Willow jumped up straight away at the confirmation of the identity of the man standing before them, stepping protectively in front of Tara.

Tara took a deep breath and stepped aside so she was standing beside the redhead, putting a hand on her shoulder to let her know it was okay.

Willow seemed incredibly uneasy at this but wanted to trust whatever her wife was doing so settled for standing beside her, ready to pounce if the man now known to be Tara's father made even the barest hint of an iffy move towards her.

"What're you doing here, Dad?" Tara asked, pleased that her voice was staying steady.

"It's my wife's birthday, I'm visiting her grave," Michael Maclay replied with more than a hint of undeserved indignation, "What're you doing here? I thought you disappeared off the face of the earth."

Tara felt her father's eyes burning into her but refused to avert her gaze, like she always had in confrontations with her father before.

"I left to live my life."

Michael turned his nose up slightly, his upper lip curving into a snarl. He made no effort to even acknowledge Willow's presence, not caring at all about this redheaded woman he'd never seen before, but his eyes did narrow considerably as he recognised Michelle off to the side. He nodded in her direction, then looked back at Tara.

"I see you two have met."

"No thanks to you, you no good son of a bitch," Michelle snarled, moving to stand the other side of her niece. Her fists balled at her sides as she struggled to contain the sheer anger coursing through her. She'd always had a dislike for her sister's controlling husband, but in light of all she'd learned since meeting Tara again...her dislike had understandably grown into sheer hatred, "How could you, you...you spineless bastard! How could you do the things you did to your own little girl?"

There was a flash of...something in Michael's eyes... some kind of emotion. Though Tara was the only one who noticed before they regained their cold, hardened stance. His whole body visibly stiffened and he spoke with even more disdain than he had before.

"That's between me and my daughter. You interference never was appreciated, Michelle. Or have you forgotten it's exactly that that killed my wife?"

Michelle went to move forwards but Tara got there first, splaying her hands outwards between her aunt and her father.

"Enough!" she said, quite loudly, pleading with Michelle through her eyes to step back before looking at her father, "Enough. We just came here to pay our respects on my mother's birthday. We didn't think you'd be here, you never used to visit."

"Yes, well, the grave went unattended when you just abandoned everything here," Michael replied, not even trying to hide the derision in his voice, "Father Cirrus suggested visiting might help me move on."

Tara scoffed internally. Her father had always been the master of keeping up appearances. He was the model father who was bravely raising his daughter by himself after his wife was tragically killed, that was the opinion of the local townspeople. Of the teachers who never questioned why Tara was so withdrawn, or ignored the bruises they'd see on her arms.

Tara was sure after she'd left he'd probably gotten nothing but sympathy for everyone in the town about his how his difficult daughter had left him to cope on his own.

But she really didn't care. And she wasn't about to start a fight around her mother's grave, especially not on her birthday. She knew she had to take the higher ground.

"We'll go," she said after a minute, "We'll just go."

"Tara, wait," Michael said, and again Tara noticed another flash of emotion in him, "If you come back to the house...there's some things I should explain to you. I hardly think this is the appropriate setting."

Tara felt her heart begin to pound in her chest. Her father wanted to explain things to her? Could he actually be suggesting he might apologise for all he did? And if he was...

Was she ready to hear it?

Definitely, she decided after less than a second. It was exactly what she'd been thinking earlier. She could confront her father and get closure. She never thought the opportunity would arise that that could ever be possible, but it was.

Here and now.

She knew she had to give it a chance. Not her father, but herself. She had to give herself a chance to heal fully.

She looked her father up and down for a second, sizing him up, trying to see if she could determine his motives. She couldn't, he appeared to be as rigid and emotionless as ever, but she pretty much had her mind made up already anyway. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded.

"Okay."

"What?"

Both Michelle and Willow shouted the question loudly at the same time but Tara just turned and put a hand up to them, pleading silently for them not to say anything else before turning back to her father.

"10 minutes. That's all I'm giving you."

Michael just nodded stoically, moving forwards to place the small bunch of flowers he had in his hands against his late wife's grave before straightening up.

"I presume you won't want to ride with me. Do you remember how to get to the house?"

Tara nodded her head and received an answering nod in return.

"Well, I'll see you there then."

Michael walked off towards one of the exits and to a blue pick-up truck while Tara walked back off towards Michelle's car, leaving the other two gaping at her for a minute before rushing after her.

"Tara, what the-"

Before Willow could finish the blonde had pulled her into a tight hug and the redhead could feel her shaking slightly.

"Willow, I need to do this. I know you don't understand but please, I need you to trust me."

Willow wanted to voice the many, many protests that were going through her mind, but Tara had asked her to trust her and she couldn't deny that, no matter what. The blonde felt her wife's acceptance without needing to hear it and turned her head towards Michelle.

"Do you remember the way?"

Michelle nodded, but looked grief-stricken.

"Tara, are you absolutely sure?"

Tara nodded too and Michelle accepted that, still looking anguished, but sat into the driver's seat as the other two clambered into the backseat, Michelle starting the car and driving ahead.

Tara had Willow's hand firmly encased in hers as they drove, looking forwards the whole time as she tried to keep control of her laborious breathing.

Willow knew she'd never felt more fear than she did in that moment. With her free hand, she discreetly slipped her cell phone from her pocket and lay it down flat on the seat beside her, letting her fingers type just two words into a text message she sent to Xander.

Red Alert

She knew the boys would understand, they'd been on so many stakeouts themselves that they would've known to be hypervigiliant and she was sure they had witnessed the exchange in the graveyard, seeing as they'd been parked right across the road.

Willow's text would confirm that they were dealing with Tara's father and would be extra cautious.

Willow put her phone back into her pocket once she sent the message and brought her hand up to her temple, massaging it lightly. More than anything, she wanted to grab the wheel and turn them around to what she knew would be pure safety.

No, that was a lie. What she wanted more than anything was to let Xander and Jesse attack Mr. Maclay and make it look like an accident.

And there was only one thing stopping her from doing both.

Tara.

Tara had asked her to. And she could see it in the way her wife had spoken to her father in the graveyard. She needed to do this. Tara needed this. So she had to let it happen.

But she was terrified. The one thing she'd always vowed was that she would keep Tara safe. She had to keep Tara safe.

It was five minutes of tension, nail biting and palpations until they pulled up outside a large, detached, house that Tara had once called home. They could all the see the pick-up truck already parked outside.

The blonde felt chills go through her at the site but refused to let them control her. She resolved to hear whatever her father had to say and go from there.

She went to open the car door and had the handle pushed down, about to be opened, before she heard her wife's pleading tone.

"Tara..."

She turned back and saw Willow looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"Oh sweetheart..." she said, reaching out and cupping her wife's cheeks, bringing her in for a tame but reassuring kiss.

Willow let her lips move lightly against the blonde's for a few moments before pulling away, speaking pleadingly again.

"Tara, please..."

Tara ran her thumb over the skin beneath her wife's eye. She knew she had to make Willow understand. To understand why she had to this. She moved so that they were looking deeply into each other's eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"If he apologises... Willow, if he apologies, I can finally get closure. I promise you, I absolutely promise you that this doesn't mean he's going to be a regular fixture in our lives. We're not even going to see him ever again after today. But if he says sorry, and... and if I can forgive him then I can really, truly move on."

The tears that were threatening to fall down Willow's cheeks finally did so and Tara wiped them away with her thumbs before placing another quick kiss on her lips.

"I won't be long."

Willow gave a small nod and Tara turned to leave again, managing to open the door this time. Willow reached out as the car door closed again, her fingers trying desperately to pull Tara back to her through the glass window, but to no avail.

She let her hand drop and felt her tears continue to fall, not knowing how else to react to the flurry if emotions running through her before.

And if she was experiencing all this terror, this anger, this...feeling.

Then how the hell was Tara coping?

Tara walked towards the front door of her childhood home, keeping her shoulders straight and strong. She arrived at the door and knocked lightly, feeling a pang of fear go through her as she touched the wood.

As much as she wanted this place to be the same as all the other buildings earlier, to be empty architecture that meant nothing to her, it just couldn't.

Too much had happened. She'd been subjected to too much. Those walls were the only witnesses to the years of abuse she went through and being inside them again was a feat she just didn't think she could get through.

That thought was confirmed a moment later as the door swung open and she was instantly engulfed by the familiar yet foreign musty smell of stale booze that she had experienced every day as a child, post her mother's death.

"I, um...I can't go in there," she said to her father, who had stepped aside, trying to keep the shake from her voice, "We could talk in the backyard?"

Michael seemed confused by his daughter's strange request, not understanding that the memories of living in that house were too potent for her to just walk back in there, but agreed with a small shrug and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

They both walked around the house into the large, now completely unkempt backyard that had litter strewn all around the place.

Michael walked over to the rusted shed, which was now missing its door, clearly having fallen off at some stage and Michael hadn't bothered to replace it. He leant against the wood panels of the shed while Tara stood about ten feet away from him, her arms folded self-consciously across her chest.

Neither said anything for quite a few minutes. Tara eventually realised she would have to start proceedings if she wanted to get back to Willow as quickly as possible. She stepped forwards just slightly and gestured with one hand.

"You wanted to explain..."

Michael sniffed as he shuffled against the wood against his back before a small grin spread across his face.

Tara recognised it. It was the same grin he'd get whenever he was about to hit her.

"I hit you to correct you. To show you how to be a proper daughter, so you'd know how to be a proper wife when you grew up," Michael said directly, never one to mince his words or waffle, "I wouldn't have had to if your mother hadn't died, she could've taught you. But she did. I had no choice."

Tara almost choked on air. He was explaining why he had abused her, but not in the way she'd been expecting. She was expecting excuses alright, something about grief and alcohol.

But her father seemed...he was almost proud.

"No choice?" she managed after a moment, her eyes flashing with sudden anger, "You had every choice. Every time your hands hurt me, that was your choice. And to say it was to teach me how to be a proper woman? It was because you were constantly drunk and were angry about Mom dying. I was angry too, you know. I was a little girl, lost and confused without her mother and the only other parent I had did nothing but force me into chores I was too young to carry out and use me as a punchbag when they were weren't performed to whatever standard you set for yourself."

Michael fixed his daughter with a steady-gaze, almost sneering.

"You seem to be pretty sure of your little reasonings. I had to show you the proper place of a woman in this world. I stand by how I raised you after your mother died."

Tara gaped at the older man, her eyes practically bugging out of their sockets.

"You stand by...Why did you even ask me back here? I thought you said you wanted to explain."

"I did," Michael replied firmly, his demeanour rigid as he spoke the rationale he had convinced himself of for years, "And I have. I also thought you might have wanted to apologise for just vanishing into thin air like you did, surrendering your responsibilities here, to me and this house."

Tara opened and closed her mouth a few times in shock, suddenly realising that the flash of emotion she'd seen in her father's eyes before hadn't been the regret she'd initially thought or hoped it was.

It was contempt.

And not for what he'd done. Just for her. She realised her father's hatred for her had clearly only grown in the years since they'd seen each other. And any sense of forgiveness she had instantly left her. She wasn't going to get closure from forgiving him. She was going to get it by telling her father everything she bottled up for years.

She stepped forwards again and started to speak, her tone seething.

"I left because I couldn't survive another second with my abusive father. Because that's what you were. Abusive. You abused me for eight years, verbally, physically and emotionally and you haven't changed a bit. I can't believe I came here thinking you were going to apologise, much less that I would forgive you. Oh and you should know, I'm a wonderful wife, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the daily beatings I got off you."

Michael glanced down at his daughter's hand, and though balled into a fist by her side, he could see the wedding band wrapped around her finger.

"You got married? I hope you treat your husband with more respect than you have me, your own father, in the past 5 minutes."

"I don't have a husband," Tara replied calmly, eliciting a look of confusion from her father, "That beautiful redheaded woman you saw at Mom's grave with me and Michelle? That's my wife."

Michael's eyes widened in horror and he spluttered for a few moments, in complete shock.

"You're...you're..."

Tara nodded in an almost gloating manner.

"Yea. I'm gay, Dad. I'm a lesbian. I'm in love with a woman, I make love with a woman and we're blissfully happy."

Michael shook his head, his tone and body language venomous as he spat his words out.

"No daughter of mine is going to be an abomination of Satan."

Willow could feel her heart beating in every part of her body. She couldn't do this. She couldn't sit idly by while the love of her life faced the man that had hurt her so gravely.

She had to go in there. She whipped her cell phone out and typed another message to Xander.

If you hear shouting, come running.

"I can't just wait here," she said aloud to Michelle as her knee shook up and down nervously, "I'm going in there."

"She said she wouldn't be long, Willow," Michelle tried to ease the redhead's tension, before glancing at her mirror and narrowing her eyes, "I saw that SUV outside the graveyard too. Why would they be parked here? There's no other house on this street"

Willow ignored the question, not wanting to explain the reason behind the SUV having been following them and opened the car door instead.

"I'm going in."

"Willow, we said we'd-"

Willow stepped out of the car and turned so she was looking at Michelle.

"She's my wife. And that man...I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anyone hurt her. Not again."

She turned again before Michelle had a chance to respond and ran towards the house, walking around it as she'd seen her wife and the man who was technically her father-in-law go in that direction before.

She saw Michael first, who looked towards her with nothing but pure hatred and disgust.

Tara followed her father's gaze, her eyes widening when she saw Willow walking towards her.

"Willow, I-"

Willow held up her hands, her eyes pleading with her wife.

"Tara, I know you said you needed this, but I couldn't just wait in the car. I promise, I won't say a word, I just need to see that you're okay."

Tara couldn't help but smile a small smile at that and nodded at the redhead, before glaring at her father.

"I was just leaving anyway. This was a massive waste of time."

"You two aren't going anywhere," Michael said, feeling his hatred run through him like lava being poured from the top of his head. He wouldn't have this. His daughter had always been a waste of life in his opinion, but he wasn't about to let anyone find out she was a lesbian now as well. What would people say of him? No, it was just unacceptable. Acting on instinct, he reached into his shed and grabbed what he wanted from one of the shelves, producing a shotgun in his hands, holding it expertly and aiming it at both girls, "Tara, you're coming back to live with me. You're clearly as senseless and good for nothing as you were as a child but maybe there's still enough time to change that, to find you a proper husband. Now if you say goodbye to your little friend, nobody has to get hurt."

Tara didn't know how to react to this completely bewildering sudden change in situation. To comprehend the fact that she had a gun aimed at her, much less the words coming out of her father's mouth and felt her breathing begin to come in shallow gasps.

"I'm not staying, Dad," she managed after a moment, "Just put the gun down. We'll both leave and we never have to see each other again."

Michael snarled, looking back and forth between the two women across from him. He had always been set in his ways, believing a woman's place was in the home and was lucky that his late wife had seemed to agree, or at least hadn't complained, so he'd never had to raise his hand to her.

But Tara...she'd always been much harder to control. But never in all his life had he ever thought she'd be the disgusting pervert he considered her to be after what she'd just told him.

"I'd rather you were dead then have a dyke for a daughter."

His finger pulled the trigger before he even realised he had done it. He was acting on pure impulse, his anger, resentment and pain all pooling inside him and the only way he knew how to release it was to hurt someone else, to deflect his pain onto them, as he had become accustomed to in the years since his wife died.

Tara heard a loud bang and felt like her life had been turned into
slow-motion; felt her body fall to the ground and her head hit against the concrete ground.

She gasped, waiting for the pain from the bullet, wondering where it had hit her.

When nothing happened after a moment she focused her senses and realised there was something heavy on top of her. Confused, she turned her head, her eyes widening when she caught a glimpse of familiar red hair splayed out near her.

She tried to push herself up slightly and felt her heart sink when she only felt the dead weight of her wife on top of her. Her alarm increased tenfold when she noticed blood spatters all over her shirt.

"Willow?"

Her voice was filled with question and fear as she wrapped her arms around her wife's body and gently manoeuvred them so she was sitting and the redhead was stretched across her lap.

Her heart tightened to painful levels when she saw a circular tear in her wife's t-shirt, in the middle of her chest, blood oozing from the cavity.

"Oh god, Willow!"