Title: I'm a Stranger in this World
Setting: Early season seven, England
Author: loraineee
Summary: It strikes her in the strangest of moments and takes hold of her chest. She can't breathe
Giles rides everyday and looks totally at home, like England hid behind his pinched forehead and reappeared as soon as he stepped foot onto native soil, smoothing out the lines of worry. Willow couldn't remember Giles ever looking so relaxed in Sunnydale and it suits him, like the brown trench coat he's taken to wearing.
Last night after dinner when the dishes were cleared and the rest of the coven had already left, Ms. Harkness, no call her Lily please, and Giles, tipsy on cider and scotch, filled the dining room with tales of Giles's grand adventures as a junior curator at the British museum. Lily kept calling him Rupert and grabbing his arm, her eyes shining with something other than just candle glow. Lily told of young Rupert Giles smuggling the Mask of Glocca Morra out of the general collection underneath his shirt because, in his own words, "school children are much easier to curtail when they aren't trying to rip open your chest while inhabited by the spirit of an angry leprechaun king."
Willow smiled at the pair of old colleagues as she drowsily leaned her wine-flushed cheek against the cool tablecloth. It was a perfect evening. Except--Willow sat up suddenly, the muzzy after dinner haze clearing. She almost cried out as it hit her again, the facts twisting through her gut in ways both known and unfamiliar. Tara was dead and she murdered Warren before... Willow excused her self from the table and hid upstairs in her room.
Now, with Giles riding up the road, she creeps quietly down the hall and out the back door before he can open the door to her room, his face a perfect mask of compassion and patience. The grounds are vast and open but for a small patch of forest on the edge of the property. This is where she goes. She sits under the biggest tree and practices.
She starts simple with local plants and feels slight vibrations as the flowers appear in front of her. The months with the coven have given her control of this small area at least, but she wonders how this will help back in Sunnydale. Oh Xander, sorry I almost killed you. Look, I'll just grow you some flowers and poof, everything would be all right. Buffy, what kind would you like? A whole garden for Dawn? No problem, as long as she can look at me again.
The flowers droop and shrivel as her concentration wanes, finally disappearing underneath the grass. Okay, so yeah, maybe she's not so great at this too. Twenty two years old and she's already burnt out spectacularly. Sheila would sigh and lecture Willow on the undesirability of a early twenties life crisis and end up writing an article about post-adolescent nervous breakdowns. But Willow hasn't seen or heard from her mom in months, so she doesn't need to worry about this particular scenario.
She sighs and starts again, her fingers digging into the earth as she focuses her energy. The grass parts and a bud pokes its way through the soil. She redoubles her efforts, eyes blurring as she stares and the still growing stem. Pale pink petals become visible as the bud flutters open. It wavers for a moment and then opens wide to the sky, its petals in stark contrast to the dark green of the countryside.
"Here, drink this." Tara hands her a mug and the bed dips as she sits down. "It'll make you feel better."
Willow sniffs. "It doesn't look like it'll make me feel better. Are you trying to kill me in my weakened state, McClay?"
"You're so cute when you're suspicious, sweetie, but no. Not trying to kill you. Trying to make you feel better. Now drink up." The steam rising from the mug is a suspicious shade of green, but Willow closes her eyes and swallows. The liquid is tasteless but she shudders after the second sip, an intense bitter lump forming in the back of her throat.
"Nnnggh." Willow swallows again. "Okay, in what way was that supposed to make me feel better because, hello, worst taste ever. I appreciate the thought, Tara but what the hell was that?"
"How's your throat feel?" Tara nudges Willow with her elbow and smiles.
"My throat is--my throat is good. Like better than good. Tara, again I issue the question, what the hell was that albeit in a much nicer and less accusatory tone." The steam on the mug settles into a green skin. "No more sore throat, so yay! But this looks disgusting."
"It's bitterroot tea. An old family remedy." Tara's fingers brush through Willow's hair as she settles in behind her on the bed.
Willow settles on Tara's shoulder, the offending mug forgotten on the nightstand. "Ah yes, bitterroot. The old Lewisia rediviva, state flower of Montana. Did you know that native americans used their roots in trade?"
"Okay, honey, sometimes you're so smart it scares me. Just a little bit." Willow can feel Tara's breath on her neck, hot and gentle. "I love you."
"Even when I'm all snotty and gross?"
Tara's lips stretch into a smile against Willow's neck. "Especially then, because I get you all to myself. But I don't want to take advantage of you, so finish the tea, sickie."
It's the third time she succeeded in bringing the flower in front of her and the third time her vision blurs as the petals unfurl. The petals are soft under her fingers before they start to wilt. The soil is entirely wrong for bitterroot and it only blooms for minutes, but Willow keeps coming back to this place, this flower, reaching for something. She hears footsteps in the field behind her and knows without looking it's Giles coming to check on her.
She focuses on the earth once more. Paraguay this time.