by EasierSaid » Sat Jan 09, 2010 6:52 pm
Title: Neverland
Author: EasierSaid
Feedback: Yes, please.
Spoilers: None.
Setting: AU. There is no Hellmouth, there is no slayer and no magic of the wicca variety. Just our girls and the rest of the Buffy characters living and loving in that great city by the Bay, San Francisco.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Please don't sue me Mutant Enemy.
Notes: Like Ma Bell, they've got the ill communication.
Thoughts in italics
PART 50
Is the clock wrong?
Tara opened her eyes in the near-darkness, 11:27 staring back at her from her bedside table. She suspected it was morning—oh god I hope it's still morning—but the darkness consuming her peripheral vision was playing tricks on her mind. She blinked slowly, acclimating to the gloom, the foreboding sky pushing gunmetal gray into her space. Her eyes burned and she yawned wide, her limbs sluggish as she slowly shifted beneath the covers. Ugh, she internally groaned. She was exhausted. Must be morning. She looked again to the dreary sky. But how could this be morning? She thought as she again looked out the window and saw darkness.
The blonde slowly rose from bed, cracking her back just after standing and languidly stretching. She flicked on the fairy lights and let her eyes get accustomed to their warm glow. She had gone to bed just before four and had slept like the dead. In fact, she woke in the same position she had gone to sleep in, a rarity for the blonde. She looked down at her hands, still covered in paint she couldn't wash off through bleary eyes hours before. She wore nothing; she had simply been too tired to try and find something clean to wear in the darkness, and suspected that if she had tried, she would have bumbled her way into waking the redhead down the hall.
She crossed to her armoire and opened the doors, her mind waking up despite the weariness in her bones. A chill crept across her skin, but she dressed lazily despite it, sated in more ways than one. Her fantasy had lead to a completed work, a much needed, and surprising, accomplishment. The blonde smiled, thinking about how easily the creation had come to her and how satisfied she had been with the final product. She felt very alive as she slipped on a pair of old pants and a well-worn long sleeve shirt, the material soft like a hug. She smiled at that thought. She felt rosy. Rosy cheeks as a light blush emerged when she thought of holding the redhead. Rosy lips when she gently brushed her fingertips across them as she thought about her desire for the girl. She sighed, content.
She wanted to see Willow.
Her smile grew wider as she thought about the redhead, wondered how she had slept, wondered how her morning had gone. Socks and slippers on, she opened the door and peaked down the hall, seeing Willow's door closed. She took a few steps forward, smiling brightly, her plan to knock on the redhead's door and say good morning, until she stopped abruptly and remembered last night. How wet she had been. How she must smell. She turned to eye the bathroom, and then back to the redhead's door. She reluctantly turned to the bathroom. Shower first, Willow next, she thought, a bounce in her step.
***************************************************
It had been a wonderful dream. Her arms were wrapped around Tara and they were floating, swaying to music with their feet far off the ground, The Fillmore's chandeliers sparkling around their shoulders as they soared. She wasn't sure how many times she hit her snooze button to stay in that embrace, how many times she tuned out the buzzing tones to remain wrapped up in that moment of bliss, but eventually the floating faded and she was awake in her bed. Alone. Always.
She rose from bed with what could only be described as between a hitch and a kink in her neck. Stupid phone. She had fallen asleep with her security blanket, her phone, in her hands. However, as her grasp relaxed, her body surrendering to slumber, the phone had dropped down her chest, over her collarbone and on to the bed next to her; a position that quickly became under her as she tossed and turned. She rubbed her neck gingerly, staring down the offending electronic as she placed it gently on her desk. She had taken the phone to bed with every intention of calling Xander, of recounting her perfect, confusing night, of picking apart every moment spent with the blonde, but in the end, she thought, what's the point? She knew everything he would say. Game plan, friendship, blah, blah, blah. She sighed. Calling him for no other reason than to hear herself spaz seemed excessive, especially that late at night.
She went about her morning quietly. She had heard Tara in her studio at around two when the redhead went to use the bathroom. She had thought about heading down to see the girl, but ultimately decided against it. First, because if Tara was in her studio that late (or early, depending on the way you looked at it), she was probably working and it would kill Willow if she interrupted the blonde's flow. Second, because the redhead was utterly and irrevocably confused.
Tara liking her. Well, of course Tara likes me, we're friends. But Tara liking her"in a maybe, more-than-friends way..." For perhaps the hundredth time since their hug last night, Willow replayed that remembered snippet of her dream. A dream where Tara liked her, in a more-than-friends way. A dream, the redhead emphasized with an eye roll. As in, not real. She screwed her face up in thought. But, real feeling, she allowed. A realish, hypothetical perfect scenario real, dream.
The idea of Tara liking her now had thrown her for a loop, and that in and of itself confused her. She wasn't ready. I mean, I am ready, so, ready, she thought as she pictured the beautiful blonde, her endearing, sexy lopsided smile, brilliant blue eyes... But there was still so much to do. Her mom. Buffy. Telling them both, getting out from under this carefully crafted artifice. The possibility of her dreams coming true was so close yet, yet, it all the sudden felt too close. Her familiar fears rose to the surface. What was her mom going to say? How would Buffy react? There were cracks appearing in her closet door and no matter how badly she wanted to be out, to be free to share with Tara her feelings, the thought of what she may have to go through to get to that point had her more than a little freaked.
It had sucked the wind from her chest when she got up and woke her computer from sleep. She absentmindedly clicked on the calendar to see her day's work and realized, with a jolt, just how close her life was to changing. Just two more days until her mom arrived, three until she picked up Buffy from the airport. It was jarring. She had been so focused on Tara, so focused on not spazzing around the blonde that she had sort of forgotten that her future was fast approaching. Seeing it "penciled" in made it real. Too real. Filled to the brim with terror, real... she thought ruefully, trying to shake her growing anxiety.
And then, Willow thought, there was that teeny, tiny, possibly huge chance that she may be wrong about Tara's recent affectionate actions. I mean, yeah, the redhead had allowed as she made her morning coffee, Tara was touching me last night at the concert, but it wasn't like she was running her hands all over my ass region. She paused, a soft smile curling her lips. Not that I would mind, I so, so wouldn't mind, but, she would never do that, all unexpectedly. The redhead shook her head. She's so sweet and respectful, and, you know, maybe, probably not even interested in me like that anyway.
"Kiss me."
Willow frowned at her subconscious. Well how else are you supposed to get someone's attention in a dark, noisy place, other than with a little nudge, she argued to herself, taking her coffee upstairs. The image of a slender, sensual hand running along the seams of her pants invaded her mind's eye, and she shivered, remembering the blonde's light touch. Or, she continued as she tried to bring her more rational brain back on line, how else can you talk in a loud environment without leaning in close? Really close. Really, she sighed, really close. She again shivered as she remembered the feeling of the blonde's soft breath on her sensitive ear. Why am I trying to talk myself out of this? She paused. Why am I trying to talk myself into this? She again paused.
Stupid brain.
She longed to see the blonde again, even though the thought of seeing Tara filled her with nervous excitement and more than a little trepidation. The blonde's door had been closed as Willow made her way to the bathroom a little before eight, closed still as she made her way down for coffee at nine. It was even closed when she headed down the stairs for a mid-morning snack at 10:30. She hadn't heard when the blonde had returned from her studio, but assumed, as she munched on a handful of crackers just before 11 in front of her computer, that it had been very late if she was still snoozing.
The redhead sighed, clicking through another file folder, bringing her mind back to what she was supposed to be doing. Thankfully, her morning had been surprisingly busy, her co-workers Khalil and Andy delivering on some work earlier than expected. The tasks gave her bright brain something to worry over other than her impending outing, possible imminent love connection and minor concern that all was not well with Buffy and Xander. And, she thought briefly, it is keeping me from absolutely whigging out about today being the day that Morgan comes to the house. She pressed a couple of keystrokes and then picked up her phone, fluidly dialing in to a conference call. After a series of instructions, the line went live. "It's Willow, hi. Are you guys both here?"
***************************************************
After perhaps one of the quickest showers of her life, Tara exited the bathroom with every intention of walking directly to Willow's door and knocking, however, the sound of the redhead's voice stopped her in her tracks, arm raised. "No. No, no, that's not going to work at all!" The blonde dropped her hand to her side and waited. "We've been over this a million times, Khalil," Willow's exasperated voice exclaimed.
Khalil, Tara thought with a slight head bob. Work. Not the time. She smiled softly. But soon. She dropped her hand and quickly headed downstairs. As she turned into the main room on her way to the kitchen, she noticed that the light on the answering machine was still blinking. The sight pulled her full lips into a frown. Morgan. She had completely forgotten about the brunette. Forgotten about the call last night, forgotten about their tentative plans for the day. The blonde groaned, tossing a quick look upstairs. She shook her head, started the kettle and then retreated from the blinking light to her studio.
Sitting in the center of the room on a paint-splattered wood easel was her latest creation. Tara grinned. It was beautiful. She stepped closer, and appreciated how complete it really was. She let her eyes study the paint's thick texture, take in how perfectly the seemingly incongruous colors sat side-by-side. It was enchanting; the colors of The Fillmore bouncing off the crown of the redhead's head, a rain of sparks accentuating the space beyond.
Tara shook her head in amazement. It was almost like she didn't even have a hand in its creation. She had channeled it; it had almost come into the world fully formed, like Athena sprung from Zeus' head. It had many of the same colors as her other work, 'Fillmore,' yet was a totally unique work. It was, she quickly realized, one of the best pieces she had ever painted.
She began to rub the palm of her hand absently with her thumb, strong circles that pressed deep into the flesh. Her hand had cramped twice the night before, as she dipped and swiveled to get the detail she desired. It had all happened so fast. She had struggled to keep up, her physical body pushing itself to the limit as the inspiration flowed out of her. She smiled again at the painting. She didn't mind how badly her knees ached or how there was a definite knot in her lower back. It was worth it.
The girl looked to her left to see the completed 'Frost/Flame' composition leaning against the wall a feet below her painting 'Pancakes.' She had color matched the fierce red from the newest Fillmore painting to finish the other work. It was startling, she thought, how close the reds were. To the untrained eye, the red in 'Frost/Flame' and the newest work were identical. To Tara, however, the oil red in 'Frost/Flame' was a tinge more lush, the acrylic red in her newest work a smidge more vibrant. She turned back to the new work and thought about what to call it. A smile broke across her face as it came to her. Of course, she thought with a brief head bob. Of course. The name fit, perfectly.
She returned to the main room just as the kettle started to whine, and she removed it from the burner before it could let loose its high-pitched whistle. She quickly made breakfast—or more accurately lunch—and eyed the answering machine. After briefly perusing the contents of her refrigerator, she pulled the tinfoil tab back on a container of yogurt and looked upstairs to see if Willow was on her way down. She heard nothing, and again eyed the machine. After hemming and hawing for what felt like minutes, she pressed the playback button.
***************************************************
Willow ended her phone call with Khalil and Andy, and stretched in her seat, a small squeak escaping her lips as she exhaled. She stood and stretched her senses, listening for movement in the blonde's room, downstairs. She didn't hear anything and wondered if at noon Tara was still asleep. She thought she had heard the shower, but she had admittedly been fully wrapped up in her conference call, the phone pressed tightly against her ear as she listened to the two men on the line argue about the direction of their latest design.
After spending a long moment considering her next move, she crossed her room and opened the door quietly, mindful that the blonde may still be asleep. She took a few steps out, her eyes turning to see Tara's bedroom door ajar, the fairy lights glowing softly in the gloom. She turned to head to the stairs when Morgan's voice filtered up and froze her in her tracks.
"Hey Tara, it's Morgan. It's... a little after 9 on Wednesday night. Just calling about tomorrow afternoon. I'll try your cell. If I don't reach you, give me a call, okay? Thanks, bye."
"A little after 9..." Willow thought back to last night. Tara, blushing red at the dinner table as the redhead came back from the bathroom, the blonde snapping her phone shut. But, she had said it was Dawn... the redhead thought, suddenly wondering if it had been Morgan all along. There hadn't been any other calls, she had been with her roommate the whole time, and 9 o'clock was about when "Dawn" had texted. But why would she lie, and say it was Dawn if it was Morgan?
Willow's confusion deepened.
***************************************************
Tara listened to the message and wondered, as the brunette stopped speaking, why her machine was so loud. Willow was sure to have heard—if not the words, then definitely the sound. Hopefully it didn't disrupt her work call. She leaned forward and checked the small box for a volume button, huffing in frustration when she didn't see one. Did she even still own the manual for the machine? She could probably ask Willow to take a look; lord knows her technology-inclined roommate could likely fix it. She'd probably try and convince me that the solution involved me buying a computer... She smiled slightly before returning her thoughts to the message.
The blonde turned and eyed her jacket hanging across the room, knowing that her cell phone still sat in one of its pockets. It hadn't even occurred to her to check Morgan's message when she got home. She had been so wrapped up in Willow. She sighed. Morgan. The brunette had asked for help with her portfolio, so technically their meet up would be work related, however, Tara was no fool. She knew the brunette likely wanted her input because she liked her. Wanted to see her because she hoped their time spent would evolve into something romantic. She sighed again, scooping a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. If she invited Morgan over, went through with it, was she leading the girl on? Professional courtesy demanded that she help the brunette if asked; she owed her own career to the careful advice of countless of other artists, and she knew if she turned Morgan away when she really needed help she'd feel forever guilty. Still...
She sighed, taking another few bites of yogurt. She thought about Willow and last night. Thought about her 'My Xander' epiphany. She hoped, beyond all hope that she was right in her blossoming assumption that Xander was no more than a friend. But even if she was right, even by some small shred of serendipity she was right, that didn't make Willow gay. It didn't make Willow into a woman she could have a relationship with. Right?
She leaned back into the marble, the cool stone soaking through her thin shirt. The soft caresses in the dark at the show... was that a sign of something, evolving, or just her overactive imagination? And even if Xander was just a friend, what about Oz? Tara wondered, the short man's name floating into her mind for the first time in a while. Willow and Oz had dated for five years; they had been dating that day in the park. But they broke up, and there's been no one since, if we're counting out Xander... Tara thought. There's no reason why Willow couldn't have dated Oz and then come to realize that she may be interested in women. She frowned. Women. She didn't like the plural of that word. Was Willow really attracted to women? Or was it, woman. Is it me?
She sighed, absently licking her spoon clean, the yogurt container in her hand empty. She had been watching Willow for a sign for three years—five if she was absolutely honest with herself—and other than that day in the park, it had been nothing more than details that could go either way. The fairy lights gesture could be friendly or more. Protecting Tara's feelings about her job could be friendly or more. The way Willow lightly held her as they whispered in the noisy darkness last night, the redhead showering her with attention... It could be friendly... very friendly... or more.
She knew how she felt about the redhead. She tried so hard not to make it too obvious, tried to mask it as kindness, but she was not so naive as to ignore that there were chinks in her armor. She knew that hug last night lasted longer than was 100 percent platonic. Knew that she had likely been caught staring, perhaps flirting on occasion. Like, last night, for instance, she thought with a blush as she remembered calling Willow a 'cute girl.' Would Willow recognize those for what they plainly were? And if she did, if she was, starting to recognize those things, how did she feel about them? Did she think they were friendly gestures... or more. Did she want them to be friendly gestures... or more?
Tara tapped the spoon against her leg a few times before heading to the sink, washing it and putting it in the dish drainer. She then rinsed out the yogurt container and put it in the recycling bin before wiping stray drops of water from her hands on a nearby dish towel. She again looked to the stairs, but heard nothing. She looked to the phone, and boggled again at what she should say to, and do with, Morgan. She lightly rubbed her forehead, and headed to her studio to begin her day's work. She'd give herself a half hour to sort through the Morgan mess. Hopefully, she'd find the answers she needed before then. And hopefully, with any luck, she'd see Willow soon.
***************************************************
But why would she lie?
Willow slowly returned to her room as the message ended, quietly shutting the door behind her. The concept of Tara lying for any reason felt wrong. It just didn't seem to be in her nature. That's not to say that the blonde didn't have the capacity, everyone tells the odd white lie, but why say the call had been from Dawn? Why cover up that the call had been from Morgan?
The redhead sunk down into her chair, her face screwed up in thought. And why not mention it later in the evening when the redhead had purposefully asked about the brunette artist and their plans for the afternoon? Willow's brow further creased. Why would Tara hide a conversation with Morgan from her, her friend, her roomie? It made no sense. The redhead felt uneasy.
Of course, she could have missed the call, didn't even know she got it and it could have been Dawnie texting at that moment I came out of the bathroom, Willow thought. She knew Tara often kept her phone on vibrate. Maybe it had been on silent and she didn't even know she got it. But... the redhead frowned, clearly remembered the look on Tara's face, her nervous disposition after she had been caught texting "Dawn." It all seemed so out of place and out of character.
Willow sighed, leaning further back into her chair, careful not to agitate her sore neck. Now that she thought about it, Tara was pretty avoidy when she had asked about Morgan last night. Willow grimaced. She had been so proud of herself, asking after Morgan, pushing the blonde to open up, and now it seems that the blonde didn't open up at all.
The redhead dropped her head back into the headrest and closed her eyes, wincing slightly as she turned her neck to the side. Her entire equilibrium was off. She was discomposed. Tara liking her, Tara hiding things from her. The reality of coming out only a mere 54 hours away, Buffy thinking Xander's big news was just 'neat...' It was like she went to the show in one reality and woke up in a totally alternate universe. It looked the same, but felt so different. What in the frilly heck was going on?
Morgan.
The brunette had been in the back of her mind all day. Willow had woken up remembering that it was Tara and Morgan's portfolio "date" day, and had tried not to fixate all morning on what time the artist would show up, how long she'd say, and whether she could bear to be in the same apartment as the love of her life was wooed by someone so perfect—even if Tara had sworn Morgan wasn't her ideal. Before the message she thought she could handle it, but now...
Wi-Fi cafe it is, she concluded with a resolute head nod. She would run away and hide, scurry off to a cafe with her laptop and wait the encounter out, driving herself nuts as she over-imagined ever second spent between the brunette and blonde. Super... she sighed, a knot forming in her stomach. She looked between her desktop machines and her laptop. She needed to work, especially now that Khalil and Andy had finally agreed to move in one direction instead of five, and she acknowledged with a sigh that if she did leave, there was only so much work she could do on her slim notebook. If she left, when, I leave, she corrected, she'd be setting herself up for a night's worth of work once she got home to make up.
She thought about Morgan again. Perfect, olive skinned, brunette artist Morgan and nodded. Work tonight it is. She looked to the clock on her computer and decided that she'd leave promptly at one, with the hopes that she'd be out until after five. Until after the brunette artist left. God I hope she leaves...
She took a deep breath, trying to push all of her confusing personal thoughts to the back of her mind so she could work. She quickly set about finishing up a few items on her to do list and then started to pack for the afternoon out.
Last edited by
EasierSaid on Sat Jan 09, 2010 11:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Thanks so much, please enjoy the next bit.
Glad you liked the update. I agree, it's great that Tara's back in the studio, and totally - Willow the Distractor is now Willow the Muse. We'll see how long that lasts! (And if you get that Syllogismobile working, come pick me up, I'd like to go too!) Clues are definitely flying, and you're right, Tara has generally ignored Willow's clues out of caution. Willow finally starting to pick clues up... danger ahead, or good times for all? And yes to Shelia and Buffy - hurry up already, right? Thanks again and please enjoy the next update.
I was going to say, surprised? With me blathering on about it at all hours? *That* would have been surprising. 
, but this story is without doubt my all time favourite. A couple of Callica (Callie/Erica from Grey’s) fics along with 2 others on this board have me completely enraptured every time I read them.
(of course, I’m excluding the intense dream sequences) 
In between your updates, little snippets of this story would occasionally filter back to me (while I’m on the train, standing in line at the supermarket, etc etc) and I’ll eagerly come back and re-read certain bits again.
Needless to say, I think about this story A LOT.
