Chapter Twenty

Under the Willow Tree

Willow opened her eyes, her jaw dropping in amazement as she took in the panorama around her. She let go of the angel's hands reluctantly, but did so she could turn in a complete circle, her eyes feasting on the spectacle. For someone who had naught to eat visually but a steady diet of devastation and apocalyptic ruin, Willow gorged herself on the lush vegetation surrounding her and the haloed angel.

She and the angel stood atop a bluff with a wide river gorge tumbling endlessly beneath them, mountains rising blue and hazy in the distance, enveloping them in a protective embrace. The bluff was carpeted in sweet grass, red poppies, and delicate blue flax flowers, somehow the same cerulean colour as the angel's eyes. They stood near a single tremendous weeping willow tree that thrummed with living energy. It wasn't merely a feast for Willow's anguished eyes, but for all her senses, for she heard the water frothing in the gorge beneath her, and the shrill shriek of a golden eagle dipping through the pearly sky. She could smell the crushed grass under her feet and a faint hint of honeysuckle coming from the angel's hair. Willow could feel the gentle rays of the sun and a delicate mist arising from the boiling water in the gorge, alighting on her skin like delicate moths.

In one turn Willow took all this in, and her heart, already brimming with the aching joy of seeing her saviour once again, overflowed in the sweetness. She felt thick with it, a languid peace that began to ease her fatigued muscles. Willow finally returned her gaze back to the angel, and inhaled sharply in surprise, her hand coming unbidden to cover her mouth.

The angel was bathed in the pearly sunlight, fine mist from the tumbling water setting her golden aura aflame. Her soft wings were outstretched once more, and her face showed indescribable longing tinged with ageless sorrow, a sadness so deep and malignant that it brought a lump to Willow's throat. The seed pearls glistened in her chocolate brown hair, light waves of which cascaded down a creamy bare shoulder. Her bodice was even more intricate than before; long thin ropes of pure beaten gold crisscrossed underneath her gently heaving breasts, the starlight fabric underneath cascading to the ground like fairytale wishes. If it were possible, Willow would admit that the woman simply got more beautiful with every passing moment here in paradise.

And as Willow stared at her angel with wonder in her eyes, feeling small and ugly and insignificant, the angel did grow even more glorious; the feathers on her wings dipped in gold, and pure gold bracelets running up her arms, an emerald jewel appearing just above her brow, suspended there by a gold circlet. And, if anything, the angel's expression got sadder the longer she stood there, swayed by the whims of Willow's desire. "Willow," she finally choked, reaching out a perfect hand to the slender witch.

"Who are you?" Willow stammered.

"May I show you?" the angel timidly replied. At Willow's nod, and under her bewildered eyes, a shimmering cascade overcame her, erasing the wings and the star-studded gown, to be replaced by powder blue scrub pants, a white scrub shirt with dolphins and half-camels on it, a stethoscope around her neck and familiar red Converse sneakers on her feet. The seed pearls in her hair melted, her hair drawing back into a lowly ponytail, and then upon the angel's face cracked three long slashes and the horrific yellowing of a slowly-healing black eye. And the angel's careworn face fell, and she almost turned away in some sort of shame.

Willow would have none of that, for whatever light had previously surrounded the angel, imbuing her with mystery and glamour; that light had now permeated her very skin and bones so she radiated from within. Even with the memory of the exquisite beauty of the angel so fresh in Willow's mind, she now thought to herself that she'd never seen another woman quite so beautiful.

"My name is Tara Maclay," the woman said, ducking her head and blinking her eyes. "I'm your nurse."

"My nurse?" Willow stammered. "You're not a Slayer? However did you defeat Caleb? And why do you look like an angel? And what happened to your face? How are you even here?" She approached her angel

(nurse)

as she barraged her with questions, raising one of her hands to gently stroke the gashes down Tara's face. Willow was glad to see a small measure of Tara's sorrow melt in her tender questing touch, along with a quirky smile at all of Willow's questions.

"It's a l-long story, Willow," the woman

(her name is Tara)

replied. "And I promise you I will share it. As for how I am here, I have special mind-reading powers granted by the goddess Aranaea. I'm actually at the head of your hospital bed with my fingers on your skull. Through that connection, I can come here into your mind and talk to you." Willow opened her mouth to start another barrage of questions, but Tara continued. "But look at you, you're trembling," and she took a hold of Willow's fingers that had been touching her face, "will you please rest a while?"

Willow nodded, interlacing her fingers with Tara's as her nurse steered her toward the shimmering curtain of willow leaves. "The goddess Aranaea?" Willow asked as she walked hand in hand with her saviour, revelling in the feeling of a woman's slender fingers entwined with hers. "Does that mean you are a witch?" That would make sense to her. Tara nodded, drawing back a section of that leafy curtain and Willow peered inside the comfortable tree womb to see a blanket on the ground and a half dozen pillows strewn about. She entered, stooping a little under the branches, and sighed in admiration at the sunlight glowing through the green leaves, casting the place in soothing shadows.

"Yes, I'm a witch, as are you," Tara said, stopping in the sylvan glow. "Now, Willow. I'm your nurse, and I command you to rest! Sit against the tree, lay on the blanket, whatever you wish." Tara squeezed Willow's hand, then disentangled her fingers.

"You're not going, are you?" Willow asked, a note of panic in her voice. The whole place felt surreal to her, like a bubble that would pop the moment Tara left, stranding her once again in plain old Sunnydale, with only a whisper of memory that things could be different. Tara only smiled at her, and drew her closer to the trunk of the tree, picking up a pillow and handing it to her. Willow noticed how carefully her nurse sat against the trunk of the tree, almost wincing as if in pain of some sort, setting her stethoscope on the ground next to her and carefully placing a pillow behind her back.

"Where will you sit, Willow?" she asked, fixing Willow with a clear gaze.

Willow gulped. She knew exactly where she wanted to sit, but could she possibly ask this enigmatic and beautiful woman what she really desired? "Could I sit with you?" Willow stammered hopefully.

The woman's face brightened, a full smile gracing her face, and Willow could see the new scar tissue on her cheeks tighten. Tara didn't answer, merely patted the ground next to her. But to Willow, even that close just wasn't close enough, so she rallied her courage and headed straight for her angel who read her intent and opened her legs. Willow burrowed between them, leaning back against Tara's bosom, finally contented, her head coming to rest just under Tara's shoulder. She sighed as Tara's arms came about her to encircle her waist, hearing Tara softly gasp.

"Will you tell me your story, Tara?" Willow softly asked, loathe to break their fulfilling communion with anything louder than a whisper, yet her mind burning with curiosity, a million questions fluttering up to her lips. But for the first time in her life, Willow kept herself under control; she dammed the flood of words that usually spilled all willy-nilly from her mouth, thinking that she would do anything to sound grown-up and wise in front of this most exceptional woman.

Tara sighed, and Willow's heart fell. She was asking too much, too fast. She shouldn't be sitting here, all comfortable with this woman who she'd never actually met in the flesh. But once again Tara seemed to anticipate her thoughts, and her grip around Willow actually tightened, keeping her close. "Willow, I'm not sure if you will be able to remember any of this when you awaken," her nurse began, and Willow's heart fell even further, plummeting into unknown depths of fear. The thought was intolerable, that her precious moments with her angel could be lost when she awoke from her coma. As much as Willow wanted to protest, her mouth remained shut, and she waited for Tara to continue. "My story isn't so pleasant that I wish to tell it twice. Can you wait until you wake up, darling?"

And with that one single word, Willow was saved from her despair. Darling. No one had ever called her darling before. That word coming from Tara's mouth felt as luscious as whipped chocolate, and Willow actually licked her lips in delight.

"I'll always wait for you," Willow replied, snuggling deeper into Tara, wrapping her own arms over Tara's arms, not catching the wince of pain that coloured Tara's face as she did so. It felt so good, so right, to lean against that warm, womanly body, to smell the sun-kissed brown hair, to be enveloped by someone who obviously cared for her deeply. But where did this loving concern come from? Was this Tara only acting as a loving nurse should? Was all this just part of her job? Willow's mind, always cursed with frenetic activity, continued its cyclone of thought. Who was this woman?

"You've been very busy since I left," Tara said a few minutes later, her voice tentative, as if afraid to startle Willow from her relaxation. "I saw you try to come out once. Why did you stop?"

"It was twice," Willow replied, turning her head so she could look up at Tara. "The first time was when I saw you, and you looked so startled, so hurt...and then I looked out later again, but I didn't see you there." As Willow spoke, she remembered the way the streets and buildings healed themselves, giving her enough strength to bury her dead friends, and she was spiked with curiosity.

"Would you tell me what you did? I saw you gathering the Scooby Gang," Tara said.

Willow's eyes widened in incredulity and she saw Tara's face crinkle in almost-mirth. "How much do you know?" she asked the brunette.

"Relax again and I'll tell you," her nurse said, and Willow complied, returning to face the leafy curtain of the willow tree, leaning softly again into Tara's lush body, then allowed her eyes to close, caught under the spell of Tara's rich voice. "I know that Buffy is the Slayer, and that you and Xander joined her and her Watcher, Giles, to combat the forces of the Hellmouth. I know you had many battles over the last seven years, and saved the world from destruction at least a half dozen times."

Her voice grew even quieter, her lips nearly brushing against Willow's ear. "And I know that this last time was the worst. Althanea told me—"

"You've spoken to Althanea?" Willow asked, turning again to look at Tara's face, their lips only inches apart, and Willow was stricken with desire.

Tara lifted her hands to gently push Willow's head to face forward, chuckling a little. "I swear, Willow Rosenberg, if you won't rest..."

"I'll be good," Willow replied quickly. Every time Tara touched her, her whole body thrilled to it, and she momentarily thought of devising ways to have Tara touch her some more. Yet she was desperate to hear the rest of this story; all her most guarded secrets revealed by someone she'd never even met. So she faced forward again, took a deep breath, and continued listening.

"Althanea is here with me in the hospital room right now," Tara continued. "Between her and Angel I got the story, how you brought the Potential Slayers to Sunnydale from all corners of the world, how Buffy found the scythe and battled Caleb, and then the battle inside the high school."

The words weren't spoken offhand, yet Willow knew that this woman couldn't really appreciate the severity of their war. She couldn't resist shuddering as she remembered Buffy fighting the ubervamp in front of the potentials, the horror she felt as Xander staggered towards her, blinded in one eye. Seeing all of them, all of her dear friends, her family, tossed so meaninglessly on the stricken floors of the high school, their blood spattering the tile, their heads dashed to pieces and all the precious memories in them left to leak away.

Her nurse let her sit in this terrible recollection, then Willow remembered that Tara had asked her to share what she was doing. "I couldn't just leave them there," Willow began. "I almost came out, when I saw what had been done to your face, but then the voices of my friends began to shriek at me, calling for release." A thought dawned in Willow's mind, and she couldn't resist the urge to face Tara again, as she excitedly asked, "But I'm in a coma, right? This could all be make-believe. My friends could still be alive!"

Tara's arms tightened around her, and the nurse nuzzled her neck as she stammered, "I'm s-sorry, Willow. They are all dead, all except for Faith."

Deep inside, Willow knew. It made sense now that she had never come across Faith's body as she stumbled through the streets of Sunnydale, chased by the maniacal Caleb. Sorrow overwhelmed her once again, but this time she was too tired for more tears. She felt tired as she never had before, a deep weariness of life and all its disappointments. "Why go on?" Willow whispered over the great lump in her throat. "Is there anything to make life worth living?"

Willow's eyes burned with pent-up sadness, and her body began to tremble anew. She lifted her hands to cover her face as full realization slammed into her with destructive force. They really were all dead, they left her behind in a world teeming with vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. And because of what happened to Buffy before, Willow knew they were all in heaven. A place of happiness and contentment, no fear, no doubt. They were there, and she was thrust into hell, to be pursued and reaved by Caleb, to be left behind once again. She was always getting left behind. There would be no resurrection now, no way to bring them all back to her. Willow would face the forthcoming decades of her life with no foundation, no support group, no family.

The thought was intolerable, and Willow writhed in pain, great tearing sobs erupting from her chest. She curled her knees up to her breasts and curled her head in them, rolling herself into a little ball, anything to protect her from the hideous truth. From deep within her pain, Willow heard Tara choke, "Dearest heart," and then felt Tara's hands on her, pulling Willow's knees sideways over one of Tara's hips. Thus cradled sideways, Willow felt those magnificent arms reach around her, embracing her tightly. Willow brought her hands down from her tear-streaked face to grasp Tara tightly around the waist, hearing the nurse gasp slightly.

"I saved the world, Tara," Willow finally whispered. "But not for me. Never for me."

Willow felt forsaken as Tara lifted one of her hands away, but then she felt Tara lift her head with delicate fingers. Willow gazed into the depths of Tara's cerulean eyes, seeing steely resolve mixed with abject devotion. "No, Willow," her nurse gently disagreed. "Love and pleasure beyond imagining await you. You have only to wish it."

(I know what I wish...)

Tara used her hands to brush the tears from Willow's cheeks, and Willow saw Tara's lips descending to her forehead. She closed her eyes as she felt the tender kiss, but then she opened them again, suddenly very sure of her heart's desire. Willow lifted her face and caught those lips with her own. Tara stiffened momentarily in surprise, but then she moved her mouth against Willow's. The first kiss was tentative, the second was mind-blowing.

And the third was cataclysmic.

Willow felt the rumbling deep inside her, as the walls of her sexually repressed prison weakened under the tender thrusting of Tara's tongue. Her earlier kiss with her angel was desperate, born of devastation and ruin, seeking, seeking some safe harbour from the memory of Caleb and his ferocity. This kiss was much the same, as Willow sought support from Tara, casting her umbrella of need over them both and she felt simultaneously joyous and ashamed. Was this what Tara really wanted?

But then Willow had no more time nor space in her addled brain for such rumination, for Tara engulfed her in passion. Willow gladly succumbed to it, raising her hands from Tara's waist to alternately caress her face and stroke her hair. Tara's tantalizing fingers remained cupped on Willow's face, using them to lift her ever higher, higher, her lips engulfing Willow's mouth, tilting, shifting, sharing, possessing.

Trembling in exhaustion and delight, Willow finally broke the kiss, wrapping her arms protectively about the woman, tucking her head back on Tara's shoulder. There was no mistaking the gasp of pain, and Willow pulled back to look at Tara's scar-ravaged face. "Did I hurt you?" she meekly asked, cursing herself for her stupidity. Just like her, to get so absorbed in her own joy and just-been-kissed exultation and completely miss out on what was happening with her angel.

"No, darling, it wasn't you," Tara replied, smiling through her wince of pain, gesturing at her chest. "I just got hurt a little while ago, and it hasn't quite healed yet."

Willow pulled even further away, incredulous. "Then why did you let me lean against you? Tara?"

In response, the brown-haired nurse merely wrapped her arms around Willow once again, and drew her back into her protective embrace. "Because I'm desolate without you," she whispered, and tenderly placed another kiss on Willow's lips before leaning back against the tree once more.

Willow could only look at her, and the love that sprang up in her soul was nourishing her, filling her with warmth and beauty. "Who are you?" Willow whispered.

"I'm the woman who's going to make you happier than you've ever been."

The words were spoken so softly that Willow could barely hear them, yet they hammered into her heart with explosive force. Could this be what Tara meant earlier? That life would yet be worth living? Willow could almost believe her, if this was but a taste of life with Tara in it. Her previous life, always reeling from disaster to disaster, turned to ashes in her mouth.

And Tara was chocolate.

To roll the taste of Tara on her tongue, the sweetness of it, to drown in the velvety sugar tide, savouring every moment, it could be the most worthy work of her lifetime. No more hellmouth, no more demons, vampires, incubi, succubae, werewolves or ghosts. Just chocolate.

Just Tara.

So they sat, in this moment frozen in time. Here, under the umbrella of the weeping willow tree, time fell off the face of the earth, opening a doorway into eternity. Unlike the freezing of time through terror or sleep, this was a moment of unutterable peace, as the connection between the two tortured souls solidified and deepened, connecting their hearts not only to each other, but to the universe.

A puzzle with only one solution. They could find peace only in each other. For Tara no amount of healing power, of racking up the blood debt, could compare to the completeness she felt with Willow in her arms, her love's red hair trailing over her breasts. And for Willow no amount of witchcraft, no last-minute solutions to apocalyptic problems, no security in her brainy power could compare to the wholeness she felt in Tara's embrace. For once she didn't have to be brave, didn't have to be the big guns, didn't have the weight of the world pressing on her. This moment, frozen in time.

But all such moments end. And Willow finally recalled what Tara had asked her before she fell into tears. "I'm burying them," she blurted out.

"Sorry?" Tara said.

"You asked what I was doing in Sunnydale. I had gone to the high school to get their bodies, I couldn't just leave them there, resting amidst the Bringers and the ubervamps. So I got a wheelbarrow and brought all of their bodies to the graveyard." Willow felt the tears begin to choke her throat once again. "I'll bury them, and then they'll be gone."

"The act is more symbolic than you may realize, Willow," Tara responded. "By burying them in the graveyard in your mind, you are making them a part of you. They will never really be gone; they will live forever in you."

"Are you going to leave me again?" Willow whispered, clutching at Tara's arms.

"No," Tara firmly responded. "I'm sorry I left the last time. I should have stayed, to help you through this."

"I'm sure you had better things to do," Willow said wistfully.

"When you come out, you'll understand," Tara said dryly. "But I won't leave you now. Althanea is on the outside, helping to sustain me, and you and I will walk out of your coma together."

Willow relaxed a bit under the firm determination in Tara's voice. A few minutes passed, and then Willow said, "Thank you, Tara. I'm not sure if you can ever realize what you mean to me. I mean, how much I appreciate what you've done. Well, you know, with the thing with Caleb and all, you looked so much like Buffy did when she was doing the slaying, so hot and fast and you will tell me what happened with Caleb, won't you?"

Tara chuckled. "I know, I babble," Willow said. "It's just, I'm really grateful for you. And I usually don't use so many words to say stuff that little, but do you get it at all?"

"I do."