by AntigoneUnbound » Thu Apr 10, 2003 2:39 pm
Gods Served and Abandoned
Disclaimers:
If I owned these women, I’d throw a big Kitten bash and invite you all to enjoy their many splendors. Alas, I don’t, so I can’t.
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!
I include a reference here to Amber’s favorite movie, which is also my favorite movie, and I think that just has to mean something about the connection between us, doesn’t it? Well, doesn’t it? Hmm…
*****
Part 23
*****
"So how should we spend this lovely Sunday evening?" Willow asked, looking up from her organic chemistry text. She wasn’t sure whether she was irritated or secretly reassured that academic obligations rolled on heedless of the epic battle against evil. She took at least some dim measure of comfort from the fact that algorithms would be waiting for her whether she acquitted herself against a T’Darek demon the night before or not.
Tara gave a long, slow stretch, yawning as she relieved the kinks in her muscles. "Maybe I’m getting old in my young age, but I sorta feel like staying in and watching a movie; something low-risk like that."
"Me too," Willow concurred, leaving her chair to sit behind Tara on the bed. Rubbing her hands together briskly to make sure they were warm, she began to massage Tara’s neck gently. "We’ve had enough adventure lately."
"Oh, goddess, that feels good," Tara groaned, as small goose-bumps rose on her skin. "Have you noticed, though, that adventure never comes in measured doses? I mean, it’s not like passing on seconds of mashed potatoes: ‘That’s enough for me, thanks.’" Willow just smiled and leaned forward to press her lips against Tara’s soft shoulder.
"We could see what’s on TV," she suggested, nuzzling the warm flesh.
"Sunday…Sunday…" Tara mused. "Well, I like ‘Alias.’ Jennifer Garner’s a hottie, although I wish she’d eat a sandwich or five."
"Isn’t there some fantasy-type show about a demon-hunter or a vampire or something like that? You know, all dark atmosphere and angst and total neurotic projection?" Willow furrowed her brow, trying to place the show.
"Oh yeah," Tara nodded. "I saw it once or twice. From what I could tell, it’s by some melodramatic bone-head who apparently went to the ‘Kill Anyone Who Seems Good or Happy’ school of writing."
"Forget that," Willow grumbled. "What bullshit." Resting her cheek against Tara’s back, she asked softly, "How you doing, Baby? Things settling down at all?" She had hesitated to broach the subject; on the other hand, she didn’t want Tara to think that Willow herself was trying to avoid it. If Tara didn’t want to talk about it, Willow trusted that she would let her know that.
Tara shifted until she was sitting sideways in Willow’s arms, and leaned into the warmth of those arms. "Oh, Sweetie…" She sighed, and frowned as she seemed to gather her thoughts. "There’s a part of me that still can’t believe everything that happened. I mean, my mother and my uncle? Or the man that I always called my uncle? And they’re both dead, Willow. I can’t talk to either of them." Willow’s throat tightened as she watched a tear spill silently down Tara’s cheek. "Even after Mom died, I still felt her near me. It still felt as if she were close to me, somehow. But since Friday—I don’t feel her, Willow. And it’s like she died all over again."
Willow pulled her close, wishing yet again that she could say something that would make everything right.
I can’t use magic. I can’t solve it like some complex scientific equation. I can’t do anything. The impotence was excruciating.
"And I can’t help wondering how everybody’s doing back in Cold Springs; even Donnie," Tara continued. Willow bit her tongue to keep from protesting that Donnie could just damn well take care of himself. "I know he’s a malicious prick," Tara added, as if reading Willow’s mind, "but there’s a part of me that feels like he was hurt just as badly as I was in some ways."
Willow made herself speak calmly. "But Tara, you never turned your hurt against someone else. You never tried to make yourself feel powerful by abusing another person."
"Maybe that’s just because there wasn’t anybody younger or less powerful than me," Tara mused sadly, playing with the buttons on Willow’s shirt. "Maybe if there had been someone around who I[ i]could[/i] have picked on, I would have."
"I don’t believe that for one damn second. Baby, I don’t know why you went down one path and Donnie went down another, but I don’t think it’s about birth order or a shortage of targets. God, Tara, I can feel the kindness in you; sometimes it’s so strong that it almost aches. It doesn’t mean you’re perfect or you never feel like being angry or selfish or just plain grouchy. It does mean you’re likely to choose kindness over cruelty. I know it, Tara; I know it down to my bones."
She felt Tara smiling against her chest. "And such fine bones they are," she murmured, drying her eyes. Pulling back slightly, she shook her head wonderingly. "And Beth is my half-sister. Oh my goddess…"
"Gotta say, I don’t see the resemblance," Willow muttered, picturing the pious sycophant who had apparently tried to take Tara’s place in the Maclay household.
"That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Sweetie," Tara replied with a small grin. "It’s just one more thing that makes me shake my head and wonder if this all really happened."
Willow ran her fingertips over Tara’s cheeks and down to her jaw-line. "Baby, do you believe it? All of it?"
Tara looked out the window as if watching the events of the past few days unfold against the backdrop of the trees. Finally, she turned back to Willow. "Yeah…Yeah, Sweetie, I think I do."
Willow gathered Tara back to her fiercely. Kissing her soft hair, she murmured, "I just wish you could talk to your mom, or Quinn, or even your grandmother—ask her if the demon part is even true."
"I know," Tara replied, her voice muffled against Willow. "I keep thinking, ‘What if the demon legacy is just a family myth? What if the whole reason behind Dad’s behavior was never even true?’ God, Willow—so much of what he did was a reaction to thinking he had demon in him, and that he was passing it along to his kids."
Willow tilted her head slightly. "What about your Aunt Beverly? She’d have to know something, wouldn’t she?"
Tara edged back just a bit, enough to look Willow in the eye. "I hadn’t even thought about her," she replied slowly, a dawning curiosity in her voice. "She and Dad had different fathers, but she’d still know at least something about him, not to mention her own mother."
"So maybe we give her a call," Willow suggested, energized by the thought of being able to take some kind of action.
"Let me think about it," Tara hedged, her voice cautious but intrigued.
"OK; that’s a good idea. No need for speed," Willow demurred, as much to slow herself down as to agree with Tara. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in her own world of possibilities and implications. Finally, Tara stretched back out on the bed, holding out a hand in invitation. Willow happily snuggled down into warmth and the scent of lavender.
"Speaking of family dramas, I wonder if Buffy’s talked to Dawn yet," Tara murmured, tracing her fingertips over Willow’s back.
"Oh God, poor Dawnie. I can’t even imagine how she’ll feel when she finds out. As if she doesn’t have enough angst in her life right now," Willow added, remembering their conversation at the hotel.
"What angst? What are you talking about?" Tara leaned back and looked quizzically at Willow.
"Oh, you know," Willow back-pedaled quickly. "Just the usual teenage sturm und drang. I wouldn’t go back to that age for all the cunnilingus on Lesbos." Catching Tara’s skeptical gaze, she added, "Because if I were a teenager, the cunnilingus might be illegal and I’m so rarely naughty anyway that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, what with the threat of legal action hovering over my head and all."
"Sweetie, listening to you talk is like taking the longest, most scenic route through the amusement park." Tara laughed softly, a rippling sound that always delighted Willow. She often found herself wanting to make Tara laugh, to make up for all those years when laughter had been such a rare commodity in her beloved’s life.
Easing back into Tara’s warmth, one arm flung possessively over the curve of her hips, Willow felt fatigue begin to wash over her mind like unhurried waves. Feeling safe and eminently content, she gave herself over completely to the lassitude of the moment and dropped off to sleep.
*****
Their very enjoyable nap was cut short by a sharp banging on the door. Willow started, ripped unceremoniously out of a dream in which Tara fed her plump strawberries dipped in chocolate while gesturing carelessly at the ponies that grazed nearby. "All they want to do is watch," Tara assured her.
While Willow tended to snap more or less quickly to wakefulness, Tara was of the "I’ll get there when I’m there" variety, which meant that she was now blinking slowly as if unwilling to accept this new state of consciousness. Her mumbled "Who’s there?" came out as "Whuzr?"
"It’s me," came the impatient reply. Willow and Tara looked at each other, realization edging into their eyes. "Dawn," Willow whispered unnecessarily.
"Coming, Sweetie," Tara answered quickly, moving to the door while smoothing her hair. She opened the door to a red-faced teenager who now knew that she was ancient.
Dawn moved into the room, standing between them with her arms crossed. Her expression, Willow thought, was both pleading and hostile. And welcome to the reality that is Dawn.
"Did you know?" she asked without preamble. "That I’m the Key?"
"Dawnie, please—can we get you something to drink? Do you want to sit down? We can—"
"Yes, Sweetie. We knew it." Tara’s voice was soft but unapologetic. "Buffy told us last week, right after she found out. She’s been trying to decide how to tell you since then."
"And you didn’t say anything? You knew and you didn’t tell me?" Dawn asked accusingly.
"Dawn, it wasn’t our place," Willow argued, even as she realized that if the situation were reversed, she too would probably feel betrayed to discover that everyone had known and kept the secret from her.
"Oh, right," came the bitter retort. "It wasn’t your place, and you didn’t want to get involved."
"That’s not true," Tara replied quickly. "We are involved, Dawn; we’ll always be involved in your life. But Buffy’s your sister; she had to be the one to decide—"
"Buffy’s not my sister," Dawn hissed, biting out each word. "Buffy’s nothing. She’s just some security guard who has to watch out for me."
Willow felt anger surge through her. She loved Dawn, certainly, but she also had a fierce protectiveness toward her best friend. "You don’t know how much she’s agonized over this, Dawnie. She loves you. You are her sister, whether you believe it or not."
"Don’t call me Dawnie." The voice was barely a whisper. "That person doesn’t even exist. I don’t have a name. I’m just a thing."
Willow saw that both she and Tara had tears shimmering in their eyes, while Dawn seemed beyond crying.
"Sweetie, we’re so sorry. I know we can’t understand what you’re feeling; nobody can." Tara’s voice was almost pleading. "But we do love you. We worry about you when you’re upset, and we’re proud of your intelligence and your kindness and we hope and pray that you’ll be happy in life—all the things that a family feels for each other."
Dawn turned to Tara, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Family? I’m your little sister? Sure—I guess it’s easier to talk about me that way than as some freak who fell in love with you."
Willow watched helplessly as a rather large cat emerged from its bag and batted her lover up-side her head.
Tara struggled for words, a deep blush racing across her face. "Dawn, what do you m-mean? You have a c-crush on me?"
"I hate that word," Dawn spat. "It’s so…juvenile. ‘Oh, look—little Dawnie’s got a crush. Isn’t that just the cutest thing?’" She trembled for a moment, and then sank abruptly into the papasan chair, seemingly deflated. "It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re with Willow, I’m just a kid, and now it turns out that I’m not even a kid." She clutched a small pillow to her chest. "That time you took me to see ‘Antonia’s Line’? Never happened. Going to the library and then the Espresso Pump during the summer? We never did that. All those times when I just sat there being happy that you picked me to spend time with…you hadn’t picked me at all." The tears were flowing once more.
Willow was struck with a sudden sense of voyeurism, a feeling that she was watching something intensely personal that didn’t really involve her. Should she leave? Give them some time?
Her questioning was cut short as Tara reached out to squeeze her hand before moving over to sit on the floor beside Dawn, who refused to look at her. Willow followed, taking a seat on the bed to Dawn’s left.
"Dawn, I don’t know what to say," Tara began slowly. "And it’s not because I think you’re not human, and it’s not because I’m freaked out about your feelings. I don’t think it’s juvenile, or cute, or anything like that. It hurts like hell to love someone who—who isn’t available." She stole a quick glance at Willow, who could see that she was remembering the early days of their friendship. Looking back at Dawn, she continued, "I’m just a little awkward with this particular bit because I’m not used to the idea of someone falling for me. But that’s my deal, not yours, OK?" Tara reached out and placed a tentative hand over Dawn’s. This time, she didn’t withdraw. When she spoke, though, her voice was almost unbearably sad.
"It still doesn’t matter," she replied softly. "None of it’s real. I’m not real."
Willow broke in, unable to keep silent. "You are, Dawn. I know what I feel; I know that I love you. When you hurt, I hurt. When you won that poetry contest two months ago, I was so proud of you. And you did do that; there’s no question about that memory." She felt as if she were desperately trying to persuade a skeptic that the earth was round. It seemed so patently obvious and yet the skeptic had some very good reasons for her disbelief.
Tara leaned forward suddenly, her eyes intense. "Dawn, just what do you think makes somebody human? What’s the litmus test?"
Dawn looked at her in irritation. "Is this going to turn into some philosophical discussion on the nature of existence? ’Cause that’s just lame."
"Like hell it is," Tara retorted, much to Willow’s amazement. She watched Dawn’s eyes widen with surprise. "This entire thing is about the nature of existence." She sat back and shrugged. "But if you’re not up to it, that’s OK."
Willow could see Dawn’s eyes practically blaze with indignation. "What do you mean, if I’m not up to it? Like, if I’m not smart enough?"
"I didn’t say that," Tara replied placatingly. "I just meant that if you couldn’t talk about such a complex thing, you could tell me and I’d understand."
"That’s just five name-brands of bullshit," Dawn said angrily. "I may be fifteen, but I’ve read more than lots of people twice my age, and everybody I hang out with is all with the existential questioning. Except Xander and Anya," she added, seemingly as an afterthought. "They just fuck."
Willow was starting to find all the profanity a little heady. She fought the urge to call out "Damn straight!" just to be a part of the moment.
"So if you have the smarts for it, then, answer the question. What makes somebody human?" Tara cocked her head and waited.
Dawn fidgeted in the chair. Willow suddenly realized that Tara might be the only person with enough leverage to make Dawn think about such things. With Buffy or her mother or anyone else, Dawn would probably hurl some accusation and flounce off. Tara, though, she was most definitely afraid of pushing too far.
"OK, if you wanna get all abstract reasoning, I think that being human means that you feel the typical human feelings and…and that your body goes through lots of changes." She paused. "It means you’re born and then you die. Hopefully, with some time in between." She stopped, and looked at Tara defiantly. "I wasn’t born. I was…made, by a bunch of monks somewhere."
"I’ll give you that," Tara replied evenly. "But everything else? If you’re cut, you bleed. You’re finite; you know that, right?" Dawn nodded slowly. "And let’s face it, Sweetie, you definitely feel ‘the typical human feelings.’ We’ve all seen that." Dawn blushed furiously. "The one thing you don’t fit on is the birth experience. Are you going to let a womb dictate your feelings? And remember, that feeling bit is a fundamental part of humanity—you said so yourself."
"It’s not that simple," Dawn said with frustration. "You can’t just take this whole news flash and reduce it to a math equation."
Tara rubbed her hand gently. "I know, Dawn. God, I know. If it were mathematical in nature, you can bet I wouldn’t be contributing to this conversation at all." She sighed heavily. "But right now you’re so ready to throw out everything we
all feel, and I know this must be crazy-making for you, Sweetie, but…" She trailed off, and drew a deep breath. "But I just don’t want to lose you. It’s rare, and precious, to have people in your life who you just know belong in your life. I’ll be here for you, Dawnie, we both will. We’ll help you any way we can and you can call us day or night to talk. Just—please don’t take yourself away from us. Please don’t act like you’re not human just because of how you came into this world."
Dawn was sobbing now. Tara half-pulled her out of the chair and down to the floor, where she gathered her into her arms and rocked her slowly. After a moment’s hesitation, Willow slid off of the bed and joined them, partially enfolding Dawn in her own arms such that she and Tara created a kind of cocoon for the girl who huddled crying between them.
They sat that way for a long time, it seemed, the three of them entwined on the dorm floor—two powerful witches and an ancient mystical entity, all very real and all very human. Finally Dawn sniffled and tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to wipe her nose discreetly on her shirt sleeve. Willow and Tara pretended not to notice.
Sitting up slightly, Dawn muttered, "This is going to take a long time to get used to."
"I know, Sweetie," Tara nodded, brushing Dawn’s hair back from her face. "But you know that we love you, right? That we’ll do anything we can?"
"Yeah," came the soft reply.
"Listen, Dawn," Willow interjected suddenly. "Every teenager thinks she’s special, right? That she’s going through something so incredibly unique that no one else can relate; something that only she understands?"
"Right," Dawn answered slowly, a dim flicker of a smile crossing her lips.
"Well in your case, you’re right!" Willow announced with gleeful certainty. "I mean, every girl in your class thinks
she’s something special. Every one of them thinks that no one can begin to grasp her complexity."
"Especially that bitch Christy," Dawn nodded grimly.
"Especially that skanked-up, cheap-ass, two-bit ho’ Christy!" Willow exhorted, glad to be a part of the naughty talk, before catching Tara’s alarmed look over Dawn’s head. "Um, right, yes—especially that infinitely annoying person known as Christy. But Dawn," she continued, stroking the younger girl’s hair and gazing steadfastly into her eyes, "Dawn, you
are special. You are going through something that none of them can understand or compare to. You’re millions of years old and six months old and even with all of that, you’ve managed to get yourself loved something silly by some of the more interesting people in this town. If I do say so myself," she added with agrin.
Looking once more at Tara, she saw the cobalt eyes shining with joy and…Pride. She’s proud of me. No academic accomplishment had ever made Willow feel as proud as she did whenever she saw Tara looking at her with that expression.
"I guess that’s true," Dawn said, a full-fledged grin now in place.
Willow could feel a twinge shooting down her back and knew that she should probably move to a more comfortable position, but years of experience on the Hell Mouth had taught her that truly sacred moments are incredibly rare, and not to be ended lightly. So she sat there, arms and legs entangled with two such beloved souls, and let herself concentrate on the late-day sun that warmed her back.
*****
To Be Continued
Edited by: AntigoneUnbound at: 4/10/03 6:13:40 pm
.
I was also concerned that Buffy might jump in and start babbling on about being "sexually suspect" and how there's nothing wrong with it and how DARE they cast judgments etc.
)
); however, I don't think that anyone's out of the woods yet. 
). Here Buffy isn't being "Miss Lone Ranger". Or in other words, she's isn't "folding into herself", where she feels like she must take the burden solely on her shoulders. Instead she trusts her "family", and thus is willing to reach out to get another perspective (ie Buffy might be the "slayer", but she knows she's human... doesn't have/know all the answers, as well Buffy understanding she isn't being "weak" for simply asking for help).
at: 4/2/03 1:20:12 pm
***hmmph*** All rise! Court adjourned!
Keep up the good work. 
) Sorry sometimes ME brings out the worst in me