@vampyregurl73: Isn't it darkly ironic how some right choices can lead us to horrible things? Thanks for commenting; enjoy this next update!
@LonelyTara: Your post made me burst out laughing. xD Yeah, it's good everyone is helping, even though Buffy's being a bitch. Sorry 'bout that. xD Thanks for commenting; enjoy this next update!
@Zampsa1975: Poor Buffy's getting a lot of hate, even though it is well-deserved. xD Thanks for commenting; enjoy this next update!
@angieb86: Really? Thank-you.
Yeah, we need more people like Tara in the world. I figured it was something Tara would do, because, when you think about it, she was always putting everyone else first. Even when she had been shot, she said: "Your shirt", showing concern for Willow over herself. Thanks for commenting; enjoy this next update!
@KioNewgo: There are not enough thank-you's in the world to express how grateful I am for your post!
Thanks for commenting; enjoy this next update!
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TITLE: The Cross
AUTHOR: lilcheesenip
RATING: 14A (Is that a rating? xD) for swearing, and generally just darker topics like suicide, drugs, etc.
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own any of the characters. Wish I did, but Joss Whedon does. >.>
SUMMARY: When Willow Rosenberg came out to her friends, she expected their full support-or at least some of it. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that they would turn their backs on her, leaving her to navigate the hallways of hell in high school friendless. Now alone, and depressed, Willow struggles to make it through life day-by-day until she agrees to show her language arts teacher's niece around school, and her life changes drastically.
Tara is beautiful, and kind, but that is hardly shown. Traumatized by the loss of her mother, which she witnessed and could not stop, she refuses to let down the walls she has built around herself. Willow tries to break through them only to discover she has similar walls around herself. Can two damaged hearts meet, and finally find peace again?
SPOILERS: None that I can think of. It's all AU, so no monsters, or anything. ^.^ May steal dialogue hear and there.
FEEDBACK: Absolutely! I live for it. ^.^
Author's Note: One more chapter after this, and maybe an epilogue...
PART 16
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If it hadn’t been for Buffy, they never would have found her.
The group entered the bus station with the force of a wrecking ball. If Willow hadn’t been so frantic, they could have been mistaken for a terrorist group, all of them shouting at the same time, Willow and Fred waving Tara’s picture around while Faith seized the nearest person and shook them until they choked out that they hadn’t seen Tara, and Anya bounced on her tiptoes, convinced she would be able to see Tara somewhere in the crowd.
It was Buffy who manoeuvred her way through the chaos to reach the old man working the till, who was watching in horror as Faith proceeded to rattle each potential customer. He was so absorbed in trying to figure out a way to get Faith to stop harassing his customers without directly confronting her that Buffy had to slam her hands down on the counter to get his attention.
The old man jumped, and looked over at her. Buffy placed her own copy of the picture of Tara down, sliding it forward so the man could have a better look.
“Please. We need to find her.”
The man leaned closer, then nodded slowly. “Yes...I remember her. She was nervous. Is she alright?”
“Her life’s in danger. Please. Do you know where she went?”
He nodded again. “Bus number seven, to Anaheim.”
“And when does that bus leave?”
His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall behind Buffy, and then to the window when the bus coughed and sputtered outside. “Right now.”
Buffy spun on her heel to face the confusion behind her. “Somebody stop that bus!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, jabbing a finger towards the window.
Faith dropped the college student she had been holding by the collar of his shirt, and bolted out the door, Anya, Fred, and Xander close on her heels. Willow paused only long enough for Buffy to catch up to her before they both ran out together.
The problem of stopping the bus was solved by Faith. She sprinted around the front, in plain view of the driver, planted her feet firmly, and braced herself. The bus driver had no choice but the stop; the bus screeched to a halt, and Faith darted around the front so she could bang on the doors with a clenched fist until they opened.
Faith disappeared onto the bus first; Willow and the others squeezed in after. It took them only two minutes of scanning the half-empty bus to discover Tara’s absence.
“She’s not on here,” Anya announced after a moment.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Faith muttered, glaring at her.
Willow’s legs shook so hard her knees knocked together. She wobbled, and Buffy and Xander each grabbed an arm to steady her before she fell.
“We have to find her,” Willow whispered. She wasn’t crying – she couldn’t cry; that would make this entire nightmare real – but her eyes and throat ached from forcing herself not to. Her voice was just a breathless whistle.
“We’ll find her, Willow,” Buffy promised.
“Yeah, chin up, Wilster. She can’t have gotten far.”
Willow looked between the two of them, these two people who were strangers to her now. But how could they be? Buffy’s hair still shone in the sunlight, a natural sheen Willow had never been able to copy, no matter how hard she tried. Xander’s hand around her arm was the most natural thing, because he was holding her up again, the same as all those other times she had convinced him to go on a spin-ey carnival ride, and gotten sick because of it. Buffy’s grip was firm, yet gentle, just as familiar.
Was it possible to know everything about someone, yet have them be a stranger to you?
“Okay.” She drew strength from the moment of familiarity, comfort from her old friends’ support. “Okay.” She straightened up, placed her feet resolutely on the floor so she couldn’t nearly collapse again.
Even when she was standing on her own again, neither Buffy nor Xander let go.
[center]***[/center]
After a quick minute and a half meeting, they decided to break into two groups to search the woods surrounding the bus stop – Buffy the head of one group, and Willow the other, with their walkie-talkies to communicate with each other. They broke apart just outside the station, Faith, Fred and Buffy taking the left side of the road, Xander, Anya, and Willow taking the right.
Once inside the shadow of the forest, Anya wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered.
“It’s creepy out here.”
An invisible noose tightened around Willow’s throat. Was Tara out here somewhere, alone, terrified, lost, or was her father dragging her away by now?
Xander put an arm around Anya, and pulled her in close, placing a kiss on her temple. “I’ll protect you, Ahn. Just stick close.”
Anya snorted. “So I can get killed when you get knocked down after one hit? No thanks.”
Willow wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly freezing, but Tara wasn’t there to hold her and warm her up again.
They moved through the woods in a silence that was broken only by their footsteps, and the crunch of dead leaves and decaying plants underneath their feet. Willow kept the walkie-talkie in her hand, praying for a call from Buffy, one where she could barely speak she was so relieved, one where she told her she had found Tara safe, unharmed.
The call didn’t come. Eventually, Willow had to put the walkie-talkie in her pocket so its weight in her hand wasn’t like a death sentence.
Willow was just about to burst into tears of desperation when Xander suddenly held up a hand, and pulled Anya to a stop. “Wait. Listen. Do you hear that?”
Willow went completely still, and listened hard, the hope nearly choking her. She was about to yell at Xander for giving her false hope when she heard the sound of running footsteps.
It was Tara. She could feel it, bone-deep, burning under her skin. She took off running without an explanation to Xander or Anya, tearing through the undergrowth, screaming Tara’s name.
She collided with her thirty seconds later. Tara was running while looking over her shoulder, and she didn’t see her coming; Willow caught her when she stumbled, held her tight against her, breathed in the smell of her vanilla soap, and finally, finally, cried.
“Willow?” Tara’s voice was wispy, tremulous. She sounded so lost that Willow tightened her grip on her, to reassure the both of them that she was really there. When Willow looked up at her, Tara stared down at her as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to let herself believe Willow was truly in front of her.
Willow stretched up on tiptoe, and pressed her lips again Tara’s, refusing to let herself think about the action, because if she did, she would have lost her courage. She needed this; she needed one memory, just one, to warm her on the coldest nights, a memory that would heal her at the same time it tore her apart. She needed this, so she could breathe Tara in, pull her into her lungs so it was Tara keeping her alive, not oxygen, let her hibernate under her skin, so the moment, so Tara, was tattooed on the inside of her skin, irreversible, permanent.
To her surprise, Tara responded, with the same urgency that had propelled Willow to act, gripping her arms tightly, keeping her up on her tiptoes. Maybe, just maybe, Tara needed this, too.
When oxygen became a necessity – for Tara, because Willow was still holding Tara, her new life force, inside of her lungs – they broke apart. Willow lowered her heels back to the ground, and closed her eyes, and Tara breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly.
Could this moment last forever? Could Willow somehow alter time, so that moment of silence when she breathed in as Tara breathed out, that sweet moment where they both processed what had happened, and stretch it out until it reached the end of time?
But time kept moving. Just seconds later, Anya and Xander crashed through the bushes to reach them, and the spell was broken. Tara flinched, and let go of Willow’s arms; Willow refused to let go of the blonde, but tucked the moment away, a precious secret that warmed her to her toes, a song just behind her lips that she had to struggle to keep from singing out loud.
Tara had kissed her back.
Tara’s fingers wrapped around her wrists with surprising strength. “W-Willow. W-Willow, you have to go.”
Willow’s eyes finally opened. “What? Why?” Her voice shook, echoes of the pain Tara had caused her that day she had rejected her, and Tara had to close her eyes to block it out.
“W-Willow. Please. It’s not safe.”
“Then you’re coming with me,” Willow answered stubbornly. “There’s no way in hell we’re leaving you behind.” She increased her grip resolutely, to emphasize her point.
“Willow, I’m s-s-serious –”
“So am I.”
Tara, exasperated, opened her mouth to reply, but never had a chance. Some crashed behind them, followed by a male voice cussing loudly.
“Tara, you little shit, when I catch you...!” He didn’t finish his sentence, just let his voice trail off in an unspoken threat that made Tara flinch again.
“Willow, please, go!” She begged.
“I’m not leaving you!”
Before Tara had another chance to plead with her again, her father smashed through the bushes, still swearing at her. Tara paled, and spun around, keeping Willow hidden behind her body.
Her father had a gash on his forehead that was still bleeding – one that she had given him only minutes earlier with a rock so she could escape. She had calculated that she would have enough time to get out of the woods and towards Sunnydale, towards help, but she hadn’t fit Willow into her equation, and now it was all falling apart around her.
“I’d go if I were you,” Her father warned, pointing at Anya and Xander. He still hadn’t spotted Willow, frozen behind her, and Tara intended to keep it that way.
Anya swelled with indignation and opened her mouth to say something that was sure to get in her trouble, but Tara cut her off with a quiet: “Just go.”
Before Anya could protest, Xander grabbed her, and dragged her into the bushes. They melted into the safety of the shadows, and Tara switched her focus to getting Willow to safety without alerting her father to her presence.
“Clever trick, you little slut. Thought you could get away and run off to your little girlfriend, did you?”
Willow’s body trembled behind her – from fear, or rage? Suddenly, Tara felt too calm – a tiny part of her brain that was still sane took it as a sign of how dangerously close to snapping she was – strong with the knowledge that she would protect Willow no matter what.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Her father snorted. “Don’t pretend you’re not a whore. We both know better.”
Behind her, Willow flinched. Tara kept her back straight, refusing to let herself bow under the weight of his insults. The more defiant she was, the more he felt he had to keep insulting her, giving her more time to come up with a plan to get Willow safely away from her father.
She reached behind her back, offering her hands to Willow. She felt the redhead’s fingers twine with her’s; they were freezing.
Tara looked him straight in the eye. “She’s not my girlfriend,” She repeated in a calm, even tone that she knew would piss her father off royally.
Her father’s face twisted, and he strode forward, seizing her by the collar of her shirt, lifting her a foot off the ground so they were practically nose-to-nose. Willow shrank behind her, clutching tight to her hands.
“Don’t get smart with me, you little bitch,” He spat. “You’re just like your mother, and that’s going to get you killed.”
Tara stared back at him coolly, even though her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest she could hardly hear him.
He dropped her, and she struggled to reclaim her balance quickly so Willow was still shielded. He turned his back to her, and took a few steps away. By the time he had turned around again, Tara had edged her and Willow closer to the line of bushes behind them, close enough for Willow to sneak away.
When her father turned around, the faint moonlight glanced off the metal barrel of the gun he was holding. Tara’s breath hitched her throat. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember how to breathe, or move, even so she could get Willow away. That gun rooted her to the spot with terror, and suddenly, she couldn’t think of anything else but that day.
Willow squeezed her hands, a question, but Tara couldn’t respond. She couldn’t remember how to. She couldn’t remember anything but that moment. The moment her father had shot her mother.
Her father laughed when he saw the raw fear in her eyes. “You remember. How are your hands, by the way?”
Tara tried to swallow, so she could move her tongue, answer him, keep him talking so Willow could get away, but her body failed to respond.
“A little sore, I imagine. Third degree burns are nasty business.”
Willow couldn’t help herself; a little gasp escaped her lips, but, luckily, Tara managed to open her mouth at the same time, and her father didn’t know the difference.
“T-they’re fine.”
Her father tilted his head, studied her for a moment. Then he shook his head, and sighed. “Such a waste. Why couldn’t turn out like your brother?”
Tara didn’t, couldn’t, answer, so he shook his head again, and lifted the gun, taking aim for her heart. Tara realized, with horror, that at this close proximity, it was possible the bullet would go right through her, and into Willow.
Her mouth moved furiously, but no sound came out.
Say something, you stupid bitch! You’re so useless! Say something! But she couldn’t make her mouth work properly.
Her father cocked the gun. At the sound, Willow flinched, and then her quivering body fell still. She had realized what was going on.
Her father adjusted his aim, and then placed his finger on the trigger. “Say hello to your mother for me.”
At the same time that he pulled the trigger, Willow’s hands slipped from Tara’s. Tara half-turned, already knowing what Willow intended, the weight of her knowledge making her slow, clumsy, stupid, so when Willow rushed her, she couldn’t stop her.
“Willow, no!” She screamed, but Willow kept moving. She slammed into her, knocking her out of the way, putting herself in the bullet’s path.
Tara screamed again when Willow’s body jerked at the impact of the bullet. She staggered back, her hazy eyes pausing on Tara’s father briefly.
“You’re a…jackass,” She managed to stammer, and then she started to fall.
“
NO!” The force of Tara’s scream tilted the world at a strange angle, leaving her tripping her over her own feet when she lunged for the redhead. She caught her just before she hit the ground, Willow’s momentum sending both of them crashing to the ground, Tara cradling Willow to her body to soften the blow.
Somewhere, from far away, her father laughed again. When Tara took a moment to glance up at him, he was actually a lot closer than he sounded, only a few feet away from her. In that moment when she looked at him, the rage was so strong it took all of her willpower and the call of another, failing heart to stop herself from attacking him.
Her father cocked the gun again, and pointed it at her. Tara stared up at him, and waited.
Go ahead. Do it. Let me be with Willow.
Before he could pull the trigger again, there was a flurry of movement behind him, and then the wet slice of tearing skin. Her father gasped, and went ridged, staring down at her in surprise.
“What did you do?” He demanded in another breathless gasp, and then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.
Behind where he had been standing was Anya, looking just as shocked as Tara felt, Xander just behind her. Anya was holding a butcher knife in her hand, stained with her father’s blood.
“I brought it just in case,” She whispered, dazed. “Just in case we needed it.”
“...Tara?” Willow’s voice murmured, barely audible, and Tara immediately turned her attention back to the redhead in her arms. Willow’s eyes were half-open, focused on her.
“Willow?” Tara asked, hardly daring to let herself hope.
“Tara.” Willow half-smiled. “You’re okay.”
“Because of you.” Tara pressed her lips against Willow’s forehead so Willow wouldn’t see that she was crying. “Why did you do that?”
“Couldn’t let you…die.” Willow winced. “Tara?”
“Yes?”
“It hurts,” Willow whimpered.
Tara pulled away from her, and lowered her down onto her back, stripping off her jacket, wadding up the thin material to stop the bleeding. She pressed the makeshift bandage to Willow’s shoulder, the bloodstain was the largest.
“Hold on, Willow,” She begged. “You’ll be okay.” She looked over her should at Xander, who was standing behind a frozen Anya. “Call for an ambulance.”
Xander nodded, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, flipping it open so he could punch in 911. When the phone began ringing, he held it to his ear.
“Tara?” Willow’s faint voice pulled her attention away from Xander.
“What’s wrong, Willow?” Tara brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, trying to calm herself just as much as she was Willow.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Tara answered, without hesitation, and she knew she meant it.
Willow seemed to know, too. The lines etched on her forehead smoothed out, and her body relaxed. “Are we safe now?”
“Yeah.” Tara bit down hard on her tongue to keep a fresh wave of tears from spilling over. “We’re safe now.”
Willow smiled blearily again, and closed her eyes. “Okay.”
Tara panicked instantly when Willow didn’t open her eyes again. “Willow?” She brushed hair off of her forehead, and leaned closer. “Willow?”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes didn’t open.
Tara slowly sat back on her heels, staring down at Willow’s still body. Behind her, Xander was speaking low and quick into his phone, but the words all blended together. Even when someone came up to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder, she didn’t react, didn’t pull her eyes away from Willow. She could feel herself slipping away already, retreating inside herself.
Problem was that if there was nothing left of her, there was nowhere for her to go.
Tara closed her eyes, and let herself disappear.