by BeMyDeputy » Sun Apr 10, 2011 6:55 am
Author: BeMyDeputy (Kate)
Rating: PG-13 for this section (for sexiness). Up to NC-17 for later installments.
Feedback: Yes! Please! Are you reading and don’t have more than “I like this”? Fine, post that! Disagree terribly with my portrayal of the characters? Fine, post that, but I reserve the right to defend them. Supposedly sexy parts not sexy? Bitch! This is my first major fiction piece, so rip it up. If you just write “you suck,” I’ll ignore you.
Notes: The entirety of Chapter 4, including "Unspoken" takes place across "This Year's Girl" and "Who Are You?"
Spoilers: This is season 4. If you haven't seen season 4, what are you doing here?
Content disclaimer (this section) : Sex: No, but there is one fairly dirty line. Angst: Yes.
I Don't Own This Disclaimer: The entire Buffyverse (including setting, characters, and plot) is property of its owners, including but not limited to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement is intended by this work. "This Year's Girl" was written by Douglas Petrie and "Who Are You?" was written by Joss Whedon.
I Don't Own This Disclaimer II: The quoted lyrics from "My Favorite Things" were written by Oscar Hammerstein II.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to my awesome beta reader, dlline, for pointing out that my urge to say “come with” instead of “come with me” is a Midwestern colloquialism and not how most people talk. (Bonus fact: I spelled colloquialism right on the first try, which utterly amazes me.) Thanks to Ariel for, among other things, letting me pull my hair out and scream at her about how many fucking times they change clothes during this ONE DAY and how it makes my life complicated.
Note: In addition to feedback responses, I’ve posted a short bit about storytelling with some questions in the previous post. I encourage people to take a look.
Note II: I am a tom boy. My understanding of clothes is “ooh, funny/cute/smart t-shirt. Me like,” and “Damn she looks hot in that.” So, if my writing about Willow and Tara and clothes seems unenthusiastic . . . that’s because it is. Stupid canon. Er . . . I mean . . . yes, it's a carefully constructed thing where the change in outfits signifies a change in their emotional state . . . no, that doesn't hold up. Rats.
Chapter 4 part 2: Unspoken
Today was day three.
Day three since Tara had broken down crying in front of Willow twice in one evening.
Day three since Willow had pulled violently away from Tara’s touch.
Day three since Tara had confessed she would sleep with Willow.
For such a confession, the days had been rather tame. No drama, no change in their relationship . . . in fact, almost no private time at all. The night in question, Wednesday, they had fallen asleep early in each other’s arms. Thursday morning they woke early and shared gentle kisses and decidedly north-of-the-waistband caresses until they needed to get ready for class. Tara had an exam Friday morning, so while they ate dinner together, Tara returned to her room alone Thursday evening to study. Friday evening Willow had called briefly to say that she had Scooby duties to perform all night.
Now it was Saturday. It was already after 1:00, and Tara had yet to hear from Willow. She found herself back on the floor of her room, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Though she accepted the perfectly rational and understandable reasons that they had spent so little time together since the event in question, she couldn’t help but fret that there were other things keeping Willow away.
“I’m so confused, Mom. I mean, she moved away so fast. I know she said that she wasn’t upset with me, but . . . that memory, that feeling of her pulling away like that makes me feel sick.” Tara shuddered as the memory washed over her.
“It’s so easy to be me with her, the me I keep for myself. Maybe . . . maybe I’ve put myself too far out there. It’s only been a week since she said she was interested, and I started really opening up before that.” A sigh escaped Tara’s lips before she closed her eyes. “No, I’ve certainly put myself too far out there. It’s not like she . . . . She doesn’t love me.” The quietly spoken words hung uncomfortably in the air, and Tara let them float there in deep silence for several minutes. “I don’t want it to matter, but it does. It doesn’t change how I feel about her, or what I would or wouldn’t do with her, but it does matter. I don’t even know if she can love me . . . but it hurts.
“Of course, there’s the problem of what she thinks I feel. I mean, she was interested in my thoughts on sleeping together if she doesn’t love me. Does she already know that I love her? Can she tell? Does she not need to know? Does it only matter to her how she feels? Did saying I’d sleep with her imply to her that I love her?” Tara hugged her arms to her chest. “How do I find out? I can’t just ask, not after--”
The sharp ring of the phone interrupted Tara’s monologue. Despite her concerns about the status of things between herself and Willow, she quickly jumped up and grabbed the phone during the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi! It’s, uh, me, Willow.”
Just the sound of Willow’s voice made Tara feel better. “Hi Willow.”
“So, anyway, I have this thing I need to do for Buffy, and it’ll take all afternoon.” Tara swallowed hard. The past days without Willow had been hard, and the prospect of another was daunting. “But, if you’re interested, you could come with me.” Tara’s heart swelled; she was eager to be a part of Willow’s normal life, even if that life happened to involve monsters and demons.
“Sure! I’d love to help.”
“Great, I’ll head out right away. See you in a few minutes?”
“Sounds great. See you soon.”
“Bye!”
“Bye.”
Tara glowed as she hung up the phone. Willow was coming over. The concerns she’d voiced to her mother suddenly paled in comparison. What mattered now was that Willow was on the way, and the thought made her giddy.
A quick glance in the mirror quenched Tara’s joy. Her hair was down and untidy from lying on the floor, and the old baggy sweatshirt that she’d worn to lunch had a dribble of salad dressing on the front. Quickly, she peeled it off and went to the closet to grab a top that matched her pants. It had warmed up since the morning’s cold rain, and so she felt comfortable grabbing a short-sleeved shirt. Then, put on two thin chokers and a few bracelets from their hooks on the inside of her closet. Finally, she brushed the static electricity out of her hair and twisted it up into quick knot.
Just as Tara turned to check her appearance in the mirror, there was a knock at the door. Foregoing the chance to examine how she looked, Tara moved to the door instead.
Tara beamed as she opened the door to find Willow bouncing gently in place in the hallway, a blue duffle bag over her shoulder.
“Hi.”
“Hi-ello.” Willow dropped her head, and her gaze with it, partway through the word. Tara looked down, concerned that she’d picked a shirt with a stain or a hole, as she hadn’t looked at anything other than the color of the shirt. She was surprised to discover that she’d selected one of the lower-cut shirts that she owned.
“Uh, Willow?”
“Hmm? What?” Willow looked up to Tara’s face and then around at her surroundings. “Oh. Oh! Sorry.” Tara smiled. Though it certainly seemed to have embarrassed Willow, the moment made Tara feel attractive to her, a most welcome feeling.
“Do you, um, want to come in?” Willow nodded, and Tara stepped back and out of the way.
“Not for long, though, because we need to get out there. But before we do, I should fill you in a little.” Tara closed the door, and Willow turned to face her. “And give you this!”
Tara looked down at Willow’s outstretched hands and saw a small, dark turquoise drawstring bag she hadn’t noticed before. It was about the size of a paperback book, and it was made of crushed velvet. Down the center of the bag was a strip of Celtic knotwork. “That’s very pretty. What’s the occasion?”
Willow laughed as Tara took the bag. “I’m glad you like the bag, but it’s mostly what’s inside that I need to give you.” Willow gestured toward the bed, and they sat down on it facing each other. Once comfortable, Willow reached to take the bag back. “Let me show you.”
“Sure.”
“This is a Willow-brand Sunnydale Protection Pack: patent pending.” Tara raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Okay, not so much with the patent part,” Willow confessed, which made Tara giggle. “Anyway, little miss spoil sport, let’s go over the contents. First off, a cross necklace.” Willow pulled out a three-inch tall silver cross of Celtic knotwork on a silver chain from the bag. “Now, I know you aren’t Christian, but these are still effective against vampires, so you should have one. I have one just like this. I almost never wear it around my neck. Instead, I usually keep it someplace you can’t see it, like tied to a belt loop and in a pocket, and I only bother at night. I like the knotwork ones the best, because they feel less Christian-y and more art-y.” Willow handed the necklace to Tara, who set it carefully on her knee.
“It is very pretty,” Tara said as she fingered the knotwork.
“Next we have holy water,” Willow continued, as she pulled a glass bottle out of the bag. It had a large label on the front that read “Holy Water” below a cross, and a rubber stopper in the top. “Holy water is effective against vampires, too. This kind of bottle is best because the stopper stays in when jostled if you’re running or knocked over, but comes out easily enough with a directed pull. The bottle is great for similar reasons: it’s sturdy enough that it doesn’t break in a pocket or bag, but fragile enough to break if you throw it at the ground or a gravestone or even a vampire, if you throw hard enough.” Tara nodded as she took the bottle. She loved how Willow had analyzed and optimized even this small thing. “If you ever need another one, you can get them at the Magic Box. Depending on the owner, they may or may not be out on display, but they always carry them. If you don’t see them, just ask. If the bottle isn’t broken, you can theoretically refill it at a Catholic church, but I’d rather buy a new one than risk someone catching me taking it.” Willow paused to remove another item. “Now, this next thing is a…”
“Scapula: a protection charm,” Tara finished as Willow pulled a small leather pouch on a leather cord out of the bag.
Willow nodded. “Yup. But smell—lavender!”
After a quick sniff, Tara discovered that the charm did indeed smell of lavender instead of the more familiar sulfur. “That’s really clever.” A close examination of the charm’s magical signature later, she added, “And potent, too. This is really good.”
Willow beamed at Tara’s praise. “I started making different scented ones about a year ago. I didn’t want my Mom to complain about me stinking up the house, so I started working on these.” Willow pulled her skirt up above her left ankle, and Tara spotted another charm tied there. “Mine’s mint.”
“Here we have a stake.” Willow pulled out a ten-inch piece of wood that was sharpened to a point at one end, and Tara began to wonder how everything had fit into the small bag; it hadn’t been at all bulged when Willow originally handed it to her. “Now, it’s really hard to dust a vampire without a slayer’s strength and accuracy, but it can be done in a pinch. Mostly I carry them so I have one to throw to Buffy if she needs it, not to do the staking myself. But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Tara took in the items spread on the blanket in front of her: they were the swords and shields of the world Willow inhabited, and now Willow was sharing them with her. Tara couldn’t help but be moved. “Thank you.”
“Now, if you have to go out at night, you should at least have the cross and the scapula on you,” Willow said, pointing to the named items. “If you have to be out long, be sure to take the other two with you as well. But don’t fight unless you’re trapped. It’s better to run, okay?”
“I will.” No desire to fight vampires here, particularly alone.
“Oh, one last thing.” Willow put her hand in the small bag again, and pulled out a cardboard box. “Last time I was at the magic shop I saw these, and they made me think of you. So, here.” Tara looked down at the offered box and discovered it was a set of Olympus Tarot cards. She opened the box and looked quickly at a few of the cards, each depicting an idea from Greek mythology.
“Thank you. These are gorgeous.”
Willow smiled. “I hoped you’d like them.”
Tara looked at the size of the cards, and then back to the other things Willow had pulled out of the bag. Like Mary Poppins’ bag, there was no way they should have fit, not between the stake and the cards. “Willow, how did all those things fit in that bag?”
Willow’s grinned like a maniac, and handed Tara the bag. “Look inside.” She did, and was very surprised that she could see a spell signature on the lining of the bag.
“How did you . . . ?”
“It’s what Xander likes to call a ‘bag of holding’ for some reason. The spell on the liner makes the bag bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.”
“But I can’t see the spell from the outside.”
“Right! See, this bag was made as a masking device, so you can’t see magical items that are inside. But the liner of the bag was just plain cloth, and I could still enchant it. So I made it into a bag of holding that isn’t detectable as one unless you can see the inside. This is my first confirmation that the masking works against second sight, not just detection spells.” Willow grinned, her tongue pushed out between her teeth. She was obviously proud of herself.
“Glad I could help.”
“Oh! Don’t turn the bag inside-out, though. Or put anything sharp in there. It’ll break the enchantment. Or possibly start sucking everything in sight into the pocket dimension the bag accesses. I’m not sure.”
“No sharps, no inside out. Got it.”
“Now, most of that gear won’t help with what I need to do for Buffy today. The protection charm might, so you’ll want that.” Tara began to tie her protection charm around her ankle to match Willow’s. “So, today we’re looking for Faith. Our anti-vampire arsenal won’t help, because Faith is a slayer.”
“A slayer? Like Buffy?”
“Yes, except for the part where she’s evil.”
“Evil? I thought slayers were human.”
“Oh, the bitch is human alright. She’s just also evil. She’s murdered at least two people that I know about, poisoned Buffy’s ex-boyfriend, not to mention holding me hostage and very nearly slitting my throat.”
At first, Tara was surprised to hear Willow speak with such palpable disdain for someone, but then she blanched at the thought of someone hurting Willow. “A-and, we’re looking for her?”
“Yeah. See, she was in a coma, ever since just before graduation last May, but she woke up last night. We need to find her and deal with her before she hurts someone.” Willow stood, and offered a hand to Tara. “Buffy’s searching the rest of town, but I said I’d help with campus until it gets dark and dangerous for non-slayer types. You still in?”
“S-sure.” Tara didn’t feel nearly as excited or confident as she had when she’d originally agreed to help, but wasn’t willing to back out. She looked down at her hastily constructed outfit before asking, “Um, so, are my clothes okay? For evil-slayer hunting?”
“They’re fine.” Willow smiled. “It’s not like my outfit is carefully picked for Faith-hunting. I mean, based on careful observation of Buffy, there’s no rhyme or reason to what makes a good patrolling outfit. I wonder if her wardrobe confuses the commandos; they're always in camo. So, ready to go?”
“Yeah.” As Tara took Willow’s hand and began to stand, she noticed the duffle bag on the floor. “What’s in the other bag?”
“The other . . . oh, that.” Willow looked down at her feet. “Well, you said before that you had a drawer you could loan me, so I brought some things with me. Clothes and stuff. But Riley came back last night, and he said that that the Initiative doctor guy was right, and that the Initiative wasn’t after us. My room is safe and all, so if you don’t want to--”
“Willow.” Tara squeezed Willow’s hand. She didn’t want this to turn uncomfortable, as it had last time. That Willow wanted to take her up on the offer, despite having her own bed to sleep in again, dissipated some of the fear Tara had felt about Willow’s recent absence. “The drawer is still yours if you want it. I told you, you’re always welcome here.”
Willow looked up at Tara with a smile. “Thanks.” With a tug on Tara’s hand, Willow started toward the door. “We should head out now, though. We can take care of that after dinner.”
As she had before, Willow gave Tara’s hand a squeeze before dropping it as they reached the door. It didn’t bother Tara; instead, she was just happy Willow had felt comfortable taking the offer of the drawer. She locked the door, and started towards the stairs. “So, where are we heading?”
“Oh, just around campus. The big concern is populated areas, so we’ll stick to those. We don’t want any innocent people to get hurt.” Willow turned to smile at Tara, and brushed her elbow with a hand. “Thanks again for coming with. Hunting a psychopathic super-bitch is definitely in the ‘above and beyond’ department.” As they descended into the lobby, Willow appeared to take in the crowd.
“It's okay. Really. So, um, . . .” Tara scanned the lobby, “ . . . what do we do if we find her?” She hadn’t wanted to ask too many questions before they set out, lest it deter Willow from their adventure, but Tara couldn’t imagine what it was the two of them could do against a slayer.
“Run. Flee. Maybe skedaddle.” Tara listened carefully, taking in Willow’s advice. “We’re not here to engage. This is strictly recon.” Engage? Recon? She tried not to smile, but the military-sounding words didn’t seem quite right coming from Willow.
“What?” There she goes, being perceptive again.
“You said ‘recon,’” Tara confessed. “You're like, cool monster fighter.” It was just funny. Plus, my not-girlfriend is way cool.
“Well, technically, Faith isn’t a monster. And as far as fighting, I'd be lucky to bruise her fist with my face.”
“Oh.” Tara’s face fell, not too keen on the whole ‘violence’ aspect of the day’s activity.
“What?”
“Face punching . . . I’m not good with the whole . . .” Tara tried to punch at the defenseless air in front of her, which seemed to amuse Willow.
“Swimming?”
With a glace to her ineffective fists, Tara explained. “Violence.” Not like I ever returned Donny’s punches. I could barely block them, really.
“Don’t worry,” Willow reassured with a gentle touch to the wrist that made Tara’s heart pound. “We’re sure to spot Faith first. She's like, this cleavage-y slutbomb walking around going ‘Oh, check me out, I'm wicked cool, I'm five-by-five.’” Willow gesticulated wildly as she described and their target and then imitated her in a derogatory voice.
“‘Five-by-five?’ Five what by five what?”
“That’s the thing—no one knows.” Willow shook her head. “Buffy can handle Faith, and you’re plenty safe with me.” Safe. Tara nodded. Willow meant safety.
“So, we ‘recon’ ‘til nightfall?” Tara asked in her best imitation of Willow’s military jargon. In an effort to resist the urge to touch, she clasped her hands behind her back.
Willow nodded. “Then the ritual hiding begins.”
Hiding? Eek. Tara tried to reign in her concern, grateful that Willow no longer faced her and instead scanned the crowd.
“So, other than ‘cleavage-y slutbomb,’ is there anything else I should know about what Faith looks like?”
“Dark hair. About as tall as me. Last seen wearing about an hour ago in a short blue shirt jacket over a black shirt. Oh, and black pants.”
“And if we find her, how do we let Buffy know? Does she have a cell phone?”
Willow laughed as she led them outside. “I wish. I looked into Buffy getting a cell phone a couple years ago. Turns out, you can’t get a cell phone signal in Sunnydale. It’s this little black hole of doom in terms of a cell signal. No one will build cell phone towers around here. Must be all the monsters.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Buffy’s mom has a cell phone for her work—she works at the art gallery on Dubuque Street—but it doesn’t work in town. She can only use it when she’s traveling. The gallery pays for it, or she wouldn’t even bother. It’s useless 90% of the time.”
“W-wow. Too bad.”
“I know, right? Of all the people in the world that actually could use a cell phone, Buffy’s at the top of the list. But can she use one? Noooo.” Willow made a small disgruntled noise that Tara thought was absolutely charming. “The military has something set up though, because Riley has a working cell phone. So not fair. Stupid world. Some of us civilians have to live on the Hellmouth, you know.”
Tara couldn’t help but chuckle: Willow was particularly cute when she was indignant.
“What? We do! Okay, I didn’t have to, but I do anyways.”
“I know. You’re just being . . .” adorable. Unable to finish the sentence, Tara looked down and away, not sure what to do if Willow pressed her. It was time for a change of topics. “So, um, my exam went well.”
“Oh yeah? That’s good. It was for English, right?”
“Yeah, ‘History of the English Language.’ My ‘Introduction to Linguistics’ professor from last semester teaches it. H-he’s really great.”
They continued to talk about school as they wandered all afternoon. Willow spoke about her classes, but not in the animated and enthusiastic manner to which Tara was so accustomed. As they talked, Willow guided them through the areas of campus most popular with students on the weekends; the tour favored coffee joints and the union over buildings with classrooms. Tara wasn’t confident she’d be able to spot Faith based on the description Willow had given her, but felt she’d be able to spot a commotion. Faith sounded like someone who would cause a commotion.
“C’mon, let’s go make one last sweep by Lake LaVerne, and then go to dinner, okay?” Willow pointed in the direction of the lake, but Tara’s attention focused on Willow’s right hand. It gently encircled Tara’s wrist, and the thumb softly stroked the underside of it before Willow gave it a squeeze and let go. There’s another. As Willow led them north toward the lake, Tara’s mind raced. The touches had been small, innocuous, and totally out of character for Willow. They were nothing compared to what happened behind closed doors, but they were in public. Willow didn’t touch her in public. Yet this last touch, the gentle brush along the inside of her wrist, felt deeply intimate. Tara was sure she wasn’t putting too much stock into these little touches: Willow stayed outwardly composed, but her aura blushed as embarrassed and nervous as though she’d just pushed Tara up against a tree and kissed her senseless.
“So, um, you said Riley’s okay?” Tara tried to get Willow talking again in an effort to rescue her from her nervousness.
“Oh, yeah.” Willow nodded enthusiastically. “Buffy’s relieved, which makes everyone’s life better. It’s pretty amazing that he’s up and walking, given he was skewered by that Adam thing. Did I tell you that the thing Walsh made is called Adam? I can’t remember. Anyway, it is. But yeah, it sounds like the government was pumping Riley full of drugs, and he’s healing super-fast. Not as fast as Buffy would, but faster than us normal mortals. So I guess they did some good.”
“Slayers heal quickly?”
“Yeah, it’s part of the whole mystical slayer power package. I’ve seen her get gashes that a normal person would need upwards of 20 stitches to fix, and the next day it’s like it never happened. She can dislocate a joint, pop it back into place, and it’s good as new, strong as ever. I have yet to see her break a bone, despite the number of headstones with which she’s made close personal friends. It’s amazing. And it’s how Faith woke up.”
“How so?”
“The coma: she never should have woken up. Heck, she was wanted in murder investigations, and they didn’t even have her handcuffed to the bed in the hospital. The doctors were that sure she’d never wake up.”
“W-wow.” The more and more Tara heard about Faith, the more and more she was upset that Faith was in the same state as Willow, let alone small town.
They walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way to the lake, each with an eye on the students populating the campus.
When they reached the lake, Willow didn’t simply look around and start back toward the dorms, as Tara had expected. Instead, she began to walk around the lake. They’d walked about halfway around the lake when they came to a wooden footbridge over a creek that fed into the lake. The creek was frequently bone dry, but now it was still wet from the morning’s shower. Willow slowed as she set foot on the bridge, and stopped in the middle facing out toward the lake. Tara moved next to Willow, looked out over the water, and rested her hands on the railing. The nearest person was easily two hundred feet away, and it felt like they were alone.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Willow asked as she set her right hand next to Tara’s left, so the edge of their hands just touched.
“Yes. I’ve always liked lakes.” Tara expected Willow to move her hand quickly away, but was pleased to discover that it stayed exactly where it was. They stood looking at the water for several minutes. Tara reveled in the chance to stand with the woman she loved on the cusp of holding hands. Finally, Willow broke the silence with a whisper.
“What did you mean by ‘naughty thoughts’?”
What?!? Tara whipped her head around to face Willow, who still looked out over the water. Both their hands remained perfectly still.
“W-wh-what?” She’s asking me this? Here? Now?
“Your note. The one you gave me.” Even now, Willow continued to gaze at the lake. Her voice was just above a hush, but each word rang loudly in Tara’s head. “Friday night I looked up a translation spell.” Tara looked back out to the lake.
Silence.
“What did you mean?”
You, with the naked squirming. Me, with the making you squirm.
“Umm.”
“You needed to stop thinking ‘umm’?”
“No.”
“So what did you mean?” Even in a whisper, Willow sounded pleading, almost desperate.
You screaming my name as you come in my mouth.
“Uhh.”
Silence.
Tara took a deep breath and turned her whole body toward Willow, a move which pulled her hand away. “I’ll n-need s-some identification.”
Willow finally faced Tara, her face beet red. Confusion floated atop other feelings racing through her aura: trepidation, embarrassment, want, affection. “What? Why?”
“Th-that answer is r-rated NC-17. I n-need some ID that shows you’re o-of age.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Willow looked at Tara, her brow furrowed and lips in a slight frown. It had taken Tara a while to learn that this expression meant Willow was thinking and not upset; a critical piece of information at the moment.
Right, this isn’t incredibly awkward. What do I do now?
As explicit as they had been, the unspoken correct answers to Willow’s questions hadn’t swept Tara into a state of arousal; they felt distant, echoes from another time, a time when fantasy didn’t resemble reality. Instead, Tara found herself wrapped up in her confusion over what was going on with Willow. She couldn’t keep up with the emotions boiling through Willow, and she eventually gave up any attempt to pin them down. Instead, she waited for Willow to give her some sign of what to do, how to act. But Willow simply looked at Tara, apparently lost in thought.
Eventually, the cool evening made Tara shiver, and Willow responded instantly. “You’re cold. Let’s go get that dinner.” She gestured in the direction of Hillcrest, and they began to walk back in silence toward the warmth of the dorm.
Okay, who are you, and what did you do with Willow? First off, asking at all. Second, totally in public. Third, was I not clear Wednesday? Fourth, the part with Willow asking at all? Willow. What on Earth is going on? As they walked, Tara went over and over just how out of character Willow’s question had been, not to mention all the little friendly touches. Should I ask her what’s going on once we get back to the room? Do I just wait and see where this is going?
As they approached Hillcrest, Willow suddenly put her arm out in front of Tara. Tara felt a quick shove and stepped back, only to step off the security of the sidewalk. As her foot hit the muddy ground, Tara felt her foot slip. She grabbed Willow’s wrist for balance, but the next moment she found herself on the ground and in the mud. An instant later, she felt Willow collapse on top of her.
“Oof.”
“A-are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Sorry I pushed you. And fell on you.” Willow pushed herself off to the side and looked down. “And got us both muddy.”
“It’s okay. What happened?”
“Oh, I thought I saw Faith. I didn’t want her to see us.” Willow sat up. “But, it wasn’t her.” She shook her head. “Man, it wasn’t even her, and I’m still in full-on needing to chant ‘raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens’ mode.”
Tara smiled. “‘Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens’?”
“Exactly!” Willow smiled broadly. “So, you like ‘The Sound of Music’?”
“Of course.”
“That’s so cool! I spent a lot of years hanging out with Xander and Jesse, and they were hard to get to sit down in front of a musical.” Willow stood, planting her feet back on the sidewalk before she offered Tara a hand.
“How very manly of them.” Tara stood with Willow’s assistance and looked down at their mud-spattered clothes.
Willow seemed to notice Tara’s assessment. “Here, turn around. Let me see the damage.” Trying not to notice the passers-by, who were starting to take notice, Tara obliged. “Well, your hair’s okay, at least. Clothes, not so lucky. At least they’re not torn. How about me?” Willow spun around.
“Same.”
“Well, at least we’re next to the dorm. We can change clothes before we go to dinner.” At the mention of the dorm, they began to walk towards Tara’s room.
“And we missed the sidewalk.”
“Ew. Yeah, that could have been painful.” Willow looked over Tara again and winced. “Particularly since I fell on you. I am really sorry.” As they entered Hillcrest, Willow caught Tara’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze before dropping it. For that moment, Tara was oblivious to the dozens of people staring at them, immune to their amusement at her misfortune. As soon as it was gone, however, that attention became rapidly uncomfortable, and Tara hastened toward her room. Willow picked up speed to keep pace without comment.
As Tara entered her room, she realized there was a problem: they both needed to change. Though she’d be perfectly comfortable to change around Willow, (not to mention rather happy to watch Willow change), Wednesday night had taught her to be overly cautious about what could make Willow uncomfortable. “So, I’ll, um, grab some clothes, and, uh, change in the bathroom, then.”
“No, you don’t have to do that.” Willow looked down and shuffled her feet. “I mean, if you don’t want.” Eyes still downcast, she took a step toward Tara. “If you wanted, I could, um, help? With the, uh, changing. You know, of the clothes?” As her voice went up to form the question, it took on a distinctly hopeful tone.
“Wi--”
“Or not. If you don’t want.” Her voice stepped back from her previously eager tone, and her feet quickly followed suit.
“Wil--”
“I’ll just, uh, grab my bag, and uh, change in the bathroom, because hello, your room, you shouldn’t have to--”
“Willow.”
Finally, Willow looked up. “Yeah?”
“I would love some help.” Tara stepped to Willow, and cautiously brushed Willow’s hands with her own.
“Really?” Hope lit up Willow’s face as she took Tara’s hands and used them to pull her closer.
Oh good, I guess it was okay.
“R-really.” Tara’s knees felt like they were about to fail when Willow’s lips brushed her own. “W-we wouldn’t want the room to get all muddy, would we?”
“Right, because muddiness is bad. I’ve gotten enough of your stuff muddy for one day. Least I could do is help keep your room clean.”
“Exactly.” Tara stood and waited for Willow to act, reluctantly eager at the prospect of the offer. But Willow just stood and watched Tara back. Hesitantly, they watched each other for several minutes, until Willow’s stomach grumbled.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For my tummy rumblings spoiling the mood?”
“Ah.” Tara nodded. “The mood of ‘too afraid to act?’”
Willow squirmed a little and offered a tentative smile. “Um. Yeah. That one.”
Tara chuckled. “It’s okay.” She leaned in and whispered, as if relating a deep secret, “I am, too.”
“Well, that’s silly. I told you I wanted to help.”
Skeptical, Tara raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I accept?”
“Well, yes.” With a shake of her head, Willow laughed. “Okay, I guess I’m being silly, too.”
“I’d argue sillier.” Willow opened her mouth, but Tara continued. “So, are you going to stand there and argue, or are you going to help me take off my clothes?”
“Clothes,” Willow nodded. “With the clothes.”
“And here I was worried you’d want to do both at the same time.”
“Actually, that was my plan, to start arguing once I’d start--”
“Willow,” Tara warned.
“I, uh, should probably just shut up and kiss you now, huh?”
“Yes.” Willow leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against Tara’s lips, but her stomach rumbled once again. Tara laughed. “It sounds like we should get you to dinner.”
Willow looked away, embarrassed. “Again, with the sorry. I spent a good chunk of the morning looking for Faith, too. Psycho-hunting makes a girl hungry.”
“C’mon.” Tara pulled Willow toward her closet. “I’ve got a bag we can put these in until we can wash them.” She reluctantly pulled away from Willow, reached into her closet, and pulled out a cloth bag. “Here.” Lifting her arms, Tara looked expectantly to Willow again.
“Right.” Willow cocked her head to the side and looked down towards the mud. “I think the best bet is if I . . .” Willow grabbed the shoulders of Tara’s shirt, and slowly pulled it up, “ . . . do that!”
Tara looked down at herself as Willow put the shirt in the bag. The way Willow had removed the shirt, the mud had stayed on it, as opposed to getting smeared everywhere. “Impressive.”
“Right! This way, we can just go to dinner, instead of stopping for showers.”
“Think you can pull the same trick with the pants?” Tara asked, trying to ignore the implications of her question.
“Hmm, yeah. Boots need to come off first, though.” Before Tara could move, Willow dropped to her knees and began to undo Tara’s laces.
Not having oral sex thoughts. Not having oral sex thoughts.
“There, you should be able to kick them off now.” Willow tapped Tara’s right foot. “Up.” Tara lifted the indicated foot, and Willow tugged the boot off before repeating the action with the left. When she stood, Willow couldn’t seem to look Tara in the face; instead, she watched her hands as they fingered Tara’s belt loops.
“Um, the button’s more towards the middle.”
Finally, Willow looked up. “Right. Middle.” Her fingers continued their attentions on the belt loops.
“Y-you don’t have to . . . I mean, you helped with the shirt. I can do the rest myself.”
“No, I want to. It’s just . . .” Willow let out a small frustrated sigh. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Willow.”
“Yeah?”
“I am going to change.” Tara moved her own hands to the button on her pants. “You can turn around, or watch, or help. W-whatever you want, so long as it doesn’t involve opening the door while I’m not wearing a shirt. O-okay?”
“Ack. But-but, uh, oh.” Willow sputtered. “Meanie.”
“Uh, how I am I mean?”
“See, I was being all unsure and hesitant, and then you went and pressed the point.” It looked like Willow was trying to pout, but her smiling eyes ruined the effect.
Tara smiled. “Dinner closes in half an hour. I’d like to make it.”
“You think I’d stand here indecisive for over thirty minutes?”
“You’re stalling.” A guilty smile on her lips, Willow nodded. “I’m changing now.” Not thinking, just doing. Right. Tara looked Willow in the eye, and slowly undid the button on her pants.
“Hey! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.” Willow batted Tara’s hands away. “That’s my job.”
“So . . . .”
“Right. Pants. Pants are easy. I can do pants. I know how to do this.” Tara watched as Willow lowered her zipper and tugged down on waistband. As she bent down slightly to give Tara enough room to get out of the pants, Willow planted her face between Tara’s breasts. “Mrph. This was not actually intentional, I swear.” Tara sighed happily, but nevertheless steadied herself on Willow’s shoulders and stepped back out of her pants and, regretfully, away from the soft feel of Willow’s face on her chest.
“So, those can go in the bag with the . . . .” Tara’s voice trailed off as she realized Willow’s eyes had locked onto her thighs.
“Oh. Wow.”
“Um.” The attention, welcome as Tara thought it would be, made her feel open and exposed. The stark contrast between Willow, fully clothed, watching her stand in her underwear was palpable. Folding her arms across her chest, Tara looked down and stepped back toward her closet. “W-we should get down there.”
“Tara?” In her peripheral vision, Tara saw Willow’s head snap up, and felt Willow watch her in a totally different way. They stood in silence for several moments, Tara unable to meet Willow’s eyes, before Willow stepped back as well. “Alright. I’ll just . . . I’ll put these away, and then I’ll change over here, and you can finish changing, and we can go to dinner. Okay?”
“Y-yeah.” As she turned to her closet, Tara heard Willow drag the bag of muddy clothes toward the center of the room. Hastily, she pulled on a new outfit, but stayed facing her closet as she heard Willow change behind her. As something to do while she waited for Willow to finish changing, Tara idly unclasped her necklaces, trading them for new ones. See, that was not an example of emotionally pulling back. Though, it wasn’t initially intended as emotional exposure. If I’m going to have a physical relationship with a straight girl, I can’t conflate the physical and the emotional. Even if the motivation for the physical is emotional. Those aspects of their relationship were like a rope of copper and tin: intertwined but separate without the heat to forge them into bronze.
“Tara?” Tara felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Willow dressed in fresh clean clothes. “Do you, um, do you want to go down?” Her eyes went wide. “Stairs! Downstairs.” She hung her head for a moment, before looking back up. “Okay, strike that. Start over. Do you want to go to dinner?”
“Yes, let’s.” Willow’s embarrassment at the unintended innuendo made Tara feel more at ease; she wasn’t the only one in an uncertain and delicate emotional space.
“Oh, before we go, I should wash this.” Willow held up the necklace she’d worn out. “I got some mud on it changing my shirt.”
Once Willow washed the necklace and set it to dry, they headed out the door and to dinner, and Tara tried to initiate a neutral conversation. “So, um, did you like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”
“Yeah, I’ve read it a bunch. Why?”
“Oh, when you said ‘strike that,’ it reminded me of Willy Wonka, and the part where he says--”
“‘So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it.’ That bit?”
“Mmhmm,” Tara nodded.
“Yeah, when I was little, I had this problem where I thought faster than I could talk, and ideas would come out backwards, so I tried to use that phrase to self-correct after I heard what I’d said. Only, it didn’t work so well, because then I would just keep talking, and Xander couldn’t both manipulate the words that had gone by and listen to the new ones at the same time. That makes perfect sense, because language processing is serial and all. But it didn’t end up doing me much good.”
“Had?”
“‘Had’? Had what?”
“That problem. You don’t think faster than you can talk anymore?”
“Oh, yeah, that sure I do, but I’m better at putting things in the right order as they get sent to my mouth. But that doesn’t stop me from establishing false choices or anything . . . as just demonstrated,” Willow admitted as she offered an embarrassed smile.
“That’s okay. It’s . . .” cute, “neat.”
Willow blushed a little, and held open the door to the dining hall. After they paid their way in, they agreed to meet in their usual corner, and went their separate ways to get their meals.
Tray in hand, Tara took her usual seat with her back to the wall, and was surprised to see Willow come up to her side of the table. “Scooch over?”
“Um, okay.” Tara slid deeper into the booth.
“Thanks. I doubt we’ll see Faith here in the dining room, but in case she makes her way in here, I don’t want her to be able to come up behind me. Particularly since I did hit her earlier.”
“Y-you hit Faith?” From Willow’s description of slayers, Tara was uncertain as to how Willow could have hit one, while from her description of Faith, Tara was uncertain as how Willow was still in one piece after doing so.
“Yeah! So, this morning after the rain stopped I met up with Buffy to hunt for Faith, and we found her. They fought for a bit before the cops showed up and made Faith take off. But during the fight, I hit her with my backpack!” Willow smiled triumphantly, and gently took Tara’s left hand under the table.
“Uh.” Tara stared at her, as confusion over Willow’s behavior battled for supremacy with feelings of pleasure and happiness over the gesture. Words. Focus. “Good for you.”
“Did you know I was born ambidextrous?” Willow innocently asked as she picked up a slice of pizza with her left hand. “When I learned to write, my teachers made me learn with just my right hand, but it means I’m not as strongly right-handed as a lot of people.”
“Y-yeah?” Tara tried to focus on what Willow was saying, but was distracted by the feel of Willow’s thumb softly rubbing the back of her hand.
“Really. It really came in handy the summer before sixth grade. See, Jesse had these two trees in his front yard, so he, Xander and I built tree houses in them, and made a zipline go between the two. I was scared to use it, but after I watched them use it a bunch of times, I decided it would be okay. The first time I tried it, my hand slipped when I was over the sidewalk, and I fell on my right wrist. It pretty much shattered. The doctor said it was the worst break he’d ever seen.”
“Wow. Not a record you want to set.”
“No, not really. So I had to be in the cast for approximately forever, and then I had to do lots of physical therapy. But in the mean time, I found it a lot easier to write and eat and everything with my left hand than to try to use my right hand too much. Not because I couldn’t hold things with my right hand, because I could, but because using it much made it hurt.”
“I bet.”
“It wasn’t any fun, but it gave me a chance to develop the manual dexterity in my left hand.”
“Which just sounds funny, since the root for ‘dexterity’ means ‘right’.”
“Next you’re going to say that I’m being all sinister, just because I’m eating with my left hand? Ooh,” Willow waved her left hand, and her pizza, excitedly, “or maybe ‘sinister-curious,’ because I’m right-handed most of the time . . . and I’m going to sit here and pretend really hard that that was an okay joke to make and how are the carrots?”
“More than okay. I think it’s clever,” Tara pointed at the aforementioned carrots. “They’re kind of mushy. How’s your pizza?”
“Ugh, cooked veggies should not be mushy. I mean, if you’re going to cook vegetables, the cooking processes should make them better, since so many can be served raw and still be delicious. Though, Giles actually likes mushy peas, which is just weird. But the pizza’s okay. It’s not take-out, but it’s not bad. Makes the whole Faith thing feel more real.” Tara gave Willow a questioning look, and she explained. “Oh, see, whenever we do the Scooby research thing, we get pizza for lunch and dinner, and doughnuts for breakfast. It’s kind of a tradition.”
“Oh.” Tara sighed quietly. Them.
“You used to be able to get food delivered in Sunnydale, which was a lot more convenient. But sometime in high school everywhere stopped offering it. Sometimes, a new place will open or management will change, and they’ll offer delivery at first. Two weeks later, they invariably stop.”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“Vampires,” Willow answered casually, and Tara looked at her surprised. “See, they’ll order a pizza, but then eat the delivery boy.” Willow paused for a moment before she added, “I wonder if they ever eat the pizza.”
“Oh.”
“The last place pizza place I remember that tried the delivery thing stopped . . . right after Faith got into town, actually.” Willow took a big bite out of her pizza. “Stufid Face,” she grumbled, mouth full.
“Um, ‘stupid face?’”
Willow shook her head “no,” and held up a finger as she actually chewed and swallowed her food. “I said, ‘stupid Faith.’ I mean, she just came into town, and lured us all in with her stories and her confidence and her ‘not being mopey about stabbing her boyfriend and sending him to some sort of hell dimension.’ The next thing you know, Buffy likes her more than me, and Xander’s off having sex with her and then she starts killing people.”
The dejected look on Willow’s face combined with the tenseness Tara could feel in Willow’s hand led Tara to the decision to ask, “Do you want to talk about what happened?” Willow nodded, and began the story of her senior year of high school.
For her own sake, Tara would rather talk about any topic aside from Willow’s friends. While their adventures were certainly fascinating to hear about, the stories were a constant reminder of how separate Tara was from the rest of Willow’s life. It didn’t bother her that Willow had other friends; that was only natural. It didn’t bother her that Willow felt the need to keep the physical part of their relationship a secret; she believed what Willow had said about being confused, not ashamed. What bothered Tara was that Willow seemed to keep Tara’s very existence a secret: the times Tara had heard Willow call to check in and report on her safety, she hadn’t said “I’m staying with my friend Tara,” but instead claimed to be staying at the library. Particularly after the stress and fears of the past couple of days they’d spent apart, Willow’s stories of her friends were emotional water torture, each mention of Buffy or Xander another drop on her heart. But a chance to vent was what Willow needed, and it was something Tara could give.
Tara let Willow talk about the previous year, how Faith had showed up and messed with “her people,” for the rest of dinner. In fact, Willow seemed much more bitter and resentful over how Faith had disrupted friendships and mistreated her friends than over the events Tara found more disturbing: Faith holding Willow at knifepoint. So much of the narrative focused on Willow’s feelings of abandonment, but at the same time Tara marveled at how dedicated Willow was to the same people who had inadvertently hurt her.
When Willow finished, they returned to Tara’s room. Willow was unusually quiet and pensive, and when she settled onto Tara’s bed to stare at the ceiling, Tara let her be. Meanwhile, Tara took the opportunity to flip through the tarot cards Willow had gotten her and think about what Willow had told her. It amazed Tara how when Willow loved (and it was clear that her feelings for her friends was love) that she loved so completely and so deeply.
“I wonder where she is.” Willow broke the minutes of silence.
“Who? Faith?” Tara had never known Willow to ponder Buffy’s--or anyone else’s--location, even when the threat of Adam and the Initiative loomed large. Faith was the only thing that had perturbed Willow like this.
“Yeah . . . I wish she would make a move. She’s making my stomach all acidy.”
Willow had been so put off all day, and Tara wanted to put her at ease. Not that a hateful psychopath running around Sunnydale was exactly comforting, but the best defense Tara knew of was out there right now. “But you think Buffy can handle her.”
Willow sat up before she continued. “I think so. But that doesn't mean Faith won't hurt someone else.”
Though Tara understood from their dinner conversation how uncomfortable and afraid Faith could make Willow feel, she didn’t understand why she was afraid now: Faith had no reason to look for her in Hillcrest. “Well, you should be safe. Nobody knows you're here.” Not even your extremely important friends. “I mean . . .” Tara stopped fidgeting with the cards as she clamped down an exasperated sigh, “. . . they don't even know I exist, right? I know all about them, but . . . .” A concerned look from Willow stopped Tara’s thought.
She felt Willow’s hand on her knee, accompanied by a soft “Hey,” which made Tara look down and regroup. No, that’s not what she needs right now.
“I-I mean, t-that's totally cool. It-it's good. It-it's better,” Tara backpedaled, occasionally nodding and gesturing with the cards in her hand throughout her lie.
“Tara, it's not like I don't want my friends to know you. It's just . . . .” It’s just what? “Well, Buffy's like my best friend, and she's really special.” Tara strained to smile as Willow once again glorified her friends. “And there's this whole bunch of us, and, and we sort of have this group thing that revolves around the slaying, and-and, I really want you to meet them. But I-I just kind of like having something that's just, you know, mine.”
Willow paused, and Tara let the words change her. She could feel her understanding of Willow shift: just enough that everything clicked into place. Buffy and Xander and Giles weren't just Willow's friends: they were her family. Willow wasn't nervous about introducing Tara to her friends: she was nervous about introducing Tara to her family. All her tales of their past weren't there to show Tara how separate she was from them; they were origin stories, there to show Tara how Willow became Willow. Tara's fears that she had emotionally over-exposed herself had blinded her to how open Willow had been that afternoon. The patrolling, the touches, the bridge, and yes, even the stories, were all Willow trying to let Tara in.
“And I, I usually don't se so many words to say stuff that little, but do you get that at all?”
“I do.” Tara reconsidered Willow's explanation with her newfound understanding, and found she had to disagree with Willow’s final point.
It wasn't little. It was huge.
It was the closest Willow had come to expressing how she felt about their relationship, how important she was. Tara mattered to Willow. The significance of the thing was not that Willow cared; Tara already knew that. No, this was more than that. It meant that Tara had a role to play in Willow's life. That this, their relationship, allowed Willow a safe space to be herself. Willow lived so much of her life for others, but Tara was an aspect where Willow could lead her life for herself. As much as Tara had needed her room as a child, Willow needed somewhere she could just be, somewhere that no one else could touch. Tara knew how powerful that could be, how that uniqueness could transform a mundane thing into something special. Something precious. Something sacred.
I should tell her how I feel. Not with words Willow couldn’t say back, because Tara didn’t want to pressure her like that, but something so that when Willow was ready, she would know. Tara looked closely at Willow as her mind raced for the right placeholder.
Before it came to her, the intensity of the moment seemed to get to Willow. “I should check in with Giles: get a situation update.”
It wasn’t until Willow stood and walked to the desk that something came to her. Without turning to face Willow, Tara grabbed the moment, before Willow picked up the phone and it was gone. “I am, you know.”
“What?”
Tara finally turned to look at Willow and let her heart spill onto her face.
In love with you.
“Yours.”
Last edited by
BeMyDeputy on Mon Apr 11, 2011 8:49 am, edited 2 times in total.
So much to love here. The kiss placed over Tara’s heart, Willow liking the feel of Tara’s skin, and the funny deal making; love’s awkward, endearing negotiations. Bit by by bit, Willow is inching along the road to revelation and you are creating an extraordinary journey.
More soon please.
