**tommo: Okay, 22 it is ... here you go. Nothin major, though - or, in fact, particularly amusing. Just ... kind of random.
Series: Vignettes
Number: 22
Title: Clueless
Author: Sassette
Summary: Willow and Tara discuss a clueless guy.
Feedback: Can be sent to
pink_overalls@yahoo.comSpoiler Warning: Set, ummm ... during some season. Doesn’t matter.
Disclaimer: I didn't create these characters. I do, however, love them, and as they reside in my heart, they belong to me. I'm not making any money off of them, though.
Rating: PG-13
Clueless
Part 22 of the Vignettes Series
by Sassette
“Wait, I don’t get it,” Willow said, a small frown crossing her face as she and Tara walked across the campus, their fingers intertwined.
“No, you see, the beans were IN the stocking – like, sewed in. As decoration,” Tara said, an earnest expression on her face.
“Why would you put beans in a stocking? Or would that be ON a stocking?” Willow finally asked after a long moment of contemplation, unable to arrive at anything resembling a sensible conclusion.
“That’s just it – I have no idea,” Tara said with a little shrug.
“Okay, this just gets weirder and weirder,” Willow said, her frown increasing. “Want me to go talk to him?”
“Willow, he’s like twenty feet tall. And it’s not like it’s hurting anything,” Tara said with a little shrug. “I’ve made it clear I’m not interested – he just … keeps giving me things.”
“Well, it sounds to me like he needs to know just how very taken you are,” Willow said, pouting. “I could set him straight.”
“Or maybe you could set him gay, then it wouldn’t be an issue,” Tara said with a sweet smile, her eyes dancing devilishly.
“Or maybe he could take his head out of his ass and notice that we’re always holding hands,” Willow grumbled, an unhappy expression on her face.
Tara squeezed Willow’s hand lightly, casting a wry look in her direction. “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine,” Willow said, with a profound sigh that completely belied her words.
Tara stopped walking, tugging Willow to a halt and looking at her with a concerned expression on her face. “Look, I can talk to him again …” Tara offered. “I don’t … I don’t want this to bother you. He has a stupid little crush – it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not …” Willow began, then stopped, her mind racing as she tried to sort out everything she was thinking and feeling about all of this. “I just … are you bothered by this? I mean – aren’t you? Really?” Willow asked.
“A little,” Tara admitted, a quiet sigh escaping. “I mean, it’s totally harmless, but I … I’m not used to the attention,” she said with a little shrug and a self-deprecating look.
“You get plenty of attention,” Willow said ruefully. “People are always looking. It’s just no one else has failed to notice that we’re joined at the hip and that you’re completely unavailable,” Willow said with a sour look.
“I know – but … do you think I should talk to him? What should I say?” Tara asked uncertainly, wondering if she was handling the situation all wrong.
“How about I talk to him?” Willow offered, hoping Tara would take her up on the offer. She wanted a chance to talk to this guy and to make everything perfectly clear to him, even if she had to explain everything monosyllabically and draw pictures.
“Baby,” Tara said, a knowing look on her face. “You’d probably try to scratch his eyes out if he didn’t get it right away, and he’s this huge football player kind of guy.”
“I could take Buffy with me …?” Willow offered, an innocent expression on her face.
“Oh, right,” Tara said, nodding. “I can just see Buffy explaining to me that she had gone to pat him on the shoulder and her hand slipped – that the black eye he showed up with tomorrow was completely an accident.”
“Buffy wouldn’t do that,” Willow said, shaking her head.
“Of course she would,” Tara said, an inelegant snort escaping.
“Do you really think of Buffy as that violent?” Willow asked incredulously. “Buffy would never hurt anyone!” she said defensively.
“Oh, I know that,” Tara said quickly, her eyes wide as she realized she hadn’t explained herself very well.
“And here you are saying that she’d go all ballistic and beat up some guy just because he was hitting on you? That’s really unfair, and it’s like … it’s like … it’s like saying that just because someone is an Olympic sharpshooter, they knock over 7-11’s for kicks, and that’s all judgy and wrong, and …” Willow continued, clearly upset.
“No, no,” Tara said, interrupting Willow and placing a silencing finger on her lips. “I just meant that you and Buffy are so close, she’d do anything for you,” Tara said with a helpless shrug, her expression conciliatory.
“So I’m like some kind of Mafia Don and Buffy’s my enforcer?” Willow squeaked.
“She’s your best friend, and no, you’re not a Mafia Don, but you two are always there for each other – and it’s nice, and if someone is upsetting you, and you genuinely wanted them beaten up, Buffy would be first in line to do the honors,” Tara defended herself.
“So I’m a bad person who wants people beaten up?” Willow asked.
“Of course not – and I didn’t say that. Stop it,” Tara said, laughing lightly. “Or I’ll introduce you to your insect reflection,” she went on, a self-mocking expression on her face.
“Oh, sweetie,” Willow said, her eyes sorrowful as she looked at Tara. “You were making a joke? I mean – of course you were making a joke,” Willow went on, laughing forcefully, earning a little smile from Tara. “And it was a very funny joke – all with the humorousness and the irony. Oh, yes … chock full of irony and … funny,” she finished lamely.
“Trying to make me feel better?” Tara asked.
“Is it working?” Willow asked uncertainly.
“A little,” Tara said with a slight half-smile.
“Anything else I can do, then?” Willow questioned, her tone light and teasing.
“I can maybe think of a few things,” Tara said.
“Do these things involve … parachutes?” Willow asked, stepping closer to Tara and placing her hands on her waist.
“Parachutes?” Tara asked, a confused expression on her face.
“Never mind,” Willow said, stepping closer still and kissing Tara sweetly. Tara sighed, her arms wrapping around Willow’s neck as she leaned into the kiss, their lips brushing together again and again, all thoughts of clueless guys, Buffy’s violent tendencies, and parachutes forgotten.
Across the quad, a large football player’s jaw dropped, then a sheepish look crossed his face as he tossed his latest unconventional gift into a nearby trash-can and trudged back to his dorm.