Title: When the Goddess Calls
By Bobo’s Mom
Rating: PG 13 (lots of inferred R)
Pairing: W/T set 60 or so years in the future.
Feedback: Please be gentle. Feedback is welcome.
Distribution: Who knows?
Disclaimer: My tale is set so far in the future that God-like Joss Whedon would never want to come after one such as me! He owns all. I merely sit at his table and partake.
Spoilers: Nothing that I know of.
This story is dedicated to the writers that I love to read. If you enjoy this story half as much as I’ve enjoyed yours then I will be most pleased. A friend in college use to say “Don’t just lust after girls with guitars! Learn to play yourself!” I write in a similar spirit. This is a first time effort. There will be many updates (I hope), large and small.
Chapter One: Pancakes and newspapers
Willow awoke with a start as her senses filled with the scent of funny shaped pancakes. Her love never believed her, but she could always tell the difference between regular shapes and funny shapes by the scent alone. The past sixty some years had tuned her senses to Tara’s culinary expertise. ‘I’m a connoisseur of all things Tara’ she smugly thought as she reached for her cane and used gravity to shift herself slowly out of their bed.
Crack. Pop. Grind. Willow griped her cane tightly to steady her legs before she took the first step of the new day. Gingerly, she made her way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, she reached for her tooth brush, grimacing slightly as her wrist joint creaked loudly. “Ah, the sounds of the morning,” she whispered under her breath as she brought the tooth brush to her mouth. ‘No murky morning breathe for my baby.’ she thought as she looked at her foamy mouthed reflection in the mirror.
As often as she had seen her reflection Willow could never quite recognize the face reflected back at her. Each line marked a demon killed, a loss shouldered, an apocalypse averted. Each white hair signified a lesson learned, a story told, an innovation realized. However, Willow only rarely felt as if her reflection was unattractive. Aging only bothered Willow in the morning, before her joints had the time to fully work them into a state to face the day, and late at night when she lay awake thinking of all the things she would do with a more youthful skeleton at her command. The creaking of her bones allowed other insecurities to come to the fore at the beginning and end of each day. She hated having to lean on a cane to walk. The nightly ritual of balms, wraps and heating pads annoyed her to no end.
Willow had said good bye to her youthful face long ago. She only longed for her red hair when reminded of it. But each year was worth each new indignity because they had all been spent with Tara. ‘What good is growing old with someone,’ she mused, ‘without the growing old part?’ Willow smiled around her tooth brush, and then frowned. Other than the aches and pains one thing did fill her heart with insecurity. - She missed the ability to move with grace as she made love. There was so much she had yet to do with Tara. So many ways left to express physically all the love she felt for her girl. They still made love, and Tara slowed sensitivity toward Willow’s physical limitations, but as the years continued to go by Willow felt the gap growing between what her desires and abilities were. Only then did she mind her older self’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Not the prettiest picture,’ she thought as she looked at her cracking fingers, claw like hands, flapping elbows, ringed neck, wrinkled face and short, snowy hair. “Will, you’re looking a little long in the tooth;” she muttered around her tooth brush, “She must really love you.”
Opening the bathroom door the funny shaped smell assaulted her again. ‘And I love her…and I love her pancakes.’ Gripping the handle of the cane once more Willow began to move from the bathroom toward the kitchen.
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Tara stood over the stove, spatula in hand. ‘One more batch for good luck’ she thought as she flipped the dab of batter that looked slightly like a triangle. Starting to chuckle at her falsehood she sneaked a look down to her feet. “Still there. Oh good.” she snickered. “But not for long!” she laughed as she poured the next serving of batter unto the griddle. Tara continued to laugh as she thought back to the teasing she would take from a friend long gone. ‘What was it that Dawn use to say?’ she thought, ‘No one loves Tara’s pancakes more than Tara.’ The sound of her own laugher made her feel mirthful. After all, Dawn was right.
Tara looked down at her ample bosom and continued to laugh. Other women would torture themselves over the weight she had gained over the years. Luckily, Tara was comfortable in her own skin and had always been since the moment she met Willow. She was loved, and felt beautiful because of it. And every inch of her was loved regularly, especially that bosom she was contemplating and the hips that started quake as the giggles continued. ‘I must be the most oversexed eighty one year old in the world.’ she thought as her laughter grew even louder.
She turned at the sound of Willow’s cane on the tile floor. “What are you snickering about this beautiful morning” Willow said as she smiled at the infectious sound.
“My hips,” Tara replied as she returned her attention back to the stove, “And the inch that’s about to be added to them.”
“Round, soft Tara goodness and funny shaped pancakes,” Willow whispered as she slowly moved behind her love. “That’s my idea of a balanced breakfast!”
Tara smiled as she felt Willows finger’s trace familiar routes around her hips. “Later, you fiend!” she yelped as she flipped the last pancake.
Willow’s hands stilled. “Later for the yummy pancakes or later for the yummy you?” she mumbled before flicking Tara’s ear with the tip of her tongue.
“Strength from one gives stamina for the other.” Tara stated as she turned off the stovetop and leaned into Willow. Placing her hands on the hands that held her she took a calming breathe and said, “Eat now. Then eat later.”
Willow grinned. “How did you know I wanted a two course breakfast this morning?” she said as she took up her cane and moved away from Tara and towards the kitchen table. Willow sat at her usual place and unfolded the morning paper.
“Lucky guess?” Tara replied as she grasped the plate of pancakes and waked toward the table.
Enjoying their usual morning banter, Willow peeked at Tara over the top of her paper. “Lucky Guess?!” she gasped. “Nothing lucky about that guess.” She huffed, the morning paper now forgotten. “After all, Over 95 billon Tara’s have been served at this McWillows over the years! And serviced to! With Happy Meals containing lots of toys. And secret sauce. Never forget saucy buns and the sassy eggs. Who could forget them? I mean, after all these years we…”
“McWillow!” Tara laughed as she cut Willow off before the babbles got out of control. “What are you really trying to say?” she questioned as she sat down and reached over to serve Willow a few pancake squares. Willow looked down at the shapes and smiled. “Oh, I’m just trying to find new metaphors to tell you how much I want you.” Willow replied as she poured syrup over her breakfast.
Willow stopped when she noticed Tara was not serving herself. Looking up, she found herself caught in a smoldering, intent gaze. Tara leaned toward Willow and smiled the half smile Willow had seen thousands of times over. Willow returned the smile and reached out to grip Tara’s hand. “Do you know why I love you?” Tara whispered.
“I think I do, but you can always tell me again.” Willow replied as she began to trace the veins on the back of Tara’s hand.
“I love you because you always know what to say to make me feel beautiful.” Tara’s blue eyes grew impossibly soft as she spoke.
Willow released Tara’s hand and smiled. Using both hands to leverage herself she pushed away from the table and stood. “Then let me show you, Baby, just how beautiful you are.” Willow reached down and smoothed the lines on Tara’s forehead. Tara stood, and moved toward Willow. They embraced and began to move together away from the table.
“No breakfast?” Tara asked. “Better breakfast.” came the reply as Willow kept her hands on Tara’s shoulders. She began to walk unaided by her cane using Tara as her crutch. Tara moved her hands to Willow’s hips to steady her as she began to walk backwards through the room.
Pop. Crack. Willow laughed. “The spirit’s willing. Will the body be able?”
“Don’t you worry about that.” Tara said as they continued to move away from the kitchen and towards the bedroom. She whispered, “I’ll take care of everything,” as she tightened her grip around Willow’s hips.
Willow licked her lips and sighed. ‘Happy meals. Definitely Happy Meals. With lots of toys.’ she thought as they crossed the threshold of their bed room.
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The afternoon sun slowly graced the shadows of their room. Tara took the hand that rested against her heart and began to smooth out the fingers. Willow whistled and curled deeper into Tara’s side.
“Baby, how do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like every time is the best time?”
Tara smiled and said “What’s with all this singular talk?” as she flexed her other arm tighter around Willow.
“Huh?”
“I mean, shouldn’t you be using the plural, as in more than one time?” Tara teased as she continued to work on the joints that rested above her heart.
Willow rolled her eyes as she continued to move closer to Tara. “I think we should stop speaking in questions and start speaking in tongues.” she mumbled and then licked Tara’s shoulder to emphasize her point.
“Darling,” Tara calmly stated, “We’ve used enough tongues this morning to merit calling an exorcist.”
Willow raised her head and looked down at Tara mortified, and then dissolved with her love into a fit of giggles.
After the laughter ended Willow wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “For that, Tara, I’m going to insist that you continue massaging my hand.”
“And let me guess? Then you want breakfast in bed?”
“Make it lunch and we’ll talk.” Willow replied with a mirthful glimmer in her eye. “But first, the hand.”
Tara took up the hand that still rested above her heart and began to gentlely rub the fingers. “Willowhand,” she whispered, “got quite a work out too, and needs lots of healing energy.”
The room once again filled with laughter.
“I know, I know, I’m a dork!” Tara gasped out between howls.
“But you’re my dork, and don’t you forget it.” Willow roared back in reply.
As things began to calm they heard a stomach growl. Laughter again ensued...
“Was that me or you?”
“Definitely you. I’d know Tara tummy rumbles anywhere.”
Another stomach growl was heard above their laugher.
“Now that one was me.”
“How do you know, Will?”
“Because your tummy rumbles and my tummy grumbles, and that was definitely a grumble.”
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Tara tightened her robe around herself as she moved about the house. Entering the bedroom she stopped and leaned against the doorway, wondering why it was that the sight of Willow lounging in bed always managed to quicken her heart.
“Hey there dreamy girl who I just caught dreaming,” Willow called out, “Lunch can’t be done already, can it? I mean, that would be quick, and while we both are hungry and have the tummy grumbles and could eat horses, and maybe cats or dogs if we lived in a culture that did that, I know that you don’t believe in the microwave, and freeze dried is definitely not…”
“Willow,” Tara smiled, “I just brought your cane and the morning paper to keep you busy while I cook.” After all the years shared and all the words listened to Tara never tired of hearing her love babble. She had also gotten very good at cutting off the steam of thought speech before it got out of control. ‘One of the many ways,’ she mused, ‘that we balance each other.’
“Thank you, baby.” Willow replied as she reached out for the paper. Tara knew how much her love prized information and obsessed about the news. It kept Willow engaged and informed about the world around her. Besides, if Willow didn’t read the paper each day she tended to complain the next morning about falling behind on her homework as if they were still in school. ‘Can’t have a slacker for a girlfriend,’ she thought fondly as her fingers brushed the palm of Willow’s hand as she released the rolled up newspaper.
Tara turned from the bed, exited the room and moved towards the kitchen. “Make something with lots of calories!” Willow yelled after her, “You’re going to need the energy from them later!”
Tara grinned. Once Willow started with the loving she was hard to stop, and Tara didn’t mind one bit.
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As Tara approached the bedroom door she heard Willow cry and mumble as she ripped the newspaper to shreds. “Goddess, why?” Willow cried as she continued to rip page after page of the morning paper apart.
Tara called out, “Willow? Darling? What is it?” as she reached the bedroom threshold. She froze just inside the room, taking in the sight of their normally clean floor covered by confetti.
“What is it, love? Are you in pain? Did you read something that upset you?” Tara questioned as she placed their lunch on the hope chest at the foot of the bed and moved further into the room.
Willow looked up from the destruction that was the morning paper and looked into Tara’s eyes. “Oh baby,” she cried, “It’s not what I read, it’s what I didn’t read.”
Tara had seen Willow frightened before, but this was something more, something deeper. “Willow,” she soothed as she move to sit on the edge of the bed, “Please tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is we’ll face it together.”
Willow continued to look into Tara’s eyes as she held out the newspaper. “You want me to read this?” Tara asked as she accepted the page.
Willow shook her head and sobbed louder. She pointed at the page and shook her head. “You don’t want me to read this? I don’t understand. Love, why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?
“Because I don’t know what’s wrong, baby.” Willow gasped, “I only know that there’s not a word in this paper or on any page that I can read.”
Looking down at the page in her hand, Tara exclaimed “You can’t read the paper?” In response Willow began to cry louder and gestured to the room around her.
“It’s not just the newspaper, is it?” Tara realized as she looked around the room and noticed the open books laying on the floor and on the other side of the bed.
Willow sobbed and fell into Tara’s lap. “I can’t read. Tara, why can’t I read?” she mumbled as Tara began to run a hand through her hair.
“Calm down, Will, and we’ll think about this rationally.” Tara centered herself and began to focus outward as she rubbed Willow’s head. Creating a bubble of peace and clarity, she willed her girl to steady herself. Willow’s breathing began to slow as she relaxed into the touch of her love.
After a few moments Willow pulled herself out of Tara’s lap and into a seated position. “Rational thoughts sound good, Tare. What do you think is happening? Could it be a spell? Old enemies come for revenge? Should I grab the weapons and call the troops?”
Tara smiled for a moment and looked to Willow. ‘That’s my girl!’ she thought, as she reached out to take Willow’s hand. ‘Always able to find strength in humor.’ Bringing the hand to her lips she kissed the bent knuckles one by one.
Using her free hand to wipe her eyes clear Willow smirked and said, “Baby, I don’t think the oracle of the Monkey’s paw will tell you anything.” Tara continued to kiss the hand while tiling her head backwards. When she caught Willow’s eyes Tara rolled her own.
“OK, I know I’m a dummy, but I don’t know what else to say. What do you think could be causing this?” Willow sighed with a sound that sounded almost hopeful to Tara. “Do you think it’s a spell?”
“Will,” Tara replied as she straightened on the bed, “I don’t know of a witch or a warlock powerful enough to break down the protection spell that surrounds this house.” She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but if the cause were supernatural I think we’d both be feeling the affects. It has to be something else.”
Willow closed her eyes. Looking inward she tried to discern a pattern over the past weeks that might enlighten her and explain what was happening and why. She started to remember and contextualize the memories. Phone messages taken, but not given to Tara. E-mails she was sure she had written to loved ones, only to find out she had not. Forgotten birthdays and deathdays. She always prized her powers of recall, even as people her age began to lose theirs. This was sudden, and frightening, and deep down, she knew there was nothing she could do that would stop what was going to happen.
“It is something else, Tara.”
Willow took a calming breathe and turned her held hand so that she could trace Tara’s palm with her fingers. Through glassy eyes she looked at the woman who had been her strength for 63 years, 48 days, 2 hours…Willow turned and tried to read the time on the bedside clock then frowned and thought, ‘However many minutes it’s been.’
Just as her finger’s found and began to trace the long life line that ran the length of Tara’s palm Willow turned back and looked into her lover’s eyes and said, “Baby, I think we need to take me to a doctor.”
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TARA: Willow and I always know how to find each other!
ANYA: With yoga?
Feedback is welcome. I hope the spacing seems more logical on this update.
Chapter Two: “Files and Flights”
‘What conclusions would a future researcher make upon unearthing the medical history of one Willow Rosenberg?’ Doctor Rusell thought as she glanced at page after page of the well documented file. Recreating the methodology and ideology of colleagues long gone was something of a hobby for the doctor; a coping mechanism from the days of endless case study readings from med school. Focusing on the authors of the medical histories made objectifying the subject of those same histories somehow easier. Doctor Rusell cared, sometimes too much, for her patients, and the mental slight of hand maintained her emotional balance.
Geriatric medicine engaged the doctor on more levels than she dared to chronicle. One of her least favorite rotations in school, she never thought she would devote her life’s work to aiding and comforting the older generation. The overwhelming need of the last of the boomer’s seemed inconsequential when placed beside lofty ambitions to heal the world. ‘Owning the map gives you no claim to the territory…’ Rusell grimaced at her youthful hubris. ‘…and the smallest observation can correct the most misguided of goals.’ she mused as she remembered that transformative moment when she gained insight into her vocation as a healer.
The summer after the Boards Rusell took on a position at a nursing home; the only job she could find in medicine without her M.D. while she took a break from the riggers of school. Posted to what she considered “The Beauty Brigade” she spent most of her summer clipping toe nails and washing and styling hair. Quickly, she began to notice how much the women looked forward to her attentions and melted into her fingers as she cared for them. ‘They’re craving human touch!’ she realized as she threw herself into her work. This insight redirected Rusell’s energies into discovering why it was that society considered the elderly untouchable, and what she could do to change that impression.
Appointments with Willow Rosenberg always turned Doctor Rusell towards the contemplative. Ms. Rosenberg was an exemplary patient, communicative and good natured; an example of how to age. Rusell chuckled under her breathe, “If only I could bottle her like snake oil and sell her on the open market...” ‘Or at least age with half the grace she has shown.’ she continued silently.
Willow faced her share of challenges over the years. Under Rusell’s care the arthritis progressed from a minor inconvenience to a potential crisis and multiple corrective procedures were needed to maintain the ageing woman’s perfect vision. Rusell had also had many very frank and enlightening conversations about the importance of healthy sexuality while aging. These talks always left Rusell a little flushed by the end of the office visit and deepened the already over flowing respect she had for Ms. Rosenberg, and her partner, Ms. McClay.
Doctor Rusell redirected her focus to the file spread over the desk top. While not normally emotional toward patients she felt her throat tighten as while reviwing the test results before her. It was going to be a difficult day.
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‘This is what it feels to have my heart shattered. I’d almost forgotten…’ Tara’s mouth opened and closed, as if in time with her emotions as they tried to catch up to the words that filled the office space.
‘Am I drowning? Am I breathing? Am I even here?’
Drowning meant good things to Tara, like drowning in the eyes that always held so much love for her. Breathing meant good things too. She loved the cool air of first day of autumn as she walked with Willow in the twilight and the hot breath of passion as they continued to find new ways to join together in love.
‘Of course breathing is a good thing.’ she berated herself as she continued to smash against the impossibilities of what she was hearing. As if caught in a loop, she couldn’t stop herself from making nonsensical connections.
“Decaying” brought to mind teasing Spike about his taste in decorating after her visit to his crypt.
At hearing “Beyond medical capabilities” she thought back to the birth of Dawn’s second child. The memory of holding little Joy to her heart and cooing to sooth the baby’s crying while crying inwardly for her other baby was one of the best and worst moments of her life.
“Tumor” returned her to those difficult days after Joyce died and the strangely comforting days that stretched as if forever as Buffy faded into nothing.
“Level five” reminded her of many things: A setting in one of Xander’s cheesy Sci-Fi movies he insisted on showing during movie night. Being questioned by the Council, and helping to lie about the witch’s accreditation. Buffy telling stories about the other Slayer that always contained the phrase, “Five by five.”
“What does it mean?” Tara mouthed silently as she glanced over to Willow, who sat beside her, pale and drawn. Not knowing why, she reached over to clutch Willow’s hand. The contact was comforting, but offered no clarity.
“Only a matter of time…” Tara found herself floating past Willow, out of the office, away from this confusion and towards a similar room. Confused and shocked, she looked away from the doctor, past her father, and at the woman who was her teacher, protector, friend, and comfort. “M-mom, I d-d-don’t und-um, understand….”
“Wh-what does it mean?”
“It means there’s nothing they can do, baby.” Willow did not turn to meet Tara’s panicked eyes as she spoke. Staring at the wall beyond Doctor Rusell’s desk she calmly stated, “It means this is the end.”
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Brooding, Spike quickly walked towards his courtesy flat near the National Church. “Those bookish nancy girls must have it out for me,” he growled at the wind, “To think that this is their idea of peace and sanctuary!”
Turning onto Skolavordustig Spike sank deeper into his duster as be prepared to face the gales that always swirled at the top of the hill. Bitterly, he reminded himself that this place was involved in the world’s first real estate scheme. ‘Iceland’s green and Greenland’s ice my eye!’ he thought as he stilled himself against the next sheet of rain.
“Only two hours of daylight. Blah. Blah. Blah. Train the next Slayer in quiet. Beg. Beg Beg.” Spike began to fumble for his keys as his complaints grew louder. “Forgot to mention, did you, stupid Watchers, that this was a flaming rock in the middle of the North Atlantic in winter?!”
Unlocking the door Spike rushed into the warmth of the building vestibule. ‘At least the geothermal energy lives up to advance billing.’ Bending down to remove his boots before making his way downstairs Spike flinched at the unwanted voice singing out what she thought was his name. Without out raising his eyes he muttered, “Gott kvold, Helka.”
She called out, “Hvernig gengur, Wilhelm.” as she continued to move down the hall.
“Same as ever.” he replied.
Helka Oddsdottir was yet another reason why Spike felt the Watcher’s were playing a cruel trick of in posting him here. She was one of the thousands of petite blonds who called Reykjavik home, each more beautiful than the last.
Smiling at trouble it would cause he rose to his full height and called her name. Helka smiled and ran a hand through her hair. As she slowed and turned toward him he changed his countenance to the game face. “The name’s Spike!” he hissed at her. She fainted.
“I still got it!” Spike puffed as he moved away from her. Knocking at Helka’s door he called out to her roommate, “Gudrun, she’s been nipping at the sauce again. Come collect her.”
‘Who’s the Big Bad?’ Spike asked himself as he entered the flat and hung his duster to dry inside the door way. Smiling, he voiced the only answer possible to that particular question. “I AM.”
The flashing light on the security phone caught Spike’s attention as he walked into the room. The line was only used in the direst of situations, and only when all other venues and solutions were exhausted. He honestly liked his new student and felt that with the proper seasoning she could be a Slayer to rival even Buffy. ‘She’s not ready.’ He began to fidget as he keyed in the message recall codes. ‘I just started to train her. They can’t take her off to get killed now.’ Spike sat with pen and paper in hand as the message cued to play, ready to begin formulating a plan of action for his young charge to follow.
“Hello old friend.” Spike went slack jawed at the sound of the voice replay.
“Would you like to come for a visit? We miss you and…” the voice paused. “Listen, the truth is I need your help with a spell. I know, don’t say it. Just come home as soon as you can. It’s time.”
Spike reached over and picked up the receiver. “Gallager? Listen, I need you to get me on a flight to Sunnydale...Of course at night, you fool!...Personal business... Doesn’t concern the Council.”
His bad day had just gotten much worse.
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(A little note: the next chapter’s will include spoilers for season five and six.)
I’d like to thank everyone for their interest in this story. The feedback has been heartening, and makes me want to improve. I’m going to start editing Chapter’s 1 & 2 based on some of your comments, so keep them coming! Enjoy the update. I promise some joy in the coming chapters. You’ll just have to stick with me to get there.
xxxxxxx
Chapter 3: "Time, Knocks, and Teacups."
Creep. Willow rolled her head to the left. Crunch. Moving in the opposite direction, she winced at the sounds. ‘There’s one good thing about the tumor; I won’t have to renew the warrantee on my spine,’ she thought ruefully.
When she and Doctor Rusell plotted out a treatment schedule Willow had not anticipated many of the unfortunate side affects she now endured. Doctors being doctors, Rusell insisted on prescribing a course of oral chemo with the full support and backing of her partner. ‘For someone who questions modern medicine so, she certainly signed off on that one quick enough.’
Willow couldn’t be angry, however, at the allied front her lover and doctor presented to her. Tara had never been willing to cower away from challenges, and Doctor Rusell was not the type to give up without a fight. Together, they convinced Willow to subject herself to the chemo. She shouldered the many indignities of her daily medication, the constipation, complete lack of energy, bruising, and nausea, knowing that it gave Tara hope in the face of hopelessness. Willow didn’t expect a cure or a miracle. It was time to pay the debts from long ago. She endured the discomfort of treatment not for herself, but for Tara. ‘She’s given me so much.’ Closing her eyes to block in the moisture that threatened she continued to work out the kinks in her neck. ‘The least I can do is give her is more time.’
Willow fought to pull herself out of her morose mood as she continued to stretch away the after affects of her afternoon nap. ‘What do you get when you spend all day in bed?’ Willow smiled as she answered her own riddle. “Lazy bones.”
“Who are you calling lazy bones?” Tara responded as she entered from the kitchen, moved toward the coffee table, and set her plate of oven fresh brownies down just outside of Willow’s reach.
Willow whined “Who do you think?” as she reached toward the treats just outside of her reach. The cracking sound that punctuated her movements answered the posed question.
Tara frowned as she heard the effects of what normally would not have been a taxing movement. Moving around the table and sitting beside her love she placed her hands on tense shoulders and eased Willow back toward her. “Let me help you,” she sighed as her fingers began to work on knots of tension.
Willow shifted uncomfortably. “All you do lately is help me.”
“Oh darling, I know sometimes it feels that way.” Her fingers tightened as she buried her face in the nap of Willow’s neck. “If I’ve d-done anything to make y-you feel uncomfortable, or overwhelmed…”
Willow concentrated on relaxing her torso into Tara’s touch. “Baby, you’ve done nothing but make me feel loved. Cherished even.” Moving to hold Tara’s hand as it rested on her shoulder she smiled sadly. “It’s just that I want to touch you. Grab you. Poke you.” Rubbing at the fingers beneath hers she exclaimed, “Damn it Tara! I want to do more than just pat you.”
“But darling,” Tara gently kissed the crease of Willow’s ear, “you always pat my padding so well.”
Laughing, Willow leaned back further into Tara’s arms. “And my prodding? How would you rate that?”
“Right up there with your jabbing and stroking.”
“Stroking? Now there’s an idea!” Ignoring the snapping sound that shadowed her movements, Willow turned and captured Tara’s lips. “I know just the place to start.”
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“You’ll be going to see your gran, then?” Shifting toward his left, Spike easily eluded the Slayer’s right hook.
“If I can hitch a ride that far. It’s off season.” As she followed the punch through across her body, the Slayer lowered her center of gravity, rotated her hip, and drove the flat of her foot into Spike’s lower back.
“Stay in town.” He allowed himself a small grimace before turning to face her. “You might be able to drink yourself into a stupor.” Bending his knees slightly, he flicked his fingers, the signal for her to continue.
“I hate having to queue just to get into a disco.” A small smile crept across her face as she took in the effects of her carefully aimed blow. “I also wouldn’t want to suffer your wrath by breaking my training.” Pivoting on the ball of her left foot, she swept her right hand in a high arc while blocking below with her left.
“Don’t get cocky.” Catching the Slayer’s left hand as he ducked under the swinging right, he twisted her wrist inward and used her motion to drive her to the floor. “And lighten up little one...” Kneeling on her chest to keep her down he looked into her eyes, willing her to look at him.
“I’ll beat you one day.”
“When you do, then you can hitch across of the country in the middle of winter.” Easing his weight off of her, he stood and extended his hand to help her up. “Until then, you’ll have to drive my car all the way to Akureyri.” Taking his hand, she leveraged her legs under her and flipped up from the floor.
“Spike? You’re giving me your car while away? I can’t believe it! How can I thank you?” Still grasping his hand, she led him toward her gym bag and tossed him an extra towel.
“Give your old granny a kiss from me, and promise you’ll not chase after evil fairy kings and I will be thanked enough.” Spike grinned at her as he caught her towel. Sighing, he placed it unused over the back of the chair. He reached into his duster pocket and handed her the keys to his car. “It might be a good thing, you getting out of town. It won’t give the Council ideas while I’m away.”
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“Did it work?” Willow pulled back slightly and pressed her thumb against the lips she had monopolized for the last hour.
Tara nipped at the finger before replying, “The transparent attempt to turn my frown around?” Smiling widely, she leaned back on the couch. “A smile transplant. Very effective method, Ms. Rosenberg. We should call the doctor and inform her of this important breakthrough. “
As she continued to touch the soft skin around Tara’s mouth Willow inched closer and grinned. “I thing we need much more research before sharing this discovery with the public.” Her voice grew softer as she inched forward. “Trials, statistical models.” Softer still she continued, “Control groups with graphs…”until she recaptured Tara’s lips in a quick movement. ‘Forget what I said about the control groups,’ she thought as she felt Tara open her mouth slightly. ‘Yep. No control here.’
As tired as she was, Willow always found the energy for these afternoon make out sessions. ‘One of the few areas where I give as good as I get.’ she thought without bitterness as she flicked the tip of Tara’s nose with her tongue. “Scooby lick.” she mumbled before returning her attention toward Tara’s mouth
Willow had handed over many things to Tara over the years; one of the realities of aging when one partner faces more challenges than the other. After the arthritis cut into her dexterity she would joke every time Tara helped her loosen a button or untie a knot, “Had I known it was this easy to get you to undress me I would have gotten all arthritisy years ago.” Of course Willow’s ego sometimes smarted as her love took on more responsibilities. Tara always calmed her with assurances that she didn’t mind these small tasks, and that caring for Willow was an extension of caring for herself. “You had to feed and cloth me after what Glory did,” she would repeat again and again.
But Willow minded, sometimes more than she carried to admit. Slowly, all of the things that defined her, and made her uniquely herself, were stripped away. She gave up magic ages ago, and hadn’t worked to defeat a hell beast in almost as long. For years, walking, standing, presented a challenge, even on the best of days. She used to run after Tara, dance with her, walk toward her, and make love to her with grace and endurance. No longer.
And now, this growth, this tumor, began to strip away at the last few things she held dear. Unable to read the simplest instructions, Willow once again was forced to call on Tara to help her fill in these blanks that grew larger with each passing day. Time itself was no longer marked in what has come to pass. It was marked in what remained.
Willow shook herself and refocused her energies on the lips pressed so sweetly to hers. ‘I offered to face all challengers, pay any price, for this life we’ve shared.’ Why was she so unprepared now that the balance was due?
_______________________________________
Tara set the book upon her lap as she took a moment to adjust her reading glasses. She knew how much the loss of the written word depressed Willow. In an attempt to lift her girl’s spirits she had taken to reading aloud each evening as they relaxed after dinner. ‘Such a small thing to give,’ she thought as she pushed the bridge of her frames back up her nose, ‘When I would rather give her the world.’
She snapped out of her short revelry at the sound of Willow chuckling beside her. “You know, one small procedure and you could retire those things forever.”
“But darling, what would Mister Giles say?” He eyes crinkled at the memory of the gentle Watcher. With one gesture with his glasses Giles was always able to convey volumes of discomfort, mistrust, or distress. “What else would I use to emphasize pregnant pauses in the text?”
“Baby, while I would never deprive you of your dramatic props,” Willow smiled sympathetically as she reached over to pat Tara’s knee, “We both know you wouldn’t trust anyone enough to mess with those beautiful eyes of yours.”
“Would too!”
“Not! I have never met someone so unwilling to put her faith in the march of progress.”
Tara had to admit to herself that Willow was right. Trips to the doctor depressed her. Too many lectures over the years about her weight, high blood pressure, and general lack of fitness, even from the most well meaning of medical practitioners, had served to turn her into a "new traditionalist". Thus far, she had been served well by the homeopaths, acupuncturists and energy healers whose care she placed her faith in. For Tara, aging had been a natural process; a gradual lessening of the things she could do and a gentle acceptance of the things she could not. ‘Would I feel differently if faced with Willow’s challenges?’ she mused. ‘After all, I embrace modern medicine quickly enough when it comes to her well being.’
“Tara? Dreamy Girl! Wake up!” Willow’s voice snapped Tara out of her contemplative state. “Sorry.” She burbled as she took up the book.
“What were you thinking about?”
“How much I love having you around.” Tara answered honestly.
“Sweet talker.” Willow replied, bouncy with pleasure at the adoring words from her baby.
Tara rolled her eyes as she opened the book and bent back the spine. “It’s easy to talk sweet when the topic of conversation is so tasty.”
Willow groaned as she settled back into the sofa and adjusted the pillows around her. The book Tara had chosen looked fairly thick. The sooner the reading began, the sooner she could cuddle with this woman who held her heart.
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Spike glanced out the window of the cab as he waited for the driver to approve the credit transaction. The lights were on in the front of the house. A good sign, he decided. ‘Red hasn’t done anything too rash yet.’ Collecting his bags from the back of the car, he moved past the gate and unto the porch.
Knocking, he paused, and thought back to the last time he visited this house. ‘Fourteen years is such a long time in their terms.’ He hadn’t changed one bit, but he knew to steady himself for the shock of seeing these woman he loved so deeply older than he ever thought they would be.
Spike gently knocked again, smoothing down the impatience he felt at waiting on the door step. ‘They’re old,’ he reminded himself. ‘Takes a while to get momentum up.’
The door opened.
“Spike?”
“Hello Witchy.” Spike took in the sight of the shocked woman before him. Heavier than he remembered. The hair was greyer, but still worn long. Deep circles under the eyes that betrayed a lack of sleep. The lines around those eyes were deeper and fuller. “Aren’t you going to invite a weary traveler in?”
“What are you doing here?’
“Didn’t you…” Spike looked down at his boots. ‘Of course she doesn’t know I was coming. Willow didn’t want her to know.’
He felt his arms crushed to his sides as Tara leapt and smothered him in am embrace. “What wrong with me? Who cares why you’re here?” She looked up and smiled into his face. “Willow will be so surprised!”
‘So surprised.’ He silently echoed as he shifted his arms and wrapped them around her. “Now this is what I call a welcome.” He began to pat her back as she eased into him, taken aback at the roundness of her shoulders. If was as if the gravity of the earth’s pull was slowly claiming her with its weight.
“Where’s Willow now?” Spike asked as he step out of their embrace and bent to collect his bags. “In the sitting room. I was reading to her”, she called back after him as she began to move down the entry hall. Spike bounced slightly as he hit the boundary of the doorway.
“Um, Tara? You have to invite me in. Remember?”
Tara frowned, “How rude of me.” She returned to the door and held out her hand. “Spike, you’ll always be welcome in our home.”
Shifting his bags to one side he took her extended hand and allowed her to guide him through the house.
Willow’s voice called out from the other side of the hall. “Honey, tell whoever it is that we don’t want any!” Gesturing, Spike asked for Tara’s silence as they continued toward the sitting room.
“What makes you think this is an offer you can refuse, Whitey?” he bellowed as he reached the doorway and stood.
“Spike? My god!” Willow reached for her cane and started to pull herself to her feet. With unnatural speed, Spike rushed to her side and gained purchase on her elbow to steady her as she tried to stand. “Look at you. I can’t believe it”
“I knew you would be surprised.” Tara beamed from the doorway.
“Surprise. That’s one word for it.” Willow blinked. With his back to the door she knew Tara couldn’t see the concerned look that filled his eyes as they locked into hers.
Loosening his grip he finally smiled. “Well, Whitey, I haven’t changed a bit. Can’t say the same for you.”
Returning his smile and feeling slightly relieved, she said, “No hugs of welcome home until you promise to stop calling me that word.” Crossing her arms she mockingly huffed, “It’s offensive.”
Spike crossed his arms, shadowing her gestures. They continued to maintain eye contract, neither willing to give up in this familiar battle of wills.
“But Willow, darling, he’s always called you by your hair color. It’s a hard habit to break now.”
Spike and Willow turned to see Tara in the door way with a playful look on her face. Laughingly, they leaned into each other.
“Missed you, old friend.” she whispered.
“As I missed you, red,” he softly replied before kissing the top of her head.
_________________________________________
After listening late into the night as Spike regaled them with stories of the new Slayer, Willow finally found herself alone with him. If she strained, she could hear Tara busily preparing a space underneath them for their ‘unexpected’ guest.
“You didn’t tell her I was coming,” Spike neutrally regarded her as he started to speak, “and you didn’t tell her what you’re planning.”
Willow took a sip of tea before replying. “I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do until you walked into this house.”
Spike played with the edge of the table mat. “You need my help that much then?”
“Who else can I call upon? We’re it, old friend.”
‘The last of the Scoobies,’ he thought, smiling sadly at the bluntness of her statement.
“You know what it is I need to do, and you know why Tara can’t be involved.” Willow flicked a bead of moisture away from the edge of her teacup. “So will you help me or not?”
“I’ll help you…” As he replied, Willow visibly released the breath she was holding.
“…but don’t ask me to stand by and watch as you die.”
Tension returned to her face as he finished his statement.
“How did you know I was dieing?”
“I remembered.”
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TARA: Willow and I always know how to find each other!
ANYA: With yoga?
There are some author notes at the end of this chapter. However, I wanted to add a spoiler warning to the beginning of this update. The action of this chapter draws on events from season 6.
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Chapter Four: “Silent Rooms and Kitchen Tables”
“Everything’s set up for you downstairs. A comfy crypt for my favorite night…” Tara’s pleasantries died on her lips as she reentered the kitchen. She could sense the mood that hung heavily in the air. ‘Why is it that telling someone new makes this that much more real?’ She knew Willow was dieing, had made peace with the reality of it as best as she was able. She was resolved to face this ending with strength and supportiveness, knowing intimately that death was just another part of living. But having Spike here, having him know, made her resolve waver slightly.
“Y-you know th-then, Spike?”
He stood to face her. “I know. I don’t know what to say, but I know.” Looking down at Willow he smiled. “Listen, we all know that selflessness was never my strong point, but if either of you need…”
“Th-thank you.” Tara willed him quiet. She knew they both would be able to call on him at anytime but could not stand to hear him voice his pity. In this moment Tara needed stillness and silence if she was to maintain any semblance of self control. “I th-think I need t-to turn in. It’s been an eventful n-night and I’m a little t-tired...”
Willow looked over at her usually robust lover, disturbed at the return of her stutter. “You OK, baby? Need me to come in with you?” she asked softly. As much as she wanted to stay awake with Spike part of her longed to take on the roll of caregiver for one night.
“No darling. Stay here.” Tara moved over and kissed the top of Willow’s head before continuing. “You have a lot t-to t-talk about.”
Tara turned to Spike and smiled her goodnights, leaving the deathly silent room to the two friends, each lost in thought.
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Altruism was not part of his vocabulary. ‘I’m not the type to help an old lady from one side of the street to the other,’ he smirked to himself, ‘unless I nipped her at the other side.’ Philanthropy had nothing to do with the routine he had fallen into these past nights. Waiting in shadows, keeping watch, and worrying were not acts of kindness on his part. ‘I don’t even like this one.’ He tapped a cigarette against the back of his hand thoughtfully. “Then why have I followed her these past nights?” he wondered aloud before bringing the cigarette to his lips.
There were many other things Spike could think of that would engage him more than this currant activity, most of them involving a certain blonde, flexible, and beautifully deadly woman who had captured his heart. ‘I know it’s love.’ he voiced to himself as he reached into his pocket for his lighter.
As the flame ignited the edge of the cigarette Spike shook himself out of his romantic revelry. “I don’t love her.” he said to the night in an effort to convince himself that this was his truth. ‘A monster like me can’t feel love. Just looking for a way to get back into her pants. That’s all.’ As he thought, he couldn’t help but shake his head at himself in denial. Spike smarted slightly at his inability to lie. One hundred twenty two years of practice and he still had not mastered the art of self deception. He loved her, for ill and nil and he knew that there was nothing he could say to himself to take away this truth.
He lied to others regularly enough, but he knew that if she stood before him now, he would blather like an idiot. ‘Destiny. Affection. Love. Our hearts as one. On and on I would wax poetic.’ he mused. He liked to believe that he had touched her heart. ‘The course of true love never ran smooth.’ He knew because he had deeply loved in the past, and he knew that in the face of all his romanticism, this connection with Buffy was deeper and fuller than anything he had touched in his life, living and undead.
He wanted to be her everything. ‘I want to do more than just fuck her,’ he continued to himself. Beyond the sex, as extraordinary as it was, he found himself longing to be essential to her. He wanted ease any burden she carried, fight any fight at her side, and he longed for her to want to do the same things for him. She loved him. He could feel it. If looking out for the people she found dear helped her to see this, he was more than happy to follow Willow through the darkest forests for one thousand nights. The method seemed to work. He looked out for Dawn at many times in the past, and each time, Buffy seemed to soften toward him. How grateful would she be at his selflessness at watching over Dawn AND Willow, while continuing to cover her back as needed? Would she understand how much her happiness meant to him then?
He knew what he wanted to happen. She would run back into his arms at his latest good deed. Looking down at her he would say, “You owe me Slayer.” after he had saved the day yet again. She would look up at him and see her dark knight standing beside his black horse. “How could I ever repay you?” she would whisper as she pressed her hips up into his. “I can think of a few ways,” he would answer before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Shaking his head to break out of his fantasy he dragged harshly on the cigarette before casting it aside. “A favor’s not a favor unless she knows about it, you stupid git.” He spat disgustedly.
Spike shifted uncomfortably. “At this rate I’ll have the little witch conjure me up a pack of smokes.” Scanning the forest again for any sign of movement, he pushed down his restlessness, knowing that the wait would end. The dance would soon begin, his unwilling partner taking the lead, he doing his best to follow. Each night for the past week he followed her as she walked to the same spot near the stream, warning away any beasties of the night to stay away from the slightly insane witch
___________________________
“Your hands smell like death.” Slamming her fists against her hips Willow tried to call upon what little control remained from the daylight hours as she wandered into night. In the daylight hours she presented a strong front to herself and everyone around her. She was overcoming. She had marked time. She didn’t need magic anymore. These truths mocked her as she continued to move deeper into the dark of the forest. By the light of the sun she had overcome the call of darkness, the will towards power. All half truths for the missing parts of her soul detailing how weak she still was. Looking up at the full moon she whispered,” Goddess, help me…”
Spike stayed just out of sight as he followed her, using the sound of her self incriminations to keep Willow within reach. He told himself that the distance allowed him a measure of security. ‘Easier this way to keep an eye out for any dangers,’ he mused quietly to himself. This half truth kept him focused as her words carried on the wind, knowing that the other half of the truth was that part of him could no long stand to see her like this.
“Did you cut the throat? Did you pat the head?” In these night hours her convincing half truths exposed their underside. Darkness from darkness calling out to her, demanding she come and partake. She had taken to walking the night in an effort to face these inner demons, trying to channel strength from her empty spirit. Running toward the fight, she had hoped to find the courage she lacked. Instead, she found the true depths to which she had fallen. “I am so weak.”
Willow’s voice became louder as he continued to move forward. ‘We’re at the stream already.’ He looked around as the forest began to open into a clearing. Ducking behind a tree, he took in the sight of her, kneeling on the ground in the center of the glen. She pawed at the earth, pulling out clumps of grass and tossing them aside as the dirt began to visibly obscure her fingertips in the moon light. Digging deeper, she continued the excavation that she began a week ago.
“Dirty little bitch.” She had yet to call upon the dark powers that called her. It was incriminating enough, in her mind, that the temptation remained so strong. How ironic it was to her that a demon had voiced the truth about her to herself and to Tara. Tara didn’t understand how right the demon was that night in their bedroom. ‘Another untruth I inflicted on her’. She understood the meaning of the words from that night. She was dirty. She thought she was so powerful and in control. Her arrogance outstripped her intentions, however, and blew up the best laid plans in her face. “So very sorry…”
Spike heard the rustle of leaves before he saw the movement. Off to the left of the glen, he began to make out the shape of a werewolf. White teeth bared, the wolf growled at the sight of what he hoped would be his evening’s dinner. Rolling his eyes at the full moon above him Spike moved gingerly through the trees, willing himself quiet as he approached the fixated wolf.
“What did you do? Do you know what you did?” Willow tried to continue the lies. She had found a place in this world filled with warmth and light. As much as she hoped to hold it together, she could not hide from one important truth. They thought they knew her, and had seen the worst of what she was capable of. Willow ached with the knowledge that she had yet to reach the depths of what she was capable of. She would control them; place them in harm’s way to protect the image of herself she wished them to have. She lost Tara because of these issues. How could Tara ever love her again when she had seen what Willow actually was? How could any of them truly love her? “Can’t face this alone…”
‘Should be easy pickings.’ Spike thought as he moved cautiously toward the salivating werewolf. Stepping forward, preparing to leap on the unsuspecting demon he heard a twig snap beneath him. “Bloody hell,” he moaned to himself, the element of surprise no longer his. The wolf turned, shaken from its single minded stalking of Willow, and took measure of Spike. Pawing at the earth, the wolf leapt and aimed at the throat of the advancing vampire.
“The blood dried on your hands, didn’t it?” Part of her wanted the darkness to come and take away this pain. As improbable as it seemed she wanted to laugh. ‘Wadda you want Mister Bad Man? Light meat or dark?’ The laughter was never actualized, turning instead into a mournful sigh of self pity. She wouldn’t put up a fight if a hell beast or vampire attached her now, taking it as some type of divine intervention, punishment for all the evil she had touched upon. Strangely enough, none of the beasts of the night seemed to notice that she walked the night alone. “Too blackened even for the blackest of hearts...”
The wolf bit at Spike’s shoulder as he tried to wrap his arms around the snarling creature. His face changed when the wolf tore through his leather coat and ripped at his flesh. Taking hold of the wolf with his teeth, they two creature’s found themselves locked in a stalemate, as they began to roll together, neither willing to release the bounty of the hunt
“They will find out. I'll be punished.” Willow looked up at the moon that illuminated the glen so brightly. She wanted to overcome the pull of dark magicks, wanted a clean slate with which to write her future on. She could not turn back time, could not make everyone forget the crimes she had committed against them. They had caught a glimpse of the real her. “Help me find the right path…”
Neither willing to give up in their battle of wills, their war of attrition, Spike did the only thing he knew that would break this impasse. Biting harder into the wolf’s hunches, he began to suck. Slowly, as he drained the blood of the werewolf, he tightened his arms around its body. The wolf began to transform back into its human form as its life was slowly sapped. Around his bite Spike mumbled, “Just a pup,” as he deepened his hold and shifted his arms to reposition the now still human boy.
“You were stained. You still are!” Lowering her body to the earth, Willow pressed her face into the patch of dirt she had cleared. Clawing deeper, she paused as her fingers caught on a fragment of bone. “Come forward, blessed one. Know your calling.” She continued to press her face into the newly uncovered resting place. A stench of death overtook her senses as she began to gasp for air. “Goddess. So sorry…”
Spike was shaken out of his drunken indulgence by the sounds of birds beginning to stir out of their evening’s sleep. With an experienced eye Spike scanned the eastern horizon. Turning away from the now dead boy Spike worriedly moved to the glen. Willow was no longer mumbling, and he grew worried at the possibility that while occupied he had neglected to protect her from all of the threats she might face.
“Willow!” he cried as he moved into the clearing and saw her lying facedown and motionless. Kneeling beside her, he placed his hand on the small of her back, disturbed by the erratic way she gasped for breath. Pulling her off of her stomach, he shifted her dead weight toward him and slid his arms beneath her. With too little time left in the night to return her to Buffy’s, he began to carry her out of the forest.
As they moved through the twilight he felt Willow stir and tuck herself against him. Tightening his grip, he hoped the closeness brought her comfort. Her head rolled back and took in the last gasp of the night sky. “Give me the mercy,” she whispered “and I will not call on you until the end of my days.”
She began to shake in his arms, as if infused with unnatural energy and then fell still again. Calling on the strength that coursed through his body at his unexpected meal he moved with stealth, hoping for enough speed in his legs to return them to his crypt before the first light of dawn overtook them.
_____________________
“What the…” Snapping out of her restless sleep, Willow’s eyes focused the hand that loomed above her forehead.
“Easy there, Red.” Spike stilled his movements in an attempt not to startle her. “Just working on my Florence Nightingale.” His eyes grew wistful. “The Crimea. Now that was carnage…”
Willow struggled to raise herself from the bed. “Where the hell am I? And what’s with you and the nice nice?” As her shoulders lifted she felt the cool air assault her bare skin.
“And where are my clothes?” Her eyes started to fill with panic. “We didn’t? We couldn’t?” Her disquiet grew as she gathered a blanket and covered herself pulling it so high that it almost covered her face. “I mean, you’re a nice vampire and all, but you are a vampire, and I just don’t swing that way. Both ways. With vampires, I mean. And boys. Not that way either. Nope. No boys. No sir-ree!. “
Spike’s eyes grew wide at what her babbling inferred. “I’ll have you know I was a complete gentleman.” After spending the summer fighting at her side and attending multiple Scooby meetings Spike was well aware of Willow’s verbosity. ‘Couldn’t she just ask if we shagged? Take less time, it would.’
“You were a gentleman?” Willow peeped from under the cover, “Or you were gentle?”
Spike smiled the awkward way she asked her question. “We didn’t do the dirty, red. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Thank the goddess!” Willow exclaimed as she uncovered her face. Shifting her arms to hold the blanket above her breasts Willow sat up and took in the space around her. “So, this is your crypt?” Spike nodded in reply.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
“I especially like the rug.”
“Got if from a Turkish hashish dealer I killed a few years ago.”
“Ewww.” Shuttering, Willow focused on Spike as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Don’t share that decorating tip with Martha Stewart. Might give her ideas.”
“I’m sure she’s sank to lower lows in her time. If fact, I heard this story from a telexial demon about…”
“Spike! Enough with the dark home ware tips of evil small talk. Just tell me how I ended up naked in your crypt?”
“I carried you here and undressed you”
“Hey! But you said…”
“We didn’t sleep together, Willow.” Sighing at her blank look he continued to explain, “I found you half dead in the forest, surrounded by calcified bones.” She didn’t need to know that he had followed her there, and had been keeping tabs on her for a few nights running. “You were dirty, and feverish, and in no condition to be left alone.”
“Oh.”
“I would say.” Spike leaned against the post of the bed, surprised as he started to relax at their banter.
Pressing down her fear at what his answer would be Willow inquired, “How much did you hear?” Out of nervousness Willow began to pick at the edge of the blanket.
“Almost everything, red.”
“Oh”
“I would say.”
“Willow?” Spike sighed to himself, unfamiliar with the role he was about to attempt. “If you need friend…” Pausing, he shook his head and thought, ‘I don’t even like this one. Remember?’
“I know we’re not friends. That you don’t like me. But if you need someone, you know, from the outside, to listen I want you to know that I’m here.” Never able to lie to himself, Spike knew that he cared for Willow. It pained him to see her in so much distress and he wanted to do whatever he could to help her.
Leaning forward, Willow took his hand in hers and smirked. “I think I need a friend right now.” Spike deflated slightly at her words.
“You volunteering?”
Spike squeezed the hand that held his and smiled, “I’m listening.”
_______________________________
Shaking himself out of his revelry he asked, “So that’s it Red?” Spike fought to keep the disgust from his tone before he continued. He failed. “The end is near and you’re ready to have one last go with the black mojo?”
“I thought you knew me better than that!” she harshly replied.
“What about the help you need?” He felt his voice rising in volume. Catching himself, he continued, whispering, “What about the spell?”
Looking across the kitchen table, Willow took a deep breath to calm herself before she spoke, “Spike, I have no desire to call upon dark magic.” Extending her hand over the table top, she willed him to take it.
“What is it you wish to do then?” he questioned, taking up her hand and returning her intent gaze.
“When I was lost, at my most debased, she gave me back my life.” Willow blinked back the tears that began to cloud her vision. “I want to know what I did to deserve such mercy.”
He tightened his grip on her hand, finally understanding. “You want to talk to this goddess of yours…”
“I want to try.”
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Yes, that was a “Tara-lite” update. She almost didn’t make the cut at all, but I love her too much to exclude her from even one chapter. Have no fear. She returns, as does Dr. Rusell and this new Slayer I haven’t named yet.
I want to thank anyone who has bothered to read this far for putting up with my angst. When I started plotting out this fic I thought in terms of something almost operatic – heavy, depressing, with lots of large statements that give you insight into the philosophy of the author. I’ve tried to put in small moments of lightness here and there, but understand if this story is not everyone’s cup of tea. Honestly, there will be some hopeful moments in future chapters…at least I think they’re hopeful. Maybe “cute” or “warm hearted” would be better terms to use…
Ah, who am I kidding? This is a wrist slitter and I know it!
As for the sex issue, I’ve tried to leave what they do to the imagination, preferring instead to focus on what they talk about. Two very different things.
Thanks for reading. I’ve enjoyed the soulful feedback.
BM
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TARA: Will
This was a great part.
