Just a short update - I got out of work MUCH later than expected, and so part c is going to have to wait until I have a chunk of time altogether. Replies later, I promise - much love to all you patient kitties.
-Sass
Lingering Darkness 8b - The Best Part “But … how does pajamas, bed, and snuggle-time during talking sound?” Tara asked, a half-smile curving her lips.
“Like my own private piece of heaven,” Willow said with a relieved sigh.
Hand in hand they trudged up the stairs, making their way to the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind them, blocking out the world. The Scoobies could wait - everything could wait - while they tried to find a little patch of solid ground big enough for them to stand on together.
"Glory wants me dead," Tara said with a sigh, getting that out in the open as she pulled off her clothes, then slipped a nightgown over her head.
"What?" Willow asked, her voice cracking as she spun towards Tara, her pajama bottoms on, but the pajama top dropping to the floor from suddenly nerveless fingers.
"That's what Glory's minions wanted. They wanted to know if I still had the necronomicon, and if I didn't, they were supposed to make me very dead," Tara said with a little shrug, walking over to Willow and picking up her top.
"But … that's … no," Willow said, shaking her head. "No no no … no Hell Gods wanting dead Tara's. That's just … wrong," she said. "I mean, yeah - Evil, so it's not all the surprising, but - still. Haven't we been through enough? Is this some sick cosmic joke?" she asked, her weak and shocked tone gaining strength and volume. "Do we have some tattoo on our foreheads that says 'Hey, look at us - we're happy on a Hellmouth - come and get us!'? I mean, yeah, you'd have to have a big forehead to put on that many words and - and, well, ow, but it could be little writing, and at what point did we visit this stupid tattoo parlor anyway? Like we got all drunk on shore leave and decided - hey, tattoos. That sounds like an inky pain-y good time!"
Tara calmly put the pajama top on over Willow's head, getting the arms through the sleeves as she ranted at the unfairness of it all. If she were honest - and she had to be, because Willow deserved that - she'd admit that she was scared. This whole thing was very, very scary. But she wanted to hold it all together - needed to hold it all together - because if she didn't, and she fell apart, she wasn't sure she'd be able to put all the pieces back.
"And how can you stay so calm?" Willow asked, blowing a bit of hair out of her face. Tara reached up and smoothed Willow's hair back, the unruly locks mussed from the process of putting on the pajama top.
"You think I'm calm?" Tara asked, her voice steady. "Well, I'm not calm," she went on, her hands shaking a little, and her voice cracking. "I'm not! I'm just deciding how much I'm going to freak out, and whether or not I'm still really pissed at you," she went on, her brow furrowing as she stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest.
"You're still mad at me?" Willow asked, her eyes widening and a hurt look crossing her face.
"I don't know yet," Tara said softly, stepping back and sitting down on the bed, her shoulders slumping as she looked down at the floor.
"Well … if … if you get to still be mad, then I get to still be mad," Willow said, her brow furrowing and her lips thinning into a line.
"What?" Tara asked, her head shooting up and her eyebrows raising, eyes wide.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Willow demanded. "At what point is it a good idea to run off all by yourself when you know a Hell God wants to hurt you?"
"It … well, it was still daylight, and …" Tara began hesitantly, a blush coloring her face as she realized just how stupid that had really been.
"Oh, like that's all better? You think Hell Gods never have human minions? Or, or … lackeys, or henchman … or maybe the construct had gotten back out, did you think of that? That thing walked around in daylight just fine. Lots and LOTS of demons can walk around in daylight no problem, and if one of them had -" Willow went on, getting warmed up to the topic.
"But nothing happened," Tara protested. "The Trickster -"
"Is just the beginning of our problems," Willow broke in. "And what do you mean 'nothing happened'? What would have happened to you if Buffy hadn't been there when Glory's minions showed up? And was it dark? No! Why? Because they can get all traipsy in the daylight anytime they want to, because - hey, whaddaya know! - they're not vampires!"
"What am I supposed to do? Walk around with an armed escort?" Tara asked, her tone thick with derision.
"It would be a nice start," Willow shot back. "In fact, I'm pretty much liking that idea."
"No," Tara said, a stubborn look crossing her face.
"Tara - you're in danger. Big BIG neon-sign-flashing-over-your-head kind of danger, and that's the kind of danger I'm not loving, so how about you humor me and don't ever go anywhere by yourself ever again for the rest of your life?" Willow said.
"So - what? I'm supposed to never again have a peaceful or private moment?" Tara asked incredulously. "Will you listen to yourself? Do you really expect me to put up with that?"
"It's either that or we get the necronomicon back and have a baby, and, well - Big Book of Evil with a baby in the house - that's probably not a good idea. I mean, kids, always getting into things, and we wouldn't want -"
"We are not starting up the baby discussion again," Tara said, rising to her feet and moving to the window, looking out over the backyard, her shoulders stiff with tension. "We just aren't."
"I …" Willow began, stopping and shaking her head, trying to compose her thoughts, a little frown on her face as her worry-fueled anger started to drain away. Tentatively, she walked over to Tara, placing careful hands on her shoulders. "I thought you wanted kids?" she hazarded. "I mean, not now - we don't have to talk about having them NOW, now, but … eventually? I always kind of figured you, umm … that you'd want … that."
Sighing, Tara consciously tried to relax her shoulders, letting the warmth of Willow's hands seep through her skin. "I, yes - eventually," Tara said softly, her own hands on the windowsill. "But not like this - not for the wrong reasons."
"So, someday, we can …?" Willow asked, her hands kneading the knotted muscles in Tara's neck and shoulders.
"Do we have to talk about this now?" Tara asked plaintively, her head dropping as she arched into Willow's hands.
"Is there a reason why we shouldn't?" Willow asked, a confused look crossing her face. "I mean - this is all hypothetical, and I'm not … I'm not going to be a poop-head again and start calling clinics, so …"
"I don't know," Tara said, shaking her head softly. "I mean, it's … we might not ever, y'know? And I don't feel like we should decide this now."
"Not ever? But Tara, if you want kids …" Willow started to say.
"What about what you want, Willow?" Tara asked, turning her head slightly. "I can't … I can't give you children," she said. "I can't make a little Willow and Tara mix - and you deserve that. You deserve to … to have children, genetically, with someone you love," she finished on a whisper.
"What?" Willow asked incredulously, her brow furrowing and her body going completely still. "What?" she asked again.
"You … you shouldn't get stuck with kids that aren't yours," Tara said softly, her eyes shutting as a world of pain made her stomach clench. "It's not fair to you."
"Is that what you think?" Willow asked, her hands dropping from Tara's shoulders. "Do you think that I'd … that I'd feel … stuck? That I - I don't know, that I want to go find some guy, get married, and have two point five kids?"
"Do you?" Tara asked softly, her heart breaking even as she asked the question. She knew, on one level, that she was being utterly ridiculous - that Willow loved her with everything she had, but there was always that small part of her that couldn't believe that Willow was really hers. There was this lingering nagging voice in her head telling her that Willow should have a normal life, and one day she'd figure it out, and that would be it.
"No!" Willow said heatedly. "And I can't believe we're … I can't believe you … why … didn't we already talk about this? I am >not< heading back to boy's town. How can you even think -?" Willow said, her eyes tearing up as she started wondering what else Tara had doubts about - what else did Tara believe?
"We never finished talking about this, Willow," Tara said with a mirthless laugh. "We kind of got interrupted by a brain-sucking Hell God."
"That's not funny," Willow said, her voice low and tense, images of Glory's fingers entering Tara's skull while she was helpless to stop it playing in her mind.
"I know it's not," Tara said, her words clipped and short. "I know it's not funny. I just … This … I don't know where this is coming from, Willow. I really don't. There's just … I know you love me, but what if? What if you decide that I'm not what you want? That you don't want to be swinging with the gay lifestyle?"
"You are everything, and I mean everything, that I could ever want or need," Willow said, her words hoarse as she choked back a sob. "And I know we can't have kids together the old-fashioned way, but I want that. I want that, with you. The idea of a little Tara Tyke running around," she said, her eyes tearing up and her hand drifting up to her chest to press against her heart. "That makes my heart smile. And … the kid would be a part of you, so it would be a part of me, too, like you are."
"I want to believe, Willow," Tara said, pushing the words past the lump in her throat. "I want to believe in us, in our future together, but something just …"
"I think I know what it is," Willow said, her mind flashing back to a story, written like a bad romance novel - the story of two women who loved each other, but couldn't be together. "I think I know why this keeps coming up," she said on a whisper.
"Why?" Tara asked, turning around, her eyes begging Willow for some kind of explanation - for some kind of liberation from this tiny feeling that wouldn't leave her alone.
"Do you think … do you think that, on some level, we remember past lives? That we remember people we meet now who were there before, and what happened?" Willow asked softly, brushing her fingers over Tara's cheek.
"I've always thought so," Tara said with a little shrug. "It would make sense - that that's how we end up having the same people in our lives over and over - that we remember them, and are drawn to them."
"I think you're remembering, Tara," Willow said, her eyes sad. "And I'm so, so sorry."
"Willow, what are you talking about?" Tara asked, raising her hand to cup Willow's where it rested lightly against her face.
"Margaret MacDonald and Fiona Maclay," Willow said simply. "Margaret - me, I … I was married, and I had children. And I, um … I ended up leaving with my husband, after the thing with The Trickster. Your, Fiona's, brothers took her away somewhere, and the me that was then didn't stop it - didn't fight - and so the you that's now remembers."
"I …" Tara said, her eyes widening at the implications. Had that been where that stupid fight had come from? Had some kind of instinctual past-life memory urged her to be cautious when giving Willow her heart, insisting they had no future together?
"But this isn't the 1800's," Willow said, her voice low and serious. "And there's no guy, and there will never >be< any guy. I don't want that - I don't think Margaret wanted that, either. I just ... I want you, and everything that goes with it."
"Willow, I'm sorry," Tara said softly. "I am so sorry."
"You don't have to be," Willow said, shaking her head, her expression thoughtful. "It … it's understandable, if a part of you remembers. Like - if you know, but you didn't know that you knew, then how could you know that this thing you're feeling is leftovers from a buncha' lifetimes ago?"
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Just … forgive and forget like that?" Tara asked softly. "I know … I know what I just said hurt you," she went on, touching her fingertips to Willow's lips to silence her objections before they started. "I >know< it hurt you - but you just … you're completely ready to move past that, aren't you?"
"Yup," Willow said, with a little shrug and a smile. "I figure I'd be forgiving you soon anyway, and it's not like it's your fault, so it's more efficient to forgive you now. So do we get to kiss and make up?" she asked hopefully. "'Cuz I'm thinking that's the best part."
"You're incorrigible," Tara said with a light laugh and a smile. "But yes, we get to kiss and make up now."
"Yay," Willow said, her eyes drifting shut as her hands found Tara's waist, tugging her close. Their lips met gently, and Willow sighed at the contact, her lips curving into a smile as they brushed together again and again.