Still Grrr

Posting this for kerkevik

Title: If Wishes Were Horses
Author: Kerkevik
Prompt: 140: Psychos In Love
Word Count: 1642
Rating: PG-13, for painfully adult themes
A/N: Years after Tara's death, Willow is still having nightmares, only now someone is listening.



Willow saw her through the windows of the Espresso Pump, and smiled warmly at her as she caught the eye of the barista, who hugged her warmly and kissed her, european-style, on both cheeks.

And if her smile seemed a little forced and Claudio seemed to run a finger under Tara's eyes, Willow paid it no never mind, because it was a beautiful sunny day, and she was going to sit and share a coffee with the woman she loved.

A date; a new start; a new life.

She watched Tara chatting with the barista, and nod at something he said to her, then make her way towards the table she was sitting at; their favorite. The one they'd sat at that first evening out; the evening after the thing with the soda machine had changed their life forever, even if she hadn't been quite sure how at the time.

And if Tara seemed to hesitate for a second, and keep her eye half on the retreating Claudio, as if drawing strength from him, then Willow paid it no never mind, because Tara had come; there was a chance things might work out. She fought not ot stand; to seem too desperate to be in her company; so as not to scare her off. She seemed to succeed, and allowed herself a sigh of relief when Tara continued her approach.

As Willow always did when she needed to cover her own nervousness, she talked a mile a minute, somehow managing to order their coffees (she'd insisted on that point when they'd agreed on this 'experiment') from the barista, not even noticing him as he left to complete the order.

Her eyes never left her, of course, and when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught that little twist appearing at the corner of her mouth; the Tara-smile of scoobie-legend (that she wanted to kiss so badly she could barely breathe at the thought), she could barely stop her heart leaping from her chest.

She chattered on, about Buffy's new hair; the desperately sad nerdiness of the Trio, who'd been responsible for the invisibility that had hidden Buffy's new hair; about... well she didn't tell her everything, no, she couldn't bring herself to mention Amy's gift, or that she had oh-so-nearly given in to it.

She watched her love carefully, and relaxed when she saw that she'd not noticed the hesitation.

And if that twist took just a little bit longer than usual to turn into one of Tara's all-too-rare grins, Willow paid it no never mind, because she knew how much Tara was worried about little Dawnie, whom she'd been like a mom to. And because, when it did come, that grin was like the rising of the dawn on a misty winter's day.

As if Spring was finally returning to Willow's life.

And paid no notice to the crinkling around Tara's eyes, as she took notice of the omissions,
and began to show a little annoyance at Willow's 'performance'.

She was so focussed on Tara, that she failed to notice the return of the barista – until she
spoke.

“Mi dispiace, caro il mio bambino. Mi dispiace tanto.”

“I am sorry, bella rosa.”

Willow found herself frowning as Tara's lips moved, as if seeming to ready themselves for speech but, when the words came, they were in that odd admixture of the tuscan hills; welsh valleys, and hollywood queer that was the barista's voice.

Slowly she comprehended what was going on and, turning her head, could see a rarely seen sorrowful expression on his beginning-to-be chubby features.

Only his words didn't seem to warrant the expression she was seeing.

“...the mint chocolate is gone, dolci signore. Would the syrup be..?”

Willow started to tell him that Tara didn't like the syrup, when she smiled warmly... at him.

“Bydd yn cael ei jyst ddirwya, Claudio.”

Willow could barely contain her surprise. She knew she was speaking welsh; it more the near perfect accent, plus the fact that the barista seemed to be nodding his approval; as if he was a teacher appreciating the success of a favored pupil.

Then she caught the careful look in his eye and, out of the corner of her eye, the equally careful nod she gave him in response.

She sensed a coldness creeping in to that bright spring dawn she had been anticipating.

The look on Tara's face, which had been full of the love she shared, had become slightly stiff; uncomfortable, as if in anticipation of some unpleasant task that had to be completed, no matter how little it was to be desired.

She felt a tightness behind her eyeballs as Tara opened those beautiful lips... and began to speak.

And if Tara shuddered, as if making a decision; one that she knew was probably a mistake,
but could not change, well..?

Willow paid it no never mind.

She just enjoyed the gradual warming in Tara's demeanour, even if it did seem a little hesitant in unusual places and, if Tara's attitude seemed to change later, as if desperately trying to stick to a decision she had made..?

She paid it no never mind.

Because that night Tara came to her room, and spoke the most beautiful words Willow could ever have wished to hear.

And they made love in a way they hadn't since that first night.

------

“Will, did you really believe I could forgive you? After everything that my family did to me? No! Don't star please.”

Willow wiped the back of her wrist across her eyes, fiercely determined to stop the tears she knew were waiting to pour forth; Tara's hand, held up against her former lover's desired pleading.

“You raped me, Will. You did! After... everything you knew, after I gave you a chance to save everything we had... you did it again.” She was whispering now, her voice shaking, veering between fury... and unbearable misery.

Willow stood up, and began to walk away from everything she loved. She heard Tara's voice as she reached the door.

“I am sorry. I still love you... I just... I,”

Can't be with me.

At that moment, if she'd ever had any doubts about the monster she'd become, they all disappeared.

Three blocks away she called Giles, in England; managing to convince the watcher's council
flunkey that 'yes... it was absolutely vital that the negotiations be interrupted.'

“Giles?”

Two weeks later she began the long journey to her rehabilitation.

Five years later she ran into Tara at a lecture the new professor was giving at Sarah Lawrence, in an attempt to recruit more women into the ranks of the still depleted ranks of the Council.

A week later she received a totally unexpected e-mail from Tara and, slightly under a month after that, they resumed their relationship.

They were married on the steps of the mansion where Willow had, three months before, graduated from the rehabiltation college.

Within a year they both bore sons; the fathers, a stupidly grinning Alexander Harris-Jenkins,
and a slightly-stunned-that-the-magic-had-actually-worked (and that Tara had worked on for years without telling anyone), and he could sire a child without passing on the lycanthropy, Daniel Osborne, both being present to witness them.

A while later; a daughter named, for the woman whose love and friendship had kept their hopes alive, despite the bleakness of the years in between, Dawn; the boys named Martin, after the good Dr. King, and Jordi, after the little lad's studious, but totally not Oz-like, uncle.

All did very well, and are thriving.

------------

Kennedy just held on tight; as the woman she loved suffered unfathomable guilt over someone she'd never seen; excepting a worse-than-usual college guidebook.

She just held on. And prayed.

While Willow begged every god; goddess; animus; spirit (and even a couple of the friendlier demons), she'd ever read about, to take away the one death they couldn't.

While she shed a few tears at her inability to slay these demons she couldn't even imagine.

------------

Willow walked into the Espresso Pump, and saw the graven face of Claudio, the barista whose name she'd barely ever paid attention to, but who'd know her Tara better than she ever had; walked into his arms, and allowed him to stroke her hair.

And heard those words... again... she'd ignored so many months before.

“Mi dispiace, caro il mio bambino. Mi dispiace tanto.”

“I am sorry, bella rosa.”

---------

But Willow never seemed to understand that the words came from new lips.

Kennedy looked at the clock beside their bed; stared at the date, and wondered what dawn would bring.

It was past midnight; midnight on May 7th.

FIN.