AUTHOR: Dumbsaint
DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss. He owns all. Grr. Arrgh.
RATING: PG (I know, I can’t believe it either)
PAIRING: W/T
DISTRIBUTION: Sure. Lemme know.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Graashoppa@aol.com
SPOILERS/SUMMARY: Season 4, ep 10. Takes place during “Hush,” just after the cameras cut away from Willow and Tara in the laundry room after they have moved the soda machine together.
“Hushed,” by Dumbsaint
Tara gazed at their interlocked fingers, unable just yet to release the redhead’s slender hand. Vestiges of the power that had erupted from the two of them only moments ago still seethed from their clasped hands, sporadic bursts of melting color tickling up and down her arm along her nerve synapses. The raw magical energy between them was as palpable to the touch as the other girl’s fingers curled tightly around her own, coursing through her like warm honey and leaving a sweet taste in the back of her mouth. The blonde swallowed convulsively, recognizing the sudden evolution of what had started for her as a schoolgirl crush, infatuation at first sight, into a torrent of longing that threatened to sweep her away altogether.
Tearing her eyes from the lingering handhold, Tara braved a glance into the face of her companion, achingly afraid of what she might find there. Willow’s gaze was trained on their hands, her mouth hanging open in surprise, her breath still coming heavily. Lost in the intricacies of entwining skin and sinew and bone as though pondering them for the very first time, the redhead traced the side of Tara’s palm with slow, caressing movements of her thumb.
And then she looked up, emerald green gaze meeting cobalt blue in wonderment.
They stayed that way for a few moments longer, simply gazing at each other with soulful, searching eyes, the mystery of each other, of finding and connecting inexplicably with another human being weighing heavily on their tongues. And still their hands remained clasped, neither willing to relinquish the other’s touch. It lay between them, the unspoken language of having discovered something you had long hungered for in your most secret self, known only in the jumbled depths of your sleeping hours. Willow now found herself stirring as though from a familiar dream, waking to find the wondrous thing she could never quite recall once the insistent light of morning tugged her back into consciousness; here it was before her, having materialized in the form of a blonde-haired girl whose soft skin seethed with powerful intensity. There was magic in her very touch, and a softness that made the redhead ache in ways she had not known she was capable of, longing welling up from previously unknown depths.
She had recognized the girl in the hallway when they’d collided, even then the electricity of that contact mixed in with the sharp, sudden pain in her ankle and the adrenaline-fueled need to reach safety from what was after them. The girl from Wicca group. The quiet one who always seemed alone, even in a room full of people. And even here, now, her habitual, instinctive withdrawal from those around her echoed in the slightly hunched position of her shoulders, the lowering of her head. Shut in on herself, as though seeking the protection of her own bone structure to keep out anything that might threaten the unmarred softness it sheltered, the vulnerability and sweetness therein. Willow imagined her with angel’s wings wrapped protectively around herself, smiling gently at the image that so fit this girl. A memory burbled up to the surface of her mind- Tara. The name sprang unbidden to her lips, shaping the sound that could not come. Her name was Tara.
A beatific smile lit up the blonde’s face then, reading her name on the other’s lips. ‘Willow,’ she answered silently, feeling a little silly as she knew that trying to speak was rather pointless, but just the same, loving the feel of all those soft l’s and w’s rolling against her teeth in the motion of her tongue. And Willow was smiling back, a great, big welcoming smile of shared- what? Happiness- to be there, sealed away in the protection of this tiny little room. Together. The mortal danger of the previous moments forgotten, the two of them simply rested now, happy at having found each other.
The redhead shifted her position slightly and her smile changed to a grimace of pain as the motion jarred her ankle. Remembering the injury, Tara instinctively reached down with gentle hands, probing the other girl’s flesh to assure herself that there were no broken bones. The redhead frowned, pouting, when Tara’s hand slipped at last from her own, instantly missing the contact, and then Willow gasped lightly at the feel of those hands tenderly ministering to the outraged flesh of her leg.
At her sharp intake of breath Will found herself face to face once more with two very concerned blue eyes. ‘Hurts?’ was the sympathetic question on Tara’s lips, the blonde’s touch grown lighter lest she cause her companion any further pain. The same slightly besotted grin affixing itself firmly to her face, Willow placed a reassuring hand over one of Tara’s where it still rested on her ankle, shaking her head. She could feel herself blushing slightly. The electrified contact of Tara’s hand touching her was the source of that, the sensation tingling its way up her leg. Willow was amazed at the effect Tara continued to have on her, wanting to chalk it up to their obvious magical connection, but suspecting that there was much more to it than just that. Whatever it was, it lay between them with the lazy warmth and silky-softness of a cat curled, sleeping, around her legs, and Willow knew with surety that she wanted more of it.
The redhead shivered, more from exhaustion and feeling overwhelmed with- well, feeling than from cold. She yawned, realizing as tiredness began to pervade through her Willow-rambly musings that, despite the blonde’s assistance, moving the soda machine had taken quite a lot out of her. Tara seemed to feel it, too, a hazy drowsiness that washed over her in soft draughts.
Careful not to jostle Willow’s leg, Tara settled herself gently against the redhead where they both leaned back into the unyielding bulk of the row of washing machines. The floor wasn’t terribly comfortable, but tentatively entwining a companionable arm about Willow’s shoulders, Tara offered the injured, exhausted girl what warmth and comfort she could, biting back her fears that she was being much too forward, that the other girl would pull away in alarm and disgust at any moment, rejection written in the lines of her face where a moment ago there had been welcoming acceptance. But Willow only signed in contentment, laying her head gratefully on Tara’s shoulder and letting her breath gradually slow until sleep claimed her.
Tara sat listening to the steady rhythm of Willow’s breath, the closeness of her as thrillingly delightful as it was frightening. Nuzzling her face into the girl’s fiery hair, Tara inhaled the sweet scent of her, letting that wash over her, too, as the comforting oblivion of sleep rose up to claim her as well. Outside the little room where the two girls slept on peacefully, the sound of tentative voices came, filling the halls with whispered murmurs of astonishment and relief that things had returned to normal- or at least, as normal as things ever were in Sunnydale. Still, the volume of the collective voices remained low, hushed, almost as though people were afraid to break completely the pall of stillness and silence that had lain over the town for so long.
Sighing through the warmth of her dream, a dream of pale soft skin, copper-red hair that shone like the sun, and green eyes crinkling about the corners with joy, the smile adorning the wide mouth with a curiously familiar silly giddiness, Tara pulled the woman in her arms closer than she would have dared while awake, in the security and safety of sleep, her grip decidedly firmer on what she held so very dear. Her dream had found its way to her at last.
------------------
Little drummer girl.
[This message has been edited by Dumbsaint (edited December 20, 2001).]
