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My humble thanks to all who have read thus far…here’s the latest… Arrears of Moonlight by Twisted Minstrel talesien@hotmail.com)"> ( talesien@hotmail.com) Disclaimer: The characters are owned by Joss Whedon, et al. I care not. Pphtt! Timeframe: This is set in the present, season severed, so spoilers maybe inherent. Feedback: Yes, yes and yes again! Summary: Following her encounter with D’Hoffryn in “Selfless,” Willow finds herself…somewhere else. With Tara. Rating:        Probably R this time around…. Pairings: T/W…no brainer, really. Warning: Much angst on the way…Tara isn’t very happy about things, so we’ll let her vent a little. The world wasn’t very nice to her, you know. Chapter 3
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
        - T.S. Eliot, from Preludes, IV
If she had been capable of thought, at that moment, if she had been capable of something other than rage, she might have known. She might have seen the look on her face, the lopsided smile she cherished. She might have known it was painless, really, so quick, so merciful. She was forever changed: not the girl she was, too eager, too involved. She was something else now; the dark tide had turned her toward another shore, another world and only by her own will, her own need, could she ever find her way back again.
So where was she?
Why was Tara there, so young-looking, so beautiful? Preternaturally poised and patient, as always; as she had been, once, a lifetime ago.
Willow could only stare, the ability to speak had gone, and, somewhere in her mind she laughed, remembering, this is how we met!. The candle licked at the shadows around Tara’s face, her blue-gray eyes unyielding to Willow as she stood, wearing only a silken bed gown, decorated with odd symbols Willow could barely see. She felt like she was sinking, drowning under a shadow’s weight. Her skin vibrated with expectancy, maybe fear, or joy. She could not move, she wouldn’t; every heartbeat was precious, her mind raced: this might end at any moment, I can’t move, I can’t breathe, don’t go away, please, don’t go away, stay, stay, stay, don’t move, don’t go, please, please, stay.
If ache or anguish could be translated, made flesh, it might choose to look like Willow, now, so alone in her body, in this room that cannot be real. In this moment that cannot last. A disobedient hand rose up from her side and covered her mouth, forcing the air back, forcing the inhuman cry welling inside her to stay down, stay silent. But the translation would be lost; anguish cannot live in the reflex of love, and no demon-sent dream could stop her from leaning forward, across the wide sea bedding, and crawl to the only thing it had ever craved. Tara.
Laying her candle down on the floor, Tara lifted the hem of her dress carefully as she sat on the end of the bed, observing, without emotion, as her lover moved toward her, her face a twisted knot of hope and horror. Willow could not stretch any further; her face had fallen to the sheets as her forehead connected with a covered thigh. She lifted her head slightly and forward to lie within Tara’s silken lap.
Six months, a lifetime of emptiness spilled out of her lungs. A low, coarse moan erupted as she furrowed deeper into Tara’s belly, to that space between her legs, her fists clutching at the bedding, angry at being denied its most essential need for so long. She had lost her senses, completely, she knew it. I’m insane, I never want to be anything else.
Tara’s expression never gave; she remained still as Willow’s head thrashed in her lap, begging, craving, unbelieving. She brushed a delicate hand through the wild red tendrils against her belly, calming, comforting, and Willow’s shaking slowed and ceased.
Willow’s face turned up toward her, pale as ivory, her eyes tinged with red and tears that wouldn’t come. A heartbeat was all the calm could take and Willow sat upright, clutching at Tara’s hands, covering them in wild kisses. She pulled Tara to her, her arms as tight as steel wires, and dipped her head to the girl’s loosely covered chest, the creamy paleness of her flesh suddenly flushed with Willow’s breath, as her lips dragged passionately around her breasts, her collar, the swanlike curve of her neck –
-only to be broken by Tara’s hand, pushing her away, a sting slapping her cheeks, snapping her senses backward. Tara rose away from her, off the bed, bending only for a moment to lift her candle again. Willow stared helplessly as Tara turned toward her, her face blazing with a furious righteousness.
“No.”
What?
“No. I can’t let you do this again, Will. I’m not here for you anymore. This is for me, just for me.”
Willow crawled off the bed, still shaking, longing to take Tara up again, hold her until they both exploded, or melted away, into each other; but she held fast and remained still. Tara turned away for a moment and laid the candle on the desk. When she turned back, the lace from her gown had fallen loose, exposing the very center of her, from her neck to her ankles: the high swell of her full breasts nearly concealed and her soft belly and the fair down of her sex all open and revealed.
Willow had fallen in love with Tara, she knew, she had loved the girl’s gentle mind and heart, her patience and wisdom, she had fallen for the young woman without having ever kissed her, or even wanting to. It had been something beyond magic, beyond the physical. Yet, once the physical barrier had been breached, the body of Tara Maclay had become a temple of endless worship and devotion. She felt shamed now, that her desire should overwhelm her, at this moment, as Tara, here, yes, she is here, stood before her, angry, defiant, and so cold.
“Tara, baby, I’ve missed you so much, I just want to hold you, can I? Please? I just want to know you’re here. I don’t know what’s happened! I just need to hold you.”
Willow stepped forward slowly, inching her way, cautiously, anxious in case the dream should suddenly end, that Tara would vanish again, forever.
“Get away from me.”
The quiet hatred in her voice startled Willow into stillness, again. She shivered for a moment then made up her mind.
Willow closed the gap between them, her arms reaching around Tara’s waist, beneath her gown, touching bare flesh. She stopped herself, suddenly aware, and backed away, slowly, her arms folding over her chest, holding tightly.
“You left me, Will. You used me and you left me. You wanted power, you wanted me, you wanted mine…and you took it, Will. You took all of it. Do you think I’d let you do that again?”
Willow stared up in confusion, lost at Tara’s bitter words. She found her voice again, hoarse and thick with anguish.
“I never left you, Tara. I never, I swear I didn’t. I tried to bring you back, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone; I really didn’t. Please, baby, I love you so much, I just want to hold you, please tell me what’s happening!”
Tara’s expression softened a little at Willow’s distress. She backed away, clutching her gown tightly to her skin, until she reached the bed again and sat down.
“I loved you. I remember that. I came back because I loved you.”
The witch’s voice was controlled, without feeling. She was stating facts, no more. Willow felt the ties of her soul give way at last, and she knew it must be drifting now, lost, forever incomplete.
“I could never imagine loving someone so much, losing myself like that, the way my mother did. Do you know what my father did to her?”
Willow could no longer feel her extremities; she was in hell now, she knew it. D’Hoffryn had sent her here, surely. This was justice. She had hurt Tara, she had wronged her and now the balance would be restored. Her sanity was shredded, threadbare, like a moth-eaten coat that could no longer protect her from the elements.
“He was so gentle with her. So loving, I thought. He would tell her that he would protect her, never let her go. I’d watch him sometimes, whispering to her, I could hear everything. She knew there wasn’t a demon. She knew he lied to her. She knew everything. I watched her die. She would have told me, I know she would have. We just ran out of time.”
Tara’s eyes turned toward the clock. Willow followed her gaze in askance.
“We have time, though, Willow. And I’m going to tell you everything. Everything.”
TBC….
"Human kind cannot bear much reality." - T.S. Eliot
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