@Everyone: Sorry for the delay, this section kicked my ass. I had the next section already written, and had to make everything tie up okay. Thanks for reading and enjoying and being patient.
@angieb86: You know, I haven't actually seen the film. Just found that clip when I was looking at this clipof Benson playing Janet for the Rocky Horror Anniversary. It's not on Netflix, and I can't even find a place to completely legally download it.
Also, my story enjoys hot chocolate, visits to the zoo, and potted--not cut--flowers. You know, if you had a desire to court it.
@Everyone who commented on the note: Why yes that was blatant telegraphing for future events. Some of which we'll see here.
Author: BeMyDeputy
Rating: PG-13 for this section (Language). Up to NC-17 for later installments.
Feedback: Welcome.
Notes: "In Which There Is Floating, Flirting, Filing, and Falling" takes place during the episode "A New Man."
Notes the second: If you don’t speak “Harry Potter,” Wingardium Leviosa is the hover charm, and Finite Incantatem ends a spell's effect. And yes, both of these spells appear in the books that were available to Willow at this point. I checked. Why yes I am a nerd, why do you ask?
Spoilers: This is season 4. If you haven't seen season 4, what are you doing here?
Content disclaimer (this section): Violence: No. Sex: No. Angst: No.
I Don't Own This Disclaimer: The entire Buffyverse (including setting, characters, and plot) is property of it's owners, including but not limited to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement is intended by this work.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to my awesome beta reader, dlline, who says inspiring things like, “if this section kicked your ass, it doesn't sound that way in the telling.” /happydance
Chapter 1 Part 5: In Which There Is Floating, Flirting, Filing, and Falling (aka In which Willow is a huge fucking tease, that bitch)
“I have got the best idea.”
“W-Willow?” Tara urgently blinked the drowsiness from her eyes, and took in the sight before her. Willow was standing—no, bouncing—at her door, obviously both highly caffeinated and excited. Energy was just rolling off of her. Some of the sleep gone from her eyes, Tara focused on the book Willow as holding aloft and making dance in the air: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. “Um . . . come in.” Tara backed into her room, giving Willow room to enter.
Willow practically danced into the room. Wordlessly, she dropped her backpack next to Tara’s chair, and smoothly continued to the middle of the room, turned to face Tara, and plopped herself down in the middle of the floor. She looked up at Tara and gestured to a spot on the floor directly in front of her.
‘I’m dreaming. That has got to be it. Though I swear I was dreaming before the knock on the door woke me up. Dreaming about tickle fights turning into hot make out sessions. Damn it! I promised her I’d classify that as totally innocent. Technically . . . I didn’t promise I wouldn’t fantasize about totally innocent thi—NO. BAD. THOUGHTS.’ Tara glanced back at the reminder she’d written herself that afternoon. ‘Ye gods I need a girlfriend.’ She took a deep breath and sat down across from Willow.
“Wi--” Tara was cut off by a stern look and a rapidly raised finger that gestured for her to hold on. Willow brought the digit slowly to her lips, and Tara understood she was to be quiet. ‘What the hell is going on? When did,’ she glanced at the clock next to her bed, ’11:30 become ‘awesome Harry Potter idea’ hour? Come to think on it, when did it become 11:30?’ Tara would have continued to ask herself questions for which she had no answers, but Willow was moving purposefully now, and that captured all of her attention. Even if she were to find herself a girlfriend, Tara couldn’t imagine not being intrigued by watching Willow move. It was enchanting.
With a slow, over-exaggerated reverence, Willow placed the book on the floor between them. Reaching her right arm back behind herself, she produced, with a flourish, a foot-long one-inch diameter dowel. For a moment, she held the dowel in the air between them, and performed an excellent Vanna White impression with her left hand. She dropped the dowel down so it hung an inch above the surface of the book, which she then tapped twice. She raised her arm again, which gave her room to gesture.
“Wingardium Leviosa.” In time with her words, Willow gave the impromptu wand a swish and a flick. Slowly, the book began to rise, and after a few moments, the book hovered steadily a full foot and half above the floor.
Tara looked from the book to Willow and then back to the book. It was perfect: the words, the pronunciation, the gesture, the timing. The blend of fiction and reality was seamlss. Smiling broadly, she looked back to Willow, who had an expectant look on her face. “That is the best idea!”
Willow beamed at Tara. She tapped the book once more and commanded “Finite Incantatem". The book fell to the floor. She jumped up and threw her hands in the air. “Jenga!”
“You win? W-what did you win?” Willow-ese was its own language, and Tara was pleased she was readily learning it.
“The ‘making Tara smile’ game. Duh.” Willow continued her victory dance.
“That’s a game now, is it?” ‘She’s not flirting. Totally innocent. Filing: go.’
“Of course. I like it when you smile. It’s pretty.”
‘Did she just sa—filing, filing, whatever filing is in Greek.’ Despite her best efforts to the contrary, Tara could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.
Willow dropped down and sat back on her heels, looking at Tara straight on. “Besides, you have no idea how much better today has been compared to every other day since Oz left. Talking made such a huge difference. I wanted to say thank you, and I thought that trick would make you smile. I meant to drop by earlier, but there was an emergency; okay, that part kinda sucked, but the rest of the day was good. Wait . . . you totally looked all sleepy when I came in. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Tara laughed, and fell backwards so that once again, she was lying facing the ceiling in the middle of the floor. “Mom, did I say twenty-four hours? That implied it was over. Add time on the surreal clock, please.” She closed her eyes and signed, contented. Life with Willow in it was weird. But it was a good weird.
When Tara opened her eyes, her vision was consumed by Willow’s face, looking confused. It only took a split second for Tara to realize exactly how this must be happening. A quick glance to the side confirmed it: Willow was on her hands and knees, one hand on either side of Tara’s head. She was leaning down low, so that only about six inches separated their faces. ‘I would barely have to lift my shoulders off the floor to kiss her. Which I’m not going to do. Not gonna think about doing it, either. No, I’m just going to gently tell her she’s being a tease. Any second n--’
“What clock?”
“Oh, right.” Tara was grateful for the distraction. She had never had to explain her discussions with her mom: no one had ever witnessed it before. Willow’s presence in her room was so normal, so natural; she hadn’t given any thought to addressing her mom while Willow was there. “I talk to my mom. Not like a séance. I just talk at my mom . . . technically at the idea of my mom.”
Willow still looked confused. “That part needs unpacking: the idea of her?”
“Okay, let me back up. As long humans have been aware that they die, they’ve speculated on what happens to the person’s soul, to use a modern term, after the body dies, right? The magical tradition Mom taught me has two positions on that front. The first is that what happens after you die is what you believe will happen. The s-second is the belief that reincarnation is optimal for nature-based magic users: since some of the magical ability stays with the soul, reincarnation keeps magic-empowered souls around, as well as increasing that soul’s connection with the Earth. Mom wanted to be reincarnated, so as far as I’m concerned, she was. That means I couldn’t talk to her even if I could pull off the right magic: she has someone else she needs to be.”
“That . . . wow. That’s a really neat idea. I like it.” Willow smiled down at Tara. “But you didn’t tell me what clock.”
‘She’s not moving. Okay, this is officially too much of a turn on to let continue.’ “Uh, Willow?”
“Yeah?”
“Do remember how yesterday I told you that I’m into you?”
“Yep.” Willow nodded, cheerfully, still unmoving.
“I want you to think about how you’re kneeling right now. And unless you’re planning on kissing me in the next, say, t-thirty seconds, I’d like you to check your mental definition of the verb ‘to tease.’ Could you do either one of those for me? Though I warn you that the first one would be pretty hard to file under ‘totally innocent.’”
Willow started to chuckle, but stopped abruptly. Tara watched Willow’s eyes move to each of her arms in turn. Embarrassment and abject horror oscillated on on her face as she pushed herself back on her heels.
“Um . . . I . . . yeah, okay, I could see that was . . . sorry. Not trying to . . . . “
“I know. Really, it’s okay. I asked you to move, and you did. I told you last night: it’s not a problem unless I ask you to do stop and you don’t. I don’t expect you to divine what’s going to be over the line.” Despite Tara’s reassurances, Willow still looked slightly uncomfortable. Tara moved to rescue her. “So, the clock bit. Earlier I told Mom that I’d had a really crazy twenty four hours, what with the rose and coming out and you being wonderful about it. But now you show up and are adorable. So, the surreal clock shouldn’t be over yet.”
“You talk to you mom about me?”
“Well, sure. I mean, growing up Mom was my best friend. I always talked to her about everything important in my life. Observations on my day. Girl t-troubles. Everything.”
“So, do I count as observable or trouble?” Willow’s smile had returned, and was accompanied by a hint of . . . pride?
‘She picks up on everything. Which is part of her charm. Everything . . . is going to include post-it notes written in languages she doesn’t understand. Time to work out a plausible lie. But first . . . .’ Tara sat up, and looked Willow in the eye. “You . . . are fishing for compliments.”
“Me?” Willow sputtered. “How so?” Were it not for the huge grin on her face, Tara might have believed the act that Willow as was aghast at the accusation. Yet there it was.
“You,” Tara whispered, as she leaned in conspiratorially, “asked if you’re ‘observable’ so you could hear me tell you you’re pretty again. I suppose saying you’re being adorable wasn’t enough. And you asked if you counted as ‘girl trouble’, because you wanted to hear me say that I am deeply upset with the universe for your straightness.” Tara sat back, and left the whisper behind. “Both.”
“You are too damned smart, you know that?” Willow protested, a child caught with her hand in the complement jar.
“I’m sure that rates highly on your reasons not to date me. I can see it now.” Tara mimed writing out a list. “One: can keep up with me smarts-wise. Two: has conversations with dead people. Three.” Tara paused, and looked thoughtful. “Oh yeah! Girl.”
Willow’s grin turned evil. “Oh yes, I was planning to enumerate those for myself tonight. Thanks for taking care of that. I wouldn’t want to have forgotten and accidentally asked you out before I got the chance.”
“Okay, now you’re teasing me on purpose.”
“Maaaaybe.“
Tara grinned. Willow was clearly relaxing, falling into playful banter. She glanced at her the books on her desk, and made a decision. “Hey, apropos of nothing . . . can you help me with something?” Tara stood, and reached out her hands to help Willow up.
“Sure need me to fix your--” Willow glanced around the room. “I mean, build you a computer? How do you not own a computer? How did I not notice you the lack of computer in this room? How do make me so damned inobservant?”
“No, easy, distraction, and by being extremely compelling.”
Willow laughed. “So, whatcha need?”
“See all those?” Tara nodded at the desk. “Each is open to a spell. They’d be stronger with your help. You up for it?”
“Am I ever not up for magic?” Willow approached the desk. Immediately, she pointed at Tara’s reminder. “Greek, right?”
“Hmm? Oh, that. Yeah, Greek. I take it for my classics major.” ‘Totally staying calm.’
“What’s it say?”
‘Of course.’ “Oh, it’s just a reminder to do the assignment for next week.” ‘That’s right, Mom, this girl has me telling lies in my room. Not just boring lies of omission, bald-faced lies.’
“I’m in your homework?”
“What?” ‘No, no, not cool, getting caught in my own lie not okay . . . but, Willow hates non-computer languages. She can’t read my note. No, calm down, if she could read it she wouldn’t have asked what it said. Okay, unless she’s really, really mean. Which she’s not.’
Much to Tara’s dismay, Wilow pointed right at her name. “That, right there, is the phonetic spelling of my name. It’s not the word for the tree--I forget what that is, but they’re different. See, here,” Willow tapped her name. “That’s the closest you can get to ‘Willow’ using Greek sounds.”
“H-how do you know that?”
“Oh!” Willow bounced. “I can write my name in lots of languages. Paper?”
Numbly, Tara pointed at a notebook on the table.
“Okay, so here’s the IPA--international phonetic alphabet--pronunciation of my name.” Willow carefully wrote ‘wɪloʊ on the page. And here’s how you right those sounds in Hebrew (that’s the first one I learned; weird since it’s mostly vowel sounds) . . . Arabic . . . and Japanese katakana, only two letters: ヰロ . . . oh, and this is the kanji for the tree . . . and Sanskrit . . . and Greek. See? It matches.”
“I . . . I thought you hated languages. Well, non-computer languages, anyway.” ‘I could have written ‘she.’ We wouldn’t be having this discussion if I’d just written ‘she.’ Not like I’d forget whichgirl I’m busy lamenting the straightness of. And that thought ended in a proposition, but I don’t really care right now.’
“I do. Learning Hebrew for my Bat Mitzvah pretty much turned me off to the whole idea. But figuring out my name isn’t language. It’s finding the right code for the sounds that mean me. And now that I say it out loud, it’s incredibly vain, but . . . it’s a puzzle. I like that kind of puzzle.”
“It doesn’t sound vain. It just sounds like you.” Despite the fact it was throwing a wrench in her plans, the page filled with different ways to write ‘Willow’ was endearing. 'I have got to keep that page.'
“You don’t get off the hook that easily, though. Why am I in your homework?”
‘Damn.’ “Oh, we’re supposed to write a paragraph that employs the use of both the aorist and the imperfect tense--two different past tenses with different meanings. So I thought I’d write up how we met. Don’t worry, though. It can sound like fiction.”
“Neat. Soon, our soda-machine moving magical muscle will be immortalized. In Greek.” Willow flexed. “Though less alliterative, I imagine.” Seemingly satisfied, Willow turned her attention to the books. “Ooh! Spells!” After glancing at the top few books, Willow turned to Tara. “Uh, Tara? Are we blessing a church?”
“Nooo . . . .”
“These spells . . . this is a sanctuary spell . . . this is a warding spell . . . this is a blessing . . . . If were not blessing a church, where are are we casting these spells?”
“Here.”
“You want to turn your room into a sanctuary?”
“It already is.” Since she’d decided to involve Willow in the protection and blessing of her room, Tara knew this conversation was coming. The ‘what’ of her possessiveness about her room was something she didn’t mind sharing. But she hoped Willow wouldn’t press the ‘why.' Tara was determined that Willow never know that Donnie existed, let alone know what a cruel sibling he had been. At the same time, telling Willow that she didn’t want to talk about it would just make her more curious; since Tara was so comfortable telling her anything else, it would stick out. And Willow noticed things being out of the ordinary.
“I don’t get it.”
“My room, this space: this is where I’m free to be me. I don’t have to be brave here. But take me out of this room . . . that all wilts. I don’t feel secure anywhere else. I pull into myself. You saw me at the Wicca group. I just get all shy and nervous and . . . .” Tara rolled her eyes. “Not to mention my s-stutter gets a million times worse.”
“You stutter?” Willow looked genuinely taken aback.
“Yes . . . Willow, I just stuttered the word ‘stutter.’ How could you not notice?” Tara eyed her up and down, and everything screamed ‘surprised:’ posture, facial expression, and aura. Nowhere could Tara detect any inkling that Willow was pulling her leg. “And . . . you’re totally not kidding me.”
“Why would I kid about something like that? That would be really mean.” She paused for a moment, pensive. “Seriously? You stutter?”
‘God I love he—nonofucknoFUCKNONO! I am not falling in love with her, no matter how endearing she is or how I feel safe letting her in to my space to the point I want her to help me bless it or how amazingly hot she is or how she’s actually a witch—okay, that line of thought is over now.’ In an attempt to hide the blush she once again felt rapidly forming on her cheeks, Tara dropped her head and looked pointedly at the floor.
“Hey.” Tara felt Willow’s finger on her chin, urging it back up. “Don’t be embarrassed. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I honestly never noticed, so I was just surprised.”
“Oh, i-it’s okay. I just . . . I got made fun of a lot as a kid. I don’t like thinking about it too much.” ‘And technically, none of that is a lie. Not why I looked embarrassed, but still all true.’
Willow frowned. “Jerks.” Willow’s eyes went wide. “Is it really nearly midnight?”
“Well, you knocked at about 11:30, so that makes sense.”
“I did? No wonder you looked all sleepy. I woke you up, didn’t I? But . . . you're dressed.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess I must have fallen asleep looking all of these up. I wasn’t in bed or anything.”
“Well, we need to be rested for all these spells. Protections spells are draining, and if we do them tired, they won’t work very well. Are you free tomorrow? I could come over after dinner. Maybe seven? Though, you have a lot of spells here . . . no way we’ll have the energy to do all of these in one night, even with mochas. Might take all week. What do you think?”
Part of Tara was curious how Willow knew so much about protection spells. That part was completely drowned out by the part that was just tickled that Willow was interested in making plans ahead of time. Lots of plans. Regular plans. “I’m free all week after six, so, yeah, seven works for me.”
“But now I think there should be sleep.” Willow smiled hopefully at Tara.
“Willow, you’re free to spend the night whenever you want. Including tonight.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I came prepared, see?” Willow grabbed her bag, and opened it to reveal blue pajamas.
“The boy scouts would be very proud, I’m sure,” Tara chuckled.
“Great! Homophobic misogynistic Christians would be proud.” Willow scowled.
“Good thing they have ointment for that burn. Bitter much?”
“Boy scouts got to do knots and have pocket knives. When I was six, all I wanted was to be a boy scout. Then mom explained that I couldn’t join because I was a girl. I was pretty upset.”
“Poor baby. Well, I learned all about knots and pocket knives on the farm. I can teach you.”
“Yay! Sleepovers and knots.You’re the best, you know that?” Willow threw her arms around Tara in a big hug. Tara returned the gesture, her eyes locked on her post-it note.
“Oh, shit! My book!” Willow ran over to the forgotten Harry Potter book, still on the floor. “Can’t let this get stepped on.”
“I meant to ask: how did you end up with a UK copy? I mean, the US version calls it the ‘Sorcerer's Stone,’ since we’re too uneducated to understand the reference.”
Willow looked proudly at her book. “My friend Giles is British and a librarian. He’s helping me collect them. This is a first edition, and look.” Willow opened the cover to reveal a squiggle penned on the title page.
“You have a signed first edition?” There were few possessions Tara could imagine being jealous about. This turned out to be one she didn’t need to imagine.
“You bet. I have all three, all first editions, all UK editions, and every one is signed. Like I said, my friend Giles is helping me collect them.”
“Wow. That’s some friend you’ve got.”
“Well, when you’re one of the only people who visits the library at all, let alone daily, you make friends with the librarian. Oh, yeah, he’s not just any librarian. He was my high school librarian. We got to be pretty good friends.”
“That’s pretty cool.” Tara found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. “Bedtime?”
“Oh, right, bedtime. Good idea.” Willow grabbed her backpack, and moved for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tara found herself in absolute heaven: once again, Willow had fallen asleep in her arms, cuddling into her. The warmth on her chest and the look of peace on Willow’s face left Tara feeling completely secure, despite the fact she hadn’t managed to cast a single protection spell that day. “Mom?” she whispered, once she was certain Willow was asleep.
“I think I’m falling in love.”
We were the Willow and Tara of the university campus...until Oz came back. Obviously...she chose him. Bitch.
What a great way to start the day!! I can't wait to read the next chapter. I'm jealous you got to go to PAX, even if it was for work. Did you get to hear any cool speakers? Wait, forget all that, get back to writing you!
