Sorry about the wait. Hopefully updates will return to normal, though I will warn you if they won't.
Note 1: Rating Change: Almost NC-17. Almost.
Note 2: Thanks to taraslove, for Portal, and for the inspiration.
Chapter 28
Paladin of Souls
The sun was setting. Willow had been half-heartedly reading a battered copy of 'Runaway Jury' she found in the dresser drawer by her bed, but after she had read the same page several times she decided to just stop. Besides, the light was fading and she hadn't turned on a lamp yet. The darkness was more comforting to her now, and there was just enough light coming through the open doorway. She looked out the window at the waterfall in the courtyard; the setting sun had cast the garden into shadow, and all the flowers seemed dark and almost menacing. The geraniums, bright red by day, now looked malignant and diseased in the shadows, and Willow sighed.
I'm frozen.
She had sat for a long time, expecting Tara to return to her. She understood that Tara had to leave, she knew that Althanea was going to Los Angeles and that Tara would need to speak to her. She just thought that Tara would come and see her before leaving work, would tell her what Althanea said, would realize that Willow had just put her heart on the line for her....
But hours passed, not minutes. Knowing Murphy's Law the way she did, Willow finally fished around for a book, thinking that the minute she got engrossed in it would be the minute that Tara would return to her. It was in vain. Tara was gone for the entire weekend, and if the rest of the two days were anything like the past two hours, Willow was in trouble. She felt the emptiness within her, and her shattered little heart considered what her life would be like without Tara in it. Could she even consider such a monstrous idea? Days, months, years without little Tara-endearments, without the clear and loving gaze, without those enchanting blue eyes?
So she looked out the window, the pages of the book open on her lap, and she marveled at the change within her. The most astonishing thing of all was that this didn't feel so strange to her, this, say it Willow, this love for Tara. It felt comfortable, and familiar, and wild and exciting at the same time. She could feel something just out of reach, just beyond her sight, and she drove herself mad trying to uncover it.
Breadcrumbs.
I'm broken.
All day long she was a castle under siege. In that comforting cloak of silence, Tara's warm hands battered her defenses, her soft fingers through Willow's hair were mangonels heaving great boulders at the ramparts of Willow's final silly objections. As six o'clock rolled around, Willow was preparing the white flag, for she had finally surrendered. The woman who stood before her, who served her so faithfully, she was the paladin of Willow's soul, the instrument of Willow's peace, the author of Willow's happiness. And just as Willow realized it, had declared her experiment an absolute success, her paladin had fled, leaving Willow alone in her castle, her walls dashed to ruin, unprotected.
Willow couldn't even cry any more. She had cried enough already. She wore her heart on her sleeve, had opened up her frail little soul, and Tara had taken a step towards her, then two. Willow knew what she had hoped would happen. She was going to close the door behind Tara, with magic if need be, and Tara was going to walk to her side. Willow was going to shuffle over on her bed to make room for her nurse, and then her nurse was going to take her hot and desperate face in her long-fingered hands, wipe her tears away, and kiss her. And with that kiss, everything would become clear, the breadcrumbs would illuminate the path into her subconscious, and her magic would supply the rest.
But Tara left.
And she didn't come back.
So Willow looked out the window, and lost herself in watching the clouds change colour. She didn't hear their approach; she only noticed that someone was at her door when there was a quick knock. Willow turned her head despondently, and then her heart flew into her throat with dizzying speed. Tara stood in her doorway, holding the frame with one hand for support, Ethan on the other side of her, one arm about her waist, the other holding her arm solicitously.
“Tara?” she asked quietly. Her nurse didn't say anything, merely shuffled into the room with Ethan supporting her every step. Willow's face fell as she gazed anxiously at Tara, who looked weaker than Willow had ever seen her. Tara was looking directly at her, and her eyes were asking a question, and Willow could see that Tara was scared of Willow's answer, fearing rejection.
No rejection, only elation. Of course the answer was yes, and still they needed no words. As Tara approached, weary and fainting, Willow scooted over on her bed and lifted the sheets and blanket. She had no eyes for Ethan's disapproval, she only had eyes for Tara. Tara, who had come back for her. Tara didn't leave her after all. She was simultaneously overjoyed to see her nurse and horrified at Tara's condition. Tara sat down carefully on the edge of Willow's bed, then slowly popped off her shoes. Turning to look at Willow carefully, Tara then deliberately turned her back on Willow and, tucking in her feet first, she lay down on her side, her back to Willow's front.
Willow immediately cast the sheet and blanket over them both, then looked anxiously at Dr. Daniels. No matter how jubilant this made her feel, Willow knew that this wasn't normal hospital policy, and she knew Dr. Daniels was seething in unease. To her complete amazement, it seemed that Tara fell asleep the moment her head hit the thin hospital issue pillow. She looked at the brown hair cascading over the pillow and felt a shocking surge of protectiveness overcome her. She felt just like a lioness protecting her cub, and felt that she would take on the whole world to keep her cub safe.
And even though Dr. Daniels was clearly uncomfortable here, he lingered a moment. “What happened?” Willow finally asked, trying to puzzle out the myriad of emotions on his face.
“She fainted again,” he replied shortly, with a measure of animosity that confused Willow. Willow looked down at her nurse again, her soul amplifying in concern. Her head shot back as she heard his next comment, “It's your fault, you know.”
“My fault?” Willow stammered.
“It's Caleb,” Ethan said, and Willow felt a momentary flash of exasperation. Did the whole world know about her secrets? But then she was far too involved and ashamed by his words to worry any longer. “This only started happening after she took Caleb out of your mind.”
He was angry. Willow could understand that. He loved her. She was just about to open her mouth, to try to explain, when he continued. “I know there was nothing you could do, you were in a coma. You couldn't have stopped her. I could have. But I didn't. So it's my fault, really.”
“Dr. Daniels, please,” Willow pleaded.
“You better treat her right,” he warned, his voice breaking.
With Tara lying next to her for the first time, with the perfectness of Tara's limbs against her own, with her small breasts pressed next to Tara's back, feeling every breath her nurse took, Willow shone with resolve. “Dr. Daniels,” Willow said quietly. “I
will save her.”
And maybe he understood, for he deflated a little, and left their room, drawing the white curtain as he left, yet leaving the door to their room open, the dim hall light providing soft illumination.
Leaving Willow alone with Tara.
Willow burned with questions, with concern, but she shunted all this to the back of her mind. One step at a time. She needed more information before she could come up with a plan, but she certainly wasn't getting information while Tara was asleep, so she might as well forget about it and enjoy the moment.
So she very gently pulled out Tara's ponytail, so she would be more comfortable while she slept, and combed her hair out with her fingers. Willow loved the feeling of that chocolate hair running through her hands. Her heart pounding fiercely, Willow debated whether or not to get closer to her; when Tara had climbed into her bed Willow had given her plenty of space, leaving herself but a little. She couldn't hardly sleep in such a tiny space, right? Hoping and praying that Tara wouldn't be offended, that this is exactly what her nurse wanted, Willow curled up behind Tara, spooning deliciously behind her back and legs, feeling a screech of pain along her own semi-mangled limbs.
What a pair we make.
Willow wasn't sure if she could sleep next to Tara, for her heart was pounding fiercely, and she felt desire pooling along her limbs and between her legs. But eventually her eyes grew heavy and her limbs delightfully thick with encroaching sleep, and before dropping off she laid her hand across Tara's waist, pulling her in tight, and nuzzled her chin against Tara's shoulder.
It was late and the moon was high when she woke next, and she fluttered in confusion for a moment, not really remembering where she was. But then Willow felt the tremors running through the body of the woman lying next to her, and she heard Tara's little yelps and murmurs of distress. Not stopping to think about what she was doing, Willow rubbed her hand across Tara's stomach and whispered in her ear, “Ssh, Tara, it's just a nightmare, ssh, it's all right.” Her hand continued to make comforting little circles on Tara's abdomen and she could feel the girl start to relax again under her hand.
Willow wasn't sure if Tara was entirely asleep, as Tara firmly entwined her fingers with Willow's, resting them both against the flat plane of her stomach. But her nurse began breathing slowly and deeply once more, clutching tightly to Willow's hand. Feeling sleep overcome her once again, Willow marveled briefly on the remarkable sensation of entwining her fingers with Tara's, of having them rest on her body, and then she too fell asleep.
She next came awake when she heard the familiar rattling of the blood pressure cart. She blearily opened her eyes to see John hovering over her. She lifted her arm from Tara's stomach and he wordlessly placed the cuff around it, then popped the thermometer into her ear. Willow wasn't sure if she wanted to look at him, afraid that his face would be a dissertation in disapproval, but he kept it remarkably clear. Not a word was spoken as he finished, writing down the vitals on her chart, and she heard him pull away with the cart down the hall to the next patient.
Willow glanced down at her watch. It was starting to get light outside, but it was still before seven o'clock. Insanely glad that she had made enough progress yesterday, Willow reluctantly pulled away from the sleeping form and slowly hobbled to the bathroom. While there she looked closely at herself in the mirror, a little astonished at the grave woman who looked back at her. She almost didn't recognize this Willow, this Willow with the scars on her face, with a depth to her eyes that never existed before. Her pupils were the black holes of her memory, and she stared at herself as if to call the memories back by force. Some romantic within her yearned for a fairy-tale kiss from Tara, a kiss that would recall all memories back to her and finally shed light on the coma. The practical scientist within her warred with the witch who believed in fairy tales and ghost stories and things that go bump in the night. Willow combed her hair, and brushed her teeth, and then tottered back to the bed, climbing carefully in next to her nurse.
For a while she attempted to fall back asleep, but it was hopeless. So she gladly turned her attention to the sleeping form in her arms. As she lay next to Tara, Willow supposed that it was the best feeling she had ever experienced. It felt like her heart was continually expanding in her chest, her stomach was all achy with joy, and she scarcely felt able to breathe. And all Tara was doing was lying there.
The drapes were still open, so the glow from the rising sun crept easily into Willow's room, painting them both with a soft glow. As Willow had climbed into bed, Tara had shifted slightly in her sleep and had fallen more on her back, overlapping Willow's front. Willow made sure that Tara's eyes were closed and her breathing regular before unabashedly staring down Tara's body. Her chest rose and fell with each steady breath, and Willow gently replaced her hand on Tara's midsection so she could feel her girl breathe. The only thing that marred the sight of Tara's breathing was the Amulet of Thespia, which had fallen heavily to Tara's side.
The Amulet. Willow sighed, and with her other hand she stroked Tara's hair. She desperately hoped that Tara would tell her the story, the whole story, and finally reveal why she felt so familiar, why she felt so good.
Willow gazed on Tara's face. Her eyelashes were long and dark, and despite sleeping for nearly twelve hours there were still dark spots under her eyes. The black eye was almost gone; it had reached that sickly yellow stage of healing and Willow wondered if the demon had done that, too. Seemed a little odd for a demon to do, but Willow had no other explanation. Unless someone hit Tara. The very idea made Willow's blood boil. The three long slashes that ran from Tara's eye to her ear and down to her jaw were very thin now and completely scabbed over. Willow wished, oh she wished she could just heal her, and though she had already tried a few times, she attempted to heal her again.
Concentrating deeply, Willow called upon the powers of the universe, and summoned the energies of earth. Like obedient little armies, they came to her beck and call, regimented themselves at the edge of her fingertips, but when she attempted to ply them on Tara's face, they recoiled against the great adamant wall. Willow pushed a little harder, but still there was nothing.
Severing her link, Willow fell back against her pillow, discontented. She wasn't used to being thwarted in her plans. She was Willow Rosenberg, for crying out loud. She always came up with a way to circumvent things. But once again, her plight came down to a lack of knowledge. She meant what she said to Dr. Daniels. She would save Tara. She would do anything for Tara. But she needed to know everything in order to do it. With the Scooby Gang, that always meant tons of research at the Magic Box. Her research this time would not come from any book. All the mystery lay locked in this precious woman's mind, and Willow had to find a way to draw it out.
Watching Tara as the minutes passed, Willow became aware that Tara was slowly waking up. Her girl began shifting a little, her breathing grew irregular, but her eyes didn't open yet. Willow was pierced with desire, wanting to show Tara what she meant to her, what Willow had finally started to figure out. A vague part of her wondered if Tara had ever loved another woman; she still knew so little about the woman who had captured her heart. Willow was candid enough with herself to know that it simply didn't matter. All that mattered was the body lying against hers, the warm of her limbs, the exquisite feeling of joyous pain in her gut.
Her heart pounding in trepidation and excitement, Willow began to rub little circles on the fabric on Tara's stomach, waiting for some sign that this was what Tara wanted. If Tara had stiffened, had drawn away, Willow would have stopped in an instant. Instead, Tara mumbled something, and pushed her butt back against Willow's legs. The friction of the fabric on Willow's fingers sent slight electric currents through her whole body.
I'm hot.
Willow did this for a few minutes, her hands swooping all along the plane of Tara's stomach, then her fumbling fingers found the hem of Tara's shirt. Holding her breath, Willow dipped her fingers under Tara's shirt and touched Tara's bare skin.
Willow paused there a moment, waiting for a green light from Tara. The way Tara drew in a sharp breath was signal enough. Tingling in anticipation, she ran her hand over the smooth expanse of Tara's warm skin, trailing all the way down to her far side and then back again in long, slow passes. Tara's breathing became a little more irregular yet, so Willow continued her slow assault, alternating using the heel of her hand to gently massage Tara's stomach, and her fingers to lightly tickle. Willow almost grew embarrassed; her nipples had hardened into sharp little nubs and were still firmly pressed to Tara's back. She wondered if Tara could feel them.
She kept up her deliberate assault, and on her next pass over Tara's stomach she drew lower, passing near the drawstring waist of Tara's scrubs. Emboldened, she used a feathery touch to trace the line of her pants, then a harder touch as she worked her way back down Tara's stomach. Gods, she was getting wet herself, pressure building relentlessly, thick like honey in her veins. Lifting her hand almost completely off, she heard a little grumble from Tara, but she swiftly returned her palm to the lower expanses of Tara's abdomen.
Here Willow paused for a moment. It was very obvious that Tara was enjoying this treatment with her continual murmurs and the nearly imperceptible thrusting of her hips, but Willow wanted to give her more. Willow wanted to give her everything. Making up her mind, Willow continued her long slow probing of Tara's stomach, always skirting the drawstring waist of her pants. Taking a deep breath, this time as she ran her fingers along the edge of Tara's pants, she paused at the far end, then slid her fingers under her drawstring waist and the elastic edge of her panties.
Willow could have sworn that Tara was holding her breath. Smiling in delight, grateful that she could do this much at least for her battered nurse, Willow drew her fingers back towards her, just under the waistband, circling Tara's bellybutton. Once, twice she ran her fingers around the vortex of Tara's bellybutton, then continued her steady advance to Tara's side. She repeated this motion half a dozen times, slow and torturous pullings of her fingers over the lower expanses of Tara's abdomen, rubbing her bellybutton again and again. Drawing her fingers out from under the waistband, she ran them up Tara's side, still under the fabric of her shirt, over Tara's bony ribcage, stopping just before the swell of Tara's breast.
Passion began to roar within her; she lifted her hand away, and could have sworn she heard a whispered, “Don't stop, please.” Smiling mischievously, Willow placed her warm hand on Tara's hip, then ran it slowly along the line of Tara's body, dipping once again under Tara's shirt, caving in to the smallness of her waist, rising up along the edge of her ribcage, the fabric pulling under her hand as she continued higher, coming to the swell of Tara's bra-covered breasts. Willow gulped, and her hand ached to cup Tara's breasts; she had feasted her eyes on them ever since she woke, imagined them to be the softest globes of perfection imaginable, but this was still too new, and she didn't want to frighten her girl. Smiling in barely contained anticipation, she ran her hand along the lower edge of the bra until she encountered tape and gauze.
Her hand froze.
How could she have forgotten?
Scalpels in lamplight. Demon carved chest. Willow had come away with only mental scars, but Tara's were physical. Once again Willow was awash in grief. What this girl had done for her, the horrors she had experienced, the pains that wracked her body even now, Willow could only glimpse the edges of the idea and it still haunted her. Her chest tightened in despair, and she convulsively wrapped Tara even more tightly in her arms, pulling at her in wrought desperation until every portion of her front was touching Tara.
(If I lose you, my heart will be broken.)Willow nuzzled her chin to Tara's shoulder, shuddering. She tried to keep from crying, she was crying at the drop of a hat these days, but the exquisite feeling of Tara in her arms, the knowledge that Tara was hurt because of her, and her aching inability to do anything about it, it all festered in her mind and she found she just had to weep. She lifted one hand to brush Tara's hair out of her way, then returned that hand to the bare skin of Tara's stomach.
Willow felt her tears strike the bare skin of Tara's neck and without thinking she turned her head and sucked the tears away. It was the first time her lips came in contact with Tara's skin, and her body's response was electrifying. The slow torture earlier, the pressure that had been continually building, it was nothing compared to the near electric jolt that overcame her now. Tara's neck was so soft, so addictive, and Willow kissed it again and again, long and slow kisses that nearly made her swoon. She discovered with some delight the pulse point in Tara's neck and she laved special attention on it.
Tara was clearly awake. With a slow movement, she deliberately insinuated her foot between Willow's feet, entangling their calves. The movement hurt Willow's riddled legs a little, but she found she simply didn't care; the feeling of having Tara between her legs was too exquisite to pass up. Tara's hands moved to rest on top of Willow's, merging their fingers. As Willow realized that Tara was fully awake, she ceased her kissing, and nuzzled her chin once again into Tara's shoulder. “That was the best wake up I've ever had,” Tara said softly, and Willow squeezed her fingers in reply.
“Tara, I'm so sorry,” Willow gulped, her throat thick, her eyes shut against the pricklings of tears.
Tara shifted; letting go of Willow's hands briefly so she could turn herself on her other side, to face Willow, she snuggled back into Willow's embrace, firmly placing Willow's hand on the skin of her waist. Willow opened her tear-prismed eyes to see Tara looking directly at her, Tara softly asking, “What is there to be sorry for?”
Willow looked down at Tara's breasts, and her hand underneath Tara's shirt skirted the soul-engulfing expanse of her stomach to briefly touch the gauze and tape that covered her breasts. She couldn't speak past the lump in her throat, could only look back at Tara, Tara with the black eye, Tara with the carved face. Willow swallowed, several times, and still couldn't find the right words. Another tear sluicing down her cheek, Willow closed her eyes and pulled Tara closer to her, her arm encircling Tara's waist, Tara's head on her shoulder, Tara's hand wrapping around her back. She squirreled her other arm under Tara's body, wrapping it around her back, and with trembling fingers she began to rub Tara's shoulder.
Yet despite her grief, Willow could only exult in the remarkable sensation. For the first time, she and her nurse lay face to face, breast to breast, heart to heart, and the small part of Willow's mind that was still functioning wryly surmised that she could stay thus forever. She could feel the warmth of Tara's breath through the thin hospital robe she wore, after the shift in position Tara's foot had replaced itself between Willow's legs, and Tara's own hand was resting comfortably on Willow's side. Willow wished that she could feel Tara's hand on her own bare skin, but the hospital robe was too confining. Oh, well. It will come with time.
Minutes passed in this silence, this hush that so echoed the magic of yesterday. Willow calmed herself, and when she believed she could speak again she softly asked, “Tara?”
“Mmm?” Tara murmured, and Willow could feel the vibration against her breasts as Tara stayed nestled near her neck.
“Please tell me?”
Tara didn't speak for a long time, and Willow almost held her breath in anticipation. The need to know was burning her up inside, and her promise to Dr. Daniels echoed within her. It had taken a few days to build on Tara's trust, to prove how committed she was to Tara, to convince her to finally lay down the burden of hoarding all that terrible knowledge. Now, with her nurse in her arms, Willow believed Tara was finally ready to tell the truth, and all of it.
And when it seemed that Tara needed just one little prod more, the careful and experienced inquisitor that was Willow said something that she didn't understand yet had popped into her mind with resonating force.
“I am close, Tara.”
Tara lifted her eyes, and gazed on Willow in frank admiration. She was the paladin of Willow's soul. She was the wave on Willow's sea. She was the composer, the butterfly, the angel.
Willow was breathless.
“And I am the lamb,” Tara softly replied.
TBC on Tuesday, January 1 with Chapter 29: God is in the why
Feedback, anyone?
Phoenix
This was superb writing. Willowbabble even if it was in her head is always challenging yet you hit all the right notes.
Please let them find each other? Please? 
