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DWR-Tertius: Gemini Dance

The First Dance

It is a beautiful day and I mean that besides having Buffy lying beside me on the grass; deep blue skies with puffy clouds just coasting on the wind. Wind which is minding its manners and not being to harsh, or too hot, or too constant or too scarce. It's a perfect wind, no breeze.

Hold on. I shall lick my finger and test the wind.

Yes, no, yes, a perfect breeze.

Soft and gentle.

Even the sun is being friendly. Shining down on the planet from its place in the sky not too harshly and, when it starts to get a bit too hot, the wind just happens to blow a cloud in front of it letting everything cool down just the right amount before moving on and the sun returns. A big, yellow, warm, friendly, sun today; even though one day it will bloat to a thousand times its size, burn everything in the solar system to a crisp and wipe out humanity as we know it.

Right now it isn't and that's great though. Maybe it could, the sun being a huge fireball something could go terribly wrong without any warning and fwoosh, we're all extra crispy. That'd be okay though.

I have Buffy.

Having Buffy lying beside me, stretched out on the grass, sunglasses on with a serene smile on her face, why, that's just the icing on the cake.

No.

Wait.

Buffy is the cake.

Everything else, the sun, sky, mountains, grass, breeze, people, heck even pepperoni pizza, even the minute possibility of death by cosmic flare, that's the icing. Buffy is the cake.

Buffy is my cake!

Heh.

Mmmmm…cake.

"You haven't said a word in a few minutes, Willow," Buffy murmurs. "Except now you're wearing a really goofy smile on your face. What are you thinking about?"

"Cake," I say. Oops, big mouth.

"What?" Buffy slips the sun glasses down her nose looking at me over the top of them.

"Nothing," I reply casually. "Enjoying the sun, sky; don't want to go back tomorrow."

Buffy nods in agreement. Raising her arms behind her head she stretches and arches slightly. Act calm, Rosenberg, it's not becoming to drool on your own clothing.

"Yeah," Buffy says, still stretching. "Ahh, that feels good. We still should go back though. I'm okay now and Mom, Giles and everybody else are probably worried." She settles back on the green grass with a slight sigh.

Giles and Mrs. Summers.

Right.

Forgot about that little whammy I put on them. Haven't told Buffy yet. Forgot to tell Buffy actually.

Could tell her now.

Could cause a fight.

Could ruin everything, the day, the sky, the sun…my cake.

No, waiting would make it worse. Not going to run, not this time.

"Uhm, Buffy, honey?" My voice does not tremble; oh goodie. "There's something I need to tell you."

Buffy sits up in one smooth movement, no strain, no grunt; goes from lying on her back to hugging her knees in one easy step. If I didn't love her I'd fall right now; or market her for home aerobic videos.

"What's that, Will?" she asks me.

Tear it off quick, like a bandage. Less pain, more shock but less pain. Let' s hope that applies to this as well. "I kinda, sorta cast a spell on your Mom," Pause. "And Giles." I add as an afterthought.

Buffy doesn't reply. She stares in front of her over the rolling hills that dip down to make a valley. Overhead the quiet wind blows the large clouds across the sky whose shadows make big dark splotches that crawl along the ground making the earth look like a half-finished checkerboard. Never noticed that before. Huh.

"Why?" she finally asks. No accusation in her tone. Well, that's a good thing though I've known Buffy to do this same flat, dead tone right before she really lets loose on somebody, or something.

No. No, she loves me. I trust her. She trusts me, that's why I'm telling her this so she can keep on trusting me. Trusts with good and bad and all the other kind of things that are, sorta, middle-ish.

"Because Giles wanted to put you back in a cage," Buffy stiffens slightly, her eyes widening just a fraction. "He believed it was the right way to help you. Your Mom thought he was right."

I move over and put my arm over her shoulders. Buffy is perfectly still, she's just listening to me I hope; she could be listening to something, or someone else.

"I don't blame your Mom; she was hit so hard what with you brought in all bloody and burned then I did with the zip zap and you were a little better. Then Giles came over and we talked; I told them what you, or, her, or they-"

"We," Buffy interrupts. "We told you."

"We?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I remember that part," Buffy smiles grimly. "In the warehouse. Hazy, not quite clear. Like something you tell someone before rolling over and going to sleep."

She glances at me.

"Go on," she says.

"Oh, um, well, I knew from what you," I pause. "From what I was told, that would be bad. They didn't seem willing to listen so I sorta had them take a nap."

Buffy's lips turn up at the corners, just slightly. Oh thank God, it's going to be okay. I love this particular smile of hers; like that smile I mentioned a long time ago; first lunch off campus in our senior year. 'Quick! Do that thing with your mouth that boys like'. That was embarrassing; though I, a girl, do like that thing she does with her mouth.

All the things.

Must stay focused.

"Were they okay?" she asks me quietly; her question yanking me back to now, and out of fantasy land.

"Um, I caught your Mom before she hit the floor," I mumble. "They were standing when I whammied em'. Giles hit though."

I glance at Buffy, she's looking at me patiently, waiting for me to finish. "I consider it just payment for him trying to put you in a box."

"He's British," she says very quietly. "Naturally hard headed."

"It was a very solid thunk when he hit," I giggle.

Buffy doesn't say anything, just smiling that slight smile of hers, at me, for me…yes. Just for me.

She takes my hand in her left hand, and then starts gliding the fingertips of her right one up and down my skin. From the tips of my own fingers, around the knuckles, across the tiny hairs now standing upright along my forearm and back again.

I am burning and confused.

I can't stop watching her fingers.

Easy graces, just the lightest of touches.

It doesn't make any sense; when she brushes against me I feel it all over, a blow almost that I want to recoil from but at the same time embrace. But I'm watching her do it and she's barely touching me.

Buffy turns my hand over and with the lightest pressure runs a single nail down along my arm, over the palm of my hand to the tip of my middle finger. I have to try very hard not to start trembling during the ride.

"You did the right thing," she whispers. "You protected me and I love you for it."

A gasp.

Mine?

Yes, from breath I didn't know I was holding.

Whoa, dizzy; I think I might have been holding that lungful for a while now. Buffy doesn't release my hand, she's still smiling at me, her eyes bright, fingertips tracing along my skin.

"Only you, Willow," she laughs.

"Only," inhale. "Me, what?" Exhale.

Buffy lets go of my hand, she slides over across the grass until she's kneeling right in front of me. She reaches up and rests her fingers on my cheeks. No restraint, no pressure. I see her hands out of the corners of my eyes more than feel her touch.

"Only you would be so worried that you'd almost drown on dry land, in the mountains," Before I can utter a protest, before I can get embarrassed or start to verbally meander she kisses me.

My eyes are closed; just snapped all on their own, they know what I want, what I need to enjoy this.

Sweet, sweet kiss. Zips and flips and zounds abound, rapture even, joy, tingly, yummy and very low in fat with no extra sugar or preservatives and my brain will shut up now so I can really get down to kissing.

Grass tickles the back of my neck, which makes sense cause, I mean, I'm lying down now. Not sure how she did it but the evidence of her doing the lying of me down is very clear; cause I have grass tickling the back of my neck.

There's also the fact that I’m being redundant.

Some might say babble, but I’m in college now and must change with the times. I’m being redundant; self narration of redundancy that redunduates all redundancies that are redundant.

Buffy kisses short out critical parts of my mind.

Waaarrrrmmm.

I’m so warm, and soft.

So soft.

Buffy’s soft and I’m soft, there’s no resistance of softness, just squooshed together curves matching…soft.

Hey where'd she go?

"Buffy?"

It's not nice at all to open your eyes and pull away from fuzzies, the return trip turns all the nice background like blue skies and cool breezes into bright, eye watering light and cold wind. Behind it all Buffy's standing.

She stretches out her hand, "Come on," she whispers. "Time to go back."

"Aw," Whining. Brilliant. What next? I won't eat my veggies? "We don't have to leave until tomorrow," I protest letting her pull me up. Not that I could stop her.

"I know," she says, throwing her arm over my shoulder; not kiss fuzzies but not to-be missed the cherished half-hug ruffles. "But I think maybe getting back early wouldn't be too bad an idea."

"I'd gladly debate that with you," I grump.

"Oh come on," she chuckles. "Willow Rosenberg has missed over a week of homework and not gone into hysterics. Wherever did my girlfriend go?"

"She's standing right beside you," I continue to grouch. A good grouch is hard to let go of. "Seeking smoochies and not half smoochies, or low fat smooches and definitely not vicarious or by proxy smoochies but real deal, hard core, full bore, curly toes smoochies!"

Buffy smiles and shakes her head slightly, "What was that back there then?"

"A warm up?" I say. It was meant as a statement but it comes out a question. Complete with a goofy hopeful smile on my face. I can feel it.

Buffy's eyes widen slightly, "Hey," she exclaims, "When did smoochies become a term for-"

"Not tellin'!" The words burst out, 'cause I'm not letting her finish that sentence. No way. I play my cards close to my chest; even when everybody knows what I'm holding.

Buffy doesn't laugh though; instead she takes both my hands, spins me around slowly so, still holding my hands, she is embracing me from behind. She sighs into my hair; my muscles are puddling.

"I want-" Buffy mumbles, nuzzling gently. "I have to see Mom."

"Okay," I agree. I'm very agreeable at moments like this. Who wouldn't be?

"And Giles," That's like cold water.

"Giles?!" Ouch, that hurt my throat; probably had too much volume in that.

Buffy shrugs, maybe she's trying to apologize or something. "We have to eventually."

"Couldn't, y'know, that particular eventually be sometime other than now?" I ask. "Couldn't it be a few minutes ahead of now? Forever? Eventually there will be the heat death of the universe; couldn't talking to Giles be a few minutes after that?"

Buffy chuckles, "How do you think of those things, Willow?" she asks wrapping her arms around me in another hug.

"You haven't answered my question," I say returning the hug.

She steps beside me, her arm still around my waist and we begin walking back to the cabin, "And you haven't answered mine."

"Yeah but I was first,"

"Senority rules," Buffy admonishes.

"What has age got to do with it? I'm older!"

"Age, shmage; I'm the Slayer."

"That's not fair!"

"Race you back to the cabin." Buffy is grinning. Not a good sign.

"Only if you hop on one leg."

***

I’ve gone insane; that’s the only possible answer.

My fingers are aching but that’s better than having my whole body ache. We got back to the cabin easily enough, Buffy gave me a piggyback ride so our race was declared a draw, or in her words: Everybody wins. Yay team!

Packing was again quite easy since we didn’t come with anything and left with a few clothes The Hunter had left behind. It was just when I was slamming the trunk of the car that Buffy embraced me from behind, nuzzled my ear with the tip of her nose and whispered, sweetly, that plea that has sealed my doom.

Why, why, why, why, why, why did I do that? Isn't my life terrifying and risky enough? Isn't it almost guaranteed that some monster or beastie will finish me off or some other force of darkness? Or won't  I become a disgruntled, hollow shell of my former self; sitting in a tiny, dingy bar somewhere, drinking like a fish, smoking like a chimney, screwing with random passer-bys in a desperate quest for self-destruction; burned out by an endless, ultimately pointless, battle against Evil?

I guess, subconsciously, I have a death wish.

Because I said yes.

I fact I actually said, "Yeah, sure thing, Buffy, you can drive."

Hm, yes, my seatbelt is on; how many times have I checked now? I lost count at around sixty-something. Well, better to be sure.

Seatbelt? Check.

Airbag? Check.

Armrests locked in a death grip? Check.

I wonder if I'll make a pretty corpse….

"Willow, could you turn on the radio for me?" Buffy asks, her eyes actually not leaving the road.

"You promise you're not going to point out the window and say 'oh look at that?' while my life flashes before my eyes?" I answer flicking through the stations.

Buffy snorts, "I'm not that bad; that'd only happen if I spotted a vamp."

Without looking up I mutter, "Drive slowly past all cemeteries then; how about this?"

The music isn't anything too bad, modern, repetitive, boring, about the same old, same old: Love, sex, betrayal.

"I love this song," Buffy exclaims. "I love any song that's not Cher." And she starts singing along with it.

"Keep both hands on the wheel if you feel the need to do the butt-bounce!" I am trying very hard to not panic as I lean back in my seat. It's not working.

I give my seat belt a subtle yank, just to make sure.

"Butt-bounce?" Buffy's eyebrows shoot up but, to her credit, she does not take her eyes off the road. "That sounds like something certain conservative groups might object to on moral grounds."

"Nu-uh," I shake my head. "Not unless they don't like fun-"

"Which they don't," Buffy interjects.

I press on, "Point to you. A butt-bounce is when you bounce up and down in your seat with the beat. Like this."

Mistake!

Buffy's laughing, giggling, and- Oh no.

The car skids around a corner, I can hear the rear tires screeching in protest, the engine is roaring in some bizarre accompaniment; she must have her feet pressing down the on the accelerator and the brake at the same time. The headlights are illuminating the black desert sands in a strange blue.

I'm oddly calm.

Everything stops.

Buffy rests her head on the steering wheel; I just stare out the windshield at the stretch of road now illuminated by the lights. I can hear her breathing, deep, calming, somewhat panicked breaths.

Or is that me?

Both?

We're alive!

Not wrapped around a tree, or flipped in a ditch, smeared across the asphalt like those movies they showed us in high school. We won't be a two inch article in a local paper somewhere where authority figures postulate on if and how drunk we were or the tragic waste of two young lives; no burial with mourners, bad music, useless sympathies and really, really expensive coffins just for us to decompose in.

We're alive!!

Buffy hasn't moved. In the darkness I can see her hands, knuckles white. Is the steering wheel cracked?

"That," Buffy takes a few more deep breaths. "Was your fault."

Not gonna argue. She's told me before my butt can be very distracting; too think: My butt nearly got us killed. That's a compliment in a very strange way.

What's in front of me finally registers on my brain. "Hey," I say pointing. "We're home."

Buffy lifts her head and looks. The 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign glows before us.

"Joy," Buffy says without enthusiasm.

She puts the car in gear and gently accelerates. Wow, she managed to shift out of first smoothly. Go figure.

"What's the first thing you want to do?" I ask. "Please don't say patrol."

"No," I sigh in relief. It's selfish but- Buffy glances at me real quick, a small smile on her face. "Like I said earlier I really want to talk to Mom."

"Oh," that didn't sound as much like a squeak as I think it did, right?

"And Giles," she finishes.

"Oh!" That was definitely a squeak. Nuts.

"To explain," Buffy says. "To let them know that you were right, we're okay and I'm okay and all that other kinda stuff."

"I understand," the car passes the sign welcoming people to the Hellmouth; I mean Sunnydale. 'Buffy'.

What the?

I didn't hear- What?

'Buffy?' I ask. No, I don't. I'm not talking? I'm not talking!!

She looks at me, I think she said my name. It looked like she mouthed Willow. Or it could have been 'pillow'. No, that was a 'Wha' rounding of her mouth. Not a 'Pi', a 'Wha'.

Oh, oh. She just caught on- Why can't we talk? What's going on?

END- Tertius: First Dance