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harborshoreTitle: Try Imagining A Place
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
harborshore
Recipient:marginalia
Fandom: Buffyverse
Pairing: Tara/Dawn preslash
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Word count: 1400
Disclaimer: I am not Joss Whedon, I promise. I intend no copyright infringement, merely an exploration of alternate possibilities.
Warnings: References to Tara's canonical shooting, a magical coma, and hospitals.
Summary: AU. Tara doesn't die, but as it turns out, surviving a gunshot is the easy part.
A/N: Thanks so much totorakowalski and anoneknewmoose for looking over this for me; you are both amazing. The title is from Bob Dylan's "Shelter from the Storm." Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femslash10.
Dying hurts, and then there's nothing. No tunnel with a light at the end of it, no pitchforks or harps or people dressed in white. No fire. (Tara had been a little worried about that.)
Not dying hurts too, in that way when she wakes up in a hospital and the only one there is a nursing student who looks utterly stunned to see her awake. When Tara chokes out something that she thinks only vaguely resembles actual words, he says, "You shouldn't be able to talk right now."
Tara tries out a smile. "I was always, um, unusual."
Then the nursing student (his nametag says Roscoe) tells her it's been two years since she was admitted. Tells her she's not actually in Sunnydale, that they moved her after the earthquake.
Two years. An earthquake. She falls back and stares at the ceiling.
She hears him clear his throat. "I'll call—I'll call your emergency contact. And get a doctor." And then he leaves, almost running.
Tara realizes she should have asked for some water. Maybe that's part of coma recovery protocol or something and they'll bring her some soon. She's trying not to think about the earthquake, or why she can kind of see remnants of a spell in the air around her body. Shouldn't be able to talk right now, she thinks.
--
"I'm so sorry, I still can't get a hold of anyone." Two weeks later, and Roscoe is still apologizing.
Tara nods. Earthquakes will do that. Especially earthquakes that leave so much magical residue she can see it when she gets taken outside, even though they're not actually in Sunnydale. Oh, Willow. Her other spell is still knitting Tara back together, pushing her recovery so much it's hard to sleep sometimes with the neural pathways rewiring themselves, pinging and shivering under her skin.
"It's okay," she tells Roscoe when her nod doesn't seem to appease him. "I, uh, there was an earthquake. It ha-, it happens."
He looks worried. "There should be someone visiting you," he says, and she has to smile, even though it hurts.
"Let me try again," she says, and he takes his hands off the wheelchair.
--
It takes Tara a month to get ready to leave the hospital. The hospital helps her figure out her finances; apparently there's a foundation in England paying for her care (it's not officially called the Watcher's Council, but she's pretty sure that's what it is) and they've also left funds for her to use. So she doesn't have to worry about that.
It's nice, not needing to worry about money.
She thinks about looking for them.
Does it, too, buys the Hutamin paw and performs the ritual; the scorch marks on the floor are a small price to pay for finding out Willow is alive, as is Buffy. And Dawn.
But she can't bring herself to go to them. Her heart put back together by Willow's spell; it feels like the worst kind of metaphor.
(The magical coma, too. She's no one's Sleeping Beauty.)
Instead, she takes off. Buys a Greyhound ticket and heads up the coast, stopping wherever she pleases. Considers renting a car, too, but she's not sure about her reflexes yet; sometimes she reacts abnormally fast, sometimes she's really slow. She doesn't know if it's the magic or something else, or maybe her own body coming back into itself. Either way, she doesn't want to be driving, especially not anywhere near Highway 1. She doesn't think she'll get another miraculous escape.
--
In Salem, she gets off the bus. Partly because it's funny (even if it's not the same Salem), partly on a whim. She hasn't done much magic since the finding spell, but she follows her hunches. Always has.
There's a flyer at the station for beachside cottage rentals, and she doesn't think about it too much before walking over to a pay phone.
Turns out she still has to get back on the bus to go there, so she buys a ticket for Newport.
It's a pretty small town, but bigger than Sunnydale. A little fancier, too.
Mrs Hayworth at Greenstone Inn sneers a bit at Tara's somewhat raggedy skirt but gives her a key when she demonstrates she can pay for a month right away. Tara doesn't know if she'll stay that long, but maybe it's good to have a place to be. A new place.
She thinks about the house she didn't go back to, how she has no idea where her things are. How she doesn't want to know whether any of it is still there.
The cottage is furnished. The wicker chair on the porch is really comfortable. Tara sits there a lot and looks at the sea. Constant in its ability to change over and over and always come back; it's nice. She likes that it's green and grey and blue, she likes that it's endless.
--
Tara gets into cooking again. Soups and stews and anything she can leave to simmer by itself. Part of her thinks this is her subconscious easing her back into doing spells, but it also feels perfect, eating things that are warm and smooth and just spicy enough to ward off the winds.
She goes to the market on Saturdays. The third Saturday of the second month of her stay, she comes back to the cottage to find Dawn on her porch. She drops her bags on the sand and can't help it, she can't help it: she opens her arms and then holds on to Dawn as hard as she can.
They're both crying. It might be the first time Tara's done that since right after she woke up.
"I'm sorry," Dawn is saying, over and over again.
"No, no," Tara manages. "No, don't be sorry."
"I left the hospital--they had our number. And then, obviously, there was, you know." Dawn draws a shuddery breath. "I'm sorry."
"I know," Tara says into her hair. "I know."
"I went to visit and you were gone, Tara, you were gone."
"Sorry," Tara says, and she thinks Dawn understands that she's not apologizing for being alive. She's not sure how to say this right. "I had to get away after I woke up, I had to figure things out. Apparently it's a whole new world we're living in."
Dawn shrugs. "I guess," she says. "Willow awoke the potential slayers, so it's at least a safer world now."
"That's nice," Tara says. She still can't manage to let go of Dawn, but Dawn is still holding on too, so maybe that's all right.
"She's good with the control now though," Dawn says. "No more scary Willow."
Tara swallows. "That's good, Dawnie. That's really good."
"She's—" Dawn hesitates.
"I know about the girlfriend," Tara says hastily, because she saw it in the finding spell and she can see it on Dawn's face now, and it really is okay. "It's fine. I wouldn't have wanted her to wait or anything."
Dawn nods, but she still looks worried.
Tara takes a deep breath. "You should tell me though," she says. "Not, I mean, I want to know what happened to you. And everyone. And saving the world. Stay for dinner, Dawn." Stay.
Dawn smiles, ducking her head. "Okay," she says, and Tara hurts a little bit with how much that smile makes her remember everything.
"You grew up," she says while they pick up her groceries and bring them inside.
"I hear that happens sometimes," Dawn says, brushing the sand off her tomatoes.
"I suppose," Tara says, but she's smiling and Dawn's smiling and the kitchen is warm when they go inside and Tara almost feels like she could light the stove with a flick of her fingers, even though her magic never worked like that. The air is filled with memories, like it has been all along, but suddenly it's just so much easier to breathe.
"Thanks," she says.
Dawn looks up. "For what?" she says.
"Saving my life," Tara says, and shakes her head when Dawn starts explaining Willow's stasis spell. "I know, that's not what I meant. Thank you—thank you for being here, now."
Dawn puts the vegetables down on the counter and turns to hug Tara again, burying her face in Tara's shoulder. "I'll stay for as long as you want me to," she says, voice muffled.
Tara doesn't say anything because it's possible she's crying again, but she holds on.
Author:
harborshoreRecipient:
marginaliaFandom: Buffyverse
Pairing: Tara/Dawn preslash
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Word count: 1400
Disclaimer: I am not Joss Whedon, I promise. I intend no copyright infringement, merely an exploration of alternate possibilities.
Warnings: References to Tara's canonical shooting, a magical coma, and hospitals.
Summary: AU. Tara doesn't die, but as it turns out, surviving a gunshot is the easy part.
A/N: Thanks so much to
torakowalski and anoneknewmoose for looking over this for me; you are both amazing. The title is from Bob Dylan's "Shelter from the Storm." Written for femslash10.Dying hurts, and then there's nothing. No tunnel with a light at the end of it, no pitchforks or harps or people dressed in white. No fire. (Tara had been a little worried about that.)
Not dying hurts too, in that way when she wakes up in a hospital and the only one there is a nursing student who looks utterly stunned to see her awake. When Tara chokes out something that she thinks only vaguely resembles actual words, he says, "You shouldn't be able to talk right now."
Tara tries out a smile. "I was always, um, unusual."
Then the nursing student (his nametag says Roscoe) tells her it's been two years since she was admitted. Tells her she's not actually in Sunnydale, that they moved her after the earthquake.
Two years. An earthquake. She falls back and stares at the ceiling.
She hears him clear his throat. "I'll call—I'll call your emergency contact. And get a doctor." And then he leaves, almost running.
Tara realizes she should have asked for some water. Maybe that's part of coma recovery protocol or something and they'll bring her some soon. She's trying not to think about the earthquake, or why she can kind of see remnants of a spell in the air around her body. Shouldn't be able to talk right now, she thinks.
--
"I'm so sorry, I still can't get a hold of anyone." Two weeks later, and Roscoe is still apologizing.
Tara nods. Earthquakes will do that. Especially earthquakes that leave so much magical residue she can see it when she gets taken outside, even though they're not actually in Sunnydale. Oh, Willow. Her other spell is still knitting Tara back together, pushing her recovery so much it's hard to sleep sometimes with the neural pathways rewiring themselves, pinging and shivering under her skin.
"It's okay," she tells Roscoe when her nod doesn't seem to appease him. "I, uh, there was an earthquake. It ha-, it happens."
He looks worried. "There should be someone visiting you," he says, and she has to smile, even though it hurts.
"Let me try again," she says, and he takes his hands off the wheelchair.
--
It takes Tara a month to get ready to leave the hospital. The hospital helps her figure out her finances; apparently there's a foundation in England paying for her care (it's not officially called the Watcher's Council, but she's pretty sure that's what it is) and they've also left funds for her to use. So she doesn't have to worry about that.
It's nice, not needing to worry about money.
She thinks about looking for them.
Does it, too, buys the Hutamin paw and performs the ritual; the scorch marks on the floor are a small price to pay for finding out Willow is alive, as is Buffy. And Dawn.
But she can't bring herself to go to them. Her heart put back together by Willow's spell; it feels like the worst kind of metaphor.
(The magical coma, too. She's no one's Sleeping Beauty.)
Instead, she takes off. Buys a Greyhound ticket and heads up the coast, stopping wherever she pleases. Considers renting a car, too, but she's not sure about her reflexes yet; sometimes she reacts abnormally fast, sometimes she's really slow. She doesn't know if it's the magic or something else, or maybe her own body coming back into itself. Either way, she doesn't want to be driving, especially not anywhere near Highway 1. She doesn't think she'll get another miraculous escape.
--
In Salem, she gets off the bus. Partly because it's funny (even if it's not the same Salem), partly on a whim. She hasn't done much magic since the finding spell, but she follows her hunches. Always has.
There's a flyer at the station for beachside cottage rentals, and she doesn't think about it too much before walking over to a pay phone.
Turns out she still has to get back on the bus to go there, so she buys a ticket for Newport.
It's a pretty small town, but bigger than Sunnydale. A little fancier, too.
Mrs Hayworth at Greenstone Inn sneers a bit at Tara's somewhat raggedy skirt but gives her a key when she demonstrates she can pay for a month right away. Tara doesn't know if she'll stay that long, but maybe it's good to have a place to be. A new place.
She thinks about the house she didn't go back to, how she has no idea where her things are. How she doesn't want to know whether any of it is still there.
The cottage is furnished. The wicker chair on the porch is really comfortable. Tara sits there a lot and looks at the sea. Constant in its ability to change over and over and always come back; it's nice. She likes that it's green and grey and blue, she likes that it's endless.
--
Tara gets into cooking again. Soups and stews and anything she can leave to simmer by itself. Part of her thinks this is her subconscious easing her back into doing spells, but it also feels perfect, eating things that are warm and smooth and just spicy enough to ward off the winds.
She goes to the market on Saturdays. The third Saturday of the second month of her stay, she comes back to the cottage to find Dawn on her porch. She drops her bags on the sand and can't help it, she can't help it: she opens her arms and then holds on to Dawn as hard as she can.
They're both crying. It might be the first time Tara's done that since right after she woke up.
"I'm sorry," Dawn is saying, over and over again.
"No, no," Tara manages. "No, don't be sorry."
"I left the hospital--they had our number. And then, obviously, there was, you know." Dawn draws a shuddery breath. "I'm sorry."
"I know," Tara says into her hair. "I know."
"I went to visit and you were gone, Tara, you were gone."
"Sorry," Tara says, and she thinks Dawn understands that she's not apologizing for being alive. She's not sure how to say this right. "I had to get away after I woke up, I had to figure things out. Apparently it's a whole new world we're living in."
Dawn shrugs. "I guess," she says. "Willow awoke the potential slayers, so it's at least a safer world now."
"That's nice," Tara says. She still can't manage to let go of Dawn, but Dawn is still holding on too, so maybe that's all right.
"She's good with the control now though," Dawn says. "No more scary Willow."
Tara swallows. "That's good, Dawnie. That's really good."
"She's—" Dawn hesitates.
"I know about the girlfriend," Tara says hastily, because she saw it in the finding spell and she can see it on Dawn's face now, and it really is okay. "It's fine. I wouldn't have wanted her to wait or anything."
Dawn nods, but she still looks worried.
Tara takes a deep breath. "You should tell me though," she says. "Not, I mean, I want to know what happened to you. And everyone. And saving the world. Stay for dinner, Dawn." Stay.
Dawn smiles, ducking her head. "Okay," she says, and Tara hurts a little bit with how much that smile makes her remember everything.
"You grew up," she says while they pick up her groceries and bring them inside.
"I hear that happens sometimes," Dawn says, brushing the sand off her tomatoes.
"I suppose," Tara says, but she's smiling and Dawn's smiling and the kitchen is warm when they go inside and Tara almost feels like she could light the stove with a flick of her fingers, even though her magic never worked like that. The air is filled with memories, like it has been all along, but suddenly it's just so much easier to breathe.
"Thanks," she says.
Dawn looks up. "For what?" she says.
"Saving my life," Tara says, and shakes her head when Dawn starts explaining Willow's stasis spell. "I know, that's not what I meant. Thank you—thank you for being here, now."
Dawn puts the vegetables down on the counter and turns to hug Tara again, burying her face in Tara's shoulder. "I'll stay for as long as you want me to," she says, voice muffled.
Tara doesn't say anything because it's possible she's crying again, but she holds on.