by AntigoneUnbound » Tue Feb 04, 2003 11:20 pm
Gods Served and Abandoned
Disclaimers:
I don’t own any of these folks; I just try to treat them the way they deserve.
Spoilers:
Up to season 5. I’ve played slightly with the timing of a certain Big Bad’s appearance, with some implications for Dawn’s entrance.
Rating:
R for now; if it changes, I’ll give heads-up.
Distribution:
Sure, with acknowledgement.
Feedback:
Even more sure! Bring it on!
*****
Part 10
*****
"Donnie, w-would you take Mom’s iced-tea up to her? I’m almost done with the soup and toast, and it w-would save me making two trips." From her position by the stove, Tara looked at her brother warily. She never asked Donnie for anything, but she was so tired from the countless trips up and down the stairs, not to mention the late-night studying to keep her grades up, that she decided to risk it.
He grunted dismissively. "D-d-d-don’t you th-th-th-think you c-c-c-could use the exercise, Sis? You got breeder’s hips if ever I seen ’em." He laughed at his own joke, and the harsh noise drowned out the sound of their father entering the kitchen. Tara saw the hard slash of his mouth tighten even more as he glared at his son.
"Watch your language, Donald. You’ll not talk to your sister in that way." Nathan Maclay looked over at Tara, who, despite his words, felt no warmth or protectiveness emanating from him. What she did feel, what she had felt almost constantly for the last several years, was resentment and bitterness.
What did I do, Daddy? Just tell me, and I’ll apologize. But you have to tell me what I did.
Their father turned back to Donnie. "Get your lazy body out of that chair and help your sister. And apologize while you’re at it."
Donnie glowered at Tara with an expression that told her what she could expect later, even as he sullenly muttered, "Sorry, Tara." He pushed his chair back from the table with an angry shove and made his way over to the stove.
"H-here’s the tea. You can just put it on the t-table by her bed."
In a low voice, Donnie replied, "Really? P-p-p-put it on the table? I was thinkin’ of puttin’ it in her dresser with her socks."
Tara said nothing until he reached the doorway, and then called out, "Thanks, D-Donnie."
She looked nervously at her father, who glanced downward as soon as she caught his eye. When he looked back up, he seemed angrier than before, and Tara had no earthly idea why.
She hated these moments alone with her father almost as much as she hated being caught alone by Donnie. Her father always seemed so resentful toward her, and it felt as if the more she tried to placate him, the angrier he became. When it was just the two of them, her anxiety raged almost out of control. Should she try to speak to him, engage him in conversation? What about? Was there a safe topic? Anything he might want to talk about? Or maybe he’d prefer to be left in silence, without her bothering him. But what if he thought she was being rude, or stand-offish? Which was worse—to irritate him, or offend him?
Deciding that if he had wanted silence, he could have left the room, Tara ventured a question. "How’s the p-planting going, Daddy?"
His frown told her she’d made a mistake. What? What did I say? They’re planting corn all this week, aren’t they?
"Have you looked outside, Tara? I know you don’t dirty your hands much with the farm work, but even you should know that we don’t plant corn when it’s still so muddy from the rain."
The rain. Right, it rained hard these last two days. I knew that; I just forgot. But Daddy, don’t you know that I’m taking care of Mom? Do you even notice?
Aloud, she said, "I’m s-sorry, Sir. I should have realized that." Now the soup was ready and the toast was lightly buttered, and Tara wanted to get it upstairs to her mother before it got cold. But if she left now, would he think she was being disrespectful? Walking out on him?
She looked at him uncertainly. "Would you like some soup, Daddy? It’s tomato; home-made. And I could m-make you some toast?"
Did his expression soften, just slightly? "No, I’m heading back out to the barn. I’m fixing some machinery. Tell Donnie to come on out when he gets back downstairs."
"Yes, Sir. G-good luck with the machinery."
He turned to leave, and then paused in the doorway. Without looking back, he said, almost inaudibly, "Thank you." And then he was gone.
*****
Sitting in his hotel room, Donnie pulled out the small, silver key that would open the lock box. Moments later, he gazed down into the box’s contents and smiled.
"Daddy, you poor, dumb son of a bitch. What were you thinking?"
*****
Tara and Willow huddled under the comforter, Willow resting her head on Tara’s shoulder while Tara’s arms lay protectively about her. The room was redolent with sandalwood, sage, and the very singular scent of really, really hot sex between two women. Willow’s hand still nestled between Tara’s legs—half relaxed, half proprietary.
When Willow opened her eyes, she was greeted with the very exquisite sight of Tara’s breasts. And they’re mine, all mine! Even in this sleepy state, she was consummately aware that if anyone tried to horn in on her babe, she’d reduce them to ash.
"Tasty Tara Tater-Tots," she mumbled. A low rumble of laughter answered this random observation.
"Tater-Tots? Are you hungry?" The arms tightened slightly; Willow felt a gentle kiss nuzzle the top of her head.
She pulled herself slowly to wakefulness. "You…Your body. All the sweet, savory parts…They’re tasty Tara Tater-Tots. And they’re all mine." She pulled back slightly to look up into Tara’s eyes. "Nobody gets to eat you but me."
"Well look at you…Ma’am, yes Ma’am." Tara’s eyes belied the gentleness behind the teasing. I never dreamed that someone would ever want me all to herself. And never somebody like Willow. "Rest assured that ‘Tara’s Terrace of Tender, Tantalizing Tater-Tots’ only has one table, for one customer."
"Truly?"
"Trust me."
"Totally."
They lay in silence for a few minutes, each woman musing at first over other phrases they could use to prolong the consonance. Then their minds wandered back to the events of the day. In Sunnydale, it was hard to keep the Metro section of one’s mental newspaper at too great a distance.
"I wonder how Buffy’s doing tonight? I mean, God, how did she feel when she first saw Dawn, knowing she’s the Key?" Willow frowned, and burrowed more deeply into Tara’s warmth.
She heard Tara sigh. "I don’t know, Will. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for her…not just with Dawn, but with her mom, too."
Wrapping her arms more tightly over Tara’s belly, Willow murmured, "You were great tonight. Being there for Buffy…"
"Oh, Sweetie…Thank you. I think we all sort of make this…I don’t know, mosaic, I guess, where we each try to add some piece that we believe we’re good at. And the end product usually works pretty well, but it’s because we’ve each given something unique."
Willow sighed. "God, metaphors make me hot."
"Well, you have your own endless supply of Tater-Tots right here," Tara laughed.
"Tara Tater-Tots," Willow admonished her. "Don’t be fooled by cheap imitations." She nuzzled Tara’s breasts and grinned like the supremely happy woman she was.
After a while, Willow broached another difficult subject—not because she wanted to, but because it was still hovering over them. "Baby, are you worried about Donnie? He didn’t contact you today, did he?"
Tara’s hands stilled just briefly on her back before resuming their gentle tracing. "No, he didn’t try to find me after class or leave a message or anything." She sighed, a mixture of anxiety and sadness. "I’m hoping it means that he went back to Cold Springs, but I’m sort of afraid to believe it."
"But why, Tara? Why would he spend so much time and energy trying to get you to come back, if that’s what he’s doing? The two of you weren’t exactly close." She shifted, moving to lay face to face with Tara.
"Since when do you go for understatement, Willow?" Tara’s attempt at a smile left much to be desired.
"No, we’re definitely not close. I can’t bring myself to say I hate him, because I just don’t want to invite that kind of energy into my life; but he’s the only person I’ve ever wanted to hate, or thought I hated."
"So why’s he doing this?" Willow was truly perplexed. She could feel Donnie’s antipathy radiate off of him in the Magic Shop and outside of the Espresso Pump. True, he must have hated the idea of her being so independent and assertive, but it seemed that he would also want her as far away from him as possible. Wouldn’t he?
Tara was silent, and remained silent, until Willow felt a cold horror start to spread over her. She felt almost paralyzed with the force of it.
Oh, goddess, no. Please, not that.
Should she ask? Would it be intrusive? Or would her silence, her decision not to ask directly, lead Tara to think that she couldn’t handle such a revelation? She spoke softly, and tentatively.
"Baby, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, but I can hear whatever you need to say." She took a deep breath. "Baby…Did Donnie molest you?"
Tara’s face seemed almost unbearably sad, and then she shook her head, very slightly.
"Actually, that’s about the only thing he didn’t do, Willow. I guess he gets points for that."
Willow propped herself up on one elbow, hot waves of anger washing through her. "No, he certainly gets no points for not molesting his sister. You don’t commend a wife-beater for not breaking any bones."
She loves me. She loves me so fiercely.
"I know, Sweetie; I was just trying...No, Donnie doesn’t get points for much of anything. But he didn’t molest me," she added.
Willow touched Tara’s face gently. "You know that even if he had, it wouldn’t change my feelings for you; that you would still be my Tara, right?" She felt, intuitively, that this was very important, and she desperately wanted Tara to believe her.
"Yes, I know that, my love. And I know that you would change Donnie into a mongoose if I asked you to."
"I was thinking more along the lines of a hog, just before heading off to market." She pulled Tara next to her, cradling her in her arms.
"It’s just…goddess, Willow, he was so cruel and I never, ever knew why. I tried to tell myself that it was just typical sibling teasing; big brother stuff. But I knew…I knew that he really wanted to hurt me; that he would have been more than happy if I—if I weren’t around."
Willow felt her stomach lurch again. "Tara, Baby, did he try—try to hurt you really bad? Like…endanger you?" Without thinking, she tightened her arms around her beloved, as if the current protection could undo the past assaults.
Tara spoke so softly that Willow could barely hear her. "No…He didn’t try to kill me. But I’m pretty sure he wanted me dead."
Willow felt a ripple of incredulous horror. What would it be like, knowing that someone who was supposed to love you wanted you dead? How could the world ever look normal to you?
She could only murmur, "My sweet Baby…I—I don’t know what to say."
She felt Tara smile against her skin. "Neither did I, for eighteen years. I was always trying to find the right words, the words to make it stop, but I never could."
"Do you have any idea why? I mean, not that there’s any justification for it; it’s just…God, that kind of anger, and from someone who shares your genes. Tara, you’re the gentlest person I’ve ever known. How could the two of you be siblings? How could he ever be mad at you?"
Tara edged back slightly, enough to look Willow in the face. "Maybe I was the only one he could get mad at; the only one who couldn’t fight back." She tucked her head back snugly against Willow’s chest. "But somehow that doesn’t seem…enough, you know? I mean, it feels like there’s more; like there’s something so…personal about it."
Willow could think of nothing to say to this. The idea of anyone hating Tara, especially anyone who had spent more than five minutes with her, was simply incomprehensible to her.
"Was he this angry with your mom and dad?" She desperately wanted to understand what had happened to Donnie, why he was who he was. He was Tara’s brother, and Willow would have been intrigued by him for that reason if no other. But he had hurt Tara; hurt the kindest, truest soul she had ever encountered. That made it almost imperative for her to understand it all, because if she understood, she could hopefully help protect Tara.
"Oh, he never raised his voice to Dad. He spent almost all his time with him, helping on the farm. You know, I’m almost sure Dad beat Donnie on a pretty regular basis. There were lots of times when I’d be outside for whatever reason and I’d see Donnie holding one arm funny, or looking like he was trying not to cry. Dad ruled that world with an iron fist."
"That world?" Willow echoed Tara’s words.
"The world outside the house; the farm and the land. Dad gave the orders and Donnie followed them; I did, too. But inside, in the house…It was almost like there was another set of rules, at least for Donnie and for Dad. Nobody ever said it out loud, but Mom was the authority in the house, and she didn’t get it through raising her voice or using a belt or anything like that."
Willow was fascinated. Tara had never spoken at such length about her family before, and Willow was almost afraid to breathe, lest she somehow interrupt Tara’s narrative and silence her.
"Donnie knew that Dad would never tolerate him being disrespectful to Mom, so I never heard him say anything in anger. I’m—I’m not sure exactly what Donnie felt towards Mom, but he didn’t say anything that would get him into trouble." Tara was silent for a moment, and Willow forced herself to remain quiet as well.
"And Daddy…I swear, Willow, I think he was almost afraid of her. I don’t mean physically afraid of her, like she would just up and pull a gun on him some day. It was like she had some power over him and he didn’t like it but he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do anything about it."
Now Willow’s mind was buzzing even as her heart held onto the ache she felt for her beloved. Power? But Tara’s dad knew that his wife wasn’t a demon, didn’t he? Although Tara had said that she didn’t think it was physical in nature. So what was it?
Now Tara fell silent again, until Willow began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. Just as she was about to try to shift slightly, to look at Tara’s face, she heard her voice wafting up to her again.
"It’s just so…so sad, Willow…We were supposed to be a family, and now look at us." She sighed heavily against Willow’s chest.
After a moment, Willow let herself venture a question. "Baby, your mom sounds like such an incredible woman." She felt a tiny smile curving into her skin. "But—Tara, why didn’t she protect you from Donnie?"
She felt Tara stiffen, and wished she hadn’t broached something that clearly brought Tara pain. "Tara, Baby, you don’t have to answer that; I mean, I’m sorry if it sounds like I was blaming your mom—"
"No, it’s OK. I’d ask the same thing if our positions were reversed." Tara shifted and sat up slightly, looking evenly at Willow. "I truly don’t think she knew, Willow. Goddess knows I never told—"
"But why?" Willow broke in, and instantly regretted doing so. Who was she to question Tara’s decisions, the decisions of a frightened, abused child? "Tara, I’m sorry. I—I guess I keep wanting to…to read some version of this where it doesn’t happen, and I keep trying to think of how it could have been avoided." She broke off, and stroked Tara’s cheek softly. "But it couldn’t have been avoided—not by anything you could have done. I know that."
Tara gave Willow a gentle kiss, and then pulled back, looking at her with eyes that suddenly seemed much older than they had an hour ago.
"I didn’t tell Mom, because the only time I threatened to, Donnie flat-out swore he’d kill me if I did." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. Willow, by contrast, couldn’t speak at all.
"And then he hit me once more, hard—right in the stomach. After that, I gave up the idea of telling Mom."
Willow finally found her voice. "Do you think she had any idea?"
"I’m not sure… I think so, because she talked about that kind of stuff, indirectly, a couple of times. But I always said no. I wanted to tell her, I wanted to so badly; but there was no way I was going to risk it. I knew he’d find me." Her voice softened again, became almost inaudible. "Just like he’s found me now."
Willow felt her heart squeeze with a sense of rage and protectiveness so piercing so that it burned. When she trusted herself to speak, she said, "He won’t hurt you, Tara. I will never let him hurt you." To herself, she added a silent vow: I’ll hurt him first if I have to.
*****
Cold Springs is a dull town, by anyone’s standards. It’s the kind of place where there’s not much to distract you besides your own company after your work’s done and the sun goes down. You have a lot of time to think in places like Cold Springs.
Beth Maclay was thinking now. She was nearly always thinking, always had been. Life had been harder to her, she knew, than to Tara or Donnie. Her own father—Uncle Nathan’s brother—had run off and left her and her mother almost ten years ago, and for awhile her mother had let herself go. Barely kept a clean house; had any number of men coming around. Some had treated her mother with something approximating kindness; others had been unabashed in their singular intentions. Still others—the worst ones—had seemed to enjoy being around Beth almost as much as her mother. She cringed at the thought.
And then her mother had found God, and God had surely never been the same. Her mother dragged her to a church just outside of Cold Springs for awhile, an evangelical place that held tent revivals and encouraged speaking in tongues. Beth could still feel the unforgiving wooden pews of the church; she could still feel the fear and eventually the embarrassment she’d felt when her mother joined in the more histrionic paroxysms of Christian piety.
Finally her mother had eased back to a place just this side of frenzied in her faith, and starting attending the Cold Springs First Baptist Church. (To Beth’s knowledge, there wasn’t a second and certainly not a third Baptist church in the little town; she wasn’t quite sure what the competition was all about.) Gradually, her mother’s beliefs became her own and Beth attended the church now with something akin to true devotion. It was the church that her Uncle Nathan attended, which made it good enough for her.
Uncle Nathan was the father she should have had, she knew. She suspected that her father had run off because her mother had gotten lazy and fat; maybe she hadn’t been a wife to him in all the ways that she was supposed to. But she also remembered her father as an angry, red-faced man who was drunk much of the time. Uncle Nathan, by contrast, was never out of control. He didn’t let his emotions get the best of him; he didn’t run around making a scene at bars or revivals. He was a good man, and yet Tara apparently thought she was too good for him. This angered her greatly.
Now Donnie was down in Sunnydale, trying to convince Tara to come back. "But she doesn’t belong here," Beth muttered to herself, rinsing out the frying pan she’d just washed. "She never did."
So why had she helped Donnie by giving him Uncle Nathan’s lock box, something that Uncle Nathan would surely never forgive her for if he ever found out?
Because Donnie had said Uncle Nathan would be grateful to her. Donnie had as much as said that Tara didn’t belong with their family; that Beth was the daughter Uncle Nathan deserved.
But what was in the box? She’d shaken it gently, without an ounce of self-consciousness, but she hadn’t been able to discern anything. A mild rustling; something sliding back and forth across the bottom of the box. She’d been afraid to try anything more strenuous, for fear that she’d break something. She still had no clue of what Donnie had been so eager to get his hands on. She only knew that he was sure it would have a huge impact on Tara and her decision.
She should have held out for more information. She should have made him tell her what was in the box before she agreed to give it to him. But he’d been so persuasive, assuring her that Uncle Nathan would appreciate her part in all of this.
Beth loved her mother in a kind of distant, obligatory way that held more than a hint of distaste. Her mother was still so lost, so bereft, and always complaining to anyone who’d listen (and to lots of folks who wouldn’t) that her life had been so hard since her husband had left…raising her daughter all alone, trying to keep her fed and clothed, trying to give her good morals. Beth thought this was self-serving hogwash. Between her mother’s whoring and her Holy-rolling, Beth figured she’d pretty much raised herself.
And now she was living in a warm, comfortable house with someone she could be proud to call a father. And Donnie…Well, she’d have to keep her eye on Donnie. She sensed that he saw more than she wanted him to see when he looked at her. She was used to being the one who could walk around unnoticed and see where the openings were. But Donnie had that skill in a different way.
Reaching for a drying towel, Beth decided that she would make Donnie her ally of sorts, at least for the time being. "Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer," her father used to say in his drunken voice, as if he were imparting words of great wisdom. Well, maybe he had been. As a Christian woman, Beth didn’t like to think of herself as someone who would have enemies, or feel uncharitably toward someone. But there was Uncle Nathan to consider, and he’d been through enough already—first losing his wife, and then his daughter acting that way. Staying as close to the Maclay household as she could—it was the right thing to do.
*****
That night, Beth dreamt of a family picture, and Uncle Nathan saying, "Come on in here, Beth. You belong in this picture."
Donnie dreamt of a blond woman who never looked at him, just kept walking away from him, even though he yelled at her and begged her to turn around. She finally stopped, and he thought for a moment she might come back to him, but then her hair turned red and in his mind he could hear her saying, "That’s much better. That’s the way it’s supposed to be."
Buffy dreamt of bimbos in high heels pounding on her door, until Dawn told her, "It’s OK, I’ll get it. I know it’s for me."
Willow dreamt of walking on stacks and stacks of magic books back through time until she stood in front of Tara’s house and whispered, "Tara—come with me. I’m here to save you," and then a little blond girl appeared in the window, fighting back tears and mouthing words that Willow couldn’t understand.
And Tara dreamt of walking into her room to find Donnie looking through her spell book. He turned and grinned at her and said, "Cat’s out of the bag, Little Sister," and then he plunged their father’s hunting knife into his own stomach and winked at her as he slid to the floor.
To Be Continued
Edited by: AntigoneUnbound at: 2/4/03 9:25:50 pm