Okay, I know. It's about bloody time. Sorry for all the delays and excuses. I'm still not satisfied with the writing, but I think I have the narrative and characterization in order. It's time to post and move on.
The next installments merit a serious content disclaimer for limited spicy bits and for deeply felt heartbreak. Chapters twenty-one and twenty-two deal seriously with the consequences of memory and the rejoining of souls. But, please rest assured that our girls will make their way through the storm.
Chapter Twenty-One
Willow walked along the beach, her feet sliding through the low bubbling surf, her hip brushing against her lover's. She was wearing the shirt and shorts she'd been wearing the day Dracula rained out the annual Scooby beach barbeque, but Tara was dressed differently. She remembered Tara's dress from an afternoon spent at the Sunnydale Arts Festival. Its print of tiny yellow, blue and rose-colored flowers on a near white backdrop made her think of springtime in the high desert.
Up ahead, she could see the girl sitting on the beach several feet back from breaking waves. The girl was playing with a small black cat with one white leg. It was hard to make out, but it looked like the cat was batting at a piece of string, or possibly a piece of seaweed, which the girl teasingly held just out of reach.
The girl was wearing a sleeveless top that did not quite reach her waist and a pair of baggy cargo shorts. Her feet were bare and her hair was a mass of small narrow braids intertwined with ribbons adorned with tiny shells. Willow thought she looked adorable.
"You know Will, you need to get her some clothes. She can't keep wearing everyone's hand-me-downs, especially mine." Tara's alto voice was humorous, but firm.
Willow turned to face her lover. The sun was low in the sky, and hung nearly parallel with Tara's head, transforming her lover's hair into a halo of pale yellows and light browns. "I hadn't thought about that," she admitted, reaching for Tara's hand.
"You wouldn't." Tara wove her fingers together with Willow's. "You're much more worried about creating legal identifications: numbers and names in computer databases, savings and checking accounts, permanent records and the like, but clothes are just as important, especially to her. Don't let her keep dressing like a boy. She loves pretty things; she's just too shy to say."
Willow cocked her head to one side, her expression one of curiosity. "You and she have grown pretty close."
"And you're still good with the under statement, sweetie." Tara smirked. "I like that."
Wanting Tara to know she could kid as well, Willow pulled Tara to a stop. Rising up on her toes, a difficult task on a sandy beach, she pretended to tower over her slightly taller lover. "And you're still big with the teasing."
Tara stood her ground, but could not hold back a few giggles. "Honey, anyone who loves multi-colored pens, computers, Star Trek, Dougie Howser and C.S. Lewis is bound to be teased. It's just the way of the world."
The effort to hide her grin was Herculean, but Willow pulled it off. "Did I mention very big with the teasing?
"You loved that about me." Tara responded in a voice as gentle and soothing as a lullaby.
"Love." Willow corrected, her voice softening. "Present tense rule. Remember?"
"Present tense." Tara agreed. "But only if you admit that we're your present." She followed Willow's gaze as green eyes moved to take in the small figure on the beach. The girl was still extremely vulnerable. She had their memories, but memories could help her only so far, and in a way, memories were part of the problem. Tara grimaced. What the girl needed to learn could be taught only by experience.
The blonde witch turned her attention back to her lover. Willow was still fragile, but things needed to be done, time was wasting, or at that's how it felt to her now. "Baby, I know this is hard, but she needs you. She needs your attention and your caring and your love." Tara tried to gentle her voice, make it sound less urgent. "Will, she'd been starving for you her entire life. Don't make her wait long. Don't make me wait long."
The necessity in her lover's voice rang clear, but Willow needed more time. Her heart was not ready. She looked into her lover's eyes, blue like the sea. "Do you know what she meant when she said that I was different?"
Appreciating Willow's need to change the subject, Tara favored the red head with a half smile calculated to turn Willow's insides into chocolate pudding, partially to charm and partially to prove to herself that she hadn't lost her touch. "Of course, my Willow, I said it, after all."
Dizzy from all of the pronoun play, not to mention her lover's considerable charms, Willow was still able to press her point. "So that means you can tell me what you meant. And in that case, different how? Different from what?"
As always, Tara was impressed by her Willow's resolve, but things had to come in their proper fashion. A mistake in the weft might cause the weave to fall apart, and then where would they be? "Can but won't my darling. You need to do the work." Tara let go of Willow's hand and missed it instantly.
"Will you be back?" Willow asked as her lover began to fade away.
"Sweetie, I've never left you." Tara laughed softly, at herself and Willow and their frustration. Neither of them cared much for paradoxes. "And don't forget to find her a pretty dress, with lots of buttons. She adores buttons."
Willow reached out in her dream and in her sleep, and she drew the girl close. Wisps of blonde hair tickled her nose as she breathed in and smelled the sky.
Ten thousand miles and less than ten millimeters away, Tara listened carefully as she turned inside the circle of Willow's arms. She could hear them talking, but their words were lost in the sounds of the surf and the wind. At first they were two, and then they were one, and when she looked again, she was alone once more. Disappointment. She'd wanted them to meet White Leg, to admire the cat's beautiful fur and fuss over her exquisite little toes.
Above her head, high in the sky, birds made lazy circles. They called back and forth to one another, but Tara had no idea what they were communicating. She wondered if they were sharing knowledge or trying to throw each other off the scent of fresh fish. It was hard to say. In this world, the birds were unlikely creatures. They flew, they nested, but they seemed different in a way that she could not identify. It crossed her mind that if anyone would be able to explain her intuition it would be Willow, but Willow was too far away to ask and her heart ached from the realization.
The sun now hung close to the ocean and she accepted that it was time to go. As she rose to her feet, her back and leg muscles protested. Sleeping on the ground for weeks on end was taking its toll on her body. Groaning softly, she reached down and plucked her outer shirt from the sandy beach and gave it a good shake. Sand flew off the garment, causing White Leg to startle and jump.
After apologizing for giving her tiny companion a fright, she slipped into the garment and hissed as the rough material brushed over newly sunburned shoulders. Tempted to take the shirt off again, she instead ignored the pain. The temperature would soon drop, and she would need the additional cover. Pulling on the shoulder straps of her knapsack further irritated her sensitive skin and nerves.
Scowling, she mentally added aloe to her list of things needed to be acquired, but then a soft meow reminded her that her lot in life was not entirely horrible. No matter how much she missed the soft bed she left behind at her mother's house or how much she disliked sunburns nothing could eclipse the happiness she took in having a sweet little traveling companion. Looking down, she watched White Leg circle about her legs, mewing softly.
"I guess you want a ride, huh."
The cat looked up at her and cocked its head to the side. Taking the cat's gesture as a "yes," Tara crouched down and scooped up the little cat, her fingers brushing over lightly muscled ribs. The cat was as undernourished as she, but neither was willing to leave the other's side. When she rose back to her feet, she held White Leg in front of her face, and asked. "Can you be a good girl and sit tight?
The cat looked at her with wise and gentle eyes and then yawned, displaying teeth as white as snow and sharp as broken glass. Nodding back, Tara slipped her tired friend into the roomy inside pocket of her outer shirt where the cat turned over once, before curling up into a tiny ball of fur and going to sleep.
Ready to begin walking, the girl turned from the sea and looked to the north, the east and the south. After a moment's indecision, she decided eastward. There was no particular reason for her choice of direction. In this world, wherever she went, she always seemed to find food and water enough for her and White Leg to survive, if not thrive. Without knowing why, she knew that whatever was coming was still far away, and whatever she was supposed to accomplish was still long in the future. When it was time, the city would find her, as would the beast, and she would recross the threshold of Books of Shadows, est. 1348.
Almost ready to go, she looked one last time over her shoulder and in the direction she'd heard them talking. There was nothing there to see. A wistful smile crossed her face, and then she began walking, one foot in front of the other. It was the best way to travel.
Hours later, in another world, the morning sun slipped through lightweight window coverings, teased its way across the carpet-covered floor, and crept up the bed covers eventually annoying Willow awake. Green eyes blinked open, and Willow looked into Tara's sleeping face.
Tara's lips were parted slightly and her cheeks flushed a pale pink. Dark eyelashes with blond tips rested against pale skin, and a faint worry line ran between her eyebrows. With the side of her thumb, Willow tenderly traced the new scar that ran just above Tara's left eyebrow, and then the old one that curved in a fine white line along the left side of her face from the temple to just below her ear. Tara's skin felt warm and incredibly soft. Mesmerized, Willow traced along the cupid's bow of Tara's full lips, down the bridge of her nose, over and across her delicate cheekbones. In her mind's eye, Willow superimposed her lover's unscarred face above Tara's. One was more full than the other, but both were equally beautiful.
Her fingers slid from Tara's face to her neck, puzzling over a set of overlapping ridges before sliding up again, and tracing the delicate curves of her ear. Inside her thoughts, the girl's near sleep declarations echoed softly, and a dreamlike memory of walking along a sandy beach with her lover and possibly a small cat remained teasingly out of reach. The two seemed connected somehow: Tara's words and her dream. She wondered if she were dreaming about Miss Kitty; she and her lover had often dreamed of their tiny friend. But it had been months since her last Miss Kitty dream. And since the rejoining Willow had been able to remember only smatterings of her lover's dreamtime visits, a frustration in its own right.
Tara's nose twitched slightly, and her breathing began to change. Missing the girl's voice, Willow impulsively leaned over and brushed her lips against the girl's right ear. She'd noticed before that it was one of this Tara's ticklish spots.
Within seconds, blue eyes slowly opened. Her voice still thick with sleep, Tara asked. "Have you been awake long?"
"Not too long? Just for a few minutes, really."
Tara rolled back, pulled her arms from under the covers and stretched the length of her body. Afraid for a moment that she was going to pull away entirely, Willow was relieved when the girl instead moved back under the covers and comfortably draped one arm across Willow's waist.
"We're you worried I wouldn't wake up?" She asked, snuggling closer, her body utterly relaxed from a long night's sleep.
"A little." Willow admitted. "I know it wasn't very nice, but I tickled you awake."
Tara smiled shyly. "After all the times you had to get up to take care of me, you're entitled."
"You know that Anya was exaggerating, last night? She made it sound a lot tougher than it was." Worried she might be overstating her case, Willow sidetracked. "But, I'm happy that you slept through the night. Rest is a good thing, right?"
"A good thing." Tara agreed. A muscle cramp formed in her leg, and her body pressed into Willow's as she stretched her foot and ankle to make the cramp relax. Afraid she was crowding the red head, Tara murmured, "Sorry, leg cramp, and pulled back to give Willow more room.
"Don't worry about it, sweetie." Willow said, rolling over on to her side. Now lying face to face, Willow noticed what appeared to be grey streaks running through the irises of Tara's eyes; they reminded the red head of clouds crossing the sky. A lock of hair fell in front of Tara's eyes, and she brushed it aside. Still missing the girl's voice, she prompted. "So what did you dream about last night?"
The innocent touch sent an unexpected shiver down Tara's spine, forcing her to pause for a moment in order to organize her thoughts. When the dream memory came to her, she shivered a second time. "Walking somewhere. I was on a beach first, and then in a forest filled with lots of tall trees. Overhead, I could hear birds crying to one another, and I might have heard water crashing along a riverbank. What about you? What did you dream about?"
Willow's forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. "I'm not sure. I know there was at least one about popcorn."
"Making it or eating it?" Tara asked, smiling through a yawn.
"Maybe it wasn't popcorn. Maybe there was a popping sound." Willow shook her head. "I'm not very good at remembering my dreams. When I was in high school my psychology teacher made the entire class keep dream journals for a week. By Friday, I only had about five or six paragraphs and I was all with the paranoid because other kids had pages of stuff. But then the teacher said we didn't have to hand them in because our dream journals were only intended to force us to pay attention to our dream processes and what we actually dreamed about was our business." Willow's face scrunched up in an exaggerated scowl. "I understood his point, but I still think the assignment was a really mean trick. Even if I mess up, I want a grade for my troubles."
Hiding her amusement over Willow's theatrics, Tara responded. "We're you always a good student?"
"Pretty much. Besides Xander, I didn't have a lot of friends to hang with. School was more or less my entire life until Buffy and the slayage came along." Willow's expression turned wistful. "My parents didn't really know how to pay attention to me. But they were pleased if I earned good grades, so school became important to me."
An image of a lonely little red haired girl formed in Tara's thoughts, followed by a second image, of a confident adult Willow coming through the front door with a computer bag slung over her shoulder. Not sure why, but thinking it was the case, Tara questioned. "But things are better now? With your parents, I mean."
Willow nodded. "Since last summer we've been making more of an effort. I think that now that I'm an adult it's a lot easier for them to be my parents. Especially for my mom, she was never really into kids." A wry grin appeared on Willow's face. "When I told my parents I was gay, I think my mom was kind of relieved. To her it meant I was finished growing up." Willow's expression changed as the incongruity of her complaining suddenly occurred to her. "But listen to me being all with the grumblies when you spent so much time in foster care."
"Just because I lost my parents doesn't mean what happened to you doesn't matter." Impulsively, Tara ran her fingers along Willow's cheek. "You matter."
Barely aware of her actions, Willow turned into Tara's hand and placed a kiss on the palm. "I'm glad you woke up okay. I missed you." She looked into Tara's eyes, now blue like the sky over Sunnydale after a winter's rain. The moment was too precious, and she rolled away on to her back, fixing her gaze on the ceiling. Seconds later, she heard Tara whisper, "me too."
Afraid to think about what was happening between them, Tara moved back into her familiar position, settling her head on Willow's shoulder, and draping her arm across Willow's waist. A barely understood nervousness faded and a soothing calm fell upon her as Willow's hand began to stroke her hair, sifting through the strands at the back of her head. Her thoughts shifted back to her dreams. She recalled whispering voices and the scent of salt in the air. There was something about the voices, something familiar and important, but she couldn't remember. She shifted in Willow's arms and felt the brush of fingers over the marks on her neck. The calm faded and she held her breath hoping Willow wouldn't ask. But the question came anyway.
"That's a vampire scar, isn't it?"
The story of that night, of the scar, was one of the most significant in her life, and part of her wanted Willow to know it, to know her. But another part of her knew the story would hurt Willow, and so she deflected. "Two of them, actually. One k-kind of overlaps the other."
It was the hesitation in Tara's voice and the slight climb in pitch that gave it away. Or maybe it was something else, some passing comment. She did not know how she knew, only that she knew in a way that was sure and complete. Memories tumbled inside her head of Tara running from her, first at the Magic Box, and later at the house. It was all so simple, so obvious. Tara didn't flee from vampires; she hunted them. But she'd run from her in terror. What else would have caused her to run?
Knowing Tara was too uncomfortable to say it, Willow prompted. "One of them is from Vamp-Willow, right?"
The girl's confirmation was so soft that Willow barely heard it. A sick feeling twisted in her stomach. She'd insisted they send her vampire self back to the other reality. What if Tara was attacked after Vamp-Willow had returned to Bizarro-Sunnydale? She put aside the temptation to ask, and, after taking several breaths, explained: "I kind a figured. You said you'd heard of her. But your reactions were more than that. How did it happen?"
As always, remembering that night overwhelmed her, and it took the girl a moment or two to organize her thoughts. "I was babysitting and the parents came h-home late. The walk back to my house was about three blocks, and I was thinking about my history class. We had a test the next day, and I was worried because my study partner had borrowed my notes and hadn't given them back."
Realizing she was going off on a tangent, the girl tried to bring the story back on track. "It h-happened all the time. Raids on human towns. Nobody could s-stop it... I heard her footsteps first, and then she grabbed me from behind. I don't think she expected me to try to f-fight, and that's why I got away. I took off down the street and I started screaming for help, but no one came." Behind closed eyes Tara reconstructed the memory, seeing again the glow of the streetlights on the pavement, tasting the brisk night air, hearing a car door slam, but no one's response to her screams. "And then I tripped over something, and fell. I skidded on my knees, putting holes in my new stockings. When she caught me the second time, I saw into her eyes, and I knew no one was coming, that I was... And then for s-some reason she pushed me away. I was lying on the ground, crying, and scared. I could smell my own blood in the air. She left me there."
There was more to the story. Tara was leaving something out. Not sure if she should, Willow prompted. "Why?"
Tara started to respond, but a sob shook through her body instead. Ashamed, she tried to pull away, only to feel Willow's arms close around.
"It's okay, baby." Willow crooned, cuddling the girl to her side. "She can't hurt you, anymore. Tell me what happened."
Half afraid Willow would think it wasn't important, Tara admitted to the word that had cut her to the quick. "She called me something. It's nothing; it's stupid, but it went right through me." Tara swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "She called me a ghost." Saying the word brought the memory back in full: the stinging of the grit of the sidewalk as it cut into her hands and knees, the beautiful red head's uncaring tone, the horror of seeing the vampire's face distort.
A vague memory of Tara reacting to the word ghost teased the back of Willow's mind. She pushed it aside, wanting to concentrate on the moment. "Baby, she lied. You're real and you're safe and you're here. She can never hurt you again" Willow kissed the top of Tara's head. "I'll keep you safe, I promise."
Too caught up in the memory of that night, Tara did not hear Willow's promise or feel her kiss. "After my mom died, I didn't b-belong to anyone. When she called me a ghost I started to wonder if that was the reason why I always felt so lost, like I didn't belong anywhere. It described how I felt."
Her heart aching for all that the girl had experienced, Willow put on her resolve face and spoke in her most certain voice. "What she said wasn't stupid or nothing. It was cruel and it was untrue." Not sure if she should, Willow hesitantly brushed a second kiss, this one on the girl's forehead and then pulled back to look into the girl's eyes. "Tara, Vamp-Willow had a real talent for hurting people. She figured out what would hurt you the most, and she said it. But she was wrong, and you're wrong too if you think you don't belong anywhere. Because you belong here." And with me, she added silently.
Wanting to forget the rest of the story, Tara concentrated instead on the pulse moving in Willow's throat. It was strong and steady, a promise of life. On the air, she caught the familiar scent that hovered over Willow's skin. She breathed deeply, drawing the scent inside her lungs, her blood, her bones. Slowly, her thoughts calmed, but then another worry crossed her mind. "Is it okay if Buffy and Xander and the others don't know? I mean is it okay if we don't tell them that Vamp-Willow bit me?"
Not sure why, but knowing it was important, Willow promised, "I won't tell them," and earned one of Tara's lopsided smiles.
The storm now passed, Tara settled back into the pillows, but kept her face pressed into Willow's shoulder. After a while, her hand drifted back to Willow's tummy, and she began tracing circles on the flannel.
Smiling over the familiar gesture, Willow spoke softly. "You did that the other day. In the car, I mean."
"Did what?" Tara asked sleepily, a lethargy coming over her body as the memories of Vamp-Willow fully retreated.
"The drawing thing. With your fingers."
Tara's hand paused. "Does it bother you?"
"No, it's nice." When Tara's hand began moving again, Willow added. "My other Tara did the same thing?"
Not sure how to respond, Tara tried a small joke. "Maybe it's genetic."
"A special Tara gene?" Willow shifted her head so that she could see Tara's eyes. The blue had deepened, and now seemed almost cobalt.
"A special Tara-draws-on-Willow-pajama-top gene." Tara confirmed. She noticed a lock of hair hanging above Willow's brow. Holding it between her fingers, she could see that the red was like the color of maple leaves in the fall.
"That's a pretty specific gene." Willow responded teasingly, carefully resisting the impulse to capture Tara's fingers with her own. "I could apply for a grant, and we could turn it into a study."
It took Tara a beat to respond. "Don't studies need to be broad-based?" She asked through a small yawn. Her eyes starting to close, she let go the lock of hair and brought her hand back to Willow's tummy. Through the flannel she could feel the warmth of Willow's skin. The heat reached inside of her, spreading throughout her arms and legs, enveloping her in simple comfort. Willow said something, but she couldn't quite grasp the words. Instead, safe and warm and in Willow's arms, she fell asleep.
Rain fell from the sky, making the already treacherous forest floor even more dangerous. She followed White Leg as the tiny cat guided them around raised root systems, loose stones and fallen debris. It was cold, and the girl huddled inside her outer shirt, envying her companion's warm fur coat. It seemed they'd been walking for hours, and she could barely remember their last meal. The lost feeling came over her and she wished she could at least hear the others speaking. Even if they were far away, their voices made her feel safe. In the distance, she heard the roar of running water. Soon, they would have to cross the river. A shiver went down her spine. She doubted they had enough guide rope for the crossing.
Minutes later, the girl jerked awake at the sound of a car motoring down the street. Confused by the unexpected noise, she shifted up on her side, sheltering Willow with her body and tightening her arm around Willow's waist.
Amused and touched by the girl's reaction, Willow whispered. "Sweetie, relax it's just a car with a loud engine." But the girl did not hear Willow's explanation. Instead, Tara popped up her head and looked about the room, as if still expecting to find monsters storming through the door. When she realized all was safe, she resettled her head on Willow's shoulder. Seconds later her fingers began moving in circles over Willow's pajama top.
Luxuriating under the girl's gentle attentions, Willow murmured. "You're probably right. A study of the Tara draws on Willow's pajama top gene is too narrow. How about a more general study of Tara cuddliness instead?" For a moment, the girl did not respond. Thinking she did not remember the earlier point, Willow was about to explain when Tara unexpectedly raised her head and looked into Willow's eyes.
"You think I'm cuddly?"
"It's one of the nicest things about you." Not sure about Tara's expression, Willow hesitantly added. "When you were half-asleep girl, after dinner you liked to curl up with Dawn on the couch downstairs or with me," her eyes flickered towards the big armchair that sat in the corner of the bedroom, "in my reading chair. I think you were a kitten in a previous life."
Tara's eyebrows drew together, for some reason the word "kitten" made her feel uneasy, as if she were forgetting something important. "You and Tara had a cat, right?"
"Miss Kitty Fantastico. She ran off a while ago. Dawn mentioned her last night." Willow's expression changed into one of concern. "You remember? Right, baby?"
"Uh-huh." Tara confirmed. Her memory of Dawn teasing Willow about the tales of Miss Kitty Fantastico faded as another memory of Willow's hand rubbing her back rose in her thoughts. She closed her eyes trying to draw the memory back, finally remembering that it came from the day before the rejoining. She had been lying on her stomach while Willow treated a cut on her back. Another memory floated forward, of looking through the front room window at leaves falling off the trees while curled up with Willow on the front room couch.
"So you don't mind then?" She asked, as new twinges of worry crossed her mind.
Willow was surprised Tara needed to ask. "Mind?"
"You don't think I'm being too..." Tara trailed off for a moment as she searched for the right word. "Presumptuous or something?"
Surprised by the girl's question, Willow slipped into babbling disagreement. "You're not being presumpt-y at all. The cuddliness is a good thing, totally good. When you were all with the sleepy, it was how I knew you were okay. Actually, I was kind of hoping that it wouldn't stop now that you're awake-girl again. I mean I was hoping you would still be all cuddlesome and snuggly sweet, because it's just the nicest thing." Her cheeks reddening, Willow tried to rein in her outburst with a question. "Have you always been cuddly?" And then wondered why a perfectly reasonable word like cuddly suddenly sounded ridiculous.
Tara responded slowly, her own concerns on the wane as she tried to decide what was triggering the hacker's embarrassed response. "I think so. When I was a little girl, my mother called me her "snugglebug" because of it." Her cheeks beginning to grow pink over the memory, she added. "The excessive cuddliness, I mean."
"Not excessive." Willow disagreed a tad too quickly. She swallowed several times as she simultaneously tried to force her voice into a less hysterical register and figure out what was going on inside her head. Somehow, in a matter of minutes, she'd gone from wanting to wake Tara and hear her voice to wanting to hold her and protect her to ... Her thoughts came to a screeching stop, because it was in the "what she wanted to do next" that whole new areas of confusion and embarrassment lie. Suddenly realizing she was talking unaware, she drew her babbling to a close. "Just right, perfect in fact, faultless in its execution. If there was a model for cuddliness you would be it, a sort of Platonic ideal of cuddliness, I mean."
Tara stopped moving her hand just as Willow stopped talking. She leaned back to look the red head in the eye. "You know if you don't stop you're going to hurt yourself." Her words came out of nowhere, and took her by surprise, but they had the right effect. The tension in Willow's body relaxed. A pleased smile formed on the girl's face.
Humbled and bemused by the girl's expert handling of her momentary hysteria, Willow tried to regain the upper hand by questioning, "Snugglebug, huh?"
"Probably her favorite pet name for me after Taraberry." Tara rolled her eyes in mock-disapproval before explaining, "Because I was so sweet."
Willow stopped herself from adding the words, "and juicy too." But only by clamping her jaws together so hard her teeth rattled, an action that did noting to prevent her thoughts from speeding back into overdrive. What did she mean by "and juicy too" anyway? It didn't even make any sense. Thinking it the only way to save what was left of her tooth enamel, Willow changed the subject.
"Speaking of berries, we have fresh raspberries in the refrigerator. If you like, we could stir them into pancakes. Or we could stir in some chocolate chips."
Her thoughts a beat or two behind the red head's, Tara raised an eyebrow and questioned. "Pancakes?"
"For breakfast." Willow explained, before adding, her thoughts once again starting to gallop out of control. "Because breakfast is really important. You know. Sharp minds, strong bodies that sort of thing." Her eyes fixed on Tara's lips, lush and beautiful. Suddenly, she remembered again how it had felt the night before to kiss those lips, and a new blush spread across her cheeks. Forcing her eyes to the nightstand, the hacker glanced at the clock. She needed to get off this horse immediately. "It's going on nine-thirty. No one else will probably be up for another hour, want to do showers first, and then breakfast."
Hiding her disappointment that Willow wanted to get up, and starting to wonder if she'd done as she feared and overstepped, Tara nodded and asked, even as she was already starting to sit up. "Do you want to go first, or should I?"
"Since you're all okay with the getting up-y, why don't you go first?" Willow responded, already regretting her impulse to end cuddle-time. "You can shower and I can think more about breakfast."
Relieved to hear Willow slip back into Willow-talk, Tara slipped off the bed and grinned. "I'll try not to use up all the hot water."
"The only person who ever does that around her is Dawn. She says it's because of the length of her hair, but I think she's just using her hair as an excuse." Willow trailed off, her eyes locked on the girl as she raised her hands above her head to stretch her shoulder and upper back muscles and then slowly dropped down at the waist individually releasing each vertebra until her fingers brushed over her toes.
"Do you always do that, make with the stretching, I mean?" Willow asked, biting down on the sides of her mouth to keep from smiling over the unexpectedly delightful view of Tara-thigh.
Innocently misunderstanding Willow's response for actual interest, Tara explained. "I didn't always, but Sam used to have us all do morning stretches and stuff before breakfast. I guess it's kind of a habit, now. Buffy doesn't make her cadre do them?"
"Not unless she wants mutiny among the rank and file." Willow muttered as Tara continued her morning routine with a series of side stretches.
"Huh? Tara questioned.
"We're not as disciplined as a cadre. Were much more Slayerettes." Willow offered weakly.
Not understanding the reference, but guessing Willow was teasing, Tara feigned her comprehension by nodding and grinning. Noticing that Willow had pulled the bed covers up to her chin, she asked. "Do you need me to get another blanket? You look kind of cold."
Unable to explain the true nature of her problem, Willow's thoughts pinged back to the issue of food. "Why don't we have yogurt with the pancakes, and remind me to add soy powder to the pancake mix. We need to fatten you up." Her eyebrows drew together and she shook her head. "I mean you need to eat some protein."
Surprised by Willow's remark, Tara perched on the edge of the bed. "Is this a subtle hint that I'm too skinny?"
Willow tamped down the impulse to apologize and joked instead. "Sweetie, those ribs of yours stick out like you've been living in living in some war torn country." And was immediately rewarded with the widest Tara smile of the day.
"I was living in some war torn country." Tara bantered back, happy to get the joke.
"Oh, don't even try to use logic on me. I eat logic for breakfast, lunch and dinner." Throwing caution to the wind, Willow rolled up on one elbow and playfully poked Tara in the side. "And besides those ribs, there is like next to nothing left of your butt. I'm surprised you can even sit up..." Suddenly aware of what she was saying, Willow blushed scarlet. "Not that I've been staring at your butt a whole lot. But it's kind of hard not to notice. I mean at bath time or when getting you dressed."
Tara's eyebrow rose. She hadn't thought in detail about the level of care she'd required the past week and a half. "You've been helping me in the bathroom?"
Unable to decide whether or not Tara was embarrassed, Willow floundered. "No, I mean yes. Kind of. I mean you've been able to handle most stuff on your own. But I think I scared you the first time I ran the bath water. You freaked out and started crying. It might have been the noise, like at Stefan's when you shied away from hair dryer." Trying desperately to reel in her point, Willow jumped ahead. "Anyway, you wouldn't take a bath by yourself. And so I had to help you." Guilt combined with mortification. "I guess I better tell you that a couple of times you kind of collapsed in the water, and I needed help getting you out."
Beginning to relax, now that she understood that bathroom care seemed only to encompass help with taking baths, Tara prompted. "Collapsed?"
"I'm not sure what would trigger it, but sometimes you'd just conk out. Boom. One-minute sort of awake girl, the next very asleep girl. Anyway, Buffy and Dawn sometimes had to help. And there was this one time that Xander." The memory of Xander lifting Tara out of the water was too much. "Oh god, somebody just shoot me now."
Not sharing, the hacker's concerns, the girl soothed. "Willow, take a breath and relax. It's okay."
Her thoughts taken over by her own qualms regarding nudity, Willow questioned with renewed hysteria. "It's okay that all of my friends have seen you naked?"
"No, I'd rather that wasn't the case," Tara admitted with a confused smile, "but I kind of h-had to get over the whole modesty thing while I was running with the cadres." She stroked a lock of hair from Willow's forehead. "But thank you for caring. You're pretty sweet. You know that?"
"Sweet and a little nuts when it comes to nakedness." Drawn in by the girl's tenderness, Willow managed to see the girl's point of view. "So, there wasn't a whole lot of privacy with the cadres, huh?"
"Not a lot. Especially if you wanted to bathe regularly." Tara blushed. "And some of my conjures. Well in order to do them right..."
"I've got the visual." Willow interrupted and then watched Tara blink confusedly, as her words seemed to echo between them. Panicking anew at what Tara might think she launched into another round of full-on babble. "Not that I mean that I'm literally visualizing you because that would mean that I was being voyeur-girl. And that is so not who I am. I'm much more keeping-my-eyes-closed-girl. I just meant that I understood what you meant when you mentioned about your conjures."
Her blush deepening as Willow continued to sputter about conjures and painted symbols, wishing she understood exactly what was fueling Willow's hysterics, Tara deflected. "Thank you for taking care of me." Even if she didn't fully understand the goofy awkwardness of the moment, she knew with certainty that everything Willow was saying had something to do with how Willow felt for her.
Afraid of the moment, afraid of everything she was feeling, Willow reached for Tara's hand, knowing if she held it everything would be all right.
Tara's fingers circled around Willow's. A memory came to her and she looked at Willow wonderingly. "I held your hand a lot."
"All the time." Willow corrected, looking away at first, but then turning to look into Tara's eyes. As always, all of the girl's doubts and fears were visible on her face.
Tara bit her lower lip. "Can I still?"
Willow's heart ached over the girl's question. How could she think she think she needed to ask? "Whenever you need too."
"It might become a habit." Tara confessed tipping her head forward, afraid to let Willow see her expression.
Tears filled Willow's throat. "For me also."
Too afraid to allow Willow to end the moment, Tara ended it herself. "I should get in the shower." She stood up from the bed, scooted out of bedroom and found refuge in the bathroom before Willow could respond.
Sunbeams stretched across the bathroom floor, filling the room with light and warming the cold blue and white floor tiles. Someone, Willow she guessed, had cleaned up the towels that had been left lying in the tub the night before. Outside, she could hear neighbors running their leaf blowers, and she wondered why the people of this world seemed to prefer noisy machines to simple rakes?
During her first days in her new reality the din of artificial noise had overwhelmed her. Everywhere she turned it seemed that the sounds of machines or music or voices filled the air, making her long for silence. Although, she decided after a moment's reflection, a certain red head's talkativeness was more than welcome.
A tender smile formed on the girl's lips. Willow's babbling kept her off kilter, uncertain and dizzy with anticipation. But anticipation of what? Tara gave her head a shake. The questions she was asking had no answers, not now at least.
Still smiling, Tara pulled of her nightshirt and hung it on the door hook before flipping on the shower and immediately, instinctually recoiling from the sound of pounding water. It took her a moment or two to place the sound as reminiscent of charging cry of a pride of Tsuris demons. Murmuring, "Get a grip, Tare," she pulled back the shower curtain and slipped into the water.
Back in the bedroom, starting to feel cold and out of sorts, Willow pulled the blanket over her shoulder, and wished the girl still lay next to her. She moved her fingers over the pillow and remembered touching the girl's face, tracing features she'd mapped a thousand times before, tracing features that she was only beginning to know. But the tenderness of the memory bubbled away all too quickly. Frustrated, she flipped from her side to her back. Nothing made sense to her, and she hated the disorder of the thoughts.
She wasn't foolish enough to deny that there was a connection between them, or that the girl brought out in her a tenderness she thought had been lost forever, but she had no instrument or measure to calculate or understand the meaning of what she felt across her skin and inside her heart. The question remained: she had no idea who the girl really was. Her lover believed the rejoining would somehow bring her home. She had been so confident, so certain, and Willow believed her. How couldn't she? But what could be understood in theory was more difficult to accept as reality.
Stymied by problems she could not solve, not knowing what else to do, Willow got up from the bed, pulled on her robe, and began putting out fresh clothes for the girl. She was searching for a particular tee shirt when her fingers passed over the silk pillowcase. Since the rejoining, she had shied away from it, but now she drew it out, and pressed it to her face. She inhaled the sweet, lingering scent of her lover, and around her the world went silent. Her knees began trembling, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Terrible, aching grief washed over her and she drowned again in the loss that could never leave her heart.
A minute passed, and then another. When she could, she let the pillow case spill from her fingers and back into the drawer. She found a pair of pants for Tara in the back of the closet and grabbed underwear and socks from the clear laundry basket. As the grief slowly ebbed away, her thoughts turned to Miss Hartness.
During her first days at the coven, she'd spent hours lying with her head on her teacher's lap, trying to cry out the tears that seemed to have no end. Eventually, she learned to ride the waves of sorrow that swept over her, staying atop the crest instead of twisting underneath in the turbulent depths. Miss Hartness schooled her well in the lonely work of coming back from the brink of despair, never allowing her to stay too long at its edge, teaching her how to reshape her thoughts for life among the living. The techniques she learned were simple in their execution and their ambition. They merely pointed to the healing power of service to others. And so, when she could, she finished putting out Tara's clothes, and then turned her thoughts back to the issue of breakfast.
Tara was a mystery to her in many ways, but not in her tastes for foods. Enticing her to eat while she was still locked in the throes of her near-sleep had been a difficult challenge until Willow discovered the girl's love of sweet treats. From Dawn's signature sandwiches to cakes and cookies, from Buffy's tofutti cutie ice treats to rice pudding and apple pie, Willow had yet to find a desert the girl did not like. Shaking her head, the hacker nixed the idea of berry pancakes, concerned that the berries on hand were too tart, and decided bananas would be better. And then, upon further reflection, she decided bananas blended with chocolate chips.
By the time she was ready to head downstairs, her grief was squared away, if not the confusions of her heart. Passing down the hallway, on the other side of the bathroom door, she could hear the girl in the shower. Feeling chilled and already looking forward to her own hot shower, she pulled her robe tighter about her neck. After three days of steady rain, the house was damp and cold. Gripping the banister, she crept down the stairs, and resisted an atavistic urge to turn around and crawl back into bed. Miss Hartness had said the only way to move ahead was to move herself. And so she moved forward, on hesitant feet.
Years of bathing in unheated water made the simple comforts of indoor plumbing, a hot water heater and a shower head seem entirely luxurious to Tara. For several minutes she simply stood under the pulsing stream, letting the water seep into her skin, accepting its heat into her muscles and bones. Utterly relaxed by the water, she picked up a bar of lightly scented soap and lathered it over her body, relearning the surfaces of her skin and the contours of her frame. After so many days spent sleeping or in near sleep, it seemed as if she'd forgotten her body, and so she washed herself a second time, letting her hands awaken nerve endings that had spent far too much time at rest.
On a wide shelf below the showerhead, she found almost a dozen bottles of shampoo and several conditioners; familiar with none of them, she picked the shampoo with the prettiest label. The green tinted liquid felt warm and slick between her hands, and, as she smoothed it into her hair, it filled the air with a pleasant peach scent that reminded her of Willow. The shampoo seemed to enhance the weight and body of her hair, and she rinsed it out slowly, enjoying the sensuous mixture of scents and textures. By the time she turned off the water, the bathroom was pleasantly steamy.
While toweling off, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Steam blurred the image, erasing the scars that stretched across her back and abdomen and for a moment she saw herself as whole, her skin smooth, unmarked by trauma and time. The scent of peaches was everywhere and sunlight began to fill the room, coming in through the windows and coming up from the floor. As the room began to spin, she steadied herself, one hand bracing against the still damp tiled wall of the bathroom. The tiles felt slick, wet and warm to the touch. Her eyes blurred as the room seemed to spin faster, and she sunk to her knees, the weight of her body shifting, her flesh changing, her senses transforming.
She looked to her left and watched the door to the cabinet beneath the sink appear to telescope away from her, colors altered, and she heard breathing that was not hers. She blinked her eyes and she found herself lying on her side, except she still could feel the floor against her hands and knees. Laughter sounded near her ear and her cheek rested against a damp towel. Hands moved gently over her skin, gliding over her belly and sliding along her breasts. Willow's fingers pressed between her thighs, massaging tender and excited flesh, touching her as she'd never been touched, and as she'd been touched so many times before. She breathed in a warm musky scent, mysterious and familiar. Her body twisted slowly as the pleasure built inside of her. When she came it was in joy, her back arching, her breasts pushing upwards. She reached behind and wove her fingers into soft, silk-like hair, and cried out Willow's name, just as her arms and legs gave out from under her and she fell to the bathroom floor, hard.
Her body still trembling, she curled up into a ball, trying to make herself as small as possible. The air, which had smelled so sweet only moments ago, now seemed over ripe and thick. Her arms and legs felt heavy, her body was shaking with fever, and a headache began to form above her eyes. When she finally reassembled her thoughts, she began to cry, silently, as she always tried to do, not wanting anyone to hear. At first she had no word for what had just happened, but then she did and then she felt ashamed. Her face flamed red and more tears fell.
More minutes passed, maybe ten, maybe fifteen. She heard movement. Someone else was in the hallway outside the bathroom. On still shaking legs, she pulled herself to her feet and grabbed for her nightshirt. She jerked the thin material over her head and wished she had a robe to cover herself with as well. Before leaving the bathroom, she carefully inspected her face in the mirror. She looked no different; no one would be able to tell.
Still, she was relieved to find the bedroom empty when she returned. On the now made bed, Willow had left fresh clothes for her, dark green corduroys, a white short-sleeved tee shirt, and a russet colored pullover sweater, as well as underwear. She dressed quickly, needing to cover her still tingling skin.
by technopagan78 » Sun Jan 26, 2003 12:26 pm 
I totally thought you were a girl! 
You guys crack me up!
