[Buffy:TVS] Double, Double, Toil and Trouble.
By Rossi.
***
For Mel, an (extremely) late birthday fic, started on time, but lost in the travel notes. One for the Garden Path, mate.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Joss Whedon's. No profit, only homage.
Rating: PG - deals with a relationship between two adults, with the usual references. Nothing explicit.
Takes place somewhere during Season Five, before The Body, when Tara first starts to become concerned with Willow's use of magic.
***
It was almost time.
Tara glanced away from the clock, checking her preparations again. She'd pulled the small table into the centre of the room, covering its second- hand scratched surface with a deep midnight blue silk scarf; she had so many, she could sacrifice one for tonight. Two tall, plain white candles, book of matches beside, the wreath of blood-red poppies circling all. The scent of rosemary and garlic rising from their dorm room's tiny hotplate told her that her concoction was also ready. Everything was set, prepared, waiting only the final component.
"Tara? I'm home! Sorry I'm so late, Professor Emory wanted to discuss my Comparative Sociology class paper." As always, Willow didn't simply enter the room, she made it come alive, talking a mile a minute about her classes, hanging up her jacket, coming over to Tara for her welcome kiss. She was perpetual motion, burning flame-bright, and Tara warmed herself in the fire of her presence.
".so today was kinda nifty. How about you, baby? How was your day? What have you been up to?" The table caught Willow's eye. "Ooh, what's this?"
"Well, it's." Tara started to explain, but Willow was already examining her work, bird-inquisitive.
"Is it a new spell? Let me guess what it is." Long slender fingers ruffled the poppies gently, trailed down the candles' unmarred surfaces. "Hmm, poppies are usually for sleep charms, but you don't have the brazier out, so it can't be one of those. No potions. but I can smell rosemary and garlic-flower. A protection spell?"
"N-no, it's."
"No, don't tell me!" Willow closed her eyes for a moment in thought, going her vast mental catalogue of spells - it fascinated Tara, just how much knowledge was contained in that small head - and then they flashed open, the pointed face alight with triumph: "It's a divination spell, right?" She beamed at Tara, sure of her success.
"Actually it's not. Magic, I mean." Hating to destroy Willow's moment, to extinguish the light in that beloved face, Tara hastened to add; "But if it was, that's what it would be. For sure."
"So what is it, if it isn't magic?" Willow's voice had become just the tiniest bit defensive - she so hated to be wrong about _anything_. It tore at Tara to hear it, but deep down, something inside her was quietly whispering, so quietly she could easily ignore it; 'With Willow, _everything's_ about magic, these days.'
"Um, it's dinner. I thought since it was a special day, I'd do something nice, so I made that lamb dish you like so much, the one my mother taught me, and got the candles and flowers and everything."
"Special day?" The brown eyes had grown round and panicked. "Is this a 'because something nifty happened today' kind of special day, or is it one of those 'you're supposed to remember because you're in a relationship' special days?"
"Um, the second one." Torn between her own disappointment - she'd spent so long in her preparations, was so sure Willow would know the minute she walked in what day it was - and the stricken expression on her lover's face, Tara hung her head, letting the fine curtain of blond hair cover her face. "It's our f-first anniversary," she continued in a tiny voice. "You've been s-so busy, with school and the magic and the S-scoobies and everything, it's s-silly of me to expect you to remember, d-d-don't worry about it." The stutter, always a barometer to Tara's internal state, overcame her, and the flow of words stumbled to a halt. Face still hidden by her hair, Tara bit down hard upon her lip to keep in the sob she _knew_ was lurking.
"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. I _did_ forget, but only for a little bit. I can't believe I was so stupid to not see." Willow's hands, so gentle and yet so strong, like Willow herself, parted Tara's hair, brushed it back, cool against her flushed face. "I'll make it up to you, you'll see." Lips, soft and cool from what passed for winter chill in California, brushed Tara's, igniting the fire inside her that only Willow knew. "It's a lovely thing you did, love, and I'm a horrible person for not remembering, but I'll make it better, I promise, I promise." Any more of Willow's apologies were lost as Tara kissed her back, and for a while, no-one said much of anything. Nothing coherent, anyway.
Much, much later, Tara lay with her head on Willow's lap, warm and sleepy with food and lovemaking. The meal had been only slightly overdone, with Willow telekinetically switching off the hotplate when Tara had suddenly remembered it was still on. The candles now burned low, and the air was perfumed with the scent of poppies and their sweat.
"Happy anniversary," Tara murmured, taking one of the hands that stroked her hair and kissing its palm tenderly.
"Happy anniversary, love," Willow replied, bending down to kiss the smooth white forehead. "Bed?"
"Sounds good. But what about.?" Tara waved a hand vaguely at the table, where the remains of dinner and the bottle of wine that went with it still sat.
"I'll get it." Willow waved a hand also, but with purpose. The room wavered, shifted, and then returned, pristine and tidy. For some reason it gave Tara an uncomfortable feeling, but she pushed it away - why shouldn't Willow use her abilities to make life a little easier sometimes? And it was such a little thing, hardly earth shattering. Nothing to register on the karmic balance sheet. She ignored the misgiving, instead climbing to her feet and offering her hand to her lover.
"Bed?"
"Bed."
***
The End.
By Rossi.
***
For Mel, an (extremely) late birthday fic, started on time, but lost in the travel notes. One for the Garden Path, mate.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Joss Whedon's. No profit, only homage.
Rating: PG - deals with a relationship between two adults, with the usual references. Nothing explicit.
Takes place somewhere during Season Five, before The Body, when Tara first starts to become concerned with Willow's use of magic.
***
It was almost time.
Tara glanced away from the clock, checking her preparations again. She'd pulled the small table into the centre of the room, covering its second- hand scratched surface with a deep midnight blue silk scarf; she had so many, she could sacrifice one for tonight. Two tall, plain white candles, book of matches beside, the wreath of blood-red poppies circling all. The scent of rosemary and garlic rising from their dorm room's tiny hotplate told her that her concoction was also ready. Everything was set, prepared, waiting only the final component.
"Tara? I'm home! Sorry I'm so late, Professor Emory wanted to discuss my Comparative Sociology class paper." As always, Willow didn't simply enter the room, she made it come alive, talking a mile a minute about her classes, hanging up her jacket, coming over to Tara for her welcome kiss. She was perpetual motion, burning flame-bright, and Tara warmed herself in the fire of her presence.
".so today was kinda nifty. How about you, baby? How was your day? What have you been up to?" The table caught Willow's eye. "Ooh, what's this?"
"Well, it's." Tara started to explain, but Willow was already examining her work, bird-inquisitive.
"Is it a new spell? Let me guess what it is." Long slender fingers ruffled the poppies gently, trailed down the candles' unmarred surfaces. "Hmm, poppies are usually for sleep charms, but you don't have the brazier out, so it can't be one of those. No potions. but I can smell rosemary and garlic-flower. A protection spell?"
"N-no, it's."
"No, don't tell me!" Willow closed her eyes for a moment in thought, going her vast mental catalogue of spells - it fascinated Tara, just how much knowledge was contained in that small head - and then they flashed open, the pointed face alight with triumph: "It's a divination spell, right?" She beamed at Tara, sure of her success.
"Actually it's not. Magic, I mean." Hating to destroy Willow's moment, to extinguish the light in that beloved face, Tara hastened to add; "But if it was, that's what it would be. For sure."
"So what is it, if it isn't magic?" Willow's voice had become just the tiniest bit defensive - she so hated to be wrong about _anything_. It tore at Tara to hear it, but deep down, something inside her was quietly whispering, so quietly she could easily ignore it; 'With Willow, _everything's_ about magic, these days.'
"Um, it's dinner. I thought since it was a special day, I'd do something nice, so I made that lamb dish you like so much, the one my mother taught me, and got the candles and flowers and everything."
"Special day?" The brown eyes had grown round and panicked. "Is this a 'because something nifty happened today' kind of special day, or is it one of those 'you're supposed to remember because you're in a relationship' special days?"
"Um, the second one." Torn between her own disappointment - she'd spent so long in her preparations, was so sure Willow would know the minute she walked in what day it was - and the stricken expression on her lover's face, Tara hung her head, letting the fine curtain of blond hair cover her face. "It's our f-first anniversary," she continued in a tiny voice. "You've been s-so busy, with school and the magic and the S-scoobies and everything, it's s-silly of me to expect you to remember, d-d-don't worry about it." The stutter, always a barometer to Tara's internal state, overcame her, and the flow of words stumbled to a halt. Face still hidden by her hair, Tara bit down hard upon her lip to keep in the sob she _knew_ was lurking.
"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. I _did_ forget, but only for a little bit. I can't believe I was so stupid to not see." Willow's hands, so gentle and yet so strong, like Willow herself, parted Tara's hair, brushed it back, cool against her flushed face. "I'll make it up to you, you'll see." Lips, soft and cool from what passed for winter chill in California, brushed Tara's, igniting the fire inside her that only Willow knew. "It's a lovely thing you did, love, and I'm a horrible person for not remembering, but I'll make it better, I promise, I promise." Any more of Willow's apologies were lost as Tara kissed her back, and for a while, no-one said much of anything. Nothing coherent, anyway.
Much, much later, Tara lay with her head on Willow's lap, warm and sleepy with food and lovemaking. The meal had been only slightly overdone, with Willow telekinetically switching off the hotplate when Tara had suddenly remembered it was still on. The candles now burned low, and the air was perfumed with the scent of poppies and their sweat.
"Happy anniversary," Tara murmured, taking one of the hands that stroked her hair and kissing its palm tenderly.
"Happy anniversary, love," Willow replied, bending down to kiss the smooth white forehead. "Bed?"
"Sounds good. But what about.?" Tara waved a hand vaguely at the table, where the remains of dinner and the bottle of wine that went with it still sat.
"I'll get it." Willow waved a hand also, but with purpose. The room wavered, shifted, and then returned, pristine and tidy. For some reason it gave Tara an uncomfortable feeling, but she pushed it away - why shouldn't Willow use her abilities to make life a little easier sometimes? And it was such a little thing, hardly earth shattering. Nothing to register on the karmic balance sheet. She ignored the misgiving, instead climbing to her feet and offering her hand to her lover.
"Bed?"
"Bed."
***
The End.