++++++++++++++++
Chapter Seven
Tara sat on a small blanket up in the hills surrounding Sunnydale, overlooking the town in a scenic spot just off a stretch of mountain road. The grass was brown this time of year, so she'd had to clear quite a bit away in order to perform tonight's ritual safely. Wouldn't do to start a ceremonial fire to purify one's soul and end up ringing in the start of brush fire season.
There were herbs and a crystal to be used for this particular spell, and a significant artifact of her choosing. Thus, her father's little wooden box sat before her, looking small and forlorn in the fine, beige dirt of the wide cleared area.
With whispered words, she conjured a beam of energy that seemed to shoot out of her chest and into the box, then out the other side of the box and into the dark.
She intoned the words carefully, almost lovingly, savoring their significance, the relief they were already bringing. She got to the final syllables -- *renovare, reparare, liberare* - and her eyes snapped open and looked out clearly as the beam emerging from her heart dissolved. The rest of the energy swirled momentarily into the form of a hand, one that grasped vainly in her direction. A vague, ghostly form appeared as the owner of the hand. Though his form was indefinite, the fearful look in his eyes still carried. Tara wondered what her father was actually feeling just now. Probably no less than she was.
The hand flailed. The fear in the ghost's eyes became panic. The hand was withering, growing fainter. "Go with love," mouthed Tara, eyes beginning to brim over. The words were not required by the spell.
The specter and all the attendant light disappeared. The box burst into raucous flame and Tara burst into raucous, sudden laughter.
When the box had burned completely and even the smallest embers were out, she stood up and walked down the road a few hundred yards. There she strode out onto a bridge that spanned a small, deep open area.
She clasped a dried bouquet of some sort and murmured some more incantations, and sparkles of magic began to swirl around her body, coalescing down around her ankles, clasping her long skirt to her legs. Laughter still hung around her, bubbling out in small quiet giggles.
She seemed absolutely giddy with whatever was about to transpire.
++++++++
Spike navigated the DeSoto up the fire road, cursing the lack of signage. He'd never been to this Lookout Point place before, and the snaking, badly-marked roads had him buggered. Bloody typical that on a night when he was *this* impatient to find someone, she'd have relocated to the arse end of nowhere.
Spke had chanced a phone call back to Buffy, just to find out if Tara had mentioned anywhere she might be just then. Buffy had been polite with the information and the directions, even making a small joke about having to give directions out to the boondocks twice in one lifetime. Spike had expected to have to fight the impulse to take the conversation further, to find out if his apology had changed anything in her. But the amazing thing was, it didn't really happen. All he'd wanted was to know where Tara was, so he could share his triumph. Maybe he just didn't want to ruin things by pushing -- because it would leave him without good news to tell the Witch.
His Witch.
Bloody hell, he grinned, had no idea whether or not that was true. He still didn't actually know if she felt even the slightest attraction to him. Was he out of his bleedin' mind now?
He laughed out loud. If so, good riddance. Maybe his mind had been the problem all along - maybe a mind was only half of what a person needed, and no one's worked proper until it was matched up with the complimentary mind of another.
A few moments later he slammed on the brake and worked to throw the car in reverse. Through a break in the trees he'd seen Tara in the distance, standing on a bridge that he would have come to if he'd taken the last right, just a few hundred yards earlier.
While he was mostly just glad to have found her, her current location sat strangely with him.
++++++++
Spike pulled up into the wide turnout near the bridge, just in time to see Tara climbing over its railing and standing on the lip of it, arms out and face upturned to the sky.
He felt the world grind suddenly into slow-motion, and the cold fear grabbed him by the bollocks.
'No' was the only word for it. Screamed by every member of the dammed, of whose number he was suddenly one.
He was running, and yelling something, but he couldn't hear himself and what kind of universe would let her do this actually GO THROUGH WITH IT after ALL THAT'S HAPPENED and I'm not enough won't get there in time never enough CHRIST IF YOU LET HER DIE WHEN I GO I WILL CRAWL OUT OF HELL AND *END* YOU *PERSONALLY* YOU SODDING *USELESS* EXCUSE FOR A GOD…
He was suffocating on his own screams and she was tipping and falling gracefully out of sight.
He was failing to notice the magical sparkles trailing in her wake.
He got to the space Tara had just vacated and looked down, wild-eyed, unable to turn away...and then the "trail" of magic suddenly snapped into a tight line and Tara was reversing her trajectory, bouncing back up toward him, the trail curling like a spring. She fell again and he could hear her laughing as the trail pulled tight again, bouncing her gently before she started to swing at its end.
Spike felt like vomiting as the hope choked back into his lungs and his heart. He gaped down again at her, watched her drifting back and forth like the watch at the end of a hypnotist's chain.
He held his head tightly with both hands, as if to keep it in place. "Fuckin' Wicca *bungee jumping*??"
His answer was her merry laugh echoing through the night air.
++++++++++++++++
Spike didn't want to scold her after the way she looked, after she'd done some crazy Wicca thing to bring herself back up and was blinking at him in surprise. Her face was more than rosy, more than glowing.
It was transformed.
He knew she obviously hadn't expected him, wouldn't have scared him like that if she'd known he was going to be there. Yes, she had fooled him about her whereabouts and left him with nothing else to do but go hunting, but apparently she hadn't thought about that. He didn't want to spoil either of their moments.
Fuckin' hell, was it hard.
He was still trembling, standing in the turnout. As she walked up to him she could sense his mood, and her face turned ruefully apologetic. When she put her hands contritely on his cheeks, they were warm, and made him feel better instantly.
She searched his face. "I'm--"
He shook his head, cutting her off. No need to go there, now that she was touching him.
Her smile bloomed again. "I was taking care of some business. I...had a little funeral for something."
Spike nodded, surprised to find a little anger blurting out. "Coulda been for you if your little mojo there hadn't worked."
Tara warned him gently with her eyes - were they talking about this or not? Spike blew out air through his nose - no, he was back to okay.
"I was also..." She glanced back at the bridge, searching for the right words. "... giving myself over to the Universe. To whatever the future holds."
Spike nodded, remembering how to smile faintly himself. This sounded more promising. He found himself riveted by something in her eyes.
That twinkle was back.
++++++++
[Okay, kiddies – if you're underage, this is where the story ends. IF YOU'RE AN ADULT, THERE'S MORE TO THIS STORY, but it gets too naughty for FF.net from here on in. To read the rest (IF YOU'RE OLD ENOUGH), aim your web browser here: http://annehedonia.populli.net/spike/dtd7.html
Chapter Seven
Tara sat on a small blanket up in the hills surrounding Sunnydale, overlooking the town in a scenic spot just off a stretch of mountain road. The grass was brown this time of year, so she'd had to clear quite a bit away in order to perform tonight's ritual safely. Wouldn't do to start a ceremonial fire to purify one's soul and end up ringing in the start of brush fire season.
There were herbs and a crystal to be used for this particular spell, and a significant artifact of her choosing. Thus, her father's little wooden box sat before her, looking small and forlorn in the fine, beige dirt of the wide cleared area.
With whispered words, she conjured a beam of energy that seemed to shoot out of her chest and into the box, then out the other side of the box and into the dark.
She intoned the words carefully, almost lovingly, savoring their significance, the relief they were already bringing. She got to the final syllables -- *renovare, reparare, liberare* - and her eyes snapped open and looked out clearly as the beam emerging from her heart dissolved. The rest of the energy swirled momentarily into the form of a hand, one that grasped vainly in her direction. A vague, ghostly form appeared as the owner of the hand. Though his form was indefinite, the fearful look in his eyes still carried. Tara wondered what her father was actually feeling just now. Probably no less than she was.
The hand flailed. The fear in the ghost's eyes became panic. The hand was withering, growing fainter. "Go with love," mouthed Tara, eyes beginning to brim over. The words were not required by the spell.
The specter and all the attendant light disappeared. The box burst into raucous flame and Tara burst into raucous, sudden laughter.
When the box had burned completely and even the smallest embers were out, she stood up and walked down the road a few hundred yards. There she strode out onto a bridge that spanned a small, deep open area.
She clasped a dried bouquet of some sort and murmured some more incantations, and sparkles of magic began to swirl around her body, coalescing down around her ankles, clasping her long skirt to her legs. Laughter still hung around her, bubbling out in small quiet giggles.
She seemed absolutely giddy with whatever was about to transpire.
++++++++
Spike navigated the DeSoto up the fire road, cursing the lack of signage. He'd never been to this Lookout Point place before, and the snaking, badly-marked roads had him buggered. Bloody typical that on a night when he was *this* impatient to find someone, she'd have relocated to the arse end of nowhere.
Spke had chanced a phone call back to Buffy, just to find out if Tara had mentioned anywhere she might be just then. Buffy had been polite with the information and the directions, even making a small joke about having to give directions out to the boondocks twice in one lifetime. Spike had expected to have to fight the impulse to take the conversation further, to find out if his apology had changed anything in her. But the amazing thing was, it didn't really happen. All he'd wanted was to know where Tara was, so he could share his triumph. Maybe he just didn't want to ruin things by pushing -- because it would leave him without good news to tell the Witch.
His Witch.
Bloody hell, he grinned, had no idea whether or not that was true. He still didn't actually know if she felt even the slightest attraction to him. Was he out of his bleedin' mind now?
He laughed out loud. If so, good riddance. Maybe his mind had been the problem all along - maybe a mind was only half of what a person needed, and no one's worked proper until it was matched up with the complimentary mind of another.
A few moments later he slammed on the brake and worked to throw the car in reverse. Through a break in the trees he'd seen Tara in the distance, standing on a bridge that he would have come to if he'd taken the last right, just a few hundred yards earlier.
While he was mostly just glad to have found her, her current location sat strangely with him.
++++++++
Spike pulled up into the wide turnout near the bridge, just in time to see Tara climbing over its railing and standing on the lip of it, arms out and face upturned to the sky.
He felt the world grind suddenly into slow-motion, and the cold fear grabbed him by the bollocks.
'No' was the only word for it. Screamed by every member of the dammed, of whose number he was suddenly one.
He was running, and yelling something, but he couldn't hear himself and what kind of universe would let her do this actually GO THROUGH WITH IT after ALL THAT'S HAPPENED and I'm not enough won't get there in time never enough CHRIST IF YOU LET HER DIE WHEN I GO I WILL CRAWL OUT OF HELL AND *END* YOU *PERSONALLY* YOU SODDING *USELESS* EXCUSE FOR A GOD…
He was suffocating on his own screams and she was tipping and falling gracefully out of sight.
He was failing to notice the magical sparkles trailing in her wake.
He got to the space Tara had just vacated and looked down, wild-eyed, unable to turn away...and then the "trail" of magic suddenly snapped into a tight line and Tara was reversing her trajectory, bouncing back up toward him, the trail curling like a spring. She fell again and he could hear her laughing as the trail pulled tight again, bouncing her gently before she started to swing at its end.
Spike felt like vomiting as the hope choked back into his lungs and his heart. He gaped down again at her, watched her drifting back and forth like the watch at the end of a hypnotist's chain.
He held his head tightly with both hands, as if to keep it in place. "Fuckin' Wicca *bungee jumping*??"
His answer was her merry laugh echoing through the night air.
++++++++++++++++
Spike didn't want to scold her after the way she looked, after she'd done some crazy Wicca thing to bring herself back up and was blinking at him in surprise. Her face was more than rosy, more than glowing.
It was transformed.
He knew she obviously hadn't expected him, wouldn't have scared him like that if she'd known he was going to be there. Yes, she had fooled him about her whereabouts and left him with nothing else to do but go hunting, but apparently she hadn't thought about that. He didn't want to spoil either of their moments.
Fuckin' hell, was it hard.
He was still trembling, standing in the turnout. As she walked up to him she could sense his mood, and her face turned ruefully apologetic. When she put her hands contritely on his cheeks, they were warm, and made him feel better instantly.
She searched his face. "I'm--"
He shook his head, cutting her off. No need to go there, now that she was touching him.
Her smile bloomed again. "I was taking care of some business. I...had a little funeral for something."
Spike nodded, surprised to find a little anger blurting out. "Coulda been for you if your little mojo there hadn't worked."
Tara warned him gently with her eyes - were they talking about this or not? Spike blew out air through his nose - no, he was back to okay.
"I was also..." She glanced back at the bridge, searching for the right words. "... giving myself over to the Universe. To whatever the future holds."
Spike nodded, remembering how to smile faintly himself. This sounded more promising. He found himself riveted by something in her eyes.
That twinkle was back.
++++++++
[Okay, kiddies – if you're underage, this is where the story ends. IF YOU'RE AN ADULT, THERE'S MORE TO THIS STORY, but it gets too naughty for FF.net from here on in. To read the rest (IF YOU'RE OLD ENOUGH), aim your web browser here: http://annehedonia.populli.net/spike/dtd7.html