Title: Finding Significance
Rating: PG-13: for a naughty homophonic acronym and drug reference (updates will be appropriately upgraded)
Author: Fun In Dysfuntion
Disclaimer: The storyline is mine, but some humorous situations and/or dialogue are lightly borrowed from BTVS clan purely for a non-profit endeavor. Characters are the property Joss Whedon, et al and the various multi-conglomerate media corporations.
Distribution: Cut, paste, print, create collages with it, enjoy. Just give my pseudonym credit.
Spoilers: Unlikely, unless you haven’t seen any episodes of BTVS. In which case, this fanfic makes even less sense to you.
Author's Notes:
1. Somewhat AU. Kind of fluffy. Kind of funny. Kind of angsty. Kind of romantic. I like to call it: fuzzy angst that makes you go ‘oh’ and then giggle. Not beta-ed beyond my own erratic obsessive-compulsive habits so be warned.
2. This is my first fanfic. I have posted this previously. The current version is tweaked a bit.
3. Lyrics borrowed from “Girls and Boys” by Blur. Copyright information of the bumper sticker is unknown (honest, I looked). No copyright infringements intended.
Pairing: Willow/Tara
Feedback: Feed the FID. Constructive criticism is welcome. At the thread, please leave a message.
Summary: Willow and Tara meet at summer school. This story is about building relationships. There isn’t a lot of action (at least not the slaying kind). Oh, and did I mention statistics?
*~*~*~*~*~*~
1. Normality
“The frequency…of most behavior…in nature…can be represented…by a normal curve….” lectured the tweed-encased instructor in a monotone voice.
‘Normal?’ Willow pondered this unspoken question in her statistics class while the teacher, a torso who appeared to be planted in the podium at the front of the class, droned on about samples and curves. ‘My normal life is kinda big with the un-normal,’ she thought while sketching what appeared to be a small hill in her notebook.
For Willow, normalcy meant overachievement. Academically out-performing her peers gave her an addictive rush. Determined to accomplish a triple major in Computer Sciences, Mathematics, and Chemistry and a minor in International Occultism, she needed to take her general education courses during the summers if she wanted to graduate on time. Reminding herself of her purpose in this class, the young redhead returned her attention back to her notes as she scribbled down the extensive equations flowing across the overhead projector screen.
Normality also meant being a part of a team that helped her best friend, Buffy, hunt down demons and vampires. ‘How normal is it to decimate your high school while trying to kill a snakey-like, demony mayor who just noshed on your principal?’ she thought dryly. With the fiasco of that adventure still fresh in her memory, she had not been dissuaded from attending summer session courses at UC Sunnydale the following week. Rather than being repelled by all things related to school, she was inexplicably drawn to it. School was her security blanket, which she wrapped tightly around herself to keep warm.
Normality, for her, meant dabbling in the conjuring of spells that tapped into mystical sources. Yet, the mastery of these skills still eluded her. Willow grimaced, remembering the last spell she tried to perform. She had tried to turn ice into fire, which was a somewhat successful except for the singeing of her comforter and setting off fire alarms throughout the entire dormitory at 2am. ‘Who knew such a little ice cube would produce such a large flame? But, hey, lesson learned: insomnia and witchcraft…bad combo.’ she thought ruefully. Although she easily comprehended the text in the spell-filled books, she still felt that there was something missing….as if she had skipped the assigned reading and instead naughtily turned to the back of the textbook to copy down all of the answers.
Having written down the example that was currently being extrapolated upon, Willow paused to sip her mocha and to examine the other students surrounding her. To her left, an exasperated fraternity guy, wearing a sweatshirt with the UCS chapter of Phi House logo “PHUCS” emblazoned on the back, stared longingly at his pencil point. Upon hearing the teacher describe the next example, one that was unhelpfully similar to the first, he considered gouging his eye out. Deciding that unconsciousness was a better solution compared to lead poisoning, he smacked his head hard on the surface of his writing leaf, drawing very little attention from the other students around him who were contemplating similar solutions to their boredom.
While scanning the other students around her, Willow observed a blonde woman seated slightly to the right of her in the row ahead. Her head was leaning on her left hand with her right hand poised to take notes. Blonde highlighted hair curtained her features from the redhead’s view and fell a few inches past her shoulders down her back. Willow noticed that she was looking downward giving the appearance of a serious student deep in thought. Normally, she would have continued her visual observation of the room, but something made her pause. Giggling, the astute redhead realized that the blonde woman held her pencil upside-down as if to erase an error in her notes but fell asleep midway through the process. The steady, deep breaths and uncomfortable curve of the blonde’s neck supported the redhead’s theory. Mesmerized by the synchronous rise and fall of her shoulders, Willow watched the sleeping woman. Unable to look away, she tuned out the rest of her environment and was unaware of the movement of the students around her or the parting words from the teacher.
Being anxious to escape, the students around the blonde hurriedly repacked their notebooks and texts into their bags. With the sudden shuffling of students, the blonde woman awoke. Somewhat disoriented from her nap, she shook her head and examined her surroundings. She spotted a woman watching her. Her straight, shoulder-length red hair curled slightly inward at the ends and her eyes were the shade of polished malachite. With a mixture of curiosity and confusion reflected in her sleepy blue eyes, she caught the redhead’s intense green gaze.
Willow, realizing she had been discovered staring, flushed a deep crimson and dropped her gaze, taking a sudden interest in the binding of her textbook before shoving it into her backpack. With notebook in hand, Willow quickly stood up, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, and started to make her way towards the back exit and out into the courtyard. Dropping her school items on the ground near the fountain and taking a seat on the nearby wall, Willow listened to the soothing rush of falling water behind her.
With eyes closed, she inhaled deeply trying to block out her embarrassment. Ironically, the more she tried to forget about being caught in an ogle-fest, the clearer the image of the blonde woman’s puzzled stare formed in her mind. Willow shook her head trying to erase her memory. Sighing deeply and resigning to the veritable truth of her boundless geek-dom, she opened her eyes. Startled to see a familiar blue stare, albeit currently amused rather than confused, Willow jerked backwards and precariously tipped toward the spouting waters behind her. A hand quickly reached out to grab her left forearm, pulling her forward. Amazed at the speed and strength of the woman before her, the redhead stared at her forearm where the steadying hand still rested. An unfamiliar tingle radiated from the blonde woman’s touch on her forearm.
“S-sorry,” the blonde woman quietly apologized letting her hand fall away, “I d-didn’t mean to s-scare you.” ‘What was…that?’ the blonde woman wondered, noting both the intensity of her stammer and the strange energy that continued to warm her fingertips.
“No, no. Don’t worry about it. I mean, I was kinda staring in class, and that probably scared you too, not that I meant to, but I was looking around, and at first, I was thinking, ‘Go studious person!’ then I saw you were asleep, oh, oh, not that you’re not a studious person, ‘cuz you probably are, and nothing’s wrong with sleep, ‘cuz you’re probably really tired, and I totally understand ‘cuz, hey, I like to sleep too, and, and that teacher, such a snooze inducer ‘cuz he’s reading from the book with an all-monotone voice…and if I wanted the textbook read to me, I would have bought it on tape, if I could, which someone really should do ‘cuz they would make a lotta money if they sold textbooks on tape…,” gasping for a breath, Willow ended her stream-of-conscious babble. Pausing to take in some much needed oxygen, she glanced in the direction of the blonde woman. Amusement shone in the woman’s eyes while her shoulders slightly shook from trying to suppress her giggles.
“Uh, wow,” the stunned woman murmured. Mostly, she was surprised by the lung capacity of the slender-framed redhead, but she was also equally astonished that she was able to follow the verbal breadcrumb trail that this other woman tossed by the fistful.
Willowbabble was normal to the chagrin of those on the receiving end. But, it really only happened when she was either too excited or nervous to sort out which of her thoughts she wanted to communicate and in a panic threw them all out there hoping to get her message across to the unlucky receiver. Willow chewed on her lower lip, wondering why she was so anxious around this woman. She glanced at the blonde woman again hoping to pinpoint the cause of her babble attacks. ‘What’s my problem? Hello, unnecessarily gawking at her in class,’ the pensive redhead blushed, realizing that she was once again staring at the woman. She dropped her gaze and focused intently on the intricate weaving of her shoelaces.
“Anyway, I think I forgot, which is unusual ‘cuz I usually have a pretty good memory, um yeah, forgot to apologize in that linguistic landslide. I’m, I’m really sorry about earlier…ya know, in class…and, oh yeah, thank you for just now ‘cuz you know…that’d be bad…me splashing down…and, and both of us getting wet,” cringing at her choice of words and the images that had inadvertently flashed in her mind. ‘Oh good goddess, don’t go there,’ the redhead thought, and deciding not to dwell on the images, she continued, “Um, hi, I’m Willow,” willing herself to make polite eye contact with the blonde woman. Afraid to offer a handshake, she instead rubbed her palms on the sides of her jeans before jamming them safely into her pockets.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Tara,” she responded feeling more at ease and smiling at Willow with a small lop-sided grin. “You forgot this in c-class,” handing Willow the travel mug that contained the last remnants of her morning mocha.
“Oh wow, hey, thanks,” pulling out one hand from her jean pocket, she took the mug that was hastily left behind. Wanting to somehow repay this woman for her thoughtfulness, Willow offered one of her few prized possessions, “Um, if you want, ya know, I can loan you my notes, if you wanted them, but you probably don’t need them…oh, I, ah, I haven’t had time to recopy them properly, ya know, color-coded…with the formulas in red…and the definitions in black …and, ya know, with everything cross-referenced by high-lighter marks in the margins...I mean, class notes in a single color are just like blah, but multi-color inks…uh yay, happy brain. So, so I can make you a copy of them by tomorrow, if you want them.”
Slightly flushed from the kind offer, Tara lowered her head slightly causing her hair to shift forward, creating a small curtain to hide behind and hesitantly replied, “Well, it would be nice to copy your notes, b-but I can do that before class, if you don’t mind.”
Not wishing to overwhelm the woman with any more Willowenthusiasm, often described by her friends, Buffy and Xander, as a “java-ed puppy” to which Anya added “on crack”, Willow agreed, “Is a half hour before class, ok?”
“Yeah sure,” Tara answered, a small grin forming on her lips. “I’ll see you later,” she called out as she turned away to walk towards the bustling student union.
“Uugh,” a small, gurgled sound escaped from Willow’s throat was her only reply as she watched Tara’s curvy curves walk away.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tara jogged up the wooden steps of a red, two-story house that had been converted into a student housing co-op near campus. Although Sunnydale was not a terribly expensive place to live, the co-op was cheaper than the dorms. The large, lush garden in the back and access to a kitchen for meals ultimately swayed her decision. Truthfully, Tara preferred the risk of experimental cuisine from unknown housemates to the inevitably inedible dining hall meals that made airline food appealing.
She opened the front door and peered into the empty common area. Having arrived yesterday, she had yet to meet any of her new housemates. In the common area, an array of eclectic items adorned the window sills and shelves. Incense burners, lost checkers pieces, scented candles, and the remains of a model DNA strand made out of glued gumballs sprawled across surfaces. A West African drum sat in the far left corner next to a stack of forgotten textbooks that tilted awkwardly and probably functioned as an impromptu end table. Blue- and purple-hued sarongs covered the futon couch and hung like tapestries on the walls of the room. In lieu of chairs, pillows of various sizes and colors were tossed haphazardly on the floor. The coffee table, a large, wooden, empty cable spool turned on its side, was covered with xeroxed fliers of campus events, old magazines, and a glass with what appeared to be a science experiment on penicillin.
Passing through the common room, she headed upstairs to her room. As she neared her neighbor’s door, she could hear the fumbling of heavy boxes and a female voice singing off-key and slightly out of sync with music playing on her stereo, “Who do girls like they're boys. Always should be someone you really looove…” ‘Someone’s feeling frisky today,’ Tara thought, chuckling at her neighbor’s rendition as she walked towards her own room farther down the hall.
She smiled as she entered her room. Through her small window, the late afternoon sun shone, filtering through the tree branches and warming the room. Tara enjoyed her solitude. She felt comfortable alone. Safe. She had felt secure with only one other person. Tears abruptly welled up in her eyes. Even after a year, thinking of her mom produced a painful tightness that grew in her chest and trapped the air in her lungs. Struggling to take a deep breath, she shut her eyes to suppress the unabated anguish that threatened to overwhelm her.
After a few minutes of drawing in ragged breaths, she forced her mind to focus on the present. When she opened her eyes again, she spied her black gig bag leaning against the unpacked boxes. Grabbing and unzipping it, she pulled out her acoustic guitar. Flawless golden strings ran down the neck and body. The afternoon light glinted off of the dings that marred the tan veneer. She settled down on the edge of her bed, pressing the familiar curves of the instrument to her chest and lightly strummed a chord to check whether it was still in tune after being jostled during the move. Buoyant notes hummed pleasantly. Through wire and wood, the vibrations oscillated between the tips of her fingers and thumb. Adjusting the tuning pegs a bit, she plucked two adjacent strings simultaneously; comparing the notes only to readjust the pegs again until she was satisfied that it was at least in tune with itself. Carefully propping it in the corner of her room, she briefly caressed the sides of the fretboard.
Examining her spartanly furnished room, Tara silently conceded that she really needed to finish unpacking her things. She released an audible sigh, wearily eyeing the stack of boxes against the wall. She opened the boxes and stacked several leather-bound books onto one of her shelves. Next to her books, she began organizing herbs, candles, a mortar and pestle, and glass jars filled with various powders.
On her desk, she placed a white candle in the center and lit it. She waved one end of bundled sage leaves wrapped in twine over the flame until the red embers smoked, emitting a sharp pungent smell. Walking around the perimeter of her room, she guided the smoke into corners. She turned to face the four directions of her room and recited a small prayer that welcomed the deities and requested their blessings and protection.
Finished with her cleansing and blessing rituals, she pondered the day’s events as she placed her clothes into the closet. Images of the quirky redhead accompanied by the echoes of her uncontrolled ramblings flitted through Tara’s mind. The redhead intrigued her. She ran through the chain of events that brought her out to the courtyard. The intent staring and sudden bolting from class thoroughly piqued Tara’s curiosity. ‘Why?’ the question ricocheted aimlessly through her head. Nonplussed, the blonde ruminated about the redhead’s odd behavior.
Her own actions were equally inexplicable. ‘I easily could have left the mug at the lost-and-found. Instead, I kept it to return to her,’ her brows furrowed at her thoughts. After leaving the classroom, she had been astonished to catch a glimpse of red hair in the courtyard sitting by the fountain. Rather than continue walking to the student union as she had intended, she had found herself standing in front of the quietly meditating redhead who hadn’t observe Tara’s approach. She hadn’t meant to frighten the woman with her unannounced presence, nearly causing the redhead to fall into the fountain. Instinctually, she had reached out to help balance the teetering woman. ‘What a strange sensation…’ the blonde mused, perplexed that a normally platonic gesture sent tremors through her equilibrium. Her thumb skimmed across her fingertips in a feeble effort to mimic her earlier experience. She wished that sensation included some kind of meaning or some instructions. Something. Anything. Frustrated, she thought wryly, ‘Even shampoo bottles come with instructions.’ Gathering the empty boxes, she left her room to discard them in the recycling bins outside.
When she returned to her room, Tara noticed her neighbor standing in the hallway. The woman absently pushed her wavy, brown hair behind her ears as she concentrated on affixing a bumper sticker to the outside of her door. She turned around at the sound of Tara’s footsteps. Casually attired, her neighbor wore faded jeans and a loose, white, long-sleeve shirt with violet embroidery in an intricate pattern of interwoven fronds that rose up the length of the shirt and ran parallel to the buttons on the front. The gauzy material of the shirt displayed quite clearly the form fitting tank top underneath it.
Tara paused briefly, her eyes strayed to the sticker that read, “Sorry I missed church, I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian.” She was certain her neighbor was unaware of how accurate the epigram applied to her. To the delight her neighbor, Tara laughed wholeheartedly.
“You like, eh? That’s always a good sign. By the way, I’m Raia,” the brunette regarded her neighbor with new interest, holding out her hand.
The blonde briefly grasped the offered hand and introduced herself, “Tara. So d-did you just move in today?”
“Yeah, sorta. I flew in on a red-eye flight from Bay City yesterday, but my car and stuff just arrived today,” the brunette replied annoyed at the delay.
“From the Bay Area? Like Oakland?” she asked somewhat confused.
Raia held up her right hand, palm outward with the fingers together and the thumb nearly fully extended. She pointed with her left index finger to the fleshy part between her thumb and forefinger and stated in a tone that suggested the gesture alone conveyed sufficient information, “Bay City. In Michigan. Where are you from?”
“C-california,” Tara answered hesitantly. Hoping to distract the girl from any follow up questions, she hastily quipped, “I can t-try and locate it for you on my arm,” slightly crooking her right elbow for emphasis, “I have to warn you. Anatomical geography is n-not my forte.”
The brunette, snorting at the lighthearted jest, inquired in an amused tone, “You haven’t met many Michiganders, eh?” and in an afterthought, asked, “Hey, have you met any of the other people here?”
Relieved the topic shifted, she responded, “You’re the first housemate I’ve bumped into so far.” Feeling more at ease, she continued her casual conversation, “That’s a very beautiful shirt.”
“Thanks,” she replied, beaming at the compliment, “It’s a barong. My girlfriend, Jaci, loves me in it. You can borrow it sometime if you like,” and with a mischievous twinkle in her light brown eyes, saucily suggested, “The tank top is optional.”
Flustered at the woman’s blatant flirting, she blushed even though Tara suspected the woman was kidding her.
Not wanting to betray how much she enjoyed the effect of her last comment, Raia continued innocently, “I’m picking Jaci up at the airport today. Her flight arrives in a few hours.” Glancing down at her watch, the brunette exclaimed excitedly, “Oh! I gotta head out. Traffic and all. Don’t wanna keep my girl waiting,” her light brown eyes lit up in anticipation of her girlfriend’s arrival. The brunette bounded down the steps, flying out of the door and onto the street to where her car was parked. Tara recognized the glint in the brunette’s eyes and decided that tonight she definitely would check out the late night coffee houses in town.
[center]TBC[/center]
