AUTHOR: Wayland
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Willow, Tara and any other characters from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise belong to Joss Whedon, FOX and ME.
SPOILERS: Up to and including Season Six.
SUMMARY: Tara left Willow after Tabula Rasa. It is now about a year later.
FEEDBACK: I would be grateful for your comments.
NOTES: Thanks to my beta, Vivienne for the encouragement I needed to get this far.
Chapter 1
Tara’s gaze drifted from the page in front of her and settled on the poster above her desk. Four young men with dazzling teeth. They were stripped to the waist, displaying hairless baby-oiled chests with improbably quilted abs. She really ought to redecorate. Really. The opposite wall bore a poster of the Grand Canyon. Tolerable enough. But this one . . . . For the hundreth time she vowed to remove the previous occupant’s dubious taste in wall art and replace it with something of her own. On the other hand, she could xerox the damn thing and market it as an appetite suppressant for dieting lesbians. It seemed to work for her. Eating had been a chore for a long time now. Tara returned to her book, leaving the poster in place. The prospect of blank walls frightened her somehow, and most of her own stuff was still at Buffy’s.
‘Tara! Someone here for you!’
The thump on her bedroom door interrupted her reading and she closed the Byron with relief. For some reason people always assumed that she would love poetry. She didn’t. It wasn’t that she couldn’t appreciate beautiful language, but when she read for pleasure it was with the aim of getting caught up in a story. She liked to lose herself in the lives of characters which were far removed from her own.
The relief of her unexpected delivery from the Romantic Poets lasted most of the descent downstairs and it was only when she neared the living room that she thought to wonder who was calling on her. The only friends who knew where she lived were Buffy and Dawn and neither of them had ever been here. She preferred to meet them in town and had only supplied the address at their insistence. Perhaps there was some kind of emergency, some apocalyptic event that was too urgent for a phone call.
She smiled wryly to herself, Well, anything’s better than Byron… The smile congealed on her face the instant a particular shade of red filled her vision.
Willow.
Tara jolted to a halt in the doorway like an uninvited vampire.
Willow. Here. Her…her ex-girlfriend. Former lover. Her no-longer significant other. The phrases rattled around Tara’s mind. Absurd, each one of them.
Just . . . Willow.
She felt a trembling, deep inside her body, while her arms and legs seemed locked rigid. Willow was facing the window, her back to Tara. She looks so small, was she always that small? The afternoon sun caught stray strands of red hair and made them sparkle with the illusion of movement, emphasizing that the young woman’s stance was uncharacteristically still. At that moment, Willow turned. She started a little, apparently caught by surprise.
Tara found herself drawn to Willow’s eyes. Green. A green like…nothing else she had ever seen. At the edge of her vision, she became aware of a flush spreading over Willow’s cheeks. She had noticed her staring. Tara felt heat in her own face. She wanted to explain…she wasn’t . . . but no words came.
‘Hey.’ Willow’s shoulders sagged, as if saying even that little had exhausted her. Then she seemed to brace herself and looked up.
‘Hey,’ she said again.
Tara replied quickly, a mixture of shame and anger sharpened her tone, ‘What’s happened? Are Buffy and Dawn…’
‘They’re fine. Good. Really, they’re fine,’
Willow delivered the explanation at break-neck speed, her hands raised defensively.
She’s frightened. The thought caused another wave of shame and anger to wash over Tara.
‘Oh. Well. That’s good.’ A silence followed, until finally Willow answered the unasked question.
‘I just, I wanted to . . . I was hoping to see you.’
She smiled awkwardly and paused, evidently hoping that Tara would say something in return. When she was met with more silence she appeared to steel herself, straightening her shoulders and breathing deeply.
‘Buffy gave me your address. She didn’t want to. Had to arm wrestle her for it.’ Tara acknowledged the lame attempt at a joke with a small nod.
‘Seriously. She said I should phone first, but I figured you might hang up on me.’ Willow waited again and then, receiving no response, she ploughed on.
‘You see there’s this woman I met at work, and . . . well really, that’s not important,’
Tara felt herself flinch, but she could see that Willow’s gaze was now fixed on the floor and she had not noticed. She continued to gabble, as if afraid she would not be allowed to finish speaking unless she rushed, allowing no chance for interruption.
‘. . . and anyway, the thing is, I wanted to say it, and you don’t have to reply, or do anything, or even listen, if you don’t want to, but I just wanted to say it . . . I’m sorry.’
Tara found it difficult to form words, as if her voice was atrophied from lack of use. She swallowed twice, then managed a stiff ‘Thank you.’
Willow nodded, her head jerking rhythmically. She licked her lips.
‘Well . . . thanks for listening.’
Still nodding, she stepped forward.
Tara shuffled aside so that Willow could pass through the doorway. Then she stood, unmoving, until she heard the quiet click of the front door closing and she was still standing when her roommate walked in and asked ‘Who was that?’ Tara simply shook her head in reply and slowly made her way to the stairs, and her room.
********************
Tara slammed shut her bedroom door and pressed her back into it, her eyes closed tight. She breathed rapidly, convulsively forcing air into her lungs. As her heart began to slow down, she opened her eyes and looked at her room, as if for the first time.
It was the third place she had rented since leaving Buffy’s, and by far the nicest. She had been lucky to get it. The previous tenant had dropped out of college unexpectedly and Tara had been quick to respond when the remaining roommates advertised for a replacement. The three women were friends of long-standing and they had welcomed her kindly, tried to include her in their plans, and then left her to her privacy when they realised that it was what she wanted. This place suited Tara well. The previous year, when Willow left for the city, Buffy had invited her to move back into the Summers’ house. The offer had moved Tara beyond words, but she turned it down without hesitation. Moving back to the home she had shared with Willow would be unbearable. And living amongst strangers was something she had always done well.
Her old dorm room came to mind; the place where she and Willow had spent so many precious hours. Decorated in dark colours, bestrewn with silky fabrics and illuminated by tiny fairy lights. Willow had called it her crystal cavern, a description which had delighted her. Only now did the thought occur to her - wasn’t a cave just a hole underground, meant for hiding out through the winter? But even if that room had been a refuge from the world, at least it had been hers.
Tara was still breathing quickly as her eyes darted around the room. Her school books were on the desk and the bed was covered in the single-sized linen she had bought from the discount store prior to moving in. Otherwise, there was nothing at all that could identify her as the occupant.
The boy band grinned inanely back at her. In a blur of movement she lurched forward, tore down the poster, and ripped it into pieces. Then she sank down onto the bed and with her hands still full of crumpled paper, she dragged her fists across her cheeks, smearing tears all over her face.
******************
Willow made her way slowly back up Revello Drive, habit keeping her watchful now that dusk was approaching. Her feet ached after hours of aimless walking. She was dry-eyed. Always. She still remembered her uncle’s funeral, when she was a child. She remembered her aunt at the graveside, blank-faced while those around her sobbed. In her innocence she had wondered why her aunt was not more upset. Now she understood. Some blows hurt, but the worst ones paralysed. She hadn’t cried since the night Tara left.
Her mind worked sluggishly as she reviewed their meeting. She’d had a whole speech prepared, refined and polished during countless sleepless nights. A comprehensive acknowledgement of her behaviour in all its hideousness. A statement of sincere remorse, asking nothing. And all of it had disappeared the instant she saw Tara again. Every word, every agonisingly perfected phrase, had gone. And so she had babbled out an incoherent apology. And then she had bolted.
Outstanding, Rosenberg, just . . . outstanding. Willow stumbled a little, tripping over her own feet. She was so exhausted, she didn’t even have the energy to properly berate herself. No matter, she had plenty of time for that. Lots of time.
Just put one foot in front of the other…get back to Buffy’s, get through the evening, then the earliest possible bus home in the morning. Only the weekend to get through after that, and then the blessed distraction of work on Monday.
The prospect of her office seemed like a haven, or at least, it did, until another thought intruded.
Work…oh God, Julie…
She would have to face Julie and explain exactly what a mess she had made of the meeting with Tara. Willow pictured the gentle Irishwoman shaking her head in dismay.
It had taken a long time and great persistance from the older woman before Willow had begun to exchange pleasantries, let alone confide in her. Willow still wasn’t sure why Julie had bothered. It was only recently that Willow had realised how withdrawn and aloof she must have seemed when she first arrived in the city.
‘Too much time on my hands, now the kids are grown,’ had been Julie’s brisk explanation. ‘Besides, I’m nosy by nature.’ That was far from the truth. In fact, she had been endlessly patient, never pushing for details, until one day, over coffee in the staff canteen, Willow found herself recounting the circumstances that had driven her from home. Of course, she had not told her colleague all the peculiarly Sunnydale aspects of her behaviour, but she did not need to; a betrayal of trust was explanation enough.
Julie had listened sympathetically, without judgement, but on one point she had been firm.
‘You need to go back.’
Willow had been terrified at the idea. There was no doubting what the other woman meant. Not Buffy and Dawn. While she wouldn’t presume that she had earned their forgiveness, exactly, much of their anger seemed to have burned itself out during those awful last weeks in Sunnydale. Julie wasn’t talking about them. She was talking about Tara.
‘Remember, it isn’t about you, it’s about her. So, don’t be looking for forgiveness, because you mightn’t get it. And don’t expect to feel better, because you might feel worse. She deserves an apology and if she doesn’t want it, fine, but she still deserves it.’
Willow had finally admitted the truth of this. It was the least she owed Tara. So she had returned to Sunnydale, convinced a reluctant Buffy to part with her friend’s address, and then…
I’ve given better apologies to chairs I’ve bumped into.
As she walked up to the house, the prospect of facing her colleague faded from her mind, at the more immediate task of facing her best friend. For a split second, Willow considered her chances of sneaking upstairs to bed unnoticed. Then she shook off the childish notion and unlatched the back door.
In the Summers’ kitchen, Buffy was perched on a stool, apparently deeply absorbed in whittling a stake. Willow wasn’t fooled, partly because she knew the Slayer would have heard her footsteps from the driveway (at least), and partly because the piece of wood resting in her hands now looked more like a knitting needle than a stake.
‘Hey Buffy.’
Buffy looked up from her carving with a bright expression, which dulled immediately on seeing Willow’s face.
‘So…not so good, huh?’
Willow just shook her head, wincing inwardly at the change in mood she had caused. I really am a little ray of sunshine.
Buffy looked as if she was trying, and failing to think of something to say. Tossing aside the stake, she jumped off her seat.
‘Hey, we saved you dinner – don’t worry, Dawn cooked, so it’s real food!’
‘I’m not really hungry…’ Willow watched her friend’s face fall again ‘…but I could eat something.’
‘Great!’ Buffy was already rummaging in the fridge, a task which seemed to take her full attention. Willow felt relieved. Sometimes there really was nothing to say.
************
)
This hit me hard. So powerfully written. The shy girl, the quiet girl, who always expected rejection, always prepared for it. Very touching. Thank you! 
