Title: BRAVE EYES
Author: psimetis
E-mail: psimetis@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
5/?
Sober Warning: Stomping.
* * *
‘SHINE’
On the bus ride back to campus, Willow sat snug against Tara in the front, side
seats reserved for the elderly and handicapped. Tara tried to ignore the female
senior citizen across from them, who stared balefully and didn’t seem ready
to release the two from her stern, unfriendly gaze anytime soon. It could be,
Tara mused rather distractedly, that the woman was displeased that two seemingly
well abled girls were sitting in the handicapped section. Or, Tara further rationalized,
the woman was not liking how Willow was nuzzling Tara’s neck in what was
obviously an intimate manner. Or, Tara finally thought, the old lady was just
a bitch who somehow knew exactly what the blonde witch had done to the Slayer
back at the Magic Box.
Andrew had been absolutely giddy, thinking Tara had won a victory over the villain
Slayer. Tara let the young man have his moment of joyous relief. They would
all find out, soon enough, how much damage Tara’s decision had done.
“This means,” Willow was whispering very softly beside her, with her
head resting in the crook of Tara’s neck. “She knows about how I married
Xander when we were five.”
Tara smiled briefly, feeling pained. She wondered again, what the human Willow
had been like.
“This means,” Willow continued softly. “She knows my fears.”
The cool hands wrapped around Tara’s tightened.
“This means, she knows how much I love you,” Willow suddenly snarled,
her grip suddenly unbearable.
“Will, Will--” Tara gasped, knowing she won’t be able to extricate
her hand.
The vampire’s fingers immediately softened, but she sat up then, her blind
eyes wide and unseeing. She realized that the Slayer now had everything of hers,
even those precious memories the vampire would rather take a stake to the chest
over than have that bitch touch. Everything Willow knew. Everything Willow knows.
“I’m sorry,” she heard her witch tearfully say beside her. “I’m
sorry.”
Willow reached for Tara’s face, and kissed away the tears.
“It’s okay,” she whispered against the warm cheeks, thinking
as she cradled her witch’s face. “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill
her, and then it will be all okay.”
While kissing Tara--and feeling the uneasy, cold vibe of another, watching them--Willow
felt a semblance of her old, demonic self return; one that looked forward to
murder.
* * *
Word got around quickly in Sunnydale that something was not quite right with
the ‘Fascist’ Slayer. There were strange stories of the Slayer, apparently
in a state of madness, seeking out certain demons and tearfully making confessions
to them. The newer Slayer captured the old one and that one hadn’t been
seen since. Alot of demons wondered what kind of whammy had been placed on the
blonde Slayer to fuck her up so, because it was apparently a really good one.
Anyanka, busy in Moscow, knew she had all the time in the world to finally let
the Sunnydale denizens in on what had really happened, and which vengeance demon
should be congratulated for the deed. So she continued with the case she was
assigned with, and the gossip flew.
“She, uh,” Clement, the benign, loose skinned demon shrugged. The
other demons at poker leaned in to hear how his surprise visit from the Slayer
had turned out. “Was saying sorry about...killing my cousin for no reason,
y’know? But she’s the Slayer, so...” the demon just shrugged
again.
Willow heard these things at Puppy’s mansion as refugee demons finally
left his safe haven and returned to their homes. She smiled quietly at the stories,
but never volunteered the true tale. Instead, whenever she could track down
Puppy during her mansion visits, she’d ask him to spar.
Willow became more and more fierce during their fight matches, and Angel realized
that for the Little One, it was no longer about play.
And Tara watched from the mansion’s verandah doors as her vampire and Angel
would fight, with great unease in her heart.
* * *
Jenny set her bulging teacher’s briefcase and her keys down with a heavy
sigh, then tossed herself into her nearest chair. Before she could get too comfortable
however, she gamely forced herself out of the chair to retrieve a cup of instant
noodles and prepare hot water for it.
Rupert had looked as bad again at school as he had when he first confessed about
Willow’s imprisonment to Jenny. She still wasn’t speaking to him,
because of his complicity in that horrible event, but she was also of half a
mind to just forgive him so she could finally find out what was exactly going
on with his Slayer.
A witch didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to understand the significance
of what Tara had done to Buffy, but it would help to know how the young woman
really was, currently.
Jenny rather regretted that Tara hadn’t consulted her before making her
wish, but then, from what Amy had told her, the volatile confrontation at the
Magic Box had rapidly approached ‘suicide by coven’, at least on Buffy’s
part. Faith, Jenny didn’t doubt, would have done her best to survive a
fight with her witches. Tara had, by quickly incapacitating the blonde Slayer,
managed to save her coven from possible losses and also from possible retaliation
from the Watchers’ Council.
So what does this mean now? The teacher asked herself as she poured the hot
water into her noodles’ styrofoam cup and then tapped the top of it distractedly
with her plastic fork. She knew something was not finished about this situation,
and obviously the name of that ‘something’ was spelled ‘Willow’.
Revenge, Tara had said. If Jenny were a vampire, she knew what she would
do. Even Amy, who could be as vindictive as her mother, was looking serenely
justified right now, after the Magic Box incident, but that was because she
was human. Vampires were not that easily placated. Buffy’s fall into possible,
temporary madness would just be considered a first step--one that would lead
into a game played until it finally ended in the victim’s, or in this case,
foe’s death. Jenny wondered how Tara, who could be too soft and compassionate
at times, might be dealing with this inevitable focus of her vampire’s.
Jenny tapped her fork impatiently again. Unlike Rupert, she wasn’t about
to fail one of her young charges. As Amy would say, Jenny will have to pull
an ‘alpha witch’, but if it kept everyone alive, then that was what
she’ll do.
* * *
“Willow, it’s Jenny,” the teacher said at Tara’s closed
dorm door. It was evening, and she had called ahead, to make sure the young
vampire was in. Tara was still away in classes.
The vampire opened the door slowly for the coven head, a rather languid, deadly
attitude in her casual stance. Willow stared with lidded, blind eyes. Yes, Jenny
thought to herself. Looks like the little vampire was getting it together again.
“Tara’s still out, I see,” Jenny said unnecessarily, as she stepped
into the room. She moved to take a seat at the desk chair without waiting for
an invite--not that she expected one from Willow. The vampire closed the door,
turned to face the coven head, and stood relaxed and yet very still, as if assessing
Jenny’s presence.
“Whatcha want, Jenny?” the vampire finally asked point blank, but
in a sweet manner that seemed polite, when it sounded just a touch more like
menace.
“Let’s talk about your wanting to kill Buffy,” Jenny suggested,
to the vampire’s surprise. “Come sit over here, Willow,” she
then ordered. She was taking a big chance, trying to assert authority over the
vampire, but if she guessed correctly about Willow and Tara’s relationship,
Jenny could be seen as an ‘elder’ in the fledge’s current relationship
dynamics, and the teacher wanted to work that to her favor.
Willow scowled from where she stood and didn’t move. All right, Jenny thought.
We’re getting a little resistance from the fledgling here. I can work with
that.
“It’s none of your business what I’ll do to the Slayer,”
the vampire growled.
“It is when it affects my witches, and you are living with one of them,”
Jenny pointed out. “If you actually killed Buffy, what do you think Faith
would do?”
“I’d kill her too.”
“And the Slayer after that?”
“Her as well,” Willow hissed.
“Then you’d really be on the Watchers’ hit list,” Jenny
remarked. “And so would Tara.”
Jenny had met some really arrogant vampires in her time. Their dedication to
selfishness and their single-mindedness for their own concerns were often not
worth trying to dissuade, but better ended with a nice, pointy stake. Jenny
was counting on Willow however, being so young and having proven herself just
a little different by her dedication to Tara, to not be as stupid.
Willow’s scowl receded to a look of angered realization, and some unhappiness.
“Come sit over here, Willow,” Jenny offered again.
Willow moved, but not in Jenny’s direction. She reached out and touched
the walls of the room, and especially to brush her hands over her witch’s
hanging Christmas lights.
“I want that bitch’s heart,” she said finally, her tone fierce.
“I can understand,” Jenny acknowledged. “And if it were just
you, I actually wouldn’t mind standing back and letting you two go at it,
but there’s Tara to consider now too.”
“I could go cripple her. I could go take her eyeballs like I want,”
Willow stated, fingering her witch’s lights.
“You could,” Jenny agreed. “And if you could be satisfied with
just that, maybe that’s good. But I don’t know if bringing those eyeballs
home would agree with Tara, much less Faith.”
Willow suddenly stamped her foot.
“Did she send you?!” Willow lashed out. “Did Tara send you to
see me??”
“No,” Jenny ejected, surprised. “No,” she added with more
firmness, utilizing her authoritative ‘teacher’ voice. “Tara
doesn’t know about this conversation. I came on my own, because I realized
what you might be thinking. I’m trying to watch out for the both of you.”
A vampire, if it paid attention, could sense the true emotional intent of a
human; if the human were lying, for instance. All manner of physical data, such
as scent, temperature, and rate of pulse could inform the vampire, who knew
what to look for, of a human’s true intentions. Jenny was not trying to
manipulate her, Willow realized. She sensed such solidity from the teacher;
a state of concern and conviction. Before Tara, Willow had never had someone
care enough about her. Even when she was human, all she had was Xander. Though
she was angry and feeling quite resentful of the coven head’s sincere concern,
a little bit of her demon self reluctantly respected it.
“Still want pieces of her,” Willow whispered, as her hands traced
the patterns of the Christmas lights.
Jenny merely watched her and said nothing. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
* * *
When Tara came home, she found Willow smoothing down the bedspread with almost
meditative slowness. She was also very quiet, and Tara, after her initial greeting,
realized that perhaps Willow needed some silence for a while. The young woman
turned to her mini fridge and quietly began to make a sandwich for herself.
“You’ve been upset, but I thought it was about midterms,” she
heard her vampire softly say. “You’re really upset because you don’t
want me to kill the Slayer.”
Tara paused in spreading the peanut butter on her bread.
“I--I,” she began, then swallowed.
“You didn’t say anything. Were you ever going to tell me?” Willow
continued, in a soft, even tone. When Tara glanced at her, she saw the vampire
was still smoothing down the coverlet. The surface was perfect.
“Yes,” Tara admitted. “I just d-didn’t know h-how to say
it without.” She swallowed again, trying to still her stammering. “W-Without
influencing you,” she finished hesitantly.
“What do you mean?” Willow harshed out, finally raising her unseeing,
green eyes to Tara. “All you have to do is say you don’t want me to
kill her, and maybe I won’t do it!”
“I-I know, I just,” Tara attempted, and then paused again. She rose
to her feet to face Willow. She was never, ever good with words. An unforgiving
family had seen to that. “I just don’t want to be that for
you. Th-The one you change for. You have to do this for yourself,” she
finished with conviction.
Willow just stared blindly, lack of comprehension and a fair amount of impatience
in her slender face.
“You,” Tara said, as she gazed into Willow’s unseeing eyes. “Are
so special. I’ve grown because of you. I’m stronger. If something
ha-happened to you, I still want to be this person. I don’t want it to
go away if, if you went away. Do you know what I mean?” she asked hopefully.
“If you do these incredible things you do, just for me? I don’t want
to take this...‘special’ you, with me. If. If I went away. You should
have your chance to keep it.”
Willow stood silent, trying to understand what her witch was saying to her.
Finally, she spoke.
“You’re my angel Tara, who sits on my shoulder, and sometimes I listen
to you. There is no angel Willow here.” the vampire said. “Just me,
the demon.”
“A special demon,” Tara whispered.
“If you say so,” Willow answered, with a frown.
Tara knelt by her mini fridge again, and put her sandwich away.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, trying to reign in her emotions.
“Yes,” she heard Willow softly say.
“I’ll, I’ll take you out then, and...we’ll find you something.
To eat.”
* * *
Tara took her out hunting now, with the bitch Slayer now missing.
This was something Willow could do; it was familiar, it was natural instinct.
She didn’t want to think about being ‘Special Willow’, this strange,
moral?? creature her witch somehow expected her to be. She would just fail her
girl in that case; she still wanted to kill the Slayer. Therefore, she was very
glad her witch took her out hunting. It was affirmation from her lover. It meant
that Tara accepted what would make Willow strong. She truly felt free to be
a vampire then, doing what she did best, luring prey with her innocent, blind
girl act, and then safely putting the bite on her victims as her witch quietly
watched her back. She never drained her prey, of course. She didn’t drain
them because of her Tara. Maybe her witch was right, and she would go back to
being Bad Willow if something should happen to....but that was not going to
happen. Nothing was going to happen to her witch. But the option of someday
becoming Bad Willow again? That option wasn’t so bad. It was a thought
that would definitely give her warm fuzzies at night.
Willow lapped at the oozing bite marks she had made on the unconscious female
student in her arms. They were in a computer lab, and she had snuck up on the
girl rather than played with her; sometimes it was best to just put the bite
on people rather than leave behind victims who could identify her around campus
later. Willow finally laid the girl down, with head resting on crossed arms
before the humming computer monitor, and then focused on the steady heartbeat
of her witch. She found her near the lab entrance, and immediately curled up
against Tara.
“Happy now,” she purred, literally doing just that, deep in her slender
chest as she rubbed against Tara. After a kill, she always had sex with Xander.
The first three weeks she had been with Tara had been the same.
“Do you watch me?” she breathed into her witch’s neck. “Do
you watch me when I feed?”
“Sometimes,” Tara whispered briefly back. There was a tenseness in
her soft, strong body, and the redhead knew it was because her witch still found
it unsettling, allowing the vampire to feed freely on people while Tara protected
her. Willow ran her lips up the blonde’s warm throat and sought her mouth.
She found something sweet and minty being pressed between her amorous lips instead.
“I do not have blood breath,” Willow protested with a slight pout,
as she sucked on the peppermint.
“Yes you do,” her witch merely countered. “And it’s gross.
C’mon,” she then added, taking Willow’s cool hand in hers. “Let’s
go home.”
* * *
Giles realized he had been drinking alot lately, but somehow, he didn’t
give a damn.
Buffy was sobbing loudly in the bathtub again, her chains clanking. Giles regretted
having to restrain his Slayer there, but it was the only safe place for a super
strong, distraught young girl at the moment. Buffy’s words of anguish were
disjointed, choppy--their significance only meaningful to her, as if she were
having a fragmented conversation with apparitions. Giles had already given up
on trying to understand her words. Any attempt to offer some form of coherent,
comforting response would probably not be understood, at this point.
“Fuck,” Faith said, frowning hard into her take away aluminum of lasagna.
She stabbed at her meal viciously--a meal portion that looked large enough for
four. Giles knew his second Slayer could easily devour the tray all by herself.
He had given her twenty dollars to find something to eat, and she had returned
with an interesting choice of dinner. What was it the Americans called such
meals? Giles mentally realized. ‘Comfort food’. Faith had tried to
coax Buffy into eating some, but it had ended up on the ceiling of his bathroom
instead.
Buffy gibbered tearfully to her invisible demons in the bathtub.
And Giles wished it were that simple to explain--that his Slayer was suffering
because of the presence of actual, tormenting imps. But Faith had managed to
recite back to him what Tara had wished for, and there was nothing in that wish
that would be so appropriately vindictive, much less malicious. Tara had only
wished that Buffy should know what Willow knew. It was practically a benign
vengeance. Such knowledge received could be shocking, frightening, and revolting,
but Buffy, he knew, had gone through worse, had seen worse, and, much to his
regret, done worse. Guilt and shame might be what his Slayer was burdened with
right now, but it didn’t explain her current, seeming madness.
Giles poured himself another shot of scotch, and swallowed it pensively. Buffy,
as far as he knew, was a girl of iron will and iron control. She believed and
did things only a certain way, and the world was bent to fit her Slayer vision.
Something about Willow had broken through those iron walls of righteousness,
shattered the Great Slayer and left, in his bathroom, a girl completely exposed,
raw, and undone.
“Fuck! FUCK!!” Faith swore again, flinging her fork into her meal
as Buffy wailed again. Giles had set up wards of silence around the bath, but
apparently Faith’s Slayer hearing could still detect Buffy’s outbursts
of emotional pain. His second Slayer took to her feet, and grabbed her jacket.
“Going patrolling,” was all she tersely said, and left his apartment.
* * *
Willow loved being out in the night again.
She loved the air, the energy, the subtle sounds, and she especially loved roaming
along the winding, campus trails with her witch. Tara wouldn’t let her
leave her side though. Even if the vampire were capable of walking on her own,
Tara was fearful of the dangers of the night.
“Could the Slayers somehow hurt you? From afar?” Tara had asked her
before their first hunt together.
“Yes, crossbows,” Willow had answered simply. So Tara kept her arm
firmly wrapped around her, intending to shield her with her body. Willow liked
the snuggling, despite being thus tethered. Her witch was so warm.
“This is our third hunt together,” Willow said happily. She couldn’t
believe that they had done this for the third time this week. She was so glad
Tara had taken care of the bitch Slayer.
“Yes. I’m thinking a change of scenery though, before, um, you become
noticeable. Would a night at a club be okay with you?”
“Dancing,” Willow enthused, hugging her witch closer as they walked.
“Oh, I-I’m not much of a fast dancer,” Tara admitted.
“All slow dances. With Tara-kisses,” Willow rejoined, stopping their
bodies for a moment. She circled Tara’s waist and led her into a slow,
easy circle, her witch’s arms automatically embracing her neck.
“Slow is nice,” she heard Tara admit to her, a smile in her voice,
and then the vampire tickled her witch, getting a beautiful giggle.
She felt a familiar tingle up her spine.
Willow whirled around, pressing Tara to her back. She broke into her demon visage
and growled menacingly into the darkness.
“What is it?” Tara whispered quickly, her arm coming around to protect
Willow’s chest.
“Slayer,” Willow snarled. Tara immediately looked around. Not for
the Slayer, but for the nearest shelter they could run to. A science building
was nearby, a good hundred yards away. She could magic the lock. She didn’t
want Willow out in the open.
When she swung her head back to tell Willow this, she saw it was already too
late. The dark haired Slayer was running towards them.
“Stay BACK,” Tara commanded, not with magic, but with a sudden authority
that lent her quiet figure power as she stepped quickly around Willow to shield
her. She heard Willow growl in protest at being shoved behind, and felt her
push to switch, but Tara held firm. The Slayer came up short, standing a few
feet away with hands raised, breathing hard.
“Just wanna talk, Tinkerbell,” Faith offered. She made a gesture to
Willow, who was snarling warningly behind Tara. “Keep your Fang muzzled,
and we’re cool.”
Tara stared at the Slayer, assessing her.
“Will,” Tara finally said, firmness in her tone. “Faith doesn’t
want to fight.” She didn’t exactly feel Willow standing down behind
her, especially with the sub vocal growl emanating from her vampire, but she
didn’t exactly want to spend all night talking to Faith either.
“Okay, so what is it?” she asked the Slayer pointedly.
“Look,” Faith began. “It’s been a week, and B’s learned
her lesson, okay? No more being Terminator Slayer, her head is totally fucked
with now. So lift your curse or whatever, okay?!”
Tara frowned. “It’s not a curse, just a wish, and...I don’t think
even Anyanka can reverse it. I only wished for Buffy to have knowledge, that’s
all.”
“Well it’s really fucking with her head, Tink!” Faith exclaimed,
stabbing a finger at her own head in emphasis. “She’s--she’s
just like she was in the Magic Box, still freaked out! And it’s been a
week!”
“Oh boo hoo,” Willow sneered from behind Tara.
“Shut your mouth, vamp,” Faith warned, taking a step forward.
“Faith,” Tara said warningly. “Another step and this conversation
is over.” At this, the Slayer turned to Tara with pleading eyes.
“Fix this,” she asked, her brown eyes wide and beseeching.
“I can’t,” Tara admitted with sadness, feeling Faith’s pain.
“Nor can Anyanka. I only gave her knowledge. It’s up to Buffy how
she deals with it, and if she’s suffering because of it, that’s.”
Tara looked meaningfully at Faith, hoping the dark haired Slayer understood.
“That’s really up to her.”
Faith let out a cry of frustration, stomping the grass beneath her.
“Why didn’t you just wish it didn’t happen?!” she accused.
“Why didn’t you wish they never met, or--”
“You don’t play with things like the events of time!” Tara snapped.
“What’s done is done. Now there’s just after. And that’s
what we have to deal with.
“These things happen,” she finally added, looking at Faith with the
sadness she held in her heart. “You...you can only be there for her now.”
Faith stared at her, disbelief, anger, and disappointment raging in her features.
She finally raised both hands and flung them in a dismissive gesture at Tara.
“Fuck this,” she simply said, and turned to run quickly into the night.
“Fuck you,” Willow imparted cutely, though the Slayer was already
swallowed into the dark as she ran off. Keyed up by the confrontation--and by
her butch-Tara--Willow playfully bit with blunt teeth into her witch’s
shoulder.
She giggled.
Tara didn’t take Willow hunting for the next few nights. She was worried
about Faith, wondering if the dark haired Slayer’s frustrations with Buffy’s
suffering might eventually be redirected at Willow instead. Willow understood
the wisdom of being kept in, but she didn’t have to like it.
So she preoccupied herself with that very unvampire thing Tara had just taught
her; she knitted instead.
* * *
When Buffy slept, she dreamt of a lonely childhood spent with a wonderful, infuriating,
dark haired boy whom she had the utmost love, trust, and eventual longing for.
She dreamt of books, and science, and math, and of report cards with letters
proudly accumulated like girl scout badges.
She dreamt of a first crush, of a first kiss, and then of a seduction and of
a painful, scary death.
She dreamt of blood and more death, but these were things she was familiar with.
What was not familiar was the love that eventually flared within; new, incredible,
encompassing, like a mini sun.
Buffy dreamt of a woman’s cherished, warm embrace, and the press of her
soft body, and the press of her soft lips, and the coursing, singing flow of
her magic, giving a world electrified and reborn to her.
Buffy would awaken, but the dreaming memories were not the memories that drove
her mad. When she was awake, she remembered exactly those memories that hurt
her most, and she did not want those memories. It killed her. She remembered
experiencing another reality, some alternate place, where ‘another-she’
existed and ‘another-like the vampire’ existed, except this another
was the girl, not the vampire.
And they were friends.
She remembered seeing the utter devotion in her double’s eyes, for her
dear friend.
She saw how her other self protected her.
Buffy wailed in anguish in her Watcher’s bathtub.
This was the knowledge that killed her.
* * *
“Hm hm hmmm,” Willow hummed softly, as her knitting needles clicked
rhythmically together.
Funny, the last time she hummed happily was when she was lighting matches and
dropping them on Puppy’s chest. Willow smiled. That was one of her favorite
games with Puppy, she fondly recalled. She then frowned. She couldn’t believe
that she was comparing the fun of torturing Puppy with the pleasure(??) of knitting
her witch a scarf. She was now inclined to tear her work up.
Willow raised the half finished scarf to her face and enjoyed the softness of
the yarn. It would be such a waste of Puppy’s money to tear it up though.
And Amy did assure her that the color was the deepest indigo blue that she could
find at the craft shop, which was a color Willow was certain would look wonderful
on her Tara.
Willow’s knitting needles resumed clicking again.
She had persuaded Puppy into giving her witch ‘Willow support’ checks.
If Puppy could buy a mansion, he could easily help Tara feed and clothe Willow,
and since he was Family, his ‘Little One’ was not above taking advantage
of his money. She had no master, and no sire anymore. Puppy was the next best
thing. Unfortunately, her witch was above accepting the money. Willow
decided that the next time she saw Jenny she would ask the coven head to convince
Tara that ‘Willow support’ was nothing to be ashamed of.
She was beginning to suspect that Tara was doing without so that Willow could
have things. She highly doubted that peanut butter and ramen noodles were her
witch’s favorite foods.
Which was why Willow was very happy to be able to hunt again. She could not
eat Puppy’s stinky butcher’s animal blood, she would rather starve.
So Tara had bought her overpriced human blood stock from Willy’s Bar instead,
especially to help the vampire heal faster. She hoped Tara would be able to
save some money now that Willow could find her food afoot, as was the natural
way of doing things.
“I could whore myself,” she realized, as her knitting needles clicked.
“Bite the human bite-addicts for money...work at a bleeder’s bar...”
She set her needles down at the thought. It was a humiliating idea, and pretty
depressing really. But when she thought about it, she wasn’t doing real
hunting right now, being blind and all, and dragging her witch around was definitely
not fun for her Tara. Her girl needed that time to devote to her studies.
When Willow resumed knitting again, she busied her mind with giving herself
a little pep talk. If she didn’t convince herself by the time Tara came
home to do the honest thing and become a whore, then Willow will just have to
think of something else. It was too bad that her witch didn’t like it when
the vampire liberated people of their money. Arguing that her snack victims
should compensate the vampire for not killing them had not gone over well.
She rapidly blinked a couple of times as she knitted. There were some very tiny
sparklies, in her constant darkness.
She suddenly stopped knitting. She stared harder ahead of her, blinking some
more.
There really were tiny sparks of light before her vision. Was she having a weird,
medical moment? Was she going to pass out? Maybe she shouldn’t have snacked
on her witch’s new mystery herb, hoping it was a hallucinogen.
She kept blinking. The pattern of the sparklies became eerily familiar to her.
They were her witch’s Christmas lights.
* * *
Faith groaned, and managed to smoosh her face further into the macaroni and
cheese deli dish on the bathroom floor. For a moment, she thought she had passed
out in her own puke. Then she remembered, as she hauled herself up and gingerly
felt her jaw--which the blonde Slayer had landed an impressive haymaker on.
Tried to feed Buffy again.
A Buffy who was noticeably absent from Gile’s tub, her empty chains littering
the porcelain bottom.
“SHIT,” Faith swore, and shakily regained her feet.
* * *
Willow was at the entrance of the dorm building, waiting impatiently for her
witch’s return.
She clutched the door frame with excitement. It was night, and Tara was bringing
Amy from the Magic Box, but oh, where were they already? Willow had something
to show her witch!
She blinked and stared hard into the distance. She wasn’t sure, but the
very tiny light she was discerning might be that overhead lamp that lit one
of the campus trails to the dorms.
When she tried to stare at the hallway lights above her, that was more confusing,
however. Those lights were like shadows, but in reverse. Either that, or she
was giving herself eyestrain already. She couldn’t see shapes yet. Little
lights were all she could make out, flitting in her familiar darkness. Little
lights could only promise to become bigger ones--big, fuzzy ones, even. She
could live with that. That meant that soon--soon!! She’ll finally, finally
get to see her Tara’s eyes.
“Get away from me!” she heard a girl scream suddenly, from outside,
somewhere. “You creep!--AH!!”
Willow’s ears pricked up. Who was that? Debbie Cho? That girl who was always
borrowing detergent? If it was her, apparently she wasn’t going to make
it back to the dorm building. Willow could hear the scuffle of shoes on grass
and the low, derisive laugh of a vampire playing with his meal.
“Help me! Someone help!!”
This being Sunnydale, it wasn’t like anyone was going to answer that plea.
He should be going in for the kill now, Willow thought idly, as her fingers
drummed on the door frame.
“Please!!”
Willow sighed. Hurry up, she thought.
“HEL--mpfhh!”
A male’s laughter.
“Oh,” Willow spat. “Fuck this!”
She left the door frame and stepped outside.
“Heh hehheh,” the male vampire laughed.
“MmrrHHH!!!” Debbie screamed against his hand.
“Hey you. Stupid,” Willow called, as she made her way across the grass
to where the little ‘altercation’ was going on. “Take that somewhere
else.”
She could feel the fledge’s incredulity.
“I’m on safe ground,” he protested, easily recognizing Willow
as kindred. “I heard the Slayer can’t get within hundr’d feet
of this building.”
“Dumb ass,” Willow commented. She pointed down at where she stood.
“You’re not even close. The protection ward doesn’t start until
over here.” She sensed the fledge’s further surprise, and then heard
the labored shuffle as he dragged a struggling Debbie over to where Willow was
standing.
Moron, Willow thought smugly, and then lashed out.
Andrew had compared Willow’s uncanny accuracy in sparring to some movie
monster called ‘The Predator’--some creature that targeted prey via
heat sensoring or whatever. Willow never got to hear the rest of his analogy
because she had thought it a great opportunity to gleefully run over while he
was nattering and pants him.
She never really thought about it, but maybe she did detect things by heat,
or else it would have been Debbie’s face all slashed up by her clawed attack,
rather than the male vampire’s.
“Fu--” the male managed to give out, as Willow followed through on
her slashing arm to collide with him.
In the confusion, Debbie slipped away with a frightened shriek and conveniently
fell off Willow’s radar. That left her and the male tumbling in each other’s
arms down the grassy slope outside her witch’s dorm.
When they reached the bottom of the slope, the fledge tried to pin her to the
ground.
The male was as big as Puppy and actually heavier, but he wasn’t as good
a fighter of course. Willow easily flipped him over and exchanged some nice,
violent blows with the fledge. A few vicious kicks were added for good measure.
Finally, she got him face down on the grass.
“Nighty night,” she sweetly bade, straddling his back. She got a secure
hold of his head and with a hard twist, ripped it right off.
The ‘poof’ of ash immediately after was really satisfying, Willow
thought smugly. It was the first time she’d killed anything since before
meeting Tara.
“Deb?” Willow called out, dusting her hands from where she sat in
the grass. “Where are you? I need a little help--”
In some indiscernible far distance, she heard the ominous slam of a dorm building
door.
“Bitch,” Willow bit out. “See if I ever lend you Tara’s
detergent again.”
She sat there on the cool ground, trying to get a read on her surroundings.
She sighed. Yeah, right, like as if she really did have internal, special sensors.
All she knew was that she was at the bottom of a steep slope. Three different
dorm buildings were somewhere above her, and she didn’t know which one
was her witch’s.
“Will,” she heard said softly in the distance behind her; a whispered
sound carried on the wind.
Willow froze.
Funny how the drift of that voice had reached her first before the dreaded tingle.
“Will,” came the whisper again, traveling on the night breeze. She
felt that presence come closer. Steadily closer.
Willow, the vampire told herself. You really should try moving now. Running
would be good.
However, her legs chose that moment to act like they did back in that cage.
Silly legs.
C’mon, she mentally urged them, feeling just a wee bit hysterical. We want
to show Tara that maybe we can see again.
“Will,” she heard said brokenly, that voice no longer sounding brittle,
or cold. Just really, really...not together. Which was definitely not of the
good.
Bare feet on grass shuffled ever closer to her.
“You,” Willow breathed, thinking she really should stand up now. Stand
up, look tuff. Be Vampire. Get up, her inner Willow snarled. “You,
got no right to call me that. Or anything. I’ll rip your tongue
out,” she finally menaced.
“’m...” the Slayer snuffled. Willow smelled sweat. Old blood
beneath bruises. Snot. Tears. “Sorry...so sorry....”
Willow turned and tried frantically to scramble up the slope, stupid legs be
damned.
“No!” she heard forcefully cried behind her. “No don’t go!
Please!”
Hands--those hard, cruel hands--clutched the waistband of the worn jeans her
witch had given her and pulled her back down. Willow swung wildly. Her fist
only whistled through the air. She missed!! Shit, how could she have missed!
“Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” The Slayer sobbed above
her. Willow tried not to cower. What was this?? Was this going to be a mercy
killing, is that what she was saying sorry for? Willow couldn’t smell wood,
but the Slayer could kill her with her bare hands easily.
“Okay, so you’re sorry, fine,” Willow snarled, vainly pulling
fierceness over the fear making a really big fool of her. “Do I look like
I care? Happy would be me taking your eyes!!”
“I know,” the Slayer said, and her voice moved downwards, like she
was--kneeling?? Kneeling in front of Willow? “I know. And...so glad you
can see now.” the Slayer laughed weakly. “So glad you’re getting
better.”
How could--? Willow thought. How could she know?!
“So you can finally....finally see her eyes,” the Slayer was softly
saying.
“What,” Willow barely said.
“Her eyes,” the Slayer whispered tearfully. “Her brav--”
“SHUT UP!” Willow screamed at her. “SHUT UP!!”
“God, had I known,” the Slayer cried, rawness in her voice. “But
now...now I understand. The way you feel....it’s so....”
The Slayer broke down for a moment.
“She has,” the Slayer then continued. “One hundred, seventy-five
lights in her room......”
No, Willow thought.
“They come in.....sets of thirty-five. Three lights were burned out, but....you
helped replace th--”
Willow’s fists flew out, and this time they connected.
She could do nothing but hit and hit and hit and hit, her mouth open in a silent
scream as she pounded on the Slayer. She felt flesh give, bone crack, blood
fly. The Slayer had no right, no right, no RIGHT--all Willow had was that, her
precious love, and now the Slayer had--
I’ll kill you!! Her mind screamed, when her throat could not. I’ll
kill you!!
“FUCK!” she heard a tough voice exclaim from afar and something suddenly
impacted hard with Willow’s face, sending her crashing back on the grass.
“You little--crazy fuck!!” Faith cried. Willow tried to scramble away.
“TARA!” she desperately screamed. The other Slayer threw her back
down on the ground.
“TARA!” Willow screamed again, and felt more blows impact her chest,
her ribs, her head--she tried to curl up.
“I should kill you--for B’--I should end your miserable--” Faith
cried. She kept kicking her, especially in the head--
Tara, Willow thought. Tara. Sorry. Tara.
“How does that feel?! How do you like it?!” Faith shouted down at
her.
The blows kept coming.
Bits of her were breaking.
Her head was going to come off any minute now.
Funny. she could see--
Were those
stars?
in the sky?
Faith’s boot came down hard. Again. Again. Stomp.
Were those her
Tara’s
Christmas
lights?
STOMP
Things were Shining.
Oh. Willow thought. This is. It. Not now. Have to say. I love you.
The kicks finally stopped.
She felt magic.
* * *
Tara did not know what made her run.
It had felt suddenly like the world had lurched and gone upside down, and if
she didn’t hurry, it would never be right again.
Amy would say later, that Tara ran because she’d heard Willow scream.
Tara doesn’t remember that. All she remembered was the horrifying scene
they found when they headed for the slope.
Tara grabbed Amy’s hand.
“SEPARATE,” she shouted down. Amy’s power made up for the distance.
Faith went flying.
And Willow just....laid there.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy wailed, in her own huddled mass of blood and
tears. “...so sorry....Sorry...”
“We can do a healing spell,” Amy hurriedly babbled as she and Tara
hurtled down the slope. “We can do one right now.”
“All she thought of was you--” Buffy cried out in an attempt to tell
Tara, as the blonde witch and Amy knelt quickly by Willow’s still form
and clasped hands over her. The Slayer’s hand went out pleadingly. “Faith
kept...kicking and...and all she wanted was her last thought to be you.”
“What,” Faith roughly ejected, as she staggered to her feet. She ignored
the chanting witches. “What the fuck are you saying, B’?”
Faith suddenly clutched her head, eyes wide at the immediate, frightening conclusion
she managed to draw from Buffy’s words.
“Everything she knows,” Buffy whispered, her large, wet eyes on the
spell being performed before her. “Everything. Like it’s dark now.
And she’s swimming. Swimming so hard.”
“Shit,” Faith said brokenly. “B’. Why didn’t you say
something? If you’re in some kinda--mind meld--I....I coulda killed you....”
“Air,” Buffy suddenly intoned in a hard voice, concentrating on Willow’s
still body.
“HHHHuh,” Willow gasped, her one good eye flying open.
“Kill you,” she rasped out, as Tara and Amy dropped their hands and
ended their spell. “Get...out of...my head!”
“Hurts,” Willow then whimpered, realizing with a sudden swell of profound
joy that a familiar, warm presence was near.
“Amy, get my kit. And call Angel. And Jenny,” Tara quickly bade, grasping
one of Willow’s bruised hands and bringing it reassuringly to her lips.
So many parts of Willow were broken, the blonde witch thought, as she tried
not to panic.
“What about,” Amy merely said, making an indication with her head
in Faith’s direction.
“I can handle her,” Tara curtly answered, not even sparing the dark
haired Slayer a glance.
“I’ll get everything,” Amy promised, and began running up the
slope.
“All her...fault. She’s, been, in my head!” Willow tried to tell
her witch.
“See what you did!” Faith shot off. “Did you know this was gonna
happen?!”
“Of course not,” Tara snapped, soothing Willow’s hand. Her and
Amy’s spell had stopped the frightening blood flow from Willow’s head,
but the blood that had oozed from her ears and eyes was alarming her. “If...if
they’re connected in that way, Buffy can block Willow with meditation.
It’s simple really,” she added distractedly.
“Simple?!” Faith shouted incredulously.
I...owe her, pain,” Willow whispered, as she felt Tara’s comforting
grip. “I want back what’s mine!” she managed to growl.
“Yes,” Buffy said, head bowed. Her blonde locks beneath the moonlight
were devoid of color, and streaked dark with her blood. “Willow should
have her vengeance.”
The vampire could not believe what the Slayer was saying.
A sudden, demonic elation filled her--a rush of familiar, jubilant darkness
that was hungry, ruthless, and greedy.
Cage you, she thought at the Slayer, her throat unable to work from her excitement.
Cage you, hurt you--one night--one night to do everything you did to
me.
“Yes,” Buffy agreed, out loud. “Everything.”
Willow was ecstatic.
And it was funny, the paradoxes of one’s situation. Even as she crowed
and danced madly inside at this final victory over the Slayer, she spasmed suddenly,
her witch holding her in alarm. Desperation and fear were in her Tara’s
voice.
“Will,” she heard Tara say.
And it was really stupid, that during a moment like this, all weak, and, trying
not to make a mess on Tara--with the blood spewing back up--that she should
suddenly experience some clarity; for one thing, it had always been about
the Slayer, hadn’t it. She killed her Master, she killed her Xander, and
still Willow had tried to think like a self preserving vampire--for once--and
stayed away from her. Willow didn’t start this. And when the Slayer tortured
her? That could have been any vampire. It hadn’t even been about Willow.
No, this had always been about that bitch. That stupid, selfish bitch.
Messing up, her unlife--again--with the ‘hurt me hurt me, now, I’m
Sorry’, well that just--
Fed Up, Now--
Willow spat out the blood she kept coughing up, as her Tara held her.
“YOU,” she ground out. “Keep away from me! Had it with you! Stay
away, get out of my life!!
“Stupid--Cry-Buffy!” she further spat. “Wah, you. Wah my dead
mommy. Wah, my, dead daddy. Well I don’t--care about your Daddy! Don’t
care about your Mommy! Don’t care about your fucking dead girlfriend,
and don’t care about you!!” she screamed at the Slayer.
“I know,” Buffy gasped brokenly, guilt and shame tearing at her heart
for what she’d done to the vampire in the names of her dead loved ones.
“I know. And.” And when she finally looked up, a sudden illumination
swept over the Slayer’s face--a realization that laid itself like a mantle
over her suffering and sorrow, blessing her visage with wide-eyed truth. “And
it’s okay,” she whispered, staring at Willow with awe.
In the silence that followed, Willow’s bloodied lips merely twisted in
a painful sneer.
“Bored now, with your stupid...epiphany,” Willow finally hissed out.
She spasmed again. “Don’t feel good,” she whimpered up to Tara.
And she slumped.
And it became black.
* * *