A Shadow Marks Our Days, Which End In Night

DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine. And I therefore apologise for killing one of them.

RATING: PG-13.
PAIRINGS: Willow/Kennedy
SPOILERS: Everything up to Potential in Season 7.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first - but I'm going to say yes.

FEEDBACK: Yes, please - keswindhover@yahoo.co.uk.


"Hiya, Sweetie."

Willow jumped and turned.

Kennedy stood in the doorway - but the voice, that hadn't been Kennedy. It had sounded like... Tara. It had sounded like Tara, who was dead.

Kennedy stepped through the doorway, a smile on her face. "Hey, Red. Cute jammies." Her eyes swept Willow from head to foot. Willow blushed, despite herself, and straightened the buttons on her Farscape Season One pyjama set. Then she blinked and tried to re-focus. Had she just imagined the sound of Tara's voice? Kennedy sounded like Kennedy now; as annoying and Kennedy-like as ever. And coming on to her - again.

Willow moved to the window, and looked out, deliberately turning her back. She heard Tara a lot of course, in her dreams. In her dreams Tara was hers, always and forever. Always kind, always beautiful, always welcoming. She knew it hadn't been that way of course, not always. But she couldn't control her dreams, couldn't force them to be truthful. I dream about a dead woman, she thought, and I can't let her be herself even there.

But hearing Tara when she was awake was a new development. She hadn't slept much recently, of course, things were getting too crazy. Maybe she'd started hallucinating - from exhaustion very probably. And now, when she did get a chance to lie down, when everything was relatively quiet for once, here was Kennedy. She frowned. If only Kennedy would go away, she could dream of Tara properly.

She turned back. Kennedy had taken her silence as an invitation, and was now sitting on the bed, her bed. Willow felt a stirring of violent, disproportionate anger, a faint thrum as magical energy coursed through her.

"What are you doing in my room?"

Kennedy cocked her head. "Thought you might want some company."

Willow sighed, "Go and fuck yourself, Kennedy - it's what your right hand is for. And I'm not volunteering." Her voice came out harsh, and a lot louder than she had intended, booming through the night time silence.

Their heads swivelled, together, to the open door. Was that going to draw an audience? But nothing stirred.

After a moment, Kennedy turned back to Willow and smirked. "Ooh, I like it when you talk dirty."

Willow closed her eyes, briefly, the anger refreshed. She looked Kennedy in the eye.

"Get. Out. Now."

Kennedy blinked, still not moving from her place on the bed. "Hey, your eyes just went black. Cool."

Willow's sight blurred. She took a step forward, then fell to her knees, hands to her temples. Time passed around her, she could feel it, but all her effort was locked into her internal struggle, not to give in to the rush of rage, not to lash out. Her head was pounding.

"Hiya, Sweetie."

Willow dragged her eyes open with an effort. Standing in front of her, her shape outlined against the window, was a familiar woman's shape.

"Tara?" Willow licked her lips.

The woman took a step forward, blonde hair shining in the moonlight, shoulders back, her posture a little shy, a little awkward.

Willow shuffled toward her, as though pulled on a string. The woman's hand reached down, towards her. Willow's hand lifted in response.

There was a sound of music playing faintly, as though someone had turned on the radio in another room. Tara's dead, Tara's dead, Tara's dead, the voice in her head sang to the tune. Don't believe it just because you want to believe it. This isn't a dream, it isn't a song. Wanting something doesn't make it so.

Willow's reaching hand reached out to grasp Tara's, and felt it there, beneath her fingers, warm and solid and soft. No First Evil, then. She looked up into Tara's blue eyes, saw Tara gazing shyly back at her.

Tara drew Willow to her feet, and pressed her face against Willow's cheek. Willow could feel the faint tickle of her breath. "I want you, Willow. I want to help you. You shouldn't be alone, and with such a weight on your shoulders. It isn't fair."

Willow shook her head, softly, slowly. No, it wasn't fair. She reached out, pressed Tara against her, ran her hands down Tara's wonderful, familiar back, cupped them on Tara's sweet, sweet behind. She felt Tara's arms tighten around her, hands massaging her back, pulling out her shirt, and sliding beneath it, flesh on flesh. She shivered.

"But how?" she breathed, rubbing her face slowly against Tara's own, breathing in her scent. She felt Tara's face move into a smile against her cheek, turned her head slightly, kissed the smile.

"You're a witch, remember?"

Willow pulled away a fraction, confused. Was she doing this? Could she bring Tara to her, by the sheer force of her wanting? Doesn't make sense, doesn't make sense, doesn't make sense, sang the voice in her head. Don't believe it just because you want to believe it. Wanting something doesn't make it so. Willow closed her eyes, shutting out Tara's sweet face, Tara's sweet voice.

"That...doesn't... make... sense," she said, with a huge effort of will.

"Well, shit," said Tara.

Willow's eyes snapped open. Looked into Kennedy's face. Their bodies were pressed against each other, Willow's hands on Kennedy's butt, Kennedy's hands under her shirt.

"I guess I should have thought more about what to say," said Kennedy. "But I was kinda hoping you'd have jumped my bones by now. Shoulda remembered you're Miss Talkymouth, huh?" She slid her hands around Willows ribs, wiggled a little closer. "But doesn't this feel mighty nice, anyway?"

Willow's eyes moved down, to the glowing pendant around Kennedy's throat, hung from a decorative heavy silver chain. A glamour, she just tried to seduce me with a glamour. She couldn't have known what it would do, what I would see.... She pulled abruptly away, a wave of nausea passing over her. Her headache began to pound again, harder, her vision to blur. The pendant grew and shrank, grew and shrank

Kennedy saw where Willow's black eyes were focused. She flicked the pendant with a casual finger. "I didn't think it was working at all at first," she said. "You were just as friendly as always, as in not. Then you went all possum, and I was starting to get worried. But it kicked in eventual...

But Kennedy's words were cut off as Willow grabbed the chain, and twisted it, magic rushing through her like a great hot wind, uncontrollable.

The chain bit into Kennedy's neck, through her skin, and deeper, deeper. She tried to scream, tried to choke out a word, plucked desperately at Willow's hands - but nothing made any difference. The chain bit deeper, and deeper still.

When finally Willow's vision cleared, and she released the chain with a cry, Kennedy's severed head toppled heavily to the ground.