by AntigoneUnbound » Thu Jan 02, 2003 9:07 pm
Gods Served and Abandoned
Part 4
Disclaimers: I certainly don’t own anyone in the following paragraphs. No, I sure don’t. Don’t bother looking under the bed, ’cause they’re not there.
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!
HEADS-UP: This story contains an inside look into one character’s very unpleasant mind. As we all know, evil is rarely so considerate as to announce itself with fangs.
*****
"Tara? Are you almost ready?"
"Just about. I’m almost all dressed."
"Good. We don’t want to be late for such a big day, do we?" She heard the light, quick sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then the beloved face was smiling at her from the doorway of her room.
"Well hello there, Bright Eyes! Look at you, all dressed up!"
"And I p-picked out my favorite dress, M-Mommy. See? It’s the one with the p-purple flowers on it."
"I see. You know, I finished that dress in a week, but I took three extra days just to sew all the love into it."
"You did?" Sometimes her Mommy joked and sometimes she was completely serious even if what she said sounded a lot
like a joke.
"Oh yes…Look close. See this hem-line right here?" She pointed to the right sleeve. "This one I went over twice and the whole time, I was saying, ‘Isn’t Tara the cutest thing? Isn’t Tara the cutest thing?’ And then I went over the left arm twice, saying, ‘Why, yes she is! Why, yes she is!’" Tara giggled at the image. "And this pocket I sewed over the heart? I sewed that extra strong because of all the good stuff you have inside your heart. I wanted to make sure it was always safe and warm."
Tara looked down at the gold thread laced through the rich blue fabric. Then she gazed back up at her mother, cocking her head slightly to one side. "You really d-did that?"
"Sweetie, if I could sew you happiness and a brand new car I’d thread up a needle right now."
"Mommy, you know I c-can’t drive!"
"Then I guess it’s just as well, huh? We don’t want a seven-year-old out runnin’ around in a blue suede car, knockin’ over mailboxes and scarin’ the neighbors, do we?" Her mother’s laugh, swirling about her head and settling down around her heart, made Tara think of the foam at the very top of a fresh cup of cocoa, and socks just out of the dryer on a cold morning. She leaned in close, smelling her mother’s Jergen’s hand lotion and some other scent that she thought must be unique to her mommy alone.
"I can’t believe you’re already seven, pretty girl. And it’s Saturday, so we get the whole day to celebrate. We’re gonna go into town and look in all the windows and then we’re gonna go out to eat. Somebody else is gonna cook
and wash all those dishes!"
"What about Daddy and Donnie?" Tara didn’t really want them to come. Her stutter always got worse and food never tasted as good when there were so many pitfalls awaiting her. Donnie was always laughing at her, and pinching her when their parents weren’t looking; and Daddy always seemed like he was upset at her about something, even though she tried to keep from saying anything, so she couldn’t figure out what she’d done. But if they were going to be there, she didn’t want to get her hopes up.
Her mother seemed to fumble for words for just a moment. But her mommy was never confused about what to say, not like she always was. Maybe she was imagining it.
"Well, they have work to do here. They’ve got some fence to fix and some more feed to grind. This is going to be a special, all-girls day! Besides, we’ll have cake and ice cream back here later on."
Tara didn’t really care what the reason was. She could relax, at least for the day, because it was just her and her mother and nothing too bad could happen to her like that.
On her way out to the car, holding her mother’s hand, Tara spied Donnie peering at her from the driveway of the barn. She started to hold up a hand to wave, feeling almost bad that she was getting to go on a special trip, but then she saw how he was looking at her. She let her hand drop, and stared down at her dress-up black patent shoes until she climbed into the safety of the Ford Fairlane.
*****
"OK, maybe it’s just me, but do you ever find yourself wondering if Anya makes up about half of the stuff that she claims to have done? You know, reliving and maybe embellishing the gory days?"
"Willow, Sweetie, what does it matter? I mean, my Grandpa Jack used to say that he’d killed a mountain lion with his Bowie knife when he was younger, but Mom told me that it was actually a coyote, with his rifle and a scope. But who wants to argue the point?"
Willow plopped the bag of groceries on the counter. "I know…It’s just that sometimes I could swear she does it for shock value."
"Well of course she does. After everything the Scoobies have done and seen, do you really think she can make an impact on any of you by going all Understatement Girl?"
Willow tugged her scarf from around her neck and tossed it lightly over Tara’s shoulders, letting it settle to her waist before using it to pull Tara close to her.
She heard Tara laugh softly. "No need to rope me, you butch rancher babe. You got me eating out of your hand." Tara’s lips, warm and soft, nuzzled against her ear and Willow’s smile caught on the edge of a sudden heat that seemed to make further conversation—at least here in the kitchen—an unwelcome delay.
"Can we leave dinner for right now? Actually, can we leave everything except each other for right now?" Willow felt herself blushing slightly. She still battled an occasional sense of vulnerability for how much she wanted Tara sexually. Last week, in the middle of the Magic Box, they had all been discussing Xander’s recent identity crisis (Anya was still angry that she hadn’t been granted her "Two for One" Orgasm Special) and Willow found herself completely unable to follow the conversation. Tara was wearing a new dress—dark blue with a deep gold bodice—and Willow thought that it was utterly impossible that anyone could think about anything but Tara. In fact, she secretly expected that every one of them, including Anya and Buffy, would eventually call a halt to the meeting and ask Tara for permission to kiss her on the lips. Taraherself was warming her hands around a cup of Earl Gray, her long fingers interlacing.
Lucky porcelain, Willow thought enviously. As she tilted her head slightly, looking up at Xander, Tara’s blond hair spilled over her shoulder and slid down over one breast. Tara’s breasts. They’re so round and perfect and smooth. I wish I could touch them right now. I wish I could just make everyone go away and stretch her out over the table and slide the hem of her dress really slowly up over her thighs, ’cause she loves it when I tease her, and—
"…don’t you think, Will?" Xander was looking at her expectantly. Willow thought quickly. If Xander was saying it, odds were it was wrong. But generalizations were always tricky…
"Xander, the most important thing is what you think," she’d finally replied, in a masterful display of saying nothing. That seemed to satisfy the easily-disgruntled carpenter, though. And then she’d caught Tara’s eye. Busted, she realized, knowing that Tara would have sensed her mental absence and deciphered her slight flush. But oh, it had been worth it, because not long after that Tara had asked for her help on the upper level, and there, tucked behind the relative camouflage of a display stand, had invited Willow to kiss her and touch her as freely as she dared as a preview of coming attractions. And the coming, later that evening, had been so very attractive, indeed.
Looking into Tara’s eyes now, feeling naked to her soul and dismissing the pride required in trying to hide, Willow saw the answering warmth spark and take form in that fathomless blue.
"Yeah, Sweetie; dinner can definitely wait. I, on the other hand, cannot." Thus was Willow led back to their bedroom and sustenance of a more sensual nature shared.
*****
The young man’s fingers flew over the keyboard with the surety of experience. Barely looking up, he asked politely, "And what brings you to Sunnydale, if I might ask?"
"Very important family business." Yeah, he could sound all formal if he needed to.
"Oh—I do hope that it’s nothing too difficult." The eyes flickered up briefly before scanning the computer screen.
"Well, you know family…Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em." Donnie’s chuckle was greeted with a surprised glance, and then an awkward smile. The clerk looked back at the screen.
"Yes, we do have rooms available tonight, sir. Smoking or non-smoking?"
"Don’t make no never-mind to me," Donnie grinned obligingly. He could get used to being called "sir."
"And how many nights will you be staying with us?"
Donnie looked at the young man earnestly. "As long as it takes."
*****
Much later, sitting on the couch with matching mugs of hot chocolate, their conversation turned back to the subject of Glory.
"Tara, do you think Anya’s right? That this Glory wench isn’t a demon?"
"I don’t know." Graceful fingers ran lightly through Willow’s hair as Willow snuggled down and rested her head on Tara’s shoulder. "I mean, we don’t even know what this whole ‘Key’ business is about. But Mr. Giles seemed more upset than I think I’ve ever seen him."
"Me either…well, except for the night Miss Calendar was killed." She felt her heart squeeze suddenly at the memory of that night, the ringing of the phone in Buffy’s kitchen.
"Poor Mr. Giles," Tara murmured softly. After a few moments, she asked, "Do you think the Key is an actual, physical object?"
"Well, that would make the most sense, which probably guarantees that it isn’t," Willow replied with a sigh. "We can narrow it down to a noun, which isn’t terribly narrow."
"Well, you can key into something, but that just supports the idea of the noun."
"Can we safely leave out prepositions?" Willow wanted this particular universe bounded in some way, however ridiculously.
"Yes, we can. Prepositions, take heed: your services are not required."
Willow frowned. "I’ll just feel better when I know what it is."
"Or where it is."
"Or who it is."
*****
She was ten—done with single digits forever. She liked that idea. Now, every time she took one of those standardized tests that they gave out every year at school, she’d have to use two columns to indicate her age, and darken in two circles.
She ran downstairs, feet barely skimming the steps, and dashed into the kitchen. "Hey Mommy, c-can I help ice the cake?"
Her mother looked up, blue eyes sparking. Her daddy had blue eyes, too, but his always looked cold, like a winter sky just before it snowed. Everybody said she had her mommy’s eyes, so she figured that must mean hers were warm, too.
"Now isn’t that the funniest thing? I was just sittin’ here thinking, ‘You know, as soon as that cake cools a bit more, I’m gonna need some help icing it. But who can I get?’ And no sooner do I think it than my beautiful ten-year-old shows up. Now that’s what I call luck!"
Tara giggled. She was pretty sure her mommy hadn’t been thinking anything like that, but it was fun to think of her sitting there, wishing for somebody just like Tara herself. Her smile dimmed slightly when she thought of her mommy calling her beautiful. She wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to say it just to be nice; that she knew better than that. But that might hurt her feelings…She should just let it drop.
Edging over to the counter, she looked at her birthday cake and grinned hugely: chocolate, just like every year. And every year, her mommy made a special butter frosting that draped over the wonderful creation like a royal cape.
"Can I lick the bowl?"
"Unless there’s some new birthday tradition I don’t know about, you certainly can. Donnie did last month, remember?"
Tara remembered. She remembered how he’d told her, after supper, that he’d let her have a spatula’s worth if she did his chores the next morning. But Tara had realized that as much as she loved her mother’s special icing, she didn’t want to share a bowl or a spatula or anything else that Donnie had already started on. And so she’d shaken her head no, eyes wide with misgiving. Donnie had glared at her, and then hissed, "Just as well. You’re too big anyway. Everybody knows it." Tara didn’t really think that was true. She was tall, and strong, that was true, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that.
Was there?
Now, wondering yet again if being nice to her brother might make him be nice to her, she said quietly, "Maybe I should give Donnie half of it."
Her mother looked up with a strange expression on her face. When she spoke, she did so very slowly, as if being extra-careful with her words. She only does that when she talks about Donnie or Daddy, Tara realized.
"Bright Eyes, I think you’re about the sweetest child Heaven ever saw fit to put on this earth. And if you wanna share something with another person, well, I won’t ever tell you not to. But…Well, some people have a hard time sharing. It’s like they never feel like they get what they deserve. And it kinda takes the fun out of sharin’ with them, you know? Oh, honey, I’m probably not makin’ any sense at all."
Tara felt her mind tilt slightly. She doesn’t want you to share the icing with Donnie. And she doesn’t think she can tell you exactly why.
She blinked rapidly, and tried to focus on her mommy’s face. She’d had those little voices before: they were kind of her voice, but kind of different, too. The thing is, she didn’t really recognize anybody else’s voice in there.
"Will you help me with the icing then, Mommy? Just a couple of licks," she added quickly. After all, it was the best icing in the world, and there was only one bowl.
Her mother’s laughter sprinkled down over her, and Tara was relieved to see that she didn’t look worried anymore.
"Yeah, Bright Eyes, I think I can manage that."
*****
Tara’s first class of the morning was an upper-level Art History course; it was probably the best course she’d ever taken. This would explain why she was so lost in her own thoughts as she descended the stairs outside the classroom building.
"Hello again, little sister. Miss me?"
He was standing so close behind her that her hair whipped his face as she spun around.
"Donnie! What are you doing back here?"
"I was just so lonesome at home without you." He grinned mockingly, enjoying the confusion and budding fear on her face.
"H-how did you know where I w-was?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Tara…Don’t you know?" He smiled. "I’ll always find you."
*****
To Be Continued
Edited by: AntigoneUnbound at: 1/2/03 7:13:34 pm
Hell, Xander could have taken him...
But ignore me, I'm hyper. And again, this fic is awesome. 
at: 12/29/02 8:02:12 pm
). Can't wait for the next part! Oh, as for my legal briefs, well I'm still trying to be actually "brief" 
!
at: 12/30/02 11:53:56 am
) Hope to have some nails left before your next update! Looking forward to more.
s to mention. Looking forward to more.
. My bad.
.
Sleek