Coming Out

by Binky

Copyright © 2006

motoslave@worldnet.att.net

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel are trademarked and copyrighted properties of Fox Television and its related entities, Mutant Enemy, and Joss Whedon. I have no affiliation to Fox, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. No monetary compensation has been solicited nor will any be received for this fiction by the writer or the owner(s) of this website.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Feedback: Yes, please.
Spoilers: BtVS Season 4.
Author's Notes: Thoughts in italics. Emphasis in italics. Strong emphasis in ALLCAPS. The original abbreviated version of this story was drafted as a challenge entry on the DCP forum of the Kitten board
Pairing: Willow/Tara

"Hey Tara!" A pink sleeve-encased arm slid around Tara's shoulders and squeezed.

Helpless to keep her earlier resolution not to, Tara in her surprise gave a little shriek.

Willow settled on the loveseat next to Tara in the Stevenson study lounge, a little early – though not as early as Tara, apparently – for their coffee and study date. She lay her book bag, as usual crammed full of a variety of books – for school, and for witchcraft – down on the floor next to her. Her hand flew up to her mouth. "Oh God, Tara, I'm sorry. What an idiot I am. You'd think I'd know better, sneaking up on someone like that, after all the years I've lived in this town. Especially after what we just went through ourselves. C'mere." Willow fully squared herself to Tara, then leaned in to give her friend a deliberate two-armed hug, her head falling on Tara's shoulder so the soft, crimson locks splayed against Tara's cheek, filling Tara's nostrils with the sweet smell of strawberry shampoo, her hands on Tara's shoulder blades.

Willow had no clue that this greeting was far more tortuous to her new friend than the earlier sneak-attack one-armed shoulder squeeze. Tara stiffened in her arms, and Willow released the older girl from her embrace. Willow's brow furrowed at the pained expression the blonde wore. "Hey, what's the what? You still achy from the other night?"

Tara closed her eyes in an effort to will her thundering heart to heel before it burst out of her chest. Failing miserably, she finally opened her eyes to see Willow's face, her green eyes wide with shock and concern. "Y-y-yes. I-i-it's m-my back." Dammit, Tara! Get a grip! "I-it's just a-a little sore still?" Just don't offer to…

"Oh, hey, let me see if I can –" Willow shifted her weight, as if to get up. Or get closer.

"No!"

" – get you some ibuprofen – ?" Willow's eyebrows shot up at Tara's vehement exclamation.

Tara shut her eyes again. Her face was hot with an embarrassed flush. Of course she wasn't going to offer you a massage, doofus. What strange planet do you come from where the normal response in a friendly conversation to saying your back hurts is, "hey, let me rub my hot little hands all over you and make you feel better than better?" "N-no thank you, W-Willow."

"How 'bout some tea, instead? That'd be better for you than coffee. It'll soothe your muscles."

"R-r-really. It's-it's not that bad."

A frown still lined Willow's face. "You sure? You practically shot out of your seat the first time."

"I-I'm sure."

The redhead looked about. The room was fairly full for a Wednesday night with students scattered throughout, most reading quietly. "Darn. All the sofas are taken. Do you want to try the Embry lounge instead of here? It's usually a lot less crowded. It could be the smell of feet that place is cursed with. Then again, there is the smell of feet that place is cursed with. Or we can just go back to your dorm room?" She turned back to Tara, and caught her breath when she saw how pale the other girl had become.

"N-no. R-r-really, Willow." Goddess, Willow, please just let it go. "I-I took something f-for it already. B-before I-I came down? I-It's just taking a bit to-to kick i-in." Another lie, a little one, to cover up the bigger one. Getting to be a habit, Tara. Tara bit her lip. Her eyes were stinging, her self-loathing producing hot tears that threatened to betray her deception to the gently frowning girl before her who had come to mean so much to her in such a short span of time. From the disappointing meetings at the interminably dull and pretentious Wicca group, to the terrifying hours just a few nights ago huddled together in the laundry room, hiding from the Gentlemen and their lackeys – episodes that were bearable because they had happened in the company of the quirky redhead.

"Okay." Willow paused. "But you'll let me know if it starts hurting again?" Although Tara nodded her assent, Willow's face fell. The girl was fighting back tears. "I am so sorry, Tara. I touched you without even thinking. I don't know why I do that. I'm such an oaf. I guess growing up with Xander got me used to thinking it's alright to spontaneously jump your friends as a way of saying hello. Bad Willow! Keep your hands to yourself!"

That did it. The tears came down, hot on her once again shame-flushed cheeks. "No, Willow! Don't…Don't do that to y-yourself. I-it w-wasn't anything y-you did." Tara sniffled, and started to go through her bag, looking for a tissue.

Willow produced one faster. Life-long allergies to various environmental irritants made one prepared for situations similar to this. So did having a huge heart. "Tara, hey, what's going on? What's wrong, babe?" Willow's voice was soft and encouraging.

Tara paused. The voice was different from the all-too familiar one at the back of her mind that she had grown up with, her usual interlocutor in the inner dialogues she conducted with herself when alone with her assorted demons. M-Mama?

But no one answered.

Willow could sense the conflict running through Tara. She waited, patiently, allowing the other girl to decide if this was something she wanted to talk about. Their friendship was fairly new, after all, though they had spent pretty much every free hour since the episode in the laundry room together. But that was an unusual circumstance to say the least, and pretty soon they'd need to slow down and re-evaluate the frantic pace of their intensely budding friendship. Still, she really hoped they'd eventually become permanent very good friends. Her former fellow witch and now pet rat Amy aside, she missed having someone she could talk to about practicing magic. Besides that, Tara was a good listener, and humored Willow even when in full babble-mode. But she's different – very different from Amy, who hasn't got a choice but to sit in her cage and listen to me ramble. Tara was generous and patient by nature. But it was even more than that. Tara's sweet. She's a sweet girl. It's time for me to return the favor and be a good listener for her – that is, if she wants me to be.

"M-my back's fine, W-Willow." Tara took a deep, shuddering breath. She hoped it would calm her stutter, because she didn't want her next statement to take any longer to get out than necessary. Still, she found she could only speak if she kept her eyes down. Her long blonde hair fell familiarly over her face, providing some comforting camouflage. "W-Willow, I'm gay." She paused, waiting for the impact of her revelation to hit her back.

It came in the form of a hand gently touching her chin and lifting. She looked into Willow's eyes as Willow's hand tucked Tara's locks behind her ear. The corners of her lips tugged into a smile. "And?"

"A-and w-when you touch m-me like w-when you hugged m-me just now, I…I w-wonder if you w-would still do that if…if you knew."

"Tara, I have gay friends I've hugged before." She paused, doing a quick inventory of her previous friendships in high school. She realized with a little regret that she had not gotten to know any of the friends who identified as gay more than casually, though she honestly could say that that hadn't been because of any awkwardness due to their sexuality. Looking back at it now, in fact, it seemed the only "person" she'd known with any depth was her Doppleganger, who, though technically not a friend, had certainly pushed the bounds of friendly touching, forcing Willow to consider possibilities about herself she would never have imagined before the leather-clad, polysexual version of herself had intruded so spectacularly in her life and the lives of her friends. At first it had bothered her, but the passage of time had afforded her the advantage of perspective. One of the better results of the encounter was that now the thought of being with another woman did not freak her as much as it would someone with a virginal, so to speak, self-image of their sexuality like, say, Buffy. Twins and clones, that's another matter. Really not ready to go there, yet. Sooo, Tara likes girls. Hm. I wonder if she thinks I'm attractive? Okay, Rosenberg, now is so not the time to wig her with one of your neurotic insecure-me ego-trips. She's just shared this important knowledge with you, you are not going to ask her if you give good…uh, hug. Willow got a hold of herself before her internal rambling got the best of her. "Okay, now that I think about it, I think you're the first female friend I've had who's gay. But that's cool." Then the way the statement may have sounded struck Willow. "Oh, not like in a yay-middle-class-liberal-me-I've-got-a-lesbian-friend kind of way. Strictly in a yay-Tara-trusts-me-enough-to-share-this-crucial-part-of-herself-with-me kind of way."

Understatement of the year. But there was no longer any guilt in that thought. Having made peace with the big admission of her queerness to Willow, Tara found that she felt much more comfortable with the prospect of not allowing her crush get in the way of having a good friend in the younger girl. Perhaps one day, she might even be able to share her other big secret with the kind-hearted redhead. Tara let the knowledge be for the moment.

"So, does this mean you still want to be friends?"

Tara's lips curled into a lopsided grin. "Definitely."

"Great. Just be aware that being my friend automatically puts you in danger of spontaneous hugs and possibly even occasional pouncing as a recognized substitute for a normal 'hello.'" Willow checked her watch. "Did you want to grab a coffee at the cafeteria, or stay here to study and maybe look through these spell books to find one we can try to do together?"

"Um, how about coffee first, then come back here to study after?"

"Sounds like a plan." Willow stood and offered Tara her hand. Tara took it then found herself pulled into another two-armed Willow embrace, gentler this time, but much sweeter without the weight of hiding who she was from the affectionate redhead. Willow released her, grinning goofily. "See what I mean?"

Tara laughed as she settled her bag on her shoulder. "I see." They made their way slowly through the islands of couches and stuffed chairs to the exit. "So y-you have other gay f-friends? From high school, o-or here?"

"High school. And pretty much just casual friends now. We had this one friend who came out our junior year? Larry was a football jock. Before he came out, he was such a jerk. All with the ogling of the female flesh and inappropriate propositioning of anything without a Y chromosome. Then he came out, and you couldn't have met a nicer guy."

"So w-where is he now?"

"Um, see, it was graduation day. There was this giant snake, the mayor with his army of vamps, and an eclipse, and…well, things didn't go well for Larry." She paused, opening the door of the lounge. "We all miss him."

"Willow, w-why do, um, half the people in your stories end up dead, cursed, or trapped i-in a hell dimension?"

"Consistency?" Willow held the door open for Tara. Tara smiled her thanks. "Hey, Tara, let me ask you since I've already subjected you to a few, do I give good hug?"

Willow stared hard into the gold-flecked khaki-green irises in the mirror in the second floor women's showers of Stevenson Hall. They stared hard right back at her, as they always did. With her forefinger, she pulled her right lower lid down to study the liner of her eye socket. It was a lush, pinkish red. Pretty much normal. She frowned with worry, releasing her eyelid to continue to study her reflection. Should I tell Buffy?

Instantly, she vetoed that suggestion, though it was not immediately apparent to her why. Buffy's the Slayer. My being possessed by something Hellmouthy would qualify as up her alley. Not that I want her to slay me or anything. Would kinda put the kibosh on the whole best-friend part of our relationship.

Of course, Buffy wasn't a stake-first-ask-questions-later kind of Slayer, like Faith. Perhaps the only time Buffy had gotten itchy-trigger-finger syndrome with her sacred duty as the Chosen One was a few months ago when Kathy Newman, her first roommate, turned out to be…a demon. Maybe I should talk to Giles first. He did just go through that whole F'yarl thing himself. He could relate…

Aw, that's silly. She only acted that way because Kathy was sucking her soul out, 'cause she needed one, unlike me, who's got one…Even if it's taken a temporary leave of absence lately. Her eyebrows relaxed as her face fell into a sad frown, thinking about the look of pain and anger on Tara's face when the other girl had left her last night, after the hurtful things Willow had said. That probably was the last time we'll ever talk. The thought filled her with an intense sadness. I'm evil. I deserve to have my ass kicked by a Slayer.

As if on cue, the door of the community showers opened, and a robed, still sleepy-eyed Slayer walked in with her shower kit and toothbrush. Buffy yawned. "Hey Will."

"Mornin' Buff." She doesn't look too tough all jammy-clad with a bad case of morning hair, Willow thought, as Buffy pushed Snoopy's nose to start up her toothbrush. Oh, who am I kidding? I can't even last ten seconds with her in a stare contest. Willow gathered her kit and headed for the door.

"Hey, you doing anything today?" Buffy asked, her mouth foamy with toothpaste.

It was Saturday. She and Tara had planned on visiting the campus art museum after having lunch together so that Tara could work on an assignment for her Art History class while Willow kept her company. Obviously, that wouldn't be happening now with their fallout. "No. Was just gonna stay in and read ahead for my English class."

"Well, I'm going driving today with Riley. You wanna come with?"

Normally, Willow would've gladly accepted the chance to spend more time with Buffy, even if it was with Riley. She knew he was a good person in spite of his suspect Initiative connections who would treat her best friend well, even if his personality was a little wooden. But Buffy driving? There are less heart-stopping ways of having the evil scared out of me. "Nah. Good luck though."

"Okay…but why do I need good luck?"

As she dumped her laundry into the hamper, Willow reluctantly admitted the truth to herself. She couldn't approach Buffy or Giles with her problem since doing so would mean revealing the circumstances surrounding her condition – that for the past month and a half, she had been casting spells, some very intense ones, often all night long, with Tara. If Buffy weren't spending every free minute herself with Riley, maybe her roommate would've noticed the number of nights Willow's bed went unused lately. The spells often left both witches exhausted with the amounts of energy they expended, powerless to do anything but crawl into Tara's bed and fall into a deep slumber, their arms loose around each other, as their bodies re-charged.

But, their skills were growing. Their casting had steadily progressed from simple glamours to more complex elemental spells. Most recently, they had tweaked Willow's Tinkerbell guiding light spell, which was now five times more reliable than it had been with Willow basically winging it herself. Before their falling out, the next logical step in their progression to becoming powerful witches would have been more demanding incantations for small supplications to minor deities.

Willow sighed as she pulled out her copy of Paradise Lost and settled into her bed. Of course, she could continue on her own, as she had been doing prior to the awful yet wonderful night locked in the Stevenson laundry room after Tara had sought her out to see if they could work a spell to break the silence brought over Sunnydale by the Gentlemen. But the scenario of continuing her magical education by herself filled Willow with an intense dread.

Yet for some reason, she still wasn't ready to share Tara with the others. It was irrational, since it might actually be helpful for the two of them to practice spells with Giles' supervision. But there seemed to be more to her reluctance to divulge her secret life with Tara. Now, however, she may have no other choice. I really need to talk to Giles if it's as serious as us accidentally summoning something that's possessed me. If it made me treat her the way I did last night, it must be evil. Maybe he can draw it out then Buffy can get all Slayery on it, leaving me with the hard part – apologizing to Tara.

"I-I'm sorry, Willow. I…kind of have other plans for tonight?" Tara looked down, avoiding Willow's gaze. She was slightly jostled by a very tall student rushing past who mumbled an apology before he disappeared in the stream of students pouring out of the large lecture hall where Tara had just had her sociology class. Willow knew it was her only class for the day and had been waiting outside the hall to invite her to get some dinner and maybe try another conjuring spell with Tara's doll's eye crystal.

"Really?" Willow tried to keep her face neutral, her voice light, despite the hot pang that suddenly shot through her. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out of her mouth before she could censor herself. There was a little edge in her voice. "What're ya doing?" She couldn't seem to stop herself.

It startled her as much as it did Tara. "Um…I-It's not a-anything special. I-I'd kind of committed to it a w-while ago, you know? Just after w-we met?" Tara looked down again.

"Oh." Another pang shot through her.

"I-It kind of i-involves a different kind of crowd? Um…I-I don't know i-if you'd feel comfortable."

Oh…? Oh. She bit her lip. "This doesn't have anything to do with the other night, does it? 'Cause I thought I explained about that, about Buffy and her friends at the Bronze…I apologized." Her voice had become thick, and she felt flushed and nauseous.

"W-Willow, really. It's not that." Tara led them to the side, away from the entrance of the lecture hall. Tara put her bag down and started to go through it. She pulled out a pink colored paper and gave it to Willow.

It was a flyer. The university LGBTQ student alliance was sponsoring a women's movie night, with a free double feature with two films titled Better than Chocolate – as if, Willow naively thought – and an independent short titled Deep Wells. "Oh."

"I-it's actually the second o-one I'm more i-interested in. M-my art history TA i-invited me –"

"You're going as someone's date?" Willow internally cringed at the accusatory tone in the question, but couldn't stop herself from adding "With your TA? Isn't that kind of unethical of her?"

Some of the students streaming past made rude noises and faces at them. Willow didn't notice, but Tara had, and the blonde's face was now bright pink. "No! N-not as her d-date. Sh-she wrote it a-and acts in it w-w-w-with…" Tara stopped herself, trembling. She hadn't stuttered this badly since first arriving on campus. Willow was glaring…at her? Willow was angry with her…Why was Willow angry with her? "I-it's my TA's movie. She made i-it w-with her partner. She thought I-I'd like to see it, since she made i-it, and, you know, since I-I'm gay?"

Willow's voice hadn't lowered to match Tara's. "And how did the subject of your sexuality come up with your TA?" The hallway had thinned with the majority of the students exiting. It unfortunately made her voice reverberate more loudly, just as Tara's sociology professor exited the hall with two students questioning points on the day's lecture. They looked up at the two witches, overhearing Willow's harsh words.

Tara, so flustered her face was now red, could only smile weakly at the stodgy-looking man as he passed, a look of concern on his bearded face. Tara waited for them to pass before turning back to the fuming redhead. "W-Willow, w-we are not having this conversation. I-I don't know w-what's gotten i-into you or w-why you're acting this w-way, but w-whatever i-it is, get over i-it. Don't talk to me until you do." She picked up her bag and turned, her long skirt twirling, and stormed off, leaving Willow, every muscle in her face still clenched in an ugly scowl, watching after Tara's hastily disappearing back.

She was fairly certain it was some kind of minor possession she was experiencing, due to one of the spells they'd done that had gone awry. Willow was famous for those, after all. She suspected that it probably happened while they were experimenting with the Tinkerbell spell last week. The spell was a revised version of a supplication, and so involved invoking beings from a spiritual plane in order to call the guiding light. Opening a portal in that manner may have allowed one of the malevolent spirits of that realm to slip into theirs. It would naturally have been attracted to the summoner of the spell – Willow. It was about that time that she started feeling different, almost hyper-aware of Tara's presence, super-sensitive to the other witch's proximity, the heat radiated by her body and the smell of her shampoo and soap over her natural scent, as they sat on the single bed under the Christmas string lights in Tara's room. It was like being in the after-glow of an intense spell, but constantly. That was when Willow started to become snippy around the other girl. God, I'm a monster. Tara had been nothing but an absolute sweetheart to Willow since they started hanging out a month ago. She listened to Willow dominate every conversation with stories of her life with her friends, hanging onto every word, no matter how nonsensical or inconsequential. She had offered Willow her grandmother's doll's eye crystal, and had been crestfallen when Willow had refused her generosity. She had graciously forgiven Willow for blowing her off to be with Xander and Buffy at the Bronze the other night, only to have the sheepish redhead show up at her door later that evening when her original plans fell through. I'm such a monster.

Willow looked down at the book in her hands then laid it on her bedside table with a sigh. She had read the same passage several times over and none of it had sunk in, her mind helplessly elsewhere. She closed her eyes, but it wasn't enough. She covered her head with her pillow. Paradise Lost, indeed. If only she'd forced herself to pause, take stock, evaluate the situation reasonably, clinically…

But no. Whatever hellspawn had taken up residence in her had not allowed her any peace on the matter…

By the time she'd resolved to apologize to Tara, explain her theory about her possession and ask her friend's help in finding some way to expel the spirit, it was already late in the evening. Willow still had the movie flyer, had been clutching it in her angry fist when Tara had left her, so she knew where to go. She pulled on her jacket and headed for the student union auditorium.

Willow arrived just after the second feature had begun. It was too late to find Tara in the dimmed auditorium. She was forced into a seat in the last row instead. She scanned the room as the film began, looking for the back of Tara's blonde head in the rows in front of her. Soon, however, her attention was wrested by the low moans coming from the hall's speaker system to the image flickering on the screen at the front of the hall of a sparkly pink thong being slowly pulled off a woman's hips by a pair of darker complexioned feminine hands. The 4:3 frame was already dominated by the hips, but the camera zoomed even further in as the pink lycra inched off the milky plane of skin, revealing a butterfly tattoo flitting just next to a dark patch of short, tight curls of hair. The camera continued advancing, in full macro mode, as its angle was brought slowly downward just as the hands re-entered the frame from either bottom corner of the screen. Willow's eyes widened and her breath hitched. For the next 45 minutes, she was pinned helplessly to her seat, though occasionally managing an uncomfortable squirm.

It was like a gynecological exam. Except without the gynecologist. And two patients. Doing self-exams – on each other. Deep Wells' credits ended and the hall lights were brought back on. So that's how two women…uh, get together. Very, uh, educational…

Her silent review was cut short as the rows emptied of gently laughing or chatting audience members, parting to clear her path of vision to the front of the hall and Tara, in the front row, still seated, chatting with a soft, lopsided smile on her face to a pretty, dark-haired girl who was grinning back at her cheekily, her dark red lipstick still managing to shine luridly in the dim light as she pushed her long hair behind her ear. Willow's demon instantly rose, furious at the sight of Tara's uneven smile in this unfamiliar context. I thought you were going alone. She covered the distance in ten seconds, weaving past the exiting audience in a flustered haze of hurt, anger, and though she didn't fully recognize it for what it was, arousal.

"Tara."

Tara turned in surprise at the familiar voice. "Willow?"

The brunette's left eyebrow raised at Tara. "Willow?" Tara nodded, and her companion gave her a knowing look before turning her appraising glance at the little firecracker of a redhead standing before them, who would be pretty cute if she didn't have a horrible fake grin frozen on her face.

"Who's your friend?" I thought you were coming alone.

"W-Willow…this is Sandra. M-my art history TA? She's taking her MFA in a-art-making…"

"This," Willow said, "is Deep Well?"

"Well, one of them," Sandra said. "I know it was kinda hard to tell, we didn't really get too many shots of my face in, but that's my fault. I told my cameraman to focus on my good side." She extended her hand.

Willow didn't take it.

"Ooookay."

"Willow!" Tara chastised, shocked.

"S'okay, Tara. I gotta go. Dani and the others are waiting for me." She gestured to the end of the row of seats and a group of four men and women, in their mid to late twenties, who were lingering, obviously waiting on Sandra. One of them, an Asian woman with short, spiky hair that Willow recognized as the other deep well in Sandra's film, was watching on. "Nice meeting you, Willow. Tara, I'll see you in class. We can talk then if you want." Sandra stood to leave. Before she did, she leaned into Tara to whisper in her ear, "You know, for a little straight gal, she really gets all large with the butch."

Tara blushed hotly. She waited for Sandra to rejoin her friends before turning back to Willow. Before she could begin, Willow did.

"So this is what you wanted to do tonight, huh? It's nice to see your scholarship entitles you to free porn screenings every other Friday."

Tara gasped. She looked up at the exit, Sandra and Dani were not looking at them as they passed through the door, though their companions were, so quite obviously Willow's voice had carried. Sandra and Dani were very pointedly not looking at them. That did it. "Willow," Tara managed to get out as tears started to form in her eyes. "I never want to see you again." Tara got up, jostled Willow to the side as the redhead blocked the aisle, and ran for the exit opposite the one used by Sandra and her friends, leaving Willow alone for the second time that day.

It wasn't a very satisfying plan to Willow whose natural temperament made her anxious to fix her mistakes right away, but it would have to do. Willow picked up her reading assignment for her English Lit Survey course and tried again to make some headway into the thick book, to at least get something done on her Saturday off. Soon, she was struggling to stifle her yawns. Reading right after a shower could always put her to sleep, especially when the material was something as infinitely dull and far-fetched as an epic poem about a bunch of fictional demons. Becoming familiar with hundreds of demon species in her Scooby research and even meeting more than a few in her duties as the Slayer's sidekick had unfortunately spoiled Milton's classic work for her. Soon, her eyes closed as the book fell from her hands. She rolled over to her side, and fell asleep.

"Soooo…This sucks, huh?" The angel-formerly-known-as-Lucifer scratched at his right temple, near the ridge where an ebony horn now jutted from his blackened forehead.

Beelzebub picked at a flake of burnt skin from his elbow, in the manner of a child picking at an old scab not quite ready to slough on its own. "Yeah, you can say that, Boss."

"Well, best laid plans and all that…"

Beel looked up at the alpha demon. He hesitated (TAFKAL had a bad temper and didn't take criticism well) before offering, "But see, boss, that's the thing…the Big O –"

"Big O?" Satan immediately looked at their lesser associate Belial, climbing out of the Lake of Fire™ before them, who immediately began to survey the female demons also making their way out of the Pit of Eternal Torment. Belial caught eyes with Astoreth and immediately headed for the overly fecund fertility demon. Satan shook his head in disgust at his single-minded minions.

"You know, the Big Omniscient, Ubiquitous One, The Omnipotent, etc…Actually, it's the last one that I meant. I mean, damn, Boss, you knew He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was the Big O before you started this little campaign, so, how well-thought out could these plans you laid have been?" The low growl from Satan's throat stopped his lieutenant short. "Hey, I'm just saying…"

"Never mind that now!" Satan rose to his full height. All traces of his former beauty fell away from his blackened body. He gained a new kind of terrible majesty as his skeletal wings extended behind him. Without a word to mark the passing of his former state of grace, he fully took on the mantle of the King of Hell. "Is this all that is left to me? This foul smelling, black pit far from the light for which I was once named? What can be done? What will we do?" There was a trace of his former sweet voice, belied by his ravaged appearance. "All we have left is revenge! Revenge on that weak reflection of our superior beings mixed with mud our grand Foe newly dotes upon! Man! Only that is left to us! It will be our new mission! Make life on Earth miserable for Man…!"

Satan's ranting gave way to the scowl on Santa's face. It looked like Santa, anyway. Or it possibly was Dr. Zaius instead. He held a briefcase and gave the two witches a disapproving look as he exited the Alexander lecture hall and walked past the alcove where Tara and Willow stood. "Don't be a poophead!" he admonished Willow. To Tara he kindly said, "are you gay, miss?"

Tara nodded.

"Here." He handed her a pink paper. It was a picture of Tara and Willow holding hands, casting a spell. "It's two for one night," Dr. Zaius winked, a bit inappropriately, Willow thought. He walked off, followed by Cornelius and a Gorilla soldier.

Xander trailed behind them, dressed in a tuxedo. "So, Will. You gonna introduce me to your pretty lady friend?"

Willow realized he was talking about Tara, and jealousy shot through her. It wasn't share time. Not when it came to Tara. "Uh, not right now, Xander. What happened to Anya?"

"Oh, Ahn had a bit of a relapse with the whole vengeance thing. We had a little disagreement about it, so we're just taking a little break, give us both some time to sort things out."

"Another 'break,' huh?" Willow looked down and saw that Xander seemed to have a third leg, dressed as his original two in a tuxedo pant.

"It's not as bad as it looks…Tickles, actually."

"Sorry, Xan, but Tara doesn't like boys. Er…I mean, she's really nice, so I'm sure she wouldn't not like you just because you're a boy, but she wouldn't like like you. So sorry. I'm the one she does spells with."

Xander's eyes virtually bulged out of his head. "Ooo, spells! You do spells together? Can I watch?" Before she could answer, he said, "Uh oh, Will, looks like you're losing her. You should do something." He nodded behind her before receding into the background.

Willow turned back to Tara, who was leaning against the wall, the top few buttons of her blouse undone. A taller girl with long black hair and a smirk on her ruby red lips was leaning into the wall next to her, hovering over Tara. She was playing with the flaps of Tara's collar.

"W-Willow, this is Sandra, m-my girlfriend."

"But Tara," Willow frowned, "Isn't she your TA?"

Sandra leaned into Tara further to whisper something directly into Tara's ear. Tara giggled. It made Willow resentful that Tara was enjoying keeping secrets from her.

"Tara, won't you get in trouble seeing your TA romantically?"

"I-It's alright, Willow. Here." She handed over the flier. At the top of the page were emblazoned the words in bold letters:

THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT

A graphic underneath seemed to be a Xerox™ reproduction of an O'Keefe trumpet flower, but with a painted feminine hand fondling the petals. Willow somehow knew the flower was really Tara's vulva. She felt like crying.

"It's for class," Sandra said. "Educational video."

"Tara, this is so wrong!" Tara looked at her sharply and Willow knew she'd said the wrong thing to her sensitive friend. "That didn't come out right. It's not wrong that you're gay, just…not with her! She's wrong for you! She's bad!"

"See, Red," Sandra had become Faith, "that's your problem. That's always been your problem. How do you get off acting all superior, so goody-goody? You think you're better than me, just because you got a perfect score on your SATs?" Her hand moved over Tara's exposed belly. "You think you're sooo smart, little miss Brainiac-research-gal, gotta do the right thing, gotta think things through, but it's all for show. All you are is afraid. Afraid to feel more than you should, be anything more than B's perfect sidekick, or Xander's gal-pal. Afraid of the responsibility. S'why dogboy left ya, wasn't it? You weren't animal enough for him."

"That's not true…I have a lot of passion," Willow said.

"Uh huh," Faith replied, meaning, yeah, right. "S'all for the best. You wouldn't know what to do with T here. Y'know what they say about the quiet ones? She's a real hellcat in the sack!" The Slayer leaned into her witch. Faith suddenly held a large knife, and trailed the tip from Tara's ear down her cleavage to the third, still fastened button of her shirt.

"Tara, please, get away from her. She'll only hurt you." Willow took Tara's hand. "Buffy! BUFFY!"

Faith laughed but stepped away. Faith was afraid of Buffy.

Willow eyed Faith warily while taking Tara by the hand to lead her the short way down the hall to Tara's dorm room. "Thank goodness I was able to save you! I need to do a spell with you. There's something very wrong with me. I've been possessed, and you have to help me do a spell to figure out what demon's inside me."

Tara stopped walking, making Willow come up abruptly. "This…This isn't right, W-Willow. M-Magic is dangerous. Do you know w-what you're doing? Maybe you should listen to Faith. Or y-you should really talk to Buffy. She's y-your best friend. Or-Or Giles…"

Willow was becoming frustrated. "That's not what Faith said. Faith said I'm a coward, but I'm not. Besides, I know how to do this spell! Buffy's the Slayer. She can't help me with this. Not even Giles can help me with this. I don't need to be taught what to do…"

"A-Are you sure, Willow?" Tara asked. "S-Some of it looked…kind of painful?"

"Are we talking about the spell?"

Tara blushed and smiled shyly. No, not talking about spells. Willow felt her own face reddening. "Please, Tara. Will you help me with the locator spell first? I can't do it without you. There needs to be two of us."

"But-But you have been, haven't you?"

"There was just Oz before I met you."

"Are-Are we talking about d-doing spells?"

"Uh…I don't know anymore," Willow said.

Tara's smile widened briefly, and she nodded. "Th-That's all right. W-We can learn together." They sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other. Willow reached out her hands, closing her eyes, and soon the familiar feel of Tara's warm hands filled hers. Willow's thumbs slid across the smooth skin of the back of Tara's hands, her fingers curling around Tara's as Tara's did the same. Willow felt the familiar tingle of a magical exchange between them, when Tara's hands abruptly went cold, but dry.

"Wanna be bad?"

When Willow opened her eyes, she was holding hands with a demon. She eyed it warily, and it leered lewdly back at her.

The demon was her size, petite framed with small breasts, encased in a tight black leather corset, a narrow face with full cheeks, a dimpled nose, shoulder length crimson hair, and large green eyes, though they were hooded in a sneer that matched the smirk that played on its thin, blood red lips.

Willow's eyes were drawn to its lips, so much so that like the camera in Deep Wells, she saw herself unerringly zooming in on those smirking, pouting lips seemingly without a will of her own. The demon pulled her in by their still clasped hands so that their lips were pressed together, gently at first, but then the kiss became more insistent, hungrier and more demanding. The demon opened its mouth, forcing Willow's lips apart, too, and a wet tongue slipped past her teeth into her mouth.

Willow closed her eyes to shield herself from the coyly teasing gaze of demon-Willow. Hiding allowed her to accept the invasion of the monster's cool tongue in her mouth. Hiding made it okay to suck on the thick muscle probing her, so that she gave it up only hesitantly when it began to withdraw. It left her breathless so that when the wet invader at last completely retreated, she was panting hotly into its mouth, her eyes still closed, breathing for the both of them, a sudden warmth between her legs.

"I guess you do," said the demon.

She opened her eyes, still lightly panting. The eyes had turned blue, intense cerulean rings that bore into hers, looking straight into Willow for the most private place within her. She gave it up willingly, happily, even. She realized, in a rush of recognition that filled her with the briefest flash of regret of wasted time before it was washed away in the flood of lust, that she was not disappointed.

"No…Not bad…never bad…" Her gaze lowered, raking across the Roman nose, the lips, full and swollen with their rough kisses, parted and also panting, the pale skin of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, to the swell of cleavage framed by the flaps of the open blouse Willow had just undone. Beads of perspiration had collected there and Willow, as she had never done before, though she had been curious, dipped down and pressed her parted lips, teeth and tongue against the salty expanse of breast. Their hands were still clasped and Willow raised them above either side of Tara's head, pinning them down, pushing Tara back until they were leaning against the wall in the corridor outside her lecture hall. Her honey-haired witch arched upward at the teasing feel of Willow's mouth on her skin.

Willow came upon the hem of a bra cup and caught it in her teeth. She tugged it down until a sliver of areola became visible. "Mmmm…good. Yes, very good," Tara breathed. Willow released their hands, allowing Tara to curl the fingers of one hand in Willow's auburn locks, the other to grasp the smaller girl at the hip. She pulled Willow firmly into her by the hair, as her other hand sneaked between them. "Very, very good."

"The best," Willow murmured into Tara's breast as her freed hands found Tara's ass and squeezed. Tara whimpered. Willow could feel the heart strongly beating beneath the flesh she was kissing and licking. Her hands began hitching the long skirt up as Tara lifted her right leg to wrap it around Willow's left thigh. Tara was magically without underwear under her skirt and in the shadows of the small space between them Willow thought she could see the briefest glimmer of moisture on Tara's inner thigh. "No demons here."

"Good heavens, Willow! Have you been…casting spells with this young woman without supervision? You know you oughtn't be practicing magic when your mind has been so unfocused! The results could be catastrophic! Do you recall the Spike and Buffy snogging? And the blindness? You surely haven't forgotten about the blindness?"

Giles was gesturing at his eyes to emphasize his point, but it was lost on Willow. She refused to raise her head from Tara's breast, unwilling to risk the possibility doing so would make the beautiful woman writhing above her stop stroking her hair or squeezing Willow's hips between her creamy thighs as she fumbled one-handed between them with the fly of Willow's jeans. "Go away, Giles, shoo!" Tara laughed as Willow's growled words rumbled through her breast.

Professor Giles along with his coterie of apprentices, Buffy Summers, Xander Harris, and Anya Jenkins, hurried away from the inappropriateness of the two rutting, spell-worn witches trying to swallow each other whole in the hallway outside his Summoning and Supplication 101 lecture hall. He kept his eyes focused in front of him, Buffy, her eyes down, unlike Xander and Anya, who craned their necks to watch even as they disappeared down the corridor.

As Giles and the others hurried off, Willow let Tara's skirt fall from her fingers in order to undo the rest of the fasteners of her friend's shirt. They were pressed close enough, however, that it did not fall back down its length to the floor but remained bunched between them. She reached underneath Tara's shirt behind the older girl to undo the clasp of the white silk bra. The open blouse framed the narrow strip of Tara's torso and the silk garment hung loose below Tara's full breasts when the clasp gave way. Willow nuzzled her way back down to Tara's left nipple and took it gently between her teeth. It hardened between her lips as she nipped and sucked it.

Tara had at last managed to get Willow's fly undone. The proximity of Tara's hand to her wet center, the varying pressures she had to apply in order to work the fastener down, so aroused her she was making small noises, Tara's nipple still in her mouth. Then Tara took her hand away, lowering her leg in order to tug at Willow's jeans and work them down her thighs along with her damp panties. When Tara couldn't go any further without Willow's cooperation, she asked for it with a single, softly uttered word, "help?" Willow complied quickly, kicking her tennies off and wiggling the rest of the way out of her jeans and underwear. Tara again curled her leg around Willow's bare thigh as one hand reached behind to cup and squeeze the smaller girl's ass as the other reached between them to do something similar with her front.

Tara's hand raking her short auburn curls dipped lower, fingertips began tracing her slit, drawing more moisture from between her swollen lips. Tara gently parted her labia, teased up and down, then ploughed more forcefully between until they found her erect clit and slowly circled, spreading the slick cream around and over the hard nub.

Willow released Tara's nipple and straightened. "Aaaaaaaahh…" Her hands tightened on Tara's shoulders as the older girl left her to bring her hand to her mouth.

"More, Willow," Tara said, her fingers lingering at her lips. Her hand left her mouth just as Willow pressed her lips once more against Tara's.

"Wanna taste you, too," Willow whispered hoarsely as their kiss broke. She lowered herself to her knees, her hands moving to the buttons at the waist of Tara's skirt. She quickly undid them. The skirt fell and puddled at Tara's feet. Gently, Willow lifted each of Tara's booted feet and removed the garment so her beautiful witch wouldn't fall if she had to lower herself when her knees went weak, something Willow was determined to make happen. She lifted the leg that Tara had wrapped around her thigh to her shoulder, planted small kisses along the smooth inner plane of creamy skin before turning her head the few inches to her girl's warm, wet sex.

Willow wanted to take her time, do it right, make Tara feel good, loved, sexy, wanted, because she was. She hadn't done this before, and didn't know if Tara had or not. The hot flare of possessive envy that filled her was quickly eased by the resolution that it didn't matter. Willow was a natural overachiever. Pleasing Tara would be something she would become so expert at, no one before her would compare. All it would take was the desire, which Willow had in spades, and some practice – again, not a problem for studious Willow.

Tara's panting moans filled her ears as the blonde's scent filled her nostrils. Willow's own mouth and cunt flooded. She could feel the heat generated by Tara's excitement as she nuzzled through the triangular patch of honey-brown hair covering Tara's sex. Without any hesitation, she placed her mouth on Tara's soft, most intimate place, and began.

Willow woke just before she came. Her mouth, nipples, and sex ached as surely as if she really had spent hours kissing, nipping, fingering and sucking at Tara, their breasts rubbing and sliding against each other's sweat-slicked bodies, Tara's face and fingers buried between her own trembling thighs. Her t-shirt clung to her torso, her nipples so erect they hurt as the damp cotton clung to them. Her shorts were likewise damp, though not from perspiration. The bed sheets were bunched up underneath her. She had apparently pulled the elastic gathers of the fitted sheet from the corners of her mattress in her sleep. She looked about her, her body still humming, as she regained her bearings. "No…no demon. Not possessed." Just incredibly horny, for Tara.

"Why the pale purple nipples? Did you forget your red pencil?"

Willow hesitantly sat next to Tara on the bench facing the painting. She left a good two feet between herself and the other girl.

Tara kept her eyes on the sketchpad on her lap, the point of her lavender pencil suspended above the tip of the breast she had been sketching, copying from the Delacroix oil hanging on the wall before them as part of her art history class assignment.

The silence became awkward. Willow shifted her weight, leaned an inch closer to Tara. "I kind of like 'em…They're kind of like, Elizabeth Taylor's eyes. Unusual. Or, uh, unique?"

More silence. "I, uh, emailed Sandra, and apologized. Her…girlfriend? She wasn't in the university directory, so I guess she's not a grad student here. I wrote her a note, too, and just attached it to the email I sent Sandra." Willow paused, licking her lips. It had taken her fifteen precious minutes to find Sandra's email address from the university directory, type the apology and send it after she'd woken from her impromptu nap/wet dream. But she had felt it had been absolutely necessary to do so before throwing on street clothes and practically running the half mile to the museum to find Tara.

Tara still hadn't looked at her. But she hasn't told me to go to hell, so I'm doing okay so far. She decided to push her luck, and reached for Tara's free hand.

Tara quickly pulled her hand away, upsetting the colored pencils between them on the bench. They scattered over the white tiled floor. Willow quickly got down on her knees to retrieve them, Tara remaining seated on the bench.

Willow carefully placed the pencils back on the bench but frowned as she did so. "Sorry." She winced. "The red one broke."

"That wasn't you. It broke earlier." Tara finally looked at her, and gestured to her sketchpad and the lavender-nippled Lady Liberty.

Willow swallowed. "Well, there are a few other things that I really do need to apologize for, so while I'm down here, in proper groveling position…" She settled herself fully on her knees before Tara. "I've been such a jerk the past few days, Tara. I'm sorry. For being the biggest jerk in the city of Jerkville. Heck, I am the Mayor Jerk of said metropolis." Still here, not with the running and saying she never wants to see me again. Okay, easy now. "I've been acting like a possessive fool when you have every right to have friends of your own and a life of your own." She cleared her throat, swallowing the pang of envy down before it could stop her. "In fact, you deserve the best of those things. And a girlfriend who's beautiful, and kind, and sweet, and generous, like you." Not like me. "Someone who will totally fawn over you and fall all over themselves to treat you the way you deserve, like the sexy goddess you are…" Did I say that last part out loud?

"Huh?"

"My point is," Willow continued hurriedly, "I've been a horrible, horrible friend this week. And I've been aware of it, but it was like I couldn't stop myself. It was so bad, I even thought I was possessed by some kind of evil demon succubus or something…"

"S-succubus? Th-That's a lust demon."

Again, Willow bulled her way forward. "Or something. But of course that wasn't it. It wasn't any evil mojo…other than me. It was all me, with the rudeness and the insane jealousy and the jerkhood…"

"W-Why would you be jealous?"

"Huh?"

"You said you w-were jealous. Of what?"

Willow leaned back, flustered at the sudden inconvenience of her friend's superior listening skills and super-sensitive ears. Cute ears that stick out a little when she has her hair tucked behind them like that, ears I would very much like to nibble…Okay. Focus, Rosenberg. She sighed. What did she have to lose? She'd pretty much blown everything last night and lost all that had made her happy since Oz had left. Every ache that had healed since he'd betrayed and left her – even some that had gotten better than before – had done so because of the slightly frowning, still seething, but possibly – hopefully – calming girl in front of her. Here was an opportunity to perhaps get it back, or, if she were brave enough, maybe even more. "I'm jealous of anything and anyone who takes you away from me, Tara. I've, uh, realized that I'm kinda gay, and I, uh, think I want to be kinda gay with you."

"Oh," Tara said, still frowning. She had a steel trap mind but had always been more of an instinctual, rather than logical, thinker. It took a moment for Willow's admission to register. "Oh!" She was still frowning, however.

"Take your time with it," Willow climbed to her feet. "I'd even be happy with just being friends again." She sat back down on the bench.

Tara's frown deepened at that. "Really?"

Willow paused. "No. Not really. But believe me, I'm an old pro at being rejected and dealing. I'll live if you say no." She held out her hand to Tara. "Okay?"

Tara took it. "It is. For now."

Holding hands with a girl you've realized you have a crush on is a sublime experience. Maybe not sublime in the speculative philosophy sense of experiencing the divine and being awestruck with the enormity of the revelation, though I guess logically it depends on how much you idealize her as a heavenly being herself. My girl, my angel, my goddess…I know it's too soon for any of that. I really need to get beyond just holding her hand before I can call her my own personal Venus…

At least, though, it's sublime in the heady feeling you get when you wanting her is recognized and, if not validated, then at least acknowledged as having even a slim possibility of being not completely out of the realm of the sane, and your soul just soars. But it's also the sudden humbling recognition of the truth that you and your emotions are very, very small, while the real world outside, where the girl lives along with all the other objects and people in the world, perfectly fine oblivious of you and you wanting her, is just…ginormous. It's like you have this interdimensional cocoon your want has made, separate but in the middle of things and you invite her in by offering her your hand. When she actually takes it, you're suddenly outside yourself with wonder and hope and anxiety, so then, you're everywhere, but nowhere, all at once, simultaneously.

The girl in question was holding my hand, which I was very self-consciously aware was damp and clammy and not very awe-inspiring on my part. I had just run a half mile in my anxiousness to find her, and hello, computer nerd here – my people are not known for our natural athletic abilities. Between the sudden exertion and the freaking huge rabid rodent bats trying to bore an exit through my stomach lining, I was feeling not a little queasy. To be honest, though, I think I would've run ten miles just to be in this very position, sitting on this bench in the middle of a public museum, with her holding my sweaty hand in her cool one. See, my finding her was necessary, having for the span of a day lost her, solely through my propensity to act stupid around her without even trying.

I want to do so much more than just hold her hand. But right now, just that simple act alone is almost enough to make me pass out.

When exactly did I start feeling this way for her? I mean, sure, when casting a spell together, there's often the warm tinglies of the magic passing from her to me and back again, and the initial endorphin rush when the spell is successful. Doing spells with her often got really intimate. But this wasn't that, though maybe that was the knock on the door to what I'm feeling now. And maybe knowing that she liked girls pushed me to crack open that door a bit, just to peek in? Then wham! Next thing I know, I'm kicking down the door and making myself at home on her gay couch in front of her gay television, looking through her gay bathroom cabinet, rummaging through her gay refrigerator. Hey, Tara! Guess what? I think I'm kinda gay!

But am I really? I mean, there was Oz, and before him, I wanted Xander. I still love them both, of course in different ways. I mean, Xander, he's like a brother to me now, so ick, but then…and Oz…my first, in so many ways, even if he hurt me so bad it could make me…swear off guys.

That can't be it, can it? Do I want Tara because she's…safe? I gotta admit, my luck in Boystown? Not great so far. My first boyfriend was a killer demon robot. Oz cheated on me, almost ate me, then just left town without a word. Xander was clueless all those years up until our big formal wear fluke. I just don't get guys sometimes, and it sure seems the same in reverse. Spike couldn't bite me for the uh, unlife of him. For a very, very smart man, Giles can be so clueless sometimes, like Dad –

Oh God. How the frilly heck am I going to explain this to Mom and Dad?

I should talk to Buffy. Nononono! Buffy will freak. I can't tell Buffy. Buffy doesn't know the first thing about liking girls…

Okay, okay, so the talk with the Buffster will have to wait. I should start with someone who won't freak, or wipe their glasses and lecture me about doing spells. Someone who'll listen calmly and give me sane advice.

That automatically rules out Mom. Maybe Mrs. Summers? Should I impose on her like that? I could call Aunt Debbie or 'her good friend' Carolyn, if I knew them a little better…Or the campus counselor. But I don't want to talk to a stranger…

There's no way in any of the innumerable hell dimensions this is easier than liking boys.

Hey, waitaminute…I'm research gal! The research gal. I can figure it out on my own. But, uh, later. I've got better things to do right now.

She's beautiful. I can stare at her all day long. Except she might think that's creepy.

So, okay. I like girls now. I seem to have a talent for putting myself in the company of a lot of pretty ones, some even beautiful ones, so yay on gay me! I guess I'm an overachiever at this, too…Except I don't know if I could like like them, much less adore them. I mean, Buffy? See above, Xander, brother, except, Buffy, sister. So, no. Not even a little. Cordelia? God, no. The words "high maintenance" mean anything? Faith? Well, there's the whole psychotic bitch thing working against her, though she did look good in those leather pants…Uh, I didn't just think that. Anya? Oh my God, no. Xander's short attention span can be a blessing, in the right situation.

Besides, none of them are Tara.

How come she's not with someone already? She's so sweet and patient. She really listens and seems honestly interested in me. She's smart and creative and a powerful witch. And she's gorgeous. When she smiles, I feel so good inside, too. When I'm the one making her smile, oh my God, I'm in heaven…And that voice. I can imagine her purring in my ear in the morning, telling me to get up for class or to wake me from a bad frog dream, her warmth and scent surrounding me, her breasts pressed against my back, her arm around my waist, her front to my behind, her legs wrapped around mine…

Omigod. I'm having morning-after spooning fantasies about her. I am so out of control.

I think I'm Tarasexual.

What if she doesn't want me back? Ohgodohgodohgod. I need to talk to someone. Someone who can relate to pretty girl rejection…Xander –!

"Willow," Tara was saying softly.

I had totally spazzed and zoned out on her. The girl, literally, of my dreams. "Huh?" I said. Smooth, Rosenberg! Had I been drooling?

She's trying to take her hand back. Why? She's shaking her head…Please, Tara, stop frowning. I'm sorry I was such a dummy. I'm sorry I made you feel this way. Pleasepleaseplease, Tara, stop looking like that.

"It's not going to w-work like this."

My heart sank. I let go her hand and she put her sketch pad to the side while I started fidgeting with the pencils I had been holding for her in my suddenly nervous hands. I put them down and started fidgeting with my fingers instead.

"I need to know something…"

My throat was dry and I could barely speak. "Uh, what about?"

"W-Willow, you hurt me really bad. Y-you as much as said I-I'd play on my being gay to get ahead with my classes."

"You have to believe me, Tara, that was so not what I meant! I only wanted to protect you…"

"Y-you assumed I can drop everything I'm doing, just because you w-want me to."

"I know, I've been very selfish…"

"Y-You insulted someone who w-was only trying to be nice to me."

"I'll find her, apologize to her in person."

"A-and you as much as-as outed me to my sociology professor."

"Er, I don't know how I'm going to fix that one."

"Now you-you tell me it's all because…you've got a crush o-on me?"

"Um…yeah?" She looked absolutely thrown for a loss. "Er…I know it was pretty presumptuous of me to just assume you would be available once I finally admitted that this was what I was feeling. Or that you would even have any interest in me if you were. I mean, look at you, all with the hotness. You probably have a girlfriend already. I just haven't been a good enough friend for you to feel comfortable enough to tell me. I could see that. She's probably beautiful and completely sane without any issues. While me, total geek, plus I've been a lousy friend and I'd be lucky for us to just be friends again, so…okay?" I took a breath, holding it.

She shook her head. "I-It's not enough."

My hopes deflated with my breath. The dread came up. It felt stronger than the awe just then. Much stronger. I felt like I was going to be sick. "I know, Tara, it's totally not enough. But I swear, I'll do whatever I have to – to fix things, make them the way they were before."

"That's not w-w-what I-I…" She stopped herself, frustrated. I bit my lip to keep myself from jumping in and trying to finish her sentence for her in my eagerness to make her understand. She can so be insecure girl sometimes. I hate to hear her stutter – well, not hate meaning I don't like her voice. I so do. Tara can make a swear word sound like a song. Not that I've ever heard her swear. She doesn't like to talk about it, but I think she must've come from a pretty strict home. I wonder how they handled her being gay…Uh, Tara's speaking again. Shut up, dummy. "I mean…I w-want more, too, maybe?"

Huh? "Huh?" I couldn't have heard right.

She took my hand. I'm sure it felt like a cold dead fish in her hands, 'cause that's what the thing at the end of my wrist felt like to me.

"But…I-I thought you w-were straight. W-What about Oz? W-When he comes back?"

"Oz?" That made me pause. I'd almost forgotten I'd talked Tara's cute little ears off moaning and crying over Oz weeks after he'd left me. This was after Xander and Buffy and Giles had had enough and couldn't stand to be around me and I'd accidentally cast the my-will-be-done spell to cap off my self-pity party. But I couldn't not be honest with her. She had a point. What would I do if Oz were to come back now? I honestly don't know. The truth was, I hadn't thought about Oz for some time. Most of that, I know, had to do with the girl sitting next to me, holding my one hand in the two of hers. It was starting to tingle, no longer cold and dead. She had brought it back to life, just like the rest of me. "I don't know if Oz is ever coming back. To be honest, I really don't know what I would do if he did. But I can't keep waiting indefinitely, can I?"

She seemed conflicted. She struggled a few short moments, biting her bottom lip, before her face finally fell. She let my hand go before raising hers, I thought (I prayed) to cup my cheek, but no, she lifted it to feel my forehead instead. "A-Are you feeling okay? M-Maybe something has gotten in-into you."

I captured her hand in my own and looked her straight in the eye. "There's nothing in me that needs to be chased away, Tara. I know this is very sudden for you. But no less so for me. It's all so confusing. And scary. I don't know if what I'm feeling makes me gay. All I do know is that I am having feelings. Very strong feelings. We're talking freakishly gorilla-strength feelings. For you. And I know there's no mistaking the fact that you're a woman, and technically, I am too, even if I have the build of a fifteen year old boy –"

I wasn't expecting her to shut me up by squeezing my cheeks with her free hand. She let go quick, though, un-puckering my lips. "I take back w-what I asked you earlier, a-about you being straight? I'm the last person to ask you to justify yourself, Willow. If you're gay now, you're gay now."

My heart soared like an eagle.

"But…"

Then plummeted like a…a flightless bird. Like a big, big defenestrated chicken.

"I guess I'm not sure w-what this all means…" She withdrew her hand and cleared her throat, looking…embarrassed? "For us? W-What does this mean to me? Are you l-looking for a mentor? Because I don't think I can be that for you. I'm not all knowledge-woman about being gay, just because I l-like girls."

Oh. I hadn't foreseen this. Didn't she get it? Didn't she understand that I had a major jones-on for her? Not for just any woman. Only her. "That is so not what I want, Tara. Unless by mentoring you mean providing hands-on training on the ways of Sapphic love!" I Groucho'd my eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood.

The deer-in-headlights look she gave me was really not what I was hoping for.

"Sorry, Tara." I said, truly contrite. "I mean, as much as the thought of you disciplining me on the subject seems oddly appealing, I really wasn't looking to make our friendship into some kind of educational experience. I was kinda just hoping you'd, like, want to go out with me sometime. Not to do spells. Not to study or go to a lecture. But maybe see a movie, or have dinner. And to talk? About anything and everything, not just the, uh, gay thing. And…hold your hand. And…maybe more, if you end up, like, like liking me? 'Cause I know I like like you, you know? But if you don't like like me, I would still want to be friends, anyway. I mean we've still got the Wicca thing going – at least I hope we still do. 'Cause the magic…it didn't start out with all these darn confusing lusty feelings. But maybe I threw it all out of whack dumping this on you and now it'll be too awkward and we'll never be able to go back to just that…Oh God, I hope not. I mean, I hope you do, but if you don't, I hope being friends is still an option? I guess I'm not making much sense. Besides, you haven't even told me if you've got someone already and maybe I'm babbling on for nothing so I should just stop now."

"No. There's no one."

I waited.

Apparently she was waiting, too, because then neither of us said anything.

Then it suddenly dawned on me. Strange as it seemed, this beautiful girl needed reassurance as much as I did. And maybe a little prodding. "So…would you like to, uh…with me, that is…?" Our faces were inches away from each other. I could smell her vanilla soap and the heat rose in me again. The scent reminded me of waking up in her bed, after an innocent night of casting spells. It made me wonder how it would be to wake up in her bed after a night of doing other things, not so innocent. With less clothes on. And what does vanilla soap taste like?

"I-I've…um, thought about it?"

"You have?" I reached out and found her hand with minimal groping while my eyes never left hers. My heart was beating furiously.

Tara nodded, turning her eyes down, though her fingers curled around my palm. She smiled shyly. Did I mention what her smile does to me? Oh God, I was going to melt. "There may have even been a dream or two…"

"Really?" My relief was almost physical. "Me too! In fact, just before I came over…uh, so to speak." I squeezed her hand, feeling absolutely euphoric and literally giddy with her validation. "I think it's what pushed me into finally admitting what I'm feeling." I know I was grinning like an idiot.

"W-Why don't w-we get some coffee?" She squeezed my hand back and smiled again. At me. For me.

YES! "Yes!" We let go briefly while she got her things together but as soon as her hand was available, I claimed it again in mine. "So…you've had sex dreams about me, huh?"

"Hm?" Her eyebrows scrunched up, cutely. "Oh! Uh, Willow, I mean daydreams. I've daydreamed about you?"

"Oh? Oh!" Think fast, you perv! Well, technically, I had the dream in the daytime, and that whole spooning thing just a few minutes ago…"Me too. I, uh, yeah. Me too."

Tara giggled. "Don't worry, Willow. I've had those kind, too." She grinned teasingly and gave my hand another little squeeze.

Ooooh, yeah. All is right in the world.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that having your feelings validated by the girl you want by her interlacing her fingers with yours, pressing your palms together, feeling the heat of her through her narrow handspan, her strength in her long digits, her beauty in the softness of her fingertips, can be as awesome as being struck dumb by catching the briefest glimpse at the face of God. It doesn't always come from staring at mountains or hermitting yourself in the woods. Sometimes it comes just from your girl holding your hand.

Willow Rosenberg quickly scanned the forty or so lines of code she'd just typed into her laptop, scrolling up to compare them to the lines she'd typed prior that had been pushed off-screen by the rapid fire clicking of keystrokes in the last few minutes. The completed program took the place of a final exam for her advanced computer science lab and was due in two weeks but, to her satisfaction, was just about finished and ready to be handed in, a polished and, she was smugly aware, superior product. As was well known among her circle of friends and a few of her envious classmates, she was of that rare breed of student who actually liked homework. She found the structure of assigned reading and defined, goal-oriented tasks a way of focusing her active and, at times, too creative mind. Despite the fact that many of these assignments were frankly beneath her intellect, she found that doing them improved her discipline and helped her develop a methodology that could be used in her more creative independent endeavors, both as a programmer and hacker and as a witch.

She paused after coming to the end of a particularly layered line, a frown crinkling her brow as she brought her hand to her mouth and unconsciously bit down on the tip of her thumb. She teased the syntax out then returned to typing before the logic of her solution escaped her.

So engrossed was she with the assignment that the two hours she spent at the compact keyboard of her laptop barely registered until she paused again, and she noticed the dull ache in her wrists. She leaned back and stretched, yawning as she hit Save. A double mocha latte would be nice right about now, she thought. But do I really want to go out? I'm thinking not. Just another hour or so at this and I'll be done. Besides, I should probably think about dinner instead. It's almost 5:30. There's some of that breakfast cereal left, but I think we're out of milk. I wonder if Buffy can pick some up –

Despite the sour note of the last thought, the mere mention of her girlfriend in her inner monologue brought a smile to her lips and sudden warmth between her legs. The two witches had been openly dating for a month now, and their relationship had grown intensely physical in that time, their intimacy accelerated proportionately as they came out as a couple to the university at large which presently served as their home.

Just then, a gentle tap at the door brought Willow out of her reflections. "Who is it?" Learned my lesson from Spike. Gotta admit, though, if I hadn't taken a chance that night with the Gentlemen, Tara and I might never have –

"W-Willow? It's me. M-my class got canceled."

Willow jumped up to open the door, grinning even before taking in the welcome sight of her beautiful girl. Tara was dressed in a long sleeve baby blue tee shirt and a long, flowing floral patterned skirt, her book bag over her shoulder and a paper shopping bag in one hand. Willow liked the outfit. The tee shirt was just tight enough at Tara's bosom and the skirt hugged at her hips to show off Tara's womanly figure. "Come on in, baby."

"You're not busy?"

"Nuh-uh." Willow grabbed Tara's free hand and pulled her inside. She leaned in and giddily kissed the older girl's full lips before closing the door. "And just for the record, for all future instances, I'm never too busy to see you."

Tara smiled, still feeling shy about just dropping by on her girlfriend without calling after she'd found her professor had unexpectedly canceled her class. Willow and she were relatively still new as a couple, though Tara knew without a doubt she'd already fallen hard for the redhead. She'd had the chance to call when she stopped by her dorm room on her way over, but had thought it would be a good opportunity to try to be more spontaneous with her much more outgoing girlfriend. She raised the paper bag. "Good. I brought some dinner."

"Thanks for this."

"Well, I figured I'd head you off before y-you left for the Espresso Pump." Tara smiled shyly. "That is where you w-were going, right? Not the cafeteria w-where the semi-healthy food is?"

She already knows me so well, Willow thought. She was leaning back against Buffy's bed as Tara leaned against hers. They were sitting on the floor between the two singles, the remnants of the Thai takeout between them. "Hey, no fair reading my mind."

Tara giggled as she started to put the empty cartons into the bag. "I think if I could read your mind, I'd go crazy in 5 minutes. It seems to get a bit crowded in there."

Willow helped with the clean up. Their hands bumped into each other, reaching for the same container. They felt the familiar jolt of magic at the casual touch. "Not when you're around," Willow said, her voice suddenly sultry and rumbly. "I've got a one-track mind when you're in the room."

Tara blushed and smiled as she got the last empty water bottle and deposited it into the trash bag. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, else Willow was fairly certain she would've tried to hide behind her bangs as she often did. Which is so crazy, considering she's, like, the most gorgeous woman I've ever met.

Tara got up to put the trash into the receptacle near the fridge. "So, w-where's Buffy? Shouldn't her last class have ended by now?"

"Why, Tara Maclay," Willow said as she got up and followed the older girl, encircling Tara's waist in her arms from behind. She lay a soft kiss on the back of Tara's neck, making her girlfriend shiver. "Are you checking to see if the present accommodations are all clear for us to possibly do some…spells together without interruption?"

Tara blushed furiously, but laughed all the same at her girl's silly double entendre. Her hands went to her waist, to hold Willow's hands in her own. "You do have a one-track mind sometimes." She gently unclasped Willow's smaller hands from her waist and brought them up to eye level, palm to palm, with her hands underneath so she could study the tops of Willow's hands intently, becoming lost in her own thoughts. "But I actually had something else in mind, and I w-wouldn't want Buffy to w-walk in on us and be disturbed by the smell…"

Willow watched indulgently over Tara's shoulder as Tara held their hands up before her. "Hmm. Are you sure you're not thinking the same thing as I'm thinking? Cause from what you just said, it sure sounds like my one track mind is on the same track that your mind's on."

"Huh?"

"I'm pretty sure Buffy's at Riley's tonight again," Willow said suggestively. "You know, if you did want to stay here and do…spells or…stuff with me that might make the room smell, um, funny."

It finally dawned on Tara what her girlfriend meant. Again, she felt her face grow hot with the sudden flush of blood that she had come to learn was a normal occurrence in life with Willow. She burst out in a full belly laugh, letting Willow's hands go so she could cover her mouth with her own as she turned to face her girlfriend, who was looking at her quizzically as she struggled without much success to regain her composure. "Oh, Willow, you are just so cute. And deranged. But so cute."

Willow pouted.

"Come here." Now it was Tara who grasped Willow by the hand. She led the way to her book bag she had left by the door, letting go of Willow's hand in order to rummage through the bag and pull out a small vinyl case, which she handed to the curious girl. "This is what I thought we'd do tonight. Not the, um, spells – though doing spells – wonderful. I l-love doing, um, spells with you." Tara cleared her throat. "Though I'm n-not as good with the s-sexy double-talk as you. I'm better at b-being pl-plain."

Willow opened her mouth to protest what that statement implied, but Tara quickly continued.

"S-so I will be. I love making love with you. It's wonderful. It's glorious. Y-you make me feel so alive when you l-look at me like that, when you touch me and you want me. I can hardly believe how lucky I am. For the first time in God knows how long, I don't believe what I've heard all my life about it being better to be born male. I'm happy I'm a girl. Your girl."

Woman. Willow smiled. Womanly Tara.

Tara took a deep breath before continuing. "But to be honest, I think it's better that we only make love in my room." She paused again. "I think Buffy still might not be totally comfortable with you and me, um, being affectionate in front of her, you know?"

Willow frowned at that. "You think?" Tara nodded, sincerely. "I think you may be right," Willow sighed.

"It's okay, though, I get it," Tara said quickly to reassure Willow. "That thing with Riley at the frat house?" She grimaced. "Really more than I needed to know about them, myself."

Willow watched quietly as Tara removed the items from the vinyl case and arranged them on her desk where they both sat side by side. Tara had placed a plastic bowl next to the small bottles and the dish towel. She had half-filled the bowl with warm water from the bathroom tap and now emptied a combination cleanser and vitamin treatment into the bowl. Satisfied, she then turned to Willow and took her hands in her own, guiding them to submerge in the solution. Tara massaged Willow's hands in the water, making sure to completely rub the smaller girl's finger tips to the first knuckle.

"You know, I wouldn't have expected this sort of thing from you."

Tara raised her eyebrow at Willow's innocently made remark. "You wouldn't?"

Willow caught her girlfriend's look. "Oh, not that, you know, you go around with dirt under your fingernails and your hands all chapped and scabby like some kind of Gaean earth yamma-mama." She continued quickly, as Tara's other eyebrow joined the other in shooting up near her hairline. "I mean, manicures? It's so…uh, Cordelia."

"You don't think I could cut it as a beauty pageant contestant?" Tara gently dried Willow's hands with the terry cloth towel. She frowned critically at Willow's hands a moment, hesitating before picking up a nail clipper.

Uh oh. Careful…"It really wouldn't be fair to the other contestants. You're so beautiful and talented, you'd win every time, crushing their fragile hopes and dreams and driving them to half-lives of being trophy wives to middle-management businessmen in one of the cookie-cutter multinational conglomerates." Tara's smirk gave way to an amused chuckle as Willow got the statement out in one breath. Good save!

"Hm. I thought I read someplace it wasn't a good thing to use a nail clipper. Aren't you supposed to use a file instead?"

"Channeling your inner beauty pageant contestant, lover?" The smirk was back.

Ooookay. Take note, giving someone a manicure can bring the hidden bitca out in the nicest and most gentle of people. Maybe it's the chemicals…Would explain a lot about Cordy…Then Willow smiled goofily. Heheh…She called me "lover."

"It's just that your nails are a little too long for the emery board alone. I have to take them down a little more quickly or we'll be here awhile. They're softer now with the dip, so they shouldn't crack by using the clippers."

"Oh. Yeah," Willow said sheepishly. "I usually cut them when they get too long to type with. I guess I forgot."

Tara's mouth quirked into a half smile as she took the emery board and began to shape Willow's shortened nails. "You bite your nails?"

"Uh, I don't think I do." She thought about it a second. "Well, I guess, maybe sometimes I might've…"

"What do you have to be nervous about, sweetie?" Tara couldn't imagine her energetic, smart, brave, and quirkily beautiful girlfriend being anything but confident about anything. Not to mention the fact that her best friend was a bona fide superhero.

Willow paused a fraction of a second longer than would've seemed natural before offering, "Well, there's living on the Hellmouth all your life…"

Tara let the statement trail off, reluctantly aware, though the feeling was tinged with a little relief, that it might be too soon for any big reveals. "Yes, that'd do it." She continued to shape Willow's nails with the board. She had taken them down shorter than Willow's fingertips, but not so short that the clipper would violate the nail beds underneath. "Not too short, are they?"

"No, they're good. I like them as short as possible – uh, at least I do when I don't ignore them."

They were quiet as Tara administered to Willow's cuticles, carefully working them away in neat, symmetrical arches and removing the dead skin from each nail. "Is this alright?" Tara asked.

Willow murmured it was. Tara washed her hands again in the soapy vitamin solution, then patted them dry once more with the terry cloth towel.

"Is that polish?"

Tara vigorously shook the small bottle to mix its contents. She stopped a moment to answer, "No. It's nail strengthener. You probably don't need it, but you do use your hands a lot, so better safe than sorry."

This confused Willow. She didn't consider typing manual labor, and that just about summed up the extent of the work she did with her hands.

Tara carefully applied the nail strengthener, coating the tips twice. As it dried, she asked Willow, "Did you want polish, Willow? I didn't bring any, but if you have some, I can put it on now."

"No. No polish."

"Okay. Almost done then. Just the topcoat left." Tara shook a different small bottle vigorously. She applied the gloss coat, starting with a line down the middle of each of Willow's nails, then a second and third stroke to either side. The girl's fingertips were so small, each nail required only three strokes at the most. As Willow's nails dried, Tara began putting the kit away.

Willow looked at her perfectly manicured hands as the gloss coat dried on them. After the initial playfulness, Tara had given her the treatment almost reverently, it seemed, and she suddenly felt bad that she had not paid closer attention to her girlfriend's careful actions. They seemed so significant and deliberate, almost ritualistic in retrospect. "Tara? Do you want me to do yours? I, uh, didn't pay attention, but if you walk me through it again, I can try, though I'm not as artistic as you…"

Tara smiled, feeling warmth rush through her to suffuse her chest. "It's okay, Willow, I did mine a few days ago. I usually do mine every other Tuesday, after my History class." She finished packing up the kit, leaving just the bowl with its contents to dispose of, and a tube of skin moisturizer to the side. "But next time, you can do them for me. I'd really like that." She stood and picked up the bowl, then left to dump the contents and rinse it out in the community bathroom down the hall.

Tara came back into the room, putting the bowl on one of the top shelves of Willow's bookcase. Smiling softly, she took her seat again next to her girlfriend. "Dry yet?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"Just about," Willow said. It was testament to the solemnity she perceived in the moment that she did not take the opportunity to quip another horndog euphemism to Tara's question. Instead, they sat silently for a moment, before Tara reached up to push Willow's bangs from her forehead.

"Tara?" Tara's blue eyes immediately fixed on her own. Willow could still sense an intensity in the other girl's gaze, behind the gentle demeanor. "Thank you. I normally can't stand sitting still doing nothing while someone, uh, grooms me. Kinda reminds me of going to the hair salon with Mom when I was little, waiting hours for her to get all the stuff she wanted done as she'd gab endlessly with the hairdresser, while I'd start to fidget and get yelled at by the shopkeeper when I started messing up all her magazines." Willow paused, and looked again at her now presentable hands. "But I really liked this. I liked being pampered."

"You're welcome, Willow. I liked doing it."

"But it meant more, didn't it?" Willow pressed on, then, softer, "To you?"

Tara smiled and nodded. "Yes, it meant more to me. I was, um, hoping it's something we can do for each other, in the future, even though it is kind of t-time consuming. But I don't mind that. Every minute I spend with you is a minute well spent. Best spent. I'd also love to wash your hair." Again, Tara pushed her long fingers through Willow's fiery red hair. "But the dorm showers kind of make that impractical. M-Maybe if one of us gets off-campus housing next year…" She looked down at Willow's hands, testing her work delicately. Satisfied Willow's nails were sufficiently dry, she squirted a pearl of moisturizing lotion into Willow's palms then began to vigorously work it into the smaller girl's skin.

"Um, so what does giving me a manicure mean to you?" Willow asked.

Tara paused, considering her next words carefully. "Y-You know how in girl-on-girl p-porn made for straight men, the actresses always have those long, dangerous looking claws? Worse sometimes even than a v-vampire's. I could never imagine them actually w-wanting to be there, w-wanting to be touched by each other. N-Not really." She paused again, took a breath. "And in my mind, they never made love, which was always the truth to me because I always turned away, e-even though I was curious, as soon as I saw their nails. So n-nothing ever happened in those videos or photos, in my mind, beyond the first t-two seconds it took for me to not see what I needed in them."

Willow had seen examples of that kind of porn before, the first time when she and Xander had come across his father's stash while playing in his basement years ago, and many times since then just casually surfing the Internet. But as she had not grown up lesbian, so to speak, looking at the images each time had not really affected her beyond the universal throwaway conclusion that men could be oversexed pigs. But she had a busy mind, and tried to connect what Tara was saying to their own situation. She quickly leapt to a worst case interpretation. A memory recalled, last weekend, of Tara's face, a flash of anguish while in the middle of the throes of passion, mistaken for the intensity of an orgasm. Willow had been inside Tara and thrusting hard, caught in her own crescendo. And hadn't Tara moved a little gingerly the next day? "Tara! Oh God, I hurt you the other night, with the long nails, and using my hands too hard! I'm so sorry, baby –"

Her hands still grasping Willow's, Tara pulled the smaller girl to her and silenced her with a firm, long kiss on the mouth. She pulled back eventually, leaving Willow breathless, her emerald eyes half-closed. "You can never hurt me, Willow, making love to me." She leaned in to take another kiss from her lover, gentler this time, and slower. Willow's eyes were open when the kiss broke. "The manicure was because this, you and me, it's the real thing, it's what I've been looking for, what I need, and I hope you feel the same. It's worth taking the time to make everything, every last detail, right, always."

Willow woke at the sound of Buffy closing the door behind her as she crept into their room the next morning. It was a little after 6:00AM. "Mornin' Buff," she croaked.

Buffy straightened with a little "eep!" and turned to look guiltily at her best friend. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

As it was Friday, Willow had no classes and normally would be dead to the world until at least 10:00. But after some more talking, smoochies and cuddling, Tara had left for her own room around 8:00, giving Willow plenty of time to put the finishing touches on her programming assignment before turning in early for bed. She would've gotten up early, anyway. She yawned and stretched. "S'okay. So, at Riley's last night, huh?"

Buffy nodded with a slight smile. "You? I would've thought you'd be over at Tara's, Thursday night and all."

Willow sat up, running her hands through her mop of morning hair. "Oh yeah. No, she came over here last night instead."

Before she could stop herself, Buffy's eyes darted around the room, as if trying to sense what parts of their quarters had been privy to witchy snuggles or – eek – perhaps more?

Willow chuckled to herself and shook her head, a little sadly. "No, we didn't do it in here – at least, not that."

"Oh – no, Wills, really, I didn't mean –"

"It's okay, Buffy." She yawned again, trying to wake up completely. "Really." She stretched her arms out in front of her, then saw the murky daylight catch the fresh gloss on her fingertips. She brought her hands closer to her still sleepy eyes, smiling. "She just came over to bring me dinner and to give me a manicure."

"A manicure?" Buffy perked up. A manicure, she could handle, surely. That was definitely within her area of expertise. "Can I see?"

Buffy took Willow's hand in hers, and inspected Tara's handiwork. "Hey, not bad. No polish, though."

"No. No polish."

Buffy released Willow's hand. "Huh. I wouldn't have figured Tara to be the manicuring type."

"Well, she's a woman of many talents." She's quite the woman, in fact.

"So I see." Buffy's face grew thoughtful, and brightened. "Hey, she likes giving manicures, I like getting them and giving them too. Maybe this is something she and I could do together, kind of like a girly bonding thingy – give us a chance to get to know each other."

Willow couldn't help but chuckle at the rapid-fire pictures that came to mind of her super-straight best friend and her gorgeous girlfriend, after Tara's revelations of last night, her mind moving from point A, beauty shop bonding, to Z, manipulating a woman's body in a sexy way, in a matter of seconds…Mind in the gutter much…? Then she thought about it again. Uh, no. Emphatically, no. She got out of bed, slipping into her slippers then gathered her shower kit and robe. From the doorway, she said. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the offer, Buff, but no one but no one touches Tara's nails except me!"

"Okay, Wills! Not a problem. There's always pizza. Pizza is an even better bonding agent than nail polish! You know, with all the cheese…" Buffy chirped. Willow padded off, leaving a puzzled Buffy sitting on her made bed, her eyes following her best friend out the closing door. Did she just growl at me? I think Willow just growled at me. Huh.

"You've called the home of Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. No one is home to take your call right now, so, uh, leave your name and number and a brief message and, uh, the appropriate party will get back to you…cough!…uh, how – ?" BEEEEEEEEEEP!

"Hi Mom and Dad. Just to let you know, I'm going to Tara's early tomorrow then we'll just take the bus from campus back home, so there's no need to pick us up, Dad. Okay. See you tomorrow…Oh, and Mom, remember, my girlfriend's name is TARA. That's T-A-R-A. Not Terry. Oh! And I know we went over this already, but I want to make sure everyone's clear, she's my euphemism-girlfriend, not just my friend-girlfriend, like Bunny is – BUFFY! is…okay? Just so we're clear. Again. Okay? Okay. See you both tomorrow." CLICK.

"Willow? W-Wake up, sweetie. W-We're going to be late!"

Willow rolled over onto her back from the fetal position she'd been in while napping in Tara's bed. She had been dreaming a frog dream – a potentially good frog dream, for once. She was the frog, which for the first time didn't fill her with horror and send her bolting out of her sleep, as Princess Tara was about to –

"Willow!"

She cracked an eye open to peer at the Tara-colored blur ransacking her girlfriend's dorm-room closet. Several brightly colored scarves flew out like exotic birds arching across a tropical sky, though in her present state, it struck Willow more like a bad magician's trick gone haywire. "What time is it?" She croaked.

"I-it's already 6!"

"Tara, dinner isn't until 7!" Willow groaned. "Believe me, dinner with my parents is an event you'd rather be late for than early." She rolled back on her side to try to get back to her dream to see how Princess Tara intended to –

"Oh no you don't, missy. We made love for two hours straight before you fell asleep which was…" Tara paused to do the math, "two and a half hours ago! It smells like a locker-room in here, and you smell like the league MVP after the championship game!"

"Mmm baby, you're making me swoon with the butchy sports metaphor…"

"Willow, not now! Get in the shower already. We are not going to arrive late the first time I meet your parents." Tara smacked her girlfriend's ass to get her moving before hurrying to the door to take down her robe from its hook. "And we are not going to their house with you smelling like me!" Willow sat up just as Tara's robe flew through the air and landed in her lap. "You can use this!"

"Ew, it's wet! Did you – ?"

"Yes. I took my shower while you were sleeping."

Willow grumbled as she shrugged the damp robe on over her naked body, got out of bed, found most of the clothes she'd discarded earlier and started for the door. "Spank me and make me take my shower alone, will ya? Don't worry, payback's a…"

"Willow! Stop muttering and just go take your shower."

"Yes, ma'am." Willow headed for the showers.

It turned out to be fortunate that Tara hurried Willow out the door as soon as she got back from her shower, as the city buses were only running one an hour during the summertime while the majority of UC students were back home with their families. They barely caught the 6:22 bus into the Sunnydale suburbs and were deposited a block from the Rosenberg house at 6:38.

"Walk slow! Walk slow!" Willow hissed at her girlfriend.

"W-Willow, it's not going to matter if w-we get there fifteen minutes early."

"You think that now, because you haven't met them yet!"

"Oh, w-way to pump up your girlfriend's confidence, Will."

"Instilling false hope never leads to anything but tears and recriminations later. Remember this," and she made a finger wagging gesture with her hand, "means RUN!"

"Funny, sweetie."

They arrived at the Rosenberg residence just as the sun was setting on the July day. Willow opened the door with her keys and led Tara inside by the hand. "Mom! Dad! We're here."

Tara looked around the living room they had just stepped inside of to take stock of what kind of family she might potentially find herself a part of one day. Willow's teasing had given her a confused idea as to what her girlfriend's parents were like. Tara assumed they had a wry sense of humor, if Willow's was any indication. They were both academics, which explained Willow's educational overachieving tendencies, and would be well-read and probably opinionated about a variety of topics. One of Mr. Rosenberg's doctorates was in world history while Mrs. Rosenberg's was in sociology. They wrote scholarly works and were frequently on the lecture circuit. The way Willow described it, much of her childhood was spent with either one or both of her parents away on a book promotion, lecture tour, or, as was most often the case for Ira, serving as a visiting professor at a distant campus. Being academics, most of their summers were free though they often took advantage of the three month hiatus to travel overseas. As they proudly judged their daughter to be overly mature and intelligent for her age, they always offered Willow the option of joining them on their extended vacations, but Willow, not wanting to be separated from her friends for so long, had typically declined. They were Jewish, though from what she understood, Willow's family was more or less secular. Tara had taken it upon herself to learn a little more about Judaism anyway since Willow was still questioning, and she herself was curious as to how her own Wiccan beliefs might conflict or complement the faith her girlfriend had been raised in and still partly identified with. Both she and Willow, as witches and as apprentice demonologists, had taken an interest in mysticism and Kabbalah, though it was certainly not a topic that Tara suspected would come up tonight. No, tonight, it's all about the gayness.

Trying to gain insight into Willow's parents by the kind of home they had made for themselves and their daughter, however, was proving more difficult than she imagined. It was a warm enough place, eclectic in style, though a little darker and with more of a country element than Tara would've expected of a middle-aged academic couple. The room clearly ran counter to her own taste. Although her sense of style hadn't fully developed yet being not quite twenty, having grown up with authentic country under her very fingernails virtually all her life, she could spot the faux variety fairly easily. Tara realized it was those elements, the simple, homey utilitarian touches, that she disliked the most. They reminded her of her own home, and real country. Something inside her, a niggling doubt Willow's sweet kisses had not yet fully assuaged, whispered that perhaps real country, hard hands and sparse, harsh words, were all she should realistically look forward to, or all that she was entitled to, given the limitations of her unusual delicate situation. The country kitsch was just homey enough to remind her of her own home, but strange enough to reinforce that Willow came from a very different world. Could my demon be content in a place like this? Or would it rebel? Unbidden, a vision of the same room bathed in blood, the furniture torn and destroyed flashed through her, and she shuddered as her breath hitched. No! I'd kill myself before I let you hurt anyone…I'll find a way to kill you first!

Willow turned to Tara at the sudden squeeze of her hand and the small gasp. "What is it, baby?" A look of concern, then guilt washed across her face. "You're not really nervous are you? 'Cause there's nothing to be nervous about. I was just teasing about my parents. You know that, right? Well, mostly. But I know they'll love you right away. Who wouldn't?" Before Tara could use her rhetorical question as an occasion to launch into another bout of self-doubt, Willow leaned into her girlfriend and stole a quick kiss.

Tara recovered from the unexpected gesture quickly and shot her eyes around the room. Willow's move, however, had successfully distracted her. "Willow! Your parents could walk in any second."

"I know. Why do you think it wasn't a proper smooch?"

Thinking of how it might have been to meet the Rosenbergs just after being caught with Willow in a full liplock perhaps involving tongue instead of the fairly chaste peck made Tara blush. Willow grinned and pulled Tara further into the room.

"Hmmph! I was hoping at least Mom would be here, ready to greet us. Make yourself at home, baby. I'll just go find them." Willow headed toward the kitchen where she suspected her mother was putting the final touches on her dinner preparation. Sheila was a surprisingly good cook when she had the time to prepare the family's meals.

Tara sighed after her girlfriend left. Her birthday was coming up in just three months, and it was at times like this when the urge to confess her darkest secret and ask for help was almost overwhelming. Not for the last time, she thought of consulting Mr. Giles about her demonic heritage.

Willow was still chastising herself for teasing her girlfriend about meeting her parents tonight as she walked to the kitchen. This was a big step in any relationship – one which she had instigated when the opportunity arose unexpectedly that both her parents would be home and available for two weeks between their tours of the Far East and northern Africa. Rather than opting for the normal course of action for a Scooby, leaving the parental units in the dark about anything that might cause concern or, perhaps more importantly, a restriction of liberty, Willow had decided that her recent epiphany regarding her sexuality and Tara's place in her life were too important to hide. In fact, she was rather proud of herself for winning someone so beautiful, talented, and kind. She herself had suggested a family dinner to introduce Tara to her parents and address any concerns they had about her recent change of heart about her sexuality. It was a big step – no, a huge one that would intimidate anyone, much less Tara with her innate shyness and sensitivity. Willow hadn't helped matters with her teasing. Well, I'll make it up to her tonight, after we get back to her room. She couldn't stop the smirk that found its way to her face.

"Mom?" she called as she entered the kitchen. But the room was empty. In fact, it didn't appear as if it had been used all day. Willow frowned, and headed for her father's usual haunt, his study.

Tara started moving slowly around the living room to continue her exploration. I'm not sure what I was expecting…New England Chippendale? Victorian? Eastern European Jewish? Postmodern? She realized that she didn't get much of a sense of a distinct aesthetic style from her girlfriend, other than one inspired by Nickelodeon or The Cartoon Channel. Not surprisingly, perhaps, she could not sense a distinct style from the house Willow had grown up in. It appeared to have been built in the 50s and still showed touches of those beginnings in the small size of the doorways and the iron railing of the stairs to the second floor. However, newer decorating decisions surely made by the Rosenbergs like the patterned wallpaper and furniture with carved feet reinforced the slightly dated feel of their home.

Tara lingered at the framed photographs placed on the serving table behind the sofa positioned at the center of the room. They were all family photos, more than a few of a much younger Willow. Willow mostly took after her father in looks but had inherited her mother's auburn hair. As a pre-teen and young teenager, Willow had worn it darker, straight, and longer, in distinct contrast to her current style of shoulder length copper waves. The smile was shyer, more tentative, but still unmistakably Willow. Her eyes were exactly the same – large, expressive, round pools that hid nothing, in a range of greens from khaki to deep emerald that changed depending on her mood.

Tara smiled at how cute her girlfriend was even in the awkward stage of pre-teen-dom. She felt a brief flash of jealousy for Xander, and wished she had also known Willow at every stage of her life. She was sure they would have been friends from the first moment they met. Well, we're together now. We'll just make the most of it now that we've found each other. Her heart swelled with happiness.

"Well, Mom's not in the kitchen and Dad's not here, either. Dinner might be catered tonight…Hey! Whatcha looking at?" Willow sidled up to Tara. Tara didn't get a chance to respond. As soon as Willow saw the particular photo her girlfriend had been gazing thoughtfully at, she snatched the framed photo off the sofa table.

"Willow –?

Without a word to Tara, Willow went through the spread of photographs and collected those of herself not from the past three years. "How the frilly heck did she find these again? It is so not normal to go rummaging around a spider and dust-bunny-infested attic unless it's to hide embarrassing photos of yourself. The woman is evil…"

"W-Willow, w-what are you doing w-with your pictures?"

"Oh, nothing, babe. I'm just gonna find a better place for these." Maybe if I box them up and put them in the tool shed with my old computer junk. She hates that stuff and never goes back there. Or, if she does to do one of her crazed manic purges and she accidentally throws them out, it'll be her fault. Perrrrfect. Willow grinned with the cleverness of her plan.

Tara noted her girlfriend's evil grin and deduced whatever Willow was planning may not be altogether on the up and up. "Um, maybe you should let your mom do that, decorate her own house?"

Willow paused to look at her girlfriend. "'Her own house?' You're kidding, right?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"Well, just that it's my house, too. And my pictures, so I think I should have last say about how they're used, don't you?"

"Oh. Um, yes, if you put it that w-way. I, uh, guess I'd just never think to do th-that in m-my father's house." Tara looked away.

Willow noticed the shift in her girlfriend's demeanor. She had withdrawn back into herself, the way she was when they first met. "Hey, you okay, Tare?" She returned to Tara's side. "Something you want to talk about, baby?" Maybe she's ready to talk about her family?

But Tara's defenses had come on full once more. She smiled weakly. "N-no. I-I'm good. W-We didn't have a…a lot of photos dis-displayed in our house, so I guess I'm not o-one to talk."

Willow didn't buy the flimsy attempt at deflection. "Babe…?"

"Really! I-I am, Willow. Okay. Okay?" Tara tried another smile. "So, w-where w-were you going to put those?"

"Oh," Willow looked down at the photos she'd taken from the sofa table. "Up in my room, of course!" In my closet, until I can come back alone and put them in the tool shed where they belong, with all the other tools. "In fact, you come. You can see where I spent my formative years. You might even gain some valuable insight into the numerous neuroses that collectively comprise your girlfriend's quirky personality."

Tara giggled and followed Willow up the stairs to the second floor. "So did your Mom or Dad leave a note about where they are?"

"Nope. No note. The Rosenbergs are not big on that kind of thing."

"Leaving notes?"

"Uh…communication."

"Oh."

"So, here we are…kinda lame, huh?" Willow plopped herself down on her bed.

It was a typical teenaged girl's room, decorated mostly in white and rose shades, with posters on the walls and a bulletin board with pictures. Unsurprisingly, Willow also had two full bookcases. Above the dresser was a framed mirror. More pictures were stuck into the frame. Sitting on the dresser in front of the mirror were some trophies and awards for academic achievements. More sat on her desk. There was also an empty fishtank. A set of double doors led to a balcony outside.

Tara closed the door and smiled. "Not at all." Her eyes settled on a green and red poster hanging above Willow's bed. It featured a couple of stylized cartoon dogs seated at a table, being served a covered dish by a June Cleaver-type housewife. She read the title and her eyes narrowed.

Willow followed Tara's gaze and immediately cringed. "Sorry! I knew I forgot to take one down, somewhere." She sat up straight.

"Oh, it's alright, Willow. At least it doesn't have his picture on it. Then I'd have to ask you for it so I could hang it in my own room."

"Uh, why would you want a Dingoes poster in your room? You don't even like their music, do you?"

"Oh no. But I could use it as a dart board."

Ouch! "I'll, uh, take it down now."

"Really, Willow, you don't have to. You still like their music." Willow hesitated and Tara forced a smile, angry with herself that her attempt to be playful had come across meaner than she intended. She moved to the mirror and began to study the photos. Now if you left a picture of him here, we'll need to talk…

Willow joined her at her dresser. She embraced Tara from behind and laid her chin against the crook of Tara's neck. "See? No pictures of him here. In fact…"

Tara saw the prominently displayed photo of herself and Willow without her girlfriend needing to point it out among the others of Willow, Xander, and Buffy. In fact, it was strikingly similar to their current pose, but reversed in the mirror. She recalled a previous bantering conversation about the topic after Willow had given her a hickey one night. If Willow were a vampire, she would be a right-side biter from behind, and a left-side biter from the front. That's my Willow. Dependable. Tara unconsciously closed her eyes as Willow started nibbling on her earlobe. You have the weirdest conversations when you live in Sunnydale…

Willow sighed into Tara's ear, finding the idea of debauching her girlfriend in her old bedroom on her very childhood bed incredibly arousing. Her hands moved from Tara's hips to just underneath her breasts.

"Willow! Hands!"

Mmmm…She's so cute when she's fighting being naughty when being naughty is really what she wants to be…This is so…kind of odd, actually. Willow's forehead crinkled into a frown. Usually, it's just about now that Mom would walk in on me. Her timing is normally uncanny. Willow took a half-step back from her girlfriend, lowering her hands back to a safer position on Tara's hips.

Tara caught her girlfriend's concerned look in the mirror. "Willow?"

"Something doesn't feel right, Tara…I wonder where Mom and Dad are. It's kind of unusual for both of them to not be here when we have a set dinner date. They're normally obsessively punctual."

Tara frowned herself. "I-I didn't sense any strange energy w-when we got here. But then, I'm not sure I w-would've, this being my first time here. Did you…?"

"Well, no, but my sensitivity still isn't the best with that kind of thing. Not like yours. The sun's down already, and they've got Sunnydale instincts the same as everyone else who lives in this town." Willow released Tara to go to her bookcase where she kept a few spell books and her witchcraft notebooks. "Now where in the name of Hecate did I put it…?"

"What are you going to do?"

She took down one of her notebooks from a top shelf. "I've been working on adapting the tinkerbell spell to work on any human, not just on you or me. I think now's as good a time as any to see if the changes will work."

"Should I move? I feel like I should move." Tara looked up at Willow from where she hovered beside her girlfriend as the smaller witch balanced precariously on the end of the stuffed sofa back in the living room, reaching for the last pixie light from the failed spell as it hovered near the light fixture.

"No…not necessary! I…should…have it…soon!" Willow's fingers again grasped and closed on empty air as the pixie kept flitting erratically just beyond her fingertips. "C'mon, you little…" Willow got on her toes and lunged a little, finally successful as her fist closed on the dancing light. Unfortunately, it was enough to push her off balance and she swayed back and forth on her unstable perch.

Instinctively, Tara reached out and grabbed the waistband of Willow's skirt and pulled her girlfriend toward her. They both fell back to the couch, Tara on her back, Willow in her lap. Willow squealed and Tara yelped as they landed.

"Tara! Baby, are you okay? Your back –?"

"I-I think I'm alright. What about you?"

"Well, other than your hands on my ass and booby, I'm okay."

Tara quickly pulled her hands away.

Willow sighed. "Those were the parts of me doing better than okay!" She pushed backward a little, into Tara's warmth and the softness of her breasts.

"Willow!" Tara said through gritted teeth. "Not now!"

"Eh, so I guess it'd be a bad time to tell you, you rushed me out of your room so fast I didn't have time to find my underwear?"

"What…? WHAT?"

Willow shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't see where they went after you flung them over your shoulder, 'cause, you know, I kinda was underneath you at the time. Then, I figured, we're going home anyway, I'll just put on a pair here."

"And you didn't? We've been here fifteen minutes!"

"It sort of slipped my mind…" She unclenched her fist to reveal the fading embers of the deficient tinkerbell she'd successfully banished. She relaxed further into Tara's lap and it was now the blonde's turn to squirm, knowing Willow was currently going commando under her knee-length skirt. "Y'know, I could get used to this. It feels kinda –"

"Oh Goddess, Willow, don't say it!" Tara moaned, fighting her arousal.

"Ahem!"

Both witches turned. Sheila was standing in the doorway of her home, looking down at her daughter half-sitting in the lap of a moaning blond goy girl she had never met before sprawled on the sofa in her living room. Behind her, not quite on the threshold was Ira. Apparently, Willow had also gotten her stature from her father, who appeared to be a couple inches shorter than Sheila. He could not see past his wife. They both held paper grocery bags.

"Mom! Dad!" "Mrs. Rosenberg! Mr. Rosenberg!" Willow scrambled to get out of Tara's lap, stumbling in the process. Tara followed, also half-stumbling clumsily as she anxiously reached to keep Willow's skirt down and in place as they collected themselves.

"What's going on, Sheila? Have we been robbed? Are the thieves still in our house? Because if not, I'd appreciate it if you stepped inside. This one-gallon potato salad isn't getting any lighter. And may I ask once more why we needed the one-gallon size? There's only four of us. Or did Willow mention something to you about how big this girl she's seeing is? How come she doesn't share those details with me?"

Sheila walked in, Ira behind her. The four stood staring at one another wordlessly for a long moment.

At last, Willow volunteered. "Mom, Dad, this is Tara, my girlfriend – my gay – LESBIAN type girlfriend!"

"Oh for heavens sake, Willow, we're not stupid, you know. We got your message." Sheila said. To Tara, she smiled. "Thank you for coming, Tara. You wouldn't believe how hard it's been to get Willow to bring over her school friends, other than that Harris boy, and Bunny…Summers?" Sheila smiled, pleased that she had remembered Bunny's last name.

"Well, there was that young man, too. Daniel was his name, wasn't it? Nice Jewish name, although if I recall, he wasn't…" Ira suddenly remembered who Daniel was to his daughter, and stopped himself. "Uh, never mind."

Willow made a strangled noise in her throat.

Um…okay. "Th-Thank you for having m-me, Mrs. Rosenberg." Tara shook Sheila's offered hand. She turned to Ira. "I-It's nice to m-meet you, Sir." Ira nodded and smiled, unable to offer Tara his hand for the armful of potato salad he was still sporting.

"You guys are late!" Willow accused. "We've been waiting for you for the past fifteen minutes! I thought something might've happened to you."

Sheila checked her watch. "Willow, it's just now turned 7:00. If you've been waiting for us for fifteen minutes, it means you were fifteen minutes early."

Willow shot Tara an I-told-you-so look. She made the RUN! hand sign. Tara frowned hard at her.

Ira caught the exchange, and nodded toward Willow's hand. "What was that? Some kind of lesbian sexual sign language?"

Sheila shot him a scathing look.

Huh. This explains a lot. Tara realized her mouth was hanging slightly open and closed it tightly, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing.

Willow smiled sheepishly at Tara before turning back to her father. "No, Dad. It was just a little joke. Here, give me the potato salad. We should get started. Tara and I had a busy afternoon and we're pretty hungry. Then right after dinner we're heading off to Buf – uh, Mrs. Summers' house." Willow relieved Ira of one of his paper bags and they started for the kitchen, gesturing with her eyes for Tara and her mother to follow.

"How'd you know I had potato salad in that bag?"

Tara didn't hear Willow's response as they disappeared into the kitchen.

"So, Tara, I take it from your invocation as we walked in that you are not Jewish, either?"

Invocation…? Oh. "Um, no ma'am." Tara offered to take Sheila's bag but was waved off as they also started for the kitchen. Willow had mentioned something about a Hellmouth-induced witch hunt that Mrs. Rosenberg along with Buffy's mother had played a part in a couple of years ago, but at the moment, under Sheila's scrutiny, the details escaped her. She wasn't sure if she should volunteer the information that she was Wiccan or not. Isn't tonight about the gayness? Or did what just happened take care of that already? Oh Goddess, help.

As they entered the kitchen, Willow intercepted them. She took Tara by the hand and turned her immediately to exit the room. "Gotta borrow my girlfriend for a second, Mom. We'll be back down before you know it! Definitely back before any monkey business can ensue! Unfortunately." The last word she uttered just loud enough for Tara to hear. Tara was too grateful for the rescue to admonish Willow for her cheekiness as she wordlessly followed the smaller girl back up the stairs toward her bedroom. Once safely inside, Willow closed and locked the door and turned to Tara. "I almost forgot! About my underwear. You can help me pick out a pair to divest me of later. Tide us over for until we get home from the Bronze tonight? Or we can skip the Bronzing entirely if you want. Just go straight back to your room after we're through here?" Willow grinned lasciviously.

Goddess. Maybe this house is possessed. But Tara smiled as she thought it.

The End

Continued…