Update
Chapter Three
By late afternoon, the girl found herself walking among crowds of people her own age. In addition to the expected coffee shops and bars, Sunnydale's student ghetto had the requisite number of taquerias, pizza joints, burger palaces and cheap Thai noodle houses. No longer feeling quite so conspicuous, the girl ventured into a used bookstore, and spent an hour or so perusing the shelves. While there were only a few useful magick books, she did find some unexpected and welcome titles in the science fiction and fantasy section. The store also had tarot packs for sale. The girl carefully weighed her options. Nicking a pack, or coming back for one after the store closed were both possibilities, but with money in her pocket she could not justify another theft. After some careful deliberations, she picked out a pocket-sized Rider pack.
Buying something allowed her the chance to question the sales clerk about the neighborhood. The good news was that the college offered dozens of night courses, which would make it all the easier for her to blend in after nightfall. The bad news was that the college was only two miles from an active cemetery. Once the sales clerk, an older man who introduced himself as Gene, understood the girl was open to extreme possibilities, he went on to tell her where she could find magick supplies, as well as the locations of Sunnydale's two demon bars, its most popular youth hangout, and three coffee shops that let customers sit for hours without complaining about loitering.
Gene, who turned out to be the owner of the store, was an engaging conversationalist, and she soon found herself sitting behind the counter enjoying a cup of peppermint tea and sharing her chocolates. He did not seem surprised to find out she was homeless, which made the girl even more curious about her new community, and he was kind enough to tell her about the local food banks and youth shelter. The girl accepted the information even though she knew she would go to them. She'd been a thief and an outcast for far too long to start accepting charity. The two spent an hour or more talking about favorite books, but, knowing she needed to continue her explorations, the girl eventually had to beg her leave. She left promising Gene she'd come back later in the week and with Gene's promise to have homemade cookies on hand the next time she stopped by.
It was still several hours before nightfall, leaving the girl with plenty of time to explore the college library and to scout out three additional spots to crash for the night if she couldn't make it back to the burned out high school. Like every other library she'd been too, she quickly uncovered numerous places to hide out during the day. Unfortunately, she also spied numerous motion sensors, telling her that hiding out after closing was not an option.
The girl spent some time in the library's reference room learning more of the local history before venturing back outside and losing herself amid the sea of students. The campus was huge. At the center was a large bell tower that rang in each of the hours of the day. Most of the science labs and an obviously state-of-the-art science and engineering library were located on the north side of campus. Along the eastern side were the campus commons; several classroom buildings, most of which seemed to date back to the 1930s; and her new hangout, the humanities library.
While she searched for a safe place to spend the night, she could not help but envy the people her own age. Watching so many of them walking about carefree and unaware, she felt a burning inside her chest. When she was a child, she'd wanted someday to go away to college. Her mother had gone to college and studied literature and art, aspiring to become a teacher. The girl did not know why her mother gave up on her ambition, she only knew that somewhere along the line her mother had met and married her father, and become a wife and mother, what her father called a woman's one true vocation. She also knew that after her father would go to bed, most nights her mother would stay up to read. For some reason, even as a child, she knew that the books her mother read were important. That there were ideas in them that she would some day need to know. Years later, long after the night she lost her mother and father, the girl would go back to the family home to see if she could find her mother's books.
After their parents had been killed, the girl and her brother successfully hid in the woods for nearly a week before they were caught by juvenile authorities and placed in foster care. She'd tried to keep in touch with her brother, but he stopped writing back within months of their separation. Unlike her, he'd been quickly adopted into a family wanting a son more or less the same age as he to replace a son they'd lost. She was not so lucky. Bounced from home to home, the girl tried her best to keep up with her schooling, even if she no longer had any hope of going to college. She quickly became accustomed to hard work and menial chores. Most of her foster families wanted an older daughter to look after their younger children, or someone to help around the house. In time, she became a quite good cook and a reasonably accomplished seamstress. She also learned to keep a low profile, and hide her talents for magicks.
The world she lived in was falling apart. Each year the demon world encroached further into the human world. When her town fell to vampires, no one had ever heard of such a thing, and the story was easily suppressed. But soon other towns fell. Death by vampire and injury by demon became commonplace. Within three years of her parents' deaths most humans lived with a constant low-grade fear of the demonic. By the time the girl was a young teen, there was resurgence in witch persecutions. While uncommon, stoning and burnings were not unheard of in most places. Witches and demons became one in the same in the peoples' eyes, and thus the world lost its best hope for a return to the way things used to be. The idea of fighting fire with fire was strongly discouraged. The scientists and the military jealousy held on to their power, even if it was obvious that neither the scientists nor the military had any idea how to stop the demon incursions. Luckily for the girl, her mother's gifts were not known and thus no one suspected her of having the talent. Still, the girl could not deny her calling.
At thirteen, she would wake in the night, her body responding to the moonlight filtering between the window coverings. Sometimes she would rise from her bed and sneak outside to watch the moon's slow passage across the night sky. By fourteen, she could barely hide the quickening of her heart at the Spring Equinox or the frisson she felt with the coming of the Summer Solstice. Her talent called to her in her sleep, begging her attention and disturbing her dreams. She quickly discovered that so long as she kept to her chores without complaint, no one noticed her abilities or interests. Spending her Sunday afternoons in the local library reading dusty old books with cracked leather bindings and ragged pages meant only that she was out from underfoot and a fool. For only fools spent their time reading. The smart ones built higher fences. And so she slipped by unnoticed by anyone. When people thought of witches, the shy and quiet blonde girl came to no one's mind, even as her talent grew day by day. At fifteen, she mastered the tarot; at sixteen, she began her Book of Shadows
And then, one night, she ran away. A few weeks earlier, on her way home from babysitting a neighbor's three children, she'd been attacked by a vampire. It was female and beautiful. Thin as a reed, with delicate bones, the vampire grabbed the girl from behind. The girl struggled to get away, kicking and screaming, but no one came to her aid. She broke free for a moment, and started to run, but then tripped over some broken pavement and fell to the sidewalk. Within seconds, the vampire captured her a second time, pulling her up by her arms. She knew she was lost, but still she struggled in the vampire's embrace. As she felt the press of fangs against her neck, the girl looked into the vampire's emerald eyes. Flecks of gold and hazel decorated the iris. The girl prayed that she would die and not be turned. And then, inexplicably, the vampire pushed her away. She fell a second time to the sidewalk her head slamming against the cement. The girl looked up, noticing through her daze that the vampire's hands were startlingly graceful and that its fangs were pure white and rested against thin blood red lips. The vampire stood above her, seemingly frozen, but then spoke words of such contempt and derision that they took the girl's breath away. The vampire left the girl lying on the pavement, bloodied and beaten.
Shaking with fear, the girl watched the vampire's fast retreating back until it turned the corner and disappeared back into the night. Only then did she struggle to her feet. She limped home crying and desperately missing her mother. The loneliness of living without a real family ached inside her chest.
As soon as she returned to her house, the police were called. Her foster parents responded with concern, but the girl could not ignore the truth; she was a stranger in the house. The care she received was perfunctory at best; it was the concern one might show a long distant relative. Adding to her sense of isolation, the girl's clearest memory of the attack was the vampire speaking to her, calling her nothing but a ghost. She didn't understand what the vampire meant, but she knew there was a morsel of truth in the statement.
She had no ties to anyone; she had no kith or kin. Suddenly, it all became clear to her. She knew what she had to do. Vampires had stolen away her family, her home, her future and her birthright. She left intending to get some of it back, and that meant going home. It was autumn when the girl left, heading due south and following the coastline. Not long after crossing the unofficial border between the human lands and the demon territory, she found her first human cadre.
Unlike the most of the world, the cadres valued the talent of a witch, even one who was still a fledgling. They were heading into the deepest parts of demon territory; places the military had already given up. The girl explained she was trying to get back to her family home, and her new friends understood. Like her, most of them had lost their families and homes to the demons. Like her, they had lost their connections to the past and thus felt lost in the present.
In her cadre the girl discovered what it meant to belong again. For the first time in her life she felt welcome, a part of something bigger than herself. Still, after so many years on her own, the girl found it difficult to feel close to any of her new companions. Friendship finally came from the most unexpected source.
Larry and the girl could not have been more unalike, but a friendship was formed nonetheless. He was big, clumsy and loud; she was small, delicate and shy. Larry loved physical humor and practical jokes, while she loved poetry and music. At first she was afraid of him, but soon she realized that underneath his bluster was a caring heart. They bonded over a shared desire to go home.
Unfortunately for him, home was located in the belly of the beast. To protect their only son his parents had sent him away to live with his grandparents in Oregon long before things completely unraveled in Sunnydale. After the city fell to the demons, he'd heard nothing from his family. Larry wanted to see for himself what had come of his community. He'd also heard there was a growing human resistance group among those who were too stubborn or, possibly, too stupid to give up their homes and leave Sunnydale for safer ground, and so he still had vague hopes that some members of his family continued to survive.
Bonded over their shared loss, they became brother and sister to one another. Larry taught her to fight both hand to hand and with weapons. He instructed her in the use of the crossbow and practiced her in the ways of killing vampires. From him she learned not only how to fight and how to defend herself, but also the necessity of protecting the weak and helping the helpless. Under his tutelage, the girl became a warrior.
It took the group nearly five months to reach the halfway point to Sunnydale. Between skirmishes with demons and the attempts by the military to quell local human rebellions, many of the original members of the group were lost. Few jobs had a higher mortality rate than demon hunting, and the girl was grateful that Larry was alive and well when it came time for her to leave the cadre and head off in a different direction to go home. The two friends promised each other they would hook up once again and made a plan to meet in Los Angeles in two years. Even though both knew it was unlikely they'd make the date, they left each other hoping it were true. When she kissed Larry goodbye, she realized he was the first person she'd kissed since she'd bid goodbye to her little brother.
Once she left the group, the girl steered away from the main roads and took to traveling cross-country. Miles of farmland had once surrounded her hometown, but now it had turned to ruin. She stayed clear of the farmhouses, leery of what might be lurking inside. Three weeks later, she reached the Blackbird city limits. Utterly deserted, whoever or whatever had taken over the town was long gone, the only reason humans had not reclaimed it was that it was too deep inside demon territory. She spent the first few days exploring the town itself, finding again her elementary school, the parks she'd played in, the stores where she'd picked out birthday gifts and school clothes. At night, she found shelter inside an abandoned department store, sleeping inside the bottom of an old display case. The girl had spent nearly a year finding her way back home, but now when her home was within her grasp, she found it almost impossible to complete the final leg of her journey.
The reason was simple. Even though she knew it was pure fantasy, the girl held on to the hope that her mother had somehow survived the attack. For years, deep down in her most secret thoughts, she imagined that her memories were wrong and that she hadn't seen her mother's body. She would make herself forget how the warmth in her mother's limbs had slowly faded away, and she would try to erase from her memory the sounds of her mother's screams. The girl knew that the moment she saw her old house her hope would vanish from her heart. On the forth day, she found the strength to abandon her childish dream. She walked the familiar streets and paths that led her back to her childhood home.
She came the back way, climbing over a neighbor's fence, and pushing through an overgrown hedge, until she found her way back to her old swing set. Slowly, she walked across her backyard, stepping through the fallen leave of a large maple tree. The crush of leaves reminded her of backyard picnics with her mother and little brother, of the three of them eating cold sandwiches and playing board games or cards. Overcome with loss, the girl went to sit on the back porch swing, staying there nearly an hour before venturing inside the house.
Her mother's washer and dryer had been stolen from the mudroom, as well as the television and stereo from the front room. Some of the downstairs furniture had been trashed--a table in the foyer and her mother's china cabinet--but the upstairs was largely intact, although someone had riffled through all of the dressers and closets. She found her mother's remains on the kitchen floor; a few bones scattered about by animals. She cried as she collected them, placing them inside a cardboard box that she and her brother had once used to hold their stuffed toys.
The girl buried the box in the backyard, near the back fence where her mother had kept roses and carnations. The ground was hard and dry and thick with dead root systems. Burying the box took most of the afternoon; afterwards, she recited one of her mother's favorite poems and finally said goodbye to the one person whose love she'd never lacked.
Even though the town seemed free of vampires, the girl set up a three-tier barricade before retiring for the night to her childhood bed. Her sleep was restless, disturbed by dreams and ill portents of the future. When she woke, she determined her course for the coming weeks.
Over the years the girl had slowly come to remember and understand her parents' odd habits. Still, she was past thirteen when she remembered that the house she'd grown up in had belonged not to her father but to her mother, handed down to her mother by her mother's mother. As she grew older, she began to understand better her father's jealousy and suspicion. He'd never accepted his wife's talent, and he'd always feared the day when his daughter's abilities would manifest. She didn't understand why, but instead of making her bitterer, remembering her father's weaknesses only made her love him more and mourn all the greater his terrible fate. During her time with the cadre, she also began to remember other things about her family home: books kept under lock and key, secret rooms and strange pots of herbs and roots.
It took days to find the hidden catch that opened the door to her mother's secret library. Hidden behind false walls, accessible through a panel door in the dining room, the library was filled with books collected for centuries by the past generations of her mother's family. Many of the books were in languages she could not begin to decipher; a few volumes dated back to the centuries before movable type. The room itself was no more than six by seven feet and probably had originally functioned as a pantry. Whoever redesigned it had sought to ensure it remain a secret.
With the exception of a small desk and two metal filing cabinets, mildly recessed bookshelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling. A rolling ladder had been installed, but the girl quickly discovered that after years of non-use she would need to oil the tracks before she would be able to move it, which meant for now she was could investigate no higher than the first five shelves.
The few air vents had been closed, leaving the air stale, but the room more or less dust free. It soon occurred to her that the library would be an ideal place to hide at night. The girl dragged her bedroom mattress down the stairs and into the room, and then carefully disguised the drag marks so that if anyone came into the house there would be no clue to her presence. She had enough food to last for several days, and so she did not leave the house until the end of the week.
It did not take her long to develop a routine. Mornings and evenings were spent combing through the library, learning her history, and learning the craft. Afternoons were spent on her daily chores and gathering supplies. Evenings were spent studying the languages of the books, first using the few dictionaries and grammars she found in the library, and later using books she took from the long-abandoned public library.
She lived on the canned food and other goods scattered amid the abandoned stores. Clean water was harder to come by, but careful conservation helped until she figured, at long last, how to pull water from the family well. Most of the neighborhood gardens had grown wild, but she often found fresh fruit, and so long as she did not grow tired of zucchini, she often had fresh vegetables. The girl celebrated the day she figured out how to run the old emergency solar generator behind the house. By turning off the electricity everywhere in the house except the library, she figured she could easily run the library's three fluorescent lamps. She also found that she could run an electric hot plate and teakettle, and no longer had to rely upon cooking over the living room fireplace.
Nearly three months passed before she found her mother and grandmother's Books of Shadows. Carefully hidden inside other books, the girl wept at the sight of her mother's familiar hand. Slowly the girl began to understand her true heritage; slowly the girl began to learn to cast. The simple glamours and spells she'd once struggled with became child's play in comparison to calling upon the elements, riding the astral planes of existence and conjuring talismans. On the day the girl learned to cast a stable protection net, she finally began to feel safe in her own home. Likewise, although it took nearly a month, on the day the girl learned to cast an invisibility cloak she finally freed herself of the fear of being caught outside after dark. She channeled most of her talent into defensive white magicks, fearing the power of offensive dark magicks. Still, the girl learned half a dozen incantations for overcoming demonic attack. And yet, none of her early studies prepared her for the performing of conjures. When she began to cast the patterns and the signs, she finally learned the power of magicks.
By the time winter came, the girl was well settled into her new life. Some days she was lonely, and she missed Larry's friendship, but most days she enjoyed the quiet. Not since her earliest memories of childhood had she felt as safe from harm's way. She continued her physical training and she taught herself to hunt. If she was going to become useful to the cadres she needed to prepare herself for all kinds of fighting. Witchcraft could not put a stake through a vampire's heart.
In the end, the girl spent nearly fifteen months reading from her mother's library. When it came time to leave, she carefully shut the house down, cloaking it with her strongest protection net. She took with her only her clothes and her own Book of Shadows in which she'd carefully transcribed her grandmother's and her mother's wisdom. She knew what she had to do. She could only pray that she would be up to the task.
Chapter Four
Willow left campus immediately after her evening computer lab. Bobby and Katie tried to interest her in going out for beers, but she declined the invitation, a little surprised that her regret was real. The ride home was uneventful; along the way she stopped at the grocery store to pick up some fresh vegetables and other supplies. Tara was right, both she and Dawn were reverting to diets better suited for elementary school children.
When she arrived home, she found Dawn and Buffy watching television in the front room. She surprised them both when, after putting away the groceries, she sat down to join them.
Buffy made room for the hacker to sit next to her on the sofa. "I thought you hated all things David E. Kelley, Will?"
"Oh come on, Buffy, characters that preach to one another instead of speaking dialogue, endless reliance upon popular music to set every mood, and sophomoric humor, what's not to love?"
"I like the hair and the fashion." Dawn said, speaking up from the floor.
"Which is the most important part of any one hour television drama. Well, that and the wall paper." Buffy added.
"Not to forget the home furnishings." Willow reached for one of the sofa pillows and poked it behind her head. "Was it just me, or did anyone else notice that the all the hotel rooms on the planet Risa appear to have been furnished by Ikea."
"It wasn't you. Face it, Will. The influence of Scandinavia goes well beyond yuppie North American households."
Willow grinned. "You're saying Ikea has truly gone where no decorator has gone before."
Buffy turned to look at her best friend. "Wait a second. That was your third joke in a row. What's happened? What's put you in such a good mood?"
"I guess I just had a good day." Willow said, quietly. She felt Buffy's eyes upon her and studied her gaze on the television. She knew Buffy wanted her to open up more, to talk about what was flying around in her head. But she couldn't. Opening up would mean telling Buffy about Tara, and she wasn't prepared to share that knowledge. Not yet, not while she did not understand what was going on.
The three girls watched television together for another hour before heading up for bed. And for the first time in weeks, Willow's dreams were happy ones. When she woke up the next morning, Tara was sitting in the chair near the bed.
"Good morning, sleepyhead." Tara was already dressed for the day in a pale blue, scoop-necked sundress. Willow had to think before she remembered it was the dress Tara had worn to the Renaissance Fair two years prior.
"I've always loved that dress on you. It brings out your eyes."
Tara smiled. "You always checked out my breasts whenever I wore it."
Willow felt her face grow hot. "I did not."
"Yes, you did. Don't even try to deny it." Tara crossed over to the bed and sat down next to Willow. "After all, I'm not denying that I liked to make you look." Using the tips of her fingers, she brushed Willow's hair away from her forehead. "Scoot over a bit, okay."
Willow did as she was asked, making more room for the taller girl. It seemed as if she could feel the bed move as Tara shifted on the mattress, but she couldn't be sure. She closed her eyes, and soon, already half asleep, she felt loving hands brushing along her shoulders and arms reminding her of the many sleepy mornings she'd spent locked in Tara's embrace. She did not wake again until her alarm rang an hour later. Tara was gone.
Since her first class did not meet until early afternoon, Willow spent the rest of the morning at home reading ahead for her British novel class. As soon as they finished with Emily Bronte, they would move on to Jane Austen. Willow quickly lost herself in the world of Northanger Abbey, nearly forgetting that she needed to catch the eleven thirty-five bus if she wanted to mass transit it to school.
Thursdays were her easiest day, one class and no labs. As soon as she was finished on campus, she headed over to the Magic Box to help Anya with some special orders. When she arrived, Anya was busy with a customer, so she parked herself at the reading table and took out her computer. As soon as one customer left, another one seemed to come through the door. Knowing that Anya needed the business, Willow passed the time adding to her email letter to her mother.
Eventually, Anya found a free moment and went to the table. "I'll never understand why people persist in faxing their order to me in Latin" Anya complained, standing over Willow's shoulder as she unceremoniously dropped the pile of orders on to the table. "I mean it's not as if I could read the language when it was widely spoken."
"Maybe they just don't know the modern words for things?" Willow ventured distractedly as she put her laptop to sleep.
"Then they should learn them. The clock is not ticking backwards. If anything, Latin will be entirely forgotten in the next century."
"And now that you've reclaimed your demon powers, you'll get to see it happen." The hacker said with far less irony than might be expected.
Anya smiled happily. "Yes, I will. Wow, that puts me in a much better mood." The vengeance demon patted Willow on the shoulder in an awkward but sincere gesture of appreciation. Reenergized at the idea of another language falling into oblivion, Anya returned to her inventory work behind the counter, leaving Willow to herself.
"Glad to oblige." Willow muttered under her breath, not trying to hide her grin. She wasn't surprised to notice, minutes later, Tara sitting next to her. Apparently interested in widely exploring her former wardrobe, Tara was now dressed in an emerald green pullover sweater, dark slacks and a pair of clogs that Willow thought she remembered Tara throwing away long before the blonde witch moved into the house on Revello Drive. "Want to help me figure out these orders." She whispered.
Tara shook her head. "Nope, you're the language girl, not me. I'll just sit here and watch."
Willow nodded, and returned to the work at hand. In addition to Latin, two orders were written in ancient Greek, one in modern French and one was written in what Willow eventually realized was Aramaic. Even with her now considerable language skills, Willow still needed to use her computer's translation software to figure out some of the idioms. The majority of the orders were for surprisingly mundane things, although one was clearly an order in support of dark magicks. The hacker put a post-it note on it, already knowing Anya would refuse the order. After last spring's events, all greeted any contact with that kind of power, however minimal, with deep trepidation.
Tara sat quietly, but after a while she rose from her chair and began exploring the shop's shelves. From the corner of her eye, Willow watched the blonde examine the tarot packs near the back of the store. Not sure why, the red head made sure that Tara was unaware of the surveillance. She did not want to be suspicious. But she could not help but notice that over the past day or two Tara seemed to be growing more substantial, more real. Or was it simply Tara seemed more real to her? Unwilling to pursue her questions, Willow pushed them from her head and concentrated more deeply on the task at hand.
As soon she was finished, Willow repacked her computer and bid Anya goodbye, awkwardly hugging the reinstated vengeance demon goodbye. Things were still strained between the two of them, but slowly they were building a real friendship. The jealousy and resentment over Xander that had always colored their relationship, while not forgotten, had eased considerably, and more than anyone else, Anya understood the events that happened that horrible day when Tara died.
Stepping out on to the street, Willow was surprised to find that the sun had already set. There was the hint of a chill in the air indicating winter was on its way and a full moon hung in the sky, reminding the red head of the many times she and Tara had walked along the beach under moonlight. Even though it was getting late, Willow decided to enjoy the night air and walk home instead of waiting for the bus. She did not bother to hide her smile as her lover soon fell into step next to her. "You know, if I talk to you people are going to think I'm crazy."
Tara linked her arm around Willow's. "Would that be so bad? You could always say you were just thinking out loud."
"But what if someone heard me asking you a question?" Willow objected.
"I'd be more concerned if someone heard you asking me out on a date." Tara replied, a smile dancing over her face.
Willow grinned. Tara was up to something. "A date, huh. Was that a hint? Are you suggesting I never take you places anymore?"
"Well, I did really want to see that Jody Foster movie, and it is playing at the second-run movie house all this week."
"You know I don't think I ever really chastised you enough for your Jody Foster fetish."
Tara's voice was as dry as the Sahara. "No, it's more like you overlooked my Jody Foster fetish so long as I overlooked your Angela Jolie obsession."
"I am not obsessed with Angela Jolie." The hacker said, somewhat more vehemently than she'd intended.
Tara started to laugh. "Come on, honey. Why else would you have gone to see Tombraider three times, the dialogue?"
More embarrassed than miffed, Willow replied. "I thought you promised never to bring that up."
"No, I think you made Buffy promise not to bring that up so long as you kept quiet about her love of all things Dorothy Hamill."
Finally remembering her sense of humor, Willow began to laugh. "This is much more complicated than I remember."
"Are you really trying to get out of taking me on a date, or is this just some weird attempt to drive me crazy." Tara asked, a slight skip in her step.
Willow turned to take the short cut through the alley. "Nope, no weird attempt to drive you crazy. One crazy person in this relationship is enough. And since I'm the one talking to a ghost, I get the crazy label."
Tara let go of Willow's arm and stepped in front of her, stopping the red head in her tracks. Hands on hips, a wide grin spreading across her face, she stated. "So you've decided I'm a ghost."
Willow let her eyes run down Tara's figure. "Or a beautiful apparition."
Tara's voice was soft. "I'm liking the sound of that." She moved closer, reaching out to her lover.
The hair on the back of her neck rose as Willow felt Tara's arms close around her waist, and the tickling of her hair as Tara rested her head on her shoulder. She breathed in and, for the first time in months, Tara's familiar scent flooded her senses.
Her voice filled with wonder, Willow whispered, "I'm not asleep."
"No baby, you're necking with me in the alley." Tara giggled.
A shiver traveled down the red head's spine. "Baby, I'm not asleep. I'm not even near being asleep and I can feel you. Really feel you."
"What?" Tara asked, pulling back.
"Tara, it's not a fantasy. Look, I'm going to close my eyes and then you touch me, okay."
The blonde nodded her agreement.
Willow closed her eyes; within seconds she felt fingers brush over her lips. "You just touched my face. You ran your fingers over my lips." Willow said before opening her eyes.
In obvious shock, Tara questioned. "You really felt that?"
Willow nodded. She looked into her lover's eyes. "Do you think there will come a time when I can touch you?"
Tara spoke tenderly. "I wish I knew the answer. If I did, I'd tell you." Her eyes closed as she leaned into her lover.
Willow felt Tara's hair brush her face. "I miss touching you. I miss running my fingers through your hair. I miss kissing you."
"You still can, at night, when you sleep, in your dreams," Tara murmured against Willow's neck.
Willow turned her head slightly, only barely resisting the impulse to try to wrap her arms around her lover. "When I was a kid, I hated sleeping. It always seemed to me to be such a waste of time. But these past few days, I can't wait"
"Even though sometimes you dream about unhappy things," Tara asked, drawing Willow closer into her embrace.
"If it's the price I have to pay to dream you whole again, I'll pay it." Willow whispered.
"You've paid too much, my love." Tara whispered back.
Willow closed her eyes as Tara began to pull her fingers through her hair. She wondered if the heartbeat she heard pounding was hers or Tara's. Did ghosts have heartbeats? Was she slowly going insane? Because right now, at this moment, she believed with the kind of certainty she usually reserved for scientific fact that she could feel the warmth of Tara's breath against her neck. Willow stepped backwards until she felt her back press against the brick wall that lined the alley. When she finally felt Tara's lips graze against the pulse point in her throat, she thought her knees might give way.
Lost in the press of her lover's kiss, she did not hear the vampire as it quietly made its way down the alley. Without warning, two hands caught her around the waist, picking her up and slamming her against the wall. Disoriented, she did not immediately fight back. The vampire picked her up a second time, again slamming her against the wall. Her head snapped back against the brick, and the air rushed from her lungs preventing her from screaming for help.
Her eyes blurred with tears of pain and anger. Finally, she began fighting back. She tried to kick herself loose, but already she was too weak. The vampire grabbed the back of her hair, pulling her head back, and exposing her neck. Pure terror rushed through her body. This was it. She tried to think of Tara's face. And then, without warning she fell gracelessly to the ground, her legs folding underneath her, hands and knees hitting the pavement, hard.
Unable to focus her eyes, she heard rather than saw the impact of a roundhouse kick against the vampire's head. Blinking furiously, she barely made out a shadowy figure snap off another vicious kick, this one to the vampire's chest. As if energized by the blow, the vampire sprung off the ground and knocked Willow's defender to the ground. Only to be forced back, as the defender leaped back to his feet, snapping off a second kick to the vampire's chest. Enraged, the vampire raised a trashcan over its head and hurled it at Willow's defender, knocking him back to the ground. Willow watched in horror, as the vampire repeatedly kicked him in the solar plexus, the lower back and the ribs. Again she tried to get off the ground, thinking she could push the vampire away. But then the defender rolled to his other side and grabbed the vampire by the foot, toppling the demon to the ground. The two struggled, and for a moment Willow thought her defender was going to lose the battle until the vampire suddenly burst apart in a cloud of dust. She heard voices calling out and realized others were coming to help. Willow started to pull herself to her feet, only to fall backwards as her defender seemed to leap into the air and fly away.
Still disoriented, her head pounding, it took Willow a moment to realize someone was calling her by name. She waved her hand, trying to draw the person closer. Choking and crying, Willow slowly climbed back to her feet, but then nearly collapsed again as familiar arms closed around her.
She could feel Buffy's fingers sifting through her hair, yet her friend's voice seemed to come from far away. Willow closed one hand around the lapel of Buffy's jacket, gripping the material between her fingers, trying to reorient herself in the moment. Her entire body ached, and she hadn't felt so afraid since high school. The careful guise of self-control she'd maintained since returning from England fell apart. Overwhelmed and scared, she began to cry, huge gulping sobs.
Buffy pulled Willow into a tight embrace and began rubbing her hands up and down the red head's back, crooning soothing words. When her sobs began to quiet, Buffy looked over her best friend's shoulder to Willow's other life support. "We need to get Willow to a hospital. She's going to need stitches."
Xander swallowed hard, turning his eyes away from Willow's head wound. "I think I'm going to be sick." Even now, five months later, blood bothered him as it had never bothered him before. In his dreams, he was still haunted by the sight of Buffy's blood spilling over his hands and watching the coroner zip Tara's bloodied body inside its black vinyl shroud.
Buffy's voice was firm, but understanding. "Xander, I need you to hold it together. We have to get Willow to a hospital." Worried Xander was about to faint, she pulled out the big guns and mouthed the words, "Willow needs us."
He nodded. "I got it. It's just the blood. Ever since-" He smiled weakly; not finishing his sentence, acknowledging that now was not the time to fall apart. "I'm okay." Xander squeezed Willow's shoulder affectionately. "Come on, Will. We're off to our favorite Thursday night hangout, Sunnydale Emergency. If you're good, you'll score an ice cream cone."
Feeling embarrassed over her outburst, Willow pulled back slightly, and looked up at Xander's worried face. "With sprinkles?"
"Sprinkles, M&Ms, whatever you want." He said, forcing a smile on his face even as his stomach continued to churn.
Buffy caught Willow's eye. "You good to go?"
The hacker nodded her head slightly, before stepping back. "Can someone find my laptop bag?"
Xander spotted it lying next to the wall. "Got it." He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Great googily woogily, Willow, what do you carry in here? Bricks?" He teased, coaxing a smile from his childhood friend.
"Yep, bricks and many, many heavy blunt objects." Willow quipped.
"Because you can never have enough blunt objects on hand," Xander bantered back.
"Or stakes," Buffy added. "I go through them like water."
Xander circled Willow's waist with his arm, leading them out of the alley. "You know Buffy, with just a little bit of extra effort you could probably learn to conserve on stakes. While they are a renewable resource, that doesn't mean it's okay to be careless."
"You're right," Buffy agreed, taking Willow's free hand in her own. "I need to be more conscientious about stake waste."
As usual, the emergency room at Sunnydale Memorial was full with an assortment of victims of car accidents, gunshot wounds and neck punctures. Buffy and Xander settled down near the television to wait while Willow went through the intake procedures, but only after extracting a promise from the duty nurse that Buffy would be called in when it came time to stitch the wound. Some two hours and five stitches later, Xander dropped off a very tired Buffy and an exhausted Willow with a promise to take the two of them, plus Dawn, out for ice cream the next night.
Willow needed Buffy's help up the steps and inside the house. Her entire body ached from the pounding she'd taken from the vampire. And she was worried, Tara had vanished when the vampire attacked and had not returned since. Leaning heavily on Buffy's shoulder, she dropped on to the sofa.
Buffy stepped back and appraised the red head. "Will, your shivering. Do you want some chamomile tea? Or I could go get a blanket?"
Willow looked up from the sofa. Her voice was quiet. "Tea would be great."
Buffy nodded sharply. "Coming right up. Don't move, okay."
"Not moving. This is me sitting very, very still." Willow leaned back against the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. She heard Buffy head into the kitchen. Moments later, she felt Tara sit next to her. Tender hands brushed over the small bandage that stretched along the side of her head. Willow turned into Tara's touch. "They had to shave away part of my hair."
"My poor baby." Tara murmured, pulling Willow into her arms.
"Buffy made sure that they only took away the littlest bit and that the rest of my hair would drape over the part they shaved, but it's still going to take months for my hair to grow out." Willow pouted.
"Hush, sweetie. Your hair looks fine. Really." Tara soothed.
A ghost of a smile played over Willow's lips. "You're just saying that because you love me."
Catching Willow's smile, Tara joked. "Well, duh, Willow. Would you expect anything different from me?"
"Nah, you were always were a soft touch. They could have shaved half my head and you'd still say I looked fine."
"What can I say? I've always been a sucker for a pretty face." Tara brushed her lips against Willow's hair. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"Did you see what happened?" Willow asked, and then wondered at the sanity of her question.
A stricken look passed over Tara's face, and she pulled Willow closer. "No, I got thrown out."
Willow looked into blue eyes. "Thrown out?"
"Where I go, when I'm not with you." Tara looked away. "I hate it there. I hate being away from you."
"Can you tell me what it's like?" Willow asked, quietly. It was the first time Tara had mentioned where she went when she went away.
Tara turned back to her lover. "It's like I'm drifting. Not rooted to anything. It's not unpleasant. But it's not like this, not like home." Tears spilled down Tara's cheeks. She shook her head, trying to regain her self-control. "I shouldn't complain. Not when I get to spend so much time with you."
The question spilled from Willow's lips, and she immediately wished she could take it back. "What would happen if I let you go?"
Tara's voice was hesitant. "I don't know."
"Would it be better?" Again, Willow hated herself for asking the question, but she had to know.
"Nothing could be better than this, holding you in my arms. This is heaven." Tara leaned down to kiss Willow's forehead just as Willow turned her face. Lips brushed over lips.
Willow's body arched up against Tara's as if shocked by an electrical current. The red head felt her lover's kiss pass throughout her body, extending along her arms and legs, stretching throughout her nervous systems. Her lover's scent seemed everywhere around her, enveloping her, permeating her hair and clothing, filling her lungs.
Willow opened her eyes and stared deep into her lover's. She tried to form words, but could not make any sound. She swallowed several times, before trying again. "Tara." Her throat constricted around her lover's name. She swallowed again. "Tara, my love."
Tara's eyes widened in fear, "Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" She asked in a panic.
"I'm fine. Oh god, sweetie, I'm okay." Without thinking, Willow reached up to brush her fingers against Tara's cheekbone, only to feel nothing under her fingertips. Uncontrolled disappointment passed over Willow's face.
More tears spilled from Tara's eyes. "Baby, I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Willow whispered. "It's okay, don't cry." She forced her features into a reassuring smile.
"Did you say something, Will?" Buffy asked coming back into the room carrying a tray holding two mugs and a plate of cookies.
Willow's head jerked around, causing pain to shoot from pulled stitches. "What?" Her heart still pounding, she pushed herself up from the cushions, trying to regain some semblance of self-control.
Buffy lowered the tray on to the coffee table and sat down next to her best friend. "I thought I heard you say something." A confused look passed over the Slayer's face.
"No," Willow lied. "Not unless I was talking to myself unaware."
Not convinced, but willing to go along with Willow's explanation, Buffy grinned at the red head. "Which would not be a good sign. Not after a head injury. And you know. Not knowing when you're talking to yourself is twice as bad as knowing when you're talking to yourself. If you know what I mean?"
"That would be the worst kind of talking to yourself. I mean the kind of talking to yourself when you are thinking you are talking to someone when no one is really there" Willow continued, following Buffy into babbledom. Next to her, she heard Tara whisper, "Easy, baby, if you don't stop you're going to hurt yourself." Startled by Tara's sudden reappearance, the red jumped, and a short squeal escaped her lips.
No longer willing to go along with the subterfuge, Buffy asked. "Will, are you okay. They gave you an x-ray, didn't they?"
The hacker blushed. "Yeah, and I checked out fine. Shows what they know, huh." In an attempt to regain her composure, she picked up one of the mugs and blew over the hot tea before taking a sip. Feeling more in control, Willow leaned back into phantom arms, smiling slightly at the familiar feeling of Tara's breasts against her back.
Buffy nodded, unconvinced. Willow had been acting strangely since she came back from England and over the past few days had only become more out of character. "Yeah, shows what they know." The Slayer dissembled as she watched her friend settle back into the sofa. She waited a moment before asking, "So, are you going to tell me what you were doing walking alone in that alley."
The taste of Tara's kiss still filling her senses, without thinking, Willow blurted. "I wasn't alone." She blushed a second time.
Buffy's confusion was evident on her face. "Who was with you?"
Willow took another sip of her tea and tried to steady her thoughts. She felt Tara's hand drawing circles over her tummy, one of the blonde's favorite ways of making her lover settle down. Only then did she remember the person who saved her. "I wanted to take the short cut home." She began, adding in response to the expression on Buffy's face. And I know that was dumb, really dumb. I should know better."
"Yes, you should." Buffy's voice was harsher than she intended it to be. "I mean what if Xander and I hadn't been patrolling downtown. God, Will. We could have lost you." Buffy picked up the other mug of tea and took a long sip. "You just can't take chances, Will. Not now. Not after everything. We can't lose anyone else."
Willow watched her best friend fight not to cry. Hurting Buffy was the last thing she'd intended to do. "Buffy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you, and Xander, too."
The Slayer shook her head. "I don't want an apology. I just want you to be careful, Will." A faint smile crossed her face. "You don't want me going all mama bear on you like I do with Dawn."
Willow snorted. "Right, you're going to start giving me curfews and making me wait for rides."
"Hey, it's a thought." Buffy said, chuckling, as she eased herself into her usual corner spot on the sofa.
The two girls continued to drink their tea. Willow felt Tara shift behind her, ghostly hands wrapped more tightly across her stomach. A sure sign her lover was upset. But over what, the attack, the kiss? The hacker couldn't be sure. Slightly off-key and very softly, Willow began humming a tune she used to sing to Tara during the time her lover had been injured by Glory, not stopping until she felt a ghostly kiss press against the side of her forehead.
Buffy's voice was soft. "I haven't heard you hum that tune in a while." She starred into her mug. "Not since Tara." Her voice trailed off.
"Died." Willow said supplying the word no one ever wanted to say.
"I miss her." The words spilled from Buffy's lips. "I miss her making us pancakes, and helping us with the research, and just being around for Dawnie. And I miss the two of you together."
Willow's heart broke as she watched her best friend force herself to stop, as if grief were something any of them could control. The red head's voice was soft. "I miss her too. I miss us. Not just me and Tara, but the us that was you, Dawn, Tara, me, Xander, your mom, Giles, even Anya. I miss all of us together, the way we were that one Christmas. God, I miss that." Willow put her mug back on the coffee table and reached for Buffy's hand. It felt cold to her touch. "I'm sorry that I scared you."
"I just want things to get better, but how can they." Buffy moved closer to her friend, and then leaned down to put her head in Willow's lap.
Not sure where her words came from, Willow declared, "They will. Things will come together again. It's just this living through the present thing." She felt Tara's arms squeeze around her waist.
"Sucks, doesn't it." Buffy said, her face now buried in Willow's lap.
Willow smiled. She began running her fingers through Buffy's hair. When they were in high school, they used to spend hours braiding each other's hair, pretending that Buffy wouldn't have to go out on patrol later, pretending they were normal teenage girls. Tara was now pressing soft kisses on the back of her neck. For a moment she let herself sink into the comfort of being with the two of the three people in her life who knew how to comfort her more than any other. Relaxing as the effects of the tea and the pain pills took hold, she let her thoughts turn back to the person in the alley. She had never been able to make out a face. "Did you see the person who helped me?"
"Person?" Buffy asked, shifting on to her back so that she could look up at her friend. She took one of Willow's hands and held it between her breasts making Willow smile. Lately, no one besides the red head got to see Buffy's vulnerable side. Willow saw the gesture as small proof that the two of them were moving forward from those terrible days in May.
"Yeah, someone came and helped me. Poofed the vampire and everything." Willow looked away, trying to remember the scene more clearly. "The vampire grabbed me from behind and kept slamming me against the wall. And then this person came, and pulled the vamp off of me."
"What happened next?""
"The two struggled. And I thought the vampire was going to come out on top, but then the vampire went kablooie. Dust to dust. And then you and Xander were there." Willow looked back at her friend. "You guys really didn't see anyone?"
"Nope." We heard a struggle in the alley and came running. We saw you sitting on the ground. Your head was bleeding. I wasn't even thinking about how you got hurt. I just wanted to get you to the hospital." Buffy gently squeezed Willow's fingers.
Willow smiled and then glanced out the window and into the street as a car passed by. "I wish I knew who helped me."
"He didn't stick around to get thanked. How very Spiderman." Buffy remarked, grinning.
The hacker thought for a moment, an image tickling the back of her mind. "Not Spiderman. More like Spidergirl." Willow felt a ghostly hand drift down her arm, pausing for a moment to tickle a sensitive spot near her elbow. She fought back a smile. "When it happened I thought he was a he. But now, I'm not so sure. He might have been a she. I mean I think the person was a woman."
"You don't think it could have been Faith, do you?" Buffy asked, the worry evident in her voice.
Willow spoke quickly. "Goddess no, Faith probably would have just passed on by. I was never her favorite person." Willow reached for her tea and took a sip of the still warm brew. "You remembered to put honey in this, thanks."
Buffy looked deep into her friend's eyes. "Will, no more walking down alleys, okay." Before Willow could respond, the Slayer turned on her side, refusing to brook any argument.
Willow understood. The Scoobies couldn't take another loss. "I promise to be more careful." She took another sip of her tea, enjoying the moment, treasuring the feeling of being cuddled between her ghostly lover and her best friend. She watched the steady rise and fall of Buffy's chest, and realized her friend was close to sleep. "Buffy, we should get to bed."
Buffy opened her eyes. "Right, bed." She sat up on the sofa and stretched her neck. It made an audible popping sound. "Do you have class tomorrow?"
"Nope, I have Fridays off this semester."
"I thought so. Dawn has the day off tomorrow, some school in-service day thingy. Anyway, I promised her I'd take her to the beach. Can you come, too?" Buffy gave Willow her most winning smile. "It could be just the three of us. Like when we were fifteen. Except, this time we won't have to wait for my mom to pick us up."
"Or listen to the lecture about the proper use of sun screen." Willow added, giggling.
"Mom always did have a thing about you and sun block. I think it was the red hair. In her eyes you were in the greatest risk group." Buffy got up from the sofa, and put out her hand. "Come on, to bed with the both of us."
Willow let Buffy pull her off the sofa. "So what time did you want to leave?" She asked following Buffy up the staircase.
"Probably around eleven. We can take our lunch. Do the picnic thing." At the door to her room, Buffy asked, "Is that okay?"
The hacker smiled. "Sounds like the second best offer I've had all week." She responded to the quizzical look on Buffy's face with her most enigmatic smile and then slipped into her bedroom and closed the door. She wasn't surprised to see Tara already sitting on the bed. "How'd you get up here ahead of me? Last time I checked, you were sitting on the sofa."
Tara moved off the bed towards her lover. "Magic." Her fingers glided over the bandage. "I wish magic could heal this. Does it hurt much?"
"The pills they gave me took down my headache right away." Willow started to get undressed. She noticed that the collar of her shirt was stained with blood. "Great, I'll never get this out."
Tara stood to the side. "Sweetie, just rub some hand soap into it and soak it in cold water overnight. It'll come clean."
"Would it be awful of me to admit I miss the way you always took care of the laundry?"
"You got used to doing your own laundry while I was away."
"Used to it, I guess. But I didn't like it."
"You know that I always loved it when you would get all pouty." Tara moved back to the bed, watching Willow get into her pajamas. "You would get this expression of absolute disgust and annoyance that was so endearing."
Willow cocked her head to the side. "Endearing to you, maybe. But, trust me, most people just find it annoying."
"No, really, Will." Tara disagreed, shaking her head. "Your eyes would get all scrunched up, and your nose would wrinkle." Tara fell back on to the bed, laughing. "Confession?" She offered.
Willow sat down on the bed next to Tara. She struggled with the urge to reach for Tara's hand, wanting more than anything to be able to touch Tara's skin, but knowing that her hand would simply pass through Tara's, destroying their illusion of normalcy. And then she wondered when it was she'd come to believe that the illusion was a shared one. Not wanting the mood to be broken, Willow played along. "Confess away."
Tara rolled on to her side and curled her body around Willow's "Sometimes I would act like I wasn't going to do something just to see you get that look on your face." Tara gave Willow her half smile. "I wouldn't do it often. And I know it was terribly manipulative. But no one pouts cuter than you, honey."
Willow made a great show of rolling her eyes, knowing it would make Tara laugh even more. "Great. Willow Rosenberg, master of pouting. I'll add the line to my resume."
"Right after, Willow Rosenberg, champion screamer."
"Now what kind of screaming did you have in mind." Willow leaned down, as if ready to kiss Tara's lips.
"Don't you need to finish in the bathroom first?" Tara teased, giggling as Willow raised her eyebrows.
"Am I being reminded to wash my face and brush my teeth?" Willow asked, putting on a look of indignation.
"And don't forget to brush out your hair, too." Tara added, unrepentantly.
"You really know how to kill a mood. You know that don't you." Willow said, hiding a smile as she got up and pulled on her robe. "You are so going to get it when I come back."
Tara refused to give an inch. "Promises, promises."
Willow couldn't hold it back any longer. The smile spread across her face. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" She waited for Tara's nod before slipping out the door, only to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of Buffy standing on the other side of the hallway. "Hey. Wasn't expecting to see you there. Uhm, did you want something?"
Buffy looked confused. "Were you talking on the phone?"
Blushing furiously, it took a moment for Willow to think up a reasonable lie. "Yeah, I just called Katie to let her know I was going to have to miss our study date, tomorrow." Willow looked behind her; Tara was sitting on the bed, her hands covering her mouth as if to hold back the sound of laughter. Willow looked back at her friend. "Did you need something?"
Buffy's face flushed slightly. "No, I just heard voices, or rather I heard you. And I was worried."
Willow gave her friend a reassuring smile. "Buffy, really, I'm fine. I just got cracked on the head. No permanent damage done."
"Okay, I just wanted to be sure." Buffy gave Willow a peck on the cheek and then headed back to bed.
Willow finished in the bathroom and came back to find Tara snuggled under the covers. She tried to not to wonder how the covers could seemingly conform to Tara's body, and simply crawled underneath to lie next to her lover. Willow held her breath, as Tara slid next to her, laying her head down upon Willow's shoulder as she'd done every night they'd lived together. The hacker closed her eyes, and tried to quiet her heart. "Good night, sweetheart."
Tara, sounding half asleep already, murmured. "G'night, Will."