The Garland Days
Author’s note: This story is set in 1967. I have taken a LOT of liberty with the Buffy storyline. History, I have left alone…mostly.
It was pointed out to me by a friend, that I could write a much longer, more meaningful story about the subject/subjects this story involves. This is true, of course. But what I first imagined this story to be was two things: a brief but heartfelt thank you to those who gave up so much in the past. And a W/T love story…preferably ending with smut. The thank you, I hope, honors the courage of those who came before us. The love story, I also hope, honors them too. It is not a comprehensive thank you, nor a detailed exploration of the past…it’s just a glimpse. I hope no one is offended by that.
One more thing: In the wake of September 11, I feel a little guilty writing a story that makes police officers seem like anything less than heroes. I believe they are. But they are also a group of human beings, and unfortunately bigotry and abuse of power are very human traits. MANY people, back in the day, believed homosexuality was wrong and should be punished or medically treated. This does not mean I think that many or even ALL police officers agreed with or acted on those sentiments. Nonetheless, the events that I have written about here are based on historical fact.
Title: The Garland Days
Part: 1/9
Email address: mariacomet@hotmail.com
Feedback: Feedback is fuel for the imagination.
Distribution: Just let me know.
Spoilers: Everything before and including season five.
Rating: NC-17. There will be…Adult situations. I deal with some very dark themes as well as some very light themes.
Disclaimer: All characters contained herein were created and are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Legally, yes he owns them all. But I have the right to hold the opinion that he doesn’t deserve them anymore. I am only doing this because well...it's fun to play with Willow and Tara. Not making any money.
Special Thanks: This one is for: The kittens of the past, the drag queens, anyone who has ever been called a ‘faggot,’ a ‘homo’ or anything else derogatory for being who you are, the transsexuals, and all those that have ever dared to not conform to what was ‘normal.’
Very Special thanks: Also…to the mcmittens…who are a darn patient bunch. As a writer, I find that there are very few ways that I can thank you all save...er...writing. So what I decided to do was...um...write. Write a little something besides Stone Circle, that was shorter and not quite as intensive. And that had smut. I *would* send you all chocolates, but ya know...I'm broke.
May, 1967
It was a bad idea all the way around. But Sabrice, Sabby to her friends, had insisted. Which was why Tara now found herself trying to blend into the wall at one of the vilest, loudest, most backwater places she could have ever dreamed of. She considered herself to have a vivid imagination and she didn’t really need it because she’d also heard all the stories about this place. Yet she’d still been unprepared. Somehow her image of a place women would willingly gather didn’t involve somewhere infested with bugs, and smelling of a mixture of old beer and stale perfume. The floor was sticky, and the walls weren’t much better.
Tara wasn’t a snob, and had never been a prude. Reserved maybe, never a prude though. But she’d been surprised. This was where Sabby came every weekend? Sabby, whose idea of roughing it was wearing faux pearls instead of her real ones? Looking around, she thought to herself again that she was surprised that anyone – especially women – willingly came here. But that was the point, wasn’t it? It was why her friend was so adamant about frequenting her usual weekend spot, despite the trouble as of late. ‘Willingly’ didn’t enter into it; that would have implied choice. Dive or no dive, this place represented a public place where lesbians could meet openly. There were two places like this one in town – the other was mostly tolerant of anyone who had money – no matter what their preference. But this one, was more of an unofficial gay bar. Unofficial because officially places like this didn’t exist. It would be illegal, after all. Still, no one who came here wanted a ‘straight’ encounter. And most of the people who came were women.
But the police had been ‘cracking down,’ Sabby had noted. Usually she didn’t come here
alone. Usually one of Tara and Sabby’s two other roommates would have been happy to come with her. But this weekend, there was only Tara who was around. Tara – the quiet one of the four of them. Here she was, though. Because she wasn’t about to let her friend and roommate come alone. Not with all that was happening. All that had happened.
Everyone knew the story. The police had ‘arrested’ a few women from the bar. Only these women had never actually made it to the police station. All of them had been released just a few hours later. One beaten within an inch of her life…and the others…well, they hadn’t said too much. They hadn’t had to. Others had heard the policemen’s laughing voices detailing exactly what the women ‘needed’ as they loaded the ‘suspects’ into their cars.
Everyone knew the story.
Everyone knew what had happened...
And yet the entire bar was packed. As usual. In her heart, Tara thanked every single one of these women, grateful for them – knowing inside herself that she owed them. That many others might owe them…later.
So here she was.
She noted the division of strict butches and femmes that her friend had warned her about. Butches with short hair, some with ties, some in leather – the ones who were supposed to be the aggressors. They were, Tara had been told, the ‘males’ and rulers of this environment. Many had even declared turfs, and would fight to keep them if necessary.
The femmes sat, waiting, many of them looking over to some of the butches who were leaning up against the wall, and giggling softly.
Tara sighed. She didn’t fit in here. Not even here. Not really. Her clothes, if one was being kind, would be called ‘frumpy.’ She was in slacks and a bulky sweater. She didn’t qualify as a butch or a femme. Plus, she didn’t want to be pursued which might have been why she wore them… Subconscious choice? In fact, she hated when strangers were aggressive around her. She never knew how to react to that sort of thing. And there was the stutter. Also, she had this nervous, winding-the-ends-of-her-blond-hair-around-her-finger thing going on.
Sabby, who was decidedly a femme, had been the cause of a fight between two butches a few weeks ago. She’d relayed the story with a few squeals of delight. Tara didn’t want anyone fighting over her. All in all, she didn’t want to be noticed at all. She was sitting alone, which didn’t help. Her friend had deserted her about thirty minutes ago. Which she had expected if she was honest… Because Sabby was just a year old, gay wise, and sometimes….when you discovered something about yourself, you really enjoyed the whole process of the discovering. Tara’s journey to knowledge had been much quieter. She’d had a dream. A series of dreams, really.
Soft arms surrounding her, soft hands running down her pale back. Eyes…she couldn’t place the shade of green. Lighter than emerald. She felt her breath catch involuntarily. Remembering the dreams, now silent for over five years, always did that to her. She’d never actually acted on any of her inclinations toward women. She’d been tempted a few times…but then an image of the eyes would hover in her mind and she knew… She was in love with a pair of kind eyes that floated in the distance. There was no substituting the fiery, loving gaze that had been gifted to her in the dream. Nothing matched the feel of those arms, slender and strong. The warmth there was so real. There was something about the warmth of someone holding you – mind, body and soul. Safe, so safe. So safe you could burn and twist in that fire as you never had before. So protected, you could reach a place where nothing – not sound, not emotion, not thought - was held back.
She was lonely for a heart she’d only met when she was sleeping. That was her life: sleeping. Withdrawn from the world. Or it had been. She’d decided to leave. To leave and go to college. Not that there were all that many opportunities for women outside the home. Women were still very much expected to raise children, and stay in the kitchen. It was the natural order of things, many believed, for the female of the species to serve the male. Which, perhaps, was why so many of them were threatened by a place like the one she sat in. There was an unspoken suggestion in it’s existence that women could have and hold their power outside of the permissions of men. It mattered in a million small ways.
One of Tara’s gifts was vision. Both mystically…and…well… just the plain, logical ability to see. The Second World War had been over for just twenty-two years. It had changed the face of the workplace. It had put ideals and theory into practice. Maybe timing was everything, or maybe women had truly earned the respect of even the more stubborn of their cohabitants in America. Maybe both. The 19th Amendment had passed just forty or so years before a war that would require many men leave home to fight for their country, leaving home to be maintained by those left behind. Not that all women had stayed home. And perhaps, they too, were changers of more than they knew. Grit went a long way. Tara smiled softly in a memory. Her grandmother had used to say that.
The same grandmother who gave her the doll’s eye crystal and told her about magic. Not her Daddy’s favorite relative.
Tara Maclay was a witch. She didn’t let anyone know that though. Her grandmother had warned her not to be fooled, had instructed her to use her vision to see clearly what was, not what she hoped could be.
Beneath everything in a changing world, there was fear. Men saw roles changing, and though they might be helpless to stop the avalanche, many would try. Try with all their might and all their strength. Others would sit by, silently, hoping they succeeded, even if they didn’t raise a finger themselves.
It was a very…volatile time.
Tara could see it, and she worried for her friend because maybe… Maybe she didn’t see it quite so clearly. More than that, she had told herself in a pep talk before coming here, she wanted to be part of what was happening. She wanted to be, in her own small way, one of the brave ones who changed things. It was risky to come out to one of these bars. There were often men outside ready to taunt, or throw things at the patrons. If they were lucky. Sometimes they did more. There were police who invoked minor sodomy laws on many gay men, and tried to use fear and dominance against lesbians. Tara knew, she’d sat in on several meetings in the city. She attended them regularly, helping to make flyers, and pass them out. Helping to set up chairs before a meeting and take them down afterwards. She kept herself as knowledgeable as she could. But she didn’t think she’d done much to fight, to change things. Not really.
Small steps, she supposed.
And being single.
A non-practicing lesbian. Did that even exist? Did it make any sense?
Well, she sighed to herself, at least she had her books. Lesbian novels had just started coming out a few years ago. They always went the same way. Girl leaves boy. Girl is seduced by girl. Girl dies…or goes back to boy. There was never a happy ending - not for the two women. Love was never enough. The stories were...something though. A depiction of romance – even though it was a tragic romance. Something…like her life. Something like her feelings. Something…that validated the way she felt. The books always left her feeling disquieted and sad. But she had a stack of them, and read each one that she could find.
There had to be more than that, of course. So she told herself, but with so few examples around her – it felt like more of a wish than a reality. A hope she held close, held tight. She believed many of the women around her felt the same. They had no guarantees, none of them. They were trying to pave a road many people didn’t even want to exist, one they had been told again and again led to ruin, pain and death. But they refused to believe. That did not mean they disbelieved. Only that they hoped. Hoped there was more.
More than now. More than the thousand little ways you could be punished if you were ‘different.’ Gays and lesbians could expect entrapment from the police. The psychiatric community labeled them as psychopaths. The government banned any such moral perverts from serving in a government job, or the military. Homosexual publications could be ‘held’ by sudden enforcement of the Comstead Act. But things were changing. Meetings were held. Publications did make it out. People were speaking, refusing to be silenced.
Tara wasn’t so good with the speaking out. But she could sit in a bar that had been the subject of police harassment and look after her friend. That she could do.
***********************
Willow Rosenberg was a reporter, and a damn fine reporter at that. It was just…well…no one knew it. They all would, she told herself time and time again. Sooner or later. Just as soon as her editor-in-chief got his head out of the very dark place it was located, and looked twice at one of her independent stories.
Which would be soon.
No, really.
It could even be tomorrow.
And then she would escape – the “Woman are Lovely” beauty column. Her bane. Her tribulation. Her column. It wasn’t that there were NO women reporters. It was just that they were rare. Alright, rare she could work with, she had assured herself of that when choosing journalism. Rare just meant ‘try harder’ after all.
Four years later, she was at her wits’ end with the ‘trying’ part. She would like to be in the ‘doing’ part, now, thanks. It didn’t help that her editor gave her those verbal pats on the head and kept talking to her about finding a good man for her. Feminism was lost on the man. She’d patiently explained to him that marriage was the farthest thing from her mind, that right now she wanted to focus on her career. However, he’d dismissed her words, insisting she would change her mind. After she met the right guy.
She’d considered kicking him in the shins.
It was Xander, who she had once considered the right guy, who had given her the latest story idea. He was in the local police force. He’d heard some rumors about what had happened at a local bar called ‘Leena’s.’ Just talk. He told her, in a rare show of seriousness for the wisecracking young man, that what he’d heard had turned his stomach. Cops using their badges to blackmail, and terrify – and loving it when they did both. Against people that were deemed outcasts. He’d been telling Willow about the incidents as his friend. But her reporter instincts had perked right up. That and her own outrage. Which was what drove her reporter’s nose in the first place.
He hadn’t meant to give her any ideas. Yet here they sat, he in a squad car, she gathering exactly three No. 2 pencils, two ballpoint pens, and a new product she’d found out about called ‘Liquid Paper.’ It smelled horrible, but it helped her not have to erase, which was a good thing. Erasing created messiness, and Willow messiness meant re-writes. Many re-writes.
Until it was perfect.
Xander adjusted his police cap, and looked at her warily. “You sure about this?”
“I think it’s a good story.”
“It is.” He agreed gently. “But Will, there’s a reason those women didn’t file complaints. No one is gonna do anything. And it’s very likely that not only will this article not see the light of day, but your editor will can you for trying to bring light anywhere near it.”
“What will women in this city do without my helpful ‘use baking soda to clean tarnished silver jewelry’ tips!?”
“It’s not funny, Will. It can be dangerous to be labeled as…”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “As…?”
He fumbled a bit under her agitated gaze. “Well, one of those people.” She huffed but he went on quickly. “Look, I say ‘live and let live.’ And believe me…I do NOT have a problem with the idea of two women together. As for the two men thing…there was that demon that had a crush on me. And we think it MIGHT have been male, right?”
“It was hard to tell.” Willow noted, thinking back.
“And I wasn’t bothered by the crush…as much as the fact that the crush entailed ripping my heart from my chest.”
She patted his shoulder. “You know how these summer romances go.”
“Willow, what I’m getting at is, it might change how people treat you.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She asked quietly.
“I’m not sure you really get it. It’s hard to get until you get, ya know?” He leaned back and regarded her levelly. “I’m proud of being a cop. And I owe you. You’re the reason I got through the police exams. I’m proud of what most of us do for this city. I have to believe it’s just a few guys…who take it so far. But there’s pressure too. I mean, the city officials, the Police Commissioner, none of them want this place here. They pressure us to…do something. I’ve heard them say it. So some of the guys figure they make a few arrests down here, it will get the heat off their backs so they can do their real jobs. And there’s the law. Not so much with women and women…but with the guys. There are laws. We have to uphold the law even when we might not agree. It’s still the law.”
Willow shook her head slowly, but her expression was gentle. He’d been struggling with this for a while. She’d waited until he’d officially given her the okay to go ahead with what he’d told her. It had taken him awhile. “That’s not the same as entrapment, and it’s not the same as abuse.”
“Yeah, I know.” He agreed. “Talking too loud about the wrong thing, they could decide I’m one of…they could give me one helluva rough time. But…I can deal with that.” He squared his shoulders. “I told the Chief what I thought. He doesn’t want to hear it. So I figured maybe there’s another way. Actually I figured that months ago. I’m tired of figuring. And I know you’ll be fair. To everyone.”
She looked at him and was proud of him. Of what he’d become. The man he’d grown into. “You know that he’ll suspect you came to me in the unlikely event anyone does print this story. I thought about using a pen name, but even then…they’ll probably know who talked.”
He shrugged like it was nothing. It wasn’t. They both knew it. The police were a pretty tight knit community. Right or wrong, they didn’t like it when one of their own told ‘family’ secrets. “Worse they can do is fire me, or make me wanna quit. Either way, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You love this job.”
“I love other things more.” His tone grew soft and wistful but proud. She knew what he was thinking of without having to ask. The years often did that between friends.
“Buffy taught us.” Willow agreed, and it answered his concerns in a way nothing else could have.
The Slayer had died four years before, saving them – saving everyone. Buffy had indeed changed their lives. She had closed a gateway between dimensions and she’d closed the Hellmouth. It had cost her a life that had lasted much longer than that of any other slayer. Even so, it had been so short. It had touched her friends, those she left behind, profoundly. At their best, they carried Buffy with them. At their worst, her memory inspired them to try again. They loved her, would always love her, and perhaps because of her they – and Giles - would always love one another. Always be bound as family. She had given them that. She had given them faith in their ability to fight for what mattered, for what was good.
Which is why they both were willing to put themselves on the line. Not against demons, now. But inside of the world, they had both been part of saving.
The hardest thing in this world, the slayer had said to them all before leaving them, is to live in it.
He squeezed her hand. “Watch your butt in there.”
She shot him a grin over her shoulder. “You know, maybe it’s ego, but I’m kinda hoping others are watching it for me.” The words made him raise his eyebrows in surprise.
Still insecure after all this time, Xander thought, but didn’t say it. His fellow police officers often asked him for an introduction to his friend. No one got the whole platonic thing between Willow and him.
They’d started down another path once, but then he’d cheated on her with the kind of woman he’d always thought he’d wanted. He’d been a fool, of course. He’d broken Willow’s heart. She’d slapped him. He’d been surprised. He hadn’t thought any kind of violence was in Willow. Ever. Her heart was so giving. That was the point though, he’d broken that heart. He’d betrayed that heart. There was no going back after some things. She had forgiven him eventually. It had all been about his fear that he would never fit in, never succeed. He’d hurt her, because he had never felt good enough to be hers. Water under the bridge. All of it so long ago. She shouldn’t have forgiven him. In her place…he didn’t know what he’d have done. But eventually…she’d come to him, tears in her eyes, and asked if he was sorry.
He hadn’t been able to talk then. He’d told her already. Or at least he’d tried. He tried then too, to give her the words that she so richly deserved. The words, heavy with his guilt and their own inadequacy, stuck in his throat. She’d never been able to believe the best about herself. His actions had only made things worse, and he hated that. Because it hadn’t been her failure. It had been his. He’d tried to tell her all that. So that even if she hated him for the rest of his days, at least she wouldn’t be marked by him in a way that added to her own self doubt. But despite all he wanted to say, all he knew he should say, “Please…Will…” was all that came.
“Okay,” She’d said, her voice tight with her own emotions. “I need time, Xander.”
Finally it came. “I’m sorry. I never…I never wanted to hurt you. I know what I did…and I don’t expect…slime-based life forms don’t deserve girlfriends. But I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what I would do…without you.” If it had been any other guy who had done this to Willow, he’d have tried his hand at beating them up. But it had been him. The one guy in all the world that should have protected her. He knew, very well, how special she was.
She’d turned to go, but though she hadn’t turned turn back, she’d said three more words. “I love you.” She’d whispered. It hadn’t been platonic or romantic. It lived in all the spaces between those two frameworks. It went beyond their limitations.
“I love you too.” He’d said.
He still owed her for all that, he thought, coming back to himself. One day…one day he’d find a way to make it all up to her.
“I’m just saying.” Willow was continuing. “It’s nice to be, ya know, noticed.”
“Ya tramp, ya.” He teased. She waggled her brows up and down and they both laughed. It amazed him how at ease she was with the jokes about her sexuality. A lot of people wouldn’t be. But that was Willow…she always saw with her heart, first. “I’ll keep a lookout. If there’s any trouble…”
“You’ll give the signal, I know.” She made a mock mouth out of one hand. “Blah blah blah. You’ve told me twenty times in the last fifteen minutes.”
“You used to tell me things twenty times, and write me notes.” His brow creased.
“And there was that one time you made me tie a string around my hands. Not my finger, my hands.” Willow coughed. “Pink string.” Xander went on, eyeing her with more than a little growing suspicion. “And then you made me stand on Main Street and wait for an hour, showing people that picture…” Willow hummed and inched away from the car. “Hey!”
“Hell hath no fury,” Willow said with mock solemnity and then scooted off.
“Hey!” Xander called out after her. “You big faker…you big string faker.” Several women entering the bar turned and looked in his direction, leveling a look at him as if he was the oddest of all oddballs in the area. He blushed and sank down in his police car seat.
Edited by: mariacomet at: 9/6/04 2:12 pm
In fact the name could stay the same - just change the content drastically!
I love AU stories and this has a very interesting premise.
I'm glad you're into it! Thanks for reading.
. Heck, being a woman taking her own decisions was hard in that time... men didn't know how to handle that. I think that didn't last that far into the 1960's, at least here in Europe.
and I'm enjoying this fic a great deal!! 
at: 5/22/03 7:48:16 pm
And Willow lost her breath.
I want more. 
I cn't wait to 
the next update! 
