***Edited to Add comments on comments*****Scout: Jail? Anya and Tara? You mean ... actually bonding in a prison way? Would I do that? And Ski Free sounds alarmingly addictive ... tempting, but I probably shouldn't ... it would SERIOUSLY delay updates. This only almost didn't make it, becaue I was playing Minesweeper so diligently.
And what's not to love about geeky smart Willow?
**Pixie: You can have all the mouth to mouth you want. And I'm glad you have faith in the Scoobies that they can handle the Big Bad, because (just between you and me and all the other kittens who read this), I know the Big Bad's plan, and I don't see how they're gonna get out of this one *G*
**xita: Good point ... I'll have to clear up that timeline ... but consider them as having driven through California, then out of state to an unspecified location, because I don't want to have to grab a map *G*
**jomarch: Tara and Anya will be back in Sunnydale soon ... just ... not in this update *G*
I'm sorry to say, Anya and Tara still aren't back in Sunnydale. And this part may seem a little ... sillier ... than usual - but believe me, it had to happen.
Title: Answering Darkness Part 34 - Truck Stops and Traffic Cops
Author: Sassette
Feedback: Can be sent to pink_overalls@yahoo.com
Summary: Anya and Tara are >still< driving.
Spoiler Warning: Up to and including "Tabula Rasa" in Season 6.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them because Season 6 angst is running high, and I want my happy ending now, dammit! So I'm writing it … but it'll be awhile until I get to that part, so bear with me (or "bare" with me if you're naughty).
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For the purpose of this story, all events of Tabula Rasa took place exactly as shown in the series; however, no subsequent episodes will affect this piece. We're splitting from canon here - this was MEANT to be a quick and easy reconciliation fic … but it just didn't turn out that way. Stupid Hell God … Stupid Plot … getting in the way of my snugglies, damnit. Freakin' Angst. Grrrr.
Answering Darkness Part 34
Truck Stops and Traffic Cops
By Sassette
"Are we there? Why are we stopping?" Tara asked, awaking with a start from a disturbing dream. It had seemed familiar … all grey mists and darkness, and Willow always just out of reach. She shook off the last vestiges of unease, looking around her with tired eyes.
"We're not there, and we're stopping because I'm tired, I'm hungry and we both smell bad," Anya said with a scowl, pulling into the parking lot of Aunt Emma's Diner.
"W-we don't have time," Tara said, rubbing her eyes and yawning hugely as Anya pulled the car into a parking space, well away from any other vehicles - which was a good thing, as she managed to take up two spots.
"We've been driving all night and all day. We haven't stopped. I'm tired and I'm hungry and if you'd stop and think about it for just a minute, you are, too," Anya stated. "So I'm taking the keys," she said, suiting actions to words and removing the keys from the ignition, then dropping them down her shirt. "And this car isn't moving again until we've taken a little break."
Anya was, she had to admit to herself, really worried. Of course she was worried about Willow - everyone was worried about Willow. But she was also worried about Tara, and herself. They'd been in the car for an extremely long time, stopping long enough to use the restroom when they stopped for gas, then heading out again, with only Twinkies and Mountain Dew standing between them and starvation.
Tara was pushing herself too hard. Anya had tried to talk her into stopping at a motel for at least a few hours, so they could get some real sleep on a real bed, but Tara had merely told her to sleep in her seat if she was so tired, and that she'd keep driving. Something about driving for ten hours straight had to be bad for Tara, so Anya was worried.
"But we're almost there," Tara protested. Four hours. They were just four hours out of Sunnydale, and she could almost feel the peculiar energy that came off the town.
"Which does us no good if we die," Anya insisted stubbornly. "And again … we both smell. And you need to brush your hair. Oh, God - what does my hair look like?" she wondered aloud, turning the rearview mirror and gasping at the sight. "Besides," she said, her voice gentling, as she turned to look at Tara. "You're about to snap into a million different pieces. We're going to get there, you're going to take one look at Willow, and you're going to just start crying and crying, and what good will that do her?"
"You're right," Tara finally admitted, allowing herself to feel the exhaustion. But she was scared - she was completely afraid that if she allowed herself to stop, for just a minute, she'd be too tired to start again, and she wouldn't reach Willow fast enough. She had to be there, and she had to be there soon. But if she fell asleep behind the wheel, or was too tired to spot a police officer, she'd really be delayed, or maybe she wouldn't even make it there at all.
"Well, all right, then," Anya said with a nod, getting out of the car and groaning at the stiffness in her body. The human form, she decided, was not designed to sit in a car for any great length of time, which only proved what sick people car designers really were. You would think they'd design a vehicle that was comfortable enough for these lengthy road trips.
Tara unbuckled her belt, getting tangled up in it momentarily before getting free. With a little grunt, she shoved the door open, then stepped out, swaying unsteadily.
"You okay?" Anya asked, walking around the car, stretching her legs as she went.
"Yeah … my legs are just kind of … rubbery," Tara said, closing the door and leaning on the car heavily for a moment.
"Ready to go?" Anya asked gently. Tara simply nodded, and they made their way across the parking lot, a trucker beating them to the door and opening it gallantly, with a little half-bow.
"Allow me, ladies," he said kindly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. He reminded Tara obscurely of Giles, in his polite manner and the general good-naturedness she sensed in him. Tara and Anya nodded their thanks, preceding him into the diner as he tipped his battered ball cap. The man stopped for a moment, indecision evident on his face as he noted the haunted sadness in the blonde's eyes, something about the soulful expression touching him.
Anya went immediately to the counter, sitting down on the padded circular stool, spinning back and forth a little to keep moving. Somehow, it felt good to sit, yet bad to sit. It was certainly strange.
Tara gingerly sat next to her, her stiff legs and back protesting the movement, exhaustion evident in ever line of her body.
The nice trucker seated himself next to the girls, shaking his head a little. "Been on the road awhile, huh?" he asked knowingly, recognizing the signs. "You two ever been to a truck stop diner before?" he asked kindly.
Tara shook her head no as Anya leaned over the counter so she could look past Tara and right into the trucker's eye. "If you want to have sex with either of us, forget it," she said flatly. "I'm engaged, and she's gay," she announced.
"Well, then," the trucker said, blushing and laughing self-consciously. "I think my wife would object if I had anything but the best of intentions. You just both look tired, that's all," he explained. "And I happen to know that they got washrooms with showers in 'em you can use," he said, pointing towards the back. "And before you accuse me of anything again," he said, pointing a beefy finger at Anya, a laughing look in his eye. "Them showers have got locks, so it's private."
"Oh, well, thank you," Anya said brightly, picking up a menu and scanning the contents. "I'm glad to learn that you're merely a nice man with no ulterior motives."
"What'll you have?" a harried waitress asked, wiping down the counter, a pencil tucked behind her ear.
"Coffee," Tara said, fumbling for a menu.
"You gotta' have more than that," the trucker said with a frown. "The name's Hank," he offered up.
"I'm Anya, and this is Tara," Anya said politely.
He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a thick wallet. "This here's my wife, Mary," he said, pulling it open and displaying a picture of a smiling blonde woman in a simple dress. And here," he said, turning to the next picture. "These are my kids, Little Tommy and Alice."
"You have a beautiful family," Anya said sincerely, leaning across Tara to see the pictures. Tara looked up, a slight smile crossing her face at the picture of the laughing, happy children in front of her.
"Yes, beautiful," she said, reaching out to trace the picture with one finger, sadness evident in her features.
"You showing off the wife and kids again, Hank?" another trucker asked, moving to sit next to Anya at the counter.
"These two ladies are taken, Mac," Hank said with a laugh.
"What, I can't be friendly to new folks?" Mac shot back indignantly. "Besides, they're the nicest things to look at that have walked in here in a long time. Damn sight prettier than you," he bantered.
"Sara," Hank said, turning to the waitress. "Get these two the trucker special number one, on me," he said, nodding at Tara and Anya.
"Oh, we couldn't," Tara started to protest, only to be interrupted when Hank raised a hand.
"Now, now," he said. "I insist. Besides," he went on to explain. "My wife would have my hide if she found out I ran into two young ladies riding down the trucker highways all by their lonesome looking all lost and sad without helping out. You two aren't lost, are ya'?" he asked, her face showing nothing but sincere concern.
"No," Tara said, shaking her head. "We're going home. We know the way."
"So what brings you two out here?" Mac asked curiously. "Not that I'm complaining, but we don't see many people who aren't truckers out in these parts, and certainly not two such lovely ladies."
"Thank you," Anya said with a smile, remembering what Xander said about the correct way to respond to a compliment. "We've been on a road trip, and now we're heading home."
"If you don't mind me sayin', you two look like you haven't slept in awhile," Hank added in with a frown. "You having some kind of emergency? You two need money for gas, or a motel, or something?" he asked, reaching for his wallet again.
"No," Tara said quickly. "We have money, we're just … we're in a hurry," she said. "It's a long story."
"All right, then," Hank said, appearing satisfied with the answer, and leaving his wallet where it was. Sara returned with the coffee, placing four cups on the counter, and leaving them to add in their own cream and sugar, but keeping an ear on the conversation. Mac was right - they certainly didn't get two people like these two in here … well, pretty much ever, and she was curious. Besides … had one of them really said that the other was gay?
"So tell me about your feller," Hank said, looking over at Anya.
"Oh, Xander," Anya said, a smile crossing her face. "He's wonderful. He works in construction, and he's very manly and strong, and he buys me nice things, and we have a very nice apartment," she said, her face glowing.
"Sounds about right," Mac laughed. "How about you?" he said, looking over at Tara. "You got a feller, too?"
"I, uhh…" Tara hedged.
"Nah," Hank said, looking over at Mac with a smile. "She's got a girl if she's got anything," he said, remembering Anya's previous words.
"That right?" Mac asked with a smile, pulling out his keychain and displaying a rainbow keychain. "I get lots of flak from the guys about this, but my sister's a lesbian. She's a great girl," he said. "Hey! If you don't have a girl, I could introduce you to my sister," he said, his voice ending on a hopeful note.
"No, thank you," Tara said politely. "I h-have a girl," she said, her lower lip quivering.
"Oh, Jesus, I didn't mean to upset you," Mac said quickly. "Is … are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm … I'm fine," Tara insisted unconvincingly.
"So tell us about your girl," Hank said gently. "She pretty?"
"Beautiful," Tara said, a sad smile crossing her face. "She's … she's got this red hair, and bright green eyes, and she …" she went on, trailing off as she found words to be too inadequate to describe Willow. "Sara?" she called, summoning the waitress. "You want to see a picture?" Tara asked, as the waitress walked over.
"You got pictures?" Mac asked with a smile. "You could be a trucker," he said, paying Tara the highest compliment he could. It was a long-standing tradition to compare pictures of girls with the other guys.
"You need a refill, sugar?" Sara asked, a coffee pot in her hand.
"Well, umm, no," Tara said to Sara, then looked over at Mac. "Not on me… all my pictures of Willow are framed, where I can see them all the time. W-we were… we were having a fight when I left, so … I didn't bring any," she admitted.
"Well, then, whatcha' need?" Sara asked impatiently.
Tara stood up, reaching over and plucking the pencil out from behind Sara's ear, grabbing a napkin and looking at it thoughtfully. The pencil felt smooth and familiar in her hand, but different from when she was writing. It was as if her fingers instinctively knew, without her brain mentioning it, that she was going to draw, and they grasped the pencil as if it were an extension of her hand.
She moved her hand quickly, outlining the shape of Willow's face and shoulders. Then the smooth line of her jaw, and the careless way her hair fell around her face. An ear took shape, and a half-smile appeared on Tara's face and her eyes glowed with love as she transferred her feelings for this woman through the pencil into the picture of her she was creating.
Anya, Hank, Sara and Mac fell silent, watching as Tara's inner vision took life on a rough napkin. The smiling lips appeared, and the nose Tara found so adorable, and then Willow's laughing eyes. Tara lost herself in the process, feeling a piece of herself slide home after she had blocked it off ruthlessly after her mother's death.
How appropriate, she mused, that Willow had indirectly returned it to her.
It only took a few minutes for the picture to take shape, despite how rusty Tara was. She had drawn Willow so many times - she had studied that face with such fierce concentration - that she felt as though she could draw it in her sleep.
When she was done, she looked up, startled to find a group of trucker's around her. The low buzz of conversation hummed in all directions.
"That's her girlfriend," one said to another.
"Damn … did she just draw that? Just now?" another asked, looking around at the answering nods.
"Oh my God," Anya said. "It looks exactly like her," she went on, looking up at the other truckers. "That's Willow," she said, pointing at the napkin.
"Good Lord," Mac said, peering closely at the napkin. "You were having a fight with HER?" he said. "She's … damn. She's gorgeous."
"It's … it's a long story," Tara said, coming back to the here and now from that special place she went when she was drawing, her sadness and fear hitting her with a jolt.
"Hey, hey," Hank said gently, patting Tara's shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay," he said, sincerely hoping he was right.
"Yeah," a trucker in the back piped up. "You head home, you get your girl, you kiss her senseless," he said, offering up his advice.
"I … it was a really bad fight," Tara said in a whisper, her finger's tracing the lines of Willow's face, her eyes bleak with misery. "She … she got caught up in some bad stuff," she said, her voice sounding strained in the silent room as everyone stopped and listened to her.
"Alcohol? Drugs?" Mac asked quietly, leaning in.
"Pretty much," Tara said miserably. "I - I just didn't know what to do anymore. And I just couldn't stay with her like that."
"So what happened?" Hank asked.
"She started getting help, but I'd already left town - I visited my father," she said with a watery smile. "We've … never been close, but … it was a good visit. I - things are better there, now. But I just wish … I wish I had stayed with her. Been stronger, y'know?" she said, tears tracking down her face. "That I had helped her through it."
"You did the right thing," a trucker in the back said, wringing his cap in his hands. "If my old lady hadn't left me when I started the heavy drinking, I never woulda' sobered up," he confessed to the room.
"I - she's -" Tara said, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob. Startled, Hank reflexively pulled Tara into a hug, letting her cry on his shoulder. "She's really sick," Tara managed to say through her tears. "She might not make it, and I'm so - so scared."
Anya's own tears slid down her face as she rubbed Tara's shoulder, looking around curiously at all the trucker's in the room who seemed to be tearing up beneath their manly facades.
"You couldn't have known that would happen," Hank said, rocking Tara gently. "And you're gonna' make it home, and you're gonna' see your girl, but first you're going to cry and get it all out. I bet she's gonna' need you to be strong. I bet she's gonna' need to cry when she sees you."
"That's right," Anya said encouragingly. "So you just keep crying," she went on, continuing to rub Tara's back.
Tara soaked up the comfort like a sponge, exchanging it for the tears of grief and pain pouring out of her.
"I'm, umm … I'm gonna' go call my wife," one trucker mumbled, heading out to the payphones in the parking lot to speak to his family, and to give the pretty young girl some privacy.
A chorus of "me too" went up, and the trucker's filed out, each moving to stand in line at the pay phones, not caring how long the line got, or how long they had to wait for the phone to be free, or that the sun had gone down and it had gotten remarkably cold out in just a short time.
Tara felt her fear and anguish rising up, then release a little with each sob and hiccup, unashamedly soaking Hank's shirt. Hank gamely held on, letting Tara express her pain, not caring that he had a schedule to keep. Instead, he let the girl break down on his shoulder, thinking about how helpless and worried he would feel in her place.
Anya got up as well, going to the car and grabbing two bags with a fresh change of clothes and their toiletries. That shower sounded better and better, and she knew Tara would need one in a bit, and she was satisfied that Tara would be safe with Hank while she was gone.
Without a word, Sara returned the plates of now-cold food that had been ordered for Tara and Anya, telling the disgruntled cook that she'd need fresh ones in a bit. After another ten minutes, Tara's cries began to ebb, and she pulled back, a little embarrassed at her display in a public place in front of a large group of strangers.
"Feel any better?" Hank asked, brushing a bit of Tara's hair back.
Tara nodded wordlessly, sniffing and wiping at her eyes, looking everywhere but at Hank.
"Hey," Hank said, ducking his head to find her eyes. "Don't you dare be embarrassed. Not for loving someone that much."
Tara smiled shyly, nodding again, feeling drained, but better than she had since she had received that phone call from Buffy the day before. She felt … ready, actually. Prepared. She felt like she had fallen apart and pulled herself together, with the help and support of a room full of truckers. The thought made her giggle a little, the absurdity of the situation hitting her.
"Yeah, it's an odd place to break down, huh?" Hank asked, understanding shining in his eyes.
"Yeah," Tara agreed, her voice a little raw. She cleared her throat, then looked around the room, seeing the line of truckers at the payphones through the wide front windows.
"Here," Anya said, returning minus her cell phone. She felt bad that all the truckers had to wait to make their calls, so she had handed her phone over, asking them to keep it short. The grateful truckers had immediately promised to pay her cash for the time they used, and Anya had taken that opportunity to haggle out a price that gave her a nice little profit. Not a big profit, because that would be heartless, but just enough of a profit to make her glad she lived in America.
She handed over Tara's bag, and Tara took it gratefully. Hank helpfully pointed out the showers, promising to watch their seats while they were gone.
The shower area was neat and tidy, and Tara could see why it was a popular truck stop. The shower units had a locked door leading to a tiny dressing area, and then a curtain leading to a tiny shower, but it would get the job done. It was a nice place, with friendly people, good amenities … if she were a trucker, she'd try to stop there, too. The thought of sitting up in a big rig, in a flannel shirt, a ball cap and boots made Tara giggle again, the picture too ridiculous to take seriously.
She turned on the water, adjusting the spray, then stepped in, not caring that the temperature hadn't warmed yet. The cold water stunned her into full awareness, chasing away the last vestiges of sleepiness, and giving her renewed strength. She washed quickly, finding that being clean put her in a much better mood. That coupled with her cathartic release in a room full of strangers helped her put her situation into perspective.
Willow would die - IF they failed to save her.
So she wouldn't fail.
She stepped out of the stall, drying quickly, then dressing, sliding the clean clothes on with a sense of relief. Her wet hair got pulled back from her face, and she just left it, deciding to let it dry in the car. When she walked back into the dining area, Anya was already there, two plates of food on the counter.
Seeing the large pile of food waiting for her made her stomach growl conspicuously, and she blushed lightly. She hadn't really realized just how hungry she was for real food. Hank and Mac sat made quiet conversation as she and Anya dug in, polishing it all off in record time.
"Well, now," Mac said. "How you feeling?" he asked.
"Much better, thank you," Tara said sincerely. "And thank you," she said, turning to Hank.
"Don't mention it," Hank said, a blush crawling up his neck. "Look … me and the boys were talking, and … if you ever need anything," he said, his voice trailing off, handing over a napkin with a phone number on it. "We'd really like it if you'd keep in touch … let us know how you're doing," he mumbled self-consciously. "And if you ever need anything, you call that number. That'll get my cell phone, and if I'm not nearby, I'll get on the radio and call up one of the guys, okay?"
"I … thank you," Tara said, touched by the gesture.
"No problem… just … go take care of your girl," Hank said, standing up and removing his cap as Tara and Anya rose to leave. He smiled when both girls gave him a hug before walking out the door, Anya stopping just outside to collect her cell phone and her money.
"Keys?" Tara said once they had made it to the car.
"Oh, right," Anya said, handing them over. They got into the car in silence, pulling away from the truck stop and heading out down the road.
"That was certainly … strange," Anya said slowly, looking back at Aunt Emma's Diner disappearing in the distance.
"Yeah, it was," Tara said thoughtfully.
"I mean, who ever heard of a big group of lesbian-friendly truckers?" Anya observed.
"I … that is … pretty strange," Tara agreed, a giggle welling up helplessly as she pressed down on the accelerator, flying down the highway.
"Shouldn't they have been making threesome sex jokes?" Anya asked curiously.
"They probably would have if I hadn't sent them into panic-mode by crying all over them," Tara admitted wryly, checking the rearview mirror and speeding up when she saw no lights behind them.
"True. Xander makes jokes, but not when you're crying on him," Anya observed.
They fell silent, switching on the radio and racing towards Sunnydale with renewed spirit and purpose. Tara felt as though she had gotten her second wind - or was she on her third wind by now? - and as the miles ticked by, she felt a sort of calm descend upon her. Soon, she would be with Willow, and she could hold her in her arms and keep her safe. They could work through this - together - and everything would be all right.
Tara glanced into the rearview mirror again, noticing two sets of headlights in the distance. She slowed down a little, still well above the speed limit, trying to discern what kind of car it was behind her. Weary traveler? Police officer? Trucker?
With a jolt of panic, her question was answered as the lights got closer, then the red and blue of the police flashed.
"Oh, crap," Tara breathed, glancing down at the speedometer and seeing that she was a good twenty miles over the limit. Automatically, she began slowing, preparing to pull over.
Anya immediately grabbed her cell phone, dialing a number. "Slow down some more, but don't pull over yet," Anya instructed, turning in her seat to look behind her. She heard the phone ringing in her ear once, then twice, then it picked up, Tara slowing down, a look of pure panic on her face.
"Hank?" Anya said urgently into the phone. "There's a cop behind us, running his lights, and he's gonna' pull us over," she said in a rush. Tara slowed further and eased towards the shoulder, unsure of what to do, and glancing over at Anya.
Suddenly, the headlights behind the officer crossed the double-yellow line, a dull roar filling the air as it picked up speed, the long form of a truck flying past them. The police officer stayed behind them for a moment, then jerked into the other lane, chasing after the truck that sped up further once the officer's were on its tail.
"Hank?" Anya asked into the phone. "You still there?" She paused, listening to his answer, smiling. "Thank you so much, Hank," she said with a smile, disconnecting the phone. "One of the guys who was at the stop was right behind the cop. He's gonna get him off the highway so we can keep going. Apparently, chasing after a truck that won't pull over is more important than catching us. Something about shipping illegal drugs."
"They're … they're not gonna' get in trouble, are they?" Tara asked with a frown, not wanting someone getting arrested on her behalf.
"Hank says this guy will be fine … that he can talk his way out of anything," Anya assured Tara.
Tara let out a relieved breath, her body shaking as she kept the car at the speed limit, driving at what seemed a sedate pace in comparison to the speeding she had been doing for the past four days. They crawled along, getting several miles down the road before seeing the police car turn off the highway after the truck, still speeding along.
Once the danger had passed, she pressed down on the accelerator, speeding off down the highway and praying that was the only officer they would run into on their way home.
[This message has been edited by Sassette (edited February 25, 2002).]
