Author Notes: See Part 1.
Feedback: Even more sure! Bring it on!
"I talked to my Aunt Beverly this afternoon," she informed Willow as soon as her beloved had entered her room.
"Without me?" Tara could see the mild hurt that crossed Willow's face, and tried to keep her guilt at bay. She beckoned Willow over to the bed to join her.
"I didn't mean to go all Lone Wolf or anything, Sweetie," she replied, stroking Willow's face gently. "It was more like getting a sudden burst of courage and worrying that if I didn't seize the moment, it wouldn't come again." She watched Willow nod reluctantly, and knew that her partner still felt somewhat left out.
"Willow, I really wasn't trying to exclude you, or do this when I knew you weren't around," she insisted. "I just had this need to do this all of a sudden and I didn't want to wait. I felt like I couldn't wait." She scanned Willow's face anxiously. "Do you understand?"
Finally, Willow relented. "Yeah, I get it." Then she kissed Tara softly, and her expression became one of concern. "Baby, are you OK? What did you ask her? What did you find out? Can I fire some more questions at you until you're completely overwhelmed?"
Tara laughed, and realized how good it felt to draw breath so deeply. "Yeah, Sweetie, I'm OK; or at least, more OK than not. I just asked her about Mom today. She told me what Mom was like, and how much she liked her, and especially how much Dad-I mean, Nathan-absolutely adored her."
"God, that must have been so intense," Willow murmured. "So she has no idea? About Quinn?"
"I don't think so," Tara replied slowly, rolling over onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "If she did, she was hiding it pretty well…Of course, I get why she'd hide it, if she assumes I don't know." She shook her head. "What a soap opera-does she know, and if she does, does she know I know?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah, you never really saw this kind of stuff on 'The Waltons.'"
"Did you know that Grandpa was gay?" Tara asked abruptly, turning back toward Willow. "I mean, Will Geer, the actor-he was gay."
"Seriously? Wow…I guess they weren't really gonna do much with that, though," she mused. "I mean, can you see Grandpa Walton putting the moves on Ike Godsey?"
"No, I really can't, and to be honest, I'd prefer not to. How'd we end up here, anyway?" Tara asked, confusion in her eyes.
"Uh…oh, the Waltons, and their relative stability."
"Right-not to be confused with the Maclays, and their relative Gothic drama."
"You said 'today,'" Willow noted suddenly. "A few minutes ago, before our little detour, you said that you asked her 'today' about your mother. You're going to talk to her again?"
"Yeah-I sort of hit 'Overload' during this conversation, so I asked if I could call her again soon. She was great about it."
"Did you like what you heard?" Willow asked gently, tucking an errant lock of hair behind Tara's ear.
Tara thought back over everything her aunt had told her-the warmth, the kindness, the natural entertainer who apparently had a sizable repertoire of dirty jokes…And the love…the obvious love that Julia Maclay had for her daughter; that Nathan Maclay had for his wife…The love that Donnie received primarily as a function of parental duty, perhaps…
"Some parts yes, some parts no," she answered simply. "There's just so much involved; so many relationships."
"I wish we could go see her," Willow mused, taking Tara's hand and kissing it softly.
"Funny you should mention that," Tara replied, and told Willow of her aunt's offer.
"Tara, you should go! And I could buy my own ticket." Willow back-pedaled quickly. "I mean, if you want me to go-I'd understand if you wanted to go alone. Well, I wouldn't totally understand, 'cuz I'd definitely want you there with me if the situation were reversed, but that probably sounds all love-one-upmanship or something, like there's something wrong if you don't feel what I'd feel. I mean, I wanna go with you, Tara, but I'll support whatever you want to do; I just-"
"Will, Sweetie-breathe, before your face matches your hair. In the first place, I'd definitely want you to come with me. In the second place, it's a moot point, because neither of us can go anywhere with Glory on the loose." She smiled affectionately at the relief that flashed across Willow's face with her confirmation.
"Are you sure, Baby? Like your aunt said-even for a long weekend?"
"I'm sure. Willow, there's just too much for us to do right now. Goddess willing, my aunt will be in Dallas for a long time, provided we manage to stop the merging of universes."
"You know, there's a sentence I bet you wouldn't have imagined saying a year ago," Willow mused. They lay in silence for a few moments, and then Willow asked, "So do you think she's gay?"
Tara shrugged. "I'm not sure. We didn't really get into her life. I think I'm going to come out to her the next time we talk; this time, I was pretty much zeroed in on family of the biological variety."
"Makes sense," Willow replied, her earlier insecurity seemingly appeased.
"Anyway, she didn't say anything to suggest one thing or the other," Tara said.
"Did she sound gay?" Willow asked after a moment.
"What do you mean, sound gay?" Tara replied, perplexed. "What exactly does a gay person sound like?"
"I don't know," Willow replied, her face suggesting that she was beginning to see the rather odd nature of her question. "Just-you know…gay-ish." She trailed off helplessly.
Tara just peered at her. "Well, her voice sounded clear, so I'm pretty sure she wasn't going down on anybody at the time," she finally replied, keeping her face neutral.
"Tara Maclay!" Willow yelped. "Such spicy talk, from such an angelic creature!"
"She looked like an angel, with that blond hair and those blue eyes and that innocent face, but she also knew some jokes that would make a sailor blush..."
"I come by it naturally," was all that Tara gave as a response.
*****
How many times have we sat here, like this? How many more times will we be here in the future, all of us, safe for at least the time being? Willow had such thoughts occasionally, though she tried mightily to keep such mental sojourns brief.
They were gathered at Giles' for another update, though it wasn't clear how much new information there was to be shared. In Willow's opinion, Giles looked only marginally better than he had four days ago, when she had last seen him. He had managed to provide cookies and various representatives of the cola world, however, and his apartment had been given at least a cursory cleaning. Tara and Willow sat on the couch with Buffy, while Dawn was perched on its arm. Xander and Anya sat across from them in chairs while Giles, as was his wont, paced the floor.
Leaning over, Xander caught Willow's eye and nodded toward Tara. "You gonna eat that?" he asked.
Choking on her Diet Coke, she stared at him dumbly for a brief moment until she realized that he was actually indicating the sole remaining Oreo on the plate she shared with Tara-which now sat in front of her partner.
"Not at this precise moment," she managed, earning a bewildered look from her friend.
"And you've received no further message from Glory?" Giles was asking Buffy. "No warning of any kind?"
"Nope. She made her one special delivery and then went back into hiding-wherever it is exactly that a god hides," Buffy added, her brow furrowed. "I mean, that's the thing-she knows where I am, but I have no idea where she hangs her horns or her pitchfork or whatever accoutrements she's partial to."
"It's certainly frustrating," Giles acknowledged, "but at least she doesn't know that Dawn's the Key."
"She doesn't know it yet," Anya corrected him, "but she certainly will by the time we're through."
The group turned to her as a single body. Buffy's voice won out over the others.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her face flushing. "Have you lost whatever trace of humanity you've picked up in the last two years?"
Anya recoiled from the force of the Slayer's outrage, her face etched with shock. "Of course not," she protested angrily. "I'm saying that if we're not careful with what we say and where we say it, Glory's going to find out from us. Even though it's the last thing any of us want," she added, her gaze lingering significantly on Buffy.
"But we're hardly carrying on these conversations at the Espresso Pump," Giles replied slowly. "I certainly appreciate your discretion, Anya, and let me just pause for a moment to grasp the sheer improbability of ever saying such a thing to you." He shook his head quickly. "I'm sure, however, that we're perfectly safe here."
"How do you know?" she persisted. "I was just reading this great mystery from Debra J. Skippet-you'd enjoy her; she likes women as well," the ex-demon commented, in an aside to Willow and Tara. "Anyway, her latest book is called 'The Lady Drove a Pick-Up,' and in it, the main character realizes that her house is being bugged by this guy who's trying to frame her for murder. And if a mortal can do it, heaven knows-no pun intended-that a god can do it."
"She's got a point," Willow said, less reluctantly than she might have a few months ago. "Glory does know that Buffy's involved somehow-wouldn't she want to keep a close eye on her, and probably a close ear as well?"
The Watcher nodded slowly. After a moment, Buffy did likewise, looking at Anya apologetically. "Sorry about the detonation," she said quietly.
Anya seemed taken aback at the words. "No problem," she finally replied, an awkward smile emerging on her face.
Buffy spoke more decisively. "Well, she hasn't figured it out yet, but let's not take the chance." She turned to her sister. "What we need is an alias for you. Any ideas?" she asked, looking around the group.
"Well, we could go with-whaddyacallem-anti-hyms," Xander suggested. "Something like 'Sunset.'"
"In the first place, Xander, they're antonyms," Giles sighed. "And in the second, it would hardly require the mind of a god to solve that riddle."
"Hey, how about your favorite character from your favorite Christmas special?" Buffy asked suddenly. "Cindy Lou Who?"
"But I'm way more than two," Dawn protested. "I'm like, a million and fifteen."
"Yeah, she's way too cute for you anyway," Buffy grumbled.
"How about 'Sela'?" Willow asked, tactfully ignoring Dawn as she glared at her sister. "I read that name recently. It's really classy and kinda serene."
"We should probably avoid gender-specific names," Tara countered reluctantly. "I was gonna suggest 'Antigone,' because I love that play, but-"
"'Antigone'?" Dawn scoffed. "Pretentious much?"
"Picky much?" Buffy countered. "It's an alias, not a life partner."
"Well you may be happy to go through life with a name like 'Buffy,' but I'm going to pick something appropriate… Stylish, yet tasteful."
"And after we select your name, we'll hit the boutiques to find just the right pair of shoes to accessorize it," Giles sighed. "Might we focus on the task at hand? Tara is right-we should choose a name which conveys as little information as possible."
"And what kind of name is 'Buffy,' anyway?" Dawn continued to grumble. "I mean, what names did Mom and Dad reject before they settled on that winner? Muffy? Blossom? Besides I still don't see why I can't just choose my own name. I mean, it's not like I'd pick something obvious or stupid. I think I wanna be-"
"Pita," Buffy said abruptly, staring at her sister.
"You want to name me after a pocket bread?" Dawn looked incredulous. "Why not just call me 'Kaiser,' or 'Multi-Grain'?"
"Not the bread; the acronym," Buffy corrected her. "PITA: Pain In The Ass."
"You are so not going to call me "Pain in the Ass," Dawn practically howled.
"We won't," Buffy replied. "We'll call you 'PITA.'" She looked around. "What do you guys think?"
"But there's Peta Wilson, the total babe who starred in 'La Femme Nikita,'" Tara noted, registering one second too late Willow's expression. "Who has completely let herself go and now looks just awful," she hastened to amend. "I think she has leprosy, in fact."
"Uh-huh," Willow muttered, not remotely appeased.
"Anyway, we can't use a name that would get someone else killed," Tara continued, obviously eager to move away from this particular appellation.
"Do we have to use a name at all?" Xander asked. "Why not just say 'the Key'?"
"That may well be the safest option," Giles concurred. Silence ensued, as everyone grappled with the fact that Giles had, in the space of a few minutes, commended Anya on her discretion and Xander on his prudence.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Buffy commented after everyone had regained their equilibrium. "Less chance of a slip-up that way, or accidentally putting someone else in danger."
"I'm on board with that," Willow weighed in, after her Full Pout Moment had passed. "Seems like the main thing isn't just keeping Dawn's name out of the conversation, it's also talking about the entire subject as if it involved someone or something outside of our immediate circle."
"We'll have to be circumspect," Giles warned them.
Willow saw Xander's horrified expression. "Not circumcised, Xander-circumspect. It won't be painful." Though he clearly didn't understand the word, he sat back in obvious relief.
"Are we agreed then?" Giles inquired, glancing around the room.
"Can I still get the neat shoes?" Dawn asked. At her sister's expression, she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest . "Fine. No shoes."
"Sorry…PITA," Buffy offered after a moment.
"No problem…Muffy."
"And so now, albeit sadly, we return to the subject of Glory," Giles said with a small sigh of exasperation. "Though she hasn't made contact with any of us, she's still very much a part of Sunnydale. The incidence of psychotic episodes among individuals with no psychiatric history has actually increased, which suggests that it does in fact weaken her to be on this plane in her current form."
Willow noticed Tara practically shrink back into the couch. Looking at her with concern, she mouthed the words, "Baby? You OK?"
Speaking to the entire group, Tara blurted, "If she comes close to me, she'll have to kill me. I won't let her take my mind."
A stunned silence fell over her friends. Her lover, though, asked incredulously, "Tara, are you serious? You'd rather be dead than psychotic?"
"I've had my mind used and abused enough in my life," Tara replied simply, barely meeting Willow's gaze. Then she grew visibly uncomfortable with the attention directed at her. "Anyway, it's not like we have to sign up for one or the other," she added, trying unsuccessfully to smile.
Willow, though, was agitated at what she had just heard. We'll definitely talk about this later…
"Is there any kind of pattern to her victims?" Buffy asked, looking back at Giles.
"None that we can discern," he noted reluctantly. "It seems to be a matter of…well, convenience. Thus far, no one appears to have been selected for any reason other than his or her availability."
"So if she's taking more people's minds than she did when she first arrived," Willow mused, turning her attention back to the subject at hand, "maybe that means there's a limited window of opportunity. I mean, maybe she needs to get-to get the Key within a certain time frame, or she goes too wonky or whatever to actually use it."
"That would be about the first piece of good news we've heard in awhile," Buffy commented, shaking her head.
"If that's true, though," Giles countered, "we can expect her to step up her efforts to find-the Key.
"Which means we basically play keep-away," Xander pointed out, "instead of having to go on the offense."
Buffy seemed to ponder this with considerable ambivalence, Willow noticed. "What's the matter, Buffy? Wouldn't that be easier?"
"Probably," Buffy acknowledged slowly. "But nerve-wracking, in a whole different way. I mean, I'm used to meeting the bad guys head-on, not holing up and just hoping the monster goes away." She looked at Dawn helplessly. "It's hard to do nothing."
Dawn considered this for a moment, and then slowly replied, "But we know that the Key is ancient and probably incredibly wise, too." At her sister's bemused expression, she continued, "I'm just saying that I suspect the Key would recommend the option that seems least likely to get people hurt-including you, Oh Mighty, Ass-Kicking Slayer." Willow thought she could hear a slight tremble in Dawn's voice. "I mean, the Key has probably seen far too much death and destruction in its existence. It wouldn't want us to go out and deliberately seek more of it."
The room fell very quiet again, until Buffy finally replied, "You're probably right, Dawn. I guess I can learn to cool my jets in the interest of prudence and deliberation." She managed a wry grin for her sister. "We shouldn't underestimate the wisdom of the Key, I suppose."
"That path leads only to ruin," Dawn solemnly intoned.
"I'll keep that in mind…PITA."
"Good idea, Muffy."
Turning back to the group, Buffy said, "So we keep a low profile and wait for Our Lady of Clairol to make a move. Sound like a plan?" An echo of confirmations greeted this question.
"I'd also suggest we all make every effort to avoid being alone if at all possible, certainly in any location that carries heightened vulnerability," Giles added, his voice heavy with warning.
"I'm thinkin' a hell god can make just about any location pretty vulnerable," Xander commented. "But color me on board, Watcher Man: Anya and I will make sure that we're always together."
"That'll be new and different," Willow heard Dawn mutter.
"Ooh-I definitely like this plan better than some of the other ones you guys have dreamed up," Anya enthused. "Breaking into the Initiative? Taunting the Mayor with the same knife you stabbed Faith with? This is much wiser."
"Except that both of those examples ended with us winning," Willow pointed out, suspecting that Buffy had thought the same thing. "Giles, is there any way to get some more intell on Glory? Anything about her past, how the other two hell gods teamed up to kick her skanky ass onto our plane?"
Giles shrugged apologetically. "I'm certainly poring over every tome and reference we have on both Glory and hell gods in general. At present, though, I've exhausted every resource I can think of."
You're so tired, Willow thought suddenly, looking at Giles with fresh compassion. The only reason you can focus on any of this is because it involves saving Joyce's daughter.
The meeting broke up shortly after this exchange. As they headed back to Tara's dorm, Willow asked, "Baby? You OK? That whole brain-drain discussion left you pretty freaked, it seemed."
At the words, Tara wrapped her arms tightly about herself, squeezing as close to Willow as walking permitted. She was quiet for several seconds before responding. When she did, her voice was barely audible.
"I meant it, Willow. I'd rather have that bitch kill me than rip my mind out of my body, leave me a hollow shell like those people at the hospital."
Willow stared at her, unable to believe that she was hearing such a flat avowal of death before disability from her beloved. "But Tara, you don't know that those people won't recover. This all started so recently; for all we know, it's a temporary condition."
Tara stopped and wheeled to face her. "They won't recover, Will. She takes their minds and feeds on them. There won't be any 'spontaneous recovery' for this. They'll lay there, empty and alone and babbling incoherently and people will have to feed them and change their clothes and bathe them. Nobody knows what horror show is running in their brains, Willow-nobody knows what they hallucinate about or who chases them in their nightmares." She shuddered, a quick, spasmodic twitch, and then stared at Willow intently. "I mean it, Willow-if she comes for me, I'll fight until she has to kill me and she won't be able to take my mind. And please don't try to 'reason' with me about this, OK?"
Willow could find no words, and Tara clearly didn't want to hear the ones she would have hoped to find. She only nodded slowly, and then finally managed to breathe, "We won't let it happen, Baby…not to any of us. She won't get any of us, OK?" She eased her arm back around Tara's shoulders and they resumed their trip home, each deep within her own thoughts.
When they reached Tara's dorm, it was only 7:30, yet Willow realized that she was exhausted. Me and my damn need to fight for humanity's survival… With a groan, she remembered the chemistry exam she had yet to study for. All of her books were at Tara's anyway, but the last thing she felt like doing was cramming for a test.
Maybe if Glory figures out Dawn's the Key and corners us all, I can stall by firing questions about the chemical composition of the Hell Mouth…
Or maybe I can't.
As they trudged up the stairs to Tara's second-floor room, the exhaustion seeming to hit both of them simultaneously, Willow saw a tall figure pacing slowly in front of the door, its back to them. Glancing quickly at Tara, Willow saw that her partner was as taken aback by the idea of a visitor as Willow herself was.
As the figure reached the end of its self-imposed circuit and turned back, Willow could see that it was a woman.
Glory? Here? Her fingers tightened reflexively around Tara's. They stopped, unsure of what they should do.
The woman stepped toward them hesitantly, giving no indication of any intent to harm them.
"Tara?" The voice was tentative.
If this is Glory, she's gotta go through me.
Tara, though, had taken a small step forward. Willow looked first at her and then back to the figure just a few feet away.
"Tara, is that you?" Willow struggled to place the accent.
Tara's voice was low and incredulous. "I don't believe this…"
The older woman laughed, and her voice sounded warm in Willow's ears. "Well, sweetie, to coin a phrase-if the niece can't come to Dallas, take Dallas to the niece."
*****
Part 22
Taking in the tall, angular features of the woman standing before her, Tara suddenly felt a wave of homesickness sweep over her, so forceful that it left her momentarily dizzy.
But what home am I missing? The one I wish I'd had? The one populated with people who really belonged there? Because now, looking at her aunt, Tara felt sure somehow that this woman was one of those people.
"Tara, Sweetie-it's so good to see you," Beverly was saying as she walked toward her, and then Tara was wrapped up in strong arms, hardly bothering to blink back the tears as she returned the embrace with a fierceness that almost surprised her.
They stood there like that for several seconds, Tara lost in a surreal world in which the present gave reluctant shape to whispers and glances and half-told stories from decades past.
You knew my mother. You met her when she was a teenager. You watched her walk down the aisle in her wedding dress. You listened to her tell stories. You knew her. And again, nearly as sharp as when it had first punched its fist into her heart, grief ripped through her and threatened to swallow her where she stood.
Finally, as if by mutual accord, they pulled apart, but held on to each other's hands. Beverly was crying, too, and Tara wondered about the secret compartments of her aunt's own grief. Then she remembered Willow, and turned to find her beloved standing awkwardly off to the side, smiling politely.
She thinks she's intruding. Doesn't she know that any home I have begins with her?
"Willow, Sweetie, c'mere," she managed, holding out her hand. So I guess I just came out to Aunt Beverly.
Willow hesitated, as if giving Tara a chance to reconsider, and then stepped forward and linked her fingers with Tara's.
"Aunt Bev, this is my partner, Willow Rosenberg. Willow, this is my aunt, Beverly Maclay."
When Beverly smiled, Tara noticed that she had the same crooked grin that she herself had. It surprised her-she had always believed that she took exclusively after her mother's side of the family. But the Maclays made up half of her heritage as well, even if that heritage was of a different source than she had believed two weeks ago.
"It's very nice to meet you, Willow," Beverly said warmly, shaking Willow's hand. "Sorry about the hall-way crying jag."
"Oh, no problem," Willow quickly reassured her. "I do some of my best emoting in public places." Then she grinned hopefully, if with a little discomfiture, as if realizing that not everyone spoke like that.
But Beverly only laughed, absently brushing away her tears. "That's good to know. Next time I'm in the mall and have a sudden urge to weep, I'll give you a call."
Yes-these two women are part of my family.
"Aunt Bev, come on in," Tara finally said, wiping her own face with her sleeve. She keyed into her room and was relieved to remember that she had at least picked up some of the random mess of papers and books that usually littered her living space.
"God-you definitely keep a cleaner house than I did when I was in college," Beverly commented. "Cleaner than I still do, to be honest." She gave Tara a wry grin.
Tara saw that Willow was standing uncertainly a few feet within the room, as if unsure whether to proceed further. She looked at Tara, a question in her eyes. Tara answered the question with a slight nod of her head, and Willow now moved decisively to her side.
"Please, have a seat," Tara beckoned her aunt, who seemed grateful to sink into the papasan chair. "How long have you been waiting, anyway?" she asked, as she and Willow plunked themselves on the bed.
Beverly gave a quick glance at her watch. "About two hours, give or take," she replied, quickly forestalling Tara's apology. "You had no idea I would be here, Tara. I didn't even know if you were coming home tonight." She said this last piece with no apparent self-consciousness or judgment. "I'm just glad you did. It's been a long time since I slept in a hallway, and that was only because I passed out." She grinned easily.
"Can I get you anything?" Tara asked, hoping her aunt would decline because she had virtually nothing in the tiny dorm fridge. Demon fighting tended to make such matters as grocery shopping a catch-as-catch-can affair.
"No thanks," her aunt duly replied. "I had a Coke from the machine earlier." Sitting up a little bit, she continued, "Tara, I know you must be shocked to find me here. I'm really sorry if I'm guilty of presumption or assumption or any other conduct unbecoming. But when we talked on the phone, I could just tell that something was up. And I've been wanting to talk to you anyway, so when you called, I guess part of me just thought that it was a sign." She shrugged. "If I'm wrong, God knows it won't be the first time, and I can just head back home." She smiled, somewhat uncertainly.
Where in the goddess's name do I begin? "So, Aunt Bev-did you know Mom slept with Quinn? Did you know I'm his daughter? Did Dad-and by 'Dad' I mean Nathan-ever talk about having demon in him? Oh-and you are a big dyke too? 'Cause I am." Quickly scanning the mental menu, she decided to stall just a bit.
"But how did you manage it so quickly? I mean, the ticket price alone must have been incredible."
"Well, teachers don't have the greatest salary in the world, true, but I also sell heroin." She smiled benignly at their stricken faces. "OK, so that last part is something of a stretch in the sense of being completely untrue. The fact is, I have beaucoup de Frequent Flyer miles racked up and more sick days than you can shake a stick at." She paused, giving them both a quizzical look. "Where in the world did that saying come from, anyway? Who shakes sticks for any reason? Did early Cro Magnon people say, 'Hey-let's shake these sticks for good luck on the hunt'?"
Oh my God-she's not just related to me, she's related to Willow, too. And that makes Willow and me related. And I need to stop thinking about this.
She met Beverly's amused glance, and realized that her aunt was trying to set her at ease. "I guess what I'm saying, Tara, is that this seemed important enough to make things like money and work take a back seat, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. I definitely know." Tara gave her a philosophical smile.
"I also realize that this little visit is completely out of the blue, and that you may have about fifty thousand other things that you want or need to do," her aunt continued. "Believe me, I won't be wounded if you decide this isn't a good time. But if you do need me, I'm here." She looked at Tara gently. "You just seemed so…confused, or lost, when we spoke."
Tara sat quietly for a few seconds, gradually becoming aware of something missing; an absence that she didn't like. Frowning, she realized that she wasn't touching Willow.
She needed to be touching Willow.
She reached out and slid her fingers through Willow's, giving her partner a reassuring squeeze and receiving much-needed grounding in return. Glancing up, she saw Beverly looking at her intently, patiently.
When Willow spoke, the sudden breaking of the silence caught them all a little off-guard. "Listen, Tara, if you want to speak with your aunt by yourself…"
"No." The word was out of Tara's mouth before Willow could even finish her sentence. She looked at her aunt, gradually reorienting herself as she held tight to Willow's hand. "Aunt Bev, Willow's been through everything with me, all the upheavals in the family." She paused, drawing a deep breath. "She's my partner, and I don't know what I'd do without her. I…I want her to stay." She looked at Willow, who was gazing at her with that look of utter adoration, the one that said, "I would walk through Hell for you." Turning back to her aunt, she added simply, "Without her, nothing makes much sense."
Beverly just smiled in return. "I get that. If our situations were reversed, I'd definitely want Tanya with me."
Tara stole a quick glance at Willow. "That sounded pretty gay, didn't it?" she wanted to ask her partner. Instead, she turned to Beverly. "So you're on the bus, too, huh?"
"Yep. Bisexual, to be exact. But pretty much bat-shit crazy for Tanya…Have been for over five years now.
"Bat-shit crazy," Tara echoed, shaking her head. "Now there's an endearment you don't see on a lot of Hallmark cards."
"Well, it's not the sort of declaration that a girl just tosses around lightly," her aunt concurred, laughing. "Although you appear to be of comparable bat-shit psychosis," she added, arching one eyebrow significantly.
"Oh, we're definitely with the bat-shit," Willow replied enthusiastically. "If it's the fecal output of a nocturnal flying mammal, we're all about it."
I live in a universe most people only dream of.
"Does Nathan know?" Beverly asked, bringing the lightness of the moment to an abrupt halt.
She didn't say "your dad." Does she know?
"Funny you should mention that," she replied, glancing at Willow, who gave her a sad smile. "We took an impromptu road trip to Cold Springs a couple of weeks ago, to clear up a few things." Nice understatement, Tara… "I came out to him then."
"Wow," Beverly replied, shaking her head. "How'd he take it?"
"Let's just say he won't be Grand Marshall at the LA Pride March any time soon," Tara said. "But to tell you the truth, that was sort of the least dramatic revelation of the trip."
"My God, Tara-what happened? What has you so thrown?" Beverly's face was creased with anxiety.
Tara took another deep breath, wondering where and how she could begin this conversation.
"Aunt Bev, there's just been a lot of stuff in the family for a few years, and it's kind of reaching a crescendo right about now." She paused, unsure how to continue.
"Well, that's the kind of specificity you normally find only on 'The X-Files,'" her aunt commented dryly after a moment. "Stuff's happening, and it just peaked. OK, that clears everything up."
Tara looked at her aunt, feeling equal parts desperate to confide and afraid of divulging material that wasn't hers to share.
"I just need to know a little more about my mother," she finally managed. "And about-about my dad, too." How's that for double meanings? She felt Willow's gentle squeeze of her fingers.
Her aunt looked at her intently for several seconds, and then nodded. "OK-how can I help? What can I tell you about? I mean, is there anything specific you're wondering about?"
Well, for starters, when do you think Mom and your other brother started noticing each other? But that question would require a slightly more sophisticated means of inquiry.
"Did Mom…did she seem happy?" Tara finally asked.
Beverly cocked her head inquisitively. "And you know, of course, that I'm dying to know why you're asking this. Notice, of course, that I'm refraining from pushing that issue."
"Duly noted," Tara acknowledged, giving her aunt a small grin.
"Did Julia seem happy…You know, it seemed to come and go. I mean, everybody has ups and downs; I'm trying to remember stretches of time when her mood seemed one way or another." She bit her lower lip-another shared habit, Tara noted. "I guess she seemed happy at first; I mean, after she and Nathan first got married."
"Were you surprised that she married him?" Tara asked suddenly.
"Again, please note my admirable restraint as to learning your motivation…Well, I guess I was, at least a little bit."
"Why?" Tara could almost feel her mind working backward through the years, casting its eye on impressions and reactions first formulated long before her own conception.
"Because Nathan was so reserved, and Julia seemed so full of life," Beverly answered readily. "Don't get me wrong-it's not like Nathan was a robot or autistic or anything. He was just always shy; he had an easier time doing things than talking about them. But once he met Julia-he was like a different man. He came home after meeting her for the first time-I was about seven at the time-and he'd brought all of us milkshakes from the local dairy. He even got my favorite flavor-bittersweet mint."
Tara felt her heart constrict at the image of her father-of Nathan-being so taken with her mother from their first meeting that he had wanted to share his good fortune with his little sister.
"Keep in mind, Tara, I was just a kid," Beverly was saying. "I mean, I was only fourteen when you were born, and I left Cold Springs right after graduation. So it's not like I have perfect recall or that I was a mature, fully-developed reporter of family affairs."
What incredibly unfortunate phrasing… But it wasn't Beverly's fault. Tara suspected that her aunt had no idea of that liaison, and its outcome; that is, her.
"No, no-I get it," Tara said, realizing that Beverly was staring at her curiously. "I-I was just thinking; trying to see it through your eyes."
"Well, in my eyes, Julia McKinnon was about the greatest thing to hit my little world since I first saw Buddy on 'Family.' I mean, she was funny; she actually took an interest in me; and she made my brother happier than I'd ever seen him. To me, she was the County Fair, Dairy Queen, and softball all rolled into one."
Hazarding a guess, Tara ventured, "Crush much?"
"Crush intensely, before I even realized what a crush was. I guess, to be honest, it turned into a crush when I hit adolescence, but from the moment I met her, I thought she was special. And she was," she added simply, shrugging.
OK, so it appears that all of the Maclay brood fell for my mother. She must have had such a shine to her…
"So, back to the happiness question," Beverly continued. "I guess they had their rough spots, like all couples do. But I know that when Julia got pregnant-" Here she stopped abruptly, looking at Tara uncertainly. "Tara, Sweetie, I'm a little unsure where to go here…I mean, I don't know how much you know about the early days of your parents' marriage." Her eyes narrowed in hesitation.
"I know that Mom and Dad lost a baby to miscarriage," Tara said. "And I know they both believed it was a little boy."
Beverly nodded sadly. "And that seemed to change things. I don't know that they ever got back on track, not completely. Even after you and Donnie were born." She leaned forward suddenly, her eyes intense. "But Tara, I meant what I said on the phone-your mother loved you like crazy. No matter how things were going between her and Nathan, she adored you."
Tara could feel the tears welling up. Will I ever watch this movie and not cry?
"I know she did, Aunt Bev," she said simply. "I never had a moment's doubt about that."
The room was silent for several moments, each woman lost in her own inner reflections. Finally, Tara squared her shoulders.
"OK, new topic," she announced decisively. "Let's go with 'Nathan's Family History' for 200, Alex." She saw her aunt grinning at her accommodatingly. "What can you tell me about your mom's first marriage?"
Beverly blinked, and for one awful moment Tara feared that her aunt hadn't known about this little tidbit. But then Beverly shook her head and grinned once more. "You're not much for transition sentences, are you?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. "Well, let's see…Mom didn't talk much about him. I know that Nathan was ten when she left his dad and moved to Cold Springs. She married my dad-your Grandpa Frank-less than a year after that." She rolled her eyes slightly. "Mom was not of the self-reliant variety. Anyway, the only thing she ever said about her first husband was that he hadn't turned out to be the man she thought he was. I asked her about him a few times, but she so clearly didn't want to talk about it that I didn't push the issue."
"Do you know if he ever tried to contact her, or…or Dad?" Tara asked quietly.
"Not that I know of," Beverly replied. "But considering how close-mouthed she was about him, she never would have talked about it even if he had."
Tara sat quietly for a moment, and then a somewhat surprising question came to her. "How did your dad and my dad get along? I mean, were they close, or did it seem like there was tension?"
Beverly laughed, but Tara could see her aunt's own grief rushing into her eyes. "You know, I don't think it was possible to have tension with Dad. He was just about the most laid-back, easy-going person I've ever known. And yes, I'm probably guilty of deifying him a little bit, but only a little bit. I used to wonder how he and Mom ever got together. God knows she was just one big bundle of nerves."
Tara tried to remember her grandfather, who had died when she seven. Pictures of warm brown eyes, a shock of white hair, and a near-perpetual smile flitted through her mind. He was kind, she realized suddenly. Her grand-father-and he had been her grand-father, both biologically and emotionally-had been a kind man.
"I remember being sad when he died," Tara offered her aunt, who was rubbing her hand across her forehead as if trying to dam up her tears.
"I remember being devastated when he died," her aunt replied. "And angry...Both at God, or whoever was in charge of this 3-Ring circus, and at him."
"Why him?" Tara asked, dimly recalling her grandfather's sudden fall in the house, the broken hip, the quick decline.
"Because if he hadn't been drinking, he probably wouldn't have taken that header down the basement stairs and busted himself up," Beverly replied, sighing. Peering closely at Tara, she added, "You know he was an alcoholic, right? No, apparently you didn't…" Her grin was mirthless. "Oh, yeah…Dad was just about the most wonderful father you could ask for, and he had a disease that took him away from us way before his time." She turned to look out the window, as if watching a home-movie playing upon its panes. "He fought it, so hard, so many times. On the wagon, then off again. Mom just called it the 'demon rum,' as if he were possessed or something." She apparently missed the combined quick intake of breath from both Tara and Willow. "I don't think she was much help; mostly, I think she made him feel guilty. But he joined AA, and he tried so hard. After Mom died, I thought it would either send him back to the bottle or clean him up once and for all. He fought it for a long time, but at the end he started drinking again. He swore it was just a little bit, that he could handle it, but everybody knew that was bullshit. And one night he was apparently having 'just a little bit,' and decided that he just had to have something from the basement-who knows what he was going down there for-and he fell. And then he died," she finished, looking back at them with tired eyes. "Any chance we can move to a different category, Tara?"
Glancing at Willow, Tara could see tears in her partner's eyes. She realized that her own family, with all its twists and turns and tragedies, held a different kind of horror than Willow's demon-fighting had prepared her for.
"Sure, Aunt Bev…God, I'm just so sorry," she added in a rush. "I had no idea."
"That's OK, Sweetie. Alcoholism runs in our family. It took Dad, and it took Quinn."
Heart pounding, Tara felt Willow's fingers stroke gently over her own. Struggling to find her voice, she asked, "And what was he like? Quinn?" As she registered her galloping pulse, she found it difficult to believe that Beverly couldn't see her shirt rise and fall with the force.
"Quinn? Oh, God, lemme see…" In the brief silence that followed, Tara felt as if she were being stretched into two lives. The first was the life she had always known, in which Quinn was simply her uncle who had gone away under unfortunate circumstances when she was younger. The second was the life of the man who was actually her biological father; the man who had apparently fallen in love with his brother's wife and fathered a child with her.
She's about to talk about my father.
"Well, Quinn was a lot like his father. Both of them were jokers; both of them loved a good laugh more than anything besides a good drink. And Quinn could charm your socks off, too. He had more women chasing him than he knew what to do with."
Don't fall apart, Tara. No matter what comes out of her mouth, don't fall apart. As she fought to steady herself, she heard Willow asking, "So how did he settle on Margaret?"
And now Beverly's eye roll was nothing short of profound. "Oh, dear Lord, Margaret…Talk about someone with a complicated relationship with God." Beverly sat back in her chair, shaking her head. "Well, he and Margaret had apparently consummated their relationship before the good Reverend Timmons had given them full Baptist blessing."
"From whence sprang Beth," Willow ventured.
"From whence sprang Beth," Beverly concurred. "I would bet my eye teeth that Quinn had enjoyed many a woman's favors before, but he'd been smart enough to use protection. But suddenly, Margaret had a bun in the oven and Quinn had played the part of the baker. So they were married without much in the way of glad tidings. Still, though, they made it work, at least for a few years," she mused.
Finally trusting herself to speak, Tara asked, "Do you know why he left them? Why he ran off and left his wife and daughter?" Two daughters?
Beverly looked at her sadly. "No I don't, Tara. I wish I did. I was gone by that time, although we did keep in touch, at least a little bit."
"He had named you as his next of kin," Tara said dully.
"Nathan told you that, did he? Yeah-I got a call one night from a hospital ER in Tulsa, saying that he had been admitted with bleeding in his stomach. He died before I could get there, but he'd left a note saying he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread over any patch of honeysuckle I could find."
"The honeysuckle's blooming, Mama. I'll make sure there's always a bunch in your room."
Tara thought she might pass out.
"Tara, Baby, are you OK?" Willow's voice seemed to come from a great distance. Tara reached out to that voice with her mind, pulling herself back to the reality that held the owner of that voice. Because any reality with Willow in it was a reality she could survive.
"Tara, what's wrong?" Beverly's own voice was filled with confusion. Tara realized that Beverly would have no idea why she was so devastated by news of her uncle's death.
"It's just-it's just a lot to take in," she managed, gratefully accepting the glass of water that Willow had secured for her.
"We don't have to talk about all of this at once," Beverly offered. "I can tell that something's got you completely shaken, Tara, and you don't have to tell me what it is. But I don't want to overload the system completely."
Too late, Tara thought dimly, and found the response mildly amusing.
"Yeah, that-that might be a good idea," she muttered, trying to summon a reasonable facsimile of a smile with which to reassure her aunt.
"Of course. It seems like it might be a good idea to have some time with Willow, let her help you sift through all of this. I'm staying at the Sunnydale Ramada." She held out a hand-written scrap of paper with the hotel's phone number and her own room number.
Tara and Willow walked her the short distance to the door. Catching Tara's eye, Willow observed, "Um, not to seem like a great big sissy trapped in a little dyke's body, but it is dark out, Beverly. Will you be OK?"
Beverly smiled at the concern. "I'm parked in a well-lit spot, Willow, but thanks for the cautionary note. I'll be careful. Anything jumps out at me, I'll just emote until it goes away." She turned and pulled Tara into a tight embrace. "Good night, Sweetie. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Holding onto her father's sister an extra moment, Tara whispered, "Thank you, Aunt Bev. More than I can say."
As she closed the door behind her aunt, Tara felt Willow's soft arms encircling her from behind. They stood there in silence for what felt like hours. Finally, she heard Willow's voice soft in her ear, asking, "Would the question 'Are you OK?' qualify as completely ridiculous?"
"Nothing you say to me could qualify as ridiculous," Tara managed, before the sobs overtook her and she could speak no more.
*****
"Baby, do you want to talk?" Forgotten was the chemistry exam. All that mattered, the only reality of import, was the gentle, bereft woman leaning against her.
"I don't think I have the energy to speak any more. I mean it, Willow-I feel like my mind are heart are just too exhausted to formulate a coherent thought, much less summon up the energy to communicate it." Tara looked up anxiously. "Is that OK? Does it feel like I'm avoiding it all?"
"God, no. I can feel your exhaustion just rolling off of you. C'mon-let's go to bed. None of this is going anywhere, much as we might want it to."
A few minutes later, as they stretched out beneath the covers and entwined themselves into one another like the petals of an intricate flower, Tara mumbled, "God, she came all the way from Texas…Just because she was worried about me."
"Well, Tara Maclay, you're an easy person to love," Willow whispered against her partner's soft hair, as much to herself as to her beloved.
*****
When Tara met Willow for mochas the next day during their one shared break, she was considerably more energized than she had been at the close of the previous evening.
"Think about it, Will…She knew my dad-both of them-when they were young. I mean, Nathan was a teenager when she was born, but she still knew him then. And she was only two years younger than Quinn, so she knew him virtually all of his life." She fell quiet for a moment, and then added softly, "All of his life, which is now over."
Willow ached for her partner. To some degree (albeit a far lesser one), she ached for everyone in the Maclay family-the boy whose mother left his father because that father was a demon, or so she said; the young man who had fallen so hard for his brother's wife, eventually abandoning his own family to drink himself to death alone in a strange city; the wife and daughter he had left behind…Some very small part of her even felt a sliver of compassion for Donnie-less loved, it would seem, by his mother and beaten by his father. What a sad, twisted legacy her beloved had been given…And how bravely she fought it.
"Are you gonna tell Beverly about your mom and Quinn?" she finally asked.
"I don't know," Tara replied slowly. "Part of me feels like it's not my information to share, you know? I mean, it doesn't just involve me."
"Seems to me it involves you as much as it does anybody else," Willow countered. More hesitantly, she added, "And Tara-two of the other people that it does involve are…they're dead."
But Tara just shook her head. "This may sound crazy, but I still feel some sense of responsibility to them, Will; especially to Mom. I know they're beyond any kind of judgment or recrimination, but…but it still doesn't feel entirely mine. At the same, I want to tell her. I think that might help it make more sense."
Willow couldn't honestly say that she completely understood. Her own experiences with death had been of the profoundly unnatural variety, little complicated with the intricacies of family secrets. Her father's parents had died before she was born; her mother's parents lived in Phoenix. She saw them perhaps once every three years. Tara's family was so tightly interwoven, so incredibly entangled in each other's lives…and yet, for all of that, so alienated and split off. The ones who did love, it appeared, either died or suffered irreparable heart-ache. Willow intended to see that Tara would be the one to break that legacy.
After a moment, she offered, "Beverly seems nice-really funny, too."
"And a card-carrying Friend of Dorothy, it would appear," Tara added with a small laugh. "How cool is that?"
"Yeah, apparently she had a crush on your mom as well. What's it like, thinking of your mom as some total hottie?"
Tara looked at her somewhat askance. "Actually, Will, I don't really think of my mom as a total hottie, you know? I mean, it's hard to put those two nouns in the same sentence."
"Still, Julia McKinnon Maclay had some major love mojo workin' for her…just like her daughter," Willow added, raising Tara's hand to her lips.
"Well, I don't think I have the numbers working for me that she did," Tara replied, shaking her head. "I mean, it's not like the masses have lined up to savor the experience that is me."
"They should," Willow countered promptly. "There should be a web site, or a board somewhere, where people could use all sorts of different colored pens-of the electronic variety, of course-devoted to the loveliness of Tara Maclay."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure somebody will get right on that," Tara replied, giving a wide and utterly artificial smile. "Meanwhile, I got my hands full with one very fascinating witch. That's all I want."
"Honestly-you do say the most charming things, Miss Maclay," Willow said demurely, giving her best imitation of a southern belle. Her best wasn't terribly good, but Willow could see that Tara found it terribly endearing.
*****
Between her Art History and Women's Studies courses, Tara phoned her aunt to see if she would like to join them for dinner. Beverly was apparently out enjoying the infinite delights of Sunnydale, so Tara simply left a message. When she got back to her dorm room later that afternoon, Beverly had left her own message, suggesting that Tara and Willow pick out a restaurant and she would pick them up at seven unless she heard differently.
"How about La Belle Maison?" Willow asked after Tara updated her on the plans.
"Sure. Just give me time to knock off the local convenience store and we should have just enough cash for appetizers." She shook her head in exasperation. "Honestly, Willow, have you ever noticed that no one in our social circle holds down a job except Xander, yet we all act as if we have money wafting into our wallets while we sleep?"
"I know, I know," Willow admitted. "OK, so how about Red Lobster? I'm sure we all love seafood."
Tara looked up at her quickly in the mirror, but Willow's expression was pure innocence. "Yeah-that sounds good…more affordable than Maison, but a step up from 'Earl's Taco Tavern.'"
True to her message, Beverly showed up promptly at seven. "Oh, God, I love seafood," she exclaimed when Tara presented their dining suggestion. Studiously avoiding Tara's eyes, Willow shrugged into her windbreaker and followed them both out the door.
Dinner was somewhat less emotional than the previous night had been-partly because they were in public, and partly because Tara had spent a considerable part of the day trying to center herself. She refused to let any news from her family of origin dislodge the sun from her own system. She had a truth now-that Life was meaningful, that she herself had worth-and she wouldn't go back to that place where everything revolved around her father's angry stillness and her brother's angry abuse.
Beverly had insisted on picking up the tab. "I remember how broke I was in college," she maintained over their arguments. "I really want to do this. And if you two insist on sharing an appetizer and calling it dinner, I'll dump shrimp shells over both your heads."
Later, as they nibbled at the cheddar biscuits and their salads, Beverly asked, "So-how you doin' today, Tara? I know last night was pretty intense."
"Better, thanks," Tara replied around a mouthful of biscuit. "I still can't believe you flew all the way here just to talk to me, Aunt Bev, but I hope you have some idea of just how much it means to me."
"Ah, well, that's the kind of debt best repaid by a return visit," her aunt nodded, giving Tara a wry grin.
"Aunt Beverly, I know I didn't give you much to go on last night; I mean, I was pretty vague with the details," Tara acknowledged.
"Are you kidding? You made Clinton sound downright explicit about Lewinsky," Beverly replied dryly. "But I figured you had your reasons."
"Yeah, well, I feel like you deserve a little more info than what I gave you," Tara said. Looking at Willow sitting beside her, Tara linked their fingers and sighed. "OK…See, the thing is-"
"Two crab-leg dinners and an Admiral's Feast."
Aunt Beverly caught her eye over the server's arm. "Yeah, crab legs always are the thing, aren't they?"
When their dinners were duly arranged before them, Tara continued. "Aunt Bev, I just found out some pretty mind-bending news." She felt Willow's fingers press reassuringly into her own. "Dad told me…" Here she drew a deep breath. "Dad told me that Mom had an affair when they were married."
Beverly's eyebrows shot upward. "Whoa…I have to say, that really surprises me. I mean, I knew they were having a rough time after the miscarriage, but still…"
"Yeah, well, it gets better," Tara attempted a weak laugh. "I was conceived in that affair."
Now Beverly put aside all pretense of eating. "Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ, Tara," she breathed. "You are kidding me!"
"Oh, and don't I wish I were," Tara replied. "No, this is pretty much the Gospel According to All Indications."
"God, Sweetie…I don't know what to say." Her aunt looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and compassion.
"OK, so remember how I said it got better? Well, get ready for the Grand Finale." Tara could feel herself trembling. For a moment, it seemed that Willow's hand on her back was the only thing that kept her from flying out of her chair with the force of her agitation.
"This is really gonna fuck with me, isn't it?" Beverly asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Yeah, probably," Tara acknowledged simply. "It turns out that Mom was having an affair with-she was having an affair with Quinn." There-she'd said it. Did she regret it?
"Quinn?" Beverly gaped incredulously. "You cannot be serious!"
Tara didn't bother to respond to the statement. She knew that Beverly's mind would wend its way, however reluctantly, to the reality of the situation on its own. After a few minutes of profoundly uncomfortable silence, Beverly let out a breath that she seemed to have been holding since Tara first spoke.
"Quinn…and Julia." Her eyes glittered suddenly under the harsh fluorescent lights. "Why am I surprised…"
"Wait, are you saying you should have guessed?" Willow asked, leaning forward.
"God, no- at least not suspected, or predicted," Beverly replied, shaking her head. "But it was obvious that Quinn and Margaret weren't happy, and God knows everybody was just drawn to Julia's spirit, and brightness. I mean, when I think about it, Quinn and Julia made a more natural couple than either of them did with the people they actually married." She shrugged helplessly. "Quinn and Julia were both basically happy people, light people, if that makes sense. Nathan and Margaret-they've always been more serious, even solemn. Neither of them were what you'd call sociable, or easy-going." She stopped, apparently still trying to rearrange the pieces in this altered puzzle she'd suddenly been handed.
Finally, she looked up, curiosity in her gaze. "Tara, how in heaven's name did all of this come out? Is there something going on? Something medical, that you needed to be told about this?"
Even in the pain of this moment, Tara was moved by her aunt's concern. "No, Aunt Bev, it's nothing like that." She hesitated, looking to Willow in silent questioning.
Do I go ahead and give the uncensored version? Willow simply shrugged, as if assuring Tara that this was her story, and Willow would support whatever Tara wanted to do with it.
"OK, let's move on to Act II of 'The Dinner of Infinite Surprises,'" Tara finally said, squaring her shoulders.
"Fine, but I want Ashley Judd playing my part in the Hollywood film version," Beverly replied promptly. At the sight of four raised eyebrows, she defended herself. "What? We could work closely together; I could help her get into my psyche."
"Not to mention your pants," Tara added, grinning in spite of herself.
"Well, there is that," her aunt grudgingly concurred. "OK, so I just thought we all needed a breather there for minute. At least, I know I did." She nodded gently to Tara. "OK, Sweetie-on to Act II."
As succinctly as possible, Tara told her aunt the story: Nathan's original lie that the women in the family carried demon in them; Tara's own belief growing up that she would manifest that demon on her twentieth birthday; the subsequent discovery that Tara carried no demon within her (she omitted many of those details, including Spike's role in debunking that myth); and the eventual revelations about Nathan's father and his own demon heritage.
Through it all, Beverly sat quietly, looking at Willow occasionally as if to ensure that they were both listening to the same narrative. When Tara finally finished, her aunt gazed at her intently. After a few moments, she asked, "So Nathan says that his biological father was-what did you call it?-a Ghirardelli demon?"
"Zhordellian," Tara corrected her.
"Uh-huh," Beverly responded slowly. "Right. And this revelation did not prompt you to have him evaluated for a possible involuntary psychiatric commitment?"
Willow and Tara exchanged quick glances. Apparently, Beverly wasn't so much for the demons; for their actual existence, to be exact.
"Well," Willow hedged, "he seemed to believe it, and that seemed to be the main thing."
"So? I believed that Virgil Wakefield down at the Baptist church was Santa Claus's younger brother because they looked so much alike, but to my knowledge, they don't exchange birthday cards." She shook her head as if unable to accept that her brother believed such a thing so deeply.
"And you, Tara," Beverly continued, "you grew up thinking you had demon in you; that your mom had demon in her. My God, that's just insane." At Tara's expression, she quickly amended, "No insane on your part, Sweetie-on his; on Nathan's. I can't believe he'd put you all through that."
"He was afraid of losing her," Tara said quietly.
"And lo and behold, lose her he did," Beverly quickly replied. "God, I feel like I wouldn't recognize Nathan right now if he were walk through those doors and show me his driver's license."
"I'm sorry, Aunt Bev," Tara offered after a moment. "I know we're talking about your brothers, and your mother here."
"Yeah, well, I can't imagine my shock comes anywhere close to what you've been going through," Beverly commented, placing her hand over Tara's. "This must be hell for you, especially the part about your mom."
Tara felt tears stinging her eyes. Dammit, I'm not going to cry in the Sunnydale Red Lobster. It felt important somehow, though she couldn't have begun to explain why.
"You're right, Aunt Bev…It's pretty much rocked my world. I mean, I always thought of my mom as this-I don't know…angel. Then I find out that she had an affair on my father, and that she took Donnie with her. Now it feels like maybe I never really knew her."
"Whoa, there." Beverly held up her hand. "I'm not saying I agree with what Julia did; not for a second. But there's about three continents and a country mile between making a mistake-even a huge mistake-and being evil." She tightened her hold on Tara's hand. "Even if there were such things as demons, Tara, your mother certainly wasn't one."
Tara was quiet, not sure how to answer either her aunt's defense of her mother or her flat denial that demons existed. Finally, she replied slowly, "But she had a choice, Aunt Beverly. Maybe…maybe a demon, or anyone who's just completely malevolent, doesn't really have a choice. Maybe it's so much a part of their nature that they're just acting on instinct. But a human-a decent, average human-who chooses to do something wrong-maybe that's worse."
"I don't know, Tara," Beverly sighed. "I certainly can't claim to be the world's leading ethicist. But before you convict your mother, keep in mind that she can't testify in her own defense."
"I know that," Tara replied, somewhat more hotly than she intended. "Nobody needs to tell me that she's gone and I can't talk to her." She felt Willow's hand raising to her cheek; dimly, she noticed that tears were splashing down over the soft fingers.
"Oh God, Tara, I'm sorry," Beverly said her voice filled with remorse. "I didn't mean to imply that you were being harsh, or that you had forgotten she's gone. You feel that more acutely than anyone else, I suspect."
"It's OK," Tara finally replied, after she had taken a sip of water, lifting the glass with a shaking hand. "I just keep thinking that if this were some story, I'd find a letter she wrote me, explaining everything and saying she's sorry."
"Yeah, it'd be nice to log onto 'www.deusexmachina.com' and order yourself a nice plot device," Beverly concurred.
"So you're saying that site isn't up and running?" Tara asked dryly.
"Server went down shortly after Tom Clancy's last novel. May never be up again."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, though no one, Tara thought, seemed especially hungry. Mindful of her aunt's generosity, however-in both spirit and money-Tara tried to make herself crack open several of the crab legs in front of her. She mulled over what had just emerged: her aunt had definitely not known about Quinn and her mother, though she had hardly been surprised that there was an attraction; and she appeared to have absolutely no belief whatsoever in demons.
Well that kind of puts a cap on how much detail I share about my life here in Sunnydale.
She decided she needed a change of subject, at least for awhile. "So, not to break the awkward silence or anything, but can you tell me about my grandmother?"
Beverly looked up, seemingly surprised by the question. Then she nodded. "Sure; that's pretty easy. Well, Adele was about as different from her husband-her second husband, at least-as you can imagine. She was wound up tighter than an 8-day clock. Always nervous; always fretting and worrying about something, whether it was the furnace or your eternal soul."
"Pretty religious, huh?" Willow queried.
"That's putting it mildly. You remember the Stephen King story, 'Carrie'?" At the combined nods of her listeners, she continued, "Well, my mom would make her mom look like someone who got kicked out of Woodstock for misbehavior."
"You're kidding," Tara protested.
"Only a little bit," her aunt relented slightly. "She really was into her church, and Bible verses, and Scriptural dictates on right and wrong. I don't know that she ever got near as much fulfillment out of the love and compassion parts as she did the hell-fire and damnation portion of the program." She looked closely at Tara. "How much do you remember of her, Sweetie?"
Tara frowned, trying to pull fragmented images into some meaningful picture. "Well, I know she died when I was five. The biggest thing I remember is that I totally had her name wrong until I was maybe ten." At Willow's questioning glance, she explained. "She was always referred to as 'Grandma Adele' to me. I guess people said her name quickly; I don't know. Anyway, in my mind, she was 'Grandma Dell' for the longest time. I think it wasn't until I saw her name written down that I realized what it actually was." She smiled at the memory.
"You know she suffered from dementia in her final years, right?" Beverly asked. "She finally went into a nursing home only a few months before she died. God knows Dad tried to take care of her himself. I'd be surprised if you had any memories of her before she lost her faculties, Tara. It was all so sad…She got really paranoid at the end, and a lot of her delusions involved-here's a big surprise-religious ideation."
Tara felt her mind falling away from the table, as if being pulled down into a tiny, empty theater, until she was watching a series of blurry pictures play out before her.
It was summer. She knew it was summer because she was wearing her blue shorts and a sleeveless red cotton top. They were eating supper, all of them…cold roast beef, and potato salad, and iced tea. The screen door banged open and then an old woman was standing in front of them, yelling and waving her arms. She was wearing a shirt-pink, with white flowers on it-but then she could see that the woman wasn't wearing any pants. She was naked from the waist down, and she knew that you weren't supposed to let strangers see you naked. The woman was yelling at her daddy-what was she saying? She was calling him 'the Devil,' and 'Satan's bastard child,' and saying she knew he wanted to kill her. Her daddy's cheeks got all red and splotchy, but her mama's hand had reached under the table to hold hers so she knew then that it would be alright eventually. And then someone else came through the door-her Grandpa Frank-and he was holding a blanket out towards the strange lady. He was crying, too, and that was almost as scary as the strange lady, because Daddy said boys didn't cry, so surely old men didn't either. Finally, her daddy and her grandpa got the woman to sit down, and they wrapped the blanket around her, and then the two grown men just looked at each other.
"Tara? Baby?" Willow's voice drew her back into her present reality. "Baby, are you OK?"
"Yeah," she finally managed weakly. "I just had this-this sudden memory of Grandma walking into our house…I must have been about four, and she just marched into our house while we were eating, and started calling my dad evil and saying he had Satan in him. She-she was only half-dressed, too," she added reluctantly, as if fearing that news of this incident would hurt her aunt.
"Yeah, I heard about that," Beverly replied. "Dad told me about it. I think that was what finally convinced him to put her in the nursing home, when he realized he couldn't keep an eye on her every second." She sighed. "Nice parting gift to her eldest, too-calling him evil."
Tara tried to envision her father sitting helpless before his delusional mother who had just walked half-naked down the country road to his house, listening to her call him the worst names he could imagine. She bit her lip against the tears. Finally, she looked at her aunt.
"You think the demon story is a crock, right?" Her aunt nodded as if this were a foregone conclusion. "So, do you think she really believed that her husband was a demon? Or that she made that story up, for God-knows-what reason?"
Beverly tilted her head to one side, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, I guess we'll never know for sure what happened that afternoon that she left him. But here's where I put my money: I think she saw him with another woman, and the only way she could let herself leave him was to say that he was a demon; that he was possessed."
"I don't follow you," Willow interjected, capturing Tara's bewilderment as well.
"Mom was nothing if not a good Christian lady," Beverly said patiently. "She was always talking about what a good Christian lady should do, and how she should behave, and one of the primary rules of conduct was that she stick by her husband. She also considered infidelity just about the worst sin you could commit. To hear her talk, it was practically worse than murder. I think that she caught him with someone else-hell, maybe it was a man, and not a woman. That would've freaked her out even more. She can't stay, but as a proper Christian wife, how can she just run off and leave her husband, and take a boy's father away from him in the process? The only possible excuse would be if he represented a greater evil than leaving your husband: being possessed by something evil; being a danger to her mortal soul. I'd guess she really believed that his behavior did reflect some kind of moral corruption of the worst kind; in other words, something demonic. Heck, she'd probably have passed a lie-detector test about it."
"And she just made up the details? Like, the name-brand of the particular demon?" Willow asked skeptically.
"That's my guess," Beverly shrugged. "But like I said, it's a guess. None of us were there that day; none of us saw what actually happened. I'm just hypothesizing, based on what I know about my mom and what seemed to make her tick. But is that the truth? I wish I knew." She looked apologetically from Tara to Willow.
It was clear that her aunt didn't believe in demons, and it was just as clear that they really did exist. Those facts didn't necessarily mean that her aunt was wrong about this particular scenario, however. What if there were no demon, anywhere, in her family? What if her grandmother had been a scared, rigid woman who had stumbled upon her husband committing some horrific sin and contrived the only reality that permitted her to leave him?
And if so...how much had all of them lost?
The remainder of dinner was fairly quiet, each woman mulling over what she had heard and how it fit into her picture of her family. As they walked out to Beverly's rental car, she took Tara's hand.
"Sweetie, I have open passage on my flight back to Dallas. I don't want to overstay my welcome, but I think we probably have a couple more conversations between us before I leave."
"I think that's a safe bet," Tara replied quietly, squeezing her aunt's hand gratefully.
She has long fingers just like I do. Maybe like Quinn did.
"Did." Past tense. He's gone.
Back at Tara's dorm, Beverly insisted on parking the car and walking them both to Tara's room in order to hug them good night.
"Willow, I hope I see you again before I leave. I can tell what you mean to Tara, and anyone who's that good to my niece is great in my book."
Tara's heart swelled, watching her beloved shrug awkwardly with the praise. "Well, usually I talk a lot more, and only about two-thirds of what I say actually contributes to what I mean, but I'm glad I've been able to spend some time with you. And yeah, I wanna see you again before you leave," she added.
Beverly gave Tara one final hug and then began to make her way back down the hallway.
"Remember," Tara called out after her. "Be careful on your way back to your hotel." Keying into her room, she commented to Willow, "She's gonna think we're paranoid, talking about demons and constantly warning her about walking to her car."
"Better safe than sorry," Willow replied philosophically. "Dallas may be a hell of a lot bigger than Sunnydale, but we've got the market on things that go bump, drool, and bite in the night."
*****
Part 23
Tara's room actually looked out over the parking lot. Had she and Willow been gazing out the window during this exchange, they would have observed a very curious thing.
Aunt Beverly was tall, and she certainly carried herself with no small measure of confidence and self-assurance. She wasn't especially muscular, however, nor did she carry any observable means of self-defense, such as mace or pepper spray. In sum, to the casual observer she appeared to be neither especially vulnerable nor especially imposing. One would expect that she would reach her car quickly, keys at the ready, and not, perhaps, hurry into its safety, but certainly not dawdle, or stroll. One would surely be surprised to see her reach her car in easy, measured strides, only to perch on the hood and lean back on her elbows, as if taking in a particularly beautiful night. Behaving thus, a vampire might easily think her a potential victim, particularly in a parking lot that, while well-lit, was also virtually empty.
A trio of vampires would certainly think her vulnerable.
In such a case, the dominant vampire would lead the stealthy approach, her lesser companions following a respectful step behind. They would think themselves quite lucky to have such a beautiful young mortal practically presenting herself to them on the silver platter of a Toyota Corolla hood, now stretching herself back to rest against the windshield, hands linked behind her head, gazing up at the stars.
Which was why it was so surprising that the lead vampire, having neared to perhaps twenty feet of her, stopped suddenly, and tilted her head as if in question. Her eyes narrowed, and they held confusion, and something else besides. Her companions halted just as abruptly, looking first at their leader and then each other with troubled eyes. They sniffed the air, and finally, a very low, very soft whine escaped their throats. They didn't speak in any fashion at all. They simply turned, first the leader and then the two within her pack, and melted back into the shadows.
Several feet away, on the hood of the Corolla, the woman was humming an old Sarah Vaughan tune, remarking to herself on the stillness of the night.
*****
Can I really do this? If I take this one step, will I be able to stop myself from taking the next? Am I in danger of becoming who I most despise?
She squared her shoulders and forced herself to walk on, drawing ever closer to the creature she both feared and exalted. Finally, there were no more steps to take; she was standing before it.
"Dr. Lowery, I need to ask for a one-day extension on my paper."
Said Dr. Lowery merely blinked twice, and then nodded. "Given your performance to date, Willow, I'm willing to assume that you have a good reason for your request. Extension granted; just have the paper in my office by five o'clock tomorrow."
On the walk back to her dorm, Willow felt as if she had lost a virginity of sorts. Everyone did what she had just done, but she had never done it before. Now she had. Was there any going back? Would she regret it later?
As she reached the steps in front of Stevens Hall, she was surprised to find Tara's aunt sitting on a bench by the sidewalk-waiting, it would appear, for Willow herself.
"Hey, Beverly," she called out, not knowing the circumstances of the visit but glad of it anyway.
"Hi Willow," the taller woman replied, smiling broadly as she shielded her eyes against the sun. "Hope I'm not catching you at a bad time. I just had some free time and figured I'd take a chance you might as well. I thought coffee could be involved. Tara said she'd be in class until five-thirty," she added.
"Right," Willow confirmed. "Introductory Geography, a.k.a. 'Rocks for Jocks.' She hates it."
"More of an arts and literature kinda gal?" Beverly asked. At Willow's affirmative nod, she added, "Comes by it naturally, if aunts can be considered a source of genetic endowment."
"Well, you do seem to have some very…compelling features in common," Willow said thoughtfully, then grinned. "Now-about that cup of coffee. How do you feel about late-afternoon shots of espresso?"
*****
Beverly, it turned out, felt just fine about espresso--in the late-afternoon or, judging from her intake, the middle of the night. The girl drank it like ice-water, Willow marveled.
"So at the risk of being nosy, how long have you and Tara been together?" Beverly asked after draining her first demi-tasse.
"Not quite a year-although in lots of ways it's hard to imagine ever having not been Tara's partner," Willow added thoughtfully.
"Your first serious relationship?" Beverly queried.
"No-that would be Oz," Willow grimaced.
"As in the Wizard of?"
"As in Osborne…Daniel Osborne." Willow wondered what Beverly's reaction to this news would be. She identified as bisexual; maybe she would assume Willow did as well.
But Beverly didn't seem inclined to speculate about Willow's sexual orientation, at least not verbally. "So what happened with him?" She seemed genuinely interested, and Willow found it easier to speak openly with Beverly about her experiences than with Xander, whom she had known for years.
"Well, things get complicated, especially in your first relationship. Oz was a great person, and he really did love me. I think in the final analysis, there was more that pulled us away from each other than brought us together. It really wasn't about him being a were-" She stopped abruptly.
Beverly just tilted her head questioningly, waiting.
"Being aware of other people," she finished lamely. To use the noun loosely.
"And then you met Tara," Beverly said softly.
"And then I met Tara…and suddenly it was like I had met the one other person in the world who shared my decoder ring. We understood each other, way beyond the spoken word. Before I really knew what had happened, she was standing in the middle of this room in my soul that I'd never even realized I had. And once she was there, I didn't know how I'd managed to live without her there."
She paused suddenly, feeling vaguely self-conscious. I sound like a Hallmark card for homos. Looking at Beverly, though, she felt herself relax, because the older woman was smiling at her gently.
"I met Tanya at a Sarah MacLachlin concert. She was right in front of me, and I kept trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation. I didn't think she'd seen me, much less noticed me. All of a sudden she turns around and says, 'Somebody told me she was going to do a duet with Marilyn Manson tonight.' I knew right then I was going home with her. What I didn't know was that I'd want to keep waking up next to her, every morning for as long as God gave us."
They grinned at each other in silent affinity for a few moments. Then Beverly's expression became serious.
"Willow, you know better than anyone-how's Tara handling all of this? There's been so much chaos back at the ranch lately. The news blew me out of the water, and I'm not nearly as close to it all as she is."
Willow frowned, considering her answer carefully. "You know, I'm always afraid I'll underestimate how tough things are for her, how much they're affecting her, because she always keeps it together. I mean, she tells me how she's feeling, and she lets me comfort her, help her however I can, but I just get the sense that…that it 's never really been an option for her not to keep it together, get through things. Does that make any sense?"
Beverly nodded slowly. "Yeah, it does. I feel it too, even with seeing her so rarely. She's quiet and gentle and you think she may well have never said 'fuck' in her entire life-but she's so much stronger than you realize at first glance."
Willow was quiet for a moment, thinking of some specific and very enjoyable times that Tara had indeed said 'fuck' and many of its synonyms, but figured that sharing this information with Tara's aunt would be possessed of considerable weirdness. So she simply replied, "I know what you mean. And it's so natural for her, I think, to be attuned to other people that she doesn't automatically think to be attuned to herself, to her own feelings."
"But she seems really happy with you, Willow," Beverly smiled. "She seems…bigger somehow, like she's not ashamed to take up her fair share of the oxygen. It's good to see."
"Well, if anybody deserves to breathe, it's Tara, and that may well be the most ridiculous thing I've ever said-which is saying way more than you could possibly imagine." Willow could feel herself blushing. My God, she must think I eat non-sequiteurs for breakfast.
Beverly, though, was laughing boisterously, her eyes shining with delight. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Willow." She paused to wipe her eyes and then added, "Seriously-she does deserve the good stuff, and clearly she's found it with you."
"Trust me, the locating has been mutual," Willow replied quickly, wondering how it was that she found it so easy to talk to someone she had met less than 48 hours ago.
"So what do you two crazy kids do for fun?" Beverly asked after she had returned with her third espresso.
Kill demons. Practice witchcraft. Each other.
"Well, we're both movie buffs, so we do that a lot; and we love to eat out." Don't grin. For the love of God, don't grin. Then she hesitated. "And we both like history, especially the history of various myths and legends." At Beverly's curious gaze, she added, "We like the imagination involved; all the great stories."
Beverly sat her cup down with an audible rattle. "Willow, you don't mean to tell me that you actually believe that whole demon hoo-ha that Nathan came up with, do you?"
"Hoo-ha?" Willow asked, stalling for time.
"It's a technical term," Beverly replied. "It means 'stuff and commotion.' And you're avoiding the question."
Note to self: Don't try to put one past Aunt Beverly.
"I wasn't really thinking about Nathan," she hedged, speaking half-truthfully. Knowing that Beverly wouldn't let it rest there, she added, "We enjoy the literary aspect of myths and legends; how they shaped their particular cultures, and conversely." Did I read that on a syllabus somewhere?
Beverly seemed satisfied by this answer. "OK…Listen, I'm sorry if I seemed all 'Thought Police' there. It's just that I see what Mom's lie did to Nathan, and what Nathan's lie did to Tara, and it just feels like a whole truck-load of trauma has been passed along, to absolutely no one's benefit. I mean, Nathan told Julia she had demon in her because he didn't want to lose her, and yet he did, in the ways that matter most. I guess I just hate to think about any generation paying the debt their parents incurred; paying it with interest, in some cases." She looked at Willow with a self-conscious smile. "Plus, I guess you can tell I have a soft spot in my heart for Tara."
"Line forms to the right on that one," Willow replied with a grin of her own.
Beverly looked down into her nearly-empty cup and sighed. "Well, I guess we should leave before I fly out of here on the force of my own buzz." She glanced at Willow, and then added, "I hope it's OK with you that I just sorta zipped my ass to Sunnydale and made myself right at home, at least for the time being." She seemed to fumble for words. "I mean, I hope I'm not overstaying my welcome."
Willow looked at her in surprise. "Beverly, you're the first truly loving family member that Tara has seen since her mom died. I know that she's glad you're here. And I love seeing anybody who's known Tara from the day she was born. I know you left for college when she was young, but you still knew her when she was a baby." As they slid out of the booth, she sidled up next to Beverly and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "Now, on the way back, I want full details of Baby Tara, and don't leave out one tiny, adorable detail, OK?"
The walk to Tara's dorm was probably the most enjoyable that Willow had ever taken in the presence of anyone besides Tara herself. Among the nuggets she gleaned were the fact that Tara's first treasured possession had been a stuffed pony ("As in a toy, not Roy Rogers' horse," Beverly had emphasized); that Tara's first word, not surprisingly, had been "Mama" but that her second, less predictably, had been "potato" ("'tato,' to be exact"); and that her hair had been a mass of curls before her first real hair-cut.
I can't get enough of who she is, Willow thought, and was perfectly content with that fact.
*****
I could get used to having her here. She's funny; she's bi; she supports me…
She's family.
The idea of having a living relative who was loving and emotionally accessible was so appealing that it almost hurt. Because if she let herself get used to it, she could lose it.
Or I could end up with someone in the Venn diagram of families who actually falls into my "Family of Origin" and "Family of Choice" circles. It's a crazy thought, but it just might work…
They were having dinner again, the three of them. It amazed her, really, how easily her aunt fit into their world…Except for that little part about living on a Hellmouth and fighting the evil undead with a regularity that rivaled her menstrual cycle.
She had gotten so accustomed to censoring herself in front of her family that she didn't doubt her ability to hide this from Beverly; what disconcerted her was how much she didn't want to hide this from her.
Tara had insisted on pizza tonight, because she knew that Beverly would pay for dinner again and though she didn't doubt her aunt's sincere wish to do so, years of self-sufficiency had made her loathe to accept too much from other people-even those people who loved her.
She edged slowly out of the conversation between her aunt and Willow-not because she wasn't interested in it, but because she simply wanted to watch them, and delight in them. They were talking about computers, and to Tara, it sounded something like this:
Beverly: "Well, my Mac has a megasaurus, enough hurts to zip a ram, and I can drive down the load with a pentagon processor."
Willow: "Yeah, but PC's give a bite and let you grade up and besides, my Internet axis is just unbelievable."
Beverly turned to her. "What do you think, Tara?"
"I think that computers are over-rated," she shrugged. "I mean really-what's so special about them?" Taking in their simultaneous gasps, she smiled. "I was hoping to make your heads spin all the way around on your necks, but abject horror will suffice."
"OK, so enough with the geek brigade," Willow grudgingly acknowledged. "We can discuss politics and movies and literature."
"Did you ever think about what else Shakespeare might have been able to accomplish if the Web had been available then?" Beverly asked, shaking her head.
Tara was spared a lengthy discussion on this very speculation by the unexpected appearance of Buffy and Dawn. She felt a rush of what she belatedly recognized as pride: pride at the thought of introducing a family member to her friends. It wasn't a feeling with which she had a great deal of familiarity.
Willow hadn't seen them yet, but as Tara put her hand on Beverly's arm to get her attention, she realized that her aunt was already looking at the two sisters.
Later that night she would wonder if she had really seen anything or not. In that moment, though, she could have sworn that she saw her aunt flinch.
Not dramatically, and not for long.
But in that ephemeral half-moment between reflex and social propriety, Beverly flinched. And Tara, for the life of her, had no idea why.
And then her aunt was looking at her with her usual expression of warmth and affection. "What is it, Sweetie?"
"I-I just saw two friends come in. Buffy and Dawn," she added, looking at Willow. "I'd like you to meet them."
"Cool," Willow said as Tara raised her arm to catch the sisters' attention.
"Hey kids-and young-ish adult," Buffy quickly amended as she caught sight of Beverly.
"Buffy, Dawn-this is my Aunt Beverly. Beverly, I'd like you to meet Buffy and Dawn Summers."
"Hey, Willow told me you had come to visit-all the way from Dallas, no less," Buffy smiled warmly, shaking the hand offered her. The handshake was cut short by Dawn elbowing in front of her sister.
"You're Tara's aunt? You knew her when she was little? That is so cool," Dawn said excitedly. Tara studiously avoided Willow's eyes, knowing that a smirk was glinting there and choosing to forego the visual verification.
"Oh, I know many secrets of the great, the inimitable Tara Maclay," Beverly intoned. "But I am sworn to secrecy, and would certainly never dream of sharing baby pictures unless Tara were adequately incapacitated by spirits."
"If we get her drunk, you'll open the scrap-book?" Buffy echoed. "OK, let's go. Dawn, you'll stick with root beer."
"Who needs booze?" Dawn retorted. Nodding conspiratorially to Beverly, she added, "I'm more of a free-baser gal."
"There will be no drunkenness, no illicit drug use, and no sharing of ill-advised infant photos, is that clear?" Tara asked, trying to sound authoritative.
"Oh, look at you. So…dominant," Willow grinned. "Hubba, and, may I just add, hubba."
The five talked casually for a few minutes, and then Buffy and Dawn moved off to their own table, the former far more readily than the latter. Tara noticed that Beverly's eyes never left them.
"Hey-we meant to ask you," Willow said abruptly. "There's a big multicultural fair tomorrow on campus. It should be really cool. We're definitely going, and we wanted to see if you'd like to join us."
Beverly pulled her gaze away from the retreating pair, and smiled at Willow. "That sounds great."
*****
I could get used to having her here. She's funny; she's bi; she supports Tara.
Willow smiled as she thought of the singular illumination that a relative provides on someone you love. She was greatly enjoying Beverly in and of herself; what sent Willow to the very last stop on the Gleeful Express, though, was hearing about Tara from her aunt. Beverly had helped Willow see Tara as a baby, as a child-and Willow, for her part, simply fell more deeply in love with Tara with every story she heard.
Besides, it was obvious that Tara felt a connection with her aunt that she hadn't felt with any relative since her mother had died…not her half-sister, not her half-brother, not the man who raised her. Willow found herself wondering how much two tickets to Dallas would cost them. She would love to meet the woman whom Beverly clearly adored.
She looked at her watch: 2:13. Tara and Beverly were supposed to meet her at this booth at 2:00. What was keeping them? She scanned over the crowd once more and sighed. Patience is a virtue, right?
Well, she might as well be comfortably virtuous. She dropped onto a bench a few feet away from the booth.
*****
"This is such a great idea, Sweetie," Beverly smiled. "And thanks for the baklava, by the way."
"That's the way of the bi," Tara replied, grinning at her own joke over Beverly's groans. "I'm glad you wanted to check this out," she added. "Sometimes Sunnydale looks like one giant slice o' white, upper-middle-class pie, but we really do have a little diversity here."
"That surprises me," Beverly mused. "I should think southern California would have a lot of diversity."
"I know. It's totally whacked." Tara sipped contentedly on her lemonade. Contentment, though, turned abruptly to consternation as she realized that she had left her billfold at the booth they'd departed several minutes ago. Glancing at her watch, she saw that they were already ten minutes late.
"Aunt Bev, I have to go back to that last food place. I left my wallet there. Willow's such a paragon of punctuality-I hate to keep her waiting even more. Can you go on ahead and meet her? Just follow this sidewalk. It winds around a little bit, but it's only about two hundred or so yards up ahead."
"If I can navigate Dallas rush hour traffic, I can handle this," Beverly assured her. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
*****
Where are they? I'm tired of being virtuous.
Then she felt long, graceful fingers twining gently through her own. She grinned, marveling at the way her heart invariably picked up its pace whenever she saw Tara after an absence.
"Hey Baby," she said, turning, but it wasn't Tara who sat smiling back at her. And her heart pounded more fiercely now.
"This seat taken?"
*****
I'm coming, Sweetie. Remember-patience is a virtue.
She hoped that her aunt had made it to the meeting place without incident. Then she smiled. If the worst thing that happened to her today was that she and her beloved wandered through a cultural fair looking for her aunt, who loved and supported her, then she was in pretty good shape.
Every now and then, life really did ante up and give you a taste of the good stuff.
*****
"Now, don't take this the wrong way, but you're not my type." The smile was almost sincere.
Oh goddess. Please-not this. God, anything but this.
"See, I'm actually partial to blondes-myself, most of all. I mean, look at me." Glory shrugged as if her radiance spoke for itself. "But there's another blonde that I'm just ever so captivated by right now." She leaned closer to Willow and winked. "You know who I'm talking about, right? You have…special feelings for her too, don't you?"
What does she want? What's she talking about? Goddess, help me.
"I would offer to share-I know that open relationships aren't for everyone, but if all parties are mature, I believe they can work. The thing is, I'm not sure what will be left when I'm done." Glory shook her head thoughtfully. "Anyway, you can help me find her, can't you? I went to her room, but she wasn't there. I thought I'd find her with you; instead, you're sitting here all alone." She peered closely at Willow, who wondered dimly if this was how rabbits felt, staring frozenly into the fathomless dark eyes of the hawk.
"Did you two Sapphic sweethearts have a fight? Is that why she's not here?" Glory's face softened incongruously as she reached out and caressed Willow's cheek with the back of her hand. "Are you sitting all alone because your Tara is angry with you?"
Fighting past the terror that threatened to paralyze her, Willow stared back at Glory-and then slowly nodded her head.
*****
OK, I love all the costumes and the musicians and the general merriment, but do there have to be so many people right in front of me?
Tara found it almost impossible to move beyond a glacial pace, edging to the left and then the right as one throng after another seemed to walk almost intentionally into her path.
So now, maybe, a little lesson in patience for me.
Besides, the delay only heightened the payoff-that rush that she always felt when she was about to see Willow.
Good things come to those who are forced to wait.
*****
Part 24
Glory gazed at her with something that looked freakishly like sympathy. "Oh, my poor weeping Willow…Sitting on a bench, waiting for her wench." She sighed. "These lovers' quarrels can be so difficult." Then her gaze hardened as she abruptly gripped Willow's lower jaw. "So maybe you should give her a little payback. Maybe you should settle the score for whatever she did to upset you."
She released Willow suddenly, and leaned back against the bench, smoothing her silky red dress over her legs. She looked at Willow once again, and this time Willow saw that her eyes were glittering. They were like cats' eyes, simultaneously mesmerizing and predatory. "Do you want to tell Auntie Glory all about it? Do you want to tell her where she could find that mean girlfriend who hurt you so much?"
Willow finally forced herself to speak. "Why do you want Tara?" It came out as a whisper.
Glory looked at her indulgently, as if she were a child asking a painfully self-evident question. "Sweet, slow Willow…Tara's my Key, of course."
Her own quick intake of breath sounded to her ears like wind roaring through trees, and she blurted as if stung, "Tara's not the Key."
Glory frowned at her in rebuke. "I should have expected that you'd try to mislead me, even if you two have had a little malentendu. Really, though-lying is just so…common." She seized Willow's hand once more. "Now, the unfortunate thing is that I'm starting to lose my patience, because I really didn't put on enough sunscreen for this kind of weather. I went with 4, and I need at least 15. So tell me, little witch, before I get ungracious-where's your girlfriend?"
"I'm serious," Willow breathed through her panic. "It's not Tara."
Glory looked at her skeptically for a moment. "You do seem awfully convincing. In my experience-and I have a lot of it, mind you-undiluted terror has a negative effect on a person's ability to lie with any degree of verisimilitude." She leaned over suddenly and threw her arm around Willow's shoulder, squeezing quickly. "Isn't that a great word? I learned it in hell."
"I'll be sure to use it in my next paper," Willow managed. Tara, Baby-can you hear me? Oh God, Sweetheart-run! Get as far away from here as you can.
"So now Willow-you've practically convinced me that Tara isn't my Key." Glory smiled at her with what must have been her version of affection. "And I think we're closer for having shared this honest exchange."
"We-we should have coffee sometime." Tara? Run, Baby. If you can hear me-run.
*****
If you can hear me-run.
The voice crashed forcefully into Tara's head. Willow-Willow was in danger, and she was trying to warn her.
For the first time in her life, Tara pushed her way through other people, heedless of their feelings or common courtesy.
As if I would ever leave you, Willow…
*****
Glory threw her head back and laughed. "Coffee-oh yes! It's just about the only thing this wretched little dimension has going for it. So many options, so much ambience." She squeezed Willow's shoulders once more. "So-if it's not Tara, who is it?"
Goddess, what do I do? Help me.
"See, if you do me a favor," Glory was saying, "I'll do you a favor. Tell me who the Key is, and I'll let you go and I won't even bother talking to Tara."
Could I do it? Could I betray two people I love to save the one I love most of all?
Glory's face turned suddenly dark with fury. "I thought we were friends, little Willow. I thought we understood each other. What's with the delay tactics? If I had a mother, I'm sure she'd have always told me I was too impatient for my own good. But that's just who I am, and now you're sitting there with the very thing I need most of all and you won't share. You're supposed to share, little Willow, and instead you're being completely selfish." She withdrew her arm from Willow's shoulder and picked up her hand, gripping it with steadily increasing pressure. "Who. Is. The. Key?" She punctuated each word with a squeeze, until Willow was fighting back tears of pain.
If she told Glory that Dawn was the Key, Glory might leave Tara alone; might really even let Willow live. If she didn't, Glory would go after Tara and kill Willow herself-or worse. And Tara-her absolute terror of that fate; her insistence that she would die before she would surrender her mind.
She looked at Glory, tears sliding unchecked over her face and splashing onto her lap.
Forgive me…
*****
Willow, I'm coming. I'm almost with you, my love.
And then she could see them, Willow and Glory sitting on the bench, people passing by as if oblivious to the drama before them; and even from this distance Tara could see that Willow was trembling, and the knowledge of what her beloved was feeling filled her with a rage she hadn't thought herself capable of. She would channel every strand, every fiber of magic that flowed within her; she would do that, and more:
Mother-Help me!
She was so close now, close enough to hear Glory's hiss of rage as she raised her hands to Willow's temples-
By all I know and all I trust;
By force of life, and force of dust;
Grant me power, with this last breath,
To come forth now in guise of-
"Please stop fondling my niece's girlfriend."
*****
That voice. That sounded like Beverly's voice. Willow's mind tilted dangerously, trying to assimilate this fact while Glory's fingers stilled briefly against her skin. Beverly, who didn't believe in demons, was about to fall victim to a god. Did she believe in gods? Willow wondered.
"You seem to be touching my niece's partner against her will, and that's not only wrong, it's just tacky."
Willow wanted to scream out for Beverly to run, but her voice seemed frozen deep in her throat.
"OK, and just who the heck are you?" Glory pulled her hands away from Willow's temples just long enough to focus completely on Beverly-and was, apparently, deeply disconcerted by what she saw.
"You know what I am," Beverly replied evenly. "And you know why I'm here."
This was what Tara heard as she reached the bench. Without breaking stride, she reached out and took Willow's hand and pulled her off of the bench and into her arms. "Willow, Sweetie, it's OK. You're safe." Though she wasn't sure how accurate that was. At the very least, Willow would have Tara with her throughout whatever happened.
"What is this?" Glory demanded, "a freakin' convention?" She turned back to Beverly. "You don't exist. You were destroyed."
The words registered dimly in Tara's ears as she embraced Willow fiercely and then released her slightly in order to slide between her lover and the hell god. What was Glory saying-that Beverly had been destroyed? And why wasn't she annihilating all of them? Why was she edging back away from Beverly as if…afraid of her?
"Tara, get Willow out of here." Beverly's voice was harsh.
"Beverly, you don't understand-she's a…she's a god."
"A hell god, to be exact," Beverly replied as she extended her arms, palms outward, toward Glory, who shook with fury.
"I thought you didn't believe in demons," Tara said incredulously.
"I thought you two spent your free time at the movies," Beverly retorted. "Just go. I'll catch up with you-trust me."
"I'm not going to leave you," Tara insisted. Beside her, Willow was regaining her voice, and her volition.
"It's two against one," Willow rasped out. "I don't know where exactly she fits in," she added, nodding at Glory.
"Tara, I'm telling you to leave." Beverly's eyes never left Glory; her arms never wavered. "I'm-I'm older than you. Respect your elders."
"Nice try," Tara scoffed. "Maybe when I was seven…"
"Oh, for a hell god's sake," Glory interjected, her voice a mixture of rage and exasperation, "I'll leave. You three have some power and control issues to work through." Her eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze to Beverly. "This is quite a surprise. Don't think I won't be prepared for it next time." And then she quite literally disappeared.
Tara pulled Willow against her, a tiny sob escaping her as she thought about how close she had come to losing her life's greatest truth; how close she had come to sacrificing a different but still precious truth by her own hand. She felt Willow's hands clutching at her back, then running through her hair, as if she couldn't press herself closely enough against Tara's body.
Finally Willow pulled back just enough to kiss Tara, stroking her face as if reassuring herself that both of them were still alive.
"I thought I told you to run," she whispered against Tara's cheek.
"You didn't say 'please,'" Tara answered softly, placing fierce kisses against Willow's brow as she spoke.
After a few minutes, both of them turned slightly in their embrace to see Beverly gazing at them, a wry grin making its way across her face.
"We should probably have a little chat," she finally said.
*****
"A chat…OK, chatting is nice." So managed Willow after narrowly averting death and dementia.
"You know what's even better?" Tara amended. "A lengthy narrative in which you explain what in the goddess's name just happened."
"Actually, I sort of envisioned a cathartic, bonding discussion," Beverly suggested. "A little 'Steel Magnolias,' a little 'Ya-Ya Sisterhood…"
"Feel free to use the term of your choice," Tara replied through clenched teeth. She felt as if she were riding some surreal emotional Tilt-a-Whirl. She knew that something supernatural had just taken place between her aunt-who had so vehemently denied the existence of demons-and a hell god. She knew that her aunt had somehow managed to frighten or at least deter that hell god, though she had no idea how. Eclipsing everything, though, was the knowledge of just how close she had come to losing Willow. Would she have been able to save her, if Beverly hadn't arrived? Because Beverly had saved Willow-saved them both-and Tara knew that that fact would carry greater weight than any other information she might learn.
In short, she was grateful, relieved, anxious, and very, very curious.
"OK, Sweetie," Beverly capitulated, reaching out to squeeze Tara's shoulder. She seemed to think better of the move, however, and withdrew her hand. "But not here. People don't stay clueless forever, even in Sunnydale."
"You've noticed that, huh?" Tara asked, catching her aunt's bemused gaze.
In less than half an hour, they were sitting in Tara's dorm room.
"So…you two are involved with Glory, eh?" Beverly began without preamble.
"Not romantically," Tara replied, feeling an inexplicable urge to stall. Was she afraid of her aunt?
"Right, because threesomes…not so much our scene," Willow added.
"But you know she's a god, of the hellish variety. And did you learn this by watching the Discovery Channel?"
"No, we read about it in the National Enquirer," Tara countered. "How did you make the nice lady's acquaintance?"
Beverly looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You don't trust me, do you? You want to, but you're not sure what just happened. You want me to go first."
Tara met her gaze evenly. "Can you blame us?"
They exchanged a long look. Finally, Beverly sighed. "No…I don't blame you at all. And I will tell you. It's just that-what happened this afternoon, finding out you two have even heard of Glory, much less have cause to interact with her…Believe me when I say I'm as shocked about you two as you are about me." She fell silent again.
Willow blurted out abruptly, "We fight the forces of darkness-typically vampires, but also demons of all other varieties." She had apparently decided to offer up some information as a show of good faith.
Beverly looked at her, a delighted grin slicing across her face. "So you're the good guys."
"Two of them," Tara granted.
"And I'm one of them," Beverly promptly replied. "Please believe that. And please understand when I ask you to explain this to me-how you're involved; what you do. I swear to you, Tara-I will tell you what you want to know. But I need some context here; I need to know the cast of characters."
Could she possibly be working against us? Am I so glad to have a real family member close to me that I give her what she wants, even if it's a huge mistake? Without realizing it, Tara closed her eyes; tried to anchor herself and gain even a whisper of intuition.
From the swirling eddy of fears and uncertainties, she became aware of one thing above all others: Willow was holding her hand. Willow, her rock and her one abiding truth, held Tara's hand tightly in her own. Looking into Willow's eyes, Tara saw that her beloved was ready to take the chance, to share their secret with Beverly. And Tara knew that had it not been for Beverly, she wouldn't be holding Willow's hand right now.
That has to count for something.
"OK. Honesty in exchange for honesty." She drew a deep breath. "Willow and I are witches. Good ones," she added.
"'Good' as in 'Glenda the Good Witch,' or 'good' as in 'we're good at what we do'?" Beverly asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Both," Willow replied. "We work for good, and as far as workin' the mojo-we pretty much kick ass."
Beverly smiled at Tara. "You get that from Julia, don't you?"
Tara fought against the tears gathering suddenly behind her eyes. "You knew Mom practiced?"
"I knew Julia had something extra going for her. Her essence was just radiant. Like yours," she added, this time letting herself squeeze Tara's hand briefly.
Tara only nodded, willing herself to speak with a steady voice. "Willow and I met at college. She's been involved with Buffy for almost five years now."
"Not romantically," Willow clarified helpfully.
"Right," Beverly nodded, grinning once again at Willow. "Let's just assume that 'involved' doesn't carry any erotic implications in this conversation." Looking back at Tara, her voice grew serious. "What does Dawn's sister have to do with any of this?"
Dawn's sister?
"She's the Vampire Slayer," Tara replied.
Beverly's eyebrows shot upward. "The Slayer? Oh my God…of course." She nodded in admiration. "That was brilliant-absolutely brilliant…" She looked past Tara, seemingly lost in her own tangled reality.
After a few moments, she met Tara's gaze again, a troubled expression in her eyes. She seemed to fumble for her words, as if afraid that any miscue might have dire consequences.
"And how-how does Dawn fit into all of this?" she finally asked.
Tara looked quickly to Willow, whose eyes confirmed what Tara already believed: that this information wasn't theirs to share. But how to avoid that topic without arousing Beverly's suspicions?
"Dawn? She's just the Slayer's younger sister," Willow supplied. "Precocious; occasionally obnoxious. Prone to mood swings. Has a huge crush on Tara."
"Thanks for sharing," Tara managed through her flaming blush.
Beverly only looked from one of them to the other, her eyes telling them both that she was waiting for Act II in this story.
But Tara gazed back in turn, determined not to be intimidated.
Who's going to blink?
"So…When Dawn's not being a typical teenager, falling hard for my ever-so-humble niece, what does she do?"
Tara glanced at Willow, then replied, "Actually, I don't know. I mean, she's younger than us, so it's not like we all hang out together on a regular basis."
Beverly shook her head, but her sigh of exasperation was mingled with admiration and affection. "Tara Maclay, you are an abysmal liar, but I sincerely respect your integrity."
"What are you talking about?" Willow demanded.
Beverly looked at her for several seconds, as if deliberating some decision. And then she reached it. "OK-my turn. You two have been honest with me, and I appreciate it." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "So…when Dawn's not buying Clearasil or sneaking a look at your lesbian literature, does she ever-oh, I don't know…open the portals between dimensions?" She leaned back, smiling in frank amusement at their stunned expressions.
"You know?" Willow finally spluttered. "You know Dawn's the Key?"
Beverly nodded.
Tara looked at her closely. "You knew last night-at the pizza place. You spotted them before I had pointed them out, and I saw you react."
Beverly grimaced with self-recrimination. "God, I was hoping you hadn't noticed that."
"You were staring at them, and you watched them walk away…but I thought you were looking at Buffy."
"And what-scoping her out?" Beverly asked, bemused. "No, it was Dawn. I felt her before I saw her. As soon as she entered the restaurant, I could feel her. I looked up, and I knew as soon as I laid eyes on her who she was."
"But how?" Tara demanded.
Beverly, though, either hadn't heard her question or was pretending that she hadn't. "Does she know? Dawn?"
Her aunt's evasive maneuver hadn't escaped Tara's notice, but she let it go for now. "Yeah. She just found out a couple of weeks ago."
"Poor kid," Beverly sighed. "God, that must have whacked her world right out of its orbit."
"Yeah, she had some issues," Tara commented dryly. "None of which were helped by her mother's sudden death right after that."
Beverly looked up sharply. "Her mother's dead? How?"
"Some kind of brain hemorrhage," Willow replied. "She fell into a coma, and Buffy and Dawn had to decide what to do." She drew a quick, shuddering breath. "It was so awful."
Beverly sat quietly for what seemed to Tara like a long time. Finally, she ran her fingers through her short blond hair and shook her head.
"So the monks sent her to the Slayer for safe-keeping. I gotta hand it to 'em…Those boys had shit for fashion sense, but they knew their way around mystical protection."
"OK, so the monk part isn't news to you, either," Tara interjected. "Aunt Bev, are you planning on telling us where you fit into all of this?"
To her surprise, Beverly reached out and gripped her hands tightly. "Tara, Sweetie, first of all, I want you to understand something. I want you to know, beyond a shadow of a glimmer of a fleeting glance of a doubt that I love you. You're my niece, and I would walk through hell to protect you."
Stunned, Tara only nodded.
Beverly released her hands, and sat back with an almost embarrassed laugh. "OK, that takes care of tonight's Hallmark Moment."
"Aunt Bev, what is it? You can tell us."
Beverly smiled, seemingly more composed, and answered softly. "I know I can. You're good, Tara…better than you know. You too, Willow," she added, looking gently at the other witch. She gazed at them for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was low and soft.
"As you know, Dawn is the Key that opens the door between dimensions. Glory wants her-needs her-to get back into her particular hell dimension. For Glory, this is about going home, although we're not talking Waltons Mountain here. Glory's little corner of the universe makes just about every other demon dimension look like Pee-Wee's Fun House-minus the porn, of course. Glory isn't really interested in dragging this world down into hell. But that's exactly what will happen. The torment faced by every person-every living creature-on this earth will be unimaginable. Take your worst nightmare, and multiply it ten-fold. If you can't imagine such a hell, count yourself fortunate."
She paused. Tara realized that she could hear her heart sledge-hammering its beat throughout her body.
"The monks knew that Dawn-the Key-had to be protected from Glory's acquisition. And so they built in certain…safe-guards."
"Buffy," Willow said quietly.
Beverly's laugh held little trace of actual humor. "Tara, you're the English diva. Perhaps you noted the second plural in that sentence."
"Safe-guards," Tara echoed her aunt. "You're saying the monks didn't depend exclusively on Buffy to protect Dawn."
Beverly nodded. "Think about it. Here's the one person-the one entity-who can unleash a literal hell on earth. I know Buffy's good, and I'll bet she's downright amazing when it's her sister she's protecting…But if you were the monks, would you really want to put your hopes entirely and exclusively on one person, no matter how remarkable she is? For God's sake-what if she got hit by a bus?"
"Finnish dryer lint," Willow commented randomly.
"Huh?"
"Don't ask," Tara shook her head. "So you're saying that the monks considered it too risky to pin all their hopes on one person-even the Slayer, protecting her sister-so they built in more than one means of hiding the Key."
"Right." Beverly stared hard at Tara, and Tara found that it was impossible to look anywhere else. She suddenly remembered her aunt's words two nights ago, just before Tara had told her about Julia and Quinn's affair.
This is really gonna fuck with me, isn't it?
"And that's where you come in, isn't it?" Tara asked, finding it hard to speak around the thickening in her throat.
"Yeah." Beverly smiled sadly. "Tara, Sweetie-I'm one of the forces responsible for keeping Dawn safe."
Tara felt Willow's fingers tighten on her own, and she held on desperately, afraid of drowning in terror if she were to loosen her grip at all.
"You? Aunt Bev, you're supposed to watch over Dawn?" She shook her head. None of this made sense. It was impossible. "I don't understand. How did you even get mixed up in all of this? How did you go from being a school-teacher in Dallas to being one of the people in charge of keeping a mystical key away from a hell god?"
Her aunt's voice, to Tara's ears, suddenly sounded so old as to be ancient. "I didn't, Tara; not really." She drew a deep breath. "God, how do I even say this?"
She reached out and took Tara's hand once more into her own, such that Tara was holding onto both her beloved and her aunt with a fierceness that would have surprised her before she met Willow.
"Tara, Sweetie-Dawn was created from energy; made flesh, made human, made real…to herself, to her family, to everyone who met her." She paused, then gave a sad attempt at a smile.
"We're a lot alike that way."
*****
She isn't real. She says she loves me; she says she loved my mother. But she isn't real.
It felt as if she had been given the chance to wander about a beautiful, inviting house and then abruptly told that it was actually crumbling, would tumble and collapse around her.
"Tara, do you understand what I'm saying?" Beverly's voice seemed to come from a great distance.
Numbly, she replied, "You were created. Like Dawn. You're energy made flesh."
Beverly's laughter was brittle. "Yes, well, I guess that's pretty much it, at least the Cliff Notes version. Basically, I'm an inter-dimensional security guard."
"So you didn't really exist until recently? I mean, exist in human form?" Willow asked incredulously.
"Nope. I only picked up this mortal coil a few months ago. Apparently I'm pretty old, too-although not as old as the Key. But the word 'I' is kind of misleading, because the energy had no consciousness, no mind. I can pretty much guarantee that the energy didn't like Buffalo wings."
Tara knew that her aunt-that this person in front of her-was trying to make this easy for her, but she also knew that the effort was in vain.
So I've lost her, too. Let me know when the leaving's finally over, God, OK? I'm just gonna keep my eyes closed until then.
Her own voice was leaden as she met Beverly's gaze and said, "Tell me. Tell us. What's your story?" She could see Beverly wince slightly at the words, but she didn't have the energy to be more gracious.
"My story…OK, let's see…Basically, I was molded into human form by the same monks who transformed Dawn. I was given memories the same way she was; everyone who would have reason to believe I exist, from the time of my putative birth until this moment, absolutely believes it. Nathan believes he has a half-sister; if my parents were alive, they would be utterly convinced that they had a daughter named Beverly."
"But when they died," Willow argued, "they believed they had two sons."
"Right," Beverly acknowledged. "But Nathan can recall conversations he had with our mother about me. And Quinn," she continued, glancing at Tara, "he really did call me when he was in the hospital."
"So you're supposed to protect the Key," Willow continued thoughtfully. "Even though you were…placed in Dallas, hundreds of miles away from Dawn."
"The monks knew the danger of having all of the Protectors in one place, just like they knew that having only one Protector at all would be lunacy."
"So how many are there? Protectors?" Willow asked.
"I don't know," Beverly shrugged. "I think it's one of those deals where they figured it was safer if we didn't know about each other. That way we couldn't risk each other's safety if we were captured."
Tara looked up sharply. "What did Glory mean when she said she thought you'd been destroyed?"
Beverly's face paled suddenly, and she looked at her hands for several seconds. When she spoke, pain radiated through her voice. "Somehow, Glory got wind of the fact that there were Protectors sent to guard the Key. She managed to track some of us. The ones she found…Their deaths were not pleasant ones." She closed her eyes as if trying to ignore some horrific movie.
"But you-today…" Willow fumbled for words. "I mean, what kept her from destroying you today?"
Beverly looked up and for a moment, there was a flicker of the familiar light in her eyes. "Miss Glory has some issues with the Protectors themselves. We repel her in some pretty profound ways." Her voice grew somber again. "The others…She sent her fucking little sycophant minions to kill them, with instructions to torture them into giving away information about other Protectors." She looked at Tara, and there was pride in her voice when she said, "She didn't believe them when they said they didn't know. I heard that one of them said that the only other Protector she knew of was Barbra Streisand. If it ever comes to it, I just pray that I have the same defiance."
"Who will you pray to?" Tara asked, her voice empty.
"Whoever listens and cares enough to come through for me," Beverly replied without hesitation or self-consciousness.
There was an uncomfortable silence, until Willow asked, "So how exactly do you protect the Key?"
Beverly grinned. "You mean, what's my superpower? Well, from what I can tell, we basically weaken Glory with our presence. We disorient her; she feels the urge to get away from us as quickly as possible. Sorta like listening to Howard Stern," she nodded thoughtfully. "Frankly, I would've liked something a little more, you know…impressive. A little superhuman strength; maybe the ability to transport her to another dimension. Instead, I'm basically high-powered body odor."
"How did you find out?" Tara asked. She knew that the being in front of her, who had said she loved her, desperately wanted some sign of affection or compassion from her, but she simply didn't have it right now, and she wasn't sure it would be pulling into the station any time soon.
"Well, I was just minding my own business…preparing lesson plans the way I'd been doing-or so I thought-for the last few years. Tanya and I had taken a two-week vacation in Colorado…we're both ski nuts. We get back home and I'm finally making myself sit down to prepare for the new school year, when I find this book in one of my desk drawers-it was wedged all the way in the back, and I wouldn't have even found it if I hadn't had this weird sense that I had to look back there. And when I say 'book,' I don't mean a concise, nicely-bound treatise on Keys and dimensional portals. This was one seriously old text, and the language was basically a series of symbols, unlike anything I'd ever encountered before."
"So how did you decipher it?" Willow asked, clearly fascinated. "How did you find someone to even recognize it, much less someone you could trust enough to translate it all?"
Beverly gave her a droll smile. "That's when I really knew something was up, because one minute I was staring at this ancient volume, thinking, 'What the hell is this?' And the next minute, I was reading it. Just zipping right along like I was reading my daily horoscope."
"God, you must have freaked," Willow breathed.
"And that is what we English teachers like to call 'understatement,'" Beverly grinned.
"Did you believe it? I mean, right away?"
"You know, it may sound weird, but I totally believed it. I was reading it, and it was like I just recognized it. My life up until then had been one truth, and now there was this other truth; and it didn't negate the first one, but it also resonated so deep inside of me that I knew it was all true."
"What about Tanya?" The question was out before Tara had even considered it. She watched as Beverly's grin faded.
"Tanya…Oh goddess…I had absolutely no idea what to do. I loved her so much-I love her so much-and I had just discovered that prior to a few months ago, I hadn't existed in this form. And here she thought-we both thought-that we'd been together for years. And that's the thing…" Beverly's voice became urgent. "For all intents and purposes, we had been together. We had built a life together; we were planning a commitment ceremony. All of it was real." She leaned back, staring out the window once more, and Tara knew that she was reliving that time. "Finally, I realized that I couldn't keep this from her. She had a right to know, and if she left me…God, I could barely form the thought in my head, much less imagine how I'd actually survive if she did leave me. Forget annihilation by a hell god; I'd just crumple up and die."
"What did she say?" Willow asked, her eyes wide. Once again, a wry smile creased its way across Beverly's face.
"OK, so I tell her I have to talk to her; there's something I have to tell her. This is three days after my epiphany in cuneiform. And I've been noticing that there's this awkwardness between us that's never been there, ever, in our relationship, and I figure it's because she's picking up on my little pile o' angst, right? So I start in with the whole thing, just figuring I'll start at the beginning and keep it simple-you know, 'Honey, apparently I'm a transformed ball of energy. I have to protect another transformed ball of energy from being used by a hell god to open the doors between dimensions. Hope you're OK with that.' And I get about one full sentence out of my mouth and then Tanya asks, 'Babe, does this have anything to do with gods and other dimensions?' Turns out she'd been dreaming of exactly the scenario that I'd gone through, every night for three nights running." Beverly shook her head, laughing at the memory. "At that point, we did what all women in same-sex relationships do: we processed it all. And to condense an incredibly complex story into pamphlet form, she decided that she wanted to be with me no matter what. She said she had scheduled some one-on-one time with her heart, which told her that leaving me would be giving in to fear. The way she put it, there wasn't any erasing what she flat-out knew about us, which was that we belonged together." Beverly hastily swiped her hand across her eyes, and then shook her head. "As you can probably tell, I have a pretty incredible partner."
"I know the feeling," Willow murmured, and Tara held on to her hand more tightly.
Willow's real. I know she's real. And as long as she's real, I can handle anything.
"So why did you come to Sunnydale?" she asked abruptly. "It wasn't really to see me, was it?"
Beverly looked taken aback for a moment, and then said simply, "Actually, Tara, it was to see you. I didn't know Dawn was here. After we spoke on the phone, I just knew that I needed to talk to you, see you in person. Believe me, I nearly fell out of my chair when Dawn walked into that pizza parlor last night."
Tara battled between wanting to believe her and fearing that she had been just a convenient excuse for Beverly to be closer to the Key.
Eyes narrowing, Beverly asked, "You think I don't really care about you, is that it? That I found out Dawn was here and used seeing you as a way to keep an eye on her."
Tara didn't trust herself to speak.
"Oh, Sweetie-what can I tell you? Maybe the monks, or fate, or whatever, made it so imperative to me that I come see you. All I can say is that when I talked to you on the phone, I wasn't thinking about the Key or Glory or anything even remotely mystical-I was thinking about my niece, whom I love very much." She fell quiet, looking at her hands. "I was also afraid that I wouldn't…I didn't know when any of this cosmic upheaval was going to happen, you know? And I was afraid I wouldn't get to see you again if I didn't go now." Her voice, as she finished, was barely audible.
"But why didn't you tell us?" Tara asked, the anguish finally creeping into her voice.
"Tara, I had no idea you were mixed up in anything supernatural, much less Our Lady of Skankiness herself. I figured you were two college women, going to classes and attending protests and living off of macaroni and cheese. What was I supposed to do? Lean forward in the middle of Red Lobster and say, 'Hey, I've been meaning to tell you: I'm a transformed ball of energy, created by monks to prevent the doors of hell from opening.' Yeah, right…"
"But…still…" Tara argued persuasively.
"Besides," Beverly broke in, leaning forward, "I'm not the only one who kept a little secret. You two didn't say anything about being witches, did you?"
"But you were so dead-set against it," Willow countered. "You made it sound like only the marginally-lucid believed in such things."
"OK, good point," Beverly acknowledged grudgingly. "I was hoping you two were way far away from anything that could be magical or dangerous."
"Way far away?" Willow echoed. "We practically pay room and board at magical and dangerous." Looking closely at Beverly, she added, "Why couldn't you tell when you met us? I mean, one look at Dawn and you knew; but you didn't recognize Tara and I?"
"'Tara and me,'" Beverly corrected her absently. Catching Willow's bemused gaze, she shrugged. "Hey, as far as I'm concerned, I've been an English teacher a lot longer than I've been a mystical guardian. Anyway," she continued, "I guess my receivers are set to pick up Key waves. Nothing went off with you two or with Buffy."
"I get that," Willow mused. Shaking her head, she continued, "This is just too bizarre. I mean, what are the odds that all of us would be involved with the Key?"
But Beverly disagreed. "Actually, it's probably not that bizarre at all. I mean, yeah-from a statistical perspective, you wouldn't predict it. But doesn't it seem, when you think about it, that none of this is random at all?"
"What do you mean?" Tara asked, frowning.
"I mean that we all ended up here-right here, in this room, connected in the ways that we are-because we were supposed to. Tara, why did you decide to attend UC-Sunnydale?"
"Because they have a great literature department, and they offered me a good scholarship package."
"But didn't you get offers from other places? Places with great lit departments, that offered you good financial aid?" Beverly persisted.
"Well, yes…" Tara conceded.
"But you chose this school-where you met Willow, and fell in love, and also honed your magical ability and joined the Vampire Slayer in her crusade against evil. Why?"
"I guess…I guess because it just felt like the place to be; like I should be here, even though I had no earthly idea what adventures awaited me." She glanced at Willow, who was smiling that one smile, the one that said she just adored Tara; and for the first time in hours, she felt a tiny glimmer of lightness.
"That's what I mean," Beverly nodded. "It seems so random, so statistically unlikely, and yet we all end up where we're supposed to be, or at least that's what I believe. I think I'm supposed to be here, and you two are supposed to be here, and be together, and Tara, I think I'm supposed to be your aunt. As far as I'm concerned, I am your aunt."
But grief, hot and searing, wrenched through Tara so sharply that she fought to catch her breath. "But everything you told me-all those stories about knowing my mom and idolizing her and being at her wedding…None of it's true. That never happened. You didn't know my mother at all."
Beverly recoiled as if slapped, and then she rocked forward and almost shouted, "Don't you dare say that! I did know her, and I loved her. I met her when Nathan brought her to the house the first time, and I drew pictures for her that she always made a fuss over and said how pretty they were. I was the flower girl at their wedding, and I was so nervous about messing up that I almost made myself sick, and Julia sat down and pulled me onto her lap, even though she was already in her wedding gown, and she told me that it was OK to be scared because she was scared, too; she was scared she would trip and fall in her big fancy dress but she said we could both get through it." The words were pouring out of her now, punctuated with half-sobs.
"I remember all of that, Tara, and don't you dare try to take it away from me. Because I don't know how much of a future I have, but no one gets to take away my past. I remember all of that; I remember it, and it keeps me sane to know that people like Julia and Tanya can love me."
And then she stopped fighting the sobs and wrapped her arms around her waist as if trying to hug herself.
Willow says I do that, when I'm too sad to talk. And then she takes me in her arms and rocks me a little bit and after a while I know I won't drown in the sadness.
Willow, she knew, was wiser about things of the heart than she gave herself credit for. So Tara trusted that wisdom now, pushing aside her own grief and anger, and moving over onto the bed to take her aunt into her arms. She didn't really even know what she said, only that she said the words with kindness.
Within seconds, Willow had joined her, and Tara recognized, in some deep, ancient way, that she was part of something special-here, in this moment, these women who had ended up where they were needed and who tried so very valiantly to do the right thing.
This is my family. Am I really anything but blessed?
*****
Part 25
"OK, let me get this straight-there's a whole gang of you, and you call yourselves the Scoobies?"
"Right," Tara confirmed.
"And in addition to you two, this little power circle is comprised of the Slayer; the Slayer's Watcher, who blew up his former place of employment; the Key, who was delivered in the form of the Slayer's sister; an ex-vengeance demon who's been around since Charlemagne; and the ex-demon's boyfriend, whose primary claim to fame would seem to be his show-stopping rendition of the Snoopy dance."
"That pretty much covers it," Willow nodded.
"God, and I thought my life was unique." Beverly paused, shaking her head. "Somebody really oughta make a movie out of this, or at the very least, a mini-series starring Patty Duke."
"No way," Tara objected. "Once Hollywood gets its grubby hands on it, all semblance of integrity goes out the window."
The three of them were on their way to Giles' place, for what Willow anticipated would be a truly memorable encounter. She was exhausted, having been up with Tara for hours after Beverly had left to go back to her hotel room. Her beloved had finally eased into a kind of philosophical acceptance of Beverly's origins.
"In all the ways that matter, Sweetie, she is my aunt. She didn't have any choice in this; the monks didn't exactly invite her to a working lunch and get her input on the subject."
"I know, Baby, but you've been through so much." Willow's heart had done that tight, squeezing thing it always did when she thought about everything that Tara had faced and survived.
"So? I'm starting to think life isn't fair. And I don't mean that in the cynical, 'I was robbed!' way," she added. "I mean…maybe 'fair' isn't really part of the deal. Life isn't out to get you; it isn't out to save you. Life just is, and all the adverbs get tacked on in retrospect, after the show's over."
"Wow. OK, well, that's…uplifting." Willow was thrown by Tara's thesis.
"I'm not trying to be a downer, Will-I just don't want to get all wrapped up in keeping a running tally of my hardships." She was quiet for a moment, and then Willow felt Tara's soft fingers tracing over her face. "But if anything happened to you…If I ever l-lost you…" This last was said in almost a whisper. Tara let her fingertips rest against Willow's lips. "Maybe I am keeping score, Willow, it's just that every painful piece feels balanced out by you. As long as I get to fall asleep next to you; wake up next to you; touch you and kiss you and make love to you-as long as I have you, everything else is bearable."
Willow had difficulty answering around the tightness in her throat. "I know what you mean," she managed hoarsely. They lay quietly for several minutes, the only sound their own breathing and the faint footsteps of other students in the hallway.
Bet none of them had the kind of night we did.
She looked at Tara, so close to her…her blond hair seemed to shimmer in the moonlight that fell hauntingly across the room. Tara's lips were slightly parted; Willow could just barely see her dark blue eyes as they caught tiny flecks of the moon's grace.
"Baby?" she asked tentatively.
"Yeah?" came the soft answer.
"Are you tired?"
Tara was quiet for a few moments, but Willow could see her lips curving into a smile. "Why Ms. Rosenberg-are you suggesting that we indulge in certain delights of the flesh? That we embrace each other and exchange the sweetest of kisses, the most exquisite of caresses?"
"God yes," Willow breathed. "And if you're not in the mood or just completely wiped out, I totally-"
"Understand." That's the word she would have said, and she would have meant it. As it turns out, though, she didn't need to.
So yes, she was very, very tired today; so tired that she had almost dozed off in her chemistry class.
Funny how my idea of living on the edge has changed…
They had decided to hold a summit meeting of sorts with the rest of the gang; Willow had arranged it by phone that morning.
Giles had been conspicuously unenthusiastic at first. "You should meet Tara's aunt," was all Willow had initially said, not wanting to broadcast such a singular revelation via Ma Bell.
"Willow, I'm sure she's a lovely woman, and while I would ordinarily be delighted to meet a pleasant member of the Maclay family, this really isn't a good time." Willow could hear him shuffling papers in the background.
"But Giles, I really think you need to meet this woman," Willow persisted. "She definitely has some fascinating stories to tell. I think you two would really hit it off."
She could hear his impatient sigh across the line. "Willow, I don't wish to be rude, but I'm really not in the mood to spend an awkward evening trying to make conversation with a total stranger, no matter how charming she is."
In Willow's brain, untold synapses fired simultaneously, fixing upon a single target. "Oh my God, Giles," she practically squealed. "You think we're trying to fix you up? OK, having issues now."
"Well, I-I mean, you seemed so…determined for me to meet her," the former librarian spluttered. "I thought that perhaps-well, perhaps that you envisioned a certain compatibility arising between the two of us…" Here he trailed off somewhat incoherently.
"OK, first of all, this isn't a Disney plot to get our lonely mother and father together; second of all, I'm talking about having the whole gang meet her; and finally, Tanya, her partner of five years, would have some serious reservations about the whole thing."
"Ah, well…So then, I'll see you at eight?" Willow had hung up the phone with amusement; Giles, she suspected, with relief.
"Well, Buffy should be relieved," Beverly was now saying.
Willow and Tara looked quickly at each other, and then away. Beverly, in turn, looked at them, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"OK, I've been a teacher for way too many years-or so I've believed-not to recognize a meaningful glance. What's up?"
"Um, well, that's sort of hard to put into words. I mean, it's kind of complex, you know…" Tara seemed to be weighing all explanations carefully; probably, Willow realized, because she didn't want to offend Buffy's best friend.
"What's Tara tactfully not saying is that Buffy has a few…issues around her role as the Slayer, especially when it comes to Dawn." She paused, trying to articulate her thoughts.
"OK, so…" Beverly interjected with an air of perplexity. "It's good to be in touch with your feelings; hopefully she's making progress on those issues; Dr. Phil will be so pleased." She shook her head impatiently. "What exactly are you saying, Willow?"
"See, the thing is, Buffy's sort of a Lone Ranger type; or at least, she can be," Willow began.
"Girlfriend has a lot of place settings for a Lone Ranger type," Beverly commented dryly. "Five confidantes who know all about her gig, plus the sister."
"Well, yeah," Willow acknowledged, "but when she feels threatened-or when somebody she loves is threatened-she sort of takes the world onto her shoulders. Which makes sense, given how many times she's saved the world. I think she just feels really alone much of the time, even though she knows we'd all do anything for her."
"Because she feels different-like she has this job to do that sets her apart," Beverly said quietly.
Willow just nodded, watching as Tara slid an arm around her aunt.
"But at least I know that there are others out there like me; I mean, people who have the same purpose," Beverly continued. "Buffy…She really is the only Slayer."
"And she's known that for over four years," Tara added. "I think she's always afraid that if she lets herself believe she doesn't have to feel so alone, it'll come back to hurt her."
"I get that," Beverly nodded. "Although I have to say, I tell Tanya every last thing that I'm scared about, and half the time she knows what it is before I do."
"Buffy's just not that open," Willow shrugged. "At least not instinctually. I think her first impulse is always to keep stuff to herself and try to deal with it alone. And now that Dawn's at stake, and her mom's dead, Buffy feels even more responsible…because she is."
"OK," Beverly replied slowly. "So I make sure that Buffy doesn't feel like I'm trying to trump the sister act, or eclipse her in some way. Won't she ultimately be glad to know that she has some help?"
"Yeah, I think she will," Tara concurred. "I just…Well, I'm glad you understand why she might be a little guarded at first."
"Oh please," Beverly said, rolling her eyes. "Tanya's mom always has to feel that her Christmas gifts are the very best ones-not just for Tanya; for all of us. If I can be sensitive to a hyper-touchy, always-this-close-to-full-blown-petulance mother from Tempe, I can be understanding to someone who battles evil every day."
"'Sensitive'?" Tara asked with a wry grin.
"At least to the old girl's face," her aunt replied, squeezing Tara's arm.
They had arrived at Giles' door.
"Ready for one of the more surreal evenings in your ancient young life?" Willow asked. At that moment, the door swung open and a pair of bright, inquisitive eyes peered out at them.
"So you're Tara's Aunt Beverly. Giles said you have sex with women, too."
Beverly pulled back just a fraction, and then grinned. "You must be Anya."
*****
Twenty minutes after their arrival, Willow, Tara, and Beverly were still exchanging pleasantries with the assorted Scoobies. Tara felt that same tug of pride that she had at the pizza parlor two nights and a life-time ago. Beverly had an ease about her that the others seemed to respond to instantly. Even Buffy and Dawn, tormented as they were by their mother's death and Glory's constant threat, were clearly drawn to Beverly and seemed to relax just a little bit.
Don't get too comfortable, kids…
Beverly had introduced herself to Anya by clarifying the fact that while she had slept with women, she was currently sleeping with only one woman.
"Good heavens," Anya replied. "Don't any of the Maclay women like men?"
"I like men just fine," Beverly replied without a hint of consternation at the ex-demon's social oblivion. "I'm actually bisexual. But I'm in love with Tanya, and falling in love with a woman has nothing to do with men." She grinned. "I mean, you didn't fall in love with Xander because all of the women here were dogs, did you?"
"Oh God, no," Anya hastily answered. "In fact, let's face it-the women here are gorgeous; I mean, completely hot. Believe you me, I know how attractive women can be." She nodded and looked off for a moment, as if remembering a very pleasant moment from a very different time.
Everyone gazed at her reluctantly, as if torn between their curiosity and a simultaneous dread that Anya would provide, unbidden, the answers to that curiosity. The ex-demon just continued to smile enigmatically.
"So Beverly," Xander was saying, his attempt to sound sophisticated compromised somewhat by the trace of donut glaze on his right cheek, "you're bisexual?"
Yes, Xander, and she's not attracted to you, Tara thought with some annoyance.
"Yes I am-and absolutely devoted to and satisfied with Tanya," Beverly replied. "You know, it's so funny how some people just assume that being bisexual means you'll sleep with anyone…I mean, really-can you think of anything more juvenile and sophomoric?" She fixed Xander with an easy smile.
Xander's own smile was anything but easy. He shook his head, seemingly unable to look at Beverly. "How cliched," he finally managed weakly.
"So what was Tara like as a kid?" Dawn interjected, asking what even Tara knew was a major source of interest to the teenager.
Beverly shot a quick glance at Tara, and then smiled gently at Dawn. "Tara was just about the cutest baby you could ever hope to see. All these ringlets, just a tangle of blonde curls; and those great big blue eyes. God, and was she curious-always reading, anything she could get her hands on, as soon as she learned how. And she learned pretty quickly, from what I remember. Tara was a very smart girl."
Beverly looked back at Tara again, and Tara caught the quick hitch in her voice. "Anybody who knew Tara when she was little was a lucky, lucky person."
Tara held her aunt's gaze, and then reached out to take her hand. From the corner of her eye she saw Giles looking at them both with a slightly puzzled air.
He knows something just happened.
Tara struggled against an growing sense of disorientation. Everything was going so normally, so very pleasantly. Everyone except the three of them thought that this was a little social call, a chance to meet one of her more agreeable relatives.
They're so glad I have her. That's part of why they wanted to meet her. Tara's mind slid suddenly back to that incredible day at Cold Springs, when they had all been so ready to protect her; and then that night, as they sat around a battered table eating the most God-awful and delicious food; she and Anya and Dawn taking the microphone and each of them reaching out to each of the others in some way or another, affirming the bonds that made them a family.
And now they're going to get the 150th shock of their lives…Does that come with a certificate or anything? She found herself wondering briefly what the folks at Dawson's Creek were doing that night.
"You know, I really appreciate all of you coming over on such short notice, just so we could get together," Beverly was saying.
"Well, hey-anybody who loves Tara is in like Finn with us," Buffy assured her. Brows furrowing suddenly, she glanced around the room. "Speaking of whom, has anybody seen him lately?"
The others gave a collective start, and then they, too, peered about, as if Riley might emerge from behind the asparagus fern.
"Do you remember when you saw him last?" Beverly asked helpfully.
"Oh God…Maybe a few weeks ago?" Buffy hazarded a guess.
"Well he can't just have disappeared," Giles argued. "That's ludicrous."
"Hey, don't blame me!" Buffy protested. "Been a little busy here."
"I'm sure he'll show up," Willow said soothingly. "Sometimes people can get distracted and just forget things."
"Well somebody sure fell asleep at the wheel," the Chosen One grumbled. After a moment, though, she shook her head and smiled once more at Beverly. "As I was saying, I'm just glad we got the chance to meet you." Giving Dawn a quick grin, she added, "We don't get that much excitement around here."
Beverly paused for a moment, her own brow arching in a distinctly wry manner. "You know, somehow I find that hard to believe." And with that as her sole preamble, she launched into the tale of her own genesis.
Tara wished she could have taped the entire exchange, because she would have dearly loved to play it back later and take in the assorted gaping, protesting, denying, and slack-jawed bewilderment that ensued at her own leisure.
"I confess, I'm completely at a loss for words," was Giles' initial comment.
"Don't worry," Anya interjected. "He'll have tons of 'em in a minute; more than you'll really want to hear."
Pretending to ignore this color-commentary, Giles asked, "So you came to Sunnydale having no idea that Tara was in any way involved with Wicca or magic or fighting demons?"
"Giles, my good man, I had no idea that the Key was in Sunnydale, or that Tara had any kind of contact with anything mystical." Beverly shrugged. "The first I realized that my worlds had collided was in the restaurant a couple of nights ago," she added, nodding at Buffy and Dawn.
Tara and Willow had discussed with Beverly the group's decision to refer to the Key with only that term, keeping Dawn's name out of it all as much as possible.
"And then Glory showed up at the Multicultural Fair and tried to feed off of Willow's mind? Take her sanity?" Even Anya seemed to realize that this fact called for some modicum of restraint in her depiction.
"Yep," Willow confirmed. "Plopped her slatternly little ass right down there beside me and proceeded to chat with me like we had gone to high school together."
"Because she thought that Tara was the Key," Giles said slowly.
"Right again," Willow replied, though her voice held less bravado than it had just a moment before. "She was looking for Tara. She…she was going to take her." And with those words, her voice finally faltered.
"It's OK, Sweetie," Tara murmured softly, pulling Willow close to her and stroking her hair. "It's over."
"Does she still think Tara's the Key?" Anya asked.
Willow shook her head. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't. I think I was pretty convincing, what with the mortal terror flooding through every cell in my body."
"And she tried to force you to divulge the Key's true identity?" Giles inquired.
Willow hesitated so briefly that Tara suspected she was the only one who could see it. And then her beloved replied, "She tried to. I did my feeble imitation of flippant defiance, and then, thank every god and goddess in every belief system known to humanity, Beverly showed up." She looked up gratefully at the Protector. "At which point, Glory got a little queasy and had to be excused."
"And that was when it hit all of us that we had more in common than family history and a love of seafood." Even in the middle of the tension, Tara could see the grin that quirked briefly across her aunt's face.
Vixens. I'm surrounded by vixens.
"I can't believe this," Xander muttered. "The odds…they're just beyond astronomical. That you would be Tara's aunt and a Protector of the Key?"
Resting her hand on her aunt's shoulder, Tara replied, "I think this is about what's supposed to happen, not what's statistically likely. I mean, when you think about it, what were the odds of all of us ending up in this room even before Beverly appeared? But we are here because we're supposed to be." She brought Willow's hand up to her cheek. "I came to UC-SD, even though I could have ended up at any number of other universities. Because I needed to meet Willow. It simply wasn't a possibility that I not meet her." She gazed at her mate, whose green eyes glittered with a fierce and absolute love. "And for some reason, Beverly was placed in my life, and made contact with the Key through my contact with the Key." She paused, and then looked intently at Dawn.
"And I was most definitely supposed to come into contact with the Key. It's an essential, sacred part of my life." She saw Dawn swallow quickly; saw the kaleidoscope of unshed tears in the teenager's eyes.
The group was silent for a moment. And then Giles asked, "And you have no idea where the other Protectors are? Or who?"
"None," Beverly answered. "Which I think is for the best."
"I agree," Giles said, nodding slowly.
Tara had watched Buffy carefully from the moment of Beverly's revelation. The Slayer had yet to speak, though her own eyes had never left Beverly. What in the goddess's name is she thinking right now?
Finally, Dawn's sister asked Beverly quietly, "So you're supposed to protect the Key, right?"
As if measuring her words carefully, Beverly replied, "I'm supposed to help protect the Key." She hesitated, then added, "The Key is more powerful than anything we could imagine, and yet incredibly vulnerable, too. Its safe-keeping is an awesome responsibility, and an honor as well."
Buffy only nodded curtly, then continued, "How? How exactly are you going to protect something so precious?" Her hand reached out as if of its own volition and stroked Dawn's hair.
Oh God, Aunt Bev-don't use the body odor metaphor, OK?
But Beverly clearly recognized the tension that virtually radiated from the Slayer, and she spoke in the same careful tone as before. "I weaken Glory. I don't know why; I don't know how. There's something about my very energy that enervates her, drains her a little bit. I can't kill her-though I swear to you that if I could, I would," she added. When Buffy didn't respond, she continued. "I don't have any special weapons or powers. I can only…neutralize her, by my proximity. And only her-if any of her unctuous little minions capture me, they can kill me in any number of profoundly disconcerting ways."
Tara felt her heart catch briefly. No. Please. Because she is family.
Silence hung thick and uncomfortable in the room. Tara felt herself growing first annoyed and then angry with Buffy. Didn't she realize that this meant she had help? Why wouldn't she be grateful that there were others trying to protect Dawn?
Surprised at the edge to her own voice, Tara said, "Maybe a little more appreciation and a little less 'I ride alone' territoriality, Buffy?"
She fought the urge to duck her head and stammer out an apology as seven sets of eyes fell on her, each possessed of at least some measure of shock.
"Excuse me?" Buffy asked, cocking her head and crossing her arms across her chest.
"I'm sorry, Buffy-I know this hits you pretty personally," Tara acknowledged. "But do you honestly think my aunt is just thrilled at the chance to go up against a Hell god? To find out she's had an entire lifetime's worth of memories implanted into her? To risk losing everything?" She swiped an impatient hand across her eyes, feeling Willow's hand resting on the small of her back as if anchoring her there. "Beverly didn't ask for any of this but she didn't turn away from it, either. She didn't run away or try to deny it. She's trying to do the right thing, Buffy…like you are. Like we all are." She could feel the tears edging down her face as she struggled to speak. "No one's saying they can do this better than you can, Buffy. But I don't take kindly to watching my aunt bring her best gift to your house only to have you look at her like she's trying to steal the silver."
And that's the longest speech I've ever delivered to this group. But she needed to hear it.
I think.
She glanced at Willow, who was looking at her questioningly. She's wondering if she should jump in, back me up. Tara gave the barest shake of her head, hoping that only Willow saw it. She knew beyond question that Willow supported her, but she didn't want Buffy to feel as if the two of them were ganging up on her. Upon a second's extra reflection, she realized that she also wanted Buffy to weigh her, Tara's, own words, without those words having had reinforcements sent in.
Finally, Buffy sighed heavily. Her eyes, exhausted yet determined, rested on Beverly. "I'm sorry, Beverly. This particular battle is more important than anything else I've ever done. God, yes-I'm glad to have help." Tara saw Buffy's hand, so immeasurably strong, tuck Dawn's hair behind her ear with equally immeasurable gentleness. "And I'm also so damned scared that if I let myself breathe just a little bit easier, knowing I have help, Glory will get past me while I'm inhaling." She closed her eyes for just a moment, as if the horror were unfolding in front of her and she couldn't bear to look upon it.
Tara saw that Beverly's own eyes were filled with tears, as her aunt nodded her understanding. Then Dawn took Buffy's hand and squeezed it gently, willing her sister to look at her.
"Buffy…I don't know anyone who could bear the responsibility you have and not just explode with it all. The Key…the Key must know that you're its greatest champion. But I don't believe that it would want you to be completely on your own. It would want you to have others to help you…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It wouldn't want you to be so alone."
For a moment, Buffy looked at her sister through her tears; and then she reached out and took Beverly's hand in her own. Her eyes, Tara thought, looked almost pleading.
"I-I need your help," she said simply to Beverly. "Please help me protect the Key."
Beverly just nodded slowly, and held onto Buffy's hand with her sure, gentle grip.
"You have my word."
*****