by AntigoneUnbound » Fri Jan 10, 2003 12:38 am
Gods Served and Abandoned
Disclaimers: I own nothing. Just ask my bank.
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!
Comment:
Clearly, the villain of this piece is Donnie, who happens to have a rural, working class background. The voice I give him here reflects both what I could discern in the episode "Family" as well as my own familiarity with such a background. I hope that it’s clear, however, that his malevolence isn’t a function of that background. As I commented to VampNo12 earlier, Donnie is a villain who happens not to conjugate his verbs correctly. If Tara came from what appeared to be a very wealthy family, I’d write Donnie in that particular vein. It felt important to emphasize this because I don’t want anyone to assume that I hold rural, working-class individuals in low regard. It’s actually my own background and I’m fiercely protective of it. I figure the Pens crowd is too smart to make any such inferences, but I wanted to play it safe. Thanks for hearing (reading) me out!
Thoughts are in italics—kinda like this, which I’m thinking as I write.
*****
Part 7
*****
Fuck her.
Fuck. Her.
That bitch, talking to him like that, walking away from him like he didn’t even count; like he wasn’t worth the time of day. He didn’t really think she’d just dump Tara on the spot, but he figured it would at least make her look at her different, maybe get an idea of just how pathetic Tara had been. But she didn’t even bat an eye.
And the things she’d said to him, calling him a loser and letting on like he wouldn’t understand half of what she said. He understood, all right. He understood that she was practically laughing at him. He understood that she didn’t think he was much of a threat.
Turning over in bed, staring sleeplessly out the hotel window, he replayed the whole scene in his head, over and over, like a movie he couldn’t stop watching even though he knew how it ended.
But this one hadn’t ended, dammit. If they thought that was all he’d brought with him, they were dead wrong. That was just supposed to fuck with Tara’s mind a little bit, and Willow’s, too. And maybe it hadn’t worked like he’d wanted it to, but he sure as hell wasn’t heading back to Cold Springs just yet. He’d been waiting for a chance like this his whole life, it seemed, and oneangry little dyke wasn’t about to run him off. He wasn’t like his daddy, whipped and dragging his ass back home. He had a lot more in his arsenal than one weapon, and he wouldn’t really mind having to use all of them.
He allowed himself a small grin. At least he’d been right thinking Tara was a lezzie. Boy, the way that red-head had gone ballistic on him; the look she’d given him after his crack about her doing his sister—that was worth something…Looked like she wanted to scratch his eyes out, she did.
He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, watching snippets of another, older movie play out there. He’d always kind of wondered about Tara, even before those kids found that note. She never took notice of any boys, never talked about dating or anything like that…’Course, she hadn’t said that much of anything when she was younger. Hell, the only time she didn’t stutter too bad was when Mama was around, and even then sometimes she couldn’t help it. But then those kids had found her pushing that note into Jo’s locker, and pulled it away from her, and read it out loud…He smiled at that particular memory—the way Tara came home all puffy-eyed and went straight to her room; the way Jo stopped hanging around with her, wouldn’t call her back; the way Tara just slumped over even more after that. The way he figured it, Jo had been a little bit queer, too. For all he knew, they’d had something going on, or maybe starting…But not after that.
He wondered if Tara had told their mom…They were always so close, those two. And Mama was just soft enough to put up with it. Had she known? Hell, Mama would probably have told Tara that it was all right, that she could be whoever she wanted to be. He couldn’t believe his daddy had married such a woman, and stayed with her.
Was it worth it, Daddy? Was it worth everything you lost, everything you gave up to be with that witch who never loved you anyway?
He turned back onto his side, looking at the blank wall this time. No way was this over just yet. Lots of ways to skin a cat, and if he had to find new ways to do it, well, that was all right with him.
*****
By the time she reached Xander’s apartment, the mochas were cold. Willow herself, however, was steamed enough to power a small tug-boat. That fucking malicious prick. How dare he talk about Tara that way?
She practically pulled Tara bodily out of the apartment, offering the hastiest of good-byes to Xander and Anya.
"Don’t you want to kiss Tara hello?" asked Anya hopefully, as Willow pointedly handed Tara her coat.
"Don’t worry, I’ll take notes," Tara assured her as they headed out the door. Once in the hallway, she turned to Willow.
"Honey, what’s up? I know you can only take so much Anya in any one day, but—"
"I ran into Donnie at the Espresso Pump," Willow said simply, taking Tara’s hands in her own.
"What? Did he—goddess, Willow, did he threaten you, or try to do anything?"
"The entire scene can be summed up like this: Your brother is an asshole beyond all known exemplars. But no, he didn’t try anything physical."
Willow could feel the fear coming off of Tara like waves. She kissed her quickly, and looked into her eyes. "C’mon, Baby, let’s get home. I’ll explain on the way."
On the short trip back to their room, Willow could almost see Tara growing smaller and smaller. When she got to Donnie's malicious jibes against Tara, she thought about omitting them, knowing how much it would hurt her.
Does she really need to hear the whole ugly story? Would it really hurt to leave that part out? She was silent for a moment, considering the possibility.
"Willow?"
"Yeah, Baby?" She fumbled for her door key.
"What else?"
Willow struggled to reply. "What do you mean?"
"What else happened? I can tell there’s something you’re leaving out."
Willow sighed. "Remind me not to play poker with you…OK, I’ll finish the story, just as soon as we get inside."
Once in the warmth and safety of their home, Willow thought that Tara would relax, at least a little bit, but it was clear that her dread eclipsed any other reaction. She thought about making some tea, but realized that she would be doing it more to soothe herself, give herself something to do, than to actually serve a useful purpose.
She took Tara’s hand and led her into the bedroom where they curled up on top of the covers. There, she told Tara what Donnie had said. As she spoke, she watched tears gather in Tara’s eyes and then tumble unchecked over her cheeks. Willow reached out and softly stroked them away, wishing desperately for the words that would heal the jagged slice that she could see making its way through Tara’s heart.
"Tara, Baby, you have to know that what he said didn’t mean anything to me. You know that, right?" She couldn’t keep the urgency out of her voice.
After a moment, Tara replied almost inaudibly, "Maybe. But they mean something to me."
"Tara, Sweetie, please look at me. Please don’t turn those gorgeous eyes away from me. I can’t stand it when you’re sad."
Tara struggled to meet Willow’s gaze. Why? Why do all the good things have to get dirty and stained? "Willow, I just want to forget all of that. Y-you know that growing up w-was a rough time for me. I told you I w-wasn’t exactly popular."
Willow ached at the sound of Tara’s small voice, at her stutter. "Tara, it’s not like he told me you were an ax-murderer, or sold crack to kindergarten kids, or cheated on a math quiz…It was nothing horrible."
Tara shifted awkwardly, sitting up a little and looking at Willow as if she were missing the point. "What’s not horrible about who I was? About how pathetic and lonely I was? What exactly was the Kodak moment in all of that?"
Willow sat up herself, squeezing Tara’s shoulders. "You tell me what is horrible about who you were. Not how it made you feel, but who you were. Tara, Baby, have you forgotten who you’re talking to here? The only real friend I had wore his underwear on his head, for God’s sake. And as for being trendy, well, I wore clothes that would blind you if you looked at them without protective lenses."
She was rewarded by the slightest of smiles, and played her ace. "Tara, if you’re saying that your past makes you too pathetic to be loved, then you’re saying the same thing about me. And frankly, I resent it."
Tara’s mouth twisted with anguish, her eyes darkening. "Willow, you know that’s not true. You know how much I love you, and respect you—"
"And want me? Do you find me sexy, and desirable? Or am I some wounded creature you took pity on?"
"How can you even ask that? God, I want you so much it almost embarrasses me sometimes. I mean, I feel like a big pervert around you half the time."
"Well, the goal is to make that all of the time, with the understanding that pervert, as we define it, is a wonderful, wonderful thing. The point is, knowing my history doesn’t make you want me any less, right?’
"Of course not." Tara was silent for a moment, and Willow fought the urge to send more words up to the front line to do battle with Tara’s pain. Instead, she talked with her hands, stroking Tara’s cheek and hair.
When Tara finally spoke, her voice was soft. "You’re right. I mean, I’d smack anyone who tried to insult you, or make fun of you. It’s just that…"She trailed off helplessly.
"Just what, Baby?"
"It’s just that those demons die so hard, and so slowly. Why can’t we just throw some holy water on them and watch them go ‘poof’?" She leaned over and let herself sink into Willow’s arms.
"I dunno, Tara. I think those demons call for some more sophisticated, subtle maneuvers…But I’ll tell you one thing: There is no way that Donnie is going to steal any of my Baby’s shine. Don’t let him take your good stuff away, Tara. You’ve worked so hard for it; you’ve earned it. You walked this steep, rocky path and everything you went through was part of making you who you are—who, by the way, I love more than I thought was humanly possible."
She felt Tara smiling against her chest. "We both had tough rows to hoe."
Willow paused, wondering how prostitutes had entered the conversation.
"Who’s a ho’? And where does the rose come into it?"
Tara sat up and smiled at her indulgently. "It’s a farm term, Sweetie. Rows, as in field rows; and hoe, as in the implement."
Willow felt herself blush. "Oh, of course. Just makin’ a funny, you know, in my own little suburban way…"
Tara sank back into Willow’s arms, where they rested in silence for a few moments. Willow debated with herself for a moment, and then ventured a question.
"Tara…Why didn’t you tell me about the note?" She felt Tara stiffen slightly, and wondered if she had blundered heedlessly into something too personal, too raw.
"Well, I told you that I had a huge crush on my best friend in high school. I guess I didn’t go into details because it…the details didn’t seem that important." She pressed her head more snugly into Willow’s breasts.
"And because it hurts too much to talk about it?"
"Well, yes, Dr. Freud, there is that, I guess."
"Sweetie, it just sounds so painful. I mean, you couldn’t pay me enough to go back to high school. Knowing you liked girls—that must have made it even harder." She thought about her own freshman year, and wasn’t sure which was worse: being ignored, or being taunted.
Tara draped her arm more securely over Willow, as if trying to anchor herself in the present. "It was the third worst moment of my life."
"What was second?" Willow queried, knowing that the first had to have been the death of Tara’s mother.
"The night you told me you were giving Oz another chance."
"Oh yeah…That pretty much redefined ‘sucks’ in my book," Willow said ruefully. "Tara, you don’t have to tell me any more about it if you don’t want to."
"Actually, there isn’t that much more to tell…Jo and I were best friends; we did everything together. And after awhile, I found that I wanted us to Do Everything together: capital D, capital E. I dreamt about her, I couldn’t concentrate in class. I was a total neurotic freak."
"And did she crush in return?"
"I think so; at least at first. We’d sit as close to each other as we could at lunch-time, and she was always inviting me to stay over at her house."
"Did she ever stay at yours?" Again, she felt Tara’s body tighten, almost imperceptibly.
"I didn’t really ask. Dad wasn’t too keen on outsiders, and I wasn’t too keen on having anybody—especially somebody I was crushing on—get to know my household up close and personal. Anyway," she continued, shifting the subject, "we spent every spare second together. We’d make up these wild stories about leaving Cold Springs and getting an apartment together—all sorts of crazy stuff that of course pales besides the crazy stuff that I actually live through now." She laughed, shaking her head slightly.
"And did any of these stories ever involve dating? Getting married, and not to each other?"
"Curiously enough, they didn’t. No, boys never really made it onscreen in our little dramas. It was always just the two of us, braving the wild world beyond our one-horse town."
"I think it’s safe to say Miss Jo had a little thing for Miss Tara," Willow pronounced with an emphatic nod. "Did anything ever happen?"
"No." Tara’s voice grew quiet once more, and Willow strained to hear her clearly. "I got up the nerve to write her a note…That was nothing new, we were always writing notes back and forth; but this was a different kind of note. It was about as close to saying ‘I love you’ as you can get without actually saying it."
Willow wanted desperately to look Tara in the eyes as she recounted the tale, but was afraid of shifting at all, lest Tara stop talking. She settled for kissing her forehead and rubbing her cheek along her hairline.
"I basically told her that I liked her more than I had ever liked anybody, and that I wanted us to be together as much as we could, for as long as we could. God, I agonized over that note…It was only five sentences, but you’d have thought I was writing ‘War and Peace,’ the way I deliberated over every word. I went through at least ten sheets of paper before I got it the way I wanted it. And I knew it was a love letter, even if I didn’t tell myself that. But I knew enough to burn the false-starts, and to try to sneak it into her locker when nobody was looking."
"Why didn’t you just give it to her?"
"Oh, didn’t I wish I’d done that later…But I was afraid, because I knew it was a different letter than I’d ever given her. I was afraid of seeing her face, afraid of her looking disgusted or freaked out."
"Even though you’re pretty sure she had feelings for you, too?"
"Feelings are one thing, Will. Fessing up, when you’re fourteen? And in a place like that? Trust me—Sunnydale may be the Hellmouth, but Cold Springs is Central Station on the homophobia subway system." She trailed off; Willow could feel her reliving that day. Again, she fought the urge to speak.
After a moment, Tara resumed the narrative. Willow listened with a growing ache, knowing how it ended.
"I thought I was in the clear, but there was a group of girls that had just left and one of them had forgotten her notebook. Jo’s locker was near the end of the hall; when they turned the corner, they were practically standing on me. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights…Cathy grabbed the note right out of my hand—I mean, I was pretty much a social outcast, so they must have guessed it was a slaughter in the making. They read it out loud. And then they shared it with pretty much everybody." She sighed deeply.
"Oh God, Baby…I’m so sorry. Why are people so mean? How could anybody want to hurt you?"
"They didn’t really have any idea who I was, Will. I was just some shy, dorky kid who read all the time and had all of one friend. And after that, I didn’t even have her."
"She split, huh?"
"If you take the average time needed to split and cut that in half, you’ve got it. She wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t take my phone calls, wouldn’t even look at me in school. Oh, and she started wearing enough make-up to make Tammy Faye Baker look like an Amish grandmother. She went from tomboy to ultra-femme in about one day."
"Did you two ever talk after that?"
"Nope. I tried, one last time, on graduation day. I think ours was a couple of weeks after yours; I remember hearing about the explosion down there in the big city…Anyway, I went up to her and I think all I managed to get out of my mouth was ‘Jo, listen’ and she just blinked, turned around, and walked off. I think it was the blink that got me, and don’t even ask me to explain that."
"Actually, I sorta get it." Willow contented herself for the moment with stroking Tara’s back and kissing her cheek and forehead.
Tara sighed. "And that, my love, is the story of my first crush, and the incredible crash and burn that became of it."
After a brief pause, Willow asked, "You know what I think?"
"That Jodi Foster needs to come out and be done with it?"
"Well, yes. And I also think that you were surrounded by far too many poopy-heads in your childhood and adolescence."
"‘Poopy-heads’? Is that a clinical term, Dr. Freud?"
"Oh yes. I reserve it for the most challenging of cases. Anyway, I think that the number of poopy-heads in your life to date has been disproportionately large, relative to the average American female of your age."
"So what do we do about this? Is there some kind of poopy-head-quarters where I register a complaint?"
"No, we simply make sure that for the next twenty years you have disproportionately fewer poopy-heads in your life."
Tara laughed, a slow, rolling laugh that seemed to come from deep inside of her. "And how exactly do we do that?"
Willow thought for a moment. "I hereby submit myself for consideration of Poopy-head Detection Duty, or Ph.D…D." Tara sat up and looked at her, eyes arching. "That’s right—I’ll make sure that no poopy-heads make it within a one-mile radius of your personal space. How about that?"
"Where do I sign?’
"It’s actually not so much a signature thing as a kissing thing. You need to kiss me, big and hard, right on the lips. And use your tongue if you really mean it."
Tara laughed again, and leaned over Willow, her hair tumbling about both their faces like a curtain. She kissed Willow to convey her agreement, and apparently she meant it quite a lot.
*****
To be continued
Hey Tulipp:
If I may be so demanding, could I ask for your thoughts about the fact that I used Tara’s POV only once? Was it distracting, given its sole appearance? Any perspective thoughts from your, well, perspective would be muchly appreciated. Thanks, Mary.
Edited by: AntigoneUnbound at: 1/9/03 10:44:37 pm
)! The interaction between W&T talking in bed, displayed perfectly their innate connection. And what I thought was poignant was Willow simply saying, ("I just wanna say that I know Donnie did some awful stuff, and nothing you could tell me would make me flinch or look away."). With this in mind, Tara might not be ready to share the "nit and gritty details", but Willow is always ready to reassure her love, that the "darkness" of the past will never alter what they share together in the "light", sigh true love 
. And speaking of connections, how they "complete" each other, I just loved the line, ("And then they curled back around each other, each form finding the niches that made separation seem like the most ridiculous of notions."), just beautiful imagery.
! Donny thinks he can just push Willow down, make her small by playing these "games", but Willow certainly put him in his place. Thus, I so loved that after every harsh statement meant to belittle Tara in Willow's eyes, it was directly followed with Willow "reclaiming" the words in love, making the images beautiful and sweet. Donnie really should take Willow's sage advice (ie leave), but I'm sure Donnie's pride (as well as need to revel in his demented pleasures) will get in the way of common sense. So here's hoping for a Donnie "smack-down" by the gang in the near future 
. Can't wait for the next part! 
at: 1/8/03 3:00:51 am
He probably thinks Willow is better at bluffing then he is though, one day.....oh yeah
ok, ditto
Gotta love that line 
at: 1/8/03 4:46:43 am
I couldn’t put it any nicer. Sorry. 
) I got from Willow and Donnie’s confrontation. It felt like a very well choreographed dance with Willow giving Donnie a very well deserved swift kick in the sack. (Graphic Much?
) I assume he’ll get worse though. 
. No doubt you will leave me with much to ponder
.
&
!