The task he must perform isn't easy, isn't desirable, but it's duty and duty prevails. He follows them on their journey to what he assumes is their home and smiles at the way they walk. They lean into each other, their bodies holding each other up, unwilling to lose the physical contact that reinforces the truth - the solidness of their bodies both being next to each other, in motion, with breath.
They stop in front of a house and speak to each other animatedly, then the redhead brings the girl in for what looks to be a reassuring hug. She again takes her hand and leads her up the steps.
The door opens and Willow peaks her head in.
“Hello?” she says tentatively.
“Willow? Hey come in the kitchen, I'm like cooking and stuff!”
Willow looks at Tara at the sound of Dawn's voice and and quirks her head toward the kitchen, beckoning Tara to follow. Tara hesitates, then reluctantly threads behind her girlfriend, her feet dragging, her stomach churning at the notion of seeing her Dawnie again. Nervous that she'll be feared, or worse rejected.
They stop at the doorway and see Dawn rapidly put a top back on a saucepan, shaking her arm in agitation at the burn she just gave herself.
“Stupid hot things.” she mutters.
She squats down and begins rummaging the cabinet below the sink for more cookware.
“Dawnie.” Willow says softly.
“Hey,” she answers distractedly with a precursory glance over her shoulder. “This cooking thing is way harder than I thought. Do you know where we keep that thing with the holes in it? You know to wash the salad?”
“Sweetie, can you stop for a second. Um, there is something we have to tell you.”
“Uh-huh.” she answers as she continues searching and banging pots together in the progress. “I can never remember what the heck it's called, is it a colander or a strainer or what? I mean you'd think they'd give the thing a better name you know?”
“Dawn...”
“A-HA! Found it!” she says standing up. “Now I just need to get the tomatoes sliced and did you say we?”
She turns around and finally looks at Willow.
It takes her a second, just one second for her eyes to focus on the person standing behind Willow. It takes her just that second to take in the features of the face and the contours of the body. It takes her mind at least ten times as long to associate a name to the body, and her heart what seems like a full minute to begin to believe what her mind is telling her. Once her heart begins believing, her body reacts, causing her grip on the stainless steel colander to loosen. It drops loudly to the floor, filling the now eerily silent room with resonating sound.
Dawn jumps at the sound and looks at the object, not able to phantom how it reached its current destination. She looks up and sees that the woman is standing before her and forgets about the metal on the ground. Her heart tells her mind to speak and she opens her mouth to try. When no sound comes out, she shakes her head and tries again. This time, there is success.
“Tara?”
One word conveying such huge possibilities in the mind of the young woman. The possibilities of a dream, a cruel trick or a twisted form of torture enter her head. But there are other possibilities, coming from a secret recess of her heart, a piece of herself she thought closed off, hardened by the cruelties that life had dealt her and the realities of living on a Hellmouth. Those possibilities were of hope, of love and miracles. Or perhaps of the miracle of love. That she wanted this to happen was true, that she chalked it up to the unrealistic fantasies and logic of girlhood was a given. Love is more powerful than death. Tara is dead. She loves Tara, therefore Tara should no longer be dead. Unrealistic logic and childlike fantasies. And yet...
“Dawnie.” Tara says and begins walking toward the girl.
“Oh God...Tara?”
Tara reaches her destination and grasps the younger girl into a hug. Dawn stands unmoving, hands on her side as she feels arms come around her. Then, like a beast unleashed, a dam broken, she latches on. Her hands seeking to solidify the image grasping on to her, making her mind believe that it is true. She leans in and rests her head against Tara's shoulder and listens intently for a heartbeat. Hearing one, she sighs and begins crying. She doesn't consider herself a young girl any longer but she still believes in the power of love.
Hours later and the sun is setting. He had stood outside and seen it all. Had seen the reunion of a family. He saw the phone calls and the frantic running into the house by other people. The girls family, he thinks and smiles again. He saw the hugs and the tears and he felt the joy and while the joy made him happy, it didn't deter from the duty.
He looks up and sees the silhouettes coming from the bedroom window. Sees two bodies close together, sees them leaning their foreheads on each other then begin kissing. He sees as the bodies descend on what he assumes is a bed and then the lights turn off. He sighs and wishes it were easy. It is love, one might even say true love, but it doesn't make a difference. Love does not rescind death. Death happens, whether love exists or not. It is there, a constant, a main-stay, a fixture. And death had come back to reclaim one of its own.
Everytime I think I've read the most heartfelt dialog between these two characters :sniff: you top it.
It is so brilliant!! 
Willow telling Tara to go back, not so good, but I shall 