with a hopeless crush. There was hope. More than that, there was this: kissing and touching and concern.
“We probably should get moving.” Willow nodded at the streetlight that illuminated them. “Three walls and a light is only safe for so long.” Willow took Tara’s hand as she stepped back onto the sidewalk and began to walk again.
“Why did we stop in the light? Weren’t we more visible?” Tara asked.
“Not really. Vampires can see in the dark. But we can’t. So if we stopped in a dark spot, they’d be able to see us, but we couldn’t see them. With the street light, at least we get a tiny warning if any show up.” Willow shrugged. “Of course, if you’re in the light, it’s harder to see outside of the area that’s illuminated, whereas if you’re in the dark, you can see farther. But since the vamps tend to avoid the streetlights, I feel a bit safer in the light.”
Tara nodded. As far back as she could remember she had split the world in two: safe places, and everywhere else. Now, here in Sunnydale, the unease she felt when she was in the “everywhere else” category came with real monsters to fear. But it also came with Willow, who acted as a mobile safe spot. Like her mother was.
Tara looked over at Willow. She seemed very alert, carefully looking at their surroundings. But her good mood was evident: she was much more the Willow from when they left campus than the Willow from when they left the Bronze.
The Bronze. Even though the kiss they’d just shared had quieted her fears about things between them, she still needed to tell Willow what had happened at the Bronze. To confess what she had done. To tell her that Buffy knew. She had just assured Willow she had time to figure out what and how to talk to Buffy about things. But Buffy already knew.
Tara frowned. She hadn’t meant to lie. In fact, it didn’t feel like she had lied. The Buffy they met at the Bronze was so different from the girl she’d heard so much about, it felt like a different person.
The sensation that she was missing a big piece of the puzzle nagged at Tara, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. So she poured over everything she could ever remember Willow telling her about Buffy. It was a lot. Willow clearly held Buffy in such high regard and spoke about her with such affection that if Tara didn’t know better, she would have guessed that Buffy was her much-admired older sister.
But it didn’t just go one way. Tara remembered a story Willow had told her the other day, how Buffy had gone to face some big-wig vampire. “She went to face the Master because of me,” she had said. “His minions came to our school and killed the guys in the AV club, and I was afraid. So she went to face him, even though she knew she was going to die.” Buffy had always sounded genuinely loyal.
“Almost there,” Willow said as she nodded at Hillcrest, now only a few hundred feet away.
“Great.” Tara had mixed feelings. She was happy to be close to home, but still nervous about what to say to Willow. She knew she was missing something.
What else did she know about Buffy? She’d been to their dorm room once. There had been a deeply discouraging moment there, but that had been between her and Willow. As they entered Hillcrest, Tara cleared her mind of what had happened that day, and focused on the space. She’d been primarily concerned with Willow’s half of the room. She remembered how she knew right away which part was hers, not just from the things there, but also from the feel of the space. Tara knew Willow, and Willow’s energy, and could feel where it lived.
Energy.
Alarm bells started going off in Tara’s head. Something had felt wrong about Buffy. The club had been so astrally noisy that her second sight was almost useless. Places like that usually were. Yet, despite that haze, and despite the fact that she’d never met Buffy, something felt wrong about her.
If something was wrong with the slayer . . . that would be bad. Worse than any ‘Buffy saw me staring at your ass’ problems. Tara’s mind raced as they approached her room. What did she know? A sustained spell would have been bright, even against the background at the Bronze. She would have picked it out right away. It had to have been a permanent effect. Something designed to be stealthy, most likely. But what did it do? Aside from make the Buffy a total jerk, that is.
But then, the woman she met tonight was nothing like the woman Willow had described.
What if that wasn’t Buffy? Anxious, Tara considered the possibility as she unlocked the door and strode into her room. It would fit: the cruel behavior, the strange energy, and little things she’d casually dismissed, like Buffy’s “thing with names.” There were at least a dozen things she knew of, just off the top of her head, that would make her not be Buffy anymore. None of them were good.
“I'm sorry you're feeling all blechy. But we'll get together with Buffy another time, sometime soon. I think you'll really like her.” It was clear from her voice that Willow was happy and relaxed again after the drama at the Bronze and on the walk home.
Tara spun around and sighed. Time to ruin that. “She’s not your friend.”
Willow’s face fell. “I may have overestimated the ‘you liking her’ factor.”
“No, no . . . .” She was saying this wrong. “I mean, I don’t, I-I don’t think she’s . . . her.”
“You lost me.”
“Well . . . .” This was going to be hard to explain. Tara remembered her mother likening explaining the astral to describing colors to someone born blind. “A person’s energy has a flow, a unity. Buffy’s was . . . was fragmented; it-it grated, like something forced in where it doesn’t belong. Plus, she was, um . . . she was kind of mean.” Tara gave a forced chuckle at the end, as the memory of the discomfort washed over her again.
“You think Buffy’s not herself?” Willow asked slowly. Then her eyes went wide. “Like she’s been possessed or something?” Willow looked concerned.
“I’m not sure . . . .” Tara didn’t know what was going on. Or if she was even right. Just that the idea that it wasn’t Buffy that they met tonight was what made the most sense.
“You didn't sense a hyena energy at all did you? Because hyena possession is just . . .” Willow made a face, “. . . unpleasant.”
Tara didn’t know what was wrong with Buffy, but she did know that the first step was to find where Buffy’s soul was. And for that, they needed a link. “Do you have anything of hers?”
“Of Buffy’s? Uhh . . . .” Willow looked down at herself. “Oh! This ring.” She held out her hand.
“I-I think there's a way we can, hmm...” Tara walked to her desk and moved two books from the top of the spellbook she wanted. She opened it and flipped through to the right page. “The passage to the nether realm.There-there's a ritual. If you can find Buffy there, you should be able to see.” Tara didn’t like the idea of sending someone without second sight to the nether realm. The spell didn’t say you couldn’t, but it sounded like a bad idea. At the same time, it was impossible to go herself. First, she had never actually met Buffy. Second, it was raw power that kept you alive outside of your body. Willow had power in spades. She might not always know how to use it, but for this, that didn’t matter.
“If it’ll help her.” There was no hesitation in Willow’s voice. But this was a dangerous spell. Tara looked back down at the text and sighed. “What?” Willow asked.
Tara looked back to Willow. “Well, the nether realm exists beyond the physical world. Accessing it is . . . . I-it-it's kind of like astral projection. It's very intense. I'd have to be your anchor, keep you on this plane.”
“I trust you.”
Given the ease of her reply, Tara knew it was impossible that Willow understood what she was agreeing to do. That it would place her in danger, with only the strength of Tara’s concentration to keep her from losing touch with this plane of reality for forever. Even though Tara had suggested the spell, she needed Willow to think about what she was doing. “It-it's not like anything that we've ever—”
“I trust you,” Willow interrupted with a smile.
Maybe she does understand. After all, this is what Willow did: she put her life in the hands of others. She put herself in danger, over and over, to help people. She counted on her friends to keep her safe while she did it. Tara began to smile. Willow trusted her like she trusted her other friends. That trust, that faith, meant more to her than meeting them did. Tara nodded.
“What do we need to do?” Willow asked.
Tara stepped to the side to let Willow see the spell better as she pointed at the text. “The ritual itself both opens the way to the nether realm and ties you to me. That way, when your body releases your soul, you can find your way back.” Tara glanced at Willow, who nodded. “Before that, though, we need to tie this link to you.” Tara reached over and tapped the ring Willow had indicated earlier. “You’ll need it to find Buffy’s soul if it isn’t in her body.”
The first spell was simple enough. It wasn’t more difficult than many of the spells they’d put up on Tara’s room. But they’d never done ritual spellcasting before. They read over the spell together, again and again, until they were each sure they understood every step. When they were done, they prepared the room slowly and deliberately, rechecking the text after every step.
Just as Willow’s role in the spell required raw power, Tara’s required focus. She used the time before the spell to put aside everything that had happened that evening that might interfere with that focus. She poured herself into the work, from the preparation of the room to anointing Willow, and pushed away the emotional shrapnel of the day. Bolstered by the spells they had placed on the room what felt like ages ago, Tara felt completely serene by the time they were ready to begin.
When they sat themselves on the floor, Willow turned to Tara and took her hands. “Are you ready?”
Tara nodded. “I’ll bring you home safe.”
Willow smiled and squeezed Tara’s hands. “I know you will.” Willow returned her hands to her own lap and took a deep breath. “Let’s help Buffy.”
From the moment they began to cast the spell, Tara could feel Willow’s power, even more so than when they normally cast together. Opening a door to another realm like this could take hours for some people, but here it was, appearing in minutes. When it stabilized, forming a ring of shimmering light around them, they switched to the task of binding Willow’s soul to Tara’s. As they pressed their palms together and the spell wound about them, Tara couldn’t help but be reminded of a handfasting. The sensation of Willow’s soul being sewn into hers was powerful and erotic. She looked to Willow, who breathed heavily and looked as sweaty and intense as Tara felt. Willow’s eyes widened as the binding finished, and she collapsed backwards. Her body arched as she gasped. As her body convulsed a final time, Tara watched the final wires between Willow’s soul and her body snap. Her soul darted up and out of her body and through the passageway that had risen above them.
The ring of light above her dissipated, and Tara was alone.
Now Tara had to wait. To focus on her connection to Willow for as long as it took. As she waited, she felt extremely lucky for a lifetime of practice tightly controlling her emotions. She knew what had just happened, that the release of the soul from the body had also been a release of the body. Tara had never seen a more beautiful sight. But she couldn’t indulge herself in thoughts of it now.
As she watched Willow’s body on the floor, another distraction tugged at her mind. Willow lay still and soulless. Tara had seen such a thing once before. To reassure herself, Tara moved forward, and placed her hand, the one bound to Willow’s soul, over Willow’s heart. The heart beat slowly, but strongly. With the comfort of the steady signs of life beneath her hand, Tara could return her attention to her role and wait for Willow to return.
Tara felt time pass around her as she kept her vigil. It seemed to flow by without carrying her with it, like a river diverting around a rock. Her reality was her focus on Willow, and she let it consume her completely.
There was a tug on the spell, on the thin strand of magic wrapped around her hand. She tugged gently back to show Willow the way. She could feel Willow getting closer and closer. With a flash of light, Tara saw Willow’s soul slip back into her body, and felt the spell break.
The loss was almost painful. Though Willow was right there, she felt leagues away. When Willow didn’t stir, Tara knelt carefully over her, hovering her face a hairs-breadth above Willow’s.
Tara wondered how long it would take for Willow to wake up. She had put aside her feelings about witnessing Willow’s climax during the spell. She had to. But now that it was over, her reaction was back, stronger than ever. Even as she carefully watched Willow’s face for signs of movement, a part of her mind was playing that moment back over and over.
Finally, Willow’s eyes opened.
“I need to make you feel that.”
Last edited by BeMyDeputy on Mon Apr 02, 2012 8:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
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