by AntigoneUnbound » Wed Feb 26, 2003 9:30 pm
Gods Served and Abandoned
**This is a big chapter, so I'm posting it in two sections. The next section will be posted immediately after this.
Disclaimers:
Joss and ME own all of these characters, as well as a truly spectacular decline in ratings and one cancelled show.
Spoilers:
Up to season 5. I’ve played slightly with the timing of a certain Big Bad’s appearance, with some implications for Dawn’s entrance.
Rating:
R for now; if it changes, I’ll give heads-up.
Distribution:
Sure, with acknowledgement.
Feedback:
Even more sure! Bring it on!
*****
Part 15
*****
The table had been cleared; the dishes were washed and put away; one last load of laundry had been put in the dryer. Now Beth and her uncle were watching television. It seemed to be one of those earnest drama shows on Pax, which was one of the few channels her uncle ever watched. Beth herself paid only scant attention to the fictitious proceedings before her. Her mind kept whip-lashing between this domestic scene and countless other evenings in that other house, the one she’d grown up in. Uncle Nathan didn’t talk much, but that was OK. He didn’t shout or walk around half-drunk. She liked the quiet.
She tried to remember if her father had always been that way—brash and outspoken and so very fond of his whiskey. She could dimly remember him as a happier man, one who gave her horse-back rides through the house and whose laughter wasn’t so harsh, so bitter. But in the ten years since he’d left, her memories of him had grown blurry and she wasn’t sure she trusted them anyway. It was hard to have any real sense of him, especially with her mother damning him to the fieriest torment Hell had to offer. Her tone ranged from full-throated condemnation to mewling, sanctimonious "forgiveness," but no matter the key, the score could best be titled, "Quinn Maclay is Going to Hell."
"Your father is nothing but a drunken, whoring sinner who abandoned his wife and child to fend for themselves."
"We’re better off without him. He brought nothing but shame to this family."
"I hope he’s seen the error of his ways. He’s a lost sheep; that’s what he is. And on Judgement Day, if he doesn’t come to the Cross on bended knee, he’ll have to answer for his sins. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,’ and I believe it. It’s not for me to judge; God will do that."
Uncle Nathan, by contrast, was polite, if terse; and he never raised his voice. He had been the sole parent for two children, neither of whom could be described as easy.
Donnie was so angry all the time; Beth had no idea why. Even his grin made her uneasy. It reminded her of some of the booths at the Fair, the ones that were all bright and lit-up, but when you actually stepped up to the counter to play the game, everything was dirty and the prizes were cheap and tacky.
And Tara…Beth unconsciously frowned as she considered her cousin. If ever a girl had it made…Uncle Nathan didn’t make Tara do the hardest, dirtiest chores on the farm and as a result her hands were never all stained and roughened, unlike Beth’s, who had already performed more physical labor than most women twice her age. Tara had two parents, and it was plain her mother adored her. If Uncle Nathan was a little less affectionate, it was just because he wasn’t a showy person. Tara had that long blond hair and those blue eyes and apparently she had all sorts of book-smarts; at least she should—she was always reading.
Beth had bounced to a couple of different schools over the course of her mother’s spiritual journey, and so she had only heard bits and pieces of what people said about Tara. She knew her cousin wasn’t popular; Beth figured it was because she was too stuck-up to be friends with regular people who didn’t happen to keep their noses in a book all day long.
As a commercial came on, beseeching viewers to make the phone call that would change their lives, Beth turned to her uncle, sitting in his easy chair on the other side of the living room.
"Uncle Nathan, would you like something from the kitchen? A glass of iced tea?"
Nathan Maclay seemed momentarily surprised to find another person in the room with him. He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then said, "No thank you, Beth. Actually, I think I’m going to call it a day." So saying, he rose and headed out of the room. "Good night," he said, almost as an afterthought.
"Good night, Uncle Nathan," Beth called after him. She had considered asking him earlier how he thought Donnie was progressing in Sunnydale, but quickly discarded the idea. He had been virtually mute on the subject since Donnie had left, even though there were huge gaps of silence between them in which Beth suspected they were both thinking about that very thing. But she learned quickly how to anticipate his moods and most of all how to avoid broaching subjects—like Tara—that clearly made him upset. She didn’t need to add any fuel to the fire; she certainly didn’t need Uncle Nathan getting angry at her. She had taken over Tara’s room, and she was in no hurry to relinquish it.
As the sincere, white, church-going family took shape once more on the television, she remembered evenings, many years ago, sitting in front of a much smaller set trying to ignore the arguments around her.
"Where have you been all night? We waited supper for you for over an hour!"
"I was out, OK? I just felt like seein’ some of the guys down at the Fire Hall. It’s no big deal."
"No big deal? You don’t call to say where you are; you could be layin’ dead in a ditch somewhere for all I knew. And you stink of booze."
"Jesus Christ, woman, would you back off? I’m not dead, and I didn’t drink that much. Besides, half the time I drink just to get away from you."
"Were you out with some trash? Did you pick up some whore down at Benny’s?"
"I told you—I was at the Fire Hall. You wanna call down there and check out my alibi?"
"Did you see her? Was that where you were?"
"I don’t need this shit. I’m going to bed."
"Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!"
So many nights like that—the screaming and cursing and threats, and through it all, she acted as if she weren’t even there because for all they cared, she wasn’t. It was a handy skill to have, she gradually came to realize—the ability to fade into the woodwork and see everything that went on. People forgot that there was a witness to their crimes.
*****
"So, um, what should I pack? What’s appropriate attire on a farm?" Willow was bustling nervously around her room, pulling out a small suitcase. After returning from Giles’ the previous night, they had decided to leave at noon that day.
"Sweetie, we’re not setting out for the New World. And we won’t be staying overnight. I want to hear what he has to say and then leave." Tara sat down heavily on the bed. "Willow, are you sure you want to come with me?"
Willow called a halt to her stress-induced planning, and walked over to sit beside Tara. Taking one slender hand in her own, she replied, "Baby, there is no way on this earth or in any other dimension that I would let you go back to that place by yourself. You left there alone; you’re going back there with a partner." Kissing Tara’s cheek, she added, "Who will kick every ass on the homestead if need be."
Tara gave a small laugh. "Oh, honey…So tiny, yet so butch." She pulled Willow onto her lap and rested her cheek against her breast.
Willow held her tightly, relieved to see Tara expressing something besides exhaustion and fatalism. She had realized last night that while Tara wasn’t afraid of having to return home, she was afraid of having demon blood in her. Well who wouldn’t be? She herself was worried about that possibility; she could only imagine what it was like for Tara.
"Baby, can we talk about this a little bit? I mean, I know you’re reeling from everything, but it’s hard to sit by and wonder what you’re thinking." She spoke tentatively, torn between wanting to respect Tara’s need to mull things over in her own head for awhile, and needing to be inside of this somehow, with her.
"Yeah," came the mumbled reply, Tara’s breath warm against her neck. "I mean, we’re lesbians, so we have to process this, I know." Her attempt at laughter was valiant but unsuccessful. Willow cupped her chin and tilted her head until she could look into Tara’s eyes. When she could, she held her gaze for a long moment, and then kissed her gently and fully. As they parted, she heard a slight hitch in Tara’s breath, and then saw tears splash down over her cheek.
"Oh, Tara, I’m so sorry you have to go through all of this. I wish I could just make it all go away." She felt tears threatening in her own eyes.
"Willow, what if it’s true? What if I do have demon in me? How can I live like that? How can…" She trailed off, lowering her eyes.
"What, Baby? How can what?"
Tara was silent for a moment, and when she looked back up, her eyes were filled with a pain that Willow hadn’t seen (and had hoped never to see again) since the night she had told Tara that she was giving Oz another chance.
"How can you live like that? How can you be with someone who’s…tainted like that? Again?" she added softly.
Willow felt her heart and mind aching simultaneously. Tara was in such pain, and her primary thought was of their relationship. And she wanted to comfort Tara—she would comfort Tara—but she couldn’t lie to her and say that the thought had never crossed her own mind. She slid off of Tara’s lap, but only to be able to look her more easily in the eye.
"Baby, I won’t try to tell you that I’m not scared, too. I am. More than anything, I’m scared of how this is affecting you inside, how you’re feeling. I hate seeing you in pain; it makes me want to move heaven and earth to put that smile back on your face. And yeah, I’m scared of how we’ll handle this, because it would be something we couldn’t just ignore. But Tara, there’s nothing we could find out that will make me leave you, or want to leave you. It’s just not an option."
"But Willow, what if I’m dangerous?" Tears were falling faster now from the fathomless blue eyes.
"Then we’ll figure out how to deal with it. Don’t you see, Tara—no matter what’s inside of you, you’re inside of me. Life has never been sweeter than it is with you; why would I ever chose to leave it? Besides, I’ve lived through three alleged ends of the world, not to mention kissing Xander. Do you really think this can shake my resolve?"
This last bit earned her a small grin from the lovely woman before her. "That’s true. Kissing Xander is not for the faint of heart, I suspect."
"Nor the gay of spirit," Willow confirmed. She brushed some of the tears from Tara’s face, her fingers lingering over full lips.
"I just know what you went through with Oz," Tara said softly, pain creasing her features again.
Willow fell silent, considering her own experiences with the werewolf. After a moment, she answered truthfully, "Tara, the worst part of that was how it ended—the first time, I mean. The werewolf part wasn’t exactly a day at the Science Fair, but we handled it alright; or so I thought. What hurt me was finding out that he was drawn to another werewolf instead of me; that he wanted her in some kind of primitive, animalistic way. And he didn’t tell me; he didn’t let me in on what he was feeling. He just shut me out and tried to take care of it himself, coming to the wonderful solution that he should lock the object of his desire inside his cage with him. Can’t imagine why that plan didn’t work…" She gave Tara a wry smile.
Tara’s eyes narrowed as she considered this. "That’s why it’s so important to you that we talk about this, isn’t it? I mean, I know you want to help me with this, but you also don’t want to be on the outside, do you?" She stroked Willow’s cheek with soft fingers.
Willow sighed. "I guess you’re right. It just hurt so much to find out that he was feeling all of these things and didn’t tell me about it. So yeah, I want to be on the inside of this, with you, figuring it out together. I can handle anything that the two of us go through, so long as we go through it together. I’ll fight anything by your side, Baby, but don’t ask me to go get some coffee while you figure out what to do."
Tara grinned, and now it was her turn to kiss her girlfriend gently in silent reassurance. "No coffee—check."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then Willow pulled back slightly. "So it’s agreed? We face everything together, and we tell each other when we’re scared, and when we get coffee, we do it as a team."
"It’s agreed." Tara looked at her watch. "I guess we should get going soon. We need to go to Xander’s and pick up his car. God love him for loaning it to us."
"You sure I shouldn’t pack extra clothes? Just in case we decide to stay overnight at some little bed and breakfast, or maybe some tawdry no-tell motel where we can play all sorts of naughty games?"
Tara laughed, and Willow basked in the full, rich sound that filled the room. "Oh right, because we never play naughty games in our rooms." She shook her head. "Well, you may be right. Better to be prepared."
"That’s my motto," Willow replied enthusiastically, pulling extra clothes out of her drawer. "Say, Tara, I was thinking about something. Your dad’s letter made it sound like he was an only child, but what about your cousin Beth? Is that on your mom’s side?"
Tara pulled on her jacket as she answered, "No, actually Dad has two half-siblings. His mom remarried when she settled in Cold Springs. Beth’s dad is his half-brother, my Uncle Quinn."
"What’s his story?"
"Well, apparently he was as loose as Dad is uptight—in more ways than one. I know he drank a lot, and I think he cheated on Aunt Margaret pretty regularly. He left—I guess it’s been about a decade ago. Nobody’s talked to him since, as far as I know."
"So he wouldn’t have any demon blood, if your dad’s telling the truth." Willow emphasized this last part.
"No, and neither would Aunt Beverly. That’s Dad’s half-sister," she added, anticipating Willow’s question. "She never got married. Maybe that’s where I get it from…I think she was on the bus, too, although she certainly never came out to me. She left Cold Springs when I was about four, I think. Also without much fan-fare; pretty much as soon as she graduated. Really kept to herself. We get Christmas and birthday cards from her, but that’s about it. She’s in Dallas now, teaching high school."
"So simpering Cousin Beth has no excuse for her behavior?"
"No, she’s just a natural-born holier-than-thou sneak."
"Very attractive," Willow noted, tucking socks into a corner of her bag and zipping it.
"Not so much, actually," Tara relied. They headed toward the door and opened it to reveal two Scoobies, a Slayer, one Watcher, and a Key.
Xander’s hand was in knock position; he quickly lowered it and stepped inside, followed by the others. A jumble of voices filled the room, each contributing a separate account for their presence.
"Whoa, hold on, kids." Willow gestured for quiet. "What’s with the send-off party? You guys planning on busting a bottle of champagne over Xander’s car?"
A brief silence greeted this question, and then Giles—apparently the tacit choice for spokesperson—ventured forth.
"Actually, it’s not a send-off party. We discussed it last night, after the two of you left, and we all felt that, well, perhaps you would do well with some moral and tactical support."
"We’re coming with you," Anya announced, reducing Giles’ explanation to a pronouncement.
"To lift spirits, watch your backs—" Buffy began.
"And kick some ass," Dawn finished, willfully oblivious to Buffy’s consternation. "If necessary," she modified slightly, blushing as Tara smiled at her.
"You guys, I don’t know what to say," Tara replied, looking at each person in turn. "I mean, this is so incredibly kind of you, all of you. To take time off from work, and school, and—" She looked at Dawn again, frowning. "And school, as in, high school. Dawn, Sweetie, you can’t just miss all your classes."
"Can. Will. Am." The teenager crossed her arms over her chest.
"Trust me," Buffy said with a sigh, "we’ve been all through this. Short of tying her up or threatening to publish her journals—which I can’t do, since it would incriminate me on some things I’d just as soon not come to light—there was no way to keep her from coming."
"Besides, I want to see where you grew up," Dawn added. "Maybe not the people so much, because they’re kinda poopy, but your house, where you used to play, all that stuff."
Willow refrained from rolling her eyes, but caught Buffy’s grin in her direction and had to smile in return.
"Are there pictures of you from when you were younger?" Dawn was asking, moving to Tara’s side as they walked out of the room.
"Or drawings on refrigerators, held up with magnets? I understand that’s a very common custom in families." Anya’s curiosity was a thing to behold.
"It’s a veritable field trip," Giles remarked, smiling affectionately at Willow as she followed him out of the room. "Perhaps we’ll stop for ice cream."
*****
--- and i hope 
finally gets this all settled soon! and some smoochies would be appreciated too!!
And ah, hey, keep thinking those *ahem* good thoughts about Amber – ‘cause raising the body’s temperature actually helps kill the virus - yanno. Thinking about Amber is therapeutic, repeat as desired 
. 
) 
) snap her out of it by pointing out the absurdity of such a defeatist attitude...
I can't even imagine how it would feel to be lulled into a false sense of security just to have it brutally ripped away from me.
Oh yeah that was last year.
at: 2/26/03 8:07:15 pm
Brilliant writing Mary, absolutely brilliant.
). 
at: 2/27/03 4:20:00 am
and i am glad you like my signature -- credit goes to the Mary Tyler Moore Show -- Chuckles the Clown ended all his shows with that line .... 
I was *SO* ready to weigh in on the substantive if somewhat dark conversation your magnificent (use it lightly I Do Not) fic inspires:
Having a father who was a closeted "Hee Haw" fan how this resonated...sad to say.
