Willow dreams of a garden.
She wakes, the garden's scent lingering in her nostrils, and moans as pain shoots through her side. She reaches across her torso to clutch her ribs and shoulder, throbbing and sore from her fall.
Her fall? Willow frowns. She doesn't remember falling. Though it hadn't been unusual over the summer, it'd rarely happened since returning to Sunnydale. "Ow," she mumbles, sitting up groggily in the grass. Suddenly, it comes to her in a tidal wave: Her fall. Grass. Sunnydale. Tara. Her eyes snap open.
Dawn is kneeling near her, an arm cautiously hovering around Willow's shoulders, concern laced across her features. "Dawn, what happened?" Willow asks shakily, fumbling to a standing position.
Dawn doesn't move, moving her jaw soundlessly as if unsure of what exactly to say, glancing repeatedly over Willow's shoulder. Willow follows her gaze and turns to see Buffy, looking relieved at Willow's recovery but very much still in Slayer mode, Tara beside her.
The blood leaves Willow's face. "No," she whispers in horror. "No no no no no, this isn't happening."
Tara manages to wrench herself out of Buffy's grip and rushes over to Willow. Before she can get there, though, Buffy appears and plants herself in-between them, holding them apart, each arm outstretched to the others' chest. In a larger and repeat performance of what had happened when Tara and Buffy touched, a great glow of energy thrums between them at the moment Buffy makes contact with both of them, vibrating through their arms and blowing their hair as if there'd been a gust of wind.
Part of her had recognized it instantly, the connection. It had felt familiar almost, the energy, as if she'd been waiting for it her whole life. She thought it was the magics at first. Only it turned out to be Tara, of course; Willow recognizing a piece of herself from far away. Her body had panted with understanding in that laundry room, long before her mind caught up to what her heart recognized upon first touch. It was what she reached out for every time they did another spell after that. Floating roses, demon finding; Willow hadn't known it at first, but they were all just excuses to touch Tara again.
She recognizes it now.
"Tara?" she quavers in wonder.
"Spike," Tara says by way of answer, as if that explains everything.
They're in the dining room, Tara at the head of the table, Buffy and Dawn to either side, Willow next to Buffy.
"Spike!" Tara repeats with urgency, as if the name suddenly reminds her of something important. She scrapes the chair back, stands alert and alarmed. "Is he okay? Where is he? We have to—"
"Hey," Buffy reassures her, reaching across the table to touch Tara's hand. "Hey. It's okay. I already called Xander. He's looking for him." Tara nods satisfied, relaxing back into her seat.
The entire exchange, Willow sits folded into herself, arms crossed tightly as if she were going to unravel right there in the dining room. Dawn, for her part, is sitting as close to Tara as physically possible while still being in another chair.
"So. Spike. Crazy Spike?" Buffy remarked skeptically.
"Not crazy," Tara shakes her head and taps her chest, "Me."
"Yes, this is pretty crazy, but trust me. He's crazy."
"No," Tara tries to explain, "I mean, part of his crazy is me. At least I think it is. I-its kind of hard to tell sometimes."
"Well at least that's consistent. So, what about him?"
"I'm still not sure, exactly? I don't know where I was, only that there was no magic, and I couldn't get out. Not until he showed up."
"Showed up?" Dawn queries, "When? How?"
"I don't know, a few weeks ago maybe? Sorry, this is just . . ." Tara looks around overwhelmed, waving her hand to try and express the inexpressible. Her face collapses and she quickly brings a hand up to catch a sob.
Willow makes a move towards Tara, but catches herself immediately and sits very still, wrapping herself tighter. Dawn doesn't have the same qualms. She places an arm on Tara's shoulder and reaches for one of Tara's hands. At the touch, Tara softens and gives Dawn a look of immense gratitude and love. She squeezes Dawn back, and though tears fall unabashedly at this point, continues to hold it reverently.
Buffy's posture has softened a bit—no longer antagonistic—but still stiff with unknowing.
"I was here," Tara starts anew. "In Sunnydale. But . . . it was different. Like, you know at 4am when the world is really still and quiet and it seems like you're the only thing that's alive? It was like that, but all the time."
"So it was just you," Buffy clarifies. "Nothing . . . nobody else. Until Spike."
Tara nods. "I woke up one morning and he was here, in the house, making pancakes."
Buffy's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "Spike, vampire Spike. Cooking," she repeats, as if it'll help her understand better.
Tara chuckles and nods. "I had a hard time believing it myself, but then he started talking to you."
Buffy's as surprised as everyone else. "Me?"
"At first. Then it was other people. Anya, Dawn," Tara lists, looking over at Dawn to see her beaming. She sobers momentarily before continuing in a guarded tone, "Willow." As she says the name, Tara finally looks across the table. Her gaze is loving, but a little clouded. She pulls herself out of it and quickly resumes talking. "There were other voices too. He sort of . . . talked to himself a lot."
"Good to know that hasn't changed," Buffy mutters.
"It took a while to find which spell to use. I kind of made one up myself. A-and I wasn't sure what it would do, exactly, but I guess it worked somehow." She gives an empty half-smile.
"Wait, I thought you said magic didn't work where you were."
"It didn't. But Spike had . . . has," she corrects, "A soul." She finishes slowly, gently, unsure if Buffy and the others know.
Buffy shakes her head, confused, "I don't understand, what does Spike's soul have to do with magic?"
Willow's eyes widen in understanding. She speaks for the first time, "Energy." All eyes turn to her. Having spoken once, she looks back down, picking at the edge of her sweater nervously, uncomfortable with the attention.
"That's right," Tara confirms, eyeing Willow. "It was a source of energy, one I could use to channel magic."
"So you don't know where you were?" Dawn asks. Another question comes to her, and she looks a little apprehensive to ask it. "Do you know . . . what happened while you were gone?"
Everyone tenses, trying not to look at Willow. Tara swallows. "He told me what little he knew." When she looks up, it's only at Willow. It's a loaded comment, vague, but spoken with a weight of a degree of knowing. "B-but no," Tara drags her attention back to the group as a whole. "I don't know where I was."
Buffy glances quickly at Willow before turning back to Tara. "All that matters is you're here now," she comforts. Tara looks up at her gratefully. Willow hasn't moved. Buffy pats the table, pushes her chair back, and stands. "I'm gonna go make some calls. Dawn? Can you help get the extra bed set up for Tara?"
"A-actually," Tara interjects in a small voice, "I'd really like to not be alone tonight. I've kind of had enough of that for one lifetime."
Buffy looks over at Dawn, still holding Tara's hand, and smiles. "I understand," she says. "Besides, I don't think we can pry Dawn off of you with a crowbar anyway, so I'm glad you're down for a sleepover."
Tara and Dawn also stand, Tara giving a lingering glance to Willow, before turning out of the room. Willow's eyes follow her hungrily but she makes no move to get up.
Buffy turns to head into the kitchen. "Will?" she calls, jerking her head and beckoning her to follow. Willow wrings her hands, looking anxiously at where Dawn and Tara have exited. "Will," Buffy repeats, more softly this time. It works, catching Willow's attention. "C'mon. Let's go call Giles."