In the Graveyard
Ever after, Tara could not say how long she spent holding Willow in the womb of the tree. The sultry glow of the afternoon coupled with their most fantastic kisses had ignited a raging inferno within. She keenly felt pressure building in her core as she nearly swooned in the painful clutch of Willow's embrace. It was a magical afternoon, and despite the ragings of pain that clashed with the ragings of love, Tara realized that she had never been happier. She sat, her ordinary arms just under Willow's breasts, able from that perfect vantage point to breathe in the scent of Willow's hair, nuzzle her neck, or turn her face to plant a garden of kisses.
Just when she felt she would die from the exquisite torment growing within her, Tara realized she had to hold back. It would be far too easy in this time and this place to take advantage of Willow in her exhausted state. She had been made desolate, ambushed by ghosts, and was now so weary in Tara's arms that she hovered in a state of near-sleep, her limbs twitching once in a while, her hands convulsing over Tara as if to make sure that Tara was still there.
As if she would ever leave. Her place, now and forever, was by Willow's side. Only at Willow's rejection would she turn away. The thought frightened her, and she dipped her nose once again to Willow's gleaming crimson hair, taking a deep breath, grounding her. The mere notion of returning to a life that didn't have a Willow-shaped girl in it was terrifying. Even with what Willow had unknowingly put her through; her encounter with the demon in the graveyard, her contact with Donny's hardened fist, the inhalation of Caleb and all his evil and the subsequent wall he built, even the hideous healing of the day before, even this life was better than she one she knew before.
Willow moaned slightly as Tara's lips touched her hair and Tara drew back softly, not wanting to wake her. Soon enough though, the redhead's eyes opened, and her face turned to look straight at Tara. Through her most glorious connection with the redhead's mind, her fingers on the comatose girl's newly-healed skull, Tara knew what she was thinking. "Are you ready to go back?" Tara asked.
"Will you be with me?" Willow whispered, clutching at Tara's arms, her words causing Tara to melt with sorrow. Not trusting the right words to come out of her mouth, Tara merely smiled gently, then kissed her, softly and almost playfully.
Only then could she respond. "I meant what I said earlier, Willow. I'll always be with you. I won't leave you, now or ever. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am," Willow replied, drawing Tara's face back down to her mouth with steady fingers. Tara lost all patience with playful and kissed Willow with an ardent intensity that deepened the aching in her core, flicking Willow's lips with her tongue, then dipping inside Willow's silky mouth. Willow broke away slightly, licking her lips and whispering the word, "Tara-liscious," before Tara once again captured her mouth. She heard Willow moan down her throat, so she intensified her kiss, ravaging Willow's mouth with her lips and tongue.
Willow was a quick study. She pulled Tara away from the tree, ever so slightly, so carefully, and tentatively slid one hand under the hem of Tara's scrub shirt. Tara's knees turned to jelly as Willow took control of the kiss, tilting Tara's mouth, grazing inside it with her own tongue before sucking the tip of Tara's tongue back into her own mouth. Tara was overcome with emotion; Willow wanted her, and her need of the brown-haired nurse was obvious. Never had, never had anyone, and Tara's mind shut down even further as Willow's cool fingers ran slightly up Tara's back and she moaned in ecstasy. So lost was she in Willow's passionate kiss, the lips that plundered her, reducing her to her simplest and most primeval form that she scarcely realized Willow's hand shyly moving from her back to her front, brushing just above her navel, heading inexorably to her breasts, but encountering the scabby mess of demon grooves instead.
Tara felt Willow freeze, her lips stopped moving entirely, though they were still pressed to her own. Only then did Tara feel where Willow's hand was. She closed her eyes, overcome with remorse; she didn't mean it to go that far, she didn't mean for Willow to ever know what the demon did to her. Deep down she had hoped that the demon wounds would heal entirely before her relationship with Willow would ever go that far. But Willow's hand was getting bolder, and Tara felt the cool fingers lightly investigate her abdomen, finding the base of the three hideous grooves, tracing each of them up to her bra strap. She felt Willow's lips leave her, her girl pulled away, and the hand came out from under her shirt. Willow was mad, Willow was afraid, Willow was...
"Tara, look at me," she heard Willow say.
Tara slowly opened her eyes. Willow was crying, and she took one of Tara's hands with both of hers. "Tara, please," Willow choked. "Tell me!"
"Oh, Willow," Tara cried, her heart breaking as she saw the depths of concern in Willow's teary eyes. And she couldn't help it, she couldn't always be the strong one
(The Kraken)
and Tara herself began to weep. She could see it all happening again, the tusked demon pursuing her, chasing her around the headstones. How his clawed hand had ripped open her face, then ripped open her chest, leaving shreds of skin to flap in the breeze before the inundating crimson flood. Oh, and how her eyes turned black, a horrifying similitude of the preacher, how she raised her fingers and attacked, attacked, attacked with her white magic, perverting it horribly, his face crackling and burning under her fingers.
This time it was Tara who sobbed, and clutched at Willow in her arms. Willow held her, then gently pulled Tara back with her until they were laying down on the blanket spread beneath the tree, front to front. Willow tenderly placed Tara's head in her shoulder, wrapped her arm about Tara's waist, and then curled one of her legs over Tara's legs. Tara continued to cry, great tearing gasps that hurt so exquisitely, but she was immensely aware of her new position next to Willow. She clutched at Willow, and dampened Willow's fringed shirt with her tears, and slowly began to calm herself.
And there it was. Where it always had been. It was the
Willow-light
and it blazed all the brighter for her weakness. And Tara remembered her choking admission made in the darkness of her soul that great and terrible day she finally accepted her fate, and she couldn't help herself, she just had to ask, "Willow, can you save me?"
She felt Willow grasp her a little tighter, literally felt the waves of warmth and love pouring from her like cleansing waterfalls. She was held within Willow, embraced with an affection and care she had never felt before; not even her mother had ever held her with such fierce devotion. She felt her face lifted, and she looked through tear-prismed eyes at her love. A sweet, hot, dry kiss, while Willow stroked her hair, and then she spoke, "Tara, I don't even know you." Another kiss, and Tara's tears, watering the garden of her despair, began to subside. "But I do know this." Yet another kiss, butterfly soft, Willow's fingers on either side of her face, holding her close. "I could not bear the thought of the world without you." A velvet kiss. "I would weather the apocalypse for you." The lips again, tender and bruised. "I would go to the ends of the earth to save you." Doe-skin soft. "Tara Maclay, I don't even know you." And then Willow moved Tara's face to tenderly kiss the slashed skin by Tara's ear, and whispered, "But I love you."
Elation like never before, tempered by a single devastating thought: it was easy for Willow to love her here, in the safety of her mind, with no judgmental eyes watching. But would Willow remember any of this at all when she woke?
(Oh, goddess, let her remember)
"Willow, what if you don't remember me?" Tara finally choked out, ashamed to voice her most private fear. "What if you won't love me again?" She wept a little more at the thought.
Willow continued to stroke her hair and her skin, murmuring soft endearments, and then her girl finally spoke. "I've been trying to leave breadcrumbs," she said. "Little beacons of memory to light my way when I wake from the coma. I've been fiercely concentrating on some of our most precious moments together, and I'm praying to the goddess that it's enough."
So also did Tara pray. And so finally, when she regained her composure, she drew away slightly from the warmth of Willow's limbs. There, laid on the blanket underneath the willow tree, Tara made up her mind. With Willow's plea resounding in her head
(Tara, please tell me!)
her hand on Willow's waist, she began to speak. "It's currently Tuesday. On Friday I had gone to Los Angeles to meet with Angel, remember me telling you how I knew about the Scoobies? He had an amulet for me that would grant me the power I needed to defeat Caleb. Just after he gave me the amulet we were ambushed by three demons. Angel fought two of them and I just ran." Willow nodded again, and Tara knew she understood. Sometimes it's better to run. "But he caught up to me, and slashed me in my face and across my chest."
Tara paused, long enough for Willow to breathlessly ask, "Then what happened? Did Angel kill the last demon?"
Tara took a deep breath. "No, I did. I used my magic to set him on fire." As she spoke, Tara could once again hear the crackling of the flames, the hideous howling of the witch-ravaged demon, and the wicked exultation that sliced through her, the feeling of malignant power. Not wanting to start crying again, Tara closed her eyes and breathed, trying to regain her composure. She felt Willow pick up her hand and interlace their fingers.
"You did that for me." It was a statement.
Tara reopened her eyes. "Yes," she simply replied.
"There's more, isn't there." Tara opened her mouth to say yes, but Willow continued, "You don't have to say anything else if you're not ready. Like you said, you can tell me on the outside."
Tara basked in the feeling of completeness. No drifting mite, no Kraken, no healer, no lamb, no witch, no nurse. Just Tara. Tara, complete. And she looked at Willow with frank admiration in her eyes.
Willow returned her steady gaze, and leaned over to softly kiss Tara on the lips once again. Tara was enthralled by Willow's lips, by how often the redhead came back to her, how much Willow needed her and the love that only she could give. Tara lay back on the blanket, enchanted by the way Willow's lips moved from her kiss-swollen mouth along her jaw once more, infinitely tender around the raging scars, small and hot kisses down her jaw line and then down her neck. Tara's breath caught in her throat time and again as Willow's fingers stroked her back, as her lips paused on the pulse point of Tara's neck and gently nipped. Waves of love cascaded through Tara's body, crashing into her core once again, the pressure beginning to build.
And now Willow was the intuitive one, for she withdrew slowly, then pulled Tara's weakened body close to her for a cuddle. "Now, my love," Willow finally said. "Shall we do some grave digging?"
"Definitely," Tara agreed, and was grateful for Willow's steadying hand as they ponderously rose from the yellow blanket under the willow tree.
"Is this a real place?" Willow asked, linking her arm with Tara's.
Tara smiled. "Actually, it is. I'll have to take you there once you've recovered."
"Tara? How badly hurt am I?" There was a ghost of dread on Willow's face, and Tara was conflicted. Lie, or tell the truth? Truth would lead to more Willow-y questions, especially about Tara's role in healing her. It was yet another facet of her recovery Tara was hoping to obscure forever. Willow didn't really need to know how bad it was, how much Tara had healed, how it really affected her... even now she could feel the blackness of Willow's injuries contaminating her soul, growing in a dark profusion along her bones, in her organs, spreading in her head.
"Not so bad," Tara lied. "And Althanea is here to help you heal yourself when you wake. She said something about you being hurt badly this year and using the power of the earth to heal yourself?"
Willow jumped into a complicated story about a Gnarl demon and how she had gone on recon because Buffy and Xander were preoccupied with other things and how she discovered the demon's lair and got stuck inside and he attacked her and his saliva was paralytic and he began ripping pieces of her skin from her and eating them until Buffy came and put out the demon's eyes and that caused the paralysis to end and then Buffy lent her some of her strength to help Willow use the power of earth to heal and she told it all in one long babble which made Tara chuckle.
"What?" Willow demanded.
"You used the word 'recon'," Tara laughed. "You're like, cool monster fighter."
Willow's face fell a little. "I always had a monster fighting team," she said pensively. "I guess I don't anymore."
Tara squeezed her hand. "Are you ready to go back?" she finally asked. Willow nodded, and took Tara's other hand as well. "Close your eyes," Tara instructed. Seeing Willow comply, Tara fixed in her mind the image of the sheet-shrouded bodies in the twilight cemetery and then pushed. With a whoosh and a peculiar prickling in their scalps, they found themselves returned to the garden of the dead.
Willow had dropped one of Tara's hands but held tightly to the other as they stared at the shrouded bodies. "What do you have in mind?" Tara asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm going to bury them."
"No," Tara replied, and Willow swivelled her head to look incredulously at Tara. "We are going to bury them," Tara continued, squeezing Willow's hand.
Willow smiled then, and said, "I think there's a maintenance shed around here somewhere with some shovels." She made to turn away, but Tara grounded her, holding her back by holding her hand.
"Two shovels coming up." Tara closed her eyes and concentrated on Willow's hand, using the connection to fly through other grave-digging memories in Willow's mind. She found a rather unlikely one
Buffy and Willow were lounging next to an open grave, munching on cake doughnuts while Xander and Giles worked with shovels, flinging out clods of dirt. "Love makes you do the wacky," her witch was saying.
"That's the truth," Buffy commiserated.
At their casual conversation, Xander set his shovel aside and said, with a fair heaping amount of sarcasm, "Y'know, this might go a lot faster if you femmes actually picked up a shovel, too."
From inside the grave, Tara heard Giles say, "Here, here!"
Buffy flounced her hair and broke off another piece of doughnut. "Sorry, but I'm an old-fashioned gal. I was raised to believe that men dig up the corpses and the women have the babies."
and reached out with an ethereal hand, grasping the two shovels, bringing them over. With another peculiar whoosh, the two shovels materialised on the ground.
Willow stared at them. "How did you do that?" she asked.
"I have mind-reading powers, remember? I found a memory of yours with shovels in it and just borrowed the shovels for a while. I'll remember to put them back, I promise."
"I saw it," Willow said in wonder. "That was when someone wanted to create a zombie girlfriend for his brother and was using dead parts from different girls to do it." Willow looked softly at Tara. "You saw my family," she stated simply.
Tara was struck by Willow's use of the word. Family. Never had Willow ever referred to her own parents as her family, but only these three close friends. Tara took Willow's hand and squeezed softly, chuckling to herself. "Buffy was pretty funny, wasn't she?"
"We all got plenty of opportunities to provide comic relief," Willow admitted. "We had to, or else we would have gone insane. Xander was especially good at it. No matter what the apocalypse, he'd always have something funny to say." Willow's smile faded a little, and Tara could tell she was walking down another path of memory. "There's a party in my eye socket and everyone's invited," she said softly.
Then Willow was looking down at the shovels laying on the ground, and at Tara's hand holding hers. She shook her head a little in wonder. "What did I do to deserve you?" she said softly.
Tara didn't want to say outright, oh, I'm your reward for saving the world. It sounded pretentious, even to her. So she merely ducked her chin and blinked her eyes and turned to face the bodies on the grass. The sun hovered above the cemetery, casting a quiet late-afternoon glow over them both. While Willow went to grab the shovels, Tara closed her eyes and concentrated once more, this time entreating the ground to be soft and pliable.
So they began digging, and the earth almost threw itself out of the ground. They worked silently, their shovels rising and falling endlessly, until the first grave was deep enough. Together the witches went to a body, picking it up carefully and depositing it into the grave. Then they paused, resting on the handles of their shovels.
Tara recovered first, maybe as a result of all the farm work she did as a child. She stepped carefully into the grave and solemnly pulled the sheet away from the face, revealing a young Chinese girl. "This is your moment, Willow," she said. "Is there anything you want to tell me about this girl?"
"I never knew her all that well," Willow admitted. "Her name is Chao-Ahn, and she was from China. She didn't speak a word of English." Willow smiled a bit in the memory, and it warmed Tara's heart. This was the important part, to solidify these memories in her mind, and honour the valiant lives of her friends. "In fact, Giles had made a series of pictures about vampire slaying which were far too gory for anyone, and they totally freaked her out."
As Willow paused, Tara re-covered Chao-Ahn's face with the sheet and climbed out of the grave. She waited until Willow set her jaw and thrust her first shovelful of dirt over the Chinese girl's body, and then Tara helped bury her. Tara felt a tightness in her chest as she recalled
(dirt clods on a coffin)
the death of her mother, how devastatingly final dirt could be. Eternal dirt, far outliving any human life, all human memory, in fact. This dirt that covered the body of slain Chao-Ahn would be the same that would cover her own body, and despite Althanea's reassurances, Tara really wasn't sure how far away that end would be. If it was the only way to slay Caleb, would Willow really kill her?
"What's wrong, Tara?" Willow asked. Tara turned to face her and realized that a few tears were trickling down her cheeks. Tara wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"It's nothing, it's just..." Tara squared her shoulders. "My mother died when I was 17. I was just thinking of her."
Willow set down the shovel and came over to Tara, putting her hand on Tara's shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said simply.
Tara gently smiled and rested her hand on top of Willow's for a moment. "Let's get back to work," she finally said.
So they returned to their grave-digging work, and as the sun remained frozen in the sky Tara and Willow methodically buried all the Potential Slayers, Willow murmuring a few words about them for Tara's benefit as they did so. Tara knew that Willow was shying away from the Scoobies, saving them for last.
Willow dissolved into tears a few more times as the bodies of Dawn and Anya went gently into the ground. Tara could barely believe what Willow told her of these two girls: one was a ball of mystical energy used to open a portal to a hell-dimension, and the other was a thousand year old ex-vengeance demon. Her mind was whirling with the fantastical stories erupting from Willow's lips, and if she didn't know Willow any better, she'd think she was insane. Willow and the other members of the Scooby Gang clearly lived in a different world than the rest of the human race, and their constant battle against evil went nearly unnoticed by the world at large.
"How many apocalypses did you avert?" Tara once asked.
"We honestly lost count," was Willow's reply. "Six? Eight? No more than ten."
They finally came down to the final three: Giles, Xander, and Buffy. Tara's body was shrieking in pain by this time, and it became harder and harder to lift her shovel into the eager earth. At her continued suggestion, the ground was soft and friable, yet every movement by then was agony. She hoped that Willow was deep enough within her own personal pain, whether physical or emotional, that she wouldn't notice.
So they crouched next to Buffy first, and Willow uncovered her face for Tara to see the blonde Slayer. "Trying to keep Buffy alive was like trying to keep a wave on the sand," Willow said. "This is the third time she's died. Xander brought her back the first time, after she'd been bitten by the Master and left to drown. I brought her back the second time, casting a resurrection spell for her." Tara's eyes widened. So that's how Willow did it. That's how Willow became the most powerful witch in the world in such a short time. Tapping into magics like that, time and again, always reaching, always pushing the barrier, too far, too fast. "I guess the third time is the charm. I won't be bringing Buffy back again."
Tara took one of Willow's hands in her own and lightly squeezed. Willow seemed to draw strength from that gesture, and continued in a low voice. "She introduced me to a different world. And it was so scary, so much of the time, but it was so necessary. Even before Buffy came, I knew that Sunnydale was an evil place. Weird deaths, mysterious disappearances, stories of monsters. With her protection, our graduating class had the lowest mortality rate ever!
"And she needed me. She was the first person I'd ever met who needed me so much, and I just bloomed. I had no idea how much I needed to be needed until she came along. At first it was just the computer stuff I helped with; Giles was adamant about me not 'working the field'. But then I started with the magics, and that helped Buffy even more. I found my purpose by her side, Tara. And life, though scary and unpredictable, life was good."
Small tears were trickling from Willow's cheeks, and then she clutched Tara's hand even tighter. "Here, let me show you," she said, and the two witches closed their eyes. It was fumbling, and slow, and jerked a bit through a parade of memories, but finally Tara saw what Willow wanted her to see, filled with amazement all the while at the sheer plucky spirit of her girl.
Buffy was sitting against a tree trunk on the high school campus and Willow was walking up to her. "Deep thoughts?" Willow asked, plunking herself down next to her best friend.
"Deep and meaningful," Buffy agreed.
"As in?" Willow probed.
"As in, I'm never getting out of here. I kept thinking if I stopped the Mayor or... but I was kidding myself. I mean, there is always going to be something. I'm a Sunnydale girl, no other choice."
Willow's mind sparkled with her secret, for the delight it would give her friend. Conversationally, she said, "Must be tough. I mean, here I am, I can do anything I want. I can go to any college in the country, four or five in Europe if I want."
Buffy's face fell a little. "Please tell me you're going somewhere with this?" she asked plaintively.
"No," Willow said, her glee bubbling over. "I'm not going anywhere."
Buffy stared at the letter, turning it over in her hands. "UC Sunnydale?" she asked, incredulous.
"I will be matriculating with the Class of 2003."
"Are you serious?"
"Say, isn't that where you're going?" Willow's loyal heart burst as Buffy hugged her and the two of them tumbled to the sweet grass.
"I can't believe it! Are you serious? Ah, wait, what am I saying? You can't."
Willow pouted. "What do you mean I can't?"
"I won't let you." Buffy put on her 'I'm serious, Willow' face.
"Of the two people here, which is the boss of me?" Willow continued to bubble and shine.
"There are better schools," Buffy retorted.
"Sunnydale's not bad. A-and I can design my own curriculum."
"Okay," Buffy temporized. "Well, there are safer schools. There are safer prisons. I can't let you stay because of me."
Willow squared her soul, her new resolve, her revelation about to be revealed. "Actually, this isn't about you," she started. "Although I'm fond, don't get me wrong, of you." Inwardly, Willow grinned. Fond? Buffy saved her life, not just physically, but in every way possible. "The other night, you know, being captured and all, facing off with Faith. Things just, kind of, got clear. I mean, you've been fighting evil here for three years, and I've helped some, and now we're supposed to decide what we want to do with our lives. And I just realized that's what I want to do. Fight evil, help people. I mean, I-I think it's worth doing. And I don't think you do it because you have to. It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
And Buffy looked at her, and Willow knew that she would be with Buffy forever. She, Buffy, Xander, and Giles, they would always be family.
"I kind of love you," the Slayer said softly.
The vision over, Tara's eyes widened. Who is this girl? she wondered. She gets captured by Faith, if this is even the same Faith as before, and she decides she wants to stay? Could she have known how devastating this decision would end up being?
Tara remembered Angel's deathly pale face in the cemetery that night, "I should warn you. You stay with this group of people too long, you're going to get yourself killed. Everybody else does." Who was left now for Willow?
"God, I'm going to miss her! How am I supposed to fight vampires without her?" Willow began crying again and Tara was snapped out of her own reverie, her amazement written plainly on her features. She pulled Willow into her arms, rocking her back and forth, never minding the pain rippling through her own body. The pain frightened Tara a little; it had never gone with her into the mindsurf before, and every hour she spent here with Willow, the worse it got. So Tara grit her teeth and comforted Willow, Willow who quickly pulled away. "Tara, you shouldn't let me do that," she said, wiping away her tears. "I don't want to hurt you."
"It's all right," Tara replied, trying to make her eyes lie along with her words. Once Willow had regained her composure, they lifted Buffy's body and placed it in the grave, then shovelled the dirt on top of her.
"Let me try something," Willow said as they finished and rested on their shovel handles. Tara watched as Willow closed her eyes, concentrating fiercely, softly biting her lower lip. In just another moment, a headstone appeared at Buffy's grave.
Tara walked over to it. "How did you do that?" she asked in wonder. She touched the top of it, then ran her fingers over the words, "Buffy Anne Summers. Beloved sister, devoted friend. She saved the world. A lot."
"Well, I paid attention to what you were doing with the shovels, so I decided to try it by myself," Willow answered with a fair amount of pride. "I mean, if someone can hack into the Sunnydale Police Department mainframe computer by the time they are twel..." Tara swivelled her head to look incredulously at the witch. "Ah, I mean, quick study," Willow swiftly amended. "Just get all focusy and poof!"
"That was incredible, Willow," Tara said. "I've never known anyone else who could do it!"
"Really?" Willow replied, an impish grin gracing her face. They looked at each other warmly for a few minutes, and then continued. As they moved on to the next empty space for yet another of Willow's friends, Tara was filled with wonder. How had Willow learned that so quickly? It had taken her years of study to manipulate memories in others. She found herself having to re-examine her initial view of the comatose witch. No small tale that she was the most powerful witch in the world. Tara almost shivered in anticipation, wondering what other things Willow would open her up to.
Only the bodies of the two most important men in Willow's life remained. They crouched by Giles next, and Willow spoke softly of her crush on the librarian, how he had become a father-figure in her largely parentally-abandoned life. Tara heard the anguish in Willow's voice as she spoke of her parents, and debated whether or not to tell Willow that Sheila and Ira were due to visit tomorrow. No, she had enough to deal with.
"Goodbye, Giles," Willow was saying with a lump in her throat. "I hope you've taught me everything I need to know. You always had all the answers, you knew just where to look. I don't remember if I ever told you this, but lately I'd been thinking of becoming a Watcher, like you. Well until Caleb blew up the Council building and all the members in it."
Willow stroked his cheek, then solemnly took his glasses from his face, took the handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned them. "Dear, dear, fussy Giles," she whimpered, and Tara took her hand again, squeezing in silent approval. "We used to think you wore tweed diapers. How wrong we were. You taught us more than just how to kill vampires and identify demons. You taught us that family, our family, was the most important thing. That the human race is worth saving, time and again. And that you loved us, even when Xander would pretend to do research and Buffy would insist on going on dates instead of slaying, and I would read the books you tried so hard to keep me from. You loved us so much, Giles."
Tara looked down at the man with the earnest face, then stroked Willow's hand. "W-will you sh-show me?" she stuttered, cursing herself for stumbling over the simple words.
Willow nodded and took both of Tara's hands in hers. They closed their eyes and Tara felt a weird sensation: Willow was flying through her memories with considerably more ease, and she alighted on one, then another: Tara could see Buffy, Xander, and Giles standing dejected in the school library, and each of them had on the expression that Willow hated most.
"Jeez, who died?" Willow joked. After being called a demon, she was being hugged into oblivion by Buffy, then Xander, and finally Giles...
"Not that one," Willow murmured. "It would take too long to explain." Tara kept her eyes shut and saw more images whirling past, Giles as a demon, Giles cleaning his glasses, Giles singing at a nightclub in a surprisingly deep and wonderful voice, and finally Willow stopped again.
Giles was in the airport terminal, looking off into space. A welter of emotions ran confused through Willow's body; joy at finding Giles in time, consternation that he was leaving, and the secret, the deep secret burning within her.
They brought parting gifts for Giles. Anya stepped forward with a cheap convenience store apple pie. Oz lifted his pinkie finger, on which rested a little thimble-monster with squiggly arms. "Grr. Argh," he said.
So that's Oz. A surge of jealousy passed through Tara, but she kept her eyes closed. She didn't see Willow open her eyes and look at the nurse quizzically. The memory continued with
Willow smiled nervously as Giles hugged each of them. Inside, her heart was breaking, but she forced the fatal feelings down. She was leader of the Scooby Gang now, with Buffy dead, and it was her responsibility to keep the gang together. How then, could she let him just leave?
"Willow. I don't know where to start," he was saying. And then he enfolded her in a hug, one of the very few he had given her throughout the years, and which she valued and treasured more than anything. If only her real father ever could have...
"Well, maybe you shouldn't," Willow said tearfully, then she finally let him go. "I'm trying to be stiff-upper-lippy." As the Watcher walked away, Oz put his arm around Willow's shoulders, and Willow leaned into him.
Tara opened her eyes a little early, not wanting to see the rest of the memory, if there was to be any more with Oz in it. Willow had a question written all over her face, and Tara felt a little juvenile. "Thank you for sharing, Willow," the nurse finally said.
Having shared all they needed to, Willow and Tara solemnly heaved Giles' body to the open grave and placed him in it. Later they rested on their shovels again, Tara feeling about ready to die, but she couldn't stop helping Willow. There was only Xander left, and then they could rest.
"Tara?"
"Hmm?"
"Can you spontaneously make things in here?" Willow asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground and tugging at Tara to sit next to her.
"Not that I know of," Tara admitted, pressing herself close to Willow, still disturbed by her short glimpse of Oz. "My last patient, Peter Whitney, he built a garden, but he used bits and pieces of other memories to do it. It's like putting a puzzle together."
"Do you mind if I try something?"
"Not at all."
Tara looked at the redhead and her heart melted into even more smooshy piles of goo. The witch was so adorable when she was concentrating; she held her lower lip in her teeth, and her long eyelashes fluttered against her freckled alabaster cheek. Then Tara noticed a shimmering in the air by the head of Giles' grave, and she watched in open-mouthed astonishment as a headstone appeared. "Rupert Giles. Our mentor. Our friend. Our father."
"H-how?" Tara stammered.
Willow opened her eyes, smiled coquettishly, and said, "I'm not always so good with the keeping of the rules. I can usually find my way around anything."
The frank, matter-of-fact statement made Tara's heart beat all the quicker. Could it be true, then? Could Willow save her somehow? Could she really look forward to a life with Willow that didn't end in beheading?
Finally it was Xander in the last grave, and Willow seemed almost beyond tears. "I got mad at him earlier, you know," Willow was saying, "When I went to get him in the high school. Buffy wanted him out of this last battle, especially after Caleb blinded him in one eye. But he came back, and picked up his sword, and went and got himself killed." Tears were shining in her eyes. "He never could stay home, you know," she continued, sniffling. "He always had to help, even though he never took any martial arts training and we ended up having to rescue him a dozen times.
"But he always rescued us, too. I mean, Buffy would have died if not for him, him not staying at home like he should have. And he rescued me, time and again. And not always from the physical dangers, either.
"I was in love with him for the longest time. I think part of me will always be in love with him. He was my comfort food, my safe place, my home."
Once again the two witches clasped hands, and Willow, with ever increasing confidence, spun through a dozen memories of Xander, stopping here and there:
"I might need a parrot," Xander was saying.
Willow looked at him, and it was so hard! because one of his big beautiful brown eyes was covered in gauze and tape and there was nothing she could do about it. There was no spell to bring eyes back once they'd been gouged by evil preachers.
"Huh?" Hadn't she been talking about cherry-flavoured gelatin?
"Well, to go with the eye patch, to really complete the look. I think I still have that costume from Halloween."
And Willow remembered Giles' huge wizard hat he wore when celebrating Halloween at the Magic Box and Xander's costume that year.
"Yeah, and don't underestimate the impact of a peg leg. Maybe the hospital can hook you up with a nice one. Maybe they have a two body parts for the price of one kind of deal."
And she was stroking Xander's thumb, and remembering, always remembering his kindnesses, his strength, the way he always knew just what to say and do to make her feel better.
"Oh, do you know what the best part is? No one will ever make me watch Jaws 3D again."
"Yeah, and," Willow gulped, and the tears that had been threatening to storm her cheeks suddenly boiled over. "You'll never have to..."
"Oh, Willow." His voice was broken. "Please don't."
And Tara was overcome with Willow's emotion for this man, but she hadn't finished, she was alighting upon another small memory, one that jabbed Tara with jealousy.
Willow was sitting on the edge of the cot, touching the side of Xander's face which had been bashed in by a love-crazed Spike. They were imprisoned in the factory, held hostage so she could perform a love spell, of all things. And as Xander began to stir, feelings of warmth began to course through her body as she remembered their first kiss; how satisfying it had been to finally, after so many years of wanting and waiting, to take his mouth with her own.
He woke and they succinctly went through their options, each one involving certain impending death at the fangs of Spike. Maybe she could understand Faith a little better; having to face death did make you want to...
"We're not supposed to," she whispered, as her head bent closer to his body.
"Exemption for impending death situation," he murmured, and he reached his arm around her back as they kissed, and she put her arm around his shoulder to hold him close and for a moment, just for a moment, Willow was at peace.
As Tara watched Willow kiss Xander she was filled with even more astonishment at the strength of her girl. How had Willow remained alive all these years with such awful things that kept happening? She must hate the end of the school year, high school or college, because it always seemed that some extra big evil was brewing, calling for a showdown of some sort.
But she couldn't kid herself. The way Willow was kissing Xander in that memory, the way Willow felt about Xander as she did so, it burned Tara with jealousy. She told herself it was irrational, it was juvenile, she herself had had more and better kisses from Willow by now.
So it was with surprise that Tara opened her eyes to find Willow gazing right at her. "You're jealous," the witch said in wonder.
Tara dropped her hands as if she held live scorpions. "N-no, well, h-how did you know?"
"I felt it," Willow said, her eyes wide.
Tara was flabbergasted. No one, not her mother, not her grandmother, could ever feel the backwash of emotion during a memory sharing. Willow was the one sharing, the one opening up, and Tara could feel everything that she felt during that instance. But for Willow to climb through that little connection, the skin of their hands touching, and reach back into Tara's soul and feel what Tara was feeling? Impossible.
And Tara, while a little chagrined that Willow had found her out so easily, was filled with even more hope for her future. This witch was like no witch who had ever lived before.
And she was hers.
Tara could feel Willow staring at her as they finished shovelling the last bit of dirt over Xander's body. Those last shovels of dirt were infinitely hard for Tara's broken body, and she gratefully sunk to the ground when they were finished, watching as Willow concentrated, rows upon rows of headstones appearing, bearing the names of all her newly-buried friends.
Willow finally sat down next to her, and Tara leaned into her shoulder. She felt Willow's arm go around her as the redhead snuggled carefully into her. "Tara, will you remember all this? If I forget this all as I wake from the coma, you will at least remember, won't you? And if I forget, you will tell me, right?"
Tara looked up at Willow, at her emerald eyes gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "I won't forget," she promised. "And if you do forget, I promise to remind you when the time is right. Now, dearest heart, are you ready to wake up?"
Willow made no movement, and Tara could feel her body trembling beside her. "I'm scared, Tara," she finally whispered.
And even though Tara knew the source of her fear through her glorious connection, she asked, "What are you afraid of, Willow?" Tara put her hand on Willow's blue-jeaned thigh.
"I'm afraid of the pain. I'm afraid of the emptiness. And, and I'm afraid I'll lose you," Willow replied, looking down at Tara. "I'm not gay, you know. I've never kissed a woman before you. But it's safe here, and you are so wonderful and warm, you're my angel, you're my saviour." And Willow kissed Tara again, her cheeks wet with her tears, and Tara melted into her, she needed this, these last few memories, just in case the worst happened, and Willow woke with no memory of this at all. As Willow kissed her, and as she kissed Willow back, she could sense, even deeper, the terror and fear that her girl felt at the threatened separation. As they finished kissing, Willow held Tara's forehead close, and kissed her once there as well, and stroked Tara's hair. "Breadcrumbs," she whispered.
Then Willow straightened, but continued to hold Tara close. "But on the outside, I'm straight," she continued. "I've even got a sometime boyfriend, though he left me, again, earlier this year."
Tara felt a surge of anger course through her at Willow's depiction of her last relationship, how dare he treat my girl like that? but she tempered herself, and with a trembling heart she asked, "Do you love him?"
There was a short pause, and Tara realized with some surprise that she couldn't really hear what Willow was thinking anymore. Maybe she was getting too tired. Maybe Willow was blocking her. But Willow eventually answered, "I used to. But not anymore. Not for a very long time." Willow looked into Tara's glorious eyes. "I think I was waiting for you, Tara. I think we were always meant to be together."
Tara's heart leaped into her chest once again. Remembering what else Willow said she was scared of, Tara said, "I will help you with the pain as much as I can, and so will Althanea. But the emptiness, the void where your friends were, you will have to discover how to fill it on your own." Tara leaned over and kissed Willow softly. "As for me, I will never leave you. If, on the outside, you find that you cannot love me, be assured that I will always love you."
"Why, Tara?" Willow choked, turning Tara slightly to see her better. "Why do you love me?"
And whatever wall Willow had been building in her mind, to keep Tara from feeling her emotions and seeing her thoughts, Tara could glimpse behind that wall, and she saw Willow's torment. Somehow, this girl, this infinitely precious and most glorious girl, had begun to believe that she was unworthy of love, that her life was doomed to wrack and torture, a never-ending cycle of hunting and killing and slaying. There was no one in Willow's corner, no one to help her bear the burdens of leadership, no place where she could break down and be simply Willow. Her girl felt unloved, unwanted, undesirable. Tara simultaneously cursed the man who had done this to Willow, even as she answered Willow's question.
"It's what I was born to do," Tara simply replied, and shivered in ecstasy as Willow's lips came down on hers once more. They were both too exhausted to anything but kiss, and Tara could feel Willow's wild desperation. As they broke apart, Tara caressed Willow's face and whispered, "I will always be there for you, Willow."
Willow nodded and gulped, then wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. They sat, looking at each other, for long moments. "Shall we go outside, then?" Willow finally asked, getting up from the forgiving earth and then carefully helping Tara to her feet.
Tara nodded, and her heart, though beating sluggishly and blackened in her chest, soared with joy. This was it. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. The curtain was about to lift, and Willow was about to join her on the outside.
They walked, hand in hand, back to the glowing marble gateway by the majestic willow tree. As Tara looked at her love, standing there in the warm sunlight, glowing with purpose and intention, she knew this was a moment she would never forget. Willow was smudged with dirt, and sweaty, and tired, and the most beautiful thing Tara had ever seen.
There, standing before the gate, it's evanescent glow lighting them afire, Willow looked once more at Tara with trepidation. Tara read her fear, and closed the distance between them with a rush, and captured Willow's mouth with her own. Almost savagely she plundered Willow's mouth, feeling a desperation within herself. What if this is the last? Willow mirrored her feeling, and clutched Tara tightly, and Tara moaned softly in pain and delight. Tara's hands plunged into Willow's hair, cupping her neck, tilting it this way and that so she could access every minute and beloved portion of her lovers mouth. She could feel Willow's hands on her back, on her waist, just under the hem of her shirt, stroking her bare skin. The pain, the pain was like wildfire in her veins, but Tara simply didn't care.
They finally broke apart and embraced each other, trying to get their frenzied breathing under control. "Go ahead, my love," Tara eventually whispered into Willow's ear. "The world awaits you, and I'll be right behind you." Willow looked at her once more, her gaze filled with love, and then she strode forward, and their entwined fingers reluctantly parted. As she put her long fingers over the handle. Willow looked back at Tara one last time.
"Thank you, Tara," the redhead simply said. Tara nodded, and Willow opened the doorway, and Tara could see through it to the tiled ceiling of Willow's hospital room. She watched as Willow straightened her back and took one step, then two, then she and the doorway disappeared.
