AUTHOR: Wayland
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Willow, Tara and any other characters from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise belong to Joss Whedon, FOX and ME.
SPOILERS: Up to and including Season Six.
SUMMARY: Tara left Willow after Tabula Rasa. It is now about a year later.
FEEDBACK: I would be grateful for your comments.
NOTES: Thanks to my beta, Vivienne, for the encouragement I needed to get this far. Thanks to BeMyDeputy for invaluable input.
Chapter 7
Willow lay rigid, her eyes closed, trying not to breathe. The night before, she had gone to bed and fallen asleep quickly for the first time in a year. The knowledge that Tara was sleeping under the same roof - no matter how briefly - had worked like a tranquilliser on her, muffling the clamour of her mind. When she woke, just after dawn, and felt the warm, heavy body wrapped around her, for a blessed few moments she thought nothing at all. Then panic gripped her. As if hanging by a lone thread over a precipice, she knew that the slightest movement would cause disaster. For an hour she had lain still as the gathering light filled the room. Tears pooled in the hollow of her nose, tickling. She dared not move, even to brush them away. As if to compensate, her mind raced, impressing on her memory the pressing of Tara’s body against her own. Because a year ago, she had forgotten this. And remembered only when it was too late. She memorized the sweetness of her scent, the firmness of her arms and the softness of her breasts. She did not understand. The faint hope that this could ever happen again had died yesterday, when she fled Sunnydale. She did not understand and she did not care. All that mattered was not moving.
Willow tensed as she heard the small sounds that signalled Tara was waking up. For a split second, Tara’s arms tightened around her body as if by reflex, then, like the tearing off of a sticking plaster, they pulled away. Willow felt the rush of warm air escaping as the blankets settled back on top of her.
Then Tara was gone.
Willow did not move until she heard the hissing noise of her shower start up. Finally she turned over, stretching out her aching limbs, she wiped her face dry on the pillow. Tara had always waited politely for her to wake up before showering, in case she needed to use the bathroom first. When they had moved into her parents’ house for the month of their German sabbatical, Willow had tentatively suggested that there was no need to wait - Tara could simply leave the bathroom door unlocked. Tara’s eyes had widened at the idea, before apparently realizing that in that house, there was no danger of Buffy or Dawn bursting in on her. Or bursting in on them. Then she had smiled shyly, and said, ‘Sure.’ And Willow had grinned back at her, her quick mind already planning water-saving joint showers.
With a jolt that pulled her back to the present, Willow registered a lack of noise. The shower wasn’t running any more. She had no idea how long it had taken her to notice. She flung herself out of bed, stumbling in the process. One thought battered its way around her head. Tara might leave. She might get dressed and leave before Willow could see her again. Yanking off her pyjamas, Willow grabbed a pair of loose jeans and a dark jumper from the back of a chair. She pulled clean underwear from a pile of laundry on the seat. Her eyes flickered over the same half-dozen items that made the journey from washer-dryer to chair. In her closet were colourful, flattering outfits that rarely saw the light of day. For a split second, Willow wished she looked better, then she scrambled into her clothes and dragged a brush through her hair.
************
Willow was in the kitchen and making coffee by the time Tara appeared at the doorway. Usually she made do with a quick mug of instant, but this morning she had literally dusted off her fancy espresso machine. Willow placed two cups in plain view on the counter, then risked a brief glance at her ex-girlfriend. Tara’s wet hair was scraped back and tied in a ponytail; her face was expressionless.
‘Look at this doodad!’ Willow gestured towards the coffee maker. ‘Did you ever see so many cute little pipe thingies? And the switches! Look at all those switches!’
‘It’s very cool.’ Tara’s reply sounded stilted. Another quick glance, and Willow saw that Tara had moved just inside the doorway and was leaning against the wall. She was wearing her own clothes again, a little crumpled, but dry, after a night draped over the radiator.
Willow set a jar down next to the cups and wondered if Tara still took sugar. Two level spoonfuls for coffee, one for tea. The thought made Willow blink furiously and she kept her back turned, rummaging noisily for spoons.
‘Xander gave it me, last Christmas. I mean, I never use it cuz it seems too much trouble just for . . . but I swear, NASA is planning to steal the technology.’ Willow felt herself nodding like those dogs stuck on the back window of a car.
‘So . . . black, white, latte, cappuccino, triple espresso . . . what’ll it be?’
‘White is fine, thank you.’ Tara seemed to shake herself out of a daze. She met Willow’s eyes for the first time that morning. ‘Lovely, actually.’
Tara pulled out a chair and sat down. She kept her hands folded on her lap. Willow put a cup of coffee in front of her, then set the jar of sugar down near the centre of the table. She felt a rush of irrational relief when Tara reached for it.
They spent the next hour in awkward conversation across the kitchen table, sipping their coffee. Willow avoided the subject of her job and her co-workers and instead talked relentlessly about the city and all its attractions that she could recall. In truth, these were few, as she rarely went anywhere but to her office and back to the apartment. Eventually she remembered a Saturday morning market a few blocks away. She described it in glowing terms, focusing on the type of stalls that Tara might like.
‘It sounds good,’ was enough encouragement for Willow to suggest in a breezy tone that they’d ‘better get going’ before all the nice stuff was gone. Tara replied with a soft ‘Sure’, which silenced Willow for a moment. When she realised that she was listening to the kitchen clock ticking, Willow shook herself and resumed her stream of meaningless chatter. After Tara had assured her that she didn’t want anything to eat, Willow left her and rushed through a rapid shower, keeping the water pressure turned down low, her ears alert for the sound of her front door slamming. Within ten minutes she was back in the kitchen. Her mouth dried at the sight of Tara, in the same seat, casually flicking through a magazine.
‘Ready to go?’
Tara looked up at her, smiling.
‘Yep, let’s get those bargains.’
They collected their coats and left the apartment.
Tara had not mentioned leaving. Neither of them had mentioned the night before.
************
It was approaching dusk by the time they got back and Willow was grateful for the short winter days. It seemed unlikely that Tara would head off to Sunnydale in the dark. Unlikely, but not impossible.
The afternoon had been a strange mixture of tension and familiarity.
It was a cold day but the sky was blue and the sun shone. Cars parked in the shade still showed traces of frost on their windshields. Willow was immensely relieved to find that the market was not only open but busy and vibrant. The lifting of the grey clouds after what had seemed like weeks of dull, overcast weather seemed to enliven the crowds of shoppers. The market was a mixture of fancy frippery and second-hand clothing. She and Tara wandered aimlessly up and down the rows of stalls.
They bypassed the New Age wannabes, with their displays of inert crystals and designer Tarot cards, and raised eyebrows at the piles of torn and dirty-looking ‘classic’ jeans which cost half a week’s wages. At one stall Tara seemed very taken with the selection of fragrant bath oils in glass stoppered jars. She eased out the cork from one of them and held it out to Willow, who obediently leaned in to sniff, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. The scent was sharp and citrusy. She nodded her approval and Tara bought it.
They drank more coffee and Willow felt warmth flood through her when Tara pressed her to eat ‘something that actually has a food value.’
At the same time, her jaw ached from the effort of biting back every reference to their shared past, to anything but what was in front of them, in that moment.
They walked back to the apartment briskly, hunched in their coats against the gathering chill of the evening.
Willow slumped onto the couch and picked up the T.V. guide.
‘I’m beat. Why do they call it browsing, anyway? They should give it a tougher name, like market hiking or endurance shopping.’ She kept her tone casual, her gaze on the magazine while she watched Tara out of the corner of her eye. ‘Chinese and an old movie sound ok?’
Tara continued to pack away the small items she had bought into her bag and replied without looking up.
‘Sounds fine to me.’
Willow unclenched her hand and reached for the take-out menu by the phone.
************
They ate in the living room, trays propped on their laps, a yard between them on the couch. The television provided material for intermittent conversation. By the time the film was over, Willow reluctantly admitted to herself that she was exhausted. Emotional strain had left her bone-weary, but like a child on her birthday, she was loathe to accept that the day was over. And tomorrow . . . tomorrow was not something she could bear to contemplate. It was almost a relief when Tara made the decision for her.
‘Well, I’m really tired. Guess I should hit the hay . . . if that’s ok?’ The painful attempt at humour, and the question, tore at Willow.
‘Yes, yes of course, you must be exhausted . . . is there anything you need?’
Tara shook her head as she stood up. ‘I’m good, thanks.’ She paused, her weight balanced awkwardly on one foot, then she turned and headed down the hall to the guest room.
************
Willow lay awake, watching the red LED display on her alarm clock. 1.23 a.m. 2.07 a.m. Usually she tossed and turned when she could not sleep; she sprawled sideways and angrily pumped pillows. Tonight she remained still, facing the wall, her position in the bed an exact copy of the way she had slept the night before.
A click from down the hall sounded clearly in the quiet apartment. Willow closed her eyes and practised breathing. She thought she could sense Tara in the doorway, but wondered if she was simply torturing herself. She remembered to keep breathing. Willow had almost given in to the temptation to turn over and open her eyes, when she felt a chill on her back and the dipping of the mattress as Tara slipped noiselessly into bed beside her. Willow was careful not to lift her body as she felt strong arms slide under and around her waist. She fought the impulse to press backwards. She kept her arms and legs still, she kept breathing.
Willow had every intention of staying awake all night. She meant to savour every last moment of Tara’s presence beside her - her inexplicable presence. But this was the place she belonged above all others, this was where she relaxed and was safe. In Tara’s arms, Willow fell asleep.
When she woke, she was alone.
************
‘What the hell am I doing?’ Tara stood up and walked across the small guest room towards the the full-length mirror on the closet door. She felt the stiffness in her arms and legs and wondered exactly how long she had been sitting on the edge of the bed, wrestling with that question. She contemplated her reflection, as if the answer might be written on her face. It didn’t help. Examining her own image dispassionately, she saw the puffiness beneath her eyes and the paleness of her skin in the weak morning light. She looked tired.
Friday night had been an aberration. After a fitful sleep and the confrontation with Buffy, she had made the long journey to the city. She was already exhausted. Then, seeing Willow again, the last of her defences had been stripped away. She hadn’t been thinking straight. By some miracle, Willow had not woken up and Tara had fled the room, her heart beating frantically as if after a near miss in a car.
Then the afternoon. It had been excruciating. And wonderful. Like coming in from the fields when she was a child and sitting at the fire, waiting as the feeling returned to her frozen hands and feet.
The market was mercifully crowded and loud. One of the stalls sold silk scarves, stacked in colourful piles. Tara rummaged through the different designs then held one up to Willow.
‘What do you think?’
Willow smiled and began to speak when Tara interrupted her.
‘I was thinking . . . Buffy . . . a Christmas present?’
Willow looked from the scarf, to Tara, and then back again, her brow furrowed in mock alarm. ‘You wanna accessorize . . . Buffy?’
Tara nodded, her expression grave, as she refolded the scarf.
‘Not a good idea, huh?’
‘Not so much, no.’ Willow shuddered theatrically and they exchanged a quick smile before moving along to the next stall.
Although the day was mild for late October, Tara had never before felt so grateful for the deep pockets of her winter coat. She kept her hands trapped, her knuckles pushed into the corners of the smooth lining. At the coffee shop, when a smear of foam caught on the edge of Willow’s lip, Tara pressed her fists down inside her coat, hard against her hips.
The evening had been easier. Television and food had provided distraction enough to see her through til the moment she had closed the guestroom door behind her. For the first time that day, Tara felt the pressure around her chest loosen and she collapsed on the bed, barely able to keep her eyes open.
It could have been an hour later, or five. Tara refused to look at her watch as she threw aside the blankets in frustration and got up. On the way back from the bathroom she paused in the doorway of Willow’s room. She decided to allow herself a quick look, just to check that the other woman was peacefully sleeping. She placed her hand on the door frame, as if ready to physically push herself away. The image flashed through her mind of an alcoholic wavering in front of the kitchen cupboard. Behind the door was the bottle that would instantly soothe the unbearable tension in every muscle, the gritty irritation under her skin and the relentless cycling of her thoughts. Tara stood, frozen. All she had to do was take one step forward. Her hand moved involuntarily.
She had woken wrapped in Willow. Again.
Tara pressed her palms into her face, covering her eyes, then smoothed her hands down, over her chin, until her fingertips rested at the top of her shirt. She needed to take a shower. She needed to get dressed. She needed to do something. She needed to leave.
In a blur of movement she spun round, crossed the room in a couple of strides, and pulled open the door. She jumped when she saw Willow, waiting in the hallway. She was rumpled from sleep, her hair tangled, looking small in baggy nightclothes. Her stance was awkward, as if caught between steps. She looked up, in fuzzy bewilderment, at Tara.
Tara’s voice sounded unnaturally loud.
‘I need to go.’
Willow flinched as if from a physical blow. Tara found her eyes fixed to the chalk white of Willow’s cheek, half-expecting to see the mark of her handprint blossom there. She felt as if she was suffocating. Tara backtracked desperately, the words tumbling out.
‘I mean . . . I need to get a shower . . . if that’s alright? Or I can wait and go after you, that’s fine too . . . . ’
Willow just stared at her for a moment, as if waiting for the words to unscramble and register their meaning. Then she nodded and pulled her mouth into a stiff smile.
‘Sure. I’ll just make some coffee . . . fire up the doodad thingy . . . ok?’
Tara nodded and replied softly, ‘Ok.’
She waited for Willow to go past her, then crossed the hallway to the bathroom door.
************
On top of that, I’m following Deb’s critique which is like cruel and embarrassing punishment! BUT your story is worth it, so buckle up! 
Seriously, the first definition tends to be of something liquid freezing or coagulating into solid and the last definition is used more to define opinions or ideas becoming rigid. So I’m thinking another word or phrase is a better choice. I’m not remotely saying that these are better, just providing some brainstorming to spark your own ideas:
