invisiblecompany

She was in Giles' and Jenny's kitchen, making muffins, by hand and not using some pre-mix. It was a warm winter's afternoon, and they had just come back from the latest big bad banishment. They were scoffing the warm muffins down as fast as they could but the oven was turning them out quicker. As a result the dining table and all available flat surfaces were groaning with mountains of muffins, the tiny apartment filled with the smells of home baking.

She was partial to the blueberry ones herself, while Jenny always picked the chocolate chip and Giles the banana pecan. Willow ate Tara's blueberry ones, she liked the way the fruit juices bursted out when she bit on them, "just like little blood parcels". Tara seriously considered spiking a few for her love next time, that would definitely put Will in the happy beaver camp.

Right now they were comfortably camped out on Giles' muffin-shaped armchairs, Giles had snagged his usual green chair and Jenny the patent brown leather. Willow was sprawled out on the red one, holding onto her midsection and groaning dramatically.

"I'm so stuffed I can't move, come over and rub my tummy please baby."

She smiled and finished packing the last of the muffins into boxes. As she glanced out of the window she noticed it was starting to get dark outside, as both orange and green suns were moving across the horizon. The trees in the yard were packing up in readiness of the night, folding their branches neatly into their trunks and shredding extraneous leaves onto the ground for the elves to pick up during the night.

She squeezed in with her lover, tunneling herself into a gap underneath Willow's arm, stealing a kiss in the process. She rested her head on Willow's shoulders and listened to the contented purr while she rubbed her vampire's tummy gently.

This isn't right. Something's seriously wrong. Giles doesn't like banana pecan, he prefers the apple cinnamon. That's why he's sitting in the green chair, you must sit in the chair that matches your choice of flavor.

She frowned. This must be a dream. But she was so comfortable in Willow's embrace she did not want to leave, though she knew at the back of her mind she had to. The suns were moving across the horizon and the trees were preparing for night. It was time.

*****

"Names, places and times are still jumbled up. I have these memories that don't seem to be mine, yet on another level I know they are. You're vampires," she leant on the doorway of the library, not quite able to look either of them in the eye.

Angel reacted first.

"Tara, it's okay to call you Tara?" She shrugged. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I have no idea who I am," she sighed. "Exactly. But more together t-t-than before."

"What do you need?"

"Are you going to feed on me? Am I a prisoner here?" Not the questions she should be asking, but she blurted them out before she could stop the thoughts.

"Of course not!" That was Willow. Sounding exactly like she ... remembered. A voice so utterly ingrained in her being. "I—, I mean we, we'd never hurt you."

"We're trying to find out what's happening, why you're here," Angel explained.

"Why? I mean I need to know, but why do you?" she questioned.

"That's what we do. And the way you, um, came to us was too unusual, I need to be aware of implications. And, and, consequences, if any," he backtracked.

Help the helpless, she remembered. She wondered how much more helpless, more hopeless, her situation could get. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to, not knowing who she was, where she came from. Whether she was real or not.

"I'll help too but I think I might be more of a hindrance," she said, the unspoken question hung in the air. She kept her attention at the safe(r) haven of Angel, knowing full well that looking at Willow would not be a good idea at that point. Too soon.

When her mind slowly untangled itself from its scrambled web, one thing, one fact, had stood out beyond all doubt. Willow Rosenberg was very much part of Tara Maclay's life, universe and everything. That she was Tara Maclay, or at least someone with Tara Maclay's face, emotions and memories, was also a certainty in her mind. So it was not hard to make the connection between the small redhead she was purposely keeping in her peripheral vision, and her.

She should blush at some of the images and sounds and, um, smells, but all she felt were warmth and happiness wrapped up in a big comfy blanket of Willow-y goodness. The temptation to reach out and touch Willow was also becoming overwhelming. But at the back of her mind, something was not finished.

She turned her attention back to Angel.

"Actually you can help by telling us about everything you remember," he continued. "Are you comfortable doing that?"

"I'll try, I mean, I'll tell you everything I know. Yes," she did not hesitate to give her consent. She was genuinely grateful to Angel, he had taken her in, helped her in every way and was so considerate and sensitive toward her predicament.

"Good, but first you should rest. We have time," he said, relief spreading clearly over his features. "Why don't I show you round the hotel? Introduce you to the other people."

She nodded and allowed him to lead her away from the library. She could not help sneak a glance at Willow before the door closed. The redhead had not said another word after her initial outburst, and was sitting very still, deliberately keeping her eyes down, not able to look at Tara.

So anguished. So fragile. Will you ever be mine again?