title:clean
author: chi-zu; chi-zufic@hotpop.com
spoilers: through season six
synopsis: character study - willow's looking for ghosts
distribution: please ask me first.
disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Joss does. Lucky bastard.
notes: This was written post-Grave and pre-Lessons. Also, I'm looking for a good beta reader, please see my profile for more info. Thanks.
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They say when a body dies quickly in a sudden cleaving of body and spirit, sometimes that spirit lingers, confused and unaware of its passing. A ghost. Willow knows about ghosts. Dimensions, heavenly and otherwise are her playthings. So when Tara died, shot through the heart in an instant, she thought that maybe Tara didn't know. Maybe Tara is still here. A lost spirit who can't find her way to the next dimension. For what good is a hellmouth if not to amplify mystical phenomenon?
So Willow waits.
Sometimes she thinks she sees Tara, a shimmer caught in the corner of her eye, a warmth at the back of her neck. But it's just a curtain lifted like gossamer on the wind, a cat darting by in a flash of fur and whiskers. Sunlight full of dust.
Willow builds altars, clean, wholesome affairs. Smooth pebbles winking and healing herbs. She summons Tara, leaves out things to entice her. Cups of soup and chicken feet. Crystals in positive alignment. Sweaters in warm colors she liked to stroke. Willow knows magic. So she weaves spells, making a home for Tara's spirit, scrubbed clean and pure, the whitest of magic houses.
But Tara does not come.
Every night, Willow talks to her. Sits lotus-legged at the foot of her bed and broadcasts her message to the great void. Dear Tara. You would be so proud. I haven't tried to end it all today. I'm making good magic. I've made a home for you Baby, so please come home.
Tara does not answer.
Xander frowns whenever he trips over one of the careful altars, sends soup running over the floor in a lukewarm splash. When he opened his home to Willow he didn't consider that maybe it would be difficult to live with her. He doesn't know where to sit or stand, where to breathe so as not to blow apart the soft, delicate web she's woven. He doesn't know how to live with someone who wants to be haunted.
When Buffy visits, she tries not to look at the talismans or sniff at the smell of smudging that's constantly hanging in the air. But Xander notices that her elbows always find Willow's offerings, her slayer grace and reflexes abandoning her in his house. Willow just waits for her to leave. It's alright, I'm fine. No, I don't need anything, thank you. Xander tries to talk longer, hopes to keep Buffy's clumsy elbows around until they smash Willow's enchantment to tiny bits, but Buffy can escape, so she does, leaving him to hear Willow humming tunelessly as she rebuilds altars and makes his house smell of mysterious herbs once more. He wants to shake her, make her see, that there's no room. No room for him, for Buffy, for Willow. No room even for Tara, only soup and sweaters and clean clean magic. But Willow hears only Tara's silence and Xander can do nothing but watch as she fills the empty space with dead things.
author: chi-zu; chi-zufic@hotpop.com
spoilers: through season six
synopsis: character study - willow's looking for ghosts
distribution: please ask me first.
disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Joss does. Lucky bastard.
notes: This was written post-Grave and pre-Lessons. Also, I'm looking for a good beta reader, please see my profile for more info. Thanks.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
They say when a body dies quickly in a sudden cleaving of body and spirit, sometimes that spirit lingers, confused and unaware of its passing. A ghost. Willow knows about ghosts. Dimensions, heavenly and otherwise are her playthings. So when Tara died, shot through the heart in an instant, she thought that maybe Tara didn't know. Maybe Tara is still here. A lost spirit who can't find her way to the next dimension. For what good is a hellmouth if not to amplify mystical phenomenon?
So Willow waits.
Sometimes she thinks she sees Tara, a shimmer caught in the corner of her eye, a warmth at the back of her neck. But it's just a curtain lifted like gossamer on the wind, a cat darting by in a flash of fur and whiskers. Sunlight full of dust.
Willow builds altars, clean, wholesome affairs. Smooth pebbles winking and healing herbs. She summons Tara, leaves out things to entice her. Cups of soup and chicken feet. Crystals in positive alignment. Sweaters in warm colors she liked to stroke. Willow knows magic. So she weaves spells, making a home for Tara's spirit, scrubbed clean and pure, the whitest of magic houses.
But Tara does not come.
Every night, Willow talks to her. Sits lotus-legged at the foot of her bed and broadcasts her message to the great void. Dear Tara. You would be so proud. I haven't tried to end it all today. I'm making good magic. I've made a home for you Baby, so please come home.
Tara does not answer.
Xander frowns whenever he trips over one of the careful altars, sends soup running over the floor in a lukewarm splash. When he opened his home to Willow he didn't consider that maybe it would be difficult to live with her. He doesn't know where to sit or stand, where to breathe so as not to blow apart the soft, delicate web she's woven. He doesn't know how to live with someone who wants to be haunted.
When Buffy visits, she tries not to look at the talismans or sniff at the smell of smudging that's constantly hanging in the air. But Xander notices that her elbows always find Willow's offerings, her slayer grace and reflexes abandoning her in his house. Willow just waits for her to leave. It's alright, I'm fine. No, I don't need anything, thank you. Xander tries to talk longer, hopes to keep Buffy's clumsy elbows around until they smash Willow's enchantment to tiny bits, but Buffy can escape, so she does, leaving him to hear Willow humming tunelessly as she rebuilds altars and makes his house smell of mysterious herbs once more. He wants to shake her, make her see, that there's no room. No room for him, for Buffy, for Willow. No room even for Tara, only soup and sweaters and clean clean magic. But Willow hears only Tara's silence and Xander can do nothing but watch as she fills the empty space with dead things.