by EasierSaid » Sat Jan 23, 2010 1:26 pm
Title: Neverland
Author: EasierSaid
Feedback: Yes, please.
Spoilers: None.
Setting: AU. There is no Hellmouth, there is no slayer and no magic of the wicca variety. Just our girls and the rest of the Buffy characters living and loving in that great city by the Bay, San Francisco.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Please don't sue me Mutant Enemy.
Notes: Movement in M Major
Thoughts in italics
PART 51
Tara let the half hour come and go, still unsure of what to say to, or do with, Morgan. The blonde played music in her studio just loud enough to entertain, but not loud enough to obscure the sound of Willow alighting the stairs. She had thought about playing Willow's CD, to see if the next song would spark and inspire like the others, but quickly decided against it. Too intense, too soon. No need to get all ramped up before seeing the girl, and honestly after last night's burst of creativity, her psyche needed a bit of a break. Best of compilation it is... she thought, as she inserted the disc to the tray and then pressed play, the familiar tunes softly lilting through her studio. She quickly went to work experimenting with paints, working on her craft of color creation.
A little before one, she heard footfalls on the stairs. She decided against turning the stereo off, too unsubtle, and instead turned the volume down to a whisper. She quickly composed herself, took a brief look in the mirror over her corner sink and headed out to see the girl that she loved.
The blonde came into the great room to see Willow leaning over the kitchen counter, seemingly writing a note. Tara's eyes quickly moved up the girl's body, noticing how enticing she looked in her form fitting jeans, the cuffs turned up a good four inches. Her red hair looked brilliant against the black of her shirt, and Tara noticed the boots on the redhead's feet. They looked warm and waterproof, a likely remnant of Willow's previous life in Boston. After a long moment spent openly staring at the unaware girl, she softly cleared her throat. "Hey," she beamed, before an overwhelming shyness over took her. She dropped her eyes to the floor, her hair falling forward. Her brow crinkled slightly in confusion; she hadn't been this bashful girl in years.
Willow turned and her stomach did flip flops as her roommate looked up and met her eye, Tara softly tucking stray pieces of hair behind her ears. The blonde's smile was electric, radiant. Is that for me, or because of Morgan? The redhead thought, hesitantly. "Hey," she replied, somewhat warily. "I was actually writing you a note. Didn't, want to bother you in case you were working..."
"Oh," Tara said, her smile dimming a little at the timbre of the redhead's voice. She couldn't hide the surprise on her face as to why the girl would be leaving her a note. The blonde then noticed the bag on the bar chair, and two envelopes sitting next to the piece of paper Willow had been writing on. She again met the redhead's eye expectantly.
After a slight pause, Willow somewhat guiltily thumbed to the door. "I'm gonna, head out."
"In t-this weather?" Tara blurted, her eyebrows shooting up. Whereas previous days had been gloomy, today had turned just plain nasty. The sky was ominous and the rain came down in sheets, water overfilling gutters and flooding low-lying intersections. She quickly eyed the windows across the room, confirming her suspicion that today was not a leave-the-house day before turning back to her roommate.
"Yeah." Willow also briefly looked out the window, dreading the soaking she was in for. "You know how it is though, cabin fever and all," the redhead said as casually as possible, crossing to the secretary desk and the jacket that hung beside it. "I thought I'd check out the cafe down the way; the one with Wi-Fi." She quickly put on her most waterproof coat and zipped it up, as she made her way back to the bar.
"Oh. Okay," Tara said, rocking back on her heels. The redhead seemed distracted, moody almost. Had something happened this morning to distress her?
"I'll be out most of the afternoon," Willow said as she slung her bag over her shoulder and collected the two envelopes from the bar. "So, definitely don't wait on me for dinner or anything." She shifted the bag to be more comfortable and waited anxiously for the blonde's response.
Tara's eyes were again drawn to the envelopes in the redhead's slim fingers. Without a doubt, they were the redhead's condo housing applications; she knew Willow well enough to know that she did everything else online. She looked back up and met her roommate's eye. "Okay," the blonde replied, still confused about the redhead's demeanor. Is she mad? Hurt? Anxious? Annoyed? "Are, are you okay?"
"Yeah," Willow said, trying her best to seem carefree.
"You seem..."
Just be vaguely honest, the redhead told herself. "I'm a little stressed," she allowed. "Work stuff." She rolled her eyes in the way that said it's better to just leave it at that. And it was true, she told herself, at least, partially. She was stressed out about work, and how she was setting herself up for hours of it tonight in her frantic bid to get away from Morgan. Yep, she thought, rocking back on her heels. Only the whitest of white lies here...
The blonde looked down at her hands, and then back up with what she hoped was a warm smile. "Okay," Tara said. "G-Good luck out there. It looks um, p-pretty gross."
Willow frowned slightly before covering with a slight grin. Great, you've made her stutter... "I'll have my umbrella. Ella, ella..." When Tara looked up confused, the redhead flapped her hand self-consciously, smiling awkwardly. "Not funny, and, really dated, sorry." She started to pace backwards, a taut smile on her face. "So, just, call me if you need anything, I'll have my cell. Okay?"
Tara nodded in reply, a soft, disappointed smile on her lips. "Okay."
The redhead offered one more, regretful smile, grabbed an umbrella and then left. The blonde looked to the windows to her left and eyed the downpour as she heard the key lock the door, and Willow quickly descended the second flight of stairs to street level. Well, at least her feet will stay dry...
She was alone for all of two minutes before her land line rang. Morgan. Or Buffy, she allowed, remembering that the petite blonde had mentioned catching up today. But probably Morgan. She crossed to the kitchen counter, leaned across the counter and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" She asked, bringing the phone to her ear and straightening.
"Tara, it's Morgan."
Tara dipped her head. "H-Hey," she said with a soft sigh, a slight crease appearing in her brow. "I'm um, I'm sorry I didn't call you back earlier, w-was a late night..." She rubbed the blush that formed on her face and paced away from the bar toward her couch.
"No worries," the brunette said amiably, her voice cheery on the other end of the line. "I figured when I didn't get you that you were either out having fun or up to your eyeballs in work; thought both would be good for you, so... not a problem."
"Thanks," the blonde said, a genuine smile creeping across her lips. She took a deep breath. "So, about this afternoon–"
"Yeah, that's actually why I was calling." Morgan said. "I actually went down to the gallery yesterday afternoon and had Marissa help me out instead. I hope you don't mind."
"Oh." Tara said, surprised. Not at all w-what I was expecting... "N-No, I, that's fine," she finally sputtered out, stopping feet from her couch, her eyes lazily focused on the rain running down the glass before her, her mind focused on the unexpected beginning to their conversation.
"I just, I didn't want to bother you," the brunette artist said. "You're so busy, and it was pretty selfish of me to assume you'd have time for something so silly."
"No, I." Tara frowned. "I'm sorry if I made you think that," the blonde said, worried that perhaps she had been too mixed with her signals. As much as she was confused about where she stood with Morgan, romantically, she took great pride in her availability as a peer, and would hate for the artist to think she wasn't being generous with her skill.
"No, I absolutely didn't," Morgan reassured. "I just know how busy you are, and I didn't want to, intrude," the brunette clarified, slowly emphasizing the last word as she trailed off.
"O-Okay." Tara replied, still a little confused about what was going on. "So... Marissa helped...?"
"Yeah," the brunette replied, her voice sounding relieved. "She said she had a pretty clear idea about what the buyers down there were looking for and helped me pick out what to send. I actually feel pretty good about what we came up with."
"That's great," Tara replied earnestly, knowing how difficult it could be to put together a show's selections.
"Yeah..." Morgan lingered, her voice full of things she wanted to say. "You know, Tara..." She momentarily paused. "I hope you know that I really like you."
Tara swallowed hard. "Oh." Here we go...
"I do," the brunette said sincerely. "I think you're probably one of the best artists I've had the pleasure of knowing. You're smart, beautiful... sexy." The blonde blushed hard, her face crimson from the compliments. "I just, really, really think so highly of you."
"Morgan–"
"But," the brunette interrupted and paused. "I... sort of get that you have other things going on, and I don't want to get in the way there, you know?"
There was a long pause. "Other things...?" Tara asked. This was again not what she expected.
"Yeah," Morgan answered. "I mean, maybe if the timing had been different, and you weren't figuring things out with Willow–"
"Willow," Tara replied, shocked. Willow?
"Things might work out, but as is..." Morgan continued on before trailing off. "I mean, I hope you know, if things change; I'd love it if you'd call me."
Willow?! The blonde again thought, her mind momentarily skipping like a needle on a record. "Morgan, I," Tara struggled for the words, flustered, as she shook her head and looked to her feet. "W-Willow is my roommate, I-"
"I know," the brunette interrupted. "That's what Marissa said, but..." She sighed. "I saw the way you looked at her yesterday, and it's not the way you look at me, so..."
Tara's brow shot to her hairline. What.
"Just, if you're ever free, and maybe interested.. give me a call?"
"O-Okay," Tara replied, unable to put any of the fifteen thoughts jamming her mouth into any kind of understandable sound. She furiously replayed the events of the previous day's visit to the gallery in her mind. But I w-was angry at Willow, I w-wasn't flirting, I w-wasn't touchy-feely--
"See you next Friday?" Morgan said, jarring the blonde from her self-reflection.
F-Friday? What's Fri– The gallery party. "O-Okay," Tara numbly replied. It was all she could manage.
"Take care, Tara."
"Nuh huh," the blonde mumbled as the brunette hung up and she was left, slack-jawed holding the receiver in her hand. After a long moment spent staring at nothing, an urgent buzz signaled her to hang up. She quickly pushed the End Call button and dropped her hand to her side. Her face burned and she was suddenly sweating more than a marathoner in the tropics. Oh god.
She took a few steps and sat down heavily on the couch. She knew Marissa suspected her feelings for Willow, the gallery owner had asked her as much... But now Morgan, too? The blonde remembered the note on the back of her gallery party invite, "Bring Willow!" and she just about died from embarrassment. Michelle... How many people now suspected that she was pining after a straight girl? She swallowed hard. If they all suspected, then what about Willow? What if Willow suspected?
Would it be so bad if she did?
Her face radiated heat. Loving Willow, being in love with Willow, was her deepest secret, her most desperate secret, and now, it quite clearly wasn't a secret at all. It was something people talked about. Something people apparently disagreed about. Something that flashed like a neon sign even when she was actively trying her hardest to hide her tender feelings. Something that maybe, just maybe, Willow thought about. Tara startled at that. Willow thinking about... Her brow furrowed deeply.
If Willow knew, the thought didn't seem to bother her much, she admitted with some surprise. The blonde thought of how demonstrative they had been last night, how the redhead had melted into her arms as they hugged. Unless, that's why she hightailed it out of there this morning, she mused. Tara shook her head, disoriented as memories of time spent with Willow and Morgan's words swirled in her mind. So confusing. She again wanted to talk to Buffy about it, but... how could she? She could only imagine the pity in the petite blonde's voice. Buffy thinks Willow is straight.
The blonde rubbed her face lightly with her free hand, her stomach twisting and her heart beating wildly. After a long moment spent paralyzed, reviewing her interactions with "The M's," she returned to the kitchen, where she carefully replaced the receiver in its cradle. She groaned slightly, the embarrassed heat starting to recede from her features and she returned to the very soft music in her studio.
It took an hour for her to shake the self-conscious feeling that she had been making a fool of herself for all to see, an hour to realize that she was in danger of losing yet another day if she didn't buckle down and work, a day that she couldn't afford, quite literally, to lose. She sighed deeply, and after a brief argument with herself, resolved that she would need to dip back into Willow's Real Me CD for inspiration. She checked her notes, and found that the next new track would be number thirteen. She entered the number, increased the volume to fill the space, pressed play and waited.
The soft strums of a single, echoey electric guitar immediately permeated the studio. Tara's head cocked to the side. It felt like she was the only audience member at a very intimate live show. After a short intro, a man's heartfelt voice began to sing. "Change in every little, desire. We were counting on forc-"
The song cut out suddenly, and the lights illuminating her space when dark. She blinked her eyes twice, surprised, as she looked around, acclimating to the sudden blackout. It took a long minute for her to assess the situation, her head angling to look beyond her studio and down the hallway to the similarly inky great room. She crossed and looked out the window, noting with a quick turn of the head that the entire block was dark. A power outage?
Her frustrated sigh was loud in the darkness.
***************************************************************
Willow tapped her keyboard in frustration. She sat in a narrow wood chair against a painted brick wall, her laptop situated on a small, uneven round table. She sat directly across from an espresso maker that blew hot, damp air toward her profile whenever it hissed to life. She was far enough from the cafe's door to not feel the harsh wind and stray drops when it was opened by the few hunched over figures braving the onslaught outside for a cup of something warm, and for that she was grateful. The trip over had been cold and wet, and she had no desire to encounter the fierce weather again any time soon, no matter how many times she had thought about running back to break up Tara's "date" in the hour.
The redhead looked back to her computer, the screen full of different open applications. Her work was progressing slowly. Her laptop didn't have the processing power of her 8-core machine at home, and the rendering seemed glacial by comparison. She typed a quick IM to Khalil and then leaned back in her chair. Her pants had been soaked from the knee down on the way over, and she could feel them drying slowly and stiffly. At least my feet are warm, though, shoulda brought a scarf, she thought, a chill making her shiver despite her placement near a heating vent. Indie tunes played in the background, and she allowed herself to space out a little as another large file lumbered through a process.
The walk over had been hellacious yet fast, as she darted from tree to awning, scurrying to stay as dry as possible, the wind and rain coming at her sideways at times. She had dropped the two envelopes at the corner mailbox and noted that she'd missed that day's pick up. And the housing applications are in the mail, she thought. It's one thing she could do that would please her mother. So, I'm gay, but hey, might be buying that condo you were pressuring me into... so... there's that. She sighed and pushed the thoughts about her mother to the side. The redhead was still ambivalent about the condos. She didn't want to leave Tara's home, though she knew her stay was long past welcome and into, 'are-you-gonna-be-here-permanently-or-what,' territory. She smiled softly. Permanent. That's what she wanted more than anything. To be a permanent fixture in Tara's home, like the steps or ceiling beams. To have the blonde's home truly become their home.
Okay, rushing a little. Let's just get her to like you first. She blushed as the snippet from her dream flitted through her head. "I think you like me. Or, that you're starting to like me, at least. In a maybe, more-than-friends way..."
She shuddered. Stupid dream. She picked up her empty cup and wondered, as she stared at the remnants of foam along the inside lip, what Tara was doing. Whether she had changed her clothes for Morgan, whether she was making the brunette an afternoon snack. Willow frowned. She wondered if they were in the blonde's studio, or even worse, curled up on the couch together, leisurely thumbing through the visiting artist's portfolio, their fingers accidentally brushing against each other, their bodies close– She felt her jaw set as she interrupted her very active imagination, and abruptly stood to order another drink. Dark thoughts called for sugary drinks.
Twenty minutes later and another mocha consumed, she sighed and grumbled as she checked the progress bar. 45 percent!? Her left leg fired up and down like a piston and she drummed her fingers on the table surface. She was angry, and found that the more she sat there the more upset she became. It wasn't fair. Morgan, this "date." The whole, stupid situation wasn't fair. She had been driven from her home, her and Tara's home by... herself. The redhead deflated. She was driven from her home by her own overactive mind and insecurities. Tara herself said Morgan wasn't her ideal yet here she still clung to it. Does Tara even like Morgan? She allowed, pushing back in her chair, memories of their conversation over cake filtering back into her mind.
Willow looked down at her now-clasped hands, dejected. Why did I leave? Because this was her pattern. Don't like something, run away. But, in two days, she reminded herself, there would be no more running away. She wouldn't run from her mom, wouldn't run from Buffy. Running away from Tara today... wasn't she just prolonging the inevitable? Eventually, Flee-Willow needed to become Stay-Willow.
The redhead closed her eyes and sighed. Xander's words from Morgan's party echoed in her mind. Tara didn't know there was a choice. And if she did... and she still decided to date Morgan... well, that would be what it was. The end of the world, she thought sadly, opening her eyes. Boom. Willow shook the pessimism from descending completely. Down that road laid hyperventilation, tears and low phone batteries.
She turned her attention to a lit streetlight across the street. Honestly, how dumb are you, leaving her home alone with a sex machine? Wouldn't it be better to be there, third wheeling their "working" date?
Willow exhaled loudly. Stop being such a spaz! Morgan, despite her considerable charms, is not the be all, end all. The redhead nodded approvingly to herself. Example: Last night. When Tara needed out of the house, she came to you, not Morgan. She paused. Unless of course she called Morgan first and she wasn't available. Willow shook her head. No, she had been Tara's first choice. Even if Tara lied about the phone call, an act that still perplexed and unsettled the redhead, she was certain that last night Tara wanted to be with her.
"I think you like me. Or, that you're starting to like me, at least. In a maybe, more-than-friends way..." "Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered aloud, exasperated by the looping dream. She caught the girl behind the counter staring at her, eyebrows raised at the audible outburst and Willow smiled sheepishly. "Slow, computer..." she said genially, tapping her fingers near the mouse pad. After a long, awkward moment, she shook her fist, dramatically. "Grr!" The girl nodded politely before looking away and the redhead sank a few inches lower in her chair as she looked back to her machine.
I should just go home... she thought. The redhead again looked around, and as she again made eye contact with the girl behind the counter, the space went dark. The relative silence was eerie and Willow immediately looked up and around the cafe. She could see from her seat that the power was out across the street, and if that was the case it was likely out up and down the entire block.
Her eyes were again drawn to the counter, and the girl who was now consulting with another woman who had been working the espresso machine. The redhead could tell from their low urgent tone that they were trying to figure out what to do next. Willow looked back to her computer and noted that the process was at 91 percent. It would take another twenty minutes at least to wrap up. She sat patiently, patrons further back in the cafe slowly packing up and grudgingly leaving as it became clear that the power wasn't going to miraculously reappear.
Willow's phone buzzed, and she checked the text message. "Power out - u?" She quickly typed Khalil back in the affirmative. "Valid work off excuse no xbox life unfair!!!" She smiled. Another text came in almost immediately, this time from her colleague Andy mentioning that his power was out as well.
"Guess we're all working tonight..." she muttered to herself. She looked up as a man wearing a hard hat and yellow raincoat entered the cafe.
"You guys got anything hot to drink?" She saw the large letters and baby blue logo on his back and paid attention as he spoke to the cafe employees. "No it's out everywhere; probably going to be down for a while." The girls asked him how long and he replied, "Three hours? Four? Hard to tell." They nodded and the girl at the counter turned to the last three customers, and announced with a surprisingly loud voice that the cafe would be closing down due to the blackout.
Willow sighed. The fates had decided she would be heading back to the fire. At least I got that process done... She slowly packed up her bag and headed back out into the rain toward home.
Last edited by
EasierSaid on Sat Jan 23, 2010 4:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Hopefully you'll like what happens next. The coming out, etc. is definitely sneaking up! Please enjoy the next update.
And I agree about the 'next year' dig - so true, so funny. Amen about life changes; time does fly! Agreed about the lovely feeling; so glad you're experiencing as well. Thanks so much for the very kind words about no-rusting; great fear of mine, as you know. I'm glad you were able to jump back in without having to re-read because man... that's a long re-read! Hope you like where things go from here; enjoy the next bit!
...
