To Xander's mild surprise, Giles and Rachel followed Faith's advice to the letter, locking themselves in the guest room Rachel was using as soon as they arrived at the house.
As he heard the lock click, he turned to Anya and they gave each other a smirk. Giles would probably prefer to just talk things through, but they'd both noticed the looks Rachel had been giving him. Non-verbal means of persuasion were going to come into play, and Xander didn't think Giles had a chance. If he were a single guy in his late forties, and a woman like Rachel made a play for him, he wouldn't be able to resist for more than two or three seconds.
"I don't see why we had to come back here, Xander," Anya observed tartly. "We're are already married, after all -- it's not like we have anything special to prepare for."
Xander blinked in surprise. "I think we've got a lot to prepare for, Ahn, because we're the only married couple. You just saw Giles -- he's gonna be a basket case for a while, until he gets this thing with Rachel worked out. We still tend to think of him as 'the grownup of the bunch,' but right now his life's been turned upside down more than anyone else's, except for the Dawnster."
Anya's face lit in comprehension. "You mean . . . we have to be the grownups."
"Yah."
The idea scared him a little, but he'd already wrapped his head around the idea of being married, buying a house, and having children . . . and then there was that pep talk Buffy had given him a month or so ago. She'd said she looked up to him, not because he was spectactularly brave or super-powered, but because of his "everyday" hard work and dedication -- which had led to being able to afford to do things like get married, buy this house, and plan to have kids. So, yeah, he could deal with the idea of being a grownup, for a few days at least.
Anya, on the other hand, had already started fretting. "But what do we do? I've never been a grownup before -- even as a demon, I was only eighteen, even if I was eighteen for over a thousand years. And the only female grownup I've been able to observe for any length of time was Joyce, and I don't think I can be nearly as nice and understanding as she was-"
"Hold it, Ahn," he interjected. "First of all, I don't think we have to change anything about how we behave, or who we are. We just have to remember that the others are going to be a little discombobulated for a few days, and we may end up making a few more group decisions than usual.
"Second," he said, pulling her close and giving her a kiss, "You can use Mrs. Summers as a role model for motherhood if you like, but you're a perfectly fine woman as you are."
"Really?" she said with a smile.
"Why don't we go in the bedroom, and I'll tell you all about how wonderful you are while we get into our nice clothes? After all, if we're not researching or planning a wedding, we deserve a night out on the town!"
She grinned and kissed him, before saying, very seriously, "Yes, why don't you do that, and I'll tell you what a fine man you are, and we'll go out on the town looking fine and feeling really proud!"
He laughed as he followed her into the bedroom.
* * *
"I don't get how we're supposed to be such wildly different people. I mean, we're both women, and witches, and kinda insecure and introverted, and . . . I dunno. Why is it so wild and crazy to think our relationship would work?"
Tara frowned. She had her own opinions, but wasn't sure how much she should actually say out loud. "Um, well . . . there's the witch background thing, for one. I was practically born to witchcraft -- I can't remember when my mother wasn't teaching me about the power, Mother Earth, and the Sight I was born with. You came to it really late, and completely taught yourself, and . . . " She broke off, brow furrowed.
"Well?" Wllow urged her on.
"I've always wondered about that spell you cast to restore Angel's soul. That was the first real magic you ever did, and it was huge! I mean, I've looked at that ritual, and it's right up there with the teleportation and resurrection spells. I can't imagine how a novice witch could cast it without killing herself. And didn't you say, when you tried it the second time, that it seemed like you were getting help from somewhere else? Or someone else?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah. It was like . . . Doing the English version of the spell didn't seem to be working, but about halfway through, something entered me, and I found myself doing the chant in the original Romany."
Tara nodded. "I'm beginning to think you were possessed, maybe by the Gypsy who cast the spell in the first place." She frowned, concentrating. "My mother explained something to me once. Magical power is like water. When you use it, it has to flow through you, and everyone has different . . . capacities. Like, some people have little soda straws inside them, and others have great big firehoses. So it's possible that the Gypsy who possessed you . . . "
"Made me a bigger hose, so I could cast the spell?"
"Willow, baby, you're not a hose -- more like a water main, or a small river. I've never met anyone with as much power as you."
Willow looked thoughtful, but then her face fell. "That kinda shoots down your theory about me having all this power for a reason, though, doesn't it? I mean, I wasn't supposed to have it -- it was just an accident."
"But remember what Faith said -- everything's been going wrong since Angel lost his soul. So maybe, in the original plan where Angel never went bad, you didn't need to be a witch -- but now you do. That might even explain why we met 'by accident' -- maybe I was sent to you, to teach you all about magic." She gave Willow a sad little half-smile. "Maybe in that other plan, Oz wasn't supposed to leave you."
Willow's mouth dropped open, and she sat down suddenly on the bed. "Wow. This is . . . super-freaky."
Tara sat down beside her. "Yeah. Not the least of which is, we're supposed to get married."
Willow gave her a scared look. "You do want to . . . don't you? I mean, I know we've only been back together a little while, and we're still rebuilding that whole trust thing, and we still don't know about me and magic and-"
Tara pulled her lover close and gave her a kiss that left no doubt about her intentions. As she broke the kiss, she murmured, "I would love to marry you, Willow Anne Rosenberg. It would be the greatest honor of my life."
Then she sighed. "But we're going to have a big problem finding someone to do it, since we can't get a marriage license."
Willow frowned, and nodded as she remembered. They'd both worked hard on the campus campaign against Proposition 22, which had excluded same-sex marriages from legal recognition in California, but it had passed all the same, just days after Tara's memorable 20th birthday.
What infuriated her more than anything else was her conviction that her conservative, stick-in-the-mud parents had voted for the measure.
"I guess we'll just have to find someone who'll do a religious ceremony without the legal papers. Or . . . we could always have a private handfasting. That doesn't require a priestess, just two willing partners."
Tara brightened. "I'd better look up the ceremony for handfasting -- we aren't the only ones who'll have problems getting a license. Dawnie's a minor, Giles is a British citizen, and Spike . . . can't give a blood sample," she finished with a weak chuckle.
Then she stopped suddenly. "Wait . . . that handfasting idea will work with the others, but not with Buffy and Spike. Remember, we need to have a real marriage ceremony, performed by a priest or priestess with some magical ability, to bind up the soul they share."
Willow tilted her head to the side, as if suddenly struck by a thought. "Tara? How long does it take to become a priestess?"
Tara's brow furrowed in confusion. "Um, I think it's not too long, as long as you've been initiated. But I don't know if it would be safe for you to do any magic, Will, even a Goddess-blessed ceremony."
Willow's lips curved into a wicked little smile. "Not me, silly. I was talking about you."
* * *
"Do you really think it'll happen, pet?"
"She promised me, Spike. Death's not my gift anymore."
* * *
"Quite a whirlwind relationship, wouldn't you say?" Angel joked. "Our first day together, and already we're engaged."
Cordelia pretended not to understand. "Who's engaged, Mr. I-Can't-Even-Say-I-Love-You? I certainly haven't been asked to marry anybody," she commented, examining her nails.
Since she wasn't looking at him -- and didn't realize how fast he was, even as a human -- her first warning was his arms going around her. Then she was being kissed -- by someone with a quarter-millenium of experience, and enough pent-up passion to light a house on fire.
After a full three minutes, he broke the kiss to say, "I love you, Cordelia Elizabeth Chase, with all my heart and soul. Will you marry me?"
All she could do was gasp for air.
When she could speak, her first words were, "I don't even know your real name." Her lips quirked into a smile. "And no matter what Fred thinks, you don't look like a Geraldo."
Angel grinned back. "Not hardly. I was baptized Liam Aidan Clery."
They stared at each other for several seconds, but Cordelia didn't answer Angel's question. Then, out of the blue, she giggled and asked, "Did you see Fred when that woman Rachel spilled the beans? She looked like she was on a roller coaster -- scared to death and thrilled at the same time."
"Yeah," Angel said with a chuckle. "I think Gunn's more scared than she is, though. Alonna was his only family, other than his gang, and he ended up staking her when she was turned. I think that's why he never let himself get seriously involved until Fred came along -- he's been afraid of getting hurt again."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Ya think?" She shook her head. "Honestly, Angel, you've still got things to learn about people, even after 250 years." Then her eyes narrowed. "Like, a girl doesn't wanna talk about marriage until she's had at least one date."
His eyebrows flew up. "A date?"
"A date," she said firmly. "Before our apocalypse-shotgun wedding, I want you to take me out to at least one dinner at a nice Italian restaurant!"
He pursed his lips, then shook his head. "Not Italian. French. I didn't like garlic even when I was human."
She grinned. "Even better. I haven't been to Chez Pierre since my dad lost his money three years ago."
* * *
Knock, knock. Creak.
Shuffle.
"Hey, Wes. Long time no see."
Sniff.
"You really thinking of eating that stuff? You're braver than I am, Watcher mine. Smells even worse than prison grub."
Creak, creak.
"Oh, for God's sake, Wes, I'm not here to kill ya. I'm just here to ask if you're ready to rejoin the human race."
|
|
|
|
Rave
Barbie Girl (Becca)
biscuit07
Filmtheory (Jim)
Malice (Jess)
MebbtheScribe (MichaelB)
Reset (Allie)
Shay (Marrisa)
somnambulist29 (Shea)
Stephanie Loss
Wendyness (Wendy)
Questions?Contact Us
|
|
All stories on this site have been archived with the authors' consent. Do not copy these stories for your own uses without the express consent of the author themselves. Buffy the Vampire Slayer TM and Angel TM are © UPN, WB, Fox and its related entities. All photos on the site are © UPN, Fox, Warner Bros, and/or their respective owners. No profits are being made by use of these images.
Powered with the assitance of eFiction.
|
|
|
