mole – Yes, sometimes it flows and sometimes it doesn’t.
Dianneswillowtree – Thanks for being such a fan.
Title – Menorah Tales – Part 10
Author – JustSkipIt
Pairing – T/W
Feedback – Definite-a-mundo
Spoilers – None
Rating – G- PG
Disclaimer – Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own Willow and Tara and the Buffyverse.
Note 1 – Thanks for Candleshoe for her help regarding London. I have to admit that I kind of ignored a “research” focused update for a much more vague piece.
Note 2 – Justin, Sally, Emms, & Candleshoe, thanks for the names…
About a year later
Tara closed the book she had been reading and gently brushed her fingertips over leather binding. A smile graced her face as she slowly traced the fine lettering on the volume. As an adolescent she had no understanding of the beauty of books; she understood words but not books themselves.
[blockquote]”Let’s get out of here,” Faith practically bellowed as she reached across and pulled the book from Willow’s hands, slamming it shut and tossing it into the empty chair next to her.
Tara jumped at the sound of the book hitting the surface of the chair, completely level so that it sounded throughout the cavernous library before skidding into the slats at the back of the chair. She took a deep breath and protested Faith’s interruption. “W-willow was reading that, Faith.”
Faith smiled at the two girls. “Oh come on. It’s boring.”
“It’s not boring,” Willow argued. “You’re such a semi-literate, Faith. It’s passionate and exciting and violent. How can you not like it?”
“The Cliff’s Notes says he choked to death on a pill-bottle cap,” Faith sneered. “How great a writer could he be?”
“One can certainly be a magnificent writer without living a perfect life, Faith.” Giles voice sounded across the room and all three girls looked up to see him walking toward them. He bent slowly and picked up the book from the chair, running his hands over the binding as if checking a small kitten for injuries from a recent scuffle. He pulled out a chair and sat at the end of the table holding out the book for all three girls to observe. “Your recent abuse of Mr. William’s masterpiece has damaged the binding right here,” he pointed with his index finger, “and here.”
“Sorry, G-man,” Faith said without very much enthusiasm. “It’s still readable isn’t it?”
“Well yes it is,” he breathed out a long sigh, “but I shall have to undertake to repair the binding.”
Willow’s head snapped up as she finally entered the conversation. “But we can finish reading it first right?”
“Yeah, Giles,” Tara pleaded. They were nearing the climax of the play and she wanted to know how it turned out. And Willow would have half a melt-down if she had to stop reading one book and start another. Tara didn’t care about reading multiple books at once. She usually had the book Willow was reading to them after school, two or three she was reading, and her school assignments but Willow wanted to start one book, devour it, and finish it.
“Books are valuable and precious.” Giles said seriously. He looked directly at Tara. “It’s not just the words within them which make them works of art. Their very workmanship is impressive.” He held out the biding to the blonde and began pointing out the detail which had gone into this edition.
“Hey look at that,” Faith interrupted, “Willow’s dad will be here any minute to pick us up.”
“You are in detention,” Giles admonished with a roll of his eyes as Willow and Tara both quickly stowed their books in their bags and stood from the table.
“And it’s been great,” Faith said with a sarcastic wave of her hand. She patted the librarian on his tweed-covered shoulder and winked at him. “Thanks for having us.” The three girls went quickly through the swinging doors giggling as they went.
[/blockquote]
She lifted the book to her nose and breathed deeply the smell of the leather. Giles had lectured and lectured, first in middle school and then high school. And somewhere in there Tara noticed that her own attitude toward the books was changing. He was right; books were works of art in every way. It wasn’t just the wonderful words within them but the very way they were made. Willow loved the words. She loved the knowledge within books but she didn’t really care how her knowledge arrived. A good website was as beautiful to her as a Hemingway first-edition. And Faith? Faith wanted to hear a good story and get Bs in all her classes (a relatively easy task with Tara and Willow studying alongside her).
The blonde remembered the day she’d gone to visit Giles at the library and discuss her option to study in England for a year. She found him in his office eating a cold turkey sandwich and cursing Thanksgiving leftovers. His reaction to her request for counsel was nearly as excited as she’d ever seen him as he described his favorite collections in the British Museum. He offered invaluable advice in finding a place to live and learning her way around the city. And she’d been at the Sunnydale High School Library for two hours before he casually asked if Willow was excited about her opportunity. When she didn’t respond, he’d simply muttered, “Oh. I see. Well then,” polished his glasses, and continued discussing her specific interests for her year abroad.
Her year abroad.
Her planned year abroad.
A year which had grown into a second. The University of North Carolina had mailed her diploma for a B.A. in English specializing in Creative Writing at the end of the summer and repeated their offer for her to begin her graduate studies either in residence or spending her first year in England. She wasn’t sure that she’d be completing her Master’s but she had eventually agreed to the requirements for her studies. It provided her with a stipend and relatively lax writing requirements. In fact, she’d far exceeded the writing requirements for her undergraduate degree the final two years in the program and was still outstripping them. She’d surpassed the University’s unofficial but well-understood standards for publications. By the end of her Junior year, she’d published three poems in respected publications.
She roused herself from these thoughts, glanced at the clock to see that it was nearly half-past five, and finished putting her books and journal into her book bag. On the way she stopped and turned in the book she’d been studying at the counter with friendly greeting to the librarian on duty and a promise to see the woman tomorrow. Gladys was always helpful and friendly to the point that Tara couldn’t tell if she was attempting to be more than just “librarian friendly” but the blonde maintained her distance and Gladys had never pushed the issue.
“See you tomorrow, Gladys,” Tara said with a smile and made her way through the library toward the front doors. She reached into her bag for her umbrella and was surprised to see that it was not, in fact, raining. It was rather gloomy and dark and she walked quickly towards the bus stop as she stowed her umbrella. It was shocking for Tara, having grown up on the West Coast before attending school in North Carolina to move to a locale with such dark weather on a daily basis. Giles had warned her of that too.
But the hardest factor in her move was being away from her loved ones. She’d had virtually no contact with her father nor brother since leaving for college 5 years ago so being in England didn’t make any difference where they were concerned, but Faith, Giles, and, yes, Willow were her family. She e-mailed Faith and Giles regularly but didn’t speak to them by phone more than on special occasions.
The visit from Sheila and Ira last year had come at her lowest point while in England. She was feeling every bit of her loneliness. Then they’d arrived and spent two days touring London together and it had really pulled her together. Both surrogate parents had urged her to get out more, to make some friends and when she had started to do that, it had really helped for the remaining time in England.
But Willow.
Her first instinct was to put all thoughts of Willow from her mind. For two years, unless she was working, unless she was writing, she observed what she thought of as a “Willow-thought diet.” She could and did talk to close friends but she didn’t allow herself to wallow in regret. Two conversations. Two. That was all since that terrible, awful party. Since their fight. She could feel the tears prickling her eyes as the remembered that party, remembered standing in the front yard, in the snow. She knew, just knew that Willow would be out in a minute or two.
But then…
The lights in the house were blazing. And she found herself unable to tear herself away from the sight of Willow’s dancing silhouette. Yes, she’d been unable to tear herself away for at least ten seconds. Perhaps twelve. She’d walked to a nearby house and with tears in her eyes, called Judy who had been so kind in picking her up, taking her to pack, and taking her to the airport. She’d cried on the plane until a flight attendant sat next to her, holding her hand. When she tried to get the woman to leave, she had insisted that the plane was half-empty and that Tara reminded her of her own daughter.
The next day she spent by the phone, barely getting up to eat or even go to the bathroom --just waiting for Willow to call. For nearly a week she waited. When the call finally came, she found herself too angry, too hurt, to even speak rationally and Willow seemed no better.
She unlocked the door to her apartment and let herself inside, hanging her book bag on a hook by the entrance, before crossing to heat some water for tea. It seemed that all those years spent in Giles’s company and now her time in England had created in her a predilection toward a nice cup in the late afternoon.
As the pot started heating she remembered her next conversation with Willow. It was Spring and the trees outside her window were budding. She watched a bird bringing worms to her young and knew that she had to call her former lover. Tara thought of the way the snow fell the last time she’d seen Willow and it chilled her once again. The phone conversation was, simply put, a disaster. Willow wanted to know why she was calling. Why hadn’t she told the redhead about the offer? Why did she want to leave the country? How would they ever make things right with her in England? Tara remembered her own cold tone as she retorted that it hardly seemed a priority. Willow’s pained silence was followed by a tearful “good luck” and a dial tone.
She sat at a barstool at the counter as she sipped at her tea.
Children. They’d been children. Children when they’d met, children when they’d become lovers, and children when they’d torn themselves apart.
And still, Willow was the only woman she’d ever imagined a life with. She allowed herself a minute every night. One minute to imagine falling asleep to the sound of Willow’s voice telling a childish anecdote, to her hand holding Tara’s fingers in her own, to the scent of her hair and the softness of her skin.
Her Willow-diet.
And today was a day off the diet. Tara set down her tea cup and crossed the crowded flat to a waist-high bookcase. She ran her fingertips gently over each branch and candle holder. Then she removed one white and one blue candle and placed each in their appointed places. She checked the clock again and confirmed that it was time to light the menorah.
When she had completed the ritual she retook her seat to watch the candles burn. She wondered if Willow still lit hers as regularly as ever and if she thought about Tara when she did. Tara, thought of nothing but Willow when she lit her menorah.
--
“Tara, over here!” Casey waved as Tara closed the door to the pub behind her and she felt relived to see that her friends had snagged the couch and coffee table area. It was not only the most comfortable area, it stayed quieter than the rest of the pub because it was behind the fireplace and the music was in front.
Tara quickly joined her friends. “I’m going to get something to drink. Does anyone else need a refill?” She set her bag in a chair. No one else asked for a drink so she promised to be back in a minute.
“Olivia!” Tara greeted familiar figure working behind the bar with a smile.
“Tara, how are you?” Olivia reached for a coffee cup and held it up with one hand while holding up a pint in the other. Tara pointed at the pint. “Someone’s celebrating,” Olivia teased.
“Just a bit,” Tara admitted.
“I spoke to Rupert this morning,” Olivia said, “he said he’s sending your gift with mine so you’ll have to come by next week.”
Tara laughed. “He should bring yours. He hasn’t been here in eight months.”
“I know,” Olivia agreed, “but he says that work’s been really busy.”
Tara never could tell if Olivia knew what was up in Sunnydale. “It gets like that I guess.”
Tara picked up her pint. “I’ll take that coffee in a little while.”
“You know where to find it, sweetie,” Olivia answered before turning to another customer.
Tara reached her friends and took a seat in the lounger at the end of the coffee table. She took a long drink from her pint and set it on the table.
“See,” Claire said, “I told you she had good news. She’s glowing.”
Bella laughed. “Either she had a poem published or she spoke to ‘her.’”
“Which her?” Casey asked.
Jules smacked the bearded young-man on the upper arm. “Wake up, Casey.” She turned to the others. “Why do we have a friend who is so clueless?”
“Because of my striking good looks,” he asserted.
“Because he always buys the first round.” Claire joined in the teasing.
“Casey, you know damn well who ‘her’ is,” Bella said as she noticed Tara’s blush and the way that she hid behind a curtain of hair.
Tara smiled and pulled two envelopes from her bag. “Actually you’re both wrong.” She waited a second before holding up the envelopes triumphantly, one in each hand. “Two poems.”
Jules leaned forward and snatched both envelopes from Tara’s grasp. “Which ones, Tare?” Before Tara could answer, her friend extracted the first letter and then the second. “’One Shovelful of Dirt’ and ‘Pistachio.’” She declared to the others as she held up the letters proudly. From the way Jules got so excited with each of Tara’s successes, you would have thought that she was the published poet herself rather than Tara. And that was fine with Tara. The few times Tara had read her work, she had felt nervous almost to the point of not being able to speak whereas Jules had no problem acting, reading, or singing and dancing in public.
Bella leaned closer to her outgoing lover and kissed Jules on the cheek. “I love both of those. Especially ‘Pistachio.’”
“You don’t love the funeral ones?” Claire teased.
“I guess I’m just not into the gloom and doom and death and destruction,” Bella explained, “sorry, Tara.” Tara shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t mean that it’s not an amazingly powerful poem that makes me cry my little eyes out every time you read it; it’s just a bit of a downer.”
“So speaks the mistress of understatement,” Casey muttered before speaking more clearly. “She doesn’t want to mess up her mascara.” He had to sit back quickly to avoid the playful swipe from Bella.
Tara joined in the fun. “Like Bella has ever worn mascara.”
“Well it clashes with my combat boots,” Bella said as she lifted one foot from the floor and held it out over the coffee table.
The group laughed as Jules refolded the letters and handed them back to Tara. “Congratulations, Tara. So when are you going to publish a book?”
“And then you can start buying the first round,” Casey said. He stood up and lifted his pint. “Speaking of which, anyone need a refill?” Having finished her celebratory drink, Tara requested a coffee and Claire asked for the same.
In spite of her happiness and pride at having published another poem, Tara had had enough of the spotlight. “Claire, how was your date?”
Jules immediately jumped on the question. “Claire had a date? With whom? Do I know her? Is she here?”
“You mean ‘have I slept with her?’” Bella teased with a playful poke at her lover’s trim stomach.
“Who slept with someone?” Casey set down his pint and handed the coffee cups to his friends before taking a seat. “Certainly not me,” he mumbled under his breath.
Claire picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. “Me either, Case.”
“Spill,” Bella encouraged, joined by Tara.
Claire rolled her eyes before laughing as she remembered the date. “She’s another graduate student in Invertebrate Biology. She’s Sloan’s research assistant.”
“Oh, with the boots,” Jules chimed in.
“Yes, with the boots. She was…” Claire searched for a way to describe the date. “Her favorite movie of all time? No scratch that. The best movie ever?” She waited a few seconds for dramatic effect. “The Wedding Singer.”
Bella smiled encouragingly. “Well, it’s a cute movie.”
“Right,” Claire said slowly, “but the best of all time? The best movie ever made?”
“So better than The Bicycle Thief?” Casey confirmed.
“Citizen Kane.”
“Casablanca.”
“The Godfather, Part II?”
Claire waved her hand at her friends as they all laughed. “My point exactly. I actually rephrased it to make sure that it wasn’t just her favorite movie but the best ever made. The best ever made!”
“Well it shouldn’t disqualify her,” Casey argued. “I’d date her.”
“You’d date anyone, Case,” Jules pointed out.
“Well, only anyone who would date me.” Everyone laughed at the young man’s self-deprecating comment. They all loved him in spite of, or perhaps because of his miserable love-life. Claire often said that his optimism and continued effort to find Ms. Right were her inspiration to do the same.
Jules stood up and picked up a few empty glasses. “Anyone else?” After getting orders she went to the bar.
“I think I’ll take this opportunity,” Bella said as she pointed toward the ladies room.
“So our love lives suck,” Claire concluded. “How about yours, Tara? Any news?”
Tara took a sip of her coffee. “No news, kids.” When they continued looking at her. “I’m just… I mean… I’m not mad at ‘her’” she held up her hands and used air quotes in an obvious quoting of Bella. “But I just don’t know. I mean if I wanted to call her, I mean. How would that conversation, you know, go? How would it start?”
“How about, ‘Hi, Willow’?” Casey suggested, patting Tara’s knee.
“Or, ‘I’ve missed you’?” Claire added.
Tara shook her head. “It’s been two years. Shouldn’t it start to … you know… be o-over, feel over?”
Casey tilted his head to show he was really thinking about Tara’s question. Before he could speak, Jules returned with the pints and set them down. Seeing that they were involved in something heavy, she sat down on the couch silently, and leaned forward. “Maybe not,” he finally said, “maybe it shouldn’t be over. I mean you and she were… lovers, friends, everything for all those years. Maybe you actually found what we’re all supposed to find and now you can’t find anything else even if you were looking.”
“Which you’re not,” Bella added, having returned and joined Jules on the couch.
“You’re both a nightmare and a dream, Tara,” Jules said. The others, including Tara all looked at her harshly. “I mean,” She continued, “that you found true love at a really young age. And it wasn’t some unrequited thing. It wasn’t you loving a teacher or a girl who never loved you back. It was someone as passionate and driven and fun as you. And when someone loves that hard, that passionately, it’s wonderful. But if something goes wrong, it goes wrong just as passionately.”
“Passionately,” Tara agreed with a slightly painful smile.
“But maybe that’s what it’s all about,” Claire offered. The others raised their eyebrows at her and then shrugged as if trying to get her to elaborate. “I mean. Ok, you wanted to be a writer. A poet. And you’re a damn good one. I mean really, better than we ever thought we’d know.”
“Thanks,” Tara whispered, touched by the sincerity of her friend’s tribute.
“And she wants… what? To be a genius? To design things? Figure out how something works? Create new formulas and theories?”
“I guess.”
“And right now you’re both doing that. I mean you have this pool of emotion to build on for your art and she’s obviously driven.” Claire sat back as if trying to think of what else she had to say about it.
“Driven? She’s a machine.” Casey shook his head at Tara. “I know you don’t check up on her, but she’s really well known. Dr. August goes on and on about her work. I mean not just hers but you know, Willow Rosenberg is pretty well known. Especially considering her age.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Tara said, sipping at her coffee again.
“Hey, let’s cheer up the mood,” Bella said excitedly. Everyone looked at her waiting for her to begin. “Ok, new game: worst ice cream flavor and worst crush-in.”
“Cherry and cherry?” Everyone laughed at Casey’s suggestion. His hatred of cherry was well known. Some of his friends speculated that he was allergic and others reported some bad childhood experience. He wouldn’t say the cause but he even avoided cherry tomatoes because of the name.
“Coffee and marshmallow,” Jules suggested.
Bella looked disappointed at her lover’s suggestion. “No on is trying hard enough. How about blood sausage ice cream with chocolate chip crush-ins.”
“If we can make up ice cream flavors,” Claire laughed, “how about gravy ice cream with wasabi crush-ins?”
Everyone laughed with various groans and declarations of “gross” around the table. By the time the night ended, it didn’t matter any longer who suggested which flavor or just how gross they were. This close-knit group had discussed their love lives, studies, jobs, family, friends, and many other topics.
yes this story is so deep thay both pine for each other and can,t move on because thay are supose to be together but thay are having a hard time finding each other and thay are still growing thay will come together soon i hope can,t wait for next update this is so deep and moving 
ps 
soon please
). Despite his resemblence to Xander, Casey makes a good point:
Casey reminds me of xander.. with his endearing teddy bearish charm. Is teddy bearish a word? Eh.. it is now 
I definitely agree that they will be more mature and stronger when/if (like there is mystery here on the KB) they get together again. Lol: Empire State Building. 
Finsh please please please.
