by AntigoneUnbound » Sun Jan 05, 2003 3:02 pm
Gods Served and Abandoned
Part 5
Disclaimers: I own nothing that remotely resembles any kind of money-making enterprise. Trust me.
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!
Thoughts are in italics—kinda like this, which I’m thinking as I write.
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…Where you at? You know I’m gonna find you, Tara. Ain’t no use tryin’ to hide. Big brother always gets you sooner or later."
Don’t breathe so hard. Quiet, just be quiet. He’s bluffing.
"I think I’m gettin’ closer, little sister."
Keep walking. Please keep walking.
"Let’s see now…Maybe you’re tucked in here behind these hay bales. Am I right, little sister?"
He thinks I told Mom. He’s going to kill me.
"I thought so."
*****
"You know, this is two days in a row you haven’t given me a proper greeting. Didn’t we raise you with any manners, Tara?" That grin—it seemed to paint everything around him in garish tones of ugliness and dread. She took an instinctual step back.
"It’s enough to make a person think you don’t care about your own brother."
Stand up straight. You’re taller than him when you do, and you know he hates that. "Donnie, I think everything was pretty clear after my birthday. What are you doing back in Sunnydale?"
"Well, Tara, me and Dad and Cousin Beth got to talking, and we’re just awful worried about you." His grin remain fixed, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "You know, the magic and…the other things you’re into."
He knows. Damn him, he always knows. She summoned up the image of Willow’s face, calming herself briefly. "Donnie, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m almost certain it doesn’t involve Edwardian England, and that’s what I have to focus on right now."
"Off to another class so soon? Ain’t you the little bookworm…Tell me, little sister, with all this studyin’ you do, where did you find time to meet all those people? I mean, all of ’em just standin’ up for you and tellin’ you you don’t have to go home. They sure do care about you, don’t they?"
"Donnie, what’s this all about? Where’s Dad?"
"Oh, I made this little trip on my own. Daddy knows about it; I talked him into it."
Tara felt her stomach tighten. Somehow, Donnie on his own felt even worse. Dad always looks like he’s made at me, but Donnie…Donnie just hates me.
"I just told him how weird it was for you to be actin’ all independent and rebellious. I told him I figured it was on account of your…friends." He tilted his head slightly.
Someday I will wipe that grin off of your face and Aradia herself won’t be able to help you find it. "Donnie, I’m not sure what your grand scheme is, but I’m still not leaving, so why don’t you get back in the camper and head home?"
He took a step forward. Tara willed herself to hold her ground.
"Maybe I’d just like to meet your friends; get to know them a little bit. After all, they do seem to carry a lot of weight with my little sister. Gotta make sure they’re OK, don’t I?"
Don’t answer him. Don’t light on that web. "Donnie, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to class. I don’t want to talk to you again, not for a long time." She turned to leave.
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. "Yeah, gotta make sure you’re not hanging around with the wrong folks. It’s my brotherly duty, you know." He paused for a moment. "And I have to say, I ’specially wanna spend some more time with that Willow girl."
She stopped, but didn’t turn around. Willing all of the calmness and strength into her voice that she could muster, she finally said, "Go home, Donnie. You don’t belong here." As she walked off, she felt a dizzying mixture of dread, anger, and a shaken relief that she couldn’t see the look that she knew covered his face.
At the very least he would never hit her in broad daylight on a college campus.
*****
Willow fumbled in her backpack for a moment before finally locating her wallet. "This mocha’s on me, Buffy. Just my way of saying that I’m the happiest person in the world."
"Willow, if doing this makes you happy, it makes me happy. In fact, think of how happy you’d be if you bought me that red sweater we saw at that little boutique last week. I mean, could the universe contain the happiness that that would bring you?"
"You know, Buffy, I have to say—we’ll never find out!"
"It was worth a shot." Buffy stirred some highly redundant Sweet & Low into her mocha and blew gently over the foam for a moment. "So life with Tara is good?"
Willow shook her head slightly. "I can’t even describe it, Buffy. I mean, sometimes I look at her and I get all googly-eyed and I think, ‘She’s my girlfriend. She’s with me.’ It still just blows me away."
"Yeah, you two were definitely making with the Lezziepalooza at her birthday party." She looked up guiltily. "Is it OK for me to say that?"
"Well, we usually call it the ‘Wine Me, Dine Me, Sixty-Nine Me’ Festival of Homos, but Lezziepalooza has a nice ring, too."
"Thanks for the visual. It’ll probably pop up on my mental screen the next time I see Tara and I’ll just spit out whatever’s in my mouth at the time."
"Which will probably be Riley’s tongue," Willow said with a thoughtful nod.
Buffy spluttered around her drink. "Oh my God, Will, I can’t believe you just said that."
"Neither can I, but I wish I had a remote control so I could play that moment back ’cuz I gotta say, it was really fun!"
The two enjoyed a companionable silence for a moment. When Buffy spoke, her voice was markedly more somber. "You know, Tara’s family gave me the creeps. How did someone like her come from people like that?"
"I’m pretty sure it was her mother. She still has a hard time talking about her, but it seems pretty clear that she shielded Tara a little bit, or at least she tried to."
Buffy seemed to choose her next words carefully. "Will, when Donnie started down the steps toward Tara…I’m thinking that’s not the first time he’s acted like that, was it?"
Willow could feel the muscles along her jaw-line tighten. "I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. Tara talks even less about him than she does her mother. But I know that her dad beat her—really bad—one time, and I’d be willing to bet that Donnie learned from the best." She remembered listening to Tara describe the scars along her thighs from her father’s belt, after he’d found her looking at one of her mother’s magic books. She was nine at the time. Willow felt the anger rising up in her as it did whenever she thought about the men in Tara’s family.
Buffy shook her head slowly. "What makes anybody think he has the right to beat a little girl?"
Willow could only sigh. "Whatever it is, I wish you could stake it and send it back to hell."
*****
Willow. She had to get to Willow. As soon as she could find her at the Espresso Pump, things would be OK. Edwardian England was forgotten as Tara walked without a second thought past the building where the class met. Willow was meeting Buffy for coffee; they should still be there.
What in the goddess’s name was Donnie doing back here? The relief she’d felt when they finally slunk out the door at the Magic Box had been exhilarating—no more secrets between her and Willow, no more dire warnings held over her head. She’d walked out into the night and thought that the air had never smelled so sweet, not in all her life. She was finally free…free to be a witch; free to be a lesbian; free to think for herself; free to love Willow.
And now Donnie was back. And he knew, somehow he knew, that she and Willow were lovers. Could it really be that hard to spot, Tara, to anyone with eyes? Maybe she’d assumed that it would never occur to them. It wasn’t like Cold Springs hosted a yearly Queer March…But Donnie, with his eyes ever peeled for things that he could use against her, had figured it out.
But what can he do? Really? You’re already out, and if he tells Dad…Well, that’ll just be one more stick he can light at my feet as he burns me at the stake in his head—witch, ungrateful daughter, homosexual. Faggots for a faggot, as it were.If she could just keep the old fear in check; if she could just remember that she wasn’t there anymore, in that house that grew so cold after her mother had died.
She rounded the corner and neared the coffee shop. Goddess, why did the darkness keep coming back? She didn’t want to say Donnie’s name; she didn’t want to give voice to all those old fears and shames and scars. Saying them made them real again; gave them new life in this life, bled into the picture she was painting of her and Willow and what they were building. She wanted the canvas of that life burned, destroyed.
Even talking about her mother was hard, but in a different way. That hurt so bad because she had to use the past tense: "Mom was so good at sewing"; "Mom always made the most incredible soup."
Why had the only part of her past that she wanted with her now been taken away, while the part she would most gladly give up was so determined to track her down and insinuate his way into her present?
She spied Willow and Buffy, huddled conspiratorially over a rickety table. Probably talking about Glory and her new brand of evil. How ironic that she felt most fully in thelight as a result of being loved by someone who fought the worst kind of darkness. But it was true. Colors took on such incredible richness when she was with Willow; things tasted sweeter and laughter was fuller.
"Sweetie—Goddess, am I glad to see you. Hey Buffy," she added as an afterthought.
"So I’m not ‘Sweetie’? Fine, be that way."
"Buff, you’re sweet," Willow reassured her. "You’re just not the titular ‘Sweetie’ in this case."
Buffy’s expression defied easy description. "Um, Will—all about being the ‘Straight But Not Narrow’ friend here, but what do my breasts have to do with this?"
Willow’s suspected that her expression, too, flouted the boundaries of any single adjective. "Buffy, ‘titular’ refers to a title. Not, um, other things that begin with that particular combination of letters."
"I knew that." Buffy’s mocha became a source of deep fascination.
"Hey Baby! Don’t you have history class right now?"
"Yeah, but…oh, shit." She sighed as both Willow and Buffy looked at her closely. Tara didn’t swear very often.
"It’s Donnie. He’s back."
Willow and Buffy gaped at her. "‘Back’ as in, ‘Back here’? In Sunnydale?" Willow asked, stunned.
Tara nodded. "He caught me coming out of my art class."
Willow stood, and suddenly looked considerably taller than she actually was. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, he just played with my mind." Tara sat down and tried to collect her thoughts. She felt Willow’s hand glide reassuringly up her back until her thumb was making small circles on Tara’s neck. "He reeled off some story about the three of them deciding that I wasn’t being ‘me,’ and him deciding to come back up here to check on me. But Willow, I know Donnie. He’s going to try to take me back home."
Buffy and Willow both spoke at once, their voices a jumble of indignation and protest. "Tara, he can’t, right? I mean, there’s nothing he can actually do, is there?" Buffy seemed equal parts bewildered and outraged at the temerity of Maclay
fils.
"Buffy’s right, Tara. He can’t just drag you back to Cold Springs against your will, right?"
Tara took a deep breath. "No, he can’t. I—I don’t know what he thinks he can do." She made herself sitter taller in her seat. "We’re not back on the farm. Things are different here, different now."
"Not the least of which are several people who will kick his ass to a sidewalk in Senegal if he dares lay a hand on you," Buffy offered hotly.
They want to protect you.
But so did Mom.
Tara tried to stay in the present, tried to remember where she was, and who she was.
"Baby, what do you wanna do?" Willow’s voice, clear and filled with concern, pulled her back into focus.
"Right now, I want to go home—our home—and snuggle up while we talk through this."
"So, I’m guessing that that plan doesn’t include me?" Buffy’s voice broke into their temporary oblivion to her presence. Not for the first time, Willow found herself wondering just how exclusively Buffy really batted for the other team.
Tara laughed, a sure sign that she was feeling more secure. "Uh, no, but you do get the title of ‘Honorary Sweetie’ for being so, um sweet."
"OK." Buffy stood and wrapped her arms around Tara, who sank her head gratefully onto her shoulder for a brief moment. "I’ve got my cell phone; call me if you need anything."
"Right. Thanks, Buff," Willow replied, giving the Slayer a hug of her own. As Buffy walked off, Willow turned back to Tara.
"Let’s go home, Baby."
*****
That had gone pretty well, all things considered. Just the look on her face was enough to make the trip worthwhile.
Not that he was done, of course; he still had work to do.
Who was he kidding…It wasn’t all work; it was also a lot of fun, a lot of satisfaction. He could feel it spreading over him like a fever.
Daddy wasn’t around to interfere; and Momma sure wasn’t either. The freedom of college life, isn’t that what they call it? He was liking it quite a bit.
He was about to pay off some old debts, and the feeling that rolled through him at the thought made him almost giddy.
*****
To be continued