sara – It is very, very, very good – for them both! :)

Tara stood in the break room in her office, waiting for new coffee to brew.

She was normally a two-mug-a-day person; one with lunch and one as an afternoon pick-me-up when it came to coffee, but that morning she was already on her third full, steaming cup. An early night with Willow turned to anything but, as they made up for the lost time during the health scare.

Those wrought feelings of anxiety that had plagued her so deeply during that time had finally ceased, but Tara was still shaken up by it. It had taken a few days to have a full night's sleep and she kept apologising to Willow for a week. Eventually Willow quit telling her to stop and just shut her up with a kiss instead, and had been extra attentive since.

Tara appreciated it - and could barely resist her girlfriend anyway. Having extra coffee to make up for lost sleep was more than worth it.

Finally the light on the old coffee pot flicked green and Tara poured her mug full of the strong stuff. She filled it almost right to the top, leaving just enough room to add some creamer. She stirred it in, waited for the little whirlpool to settle and leaned back against the counter to sip down the perfectly hot and slightly sweet liquid.

As it slid down her throat, someone rapped on the door and Tara jumped in surprise. Alice's head popped around.

"Tara, assignment meeting."

Tara quickly pushed herself off the counter, almost spilling her coffee in the process. She was totally embarrassed for forgetting the meeting and needing someone to come out and find her. She rushed out to grab her notebook and run to the meeting, but was relieved to see people were still milling into the conference room and she hadn't held it up.

She took a seat amongst the others on her team at the round table, while Alice sat at the head of the table with a stack of files. Tara flicked her notebook to her new week, scribbled in the date and took the few moments, while everyone gathered, to take another generous gulp of coffee.

"Is everyone here?" Alice asked, and had a quick look around the table to make sure, "Great, let's get going."

Tara had her pen ready to take notes as Alice ran through and dictated the week's assignments.

Even though Tara had been working there a year, she was just starting to get her own cases instead of ones she assisted on. There wasn't much difference in the work, apart from signing off a few more papers, but she liked gaining more responsibility.

"Tara," Alice said after a while, making Tara look up, "We need a sign language interpreter at Haven Street for a meeting with a foster family and one of the residents. He's hard of hearing but the prospective parents are fully deaf. Can you facilitate that?"

Tara nodded, then got a small case file pushed across to her.

"While you're there. 15 year old female removed from the home last night following allegations of physical and sexual abuse by her step-father, made by a family friend. She was moved there this morning after being in an emergency foster care last night. She's staying there while the investigation is ongoing. I need you to go see her and do a full assessment and draw up the report please. I'll meet with you again when we know what our next step is going to be. Okay, everyone. That's it."

The co-workers disbanded and Tara quickly skimmed what was in the file as she approached Alice.

"Was she brought to the hospital?"

Alice nodded.

"She was treated for minor injuries on her face and arms but refused a rape kit. She was traumatised, so I advised not to use force."

"I don't blame her," Tara replied, tense at the thoughts of what the young girl had gone through, "I wouldn't want anyone else touching me if my father did that to me either. How certain are we?"

"You know we have to go through all the official protocols first," Alice advised professionally, "But the family friend witnessed him in her bed and staining on her sheets is being tested for DNA. If you can get her to speak in lieu of the examination, it would be very helpful."

Tara held the case file close to her chest and reigned in her personal feelings.

"What time do I need to be there?"

"Meeting is 3pm, so be there for 2:30 in case the staff or young person wants to discuss anything," Alice replied, "You'll need to sign out the staff car since you don't have your own."

"Right, okay," Tara replied, only slightly nervously.

She hadn't needed to drive in a few years, being able to get around the city on public transport or taxis to get to her meetings, or tagging along with whomever else was going. However, that particular state home was out in the suburbs and their taxi allowances only covered the city.

Alice misread the look.

"I know, it's not exactly high end, but it will get you there."

Tara just smiled.

"Hey, it beats the bus."

Alice laughed and Tara ducked her head and went back to her desk to organise her paperwork for the afternoon. She signed out the car early, during her lunch hour, to practice a little and give herself extra time to get to her destination.

The car was an old and rusting, but a still held together 3-door hatchback that looked like it had probably been built when Reagan was still president. The door was creaky as she opened it some of the red paint flaked off under Tara's fingers.

Tara sat into the car, and the interior was surprisingly well kept. There were no gouges or rips, it was comfortable and very clean. She knew it wasn't used that often, which was probably the only reason it had lasted as long as it did.

She adjusted her seat and found herself fixing and checking the mirrors like she was right back in Driver's Ed. She familiarised herself with the footing and started the ignition, which revved up without issue.

She indicated onto the street and felt at ease behind the wheel. She smiled at herself, pleased.

When she reached the next stoplight, she took out her phone and dialled a number, leaving it on the passenger seat on speaker.

"Hey."

Willow sat in the very small, hot hallway, regretting her choice of stuffy outfit, chosen in a bid to look professional.

The heat from the McDonald's kitchen filled all the available air and Willow was quite obviously sweating.

Across from her, the door to the manager's office was half open and if she moved her seat a few inches she could peer in. There was a man and a woman in there, and Willow knew the guy was the manager interviewing her by the placard on the door. She noticed their wedding rings and that he and the woman were having a terse, jaded conversation. Willow was picking up on all kinds of body language.

It was one of the things she really did love about psychology; reading people and deducing them from there. She fancied herself a bit of a female Sherlock Holmes at times.

The woman grabbed the man's shoulders and looked at him intently, but he just looked through her and nodded dumbly. Willow felt suddenly pained and like she was watching her parents. It hit a little close to home and disconcerted her.

The woman left without looking at Willow, who was then motioned in and the door shut behind her, making the heat even more unbearable than before. Willow took the seat opposite the manager, who didn't greet her or introduce himself at all.

"So…who is…" the manager started, flipping through Willow's résumé immediately, "Willow Rosenberg?"

Willow sat herself up straight.

"Well, I'm a 23 year old college graduate who's looking to expand her horizons and learn with a team," Willow rattled off, having written the same blurb on cover letters at least 100 times.

"Why McDonald's?" the manager questioned, as if he was asking someone to pass the salt.

Willow was put at unease by the tedium but answered diligently.

"I'm looking to learn new skills and I know you have a good training process."

The manager continued with lots of standard interview questions, which Willow had plenty of stock answers for. Neither of them were exactly excited and the room ended up just being filled with mundane monotones.

Eventually the manger left stopped rustling the papers.

"And finally, why did you leave your last job?"

"It… wasn't what I was looking for," Willow answered, somewhat cagily.

The manager just nodded, not seeming too bothered.

"Well I think that's us done for today."

Willow was surprised it was over so quick, but stood and shook his hand.

"Thank you for your time."

The manager stood and walked her to the door.

"I'll give you a call, but I will say I think that you're overqualified for this position."

Willow stalled in the hallway, not expecting the brush off so soon, especially when he'd given such a half-assed interview.

"Over…overqualified?" she asked.

The manager nodded.

"Your qualifications exceed the type of employee we normally employ here."

Willow could feel that oppressive heat pushing down and down and down on her until it finally snapped.

"What, just because you're clearly stuck in a loveless marriage and don't have any higher aspirations that working in a fast food joint doesn't mean you should be threatened because I have a degree."

The slight buzz in the air suddenly became an echo and Willow glanced down the small hallway to see the kitchen staff all staring at her, including the wife, who Willow also noticed was likely mid-flirt with the fry-cook.

Willow shot her a dirty look.

"I bet he's hoping if he becomes a hollow, shell of a man that you'll just leave him and he'll finally have some peace."

The manager shot daggers from the doorway.

"Don't wait on our call."

He slammed it, and Willow winced, then had to make an uncomfortable exit through the store with her head down.

She hurried home and tore out of the uncomfortable pant suit to redress in sweats and a t-shirt. She sat in front of the fan with a tub of ice cream and sniffled to herself about her failure of a morning.

She was lying on the couch watching SpongeBob on Nickelodeon and considering the laziest way to make lunch when her phone rang. It was all the way on the coffee table but she managed to stretch without having to get up and was pleased for her efforts when she saw it was Tara calling.

"Hey…now there's a voice I needed to hear…" she said with a smile, then sighed, "No, it went lousy."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Tara soothed, "Let's meet for lunch to cheer you up. I'm going to a meeting so I have the state car. I can take you to that place just outside the city you love with the patio dining. Yes, really. Okay, I'll collect you in 10. Bye, love you."

Tara tapped the phone to end the call, then concentrated back on the road and turned off into their neighbourhood. She pulled up at the building a few minutes later, where Willow was already waiting. She rolled down the window and peered over her sunglasses.

"Hey good lookin'."

Willow grinned and pushed herself off the wall. She got into the passenger side and kissed Tara's cheek.

"Well this thing is a piece of junk but the broad inside sure isn't!"

"Hi sweetie," Tara greeted, "Hot out today, huh?"

"Don't get me started," Willow replied, rolling her eyes to herself.

Tara pulled off the curb again and drove them to the little out-of-the-way restaurant they'd discovered on a long Saturday walk one weekend.

"Can we afford this?" Willow asked as she stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk.

Tara locked the car and pocketed the keys.

"When was the last time we ate out anywhere apart from the bar?"

Willow grinned back at Tara.

"Last night."

Tara blushed and brushed her hand against Willow's.

"Behave."

They nabbed the last table outside, under the shade of an awning but still with the warmth of the summer sun on their faces. Tara put her sunglasses onto her head and Willow smiled seeing her eyes.

"Well, thanks for bringing me out. I could use a treat."

The menus were already on table, held up between salt and pepper shakers. Tara glanced at one, but Willow was ready to order when the waiter came out to them.

"Pork belly BLT with kettle chips. Thanks."

Tara gave one last scan and put the menu back in its place.

"I'll have the prosciutto and mozzarella panini with side salad, please. And an iced tea."

"Just bring us a pitcher, thanks," Willow added.

He left and returned in under a minute with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses of ice. Willow poured them both a tall glass, which they both took a generous gulp of.

Tara wiped her mouth with her napkin, settled it over her lap and reached across the table for Willow's hand.

"Tell me, my love. What happened?"

Willow relaxed a little under Tara's affectionate touch and told her the story of how the interview went. Tara kept holding Willow's hand but her face did furrow with concern as it went on and finished with Willow's outburst.

"Willow, why would you say that?"

"Well if he's going to dismiss me for having a degree in psychology than he better expect to have some psychology laid down on him!" Willow retorted, folding her hands over her chest.

Tara took Willow's hand back and put it against her cheek, nuzzling into it.

"Willow, do you want to be an assistant manager or cook at McDonald's?"

"It's not about 'want'," Willow dismissed.

"Yes, it is," Tara replied insistently, "This whole idea behind you trying out different avenues is about 'want'. Figuring out what you're passionate about."

Willow's eyes were downcast but Tara sought them out.

"And you do need to reign in that temper a little bit. It's gotten you in trouble before."

Willow didn't object so Tara went the whole hog.

"Also, that psyching stuff. No one likes it. It makes me mad and not much makes me mad. People don't like being preached at about themselves."

Willow lifted her gaze.

"Do you think I'm arrogant?"

Tara gauged her answer carefully.

"…when you believe you're more knowledgeable on a subject than someone else…you can…come across that way."

Willow nodded glumly.

"Thanks for the diplomacy, but I get it. I'll remember that."

She thought about it all for a moment, then suddenly looked like she'd been slapped in the face.

"I behaved like my mom," she said in an echoing tone, barely believing it herself, "Wow, I behaved like my mom. Shit."

Tara played with Willow's fingers softly.

"What you said was mean. But you had a bad moment, and it doesn't make you a bad person. Learn from it."

"I will," Willow vowed sincerely.

Tara lifted her hand and tickled Willow's cheek.

"You're also simply lovely and anyone would be lucky to employ you."

Willow smiled and leaned into Tara's touch.

"Thanks for not bullshitting me."

Tara winked at Willow and took her hand back just as the food arrived. Their conversation turned more light-hearted into weekend plans and some TV talk.

"Do you want me to get the bus home?" Willow asked as Tara paid the check and calculated the tip.

Tara shook her head.

"No I'm going the opposite side of town anyway. Our place is on the way."

Willow smiled.

"'Our place' still makes me happy."

Tara offered her arm for the few steps to the car.

"You do that for me all on your own."

Tara drove Willow back to the building and pulled up on the curb. Willow undid her seatbelt but stayed in the car.

"Want tacos for dinner?"

"Sounds good," Tara agreed, meeting Willow in the middle for a kiss, "See you later."

"Bye," Willow replied, pecking Tara again, then jumping out and heading into the building and back to the refuge of cool air.

Tara got a tiny bit lost when out of the city and through the suburbs, having never paid too much attention as a passenger. Eventually she identified the right street and parked outside with 10 minutes to spare before the scheduled meeting.

She knocked on the door and was greeted by one of the regular care workers in the home, a gentle giant named Matt.

"Hey Tara," he greeted with his shy, unassuming smile, "Didn't know you were coming today."

"Hi Matt," Tara returned, "I'm here to be a sign language interpreter and to talk to Abigail."

Matt nodded and stood aside to let her in.

"She didn't go to out with the other kids today, so she's upstairs in her room."

"I don't want to rush her when we speak," Tara replied, shuffling her purse on her shoulder, "Is it okay to speak to her after this meeting?"

"Sure, come this way," Matt replied easily, "I didn't know you spoke sign language."

"Well, I can keep up," Tara replied modestly, "Can you give me the background? I know his case, but not the interaction with the family so far."

Matt briefed Tara quickly until the house minibus pulled up and most of the inhabitants of the home burst in from their summer activity. It turned to chaos quickly and Matt moved Tara into the private meeting room to wait.

He brought the kid in a few minutes later, with the prospective family and Tara aided introductions all around. It was a fairly standard meeting, first to observe interaction between the child and family and then to have a discussion with the parents separately, where Tara found she'd also assumed the role of lead social worker and not just interpreter.

She was a little peeved she hadn't been told so she could familiarise herself better, but had heard the case debriefing in the meeting that morning so there wasn't much disruption.

She had to scribble notes on a legal pad, ones that would probably be given a roll-eyes by the actual case worker for their legibility but Tara didn't care too much considering she'd done them a favour; one that had been treated as an expectation.

She decided not to give official approval despite everything checking out lest she cause an inter-office incident with the other social worker, but told the parents they'd be in touch soon.

Matt could see Tara's frustration and kindly offered her a cup of coffee.

"Thank you," Tara said gratefully as she took the mug and a long sip, not even caring that her caffeine intake for the day was astronomical, "I'm sorry, I thought his usual case worker would be here. I guess I should've been tipped off when we didn't drive in together. The communication in that office can be abysmal."

"I remember," Matt replied with a knowing smile.

"I didn't know you were in the department," Tara replied, surprised, "When did you switch to care work?"

"About five years ago," Matt said, "I felt like I could help more kids this way."

Tara nodded.

"I get that."

She finished off her coffee and felt a little calmer.

"Can I…?" she asked, motioning upstairs.

Matt nodded.

"Room six."

Tara dodged fighting kids to get upstairs and walk down the hallway to room six. The door was slightly ajar, and Tara peered in and knocked.

The girl inside, a petite, black-haired girl with sullen eyes and nervously bitten, half-chipped nails was sitting on a bed with a sketchpad. She looked up timidly and Tara offered a non-threatening smile.

"Are you Abigail?"

She nodded and Tara ventured a step inside.

"I'm Tara."

Abigail covered up her sketchbook and Tara moved inside but stayed at a distance.

"Are you a social worker?" Abigail asked, eyes downcast.

Tara nodded.

"Yes. But I'm a special kind of social worker. I'm your advocate, which means it's my job to make sure you're heard and listened to. I'm just here for you, no one else."

Abigail looked up at her and seemed a little more receptive. Tara nodded to her sketchpad.

"Do you draw? I used to draw a lot, but I haven't had much time lately."

Abigail looked at her drawing, then up and nodded. Tara came and sat near her on the bed and looked at her picture. It was the view from the window and really quite pretty.

"You're talented."

Abigail blushed and shrugged one shoulder, full of teenage awkwardness in spite of all the turmoil that had brought her to that place. Tara left her writing tools in her bag, not wanting to intimidate her. She'd write up her notes from memory later.

"Do you know why you were brought here?"

Abigail nodded silently.

"How do you feel about that?" Tara asked.

She got nothing.

"Can you tell me what happened last night?" she prompted.

Abigail shook her head.

"How come?" Tara asked softly, "Are you scared? Because I promise that you're safe."

"Where's my mom?" Abigail's shaken voice finally squeezed out.

"As far as I'm aware she's still under police questioning," Tara answered honestly.

"Does she know where I am?" Abigail asked, voice completely quivering with fear.

"Not until she's released," Tara reassured, "Do you not want her to know where you are?"

Abigail shook her head vigorously.

"Can you tell me why?" Tara asked gently.

Abigail looked out the window. It seemed to have a calming effect on her.

"She…she said if anyone ever found out…"

Tara let her have a moment before continuing.

"Found out what?"

Abigail glanced at Tara and was met with her reassuring eyes; the look that endeared a lot of people to her and that trusting gaze that made more than one child come to her for help.

It often took a lot of time, but in that moment Tara had something extra; that shared pain of your familial support system being broken down and abused. The solidarity was anguished and one no one should ever share, but they did and their rhythms opened up to each other. Once that happened, Abigail seemed to crumble and everything came rushing out.

Her stepfather's abuse since she was 12; telling her mother and not being believed; her mother catching him walking out of her bedroom pulling his pants up and threatening her to stay quiet; the pain; the tears; the solitude and utter torment.

With distress and sorrow she showed Tara self-harm scars that had been her hidden shame.

She bawled and Tara hugged her, the first positive affection she'd had in a long time.

Tara ended up staying there for hours with her, but she didn't mind. If Abigail had said nothing there might have been little choice but to send her back to her mother. With this information, Tara could fight; and as quiet and easy-going as Tara was, fighting for her kids was where she excelled.

"The police are going to come to ask you about the same thing, probably tomorrow," she explained when everything calmed down again, "Would you like me to be here?"

Abigail nodded jerkily and Tara offered her another hug.

"I promise we won't let people harm you again," she said emphatically, then got her card from her purse and scribbled on the back, "This is my private cell. Call me anytime you need me."

Abigail looked at it, then Tara gratefully and hid it away in the nightstand drawer. Tara put an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat."

Tara brought her downstairs to eat something and mingle with some of the other kids while she reported the harm risks to Matt so Abigail would be monitored correctly. She said goodbye to her and promised to be back the next day. Abigail hugged her hard, thanked her, then shuffled back off to dinner, embarrassed.

Tara left the house with a heavy heart and a headache.