Gods Served and Abandoned by Antigone Unbound

Part I

"Good birthday?"

"Best birthday."

"You know, I still can't believe you didn't tell me about your family..."

Had she been inclined to open her eyes, long moments later, Willow might have noticed that she and Tara were floating a good sixteen inches off of the ground. As it was, she only knew that Tara's fingers were arcing tiny spirals across her back and that Tara's hair was spilling lightly across her own cheek.

She also knew that sometime soon, after they left the Bronze but before this birthday celebration was over, she and Tara would make love. And for the first time, Willow now understood, Tara could offer herself up to Willow, and take Willow in return, safe in the knowledge that she need fear nothing from herself. There was no demon within her; and her family, far more realistic horrors, were now hours away.

Let me give you everything you deserve, Tara Maclay. Let me help you bury the demons of your last name.

*****

The arbitrarily-patched potholes of Route 132 offered an arrhythmic tempo to the silent drive back home. Nathan Maclay clutched the steering wheel as if trying to throttle something that offended him deeply, the whites of his knuckles visible even in the night. He had barely spoken since the three of them had left Sunnydale, even though Donnie had tried to incite his anger, baiting him almost, in an effort to get some kind of reaction from the man who had been so thoroughly emasculated earlier that evening. But his father had only grunted tersely a few times before finally snapping, "That's enough, Donald. Hold your tongue." Cousin Beth, of course, simpered her agreement with Donnie, reiterating her tight-lipped pronouncement that Tara was an ungrateful, unnatural girl. But she had shrewdly reckoned Nathan Maclay's admonishment to his son to include herself, and now sat primly with the air of reluctant smugness that characterizes the purest version of Christian piety.

*****

"Hey Baby-you still have three gifts to unwrap. This birthday ain't over yet!" They were back in their room, and Willow was standing in front of Tara with a grin that encompassed roughly the same square footage as the Hollywood Bowl. She was bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet and somehow the word "pleased" seemed an insult to the degree of her satisfaction with the night thus far.

"Willow, honey, you've already done so much for me-the party, the tickets to Sarah MacLachlin, the truly remarkable cunnilingus...You didn't need to do anything else." Despite Tara's protestations, though, her eyes were shining.

"Tara, this is the first birthday I've shared with you. Do you know how wrong it is that you spent nineteen birthdays without me? Do you have any idea how much making up I have to do for all that lost time? I mean, even without the interest accrued on all those birthdays, I'm way behind." The remarkable thing, of course, was that this idea wasn't an abstract one to her. She wasn't just bantering.

"Case in point: 1993. You turn thirteen. You're a teenager now, an absolutely life-altering event. And where am I? Am I sitting beside you at the table, watching you blow out your candles? Am I going through all sorts of Byzantine maneuvers to arrange the perfect surprise for you? Am I asking my parents' permission to stay overnight with you in a thinly-veiled attempt to cop a feel even though we're both just starting to recognize our sexuality? No, I am not. I'm in Sunnydale, sitting up in my room studying."

"Willow, sweetie, how can you know exactly what you were doing on November 7th, 1993?"

"Trust me, it's the same thing I was doing every night except for the nights when I was vanquishing the forces of darkness, and that didn't start until '96."

"And your GPA didn't drop a single percentage point, did it?" Tara smiled at her proudly.

My girlfriend's biggest erogenous zone is the brain. It turns her on that I love to solve problems. She gets hot thinking about my mental prowess. God, how lucky am I?

"Well, my geek cachet isn't the topic at hand, although I wouldn't dream of violating your right to enjoy it. No, ma'am, we're talking about your birthday and all the ways I plan to celebrate you over the next sixty years or so. I mean, God, Tara-this is the day that you were born! You came into the world and I had no idea you'd come onto the scene...although I wasn't aware of much of anything at that time, I guess, besides eating and sleeping and pooping. But, back to the subject at hand, you were born and wrapped up in a little blanket and you had those adorable little ringlets and those incredible blue eyes and you spent your first night yawning and stretching and clenching your little fists..." Suddenly she felt the need to express herself in song. "On the day that you were born, the angels got together..."

"Oh God, Willow-you're giving me the gift of Karen Carpenter. Just when I think I grasp the full extent of your love."

"Why do birds suddenly appear? It's because, you are queer..."

"I don't think I got that particular 45."

"Well, it was a limited edition... Anyway, all those birthdays came without either of us knowing about the other, not knowing that there was this other person out there who would just completely change our lives. And I guess I'm just so smitten with you that a part of me is jealous that I didn't get to spend all the previous birthdays with you so I wanna carpe the birth diem like a woman possessed. If that's OK with you," she added unnecessarily.

Tara's smile turned a shade bittersweet. "You know, last year was the worst birthday I'd ever had. It was the first one without Mom, and the last one-or so I thought-before my demon side came out. I was here at college where I didn't know many people, nobody that I was close to, nobody that I could talk to about any of it. I spent my birthday night in my room listening to Allison Krause and crying."

"Oh, Baby...I'm so sorry." Willow felt as if her own heart was breaking, imagining her beloved so lonely and so bereft.

"And then, a few months later, I drag myself to another Wicca meeting and I hear this beautiful redhead pipe up with the earth-shattering idea that the witch group do something witchy, and I just start falling and pretty soon I'm too busy waiting for her knock on my door to be that sad anymore. Now here I am, twenty years old, in love and loved. Who says good things don't come to those who wait?"

"So you were waiting for me?" Willow couldn't resist pulling for a little heart stroking from Tara.

"Oh yes, even though I didn't know who you'd be. I just knew that I wouldn't do what Dad kept wanting me to do: date one of the nice boys from back home."

"Eew, Tara-your dad was trying to fix you up?" The thought of her own parents being actively involved in her life was a stretch for her, and now she was seeing some of the better aspects of that incongruity.

" I think he didn't really expect me to leave for school after Mom died. If I had decided to stick around Cold Springs and marry myself off to some local boy who could plug a deer at two hundred yards, I don't think he would have argued."

"And Donnie?" Tara's older brother was now a source of added disdain and anger for Willow. She knew what Tara's reflexive shrinking in the Magic Box had meant earlier tonight, when the surly figure had started toward her threatening to beat her down. Tara had never said explicitly that Donnie had beaten her, but Willow had suspected it. Now she knew. Now she hated him.

Tara's face grew somber. "I try not to think about what goes on in Donnie's mind, to be honest. All I know is that he's been mean and angry at life since I can remember."

Suddenly Willow wanted to change the subject. The image of any Maclay whose name wasn't Tara was an unsettling one to her. They were gone, driving back to their prison without their captive, who had gone and gotten all self-confident on them. The nerve.

*****

It wasn't right; he was dead sure about that.

They'd driven all the way up to that fancy college she went to (she was too good for any of the local schools, where she could have stayed at home), intending to pack her up and bring her back-and then she'd said she wasn't coming back. Just like that. She didn't want to come home. And Daddy had just stood there like some castrated bull-calf, letting a bunch of girls tell him what he could and couldn't do with his own daughter.

It was a bunch of girls, too, even though some of them pretended to be guys...That English faggot, cleaning his glasses and standing behind those two girls; and that other pretty boy, the one who'd threatened him when he started toward Tara-when he'd had the balls to do what their daddy apparently wouldn't do, which was to remind Tara how things were in the Maclay family. But that guy had piped up all cocky-like and taken him by surprise. That's why he'd stopped so dead in his tracks; he'd been caught off-guard. It wouldn't have happened twice, though. He wished he'd had another chance before their daddy turned like a whipped dog, with his tail all tucked between his legs, and headed out of the shop. The only real man in that whole shop besides him was that other English guy with the greased-back hair and fancy leather jacket. He'd stepped up and smacked Tara, but all that had done was prove that Tara didn't have any demon in her.

He'd suspected as much for awhile now. It just didn't add up. But that didn't mean that Tara had any right to speak that way to her family, and just turn her back like she was too good for any of them. If Daddy said she should pack up and come home, she should have done it. Instead, what happened? They were driving back to Cold Springs in the dead of night and Tara was still at her fancy-ass college. She was probably laughing at them right now, the little bitch.

It wasn't right.

******

"This first one is...I hope it's OK with you, sweetie." With a slight air of trepidation, Willow handed Tara an envelope. In it was a card which read, In honor of the remarkable woman who raised the remarkable woman I love, a donation has been made to the National Breast Cancer Foundation in your name. As Willow watched, tears slid past Tara's lids and trickled slowly down her face.

"Was that alright for me to do, Tara? I mean, I know I didn't know her, not directly-"

"Willow, it's the most wonderful thing you could have done, to honor my mother like that. I-I can't tell you what it means to me that you even thought of such a thing. And knowing you, it doesn't surprise me a bit." She said this last piece with a little smile.

"I'm so glad, Baby. I just wanted to do something to-to remember her; to thank her for you." Willow pulled Tara close to her and kissed her almost reverently.

"She would have loved you, you know."

*****

He'd guessed his mother wasn't a demon, but that hadn't made him love her any more. Not that he figured she cared or even noticed, she was always smiling at her little "Bright Eyes" and sharing secret jokes with her. Oh, she hugged him and told him she loved him, but he knew she kept some special store of love just for Tara, like the good silver that you take out for the company that matters. Not for him. Those two shared the magic; he knew they did, even though Daddy had told his wife never to practice it again. He knew his Momma had shared secrets with Tara that she would never tell him. He wasn't special enough, or sweet enough, or whatever enough. He'd told himself he wouldn't cry when she died and he was surprised at how easy it was to keep that promise.

*****

"OK, pick one: left or right?"

Tara was a little perplexed by the instructions, because Willow hadn't extended two closed hands. She was pushing her chest forward, wriggling her shoulders back and forth.

"You mean I should pick either your left breast or your right breast?" Tara's eyebrows were close to receding completely into her hairline with the extent of her bemusement.

"That's my brilliant birthday girl! Your final two gifts await you, deep within the confines of my bra." Willow had never really imagined herself as a saucy wench before, but she was warming to the idea immensely.

"Yes! It's Willow-breasts! I'll take Doors Number One and Two, please!" So saying, Tara scooped up Willow around the waist and wrestled her back onto the bed, where she reached around to the back of Willow's dress and began to unzip it. After considerable tumbling and wrestling and kiss-and-grin rolling about, the two had managed to get each other's dresses off and were laying on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. Finally, Willow sat up and once more wriggled her breasts, hidden within her dark-green silk bra, in Tara's face.

"Left or right, sweetie-what'll it be?"

"Don't rush me, don't rush me...Lemme see if I can get any hints here." She reached out and slowly cupped Willow's right breast in one hand, and then did the same to her left, massaging her through the soft fabric. Willow's laughter stilled, and her gaze turned darker, but she still smiled with self-satisfaction. Tara could feel Willow's nipples hardening under her fingers. She felt something else, too-tiny slips of paper, each folded over once or perhaps twice, tucked into each cup of Willow's bra.

"I think I'll try...the left one." With that, she slid the strap of silk down over Willow's bare shoulder and then eased her fingers under the fabric, rolling the nipple quickly between her finger and thumb before sliding her fingers under the small, warm breast. She held Willow's gaze while she retrieved the folded piece of paper, looking away finally to read its contents.

I've been studying a little bit about deep muscle massage. I'd like to show you what I've learned.

"Oh, sweetie-you've been reading about massage? So you could give me one?" Tara's eyes lit up with child-like surprise. Willow looked at her with a fierce, almost aching protectiveness.

She's still surprised that I love her as much as she loves me. Goddess, please help me make her see how completely right that is. Aloud, she said, "I know how much your back and neck ache when you've been studying for a long time. I wanna help make it better."

"But to take the time to learn about it, Willow...You could've easily given me a certificate for a massage."

"Yeah, well, I also wasn't crazy about the idea of somebody else putting their hands all over you. I mean, at the risk of sounding all cave-dyke, I wanna be the only person making you sigh when they touch you." She grinned, but it was true. "Now, m'lady-your last gift of the evening." With that, she squeezed her right breast, massaging the nipple to hardness as Tara watched and parted her lips with anticipation.

"I think I'll try a different means of access this time," Tara murmured. She reached behind Willow and unsnapped her bra, holding the right strap loosely in her hand as she brought her mouth slowly down to Willow's breast. She gently nuzzled the fabric back with her lips, pausing to take the nipple into her mouth and caress it fully between her tongue and teeth. Willow closed her eyes, pulling Tara's mouth tighter against her. Finally, Tara released her nipple and slid the strap lower down her shoulder until she could take the slip of paper between her lips.

"And what have we here?" she asked softly.

You have a gift certificate waiting for you at Sappho's Samplings. I'll be more than happy to help you with your selections.

"Sweetie, is this a lesbian bookstore? I've never heard of it, but it sounds wonderful!"

Willow paused briefly. "It's not exactly a bookstore, Baby. It specializes in more...applied aspects of lesbian life." She adopted what she hoped was a very salacious leer.

Tara stared at her in confusion for a moment, before her features cleared with the force of a sandblasting and her eyebrows shot skyward as if catapulted. "Oh my God, Willow...Are you saying-is this a sex shop?"

"I think they prefer the term 'Merchants of Pleasure,' but yeah, you have the right idea." Willow had never known that gift giving could have such wonderful payoffs-and this was before they had even gone to the shop.

"I thought we could just browse a little bit; you know, be informed consumers. And then when you knew what you most wanted, we could make our final selections." As Tara continued to gape at her, Willow grew slightly concerned. She knew that her lover was no prude, but maybe this had been a little too saucy. "Tara, is this OK? Have I offended you, or made you uncomfortable?"

Finally, Tara gave a shaky laugh. "Oh, no, sweetie...I'm just wondering if I'll come in my pants right now thinking about going into that shop with you."

Smiling with immense relief, Willow leaned forward and kissed Tara's hand. "No, sweet birthday girl, don't do that. Don't keep all those wonderful spasms and groans and tastes to yourself. Share them with me, OK? Share the wealth, oh Wondrous Hot Mama Most Divine."

And Tara, because she was by nature such an incredibly giving person, did just that. It was approximately three hours later that they finally used their bed for sleeping.

*****

At about that same time, Donnie was settling into his bed with the same surly look slashed across his face.

Tara may have been the one going to college; she may have been the one with the grades and scholarships; but he wasn't stupid. He noticed things. And the thing he'd noticed most that night was the way the redhead protected Tara, and the way the two of them looked at each other.

He stared into the darkness and thought about this knowledge.

******

"Hey Baby, you almost ready? We're supposed to meet everybody at the Magic Shop to talk about the latest demon debacles and denouements. Giles sounded extra British when he called, so it must be exciting."

Tara emerged from the bathroom, smiling as she pulled a brush through her hair. "I'm good to go. Just gotta put on my shoes."

Watching Tara slide her boots up over her long legs, Willow murmured, "Yes, you certainly are good. To go, or eat in. Or eat out. And I cannot believe I'm saying such things. But I'm saying them, so I really should believe it. Otherwise I'm in a state of denial and that's no good for demon fighting or lezbo lovin'."

"Sweetie, I can't hear what you're saying. Do you need help with something?"

"Later on. I'll definitely need your help with something later on." As she pulled on her windbreaker, she added, "I wanna stop for mochas, OK?"

"OK, but let's hurry. I don't want to be late for the Scooby meeting."

Willow smiled at the words. After the scene in the Magic Box last night, Tara had finally realized just how much a part of the gang she truly was. She's my family, and now she's family to the rest of my family. It seems like a different lifetime, that girl with no friends except Xander.

She walked up to Tara and looked at her seriously, cupping Tara's face in her hands. "Do you know how much I love you? And how much I want you? Do you have any idea what you do to my body and soul?"

Tara's eyes softened, if that were possible, as she gently kissed each of Willow's palms. "I'm learning. And every thing I learn makes me realize how lucky I am." She leaned forward and kissed Willow softly, her lips full against Willow's. After a moment she leaned back, smiling slightly. "Now let's send your brain into an even faster whirl, shall we? Mochas for my mucho mentating mama."

*****

Nathan Maclay sipped his black coffee in silence, his jaw seemingly as tight as it had been on the silent drive the night before. He disdained any kind of sweetening for his coffee: he drank it to absorb the caffeine, not to luxuriate in it as if it were some kind of confection.

Cousin Beth scooped sausage links out of a cast-iron skillet, the grease popping with each exit. She edged them onto a platter and carried it over to the table where her uncle and Donnie sat.

Donnie was guzzling his caffeine in the form of a Coke. He took in the scene around him and felt the sour, acrid taste of humiliation burn in his mouth. He and his daddy had kept up the house as best they could for the past year and a half, but they shouldn't have had to do it at all. Last night Beth had offered to move in and help out, and she would fill in as long as they needed her. At least one Maclay woman knew where she belonged. He chewed on his anger a moment longer, and then decided to test the waters.

"I don't know about you all, but that whole scene last night seemed mighty odd to me." His father's mouth twitched slightly, but he said nothing. Beth, though, jumped in as if on cue, although Donnie noticed that she kept an eye on his father, hoping to gauge and avoid any displeasure if possible.

"You're certainly not the only one, Donnie. I tried telling her how selfish she was being, but she didn't care a bit. All she cared about were those friends of hers." She said the word "friends" as if tasting something bitter and trying to spit it back out.

"Yeah, looks like Little Miss Wallflower went and got all social on us. Used to ride the bus with her head down, too scared to look at anybody. And now-"

"Now she's too good for us," Beth finished. "Now she's too concerned about what her friends will think to remember the man who raised her." She cast a doting look at her uncle, who still gazed straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

"You know, didn't it seem like she was...like she was 'specially close to that one girl? The red-head who sassed you when you told her to butt out, Daddy?" Nathan Maclay said nothing, but Beth's gimlet eyes narrowed at his words. Donnie waited, and then pressed on. "I mean, it just seems like those two was tighter'n the rest of 'em. Seemed to me that the red-head-what was her name? Willow?-seemed to me that she was all protective of Tara, more'n the others."

"And what kind of name is 'Willow,' anyway?" Beth snorted. "Her parents are probably New Age weirdos or something."

Donnie hesitated, not wanting to get slapped down like he had been on the ride last night. He knew that his daddy wouldn't stand for him talking about Tara as if he were her parent. He needed to move slowly here.

"Well, I think a lot of last night was weird. That whole gang, and Tara having that Willow girl actin' like her knight in shinin' armor. I bet Tara wouldn't done any of that if those people hadn't put those ideas in her head."

Nathan Maclay exhaled sharply, catching Donnie by surprise. He turned and looked at his son. "Donald, if you want to say something come out with it. Otherwise, just keep your opinions to yourself."

Donnie weighed his words carefully. He took a moment to assemble his face into his best imitation of brotherly concern.

"I'm sayin', Daddy, that I think Tara's gotten herself involved with the wrong crowd. And-and I think I owe it to her as her brother to try to talk some sense into her."

Nathan Maclay's eyes narrowed. "Just what are you suggesting?"

"I think I oughtta go back down there in a few days, just me, and see if I can help her see things straight."

*****

"All I'm saying is that priapism, as a vengeance technique, isn't as rewarding as, say, making someone's tongue dissolve slowly into worms." Anya's pronouncement as Willow and Tara were entering the Magic Box evoked immediate grimaces of distaste from both of them.

Giles looked up with thinly-veiled irritation. "Anya, I don't really expect you to understand the...nuances of that punishment. After all, you are a woman; moreover, you have no grasp of anything even remotely akin to common decency or decorum. However, I maintain that it was a profoundly disturbing event to the man unto whom you visited said vengeance and that the scorned woman who invoked you did indeed put Hell's fury to shame in wishing what she did."

"So, is this the reason for the come-hither?" Willow asked Buffy. "To watch this week's edition of 'Face the Damn-nation'?"

"Got me, Will. Anya was talking about the good ol' millennia and this time when she granted someone's wish that her cheating fianc� would develop pipe vision, or whatever it is. What is it, anyway?" She looked at Willow expectantly.

Willow sighed reluctantly. "Priapism-it's a condition in which a man's penis stays erect no matter what he does; or who he does." Tara's look of distaste was directly proportionate to Xander's sudden expression of pleasure.

"And that's a problem? I mean, couldn't he just...you know, please his woman longer?" He leaned back with a barely-disguised smile of satisfaction.

"First of all, Xander, he might also be interested in pleasing his man, to use your lovely term of ownership. And second of all, we're not talking five minutes instead of four here, we're talking days, weeks...even years, if it's a curse."

"Which it most certainly was," Anya said proudly. "I mean, the clothing implications alone were excruciating. It just wasn't as satisfying to me. Not the sound and fury that I like."

"You mean liked, right?" Xander's tone had a worried edge to it. "As in, 'When I was much, much younger, I liked to wear my Bat-Man underwear on my head, but I don't anymore.'"

"Of course, silly," Anya said, leaning over to kiss him. Straightening, she winked at the three women across from her and smiled ...disconcertingly, was the adverb Willow finally settled on. As she and Tara slid onto the short bench at the table, Tara asked quietly, "Xander wore his underwear on his head?"

"You don't want to know what he did with his hat," Willow murmured with a shake of her head.

"Now that we're all here, let us turn our attention, however reluctantly, away from genital vengeance and ill-advised headwear," Giles suggested. "In the name of the greater good, of course."

"You're a noble soul, thankless Watcher," Buffy said solemnly.

"So what's new in the world of unspeakable evil?" Willow leaned forward expectantly. So long as she focused primarily on the problems of thwarting Big Bads, she found the mental challenge to be exhilarating. It was like the most demanding, exacting homework she had ever faced, assigned on a near-weekly basis. It practically made her giddy.

The problem was when she let herself think about the full extent of that evil, and what would happen if they didn't thwart it. Because now, in addition to her own life (in which she had, she thought, a healthy self-interest) and the lives of her friends, she was also committed to making the world safe for the one person whose safety mattered above all else. The stakes had been raised so high as to make her dizzy when she took in their full scope. Now she knew the world had Tara in it and thus it was even more worth saving. Tara herself...well, it was simply the greatest truth in Willow's life that Tara be safe and happy.

She shook herself out of her reverie and focused on Giles, who was pacing the room with obvious agitation.

"It appears we have a particularly heinous form of evil on our hands," the anxious Watcher was saying.

"As opposed to what-a particularly enjoyable form of evil?" Xander countered, eyebrows arched skeptically.

"I'll grant that the adjective is always applicable, but I assure you that the adverb is most well-considered in this case," Giles replied with a slight air of exhaustion.

"And he just said...what?"

"Evil always bad. This evil really bad," Willow explained.

"Gotcha."

"As I was trying to say, with some modicum of clarity, we appear to be facing a creature who may well dwarf any demon we've previously encountered with regard to sheer power and malignancy."

Buffy crossed her arms. "And this evil answers to the name of...lemme see....Bill."

"Actually, her name appears to be Glory."

*****

Part 2

"Donald, are you suggesting that you drive back to Tara's alone and try to change her mind?"

Donnie leaned forward, peering earnestly into his father's hard, skeptical eyes. Listen to me, Daddy. Just let me take care of this the way it shoulda been. "Daddy, you know it ain't right that Tara's up there by herself, away from her family. She needs us. Heck, forget the demon thing-"

Nathan Maclay looked up sharply, his mouth tightening dangerously. Donnie knew he'd made a mistake venturing into that territory. He backpedaled quickly, trying to find a new route,

"I mean, we all know that Tara's a quiet girl. We were worried about her when she set off to that big school, with all those uppity city kids and her not knowing the first thing about their world. And now look-she's fell in with God-knows-what kinda people..."

"Watch your language, Donald. I'll not have you taking the Lord's name in vain like that."

Yeah, that's right, Daddy. You make sure everybody talks nice and I'll go out and take care of business. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I just get so angry when I think about any of them folks taking advantage of Tara. I mean, she didn't have hardly any friends in school, you know that. The way I figure, she was easy picking for a bunch of slick, wealthy kids who wanted some nice country girl to play around with and lead into all the wrong kinds of places."

Cousin Beth was watching all of this unfold with a keen interest that she tried to disguise as family concern. She thought she knew where Donnie was going with this, and wondered whether he could sell that particular horse at this particular market. She watched, and maintained a tactical silence.

"What are you saying? You think Tara doesn't know what she's doing?" Nathan Maclay's voice was edged with disbelief.

"I ain't sayin' she's been brainwashed, not exactly." Donnie was gathering confidence in his plan, and he spoke with increasing surety and persuasiveness. "I'm just sayin' that the girl we just left doesn't seem much like the girl we all know. The one you raised, Daddy," he added significantly.

Nathan Maclay was silent for a moment. "I admit, Tara was a different person than the girl who left home two years ago..."

"A very different person," Donnie nodded emphatically. "Heck, we all know Tara a lot better than those folks do, and we know she just doesn't act like that."

Cousin Beth ventured into the arena cautiously. "I agree with Donnie," she offered tentatively. "The Tara we know isn't that selfish, rebellious girl we saw last night. She's always been so quiet and thoughtful."

"I don't know," Nathan Maclay muttered. "I don't like her behavior any more than either of you. I'm her father, after all-"

"And she acted like you were just some person she could say whatever she wanted to," Donnie interjected. "Does that seem like Tara?"

"No, it doesn't. She's never spoken to me like that."

"That's 'cause she's changed, Daddy. Those folks she calls her friends-especially that Willow girl-they've gotten her all turned around. They've made her forget who she is and where she belongs. She's lost, Daddy, and I think she needs us."

"Donald, you can't just go up there and drag her back with you. Much as I hate to admit this, she's an adult. We can't force her to come home."

Donnie's eyes widened with feigned horror. "You think I'd try to force her? Daddy, I'm talkin' about trying to get through to her, helpin' her see that we're worried about her. I'd never try to force her to do anything." He hoped his appalled expression hid his amusement at the hypocrisy of them both. If his daddy didn't know he'd beat up on Tara since she was old enough to walk, it was because he didn't want to know. And besides, Donnie was pretty sure the old man had roughed up Tara himself on at least one occasion. He'd better have. He sure gave his belt a work-out on me.

He waited as patiently as he could for his daddy to make up his mind. Finally, he played his trump card.

"Can you imagine what it would do to Mama to know that Tara was being taken advantage of?"

It was a direct hit, and he knew it the second he shot. Nathan Maclay sat up even straighter in his chair, and his eyes took on a haunted look.

She had you whipped, didn't she Daddy? Even though you talked all big and laid down the law, you still wanted her to pat your head and tell you she loved you, didn't you? You think I didn't hear you cryin', Daddy, that night she died? Like a big baby you were.

Finally Nathan Maclay raised his eyes to meet his son's. "I think the sooner you can get to Tara, the better."

*****

"Glory? What kind of name is that?" Buffy shook her head and frowned.

Willow thought that the same question could as easily be asked about Buffy's name. In fact, it had been. She also thought that this was probably not a good time to make that point.

"Yeah," she interjected aloud. "What's with all the religious nomenclature? We've battled Angel, Faith, Adam, and now there's this Glory beast. Who's next-the Virgin Mary?"

"Will, you're Jewish," Xander pointed out. "Do you really believe in the Virgin Mary?"

"Hello, making an amusing point here. Would like to be allowed to throw out ironic observations without somebody fussing over the picky details."

"Sorry."

"It does seem odd," Tara piped up. "You'd think at least one of these things would have a name like 'Agony' or 'Blinding Terror.'"

"Yeah, or 'Hatred,' or 'Envy,'" Buffy offered.

"Or even something like 'General Bad Hooey.'" Xander added.

"Do you mean 'General' as in a military designation? Or as a modifier for 'Bad Hooey'?" Willow asked. "'cause I think you mean it as a modifier, but it's also kinda funny to think of it the other way: 'General Bad Hooey, reporting for duty.'"

"Yes, well, if we survive this perhaps we can adopt a little orphan demon ourselves and name it as we see fit. Until such time, shall we focus on the matter at hand?" Giles never found these detours as entertaining as they all did, Willow thought sadly.

"It appears," the Watcher continued, "that this creature is immune to any of the means of slaying that we've come to know as universal."

"Which pretty much negates the 'universal' aspect of slaying," Buffy commented. "Anya, you ever hear of anything like this?"

Anya was visibly delighted to be consulted, and she assumed an even more authoritative air than usual.

"Well, let's look at this logically, shall we?" She looked at the perplexed faces gazing back at her, and sniffed with resentment. "Honestly, you people all think that just because I specialize in visceral things like vengeance and orgasms, I'm completely lacking in the cerebral proficiency department."

"OK, our mistake," Buffy offered placatingly. "You're a sexual dynamo and a veritable Rose Scholar."

"That's Rhodes Scholar," Willow murmured helpfully, noting as she did the pained expression on Giles' face.

"The point is," Anya continued, "we're talking about Glory as this very particular kind of demon with all kinds of extra-powerful demony qualities: stronger than any other demon; more cunning than any other demon. But she doesn't share the one thing that all demons share: very specific ways of being killed. So we have to ask ourselves-"

"...will Anya come to the point of this discourse sometime before the country realizes that it has elected an idiot for President?" Giles looked at the former vengeance demon with exasperation.

"The point, Mr. 'I'm So Smart I Blew Up My Last Place of Employment,' is that maybe this Glory creature isn't a demon at all."

Stunned silence greeted this new consideration.

"So what would she be?" Tara finally ventured.

Anya looked at her. "That would seem to be the question, wouldn't it?"

*****

Donnie allowed himself a grin of self-congratulation as he pulled out of the Maclay driveway and onto the first of several small roads that would eventually lead him back to Tara. Nathan Maclay had insisted he take the camper again, in what Donnie recognized as a vote of confidence. His daddy believed that Donnie would help Tara come to her senses; help her see that she belonged with the people who raised her, who knew her best and knew what was best for her.

His daddy believed that Donnie would talk to Tara.

Donnie, though, saw himself as more of an action kind of guy, and the way he saw it, he had lots of action to take with Tara.

He smiled to himself.

And as long as he was in the neighborhood, he might see what kind of action he could have with that Willow girl.

*****

"Tara? Are you almost ready?"

"Just about. I'm almost all dressed."

"Good. We don't want to be late for such a big day, do we?" She heard the light, quick sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then the beloved face was smiling at her from the doorway of her room.

"Well hello there, Bright Eyes! Look at you, all dressed up!"

"And I p-picked out my favorite dress, M-Mommy. See? It's the one with the p-purple flowers on it."

"I see. You know, I finished that dress in a week, but I took three extra days just to sew all the love into it."

"You did?" Sometimes her Mommy joked and sometimes she was completely serious even if what she said sounded a lot like a joke.

"Oh yes...Look close. See this hem-line right here?" She pointed to the right sleeve. "This one I went over twice and the whole time, I was saying, 'Isn't Tara the cutest thing? Isn't Tara the cutest thing?' And then I went over the left arm twice, saying, 'Why, yes she is! Why, yes she is!'" Tara giggled at the image. "And this pocket I sewed over the heart? I sewed that extra strong because of all the good stuff you have inside your heart. I wanted to make sure it was always safe and warm."

Tara looked down at the gold thread laced through the rich blue fabric. Then she gazed back up at her mother, cocking her head slightly to one side. "You really d-did that?"

"Sweetie, if I could sew you happiness and a brand new car I'd thread up a needle right now."

"Mommy, you know I c-can't drive!"

"Then I guess it's just as well, huh? We don't want a seven-year-old out runnin' around in a blue suede car, knockin' over mailboxes and scarin' the neighbors, do we?" Her mother's laugh, swirling about her head and settling down around her heart, made Tara think of the foam at the very top of a fresh cup of cocoa, and socks just out of the dryer on a cold morning. She leaned in close, smelling her mother's Jergen's hand lotion and some other scent that she thought must be unique to her mommy alone.

"I can't believe you're already seven, pretty girl. And it's Saturday, so we get the whole day to celebrate. We're gonna go into town and look in all the windows and then we're gonna go out to eat. Somebody else is gonna cook and wash all those dishes!"

"What about Daddy and Donnie?" Tara didn't really want them to come. Her stutter always got worse and food never tasted as good when there were so many pitfalls awaiting her. Donnie was always laughing at her, and pinching her when their parents weren't looking; and Daddy always seemed like he was upset at her about something, even though she tried to keep from saying anything, so she couldn't figure out what she'd done. But if they were going to be there, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

Her mother seemed to fumble for words for just a moment. But her mommy was never confused about what to say, not like she always was. Maybe she was imagining it.

"Well, they have work to do here. They've got some fence to fix and some more feed to grind. This is going to be a special, all-girls day! Besides, we'll have cake and ice cream back here later on."

Tara didn't really care what the reason was. She could relax, at least for the day, because it was just her and her mother and nothing too bad could happen to her like that.

On her way out to the car, holding her mother's hand, Tara spied Donnie peering at her from the driveway of the barn. She started to hold up a hand to wave, feeling almost bad that she was getting to go on a special trip, but then she saw how he was looking at her. She let her hand drop, and stared down at her dress-up black patent shoes until she climbed into the safety of the Ford Fairlane.

*****

"OK, maybe it's just me, but do you ever find yourself wondering if Anya makes up about half of the stuff that she claims to have done? You know, reliving and maybe embellishing the gory days?"

"Willow, Sweetie, what does it matter? I mean, my Grandpa Jack used to say that he'd killed a mountain lion with his Bowie knife when he was younger, but Mom told me that it was actually a coyote, with his rifle and a scope. But who wants to argue the point?"

Willow plopped the bag of groceries on the counter. "I know...It's just that sometimes I could swear she does it for shock value."

"Well of course she does. After everything the Scoobies have done and seen, do you really think she can make an impact on any of you by going all Understatement Girl?"

Willow tugged her scarf from around her neck and tossed it lightly over Tara's shoulders, letting it settle to her waist before using it to pull Tara close to her.

She heard Tara laugh softly. "No need to rope me, you butch rancher babe. You got me eating out of your hand." Tara's lips, warm and soft, nuzzled against her ear and Willow's smile caught on the edge of a sudden heat that seemed to make further conversation-at least here in the kitchen-an unwelcome delay.

"Can we leave dinner for right now? Actually, can we leave everything except each other for right now?" Willow felt herself blushing slightly. She still battled an occasional sense of vulnerability for how much she wanted Tara sexually. Last week, in the middle of the Magic Box, they had all been discussing Xander's recent identity crisis (Anya was still angry that she hadn't been granted her "Two for One" Orgasm Special) and Willow found herself completely unable to follow the conversation. Tara was wearing a new dress-dark blue with a deep gold bodice-and Willow thought that it was utterly impossible that anyone could think about anything but Tara. In fact, she secretly expected that every one of them, including Anya and Buffy, would eventually call a halt to the meeting and ask Tara for permission to kiss her on the lips. Tara herself was warming her hands around a cup of Earl Gray, her long fingers interlacing. Lucky porcelain, Willow thought enviously. As she tilted her head slightly, looking up at Xander, Tara's blond hair spilled over her shoulder and slid down over one breast. Tara's breasts. They're so round and perfect and smooth. I wish I could touch them right now. I wish I could just make everyone go away and stretch her out over the table and slide the hem of her dress really slowly up over her thighs, 'cause she loves it when I tease her, and-

"...don't you think, Will?" Xander was looking at her expectantly. Willow thought quickly. If Xander was saying it, odds were it was wrong. But generalizations were always tricky...

"Xander, the most important thing is what you think," she'd finally replied, in a masterful display of saying nothing. That seemed to satisfy the easily-disgruntled carpenter, though. And then she'd caught Tara's eye. Busted, she realized, knowing that Tara would have sensed her mental absence and deciphered her slight flush. But oh, it had been worth it, because not long after that Tara had asked for her help on the upper level, and there, tucked behind the relative camouflage of a display stand, had invited Willow to kiss her and touch her as freely as she dared as a preview of coming attractions. And the coming, later that evening, had been so very attractive, indeed.

Looking into Tara's eyes now, feeling naked to her soul and dismissing the pride required in trying to hide, Willow saw the answering warmth spark and take form in that fathomless blue.

"Yeah, Sweetie; dinner can definitely wait. I, on the other hand, cannot." Thus was Willow led back to their bedroom and sustenance of a more sensual nature shared.

*****

The young man's fingers flew over the keyboard with the surety of experience. Barely looking up, he asked politely, "And what brings you to Sunnydale, if I might ask?"

"Very important family business." Yeah, he could sound all formal if he needed to.

"Oh-I do hope that it's nothing too difficult." The eyes flickered up briefly before scanning the computer screen.

"Well, you know family...Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em." Donnie's chuckle was greeted with a surprised glance, and then an awkward smile. The clerk looked back at the screen.

"Yes, we do have rooms available tonight, sir. Smoking or non-smoking?"

"Don't make no never-mind to me," Donnie grinned obligingly. He could get used to being called "sir."

"And how many nights will you be staying with us?"

Donnie looked at the young man earnestly. "As long as it takes."

*****

Much later, sitting on the couch with matching mugs of hot chocolate, their conversation turned back to the subject of Glory.

"Tara, do you think Anya's right? That this Glory wench isn't a demon?"

"I don't know." Graceful fingers ran lightly through Willow's hair as Willow snuggled down and rested her head on Tara's shoulder. "I mean, we don't even know what this whole 'Key' business is about. But Mr. Giles seemed more upset than I think I've ever seen him."

"Me either...well, except for the night Miss Calendar was killed." She felt her heart squeeze suddenly at the memory of that night, the ringing of the phone in Buffy's kitchen.

"Poor Mr. Giles," Tara murmured softly. After a few moments, she asked, "Do you think the Key is an actual, physical object?"

"Well, that would make the most sense, which probably guarantees that it isn't," Willow replied with a sigh. "We can narrow it down to a noun, which isn't terribly narrow."

"Well, you can key into something, but that just supports the idea of the noun."

"Can we safely leave out prepositions?" Willow wanted this particular universe bounded in some way, however ridiculously.

"Yes, we can. Prepositions, take heed: your services are not required."

Willow frowned. "I'll just feel better when I know what it is."

"Or where it is."

"Or who it is."

*****

She was ten-done with single digits forever. She liked that idea. Now, every time she took one of those standardized tests that they gave out every year at school, she'd have to use two columns to indicate her age, and darken in two circles.

She ran downstairs, feet barely skimming the steps, and dashed into the kitchen. "Hey Mommy, c-can I help ice the cake?"

Her mother looked up, blue eyes sparking. Her daddy had blue eyes, too, but his always looked cold, like a winter sky just before it snowed. Everybody said she had her mommy's eyes, so she figured that must mean hers were warm, too.

"Now isn't that the funniest thing? I was just sittin' here thinking, 'You know, as soon as that cake cools a bit more, I'm gonna need some help icing it. But who can I get?' And no sooner do I think it than my beautiful ten-year-old shows up. Now that's what I call luck!"

Tara giggled. She was pretty sure her mommy hadn't been thinking anything like that, but it was fun to think of her sitting there, wishing for somebody just like Tara herself. Her smile dimmed slightly when she thought of her mommy calling her beautiful. She wanted to tell her that she didn't have to say it just to be nice; that she knew better than that. But that might hurt her feelings...She should just let it drop.

Edging over to the counter, she looked at her birthday cake and grinned hugely: chocolate, just like every year. And every year, her mommy made a special butter frosting that draped over the wonderful creation like a royal cape.

"Can I lick the bowl?"

"Unless there's some new birthday tradition I don't know about, you certainly can. Donnie did last month, remember?"

Tara remembered. She remembered how he'd told her, after supper, that he'd let her have a spatula's worth if she did his chores the next morning. But Tara had realized that as much as she loved her mother's special icing, she didn't want to share a bowl or a spatula or anything else that Donnie had already started on. And so she'd shaken her head no, eyes wide with misgiving. Donnie had glared at her, and then hissed, "Just as well. You're too big anyway. Everybody knows it." Tara didn't really think that was true. She was tall, and strong, that was true, but there wasn't anything wrong with that.

Was there?

Now, wondering yet again if being nice to her brother might make him be nice to her, she said quietly, "Maybe I should give Donnie half of it."

Her mother looked up with a strange expression on her face. When she spoke, she did so very slowly, as if being extra-careful with her words. She only does that when she talks about Donnie or Daddy, Tara realized.

"Bright Eyes, I think you're about the sweetest child Heaven ever saw fit to put on this earth. And if you wanna share something with another person, well, I won't ever tell you not to. But...Well, some people have a hard time sharing. It's like they never feel like they get what they deserve. And it kinda takes the fun out of sharin' with them, you know? Oh, honey, I'm probably not makin' any sense at all."

Tara felt her mind tilt slightly. She doesn't want you to share the icing with Donnie. And she doesn't think she can tell you exactly why.

She blinked rapidly, and tried to focus on her mommy's face. She'd had those little voices before: they were kind of her voice, but kind of different, too. The thing is, she didn't really recognize anybody else's voice in there.

"Will you help me with the icing then, Mommy? Just a couple of licks," she added quickly. After all, it was the best icing in the world, and there was only one bowl.

Her mother's laughter sprinkled down over her, and Tara was relieved to see that she didn't look worried anymore.

"Yeah, Bright Eyes, I think I can manage that."

*****

Part 3

Tara's first class of the morning was an upper-level Art History course; it was probably the best course she'd ever taken. This would explain why she was so lost in her own thoughts as she descended the stairs outside the classroom building.

"Hello again, little sister. Miss me?"

He was standing so close behind her that her hair whipped his face as she spun around.

"Donnie! What are you doing back here?"

"I was just so lonesome at home without you." He grinned mockingly, enjoying the confusion and budding fear on her face.

"H-how did you know where I w-was?"

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Tara...Don't you know?" He smiled. "I'll always find you."

*****

"Tara...Where you at? You know I'm gonna find you, Tara. Ain't no use tryin' to hide. Big brother always gets you sooner or later."

Don't breathe so hard. Quiet, just be quiet. He's bluffing.

"I think I'm gettin' closer, little sister."

Keep walking. Please keep walking.

"Let's see now...Maybe you're tucked in here behind these hay bales. Am I right, little sister?"

He thinks I told Mom. He's going to kill me.

"I thought so."

*****

"You know, this is two days in a row you haven't given me a proper greeting. Didn't we raise you with any manners, Tara?" That grin-it seemed to paint everything around him in garish tones of ugliness and dread. She took an instinctual step back.

"It's enough to make a person think you don't care about your own brother."

Stand up straight. You're taller than him when you do, and you know he hates that. "Donnie, I think everything was pretty clear after my birthday. What are you doing back in Sunnydale?"

"Well, Tara, me and Dad and Cousin Beth got to talking, and we're just awful worried about you." His grin remain fixed, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "You know, the magic and...the other things you're into."

He knows. Damn him, he always knows. She summoned up the image of Willow's face, calming herself briefly. "Donnie, I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm almost certain it doesn't involve Edwardian England, and that's what I have to focus on right now."

"Off to another class so soon? Ain't you the little bookworm...Tell me, little sister, with all this studyin' you do, where did you find time to meet all those people? I mean, all of 'em just standin' up for you and tellin' you you don't have to go home. They sure do care about you, don't they?"

"Donnie, what's this all about? Where's Dad?"

"Oh, I made this little trip on my own. Daddy knows about it; I talked him into it."

Tara felt her stomach tighten. Somehow, Donnie on his own felt even worse. Dad always looks like he's mad at me, but Donnie...Donnie just hates me.

"I just told him how weird it was for you to be actin' all independent and rebellious. I told him I figured it was on account of your...friends." He tilted his head slightly.

Someday I will wipe that grin off of your face and Aradia herself won't be able to help you find it. "Donnie, I'm not sure what your grand scheme is, but I'm still not leaving, so why don't you get back in the camper and head home?"

He took a step forward. Tara willed herself to hold her ground.

"Maybe I'd just like to meet your friends; get to know them a little bit. After all, they do seem to carry a lot of weight with my little sister. Gotta make sure they're OK, don't I?"

Don't answer him. Don't light on that web. "Donnie, I don't have time for this. I'm going to class. I don't want to talk to you again, not for a long time." She turned to leave.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Yeah, gotta make sure you're not hanging around with the wrong folks. It's my brotherly duty, you know." He paused for a moment. "And I have to say, I 'specially wanna spend some more time with that Willow girl."

She stopped, but didn't turn around. Willing all of the calmness and strength into her voice that she could muster, she finally said, "Go home, Donnie. You don't belong here." As she walked off, she felt a dizzying mixture of dread, anger, and a shaken relief that she couldn't see the look that she knew covered his face.

At the very least he would never hit her in broad daylight on a college campus.

*****

Willow fumbled in her backpack for a moment before finally locating her wallet. "This mocha's on me, Buffy. Just my way of saying that I'm the happiest person in the world."

"Willow, if doing this makes you happy, it makes me happy. In fact, think of how happy you'd be if you bought me that red sweater we saw at that little boutique last week. I mean, could the universe contain the happiness that that would bring you?"

"You know, Buffy, I have to say-we'll never find out!"

"It was worth a shot." Buffy stirred some highly redundant Sweet & Low into her mocha and blew gently over the foam for a moment. "So life with Tara is good?"

Willow shook her head slightly. "I can't even describe it, Buffy. I mean, sometimes I look at her and I get all googly-eyed and I think, 'She's my girlfriend. She's with me.' It still just blows me away."

"Yeah, you two were definitely making with the Lezziepalooza at her birthday party." She looked up guiltily. "Is it OK for me to say that?"

"Well, we usually call it the 'Wine Me, Dine Me, Sixty-Nine Me' Festival of Homos, but Lezziepalooza has a nice ring, too."

"Thanks for the visual. It'll probably pop up on my mental screen the next time I see Tara and I'll just spit out whatever's in my mouth at the time."

"Which will probably be Riley's tongue," Willow said with a thoughtful nod.

Buffy spluttered around her drink. "Oh my God, Will, I can't believe you just said that."

"Neither can I, but I wish I had a remote control so I could play that moment back 'cuz I gotta say, it was really fun!"

The two enjoyed a companionable silence for a moment. When Buffy spoke, her voice was markedly more somber. "You know, Tara's family gave me the creeps. How did someone like her come from people like that?"

"I'm pretty sure it was her mother. She still has a hard time talking about her, but it seems pretty clear that she shielded Tara a little bit, or at least she tried to."

Buffy seemed to choose her next words carefully. "Will, when Donnie started down the steps toward Tara...I'm thinking that's not the first time he's acted like that, was it?"

Willow could feel the muscles along her jaw-line tighten. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't. Tara talks even less about him than she does her mother. But I know that her dad beat her-really bad-one time, and I'd be willing to bet that Donnie learned from the best." She remembered listening to Tara describe the scars along her thighs from her father's belt, after he'd found her looking at one of her mother's magic books. She was nine at the time. Willow felt the anger rising up in her as it did whenever she thought about the men in Tara's family.

Buffy shook her head slowly. "What makes anybody think he has the right to beat a little girl?"

Willow could only sigh. "Whatever it is, I wish you could stake it and send it back to hell."

*****

Willow. She had to get to Willow. As soon as she could find her at the Espresso Pump, things would be OK. Edwardian England was forgotten as Tara walked without a second thought past the building where the class met. Willow was meeting Buffy for coffee; they should still be there.

What in the goddess's name was Donnie doing back here? The relief she'd felt when they finally slunk out the door at the Magic Box had been exhilarating-no more secrets between her and Willow, no more dire warnings held over her head. She'd walked out into the night and thought that the air had never smelled so sweet, not in all her life. She was finally free...free to be a witch; free to be a lesbian; free to think for herself; free to love Willow.

And now Donnie was back. And he knew, somehow he knew, that she and Willow were lovers. Could it really be that hard to spot, Tara, to anyone with eyes? Maybe she'd assumed that it would never occur to them. It wasn't like Cold Springs hosted a yearly Queer March...But Donnie, with his eyes ever peeled for things that he could use against her, had figured it out.

But what can he do? Really? You're already out, and if he tells Dad...Well, that'll just be one more stick he can light at my feet as he burns me at the stake in his head-witch, ungrateful daughter, homosexual. Faggots for a faggot, as it were. If she could just keep the old fear in check; if she could just remember that she wasn't there anymore, in that house that grew so cold after her mother had died.

She rounded the corner and neared the coffee shop. Goddess, why did the darkness keep coming back? She didn't want to say Donnie's name; she didn't want to give voice to all those old fears and shames and scars. Saying them made them real again; gave them new life in this life, bled into the picture she was painting of her and Willow and what they were building. She wanted the canvas of that life burned, destroyed.

Even talking about her mother was hard, but in a different way. That hurt so bad because she had to use the past tense: "Mom was so good at sewing"; "Mom always made the most incredible soup."

Why had the only part of her past that she wanted with her now been taken away, while the part she would most gladly give up was so determined to track her down and insinuate his way into her present?

She spied Willow and Buffy, huddled conspiratorially over a rickety table. Probably talking about Glory and her new brand of evil. How ironic that she felt most fully in the light as a result of being loved by someone who fought the worst kind of darkness. But it was true. Colors took on such incredible richness when she was with Willow; things tasted sweeter and laughter was fuller.

"Sweetie-Goddess, am I glad to see you. Hey Buffy," she added as an afterthought.

"So I'm not 'Sweetie'? Fine, be that way."

"Buff, you're sweet," Willow reassured her. "You're just not the titular 'Sweetie' in this case."

Buffy's expression defied easy description. "Um, Will-all about being the 'Straight But Not Narrow' friend here, but what do my breasts have to do with this?"

Willow's suspected that her expression, too, flouted the boundaries of any single adjective. "Buffy, 'titular' refers to a title. Not, um, other things that begin with that particular combination of letters."

"I knew that." Buffy's mocha became a source of deep fascination.

"Hey Baby! Don't you have history class right now?"

"Yeah, but...oh, shit." She sighed as both Willow and Buffy looked at her closely. Tara didn't swear very often.

"It's Donnie. He's back."

Willow and Buffy gaped at her. "'Back' as in, 'Back here'? In Sunnydale?" Willow asked, stunned.

Tara nodded. "He caught me coming out of my art class."

Willow stood, and suddenly looked considerably taller than she actually was. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, he just played with my mind." Tara sat down and tried to collect her thoughts. She felt Willow's hand glide reassuringly up her back until her thumb was making small circles on Tara's neck. "He reeled off some story about the three of them deciding that I wasn't being 'me,' and him deciding to come back up here to check on me. But Willow, I know Donnie. He's going to try to take me back home."

Buffy and Willow both spoke at once, their voices a jumble of indignation and protest. "Tara, he can't, right? I mean, there's nothing he can actually do, is there?" Buffy seemed equal parts bewildered and outraged at the temerity of Maclay fils.

"Buffy's right, Tara. He can't just drag you back to Cold Springs against your will, right?"

Tara took a deep breath. "No, he can't. I-I don't know what he thinks he can do." She made herself sitter taller in her seat. "We're not back on the farm. Things are different here, different now."

"Not the least of which are several people who will kick his ass to a sidewalk in Senegal if he dares lay a hand on you," Buffy offered hotly.

They want to protect you.

But so did Mom.

Tara tried to stay in the present, tried to remember where she was, and who she was.

"Baby, what do you wanna do?" Willow's voice, clear and filled with concern, pulled her back into focus.

"Right now, I want to go home-our home-and snuggle up while we talk through this."

"So, I'm guessing that that plan doesn't include me?" Buffy's voice broke into their temporary oblivion to her presence. Not for the first time, Willow found herself wondering just how exclusively Buffy really batted for the other team.

Tara laughed, a sure sign that she was feeling more secure. "Uh, no, but you do get the title of 'Honorary Sweetie' for being so, um sweet."

"OK." Buffy stood and wrapped her arms around Tara, who sank her head gratefully onto her shoulder for a brief moment. "I've got my cell phone; call me if you need anything."

"Right. Thanks, Buff," Willow replied, giving the Slayer a hug of her own. As Buffy walked off, Willow turned back to Tara.

"Let's go home, Baby."

*****

That had gone pretty well, all things considered. Just the look on her face was enough to make the trip worthwhile.

Not that he was done, of course; he still had work to do.

Who was he kidding...It wasn't all work; it was also a lot of fun, a lot of satisfaction. He could feel it spreading over him like a fever.

Daddy wasn't around to interfere; and Momma sure wasn't either. The freedom of college life, isn't that what they call it? He was liking it quite a bit.

He was about to pay off some old debts, and the feeling that rolled through him at the thought made him almost giddy.

*****

"Baby, I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone. I just wish I'd been with you when you came out of class."

They were curled up in bed, Tara's head resting on Willow's shoulder. Willow was struggling to serve the presently-opposing gods of both comforting Tara and ripping Donnie's throat out.

"Willow, sweetie, you can't be with me all the time. And you shouldn't be," she added, interrupting Willow's protests. "In the first place, it's not healthy, and in the second place, we'd never get any work done because we'd be making love all the time."

"Leaving aside the first argument, explain to me the problem with the second." She felt Tara smile against her skin.

"I'm not afraid of Donnie physically attacking me in front of other people. He's a coward at heart, I know that. Remember how he reacted when Xander made fun of his beard at the Magic Shop? God, I wish I had his expression at that moment on film."

"Yeah, it was pretty classic. But Tara, are you sure? He seemed so...ugly when he was here. And from what you've told me," she added tentatively.

"He's definitely not here to enroll in a social work program, that's for sure. I just wish I knew what he was up to."

Willow paused, then decided to give voice to what she'd been thinking about for much of their time in bed.

"Baby, why don't you talk much about Donnie? I mean, I get that he's probably a really painful subject for you; that's pretty clear. It's just that...well, we tell each other everything about every other topic under the sun, and I don't want to seem pushy or be all Intrusive-Girl, but it seems like he was definitely a big part of your past and, well..." She trailed off, hoping that some combination of words in the preceding avalanche had made it to the bottom of the mountain relatively intact.

She felt Tara shift slightly. It would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn't know the movements of that wondrous form so thoroughly.

"Willow, I don't mean to be all avoidant about Donnie. I just...I hate talking about him." She sighed. "Remember how you told me about reading 'Bambi' and taping the pages shut where the fire starts and Bambi's mom dies? So that you could just kind of skip that part without even having to turn those pages? Well, that's how I feel about Donnie right now. I want him out of my life-not just the present; I want to pretend he never even existed. And I know I can't, but sweet goddess, it's so tempting to try."

Willow pulled Tara closer, knowing that Tara would tell her if she needed less body contact right now. "I get that, Baby. And I don't want to be Intrusive-Girl, even if it does come with a really cool cape." She heard Tara's smothered giggle against her chest. "I just wanna say that I know Donnie did some pretty awful stuff, and nothing you could tell me would make me flinch, or look away. OK?"

Tara was silent for so long that Willow began to wonder if she'd said something terribly wrong. But then her girl pulled back slightly, just enough to look Willow in the face.

"I love you, Willow Rosenberg, in case you aren't aware of that fact. I love you in languages that haven't been written yet."

And then they curled back around each other, each form finding the niches of the other in ways that made separation seem like the most ridiculous of notions.

*****

A teenager...She'd crossed that threshold and there was no turning back. Not that she really wanted to, she realized. Each year brought her a little closer to leaving home and going to college. Donnie would probably never leave Cold Springs, or even their house, and that was fine with her. She'd be glad to do all the leaving herself.

She would leave her father, who was always angry but never really let her know why, so that she stumbled through the days trying to avoid one transgression only to commit another-all the while making guesses as to the code she was breaking. She would walk out the door knowing that if she tried to hug him, he'd stiffen up; and if she left without hugging him, he'd call her ungrateful. She'd visit only when she had to, instead inviting her mother to visit her as often as she could come. Maybe, when Tara was away at college, her mother would decide to leave this man who seemed to grow colder by the year. When Tara had learned "the facts of life," she'd been unable to stop herself from thinking, just once, about her own parents. Those two had actually...done that? At least twice, apparently. They still shared a room, but Tara could barely imagine them having even the most utilitarian kind of sex, much less actually making love for the pleasure of being with each other. Then again, it was hard to imagine how any woman could enjoy...that.

And Donnie...getting away from him would be the best of all, she decided. She hated the way he looked at her, called her ugly and fat and said that her parents were always talking about what a disappointment she was. She knew that last part wasn't true, not all of it at least, because the one thing she did know was that her mother loved her. Sometimes she wasn't sure she really deserved it, but it was the truth beside which all other truths dimmed: her mother loved her fiercely.

Donnie, though-Donnie seemed to loathe her to his core. And as painful as his words were, they didn't terrify her as much as his fists, that always found an opening no matter how she curled in on herself; or his hands, that slapped her and yanked her hair and squeezed her arm so tight that it bruised. And then there were his eyes, that seemed to follow her everywhere so that she never really felt safe unless she was within arm's reach of her mother. She never knew what he was thinking, or what he was planning. And she never, ever knew why he hated her so much.

Only once, years ago, had she threatened to tell her mother about his beatings. His eyes had narrowed until only their inky darkness had been left. "You do, Tara, and I will kill you. I swear to God, I'll kill you." And then his fist had landed in her stomach and she had lain, doubled up and crying softly, on the hard ground behind the barn.

She wondered if her mother knew. Donnie always managed to place the bruises strategically, such that there was rarely any evidence to anyone else, even their mother. Even so, her mother had asked her about Donnie on several occasions.

"Sweetie, you know you can tell me if you ever get hurt, right? You know nobody's allowed to treat you bad, includin' your brother."

"I-I know, Mom. I'm OK."

Had her mother believed her? She suspected that she was a terrible liar, but she desperately needed that skill in those moments, because she didn't for a moment think that Donnie wouldn't do exactly as he had threatened to do. Her mother was strong, and loved her like a lioness with her cub, but Donnie had the force of hatred on his side, and Tara knew that he would find a way, some way, to get to her. Hatred always found a way. Love looked for the best in people, and wanted to believe they'd learned their lesson, but hatred waited until the guard left the door for the briefest of seconds and then it killed you in the room where you were supposed to be safe.

She turned toward the mirror, torn between wanting to see the dress clearly and wanting to avoid gazing upon herself. She did have pretty eyes, she could give herself that. But everything else, including the new curves that were appearing on her body, seemed cause for disappointment and shame.

She squared her shoulder, preparing to join the others downstairs.

She wouldn't always be here.

*****

Later that afternoon, Willow and Tara went over to Giles' house to get the latest on Glory's impending debutante ball.

"Do you want to tell the others what happened?" Willow asked softly as they approached the heavy wooden door.

"Want to? No. Think I probably should? Yes." Tara managed a small half-smile. "How 'bout a kiss?" she asked almost shyly, turning to face Willow.

"For moral support?"

"I was thinking more for yummy Willow-goodness, to be honest. But whatever gets the job done."

"How about we just assume you have a coupon with no expiration date on it, shall we? Good for one Willow-kiss, any time, any reason. No purchase necessary."

"Though we do have the...shopping trip ahead of us," Tara reminded her, arching her eyebrows in what could only be described as a leer.

"Anything to support the economy," Willow agreed, before leaning in to kiss her girl tenderly.

They were, at this moment, joined by Anya and Xander, approaching the door.

"See how Willow keeps her lips full when she kisses Tara? And looks as if she's using her tongue less intrusively? I'd like you to try that, Xander."

"And I'd like to try going one full day without peering at the ground, searching in vain for a huge, gaping hole to swallow me up. But that wacky sit-com 'Life with Anya' apparently couldn't spare the money for an editor." Xander sighed and smiled weakly.

As the four of them entered the warm house, Willow noticed Tara hang back slightly, just enough to whisper something in Anya's ear. Whatever the murmured confidence, it made Anya smile with delight. Must be a spell for generating instant cash, Willow mused.

Grabbing a scone from a platter on the table, Willow leaned over and asked softly, "What did you tell Anya just now?"

Tara grinned with only the slightest trace of self-consciousness. "I told her that you really did keep your lips soft and full, and that you used your tongue purposefully, not randomly." Willow felt the temperature in the room head toward the triple digits. That's funny-I never knew Giles lived in Hell. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Anya looking at her encouragingly, and with a seeming new respect. She nodded weakly, as Anya gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Buffy was already there, as was Dawn. In response to Willow's questioning look, Buffy explained, "Mom has an opening tonight at the gallery. It was too late to get a sitter, so I brought Dawn with me."

"Hey Dawnie," Tara said warmly. Willow grinned to herself at the sight. It was obvious that Dawn adored Tara, and conversely. The difference is that Tara doesn't have a huge crush on Dawn, Willow thought, watching them hug. She'd teased Tara about it once, but Tara insisted that Dawn looked at both of them like older sisters.

"Yeah, most girls look at their older sisters and blush like crazy whenever they see them. At least, the girls who end up on Jerry Springer."

Now, she stepped forward and hugged Dawn herself, and then draped a proprietary arm over her girlfriend. Why don't you just urinate around her to mark your territory? She found her actions amusing, but nevertheless kept her arm where it was. No use giving the kid any false hope...

Buffy looked at both of them, a question within her glance. Tara squeezed Willow's hand, and then said, "Actually, before we get started, I should probably let you know something."

"You'd like to explore bisexuality?" Xander's expression-half joking, half hopeful-was quickly rendered fully immobile by Willow's hard smack on his arm.

"I'd rather plunge toothpicks into my eyeballs," Tara replied, smiling at him sweetly. Then she looked at Willow briefly, gathering her confidence and trying not to be rattled by the eyes that were locked on her. She rarely commandeered floor time at Scooby meetings; clearly, everyone knew that something was amiss.

"Um...My brother Donnie seems to have a hard time taking 'no' for an answer," she managed, her smile faltering. "He drove back to Sunnydale sometime yesterday and he caught me coming out of class this morning."

Four voices formed a jumbled chord.

"Whatever could he be planning to do?"

"Did he think we were joking at the Magic Box?"

"...not lay a hand on you, Tara!"

"...crawl under his eyelids and melt his brain from the inside out."

Tara held up a hand, and the others restrained themselves to a manageable array of threatening poses and glares.

"I'm not sure what he thinks he can do, but we're taking lots of precautions. I won't be alone with him; I already told him I won't talk to him. I can't imagine he'll try to grab me by my hair and drag me back to the family cave."

"Just the same, Tara, this must be disconcerting to you, to say the least." Giles looked at her with concern.

"And to say the most, it must be wigging you out," Xander offered. Tara smiled at both of them.

Dawn stepped forward, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Tara, if you're ever at your place by yourself and you're scared, or even a little, you know, disconcerted" (here she rolled her eyes meaningfully), "I'd be glad to come over and stay with you. You know, until Willow gets back," she added, catching Willow's arched eyebrows.

"That's really sweet of you, Dawn, but I don't think it'll come to anything like that. But maybe I could call you tomorrow, just to check in and get some moral support." Dawn beamed as Willow ascended into yet another niche in the heavenly mansion that was her love and admiration for Tara. She doubts her own voice so much, and yet she always knows just what to say to make other people feel good.

"I just thought you should know, in case anything comes up. And thank you all, again, for s-standing up for me at the Magic Box."

"He'll still have to go through me," Dawn said threateningly, crossing her arms defiantly over her 'Hello Kitty' t-shirt.

"And me," Willow piped up-unnecessarily, she realized, as Tara looked at her with a faintly teasing grin.

"Now-let's get back to the more p-pleasant subject of Glory, shall we?" Tara had had her fifteen minutes of Scooby fame and didn't really care for more. She saw Buffy looking at Dawn, arms still crossed, with an affectionate smile. So that's what an older sibling who loves their little sister looks like, she thought with a sudden pang. I always wondered.

"Do we have any more information on this Key thingy?" Xander asked.

"The 'Key thingy,' to use Xander's technical language, appears to be utterly imperative to Glory's success," Giles replied.

Willow turned to the Watcher. "You still think Glory's trying to open some portal?"

"Yes, I do. That's what all of the available texts suggest...Balthazar's Oracle, The Scrolls of Timenthus-"

"Demon Portals for Dummies," Xander interjected.

Giles looked up in irritation. "Well, Xander, since you almost certainly have everything related to the intellectually challenged, I would expect you to have located that particular reference."

"Hey, that's sorta harsh," came the wounded response.

"As is Glory, which is why I would ask that we concentrate on discerning her true nature, as well as the nature of the Key." Giles looked only slightly penitent; then again, so did Xander.

"But we don't know what the Portal opens to, right?" Tara asked, a slight frown furrowing her brow. "I mean, it could be a demon dimension, or another Hell-Mouth...Anything, really."

"Tara's right, I'm afraid," Giles nodded slowly. "There's maddeningly little information about Glory, beyond the apocryphal and the wildly conjectural."

"And he just said...?" Xander whispered to Willow.

"Lots of wild rumors; few hard facts." She was accustomed to being Xander's personal thesaurus.

"We do, however, have one new piece of information regarding the Key," Giles was saying.

"Which is?" Buffy asked, leaning forward intently.

"It appears to be in human form."

There was a brief silence, while everyone tried to wrap their minds around this concept. Some, like Willow and Tara, had mind to spare while Xander, in particular, had trouble making his ends meet.

"So the Key is actually a human?" he asked, perplexed.

"It would appear so, though this represents a transformation of sorts. That is, the Key did not originate as a human being. It appears to have its genesis as a kind of energy, or mystical essence. The transformation into human form appears to have taken place relatively recently; probably within the last year."

"Why would it be turned into a human?" Tara asked.

"Probably to hide it. There's some indication that a group of monks actually possessed the Key and effected the change in order to keep Glory from finding it and opening this portal."

"God, what would the person look like...somebody who was created to hide something so important from such an evil creature?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"You gotta figure it's pretty skanky," Dawn replied, almost to herself.

"So our next job is to find the Key before Glory finds it. Because if she can't find it, she goes home with some nice consolation prizes and leaves us alone, right?" Xander looked around hopefully.

"We should be so lucky," Anya muttered. "Glory seems to have some major anger management issues and she doesn't seem like the gracious loser type."

"Anya's right; I suspect Glory will prove to be an indefatigable foe," Giles said slowly. "However, Xander's point is also well-taken." At this pronouncement, everyone at the table fought the urge to fall out of their seats in a dead faint. "Without the Key, Glory is, in effect, thwarted in her ultimate goal. So yes, we should make every effort to find the Key."

A short while later, as they were leaving, Xander grabbed Anya's arm excitedly. "Did you hear that? Giles said that my point was well-taken! I have a point, and people should take it well!" Willow suspected that this was the closest Xander had ever come to having a gold star on a school paper. Suddenly, she felt a hand grip her elbow. Turning, she saw Anya smiling at her.

"I've always thought that Tara had the loveliest smile, and now I know why. It's because of your talented mouth! Good for you!" She gave Willow a small but not-painless punch on the shoulder and winked again before heading out into the night.

"Uh, Tara-about your friendship with Anya..."

*****

Part 4

On her way home later from her evening class, Willow stopped by the Espresso Pump to pick up decaf mochas for both Tara and herself. Tara was at Xander and Anya's, where Willow would pick her up on her way home. She felt better knowing that Tara wasn't alone, wasn't where her wretched brother could find her. How in the goddess's name do those two share DNA? Maybe a mix-up in the nursery...I should check into that.

Just outside the entrance, she practically dumped both drinks on the stocky figure standing in her path.

"Well look here! If it ain't Tara's friend-Willow? Is that it? Yeah, Willow!" Donnie's voice was loud, and bluff. "I was hopin' to run into you!"

Willow felt disgust roll up and over her as she took in Donnie's proximity and his overly-familiar smile. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she asked, "What do you want, Donnie? Tara isn't with me, and you're not going to get to her."

Donnie looked at her, his wounded surprise as fake as the plastic flowers in the vases on the tables. "That doesn't sound very friendly, I gotta say. Why, I just wanna get to know Tara's friends a little bit; you know, make sure she's in good hands." He winked at this last part, and Willow felt her stomach lurch.

There is no way this creature can be Tara's brother. Aloud, she said, "Donnie, I have nothing to say to you. I don't know why you came back, and don't give me some bullshit about looking after Tara's well-being."

"Now that's some awful rough language from such a pretty girl," he said with mock disapproval, grinning around his words. "I need to look out for Tara. I'm the only brother she's got."

"Good thing," Willow retorted, unable to stop herself. "Any more and she'd be dead."

The leering grin froze for a moment, and then crept back over the thin lips. "I don't know what kind of things Tara's been tellin' you all, but there's two sides to every story, at least where I come from."

"And what exactly is the other side to 'Big brother terrorized his little sister'? 'Cause I'm thinkin' that's something only cowards do-at least where I come from," she added sarcastically.

"Now don't go gettin' all witchy on me, OK? Don't cast some crazy spell on me." The grin was back in place, dismissal written in his eyes.

"I don't need to, Donnie. You're not worth the energy, and I have better things to do."

"Like my sister?"

Willow froze, choking around her fury. She realized, with utter clarity, that she had never hated another living creature as much as she hated this man-child in front of her. She felt magic roll unbidden to her mind, down her arms and into her fingers. With the flick of a wrist, she thought suddenly, heady with the realization, she could literally obliterate him. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she steadied herself and then looked him in the eye.

"You are the most pathetic creature I've ever seen. How you came to share the same blood and lineage with someone like Tara, I will never, ever understand. Then again, I don't need to. I know enough to promise you that things will go very, very badly for you if you try to make trouble for her in any way. She has more people here that care for her than she ever had in her so-called home."

Donnie tilted his head, his gaze unreadable. "You threatenin' me?"

"You pick the verb. As if you'd know what that is," she added with a dismissive nod, and started to step around him.

"You know what I don't get?"

"Nearly enough sex, I imagine." She watched with pleasure as his face flushed white.

"I don't get what you see in her. Has she ever told you what she was like, before she came up here?"

"I know everything I need to know about Tara, and I'm sure as hell not looking to you for supporting documentation."

"She tell you about the clothes she wore to school? The ones that Momma made and other kids laughed at?"

My baby, young and perfect, wearing clothes made by someone who loved her.

"She tell you about sittin' alone on the bus, every damn day for twelve years almost, 'cause she was too timid to say 'boo' to anybody?"

I wonder what she thought of across all those miles? I bet she made up the most wonderful stories.

"She tell you about kids callin' her lezzy all through school 'cause they found that one love letter she wrote that other girl? Huh?"

Tara wrote a love letter to someone else? Whoever she is, I hope she kept it, because it must have been beautiful. My Tara, with her wonderful words.

"She tell you about never havin' a date-not to Prom, not to nothing, 'cause she was such a freak?

And now she's mine. I get to be the first person-and the last, if I have anything to say about it-to show her how beautiful she is.

Finally, she stared at Donnie, whose grin had been replaced by an angry, downward slash.

"Mostly she tells me how happy she is now, and how glad she is that she got away from the beer-bellied loser with whom she, through no fault of her own, shares a gene pool."

His eyes narrowed to slits, and he leaned closer toward her, raising his hand as he did. Then he seemed to remember his surroundings, and pulled back just slightly.

Following his gaze, Willow whispered venomously, "Do it. Forget about all of them. Pretend it's just you and some little girl. That's your style, isn't it?" Leaning forward herself now, she hissed, "Just do it. Make one move on me, or-Goddess help you-on Tara, and I will fuck with you in ways that defy mortal comprehension."

She pushed around him and left the coffee shop without looking back.

*****

Fuck her.

Fuck. Her.

That bitch, talking to him like that, walking away from him like he didn't even count; like he wasn't worth the time of day. He didn't really think she'd just dump Tara on the spot, but he figured it would at least make her look at her different, maybe get an idea of just how pathetic Tara had been. But she didn't even bat an eye.

And the things she'd said to him, calling him a loser and letting on like he wouldn't understand half of what she said. He understood, all right. He understood that she was practically laughing at him. He understood that she didn't think he was much of a threat.

Turning over in bed, staring sleeplessly out the hotel window, he replayed the whole scene in his head, over and over, like a movie he couldn't stop watching even though he knew how it ended.

But this one hadn't ended, dammit. If they thought that was all he'd brought with him, they were dead wrong. That was just supposed to fuck with Tara's mind a little bit, and Willow's, too. And maybe it hadn't worked like he'd wanted it to, but he sure as hell wasn't heading back to Cold Springs just yet. He'd been waiting for a chance like this his whole life, it seemed, and one angry little dyke wasn't about to run him off. He wasn't like his daddy, whipped and dragging his ass back home. He had a lot more in his arsenal than one weapon, and he wouldn't really mind having to use all of them.

He allowed himself a small grin. At least he'd been right thinking Tara was a lezzy. Boy, the way that red-head had gone ballistic on him; the look she'd given him after his crack about her doing his sister-that was worth something...Looked like she wanted to scratch his eyes out, she did.

He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, watching snippets of another, older movie play out there. He'd always kind of wondered about Tara, even before those kids found that note. She never took notice of any boys, never talked about dating or anything like that...'Course, she hadn't said that much of anything when she was younger. Hell, the only time she didn't stutter too bad was when Mama was around, and even then sometimes she couldn't help it. But then those kids had found her pushing that note into Jo's locker, and pulled it away from her, and read it out loud...He smiled at that particular memory-the way Tara came home all puffy-eyed and went straight to her room; the way Jo stopped hanging around with her, wouldn't call her back; the way Tara just slumped over even more after that. The way he figured it, Jo had been a little bit queer, too. For all he knew, they'd had something going on, or maybe starting...But not after that.

He wondered if Tara had told their mom...They were always so close, those two. And Mama was just soft enough to put up with it. Had she known? Hell, Mama would probably have told Tara that it was all right, that she could be whoever she wanted to be. He couldn't believe his daddy had married such a woman, and stayed with her.

Was it worth it, Daddy? Was it worth everything you lost, everything you gave up to be with that witch who never loved you anyway?

He turned back onto his side, looking at the blank wall this time. No way was this over just yet. Lots of ways to skin a cat, and if he had to find new ways to do it, well, that was all right with him.

*****

By the time she reached Xander's apartment, the mochas were cold. Willow herself, however, was steamed enough to power a small tug-boat. That fucking malicious prick. How dare he talk about Tara that way?

She practically pulled Tara bodily out of the apartment, offering the hastiest of good-byes to Xander and Anya.

"Don't you want to kiss Tara hello?" asked Anya hopefully, as Willow pointedly handed Tara her coat.

"Don't worry, I'll take notes," Tara assured her as they headed out the door. Once in the hallway, she turned to Willow.

"Honey, what's up? I know you can only take so much Anya in any one day, but-"

"I ran into Donnie at the Espresso Pump," Willow said simply, taking Tara's hands in her own.

"What? Did he-goddess, Willow, did he threaten you, or try to do anything?"

"The entire scene can be summed up like this: Your brother is an asshole beyond all known exemplars. But no, he didn't try anything physical."

Willow could feel the fear coming off of Tara like waves. She kissed her quickly, and looked into her eyes. "C'mon, Baby, let's get home. I'll explain on the way."

On the short trip back to their room, Willow could almost see Tara growing smaller and smaller. When she got to Donnie's malicious jibes against Tara, she thought about omitting them, knowing how much it would hurt her. Does she really need to hear the whole ugly story? Would it really hurt to leave that part out? She was silent for a moment, considering the possibility.

"Willow?"

"Yeah, Baby?" She fumbled for her door key.

"What else?"

Willow struggled to reply. "What do you mean?"

"What else happened? I can tell there's something you're leaving out."

Willow sighed. "Remind me not to play poker with you...OK, I'll finish the story, just as soon as we get inside."

Once in the warmth and safety of their home, Willow thought that Tara would relax, at least a little bit, but it was clear that her dread eclipsed any other reaction. She thought about making some tea, but realized that she would be doing it more to soothe herself, give herself something to do, than to actually serve a useful purpose.

She took Tara's hand and led her into the bedroom where they curled up on top of the covers. There, she told Tara what Donnie had said. As she spoke, she watched tears gather in Tara's eyes and then tumble unchecked over her cheeks. Willow reached out and softly stroked them away, wishing desperately for the words that would heal the jagged slice that she could see making its way through Tara's heart.

"Tara, Baby, you have to know that what he said didn't mean anything to me. You know that, right?" She couldn't keep the urgency out of her voice.

After a moment, Tara replied almost inaudibly, "Maybe. But they mean something to me."

"Tara, Sweetie, please look at me. Please don't turn those gorgeous eyes away from me. I can't stand it when you're sad."

Tara struggled to meet Willow's gaze. Why? Why do all the good things have to get dirty and stained? "Willow, I just want to forget all of that. Y-you know that growing up w-was a rough time for me. I told you I w-wasn't exactly popular."

Willow ached at the sound of Tara's small voice, at her stutter. "Tara, it's not like he told me you were an ax-murderer, or sold crack to kindergarten kids, or cheated on a math quiz...It was nothing horrible."

Tara shifted awkwardly, sitting up a little and looking at Willow as if she were missing the point. "What's not horrible about who I was? About how pathetic and lonely I was? What exactly was the Kodak moment in all of that?"

Willow sat up herself, squeezing Tara's shoulders. "You tell me what is horrible about who you were. Not how it made you feel, but who you were. Tara, Baby, have you forgotten who you're talking to here? The only real friend I had wore his underwear on his head, for God's sake. And as for being trendy, well, I wore clothes that would blind you if you looked at them without protective lenses."

She was rewarded by the slightest of smiles, and played her ace. "Tara, if you're saying that your past makes you too pathetic to be loved, then you're saying the same thing about me. And frankly, I resent it."

Tara's mouth twisted with anguish, her eyes darkening. "Willow, you know that's not true. You know how much I love you, and respect you-"

"And want me? Do you find me sexy, and desirable? Or am I some wounded creature you took pity on?"

"How can you even ask that? God, I want you so much it almost embarrasses me sometimes. I mean, I feel like a big pervert around you half the time."

"Well, the goal is to make that all of the time, with the understanding that pervert, as we define it, is a wonderful, wonderful thing. The point is, knowing my history doesn't make you want me any less, right?'

"Of course not." Tara was silent for a moment, and Willow fought the urge to send more words up to the front line to do battle with Tara's pain. Instead, she talked with her hands, stroking Tara's cheek and hair.

When Tara finally spoke, her voice was soft. "You're right. I mean, I'd smack anyone who tried to insult you, or make fun of you. It's just that..."She trailed off helplessly.

"Just what, Baby?"

"It's just that those demons die so hard, and so slowly. Why can't we just throw some holy water on them and watch them go 'poof'?" She leaned over and let herself sink into Willow's arms.

"I dunno, Tara. I think those demons call for some more sophisticated, subtle maneuvers...But I'll tell you one thing: There is no way that Donnie is going to steal any of my Baby's shine. Don't let him take your good stuff away, Tara. You've worked so hard for it; you've earned it. You walked this steep, rocky path and everything you went through was part of making you who you are-who, by the way, I love more than I thought was humanly possible."

She felt Tara smiling against her chest. "We both had tough rows to hoe."

Willow paused, wondering how prostitutes had entered the conversation.

"Who's a ho'? And where does the rose come into it?"

Tara sat up and smiled at her indulgently. "It's a farm term, Sweetie. Rows, as in field rows; and hoe, as in the implement."

Willow felt herself blush. "Oh, of course. Just makin' a funny, you know, in my own little suburban way..."

Tara sank back into Willow's arms, where they rested in silence for a few moments. Willow debated with herself for a moment, and then ventured a question.

"Tara...Why didn't you tell me about the note?" She felt Tara stiffen slightly, and wondered if she had blundered heedlessly into something too personal, too raw.

"Well, I told you that I had a huge crush on my best friend in high school. I guess I didn't go into details because it...the details didn't seem that important." She pressed her head more snugly into Willow's breasts.

"And because it hurts too much to talk about it?"

"Well, yes, Dr. Freud, there is that, I guess."

"Sweetie, it just sounds so painful. I mean, you couldn't pay me enough to go back to high school. Knowing you liked girls-that must have made it even harder." She thought about her own freshman year, and wasn't sure which was worse: being ignored, or being taunted.

Tara draped her arm more securely over Willow, as if trying to anchor herself in the present. "It was the third worst moment of my life."

"What was second?" Willow queried, knowing that the first had to have been the death of Tara's mother.

"The night you told me you were giving Oz another chance."

"Oh yeah...That pretty much redefined 'sucks' in my book," Willow said ruefully. "Tara, you don't have to tell me any more about it if you don't want to."

"Actually, there isn't that much more to tell...Jo and I were best friends; we did everything together. And after awhile, I found that I wanted us to Do Everything together: capital D, capital E. I dreamt about her, I couldn't concentrate in class. I was a total neurotic freak."

"And did she crush in return?"

"I think so; at least at first. We'd sit as close to each other as we could at lunch-time, and she was always inviting me to stay over at her house."

"Did she ever stay at yours?" Again, she felt Tara's body tighten, almost imperceptibly.

"I didn't really ask. Dad wasn't too keen on outsiders, and I wasn't too keen on having anybody-especially somebody I was crushing on-get to know my household up close and personal. Anyway," she continued, shifting the subject, "we spent every spare second together. We'd make up these wild stories about leaving Cold Springs and getting an apartment together-all sorts of crazy stuff that of course pales besides the crazy stuff that I actually live through now." She laughed, shaking her head slightly.

"And did any of these stories ever involve dating? Getting married, and not to each other?"

"Curiously enough, they didn't. No, boys never really made it onscreen in our little dramas. It was always just the two of us, braving the wild world beyond our one-horse town."

"I think it's safe to say Miss Jo had a little thing for Miss Tara," Willow pronounced with an emphatic nod. "Did anything ever happen?"

"No." Tara's voice grew quiet once more, and Willow strained to hear her clearly. "I got up the nerve to write her a note...That was nothing new, we were always writing notes back and forth; but this was a different kind of note. It was about as close to saying 'I love you' as you can get without actually saying it."

Willow wanted desperately to look Tara in the eyes as she recounted the tale, but was afraid of shifting at all, lest Tara stop talking. She settled for kissing her forehead and rubbing her cheek along her hairline.

"I basically told her that I liked her more than I had ever liked anybody, and that I wanted us to be together as much as we could, for as long as we could. God, I agonized over that note...It was only five sentences, but you'd have thought I was writing 'War and Peace,' the way I deliberated over every word. I went through at least ten sheets of paper before I got it the way I wanted it. And I knew it was a love letter, even if I didn't tell myself that. But I knew enough to burn the false-starts, and to try to sneak it into her locker when nobody was looking."

"Why didn't you just give it to her?"

"Oh, didn't I wish I'd done that later...But I was afraid, because I knew it was a different letter than I'd ever given her. I was afraid of seeing her face, afraid of her looking disgusted or freaked out."

"Even though you're pretty sure she had feelings for you, too?"

"Feelings are one thing, Will. Fessing up, when you're fourteen? And in a place like that? Trust me-Sunnydale may be the Hellmouth, but Cold Springs is Central Station on the homophobia subway system." She trailed off; Willow could feel her reliving that day. Again, she fought the urge to speak.

After a moment, Tara resumed the narrative. Willow listened with a growing ache, knowing how it ended.

"I thought I was in the clear, but there was a group of girls that had just left and one of them had forgotten her notebook. Jo's locker was near the end of the hall; when they turned the corner, they were practically standing on me. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights...Cathy grabbed the note right out of my hand-I mean, I was pretty much a social outcast, so they must have guessed it was a slaughter in the making. They read it out loud. And then they shared it with pretty much everybody." She sighed deeply.

"Oh God, Baby...I'm so sorry. Why are people so mean? How could anybody want to hurt you?"

"They didn't really have any idea who I was, Will. I was just some shy, dorky kid who read all the time and had all of one friend. And after that, I didn't even have her."

"She split, huh?"

"If you take the average time needed to split and cut that in half, you've got it. She wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't take my phone calls, wouldn't even look at me in school. Oh, and she started wearing enough make-up to make Tammy Faye Baker look like an Amish grandmother. She went from tomboy to ultra-femme in about one day."

"Did you two ever talk after that?"

"Nope. I tried, one last time, on graduation day. I think ours was a couple of weeks after yours; I remember hearing about the explosion down there in the big city...Anyway, I went up to her and I think all I managed to get out of my mouth was 'Jo, listen' and she just blinked, turned around, and walked off. I think it was the blink that got me, and don't even ask me to explain that."

"Actually, I sorta get it." Willow contented herself for the moment with stroking Tara's back and kissing her cheek and forehead.

Tara sighed. "And that, my love, is the story of my first crush, and the incredible crash and burn that became of it."

After a brief pause, Willow asked, "You know what I think?"

"That Jodi Foster needs to come out and be done with it?"

"Well, yes. And I also think that you were surrounded by far too many poopy-heads in your childhood and adolescence."

"'Poopy-heads'? Is that a clinical term, Dr. Freud?"

"Oh yes. I reserve it for the most challenging of cases. Anyway, I think that the number of poopy-heads in your life to date has been disproportionately large, relative to the average American female of your age."

"So what do we do about this? Is there some kind of poopy-head-quarters where I register a complaint?"

"No, we simply make sure that for the next twenty years you have disproportionately fewer poopy-heads in your life."

Tara laughed, a slow, rolling laugh that seemed to come from deep inside of her. "And how exactly do we do that?"

Willow thought for a moment. "I hereby submit myself for consideration of Poopy-head Detection Duty, or Ph.D...D." Tara sat up and looked at her, eyes arching. "That's right-I'll make sure that no poopy-heads make it within a one-mile radius of your personal space. How about that?"

"Where do I sign?'

"It's actually not so much a signature thing as a kissing thing. You need to kiss me, big and hard, right on the lips. And use your tongue if you really mean it."

Tara laughed again, and leaned over Willow, her hair tumbling about both their faces like a curtain. She kissed Willow to convey her agreement, and apparently she meant it quite a lot.

*****

Part 5

She answered the phone on the first ring, her voice as ingratiating as ever.

"Hey Beth, it's Donnie. How's life down there in the small town?"

"I was wondering when you'd call, Donnie. Are you having any luck with Tara?"

"Not just yet, but I'm a long way from done. How's the old man?"

"Donnie-how would Uncle Nathan feel if he could hear you? He's your father." Cousin Beth's tone was filled with moral displeasure, which he found very enjoyable.

"Aw, lighten up. I don't mean anything by it. How's he doing?"

"Well, to be honest, he still isn't saying very much. I think Tara's behavior hurt him awfully bad, Donnie." She exhaled sharply. "It just makes me so angry to think about it."

"Don't get your panties all bunched up, Beth," Donnie laughed. "It's not good for your circulation."

"You can just watch your mouth with me, too, Donnie. I don't need any lessons in self-control from you, of all people."

"Fine, whatever. I didn't call to get a Sunday School lesson. Listen, is Daddy around?"

"No, you know he's always milking at this time. Like you would be, if you were here to help," she added.

He ignored her implied reproach. "Good, I thought so. Listen, Beth, I need you to do me a favor."

He could almost see her ears pricking up, her nose quivering like a rat who had caught the scent of something foul nearby.

"Favor? What kind of favor?"

"I need you to get some stuff of Daddy's, without him knowing it."

He might as well have said that he needed her to steal the big cedar cross from off of the front lawn of the Cold Springs Baptist Church.

"Donnie, you have to be pulling my leg. You want me to steal something from Uncle Nathan? After all he's been through, you want me to go nosing around and just take something of his?" Her voice was climbing steadily with the force of her righteous indignation.

"In the first place, Beth, it's not stealing. We'll put everything back. And in the second place, don't get all high and mighty with me about nosin' around. If I know you like I think I do, you've already made yourself pretty comfortable with our house and everything in it." He smiled into the silence, enjoying the image of her choking on her own mortification.

Finally, she managed to splutter, "If you're trying to suggest that I'd steal anything from your father, all I can say is-"

"I ain't sayin' you'd steal anything. I'm just sayin' that you like to know what's goin' on, and I imagine you've strolled through the house more'n once, takin' a look at whatever you can see."

There was another brief silence, and then she sullenly replied, "Anything I do, it's because I feel so bad for your father. And for you, too," she added in a wheedling tone.

"I know, Beth. I'm sorry I teased you about it. I know Daddy's grateful for everything you're doing." A little soft-soaping couldn't hurt anything, he reckoned.

"Really?" The eagerness in her voice was as transparent as her dye job.

"Really. He told me so." He paused for just a moment to let her snatch that morsel off of the floor. "And I'm not tryin' to put you in a tough position, Beth. I just need some help from that end and I figure you're the one I can count on."

"Well you know I'd do anything to help, Donnie, but taking something private of Uncle Nathan's, without his permission...It just doesn't feel right."

"Beth, you and me both know that Daddy's never been exactly clear-headed where Tara's concerned." He could almost see her eyes narrowing with resentful agreement. "I'm just afraid if I ask him to give me the stuff directly, he'd get all uptight and torn-up about it. And hasn't he been through enough?"

"You don't need to tell me about how much your daddy's hurtin', Donnie. Tara's the one that needs to understand that."

"So you'll help me?" He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. Beth was like a fish that bit quickly but didn't necessarily take the whole bait. She was wary, in her own way, and he needed to play the line carefully.

"I don't know, Donnie...I mean, do you think it's even a good idea for Tara to come back? Really? I can't imagine that she'd fit in anymore; not that she ever really did."

I get it now. You like bein' the woman of the house.

"You got a good point, Beth. Tara's never been a real Maclay, not like you. And I ain't just sayin' that," he interjected quickly. "I mean it. But it's just not right that she left like that, and then talkin' that way to Daddy the other night...She needs to face the music for what she did, whether she ends up stayin' or not. I just think it would mean a lot to Daddy if we could work together and at least get her to come home and apologize."

He held his tongue then, and waited for her to take the bait before he tried to reel her in at all.

"Well...I mean, if you really think it would help Uncle Nathan." He could hear the last lingering hesitation in her voice.

"I do, Beth. And I need your help. I can't do it without you.." He tugged the line, just slightly.

"OK. Tell me what you need."

"Thanks, Beth; I mean it. And I'm sorry about teasin' you earlier. I guess I'm just a little worked up, thinkin' about all of this."

"Well, I can certainly understand why." They were both playing the part of gracious allies now.

"You're good to help us out like this. Now-the stuff I'm talkin' about is in a lock box in Daddy's press."

"Lock box? But what good will it do you if you can't get into it?"

"Don't worry about it," he replied. "It's not a real tricky one." Especially since he'd had a duplicate key made down at Winton's Hardware Store after he'd seen where his daddy stashed the original.

There was a brief pause, and then Beth acquiesced to the version of reality that he encouraged her to hold. "So it's in his closet?"

"Yeah, up on the top shelf. It's all the way over to the right, tucked in behind some flannel shirts. You'll probably have to stand on a footstool to reach it," he added, thinking of Beth's stature.

"But how do I get it to you?"

"That's easy, at least for you. I'll drive down there this afternoon."

"But if you're coming all the way back home-"

"I'm not. I don't want Daddy knowin' about any of this, not just yet. I'll meet you at the IGA and you can give it to me. You still got your mom's car, right?"

"Yes. And I need to do some grocery shopping anyway, so that'll work out fine."

"Good. I really appreciate this, Beth."

"Donnie..." She hesitated, but he knew what was coming. "What's in the box?"

He could hear her curiosity slithering all over her. He smiled, and held out for the dramatic pause.

"Now if I told you that, it would ruin the ending, wouldn't it?"

*****

That afternoon, Willow and Tara walked to the Magic Box to do some research and gather some spell necessities. Willow was paying for the ingredients, much to Anya's pecuniary delight.

"I know we live in a capitalist society, Baby; it just seems to me that things needed to fight the forces of evil should be free. God, I can't even declare them on my taxes!" Willow was waxing indignant.

"I can't really argue with you, Sweetie. Seems like adding insult to injury that we pay six cents on the dollar for aiding the cause of good."

"Exactly. Things like magickal ingredients-when those ingredients serve integral roles in averting the apocalypse-should be gratis. As should tampons," she added, in what, to the untrained ear, would almost certainly be a jarring non sequiteur.

"Willow, did you call upon the forces of Tampax for some great conflict before I met you? And if you did, do I really want to hear about it?"

Willow nodded somberly. "It was the bloodiest of battles..."

"Oh goddess, please stop," Tara groaned.

"No, it's just a matter of principle. We have no choice but to use feminine protection products, and frankly, I think they should be subsidized by the government."

Yanking on the shop door, to the accompaniment of the increasingly-wearisome bell overhead, Tara could only shrug. "Gets my vote. You write the bill and we'll see about sponsorship."

"I think we can rule out Strom Thurmond," Willow grumbled.

They had only been working for a few minutes when the bell jangled again. They looked up to see Buffy and Giles enter. Any of their usual greetings were abandoned when they saw the look in the Slayer's eyes. Without speaking, Buffy headed back to the training room, slamming the door behind her.

Willow looked up questioningly at Giles. The Watcher sighed, then pushed a chair back from the table and sank into it heavily. "We've learned something...about the Key," he managed, his voice weary.

"Giles, what is it?" Willow was quickly becoming frantic. She hated to see Buffy hurting like this. She knew that her best friend could handle any physical challenge, but her heart was far more delicate than anyone else seemed to realize. And Mrs. Summers had been sick so much of the time lately, with those headaches that no one could figure out...Buffy was already coping with far more than she should have to, and now it looked as if something else had been dropped onto her shoulders-uncaringly, remorselessly.

"Actually, Willow, at the risk of sounding melodramatic or secretive, I really do think this should come from Buffy, whenever she's able to talk about it."

"Did something happen to Dawn?" Tara broke in, eyes clouding with dread.

To their immense surprise, Giles gave a dry, mirthless laugh. "How very odd you should mention that..." Then he shook his head, and looked at them squarely. "No, Dawn is quite safe, I can assure you of that."

The three of them looked up as Buffy walked back into the room. Willow caught the look that passed between Slayer and Watcher; it seemed to her that Giles was giving Buffy silent permission to handle this moment entirely as she saw fit.

"Buffy, are you OK? Do you want to sit down?" Willow was desperately trying to think of something that she could do, however minute, to help her best friend.

"No, Will-I think I need to be standing for this. In fact," she broke off, with a brittle laugh, "I may just need to interrupt this discussion to beat the hell out of something."

Willow started to speak again, but fell silent at the feel of Tara's hand falling gently on her thigh. She would follow Tara's lead here. Tara knew her way around the scary dungeons of psychological terrors far better than she did.

Buffy paced for a few seconds-short, staccato steps in which every footfall seemed to sound her outrage-and then turned abruptly and leaned over the table, planting her palms on the dark wooden surface.

"Giles and I have just learned that...We've just learned that the Key..." She took a deep, shuddering breath, closing her eyes briefly, and then gazed at them and spoke with the voice of someone much, much older. "We've just learned that Dawn is the Key."

*****

Was she really sixteen? Was she really that close to getting away from Cold Springs, and her father? Was she really that close to leaving Donnie behind for good?

She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to stand up straight. "Honey, you're so beautiful...Why do you slouch over like that, and hide behind your hair? Let everybody get a look at you, Bright Eyes." Her mother was always encouraging her to show more of herself, but everything within her, it seemed, screamed at her to present as small a target as possible.

Time was rolling forward; there was no denying it. Even if the days sometimes seemed to last an eternity, like they had right after she'd been caught trying to press the note into Jo's locker. She never even looks at me. She must think I'm disgusting. She thought back over the past few months, and the spiraling isolation that had followed her ill-fated love letter. Does Jo ever miss me? Does she ever miss the jokes we used to make, the ones that nobody else would ever think were funny? Does she miss sitting beside me on the bus, and leaning over so that we made our own private universe? She tried not to think about Jo too much; when she did, her stomach hurt in a way she'd never felt before...like somebody had poked a white-hot fist right through her skin and grabbed her belly tight, squeezing it till she couldn't breathe. Mostly, she just tried to get through each day at school, focusing on her studies and reading by herself at lunch time. People still called her "lezzy," but she'd gotten used to that and besides, they didn't do it all the time anymore.

For years, it seemed, she'd been trying to hurry time along, nudging it and pushing it and urging it to pick up its pace. Now, for the first time that she could remember, she wanted it to slow down.

Because her mother was sick.

Because her mother wasn't going to get better.

She knew it, even if her mother didn't come right out and say so. "You never know, Bright Eyes. The things they can do nowadays..." And then she'd leave the sentence unfinished, because her mother could do so many things, and do them so well, but she couldn't lie, at least not to her beloved daughter.

Why had it taken them so long to figure it out? Her mother always had energy to spare, but then she'd started getting tired almost as soon as she got out of bed. And her face, which had always seemed to glow with some inner light, even in the dead of winter, became wan, and pallid, and dark circles appeared under her eyes seemingly overnight. When her mother had come into her room that night three weeks ago, closing the door softly behind her and coming over to sit on her bed, Tara had had to fight the urge to run out of the room before her mother had even started talking.

It's bad. She's sick, and it's really bad.

"Sweetie, you know I haven't been feelin' exactly myself for awhile, right?" Tara could only nod, the fingers of her right hand inching out to clutch more and more bedspread into her grasp while her left hand held onto her mother's and tried to memorize the feel of the worn, work-roughened skin.

"Well, I went to see Dr. Bradley last week, and he wanted to run a few tests..."

Stop talking, Mom. Stop talking right now, and we can pretend we never even started this conversation. But you have to stop talking now.

"The tests came back today, Honey , and... and it's not good." Stop talking, Mom. Please Mama. Please stop talking.

"It looks like I have cancer, Bright Eyes."

And then Tara knew that it was too late, that her mother had uttered the words and the words had made it all real. And she thought, dimly, that her eyes were bright, they had to be, because everything was shimmering, including her mother; she was twinkling and shining and glittering through the prism of tears that made everything so horribly bright.

*****

"Donnie, you know I haven't been feelin' well, right?"

He paused, and then gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I hadn't really noticed."

His mother sat silently for a moment. Had he hurt her feelings? Was she sad?

"Well, I know you've been busy helping out all over the farm. You know, your daddy tells me all the time how much h-help you are." This last part was said almost hopefully.

He gave her what he hoped was his most bored, annoyed look. He'd been working on it for nineteen years; he figured he was pretty good at it. "So what's up?"

He saw her take a deep breath that seemed to catch somewhere halfway up her throat. "Well, I w-went to the doctor, and he wanted to run some tests, so w-we did, and-"

"God, Mom, you sound just like Tara," he snorted. "Can't the two of you ever just spit stuff out?"

And he wished, immediately, that he hadn't said such a thing. Not because it was hurtful; he liked that part. But because of the look his mother was giving him now, the one that told him how she really felt, no matter how nice she tried to be. Her eyes were all narrow, like a cat catching sight of a very small mouse and trying to decide whether to bother with it or not. But she wasn't that detached, he knew, because she had those two stark brushes of red, one on each cheek; hot, red swaths that looked like the back of his legs right after Daddy hit him with the belt. Daddy scared him with his belts, but his Mama could scare him with those eyes, like she was doing right now. And the only person he hated for it more than her was himself. She never hit him, never even looked like she came close to raising her hand...but she scared him worse than his daddy did.

"I don't know what you got eatin' at you inside, Donald. I've done my best to figure it out and it looks like I never will. Because here's what's eatin' me, Donnie-I got cancer, and I got it bad, and odds are I won't make it to your next birthday. So if you get to thinkin' that maybe you'd like to let me in on something, I suggest you not wait until you're done with the corn plantin', Son, because it'll be just a little too late by then." She stood and walked over to his door. Looking back over her shoulder, holding his gaze so tight that it never crossed his mind to look away, she said, "I love you, Donnie. I always have, and I always will. And I'd just as soon not die with things like this between us. But it looks like that'll have to be your decision." And then she left, pulling the door shut softly behind her.

He sat unmoving in his dark, spare room for what seemed like another nineteen years. She was dying. His mama was dying. Just like he'd thought, when she kept getting sicker and sicker; the way her own mama had died ten years ago. She was going to go away and leave him alone.

And leave Tara alone.

He tried to figure out exactly what he felt, but he was very rusty at such things and none of the answers that came to his mind seemed to fit quite right.

*****

Buzzing back to Sunnydale after his clandestine exchange with Cousin Beth in the IGA parking lot, Donnie mulled over his choices. He liked the element of surprise, but he also wanted to draw things out so he could enjoy them more. Such things had always been a struggle for him. Even when they were kids, Tara always rationed out her Halloween candy so that she'd have some the next week. Him? He just plowed through it, sometimes barely tasting one thing because he was already thinking about what to eat next. Then again, it hadn't really mattered because he knew that he'd just end up taking Tara's stash, no matter where she tried to hide it.

When would she realize that she could never hide from him? She couldn't hide herself, she couldn't hide what she was afraid of, she couldn't hide what she found precious. He always found everything. He always would.

*****

"Buffy, what are you talking about? Dawn's the Key? That's impossible! The Key's older than the written word, and Dawnie's all of fifteen! There must be some mistake, something in the translation, or maybe this is a trick to mess with your mind; you know Glory specializes in that..." Willow trailed off hopefully. Even as she was speaking, though, she knew that there had been no mistake. Buffy would have looked from every angle, through every lens, twenty times over in hopes that it was a mistake. No one could want this to be wrong more than Buffy, and if she was telling them this in such despairingly declarative fashion, it must be true.

Tara, she noticed, hadn't voiced any such vehement denial. She was looking at Buffy with infinite compassion, and Willow knew then that Tara had already begun working out the implications of this news while her own brain was still trying frenetically to make it not so.

"How did you find out?" Tara was asking gently.

"A monk, at the factory where I met up with Glory. He told me..." She stopped, shuddering slightly. Willow could see that she was reliving the exchange. "He told me that his order had been in charge of protecting the Key, keeping it out of Glory's possession. They finally figured that the safest way to do that was to change her into human form and send her to me. They knew I'd protect her with my life."

Tara brought her hand up gently and rested it on Buffy's. Willow had noticed that Buffy seemed to accept gestures of kindness and compassion more readily from Tara than from those friends that she had known for years. Willow would have expected that she would feel some tweaking of jealousy about this, but oddly enough, she didn't. Tara could cut to the emotional chase, it seemed, in ways that never left Buffy feeling weak or pitied.

Willow struggled to make sense of the incomprehensible. "But what about all of our memories? I mean, I taught Dawn to play chess three years ago, Buffy-way before Glory ever came on the scene. We all went to the Ice Capades the first year you were in Sunnydale. And God, all of the times you complained about having a younger sister-" She stopped abruptly, catching the look on Buffy's face.

"Yeah. All of those times I complained about Dawn...Having to baby-sit her, having to drag her places, having to share my stuff with her...I've been resenting the hell out of her for stuff she never even did; stuff she couldn't have done because-because she wasn't around to do it." She gave a brittle laugh and dropped her head into her hands.

Giles had been watching all of this quietly from the shadows behind the table. Finally he spoke up.

"The monks took the energy of the Key and made it human, and then they delivered it to the one person they knew could and would protect it. In the process, they also gave all of us memories of Dawn. Each of us have believed, completely, that Dawn has been with Buffy's family since Buffy was four."

Willow looked up sharply. "Buffy's family? So Joyce believes it, too? Joyce thinks she gave birth to Dawn, the whole nine yards?"

Buffy looked at her steadily. "Everyone who would ever have had reason to come into contact with Dawn believes that they have come into contact with Dawn. They'd pass a polygraph test with flying colors."

"Oh God, Buffy-what are we going to do?" The first-person plural came out without a moment's conscious thought on Willow's part. Family was defined differently in the land of the Scoobies, and had now expanded to include mystical balls of energy.

"Dawn doesn't know, right?" Tara asked anxiously. "I mean, you're the only one who can really decide what to do, but..." Willow could see that she was torn between wanting to support Buffy in whatever decision she made and wanting to protect Dawn from unnecessary pain.

"No, you're right. She doesn't know, at least not yet. I figured it would help if I had some grip on the situation first, before we decide what, if anything, to tell her. I mean, it's her life, so part of me feels like she has more right than any of us to know about this; on the other hand, it's my job as the Slayer-" She broke off suddenly, and then her eyes narrowed slightly. "It's my job as her sister to protect her. So we gotta figure out how to do that." She looked up questioningly. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, Buffy, it does." Willow smiled, determined to marshal those thousand stray thoughts into some semblance of a working herd. The work here was to help figure out how to protect Dawn, not deal with her own blown fuses. "So...what about your mom?"

Buffy sighed heavily. "That's a tough one. I mean, Mom completely believes that Dawn's her daughter...God, Dawn is her daughter in every way that means anything. So it seems like I should definitely tell her. But then I think, what good would that do? Especially with Mom being sick so much of the time lately. I mean, that seems like the last thing she needs. And I don't want Dawn picking up on folks acting differently around her." She stopped, and looked up anxiously. "Do you guys think you can pull this off? Not let on to Dawn that anything's up until I'm ready to tell her?"

"Buffy, I managed to convince Dad that I was straight before I left home," Tara promptly replied. Then she frowned slightly. "At least I think I did. Anyway, we'll be the epitome of normal where Dawn's concerned."

"Well, at least Willow can be normal," Buffy said with a wry, tired smile.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Willow asked, feeling indignation wash up over her on behalf of Tara, who was looking at Buffy in hurt surprise.

"What Tara said-where Dawn's concerned. You're normal to her, Willow. Tara...Tara is currently the sun, moon, and two-thirds of the stars."

"So you've noticed it too, huh?" Willow asked triumphantly, looking at Tara with what she knew to be a look of supreme vindication.

"I suspect that anyone with even the slightest powers of perception would have noticed it," Giles confirmed dryly.

"Well excuse me for being in the blue reading group instead of the red group where this is concerned," Tara said in what, for her, approximated a huff.

"Or anyone not so preternaturally modest as to find it incomprehensible that anyone would have a crush on her," Giles added pointedly.

"So anyway, Willow and I will both act the way we always act around her," Tara said, blushing. "What about your mom?"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Xander and Anya were peering in owlishly. Giles went to let them in.

A few minutes later, the carpenter and the ex-demon sat silently, trying to digest the new information.

"But Dawn...Well, she's had a crush on me for the longest time," Xander pointed out. "I remember how she always used to blush and stammer whenever I was around."

"That's how Willow knew I had it bad for her," Tara said wryly. Xander seemed to have no reply for this except to blush and stammer himself, trying to eject some kind of reasonable apology from the loud, twin-engine plane of his mouth. Willow spared him.

"That's old news that never was news, Xander. First of all, we all have lots of memories of Dawn, including Dawn herself, but apparently they were all planted by the monks. Secondly, in case you haven't noticed, Dawn has moved on to bigger fish. As it were," she added, catching sight of Tara's arched eyebrow.

"We were just trying to figure out what to tell Mrs. Summers, if anything," Tara said, in a not-terribly-subtle attempt to steer the conversation away from Dawn's crush on her.

"But if Joyce believes she's Dawn's birth mother, won't this just upset her?" Anya asked reasonably.

"That's what I keep thinking," Buffy replied. Willow noticed that no one mentioned the statistical improbability of Buffy agreeing with anything Anya said. "But then I think, doesn't she deserve to know? I mean, who am I to keep this kind of news away from her?" She was pacing again, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"But what difference would it really make, Buff?" Xander was looking at her intently. "I mean, if you tell her, it'll get her upset but she won't be able to do anything about how she feels. She'll just be, y'know, stuck with it. She's not the Slayer; she can't actually beat Glory. She'd just have to sit on the sidelines and pull like hell for the home-team. It's a tough spot to be in." Willow realized that he could speak from personal experience more than anyone else in the room.

"But is that the point?" Buffy countered. "There's the principle of the matter. A part of me feels like Mom just should know. Forget about all of this mystical energy hoo-ha-it involves her baby."

"The question before us really seems to be: do we opt for the functional thesis of morality or the idealized abstract?" Giles mused.

"And he just said...?" Xander whispered to Willow.

"Different kinds of good; what kind we choose?"

"Thanks."

Buffy had slumped back down in her chair. "I just don't know..." She looked up sadly. "You don't know how much I debated whether to even tell you guys or not." She held up a hand to forestall their protests. "Think about it. Now that you know this, you're all in danger."

Tara looked up, startled. "Are you saying that being involved with all of you could lead to some kind of violence or fighting?" She turned to Willow and glared. "You never told me this. You said you all got together and made flower arrangements, and sometimes exchanged ideas on classical literature." Looking back at Buffy, she smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but this wasn't at all what I signed up for. Do you know if there's a sewing club in these parts?"

Willow grinned hugely. She loved seeing Tara's Snidely Whiplash side come out. "Tara's right, Buffy, in a really sarcastic kinda way that none of you are used to seeing. If we wanted to be snug in our beds when the scary part starts, we'd have taken up bocce."

Anya shifted beside her. "You never saw the kind of bocce tournaments I saw back in 17th-century Italy," she muttered, nudging Xander. "They made modern soccer tournaments look like Bingo night at the rest home."

Xander looked at her unimpressed. "You've never seen the kind of Bingo nights at the rest home that I've seen. My grandmother's place, they make bocce look-"

"Yes, I'm sure someone here has a gripping tale of sharply-worded retorts at Quaker prayer meetings and the blood-lust that ensued," Giles sighed, "but let's get back to the issue of Dawn as the Key."

Tara looked back at Buffy and gave her a gentle smile. "What we're saying, Buffy, is that we all know the deal. You're the Slayer, but we're all part of something larger, and we all chose at some point to get involved with that."

Buffy returned her gaze. "When you fell in love with Willow and then found out about all of this, did you ever think about backing out? Or asking Willow to back out?"

Willow suddenly felt as if everyone else had disappeared, that only the three of them were left in the dimly-lit room, sitting around this old, round table.

Tara's response was immediate, and she linked her fingers more tightly with Willow's as she spoke. "Not for an instant. I would have opted for a life with Willow anywhere, under any circumstance. Everything that she is, I join myself to." Willow felt her throat tighten in a not-unpleasant way. "And no," Tara continued, "I never thought of asking Willow to stop fighting with you, or even cut back at all. It's part of who she is. And I see now that it's part of who I am. I was supposed to meet Willow, and be with her; and I was supposed to be a part of this fight. I wouldn't change a moment of it." Then, unexpectedly, she laughed--a low, delightful sound. "Well, I might trade in that moment when I was banging on that door in your building and one of the Gentlemen opened it holding a fresh heart. I'm not sure that that really contributed to my development in any singular fashion." Willow wasn't sure, but she thought she saw tears in Buffy's eyes.

"What she said," Xander piped up. At Anya's glare, he added, "Except the part about being with Willow. And personally, I'd like to swap that whole bug-eating incident with Dracula."

"And I'm supposed to be with Tara, and I'm supposed to be a part of this fight," Willow said proudly. "And for my trade-in, I'm offering up watching the Mayor's head split open and seeing a big lizard rip out of him."

"Well, I don't know that I'm supposed to be involved in some epic fight," Anya began, to no one's surprise. "But I do know that I could quit if I wanted to, and I don't, so that must mean something. Although I do wish I'd get paid," she added wistfully.

"Anything you'd like to offer up on the pile of denial?" Willow asked, feeling uncharacteristically warm toward the ex-demon.

"Oh, no-I've loved every minute of it," Anya enthused. "All the blood, all the entrails, all the indefinable fluids and smells...It's been a good life..." She looked off and nodded nostalgically, as if reliving one of the more cut-throat Bingo nights in her own personal rest home.

They all sat quietly for a moment, mulling over thoughts of battles fought and impending, and silently reaffirming the rightness of their decisions and destinies.

Finally, Buffy stirred. "Well, I still have to decide what to do about Mom. And Dawn," she added. "But her I feel more OK about, at least for right now." Looking up, she met each of their eyes in turn. "Thank you. All of you. I can't imagine what my life would be like without you." And then she smiled almost as if embarrassed, and pushed back her chair away from the table. As the others followed suit and moved toward the door, Buffy put her hand tentatively on Tara's arm. Willow heard her ask softly, "Can I talk to you?" Catching Willow's eye, she added, "Both of you. Can I walk you part of the way home?"

As they moved out into the chill night air, Buffy seemed to struggle for words. "Listen, Tara, I don't know quite how to ask you this, but...but I thought you'd have some pretty helpful thoughts on the subject."

Part of Willow wanted to tease Buffy about possibly switching teams, but suspected that this wasn't the night. She heard Tara ask softly, "What is it? You can ask me anything."

As if gathering her resolve, Buffy took a deep breath and stopped, turning to face Tara squarely. "Tara, I know that your mother died of cancer. I'm-God, I'm so sorry for bringing this up out of the blue-"

"Buffy, please don't apologize. It's actually harder for me when it seems like everyone's so willing to pretend she never existed. I...I actually like any chance to talk about her."

How does she do that? How does she always know just what to say, even about things that hurt her?

"I get that; I mean, I can see where I'd feel the same way. It's just that...Well, what I want to ask about actually involves her being sick."

"So ask. It's OK, really." Tara was still looking at her patiently.

"It's just, trying to decide what to do about telling Mom, especially now that she's feeling so bad. I mean, I'm not trying to say that my mom is going through anything nearly as hard as your mother went through; God, I can't even imagine-"

"You want to know what I would have done if I'd learned something really big after my mom got sick. You want to know if I would have told her." Tara's voice was soft in the darkness; Willow could barely see the profile of her face.

"Yes. And Tara, if it's too hard to think about, or if this seems like an unfair question, I'm so sorry. But...But I just wanted to hear your opinion," she trailed off weakly.

Tara reached out and took one of Buffy's hands. "I don't think it's an unfair question at all. God, Buffy, you've just heard the kind of news that no one should ever have to hear, and you're trying so hard to be good to everyone. You love your mother so much; how could I not want to help you?" Willow heard the slight catch in Tara's voice as she said this last part.

Tara continued. "Buffy, no one can tell you what to do, and anyone who thinks they know what you should do...well, that person is a Poopy-head." She favored Willow with a quick grin.

"Well, thanks, Tara; but I really need to ask that you try to watch your language, at least around Dawn. She's so impressionable where you're concerned."

Ignoring this, Tara continued. "And I can't pretend to know exactly what you're going through. But you asked what I'd do: I wouldn't tell her. Not yet. I think Xander made a really good point earlier: your mom would want to do something to protect Dawn, and she can't. Of all the amazing things your mother can do, this isn't one of them. You can do it, with our help. But it would be so hard on your mom to feel helpless about one of her children. I think it's good that you're not being all presumption-girl, assuming you know what's best and that you have the right to play gate-keeper with all the important stuff. But you just learned this yourself; you're still dealing with the shock of it all. Maybe it will be right to tell her later, but for right now, give her this time. Give yourself this time, Buffy."

Willow watched as Buffy nodded slowly, and then suddenly pulled Tara into her arms, hugging her fiercely. Over Tara's shoulder, Buffy asked Willow, "Anybody ever tell you your girlfriend's pretty much the greatest thing since espresso?"

"Yeah-Dawn. Pretty much every day, in pretty much every way," Willow replied with a faux scowl. "Don't make me beat up your sister, OK?"

Buffy gave what appeared to be her truest smile of the night. "I dunno, Will...the girl's a ball of energy, in more ways than one, it appears. She might just take you." And then she gave Willow a quick hug before heading off to her own house and her own precious family.

Willow turned to face Tara and took her face gently into her hands. "You know that you're the wisest of any of us, right? I know everything about computers and science, and Buffy has all this slayer power, and Xander...Well, anyway-you're the one with actual wisdom, Tara Maclay."

The heat under her fingers told her that her girlfriend was blushing. Feeling a different kind of heat--delicious, twisting--within her own skin, she added, "And wise chicks turn me on like nothing else."

She felt Tara's mouth twist into a smile. "So why are we walking?" And so saying, she grabbed Willow's hand and pulled her into a swinging, giggling lope toward their room.

*****

Continued...