by AntigoneUnbound » Sat Oct 26, 2002 10:24 pm
Responses and Part III
Kittens—As ever, you give the most amazing feedback. I feel so appreciative of your time and thoughtfulness. One little thought on logistics: I’m still mastering EZ code, and I fear that at times there won’t be the correct spacing b/w words, esp. if I use bold and italics w/in the same sentence. Still working out the kinks, and let’s face it—as kinkiness goes, it’s not as exciting as it could be, but I’ll take it.
A few responses before the next installment:
]lipkandy—Glad to hear the migraine’s getting better. I suspect you and I will end up cross-gushing for some time to come, eh? Thanks for your feedback.
]an—I’m glad you like the imagery. Those characters, as they’ve been given to us, are so vivid that writing them really is fun. Thanks for the response.
]Hush30—Wow—I’m honored that you’d want me working with Christopher Golden on a W/T novel. You know, I’d be glad to, especially if Amber Benson were a part of the project and stopped by frequently to give her input and you know, now that I think about it, it really would make sense for us to spend LOTS of time together while the project was in the works, you know, and…OK, stopping now. Thanks for your great feedback!
]Slowontheuptake: What a great name! I’ll try to keep the updates coming at such a rate as to preclude any more self-flagellation. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that…)
]Amberbenson…4eva—yeah, I wondered if a lot of people might get so focused on the love-making that Oz’s appearance was almost (pardon the expression) anti-climactic. Hope you like where it goes.
]Ruth—Wow…I believe the whole Mountain/Mohammed idea is in play here…I’ve read a lot of your work ("Final Exam" had me spell-bound and literally up all night!) and receiving feedback from you, especially of such a thoughtful, detailed variety, is truly incredible. Thank you for taking the time to write out your thoughts. I definitely see Willow as struggling so mightily to do what she believes she should, what’s "best" (esp. as it concerns giving to other people) in the face of incredibly strong emotions and desires. She has one of the most potent mixtures of nobility and willfulness that I’ve seen outside of the written word. And nice pick-up (so to speak) about Chris…interestingly, there was nothing we knew about her except (a) some physical details and (b) the fact that she desired Tara. The latter, though, was enough to set off considerable antipathy, b/c we all want our girls together so badly. But you’re right—she served an invaluable role as a catalyst, helping Willow see that she’s not the only one with a choice in this matter. Thank you again for your kind and thoughtful words. Any feedback you give—including, of course, the critical kind—is most definitely appreciated.
And now…On with our story.
On Second Thought
Premise: Way the heck back in S4, Willow makes a difficult choice
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy own these lovely creatures. Like all of you, I would gladly spirit them away if I could.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to the end of "New Moon Rising"
Distribution: But of course…Please give credit and disclaimer. Thanks.
Feedback: I’d definitely appreciate it.
Summary: Willow initially chose Oz, in no small part b/c she believed he needed her more. The following week, however, had been excruciating—she hadn’t realized the full extent of her connection and draw to Tara until she gave it up. They met for coffee and longing glances. Willow ran into Tara at the Bronze, only to find Tara being, shall we say, appreciated by another woman. Willow fled, Tara followed, Big Time Sensuality (to quote Bjork) ensued. They fell asleep contentedly in each other’s arms. Willow awoke to the sound of someone entering the room—it’s Oz, stopping by on an ill-advised whim. He has issues with what he sees—issues of the hirsute, transformative variety.
Part III
Good to be back in town, even if it was 4am. Nice gig—Devon had the IQ of a George Bush Pez dispenser, but the boy could sing. Long drive back but worth it. Missing her big-time. He knew he was lucky. Knew it could have gone the other way, and he’d have had no one to blame but himself. Aching, suddenly—aching to see her, just to kiss her good night and try to find some new way to thank her. A quick stop-in; no intentions or expectations. Strong feelings—always caught him by surprise, but so good. Willow. Need to see her.
"Oh God, Oz. Oz, I’m so sorry. Please—"
Door’s unlocked. Guess there’s a first for everything. Willow’s scent—like nothing in the world. But— More here, too; another one. He knew that scent. No; no, just friends. Visiting.
"Oz, please don’t. Don’t change; you can stop this—"
But that particular scent—Willow, aroused and then sated. He knew it, but it had never been so strong. Not with him.
"Oz, you’ve stopped it before. Please, Oz, fight it—"
Oh, God, no…No, she—his Willow, with…with her. Everything turning, red and hot inside. Thoughts, blinking and slowing…Fury, frenzy—changing. No stopping.
"Oz, it’s not her fault; it’s me—I did this. Please don’t hurt her, Oz. Oh God, please don’t hurt her—"
And she begs for the other one’s life. That’s all that matters to her. She begs him to spare the one she loves. The one she…
Even as he spoke, his Other howled from deep inside and severed any voice of restraint. Oz receded to utter oblivion; the Other became the Only.
~~~~~
Tara had first stirred at the sound of Willow’s groggy voice. When that voice suddenly thinned, became cut-glass clear with terror, she pulled herself abruptly to wakefulness. Even before her eyes adjusted to the dark, she knew there was someone else in the room.
But not a person…or no longer a person, perhaps.
She knew that form. She knew that changing and the rage that fueled it. She knew what he meant to do, because he had meant to do it before. But that time Willow had been safe, studying unawares. Now he would take Willow, too.
No. He wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let him.
~~~~~
For Willow, the spasm of sorrow that she felt for Oz was eclipsed almost immediately by the knowledge of what would happen. He would kill them both, in his rage and despair. And because she was Willow; because her capacity to love so far exceeded what most people could understand, her next thought was to protect Tara, at any cost.
"…don’t hurt her, Oz. Oh God, please don’t hurt her." Maybe she could fight him off long enough to let Tara get out the door, maybe even get some help.
She could feel Tara moving to sit beside her, leaving the meager protection of her own small frame to stare openly, almost defiantly, at the creature that emerged before them.
"Tara—Baby, when he attacks, he’ll focus on one thing, at least at first." Willow’s voice was a strained hiss. "I want you to—"
The straining, shifting features trembled slightly, eyes flaring briefly.
He hears you. Tara’s voice came from within her own mind.
Tara? Is that you? Willow’s cocked eyebrow provided the punctuation mark to her inner query. Eyes never leaving the creature in front of her, she saw that the transformation was almost complete, and tried desperately to assemble all the pieces of information into some mosaic that didn’t include horrific bloodshed.
Yes. I think we can get out; both of us, OK?
Tara, please…If anything happens to you—
Nothing’s going to happen to either of us.
OK. I just—Wow…I can’t believe we’re speaking all telepathic-like, you know? Because I’ve always wondered—
Willow—Cujo, 12 o’clock. Big dog. Unhappy. Focus.
The claws had fully emerged, the jaw was now grotesquely extended; there was no evidence of the gentle musician who had given Willow a witch Pez last year. She heard a deep rumble from within its throat and watched as its head wrenched back one final time before it stilled, fixing them both with a yellowish leer.
Think of safety, Willow; think of protection. Think of the greatest safety you’ve ever known; some moment when you knew that all of the forces of all bad things couldn’t touch you. Hold my hand, and remember that moment.
What will you do?
I’m in charge of puppy training.
Tara, no! Not if it means—
I told you—we’re both getting out of here. Please, Willow—trust me.
The words rippled an echo inside of her, and Willow found herself linking her fingers with Tara’s and closing her eyes. Closing her eyes, and thinking of trust, and safety.
It wasn’t a mother’s lap that she remembered, nor was it a father’s warm embrace after a scary dream. It wasn’t Buffy saving yet another day; it wasn’t Giles looking at her with parental reassurance.
***I’d have to be your anchor; you know, keep you on this plane…
I trust you.***
She saw herself deep within the Nether Realm, Ayala granting her access but waiting, hoping to keep Willow there for her own. It could have happened so easily…If Tara had faltered even once, lost concentration; lost Willow within her own mind. But she hadn’t. She had breathed for Willow, held on for Willow. Would unthinkingly have traded herself for Willow had Ayala demanded it. In a short lifetime that had known more blinding terror, seen more cruelty and capricious fate than most people could even envision, it was one moment when she could so easily have been lost that she remembered as her safest. Because of Tara.
When she opened her eyes, her vision was dimmed by a golden shimmering that seemed to hover around her. She knew she was in danger, and yet she felt almost preternaturally calm—even when her eyes adjusted and she saw that Tara was kneeling between Oz and herself; one hand remaining linked with Willow’s, and the other extending toward the wolf.
Some dim part of her brain wanted to scream; wanted to break the connection and wrest herself out of this complacency, but she felt too peaceful. It was one step short of sluggish; it was the most perfect feeling of well-being she had ever known.
And so she watched with a loving fascination as Tara sank to her knees, hand extended, and slowly arched her head back and offered her throat.
This couldn’t be. She had to stop it; Tara had said they would both make it out. But here was Tara, naked, unprotected; shielding her and baring her throat to be taken. It was a gesture of ultimate submission, and yet strangely, it held no weakness. If anything, there was an almost heedless courage about it.
The wolf darted two steps closer, tongue now lolling out of its mouth in an obscene picture of hunger.
Willow couldn’t move. Even while one part of her mind screamed out with despair and anguish, the rest of her being sat in abject calm and peace. All she could do was hold Tara’s hand, and if Oz came after her next, then so be it…But she wouldn’t let go of Tara’s hand.. She would never let go, just as Tara had refused to let Willow slip away in the Nether Realm. Willow would hold her until her own breath was taken from her.
Through the haze, she watched the surreal drama in front of her—the most primitive, bestial creature she had ever encountered, hovering over the most gentle, wise being to grace her life. Her Tara. This woman had chosen Willow just as surely as Willow had chosen her, and the knowledge edged its way insistently into her awareness. This woman had chosen her, and now chose to save her.
It was that knowledge that finally began to push through the film that seemed to cover and shield her. She had to move, had to do something—
Summoning up all of her force of will, she had begun to unfold her legs from under her when she was stopped by the picture in front of her.
The wolf halted, seemingly confused; and then it slunk back, away from Tara. It shook its head—once, and then again. Still Tara remained, unmoving, throat proferred. The wolf edged forward again, hesitantly this time, and growled angrily. It brought its leering face close to Tara’s, lips pulling back in a grotesque grin, teeth bared, prepared to rip and sever. And still Tara sat, in perfect quietude, as though here only in body, her mind far away in some idyllic place. But…her body—she’s so defenseless. Please, goddess, I can’t lose her. The wolf sniffed, tentatively, mouth only a hair’s breadth from Tara’s slender throat. But then it shook its head again, and edged back once more. It stared hungrily at Tara’s pale, naked form; suddenly, a low whine echoed plaintively from its own throat. Willow thought that the sound held almost infinite bewilderment, and grief.
Willow thought that an hour must have passed, with the three of them frozen like that, although she would later realize that it could only have been a matter of seconds. Finally, a last howl ripped from its heart; and then it turned, and hurled itself out the door and down the hallway. Willow dimly heard the sound of glass breaking as the wolf threw itself out of the window.
Only then did Tara relax her pose. Her hand dropped, with a slight tremble, and her head spun to face Willow, who had sunk onto the floor beside her.
"Dammit, Tara," Willow managed, through her tears. "You could’ve been—I could have lost you."
"Baby, no…No, I knew that if you were anchored to a safe place, and I was anchored to you—"
"If you were anchored to me?! You were half anchored to me, and half anchored to a werewolf! What in the goddess’ name were you doing? You weren’t going to let me play hero, but you can just slip me a mental Mickey and trundle off to—"
"You think that’s what it was? You think I put you to ‘sleep’ so I could rescue the fair maiden? Not that you aren’t fair, of course…But I needed you to be in a safe place, mentally, so that we could be safe. I knew about a soothing spell, chanted within the person’s own mind. But it only works if the creature who threatens you feels no threat from you. Think, Willow; there really wasn’t enough time to give you a lesson and say, ‘Now—you try it.’"
Willow looked up at Tara, who appeared to glisten and dance through her tears.
"Oh, God, Tara…If I had lost you—I can’t even imagine…It would just be the stupidest, worst thing in the world for you to be taken away from me. The powers that be would have to be total idiots to let you die."
"It’s OK, Baby. We’re both OK. We’re going to have some major emotional clean-up to do tomorrow, but right now—we’re safe, we’re together, and did I mention we’re safe?"
Willow finally let herself breathe with something approximating normality. She looked up, a tiny half-smile curving across her lips. "Hey—Nice job on the puppy training."
Tara grinned with what looked suspiciously like pride. "Well, at least he didn’t go on the rug."
To be continued
(as well being a great way to bring in some levity). Really your characterizations are spot on, truly such a gripping story, and I can't wait to see what happens next! 
at: 10/27/02 10:36:07 pm
)!
-Viv- 