Chapter Twenty Three

Breadcrumbs

Tara was so tired she could barely get her key into her front door. When she finally had the door open she stood, holding the doorframe for a moment, then crossed into the front hallway, laying down her keys and shutting the door carefully behind her. She could hear Althanea puttering in the kitchen; she was humming a Beatles song and Tara could see that the television was turned on to the BBC. Smiling, Tara shuffled into the kitchen.

It was obvious that Althanea had just woken from her all-day nap. Her caramel-coloured and normally bouncy hair was flying away on one side and flat on the other. The British witch had stayed in the trance with her, holding the invisibility spell until Tara finally came awake at four in the morning. Willow woke shortly afterwards, but only for a little while, and when Willow slept again, Tara had driven her jet-lagged and exhausted visitor home, only to change into her scrubs and return to the hospice.

Althanea looked up from her perusal of Tara's fridge as Tara shambled into the room. "You look right knackered, dear," Althanea said, waving Tara into a chair as if she were the owner of the kitchen. "Sit down and I'll make you some supper. Would you like tea?" She didn't wait for an answer, simply took the teapot and filled it then plunked it back on the stove.

Tara gratefully sank into the proffered chair, the irony not lost on her. She found herself almost surprised at the familiar comfort she felt with this almost-stranger, but the bonds of sisterhood were strong. She chuckled at Althanea's flyaway hair and the grey sweats with Oxford emblazoned on the backside. "Did you sleep well?" Tara asked, yawning.

"Gods, yes," Althanea admitted. "Though your neighbour is a bloody git. I could handle the sound of the mower, but not the screechings of Led Zeppelin." She rustled through the fridge a little more, clucking in disapproval at the hummus and the fresh veggies and soy milk. "Do Americans make decent pizza?" Althanea asked.

Tara laughed, and pointed to the phone. Tacked up by the phone was the number of a local pizza joint, expensive but incredibly delicious. "Ooh," Althanea said, running her fingers through her hair as she perused the menu. "The Canadian?" she asked, looking at Tara. "You have a Canadian pizza in California?"

"Back bacon, two kinds of cheese, fresh tomatoes," Tara said, smiling. "It's one of my favourites."

"Done, then," Althanea said, calling in the order, also ordering wings, breadsticks, and Coke for delivery.

"Are we feeding an army?" Tara asked, hearing the kettle whistle but quite unable to rise from her chair. She commanded her muscles to move, but they evidently weren't paying attention to her anymore. Her every muscle was sore, and her head was pounding in a dull ferocity.

"You need to get some meat back on those bones," Althanea chided, pointing to different canisters of tea for Tara to nod her approval. She placed a bag of Lemon Zinger in a cup, filled it with the steaming water and gave it to Tara.

"Thank you," Tara murmured, holding the warm cup in her hands, sniffing the tea deeply. She closed her eyes and felt the older witch go behind her and start to rub her shoulders. "Ah," she moaned as her guest gently massaged her aching shoulders. "You don't have to..." she began to protest.

"Shush, you," Althanea replied. "Now, tell me. How much did Willow remember?"

Tara sighed and blew on her cup of tea. "Everything up to the point where she lost consciousness. She remembered being surrounded by Bringers and vamps, being attacked by them, but when she hit her head she lost everything else until she woke this morning." Tara gasped as Althanea found a particular knot and lightly kneaded it.

"So she remembers nothing of Caleb, of what you and she did in her mind?"

"Nothing." Tara had known it was possible, had warned Willow that she may not remember, but it still hurt. (Hurt like someone driving a railroad spike through my heart.) Their time together was so incredibly sweet, so warm and nurturing and Tara wished yet again that she could have just stayed there forever. What need had they of the outside world, when they had each other? She and her love, they could have stayed an eternity under that willow tree, a million journeys of discovery both physical and mental. They would have had time for more than lips, they could have...Tara blushed as she recalled what happened under the willow tree.

"Hmm," the witch replied. Tara heard something in her voice and drew her back around the chair so she could look at her.

"What is it?" Tara asked.

Althanea sat down in a chair across from her and ran her hands through her hair once again. "She'll need to have that knowledge before the end," she finally admitted. At Tara's grimace, Althanea continued, "You weren't going to tell her, were you? About what you did?"

Tara shook her head. "I don't think it's entirely necessary. If she knew just how much..." and her voice trailed off. She thought of the demon's claws ripping open her sternum, she thought of dragging her tired cells across the barrier to Willow's body, she thought of the heaviness of the Amulet of Thespia, the amulet she could never take off.

"Tara," Althanea said, and Tara lifted her eyes to meet those of her guest. "I know you want to minimize Willow's pain, especially as she has suffered so much. But to trivialize what you have done, what this girl has done to you, that's wrong." Tara watched as Althanea's hand came to her neck and pulled out the amulet from underneath her scrubs, and she winced as she did so. There was blood on the spokes again. "Tara, there can be no inequality here. No lies. Only truth. You keep hiding things from Willow, it will only lead to disaster."

Tara's eyes blurred with tears, and she angrily wiped them away. They were silent for a few moments, and Tara thought about Althanea's words. She was just trying to be a superhero again. All stiff upper-lippy, as Willow would say. To pretend that nothing really was wrong, that was what she was good at. Could she really learn to just be herself, to show the same range of emotion as a regular human being? Did she really have to always hide behind a wall, a pretty wall she painted with pictures of glowing health and enthusiasm when she was really dying inside?

What was the alternative? To let Willow in? Really and truly? She had never let anyone in. Ever. And though she yearned to follow Althanea's advice, Tara wasn't sure if she actually could. "I can't make her remember," Tara finally admitted.

"Unless I'm completely mistaken about your families abilities, yes, you can," Althanea replied, gently. "I have very limited gifts of the mind. You, on the other hand, have access to every mind trick available. Sending people to sleep, making people forget things, planting false memories, every single facet of unconsciousness is the realm of your particular gifts. Had your mother never taught you these things?"

Tara immediately thought back to the hospital, to her conversation with Donny. "Mom died before she could give you the last two lessons." One lesson had been how to use the lifeforce of a fellow human to heal wounds that were not supernaturally inflicted. What would the other have been? And would her brother ever forgive her and teach it to her?

The thought paralyzed Tara. "She needs to have the information, Tara," Althanea quietly continued. She must have noticed something on Tara's face, for she continued, "There's something else. What is it?"

"Willow found out about Oz," Tara said timidly.

"What did she find out?" Althanea asked, getting herself a cup of tea.

"That Oz is dead, too. His name was on the list. You didn't tell me that," she said, almost accusingly. Tara immediately wished she could take her words back; it's not like her strange guest had to tell her absolutely everything.

"Oz isn't dead," Althanea said, looking straight at Tara.

What? Tara's jaw dropped. "But the list?" Tara stammered.

"The search and rescue effort was haphazard and dangerous. It was easy for the Council to insert Daniel's name on the list, just as they did Willow's. They have their reasons for hiding him, just as they hid her. Oz has been captured and taken to England."

"Captured?" Tara repeated.

"Oz is a werewolf, Tara," Althanea said softly, sitting down next to her, stirring honey into her tea.

Willow fell in love with a werewolf? My girl was sleeping with a werewolf? "I don't understand," Tara replied plaintively, her mind whirling.

"As I understand, Oz was bitten some years ago. For a while he did all he could to resist the lycanthrope, to learn how to control it. He even traveled to Tibet to learn meditation techniques from the monks. But as the years went by he began to find other reasons for embracing his wolf nature. He left Willow because she was getting too close to the truth, to finding out about what he did during the wolf moon."

"How do you know all this?" Tara asked. Did this witch know everything?

Althanea looked a little chagrined. "I've been keeping an eye on Willow for years," she admitted. "Willow has access to tremendous power and we had to be sure she wouldn't do anything bad with it. She doesn't know how often our coven scried on her."

"You were scrying on me, too, weren't you?" Tara asked quietly. "When you found out how much I was taking?"

"Yes, dear," Althanea responded, looking carefully at Tara.

"Why?" Infinitely soft.

Now it was Althanea's voice that broke. "Tara, we just wanted to help you. From the moment our coven knew that it was your destiny to heal Willow we looked in on you. God," Althanea choked. Tara looked at her, tears swimming in her own eyes, hearing something in the other woman's voice she rarely heard at all.

"We love you, Tara," Althanea finally admitted. "You can't imagine how much. You are so precious, so kind, so self-sacrificing, how could we not fall in love with you? We wanted to spare you pain. After all you've been through, we only want you to feel love." Althanea roughly rubbed her eyes, and her face steeled. "Believe me, Tara, there's not a single one of us who wouldn't die for you," she growled.

Tara rocked back, the words thudding deep into her chest, searing their way into her memory, filling her with a warmth she had never felt before. Maybe this is what Willow felt. This sense of family. Of belonging. Of being precious, valued, needed. "You'd die for me?" she repeated, hating to need the reassurance, but the concept was so foreign to her, so wonderful, she just had to ask.

"You bloody well believe it. Right, then. Have they driven to Canada to get that pizza?"

After devouring most of the pizza and wings Tara found herself almost asleep in her chair. Althanea was channel-surfing when Tara reluctantly told her she was heading off for some much-needed sleep. "Do you need anything?" she asked her guest.

"Not a thing, dear," Althanea replied. "Go to sleep, I'll see you in the morning."

To her vast surprise and delight, Tara slept the entire night away without any hideous dreams from Caleb, without the pain waking her. When she woke she felt like a new woman, and she smiled and chirped as she got ready for work. She had no idea when Althanea went to bed; she couldn't imagine her guest was that tired after sleeping all day so she tried to be quiet as she showered and ate breakfast. With a strange smile on her face, she obstinately avoided her usual oatmeal and ate leftover pizza instead.

She heard Althanea come down the stairs as she was lacing her shoes. "You look much better," Althanea remarked, looking Tara up and down. "I like your scrubs."

"Yummy sushi," Tara agreed. "Do you want to see Willow today?"

"Absolutely," Althanea responded. "When can I come by?"

"I'll have her ready for you at one-ish. Will you take a cab, or should I have someone pick you up?" she asked a little timidly.

"Heavens. I'll ring a taxi. Now go have a good morning."

Tara turned to exit, and as she glanced outside she saw the empty rabbit cage on the porch and heaved a small sigh. Althanea heard it and said softly, "Remember what we talked about, Tara."

Tara quirked a small smile at her and said, "I'll remember."

It was a delicious morning with air from both mountain and sea mingling in every breath. Tara inhaled deeply as she drove to the hospice. (They'd die for me.)

(Nobody's ever said that to me before.)

Tara pulled in to her usual spot and walked with a light step into the hospice, through the whooshing doors and down the spotless hallways. Her good mood was apparent to everyone, and all around her the other nurses and support staff were smiling and joking along with her. She poured herself a steaming cup of tea and then went to Willow's room.

She peeked around the curtain first to see if Willow was awake. The slender redhead was still asleep, her long eyelashes dark against the pallor of her skin. Tara quietly slid out Willow's chart and perused the comments made during the night. John made an interesting note; that Willow had been awake and crying once when he came in, but that she tried to hide it, and joked with him when he took her vitals.

"Oh, my love," she whispered, clucking softly. Tara went and stood by the window, adjusting the blinds so the light wouldn't strike Willow in the face, and as she stood there, she closed her eyes and breathed. These were the moments she had been waiting for. This made it all worthwhile. Yes, there had been fresh blood on the spokes of the amulet again this morning, and her head was pounding fiercely, but she could stand here and just bask. The Willow-light, it was stronger now, more nourishing, and emanated from the small woman in waves that Tara could almost see. While Tara always enjoyed the heaven-threads, trembling as she recalled the heaven-sheets when she was enraptured by three gods, Tara wryly surmised that the Willow-light was better. Like comparing Egyption cotton to flannel.

"Tara?" she heard, and she turned around. Willow had opened her eyes and her face was softly lit by the glow from the sun. The scars on her face were thin, and her hair shone in the light as if afire. Tara couldn't help but look on her in awe and admiration, and she just as quickly shielded her strong feelings a little. No sense scaring her, not yet.

"Good morning, fairy sunshine," Tara said, sitting by the bed. "How are you feeling today?"

Willow grimaced. "With every muscle in my body, I expect," she joked. Quieter, "Thanks for staying last night."

"You're my girl," Tara simply said before arising to take Willow's vitals. She could feel Willow's eyes on her as she moved about, and she tried to hide her aching shuffle from her weakened patient. She deftly placed the blood pressure cuff, lovingly tucked Willow's arm in the crook of her own, and whipped out her stethoscope to listen. All the while, her heart sang. She was with Willow. Willow was awake. She was with Willow.

"Well, we have an exciting day laid out for you," Tara finally said, jotting down the numbers on Willow's chart.

"Do tell," Willow replied wryly, struggling to sit up. Tara quickly adjusted the bed to a comfortable reclining position, and Willow smiled. "That's better. I can see you better."

Tara blushed and ducked her head, ultra-aware that Willow was watching her every move. "We'll do some gentle physical therapy this morning, and some body work. I've also got to change the bandages on your legs today, and that probably won't be pretty."

Tara helped Willow eat some breakfast, engaging her patient in light and easy chatter. Once she had finished, Tara asked, "Well, what would you like first? PT? Massage? Bandages?"

Willow gently bit her lower lip and Tara wished she had her fingers on Willow's head so she could know exactly what Willow was thinking. "Let's do the hard stuff first," Willow decided. "Let's do the bandages."

Tara rolled over a stainless steel cart and piled it with a basin of warm water, fresh gauze and tape, sponges, ointments and soap, and towels. She could always feel Willow's eyes on her as she slowly drew out one of Willow's legs, making sure that the rest of Willow was tucked in and covered up. She began by easing off the old bandages, her heart aching every time Willow winced.

"Talk to me, Tara," Willow asked. Tara looked up and saw the pain on the girl's face.

"What would you like to know?" Tara asked as she returned to her work, softly pulling the crusted gauze away.

"What happened to your face?" The question was asked so softly that Tara barely heard it, and she knew it was a question that had been burning inside Willow ever since she woke. And even though she had already told the story, she knew she had to find the strength to tell it again.

(Only truth, Tara.)

"I was attacked by a demon," Tara said. She knew she should say more, but she just couldn't. There was so much, too much to tell. The demon story would lead to an explanation of healing, which would lead to her shuffling walk, which would lead to Caleb and certain head-lopping with the scythe.

"Tara!" Willow's voice was shocked. "You were attacked by a demon? Are you all right? What else did he do to you?"

Tara lifted her head from her ministrations to Willow's leg. Willow's eyes were full of concern, and so mirrored the look she had given Tara under the willow tree that Tara began to tremble. She thought of the words Willow had spoken, the way Willow had clutched her so tight, blessing her ravaged face with those hot, dry kisses, professing her love for Tara. It was too much.

(I'm leaving breadcrumbs)

Tara was stricken. She couldn't do this again. (How can your life be what you want it to be?) She froze, her fingers dipped in the basin, tears threatening to flood her face. She closed her eyes and felt the burning in her chest, of the wounds that she so recently dressed this morning, the wounds that just wouldn't heal. Only those vicious cuts were open; the rest of her was shut up tight, a protective little ball, keep out the world Tara, and be safe.

"Tara, come here," Willow softly commanded, patting the edge of the bed by her lap. Tara opened her eyes and wiped them, then mutely followed Willow's command, sitting on the edge of the bed. Willow took Tara's hands in both of hers. "Tara, what else did he do to you?" she repeated.

Tara used the one hand wrapped in Willow's to lightly touch her breast. "He ripped open my chest," she said softly. "And my face, but you can see that."

She could see something at war in Willow's features. Her lips had set in a grim little line and her eyes hardened. "Is he dead?" Willow growled.

Tara smiled then, a wan little smile. Demon-fighter, indeed. "Yes, he's dead. I set him on fire with my magic."

"So you are a witch." There was no surprise in Willow's voice.

"Yes, as are you."

Willow softened then, and touched Tara's face, and drew her fingers lightly down the three scabs. "You're still beautiful," she whispered, then she blushed.

Tara also blushed furiously and ducked her head, almost missing the look of triumph that came over Willow's face. For a few moments she allowed Willow to hold her hands, and then she disentangled them to return to her work on Willow's legs.

"I'm a little more curious now," Willow said jokingly.

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," Tara replied, softening a bandage with some water.

They were silent for a few moments, then Willow chuckled. "Am I going to have to pull that story out of you?"

"Apparently," Tara smirked back.

Willow was quiet for a few more moments, then she asked, "How long have you been practicing?"

Ah, a safe subject. Tara was infinitely grateful for the non-demon, non-Caleb, non-head-lopping related topic and she easily answered, "All my life. It's been in my mother's bloodline forever."

"What kind of stuff do you do?" This Willow asked while gritting her teeth as Tara gently washed the long scrapes and cuts down Willow's leg.

"We are healers," Tara replied. "I actually can't do much other magic other than the more simple spells, though I have managed an invisibility-ish spell once in a while." Tara wanted to halt this line of questioning, knowing that Willow would probably want to ask her more about the healing. Despite what Althanea said, Tara just wasn't ready to share just yet. The burden that her girl would feel; Willow would feel responsible for Tara's current misery, and she just couldn't have that happen. Not yet. Maybe in time. "Tell me about how you got started," she said, rinsing the cloth again.

"I guess it all starts with my friend Buffy," Willow said slowly. Tara nodded in encouragement, and Willow started talking about the Slayer, the gang they formed, the kind of activities they did. Tara knew much of the story, but it was always fascinating to hear from Willow's point of view. As Tara competently washed the wounds, applied ointment where necessary, and lavished attention on Willow's legs, Willow told her about Angel, about the curse she performed to give him a soul, and then the steady accumulation of magical power.

Her girl paused then, and Tara glanced up, wondering if she was in pain. Willow's face was screwed up in pain, but not from her leg, and she continued her story a little slower. "I started dabbling too much in black magic," Willow admitted. "I was on the outs with Oz again, and there was nothing else that could make me feel better. Xander stopped me, though, before I went too far," she concluded.

Tara tried to keep the shock from showing on her face. She had no idea that Willow had fooled around with the dark arts, and she felt a momentary glimmer of anger at Althanea for not warning her. But then she brought herself short. (This is a relationship, Tara, whether Willow realizes it yet or not. And you don't need Althanea to tell you everything, do you?)

Tara realized that Willow was looking rather carefully at her. Rather than question her about the black magic, which Willow seemed to think was inevitable, Tara asked, "Tell me about Xander?"

"Xander always felt bad that he had no super-powers," Willow remarked sadly. "Yet he was the glue that kept our group together, he was our heart, our conscience." Willow's voice trailed off and Tara imagined that Willow was thinking back on her many experiences, and feeling once again the awful void in her life. "That's funny," she casually remarked a few moments later.

"Mmm?" Tara encouraged, moving deliberately to Willow's other leg.

"I found another memory that's missing something. This is really odd."

Tara's blood ran chill. She forgot to put the shovels back when she was finished with them. "Tell me about it?" she inquired.

"We were grave-digging this one time to catch a guy that was trying to make a zombie girlfriend for his brother he just raised from the dead. Buffy and I were sitting on the edge of the grave, eating donuts, and Giles and Xander were doing all the shoveling. But there are no shovels in their hands.

"This is like something out of 'The Dead Zone'," Willow concluded.

"'The Dead Zone'?" Tara asked.

"It's this book by Stephen King. A guy wakes from a coma and finds he is missing things from his memory. He calls them 'dead zones'. He also turned out to have precognitive abilities."

Tara smiled at Willow. "Think you're turning into a prognosticator yourself?" she asked.

"Not hardly," Willow snorted. "Even with a million clues staring me in the face I sometimes have a hard time connecting things."

Tara half-smiled, thinking of just how true Willow's statement was. And she just couldn't help it, she just had to say, "Breadcrumbs."

"What did you say?"

Tara looked up, aghast. "Breadcrumbs," she repeated softly.

"Breadcrumbs. Why did you say that? That word is so familiar to me for some reason, but something is just... hiding from me, just out of reach." Willow looked accusingly at Tara. "Am I missing something? Right now? There are some clues here, but I can't seem to put them together."

"It will come to you," Tara promised, thinking of what Althanea told her. (No lies, Tara.) How much should she say? "Althanea said she would come by later today, and she'll find ways to help you heal, and..." her voice trailed off.

"And what?" Willow asked after a long pause.

"And she can help you remember what happened in your coma," Tara reluctantly concluded. Willow was obviously waiting for her to continue, but Tara couldn't. She finished with Willow's other leg and instructed her patient that they should leave them uncovered for a while.

"When is she coming?" Willow asked as Tara began cleaning up.

"Just after lunch," Tara promised, concentrating on steering the cart, on looking at the floor, at looking anywhere but at Willow.

"Tara, why won't you look at me?" Willow asked quietly. Tara looked up then, stricken by the note of anguish in Willow's voice. "Am I really that hideous?" Willow continued. "I mean, I know I'm a little more battle-scarred than I've ever been and my hair is probably a mess, but you're a nurse, you've seen these kinds of things before, so why is it you won't look at me?"

Tara was aghast. She had no idea that her reluctance to look Willow in the eyes was that obvious, and she cursed herself for doing it. She sat once again on the edge of Willow's bed and took one of Willow's small hands in hers. Looking carefully into Willow's eyes, she answered, "B-because I'm afraid."

Pause. "What are you afraid of?" Willow dared ask.

Tara moved her head to look out the window, but Willow's small hand on her chin gently craned it back to look directly at her patient. Her hair was afire, her skin was alabaster, and her very proximity was driving Tara crazy with desire. She couldn't, didn't dare look Willow in the eyes. There was too much she was trying to hide: her desperate love for her patient, a love that should not exist in the workplace, the immense and soul-cracking pain that ran like liquid fire continually along her nerves, and her fear that Willow would reject her, would casually lop off her head and say, "As if I could ever love you." She could hide almost anything, she could create a shining husk of health and vitality, but she could never completely hide things in her eyes.

"I'm afraid of you seeing too much. I'm scared that you will see what I'm trying so hard to hide," Tara finally admitted.

"Then why are you trying to hide it?" So soft, so gentle.

Tara looked deep into Willow's emerald eyes and her voice held no mirth, only devastating truth. "Because once I let you see it, your world will never be the same again." Breath. "Willow, your war with the First isn't over. The final battle still lies ahead of you."