Title: The Shadowy Bridge
Rating: Right now, PG. I've already promised smut to someone, so... I'll warn you when it gets there.
Summary: Set six years in the future. Our girls find their way back to each other...sort of. Kind of. Jessie, is that a good summary?
Thanks: This is my first Buffy fic. Probably my last, too. Who knows? Either way, thanks to my kick-ass beta reader Jessie...as well as all the other many many people who gave it a critical readthrough. The time and opinions were very much appreciated. :)
Notes: Feedback would be very welcome. I'd honestly like to know your opinions-- positive and/or negative. All thoughts are good.
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What happens when one is made two?
Does one cry and the other mend?
Do they both crave what’s gone?
Do they heal?
Do they each becoming a new one?
Only to be torn again?
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The granules fell slowly through the funnel and into the bottle, creating a gentle noise that filled the backroom. As each moved, it released a small amount of scent, filling the room with delicious smells ranging from patchouli to vanilla.
A refreshing window on the outer-wall let in a vast amount of light, shining in the room and reflecting off of the bits of dust particles that danced through the air. The cabinetry was glass fronted so she could see the contents of her various cupboards and surrounds and allowing the light to catch on some of the colorful glass bottles scattered around the workroom.
The main prep table was strewn with bottles of varying sizes and shape. Branches of plant life, flower petals, and other earthy things such as crystals and rocks also adorned the tabletop.
The woman sighed, tucking a lock of her red hair behind her ear while a forlorn look crossed her face.
Not exactly what you planned on doing at 27, is it? She mused to herself. Could be worse. I could be dead without…well, without all that stuff I’m supposed to do before I die.
As the bottle came closer to being full, she removed the funnel and added the remaining sprigs of herb before capping off the bottle and labeling it. Ensuring the cork was tight, she dipped the top of the bottle, cork and all, into some melted wax, effectively sealing the item from tampering.
“That should do it,” she muttered. “Elsa?” she hollered, stepping outside the workroom, through the old, solidly built door. Her petite blonde assistant cocked an eyebrow her way, arms full of various bottles and decanters. “Let me help you,” the redhead offered, stepping forward and taking some of the blonde’s burden.
“Thanks, Willow. I didn’t want to bother you since you were working on Ms. Halloway’s special order,” the assistant said. “Should I assume that since you’re finally poking your head out of that room, that it’s done?”
Willow nodded, her red hair dislodging itself from behind her ear. “All done. Will you call her sometime today and let her know she can pick it up anytime tomorrow? I want to make sure it rests overnight so she’ll get the full affect when she uses it,” she explained.
“I’ll ring her first thing after opening tomorrow,” Elsa said. “Money, Money,” she intoned.
“You remind me so much of someone else I used to know,” Willow muttered, rolling her eyes in memory and walking back into her workroom.
She held the door open, half in and half out of the room. “I’ve got a couple more things I can get done before I’m heading home. I’ll make sure that Ms. Halloway’s order is boxed and waiting behind the counter for you. I’ve got class tomorrow, so I don’t know when I’ll be in, ok?”
“That’s fine,” the blonde said, stocking the shelves with the various products. “Are we still having that sale on Saturday?”
“Yeah,” Willow said, sighing again. “Tarot Root Shampoo is ten percent off. If you leave before I do, lock the doors. I’ll let myself out,” she called, slipping back into her sanctum.
The workroom was definitely her preferred area of the store. All the products were made by hand and generally made by her. Only ever so often, usually around the holidays, did she hire out. And even then, only students from the local botanical gardening school. If they were to be of any help to her, they had to know what they were doing.
She paused in front of the worktable: A lone red rose lay on the table, its petals starting to wilt. Willow reached down and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the scent briefly. She glanced around the room, rose still in hand, and looked at all the various orders to be filled; the order pad so full she had to order some of her herbs from a supplier instead of merely harvesting from the garden in her backyard.
With a fleeting of memory she reflected on a time when the solution would be as simple as a wave of her hand and an incantation. Literally. Not anymore, she thought firmly.
It had been too long since her last dabbling with magic to go stirring things up now. If she dove in without an anchor and without easing her way back into the skill, she’d be as out of control as she was when she was forced to quit.
The road away from Black Magic was hard, to say the least. The catalyst had been the worst, definitely. Without Tara? Without Tara, she had been so lonely and unsure; the darkest of the darkness had snuck into her life without causing her to flinch.
The seizures, the tremors, the shakes, the migraines, the sleep deprivation, the starvation, the nausea, the dizziness, and the unbelievable pull to something so intensely evil had almost been overwhelming. Almost.
She smelled the rose again, remembering with a smile what had finally allowed her to free herself from the confines of darkness. The things a simple smile can do, she thought as she felt a gentle wetness slide down her cheek. She brushed it away with her fingertips and sniffled her loneliness back into her heart where it always stayed.
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Part 2 will follow shortly
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“Pull your head out of the book,” a voice whispered from behind her. “Or you’re going to need your glasses more than you already do.”
“Xander,” the woman hissed, having jumped at the voice. “What have I told you about startling me when I’m doing research?”
“You told me not to. That doesn’t mean I listen,” he replied, moving to sit next to her on the bench. “What are you researching this time? Was there a Scooby meeting without me? New baddies in town?”
“No, no new baddies. No Scooby meeting,” she said. “And I really think we’re too old to be calling ourselves Buffy’s Scoobies,” she said with a chuckle.
Xander smiled and shrugged. “Researching what?” he prodded, lifting the cover of the book off the table and seeing the title. “Dahok es Mediah. Sounds fun.”
“I’m just adding to my mental catalog of dark magic information,” she whispered.
“I know that’s a hobby for you, Tare, but… how much more do you have to learn? Isn’t there a point where you can know too much?”
She cast a look upon him that would have killed a weaker man.
“Ok, bad question,” he acquiesced, hands in the air, leaning back. “I just worry, Tara. I’ve… I’ve already lost one person to it and… maybe it’s paranoia, but I’m thinking it’s pretty well-founded in the past.”
She nodded. “I know. I didn’t mean that… I- I know. Maybe it just gets so c-crazy that…” she shook her head and closed the book. “Someone would think that after this long, I’d be able to cope better,” she muttered, pushing the book into the middle of the table.
“Six years isn’t long enough to deal with something like that, Tara,” Xander said, resting his hand gently on the middle of her back.
She eased into his offer of comfort; her head resting on his shoulder silently crying the tears she had thought were already gone.
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Part 3 will follow shortly
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The shrubbery had been trimmed and the latest batch of bottles sterilized. Labels were at the printer right now; gone the days when her business was small enough she could make them herself.
Herbs were strewn throughout the attic, tagged, labeled, bundled, and waiting to be sufficiently dry to be used.
Nerd turned botanist and herbalist, Willow mused to herself, finding her current line of work ironic, to say the least. At least Buffy’d be proud.
With the holidays coming up quickly, a special batch of, well, one of almost everything, had been bottled, bagged, and boxed extra carefully, heading to the Summer’s household only a week prior. If Buffy or Dawn was aware of who was sending the gift every year, they never acknowledged it, leaving Willow feeling a little hurt and a little empty, though still understanding why the distance was still there.
Willow’s departure from the group had been amicable, at most. Buffy worried about not knowing where she would be. Dawn worried about Willow finding witchcraft familiar when nothing else would be, and slipping into dark magic again. Xander had just nodded, somehow knowing that her mind was made up, no matter his opinion. Anya, in typical form, had wondered who’d watch the store at night while she and Xander had sex. And Spike, of course, had wished her ‘fond farewell’, only his eyes showing his honest affection for Red.
Absent from the group were both Giles and Tara. Giles, back in England, was somewhat out of the loop with the goings-on of the Scoobies. He flew back on emergency matters now and again, but as he eased into his early forties, he expressed an honest desire to settle down. Only six months prior to Willow’s departure, Tara had left, putting distance between herself and all the black, evil energy that surrounded Willow at the time.
Bleaching her life of all that evil hadn’t taken Willow long. It was a relatively short process, time-wise, but grueling physically, mentally and emotionally. The few comforts Buffy couldn’t provide were the ones that Tara had taken with her when she left. It left Buffy feeling incredibly incompetent at times, knowing that even the Slayer couldn’t do everything.
And now, six, almost seven years later, Willow was trimming Rosemary shrubs, storing the stalks, and running a successful business on her own. She owned her own beach side home, enjoying the large and airy spaces in its layout. The community was small enough to be quaint, but large enough to support her business and encourage it to grow further every year.
But it was always quiet around the house; too quiet, to Willow’s mind. Her assistant at the store was the closest thing to a friend she had and even then there was a professional distance that was strictly maintained. It wasn’t as if people hadn’t tried to befriend Willow, merely that she had kept a respectably distance from everyone socially. Christmas parties and the like were a definite no-no for her: too much rum punch and she may start spouting Aramaic and cause the entire town to implode. Not a single date since she moved here. Paul the UPS man had asked her repeatedly but she’d steadily turned him down, almost making a game out of finding a new way to say ‘no’ each time.
Definitely a solitary existence- something she’d take gladly over living with the people who were a constant reminder of the evil she’d done and the gift she’d lost.
Willow allowed the trap door to fall closed as she dropped out of the attic and to the earthen floor of her workroom. She padded on bare feet to the table, picked up a few herbs in one hand and headed into the kitchen, wondering as she walked, how Miss Kitty Fantastico had fared over the last few years.
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Part 4 will be posted soon. I'm still coding HTML
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A lock of blonde hair briefly obstructed her vision before it was gently tucked behind an ear.
Tara sighed, wondering if she should crop off all her hair just to keep it from falling in her face. She smirked slightly, pushing the thought out of her head, recalling briefly how much a certain someone had liked to run her fingers through the blonde locks as they talked before bed.
After six years, something like that is still with me? I must be obsessive compulsive, Tara thought as she shook the memories from her head.
The doorbell’s echo through the house urged her to leave her stovetop-simmering brew and answer the door.
The autumn breeze wound through the screen door as Tara approached. A brown uniformed woman stood there holding boxes almost so high as to cover her face. “Hey Gillian,” Tara said, recognizing the shapely UPS driver.
“Hello Tara,” she replied. “You and the rest of the Summers clan have an admirer, it seems,” she gestured with the packages.
Tara opened the screen door and allowed the boxes to be deposited in her arms. “Looks like it,” the witch said with a gentle smile. Tara set some of the boxes down on the steps before signing Gillian’s clipboard. “Happy Holidays, Gillian,” she said softly.
“Same to you, Tara. Um… Tara, listen, there’s an office party this weekend and I was hoping you’d…well, if you have free time, I mean…”
Tara blushed and looked at the floor briefly. “I’m flattered, Gillian, really,” She started. Over the last few months, Gillian had made her interest in Tara more than clear, though Tara gently batted down all advances without much explanation. “But I’m really not available,” she said, leaving it that simple. “Thank you, though.”
Gillian nodded and waved slightly before exiting to her curbside truck.
“Woman doesn’t give up, does she?” Spike uttered from the couch, his mid-afternoon nap having been interrupted by the doorbell.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Tara answered. “Since you’re awake, would you mind helping me unload these boxes around the tree?” She began to lift the larger boxes before Spike snatched them out of her hands.
“No need to exert yourself, Witchy,” he said simply, lifting most of the boxes and leaving the smaller ones for her.
Tara’s face creased with a small smile. She had left a crass and bitter Spike who still pinned for the ‘unattainable’ Slayer. When she returned a year later, he was almost a different ex-vamp entirely.
The boxes were placed on the couch and the tape opened by Spike’s pocketknife. Wrapped present after present was pulled from the box and laid beneath the tree.
“Looks like most of these are from Giles. Buffy’s lucky this year,” she said with a smile, remarking the plethora of gifts.
“Who says they’re all for her?” Spike countered.
“You, Dawn, Buffy, Xander and Anya,” Tara counted, ticking off people on her fingers.
“And you, blondie,” he countered, holding up a box in front of her. “See? Says To Tara.”
Tara ducked her head, not acknowledging the gift. “Let’s get the rest of this unpacked. I have to finish cooking,” she said softly as she reached for the next box. “Pretty shipping label,” she remarked aloud.
“The Crying Tree Company,” Spike read over her shoulder. “Odd name for someone to be sending presents.”
“The Crying Tree,” Tara echoed, her voice a whisper. She sliced open the tape holding the box shut, reaching inside. Her hand encircled something cold and glass and she tugged it free of the polystyrene packaging. Various smells assaulted her senses, the main ones being Rosemary and Lavender and something that she would always be able to identify; Willow.
“By the goddess,” she cursed under her breath, turning and pegging Spike with daggerish eyes. “Did you know about this?” She asked, holding up the blue bottle.
“Knew about what? You know Slayer doesn’t usually let me help with this part; control issues and all that!”
“I’m going to kill Buffy,” she growled before a low tone emitted from her throat. Tara turned, grabbed her jacket and stormed from the house with a string of curses echoed by a magically induced clap of thunder.
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Part 5...
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The roundhouse kick the Slayer landed to the punching bag was defiant of her age. Her trim figure and active lifestyle helped stave off the general wear and tear that ‘normal’ people’s bodies faced.
So focused on her exercises and training, the Slayer didn’t’ even hear the furious call of “Buffy!” which echoed through the magic shop long before the training room’s door burst inward.
Tara growled and hurled a blue, sparking ball towards the punching bag just as Buffy set to strike it with a combination punch. The ball impacted the bag, causing it to explode briefly before vaporizing with an angry sizzle.
“Woah!” Buffy muttered, turning to face the witch. “That was not nice! I don’t have a spare!”
“How long have you known?” Tara snarled. “How long have you known she was alive? How long have you been hiding this from me?”
Buffy took a step back, reflexively, having never ever seen Tara this enraged before. “Who? What are you talking about?”
Tara jerked the bottle from her coat pocket, throwing it at Buffy’s head.
Luckily the Slayer caught it before impact, remarking it with a solemn expression. She whispered: “I just get a box every year. No card, nothing else. What do you want me to ‘know’ from a box of herbal bath salts?”
“How c-can you not know? “The Crying Tree” should have been clue enough!”
Buffy sighed. “I never knew for sure, Tara. Dawn thought…but we thought we shouldn’t say anything just incase we were wrong. What if it wasn’t her? She never writes or calls or anything!”
“Six years?” Tara asked. “Six years and you never called to ask why you get a mysterious package? Damnit, Buffy, how blonde are you?” she paused, trying to regain some composure. “I’ve died every night in my dreams seeing her give herself to b-black magic without… without us there to help her. I’ve watched her l-loose herself again and again every time I close my eyes. For six years, I’ve t-tried to move past her but I can’t because I don’t even know if she’s alive, never mind still clean from darkness.”
Buffy nodded. “I’m sorry isn’t going to cut it this time, is it?” she asked meekly.
Tara sighed. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I get back from,” she read the label. “Washington State.”
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The clouds had threatened a torrent of rain all day but only recently did they release their burden onto the land. Thunder rolled after each piercing lightening bolt touched down.
A thick crackling reached Willow’s ears as she gazed out the window over her sink, hearing the hammering storm strike something in the distance.
She turned, tending to the teakettle on her stove top, distracted by a sharp pounding on her door.
Who’d be out in this weather? Willow mused as she headed towards the door. As she walked through the living room, she regarded the logs in the fireplace with a wistful glance.
She pulled the latch on the door, letting it swing inward. The drenched form standing before her reminded her briefly of the time Miss Kitty Fantastico had been given a bath.
The person across from her, though bedraggled, had instantly been recognized. The two locked eyes, neither saying a word.
The wind and rain howled in the background and after minutes, lightening flashed, illuminating the sky for a second; the bright light seemed to pull Willow out of her temporary trance and back to reality.
“T-Tara?” Willow finally uttered. Her mind finally registered Tara’s shaking as shivering from the cold and damp. Willow reached out, gently pulling the other woman inside. “You’re freezing,” she muttered, grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa and pulled it over her visitor’s shoulders. “Here…um…let me get you a cup of tea,“ Willow managed to say before scurrying off to the kitchen.
Goddess, what the hell is she doing here? .Willow thought, pouring the steaming water over tea leaves in a mud-colored mug. She took it out to the living area and handed it to Tara as she steered the silent, shivering woman to the sofa. “You should sit. You’re icy cold,” she said, feeling the chill radiate off of Tara’s form.
Tara’s eyes drifted from the floor to the mug in her hands as she allowed herself to be pushed gently onto the couch. The aroma that wafted from the cup pleased her senses and the warm steam revitalized the chilled skin of her face.
“Apples,” Tara whispered, as she smelled the aromatics of the tea before sipping it. She swallowed the balmy liquid before turning her gaze on Willow who was sitting on the floor next to the couch, looking up at her with worried green eyes.
“Six years and you can’t even pick up the damned phone?” Tara hissed.
“I… I …” Willow stuttered, completely off balance by the sudden anger from the woman she knew as so subdued.
“I come back to check on you after you leave and no one knows where you are, never mind how you are. Can’t tell me if you’re alive or dead,” Tara continued, her voice steadily becoming more and more enraged.
“How was I supposed to know you would come back?” Willow countered, her body posture signaling her defensive position.
“I’d have visions of you raped by darkness more powerful than you could imagine. I haven’t gotten a full night of sleep since…” she paused briefly, letting the words dangle before she set the mug down on the end table and beginning to play with her fingers in agitation. “I didn’t know if you were married with kids running in your front yard or dead in an ally somewhere or-“ Tara’s words were cut off by the fiery-tempered woman who had risen to her feet in anger.
“I’m supposed to give you my life’s itinerary?” Willow said, almost yelling. “How was I supposed to know that you’d be back? That’d you’d expect me to leave a note saying where I was and exactly which coven of darkness I had joined? For all I knew when you left, Tara, I had lost you for good! Every day of my life I’ve wondered how you are, what you’re doing, if you’ve found someone who was everything I wasn’t,” She countered, her voice almost top volume. “Back there, every street corner screamed how I wasn’t strong enough to fight darkness to keep you. So forgive me for trying to get away from Sunnydale and every goddess-damned reminder of you: what I’ve lost in life.”
Tara stood, almost toe-to-toe with her former lover. “I have to find out you’re ok from Buffy’s damned Christmas presents?” She asked, pulling the bottle out of her still-wet jacket pocket.
“Sorry my attempt at holiday celebrations didn’t please you! If it’s easier for you to handle, I can just die. Would that work better for you?!” Willow hollered, her body backlit by a sizzling bolt of lightening that streaked though the sky. A huge clap of thunder echoed her angry words as the lights blinked, flickered, and then extinguished, plummeting the women into darkness.
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Merry Christmas to those who celebrate.
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Willow’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, as did Tara’s. When they were somewhat acclimated to the shadows, Willow felt a shiver run down her back.
“Was that you?” she whispered to Tara, wondering if the blackout was intended magic or just Mother Nature’s eerie timing.
“No,” Tara replied in a voice equally as hushed. She lifted her hand and murmured an incantation, the room suddenly filled with a yellowish glow as the logs in the fireplace were instantly lit and a roaring fire born. “But that was.”
Willow stepped back a step, eyeing between the beautiful woman before her and the magical fire in her hearth.
“Don’t,” was the fiercely protective word uttered from the redhead’s lips.
“W-what?”
Willow frowned, pointing to the fireplace. “Don’t use magic in my home!”
“You don’t practice anymore?” Tara asked, somewhat shocked.
“Not in six years,” Willow hissed, seeming uncomfortable with the mere thought of magic in her home. “Don’t bring it past the threshold, Tara,” she growled. “I’ve kept it out of my life this long, I can’t let it in now.”
“But-“ Tara started, cut short as Willow stepped on her words.
“No!” she said firmly. “No magic. Even though I know you and …I lo- and everything else, no magic. Not here.”
Tara nodded, an obviously stunned look on her face.
“Sit,” Willow said with a sigh, gesturing again to the couch and moving away from it briefly towards a small hall closet off the main entrance. “I bet the main road’s flooded,” she commented as she rummaged around the shelves of the closet.
“Great,” Tara muttered under her breath, utterly sarcastic.
Willow stepped into the room again, her arms full of blankets. “You can have the guest suite. It’ll just take me a minute to make it up,” she said simply. “There’s more tea in the kitchen.”
Tara watched her ex lover head up the winding staircase, arms laden with linens, and she sighed, hanging her head as it swam with too many emotions to name. Sipping the tea, she mulled over several things in her head until a gentle clearing of the throat interrupted her.
“If you’re tired, you can head up now,” Willow offered softly. “Otherwise I was going to have some dessert. You’re welcome to join me.”
Tara nodded, standing up and realizing that not only was she still in soaking wet clothes, the quilt that Willow had wrapped around her was thoroughly drenched. “I’m sorry about your blanket,” she said, hanging it near the fire to dry. She stood near the flickering light, warming her chilled hands.
“A few hours there and it’ll be fine,” Willow said simply, lighting a candle from the fire and using the candle to light a hurricane lantern situated on the mantle. She took the lantern with her to the kitchen, allowing the yellow luminescence to show the way. “There’s organic carrot cake or fruit salad,” Willow offered as she opened the refrigerator quickly and removing both items as to not waste what chill the icebox still had.
“I… I don’t … either one is fine,” Tara stuttered, hoping her voice carried into the kitchen. Her anger had left her and in its place was the same stuttering girl who had cried on Xander’s shoulder earlier that same morning.
Willow scooped two servings of fruit salad into wooden bowls and then put both desserts back into the fridge. She grabbed two forks and headed back into the living room. She stopped near the fireplace, holding the bowl out to Tara. The blonde allowed her trembling hands to take the item, their fingers brushing together for mere seconds.
Willow sat on the floor, her back against the couch and her slender legs stretched out in front of her. She watched Tara stare into the fire until the blonde turned and sat on the couch behind her.
They ate in awkward silence, broken only when Willow began to chuckle as she speared something in her bowl with a smile. She held it up, showing it to Tara causing the other woman to smile sadly.
“Big pineapple?” Tara questioned.
Willow nodded, offering it to her friend. Tara hesitated for only a second before snagging the succulent fruit off the offered fork.
“Funny the things you remember,” Tara uttered when she had finished the piece of fruit.
“I remember everything,” Willow whispered, picking up a strawberry with her fingers and popping it into her mouth. She continued, speaking around the fruit in her mouth. “All the firsts we had together. All the things I did to prevent more firsts.”
Tara nodded slowly, allowing the admission exactly the reverence it deserved. “We never d-did this,” she said softly.
Willow looked up, catching Tara’s reference to eating fruit in front of a roaring fire. “No…no, I guess we never did,” she admitted with a small chuckle.
They sat in a silence that was far more amiable this time as both of them allowed thoughts to pound through their head.
“How long are you in town?” Willow asked, her words hesitant.
Tara paused noticeably before speaking. “I p-packed enough for two days,” she said softly.
Willow nodded. “If you’d like to stay longer…” she said, allowing the sentence to dangle so as to not push her guest.
“Thanks,” Tara acknowledged simply.
“Should I ask what happened to?” Willow questioned, her voice dancing around the subject of Tara’s sudden arrival.
Assuming you can call six years sudden.
Tara sighed, nibbling on an orange slice. She wished she had a glass of wine to make her senses dull the pain of being so near to Willow and yet so far away. “I don’t usually stick around for Christmas… I do a fundraiser at the annual winter solstice gathering. But this year I didn’t go. So I was home helping Spike unpack the b-boxes around the Christmas tree and we opened yours. I knew the minute I pulled the bottle out,” she said softly.
Willow nodded, remaining silent.
“It smelled like lavender and r-rosemary. And you,” she added hesitantly.
“Do you wish you didn’t know?” Willow questioned, staring at the half empty bowl in her hands.
Tara frowned, giving the question the respect it honestly deserved. “No. I’m glad I know.”
Willow smiled slightly, lifting her eyes somewhat more towards the fire.
“And I’m glad I didn’t kill Buffy,” Tara chuckled.
“What?” Willow asked, turning sharply towards her friend, her voice almost screeching.
“I ..um.. got k-kind of irate. I thought everyone knew about you and just d-didn’t tell me,” Tara admitted, her expression rather sheepish. “I almost punched Spike and then stormed to the Magic box and blew up the punching bag in the training room an then threw a bottle at Buffy’s head.”
“Wow,” Willow muttered, gazing on Tara with eyes of both amusement and adoration. “Very butch of you,” she teased.
“I feel bad,” Tara admitted. “Now I have to go buy her a new punching bag.”
Willow nodded. “Since it’s my fault…do you want me to come with you? There’s an exercise store in town and he’ll ship it to Sunnydale.”
Tara paused for a second. “Yeah…when the roads are c-clear. Going to town would b-be nice. And you can show me the is shop you run.”
“Own,” Willow corrected gently. “I’d like you to see it. It’s all witchy with the herbs and all… just minus the whole magic-portion of the witch-life,” she teased.
“Lots of wanna-blessed-bes?” Tara queried, offering her mango slice to Willow who was a much bigger fan of that particular fruit than she.
“Tons,” Willow said, taking the fruit and smiling her thanks before popping it into her mouth. “But you’ll hear no complaints from me this time; they’re the ones that keep my business growing.”
Tara smiled, riffling through her bowl for another slice of mango and offering the treasure to her… your what, Tara? She’s not your lover. Not your girlfriend. And after all the words you yelled at each other within the last few hours, can you even call her your friend? She sighed, unable to think of a suitable title. Of course, that particularly negative thought was pushed from her mind when the fruit was gently taken from her fingers by a pair of careful teeth attached to wonderful Willow face.
She smiled shyly, reassured only when Willow placed her hand on Tara’s knee as a lever when she stood.
“I think you’ve been in those wet clothes too long,” Willow said, her tone motherly. “There should be some hot water left if you want a shower. I’ll run out and get your bag out of the car,” Willow offered.
“You’ll get soaked. It’s still p-pouring out there,” Tara rebutted.
“I’ll live,” Willow said simply. “The guest room’s at the end of the hall on the left.” Willow turned and walked out the front door into the torrential downpour.
I can’t tell if she’s the same or not, Tara thought to herself, gathering both dishes and a nearby candelabra to help her through the unfamiliar house.
“Accden-“ she began, cutting herself off as she realized she was about to use magic within Willow’s home. She sighed; clearing her mind of the half-finished spell she walked to the fire and lit the candles the old-fashioned way.
After putting the bowls in the sink, she headed towards the stairs and began to conquer the flight upwards as she heard the door open and the spattering of water droplets hit the floor.
Willow chuckled at her own appearance, shaking her head to rid the water from her red hair.
“I was already wet,” Tara commented, extending her hand to take her own bag.
“I know. And you would have gotten sick. Better me than you.” Willow replied as she handed Tara the bag. When they reached the top of the stairs, Willow gestured to a door recessed in a small alcove set away from the main hall. “That’s my room. If you need anything, come and get me. I don’t…well, this isn’t the Rosenburg bed and breakfast, so if I’ve been a bad hostess and forgotten anything, let me know?”
Tara allowed a small smile to grace her face. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely, thank you. I didn’t intend to impose like this, Willow.”
“No, you didn’t. You intended to find out if I was alive and, if I was, beat me into a bloody dead pulp,” Willow said, knowing she had hit the nail on the head by the sheepish look on Tara’s face. “But I think that we’re both a little too emotionally drained for that right now. Can we pencil that in for sometime tomorrow afternoon? Maybe right before lunch?”
Tara sighed, looking at the floor.
“I-“ the blonde woman started, her words failing her before they were even uttered. She was forced to look up only when a tentative finger was placed under her chin, guiding her eyes up to meet deep green ones.
“You are a hell of a lot stronger than I am. Goddess knows I would never have been strong enough to come pound on your door. And just for showing up tonight, no matter how this turns out, I will always thank you,” Willow whispered, taking a small step forward and kissing Tara respectfully on the forehead. “Let’s get some sleep and hope breakfast gives us a better out look on our lives.”
Tara smiled sheepishly. “Breakfast?” she queried, having assumed she’d be fending for herself after causing such a ruckus.
“Buttermilk blueberry pancakes sound ok?” Willow asked quietly, having stepped out of Tara’s personal space and more towards her bedroom.
Tara nodded. “Extra syrupy?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Willow replied with a smile and nod before ducking into her storm darkened bedroom.
***********
Note:
Thanks to everyone for the feedback. Taking the time to write can mean the world to an author; please don't trivialize what you have to say- it's important to us. :)
Secondly, I'm recovering from a nasty bout of URI (upper Respitory infection) and I wasn't able to write for about three or four days... ick. My muse tends to leave me when I'm sick-- who can blame her? Either way, what that means is that updates may be slow in coming since I like to keep a few chapters ahead of what I post, at least. I hope everyone can bare with me here as I get back on my feet and head back to school in a week or so. Starting a new semester is going to take some massive time, too, so please -again- keep patience in mind for those of us authors/bards who are students as well as writers.
-Kerry
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***********
A chill stirred her from her restless slumber and Willow brushed tangled red hair from her eyes. Geez, she mentally groaned, glancing at the nightstand clock. She had slept, as usual, only a few hours before being pulled awake. This time, it wasn’t the ache in her heart that caused her to wake, but rather the innate knowledge that something in the house was out of place.
She stood, pulling her flannel shirt tighter around her chest in an attempt to fight off the night’s chill. Her footsteps downstairs were muted by the socks she wore to keep her toes warm in her often drafty old house.
A figure sat on the sofa, gazing at the fire with a lost expression on her face.
“What are you doing up?” Willow managed to ask around a yawn.
Tara looked up, having not heard the other woman enter the room. “I… it was really c-cold in that room. The power’s back on but the heaters in there won’t work,” she admitted.
“I’m sorry,” Willow said. “I didn’t even think about that. You’re umm...actually the first one to use the room since I bought the house. I never even tested them,” she admitted sheepishly.
Tara shrugged. “It’s ok. I like the fire, anyway. It’s a d-different kind of warmth.”
Willow nodded, reclaiming her spot on the floor in front of the couch near Tara’s feet. “Cute pj’s,” she said with a small grin. “Hello Kitty.”
Tara smiled and glanced down at her shirt where the white grinning cat’s face was emblazoned. “Yeah…kinda reminded me of you,” she admitted sheepishly.
“I like ‘em,” Willow admitted, resting her head near Tara’s knee. “Speaking of kitties, how is Miss Kitty Fantastico doing?”
Tara smiled at the question. “She’s all big and cat-like now. She…I still had one of your shirts when I moved and…well, she kinda uses it as a b-bed. I think it still smells like you and she misses that.”
“I miss her, too. I bet she’s changed a lot,” Willow replied, knowing that while they were talking about their kitten, at the same time, they weren’t.
“Yeah. She looks almost the same but…much more grown up now.”
Willow started to nod when she felt a gentle tug at her hair. She felt the strands move again and recognized the feeling as her hair being toyed with. Quiet for a minute or two, she reveled in the feeling of Tara’s silent affection.
“I always thought of getting my hair cut,” Tara whispered, playing with strands of Willow’s red locks. “And something would remind me of how you used to love to t-tangle your fingers in my hair and… I couldn’t do it,” she uttered.
The redhead opened her mouth to speak, closing it quickly and realizing she probably looked like a fish gasping for air. “I’m glad you didn’t. I like your hair long. I just wish you wouldn’t hide your beautiful face behind it,” she said honestly.
Tara blushed, her fingers sliding free of Willow’s hair. It was a self-conscious act, Willow knew.
"Why did you really come here, Tara?" Willow questioned, the light of the fireplace casting interesting shadows across her face.
Tara didn't answer immediately. "Can't we talk about that tomorrow? After I'm done b-beating you to a bloody-dead pulp?"
Willow sighed, nodding. She truly needed to know where they stood with each other but maybe Tara was right. It was late and they were both too tired to deal with something that deep-hitting right then. It would keep.
The redhead started to rise to her feet, stretching slightly as she did so. "Why don't you go sleep in my room?" Willow offered. "I feel bad having you sleep on the couch because my house is defective."
Tara smiled. "I'm kinda comfy actually."
Willow smirked. "You think I'll be able to sleep knowing that my guest is sleeping on the couch because I'm a bad hostess? Who do you take me for, Tara? The anti-Martha Stewart?" She put a somewhat mocking frown upon her face, making Tara giggle almost inaudibly.
"If you feel that g-guitly about it," Tara started. Her demeanor was that of someone about to get rejected and preparing her psyche for the worst. "You can always join me down here ...in...in front of the fire."
Willow regarded her for a moment, lifting an eyebrow skeptically. "I..." she started before taking a deep breath and shutting her mouth from any stupid words which might burst forth. She nodded and retrieved the blanket from where Tara had hung it over near the fire, setting on the floor and waiting until Tara had taken a spot, somewhat hesitantly, next to her.
"No flaming Tara tonight," Willow said quietly, reaching across Tara to pull a corner of the blanket up, out of the reach of mischievous sparks from the fireplace.
Her hand was caught by sturdy, if shaking, fingers, and held. "Willow hand," Tara whispered, her words almost catching in her voice, but making it past her fear by only pure determination.
Willow smirked lying on her back, noting how Tara kept firm hold of the captured hand. The two women lay side by side for a minute, neither speaking.
Tara rolled onto her side, facing the fire, away from Willow and taking the prisoner-hand with her. Willow had been forced to roll with her to keep her arm from being effectively ripped off. Her body lay close to Tara's, almost spooning the other woman from behind. She felt her fingers being toyed with for a second before she had the nerve to speak.
"Tara?" she whispered. "Are you... ok with ... I mean..." she stumbled over the words, not sure exactly how to ask if she was invading the woman's personal space.
Willow's search for the right phrase was cut short when she felt a fleeting, gentle kiss caress her knuckles before her hand was tucked against Tara's Abdomen. The redhead slid forward a bit, closer to her friend's back, and inhaled the scent of her ex lover. A small tear worked its way down her own cheek and she heard Tara sniffle.
"I know, baby, I know," Willow whispered, her words no louder than her breath. As she spoke, she pulled the other woman a little closer, each needing to know each other's presence as they slept.
**********
**********
The pancakes sizzled against the heat of the cast-iron pan, eliciting a delectable smell that would surely reached Tara’s nose as she stepped out of the shower upstairs.
“Smells good,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her wet hair with a towel after sliding into jeans and a casual blouse. Ensuring socks protected her feet from the cold wooden floor she padded downstairs. Tara leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen, crossed her arms across her chest and stood watching her ex lover peacefully make breakfast.
“Very domestic,” she managed to say, catching Willow’s attention.
“I try,” the redhead replied, flipping a pancake. “There’s juice in the fridge and glasses on the counter. Help yourself.”
Tara grinned, pouring both of them a glass of juice. “Are you sure you don’t run a b-bed and breakfast?” she said, starting to tease. “You do this very well.”
“Maybe I should make it my third job,” Willow said sarcastically.
“Third? I only thought you had one?”
Willow shrugged as she removed the ready pancakes from the griddle and sliding them onto a plate for her guest. She handed the plate to Tara while she spoke. “I run my store during the day. And then two nights a week, I teach a course in computers at the continuing education center.”
Tara nodded before setting the plate on the counter and slipping a little butter onto the pancakes. “That probably keeps you really busy.”
“Between the gardening I have to do for the store, and then preparing all the products, I’m really lucky that I’ve found time for the class at all,” Willow admitted. “Sometimes I wish I had an assistant who I could trust.”
“You should put an ad in the p-paper,” Tara said gently. “I’m sure someone would apply.”
“How do I know they’re trustworthy? Or that they won’t find my stash of wiccan herbs and turn me into a goat?” she said, only half seriously.
“A goat?” Tara chuckled under her breath as she bit into the pancakes. “Oh, Will, these are delicious!” she said around the bite.
Laying her own pancakes on her plate, Willow smirked to herself as she heard her old nickname cross Tara’s lips. “Maybe if I took a partner in the store I could expand it the way I really want to,” Willow continued. “But I can’t do that unless I hire some good staff to help me tend to things…”
Tara listened half-heartedly as her hostess pondered allowed. She managed to keep from blurting an offer to help; only repressed by the painful memories of Willow abandoning Sunnydale.
Tara mentally replayed memories of the previous holidays spent alone. Christmases and Solstices spent watching Anya and Xander make out under the mistletoe. Watching Dawn go from a cute teen into a beautiful woman. Sitting alone on the couch sipping punch while everyone else kissed his or her significant other at the stroke of the New Year.
So intent on her daydreams, she didn’t even realize that Willow had been calling her name several times.
Willow reached over, touching Tara’s shoulder. “Tara?” she asked, her voice curiously panicked.
“Oh…sorry…I was…” she started, feeling slightly embarrassed.
The redhead smirked knowingly. “Someplace else,” she finished her companion’s sentence.
Tara nodded. “Just thinking how close it is t-to the holidays.”
“Yeah. Things are getting busy at the store,” Willow agreed. “The road should be cleared by the end of the morning if you wanted to head into town today.”
“Sure,” Tara said. “Are there any hotels in town?”
“Nope. There’s one bed and breakfast,” Willow replied, “But Mrs. Sandeen is in the hospital so it’s closed for the next few weeks. I’ve called Bill and he’s on his way over to fix the heaters in the guest room. He said it’s probably because they haven’t been used in a long time and it won’t be too hard to fix. So if you’re staying here longer, it shouldn’t be so cold in there anymore,” she offered, not sure of what to make of Tara’s desire for a hotel.
“I don’t want to be an imposition,” Tara said simply.
“You’re not.”
“But getting the heaters f-fixed is awfully expensive and-“
Willow interrupted her quickly. “It’s worth it, Tara. I’d prefer to have them fixed than to have you freeze every night.”
“I can always head back to Sunnydale instead of putting you through that.”
In the sudden silence caused by that sentence, both women found each other’s eyes and almost lost themselves in the connection of their gaze.
“If you have to go back,” Willow said. “That’s what you have to do. But don’t do it to make my life easier.”
Tara frowned, studying her hands as she spoke. “I show up on your doorstep, spend the f-first half of the night screaming at you and the second half crying in front of a fire with you k-kind enough to hold me all night. I’m sure it wasn’t on your agenda.”
“No, it wasn’t. But it was a welcome change.” Willow’s voice was honest as she spoke.
They regarded each other for another minute or two before Willow spoke again. “We’d planned some deep conversation and some Willow-beating this morning, hadn’t we?”
Tara nodded. “I just n-need to know some things.”
Willow smirked in sad agreement. “So do I.”
“How did you end up here?” Tara asked, knowing it was a shallow question.
“The train,” Willow started, leaning on the counter and wrapping her hands around a coffee mug. “I packed up most of my stuff and got on the train. I just kept going north until I looked out my window and saw the landscape. A quiet little town far enough away from the hell mouth to not have any immediate dangers…but only a six-hour train ride incase of emergencies. I got off, asked the first person I met if they knew of any old houses for sale and… took most of my savings and bought it.”
“Sounds simple,” Tara commented.
“It was,” Willow agreed. “Almost too simple. But it’s been nice, really. I got my job teaching first, and used that income to refurbish the house. Then I after the house was mostly done, I had a month or two where I contracted out for tutoring, and web-page design and that income went to buying the building my store is in and fixing that up, too. The store’s self sufficient now, when it comes to financing; this town really loves anything herbal,” she said simply.
“You seem t-to have a nice life.”
Willow paused before speaking. “It’s quiet and I do something I really enjoy, yeah.”
“Are you happy?”
This time there was no hesitation when Willow spoke. “No. It’s lonely here. I miss lots of things.”
“L-like what?” Tara ventured, knowing she was pushing it with some of these questions.
Willow smiled in remembrance. “You, mostly. The sound of your voice… the look in your eyes when you tried not to laugh…the smell of your hair…the feel of your cold feet against my back in the middle of the night,” she chuckled as she recalled that particular feeling. “Tara’s Constellation naming 101. Even something as simple as you being in the same room as me…I mean, I miss Buffy and Xander and Anya and Dawnie, too. And I miss them all for their own reasons. But you’re what I miss most.”
Tara’s face, obscured by her hair, covered her gaze and made it a mystery to Willow.
“Tara, listen,” Willow said, softly, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her friend’s ear, trying to make eye contact. “I’m not feeding you a line or anything else- I’ve got nothing to loose with you. I don’t even know why you’re here…but you can be sure that I’m not just telling you something I think you want to hear. I’m just telling the truth.”
Tara looked up, her hand covering Willow’s. “I know. I can tell it’s true.”
“Good. You ask, and I’ll answer honestly. That’s the way this is going to work. I know what my mistakes were…what I did to drive you away. And I don’t plan on doing them ever again. You’re too important. Life is too important,” Willow offered, stroking her friend’s cheek with a tentative thumb.
Tara nodded against the visiting hand, reveling in the contact and a small part of her wondering how long it would last. “I missed you,” she whispered, her breath gazing against the skin of Willow’s wrist. “I spent so long wondering about you. I think everyone was as surprised as I was that I was p-productive because my mind was always on you, not the t-task at hand.”
“What have you been doing?” Willow ventured, allowing her hand to slip from Tara’s face and resting it, instead, over Tara’s hand on the counter top.
“I write,” she said simply, only adding on when she recognized the look on Willow’s face as one wanting more information. “I do features work for the newspaper as well as a magazine. In between articles, I pull shifts at the Magic Box and do research for Buffy. I spent a few years helping Buffy raise Dawn. She’s at college now, so mostly I write.”
Willow nodded. “Anything else?”
“Like what?” Tara queried.
“Like…socializing?”
Tara met Willow’s gaze, unable to keep from recognizing the question for what it really was. “I’m n-not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Willow nodded before clearing her throat. “That leads me to my next question. Why are you really here?”
Tara took a deep breath, slipping her hand from underneath Willow’s and beginning to pace the spacious kitchen. “After something horrid happens in your life, you deal with it for as long you can before you come to the point where you let it consume you or you go out and get resolution,” she said, her stutters sliding away as the words rushed from her mouth. “I went back for you in Sunnydale to try to deal with everything but you weren’t there, so I couldn’t. And so all I’ve felt since right after we broke up has been stewing inside me for six years and… I think the reason I was in Buffy’s house unloading her boxes yesterday was because…well, if all these feelings had stewed inside me much longer I don’t know if I could have handled it…normally.”
Willow started to speak, not liking the image of Tara succumbing to anything dark. “Tara-“
Tara held up her hand, silencing her. “No… I would have done something that I would have regretted. And there’s a reason I was there this year…you’re the reason, Willow. I needed to know what had happened to you. I needed to know if you were alive or dead or all consumed by evil. And, honestly, I think there were points where I was so upset I thought you deserved whatever you got. B-but that’s not what I really felt. Or else I wouldn’t have well, almost blown up Buffy when I thought she had hid you from me,” Tara paused, smirking at the memory. “My desire to find you was fed on the hope that you’d be Ok. And…that maybe you’d…” she lost her voice, her words overcome with thickness of emotion.
“I’d what?” Willow gently proded, taking a tentative step towards Tara.
“I don’t know,” Tara whispered, shaking her head. “You’d be as lovable as when I left. And that you’d forgive me for abandoning you…and you’d tell me why Buffy gets Christmas presents and I don’t!!” she managed to choked out before collapsing into Willow’s arms with sobs racking her body.
“Shh…” Willow crooned, easing onto the floor and cradling Tara in her lap. She stroked Tara’s blonde hair, gently kissing her temple. Through her mind ran images of their relationship and smiled as she recalled how the duty of caretaker had been equally distributed. But for some reason, the sobbing blonde in her arms was providing as much comfort as she was receiving. Because you need to do this as much as she does, Willow’s psyche reminded her.
“Oh, Tara,” Willow uttered, kissing her friend’s temple again. “You don’t need to be forgiven.”
“I don’t?” Tara looked up through her red-rimmed eyes. Her face was tear-stained and damp from the tracks of moisture.
“No. You didn’t abandon me,” Willow said. “The thing that made me leave darkness…what pulled me out of all that evil wasn’t Buffy or what happened with Dawn. It was the fact that all the wonderful things that are Tara were lost to me unless I quit. Needing you as much as I did was what pulled me out of that, Tara. If you never left me, I would have never quit.”
Tara sniffled, pillowing her head on Willow’s shoulder and allowing her mind to mull over Willow’s words.
“And about those Christmas presents,” Willow continued gently. “How was I supposed to know where to ship them to? Or even that you’d go back to Sunnydale? I am many things, Ms. MaClay, but I am not an employee of the psychic friend’s network,” Willow felt Tara’s body shake with a chuckle and she ventured hesitantly further. “But…if you’re really want, I’ll come up with six-years of Christmas presents for you.”
Tara smiled, looking up at Willow. “And that t-takes care of my other worry,” she whispered, her fingers touching Willow’s chin. “You’re still as l-loveable as ever.”
A gentle blush flooded Willow’s cheeks and she rolled her eyes. “Sap.”
“Yeah,” Tara agreed with a nod. She shifted slightly and suddenly realized where she was sitting. “I’ve got to be squishing you.”
Willow shook her head. “Nope. You’re just where I want ya.”
It was Tara’s turn to roll her eyes and blush but despite Willow’s protest, she gently slid off her friend’s lap. “Breakfast was great. You’ve learned to cook really well.”
The redhead nodded slightly. “There’s no MacDonald’s here for breakfast every morning. I had to learn or starve,” she admitted. “I um…I can make eggs, too.”
“What kind of eggs?” Tara asked, a playful smirk gracing her lips.
“Sassy eggs are my specialty,” Willow replied. "But I only make those for special occasions."
“What kind of occasion?”
“Like when my best friend walks back into my life and offers me a hope of redemption,” Willow said. She stood, holding out a hand to Tara to help her off the floor. “Of course, since you already ate this morning, we’ll have to save the Sassy eggs for another time.”
Tara took the offered hand. “Darn. That’s too bad. Next time I’ll hold out for the sassy eggs.”
Willow smiled, feeling Tara’s fingers meet with hers. She helped her friend off the floor and they stood toe to toe for a minute before Willow cleared her throat, breaking the electricity-charged moment.
“I’ll help with the dishes,” Tara offered suddenly, moving to the sink.
“No. You’re a guest, Tara,” Willow said. “You don’t have to do chores.”
“But I want to, Will. That’s not fair to you.”
“It’s ok,” Willow replied with a gentle smile. “It’s almost eleven anyway…why don’t you slip some shoes on and we’ll head into town in a few minutes. I’ll call Bill and tell him he can come get started on the heaters while we’re out.”
Tara nodded somewhat hesitantly, honestly feeling as if she should help. “Ok,” she said. She smirked as she saw Willow stack all the dishes in the sink to soak. She’s got her own house and her own life. She’s really come along way, she thought to herself as she walked upstairs to find her shoes.
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I just love this story and wish you would write more 
Awesome job
very good job bringing them back together.