FIC: Fruits of Her Labor, Scene 3

[BHV <bighotvirgo@xxxxxxxxx>]

Fruits of Her Labor, Scene 3

Author: BHV

Pairing: B/W

Rating: R (language)

Feedback: Yes, please. bighotvirgo@xxxxxxxxx

Archive/Repost: Please ask my permission

Disclaimers: Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and all characters therein
belong solely to Joss Whedon,UPN, Mutant Enemy, et al, not this author.
This story was created purely for fandom purposes. No copyright
infringement is intended. Song lyrics from "Broken Telephone by the Be
Good Tanyas, © S. Ford, Porch Music/Saltwater Music/SOCAN, 2000. Lyrics
quoted for entertainment purposes, no copyright infringement intended. 

Summary:  Buffy, her ankle still broken, is recovering, physically and
emotionally, from Faith's visit of the night before. Willow is in
Cleveland. She misses Buffy.
-----------------
Many thanks to Ann Marie and Ivy for their help.
-----------------

'Broken telephone 
The lines are down 
The wires no longer reaching 
Connection's gone' 


The first glimmerings of consciousness Buffy was aware of were vague,
disconnected.  

There was pain.  

There was ... music? Yes, the same tune over and over.  

There was something she was about to remember but didn't want to.  

And enveloping all of it was a soft sound that she couldn't place. 

Pain. Pain. Big pain, serious throbbing. Foot. Little bit broken.
Should have been better than this by now. Other pain. Head.
Sick-making, it's-my-own-damn fault kind of pain. Like she had stubbed
her brain.  

She made the mistake of moving her head, just slightly. 

"Ahhh nunnhgh fuck ow uohh god ..." 

Reflexively, her body curled into a ball, her hands protectively
clutching her forehead. She willed herself not to move, hissing breath
through her nose, riding out the heaving aftershock of pain and nausea.


Behind her fingers, Buffy opened one eye.  

Rain. Rain was outside the window. It was raining. That was the sound,
the soft sound. It was nice. It never rains here, hasn't rained since
she's been here, has it? No, the last time she remembers it raining was
... 

At the motel. She was in bed with Willow. Cool, crisp sheets, cartoons,
Willow's perfume. Rain outside the window. White silk. Blue veins under
alabaster skin. It was morning. They were alive. Kissing the back of
Willow's neck. They were safe and it was raining. 

Not like now. They weren't safe now. Faith. Oh god, Faith was after
Willow. 

Flailing up out of the sheets, Buffy was half out of the bed when the
full memory of the night before slid into place, the events and
conversation starting to replay in her head. Still, she forced herself
to keep moving ... she was already upright ... the bathroom was just a
few feet away ... and she was about to be so very sick. 

Her ankle already hurt so bad, she couldn't believe it could be so much
worse when she put her weight on it. Stumbling, her bandaged foot
sliding out from under her, she barely made it to the toilet in time.  

It wasn't so bad, the vomiting was over quickly. It was the heaving
that wouldn't stop, and between shudders, the playback from the night
before fast-forwarded and rewound in her head, looping and looping.
Buffy pulled a towel down from the rod and leaning over the edge of the
tub, soaked it under the tap. Without wringing out the extra water she
slid back to sit on the floor, leaned against the tub and buried her
face in the cold, wet cloth.  

Later, how much she wasn't sure, she was roused by the same music she'd
heard before.  

Tiny music, far away, what was that tune? Her phone. Where was her
phone? 'Dancing Queen'. That meant Willow was on the phone. 

Buffy pulled herself up and limped into the bedroom but the phone was
obviously farther away.  

Willow picked "Dancing Queen'" for her tone because she was such a spaz
on the dance floor. Most powerful witch in this hemisphere but not
large on the rhythm, also couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Jesus,
where was her phone? She wanted to tell Willow about the rain and what
it reminded her of. 

The phone was in the kitchen, that much was clear, but it wasn't in
plain sight. Buffy stood, leaning against the refrigerator and trying
to concentrate despite her queasiness and the pain in her foot. She
located the device in a pocket of the jacket she wore yesterday, which
was hanging off one of the kitchen chairs.  

"Will?" 

"Are you OK?" Willow was trying very hard to not sound something, Buffy
couldn't decide if it was panicked or pissed off. "I've been calling
you since last night. Didn't you get my messages?"  

'Tell Willow about the dreams, about Faith, ask her to come help.
Willow needs to know.' 

"No," she answered weakly, pulling out a chair and slumping down in it,
elbows on the table. 

"Huh?" Willow asked. 

"Didn't get the messages." Buffy's elbows started to slide in opposite
directions till her head was resting on the cool formica. "Didn't hear
the phone." 

"Buff, are you OK? You don't sound good."  

'Willow needs to know.' 

But Buffy was in no shape to manage any conversation, much less that
one.  

"I had a bad night." The table felt so nice. "I drank. Wine."  

"Are you saying you were drunk?" Willow asked. 

"I'm saying I drank." Buffy said simply. 

'What I'm not saying is I almost killed Faith. What I'm not saying is
that I threw her across the patio and there was an instant in mid-swing
when I realized all it would take was some extra height, a little more
horizontal push and I could have smashed her head on the concrete. I
could feel it, I wanted it, made up my mind, and if my ankle wasn't
broken, she'd be dead.'  

'And our lives wouldn't be all fucked up  again  because of her.'

"I'm saying I drank." Buffy repeated. "Too much. Wine." 

"Buffy, did something happen to upset you? When I talked to you
yesterday, it seemed like everything was fine." 

All she had to do was open her mouth, begin talking, say words. Tell
Willow about the dreams, about Faith, ask her to come help. She didn't
even have to admit she'd been wrong not to tell her before. That could
come later. She just had to tell her. Willow needed to know. 

Instead, she said, "It was. I am. Fine. I just drank too much." Buffy
lied and she knew Willow knew it. "So, what's wrong? You said you kept
trying to call. Why?" 

"Cause I was worried about you!" Willow was pissed but even in her
current state, Buffy could tell there was something else going on. She
just waited. 

"And because I need to talk to you." Willow finally said. "About
something really important that I discovered yesterday." Another long
pause. "And also because I broke up with Kennedy last night."  

After a lengthy pause, Buffy finally said, "Oh."  

"Oh?" Willow was trying to mask her disappointment with anger. "Oh?
That's it? That's your reaction?"  

"Willow." Buffy tried hard to collect her thoughts, but ended up going
with what was uppermost in her mind. "Am I supposed to say 'I'm sorry'?
'Cause you know I'm not."  

Buffy guessed it was too late to tell her about the rain, which was sad
because that was really all Buffy wanted to think about.  

Words had been said. Wheels had been set in motion. Actions had been
taken. Things were going to happen. Couldn't they just listen to the
rain for now? 

"Will ..."  

"Buffy ... never mind." Willow was frustrated, struggling with herself
not to escalate the argument. Buffy could tell. "I'll just talk to you
later." 

"But, Will ..." 

"I'll talk to you later." Abruptly, Willow hung up.  

---- 

Dejected, frustrated, and more than a little confused, Willow slumped
back against the brick wall.  

Lately, despite their separation, she'd felt closer to Buffy than ever
before, felt like the geographical distance between them was actually
helping to strengthen their newly re-discovered bond. Buffy, never big
on talking, sent the sweetest rambling emails. Willow felt like she and
Buffy were, at long last, learning how to communicate, share their
feelings. 

Then yesterday, on the plane home, reading a passage from the volume
she'd found in LA had confirmed Willow's feeling that she and Buffy
were indeed connected, part of something much bigger and older. Willow
looked over at the blue binder that lay open on the floor, an archival
photocopy of the entire volume. If the passage she'd translated was
right, their destinies had been intertwined since the beginning. She
could only wonder what else lay hidden within its pages, but at this
moment, destiny didn't really matter much to Willow. 

At this moment, all Willow felt was absence and longing. She had spent
the night on a stack of exercise mats in the basement in Cleveland, and
she needed Buffy. Buffy had obviously spent at least part of the night
drinking and was now hung over in New Mexico, lying to Willow about
whatever it was that had upset her. Willow knew that Buffy needed her
too.  

Why had Buffy lied? Why hadn't she called her last night instead of
getting drunk? Fighting tears, Willow fiddled with the cell phone,
scrolling through the list of outgoing calls ...  

Buffy
Buffy
Buffy
Buffy
Buffy  

What Willow needed this morning wasn't a phone call, or even a long
rambling email. It was Buffy. Buffy's hands, her strength, her heart,
the ineffable loving kindness that could shine from her eyes. She
needed the Buffy that had shyly kissed the back of her neck that rainy
morning in the motel room. She closed her eyes, remembering that
morning, the day everything had changed. She needed that Buffy, that
close, right now. 

On the other side of the basement, the door at the top of the stairs
suddenly creaked open. Willow attempted to collect herself, brushing
away her tears. Dawn descended the stairs, carrying an empty laundry
basket.  

"Dawnie! I didn't know you were coming home!" Snapping the phone shut,
Willow stood up to greet her with a smile. She was genuinely glad to
see the teenager. Dawn had enrolled in an elite prep school in
Pennsylvania, starting her first semester only a few weeks before, and
hadn't been home since. 

"I made an impulsive decision and jumped on the bus without much
thought." The lanky girl gave Willow a long tight hug, almost lifting
her off the ground. "How's my favorite witch?" 

The sweetness of the contact made Willow start crying again. Sniffling,
she tried to reassure a concerned Dawn. "I'm OK, really, Dawn. I know
it looks bad, but don't worry." 

Dawn wasn't buying it. "C'mon Willow. I see tears, wadded up kleenex,
and a recently used cell phone."  Hands on her hips, Dawn tried to look
stern. "Do I need to go to New Mexico and kick my sister's ass? Did she
say something? Did she do something? What's wrong, Will?"  

"Just bad timing, Dawnie. Nothing serious. I just was kinda needy and I
woke her up and she was cranky. I swear, no ass-kicking necessary,
though I'll take a rain check, OK?" Willow reached for a fresh tissue,
wiped her eyes, and attempted her best brave little toaster face,
hoping she was doing the right thing by not telling Dawn about hungover
Buffy. 

Dawn pressed on. "Needy how? Did something happen? And why were you
sleeping in the basement?"  

Mystic energy ball origins or not, Dawn was a true Summers woman,
persistent as the day was long, thought Willow. She was bound to find
out soon enough, might as well tell her. 

"I broke up with Kennedy last night," she said quietly, sitting back
down on the mats. "I know we've been heading that way for a while, but
this was the 'formal' break up. And, Ken didn't do anything wrong,
Dawn. It was me. I just decided it was time, probably should have done
it much earlier." Willow found herself looking at the floor. She
suddenly felt horribly guilty.  

"Will. Oh, Will." Dawn plopped down beside her enveloping her in
another hug, this one not as bone-crushing as before. "I'm so sorry. I
mean, yeah, not a big surprise, what with ... the Buffy thing, but
still, I know it hurts. You guys had a pretty good thing."  

"Yeah, we did," sniffed Willow, blowing her nose. 

Dawn grinned, handing Willow a tissue. "And hey, it ended just like it
started  Kennedy got the bed." 

Willow tried to grin, but couldn't quite manage it yet. "I don't know
what would have happened to me if Kennedy hadn't come along when she
did, you know?"  

"But she did." Dawn stroked Willow's hair. "You're a lucky woman,
Willow Rosenberg. You've been loved by three amazing, strong women."  

That caused a fresh bout of sniffling from the witch. "Yeah," she
smiled through her tears. "And don't forget Oz ... "  

"Sorry. It's just I never met him, for real, I mean," the teen
explained awkwardly. "But he was really cool in my fake memories," she
added, trying to cheer Willow. 

"That's Oz. Always cool." The redhead smiled and took Dawn's hand in
hers. "Thanks, Dawnie." 

"For making you cry?" Dawn gave her a lopsided grin. 

Willow slowly smiled back in wonder - she would recognize that grin
anywhere. 

Seeing Dawn's look of puzzlement, she said softly, "When you did that
just now, you looked exactly like Tara."  

Dawn squeezed Willow's hand. "Probably because I was about to offer to
cook you pancakes for breakfast," she answered, blue eyes glistening.  

"About to, as in you were about to but now you're not?" Willow asked
with a grin. 

"About to, as in meet me in the kitchen in 15 minutes, and you make the
coffee." Standing up, Dawn went to the dryer, pulled a load of
underwear out into the basket, and headed back up the stairs, calling
over her shoulder. "If you want, bring the big blue book of whatever it
is there on the floor." She turned and gave Willow a coy smile, " Cause
I know how bad you suck at Latin ..." 

"Language geek!" Willow shot back, not attempting to disguise the pride
in her voice. Dawn's prodigious facility with languages had earned her
a slot in a highly competitive comparative literature track at her new
school. "My prophecy and I will be up in a few minutes." 

As soon as Dawn had closed the door, Willow picked up the phone, hit a
speed dial number, and then fished her wallet out of her bag. She
pulled out a credit card and waited.  

"Yes, thank you. I need departure times from Cleveland to Albuquerque. 
Today, yes."  

It had been seeing Tara's grin that did it. Life was short. Even normal
people life, which theirs wasn't. She was going to go to New Mexico and
find out what was going on with the Slayer and she was going to tell
her about the prophecy. Their prophecy.  

If Buffy insisted, Willow would come back home tomorrow, but tonight
they were going to talk, they were going to hold each other, and
hopefully, they were finally going to make love.





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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

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