These characters belong to Mutant Enemy.
Endings
I held her hand as she died.
She gave me a little smile, a parting gift, then my Tara left me. I felt like someone had reached in and scooped out my insides. Completely hollow.
It shouldn’t’ve been like this. It never should have happened. She’s not a fighter, dammit. Of course, I’m not either, really. But I chose this. I chose to befriend the Slayer. To help her as much as I can. Tara was pulled into it because she knows – knew – me. We always kept her out of harm’s way.
But then harm came into Tara’s way.
We walked back to the dorm room together, as we do most nights. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was going to take her to a movie, but it was sold out. We laughed and joked, feeling that strange mixture of comfort and delicious, sensual tension. She’s so good for me. My cute little mouse, with the quiet strength. It’s been amazing to watch her become more confident, even as she’s helped me do the same.
I never thought I would be with a woman, but then I met her… and all notions of gender went out the window. I fell in love with Tara-the-person, not Tara-the-woman. But, man, that beautiful body didn’t hurt. I adore her skin; the smooth, cool skin which smells of jasmine. I get a kick out of just being around her, and when I touch her, I can feel her skin singing.
Music was playing loudly in the next room, as usual. I slipped an arm around her shoulders as she unlocked her door, and whisper-shouted in her ear some of the things I wanted to do to her. She grinned mischievously and enthusiastically pushed the door open.
And that’s when it all went to hell. I heard what sounded like Buffy’s voice cry, “Get back!”
In a split-second Tara was thrown on her back, with some kind of – thing – on top of her. I shrieked. It looked like a spider, but it was the size of her torso. I grabbed it behind the head, frantically trying to keep those giant, slavering pincers away from her face. She wriggled, struggling to get leverage to push it away. Yellow ichor dripped into her eyes, and she screamed as it sizzled.
I will never forget that scream. It was agony, pure agony, and the sound of failure.
One of its enormous legs whipped out and slapped me in the forehead, knocking me backwards. I slammed into the door and went down hard, gasping for breath. I caught a glimpse of Buffy in Tara’s room, taking a beating from another of the creatures; its slimy jaws almost on top of her. The window was smashed inwards and the room was a shambles. She must have followed them inside, tried desperately to keep them contained, and then we’d opened the door.
I climbed unsteadily upright. My legs took me to the fire axe in the glass case next to the extinguisher. I smashed the glass with a fist, and grabbed it, ignoring the sharp pain in my hand.
The axe was small. Too small. I got closer to my love, my poor lost love, and swung at the damn thing’s body. Another leg came out and smashed into my shoulder. The impact spun me around, sending a white-hot flash of agony through the right side of my body, but I kept my feet, barely. My right arm was useless. I grabbed the axe with my left.
One chance only. I shouted and leapt for its face. I heaved the axe into its eyes. It raised itself and spat ichor at me. I dodged, barely, and hacked at it again. The axe went deeper. The spider-thing shuddered once, then collapsed.
In the sudden silence, I could hear myself sobbing. I rolled the corpse off Tara.
She was breathing. She was still breathing. “Tara?” I pleaded. No response.
There was blood on her stomach. So much blood… I scrabbled at her shirt. “Goddess.” The spider had opened up a deep, diagonal slash, practically from shoulder to pelvis. There was more of the ichor around the edges of the wound.
As if the creature had been feeding.
“Oh, Will,” Buffy was by my side, a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was stricken, guilty. I struggled to think of a healing spell, but I’m not strong enough. I don’t have enough experience.
Buffy tried to hug me, so we could cry together, but I couldn’t do it. I patted her arm absently. I figured if I could keep looking at Tara, keep sending her my strength, I could help her stay alive.
Buffy managed to hide the spider corpses before the ambulance arrived.
****
The others met us at the hospital. Xander, Giles, even Anya. They tried to talk to me, to console me, but I had to keep looking at Tara. I had to make sure she was all right. I stared at her even while the intern tended my dislocated shoulder. If I looked away she might be taken from me.
It was already too late, of course.
They eased her pain, but told us there was no chance of her living through the night. Too much of the strange poison in the wound. They’d never seen anything like it, and naturally we couldn’t explain the source to them. The poison was in Tara’s blood, in her brain. There was one final blessing, though. A tiny scrap of silver amongst the hulking black clouds that had enveloped us all. She woke. For a few seconds.
“Willow…?”
I jumped. “Tara!” I grabbed both her hands, staring into her beautiful, beautiful face.
“Can’t…see…”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love.” My words rushed out over each other, mixed with sobs. “I love you.”
“…love you too,” she whispered, and gave me a little smile.
Then she left me.
And now I’m here, all alone, even though I’m surrounded by friends.
I feel Xander embrace me from behind, and Giles take my hand.
Then it’s Buffy’s turn. “I thought you two were coming back late – I wanted to keep them outside but I didn’t have any choice, they were moving so fast…” Her voice dissolves, and I know she’s crying again. But all I can see is Tara.
Buffy’s hurting, too. She feels responsible. And she is. If I didn’t know her, if Tara didn’t know her through me, this wouldn’t have happened. If I wasn’t involved with the Slayer, if I didn’t regularly come into contact with demons and other nasties, maybe Tara would still be alive. I failed. I didn’t look after her. And Buffy failed, too.
This isn’t possible any more. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t watch people get hurt, then pick up and move on as if nothing’s happened. Sweet, chirping Willow who always lifts everyone’s spirits. I can’t do it.
I can’t comfort Buffy. I can’t even look her in the face. I know it’s really not Buffy’s fault. I don’t hate her. She did everything she could. I know that. I know it’s irrational.
But I can’t look at her.
And I can’t do this any more.
