Title: Spiritus
Author: myrine
Feedback: any feedback will be very welcome
Rating: NC-17 (angst and gore, for now)
Disclaimer: by writing this story I'm not claiming that I own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, they're not mine, we all know who owns them.
Setting: remembrances from season 4 to 6, but from 'Seeing Red' onwards there are changes.
Summary: Tara didn't exactly "go away" when she was shot; her spirit remains very much anchored to this world, but Willow and everyone else are oblivious to her presence.
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Chapter 4
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The veil lifts: Memories of the floating rose
Fairy lights clinging to the walls, reaching the ceiling and traveling around the room. They look like the delicate tendrils of a clinging vine that produces tiny grapes of light and create a cozy feeling. The encircled four-pointed star that Tara’s made on the carpet lies between them. Willow feels tingly, strangely excited, and her hands finger the red rose carefully but nervously.
“I’m glad you wanted to get together,” she says, “I know it’s late.”
“Thanks,” Tara says, “I’m glad you called.”
Tara feels the blood rushing through her body, her heart pumping it as fast as it can manage, just by having Willow close, and in her bedroom - a new thing. However, the redhead seems to be a little nervous. About what? The spell?
“We’ll start out slow,” Willow says, after placing the rose in the middle of the circled star.
Slow, okay. Tara sits down, trying to forget the stupid expression on her face -and the even stupider fluttery feeling- when she’d opened the door to see Willow holding a red rose. The redhead reaches her hands out and she grasps them with her own.
“Okay,” Tara says, concentrating.
They close their eyes and just sit there in silence, which puzzles Tara; she’s waiting for some instruction.
“Willow?”
“Yeah?”
“Start out slow doing what?”
Oh! Willow opens her eyes, encountering Tara’s blue ones. How can she forget about the spell and just sit down holding hands with Tara? Wait a moment, that sounds… What? No, come on, explain about the spell.
“Oh,” she begins, her voice much calmer that the inner one, “We’re gonna float the rose. Then use magicks to pluck the petals off, one at a time. It’s a test of synchronicity. Our minds have to be perfectly attuned to work as a single delicate implement.”
“Cool,” Tara says, smiling. How’s that for a spell? She likes how it sounds, “a single delicate implement”; yes, she likes the sound of that. And she’s eager to try.
“And it should be very pretty.” That’s why you chose it, didn’t you? she asks herself.
The veil descends.
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I never knew what enough was,
Until I’d had more than my share,
Then I let the darkness in,
It was then I lost the dare,
It was then I lost the day.
… Maybe I’m not crazy, just inconsolable
(‘Inconsolable’, Jonatha Brooke)
She was lying in bed, awake, while the sky was just beginning to turn blue. This hadn’t been one of the good nights, but who could blame her? Xander and Anya had left when there wasn’t much more to say, and Buffy had sat closer to her, holding her hand tighter, a gesture which was visibly hard and uncomfortable for both of them. Willow had stared at their grasping hands, not really listening to Buffy’s speech, but recognizing the soothing tone of her voice and letting it work its way. However, she couldn’t help remembering the first weeks after it happened, before she even dared to step out of Buffy’s bedroom. In those days, she couldn’t even look at her own hands (she remembered even demanding very long-sleeved sweaters so that she could hide them from everyone’s view, including herself). She wasn’t exactly at ease with them now, but at least their vision didn’t cause her a fit.
So, England. Was that the solution? She’d told them “I don’t want to go” over and over again, but they all assumed that it was going to happen. Xander had seemed distraught about it, but because he knew that she would go. Buffy’s position wasn’t an easy one, but she was all hands-on with her “Giles is right, Giles is right” approach. She wasn’t mad at them, though. Sometimes she thought, “who can blame them for wanting to get rid of me?”, but mostly she knew that they were convinced that it was for her own good.
Dawn puzzled her, though. The teenager had been the only one to voice her disagreement with “the plan”, even if they had all more or less come to tell her as one (at least that was what Buffy seemed to have intended). Why Dawn? The girl was always examining her, but always from a distance, doing little to approach her. Willow knew why, what exact memories prevented Dawn from talking to her – from having “the talk”.
“Come on, Dawnie, it's grownup time, do you wanna play with the grownups or not?”
Willow closed her eyes tightly, her eyebrows knitting in a frown. Her voice from the past pierced her mind.
Stop. That was… that happened long ago. I’m not like that anymore, I’m not… her. But there was no stopping the memories now; they were always there, in the corner of her consciousness, waiting to jump to the fore.
Then, the demon appears, the demon from her hallucinations. “It’s okay, he’s not real.” But he is. She summoned him, and he slashes at Dawn. She slashes at Dawn. They run away from him, but he’s too fast. He’s going to catch them! Unless... It’s as simple as that. Say “open” and doors will open for you; say “drive”, and cars will start. It’s that easy.
The car starts and off they go, faster and faster. It’s so easy. She’s laughing and whooping, and she can’t understand why Dawn isn’t doing the same. The girl’s just screaming and shrieking every time the car veers to the sides. But Willow feels energetic as ever, wanting more and more, making the car go faster still, because faster means more fun, doesn’t it? She turns around and yells something, making fun of the demon, and then… crash. Just crash and sweet, sudden unconsciousness.
Slumped over the driving wheel, she wakes up. Goddess, what happ… She stops her thoughts when she sees Buffy fighting the demon.
The way I killed that demon… Willow shook her head, remembering, despite herself, that she’d burned him from the inside out. And it had been so easy, just like wishing. The power just flowed out, from every pore, enveloping her. She was it. It covered her eyes; she saw through it.
But… Dawn, how is Dawn? She keeps asking if the girl is okay, but Buffy and Spike start taking her away. No! She did this; she made the car crash and hurt Dawn. No… She has to fix this, she has to make things right. “I’m so sorry!” she cries. They need to know that she didn’t mean this, that it was an accident. Dawn glares at her for a moment (Goddess, she’s got blood on her face) and then slaps her hard. It’s a humiliating pain on her cheek, sort of like a stinging sensation, but it hurts like hell inside, it hurts her deep, and she can only crumble onto the ground, crying.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she cries, feeling that the tears will never end. At the time, it feels very possible that she’ll never stop, that there’ll never be enough tears and she’ll never be sorry enough. For this, for everything. She screwed up, completely. Everything, everything she’d ever touched. Was it… really… worth it?
The memories were always there, only half a step away from invading her senses. Dawn wouldn’t get close to her because she’d hurt her, as simple and as terrible as that. She’d hurt her. But that night was not the last time.
“Look at you now. All growed up. Full of dark juice. And you still taste like strawberries. Only now… you’re ripe,” he had said, shortly before dying. (Before you sucked him dry, speak properly. Another death.)
And then, Dawn again, hunting for her. She looks so small, so frail and scared. Her eyes are so big now, trying to do… what? Size her up? Understand what is going on? Find out what is her state of mind?
She was gone.
No, that’s the easy way out. You were responsible. It was her; however, at the same time, Willow couldn’t help feeling that, during those moments, she was gone. Her feet had crossed an invisible line and there was no way of seeing herself as human any more because she was no longer bound by human rules. Willow remembered that she had one thing, just one, in her mind, and there was no humanity. She was just…
“You’re back on the magicks.”
“No, honey. I am the magicks.”
Dawn is easy; she can play with her and tease her all day, and nothing she can say will affect her. She’s the cat and Dawn’s the ball of yarn, but she’s too busy and can’t play right now.
“I miss Tara, too,” the girl says, and the simple, four-worded statement hits her hard. Especially the name: the reason, the purpose of everything that she’s doing. Still why does she hesitate? Because she knows that this is not right, that she would be horrified by this, that she wouldn’t have done this if it had been the other way around. She knows each of these things, and they make her waver, but just for a moment. After all, what is the use of knowing when you don’t… really… care?
“But this… what you’re doing here… this is not the way to go,” Dawn says, apparently seeing her chance, “you’re only going to make things worse, but I promise, it’s still not too late to…”
Just stop. She holds a finger to Dawn’s face to make her quiet. That’s better, I don’t want to listen to your stupid whining. “You miss her?”
“Yes,” Dawn answers.
“Did you cry? Of course you did. I get that, I understand the crying; you cry because you’re human. But you weren’t always,” she knows that her voice is hard and that the metaphorical slaps are hurting Dawn like physical ones.
“Yes I was…”
“No, please, you’re telling me you don’t remember? You used to be… what, some mystic ball of energy. Maybe that’s why you’re crying all the time, Dawnie. You don’t belong here,” there’s a cruel tone in the way she uses the diminutive. Glory used to do that.
If humanity hurts, let’s just get rid of it. Simple principle, simple truth.
“Wanna go back? End the pain?” she asks Dawn, “You’ll be happier. I’d be happier. We’ll all be a lot happier without having to listen to all your constant whining.”
Simple… better…Dawn asks her to stop, almost crying, almost begging, and she can almost see the pain working in her young face. Let’s all protect Dawn, let’s keep her young and innocent when she’s living in the Twisted Land of Oz, where strange things happen and people die in stupid ways. It doesn’t make sense to be protected, to be carefree and wrinkleless.
“‘Mom!’ ‘Buffy!’ ‘Tara!’ Waaah!” It’s just so easy to mock her! The pain is almost touchable now. “Come on, someone’s gotta stop the carnage. It’s time you went back to being a little energy ball.”
And she almost did it. Almost. She could’ve, she’d known how to, but it didn’t happen. Oh, she would’ve done it, for sure -something had to stop Dawn’s pain from becoming her own-, but Buffy prevented it. After that, after
all that, who could blame Dawn? Who could protest if the girl wouldn’t speak to her and couldn’t touch her? Still, why was it the only voice that rose against her departure to England?
I don’t deserve it; I don’t see how I could. I don’t understand their tact… or are they still scared? Well, Anya had been honest enough (as if that was new) to state her worries and call her a ticking time bomb. The first impulse had been to deny it, of course, but now, lying in bed completely alone, she dared to think about it. What if it wasn’t over? The past would always be there to haunt her, that was obvious, but to think that it would come back… What if she
was ticking?
She felt sick for a moment, and then there was only fear. We are our own limits and we are defined by the things we fear, they say, so there is no greater merit than conquering our fears and surpassing our own limits.
I am no more than a wimp, then, because my fear conquers me. Wimpy Willow. What if the only solution was going to England? Could they really teach her to dominate what she had inside? Could they help her overcome her fear?
I am my limits, my fears, and I what I most fear is myself.
There was no denying now that she had done all those things.
“I still want to hang,” Xander had said. You’re Willow.” “Don’t call me that,” she’d answered. But she was. Now she understood. She was the junkie, the one under the influence of all that sorrow and power; she was “crayon-breaky”, “Old Reliable” and “quirky” Willow. She was all of them. Both sides were mirror images, although the mirror seemed to be a little dirty. Now everything had sunk in.
Willow got out of bed quickly and went out of the room, barefoot. The house was completely silent as she climbed down the stairs and went into the kitchen. She was reminded briefly of the “bad days”, when she used to get up in the middle of the night and try to leave the house. Buffy and Dawn usually caught her before she reached the front door, but once or twice she’d managed to escape. Those were blurry days, she couldn’t remember where she wanted to go or what she intended to do outside, but she could still recall the desperate sensation of wanting to get out, like a wild animal.
Shaking her head to clear away those images, Willow unhooked the phone and held it in place with the help of her shoulder while her fingers turned the pages of what used to be Joyce’s address book – and now was Buffy’s. She found the number and dialed quickly, only wondering about the time zones when the phone had rung five times. The sixth time, someone picked up.
“Hello?” the voice sounded hoarse and disconcerted.
“Uh, may I speak with Rupert Giles, please?”
“You’re speaking to him. Who may I-?”
“Giles, it’s… Willow.”
It was the first time that they had spoken since the day they’d fought – with magic. The world hadn’t ended, and she’d been rendered to a useless mass of crushing grief and tears. What could he say to her? He’d left Sunnydale again and returned to England -Buffy’d told her- as soon as he was able to walk. What could he say to him? So she said nothing, and just tried to get over (or tried to forget) the pain, the guilt and the fear - after what she’d done, she was rather afraid of the watcher.
“Willow,” he kept silent for some moments, before reacting, “Willow, are…? Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, Giles, we’re okay here. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“No, no, don’t worry,” another awkward pause, “Well…? Uh, can I… help you in some way?”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you that the gang… we talked. About your suggestion?”
“Yes, uh… and what do you think about it?”
“You know, they’re all, ‘you’re going, you’re going’ and I still don’t want to go.”
And I don’t wanna leave her.
“Well...”
“But I figured… I know that I
should go, that I need those witches to teach me, and you’ll be there too; Goddess knows I need all the help I can muster after…” she paused, choking not on her words, but on the unsaid, “I need to tell you Giles, because it’s killing me. I… I am so sorry, I can’t even begin to-”
“Willow, don’t. Listen, please listen to me. Contrary to what living on top of a Hellmouth may imply, life can be long, and who, better than you, better than all of us, would know that there are uncontrollable, horrendous things that happen - to us, to the people we love, to the world… and we have to live with that for years and years. What I’m very sloppily struggling to say is that I understand. I understand what you went through, and I am terribly sorry about it, and it still hurts me to remember that I had to fight you. But I also know that it had to be done, because that was
not the way.”
“Giles, wait, I know-”
“When I lost Jenny…” there was an anguished pause, “When I lost her, I sought vengeance too. I can understand what… The desire for vengeance that you felt… I understood what it was, what you wanted. You wanted to kill those people and everything that had to do with them, and then maybe everything else, and you didn’t
care… in fact, you hoped that something big enough, powerful enough, would come to stop you. You expected - you
hoped that something would wipe you off the face of the Earth. That was it, wasn’t it? Do you remember…?”
“I remember. I’ll never forget, not one second of it, but I guess that’s my punishment, and I’ve been let off easy, considering-”
“You’ve lost much more than anyone should, Willow, don’t call it easy. You need to find some rest.”
“Rest? How can I
rest?”
“There’s always time,” he said, almost whispering.
“Yeah, that’s the only sure thing I got. Except… What if I don’t? Giles, I’m so scared, what if I’m… a ticking time bomb? What if it’s only a matter of time, ‘cause what I have inside-”
“What you have inside is yours and you need to know how to control it.”
“That’s what Buffy said.”
“Yes… And you also need to understand one very important truth, Willow,” a pause, “The truth is, you have paid.”
“No, Giles… No, Giles, you’re wrong,” there were tears in her eyes, which made her vision blurry and her voice got thicker, “I will never…”
“Yes, Willow, you have paid.”
No, there was no way, there was no way she had paid for all she’d done, and she would never finish paying. There was no way she could, ever.
“Now I know why you left after…” she muttered between sobs, not knowing if Giles was making some sense of her muddled words or not, “I thought that Buffy would get mad at me. But you left because you were waiting for me, weren’t you? You were preparing things, and I think… I think I’m ready.”
Willow hung up shortly after. Miraculously, she was feeling somewhat cheerful. There was something comforting about having a purpose ahead of her, even the whole England business still made her uneasy. This Willow that could barely leave the house, the same one that couldn’t step foot in her old bedroom and didn’t even dare to watch certain movies, was going to get on a plane that would take her to another country.
Yeah, sure. The whole situation had whole surrealist quality to it.
“Willow?”
The redhead shot her head up and turned around to face the kitchen door, where Dawn was standing, all sleepy eyes and rumpled hair and pajamas.
“Dawnie. You okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted some water. Are
you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, sure.”
“’Cause I heard you talking to someone,” the girl said, hurriedly
“I phoned Giles to tell him that I’m going to England,” Willow said, after a sigh.
“What? Now you wanna go?”
“It’s not that I’m all ‘yay, I’m going to England’. I know that I’m not going there to buy funny souvenirs - it’s not going to be easy, but I think Buffy was right, and Giles too, about me needing control. They can help me there. There’s nothing I can do here… Sunnydale’s not exactly the best place to be a magic-junkie. And I can’t help you guys like this, and I want to; I need to, that’s what my life is about.”
“I… I understand, but…” she seemed to have trouble with the translation of thoughts into words, “I… I’m going to miss you.”
Miss me? Willow frowned and opened her mouth slightly, creating a dumbfounded expression. She had expected anything but that. How could it be?
“You’re… going to miss me?”
The teenager bowed her head slightly and nodded. Several seconds passed, in which neither of them said anything else. Willow frowned harder and Dawn just shrugged.
“What happened… I kinda understand.”
“It’s not just something that happened, it’s something I did. Many, many terrible things, Dawn, it’s not something you can just ‘understand’.”
“You were in pain. I can understand that.”
“Look, Dawn, I know how you feel about me, I know you’re scared. I can see it in the way you look at me and in the way you don’t even want to be near me, or in the same room with me. And I’m not saying you should change that; you’re probably right about being afraid. My actions in the past haven’t been, you know, the best trust-booster.”
“I’m sorry, Willow…”
“Don’t be, you’re being reasonable. When I think… the car crash… and I almost turned you into…”
“Willow,” Dawn walked straight to her, “Yes, you hurt me a lot, and you hurt Buffy, and the rest. That’s the truth, but you can’t be thinking about it all the time. It’s like… we look at you and we see our friend – or we have to, ‘cause it’s who you are – and you need to see that too.”
The girl had obviously thought a lot about this, maybe with every glance she’d directed her way. Willow leant on the kitchen counter, thinking that she didn’t deserve this, so much backup from her friends. She’d never done anything to deserve it.
“The only thing Willow was ever good for…” Willow had said to Buffy, “the only thing going for me…”
Dawn was hugging her now, proving an immense courage (in Willow’s opinion). She stood still, fighting against the urge to disentangle herself from Dawn’s arms. This was good for her, it was human contact and she needed to bear it.
This is what people do for comfort, not stealing away to a corner and hugging themselves. And Dawn seemed to need it to regain her confidence in her.
“Dawn, it’s okay, it’s okay…” she said, softly, combing the girl’s hair with her fingers, “I’m going to be okay.”
What else could they tell each other? They went back to their respective rooms to catch a last hour of sleep -in Dawn’s case-, and an hour of non-sleep for Willow. She was going and Dawn cared about her. Dawn was going to miss her. After months of an uncomfortable, polite silence, it had all come out.
Well… not all. What everyone kept avoiding was mentioning Tara, and she knew why, of course. She was unpredictable, so there was nothing, not even an obscure reference. Just thinking about her name provoked a twinge of pain inside Willow, and she knew that pain was a tricky thing (she’d proven it), but it was just that – pain. There was no reaction, no anger. It seemed like some of her emotions had died, or she had used them up, leaving her only with pain, sorrow and regret.
“… the only thing going for me where those moments – just moments – when Tara would look at me and I was wonderful,” a pause, “And that will never happen again.”
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