Started: 22 October 2007
Completed: 22 December 2007
Rating: R to NC-17
Notes: our favorite bonnie lasses continue with their vacation in the Scottish Highlands
Notes 2: this takes place about a week after Highland Fling
Notes 3: part of the Stocking Stuffers: Little Gifts from RKT series

*****

It began slowly, gently. The whisperings of tiny droplets blinked into existence, gained form and drifted toward the caress of the fluid, unblemished terrain. They landed on the soft fleece with a touch that was like feather and a sigh that sounded of paradise. Never-ending. Plentiful. Gradually as the winds turned gray, tendrils became flurries, and the lazy drifting became an relentless march as the snowflakes pummeled into the accepting expanse of whiteness blanketing the ancient glens.

A whitewashed cottage with walls made from stones and wood beams as old as the hills stood in solid quiet as the snow swirled and gathered. Inside the warmth of the room by the garden, two bodies glowed as they joined together in a familiar pattern. They began as slowly and as gently as the first snowfall. The faintest of touches as fingertips grazed strong shoulders, and dragged across heavy breasts, before journeying toward rolling crevices as soft as the fresh snow outside.

A sigh. An affirmation.

"Touch me."

"Yes."

Gradually, as the passion flared and the touches deepened, words became blurred with visions of delirium and feelings of ecstasy. As the snowdrift built outside, two spirits soared beyond the trees and the clouds and the mountains. With a hitch of breath and a tightening they were falling, falling, falling over the edge and into the soft, accepting blanket of their love.

*****

"Are you sure? Stan was saying the district council are bringing in heavy machinery from Canada. It's not been this bad since Ian and I were married," Morag Livingstone asked as she served coffee and breakfast in the huge warm kitchen of Livingstone House. She glanced outside to the house-high wall of snow, worry lines appearing on her normally cheerful face.

"We'll be fine. The forecast says the cold front won't hit till Wednesday, I'm sure it'll get better once we get further south," Willow commented as she helped herself to scrambled eggs, sausages and fried bread. She was about to take a third slice when a stern, subtle glare from Tara stopped her. She stuck her tongue out at her self-appointed nutritionist and made a point to scoop an extra spoonful of mushroom onto her plate.

"We don't want to be imposing on you any more, Morag. It's enough that you let us stay another week when you normally close up for Christmas," Tara smiled at their hostess. Her breakfast, compared with Willow's, was a picture of healthiness -- she tossed a handful of dried cranberries into a bowl of bran flakes and carefully poured skimmed milk over the cereal. Her only concession was a healthy dollop of homemade honey from a small earthenware jar.

"Nonsense. It's my pleasure! I'm glad you decided to stay here and keep me company while Ian is at the big house. It's better than that dingy B&B down at Glasgow," Morag said while she fussed around the kitchen.

They were still at Livingstone House. The original plan for staying one week then decamping to Edinburgh turned into an extended stay in the Highlands with day trips to the big cities. The house was simply too beautiful, too welcoming, especially for Tara, who craved the quiet of the countryside. Morag used the excuse of "keeping an old lady company" to entice them to stay. She didn't need to ask twice.

They spent the days exploring the lochs and the villages in the area, spending time in the small churches that held historical records of the MacLeas, MacLeays and Maclays. There wasn't a huge amount of information -- the ancient Scots were more interested in warring than writing -- but what they could find touched an emotional nerve. Tara was often teary eyed as she tenderly touched a headstone or a broken relic that held a tenuous link to her ancestors.

They spent most of their evenings either at Stan McCoist's pub or in front of a roaring fire chatting with Morag. Their hostess wasn't boasting when she described herself as the source of local information, entertaining them with stories from her own childhood as well as enrapturing Highland folktales. Sinking into the soft leather armchairs, wrapped in tartan blankets, and with good conversation, it was easy to forget about the outside world. Disasters, demons and the daily grind were so far removed from the cozy drawing room. There were television sets at the house, but they had little appeal given the alternative. Willow only powered up her laptop a few times, to Tara's shock and delight.

Their room overlooking the garden became their idyllic retreat. With their hosts' living quarters at the other side of the house and two floors up, there was scant chance that their expressions of passion would inadvertently be overheard. Not that Morag wasn't aware -- the wise lady gave them as much privacy as she could -- but it was considered polite not to subject innocent ears to screams and cries that bordered on primal. "I don't want her thinking that we're insatiable harlots," Tara said after yet another lengthy lovemaking session. Willow laughed, replied that Morag probably didn't need to hear them to know what they were up to, and promptly returned to lavishing attention to Tara's body.

Tara allowed herself to linger in the memory of Willow's touch everywhere on me while contemplating her breakfast. A faint twitch between her legs signaled her arousal, and not for the first time this vacation, she marveled at how her every part of her body was attuned to Willow; and how her mind was dominated by Willow. Thoughts of Willow. Willow's voice. Willow's impish grin. Willow's smart green eyes. A hint of honey shampoo in her hair; freckles on her back, the way her little toe curled when she was dreaming good dreams.

As the week passed, thoughts of leaving Livingstone House were unwelcome but inevitable. Sunnydale's vampires, slayers and watchers beckoned like a lighthouse beacon: it may fade for a while but its return was inescapable. The onset of increasingly wintery weather pushed them to make a firm decision -- to start making their way to London sooner rather than later. Morag was as unwilling to let them leave as they were of taking their leave. Lady Livingstone had entertained hundreds of visitors since opening her house to vacationers, but in these two young women from halfway around the world, she found unexpected kinship.

Which was why she was fretting about them like a mother hen. The snow was bearing down and the winds picking up. Add to it the early sunsets meant conditions would be horrendous. And they're not used to driving on this side of the road. Oh, what if they strayed to the wrong lane!

"Morag?" Tara's concerned touch on her arm snapped her back to her kitchen. She must have been lost in thoughts for a moment.

"I was saying I'd rather you stay here than venture out into the snow. When Ian comes back he can find out about flights from Inverness," Morag said.

"But--"

"I'm usually not this insistent but my bones are telling me you lasses need to stay here now. Something," Morag suppressed an unexpected shiver, "I don't know what exactly, but something is coming. It's just a feeling in my bones. When you get to my age you take your intuition seriously."

Two powerful witches living on a hellmouth regarded each other meaningfully and nodded their understanding.

"We know about trusting our instincts, Morag."

"Better than you imagine."

*****

Morag retired to her corner of the house after breakfast, pleading tiredness and a need to do paperwork.

With the fierce snowstorm outside, there was no choice but to stay indoors.

"And that's a hardship how?" Willow murmured as she sunk further into the soft leather armchair in the library with a book. This had become her spot over the last week or so. The Livingstone library reminded her of the Sunnydale High library, only bigger and older. With wood-paneled walls. And with many, many more books that interested her. Plus the advantage of that its floor wasn't going to open up and demons come crawling out. It was another reason why she wanted to stay there forever. She noted to herself that her mental list of "What I love about Livingstone House" was getting longer as each moment passed.

She chuckled as she realized she was talking to herself. Tara was either in their room or talking with Morag; Willow relaxed in the knowledge that Tara was nearby but there was no need to be in each other's company all the time. Despite the welcoming flutter she felt at the bottom of her stomach whenever she thought of Tara, and despite constantly wanting to touch Tara in the most intimate way, the certainty of their long term commitment was a panacea. The fiery passion between them could be ignited in a flash; but most times it was a slow, warming glow that connected them effortlessly from within.

Cushioned by her love, she relaxed into the deep leather and turned her attention to her book.

Tara leaned against the door frame, watching her lover with gentle intensity.

Willow looking so comfortable and in her element made Tara alternately want to weep and melt. She itched to throw herself down before Willow, touch the soft skin and worship the woman she loved. A choking sigh escaped from deep within her, and she fought to remain still. There was time. For now, she was absorbed by the simple, yet exquisite sight of a small redhead curled up comfortably with a book in one hand and her face radiating in the firelight.

Willow was the smartest person Tara had ever met. She had unlimited curiosity about everything and her mind never stopped working. She observed and interacted with her surroundings constantly and was one of those people who could never sit still for lengthy periods of time. Growing up among vampires and slayers meant she seemed always to be on the move, or getting ready to. Buffy, even at rest, was as tightly coiled as a panther. Willow, as the de facto second-in-command, had to be as alert. It was rare to see her completely at repose, with seemingly not a care in the world. And Tara was drinking in the sight.

People who made generalizations about love had no idea, she decided. Love was everything. It was making the grandest of statements and the smallest of gestures. It was the unexpected and yet it was the anticipated. She felt blessed. Once in a while the small, insecure child still inside of her would remember the hurtful words that spewed from her father's mouth and trembled at them. "No one will want you. Only your blood kin will take you in. You have no future." And then Willow would look at her, or squeeze her hand, or brush their lips together, and chase away the painful memories again.

"You're gonna get unglued from the wall one of these days?" Willow asked without looking up from her book.

Tara cocked her head as if in contemplation but said nothing. She stayed where she was.

Willow looked up several beats later to see Tara casually regarding her, her body framed against the light coming from beyond the doorway. She wore her trademark half-smirk, but her eyes were tender. "What?"

"I'm appreciating," Tara said pensively.

"Huh. Well, I agree. The library is very impressive," Willow countered.

One corner of Tara's mouth danced with laughter. "Definitely. But I was looking at something more specific inside the library."

"Ah, the books."

"Right. The books."

The air shimmered with clear understanding of what was not said, but communicated.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to stand there like a real life Botticelli painting or are you going to come and sit with me?"

"I can't," Tara labored to whisper.

Willow slowly raised one eyebrow.

"Right now," Tara took a deep breath, "I want you so much that being anywhere near you will make me lose control and act in a way that will cause even the library ghosts to blush. And I respect the Livingstones too much to do this to their library, not to mention their ghosts."

Willow's expression didn't change. "I see."

"I'm glad you do."

"There's only one solution to your problem."

Now it was Tara's turn to silently question.

"Can you make it as far as the bedroom?"

The next moment, they were naked in bed. There was little recollection of how they got there or how they shed their clothing. The only thing that matter was skin.

Tara straddled Willow and pushed her against the pillows with one hand. Her other hand was firmly attached to one freckled breast and busily massaging until the nipple was sharp and hard. Willow tried to reach for her, but she sat back, aware of her wetness trailing over Willow's stomach, and grasped her own breasts in both hands.

Willow tried reaching for her again but Tara was not letting go. Her hands left her breasts for a moment, wrapped around Willow's wrists and spread her palm on her thighs. "No. Watch," she commanded.

Willow's grip on Tara's thighs intensified as she watched her lover toss her head back in euphoria. She watched in awe as Tarahands fiercely pushed and teased her own swollen breasts. It was a sight as abandoned and as arousing as she had ever seen. Catching some small control, she ran her hands up Tara's thighs, stopping just short of where the apex sat on her own abdomen. Tara opened one eye in appreciation, but didn't stop playing with her breasts.

"Want me to just watch?" Willow continued stroking the thighs, slipping her thumb to the underside and eliciting another appreciative moan.

"Watch. Touch. Anything you want," Tara's words were punctuated, her self-control slowly slipping as her arousal burned.

That was enough for Willow. Automatically, their hips begun moving together, effortlessly establishing a tempo. She eased her palm underneath Tara's sex, astonished to find such smoothness and wetness. The back of her hand rested on her clit, an extension of her own desire. She flexed her arm, gently at first but quickly her hips followed their joint rhythm and rocked against Tara. Each wave pushed her curved fingers inside Tara and soon they were rolling and arching together. She tried to speak, but it came out as a grunt. Tara was squeezing her breasts, almost roughly now, and the remaining sane cell left in Willow's brain wondered how she could stay so accurately in position. All too soon, even that sane cell lost its logic as she was overcome with the impending explosive orgasm. First one, then a second cry came together, two voices united in a blissful joining.

Tara's legs finally gave out and she collapsed ungracefully onto Willow, their arms and legs too numb to tell which belonged to which.

Willow kicked the duvet over over their cooling bodies. "You're wild this morning," she commented.

"Scared the bedroom ghosts did we?" Tara smiled, and blushed a little as she recalled how uninhibited she was.

Willow kissed her. "I think, love, that after this last week it's nothing new for them."

The sudden creak of an old floorboard sounded just like a bemused chuckle.

*****

The afternoon was spent in a more leisurely fashion in the library. Steaming mugs of hot tea, a box of chocolate within easy reach and peaceful companionship offered a sharp contrast to the mind-blowing coupling earlier, but was no less enjoyable. They sat close together, shoulders and legs touching, each with their preferred book.

Time passed at its own pace in this remote northerly corner of an ancient kingdom. And it seemed no time had passed when Morag knocked at the door. She roused two girls as they dozed, loosely entwined together.

"Sorry to wake you," she said kindly.

Willow woke up first. "Wha--? Oh, looks like we drifted off. It's so comfy here." She stretched and turned to see Tara also in the process of rejoining the conscious. She looks so sexy, still flushed with sleep.

"You looked like two angels there, I almost didn't have the heart to come in," Morag said. "But Ian called from the big house. The council got their act together and cleared the main road somewhat. We've been invited to dinner and overnight stay with Cromartie and his family."

"Crumulty?" Even after almost two weeks the Scottish accent could be a mystery at times.

Morag smiled at the obvious confusion. "The Earl of Cromartie, Chief of the Clan Mackenzies," she explained. "Our bitter enemy once upon a time," she winked at Tara.

Tara blinked. She had read about the hot-headed Highlanders and the fierce rivalry between clans. "He's not the sort to hold grudges I hope."

"Ack no. What's a few hundred years if not to temper the ties between clansmen and their enemies? No, we're good friends now."

"Wow. A real Scottish earl," Willow said, changing the subject.

"He's a good man. Looks after his land and does good work. It'll not be a formal affair, just go as you are, dears. His daughter is home from university, and she'll be wanting to talk to you lasses," Morag continued.

"We'll go get ready," Tara said. She stood up and automatically held out her hand to Willow. Morag called out after them to remember to pack overnight clothes.

Willow kicked the bedroom door shut with one foot and turned them around so Tara was trapped between her and the door. Deliberately, and very slowly, she ran her hand up Tara's arm. "I don't know about you but I feel excited about visiting a real life lord in his real life castle," she said. "Not to mention sleeping there."

Tara caught Willow's hand on one of its upward journeys. "Honey, we so don't have time." Noting Willow's pout, she pulled Willow toward her and kissed her deeply. "Think about the ghosts we'll be scaring tonight at the castle."

"Be careful, we seem to be earning a reputation with Scottish ghosts," Willow ran her tongue slowly around Tara's mouth, then reluctantly withdrew. She continued with tiny kisses at the four corners of Tara's lips.

Tara wanted to be sensible, she wondered how many more times they could greet Morag with the unmistakable "just got laid" look on their faces. One more time can't hurt. Mind made up and hazy with Willow's light kisses, she pulled Willow abruptly into her and slipped her knee between Willow's thighs.

Willow squirmed but Tara's hold on her hips was tight. She felt her clit harden in a flash, an automatic response to Tara's touch, and she rolled her pelvis forward as Tara increased the exquisite pleasure. "You're gonna make me come if you keep doing this," she said.

"Good," Tara said simply.

The inseams of her jeans bit into Willow and she felt herself tensing. She tried to muster up enough energy to reach for Tara's pants to work her hand inside but all of her attention was at her center and her arms fell limply on Tara's shoulders. It didn't take long for her climax to hit fast and strong. She was still in spasms as her legs gave out. Luckily Tara was there, her support.

"I can't move," Willow gasped.

Tara laughed. "Come on, I'll help you."

"I need a shower. Right now. I can't go to dinner like this! I'm all sticky in delicate places," Willow squealed.

"There's no time," Tara said solemnly. She sat Willow down on their bed and rummaged in the closet for clothing. "Here, put these on," she took out a soft sweater, new jeans and underwear for Willow.

"But--" Willow protested.

"If it's any consolation, I'm in just as bad shape as you are, sweetie," Tara said.

Willow broke out into a wide, satisfied grin. "Really?"

"Uh huh. More so, probably."

"Good," Willow repeated, a roguish idea forming.

Tara picked up on the twinkle. Willow was planning something. She remembered the heated sex in the bathroom at LAX and right in the middle of the airplane cabin, an involuntary aroused shudder washed over her. "What?"

Instead of answering, Willow jumped up from the bed and started packing an overnight bag. "Nothing. Be good, Tara."

"Will."

Willow gathered her clothes in a bundle, gave Tara a chaste kiss and skipped to the bathroom. "Let's get going, don't want Morag to wait too long."

Tara narrowed her eyes and contemplated joining her lover in the bathroom. After a moment, she smiled and decided that they had better hurry.

She would still be ready, whatever Willow had cooking.

*****

There had been a fort or keep on that spot since the 12th century and the castle had more than its fair share of battle scars. Nowadays Castle Leod, seat of the Earl of Cromartie, was fully restored and open to the public during the summer. Its distinctive L-shaped design and red sandstone walls, 7-8 feet thick in places, gave it an imposing look and it was a popular venue for weddings and conferences. Standing majestic in the middle of the snowed-in landscape, it was breath-taking. No wonder the Livingstones called it by the endearing title of the big house.

Morag received a huge hug and affectionate pecks on her cheek by the owners of the castle who greeted them in the grand entrance. The earl and countess smiled warmly at Willow and Tara. "Welcome to our castle! I'm John Mackenzie..."

"...and I'm Janet Mackenzie," the husband-and-wife team introduced themselves with perfect timing. They had the air of people born into old money -- unaware yet vaguely apologetic of their privileged position in society. They obviously loved their home, as they proudly guided the visitors around the wood-paneled rooms filled with portraits and antique furnishings. The earl was especially proud of his collection of antique maps, either framed on the walls or laid out on long tables with miniature armies mounting historical campaigns against each other. He sounded actually geeky when he started talking about his hobbies. It was not unlike Willow talking about computers, Tara thought to herself.

Dinner was, as Morag promised, an extended family affair. Though they ate in the formal dining room, food was piled high in the middle of the table and there was much good natured passing around of platters and tureens. There was smoked wild salmon, roast beef with all the trimmings, a healthy selection of greens and neeps'n'tatties, otherwise known as potatoes mashed with turnips.

"We came late to the whole organic farming business," the countess explained when she was asked about the origins of the food. "But we caught up and now our land is 100% organic. Most historical houses in the country need extra income to sustain themselves; some have safari parks, others have gardens but mostly it's farming. It sounds so small but we specialize in onions and potatoes."

"The Irish talk about their love of potatoes; people forget how we Scots love our tatties," the Mackenzies' daughter chipped in. Emmy Mackenzie was in her first year at university and was overjoyed to have people in her age group at the table.

After dinner, the group had minced pies and coffee in the family room. The earl opened his bar and passed around a 30-years old highland single malt for all to enjoy. They naturally split into small groups, with Emmy pouncing on Willow and Tara straightaway.

"I thought I'd be bored out of my skin when Mum told me to that we were having a dinner party," she said, laying down a plate of shortbread biscuits. "Mind if I join you? I'm dying to hear all about you."

Tara caught Willow eyeing the shortbread greedily. The redhead had attacked the dinner with gusto, to the countess' delight. Where does she work all that excess calories off? Oh right, I know, she grinned knowingly to herself. "Of course, Emmy. I think we're as curious about your life as you are about ours, aren't we honey?" she answered. She placed one hand firmly on Willow's knee stopping Willow, who was in the middle of reaching for a shortbread piece, dead in her tracks.

"Absolutely! This trip is all about learning. Scottish history, villages, wars, and the aristocracy. We should start a webpage for all this information," Willow agreed, looking forlornly between Tara and the shortbread, knowing that she would get her way eventually.

Emmy was easy to talk to. The girl bubbled with excitement, growing especially wistful at descriptions of the beautiful California weather. "I love my home, but I'd give anything to be at the beach now. I can't imagine so much sun and being so near the ocean."

"Well, you have the lochs. They're just as interesting," Tara countered.

"Not when it rains for weeks on end and it gets dark at three in the afternoon. Are the beaches really full of beautiful people? I know this sounds shallow but do you ever see famous stars?" the girl continued.

"Well, Sunnydale is a little further north from LA. But our friend Angel lives in LA; I think his hotel has seen a famous people or two," Tara said.

"You have a friend who owns in a hotel?" Emmy asked.

"It was abandoned. He restored it." That was as simplified as Willow could get Angel's story. Emmy didn't relent, and continued asking plenty of questions. Willow supplied most of the answers, though she had to take out references to anything supernatural. Munching on the sweet biscuits helped, she gave herself some time to formulate an answer. Occasionally the others would join in their conversation, but mostly the Livingstones and the Cromarties talked about farming and running a tourist-focused business.

Soon the great fire in the fireplace began to die down and hands discreetly covered yawns. "We'll be up all night talking!" Emmy exclaimed. "I know! We'll have a sleepover in my room. Girls only."

But we have plans for very explicit sex in your parents' guest room tonight. The walls are so thick that no human being can possibly hear us from outside.

There was an awkward moment of silence as they tried to find an excuse without being rude to the girl.

"Emmy, I'm sure Willow and Tara are tired. There's plenty of time to continue tomorrow," the countess generously came to their rescue. "You don't have to leave first thing tomorrow, do you lasses?"

They looked to Morag and Ian who were the ones providing transportation. "Nay, plenty of time," Ian said.

That was settled.

The guest room was different from their room at Livingstone House. Where they had a light and airy garden room at the cottage, the room at the castle was heavy and solemn. A solid oak bed that could have belonged to first earl stood at the dead center of the room. The mirror above the dresser had a frame decorated by bronze gargoyles and was foggy with age. Theatrically thick curtains and gossamer net curtains kept the windows well covered and insulated from the outside chills. Worn rugs criss-crossed the floor, not quite providing covering for the creaky wooden boards.

"Is it me or is it extra cold in here?" Tara asked while she was undressing. She quickly put on her pajamas, a rare occurrence lately.

"It's not you," Willow quickly donned her sleepwear and proceeded to examine the radiators by the windows. They were warm to the touch, but not hot. "May take a while for the room to warm up, I guess. Wanna shower?"

"Good idea."

The shower spluttered for ten seconds before water started dripping out. It took a further ten seconds before the water temperature rose above freezing, by that time two naked witches were shivering and clattering. The water pressure didn't build up much beyond a mediocre drizzle and any plans to explore wet skin and hardened nipples were abandoned in favor of quickly soaping, rinsing and scurrying under covers.

"Remember what Emmy said after dinner, that she would give anything to be at the beach now?" Tara asked as she clamored closer to Willow for body warmth, throwing an arm over Willow's stomach and squashing her breasts into Willow's back.

"We could teleport out and be back before sunrise. No one will miss us," Willow suggested.

Tara sighed. "If it weren't so wrong, I'd go along with it."

"I know," Willow sighed. "But think about it, we're doing it for self-preservation," she argued.

"Now you're being overdramatic," Tara chastised.

Willow turned around, carefully so as not to disturb the warmth that had built up under the covers, and slotted herself into Tara's curves. "Baby, we have a serious situation here. I had all sorts of plans for tonight, and now we're too frozen to snuggle properly."

Tara ran one hand through Willow's hair, following the route down her jaw and the small hollow of her throat, which she kissed. "So, we're not snuggling now?"

Willow blew out a frustrated breath. "But this is as far as it'll go tonight," she grumbled. "PG-13 is nice, but NC-17 is so much better."

"Anyone listening to this conversation would think you're sexually starved," Tara teased.

Willow harrumphed. "Well it's a good thing no one is listening then, cuz I'm sticking to my story."

A gust of extra cold wind swirled around them, as if trying to build up into a whirlwind. Disembodied whispers fluttered in the air, enough to make the hair at the back of their necks stand straight up. A faint laugh could be heard from...somewhere.

"Did you feel that?" Tara asked, trying not to be overwhelmed with fear.

"Uh huh."

"I read somewhere that ghosts are afraid of nakedness, they're kinda prudish that way," Tara said. "May be we should undress."

Willow wasn't sure to snort or laugh. "You'll have to show me where you read that. Besides, it's not true. Ghosts don't have any concept of the material stuff that live people get so hung up on. To a ghost the human form is a weird murky soup of fuzzy colors and disjointed sounds. You're more concerned with whether the person can see you than what they are wearing," she started explaining.

Tara was looking at her with a strangled expression.

"I was a ghost once, remember? Ethan Rayne, costume shop owned by the gods of chaos, Buffy was a useless girly girl in a Scarlett O'Hara dress?"

"Ah. You in a devastatingly sexy outfit that you refuse to show me a picture of."

"In your dreams, Maclay."

Talking with Willow had dispelled some of Tara's unease. The walls, the room, the creepy air had gotten to her; she surmised it was her being a sensitive. There was something slightly supernatural about the castle, and she didn't have enough experience to judge whether it was typical for a building this old. Still, with Willow stretched full-length against her, she could feel her anxiety gradually dissipating. In fact, with Willow stretched full-length against her, the chill had receded and she was becoming turned on.

But still cold. And the cold won.

"Let's try to get some sleep, sweetie."

*****

Dreams of raining peaches and chipmunks talking in Perl woke Willow up. She found herself with a mouthful of hair, and she tried to blow it away only for more to brush against her eyes. "Grrr," she growled, but quickly silenced her protest when she jolted into full consciousness and realized her head was wedged in a sideways angle between Tara and the headboard. She tried to shift to a more conventional sleeping position, moving slowly so as not to wake Tara.

She didn't need to look at the bedside clock to know that it was still the dead of night. The curtains were not fully closed, but it was a moonless night and only a faltering glimmer squeezed through the gap in the door assured her that she hadn't gone blind.

Her nose was cold. Her teeth were beginning to chatter. She tentatively brought one hand out from under the covers to be exposed to the night air and quickly pulled it back into the warmth with a gasp. Slowly gathering her magic she reached her mind out toward the radiators and hummed with frustrated satisfaction when she found stone cold surfaces. The heating must have been turned off during the night.

She didn't bother debating with herself, knowing already her next course of action. An almost silent whisper of "fiat lux" and a dozen tiny tinkerbell lights materialized. She made them float in a lazy circle above her and experimented with their light intensity till it was just right. An imperceptible gesture gave the command to expand the circle and soon the streaks of light started weaving random patterns in the air. Another push of magic and the randomness organized into lines and curves forming a spherical web that encased the bed.

Like the boy in the bubble, she thought. Or a hollowed-out gyroelongated pentagonal rotunda, J₂₅ I think, the science geek in her smirked. Deciding that thinking about advanced geometry while doing magic would only distract her, she focused on the next step.

Even before the shimmering dome was complete, she had begun filling it with heated air. Agitating air particles so that they abandoned their natural brownian motion into concerted heat-generating mode required true power, but she was powerful enough. Still, a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead as she used her magic to control the lights, patch holes in the web, and heat the air. It was not unlike calling different sub-routines to a main program, it was an exercise in multi-tasking.

It was when another stream of magic joined her that she knew Tara was awake. Where she had tackled the task with her usual clinical precision, Tara's approach was emotional. The task gradually became a spell as Tara added a calm depth. It was no longer as simple as a problem (it's cold) needing a solution (get heat); Tara's magic was spiritual and it reached beyond consciousness. Despite her immense base of power, Willow tended to direct magic from her head; it never seemed to be fully complete until Tara joined -- together their magic drew effortlessly from the mind, the body and the soul.

This was why they were so powerful together.

Something very intimate occurred when two people performed magic together: the synchronization, laying out bare thoughts buried deep in the subconscious, letting down protective barriers -- these had more impact than the usual interaction between people. When it was magic infused with love, the emotional response was often one of profound connection.

Love fueled their magic; and magic fed their love.

This was why there was always the pounding need and the bone-deep demand of physical release after doing magic together.

All it took was Tara turning into Willow with a look that could only be answered by a kiss. Open-mouthed, firm and heated. Kisses led to exploration, both taking turns leading and giving. The sleepwear that was so necessary earlier in the night were discarded with whoops of abandonment and there was more exploring, more teasing, more touching.

Throwing back the duvet caused a draft that struck the ceiling of the dome causing a firework of sparkles.

"Tripping the light fantastic are we?"

"God, yes."

And they returned to more.

Two bodies rocked against each other, sliding over slippery outlets of passion, building and pulsing until it was impossible to hold back any further.

The lights that weaved the magic that sustained the dome erupted in a flash that matched the power of the climax within. The waves of pleasure could been seen as a swell rolling over the surface and heard as a crest breaking through the web.

It took a long time for the breathless aftershocks to subside.

"That was big magic, love."

"We impressed the ghosts I think."

"I'll be sad to leave this place, Will," Tara said.

"We'll be back," Willow promised.

And Tara knew. As certain as snowflakes finding the blanket of snow on the ground; as sure as the welcome from Morag Livingstone and their new friends; and as true as their love, they would come back to the Highlands.

They had roots there, now.

*****

The End

Author: watty (hiddenwatson[at]gmail[dot]com)
Started: 1 May 2007
Completed: 10 August 2007
Rating: PG-13
Summary: the sporting event is skiing, but there's a twist. It'll become clearer.
Notes: Garmisch is short for Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Germany. It is one of the destinations on the alpine skiing world cup competition calendar.
Notes 3: #4 in the Willtaralympics 2007: An RKT Sports Spectacular series.
Thanks: Cam for gallantly helping with reviewing; Car for her usual adorable self; Chris for the premier league graphics; the RKT group for teamwork and support.

*****

The faraway sounds of children's uninhibited laughter woke me up. I hadn't been sleeping well since the end of last season, and most days I woke up before the alarm. I turned in the direction of the bedroom window to try to feel the warmth of the early morning sun, but there was only the perpetual chill of the unrelenting darkness. Inside my imagination I colored our room in golds and pinks and gently shimmering light, before silently berating myself for allowing myself these indulgences. We had taken to sleeping with the curtains open, because once I mentioned how much I wanted to be woken up by the kiss of the sunlight on my skin. It must be hard for Will to sleep with the curtains open but she'd never say a word. I was sure she'd leave the windows open if I ever made an offhand remark about fresh morning breeze.

It's the small things you do for me.

A rustle of the bedclothes followed by a muted moan in response and for a moment I thought I'd said those words out loud. I continued staring in the direction of the window when a warm hand rested gingerly on my shoulder.

"What time is it?" It was the instinctive question of someone still half asleep. If she were fully awake she would have immediately started apologizing and babbling about her perceived insensitivity. I took a deep breath to clear those thoughts from my already cluttered brain.

I reached for the watch on my wrist and took the opportunity to switch off the alarm. "It's not even seven. Go back to sleep, baby," I said as I swung my legs down and rolled into a sitting position at the edge of the bed.

"You getting up?" I could hear the rising concern in her voice. It was the hesitation and how each word seemed to be accompanied by a frown.

I squeezed my eyes tight and opened them in the direction of the window. Nope, still cold and dark. "I think I'll go for a run," I said nonchalantly, already anticipating the response.

"Oh, okay. I'll get dressed." She struggled briefly against the tangled sheets and was about to pull herself up.

Like I said, I'd already anticipated this move and reached back to stop her. "Don't get up. I'll use the treadmill." I shuffled my feet on the floor till I found my slippers, stood up, took the necessary two steps and found the edge of the footboard.

"You sure?"

To the casual observer I was merely tracing my palm on the footboard while I made my way across the room. Four precise steps traversed the width of the bed, then five to the bathroom.

"Yeah," I mumbled.

"But you don't like the treadmill. Here, I'll get up and we'll go outside," she insisted.

I stopped at the bathroom threshold. My grip on the doorjamb was as tight as the clench of my jaw. "No. Really, Will, I'm good. It's only a run," I said slowly. You don't have to wait on me hand and foot. Did I say that out loud too?

I could sense her trying to bite her tongue at another round of "you sure's". When she didn't say anything further I stepped inside the bathroom and into the shower.

I turned the water on full blast, savoring the strong sensation on my skin that woke up my senses. Under the cascade of hot water I imagined myself floating on clouds, or running through rain. In my daydreams I was always by myself, I could take care of myself, needing no one to lead me. Part of me felt guilty at my selfishness, of excluding Willow from my fantasies. She didn't ask for this either.

"I want us to be equals, don't you see?"

I must have spoken out, loud enough for her to hear. "Are you okay?" she shouted from the bedroom.

"Yes." I sighed. Shaking myself back into reality I focused on blanking my mind on nothing but water, soap and the shower.

"Did you say something about seeing?"

I jumped and screeched at the proximity of her voice, from the other side of the shower screen. "No, I didn't say anything. Go back to bed, Will."

"Are you alright? You're acting ... weird," she asked out of concern.

I gripped the sponge until I'd squeezed all water out of it. "I'm fine. But if you ask me one more time if I'm alright I'm going to scream."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," she said in a very small voice. "Can I come in?"

Oh Christ.

"Actually I'm almost done. Since you seem to be up already why don't you get started on breakfast?" I said as calmly as I could.

"Oh. Okay." She retreated, taking with her the thickness of a thousand unsaid questions.

I was glad she couldn't see me. Even though my tears were indistinguishable from the stream of water under the shower my eyes would be puffy and red. "I'm scared too," I said to no one in particular.

*****

"It's not as bad as we thought."

"She's cleared to compete?"

"Yes, definitely. She qualifies for B1 now, and with her times she'll be one of the best in that class."

"If not the best."

"Giles, will she be ready for Garmisch?"

"Um well, three weeks. It's tough. Can't we aim for Aspen instead? We'll have an extra week, and naturally the home advantage."

"We need Tara back as soon as possible if we are to have a look into team gold this year."

I couldn't help but snort at the last comment. Look. Ha. Mentally I recited the definition of B1, the most severe of the three classes -- No light perception in either eye up to light perception, inability to recognize the shape of a hand at any distance or in any direction. Yep, that was me. Blind as a bat, only now legally which meant I qualified for social security disability benefits. My vision had started deteriorating since I was ten, and I had "progressed" from sporadic vision loss to failing color perception; to black spots that grew larger and larger until everything turned dark.

I had skied since I was three years old, and as soon as I was old enough I'd been selected for one US ski team or another. First the juniors, then when I was diagnosed they switched me to the Disabled team. Casual observers and people unfamiliar with the sport were often skeptical about how we could race our way down a steep ski slope safely. Truth was, with a good guide, a blind skier was just as good as a sighted one. And Willow and I were a very good team. I love the exhilaration of the wind in my hair and the freedom that came with speed. It meant though that my life was an eternal cycle of school, training, competition and endless hotel rooms. There were trophies a-plenty but I couldn't appreciate them, they sat inside a glass cabinet for other people to view.

I'd remained very quiet while the conversation continued as if I wasn't in the room, as I usually did. Between my coach Giles, my specialist Dr Rosenberg and US ski team manager Snyder my life was perfectly planned. Around what they wanted. I tried to remember if anyone had ever asked me what I wanted.

"Sunbathing in the Bahamas or sipping a morning cappuccino in Florence, thanks for showing an interest," I muttered.

Willow's hand landed protectively on mine immediately. "Are we doing this too soon?" she asked gently.

I shook my head. Physically I was in good shape, but mentally? I wasn't sure; and I wasn't sure if I was ready to talk to anyone about that. Including Willow. "No, I just need some motivation that's all. I'll be fine once I get to training camp."

"I'll ease you back into the routine slowly, let's not push your body too hard initially," Giles said. "We'll only do as much as you are ready for."

"As long as you're ready by Garmisch," Snyder added.

"No, I agree with Giles. We have to let the healing process run its course," Dr Rosenberg said.

"But the team championship!" Snyder pushed.

"Snyder, you may as well kiss your precious team gold goodbye if we push her into competition before she's 100% fit. If she gets injured again she'll be out for the rest of the season," Giles argued, with uncharacteristically harshness.

"She's not going to get injured again. That was a freak accident," Dr Rosenberg interrupted.

"We can't take that chance, Sheila," Giles said decisively.

Oh people, how little did you know. It wasn't my body that needed healing. The invisible scars had been there long before the accident.

There wasn't much else to discuss after that. Giles and Dr Rosenberg won this particular battle, but I knew Snyder wouldn't stop piling on the pressure. He had other ways of turning the screws and most of it involved control over my funding. Unlike tennis players or basketball stars, skiers weren't exactly swimming in sponsorship money. No, scrap that. The majority of disabled athletes struggled to make ends meet; depending on charity donations and what little funding we received from our governing bodies.

But if I wasn't doing this, I'd be a telemarketer for a long distance phone carrier. I should be grateful.

Willow took my hand and we were on our way out when Dr Rosenberg stopped us. "Tara, Willow, stay for a minute?"

Giles gave me a stiff hug and an encouraging squeeze on the arm. Snyder tried to take my hand but I pulled away, earning an indignant "humpf" from him. Little did I care.

"How are you two holding up?" Dr Rosenberg asked us after the two officials left.

"Pretty good. I never realized physiotherapy was so hard. Tara's doing so well," Willow answered.

"And Tara, have you talked to Dr Walsh?" Dr Rosenberg asked.

I shrugged. "A couple of times. I don't like her attitude. I have a physical disability, not a mental disorder," I said flatly.

"Maggie is too arrogant for her own good. I hate how Snyder insists on using her. How about another recommendation? I know someone from Stanford--"

"No, I'm fine. I'm all shrinked out," I smiled.

"Are you sure?"

God, when will all of you stop asking me that. "I'm sure."

She seemed to be satisfied, and didn't push. "Alright. So onto something more pleasant, when are you two coming for dinner? We missed you at Thanksgiving."

"Mom, we were kinda busy with all the hospital appointments," Willow said defensively.

"I know, that's what I told your father. But he wants to invite you to spend the holidays with us." Oh, my mother-in-law was smart, use the passive aggressive approach. She must have learned something from Maggie Walsh.

"Well..." I could hear the hesitation in Willow's voice. She wanted me to decide.

"If we're not training or at competition, we'll try our best," I said. Willow's relief was evident as she relaxed and let out the breath she probably didn't know she was holding.

"Great! It's decided. Your Aunt Marie has this wonderful blueberry blintz recipe, I'll get it from her."

"Mom, no fuss," Willow said.

"I want to do something special. Indulge me," Sheila said warmly.

It occurred to me that Willow would fuss just as much, if not more, under similar circumstances. Like mother, like daughter.

We said our goodbyes and headed home. Training wouldn't start till tomorrow.

*****

I pushed myself very hard to get ready for Garmisch. Inside every successful athlete was a relentless, stubborn, competitive streak that pushed us to our body's limit and then just one extra step I wanted to prove the doubters wrong. The more they expected me not to be ready, the more I was going to prove to them that I was. I was at the gym every day working on weights and circuit training; Giles put me through a strenuous round of coordination and cardio drills; at home I rode on the stationary bike whenever I could. My physical fitness was approaching its optimum peak. Technically, I was feeling sharp.

Blind skiers faced additional challenges obviously, because we couldn't see. That was where the sighted guide came in. In my case, Willow had been my guide since my first world championship-winning season and we had been top ranked for the last three seasons. She skied in front of me and we'd developed a simple system of verbal signals where she could let me know when to turn, when to expect a bump and when to simply pick up speed. I never had any problem hearing her given the adrenalin, the shouts from the crowd and the sounds of our skis cutting over the snow. Many teams used radio, but with us it was like we had this magic, intimate connection.

Or we did. My training times were dismal. At this rate, I'd barely make the qualifying criteria for the Beginner's race.

That was my last thought as there was a sickening clatter and I lost control of my skis. My legs gave way from underneath me and I hurtled uncontrollably in a storm of powder snow. I crashed into the side netting of the slope in a jumble of equipment and body parts. I yelled out in frustration as I tried to disentangle my skis and poles but they seemed to become even more meshed together. I tried lifting my downhill leg only to cry out in pain as it had twisted at an uncomfortable angle.

"Are you hurt? Don't move, I'll get you out," Willow's out-of-breath voice sounded behind me. I registered her presence, and heard other voices approaching the scene of my embarrassment.

"I need to get the stupid bindings off." I ignored her and continued my struggle with the equipment and the slimy netting.

"Tara, stop. You're getting yourself even more trapped. Let me help." She knelt beside me and released the skis. Vaguely I felt her hands on my legs trying to work them free. I was too worked up and it took me a few moments to stop my movements. "Are you hurt?" she asked again.

"Only my ego," I snorted. Ski accidents were notoriously unpredictable. You could break your neck with an innocuous fall into soft snow; or walk away unscathed from a horrendous-looking tumble. I could feel irritation surfacing. "Where the hell were you? I could hardly hear you. I need you to be telling me about these curves and bumps," I said angrily.

She had one hand on my thigh. Her grip tightened for a second before resuming to tear open the netting. "I was in front of you as usual. Gentle left turn into the chicane, you couldn't hear me?" she asked.

"No," I said shortly.

"I know I--" she started to protest.

"Well whatever you signaled didn't get through. It's me getting directions that is more important, and I didn't get proper directions no matter what you claim to have said or not said," I interrupted.

"Tara, I'm not accusing you of, of -- geez I don't want to get started on a game of 'I said you said'. Besides we've skied down this slope thousands of times," she said evenly.

"I see," I seethed. "I stumbled on a bump and almost twisted my leg for the fun of it. I need to be able to trust you, Will. I'm struggling to get my time down, I need you to be at the top of your game too."

I felt, then heard her stiff breath. "This isn't about bumps or curves, is it? You're good enough a skier to handle undulations in the terrain," she sounded irritated. Then she continued quietly. "Do you want another guide?"

"No! I do not want another guide. Why do you think I even thought about getting another guide? Ridiculous," I huffed.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," she muttered.

"For fuck's sake Will, stop this. It takes too long to develop any sort of rapport with a new guide. We're a team; we're registered as a team; we compete as a team. That's it."

"So if it was possible you'd want a new guide, is that what you're saying?"

"I'm not saying anything! Stop putting words in my mouth. Do you want to stop being my guide?

I wanted to lash out. At Willow. At Giles. At anyone. Someone was to blame for me being so out of form. Willow was right, I should be able to do this with my eyes closed even if I weren't blind. I wasn't feeling the snow. It was hard to describe, but to me skiing was letting the snow and the mountain be my guide. It felt like I was being passed from snowflake to snowflake -- instinctively I knew the best route. It felt like floating. But lately, instead of letting the elements glide me downhill, I was using brute force and powering through. It jarred.

She said nothing. From the faint tremors of her fingers I knew she was being bombarded my emotions and close to tears.

I didn't want to break the heavy silence.

She finally got my legs out of the netting. I scooted back until I found a comfortable sitting position. I knew I needed her help to find my skis and poles; and then to put my skis back on. There was so much I took for granted that Willow would do for me.

"Do you want me to talk to Snyder or Giles?" she asked softly as she tapped my knees to get into the correct position to snap the skis on. She was hurt. Even in my self-absorbed, frustrated state of mind, I knew I was being unfair to Willow. She stood by my side as both my team-mate and my lover, it was hard on her too; and no one asked her if she was alright, if she was tired of me.

"No," I found her shoulder and squeezed apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm being an ass. I don't want another guide." Or another person in my heart.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm sorry," I repeated.

She traced a finger gently along my cheek. I shivered at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. "We need to get you back on track."

"I don't know what's wrong. I'm four seconds out, it's disgraceful," I sighed.

"If you're not ready, you're not ready. Snyder and the others will need to live with it," she tried to console me.

"I don't know how more ready I can be. I'm fitter than before the accident," I said.

"Is your heart in it?" she asked suddenly.

My instinctive answer was an angry one. How dare she question my commitment, my drive? The retort hovered at the tip of my tongue, then I swallowed it. Was I ready mentally? I thought I was but perhaps I over-estimated myself. Maybe I should turn the question around and ask her.

I was saved from further self-reflection by the arrival of other helpers. In the ensuing round of endless reassurances that I wasn't hurt and a stream of people asking about my well-being, I didn't get a chance to talk to Willow, and the moment passed.

*****

I crouched on the floor in the corner behind the armchair. There was enough room if I scrunched and brought my knees up so they rested under my chin.

I didn't know how long I had been there.

The front door slammed and hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, hitting the kitchen first, then storming closer.

"Tara? Where are you, baby?"

I held my breath and made myself into a smaller ball.

I heard her move away, then the air in front of me changed. I let slip a breathy whimper.

The armchair shifted imperceptibly when she squatted down. I turned away.

Even though she tried to remain motionless I could sense her, smell her shampoo and hear her breathing. But I gave no indication or acknowledgment of her presence. I started counting; one, two, three.

"What's wrong?" she finally said.

Twenty-three.

"Tara, talk to me please," she pleaded.

Twenty-six. "Did Giles call you?"

"Yes. You didn't show up for training and he tried calling your cell--"

"I switched it off," I said shortly.

"Why? You got me so worried! I thought you'd been hurt again, I couldn't drive home fast enough."

"You. It's all about you. All of you -- Giles, Snyder, your mom, you. Has anyone BOTHERED to think about me?" I was so close to tears the last few words were stuttered out. It was the last straw, the culmination of a lifetime of frustration and immense pressure. Of having to behave in a certain way; of never being completely independent; of not having control over my own future.

"Move your left arm a bit," she grunted as she tried to squeeze into the already tight space.

"What are you doing?" I asked incredulously. Nevertheless I moved my arm and the only place to put it ended up around her shoulders. For her part she had to almost sit on top of me, sprawling across me with her face resting just over my collarbone.

"Well, were you gonna come out from your hiding place?" she asked.

"No," I admitted.

"So I'm here and now that we're literally joined at the hips you have no choice but to talk to me," she paused. "Talk to me please, baby? Something's bothering you."

"So I blew off one training session. I shaved over one second off my time since last week; I deserve a break. Giles is such a worry-fart sometimes," I started.

"Beeeeeep. I'm sorry Ms Maclay, one bonus point for inventing the term 'worry-fart' but the answer is incorrect. Please try again," she said in her best game-show host voice. She continued softly, "Remember I know you, and you said it yourself: we're a team. How many guides did you go through before you found me?"

"I can't even remember some of their names. All I know is everything clicked the minute you said hi," I smiled thinly as memories came rushing back.

I could feel her smile on my skin. "I had an advantage then. I couldn't take my eyes off you the minute I walked into that room. I was so scared of the adults noticing and kicking me out cuz I was ogling you like a crazed nun."

"Crazed nun?" I smiled back. God she felt so good.

"Well okay, not nun cuz you know, Jewish. And ewww. You know what I mean. I was sixteen and full of hormones! And don't get started with that Ms Manners act, missy. It didn't take you that long either. Who kissed who first, mm?"

"It was our first world cup win. I blame it on the adrenalin," I said mock-righteously.

She harrumphed. "The first peck was adrenalin but not once it escalated. Not the whole three-minute performance, with no sound but photographers clicking their hearts out and everyone's jaw dropping on the floor."

"My god, we were a scandal, weren't we. How many magazine covers did we make? Made a lot of editors happy."

"Giles has all of them in his scrapbook. We looked at it the other day, while you were... were in hospital. I never realized the Newsweek cover caught Giles looking like a funny shade of beetroot, you should have seen it--" she gasped as she stopped herself abruptly. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"Shh, shh. Don't censor yourself. I won't have you watching over every word you say in case it offends me; I definitely don't want you pussyfooting around me the way you have. That's why we've been so out of sorts lately." I felt still and calm. Having Willow so close, feeling the ups and downs of her breathing, it was the closest we'd been for a while. One of the reasons we were such a successful team was because we were almost telepathic. But since the accident, our timing was shot and we were constantly out of sync.

She turned quiet, busy in her own thoughts. "You looked so tiny, so fragile. You had tubes all over you and I had nightmares about you shrinking away. It's all my fault," she said, in her faraway guilty voice.

I wanted to smack her and envelope her in a bear hug at the same time. "It was a drunk driver who ran a red-light. None of it is your fault." I made do with tightening my hold on her.

"I was the one driving. Some part of me will always blame me. If I could have swerved a little more to the left, or hit the brakes sooner," she trailed off into a soundless sob.

"Will, listen to me. It was an accident, there was nothing you could have done. Without you by my side, I wouldn't have recovered so quickly. You know that don't you? I know you've been overcompensating; now throw all that guilt away." I said the truth.

"I was afraid you'd leave me. That you wouldn't need me anymore. That first you'd have me replaced as your guide. Then you--you'd find someone else," she sobbed.

I felt so small. That I've led her to think the unthinkable. "Hey, we're a team. No, we're more than that. I'll always need you. I can't imagine life without you. I'm sorry I've been a bitca lately. I've been too focused on myself, I'm not so good with the ..." I wagged my finger back and forth between us.

She must have looked puzzled. "Stirring things up?"

"Communication. Telling you how I feel; talking to you instead of letting things fester."

"I love you, Tara." That was all I needed to hear from her.

We felt something that had been awry slot back into place. The emptiness, the jarring, the fear of fading away ... they began to dissipate with one kiss. Then another, and when I opened my mouth to let her exploring tongue inside, it was like the rush of warmth filling a chasm.

We were still in that tight little space behind the armchair, and I desperately wanted to reach under her clothes to start my own exploration. It took some strategic maneuvering, and I almost reached my target when she squirmed and stopped me.

"What?" I had the sense to protest rather than to try another way.

"You think you can kiss me senseless and I'll forget the reason why we're cooped here in this corner? Now spill. What's bugging you?"

I knew her. She wouldn't accept any explanation but the truth. I had been bottling it up for too long already. I wasn't ready to tell her last week when we started training, but I had to let it out eventually.

I swallowed hard. "I can't see."

Her stumped silence told me that she did not expect that statement. I could almost hear her brain whirling through the different responses. From the obvious "but that's nothing new" to the caring "I'll do anything to make it better".

"I don't know what to say," she said eventually.

"I'm blind, of course I can't see. But now I've lost the little peripheral vision I had, I feel so disconnected," I tried to explain. "I'll never see leaves falling on the ground, or ice cream melting in the sun. And your face. I'm so scared, Will. What if I forget how you look?"

Before the accident I could make out general shapes and colors if they were close enough and in a particular spot. I knew that it was always a risk, that my sight would become worse as I grow older, but I was able to ignore those dark thoughts. The accident changed everything in a split second. I should hate that driver, but I hadn't even bothered to find out his name.

"I don't think you'll forget me that easily. If you start forgetting how I look, I'll show you in more ways that you can imagine. When you scream my name, it's my image that will be imprinted in your brain," she said determinedly.

Oh, at that moment I could believe her.

"I hate being in B1," I swallowed and continued.

"Because you have no real competition in that class?" she asked as she got it immediately.

I nodded. "It's like giving a grad student a 12th grade math test. I feel like I'm getting a free pass that I don't want. Which in turns makes me lazy and arrogant. Hence the sucky training times."

"All champions need to have arrogance, otherwise they'd never get where they are. You'll win this year's world cup by the biggest margin ever. And next year we'll set about seeing if you can be classed as B2."

"You make it sound so easy," I said. Competing against athletes with better sight than me without the handicap adjustment, that would be a challenge. It was unprecedented, but we'd done a lot of unprecedented things in our career.

"You and I need to communicate better too. I can't help but think all these -- the accident, us drifting apart, you not finding your balance -- are connected. You know, like every thread in the universe is connected. And when one gets broken all the other strands try to keep everything in balance but ends up straining themselves. You get what I'm saying?" she explained.

And there in that moment she hit the truth right where it counted -- the effort to deal with everything all at once meant nothing was properly addressed.

In other words, we were both trying too hard.

I should have talked to her earlier. I'd missed her quick brain, how much she cared about me and most of all her unfailing optimism. She was more than just the person who told me to turn left and right, she was my senses, my conduit with the outside world. Other teams had perfect communication, but Willow and I had a deeper bond. Now that we found it again, there was no way on earth that I would let it slip.

Cementing the bond took more than words. We didn't need to say anything, because she knew and I knew that our commitment to each other was forever. After we extracted ourselves from our spot I took her into the bedroom and we were not shy about showing how much.

Giles called a few times that day, but all he got was our voicemail.

*****

"You want to what?" Willow yelled over the biting wind.

"Walk the course again," I yelled back.

"There's a snowstorm coming in, the race is suspended. They want us inside, Tara." She grabbed my hand and tried to lead us in the direction of our dormitory.

"Please, Will, one more time. I want the course etched in my mind," I pleaded.

We were in Garmisch. It would be a clichéd, overly dramatic fairy tale if I were to say that spending a day and a night making love with Willow was like feeding me Popeye-brand spinach and I returned to the slopes immediately the next day acing every event. Ha! I could even imagine the sweeping music and a cartoon Tara rising like a Phoenix from a pit of fiery chains holding me back. No, in reality re-connecting with Willow was a catalyst. One burden shed, a weight lifted -- whatever the metaphor it was a boost but it was hard training that mattered. Two days before we were due to fly out to Germany, my team had a meeting and agreed that I should go. This time, I was the one who was the most vocal about it.

I competed in all four events -- downhill, super G, giant slalom and slalom. Five first places were up for grabs -- one for each event and one for the overall event. Each event required different abilities, ranging from flat out speed in the downhill to technical agility in the slalom.

I took a big risk in the first downhill run, deciding to take the fastest, and steepest, line. My constant shouts of "faster! faster!" pushed even Willow, herself an accomplished competitive skier, to her limits. Most people imagined the communication between a skier and her guide to be one way, with the guide shouting directions such as "left" or "stop". A truly effective team worked together, with the skier telling the guide when to speed up or slow down.

I knew I had to set a good time; partially for my self-confidence but mostly motivated by wanting to throw down the gauntlet. I almost fell several times during that breakneck run, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to recover. I led the field by 39 seconds going into the second run.

My second run was less smooth, and I was less kamikaze knowing that all I needed was to finish with a decent time. My closest rival, a B2 skier from Canada, managed to close the time gap but was not fast enough to beat my combined time. I was jubilant as they announced that I had won the downhill event.

One down, four to go.

The super G was the Canadian skier's best event, so it came as no surprise when she won it. What was disappointing was that she edged me out of the lead in the overall points position. She held that lead after the giant slalom; although I won that event it was only by a few tenths of a second and not enough to overtake her in the overall leaders board.

This is the big one.

Each event took place over a day, so when we went to bed I was hyped up in anticipation of the slalom. I fully utilized Willow's numeric skills, asking her to run multiple models of finishing times -- mine as well as the top five racers. In slalom skiing, racers were often separated by a few tenths of a second: there was no room for error. One thing was clear, from her calculations, even with my B1 adjustment I still had to win the slalom outright to take the overall event.

Pumped up on adrenalin, I tossed and turned in our bed. After our first world cup win and the Newsweek cover there was no doubt that Will and I were a couple. That had never caused any problems with the ski federation or with other competitors. Perhaps it was solidarity between minorities; many if not all the disabled athletes had been on the receiving end of some form of discrimination and went out of their way to not be bigots.

I woke up early the morning before the race and turned in the direction of the window in my eternal quest for sunlight. It wasn't to be, but I focused my mind -- there was work to be done. We showered and quickly made our way to the equipment room. Our skis had to be sharpened and waxed before every race. Like most racers I insisted in waxing them myself.

The race was scheduled in the afternoon. Mid-morning was the official inspection. When it was our turn we snow-plowed through the gates very slowly, memorizing the layout and peculiarities of the course.

We were just about to start the second round of inspections when the blizzard hit. The officials herded us inside with ruthless efficiency and announced that the race was suspended. Some of the racers camped out at the cafeteria; others returned to their dormitories to rest.

There was an evaluation after lunch and it was announced that conditions were too unstable for further competition that day. The slalom was rescheduled for the next morning. If the storm persisted the race would be canceled and the results after three races would be final.

That was bad news for Team Maclay. If the slalom was canceled I would be stuck at second place overall. With my absence from the circuit after the accident, it would be harder and harder for me to catch up.

I need the storm to pass.

I'd sat in our room for hours, getting increasingly angsty. Finally I snapped. I tore out of our room, stopping just long enough to grab my jacket, and stomped resolutely in the direction of the course. I had a general idea of where it was but I knew I wouldn't get too far before Willow caught me. And that was where we were now, standing at the foot of the mountain that held my fate.

"Please, Will, one more time. I want the course etched in my mind," I pleaded.

She stopped in her tracks. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes I'm sure," I affirmed.

"You know my toes are frozen and I can hardly see with the snow falling into my eyes," she said.

"But you'll come with me anyway," I grinned.

"The hell I'm gonna let you go out there on your own," she was grinning back. I didn't need to see her to know. "Come on."

We trudged up the soft snow, thankful that the course was on the lower slopes. We were pretty exhausted when we reached the starting gate, and had to stop for a breather.

"Giles will have a fit," I commented.

"Not to mention the IBSA, knowing that we're out here doing recon without one of the judges present. They probably think we're out here to sabotage the course," she added.

"Like what? Move the poles so it confuses the other teams? The race will be declared void faster than you can say après ski party. What motivation would I have?" I snorted.

"You know that's not how they think. Remember, it's a federation that has rules numbered like 1402.8.2."

"Straight after your own heart, Ms I-have-a-spreadsheet-that-catalogs-everything-I-own?"

She playfully punched me on the arm. "And who used those kickass spreadsheet skills to help a very persuasive ski racer work out that she needs to post a time faster than 2:33:48 to win?"

I threw my hands up in mock surrender. "I give up! You can magic number me anytime."

"I most certainly can." She tilted my chin for a soft kiss. "Let's map this winning course of yours."

*****

Are you ready?

I heard the question in my dreams all night. If the demons were expecting to disorientate me they were mistaken. I woke up with steel in my heart, I didn't even stop to look for the light of the sun. Unless there was a miracle cure I wasn't ever going to see sunrises or sunsets. It was time to stop searching for the impossible and go after something that was possible.

Yes I am, you bastards.

"I've heard you scream profanities in the privacy of our bedroom that would make Cartman blush, but you've never called me a bastard before," Willow's voice broke into my pensive brooding.

"What? Oh. I was just talking to myself," I said off-handedly.

She placed a gloved hand on mine. "Nervous?"

I swallowed. "A little," I said.

"Would it worry you if I said I was too?" she confessed.

"No, I wouldn't expect it any other way," I actually felt re-assured that she was nervous too. Strange how emotions work.

"I'll be with you all the way, don't forget that," she said stoutly.

I smiled gratefully. "I know. Thank you, my love."

"Okay, our turn," she returned to her official guide voice. "Three side steps up, then the Starter will take your hand. Oh, here comes Giles."

I caught the faint whiff of Giles' aftershave as he hurried up. "Everything ready?" he asked.

I had no hesitation in answering. "Yes. Ready." I held out one gloved fist.

"Good. Then see you at the finish. Good luck." His fist touched mine in a salute.

The starter official called out my name. We stepped forward and spent a few seconds confirming our identity, listening to the inevitable rules and having our equipment checked. We both had to wear regulation-approved helmets and as a B1 racer I wore blacked-out goggles (to totally ensure that I couldn't see and 'earning' my adjustment points). Willow, as a guide, wore a fluorescent green bib with a large black "G" printed on both sides. I asked once if it bothered her, to be wearing it; her answer warmed my heart: "I feel privileged, to be honest."

Willow guided me to the middle of the track behind the start gate and I shuffled until my shin guards touched the metallic needle. Standing behind me she took my left arm and pointed it at my initial racing line. We brought my ski pole down until it rested on the snow, still pointing along the racing line. I turned my head to face directly where my arm was pointing. After fixing my starting position I remained motionless, waiting for the starter bell.

Willow didn't go through the start gate, taking her position a few feet downhill from me. She would take over directional duties once I started but the first steps out of the gate made a huge impact on how the race would flow.

I took several deep breaths to clear my mind. I shifted until I was completely relaxed, rocking my skis back and forth to balance myself.

The bell rang.

A loud cheer went up through the crowds as I pushed out of the gate. As I experienced the initial drop I felt a blast of adrenalin rushing through my body; I wouldn't deny that I looked forward to this rush every time I competed. It was ... arousing.

I turned my skis in the direction I was pointing, and in no time at all I was at the first gate. I kept upright, and tried to keep my upper body still. Most of the work would be done by my hips and legs. It was the most difficult discipline for a blind skier because of the quick directional change.

I negotiated gate after gate, whacking the poles out of my path with my boots or arms. The plastic poles, although flexible, were hard and when they landed on a body part that wasn't protected by padding it hurt. But I didn't feel anything.

I'm flowing.

I found my rhythm and the rhythm overwhelmed all other sensations; I lost awareness and the only sensation was cutting through the snow in slow motion. The whoosh of the poles snapping next to my head, my skis skimming the surface of the snow, the sizzle of the air as I sliced through combined to send waves of vibration through me.

I'm floating.

With the course layout deeply imprinted in my mind, I only vaguely acknowledged Willow's directions. I carved through the turns with a clean action, as if on autopilot, knowing when to turn, when to skid and when a gate was coming up.

I'm feeling the snow.

I felt an effortless merging of action and my awareness. I was in complete control and yet I couldn't control it. I let go, and let whatever part of myself -- mind, spirit or body -- take over.

And then, I started enjoying it. I gradually heard shouts from the spectators, who always liked to punctuate their cries of encouragement with the distinctive ring of cowbells. Above that explosive maelström of noise, I could hear Willow distinctively. Instead of our usual simple signal system, her "come on Tara, follow me" whispered like a tendril inside my head.

Then I sailed through the final gate and assumed a tuck position for the final few meters' run to the finish line. I didn't remember stopping, but I must have in a flurry of snow. I didn't need to check the time, nor did I need a second run. I knew I'd done it. The overall win was mine. There were tears and laughter and hugs and joy and then Willow's lips found mine.

The End

Started: 12 October 2006
Completed: 22 October 2006
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Master Willow / Earth / Days of Innocence version of the Wishverse. Early days of the truce between White Hats and Black Hats. Three slayers, two watchers, one Master, a full helping of vampires.
Notes: Third story of Sing a Song of Chrismas series. The only requirments were to write around a Christmas/Holiday song and to mention snow somewhere.
Thanks: all the members of the RKT group, for friendship and support. Debra for another seasonal gift of semi-colons.

*****

It's a time for giving, a time for getting
A time for forgiving and for forgetting
Christmas is love. Christmas is peace
A time for hating and fighting to cease

The Order of Aurelius was an ancient lineage of vampires, marked by their power, discipline, and brutality. Thus anyone foolish enough to be wandering around the corridors of Sunnydale High on yule-eve would be surprised to find two of the Order's strongest sons struggling to juggle cardboard boxes overflowing with fairy lights, candles, tinsel, ornaments, a huge tea chest full of fake snow, and ... a giant inflatable Santa with painted-on fangs and fake blood dripping down his chin.

"I've killed slayers, terrorized whole villages, and turned more virgins than the population of Cyprus. This is a waste of my talents," the platinum-blonde vampire known as Spike complained while sucking on a half-smoked cigarette.

"Yeah, and I swore I'd never come back here unless it was to suck Snyder dry," his companion, an open-faced vampire who still went by his human name of Xander Harris, replied. Open-faced, until one looked upon the deep chill of his eyes, when even the most courageous human would look away.

Xander led the way into the gym, kicking open the door with his heavy boot. Inside was a flurry of activity, enough that the loud bang made by the door hitting the wall went largely unnoticed.

The two vampires carelessly dumped their load at the side of a make-shift stage against other boxes haphazardly littered around the area, spilling a few glass ornaments which broke and showered the hardwood floor with tiny broken pieces. Neither made any effort to do anything about the mess.

A slim hand reached down to brush the shards of glass into a pile, using an upturned rose as broom.

"Naughty boys! You mixed up all the ingredients! How can Miss Edith make pudding with no ingredients?" a thin female vampire in a flowing red chiffon dress shrieked.

"I'll get you some more, Dru," Spike drawled.

"But Miss Edith needs pudding now," Dru pouted.

"Miss Edith needs to go on a diet," Xander sneered. "With all the crap that you feed her, she can wait a few hours or so while my brother and I take a break. We'll bring you some more baubles later."

"But Master said --"

"I know what Master said," Xander snapped. "We're just gonna do a run through town, then we'll bring you lots of pretty shiny toys, I promise. Lots."

"Or she'll forget about it in two minutes," Spike murmured under his breath.

Xander rolled his eyes as he looked around the gym. Human, vampires, and demons alike were huddled in small groups, busy with their assigned tasks. It was totally unnatural, in his opinion.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

*****

"Trying to save lives," Giles the senior watcher said, his weary eyes not leaving the trio of dangerous vampires across the gym.

"You and Wesley play politics all you want; why involve us in this -- what is this?" his senior slayer asked, flicking an errant piece of bright pink wrapping paper away with the back of her hand. Buffy was watching the group just as closely as her watcher, her whole posture a picture of alertness as her eyes darted around the room at the various groups of demons. Her back was against the wall and she had almost all the windows and doors within her line of vision.

"A suckfest is what this is," Faith the second slayer interjected. "It's enough that we can't stake vamps anymore, but to have a -- what are we having?"

"I think it's a good idea," slayer #3 said. Kendra was supposed to be Buffy's successor and therefore #2; but her serious and studious nature was overwhelmed by Faith's bluster and she wisely decided to stay low profile. "Reminds me of that time when the Germans and English played soccer and sang carols. World War One?"

"You're absolutely right, Kendra! I didn't think of that connection, now I know the truce is going to work out," Giles enthused. "They called it the Christmas Truce; may be we'll call ours the Sunnydale Peace. We're making history."

"Oh great. We have mafia vampires and you two are talking about making it into the history hall of fame. This is stupid, Giles. They're animals, how can we expect them to have sense and follow rules? You're gonna get innocent people killed. It only takes one weak vamp," Buffy spat.

"The Master has them very well controlled," Giles argued. "I don't care how he does it as long as the vampire population keeps humans off their menu."

"I'm with Buff. Slayers slay, not wrap presents," Faith added her voice of dissent, disgust clearly written on her face. "Though, getting a decent meal out of this deal is five-by-five in my books. Talking about menus, what's there to eat?"

*****

"Buffy."

"No fucking way. You got the hots for that one? You're delusional," Xander did a double take at Spike's declaration. "She'll have you staked if you even looked at her twice."

Spike sneered. "I've had two slayers. I will have my third. You're just jealous."

"Oh suuuure. Get over yourself, Spike-y Boy," Xander retorted. Yet could not help but leer at the slayers with undisguised lust. "There're other slayers to go around. Take Faith for example; no woman should be allowed to have that much skin on display."

"Don't let all that skin dupe you, she's Ms Psycho Slayer, not Blondie over there," Spike nodded at Buffy, who was scowling at being buried in wrapping paper. He sniggered and lit another cigarette. "So, I get Buffy and you get Faith; who gets Ms Tightarse?"

"Willow. She'll have my skin if I said this to her face, but Will used to be a straight-A student. She and Number Three have more in common than she'll admit," Xander revealed conspirationally.

"So where the hell is Willow? We never see her anymore. If I didn't know better, I say she's been playing with some toy she's hiding from us," Spike commented.

Xander shrugged. He should be bothered that Willow no longer came to him, but the Master kept his lieutenants more than adequately entertained, so he wasn't complaining. Commitment and companionship meant little to vampires.

The object of their discussion chose that moment to walk in through the swing doors of the gym. Her slim, powerful form wrapped in a translucent red silk shirt and tight, smooth leather pants was attractive enough. But it was her presence that silenced the large room, that made everyone pause at what they were doing and wordlessly acknowledge her entrance.

Xander had teasing words about Kendra at the tip of his tongue ready to greet Willow. He blinked when she strode purposefully not toward him, but headed in a beeline toward the gaggle of unfriendly slayers lounging around their watcher.

"Is she out of her mind?"

*****

"I must be losing my mind because I smell something putrid," Buffy sniffed loudly, her mouth turned down in distaste. "I think we have dead meat around here."

She had deliberately turned away when Willow entered, and observed the redheaded vampire through the corner of her eyes. Faith sniggered at her exaggerated putdown of her former best friend and now mortal enemy.

Willow ignored Buffy and her sidekicks. A few weeks ago she would have caught the taunt straight between her teeth and torpedoed it back at the three stooges, as she privately called the slayer group. A few weeks ago she was a dumb smart vampire with a cruel streak who didn't care if she got dusted or not. A few weeks ago the Master had summoned her and Xander, ordering them to accompany him to an important meeting with the watchers.

A meeting when she first laid eyes on the newest White Hat.

She could sense the aura of hostility from the slayers. At least from Buffy and Faith. Kendra, as usual, was trying to be as neutral as a slayer could be.

She affected her most Bored Now expression and addressed Giles directly. "I'm supposed to help with decorations, or something equally stupid. For this, party that everyone seems to be having."

"Oh, Tara's in charge of decorations," Wesley eagerly provided the required information.

Giles frowned at him and Willow slowly turned to regard him with narrowed green eyes that were coldly dismissive. He visibly gulped.

"Where?" she asked quietly, exchanging a brief look with Giles.

"She said something about needing more poinsettias." Giles' smile was so faint that only the very perceptive would have noticed it.

Willow didn't bother thanking him. She turned and swept out without a second glance.

"Interesting." At the other side of the gym, Spike took one last drag of his cigarette and stamped it out with his boot.

*****

"I don't understand the fascination with poinsettias for Christmas, some indigenous people call them excrement flowers. Totally unsuitable for the festivities," Willow's quiet voice came from behind the collection of pine trees at the flower shop. "You should use your budget for mistletoes; they're much more hardy."

"All green and no red? Leaves but no flowers? Why are you so obsessed with mistletoes anyway?" Tara felt like she should jump for joy when she heard that voice. She settled for a private smile hidden beneath her curtain of hair.

"You know why," Willow said as she emerged from her hiding place. "I'm obsessed with kissing you."

Tara looked up and their eyes met. "You're here."

Willow half-smirked. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I didn't know how to get in touch with you; I had to resort to code. I knew you'd figure it out," Tara's voice cracked thickly with a mix of emotions -- relief, anxiety, need.

"I miss you," Willow said simply as she took the one step that brought them face to face.

Tara didn't need to answer. She looked around the shop and, finding no one paying attention to them, leaned into Willow's embrace as they shared a brief but intense kiss. There was a sigh, a breath, but she wasn't sure if it was from her, or Willow, or them.

Willow took Tara's hand in hers, and Tara felt Willow's fingers warming at her touch. "So, you think I should get mistletoes and only mistletoes?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna hang them up all over the ceiling and I'm gonna make you walk under every single one so I can kiss you. Methodically. And when we run out, we'd go back to the first one and start again." Willow's eyes sparkled wickedly at the thought.

Tara laughed. "What about the others? Unless they want to walk around the gym like it's an obstacle course they'll have to do the same. I think the sight of Mr Giles kissing Dru will make anyone want to heave."

Willow made a sour face. "Ewww. Do you know what's more disturbing? Xander and Wesley," she smirked.

"Or the ultimate horror, Spike and Buffy," Tara added.

"Oh that one is pure evil," Willow mock-shuddered, and considered how she just used 'evil' as a frivolous term. She was supposed to be a fiendish vampire, senior in the Aurelius hierarchy. Yet she was frolicking with a human girl in a flower shop -- a human who fraternized with slayers and watchers, no less. It was surreal. But strangely, the only real thing in her unlife.

She smiled as Tara's attention was caught by a lavish flower arrangement, and how the blonde dragged them both toward it with a yelp of delight. The indulgent sigh from Tara as she leaned into the bouquets and took in the scent caused tiny ripples of warmth and pleasure to spread throughout Willow. Willow didn't have much of a sense of smell anymore but the sight of Tara's exhilaration was enough for her to wish she could have it back.

She had not regretted being Turned. Willow the anxious teen genius was an embarrassment and she couldn't imagine not being who she was now. But there were occasions -- and all of those occasions were Tara-related -- that she briefly wondered how it would be like if they were both humans. She scowled inwardly and shook away the thought.

"What's brewing in that mind of yours?" Tara's soft voice whispering into her ear jolted her out of her reverie.

Willow took the deep breath that she didn't need. "Just thinking.”

"Share?" Tara hadn't moved, keeping her head close to Willow's, her warm breath on Willow's neck sending "yummy" and "just wanna sigh now" signals to the vampire's brain.

It took Willow a moment to answer. "Tonight, at the gathering. I want to kiss you. There, right in the middle of the gym, I want all of Sunnydale to know how much I want you."

Tara stiffened, her breathing involuntarily stopped for a second and her grip on Willow's hand tightened. "But, we can't. What about your Master; he'll have you dusted."

"I can handle him." Willow understood Tara's need for reassurance and pulled her closer.

"Will, he's 400 years old; you're only a few months old. Don’t underestimate him," Tara warned.

"Are you…" Willow considered her next question carefully. "Are you... ashamed of being with me?"

If it was possible, Tara stiffened even more. "No! I'm not ashamed, nor is it fear of what other people think of us. It has everything to do with what they'll do. Let's say your Master is benevolent for a change; I can't see the slayers allowing it. Buffy's gonna freak."

"Giles knows."

Tara stopped in her tracks. "How? Will, I never --"

"No, no, love. It wasn't you. You talk about the Master being wily but Giles, he's a fox under those tweeds; he just knew." Willow silenced Tara's panicked expression with a wave of her hand. "He hasn't said anything to you?"

Tara shook her head.

"I think we're naïve if we think we have his blessing," Willow continued. "He'll never give it. But if he was concerned for a minute, he would have warned or even stopped you from seeing me."

Tara was lost in thought for a minute. "Why hasn't he said anything? You're right, as a watcher he should be concerned that I'm not under your thrall or something."

Willow shrugged. She never had the inclination to try to analyze other people's thoughts or actions. Not her vampire self anyway. "I'll never hurt you, you know that, don't you?" She reached up and traced one finger slowly along Tara's jawline, relieved to feel Tara relax at her touch.

Their eyes locked and the look that passed between them was one of profound understanding that did not need to be verbalized.

*****

Giles remembered prom before Sunnydale became a warzone. Boys and girls clung to opposite sides of the gym, shyly eyeing each other, waiting for someone to make the first move. Feet shuffled on the polished hardwood floor, hands jammed deeply into pockets, elbows urgently nudging each other.

It was just like that, he mused. Only now instead of boys and girls, it was humans and demons. The air was charged with hostility, not anticipation. The neutral territory that was the middle of the gym seemed more like No Man's Land than a dance area.

It was so quiet, he could hear himself breathe.

He cleared his throat.

A hundred eyes turned to him in unison, and he physically staggered under the weight of the glares. Blue, green, hazel, brown and yellow. Accusatory, indifferent, expectant. He felt like a powerful giant and a vulnerable ant at the same time.

"The Master and I have agreed. To break the impassé, we need to stop fighting each other and try to co-exist in a civilized manner. There is no reason why we can't, provided all groups agree to certain conditions. You all know what they are. And to kick-off what the history books will surely refer to as the Sunnydale Peace, tonight is an opportunity for all of us to relax, without fear of retribution." He knew he sounded like a headmaster telling gang kids to stop fighting and stay off drugs, but that was the best he could do. What else could he have done?

"For anything we do?" Oh, there would always be a smartass, wouldn't there?

"Stay within the rules, Spike," Giles answered wearily.

"So if I grabbed blondie slayer over there," Spike leered at Buffy, who fumed. "And sucked on her, I won't get 'retributed'?"

"You'd get staked," Buffy barked. "Slowly. So you feel every prick, you prick."

"I didn't say which part I'd be sucking on did I?" Spike smiled dirtily.

Kendra held onto Buffy's elbow tightly just as the senior slayer was about to explode. The vampires snickered and continued to bait the White Hats, who glowered and bristled but chose to dismiss the jibes.

"That wasn't a very good opening speech," Giles muttered to himself as he stepped off the podium and took a large cupful of punch from the table, discreetly adding a large measure of whisky from his hip flask. Dull the senses, that was his only option.

In the end, it took Clem inviting Miss Calendar for a smart foxtrot to break the ice. The temperature in the room thawed a little, but the atmosphere never got beyond tepid acquiescence all night.

*****

"How much wine have you had already?"

Tara almost dropped her glass at the quiet voice just behind her. She was getting better at sensing, but not every time. "You're sneaking up on me," she whispered.

Willow wrapped one arm around Tara's waist and inhaled deeply, craving the giddiness that always accompanied Tara's proximity. "Why are you drinking so much?"

Tara's hand shook and she closed her eyes for a second before answering. "I'm nervous," she admitted.

"Because of what we talked about earlier?" Willow pulled Tara closer but didn't feel Tara relaxing.

"Yes. I can't help feeling like there's a big spotlight on us. I know that I can handle the looks and tongue-wagging that will be directed at me. But I worry about what will happen to you. I can't lose you, not now." She felt Willow's arms pull her closer, but not even the comforting presence of her lover or the alcohol in her system could calm her. She was strong inside; she knew that. It took an inordinate amount of calmness and courage to confront Willow that day, outside the Bronze. But there was the perpetual fear -- her vampire was so powerful, yet so vulnerable because of that power.

"Master won't do anything, he needs to show commitment to this farce of a truce that he and Giles dreamt up. Giles said--"

"You talked to Giles?"

"Yes, a fat lot of good that was. He told me to do what I think is right. His mind's too full of his precious Sunnydale Peace. I think the pressure is getting to him, did you see his favorite hip flask is almost empty? We're barely started into the evening."

"Everyone's on edge; this is so new to all of us."

"I'm not scared of anything, as long as I have you."

Tara felt the strength of Willow's conviction go through her. Willow's standing in the Order might even improve if it became known that she had taken ownership of a human -- Tara had only recently started reading about the vampires' concept of pets and possessions but she had an intrinsic understanding of that concept. She also knew that once Buffy and Faith had finished yelling at her, she would argue that Willow could become their link to the Master's inner circle. Strategically, their relationship couldn't have come at a more perfect time.

It didn't help her nerves though. Tara hated bringing attention to herself; and there they were, about to make a huge statement in public.

But not before she completed the little ritual that she found in that dusty volume in Jenny's bookshelf. It was not magic, but the resultant emotions, when performed with the right person, was described as magical.

"Will, I-i need to show you something," Tara turned in Willow's arms and looked at her lover directly and openly. "After this, there's no going back for either of us. I want to give you this. It's very important to me."

Willow could be very still when she was intense. Tara had never seen her so deathly still. She didn't have to say another word, Willow knew.

Another step. Things between them were about to change again.

At Willow's imperceptible nod, Tara brought one finger up to her vampire's face and caressed those lips open, gently tracing it over the sharp fangs.

The morph was over in one blink. Yellow demon eyes looked at Tara for the heartbeat that was needed to puncture her finger, then they were green again.

One drop of her blood into the wine. The bite was so shallow that the skin closed after giving up one precious drop. The color of the liquid did not change, though a small plume of white steam mushroomed from the bottom of the glass and flowed across the surface of the liquid before dissipating.

It was.

Tara offered it first to Willow, who sipped silently and had to suppress a moan as the familiar taste of Tara's blood slid from her tongue to her throat and warmed her body.

Willow turned the glass around and offered it back to Tara. Tara couldn't taste the blood in the wine, but she could taste the offering.

They smiled, and understood.

*****

They danced with each other all night. At first they were just two bodies in the sparse throng of dancers huddled in the center of the dance floor. But as the night wore on and they showed no sign of leaving the other, faint mumblings could be heard in both camps.

They didn't care. And continued with the dancing, and the touching, and the comfort of each other.

"Will you come home with me tonight?" Tara asked, sometime during the evening.

"Do you want me to?"

Tara looked around, at Giles and at the slayers, who looked as tense as ever. Then she looked at the Master holding court and Dru spinning around the room with Spike in tow.

And under the mistletoe, the aftertaste of the blood wine fresh on their lips, she kissed Willow.

*****

The End

Started: 13 May 2006
Completed: 30 June 2006
Rating: R
Summary: You two make a great team {*Yes we do.*}
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*}
Notes: twop-styled recap of Giles' Angels by tarawhipped, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. Cam for the angelic laughs and desires. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. And finally, to Carleen for unleashing the sap in me and getting me addicted to fluffy romance novels.

It's the end of another series. I'm getting teary. {*HA!*} And I pride myself on never getting teary. Not even watching Terms of Endearment, or Bambi or even "Love means never having to say you're sorry." And I notice all the wrong things in movies, like how nice the flooring is, or whether they're using a mac, or I obsess about the laundry bill for people with blood splattered all over their clothes. I'm not cold-hearted, I'm just too well insulated. Yes, I need to take an emotional risk, but I don't have the necessary emotional muscles. Okay, I'm getting too tear-jerky and obscure {*Getting?*}, this is supposed to be a comedy. Get the laugh track out.

We're in the House of Angelic Desires. {* **Looks around** We are?*} No, it's not a candy store. Nor a affiliate of www.XXXPressToys.com (warning: link is NSFW, small children and Alex). Hmm, I wonder why Good Vibrations doesn't franchise? If Subway and 7-Eleven can be franchised, why not an adult store? Oh, talking about adult stores, the first time I came across the term "Jiffy-Lube" I did a double-take and thought it was a competitor for K-Y Jelly. Hee, I'm twelve. Talking more about adult stores, I'm so excited that I visited GayMart and bought a rainbow keyring. It was a hoot! {*But note she didn't talk about her excursion in Batteries Not Included.*} (watty: perhaps I'm waiting for the more extensive second round visit? You *are* taking me there again aren't you :P)

Okay, you know that when you play peek-a-boo with kids and have to pretend that you can't see them even if they're right in front of your eyes? {*Yeah...that's annoying.*} You also know those people who work in the FBI or CIA or something and take care to never have their photo taken? Even at occasions like weddings and baptisms? Well Giles is trying to be all cool invisible spy guy but ends up looking like the silly kid. He hides behind furniture on the pretext of looking for his tea cozy, how lame. {*So is his tea cozy...or should that be "limp"?*}

And who is he hiding from? {*The peek-a-boo kids?*} The Trio of Babes, that's who. Not to be konfused with the Three Witches from Macbeth, not hard to do since they don't say "double double toil and trouble." {* :wtf? *} The House of Angelic Desires is a cauldron-free zone! There's a perky blonde, a rude blonde and a redhead. Hmmm, no fair. We're missing the representative from the Kingdom of Brunette. Not to mention Spiky Green and Sinéad O'Connor's shiny bald head. {*You've suddenly turned into Equality-girl?*} How can two out of three babes be blonde? {*Genetics?*} Something unequal is going on. Quick! We must get the Hair Rights Campaign on the clip right away, mustn't brush the time away. {*Would anyone like to join me in a groan?*}

But something more serious is afoot. The trio is about to be broken up. There is a collective sigh of disappointment that permeates to even this side of the screen. Somewhere in Darkest Peru, a cuddly bear is getting ready to slip into his wellies. He adjusts his HRC hat (can't wait to get my hands on mine LOL), hides his HRC Field Inspector badge in a secret compartment in his duffle coat and silently utters his "hair equality is a reality" chant before setting off to ensure the new babe is a brunette. [*I don't know what to say. I should be used to you going off on tangents, but ... Darkest Peru? Hair Rights Campaign? That's not a tangent, we're talking parsecs here. what am I supposed to do with you, watty? -- Sars*] {*Felt more like a cosine than a tangent.*}

Anya, the rude blonde, tells the despondent group not to worry. Because she, Anya, has secured the services of a new babe. And she, Anya, must be worshipped beyond eternity. For that alone, she, Anya, will be remembered as the one who brought in Tara, the newest babe. {*Well, I guess there are worse things to be remembered for...like passing on genital warts or something.*}

Ha! Looks like Inspector Paddington from the HRC is too late. {*Is he pregnant?*} Xandersley ushers in the new babe and my jaws drop at the sight of ... another blonde. Anya introduces Tara and I silently wish that Inspector Paddington never completes his righteous journey from Darkest Peru to Sunny California. Even though I'm so gonna be kicked out of the HRC for saying this ... I want Tara. {*Who doesn't?*} *pause* Um, I mean I want Tara ... to stay.

Tara comes into the room and smiles sweetly at everyone. She reserves her sweetest smile for Willow, causing the redhead to almost drop her drink. Luckily for the vodka, she recovers enough to greet what is obviously her newest object of desire. They exchange some talk about science, smartness and siblings. {*Smart chicks are hot!*} (watty: Yes they are!) Heh, I made an alliteration. Go, me. {*You're so easily amused.*}

While Willow and Tara are establishing first contact, Anya and Buffy are establishing another type of contact ... that of fisticuffs to settle an altercation of who is the prettiest Angel. Sigh. Does it really matter? Who bloody cares? When they get older and they're selling their last pearl earring to finance one more botox injection, does it matter who is prettier? You can't eat beauty you know. {*Um...did you leave that comment hanging there just hoping I would jump on it? Cuz I certainly can think of a few beauties I could eat...or would like to, at least.*}

Anya finally disengages with Buffy, just as Willow and Tara are about to become more engaged. She throws a set of car keys at Tara, and we just know that she's passing ownership of a very cool vehicle to Tara. How? By the way the keys sail through the air of course. There's a study, by an organization whose name I've forgotten [*Thank god -- Sars*] that the way that keys spin and move through air is directly proportional to the degree of desirability of the make of the car it belongs to. {*Yes, the study was commonly known as D.O.R.K. -- Dynamics of Rotating Keys. :eyebrow *} [*I need a drink, make that an even dozen -- Sars*]

So Anya leaves and two new people come into the House of Angelic Desires. A gaunt man with permanent sneer walks in with a pretty young lady with brown eyes, brown hair and brown skin. Oh phew, we have our brunette quota. What's more, it's the Everpresent Cecile of Many Talents!!!! Smooch! Tara goes ga-ga at the sight of Cecile. {*Wouldn't you? :drool *} I quickly think I need to revise my opinion of her, just one moment ago she's bonding with Willow and now she's fawning over Cecile. This will not do. Tara expositions{* **rolls eyes** *} that Cecile is the champion of some golf tournament held in Palm Springs. Must be important and prestigious, because hey, Palm Springs not Idaho Springs. She and Tara bond over golf. Willow pouts. {*But she's so cute when she pouts!*}

Gaunt Man with Permanent Sneer is Ethan Rayne, Cecile's manager. As far as sneers go, his is quite nasty, though nothing like Severus Snape's sneer. Boo to Snape! (But yay Alan Rickman!) I know he's supposed to be a good guy but every time I see him I want to wipe his face with sandpaper. How people can write Harry/Snape slash is completely beyond my ken. Eeeep, that is OT to the extremis. {*Um...yeah...it is. On watty's behalf, I would just like to say, "Sorry Cam!"*} NotQuiteSnape says that they are at the House of Angelic Desires because they desire protection for Ms Cecile. They have been receiving nasty death threats but don't want to go to the police, which is why they're at the House of Angel. Oooops, they have the wrong Angel(s). {*How could they have wanted broody over beautiful? I mean, REALLY!*} It's a case of mistaken identity and abject embarrassment. NotQuiteSnape turns to leave but Cecile stops him. See how smart she is? She sees it right away. Why would they want the Irish Poofter's ministers of grace when they have three yummilicious babes. {*Um, yeah...my point exactly.*}

Oh my. Remember how Willow did her pouty mcpout act when Cecil was bonding with Tara? Now Cecile is flirting with her and it's Tara's turn to pout. It's Pout City all round. {*Pouting is precious. Now I'm the one with the alliterations!*}

*****

It's one hour later. {* **looks at watch** It is? *} They've been busy. {*Too bad they weren't getting busy!*} And this is where I think this program has more in common with cartoons, in the "as if by magic" aspect. {*Are they doing spells yet?*} During that one hour, they gather all sorts of information about Cecile (rich philanthropic amateur), the tournament (miniature golf! snerk), possible suspects (a hottie called Faith and a "has-been before she has ever been" called Amy) and put together a snappy slideshow. Man, don't tell my boss they can do all that in an hour. {*I'd be happy to figure out how activate a schedule host for 7-11 in under 3 days! And, no, you're not supposed to know what that means. Obviously, I don't know what it means either...but they're still paying me.*}

Giles also has arranged for the babes to become Babes in Short Skirts Wielding Sexy Clubs. {*Try saying that 5 times really fast.*} Buffy takes on the disguise of a non-English speaking player so she is almost invisible and can observe people make fools of themselves. Willow and Tara, on the other hand, get to share a suite while Xandersley gets to keep an eye on NotQuiteSnape. I know who comes out of this arrangement with the best assignment. {*As long as they come, it's all good. Though, Cam didn't quite provide us with that much detail, did she? :happy *}

We at the Sunnydale Resort Hotel. {* **Looks around** We are? *} Palm Springs it is not. Down there in the underground carpark, the Lovely Love-Angels duo of Willow and Tara have verbal sex over hot cars. Which is the next best thing to having physical touching sex over hot cars. Hot cars are hot. {*Especially when it's 98 degrees outside and the car isn't parked in the shade and the seats are leather and...oh, wait...that's not the kind of hot you're talking about, huh?*} The talk of fast and curves gets heavy and they head up to their suite to continue.

Buffy, now firmly non-English speaking {*Has she ever spoken English?*}, enters her room and meets her room mate Faith. She keeps saying "Ja, Ja." to the extent that Faith starts calling her Yaya. Snigger. Faith gets pissy and calls a Dick to complain that she don't want no roomie. During the convo, I'm sure she calls Dick a dick, but I'm too busy trying to be like Buffy and not laugh my ass off.

Meanwhile, the Lovely Love-Angels discover they have the honeymoon suite. {*Does it have a cheesy heart-shaped bed...that vibrates?*} They decide very wisely and to the delight of the entire viewing public, that they may as well do the honeymooners thing. Like, couple-y stuff. Like kissing. Like having physical touching sex. I'm glued to my seat. I wonder if Alex is squriming in his seat.

But they are interrupted by the Goddess of Bad Timing, aka Everpresent Cecile. Jeez!!!!! {*I thought Buffy was the Patron Saint of Bad Timing.*} I'm so ready to whack Cecile with her sand wedge right now. {*Don't use the sand wedge! Use the driver...it's heavier.*} Oblivious to the evil stares that the entire viewing public is shooting at her, she skips into the suite and helps herself to the complimentary fruit basket. I feel the need to rant on something to distract myself from the coitus interruptus. Why do hotels think that flowers, chocolate on the bedstand and fruit are things that make me feel welcome when I stay at their establishment? {*Cuz they think you're sweet and fruity? Maybe they think you're a gay man.*} The flowers are always sad and wilting; the chocolate is one measly Ferrero Rocher and the fruit never gets changed. What I want in a hotel room -- free wifi, bouncy bed and a desk that faces the TV instead of the wall next to it. {*Free wifi...okay, I can see that. TV that can be seen from the desk...yep, good idea. But why would you be missing a bouncy bed? [/snerk]*} (watty: ) They have their guests' priorities all wrong. All wrong, I say.

In the honeymoon suite there's a lot of suggestive eating going on. {* :thud *} Tara is sucking on a bunch of grapes and Willow has ripe peach juice running down her chin. They're enjoying their fruit a tad too much. Hee. Cecile too, she's enjoying the spectacle a tad to much, judging by the wide smirk on her face.

Back at the no-English spoken corner, Faith has dragged Buffy to the sauna. Buffy is holding onto the towel wrapped around her tiny body, no doubt cursing all deities in heaven how unfair it is that it is Faith who has the bod that turns heads. {*Yes, yes she does.*} Her face is twisted in a grimace that falls somewhere between constipation and outrage, as she continues to try to pretend that she doesn't understand Faith's suggestive remarks. {*Between constipation and a grimace, huh? I know some people who look like that all the time.*}

Cut to the Lovely Love-Angels playing with metal implements and hard knobbly balls. {*Okay, that's just wrong on so many levels. **uses a brillo pad to remove the mental image** *} Or rather, Tara and Cecile are playing while Willow sulks and paces just outside the playing area. Turns out that she's being childish and refusing to play, all because she can't get over a silly mechanical-horse arm-biting experience when she was four. The things you remember when you're four. Tara of course doesn't think it's silly and banishes all nasty horse biting thoughts out of Willow's mind by showing her how to play using the always successful Full Body Contact tuition method. She may as well have walked up to Willow, took her clothes off and made with the grinding, such is the ecstatic look that is on Willow's face when her fellow Lovely Love-Angel spoons her from behind. {*I'd have that look on my face too! Of course, I would have taken off my own clothes and done a little grinding.*} She hits a hole-in-one and yes, I got the "hole" innuendo tyvm.

I'm checking out the amazing Fuzzy Zoeller hole in one video when we hear a sickening crack and the blades on the windmill (why must there always be a windmill hole on a miniature golf course?) {*Maybe Putt-Putt was invented by the Dutch? If the Italians had invented it, there would have been a giant canoli.*} go on hyperdrive, the whole structure starts to topple and fall towards Cecile. Our Lovely Love-Angels come to the rescue and Tara tackles Cecile to the ground. She ends up on top of the brunette in a rather compromising position. {*Much to Cecile's infinite joy.*} I can't see Willow's expression but I'm thinking it's not very friendly.

Cut to minor distraction as we now see Xandersley-in-drag encountering NotQuiteSnape. I'm having a love/hate relationship with the fast cutting of this episode. The Sneery one takes one look at the bosom of Xandersley and tries the most oily pick up line ever -- it's not the words, it's the tone. {*Is that anything like "it's not the heat, it's the humidity"?*} He really must be blind or desperate to be picking up Xandersley, who looks nothing like a broad. [*You used "broad" again! -- Sars*] When asked, he stammers that his drag-queen name is Alexa Xanadu. {* **sings** "You have to believe we are magic / Nothin' can stand in our way"*} I can't believe he forgot to think of a disguise name before trying to bait NotQuiteSnape. Disguise names are so easy, just open up the phone book and point randomly. Or use any of the plethora of online random name generators. I tried out "Alex Xandersley" on the Drag Queen Name Generator and I got "Pussy Golitely". *giggles*

Ahem.

From pussy galore action to hot steamy ... lack of action. We're with Faith and Buffy. {* **Looks around** We are?*} Faith's non-stop litany of lewd comments finally gets to Buffy. She drops her "ja, ja" sisterhood act and shouts at Faith. Faith's first reaction is that Buffy is with a gossip mag. As if, Faithy. What a big head you have, Faithy. {*Faithy has big...other things too. :drool *} Buffy tells Faithy that she is no longer prime suspect on the account that she is too much of a deluxe cleavage-y slut bomb to be prime anything. {*Um...did Buffy really say that? What story was I reading?*} Well except being primed and ready to take part in the next friendly neighborhood orgy. {*Oh! Can I come? Erm...go...uh...be there? Oh hell!*}

When they take a break from yelling at each other, they discover that the handle of the sauna door has come off and they're stuck inside. Shit, they're going to be roasted! steamed! par-boiled! You can roast, steam or par-boil potatoes but not humans. Gives new meaning to the Finnish saying, if vodka, tar and sauna don't help, the disease leads to death. Time to start panicking, ladies. {*The Queen of Hyperbole has returned. All Hail!*}

Quick cut to the Lovely Love-Angels, who finally caught on that Buffy is missing. They change out of golfing gear into snooping gear. Do they give each other a quick grope? I want to know. {*Who doesn't?*} Damn those producers. Willow does a MacGyver impression and picks a lock using a foil gum wrapper and Tara's hair pin, stopping to caress Tara's hair of course. They find themselves in the swimming pool and ... c'mon producers, you're soooo predictable! Hot babes, imminent danger, wet swimsuits, you couldn't resist, could you? {*Are you complaining?*}

And thus, with the lamest of excuses, the Lovely Love-Angels find themselves wet all over. {*There's never a lame excuse for getting wet.*} Meanwhile, we're treated to some very convenient villain expositioning. {*Why do villians always get caught monologuing? I mean, really...does every bad guy have to be that stupid?*} But of course the villain is NotQuiteSnape; he's in collusion [*not in bed? -- Sars*] with none other than Amy Madison, the disposable has-been. They reveal that their objective is to get rid of Cecile and Faith so Amy can win the tournament. They were behind the attack of the twirling windmill; and had poisoned the bananas in the fruit basket. Snerk, how little they know about their target -- Cecile is most certainly not a banana girl. {* **whew** Glad of that!*}

And here comes lame excuse #2. The Lovely Love-Angels, who have been in the pool listening to the convo, make a noise and alert the baddies. Did I already mention how cartoon-like this show is? {*That's why it ROCKS!*} The villains search for the source of the sound, which absolutely force them, against their wishes, to kiss and kiss and kiss. I always wonder why baddies always overlook people who are engaged in the smooching, is that something they forgot to learn at villain school? They know all about the necessary exposition, the torturing the good guys for lengthy periods of time to build suspense, bookending commercials with cliffhangers, and hiring the most stupid but largest goons. But missing in the curriculum are spotting the good guys and successfully hitting the good guys at point blank range. {*Wow. Note to self...don't piss watty off.*}

The villains, having filled us in on their nefarious plan, depart obligingly stage left. The Lovely Love-Angels want nothing more than to continue their smooching, but reluctantly agree that they need to rescue Buffy and Faith before they, you know, die. Because then they will be so racked with guilt that they can't bear to smooch anymore. And that will be a bad thing. There's this tiny bit of suspense but I think the producers aren't even trying; but of course they make it in time. This is a comedy, not a body-count fest. {*In the right context, a body-count fest could be fun. Especially if I got to count these bodies.*}

*****

It's an hour later {* **Looks at watch** It is?*} and we move to the epilogue-y part of the show. Sniff. I know it's coming to an end and I start to get nostalgic. You're watching a show that you'd like not to end; and unless it's Wagner's Ring Cycle or the Children's Network's annual charity telethon broadcast, you know that it's likely to end after a pre-determined time. Even reading a book, you can't help but notice the dwindling of pages remaining. Basically, there is no way of denying or preventing this from ending, so I take a deep breath and bravely continue. {* **coughdramaqueencough** *}

NotQuiteSnape tries to escape, but has to admit defeat in the face of Buffy's superior driving abilities.

Amy is comprehended by the Lovely Love-Angels {*So, you're saying that Willow and Tara understand Amy?*} (watty: embarrassed now. It should be "Amy is apprehended by ..." :paranoid ) after a little fight on the golf course in which Willow deftly avoids the deadly swing of the Madison putter. Never underestimate the power of the humble putter as a murder weapon. Oh, I came across a golf murder mystery book called appropriately, "Deadly Divots", how clichéd. {*But I'll bet it's really good. Imagine the things they could do with a 9-iron.*}

All in all, a job well done. Cecile thinks so too, and has a large fruit basket delivered to the House of Angelic Delights in gratitude. {*Blissfully banana free.*} This gives the Lovely Love-Angels another opportunity to indulge in the art of flirting by fruit. What a couple. What a tale. What a series. Thanks for reading. {*All Hail the Queen of the Anti-climactic ending!*}

Producer: Cameron of the Gay

Started: 6 May 2006
Completed: 24 June 2006
Rating: R
Summary: (I forgot the summary)
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*}
Notes: twop-styled recap of Futurtara: An Anthology of Interests by Chris Cook & SallyMcFine, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. Chris and Sally for the anthological interests. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. Speedballs for allowing the air to circulate. And the statue in front of Car's house for the spiritual guidance.

First of all, did I put in enough disclaimers or what? I diligently googled (actually I wikipedia'ed and amazon'ed) for the production and distribution companies of each show. Some of the names of production companies crack me up. Randomly clicking on the imdb page on production companies give me: Scribble Bibble Productions, Hormone Showbiz, P45 Films (it's a universal concept but you have to be British to appreciate why the P45 is not a good thing). Oh, there is also Kitten in the Oven Productions, Kittenpants Productions and Kittyboy Creations Inc. Hee.

Futurtara

We're in Year 3000, give and take a few years. What's one year compared with three thousand? Insignificant. Really? Incidentally, Our head of financial control once wrote in an email: $140k less $42k = $100k. I was almost tempted to write back to tell him it's $98k. I mean, if we were talking $140m less $42m = $100m, we're $2 million off, which is spare change I will gladly take off anyone's hands. Anyway, I didn't write back to him, I kinda need my job still.

I'm off topic even before I started. Is that a record?

We're at the main room of the Planet Express Delivery Company. {* **looks around** We are?*} Professor Giles bursts in and instructs Willow and Tara to fetch the others because he has an important announcement. Problem is, Willow and Tara are not in the room, only Slacker!Buffy, who snarks that he needs to get new eyes so he doesn't mistaken her for Willow or Tara. He's saved from further Buffysnark by the arrival of his incompetent personal doctor, who promptly declares that he's having a heart attack. Dr Clemberg is so incompetent that no one bats an eyelid at his misdiagnosis; he tells Giles to be moderate in everything. Heh, some things in life, you just can't be moderate no matter how hard you try.

Kendra enters and says something I don't understand. {*Um watty, pot vs kettle?*} BenderSpike follows and he starts complaining about Willow and Tara. What? *indignant* No one is allowed to say anything bad about Willow and Tara. They're Willow and Tara. Besides, why is he complaining that he hears them having sex all the time? Isn't it something that people secretly like to hear? Oh wait, he's not a "people" he's a robot. Willow switches his volume off using a nifty knob thingy but he keeps on talking, only on mute. Heehee, he has no idea people can't hear him! He can't complain. One of my favorite lines from the Empire Strikes Back is when C3PO can't stop talking and Han tells Leia, "shut him up or shut him down!" Spike should compare notes with Threepio about which is better, being on mute or completely turned off. Can I add volume knobs on everyone around me? Especially the geezer on the bus who talks to himself and scratches places that should not be scratched in public?

Back to ProfGiles, who proudly announces that he has invented a What-If Machine. A pregnant pause from the group greets this particular announcement. Oh well, time to go off on a tangent again. Why "pregnant" pause? It must be the whole "expecting" metaphor. And if the wiki dictionary definition is correct, the pause at the Planet Express isn't pregnant, since nothing significant happens next, apart from Tara deadpanning that ProfGiles already invented the What-If Machine. Last year. Oh my.

ProfGiles doesn't let a small detail like that deter him and proceeds to demonstrate how to use the machine. First he powers it up, filling it with much needed fuel -- a cup of tea. Because tea is the answer to life, the universe and everything. [*I thought it's 42 -- Sars*] In fact, in Year 3000 coffeeteas have taken over from mice and dolphins as guardians of Deep Thought and default rulers of the universe. Furthermore, they have developed a method of harnessing the potential energy in a good cup of tea to use as fuel, using the highly sophisticated research technique known as Out of Tune Humming (have you heard the whistle of a teapot? It's nothing except out of tune.)

It's Kendra who makes the "what-if" statement, and I only know what she's saying because I have close captioning. I read on my screen: "what if you were on some remote island somewhere?"

*****

Fantasy Island

Shot of an island. A cloudless sky, clear blue water, white sandy beaches. In other words, some kind of paradise. One part of me thinks it's the beginning of the Blue Lagoon; the other thinks it's gonna be the Island of DEATH. The peace is broken by the steady roar of an approaching Cessna. "Roar" might be a little optimistic, it's more like a sickly cough followed by a whine and a spit.

Cut to BossGiles, in an outrageously bright white suit (did he use up the planet's supply of bleach?) peering into the sky. Next to him is his sidekick, Xander Tattoo, who for some reason is kneeling on the ground. Does he think he can see the plane better from a position nearer the ground? That doesn't make sense. BossGiles doesn't think so either and tells him so.

Three passengers disembark from the tiny plane. Has anyone tried standing next to a 747-400 when it takes off? [*When it takes off it's moving at 180mph, you can't stand next to it, you'll have to be running very fast to keep up -- Sars*] To imagine 400+ tons hurtling down a runway and then actually being lifted into the air. Thousands of planes does this everyday, we should pause and think about how amazing this is.

But with the tiny, sorry-looking Cessna, I'm hard pressed to find any sense of wonderment. The passengers it disgorges seem to think so too. A bottle blonde with a decent enough rack takes one look at the surroundings and her nose wrinkles as if there is an unpleasant smell. She looks down at the still kneeling form of Xander Tattoo and a thinly disguised look of amusement crosses her face. Xander falls over himself (well, as much as one can fall over while kneeling) and fawns himself all over her. We learn that her name is Ms Jenkins.

The second passenger to emerge is a short guy with dyed spiky hair. There's a kind of anarchistic, primitive look about him. He is introduced as Mr Osbourne. I hope he isn't another one of Ozzy's offsprings, I think the world has had enough of Jack and Kelly.

There is a pause before the last passenger gingerly makes her way out, looking very green and not like someone going on a vacation in paradise. Flight didn't agree with her obviously. BossGiles greets her as Ms Rosenberg and offers her a glass of ginger ale. Does he know something about Ms Rosenberg that we don't? I think I'm being overdramatic. Even in her sickly state she makes a snarky comment about BossGiles' far too bright white suit. Hee. She thanks him for the ginger ale and he confirms that her purpose of visiting Fantasy Island is to fall in love. Well not looking this green she isn't, since green doesn't exactly give out "I'm available" vibes, though that didn't stop Fiyero from being inexplicably drawn to Elphaba. mmmWicked.

BossGiles seems to have decided to give Ms Rosenberg his attention, since Xander is busy schmoozing Ms Jenkins and Mr Osbourne seems to have disappeared. While walking her to her cabin, he discreetly puts a love spell on her. Oh! He's not BossGiles, he's the Wizard of Giles. Yay! Willow, that's Ms Rosenberg, doesn't notice that a white magic mist has settled on her shoulders. If I'm watching say, the Twilight Zone, I'll be chilled to the bone about this ghostly mist. But hey, this is Fantasy Island, it's forever cheerful and cheesy and now I feel bad for even suggesting something so creepy.

~~~~~

Giles is now back to BossGiles mode. He's in the kitchen dishing out his weekly lecture to his staff about how to behave around the guests. Most importantly, staff and guests are strictly forbidden to get chummy with each other. Never mix business with pleasure, that's what he wrote in the staff handbook. I really think he hasn't had any other experience running resorts, because surely he knows that there is an understanding, even expectation, that resort staff are available 24/7 to cater for their guests' every whim? *wink* I mean, if they're only supposed to be there to clean or serve food, then there is no need to hire ones as good-looking at this group, nor is there a need to uniform them in short shorts and tight t-shirts, is there?

Talking about good-looking, please turn your attention to the head chef who is busy adding herbs and spices to tonight's dinner. What's this about hot chefs? It used to be when you talk about tv chefs (um characters who are chefs not "celebrity" chefs), the likes of Artie and Spongebob Squarepants come to mind. And of course Chef. You know? Chef. Chocolate Salty Balls? That Chef? Sigh, no one understands me. *pouts* This chef is different. She's hot.

Whaddaya know, Giles' creepy White Mist of Doom settles on her. Well, not so much doom, since we decided this is Fantasy Island, not Twilight Zone. White Mist of Lust then, better?

~~~~~

True to his word, the Wizard of Giles sets Willow up with various potential "fall in love" candidates. It's a hilarious sequence of her going on different dates, I almost think the director should have used the split screen method. First up is Ozzy Junior, complete with heavy metal t-shirt and raw meat-eating table manners. I was right about him being a primitive! Willow is disgusted, but is saved by an angel in chef's uniform. Chef Tara to the rescue! Go Chef Tara!

Next up is stuffyboots Wesley, with some sort of impressive double-barrelled surname. [*[i]I know a few double-barreled surnames. Wan-Ker, Pin-Head, Jack-Ass[/i] -- Sars*] Overattentive seems to be his middle name as he positively stifles Willow, making all her decisions for her, to her annoyance. Yes, I can see the light situated behind him shining through his empty brain. He expresses surprise that Willow, a vegetarian, doesn't like tofu. What's the problem with that, I'm a meat eater and I don't like pork, though I like tofu. Especially tofu ice cream, yum. Hey now, wipe that "ewwww" look off your face, tofu ice cream is just another type of soy ice cream that vegans and lactose-intolerant folks enjoy. The "ewwww" look on Willow's face when she looks at Wesley though, that's priceless. And what-ho! Saved by the Belle. Belle, who goes by the name of Tara normally, offers up the scrumptious sounding portabello mushroom quesadilla and Willow looks like she's so ready to eat ... the quesadilla! Mind outta gutter please.

Third time lucky may be. Yeah right. Her third date is just as disastrous as the last two. It's Gunn the Mechanic and he can't stop yakking about jacks and shocks. I can just hear Willow's inner monologue:

And her fairy godmother Tara shows up, as if by magic, to offer her coffee. And a way out. What does the ungrateful one do? She leaves and hastily returns to her room, narrowly missing Tara's look of rejection and disappointment. Drat, why hasn't the White Mist of Lust started working its mojo yet?

Back in her room, Willow realizes she is the tool. So she makes amends by calling room service. Ah, it's room service, catering for guests' needs 24/7. This time, the WMoL goes its thing; Tara answers the phone and purrs that she'll deliver the requested pot of coffee personally. Okay, rant. What are the chances of the head chef of an upmarket resort answering the room service phone? Zilch. Zippo. Nada. Diddly-squat. It's the same thing as the Head of IT not having to run the daily server backup routine, it's too much of a waste of their time and salary. I do declare that it's the WMoL finally getting off its ass [*It's a mystical cloud, where is its ass situated exactly? -- Sars*].

Oh yeah, between the Chef talk and Tara serving Willow coffee (I wonder if she served Willow anything else?), I decided to make my own South Park Willow and Tara, together with coffee and tropical drink.

~~~~~

It's the end of the week. The guests climb onboard the Cessna with smug grins on their faces, obviously so satisfied that they forget they're getting on such a contraption. Giles is in a quandary though, he hasn't seen Ms Rosenberg despite all the men he threw her way. He is a man who doesn't know failure and he's pissed off at the ineptness of his spells. Problem with spells, unlike the towels Car's mom bought for me (not that I'll want to return them. Yay for sales!), spells are non-returnable and non-refundable. I guess the purveyors of spells had better lawyers to come up with iron-tight non-return policies.

Willow bounces up to Giles and grins. Giles apologizes, but stops short of offering her a refund (he has the same lawyers as the purveyors of spells?). She does a double-take and tells him that duh, he's a dolt and of course she's in love.

Aaaaaand it's the chef! No fraternizing with the staff indeed. Snerk. They thank him for the Love Potion Number 9, and furthermore, Willow is staying. They're turning Fantasy Island to a lesbian resort. Oooooh! Look out Lesbos, you have competition now!

And we have blipvert to ...

*****

Futurtara

Back at Planet Express the pervs are happy about what they just saw. Except Spike, who is complaining again about Willow and Tara being in love. They gang up on him and asks what his problem is.

He snorts and attempts to asks the What-If machine what the sitch is if Willow and Tara aren't in love. If the machine has eyes, it'll surely glare at him. As such, it splutters and asks, in its unique way, for another cup of tea. After Giles obliges it activates its Infinite Improbability Drive and gives us ...

*****

Willzilla and Queen Tarah

Oh my. It's Japanese giant monster cartoon time. My initial distaste that it's dubbed rather than subtitled turns to mild excitement as Willzilla makes her grand entrance. Smash! Bang! Wallop! She sets fire to a ship in the most spectacular manner and attacks anything and everything in sight. Nothing is safe from her destruction. Boy, Willzilla a one badass, foul mood bitca, she must get PMS real bad. I bet she has hormonal problems. She needs to get the Advanced Low Sex Drive (Libido) Hormone Test Kit, an "accurate, quick and easy saliva home hormone test" that includes a free 10-minute phone consultation with a compounding pharmacist. Okay, what's a "compounding" pharmacist? Someone who isn't a simple pharmacist?

Scene fades to the anime version of the Specialfriends, aka the Willzilla Combat Task Force headquarters, where our intrepid heroes Buffy and Xander are watching the spectacle unfold on specially designed anti-Willzilla screens. Willzilla continues her rampage through the city, stopping only to use a bus as back-scratcher [*at least be grateful she isn't using it as a toe scratcher -- Sars*] and a lattice dome as a bowling ball which she aims expertly at office blocks masquerading as bowling pins.

"She must be stopped!" General Buffy proclaims. She orders her sidekick, Xander, to bring out the Serious Hardware. Well it must be either Xander's or Buffy's bad luck this week, because the Serious Hardware is stuck in the Serious Laundry, getting Serious Attention. So, they have nothing. Woe betide, it's the end of the world as we know it! How can anyone say they feel fine? [*Michael Stipe? -- Sars*]

Amidst the handwringing and minor panic brewing, in swoops Crazy!Drusilla, in her full lacy glory. Her contribution towards the battle Willzilla defense? A proposal to merge an ugly-as-ass lizard with a cute-as-ass kitten and a foul-as-ass fruitbat to give a giant monster-fighting ... giant monster. Only a true wacko, in the best Michael Jackson tradition, can think of blending such a concoction. Buffy and Xander, with no other alternative, give Dru the go ahead. They leave her to it while they quietly slip out of the building, just to show her how much support they are willing to give her.

A deep boom signals that the merge has happened. Oh, the building blows up too, so that's kind of a sign. The Amazing Queen Tarah emerges and I can't decide if I'm awestruck or grossed out. The magnificnent three-headed, golden scaled, winged giant creature shakes herself out of the rubble and head towards Willzilla.

The unsuspecting Willzilla is busy playing with toys. Heh, she's like a kid in a toy shop [*how did we get from hormonal PMSing bitca to kid in toy store? -- Sars*], ripping out chunks of road and swinging it around like a two iron, aiming cars and trucks at non-existent bunkers and greens in the distance. Look out, Tiger! The Amazing Queen Tarah unceremoniously interrupts the driving range practice, crashing Willzilla into a shopping mall and flying away to assess the damage.

Willzilla is pissed. She scrambles up and taunts Queen Tarah. They circle quietly, eyeing each other, fingers twitching, waiting for an offguard moment. :tumble Queen Tarah makes her move first, but Willzilla is more than a match for her. Lightning bolts, radioactive rays, lots of noise and smoke accompany each move. It's riveting. And reminds me of ... inflatable sumo suit fighting. What? You know I'm weird.

As quick as it begins, the fighting stops. The air crackles with anticipation. Then two thunderous leaps close the gap but instead of clawing each other's eyes out OMFG!!!! they're making out. Then it get like a sauna. I never thought I'd see the day when I'm watching giant monster porn. Okay, now Queen Tarah putting the train carriage into Willzilla's what? I don't want to look, yet I can't stop looking. These two give new meaning to earth-shattering sex. *is in shock*

I can't take anymore. Luckily we fade to ...

*****

Futurtara

There is silence at Planet Express. Speechlessness and horror mixes with embarrassment and perhaps a little titillation. Buffy comes to the rescue and asks the What-If machine for something more normal.

*****

Married...with Lesbians

From the terror of the destruction of Tokyo, we now turn to the terror of the destruction of a suburban home.

We're in Chicago. {* **Looks around. We are? Oh wait. I am.** *} Giles Bundy is home. He makes it clear that he's home by heading directly towards his favorite couch and demands beer. His long suffering wife Joyce dryly tells him that they're out of beer, thus giving him a rise that rarely happens.

Tara Bundy traipses down the stairs with a backpack that suspiciously has condensation on the outside. But since she is her Daddy's pumpkin she can do no wrong. Her younger sister Buffy tries to whistleblows but gets a blow on the shin instead. She can get nothing right that Buffy. Just then, the doorbell chimes and Tara rushes to open the door because she knows it's her next door neighbor and crush, Willow. They almost smooch but no one notices.

With a poorly constructed excuse, Tara and Willow disappears, obviously to do more smooching. I want to continue watching but ...

*****

Futurtara

Planet Express Tara expresses her concern that the portrayal of her in a dysfunctional Mid-west tv family is unrealistic. She wants to watch something else.

Incompetent Dr Clemberg prompts ProfGiles to say the magic words, "what if Willow and Tara were cats?" I expect a moving documentary from the Discovery Channel, instead we get ...

*****

Thundercats

Yet another comic tie-in cartoon I've never seen. Is this Torture the Recapper Saturday morning or what. Why can't they show something more normal like Tom & Jerry or Sailor Moon. Geez.

Some Pat Morita type of panther cat is in a ring, facing a Ralph Macchio lion cublet type. Ralph is actually Will-O, designated leader of their tribe. I guess I'm supposed to know the name of the tribe or the planet they live on, but I'm blanked out.

So Ralp--Will-O fights Pat. I guess I should be respectful and call him Master Pat. Master Pat is testing Will-O's power before she can ascend to be the leader of their tribe. I mentioned she's the designated leader, right? I wonder if the populace voted or was it some sort of royal family deal. He calls her "kitten" and tells her to push hard; I wonder if they have some Master-slave thing going on, then I remember ... kid's show and must show respect to Master Pat.

Mock-fighting.

More realistic fighting.

Actual fighting.

Looking good, kitten.

He ends up with his face in the sand. Will-O is smug. I snigger. That'll show the old fart.

Penultimate trial is complete. One last one, of course it's gonna be the hardest. They don't show us the prior trials, may be they were too boring like play chess with Gary Katsparov or juggle 3 balls. I don't really care.

*****

Cheetara is running. Running, running, running.

And thinking.

Ah, she's Will-O's teacher too, only she's much younger and hotter than Master Pat. It's like ... Liam and Ewan, yep yep. I didn't get a lot of HoYayness out of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, mainly because I respect Neeson and McGregor as actors; with Obi-Wan and Anakin it's the opposite reason -- I don't think Hayden Christiansen can muster more than 3 expressions, and to slash him with someone like Ewan McGregor is just sacrilegious. Anyway back on track, I am getting H.E.A.V.Y. femslashy vibes off Cheetara and Will-O. Cheetara is thinking about Will-O choosing her mate once she becomes leader (you remember she's designated leader, yes?) but she dreads that it won't be her. C'mon Cheetara, all is fair in love and war. Are teacher-student relationships taboo where they are? Well if not, fight for her, Cheetara!

She meets Will-O at the start of the final trial and they flirt. Well they don't, but in my mind they do, okay? Indulge me.

Will-O is supposed to race against Cheetara. Now I did look this up, the maximum speed of animals. A cheetah can top (hee I said top, we had a top/bottom/switch discussion in chat the other day) 70mph whereas a lion maxes out at 50mph. So Will-O has to rely on something more than speed to get through this obstacle course trial. Of course Cheetara wants Will-O to win, though she has to make sure that she "loses" convincingly.

And they're off!

Running.

Running.

Running.

Ho hum. I feel like I'm watching Chariots of Fire. Will-O is surely feeling the Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner.

But no! The Mutants have to spoil the fun. Stupid!Spike Mutant comes up on her and attacks her. Now it becomes Run Lola Run. Luckily Will-O has a few brain cells more than him and with a few leaps she lures him to a bunch of trees. He lunges at her, she ducks and he's stuck with his claws firmly stuck in the tree trunk. Snerk.

She thinks she's free of the Mutants, but no! Fruit Punch Mouth Master and Bad Angel has taken Cheetara prisoner! They don't don't believe in treating prisoner's nicely like Razz!Willow did in She-Ra. Cheetara looks like shit, and that has totally brings out the butch in Will-O. She prepares to fight the Master with her tiny sword. Um, I hope she has better weapons than that little thing, doesn't seem quite enough for the Master. True to his word, he shoots blue lightning out of his arms directly at Will-O. He wants her sword, for some god-forsaken evil reasons. I have flashbacks at Emperor Palpatine flashing the same blue lightning at Luke Skywalker and boy am I in a Star Wars mood today. Will-O writhes about in pain; she is much more convincing than Mark Hamill, who looked very dreamy in his jumpsuit on Episode 4 but after his motorcycle accident his looks just went apeshit.

More magic painful blue lightning.

Her resolve waning, she's on the verge of giving up the sword when the voice of Cheetara enters her head. Seeing her friend {*Do they "do spells" together?*} in pain, a new resilience surges up inside her and as if by magic (yeah, an essential ingredient in children's programming, how can I forget?) she triggers the power of the sword. It grows and swells and any phallic undertone must be ignored because ... kid's show, you know.

With a shout of "Thundercats! Ho!" she roars and in a flurry of strokes the Master is dispatched. Bad Angel, who has so far done nothing in this show except hold Cheetara by a leash, gets a right kicking in the face. He does the wise thing and disappears after his master.

Will-O and Cheetara rush to each other and warmly embrace. By activating the sword, Will-O has moved from designated leader to real leader, even though she never finished the obstacle course. I suppose TPTB are so random that they make exceptions all the time.

Oh, they smooch. In a strictly PG way. But Will-O shyly asks Cheetara to be her mate and Cheetara says yes by upping the rating to PG-13. Sigh, why can't we move to R? Or more? *pouts*

And finally ...

*****

Futurtara

Back at the Planet Express everyone is filled with the warm and fuzzies.

Except BenderSpike. But then nobody cares what he thinks. He shrugs and goes to get a drink.

Producers: Chris Cook and Sally McFine

Started: 29 April 2006
Completed: 10 June 2006
Rating: R
Summary: You don't want me to just stare? {*Just don't drool.*}
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*}
Notes: twop-styled recap of The Love Boat by JustSkipIt, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. Debra for the boatload of love. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. amazon.com for the books. And Car's Aunt Carm, for being charming.

Ahhhh, love is in the air {*I thought I smelled something*}. Or not. We'll see, I'm feeling cynical today, I'm in a crowd of people but I feel like I'm on my own, it's one of those days, one of those feelings. Or I'm being a drama queen. {*I would just like to say - and I think Cam, Maru, Cyd and Sally would agree - you were one hell of a card shuffler!*} I put on my crisp white sea captain's uniform that I initially took out but had to return to the closet when the show schedule changed to Dykes of Hazzard, but it didn't boost my mood. Geez. {*Damn! And we didn't even get pictures!*}

We pan along the crowded dock where people are waving good-bye to their loved ones as they head onboard the good ship Pacific Princess. Why do they do that? You're trying to juggle a backpack, a laptop case, a box of breakables and a bag of snacks for the trip, and then they give you your going-away present. Or they wait till you're almost at the departure gate and the plane/boat/bus is about to leave in 2 minutes, and then they tell you they love you, or they want to break up with you, or they're pregnant. {*You've had someone tell you, "I'm pregnant" just before getting on a plane/boat/bus? Was it yours?*} (watty: :whistle ) I mean, I'm already stressed out with the traveling and needing to get a good seat and muttering the "don't sit next to me" mantra, I don't want to have to handle additional emotional stress, you know what I mean? {*You handle emotional stress? Huh. First time for everything, I guess.*}

Anyway, back to the dock, the camera stops on a whiny teenage type with shiny hair and annoying smirk (WTTSHAS) who is greeted by the good ship Pacific Princess' Captain and his mates with their starched uniforms and their fake tans and their toothy grins. Man, these people are cheesy. {*Maybe they like wine. **groan** *} (watty: no wonder they look so spaced out.) We learn that WTTSHAS is called Dawn and she's traveling with her sister Buffy. Newsflash, this is a love boat, are they doing ground-breaking social commentary about incest now? [*Chill, watty, the idea of the love boat is to meet other people and get laid, not necessarily do the person you came aboard with. You didn't watch those "research" eps Glark sent over, did ya? - Sars*]

WTTAHAS is annoyed because she is waiting for her sister Buffy on the dock, only her sister has already checked in. Don't you get annoyed when people do that? That's so selfish and inconsiderate. This gives Vicki, the Stubing Minor, an opportunity to latch onto Dawn immediately. They bond. {*But do they get laid?*}

Even though it'd be as boring as watching paint dry, I wish they would show the minors bonding, because I want to forget the next 10 seconds of my life. {*Only 10?*} I don't even have the wherewithal to go "ewww" or time to pull my fingers over my eyes. An obviously newly-wed couple stumble onboard with their tongues down each other's throats totally oblivious to anyone else. Or anyone else's (read: my) eyeballs. I wonder why they even need to be on this cruise, why not stay at home where other people (read: me) don't have to look at them and be scarred for life. {*They want to get a tan? Comic relief? Their neighbors bought them the cruise tickets so they wouldn't have to be exposed to the tonsil hockey?*}

I do a little cheer when we move away from them (cameramen have eyeballs too, I'm guessing). The cheer turns into a predatory growl of the prurient [*prurient? -- Sars*] nature when ahoy captain! ten o'clock! eye-candy! A beautiful blonde with sharp eyes and luscious lips and an awesome rack steps onboard and do I hear the cha-cha-ching!! that explodes from all the males, and females, who are within eyesight of this goddess? {*Cue romantic violins, sensual trombones and lusty bassoons!*} I wonder why she even needs to come on the love boat (heh, come on the boat, my mind is in the gutter) when we see her lean against the railings, watching a passenger who is stepping out of a limousine parked on the dock. I want to be the one she's watching. *pouts*

The passenger takes her sweet time to exit the vehicle. When she does, it's a spoiled brat with snot up her nose and papa's money up her ass. {*Now there's a visual!*} Any minute now she's gonna say, "bored now." We learn her name is Willow and she doesn't want to come on this cruise. Geez, WillowBrat, how many people will give their right kidney to go on a cruise. {*Um....8?*} (watty: isn't the answer always 42?) She lets herself into her cabin, the size of which will come up later (um, may be. I haven't decided yet). {*Haven't you heard? Size doesn't matter. Right, Alex?*} She reaches into her pocket and takes out a ginormous wad of greenbacks. It's pretty thick, enough to make a bulge in her jeans anyway. [*Okay. I'm officially speechless -- Sars*] Alright, alright, I'm being unreasonable, aside from the bratty attitude, she is cute with a capital Q, in a bratty sneery kind of way.

WTTAHAS Dawn flirts with Gopher and shops for sunglasses. She's also on a quest to look for her sister. She's all of seventeen and she's acting like Indiana Jones. Or Lolita, she strokes her palm down Gopher's chest. I fear for humankind. Mostly, I fear for my own eyeballs. {*You're having eyeball issues this time...I'm scared.*}

We're on the deck {* **looks around** We are?*}. Hot blonde with the rack, whose name is Tara, gets a beer and struts her stuff on the deck. {*And now, I have "Staying Alive" from Saturday Night Fever going through my head. **whimpers** Mommy! Tell me Tara doesn't look like John Travolta!*} She is in boots and she's smokin' hot, baybee. What's more, she knows it. I love me a broad oozing confidence with a capital Q. [*What's up with the "capital Q" business and did you just use "broad"? -- Sars*]

Isaac finds Newly-Wed Couple with hands under each other's clothes and lips sucking at each other furiously like they're a pair of goldfish superglued together. I barf. {*I giggle...rather inappropriately.*} HotBootsTara flirts with him but it's obvious that her real target is WillowBrat, who is busy fingering her drink with one hand and her Nintendo with the other. {*That's a lot of fingering. And I just went to a happy place. :drool *} Her nimble fingers stop moving for a second as HotBootsTara clicks by but she plays it cool. They bond over a video game, as only the current generation can. Somehow they turn it into flirting and the kind of foreplay that is heavier on innuendo than substance. Foreplay-lite, if you may; only it's pretty heavy but doesn't lead to any bedroom-like activity. [*I think you better stop before you recap yourself into a circle, because I don't know what you're talking about -- Sars*]

Dinner time. Foreplay-lite continues in the presence of Dawn, NWC and whoa, it's Cecile! Man, is she the patron saint of fanfic <*As a matter of fact, yes -- JSI*> or a descendent of Henry Houdini or some sort of casting director's favorite? {*Are you saying something about Cecile and casting couches? For shame, watty!*} She's everywhere! This time she's a nice young passenger, kinda like the anti-Dawn. Female NWC recognizes WillowBrat and declares that she's a prime target for kidnapping. Hello, FNWC, cruise? In the middle of the open sea? Not conducive to kidnapping activities? {*Famous last words, watty.*}

Cleavage-y slut bomb alert! {* :drool *} Faith the waitress swaggers up and manages to take meal orders while flirting with everyone at the table. That takes skillz, man. Talking about alerts. UST ALERT DEFCON 4 is building up between HotBootsTara and WillowBrat. They make eyes at each other and continue with the flirting-lite. Don't they wish they are the ones being all inappropriate like NWC? In my imagination [*not wet dream? -- Sars*] they're playing footsie under the table. Actually no, because after dinner Willow totally plays Tara and blows her off. {*As long as she isn't blowing Tara, all is good.*}

Tara's anger quickly turns to amusement. We find out that she's a cop and she's getting paid to keep an eye on WillowBrat. Oh my, a cop with a rack, we never had one of those on Ironside. {*You're dating yourself, watty. And...that sentence has far too many connotations.*} (watty: remember my 647 personalities? lol) She gives her employer, Brat Senior, a detailed report including confirmation that she has cameras in Brat Junior's room. {*So she gets to see WillowBrat nekkid! What a way to get paid. **dreamy sigh** *} Brat Senior asks her whether Brat Junior is drunk; she in turn asks him whether he is paying her to keep an eye on his daughter or does she need to babysit the brat. She doesn't mince words does she? {*With a rack like hers, she doesn't have to.*}

*****

Dawn breaks. No, no, no, not capital Dawn, lowercase dawn. {*Dork.*} The boat has docked at one of those nameless ports that solely caters for cruise passengers. It doesn't matter where in the world it is -- Mediterranean, Caribbean, Europe, Asia, Americas -- there are the same tacky souvenir shops; the same stallholders with the gold teeth selling 'Made in China' trinkets that go straight to the basement at home; the same restaurants dressing up roast chicken and fries as "menu tourisme" {*What about "chicken and beer"?*}; the same bars serving over-priced cocktails; and of course the same shops / doorways with neon lighting leading to the world of sordid, no-strings (read: unfettered and dangerous) sex. {*Is anyone else wondering why watty knows that these "no-strings sex" places are all over the world?*}

HotBootsTara follows WillowBrat on her zig-zag journey through these seedy establishments. Her appreciative smirk suggests to me that she is enjoying the view of WillowBrat's back a tad too much, her eyes aren't always at eye-level, I think they stray to the brat's ass far too often. I don't blame her, my eyes are doing the same too. {*I'm wishing the camera were behind HBT, that way I can see BOTH of their asses!*}

A few hours of stalking and it's time to return to the boat and dinner again. I guess there's sod all to do on a cruise apart from eat, no wonder why there are so many fat people. {*Hey now! Don't stereotype! We fat people don't have to be on a cruise ship to eat.*} Heh, I'm the anti-PC today. HotBootsTara has changed to jeans, sandals and a bikini top. {* :thud *} WillowBrat's expression is clear to me -- I can almost feel her fingers itching to slowly ease that bikini top off. Flirting-lite resumes. WillowBrat actually talks about something unbratty -- underneath that carefully maintained spoiled kid exterior is a geek! She's an aerospace engineer and is Tara blushing at the repeated mention of "thrust ratios"? {*Wouldn't you? I'm sure Alex is.*} Oh my, the unflappable detective is flapped this time.

After dinner they retire to the lounge and smoke cigars. {* :wtf *} Er, wrong pairing. They make their way to the cocktail lounge where Charo is performing. I think I'm supposed to make some smartass remark about Charo, or at least incorporate "Cuchi-cuchi!" somewhere in this recap, but you know what? I got no clue where to start, I'm overwhelmed by the big hair, the dangling cleavage and the wiggling. {*I'm surprised you didn't make a comment about her fingering her guitar.*} (watty: thought I'd leave it for you.)

At their table, Willow goes through the a/s/l routine with Tara. Well, actually she does more staring down Tara's cleavage and ass than actual questioning. {*She's "staring down" Tara's ass? Without being noticed? Willow is awfully flexible.*} She gets Tara to admit she's no secretary [*As if the abs and the hidden thigh muscles aren't enough clue and boy I'm channeling you today -- Sars*] but a law student who does double duty as a cop. The talk turns to shootings and sexy scars. Tara coyly offers to show Willow her scars and then proceeds to blow Willow off the same way the brat blew her off last night. {*What's with all the blowing?*} Excellent service return, AceTara! {*Mmmm...Tara all sweaty and wearing a short skirt. :drool I'm in my happy place.*}

Oh, NWC are at the lounge too. They make polite small talk (if you consider FNWC describing Willow as either kidnap fodder or worthless spoiled brat as "polite" conversation) before rapidly getting onto the dance floor to have sex. Dawn, who is still on a quest for her missing sister and apparently pursuing her pastime of lifting wallets from Charo-fans, is accosted by Faith who tells a funny Kojak joke the teenager doesn't get. Faith warns Dawn not to muscle in on her territory -- if she's to continue her klepto ways she has to be one of Faith's girls. And so an amateur thief becomes trained in the ways of the professional. There's no turning back. {*I'm still in my happy place...so nothing for this paragraph. Sorry. Mmmm...sweaty Tara.*}

*****

HotBootsTara decides to turn up the flirting a notch or two. {*Turn up...turn on...as long as she's got that rack, I'm happy.*} She takes a bunch of board games to WillowBrat's room and seduces her. Heh, don't knock these board games, they have the potential for muchly sexual innuendo. Twister, for instance, the classic "oops, I didn't mean to put my hands on your ass but I have to balance myself" action. Or what about Monopoly, with the possibility of trades-in-kind. Even Trivial Pursuit can be modified to give points to (un)-answers. {*And, again, does anyone wonder why watty knows so much about this?*} (watty: I have good imagination.)

There's more heavy flirting and innuendo-speak, then Willow steps aside to let Tara into the room. {*Willow ain't stupid...I'd let Tara in too.*}

Fade to black. Sigh. It's not fair.

When we fade back in, we know that the board game seduction is successful. {*I have a funny feeling Tara didn't need the board games for a successful seduction.*} Tara wakes up in Willow's bed but the brat is nowhere to be seen. She wraps herself up in the sheet and looks for her seductee. Okay, time-out for another rant. {*Oh, look at that! Time for me to...um...go get something to drink!*} Why is it that: a) sheets on TV / the movies are always l-shaped, ie it covers all of the woman but only half the man thus allowing him to show off his pecs; b) people who've just had sex always wrap themselves up tightly with the sheets so no part of their bodies is touching or seen by their bedmate, I mean ... they'd just been naked and heavy with each other and they get shy? c) when they (in particular the women) wake up, they always wrap themselves up in the sheets like a vertical egg roll while walking around the bedroom or bathroom .. see above re: shy about nakedness. {*I still say therapy is in order.*}

So anyway, Tara is prancing around Willow's room in nothing but a sheet. {* **tries to imagine Tara actually prancing** Sauntering, yes. Sashaying, sure. Prancing? Not so much.*} She quickly discovers she's alone. She gets dressed and checks that she still has her gun. In her jacket pocket she also finds a note from Willow congratulating her on a job well done. Hmmm, which job? Giving protection or giving pleasure? {*Pleasure trumps protection. Unless the protection is ribbed for your pleasure.*} (watty: groan) Anyway it's clear that Willow knows that she is working for Brat Senior. What's not clear is when or how did Tara give herself away? Me? I think Willow made her as soon as she got on the boat. {*Willow may have made her as soon as she got on the boat, but it sure did take her a long time to do Tara.*} I mean, Tara is pretty eye-catching and Willow is pretty smart for someone who pretends otherwise.

*****

It's another nameless touristy port. Yes, the same tacky shops and seedy bars and sex-for-sale places. {*Which watty still seems to recognize far too easily.*} Tara spots Willow, to her relief (I guess she doesn't want to be fired yet) and follows her. {*Either she doesn't want to be fired...or she just likes walking behind Willow to see that cute ass...with a capital Q...um...*} Willow gives nothing away about whether she is aware of Tara's presence and walks straight into two thugs. I cringe {*And I grimace*}, they're so obviously seedy and up to no good. They jump on Willow and hey! Tara to the rescue! There's some fighting, some kicking and Tara takes one on the cheek. They get away. Phew! {*On sale at a book store near you... "Watty does Cliff's Notes." Way to pare down that fight scene, watty.*}

Tara drags Willow to her cabin and they don't make out. I'm disappointed. {*And I'm frustrated.*} Tara the heroine is all worrisome about Willow, and it's kinda sweet because she doesn't treat her like a meal ticket, though the way she ran her hands all over the redhead makes me think I want to see her doing the same the night before. {*Perv! Oh, wait...I want to see that too.*} I can tell she is the heroine because she does that with blood streaming down her injured cheek, which she doesn't let Willow attend to until she's done her inspection and reported back to Willow's dad. I suppose if Brat Senior is paying her she has to set her priorities straight. {*No...she has to set her priorities GAY.*} (watty: :pride ) Willow gulps as it becomes her turn to speak to her old man. She says "yes sir" a lot, which suggests to me that she isn't the bratty brat she's been trying to be. The best thing that comes out of the Brat Senior convo is that he orders Tara to stay with Willow for the rest of the cruise, sleeping in a chair if necessary. Snerk, I'm thinking ... fat chance of that happening. Tara won't be sleeping in no chair. {*Tara won't be sleeping.*}

So Willow gets to play nursemaid and they talk a little about her leaving Tara naked (and horny?) in bed all by her lonesome. {*Why the question mark? Of course she was horny!*} They try to be pissed off at each other but eventually break out into sweet giggles. Finally, a smooch! About time! They make a date to watch the tapes from the previous night before deleting them. {*Oh! I want to watch too! I'll even bring the popcorn and milkduds!*} Wow, they're more open-minded than Colin Farrell. Imagine if they "leaked" that tape to the internet. The download ratio at www.bittorrent.com will be sky-high and it'll be hard to keep the leechers away.

*****

Time to disembark. {*What's up with that word? "Disembark" Why can't they just say "Time to get off the boat" or "Go home, people!" rather than use silly words like "disembark"?*} (watty: welcome to the rant farm.)

Buffy is still missing, but Dawn could care less. She has surrogate sister-idol Faith now. {*"Sister-idol" ... sounds like the name of a metal band...or a reality TV show.*}

Newly-Wed Couple, whose names I finally figure out are Xander and Anya, are still treading the fine line between heavy petting and public displays of sex. {*They're hoping Larry Flint or Bob Guccione is on the boat and waiting to give them a contract.*}

Willow and Tara get into the Rosenberg limousine together. {*Too bad Papa Rosenberg is there...Willow and Tara could have some fun in the back of the limo!*} I want to believe in a happy ending for them. As far as client-bodyguard dynamics go I like theirs far, far better than Whitney and Kevin but I'm going to snag that tagline: Never let her out of your sight. Never let your guard down. Never fall in love. Bah humbug! Of course you should fall in love. Isn't this the Love Boat? {*watty's being sappy...must be a sure sign of the apocalypse.*}

Producer: Elvis the Skipper.

Started: 22 April 2006
Completed: 3 June 2006
Rating: R
Summary: Her Eyes were Black! ¹ {*Why does this seem like the title to a bad 007 film?*}
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*} and Chris Cook <*in another type of brackets*>
Notes: twop-styled recap of The Sword of She-Ra by Chris Cook, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. Chris for granting us the power of She-Ra. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. The Bens for the music. And cute little Jackson, I want to play magic pancakes with him again.

All is not well in Willow's world. {*She has that "not-so-fresh" feeling?*} She dreams of being naked and stalked by an unknown shadowy figure with blue eyes coming to her through the fog. Does her naked state have anything to do with Fog Woman? Or is it a simple case of forgetting to get changed before going to bed? Not a wise move, sleeping in the buff ... um well, wrong choice of word there. What if she needs to run out quickly to deal with a Horde attack? {*I have the feeling a nekkid Willow would stop the Horde in its tracks. :drool *}

Now most of us wake up and we brush our teeth and take a shower; {*At least twice a year...whether I need it or not*} if we're especially groggy we turn the shower setting colder right? Well it's obvious Willow is more in tune with nature because her cold shower equivalent is to hug one of her walls that's made from rough wood. {*A hug? **Just** a hug? I think she needed a smoke after that "wake up call." *} Interesting aesthetic, to have three walls of normal brick and one of wood. What's the lesson here? I dunno, something to do with the tree of life? {*Or the tree of happies...erm...happiness.*} <*Chris: I think she's just curious about what it's like for guys to wake up with wood. *runs the hell away* *>

After the tree hugging she goes to take her shower at the lake. {*Shower or bath? Oh who cares? Nekkid Willow! Mmmmm.*} Here's the nature theme again. <*Chris: Here's the casual nudity theme again.*> Her fellow rebel Xander shows up but she isn't bothered about him looking at her naked form. Give the guy credit; he isn't ogling either.² Any other girl may be put out that he isn't. {*Perhaps because Xander knows that Willow **doesn't** "put out" -- hence the not bothering to ogle.*} They don't want you to look; but secretly they want you to because if you're not looking it means they're not attractive enough. {*And you know that they know that you know that we all know that...oh forget it.*} (watty: :lmao ) Women. Damn if I can figure them out. [*Wait, wait. Am I missing something? Aren't you one of us too? -- Sars*]

Xander is all serious guy about their rebellion. Remember, "rebels" are almost always on the good side in these types of epic inter-galactic struggles. {*Use the force, watty.*} (watty: now is not the right time to tell Kittens about how I got my macbook pro to make lightsaber noises is it?) Governments and empires are the evil big bads. I mean, who wants to be a bureaucrat, shoving paper around and writing stupid emails like "to requisition for post-it notes, you need to complete forms TP-56A and R82B in triplicate and return to department 5G. If you are requisitioning for post-it notes in colors other than the standard yellow, you will need to complete form 67(FN) and obtain approval from department 7J before sending the completed set of forms to department 5C." Ruling the world is no fun. And leads to evil.³ {*That's because Post-its are evil...and everything eventually leads to Post-its.*}

Here's Cecile!⁴ {*WOOT! Rah Rah, Cecile! **Puts cheerleader uniform away** *} I expected her to show up, I know something's up with the producers. I'm smart that way. [*No comment -- Sars*] This time she's a sprite. Sprite the mystical creature, not Sprite the soft drink. (Didn't I use this joke already?) {*Yes.*} Talking about soft drinks, I recently tasted my first Diet Rite and though it was quite okay, I'm still puzzled as to why I'm drinking a drink whose major selling point is that it has nothing -- no calories, no carbs, no sodium, no caffeine. The first three are fine, but no caffeine? That's, um, the primary reason for me drinking Diet Coke. {*Diet Rite RAWKS!!!*} (watty: yes it does but it still has no caffeine.)

Back on topic, Cecile brings Willow and Xander to Buffy, who tells them that the evil big bad Horde are on their way to attack their castle, having landed a shitload of warships in the rebel harbor. A harbor that is supposed to be protected magically. Willow starts doing her woody magic thing by communicating with the plants and grass around her. {*Oh to be a single blade of that grass. :bow I'm not worthy!*} It's creepy, the vegetation creeps all over her and she becomes a mummy wrapped in grass and dirt. Buffy suppresses a retch at the sight and I think I'll join her.⁵

Willow is unmummified and reports that there is another magic force within the Horde army. Thousands of ordinary citizens are at risk but there's no time to summon help {*No biggie...they're ordinary, after all*}, not even if they use the trusted fire signal method. They decide that they have to do it themselves. {*You said "do it themselves." **snort** *} Ha! Time and time again throughout history, that's what the heroes do. They're outnumbered and surrounded. Yet they plunge headlong into battle and somehow find the way to defeat the bad guys. {*Except William Wallace...he got his head lopped off.*} (watty: history showoff. Oh wait, you saw Braveheart.) {*No...I've played Age of Empires*}

And that's EXACTLY what happens in the ensuing mighty battle. {*Of course.*} Force Captain Tara, who somehow combines being impossibly hot-looking with an air of chilling menace, leads the Horde. She barks orders like "Defensive Formation!" and still manages to sound hot. <*Chris: Barking orders is hot! *> Hotness, though, isn't enough to fight off the one-two slam-dunk of Willow and Buffy's combined magic. Heh, Buffy does magic too. {*As long as she isn't "doing spells" with Willow, everything is okay.*} They make this cloaking cloud so that Willow can get closer to the captain. And for a brief moment their eyes met and KABOOOOM! Something Important happens. {*Willow realizes she's not the only one with that "not-so-fresh" feeling?*}

Buffy the Spoilerho interrupts and is about to slay Tara when Willow stops her. She slays Tara's tower tank instead. Willow explains that she needs Tara. Buffy looks at her funny, then helps her friend. {*Well, that's pretty much par for the course, isn't it? Buffy's always looking at someone funny. Or is she just funny looking?*} They take Tara prisoner.

*****

On learning this, big evil Hordak aka Papa Horde flies into a rage.⁶ {*Too bad he didn't fly into a wall.*} Someone has taken his Tara and he needs to get even. Pity the poor minion who brings him that news, he gives the minion a tongue lashing (his tongue lashes out and gives all of them thirty whacks, they moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Well, they don't exactly ... I have an active and sadistic imagination⁷) {*No comment.*} followed by threat of death in a thousand pieces. Well, he gives him to his evil bombshell sidekick Faith, who snacks on the minion. Death in a thousand pieces may be a preferred option. {*Of course, I'm having decidedly naughty thoughts at the prospect of "being eaten" by Faith...different context, of course.*}

He turns to his minion #1, Shadow Weaver and threatens her too, until she reminds him of the matter at hand, of Tara's enchantment in danger of being broken. I sit up. {*You were lying down?*} What enchantment breaking? He can't kill minion #1 but he throws a hissy fit à la Donald Trump and warns her that he'll fire her ass if she doesn't step up and do her job. Somewhere in Chicago, Boyfriend Bill Rancic trembles in his pants.

Meanwhile back at the dungeon--um rebel camp, Buffy's mom, Joy, arrives. I don't know what purpose she serves in the story other than to show that she's some high-ranking royal who rules the kingdom.⁸ And she is Buffy's mom.⁹ They exposition that they have a prisoner {*"Exposition" as a verb again...I'm not sure if it's as impactful as we might want it to be*}, even though it's Willow's idea and not Buffy's. Talk of the devil, Willow arrives and they debate whether they should keep said prisoner. {*But Willow is thinking about what she could do to said prisoner.*} They formulate their arguments. Oooh, I love Court TV. Lawyer chicks are so hot. (And yes, that was supposed to be sarcasm, or self-deprecating humor, or something. Sigh, I need to sort out my love life.) {*Again, no comment.*} On one side, there's Buffy -- who from a military perspective doesn't like the risks associated with having prisoners-of-war. On the other side, there's Willow -- who sees magic and can't resist. Well, with someone who looks like Tara, I don't blame her. {* :drool *}

We're at Willow's home {* **looks around** We are?*} and she mentally undresses her prisoner and finds her ... adequate. Okay, more than adequate, judging from the elevator eyes. She can't decide if she's intrigued or turned on; she decides both. {*Me too.*} Tara wakes up, they talk, and Willow does her mojo witch thing on Tara's injuries, but not before Tara makes some wisecrack about the concoction that Willow put together being a truth potion. {*But she's secretly hoping it's a lllooovvveee potion.*} They talk even more and move onto the subject of how they're supposed to be mortal enemies. Tara's attitude changes; we're given to understand it's because of Willow's spell on her injuries. They conclude that Tara is under a spell, which exonerates her from being evil. It's kinda like the temporary insanity plea in murder trials. "I plead not guilty, Your Honor, for the reason that I was under a spell." Yeah right. {*Sorta like the Twinkie defense, eh?*}

Before you know it, they start flirting with each other, like exchanging the typical a/s/l type of info. Soon the talk moves onto the subject of sex, because the convo always comes back to sex. Why are you surprised? Haven't any of you been in chat? Cue romantic violins!¹⁰ {*Why does it have to be violins? Can't trombones be romantic? Or tubas? There's a bias against brass instruments, I think.*} They look at each other with googly eyes and before you can say "case thrown out" they're sharing their fantasies and are making out. As a Heavy Dramatic Gesture, Willow releases the kinky cuffs around Tara and lots of hotness follows. {*If you had the choice of Tara touching you or not touching you, which would you choose?*} (watty: I wouldn't know. I stay away from thinking about sex and touching and stuff) I'm amused that the producers took out the kink, what's the fun in doing the deed using normal boring methods? [*I wouldn't call kissing and groping and rubbing and licking and what on earth are they doing now?!!! "boring," I know it's a fade-out scene, I have imagination too -- Sars*] Somewhere during the night, Tara hums "I'm Under Your Spell." {*"You make me COM-PLETE!" :drool *}

During the night, Willow has a nasty dream. She wakes up, Tara comforts her, and they start again. I suppose they are trained warriors, so I shouldn't be surprised that they have so much endurance. And no, this is not product placement for Chapter 9 of UberSmut. {*Though it should be. RAH RAH UBERSMUT!*}

Next morning, they wake up but Tara is singing another tune. {*What tune? "Magic" from Xanadu? "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star"? "The Yellow Rose of Texas"? DETAILS!*} (watty: "I'm too Sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts.") Her eyes are also black. Now I get it: eyes black = evil; eyes blue = hotness. {*Um, she's kinda hot with the black eyes too.*} Willow, on the other hand, hasn't sussed it out yet and as she tries to reason with Tara, she gets whacked on the head. Ha! Tara runs away sans sword and Willow is left to face the music with Buffy and Xander. {*Which music is that? Disco? Swing? Punk Rock?*} They tell her she's a dunce and she's fallen to the oldest trick in the book. Willow tries to argue that Tara is good, but Buffy doesn't buy it. Logically, Buffy makes sense -- a prisoner will do anything to try to escape, including seduction. Willow still can't believe it, cos of some "wuv...twu wuv" thing that she's convinced is happening between she and Tara. What do I think? I think Willow just wants more mind-blowing sex. {*Wouldn't you?*} (watty: see earlier comment about not thinking about sex and stuff.)

Tara is rescued by Faith the bombshell. Papa Horde's #1 minion, aka Shadow Weaver, examines Tara thoroughly. And I mean thoroughly. The type of thoroughly that has me screaming, "OMG, TMI!!" {*Screaming or squealing?*} She senses Willow all over (and inside, heh) Tara and there is major panic as she and Papa Horde realize that sex with Willow is magical in the actual as well as metaphorical sense. She muses that they must have been "doing spells" together. Papa Horde is pissed, and I get very creepy vibes off him, that he wants Tara all for himself and not innocently either. {*Confession time...I want Tara all for myself too. And I don't have very many innocent fantasies in that area.*} Bile flows up from my stomach area. Shadow Weaver suggests killing off Tara as a long-term safety measure, but Papa Horde asserts his ownership and refuses to let anyone harm his precious Tara. They give her a booster spell (a bit like when you get vaccinated, you need to get booster shots regularly) to make sure her eyes stay black and she forgets about Willow. {*Oh, but she can never forget about Willow. Not truly forget.*}

Willow and Xander hang out. Well, "hang out" in the middle of a rebellion war doesn't quite describe it, but ... whatever. {*As long as Xander isn't really "hanging out" I'm okay with this scenario.*} (watty: groan.) She tells Xander about her night with Tara and it takes him a minute to fully grasp the concept of "sleeping together." {*That always amazes me about men. After all, when they go to bed with someone, isn't that pretty much what they do? Sleep? "Oh, baby, that was amaz...." **snore** *} What did he think they were doing last night? I mean, they started the night as gaoler-prisoner and ended with Willow confiding her love for Tara to Xander. Something more than small talk must have gone down. {*Obviously, Willow and Tara "went down"...a number of times.*} While Xander's brain kicks into gear about the sitch, Willow secretly replays every single scene from last night in her head and again realizes she'll never have sex this mind-blowing like, ever again. So she cries and cries and cries. As if by magic (see Fraggle Rock recap re: magical timing) a single tear falls perfectly on the black gemstone on Tara's sword and before I start wondering why Willow's crying on a sword it cracks and changes color from black to blue. I.Get.It. Black = evil; blue = good. I try to dodge the anvil that's hanging precariously over my head. {*You're not trying very hard.*}

A shout from Queen Joy snaps them out of the sword investigation. They learn that the Horde army is attacking, led by none other than a fully restored black-eyed Captain Tara. An epic battle (these battles must always be epic, I'm learning) ensues. Imagine lots of fighting and more fighting. {*Only if the fighting is happening in a large vat of chocolate pudding.*} Buffy and Faith meet and are locked in battle (an epic battle, of course...we've already established that those are the rules) while predictably, Tara and Willow move slowly toward each other. {*Cue the ominous violins. See? They don't always have to be romantic.*} Finally they come face to face and instead of fighting her, Willow tries to reason with Tara and allows Tara to get her sword back. WTF. Tara's all black-eyed and she's like, dude I wasn't myself, I have this jewel protecting me, thanks for the sword and I'm gonna kill you now. I can tell she's not truly evil because she doesn't do the speechifying speech thing that all villains do before they kill the good guy. {*Ah, there's nothing better than a good evil monologue. It's a talent. It's a gift.*} Willow's all sad, cos she's about to die before she gets a chance to have great sex with Tara one last time. {*I'd be sad too.*} Her sadness frees up the tears that are embedded in the gemstone on the sword. As if by magic (again) a single drop flows down to Tara's fingers. Instead of wiping it off on a piece of tissue or worse, on her tunic, Tara brings it up to her mouth and tastes it. Huh? Tara dear, did you skip your health ed lesson? <*Chris: She lives in the Fright Zone, and had an evil corpse-sorceress stick her hand through her stomach, and this you're worried about?*> Some unknown waterdrop trickles to your hand and you taste it? Have you never heard of infectious diseases? Cooties? {*And the paranoia returns! Cue creepy French horns.*} Anyway, sunlight shines through the gem and turns Tara's eyes blue again. I almost expect this to turn into an episode of the Smurfs and Tara goes entirely blue to reinforce the "black = evil; blue = good" lesson.¹¹ Snerk. {*Sometimes you amaze even yourself.*}

As soon as her eyes turn blue she does this shudder thing [*Shudder thing? You're sex obsessed -- Sars*] {*Me too. :drool *} and the protective jewel over her chest splits into a thousand pieces and she's like, what's happening, who am I, what am I doing here and all that jazz. {*Thank you. I'm now singing "C'mon, babe, we're gonna paint the town. **snap snap** And all that jazz!" *} (watty: yw. we aim to please.) The spell broken, they fall into each other's arms and much steamy hotness ensues. I snigger, because this is supposed to be a cartoon but there's hot lesbian monkey sex going on. It's great. {*Cartoons are rarely ever really for kids. Only Trix are for kids.*}

Meanwhile the battle continues. {*Is it still epic?*} During a break from Willow-macking, Tara hops up to the top of a fallen boulder, raises her sword and everyone can see her post-coital glow as she transforms into She-ra. She's now wearing a white tunic with gold emblem across her chest that does nothing to hide her cleavage {*Thank goodness. :thud *}; the skirt is cut at the top of her thighs. She also has a flowing red cape and serious fuck-me golden high heel boots.¹² Willow's face is contorted and she's breathing heavily, it looks like she's orgasming spontaneously at the sight. {*Wouldn't you?*}

Eyes blue and intense (like Xena on a baaaad day) {*For the record...Xena's eyes are always blue and intense.*} (watty: why did I just know you'd pick up on a Xena detail?) Tara storms through the Horde army, who either run away or faint at her attack. She confronts Faith and even bombshell Faith is no match for a Tara intent on getting back to Willow to resume where they left off. {*Spend time locked in an epic battle, using her newly found powers, with Faith, the she-panther, or get back to hot, steamy sex with Willow, using her newly found powers? Hmm...not much of a debate there.*}

Faith crawls back to Papa Horde's stronghold and faces the wrath of Papa Horde. Papa Horde is in the middle of almost killing his #1 minion, until said #1 minion plays a vital card - there is another hope. They settle into an uneasy alliance and plot their next evil deed. Sequel anyone? {*We can only hope.*}

Back at the Whispering Wood, Tara and Willow make with the loving. {*Who has the polaroids?*} (watty: Polaroids? It's all about youtube nowadays.)

Lots of lessons this ep. The most important one: love and great sex always triumph over evil badness. [*Sigh. This is all about the power of true love and the fight between good and evil and you turn it into a sex romp. You're such a perv -- Sars*] {*Me too. :drool *}

Producer: Taskmaster Chris.

____________________
Footnotes:

1. Fun fact: The title of the show (and the heroine's name) was originally to be He-Ra, as in the Greek goddess Hera - they added the 'S' to get around someone's copyright.
2. If you ogled in the She-Ra world, you'd never have time to do anything else. Willow's the only woman on the planet who even wears pants.
3. Except for He-Man, whose father Randor ruled Eternia. Though I did always wonder: they had a space/time transporter capable of returning his wife to Earth, her home, yet somehow she always believed she was 'stranded' on Eternia, with no better options but to marry Randor. Damn suspicious, if you ask me.
4. Fun fact: male Twiggets are depicted as comedic caricatures. Female Twiggets are just plain hot. See?
5. At least it works - the old cartoon version of Willow's character barely ever did a successful spell. But Willow does get to say 'Oh deary me' in a shout-out to Madame Razz version 1.
6. Fun fact: Hordak's bizarre face was based on an African witch-doctor's mask. That's right kids, even witch-doctors can look like twerps sometimes.
7. So did the makers of Masters of the Universe, evidently, seeing as there really was a Tung Lashor toy, and its tongue really did whip out and attack people. Yup, they sold these to children, folks.
8. Same purpose as all toy-cartoon supporting characters - create more toys to sell!
9. Even better - if they're related, they could have much the same figure and costume, so you can just re-use the mould and save money on making the toy.
10. Fun Fact: Masters of the Universe/She-Ra was one of very few cartoons to feature a real orchestra providing the score - might as well use 'em!
11. Skeletor had blue skin. So did Trapjaw, come to think of it - they'd have fitted in just fine on Smurfs. For a certain value of 'fine'. Fun Fact: Skeletor was really He-Man's uncle.
12. Fun Fact: several of the episode directors on She-Ra made it their task to ensure that you never saw up She-Ra's skirt, even when she did flips and roundhouse kicks. There's several episodes where they failed, much to the delight of fans. Who need lives. *cough*

Started: 15 April 2006
Completed: 27 May 2006
Rating: R
Summary: It's as plain as the lesbian noses on your faces {*Just our noses are lesbians? What about the rest of us?*}
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*}
Notes: twop-styled recap of The Dykes of Hazzard by SallyMcFine, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. SallyMcFine for the hazzardy laughs. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. GlaxoWellcome for the gay harmonica. And Car's Gram for the memorable meatballs and sausage pasta (yes, I still have food on my mind).

I was all set to recap the Love Boat, having done research, listened to the theme song, looked up the meaning of "gopher" and decorated my TV viewing space with appropriate seafaring paraphernalia. {*Did it blend in well with your 'other' paraphernalia?*} I even put on my crisp white captain's uniform. [*Don't tell me why you have a captain's uniform -- Sars*] And what happens? It's pre-empted because the producer was sick. Yikes. I was madder than a rabbit in a steakhouse but I realized I can't complain, because we could have been pre-empted by jello-pool wrestling or the weather report. {*'Madder than a rabbit in a steakhouse' -- what goes on in steakhouses that gets rabbits so mad?*}

And it's the Dukes! Guaranteed wacky fun and laughter. I change from my pristine white sea captain's uniform into one of my vast collection of checked flannel shirts and ripped jeans. [*And again I won't ask -- Sars*] Here we go. Yippee-ka-yay! {*'Yippee-ka-yay'? What color is the sky in your world?*}

We open with a sweeping shot of Hazzard County, all peaceful and pastel colors and gentle breeze blowing in the background. Gradually we hear soft moans that grow louder and more insistent. So not befitting the scene. {*Okay, for the record, soft moans that grow louder and more insistent always benefit any scene. :drool *} Slow pan to the hood of an orange hot-rod where Willow Duke and Tara Duke are having a round of the 3Ks -- kiss, lick and suck. Oh I'm crude-o today. {*Today?*} They're wearing the most outrageous (if you're 'Outraged' from Smackover, AR; {*Now she has her own column. "Dear watty, My tank top is so tight, people can tell the temperature just by looking at my breasts. My girlfriend likes it, but it kind of embarrasses me. What should I do?" 'Nipply' in Big Mounds, IA*} if you're a normal person you drool) tight tank tops and short shorts. Their cries and moans don't go with the peaceful and pastel scenery. {*Cries and moans go with any scenery. Sheesh! You need to get laid, watty.*} (watty: pot vs kettle, Car? *bats eyelids*) {*Remember, I am the one who keeps running out of batteries...um...wait...*} But hot! mama! hot! loving!

I contemplate changing from the flannel shirt to something cooler. [*An eskimo suit? -- Sars*] But before things get even hotter and heavier, they're interrupted by the buzzing of their CB radio {*Not the fun kind of buzzing from an electronic device*} announcing the imminent arrival of their other cousin Buffy, clad in impossibly short shorts {*Those have got to chafeâ...friction in new places, and not the fun kind of friction, either*}. She isn't there to show off her legs this time, but to tell them that there's an Evil Boss Wilkins-Hogg Plot afoot. What's White Suit up to this time? According to Buffy, the Dukes are about to be evicted from their farm. I laugh. {*And I guffaw.*} How many times has Boss Wilkins-Hogg tried to get their land and how many times has he succeeded? {*I don't knowâ...how many times?*} Would have thought that he learns his lesson. {*What would make you think he would learn anything? Ah, it's the itty bitty spark of optimism in you. That will get squelched soon enough.*} Hmmm, may be he doesn't have an A.I. chip inside his head. Heh, don't knock this chip-in-head business, it's actually quite ... comforting. Hi, I'm macwatty, I have a mac chip inside my head. {*Is this why I have trouble understanding what you're saying sometimes? Your brain is only compatible with only 5% of the world?*} (watty: so if I say: "BLACK!!!" you won't know what I'm talking about? I think you do.)

We see that Buffy isn't the ditzy blonde that her attire, or the fact that she's chewing bubblegum, suggests, because first she notices that Willow's jeans zipper need adjustment; then she asks Tara why the lovecousins just don't come out and tell folks they're together. Tara shrugs and blames it on Willow {*She could have blamed it on the rainâ...c'mon, y'all know that songâ... Blame it on the raaaaiiiinnnâ...um, is this thing on?*}. Everybody's got something to hide, but sometimes these so-called secrets when revealed turn out to be no big deal. The joke's on who now? Buffy and Tara share a moment before Willow returns with a well adjusted zipper. {*Did Willow send it to 'Zipper Bootcamp' for an attitude adjustment? Were ammonia capsules involved? (That's for you, Sallypants. *smooch*) *}

The cousins make their way back to the farm, but Tara makes sure Willow finishes what she abruptly halted before Buffy's arrival. Sex in cars is nothing new, but have you tried sex while driving the car? {*Yes.*} You need to work together in more ways than one. Don't try it kids! {*Don't listen to watty, she knows not what she says.*} You might like it too much! {*Okay, listen to wattyâ...this part is right.*}

They make good time (they're fast? hee) and arrive at the farm just in time to see Uncle Giles confront his nemesis. {*The Fashion Police?*} The sight of Uncle Giles, in bib overalls and dirty red cap chewing on a piece of straw, staring down Wilkins-Hogg, in his white-on-white suit, makes me snigger very hard. {*You're funny when you snigger.*} Can you imagine Giles in an ancient tweed suit (elbow patches and all) and carrying a pipe fumbling around the library? Major snerk.

Anyway Wilkins-Hogg is spewing some lie about Giles growing pot on the farm. Come on, Boss, your excuses are getting weak. {*But his teeth aren'tâ...have you seen his incisors? Amazing!*} You try to pin something on Giles every week, you think he's dumb enough to be as blatant as growing pot on his farm where it can be found easily? Giles dismisses him. {*With a flick of his wrist and a flip of his hairâ...oh wait, we aren't doing the Giles' Angels recap, are we?*} But before Boss leaves, he informs the Dukes that he's sending in the big guns ... in the form of a tax audit. Heh, an audit is enough to send shivers up most people's spine but the Dukes are unfazed. Does anything faze them? [*A phaser? No, don't bother, I'll eviscerate myself -- Sars*] Even when Giles notices the "69" painted in bold black letters at the side of the hot-rod, all he does is clean his glasses. He's more concerned that the lovecousins take a shipment of vegetative matter to Atlanta pronto than what they get up to recreationally. I like Giles. {*Only because he shares your love of tea.*}

Here's Buffy. Psst, I know a secret about Buffy. She went to Stanford. It's a big secret! But it's no big fucking deal. And I don't know what my point is. {*Your point is on your head.*} (watty: har har, very funny. Not.) {*It was kinda funny...okay, no it wasn't.*} Anyway what does she do with that expensive Ivy League education? She waitresses. Though she'll say there is an ulterior motive because there's always an ulterior motive. {*As opposed to some-other-terior motive.*}

She hangs out with her pretty waitress friend Cecile. {*Woot! She's back again!*} Okay, this is officially making me sit up and notice. Another Cecile? So far we had mail delivery Fraggle Cecile followed by Nurse Cecile. Something's up. {*Your IQ? Nah.*} Cecile helpfully gives Buffy the latest gossip that a new blonde has wheeled into town working for Boss Wilkins-Hogg and is all over Xander Strate. Now Buffy has been giving Deputy Xander the string-a-long for a while now, all in the name of getting information from him, of course. {*Certainly not in the name of playing with his string.*}

She runs out (the cameraman making sure we get an eyeful of the wiggling of the pretty ass in the tight shorts) and informs the lovecousins that the new enemy is anchored at Rhuebottom's. {*Poor Rhue with the anchor in the bottom. That must be painful.*} They have some CB-coded convo about pigeons and coops which I don't understand. Isn't it funny how special interest groups usually have their own language? Imagine a convo between a CB ham and a h4x0r {*Do I have to?*}, which part is understandable to the common person?

{*I have to tell you that this entire exchange frightens me. I'm afraid. Very afraid.*}

Her next destination is the sheriff's office, where she lays it on very thickly for Deputy Xander. {*Um what is she laying on thickly? Chocolate syrup? Strawberry pudding?*} The drool from Deputy Xander is enough to necessitate breaking out the mop and bucket. Buffy drawls and draws the information from Xander with a smoothness that is rivaled only by the likes of Henry Gondorff or Danny Ocean. {*:wtf*} Xander has no clue he's getting pumped (heh, I said "pumped," did anyone go to a scary visual place?). {*Do you have an enema fetish? Andâ...I have no idea what that means.*}

*****

Meanwhile, back from their herb run to Atlanta, the lovecousins are at Cooter's garage, having their hot-rod looked at. {*Is their 'hot-rod' detachable?*} (watty: I'm surprised you didn't ask what color. Oh wait, it's orange. [/straight face]) Cooter makes a several innuendo-laden cracks which get Willow's tail feathers all ruffled up. {*I'll bet Tara loves ruffling Willow's tailâ...feathers.*} Cooter asks how they like driving stick and Tara aptly points out that she feels awkward doing it. Snerk.

Willow ignores Cooter's sally and gets ready to infiltrate Rhuebottom's through the secret trap door in Cooter's garage. {*Really glad she isn't infiltrating Rhue's bottom.*} Did you know that all secret passages in Hazzard County lead to Cooter's garage?

They discover that someone has indeed set up shop in Rhuebottom's bottom, er, basement. There are forms in all colors but they say one thing ... that the Dukes owe Uncle Sam some serious tax money. Now if Willow and Tara were ordinary country folks, they'd be scared shitless (or in their case, shirtless or shortless); but they're cleverer than they appear to be. {*What are you saying about the way society perceives women in short shorts and skimpy tank tops?*} May be they went to an expensive Ivy League college too. {*Or they just know how to keep the fox out of the hen-house. Damned foxes.*}

Turns out that good old Uncle Giles has a secret too. {*He has a tattoo of Bettie Page on his back?*} His name isn't Jesse Giles Duke. {*Is that all?*} Tara gets the dirt from Willow using some old-fashioned, irresistible tongue-down-throat torture technique. Heh, Rupert. Uncle Giles is called Rupert. Now can you imagine the tweed suit and the pipe? {*Nopeâ...just the tea and crumpets.*}

But before they can ruminate on Uncle Giles' alter ego as a high school librarian, the lovecousins are interrupted by the arrival of The Tax Inspector. Gasp. Have you heard the one about the tax inspector who needed a heart transplant? The surgeon sent his O.R. nurse to the garden to look for a similar sized stone. *waits for response* Not funny? You expect tax inspector jokes to be funny? You pay too many taxes. {*No shit, Sherlock, erm, watson, uh, nevermind.*}

The lovecousins manage to convince the tax inspector that the forms are forgeries on the basis that they don't show Uncle Giles' real name. See how having secrets sometimes help? Hmmm. We're not teaching the kids good lessons here. {*Fortunately, this is not a kids' show! Of course, that didn't stop us with Fraggle Rock.*}

The tax inspector, aka Anya Jenkins, is outraged at the temerity of Boss Wilkins-Hogg, he who dares to con the IRS. {*Did Anya really get outraged at his 'temerity'? Or was she pissed off that he had the balls to try it?*} Heinous! They agree to play Boss at own game. I hope it doesn't come back and bite them on the ass, entrapment doesn't always work out. {*But they might like the bite in the ass all the sameâ...just depends on who is doing the biting.*}

We're at Cooter's garage. {* **looks around** We are?*} The lovecousins walk in on Cooter and Buffy practising the same old-fashioned, irresistible tongue-down-throat torture technique that Tara was using on Willow. Okay, so here's another couple of people who don't exactly drive stick. Tara asks Buffy the same question Buffy asked her earlier, about being open with her love life. Buffy shrugs and blames it on Xander. {*Poor Xanderâ...they blame everything on the guy with his IQ in his schlong. Hey, at least it wasn't another chorus of 'Blame it on the Rain.' *} (watty: okay, I had to look up schlong. Carleen! You're baaaaaad!)

Now we come to the car chase part of the episode where Snyder tries to catch Willow but he doesn't have the driving skills or the tune-up. I love this part. Buckle your seatbelts children. Here we go. Yee-haw!

Sigh. You know what, it's no use recapping a car chase, and I've tried. "Hot-rod speeds down road, cruiser on its tail. Hot-rod screeches round a corner, cruiser follows but takes the corner a little wide and smoke burns from its tires. Hot-rod accelerates up a dirt-ramp, flies through the air with the grace of an orange albatross and lands perfectly on the other side of the creek; cruiser tries the same stunt but ends up face down on the creekbed."

No. Doesn't really work. Need visuals. Use your imagination.

{*Oh! Let me try!....*}

*****

Final confrontation.

The lovecousins drive up to the farm, this time at a more normal speed. They greet Giles, Deputy Xander and Inspector Anya who are enjoying a cool lemonade at the porch.

Boss Wilkins-Hogg and Snake Snyder pull up in their respective vehicles. Shortly after, the state police and the feds show up. Boss Wilkins-Hogg is smug. He's thinking to himself, finally I have your farm, Jesse Giles. {*Hey! Give him credit for thinking at all.*}

Not so fast, Boss.

Inspector Anya gives the feds evidence that Boss and Snake forged tax documents. The IRS cares about how slobs of cash is coming its way, it doesn't accept dirty slobs. Gasp. The IRS cares. The IRS works in mysterious ways. [*Repeat after me, "ohhhhmmmm"" Sars*]

Boss struggles as the feds cuff him. {*Are they fuzzy cuffs? Leopard fur? Do they go with his white suit?*} (watty: I couldn't resist.) In desperation he blurts out that the Dukes grow pot on their farm.

Oh no! Another secret is revealed. {*Okay, reallyâ...Giles using wacky weed? Isn't he mellow enough?*} The Dukes are in collusion with none other than Jenny Calendar, who has the state monopoly on new age herbs, oils and candles.

Is that it?

See? Secrets that we think are secrets are never any biggie. {*Unless the secret is about Sally'sâ...oh waitâ...promised not to tell. My bad.*}

And having learnt their lesson, Willow tells the folks about her love for Tara. I'd stifle a yawn if those two didn't look so darn cute together. <*A yawn? How dare you fall asleep at the climax? And I'm betting that's not the first time those words have been said to you, watty -- SallyMcFine*> (watty: oh Sally, I wish I have more than a passing acquaintance with the concept of 'climax.') Faith and Buffy tell all too and that gets a slightly more surprised response. {*Probably everyone is surprised that it took them this long to say anything at allâ...or it was relief that there would be no shotgun weddings for the Dukes.*}

Giles? He's with Aunt Bea. Hee. {*At least he's not with Barney Fifeâ...or Opie.*}

Producer: SallyMcFine.

Started: 8 April 2006
Completed: 24 May 2006
Rating: R
Summary: We're going to need a bucket {*A bucket for what? Gonna puke?*}
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*}
Notes: twop-styled recap of Survivors by justin, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. justin for survivors. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. Diet Coke and PG Tips for the caffeine. And Car's cats for their general all round cuteness.

On man, talk about BLEAK. {*I don't wanna.*} Everyone's sick. It's like the pandemic that the experts have been predicting for bird flu. Well, they've been warning that we're all gonna die of avian flu {*is that anything like Evian flu? The dreaded virus caused by overpriced WATER-it's WATER, people!*} since 2004, and we're still waiting for it. {*Well, you may be waiting for it. But I'm perfectly happy living my current unhealthy life.*} I don't know how many people the WHO predict will die from the coming pandemic, but if it's anything like what we're watching I'm afraid. Very afraid. {*Yes, you're paranoid.*}

We're on a farm. {* **looks around** We are?*} Tara is sick, she has bad flu symptoms and looks like she's run 2 marathons back to back. While carrying a semi on her back. Actually scrap the truck, I'm picturing the iron anvil that drops on Wile E. Coyote, which is a sign of how my weird mind works. meep-meep {*I really don't wanna know.*} (watty: awww c'mon, you love being in my brain, you know it.)

Her loser Dad does his loser thing and tells her she has to continue with her chores. What a jerk. {*Make up your mind-he's either a loser or a jerk.*} (watty: what about a jerk-off?) So Tara goes out to get eggs. Eeeep! Doesn't she know anything about not coming into contact with chicken? [*Um, first off, touching eggs doesn't give you bird flu. Second, this show isn't about bird flu. Get with the program. And NO SARS jokes, or you will be very sorry -- Sars*] {*I'm with Sars on this one-lay off the bird flu. But I'm okay with the SARS jokes.*}

She gets the eggs but promptly drops them and they break into an ugly mess of runny whites and gooey yolks. Why? Cos her dad's a jerk. I wish. No, she's sick, remember? And she faints. She wakes up in cold sweat and still looks like shit. {*This is Tara we're talking about here-she never looks like shit. A bit peaked, maybe, but never like shit.*} We know she's sick because she has an IV on her arm. Seems that her family helped brought her inside the house, even though they're jerks. Why? Because she's the one bringing home the eggs. {*But is she bringing home the bacon?*} Are you with me so far? She explores the house, looking for the jerks, but she doesn't find anyone. Instead of rejoicing at her newfound aloneness and freedom, she goes outside to look for them even more.

She finds her dad dead (or is it dead dad? deadbeat dad? I need to be respectful to the dead) in the barn. She gasps in shock and cries. Even though he's a jerk, she cries for him since she is a nice person. Yes, that's what the director is telling us. She's an ultra nice person. I make a note in my little notebook with tiny pink hearts on the cover. {*At which point you promptly barfed in the 'rubbish bin' because you realized you just had a sappy moment.*}

Next she finds her dead brother. She cries too. Yes yes yes. She has a kind heart. She drags the two bodies to the same spot, because they need to be jerks together, even in the afterlife. [*Yes, it's interesting how jerks congregate and propagate -- Sars*] {*At least they can't procreate, cuz-.eeewwww!*}

She sets off to the village to look for answers. It's deserted. Oh except for the body of a bobby. No, not Bobby. The policeman type of bobby. Hee, I'm British. {*Ya giddy Brit!*} (watty: giddy?) She goes to her doctor and goes through his files. {*Is that what they call it in Britain? [/snerk]*} I suppose when everyone around you is dead you are allowed to violate personal privacy laws. {*I'm okay with Tara going through the files...as long as the dead people themselves aren't violated. Cuz, again, eeewww!*}

She finds her own file and man, that doc's attitude annoys me even though he's MIA and presumed dead. {*Especially because he's MIA and presumed dead -- Tara can't beat the crap out of him for giving up on her.*} He says that he visited Tara (hence the IV in her arm) but doesn't think she'll survive. {*And now I have images of Tara standing on a hay bale singing "Oh no not I! I will survive! As long as I know how to love, I know I'll be alive!" I'm feeling giddy over the image.*} Man, doctors aren't supposed to be pessimistic. They're supposed to save their patients' lives. Makes me think she has Dr. Gregory House as her physician. Oh, off topic, I still can't believe Hugh Laurie plays House. {*And I just got naughty images of Hugh Laurie and Imelda Staunton frolicking about in their skivvies "playing house" -- it's a bit frightening.*}

More OTness, I came across a Dashboard widget that displays your remaining time on this plane of existence[. {*Is it a DC-10 or a 747?*} Appropriately it's called DeathWatch and man, it's creepy, though every random date I enter seems to give me a life expectancy of 80 or even 90 years old. Heh. I still don't want to know when I will die, it's like at the end of Six Feet Under when Claire drives into the sunset while we see how and when everyone dies. Admittedly there are huge benefits to knowing when I'm gonna die (like, I don't need to renew my annual cable subscription, or better yet ... pay credit card bill, if I know I'm gonna be offed next month), I'll put in my vote to not know. They say there are the inevitables in life, taxes and death. But just when my death will be, I want to keep it a surprise, okay? {*So that mafia hit on you that I have planned-you don't want to know about that?*} (watty: Oh, you didn't know? I talked to your Aunt Carm and it's all sorted -- Guido and Tony will be hitting Disneyworld instead.)

Alright, topic. {*Thank you.*} After the visit to the doctor's office Tara goes to the church. If the doctor's office is creepy, the church is like the ultimate horror trainwreck. {*Are we projecting again?*} (watty: you really know how to push my buttons, dontcha?) {*Careful, watty...that might be too much of an inside joke.*} Tara does her best Halley Joel Osment impression {*she's not short enough*} and before you can say "I see dead people" she's outside by the church door puking her guts out. There are bodies everywhere, even one hanging by the bell rope. I just hope they don't turn into zombies. {*Wrong alt-verse, watty-stick with the program.*} (watty: C++?)

Okay, now she starts panicking as she realizes she may be the only one left in the village. Possibly the state. Or country. Or the world. {*You have a knack for the hyperbolic.*} She ponders this as she buries her loser dad and loser brother. Gives new meaning to Ultimate Survivor. Ding! She doesn't win a million bucks. She doesn't Outwit, Outplay or Outlast. {*You're having a cross-over crisis. I think you should seek help.*} The only good thing is she doesn't need to listen to Just Peachy preach. If she really is the only person left on the planet, then of course her wealth far exceeds the million mark. But then who does she pay when she buys goods and services? Herself? What's the point of flaunting your wealth to yourself? {*Perhaps she'll develop multiple personalities-then she can have conversations with her selves, lend her selves money, charge her selves exorbitant interest. Could be fun.*}

She doesn't want to be Ultimate Survivor, despite the amazing wealth she potentially has. So she starts a bonfire (not of the vanities, heehee) to attract any passers-by.

*****

Now we come to the expositionary part of the program and the obligatory flashback. It's five days ago, when humankind was still intact. Willow and Xander work at the hospital and they're losing their fight against this unknown flu virus. They exposition that they've run out of medicine. {*Can 'exposition' be used as a verb?*} (watty: in the same way . *smooches to Sally*) The meds are useless anyway. Everyone in the hospital are leaving, jumping ship. Don't blame them. A pretty nurse by the name of Cecile {*hey! Cecile is back!*} tells Willow she should leave too, before she too succumbs and like, dies. {*Yeah, that would like, suck.*} Cecile sounds wise. How wise? You know all this "when I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom"? Substitute Mother Mary with Nurse Cecile, and you get the picture. If I were Willow, I'd leave with her, this girl's quite a looker too. {*This is true, but Tara is waiting for Willow-so, "let it be."} (watty: I'm supposed to groan here, aren't I?)

But out of some twisted sense of guilt or Superman syndrome, Willow stays at the hospital. {*Our spunky redhead is just dedicated. Give her a break, ya cynic.*} At the end of her shift, she goes to the break room and falls asleep. Ha! The number of times I've seen Mark Greene go into an empty room or a closet to sleep, I just know someone's gonna wake her up. Oh man, it's Xander in ICU. He's bad. Some time later, we cut to Willow running toward his room, only to see docs trying to shock him back to life. No can do. "Time of death, fifteen thirty two." Even more time later, Willow is released by her supervisor and told to leave London before she dies too. {*It's clear that Willow is beloved by many-no one wants to see her die. The rest of the hospital staff? Fuck ‘em! Let ‘em die! DIE! DIE!!!! **ahem** I feel better now.*} (watty: you're kinda sick. But I still love ya!)

She drives and drives. See earlier in this recap re: Claire driving into the sunset at the end of SFU. There are no similarities. {*Ya don't say!*} Eventually she pulls into a service station and clues into the fact that something is wrong [*You mean even more wrong -- Sars*] when she tries to shop for some supplies and army guys shoots at her. She escapes by the barest skin of her teeth. {*Someone get this girl some Colgate! She has skin on her teeth! Eeeewwww!!!!*}

Then what does she do? She walks for hours and hours, while knowing that armed and dangerous men are out there. Why doesn't she hide? Or more importantly, why doesn't she steal a car? {*Or maybe she wants to stay as far away as possible from the INFECTED bodies. Or maybe she doesn't want to attract attention to herself by being the ONLY vehicle driving around. Or maybe it just adds to the plot suspense.*} May be she doesn't know how to hot-wire, but really, she's not thinking straight. {*Thank the Goddess for that! I hate it when hot women think straight! They need to think GAY!*}

We see her again looking like complete shit {*See above re: looking like shit and apply to Willow as well.*} and I'm confused because it's apparently she's been walking for a day. Doesn't make sense. It's like in action films where the heroine overpowers the armed guards of the bad guy's fortress but continues on her exploration without taking the guard's gun. Why, why, why? {*A firm believer in gun control? Maybe Willow is trying to help out with the energy crisis.*}

She sees smoke far away and somehow she finds the energy to run toward it. It's Tara burning the farm. {*What story were you reading? She didn't burn the farm-she was burning shit around the farm. Skimmer!*} (watty: author's license! Burning up the whole farm reads more interesting than burning shit around the farm.) God knows why, she needs the shelter and food. May be she's a pyromaniac? No time to wonder why because Willow faints at the sight of Tara. {*Wouldn't you? And, are we sure that was a faint and not a swoon?*}

*****

Willow wakes up in the bedroom and sees an angel called Tara. {*Why is she always an angel? Why can't she be a cherub or a sprite?*} (watty: alright, alright. She's a Sprite. A Diet Sprite Zero or Sprite 3G or even Aruba Jam Sprite Remix.) They spend some time introducing themselves and connecting. Willow tells Tara she walked from London and about the militia. Tara tells Willow how happy she is that she isn't Ultimate Survivor. {*Seek therapy, watty.*}

And they spend the next few days and weeks in near domestic bliss. Considering it's clear that they're immune to the virus attack, they have a good thing going. They ruin the bliss by embarking on a project to find other survivors. Why? {*You've already established that Tara and Willow are nice, caring people. Of course they want to find others. Because they are nice and caring! Sheesh!*} Willow goes out to forage every day, and they put a bat signal up at night. Again I ask why? To get the attention of the militia? They should just hole up and stay out of trouble, in my opinion. {*Imagines watty singing "It always feels like somebody's watching me" -- PARANOID.} (watty: ) After all, as Tara says when Willow asks whether they're okay for food, "this is a farm." Snerk.

It's also clear that the attraction between them is growing. So again why spoil it by having other people in the house? {*Potential orgy? Oh wait-Kitten Board-FAQs-nevermind.*} They can fend for themselves easily enough, even if Willow has to learn how to chop wood. {*Well, she's not much for the timber. Of course, I guess that might make her want to chop up that wood. Oh, bad mental image!*} (watty: Bobbitt!) Hee. It's no good chopping wood with an axe if you're gonna almost decapitate your love with it. Uh-oh, did I say love?

Anyway, they're living in domestic bliss, making pancakes for breakfast, watching the snow, giving massages to each other (hmmmmm) and then one day Willow spies Tara singing. {*'Spies' her singing? So, she can see the singing? Can she hear it too? Just wondering. [/snerk]*} She's in love. One of these days they're gonna have to kiss. And we fade to another scene where they do (hmmmmm). I learnt a new word recently, {*SEMI-COLON! Not a comma.*} it doesn't fit this show, but what the hell. That kiss is Hawt! {* **Rolls eyes** Dork.*}

Another month of domestic bliss. The theme is domestic bliss. I think the writers are trying to contrast the domestic bliss [*Okay! I'm sick of 'domestic bliss,' think of another phrase please -- Sars*] with the bleakness of the world outside. All the more reason for not bothering with that world. {*So, in the last recap, you exhibited your issues with puppies and commitment. Now you're showing your issues with being around people and your paranoia. Yes, definitely seek help.*}

But the world comes knocking eventually. Giles and his two god-daughters arrive and invite the girls to join him at the community he's building. Surprisingly upbeat ending for this episode, considering all the death. {*Yet, it's refreshing. You want all darkness and despair? Sicko.*} There's even a gay joke. Will this turn into a darker version of the [url=http://www.edenproject.com/]Eden Project[/url]? Or deteriorate into MTV: Real World? No clue. I'm holding onto my secret stash of Tamiflu, thank you very much. {*Tamiflu, huh? I bet you have a few other secret stashes.*}

Producer: justin.

Started: 1 April 2006
Completed: 20 May 2006
Rating: R
Summary: It's so awful, I just have to sing about it! {*Please don't.*}
Additional snark: Carleen {*in curly brackets*}
Notes: twop-styled recap of Fraggle Rock by DarkWiccan, from the WTTV: The Kitten Show series
Thanks: to RKTers for another successful collaboration. DarkWiccan for the fraggle-y goodness. Hermitfish Media Inc for the commercials. Apple for the macbook. And Car's Mom for all the food.

Today is a sad day for me. I'm thinking of my vacation last week when I had to say good-bye to my dear friends and to the Windy City. {*Aaahhh! It's the end! It's the end! Woe is watty!*}

Heh. It's not exactly the truth because I wrote this recap in April after the ep aired on WTTV and I'm posting in May. But since I know which date I'm posting (except for the unexpected postponement last week), I can project to what I would be feeling. It's so fake, everything can be projected ahead of time nowadays. {*Except, of course, what day I will finally have sex again. Damn, long distance relationships suck! And batteries ain't cheap.*} For instance I might predict that on Thursday 21 September 2006 at exactly 9.21am (ie 9.21 on 9.21) I'm gonna go to my fridge to get a diet coke and I find that I've run out, so I will be cranky. Will I make it a self-fulfilling prophecy by deliberately not putting diet coke in my grocery list the weekend before? {*Fulfilling your own prophecy by deliberately not having diet coke? The real question is: Are you prophecizing or simply being a pain in the ass? I vote for the latter.*} Is that a hint for people to make sure my fridge is stocked up? All these emotion-by-appointment is making me all sorts of fucked up. {*Now diet coke is an emotion? Wow! The folks at the Coca-Cola Corporation are good.*}

Aaaaaanyway, I'm way off topic. Sars and Wing asked (aka told) me to recap this classic tv series. LOL. I can't believe they think I can do it since I haven't seen a few of these shows. No, I'm not dropping hints about how young [*ahem -- Sars*] I am, I'm just saying I haven't seen these shows. Not buying it, eh? Fine. *pouts.* {*Oh look, the 12-year-old has come out to play again. No pigeons to harrass, watty?*}

Right. Moving swiftly to the actual recap. It's the Fraggles.

We're at Old Man Doc's workshop. {* **looks around** We are?*} Old Man Doc has a date! Whoo-hoo! When was the last time Doc had a date? {*Hey, at least he's got a date. I'm still running out of batteries.*} I dread to think. {*Me too. Batteries are expensive.*} May be during the 70s? The 1870s? Snerk. I'm bad; he's alright, that Doc. Sprocket, on the other hand, is not a happy bunny, or should I say doggie. {*Yes, you should.*} He's long considered Doc as his one and only ... and any HoYay! insinuations are not intended because ... ewwww to zoophilia. [*Might I remind you that this is a children's program? -- Sars*] But that's not all. {*I think you mean, "But wait! There's more!"*} Doc's date, one Lumila Perkins, doesn't like dogs. Catfight time! {*Now you're calling Sprocket a cat? You have animal issues.*}

Meanwhile, underneath Doc's workshop and unbeknownst to Doc or Sprocket {*They don't know much...well, Sprocket knows that he llluuurrvvs Doc*}, we celebrate Tara Fraggle's 600th day birthday. By the way, if they celebrate birthdays, shouldn't we be celebrating birthyears instead? Worth pondering. [*not -- Sars*] She is painting a surprise for her best friend Willow Fraggle. Willow comes in and ruins the surprise, both figuratively and physically, by crashing into the painting. {*But she was so cute as she did! Little Willow Fraggle and all of her fraggle-y exuberance.*}

They discuss Tara's 600th day birthday. Now that Tara doesn't need to be carded (an honor that extends only to those over 600 days old), she needs to start worrying about relationships, as one is wont to do when one reaches that certain age. She is excited at the prospect of choosing her Complement, which in Fraggleland is the G-rated version of, um, spell partner. (See the definition of "doing spells" under the She-Ra recap, coming soon to your screen.) {*I've read the She-Ra contribution-"coming soon" is definitely an appropriate phrase. I think others would agree. :drool *}

She is confronted with a veritable buffet of complementary choices. [*groan -- Sars*] {*Mmmm-Buffet.*} For appetizer there's Indecisive Wembling "Sidekick" Wembley, who is always eager to please. {*snerk*} For main course there's Cool Orange "the Fonz" Gobo, who is brave and cool and lusted after by all the girl fraggles. {*Do Fraggles lust?*} For salad there's Felix "Fearless" the Fearless, who isn't really in the running, because who goes for the salad in a buffet? {*My grandmother-but she's so cute when she does. Okay, she's cute all the time.*} (watty: yeah she is. Plus she's 92, so extra cuteness.) Oh, and if her tastes run to a different style of buffet, there's Cuddly'n'Cute "I'm a Cheerleader" Cecile {*Is she Megan or Graham? Mmm...Clea Duvall. :drool *} and Everbright "Blonde Ambition" Fiona {*Madonna wannavirginbe?*}. Can I just take a moment to comment on the actress who plays Cecile? {*You may, but you'll have to make up for the lost moment later.*} Hubba bubba. <*Um, yeah, Fraggles are puppets. Got a thing for puppets, Watty? -- DW*> (watty: okay, you two are just ganging up on me.) Oh, and I want her cool messenger bag, the one she was wearing when she delivered Tara's official Ritual letter. It's even cooler than the Hedgren one that I bought with my new macbook that is now sitting in a basement somewhere in the Mid-West.

Truth is, Tara has her eye on a different buffet altogether. {*Mmmm-.Buffet.*} There is only one course and one dish available at this buffet. Now if you don't know, you must have been sleeping in the Caves of Forgetfulness because how can you not know that Tara Fraggle and Willow Fraggle are two fraggles who are fraggily made for each other? {*They're Fragalutely Fragglicious!*}

The problem is, even though Tara is undeniably drawn to the red moppet, Willow is underaged and cannot be Tara's Complement. {*I'm sure there are laws against Statutory Complementing.*} She wants Tara to wait, but Tara isn't sure. If she waits the 150 days before Willow is eligible, she becomes the fraggle equivalent of hopeless old maid and she doesn't want to have to face the other fraggles like that. {*And she would have to get a dozen cats. And cats are bigger than Fraggles. Tara Fraggle would be eaten by her own pussy! - Okay, everyone take part in the collective groan.*} Besides, she has been looking forward to this Great Ritual of Choosing for 350 days, which is a long long time in the fraggle lifetime *nods sagely*. {*Wake up, watty! Stop nodding off like that.*} (watty: What? The couch is so comfy.)

Willow feels the brunt of Tara's rejection and mopes. Tara realizes she's in a quandary and mopes too. There's a whole lotta moping going on. {*Moping moppets-could be dangerous.*}

*****

We're back with Old Man Doc {***looks around** We are?*}, who is busy beautifying himself for his date. [*A man of his age doesn't beautify himself, the most he does is wash under his armpits -- Sars*] Sprocket is consumed with jealousy and begs Doc to stay with him. Unfortunately his double twisted pike front somersault followed by barks that spell out the morse code of "b-w-me" was mistaken to be a good luck wish. Before he skips out of the house [*And again, a man his age doesn't skip -- Sars*] Doc pats Sprocket on the head and is proud of himself that he can decipher his dog's signals. {*How can men expect to understand women when they can't even figure out dogs? Sheesh! Oh, wait-I can't figure out women either. Nevermind.*} (watty: heh. Join the club.) {*Only if there's a secret handshake.*}

*****

Gobo has again been to the room at the end of the tunnel, aka Doc's workshop, to bravely retrieve the latest postcard from his Uncle Traveling Matt. He is relieved that the nasty giant furry, four-legged beast with sharp teeth wasn't around this time to chase him. {*Seems like you've got puppy issues, watty.*}

Gobo tells Sidekick Wembley about the latest. This time, Uncle Matt's postcard is so very topical, for he talks about the mating ritual of the Silly Creatures from Outer Space. Their ritual consists of giving each other shiny objects and attacking each other until one of them is defeated and falls on the ground. You gotta watch the ep to truly appreciate how Uncle Traveling Matt totally misinterprets the human proposal ritual. {*"Misinterprets"? I think Uncle Traveling Matt is pretty accurate here. Though, throw in a little chocolate pudding or strawberry Jell-O and it's a party!*} (watty: just jell-o? Not a jell-o pool?) {*Depends on what you do with the jell-o...oh wait...kids' show.*} (watty: heh, reminds me of that convo we had at the ice cream store.)

Gobo also tells Wembley that he will choose Tara as his concub-complement. {*Careful, watty.*} Little does he know that Willow is hiding just behind him and overhears everything he says. She's very sad and dejectedly goes home. {*Does she "dejectedly go home" or "go home dejectedly"? And should I have the ? inside or outside the quotation mark? I'm just glad you didn't try to use a semi-colon!*} She sees no future {*And this is where Fraggle Willow breaks into showtunes from Rent -- "There is no future, there is no past."*}; she knows she isn't in remotely the same class as Gobo {*Nope..she's two years ahead...skipped a couple of grades.*}, but she doesn't want to be there to see her love choose someone else. With tears in her eyes she packs, leaves a note and runs away. {*What a weenie.*} (watty: what's with the weenie obsession lately?) {*I wish I knew.*}

As is the case in all these situations, the minute, no ... the microsecond Willow turns the corner, Tara comes over and knocks on her door. {*Oh, the humanity! Um...Oh, the Fraggality! Or something like that.*} She has good news. But all she finds is Willow's bitter note. She is sad too and runs to blow on the Fraggle Horn to alert everyone that Willow has run away. {*I could make a snarky comment about Fraggle Tara blowing the Fraggle Horn, but I'll refrain. As Sars said, it's a kids' show.*} She smacks herself up that she is the cause of this. {*Smacks herself up? Is that anything like knocking herself up? Oh wait-kids' show. Sorry.*} She is so upset that she breaks into song. Hmm, next time I'm upset I'm gonna start singing too. {*I will allow this ony if you sing "I'm a little teapot." Otherwise, no singing from you.*} (watty: )

Willow has reached the Belching Boulder, and her mind is in seventeen different places as she starts telling the boulder about her woes. The boulder burps. What does Willow expect? Sound advice? A friendly ear? Offers to help win Tara's heart? {*A fresh, fragrant aroma?*} It's a rock, Willow. That belches. It's not qualified to give counseling advice. If the National Counseling Association (or whatever name it goes by) starts admitting rocks, it may as well start giving out qualifications to killer whales and garbage heaps. {*Hey now! Oscar the Grouch is quite the sage!*} (watty: he goes with onions? *is confused by the blank looks* sage & onion stuffing? ) {*No-but he smells like onions. Does that count?*}

Oh wait, Tara arrives. {*Thank you for not saying, "Tara comes"...cuz, whole different fic. Um, yeah. :drool *} Willow acts like she's overdosed on the bitter pill. But Tara says she has good news. Willow's like how can any news be good. Tara explains that she's been studying the rules and like the good fraggle lawyer that she one day will become, she's found a loophole. It turns out that 600 days is the eligibility criteria for the chooser, not the choosee. [*er, you mean chosen? -- Sars*] Well, I would have thought a rule as fundamental as that will be well known, but then again laws are made to be obscure aren't they, otherwise how could lawyers justify charging the sky and heaven (or in the case of fraggles, the ceiling of the tunnel) so they can read through the complicated legalese that they developed for the sole purpose of confusing the general public. <*Exactly! Thank you for providing my justification; saved me having to come up with it -- DW*> {*Holy shit, this is a long ass sentence!!!*}

They run back to the Great Hall where, as if by magical timing, <*A key ingredient to every good fantasy kids show, thank you very much -- DW*> the Ritual of Choosing is about to start. Tara chooses Willow and they get all shy with the small glances and the hand brushing. {*Are you sure they are just brushing hands? Right-kids' show. **waits for Sars to fire me** *} They decide to get married. Well, the actual term is Complementing each other for at least 100 days, but that's their world. In our world, it's as good as getting married. {*But, really, what constitutes "as good as getting married" even in our world? At least Fraggle Tara didn't have to choose Gobo for it to be recognized as a real act of Complementing.*} (watty: political moment much, Car?) {*I'll have another in about 9 years.*} And it's a good way of committing to each other -- you only have a commitment for 100 days, afterwards you're free to continue. Or not. Takes the foreverness out of a relationship, which is probably why the human divorce rate is so high. {*Okay-puppies and commitment-two watty issues.*}

Speaking of human dating habits. Doc comes back from his date and it's clear he won't be going out for another date any time soon. {*Finally, Doc and I have something to talk about...lack of datage.*} He chooses Sprocket, who launches into another set of somersaults and coded barking to convey his pleasure. {*Well, Doc clearly doesn't have puppy or commitment issues-especially not when committing to a puppy. And really icky thoughts just went through my head. **shudders** *}

It's like the coming of the Aurora Fragglialis. A sky full of beautiful colors is coming. {*Will there be a non-kids' episode to let us know if Fraggle Willow and Fraggle Tara are coming too?*}

Fraggles happy.


Producer: DarkWiccan.

"It's greener than I expected," Tara commented as she surveyed the scenery.

"I thought it'd be raining, I think we got lucky," Willow agreed. She was taking their bags out of the back of their rental car and stopped to join Tara in admiring the view. She had chosen this establishment specially, doing a lot of research on location and amenities. Though they could have stayed at a chain hotel, she knew Tara would prefer a smaller and more personal place. This wasn't a hotel as such, more like a private home that took in guests, there were only three guest rooms and the owners went by the impressive names of Lord and Lady Livingstone.

"This is beautiful." Tara had not moved since she climbed out of the car. She was overwhelmed by the sight of the charming whitewashed cottage with stone walls and exposed wood beams. Willow had shown her online pictures, but the pictures didn't convey the sense of history and elegance. She knew that the cottage was 400 years old, which would put it in existence when her own ancestors lived in that area. She felt an attachment to it immediately.

"Welcome to Livingstone House," their hostess, a middle-aged lady with an easy smile, greeted them. "You must be my American guests. I'm Morag Livingstone. Do come in, you must be tired."

"Thank you Morag, pleased to meet you," they greeted the kind lady of the house who led the way inside.

"So you are the Livingstone of Livingstone House?" Tara asked politely.

"My husband's family has lived on this property for centuries," Morag explained.

"It's beautiful," Tara admired. "We don't see anything like this in the US; it looks so well preserved."

"Oh yes, Ian, that's my husband, and I modernized it but we kept most of the original features. Now lasses, leave your bags in the hallway, come into the office and we'll get the boring formalities out of the way, aye?"

They had been traveling for what seemed like a whole day, but the cozy office with wood panels and a roaring log fire made them feel at home straightaway. Morag had obviously been expecting them and she served them each a cup of steaming tea from a china tea pot.

"Hmm, real tea from a tea pot, I could get used to this," Tara sat back in her lush leather chair, enjoying the taste of the hot tea and the comfort of the office.

"I have you down as one week, aye? Do you need any suggestions for places to visit? Loch Ness, Inverness, the distilleries, most people are interested in those. We have leaflets and brochures in the drawing room, but the best library book can't beat the real source," Morag commented.

"Yes, we're staying for one week, then we're going to Edinburgh for another week. Sorry, you were saying something about the real source of information?" Willow asked.

"Why, ask me, of course. I ken everything about these parts," Morag winked and handed a heavy bronze key to Willow. "Here's your key, and please sign our wee guest book, Ian and I are always interested in keeping in touch our guests from all over the world."

"We'd love to," said Tara, who carefully wrote their names and addresses in the "wee" guest book, which was actually a heavy leather book filled with names of visitors. When Morag saw her name, she let out an audible gasp. "You're a Maclay!" she said to Tara.

Tara blushed. "Um, yes. That's one of the reasons why we're spending our vacation here. I want to visit the country where my ancestors come from."

"Ack. We don't get many Maclays coming by, most took McLea or MacLeay," Morag spelled out the various forms of the name. "In fact, McLea in Gaelic means 'the living son' which is where Livingstone comes from. You might be related to my Ian, if you trace your line back far enough."

Tara's expression was one of utter surprise and delight. She turned to Willow. "Did you know this when you did the booking?"

"No, it's a co-incidence," Willow said.

"I'm so lucky. Thank you," and Tara brushed Willow's hand lightly in gratitude.

"You'll be wanting to visit the area around Loch Achilty and the church at Contin then. The remains of the tomb of Big McLea is inside the church. He was a clansman who fought the Mackenzies in the 1400s. Most of the McLeas and MacLeays flitted off to Northern Ireland in the early to mid 1600s, but there are still traces of history left in these parts," Morag helpfully added.

"That ties in with most of what we were able to gather, but I had it so set in my mind to visit Scotland first," Tara said.

"I'm glad you decided on Scotland first. If you're interested my Ian will have more stories for you, he's out at the big house today, but he'll be back tomorrow."

"I'll try to catch him then," Tara said. And had to discretely cover her mouth at a threatening yawn.

That didn't escape the eagle eyes of Morag Livingstone. "Well lasses, you must be knackered. Your room is at the end of the corridor, it has garden access if you're not afraid of the chills. Will you be wanting dinner tonight?"

"What do you recommend, Morag?" Willow asked.

"Well, out at the pub tonight the Old Boys are rehearsing for Christmas, you should go. Tell Stan that I sent you. Tomorrow night, I'll cook you the best Scottish dinner you've ever tasted. There's a family coming in the morning from Germany, so it'll be nice and cheerful with a full house."

"It sounds lovely, Morag. We'd love to join for dinner tomorrow," Tara said.

They took their bags to their room and for the second time that day, Tara was overjoyed at her surroundings. The room was brighter than she expected, large full length windows captured the light and the garden outside. She was drawn to the view already; through the pine trees she could see the distant fog shrouded hills.

The room was full of flowers, from the patterns on the wallpaper to the bedspread to the vase of delicate flowers on the small table. The center of attention was the king-sized bed set at an angle at one corner of the room, affording views of the stunning landscape outside. A decadent-looking white chaise lounge opposite the bed and an antique writing desk made up the rest of the furniture.

"Wow, this is the prettiest hotel room I've ever been in," Willow said.

Tara nodded. She was taking it all in, the hotel, the talk with Morag, and now the exquisite room before her. She reached back and pulled Willow to her, wrapping Willow's arms around her waist as they surveyed the heaven they found themselves in.

"I don't know what to say. Thank you for this."

"Anything for you my love." Willow rested her head on her love and whispered.

This was such a memorable moment, Tara just wanted to stay where they were. But there were places to visit, history to explore.

"Do you want to rest a little first? Plan our day?" she asked.

Willow paused for a moment. "I don't know about you, but I could do with a shower. I feel all sticky with sweat and airplane air."

"Take your shower first, I'll unpack and take a quick nap," Tara said.

"Don't want to join me?" Willow grinned suggestively.

"And end up leaving the hotel at dinnertime?" Tara raised one eyebrow in challenge.

Willow gave her a brief kiss and rummaged through their bag for clean clothes. Tara was just opening their other bag when she heard a squeal of joy.

"Baby, come look at the size of this tub!" Willow skipped back into the room, took Tara's hand and was pulling her toward the bathroom.

They gasped at the sight of a gigantic clawfoot bath at the side of the bathroom, with fittings that appeared to be antique yet shone like they were brand new. A flat round shower head above the tub was the only concession to modern day design, yet its classy design fitted into the serenity of the room unobtrusively.

"This day is getting better and better, I want to just lie in this tub and not get out," Tara sighed.

"Let's do that. We're on vacation, if we want to take a long hot bath, that's our prerogative," Willow said. "I'll run the bath and tell you when it's ready."

"You sure, sweetie?"

"I want to pamper you. Please?"

"Yes."

It only took a few minutes for Willow to run the bath. When Tara came back into the bathroom, it had been converted to a steam-filled sanctuary, rich with the scent of jasmine bath oil. A naked Willow greeted her with a soft kiss, then helped her out of her own clothes. They stepped into the bath hand in hand, the heat of the water drawing small gasps as it took a few seconds to warm cold toes and feet.

They settled into a comfortable embrace, Willow holding a clearly drowsy Tara, who leaned back and felt Willow's nipples hardening at her back.

It was time for relaxation though, not for making love. Not yet, she thought to herself, as her mind and body unwound under Willow's gentle attention. Her lover was washing her carefully, taking care of her, making her feel cherished.

"How are you feeling?" Willow asked.

"Hmmm. Good," Tara answered, as if in a dream.

"Better or worse than our last tub experience?"

That brought her thoughts back home, to their own more modest bathtub, and Thanksgiving weekend.

"Hard to compare," Tara said.

Willow seemed far away, then she came back. We're thinking the same thing. "Yeah, difficult to compare. But I think I just want to hold you; we'll have plenty of time for the other thing."

Tara was just about to say the same thing. "You know me so well, Will. You know just what I want, when I want it."

She could feel Willow's wide smile on her back. But then her lover started sponging her again and so she was lost in a blanket of opulent indulgence, such that all she wanted was to curl up inside the calm silence. It was only the first day of their vacation; there was so much more to come.

*****

"Welcome to the White Hart, you must be the lasses staying at Morag Livingstone's." A tall, red-faced, bearded man greeted them as they pushed open the heavy doors of the pub. True to their prediction, their stay in the luxurious bath had been lengthy, and they were so relaxed afterwards that they had taken a nap. When they woke up it was already dark.

"Hi. Yes Morag sent us. You must be Stan," Willow almost called him Hagrid, his size and earnest demeanor was exactly like the care of magical creatures teacher.

"That's me. You be wanting dinner? Morag called and told me to take care of you, otherwise she'll do great harm to me," Stan winked as he seated the lovebirds at a high table at one side of the bar.

"That'll be nice, thank you," Willow said appreciatively.

"Can I get you something to drink first? Local ale?"

"Um, we're not big beer drinkers," Tara started.

"You must try our local brew at least once. It's very good ale," Stan pleaded good-humoredly.

They agreed to a 'half' of ale each, and were glad they did. It was served at room temperature and tasted richer and more bitter than ordinary beer, but they were pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to sip. It was cold outside but the pub was warm and cozy inside.

At Stan's recommendation they ordered grilled sea trout with warm spinach salad for Willow and three cheeses risotto for Tara. It was nothing like the haggis and venison stew with dumplings that they had imagined. Stan told them that Scottish cuisine had moved beyond those clichés and into the modern times, though sometimes he had requests for the old-styled dishes too.

For dessert they shared a rich chocolate fondant with orange rose syrup, taking turns to feed each other discreetly and wondering if the village store sold chocolate syrup, for non-cooking purposes of course.

Tara was contemplating licking a stray droplet of chocolate sauce off Willow's chin when there was a commotion and everyone inside the pub jostled to find a position to gaze out of the windows. Willow leaped out of her seat to investigate and came back with news.

"There's a bunch of men in funny-looking hats coming this way," she reported.

"We're being invaded?" Tara joked.

"I think that's the 'Old Boys' Morag was telling us about. Tara, I think we're about to have our first bagpipe experience," Willow answered, straining her neck to see what was happening.

A squeak followed by the blare of bagpipes shot out and even the air squealed in protest. The noise came closer and the doors opened to admit a group of elderly gentlemen in berets and kilts. They looked mighty and magnificent in their uniforms, but their playing sounded like cats being strangled by barbed wire fences.

"Is it me, but do they sound out of tune?" Tara grimaced.

"It's not you," Willow shouted over the squawks and screams.

They endured the playing till the end; it was one of the longest three minutes of their lives. Willow thought that being tied up at a stake with her mother threatening to burn her alive had been a more pleasant experience. At last it ended and the speeches began.

"Ack, ever since Colin MacDougall was put down by the gout, the Old Boys are never the same," an elderly gentleman at their next table leaned over to explain.

"The gout," Willow repeated, trying to keep a straight face, but the elderly gentleman seemed serious.

"Aye. Colin was the leader of the band, and now without him at the top, the Boys are all out of sorts," he added. "You notice how many Boys there are in the band?"

Willow did a quick tally. "Eleven," she answered quickly. She found it ironic that the band, with an estimated average age of sixty-five, would be referred to as the Boys.

"One less and how they don't sound right at all."

"Do bagpipe bands always need twelve?" Curious-Willow asked.

"Nay, but eleven pipers cannae be called a piping band, that's me own opinion anyway."

"Surely they'll find someone else?"

"A laddie built like Colin MacDougall, can toss a caber to 11.00 every time, and can pipe like Robert Bruce? That's one in a million, lasses, one in a million."

The band struck up another tune. This time the old gentleman informed them that it was a march, or 'light music' as opposed to the more traditional piobaireachd, which he pronounced PEE-brook. Willow thought that if what they were hearing was 'light' music she didn't want to know what 'heavy' entailed.

The droning continued.

They politely clapped at the end of the recital, and shared the look of two people who would rather be doing something else. Anything else.

A lull in the proceedings gave them the opportunity to settle the check with Stan, who flatly refused to charge them, citing "any lasses who are as bonnie as ye should always have yer dinners paid for by gentlemen. And I, Stanley Burns McCoist, am a gentleman."

The air was bitterly cold when they exited the pub. The cold breeze stabbed through skin and bones, causing them to move closer together.

"Was it this cold when we came out earlier?" Willow's teeth had begun to chatter and her fingers felt numb.

"No, I think temperatures drop a lot at night in these parts; it's a rural area so there's no protection from buildings. Plus, it's a clear sky. Look at the stars," Tara exclaimed as her eyes gradually got used to the dark. The cold forgotten, they walked a few minutes to the shore of the loch and found a secluded spot to enjoy the view of the night sky reflected upon the still water surface. The moon had risen high in the sky, but the familiar constellations were still visible.

"Constellation views depend on latitude and longitude. I should know this, but I'm too cold to crank up my brain to work out the correlation between latitude and visible constellations. I know for a fact that we're much further north than Sunnydale so there are more star systems that are permanently in the skies here than at home," Willow said, grateful for Tara's warmth next to her.

"I know for a fact that I'm lying on the bank of a great Scottish loch, with sheep at the other side of the shore and surrounded by the ghosts of my forbearers. I know that there will be straw in my hair and grass-stains on my clothes and mud on my shoes when I get back, but I feel so much closer to nature, to the forces of the earth," Tara said, turning her body so she was on her side, facing Willow.

"Your country lass tendencies are coming out," Willow laughed. "I'm glad I brought you here."

"Oh aye, me bonnie lover. Let me show you how this country lass appreciates her city dwelling goddess," Tara slipped into a deliberately bad Scottish accent, but the toss of her hair and the smoldering look she threw Willow's way took all inhibitions away from the redhead.

"You know how sexy you are?" she rolled over and buried her head in Tara's neck, alternately licking and nibbling on the cold skin.

"Only with you," Tara was shivering, whether at the cold or at her lover's touch, she didn't know. She reached for Willow and they found their bodies naturally fitting in, each groove and curve perfectly in line.

"Hhhh," Willow gasped.

"You want something?" Tara teased.

"You," was the breathless reply.

"Let's go back to the hotel, me fiery lassie," Tara pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"You want fire, you ain't seen nothing yet," Willow whooped as she jumped up and began running toward the village. "First one back calls the shots."

"No fair, I'm not wearing sneakers," Tara shouted, but her lover was already yards ahead. She shook her head and started in pursuit.

Two very breathless witches crashed into their room, lips already meshed together, arms and legs wrapped around each other. They peeled their coats off and threw them -- somewhere. Willow turned Tara around, pulled the sweater and bra off and pushed her lover's arms over her head against the antique door. Tara was still shivering from Willow's touch. The small doorknob bit into her back, but she didn't care.

Willow allowed her hands and mouth to freely roam all over Tara's body. She gathered Tara's breasts in her hands and squeezed, eliciting a thick groan from the back of Tara's throat.

She slid one hand between their bodies and undid Tara's belt, followed by the button and zipper of Tara's jeans. She hooked her thumbs over the elastic of Tara's small panties, and followed their path down, so she was kneeling in front of her lover.

One by one, she lifted Tara's feet to free them of the encumbering material of the jeans and panties. With both hands, she trailed a slow tantalizing way up from the soles of Tara's feet, past firm calves, before allowing the heel of her hand to inch its way up the front of Tara's thighs. At the top of her thighs she drew her hands around to cup Tara's soft and full hips and as she lowered her head she could smell and almost touch each drop of arousal coating Tara's curls.

"You have the best smell in the world," she hummed into the curls. And heard a primal groan from Tara who was helpless against the door waiting for Willow to take the lead.

Willow's hands played across Tara's hips, finally arriving at the place she never tired of visiting. Her thumbs gently coaxed open her lover's folds and she bent down to kiss the down-covered lips, inhaling deeply and appreciating the slightly salty, slightly acidic, delicious smell of Tara and only Tara. She teased further using her tongue and flicked it across Tara's engorged clit. As she did so she heard her lover gasp and felt her grab her head, firm fingers becoming entangled with her own red hair.

Her tongue began a determined path inside smooth, wet folds. She stroked it down one side, then up the other; she darted it briefly into the opening, then dragged it slowly out and across Tara's clit. She then plunged it back inside, curling it up to touch the roof of Tara's channel. There was her rhythm -- thrust, draw it up, flatten it against Tara's clit, withdraw, suck, then repeat. It was mesmerizing, she saw herself kneeling in front of her naked lover, whose arms were stretched up above her, trying to grip onto something while her head shook from side to side with an incoherent series of moans and whimpers the only sign of how close she was.

Tara was panting now. "More, more," she repeated. Willow could feel her lover's desire rising. She focused her tongue on Tara's clit and slipped inside with two fingers, pressing in and up. She swept her tongue over Tara's hard clit again and again, in time with the push with her fingers.

Tara's cries turned to "Now, now, there, yesssss!" as her walls tensed and shrunk against Willow's fingers and she felt Tara come wildly against her face, a gush of velvet juices drenching her chin and jaw.

She slowed the movement of her fingers into calming strokes, staying focused on Tara until the tremors in her body eased. She stood back up and they shared many soft kisses.

"Thank you," Tara murmured.

"Thank you," Willow replied.

"Bed?" Tara suggested. And Willow half-carried her spent lover to the bed, stripped herself and crawled in under the covers.

Tara leaned into her and they settled into a comfortable close embrace. Willow brushed Tara's fine hair and Tara purred in appreciation.

"You like that?" she asked.

"You know I do." Tara moved, planted her lips against Willow's pulse point and sucked gently, sending the fluttery feelings up her spine.

"Hey, you're tired. I thought you wanted bed," Willow said.

"Bed, not sleep."

"But, tired?"

"Never too tired to make love to you. Stretch out," Tara directed.

Willow felt the brief sting of the cold air as Tara flipped over their duvet, but the room was warm enough. She lay on the bed, her arms stretched out fully, as Tara sat back and drank her in. She should feel naked and vulnerable, but it was Tara. She wanted to open herself fully, because it was Tara.

Tara started at the top of her head, leaning down to place light kisses over every inch of skin she could see. Light feathery touches that made Willow come out in goosebumps, wanting more.

Tara's warm hands were circling her breasts now, and Tara's mouth took one small pert breast in one gulp, as if swallowing it. Finally letting the breast go, she held the tip of one nipple between her teeth and flicked it with her tongue, and Willow shuddered at the sensation. Tara repeated at the other nipple and Willow's goosebumps spread all over her body.

"Cold?" Tara asked.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Turn over."

Willow obeyed and lay on her stomach. Tara started her slow journey down Willow's back, alternately planting kisses and brushing lightly with the tips of her fingers. Soon she knelt by the bed and had eased Willow's legs wide open. Beginning at a spot inside Willow's knee, she kissed her way slowly up the back of the thigh. Willow's breathing became shorter and she found herself whimpering at each kiss.

Willow was afraid that Tara would tease her endlessly until she was a limp puppet, but this was not the case. Tara's kisses had reached her sex and she lightly traced one finger around the closed lips. Tara kissed the swollen tip of Willow's clit, steady tapping movements that set fire to Willow's nerve endings. Willow was having a hard time maintaining her composure, all she wanted was to scream loudly and open her legs as wide as she could.

Sure fingers lightly traced around her entrance, close but not venturing inside. Tara kissed there twice and then Willow gasped as she felt two fingers push in slickly, and her hips shot uncontrollably up in the air.

"More," she gasped. "Please, Tara, more."

The next pass, Tara had three fingers inside, opening her lover up, filling her completely. Willow clutched at the pillows as Tara drove in continually, a long drawn-out rasp escaping as she moved harder against Tara's fingers.

Tara's other hand reached down to grasp her hard clit, rolling it between her fingers like a marble. She pinched it tight, stopped the movement, and Willow had to suppress a scream of agony at the prolonged pressure.

When Tara's hands started moving again, they did so with even harsher pressure, pounding into Willow, twisting her clit, and adding kisses along Willow's back. In no time, it was too much for Willow and she thrashed uncontrollably as she came very hard against Tara's hands. Her orgasm surging relentlessly amidst shuddering that seemed to propel her off the bed so that not even Tara could hold her still.

When finally she was spent, all she could do was to sprawl on the bed while Tara extricated her hands and began to lap up the sweet nectar.

"Will, are you with me?" Tara asked as she climbed up, pulled the duvet over them and held Willow tight.

"Hmm, I'd ask you for seconds, but I don't think I have the energy," the very drowsy redhead replied.

"We have plenty of time, it's only the beginning of our vacation," Tara said softly, kissing the back of Willow's neck lovingly.

Willow managed to turn herself over to face her lover. She kissed her deeply, savoring her own taste on Tara's tongue.

"I can't believe it, it's only our first day," she agreed. "Happy Pre-Christmas vacation, Baby."

"I know. Happy Pre-Holiday vacation, Sweetie," Tara said.

They had another two weeks of this. There was so much to look forward to.

*****

The End

Started: a long time ago
Completed: 30 November 2005
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Our favorite bonnie lasses go on vacation in the Highlands.
Notes: Day 11 of Once More, with Fruitcake: A very Kitten Holiday series, where we each took a day from the Traditional 12 Days of Christmas carol; one from the 12 Pains of Christmas parody song and a random holiday activity.
Author's Notes: Though not exactly in the same area, I envisioned the hotel that they stayed at to be something like this.
Thanks: to the g13 group for the fun collaboration and hours upon hours of hilarity. Next time, somebody else play boss, okay?
Special thanks: to Chris, for the outstanding graphics.
Special shout-out: to Debra, HoMary and Sally for the seasonal gift-box of semi-colons (and did I hear Car heave big sigh of relief?).

Required Elements: Eleven pipers piping, stale TV specials, traveling.

*****

"Buffy, for the thousandth time, it's okay. Fighting the big bad is way more important. Medium-sized bad, or little bad even. Besides, she'll have my undivided attention for two whole weeks," Willow explained as she and her best friend made their way through a labyrinth of dank, dark underground tunnels. Neither were bothered by the enclosed space or the oppressive darkness, it was as much part of their daily lives as, say, muffins and mocha.

"Still feeling guilty because my gut tells me I was interrupting some major witchy smoochies. Admit it, Will, you guys are so into each other lately. Things going that well, huh?" Buffy kept her voice low, her eyes peeled for any movement up ahead.

Even in the dark Buffy could see Willow blush from the tip of her hair to the ends of her toes. "Oh yes," the redhead replied, as she thought back on what she and Tara were doing when Buffy's call for backup so abruptly brought them crashing down to earth. Willow was delighting in the subtle changes in Tara's breathing, the quickening of heartbeat, and the flush that was spreading over her lover's body as she approached release. Then the phone rang. She owed Tara big time for leaving her hanging like that. "More than yes. I think about her all the time, even the smallest thing reminds me of her, like I was picking up the mail this morning and I remember when we first got together we gave each other postcards, you know the free ones you get at restaurants and bookstores? We didn't write a lot, sometimes she drew hearts all over but I'll have this silly grin all over my face whenever I found a new one in my locker or my bag or underneath my pillow, you remember?"

"Will, when you first got together with Tara both of you had permanent stupid grins on your faces. We could be talking and all of a sudden you'd go all glassy-eyed and I knew you were off to your Tara dreamland again," Buffy said affectionately.

"I was that pre-occupied?" Willow asked.

"All the time. Totally, completely smutten ... smitten. You still are. Okay I think we're there," Buffy stopped as she spotted a strange green mist billowing out of the tunnel ahead of them and loaded up her crossbow. "You ready?"

Willow's fingers crackled with blue magical energy. "Yep, let's kick some demon ass and go home. I have a long day tomorrow."

*****

Willow closed the bedroom door quietly and allowed the sweet sight of her lover to wash over her. Tara had obviously waited up, but it was past 4am and she had fallen asleep, propped up on the pillows with a book on her lap. Willow put the book away, turned off the lights and slipped under the covers as gently as she could, planting a soft kiss on the sleeping blonde's cheek.

"Mmmm, you're back," Tara mumbled sleepily as she shifted down the bed and curled herself into Willow's arms.

"I woke you up, sorry," Willow apologized, dropping another kiss at the top of Tara's head and stroking the silky blonde hair she loved so much.

"I was waiting for you, must have fallen asleep. Did patrol go okay? No new apocalypse?" Tara asked as she turned around so they were face to face. She pressed their bodies closer and began a trail of feathery kisses up from the base of Willow's neck.

"No, love. Kraquell demons with an attitude are no match for experienced cool monster fighters like Buffy and me," Willow smiled, both at the thought demons defeated, and the sensation of Tara's kisses along her neck. Once finished on her neck, the kisses moved along her jawline and toward a known sensitive spot behind her ear. "This is nice, I thought you were tired."

"I was. Not anymore. Are you? Should I stop?" Tara whispered, licking Willow's ear all the way around before sucking on the earlobe ever so gently.

"Baby, you know perfectly well I can't resist Taralips, not to mention post-slayage H&H. But we have an early start tomorrow, I haven't finished my checklist, a-a-and we have to be ready for the drive to the airport," Willow was squirming under Tara's attention but she wasn't about to give in. Yet.

Instead of answering, Tara increased the pressure on Willow's ear while her hands were busily working on the buttons of the redhead's pajama shirt, starting from the bottom and opening an inverted "V" that exposed her stomach with just a faint glimpse of the underside of two beautiful breasts.

Removing her lips from the ear earned a whimper, which turned into a long throaty moan as she shifted herself so she was between Willow's legs. She lowered her head and placed light, open-mouthed kisses around Willow's belly button. She slipped both hands underneath the pajama shirt to start massaging Willow's back, working their way across her side, finally spreading her fingers so they were cupping both breasts, avoiding the sensitive nipples.

She guided herself up the length of Willow's body until her hair cascaded over her lover's face and their lips were just a hair's breath apart. "Now should I stop?" she challenged.

"Don't you fucking dare," came the almost desperate reply as Willow arched her back, pushing her breasts further into Tara's loving hands, closing the small distance to capture full lips in her own and not letting go until they were completely breathless.

Tara undid the remaining buttons on Willow's shirt and pulled it open to reveal her lover's breasts in all their glory; she drew her tongue around one soft mound in ever decreasing circles until she reached the sharp point, then took the puckered nub into her mouth and sucked until it was like hard candy. Her hand took care of the other breast, stroking and caressing it to a point as hard as the other one.

Willow felt the ache in her nipples spread all over her breasts under Tara's expert manipulation. Her hands drifted down Tara's body, eliciting excited growls from the blonde, which in turn vibrated onto her own nipples, making them almost painful. She pulled Tara's nightgown up until the material was bunched up around her waist. Her hands reached down and found the smooth baby skin of Tara's ass.

"Baby, did you forget something?" she asked.

She felt Tara smile into her breasts. "The state you left me in, I'm surprised I even managed the nightgown," Tara answered, turning her attention back to kissing Willow's breasts.

"Buffy says she's sorry for the interruption. I'm sure she'll want to make it up to you, she might even bake cookies," Willow smirked. Much as she loved the feeling of Tara's kisses on her breasts, she felt it was only fair to share with other parts of her body. She gently lifted Tara's chin and brought the blonde's face toward her own.

"And you, how are you gonna make it up to me?" Tara asked as she allowed her head to come closer to Willow's. As their eyes met, they could feel their desire mounting, both eager to re-visit the level of intimacy they were sharing earlier in the evening.

"For a start, kiss you senseless."

"Show me."

Willow didn't need any further prompting as she leant up and kissed Tara hard, driving her tongue into the blonde's mouth and claiming it as hers. She left no part of Tara's mouth unexplored, purposefully grazing all surfaces, from the smooth inner walls to the hard enamel of Tara's teeth, even far-away crevices like the ridges at the roof of Tara's mouth. She hummed her appreciation of Tara's familiar taste on her tongue, her hazy mind registering how she could never tire of that taste.

As the kiss intensified their hands continued their exploration of each other's bodies. Tara's unintentional brush on Willow's nipple caused a sharp intake of breath from the redhead, who in turn slipped her hands under and pulled the material of the blonde's nightgown further up. The split second it took for their mouths to spring apart while the annoying nightgown was pulled off was one second too long, and they dived back into the kiss immediately afterwards.

Willow lifted her hips so that she could wriggle out of her boxers, and quivered in delight when all clothing was off and she was finally naked and open to her lover. It never mattered, in the middle of an apocalypse, a sunny Saturday afternoon, under the cover of the stars, it was so easy for the spark of desire to ignite between them.

Their legs slotted in place perfectly, the tops of their thighs in intimate contact with needy centers. Their bodies slipped into an easy rhythm quickly, the grinding and swaying of hips in effortless synchronization with deep open-mouthed kisses.

Willow's hand moved down and attempted to snake inside the tight space between their bodies but Tara's hands were faster, capturing the redhead's wrists and stretching them out over her head. Tara pushed up and straddled the now squirmy redhead. She leaned forward slightly, using her arms to trap Willow's against the top of the bed. Willow made a few feeble attempts at resistance but not enough to actually threaten to Tara's dominance. She gazed at Tara with mock defiance, and watched as Tara's eyes grew heavy with lust.

This was a game they played often, of give and take, to pretend to provoke each other, yet at the end all was soft and delicate between them. Power wasn't about who was on top, or who was in command. For them, the power was in their sharing.

"Now," Tara said as she lowered herself fully on top of Willow, only propping her head up from her elbows on either side of Willow's body. "Tell me about the demons tonight. What was so special about them that Buffy couldn't handle them herself?"

"You want to know about patrol right now? In the middle of --"

"I spent three hours waiting for you, lover. I deserve to know why."

"But," Willow spluttered, then grinned as she caught Tara's naughty gleam. "Fine, if that's what you want to know. Buffy thought it was a demon nest, turned out to be a cranky Kraquell who was annoyed that he wasn't invited to Spike's Christmas kitten poker party. So he gathered a bunch of his friends and they were all set to gatecrash Willy's. You know how Kraquells are the epitome of slimeballs?"

"How many?"

"Nine, I think. I hit them with a stumblearound fog spell and Buffy dealt with them quickly. We didn't think to count. You keep doing that and I won't have any brain cells left to do any counting tonight."

Tara smiled. She had shaken her hair out in a cascade and the tips of her fine blonde hair teased and brushed against Willow's sensitive skin. She slowly and deliberately fanned the tresses out so they covered both Willow's breasts. As she started working her way down Willow's body with small kisses, the strands of hair added to the sensation of giving her lover hundreds of smaller kisses.

"Were you planning on counting anything tonight?" Tara asked huskily. She had reached the top of Willow's thighs and was easing the aroused redhead's legs apart. Her head slipped between the heated crevice and she buried her nose in the trimmed curls that were lightly coated with the most wondrous nectar.

"Yeah, count. Not now busy," Willow had lost the ability to form proper sentences. All she could focus on at that moment were the sensations of Tara's hair tickling her skin, Tara's breath on her center, and Tara's tongue tantalizingly close to her clit.

"Hmm, my mathematical genius not knowing her basic numbers? I'll have to demonstrate," Tara took a deep breath of Willow's fragrance and proceeded to trace a sequence of numbers along the incoherent redhead's sex.

Using the tip of her tongue, she traced a long path down Willow's outer folds, momentarily brushing against the protruding clit. Gently easing the folds open, she drew another slow arc down one side, then across the lips.

"That was a One followed by a Two, are you following?" she murmured. They had tried the ABC method a few times with spectacular results and had always wondered if the technique worked with numbers.

Willow was in heaven. Her clouded but busy mind was seeing stars and streaks of light that changed to naked Taras dancing among pillars shaped like the numbers. Her mind's eye was naturally fixated on the dancing Tara boobies freely bouncing in tune with the pounding inside her ears.

Three, Four and Five swiftly followed. Tara eased her lover's smooth labia open and Taratongue made small hard circles along tight inner walls. Six started at her hard clit and ended just outside her opening. Willow heard herself moaning in desperate need as she felt her impending release.

"Tara, no numbers. I need you inside," she pleaded. She wanted Tara to be very far inside of her, not just in her head but in her heart and body as well.

"No more numbers?" Tara muttered. "I was going to do 69."

"No. Please. Inside."

She could feel Tara's smile and a second later, the blonde's tongue made its determined way just inside her welcoming channel, lightly grazing the walls which attempted to grip their slippery guest and not let go.

Tara's tongue retreated as soon as it had entered but before Willow could utter a whimper of protest, Tara's long fingers had taken its place and began a steady pumping rhythm.

The pounding in Willow's head continued in sequence with the pumping. Excitement surged from her center to the bottom of her stomach to her breasts and arms and hands. She was at once drowning and on fire. Everything -- clit, wetness, ass, thickness, breasts, fire, fingers -- united into a tight ball of white heat as her back arched and she felt herself opening up to consume Tara. Tara's fingers, Tara's essence, Tara's love.

She screamed for Tara. Her voice was strong and hoarse. Breathless and exhilarated. She screamed, as if her orgasm and her love for the woman inside her would never cease and would endure beyond the end of the universe.

Tara eased Willow gently down from her climax with slow relaxed strokes. She climbed up the bed and took Willow into a loving embrace, sighing contentedly as their bodies molded together. Willow was making the softest, most delicious sounds of fulfillment, and Tara's heart filled with love for the small redhead in her arms. She lovingly caressed the soft freckled skin and placed small kisses on Willow's shoulders.

"Hmm, you're so good at this," Willow mumbled sleepily.

"Practice," Tara smiled. "Post slayage H&H is challenging, but I like a challenge."

"You're magnificent. I feel like you just gave me an early Christmas present."

"I love you."

Willow felt herself floating at Tara's declaration. How many times had she heard it? How many times had she herself said those same small three words? It didn't matter; each time was like the first time. She felt as if she was submerged in the love they shared; the promise and the elation she remembered when they first gave themselves to each other was just as strong now, after everything they had gone through together.

"You warm my heart," she said. "I know this sounds corny, but you are my heart."

Willow felt Tara's heart sing, she knew it, just as she knew her own heart's song. She turned around and at the sight of Tara's eyes, she knew that words were not needed.

She kissed Tara carefully. Deliberately making her way from the top of her lover's head, with feathery touches on closed eyes, cheeks and nose.

Tara giggled as Willow playfully licked the tip of her nose. She stuck her tongue out to try to mirror the action but Willow moved away too quickly. She tried next to reach out and cup Willow's face but again the redhead was too fast for her, pushing her hand away easily. Giggles turned into frisky play as Willow turned tables and tackled Tara, pinning the blonde under her.

"I have you now," Willow growled flirtatiously.

"I'm already yours."

Willow answered by taking Tara's lips and boldly teasing her lover's mouth open with her tongue; she was rewarded as it was granted enthusiastic access. Meanwhile, her hands cupped Tara's soft breasts and she savored the weight of the supple flesh. After appreciating the breasts she could spend hours loving, and only because she knew what was waiting so earnestly for her, she moved one hand firmly between the valley of Tara's breasts, then traced the back of her hand along the center of the blonde's abdomen until it reached the triangle of curls that was already dripping with the excitement of the night.

Tara's body shifted to accommodate Willow's increasingly insistent probing. She felt her body and soul opening up to her lover as passion took hold and she bore down to take Willow's two fingers inside her. She felt her inner muscles squeeze the swirling digits hungrily. Wanting more, she grasped the back of Willow's head and pulled them into an even deeper kiss.

Willow's thumb found Tara's clit and circled it in a firm massage that shot currents around the whole of Tara's center. Tara was shaking in the face of her impending release and from the knowledge that she was under Willow's control. One more flick, one more twirl and her hips buckled uncontrollably, her orgasm ripping through her body. Gasps from the back of her throat quickly turned into full-blooded screams as she felt her body falling and falling helplessly over the edge.

But then Willow caught her, and she never felt so safe.

The moon came and went, its white beams peeking through half-drawn curtains and tracing over the lovers as they sealed their love with slow kisses. Soon they drifted into slumber, their arms and legs and bodies entangled in a deep and trusting embrace.

*****

The radio alarm clicked on and it took Tara a few seconds to wake up to the early morning chatter about traffic interspersed with never-ending Christmas jingles. Another few seconds to register that the emptiness she felt was due to her being on her own in bed, bedsheets awkwardly wrapped around her back and legs.

She frowned and listened for any sounds from the bathroom. Perhaps Willow was having a shower. But there was nothing. She was just about to hop onto the highway of Willow discontent when realization came to her. Wrapping herself loosely in her comfortable robe, she tiptoed downstairs and smiled indulgently at the scene in the living room. She had guessed right. Willow's attention was focused on a piece of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other, but what made Tara smile even more was the total state of undress the serious-looking redhead was sporting.

"What did we forget this time, sweetie?" she chuckled, leaning against the doorframe of their living room and drawing her eyes over her lover's body.

Willow jumped at the interruption, then guiltily glanced at the scattered items arranged haphazardly all over the couch. "I was just looking for …" she stammered.

"You've gone through the list six times already, and your master packing list is so comprehensive we'll be even more prepared than NASA before a shuttle launch."

"I woke up suddenly thinking we didn't pack any laundry detergent. Our trip is two weeks and we only packed one week's worth of clothing, so doing laundry is really important, because stinky witches? Make bad impressions and give us a bad rep," Willow explained sheepishly.

"You intend for us to be wearing clothes a lot then," Tara deadpanned.

Willow gave Tara a dirty look, then grinned as she followed Tara's gaze to her own nakedness. "You were the one who wanted to quote unquote connect with my roots. That involves talking to people and looking at old buildings. Clothes are probably recommended for those activities."

"And the people of Scotland don't do laundry, so even if, god forbid, we forgot the laundry detergent, we can't possibly buy it from the stores there," Tara teased.

Willow harrumphed. "But it's not the same. Will our clothes come out as clean? Can we get the same degree of freshness? Will our shirts come out stiff and scratchy? I don't want scratchy material on baby Tara skin!"

Tara couldn't help it, and broke out in a throaty guffaw. Is she cute or anal? I wouldn't have her any other way.

Willow's eyes narrowed and her mind raced to find a suitably witty retort. Luckily the chime of the door bell saved her from the trouble. Tara was still giggling and was holding to her side as if in stitches.

"That must be Buffy," Willow said as she decided to be the serious one and answer the door. She didn't get very far, a still-laughing Tara grabbed her by the waist and spun her back into the room. "What?" she protested.

"Honey, I'll get the door, you go back upstairs," Tara was obviously trying to keep a straight face as she gently pushed Willow toward the stairs.

"Why? Why am I upstairs while you're down here with Buffy? Something you're not telling me?" Willow challenged.

Tara managed to whisper one word. "Clothes."

"Eeep," Willow squeaked and sprinted upstairs without a further word.

Tara opened the door to a gift-wrapped tower that was about to topple over.

"Buffy?"

The mountain-on-legs stepped gingerly into her hallway and Tara had to step back quickly to avoid a landslide of brightly colored boxes that landed on the floor with a thud.

"Is me. Your friendly neighborhood Wiccan Gift Delivery Service at your, um, service," Buffy chirped. Tara thought she sounded like Anya; the slayer must have been spending too much time at the Magic Shop.

"Good god, Buffy, that's a lot of boxes. I mean, I know, part of the big gift-giving-and-exchange-fun day, but ... good god, that's a lot of boxes!" Tara exclaimed.

"These are just from me and Dawn and Giles, Xander and Anya haven't added theirs to the pool yet."

"Are you sure Dawn can wait that long? Are you sure you can?" Tara joked as she helped carry the boxes into the living room.

"You mock my slayer patience? I have patience!" Buffy protested, picking up the remaining ones.

Tara smiled indulgently at the slayer. "I have to put a magic lock on my oven because?"

"I just wanted to peek! It's your fault for making brownies that make a girl lose self control. How does Will do it, she's an even bigger chocoholic than me. Her Chocolate SAT is higher than her real SAT."

"Well, she knows that if she gets in the way of my baking, the only Kisses she'll get are Hershey's."

"I thought a bag of Hershey's Kisses was foreplay, and I just channeled Anya didn't I?" Buffy quickly retracted.

Wrong challenge. "I can think of at least half a dozen replies to that, none of it pleasant for your mental well-being," Tara said pleasantly and winked at Buffy.

Buffy caught Tara's wink. "Why thank you," she grinned back then looked up toward the stairs. "Change of topic before Will comes back, are you set with the you-know-what?"

Tara nodded conspirationally to Buffy. "Yes, thanks for helping. I'll have it ready for when we come back." She arranged the collection of gift boxes in a nice tree-shaped stack at the side of the fireplace and was surveying her handiwork.

"Anytime. Oh, here she comes."

Tara heard Willow's footsteps a few seconds later and warm hands circled her waist. She leaned into her lover who treated her to a series of small kisses on her cheek.

"Good god, that's a lot of presents," Willow remarked.

"And all ready for the Grand Christmas Gift Opening Party. You won't be too tired to have the party the day after you come home?" Buffy asked.

"It's Christmas Day. Besides Dawn and Xander will come over to help us ‘unpack', and you, you'll ‘drop by' on patrol, you're not the world's most patient person when it comes to presents," Willow said.

"All right, this is scary. That's the second time my lack of patience has been brought up. Do you two share brains or something?" Buffy said.

Willow looked at Tara, who smiled back lovingly. They shared the look of two people who didn't need words to communicate.

"We think a lot alike, except in the matters of packing and re-packing," Tara said, looking at their baggage that was in the middle of a Willow restacking project.

Willow got the message immediately. "Okay, I'm gonna pack. Baby, check the VCR please?"

Buffy and Tara rolled their eyes simultaneously. "I don't understand why you insist on recording Charlie Brown's Christmas every year. First, you're Jewish. Second, it's the same show," Buffy commented.

"Except in 1997 they added back a missing scene," Tara cut in, blushed and shrugged at Buffy's raised eyebrow. "When in Rome..." she trailed off.

"I want to watch it ‘live' every year, and keep a recording of it. It builds up my collection. I remember each Holiday season by the ritual Charlie Brown Christmas Special viewings," Willow said whimsically. "I used to sneak over to Xander's house, then it was to Buffy's. I don't care about the actual Christmas part, or whatever Hannukah spirit there is in the show; it's the idea of watching the special, and who I watch it with. The last few years are the happiest Charlie Brown Christmases of my life."

Tara's heart melted and she crossed the room to give her love a tender embrace.

"Mine too. Any Charlie Brown Christmases with you are the happiest of my life," she whispered. And sealed the statement with a kiss.

Buffy kept her eyes glued to the control panel of the VCR, trying to work out how to set the program, and to stop herself from staring at her best friend smooching her girlfriend.

"Don't touch anything!" Willow looked over and yelled out. "Buffy, please don't touch the recorder, you and machinery don't mix well. I don't want a gap in my collection."

"Okay, okay," Buffy backed off. "I'll come over and watch it Christmas morning and make sure the house is prepared for your return. Dawn and Xander will be fighting over which boring TV special to watch. I'm sure Dawn will want Ricky Martin and Xander will want the Simpsons."

"The Simpsons one isn't bad," Willow said. "Better than the Come Dancing one Giles made us watch."

"It gets stale after the first 57 times," Buffy grimaced. "Which is a non-sequencer for me to get going, Dawn wants to go to the pet store."

"Non sequitur," the witches said simultaneously.

The greatest slayer in history stuck her tongue out, and gave her two best friends a twirl and a hug.

"Have a good time and don't peek up any Scotsmen's kilts," she laughed as she made her way out.

Willow returned to packing and Tara went upstairs to strip their bed. She breathed in the scent of their previous night's lovemaking that was still lingering on the sheets. In a few hours they would be on their way to the place she had wanted to visit since childhood. The trip was a surprise from Willow, who had arranged the flights and hotels then told her about it on her birthday. She couldn't wait to fully show her appreciation to Willow.

*****

"Goddess!" Tara shuddered at the unexpected touch and felt her body turning over control to the small redhead spooning her from behind.

They were at LAX, having stopped over to connect to the flight to London. The gate was at the far end of the terminal, and the normally busy airport was oddly quiet. And that included the bathrooms. Willow had watched Tara's reflection at the washbasin, her gaze strayed downward and she couldn't tear her eyes away. Even the bagginess of her track pants couldn't hide the curve of Tara's hips. It was one of the many favorite spots that Willow adored, that curve: soft and generous and full.

Tara had sensed her lover's scrutiny, and had stayed in front of the vanity mirror longer than necessary, stretching her arms over her head, allowing the clearly worked up redhead a glimpse of flesh between her shirt and her pants. She closed her eyes momentarily and was surprised when Willow had moved quickly across the empty room and her hands were cupping her ass almost forcefully.

"Willow! Someone's coming!" Tara squeaked as the dampening thought of being in a public place gave her a pointed nudge and her heart rate increased from the fear of being discovered.

"Shhh, just focus on me," Willow soothed.

"But --"

"Trust me."

Tara whimpered in a heady mix of panic and arousal, her groans becoming louder as Willow snuggled her pelvis closer. Tara gave up any pretense of rational thought and reached back to grip Willow's head tightly. Half turning her head, her lips found Willow's easily and their tongues met in increasing urgency.

Willow's hands were still at Tara's hips. They had been petting the soft flesh, and now she increased the pressure, stroking the weighty mounds heavily until Tara let go of the red hair and rested her hands at the edge of the basin.

That was Willow's signal to slip her hands under the waistband of Tara's track pants, her research on clothing for long haul air travel telling them what they instinctively knew, that it was better to go for comfort over style. Who knew easy access was an important criteria too? Tara shifted and opened her legs a little, allowing Willow to step closer and reach the inside of her thighs, softly tracing the firmness through the materials of hip-hugging panties.

Tara's eyes were closed and she moaned at the sensation, all thoughts about being discovered dissolved in a fog of desire.

"Yes," she moaned.

"Do you trust me?" Willow whispered.

"Yes," Tara repeated.

With that Willow pulled her pants and panties down so they pooled at her knees. One hand reached under her shirt and rubbed fast circles over the sensitive nipple until it hardened to a tight point. The other hand circled around and was teasing her clit with her fingertips until the sensitive nub also hardened to a tight point.

"Hard up here," Willow said while continuing the pressure on the breast.

"Ohhmmm."

Tara's moans were becoming desperate, her legs spread until the material of her pants locked them in place.

"And hard down here. Wet too. Nice." And the pressure on the hard nubbly clit intensified.

The hand that was on her breast withdrew but before Tara could object, it had found its way to her ass again, fingers teased along her crack and before long two fingers entered her and she cried out from the pleasure.

She should feel exposed but instead she felt complete. Willow now had one hand squeezing her clit from the front and the other hand fucking her from behind, her whole body seemed to be bouncing with the pumping rhythm, she felt like she was being lifted from the floor every time Willow entered her.

She knew she would be quick. All she could think of was Willow. All she could feel was Willow inside her, around her, boring into her.

"Oh goddess, Willow!" she panted as her body clenched tightly and her knuckles turned white while gripping the porcelain basin and she was Willow's.

Willow wrapped her arms round Tara in a loving embrace, waiting for her lover's body to relax and the trembling to slow down.

"I'm the goddess Willow, or were you simply calling to the goddesses in general?"

"Tease me, will you? Next time I'll be quiet as a mouse," Tara exhaled.

Willow kissed her. "I'll hold you to that."

Tara looked down at her hands still gripping the basin; she looked up into the mirror and she saw how flushed she was. Her eyes were still wild and there was a glow in her skin. Her beautiful Willow was behind her, protecting, loving. A noise from outside distracted her and she gradually becoming aware again of where she was and her state of semi-undress.

"We, um, should get back to the gate," sensible-Tara said, even though she really wanted to do was turn around, pin Willow to the wall and do onto her lover what the redhead just did onto her.

Willow glanced at her watch and nodded. "Thanks for trusting me, love."

Tara kissed Willow back. "I do."

They cleaned up, retrieved their bags and headed outside hand-in-hand. Tara pushed at the main door only to find that it wouldn't budge.

"Oh yeah. Let me," Willow said sheepishly as she dissipated the spell that had rendered the ladies bathroom out-of-bounds to allcomers for the last few minutes.

"You locked the door? I was in a panic that someone would walk in on us, and you had it locked all the time?" Tara accused, but her eyes were smiling.

"However badly I wanted you, and as much as I want us to be spontaneous, we're not exhibitionists. Plus I don't want us to end up in the airport manager's office, we need to catch our flight," Willow explained.

"You, Willow Rosenberg, are a vixen. A sneaky, too-clever-for-your-own-good, but very sexy vixen," Tara said.

"But you still love me?"

"Yes, you dork. I still love you."

They tried to act nonchalant when they left the empty bathroom. The gate area had filled up with passengers and they boarded the plane quickly. They were pleasantly surprised that they had all three seats to themselves, and settled in quickly for the long flight.

After a dull meal and the ritual inspection of the duty free cart, Willow took out her laptop and clicked on a few icons on the dock in quick succession.

"You've been staring at it so many times, won't you get tired of it?" Tara asked as she saw what was on the screen.

"Two things I'll never ever get tired of looking on the powerbook, my wallpaper and this chart. My best work so far, don't you think?" Willow replied.

"You're comparing a photoshopped picture of me with a genealogy chart?" Tara deadpanned.

"Well… I made both?" Willow asked cheekily.

Tara took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "That you did, my love, that you did."

Willow enjoyed the Tara kisses, then brushed the back of her fingers against the blonde's cheeks. They basked in the small intimate gesture; no words were needed. After a few moments, Willow returned to her laptop while Tara picked out a film from the selection on her armrest controller. She reached over and took hold of Willow's hand; Willow said nothing, deftly using her other hand to control the trackpad on her laptop.

Tara's mind wasn't altogether on the film, she was distracted by the feel of Willow's hand in hers. She rubbed her thumb slowly on the nimble fingers, dragged her fingertips in slow circles around Willow's palm. This elicited a sharp intake of breath from the redhead, who studiously pretended not to notice the goosebumps rapidly forming all over her arm. When Tara's delicate strokes moved to her wrist and further up, the tingles along her arms grew so intense that she felt her whole body start to shake.

The cabin lights chose that moment to dim and the passengers around them scrambled to switch on their reading lights. Willow saved her work and shut down the laptop.

"How's your film, baby?" she asked as she leaned over and placed her head on Tara's shoulder.

"Not really paying attention. There's this cute redhead a few inches away distracting me," Tara said as she removed her headphones. "No more powerbooking?"

"Yeah. Let's try to get some rest," Willow lifted the armrest between them and snuggled closer to Tara. The dim lights, the hum of the plane and general tiredness soon lulled them into fitful slumber.

A baby's cry woke Tara up and she found herself with an extremely stiff shoulder. She tried to move her arm, but it was wedged firmly between Willow and the seat. A few minutes of squirming and a shot of pain up her back convinced her that she needed to remedy the situation. She rocked Willow gently with her other hand, trying to move the sleeping redhead.

"Sorry sweetie, I need you to move your head," Tara apologized.

"Re-jazzificate the wholewheat pixel adaptor," a still asleep Willow mumbled.

"Just let me move you a little, honey, you don't have to wake up," Tara struggled with her arm, with a tiny bit of success.

"Seventeen custard wombats are trying their best," came the reply and Willow's head moved away to her tangible relief. She let out a sigh, then turned to the girl next to her, now sitting up and stretching her joints.

"How long were you faking? You were killing my arm," Tara accused.

Willow's consternation was visible even in the darkness. "I just woke up, I moved as soon as … baby are you okay? I hurt you? Did I crush you or hit you accidentally?"

Tara's face softened. "No, just a trapped arm, that's all."

"Grrr, it's hard to sleep in this cramped space," Willow made a face.

"I have an idea, stand up for a second," Tara instructed.

She pushed both armrests up as far back as she could, and arranged the thin pillows against the cabin walls. She stretched herself out as much as she could across the three seats, trying to lean close to the seatbacks. She opened her arms and Willow scooted into the small empty space. It was a tight fit, but with legs intertwined and arms around each other, they managed to fit across the row of seats.

"This is so much better," Willow sighed, her head had magically found its way between Tara's breasts and she didn't care how uncomfortable the rest of her might be feeling.

Tara pulled the blanket over them, hissing at the uncooperative clingy material before finally managing to cover them fully.

"Now try to get some sleep," she said.

"I'm kinda feeling good here, it's a shame to fall asleep when I can do this," Willow snuggled closer into Tara's cleavage and rubbed her head over Tara's breast, even through two layers of material she could feel the instant response. She slipped one hand under Tara's shirt and confirmed the hardness of the nipple under its silk covering.

"We're on the plane, honey," Tara warned, though her body couldn't help but react to Willow's attention.

"So? We've done it in more public places," Willow showed no sign of stopping. She pushed one leg between Tara's and was able to gather some friction even in their confined space.

"People around us, oh god do that again, are you sure?"

"It's dark and as long as you don't scream too loudly, we're hidden under the blanket."

"No." Tara forced herself to stop and moved her head back so she was looking directly at her lover.

"No?" an incredulous Willow asked. Did I push her too far?

"Not me. Together. I want you too," Tara said firmly.

Willow once again thanked her air travel research. She wasted no time, pushing her hand inside Tara's pants and quickly sliding two fingers to establish a rhythm. Tara parted Willow's legs with her thigh and let her two fingers enter Willow, instinctively matching the same rhythm.

Wet flesh closed around dancing fingers. Thumbs on clits moved in a circular massage that caused both women to moan involuntarily. Their mouths, lips and tongues meshed together in a kiss that served as much to convey their passion as to prevent more moaning.

Arms round waists and shoulders tightened a little, then released, tightened and released again. The familiar tingling sensation came too soon, bodies jerked to the pulse of tiny currents scratching from head to toe, then racing inward, toward their cores.

A gate, their connection, opened from fingers to arms to hips to centers, a strong current flowed between them, inside them. They could no longer tell whose emotions were whose but really it didn't matter.

Tara was the first to feel the shudder start in the space between her shoulder blades, she kissed Willow harder and moved faster against Willow's hand, unable to stop the rush. Willow followed soon after as she too was swept along with the tide of their release.

They came together, as always, swallowing screams of pleasure through a kiss. Perhaps the seats were rocking, perhaps even the whole plane was rocking. Perhaps the passengers in the next seat sensed their pleasure as it spread even through the air. Really it didn't matter.

"That was --" one of them said.

"Yes," the other finished.

Frequent travelers complain about the difficulty of getting truly restful sleep on a plane. But not the lovebirds. The seat was narrow, the air was dry, the ambient noises were at ear-splitting levels. But really, it didn't matter.

They were in each other's embrace.

And they slept.

*****

continued in Part 2 ...

Started: 1 August 2005
Completed: 5 September 2005
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Wishverse, to be precise Master Willow verse, about 15 years into the future. A Vamp Willow / Human Tara story, one that I have not seen addressed often, of how a vampire deals with the loss of her human lover.
Notes: Part 6 of Elemental: Seven Stories for Seven Days. I'm also archiving this as a standalone called Days of Innocence Lost.
Warning: Character death. Angst, angst and more angst. This is the most angst I've ever written, consider this fair warning.

*****

"... as we commit her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ..."

Willow barely registered the priestess reading out the words, though she knew she should be paying attention, it was the last chance she had to share with ... gods she couldn't think anymore, all she felt was numbness. If she was thinking rationally, she would be suggesting to herself that a monster, a wicked fiend like herself, should not be feeling numb at the sight of death, she should be rejoicing in it.

"You're not a monster. You stopped being a monster the minute I invited you into my room," the beautiful voice in her head said.

For the first time in a long time she felt every inch the shy awkward human seventeen year old self of her appearance, as she was overcome with panicky thoughts.

Wiccans are supposed to be cremated or scattered at sea, why am I burying her? What if she is mad at me cos I’m selfish? What if she can't get into witchy heaven cos I'm not giving her the proper funeral, and the goddesses are pissed? She'll be stuck in the Summerlands forever! How can I find her? How can she find me?

Outwardly, she appeared calm and expressionless, but the assault of the thoughts raged on in her busy head, she clenched her fists until she almost drew blood.

But she felt no pain.

As the ceremony progressed, her senses grew aware of the quiet weeping from some of the attendees. She could hear their sobs, smell their sadness, even taste the saltiness of their tears. It didn't matter if they were human or demon. Dru was distraught and had to be supported by Angel, himself sporting a frown so deep that his eyes almost disappeared underneath his knitted brow. Anya and Halfrek, two of the most feared vengeance demons in all dimensions, were no more than two women clinging onto each other for whatever solace they could get. Cordelia, Joyce and Amy grimly stood next to Clem and Brell. Willy was there too.

Even the slayers and watchers were present. At his age, Giles still stood ramrod straight, even though his face was heavily lined and his hair was almost all white now, a marked contrast to when Willow first met him.

A sweet 15 year old with a crush on her librarian, who would've thought?

Buffy stood with the latest slayer, a young slip of a girl whose name Willow didn't even bother remembering. She didn't spare a glance at the current watcher either, though she knew he was off at the side somewhere, trying to hide his nervousness at all the demons present.

As her eyes traveled across the crowd of attendees, she started to feel the touch of the elements around her. The light magic of the cloud spell she cast over the ceremony so the sun could not affect the attendees who would normally be, um, allergic, flowed effortlessly into the very air that surrounded them. Light magic, which came as naturally to Willow as bloodlust to a fledgling vampire.

She allowed herself a tiny internal smile at the thought of how much she and her love had changed the very fabric of their reality. How the covens and demon overlords virtually pee'd in their pants when they learnt that the evil Master of Sunnydale was able to wield light magic and not be burnt. And how little she cared, light or dark magic didn’t matter, she only cared that she was doing magic with her love.

She tried again to focus on the words of the ceremony, but her spell heightened her awareness of her surroundings. Even the air seemed heavy with the sadness that prevailed in the space marked by the spell. Her grief reached deep into the earth, seeping into the soil, spreading to the tips of every blade of grass, down to the roots of the large oak trees shading the gravestones.

Do you like this spot? I chose it specially for you, I can sit under the oak tree all day and all night.

With impeccable timing, the final segment of the ceremony began just as an imperceptible change in the atmosphere signaled the start of the sunset. The gold-streaked crimson that slowly advanced through the sky washed over her like thick, red blood, piercing her unbeating heart.

A soft but firm touch at her elbow jolted her back to the reality. The priestess had finished, and was looking at Willow expectantly. Willow frowned, then followed her gaze to the casket.

She stared helplessly at the casket, she knew she was supposed to be doing something, giving the signal to move the ceremony to the next stage, but she couldn't. She didn't want this to end, any action would bring them one step closer to the end.

Angel was at her side and he gave the small nod that started the machinery. Willow let out a whimper and covered her ears at the sound of the cables creaking.

This isn't happening. This can't be it.

There was no peroration for this moment. The air was still, even the birds and trees were quiet. The Earth itself seemed to stop moving. The casket (handmade from imported mahogany, only the best for her love) slowly lowered into the hollow that was covered with pleasing, inoffensive green cloth.

Willow knew it was a void, nothing else. The nothingness within her unbeating heart that once held so many rich emotions was reflected in that dark chamber that she insisted on carefully hand-digging herself. No one – nothing – was allowed to touch that space. She made sure of that, with her hands and her magic.

It seemed to take forever, the sinking movement. Inch by inch, foot by foot, until the casket disappeared underneath the green cloth. The machinery stopped with a soft clang. Then it was silent.

All eyes turned to her.

If I were walking toward you, would you be holding your arms out in greeting?

Her feet felt leaden as she walked up to the edge of the green carpet. One more step and she would be at the edge of the chasm. It was the hardest step she had to take in all her lives, human and demon. She stood there while minutes ticked away into the vacuum of her mind and soul. If she had a soul. She knew she had to be the first, she would let no one else be the first.

But it was torture.

She reached down and scooped up a handful of dirt, the fine, red-brown offering from the very earth that would swallow her love. It felt cool, even cooler than her skin. Her hand closed around the earth, she brought her fist up to her lips and she gave it one final lingering kiss. My love, when you are one with the earth, will the demon let me come back and remember you?

Six feet. She had carefully measured, to the exact millimeter. The distance seemed to stretch on forever as the fine particles rained down in slow motion onto the hard wood, scattering with a bounce and a thud before settling all over the surface.

It was her last chance to say something, feel something, know something. But she was blank. She could summon ... nothing ... as she collapsed suddenly to the ground, her legs no longer having the strength to hold her up.

Angel was there in a flash. His grip almost crushing her arm. She looked up at him, and her eyes were empty and desperate.

*****

"Thanks for coming, Giles," Angel showed Giles into the living room and handed the watcher a cup of tea that the little folks had prepared as soon as they returned to the mansion.

"It's the least I can do. Tara is, was like a daughter to me,” Giles said.

"Willow should be here, but –"

"How is she?"

"Harmony is trying to get her settled, she hasn't said anything to us, hasn't eaten anything for days," Angel sighed as he stirred honey into his tea.

"That's worrying.”

They busied themselves with their respective teas for a moment. Two men, one nearing the end of his life, the other facing immortality, stirring sugar and milk into their tea. It should be amusing, but neither could muster even a small grin.

"This isn't a social call. You're worried about something, aren't you?" Angel leant forward in his armchair and confronted the elder Watcher.

"You can guess what it is.”

"The state of affairs, as Wesley might put it."

Giles took a sip of tea before answering. "With Willow out of action, I, we, need to know if the Sunnydale Peace will hold. I also need to know if she is stable – she is very powerful, and if she is overcome by grief there's no telling what she might do. I'm sorry if I sound callous, but there are larger things at stake than a vampire in deep mourning."

"What about you? Can your slayers keep their side of the agreement?" Angel asked bluntly.

"We're not the ones with a potential loose cannon on our hands, Angel. The slayers are status quo. The demon population, on the other hand, is restless; we heard some are harboring thoughts of dissent. Even so I'm not concerned, I trust you to keep the fighting factions at bay. But can you control Willow?" Giles threw the question back at Angel.

Angel considered Giles' question carefully. He and the watcher had too much history, too much water under the bridge, they understood each other too well, for him to ignore the question, or dismiss it with false assurances. Truth was, Willow had passed over most of Master duty to the Family she carefully put together. Shortly after Tara was diagnosed she sent for Angel and gave him chapter and verse.

"Most of my businesses run themselves. Anya keeps an eye on the finances and deals with the demon world, Cordelia runs the legit businesses and Harm is my muscle. I'll make an appearance once in a while, but since you were the one who forced this Mastership on me, you're taking over until Kitten is cured. Don't come to me unless it's absolutely necessary," Willow the Master instructed while helping Tara pack for their flight to New York.

"The only person who could rein in Willow's power was Tara. If Willow goes on a rampage, we'll need a combined force of slayers and all the demons I can muster. Failing that, of course there's Dru," he said slowly.

"You're asking me to entrust the safety of the population of Sunnydale, perhaps the world, on your crazy childe?"

"And what's the alternative?"

Giles had no answer to that.

When Harmony came into the living room, she found the two men sitting silently across from each other, both in deep contemplation.

"Er Angel, am I interrupting?"

"No. Did you get Willow settled in?" Angel asked.

Harmony fidgeted uncomfortably. "She insisted on going to her Sanctum, won't let me take her to her bedroom. She's way stronger than me, Angel, I can't fight her," she tried to explain, her eyes following her boss as he jumped up from his seat and stormed toward the other side of the mansion.

Harmony and Giles exchanged a look and followed swiftly.

"Willow! Childe, let me in!" Angel rapped loudly on the doors of the Sanctum, doors of solid black glass that mocked him with their silence. He looked at Giles with fear in his eyes. "Willow, Giles is here, he wants to speak to you. He’s leaving soon."

Again the silence mocked his helplessness.

"If she's in the Sanctum surely she's safe, we can leave her be," Giles said.

"The problem is, no one can enter without her permission, and I don't know what she'll think up when the reality that Tara is gone sinks in. Besides, I want to make sure there is nothing made of wood that she can use," Angel replied.

"You think ... oh. Do you think she’ll do harm to herself?"

"Yes," Angel said simply.

"But taking everything made of wood away won't help. It won't stop her from casting a sun spell or conjuring up holy water," Harmony commented.

Angel turned back to the doors and raised his hand again. Before it connected, they slid open with an almost silent hiss. He stepped forward, and was stopped by an invisible barrier. He was about to shout out when Giles stepped in without problem.

Giles blinked as he entered the bright, white space. No windows but the light provided by discrete crystals was just like daylight. He felt the tell-tale signatures of high magic by two bonded witches, he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began, so interwoven was their magic. And their everything else.

Willow looked so small, hunched behind her giant translucent table where she conducted business over the years. Giles himself had been at the opposite end of that desk many times, receiving the cold-eyed stare of the Master of Sunnydale on matters to do with the slayers or watchers. Willow always seemed like a giant, sitting there at her desk, her confidence, her demeanor, her stature, all befitting her job.

He was shocked at how frail she looked now. There was no fire left in those eyes. As he approached, he heard soft whispering.

"Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays you work at the museum. You love the influence you have over the curators and the variety of art you bring to the exhibits. Sunnydale Museum has become one of the most notable in southern California because of your desire to nurture local artists."

She had on her lap a desk diary, the type that used to be popular before the advent of multi-functional PDA/camera/phone/mini-computer devices. She was flipping through page after page, full of a woman's flowery handwriting.

"Tuesdays you work in your studio, sometimes all day, until I have to come fetch you for dinner. You never show me your work until they're almost done and I fall more in love with you every time you show me."

Giles realized who she was talking about, talking to. His legs almost gave way and he had to lean on the wall for support, so absorbed was he in sharing Willow's reminiscence.

"Thursdays you go riding. You tease me continually about my horse fear. You say the most powerful Master on the west coast shouldn’t be afraid of itty bitty horsies. I love to taste the earthy scents on you after you come back from riding, it permeates your skin, your hair, inside you. There is something different about you after you ride, something earthy and solid. Thursday is when Cowboy Kitten comes out to play with Willow-pet."

Slim fingers traced a pattern on the page, along the words, as if wanting to follow the path forged by the ink.

"When you started treatment the first thing you had to give up was riding, and you said that was one of the biggest regret you had. And when you became too weak to hold a brush, you told me that at some moments you wanted me to forget about our promise. But I always keep my promise, I'll always keep my promise to you."

With a deep stuttering breath, she closed the diary and looked at Giles for the first time in, what was it, months, years?

"It's Saturday today. It's her favorite day because it's 'date night'. That's when we can forget about being vampire & human, Master & Kitten, black & white. We can be ourselves on a Saturday night.”

"I'm so sorry, Willow.” Giles meant it. Tara was his daughter, and over the years he had come to accept Willow as Tara's mate. It was unheard of, this amount of attachment between a soul-less vampire and a human. When the Council heard about this, they were both concerned and intrigued. It took him several years of playing hard politics to deflect the interest and stop the inquisition from the bumbling fools across the Atlantic.

"She made me promise to never Turn her, not under any circumstances. We thought we'd have 50 or 60 years together, and privately I thought I'd figure something out during that time," she paused, then she grimaced. "Is it because I'm evil? Undeserving? That I don't even get 50 years?" Her voice broke into a sob at the last few words.

"Oh, child." Giles didn't know how to begin to comfort the distraught vampire. He was sure she would want to forget this incident afterwards, of how vulnerable she appeared in front of him. He never expected when he started his training as a watcher that one day he'd be trying to console a vampire over losing her pet. Except he recognized that slotting Willow into the 'demon/vampire' box and Tara into the 'pet' box was far too simplistic. Tara had long shred the 'pet' identity to all but the newest demon overlords who came by for 'diplomatic' visits.

Willow was weeping quietly, her breath came in short gasps, as if she still needed to breathe to exist. Her grief was palpable, he recognized that grief in its purest form was still grief. His concern for her well-being grew.

"I was writing something for her, but I all have are crumpled bits of paper," she said suddenly, gazing at a small mountain of yellow paper that was scattered around her desk.

Giles picked up one of the balled up pieces of paper, asked the silent question and was afforded a small nod. He read the words in small, neat handwriting and tears welled up in his eyes, he had not felt as touched in his sixty-odd years.

He choked back a cry at the sensitivity of the words. But he stiffened, he had something more serious to discuss with Willow, and he didn't know how to start.

"There is no need for the frowny face, Giles. She made me promise, and I keep my promises to her, I always have and will do so till I'm dust. So you can go back to merry old England and leave your slayers and watchers to play with my grandsire." A harder edge crept into Willow's voice.

"Willow, I –" Giles started, surprised at the sudden change in atmosphere inside the Sanctum.

"I really appreciate you coming. She does too. But I also know the other reason why you're here. Your pitiful world is safe from this world destroyer. Now leave me alone with my pain."

Before Giles could utter another word, a blast of magic propelled him back toward the door. "Willow, what about you? You have to take care of yourself," he managed to shout out before he was unceremoniously dumped outside into the hallway and the doors closed behind him.

"Go home, Giles," Willow's voice projected inside his head.

"Well?" Angel and Harmony pounced on him immediately.

He could only look at them forlornly.

*****

Willow waved her hand distractedly and a fire roared into life in the fireplace. Tara loved the fire, even though the temperature in the Sanctum was controlled so it was warm enough for them, in particular Tara, to sleep naked without needing to be covered, as they were wont to do if they were too exhausted after hours of lovemaking.

I feel so tired, bone tired. Even more tired than all those times put together.

She must have drifted off because when she opened her eyes the fire was flickering on the edge of extinction. She watched the dying fire in a trance, and tried to gather her thoughts.

Suddenly a sharp bang jolted her awake, she shook her head in annoyance that she must have fallen asleep again. She was about to make her way to the chaise lounge when she felt a gust of wind blow a chill through her, like a needle through silk. She felt bile creeping up at the back of her throat. Tried to shout out but no sound came out. Tried to summon her magic but there was just raw terror washing over her. She blacked out.

When she regained consciousness she was lying face down on the sidewalk of an unknown street. Her mind was a cottony jumble that stopped her from wondering why she was where she was. She pushed herself up and mentally tested her muscles and joints, satisfied that she wasn't hurt, and was still a vampire. She followed the streetlights down the street, having faint thoughts that she normally wouldn't need streetlights. Just as well because she turned a corner and was smothered in a blanket of darkness so thick she couldn't see beyond her outstretched hands. She turned back but was greeted by the same thick darkness that seemed to close in on her.

Unfamiliar fear grew inside her, threatening to break into the deathly quiet.

I must be entering some kind of hell.

Her feet mechanically brought her forward, till she reached what seemed to be a gate. She felt around it, eventually finding the catch and it opened with a creak.

Beyond the gate was a lighter space. Her extra-sensory senses told her that she was in a pentagonal room, not unlike her own Sanctum.

Spotlights came on with a clang, and she saw a small figure on a stage at the far side of the room. She squinted and realized it was a girl with an eerie resemblance to herself. Though she had no reflection, she had the technology to take photo images of herself, and since Tara loved those, they utilized that software frequently.

She was rooted to her spot, but she gradually became aware of her doppelgänger, who seemed ... human .. and seemed to be answering questions that an unseen interrogator was throwing at her. The questions were soundless, but Willow could hear the girl's answers inside her head, she could feel the emotions and thoughts of the girl, as if they were her own.

At the last answer, the girl turned and looked at Willow with sad, sympathetic eyes. She stretched out her hands in mock greeting, and then her face changed.

Into Tara.

Willow screamed.

She sat up, covered in sweat, shivering from the cold, the scream from the nightmare fresh on her lips.

*****

Willow stumbled into the kitchen, looked at the clock. 9.08pm. There was no life in the mansion. Angel was probably taking Giles back to his hotel. Harm and her boys were out, creatures of the night that they were.

She grabbed a bottle of water and drank it in one gulp.

"Tara, I just had the worst nightmare," she said to the empty room.

*****

She rekindled the fire when she returned to her Sanctum. This time she decided to forego magic and carefully threw dried logs into the fireplace, watching as the wood caught fire. She sat precariously close to the fire, so close that her skin crackled and threatened to singe. She had always enjoyed these games of tempting fate, though it gave Tara heart attacks every time.

At the thought of Tara she choked back tears and had to support herself as she walked slowly back to her chair again, trying to ignore the sights and sounds from her nightmare that were still fresh in her mind. Unlike many humans, she remembered all her dreams, often more vividly than her 'awake' life.

"You're a witch, an unusual witch who has both darkness and light inside you, the dreams will never leave you alone," the beautiful voice in her head told her.

They discussed dreams often. Tara loved to dream, she loved to let her feelings go. She told Willow that "a night's dreaming is never enough." Willow smiled at that, and at the memories of the many nights they spent making their own dreams come true.

She groaned as her stomach felt the water she just drank. It was the first time in days, perhaps weeks, that she had taken anything. She knew she was weak, getting weaker, but she had no desire for any form of nourishment.

I know what you'll say, love, but I can't. It's my punishment.

She slowly reached for the diary again. She felt every cell of her undead body protest at the exhaustion. Soon her eyes closed.

Willow opened her eyes and she was back in her Sanctum. She felt weak because of the need for blood, but at peace as she savored the residual remnants from the dream.

More than a dream. It was exactly how we met, and how we fell in love. I was such a young demon then, I had no idea of the magnitude of the gift I was about to be given.

*****

The fire was almost out again. Must be the logs, must remind Clem to get better quality logs that burn longer.

She wondered whether time was passing quicker than normal and was surprised when the clock showed just past 10pm. She wondered if the moon was up yet, it was supposed to be a night of the full moon. Perhaps, she wasn't sure. She knew she should feel ashamed about letting such important information lapse, but she simply didn't care anymore.

She felt herself growing weaker as the cumulative effects of not feeding properly, and the events of the day, took their toll. She wondered if there had been studies on how long a vampire could survive without blood, and how it would feel to fade away. Would she suddenly become dust as her body ran out of whatever it was that sustained it? Or would she merely lose consciousness and return to her natural, dead state?

With difficulty, she tried to recall the dream just passed. She closed her eyes and thought back to the first few days that she and Tara were together, of how unbelievably happy she felt. But of course it didn't last. Nothing did, for she was a monster.

For the second time in one night, Willow woke up with a scream. But this was a scream of orgasmic bliss as a result of a climax that had shot through her at the end of the dream. Tara's touch in the dream had seemed so real that she was transported to that moment, when they threw all caution to the wind and decided that they would be together. Who cared about rules and traditions.

She remembered how they giggled at the inevitable scandal that would ensue. But that first night, when they were hidden away in Willow's Sanctum, they basked in the cocoon of their newly re-discovered love.

*****

Willow craved sleep. In her delirium, with sweat pouring off her uncontrollably, her thin body shaking constantly, all she wanted was to return to the world of dreams to see Tara again.

"If you want me to experience all our time together, give that time to me," she said weakly. She thought she was dying, and it was strangely comforting.

She thought about her own Turning, at the hands (fangs, really) of Xander, about the whole universe of opportunities that were lost to her seventeen year old, fluffy self. She thought of the old Master and the Order and the unquestioned loyalty he demanded. She thought of the slayers and the motley assortment of characters that came into her life.

But most of all, she thought of Tara. Her constant sun, moon, star, air, water and universe. How even her demon grew to savor every second spent with her love.

She remembered the numbness they both felt, that day at the doctor's office. Of how Willow's demon had almost escaped and how she was tempted to savagely rip the poor man's throat apart.

And how the only reason for her existence faded away with the sound of that last rasping breath that would forever be etched in her mind. She had spent the endless stretch of time before The End at Tara's side, not sleeping, not feeding, not even blinking sometimes, so she could remember as much of her love as possible. Each labored breath, each struggle as her love tried to smile or speak or open her eyes, each weak squeeze of their entwined hands was desperately consumed and stored away.

Listening to the slowing heartbeat that had been her rock for so many years, as it stuttered, and then there was silence.

"I am condemned, but you owe me one last chance. Take me, but give me one last dream," she begged.

She woke up, and she couldn't even scream. She was jerking and throbbing from the aftershocks, she was sure she came physically.

She shivered from the sensations. Then another shiver ran through her, coldness creeped up from her back and the hairs at the back of her neck stood straight up.

"Tara?" she asked uncertainly.

At the recesses of her consciousness, she could vaguely feel Tara's presence. There was a movement at the corner of her eyes but when she turned around there was nothing. She was in her Sanctum, a sacred place, she was sure no one, nothing, not even a ghost, could enter without her permission.

She flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. The memories of times with Tara were so real she felt tears and despair coming, but she forced them away.

Just let me sleep. Let me go back to the world of dreams. Bring those memories back to me.

*****

Willow told the crystals to dim the lights. They were starting to burn her eyes, small specks were swimming in front of her and she couldn’t focus.

A thin stream of tears fell from the corner of her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. She made no effort to staunch the tears or wipe them away. She knew that it was a wasted effort.

On one level she knew that she was slipping in and out of consciousness, and she knew she should try to snap her mind out of lethargy. There was something comforting about this fugue state. She could shut out the heartache and pretended that she was living in the world of dreams.

"You have responsibilities," a soft voice rang out.

"That were forced on me," Willow retorted.

"But you're always my responsible Will. Are you my responsible Will?" the beautiful voice said.

"I'm your everything Will," Willow sighed. She felt tears coming. Was this another dream, or something else?

Willow threw her senses wide open, to try to reach the source of the beautiful voice. She didn't want to open her eyes, she was afraid of what she wouldn't see if she opened her eyes.

"I'm here, you don't need to be afraid."

"I keep telling you, I'm an evil fiend, I'm not afraid of anything," she pouted.

"Then why are you so afraid to open your eyes?"

Willow hesitated, her love had always had the uncanny knack of calling her out, at exactly the right moment.

"I don't trust myself, Tara, I think I'm dreaming, and when I wake up you'll be gone."

"I'm here, Will, feel me. Trust yourself when you feel me."

Willow reached out with one open palm. "Hold my hand. If you really are here, take my hand, baby."

Her entire body stiffened in tension and she held a breath that she didn't need. The undead nerve endings on her fingers hummed in anticipation of the touch.

And when she felt, finally, the tender touch of warm fingers that she knew so well, her hand was shaking so much and she had no grip. She felt Tara's fingers slip out of reach, and cried out.

But strong fingers grasped her hand firmly, and wrapped it up in protection. Their fingers instinctively entwined, and Willow opened her eyes.

And gasped.

And a cry choked at the back of her throat.

Tara.

Pre bone-thin Tara. Pre gray-pallor Tara. Pre all-life-sucked-out-by-chemotherapy Tara. This was the Tara of her soul, the Tara she had so carefully drawn so that she could treasure within her heart, each exquisite feature meticulously mapped out over the years.

She could barely contain the sob that escaped from her at Tara's smile. She pulled her love close and buried her head in the familiar chest. Her whole body was shaking.

"Baby, it's alright. I'm here," Tara soothed.

Willow couldn't stop. Tears were falling freely from her, and she held onto her love with an iron clasp.

"I'm making your shirt all wet," she murmured, but made no attempt to stem the flood of tears.

"You're worried about getting my shirt wet?" Tara teased.

Willow looked up, and was overwhelmed by an intensity inside her from Tara's benevolent look. Her mind was strangely quiet, as all her focus was on her love – her soft love who she had buried just hours before.

"Am I dreaming?" she wondered aloud.

"No, I'm really here," Tara answered, anticipating Willow's next question.

"Why? How?"

"Shh. I can't tell you yet."

"But you tell me everything." The Willow pout was in place again.

"I said I can't tell you yet, I'll tell you when it's time," Tara replied, and she reinforced the message by kissing Willow hard, so hard that their lips felt crushed and bruised.

Willow felt like a possession, one that Tara was stamping her ownership on. Mine, mine, Kitten seemed to be saying. To remind herself? To remind Willow? Tara must have suffered through their separation too.

Willow let her body go slack into a loose noodle form for Kitten to mold, to explore and cherish as she wished. It had taken her by surprise, when they first started their games, how easily she submitted to Kitten, how natural it felt to be under Kitten's dominance.

Tara caressed the small gold earring in Willow's ear, and with a small tug, removed it.

"No games tonight. Tonight, we're equals," she hummed into Willow's ear.

Willow shuddered as Tara breathed and nibbled on her sensitive ear, everywhere her love touched was fire. She didn't even bother with the pesky basics, with a wave of her hand, their clothes fell to the floor and she pulled her naked love into her arms. Tara grinned.

Tara's grin turned into full blown squeals as Willow set about exploring every inch of her love's body. Willow remembered visiting the blind, alternate universe version of her during her dimensional hopping days. She remembered her reaction when she first met the tiny, pathetic, girl in a plain T-shirt and second-hand jeans, of how repulsed she felt at the disability. Vampires were strong creatures, and weak vampires were usually culled. But they started talking, and the blind vampire told her about her brave Tara, and how it didn't matter that her sight was gone, the ravishment of her love was as powerful and arousing without sight.

She was mapping her lover again, with her hands, her lips, her skin, rediscovering one soft curve after another. Tara mirrored Willow's moves, her touch lingering over tingly skin, re-learning, re-heating. Ready fingers sought out hidden depths that were cool and wet, hot and smooth, tight and welcoming.

It had been a while for them. Since the doctors ran out of treatment and Tara grew weaker by the day, they hadn't been intimate, Willow refusing her love's plea to find release elsewhere.

They took their time, slowly allowing their passion to build up, teasing each other with kisses and feathery touches that fulfilled and swelled. Yet when they surged too high or too fast, they would slow down and returned to soft lazy strokes, waiting for the tightness to subside before starting the build up all over again.

We're on a journey together, and it will never end.

Time and time again, they brought themselves almost to the edge of their desires, then eased off the pressure to let the urgency pass. The powerful sensations didn't retreat, instead they slowly added to the tension and excitement spreading to every single cell in their bodies.

Willow no longer knew where her cold, undead body ended and Tara's warm, healthy body started. They found themselves, without thinking, at the center of the Sanctum, and their fused bodies and essences open to the forces of the elements that had been woven into the sacred space. The earth underneath them, the very earth that had swallowed Tara a few hours ago, seemed to be calling out to them, to invite them to let their energies flow into the natural rhythm of the universe.

The small part of her mind still thinking thoughts that weren't Tara, Tara, Tara wanted this ritual to last forever. She recognized that this was a ritual that she and her love were performing, a supplication to the goddesses who had watched over them for so many years, their mounting pleasure that they still held onto fiercely, but freely available for the goddesses.

She froze in fear at the one thought that lingered in her mind. What will happen when this ends? When our desire for each other had been sated, when the goddesses are done with us, what then shall we do? Will it be time for her to leave?

She felt her arousal draining out of her. But in a flash Tara was there, and with swift kisses and murmured words of love, brought her back to the brink.

"I'm here. I have you," Tara repeated until Willow's fears receded.

"I'm yours," Willow said.

"And I'm yours too," Tara replied.

This time they reached the peak quickly, and they knew, they knew it was time. The slow fire burning of their impeding release gathered power and when they hit climax together it was an exploding orgasm that released their love, their spirits and their magic in a blinding, deafening burst of pure whiteness that spun them round and round, up and down, in and out, and filled them with joy that radiated from the dead center of the pentagram into every corner of the Sanctum.

It was a long while before they could properly see, hear, taste, feel.

*****

"I never want to move from here again," Willow said.

Tara answered with a sleepy, throaty, sigh.

They drifted off to sleep.

A distant clock chimed in the midnight.

Willow's subconscious thought it'd heard something, she frowned and woke up a part of her mind.

A choir.

She was about to wake Tara when she felt her love move. Then abruptly sat up.

"What's the matter, love," Willow asked.

There were tears in Tara's eyes. "I-i-i didn't know it'll be this soon," she choked.

Willow felt a chill up her spine, the same chill as that day when they found out about the illness.

"No, no, no," her entire body was shaking. "No, you said you're really here, and I'm not dreaming. I … no."

"Will, listen to me. I said I'll tell you when it's time," Tara said, her voice trembling too.

Willow was still shaking. "Time? What time?" But she knew what the answer would be.

"They're coming for me," Tara breathed.

"They? Who are they? Whatever they are, they'll have to come through me first," Willow said through clenched teeth. She threw the covers off and pulled herself up.

Tara's hand on her arm gently pulled her back. "No. You can't fight them, just like you can't fight nature. Remember what we talked about. Remember your promise."

"How can I now? After what just happened? You expect me to continue my life without you?"

"Yes, darling. You've done so much good, you have to carry on," Tara whispered as she stroked Willow's cheeks, tracing the path of the tears that are still flowing unchecked.

"How can I? Eventually the demon will forget you and I’ll destroy worlds again."

"Have faith. I’ll come back to you," and with that Tara leant in and gave Willow a deep kiss.

There was chanting now, Willow could hear it more clearly.

She cupped Tara's face in her hands and returned the kiss. "Do you promise? Promise me you'll come back to me."

"I promise," Tara said as she stood up. Willow could see faint shapes nearing the Sanctum now, and Tara herself seemed to be growing in luminescence. Their hands were joined, but she could feel Tara's hand becoming lighter.

"I keep my promises, my love. Will you keep yours?" she asked the beautiful blue eyes.

The music stopped and she looked around to see herself and Tara surrounded by children. Angels.

Tara opened her hand and Willow saw that it held a small seed. With her other hand, Tara opened Willow's hand and placed the seed reverently in Willow's palm. She closed the fist, brought it up to her lips and gave it a lingering kiss.

"Yes, my love," Tara said. "I will keep my promise. I love you, Willow. Take this seed and bury it with me, let it grow in the earth that holds my essence. I know you have secured the space so it will never be touched. When it's time, I will return to you."

"When?" Willow's whisper was hardly audible.

Tara was fading away. She could only smile as the angels began their song again. Her last touch to Willow was when she place the gentlest of kiss on Willow's lips.

And then she was gone.

Willow woke up, felt like she woke up, and she hurt everywhere. There was pain and anger, her demon demanded violence.

When it's time, I will return to you.

Her demon was gathering her deepest, darkest black magic in a fit of rage. She needed something to throw.

She opened her fist and saw the seed.

Her demon whimpered as it was calmed.

Take this seed and bury it with me, let it grow in the earth that has my essence.

She called out silently to her lost love.

*****

The sun rose the next day to find a small forlorn vampire kneeling in the shade of a large oak tree by a freshly dug grave.

She wove a protective spell around her and gently, with her bare hands, dug a small hole in the ground next to the grave.

She seemed to be saying a prayer, but it was too soft for any ears but her own. After the prayer was finished, she laid a small seed inside the hole and covered it with the earth again.

She returned to her perch underneath the large oak tree, wrapped herself up tighter in her coat, and sat to watch vigil over her love.

We're forever, Tara.

*****

150 years later…

Angel and Harmony turned around the corner of the block and found themselves in a children's playground. All was quiet.

Very quiet.

No noise. No traffic. No passers-by. Even the air was quiet.

Air did not normally have color did it? Not even a master vampire should be able to see the molecules weaving their way though the empty space, tracing Brownian motion against each other.

As Angel became accustomed to the sight before him, he could gradually make out shapes haphazardly arranged around the area. Human shapes. Children shapes. He was not sure whether it was the bright light or the actual pallor of the children but he found it difficult to focus on any one in particular.

He stayed still and closed his eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath, out of habit. When he reopened his eyes it was much clearer and he could tell that the children were singing, he could tell from the way their bodies swayed in rhythm, and the uniformity of the words coming silently out of their mouths. Yes, they were singing, but damned if Angel could hear the music or the words.

Magic. He could practically smell it. He decided to get a closer look.

Before he could, the choir stopped their silent recital and one by one the children started to disperse. The children shapes left their perches on the swings and slides and with a whiff of breeze disappeared into thin air.

Ambient sounds had returned to the playground – birds chirping, distance sounds of car horns, the creak of an abandoned seesaw.

The area was empty except for a figure slumped on the swings, unconscious, or worse.

Angel was the first to reach the child. A teenager, he estimated. Long blonde hair covering the head falling against her chest. Clothing that had seen better days barely providing enough protection against the rain, which had continued unabated. He gathered her up in his arms.

"Is she…?" Harmony asked hesitantly.

"Human. And breathing. But only just. Call the hotel, have a medical team on standby," he instructed.

He brushed her hair away from her face and nearly dropped her as recognition washed over him.

Harmony was the first to speak.

"Oh my god. It's Willow's Tara."

*****

The End