Tara had been starting to resent the kitchen.
Here she was, again.
Like all other days Since, Tara kept herself busy, but this time it wasn't to trick herself into being calm. Now, she cooked for pleasure, so her hands would have something to do. This time she let her brain think, because she could afford to.
She knew herself well. She could idly sit and think, but that would soon give way to panic, which would serve her no good. No, Tara needed to keep herself together; not for herself anymore, but for him. Never in her life (at least, not after the sixth grade when she realized those strange feelings she felt for the girl who sat behind her in science class were definitely not friendship) did she expect a 'him' to sweep her off her feet. Yet here he was, turning Tara's world topsy-turvy with something as seemingly insignificant as morning pancakes.
It was pleasant, baking for someone other than herself. Normally, she'd pack up a plate of scones, cookies, muffins, or pies and, like a good neighbor would, wrap it in a basket and deposit it on the kitchen tables of other disturbingly empty homes on the street- unholy carcasses of love and family.
At least then the treats weren't sitting on her table, quietly mocking her with their uneaten chocolates and jams.
Before, she was politely throwing her food away in other people's empty houses. Now, she baked for a purpose.
Purpose.
Spike had mumbled something about purpose last night before going to bed, but she had been too tired to think about it at the time. It was only when she'd turned off the lights and was in bed staring at the ceiling that she realized her body was humming. Despite the aching yawn of her bones and the weary strain of her muscles, Tara found she could not fall asleep. Her brain was far too busy.
Purpose. What was hers?
That was simple. To love Willow. It had always been so simple.
But never easy.
Not that Tara didn't feel love for Willow – she felt that with all of her being. But to give that love? To send it? To show it? To live it? There was always something standing in the way.
The demon. Her family. The Scoobies, at first. Glory. Death. Magick…Death.
Closing yet another book that yielded nothing, Tara slumped in her chair and rubbed her face. They'd been researching for weeks, but hadn't been able to find anything - no hidden loophole, no secret prophecy - that would bring Buffy back again.
Evenings at the Magic Box had been a given, Dawn even had her own homework niche permanently stationed on the corner table. This particular night she was home having a movie night with Spike. The two of them seemed to cling to each other more often now. A proper pair of bandits equally lost in a den of despondency.
And so there they were, two witches, an ex-demon, and a carpenter prowling Giles' library at midnight. Willow hadn't touched her in days.
Tara glanced over at the cloth bandage that covered raw wires sticking out of the Buffybot's neck and sighed. She swallowed, faintly tasting bile in the back of her throat.
The nausea in her mouth propelled Tara to rest her head on Willow's shoulder. She could feel tense muscles underneath the thin t-shirt. "Willow?" she whispered, reaching for her arm. Tara took the teal pen Willow held, laid it down on the table, and placed her own hand atop Willow's.
She raised her head and looked at Willow, who stared heavily at the expanse of tomes in front of her. "Sweetie?" Tara frowned. Ever so slowly, the hand beneath her own, one that Tara knew dearly- had lovingly traced and kissed hundreds of times in privacy and shadow- shrank away, leaving the cool wood of the table to kiss her palm.
Willow swallowed. Her lips were taut and her brow was furrowed in resolve, but her eyes betrayed the slew of emotions within. "Not now, Tara. I've got-" she stopped, picked up her pen and sighed. "I'm sorry. Just…Not now."
Tara's heartbeat faltered and everything slid away until only the sleek table, which grew warmer from the heat of her fingers, existed and grounded her to the earth. That moment was the slow beginning of the end. When danger, magick, and duty came first. When Willow thought the answers were a burden to find and bear alone instead of together.
There was always an obstacle preventing Tara from loving Willow. Why did something that came so easy and natural have to be so difficult?
Instead of being puposeless, Tara had lain in bed with one hand flat against the wall, reveling in the knowledge that some other being was on the other side. He may not have been what she was expecting, but the fact that he was, exceeded any of her expectations.
His presence proved there was meaning to her existence, that she wasn't some cosmic joke or mistake. She'd forgotten, in routine, pattern, and recipe, how to live. It hurt too much even thinking of a life without Willow- one where her smile didn't grace the heavens, where her heart didn't get to beat with the earth. But if he existed, that meant she did too. And if there's anything Tara believed, it was that no one is without purpose. Despite obstruction or vicissitude, whether it be death or a soul, there was meaning. No force on earth is strong enough to deter her from this truth. And Tara would not let her get that lost again.
So here she was. Again, baking. For a purpose.
And though it was nearing early afternoon, said Purpose was still upstairs asleep.
But by God, Tara was tired of waiting.
And this time, because she could, Tara would do something about it.
Xander hated Tech Services. In the eighth grade he'd gotten caught for calling a late-night naughty 1-800 number and had since nursed an avoidance for all things toll-free.
"If you have problems with a Microsoft program, please press 1. If you have problems with a Macintosh program, press 2. If you have problems with a …"
The spreadsheet for labour costs, equipment fees, and orchestrating charges from his latest construction gig had frozen. Right there on the screen, all the data from work zone B was glitched and now displayed columns from the company demo-sheet.
"If you have problems with a program from Microsoft Office, please press 1."
Excel wasn't his strongpoint, and Anya had always made sure to demonstrate that when it came time to organizing finances. Quicken would suffice for most people, but Anya wanted a full layout of all monetary accounts before inputting information. "I don't trust it, Xander. Software that calculates that quickly and efficiently has to have a secret agenda. I don't like the automated thing."He would chuckle and agree, then go back to whatever he was doing. Somehow he knew she was worried about becoming obsolete. What would happen if computers could learn to love money as much as she did?
Listlessly, he randomly tapped a few keys on the keyboard. Nothing.
Normally, Xander would leaf through the manual or 'Help' page for about forty seconds to perpetuate his manliness before calling his personal go-to digital guru.
But she wasn't here anymore, and he was stuck calling some schmuck in an office god-knows-where instead of his best friend. Suddenly- or not-so suddenly, as it was always there- Xander missed Willow with a ferocious ache.
He'd never been without her for so long. Instead of poker nights when Anya would win, Willow would protest and Buffy would still not understand how to play, he had a cheap, empty apartment and lived off of noodles and QVC. The life he loved so desperately had crumbled. No letters, phone calls, emails, random visits or refrigerator raiding. What was the point of being a Scooby if there was no gang? They fell apart- Xander fell apart -and he didn't know how to pick up the pieces.
"Hello, this is Mike speaking, how can I help you?"
Xander sighed. "Hi, Mike, I'm Xander. Sorry to bother you, but um…never mind." He hung up the phone.
Doing nearly anything these days made Xander cringe with familiarity. His life was sculpted, perfected, and structured on a ragtag team of desperados. With them gone, he was just…floating.
Xander wasn't a floater. Give a guy oversized weapons he has no idea how to use and he'll be your champion. But this? This…crap? He hated it.
Not one minute since he'd hung up, the phone rang. "Mike, buddy, I told ya I was sorry, just sorta…changed my mind."
"Xander?" replied a confused, distinctly female voice.
"Buffy?"
"No, apparently I'm some guy named Mike. Anything you wanna talk about, mister?"
He grinned. "Aah, no, that would just be my new friend from tech support. What's up, Buff?"
Static buzzed for a moment as Buffy hesitated. At her next words, his heart skipped a few beats.
"She's coming back."