Aaron- well, okay, but only for you.
Chapter 17- Wish I Couldn't Remember
I don't know how long we stood there in the alleyway, but it felt like a long time. We'd been doing a lot of standing in alleys recently, I realized, and it was getting boring. I was sick of standing in alleys, waiting for the two of us to manage to get a grip on our emotions.
I kissed Tara on the forehead. "We should get moving. Are you ready to go?"
She sighed. "I guess so. Maybe we can find a way to take the edge off."
We started walking. I put a protective arm around Tara's shoulders. "There isn't much that can do that properly, Tare, even here. The only real way to stop the pain is to forget it, and the only way to forget it is to forget everything. You must have some good memories that you want to keep a hold of."
She nodded, but didn't say anything.
"And don't turn to my solution either. It's not worth it, and the tweedy bartender is far from the the worst of the troubles it brings me."
"I liked Giles."
"You haven't known him as long as I have."
"Very true. But what's wrong with it, Willow? I mean, that scotch made me pretty insightful, didn't it?"
I shook my head. "You saw that vicious thing I was drinking, didn't you Tara? Giles named it after me because I'm the only one who can stomach something that strong. Somebody tried it once, and he was under the table after one sip."
"One sip?"
"That's right." I chuckled. "It's not really alcohol. Alcohol couldn't do that to a person. I don't really want to know what's in it. But after one of them, Tara, I'm pleasantly drunk. After two, I act a little strange. And after three, I finally stop hurting. Time does heal all wounds, love, but it's a damn slow process."
"I thought I was in control for a while there." Tara sighed again. "I thought I could keep the memories at a distance. But what Faith said..." She trailed off for a moment and stared into space. "I guess it just goes to show how easy it is to reopen old wounds."
We finally made it out of the alleys and found ourselves on a narrow, empty street. Burnt-out cracasses of old buildings lined both sides, the charcoal and crumbling cement giving the whole place a ghostly feel.
It was strange to be away from the action, the pollution and the sputtering neon. A few streetlamps still sputtered on and off, but most of the light came from the moon and the stars. Everything was so quiet the place didn't even feel seedy. It was strange.
There was something else strange, too. It felt dead. I reached out with my gift, trying to find some sign of life, hoping beyond all hope that my first impression of the place would turn out to be wrong.
It wasn't. There was no life anywhere to be found. No drunks taking shelter in the wreckage. No predators on the hunt, no prey desparately trying to live another day. No rats. No insects. No life.
"I can't believe it," I hissed. "The bastards Whitewashed the place!"
"Whitewashed?" Tara shivered. "I bet you're not talking about Tom Sawyer and his friends either."
I laughed, but it was more a reflex because I knew what Tara had said was funny than that I'd actually been amused. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. This is what the Fangs do when they've got what they want. They wipe every living thing in range straight out of existence, as though it had never been born. It's the same thing they did to my childhood home.
"It was me they were after. I'm still not sure why. I had power, sure, but they had so much more. They burnt out the whole district trying to find me, and when they didn't they Whitewashed the place. I was across town at the time, so there was no way they could have found me. If my mother had been with me, I'd have had the last laugh."
Tara put an arm around me. "You don't have to talk about this now. It can wait until we're sure we're safe."
"We won't ever be sure of that." I shook my head. "I'm in danger for being me, and you're in danger because I love you. Besides, you're going to hear this from somebody sooner or later, the Powers That Be will see to that. I'd rather you heard it from me, because you might not believe anyone else, even though it's all true... though I desparately wish it weren't.
"Where was I? Oh, right, my mother. She was real, you know, she was from the real world, she studied psychology and the human mind fascinated her. I think it's why she came to the Hellmouth, because the real world didn't hold enough answers for her with her inquisitive mind.
"When she came here, she found knowledge, insight, and my father. It wasn't until after she died that I found out that her husband wasn't my father, and it was my father that gave me this mysterious power. I still don't know who he is, you know, nobody would tell me that. I'd like to find out some day.
"My mother and her husband- he was never really a father to me- were always busy and never had any time for me. Still they were the only family I knew. When I came home after the Whitewashing, everything was gone. They'd even put poor Ira out of his misery, the poor bastard. I think he made a mistake marrying my mother, because he somehow inherited my problems, even though that's backwards."
I stopped and inhaled. I really talk too much.
Tara squeezed my shoulder. "It'll be all right."
She was lying of course, but it felt good to pretend. "I know." I took a deep breath and continued. "When I came back, everything was gone except her. But I couldn't touch her or anything. My gift said she wasn't there, only my mind knew better. They'd lynched her on a lamppost and left her there, and I couldn't touch her. I couldn't take her down. I suppose I still feel guilty that I couldn't do anything for her."
Tara kissed me firmly. "I wish I could say I was glad you told me all this. But I am glad that I know a little more about you, miserable that it is. Let's keep going."
So we walked. We didn't talk because we didn't have anything to say. Normally I'd have felt the need to fill the silence with inane chatter, but I didn't feel up to it at the moment. The only sound besides the sputtering of the streetlamps was the clicking of our shoes on the battered asphalt.
I stopped suddenly as my gift tingled in my brain. I turned my head in the direction that I knew the source would be.
Sitting on a roof, with his legs dangling down and a cold smile on his lips, was Number Two. He was clad entirely in white, from his polished white shoes, pressed white suit, starched shirt and white silk tie to the white bowler hat perched jauntily on his head. A white rose with a frosted stem was pinned to his lapel, and his deadly silver sword sat at his waist in an elegant white scabbard.
"Hello there Willow Rosenberg," said Number Two softly. "Welcome home."
Willow: Hey Buff. One more thing. Buffy: Yeah? Willow: I’m gay. Buffy: Okay, Will. Xander owes me ten bucks.
~Remember to Breathe by Yellow Crayon