by AntigoneUnbound » Tue Apr 01, 2003 12:45 am
Gods Served and Abandoned
Disclaimers:
I don’t own these wondrous women, which means that I bear no responsibility for the obscene corruption and pitiable goings-on of the last several months.
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:
This update has an NC-17 rating, for some Sapphic sensuality.
Distribution:
Sure, with acknowledgement.
Feedback:
Even more sure! Bring it on!
*****
Part 22
*****
They arrived back in Sunnydale just before noon the next day. Everyone was tired, but in Willow’s assessment, they were also more than a little proud of each other. They could fight among themselves, true; but like any real family, they didn’t permit outsiders to mess with one of their own.
As for Willow, she was immeasurably glad that it was Saturday, and she and Tara could relax and do whatever they needed to do—at least until that evening. Buffy had dropped her and Tara off last, and it was soon clear that this wasn’t a function of chance.
"You guys," she’d begun nervously, "I know you must be wiped out, but is there any way we could get together tonight? I need your advice on something."
"I’d go with the print dress instead of the pastel," Willow yawned.
"And the Stove Top Stuffing over potatoes," Tara added helpfully.
"OK—thanks, and thanks again. And then, after you’ve both returned to the Land of Shared Reality, maybe you could help me with something else."
"Sure," Tara smiled. "How about seven? We could order take-out."
"Sounds great." And with that, the two had practically fallen out of the SUV and made their way into Tara’s dorm room, where they collapsed into bed and each other’s arms and sleep.
*****
"I wonder what Buffy wants," Tara mused, taking a sip of her mocha. It was almost four o’clock. They had slept until three. Willow had roused herself first, taking a quick shower and then heading out for coffee and bagels while Tara finally dragged herself out of bed and prepared to face the day. Now they were sitting on Tara’s bed, legs entangled while hands busied themselves with the matter of nourishment.
"Maybe she’s thinking of switching teams," Willow suggested. "Maybe she’s seen our True Love and Grand Passion and Epic Connection and she wants a little piece of the action. Er, not our action, that is," she hastily amended. "The girl-on-girl action."
"Yeah, that’s probably it," Tara nodded. "And then maybe Anya will be next to fall victim to the Lesbian Vortex—that inescapable force that we create by virtue of our combined estrogen."
"And then Anya and Buffy can get together!" Willow finished excitedly. "And I think I need to stop this pretty much right now, or my head will blow clean off my shoulders and you’ll be left dating the Headless Homo!"
"Ah, but if you were headless,you wouldn’t have that mouth," Tara reminded her in a low voice, reaching out with one long, tapered finger to trace the outline of Willow’s lips. "And without that mouth, there are so many things you wouldn’t be able to do…" She trailed off, her eyes darkening in the late afternoon light.
"Such as…?" Willow managed to squeak.
"I think you know," came the soft reply, and suddenly bagels became superfluous, as did clothing.
They hadn’t made love for a few days, in the confusion and distress of all that had happened with Tara’s family.
Family of origin, Willow reminded herself. Tara had been disoriented and agitated, and the touch that she had needed most had been of the comforting variety. Today, however, appeared to be a different story.
"You know we’ll have to take another shower later," Willow murmured against the full lips.
"Mark it down in your Daily Planner," Tara replied, a smile quirking across her mouth. "Use a blue pen." So saying, she pulled Willow tight against her. Upon feeling Tara’s breasts pressed into her own, Willow swallowed heavily.
"I’ve missed you," she admitted. "Missed this."
"I know," came the whispered voice, breath soft against Willow’s face. "I have, too."
At the words, Willow felt the familiar twisting, low in her belly, that left her so gladly helpless. She was torn between a feeling that she should go slowly, and a desire to have her hands hot upon Tara’s flesh without hesitation, without pause. Her dilemma was solved when, seconds later, she felt Tara’s fingers sink into her hair and pull her back from their kiss. She gazed at Willow, heavy-lidded, for a long moment before softly uttering one word: "Please."
Then she lightly pressed Willow’s head lower, arching her back at the same time, until Willow’s lips hovered just above one taut nipple. With a groan, Willow sucked the tiny nub into her mouth, closing her eyes in abandon to the hunger that poured through her body. She reveled in Tara’s response, moaned with the excitement of hearing Tara’s breath catch in a series of small gasps.
The rest of my life. I get to touch her, kiss her for rest of my life. Unexpectedly, she felt tears prick her eyes, threatening to overflow the dam of her closed lids.
As if Tara were speaking within her own mind, she heard the low voice whisper urgently, "Touch me, Willow."
Barely trusting herself to speak, Willow pulled her lips from Tara’s breast and murmured, "Like last night?"
"No," Tara replied, wrapping one long leg over Willow’s. "No, touch me like you do. The way you know how." Lightly circling her fingers around Willow’s wrist, she added, "I need you to touch me…here." And with the word, she pushed Willow’s hand lower, from her breast down over belly and then lower still, until Willow’s fingers brushed over soft curls.
Willow’s head sank briefly, swimming with the sensation beneath her palm. Finally, she propped herself up on her other elbow to look Tara directly in the eyes. "Are—are you ready?"
She watched as Tara bit her lip, eyes narrowing, and then whispered, "Always."
Groaning, Willow sank her fingers into the wetness, pushing through the swollen flesh until she was buried deep within her lover.
She gives herself to me so easily. Does she know what that does to me? How she makes me more, somehow, every time I touch her?
Such coherent thoughts became difficult and then irrelevant as Willow watched Tara’s legs fall open helplessly, her cry choked and needful. Tara held Willow’s face in her hands as Willow slid easily into her, then curved her fingers and withdrew slowly, stroking the ridged flesh deeply.
"Do you know?" she breathed, watching Tara’s eyes darken even more. "Do you know how I feel about you? How you can excite me just by looking at me in a roomful of people?"
"Willow…"
"I’ve never felt anything like this, Tara—how I feel when I touch you, when you touch me."
"Oh, goddess…"
"It’s like my blood gets hot and my skin tingles and all you have to do is touch my face and I feel like I might explode."
"Willow—I’m so close…So—so good…"
"Show me, Tara. Show me how it feels to you."
"I can’t hold back; can’t stop. Willow, I’m—"
"Yeah, Baby. That’s it. That’s it. Show me, Tara. Give it to me."
"Willow—"
"Tara, come to me."
And then she watched, tears falling freely now, as Tara’s back arched and her hands clutched at Willow’s shoulders and she cried out the name of her beloved. Willow held her possessively as Tara’s body shuddered and ripple after ripple rolled through her, each wave’s origin and ending emanating from the spasming that clenched Willow’s fingers hungrily within her.
Her…Always, only her.
*****
They did indeed eventually shower—again—in anticipation of Buffy’s visit. Willow made sure, though, to leave a little Tara Essence on her fingers. One of her favorite naughty activities was catching Tara’s eyes, after they had made love and then joined the others, as she raised her fingers casually to her face and inhaled deeply. It never failed to earn a blush.
"Thanks for seeing me, guys," Buffy said, shucking off her jacket as she sank into the papasan chair. Willow thought that she seemed uncharacteristically nervous.
"No thanks necessary," she reassured her best friend, wondering what had precipitated this seemingly-clandestine meeting. "Do you wanna order some Chinese?"
"Food," the Slayer nodded, as if hearing of the concept for the first time. "Yeah—food is good. Pepper steak with steamed rice is especially good. Yes—let us have food." She attempted a grin that wasn’t terribly successful.
Forty minutes later, Chen’s had delivered a buffet to their very door. The conversation in the interim had been pleasant, if somewhat awkward. Buffy had asked Tara how she was doing, and Tara had given her the Cliff Notes version of her emotional work-in-progress, but Willow suspected that each of them were thinking about the conversation to come. As they finally settled onto the floor, chopsticks in hand, Willow let her raging curiosity out to roam.
"What’s up, Buffy? Why the urgent summit meeting with the conjuring queers?"
Buffy looked at her with a curious smile. "Is that the name of your new Wicca group? Kinda like gay AA meetings? Not to imply that being gay is some kind of problem or addiction or anything like that," she added quickly. "A-and not to imply that being alcoholic is some kind of moral lapse or anything to joke about—I’m not saying anything like that at all, I hope you know that. I mean, we know now that alcoholism is a disease, and not some sign of weakness, so if you thought that I was mocking that disease, well, I’d really hate that." She eventually stopped talking, but only, it appeared, to draw a breath.
Willow stared at her in amazement. "My God, Buffy—do I sound like that when I babble? ’Cuz it’s a truly incredible spectacle."
Tara leaned forward and rested her hand on Buffy’s knee. "Sweetie, whatever it is, it’s pretty obviously making you crazy. I think maybe if you just…let it out, you know, get it out there, you’ll feel better."
Buffy nodded. "You’re right. I mean, it’s not really some earth-shattering revelation or anything like that, because let’s face it, Tara, you’ve had enough of those lately, right? I just need your advice about something; well, your advice, and a favor, too. Except the favor is more like a promise, and I don’t want to put your two under any more pressure than you’ve already been under, so—"
"Praise be to Venus and spare me the penis, Buffy—what in Sappho’s name is it?" Willow made a mental note to work on her own babbling, because at this moment, when faced with such a stunning display thereof, she had to fight the urge to bounce a wonton off of Buffy’s head.
"OK," Buffy sighed, drawing a deep breath. "It’s about Dawn. I need your advice about Dawn." She looked at them with troubled eyes. "Do I tell her about being the Key?"
Willow pulled back slightly in surprise. "Oh, God, Buffy—that’s so hard to answer. I mean, there are so many things to consider. Can—can you keep her safe if she knows? Or would it be easier to protect her if she did know? And do you think she can handle it?" Questions tumbled out of her like the tiny squares of gum in a store vending machine.
Feeling strong fingers squeeze briefly over her own, she turned and saw Tara gazing at Buffy intently. "Buffy—why are you asking us this?"
Buffy shrugged, looking embarrassed. "I wanted your opinion. I don’t expect you to tell me what to do, but—"
"No," Tara interrupted. "I mean, why are you asking us? As opposed to Giles? Don’t get me wrong, Buffy—this doesn’t feel like a burden, and I’m not saying that I wish you would ask him instead. It’s just—isn’t he who you usually seek out for advice?"
Buffy shifted slightly; it seemed to Willow that she felt distinctly uncomfortable. "I didn’t go to him because…because I knew that as much as he tried, he wouldn’t be able to take off his Watcher’s hat when he was talking about it. And I get it; that’s his job. But for this…for this I didn’t want a Watcher. I wanted two people who would talk about it from a family standpoint." She looked from one of them to the other, anxiety creasing her brow. "Does that make any sense?"
Willow nodded slowly. "Yeah—I think it does." She looked over to see Tara smiling sadly at Buffy.
"You want so much to protect her, don’t you?" Tara’s voice was soft. "To keep her from having to see all of the worst parts of life, much less be involved in it."
When Buffy looked up, her eyes were filled with anguish. "Is that so bad? To want to protect my little sister? And she
is my little sister, no matter where she came from." A single tear wended its way down her cheek.
"Buffy, it’s not bad at all," Willow replied, her heart aching for her best friend.
"You don’t want to tell her, do you?" came Tara’s query.
After a long moment, Buffy shook her head fiercely. "No, I don’t. I want her to wake up and go to sleep thinking that her worst problems involve her curfew and her crush on you, Tara. I don’t want her to have to deal with this."
"Then…Then Buffy, why are you asking for our opinion?" Willow asked hesitantly, afraid that she would sound accusatory or judgmental.
Buffy uncrossed her legs, and stared at the floor for several moments before responding. "Because I don’t know if I’m right. Just as I convince myself that I should listen to my instincts and not tell her, another voice pops into my head and says that maybe it isn’t instinct at all—maybe it’s fear, or selfishness, or cowardice." Raising a hand to forestall Willow’s protests, she continued. "And so I decided that I needed to talk to people I trust; people who would be honest with me." She stated the last part almost as a plea.
The room was silent for several minutes. When Tara finally spoke, her voice was filled with compassion. "Buffy, I can’t even imagine having to make a decision like that; I really can’t. But you asked what we thought, and this is what I think: I think you should tell her." She reached out and took Buffy’s hand, looking into the downcast eyes. "Buffy, I’m not saying that you’d be wrong to keep it from her, because I don’t think there is a clear-cut right or wrong here. But…But I can’t help thinking about how else she might find out, and what it would do to her to find out from someone else." Her voice grew thick. "Buffy, I just learned that my dad isn’t my dad, and I just learned that my real dad—or my biological one—is dead. And the only reason I found out is because my brother was wanting to hurt me. Trust me, Sweetie, it wasn’t the best way to learn the truth. And…And I may be way off here, but I think maybe you knew I would say something like that, which sorta takes the credibility out of your whole ‘coward’ assessment."
Is anybody in this room not crying? Willow doubted it.
"You’re right," Buffy replied shakily. "I didn’t know it until right now, but it’s true. I knew somehow that you two would—keep me honest, I guess, or make me look at it from an angle I was trying to avoid on my own." Her laugh was brittle. "Is it just me, or do the choices we face keep getting harder and harder?"
"It’s not you," Willow concurred, shaking her head sadly. "Apparently, it has something to do with growing up."
"Well, at the risk of sounding unbecomingly harsh, growing up sucks ass." Buffy sighed heavily.
Willow wanted to agree with her best friend, but realized that she couldn’t. Her own life, and Tara’s, too, had actually gotten immeasurably better with time. "You know that we’ll back you, whatever you do, right?"
"I know," Buffy answered heavily. "But I also think I know what I have to do."
"What about your mom?" Willow asked, desperate for Buffy to have someone to share this struggle with.
"I need to tell her; I’m just not sure when. She’s supposed to go in for more tests on Monday and I don’t want her dealing with any more stress than she has to; and let’s face it—finding out that your daughter is a ball of mystical energy, created by monks to prevent the flooding of dimensional portals by an amazingly powerful and sluttishly-dressed demon…that’ll take it out of you." She dropped her head into her hands for a few moments, and then looked up with an expression of determination.
"I want to tell Dawn tomorrow night, before I come up with more reasons not to. Will you guys be around if she needs to talk? Or I do?" she added quickly.
"Of course, Sweetie," Tara replied, squeezing Buffy’s hand once more. "You know that we’ll always be there for both of you."
Buffy gave a wry smile. "Funny you should mention that…"
Willow looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"
"Well, we’ve arrived at the ‘Promise’ portion of tonight’s program…" She trailed off, seemingly to gather her courage before pressing on. "It’s just…See, here’s the thing: if anything happens to me—fighting this Glory wench—I’d like you two to look after Dawn."
Willow was stunned; turning, she could see that Tara shared her reaction. "Buffy, what are you talking about? Nothing’s going to happen to you!" Maybe if I say it loudly enough, it’ll be true…
"I dunno, Will." The Slayer shook her head thoughtfully. "Everything we find out about this one says that she’s strong, really strong."
"They’re all really strong, Buffy," Tara argued. "Adam—he was unlike any demon you’d fought before, and you took him."
"We took him," Buffy amended quickly. "The four of us. But Glory feels different to me somehow. I haven’t even met the fashion plate yet, and I have an incredibly bad feeling about her."
"OK, acknowledging that slaying is dangerous work now," Willow capitulated. "Admitting that this Big Bad may be more of both. But Buffy, we’ll get through it. We’ll get each other through it." Willow found herself reaching for her best friend’s hand without conscious intention, and held onto it fiercely.
"That sounds great to me, Will," Buffy replied. "I’m just asking…If anything does happen, will you look out for her?"
Tara’s gaze held confusion. "Sweetie, you know that we’ll always be here for Dawn—and for you, too. But what about your mom? Are you worried that she can’t handle it? Are you…" Tara’s voice grew quiet. "Are you worried that there’s something seriously wrong with her?"
Buffy shook her head decisively. "No. This stuff with Mom—it’s confusing and scary, but I know she’ll be OK. I may be the Slayer, but my mom is the strongest person I know. No, she’ll be fine, I believe that." She hesitated, seeming to fumble for words. "The thing is, Dawn feels close to you guys. She can talk to you about anything; stuff that she might be afraid to tell Mom about it. And if something happens that I can’t be there for her, it would help me to know that you guys were."
Willow fought to impose some kind of order on her thoughts and feelings. Nothing’s going to happen to Buffy…even if she is the Slayer and faces the worst danger in the world on a near-nightly basis; even if she has cheated Death more times in five years than most people do in a lifetime. Nothing’s going to happen to her.
But Buffy wasn’t asking them to reassure her that she would be fine. She was asking them to keep her beloved sister close to them if she died; to take care of her and talk to her and enfold her into the family that the two of them had created.
She knew she couldn’t speak yet, and so she only nodded. As if from a distance, she heard Tara finally say, "Of course. Of course we’ll look after her, Buffy, if the need ever arises. Goddess willing, though, it never will."
When she trusted herself to speak without crying, Willow said simply, "Your sister is our sister, Buffy. She’ll never be alone."
For the first time that night, Buffy seemed to relax. The shadows passed from her eyes, and she straightened her shoulders, drawing a deep breath. "I don’t know how to thank you guys—for all of this." She looked helplessly from Tara to Willow.
"It’s what we do," Willow replied, brushing away her tears. "It’s what we all do."
Later, as Tara fell asleep in her arms, Willow let herself go back in her mind to her first understanding of family. There was a mommy, and a daddy, and a little girl.
And now?
There are two lesbian witches, and one straight girl who fights vampires and demons, and a British man who trains her, and an ex-demon who’s over a thousand years old, and a mystical ball of energy parading around as a teenaged girl with a crush on my girlfriend, and a loyal if somewhat goofy straight boy.
She felt Tara move restlessly in her sleep, wrapping her arm more tightly around Willow’s waist. She looked down at the soft features, barely illuminated by moonlight, and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Knowing that for tonight, at least, all was well within her family, she finally succumbed to her own exhaustion, and slipped off to dream of a girl who looked up at her and Tara and called them both "Mommy."
*****
To Be Continued
W/T are finallly reconnecting. All the ickiness of the last few days are being touched away. 
) I knew my mother wasn't a saint throughout our relationship and her death didn't change that. I never wanted her to be; I didn't need her to be. But growing up in a house of silent resentment Tara's mother was her one true thing (Te adoro Anna Quindlen). Thank god this is mutable and now her real one true thing (Willow) can help Tara accept her mother's failings and her feelings about them. But it still takes my heart and breaks it apart a little.
at: 3/28/03 6:09:05 pm
Thanks for the priceless Etch-a-Sketch moment. God that was funny, and I’ll never think of “TLC” quite the same way again. 
worthy.