TITLE: These Roads We
Travel (24/?)
AUTHORS: Kimber (FeralSpirit@xxxxxxxx)
& Alan (MasterOfWords@xxxxxxxxxx)
DISCLAIMER: All BTVS
characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. SUMMARY: The
long awaited next story in "The Road Series".
SPOILERS: Everythingis
fair game.
DISTRIBUTION: The usual
suspects. Anyone else, e-mail me
please.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Alanand I
are now collaborating on the rest of this fic as well as the next part of the
Roads Series. . . .The Road Less Travelled *snicker* stay tuned for that little brain melding coming to an inbox
near you soon!
-----------
"You're a
coward."
The blonde looked up from her cup of Espresso Pump house-brand mocha with an
artfully raised eyebrow and a pair of twinkling blue eyes more nervous thanshe
wanted to let on to regard her younger companion with what might have been a
scalding glare if not for the obvious affection there.
"You were the one who wanted to leave."
Looking out into the brightly lit streets of nighttime Sunnydale, the blonde
silently thanked whoever it was who had the brilliant idea to have the Espresso
Pump open 24 hours a day. It wasn't the safest idea, for sure, but it was still one she was thankful
for.
The younger brunette stared into her mint-flavored hot chocolate - a
particularly vile concoction the already stranger-than-most psuedo teenagerhad
developed a taste for in lieu of coffee, and shrugged. "Yeah, well,
you were the one who was just skulking and couldn't even knock on the
door. I mean, you should be the one to knock, 'cause she's your ex, not mine. And they don't
even know me anyway."
The younger girl always tried, but never really could mask the hurt in her
voice when she said that.
The blonde slid her hand across the table to clasp the younger girl's hand in a
gesture of familiar comfort. They had done it a thousand times over the
course of years they didn't let themselves think about passing -- a simple
gesture of trust and mutual need that always seemed to mean more each time
fingertips caressed in an intimate exchange of silence.
"I guess we're both cowards." The brunette let her hair fall in
front of her delicate face in a gesture she had learned from the blonde.
"We've spent so long running and hiding, never admitting we might need
help."
Fingers tightened against each other as the handclasp tensed into a sensual
abandonment of releasing stress into the other with the friction of skin
tantalizing skin.
The blonde couldn't help but let a note of bitterness creep into her
voice. "In so many ways this was never their fight. Never
could be their fight. Not even hers. This was always your fight,
and you always needed someone at your side. W-when you needed someonethe
most, they didn't know you were there, because they h-had battles of their own
to wage. Both out there," One slender hand gestured out the
window to the deathly still battleground that pretended to be a moderately
sized tourist town in southern California, "and in here." That
same hand with it's small wrist and tapering fingers, so adept at weaving the
energies around the two of them, came back to touch the place where the
brunette's heart beat. One finger rested on cloth, the other on softly
yielding skin.
"I was there. I t-tried to help. To stand next to you. I
r-really tried." The blonde's stutter always came back when she let
herself get anywhere near her stronger emotions, and this conversation
threatened to go places she hadn't let herself think about for close to two
decades. Aborted homecomings were like that sometimes, especially when
you weren't sure if you were welcome in your old home or not.
"B-but I'm not like them. I'm not strong, not like them."
She forced herself not to cry. She would cry later, when her friend
couldn't see or hear the helpless tears, so the younger girl wouldn't make
herself feel guilty for something that wasn't her fault.
Without breaking contact, the brunette brought her dark eyes to bear on the
blonde's blue ones, walking slowly around the small table until she was
standing face to face with her protector.
The embrace was another familiar gesture, but less often used than touching
hands. It meant more, and gave more. And neither girl -- neither
woman, really, felt ready to give much more than they already had. Itwas
a dangerous bond to form, and a painful, possibly deadly one to break.
But this time the embrace held for several minutes, hands still clasped at
their side, both pretending the other wasn't crying.
"We should go back." The brunette found her voice first.
The blonde nodded slowly. "Okay...but you knock."
"But,"
She was silenced by the
look on the blonde's face. Eager,
hopeful, in need of understanding, peppered by fright and anxiousness. She suddenly realized that it hadbeen
unfair to expect anything but fear.
After all, this was like the return of the prodigal child. The return of the sheep to the
fold. They both had a lot to
lose. "I'm sorry."
Tapered fingers reached out to gently raise a delicate chin. They were now eye to eye. The only way either of them knew how to
convey earnestly the emotion that was kept well capped between them. "Dawn. You don't have anything to be sorry for. I guess it's just nerves. It has been ten years." The last part was said with such quiet
introspection that Dawn was reminded of the gap in years between them. While she had lived eighteen mortal
years on this earth, Tara had lived over forty, yet never looked over the age
of twenty. Being a part of the
Celestial Bureaucracy that kept the powers of good and evil in balance tended
to come with a very long job tenure, which required a long and often
semi-immortal life.
Sucking in her breath at
their sudden closeness, Dawn stepped back realizing that they were still in
public. "We should
go." She dipped her head to
the ground again like an errant child, embarrassed about the scene they
possibly presented to the on lookers.
"Yeah, we
should." Tara smiled impishly
and extended her hand to the brunette.
"No matter what, we're in this together. Remember that.
This somehow turned into their fight and we have to make things right
again. At any cost." AsDawn
took her hand, Tara sighed a bit with relief. Thank the goddessesI
have her to stand at my side.
"We must aid in the prophesy, as it was always meant to be. It's the Slayer's fight."
Dawn nodded with full understanding
of the task they set forth to complete.
Quietly, they slipped out the door and headed toward the
Summers-Rosenberg residence once again.
-----
~~Kimber
List Gutter Lust Goddess, Masked Road Runner (meep, meep!!), Keeper of the
crazy lil comma, Slayer of the Mad Dragon's Heart,Elmer to Pat's Wabbit, self
proclaimed 'perfect drug' addict, and Official Tormenter of the Phantom
Chimpunk and her band of crazy nuts. Proud supporter of the Mad Poet
Society and the Troll under the Bridge.
Proud Member of the BtVS Writers Guild: Because fic makes anything
possible.
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