Family

[jaycatt23]

Title - Family

Author – Jaycatt23

Email – jaycatt23@yahoo.co.uk

Disclaimers – Characters owned by JW. The ideas, I think, are mine. Maybe. Part of this was inspired by a Belle and Sebastian song (Photo Jenny, on the Lazy Line Painter Jane EP), there’s a direct quote from Shakespeare’s Tempest, and somehow Homer’s got in here too. Yes, I am pretentious.

Spoilers – It’s set in 1995, but season 5 ep Family is in the background.

Note – I don’t know if you’ll like this. It’s a bit disturbing, I think, and rather angsty. But it’s my first completed fic, so please don’t be too harsh. Unless it’s really bad, in which case, tell me, and I’ll pack my bags.





***



Some people said Donny was cruel, that he was a bully. This puzzled him slightly, but he could see where these people were coming from. To an outsider, the odds looked incredibly uneven. A sword fight with only one sword, a joust with one horse. Playing chess against a blind man. A cat chasing a spider, pulling its legs off, slowly, one by one.



These people didn’t understand.



He knew she was stronger than him. She could smash him if she wanted, he knew.



It was a game of absolute skill, nerve, chance, timing. And he played well.



The ball flew from his hand, though the air like a well thrown spear, and caught her in the shoulder with a dull thud. It spun up into the air, and tried to take from her the book she held in her hands.



“Tar! Hey Tar! Can I have my ball back?” he shouted, jovially, masterfully, in to-be-obeyed tones.



Thrust, and parry.



She didn’t flinch, didn’t look round, hardly moved.



He smiled.



“Tar! Hey, are you not listening to me? Tara!”



The crowded chatter-filled school bus faded away from him. His vision was filled with his opponent, watching her every move, every breath.



“Tara!”



He let the world fade back in slightly, to take the adoration from the crowd. He grinned to himself. These people, they’d watched the same game play out for years. They watched, and they saw, and they thought they understood, but none of them could read the game like he could. Some of them, those who thought he was a bully, were looking away now, ashamed to watch his onslaught. They thought his victory was inevitable, that he was a champion. They thought his brute force was an unfair advantage.



This, he felt, was quite unreasonable. There was so much more to his game than brute force.



Thrust.



“Tara! Hey, sis, the ball! Aren’t you playing?”



He’d played the game as long as he could remember, but sometimes it still frightened him, sometimes made him nervous, excited, twitchy, anxious.



Today, he was all of that, and more.



She forced him sometimes, forced him into brave and audacious moves, sometimes made him do things risky and foolhardy. He knew he always had the skill to win, but sometimes she tested him to his limits, forced him into raising his game just that little bit.



Today, everything was at stake.



He was David, sometimes, and sometimes he was Odysseus, and sometimes Achilles.



Today, he was just himself, and she was just his sister.



Thrust.



“Tara!”



Parry.



She didn’t move. She never moved.



He smiled broadly.



The crowd, watching on, saw nothing different, saw the same predictable game they had seen for years.



But Donny knew everything had changed. He’d seen it in the way she’d eaten her breakfast that morning, the way she’d done the washing up and put the rubbish out, the way she’d walked to the bus, the way she’d sat down. He smiled again.



He had absolutely no idea what had caused it, but she was so different today. It was inevitable, and almost beautiful and he felt himself privileged because he was the only one who could see it.



How beauteous mankind is, he thought. This brave new world, that has such people in it.



***



No, they were holding hands. Properly holding hands! And they weren’t just friends. They can’t have been just friends. They can’t have been. No, they weren’t just friends. Friends don’t stand so closely together. Friends don’t look at each other like that. Well, not having had that many friends, I can’t be totally sure (look at me! I’m painfully shy Tara!) but no, friends don’t look at each other like that. Oh wow. Wow. Wow. Oh, and they were so sweet together. Walking down the street, holding hands. In broad daylight! Those girls were girlfriends. Proper girlfriends. Proper gay girlfriends. Wow. Oh wow.



I don’t think anyone else noticed, though. Who else but me would be scoping out the girl talent like that, heh? Maybe I wouldn’t even have noticed, if I hadn’t been looking so damn hard at that girl’s ass, ha. It was a nice ass, though. (I’m baaaaad. Bad Tara. Bad smirking Tara.) They weren’t friends together, they were together together. Oh, how lucky are they? How jealous am I?



I want that.



I want a girlfriend.



I want someone to hold my hand, and make me smile.



I want to make someone smile. And laugh.



I want someone to snuggle with.



I want someone to do bad things with. Rude things.



I want someone special.



One day, I’m going to find someone. OK, first I’m going to have to overcome this fear of other people, and then I’m going to meet new people and be popular Tara and then I’m going to find her. Maybe without doing the popular part, but something along those lines.



Maybe.



No, those girls were together. Why shouldn’t I find someone? Who could resist dull, geeky weirdo Tara with the funny clothes and the s-s-s-s-stutter and the wonky smile and the total and utter lack of self esteem and the odd Matilda-ish ability to make objects float and stuff move about and hey, even set on fire by the channeling of her thoughts. Tara, who lives in her own little world that is um, slightly difficult to explain to others, but that’s okay, because who’s even going to be interested enough to ask about it, and then who’s going to stick around long enough for an explanation once I start stuttering at them.



Maybe I could put a spell on someone to make them love me. Or maybe not. That seems kind of cruel, forcing someone to love me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.



It would be nice to have someone to love. If it can happen to those girls, why can’t it happen to me? Maybe I should get a pet. A puppy, or a kitten. A little black and white kitten. Or a girlfriend.



They were proper girlfriends and no-one noticed! No-one but me!



One day, one day I’m going to have confidence and be assertive and maybe get out of here and find something like that. Yeah, the day that hell freezes over, and of course, that’s going to be soon.



One day.



Maybe.



***



Her door was open, just a crack, like it always was. He pushed it wider, and stood there, leaning on the wardrobe slightly, watching her sleep. Such a look, unusual, of calm serenity.



“Donny.” He heard the voice whispered behind him, and he thought he was five years old again, remembered the day when Tara had fallen off the porch into the mud, and he’d gone to help her, and…but he hadn’t helped her, and he suddenly couldn’t remember why he hadn’t.



“Donny.” The voice behind him again, and he smiled because he was five years old again, with his mommy and his little sister.



He turned round and looked at his mother, his face suddenly broken and twisted into a sneer.



Her heart screamed as she looked at him, and the anger and the pride and the hatred he wore like armour, and she cursed herself for ever being born.



“Mom. What?” he said, too loudly, too flatly.



She cringed and looked past him, checking he hadn’t woken Tara.



What could she say?



He turned back to his sister. So calm, so serene, so beautiful. She hadn’t ever slept so sweetly.



He’d always, always, heard her cry out in her sleep, seen through the crack in the door that she tossed and turned, never found any rest.



But now she was sleeping beautifully, happily. It made him happy, too. It made his heart sing and his blood fizz. Something had changed her, and he didn’t know what it was, but he had always known it would happen.



The world had altered, his world. The game would go on, the same moves, the same defensive reflexes, renewed attacks, thrusts and parries. But it wouldn’t be the same.



He was excited.



***



She slept, and dreamt curious dreams, of frogs, and horses, and dancing midgets and singing hands, and a beautiful sunrise. It was profoundly incomprehensible – but it was absolutely glorious.

[bluewillowwitch]

,

Okay I like what you have so far! I am a little confused on what is going on here. SO does Donnie hate her or not. I thought Tara's little internal babble was cute. I can't wait to see where you take this. Update soon, please?







bluewillowwitch

---------------------------------------------

"Fate keeps on happening."--Anita Loos

[Marilda]

Hey, I'm really liking this. I have no idea what's going on, but the writing is clear and concise. I'm intigued. I hope you continue.

[xita]

What an interesting fic, is this it? Since you said you'd finished it? I am thinking something changes that makes Donny terribly upset at his sister and it's probably mommy related. And Tara ... god that's why I love her so much. I hear her pain... but soon Tara

- - - - - - - - - - -
"Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose."

-Me & Bobby
McGee

[jaycatt23]

Hey, bluewillowwitch, marilda and xita,



Many thanks for your kind words. I wrote this as an experiment, mainly to see if I could or not. I was happy with it, posted it, and then I started worrying frantically about it. That was going to be the end of it, but, partly through your encouragement, and partly through me wanting to get it as right as I can, I’ve decided I need to take it further. Plus, writing this is fun and disturbingly addictive. So there’ll be at least one more part, and possibly two.



I’ll get it posted soon as I can.



Jaycatt

[buffyanne96]

Very well written!

Edited by: xita  at: 9/11/03 7:25 am

[Sappho]

Well, you've got me curious. The parts with Donny's inner dialogue make me very and worried. I love Tara's, so sweet and sincere, yet sad. Makes me want to tell her how gorgeous she is, luckily we usually have Willow for that.

~Sappho

Willow: Yeah, that’s me. Reliable dog geyser person.

***

Anya: Give me a beer. Bartender: I.D. Anya: [Looks at him w/ disbelief] Bartender: I.D.

Anya: I’m 1,120 years old!!! Just give me a friggin’ beer! Bartender: I.D. Anya: [Sigh] Give me a Coke.

[LostWithoutTara]

What an interesting opener!



I have to admit I find Donnie's actions here quite disturbing, and his thoughts gave me that sinking feeling.



I also loved Tara's monologue. I can really relate to what Tara is thinking here and that first flush of hope that perhaps everything will be okay.



I'm looking forward to the continuation.

Every time you walk away, I pretend that I'm okay

[jaycatt23]

Thanks to buffyanne96, Sappho and LostWithoutTara for your kind words. Here’s part two.



Note: This takes place about six months after Tara’s sixteenth birthday. Also, I know sod-all about wicca, so shamelessly I’ve made it up, and I hope I’m not offending anyone. If I am, apologies are here in advance.



***



He hated what she was. He hated it because it scared him, because he couldn’t control it. But he knew he could still control her, and that was enough for him, for now.



She was almost beyond him, but he could still reach her.



It was her little secret. And it was his, too. Though he didn’t think it would be too long before came out, he smirked. She was so unself-aware, she gave it away in everything she did.



His father, he was sure, had little idea such things happened, so this one he was keeping to himself, to play with, to do with what he wanted.



When he’d realized what it was she’d become, what she was, he’d considered for a long, hard time his best plan of action. There were, he reckoned, two ways of dealing with this.



The obvious thing would be a few well-chosen words to a few well-chosen people, and then to sit back and let small town bigotry and homophobia run its course.



Despite appearances to the contrary, though, whatever he was, he wasn’t obvious. He was his father’s son.



And so Donny chose the second option.



***



A scruffy and slanted banner hanging in the main corridor of the school suggested it was ‘Careers Week!’, and the unenthused faces of the students suggested that few of them cared.



It was lunchtime, and Tara sat alone, outside in the bright sunshine, reading and paying little attention to either her lunch or her surroundings.



A group of boys, Donny included, were idly strolling round the school grounds, eating their lunches. Seeing his sister, Donny gently guided them in her direction until one of them, a tall kid called Alan, spotted her himself.



“Hey, Maclay, your sister!”



Donny looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.



“Yeah, so it is.” He looked away, twisted round a little, and pulled a packet of mini-pretzels from the bag he had on his back.



“Tara! Hey, Tara!” Alan shouted. “Tara!”



Alan balled up tight the brown paper lunch bag he held in his hand, and launched it in her direction. It flew just millimeters over her left shoulder, and, startled by the sudden movement, Tara looked up.



“Hey, Tara, what are you going to be when you grow up?” Alan called. “Burnt at the stake?” He and his friends broke into cruel laughter.



Crude, Donny thought. And obvious. But effective, and he laughed along. Watching her face intently, he saw a momentary flash of fear in her eyes, and his heart raced. She looked away, almost disappearing entirely into herself.



But then she looked back, and his heart raced even faster, because through the hair which shielded her face, he could see a look of awful defiance.



He was so proud of her, sometimes.



Munching on pretzels, he walked over, and sat down on the bench next to her.



“Pretzel?” he offered. Proffering the bag he leant closer, until they were almost touching, and whispered delicately, “Demon.”



She froze.



“Tara’s going to grow up just like her mother, aren’t you sis?” he announced to his friends. “Just like her mother! The family resemblance, man, you look at Tara now, and you look at pictures of her mother when she was sixteen, and there’s no difference. Heredity, and genes, DNA and all that stuff, it’s incredible.”



He laughed. Looking at each other uncertainly, his friends laughed too, but they weren’t at all sure what the big joke was.



Unassumingly heroic, he stood and walked away.



***



Breathing in the night air deeply, Tara stretched herself, big as she could. She was lying on her back behind the house, shoulders unhunched, arms flung out either side, wide to the world.



It was a clear sky, three or four nights away from full moon. She gazed up into the stars, trying to get rid of the tension, the knots in her head and her stomach.



Once, not too long ago, she had loved the days before the full moon. But the thrilled and nervous anticipation had recently become absolute agony and hopelessness.



She smiled unconsciously as she remembered back to the evening, sometime just after her eighth birthday, when she’d been warm in bed, on the verge of sleep, and her mother had knocked softly on her door, and peered round it. In the almost full light of the moon, Tara had pretended to be asleep, and her mother had come into the room, and knelt by her bed, and started, gently, to stroke Tara’s blonde hair. She had smiled happily as the sweet smell of her mother drifted to her, and then her mother had spoken, her voice a quiet whisper.



“Whatever happens, Tara, whatever happens, remember I love you.”



Her mother had remained until Tara had fallen asleep, and when she woke in the bright autumn morning, she had found a piece of paper under her pillow, with a few words written on it in her mother’s handwriting. A short incantation, just two lines, but Tara had known immediately what it was.



Her smile grew as she remembered the full moon which had occurred three days later, when she had felt so thrilled to stand alongside her mother in the eerily bright moonlight, speaking slowly and hesitantly, but with the absolute confidence of her mother, and with such a perfect feeling of connection, of belonging.



Every month, the same thing would happen: a few days before full moon, she would wake to find a piece of paper in her mother’s handwriting under her pillow – and then it had stopped.



She could hear her mother through faintly the darkness, alone in the house, shuffling in the kitchen with the slight stumbling walk she now had.



The full moon just after her birthday, her mother had been in hospital. It had come and gone, and Tara had hardly even realized. The next moon, and the one after, and the one after that, she had been so weak, so groggy from the drugs, so ravished by the illness. It had been a cold and helpless winter, her mother decaying slowly, endlessly.



But, stuttering and forgetful, spring had finally come, and then trickled barely into summer, and for a while, her mother had seemed almost well again.



Last week, doing her homework at the kitchen table while her mother sat reading quietly in a comfy chair, Tara had nearly broken the silence. She could have done the ritual on her own, but she missed the closeness, the act of togetherness, the perfect unity with her mother. She ached without it. So she had almost said something, almost tentatively suggested, that now her mother was a bit better, they might maybe do something this month. She had taken a deep breath, opened her mouth – and then stopped.



Her mother had looked at her. “OK, love?” she had asked, concern in her beautiful eyes.



Shutting her mouth, Tara had forced herself to smile, and nod, and then ducked her head back down to her schoolbooks. How could she ask her mother? She was so selfish. Her mother looked so desperately frail and gaunt, and here was she, thinking only of herself, only of her own loneliness.



Suddenly, her mother’s ragged, retching cough ripped the night, began, and wouldn’t stop. This was something new, hideous and terrifying, a visible and audible neon-sign of the destruction within. Woken, frightened, by the coughing early this morning, Tara had wanted to die.



She rolled over, head fractionally away from the ground and stared hard at the grass in front of her.



Is that what it did, then, the demon? Is that what it would do to her?



It was killing her mother. It would kill her too.



That was her future.



She had no future.



Four years left? Three and a half, and then what?



And there was no escape. Her mother hadn’t been able to escape, her strong, beautiful mother, so what chance had she?



Weak and selfish, that’s what she was.



And alone.



And this was just the beginning. This was how it would be forever, out, alone, with the demon and the night sky.



Her mother was coughing again.



Still alive, still breathing, still fighting, still relentlessly being choked.



She was alone; she was a demon; and her mother was dying.



***



Donny and Mr. Maclay got out of the truck, their laughter harshly loud, and the night air echoed as they slammed the front door and went inside the house.

[LostWithoutTara]

Brilliant update.



My heart absolutely broke for Tara. I hope the Maclay men get their comeuppance for being such bastards.



Can't wait to see what happens next.

Every time you walk away, I pretend that I'm okay

[Tempest Duer]

This is fascinating. Even as my heart cries out for Tara, I find myself gruesomely intrigued by Donny. It seems to me that for him, the lines between love and hate are so blurred that he isn't sure what he feels for Tara. It seems more complex than ordinary fear and hatred that a lot of people see in their relationship.

Choosing not to decide is still a choice.

[singgirl]

Oh wow, this is really sad but I do like it so far!

Pax! -Bev

[Incitatua 8]

Intriguing ! May I assume that Willow will be making an appearance ? If so, I would definitely like to read more !

[WillowMaclay]

Hey there,



I'm totally enjoying this beginging. I've always wanted an officail story on what happened in Tara's past, her mother and all. I always wanted someone like Christopher Golden to write about it, and I wish you and him could collaborate, I would die and go to heaven for forever and day. This is really good, please keep going.



Lisa

[jaycatt23]

Ooh, you are all nice people. Thanks and thanks and thanks and thanks again.



This story developed from a season 4 fic I was trying to write, and then developed into something else, mainly because Donny came along and forced himself into it. It’s hard to write him and then straight on after write Tara – he’s the more ‘intellectual’ challenge, while Tara’s more ‘emotion’. Maybe that’s obvious, because I relate to her more, but I also wanted to try and see what might be going on in the head of such a bully.



The way it’s going to be, then – there’ll be another update on this, at least. As I said, it developed from another fic, and I see it as the prologue, or the background, to that. That fic is in bits on my computer, and largely wants rewriting. And I’m back to college (yeay!) in two weeks, so I don’t know exactly where the time’s going to come from, but that – I hope – will get written at some point.



But anyway, part three of this will be posted when I’ve written it. It might be a little bit more hopeful than the last. Then again, it might not.



Love



Jaycatt



PS willowmaclay – the Chris Golden idea rocks!

[Sappho]

Well, I hope it's more hopeful. Although a good fic, I will be happy for a break of the dreariness.

~Sappho

Willow: Yeah, that’s me. Reliable dog geyser person.

***

Anya: Give me a beer. Bartender: I.D. Anya: [Looks at him w/ disbelief] Bartender: I.D.

Anya: I’m 1,120 years old!!! Just give me a friggin’ beer! Bartender: I.D. Anya: [Sigh] Give me a Coke.

[SaraBiga]

Great fic! I really like your writing style, your prose make me feel like I’m inside their head from the very beginning.

Which IS slightly disturbing, talking as we are about Donny’s head…

I like the way you shift points of view, I haven’t read so many fictions as some people maybe, but I see Tara-Donny’s bond treated in a terrifically deep way for the first time here.

I think the most disturbing thing about Donny’s thoughts are actually the loving Tara part of them… I’d feel more at ease if he just hated her, or if he was a bitty bit less obsessed… He would be less dangerous.



Keep on writing, this or something else, you got me hooked!



...and yes a bit more hope would make it perfect!

____________________________



I'm not weird, I'm talented.

[bluewillowwitch]

,

I really liked the new update! I think it is cool how you show what is going on inside of Donny's head when he does all this stuff to . I fel so bad for her thinking that she is all alone. I hope that you have her find soon. Can't wait to more. Update soon, please?





bluewillowwitch

---------------------------------------------

"Fate keeps on happening."--Anita Loos

[xita]

This is new to the archive. You can leave feedback!



To the creator of this thread: If you ever want to add something new, just email a mod and we'll move it to the active Pens board.

- - - - - - - - - - -
"Trust is a risk masquerading as a promise."