Well, it had to happen. My apologies, Kitties, but you've inspired me to post my only finished Buffy fic. Haven't done this before (I write, but it's mostly songs nowadays), so most disclaimers will go towards the quality or lack of it. Feel free to e-mail me on buffbuff@btinternet.com with various "okay, perhaps you should go back to selling insurance" comments.
Story: A few weeks after The Gift. This instalment is kind of a teaser - and has no Willow or Tara, I'm afraid. But subsequent ones will, I promise. Much Willow and Tara.
Rating: Ah, Perhaps someone should tell me how it works. The whole story has a fair emotional content, with tantrums, a little naughty language, and a very small amount of naughty touching. I want to entertain, not offend, so it doesn't really go beyond a few "Goddamns", as the saying goes. This one is a bit monster-heavy, but doesn't manage to stray into "Rawhead Rex" territory.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, etc etc. Do whatever you want with the story, except roll it up and stab me in the neck with it. May I also say that typo's are allowed, and not a sign of a disfunctional psyche
This is my take on the characters on the show. For this reason, I except full responibility in ruining them for everyone
Aftermath, by Wolfie (no, really, it says that on my birth certificate)
The earth moved. From the side, the freshly-laid mound looked almost like the chest of a prone man lying amongst manicured lawns. The movements of the chest were shallow and hitching; like breaths one might take when winded from a fall. Then, a huge, desperate gasp caused the mound to surge upwards. Its centre fluttered once or twice before it buckled and a hand, arthritic and pale, broke through, clawing at the night air. Another hand, as pained and clumsy as the first appeared beside it. The impression was one of a swimmer, trapped beneath the surface, trying to break free.
Suddenly, the whole plot erupted as a mud-caked form shouldered its way out of the ground. An upper torso became distinguishable; arms thrashing against the earth. A sound: Almost human, or, more exactly; that of a man's intertwined with a deep, predatory growl, could be heard as the figure battled to free itself. Finally, the earth tore apart in a great open fissure and the figure fell to one side, onto the grass. In the half-light of a nearly full moon, it was possible to see that this was a man; tallish but thin, dressed in what was once a fashionably high-cut dark suit. His once white shirt was almost transparent with sweat and wet mud. A tie hung skewed around his neck.
The man craned his head back in a spastic rigor, twisting and contorting in pain, and bellowed. Again, that dichotomy of sound punctured the silence as rudely as a nightmare invading a sweet dream. The moonlight dappled a face that rippled and thickened into a grotesque mask of hate and agony. From the mouth, which opened so wide that the skin at the sides seemed imminently to split, the canines lengthened, ripping the gums around them. Blood slid down and hung in distended droplets from their tips.
He dropped back to his knees and hung his head, exhausted. For a while, he remained completely motionless, shoulders hunched. Suddenly, he straightened, and with a puzzled expression resting incongruously across the aggressive features, he placed a hand over his diaphragm.
"Huh. No bweath", he lisped, his now enormous teeth getting in the way. He smacked his lips, tasting blood. He reached up and tentatively touched his mouth. What he found, however, made him start, and he began to explore his face with feverish fingers.
"Whath the Hell ith thith?" He screeched.
Another figure stepped lithely from behind a small tomb, dressed in a long, black leather coat and enormous, partially buckled biker boots. His hair was peroxide blonde, and he carried an air of swaggering arrogance.
"Yeah", the peroxide figure said. "Well, a damn site more than simply no breath." He spoke with an affected Cockney accent and seemed a little smug. He gestured at the other man. "I reckon you've been a bad, bad man. Been playing with some naughty types?"
The other man stopped and gingerly touched his neck, remembering an encounter.
"Uh-huh. A bit of nookie behind the Bronze, perhaps?" The Englishman bent forward conspiratorially. "Nice girl gave you the come-on, eh? Should know not to trust nice girls in this town. No, they definitely make a habit of changing their tune halfway through." He straightened, and evidently warming to his theme, continued. "Yep, the price one has to pay to get a shag in Sunnydale."
"Whath did thee do to thee?" He sobbed.
The Englishman grinned. "You're gonna have to learn to e-nun-ci-ate more clearly," he said, in measured tones. "Rather more dentistry in there now. You've been through a change, mate." His face suddenly rippled and his hollow, angular features dissolved into a mask of calculating, demonic fury. "Do you know what this is?"
The other man reacted in shock and recoiled. He stepped back and tripped, sitting down with a grunt. He stared up in terror at the monster before him. The Englishman took a menacing pace forward, then grinned, showing a vicious set of teeth.
"You're like me now. A Vampire."
Fear turned into confusion. "Huh?"
The Englishman stopped smiling and narrowed his eyes for a moment, before rolling them Heaven-wards. He sighed. "Great. Why do I always get the stupid ones? Silly bints can't resist sinking their teeth into no-neck football scholarship-types ... Although," he continued, glancing him up and down, "judging by your awsome physique, perhaps the chess club was more along your line. Still, that doesn't matter now, as you're immortal, not to mention half-demon."
"What? I don't understand." Bemused, the Vampire raised a hand and revisited his face and realised that he shared something of the Englishman's physiology.
"What's your name, mate?"
The Vampire glanced up. Speaking more slowly, but at least clearly, he said, "Oh, ah, Richard. Richard Thomas Betts."
"Well, Dick, to explain, seeing as you're obviously lacking in the nonce to work it out for yourself: The demon, in exchange for your soul, of course, gives you greater strength, speed, heightened senses, intelligence - although ..." The Englishman paused and grinned sympathetically. "... And you're already dead, so," he shrugged. "You've already got that one out of the way, so it's party time for Bonzo."
Richard Thomas Betts mulled these facts over. The Englishman watched dryly as Betts reached up and absently picked a clod of wet earth from his left ear. "Let me get this right. Ah, if I'm already dead, which ..." He blinked. "Wo! And, so, that must make me, like, live forever, right?"
"Dick, you are the most perceptive man I have ever met. Don't you ever believe what they say, you hear?"
Dick smiled shyly, a difficult feat to pull of, wearing a Vampire's feeding face.
The Englishman suddenly had a thought. "Say, you weren't bitten by someone called Harmony, by any chance? No? Oh, just wondering. Oh, please, go on."
"Well, I was just wondering. Now that I'm like, immortal, I guess there's nothing to be scared of?"
The Englishman shrugged. "Well, no. Unless you meet a Vampire Slayer."
"A Slayer. Of us? Are there lots?" That last question slipped into a shriller octave, as Betts jumped, and glanced hurriedly around him.
"Oh, no." The Englishman waved a hand dismissively, then held up one finger. "One. Usually. A girl; one chosen in all the world, blah, blah. It's very tedious, actually. Lots of mythical mumbo-jumbo. You know the deal. Mind you, Sunnydale was graced with its own Slayer for a few years. Here, I'll show you."
The Englishman turned on his heel and marched away. Betts scrambled to his feet and hurried after him.
"Hey, ah, sorry, I don't know your name ..."
"Spike" said Spike, over his shoulder.
"Spike. Ah, Spike, sh-shouldn't we be going the other way, if this Slayer's around here? Not that I'm scared -"
"You should be" called Spike.
"Right. So, ah ... Oh."
Spike had stopped in front of a grave. At its head, in front of them, stood a low, granite stone. Spike gestured offhandedly at it. Betts stooped and read:
"'Buffy Anne Summers, born' ..." He mumbled through the rest of the description, then paused. "Huh. 'She saved the world a lot'." He looked at his companion. "A 'lot'?"
"Oh, yeah. Killed loads of us. I fought her several times myself. Thwarted my plans a few times, I must say. I liked her." He paused, a faint smile softening the mask. "Oh, yeah. Liked her quite a lot."
"Huh?"
Spike shrugged his shoulders, and turned towards his companion, slipping a hand into his coat pocket. "Well, Dick, it goes like this: We met; we fought. I found myself, thanks in part to the US Government, unable to continue being the Big Bad, and well, frankly, I fell in love. With her. The Slayer of all people. Then the strangest thing happened. She died. Saved the world again, of course, but she left not only this nasty hole in Sunnydale, but also with a bit of a promise unfulfilled. My promise, to be exact. Not that I could leave it all to the others, now could I?"
Spike stepped sideways and in one, blinding movement, he swept a stake from his pocket and plunged it into Betts' chest. Richard Thomas Betts gasped, glanced down at the stake, and tried to say something.
"Oh, yeah. Damn. Forgot to mention. Sorry. Wooden stake: The only thing that'll kill you. Oh, apart from sunlight, beheading, but I guess that's a bit immaterial right now. Sends you straight to Hell."
Spike smiled apologetically as Betts' flesh exploded into ashes, leaving a startled-looking skeleton in its wake. Spike stepped forwards, until his face was a couple of inches from the skeleton. He gazed at it blandly for a moment, then reached up with an index finger, and prodded the skull between the eyes. The skeleton tilted backwards, then tumbled to the ground, whereupon that too shattered into a fine dust and disappeared. Spike glanced down, frowned and brushed a few flakes of ash from his lapels.
"Really must remember to take a step backwards," he said, then strode off into the darkness, humming to himself.
Part 2
"What are we going to do?"
"Ah, well, I'm not sure, to be honest. This has all been a bit of a shock. Maybe we should wait and see what happens. Probably best not to jump into anything hasty. You remember what happened the last time she was in a state of emotional turmoil."
"But she stained our carpet!"
"An, be quiet. I know she did, but Giles is right. At least stains don't lead to the drowning of demons in sinks - at least, I don't think they do - do they?"
"Not as far as I know," Giles said, not without a trace of flippancy.
Anya folded her arms. "I can't help it," she fussed. "Vomiting makes me want to join in. And I had to clean it up. She should have done it. You're too soft on her, Alexander Harris."
"Okay, next time I'll give her a damned good talking to, then get her to clean up after herself. Or, at least when she's stopped passing out, or turning me into something hoppy."
"That's better. Although, no passing out at all would be best. It'll only lead to the smell lingering for longer. Oh, oh, and as long as you're not going to -" Anya proffered both hands, crooked into inferred speach marks "- give Willow a 'talking to' in 'that' way. That way's for me only." She smiled slyly at him and nuzzled her shoulder against his.
Xander grinned lazily back, forgetting himself. "In 'that' way? Oh, no, that's definitely for you only."
"Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Yes, and can we get back to the point please?"
Xander snapped back into focus to find Giles grimacing and pushing his glasses up his nose in an effort to swat away the unsettling imagery. He smiled reassuringly and nodded.
"Sure thing." He clapped his hands together and rubbed one palm against the other. "So, what is the point, other than to keep her away from large amounts of alcohol?"
"Well, any alcohol, I would say," replied Giles.
"Ah, now, that wasn't our fault. You started it. You let her drink all that whiskey two weeks ago. You turned her into the alcoholic: We're just having to live with the consequences."
"Yes, Anya, and for that I am profoundly sorry. My point was that we have to try and stay as normal as possible around her. My concern is that she might try something dangerous. Frankly, I'm surprised at these developments, but I also have to admit some culpability myself. I'm afraid I have been rather preoccupied with Dawn."
"How's it been since the move?"
Giles grimaced and instinctively clutched his back. "Well, aside from the fact that I am getting too old for sleeping on couches, I would say much better. I think all Dawn needed was a change of scene." He took a deep breath. "Being in that house was bad for both of us."
"So, where is the Dawnster now?"
Giles glanced at Xander and got up. He reached into his pocket, produced a handkerchief, and commenced cleaning his glasses. When he had finished, he wandered over to a window. "She's at her friend's. I'm collecting her at four."
"And you got the stock back from her?"
Giles paused. "No, Anya," he said. "Dawn didn't take it. We talked about it, and she assured me, rather vehemently, that she didn't take anything. I really think she's telling the truth. She has effectively shut herself off from a lot of the associative things that remind her ... Anyway, I believe her."
"Then who did?"
Giles sighed, wandered back to his armchair and sank into it. He looked at Xander. "I rather think Willow did."
"Well, get her to give it back. She's stolen things before. I'm not surprised. She's a theif."
Giles frowned. "Well, judging by your experience last night, I think that confronting her wouldn't be wise."
"But my stock's all wonky. It's unsettling."
"Well, we'll sort it out eventually, Anya, but not right now." He took a deep breath. "Now, Tara has been appraised of the situation, and she has assured me that between us, we can keep an eye on Willow, without arousing too much suspicion. She will keep me informed on everything she does -"
Xander shifted in his seat. "Really? Everything?"
Giles shot him a look. "Well, no, there are levels of indecency to which I will try not to stoop, thankyou, Xander. But between last night, and now this, on top of what Tara has been able to tell me, I think it's become evident that Willow really isn't coping. I guess we have all been a little preoccupied with coming to terms with ... And, well, I'm afraid I didn't see that Willow hasn't been able to. Now, the risk is, in her vulnerability, she may become susceptable to outside influences -"
"Like D'Hoffryn?"
"Yes, Anya, that is one possibility. Another, is that she might try a dangerous spell, either to banish or control her emotions - she's tried that before - or even ... Even something to bring Buffy back." Giles wavered slightly, then continued, firmly. "We can't let that happen. The consequences would be ... Well, disasterous. For us, for Willow, and especially for Dawn. And I'm afraid I have to protect Dawn first and foremost. However, we will have to be especially careful what we say in front of Willow. Tara says she has become somewhat tricky to be around."
"So, shut up and pretend to be happy?"
Giles smiled weakly at Xander. "Yes, I suppose, in a nutshell. Thanyou, Xander."
Xander sat back, satisfied at a job well done.
"So, why the general meeting, G-Man? Big Bad?"
"Don't call me that. I, ah, have an announcement to make, and I want to make it to all of you."
"You're going back to England."
Giles started at Xander's sudden perception. "Yes, actually. How did -"
Xander shrugged. "Kind of obvious. Dawn needs a break, away from everything. Plus all that stock Anya says you're ordering. You going for a long time?"
"Well, for a while. I have some business to sort out with the council."
"But it might be permanent?"
"Possibly. But that depends upon a great many things. It's more likely we'll be back within twelve months, but ... But, I don't think Willow should know. About the length of time we'll be gone, I mean. I want to see how she does first."
"What business with the council?"
Giles wrinkled his nose. "They call it a 'debriefing'. A rather unpleasant exercise in council bureaucracy. They like their pound of flesh."
"When did they recall you?"
Giles glanced at Xander. "Ah, almost immediately, actually. I have rather been putting them off."
"Giles ... I have to know. Did they say anything about Dawn, or a next slayer?"
"A slayer? No. As far as I know, there won't be, beyond Faith. And as far as Dawn is concerned -" he glanced at Xander, who was frowning and fiddling with his hands. "- No, I don't think she'll ever be called."
"Good."
Giles nodded.
Steps were suddenly heard outside. The door was flung open, and Giles, Xander and Anya all turned to greet the couple who, mid-bicker, it would seem, were entering the apartment.
"I saw you. You were looking at me in 'that way' again."
"I don't think I was looking a-at you in any way, honey."
"Well I saw something. And it looked a lot like 'oh-oh, Willow's being naughty again'."
Tara held her hands wide in an effort to show her lack of culpability. "I d-don't think you're being naughty, sweetie. I really don't."
"Hey, Will, how's your head?"
Willow grunted, and in a show of petulance, stomped over to an armchair in the corner of the living room and dropped into it. Folding her arms, she scowled at her feet, which were crossed at the ankles.
"H-hey, guys," Tara said, a wan smile directed at the trio.
"Hey Tara, rough morning?"
Tara smiled affectionately, if wearily at Willow. "I think someone's still got a sore head."
Willow closed her eyes and arched her brows innocently. "My head's fine," she said, pouting. Tara crossed the floor and perched on the arm of Willow's chair. She glanced benignly at her, then reached down and stroked her hair gently.
"Poor head," she said.
Willow peeked at Xander, then back at the floor.
"Sorry about the ick factor last night," she said.
Xander shrugged and smiled. "That's okay, Will. You okay now?"
"I think my brain went kablooey."
"I'm not surprised. That's come-uppance for making our flat smell of vomit. I had to buy air fresheners this morning."
"Okay, An," Xander said softly.
Willow flashed Anya a look. With a barbed tone, she shot back, "I'm sorry you had to spend money on my account. I'll pay you back."
Anya held her hand up in resignation. "No," she said. With overt duress, and much implication, she added, "That's okay. It wasn't your fault. Just don't do it again."
Giles coughed and rose from his seat.
"Oh, hi, Giles," said Willow, sheepishly.
"Yeah, hi, Mr Giles," added Tara.
"Thankyou for coming. Can I get you girls' anything?"
Both Willow and Tara shook their heads. Giles took a deep breath. "Right, I ah, have some news -"
"Where's Dawn?," asked Willow.
"- Ah, at her friends, Willow. Ah, as I was saying, I ah, have some news -"
"About whom?"
"- Dawn and I," said Giles, a little irritated. "I need to tell you all something. We're, ah, going on a trip. To England. I have some business there, and I think the break will be of some use to Dawn. She has been much better since we moved back into the apartment, so -"
"Oh, great."
Giles paused and looked at Willow. "I-I'm sorry?"
Willow scowled at the floor. "I mean, you're leaving too? With Dawn? Great. Whoo-hoo."
"Willow, I can hardly do these things by post. Whether I had Dawn to think of or not, I'm afraid I'd still have to go. B-but like I said, it will be good for her, so I will need to rely on you all to bear with me on this one. We will still be able to talk, by phone and what-not. And we will be back. Soon. It's just a visit."
Xander shifted slightly.
Willow looked fiercely at Giles, then sneered, "oh, no, of course you've got to go. I mean, there's nothing for you to stay around here now, is there? Now that Spike is romping around, staking everything that moves, and like we amount to anything."
"Now, Willow, you know that's not fair. I-I'm positive you'll do fine without me. And you know I wouldn't go if it wasn't important."
Willow rose and fairly spat at him. "Fine. Go, Mr Hoity-Toity-I-Can-Swan-In-Here-And-Alter-Your-Lives-Irrevocably-Then-Swan-Off-Again-Going-La-La-La -"
Giles recoiled, shocked. "Willow! Now that's -"
"No, Go! We'll be alright. We'll just stumble along with our lives, like -" Willow screwed her face up. "- Like the last five years of our lives never happened, or, or meant a damned thing!"
With that, Willow pushed blindly for the door, flinging it wide, and ran out of the apartment. The others sat in a stunned silence, listening to her footsteps as she charged up the steps out of the condo.
"Ah, I-I should go after her. I'm sorry she's like this. I-I'll speak to you later." Tara rose and briefly placed a hand on Giles' arm, before following her girlfriend through the front door.
Xander took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, his voice a little shakey. "That could have gone better." He looked at Giles, who, temporarily, was rooted to the spot. "She's not doing too well, is she?"
Giles blinked and smiled briefly at him. "No, I rather think she isn't."
Xander went back to studying his hands. After a while, he said, "I guess none of us are doing that well, are we?"
Giles wandered over to the window. He was silent for a while, then murmered, "no, I don't think we are."
Part 3
Tara ran after the retreating redhead.
"Willow, wait up."
Willow was walking quickly - scuttling would be a good term - with every fifth step or so an attempt to break into a run. When Tara called, however, she slowed, then, wrapping her arms around herself, she stopped. As Tara caught up with her, she saw Willow's shoulders jerk and she knew she was crying.
"Hey, baby, don't cry."
Tara reached out, wanting to take hold of those shoulders; to pull Willow into her embrace, anything that might make the pain go away. But as her hand touched her shoulder, Willow started and jerked away violently.
"Hey!" Now Tara was beginning to lose her temper. Willow finally turned around, and Tara bit her lip. The devastation on her girlfriend's face melted her anger, as it had been doing so for the past few weeks.
Willow had been doing okay, initially. She had coped, even accepting the task of telling Angel; breaking the news that his one time love had died. She had seemed irresolutely strong, but it had been a front. They had arrived back from LA, and the moment they reached their room, Willow fell apart. Maybe it had been the force of bottling up the emotion for those few extra days. Maybe it was simply the full realisation hitting her for the first time. And since then? Well, everything had changed, irrevocably. Willow hit an insurmountable wall: A wall that her normal defences, her way of processing everything that was around her, had no way of breaking down. The others - Giles, Xander, Anya, even Dawn, had been able to move through, in some kind of fashion, and undertake the slow journey towards healing their wounds. But to Willow, left on the other side, everything now became a threat, something new to rip apart and devour the remaining shreds of her ability to cope.
For Tara, it had been, indeed, was simpler: She had to be strong for Willow. When Willow dissolved into a mess of tears, she remained calm. When Willow's fury boiled over, she let it happen, refusing to fight, no matter what the provocation. She understood that Willow wasn't able to control herself, even really be aware of what she was doing and saying. That was the waste-product of grief. It was her soul; trying, in any way it could, to cleanse itself of the pain that tormented it. Eventually, she told herself, it would leave, and her Willow would be back. It had to. It had to, because the alternative was worse: The alternative would be that Willow would finally reach the end of her tether and try something supernatural to rid herself of the pain. In her current state, it would very probably destroy her.
"Oh, sweetie," Tara said. "Why are you doing this?"
Willow screwed up her face and actually stamped her foot. Tara felt an urge to smile creep into her previously sincere and compassionate expression, and she moved closer to her partner, wrapping her arms about her. After a brief, weak resistance, Willow submitted to her embrace and stood shuddering in her arms.
"I'm not doing this," came the muffled reply, from the vicinity of Tara's shoulder.
Tara thinned her lips into a rueful, sympathetic smile. She reached up and stroked Willow's hair.
"Then who is?"
There was a pause, then: "I don't know. Giles, Xander -" Then more decisively, "- Giles. Now he's going away, and taking Dawnie, too. The poop-head."
"Only for a short while."
"No." Willow sniffed again and gently pushed herself away from Tara's embrace. The pale, tear-streaked and solemn face that regarded Tara displayed fear and resignation, but the anger had dissipated - for a time, at least. Willow frowned, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Tara smiled, in spite of herself.
"I don't think he'll - they'll ever come back."
Tara widened her eyes in question. "Why do you say that?"
Willow stepped back slightly and scuffed at a cracked paving stone with her toe.
"'Cause," she said. She paused, grimacing to herself, as she compiled an explanation. "I think, when they get there, Giles will be all 'home, sweet home', 'cause he will be home, and Dawnie will probably enjoy the adventure, and will start to feel better, and then Sunnydale, and us, will just end up seeming like a bunch of bad things that remind her of loosing Buffy." She dropped her voice to a tearful whisper. "I don't want that, Tare. I want us to be good things. Not bad things, you know?" She looked at Tara, seeking validation.
Tara took a deep breath.
"If it makes them feel better, a-and Dawnie finds some happiness, doesn't that make it alright, though? A-and," she added quickly, "I-I think you're wrong about us becoming bad things. To her. She'll always love us, honey."
"But she doesn't even hang with us anymore. It's like we represent all this bad, demony stuff -"
"- You don't know that."
Willow took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped her eyes and affected a smile. Tara felt a sudden urge to start covering her face with kisses; to feel her cool, damp skin beneath her lips: That, somehow, through the effect of attacking, ever so gently, those tears, she would be attacking all the hurt Willow had left inside her. But, if she started, would she be able to stop? It was very possible that she would not. So, she simply smiled warmly back.
"No, I don't know it," Willow said. She paused, then added, "but it scares me. The prospect, I mean. I'm afraid that, once it starts, once people start to leave, it'll be unstoppable, you know? I don't want to be left alone."
I don't want to be (completely) alone, perhaps?
Tara made an "ahhh" face, and cupped Willow's face with her palms. She looked into a pair of fearful green eyes, and said:
"I will never, ever leave you. Do you hear?"
Solemnly, Willow nodded.
"I love you, Willow."
Willow's eyes filled up, and she smiled.
"I love you too," she said, coyly.
Tara grinned and planted a lingering kiss on her mouth. Willow moaned gently, and kissed back, a little harder. When they finally broke, Tara took a step back and looked questingly into her eyes.
"You okay?"
"'Suppose so." She stopped and seemed to consider her answer. "Yes," she finally confirmed.
"Do you want to go back, or go home?"
"I don't know." Willow shuffled slightly. "Do you think we should?"
"It might be nice to go back and say sorry to Mr Giles."
Willow twitched a little grimace in response, then shook her head.
"Do you mind if we go home?"
Tara shrugged. "Sure, honey. Whatever you want."
"I just want to have some 'us' time."
They started to walk towards the campus.
"You mean, you want more smoochies."
"Yeah ..."
"Vixen."
Willow grinned goofishly, eliciting a giggle from Tara.
*
- Lips following behind the gentlest caresses.
Gentle, because fingers can bruise: Nails can scour furrows, just as lips can be crushed against the ivory of your teeth: But I choose not to.
And if I ask you to, don't worry: I'm just hurting myself. Pain is a transgression I want to welcome: To slip into its measured touch.
We bear pain to get pain out. I think I heard something similar in a song, once.
Love doesn't understand. It demands, but can only comprehend the simple transaction: We make love to express love, to feel love. To feel anything but this. And yet ... You look at me in confusion, because you can't understand where my need comes from. Pain is my salvation from a pain of a different kind. You don't understand, because you have forgotten. How long has it been? A few short years and somehow love and happiness have blinded you from understanding. I look at you and there is so much love, it crushes me. I can't help feeling that I am drowning, and you're there, trying to save me, dear, sweet Tara, and I'm pulling you down with me: Two victims, when there should only be one. -
The campus was silent. Only a few stayed there over the holidays, though the rents were cheap enough.
Willow glanced a little guiltily back at the bathroom door. Across the hall, Tara would be padding around their dorm room, doing all those tiny, Tara-things that drove Willow to a joyous abstraction - wild with love and lust. Tearing herself away, she turned back to the mirror before her. A wan reflection looked back. She reached up and touched her cheek with tentative fingers.
Tara had brushed that cheek, just now and, almost imperceptibly, sighed:
"So thin."
Had she meant for her to hear?
But Willow heard, and she reacted badly. She hadn't wanted to: They still had a thin veil of perspiration from their love making on their skins. They still had their limbs locked gently around each other, intertwined. Sensations they would only be truely aware of, when they broke their embrace: The arch of a foot sliding over the contour of a calf; shins so well fitted, they could have been engineered so, gliding against one another; coy glances and cooed, one-word declarations while fingers find eloquence in the ridge where a hip tumbles into a thigh.
But she hadn't wanted to hear that comment - a comment that had the power to break into her reverie. No matter how gentle in utterance. It was a judgement, and judgements weren't what she needed right now. Not immediately before this: The time was here. The time for a decision to be made. Which course to be taken.
So, Willow had extricated herself from their embrace as demurely and self-effacingly as possible, collected both sponge bag and dressing gown and come out here. Now it was okay. She could find objectivity: Reassurances from the way her bare feet on the cool tiled floor cleared her head, and the way the clicking of the door latch had become a promise of denouements found.
Okay, so, Tara was right: She was thin. She wasn't eating. Tara would look at her, as she found new ways to shrug off her dinner almost every night, maybe fishing around in a cupboard for a packet of chips instead. Then Tara would get cross with her. I mean, Good Lord, there was nothing of her anyway. All that stuff.
It didn't mean anything. Right now, she didn't care. Willow thinned her lips and frowned resolutely at her reflection.
"I don't care."
Possibly the only nihilistic thing she had ever said. That revelation surprised her. It almost delighted her.
She glanced down at the Formica surface that housed the line of sinks in front of her. Around the most adjacent sink, she had placed three objects: They were a small, tarnished silver amulet; a scuffed diary, with the year 1998 embossed in fake gold lettering on the front; and a photograph; slightly crumpled, of Buffy, Xander and Giles. All three were seated on and around the table that had sat at the heart of the High School library. All three with cheesy, optimistic grins plastered across their faces. It was taken the year they had discovered each other; the year they'd been thrown together by a mad fortune that had somehow enriched their lives beyond recognition, or possible return.
Enriched. Now, that was a funny way of looking at it.
If you had the choice, Will, would you go back and change it all?
Willow glanced first at the photo, then at the bathroom door, then back at the photo. She reached out and gently touched each of the figures in turn. She took a deep breath.
"No," she murmured. "No, I wouldn't." Another breath, then, more resolutely, "no, sir."
She picked up the amulet, looked at it severely for amoment, then, with a grim smile, stuffed it back into her wash bag.
Voices stirred, murmuring like a faint breeze inside her. She could just hear them, if she remained perfectly still. Willow closed her eyes and cocked her head to one side, listening, wearing a quizzical expression. Her breathing slowed until she seemed barely to breathe at all. She stood, pale and slightly gaunt in the waxy glow of the fluourescent tubes. The voices ebbed and surged through her in sighing waves, coaxing her, caressing her, advising her. She could feel that need, coiled up in her belly, begin to stir. It crawled under the surface of her skin and lodged in her mind. It took her desires and devoured them, feeding its own. It surrounded itself with questions, yet outstripped them. Its scales hurt her, scoured her, but she welcomed it when it was awake and missed it while it slept. It had been there forever. It was here now, and it had answers.
It knew what to do.
Part 4
Tara glanced up as Willow entered their dorm. She had been lying on their bed, a paperback poised, thumb hooked between the pages, waiting for Willow to return.
"You okay?"
Willow smiled effusively in answer. Tara, surprised, blinked back.
"Yep," she said. She sounded ... Perky. Tara blinked again. Willow was perky.
Willow tossed her washbag onto an empty chair, and dropped onto the bed next to her. "Fine," she said. Tara looked at her, then reached out to brush a few strands of stray hair from her girlfriend's face.
"S-sure?" She ventured.
Willow looked at her with big, innocent eyes. "Yep," she confirmed again, bobbing her head in affirmation. "Had a big talk to self." She nodded in agreement to this, then lowered her gaze to where her fingers had discovered a pull in the duvet cover.
Suddenly, she peered coyly at Tara through her lashes. "I realised I have been prickly gal to everyone, and, you know -" she paused to roll her eyes for emphasis, then continued. "Especially you, Tare. I haven't been a good girlfriend. I ... I had to work some things out. Just stuff I needed to get straight in my head, you know? But, I've been snippy gal and I'm sorry -" She caressed the side of Tara's face with her knuckle. They were now lying, facing one another, propped up on their elbows.
"- I guess I probably scared you; thinking, maybe I was going to do something stupid, like a spell -" She shrugged, then continued, "- something you might disapprove of, or ... Or hate me for ..." She trailed off and looked into Tara's eyes, seeking reassurance.
Tara smiled and leant forwards to kiss the tip of Willow's nose. "No," she said, "you could never do anything that would make me hate you."
Was that confirmation, or a challenge?
"I-I love you, Willow. You are the most precious thing to me. I was just ... Scared: That you might hurt yourself."
Willow smiled sweetly. "Well, you don't have to worry. No hurting, unless -" she grinned mischeivously, leant forwards and nibbled at Tara's adjacent shoulder, peering at her coquettishly as she did so "... But definitely non-scary from now on. Of any kind. I promise."
Tara giggled. "What about hurting Xander's carpet?"
Willow feigned an expression of the unjustly accused. "Oh, you promised. I didn't mean to -"
Tara laughed and poked Willow in the ribs. Willow squealed - a little loudly - and collapsed onto her back. She suppressed a giggle. "I made Anya mad."
Tara sniggered, then forced a reproachful look at her lover. "Don't be naughty."
"Was she mad last night?"
"'Apoplectic with rage' would be a better term."
Willow dissolved into shrieks of laughter, while Tara, wearing an amused expression, wagged her finger at her. Eventually, the giggles subsided, and Willow looked at Tara through a mess of red hair. "I'm sorry I put you through that, though Tare. A-and Xander. Poor Xander. His poor carpet. Maybe I should buy him a rug to cover it up ..?"
Tara just looked at her.
"Okay. But, I promise; this girl's having no more drink."
Tara raised an eyebrow. "Good. You smelled this morning."
"I did not!"
Tara reached across to tickle Willow, who flapped ineffectually at her invading hand. "Did, too!"
A little later, they were lying on their backs, gazing at the ceiling. Luminous sticky-star versions of The Big Pineapple and Short Man Looking Uncomfortable gazed benevolently down at them.
"Poor Xand. Bet he thought my days of barfing on his carpet were over."
Tara looked at her. "You often barf on his carpet?"
Willow shrugged. "When we were little. I was kind of a barfy kid, until I was about ten. Probably had more to do with the sweet-orgies, though."
"S-sweet orgies?"
"Yeah. Mom was kinda anti-sweets - 'they rot your teeth' - but Xander was kind of a sweetaholic. There was always lots of candy at his place, and it was always 'Will - have some', and I would, and go into this sweet-eating frenzy -" she broke off and grimaced. "- A-and then would come the barf-frenzy. I was always doing these big sweetie-burps on his carpet."
"A-ah, Will? Imagery getting a bit graphic."
"Sorry." Willow pondered a moment. "Problem was, like, when I was little, I wasn't much good at knowing when I was gonna barf, so, I wasn't too good with my aim, a-and, 'cause I'm pale already, it's kinda difficult for other people to guess when, either, 'cause -" she shrugged again. "- can't get much paler, so. Got so Xander would get all jittery as soon as I looked at a candy bar. Then Xander's Mom and my Mom decided on a sweet ban, and that settled that. One of the only times his Mom and mine actually agreed on something."
"How did you and Xander become friends? I-I mean, you've always been friends -"
"Oh, well, I think it was our Moms. I'm not sure, really; Xander was always just there. Mom's kind of a 'help the needy' sort of person. Likes to get involved, and I guess Xander's Mom looked kinda needy. But I think it might also have been a bit of survival, you know? We were new, I think, and new towns aren't always the most welcoming places ... Xander's family have been here for, like, ages, but," she shrugged. "Just, you know, 'the wrong side of the tracks', if ya know what I mean. Xander and I never really talked about it. It was always there, and we always had each other, so we could survive at school and stuff, but I don't think we ever tried to articulate it in any way. I think Xander has always been a bit sensitive about it, I guess."
"And you..?"
Willow shrugged, frowned, then replied; "me? No, not really. I am what I am. I think because I loved school so much, from the learning side, I had a release from that point of view." She smiled, eyed locked on a distant point, just to the left, and beyond the Moose-Having-a-Bath constellation. "I always had this big dream, that I would be doing something real significant with my life, doing exciting stuff. At least, as I thought then, my academic abilities would give me a chance of maybe achieving that. Xander didn't have that, so the jibes hurt more. Sometimes, I think that the Fabulous Ladies Night Club will be the farthest point he'll ever reach, away from Sunnydale."
"F-fabulous Ladies Night Club?"
Willow grinned. "A trip Xander took after graduating. Got as far as this club, and he won't share the rest. There were male strippers -"
Tara looked at her, incredulous. "A-and Xander -?"
Willow laughed. "I think he maybe ended up standing in for one of them. He won't tell. I've tried, lots of times. He just goes all blushy behind the ears and threatens pain."
Tara rolled her eyes at the thought. "Wow. You know, I bet Anya -"
Willow wrinkled her nose. "- No, I mean, I expect she does, but I wouldn't ask, you know?"
They carried on gazing at the ceiling.
"I think one of the Big Pineapples' stars has fallen off," Tara said.
"Mmmmm." A pause. "Tara?"
"Yes?"
"Maybe I will buy a rug. A nice patterny one."
Tara looked at her, wondering whether she was being serious.
"Yeah, with a note: 'Sorry I barfed on your rug'. A nice patterny one would hide future stains."
Tara caught a naughty smile flit over the red head's mouth. "Willow -"
"Maybe I can get Xander to jitter. He's cute when he jitters. All flinchy. Hey, might be fun to get Anya all jittery." She produced a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
"You are a bad girl, Willow Rosenburg."
Willow rolled onto her side, and snuggled into Tara.
"Yeah," she crooned, burying her face into her girlfriend's shoulder. "But you love me really."
Tara smiled and smoothed Willow's hair.
"Yes, baby. I love you," she said.
"Mmmm, goody."
Later, when they had clambered beneath the covers, and Willow had finally drifted off to sleep, Tara slipped out of bed and padded silently over to Willow's wash bag. With one eye on her sleeping lover (she wanted to use the word paramour; its original meaning would have suited the red head perfectly. She sighed. She hated the way language got so twisted), she unzipped the bag and looked cautiously inside. As she opened the bag, however, a small cloud of dust puffed up into her face, and dispersed with a muted pop. Instantly, the room was filled with a sweet, cloying incense. Startled, Tara dropped the bag and wafted her hands at the cloud, which was now expanding into a thick blanket of fog. However, her inadvertant gasp, made as she dropped the bag, had caused her to breathe in a quantity of the dust; the ensuing sensation was something akin to inhaling the contents of a sherbet straw. With her senses now exploding, she launched herself at the largest cushion in a pile that lay on the floor, burying her face into it, as a wave of violent sneezing overtook her.
When she had regained her self control, Tara glanced worriedly back at Willow. She was still, apparently asleep. She was lying on her front, one leg hooked over the covers, cuddled into them. Her face was pushed into her pillow, scrunching her face, and her mouth was slightly open. Tara leaned closer. She was burbling to herself.
"... Anya, stop with the Glade it's your seventeenth can you must have a problem ... Ugh, frogspawn's in the glade now you're gonna make barf on your shoes don't spank me for telling I'm just helping he did it with sweets so I'm telling Mom ..."
Tara smiled in relief. Normal sleepy-Willow-babble, then.
She stood up and looked around. She went to the window and opened it as wide as it would go. Picking up a folder, she gently wafted at the fog that was now swirling in lazy clouds about the room. As she worked, she examined the interplay of moonlight on the glittering motes. She recognised the spell, or rather; the parts that she had taught Willow - particularly effective in candle light - although Willow had, once again, tinkered with it, to adapt it to her needs. She almost smiled - how like her, to make something like a protection spell pretty.
With the air clearing slowly, she turned back to the wash bag, now lying on its side on the floor.
Willow must have booby-trapped the bag. So, that laid a foundation to Tara's suspicions. The one thing about her that really stood out, that made her so endearing, in a way, was her honesty, and the fact that she was utterly unable to tell a lie. She had teased Willow about it at times, but now, for her to even attempt to be this devious, Tara guessed that she must be planning something really serious. She had made a good fist of it, too, telling lots of half truths, as a way to assuage her conscience:
I had to work things out ...
Tara fished around in the bag, and found the three objects that were out of place. She frowned, and picked up the amulet. She looked at the dull metal symbol and felt her stomach knot. Maybe Giles was wrong ... She looked at the other items: A photograph; one which she had seen before - it was a favourite of Willow's - obviously harmless; and a diary. She glanced furtively at the first page. She knew the writing wasn't Willow's. She read further, moving over to perch on the edge of a nearby chair.
"January 1st: My first entry of the year, and I have to rant about Dawn. Arrrgh!!! She's been back from Dad's for less than two days, and already I'm ready to go psycho girl on her -"
So, this is Buffy's diary. Curious, Tara read on.
"- I swear, she must sit in that room, thinking of ways to get under my skin. If only I could find a big pit, full of vampire's ... Ooh, yah, that would be *so* good.
Willow's back from San Fran, so went over. Will was a bit twitchy, to say the least. Tried to watch Ben Hur on her tv, but couldn't concentrate, 'cause she was fidgeting so much. Willow didn't say much - she doesn't talk that much about her family - I didn't even know she had an uncle in SF, until she said - uh, how stupid am I getting? - And when I asked her how it was, she made a face and said they were "orthodox". Does that mean they're kind of traditional? I read somewhere (I think), they wear little hats. I think her Uncle kept asking her about what she was reading - so not a good idea, to disturb her when she's reading - or something. Anyway, I tried to be supporto gal. Asked her whether Oz had called, and she got really wiggy. He hadn't. Said that word again. For someone who looks so innocent, that girl sure knows some language. Anyway, seemed like anything I said, just made things worse. So not good. Decided to go to Xander's. Met Sheila on the stairs. She seemed to flinch at Willow's outfit, but didn't say anything. Called me "Bunny" again. Ah, well. Willow said she'd been buying outfits for her again. Brown, apparently. I think Willow's trying to shock her Mom. I must say, she looked real cute today - kind of like a purple and yellow striped bumble bee, although her hat was a bit extreme. Bit like one of Giles' tea cozies.
Anyway, got to Xander's and found him sitting on his porch - his folks were fighting again, poor bear. Trooped over to Giles'. Found him reading a book - can't remember what, he did try to tell me - so we decided that he must need cheering up, so Xander did the Snoopy dance - that cheered up Will, who got all giggly again - and then proceeded to go through Giles' record collection, to find stuff we could laugh at. Xander upset Giles a bit, when he was doing this English accent, taking off this band called The Who, which were playing, and Giles said he had no idea what he was talking about - apparently, The Who were "the greatest live rock'n'roll act in the world" - when, I have no idea, when this song, called Morris the Spider, or something came on, which, of course, made Xander rib him all the more ..."
Tara smiled, and carefully put the diary back. She guessed that it was there for the same reason as the photograph.
But the amulet? Tara glanced at Willow, who was now slumbering quietly, although, judging by the drool that was beginning to puddle on her pillow, she was about to go onto the lip-smacking stage any time now. So, what could she do about the amulet? She couldn't take it. Willow was bound to notice the residual fragrance when she awoke, and if she discovered Tara had lifted it, then things might get a bit hairy. Obviously, the amulet was the reason for the spell in the first place. But, if she left it in place, and didn't say anything until she had consulted Giles, then that might give Willow a chance to use it. That was a big risk, especially if Willow realised Tara was onto her, having triggered the spell, and bring her plans forward.
Tara took a deep breath. There was no use hiding about this. Willow was obviously about to use it for something, so why not just front it out? See what she said? Would she be able to remain calm?
Tara eased herself back into the armchair, and looked for a long time at the sleeping form of her girlfriend. She knew she was going to have to continue being strong for the both of them. She understood what was at stake here. Tara's schooling in witchcraft had come hand in hand, and very gradually, with a firm view of the ethics involved. Nothing happened without a price. It was a cliche often crassly employed, but it had its uses. Maybe she hadn't fully appreciated its worth until she met Willow. Willow had come so far, so fast, and without any real insight as to the consequences. Her innate sense of curiosity over ruled any notions of danger or impropriety. It was one thing playing with roses, or making glittery dust motes, but now that Willow was capable of so much more ... And power could do strange things to people. It was really impossible to tell just how corruptible a person was, until they already had the power in their hands, by which time, it was often too late to prevent a significant amount of damage. That thought terrified her. And even if that fact proved, in Willow's case, to be unfounded, then the next fact was at least indisputable: Corruptible, or not, she had a great capacity for doing the wrong things for the noblest of reasons. Like showing that history of witchcraft book to Dawnie, after her Mum had died. Willow had just been distressed at Dawn's pain, and the fact that Dawn had snubbed her. She wanted to make it better.
For an intelligent girl, she had her moments. Maybe it was the fact that she had spent so much time around danger, that she had become a bit blase about it all. What she had done for her; restoring her mind, going up against Glory, was brave, and wonderful, and really stupid. It gave Tara nightmares. She didn't want Willow risking herself like that.
Willow was also staring down the barrel of loosing the one thing that had really defined her. As precious as she obviously was to Willow, Tara was under no illusions that the Scoobies had offered a degree of salvation to Willow: It had given her a role, a part; allbeit hidden, in a society that had spent her first sixteen years rejecting her. And she had embraced it, shaped her life to fit its pattern. She had even shaped Tara's life, so that they could be compatible. Tara loved her so much, that she had allowed herself to get wrapped up in it too, but she knew love had more than greased the cogs for her. But Willow was there, hook, line and sinker. Bridges burnt, boats scuppered.
But without Buffy, the group would inevitably cease to exist. Without their focus, the rest would splinter - it was already happening. And in the aftermath, what would Willow do? She relied on it, no matter how much she whinged about it from time to time. It fed her. It had brought her out of the shadows - of her Mother, her peers at school, gave her a sense of place and worth ...
Tara began to drift off, with these, and other thoughts in her mind. Her last thought was:
How will it affect us?
Part 5
She opened her eyes.
Just that; nothing more - her body responding with a perfunctory minimalism to her unconscious desire to awaken. She found herself in essentially the same position she'd taken when the ether of sleep had claimed her: Neatly folded into the armchair, facing the bed. It was light outside, though still early, and a dewy freshness wafted lazily through the open window. She sighed, grateful to the immutability and dreamlessness that had accompanied deep sleep, banishing the concerns of the previous night.
The object of her preoccupation was still there, curled into a mess of duvet. Tara remained immobile; wallowing in a moment of peace, drinking in the sight. Willow had pulled the duvet into her body, exposing the edges of the mattress. She had crooked a large quantity around her shoulder and under her chin, so that from this angle, the only visible features were the tip of her nose and a shock of slightly curly red hair that sprawled over the pillow. From the depths of the covers, Tara could hear a gentle snoring, accompanied occasionally by a conversational murmur.
Tara blinked and proceeded to uncoil herself from the chair. Considering the duration spent in the cramped dimensions of her local, her movements were surprisingly supple. Perched briefly on the edge of the chair, she stretched, elbows aloft, arching her spine, eyes squeezed shut. Then, with a feline deftness that was appreciated through one eye by the occupant of a fold of duvet between Willow's feet, Tara stepped across to the bed and slipped between the covers. Miss Kitty Fantastico (still, and irrevocably stuck without a 'proper' name) raised her head enough to glare at the instigator of her now unstable bed, then, once the tremors had subsided, tucked her nose beneath a paw, and fell asleep again.
Tara inched her body carefully up to Willow's. The red head moaned briefly, then settled back into a rhythmic snoring. Tara gazed at her intently, tiny smiles playing across her face, as she took in her girlfriend's features from her new vantage point. She could now see a little more, down as far as her chin, which was scrunched tightly into the covers. Her position was unequivocally Willowesque: The invading coolness belied the fact that certain young women had a penchant for snuggling, regardless of temperature; the resulting under-cover heat often ejected Tara, semi-cooked. Willow's system of temperature regulation was simplicity in itself: She simply stuck her bottom out, hooking her leg over the covers until she'd cooled sufficiently. Then, in one murmuring movement, all would slip beneath the waves of cotton and quilted calico, filled with once-hollow fibres that became saturated with Willowscent, to be gradually released when the covers were pulled back to air.
With a mischievous grin, Tara took a lock of her own hair, and began drawing a series of calligraphic half-moons across Willow's brow. Her skin flickered beneath the caresses, and she let out a faint mewl, while attempting to snuggle further into the covers. Tara's smile widened, as she transcribed a path in wisping strokes, down the ridge of Willow's nose, eliciting greater and more persistent whimpers. Reaching the end of her nose, Tara drew a circle around the tip with a flourish, then, with the very tips of her hair, she tickled the underside.
This was too much: Willow scrunched up her face and wiggled her nose, attempting to dislodge the tickle. A hand, half curled like a new shoot, emerged from the covers and flapped blindly against her face.
Tara chuckled and stopped. As the breath from her laugh touched Willow's face, the hand stopped flapping and she smiled; drawing in a deep breath, before settling down once more. This time, however, she began to murmur in her sleep:
"Willow ... It's Willow now, Mother. I've changed, see?"
Tara blew gently onto Willow's face. That little smile appeared again, but with more recognition this time.
"Mmmm."
Willow's eyes fluttered briefly open, then closed again. She sighed and snuggled further into the covers.
"Hey, sleepyhead."
Willow opened one eye and peered drowsily at Tara. She smiled.
"Hey," she crooned sleepily.
"You dreaming, sweetie?"
Willow leaned back, and brought her elbow up in a partial stretch, careful not to disturb the warmth trapped beneath the covers. A lock of hair flopped across her face and she blinked, huffing at her nose, trying to blow it away. Tara reached up and gently set it back into place.
"Yeah," Willow said, in answer to Tara's question. She suddenly stopped, and grimaced, adding, "ugh. It was spidery." She frowned, trying to remember. "A spider was dancing on my face -"
Tara looked at her, eyes sparkling. She sucked in her lips and ran them over her teeth, hiding a smile.
"Go on," she said.
"- Well, I blatted it away, and it hopped onto a chair - it either grew, or it was a very small chair - and it threw spitballs at me. Oh, and then it started quoting Kafka, which, believe me, was worse."
"Kafka?" Tara asked, straining to prevent her diaphragm from rupturing.
"- Mmmm. It said - it had my Mom's voice, only, you know, more spidery -" She rolled her eyes, her mouth set into a little ironic moue, as though all Kafka-quoting spiders had to have her mother's voice. "- 'Gregor: It's a quarter to seven. Weren't you going to catch the train?' -"
"- Was that when you said you'd changed your name to Willow?"
Willow frowned. "Oh. I was talking in my sleep?"
Tara grinned and said, "you always talk in your sleep, honey. Mostly, it's just Willowbabble.."
Willow pouted. "'Willowbabble'?"
Tara smiled. "T-that's what I call it. It's sweet."
Willow chose to remain sceptical. "Anyway," she continued, "that's not the last of it. It was - obviously - a nasty hybrid of something out of Metamorphoses and The Naked Lunch - Mom-spider was all pink and splotchy - and I'm so jumping for joy that we had to read those two books for 'modern lit.' last year - oh." She suddenly stopped and peered at herself beneath the covers. "Oh," she said again, more vehemently. She looked up and whispered indignantly, "it was wearing my pyjamas. That's why it was pink and splotchy." She harrumphed. "Now they're tainted by Mom-spiders."
Tara smiled at her. Awake for thirty seconds, and already that brain was performing cartwheels.
Willow suddenly squinted at Tara, noticing her close proximity for the first time: She was lying, with her face barely inches from hers.
"Watchya doin', Tare-bear?"
"Jus' watchin'," she replied. "Looking at the most gorgeous girl in the world."
Willow widened her eyes innocently, then turned and peered behind her. When she rolled back, she said;
"Where? If there's a cute girly in the room, I wanna oogle, too."
Tara grinned. "You, silly." She suddenly caught the implication of what Willow had said, and changed her expression to one of indignance. "You oogle cute girlies?"
Willow, caught, spluttered and back-pedalled. "Oh, no, Tare. No 'oogling'. That would be bad. Very bad." She showed her disapproval and shook her head. "A-anyway, I would only look at cute girlies while fighting them off my Tara. Not that I could fight right now, 'cause my hands are tingly: Sleep tingles aren't much good for pugilism," she finished.
Tara looked at her, amused. "You'd fight her? Fisticuffs an'all?"
Willow nodded resolutely. "Yes. No-one's getting my Tare-bear. Resolve face." She pouted and stuck her chin out. Tara chuckled and began kissing her face. Willow's expression melted into one of bliss under the tender onslaught.
"Mmmm. You missed a bit."
"Where? I-I was being very thorough."
Willow gave a cheeky grin and leaned forward and kissed Tara on the mouth. The kiss lasted a long time. When they finally broke, Willow rolled onto her back, smiling blissfully, and inhaled deeply. As she did so, the flicker of a frown flitted across her face.
She's smelt the residual from the spell, Tara thought.
"Ah, honey? I-I have a confession to make." Tara rolled over and quickly got out of bed. She didn't look at Willow, wanting to avoid the anticipated reaction. She crossed to their chest of drawers and opened the lid of her teak jewellery box.
"You see, I was getting worried last night. I-I thought you might b