Kittens,
This has been a long time coming. Hard process, this writing thing. I made promises that were unkept, partly due to time constraints, partly due to life constraints, partly due to all types of constraints.
To my wonderful, though disheartened and possibly still pissed off sex slaves(uh, that's you guys, B & C): you are mine! You were mine, and you will always be mine. Don't you forget it! Love and thanks to you both. This one’s for you . . . .
Kris
"Frell that!"
Title: Darkness Falls
Author: KrisBo5 (Kris, obviously)
Email address: KrisBo5@aol.com
Feedback: Sure, I’d love it.
Distribution: This story is the narrative form of four spec scripts I have written for BVS, each of which is registered with the WGAw, so please don’t publish it or reproduce it in any way, shape, or form. If for some reason you’d like to, just ask first. It’s the polite thing to do.
Spoilers: Season 6, “Entropy” and “Seeing Red” episodes.
Rating: The story in its entirety: PG-13 to NC–17. This includes sex, violence, language.
Pairing: Willow and Tara, first, foremost, forever! However, Buffy and the others are here as well, Buffy and Dawn most especially.
Disclaimer: Hey, I didn’t create these characters, those kudos belong to Joss and crew. I’m just borrowing them for the story I did write.
Summary: The mythology surrounding the creation of the first Slayer(it sounds like a Buffy story, but have no fear, this is all about Willow and Tara).
Note: Things from here on out will get disturbing and may upset some Kittens; angst and loss and pain. Read at your own discretion.
Darkness Falls, Part One: Descent(C)
“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall be changed.” I Corinthians, 15:15
Thump-thump. . .thump-thump. . .thump-thump. . .thump-thump.
Tara breathed in, deep and long.
Thump-thump. . .thump-thump. . .thump-thump. . .thump-thump.
The blonde’s eyes fluttered, then opened slowly, coming into focus on a. . .
crooked chair leg? Tara squeezed her eyes shut tightly, then opened them.
Yup, crooked chair leg. What is— where am I?
Thump-thump. . .thump-thump. . .thump-thump. . .thump-thump.
Willowheart. A smile spread slowly over Tara’s face as her confusion ebbed. She remembered then, where she was. Why. But most importantly, who was there with her.
My Willow. The blonde sighed, feeling her lover’s body beneath her, feeling her own body wrapped in the redhead’s warm embrace. Angling her head, Tara lifted her cheek from where it rested over Willow’s heart; raising her eyes to her lover’s face brought another smile to her lips.
“Hi there,” Willow whispered, her green eyes alert and sparkling and watching Tara.
Tara’s arms squeezed her lover’s body instinctively, a warmth washing over her like sun after an endless rain. “Willow,” Tara said, her mind and heart and soul overflowing with her love for the redhead.
“That’s me.” Willow raised her hand and gently whisked aside several renegade wisps of hair from her lover’s face, tucking them behind her ear. Retracing the path, she let her knuckles brush against Tara’s cheek over and over and over again.
Lucky me.
Lucky me. “You didn’t sleep, Sweetie?”
“My turn to watch.”
Tara smiled. “Thank you.”
Willow tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving Tara’s, as her fingers moved from the blonde’s cheek into her hair, sifting through it unceasingly. “You okay, Baby?”
Always. When I’m with you? Always. Tara nodded. “I’m better.” She paused.
“But?” Willow asked.
“But,” the blonde continued, “I feel so— I don’t know, stupid.”
Willow’s hand stilled its motions in the golden silk of her lover’s hair. “You’re not stupid, Tara. I don’t think so, Buffy doesn’t think so.” She made sure Tara was looking at her. “So don’t say that. Not ever.”
Tara half-laughed at Willow’s quick defense of her. “Not stupid. Silly.”
“Why?” Willow asked, letting her hand slide from Tara’s hair to her exposed shoulder poking out from beneath the quilt. She feathered the skin there with her fingertips briefly before resting her hand flat against the blonde’s shoulder blade.
Tara shifted, quietly maneuvering one bare leg inside Willow’s robe, letting it rest between the redhead’s legs; Willow, without a thought, closed her leg over the blonde’s, entwining their ankles together. “It was just a dream and I. . . .”
Willow raised her eyebrows.
Ah, yeah, just a dream— if your dreams come from some Hell World!
Tara reconsidered. “Okay, a bad dream.”
Again, the redhead signaled for her lover to keep trying.
Tara relented, smiling into the emerald jewels gazing upon her. “Okay, a nightmare— an awful, terrifying, it’s-okay-that-I-screamed-and-crawled-into-the-corner-and-made-Willow-sleep-here-all-night-with-me nightmare.”
Willow allowed herself a small grin in return, satisfied that her lover finally agreed that she wasn’t silly, that her reaction to what she experienced was as valid as anything else on the Hellmouth.
Darn tootin’! The redhead wet her lips and began to rub gentle, comforting circles over the blonde’s back. “See? Not silly at all.”
Tara’s skin began to tingle as Willow caressed it, small flashes of electricity sparking through her, radiating away from the redhead’s fingers to all parts of her body. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, dreamily, letting her chin drop to her lover’s chest. Willow moved both hands to the blonde’s shoulders and began to gently massage them, her fingers then dipping beneath the quilt to the middle of her back. Up and down her skin, over and over and over again. “Mmm, that feels. . . really nice.”
“I know.”
Tara opened her eyes, finding Willow still watching her, the green eyes darkened with what the blonde decided was a heady combination of desire and concern. Tara pushed herself up onto her right elbow, lifting her upper body from where it lay across Willow’s; lifting her other hand, she untied the belt to Willow’s robe and slid her hand inside, moving it over the soft skin of her stomach.
Oh, my. Willow’s hands stilled on Tara’s skin, her eyes never wavering from her lover’s. Willow’s mouth opened slightly as Tara’s hand burned a slow, tantalizing path from her stomach to her breast, cupping it fully in the palm of her hand.
Tara pushed herself forward on her elbow, hedging further up the Willow’s body. The movement shifted the blonde’s leg further between the redhead’s, her hip rubbing gently against her lover’s inner thigh. Instinctively, Willow lifted her leg, opening herself for the blonde, savoring the feeling of her lover’s upper thigh pressing against the center of her being. “Willow.”
Willow swallowed visibly, a slow heat stirring within her as Tara spoke her name. She recognized the tone and smiled.
That’s me. Willow. Is. Me.
“I love you.”
Willow shifted her hands so she held the backs of her lover’s shoulders; she softly pulled, bringing Tara’s face inches from hers. “I know.” Willow lifted her head from the pillow and leaned forward, meeting Tara’s lips in a soft kiss.
Tara looked into Willow’s eyes, her heart aching.
You don’t know, Willow, you don’t have any idea. . . . Tears welled in her eyes suddenly.
“Hey.” Willow moved a hand to Tara’s cheek, catching the first tear as it slid from the corner of her eye. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Tara shook her head silently as more tears fell. “I j-just. . . I just love you so much, Willow, and sometimes I feel like. . . .”
“It’s not enough,” Willow said, bringing her other hand to Tara’s face, holding it gently. Tara closed her eyes for several seconds. “It doesn’t always say everything you feel inside.”
Tara opened her eyes again and nodded.
That’s it. . . that’s exactly it.
“You don’t have to say the words, Tara,” Willow said, softly caressing the blonde’s cheeks with her thumbs. “If you never said it to me again in this life, I’d still know. In my soul, I’d know it— how much you. . . .” Willow inhaled deeply. “I feel the same.”
Tara remained silent as Willow’s words washed over her. Through her. Then she lowered her face, pressing her lips to the redhead’s for a slow, lingering kiss. After several seconds, her mouth began to move thirstily over Willow’s, seeking its moist warmth; Willow opened her mouth, allowing the blonde’s tongue a hasty entrance. As the kiss continued to escalate, Tara shifted her hips suddenly, drawing her leg out from between Willow’s.
Willow broke their kiss with a whimper as her body felt the absence of her lover immediately. Before she could speak, the blonde moved her leg across her lover’s body, repositioning herself so the redhead’s thighs were buried between hers. Tara released Willow’s breast, trailing her fingers slowly over the nipple, then planted one hand on each side of the redhead’s body; she pushed herself up, drawing her knees beneath her. Willow’s hands lost their purchase on Tara’s cheeks, but they remained above her, hanging limply in the air between them. As Tara sat up, the quilt fell from her body, gathering around them where their hips met one another’s. The blonde joined hands with Willow, interlacing their fingers; she gave her lover’s hands a quick squeeze, then lightly tugged.
Willow let Tara pull her up, then released the blonde’s hands, letting her own rest on her lover’s thighs. She raised eyes, marveling in the sparkling beauty of blue gazing down on her. Tara lifted her hands to Willow’s face, touching her fingers lightly over her lover’s eyebrows; Willow closed her eyes as the blonde mapped her face with feather-light touches. Up to her hair. Along her jaw. Over her lips. Down her chin. Around her throat. On her shoulders.
Willow opened her eyes again only when Tara made no further movement over her. A small smile touched the corners of the redhead’s lips as she watched her lover’s eyes roam over her face, her throat, her body.
Map done. Commence with memorization. Tara’s fingers slid over the cotton material covering Willow’s shoulders, gliding softly underneath; she drew it off slowly, letting it travel down the redhead’s arms, almost laughing as Willow twisted her body out of the robe, ensuring she would not be trapped by the material, as she had been by Tara’s coat.
Willow’s hands moved back to Tara’s thighs, but only for a moment, as she began to trace her own path up her lover’s body, brushing her knuckles over the blonde’s ribs before passing her palms over her breasts. Then, back down they went, encircling Tara’s waist, finally stopping to cup her buttocks. Willow tilted her head back, opening her mouth slightly in a silent request for attention; she tightened her arms, pulling Tara’s body closer, their breasts coming together perfectly against one another. Tara’s breath hitched in her throat as she felt her own wetness when Willow drew her near; she laid her hand along the redhead’s jaw and lifted her face, lowering her own at the same time.
Tara’s mouth slanted across Willow’s in a searing kiss, her tongue darting out to trace an outline over the redhead’s bottom lip. Willow’s tongue met her lover’s in an understood urgency, drawing the blonde deep inside, luxuriating in the sensation. Tara’s arms slipped around Willow’s shoulders, shrouding her within her embrace, holding her so close that nary a molecule could come between them.
Willow moaned deep in her throat, clutching Tara more tightly against her as she felt her desire— her own need— to possess the blonde reaching a fever pitch. Tara recognized the shift in the redhead and broke away; their breaths came in quick gasps as they looked into one another’s eyes.
Seeing into one another’s souls.
Tara moistened her lips, then whispered, “Love me, Willow.”
Always, my love. Always and forever.
And then, she did.
*****
By 9:40, they had finally dressed and left the house, making their way to The Magic Box as scheduled.
As they turned onto Main Street, Tara shifted in her seat, looking at Willow. “We should bring coffee.”
Willow glanced at her, then turned back to watch the road. “That’s kinda Xander’s job. Wouldn’t wanna infringe.”
“Well, I was just thinking. . .” the blonde began, reaching across the seat to lay her hand on Willow’s leg.
Ooh, spicy thoughts. I like. “Thinking?”
“Everyone could probably use some, you know, after last night.” Tara paused. “Being up so late and all.”
Willow dropped one hand from the steering wheel to give Tara’s hand a quick squeeze. “I think you’re right,” she said, a smile lighting her face. “I, for one, have had
very little sleep the last few days— I could use a little pick-me-up.”
Tara grinned.
Oh, I’ll pick you up, Miss Rosenberg, don’t you worry about that.
Willow signaled and pulled the Jeep over to the curb outside the Espresso Pump. Putting it in park, she reached for the ignition, but Tara placed a hand over hers. “What?”
“I’ll get it.”
Willow smiled. “Baby, the shop’s just up the street. We can walk.”
“I know. Wait for me. I’ll get the coffee and then we’ll go.”
“Okay,” Willow said, shaking her head. Tara opened the door, but this time it was Willow who stopped her. “Hey!”
Tara turned back to the redhead. “What?”
“You’re forgetting something.”
Tara frowned, trying to think what it could be; she touched her bag.
Money— check. She suddenly smiled, looking at Willow once again.
Willow tapped her index finger to her lips several times as she raised her eyebrows.
The most important thing, Missy.
Tara leaned across the seat and replaced Willow’s finger with her lips, dropping several kisses over her lover’s lips, then one more on the nose for good measure. Willow’s grin seemed to fill her whole face when Tara drew back.
Oh, Goddess. . . Willow. . . you are so— “I’ll be right out,” Tara quickly said, making a hasty exit from the Jeep.
If it was at all possible, Willow’s smile spread as she watched Tara glide into the coffee shop. The redhead watched several pedestrians pass by, then looked out the front window, letting her eyes wander over Main Street. People were everywhere, going in-and-out of stores, talking on the sidewalk, driving.
Sunny Sunday in Sunnydale. She noticed Xander’s Chevy up the street, across from The Magic Box; glancing at her watch, she raised her eyebrows and curled her lip slightly.
Wow, early.
A tapping on the passenger window brought Willow’s eyes up quickly.
Tara! The blonde was leaning down, looking in at her, her smile as bright as the sun. In her hands she carried two trays of coffee, one balanced on top of the other. Willow hastily grabbed the keys from the ignition and jumped out of the car. “That was quick,” she said, moving around the front of the Jeep towards the blonde. She reached out to take one of the trays, but Tara pulled them closer to her chest.
“I’ve got them, Sweetie.” Willow opened her mouth to protest, but Tara shrugged her shoulder towards the Jeep. “Your laptop.”
“Oh, right,” Willow said, opening the back door and grabbing her bag and computer. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tara assured her, turning to start them towards the intersection. When they reached the corner, they both stopped next to the light. “You can get the button if you’d like,” Tara offered, jerking her elbow towards the small button. The swift motion sent one of the cups of coffee tumbling out of the tray, splattering its contents into the street. “Shoot!” Tara exclaimed, looking down at their feet.
“Remember,” Willow said, her tone filled with merriment as she squatted down to retrieve the empty cup, “I tried to warn you.”
Tara stiffened instantly at Willow’s words.
Remember, I tried to warn you.
Willow whispered the words to her. . . in her dream. The exact words. Tara raised her eyes and looked across the street.
‘Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk.’
Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the busy street around her. People passed. Cars passed. But Tara didn’t hear them. Her heart pounded a wild, swelling beat in her chest, making breathing almost impossible.
‘Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk.’
Seemingly in slow motion, she turned her head, letting her eyes travel over the dozens of residents clamoring up and down the sidewalk. Her gaze traveled up the block, a hundred yards from where she stood, falling onto a man and woman far-too overdressed for the heat and casual atmosphere of Sunnydale.
Tara did a double take, her stomach knotting over on itself as she kept her eyes on them.
They were stationary, standing close to a shop’s front window, completely unnoticed by residents buzzing around them.
They watched her, never blinking, never moving.
A family zigzagged in front of the pair, obscuring them from her vision momentarily; Tara felt herself leaning, trying to regain sight of them; when the family finally cleared her line of sight. . .
. . .she saw.
A morphing flash. A blurring, dizzying vapor and their true faces appeared to her: bodies, twisted like cordwood, blacker than the night; scorpion-taloned tails oozing yellow pus, curling over their backs; ovoid-shaped heads; their mouths, lined with razor-sharp needle teeth, in the center of the forehead; and their eyes, blood-red narrow slits, protruding from their cheeks.
Tara’s eyes widened as she registered the horror; she squeezed them shut, reopening them only to find her vision unchanged. Men, women, children— they all floated around them, by them, past them. . . blind. The blonde’s arms felt weak, and without a thought, she let them fall; the trays of coffee plummeted to the sidewalk, landing inches from the still-kneeling Willow. The cups exploded on impact, sending the contents splashing over the redhead’s legs, arms, and face.
“Shit!” Willow exclaimed, stumbling back; she jumped up, her arms held away from her in surprise and mock disgust. She took several swipes at her clothes and laughed. “Tara!” She looked at her lover, her face still a portrait of mirth. “I said I’d hel—” she began, only to stop when she saw the terrified expression on the blonde’s face. Willow moved towards her. “Tara? What’s wrong?” When Tara didn’t answer, she touched her arm lightly. “Baby?”
Tara finally averted her eyes from the monstrous duo, instead looking at Willow; the redhead shook her head slightly, her brow creasing with concern. The blonde stepped in front of her, making sure her lover had a clear view over her shoulder; then, she closed the distance between them, taking one of Willow’s hands in hers and cupping one of her cheeks with the other.
“Are you okay?” Willow asked, completely confused by her lover’s behavior.
Tara pressed her cheek against Willow’s, her lips hovering over the redhead’s ear; Willow’s eyes darted around them, quickly taking in the curious stares from the passersby. “Veda la verita. . .” Tara whispered, her breath warm against the redhead’s skin.
Willow went rigid as Tara spoke the words to her. “What are you doing!” she yelled, trying to pull out of her lover’s embrace. Her body began to shake uncontrollably as Tara’s words caressed her mind. “That’s magic—”
“ . . . miei occhi,” Tara finished, holding Willow tightly to her.
See the truth with my eyes.
As the last word was uttered, Willow felt a rush of electricity surge through her, soaring from the soles of her feet clear up to the crown of her head; a flash of bluish-green light exploded behind her eyes, forcing her to close them against its brightness. Then, as quick as the spell hit her, it was over. Willow opened her eyes, blinking them several times as a wave of nausea assaulted her. She reached out and grasped onto Tara’s arms for support, then leveled her eyes at her lover.
Tara’s gaze never wavered as she stared deeply into Willow’s eyes. “Do you see, Willow?”
See? I see— you did magic. You did magic on me. Willow opened her mouth, ready to berate her lover for her thoughtless, and dangerous actions, but she couldn’t speak. She felt the power of Tara’s spell compelling her to “see,” to “see the truth.” Her eyes shifted away from Tara’s, looking into the street, searching, seeking. Then again, under their own accord, they shifted back towards Tara, stopping suddenly before they reached her eyes. The redhead looked past the blonde, down the sidewalk. . .
. . .and she saw.
Willow’s grip tightened painfully on Tara’s arms as the nightmare monsters haunting her lover were brought painfully into the light right before her eyes. “Oh, Jesus. . .” she said, feeling her body prep for flight. “Tara?”
“I’m s-sorry,” the blonde stammered, her hands shaking as she still held the redhead.
“Tara,” Willow began, turning her eyes to her lover’s for the briefest of moments. “They’re coming.” Tara’s eyes grew wide. “They’re coming.
Tara craned her neck to look behind her.
The pair was moving towards them, weaving in-and-out of foot traffic, their hideous bodies gleaming in the sunlight, their bones and sinews undulating beneath their skins. They moved with determination, straight for them.
Tara whipped back around to Willow and squeezed her hand. “Run.”
“What?”
“Run, Willow. Run! Run!”
They ran.
They charged into the street, against the light; several cars skidded to a quick stop, narrowly avoiding them, but they didn’t look back. Hand-in-hand they bolted across the intersection, jumping the opposite curb and continuing up the sidewalk at full speed.
As The Magic Box came closer, Tara chanced a peek over her shoulder.
The pair was no longer walking.
They ran.
But, they ran in the opposite direction.
Away from them.
They’re gone, they’re gone, they’re gone. Tara turned back, pulling on Willow’s hand. “W-Willow. . .” she said, out of breath.
“Come on, we’re almost there,” the redhead yelled, tugging harder on her lover’s hand.
“Willow,” Tara said again, slowing her feet, forcing Willow to stop. “They’re gone.” She nodded as Willow looked past her: down the street, across the street, above their heads. “They’re not following us.”
Willow looked at Tara.
Screw that. “I don’t care,” she declared, starting them again towards the shop at a quickened pace.
The sign read ‘Closed’ as they reached the front door of The Magic Box, but Willow pushed it open anyway, never so happy to hear the jingling of the welcoming bell above her head. She and Tara entered, pausing just inside the door, sweaty, shaky, out of breath. Willow reached back and locked the door behind them, testing the knob for good measure.
“Guys, we have a situ—” Willow started, pausing as she looked at the Scoobies.
Dawn and Xander, seated near one another at the table, looked up as the women entered, relief showing on their faces. Anya, standing behind the counter near the register, tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.
Oh, God. . . “What?” Willow asked.
Tara’s eyes moved over the shop, passing over them all until they fell upon the ladder leading to the upstairs loft. “Buffy,” she said, her voice low.
“Buffy?”
Tara led Willow down the steps towards the Scoobies. They stopped short of the table, taking in the Slayer. Buffy sat on the bottom ladder rung, her hands clasped tightly together, her head downcast. She didn’t acknowledge their presence in any way; she simply stared at the ground, lost in her own thoughts.
“Wh-what happened?” Willow asked. Dawn and Xander glanced at Buffy, but didn’t speak. “Buffy?”
“Will,” Xander said, standing and walking around the table towards her. “Last night, after we left, we did a patrol.
Tara found herself tuning out the words as Xander spoke; from the corner of her eye she could see him talking, gesturing with his hands, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Instead, she found her eyes and thoughts straying to Buffy.
It’s her. It’s her. “You saw her,” Tara said, her voice cutting through Xander’s monologue like a knife through butter.
A hush fell over the room as all eyes riveted to Tara.
“You saw her,” the blonde repeated.
Buffy lifted her head slowly, her eyes meeting Tara’s, holding them.
“Saw who her?” Anya asked from across the room.
Buffy unclasped her hands and sat up.
Oh, Goddess, Buffy. Tara blinked slowly.
“A lady from Tara’s dream,” Dawn answered, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the situation.
“The woman in the window?” Willow asked.
Xander nodded and lifted his shirt enough to show the bandage on his shoulder. “Her and a bunch of her Crypt Keepers.”
“Are you all right?” Anya asked, coming out from behind the counter.
“Yeah,” he said, covering up again. “But it— it wasn’t fun.”
Tara gave Willow’s hand a quick squeeze and walked towards Buffy. The Slayer watched her approach, her eyes welling with tears.
“I hid in the dumpster,” Dawn said.
“It was a good thing you did,” the carpenter replied. “Will, it was. . . .”
“What?” Willow asked, taking a step towards him.
Tara stopped in front of Buffy, looking down on her.
I’m sorry.
Buffy started to cry, her sobs silencing the others in the room.
Tara knelt down and took the Slayer in her arms; Buffy wrapped her own around the blonde and continued to weep.
I’m so sorry.
Willow felt her knees go weak.
That— that’s not all. It can’t be. She wouldn’t cry for that. Not just for that.
“I killed her,” Buffy said into Tara’s shoulder, her voice quavering.
Dawn and Xander dropped their eyes quickly to the floor as Buffy confessed.
The sound of Buffy crying was the only noise for several minutes as everyone absorbed the information.
“I don’t understand,” Anya finally said, walking over to them. “You killed Tara’s dream window woman?” Xander looked at her. “Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, it sounds like that would be a good thing.”
“Ahn,” Xander started, trying to head her off before she said something too Anyaesque.
“You still do kill vampires and other things, right?” the Vengeance demon blazed on, oblivious to what was playing out before them.
“Ahn!” the carpenter yelled.
“What! She’s the Slayer. She slays the bad guys. What’s the prob—”
“She was a woman,” Buffy said, untangling herself from Tara’s arms. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and sat back, looking into Tara’s eyes. “I killed a human.”
Tara took hold of Buffy’s hands. “I’m s-sorry,” Tara said.
Willow sat down, her body suddenly weighing too much to be held up by her own legs.
Oh, God. . . .
*****
Madrine’s screams echoed throughout the mansion, ricocheting off walls and windows, winding down stairs and halls. There was no place to escape their intensity; they reached into every shadow, every crack, every crevice. Men and women pressed themselves back into the deepest, darkest recesses of the house as their mistress wailed her loss to the world.
In her room, Mr. Bellum stood just inside the closed door, his eyes following Madrine’s every move. She raged across the plush carpet once again, picking up the only chair with one hand and hurling it over the length of the room; the impact cracked the plaster from floor-to-ceiling, sending the wood splintering into a thousand pieces. From there, she moved to the window, yanking the curtains and curtain rod out of the wall; she plunged them forward through the glass, spraying the front lawn with crystalline jigsaw pieces.
Her room, as sparse as it was, was now the picture of utter destruction, bathed in broken furniture, shattered glass, and. . . .
Blood.
Cassandra’s lifeless, blood-soaked body lay in the center of Madrine’s bed, her hands folded over her chest, her face peaceful. The once-white comforter and pillows were now stained dark red with her lifeblood. Madrine looked at her for a brief second.
She screamed again.
“Madame,” Mr. Bellum at last said.
Madrine grabbed the lamp and threw it towards him; he did not move as it sailed over his shoulder and exploded against the wall. Her eyes were wild as she scanned the room for something else to destroy.
“Madame!”
She ignored him as her eyes fell on the triptych mirror. She stalked towards it, her hands reaching out.
“MADRINE!”
She froze. Inches from the mirror. Mid-stride. Arms outstretched. Shaking.
She turned slowly towards him, her rage and hatred oozing from her like venom.
Mr. Bellum raised his chin slightly, holding his ground. “It is done,” he said simply, truthfully. “Please, let us attend to her now.”
Her every fiber seemed to vibrate, casting off a low hum all around the room. She lowered her arms to her sides and stood up straight. She cast a glance towards the mirror, then back to him, considering his words carefully. She moved to the foot of her bed, gazing down on Cassandra’s silent form. “I will destroy her for this.”
“Yes, Madame.”
She turned away from her bed and cast her dark eyes on her servant. “I will burn this town to ashes, and I will destroy
everything the Slayer loves.”
A fervent knock rattled the door behind Mr. Bellum.
Madrine nodded once, and Mr. Bellum turned and opened the door a crack. After several seconds, he opened the door completely, ushering in the man and woman, who had chased Tara and Willow on Main Street. The man and woman went down on one knee before Madrine, their eyes downcast in obeisance.
“Madame, something has happened,” Mr. Bellum said. “Something wonderful.”
Madrine walked to the two figures and stopped before them. “Speak.”
“Madame,” the man began, his voice hushed by her nearness, “we followed the other, as we were ordered.”
“Yes?” Madrine asked.
“The Slayer consorts with a witch, Madame,” he finished, bowing his head lower to the ground.
Madrine cast her eyes at Mr. Bellum with disdain. “This— this is nothing to me. The witch you speak of, I know about her. She will not use her power, not anymore.”
“She is a far-seer,” the woman said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Madrine’s eyes riveted to the woman. “What did you say?”
“It’s true, Madame,” the woman said, “she has The Sight.”
“She
saw us on the street,” the man said. “And she made the other see.”
Madrine took this in, working out the possibilities. “Two witches?”
Mr. Bellum nodded. “The witch they speak of, she sensed our presence the night we first glimpsed the Slayer. She has great power, Madame. Something wonderful.”
Madrine took several steps back from the pair, backing up till her legs encountered her bed. She sat down on the edge, quietly pondering the information she had received. She shifted on the bed, glancing behind her; unceremoniously, she pushed Cassandra’s feet away from her, then turned back to her audience. “Bring Fonce.”
Mr. Bellum reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small electronic keyboard; he pressed two buttons. “He’s coming, Madame.” He had no more spoken the words when there was a metallic knock on the door. Mr. Bellum opened the door.
The ‘man’ called Fonce entered the room, standing beside Mr. Bellum. His skin was a mottled whitish-grey, stretched tight over his face and balding head; his eyes were black orbs, dripping a black oily substance continually down his cheeks; his hands carried only three fingers, all the same one-inch length; he wore a floor-length, button-up-the-front black leather robe, replete with a six-inch Elizabethan collar. Helping him to walk were two bamboo canes topped with metal skeleton heads. He dipped his head at Madrine.
“I have a job. . . and a gift,” Madrine said, standing up. “As for the job, these two will take you, they’ll show you. You will bring me The Seer, but do not harm the Slayer. She is
mine.” Madrine smiled. “And your gift? Anyone else near them— you can do with as you like.”
Fonce smiled, his mouth opening to show a gaping black whole; no teeth, no tongue.
*****
The Scoobies sat around the table, facing one another silently. Buffy’s story had been told. Willow and Tara’s story had been told. Everyone remained quiet and still, trying to decide how to proceed.
“Buffy?” Dawn finally asked, scooting closer to her sister.
Buffy shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her on the table. “If this is true, then we’re not safe. Not anywhere. Not during the day, not the night. Not at home, nowhere.” She paused. “They’re vampires and demons— they can reach us anywhere.”
The Scoobies absorbed the truth of the words.
Nowhere to run to, Baby, nowhere to hide. The old sixties song lyrics sprang into Willow’s mind as Buffy talked.
Diana Ross? No, wait, Martha Reeves. And the. . .uh, Valhallas? That’s not— Vendettas. No, no, no. . . .
“The Vandellas.”
Willow’s eyes riveted to Tara’s. “What?”
“Martha Reeves and the Vandellas,” the blonde said in a low voice.
What the— okay, sorry, that’s freaky.
“Didn’t they sing a song called—”
“Nowhere to Run,” Willow supplied, disbelief filling her eyes. Tara and she had been thinking the exact same thing.
But why am I surprised she knows what I’m thinking? Soulmates are like that, aren’t they? And she’s my soulmate. She’s my. . . Tara. She’s. . . mine.
“Will?” her lover asked, a curious expression shading her eyes.
Willow just shook her head and smiled, moving her hand to rest possessively on the inside of Tara’s knee.
“So, we give up?” Dawn asked, dropping her hands to her sides. “Just like that?”
All eyes shifted to Buffy, fear, panic, hope, and trust spilling out onto the Slayer. She shook her head and glanced at each one in turn. “No. No, we don’t give up.”
“You don’t expect us to fight, do you?” Anya asked, incredulity flooding her voice. Before Buffy could answer, the Vengeance Demon sped on. “Because that’s, well, that’s just insane. And I don’t do insane. . . not anymore.” Xander fidgeted in his seat, drawing his ex’s withering attention. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Not nothing,” she replied, stalking the few steps over to stand above him where her sat. “What? What? I’m running away again, is that it? Is that what you’re thinking?” Xander remained quiet, as did everyone else in the room, knowing this tirade wasn’t completely about their current situation. “You’ve got a lot of room to talk, Xander Harris, do you know that? Me? What do I run away from, hmm? An apocalyptic Ascension or some universal catastrophe, but you? What was it? Oh, yeah, that’s right: responsibilities and adulthood.”
“Anya, this isn’t the time,” Xander said, looking directly at her.
“It never is with you, Xander,” the Vengeance Demon said, starting back to the counter.
“Anya,” Tara said, her voice calm. Anya turned and faced the blonde, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. “I know you’re upset. We’re all upset right now. But, you’re a part of this, and we need you.”
Willow’s hand squeezed Tara’s knee lovingly.
That’s my girl.
Anya considered the blonde’s words, then trudged back to the table. “Fine.”
“Buffy?” Willow asked, sending everyone’s attention back to the Slayer.
“We can’t defend ourselves here,” Buffy said, sitting up straighter. “We’re too exposed. We should go to the house, bunker down, research.”
Everyone nodded.
“We move in groups at all times, no one goes anywhere alone,” the Slayer continued. “We’ll take what books and provisions we need from here, Xander and Anya can stock us up on food, and Tara can do a protection spell.”
Everyone nodded.
“We’ll try to figure out our next step from there,” she concluded. After a minute, Buffy looked at each of them. “Let’s move.”
The Scoobies rose to their feet together, each heading off to procure what they might need.
Tara reached out and took Willow’s hand in hers. “Willow,” she said, her voice hushed.
Willow turned to her, and squeezed her hand lightly. “I’ll get the weapons, Baby.”
Tara took a deep breath. “Are you okay?” She paused. “Earlier, when I— I’m sorry.”
Willow pulled the blonde closer, touching their foreheads together. “I’m okay. Scared and freaked, yeah, but not jonesing for mojo or anything. Really.”
Tara leaned forward, pressing her lips to her lover’s in a lingering kiss.
I love you, my Willow.
“I love you, too,” Willow whispered after the kiss ended.
Twenty minutes later, loaded for bear, the Scoobies stood just outside the front door, huddled side-by-side, their eyes scanning Sunnydale residents as they passed. Buffy was on point, with Tara right behind her. Xander and Anya next; then Willow and Dawn.
Without turning around, Buffy asked, “Anything?”
All the others looked to Tara, who quietly searched left, right, left again. “No, nothing.”
Buffy nodded. “Stay together.” She took a step out onto the busy sidewalk and gestured for the rest to follow.
Across the street, hidden between the shadows of a delivery van and dumpster, Fonce raised one of his bamboo canes, popping off the skeleton head; he placed one end in his mouth, while he pointed the other end across the street.
The Scoobies moved as a group, staying as close together as possible, as close to the walls and windows as possible.
Buffy glanced around the corner and waved. “Xander, Anya.” Xander and Anya moved up, past Tara, and stopped behind Buffy. “Remember, once you’re in the car, don’t stop. Not for anything.” They nodded. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“Got it,” Xander said, touching the Slayer’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said, taking Anya’s elbow and starting off.
“Everyone else ready?” Buffy asked, as soon as Xander and Anya were well under way.
“Y-yes,” Tara stammered quietly, the books and papers she held shaking in her arms.
“Let’s go,” Dawn said, moving closer to the blonde in front of her.
“Stay close,” the Slayer repeated, as she took another step.
“Not a problem,” Willow whispered.
Fonce rose from his squatted position as soon as Buffy moved out from under the awning. His eyes squinted against the bright sun, but his focus remained rigid.
Buffy rounded the corner and held her hand out behind her. Tara reached behind her and took hold of Dawn’s sleeve, pulling the teen in front of her. “Dawnie, get behind Buffy,” the blonde said, a smile crossing her lips.
“But—” the teen began, only to be stopped by the Slayer’s hand firmly grabbing hers.
Willow moved up beside Tara, their arms brushing against one another. “Ready?” Willow asked.
You’re here. “Yes.”
They all started up the street, the Jeep not more than a hundred feet away.
Not a problem. Willow’s eyes swept side-to-side, prepared to see Night of the Living Dead in every face that passed them by.
Fonce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of the van, steadying his hands.
A man on a cell phone zigzagged between two women and bumped Tara; the blonde stumbled back a step, the top text sliding off the stack and falling to the pavement. “Ow!”
Dawn turned. “Jerk!”
“You okay?” Buffy asked, still alert to their surroundings.
“Yes,” Tara answered, glancing down at her feet.
“I got it, Baby,” Willow said, bending over to retrieve the text.
Fonce took a deep breath as Willow disappeared behind a parked car. He exhaled sharply, blowing through the tube.
Willow stood up, a smile on her face as she looked at Tara. “Ta-da!” The dart struck her, dead center in the back, sharp, stinging, painful. “Ouch!” the redhead yelled, dropping not only the text, but the bag-o-weapons also. She reached over her shoulder, grabbing at her back.
“Willow?” Tara asked, alarm filling voice.
“Damn it! I got— something stung me!”
Buffy and Dawn stepped closer; Buffy picked up the satchel and book. “What is it?”
“Baby. . . .” Willow said, turning around, presenting her back to Tara. “Pull this up,” she ordered, tugging at her shirt.
Tara handed her books to Dawn and grasped the bottom of the cottony material. “Hold on, don’t yank it.” She lifted the shirt, making sure the material didn’t rub against her lover’s skin.
“What is it?” Willow asked, trying to look over her shoulder.
“Wait— hold still,” Tara said, leaning close to inspect her lover’s back.
I don’t see anyth—wait. Wait, what’s this? “Don’t move.” Using her thumb and index finger, Tara pinched the tiny brown sliver protruding from the pale skin of Willow’s back.
One, two, . . . . She pulled, removing the offending stinger in one try.
“Ow,” Willow said, though mostly as an afterthought. The blonde let her shirt fall back down, and Willow turner around, rotating her shoulders in circles. “What is it?”
Tara held it up so they all could see. They all leaned in, squinting.
“A bee?” Dawn offered.
“Bee’s die when they sting,” Buffy answered, looking at Willow. “Right?”
“Yeah,” the redhead answered, shifting her weight from foot-to-foot.
“I don’t know,” Tara continued, reaching into her skirt pocket; she pulled out a Kleenex and placed the sliver inside, wrapping it securely before returning it to her pocket. Willow took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her neck, wiping sweat on her jeans. “Sweetie? You okay?”
“I’m— yeah,” Willow started, “just, you know, not liking the stinging so much.”
Tara’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You sure?” She touched the back of her hand to her lover’s forehead, then cupped one cheek with her palm. “You’re hot,” she said, tilting her head to the side slightly.
One corner of Willow’s mouth curled. “Ooh, spicy talk.”
“Guys,” Buffy interrupted, “let’s do this in the car.” Then she glanced at her best friend. “Will?”
“Just pain.” She gave Tara a wink. “I’m fine, Baby, honest.”
Tara nodded, but the frown didn’t fade.
They started, once again, for the Jeep.
Fonce lowered his cane, a sneer turning his face into an even more hideous mask.
“You missed her,” the man beside him stated.
He shook his head, then pointed one tiny finger towards the Scoobies. The man and woman pinned their gazes to the four women hurrying down the street.
Dawn moved back beside Willow as they scurried along. “Bees really die when they sting you?”
Willow looked at the teen, blinking several times.
Bees make honey.
“Willow? Bees?”
“Um, . . . yeah, bees die,” the redhead muttered, looking around.
Bees aren’t as good as A’s. As she walked, Willow watched a white, hazy outline begin to appear over everything: cars, people, stores.
I get A’s. Her legs began to tingle, getting heavier with each step. She stopped, wavering slightly.
Dawn glanced back. “Willow?”
Willow looked at the teen, noticing that the hazy ring was turning a darker color. “Grey,” she said, taking a step to catch up.
Buffy and Tara, still walking, were several feet ahead. “Still clear?” Buffy asked, as they approached the corner. Xander and Anya were across from them, unlocking the Chevy.
“Yes,” Tara answered, smiling at Anya, who stood beside Xander waving at her.
Willow and Dawn reached the corner, stopping behind them. Willow looked at the crossing signal on the other side of the street. ‘Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk, Don’t Walk.’
Okay. I can sit. Willow moved her lips silently along with the signal, slowly counting.
One-and-a-two-and-a-three-and-a—
The signal changed, and Buffy and Tara stepped into the street.
“. . . one-point-two seconds,” Willow muttered.
That’s fast.
“What?” Dawn asked, stepping off the curb.
Willow tried to lift her foot, but it felt like dead weight. “This— this isn’t right,” she said, reaching out blindly as her foot slipped off the edge of the curb into free space.
Dawn turned, but too late. “Willow!” she screamed as the redhead fell off the curb, collapsing to her knees in the street. Dawn dropped her load and threw out her arms to try to catch her, but Willow pitched forward, face-first onto the blacktop, the right side of her face hitting the pavement with a sickening thud.
Everyone spun around at Dawn’s scream.
Tara’s eyes zeroed instantly on Willow’s prone form.
Oh, God! Willow!
Dawn knelt quickly beside the redhead. “Willow?” She placed a hand on Willow’s shoulder hesitantly, then looked at Buffy and Tara. “Buffy!”
“Willow!” Tara screamed, running towards her lover.
Buffy followed, looking over her shoulder towards the Chevy. “Xander!”
Even with the windows rolled up, Xander heard Buffy’s scream. He turned and saw the Scoobies huddled around a body in the street. . . a body with fiery red hair. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted, reaching for the door handle.
“Xander!” Anya yelled, grabbing his arm. “Buffy said not to stop. For anything.”
He looked at her in utter disbelief as he opened the door. “That’s Willow.” He stepped out into the street. “You wanna go? Just fuckin’ go!” He sprinted across the street, away from her.
A small crowd had gathered around the Scoobies as they clustered around Willow.
Tara knelt beside Willow, while Buffy squatted opposite her, next to Dawn.
“Turn her over,” Buffy said, as Xander ran up.
“What happened?” He asked, holding his hands to his head.
Tara took hold of Willow’s head and neck, while Buffy and Dawn held her shoulders and hips. “One, two, three,” Buffy counted, then they all rolled the redhead over onto her back.
“Oh, my God,” Tara said, taking in the sight of her lover’s face: a deep cut over her right eye, on her right cheek, a bloody nose. Flashes of her nightmare roared through her mind’s eye, images of Willow beaten and bloody inundating her vision. “Willow? Willow?”
Buffy looked up at the crowd. “Does anyone have a phone?” An elderly woman nodded her head, raising a small black cellular. “Call 911,” the Slayer ordered. The woman nodded again and punched in the numbers.
“Sweetie, Willow, open your eyes,” Tara said, placing a shaky hand on her lover’s forehead. “Open your eyes, Baby, please.”
Willow’s eyes fluttered, then opened, unfocused and unsteady. They finally found Tara, who smiled down at her like an angel. “I. . . fell,” she said.
Buffy, Dawn and Xander laughed, a sound somewhere between relief and hysteria.
Tara smiled again and slowly stroked Willow’s hair. “You fell,” the blonde agreed.
“Ar— are my legs still there?” Willow asked.
No one laughed.
Buffy, Dawn and Xander looked at one another, then at Willow’s legs, then Willow, fear etched across every line of their faces.
Tara kept her eyes on Willow’s as she spoke. “They’re there, Willow. All two of them.”
Willow blinked slowly, nodding her head at Tara’s words. “They were so heavy. . . I don’t feel them now.”
Oh, Goddess, no. Not Willow. Not my Willow. Tara took one of Willow’s hands in hers, holding it tightly. “Don’t move, Baby, help’s coming. Help’s on the way.”
Buffy stood and faced the woman with the cell phone. “Call again!” she ordered, her voice hard and scared. The woman nodded and redialed.
“Tara?”
“I’m here, Sweetie, I’m right here,” Tara said, leaning over Willow so her face was directly in the redhead’s line of sight.
“Promise me. . .” Willow began, pausing to take a labored breath.
Tears welled in Tara’s eyes, blurring her vision. “Shh. Don’t talk, Love. It’s okay.”
“No,” Willow said, looking at Tara with glazed eyes. “No, promise me. . . .”
Tara nodded. “Anything, my love.”
“Protect Buffy.”
“We will,” Tara said, “we all will together.”
“Promise me. . . she’s the Slayer. She’s too important. . . promise.”
“I promise, Willow. I promise I’ll protect her.” Tara felt her chest caving in, her heart crushing under some invisible force as she spoke the vow.
A small smile touched Willow’s lips. She closed her eyes and took in a deep, deep breath, her body shuddering as she exhaled.
Panic rocketed through Tara’s soul as she watched.
No, no, no, no, no. “Stay with me, Willow! Don’t close your eyes! Willow, you have to stay with me!”
In the far distance, a siren appeared, ebbing and waning as it neared.
“Open your eyes, Willow,” Dawn said, taking the redhead’s other hand in both of hers.
Willow’s eyes opened slowly again. She gazed into Tara’s eyes above her, her breath coming in shallow respirations.
Tara pressed her lips to Willow’s forehead gently. “I love you, Willow. I love you.”
“Hold my hand.”
Tara glanced down to where she held Willow’s hand tightly in hers.
Oh, God, please, please don’t. . . not my Willow. . . . She let her eyes find Willow’s again as she raised the redhead’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “Always. Always, my Willow.”
Willow’s eyes wavered, and she blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy.
Always. . . .
“Willow!” Tara leaned closer, her face inches from Willow’s. “Look at me, Willow! Baby, please.”
It seemed to take all the strength she had left, but Willow turned her head. A single tear fell from above, landing on her cheek, mixing seamlessly with the redhead’s blood.
Don’t. . . cry. . . don’t be. . . . “I’m. . . not scared,” Willow said, her voice calm, quiet.
Tara’s chin quivered as Willow spoke the words, words so similar to her own mother’s as she was finally drifting away.
No, Willow, no.
“You’re. . . here.”
“Always, my love. Always and forever,” Tara whispered, softly caressing Willow’s hair.
“Your eyes. . . ” Willow said, her voice barely audible, “ . . . are sky-blue.” The redhead’s eyes drifted, looking through Tara, past her, beyond her. Then, they gently closed. “I never. . . .”
A hushed silence swept over the Scoobies and the gathered crowd.
“Willow?” Tara scooted closer, leaning ever closer over the redhead’s inert form. “Willow? Baby?”
Dawn burst into tears, holding Willow’s hand to her forehead. Buffy stood frozen, paralyzed, staring at her best friend’s suddenly still and silent form.
The ambulance siren grew louder, suddenly appearing several blocks down the street.
“Here! Over here!” Anya yelled, from where she now stood in the middle of the street, waving her arms above her head wildly.
Xander moved to Anya’s side and joined her, frantically flagging. “Hurry! Hurry!”
Dawn reverently lowered Willow’s hand, gently placing it on the redhead’s stomach, then dropped her chin as more sobs wracked her body.
Fonce re-capped his cane and turned to his two companions. Black tears of joy streamed freely down his face at what he had just witnessed.
“But the witch,” the woman said.
“Bring the car,” the man answered, his own smile finding its way to his mouth. “She’s ours.”
Tara’s tears fell freely onto Willow’s face, as she felt the whole world spiraling away from her.
Her whole world spiraling away.
No, no, no, no, no. . . . “Willow, please, no.” Still holding Willow’s hand tightly in hers, Tara slid her other arm under her lover and lifted her limp form into her lap; Tara released Willow’s hand and wrapped her arms completely around her, holding her close to her heart, rocking her gently. “Willow, please. . . please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone.”
The sirens wailed, moving closer, but altogether too far away.
End of Part 1
by KrisBo5 » Mon Jul 15, 2002 4:56 pm 
you. thank you so much. you're an 
. you're so protective and nice and you care about your little distressed fellow harasser.
But, like i have said, anything for you! 
As for you Kris, 
I feel the love, but it is from C, 
Anywho, to add to this guilt trip, it is now 7AM here, and that means you are 2 days late on the promised update! 
I was actually at work all night thinking "I bet Kris updated, and when I get home, I get to read it....only (insert amount) hours left!" When i got home...no update....just sore feet, and a headache...this makes me wanna 
and you don't loose any of the naughtyness that i appreciate so much in you. 
)
! maybe that'll teach her a lesson and i'm still 
. That's how I'm feeling right now. Oh, and there's this, too: 
i guess the harassment-fest second edition starts right now: we NEED an update to know that everything's allright.