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| Current mood: | not quite |
| Current music: | PJ Harvey - Four Track Demos |
| Entry tags: | fanfic, ftvs |
Hyacinth Girl
Tara, Faith
PG
1,277 words
During and after "Dead Things" in the Parting Gift 'verse.
Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.- T. S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"
For Tara, home has lost too much meaning; from childhood memories, smell of fresh bread and drying herbs tainted with quiet despair, sickness and unspoken anger, to the unremarkable suburban construct of 1630 Revello Drive, her haven amidst the insanity of Sunnydale grown bleak and cold. The decision to leave was hers alone, by every moral necessity, yet part of her feels as though Willow pushed her away, cast Tara out from her sanctuary. Now she sleeps alone in a tiny apartment just off campus, clothes and books in stacks of cardboard boxes, avoids her girlfriend -- cannot bring herself to say ex -- at all costs.
Still, she can't refuse when Buffy calls, asks her to meet at the Doublemeat, and it's not just the lack of humor in the Slayer's voice. She misses every one of them, not just Dawn; despairs that the two most capable women she knows have grown so weak. That without them, she must be stronger than ever.
Tara spends the day researching, double-checking everything, meets Buffy at her home that evening. She thought she came bearing glad tidings, but the shock of revelation pales before this complete and unexpected loss of control; holding a weeping Slayer in her arms as she tries to process the immensity of the secrets she's been entrusted with, hopes and prays Dawn, or Willow
(please Goddess, no)
will not hear, and come running.
She helps Buffy to her feet when sobs taper to sniffles; looks the other way when the Slayer finds tissues, waves off the apologies for her dress. Buffy regains her composure, walks her to the door and hugs her again, desperate but honest and it's been so long since anyone's held her like this she nearly loses herself in the power of that embrace. The memory of that strength is still with Tara as she leaves, looks around before gathering her courage, hurrying down to the dimly lit street.
"Hey."
"Oh!" Her heart quite literally skips a beat. Faith stands under the tree in the front yard, bathed in darkness. "Hey."
The Slayer leans down and puts out her cigarette, stands and shoves the filter in her pocket; steps out of the black, eyes cast in shadow.
"C'mon. I'll walk ya home."
She feels like a deer in the headlights, feet glued to the earth. This is not the normal off-balance sensation Faith can cause after all this time, from the summer of death through Buffy's raising and beyond; despite the lack of any formal apology, Tara has grown to trust the dark Slayer, at least as much as their other strange new ally, but Spike only hurt her nose.
Her feelings have always been more sensitive.
Faith takes another step, irritation blossoming on her face when Tara flinches back, and then it clicks. For both of them, from the look of things.
"Right. You packin'?"
Tara blinks, and the corners of Faith's lips twitch up. "A cross?"
She's too rattled to blush. "Not as a general rule. More with the, pentacles."
Faith sighs.
"Don't suppose ya got a compact in your purse, or --" The Slayer puffs out her cheeks, exasperation increasing.
"Right. So, run back and grab one." Faith crosses her arms, obviously trying not to look defensive. "I'll wait."
Tara looks back at the darkened house, oddly torn on being smart and safe. Faith seems to sense her reluctance, remains at a distance.
"Can't you just tell? Bein' all witchy an' stuff?"
"It doesn't w-work like that." She wrestles down her disobedient tongue, as well as the urge to laugh. Knowing Faith, she might be in greater danger if the Slayer hasn't been turned. "I mean -- it wouldn't be enough. Just to read your aura."
Faith appears ready to give in to impatience, whatever that might entail, when her face lights with inspiration. "Hey -- still breathin'. See?"
"Vamps can fake it." She's seen Spike enough times to know. Faith looks amused and annoyed before another ah-ha occurs.
"Heartbeat." The Slayer nods in satisfaction. "Can't fake that."
"Um...I'm not a Slayer? No super-hearing?"
"Actually, vamps got way better ears." Faith's annoyance has unquestionably reached the level of being pissed, but it seems mostly directed at herself. And she's smiling, which could lend credence to either theory. "Better noses, too."
Tara's frozen as the Slayer approaches, stops inches away; pulls open her jacket with an air of expectant challenge. She actually says the first thing that comes into her head.
"Am I supposed to stake you, or feel you up?"
Faith's eyebrows rise. The sound that escapes sounds suspiciously like a chuckle, or at least real humor.
"Well, I was thinkin' feel my heartbeat, so..." She laughs, with an offhand shrug. "Guess it was kinda lame."
The Slayer shoves her hands in her pockets, turns to walk back toward the tree; stops when she sees Tara's not moving.
"Go. Grab a cross, before --"
"I think Buffy's in bed b-by now --" The words threaten to slip their gears, go off track, and Faith looks away. She breathes slowly, until the stutter passes.
"I'm sorry." Those dark eyes once more fall upon her. "For not talking to you this morning. I had to get to class, and --"
"No big." But the Slayer is practically fidgeting out of her skin, looking equally stressed.
Tara pulls her sweater tight around her. "We should hurry."
Faith looks up in surprise, turns stubborn.
"Ain't happenin'." The Slayer gives her knuckles a meaningful crack. "Now get your ass in there and get your hands on some wood, before I knock ya on it. No way I'm takin' the fall --"
"I'm a big girl, Faith." The Slayer's frustration is more than apparent, and Tara straightens her shoulders under that intense gaze.
Faith looks her up and down in cold assessment, finally throws up her hands.
"Fine. Lead on." Faith's hands return to her pockets as she follows Tara down the street, shaking her head, mumbling under her breath.
Tara would try to keep the conversation going, but there are too many potential pitfalls and she isn't entirely sure why she's being so silly, what on earth she thinks this will prove. Faith just walks with her in silence to the collection of efficiencies a few blocks off campus, climbs the rickety wooden steps to the second floor apartment; watches while Tara fumbles for her keys.
She steps through the doorway. looks over her shoulder, sees Faith standing there with an odd little smile.
"It's not my place." Tara watches the Slayer very carefully. "It's a friend's. I'm just staying here tonight."
Faith looks back at her, raising an eyebrow. "So you can't invite me."
"Right."
Faith steps through the doorway, and Tara sags with relief.
"Oh, thank god." She gives a weak smile. "That was...um..." No point in sugar coating it. "That was stupid, wasn't it?"
The Slayer shrugs.
"So's this."
The other woman leans in close before she can move. Lips ghost over her skin, hot breath a whisper; Tara stands absolutely motionless, skin running hot and cold, feeling the beat of their hearts, not daring to move until the Slayer finally draws away, looking surprisingly relaxed.
She watches, speechless, as Faith offers a lopsided smile that's somehow sad; turns and leaves without a backward glance, ambles down the steps with one hand trailing the rail, fading into the night. Tara makes up her bed on the couch, and when she closes her eyes in silent prayer, for the first time in weeks her sleep is peaceful, if chaotic.
Dreams of loss and confusion, and a fire that rages against any flood.
**