TITLE: Donegal Street

AUTHOR: Wayland

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Willow, Tara and any other characters from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise belong to Joss Whedon, FOX and ME.

SPOILERS: Up to and including Season Six.

SUMMARY: Tara left Willow after Tabula Rasa. It is now about a year later.

FEEDBACK: I would be grateful for your comments.

NOTES: Thanks to my beta, Vivienne, for the encouragement I needed to get this far. Thanks to BeMyDeputy for invaluable input.

Chapter 7

Willow lay rigid, her eyes closed, trying not to breathe. The night before, she had gone to bed and fallen asleep quickly for the first time in a year. The knowledge that Tara was sleeping under the same roof - no matter how briefly - had worked like a tranquilliser on her, muffling the clamour of her mind. When she woke, just after dawn, and felt the warm, heavy body wrapped around her, for a blessed few moments she thought nothing at all. Then panic gripped her. As if hanging by a lone thread over a precipice, she knew that the slightest movement would cause disaster. For an hour she had lain still as the gathering light filled the room. Tears pooled in the hollow of her nose, tickling. She dared not move, even to brush them away. As if to compensate, her mind raced, impressing on her memory the pressing of Tara’s body against her own. Because a year ago, she had forgotten this. And remembered only when it was too late. She memorized the sweetness of her scent, the firmness of her arms and the softness of her breasts. She did not understand. The faint hope that this could ever happen again had died yesterday, when she fled Sunnydale. She did not understand and she did not care. All that mattered was not moving.

Willow tensed as she heard the small sounds that signalled Tara was waking up. For a split second, Tara’s arms tightened around her body as if by reflex, then, like the tearing off of a sticking plaster, they pulled away. Willow felt the rush of warm air escaping as the blankets settled back on top of her.

Then Tara was gone.

Willow did not move until she heard the hissing noise of her shower start up. Finally she turned over, stretching out her aching limbs, she wiped her face dry on the pillow. Tara had always waited politely for her to wake up before showering, in case she needed to use the bathroom first. When they had moved into her parents’ house for the month of their German sabbatical, Willow had tentatively suggested that there was no need to wait - Tara could simply leave the bathroom door unlocked. Tara’s eyes had widened at the idea, before apparently realizing that in that house, there was no danger of Buffy or Dawn bursting in on her. Or bursting in on them. Then she had smiled shyly, and said, ‘Sure.’ And Willow had grinned back at her, her quick mind already planning water-saving joint showers.

With a jolt that pulled her back to the present, Willow registered a lack of noise. The shower wasn’t running any more. She had no idea how long it had taken her to notice. She flung herself out of bed, stumbling in the process. One thought battered its way around her head. Tara might leave. She might get dressed and leave before Willow could see her again. Yanking off her pyjamas, Willow grabbed a pair of loose jeans and a dark jumper from the back of a chair. She pulled clean underwear from a pile of laundry on the seat. Her eyes flickered over the same half-dozen items that made the journey from washer-dryer to chair. In her closet were colourful, flattering outfits that rarely saw the light of day. For a split second, Willow wished she looked better, then she scrambled into her clothes and dragged a brush through her hair.



Willow was in the kitchen and making coffee by the time Tara appeared at the doorway. Usually she made do with a quick mug of instant, but this morning she had literally dusted off her fancy espresso machine. Willow placed two cups in plain view on the counter, then risked a brief glance at her ex-girlfriend. Tara’s wet hair was scraped back and tied in a ponytail; her face was expressionless.

‘Look at this doodad!’ Willow gestured towards the coffee maker. ‘Did you ever see so many cute little pipe thingies? And the switches! Look at all those switches!’

‘It’s very cool.’ Tara’s reply sounded stilted. Another quick glance, and Willow saw that Tara had moved just inside the doorway and was leaning against the wall. She was wearing her own clothes again, a little crumpled, but dry, after a night draped over the radiator.

Willow set a jar down next to the cups and wondered if Tara still took sugar. Two level spoonfuls for coffee, one for tea. The thought made Willow blink furiously and she kept her back turned, rummaging noisily for spoons.

‘Xander gave it me, last Christmas. I mean, I never use it cuz it seems too much trouble just for . . . but I swear, NASA is planning to steal the technology.’ Willow felt herself nodding like those dogs stuck on the back window of a car.

‘So . . . black, white, latte, cappuccino, triple espresso . . . what’ll it be?’

‘White is fine, thank you.’ Tara seemed to shake herself out of a daze. She met Willow’s eyes for the first time that morning. ‘Lovely, actually.’

Tara pulled out a chair and sat down. She kept her hands folded on her lap. Willow put a cup of coffee in front of her, then set the jar of sugar down near the centre of the table. She felt a rush of irrational relief when Tara reached for it.

They spent the next hour in awkward conversation across the kitchen table, sipping their coffee. Willow avoided the subject of her job and her co-workers and instead talked relentlessly about the city and all its attractions that she could recall. In truth, these were few, as she rarely went anywhere but to her office and back to the apartment. Eventually she remembered a Saturday morning market a few blocks away. She described it in glowing terms, focusing on the type of stalls that Tara might like.

‘It sounds good,’ was enough encouragement for Willow to suggest in a breezy tone that they’d ‘better get going’ before all the nice stuff was gone. Tara replied with a soft ‘Sure’, which silenced Willow for a moment. When she realised that she was listening to the kitchen clock ticking, Willow shook herself and resumed her stream of meaningless chatter. After Tara had assured her that she didn’t want anything to eat, Willow left her and rushed through a rapid shower, keeping the water pressure turned down low, her ears alert for the sound of her front door slamming. Within ten minutes she was back in the kitchen. Her mouth dried at the sight of Tara, in the same seat, casually flicking through a magazine.

‘Ready to go?’

Tara looked up at her, smiling.

‘Yep, let’s get those bargains.’

They collected their coats and left the apartment.

Tara had not mentioned leaving. Neither of them had mentioned the night before.



It was approaching dusk by the time they got back and Willow was grateful for the short winter days. It seemed unlikely that Tara would head off to Sunnydale in the dark. Unlikely, but not impossible.

The afternoon had been a strange mixture of tension and familiarity.

It was a cold day but the sky was blue and the sun shone. Cars parked in the shade still showed traces of frost on their windshields. Willow was immensely relieved to find that the market was not only open but busy and vibrant. The lifting of the grey clouds after what had seemed like weeks of dull, overcast weather seemed to enliven the crowds of shoppers. The market was a mixture of fancy frippery and second-hand clothing. She and Tara wandered aimlessly up and down the rows of stalls.

They bypassed the New Age wannabes, with their displays of inert crystals and designer Tarot cards, and raised eyebrows at the piles of torn and dirty-looking ‘classic’ jeans which cost half a week’s wages. At one stall Tara seemed very taken with the selection of fragrant bath oils in glass stoppered jars. She eased out the cork from one of them and held it out to Willow, who obediently leaned in to sniff, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. The scent was sharp and citrusy. She nodded her approval and Tara bought it.

They drank more coffee and Willow felt warmth flood through her when Tara pressed her to eat ‘something that actually has a food value.’

At the same time, her jaw ached from the effort of biting back every reference to their shared past, to anything but what was in front of them, in that moment.

They walked back to the apartment briskly, hunched in their coats against the gathering chill of the evening.

Willow slumped onto the couch and picked up the T.V. guide.

‘I’m beat. Why do they call it browsing, anyway? They should give it a tougher name, like market hiking or endurance shopping.’ She kept her tone casual, her gaze on the magazine while she watched Tara out of the corner of her eye. ‘Chinese and an old movie sound ok?’

Tara continued to pack away the small items she had bought into her bag and replied without looking up.

‘Sounds fine to me.’

Willow unclenched her hand and reached for the take-out menu by the phone.



They ate in the living room, trays propped on their laps, a yard between them on the couch. The television provided material for intermittent conversation. By the time the film was over, Willow reluctantly admitted to herself that she was exhausted. Emotional strain had left her bone-weary, but like a child on her birthday, she was loathe to accept that the day was over. And tomorrow . . . tomorrow was not something she could bear to contemplate. It was almost a relief when Tara made the decision for her.

‘Well, I’m really tired. Guess I should hit the hay . . . if that’s ok?’ The painful attempt at humour, and the question, tore at Willow.

‘Yes, yes of course, you must be exhausted . . . is there anything you need?’

Tara shook her head as she stood up. ‘I’m good, thanks.’ She paused, her weight balanced awkwardly on one foot, then she turned and headed down the hall to the guest room.



Willow lay awake, watching the red LED display on her alarm clock. 1.23 a.m. 2.07 a.m. Usually she tossed and turned when she could not sleep; she sprawled sideways and angrily pumped pillows. Tonight she remained still, facing the wall, her position in the bed an exact copy of the way she had slept the night before.

A click from down the hall sounded clearly in the quiet apartment. Willow closed her eyes and practised breathing. She thought she could sense Tara in the doorway, but wondered if she was simply torturing herself. She remembered to keep breathing. Willow had almost given in to the temptation to turn over and open her eyes, when she felt a chill on her back and the dipping of the mattress as Tara slipped noiselessly into bed beside her. Willow was careful not to lift her body as she felt strong arms slide under and around her waist. She fought the impulse to press backwards. She kept her arms and legs still, she kept breathing.

Willow had every intention of staying awake all night. She meant to savour every last moment of Tara’s presence beside her - her inexplicable presence. But this was the place she belonged above all others, this was where she relaxed and was safe. In Tara’s arms, Willow fell asleep.

When she woke, she was alone.



‘What the hell am I doing?’ Tara stood up and walked across the small guest room towards the the full-length mirror on the closet door. She felt the stiffness in her arms and legs and wondered exactly how long she had been sitting on the edge of the bed, wrestling with that question. She contemplated her reflection, as if the answer might be written on her face. It didn’t help. Examining her own image dispassionately, she saw the puffiness beneath her eyes and the paleness of her skin in the weak morning light. She looked tired.

Friday night had been an aberration. After a fitful sleep and the confrontation with Buffy, she had made the long journey to the city. She was already exhausted. Then, seeing Willow again, the last of her defences had been stripped away. She hadn’t been thinking straight. By some miracle, Willow had not woken up and Tara had fled the room, her heart beating frantically as if after a near miss in a car.

Then the afternoon. It had been excruciating. And wonderful. Like coming in from the fields when she was a child and sitting at the fire, waiting as the feeling returned to her frozen hands and feet.

The market was mercifully crowded and loud. One of the stalls sold silk scarves, stacked in colourful piles. Tara rummaged through the different designs then held one up to Willow.

‘What do you think?’

Willow smiled and began to speak when Tara interrupted her.

‘I was thinking . . . Buffy . . . a Christmas present?’

Willow looked from the scarf, to Tara, and then back again, her brow furrowed in mock alarm. ‘You wanna accessorize . . . Buffy?’

Tara nodded, her expression grave, as she refolded the scarf.

‘Not a good idea, huh?’

‘Not so much, no.’ Willow shuddered theatrically and they exchanged a quick smile before moving along to the next stall.

Although the day was mild for late October, Tara had never before felt so grateful for the deep pockets of her winter coat. She kept her hands trapped, her knuckles pushed into the corners of the smooth lining. At the coffee shop, when a smear of foam caught on the edge of Willow’s lip, Tara pressed her fists down inside her coat, hard against her hips.

The evening had been easier. Television and food had provided distraction enough to see her through til the moment she had closed the guestroom door behind her. For the first time that day, Tara felt the pressure around her chest loosen and she collapsed on the bed, barely able to keep her eyes open.

It could have been an hour later, or five. Tara refused to look at her watch as she threw aside the blankets in frustration and got up. On the way back from the bathroom she paused in the doorway of Willow’s room. She decided to allow herself a quick look, just to check that the other woman was peacefully sleeping. She placed her hand on the door frame, as if ready to physically push herself away. The image flashed through her mind of an alcoholic wavering in front of the kitchen cupboard. Behind the door was the bottle that would instantly soothe the unbearable tension in every muscle, the gritty irritation under her skin and the relentless cycling of her thoughts. Tara stood, frozen. All she had to do was take one step forward. Her hand moved involuntarily.

She had woken wrapped in Willow. Again.

Tara pressed her palms into her face, covering her eyes, then smoothed her hands down, over her chin, until her fingertips rested at the top of her shirt. She needed to take a shower. She needed to get dressed. She needed to do something. She needed to leave.

In a blur of movement she spun round, crossed the room in a couple of strides, and pulled open the door. She jumped when she saw Willow, waiting in the hallway. She was rumpled from sleep, her hair tangled, looking small in baggy nightclothes. Her stance was awkward, as if caught between steps. She looked up, in fuzzy bewilderment, at Tara.

Tara’s voice sounded unnaturally loud.

‘I need to go.’

Willow flinched as if from a physical blow. Tara found her eyes fixed to the chalk white of Willow’s cheek, half-expecting to see the mark of her handprint blossom there. She felt as if she was suffocating. Tara backtracked desperately, the words tumbling out.

‘I mean . . . I need to get a shower . . . if that’s alright? Or I can wait and go after you, that’s fine too . . . . ’

Willow just stared at her for a moment, as if waiting for the words to unscramble and register their meaning. Then she nodded and pulled her mouth into a stiff smile.

‘Sure. I’ll just make some coffee . . . fire up the doodad thingy . . . ok?’

Tara nodded and replied softly, ‘Ok.’

She waited for Willow to go past her, then crossed the hallway to the bathroom door.

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Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve

Dibs
I did like the way you showed what was going on from both POV's.
Willow's happiness mirrored with Tara's fear was really effective. I really hope they can work things out.(well this is the kittenboard)
Atleast their getting closer, but the heartache is just a little overwhelming.

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Matty- Lovers Dearest, Falling in love at christmas A trip through time thinking about the verse

Tara: I am, you know.
Willow: What?
Tara: Yours.
Who are You

Wow, intense. I'm loving it!

_________________
'Tara Tarantula. Hairy black legs. Now that's a thought.'
-Sleek, Three Words

Hi Clare!

Another great update:) I'm really liking how you are showing things from both of their POV. It's always interesting to see what is really going on in their heads.

I can see now where it's getting to an incredibly awkward and uncomfortable point for both girls. They've spent a full day together and not a single mention of anything 'important.' Willow is still wondering why Tara is there and what her intentions are, but still happy that she's even there. Tara is thinking the same thoughts and battling the urge to leave. The tension is thick and uncomfortable, yet Tara still climbs in bed with Willow. So close, yet miles and miles apart.

Can't wait until your next update!

_________________
Shelby - Racing The Rain (IN PROGRESS) / Baby Makes Three (IN PROGRESS) / The Santa Line / Everything She Does...Is Beautiful / Calfornia Grass

"Transform your pain. Release your past. And ... uh ... get over it."
~Willow, Where The Wild Things Are

I was wondering if Willow was awake when Tara came in to snuggle with her. I'm glad they spent the day together but I'm hoping to see them talk more. Can't wait until the next update.

You know, it just occurred to me that I don't think I've thanked you for your shout-outs. So, um, thanks! I hope that my endeavours have earned me the rest of the requisite forgiveness for my April Fool's Day prank.

Also: the spell-checker in Chrome doesn't recognize the word endeavours.

Response to feedback response

Translation: Thanks for finally filling in your "Dibs" with actual feedback. I know you HAVE feedback because you already sent it to me, so thanks for letting my adoring public know. Now I can actually post my damn chapter. ^_-



I remain flattered that people think so highly of my opinion.



As I've said before, I really like Tara portrayed as a flawed character rather than a perfect one. I think this is one of the many reasons I'm so very much in love with "Waiting for Dani." I know that I pimp it endlessly, but it's just so fucking amazing and full of so much goodness. Like, if you haven't read it yet, stop writing, stop reading anything else I've told you to read and go read it. Now. It's also a really great example of a tremendous amount of dialogue in the comments, all of which make me wish I was around at the time.

One of the things I'm enjoying doing with "Queen of Hearts" is pairing the two traits about her that stand out the most for me with their opposites: giving with selfishness and wisdom with naïveté. (The later hasn't come into play as strongly yet, though play a major role between about here and through NMR.)


Okay, on to this chapter!

Overall
I really enjoyed this chapter. Even more than the previous ones, this chapter is about what's missing: the thing's they aren't addressing, what they're not thinking about. You're writing about what they do instead, because, well, it's what actually happens. It works well. They spend enough time alone thinking about Tara leaving and Tara sleeping next to Willow (though they seemed to have moved past wondering why Tara's there in the first place. and neither has even thought about the state of their relationship in general) that it works. I get the feeling from it that when they're alone, they can't stop thinking about what's going on (though they don't want/can't bear to think about what WILL happen), but when they're together, it takes all of their energy to not act like girlfriends. They both feel terribly trapped.

It's really hard to write about something when the point is that thing is absent, particularly when your POV character doesn't notice/is willfully ignoring something. I remember a scene I wrote for QoH in Xander's basement, where the point was that Willow wasn't thinking about Tara, as contrast to the previous scene when all she could think about was Tara. I struggled, because I couldn't point out that Tara was missing from Willow's thoughts without making it look like Willow was thinking about Tara. I have no idea if anyone picked up it. So, I know from experience how hard it is to write around the thing you're writing about.


Specifics

I really like this: it gets across the sense of fear of looking forward beyond the instant she’s in.



This is a common enough theme everywhere that this must just be me, but I have never understood sexy shower time. Someone always ends up cold and wet, which is not particularly a desirable thing for sexy time.



I like this, that Willow's literally boxed up parts of herself.



The first time I read through, I didn't like this line: it felt really obvious and unnecessary, and thought that maybe it should be something that Willow notices or thinks about. But it stuck out in my head, so on a subsequent readthrough I really sat and thought about it. I ended up changing my mind. It is actually better that Willow doesn't think about this detail, because this section is so much about how they can't think about anything big-picture-y when they're together. At the same time, it's a useful signpost for the reader, to remind her* what the story is actually about. I think it comes back to what writing around something.

Thinking about it again, I realize that I was reading a draft, so I was reading particularly carefully; while the sentiment was obvious to me, it may or may not be so obvious on a more casual read. This isn't to say that either obvious or casual reading is bad. But since I was reading from a very critical angle, it made it a lot harder for me to think about how the section reads to someone who isn't. I think this highlights how feedback tells you different things based on how the person giving the feedback is reading.

I know we've talked over email, and others have discussed in the thread on feedback, about different kinds of feedback. There are as many aspects and levels to feedback as there are aspects and levels of writing. Because I come from a very academic background, I find some types of feedback a lot more interesting to give than others. For example, I comment a lot on how stories are put together (structure, phrasing, and detail), and a lot less on the plot. It doesn't mean that I don't care about the plot of a story: if the plot doesn't interest me, I don't read it at all. When I'm commenting, I kind of take the plot as a given, as if it's set in stone that that is the story the author wants to tell. I think it makes me a lot less useful in terms of telling authors anything useful about the plot unless I'm directly asked, but more useful for writers who want to think about the interactions of the plot with style and structure.

Wow. According to my word processor, those two simple sentences of yours got me to write 390 words of response. Good job.

*When it comes to grammer, I tend to be very conservative. I refuse to accept that "them/they" can be used as gender-neutral singluar pronouns. Therefore, I simply pick one and stick with it when I mean a generic individual. This doesn't mean I think that all readers here are female.



Maybe it's because I'm crappy at being a girl, but my mind instantly jumped to them getting Buffy a shirt for her birthday, and wondering how that's different than a scarf. On a side note: your ellipses were missing their spaces this update. Of course, now that I've actually looked it up, apparently style manuals vary on whether or not you should include spaces. /sigh My 11th grade English teacher simply beat the space-using format into my head. With a stick. She's also responsible for my aversion to passive voice.



This addition from the original works really well to express that this is Tara changing her mind here. I really like that this is what's actually going on, rather than Tara simply needing to clarify an incredibly poorly-worded statement. I think that it really contributes to a growing sense that the notable addiction in this story is to love, rather than to magic. I don't know if you watch Grey's Anatomy (I started watching after both Amber Benson and Adam Busch were on), but the season finale for season 7 ended with an really good soliloquy on the danger of love; the problem of discovering that you have gotten used to love and really like it, but then lose it. In canon, it's reasonable to believe that Tara didn't expect to spend her life partnered, and particularly vulnerable to how badly it hurts to lose the security and comfort a long-term relationship can bring.

I really can't tell if that paragraph makes any sense at all, but fuck it, I'm leaving it; I sure as hell am not seeing a better way to put it. Like, the other thing I have in mind is "hey, your thing reminds me of this other thing and that's way cool." And that, while honest, may damage the careful façade of academic elitism I like to maintain.


Hee hee. "Doodad thingy."

*looks at preview*
Holy fuck, that was long.

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More of a dog person, myself.
I'm from Iowa, we drive four hours for a high school football game.
Queen of Hearts • The Sincerest Form of Flattery • Drabbles

I'm way behind and in a hurry but I want to say I'm still reading and captivating. It's all so painful and awkward yet comfortable and wonderful to read. Like with the weather and cold and showers it could be so romantic if they were a couple on vacation or a couple at all. But this is sort of... and um? You know? Willow playing possum to sleep together is wonderful. I remember doing that when a girlfriend was pre-coming out. Like we were dating but she didn't want to admit that so she'd have nightmares (not on purpose - prior trauma) and I'd hold her and in the morning it was like... shy glances but that didn't happen.

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Menorah Tales | Working It Out | Random Bits

Hi Clare,

Your writing reminds me of a smalti mosaic where each piece is carefully chosen, fitted carefully, and glued one by one. It’s a painstaking process to create loveliness, but it’s very effective.

You choose words, you craft phrases, you shape sentences and there is almost infinite care in how you write. And the result of this effort, combined with your talent and insight, is something truly extraordinary.

So it’s a tremendous challenge to read this closely to try and help you improve because it really is very good already.

*takes deep breath* I’ll do my best!


This works, the reflex of love – their instinct of affection. Then “the tearing off of a sticking plaster, they pulled away”. I feel very ‘in’ knowing that sticking plaster is something you put over a cut or wound so pulling it away is to reopen a wound. Then “the rush of warm air escaping” very real. And the scene is closed out with a stand alone, short sentence. Then Tara is gone. Short sentence, yet as powerful as a punch. It works, it hurts.

So again, a variety of levels. We see the usual Willow, an endearing babbler, but you up-end that and we see the nervousness the painful longing in the artificial and eager way she’s described as nodding. Then Tara ‘shakes herself out of a daze’ and appreciates the drink. Finally there is the effective use of memory (Willow remembers EXACTLY how much sugar Tara takes for coffee and for tea) then provides it and feels the “irrational relief” that she still knows a part of who Tara is and I love that you don’t spell that exact point out. You let us discover it.


GREAT way to capture the tension and silence and Willow’s consciousness of silence SHARP, precise writing!

So, I’m going to stop.

Thank you.

Ariel
How I Met Your Mother

Mgraham93
Thanks for commenting and I’m happy you like the POV shifts. I hope the heartache isn’t too overwhelming for you, but after all they’d been through, to say ‘just skip it’ and start over, never seemed possible to me. This is the kitten board, so they will work things out, rest assured.


sadie
Thanks so much. Hope you like the next chapter.

Finey McFine
You summed up the situation well – awkward, tense and uncomfortable. But whenever they, briefly, manage to stop thinking, there’s a joy that was completely missing in their lives all the time they were apart.

Thanks for taking the time to comment, it’s really appreciated.


love_2003
Thanks for reading and asking questions. Willow was afraid that if Tara knew she was awake, she would run away. There is some talking in the next update. You’re quite right, they need that. Hope you enjoy it.


BeMyDeputy

What can I say? A dangling dibs is no one’s friend.


I have read ‘Waiting for Dani’. JustskipIt has created a whole imagined world in that story, but unlike most books in that genre, the characters and the relationships are written just as strongly. I know that she considered writing a sequel from Willow’s POV and I would like to read that. Maybe we should start a campaign? Of all the stories on the board, it’s the one I can most easily imagine being published, because it’s so original.



Exactly.


While I focus on character and plot far more when I feedback and when I edit my own stories. I pay a lot of attention to phrasing and detail, but tend not to look at the overall structure. I’m trying to stand back more now and see how the big picture works, (or doesn’t, as the case may be).



I appreciated you pointing out the lack of clarity. I’m working on getting the balance right. I don’t want to insult the reader’s intelligence by spelling everything out, but while I, obviously, knew what Tara was thinking here, it didn’t come across. That kind of feedback is enormously helpful.



One line. They were missing spaces on one line! They are now correctly spaced and counted and thoroughly ashamed of their previous herd-like behaviour.

Btw: ‘endeavours’ is British English spelling, maybe that’s why your spellcheck didn’t like it? Are you being corrupted with our extraneous u’s? They’re insidious little critters.



Personally, I think that all addictions stem from that need for love. Whether it’s a bottle, a pipe or a spell, the motivation is to fill an emptiness. What I see as Tara and Willow’s mistakes all result from that need. The fear of losing what they had found was so strong, it ultimately led to them sabotaging what they cherished.

Thanks again for all your input, Kate.

JustSkipIt

Thank you so much for your positive comments and for sharing your story.
I was concerned that, for those people who are naturally open and frank communicators, it would seem so strange that neither woman said a word. But I’m fascinated by what isn’t said in a relationship.
Do you know the line from Alison Krauss, ‘you say it best/when you say nothing at all’ ? That came to mind when I read your feedback.


Ariel
Thank you so much for your lovely comments.


I‘m pleased you got the reference. My wise beta did say that you use the term ‘band-aid’, but here that term is only a brand name and it just jarred with me. (The whole ‘separated by a common language’ thing really kicks in with the little everyday expressions. Apparently you guys don’t feel poorly or go away and have a think. Or buy cotton wool from the chemist, put it in a holdall and arrive home from shopping wrecked, shattered or knackered. Worst of all, you don’t decorate your tree with fairy lights. It’s a wonder we communicate at all. And we’ve never heard of s’mores. Kate was most concerned.)



Perfect. I’m trying to find a balance between spelling things out too much and being obscure. As a reader I love to get implied meanings – it makes me feel more involved in the story – but of course, I hate feeling confused, so it’s great to receive feedback that explains so eloquently exactly what I was aiming for.

Thanks again.

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Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve

TITLE: Donegal Street

AUTHOR: Wayland

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Willow, Tara and any other characters from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise belong to Joss Whedon, FOX and ME.

SPOILERS: Up to and including Season Six.

SUMMARY: Tara left Willow after Tabula Rasa. It is now about a year later.

FEEDBACK: I would be grateful for your comments.

NOTES: Thanks to my beta, Vivienne, for the encouragement I needed to get this far. Thanks to BeMyDeputy for invaluable input.



Willow stood in the kitchen doorway, trying to remember what she was doing there. Her brain felt congealed. She couldn’t think. Her gaze wandered over the sink and the pile of draining crockery before stopping at the coffee maker. A rush of relief filled her. Something she could do. She walked forward, reached up to open the cupboard in front of her, and pulled out a bag of ground coffee. She placed two matching mugs beside the machine and grinned foolishly at the sight. Willow felt her head was like the inside of a pinball machine. The rapid ricocheting of her emotions left her slightly stunned. Ten minutes ago the pain had been so bad she’d felt like vomiting. Now, she was arranging coffee cups and smiling like an idiot.

A moment later, Willow’s hand jerked and she spilled coffee grains in an arc over the kitchen counter. Her heart beat wildly. It took a split second before she registered what had startled her. The house phone, ringing. She looked down helplessly at the mess in front of her, then wiped her hand on her jeans and went out to the hall.

‘Hello?’


In Sunnydale, Buffy had spent the last half hour practising a breezy, nonchalant tone.

‘Will! How are you this fine Sundayish Sunday morning?’

The brief silence that followed made her wince. Too much. She sounded like Xander. On drugs.

‘Um. Hi Buffy. I’m fine, thanks.’

Buffy clenched her teeth and took a long breath through her nose. That phrase again. ‘I’m fine.’ She had come to loathe it over the last year. The firm, cheerful tone in which those words were always delivered grated, like sandpaper on her skin. Willow had the most expressive face. Every emotion she felt was readable in her fine features and large, green eyes. Beautifully transparent. It was a quality that Buffy found endearing. But lately . . . well, lately, Willow’s face was like a fogged-up window, all it revealed was your own reflection. Buffy felt a familiar mixture of sadness and guilt. Tough love. Despite the general belief, Buffy hadn’t slept through all her classes. She knew an oxymoron when she heard one. Willow had needed love, without the adjective. And Buffy had failed her.

‘Tara’s here.’

‘What?’

Willow’s sudden announcement interrupted her train of thought and startled her into a sharper response than she’d intended.

‘I haven’t hurt her!’ The panicked fear in Willow’s voice brought tears to Buffy’s eyes.

‘Of course not! I wasn’t thinking that! I was just . . . surprised, that’s all.’

‘Oh . . . right. She didn’t say she was coming?’ Willow’s tone was now calm, even slightly offhand, as if she were embarrassed by her outburst.

‘No. I mean yes, I mean . . . . ’ Buffy paused to gather her thoughts. When she had given Tara Willow’s address the other day she hadn’t really expected her to head straight for the city. The idea that her own ill-tempered outburst might have provoked this action made her feel queasy. On the other hand, any contact between the pair had to be an improvement – right? Suddenly, Buffy realised that Willow was waiting in silence for her to continue and felt a pang of nostalgia for the days when getting a word in edgeways with her friend was a rare achievement.

‘So . . . . ’ Buffy played for time, considering, and then abandoning, several light-hearted comments. The realisation that she was afraid to say what was on her mind – to Willow of all people – saddened her, and she didn’t like the feeling. She forced herself to continue.

‘Look . . . I know that me giving relationship advice is a bit like a butcher addressing the Annual Vegan Convention, but . . . maybe you guys need to talk?’

More silence. Buffy bit her lip, determined to wait it out. When Willow finally replied, her voice was small and hesitant.

‘But I don’t know how.’

Buffy closed her eyes and gripped the phone tightly, until a warning creak of plastic made her loosen her fingers. It was the most honest thing she had heard Willow say in months. Buffy wished she were there in person so that she could wrap her arms around her friend.

‘You will. Trust me.’ Buffy wondered if Willow was nodding on the other end of the line, or shaking her head in irritation. She couldn’t tell. There was only silence. Frustration at the distance between them filled her, once again.

‘I love you Will.’


Tara put one hand against the bathroom door and slid the bolt slowly with the other, careful not to make a sound. In her rush earlier she had left her clean clothes in the bedroom. Now she wanted the security of being fully dressed before facing her ex-girlfriend. She tiptoed into the hallway. The first thing she saw was Willow, perched on a chair, leaning into the phone in her hand.

‘I love you too.’

Tara reached out to the wall, suddenly weak from the jealousy that exploded in her stomach and spread throughout her body, heating her face. I have no right to feel this way. None.

Willow replaced the phone in its cradle and looked up. She smiled when she saw Tara.

‘Hi. Good shower?’

Tara just nodded in reply, knowing that she could hardly swallow, much less speak. Willow waved at the phone without breaking her gaze.

‘You just missed Buffy. I can call her back, if you like. She can’t have gone far.’

Tara frowned in confusion, unable to process. Buffy? Willow frowned back at her.

‘No, I’m a dummy. Your hair is all wet and you’re probably catching a chill, standing here in the hall. What am I thinking?’

Tara felt herself smiling as relief rushed through her. It was just Buffy. Not a new . . . anybody…just Buffy. Of course. Willow had said . . . hadn’t she? Then thoughts of her last meeting with the Slayer intruded and she felt a kind of dread. Tara kept her smile in place by an act of will. Her face burned hotter.

For a long, happy moment, Willow just looked at her. Tara was wrapped in a fluffy, wine-red towel, part of a set that Willow had bought when she first came to the city and never used. The dark colour contrasted with the pale cream of her bare shoulders. Her hair, wet and darkened from the shower, was slicked back. This brought into prominence her features - the clear blue of her eyes, the plumpness of her lips, the deep flush of her cheeks . . . Willow jerked and almost fell off the narrow hall seat. She had been staring, really staring.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I - I’m sorry.’

The tension of the moment snapped in the clash of their apologies. Tara giggled. It sounded wonderful. Willow’s face ached with the unfamiliar stretch of a wide grin.
It felt good. It felt amazing. Tara was still smiling, then she shivered as a cool breeze crossed the hallway. With apparent reluctance, she gestured towards the guest room.

‘I’d better . . . . ’

‘Wait, wait.’

Willow jumped up and dashed past Tara, disappearing into her own bedroom. She returned a moment later, slightly breathless, clutching a hairdryer. She held it out to Tara with both hands, like an offering.

‘Don’t want you to catch cold.’

‘I think that’s actually a myth,’ Tara responded gravely, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

Willow’s tone was equally serious, ‘That is a possibility, I admit, but it’s no reason to avoid sensible precautions.’

Tara took the dryer and Willow watched her until she had disappeared into the guestroom. Then she went into the bathroom and quickly yanked the white hand towel off its rail and threw it into the laundry basket. Opening the cupboard, she pulled out a small, dark-red towel and smoothed it in place on the rail. She gave it a satisfied nod before heading back to the kitchen to continue preparing breakfast.



Willow paused to inspect the carefully laid table. Two places were set, opposite each other. Each comprised a small plate, a glass, a mug and silverware. In the centre of the table was a basket of bagels, wrapped in a napkin to keep warm. A jug of juice was to the side, next to a pot of freshly made coffee. Two small china dishes contained cream cheese and blackcurrant jelly. A bowl of fresh fruit completed the ensemble. She nudged Tara’s knife and fork so that they overlapped at a slight angle. Disrupting the geometric precision of the setting offended her, but maybe it looked more casual . . . ? She didn’t want it to seem as if she was trying to impress Tara. She was, of course and she had no trouble admitting that to herself. She would do anything to persuade the woman to stay a day longer, an hour longer, even. But if it were too obvious Tara might feel pressured. ‘I need to go.’

The words made her stomach churn. She was grateful for the distraction of a sudden silence which signalled that Tara had turned off the hair dryer. Willow could picture the scene from long familiarity. Tara would have her head dipped, her long hair brushed up from the back and draped over, concealing her features completely. Tara always dried her hair that way and Willow always greeted her with a smile and a ‘Hey you.’ when she tossed back her head and revealed her beautiful face. Willow dragged her mind back to the present. Cloth napkins were definitely too formal. Kitchen towel would suffice. Should she tear off two pieces and fold them into triangles or just leave the roll on the table? Or neither, and then if Tara got fruit juice or jelly on her fingers she might just lick it off, which would be . . . which would be . . . not good for her sanity, Willow concluded wryly. She leaned over and straightened Tara’s knife and fork, then looked up to see the woman herself, smirking at her.

‘There’s nothing wrong with being neat!’ Willow pouted.

‘I didn’t say a word.’ Tara’s smirk was still in place.

It was so easy to fall into old patterns, the childish teasing, the silly faces. So easy and so very confusing. Willow picked up the coffee pot and concentrated on the suddenly difficult task of pouring.

‘Hungry?’

‘I am a little peckish, yes.’

And that was one of Giles’s expressions, one they had both appropriated. Willow saw that her knuckles were white. She wasn’t sure if she could keep this up. She focused on filling the other mug, fussing a little until the dark liquid had reached its optimum level. She half expected another teasing comment from Tara and was both relieved and disappointed at the sober ‘Thank you’ she received as Tara pulled out a chair and sat down.

Tara took an apple from the bowl and then held it awkwardly in her hand as Willow sat down opposite her and launched into a detailed explanation of what was for breakfast, although it was perfectly self-evident. Tara swallowed the smart remark she’d been about to make and simply nodded her thanks. She’d felt off-balance since the phone call and now she told herself to calm down. Enough teasing or flirting or whatever the hell it was that she’d been doing. Enough. Tara felt a sense of unreality as she complimented the food and responded to Willow’s questions formally. Would she like a bagel? Yes, she would, thank you. No, one would be plenty, thanks again. They sounded like work colleagues, breakfasting together in a hotel. When Willow stopped talking Tara finally placed the apple on her plate and began to slice it into quarters. She removed the core and, in an automatic gesture, set one piece of the fruit on Willow’s plate. Then she caught herself.

‘S-sorry . . . . ’ Tara could feel herself blushing, but Willow just smiled, popped the apple in her mouth and muttered a muffled, ‘Thanks.’

Tara felt the tension leave her body as she watched Willow chew with exaggerated relish. After a moment’s hesitation she followed suit, crunching enthusiastically, and shamelessly talking with her mouth full.

‘Keeps the doctor away.’

Willow raised an eyebrow.

‘I think that’s actually a myth.’ Her tone was sympathetic, as if letting Tara down gently.

Tara narrowed her eyes. ‘Says you.’

‘Says me.’ Willow poked her tongue out for good measure, and Tara felt a thrill of fear as she laughed. So much for the not flirting. . . .



They were almost finished eating. The last few sips of her coffee had been cold. Tara realised that she was dragging out the meal, reluctant to get up from the table. This was madness. She had classes to get back to. She ought to be looking up the train times, not covertly studying the woman opposite her. Willow was scraping the remaining smears of jelly from her plate with a crust of a bagel. Her brow was furrowed in an endearing expression, as if the job required all of her concentration.

‘What was it like?’ The words escaped Tara’s mouth without any conscious intent to voice them.

‘What was what like?’ Willow’s face was a picture of confusion and Tara realised the apparent randomness of her question.

She was about to speak and then a memory came back to her, sharp and clear. That one time a fox had scratched a hole in the chicken shed wall and the birds had escaped all over the yard. She and Donnie had spent hours searching for the eggs, crawling under the barn and between the closely packed hedges which bordered the lower field. She remembered catching a glimpse of a plump, brown beauty which had slipped down between entangled roots. She had leaned in, off-balance, stretching for it, until her fingertips touched the grainy curves of the shell. And then, a sickening crunch and the feel of sticky, slimy wetness on her hand.

Willow had raised her eyebrows in cheerful puzzlement. Here was her opportunity. She could ask about something else. Something safe. Anything that would preserve this perfect, fragile peace a little longer.

Again, the words seemed to emerge, unbidden.

‘Giving up magic. What was it like?’

Willow’s reaction filled Tara with instant, bitter remorse. She flinched, her skin turning red and then white. She took a breath that hissed between her teeth. She looked down at her hands, apparently surprised at the sight of the piece of bread she was twisting with her fingers. She dropped it onto the plate and then looked up. She met Tara’s gaze, unblinking. When she began to speak her words were slow, as if she were reading from an unfamiliar text.

‘From what I’ve read, it was kind of like coming off alcohol. The shakes, sweats, aching and itching. Lots of throwing up, not so much sleeping.’ Willow shrugged and said lightly, ‘No DTs though. I got lucky there - nothing crawling out of the walls.’ Tara sat very still until Willow stopped looking around the room and finally faced her.

‘Please Willow, tell me what it was really like. I need to know.’

She could see the battle waging in Willow’s eyes, in the struggle to meet her gaze.
Tara felt herself buckling, as if a tremendous weight was pressing on her. The strain was almost more than she could bear. Then, at last, Willow spoke.

‘Agony. It was agony.’

For a moment, the murmured words seemed to fill the room. Then Willow took in a long, shuddery breath and squared her shoulders.

‘I kept reliving what I’d done, over and over. But that wasn’t the worst thing, not then . . . I was so scared, all the time. I couldn’t stop thinking. I couldn’t sit still. My head felt like it would burst, the thoughts kept going round and round . . . . ’ She trailed off, her long fingers picking at a loose thread on her jeans, her eyes vacant.

‘What were you afraid of?’ Tara’s voice was a gentle nudge.

Willow looked up. ‘Everything. Nothing. You know those seconds when a vamp appears and you aren’t quite sure where Buffy is? It was like that, only the seconds went on and on and there was no vamp and no Buffy. Just me. I was afraid of myself, of my own mind.’

Tara forced herself to stay silent - to wait for Willow to continue.

‘The first two nights I watched the clock, literally every minute. I’d take off my shoes and get into bed and swear that I was going to stay there for at least five minutes. I’d last two, maybe three, then I’d get up again and put my shoes back on and pace up and down my room. Then I’d try it again. The third night I slept, and after an hour I woke up. I was terrified. I vomited. It was so quick, I didn’t make it to the bathroom.’ Willow forced a smile. It twisted in Tara’s chest. ‘That’s when the not eating came in kind of handy.’

Willow continued, speaking more quickly now, tripping over her words.

‘The fear . . . it wasn’t about the magic. It wasn’t really the magic I wanted. I mean, I did want it. Craved it. I knew it would stop me thinking, it would shut my head up. But not enough and not for long. And when it wore off, it would be worse. And I couldn’t even imagine worse. So, magic - not really an option. Actually, a coma sounded pretty good at the time.’

Now the self-mocking note was back, as if to make amends for her previous display of emotion. Willow’s tone was dry, in deliberate anti-climax.

‘Anxiety is a symptom of withdrawal. Apparently.’

She looked at Tara as if expecting a response. Tara managed a slight nod, but no words. Willow took a breath and continued.

‘When I started sleeping it got easier. During the day I could kind of hang on. And they worked out a schedule to keep me company. Buffy and Xander . . . but Dawn was the best.’

‘Dawn!’ Tara hadn’t meant to interrupt. She winced apologetically, but Willow didn’t seem put out.

‘Yeah, I know, Dawn. She was so mad at me. The others - every time they looked at me I could see the embarrassment, like I was a reminder of something they wanted to forget. I mean, they were great, don’t get me wrong, but Dawn, she didn’t feel guilty and she didn’t feel sorry for me, she was just plain angry. Buffy made her sit with me and she bitched up a storm. I don’t think she ever asked me how I was feeling, not once. She said I might as well make myself useful so we spent hours doing her homework. It helped a lot, having something to concentrate on - it slowed my head down. And when she got straight A’s, I felt a tiny bit useful.’

Willow stopped abruptly and turned to Tara, an earnest expression on her face.

‘I didn’t do the work for her or anything, I just explained stuff.’ Tara had to smile. Willow Rosenberg had been capable of a criminally reckless rampage, but cheating on schoolwork was still unthinkable.

‘You felt better because she was horrible to you?’ Tara’s voice was tentative. She didn’t want Willow to stop talking, but she needed to understand. Willow furrowed her brow. It took her a few moments to answer.

‘No, not exactly . . . when I was with her I didn’t feel so . . . broken. Selfish and stupid, yes, deserving of her very vocal contempt, yes . . . but still Willow, you know?’ Tara managed a small nod in reply. ‘Xander and Buffy . . . I could see they were afraid, like if they looked at me the wrong way, or said the wrong thing, I’d shatter. To Dawn, I was just a screw up.’ A faint smile tugged at the corner of Willow’s mouth. ‘I needed to pull myself together. To stop acting like an idiot, cuz she was really, really pissed.’ The smile faded. ‘And of course . . . .’ Willow looked away.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Please, Willow.’

With obvious reluctance, Willow continued.

‘She blamed me for you leaving. Rightly so.’

‘No, that was my decision.’

‘I gave you no choice.’

Tara shook her head. She didn’t want to argue, not now. She thought back to those awkward meetings with Dawn.

‘It’s funny, every time I saw her, she said how well you were doing.’

‘Really?’ Willow frowned, clearly trying to make sense of that. ‘Well, she probably hoped -’

‘No,’ Tara cut across her. ‘She meant it. She was proud of you.’

Both women paused. Willow spoke first.

‘Little Dawnie, hey?’

‘Yeah.’

In the silence that followed, the weight of Willow’s words began to sink in. Tara reeled. She’d had no idea it had been that bad. Buffy hadn’t told her any of this. Not a word. Neither had Dawn. Out of loyalty, because Willow wouldn’t want her to know? Maybe. Because Tara didn’t want to hear it? Perhaps. Tara knew she had deflected every mention of her ex-girlfriend. Had they understood why?

She could justify why she’d left. Even now. Willow was drowning, kicking and thrashing and pulling Tara under the water with her. Destroying them both. Leaving was the only way she could survive.

But afterwards, when Willow was beaten; when she wasn’t fighting anymore, just drowning? Then, she should have gone back. She should have held her tight and pulled her to the shore. The friends she had betrayed were there, even the girl she had injured. Why didn’t I go back? Why wasn’t she by Willow’s side, holding and comforting her through those agonizing days and nights? It was her place, wasn’t it?

After Glory, Tara knew that Willow had fought to get her out of the hospital, to take her home where she could care for her. In her lover’s mind, that was her job and no one else’s. In sickness and in health. Willow had not hesitated. Why hadn’t she done the same?

When Tara left, she’d told herself that it wasn’t for her sake alone. Losing her might shock Willow out of the madness. It might save her. But she didn’t believe that. When Buffy told her about Dawn’s injury, she knew. It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough. In a strange way, Willow had come to her senses at last. The borrowed time Tara had been living on was over. And so she had shut down. Given up the woman she loved with barely a fight. And left her to drown.

The realisation hit Tara like a fist. The fear that she wasn’t good enough, the endless waiting for Willow to wake up - finally wake up and see that - had been with her for so long. In the end, the fear had been self-fulfilling.

She had felt unworthy of Willow and because of that, she had failed her.

Tara abruptly came back to her surroundings. Willow was twisting the hem of her shirt, awkward in the long silence. She looked ready to bolt. A thousand words jostled for space in Tara’s mind, she didn’t know where to begin. The silence stretched a little longer. Finally the words came.

‘I’m sorry.’

Willow shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no. It was my fault. Entirely self-inflicted. That’s why I didn’t . . . . ’ She waved her hands in frustration.

‘I’m sorry.’ Tara said again. Something in her tone halted the stream of denials on Willow’s lips. She blinked twice. Her green eyes glistened. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

‘So am I.’

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Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve

Dibs
This was a great chapter I love the emotions you have put into willow and tara.

I can't wait for the next chapter!

Oh man that was EXCELLENT! I have nothing more to add than that!

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'Tara Tarantula. Hairy black legs. Now that's a thought.'
-Sleek, Three Words

Clare...fantabulous! Not sure if that's an actual word, but it applies!

I have to say that I'm thrilled to see them FINALLY opening up the lines of communication with some solid discussion. I always was a little bent that Tara just up and abandon Willow. I mean, I understand why she left initially, but to not go back after the accident and nurse Willow through the bad stuff? I dunno, it pissed me off a bit. Tara never, not once, tried to stop Willow from performing the resurrection spell, in fact she supported it. Then she's surprised that Willow is using too much!?!?! Hello!!! Red flag! Sorry, I'll get off the soap box now, lol.

Anyway, Tara finally having that moment of realization and the guilty feelings was really great to see. I don't think I've ever seen it addressed before so, well done!!

Thanks for the lovely update!!

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Shelby - Racing The Rain (IN PROGRESS) / Baby Makes Three (IN PROGRESS) / The Santa Line / Everything She Does...Is Beautiful / Calfornia Grass

"Transform your pain. Release your past. And ... uh ... get over it."
~Willow, Where The Wild Things Are

What a wonderfully emotional chapter. I can't wait for the next. I think I am addicted to this story

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MMMMMM, Vixeny Goodness.

You just made me cry. Excellent that they are really talking.

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Did Curiousity kill the cat because Schrodinger opened the box?

My heart and I have wandered aimlessly beneath the Weeping Willows, searching for the sun. - Hayley Westenra, "My heart and I"

I’m going to start with cross-talk because … well because even though I don’t usually read other readers’s feedback, I stumbled across this from Katie:
It’s hard to think of what to say except thank you so much for the pimping. And I’m so fucking spoiled by FB that my instinct was to type “Thank you… @ka…” and have it tag you so you would see my thanks.

And thank you. Yes, I’ve considered writing a sequel from Willow’s POV. I have it laid out in my head but finding the time to write a full-length story just seems so daunting to me right now. Thank you for the wonderful comments though.

I find it fascinating in reading but would hate it in reality. I like to say what’s so and I like people who say what’s so as well. And yes, I love Alison Krauss (except the song about the boy and girl who wander away and freeze to death in the snow).

Chapter 8 – Ok. You’ve done it. This chapter was so breathtaking to me that I had to copy the entire thing into Word so I can comment and quote and comment some more rather than just trying to type some general thoughts.

A good line and yet I think it would be even strong if it felt congealed in something or by something or even like something. Just congealed makes me worry a little bit that she’s got some debilitating condition. Congealed like chocolate sauce would seem more concrete but also sweet. What would congeal and be sort of … not? Honey? Mud? Gravy?

I’ll come back to this in a minute.

Ok. I love Willow here. She blurted out that Tara is here and also that she hasn’t hurt her is beautifully painful and heart-breaking. It’s wonderfully terrible that it even crosses her mind.

Now back to Buffy. This interaction has a lot of Buffy’s emotions and thoughts and responses. It’s a little… awkward? I will admit that I have a sort of policy in my writing. I try to pick one character and assume that story for that chapter or at least a paragraph is from that person’s POV. I’m not saying first-person narration but that we-the reader-will only know the thoughts and emotions of that one character. Can you imagine… how would this be different if instead of the narrator describing Buffy’s response, Willow imagined it? What if Buffy had to immediately deny that she would have even thought that Willow would hurt Tara and if Willow could hear the pain, the strain, the tears in her voice?

Ok, why do I feel that way? Think of this: you have this incredibly powerful incredibly intimate expression of the relationship between W/T. They were together – lovers, soul-mates, everything, and they broke up and they didn’t speak and then Tara ran away to see Willow and they’ve been in this sort of lock-up for 2 days. They interacted with people at the market but for the most part, it’s just them. Intensely and beautifully and painfully them. To turn any focus to Buffy lessens that delicious tension. If you want an exercise, go back and write that conversation only from Willow’s POV and then read the remainder of the chapter and see if the remainder of the chapter is even more intense.

So beautiful and so honest and raw from Willow. So… perfect.

Oh I love this. It says so much and not just about being fully dressed in this situation. It goes to the entire … former lovers and now awkward thing. They’ve seen each other naked and more than naked-raw. And now they don’t know what they are to each other.

and here’s the wonderful chapter that really shows why Tara needs the security of being dressed (which she apparently forewent or delayed when she heard the phone call).

Oh Willow. My counterpart in precision.

Cloth napkins are formal? Huh. We use them everyday all the time. It’s a much more ecologically friendly option than paper napkins or paper towels (for which we use rags).

There’s so much here that’s so very beyond true. They’re so close to being back to their intimacy but so far from being ready for it. It’s like a temptation for them.

Again, they’re inches from that intimacy and miles from ready.


Yes! Yes! Yes! This question has to be asked. This issue has to be addressed. They have to start. Right now, in the before this question they’re in fake intimacy. They’re in what comes before and could become intimate and healing or what will never be that.

Yes! Again. Just as they can’t begin without Tara asking the question, they can’t continue if Willow is not honest. She has to let Tara know of the torture and pain that it was. She has to let Tara know the truth. She has to let Tara in. It would not matter if she were describing coming off magic or killing someone while deployed in IRAQ or putting her favorite dog to sleep. If you want intimacy and healing you must be honest from the base of your soul. This answer, begins to start that. It opens her and it tells Tara that she’s open to Truth with the capital T.

Oh God. So adorable. So wonderful. If this paragraph was the entire story and I read it, I would know that Tara loved Willow.

In the entire 3 years that Tara was on the show, I see that as her biggest failing. Not that she lied to Willow about being a demon (although it’s a close second and I can never believe how quickly Willow blows it off), but that she didn’t stay with Willow to help her. Yes, she didn’t want to be used and have her memories taken but … I don’t know… if Willow truly had a sickness as the show purports, shouldn’t Tara have been more willing to help her? Yes! Again, now they’re getting to that intimacy. This conversation is just… what needs to happen for them to move forward. And I can’t wait to read what is forward.

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Menorah Tales | Working It Out | Random Bits

Clare,

Your desire to perfect your writing is forcing me to stretch myself as a reader and it’s NOT easy! On top of that, I’m following Deb’s critique which is like cruel and embarrassing punishment! BUT your story is worth it, so buckle up!


The great ‘congealed’ debate continues! Seriously, the first definition tends to be of something liquid freezing or coagulating into solid and the last definition is used more to define opinions or ideas becoming rigid. So I’m thinking another word or phrase is a better choice. I’m not remotely saying that these are better, just providing some brainstorming to spark your own ideas:
-Her brain felt frozen, she couldn’t think.
-Her brain felt paralyzed, she couldn’t think.
-Her brain had congealed into something utterly unbrainlike, she couldn’t think.


Willow is a doer, problem-solver so this is perfectly in character. And the two matching mugs. . awwwww. Again, love is like that; foolish and endearing and beautiful in the details.

I like her reaction to the phone being expressed as action; shows how on edge she is.

On the Buffy/Willow conversation, it’s easy to go along with Deb – she IS a great writer. But I’m a maverick! So I thought it all out for myself! And you know what? She’s right! Seriously, the suggestion to re-write it from Willow’s POV is a good one, so second the motion! Also, Willow may not know Buffy spent “the last half hour” practicing a breezy, nonchalant tone” BUT Willow can read the tone and recognize its artifice by either reading it directly or comparing it to a situation where Buffy struggled to maintain a casual façade. Fixing this is well within your powers!

Very touching. You can easily turn this around, “Buffy, are you crying?” etc.

‘Of course not! I wasn’t thinking that! I was just . . . surprised, that’s all.’


Endearing Buffy-ness.

So you need to clearly define WHAT Buffy is accomplishing in the story for you. As you pinpoint that, you can then re-write and ensure that her main narrative purpose is accomplished. Off the top, I see two:
-Provides background and depth on Willow’s struggles
-Provides the “I love you” line for Tara’s reaction


I said it first in chat: you are “A poet of the ordinary; you make those routine moments beautiful.” Lovely.


Sharp, effective writing. Particularly liked the last sentence.


God, they’re so terribly in love and so terribly estranged. This exchange captures both of these emotions beautifully with Willow’s attraction, their banter, and the strain between them.


Thought I’d caught you in a Brit-ism, but you outsmarted me! Instead, creating another level of past shared and present pain.

Liked Tara’s memory of hunting for the egg and breaking it as she reaches for it and her conscious choice to ask for truth and find the courage to face it. Again, sharp writing.


Painful in its detail, like an etching – metal scored with sharp lines or an old style pen and ink drawing: sharp lines and merciless light.

Loved the insight about Dawn’s treatment of her:




And the light shone in the darkness . . Tara confronting her true fears and motives is incredibly powerful, then Willow’s reaction “. . twisting the hem of her shirt, awkward in the long silence,” then the ending:


So very true and so poignant. I feel myself swallowing, feel the burn of a tear in the corner of my eye. Can’t really find the words. Just thank you, I’m sorry Clare, that’s all the words I have right now.

Ariel
How I Met Your Mother

Cross-talk
Deb, I'm pleased you saw this. And that it has led to your easter-egg hunt to other places I've pimped that story. Like I said, it is my favorite on the board, and if you published it, I would buy it. Even though I have a copy-pasted copy sitting on my hard drive and even if you didn't change a word, I would pay money to have it in a book.

And FYI, the board may not do the nifty tagging thing that Facebook does, but you don't need to worry to terribly much about me seeing something you post if it's in a thread I read. Kind of like even when I'm re-reading Waiting for Dani, I always stop to look at Diane's comments (that her avatar moves is useful when scanning), I always read what you have to say. That sentence was terrible, but you get the picture. I hope.


Back to Clare!
Hopefully, this time around it won't be headache-inducing. ^_^

Response-to-feedback

It also rejects the American spelling. Though, I do blame you for the bonus 'u's. Stupid British spelling.


Overall
So, one thing we talked about over email is that this chapter was difficult to beat into submission. But you know what? It probably should be that way. A lot of important movement happens this chapter. We've hit over half-way through the story, and in order for there to be resolution by the time the story ends, they both have to move from "miserably-not-talking-about-this land."

Assuming they have to get back to their lives tomorrow, there's a lot of ground to cover. Their discussion at the end here was perfect: it was about a serious, personal topic, but about what sparked their problems, not about their problems themselves. It gets them going the right way, acknowledging their own failures, and apologizing to each other. It clear that they can't fix their relationship problems without dealing with what happened to Willow first. They have painful and complicated emotional ground to cover, and that's not easy to write.


Specifics

I have to disagree with my compatriots here. I like this just the way it is. Like, if you didn't have the whole choppy feel thing going on, I would feel differently. But you do. And adding any qualifiers to congealed would make your sentence longer. It would feel less antsy. I suppose you could change it from "brain" to "thoughts;" that might improve the sentence a bit.


You know what's funny? We had that whole discussion about why it was better to use "to feel" instead of "to be" in the sentence about the pinball machine and how the latter lets the reader out of Willow's experience and the former keeps the reader trapped. But I never thought to ask why you wanted to shift out to Buffy's experience. It's like I said earlier about plot feeling fixed in stone for me: I assumed from the existence of the POV shift that you wanted to tell a bit of Buffy's story; that it was important to you to show Buffy's regret through all this. It just never occurred to me to ask if you got enough out of the scene to be worth the cost of moving out of their little emotional chess game.



This was one nice side effect of this detour to Sunnydale. What I love about this isn't the line itself. It's that it's wrong. Willow tells us later that it's Dawn, with her 'fuck you, forced company' attitude that was the most helpful. It's like Buffy doesn't get that being someone's safety net is more than catching her if she falls, but also pushing her to stand up on her own again.



This change was perfect. Just changing it to a question and adding the "maybe" really made it less pushy and is better than anything I suggested.



I'll jump on the "this line is awesome" bandwagon.



Set . . .


. . . and spike.

I love jealousy. Seriously.



I really loved this, just because it rings so true.
BUT!
It's such a contrast from yesterday, and it left me wondering how Willow feels about the difference. Like, the spent all that time avoiding being girlfriends yesterday, and now all that super-familiar behavior is coming through. Does she feel like something has changed? Is she too tired to deal with the charade? Or maybe her not thinking about it comes back to the "I'm around Tara and therefore cannot think deep thoughts or I'll explode" territory.


Shit! I missed this. "For good measure" is technically a POV break here.



So perfect. Like I mentioned, my favorite line in "Not A Date" was "venom usually reserved for academic dishonesty. " So yeah, I loved this.



I really disagree with Tara's assessment throughout this. I mean, Willow had a support network other than Tara, so she wasn't actually left to drown. And Tara was still emotionally drained when Willow stopped kicking. I can easily imagine that she was so tired that being involved at all, even if Willow wasn't struggling, could pull them both under anyway. We don't see a lot of Tara during this time on the show, but she had to broken.

Like we've talked about, I've been the drowning one. The fighting one. I can't imagine anyone I'd just kicked away with all my flailing coming back right away to help me once I'd given in. Not someone I'd knocked away as hard as Willow hit Tara. It was the people who'd only been hit by the shrapnel that helped me pick myself up again. The person I'd hurt the worst was glad I was getting help, and things have mended since then. But it took time and space. And it will never be the same.



Good.

(I'm also in the "this made me cry" camp.)

_________________
More of a dog person, myself.
I'm from Iowa, we drive four hours for a high school football game.
Queen of Hearts • The Sincerest Form of Flattery • Drabbles

So happy that they finally talked! Maybe Buffy should have called sooner.

WR/TM
I’m glad that their emotions came across to you and pleased that you liked it. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

sadie
I drove myself nuts trying to get this chapter to come out the way I wanted. A response like yours makes it all worthwhile. Thank you.

Finey McFine

So, it wasn’t just me then?

Seriously, Tara had to leave. Absolutely. But for her not to go back afterwards seemed out of character. I couldn’t picture her waiting for Willow to be x number of days clean of magic before agreeing to see her again.

So I had to create a story that worked for me. In my mind, Tara’s actions were in part due to her ignorance of the sheer mental torture of addiction, but mainly they were the result of her lack of self-worth. She didn’t feel entitled to fight to hold on to Willow.

Fantabulous is definitely a word. Thanks Shel.

wiccanvixen
Thank you so much for commenting. It’s great to know that people are reading. Addicted is good, (but only in this case, obviously).

Promthea128
I am thrilled that the story moved you. Thank you. It’s very kind of you to comment.

JustSkipIt
Thank you for your excellent, thought-provoking feedback. I’m learning more from this story, and particularly from the constructive criticism, than I ever did on any writing course.


Me too. An enigmatic character can be fascinating at first, but ultimately it’s frustrating.



I’m always happy when readers comment on my word choices as it makes me think about why I’ve written the way I have. For the opening of the chapter I used short, choppy, even ugly sentences to try and convey Willow’s state of mind. She can’t think straight, so I didn’t want the prose to feel smooth.

Your suggestions on POV were excellent.


It didn’t occur to me to write the scene this way. It’s a great idea. I tend to write by instinct - ‘this feels right’, rather than, ‘this will have this effect’. So, consciously considering my choices is an extremely useful exercise. I was very aware that I had several quick POV shifts in this chapter. On reflection, one reason I brought in Buffy at this point as an outside POV was that I wanted to remind the reader that other people were affected by what was going on. Willow and Tara are completely wrapped up in each other, in this ‘sort of lock-up’, as you said, but it isn’t the whole story. Willow, especially, doesn’t see herself the way others do. She shys away from even thinking about Buffy’s feelings for her now. She betrayed Buffy’s trust, and she can’t bear to dwell on that fact, so she acts as if she’s ‘fine’ and everything is back to normal. For that reason, showing Buffy’s true feelings through Willow’s POV would be difficult.


My instinct was that the tension might be getting too much at this point, even getting exhausting for the reader, so I broke it. Your comments have made me think it over. I wonder how many people felt the same way, or if some were glad to get a chance to take a breath, so to speak. I see what a useful writing exercise it would be to try different POVs and see what my beta or other readers thought. I’m definitely going to question myself as to why I’ve chosen a particular POV in future, and see if the end result is what I’d hoped for. In fact, I did just that in the following chapter.



Exactly. I see it as the ‘can’t we just skip it?’ temptation.


This bothered me too. If you translate Willow’s addiction into real terms, eg drugs or alcohol, it just seems unlikely that Tara would have failed to help her recover, no matter how hurt or betrayed she felt. I don’t mean I expected her to forgive Willow, but I think she would have helped her anyway.

Thank you for all your wonderful comments Debra. I really appreciate that you took the time to respond in such detail.


Ariel
As I said to Debra, I’m happy for people to question my word choices as it makes me think carefully about the effect I was hoping to achieve, which is all to the good.

If you look at the start of the chapter there are several very short, very plain sentences. The idea is that Willow is shocked and she can’t think straight, so the prose is meant to have an abrupt feel to it. A longer sentence, perhaps with a simile, would flow better, I agree, but it wouldn’t give that jerky quality I wanted.

It’s funny that you quoted the line about the matching mugs because when I read it back I had no memory of choosing those words. Don’t know what that says about my writing process, but I’m very glad you liked it.


POV debates are always useful to me and I’m interested that you share Debra’s opinion. It’s good to consider different ways to approach a scene.


That’s a good suggestion and certainly doable. I may use it elsewhere when I’ve restricted myself to one POV and want to convey the non-POV thoughts.

I’m glad you liked the way Tara confronted her fears and thank you for your kind comments.

BeMyDeputy
Hi Kate,

It was a difficult chapter, but the response I got was well worth the headaches.

Thank you for the time you gave to critiquing, it’s much appreciated.


I see it as very much the Scooby way to rush onto the next crisis without resolving the issues of the last. Even Buffy can see that it isn’t going to work here. Perhaps Willow’s exile in the city makes that clearer – for once, she isn’t involved in a distracting apocalypse.


As I said to Debra, I felt it was important to bring in an outside POV and to have a change of pace. I’m always happy to hear how other writers would approach things. As you know, sometimes I adopt your suggestions and sometimes I don’t, (and vice versa), but it’s always helpful.



True. I don’t think that Buffy is wrong, but in the aftermath of Willow’s fall she doesn’t know how to repair their relationship. The pretence that everything is ok makes things worse. The ‘guilty’ vibe that she and Xander are giving off only makes Willow feel worse. Yes, Dawn’s behaviour was more helpful. Willow was less self-conscious around Dawn and being a object of scorn was easier for her to handle than Xander and Buffy’s remorse. On the other hand, Willow didn’t recognise the love behind Dawn’s attitude until Tara pointed it out, so her view of herself as unworthy of redemption was confirmed. She thought that Dawn despised her, and she thought she deserved it. It’s the people who don’t, who really unsettle her.

Trying to support someone through detox and early recovery is a minefield, and close friends and family are often the least well-equipped to navigate it. So there are no villains in this story, just people who want the best for those they love but don’t know how to achieve it.



Willow can’t handle it. She doesn’t know how to take it. She follows Tara’s lead, but her knuckles are white with the strain of it. I wrote that Tara doesn’t consciously decide to start actually talking, but on one level she knows they’ll both go insane if they carry on like that.


Yes, she’s being way too hard on herself. I was once told I had dichotomous thinking, and it was true at the time. An emotional crisis often results in very black and white thinking. This is the first time Tara has allowed herself to really consider her actions – she’s been too busy shutting herself down in order to survive – and her conclusions are very harsh. Your analogy of shrapnel is apt. Tara has forgotten, for the moment, how wounded she was.


Thanks again Kate.


love_2003
Yes, Buffy’s call was a kind of a catalyst. Something finally had to give. Thanks very much for reading and feeding back.

_________________
Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve

TITLE: Donegal Street

AUTHOR: Wayland

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Willow, Tara and any other characters from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise belong to Joss Whedon, FOX and ME.

SPOILERS: Up to and including Season Six.

SUMMARY: Tara left Willow after Tabula Rasa. It is now about a year later.

FEEDBACK: I would be grateful for your comments.

NOTES: Thanks to my beta, Vivienne, for the encouragement I needed to get this far. Thanks to BeMyDeputy for invaluable input.







They went shopping.

It was Tara’s suggestion. Just a short trip to the local store, for essentials - milk, bread, juice. Willow had nodded, not quite sure what she was agreeing to, but instinctively seeking release from the intense, charged atmosphere of the apartment. She felt a dull surprise at finding herself outside, in her coat, steering a path around the puddles that dotted the sidewalk.

Willow had imagined talking to Tara. Of course. It was why she had gone back to Sunnydale. She had pictured it. Facing Tara and owning her actions, discussing them, even. She had rehearsed and rewritten the scene a thousand times.

But she had never once imagined this.

Never seen herself sharing the memory of those first, awful, days. The days after Tara left.
She had caused her so much pain already. And yet, she had not spared her even this.

Willow felt as if she had a hole in her chest. As if a huge stake had been pulled out and now the wind was whistling through her insides. She observed the sensation with a kind of detachment, as though her body was not her own.

The store was almost empty. Willow made her way along the aisle, conscious of Tara a few steps behind. She found it strange to see her hands working normally as she picked up groceries from the shelf and placed them carefully in the shopping cart. They shopped in silence mostly, as though they had just discovered the unexpected explosiveness of words and were now handling them carefully.

The morning was grey and overcast as they slowly walked back to the apartment, each carrying a couple of bags. Willow wasn’t sure how she had ended up buying so much. Her left arm ached. She must have put all the heavy items in one bag. She thought about stopping and switching the bags around. She glanced at the sky and wondered if it was about to rain. Then she was walking up the steps to her front door, suddenly grateful to be heading back indoors.

In the kitchen she started the coffee maker and then began to put the food away. The repetitive movements lulled her into a kind of mindlessness.

‘Do you miss it?’

Willow knew what Tara was talking about, but she found the subject didn’t disturb her. It all seemed a long way away.

‘The magic? No, not much. Less than you’d expect, really. I tend not to think about it at all.’ Willow spoke over her shoulder as she strained on tiptoe to reach the upper shelf of the cupboard.

‘Giles keeps sending me emails. Apparently there’s a coven in Devon that can teach me the proper way to use magic. I guess I should go. I mean, I will. This job’s only on a short term contract, so maybe when that’s over-’

‘He what?’

Willow spun around, catching her elbow painfully on the side of the fridge. Tara’s fine features were contorted, her eyes wide in apparent disbelief. In all the time Willow had known her, she had never seen Tara look this angry. Not even close. Willow pressed back into the counter, her right arm across her body, clutching her throbbing elbow. Tara took a step towards her.

‘After everything you went through, he wants you to start using magic again? Why? Do the Scoobies need a tame witch that badly?’

Willow felt like she’d opened a door and been hit by a cyclone. The last comment was a pinprick in the whirlwind, but it stung, nonetheless.

She frowned, struggling to find the right words. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s . . . it’s a good thing.’

‘Really? Well explain it to me. Explain how putting you in danger is a good thing.’

The sarcasm was savage. Tara had her arms folded tightly, her chin raised, as if daring Willow to contradict her.

Willow just stared, now completely unable to find her voice.

The silence stretched. Then Tara looked away and took a step backwards, her arms dropping to her sides.

‘I have to . . . I need some air.’

Willow panicked, shaking her head frantically. She didn’t know exactly what had just happened but she was desperate to stop Tara leaving. For a moment Tara hesitated, then she gestured towards the living room.

‘I’ll just go . . . sit, for a minute.’

A second later, Willow was alone in the kitchen. A bag of groceries tipped and emptied its contents at her feet.



Tara collapsed on the couch, taking quick, jerky breaths. She was shaking. Rage burned through her veins like a toxin. The strength of her reaction shocked her deeply.

But the casual manner of Willow’s announcement . . . what the hell is she thinking?

And Giles of all people.

Tara had always had enormous respect for Mr Giles. She saw him as a mentor, even a father-figure. He was a Watcher, yes, but he was nothing like the rest of that self-serving Council.

And yet…wasn’t that their job? Take a young girl and turn her into a weapon. Casualties? Oh yes, most regrettable. Now, let’s move on to the next girl.

Why would he care about risking Willow when her powers were so useful?

Willow.

Her shocked face. Her incomprehension. The anger left Tara abruptly, like air from a punctured balloon. She had frightened Willow. And then insulted her.

Remorse was like a heavy weight, slowing down her raging thoughts until, finally, she could take in what Willow had actually said.

The proper way to use magic. Tara knew the proper way. She had always known, but had only truly understood after she herself had abused magic. Not for the first time, Tara tasted the bitter irony on her tongue. It had been just before her father came to Sunnydale. Panic and fear had shredded her judgement.

And she had almost killed them all.

The rest of the gang had treated the whole incident as unremarkable by the standards of the Hellmouth, quickly brushing it aside. Tara had seen that her stumbling apologies only made them uncomfortable. Willow had been far more concerned that Tara had not felt able to confide in her - that she had not trusted her. Willow had blamed herself. They had all soon forgotten what she had done. Tara had not.

Tara knew the proper way to use magic. She had felt the first stirrings of unease a long time ago. She had seen the thoughtless delight Willow took in her growing abilities. And she had said nothing.

She had worked with Willow to bring Buffy back. And she had even conspired in their agreement not to inform the Watcher of their plans. She had no right now to judge the man so hastily, not when she herself had utterly failed to protect her lover.



Willow poured herself a glass of water and gulped it down, standing at the sink.

Tara had the wrong idea, totally. She needed to explain. But it was difficult to organise her thoughts when the echoes of that outburst still made her hands tremble. She forced herself to concentrate. She needed to explain.

Giles had said a lot about the coven and a lot about other things that Willow didn’t much want to hear. About how he’d failed in his duty as a Watcher. How he, of all people, ought to have seen the path she was on. The idea that her friends felt guilty for things that were entirely her own fault made Willow squirm. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it.

Still, she understood what he’d said about the magic and accepted, reluctantly, the truth of it. She couldn’t hide forever. It wasn’t fear that stopped her. At least, not fear of the magic itself. Practising again meant reopening old wounds. No, who am I kidding? The wounds had not even begun to close. But the thought of going to England, of all that would entail . . . looking at what she had done, looking at why she had done it . . . . Open wounds weren’t so bad in comparison.

The sound of footsteps on hard flooring made Willow turn around. Tara stood behind a kitchen chair, both hands gripping the wooden back, looking pale but composed.

‘I’m sorry. I was out of line, totally.’

Willow did not argue. She simply nodded, then sat down and waited for Tara to pull out her chair and do the same. As Tara did so, Willow closed her eyes for a moment, searching for the right words.

‘Giles explained a lot of things to me, things I didn’t understand,’ She began, hesitantly. When Tara showed no reaction, Willow continued, ‘Alcohol, crack, heroin . . . those things are basically poisons. Nobody needs them, not really. If you can give them up, then maybe you have a chance of sorting out what’s wrong with you.’ Willow placed her hands flat on the table, her gaze flickering down and then up again.

‘Magic is different. I’m a witch. I can’t change that, anymore than Buffy can stop being the Slayer. And for a witch, magic is like food. People get screwed up around food all the time. They overeat or they starve themselves, or both. But giving up food forever - not an option. They have to learn to live with it, or not live at all.’

‘But you are living.’

The quietness of Tara’s response seemed only to emphasize the force behind her words. For the first time since she had begun speaking, Willow did not meet her eyes. She was still looking away when she spoke again.

‘So . . . the women in Devon, Giles say they’re very strong. Powerful. So there’ll be no danger to . . . anyone.’

Willow heard a gasp, quickly stifled, and then felt Tara’s hand clasping her own. Her eyes were drawn down. It was the first time that Tara had touched her. The first time outside her bedroom, without the blanket of darkness and silence. The sensation made her light-headed. Reckless, thoughtless joy filled her. She forgot what they were talking about.

But eventually the sound of Tara’s distress penetrated. Willow guiltily struggled to focus. Tara was speaking quickly, almost incoherently - she wasn’t worried about herself, how could Willow think that? She was worried for Willow. She couldn’t bear her to suffer, the way she had before.

Willow tried to gather her thoughts. Tara fell silent, gripping her hand tightly. At last, Willow managed to speak.

‘Magic is a part of me. Without it, what am I?’

‘Safe.’

Willow let herself absorb the swift, sure reply. More than anything, she wanted to agree. Sadness overwhelmed her.

‘No.’

Because she understood now. Now, when it was too late. She held Tara’s gaze, unwavering.

‘There are parts of your life that are so powerful . . . if they go wrong the pain can be unbearable. But without them, you aren’t really alive.’

She watched the tears roll down her lover’s cheeks as Tara wordlessly shook her head. It was only when her vision blurred that Willow realised she was crying too.

_________________
Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve

Dibs!!!

I read this once already, but need time to re-read, think, and write!

Honestly, Clare, there are times that I want to grow up and be you. This is beautiful work. So here are the things that resonate with me:


Real and effective, rings true. I also like her "dull surprise" and noting the puddles dotting the sidewalk - details work!

It's amazing how specific word placement makes such a difference. I compare how you wrote it, "not spared her even this" vs. "not even spared her this." which is not nearly as powerful as what you chose. Also appreciated the theme of feeling guilt about sharing one's suffering and seeing it as a burden to someone else.

that have to be "handled carefully." Again, powerful and true.

One choice I'd argue with, "Remorse LIKE a heavy weight" I'd honestly propose exchanging simile for metaphor and eliminate the word "like." To me it's accurate and more powerful. One woman's opinion, you push yourself hard so I thought I'd throw it out there for your consideration.

I loved the description of Tara's touch filling her with "reckless, thoughtless joy." Again, you capture love in it's painful and glorious intensity.

Willow's speech about magic, about not being truly alive without it, is very moving. You're offering the contrarian opinion that magic is not an evil narcotic but also something creative and potentially beautiful.

Then, your ending:

This works on a variety of levels. First, Willow being so absorbed with Tara's pain that she is unaware of her own, nice counterpoint to her joy at Tara's touch causing her to forget what they were talking about. THEN it brings you to Willow's profound emotion as well.

Thank you.

Ariel

Woah. Another fantastic update... it only gets better! Let's hope they can keep the talk going. Willow is absolutely right and I think Tara will see that too, once she gets past her fears of Willow being in pain (or potential more pain by going to the coven in England).

"You can't ever put [things] back the way they were"...

_________________
'Tara Tarantula. Hairy black legs. Now that's a thought.'
-Sleek, Three Words

As former grad student in a religion dept., I think Tara's and Giless' attiudes (i don't know how conscious the show's original writers were of this) have a lot to do with their backgrounds, however far they've moved from them. And i really enjoyed seeing how you kept their reactions different and how you pointed out Tara would be negative about Giles's point.
IT's not amde clear the exact background of Tara's family beyond their male chauvinism and their hatred of magic, but alot of viewers think they were conservatvie evangelicals of some kind, maybe even from a perfectionsit church like the Nazarene or Free Methodist or Pentecostal Holiness. So, even though she's now a devout Wiccan, a lot of that background woudl still shape Tara's values. So, the way to deal with soemthing you have a problem handling is to swear off it.
Giles, whom I see as agnostic once we meet him, probably coems froma background much influenced by High-Church Anglicanism. So he sees thigns more in terms of doing things "the right way" and exercising self-disci[pline in the details, rather than in terms of addiction. Willow's background is probably Reform Jewish (again she's not personally religious as such,) also a liberal system, so she'd be very open to his approach.
But you made the good call that Tara has grown enough that she won't just reject another approach.

I'l stop here for now.

_________________
Snapshots:http://thekittenboard.com/board/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=10210 a Love Story
____________________________________________________________
Kim: (breaks off the kissing) I l... (Sue stops her with a hand)
Sue: We don't talk about things like that right after, you know that, no saying those things in The Moment.
Kim: (moves the hand aside) Screw The Moment. I *love* you.

I'm glad Willow is telling Tara about everything that happened to her. In order for them to move on Tara needs to know what Willow went through in order to get clean. I do think Willow should start practicing magic again and maybe Tara can help her learn the right way.

Hmmm. That's a hard update. Interesting that we're starting to get to Tara's feelings about the entire deal more and more as Willow starts to open up. I find the interplay of normal shopping, cooking, hanging out... with serious life decisions to be quite effective and nice to read.

Sorry I don't have any deep stuff to say today. Well done.

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Menorah Tales | Working It Out | Random Bits

Clare,

I love how you started this chapter. "They went shopping." Period. And how something so mundane could have such an effect.

Then there is this... The part about how Willow saw her hands really resonated with me. Like she was in some sort of dream state and her hands were moving of their own accord; As if anything else but Tara mattered. I'm not sure if I explained that right, lol. So, I hope you get my meaning! Let me just say that it was powerful.

Then there's Tara's reaction to Giles' suggestion. I have to admit, her reaction caught me off guard as well. I really liked how you took us through her entire thought process because I was always bothered by the fact that Tara went along with everything and then suddenly decided that Willow was over doing it. This next quote was my favorite part of the chapter...when she admits fault.


So, in the end they finally get some things out on the table and are one step closer to reconciliation. Although, one step for them is like a millimeter, lol. Awesome job! You are really getting down to the nitty gritty and I'm loving it!!

_________________
Shelby - Racing The Rain (IN PROGRESS) / Baby Makes Three (IN PROGRESS) / The Santa Line / Everything She Does...Is Beautiful / Calfornia Grass

"Transform your pain. Release your past. And ... uh ... get over it."
~Willow, Where The Wild Things Are

You know, I really should, any time you send me a chapter, check to make sure I've posted my comments. I mean, c'mon me. Duh.

Anywho . . .

I really loved how this chapter (tee hee, DS9) came out. Really loved. Like, I had to cut down the number of times I say "love" in the following feedback not to sound like a total lunatic.

This chapter is in many ways more intense than other chapters, partly because it escalates much more quickly. They don't get the same escape from the buildup in the last chapter that they have in the past, and as a consequence, neither do we.

Willow's fear through Tara's anger is palpable. Like I told you, I read this when I was moving, so I already had my emotions on eleven the first time I read this. Looking at it again, I don't think it was just me.


Tara is clear that she's worried for Willow, not of Willow. It's clear to the reader, even though Willow totally missed it.


I loved this,the idea that this thing Willow stumbled onto completely by accident would take Tara away just feels so terrible. Like she stepped on a land mine in the middle of a cornfield: somewhere it just shouldn't be, so she had no way of preparing for it. So, very good.


Like Ariel, I would have struck the "like." Out of curiosity, why did you decide to phrase it like this?


What's perfect about this phrase, as well as phrasing later on, is that it shows us how Tara's thinking is changing. She doesn't even realize she's thinking about Willow like this, but it sticks out to the reader. It's a good example of how what words you choose tell a story as well.


Just . . . wow.


First, again with the wow.
Second, the thing I love most about this line is that the words “her lover’s cheeks” makes them a couple. They don't know it yet, but in that moment, they transition. That is what these words tell us. It's beautiful and subtle and very, very good. They aren't exes anymore after this moment, even exes who care deeply for one another. They become a couple here.

_________________
More of a dog person, myself.
I'm from Iowa, we drive four hours for a high school football game.
Queen of Hearts • The Sincerest Form of Flattery • Drabbles

Ariel
Thank you for your lovely comments.

I thought about your suggestion regarding ‘Remorse was like a heavy weight’ and I think you’re right, it is more powerful as a metaphor. I think sometimes a simile can slow down a line and take the reader out of the moment because it sort of waves its hand and says ‘literary technique’, whereas a metaphor can slide under the radar. It’s a great exercise to go back and examine an occasional line in detail to see if it works as I intended, or not.


This a perfect description of what I was aiming for, thank you. You have a nice way of clarifying the exact emotion I was trying to convey.

sadie
Thank you for your feed back. Yes, I think Willow is right. She’s had time to think about it all, (albeit unwillingly), whereas Tara has avoiding thinking. Willow can’t go back and pretend that she never was a witch, any more than they can ignore everything that happened between them.


DaddyCatALSO
Thank you for your very interesting comments. Lots of food for thought. It never occurred to me that childhood religious teaching might affect the way a person viewed addiction and recovery. It made me wonder how my own Catholic upbringing has influenced me in that respect. Handling having a problem with something by swearing off it is certainly a familiar concept to me.
I don’t have your knowledge of different religions, but I can easily picture the backgrounds you ascribe to Tara, Willow and Giles. It’s fascinating to speculate how these early experiences might impact on their older selves in a wider sense.
You’re right that Tara, despite her initial reaction, is prepared to consider another approach.
Thank you for the thoughtful feedback.

love_2003
Thank you for reading and commenting. I agree, it would be good if Tara could play a part in Willow’s return to magic. It would be an important way to reconnect. But first, Tara needs to accept it as being a necessary and desirable goal.


JustSkipIt
I think Tara is, to some extent, actually discovering her own feelings as she listens to Willow. I see her as someone accustomed to shutting down as a type of survival mechanism. I’m glad you like the combination of emotional discussion and the mundane.
Thanks for reading and commenting. It’s appreciated.

Finey_McFine
I’m very glad that Willow’s state of mind in the store resonated with you. I was hoping to get across that sense of numbed shock.


Yes. Xander and Buffy could claim ignorance - that they didn’t see the path Willow was on - but I don’t think that Tara, as a witch, could do the same, so I’ve tried to explain her actions.


I’m very happy that you like it! At times it’s daunting, when I realise exactly how much they need to talk about before they can be reconciled.

BeMyDeputy
I’m always glad when you post feedback on the board, even if you’ve already sent me comments by PM. I learn a lot when reading comments on everyone’s stories and it all helps to improve my writing. In my opinion, the feedback on the KB is what gives this place its special atmosphere.



I do take great care with my word choices, but I tend to operate on instinct, I go with what sounds right, without analysing why it sounds right. So comments like yours and Ariel’s make me go back and unpick my word choices, which I find fascinating.

In this case, I chose the simile rather than metaphor because I think a simile suggests that a comparison has been made. For perhaps a split-second, in the middle of her turmoil, Tara was aware of how one emotion affected the other. A metaphor sounds more like the narrative voice and doesn’t suggest any conscious awareness on the part of the character. As I said to Ariel, the metaphor is more powerful and I think it works better - but that was my reason for the ‘like’. I wanted to hint at the idea that Tara is discovering herself, as much as Willow during these confrontations. Hope that makes sense.

I’m happy that the intensity of Willow and Tara’s emotions comes through even when you aren’t stressed out of your mind too. (And I’m happy that you aren’t as stressed as they are now. Not fun at all.) Willow does feel like she stepped on a land mine when Tara reacts violently. Willow is in a daze after their last conversation and it’s an awful shock. She did miss entirely the reason behind Tara’s distress, and I’m glad that was clear to you.


They have crossed a line. They aren’t aware of it yet. In their rational minds they are still estranged, but in absolutely everything else, they are not. It’s meant to be clear to the reader but Tara and Willow are too overwrought and confused to know what’s going on. Yet.

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Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve

TITLE: Donegal Street

AUTHOR: Wayland

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Willow, Tara and any other characters from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise belong to Joss Whedon, FOX and ME.

SPOILERS: Up to and including Season Six.

SUMMARY: Tara left Willow after Tabula Rasa. It is now about a year later.

FEEDBACK: I would be grateful for your comments.

NOTES: Thanks to my beta, Vivienne, for the encouragement I needed to get this far and to Julia for reading and offering suggestions. Thanks to BeMyDeputy for invaluable input.

Lines quoted from ‘All the Way’ written by Steven DeKnight

Chapter 10

They were careful with each other.

Each woman treated the other as you might someone recently in an accident, someone who could bear only the most tender and gentlest of contacts.

They had been sitting at the kitchen table for so long that the hard chairs had become uncomfortable, so they stood, self-consciously stretching stiff arms and legs. Willow switched off the coffee machine and made hot chocolate instead, stirring in extra spoonfuls of sugar. They took their drinks into the living room and sat side by side on the couch.

Willow cradled her mug against her chest. Its warmth was insignificant compared to the touch of Tara’s shoulder against her own. They sat in silence for some time, sipping their drinks. Finally, Tara spoke.

‘I do understand. About the magic. I don’t like it, but I understand.’

Willow turned, ready to thank her, but she saw that Tara hadn’t finished. She looked like she was trying to say something difficult.

‘My m-mother tried to stop. She knew how much it upset my dad, so she tried to stop.’

Willow was astonished. In all the time she had known her, Tara had mentioned her mother on only a handful of occasions. Willow had always assumed that she kept the memories safely locked away, somewhere deep inside. Hearing Tara talk about her mother was a rare gift and Willow was desperate for her to continue. At the same time, she knew the conversation could only be a heart-breaking one, so she was scrambling for a way to change the subject when Tara spoke again.

‘She still taught me, when she knew that Daddy would be gone all day, but apart from that, I don’t think she was practising at all. She just wanted to make him happy.’

Willow had seen enough of Tara’s father to understand the hopelessness of that desire. She ached for the woman she had never met. And for her daughter.

Tara turned to face her. She was dry-eyed. She seemed to be gathering the strength to force the words past her lips. Willow could only wait.

‘She changed. It was gradual, like the light slowly dimming, you don’t notice at first. When she got sick,’ Tara faltered, and now her eyes were shining. ‘I think…I think she was relieved.’

Willow wanted to say something, but her throat was too constricted to get the words out. She lightly stroked the back of Tara’s hand, still curled around her mug of chocolate.

Tara glanced down, then back. She managed a wobbly smile.

‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I will.’



They sat for a while in silence again, then Tara cautiously initiated conversation. She asked Willow about her job. Willow sounded relaxed enough as she described the company where she worked. A touch of enthusiasm coloured her voice as she explained her role in the design and testing of new software. She talked about the small team she was a part of in general terms, offering little character sketches of her co-workers.

Tara was both relieved and ashamed that Willow did not mention her friend, the one she had spoken of in Sunnydale. Her earlier assumptions now seemed incredibly insensitive, even cruel.

In return, Willow asked about school. They’d had no classes in common, so Tara found herself easily discussing her studies without the worry of stirring up memories of their shared past. As they talked, it occurred to Tara how interesting Willow was. She always had an intelligent question or an insightful observation to offer. Both before they had become lovers and throughout their relationship, Tara had always anticipated Willow’s conversation with pleasure. It had taken Tara months, after they broke up, to suppress the reflex thought, What would Willow think of that? What would Willow say? every time she heard or saw something new.



Willow glanced out of the living room window and noticed the darkening sky with surprise and a touch of panic. She wasn’t used to time passing so quickly. It seemed as though they had sat down with their cups of hot chocolate only minutes before. She felt as if something infinitely precious was slipping through her fingers like sand. Willow was struck by the futile desire to turn back the clock and relive the afternoon’s easy conversation, savouring every moment. She swiftly dismissed the longing as self-pity. Think positive, dummy. It’s almost evening again and Tara hasn’t mentioned leaving.

It occurred to her that if she said nothing, Tara might not realise the time until it was definitely too late to travel. The thought had barely formed before it was followed by a wave of shame. With a clumsy double take Willow flailed an arm towards the window and blurted out,

‘Hey look at that! It’s dark already! Guess it’s true what they say about time flying . . . ’ She stopped herself, embarrassed when she belatedly realised that she had interrupted Tara mid-sentence. Tara looked past her to the gathering gloom with a frown that increased Willow’s guilt. She was being selfish. She shouldn’t be taking up Tara’s time at all, let alone be trying to prolong it.

‘We missed lunch, I guess.’

The comment, delivered in a tone of self reproach, derailed Willow’s train of thought completely. Tara had always been the one to insist on proper meal times. Willow was capable of forgetting to eat entirely, especially when caught up in particularly interesting projects for school or Scoobyage. She’d often found herself looking up in some surprise as her laptop apparently closed itself, only to see Tara’s mock-stern face, followed by a firm instruction to get herself to the dinner table.

Her friends loved her, Willow knew that. Xander had loved her most of her life. But they had never taken care of her in the everyday, seemingly instinctive way that Tara had. Like a net beneath a high-wire, Willow never needed to look down. Tara was there.

‘We should go to the store, collect some movies, then we won’t need to go out again.’ The brisk tone pulled Willow out of her reverie. Tara was already standing, smoothing down her clothes, her movements quick and purposeful.

‘We can eat when we get back.’

Grateful to follow instruction, Willow scrambled to her feet.

‘Sounds like a plan.’



As they walked up and down the rows of DVDs, Tara realised, from Willow’s silence, that she had seen few of the new releases, if any. Neither had Tara, for that matter. The thought saddened her. They had spent so many evenings at the movies, or cuddled up together on the Summers’ couch watching DVDs, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with the whole gang. When Willow picked up the latest offering from the teen heart throb of the moment, with a playful question in her eyes, Tara had to bite back a scornful comment. She grimaced in reply instead and Willow giggled. Dawn had dragged her to see that movie and it was every bit as awful as she’d imagined. Movies with Dawn had become a habit. It was an easy way to stay in touch, without the need for too much conversation. The image of the teen idol’s dazzling teeth and boyish features sent Tara’s mind back to the poster she had torn from her bedroom wall. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Eventually they settled on a couple of titles, or rather, Tara chose and Willow agreed. The movies looked interesting enough and seemed to contain neither violence nor romance. Tara vaguely pictured a comfortable evening of light conversation in front of the television. Willow liked to dissect movies as she watched, (a habit, Tara suspected, she had developed in her childhood days with Xander), while Tara herself preferred to wait until the end to analyse. At first, Willow had constantly apologised for her interruptions, but Tara had loved the commentary. Afterwards, movies without Willow seemed lacking, like a foreign film with no subtitles. Dawn’s relentless popcorn crunching and soda slurping had been a relief. Perhaps, Tara realised, that had been the idea. It was an unsettling thought.



Tara had no idea what she was doing anymore. She shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to ease her stiff muscles without drawing attention to herself.

They had eaten a quick meal in the kitchen and then cleared up afterwards before returning to the living room and switching on the DVD player. They sat down on the couch, a few inches apart, and watched the first movie. It was dull. Very dull. Even Willow’s comments had stuttered and then dried up completely. Tara felt absurdly embarrassed, because she had chosen the film. When the credits finally rolled both women got up immediately. Their words overlapped.

‘Something to drink?’

‘Do you mind if I…?’

They both laughed, louder than necessary. At the doorway they paused, each waiting for the other to go through first. With another, softer, laugh they separated, Tara heading for the bathroom and Willow to the kitchen to make more coffee.

The second movie was better, but Tara still struggled to concentrate. It was getting late and she felt exhausted, although she had done little all day but sit. Next to her, Willow was silent, engrossed in the film. Or at least, she seemed to be. Her eyes were fixed on the screen every time Tara risked a sideways glance. Tara found her own gaze drawn towards the digital counter, remorselessly ticking away the remaining minutes of the feature.

In a short time the movie would be over. And she had no idea what she was doing anymore. She was not rash or impulsive by nature; she liked to consider her actions, to think them through. How did she end up here, sitting rigid on a couch, afraid to move, lest a stray hand brushed against the woman by her side?

She didn’t trust herself to go to bed, or rather, she didn’t trust herself to stay in it.

How had she ended up here? One thing she did know was that she couldn’t yield to temptation. Not again. She couldn’t slip into Willow’s bed and pretend the last year had not happened. If Willow woke up . . . . A sudden thought sent heat rushing to her cheeks. What if Willow had woken, last night or the night before - what kind of cruel game would she think Tara was playing? She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. The thoughts kept circling, round and round in her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment’s peace.




Tara woke up slowly. Her neck felt stiff. Drowsily, she became aware of her surroundings. The living room. Willow’s apartment. On one side she was pressed against the arm of the couch. On the other, she felt a weight along her body. A soft, comfortable weight. Willow was curled around her, her cheek pressed into Tara’s chest. Tara lifted her hand from where it rested on Willow’s shoulder and rubbed her face. Her nose was cold. Funny how that always happens when you fall asleep on a chair instead of your bed. She felt peaceful, her thoughts idly wandering. Tara dipped her head, ready to drop a kiss on the tangle of red hair beneath her chin. Then her mind cleared suddenly and she jerked back. Blinking and swallowing rapidly, she became aware of Willow’s hand. She felt it resting on the bare skin of her stomach, burrowed under the layers of her shirt and sweater, nestled in the warmth. Tara moved slightly and the pressure on her skin increased. The touch was light but it held her like a steel band.

Tara blinked away tears. She knew what to do. She had done it before, when the craving for Willow had threatened to overwhelm her.

Like probing a sore tooth with a needle, she forced herself to remember.

To remember the moment she realised the significance of the dried flower gaily pinned to her sweater. To remember the feeling, like a kick to her unprotected belly. The panic when she understood what Willow had done. There’ll be nothing left of me.

She waited for the anger and the disgust to swamp her, to drown out everything else. The pain was stronger than the yearning. Always.

She dug deeper, unearthing all those moments she had refused to revisit for so long.

The Bronze.

The memory had been locked away, sealed fast. And yet Tara wasn’t surprised that, a year later, she could recall Willow’s face in perfect detail. The way anger had contorted her beautiful features and clouded those bright eyes. Except that now Tara saw something else. Like an artwork daubed with splashes of thrown paint, when she looked closely, she could discern the original lines beneath. Behind the anger, she could see the fear.

Tara tried again, probing mercilessly for the pain.

‘What do you want me to do, just sit back and keep my mouth shut?’

‘Well, that would be a start!’

But underneath the harsh tone of her lover’s voice and the ugliness of the words, Tara could hear the panic, the note of desperation.

Was she just rewriting the past? No. She almost wished she were. Willow had been snared in bonds of her own making. Frantically twisting, she only tightened the knots. Like a wild animal in the jaws of a steel trap, she lashed out at anyone who dared approach. And Tara had not seen it.

She let her hand drop onto her stomach, on the place where Willow held her. She felt an overwhelming sadness. For Willow. For herself. It should never have happened. None of it. Tara laid the back of her fingers gently on the side of Willow’s face.

Was this what forgiveness felt like?

She sat still, unconsciously matching her breathing to that of her former lover.

Willow squirmed a little, pushing into Tara’s breast. Her mouth was slightly open, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The movement had caused a lock of hair to fall over her face. Tara carefully brushed it aside. She saw the closed eyelids jerk, then still, then flicker again. Willow was dreaming.

Gradually, Tara became aware that the delicate features she was studying were becoming clearer. She pulled her arm free from where it was stuck between the side of the couch and her leg and squinted at her watch. She jerked half upright in surprise, causing Willow to mumble a sleepy protest.

‘Sweetie, wake up.’

The endearment escaped her lips without conscious intent. For a moment she froze, her hand hovering over Willow’s cheek, then, at the lack of response from the sleeping woman, she squeezed her shoulder gently.

‘Willow! It’s eight o’clock!’

‘Uh.’

Tara shook her again. Willow scrunched up her eyes, then opened them. She peered at Tara blearily, then went to rub her face, evidently realising at that moment the position of her right hand. Her eyes widened. She yanked the hand free and put her arm behind her back, as if banishing the offending limb from view. At the same time she scrambled back along the couch, her chest moving up and down as she took rapid breaths. Her hair was sticking out from her head at wild angles, the disarray reflecting her obvious shock and confusion. Tara felt the sudden lack of warmth along the side of her body.

‘It’s just . . . . Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’

‘Oh.’

Willow avoided her eyes, apparently intent on smoothing down her crumpled clothes and pushing her hair behind her ears. Without looking up, she blurted out, ‘The thing is, see, I’m kind of . . . on vacation. Only, they said I could come in. If I wanted to.’

A flush swept up Willow’s face as she rushed through the explanation. Tara fought back the urge to smother the girl’s embarrassment in a tight embrace. Instead, she stretched out lazily and said, ‘Cool. No need to rush, then.’

Willow threw her a grateful smile and stood up straighter. ‘I’ll start the coffee, shall I?’

‘That would be good.’



Could I possibly sound more pathetic?

Willow put a hand to her cheek, wondering if she still looked like a radioactive tomato. Smooth, Rosenberg. Not at all desperate. Not. At. All.

She took a package of coffee from the cupboard. Fully-caffeinated. A pity she hadn’t had some before, she might not have made such a complete fool of herself. When she’d received the email instructing her to take her accumulated leave before the company’s year end, she had panicked. The prospect of a week or more without work to fill her days had left her rigid at her desk, taking short, rapid breaths, the screen blurring in front of her. Julie had been incredibly sweet. She’d claimed that with Kevin at work and the children away, a week at home would drive her ‘absolutely demented.’ Willow seriously doubted that, but she had been grateful anyway. She had felt marginally less of a freak. Eventually the shock had passed and she had realised that a couple of days in Sunnydale would use up part of the time. That would please Buffy and Xander, who had been pestering her to visit. Then her boss had indicated that if she wanted to come in anyway, he would turn a blind eye. A little pride, that she was wanted and needed at work, had calmed her further. She could do it. She wasn’t completely useless.

Still, Willow cringed at how she must look to her ex-girlfriend. At least Tara hadn’t questioned her about it. She’d accepted Willow’s explanation without comment. That was something.

As one wave of humiliation receded another, bigger one took its place.

Her hands, all over Tara. Oh God. Willow didn’t remember doing it. She didn’t remember much of the evening at all. It had passed in a haze of tension and she doubted she could recall a scene from either film. One minute she was struggling to keep her eyes on the screen and away from the woman beside her, and the next, it was morning and she was draped all over Tara. The poor woman had been trapped on the couch, no doubt counting the hours until morning when she could escape. Anyone else would have just shoved her away but Tara was too kind, too unwilling to hurt her feelings.

No.

With a shock, Willow recognised the voice of reason in her mind. Tara’s voice.

She could have extricated herself easily enough, probably without even waking Willow. She could have gone to the guest room and slept alone.

Just like she didn’t do the previous two nights.

Willow lurched forward, her hands slapping down on the kitchen counter as her knees went weak. She felt a pressure building in her chest, something trapped and pushing to be freed.

Hope.

She had never felt so frightened.

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Donegal Street * Home For Christmas * A Traditional New Year’s Eve