~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Hey Kittens...This is my first fic posting. There's definitely angst, but you have my word that I'll take better care of Willow and Tara than did certain individuals who shall remain nameless.

Summary: Way the heck back in S4, Willow makes a difficult choice

Disclaimer: Joss and ME own these characters, as well as my newfound but heart-felt antipathy

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Up to the end of "New Moon Rising"

Distribution: Knock yerself out; just give credit and disclaimer, please

Feedback: Oh, yeah...Just send me a private e-mail

Part I

I did the right thing. Yep, that thing I did was the right thing, cuz I'm a right-thing-doin' kinda gal. Maybe if she just kept chanting that to herself it would become her theme song, thereby drowning out the Greek (or was it Sapphic?) chorus in her head.

She had been speechless when Oz reappeared at Giles' house. She had listened to him talk all night, never broaching the most important subject. She had stood dumbly in front of Tara, watching those fathomless blue eyes summon up yet more courage and compassion as she reached out and stroked away Willow's tears. And then, finally, she had acted. She had chosen. She had gone to Tara's room after that surreal day and given her the extra-flamey candle and told her that she was giving Oz another chance.

Would it have been easier if Tara had cried? Or shouted, or done anything besides look at her with that understanding and that resignation? As she watched Tara brace for the news, body huddling in on itself slightly as if trying to ward off a blow, the incongruous conviction slid into her mind: Tara never, ever got the Christmas gift she really wanted. She never asked for it, she probably never even thought too long about how much she'd like it, that's how convinced she is that the very best things aren't for her. And here she was again, nodding as if it had been a foregone conclusion that Willow would pick Oz; that she wouldn't get what she most wanted because Tara Maclay wasn't one of the people that life smiled on, wasn't one of the people that life took much notice of at all. And it made Willow cry even more, standing in that dimly-lit room that had harbored so many hours of such closeness that it made her throat ache to think of them.

Had Tara heard her say that she loved her, too? That it wasn't a matter of loving Oz instead of her; that she had to know if this story should have a different ending because its first ending had been so inconceivably wrong? Had Tara heard the very last part-that Oz needed her more, needed her to keep the wolf at bay for good? Willow doubted it. She could already see Tara's mind closing down to her, turning its vision away from the first-person plural to begin building a new reality in which Willow wasn't there, not really.

Tara hadn't said any such thing, of course. She had assured Willow that she would still be her friend; told her that she hoped she would be happy. And she had said all those things without stuttering, as if her grief had eclipsed any other emotion. So for the second time that day, Willow offered herself up to Tara's arms, sank into the warmth and the softness and finally turned her face in toward the curve of Tara's neck and rested her lips there, unmoving. Tears-hers? Tara's?-slid haltingly over her cheek and rested against her lips. And Tara, once again, had comforted her, brushed her thumb over Willow's face and whispered, "It's all right, Sweetheart. It's all right." Willow's heart ripped another slice wider-Tara had never called her that before, and now she would probably never call her that again.

We've never even kissed. But I love her. I know I love her. And she wanted to kiss Tara at that moment-not to comfort her, but because she couldn't bear the thought of never doing so, of never feeling those soft lips, that could curve and twist with newfound delight and ancient heartbreak, press into her own. What she really wanted, in an absurdly selfish or perhaps masochistic way, was for Tara to take her face in her hands and brush her hair back from her face, look deep into her eyes and then kiss her. Kiss her and tell her that she was making a mistake; that she, Tara, needed her too. She wanted Tara to say, with her quiet power, that their story wasn't finished either, that she knew Willow craved the wild, sweet promise of that story as much as she did. But such a thing would have been presumption itself, and Tara seemed not to be afflicted-or blessed-with that trait. So in the end, it was Tara who pulled away from the embrace of the person she loved most-and Willow knew this, in her soul, to be true-and said, "You should go. This is hurting you too much."

Trying to force some steadiness into her voice, Willow replied, "You too, I know."

"No." The flat certainty in Tara's soft voice caught her off-guard. "The hurt won't really sink all the way in until you leave." She raised a hand to Willow's anguished remorse. "Don't. God, don't apologize. I got to float roses with you. I got to hold your soul close and safe when you went to the Nether Realm. Those things are mine to keep...But you're not. Which is why you should go."

So Willow stepped forward once more and pressed her lips to Tara's cheek, hearing her almost-lover's breath catch in her throat, and then long, graceful fingers sank gently into her hair; until finally she stepped back and walked out of the room. Back to her dorm; back to where Oz was waiting for her.

~~~~~~~~~

That had been over a week ago. When Oz had left, all those months ago, she had been more devastated than she could have imagined. Being away from Tara, though, was such a different kind of pain. This person that she loved-she was so close; she was a 3-minute walk away...two, if you ran, which Willow kept imagining. At any point in the day, she could have told you where Tara was, what she was doing. And at night, too...She knew the thick crimson comforter that warmed her body, and she knew the faded pillowcase covering the pillow that Tara had rested her head on for untold nights, back to before her mother had died. She knew the sage-scented candle that Tara liked to burn every night, leaving it as the last flicker before letting darkness take over. She knew that Tara always started out the night on her side, and always ended up on her stomach. She had spent so many nights there, sharing the same bed and trying to calm the ache she felt because she hadn't been ready, hadn't been sure. And Tara had only smiled at her in the dark, taking her hand and kissing it. "If it happens, it should happen because you just can't not do it," she'd said, six days before Oz returned.

And Willow, ever suave, the femme fatale cum Strunk and White, could only say, "I think the phrase 'can't not' is maybe-"

"Acceptable. The use of two adjoining negative terms can be used to convey particular emphasis."

"OK, Miss Scored-Higher-Than-Me-On-The-SAT-Verbal...So, moving on...I think the phrase 'particular emphasis' is maybe-"

"Yes, it's probably redundant. So let me rephrase that. If we ever kiss, and if we ever make love, it should be because you feel like you'll just collapse into a big ol' puddle o' wetness if we don't start stroking each other within the next ten seconds." Through her amazement at hearing Tara speak so...lasciviously (and it was clear that Tara loved this amazement), Willow felt something ripple low in her belly at hearing Tara just say the words "wetness" and "stroking."

I feel that way now, she thought, twelve days after the last night she had lain there with Tara. When I think about you, I feel like I'm going to collapse with wanting you so much.

And this sense of incompleteness ...how hard it made everything. She felt it right down to her breathing: It never felt as if she were getting enough air. It was as though her body had come to expect another being there with it, working in unison, working in tandem.

"Go see her," Oz had told her, two days after her decision.

"But I know how you...I mean, how it affected you to find out that I had feelings for her." Why didn't I say "that I was in love with her"? To protect him? Or me?

Or maybe to protect Tara...

"That's my problem, Willow. And it's my responsibility."

"Well, technically, it becomes the problem of anyone who wanders into your personal space in those particular moments." She tried to smile, knowing that only the most generous of judges would give her a passing grade on the effort.

"You're saying that Tara would be in danger. Willow, I know. That's why I think, at least at first, I should lock myself up when you go to see her."

"Oz, I know how hard you worked to keep the wolf from coming out..."

"Willow, I'll take the small-case safe over the bold-type, all-caps sorry. I don't need to show off my self-control if someone else has to foot the bill."

"I'll think about it." That was all she said. But she had phoned Tara that afternoon, feeling her pulse sledge-hammer its way from her fingertips on the buttons up to her heart and on into her throat. When Tara answered, she couldn't even speak. There was a slight pause, and then: "Willow?"

This voice that she had taken for granted for months now felt like some rare gift, a shower upon a parched earth.

"Hi, Tara," she finally managed, hearing her voice careen into some new upper register. I sound like a soloist for a castrati choir. "So, uh...how are you?"

There was another brief pause, then Tara replied, "I'm OK. Willow, I'll be fine. I hope you know that."

She thinks I'm calling out of sympathy. The thought almost made her laugh. "I know that, Tara. I'm not doing an extra-credit charity project for Psych. class." She knew Tara was smiling on the other end of the phone. Of course, she couldn't know that. But she did.

"Willow, there is no higher grade than an 'A.' Unless you decide to restructure the entire alphabet, I should hope you wouldn't be doing extra credit work for any class, ever."

"Well, no. No alphabet restructuring at this time...Although, if you ask me, 'X' has way too much time on its hands...And doesn't 'C' just basically time-share with 'K' and 'S'? But that's not really-Well, it's not really relevant to any conversation anywhere, I suppose. No, it's just...I just needed to talk to you, Tara."

"Are you OK?" The words tumbled out, and Willow closed her eyes-Tara was worried about her. One of the few requests she had ever made was asking Willow to call whenever she got back from patrolling.

"I'm fine, Tara. I just miss you."

Silence again, this time for several seconds. Finally, a small voice whispered, "I miss you too, Willow."

"Can we get together? Maybe have coffee?"

"Is that...I mean, is that OK? With Oz?"

"Tara, he suggested it. He knows I miss you." Just not how much. "I'd really like to see you. I-I need to see you."

Tara paused, and then said, "How about the Espresso Pump? Tomorrow? At 4?"

So they had a coffee date, ordered mochas and biscotti while Oz locked himself in his old cage. She got there ten minutes ahead of time, ever afraid of messing up somehow, but also to watch Tara's arrival. And then, when she saw her...Funny-with all the knocks I've taken from the legions of the undead, my stomach's never registered a kick like this. Tara was wearing a suede skirt and an over-sized blue silk shirt, a rope belt knotted loosely around her waist. Her hair was tumbling down around her shoulders, and as she neared the table a gust of wind blew a few rogue strands into her eyes. She reached up absently and brushed them back, tucking them behind her ear. I want to do that, Willow thought, and actually clenched her left hand inside her coat pocket. When Tara was standing before her, she rose and without a mental glance at all the various greetings she had imagined, pulled Tara into her arms, falling into the scent of her hair and her skin and into the soft strength of her body. No matter what happens from this point on, I have to have this in my life. I can't go without holding her.

She ran her hands from the warm expanse of Tara's shoulders down to the small of her back , where her fingers gripped reflexively, pulling Tara more tightly against her own belly. This shirt is the only thing between my fingers and her skin, and it's so thin... She could feel Tara swallow against her neck, her breath shallow against Willow's skin. Then Tara pulled back, hands resting lightly against Willow's upper arms. Willow looked at her closely, and could see now that Tara wasn't fine, wasn't within a 5-days' drive of fine. It was her eyes, of course; Willow had never known anyone with eyes so expressive. Now those eyes looked darker than she had ever seen them, and her lids were rimmed in red. She's in so much pain, and I caused this. Without thinking, she curved her palm against Tara's cheek and grazed her thumb over the dark shadow beneath her eye.

"Tara." It came out as a whisper, because she knew she couldn't say the name aloud, not yet, without crying.

Tara pressed her lips against Willow's palm, closing her eyes briefly, and then took Willow's hand in her own and guided it down to their side. She squeezed it once, and then let it drop.

She's not mine to comfort. The realization fell like a rock into her belly.

"C'mon, let's get that coffee." Tara's voice was low but steady, and she turned to walk toward the counter.

How can I not touch her? How in the goddess's name can it be right that I'm not kissing her right now? But she said none of this, and simply followed Tara in silence.

And their time together...She thought later that Dickens had said it for her: It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. (And I thought I was indecisive...) Even through the pain, the connection was still there, still vibrant. They made an unspoken agreement not to focus on their separation or the reason behind it. They only spoke of it briefly, when Willow asked Tara to tell her, honestly, how she was doing.

"Willow, what good will that discussion do? OK, I can tell you that I hurt beyond the scope of all known adverbs. But I'll live. It's my job to take care of that. And some day, we can talk about your relationship with Oz like real friends would. But right now, we have this time together and, oh God, I just want to see you smile."

Willow was silent for a moment, then said, "I get that. I just don't ever want you to feel like you have to hide things from me, or that you have to...I don't know, protect me from how you're feeling."

"And I appreciate that. But trust me-this is best for me, at least right now."

"Do I get to tell you how miserable I've been since Tuesday?" As she blurted out the words she knew that a bigger person wouldn't have said them. What good could that do? And unlike Tara, she had a choice in her unhappiness. But Tara only gave a small, lopsided grin.

"You realize, of course, that that's a rhetorical question since, in the asking, you told me what you were asking permission to tell me."

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" And for the first time in three days, she managed to smile without feeling as though her face would shatter.

For the next three hours, they lounged on the unspeakably ugly couch in the corner, laughing and gossiping and basically being as near each other as they could without actually sitting in each other's laps. Willow gave Tara a brief update of recent days' slayings ("Oh my God, Tara, this thing had, like, neon orange mucus-easily the most disgusting naso-sinus-related demon I've seen") and Tara gave Willow a new spell she had discovered that would let her keep up to four textbooks aloft simultaneously and even turn the pages for her as she took notes. Willow would scale heretofore-unimagined summits of cross-referencing. And if, during all of this friendly conversation, she happened to lean in more than she perhaps needed to; if she made sure that her hand, resting on the back of the couch, touched Tara's hair any time she leaned back; if she kept her right leg curled under her left until she lost all sensation in both just so that she didn't lose contact with Tara's thigh...well, those were luxuries she was content to allow herself.

Finally, Tara looked at her, eyes clouding over, and murmured, "I should go, Willow. I have-"

"Women in 20th-Century Literature-'The Clitterati,' to use your phrase. I still can't believe you took a night class."

"It's a great course. And when I signed up for it, I thought I might meet some cute women." Both of them smiled slightly, knowing that Tara had met the woman she most desired in a Wicca group, not a classroom.

"You know, I think I'm gonna stay for awhile. Still a little java in the bowl." More to the point was the fact that she couldn't feel her legs and didn't want to drop like a stone if she tried to stand.

"OK. Willow ..." Tara dropped her gaze, just for a moment, and then looked at her squarely. "Willow, as hard as it is to see you, it's nowhere near as hard as not seeing you."

Thank you, goddess. She wants to see me again. And we can hug hello again; maybe we could meet in her room, just for privacy, and we could sit on her bed 'cause that's really the most comfortable place, and if she's tired I could rub her back and-

"Willow? Are you OK?"

"What? Of course. Why?"

"Well, you just sort of zoned out. That, and your face got all flushed."

"Oh-I, uh...I'm fighting off a cold, I think.

"Well, make sure you take Echinacea, and drink your juice." Tara's voice lowered slightly. "You never think about these things." And then she leaned over and pulled Willow close for a far-too-short moment before standing.

"So the dialing of your phone number, again, as done by someone not unlike myself, wouldn't exactly distress you?"

"I'd put that in the understatement category."

"Good." Watching Tara move away, resenting the students who walked into her line of vision, she imagined loosening the rope belt and unbuttoning the silk shirt very slowly and very deliberately. And she realized that, once again, Tara was all over her.

Continued...

Antigone Unbound's Scrolls
Index Page

~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Disclaimers/Author's Notes: See Part 1.

Part II

They met every other day after that, moving into a sort of tacit understanding. Willow made herself go a full day without talking to her after that first meeting, then called again and they met that afternoon. At the end of that time, they set up the next time. And so it proceeded.

Oz no longer locked himself in his cage, but he purposefully avoided the Espresso Pump at those times. "I know you have feelings for her. Why tempt fate by seeing it? I trust what you tell me."

If Willow had hoped that her attraction to Tara would dim, even slightly, she soon realized that the God of Such Hopes was simply laughing at her. Her stomach did double-axels when Tara came into view; triple axels when she leaned in close to Willow, face lit up with laughter and delight at those things that Willow had always found, well, spastic about herself. Once, she actually found herself looking down Tara's shirt-only a brief glance, before mentally flogging herself for her tackiness, but she had looked all the same. They never talked about Oz, or their own relationship. Even so, the grief was palpable for both of them: when they first met; when they parted; whenever their eyes met and held for that extra moment that vaults warmth into flames.

She and Oz were taking things slowly, or, to be more accurate, Oz was going slowly in deference to Willow's wishes. They hadn't made love yet, though Willow knew how much he wanted to. It wasn't as if she found him repulsive, or feared that she would blurt out Tara's name at the very worst possible moment. But she didn't want anyone else to be in the room with them the first time they were sexual and right now, she knew that when she closed her eyes, she would see Tara. So they held hands, and talked, and kissed. It was nice. She loved him. He was Oz. And this ache would eventually fade.

And now, on a Friday ten days after letting Tara go, Willow was going to the Bronze with Buffy and Riley. Xander and Anya would probably be there as well, and they were always entertaining in their own unique, albeit oblivious, way. Oz had reconnected with the Dingoes, and they had an actual paying gig in LA that night.

"Go," he said, in his simple fashion. "Have a drink. Or five. Enjoy yourself."

She had seen Tara that afternoon, before Buffy had called with the Bronze invitation, and asked Tara what she was doing for the week-end. She had intentionally mentioned Oz's absence, though she knew she was exercising decidedly questionable judgment in doing so. What was she hoping-that she and Tara would spend some kind of alternate-reality evening, where they both pretended that the past week and a half hadn't happened? She knew that Tara would never acquiesce to such an idea, which gave her the strength not to dwell on it herself. It turned out to be a moot point, though: Tara was meeting up with friends from her Women in 20th-Century Literature class. Dinner; maybe a movie.

"Oh. Well. That should be fun. Shouldn't it?"

But Tara only gave a half-shrug and asked Willow about her own social agenda.

"I don't know," she replied simply. "I might call Buffy..."

Buffy, it turned out, had called her. Her best friend had earned both the noun and the adjective in the past ten days, putting aside considerable time for the two of them to talk. If she harbored any secret relief that Willow had chosen Oz, she never showed it. She listened to Willow's sadness, and didn't try to recast her feelings for Tara into something more genteel or platonic. So when Buffy called to invite her to join them, she decided that it was far preferable to sitting at home alone or perhaps darting from one restaurant to another in hopes of "accidentally" running into Tara.

"Willow-glad you joined us." She gave Riley a warm grin and a hug as he scooted to make room for her at their table. She thought that Buffy had probably been right in her original assessment of the Iowa boy ("Riley's a goof") but she also found him to be genuinely kind. She wondered if they were all becoming a little cynical, interpreting basic goodness and openness as insubstantiality in some way. Then again, Tara was genuinely kind, and good, and open, and she would hardly call her a goof. Tara just seemed...deeper somehow, and wiser; you could see it in her eyes, those incredible blue eyes that could flash light and dark and cobalt, depending on what she was feeling-

"Will? If Riley has a big goober on his shirt, would you just tell him, instead of staring at him like he's Bill Gates?" Xander peered at her, clearly mystified by her abrupt departure from their shared reality.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. Just sort of lost in the space between my ears." She blushed and sat down. Buffy caught her eye and gave a quick smile. Willow found it comforting to know that one person at the table knew where her mind was. Along with my heart and body.

Anya gave her a perfunctory greeting before turning to Xander and mouthing the words "When can we leave and have sex?" This didn't really bother her. She didn't need to be the center of attention tonight...A little dancing, some laughter, and hopefully go to bed sufficiently tired to actually sleep.

An hour later, she stood and made her way to the bar to buy the group's next round. Waiting for the bartender to make Anya's "colorful pineapple and rum drink, preferably with a miniature umbrella, though it clearly serves no purpose," Willow looked around the bar. She wondered absently if she might find any of these women attractive. With the exception of her Doppelganger drive-through, she had never really thought about the possibility of being gay. And then she met Tara...Glancing over the various blondes and brunettes and red-heads and that one blue-head, Willow thought that none of them really stood out, except maybe that one woman with her back turned, who wore her almost-white hair loose and who was starting to turn and who was in fact Tara.

Triple-axel with a toe loop-Tara was here. The group had apparently decided to go dancing. Tara wouldn't be expecting to see her, because Willow herself hadn't anticipated being here when they talked this afternoon. But now-now it was OK, because it was totally by accident, and she didn't have to feel bad about arranging some covert night meeting. They were both here, completely independently, and it would only be natural that they would talk. And since their dorms were so close, it would only make sense for them to walk back together, after the time with their friends (which, Willow decided suddenly, should be over any moment now). They could walk back and Willow could invite Tara up to her room and there would be no rush or worry. The luxury of hours with Tara, all alone...

Willow took a half-step to her right, trying to see if she knew any of the people with Tara before going up to say hello. With this new line of vision, she saw Tara's left arm, and then she saw the hand that rested on Tara's left arm.

Willow was smart. She knew that the hand was most likely attached to an arm. The arm, in turn, probably belonged to a complete body. This body was, in all likelihood, operated by a brain. Someone's brain was telling her body to touch Tara. And continue touching her.

Finally a face came into view. It was a very attractive face-strong features, a sensuous mouth, short, tousled black hair. She was leaning in closer to Tara, handing her a drink and grinning as she spoke. Willow saw Tara's own lips curve in amusement and then close lightly over the tiny straw in her drink.

She didn't see a group of friends. She didn't see anyone who was there with Tara and this unholy spawn from the depths of hell. (Or whoever she was.) All she saw were the two of them, smiling at each other. At least the lecherous she-beast (or whoever she was) had taken her hand off of Tara's arm...But no, that was apparently just to rest it on Tara's back, as she moved closer and murmured something into Tara's ear.

"Hey-you want this?" Turning, Willow saw the bartender looking at her with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. Numbly, she gave him the best tip he would ever receive, picked up the pitcher and the colorful drink, and walked on dead legs back to the table.

"What happened-you go to the bar via North Dakota? I thought we'd lost you." Xander quickly redirected his attention to the pouring of alcohol, so Willow was spared the necessity of a reply. Buffy, though, knew something was amiss. With masterful subtlety, she announced, "Willow, you look like a girl who needs to go to the bathroom. With me." She grabbed Willow's hand and pulled her out of her seat. Xander glanced up, then noted sagely, "Nothing brings people together like urine."

Willow felt as if everything she had ever eaten or drunk or breathed was trying to fight its way of her body by way of her chest. Everything in her burned; even her eyes felt hot. Was she breathing? Suddenly, she couldn't imagine ever having done so, at least without shuddering.

"Willow? What is it?"

Forcing her vision to Buffy's concerned face, Willow muttered, "It's Tara. She's here with someone." Saying the words finalized their truth in her mind, and she fought to keep from crying. Was this how Tara had felt for the past ten days? How did she stand it?

"And you're sure it's ...You're sure it's not just an acquaintance?"

"I know how someone looks when they're interested in someone else. This demon-bitch-or whoever she is-is definitely looking at Tara with hopes that she'll be looking at her many, many hours from now."

"And you think Tara's reciprocating?"

"She wasn't exactly showing her the door. Oh, god, Buffy-I feel sick." Willow leaned back against the hard, paint-chipped wall and tried to breathe.

Buffy was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "What do you want to do? I mean, we could leave. I could say you're coming down with something and walk you back home."

Willow just stared, shaking her head. Finally she said hollowly, "I know I don't have any right to be upset. I mean, I made this decision. But seeing her-seeing her looking at someone and watching her smile...I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of her smiles, Buffy-it's like everything else just fades to black and it's just the two of you. And now she's smiling at someone else. And I don't know how to keep from exploding." She dropped her head in anguish. Buffy only nodded in understanding.

After a moment, Willow looked up hopefully. "Maybe she's evil. Maybe she's a vampire or a demon."

"OK, so, I know I'm not as quick as you, but you need to help me understand how this would be a good thing."

"Because then you'd have to stake her! Why, I bet she is! Yes, I think she most definitely is! So-OK, very good. I'll go divert Tara's attention and you drag her out back and just stake the hell out of her. Take your time-make sure you do a thorough job. In fact, you might want to cut her head off, too." Willow was extremely pleased with this solution, and turned to head out the bathroom door.

"Willow, wait-I'll certainly check her out, but if I don't pick her up on my Slay-dar, I can't just go kill her."

"I thought you were my friend," Willow replied, dropping into Full-Sulk Mode.

"I am. I love you more than anyone else in this world besides my mother. I would go through Hell to protect you. But I draw the line at impaling random lesbians."

Willow sighed. "I know. It just felt good to think of her, well, dead, I guess, is the word. But since that probably isn't an option...No, I don't want to leave. I mean, I do. But another part of me can't imagine walking out the door and leaving them alone."

"Alone with at least a hundred other people?"

"Alone without me to watch them. To know what they do."

"I understand. I mean, it's totally masochistic, which is probably why I understand it. But just give me the high sign if you want to clear, and I'll take care of the explanations and parting gifts, OK?"

"Gotcha. Thanks, Buffy." Yanking on the bathroom door, she glanced back over her shoulder. "But remember- if there's a halfway decent reason, you kill her skanky ass."

The physical sensations of the next hour could have been more quickly and cheaply acquired by driving jagged, acid-tipped slivers of glass directly into her heart. Instead, she sat at the table and watched Tara and the leering, all-corrupting succubus (or whoever she was) talk and dance. At least the music was fast-no full-body pressing. But that was painful, too. She had never danced with Tara, so she hadn't realized that the shy girl seemed to leave her insecurities behind when her body was in motion. Willow sat miserably in a state of grief, rage, and belly-wrenching lust as she watched Tara's sinuous movements.

The other woman obviously appreciated Tara's physical gifts as well. She was perhaps three inches taller than Tara, and Willow could see the curve of Tara's throat and jaw whenever she looked up slightly at the Amazonian satyr who even now plotted her conquest (or whoever she was). When Tara danced with one hand resting on her belly, Willow imagined how her skin was moving, swaying under that palm. When she occasionally brought her arms up, pulling her hair back, Willow could only swallow heavily as Tara's breasts pushed against her indigo shirt, highlighting her silhouette.

She gradually abandoned even the pretense of involvement with the Scooby gang. Buffy, though, managed to convey quietly to the others that on this night, Willow needed to be in her own head.

Just when she thought that she couldn't feel worse-an incredibly ill-advised thought in Sunnydale-the music shifted, gradually slowing into the kind of song that people who want to be close to their date pray for. The two women had been sitting for the last twelve minutes (if anyone was counting), but through a haze of dread, Willow saw the Other Woman (for this was who she was) take Tara's hand and look questioningly at the dance floor. For one moment, Willow thought that Tara might say no, but then she nodded slightly and sat her drink on the wobbly table between them. Rising, they moved onto the floor. The Other Woman rested her hands on Tara's waist; Tara looped her arms loosely over the woman's shoulders; Willow bit her lip to keep from crying.

They spoke occasionally during what seemed to be a three-hour song. Willow vowed to herself that if Tara's head dropped onto the Other Woman's shoulder, she would just nod to Buffy and get out of the bar. She knew she wouldn't do so, of course, but it felt dimly bracing to tell herself that she had a plan of action.

It didn't happen, though. What did happen was that the two women were swaying slowly to the interminable music, moving in an almost imperceptible circle, until that moment when Tara's brow furrowed slightly, as if anticipating or perhaps sensing Willow's presence, and then she was looking directly at Willow, who finally let the tears come.

Tara stepped back from the woman, who clearly did not want her to do so, and then stood motionless, staring at Willow helplessly. Willow gazed back for a moment, and then ducked her head and stood up. "Got to go," was all she could mutter, and stumbled toward the door. Buffy reached her in five steps.

"Willow-"

"Buffy, no. Please. Just let me go. God, just let me get out of here. Alone," she added miserably.

Buffy reluctantly let go of her arm. "I'll call you in an hour, all right? I can come home; we can talk, or not talk-whatever you need, OK?"

Willow only nodded-she hadn't really heard the words anyway. All she knew was that if she didn't get out into the night air soon, she would literally collapse.

She managed to make it back to Stevens Hall without getting hit by a bus, bitten by a vampire, or eaten by a demon. She wasn't at all sure that she was pleased by this. She turned off all of the lights, sat on her bed, and waited for the tears to flow unchecked. Oddly, though, they had stopped-frozen, it seemed, by the burning ice that was settling over her heart and soul. Anywhere...she wanted to be anywhere besides here, besides her own life. She had chosen Oz because she thought she should, thought it was somehow best, and now the woman she was in love with was moving on to someone else.

And why shouldn't she? Had Willow given her any reason not to? Why shouldn't she dance with a tall, striking woman who wouldn't keep her separate from her friends, who wouldn't ask Tara to keep their relationship a secret? Why shouldn't she kiss another woman, if Willow had told her she couldn't kiss her?

Because I don't want her to. She should be my dance partner; she should kiss me...She should be my lover. But Willow had said no to these things.

She looked up, startled, at the knock on the door. Oh goddess...Please let it be Tara. If only to confirm my fears and leave in five minutes, please just let me see her. Alone.

For the first time that night, her prayers were answered.

At the sight of her, standing uncertainly in the doorway, Willow felt the tears threatening again. Unable to speak, she simply backed a few steps into the room. She watched Tara close the door and move tentatively closer.

"Willow, I'm s-so sorry. It didn't start out to be anything l-like that."

"That's some small class you got," Willow managed. "Only two students."

"There w-were more of us; we did go to dinner. Chris suggested going out. I thought there w-would be some other people."

"Nice name," Willow said in a near-whisper. She really didn't want the Other Woman to have any identity whatsoever.

"Willow, I knew she w-was interested in me. When it turned out to be just the two of us, I thought about saying no. But I've spent so many nights in my room, feeling like hell...God, Willow, if you only knew how m-miserable I've been for the past ten days. I was ready to do anything just to turn it off for awhile."

"Anything?" Willow could barely speak through her dread.

There was a long silence. And then, finally, Tara replied, "No. Not anything. I w-wasn't going to kiss her, or do anything else but dance with her, and I didn't even particularly want to do that. Because the thing is," she went on, her voice breaking slightly, "I'm in love with someone else. I'm in love with this w-woman who picked her ex-boyfriend over me. And I don't want to be, but I am. But she made her decision, and now she kisses him, and makes love with him-"

"No, I don't make love with him, Tara." Willow practically shouted the words. "I don't make love with him because I can't. Because I'd be thinking of you. I know I would because you're all I ever think about. He hasn't slept over because I don't want him to, and because I'm afraid I'll dream about you and say your name. So I sleep by myself every night and the only way I can finally get to sleep is by imagining that I'm with you, in your room, and that I'll wake up feeling you next to me. So I have most definitely not been frolicking in the fields of heterosexual bliss, because I'm too busy wanting to make love to you." She stopped, stunned at the outpouring.

Tara stared at her, her breath coming in shallow waves. The room seemed to blur somehow, as if melting around the edges from the heat that shimmered between them.

"Willow." Tara's voice was barely a whisper. "I've tried to be your friend. I've tried to support you. But I can't do it anymore." Her eyes darkened with pain. "God, Willow, I want you so much. I've never felt anything like how much I want you. I never initiated anything with you, because you weren't ready. But I..." She stopped, looking down. Then her gaze met Willow's with a fierceness, an urgency that Willow had never seen before. "Willow, if you don't want me to kiss you, right now, you need to say so. Because if you don't..."

It can be that easy. Just silence, and then I can feel her against me.

Willow stood, silently.

Tara took a step closer.

Willow stood, silently.

Tara was right before her. She reached out her hand, grazed her thumb over Willow's lips and then slid her fingers into Willow's hair.

Willow stood, silently.

And then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

She heard Tara's breath catch in her throat. "Willow..." She brought her other hand to Willow's face. Willow turned, pressed her lips to Tara's palm, then slowly kissed each finger, letting her tongue slide lightly over the tips. She heard Tara groan, and felt a surge of exultation at the knowledge of how much Tara wanted her. She edged forward, until there was no space between them-belly to belly; breast to breast-and snaked her arms under Tara's, clutching her back and pulling her tight against her.

"I...am...yours."

The words slid past Willow's lips, and Tara caught them in her own breath, tasted them, drank them. She pulled Willow closer, until her own lips hovered over Willow's. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, held Willow's for one long moment, offering a final chance to turn away from the fire-

Please-

and then her lips closed over Willow's, warm and insistent and needful.

Willow felt the room tilt and spin as her lips melted against Tara's. Hungry-she had never been as hungry for anything in her life as she was for this woman. They drank from each other, aching.

When they broke, several moments later, they could only stare at each other. For all that she had fantasized about this, Willow had never come close to capturing the reality. And then it was too painful to be apart, and she pulled Tara back to her. Something had been galvanized within her, some need so insistent that it pushed aside her life-long hesitancy, her fear of taking some wrong step. She would know every inch of Tara's body, every soft curve and hollow and swell. And she would start with her mouth...She cupped Tara's face in her hands and kissed her, sliding her tongue over those full lips to explore her warmth. She could feel Tara groan again, the hunger echoing into her own body through their kiss, and then Tara was grazing Willow's tongue, over and over, with her own.

Willow felt her body hum-her skin was flushed, her nipples swollen to an ache. She felt her wetness moving through her. She pulled away just enough to whisper, "Tara...Oh, God, I've never..." But she didn't give Tara the chance to speak; she kissed her again as if trying to recapture all the hours before when she had shied away from this.

Never again. Never again will I go to bed wondering what it's like to kiss her, what her body feels like, how she tastes. She felt her belly throb at the thought of what they were doing, at the thought of everything they would do.

She brought her hands to Tara's waist and then her back, and slid her fingers under the hem of her button-down shirt. She felt Tara shudder slightly in her arms. Her skin was so smooth, so warm. Willow kneaded and stroked her fingers higher over the swell of Tara's back. Tara's own hands swept slowly down over Willow's shoulders and to her back, her thumbs barely grazing the sides of Willow's breasts. She kissed Willow's closed eyes, then her cheek, and nuzzled back to her ear. Willow found herself struggling to catch her breath as Tara's lips closed over her ear lobe, and then her tongue was circling Willow's ear, dipping lightly into its hollow.

The room was hot, far too hot for comfort, Willow realized. She leaned forward and kissed Tara's neck, feeling her pulse leap and crest under her lips. Lightly, she stroked her tongue into the hollow at the base of Tara's neck, hearing her lover's sudden half-gasp. She squeezed Tara's shoulders, and then trailed her fingers to the top button of Tara's shirt. Her mouth never left Tara's skin as she easily popped open the first button, and then the second.

Tara slid one hand up to Willow's chin, easing her face upward until their gazes met. Tara's eyes seemed blurred somehow, unfocused with heat. She thought dimly that her own must have a similar cast.

"Willow...Willow, are you sure? This is what you want?" Tara seemed to have difficulty speaking; her breath was uneven as it fell on Willow's lips.

Willow knew that Tara was asking about a certainty beyond her sexual desire. Tara was asking if this, if she, was what Willow wanted, and not just for this night-if they made love, it would be because they had each chosen the other, above all else.

She let her fingers rest flat against Tara's collarbone. "Tara, I'm sure. Seeing you, tonight-God, yes, I was jealous. But it was also...It was just so wrong, you with someone else. And me with someone else. We're-We're the two pieces that fit together. I've been...empty without you."

Tears shimmered brightly in Tara's eyes. She closed them briefly, as if to steady herself. As Willow leaned forward to kiss her, the harsh ring of the phone split the air, cacophonous and shrill.

They looked at each other, both fearing that Oz waited on the other end. Willow bit her lip, and then turned and walked to the phone on the bed-side table. If it was Oz, she wouldn't go into the full account right now, because she herself wouldn't want to find out through a phone call from a hundred miles away. But she would tell him tomorrow. She wanted to be with Tara. She needed to be with Tara.

Before picking up the receiver, she smiled softly at Tara. "I'm yours. It's that simple."

But it wasn't Oz; it was Buffy. "Hey, Will-I waited as long as I could. How are you?"

"Better than I could have imagined, Buffy." She saw Tara relax.

"Wow-that's some turn-around. Are you sure?"

Willow felt strangely calm now, as if she could handle anything. "I'm sure. I'd testify under oath that my surety is, well, sure...Tara's here. And I'm with her...um, as you probably could have inferred from my speaking to you on the phone." From the corner of her eye, she saw Tara smile. "Buffy, I made a mistake before, but I'm gonna make it right. Can you understand?"

"Willow, if there's one thing I can understand, it's the imperative of being true to your heart. Besides, you sound happy, and confident, so color me supportive of this decision."

Willow grinned in relief.

"Uh, Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean you don't want me to come rushing home now?"

"Buffy, I say this with boundless love and eternal friendship, but if you come home right now I will murder you in your sleep."

"OK then. I'll be at Riley's, and you be with Tara. Biblically. I'll see you tomorrow. And Willow-I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks, Buffy."

Sliding the phone back into its cradle, Willow turned to find Tara smiling gently. Looking at Willow, she said simply, "Thank you. Not for offering to kill Buffy, although that was touching in its own right...Thank you for being so honest."

Willow moved to take Tara back into her arms. "It's what I want. God, Tara, it feels so good to know what I want, and to act on it."

Tara gazed at her for long seconds. Finally, she said softly, "You are just so beautiful, Willow. Sometimes it makes me ache, just thinking about you. No one has ever grabbed my h-heart, and my mind, and my b-body, and just...held them, from the first moment, the way you have."

The room was growing warmer again. Willow slid her fingers back to Tara's shirt.

"Tara...Please let me touch you." She heard Tara inhale sharply, a small, inarticulate sound coming from deep in her throat. She held Tara's eyes with her own, slowly undoing another and then another button on Tara's shirt. Finally, she looked down at her work. With her thumbs, she pulled the material away until the shimmering black fabric of Tara's bra rested before her.

Oh goddess-she's the beautiful one. She trailed her fingers up Tara's belly, drawing a small shiver, until her hands rested, barely touching, on Tara's breasts. Then gradually, as if wanting to draw this moment out, she cupped Tara's breasts in her hands, and squeezed them gently. Tara swayed forward, biting her lip. She brought her own hands up and covered Willow's, feeling Willow's fingers roll her nipples gently between them.

For Willow, the incredible feeling of Tara's soft flesh, even through her bra, was overpowering enough. Now the sight of Tara's hands encouraging hers seemed to flip some trigger within her, a voice that impelled her to see more, touch more. With heightened urgency, she pulled Tara's shirt down over her arms and tossed it to the floor. Tara's bra clasped in the front-at least for a few more seconds. But soon Willow had unsnapped it, and edged it off.

She knew that she had been attracted to Tara for some time, and she knew that she often fantasized about stroking and kissing Tara's breasts. But the sight of Tara, standing partly nude and vulnerable in front of her, made everything in her twist and shudder-with hunger, with a fierce protection, with love.

She pulled Tara close to her again, and kissed her collarbone, flicking her tongue over the smooth, exposed flesh. Tara's hands went to her hair, and she whispered Willow's name as if it were a song. When Willow reached the swell of Tara's breasts, she swallowed hard, and trailed small kisses over each until her lips rested, slightly parted, over one swollen nipple. Unconsciously, she ran her tongue over her lower lip, knowing only that she was wetter than she had ever been in her life and desperate to have Tara feel the same need. Breath catching in her throat, she finally lowered her lips to Tara's nipple and sucked it hungrily into her mouth.

Tara choked back a small cry, and pulled Willow's head closer, as if wanting Willow to take all of her within her mouth. Willow circled her tongue, again and again, around the engorged nipple, pausing only to utter a small groan before pulling it deep within her mouth again. One hand still stroked Tara's other breast, and finally she nuzzled her way to that heated flesh, after squeezing Tara's breasts together briefly and flicking her tongue over each nipple.

God, I need her so much. How did I ever tell myself I could let her go? She had never felt such heat before; she couldn't imagine being sated of Tara's body.

"Willow-Willow, my legs are shaking. I don't think I can stand up much longer."

"Then don't. Lie down."

Tara smiled one of her slow, enigmatic smiles, then linked her fingers through Willow's and pulled her toward the bed, pausing to kick off her shoes. Instead of stretching out, however, she sat and faced Willow, who stood between her parted legs. Reaching behind to grasp Willow's hips, she pressed her lips to Willow's belly, and then the very top of her skirt. Her hands slid under Willow's top, first to her back and then to her stomach, pushing their way insistently upward. Willow pulled her sweater impatiently over her head, and stood before Tara in her black camisole. Tara's lips pressed further up on Willow's stomach, while her hands returned to knead and squeeze her hips. She looked up at Willow, no longer smiling but simply open in her need. "I want to see you." Willow rested her hands in Tara's hair for a moment, cradling her head against her, and then eased the camisole slowly up over her breasts. She understood, intuitively, that Tara wanted to watch this unfold, so she let her fingertips linger over her nipples.

"Oh God...Willow, you're..." She looked up helplessly.

"I'm yours."

And then Tara had stretched her full length onto the bed, and held out her hand to Willow. Willow knelt over her, undoing the drawstring of Tara's pants. Her hands felt strangely confident, eager, as they began to tug the loose fabric over Tara's hips, Tara lifting herself slightly up off of the bed to help. She could see how wet Tara was, through the dark fabric of her panties.

I'll taste her. Soon I'll slide my fingers and my tongue into her and I'll taste her. The thought made her dizzy.

"You...You too. Nothing more in between us." Nodding, Willow stood and unfastened her skirt, letting it slide to the floor. Then, as if by some unspoken understanding, each slipped her fingers under the hem of her panties and tugged them off.

I didn't do her justice. I just couldn't imagine how beautiful she is.

Willow knelt again over Tara, keeping herself braced with her arms. With her eyes locked to Tara's, she lowered herself.

With the first full contact of their bodies, Willow shuddered, and heard Tara choke out a small gasp before circling her arms around Willow's back and holding her tightly. Willow rested her head on Tara's shoulder for a moment, and tried to catch her breath. Finally she looked up, meeting Tara's eyes, and could only shake her head in wonder. Then she kissed Tara again, tongue stroking into her mouth while Tara welcomed her.

Her leg slid between Tara's thighs; without thinking, she pushed herself deeper into that sweet, warm space and felt Tara opening for her, then wrapping one leg tightly over Willow's. With the movement, Willow's thigh brushed against Tara's soft curls. She felt something heated, and slick, melt into her skin. Tara's wetness. On her.

Oxygen becoming an issue. She needed to stop because she wasn't sure she could keep breathing if she didn't. She dragged her mouth away from Tara's and looked helplessly into her eyes.

"I feel like my blood's on fire," she whispered, before bending once more and kissing the warm, smooth rise of Tara's breasts. Her hands traced the curves down Tara's sides and then slid behind to her back, and finally lower still, until she felt the full curving of her hips. She squeezed the soft flesh gently, and then instinctually pulled Tara closer into her, grinding her own leg more urgently into the heat and wetness that Tara offered up to her.

Suddenly, she felt Tara's hands on her arms. She pulled her mouth away from Tara's nipple and looked questioningly into her eyes.

"Sit back, just a little bit." Willow was slightly puzzled by Tara's request but she complied, leaning back on her knees, poised over Tara's legs. Tara sat upright, and then took Willow's right leg and gently maneuvered it, Willow bracing herself against Tara's shoulders, until Willow was straddling her thighs.

"I'm hungry," she murmured, before leaning close to nuzzle Willow's neck. Willow felt soft, silky tendrils of hair brush over her breasts. She imagined Tara's lips following the same path, and felt herself grow wetter. Tara kissed her way over Willow's collarbone and down to the flushed heat of her breasts. She slid her tongue in short strokes over Willow's flesh, planting a sensual kiss after each sweep. Willow looked down at the profile of Tara's face, her beautiful lips parted as she took Willow into her. She watched as Tara reached her nipple and slowly circled it with her tongue. She had never seen, never imagined anything so erotic in her life.

After stroking Willow's nipple until it ached with the swelling, Tara slid her hands to Willow's back and pulled her fiercely to her, engulfing Willow with the warmth of her lips, of her mouth. Willow groaned and tangled her fingers in Tara's hair. She could feel her wetness sliding out of her, and thought dimly that it must be joining with Tara's. The image slid like lava from her head to her belly, and twisted there hotly.

Tara moved from one breast to the other, and then back. Her movements weren't rushed, or desperate. Willow had never had a working definition of "steamy" before, but now she did, and she was drowning in it. Tara's hands rubbed down her back, and onto the swell of her hips. She massaged Willow gently, fingers alternately caressing and squeezing. And then, arms reaching further around Willow's hips, she began to edge lower, with an almost unbearable slowness, her mouth never leaving Willow's breasts. Willow felt this, felt the heat shimmering from her as Tara neared her opening. Tara's fingers stroked closer and closer until they finally grazed against Willow's swollen lips.

Willow breathed Tara's name, knowing what was about to happen, and shifted to open herself more fully. Tara looked up into Willow's eyes, her own glittering with need and wonder.

"Willow-Willow, I love you," she whispered, and then her fingers were stroking into Willow's wetness, teasing her opening and edging forward to Willow's clit. Willow could only choke back a cry, mouth open but soundless.

This...I didn't know it could feel like...Oh God, so good... Images, words tumbled together in Willow's mind as she felt herself start to rock back onto Tara's hand. She felt Tara's thumb circle her opening and then slide deep inside of her, as two of her fingers flicked over her swollen clit and then probed on either side, pressing it gently between them.

"Tara...What are you doing to me?" She felt almost as if she would cry with everything that was roiling and cresting inside of her.

"Loving you, with everything I have." She met Tara's eyes again and realized that their glittering arose not just from hunger but unshed tears. She lowered her mouth to Tara's and welcomed her tongue against her own.

She knew that if this continued, she would come, hard, against Tara's hand. And as good, as mind-bendingly good as this felt, she didn't want to come yet. She didn't even know why; she only knew that she wanted to feel more, know more before it happened. So she pulled back slightly from Tara's kiss, and gently took her wrist. "Not yet," was all that she whispered, but Tara only smiled as if she understood without further words. She gently drew her fingers out of, away from Willow; and then, with a languorous grin, she lazily stroked them over Willow's nipple. Willow could see the glistening of her own wetness, upon her own flesh, before Tara slowly lowered her mouth and licked it hungrily. Then she closed her lips fully over her nipple. Willow felt another wave of helplessness wash over her, as Tara looked up into her eyes and smiled impishly. "Delicious," she said simply.

Willow knew then why she hadn't wanted to come yet, why she hadn't wanted to give herself up to that completion. It was because she was so hungry, so incredibly hungry to have Tara under her, in her mouth, under her tongue. It was because she was so desperate to taste her.

She placed her hands on Tara's shoulders and gave a gentle but insistent push. Tara lowered her elbows onto the bed and slowly lay back down, her silver hair fanning out around her on the pillow. Willow stretched out over her, kissing her with a greater fierceness and urgency. Her mouth felt dry with want. All she could think about was feasting off of Tara's flesh, and drinking her essence. In her mind, she had done this so many times. Her fantasies had begun subtly...She would be thinking about the time she and Tara had just spent together, and gradually she had begun to add to those thoughts, creating new images and exchanges that hadn't actually occurred...Hugs would last longer in her mind's eye; she would kiss Tara's cheek, or brush her hair back from her eyes. When Tara had come down with a bad cold, Willow had taken her soup and read to her. When she thought about it later, she found herself imagining that she offered to rub Tara's back and shoulders, to help ease the ache of her body. And Tara, in her mind, had accepted and turned over, and Willow had massaged the sore muscles-through the night-shirt at first, but then, because it really would be better to reach the muscles directly, she slid her hands under Tara's shirt and all along the length of her back, fingers sometimes grazing slightly along her sides, feeling just the hint of swelling of Tara's breasts. And then she had finally acknowledged to herself that she wanted Tara-wanted to kiss her, hold her, make love to her. Her fantasies became more explicit until finally, one night when Buffy was at Riley's, Willow had let her own fingers wander down to where all of that heat was calling out Tara's name; she parted her legs; she tentatively began searching in the wetness and the hunger to learn if the image of soft blond hair upon her breasts and full lips upon her own could indeed make her body pulse and quiver and surge. And oh, yes, how it could. Willow thought about how she would make love to Tara; how she would place her mouth over Tara's wetness and slowly drink of it. And as she thought of it, and touched herself, she became the lover and the loved, wondering if Tara's body responded as hers did; if it leapt at the same kind of touch and stroke. When she brushed over her own swollen tip of nerves, she imagined it as her own tongue over Tara, and wondered if Tara would like this pressure, or that. Though she didn't especially like penetration, she wondered if Tara did, and gently pushed two fingers into herself and imagined those same fingers pushing into Tara. Would she open to her, welcome the fullness? If Willow curved her fingers-like that-would Tara arch up off of the bed? Would she want to feel a slow, insistent pushing, or would she want Willow's fingers, or tongue, to thrust hard and fast and deep into her? Willow wondered all of these things, pictured all of these things until she could hold off no more and then she came, writhing and aching and always, in a final, helpless whisper, uttering the same word: Tara...

Now she was about to live those pictures, and learn what Tara wanted and needed. Slowly, she kissed her way down over Tara's breasts, and then her belly. Oh God...Slow down. If you move like you want to it'll be over too soon. Ah, but she's so beautiful. So hard not to devour her, now, no more waiting. Tara was moaning above her, choking out Willow's name. She kissed downward, breathing in Tara's scent-honeysuckle, it reminded Willow of, and a sweet musk that she somehow knew was a part of Tara's arousal. She kissed over Tara's full mound, not probing further, not yet, until finally her thumbs slid up into Tara's folds and she slowly but insistently spread her open to receive Willow's mouth. With a groan, she finally gave herself up to what she had wanted to do for so long.

She slid her tongue into Tara's wetness; suckled her with a neediness she hadn't realized she could feel. So good...Sweet; it's sweet cream, and so much of it. I'm in her-my tongue is sliding into her and she takes me... And Tara-her soft cries of Willow's name; her legs falling helplessly open to give herself entirely to Willow; the grinding and rocking of her hips under Willow's mouth...it was almost too intoxicating, this wild joy she felt at knowing that she was giving Tara such pleasure.

She swept up, along the length of Tara's full lips, and then over and around her taut, swollen clit. Every few moments, she slid back down to her opening, drawing out more of the sweet wetness that she found so incredible. And when she was there, teasing that heated center with her tongue, Tara arched up into her. So Willow went back to her clit, but gradually brought her hand to Tara and slowly edged two fingers into her. Tara gave a low moan as Willow pushed fully into her, and held, and then curved her fingers and dragged them back, almost withdrawing. Her mouth held a light seal while her tongue circled Tara's clit over and over. Finally, she pressed harder with her lips and began to stroke more forcefully. Her fingers continued their insistent thrusting.

"Willow...Oh God, Willow...I'm close; I'm so close. Don't stop; don't-I need you, Willow." Tara's voice was almost a sob. Her legs pressed hard into the sheets, flexing and releasing by turns. And then, finally, through the haze of her own lust, Willow felt Tara's body stiffen, grow tight-wire tense; she was barely whispering Willow's name; and then, with a long, shuddering cry, Tara came...arching, twisting spasms that rocked them both, left them shaking and groaning each other's name.

When Willow finally withdrew her fingers from Tara, she slid them, one by one, into her own mouth, sucking off the wetness, unwilling to let any of it escape her. She felt Tara release her hair and tug gently on her shoulders, pulling Willow back up to her. Willow moved eagerly up the length of Tara's body to find her smiling at her, even as a few tears escaped from her incredible eyes. Without thinking, Willow reached down and kissed each trickling path onto her lips. She realized that she herself was grinning hugely; it felt as if her smile would stretch clear off of her face. She flopped down beside Tara and pulled her as tightly into her arms as she could. She held her, wondering at the happiness bouncing through her like a pinball. Finally, she pulled back just enough to look at the beautiful woman-my lover-laying beside her. She reached up and stroked the soft face.

"I love you, Tara Maclay," she whispered, finally giving voice to what she had known for a long time. The blue eyes widened, and then shimmered. I want to spend my life helping her understand how absolutely lovable she is. I want to heal those bruised places that make her shocked that someone could be in love with her. And then she nestled back into the warmth of Tara's body and smiled the universal smile of someone in love. Suddenly she thought, "Mrs. Butterworth's Lite."

"Huh?" Tara pulled back a little bit, and tilted her head quizzically.

"Oh. OK. So, I guess I now have absolutely no inhibitory neurons where you're concerned, not even a tiny little runt of an inhibitory neuron that always gets picked last for inhibitory neuron basketball." Willow could feel herself turning a deep red. "I thought I had thought that."

Tara laughed deeply. With her hand on Tara's chest, Willow could feel the quick rise and fall of her breath, and the rumbling of her laughter within her chest. She thought it was the most delightful thing she had ever experienced.

"So, leaving aside for the moment the idea that you're completely uninhibited around me-which is so incredibly OK with me, by the way-what's with the Mrs. Butterworth's reference?"

The blush edged back into Willow's face. "Well, see-I was just thinking about your..." She felt the blush go from red to crimson. "About your, uh, wetness." And that would be flaming scarlet, she assessed, as her face grew even hotter.

"And I taste like maple syrup? I mean, it's better than Pepto-Bismol, I guess, or Nyquil, but still..."

"No-you don't taste like maple syrup. You feel like maple syrup; Mrs. Butterworth's Lite, to be specific. On my lips..." She looked up at Tara, feeling the twisting sensation spiral into her belly again. "On my tongue." She swallowed, hoping that she wasn't expressing all of this in some horribly Willow-esque, very-much-not-how-she-meant-it way. "I mean...the feeling of you. Warm, and slick. You taste...you taste like nothing I could have imagined before. And believe me, I spent lots of nights imagining it." Was she making any sense whatsoever? Did Tara think that Willow had just compared her wonderful, delicious, incredible wetness to a pancake syrup? And if so, wouldn't that probably annoy her just a little bit?

Looking worriedly into Tara's eyes, she was relieved to see them crinkle with laughter. "God, Baby, I love you how paint things. I love how you make me see your world."

She called me 'Baby.' So, that's one of her pet-names for me. We have pet-names. Smiling at Tara, she could see the blue eyes shift, subtly, from merriment to stillness and then to what Willow now recognized as hunger.

"And how do you taste? How do you feel?" The words hung heavily between them. Willow felt the twisting sharpen, plunge as she thought reflexively about how Tara would get answers to those questions.

As Tara made her long, deliciously circuitous route toward Willow's aching wetness, Willow thought she would break apart with the wanting. She felt Tara's breast resting against her wet curls, and then Tara cupped her breast in her hand and eased it against Willow's folds, slowly rubbing it along the length of her lips until they parted and Willow felt her wetness covering Tara's flesh. Willow groaned, her fingers in Tara's hair gripping reflexively. Tara shifted again, just slightly, until her nipple brushed against Willow's clit. Willow thought wildly that she would surely come from that pressure, and that image. But then Tara shifted, and Willow felt hot breath wafting against her own heat. Tara's mouth was gently nudging open her own lips, and finally, Tara eased her tongue into her wetness. Willow heard choked sounds coming from both of them. Over, and over; and then circling in some magical, secret way that made Willow shudder with each movement...She felt Tara slide into her, and then withdraw her tongue just to her opening and tease her there. And then she slid back up to her clit, which throbbed and ached with the warm insistence of Tara's mouth. She knew she would come soon-she had been on the edge, it seemed now, from the moment that Tara had first touched her face that night. She could feel herself rocking into the sweet mouth, hips grinding helplessly. It was rolling across her, through her-a wave of heat and ferocity... She realized suddenly that she wanted to look into Tara's eyes when she came. She wanted to feel Tara against her, while she came-see her helpless need and her utter completion.

"Tara...Baby, come here." The words were no more than a whisper. She felt Tara reluctantly pull her mouth away from her wetness and heat, and then she was edging up Willow's body, draping kisses like warm snowflakes across her torso and breasts.

"Tell me, Love. Tell me what you need." There was no judgment, no disappointment, no pre-conceived assumption of what should happen. There was only Tara, looking at her with want. The sight, and the knowledge, pushed the wave deeper into Willow's core.

"Push-push your thigh into me, and let me look at you. I need to look at you when I come." Tara swallowed, and leaned down to kiss her. Willow felt the soft curtain of her hair falling over her cheeks and her eyes. Tara positioned herself between Willow's legs, groaning as she did, and asked, "This? Like this?" Willow shuddered, and looked at Tara wonderingly.

"Yes. How...How do you know...?"

"You tell me. Your body tells me." The blue eyes were a shade of cobalt unlike anything Willow had seen there before. Tara began to rock, and push, and grind into Willow's open core, with a slow, certain strength that Willow found unbearably erotic. Even apart from the delicious friction, Tara's intense gaze and the feel of her muscles moving under Willow's fingers were like unseen strokes on her clit. Willow slid her hands from Tara's hips to her shoulders, and then to her breasts, swaying gently above her own. Cupping, squeezing, she groaned Tara's name and tried to keep from closing her eyes with the intensity of her reactions. She spread her legs even more, offering up all of her swollen flesh and heated wetness to Tara's soft strength. Did I make her feel this good? Oh, goddess, if she felt any of this...

And then she felt the wave begin its crest, somewhere deep within the soles of her feet, and roll its way forward up her legs and over her thighs and across her hips and then right to the tip, she was at the very edge...She slid her hands to Tara's face, cupping her beautiful smooth skin; she held the incredible, glistening blue eyes with her own; she managed a final choked cry of Tara's name-and then the wave hit her; slammed into her; wrenched her back and shoulders up off of the bed until she was clutching Tara's body against her own, mouth hard against Tara's neck, as she shuddered, again, and then again...And then, finally, they both eased back down, where Tara lay full against her, gathering her breath for a moment.

After a few seconds, Tara lifted her head and kissed Willow deeply. Their lips weren't rushed now; they could explore each other's warmth with a leisurely assurance of the future. Finally, Willow looked into Tara's eyes, running the back of her fingers across Tara's cheek. "How did you do that? How do you do these things to my body?"

"It's what we make together. I...I build off of you, and your passion, and the way you make me feel, and we just...push each other; lift each other." Tara cocked her head to one side, a sudden question entering her gaze. "You know, right, that you do to me what you just felt? You know that?"

"I guess I hoped so. Now I know so." They gazed at each other, one mirroring the other's smile and wonderment. After a moment, Tara rolled to her side and looked up at Willow. Both seemed to register their exhaustion at the same time.

"If you would have told me this morning that I'd feel this way tonight..." Tara murmured.

"I know," Willow replied. "Why do I think I'm going to sleep better than I have in, oh, about ten days?" She felt Tara smile against her shoulder. "Wanna spoon? I mean, I know you're gonna end up on your stomach, but consider it a lay-over on the way to your final destination."

"So is 'lay-over' supposed to be a really naughty pun? 'Cause even if it isn't, it's funny." Tara's voice began to grow indistinct.

"Well, if it's funny, then I definitely meant it." Willow leaned down, and held Tara's eyes with her own. "I love you, Tara." And then she felt, as much as heard, Tara's reply falling softly against her lips: "I love you too, Willow." They smiled at each other again, and then finally Willow rolled over onto her side, feeling Tara's breasts press into her back a moment thereafter. OK, it's late. You're both tired. Don't turn back into the all jazzed-up, turned-on Willow again right now...Although, if we both wake up, just by funny coincidence, at the same time in, like, a couple of hours, then, well, we'll have had enough sleep at least to replenish some strength and we could certainly... Such were Willow's thoughts as she drifted asleep in Tara's arms.

~~~~~~~

As it turned out, however, it wasn't a funny coincidence that woke them up at the same time, and it wasn't a couple of hours later. It was not quite four and a half hours later that they were awakened by the sound of the door edging tentatively open.

Willow's first thought was that frogs were holding their annual Amphibian Pride March and her room was on the parade route. And then her alpha waves began to switch over to betas, and she assumed Buffy was coming home. She wasn't awake enough yet to be embarrassed, so she sat up, completely naked. "Buffy, I thought you said-" She stopped, realizing that it wasn't her roommate who stood trembling before her.

By the dim glow of streetlights filtering through the windows, she saw eyes begin to turn, begin to glow. She heard breathing quicken, grow shallow.

"I should have called," he managed to whisper, the despair in his voice mingling with grief and rage and a guilt borne of the knowledge of what he would do.

Continued...

Antigone Unbound's Scrolls
Index Page

~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Disclaimers/Author's Notes: See Part 1.

Part III

Good to be back in town, even if it was 4am. Nice gig-Devon had the IQ of a George Bush Pez dispenser, but the boy could sing. Long drive back but worth it. Missing her big-time. He knew he was lucky. Knew it could have gone the other way, and he'd have had no one to blame but himself. Aching, suddenly-aching to see her, just to kiss her good night and try to find some new way to thank her. A quick stop-in; no intentions or expectations. Strong feelings-always caught him by surprise, but so good. Willow. Need to see her.

"Oh God, Oz. Oz, I'm so sorry. Please-"

Door's unlocked. Guess there's a first for everything. Willow's scent-like nothing in the world. But- More here, too; another one. He knew that scent. No; no, just friends. Visiting.

"Oz, please don't. Don't change; you can stop this-"

But that particular scent-Willow, aroused and then sated. He knew it, but it had never been so strong. Not with him.

"Oz, you've stopped it before. Please, Oz, fight it-"

Oh, God, no...No, she-his Willow, with...with her. Everything turning, red and hot inside. Thoughts, blinking and slowing...Fury, frenzy-changing. No stopping.

"Oz, it's not her fault; it's me-I did this. Please don't hurt her, Oz. Oh God, please don't hurt her-"

And she begs for the other one's life. That's all that matters to her. She begs him to spare the one she loves. The one she...

Even as he spoke, his Other howled from deep inside and severed any voice of restraint. Oz receded to utter oblivion; the Other became the Only.

~~~~~

Tara had first stirred at the sound of Willow's groggy voice. When that voice suddenly thinned, became cut-glass clear with terror, she pulled herself abruptly to wakefulness. Even before her eyes adjusted to the dark, she knew there was someone else in the room.

But not a person...or no longer a person, perhaps.

She knew that form. She knew that changing and the rage that fueled it. She knew what he meant to do, because he had meant to do it before. But that time Willow had been safe, studying unawares. Now he would take Willow, too.

No. He wouldn't. She wouldn't let him.

~~~~~

For Willow, the spasm of sorrow that she felt for Oz was eclipsed almost immediately by the knowledge of what would happen. He would kill them both, in his rage and despair. And because she was Willow; because her capacity to love so far exceeded what most people could understand, her next thought was to protect Tara, at any cost.

"...don't hurt her, Oz. Oh God, please don't hurt her." Maybe she could fight him off long enough to let Tara get out the door, maybe even get some help.

She could feel Tara moving to sit beside her, leaving the meager protection of her own small frame to stare openly, almost defiantly, at the creature that emerged before them.

"Tara-Baby, when he attacks, he'll focus on one thing, at least at first." Willow's voice was a strained hiss. "I want you to-"

The straining, shifting features trembled slightly, eyes flaring briefly.

He hears you. Tara's voice came from within her own mind.

Tara? Is that you? Willow's cocked eyebrow provided the punctuation mark to her inner query. Eyes never leaving the creature in front of her, she saw that the transformation was almost complete, and tried desperately to assemble all the pieces of information into some mosaic that didn't include horrific bloodshed.

Yes. I think we can get out; both of us, OK?

Tara, please...If anything happens to you-

Nothing's going to happen to either of us.

OK. I just-Wow...I can't believe we're speaking all telepathic-like, you know? Because I've always wondered-

Willow-Cujo, 12 o'clock. Big dog. Unhappy. Focus.

The claws had fully emerged, the jaw was now grotesquely extended; there was no evidence of the gentle musician who had given Willow a witch Pez last year. She heard a deep rumble from within its throat and watched as its head wrenched back one final time before it stilled, fixing them both with a yellowish leer.

Think of safety, Willow; think of protection. Think of the greatest safety you've ever known; some moment when you knew that all of the forces of all bad things couldn't touch you. Hold my hand, and remember that moment.

What will you do?

I'm in charge of puppy training.

Tara, no! Not if it means-

I told you-we're both getting out of here. Please, Willow-trust me.

The words rippled an echo inside of her, and Willow found herself linking her fingers with Tara's and closing her eyes. Closing her eyes, and thinking of trust, and safety.

It wasn't a mother's lap that she remembered, nor was it a father's warm embrace after a scary dream. It wasn't Buffy saving yet another day; it wasn't Giles looking at her with parental reassurance.

***I'd have to be your anchor; you know, keep you on this plane...I trust you.***

She saw herself deep within the Nether Realm, Ayala granting her access but waiting, hoping to keep Willow there for her own. It could have happened so easily...If Tara had faltered even once, lost concentration; lost Willow within her own mind. But she hadn't. She had breathed for Willow, held on for Willow. Would unthinkingly have traded herself for Willow had Ayala demanded it. In a short lifetime that had known more blinding terror, seen more cruelty and capricious fate than most people could even envision, it was one moment when she could so easily have been lost that she remembered as her safest. Because of Tara.

When she opened her eyes, her vision was dimmed by a golden shimmering that seemed to hover around her. She knew she was in danger, and yet she felt almost preternaturally calm-even when her eyes adjusted and she saw that Tara was kneeling between Oz and herself; one hand remaining linked with Willow's, and the other extending toward the wolf.

Some dim part of her brain wanted to scream; wanted to break the connection and wrest herself out of this complacency, but she felt too peaceful. It was one step short of sluggish; it was the most perfect feeling of well-being she had ever known.

And so she watched with a loving fascination as Tara sank to her knees, hand extended, and slowly arched her head back and offered her throat.

This couldn't be. She had to stop it; Tara had said they would both make it out. But here was Tara, naked, unprotected; shielding her and baring her throat to be taken. It was a gesture of ultimate submission, and yet strangely, it held no weakness. If anything, there was an almost heedless courage about it.

The wolf darted two steps closer, tongue now lolling out of its mouth in an obscene picture of hunger.

Willow couldn't move. Even while one part of her mind screamed out with despair and anguish, the rest of her being sat in abject calm and peace. All she could do was hold Tara's hand, and if Oz came after her next, then so be it...But she wouldn't let go of Tara's hand.. She would never let go, just as Tara had refused to let Willow slip away in the Nether Realm. Willow would hold her until her own breath was taken from her.

Through the haze, she watched the surreal drama in front of her-the most primitive, bestial creature she had ever encountered, hovering over the most gentle, wise being to grace her life. Her Tara. This woman had chosen Willow just as surely as Willow had chosen her, and the knowledge edged its way insistently into her awareness. This woman had chosen her, and now chose to save her.

It was that knowledge that finally began to push through the film that seemed to cover and shield her. She had to move, had to do something-

Summoning up all of her force of will, she had begun to unfold her legs from under her when she was stopped by the picture in front of her.

The wolf halted, seemingly confused; and then it slunk back, away from Tara. It shook its head-once, and then again. Still Tara remained, unmoving, throat proffered. The wolf edged forward again, hesitantly this time, and growled angrily. It brought its leering face close to Tara's, lips pulling back in a grotesque grin, teeth bared, prepared to rip and sever. And still Tara sat, in perfect quietude, as though here only in body, her mind far away in some idyllic place. But...her body-she's so defenseless. Please, goddess, I can't lose her. The wolf sniffed, tentatively, mouth only a hair's breadth from Tara's slender throat. But then it shook its head again, and edged back once more. It stared hungrily at Tara's pale, naked form; suddenly, a low whine echoed plaintively from its own throat. Willow thought that the sound held almost infinite bewilderment, and grief.

Willow thought that an hour must have passed, with the three of them frozen like that, although she would later realize that it could only have been a matter of seconds. Finally, a last howl ripped from its heart; and then it turned, and hurled itself out the door and down the hallway. Willow dimly heard the sound of glass breaking as the wolf threw itself out of the window.

Only then did Tara relax her pose. Her hand dropped, with a slight tremble, and her head spun to face Willow, who had sunk onto the floor beside her.

"Dammit, Tara," Willow managed, through her tears. "You could've been-I could have lost you."

"Baby, no...No, I knew that if you were anchored to a safe place, and I was anchored to you-"

"If you were anchored to me?! You were half anchored to me, and half anchored to a werewolf! What in the goddess' name were you doing? You weren't going to let me play hero, but you can just slip me a mental Mickey and trundle off to-"

"You think that's what it was? You think I put you to 'sleep' so I could rescue the fair maiden? Not that you aren't fair, of course...But I needed you to be in a safe place, mentally, so that we could be safe. I knew about a soothing spell, chanted within the person's own mind. But it only works if the creature who threatens you feels no threat from you. Think, Willow; there really wasn't enough time to give you a lesson and say, 'Now-you try it.'"

Willow looked up at Tara, who appeared to glisten and dance through her tears.

"Oh, God, Tara...If I had lost you-I can't even imagine...It would just be the stupidest, worst thing in the world for you to be taken away from me. The powers that be would have to be total idiots to let you die."

"It's OK, Baby. We're both OK. We're going to have some major emotional clean-up to do tomorrow, but right now-we're safe, we're together, and did I mention we're safe?"

Willow finally let herself breathe with something approximating normality. She looked up, a tiny half-smile curving across her lips. "Hey-Nice job on the puppy training."

Tara grinned with what looked suspiciously like pride. "Well, at least he didn't go on the rug."

Part 4

Half an hour later, they sat quietly in Willow's bed, sipping Swiss Miss Instant Cocoa (with mini-marshmallows). "Definitely more mini than marshmallows," Willow mused absently. "I mean, isn't there some kind of quality control board that specifies the minimum diameter of a marshmallow? But it couldn't be too big, 'cuz then it'd be a regular marshmallow, or even a maxi-marshmallow."

"I dated someone named 'Maxie Marshmallow' once," Tara noted suddenly.

"What? No way!"

"OK, I didn't. I was just teasing."

"I should most certainly hope so, because that's just-"

"Her last name was actually 'Pad.'"

"Oh. Well that's still pretty weird. I mean-" She stopped abruptly. "Oh. You're teasing again. Aren't you?" This last bit was said somewhat hopefully.

"Yes, I'm teasing. I just thought that maybe we could pull ourselves away from the admittedly wonderful distraction of hot chocolate and talk about what happened."

"About what happened?" Willow echoed questioningly.

"Yeah. I'm thinking mostly about the part where Oz walked in on us curled up in bed and turned into a werewolf and tried to kill us both."

"Oh yeah-that part." Both women remained silent for a few seconds, reluctantly playing the scene back in their respective minds. Finally, Willow gave a small sigh.

"I know. I know we have to talk about all of that but...I just wanted our next conversation to be about what happened before we were so rudely interrupted. Specifically, I wanted to talk about how wonderful it was and when we might be able to do it again and whether or not we even needed to leave this room at all today because we could order take-out and basically spend all day making love and I really should take a breath at this point in this sentence but I seem to have forgotten how to breathe so-"

Tara leaned over and rested two fingers across Willow's mouth, her lips curling into a soft smile. "In through the nose," she coached gently. As Willow obediently inhaled, she caught the lingering scent of her own wetness. Her belly gave a sudden, eminently enjoyable twist. She saw Tara looking at her intently.

"So, from what you just said-the part before the respiration lesson-it's s-safe to assume that it w-would be OK to kiss you again?"

Willow recognized the seriousness behind the joke; she knew that Tara really did want an answer. She pulled herself out of her inner spiral and brought both hands to Tara's face, smoothing back her hair and feeling the soft skin warm under her palms.

"Tara, listen to me. The days of you waiting while I figure out what I want are over. I've figured it out; I think I had actually figured it out before. I was just so caught up in trying to do what I thought was best; what hurt the fewest people. And yes, I mean 'hurt' partly in the literal sense, as in, keeping Oz from going all 'Werewolves of Sunnydale.' But you suffered in that because you wouldn't..." Willow fumbled for words, trying to resist her usual "Twelve Monkeys at Twelve Typewriters" approach to expressing herself. Tara just waited patiently. "You suffered because you didn't ask anyone to help you carry your pain. You never begged me to choose you; you never talked about how much you were hurting. You gave me space and time and you carried all that heartache yourself." She stopped, feeling tears shimmer in that just-before-spilling place. She drew a deep breath. "You really are remarkable, Tara Maclay."

"Willow, I'm not a saint. I w-was praying you'd choose me. It's not like I was sitting back and saying, 'Whatever the goddess deems fit-so be it.' Please don't think I w-wasn't pulling you in my direction with all my heart and soul."

"Well I should hope so," Willow replied rather abruptly. "I should hope that the person I'm in love with isn't sitting in her room going, 'Well, you know, it would be nice; but I'm certainly not going to get myself all worked up about it.' But you were pulling me toward you with your heart, not guilt or pressure. That's what I responded to; that's what matched the song in my own heart. And having given such powerful oratory, can I ask why you're grinning so-what's the word-dopily?"

"I'm sorry. I just didn't really hear anything you said after calling me the person you're in love with." Tara was grinning very...dopily.

"Oh, well, good...Because right after that part, I said, 'And she'll rub my back every night until we're old and gray.'"

"You got it. Now...Let's revisit that carte-blanche kissing part." As Tara's soft lips covered her own, Willow realized for the first time since Oz's departure how terrified she'd actually been. How close she'd come to losing Tara just as she'd truly discovered her. Without thinking, she pressed Tara closer to her and felt a small shudder work its way along her spine.

Tara pulled back briefly, her eyes holding Willow's with a question. "Baby? What is it?"

"Oh, just flashing back to that whole post-coital werewolf attack." She allowed Tara to pull her closer, turning so that she could look up at Tara while being cuddled against her breasts. Oh, my...OK, that'll take a girl's mind off of the scary stuff. She grazed her hand up over Tara's collarbone and brushed her cheek again. "I mean, I know the French call an orgasm 'la petite mort.' So what exactly would dying immediately after an orgasm be called? 'La petite mort as warm-up for la grande honkin' mort?'"

"Yeah, sweetie; I think that's what I learned in Honors French." Tara smiled indulgently down at her.

"OK, now you're just pacifying me." Willow felt as if she were hosting this year's Emotion Expo in her head and heart. On the one hand, she was horrified at what had just happened, and hated the knowledge that Oz, wherever he was, had to be in excruciating pain. On the other hand, she was nestled up against Tara's wonderfully naked form, those long, graceful fingers playing softly through her hair, and she found that she just couldn't stop by the Anguish Exhibition for too terribly long.

"Willow, I know you feel bad about Oz; about him finding out this w-way. It's OK to talk about it."

Willow trailed her fingers down Tara's arm, laying protectively over her. "Well, I do; I mean, I definitely do. I remember how it felt to find him and Veruca there, and I knew even then that it wasn't about love, or him wanting to leave me for her. But this...God, Tara, he knew. I mean, obviously he knew that we were together, that we had made love." She felt her heart give a little half-gainer at hearing the words come out of her mouth. "But I think he also knew-I think he knew that it was love, and that I had chosen you. I think he knew right then that I belong to you." She shifted and sat up so that she could look Tara in the eyes. She could feel herself falling into the intensity of her emotions, and she needed the endless depths of blue to catch her. She saw Tara gazing at her with more love than she ever thought she would see in anyone's eyes, at least anyone who was looking at her.

"Oh, Baby." Willow could see Tara struggling with her own thoughts. "You talked about me risking my life, but I heard you, Willow...I heard you begging Oz not to hurt me. I just can't-I mean, I can't even tell you what that did to my heart. And what it does to me now, just thinking about it." She leaned gently into Willow, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath.

"Tara, I just-I didn't even think about it, really. It was just the most important thing in the world right then. It's like you were the only person on-stage in my mind. Everything else was just a prop." Willow wrapped her arms around Tara and buried her face in the graceful curve of her neck. They rocked like that, gently, for several minutes.

Finally, an random thought flew into Willow's head and offered some much-needed comic relief. She could feel herself start to giggle.

"OK, pull me up onto the Clue Train. What's so funny?" Tara's eyes were rimmed lightly in red, but still held the dancing light that always drew Willow toward her so trustingly.

"Well, I was just thinking; about the two of us, each so determined to save the other. I mean, I'm telling Oz to rip my throat out, not to hurt you; and then you've helped me anchor to a safe spot and suddenly you're on your knees saying, 'No, no, take me instead.' And I was just about to pull myself out of the safe spot, at which point I would have no doubt pushed you out of the way and probably just thrown myself directly into his mouth. God, maybe we just confused him so much that he ran away to think it all over."

She hoped Tara wasn't hurt or offended by her comment. She knew how readily Tara had offered herself as supplicant, as sacrifice if necessary. She hoped Tara knew how readily she had been willing to do the same. She was relieved to hear Tara's shy laughter.

"Oh, God...It's like-It's like an afternoon talk show. 'Today, on Jerry Springer: Women Who Fight To Be Sacrificed Before Anyone Else.' But who else would be on the panel?"

"Well, I think Buffy has to be on there. And Xena. That girl puts the 'no bull' in 'noble.' And if we have her, we have to have Gabrielle, too. One won't come without the other."

There was a brief silence while both women pondered the visual implications of Willow's last sentence.

Finally, Tara spoke up. When she did, there was palpable regret in her voice for broaching the topic. "Will, do you think Oz is a danger to anyone tonight? Besides us, I mean?"

Willow furrowed her brow in thought. "No, I really don't. I mean, I can't know that for sure; but I have this strong feeling that he de-wolfed pretty quickly. He hasn't even come close to changing for months now, or so he said when he got back. So...I don't know, maybe I'm trying to convince myself it'll be all right. But still...I just have this feeling that once he was away from us, he changed back. Besides, it's almost light out, so that would speed up the reversal."

Both of them were quiet for a moment, recalling a sunny day two weeks ago when Oz had metamorphosed right in front of Tara, because of what he smelled on her. And that had been so mild, compared to the scents he would have picked up tonight. Finally, Willow sighed.

"We should probably call a Scooby meeting for this morning, if we can round everyone up."

"You know, I've always wondered exactly how you call a Scooby meeting. I mean, is there a secret phone in the Scooby cave? Do you use carrier pigeons? Send a Candy-gram?"

"No, none of the above. Our preferred method is to call each other up and convey some sense of the impending disaster through dark humor and wry understatement."

"Impressively literate. Can I listen in when you call?"

"Sure, but I may not be totally on my game. Performance anxiety and all."

Tara gave a crooked smile and ducked her head slightly. "That's hard to believe. I mean, after last night, I can't imagine you having any anxiety about your...performance."

Willow felt that same twisting sensation deep within her belly. Though she blushed, she also felt secretly relieved. She had wondered if she would know what to do, but when push came to shove (so to speak), their dance had seemed to choreograph itself. She knew that lust could take a couple a long way towards making their first encounter a hot one, but she also couldn't help but compare last night to her first time with Oz. He had been so tender, and so considerate (especially in light of the fact that the Mayor was planning on eating them all like so much popcorn the next day). And it had felt good, both physically and emotionally. But the abandon that she had felt with Tara; this sense that she had just been released into the biggest and best candy store in the Northern Hemisphere...all of that felt specific to the two of them.

She saw Tara tilt her head slightly, and grinned at her self-consciously. "Just thinking about how good it feels to know it felt good to you, because you felt so good to me. It's just a good feeling, you know?"

Tara smiled at her with something akin, Willow suspected, to naked adoration. "Willow, I've never known anyone who could use the same three words as the building blocks for fifteen separate sentences." She stifled a yawn. "It's a gift, you know."

Willow shifted so that they could ease back down into bed. "I know you're a gift to me."

"Sorta like that," Tara replied softly, and blushed. Once they were nestled under the covers again, Willow reached over and set her alarm to seven o'clock. Then she turned and faced Tara, running her thumb over the full lower lip before leaning in and just barely pressing her lips into Tara's. Suddenly she felt almost reverent about this woman she loved, who loved her so intuitively and so incredibly well.

"I know this was terrifying, and I do hurt for Oz. But Tara-the biggest part of me is just so thankful we found each other, and so thankful we're both safe now." She felt Tara's lips brush over her forehead.

"I know, my love. I know." And though it wasn't the most comfortable position, neither one could bring herself to shift and turn her back to the other, so they spent the next hour and a half facing each other, dozing in and out of a turbulent but insistently erotic sleep.

Continued...

Antigone Unbound's Scrolls
Index Page

~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Disclaimers/Author's Notes: See Part 1.

Part 4

Buffy, Giles, Xander, Anya, and Riley all responded with due energy and concern to Willow's dark humor and wry understatement. She had said only that she had decided to end things with Oz and that this was what had precipitated his transformation. Now, on their way to the Scooby meeting, Willow gave voice to her fears. In so doing, she felt the full brunt of another fear: that Tara would find her anxiety a sign of weakness, or uncertainty about their relationship.

"It's like, I wanna be all, 'I'm here, I'm queer, I lick her a lot, get used to it,' but-" She stopped suddenly, facial hue matching their high school mascot. "I mean, 'I like her a lot, get used to it.' Oh, jeez, I can't even get my gay pride slogans right." She let out a sharp sigh of frustration. "I mean, I hate that I'm scared to tell the others. They've never made any gay jokes, and I really can't imagine any of them being mean or stupid. And-hello-experienced demon fighter and deeply motivated Wiccan here. What's there to be afraid of?" She couldn't bring herself to look at Tara, and suddenly, she wished they'd taken a much longer route to Giles' house, one that included a nice long look at the Florida Everglades.

"Sweetie, I don't think you're worried that they'll suddenly freak out and call you awful names. I think you're afraid that things will change."

"Which is silly, I know, because they won't."

"Of course they will. Whether anybody wants them to or not, things will change. Being with a woman isn't all of who you are, Willow, but it is a part. And if the world were different, things wouldn't have to change but people still carry around all these expectations and assumptions and so when we don't match them, things change. And these people have always known you as a heterosexual. So it'll be like...like they've always known that they could buy you chocolate for your birthday and you'd love it but now you're telling them you've developed a taste for cinnamon." Tara paused and looked at her. Willow didn't think she'd ever heard Tara hold forth about a subject in the way that she just had. Tara blushed as if reading her thoughts.

"God, just shut me up if I sound like I'm telling you what your experience will be like. I'm just...I just want you to have some idea about what this will be like and who knows if it'll be anywhere close to what I'm describing. So...Shutting up now."

Willow stopped, and pulled Tara around to face her. "No, it's good to hear what you're thinking, because everything you said makes sense. I just..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"What?"

"I just don't want to disappoint you by being afraid, and I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of you."

"Well, that's important, honey, because you know of course that when I came out, I did so with complete confidence and poise."

"Really? Oh jeez, see I knew it; I knew you'd think I was a total, five-alarm chicken; the fowlest of the fowl. I could have told you-"

"Willow, honey, that's called irony. You learned it in junior high." Tara stopped, and gave her a gentle smile. "I know you're scared, and I understand why. And I definitely know you're not ashamed of me. I guess there's some part of me that wants to tell you it's OK if you decide not to tell them, but I can't. It's...It's too hard for me to hold onto p-pride in myself to be an ongoing secret in your life. Not pride about b-being gay, but about being somebody w-worth loving." She stopped as her mouth twisted with what Willow suspected were memories of a life-time of denigration and mockery.

Oh, goddess...Nothing is worse than her feeling like this. Anything that happens with the gang will pass, but this, for her... No, I won't be a part of that. I can do this.

"Tara? Baby?" Tara looked up from under her mantle of hair. Willow could see that she was chewing the inside of her mouth. "Tara, I'm telling them. Just stand by me and please don't think less of me if I stammer my way through it."

"Willow-I don't think I can be with you if you stammer." A small half-smile flickered over her lips. "I need to be with someone w-with perfect diction and elocution."

"Well, as long as we're clear about our expectations. Because I need to be with someone who's a linear thinker and gets right to the point when she speaks."

An hour later, as oxygen finally began to work its way back into her lungs and she could actually feel her legs again, Willow took stock of her disclosure and the ensuing reactions. All in all, it wasn't as bad as she had feared. Buffy, of course, already knew and could tell when Willow began speaking that she was going to tell the gang about her relationship with Tara. So she had moved discreetly to Willow's other side to offer all the non-verbal support she could. Though Riley had helped hang the Lesbian Alliance banner at school, she still felt inexplicably concerned about his response. She realized abruptly, however, that she had been making some pretty sweeping generalizations about him as a na�ve country boy. Hugging her, he had whispered in her ear, "You know, we do have lesbians in Iowa. It's not just an urban chic thing."

Giles had stunned them all by not cleaning his glasses. More than she had given him credit for, Giles considered the love that she felt to be the most important aspect of her disclosure. "I'm so very happy for you," he murmured as he pulled her into a warm embrace. "You deserve to be loved for the remarkable person you are."

Anya insisted that she had known all along, giving numerous examples of lesbian couples she had known over the millennium of her life. She also made it clear that she probably knew far more about lesbian sex than either of them and that she would be more than happy to share that knowledge in the form of either a lecture or, more effectively, a live demonstration. At this, Giles not only cleaned his glasses but took that opportunity to phone his optometrist and set up an appointment to discuss a new prescription.

Xander was uncharacteristically quiet. "Wow, Will-so, look at you, all with the lesbian relationship that's lesbian in nature. Did I mention 'wow'?" After a moment of blinking rapidly and grinning in a blindingly insincere fashion, he added, "So congratulations are definitely in order. And to that I say, congratulations!"

The group then turned to the more somber task of mapping out a strategy for dealing with Oz should he not change back quickly.

"From everything Willow's saying, I think she's probably right. I think he's probably already reverted back to his human form and he's somewhere trying to sort all of this out," Giles opined.

"I hope you two are right, but what if you're not? What if Oz stays a man who runs with the wolves?" Buffy inquired reluctantly. A momentary silence greeted this, and then Willow said, "I think we should try to find him. Just to be on the safe side. Besides..." She paused, feeling Tara's eyes sharpen upon her. "I need to talk to him." She held up a hand to forestall the rush of protests. "I'm not saying that I go out and find him in some secluded place and hope he understands. But I can't pretend that we don't need to talk. Not to discuss any chance of getting back together, but just...I mean, you guys get that, right?"

Tara spoke up first, and most decisively. "Yes. I get that. Let's just find a way to make it safe, OK?"

Willow nodded quickly. "Oh yeah. I'm all about safe. I mean, when I'm not patrolling for vampires or pulling souls back into bodies or averting apocalypsi. Or whatever the plural of 'apocalypse' is."

"Let's find him first, OK?" Buffy suggested with a shake of her head. "And Willow, before you talk to him, you check in with me and we'll make sure that there's lots of back-up."

Willow nodded quietly. She hated the idea of needing back-up to talk to Oz; then again, she hated the idea of being shredded alive even more.

Xander finally found his voice as the official part of the meeting wrapped up and everyone moved off into the kitchen in search of new snacks. Tugging gently at her arm, he edged the two of them off to the side of the living room.

"Look, Will...I don't know how to say this, but..." He had difficulty meeting her eyes, and dug his fists further into his pockets.

Willow felt her stomach clench slightly. "Well, Xander, just start with little words and sound out the big ones." She tried to smile, and felt it stop half-way along her cheeks.

"OK. Well, it's just...It's just..."

"Just what? Just about time for lunch? Just an old-fashioned love song? Spit it out before I hit menopause." She could feel the anger edge into her voice. Xander had always had more than his share of opinions on everyone else's actions; so much so that he frequently came up short in evaluating his own.

"Willow, it's like this. Oz left so freakin' suddenly, and it just about killed you. And Tara's such a nice girl and all..."

"Yes, Xander, wonderfully nice. Her breasts are especially wonderfully nice." Part of her couldn't believe she was speaking that way; part of her kept hoping Xander would stop being a bear of such small brain.

"OK, Willow, now before you bite my head off, just let me finish. You can't deny that Oz leaving hurt you a lot. And before Oz..." He fumbled again, finally looking her in the eye. "Before Oz, you were in love with me, and I know that I hurt you."

Willow's eyes widened as she caught his monumentally narcissistic drift; then she leaned in closer and peered at him as if he were a new and spectacularly ill-advised life form. "Oh my God," she choked out, unsure whether to slug him or laugh in his face. She opted for Door Number Three.

"Tara? Honey? Can you come in here?" Xander looked at her with confusion in his eyes. Seconds later, Tara emerged from the kitchen.

"What is it?" The edge of concern in her voice told Willow that she knew Willow was agitated about something.

"Tara, Xander thinks he made me gay."

"Geez, Willow-I was trying to have a private conversation," the beet-faced naif hissed.

"Hey-this is big stuff. Not to be taken lightly. Tara certainly deserves to know how you figure into all of this, doesn't she?" Willow felt equal parts anger, disappointment, and amusement. She could sense Xander's consternation rolling off of him in waves, particularly after the others started filing into the living room to catch the latest installment of "Xander Makes a Big Mistake."

Willow obliged them with a review of recent events. "Xander was just telling me that he thinks I probably turned to women out of my deep and abiding longing for him."

"Did you?" Anya asked. "I don't think it really works that way."

Willow shrugged. "Well, I didn't think so, but what do I know? I have to consider the possibility that Xander is indeed the alpha and omega of my sexual orientation."

"OK, guys? A little explanation here, and a whole lotta back-pedaling, now that I think about it. I was just...I mean, she's been hurt bad by a couple of men and Tara's all sweet and kind and...and, you know, I just thought maybe..."

"That she was the default option? A gentle soul who can cuddle with me and help me heal from those mean boys?"

"That's not what I mean; at least, what I meant didn't sound so stupid in my head."

Caught up in her own indignation, Willow said without thinking, "Maybe you'd like to hear what we did last night, and then you can judge how kind and innocuous it all was." Catching herself, she wheeled in horror and looked at Tara. The gentle blue eyes were wide with shock.

"Tara, baby...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so...so blunt. I just-"

"It's OK, sweetie. I just think that m-maybe the video tape w-we made would be more helpful." And with that, Willow got one more clue into just how intricate Tara really was. She grinned exuberantly at her now-slightly-blushing lover.

"It's true, Xander," Buffy chimed in. "After you and Cordelia broke up, she turned to women for comfort. Actually, she moved to LA to join a lesbian convent-or is that redundant?"

"I guess it's true," Willow noted sadly. "The only heterosexual woman in Sunnydale is the woman who sleeps with Xander. All others heal their burning desires with the safe companionship of a woman." She turned to Anya. "Congratulations, satisfied heterosexual woman. Truly, the gift of passion is yours."

"Oddly enough," Anya replied without a trace of irony, "I've felt a stronger pull to women in the last year than I have at any other point in my most definitely extended life."

"OK, fine." Xander held up his hands in a gesture of submission. "I was way off-base. I had no right to question your life, Willow. I'm sorry." Willow felt a small measure of lenience edge back into her heart at Xander's abject remorse. "I have so very, very much to learn." He looked at her ruefully. "Can I have a do-over on the congratulations part? As in, congratulations. I'm happy for you. Tara seems fantastic."

Leaning toward him, Willow muttered softly, "You know that in my mind, I'm barfing on your shoes right now." But she smiled as she said it.

"Yes. Of course. As well you should."

She gave him a hug that was actually something of a hybrid between a warm embrace and a slap on the head...not easy to pull off, but then she was just learning what kinds of wonderful tricks her hands could pull off.

Giles had remained silent throughout this recent exchange, but as Willow pulled back away from her oldest friend, she saw the Watcher gazing at them with an odd expression on his face. Willow stared in growing curiosity as he began to walk toward them.

"Xander, as you spoke so passionately, so convincingly just a moment ago, I was forced to realize that I've been living a lie." Giles' voice was low and urgent. "The stirring in my loins told me that I, too, have fallen under the power of your sexual magnetism. Kiss me, man--for the love of God, kiss me!"

The meeting, having nowhere to go but down after this scene, disbanded soon after.

Part 5

"You know, of all the sentences I thought I might h-hear today, none of them included Mr. Giles using the phrase 'stirring in my loins.' That one might stay with me for a long, long time." They were walking back from the Scooby meeting.

"And, holy phallocentrism, Cat Girl-can you believe Xander? Honestly, does he really think he's that irresistible?" The radius of Willow's hand gestures was directly proportional to her emotional agitation, and an estimated compass reading suggested that right now she was Filled With Righteous Indignation.

"Actually, sweetie, I don't think he thinks he's irresistible at all. I mean, I kinda figure that's wh-why he looks so hard for any sign that he's attractive to anyone at all."

Willow paused on the steps to Tara's dorm. "But he has Anya, and she makes it pretty clear that they enjoy carnal knowledge on a daily basis."

"Well, yeah," Tara acknowledged, tugging on the heavy door to the building. "But don't you think Anya's kind of, um..."

"Rude? Socially clueless to the point of stupefaction? Surprisingly able to pay for basic necessities in light of the fact that she apparently holds no job and certainly can't have any savings?"

"Well, I suppose 'yes' to all those things...But I was thinking more along the lines of, um, not being particularly discerning with regard to her choice of intimate partners."

"Oh-you mean easy. Loose. Spends more time with her legs in the air than a professional tight-rope walker."

"Uh, yeah." Tara slid her key into her lock and pushed open the door. "So I don't know how special he feels to her; you know, how irreplaceable."

Willow considered this, and began to think that her girlfriend had a good point. Sometimes she had to remind herself that Tara didn't consider herself to be socially adept-she was probably the most discerning yet charitable judge of character that Willow had ever met.

"Dr. Maclay, I think you may have hit upon the patient's underlying issues. I wonder if I might make a personal appointment with you to discuss my own...needs. That is, if you have any openings."

"Oh, I could certainly make myself open for you. I'm sure I could fit you in." Tara looked equal parts innocent country girl and colossal slut.

Oh my God, she's a total closet vixen. Out lesbian, closet tart. The thought was a wonderful one. She grinned and moved into Tara's arms.

"So here we are, all freshly showered, or at least showered within the last three hours, and at least moderately fed, and-oh my gosh-all alone in your room that you share with absolutely no one whatsoever. Whatever shall we do?" Was that even remotely sexy, or funny? Is it a bad idea to try both of those at once, like swing dancing to a Gregorian chant?

But Tara was looking at her with a crooked, widening grin, and her eyes were darkening slightly. "Are you trying to seduce me, Ms. Rosenberg?"

"Oh God, yes. Is it working? 'cuz I know I'm about as subtle as Tom Green's humor but the fact is, I really, really wanna make love with you very soon; in fact, now-ish works really well for me, so howzabout it-do I fall into the 'At Least Moderately Compelling' category of seductiveness?"

Tara brushed her fingers over Willow's lips. "Close these for right now," she murmured gently. Then she draped a soft kiss on each of Willow's eyelids. "And close these for right now, too."

Willow held herself as quietly as she could, willing herself not to talk or to peek at Tara for reassurance. She felt Tara's lips, soft and full, upon her cheek and then just at the edge of her ear. "I love you, Willow. You can seduce me by walking into a room. Just...just try to turn down the volume on some of those channels in your mind, and listen to what your heart and your senses tell you." With that, Tara guided Willow's index and middle fingers to the pulse point in the hollow of her throat.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel how my heart beats for you?" Willow swallowed and nodded once.

After a moment, Tara slid Willow's palm just inside the now-unbuttoned top of her shirt and over her heart. "And that? Do you feel my heart under your hand? So strong, for you?" Again, Willow only nodded.

Tara guided her hand under her bra, so that Willow's fingers grazed over her nipple-swollen, and hard. "Do you feel that, Willow? The minute we walked in the door, I felt my breasts start to ache for your fingers, and your mouth. Feel it, Baby. Feel how full I am for you." Her voice was growing thicker. Willow was unable to stop-or maybe she didn't really want to stop-the half-moan that slipped out of her. Still unseeing, and now silent once more, she stroked Tara's breast and rolled her nipple gently between her thumb and forefinger, now deeply attuned to Tara's breathing-its shallowness, and the catch when Willow cupped her breast fully in her hand and squeezed with greater urgency. Willow heard another sound, too, though she wasn't sure what created it. It was a slight rustling, and she could feel Tara's weight shifting slightly.

And then Tara had taken her other hand, and was easing it slowly but insistently inside of her pants and under the hem of her panties. Willow swallowed hard, and felt the dampness of Tara's soft curls. Tara's hand glided to her wrist, and she gave a final guiding push, and Willow's fingers had slid into Tara's wetness. At this, she didn't even attempt to stop herself from groaning. She opened her eyes to find Tara looking at her, heavy-lidded, with unabashed need.

"Yes, Love," Tara whispered softly, hands sliding to Willow's shoulders as she rocked herself into Willow's hand. "Yes, I find you just about more seductive than I can even describe."

Willow could keep silent no longer. "Oh god, Tara. I just get so crazy-hot thinking about you; I have for months now. And now I know how you feel, and taste..." With that, she stroked two fingers over Tara's clit, and felt her lover buckle against her. "Now that I know it, I feel like it's all I want to do. I know I shouldn't just be thinking of myself right now but I can't help it. I-I feel angry at the idea of anything taking our attention off of each other."

Tara's eyes were the dark cobalt she'd seen last night. "And you think I don't? Right now I don't care that we're on a Hellmouth and I don't care about the forces of evil and I don't want to think about any battles to save the world. You're my world, and right now fighting evil feels like something I do to spend time with you." With a reluctant half-gasp, she edged Willow's hand away from her and began to back over to the bed. Willow paused only long enough to slide her fingers into her mouth and taste Tara's incredible sweet wetness, and then she was following Tara, who had sat down on the bed and pulled off her boots and socks. Willow balanced awkwardly on first one leg and then the other, pulling off her own tennis shoes. She stood before Tara, feeling an almost painful mixture of desire and hesitation. She wanted this, so much; but now, in the daylight, looking into Tara's eyes, she felt the old fear of making a mistake, of being inept or inadequate or just wrong, somehow.

Suddenly she felt Tara's hands on her belly, slowly edging lower to where Willow knew her jeans were soaked with her wetness. Her thumbs rubbed gently over the fabric and pushed into Willow's folds. Tara looked up at her, running her tongue slowly over her lips.

"Take it, Willow; take what's yours. I'm giving it to you." Her voice choked slightly, and then she said simply, "Take me."

The permission given was taken, urgently. Willow pulled Tara to her feet and slid her fingers into the soft golden hair that she loved so much; without preamble or subtlety she brought Tara's mouth to her own and kissed her so fiercely that her lips ached. She plunged her tongue across Tara's soft lips and stroked into her hungrily. She felt almost dizzy with want, and all of the voices in her head had quieted, and distilled into a single insistent thread that existed only to have Tara, right now.

She wanted to be gentle. No, actually she didn't. She felt like she should be gentle, and slow. Wasn't that the right way to make love? And she did love Tara; she wanted to be the perfect lover for her. So why did everything in her right now want to abandon gentleness, abandon slowness and just devour her lover?

But then Tara's hands had edged under her shirt and Willow suddenly felt her nails dragging down her back. Tara's mouth slid down to her throat and her teeth closed over her neck with surprising force, just for a moment. And then Tara echoed, close to her ear, "I'm giving it to you."

Her breath shallow and ragged, Willow pulled Tara back to her lips and then her fingers were tugging at the opening at the top of Tara's shirt. Almost unable to believe her own actions, she gave into the temptation of her own impatience and yanked Tara's shirt open. She heard buttons pop and roll to the floor. She had never felt such an ache, such a desire to take and ravish and just have.

Any doubts she may have had about Tara's response to her actions were drowned by the groan that came from her as Willow simply shoved her bra up for the moment and began to squeeze her breasts. She pressed them together, stroking her thumbs over the taut nipples. Finally, she reached behind Tara and worked to unsnap the bra, even as her mouth descended on Tara's breasts and she sucked one swollen nipple into her mouth.

"Hurry, Willow. God, please don't make me wait long." With that, Willow dropped to her knees and began to yank Tara's pants down to her ankles, where Tara shook them away from her. Before she had even stood fully, Willow had tugged her own shirt over her head, and then slid her bra over her arms. Finally, she shucked her pants down and stepped out of them. She pushed Tara back down onto the bed, kneeling over her a second later.

"Roll over," she whispered insistently. "I want to kiss your back."

Tara obliged, repeating thickly, "Please don't make me wait." Once Tara was stretched out on her stomach, Willow lowered herself against her back, feeling her breasts push and flatten into the surprising muscularity. Tara groaned; Willow bit her lip with the exquisite sharpness of the sensations. She kissed Tara's neck fiercely and then began to lick across the expanse of her back. She could feel her own wetness slipping out of her as she rubbed herself slowly over Tara's ass. She found herself thinking dimly that she could probably come just from this.

And then an image came into her mind; and she knew only that she wanted to experience it. Dragging herself away from Tara's back, she leaned back on her knees, one leg on either side of Tara's left one. Tara looked back at her questioningly. For a response, Willow reached down and slid her hands under Tara, low on her belly. She tugged insistently, urging Tara onto her hands and knees.

"Goddess, Tara, you're so beautiful." It was all she could say before edging forward and sliding her fingers into Tara's wetness. Tara gave a small cry and rocked forward slightly; and then she pushed back against Willow's hand, as two fingers found her opening and thrust into her. Willow slid her other hand along Tara's back and then down and over her full breast, swaying heavily.

Willow edged forward once more until her own wetness was painfully close to Tara's hip. She removed her hand from Tara's breast just long enough to part her lips and press herself against Tara's flesh; and then she was squeezing and cupping Tara's full breast again. And still Tara rocked back against her, letting Willow fill her as much as she could.

Oh God, it's so good. She's so open, and so wet. It's so easy to slide in and out of her. I need this; ah, sweet goddess... She watched, vision blurred with the heat of her aching, as Tara's back rippled and arched under her. She swallowed heavily as she watched Tara's ass pushing back against her hand; she saw her own fingers disappear into Tara's clenched opening. After a moment, she brought her other hand away from Tara's nipple and down her belly and still lower; and then she was massaging Tara's swollen clit with hungry, insistent fingers while the fingers of her other hand continued to plunge into Tara. At this, Tara dropped her head to the pillow and whimpered; but then she had arched her back again, tossing her head from side to side.

"Willow...Oh goddess, yes; it's..." Willow could see Tara biting her lip as she struggled to find the words. "Having you in me; filling me..." Willow could feel sweat forming on her forehead, trickling its way down over her eye brows and into her eyes. She shook her head, wanting to see every stroke of her hand, every twisting of Tara's body. Her own clit was sliding easily, wetly over the soft swell of Tara's hip. Every time she pumped into Tara, she felt the stroking of her clit. Every time Tara pushed back against her, she felt it. She was having difficult focusing entirely on Tara's pleasure, because she could feel her own climax building.

Suddenly Tara's movements slowed; Willow wondered briefly if Tara needed a different kind of touch. But then she heard Tara whisper hoarsely, "Don't stop; oh...It's-Oh, it's building; I'm so close." With the stilling of Tara's movements, Willow's own clit was barely stroked, but it helped her concentrate more fully on thrusting into Tara as deeply and fully as possible; it helped her focus on the slippery stroking of Tara's clit. Tara rocked back and forth, so quiet that Willow could barely hear her labored breathing. And then she pumped herself onto Willow's hand more forcefully, more quickly, and as she did so Willow felt her own clit surge. She knew Tara was coming; even after one night she was learning to recognize the signs and she saw them: saw the tightening of Tara's body, the hitched breathing; the barely audible moans-and then she felt Tara come, a long shudder ripping through her body as she clenched around Willow's hand, coming around her fingers with heated spasms. And with that shuddering, Willow's own clit throbbed, and she ached to touch herself. As Tara's body slowly stilled, she whispered, "Pull out of me, Baby. And Willow-do it; I can feel how wet you are."

"Are you sure?"

"Willow, I want to grind into you. I want to feel you come against me." Groaning, Willow slid her fingers out of Tara's tight, wet opening and away from her clit. She used the fingers of one hand to spread herself open and then braced herself against Tara's back as she quickly stroked her clit, pumping her hips urgently against Tara's ass. Looking down, she saw Tara's breasts swaying beneath her as she rotated her hips back against Willow's own wetness. It was happening; so fast, but so good...

"Tara; Baby I'm coming. I can't stop. I'm gonna come..."

"Yes, Willow. Let me feel it. Let me feel you come." With the words, Willow's back arched forward and her clit surged once more, throbbing with the force of her climax. Wetness poured from her; trickled down Tara's leg; and still she ground herself against the smooth flesh.

Finally, she felt the last shimmering of her orgasm flicker. She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss against Tara's back, and then edged around and stretched out on the bed, pulling Tara down to her.

They kissed in deep, lazy strokes and nips, nuzzling each other's lips and smiling against one another. Willow battled a sense of embarrassment at her own lewdness; she was confident that she hadn't done anything Tara didn't want, but she had quite honestly never expected to do something like rip someone's shirt off, popping the buttons in the process.

"Hey...You, love o' my life," Tara nudged her playfully. "Are you OK?"

"Oh, much-ly OK. I would take gold at the OK Olympics. I am to OK as Jerry Falwell is to closet-case." She paused, fighting an urge to bury her face against Tara's soft neck. "It's just...well, I was so...so forceful. And I was kinda surprised at just how forceful I was."

"And how much you enjoyed it?" Tara eyed her with a teasing glint.

"Well, yeah, to be honest. Tara, I ripped your shirt off. I mean, hello-what kind of lesbian does that?"

Tara propped herself up on one arm. "Willow, did I give any indication that I was feeling anything but quite pleased with what you were doing?"

Willow dipped her head slightly. "Well, no..."

"Are you saying that you'd try to rip my clothes off even if I didn't want you to?"

Willow looked up in shock. "God, no, Tara! I could never enjoy something you didn't want!" She was completely horrified at the thought.

"And I know that. Willow, this afternoon, for whatever reason, I wanted to give myself to you; I wanted you to be-to use your word-forceful. The next time we make love, I'll probably be in a completely different kind of mood; you too. And we'll let each other know what we need, and we'll make love in that particular key." She punctuated her calm words with a slow, gentle kiss.

Finally, Willow pulled back slightly and looked at her with what she knew had to be the expression of an Utterly Smitten Woman. "How did you get so wise, Baby?" She knew Tara had only had one previous sexual experience before; it sounded as it if had been comparable to her own satisfaction level with Oz.

"Heck if I know," Tara mused, looking at her with a half-smile. "I mean, here I am-a shy girl who stutters and hides behind her hair when she meets new people. And yet, barely five minutes ago I was saying things like, 'Let me feel it; let me feel you come.'" Her face flushed quickly, but she continued. "And I wouldn't take it back for all the world. It's exciting to be sexual with you, Willow. I'm tired of being so scared of my own feelings; I'm tired of walking around on eggshells. I mean, I-I'm not going to get all self-confident and poised after reading a couple of pamphlets or anything, but what we have...It's a great start."

Willow looked at her. Yes, it is I-presiding Elder of The House of Smitten. Aloud, she only said, "Think you'll get tired of hearing me say I love you?"

To which Tara, emerging slowly but resolutely into the world of cheekiness, said, "Think you'll get tired of my tongue in your mouth?"

Which told Willow that the answer to her question was a resounding no.

Continued...

Antigone Unbound's Scrolls
Index Page

~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Disclaimers/Author's Notes: See Part 1.

Part V

Several hours later, they dragged themselves out of bed and back into the showers.

"I bet we have 'Eau de Hot Sex' all over us," Willow had said as she climbed under the pelting spray. She tried not to think of what would happen if she ran into Oz again smelling as she did. Lifting her fingers to her lips before grabbing the bar of soap, she inhaled Tara's scent. If they could bottle this, it would put every coke dealer in the world out of business. Tara was all over her, and it was incredible.

"You want to write an ode to hot sex?" Tara asked, letting the warm water pound softly over her.

"Oh, the hot sex was incredible," Willow agreed, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. Looking over, she watched the water trickle between Tara's breasts and over her belly, disappearing into the thick tangle of her hair. Tara caught her look, and began slowly rubbing the bar of soap over her breasts. After a moment, she circled the bar lower, down over the curve of her stomach until she slowly parted her own lips and eased her fingers into her folds.

Willow was on the verge of doing something considered extremely inappropriate in decent society when she heard the bathroom door swing open. Two disembodied voices were laughing and speaking in low voices. Looking back at Tara, Willow mouthed, "This isn't over yet."

"I should certainly hope not," Tara murmured with a smile.

They checked any of the spots Willow could imagine Oz going. At first, she hadn't wanted Tara to come with her; not to protect Oz, but to protect Tara. She could see the hurt in the blue eyes, however; even after she explained, Tara was reluctant to part.

"Willow, if we're together, then we're together. I don't mean joined at the hip, although come to think of it, that's pretty hot at times." A quick and very naughty look stole over her face. "I just don't think it's a good idea for you to be out looking around on your own, and if I really am your partner, I want to be the one with you."

Willow sighed, and relented. "I get it. I mean, I certainly don't want you running around solo right now, especially with Oz being...however he is."

The point had proven moot, however: Oz wasn't at Devon's; he wasn't at the Bronze; he wasn't with any of the other Dingoes. After checking everyplace Willow could think of, the two of them called Giles, who told them that no one else had seen him, either.

"The others are coming back here at eight o'clock," he informed them. "More, I suspect, to finish my scones than to hatch a bold new plan."

"Well, we'll head over, too. And on the way, we'll hatch a bold new plan to have you make more scones, OK?"

"Yes, Willow. It is my heart's fondest hope that my contribution to the epic battle against the forces of darkness be my moist, flaky pastries."

"Well, that and your stirring loins. Or did you mean to say 'sterling'? Do you think you have sterling loins?"

"Yes, well, I'll be ringing off now so as to have both hands free with which to plunge sharp objects into my ear-drums such that I will never hear another word that any of you speak ever again."

Promptly at 8:00, Willow and Tara knocked on the ornate wooden door to Giles' home.

"Ooh, jam tarts," Willow exclaimed excitedly, catching the wonderful scent that permeated the small dwelling.

"Evil never rests; why should Betty Crocker?" he remarked dryly, giving Tara an affectionate smile as she moved hesitantly into the living room.

The others arrived almost immediately afterward, though, as Giles had said, no one actually had any new information.

"Maybe he's left town again," Xander suggested, looking at Willow. "I mean, I know you two need to talk, but maybe he just couldn't do it."

Willow tried to sort out her feelings about that particular prospect. On the one hand, she felt like she needed to talk to Oz; there had been no closure the first time he left, and there would certainly be none this time if he had indeed left the fair environs of Sunnydale. On the other hand, she couldn't deny that a part of her just wanted it to be over; didn't want to have the agonizing talk that she knew lay ahead of her and Oz. She felt guilty about this, but it was true: she wanted to enjoy her relationship with Tara; she wanted to spend her time learning more about Tara's body and the incredible hidden rooms in her mind. She wanted to go to movies and talk about books and learn more magic together and wasn't it about time for her to be kissing Tara again, anyway? It had been at least half an hour...

"Well, that would be good, right?" Anya was saying. "I mean, if he comes back around he'll simply rip Tara's throat out and eat her."

"Oh my God, Anya," Willow cried out. "Don't even think about that, much less say it out loud!" She noticed that Tara was looking down at the floor. Was she afraid? Of course she was afraid-she should be afraid.

"I'm just saying that neither of you are on his good side right now, and his bad side has big sharp fangs, claws to rip your chest open, and a tendency to leave his victims eviscerated and partly eaten. Let's face it," she continued, seemingly oblivious to the IMAX expressions of horror that surrounded her. "Willow cheated on a werewolf, and Tara cuckolded him. There's no way that doesn't lead to bad feelings."

"Willow, while I'm loathe to encourage Anya's particular phrasing-indeed, I'm loathe to encourage her in any way-I must confess that she has a point. It would seem to be safer if Oz were in fact out of Sunnydale." Giles looked at her sympathetically.

"Maybe you're right," Willow muttered.

As if reading her mind, Buffy commented softly, "I know it doesn't help the resolution confusion, Will. But some of the alternatives..."

"I know. I mean, there's a part of me that does want to talk to him; well, actually, there's no part that wants to talk to him, because, hello, major guilt and angst and let's face it, I'm very seldom naughty, and did I mention guilt? But I feel like I should talk to him, and apologize that he found out that way. And say goodbye," she added softly, almost as an afterthought.

Tara spoke up suddenly. "But does this conversation even m-matter?" She hurried on, as several faces turned her questioningly. "I mean, it's important...It's v-very important as far as feelings are concerned. It's just that, well, what w-we want doesn't make a difference. Oz is either s-still in town, or he's not." She blushed and looked away.

Willow slid her hand under Tara's and entwined their fingers together. She just has no idea how smart she is. She thinks she just said something stupid.

"You think you just said something stupid, don't you?" Anya asked abruptly. Everyone looked at her in shock, which really, Willow thought, shouldn't be happening after this many gargantuan social offenses on Anya's part.

"What? It's clear she's embarrassed: she looks down, she stutters-"

"Anya, if you don't shut up I'll buy you a rabbit's-fur coat for your birthday," Willow threatened.

Anya's eyes widened in horror. "That's just an awful thing to say! Especially when all I'm trying to say is that Tara really has no need to be embarrassed. She's very smart, and not just about books and magic. You all just act as if it's perfectly understandable that she hide herself away and it isn't. She's as smart as anyone here." As Xander looked at her with a dawning pride, she added, "She's certainly far smarter than Xander." The look of pride hit sundown.

Tara looked up, as if unable to believe what she had heard. "Th-thank you," she said softly. And then, more forcefully, she added, "That was very nice of you."

"Oh, I'm never really nice," Anya replied matter-of-factly. "I'm just the voice of truth in a world of artifice and social convention."

Willow looked at her with something akin to affection. OK, it wasn't closely akin; it was more like a second-cousin kind of akin, but it was easily the warmest she had ever felt toward the ex-demon.

"The awful thing, of course," Anya was saying, "is that Oz walked in on you right after you had become orgasm friends. I mean, he must have smelled your sexual arousal and just-"

"Uh, Ahn? I don't know that this really helps the game plan and it certainly isn't helping your relationship with Willow and Tara," Xander interjected.

"Relationship? Oh, a three-way. Yes, I know, Xander-you told me plenty of times this afternoon you'd love to watch me with them. The whole subject really did give you a zestiness that you haven't shown for awhile," she said, nudging him playfully. She turned to Willow, who by now was thinking how nice it would be if she and Tara could find a nice little home in the country; perhaps a country like Denmark. These people would visit, but not too often.

Xander smiled weakly while Buffy, Riley, and Giles all sat by in a kind of weird fascination. "It's like a train wreck," Buffy muttered. "I can't look away."

"So, even though I like penises, I find you both reasonably attractive; Tara, I couldn't help noticing that you have wonderful breasts. I know Xander can't help noticing them. I would very much enjoy touching them."

"Giles, make them stop," Riley croaked desperately.

"I'm truly sorry," the transfixed librarian murmured, but I'm horrified beyond the capacity for rational discourse."

Finally Willow found her voice, and her gross motor control. "Not that this hasn't been a wonderful conversation, wherein 'wonderful' is defined as 'just about the most heinous, unnatural thing I've ever been cursed to bear witness to in my entire misbegotten life,' but we really should be going." Standing, she glanced down at Tara, who would, she thought, probably never speak again.

"I've made people uncomfortable, haven't I?" Anya seemed truly puzzled by this. "Well, I didn't mean to. Tara, I think you're very smart and I think you should talk up more. And the whole sex thing-I just mean that you should be extra careful because the animal in Oz is very much an animal: when he thinks that his territory is being encroached upon, he gets even more primitive, if that's possible."

Tara looked up at Willow. "She's right, sweetie." The incredible blue eyes were troubled, and Willow wanted to know all of the nuances of that distress. But for the time being, Willow sank back into the couch and helped herself to another jam tart.

Later that evening, as she, Tara, and Buffy walked back to their dorms, Willow felt a small shudder flick its way up her spine, and in its wake left the certainty that Oz hadn't left town.

He's still here. And he's close.

And though she gripped Tara's hand more tightly, and felt the reassuring squeeze of those strong fingers in return, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder and wondering what it was that moved in the shadows.

Part 6

The three women were quiet for much of the walk back to their dorms. Finally, Willow spoke up.

"I know he wolfed out, and it wasn't even a full moon. And Tara, Baby-thinking about what he could have done to you..." The images filled her mind's eye once more, and she shook her head in utter refusal of the possibilities. "It's just that it feels so wrong to think of Oz as a Big Bad. You guys, we had a Scooby meeting to talk about him, and how dangerous he is right now. And I know we had to, 'cause he is, but there's a part of me that can't help thinking that this is Oz. And that it's just so weird to be thinking about all of this."

"I know, Will. I mean, Oz pretty much set the standard for understatement. I was sort of reminiscing one day last summer, after we took down the Mayor to avert our third apocalypse in three years. Hey," she halted abruptly. "Does it ever seem weird to you that all of our catastrophic show-downs occur in May? It's like it's sweeps time on television or something...Anyway, I was thinking about everything that had happened; how much everything changed that day..." She looked away for a moment; Willow knew she was thinking about one change in particular, a leaving that had never healed. "Anyway," she continued, squaring her shoulders unconsciously, "the winner for 'Most Remarkable Transformation During a Total Eclipse' was the Mayor, hands-down. But Oz, running and shouting and speaking in compound sentences-he was a very compelling runner-up."

"Exactly," Willow replied. "Seeing him that out of control, when it isn't even a wolf-moon...It's just so hard to accept." She looked over at Tara, who had barely spoken since leaving Giles' house. "But I have to accept it, because he's already attacked Tara in broad daylight, and if she hadn't reacted like she did last night, he would have attacked her again."

"And you," Tara said softly, squeezing her hand gently.

"Well, yes, there's that part." Willow managed a small grin; she was relieved to see Tara reflect it.

"Yeah, Tara, I gotta say-nice work on that whole 'Wolf Whisperer' thing," Buffy put in, resting her hand on Tara's back for a brief but affectionate moment. Willow felt her heart lift at the sight: it was so important for her that Buffy welcome Tara as Willow's partner.

"Well, b-back home we had a w-werewolf petting zoo that Mom used to take us to," Tara replied.

"Are you-? No, you're not even remotely serious. Are you?" Buffy's eyes were widened in a conflict between horror and amusement.

"Jeez, Buff-suburban much?" Willow asked, then turned to Tara with a grin. My girl...When she works it, she works it oh-so-well. Then the serious thoughts returned and clamored for her attention. "My point is, he's attacked Tara twice, and I can't even think of her being in that kind of danger again. And yes, I have no real desire to be part of the demon food-chain myself, so I'm not trying to play martyr. I'm just saying that as hard as it is to accept that he has the potential to hurt someone I love, I have to accept it." She realized she'd stopped walking; she was holding fiercely onto Tara's hand, trying to will Tara to see and feel the depth of her alliance. They were together now; a package deal. Her own grief and guilt over Oz's discovery, and its fall-out, couldn't obscure the bright, clear sun flare that was her commitment to Tara.

Tara's eyes met hers, and Willow thought that she could see mists swirling and then clearing from the blue portals. Willow leaned in, just slightly, and whispered, "Nothing is more important than you. No one matters more." She saw, more than heard, Tara mouth the words, "Thank you."

Buffy had drawn to a stop as well, pausing two or three steps away. When they rejoined her, she linked her arm through Tara's. "Don't get jealous, Will. And don't get your hopes up, Tara." She flashed her patented "Sometimes I'm too cute for words" smile.

"Don't worry, Buffy. I prefer redheads."

Willow thought her heart would just about burst, and thought so again when Buffy replied, "Can't say as I blame you where a certain Ms. Rosenberg is concerned, Ms. Maclay."

OK, so I live on the Hellmouth. My first boyfriend turned into a werewolf, mated with another werewolf, and I walked in on them. I've fought and killed creatures that would make Vin Diesel pee his pants. And organic chemistry is tougher than I expected. But right now I am just about the luckiest person I know.

As they approached the small quad that housed both dorms, Buffy said, "Willow, I'm guessing you and Tara want to stay together tonight. How about I walk you two to her dorm and then head back to our room."

Willow felt herself blushing ridiculously. "Well, yeah; I mean, I left some books there, and I do have that calculus exam on Monday, and you can just never be too prepared for calculus, I say; well, actually, you can, I guess, in the sense that you can get so involved in calculus that you miss other things, like, for instance, that you have to go to the bathroom. Not that I've ever done that; I'm just being Hypothetical Girl here, offering various rebuttals to my original statement about the mega-importance of calculus preparation." She trailed off as she saw Buffy and Tara looking at her with the kind of affectionate befuddlement one might bestow upon a new but rather endearing circus oddity.

"Has she always done this?" Tara asked.

"I think Willow's first words were probably something along the lines of, 'Mommy, can I have a drink? Like, I'd really like a mocha, but-hello-infant here, so I'm guessing you're not much on jazzin' up the already hyper baby with some joe, so, hey, a little bitty drink of water would be A-OK with me.'" Buffy grinned at Tara, who in turn looked at Willow with...Oh, that's her Naked Adoration look. I love that look.

"Willow, if you and Tara don't have something better to do on your second night together than study for a math exam, I am going to be seriously disappointed. Have I taught you nothing, my child?"

"I learned at the feet of the Master," Willow intoned. "Uh, not the yucky master, the one whose bones you sorta went cave-man on." She saw Tara grinning at her. "So yes, wise elder, I heed your words: I shall stay with fair maiden and enjoy her many charms."

"Atta girl, Will!" They headed toward Tara's dorm, the exact name of which was difficult to discern. Suddenly, Willow stopped.

"Wait a minute, Buffy. If you walk us back, who's gonna be with you?"

"Willow, I'm the slayer. I go on patrol alone. I walk the streets alone. I admire myself alone. I'll be fine." She tugged on Willow's arm and resumed the homeward march.

"I know; I just wish there was a way for you to have an escort, too. On principle, you know?"

"I got it, Will. You stay here, and let's have Tara walk me back to our room, and then we'll call you, and you can wait until a pizza delivery boy comes to her dorm and then you can ride with him as far as possible, and then you call us with his cell phone, and I'll walk Tara in that general direction, and we'll meet up in San Jose and call a cab. Sound good?"

"Infinitely so! OK, you're right; it just seems unfair that you always have to be Protecto-Girl. Who protects you?"

"Trojans."

"Um, OK. Well. I'm sure they're ribbed for your pleasure. And, hey," she asked, brightening, "how about we just act like those last two sentences were never spoken?"

"Gladly." They reached Tara's dorm. Buffy reached out and hugged Tara. "It's great to see you more, Tara. And hear you more, too," she added, grinning playfully.

She hugged Willow in turn. "Thank you," Willow said quietly.

"Hey-I don't know from Sappho, but I think you've landed a keeper." She bounced down the steps, then turned at the bottom.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

The three women paused, each mulling over the options that remained if Willow and Tara were to follow Buffy's instructions.

"OK, forget that last part."

***

When they reached Tara's room, they quietly but purposefully locked the door and slid the chain into its groove, and then checked to ensure that no windows offered a means of intrusion.

And then they undressed each other and eased gratefully into bed.

Their love-making that night was slower, and gentler, than the heated coupling from earlier that afternoon. It was as if they were gradually realizing that they had time; that this was real, and enduring. Hands stroked with greater leisure; lips lingered over each delightful spot; fingertips wandered and ambled and in general took their own sweet time.

At some point, much later in the night, Willow lowered herself to Tara's mouth, tangling her fingers in the long blond hair and caressing the fine jaw with her thumbs. Her vision trailed down over her breasts and her belly and held Tara's eyes with her own. Tara looked almost ethereal in the moonlit room, eyes half-closed in pleasure as her lips and tongue circled and stroked. Willow watched as a montage of old images suddenly whirled within her mind, pictures of all the creatures who drank of others without their consent; who overpowered and robbed and debased. But now, in this moment, Tara drank from her and Willow gave herself willingly. Tara, vulnerable and bare, had asked and Willow had opened herself to that gentle, immeasurably strong soul. And now she could feel herself pouring her essence into Tara like life-blood. It felt as if she were feeding Tara, who, in both her hunger and her naked offering, fed her in return. This was the thought, and these were the images, that crowded and tumbled through Willow's mind as her back arched, and her fingers clutched more desperately, and she at last spilled everything that Tara had created within her back to its creator.

***

The next morning, they lay tangled up in each other, caressing away the last vestiges of embarrassment and self-consciousness. They enjoyed the leisurely discovery of each other's particular marks and scars as if they had finally been given the last chapter of a mystery that they had instantly loved but been unable to complete until now.

"You know, for a demon fighter, you don't have that many scars," Tara commented as she kissed her way across Willow's back.

"Well, you know...I operate in more of a consultant capacity. I'm less involved in the daily production of dead creatures of the night."

"I dunno, Sweetie...Maybe some of Buffy's healing powers have sort of rubbed off on you...Oh, here's one," she exclaimed, lightly touching a small, uneven stretch of slightly raised flesh along Willow's inner arm.

"Lemme see...Oh, yeah-that's from a Noxoneus demon."

"I thought they were all noxious."

"No, a Noxoneus demon. Hate her...She's really good at disguising herself, so you don't know that you're in for a world of hurt until she's already ripped your heart out."

"Oh my God, Baby-and she got hold of you?" Tara looked aghast. "What kind of godless mutant enemies do you have to fight, anyway?"

Willow tried to look nonchalant, although she was secretly thrilled and flattered that Tara was making all with the doting, worried lover over her. She tried to think of other scars that might pique Tara's attention.

"Oh, and this one? Up on my shoulder? That was when we went up against the assassins sent to kill Buffy and one of them slammed me into a wall."

Tara leaned forward and kissed each scar gently, then slowly traced a soft cheek over the wounded flesh.

"Anybody tries to rough you up now, they gotta go through me," she said defiantly.

"Uh, Tara-I thought you said you weren't much for the fighting," Willow questioned hesitantly.

"Or with the swimming, as you thought at the time. No, I'm not, not typically. But if it's somebody I love..." She shifted so that she could look Willow directly in the eye. "If it's you, I will rip them limb from limb."

The image of Tara fighting, given her gentle nature, would have been amusing had Willow not heard her voice and seen the look in her eyes. Anyone who messes with our children will be so dead, Willow thought suddenly.

Our children...Huh...Yep, I can see it.

Aloud, she said, "What about you? What rough beasts have left their mark on you?"

Tara greeted the question with a half-smile, and then pulled her left leg out from under the cover and pointed to a dim lattice-work of lines that looked something like a number sign as rendered by a two-year-old on acid.

"This," she began solemnly, "is the work of a Schwinn demon. I remember it well...red, with glowing silver spokes...I mean, spikes."

"Ooh," Willow breathed, wide-eyed. "I've heard they're almost impossible to kill."

"I tamed it, eventually," Tara said in a tone of nonchalant bravado.

"And what about this one?" Willow asked, looking at an imperfectly-healed zigzag along Tara's shin.

"Oh, yes...The Lady Schick demon. We wrestled fiercely...She attacked me in my bathtub."

"But you vanquished her?" Willow asked in her most deeply impressed voice.

"Only after she had stripped away what was rightfully mine..."

Pulling back the covers and peering closely at Tara's upper thighs, Willow could barely detect three roughly horizontal lines on both.

"And what demon caused this wound, m'lady?"

Tara fell silent. Willow looked up at her questioningly.

"Dad."

Willow felt all of the air leave the room, leave her body. She swallowed thickly against the rage and sorrow that roared over and through her. She knew that Tara's father had been what Tara had called "strict." She knew that Tara's father had been what Willow called "a bastard."

"Oh Baby..." What could she possibly say to such a thing? Instead, she focused her attention on tracing the lines with infinite gentleness.

"Dad came from the 'Spare the rod, spoil the child' school of parental guidance," Tara said, trying to smile. "He caught me looking through Mom's magick books one summer when I was nine. He said..." She took a deep breath, as if trying to remind herself that she was in bed with her lover, and not standing, shaking, before a hard, angry man who was starting to unbuckle his belt. "He told me he wouldn't stand for such foolishness; that it all stopped right then. I was wearing shorts, and he just let me have it." Willow could feel a slight tremble in Tara's body, but held herself still, wanting to let Tara get this out. To her surprise, the next thing that flashed across Tara's face was a sad smile.

"As you can see, he left marks. Mom was at the grocery store, and I guess he must have realized that he'd gone too far." Willow refrained from asking how many lashes would have been just far enough. "He told me to change into pants and not tell Mom about it. God, I can still feel the denim scratching over the welts."

This time, Willow felt herself trembling.

"Anyway, I didn't say anything to Mom when she got back. That night, I took my bath and tossed my jeans in the wash hamper. The next day was laundry day; I hadn't realized how much I'd bled, but there was blood all over the upper legs. Mom came in and asked what had happened. I tried to make up some story about tripping over the barbed-wire fence out back, but she knew. And her face-I had never seen that look in her eyes before, Willow. I thought for a minute she was mad at me. But she hugged me and looked at me real closely and told me that nothing I could ever do meant that I deserved to be hurt, by a fence or anything else. And she hugged me again, and that was it. But oh, boy...I still don't know exactly what she said to him, or what she did, but he looked like a man on Death Row for a long, long time. And around Donnie and me, she barely said two words to him for, goddess, it must have been months. Dad looked just miserable, and I was worried he'd make me pay for it later. But he never laid a hand on me again. Even after she died. I think he half-feared she would come back and haunt him if he ever hurt me again."

She fell silent, but ran her fingers through Willow's hair and met her gaze with a look that no teenager should be familiar with. Willow became aware of the tears shimmering in her eyes, and lowered her head slowly until they splashed over her lashes and onto the lacerations. She moved her head slowly from one leg to the other, spilling her tears onto her beloved's wounds. Finally, she kissed the soft flesh carefully and rested her head. If I ever see that bastard, I'll speak on behalf of Tara's mom. I'll remind him what happens to people who hurt Tara.

After a few moments of silence, Tara tugged gently on Willow's arms and pulled her up to lay close to her. "Thank you; for listening, and...and wanting to make it all better, but not thinking you could with some Hallmark card phrase."

"I would do anything for you, Tara. Do you know that?"

"Yes, sweet love, I do." They stretched out in each other's arms and lay silently for a long time, each independently giving her thanks to the goddess for safety and for salvation.

Continued...

Antigone Unbound's Scrolls
Index Page

~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Disclaimers/Author's Notes: See Part 1.

Part VI

Later in the afternoon, Tara sent Willow back to her room.

"Hey-trying to get rid of me? You got some leather dyke comin' round to take you a spin on her motorcycle?" Oh, wow, Tara in a leather jacket, straddling a Harley. What's my name again?

"Hardly, oh most wonderful Willow," Tara replied breezily. "I just know that all of your books are in your room and, more importantly, you should spend at least a couple of hours with Buffy. She's being incredible, and we want to reinforce that good behavior. Besides, we don't have to pack the U-Hauls just yet."

"Lesbian humor?"

"Don't worry, you'll get the manual and the video-tape next week."

The kiss at the door was a slow, delighted one, accompanied by a promise to see each other in a few hours.

Back in her room, Willow's first action was to sweep Buffy into her arms. "This is National 'Love Buffy Summers' Day," she announced. "Except that it's really more of a Sunnydale thing."

"I'm deeply honored," Buffy replied as she returned the hug, "but I would have thought that this would be 'Love Tara Maclay' Day."

"Oh, every day is 'Love Tara Maclay' Day," Willow assured her. "But you share top billing on this glorious Sunday afternoon."

"This calls for mochas," Buffy announced, grabbing her windbreaker and propelling Willow out the door.

"Does anything not call for mochas?" Willow inquired half an hour later, as they sipped the frothy goodness and rejoiced in the power of love.

"Hmm...Principal Snyder didn't call for mochas. He called for oil-of-peppermint enemas."

"Ouch with the ouchiful ouchiness," Willow grimaced. "He also called for being eaten by the former Mayor who underwent a metamorphosis that was way out of Kafka's league."

"Yeah...too bad he couldn't have had that enema first."

"So, you like Tara, right? And I know that's kind of a rhetorical question; I mean, she's my girlfriend and I'm pretty obviously a smitten kitten here, so what are you gonna say-'Willow, I think Tara's a Gorgon'? But I really do wanna know what you think, 'cause you're my best friend and I think I'll just take a sip of my mocha now."

"Remember back in junior high, when you last drew a breath?" Buffy smiled at her affectionately and went on. "Here's the scoop, Will: I don't know Tara that much, but everything I know about her so far makes me want to know her better. And yeah, part of that is her being your girlfriend so of course I want to get to know her because she's so important to you. But she's also...She's deep, Will; you only have to be around her for a little bit before you realize that. I mean, we're all so damn verbose and so eager to jump in and show how clever we are, but I have this sneaky feeling Tara may be the sharpest one of us all; especially about people, I think, even though she's so shy." She paused thoughtfully. "I feel like there are all these hidden rooms to her, and I'm willing to bet they're pretty great rooms."

Willow stared at her. "Wow, Buffy...Are you in love with Tara, too?"

"Uh, no. I just take very close notice of the people my best friend falls in love with. And I like what I see here."

"Oh God, Buffy...If you only knew how much that meant to me. I mean, I know people will accept Tara; it's just...I don't know, that word has such a tricky little twist to it."

"And now I must ask for definitions."

"Well, imagine that you were talking about Riley; and you were telling me all about how wonderful he was, and how he made you feel, and all the hopes you felt just by saying his name out loud, and I looked at you and said, 'Well, I accept that.' I mean, it doesn't exactly inspire you to entrust me with every detail, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Buffy replied slowly. "I get your point. I mean, I remember thinking when I was with Angel that it sure would be nice to think that someone was actually happy for me, not just tolerating him for my sake. And I remember that you were the one who did that; the one who felt happy for me. Even though you were worried about what might happen, because of our, um, age difference, it was never about judging him. That meant...it meant everything to me, Willow."

And then they looked at each other and exchanged the smiles of two people who have seen the very best and worst in each other and wouldn't exchange a minute of any of it for a million dollars. That is, they exchanged the smiles of best friends.

Shortly after they returned to their dorm room, Willow found her eyes inevitably wandering to her watch or to the Wonder Woman clock on the wall. Could she call yet? A phone call would be fine, certainly. Right? Maybe she should wait another half-hour. But what was so special about a half-hour? It was just thirty minutes. No different, really, from twenty-nine minutes or twenty-eight minutes or-hey-thirteen minutes, for that matter.

"For K. D. Lang's sake, Will, call the girl." Willow looked up to see Buffy looking at her with amusement.

"Just to say hello, you know? I mean, a girl's gotta do what a girl wants to do...or something like that." Grinning not unlike a Cheshire cat, she picked up the phone and punched in the numbers she'd memorized so quickly.

After a few seconds, she got Tara's answering machine. Conscious of Buffy standing nearby-and ready to lampoon-she garbled, "Uh, hey Baby. It's me. Um, Willow. Does anybody else call you 'Baby'? I hope not; I mean, I hope that doesn't sound all Jealous-Girl or anything, but-OK, the tape's gonna run out. Um, I just called to say that...I love you."

She hung up and sighed with relief to see Buffy hanging clothes in the closet. Looking more closely, however, she saw the muscular shoulders bouncing up and down in silent, staccato laughter.

"OK, I know. I got it something awful."

Buffy turned to face her, eyes sparkling. "No, Will; you got it something good."

Twenty minutes later, Willow tried her again. This time, the message was shorter: "Hey Tara; it's me, your love-struck girlfriend again. Um, give me a call when you get in, OK?"

She frowned slightly as she hung up the phone. "She didn't say anything about going out. We ate brunch in her commons. I wonder where she is?"

"Ah, yes...the infamous 'If I know not where my beloved is, surely the world stops spinning' phase of love."

Willow glared at her. "It certainly doesn't stop spinning. It just gets a little cranky."

"I hear ya...I'm going to get a bagel and juice; I'll be right back."

Another thirty minutes passed; still Tara hadn't phoned. And gradually, across the span of that time, the humor and the teasing ebbed away, like the figures in those hidden perception puzzles, until her fear stood out in bold relief. Then she turned to Buffy and said, "I think I should go over there. It's been dark for almost an hour. This just feels..."

Buffy looked at her quietly. "You're really worried?"

"Yeah. And...yeah."

"Then I'm coming too. That way I can give Tara another piece of dirt about you, OK?" But the laughter was muted as they headed out their door.

Moments later they were climbing the steps to Tara's room. They knocked and waited anxiously at the door. Neither tried to make any jokes.

When Tara didn't answer, Buffy tried the door. It opened easily. She walked in, Willow on her heels. Tara wasn't there.

What was there was an overturned waste-basket, and books and papers lying in the floor, and a can of soda spilled on the rug.

But Tara...Tara wasn't there. And Willow was aware of this, above all else, as she felt her legs give way and she slid to the floor.

~~~~

Talk.

That was all he wanted to do. Just talk.

He could control himself; he knew it. All that time in Nepal; all that time with the monks. Life didn't always go how you wanted it to. You didn't always get a vote, or the final vote. But you did get to choose how you reacted; how you dealt. You got to choose whether you'd be the person you said you wanted to be.

Not that he could ever pretend he didn't have the wolf in him. He always would. But he did have a choice about whether it lived inside of him, as part of him; or whether it ruled him.

But that was the bitch of it, wasn't it? Now that he knew he had the choice, he had no excuse. He couldn't just kill anyone who threatened him and say it was the wolf.

That was good, though-right? He didn't want to kill anybody now. Not even...her. The one who took Willow away-

He couldn't think that way. That way led to the changing; mutating into the creature whose only instinct was to rip and devour and destroy.

There didn't have to be a bad guy in this scenario, or a bad girl, either. He had known Willow still felt...that she still thought about her, the other one-

Her name was Tara. He needed to be able to say the name. He had practiced saying it. He didn't have to change. Willow loved him, but not the way she used to. Now she loved Tara.

Now she loved Tara. And Tara was the one who touched her and kissed her and made her body respond like...He had smelled it, how her body must have reacted to the other one's mouth and fingers; not like anything he had ever smelled on her after he had touched her. What had they done that made her entire body radiate such satisfaction?

Oh God-the rage...So white-hot he could taste his own fury; harsh, and metallic.

He didn't want to change. He didn't have to change. He wouldn't change.

He'd find Willow and say he was sorry; and then he would say goodbye. He'd do it during the day, and hope that it provided some little bit of immunity from the change. He'd do it in a public place...But that hadn't stopped him before, not when he saw her. When he saw Tara.

Tara. Willow had chosen her.

He didn't have to change. He wouldn't change.

Why not just leave? Why risk it? Because he didn't have to change. He knew that. He could stop it. He would prove it to himself; and to her, to Willow, too; so that her last picture of him wasn't as some slavering beast, but as Oz. He would show her that he was still in there. She would see the person she had fallen in love with.

And then he'd leave.

So he went to Willow's room, but no one was there.

He knew where she probably was.

He didn't have to change. He wouldn't change.

He could do this. It would prove to Willow, even more, that he was still Oz. He would hold onto his humanity and do the right thing and say goodbye. That's how she would remember him.

The other one answered the door on the first knock.

***

"Willow, stop! We don't know what's happened; for all we know Tara got some emergency phone call from a friend and left in a hurry. She could have knocked this stuff over on her way out the door."

Willow tried to force control back into her body, but her legs felt like rubber bands that had been stretched too far and then snapped back. She wanted to stand, but couldn't imagine doing so. Buffy was kneeling in front of her, gripping her shoulders tightly. She looked up into the hazel eyes, and felt her throat clenching around the words.

"He has her. Buffy, Oz has Tara."

"Dammit, Will, we don't know that!"

"I do. I know it-"

"No, you don't! Willow, think about it. If he had been here, and wolfed out, we'd be able to tell. I mean, there's no...There's no definite sign that he...attacked her."

"There's no blood; I know that. But I also know he has her, Buffy. And I know he'll kill her."

"Willow, how? How can you know that?"

It seemed like every nuance, every tingling sense of d�j� vu she'd ever had, every little voice she'd ever heard that seemed not quite her own was gathering within her as she looked at Buffy and answered her:

"Because I can feel her. And she's terrified."

***

He didn't have to change. He wouldn't change.

"Oz..." She was afraid of him. Of course she was afraid of him.

"Tara, I'm sorry. I just want to say, God, how sorry I am. And then I'm leaving town." There, he'd done it. He'd said her name. He hadn't changed.

She was still afraid, he could tell; but there was also gentleness in her eyes, too. She was so gentle; she would never hurt anyone.

There didn't have to be a bad guy here.

"Oz, are y-you OK? No one knew where you w-were." That's right; she stuttered. This shy, stuttering girl had walked into Willow's life and-

No. He wouldn't think that way. He wouldn't change.

"I'm OK. I just wanna say I'm sorry and say good-bye to Willow." There-he'd said her name too, and he hadn't changed.

"W-Willow's not here. I just got b-back myself. I w-was getting a paper." She waved the Sunday edition as if offering proof. "I think she's w-with Buffy." Was she lying? No, Willow wasn't here; he would've been able to smell her. That was a small break, maybe. He didn't have to see them together.

But was she trying to let him know that Willow was safe with the Slayer? Was she telling him to stay away from Willow because she figured he'd try to hurt her? What did she know about his relationship with Willow? Only what Willow had told her, probably, and that wasn't all of it; it wasn't anywhere near all of it. They'd had something good, until he messed it up. But then he'd left to straighten it out, and all the time away he'd thought of her and coming back to her. And he'd done it, too...all the wandering and the anguish and the work; he'd done it, and then he'd come back to make it right. But Willow wasn't there anymore. This one had crept into her mind and her heart and her bed-

No. God, no. He couldn't think that way. He didn't want to change. He wouldn't change.

He saw her looking at him with...what? Pity? Did she feel sorry for him? Because she had her? Because she was touching Willow; she had taken her. She had taken Willow away from him and claimed her and now she looked at him as if she'd known all along she'd win; that she'd get Willow.

Don't. Don't. No. Didn't have to be-to be a bad guy. Everyone was doing the best they could. Willow was. He was. This one...Tara was. He didn't have to change. He could be the man he said he wanted to be. Breathing...That was his hope and his salvation.

The phone rang.

***

Buffy looked at her in silence.

She wants to argue with me, but she knows I'm right.

Finally, she said, "OK, Will. I believe you."

Willow felt the tears sliding down her face. "Buffy, she's so scared. Oz has her, and she's scared and I'm not there to protect her. She's there because of me."

For a moment Willow thought that Buffy might actually slap her. As it was, her eyes narrowed to slits and she practically spit out her words.

"Stop it! Self-flagellation is a luxury we don't have time for. She fell in love with you knowing the risks. Love on the Hellmouth is not for the faint of heart, Willow, and Tara is anything but faint of heart. So lose the martyr monologue and let's figure out where they are."

Willow gulped back her sobs. "OK. You're right. We have to find her, before-" She looked up, voice and heart breaking as one. "What if we're already too late?"

"Not going there, Will. Waste. Of. Energy." Buffy drew in a deep breath, and then expelled it harshly. Suddenly she looked up. "We're not too late, because you can still feel her. Right?" When Willow nodded, she continued. "So send her back some-I don't know-hope, and courage, and..."

"Tara already has more courage than you can even imagine." Her voice sounded amazingly calm to her own ears.

Buffy gave her a small grin. "Then she's way ahead of the game, right? So see if you can link up with her somehow. Use those big honkin' crania of yours and hers and see if she can tell you where she's at."

Willow forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, and then began reaching out in her mind.

Tara? Baby?

***

"Tara? Baby? It's me, your love-struck girlfriend again. Um, give me a call when you get in, OK?"

God, no. No, no, no. Her voice; Willow's. She used to talk to him that way.

Didn't she?

Did she even care that he was destroyed beyond words? Did it matter to her that he loved her? Wanted to spend the rest of his life showing her how much? Had she thought about him at all before she had kissed the other one-this one, looking at him with all that terror-and lay with her, and opened her body to her? Given to this one what had been his?

No. He didn't have to change.

He wouldn't change.

Yet.

***

"Can you feel her? Get a lock on her?" Buffy was staring anxiously at Willow, who sat trembling with exhaustion and dread.

Willow shook her head. "It comes and goes. I don't even know if she hears me. I think she does, but it's like she flickers in and out. And every time she goes out..." She clutched her stomach, feeling it roil and protest.

"Every time she goes out, she comes back. Willow, you have to hold on, just like she's doing. You can do this. She needs you."

Willow nodded, and carved her voice deeper into the space that she and Tara shared.

Tara? Hold on, Baby. I'll find you. Just give me any help you can. Guide me, Baby. Because I love you so much. Just a little hint, Sweetie. Bring me to you.

***

"Oz, I'm s-so sorry you h-heard that. God, I'm so s-sorry."

She was terrified. She should be terrified. And still her eyes held that-what was it? Compassion? Gentleness?

It was pity.

She felt sorry for him? With what he could do to her?

"Come with me." He wasn't changing. The hand extended was smooth and bare.

She was shaking her head. "No, Oz. I-I don't think I should."

"I don't think it matters what you think."

That scared her. He could see a second note of fear enter her eyes, and join with the first. He savored the chord that it created.

"Oz, I'm not g-going anywhere w-with you."

The hand was still perfectly smooth. "Either you come with me, or I rip you open and then go get Willow."

And that note...that was the most delicious one yet. He could feel the fear rolling off of her. And yet, barely a wave for herself. It was a deafening roar of fear for Willow. She would do anything to save her. Just like Willow had begged him to take her instead of this one.

"Everyone has choices to make, Tara. What's yours?"

The hand, he marveled, was perfect. Bare and utterly human. He used the hand to clasp her trembling one. Her terror was intoxicating.

He wouldn't have to change. Yet. But when they were out of here, in his domain, he would. There was no longer any reason not to.

Part 8

Tara? Baby? You have to help me find you. Buffy's here; we're gonna come get you. But you need to let me know where you are. Baby?

Willow sat cross-legged on Tara's bed and tried to focus. She had felt Tara's presence-always a flickering burst of energy, mute and muted-at seemingly random intervals for the past half an hour. Now, though, it had been over ten minutes since she had last registered the gentle warmth.

Glancing over, she saw a long, golden strand of hair shimmering on Tara's pillow. Only a few hours ago, they had lain here, tangled together, laughing and healing old wounds and creating new dreams. And now Tara was somewhere, terrified, with someone who meant to hurt her, or already had hurt her, or...Panic shot through her like flares, threatening to burn through any vestige of security and hope. How would she live without Tara? How would she ever move, eat, laugh, breathe again, knowing that she did so alone? Why would she want to?

She drew another deep breath, twining the light hair gently through her fingers as she did so, and attempted to coax her mind back into a state of calm and focus.

Baby? Where are you? Can you hear me? Tara, please-don't leave me. Come back to me. Please...

Love.

Willow's eyes flew open. She hadn't imagined the voice, she was sure of it. She would know that voice, speaking that word, in the middle of any chaos and any silence. She focused once more.

Tara? I can hear you, Baby. Oh, Sweetie, I can hear you. Are you OK?

Love...you...Always love you.

No-no, those words were wrong, desperately wrong. Those were the words that came before goodbye.

Baby, where are you? Just tell me. Do you know?

The silence was a black fog that mocked her, dared her to hope and then fall.

Tara, don't you even think about going away. I need you, Baby. Tara? Dammit, come back. I-I will so kick your beautiful ass if you leave me. She could feel tears spilling out from behind her closed lids.

The yawning stillness waved forward, blind to her grief and terror. And then-

Willow...Oz-he hates us...so much. You can't...

Can't what? Save you? The hell I can't. Where are you?

Don't...Don't do this...He'll kill you.

So I should just say goodbye and wait for your body to be recovered?

She was shaking, but the connection still held. Tara, Buffy's with me. You think she can't handle him? And even if she weren't here, I'd come for you. And I'd get you.

He's so...so crazy with anger.

Can you get him back to being Oz?

Willow, he is Oz.

Willow choked at the words. Oz? The gentle musician? He was doing this? Terrorizing, hurting her beloved?

The wolf...it comes and goes. I think Oz is...Oz is controlling it, letting it...come out just a little, enough to...

Enough to what? Baby? Enough to what?

Enough to...to hurt me...pretty bad.

The room tilted, walls and floor stretching and shifting and finally resettling.

Willow, I can't...stop him. I'm already fading. You have to get away...for now. Don't try...if he gets to you...

Tara Maclay, don't you dare tell me what to do. Don't you dare make decisions for me about my life. The only decision that you get to make for me is what to name our first child because I'm such a spaz that the kid would be in grad school before I settled on a name I like.

There was nothing, no sound within the dark cottoned chamber of her mind.

Tara? Do you hear me? Goddess, please...Baby, how would you feel if you had to sit here and know I was dying? Don't do this to me, Tara. I need you.

Willow...

Baby? Yeah?

If I had to sit there and listen...listen to you...I would-I would so kick your beautiful ass.

Willow could feel her shoulders shaking with the force of unreleased sobs. Then tell me, Baby. Where are you?

Some old factory...west of town. It took us about...twenty minutes to get here, in Oz's van. I don't think...not used anymore.

Willow started with the realization. The little prick took you where he found Xander and me; when Spike wanted that love potion for Dru.

Yeah, well...the little prick has...has abandonment issues, I think.

Baby, you have to hang on. Buffy and I are on our way. I'm gonna keep calling you, and you'd damn well better pick up the phone, OK?

I love...love it when you're all...forceful.

Springing from the bed, Willow turned to Buffy, who had watched all of this unfold without moving from her seat on the floor.

"They're at the textile factory, the old one on 79." She propelled Buffy out the door.

"You mean where he and Cordelia-?"

"That's the one."

"The little prick..."

***

The ride, in Mrs. Summers' SUV, lasted only fourteen minutes, largely because Buffy seemed to assume that speed limits didn't apply to Slayers. Willow had been able to keep contact with Tara fairly consistently; she was clearly hurt, but wouldn't give any details. But the knowledge that Willow was coming for her seemed to give her renewed strength. Willow leaped out before the vehicle had come to a complete stop; Buffy was on her heels seconds thereafter.

"Wait, Will-we need a plan."

"The plan is we go in there and rescue Tara."

"What about Oz?"

"He forfeited his rescue coupon when he hurt Tara."

Buffy grabbed her arm, spinning her around. "Will-how far do we go? If he puts up a fight?"

Willow paused, knowing what Buffy was asking; but she paused only a second.

"His life is secondary to Tara's safety. Is that clear?"

Buffy looked at her, her expression one of both compassion and resolution. "It's clear. Let's go get your girl."

***

Willow knew exactly where they'd be-Oz would hold Tara in the same room where he discovered her kissing Xander one year and a lifetime ago. Get over yourself, Irony Boy.

What she hadn't expected was the sight of blood all along the hallway leading to the room; small random droplets interspersed with larger pools-dark, liquid garnets flung in haste and protest-that stopped at the closed door to the room.

Buffy reached out an arm, signaling for Willow to stop, and pressed her ear to the door. Willow did likewise.

"...because you can't understand. You don't know what we had; what we still could have had. She chose me, remember? Why didn't you stay away from her?"

Willow couldn't hear Tara's muffled response, but she didn't really care. She had heard Tara; knew once again that she was still alive.

"You didn't try to seduce her? You expect me to believe that? That you didn't use every trick in the book to get her into bed?" There was the sound of Tara's low voice again, and then what sounded like a rattling of chains. "Well, here's what I think. I think you gave her that poor, shy, stuttering routine until she just felt sorry for you."

Willow grabbed Buffy by the shoulder. "When does the ass-kicking start?" she hissed.

"I'm thinkin' right about now." With that, Buffy gave the door a very-expertly-delivered kick and they both tumbled into the room.

Willow knew, in that moment, that she was looking upon two sights that would stay with her until the end of her days: one was Oz, in a grotesque state of half-change; his eyes black and fangs partially erupted, fingers distended to claws.

And the other was Tara, bloodied and torn, chained against a wall.

At the sight of her, Oz seemed at first about to complete his transformation, but then abruptly, all signs of the werewolf disappeared. He stood before her, eyes a mixture of grief and venom. Willow saw Tara lift her head slightly; her lip had been sliced and claw marks veered angrily across her throat and chest. Willow thought for a moment that she might pass out, but steadied herself. I told you I'd get you, Baby. Hold on, OK? Please hold on.

Look at you-all...all butch and...ready to rumble.

"Willow...I went to find you; I was going to apologize. But you weren't there and I went to her room"-with this he jerked his head in Tara's direction-"and I even said I was sorry to her. But then you called and left that message and-and I just lost control."

Anger charged through her body at the words, and she struggled to keep her voice even. "Oz, you're not out of control now; so just let Tara go, OK?"

He took a step closer to her. "All I wanted to do was love you, Willow. I did everything, all the work, for you. But you threw it all away."

"No, Oz. I didn't. I fell in love with Tara and I hadn't even realized how much until I tried to give her up."

She recoiled at his reaction: fangs ripped from his jaws, and his fingers stretched once more into gnarled claws-and then, just as quickly, they had disappeared, and Oz stood human before her again. Finally, he turned and walked away from her, back to where Tara was hanging, held up by the chains.

"Can you believe that I came back here and locked myself up in these chains the last two nights? Just so I wouldn't hurt anybody. I mean, this room's kinda symbolic, isn't it?"

Willow hesitated in anguish. She wanted to scream at him, curse him both literally and figuratively for what he had done to her beloved. But could she do so without him transforming again and killing Tara? Would he even have to change? How much of this had he done-willingly? The thought made her nauseous.

"You hurt me, Willow. More than you'll ever know. I didn't plan to do this, you know." Oz turned toward Tara as he spoke. "I was going to leave town. But when I heard your voice, on the phone-I just lost it. Now maybe you know a little bit about how it feels." He drew a shallow, hitched breath, and Willow saw the claws spring from his hands once more; she saw him reach for Tara; she saw that she couldn't possibly reach her or even utter a spell in time to keep him from puncturing the soft flesh that had already borne so many wounds-

"Oz?" Willow and Oz both looked up in surprise. They had almost forgotten Buffy was there. Oz hesitated, head cocked, one feral hand raised.

"I really don't want you to do that."

Oz, his face fully human, seemed to waver for a moment. And then he shrugged with a regret that Willow knew he didn't feel, and turned back to Tara.

***

Moments later, Willow finally registered a complete thought: Man, I didn't know even Buffy could move that fast.

And she never ran track?

came the answering ripple within her mind. Spinning, Willow ran over to Tara and cradled her face gently in her hands.

Buffy stood towering over Oz, who was writhing on the floor. His now-declawed hands clung desperately to his genitals.

"You know, sometimes you just gotta go with the classics." Buffy knelt and turned him over roughly, searching in first one pocket and then another until she pulled out a key. She tossed it over to Willow. "Let's have a new lead in this year's Bondage Pageant, shall we?"

Willow fumbled with her eagerness, but finally managed to extricate Tara, who sagged against her.

"Baby? Oh God, Tara, you're hurt."

"Nothing that ...won't heal." Her smile was feeble, and fresh blood trickled from the tear that she reopened with the effort. It was the most beautiful smile Willow had ever seen.

"Willow?" Tara's voice was weak, and Willow leaned in as close as she could, kissing the bruised flesh with infinite gentleness.

"Yeah, Baby?"

"Amanda."

Willow's brow furrowed with anxiety. Had Tara been beaten into a delirium? Was she under some kind of curse? "What, Baby?"

"For a girl. Amanda. Tristan for...for a boy. You said I could...decide. So I decided."

Continued...

Antigone Unbound's Scrolls
Index Page

~ On Second Thought ~
by Antigone Unbound

Disclaimers/Author's Notes: See Part 1.

PART VII

She knew she should be exhausted; she knew she would be exhausted in the near future. For now, though, energy poured through her like sweet wine.

Oz sat across from her at the head of Giles' table, hands tied. They had trussed him like a Thanksgiving turkey and loaded him into Mrs. Summers' vehicle.

Tara they had treated far more gently. The gashes were angry-looking, but Oz hadn't selected any major bloodlines. She wasn't in danger from loss of blood. It was clear, though, that she would need at least a few stitches. Willow's primary fear was internal bleeding, judging from the bruises she saw already developing on the fair skin, dark blotches of violet on a pale canvass.

Buffy dropped Willow and Tara off at the hospital, where they greeted Tara's injuries with the typical "We won't ask, please God don't tell" demeanor that characterized most Sunnydale establishments including its fast-food drive-throughs.

"Are you sure you're OK with-with him?" Willow asked, hesitating at the hospital curb.

"I'll be fine. I'm going directly to Giles' place and get some back-up. We'll hang tight until you get there, OK?"

"OK. And hey, Buffy-about tonight..."

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me. We'll make sure we enter it in the 'Scooby Ledger o' Life-Saving' tomorrow, alright? Go take care of your sweetie."

Tara's wounds were painful; would get more painful before they healed. But she required fewer stitches than Willow had anticipated. Her greatest relief had come at the pronouncement that Tara had suffered no internal injuries. The gray-haired, businesslike ER physician, however, decided to keep her overnight for observation.

"What are they going to observe?" Tara complained as they wheeled her to her room. "My sleeping habits?" She was already a bit groggy from the Vicodin.

"They'll observe me observing you, Baby. I'm going to stay here until you fall asleep, and then I'll stay a little bit longer just to gaze adoringly upon your sleeping form." Relief, she decided, should be bottled and sold at fine drugstores near her. Even now, well over an hour after she first knew Tara was alive and would stay that way, she could feel the sweet knowledge washing over her, again and again; a long drink of cool water to a woman who had thought she would die of thirst and been rescued at the last minute.

"Are you going to see him?" Tara asked, struggling to keep her eyes open, as Willow stepped back into the room after phoning Buffy with the news.

"Yeah, I think I have to. I have to get some answers. Does that make sense? Is that OK with you?" Willow held her hand gently, planting soft kisses on the palm.

"Just be careful, OK?"

"I will, I promise. Buffy and Giles will be there."

"OK. Just, um...just..." Her voice began to trail away.

"Just what, Sweetie?" Willow bent near to hear Tara's whisper.

"Just keep the river...to your right. You'll reach...Omaha...by dusk."

Willow bit back a smile and whispered in Tara's ear, "I will, Baby. I'll make dinner reservations at the very swankest Omaha eatery." She looked at the beautiful soul now sleeping peacefully before her, and felt her heart squeeze tightly at the sight. She's seen enough pain in her life, dammit. She's way overdue for the good stuff...So I'll just make darn sure she gets it. She sat back in the chair and gratefully watched the steady rise and fall of Tara's breathing.

Almost an hour later, she called a taxi and headed over to Giles' apartment. He answered on the first knock, and pulled her into a warm embrace. Leaning back slightly, he looked at her with gentle scrutiny.

"Are you alright?"

"What scale are we using?"

"Let's say one to ten, wherein 'one' equals 'Fairly well, thank you' and 'ten' equals 'Oh, look-the bowels of Hell yawn agape at our feet!'"

"I'm going with five right now, because Tara's gonna be OK."

Buffy reached her and encircled her in a fierce hug. Willow met her eyes and wondered yet once more what had ever passed for friendship in her life before she met the Slayer. Probably the goldfish, but they aren't much for the mochas and high adventure.

Over Buffy's shoulder, Willow could see Oz sitting at the long dinner table, hands tied to the arms of the wooden chair. His head slumped forward; she couldn't tell whether he was awake or-something else.

"I gave him a mild tranquilizer," Giles explained with admirable anticipation of her question.

"And there's plenty more where that came from," Buffy added, with admirable anticipation of her next question. "He should start coming back around in about twenty minutes or so."

Willow let herself sink into the soft couch; she sipped the relief one more time, thinking about Tara bleeding and terrified but now safe. Buffy sat down next to her, and slid an arm along the back of the sofa to rest on Willow's shoulder.

"I gave Giles the Cliff Notes version," she said. Giles nodded.

"It seems quite remarkable, really. Apparently Oz has far more control over his demon aspect than most werewolves do."

"Oh, yeah, it's quite remarkable," Willow replied sharply. "It's also horrifying, ominous, grotesque, and a whole bunch of other words that you'd rather not have to use to describe anyone in your social circle." Giles looked duly abashed, and Willow softened somewhat.

"I'm sorry, Giles. Just been, you know...a long night. I mean, we have a lotta long nights, I know; but this one-not so much the years but the mileage, you know?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"It's the control part that's worst of all, you guys," Willow said after a moment. "I mean, a year ago, even six months ago, that would have been the best news you could have given me. But now, tonight-he could have stopped the wolf from coming out, but he didn't. He...he let it out like some traumatized pit bull, some wild animal to do his dirty work. I mean, this is Oz we're talking about. I never, in a million years, imagined he could do something like this." Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked angrily, not wanting them to come yet because she suspected that once those rains began to fall, there would be some serious flood damage on the way.

"Love can make people do strange and awful things," Giles noted softly.

"Don't give me that," Willow said, glaring at him. Giles recoiled slightly, clearly taken aback by the force of her anger. "This isn't about love. It's about-about...It's about some other thing that isn't love, but I don't know what just yet," she trailed off, in confusion. "Uh, sorry, Giles; at least, sorta."

"No, Willow; you're actually quite right. I do believe that Oz loves you, but this...This isn't just some particularly unfortunate symptom of love."

"It's about control," Buffy said suddenly, and very quietly. As Willow and Giles turned to face her, she continued. "It's about feeling like you have the right to do a particular thing because you're hurt or angry or whatever, and nobody gets to do that to you. Nobody gets to have that control over you. So...so you control them." She held Willow's eyes for a long time. Willow slowly nodded, and rested her hand over Buffy's.

She saw Giles glance up, his eyes narrowing. Wheeling around on the couch, she saw Oz shifting slightly in his chair, pulling weakly at his ropes as he edged into consciousness.

"How well is he tied?"

"If he gets out of that, it's because he morphed into a Q-tip," Buffy said decisively. "Giles double-checked the knots, just to be safe."

"Thanks," Willow murmured. "Both of you."

"Yeah, I learned all the good knots in Girl Scouts. Giles here learned 'em at the Manchester Academy of Bondage and Domination."

"Yes, I graduated at the head of my class," Giles responded blithely, attempting to remain unfazed by all the smutty innuendo.

"So you were on top?" Buffy asked innocently.

"Completely. Er, that is..." His cheeks reddened in sudden realization. "Well...Be that as it may, I think we should turn our attention to other matters."

By now Oz appeared to have awakened almost completely. He looked over at the three of them, peering at him with suspicion and wariness; and then his chin dropped to his chest. A groan echoed from somewhere deep within his chest.

Buffy looked at Willow questioningly. "What do you want to do?"

Willow felt a surge of appreciation for Buffy's understanding; for her forgoing any alpha smack-down inclinations.

"I wanna talk to him. Alone." At the sight of four raised eyebrows, she amended slightly, "Or relatively alone. I understand the danger, guys, I do. It's just...This feels kinda private, you know?"

"I get it," Buffy replied softly. "How about if Giles and I hang out at the top of the stairs. No eavesdropping, I promise. But that way we can be down here in less than a second; at least, I can. He'll bring up the rear, no matter what he did at the head before." Giles' expression defied easy description. Offended, with a side of abject horror, Willow decided.

"And keep this tranquilizer gun in your hands at all times," Giles finally managed, pushing the slender weapon firmly into her grasp. He squeezed her shoulder lightly, then turned to ascend the stairs.

"Willow, I'm right above you if you need me, OK?" Buffy looked at her with concern.

"Hey, we've got your knots, your tranquilizer guns...And I just ordered the Ginsu knives; they should be here any minute." Willow tried for an air of irony.

"I mean emotionally."

Willow looked at her best friend. Was it less than twenty-four hours ago that we were sitting at the Espresso Pump happily comparing our love lives? She nodded, and Buffy hugged her again, then headed up the stairs to join her Watcher.

Gripping the tranquilizer gun tightly, Willow pulled out a chair half-way down the table. Oz raised his head and looked at her; Willow could see that tears were spilling down his cheeks and onto the table. Neither person spoke for a perhaps two minutes.

Finally, Willow muttered, "I don't know where to even begin."

"Willow." The voice was almost inaudible; almost sobbing.

She waited expectantly.

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, then; I guess that takes care of things, doesn't it?" She hadn't realized she had such sarcasm within her; even after he had left the first time, she hadn't realized she could speak with such venom.

"No," he whispered. Silence fell over them once again.

After a moment, Willow asked, "Why Oz? How could you do this?" The words felt wrenched from her with the force of her desperation for an answer, even as she realized that no answer would suffice.

"I was so crazy, Willow." His voice shook. "When I saw you together Friday night, I just went absolutely crazy. But then I pulled it together. I did; I swear. I told you that I was coming to say goodbye. But then I heard your voice on the machine and I just lost it."

"Well apparently you regained it enough to take Tara hostage and-" She stopped, unable to finish the sentence, say it aloud. As it was, it would be playing in her mind for a very long time. "You didn't wolf out in Tara's room, Oz; you couldn't have. You couldn't have gotten her off of campus without being seen." She realized that her own voice was trembling-with anger, with the terror that still vibrated through her body.

"No. You're right." He looked at her miserably. "I kept the wolf away until I got her to the factory."

"And then you let it out to play," she finished flatly, nausea rolling up in her belly and threatening to make its way to her throat.

"I know this doesn't mean anything, Willow, but I wasn't going to kill her."

She told him with her gaze that he was right.

"I swear to you. Even at the end-I just wanted...I just wanted her to feel half as bad as I did."

"I think you may have over-shot the mark a little bit there, because I'm pretty sure she feels probably two or three times as bad as you did."

Oz looked at her with dread. "Is she going to be alright?"

"Yes, she is. She's going to be fine, and we're going to live happily ever after unless some other whack-job nut-case kill-joy decides that he doesn't want us to." She watched as Oz closed his eyes and seemed to sink inside of himself with anguish.

"Oz...I just can't understand this. I can't even start to wrap my mind around this, and I'm not bragging, but considering my mind, that's saying something. I mean, you've always been this quiet, enigmatic type; I've never seen violence out of you except when we were fighting vampires and other assorted bad guys. How could you-how could you, Oz, of all people..." She trailed off helplessly.

"For what it's worth, Willow, I was as surprised as you were." He gave a dry, mirthless laugh. "I always figured that if I learned how to keep the wolf at bay, I wouldn't have any problem. I'd never known I could feel that much rage."

"Well, we interrupt this self-delusion to bring you a clues-flash: You can. You did." She shook her head. "Oz, why didn't you leave after Friday night? As close as you came to-" She stopped, remembering that night's surreal terror.

"I should have; I know. But I wanted to talk to you, Willow. I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted you to know that I could control it; that I could control myself. After everything we've been through, I didn't want your last memory of me to be as the wolf."

"Well if you think that would've sucked, consider my latest memory of you: a half-wolf, half-human bastard terrorizing my girlfriend. You really shoulda cut your losses." She shook her head in disbelief.

And then a sudden certainty came to her. "You never really thought you'd lose, did you?"

Oz looked at her, perplexed. "What do you mean? Lose what?"

"Me. I mean, starting two years ago; I was all smitten with the boy in the band. Even when I kissed Xander, I was begging for another chance less than an hour later. And after you slept with Veruca, you knew I still wanted to be with you. You took off for Tibet and points east, having one transforming moment after another with nary a post-card or a phone call to let me know you're alive, and then you decide to come back and give it another shot with me. And you never, ever thought I'd say no, did you?"

Oz struggled for words. "Well, I thought I had a good chance when Xander said you didn't have a new guy." He paused, shifting uncomfortably. "But then, after I saw her-"

"Say her name, Oz. It's the least you can do." She felt her jaw tighten.

"After I saw Tara..." He took a deep breath, and Willow found herself gripping the tranquilizer gun tightly. But there was no change.

"After I saw Tara, and found out you cared about her-I was scared then."

"Were you? I mean, I know you were upset. You made that abundantly clear. But were you really afraid of losing me? I'd been so happy to be your girlfriend; so devoted to you. Did you really think I might choose Tara over you? For God's sake, Oz, be honest," she pleaded.

Oz met her gaze silently for several seconds. And then his expression softened, and, if possible, grew even sadder. "No. I think that deep inside, I always thought you'd be mine. What a stupid, vain assumption." He sighed heavily.

"Had I ever really given you reason to think otherwise?" She looked over to the couch, where she and Tara had sat the night before. "God, what a great triptych of irony we made...You didn't think you'd lose; Tara didn't think she'd win; and I was spending half my time trying to believe that there was a Willow Sweepstakes going on and that there were people who actually wanted to win."

Oz shook his head. "If you had any idea how many times I've wished I'd never left..."

Willow looked at him sadly. This probably needed to be said. "Oz, it wouldn't have made any difference."

"What do you mean? We were happy, weren't we?" He looked at her with something akin to desperation.

"Yeah, we were. But I still would have met Tara, and-and things would have changed."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do, Oz. I'm sorry, but I do. I was definitely happy with you, and I definitely loved you. But-but I can't imagine ever meeting Tara and not falling in love with her." She sighed. Even after the horrific events of the day and evening, she had no real desire to inflict pain for pain's sake. Tara was alive, would recover; retribution was unnecessary. She couldn't imagine ever forgiving him; then again, Tara was the one he needed to ask that of. Vengeance, though...she didn't have the energy for it. She wanted to get back to Tara. But at the same time, she wouldn't be an accomplice to a misguided regret. Oz needed to know that regardless of his presence, she and Tara would have met and fallen in love. If anything, that would have been even more painful. Looking at him, she could see his own thoughts and feelings flickering in his eyes.

"God, what a total fuck-up," he muttered. "I still can't believe everything I did today." His shoulders sagged heavily, and Willow could hear his breathing grow ragged.

"You have to believe it, Oz. Because you did it. You took Tara to a factory and chained her up and beat her." Willow heard her voice shake. "You say you weren't going to kill her-maybe you were, maybe you weren't. But even if you weren't, you did something terrible, Oz; you hurt another person, horribly, and you did it on purpose. It wasn't the wolf, it was you. And you'd better find a way to wrap your mind around that pretty quickly, or you'll do it again."

"Never," he rasped, looking at her in anguish. "I could never do that again."

"See, that word is gonna get you in trouble, Oz, because you could do it again. If you don't want to, you'll have to make the choice not to. You told me before you left that the wolf was in you, all the time. Well you're in you, too, all the time, and apparently there are some dark, musty corners you haven't wanted to see in a while and they've gotten really, really dirty." She paused to take a breath, and looked at him intently. "I don't know if you'll find the answer in Tibet or a church or therapy or where, but you'd better find it, Oz. Find it, and deal with it."

They both fell silent once more. Finally, Oz looked at her. Grief seemed to echo off of him, out of every breath he took and released.

"Do you hate me? Do you feel anything for me besides hate?"

Willow met his gaze, and in it she saw a wry, caring guitarist who had given her a witch Pez; who had taken a bullet to protect her; who had risked his life innumerable times in the name of good. She saw someone who loved her, had told her and shown her how beautiful she was to him. She saw someone with a brilliant mind and a generous spirit. And she saw someone who had kidnapped her beloved, keeping her terrified and wounded because he couldn't face losing what he had always expected to have for his very own.

"Too many socks," she finally sighed, shrugging helplessly.

Oddly, he didn't seem to understand.

"I think about everything that I've felt about you, and everything you've done, and I just can't fit it all under one heading like love or hate. There are just too many socks to stuff into one drawer." She looked at him with greater resolution. "But I do know that you and I will never, ever be together again. Do you know that?"

Tears glistened in his eyes once more. He could only nod his understanding.

"Oz, there's something else I have to ask you. I think I know the answer, but I need you to tell me for sure."

"Anything," he said simply.

Willow squared her shoulders and tried to gather her courage. She hadn't realized the full extent of her fear of the matter until this moment.

"Oz, when you had Tara; when you were...hurting her..." Willow choked on the words, but forced herself to continue. "When you were hurting her, did you...did you bite her?" There. She'd said it. Now if she could only survive the answer.

"No." The reply was immediate, and sure. "I thought about it; I won't lie. But...But I didn't."

Willow released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Not trusting her voice, she only nodded. Then she stood up, surprised to find her legs solid beneath her.

"I'll be right back."

She climbed the stairs slowly, running the entire conversation over in her mind. As she reached the top, she saw Buffy and Giles sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. Buffy looked fresh and alert; Giles looked sore and disheveled. She was suddenly aware of loving them both very much.

"You OK?" Hazel eyes looked softly into hers.

"Yeah, Buffy. Tired, but OK."

"The question now is what to do with him," Giles said thoughtfully. "I could ask the Watchers' Council for advice, although I'm not on the best terms with them."

"And we know that their advice is always reasoned and temperate. I mean, I plan to ask them about birth control whenever you get their new number." Buffy snorted in exasperation. "We're not asking them anything unless it's to fling themselves into a wood chipper."

"OK, so we have a 'no' on the Watchers' Council issue," Willow duly noted. "Other suggestions?"

"Well I can't imagine taking him to the police," Giles said helplessly. "Whatever would we say?"

"It's not too far from a domestic violence case, but I agree: the details are very inconvenient." Buffy paused, mulling over various options. "I could ask Riley for some help, although I definitely don't want the Initiative as a whole in on this deal. Of course, Riley himself isn't in the Initiative as a whole right now, so that last part's kind of a given..."

"Wait a minute-why not pull a Spike on him?" Willow looked up hopefully.

"You want Oz to drink pig's blood and watch 'Passions'? My God, Willow, isn't that a bit extreme?"

Giles looked at Buffy, his gaze filled with regretful disappointment. "I think Willow is suggesting that Oz be implanted with a behavior-modification chip."

Willow looked at Buffy anxiously. "Do you think we could do it? Could Riley help us out?"

Buffy nodded confidently. "Riley's so whipped, he'd sing 'Copa Cabana' naked at Dodger Stadium if I asked him too." Catching the bemused looks of her friends, she amended, "Which of course I would never ask him to do. Anyway," she hurried on, "I'm sure he can get his hands on one of the chips, and I know he's still got close ties to at least five or six guys at the Initiative; one of them's a doctor. Maybe Riley could persuade him to help us out." Turning, she looked at Willow anxiously. "Do you really think this is the best idea?"

Willow weighed the matter slowly in her mind. Finally, she replied, "Yes, I do. I think it'll work, and I think it's the best option. I mean, I don't trust Oz-at least not all of him-but I can't see turning him over to the Initiative, knowing what they're up to. I just don't see a whole lot of other possibilities here, guys."

Buffy and then Giles nodded in turn. Buffy left to call Riley, returning a few minutes later to say that he had the necessary equipment in his own personal stash. ("Some people have their own personal stash of drugs; Riley has his own personal stash of government-issue military intelligence technology.") He was fairly certain he could convince his medic friend. They would come over within the next two or three hours.

"We should best tell Oz of our decision," Giles said.

"Actually, let me," Willow broke in. "I'll tell him, and then I'm going back to the hospital."

"Will, visiting hours are way past over," Buffy reminded her dubiously.

"I know, but I can sit outside her door. Besides," she added, looking out the eastern window at the dim slivers of first light, "visiting hours will start again fairly soon." She took Buffy's hand. "After the procedure, and after Oz leaves, will you stop by the hospital and let me know?"

"Sure. And I'll bring a big bag of Tara's favorite candy. Which would be...?"

"Mounds."

"Of course," Giles murmured. "Of course she prefers Mounds."

"I'll just be a few minutes, and then I'm heading out. Would you call a cab for me?" She hugged them both again, suddenly feeling a need to stock up on these comforts. "I'll call upstairs as I leave so you can come on back down. And thanks for the privacy. I know this hasn't been the most comfortable spot."

"Oh, that depends on one's perspective, really," Giles demurred. "Relative to the seventh circle of hell..."

Back downstairs, Willow looked once more at Oz, who was now staring morosely out the window. She wondered once more at the journey her feelings had taken, and realized that despite the terror, and despite the awful aching of the past two weeks, she and Tara were facing this new day as a couple. A day could only be so bad if it started with that truth.

"Oz, I think there's a way to keep everyone safe here, including you." She outlined the plan, explaining the chip and what activated it. "It's simple, really: don't attack any living thing. You can fight demons, but if you raise your hand against any human being, you will spend the next several minutes in a state of deep, deep regret."

Oz thought briefly. "That's about the best plan I could hope for. And Willow-I am sorry. I know that doesn't mean anything, or change anything, but I am."

Willow struggled to find words. "It means something, Oz, as long as you make peace with all of yourself." Then her voice took on harder tone. "And as long as you stay away from Tara. If you come hear her again..."

"I won't. I swear to you, I won't." He looked at her steadily. Finally, she nodded.

When Oz spoke again, his voice had a dull, empty sound to it. "I'm never going to see you again, am I?"

"I don't think so, Oz." She felt the tears threatening to slip out once more. She had walked such an important path with him. She wanted good things for him. But their dance was over, long past over, and she felt her body hum suddenly with the force of her resonance with Tara.

He looked at her, his own eyes filled with tears.

"Goodbye, Willow."

"Goodbye, Oz."

And then she needed to be at the hospital, would have teleported there if she knew how. Turning away from Oz, she walked to the door.

"Leaving now," she called back over her shoulder, and heard Giles groan as he rose, creaking, to his feet once more. Stepping out on the porch, she drew in a deep breath. It would be a warm, beautiful day.

To every thing there is a season. And then her taxi appeared, and she headed off to be where she belonged.

"Keep 'em closed, OK? Are they closed? I think I see a little daylight between those lids!"

"Honey, I appreciate you wanting to surprise me, but one of us has to watch where we're going or we'll both end up back in the hospital."

"Hey, no hospital talk! We just broke you outta there this morning; we're not going back. Although I must say, there was a great view..."

"Willow, what are you talking about? My room faced a billboard advertising a hemorrhoid ointment."

"I meant your gown. What a great view of two matching works of natural splendor!" Willow grinned to herself at Tara's immediate blush. She suspected that she would have great fun over the next several years finding various ways to convince Tara of just how incredibly beautiful she was...even when she had bruises all over her neck, chest and arms; even when she had stitches binding together her vulnerable flesh. Then she forced the scary thoughts out of her head, knowing that though she wasn't finished with them, they didn't have to plague her every waking moment. She pulled Tara gently along the hallway, steering her clear of potential hazards. "Yep, every time I think I've found my favorite spot on you, I see you from a different angle and I have to head back into the voting booth and recast my ballot."

Tara pulled up abruptly, a sly grin skittering across her face. She kept her eyes completely closed. "Come back here," she ordered. Willow looked at her with curiosity, but complied. "Closer," Tara requested, "so I can whisper something in your ear."

Willow drew close to Tara and obediently placed her ear next to the curving lips. "What is it, Baby?"

"My nipples are hard."

Willow found herself gulping for air as her belly tripped and tumbled. "Oh my God, Tara, you can't tell me things like that and not expect me to-"

"Just as I thought," Tara noted triumphantly. "You're a breast girl, first and foremost." She kissed Willow gently on the ear, and then said breezily, "Lead on, MacDuff."

Willow sent strict instructions to all points south of her solar plexus to please behave themselves for at least the next few hours. The points sent back word that they couldn't promise anything.

At last they reached Tara's dorm room. Willow positioned Tara in front of her, and then reached around and knocked out five short raps, the agreed-upon signal being the first line from "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge. As Buffy pulled the door open, Willow whispered, "Take a look, Baby."

Tara opened her eyes, and Willow heard her sudden gasp.

The tiny room, which had always had a magical feel to it by virtue of its fairy lights and its wonderful scents and its occupant, was now practically enchanted. After visiting Tara at the hospital and giving Willow the news that Oz had left, Buffy had headed out to enjoy one of the more delicious aspects of being someone's best friend: helping that friend surprise her beloved. After a whispered consultation in the hall ("Does this involve evisceration, exsanguination, or existential anguish?" Tara had called out from her bed. "'Cause I'd suggest we just wait and see the movie."), Buffy had made the rounds for various supplies.

Yellow rose petals were strewn everywhere-the floor, the desk, and most especially the bed. "Put a lot of petals on the bed, OK?" she had instructed Buffy after handing her Tara's room key. "But just petals, remember, not the whole rose."

"Got it: that's a 'yes' to petals; a 'no' to pricks. I should remember that more often."

At the same florist, Buffy had procured miniature pots of lavender, sage, and thyme, which now sat in various places of optimum sunlight.

She had popped into the candle shop and emerged twenty minutes later weighed down with enough tapers and pillars to illuminate a black hole and Rush Limbaugh's mind. All had been lit, and shadows from the flames jumped, sashayed, and ambled along the walls.

Finally, at a card store, she had purchased blue and gold glitter. From the appearance of the room, she had simply walked through the door and gone into convulsions. Glitter was flung over every possible surface; it looked as if the entire room were winking tiny eyes of maize and cobalt.

"Welcome back," Willow said simply.

"I-I don't know what to say." Tara's eyes were filled with tears. She looked at Buffy, who stood gazing back at her affectionately. "You did all this?"

"Well, me and Martha Steward trade off sometimes. I was actually gonna make a lovely sachet out of vampire dust until I remembered they smelled like oven-dried sewage." She walked over to Tara and took her hand gently. "Is it OK to hug you?"

"Oh yes; Willow won't get jealous unless you grab my ass."

"Tara! I'm afraid that Willow is rubbing off on you, and oh God don't I wish I'd picked a different phrase...What I meant was, will it hurt you if I hug you?"

"I don't think so. Just be gentle with me." Watching Buffy move tentatively into Tara's arms, Willow realized again just how many layers there were to her girl. The more secure she felt in her place with someone, the looser (and the naughtier) she became. She felt her own eyes sting dangerously as she watched her two favorite people in the world begin to establish their own particular language.

As Buffy stepped back, Tara added, "Thank you, Buffy. For everything. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Well, here at the First National Bank of Scooby, we have a policy of rotating credit. Today I help save your ass; tomorrow you help save mine. Actually, a simple 'thank you' pretty much erases any debt." Her expression became serious. "Just take very good care of Willow, OK?" She smiled, but there was no doubt that she meant what she said.

"Always," Tara whispered, squeezing Willow's hand. Willow raised their linked fingers to her lips, and kissed Tara's hand gently.

"So-that takes care of today's Touching Moment," Buffy noted, passing her hand quickly over her eyes to wipe away her own tears. "Giles, Riley, Xander, and Anya are going to be here in a few minutes. We didn't want to overwhelm you when you walked in the door. Welcome to Casa de Tara; please make yourself comfortable. Your server will be with you in just a moment." With that, she marched over to the miniature refrigerator and began pulling out bottles of water and sodas. A plate of cookies sat on top of the appliance.

Scarcely a minute later, the remaining friends crowded into the tiny space. Without preamble, Anya strode purposefully up to Tara and peered at her. She seemed to think that the attack had left Tara either deaf or perhaps mentally impaired, because she said slowly and very loudly, "I'M GLAD OZ DIDN'T KILL YOU AND EAT YOU."

Willow felt her heart slam into her ribcage at the words. When she caught her breath, she snorted derisively, not caring who heard her. "Wow, Anya, that's a truly touching sentim-" But she was interrupted by Tara, who took Anya's hand and without irony or sarcasm or any other Scooby staple, said, "Me too, Anya. Thank you."

And Anya just beamed. Her eyes lit up at the praise, and she gave a delighted little clap, and Willow thought she would have to order more face to accommodate all of her grin. Watching the scene, she realized that for all of the orgasms Xander may have given her, Tara had just treated Anya with more humanity than anyone else in the ex-demon's short mortal life span. And she realized, too, that it was a touching sentiment, because it was true. Hallmark wouldn't be hiring Anya to write verse any time soon, but she was truly glad that Tara was OK and she told her so in those very specific ways. Looking at Xander, she saw him looking at Tara with a mixture of gratitude and deepening interest. Hope the interest doesn't have anything to do with her breasts, she thought suddenly, recalling Anya's revelation at Giles'.

Riley offered Tara a gentle hug. Drawing near, Willow could hear Tara say to him, "Your girlfriend is pretty amazing, Riley." To which he grinned and said, "I was thinking the same thing about yours. Willow looks so happy...It's just-it's so good. She deserves it." He laughed a little sheepishly. "I wanted to get you a card, but none of them seemed...appropriate, you know? I mean, nothing really fits situations like ours, does it?"

Buffy looked up at the observation. "Hey-we could totally start a new business and make a bundle. Imagine a card shop specific to Hell Mouth events!"

Xander's eyes lit up. "Hey, you're right! Of course, most of them would be sympathy cards, but at least they'd fit the occasion!"

Buffy jumped in. "I got one: 'Your loved one is not truly gone; in fact, she'll be back later on to drain every last ounce of blood out of your body. Sucks being you.'"

"Ooh, that's a nice one, Buff," Willow enthused. "And we could have all different styles, too. Maybe some haiku!" Pausing, she hastily counted on her fingers as she silently mouthed various ideas. "Here we go: 'That which you have raised,/Behold, has been raised anew!/Your son's a vampire.' It's cultured and tasteful."

"Well, we don't want to totally forget about the good stuff," Tara interjected. "I mean, we'd want to celebrate love in all its wonderful forms." Willow grinned at her with an almost painful adoration. "How about...'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Well, for one thing, roses don't burst into flames when the sun hits 'em.'" She beamed with pleasure when laughter greeted her contribution.

I am besotted. I don't even know what "besotted" means, and frankly, it sounds sorta messy or dirty, and not the good kind of dirty. But I don't care. I am sampling every darn dish at the Besotted Buffet.

Giles gave Tara a CD of Dvorak's "Symphony from the New World." She squeezed his hand, thanking him earnestly. "I've only heard snippets of it," she said. "I'm so glad you knew what it was."

"Well, I'm just glad there's a level of culture that's entered into our merry band," the librarian smiled. "If you like that, I suspect you'd also enjoy-"

"Your stirring loins?" Willow looked at him in mock-warning. "Don't even think it, Buster."

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to impale myself on some sharp object so as to die immediately. Tara, do enjoy the music." So saying, he moved quickly over to the refreshments now sitting on Tara's desk.

"You are incorrigible, Willow Rosenberg. What am I going to do with you?" And though the words were scolding, the tone suggested something far more collaborative.

"Wait until the Power Point presentation," Willow said placatingly. "It gives very detailed suggestions.

"Hey Will-are you gonna stay over here at Tara's for now, until she's off the disabled list?" Xander asked around a mouthful of chocolate-chip cookie.

"Yeah. Just to help out with things, make life a little easier for her."

"I'm still pretty sore," Tara added. "I see myself sort of lounging around in a dressing gown eating chocolate and being waited on."

"Bathing will probably be difficult," Anya commented matter-of-factly. "You'll probably have to help her with that."

"Do my trials never end?" Willow murmured with a grin.

Xander stepped forward eagerly. "Listen, Willow, if you need any help with that-you know, helping Tara in and out of bed-"

"OK, in the first place, no; and in the second place, a synonym for no." She glared at her friend, knowing that he would probably create all sorts of visuals about that last matter and that his orgasms with Anya would probably be helped along by those visuals.

After about forty minutes, Willow caught Buffy's eye; the Slayer disentangled herself from Anya's excited discourse about boils within body cavities and edged over to Willow. "What's up, Will?"

"Well, you know, it's been a long day-heck, a long three days for Tara and I think it might be a good idea for her to get some rest, not that it's not good for her to have all of you over here and can I just tell you how much I appreciate the decorations? So, definitely not down-playing the recuperative powers of friendship and visitations here, oh no, I was just thinking that maybe-"

"Hey everybody, listen up! Willow needs us to leave so she can get Tara into bed." She turned to Willow and smiled. "See? Things don't have to be so hard."

At her words, Giles had all but vaulted over the desk to reach the door, giving Tara a quick pat on the arm in passing. Riley was barely a step behind him. Xander and Anya seemed inclined to linger, until Buffy glared at them both.

"But you heard her," Anya protested as Buffy herded them toward the door. "She thanked me. Clearly I mean a lot to her now."

"Call if you need anything, Will." Xander's voice trailed off as Buffy shut the door behind him.

"You guys feel safe here? Is there anything I can do to help you feel all...secure?"

Willow pulled Buffy in her arms and hugged her fiercely. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Buffy. You're the best friend I've ever had." She could feel Buffy holding onto her tightly. "Right back 'atcha, Willow. I'm a phone call away, OK?" She turned to Tara. "Welcome home. And welcome to the tiny little slice of wackiness we call our home." Tara gave Buffy a gentle but very long hug. "Willow's lucky to have you in her life." To which Buffy replied, "I think we're both pretty lucky to have Willow in our lives." Pulling back, she nodded in Willow's direction. "But don't let her hear me say that, OK? It sorta undermines the whole ironic teasing thing, you know?" And then she left, pulling the door shut behind her.

Turning to look at her beloved, Willow found herself at a loss for words. As usual, Tara came through for her.

"All of those nice people left just so you could get me into bed, Willow. What are you waiting for?"

Their love-making was an erotic combination of lust and restraint. Willow was extremely aware of Tara's wounds, including her lower lip, which hadn't needed stitches but which was still very tender. She thought for a moment, and then propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at Tara in the flickering lights of the candles. "I have an idea."

"There's something new and different," Tara said with a wry smile.

"Please save your comments for the evaluation that you will be asked to complete at the end of this encounter," Willow replied haughtily. "All joking aside, Tara, I am so desperately eager to touch you and make love to you, but Baby-you're sore. I'm terrified of hurting you. I couldn't bear it if I did something that hurt you."

Tara looked up at her, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Why does everything you say just melt me? I think I could listen to you read the phone book and you'd make my heart sing."

"Well, if you heard me sing, it would make your ears melt." Willow leaned down gently and kissed the tip of Tara's nose. "So here's my idea: How about you point out all the places that don't hurt and I'll kiss those spots."

"I like this idea," Tara said, laughing softly. After a moment's pause, she pointed to her right cheek. Willow bent down obediently and pressed her lips fully into the soft flesh of Tara's cheek. Tara smiled at her, and then pointed to her forehead. Willow shifted her weight and draped soft kisses along the smooth, warm skin. Tara gave her a slightly more mischievous smile, and pointed to her right ear. "Awright," Willow murmured in a low voice, taking the soft lobe between her lips and sucking gently; and then she circled the intricate ridge of Tara's ear with slow, steady swirls of her tongue. She heard Tara's sudden intake of breath, and smiled at the sound.

"I can feel myself healing so incredibly fast," Tara observed, as she pointed to her right breast. Willow moved onto all fours and straddled Tara's body, Careful not to press any weight onto Tara's injured body, she lowered her mouth to Tara's taut, full breast. She kissed all around its warmth, gradually moving closer to Tara's nipple. Pausing with her lips just above the swollen flesh, she said softly, "And this? This spot is OK?" And then she flicked her tongue over the taut nipple, and circled it gently; at last, she sucked it hungrily into her mouth. She heard Tara groan above her, and felt her arch up into Willow's mouth. "Oh, God, Willow...You're so good at this."

"I'm good at you," Willow amended briefly, and then turned her attention back to Tara's breast. "Is its companion also OK?"

"Oh yes. OK, and very easily hurt if it doesn't get as much attention."

"Can't have that," Willow said softly, and moved slightly to nuzzle and suck Tara's other breast. After several minutes, Tara lifted Willow's head from her breasts and looked hungrily into her eyes.

"There's one other spot that doesn't hurt." Her breathing was labored. Willow held her gaze, and then slid her fingers down to the soft, curling hair and parted Tara's lips slowly.

"Here?" It was difficult to speak. She eased one finger along the swollen labia and then gently pressed into the wetness.

"Yes; oh Willow." As much as Willow craved Tara's sweet wetness, she wanted to stay where she was, propped up on one arm, leaning protectively over her lover while she stroked the swollen folds and teased her clit and penetrated her as deeply as Tara would want.

"Oh, God, Willow...I need you so much. I need you with me."

She fought her way around the tears in her voice. "Always, Baby. Nothing can take me away from you." She stroked with both hunger and leisure, feeling Tara's body respond and matching her own tempo to her lover's. "Tara, I want to hold you, like this, when you come. Is-is that OK?"

"Oh yes. God, Baby, yes." Her lips parted and her breathing grew ragged. "Willow, I'm so ready. I can feel it building, so good..."

"Take your time, Love. We have all the time in the world now." Willow felt tears slide over her cheeks and splash onto Tara's face. Tara reached up with one hand and gently brushed the tears off of her own cheek, and then offered her fingers to Willow's lips. Willow kissed the salty taste from Tara's flesh.

"Willow, please...Faster, just a little bit." As Willow gladly granted the request, she could feel Tara's body start to quiver. Will I ever not just explode inside when she's ready to come? In those seconds right before it starts? Impossible... Tara gripped her shoulders tightly, and Willow heard her catch her breath.

"Willow; Baby, I'm coming...Just like that, oh goddess..." And then she called out Willow's name, once more, and the shuddering force ripped through her body. Willow held her as tightly as she dared while the ripples coursed through Tara's body. When they finally subsided, Tara reached up to Willow's face. Willow could see that now Tara was crying.

"What is it, Baby?"

"Willow...I can't believe you chose me."

Willow bent lower until her lips were poised just over Tara's. "Then let me spend the next sixty or so years convincing you that I did."

Tara smiled, a crooked half-smile that Willow thought should be framed for all the world to see. "Let the convincing begin."

As she nestled close to Tara, careful to avoid the bruises, Willow closed her eyes for a moment in silent awe at her heart's wondrous fortune.

I did the right thing.

THE END

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