Return
by Kirayoshi
Finding Your Way to Superman
[reviews]
(Author's Note; the following chapter contains characters and situations created and owned by Don Belisario.)
Chapter Three
Finding Your Way to Superman
You gotta be tough to make it today
You do it your way and not how they say
You gotta be tough to make it today
And never be scared of finding your way
to Superman
...Alanis Morrisette
"Superman"
Superman never made any money
Saving the world from Solomon Grundy
And sometimes I despair the world will never see
Another man like him
...Crash Test Dummies
"Superman's Song"
One week ago;
Willow stared across the table at the two strangers who called themselves her parents. Ira was talking about some new investment, while Sheila offered her some overcooked potatoes to go with her pot roast. Willow ate the potatoes without tasting them. Truth be told, she probably wouldn't have noticed if she had bitten into a raw harbeŅero pepper. For nearly two months, she had been unable to feel anything. The person who brought her to her true family was gone.
And now she was having dinner with strangers.
"Willow," Ira glanced at the young redhead, "you didn't tell us what happened to you last quarter. Any new friends, any interesting classes?"
Willow had lost count of the number of times she told Ira about her friends, about her classes, only to have him forget what she said almost as she said it. She just grunted an affirmative, saying, "Nothing different, Dad," she muttered. "Still taking my drama classes, some computer stuff."
"Figures," he said resignedly. "Still wasting your scholarship on that acting nonsense. Nothing worthwhile, nothing useful."
Useful? she thought angrily, despairing that she would ever win this man's approval, wondering if she really wanted it. You mean like spellcasting, demon hunting, saving the world, that sort of thing? No, nothing useful in that!
"Please, Ira," Sheila chided her husband, "show some sympathy. After all, Willow's friend died last month. You remember, Bunny?"
"Buffy," Willow quietly corrected her mother, only to be ignored completely. So what else is new?
"You mean that troublemaker she used to room with?" Ira glared hard at his daughter. "You're better off without her, Willow." Willow seethed at each word, her anger burning white-hot in her gut.
"Dear, be nice," Sheila corrected Ira in a sickly sweet tone of voice that just added to Willow's anger. "No matter what kind of bad seed she was, Bunny was Willow's friend."
"Some friend," Ira bellowed. "Always getting her into trouble in high school, you know she blew the school up during her graduation. I'm glad she's out of our daughter's life! She was no good from the start!"
"She was ten times better than either one of you."
Ira and Sheila stopped cold in their tracks, unable to believe that Willow would say what she said. Ira turned slowly to Willow and asked, in a voice that reminded Willow of the ten seconds before a terrible thunderstorm; "Would you care to repeat yourself, Willow Rosenberg?"
Willow locked eyes with her father, and saw nothing but the contempt of a small man for something he didn't understand. In a brief epiphany, Willow cursed herself for ever wanting this man's favor. "You heard me, Ira Rosenberg. She was ten -- no, a hundred -- times better than the both of you!" Turning toward Sheila, she raged, "And her name, for the very last time, was BUFFY, not Bunny!"
A horrified couple stared at their defiant daughter for five long seconds, before Ira growled in barely contained rage; "I accept that you're still in mourning for your friend, Willow, so I will excuse this outburst. This time. But perhaps it would be better for all of us if you were to leave for the evening, and return when you're in a more civil state of mind."
Willow stood up from the table, her anger becoming action. "You're right, Ira. I should leave. And by 'leave', I mean leave this family. Not that we ever were a family, more like three people who barely tolerated each other for twenty years! Tell me, was there ever a time when I was more than an afterthought in your lives? No, don't bother, I know the answer." She picked up her purse and her windbreaker, and headed for the door. Before she opened the door, she turned back to her scandalized parents. "Starting as soon as I walk out this door, Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg, I plan to forget I ever knew you. And I'm sure you'll have no trouble forgetting that you ever knew me. Because you never made the effort to know me, really." Ira and Sheila didn't speak at all, didn't move at all, made no gesture to stop their daughter from severing all ties with them. Willow took this as the final sign that she had no family here anymore. Oddly, she didn't feel any sorrow at the prospect. She didn't feel much of anything, except the need to give them one last shock.
As she walked out the door of her childhood home for the very last time, Willow turned back to look at her former parents. Smiling sweetly, she announced, "Oh, and one more thing, before I walk out of your lives forever. In case I didn't mention it before now, I'm a lesbian. 'Bye!" She slammed the door behind her, and marched back to the apartment she shared with Tara McClay, not once looking behind her.
She had burned a bridge and there was no going back.
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One week later;
Three newly risen vamps emerged from the graves directly in front of her. She had seen this sort of thing all too often in the last five years of her life. And she was certain she would see it many times again in the future. The price of living in Sunnydale, of knowing what lay beneath the suburban facade.
"Okay, help me out here, I keep forgetting," she smiled as the vamp trio stalked toward her. "Which one of you's Larry and which one's Moe? I got that the bald one's Curly--" The bald vamp lunged artlessly at her, telegraphing his attack enough for her to dodge easily. She was amazed that neither of Curly's compatriots had the foresight to take advantage of the attack and follow after her. Counting her blessings, she concentrated briefly, summoning her powers.
"Lumen Solaris!" she shouted, and suddenly night became day for a brief instant. A ball of pure light appeared in her hands, it's flash resembling the sun, both in brightness and in the effect it had on the three vampires. The light-spell was designed to emit not only visible light but ultra-violet radiation, in a sufficient quantity to render all vampires within a ten-foot radius of the light to ash. Within seconds, only a lone woman stood at the cemetery, the three attackers were destroyed.
She pointed her finger up in front of her lips and blew across the fingertip, in imitation of a gunslinger blowing the smoke off a recently-fired pistol. Willow finished up her patrol, and returned to her apartment, hoping not to awaken her roommate.
Her efforts to enter quietly were to no avail; Tara had been awake and waiting for Willow to return. "Hard day at the office, sweetie?" Tara asked as she embraced her beloved. Willow luxuriated in her lover's arms, grateful for this brief respite in her life. She leaned into Tara's embrace almost automatically, enjoyed the sensation of her lips brushing lightly against Tara's, but she sensed a tenseness in her arms.
And not for the first time. Since she started going out at night, patrolling the local cemeteries, Tara seemed somewhat withdrawn from her. Like she was keeping her feelings to herself regarding Willow's decision to follow in Buffy's footsteps as Sunnydale's local defender. She had assured Willow that she was cool with her decision, but Willow still wondered.
She sought to assure her beloved that she was fine. "Not too terrible. Three newbies risen, three newbies dusted," Willow reported. "All in all, a quiet patrol. I think they're laying low after Glory's fall."
"Let's hope so," Tara said quietly. "After all, there isn't a new Slayer being called."
Willow nodded sadly at Tara's words; two days ago, Giles reported that there was no new slayer called after Buffy's death. Evidently, Faith was now the Slayer, and with her being in jail, Sunnydale was without a protector.
Not as long as I'm around, Willow silently swore.
"Oh," Tara announced as she left Willow's embrace, "I just got off the phone with Mr. Giles. He was able to win custody of Dawn away from Mr. Summers. Evidently they settled out of court." She left the sentence hanging with a crook of her eyebrow, which made Willow wonder.
"Oh?" she asked Tara. "What happened, did he go all Ripper on him?" Tara suddenly seemed intently interested in a corner of the ceiling, which Willow took as a sign that she was not at liberty to answer her question. "Right," she said, "I'll shut up now."
"Don't worry, Willow," Tara assured her, "Mr. Giles told me it was all civil. Mr. Summers is on a bus back to L. A., and Giles is talking about taking Dawn with him to England."
This surprised Willow, she never expected that Dawn would be leaving them so soon after Buffy's death. "What do you mean, Tara? Why's Giles going back to England?"
Tara lowered her head slightly, a serious cast over her face. "He told me that he was offered a position on the Watcher's Council. I don't know all the details, but he said that Dawn was happy to hear about it. She wants a change of scene, I guess. After all that happened to us, to her especially, I guess I can't blame her."
Willow lowered her head in sorrow. "Poor Dawnie," she whispered hoarsely. Buffy may have been her dearest friend, but she was Dawn's sister. The only real family Dawn had left. She could only imagine how hard the younger Summers girl was feeling. And perhaps it was right for Dawn to start afresh in some other place. But Willow knew that she wasn't looking forward to seeing Dawn leave. Dawn was Willow's last link to Buffy. That and the fight.
"It'll be good for them, really," Tara assured Willow. "After all that's happened to them, I can't blame them for wanting to leave." Turning toward her dresser, Tara continued, "Maybe that's what we all need. I mean, Xander was talking about that new Seattle job he was offered, Giles and Dawnie are heading to England, maybe we all need a new start."
Willow regarded Tara warily, unsure of this thread of conversation. "What do you mean, Tara?"
Tara turned to Willow, and handed her a brochure. "I want you to look at this, honey." Willow took the brochure in her hand and looked at it; "University of California Berkeley 2001-2002".
Willow looked intently at her lover as they sat on the edge of their bed together, seeking Tara's eyes for understanding. "I spoke with some people on the Wicca World chat room who attend Berkeley. There's a strong alternative religious base there, many prominent wiccan groups and covens. And they have an excellent dramatic arts program there. You could continue your major, we could keep up with our wiccan studies, we can be together."
Willow gazed sadly at Tara, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder protectively. "We are together now. I don't see that changing in the near future. But I don't know if I want to uproot so suddenly. I mean, I was born here, I lived here all my life. Sunnydale's my home."
"What kind of home is this place anyway?" Tara's outburst caught Willow by surprise. "Just last week you severed all your ties to your folks. Buffy's gone, Xander, Giles and Dawn are leaving, what's keeping you here? What's keeping us here?"
Willow lowered her head, unsure of how she would phrase this, unsure of how Tara would respond. "I gotta stay here. I feel --- I, I feel that something's not finished. Like the Goddess has some mission for me here, and I gotta stay here, to see it through. To do what the Goddess has planned for me."
"Is that why you've been going on graveyard patrols ever since you left your folks?"
Willow wasn't prepared for the accusatory tone of the question, but she didn't challenge Tara. "Maybe, I dunno. But I do know that I have abilities that I can use to make a difference. And I gotta try. It's like my mandate from the Goddess, like a message from Her to do good in the world."
Tara regarded Willow's face, seeing the underlying seriousness, the firm determined set in her jawline, the steel gaze of her jade eyes. Willow wasn't lying to her, Tara knew that. The last thing Willow would knowingly do is lie to her. But she still wasn't satisfied with the answer. "I think I got my message from the Goddess loud and clear a couple of months ago. From a goddess, at any rate." She flopped back on the bed, sighing almost inaudibly. "From Glory."
Willow nodded without speaking. Ever since that last terrible month, Tara has had that same recurring nightmare. Glory, the insane deity, her hands clamping down on Tara's head. Tara screaming as her mind, her essence, her very self was being sucked out of her to feed the mad goddess, until Tara was locked up inside of her own head, unable to contact the ones she cared for, unable to communicate lucidly on any level. Trapped in a wilderness of mirrors, while her body was babbling incoherently, like a madwoman. Even after Willow helped restore her sanity, the memory of that time of sheer helplessness was eating away at her.
"Tara," Willow soothed her dearest love, her voice as gentle and loving as she could manage, "it's all right. I'll always be there when you awaken, you'll beat those nightmares. We'll beat them, together."
Tara looked back at Willow, and the tears in Tara's eyes caused the redhead to ache for her. "You were my lifeline, Wills. You pulled me out of my madness. And I don't want to wait until it's too late to pull you out of this madness." She sat up, her version of "Resolve Face" in place. "Let's transfer to Berkeley. It'll be good for both of us. Just to get away from here. From this Helltown."
Willow shook her head, fearing what her decision would do to Tara. "I can't, honey," she murmured. "Sunnydale's my home. And it was Buffy's home. If nothing else, I owe it to her to try and help." As Tara looked away from Willow, the redhead tried to assure her. "Don't worry, honey. Sunnydale's still a good college. We can still take those classes we were talking about, I'll still get my B.A. in Drama, maybe go for a Masters--"
"I already started the paperwork for my transfer."
The words left Tara's mouth as a whisper, so soft that almost anyone else wouldn't have heard them. Only someone who was familiar with Tara's ways, with her voice, with her heart would have comprehended what Tara had just said.
Someone like Willow Rosenberg.
The silence hung over them like a blade, tethered to the ceiling by a piece of string. Willow feared that every word, every syllable, spoken between them would fray that string, until the blade fell, cutting off their heads. Or separating them forever.
Even under the most ironclad levels of control she could muster, a tinge of anger entered Willow's voice; "And you were going to bring this up when?"
"I-I'm s-sorry," Tara stammered, "I w-was going to tell you, but you've b-been gone all these nights." Tara sat there, looking more and more miserable. Even as angry as she was, Willow couldn't help but feel sympathy. "Out all nights, stalking vamps and demons, trying to take over as the Slayer. News flash, Willow, you're not the Slayer! The Slayer's dead!"
"I know she's dead!" Willow snarled at Tara, and immediately regretted it. Calming herself, she tried to offer an arm around Tara's shoulder, but the blond wiccan shrugged it off. "I'm not trying to be the Slayer, I just want to make a difference. Why can't you support me in this? Why are you leaving me?"
"I'm not leaving you, Willow, I'm leaving this place. Sunnydale is damned, we both know this. Let it rot, I say, the rest of the world will survive without it."
Willow chuckled ruefully, mirthlessly. "If only it worked that way, hon. Look, as long as the Hellmouth's here, it's a threat to the world. Buffy knew this. That's why she couldn't leave. And that's why I couldn't leave here either, I guess. She was my friend, I couldn't let her fight this evil alone. And I can't just let it go now, even after she died. I owe it to her. I'm sorry, Tara, I wish I could explain it better..." She simply stopped the sentence there. She simply couldn't say any more.
She didn't need to, her word was clear. Tara lowered her head, saddened by what was happening to her and Willow, feeling torn apart by a hundred conflicting emotions. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the outline of Willow's cheek, and Willow leaned into her love's hand. "You're so much like her, Willow," Tara whispered. "And I wish with all my heart I could be more like you. But I'm not. I'm not a hero, I think we proved that with Glory. I just want to live. I want us to be alive, together. And I can't spend the rest of my life living in her shadow." She shook her head, wishing the tears could stop flowing. "She gave up her life to save Dawn, to save us, to save the world. How the hell can I compete with that?"
"It's not a competition," Willow gently placed her thumb under Tara's eye, wiping away her tears. "Yes, she saved the world. You're part of that world, part of my world. Don't say goodbye to that, not now."
"Come with me to Berkeley, Willow."
"Stay with me, Tara."
The two women sat silently, eyes locked. Whether in passion or in confrontation, neither could say. Finally, Willow bent her head, and whispered, "I understand, Tara. You gotta do what's right for you. I just don't want to lose you."
"You haven't lost me, Willow," Tara assured Willow, taking her into her embrace. "I promise you that. I mean it's not like I'm moving to another hemisphere. Berkeley's just a short drive from here, y'know."
"Yeah," Willow acknowledged sadly, but managed to smile at Tara. "We can visit each other on weekends, that sort of thing."
"And we still have a couple of months before I have to leave for Berkeley."
Willow regarded Tara with a lustful gaze. "Then we'd better not waste a second." She held Tara tightly, their lips met in a languorous kiss, and the two of them enjoyed the close contact, first for comfort, then in passion.
Ever since Tara found out that Willow had shared the responsibilities of Buffy's heritage as the Slayer, she was in awe of this woman. She felt kind of like Lois Lane, falling in love with a superhero, and finding that Superman (or Superwoman in this case) returned her affections. But now she had seen the darker side of being Superman. She wasn't as brave as Willow, she still held fear for the local evils, and she still felt the scars from her bout of insanity following her confrontation with Glory. As much as she loved Willow, those fears would always be with her. She was no hero; she was just Tara.
For now, in the promise of passion within Willow's arms, she let go of her fears, if only for a little while. The two of them were facing an uncertain future, but for now, facing it together.
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JAG headquarters, Arlington, Virginia;
"Lieutenant Graham," Colonel Sarah MacKenzie entered the office, and the lieutenant stood sharply at attention at her entrance. The colonel cocked her eyebrow amusedly. "At ease, soldier, before you sprain something."
"Yes, ma'am." The lieutenant answered as he shifted to the more relaxed posture of 'at ease'.
"Lieutenant," Mackenzie greeted Graham crisply. "Admiral Chegwidden will see you now. If you'll follow me," she led the way to the Admiral's office, the lieutenant following behind. He felt a slight sense of dread; his being summoned to Arlington merely confirmed in his mind the fear he had regarding his friend and fellow soldier.
They entered the Admiral's office, and the admiral greeted them formally. Abner Jethro Chegwidden was a former Navy Seal, and despite his years, he was still in prime condition, both in mind and body. He was well in his fifties, but he could still conceivably kick the sixes of most every person currently stationed at the Judge Advocate General's Headquarters. Meeting him that first time, Lieutenant Graham had no doubt that the admiral could kick his six without breaking a sweat.
The other man in the room looked less formidable, but Graham still kept a wary eye on him. "Lieutenant," Admiral Chegwidden introduced the other gentleman, "this is Clayton Webb, CIA. Mr. Webb has some questions to ask you concerning your fellow officer, Lieutenant Riley Finn."
"Yes sir, Admiral," Graham answered. Webb, looking not too comfortable in his suit, looked at the young man, and informed him, "According to our intell, Mr. Finn was on leave for six days. That was two weeks ago. He is now officially listed as AWOL."
"If you say so, sir," Graham answered noncommittally.
"Relax, son, you're not being accused of anything. We just need some information from you. Now then, do you happen to remember whether he had received some distressing news prior to his leave?"
"Yes sir," Graham said. "We had just returned from a mission in Belize, and he had received a letter from someone he knew from Sunnydale, California. Mr. Rupert Giles, I think."
"Do you happen to know what the letter was about?"
"Mr. Giles wrote to inform Riley that his ex-girlfriend, Buffy, was dead."
Clayton Webb stopped short of asking if this 'Buffy' person's last name happened to be 'Summers'; he knew about Miss Summers, from a few dossiers from the Initiative. "How did Finn take the news about Buffy's death?"
"It hit him pretty hard, sir. Our C.O. gave him a week's leave to go to Sunnydale, to mourn her, I guess. That was two weeks ago."
Webb looked at the lieutenant for a second without expression. "During the last month or so, have you received any messages from the Initiative, or any of its senior officers?"
"No sir."
"The Initiative, Webb?" Colonel Mackenzie asked. "May I ask what this is about?"
"You may, Mac," Webb answered casually. Graham had correctly guessed that the colonel and Mr. Webb knew each other, and the Marine was no fan of the CIA official. "But since it's strictly need-to-know, it wouldn't do much good."
"I never did like this spook stuff," Chegwidden glowered at Webb, but let him continue.
"Under the circumstances, A.J," Webb smiled at the admiral, imaging that he could hear the old man's teeth grinding, "I can tell you that the Initiative was involved in some clandestine experiments, unfortunately most proved not only unsuccessful but entirely unethical. The Initiative was disbanded, their base was torn down and the land was salted. However, I fear that some of the higher-ranking members of the Initiative have regrouped, deserting their posts in the process. Judging from what I dug up on them, and the reports of Lieutenant Finn's desertion, I fear that Finn is part of the conspiracy." Turning to Colonel Mackenzie, he finished, "We need someone associated with the Initiative to find out whether their projects have indeed been restarted, and if so, we need to pull the plug. If you and Harm are available, Mac, I'd like you and the Lieutenant to report to Sunnydale to investigate."
MacKenzie's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of her partner and friend. "Commander Rabb is unavailable, Webb. He's still on sick leave, recovering from having to bail from his fighter into a heavy storm over the Atlantic. However, I'm ready to go on the next flight to Sunnydale."
"Permission to speak freely, Admiral," Graham requested suddenly. Chegwidden nodded silently, and Graham continued; "I was with the Initiative originally, and I know what it was about. And trust me, sirs, it wasn't pretty. There's a lot of stuff going on in Sunnydale that doesn't get recorded. I think it would be better if I went in alone. If Finn's there, I'll find out."
"I don't feel comfortable leaving you there alone, Lieutenant," Chegwidden answered.
"I have connections there that may help me," Graham answered. 'Yeah, assuming that Buffy's friends won't stake me on sight. After what the Initiative nearly did to them, I wouldn't blame them.' "And the Colonel could remain in Los Angeles or San Francisco, close enough for me to contact easily."
"He may have a plan, Admiral," MacKenzie added. "He knows his way around Sunnydale better than I do."
Admiral Chegwidden looked thoughtfully at MacKenzie and Graham. "Agreed, people. Mac, Graham, the two of you are on the next plane to Los Angeles, where Graham will transfer to Sunnydale. Stay in contact, and don't take any unnecessary risks, Graham. I want this Initiative situation under control, and Finn's sorry six in the brig by the end of the week. Dismissed." Webb, MacKenzie and Graham left the Admiral's office, heading for their new assignments.
Graham prayed that what he was thinking wasn't true, but he feared that it was. And if it was, Finn's desertion was the least of their problems.
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Willow lay on her stomach, naked, her breasts feeling the smooth sheen of silk. She felt the cool wetness of the ink and the gentle sweep of the bristles as Tara applied her brush to her back. Tara dipped the brushtip in the inkwell, and continued to write arcane and esoteric signs on Willow's back, commenting favorably on her lover's curves. Occasionally, Tara would stop to caress Willow's shoulder, or lean forward to nibble her earlobe.
Willow was lost in a sea of erotic sensation, luxuriating in the sheer decadence of having Tara write on her naked back, enjoying the smooth satiny sensation of the lounge pillows beneath her. She nodded slowly, barely hearing her love's voice as she spoke. She didn't care, she just allowed herself to feel sexy, to feel loved.
A sudden jolt brought her to her senses, like a skipped groove on an old record and she bolted upright. She grabbed a sheet to cover her breasts, but feared destroying Tara's handiwork. She suddenly remembered Tara, but a glance around her revealed that her lover wasn't in the room. "Tara?" she asked. "Where are you?"
A grunt behind her yanked her around, and she saw a dark figure. She knew her from another dream, the Primal Slayer. The Slayer looked at Willow through matted hair, her wild eyes and grubby face growling silently in the dim candlelight. For some reason that Willow couldn't fathom, however, the Slayer was wearing a white t-shirt with a bright red-and-yellow Superman 'S' shield, and denim cutoffs. Willow was both scared of the Slayer's presence, and amused by her fashion sense, but those emotions took a back seat to the shock of recognition. Something within those eyes carried an unmistakable spark, one that spoke to Willow's deepest heart. Buffy. She was in there somewhere.
Willow sat transfixed as the Slayer as she took Willow's hand and placed it gently on the S on her shirt. "Keep this," she grunted. "I'll be back for it." A surge of energy passed from the Slayer through Willow's hand. The sheer shock of the energy yanked Willow out of the world where she had been...
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...and into the room she shared with Tara. She woke up suddenly, gasping for air. She looked around her, seeing that she was wearing her cow pajamas, while Tara slept soundly in the bed next to her. Willow sighed with relief, and silently rose from the bed, careful not to wake her sleeping lover.
She padded her way to the bathroom, turned on the tap and threw some cold water on her face. "Goddess, what's happening to me?" she asked herself. The details of her dream were still fresh and vibrant in her mind. Most dreams she had she forgot the details shortly upon waking, but this dream, no, she remembered every second, every brushstroke on her back, the surge of energy she felt when she touched the Slayer.
It was a message, that much was certain. But of what? What did the Slayer do to her? What was she to keep for her? She decided that she couldn't figure this out tonight, not alone anyway. She would speak with Tara tomorrow, and hope that her insight would help shed some light on this dream.
Before she returned to the bed and to Tara's side, she spoke quietly, in a whisper; "Goddess, I pray to you, tell me what would you have me do? What is my mission for the Light, the task you have set for me?" She looked at herself in the mirror, desperate to find any trace of the gawky, long-haired computer hacker she was before she met the Slayer. No, she realized, that person was another life. The daughter of Ira and Sheila Rosenberg was dead. She was Willow now. Daughter of the Goddess. That's all that mattered to her now.
And far beyond all human knowing, Morpheus continued to craft his dreams...