Title: Awake, First Cycle - Enneagram
Part: 1/?
Email address: mariacomet@hotmail.com
Feedback: - Gulp – Yes, please.
Distribution: Just let me know.
Spoilers: All episodes including 6x05
Rating: PG I’m not expecting the sex and violence till later, but I figured I’d gear you up for it This IS a W/T romance – so all the usual same sex love warnings are in effect. If you are offended by same sex relationships, please don’t proceed.
Disclaimer: All Characters contained here-in are owned by and products of the genius of Joss Whedon and Co. (minus Laslo, who’s genius is limited anyway) I am NOT making money on this and am generally harmless and poor.
Dedication: The next few episodes going on through till the end of this year are going to be rough. I know it’s easy to become doubt-filled, depressed and downright agitated. Keep the faith, everyone. W/T are two great characters and I have to believe that Joss is very aware of that. Special thanks to Tommo.
Awake
(First Cycle: Enneagram Part 1/?)
By
Mariacomet
Loss is a part of life. In winter, colors tremble and then fade away, only to be awakened in the spring and made new. Nature was an ancient law: life, death, rebirth. This was the circle. She believed in this procession. No one had an invitation to interrupt this dance, using magic to open doors that should be left closed. Or worse: using such blessings out of simple laziness. It was against all she knew.
This was the path of the woman she loved.
Willow. It made her smile just to whisper the word. It was a cry of victory in her heart. One word standing as a symbol that dreams could be more than dreams. Reality could surpass even the infinity of imagination. Such was love, a place where the mind and what could be held there was inadequate. Willow. It was by definition impossible to describe that which was unconditional. All comparison placed fences on what Tara felt. This feeling between her and her lover was a creature of flight that soared over all fences. Pegasus. Magical.
A box within each of us holds the duality of who we are. Good and bad. Weak and strong. It is made of heart, but the heart is deceived by perception. It lives in the soul, but the soul is a place of turbulence. Guilt. Beliefs. Hopes. Our essence searches, wanders our whole lives until someone finally, totally, sees. Words often fell between the two witches weakly. Awkwardly. But that part of Tara which was timeless, knew Willow and so too did the searcher in Willow know Tara.
Offering the heart without thought of consequence, is the first step toward offering everything. If the quiet acceptance of this gift was the end, it would have surpassed Tara’s hopes. Yet Willow; the intelligent, good natured, nerdish girl she had once been and the strong capable women she was becoming, had laid down on love’s pedestal, entwining herself with Tara. Holding her. Being held by her. Taking everything. Offering everything. Yet even this was not the end. Love is an alter created by two people, and the process of loving is a daily offering at that alter. It was one thing to see and another to understand. They insisted their love be total, and so they prodded, and poked and rifled through all the stories and all the thoughts. Until there were no more words.
The blonde witch had been reborn and lived in the soft breezes that those in love knew. She had blossomed and was aware of it, of the new confidence shimmering in her soul. The way which she held her head higher and was more prone to look people in the eye. No more hiding behind her wispy hair, lowering her head to the world as a whole, just hoping not to be noticed. People noticed her now, and though she still was not comfortable with too much attention, she no longer dreaded it.
The Wiccan stared at the moon, now disturbed by the way the woman she loved was casually beginning to abandon what Tara held sacred. The blonde shook her head. She had been policing everything but the actual issue itself. She had realized this after waking up alone yet again, her lover having been awakened much earlier by some desperate need to complete the study of a spell.
Grief was a powerful thing, and it was where Willow’s absorption began. The loss of Buffy Summers had devastated her friends. Tara was familiar with loss, and had expected healing to take time. On some days Willow could talk about it, and if tears came, then Tara’s arms were there. But most days…most…the hacker resolutely refused to discuss anything other than the business end of her friend’s death. Willow had been the one to pick the coffin. All of them had gathered to decide what should be written on the headstone.
During the weeks afterward, their daily gatherings at the Summers home or the Magic Shop were held in relative silence. They would share dinner in much the same way. Xander reacted to Buffy’s death by keeping those he loved close by and with-in sight whenever possible. Xander became the encourager of any and all group activities – including training. ‘Let’s all go,’ became his motto.
Willow, on the other hand withdrew as much as she could. This was not easy. Xander’s ‘group’ state of mind demanded her presence, as did Dawn continually looking to her and Tara as parental figures. The hacker was allowed escape when she was fixing and maintaining the Buffybot. Or if she was trying to find spells to assist with patrolling. Willow shouldered the leadership of the Scoobies bravely and without compliant. Someone had to. All of them had turned to her. It was the right decision and it seemed to be working out fine.
Fine except for in the middle of countless nights when the young woman would whisper,” Tara, don’t ever leave me.”
Just fine…save the amount of Willow’s ‘alone time’ to work with magic and Buffybot was ever increasing. At first, Tara had just wanted to give her lover some space. People dealt with grieving in different ways. Best not to push. A frown creased her features. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt. She’d even begun making excuses FOR Willow. When Dawn needed help with her homework, and Willow was too busy considering spell components. When Xander wanted her and Willow to go on a double date with him – ‘Xander, she’s not feeling well.’ A week ago, when Buffy had returned, she’d decided the talk should wait because everyone was trying to readjust. Their friend’s return had changed everything, yet Willow was still…Absorbed. Distracted. Distant.
Tara hadn’t wanted to bombard her love with…Excuses. Always excuses. Anger began to stir with-in her. Gaia, she had watched all the after school specials that everyone else had as a kid and she STILL had ignored all the signs of trouble. Stupid. But it was okay. It wasn’t that bad yet. How bad could it be after a few months? She’d just sit down with Willow and they would work it out. She could always talk to her partner about everything.
Thinking of this reminded her of her mother. Sarah Maclay had often talked quietly with her, holding her hand and sharing secrets. This was in defiance of Tara’s father, who was content as long as the house was to his satisfaction and no mention of magic was ever made. Everything at home was expected to be spotless. All meals were to be prepared by the time he arrived home, and to his liking.
His daughter and wife should be seen and not heard. Strict control, he insisted, was the only way to control the demon. He would explain quietly that he was her father and he loved her, even while strapping her to the bed just near midnight on each of her birthdays. Tara, the patriarch repeatedly, would also have to find a suitable husband and he too would assist with her problem.
His means of punishing when his wife or his daughter didn’t fall in line was not to yell. It was almost eerie the way his tone never rose. Nor did he raise his fist. Donny, her older brother, was more prone to such things. However the strict resolve of her father, that things should be handled in a civilized manner had swayed Donny from letting his anger loose more then once or twice. In the mind of the patron of the family everything was given or taken away at his discretion. Even the right to go to school. Or the right to leave the house at all. Or to eat with the family. In one incident when Tara had been very young, her father had gagged her and forced her to exist voiceless for several days. It was shortly after that the stuttering started. All of it, her family insisted, had been for her own good. Because she was bad. Evil.
At home, much like anywhere else, she had taken to keeping her eyes lowered. Her thoughts were unspoken. Libraries were churches to her. If she could read on the forbidden subject of magic, so much the better. She found steel within herself when it came to witchcraft. A way of believing – an understanding of nature and life and how it all tangled together. She clung to her beliefs her mother died. Later, it was the exception to Tara remaining content with her place as a wallflower, and it saved her.
Facing her father just after she had turned 18 had been like facing a dragon.
“I’m 18, you c-c-can’t keep me here.”
“All right,” His cold eyes had looked at her with distaste. “You get this foolishness out of your system. But you’ll see I’m right. Someone like you is never going to be accepted in the world. It’s not your fault, but they won’t understand that. We’re your family and we love you – no matter what.”
The biggest dream she had when coming to Sunnydale was that she would be able to quietly pursue learning, and perhaps find a job after graduation where she could expect much more of the same. Yet something in her refused to surrender so easily to this destiny. Perhaps it was the long gone echo of her mother, telling her that she could be anything – that she was special, and would one day do special things.
A door to the room opened and there was the only person able to make her heart flip with a smile. Willow. With a tiny pout in place.
Tara didn’t want to ask. That look of her partner - determined, distracted, frustrated was one that she knew well. Her love had been tinkering with another spell, and it wasn’t coming out quite the way she wanted it to. The former wallflower was beginning to dread hearing about yet another spell that her beloved was toying with. These stories had been coming more and more often from Willow. At first Tara had noted it as enthusiasm, simply that. Yet now it was beginning to worry her.
“No luck,” Willow announced and sat down heavily on the bed, looking up to where her lover stood by the window. Willow’s partner felt her body tense. “I don’t understand it, we’re just talking about converging colors. Granted in the retina…but it’s pie easy stuff. I was able to change the colours of light when I first starting practicing.”
“Have you eaten yet?” A distraction tactic.
The red brows of the other witch drew down a moment in thought. For a moment, the young woman at the window felt a smile flirt over her lips. She loved that expression. Like a little girl trying to come up with an explanation to a big question. “Just because I can’t actually remember when I last ate does not mean that I haven’t regularly and all healthy like. Because I agreed that I would do better at that – and me forgetting would make my beautiful, talented, wonderful girlfriend upset. And she’d make that grrr, bad Willow face that I hate. And have I mentioned how beautiful, talented and wonderful you are?” The funny little smile followed the ramble. Hopeful to be forgiven, eager to make amends. You know you love me, that expression whispered. It was true. Tara had forgiven a million small indiscretions just based on that one solitary look. Tara had always possessed a forgiving nature. It was unfathomable that Willow would ever do something that she’d be unable to forgive.
“Actually, the Grrr Bad Willow face was because you’ve haven’t been sleeping. The ‘Willow needs to be punished face’ is because you haven’t been eating well either.”
It was leer time for Tara’s love. “Well actually…the ‘Willow needs to be punished face’ I don’t mind so much. ”
The conversation fell into a quiet rhythm. “You know what I mean…you’re always hunched over a book lately.” Tara sighed at herself. Subtle nudging wasn’t working and she knew better.
As usual, Willow deflected the warning. “Baby, if you don’t want me to be all distractedy you are going to have to stop talking about hunching and punishing.” The joke didn’t quite get the huge smile or returned flirtatious look that the hacker had been looking for. She continued, much more contrite. “I know I’ve been study gal, lately. I just want to make things easier for Buffy. She’s been through a lot.”
Buffy. Tara had broken all her own rules, had supported and assisted Willow in the darkest of all magicks. Tara KNEW better. Yet she had let herself be convinced. Willow had seemed so certain. Despite every internal voice shouting at the blonde witch about how dangerous it was, when Willow had needed someone at her side proposing the idea to the Scoobies, Tara had been right there. It had been for the greater good. The slayer was needed and her death had been unnatural. Yet Buffy, even a week after her return, still seemed like a shell. Going through motions, and not really with them. It had been for the greater good, hadn’t it?
“We just have to keep showing her she’s not alone.”
Willow’s eyes lowered and her thoughts began to churn. “She won’t talk about it. She’s doing the whole martyr Buffy thing. She just wanders around looking all stoic. All I’m asking for is one smile. It’s been a week, it’s not like I’m being greedy.”
The pain was naked in her expression and Tara could not allow it to lie there untended. She cupped her love’s face. “It will be okay.” A nod. They shared a soft kiss. “Don’t give up on her. You didn’t give up on me. You can do this.” Again the lovers drew together and their mouths met, the kiss a raw sharing of both pain and love.
Willow drew back finally, taking in a shaky breath, an unsteady smile in place “Wow. I have a beautiful, wonderful, talented girlfriend AND my own cheerleading section.”
“Rah Rah Sis Boom Bah.” The former wallflower answered deadpan, then her lips rose in a crooked smile. The woman Tara loved took her hand. It was instinct to allow this contact. Holding Willow’s hand. Willow was one of the most physically affectionate people that Tara had ever known. Save, perhaps her mother. Meeting the hacker four years after her mother’s death had been like finding a cool, cool stream in the middle of the desert. “Are you telling me you like my pompoms?”
A laugh. “Pompoms definitely a plus.” The green eyed cherub nipped at Tara’s lower lip. Tingles travelled down Tara’s body, her eyes closing without her willing them to. Willow’s body was so soft, and touching her made her hungry and sated all at the same time. Desperate, unable to get enough – yet having all she needed, all she could ever need. Tara became lost in her love for the other woman, unable to express how she felt in mere words. Wanting to show her. Needing to show her. Willow could affect her like this at will. Deeply. Completely. It had been easy to fall in love with the red headed ball of energy and light. The shy college student hadn’t even tried to stop herself. It was the only way she knew. Go with her heart, follow her instincts – without hesitation. She had never let her father conquer that part of her. She would not allow herself to become afraid to love or afraid to care…and when she did, she would treasure it. Hold the feelings up to the light. Let them consume her.
The desire was so hot that it melted her usually disciplined thoughts into a rumbled, limp tangle by just a touch. Just a smile. Tara wondered if it was possible to go mad for want of a kiss.
“Hey, do you feel like helping me with the spell, it’s been a while since we…”
The withdrawal was sudden enough to make Tara blink. A brief time ago, nothing in the world could have forestalled the inevitable rumpled sheets and afterglow cuddling. It made all of Tara’s current misgivings rush to the surface. She and Willow needed to talk. SOON. All right, she thought. Tonight. After dinner. The thoughts were stern. It was a promise and Tara never broke her promises. Not to anyone. Not to herself.
“No.” The word was too quick. “I…I think I’ll make a food run. Mr. Giles could use the break from cooking.”
“We could use a break from his cooking.” Willow pointed out. Giles had many talents but apparently his culinary finesse extended to about three dishes, which he had proceeded to make over and over in various fashions.
“Do you want to come with?”
“Baby, I really want to try and get this spell’s kinks worked out.”
She traced her thumb over the center of Willow ’s palm. “So you’re…too busy for the smootches at all the red lights game?”
“We almost caused an accident last time we did that. Though, no one invited Mr. Cadillac to stare.”
The former lifted her brows. “You were the one that wanted to take the long way home.”
That look usually sent a spiral of heat through Willow’s stomach. Or so the hacker had once said. Tara saw a momentary struggle of emotions in the mischievous eyes that she loved she much. “Um…honey…Rain check?“
“Rain check.” The blonde said giving her girlfriend an indulgent smile. It was just ONE car trip. Nothing to panic over. They didn’t have to be attached at the hip for Gaia’s sake. Still, they were SO going to have that little talk tonight. “Rain check, indeed.” She muttered to herself.
Tara considered this as she borrowed the keys to Giles’s car and hugged Dawn. When Buffy had first died Willow and her partner, as well as the other Scoobies had talked about what was to happen with Dawn at length. In the end, Tara suggested that the young teen was the final voice on the subject. The youngest Summers asked where Willow and Tara would be. It was that simple. They made her feel safe.
She climbed into the driver’s seat and steered out of the driveway almost feeling guilty about how good it felt just to get away. It would give her some time to think. She realized how much she had burying her feelings and instincts with regards to Willow as of late.
She had glanced in the rear view mirror several times while negotiating the busy streets.
It was a cold chill on the back of her neck that inspired another glance while the car was idling at a red light. The witch had a strange unsettling feeling. Still it had been a long few days. Maybe it was her imagination.
That was her last thought before something clamped down on her shoulder. Her eyes flew to the rear-view mirror and Tara was shocked to find a dark haired, bearded man now sitting behind her. He smiled slowly.
Part 2
Buffy Summers’s lean body moved fluidly; the two creatures ahead of her were fast, but she was faster. Faster. Stronger. They realized it, and one turned to turned to fight. With crossbow in hand, she slowed, circling him. He was a younger demon. She could tell by the way he was dressed in a torn plaid shirt and blue jeans that he likely wasn’t more than a year undead.
“You know,” Buffy said almost conversationally, “if you would have kept running, you might have stood a chance.” Fear was laced in the young demon’s eyes and suddenly he charged her. The Slayer expected the movement and sidestepped. She levelled the butt
of the crossbow heavily down on his back, causing him to fall. “Strike one.” The young woman grabbed him by his hair and swung her arm to the left, sending him sprawling. “Strike two.” The vampire backed away, and Buffy knew he was about to bolt. The vampire fled, but she fired an arrow. Her prey had been moving and the shot had pulled a little to the left. Instead of killing, the arrow’s impact drove the vampire back against a tree, pinning him there.
The vampire struggled to free himself and the Slayer raised the crossbow again. A thought occurred to her then. It was helpless. It was oddly fascinating, watching him grope with the deeply embedded arrow, hissing in pain as he tried to pull it out. Buffy felt herself walk toward him. When was the last time one of these things had this been helpless before her? It wouldn’t last. It never did. The vampire was strong and he would eventually free himself. What happened next was strange. She reloaded the weapon in her hand, but that was more out of habit then anything else. It was something of a surprise to feel her finger squeeze the trigger. Yet what the Slayer knew, was that as she fired, she wasn’t aiming for its heart. The arrow veered high, pinning the creature’s right shoulder to the tree. Leaving it helpless for a little longer. The young woman was close enough now so that she could see the shape and depth of the vampire’s wounds. Her hand closed around one of the arrows, but her eyes were locked on the eyes of the monster in front of her. Buffy’s heart was racing. A strange feeling was passing over her. Powerful.
“Well now, look who’s playing with their food before they eat it.” Came a mocking voice. It was enough to break her out of her reverie. Quickly the slayer drew a stake from with-in her jacket and ended her quarry’s existence. She frowned at herself. What the hell had just happened?
“Go away, Spike.” Buffy told her ex-nemesis, turning and walking away as fast and as furiously as she could from the site. Her stomach quivered and she suddenly felt unbearably cold.
William the Bloody had never been one to quit easily, especially not when it came to Buffy Summers. He had been sitting astride his motorcycle, watching the fight. By now, he knew the Slayer’s patrol route by heart. This was her early evening one. She was on the last leg, near the park, then she would head home. “My, my Barbie, what big teeth you have.” Spike protested. “This truce thing isn’t going to go very far with that kind of attitude, luv.” Spike dismounted the bike and started pushing it along, as he fell into step beside her.
She sighed. Buffy almost smiled. Almost. “Sorry. Force of habit.” The words weren’t as insincere as they once might have been.
“I was just heading to the Scooby cult house.”
“You missed the patrolling portion of the evening, so you’ve decided to go directly to the skulking in shadows part, huh?” She wanted to keep moving. To go home. She had been afraid before, but not quite like this. Her hands were shaking. Something about arguing with Spike was reassuring. Familiar. At this moment, familiar seemed like a good thing. “I’m tired,” she said. “how about we trade a few insults now and skip the floorshow? Unless you have something you needed to tell me?”
He smirked. “Some ego on you, blondie. I wasn’t going to see you.” She stopped, turning to him, a questioning demand in her eyes. His smile only grew bigger at that look. “Promised the little bit a ride on the new wheels.”
Control was slowly sliding over her again and she shook her head. “Let me see if I can say this in a way you’ll understand: Not. Bloody. Likely.”
Agitation made his jaw tense a moment. “I see, I’m good enough to run to when she’s in trouble, but I should sod off the rest of the time, is that it?”
The Slayer softened only slightly. “Spike, I appreciate all you’ve done for Dawn. It’s just…she’s young and she doesn’t know you like I do.”
His gaze was measuring, withering in its intense scrutiny. Buffy hated that look. It made her feel like he could see things. Things she didn’t want anyone to see. “You’re just all hot under the collar because I saw you toying with your kill.”
The words made her flinch. “I was not toying.”
The vampire gave an amused smile, one that suggested he knew her nature better than she did. “There’s a place you should let me take you.” When he spoke quietly in that low tone, she almost found him attractive. Very…almost…attractive. “Private. All kinds of fun to be had.”
“You. Me. Fun. Three words that don’t belong in the same sentence.” The cell phone in her jacket rang, halting the conversation from going any further. Buffy answered and listened for a few moments. It was Giles. Calling a Scooby meeting. She closed the phone and eyed her ex-enemy. “Gotta go…It’s been real.” The Slayer turned away heading back through the park, the most direct path to the Magic Box.
“You headed to the shop?” The undead man asked, still pursing her.
“Yeah, scooby meeting.”
“You know, it’s not like I don’t have a helmet for her. I nicked one.” It was true. He’d ‘borrowed’ the helmet from a Harley just the night before.
“Again, not exactly proving you’re Mr. Responsible.”
“Come on Slayer,” The vampire argued. “Dawn’s just a kid and she hasn’t exactly had fun and games lately, has she? You go have your powwow with the do-gooders, and I’ll look after Dawn.”
Buffy stopped her brisk pace. Her little sister should have been her first thought, but the truth was that she hadn’t been. In fact Dawn hadn’t even blipped on the radar screen of her mind. She’d forgotten, and Buffy knew that she should feel guilty about this. The Slayer waited for the emotion to surface, but it didn’t.
All right, it was logic time. If the whole gang had been called to a meeting, Dawn would be home alone. That was unacceptable. Spike’s motive were questionable, as they almost always were. His interest in Dawn’s well being wasn’t exactly sudden though. More than that, Dawn trusted him. While Buffy had been gone, Spike had made himself available. He still held himself aloof; that was his nature. But he’d stayed close by. The vampire checked on Dawn nightly, even if it was just for a few moments.
Buffy’s shoulders slumped slightly. Spike knew that to be a gesture of surrender. He knew most of her nuances. He’d memorized them before she’d died, and then replayed each of them over and over in his head to keep her close. “One hour. Dawn gets dropped off at the shop in one hour.”
Spike made a motion with one fingertip over his heart, even though the young woman didn’t see the gesture. “Cross my heart and hope to…well…you know.”
She shook her head, wondering why she had given in. Maybe it was because Dawn needed...something. The usual numbness closed around Buffy’s heart. It was her constant companion since returning from the grave. Her little sister deserved so much more.
[Part 3[/b]
The sword was unremarkable. It was the only proof of the tale he told, unless the wedding band with an inscription he refused to let anyone read could be counted.
Destiny is a creation of both choice and circumstance. For one hundred forty-seven days, Buffy Summers was dead. For nearly six hundred years, Sir Laslo Castille was a soldier. He awoke when he was called, and not before. The time, the place, the setting – none of these things were his choice. His choice was at the beginning. Yet that same decision was never taken from the soldier’s hands. To be or not to be was not the question. The question was – which love matters most? The rest was follow through.
“Let’s go over it again “ Giles said. “You’re five hundred and seventy five years old.”
Sir Laslo Castille had chosen long ago to protect something called the Soul De Trute. Prophecies tended to revolve around the Hellmouth in one way or another, so hearing about this one wasn’t a complete surprise. Being the subject of one of these legends, Tara was discovering, made one feel a bit lightheaded.
“My lady, I fail to see how answering questions from this…merchant is helpful.” There was a slight Irish lilt to Laslo’s voice, but it was the way everything came across as a dry insult that stood out. The stranger looked to Tara. This silent request for affirmation from her before answering had also been going on since his arrival over an hour before.
“Laslo, m-maybe just one more time.” For once Tara’s stutter actually seemed appropriate and not just a nuisance. It usually assailed her at the stupidest moments, normally when there was something she desperately wanted to say. This time though, Willow’s partner felt that perhaps there might actually be some reason for her nervousness. Tara, Giles and Buffy were at the magic shop. After Laslo had told her his story, Tara decided making sure he didn’t know where the Summers house was, might be best. The knight hadn’t looked overly happy about going to meet Tara’s ‘friends.’ Where they met Buffy and Giles, also seemed to agitate him, though it was hard to be sure.
Something overly smug hovered in the dark haired man’s expression. For some reason, the image he conjured was that of a pompous butler in a very prestigious mansion. The only time this attitude wavered was when he addressed his charge. Even then, his eyes, grey as steel did not soften or warm. In fact, there was nothing warm about him. Laslo had a prickly nature, but at least when addressing Tara, he made a true effort not to be AS prickly. He was tall – it reminded her a bit of her father to look at him. Tall. That same hardness to his eyes and well chiselled features. Laslo wore a long white trench coat with deep grey pockets and an insignia of a knight just over one breast pocket. On the back of the Jacket was another large patch of grey with four letters, separated by periods across it – KTWC. Under the jacket he wore a white silk shirt and blue jeans. His hands were covered by heavy leather gloves. Laslo was about fifteen years younger than Giles, which meant at least a decade older than the Scoobies.
Laslo bowed his head slightly in acquiescence. “I have been in the service of the Powers that Be for that time, yes.”
“And how are you – or any of us – supposed to know this True Soul?” Giles asked. The Englishman was father figure of the group, he took this responsibility very seriously.
“ I just know.” The knight answered simply.
Tara blinked in surprise as it was pointed out yet again that he believed her to be this ‘Soul thing’ “I really think you have the wrong person.”
Laslo addressed her alone. “That is not a possibility. I waited six hundred years. You… are my reward.” That statement didn’t make any of Scoobies in attendance entirely happy. The knight sighed and Tara suspected that he wanted to roll his eyes. It seemed that it was disgraceful in his eyes to have to explain further. “Protecting the Soul…is my reward. I served the Powers that Be, and in exchange they promised me I would fulfil a higher purpose.”
“It seems rather amazing,” Giles said in a soft voice. “After all that time, you would have no more reliable means of identifying the Soul de Trute, then a feeling.”
“I know it’s her and I know she’s in danger.” Laslo insisted again.
“And if we ask you for proof?” The Watcher leaned back against the counter of his shop, slipping his hands deep in the pockets of a brown jacket that looked worn and comfortable. Giles always seemed to be able to say things like that without sounding threatening. Unless, he was trying to be. Tara had seen even Spike back down when the older man’s anger was aroused.
“I told you, my only two possessions are my sword and this.” The warrior pulled a necklace from under his shirt, on it was a simple band of gold. It looked like a wedding band, Tara had noted when he’d first showed it to them. The subject of the ring seemed to make the warrior uncomfortable and he had replied that he didn’t know what it was. It had simply always been with him, for as long as he could remember.
“Well…I’m convinced.” Buffy said.
“Perhaps we could see the sword?” The shop keeper requested.
Again, the knight looked to Tara, who nodded encouragingly. It was not the answer he preferred but his hand inched under his jacket and unsheathed the blade. “You may not wield it.” Laslo said sternly. Giles crept closed, his eyes following the long line of the steel. All in all it was a rather plain looking weapons. It could have passed for a typical footman’s sword in any exhibit on medieval history in the world, save for two small blue rubies that adorned the U-shaped blade guard. The leather bindings on the hilt were worn, even frayed in some places. Still, the blade had obviously been well cared for. The weapon was sharp and though the metal was dull, it showed no sign of rust or scratches.
“Well it’s old,” The Watcher observed. “Time period does seem correct. However, it’s not an overtly remarkable piece…”
Any further questions or observations were delayed by the typically excited arrival of Willow. A general distress call had been sounded to the Scooby Corps. This call was brief and usually meant everyone would get to the magick shop as quickly as possible. Willow only knew that she had been called, not what the crisis of the day was. Giles hadn’t been able to get a hold of Xander and Anya yet. “Hey everyone, sorry I’m late but I really thought I had a mix of mandrake and fishscales that…but I see that we have a stranger in out midst who couldn’t possibly want to hear about that.”
Laslo stared hard at the new arrival. Something about her seemed to puzzled him. Then all at once, he drew his sword and rushed forward, placing himself between Tara and Willow. “Back, you foul defiler of virtue!”
“Laslo, what…” Tara began.
Instinct, some believe, can be honed in a warrior until an enemy is recognized by sight alone. It is not a perfect science. Split decisions affect the entire flow of the human condition. Tara had once read that if you entered any given room and met ten people, one was bound to dislike you, even if you said nothing to them. People constantly reacted to what they sensed about one another. Laslo drew his sword and in almost immediate counter response, Willow held up one hand and began chanting.
The spark of possible confrontation was so sudden that no one in the room had an immediate chance to react save Buffy. The Slayer grabbed the Knight’s arm and refused to allow him to engage her friend. “Hey. Back off.” She ordered.
Bewilderment knit his eyebrows. The blonde Wiccan saw the wheels turning behind his eyes as he reassessed who was an ally and who was an enemy. All of the others in the room had gone on the defensive. None of their instincts matched those of the Slayer, but living in a Hell mouth did necessitate quick recovery time when the unexpected happened. Tara prepared to cast a protection spell on Willow, and Giles positioned himself nearer to an axe he kept behind the counter. They waited. Even the red haired witch delayed her attempt at an attack, falling into much the same ‘wait and see’ holding pattern. Laslo tried to jerk himself from the Slayer’s grasp but his strength was no match for hers, which did nothing to alleviate his feelings of confusion.
Tara ducked around the warrior. She held her hands in front of him, keeping him back. “Wait. That’s Willow. She’s with me.”
His eyes darted from the witch at the door, to the woman who held his arm. Laslo lowered his sword, though he did not replace it within the sheath. His body which had been tensed, ready to spring like a lion, relaxed slowly. “As you say, my lady.”
Buffy released him, but stayed close just in case. He eyed Buffy cautiously. “I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me what you are?”
“I’m the Slayer.” Buffy answered straightforwardly.
“Slayer?” The knight asked, a blank look on his face. “The Slayer of what?”
“THE…Slayer.” There was still no noticeable change in Laslo’s expression. “Hello…Hellmouth? The Slayer?” Buffy said, trying to stir his memory. It was almost amusing, Tara thought, but she could swear that Buffy was a little disappointed. “You…don’t know what a Slayer is? You’ve been around six hundred years and you’ve never heard of the Slayer?
Giles gave a long suffering sigh. “If we could perhaps on the focus back issue at hand?”
Again, Laslo addressed only the blonde Wiccan. “My lady, it is dangerous to linger here. This location is tactically unsound…among others things.”
Facing the burden of monsters and demons had given Buffy and the others a knee jerk flippancy. Humour was sometimes the only shield they had against the overwhelming emotions of their struggle. But hearing about Tara in danger was different for Willow. The claws of fear were too sharp for empty jokes to even be considered. It was…Tara.
‘Baby, are you okay?’ Willow’s thoughts caressed Tara’s mind. They had worked hard to develop this ability between them. Natural barriers existed in the mind. Allowing a link of receiving was one matter, but this was a totality of sharing.
In the context of the mind – receiving was like a dam, which could be opened and closed. When the water flowed; was a matter to be settled by human will. It was possible, if the resolve of the sender overrode the will of the receiver, to force this door to remain open. The exertion of such an effort is extreme. ‘Carrying’ another’s mind was as exhausting as trying to pick someone up and haul them up a few flights of stairs. The mind is meant to be a center of control for one, not two.
This small, limited opening in the conscious was not enough for a full exchange. It was not enough for the door-way to be wide open allowing the waters of two minds to flow in and out. On the contrary, there could be no door. No limitations. The trust had to be total or the process could be dangerous. Two minds could feasibly become lost within each other, never able to totally separate again. It was also possible for a mind that was stronger to envelop the weaker. Willow and Tara had learned to hold the idea of one another and then try to sort through all the random, rapid fire streams of senses. They created a place where they were in perfect symmetry, sending one directed thought, receiving, then sending another. It was quicker then speaking, and the words were more powerful. Instead of mere syllables, in the mind words were images and ideals. Always, behind all they ever said to one another in this place were other words: I trust you. I love you.
‘Dinner’s going to be late.’ Tara replied telepathically, knowing that the teasing would reassure her lover.
Indeed the link between them relaxed though it did not separate. ‘Is he a good guy? Cause his tendency to wave sharp objects around doesn’t endear him to me.’’
It was hard to answer that question. Tara sensed something old and familiar about the warrior, but it was almost too strong. It was like trying to see something while being too close to it. ‘Not good…’ Tara thought back, ‘but not overtly bad either. But Willow, he has an amazing aura. So strong.’
“So says he from the land of almost got my ass whupped.” Buffy’s tone was challenging. She was being protective, yes, but it all seemed like she was trying to pick a fight. “You really think you can protect her better than we can?”
Willow was done with not having the whole picture. “Hey….feeling a little ‘deer in the headlights, there’s a quiz and I didn’t study.’ Could someone rewind the tape before I have to show my worried face. Soon to be followed by my ‘kick butt and take names’ face?” This last part comment was serious, and she and Laslo locked gazes again briefly.
“He’s referring to some sort of vague prophecy. And before you or Buffy asks – no, there isn’t any other kind.” the owner of the magick shop explained.
“What…do you believe I am supposed to do?” Tara’s firm request made the Knight who had dropped out of standing at attention to once again take up the posture.
He shook his head. “I regret I was told very little. I know you are a force of light, and have a grand work ahead of you.” Laslo measured his Tara with cold eyes. “It know it is my duty to protect you, to die doing so…if need be.”
Tara’s head shook fervently in the negative. “Die?! I don’t want anyone to…”
The soldier assumed a haughty expression. “This was my choice.”
Willow crossed the room to stand beside her partner, purposefully giving Laslo a large berth as she did so. “Okay…dying talk - over now. Nothing is going to happen.” The very idea was unthinkable. Tara touched her shoulder, and it quieted the storm raging within her. The red head’s mind was always racing, always thinking, always moving. Her emotions were there on her sleeve, always reaching out, trying to find the facts. Willow was a searcher who was not entirely sure what she was searching for. Yet one touch from her love, and….it all quieted. Every confusion, every anxiety - it was all replaced by love. Just by one single touch.
To hope one can fly is a far cry from having faith that one can. Tara, one of the most intelligent intuitive people Willow had ever met, trusted her…HER… with everything. If someone like Tara had so much faith in her, how could she not find faith in herself? Willow rediscovered the best parts of herself in those loving blue eyes. When the avatar of generosity proclaims someone to have a giving nature, arguments for disbelief tend to fall short. The hacker wanted to change the world, and Tara made her truly believe that she could. So many dreams remain unspoken in the soul. They dwell between the fear that life is barren soil, and the hope that life is music. They live in shadow, homeless. Tara…was home.
The older man removed his glasses and cleaned them as he turned his attention back to the soldier.” Mr Castille,” Giles began. “I assure you that we have more than a passing familiarity in most apocalyptic legends, figureheads and symbols. We will make all efforts to validate what you have told us.” Giles tucked his handkerchief in his pocket and slide the small round eyeglasses back into place. “However, it has been my experience that most people that are seeking something speak in half truths. Tara is not going anywhere until we have a chance to sort this out.”
Laslo’s eyes glinted with distaste. “None of you understand what is at stake here.”
“World ending?” Buffy asked in a bored tone. “Fate of human kind? Possible beginning of a black dawn where evil will rule the earth for a thousand years?” She was listing these things as one might list off what they were taking to a picnic. Willow and Giles were giving her long, concerned looks. The Slayer shifted uncomfortable under the stares. “Just a guess.”
“The Soul De Trute is not yours to command.” The knight watched all of them wearily. Still holding the blade, Laslo darted a glance to Tara. “My lady, your will?” He asked, awaiting her instructions. His stance was that of a man ready to fight his way out of a den of thieves.
“What?” Tara asked, startled by the question.
Laslo cleared his throat and glanced to her again. His patience was wearing thin but he was trying very hard not to show it. “Your. Orders. My lady?” He gritted out, enunciating each word. Willow made no effort to hide her amusement at this turn of events but wisely kept silent.
“Orders? Um…I agree with Mr. Giles.” All in all it still sound like a question rather than a statement.
Laslo’s expression showed that he didn’t like the command, but he followed it. The soldier sheathed his weapon in a huff. “As you wish.”
“Now, what do you know about the danger that the Soul de Trute will face?” The Watcher asked, already slipping into research mode.
The query ruffled the knight. “I know… it’s…dangerous.” The statement was finished weakly and even he didn’t look happy about it.
“Great.” Buffy muttered. “I mean how many faceless foes do we have to take on? Just once, I wish these warnings would come with a name and address. A Picture would be nice.”
Part 4
The picture framed on the wall showed a large monster sporting a huge smile and giving the thumbs up. That same creature stood larger than life just a few feet away from the likeness, pacing in front of his desk. “What you have to understand is that anger is good. Anger is right. Anger, if used properly, can be a force of positive energy.” Their host gave a large fanged grin. “You have to channel that anger. You have to trust in that anger. You have to breathe out patience.” He exhaled mightily.“ Breathe in anger.” The monster inhaled. “Out with the patience, in with the anger. Say it with me now.”
Anya and Xander who had spent the better part of two hours tied together on the ground, muttered the words together. “Out with patience, in with anger.” It seemed the best thing to do, given their current state of helplessness.
“Wonderful! Take you two…” The one talking was covered with hair and stood about nine feet tall. If Bigfoot existed, it was reasonable to assume that this might be exactly what he looked like. Only his face was devoid of hair, a small oval shaped ares with small beady black eyes, and huge fangs gaping out from his mouth. “Now, I know you’re angry and what’s wonderful is…bear with me now…how you two express that with one another. All that blaming about whose fault it was that you two were caught. I mean…really…it’s a beautiful thing.”
“I wanted to tell his friends about us months ago. Suddenly today he tells me – it’s time. If we would have done this when I wanted to, I wouldn’t have rushed back in for the ring and we wouldn’t be here.” Her lips formed a decisive pout. “It’s cold, Giles is making money without me, and now I’m talking in that frantically afraid voice that I hate. Are you hearing this voice, Xander?”
Xander banged his head lightly on the stone under him. “Okay, I’m all for karmic justice…but really, what did I do to deserve this?”
“Oh you two are bait.” The Beast answered cheerfully. “But I don’t want anyone thinking their role isn’t important. You have to look at evil like a big orchestra, every little note is essential. Originally I was going for the Slayer’s sister…you know the little one? But all those people live in that house. So many wards and weapons, not to mention the Slayer. And that kid is never alone. You two were much easier pickings.”
Anya’s fiancé groaned and pulled hard at his bindings for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Easy pickings. Story of my life. Look Mr…ah…Hair. I don’t know how much you know about the Slayer. But this whole Bait and trap thing? Been done. Doesn’t work. ”
The Beast suddenly looked very disappointed, evening hanging his head slightly. “Been tried before?” Abruptly he perked up and pointed at the two hostages. “Gotcha. This isn’t about the Slayer.” He leaned on the edge of a desk. A large leather chair, a coat rack and the desk itself seemed to be the only furniture in the small cave. “Look…I’m here to motivate. I want everyone to fill their potential.” Another fully fanged smile. “And I have to say I plan to do a whole lot of motivating.”
“You are aware this isn’t exactly the ground zero of laziness?” Xander asked. “Everyone in Sunnydale – pretty enthused already. The whole do or die thing.”
“To be honest I *was* planning on heading somewhere else.” The beast agreed. “There were a few animal rights activists in Utah…they just needed a little push. Annyyywhooo I got a little sidetracked. The important thing to remember is all things work for evil in the end. ” The phone rang at his desk and he paused long enough to reach behind him and pick it up. “Oh hey, it’s you. ” The beast covered the mouthpiece and winked at the two captive. “Sorry, I have to take this.” Then back into the phone. “Oh, it’s all been taken care of.” He gave Xander and Anya a cheerful thumbs up. The monster listened intently for a moment. “The witches will come. Well…I mean…if they cast a resurrection spell then… ” The Beast sighed. “Now, why mention that? We need to derail your negativity train and make it come on home to ‘I believe’ station.” A pause. “You’re in charge.” The monster hung up the phone, something sadistic shifting into his happiness. “For now.”
The pseudo bigfoot jumped off the desk. “Well, looks like it’s time for stage two. If you all will excuse me, I’m on.” His large form turned and started toward the door. Then he looked back to his two prisoners. The Beast hummed in consideration. “I’m being rude….wouldn’t want you to get bored.” The Beast walked towards them, dropping to one knee near Anya. He drew a line over her forearm with a fingertip and several gashes suddenly appeared there.
Xander scowled and tried his best to rotate towards the monster. “Leave her alone, you big Wookie! Why don’t you untie me and I’ll show you some anger.”
The Beast laughed and pointed to the corner of the room. As the blood began to flow from Anya’s cuts another figure appeared where he had gestured. Small….wrapped in chains. The Beast leaned down and whispered in Anya’s ear. “The Kavaa is much like a vampire, but…with no real mind to speak of. And incredible strength when her bloodlust is encouraged. I’m betting it will take her maybe…two hours tops to break through those chains. It’s a shy little thing. Yelling and fighting will keep it at bay…at least for awhile.” His mouth lifted again, revealing all of his fangs. “You two remember to use that anger now!”
Part 5
Tara knelt before the small altar, carefully arranging two white candles and a small white crystal. She reached into a bag she had retrieved from her dresser and lined the altar with sprigs of Baby’s Breath. Her fears leapt at her, stealing her calm, causing her mind to dwell on all the possibilities. Doors appeared at unexpected moments. Meeting Willow had been such a door. This one, this idea of the Soul De True was too big. Her peace had been stolen from her. Events were moving so quickly. If Laslo could be believed…
She took one match from a box and struck it true, igniting it. She lit first one candle, then the other. The flames wavered, bending towards her then away. Smoke wafted upward. Tara lifted the cool translucent crystal and placed a kiss to it, then laid it atop the flowers.
“May She honor me. The ageless One, with Her wisdom. With Her truth. She who never lies.” The Wiccan whispered. The ritual was part prayer, part concentration exercise. Her mother had taught it to her. It was a means of reestablishing calm or, as Sarah Maclay had called it, ‘retuning calm’. The object was to still the flames, and lift the crystal, while asking the Goddess for her guidance. Tara breathed in and out evenly, her eyes watching the twisting of the flame, and willing it…asking it to be still. It was like a dance, her mother had once told her, a matter of stepping into rhythm with that which was around you. The blonde felt the defiant spirit of the fire, and the flame rose higher, but finally, gently was lulled. The other candle allowed the same bending of its nature and the light from both candles remained constant. `“May She honor me. The ageless One, with Her wisdom. With Her truth. She who never lies.”
Lifting the crystal was a level of difficulty that Tara had added after her thirteenth birthday. Sometimes it still felt strange to her, doing these things in the open, not having to hide. The translucent rock on the altar began to quiver, but did not rise. Tara sighed and tried again. Again, the crystal trembled but…did not rise. Tears of frustration touched her eyes. The last time she had failed at the ritual had been just after her mother had died. She should be able to do this. Her mind was still scattered over the day’s events.
What if…
Tara pushed that aside and fiercely tried to clutch the stone with her will. This time it did move, flinging itself across the room in a sudden burst of energy. She shook her head. Not quite the effect she had been going for. Tara knew better than to try and use force. She retrieved the crystal and took her place at the small shrine. She’d start again.
Tara felt rather than heard the entrance of her lover. Willow silently knelt beside her. They had both decided on having this altar here in their room, but it was an expression of Tara’s beliefs more than Willow’s. Without a word, Tara’s partner took her hand. She lifted their linked hands and pressed a kiss to Tara’s knuckles. Gazing into the red head’s eyes, Tara found a well of faith that she couldn’t have summoned alone. She mimicked the soft kiss on Willow’s fingertips, telling Willow a thousand times that she loved her with her eyes alone.
“I can’t focus,” Tara admitted in a whisper.
Willow gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s been all Twilight Zoney today. Give it time.” They pressed their foreheads together. Willow wrapped her arms around Tara, allowing herself to be lost in the warmth of holding her partner. She reveled in the scent of the blonde, gardenias carried by a warm, shiftless spring wind. The woman she loved relaxed into the embrace and it filled her with happiness to be able to hold her, comfort her. There were times when the red haired witch wanted nothing more than to beg for Tara to ask her for something – something she could find, or make… something she could give. The need to slay dragons, or do some great act in reply to this love that she had stumbled upon. It was a great mystery to her scholarly mind that in loving Willow as she was, Tara inspired her to be more. Willow’s lean hands ran over the familiar curve of Tara’s hip. “No matter what, I won’t let anything happen to you.” The words were part vow, part hope.
The blonde Wiccan was both touched and bemused. Her eyes sparkled. Tara tilted her head up, asking for and receiving a kiss. “You can’t always protect me.”
A pout, just as Tara knew there would be. And that stubborn chin rising just slightly. “I can try.”
“My Willow in shining armor.” Tara said adoringly. The words were teasing, but as is so often the case between two lovers, the gentle joke contained endless truth.
The loving fire in Tara’s eyes touched Willow’s soul. Words came unbidden to her lips. Phrases that she had never dared consider seriously before meeting her partner. ‘Marry me. Be with me forever.’ Wait….MARRY?
Fluffy ideas existed that people talked about in storybooks. Always. Marriage. Forever. Partner. Willow had always wanted to believe, but some dreams were borne of nothing but youthful innocence. As an adult, one learned that everything was about change. Picking battles became essential. Being realistic meant putting childish things aside. Tara made her want to dare the fates.
“Any news from Xander and Anya yet?” Tara asked.
Willow decided to bookmark the moment of revelation and come back to it later. “Um…Giles sent Buffy to their apartment to look for them.”
For the last few hours, the Scoobies and their new associate had been in full research mode at the magick shop. Reading. Going through book after book. Laslo preferred to stand outside the Magick Shop when he could. When he had come in, it was to ask Tara specific questions. He didn’t bother with most of the others. The training room in the back of the shop did hold some interest for him. He had used the room once, but then had resumed his post outside the shop. It had grown late and Giles had suggested that they all retire to the Summers home and try and get some rest before beginning again.
Laslo consented to his charge staying at Buffy’s house. He seemed relieved to get away from the Magic Box. The knight had wished to sleep on the floor next to his Mistress, a term which Tara had allowed him to call her once, before requesting in a very polite but firm way that he never call her that again. Sleeping in Tara’s room was also vetoed – LOUDLY – both by Willow and Tara. The knight seemed perplexed by the red haired one’s input, but allowed for the compromise of sleeping downstairs instead.
“Is Laslo…?”
Her lover’s expression soured. “Still acting like the life of the party?”
Always ready to see the best in people, Tara noted, “I think…he’s not used to being around people.”
Willow nuzzled Tara’s cheek with her own. “That…Or he could be a few tubas short of a marching band,” she remarked.
The words garnered a brief smile from Tara. “He looked really disappointed that we wouldn’t let him kill Spike.”
The vampire had returned Dawn from the motorcycle ride at the promised time and had received a less than friendly welcome from the knight. It hadn’t gotten to the point where Laslo had actually drawn his sword, since Spike entered the place like he owned it, and called out a familiar, if snarky, greeting to the Scoobies.
‘But of course, he’s your friend,’ Laslo had said ironically, ‘And you are aware he’s a vampire?’ Tara had insisted that she did know that. The warrior had muttered to himself and retaken his post outside the shop.
“I don’t want to talk about Laslo.” The red head murmured. “Are *you* okay?”
The blonde heard the worry in her partner’s voice and forced a more cheerful expression. Willow and Giles had been trying so hard to sort out the Soul De Trute question, it didn’t seem fair to add to anyone’s burden. “Well I keep waiting for someone to yell ‘April Fools.’ I’m just kind of anxious.” Tara’s half smile didn’t fool the other witch. Instead she saw Willow make her ‘resolve face,’ letting her know the subject wouldn’t be dropped so easily. Tara sighed but accepted the decision. “What if he’s not crazy?” Tara asked with a soft sigh. “I get this feeling from him. I don’t know.”
Willow snuggled her closer. “I know on the Hellmouth, the simple answer is few and far between, but we can’t rule it out. You know…we have to do what Giles said…take everything one step at a time.”
The blonde felt the tension run over her spine again. Her eyes fell on the crystal at the altar. “I…can’t focus.”
Willow’s expression was tender, and she leaned down to whisper in Tara’s ear. “Then let me help you.” Tara shifted so that her head was resting on Willow’s shoulder. They focused their attention on the altar together.
“May She honor me. The ageless One, with Her wisdom. With Her truth. She who never lies.” They said together. Somewhere between the words, the red head dropped a light kiss on Tara’s neck. The tease of the touch made Tara catch her breath.
“That…that’s not helping me think.”
Her lover smiled and lowered her head again, teasing the alabaster column of Tara’s throat with a light touch of her teeth and another brush of her lips. “Don’t think.”
The blonde lifted her head and the electricity of their eyes held one another. The flames nearby stilled. It was uncertain who moved to kiss whom; it was much like the candles – a matter of will and not true action. Their mouths were suddenly melding, the softness of merge and withdrawal. Each kiss was greedier then the last.
“Willow,” Tara whispered. It was an acknowledgement of all they made one another feel.
“Tara,” Willow echoed in that same tone. The fire of the white candles rose higher but remained motionless.
Breathless, they chanted again. “May She honor me. The ageless One, with Her wisdom. With Her truth. She who never lies.” Their mouths were drawn together again. The taste of one another was its own incantation, a spell unto itself. This was the quiet asking of a rose for sunlight. Desire and nature blended until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
They parted long enough to share a smile. Even after two years, seeing that unguarded twinkle of enjoyment in Tara’s eyes was like waking up to the sky bathed in sunrise.
When Willow had met Tara, she had been amazed at the other girl’s knowledge. Tara had picked up a lot from books but, more than that, she had developed an almost infallible instinct. The shy blonde understood something about the very core of magic and shared a relationship with it that was based on respect and faith. It had taken Willow some time, but she realized that this was a part of how Tara treated everything and everyone. Tara’s heart was so... it was like it had been formed a long time ago, ancient in its ability to understand. It was fundamentally decent at its core, with no hesitation when it came to knowing right from wrong. It was effortless for Tara to be kind, to think of others first. To give.
The red head didn’t realize how many small jokes she had kept from others, even from Buffy. Things she knew no one would get, Tara did. A child existed inside Willow – fanciful, innocent, playful. The child in her was free to play with Tara. The part of her that was blossoming felt the sun in the presence of the quieter woman, and it grew. It was safe to grow. Safe to become. They were an echo of one another in so many ways.
More incredible than what she found in herself were the secret treasures that Tara showed her day by day. The gentle strength of her convictions about what it meant to be a friend. The subtle sense of humor spinning in that amazingly creative mind where big pineapples lined the sky and half camels waited at the pound.
Teach me, Willow had once sighed while cuddling close. Every day - even now - Willow was still learning about her lover. Still learning what love was. Coming to the realization that despite a million dreams of what love was, it was just a glimmer compared to what Tara was teaching her it could be.
Her Teacher. She smiled inwardly. That fit. ‘I am in awe of what she’s taught me,’ Willow thought.
“May She honor me. The ageless One, with Her wisdom. With Her truth. She who never lies.” The red head traced the tip of her nose over her love’s as the words flowed between them. Tara’s hands were stroking down Willow’s spine, her nails digging briefly, pulling Willow closer.
‘I love you.’ Neither knew if the words were spoken or had drifted into their minds like a dream. Usually within desire there is an unspoken invitation and the acceptance of that invitation. The questioning of desire, even where the reply is assured. Here and now, there was no need to ask. Two beating hearts were too lost in sharing every second to worry about the next. Tara knew the crystal had lifted without looking, and knew that her partner shared that knowledge. They held the white rock there together – hovering between the flames.
Outside, Laslo was circling the perimeter or the house, as he did at the beginning and the end of every hour. This was his 1 a.m. round. The Englishman had mentioned that it was unnecessary. A warding spell was in place and they would be alerted if trouble came calling. The warrior didn’t trust in the nature of spells. His own two eyes and his sword – those things he trusted.
Hearing approaching footsteps, he looked up. The so-called Slayer was returning from a search for yet more of the Soul’s friends. Laslo wondered idley how many more demons his charge knew That thought caused other questions to twirl in his mind. Why would the Soul of Truth surround herself with such creatures? Witches, Vampires…women with unusual names that claimed to slay things…
Buffy saw the warrior and with no preamble, stalked towards him. “Our friends are missing. Their apartment looks like a scene from Twister. You are going to tell us what else you know. Now.” She growled.
The knight knew the difference between an idle threat and a true one. His hand moved slowly to rest on his sword hilt. “I don’t know anything about your friends.”
She swung at his chin and he jumped back just in time. The second time he was not so lucky and a sharp punch connected with his mouth. Buffy saw him prepare for the blow to connect, relaxing his stance so that he took the least amount of damage. It was probably the only thing that kept him from being knocked to the ground. Laslo’s acceptance of the hit was conditional and he used the moment to draw his sword and swing toward the Slayer’s body in a deadly downward arch. She sidestepped and avoided him easily.
“You show up at the same time they go missing? You really want me to believe tha