by BeMyDeputy » Tue Aug 31, 2010 12:21 am
@vampyregurl73 You win a shiny nickel!
@Everyone See, that was the start of a new chapter. Like a teaser. The first section of chapter 1 is short, too. Glad to know people like this enough to bitch that there isn't more. Well, this is neither short nor sweet, so I hope you're happy.
Just a quick warning, my classes start tomorrow, and then this Thursday I'm going to Seattle for PAX. I'll try not to leave it here until next week, but no promises.
Author: BeMyDeputy
Rating: PG-13 (language) for this section. Up to NC-17 for later installments Much later, so chill.
Feedback: Welcome.
Notes: The entirety of Chapter 2, including "In Which Willow and Tara Face Things They Would Rather Not" takes place during "The I in Team"
Spoilers: This is season 4. If you haven't seen season 4, what are you doing here? (Psst. Willow and Tara get together. Not here. But soon.)
Content disclaimer (this section): Violence: No. Sex: No. Angst: Yes
I Don't Own This Disclaimer: The entire Buffyverse (including setting, characters, and plot) is property of it's owners, including but not limited to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement is intended by this work. "The I in Team" was written by David Fury.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to my awesome beta reader, dlline, who is willing to nitpick little shit. Which is incredibly awesome.
Chapter 2 Part 2: In Which Willow and Tara Face Things They Would Rather Not
aka In which there is angst.
“It's just that it's kind of a specific crowd and you might feel out of place.”
Tara felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach for the second time in as many minutes. ‘Away. I need away. Anywhere that’s away. Now.’
“I’d better get to class.” No, class wasn’t for forty-five minutes. Yes, Willow knew when her class started: the long break between her classes that was after Willow's last class that afternoon was why they’d made plans to meet in the first place. But it was the first destination that occurred to her. Tara stood, focused on the novel but urgent need to be far, far away from Willow. Tara heard Willow’s voice, but hurt too much to parse the sound into language. When the sound stopped, Tara nodded numbly, completely unaware of with what exactly she had agreed. Willow didn’t stop her departure, so if she had just called Tara on why she suddenly needed to be at class forty minutes early, she wasn’t doing anything about it.
On the off chance that Willow was watching her leave, Tara waited until she’d made a turn to break into a full run. Tara made it outside to the courtyard before realizing just why fleeing, panicked, through a college building was making her feel so much worse. The image of a dripping, recently-beating heart a mere two feet from her face flashed through her mind and the smell of blood and guts suddenly assaulted her; they felt as real as they had been all those weeks ago. Running had been a bad plan.
Abruptly, Tara turned and re-entered the building. Thankfully there was a women’s room next to the entrance. Tara wasn’t sure whether the past or present was throwing more fuel of the fire of her nausea. She waited in the bathroom stall she couldn’t remember navigating her way inside. She waited for the physical release of crying or vomiting. She waited for her body to eject something in a vain attempt to expel how she was feeling.
Nothing happened.
Her stomach cramped. Her eyes stung. But neither would cooperate in Tara’s effort to focus on any sensation aside from the pain in her chest.
Tara wanted to be at home. Her whole life she’d addressed problems by talking them out. Even when she was young and afraid to tell her mother that Donnie, not the stairs, was the reason for her limp, she dealt with things by talking them out alone in her room. She checked her pocket watch, depressed but unsurprised. The 35 minutes she had before she needed to get to class was an eternity to sit heartbroken in a bathroom, but a blink of an eye compared to the time it would take to go home, cry, deal, and prepare to go to class.
Certain though she was that she was quite alone in the restroom, the thought of locking the door to the room and trying to cope here never crossed her mind. Too many times she had thought she was alone in the barn or in the fields, only to be overheard by her brother.
Writing was the closest she was going to get to talking, so she pulled a notebook from the stack of books she’d somehow managed not to lose. As she flipped through in search of a blank page, Tara paused at the page she hoped she wouldn’t see: the page Willow had written out almost a week ago. She ran her fingers over the lines and shapes, heralding from across the globe and time, unified by their significance: Willow.
Tara felt the tears she had begged for just moments ago well up, but she no longer wanted them. Gingerly, she turned several pages in an effort to keep any tears that did fall from damaging that precious page. Though it hurt to look at it now, she knew she’d never forgive herself if let it get wet.
Tara drew two lines down the blank page in front of her. At the top of the left column she wrote, “1) Why did I offer her the crystal?” At the top of the center column she wrote, “2) Why didn’t she take the crystal? ” and the right column she entitled “3) Why does it hurt? The next page she bisected, creating the columns “4) Why didn’t she invite me to meet her friends?” and “5) Why does it hurt?”
Though the first page held the most important questions, Tara began on the second page: these questions were far easier to answer.
4) Why didn’t she invite me to meet her friends?
I don’t know.
She told me. She was worried I’d feel out of place.
Why would she think I would feel out of place?
She spent all week turning my room into a magically-impenetrable fortress, during which time you told her it’s the only place you feel safe.
I’d feel safe with her.
She doesn’t know that.
Rats.
5) Why does it hurt?
Because rejection sucks
Was she rejecting me? Or protecting me?
. . . Protecting.
Is protection the same as rejection?
No. . . . Smartass.
So why does it hurt?
Because I want to be a part of her life.
She spent all week with me. I AM a part of her life. Her high school friends are important to her, that’s probably who she meant. She should spend some time with them.
But I want to meet them.
Why?
We’re close. I should meet her friends.
Why?
Because . . . I want them to like me.
Riiight. And when she started flirting with me in front of her friends, what would I do?
Probably . . . die. They wouldn’t know it was a game.
So?
So I don’t want them to think she’s flirting with me for real.
Why?
Because it’s too hard not to take it seriously now. If they treated it like it was real, she’d explain it was a just a game. And that would hurt.
Why? You just said it was a game.
But I don’t want it to be a game.
You know she’s straight. She’d never flirt like that if she actually liked you; personal things like that make her uncomfortable like me leaving my room.
Yeah, but . . . that sucks.
Oh, no, I have a crush on a straight girl. Poor baby. Grow up! Every queer woman on the face of the planet has dealt with this. I’m a lesbian witch who hasn’t been burned at the stake, drowned, married off to some random guy regardless of my wishes, or thrown out of the house. I’m fucking lucky.
It’s not just a cru—
Yes, it is. All it’s ever going to be. She doesn’t like me. She’s not capable of liking me. What happened to the ‘get a rebound-esque girlfriend’ plan?
I don’t want a girlfriend who isn’t Wi-
Don’t even write it. Not going to happen. Also, if you write her name, she’ll find this and read it. Even if you shred it and then burn it. She’ll find a way.
But—
No. That lesbian alliance meets on Wednesdays. Go after your class.
I . . .
Just do it.
Tara frowned at the page. She knew she was right. But she didn’t like it. Once more she looked at her watch, but this time discovered she needed to go to class. After a moment of staring at the page of more important questions, she scribbled Because the past week has felt so close to dating I don’t like being reminded it isn’t. And that fucking sucks across the page, covering all three columns. She ripped both pages out of her notebook, and shoved them into her back pocket. That ‘shred then burn’ plan sounded like a good one.
*****
Tara was leaving forty minutes before she needed to in order to make it to her class. That was bad.
Tara wouldn’t look her in the eye. That was very bad.
“I'll see you later, okay?”
Tara nodded, but continued to walk off.
‘She’s hurting. She’s hurting, and it’s my fault.’ Tara had looked so . . . broken. Willow had never seen Tara like that. Though she’d tried to laugh off the situation before she left, it felt totally wrong. ‘That wasn’t smiling. I’ve seen her smile. I’ve spent all week playing ‘Make Tara Smile.’ And winning.’ Sure, both corners of her mouth had strained upwards, but there was no joy in it. Tara looked at her when she smiled. Her eyes didn’t dart around the room like something was going to come up and smack her when she smiled. That ... that wasn’t smiling.
Willow watched helplessly as Tara disappeared around a corner. For a moment, she was tempted to chase after her. ‘And say what, exactly? ‘I know you told me how you don’t feel secure outside of your room, and I thought I’d use that highly private knowledge to crush you in public?’ Yeah, that’d go over well.’ Or, ‘you know, you told me you were a totally different person in public, and it turns out I’m a dummy and don’t know how to talk to you; could you find a translator and tell you I’m really, really sorry I made you sad.’ That would make things better. Wait, no, worse. I keep getting those confused.'
‘Why didn’t she suggest any other night?!’ She wished desperately that she could have taken Tara up on her offer, or simply bring Tara with her tonight. But Scooby-time was what the deal the group had all made.
‘Well, that was a blossoming friendship, until I screwed it up. With my luck, I’ve upset her and she’ll never want to see me again.’ Willow bemoaned. ‘I saw she was upset, and instead of just saying I was busy, and that tomorrow would be better and shutting my damn fool mouth, I point out that I was specifically not inviting her to meet other friends of mine.
‘No. I’m going to make this up to her. I want this to work. I need this to work.’ Tara was the one person she could talk to about magic, and now that Riley was monopolizing Buffy, and Xander was impossible to speak to without Anya around, spending time with Tara above and beyond shop talk was increasingly appealing. Plus, Tara was simply a pleasure to be around.
Willow looked up, surprised to notice a wood door labeled 214 in front of her; she hadn't consciously decided to go home.
Every time she went thought about how Tara looked, the knot in her stomach got bigger. This feeling of grief over hurting Tara had felt achingly familiar from the moment Tara departed, but she couldn’t place it until she stumbled into her empty room.
The fluke fallout.
That’s where she’d felt this before. Her knees barely lasted the short walk to the bed. The look on Oz’s face . . . when Willow played that memory, the knot in her stomach, the guilt at causing that pain, they felt the same. There was a high degree of overlap for the satellite feelings as well: the dread of potential loss, the knowledge that she was the one in the wrong, the overpowering desire to go back in time and take it back, because whatever consequences there existed for messing up a timeline were surely worth relieving the victims of her cruelty of their pain.
‘Okay, now I know where I know this feeling from . . . but why should I be feeling it again now? Yes, I’m upset that I hurt Tara; I don’t want to see her hurting. Guilt, sure: totally comprehensible. But I was dating Oz. I’m not dating Tara. We’ve talked about the fact we’re not dating every day for a week. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Gut-wrenching guilt about my being . . . well, a total bitch, yes. But I shouldn’t be feeling this. It doesn’t add up.’
Willow knew she needed some quality best friend time to sort this out.. Maybe Buffy could help her figure out why there’s this strange overlap from the fluke fallout. She glanced at the clock. It was 4:30, and she wasn’t supposed to meet Buffy and Xander at the Bronze until 8:00. ‘Over three hours? I don’t want to fret over this for the next three and a half hours.’
Buffy would be out with Riley this time of day; at least, if the rotation of the Earth was any indication. Maybe she could talk to Xander about this. Willow picked up the phone, and dialed Xander’s number.
“Harris residence, Anya speaking.” Fuck. Anya. Willow did not want to talk to Anya. If Anya was there, chances where Xander would be busy until tonight as well.
“Uh, hi Anya. Is Xander there?” She could have just hung up, but she’d spent too much time today being socially inept.
“If he weren’t here, would I bother answering the phone? His parents can deal with the phone.”
“I guess not.”
“Was that all?”
“Uh, no, I was hoping to actually talk to Xander. Would you put him on? Please?”
“Why didn’t you just say so? XANDER! Willow wants you. It had better not be in a sexy way.” Willow pulled the receiver away from her head a moment too late; Anya just hadn’t managed to learn to pull the phone away from her mouth when shouting.
“Hey Will, what’s up?”
“Hey, I was just wondering what your plans were before we Bronze it up tonight?”
“Uh, well, Anya and I were going to have dinner in a bit here, then we’re going shopping, and then meeting you and Buff at the Bronze. You got trouble?”
“Shopping!? Xander, I thought you said we were having--”
“Anya! Not now! So . . . Will, please tell me we’re not spending the night in the cemetery or Giles’ instead of at the Bronze. I haven’t seen Buffy in weeks. That, and there are very few potential Boost Bar buyers in either of those places.”
“No, no trouble. I was just wondering if you wanted to hang . . . . “ She sighed. “You go sex up your woman. I’ll see you tonight.
“Thanks for understanding, Will; you’re the best. We can hang this weekend. We could rent a Bollywood film, and you can explain what’s going on every ten minutes. It’ll be like old times.”
“That sounds great, Xander. We can talk about it tonight, okay? Enjoy your shopping trip. Be careful with the spankin’ new merchandise.”
“Willow Rosenberg! Did you just—you just—“ Xander sputtered.
“Bye Xand.” She hung up, Xander still floundering on the other end of the line.
“Well, that was a bust,” Willow announced to the empty room. “At least tonight I’ll have time to talk to Buffy when Xander and Anya go dance, and then after when we come home.”
Willow pulled out her C++ homework, remembering Buffy’s advice from last year: “focus on school. That's the strong Willow way to heal.”
Last edited by
BeMyDeputy on Wed Sep 01, 2010 7:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
We were the Willow and Tara of the university campus...until Oz came back. Obviously...she chose him. Bitch.
What a great way to start the day!! I can't wait to read the next chapter. I'm jealous you got to go to PAX, even if it was for work. Did you get to hear any cool speakers? Wait, forget all that, get back to writing you!
