AS TIME GOES BY
Part 19
Summary: What the hell's going on here?
Spoiler: You'll find out.
Pairings: Willow and Tara; Pat Robertson and the San Francisco Gay Men's Choir
Disclaimer: Haiku for Ownership: Behold their beauty / These women I do not own / Joss is a wanker
Notes: (1) This section alludes briefly to some history depicted in ""Gods Served and Abandoned" You don't need to have read that story to get the gist here, but if you have any questions, just send me a PM and I'll fill in the blanks. (2) I have most of the next scene written, but wanted to get this up tonight. I'll be posting again by the end of the week. There is much to hash out.********
"This crap doesn't make any sense."
How many times had she heard that refrain?
"I don't know why I even have to learn this stuff," the grating voice continued. "I'm a business major. I'm gonna go straight into my dad's company when I graduate."
Tara mentally congratulated herself again on having quoted a fee ten dollars over her usual hourly amount when the well-dressed young white man with the "Bush/Cheney 2000" patch on his back-pack had stopped her in the English building last month. "This guy down my hall says you're the best tutor he ever had. I need your help."
She didn't like Blake Mansfield, but she took her work seriously. So seriously, in fact, that she had reached deep within herself and reluctantly prevented him from telling his professor in his first paper, "I don't always give myself enough credit. I guess you could say I suffer from self-defecation."
He had pulled himself up--or rather, Tara had pulled him--to a safe 'C' and she would be well quit of him in two, maybe three weeks.
He'll graduate and make sixty thousand his first year. How much did that social worker make--the one who killed herself?
"Because good communication skills will enhance your success in any endeavor," she now said rotely. "Asshole," she mentally added--not so rotely. She could feel her frustration building--with Blake; with all of these students who never seemed to question the good fortune that they had been born into.
"So..." Blake began with an air of studied nonchalance that served only the opposite purpose. Tara's ears pricked up immediately. "You seein' anybody?"
You have got to be kidding me."Yes," she said simply, after a moment. "Now, we were discussing narrative perspectives. As Gaye Nau Carr talks about in her text, the primary--"
"You two serious?"
"Blake, I really don't want to talk about--"
"Because, you know, if he's not doin' it for you--"
"She does, Blake. She does it for me very well. And stop dropping the 'g's' on your gerunds."
Ah, the look. How best to describe it? "Shocked titillation," she decided.
"Whoa...You're a ..." He seemed unable to say the word.
"Lesbian," Tara helped out. "Lesbo. Dyke. Yes--a big one." She felt uncharacteristically irritable. She didn't like Blake, but she was a little surprised by the acerbity of her reaction. "Can we return to the topic of your writing?"
"Oh--sure." He shifted noisily in his chair. "Hey, listen...I didn't mean to offend you," he began.
"No offense taken," Tara lied, then realized she wasn't exactly sure what
had offended her.
His entire being, she decided. Picking up her red pen, she stifled a yawn.
i should've turned in about an hour earlier last night.The rest of the tutorial passed uneventfully, though Tara was aware of Blake casting her sidelong glances.
If he asks about our sex lives, or if I've ever thought about being with a man, I will rip his face off.As they wrapped up and set their next appointment, Blake cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, um--you ever think about--"
"No!. I haven't thought about it in years, and I'll never think about it in the future." God, people could be so--
"Raising your fee?" he concluded shakily, after a moment in which Tara imagined him stitching the left side of his face back on. "Because you really could." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "See you Tuesday," he added, and practically sprinted out of the student union coffee shop.
Oops.Tara sighed as she made her way to the counter to order another mocha to go. Perhaps that would wake her up a little. She paid for her drink absent-mindedly and returned to her booth.
Maybe he'll think next time before he makes a bunch of assumptions... Maybe he wouldn't.
She sat down and considered her options. Ordinarily she'd walk the two miles downtown, especially on such a beautiful day. But her legs felt like lead today.
God, I could go for a nap. I'm just--She sat up abruptly.
Exhausted?OK, now you're being paranoid. Fatigue was to be expected. How could she
not be tired, with everything that was going on? But she wouldn't call it exhausted.
A headache? Maybe just a small one, but she suspected it was eyestrain. She was almost certain she needed glasses.
And besides, Willow had described a killer headache. This hardly qualified.
Was she a target? She knew that she fit the entry requirements for being a White Hat. But would it really come for her?
It came for Willow. Her beloved Willow, whom she'd come so close to losing two nights ago. Willow, who would have died if Faith hadn't been there.
I couldn't have saved her. Faith, though, had managed both to reach Willow and pull her back to safety, catching her before the rope snapped--
Oh goddess. She felt faint again, as she had so many times since that moment; as she did whenever she watched that moment in her mind. Sometimes, against her will, she imagined Faith being just a fraction of a shade too late, and she saw Willow's body jerk with the force--
No. No, it didn't happen. But it could have. It
would have, if not for Faith. And why had she jumped? Because she believed Tara would leave her. Willow had "seen" her kiss Faith. Willow had watched it happen; seen her worst fear come true.
You did this to her."Whoa--the big nasty evil thing did that," she replied aloud, drawing some curious glances.
True, but you didn't see it in time.She shook her head in frustration. Guilt wouldn't help anything.
Thank the goddess for Faith...Poor Faith, who loved a woman who might not be able to return that love. Faith, who had the strength and the speed to reach Willow, because God knows Tara didn't.
There's not an ounce of fat on that girl. What would it be like to move that quickly? To be in such perfect shape?
Tara? Tara had practically lumbered to the window. She had a sudden memory of 9th-grade dodgeball: Tim O'Reilly, hitting her in the rear. She felt the sting, heard the sharp "thwack" of the ball smacking against her shorts. "Couldn't hardly miss it," Tim gloated, to a chorus of laughter.
Now you're just feeling sorry for yourself. You call that suffering?I don't call it fun, she answered silently.
People go through lots worse."How about getting slapped around on a weekly basis?" she muttered in reply to herself.
Yeah, Donnie beat on you. And Daddy beat on Donnie. At least your mother loved you.And at least if
she died, Kyra would be in better shape than Tara herself was after her mother died.
At least you got out.Nothing would ever make her go back there, to that cold harsh place where people made fun of her and home was no sanctuary. She'd worked so hard to get away...
She'd left, and they'd come after her, with tales of demons and how she'd hurt people if she didn't come home where they could keep an eye on her. That lie had been stripped bare, and she took another step into her life with Willow.
And then Donnie had come after her, with a whole new horror story that threated to drag her back.
Finally,
she had gone to
them, to put that time and place behind her. She'd faced her old family with her new one and at the end of that day she'd left exhausted but free.
She didn't talk much about that time, though she knew Willow would listen and hold her and love her through it. But that conversation was exhausting, and there was still some quiet, superstitious part of her that believed that giving voice to it gave it power, breathed new life into embers best left to fade into ash.
And now, two years past that showdown, one of the things she just found it easier not to talk about was the fact that every now and then old ghosts came to her in her sleep; ran cold fingers over her when she least expected it. There was one bone-dry voice that roused itself from its deathbed--randomly, fleetingly--to whisper:
You still belong to me.But this was her home now, she reminded herself as she sipped her mocha, still not moving from her booth. This was where she belonged and no one could make her leave. Willow was her home; Willow, whom she loved passionately, fiercely, wildly.
Just like Daddy loved Mom.She jerked back as if slapped, her heart slamming into her ribs. "No," she whispered. "It's different."
He had a wife he loved. They were expecting a child--one he loved as much as you love Kyra."That doesn't make us the same," she answered herself.
He let himself believe she loved him..."She did love him."
For one, brief period. She loved him for the best moment of his life, and then she got tired of him."That's not how it happened."
She got tired of him and left and he went back to that cold place, all alone."No--he lied to her to try to keep her." Tara knew that the people in the next booth were looking at her, but she didn't care. They couldn't understand.
Because he knew she wouldn't love him the way he loved her. Because she was bright and joyful and beautiful and he was plain and dull. Of course she got tired of him."No. It wasn't like that."
Someone so vibrant...She wasn't meant to be with someone like him. She found someone else...Oh goddess--she was tired. Just a nap, just a respite to clear her head, which was hurting worse now...
Wait--yes, the headache...
Does Willow see it? You talk to her about facing her fears and how you'll never leave her, even if you do think Faith is kinda hot. You act like you have it together, but you don't tell her, do you?The headache was important.
Willow doesn't know how scared you are, does she? You can't tell her, because if you did, she'd worry about you.She felt disoriented, unsure why she was having this argument with herself. She shook her head as if to clear some space. She was just tired, and if her head would quit hurting...
Willow, who fights demons and vampires and helps save the world. She'd have to worry about you, too. Worry about you feeling scared...No. Think. She was just tired...
In the middle of some battle, her mind might wander and that's all it would take. You're amazed, too, aren't you, that no one has died yet? What if Willow's the first? What if she dies because she's thinking about you instead of the vampire that's about to sink his teeth into her neck? Beautiful Willow, falling cold and lifeless to the ground because she was wondering if you were OK. Wondering if you were scared of turning into the man who raised you or if you were worried because you don't look like Buffy or Anya or any of the other girls who wear tight pants and show off their stomachs..."This is crazy."
Right. This wasn't her.
Oh goddess, it hurt.
Poor Tara's upset. Poor Tara feels fat. Poor, stuttering Tara...She stabbed blindly into her bag to grab some aspirin, hands shaking. Pulling out the small plastic bottle, it took her a moment to see it clearly. It took her another moment to see the note folded and taped onto the side. She recognized Willow's writing.
Baby, do you have a headache? What are you thinking?See? She has to worry about you enough as it already is.Are you feeling shaky? Are you tired?What if she's thinking about this when she's attacked? How will you explain it to the others?Tara, this thing works so quickly. If you have a headache, or if you're tired, please call me!How will you explain it to Kyra?She gave a small cry, heedless of the nearby patrons who were now staring openly. Then she shook her head again, fiercely. Willow was trying to reach her. She looked back at the note, squinting. Her head was throbbing.
Tara, if you're thinking anything along the lines of me being better off without you, STOP IT! Even if you can't stop it, b/c I know it's not that simple, JUST HOLD ON! KEEP READING THIS NOTE, OVER & OVER!Kyra, left with only...you. Because Willow died...Tara stared at the note, some tiny voice on a far shore of her mind screaming at her not to look away. If she looked away, she was gone.
Don't. Blink.
Tara, if you're reading this I want you to call me. I'll be home until 2, & then I'm going to the store. Get to a payphone. See? I taped 2 quarters to the aspirin bottle.See how she worried about you? What doesn't she see, because she's thinking of you?Pay phone. Yes--there was one, on that wall. But it was so far away, and she was so tired. And her headache--had she even taken the aspirin?
The aspirin. The aspirin held Willow's note. Willow's note held her. She dragged her eyes back to her lover's writing, her mind shrieking with the effort. Everything hurt so bad...
She drew a deep breath, and rose slowly to her feet. One more breath, and then she took a shaky step forward: quarters clutched in one hand; Willow's note in the other.
Are you really going to be that selfish? Willow's working on something so important. You're going to call her now? Distract her? Inconvenience her?She stared at the note again, reading the lines over and over, making her way blindly to the phone.
I LOVE YOU, BABY! I NEED YOU!How long did it take her to reach the phone? How many times she she trip over something, or someone? And no one offered to help.
You're embarrassing yourself. If Willow could see you, tripping and lurching like this...And then she was there, and the receiver was in her hand, and she was somehow forcing the quarters into the slot with awkward, stupid, fumbling fingers and then she had punched in the numbers and it was ringing...Oh God, please pick up--
There's still time. Leave. Let her do her work. Don't let her see you like this.--and finally Anya answered but her voice sounded worried and dim and Tara heard herself say, from someplace far outside her own mind:
"Tell Willow I need her."
********
It took Xander exactly twelve minutes to hurtle his very used Mercury down Safuega and then Watson and finally onto campus, Buffy shouting directions. The Slayer had only been pulled back from her own brink a few moments before Tara called, but insisted she felt well enough to go.
"I know where the union is," she said, turning to Xander. "You drive; I may need back-up. Willow, keep Tara on the line."
Later, Willow wouldn't be able to recall exactly what she'd said. She knew only that they were words of love and assurance and reality; mantras that she tried to cast over Tara like a cloak. She thought briefly of using some sort of spell to wrap Tara's mind in a safe cocoon, but she couldn't risk any mistakes and she didn't want to break voice contact for even the few seconds it would take to utter the words.
At first, Tara could mumble little beyond, "I'm still here." Gradually though--far too gradually for Willow's taste--her voice grew stronger. By the time she let herself sag into Buffy's arms, Tara was able to whisper, "You used the crimson-colored pen. Guess you meant business."
Xander took the receiver and placed it gently back onto its cradle as Buffy rested her head briefly against Tara's. None of them moved for a moment, oblivious to the stares. Finally, Tara squeezed Xander's hand.
"Take me to Willow."
********
To Be Continued