Chapter 8 Mars and Venus
When Buffy came downstairs the next morning, her mother was already up.
Joyce hesitated only a moment before smiling brightly. "Good morning, sweetie. I didn't expect you up quite so early."
Buffy shrugged. "I couldn't sleep anymore." She wasn't about to admit that that was because she'd woken up with an erection hard enough to pound through steel.
"Well," Joyce went on, "how about some breakfast? I can make eggs, or . . ."
Dawn bounded in. "Pancakes? I love pancakes for breakfast."
"Not for you." She kissed her daughter on the head. "You have school. Eggs I can do. You want some?"
Dawn sighed. "Nah, I'll just have cereal." She reached into the cupboard for a bowl. "Buffy has classes too, you know."
Joyce gave Dawn a stern look. "Buffy also has extenuating circumstances."
But Buffy groaned. "Oh god, classes! And I've got a history midterm on Friday."
"Mr. Giles called this morning to say he was working on that," Joyce said, breaking eggs into a bowl, "so you don't need to worry. He also said he might have a lead on the head you brought him, and wanted you all to meet him at the shop this afternoon."
"Go, research man." Buffy dug into the fridge for the orange juice. "So now I just have to kill the morning."
Joyce put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. "Which you will do by going shopping with your mother."
Buffy froze with her fork halfway to her plate. "What? No! I'm not setting foot outside this house until I'm a girl again!"
Joyce gave her the mom look. "Well that's obviously not true, because you have to go to the Magic Box this afternoon. I'm not going to embarrass you, Buffy, but you need clothes that actually fit you. At least for a couple of days."
"Oh god." She looked up at her mother with pleading eyes. "I don't want to be a guy for a couple of days."
"Well, you are. Now eat up, and then you can call your friends. We'll all go together and you can commiserate."
"Don't forget Spike," Dawn said with her mouth full.
Buffy’s eyes widened in horror. "Oh, I am so not taking Spike to the mall!"
"Mom!" Dawn protested. "Spike needs things, too! He borrowed my best sneakers last night, and I don't want him to get gunk all over them fighting whatever for Buffy."
Joyce's voice was calm. "Of course, Spike is coming, too. He probably needs as much support as the rest of you."
It was Buffy's turn to talk with her mouth full. "Did you see him last night? Did he look like he needed support? He's such a big girl anyway, he probably didn't even notice the difference."
"I did," Dawn mumbled under her breath.
Buffy had to admit she did, too. And this body had responded accordingly. Which she didn't want to think about.
"Spike is coming, and that's final. Now finish your breakfast. You have phone calls to make."
"Can I come, too?" Dawn asked innocently.
Alto and baritone voices both replied with a resounding "No!"
Wrapped up in her oversized bathrobe, her shower caddy clutched in one meaty hand, Tara stumbled down the hall towards the bathrooms.
She was just reaching for the door when it was jerked open and out of her grip, revealing one of her floor mates, bundled up in two large towels and nothing else. She glared at Tara. “The housing is co-ed, not the showers. Little boy’s room is across the hall.”
Tara blushed furiously, backing away from the door. The girl sighed and brushed past her to go back to her room. Tara was tempted to do the same, just go and hide in her room until this was all straightened out.
But Willow was in their room, too.
And this new body desperately needed a shower.
With a deep breath and a prayer that the men’s showers were set up like the women’s, she pushed her way through the door.
It was early enough that there were only a few people up. She was grateful to see that the facilities were set up like the women’s for the most part, with a row of stalls and urinals facing a row of sinks and beyond that the showers in their individual stalls with privacy curtains. So she wouldn’t have to bathe in front of all these guys.
She paused in front of the mirror, her hand lifting to touch her rough beard. She was going to have to shave. Fortunately, she had a new razor in her caddy. But didn’t she need to use shaving cream? Maybe her conditioner would work.
“Hey.”
She looked up to see Mitch Brewster looking at her. “Didn’t I see you come in with Rosenberg last night?” he asked.
“Um, yeah.”
Mitch grinned. “Knew it. Didn’t figure it would take her long. Do you know if her girlfriend straightened out, too?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, she’s really cute, when you can get a word out of her. And if Rosenberg’s gone back to guys, maybe Tara’d be willing to give it a shot, too.”
Tara was offended, disgusted, confused. Is that what he thought? That her sexuality was something she could just “get over”? But all she said was, “I think Tara’s just gone for a few days. Willow’s letting me crash until she comes back.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed, but shrugged. “Oh well, maybe next time.” And he wandered off.
Tara stumbled into the first empty shower stall and dropped her caddy, pulling the curtain to ensure her privacy as she collapsed on the shower bench, shaking. She’d been so lost in her own issues of identity that Willow’s reaction hadn’t even registered. She’d been so open, so accepting of Tara’s radical change, as though it made no difference. But what if it didn’t? What if Willow preferred her like this? She had never complained about being unhappy, unsatisfied in her relationship with Oz. What if Tara was the exception for her, a bit of experimentation before finding a real relationship?
She let the water sluice over her alien body, washing quickly and with no attention as thoughts whirled chaotically in her head.
What if Willow preferred her this way?
She returned to the room without shaving, too lost in her disquiet to risk a blade near her skin.
Willow as just hanging up the phone as Tara came in. “That was Buffy,” she said with a smile of greeting. “Her mom’s taking everyone shopping for new clothes to tide you over. They’ll be here in a little bit.” She studied Tara in concern. “Are you okay?”
Tara looked away, hiding her agitation. “I’m fine. Shopping. That should be fun.”
The bathroom was still steamy from their shower as Anya stood in front of the mirror, studying her penis critically. It was only about six or six and a half inches long, but with a thick girth that made her wish she could be on the receiving end of it. She wrapped her hand around it, enjoying the feel of her coarse palm on the sensitive skin. It had felt even better buried in Xander, though. No wonder guys thought about sex all the time if it felt that good.
Her jawline caught her eye and her attention shifted to examining her face carefully, running her hand along her cheeks. Her beard was coming in her natural dark shade, but it looked like it might be fairly sparse. No point in growing in a beard if it wasn’t going to be full.
She reached for Xander’s shave cream and squeezed some out into her hand, slathering it heavily over her neck and jaw like she’d seen him do any number of times. Double checking that everything was covered, she took up his razor and began wiping it off.
Xander came back in from answering the phone, wrapped up in her robe. “That was Buffy,” he started, the stopped at the sight of her. “What are you doing?”
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Shaving.”
“Hari kiri by razor is more like it.” He plucked the razor from her fingers and sat her down on the toilet. “You’ve got too much cream on.” He wiped it off carefully, spreading the remainder around and letting her see in the mirror. “You just need enough to make the razor slide.” He picked up the razor and began working gently, rinsing the blade regularly. “You just go slowly and lightly. Pushing down hard won’t get more hair, it’ll just get your skin. Now push your cheek out like this.” He stuck his tongue in the inside of his mouth, rounding his cheek out. Anya did the same, and he began moving over it. “And you always go in the direction of your beard. Other side.” She moved her tongue. “If you go against the grain, it’ll just catch the hairs under the skin and itch like crazy.” He tilted her chin up and began working up the long column of her throat. “That was Buffy on the phone. Her mom’s taking us all shopping for new clothes.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“Hold still. I’m almost done.” He stroked the blade gently over and around her Adam’s Apple. Then he wet a facecloth and wiped away the remnants of soap and stubble. “There. All done. What do you think?”
She caught his curved waist and drew him close. “I think I’m hard again.”
“Anya,” he protested, but let her draw him close enough to straddle her legs. Even through the towel she wore about her hips, his softness felt good, welcoming against her rigid cock. He draped his arms around her neck. “Not every erection is a mandate for sex.”
She untied the knot at his waist and pushed his robe open, the silk falling away to frame his ripe curves. She rubbed one hand along the full curve of his breast. “It should be.”
Xander’s breath caught slightly at her caress, but he continued. “Having been on the other side, I have to agree, but it’s really not—oh god!” He cried out, clutching at her head as she bent to lick and suck eagerly at one tight nipple. She thrust up against him, grateful that this body knew instinctively how to pursue its own pleasure.
He groaned as she shifted her attention to his other breast, and he reached down between them to release her towel. “They’re going to be here any time,” he whispered hoarsely, sliding his damp pussy along her length, looking for the head. She could tell he wanted this as badly as she did, despite his protests.
“Then we’ll have to hurry,” she murmured as she found his channel and steadily forced her way into him.
“Just . . . oh god . . . don’t hurry . . . too fast,” he grunted as he began riding her.
Anya let her hand slip between them to circle his clit, making him scream as she felt the force of her own orgasm building. “Don’t worry,” she promised, sucking his nipple back between her teeth. “I won’t ever leave you unsatisfied.”
Buffy pushed open the crypt door without knocking and marched in with a peremptory “Spike!” When he didn’t respond right away, she called again. “Spike! Don’t make me come down there after you!” She paced the length of the room, hearing him moving around downstairs.
“What is it, Slayer?”
She turned towards the sound of his voice. “My mom insist . . . oh my god.”
He was dressed in the red sneakers and brown leather miniskirt, topped off by one of his own black t shirts. His eyes were carefully outlined, emphasizing his dark lashes and brilliant blue eyes, and his mouth the brilliant red he had taken from her collection the night before.
And his head was covered all over in enormous sausage curls.
She covered her mouth, but it didn’t prevent her laughter from escaping. He raised his hands to his head self-consciously. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You look like Shirley Temple,” she snickered.
“Can’t be. Niblet wouldn’t do that to me, and she said this would help.”
He looked so disconsolate that she took pity on him. “It would, if you had the patience to do it right. You have to do little pieces at a time. Come here and sit down. I’ll fix it. Have you got a pencil or a sharp stick or something?”
He dug through a pile on the table by his chair and pulled out a chopstick. “This do?”
“Perfect. Now sit down.”
He did as she said, and she carefully began separating each fat curl into a half dozen loose tendrils. Dawn must have given him some kind of conditioner for it, because it was soft and less fly away than it had been last night. She drifted into a comfortable trance as she worked steadily. He was unresistant, just sitting quietly under her hands.
“I’d never realized how wavy your hair is,” she said softly.
He didn’t open his eyes. “’S why I slick it back. Too hard to take care of when I can’t see it.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
“My mom wants you to come shopping with us,” she added.
“Hmm?” His query was a soft, relaxed purr.
“To the mall. She’s taking us all to get new clothes, stuff that fits, and she wants you to come with us. God knows why,” she tacked on, but there was no malice to it.
“Cuz she’s a good woman. Don’t know how she ended up with a shrew like you for a daughter.” But his tone was equally mild.
“Are you going to come or not?”
“Yeah, I’ll come. For Joyce.”
“There.” She stepped back to examine the results of her work. Long, loose ringlets now framed his soft face, emphasizing his mouth and cheekbones. She felt her body reacting to his appearance and stepped back.
He reached up to touch it apprehensively. “Well? Does it look better?”
“Yeah, you look fine.” Her defensiveness was back in place. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, grab your blanket and come on.”
He shook his head. “I’ll meet you there. No sense risking the daylight when I don’t need to. Where’s she taking you?”
“Macy’s, I think. She can get things for all of us there.”
“I’ll meet you there in half an hour or so.”
“Don’t be late. You don’t want my mother mad at you.” Why was she looking for excuses for him to come? She didn’t want him there.
Did she?
He smiled, a surprisingly gentle expression that softened his features. “No, that I don’t. You tell her I’ll be there.”
Buffy hated the sense of relief she felt as she closed the door behind her.
Chapter 9 Mall Rats
Spike lounged in the atrium outside the entrance to the department store, hiding under the escalator from the late morning sun. Bloody malls and their bloody skylights.
The bench he reclined on had a good view of the foot traffic, and he leaned back against the arm, sprawling over the whole bench, as he watched the people coming and going. All overfed, underactive, plump, juicy . . . His stomach rumbled. He should have remembered to eat before he came, but Buffy’s appearance that morning had distracted him.
He thought about that. He might have expected a lot of things from Buffy, but not the gentle compassion she had shown in the face of his fashion disaster. Even as large as they were, her hands had been gentle as she worked to correct his error. His scalp still tingled from her contact. And he knew she hadn’t been unmoved by it, either. He loved her in this body. It was so much harder for her to lie to him now. Spike was fully aware of her response to him in her own form, but it was subtle and difficult to prove without reaching into her pants, which, while tempting, would do nothing so much as guarantee him a good staking. But now her reaction was plain to anyone with eyes. She wanted him. Bad. And judging by the view, the Summers genes had been generous. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, imagining what it might look like, thick and long, heavily veined, the tip glistening, his smaller hand closing around it as he slowly began jerking her off . . .
“Is this seat taken?”
His pleasant fantasy was interrupted by a male voice standing next to him. He opened his eyes to glare at the twenty-something man, dressed oh so suburban in khakis and a green polo and eyeing Spike like he was some pretty piece of candy.
“Yeah,” Spike replied rudely. “Me.” He tried to close his eyes again, but the guy was persistent.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Nah, I don’t mind. That’s why I’m doin’ all this not moving.”
“You don’t need to be rude.” The guy sounded offended, not that Spike cared. “I just thought a pretty girl like you would want some company.”
Spike raised his head again and glared. “What do my looks have to do with it? You think plain girls don’t want company, too? Go bother one of them and leave me alone.”
“Look . . .”
“I just can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Buffy’s now familiar baritone spoke up behind him.
With a sneer at the suburban nightmare, he swung his legs over the side of the bench and rose gracefully to his feet, straightening his skirt and jacket and pushing his hair back off his neck before turning to her. “Took you long enough.”
Her face was hard. “You got a problem, talk to the management.”
Mr. Perfect looked put out. “I didn’t know she was with anyone.”
Buffy gave him a glare of pure menace, which actually looked more intimidating than usual on this face. “You didn’t really try very hard to find out, though, did you.” It wasn’t a question.
With one last furious look at Spike, the man slunk off.
She turned on Spike. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Oy, not my fault, Slayer!” he protested. “I was just sittin’ here, mindin’ my own . . .”
“Save it.” She held up one hand to stop the flow of his words, an unusually feminine gesture for so masculine a hand. “Just come on. The others are waiting for us.”
They skirted the large areas of sunlight to get to the entrance to the store where the rest of the Scoobies and Joyce were waiting. A bare instant was enough for him to read body language and size up the current situation. The witches, who normally were never more than a few inches apart even in public, were now feet away from each other. Tara had her arms folded uncomfortably over her chest while Red kept casting moon eyes her way. Every time Will tried to move closer, Tara would move away. Somebody wasn’t adapting well.
The whelp and his lady, on the other hand, seemed to be coping very effectively. She had her arm draped around his shoulder in a gesture of affection and possession that Spike had never seen them share before. And the boy, normally so reticent about showing his affection in public, was very relaxed in her embrace, leaning back against her chest in a very feminine expression of feeling.
“Well, you certainly seem to have adapted,” Spike growled. But he had the feeling it didn’t have the same effect with this voice.
“Yeah, well, I’ve discovered the greatest side benefit to being a girl,” Xander replied smugly.
“And what’s that?”
He paused for a moment, obviously for effect, before saying, “Multiple orgasms.”
All of the natural born women nodded in affirmation, even Joyce, who was blushing furiously. Spike just scowled at the boy. “You’re a right bastard is what you are.”
“What’s the matter, Spike,” Buffy taunted. “Couldn’t get picked up last night?”
He turned on her coolly. “I’ll have you know I got several offers last night. But none of them caught my fancy. I can be particular, you know.”
“Which is why you were with Harmony,” she derided.
“Buffy,” Joyce interrupted, “that’s enough.”
She dropped her head apologetically, although her eyes still flashed fire. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Now,” Joyce continued, addressing everyone, “I know everyone’s a little tense and unsure, but you have to stick together and support each other through this until Mr. Giles finds what you need to know to straighten this out, alright?”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement from all over, including Spike.
“Okay then. Tara and Anya obviously need pants and shirts. Do you think you can work together to find what you need?” The two girls nodded, Tara hesitantly, Anya with more enthusiasm. “Xander, do you know what you need?”
He grimaced. “Frankly, Mrs. S, I haven’t got a clue.”
Willow chimed in. “I do. I’ll take care of him, Mrs. Summers.”
Joyce smiled warmly at her. “That’s wonderful. I’ll take Buffy with me to get shoes and whatever else she needs. Spike? What about you?”
He shrugged. “I just need a decent pair of head bustin’ shoes and I’m good.”
“Why don’t you come with us, then.” Buffy looked like she was about ready to protest before she was stopped by another look from her mother. “Alright then, let’s all meet back here in half an hour, okay?” More nods of agreement, and the little group broke up.
Tara went off with Anya, leaving Willow to watch her go forlornly before following Xander into women’s intimates. Spike shook his head sadly and trailed after Joyce and the Slayer.
“I shop for Xander all the time,” Anya said as she and Tara picked through the racks of casual menswear. “He has terrible taste in clothes, so he lets me do it for him. What sort of things do you think you want?”
“I don’t care,” Tara replied listlessly, sliding hangers aside without really seeing what was on them. “Whatever’s on sale.”
“Xander said I should stick to trousers. Something about them having more room in front.”
Tara looked up at her. “You mean, you . . .”
Anya rolled her eyes. “I haven’t been able to get rid of it. And believe me, I’ve tried.” She looked at Tara curiously. “You mean you haven’t had one yet?”
“No.” Tara flushed awkwardly. She wasn’t looking forward to the first time she did get an erection, to feel that out of control of her own body for everyone to see. But she had to ask. “Is it uncomfortable?”
Anya thought about that for a moment before replying, “No, not really. Although it does come with that erection imperative. You know, I’ve got it, now where can I put it? Fortunately Xander’s been very accommodating about that.”
Tara spun and began vigorously searching through the rack of shirts in front of her.
Anya sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just so much harder to understand the appropriate boundaries like this. In my other body, I know I’m not supposed to talk about sex at all.”
“Nnno,” Tara apologized, “it’s mmmy fault. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Anya shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
They continued picking through the racks, and somehow Tara felt her interest lifted. She found the courage to ask, “Don’t you feel like you aren’t yourself anymore? Like part of you is gone?”
“No.” Anya turned to a rack of shirts.
Tara looked at Anya in disbelief. “But you’re always going on and on about sex and orgasms and all that. You can’t tell me none of this changes that.”
Anya looked at her in confusion. “I still have orgasms in this body. Very pleasant ones. You should try it.”
Tara froze. “What?”
“I said you should try it. I’m sure Willow wouldn’t mind. She enjoyed the orgasms she got from Oz very much.”
Tara felt that cold fear clutch at her heart again. Willow liked sex with men. What if she didn’t want Tara when she went back to just being a mousie girl again? What if she decided she really didn't like men? Would she want anything to do with her at all now, or would she look for a new girlfriend? What if Willow only wanted her for her magics? Those were gone now, weren't they? What if . . .
Anya seemed to realize that once again she’d overstepped. “Mrs. Summers is going to be wondering what happened to us. Let’s find someone to measure us so we can pick our things and go.”
“Yeah,” Tara agreed faintly. “Lets.”
Willow fought down a giggle at Xander’s shell-shocked reaction to the range of choices before him in the women’s intimates section. “Come on,” she took his hand and dragged him through to the counter. “The first thing we have to do is get you measured, or we’ll be all day figuring out your right size.”
“Oh god, Will, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Xander, it’s not the first time you’ve seen women’s underwear.”
“Browsing the Victoria’s Secret catalog doesn’t count,” he protested. “And besides, I wasn’t going to wear it.”
“Come on, you big baby. It’s not like anyone’s going to see it except Anya.”
“Will, please . . .”
She sighed. “Look, Xander, just get measured and try a couple of things on. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to get anything.”
Before he could protest further, they were set upon by an older woman bearing the nametag Nora. “How can I help you ladies this morning?”
Willow gave Xander a small shove forward. “He she needs to get measured.”
The woman looked puzzled at Willow’s odd pronoun use, but smiled and gestured for them to go ahead of her. “Certainly. Let’s go to the fitting rooms, shall we?”
With one final pleading look, Xander gave in and followed the woman forlornly.
Nora unlocked one of the changing room doors and ushered Xander in. “Now, dear, if you’ll undress, this won’t take long. You can leave your bra and panties on.”
“Um.” He looked hesitantly from the clerk to Willow and back. “I haven’t got one on.”
“I thought as much.” She sighed, shaking her head. “We’ll you’ll need to undress anyway. This will just be a little personal for a few moments.”
“Willow?” He fairly whimpered.
Nora looked at her impatiently. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no problem,” Willow insisted with a smile. “Her parents are hippies. On a commune up north.” She began to get into her story. “She grew up hearing about the patriarchal subjugation of women through lingerie. She’s never even worn tights.”
Xander looked mortified, but the woman’s impatience melted away into sympathy. “You poor dear. Well, we’ll have you dressed like a proper young lady in no time.”
Xander kicked off his shoes and dropped his slacks, and with a last uncomfortable glance at Willow, began to take off his top.
She couldn’t help but chuckle as she turned aside to give him privacy. She heard Nora say, “Oh, my dear, with the right foundation garments you could have such a nice figure. And those panties will never do. They’re almost three sizes too small.”
Willow would imagine they were. They were probably Anya’s, and the girl was a stick. Xander was built round and soft, more like Tara.
Thoughts of Tara sobered her instantly.
But before she could sink into self-pity, Nora spoke from the dressing room. “Alright, dear, your friend is a thirty-four B and a size 5 panty if you wanted to pick out a few things for her.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She went through the racks quickly, picking plain things that looked comfortable. On her way back to the dressing room, she stopped on a whim and picked out a satin set in his favorite color, a deep blue. When she got back to the fitting room, Xander was peering over the top of the stall door as Nora stood in the corridor, smiling benignly.
“Did you find everything you need, dear?”
“Yes, thank you. I think we’ll be fine now.”
“Alright. Just find me if you need anything else.” And the woman took herself off.
“I thought she’d never leave,” Xander sighed in relief. “She was trying to educate me on civilized women. Remind me to find a way to get even with you for that cockamamie story.”
She grinned. “You can try.” She handed the undergarments over the door. “You can’t try the underpants on, but put the bras on and see how they fit.”
She heard hangars clicking and a bit of grunting and stumbling before he said, “Um, Will? I might need Nora again.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I have a hard enough time unhooking these things. I’ve got no idea how to actually put one on.”
“Here, let me help you.” And she pulled the door open.
“Hey!” He dropped the bra and covered his chest modestly.
“Oh relax,” she said, scooping the bra up off the floor. “I’m not going to do anything.”
“Yeah, but I’m your type now.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Xander, you’ve always been my type. And just because I like girls now doesn’t mean I go around jumping them all. I mean, I’ve seen Buffy naked lots of times and I never put the moves on her.”
“Okay, that image is very, very disturbing. Or else very arousing. Given the current situation, I’m not exactly sure which.”
She smiled. “Look, you hold it like this, upside down with the good side towards you.” She demonstrated. “That way you can make sure nothing’s twisted. Then you put it around your back, with the hooks in front.” She caught the little wire hooks in their matching eyes. “Then you hook it up, turn it around,” which she did, “slide your arms in the straps and voila.” She turned him to face the mirror, his breasts snuggly enclosed in the white lycra cups. “Lifted and separated. You take it off the same way, only backwards. Unless someone else does it for you. Now you try.” She stood back and observed as he repeated the process on one of the other bras. “You seem to be managing things okay.”
He shrugged, observing himself in the mirror. “It’s easier with Anya along. She kind of puts things in perspective for me. How are you and Tara doing?”
She sighed and dropped onto the fitting bench. “Not so good. She won’t talk to me, will hardly even look at me.”
“Well, this can’t be easy for her.”
“But she’s completely cut me off. How can I help her if she won’t even talk to me?”
“Will, what could you say to her that would make this any better for her?” He turned to face her, leaning back against the wall, his arms still crossed defensively. “It would be different if it was you. You have a lot of positive male presences in your life, of which I include myself. Oz, Giles, even your dad in his weird disconnected, over-zealous way. Who’s she got to model herself on? A loser brother and that misogynistic, emotionally abusive father. And she’s always been a lesbian. No boyfriend experience to fall back on.”
“But that doesn’t matter to me . . .”
“Willow, this isn’t about you. This is about her. Part of her is probably worried you won’t want her like this. Part of her might be afraid you’ll like her better this way. The best thing you can do for her is give her space and be supportive. She has to figure out the rest for herself.”
She took in what he said as he tried on the blue satin bra. Finally she smiled self-deprecatingly. “How did you get so empathetic?”
He cocked his head for a moment and then grinned. “Women’s intuition, I guess.”
She chuckled as he turned back to the mirror. “It suits your coloring.”
“You think so?” He turned from side to side. “I kind of like how it feels.”
“It looks good.” A devilish impulse came over her and she added, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
He glared at her in the mirror. “Okay, now, that’s not even a little bit funny . . .”
“Oy, Slayer, what about this one?”
Buffy sighed and turned away from the incredibly dull array of men’s shoes towards the makeup counter where Spike stood, rubbing his lips together and puckering softly. She shook her head. “Too orange.”
He grinned and turned back to the clerk with a small shake of the head.
The girl behind the counter shook her head enviously. “It’s so sweet how your boyfriend helps you pick out your makeup.”
Buffy heard the smirk in Spike’s voice. “Yeah, innit?”
“Here, honey,” Joyce appeared behind her, “why don’t you go try these on.”
She sighed again and took the armful of trousers and dress shirts from her mother. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice as she turned and trudged back towards one of the men’s fitting rooms.
She hated this. She just felt so awkward and bulky. And it was so not fair that Spike was just sliding into his new skin like he’d been born to it. She couldn’t wait for training this afternoon. That at least shouldn’t have changed too much.
She pulled on a pair of khakis and a dark blue polo before going out for her mother’s inspection.
Her mom was talking quietly to Spike when Buffy came out. He took one look at her and burst out laughing, a high glissando sound that made every nerve in her body stand on end. “What’s so funny?” she protested.
“You!” he collapsed into a waiting chair in his usual loose limbed sprawl, which in this body took up almost no space and in that skirt threatened to reveal. . . “You look so white bread!”
“Spike,” Joyce said sternly, slapping his knee, “sit up straight. If you’re going to insist on dressing like a young woman, you have to start sitting like one.”
It was Buffy’s turn to snicker as he sheepishly drew himself up, closing his knees.
“Now,” Joyce continued, “I think she looks fine.”
“Yeah, now,” he replied, a bit cowed. “First fight she gets in, those pants’ll get ripped all to hell and that shirt’ll get stained in somethin’ that won’t wash out. She’s not goin’ out anywhere like this. Hell, she’s not even goin’ to school. She doesn’t need fancy threads, she needs fightin’ clothes.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Mom!” Buffy was appalled. “You aren’t taking fashion advice from him, are you? He wears the same clothes day in and day out!”
“’S because they’re practical, innit?” He turned back to Joyce. “Get her a nice shirt or two, a decent pair of trousers if it makes you feel better. But she needs heavy duty jeans with some room in them to move. And plain t-shirts she can bleach the hell out of but that are cheap enough it won’t hurt if she has to throw them away. And forget the loafers. She needs heavy tread oxfords. They’ll still look decent with the dressy stuff, but they’ll give her an edge fighting.”
Her mother turned to her. “Buffy?”
She wanted to argue. But all his points were valid. She’d seen enough of her wardrobe end up in the trash over the years to know that clothing a Slayer was an expensive proposition. “Oh, fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
Ten minutes later, she had a full stock of jeans, three packages of white cotton t-shirts, socks and boxer briefs (which Spike had wisely refrained from teasing her about), but still no decent shoes. The others came back together, each with their own armload of fabrics. Joyce scanned over everyone’s collection. “Now everyone’s got shoes that fit? Socks? Underwear?” Buffy rolled her eyes at her mother’s bluntness. The others all blushed but nodded. “Alright then. Buffy, while we get checked out here, why don’t you and Spike go down to Nordstrom’s and each get a decent pair of Doc Martens.” She fished a credit card out of her wallet and handed it to Buffy.
Buffy wasn’t the only one to protest this. “Joyce,” Spike insisted over Buffy’s complaints, “that’s not necessary. I can make do with . . .”
She forestalled him. “Think of it as doing Dawn a favor, Spike. She’s been after me for months for these shoes. She’ll just get them already broken in, okay?”
He conceded. “Well, if it’s for the Little Bit . . .”
“Good, then we’ll meet you at the food court when you’re done.”
Buffy glared at Spike as they headed back out into the mall. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
He just smiled arrogantly. “Mum always did like me best.”
“She’s not your mother.”
She wanted to knock the smug grin off his face. But she couldn’t hit a girl.
Chapter 10 Military Man
The bell on the Magic Box door jangled cheerfully as Riley came through it.
He was eager to see Buffy again. She’d seen him off with a kiss and a smile the previous afternoon before her English class, and since she had to patrol that night and had three more classes today, they had agreed to get together here to go out. Just the two of them.
It would be nice to go out without her friends for a change. He liked Xander and Willow and their girlfriends well enough, but he just felt so out of place with them. The three of them had been through so much together, and he could never be part of those experiences. So when these opportunities came up to spend some time alone together, he was grateful.
The shop was mostly empty. Mr. Giles was behind the counter, reviewing a ledger book of some kind. Willow was at the reading table with a few kids he didn’t recognize. They all had books and notebooks open in front of them, and they were all watching him. The girl was cute in a perky, pixie-ish sort of way, and one of the two guys was big. Like bigger than him big. Riley wondered if this kid played football. That might explain it. This was probably one of Willow’s tutoring sessions.
“Hey, Mr. Giles,” he said cheerfully, skipping a step as he came down to the counter. “Is Buffy around?”
“Riley.” The older man took his glasses off and set them on the counter. “Yes, yes, she’s here. She’s in the back room, training. But I should warn you, she’s not quite herself today.”
“It’s okay,” he smiled sympathetically, “I’m kind of getting used to her moods.”
Giles picked his glasses up and put them back on. “Yes, well then, by all means, please go through. I’m sure the two of you can manage things.”
“Thanks.”
He noticed the study group look at each other oddly before watching him go. “Hey, Willow.”
The redhead showed all her teeth when she smiled. “Hi, Riley!” But her eyes looked nervous, somehow.
He shook his head slightly as he pushed open the door marked “No Admittance” and let himself into the training room.
“Buffy, I hate to say this, but your friends are acting a little—oh.” Riley stopped at the sight of the young man practicing spinning back kicks against the heavy bag. He wasn’t a big guy, but was getting enough force behind his attacks to make the bag swing within the confines of its restraining chains. He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans with heavy low top boots on his feet.
This guy looked like someone who was ready for a fight.
“I’m sorry,” Riley said uncertainly. “I thought Buffy was in here.”
The man stopped the bag with his foot, turning to face Riley with a not quite smile. “She is.”
Riley looked around again. “I didn’t see her. . .”
“Riley, it’s me.”
Riley looked at the man in confusion.
“It’s me. I’m Buffy,” he said, tapping his chest. “I’m surprised they didn’t try to tell you out front.”
“I think Mr. Giles tried to, but I just didn’t . . .” He hesitated, looking harder. “Buffy?”
She sighed and seemed to relax. “Yeah, it’s really me.”
“You know, if you’re going to keep having these out of body experiences, we maybe should come up with some kind of code or something.”
“Believe me, I’d rather give up the switching. It’d be a lot less traumatic.”
“What happened?”
“An accident on patrol last night. We’re still trying to figure out what it was.”
“We?”
“Didn’t you see the others when you came in? No,” she interrupted before he could answer, “you probably didn’t realize what you were seeing. Come on, let me introduce you around.”
All five heads went up when the door opened and the two of them came back into the main shop. “That’s Anya,” Buffy said without preamble, pointing to the whipcord lean guy next to Willow, “That’s Xander,” the sweet faced girl he had admired waved sheepishly, “and that’s Tara.” The football player dropped his eyes shyly.
“Wow.” He shook his head, trying to take it in. “That’s just . . .”
The front door crashed open with cacophonous clatter of bells, and they all looked up in surprise.
Riley was thunderstruck.
The girl standing there, hiding under a dark canopy she held over her head, was absolutely breathtaking. Snow white hair in delicate ringlets, enormous eyes, high cheeks and a perfect bow of a mouth topped a curvy figure, breasts and hips accented by the leather coat tied tight around her waist, long, muscular legs set off by a criminally short skirt. Riley couldn’t help his body’s instinctive reaction to this girl, and stepped back so Buffy wouldn’t see.
“Excellent,” Giles said, coming around the counter. “Now that Spike’s here, we can get started, shall we?”
Of course it was Spike. Who else could it possibly be? His stomach churned at the arousal still making his skin tingle.
“About time you got here,” Buffy sniped at the newcomer as Spike dropped his duster (the canopy he’d been using as a sun shield) on the counter before moving over to straddle one of the chairs backwards.
“Sorry, Slayer,” he mocked. “Next time you want me here early, remember to command the sun to set sooner. Got here as soon as I could.”
“Um, Spike?” Willow said hesitantly.
“What?”
She squished her eyes closed and pointed. “I see London, I see France . . .”
“Huh?” He glanced down to where she was pointing and realized how much he was exposing. “Oh bloody . . .” He stood up and turned the chair around, sitting back down properly.
“Are we through?” Giles said sternly, sounding like there was only one answer he expected. When no one protested, he continued. “Alright then, judging by the studies I made last night of the head Buffy so thoughtfully provided and our examination of the rest of the remains this morning . . .”
“At a ridiculously early time of day,” Anya groused sotto voce.
He glared at her and continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “I’ve been able to determine that the creature was not in fact an actual demon.”
“You’re sure?” Xander asked doubtfully. “Because it looked pretty demony to me.”
“Well yes, it was fairly ferocious looking.” He caught Anya’s malevolent glare and hurried on. “But it appears to be an n!Graaltoch.” He said the word in a harsh, guttural tone, popping the glottal stop after the initial consonant sound. “It’s more of a highly intelligent underworld animal than an actual demon. It functions on a fairly basic set of drives. Eat, mate, reproduce. It’s kept as livestock by certain demon circles, for its secretion and its skin.”
Buffy looked offended. “You mean a demon cow did this?”
Giles thought about that for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. But these cows, if you will, have a fascinating reproductive variation. They appear to be omnisexual.”
“They’ll sleep with anything?” Xander grinned. “Sounds like Spike.”
Spike’s look was withering. “Ha bloody ha.”
“I’m not referring to their sexuality, although in a sense Xander is correct.” Giles removed his glasses and began his ritual polishing. “What I’m referring to is their physical gender.”
“You mean they’re both male and female?” Willow asked.
“No, that would be more hermaphroditic. In this case, they are male or female, depending on their mating partner and their own . . . desires.”
They all thought about the implications of that for a minute.
Buffy was the first one to shake it off. “How? And how did it manage to do this to us?”
“n!Graaltoch have a sort of a gland, right about here,” Giles indicated a spot just at the bottom of his own ribs. “It’s more of a collector and storage unit for magical energies which it uses in the transformations. The change is physical, but it has a mystical catalyst. I believe that it attempted to determine your preferred partners as a means of distraction, which would account for the varied descriptions of the creature in its final moments. Tara’s was actually the most telling, as she was the only one to see the creature as her own gender.”
“So why did she get changed?” Willow asked.
Giles shook his head. “That wasn’t the transformation. That was simply an evaluation, like a kind of sonar. The actual change was unintentional. I believe the creature’s morphing gland was ruptured during the course of the fight. The flash and shockwave you all describe was most likely the stored energy being released abruptly. The creature had probably been transforming in response to one of you, giving the energy intention so that it changed you instead of dissipating harmlessly.”
“So it’s Spike’s fault,” Anya said succinctly.
“Thanks a lot, Spike,” Xander groused, throwing a wadded up sheet of paper at his head.
Spike caught and tossed it back, catching Xander right in the forehead. “Following Slayer’s orders, wasn’t I? Besides, you weren’t complaining so much before.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He had the grace to look sheepish.
“But how do we undo it?” Tara interrupted.
“Ah, well,” Giles returned his glasses to his face. “There are actually several possibilities. The Teirganan, one of the demon races that herd these creatures, use the collector gland and some of its other secretions to make an elixir that does on purpose what you have managed to do by accident. We could also find our own n!Graaltoch and make the elixir ourselves. They are extremely rare in this realm, however. To find two in this area would be unlikely, but I don’t discount anything around the Hellmouth. Of course, should you find another, you could attempt to reproduce the original accident, although the chances of success would be higher capturing it for manufacture of the elixir.” He looked at them all. “Or conversely, you could stay the way you are. The change occurred at the genetic level. You could live out your lives as the men and women you are. Just not as the men and women you were.”
Tara went pale, and Xander slowly raised his hand. “Let me be the first from the it’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there brigade to say I’d like my old body back, please. What do we have to do to get there?”
“I have calls out to some of the shop’s more esoteric suppliers to see if we can obtain some of the Teirganan elixir. Spike, you might also ask among some of your contacts if they know a source.”
“’m on it,” Spike confirmed.
“In the meantime, I suggest you go back to your lives as much as you can. I’ve arranged for medical absences for you all, so you won’t need to worry about attending school or work like this.”
“But . . .” Anya looked horrified.
Giles sighed. “Except you, of course, Anya. You needn’t be concerned with your secret here, and the work you do isn’t dependent on your body type, so I expect you in here first thing in the morning.”
She slumped back in the chair. “Oh, thank heavens.”
“And Xander,” he turned to the person in question, “I’ve spoken to your shop steward and he assured me that your long term disability will cover you while you are out sick.”
“Oh, man, that’s a relief,” Xander said, running his hand over his short curls. “I just got this new apartment. I wasn’t looking forward to missing my first rent payment.” He hesitated. “Wait. I’m sick? What am I sick with? You didn’t give me the funny syphilis again, did you?”
The glasses came off again, although Riley though he saw a touch of mischief in the older man’s eyes. “After much consideration, mononucleosis seemed the only illness that would cover the time required and not leave some kind of physical effect afterwards.”
Buffy was aghast. “You gave us all mono?”
He fought down a grin. “Well, technically, I suppose you all gave it to each other . . .”
“Giles!”
“Just consider it a vacation,” he said placatingly. “No classes, no work. It would seem to be a dream come true.”
“Yeah, except some of us don’t get days off,” she grumbled. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” She drew her Watcher away, leaving the rest of them to their own devices.
Riley watched as Xander got up and moved over to sit with Anya, kissing her lightly on the lips before leaning back against her chest and pulling her arms around him. He found the whole thing . . . disturbing, somehow. He shouldn’t. It was just a guy showing his girl affection in public, right? But he knew what was beneath their shapes, what they really were. Yet they were so comfortable together like this. He had always accepted the absoluteness of gender identity, and Xander had always struck him as a guy’s guy. If the roles of male and female were this fluid, was there anything that was concrete? He looked over to Buffy, talking with concerned intensity to Giles, their eyes nearly level for the first time ever. Riley tried to imagine kissing her now . . .
He was surprised by the hand on his arm, and looked down into Willow’s concerned eyes. “You’re looking a little shell shocked,” she said compassionately. “How are you doing?”
“I’m . . . overwhelmed,” he admitted. “What about you?”
She shrugged. “I’m just happy Giles proved it wasn’t me.”
“Why would it be?”
“I have a reputation for magic gone awry. You remember last year, when Buffy told you she was engaged to Spike? That was me. And at the Alpha Delta party last Halloween? I tried casting a guide spell, only it made thousands of little guides that tried to smother me. And this other time . . .”
He stopped her. “I get it. Dangerous when charmed. You’re sure you didn’t do this?”
“Nope!” She grinned cheerily and plopped down on the loft steps next to him. “You know, it’s okay to be freaked out by this.”
“Is it? I mean, I look at them,” he gestured to Anya and Xander, “and they’re so comfortable with it already that they’ve changed roles. And Spike . . . God, look at him. You’d think he’d always been a girl. I just don’t know how to act around Buffy, you know? I mean, Tara’s at least in a body that’s supposed to like girls, while I . . .” It took a moment to register what he’d just said, and he turned to Willow in horror. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. That was the most incredibly insensitive thing I could possibly have said.”
She looked hurt, but brushed it aside. “Buffy needs you to be her friend right now. She’s coping the way she usually does, by pretending nothing’s happened until it gives up and goes away. She’s still her. Let her be herself.”
“I’m not much good at being friends with girls.”
Willow looked pointedly at Buffy. “So maybe this is the chance to get to know your girlfriend better.”
He followed her gaze, saw the athletic young man Buffy had become finishing her conversation with Giles. “So why do I feel like I have the butchest girlfriend in Sunnydale?”
“Riley.” Willow looked at him seriously. “If you’re only just figuring that out now, you really are a dummy.”
“Okay,” Buffy’s commanding voice prevented him from replying. “I’m off to patrol. Who’s with me? Riley?”
He glanced at Will, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m in.”
“And we’re out,” Anya said emphatically.
“It was an early morning for us,” Xander explained, softening the bluntness of her words.
“Yeah, us too.” Willow stood up. “Tara didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Tara looked startled at her comment, but didn’t say anything.
Spike rose up gracefully out of his chair. “Walk a lady as far as the pub, Slayer?” His tone was mocking. “I’d feel so much safer escorted by two strapping fellows.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Spike.” But she didn’t deny his request.
Chapter 11 Girl Talk
Willow came back from the bathroom, teeth brushed and changed into her red plaid pajamas. Normally that would make Tara smile. Willow always looked so cheery and cozy in those pajamas. They made her look like home.
Tonight all Tara could think about was how to stay out of their bed.
Willow looked surprised to see her still in her street clothes. “Aren’t you coming to bed? I thought you’d be tired.”
“Nnnno,” Tara said nervously, cursing her stutter. “Sssince we’ve got all this tttime off, I thought I’d start working on my cultural aaaanthro paper.” She didn’t look at Willow as she turned on the computer.
“Tara,” Willow said in concern, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Tara couldn’t help flinching.
“Okay, that’s it.” Willow spun her around and pushed her back to sit on the bed, bringing their eyes more even. “I’ve given you a twenty-four hour grace period, but time’s up. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Tara replied sullenly, trying to push her away. “I’m just not tired.”
“Well, considering you slept on the floor last night, I know you aren’t well rested.” She sat down on the bed. “Baby, talk to me. I know you’re probably really confused. I want to help . . .”
“Help?” Tara rose up and turned on her girlfriend. “What can you possibly do that would help? Nothing. You can’t do anything. Everything that makes me me is gone Willow. I don’t know who or what I am.” She let the fear and anger wash over her. “This isn’t some game, Will, some great adventure we’re all on. And I’m not one of your science experiments you can observe and evaluate.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Isn’t it? Isn’t that what all the questions were about? The way you’re always watching me? Does the freak make for an interesting case study?”
“Stop it!” Willow surged up into Tara’s face. “I’ve been watching you because I was worried about you. You’ve been a basket case since this whole thing happened. Now, I know I wasn’t the most sympathetic girlfriend last night, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t realize how freaked out you were until I woke up to find you on the floor.” Her voice softened, and she sat down on the bed, trying to draw Tara down with her. “I’m sorry, baby. But really, I just want to help you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“You couldn’t understand.”
“Of course I can’t. Nothing like this has ever happened to me. That doesn’t mean I can’t listen to you talk about it, try to help you work things out for yourself. We’ve never kept anything from each other before.”
Tara felt a small blossom of hope flower in her heart, and she sank down on the mattress next to Willow. “It’s just all so confusing. I mean, I’m a man now . . .’
“No, you aren’t,” Willow denied.
“What? Look at me! Of course I am!”
“Sweetie, didn’t you pay any attention in Dr. Mills’ Gender and Society class last year? I know you did, you got a better grade in it than I did.”
“I don’t . . .”
“Gender is a product of biology, cultural pressures and self-identity. Your body isn’t what makes you a man or a woman, it just makes you male or female. You still think of yourself as a woman, don’t you?”
“Well, yes . . .”
“And your friends all still think of you as a woman?”
“I guess. . .”
“Well, there’s two of the three right there! And the third doesn’t count, because it’s temporary.” She emphasized the last. “All the things that I love about you are still the same. You’re still my sweet Tara.”
“But I can’t . . . I’m not . . . the physical part of our relationship . . .”
Willow sighed softly. “I guess we probably should have talked about this before. But I wasn’t sure how you’d react and it just didn’t seem to matter since we were together and I didn’t want anyone else . . .”
Tara grew concerned as Willow got more and more agitated. Finally, she reached out and covered Willow’s hands with her own.
She looked up, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I’m sexually attracted to both men and women,” she said finally. “I didn’t just swear off boys when I fell in love with you. I mean, my sex life with Oz was good. Great, in fact. But my feelings for you are just as strong, and you were so pretty and soft and I just wanted to touch you so much . . .” She looked down again, embarrassed. “So it doesn’t matter to me what body you’re in. I love the person inside the skin. Everything else is just packaging.”
Tara reached up and stroked her lover’s cheek with her thumb. “I wouldn’t even know how to make love to you like this.”
“You still have fingers, don’t you? And a mouth? That’s all we’ve ever needed before. Granted, I’ll miss your wonderful boobies, but a penis has its good points, too . . .” She realized what she was implying and backpedaled in horror. “Not that we’re going to do anything! Totally no naughty touching is perfectly fine with me! Unless you want to . . .” Sheepishly she caught herself. “Okay, so I’m a little nervous. This is your experience, and I want to support you any way I can. So if you want to explore your masculinity, I’m here for you. And if you don’t, that’s okay, too. Okay?”
Tara smile softly for the first time in what felt like days. “Okay. I don’t think . . . but thank you.” She took Willow’s hand then, grateful for the physical contact. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”
“I was scared,” she admitted. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t make up my mind. I can. I choose you.”
Tara’s eyes welled up with tears, and she responded naturally in the only way a declaration like that could be acknowledged.
It was a brief, gentle kiss, but Tara could feel how much softer Willow’s mouth was against her own firmer lips. When they pulled apart, Willow giggled.
“What?” Tara asked defensively. “Am I a bad boy kisser?”
“No!” She giggled again, reaching up to stroke Tara’s jaw line. “No, it was nice. But you really need to shave.”
“Oh.” Tara rubbed her face. “I meant to do that this morning, but I had a meltdown in the bathroom and forgot. Should I do it tonight, do you think?”
Willow thought about it for a minute. “It sort of depends. How much body hair do you have?”
“Um.” She thought back to her first self-inspection. “Kind of a lot.”
Willow grimaced. “You may have to resign yourself to being a two shaves a day guy. Gal. Unless you grow a beard.”
That actually made her grin. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I could grow a better beard than Ronny?” The reminder of her brother sobered her. “But I think I’d rather be clean shaven.”
“Well, since you don’t have a heavy date or any chance of serious smoochies, I have it on expert authority that you can slack off on the facial hygiene for the night and start fresh in the morning.”
“Oh? And who’s this authority?”
“Xander. It’s the excuse he always used when he was scruffy.”
Tara smiled. “Then it must be true.”
Willow grinned back. “So, you’re smiling again. That’s good, right? You’re feeling better?”
“A little bit,” she conceded. “I still don’t feel like me. My body and my magic are both gone, so what’s left?”
Willow looked confused. “Your magic? I don’t understand.”
“I can’t control it anymore.” The desperate sense of loss threatened to overwhelm her again. “Just doing a basic grounding and centering made it all go haywire.”
“But you can still touch the energy?”
Tara nodded.
Willow thought about that. “Okay, well, maybe the new body isn’t programmed to handle magic the way your old one was. Or maybe it just can’t, and you have to figure out the new ways it can work. Kind of like a circuit board before the pathways are laid out. The energy just kind of goes everywhere.”
Tara nodded. “And it wanted out. It wanted to make something, anything happen.”
“Well, that’s the penis imperative for you.”
“The what?”
“The penis imperative. If it moves, kill it or fuck it. If it doesn’t move, break it. It’s all about action. Guys have to do, to act. The natural flows in your male body may be directed to action. You just have to relearn how to control it.”
“My mom taught me magic from the time I was four. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m a witchy come lately. Come on,” she scooted back into the middle of the bed to sit cross legged in the middle, holding her hands out in invitation.
“Right now?”
“No time like the present,” she encouraged. “Nothing complicated, just a simple chakra clearing. It’ll make you feel better.”
With a resigned sigh, Tara toed off her sneakers and climbed up onto the bed, arranging her awkward body into a reasonable facsimile of Willow’s posture before taking her hands.
“Okay now,” Willow began, her voice dropping in pitch and volume as she took up a soothing cadence. “Take a deep, slow breath. Let it fill your lungs, stretch them out. And when you can’t hold any more, blow it out, blowing away all the stress and negativity of the day.” With the exhalation, Tara felt her shoulders sag in relief. “And then slowly breathe in to a count of four . . . and hold it for one two three four . . . breathe out two three four . . . hold two three four . . . in two three four . . .”
As they settled into a steady, measured breathing, Tara felt her head grow lighter, her mind detached from her body in the familiar sensation of trance. It was a comforting sensation.
“Now, focus on your root chakra,” Willow continued. “See it as a dark red circle of light at the very base of your spine.” Tara felt the sphere of it, deep at the base of her pelvis, sensed it dim and tightly closed. “Now fill it with light, watch it slowly open, brighten, begin glowing.” The nearly black circle turned blood red under Tara’s visualization, then crimson and vermillion until it became a bright, pulsing, true red. And as it opened, she felt a sense of safety, security, the hallmarks of this chakra, flooded through her. She savored it, encouraging the circle to glow brighter and brighter.
“And now move up to your belly chakra,” Willow’s words carried them on. “See it as a perfect orange circle just below your belly button.’ Tara visualized it, seeing it dull, dusky orange. “And fill it with light, see it open, swell and pulse with pure light.” As before the sphere shifted colors, ending as a glowing, ripe pumpkin color. And to her surprise, as the chakra opened, she felt her cock twitch and swell in response, the sexual energy of the second chakra filling her. It seemed to pulse in time to the pulsing energy of the wheel of light within her.
“Now picture your solar plexus chakra, a brilliant yellow circle between your navel and your ribs.” This one wasn’t as dark, not as closed. “And fill it with brilliant light, allowing it to open.” As it swelled, it became almost a yellow gold, and Tara felt again, but softer this time, the call to action, to do, that was the purview of the third chakra.
“And when you’re ready, move on to the heart chakra. See it as a sphere of perfect green light glowing just over your heart.” This sphere, as she studied it, shifted on its own, opening and closing, dark and light, all on its own. Her fears of rejection and pain closing it, her love and caring opening it again. “Slowly fill it, opening it with brilliant emerald green light.” She did, and the oscillation stopped, stabilized as the circle opened fully, supported that way by her visualization and all the light feeding into it. She wanted to weep for all the love, the compassion and caring that overwhelmed her.
“And move up to the throat chakra, a dark blue circle of energy over your vocal chords.” This was always the smallest, tightest of her chakras, but perhaps because of finally having opened up to Willow tonight, it was a little bluer than she’d seen it. “Fill it with pure blue light and watch it open.” As it expanded and brightened, she felt like talking, like singing, like shouting.
“And now move to your third eye chakra, that perfect indigo circle in the middle of your forehead. Fill it with brilliant indigo light, opening you mind and your intuition.” Her thoughts, such a jumble before, cleared as the denim blue circle expanded and she was able for the first time to think clearly, to see all the aspects and elements of the problem in an orderly, methodical fashion.
“And finally your crown chakra, a perfect circle of purple light just above the top of your head. Open it, filling it with perfect violet light.” This was always Tara’s strongest center, and as she fed the light into it, it irised open easily, filling her with a sense of wholeness, of completion, of communion with the divine that she had most been missing these last few days.
“And when you have them all open, gently set them spinning.” One by one, each circle began to move, alternating clockwise and counter-clockwise from one to the other until they all spun together like gears without cogs, a perfectly meshed unit.
“And knowing that you are safe in this magical space, and that I am here to help you, connect with the earth beneath you, and allow her energy to flow into you.”
Tara felt a twinge of trepidation, but gripped Willow’s hands more firmly and reached down to tap into the energy of the Mother, letting it rise up into her.
It flowed eagerly into the pattern they had set for it, like water through a channel cut in the sand, flowing over to soak into the edges but keeping the same basic shape. She felt Willow reach out with her aura to check Tara’s balance. She nudged back gently to show she had everything under control. She could feel Willow’s pleased smile as she began speaking again. “Let the energy rise up through the chakras, clearing away any debris, brightening any dark spots, evening out any rough patches, until each circle is spinning as smoothly, shining as brightly as you can possibly make them.” And there they were, a perfect column of swirling rainbow lights, energy flowing from one to the next easily, naturally, just exactly the way she knew it was supposed to be.
She almost giggled from the sheer joy of it.
Willow gave her a moment to enjoy before continuing. “Starting at your crown, let the energy flow out, let the wheel slow to a stop, closing gently as the light fades, leaving a clear, perfect violet circle. And follow the energy down to the third eye. Let the energy drain out as the wheel slowly stops spinning, closing gently as the light fades, leaving a clear, perfect indigo circle. And the energy empties from your throat chakra, slowing the wheel to a stop as it gently closes with the fading of its light, leaving a clear, perfect blue circle. And now let the energy drain out of your heart chakra, let the wheel slow to a stop, closing gently as the light fades, leaving a clear, perfect green circle. And now the energy fades from your solar plexus, allowing the wheel to stop spinning and gently close, leaving a clear, perfect yellow circle. See the energy flow out of your belly chakra, let the wheel slowly stop spinning, closing as the light fades out of it, leaving a clear, perfect circle of orange. And finally let it drain out of your root chakra and back into the earth, allowing this last wheel to spin to a stop, closing gently with the fading of its light, leaving a clear, perfect red circle. Just let yourself rest for a moment, feeling your body perfectly quiet, perfectly aligned. And as you come back to yourself, you will remember how this feels and be able to find your way back to this balanced state with easy. When you are ready, open your eyes and come back.”
Tara slowly fluttered her eyes open, surprised at how bright the room was. She’d forgotten they hadn’t turned off the lights. Willow’s face was glowing when Tara finally looked at her. “Well? How was it?”
“It was . . . good.” She relished the blissful peace that suffused her body and spirit. “I think . . . I think I feel a little bit like myself again.”
Willow let out a whoop and threw her arms around Tara’s neck. For an instant, Tara didn’t know how to respond, but she gave in to her natural instinct and closed her arms around her lover, holding her close, inhaling the fresh smell of her shampoo, the neroli oil she used for perfume and her own natural scent, all as familiar to Tara as her own. She felt like she’d been away for a lifetime, and not just over a day.
Willow was the first one to pull away. “Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten all day.”
“Yeah, I am, a little.”
Willow bounced up off the bed. “Why don’t I run downstairs and see if I can get a decent sandwich out of the machine for you while you get ready for bed. I put your new pajamas away in your nightie drawer.”
“I didn’t get any pajamas.”
“Yeah, I know,” Willow paused in the door to smile at her. “I picked them out for you. I hope they fit.” And with a shy smile, she closed the door behind her.
Tara stood up and crossed over to the mirror, looking at herself again with a less critical eye. She could do this, she thought with more confidence than she had felt before. She had Willow. And the others would help, too. And her magic wasn’t gone, just . . . different. Maybe Mr. Giles could help her with that.
She pulled the top drawer of her dresser open and laughed in surprise.
Her new pajamas were red plaid.
Chapter 12 Camp Follower
They had been sniping at each other all night.
About their clothes.
“You look like a bleedin’ Gap ad.”
“Well, at least I won’t be mistaken for the June Hustler centerfold. You look like a five dollar hooker, Spike.”
“They’re your clothes, Slayer! What does that say about you?”
About where to go.
“I haven’t been through St. Michael’s in a week.”
“When have you ever found anythin’ in St. Michael’s? Vamps hate it there. Not enough cover, and it floods like a sieve when it rains. Now Grace Hills is prime real estate . . .”
“Oh, what do you know?”
“Hello, vampire.”
About how they fought.
“Keep your bloody left up, Slayer! You aren’t . . . so fast now . . . you can’t dodge so easy!”
“Mind your own damn fight, Spike! I’ve got enough problems . . . without worrying about you fighting . . . like a girl!”
“Depends on the girl, doesn’t it?”
Finally Riley couldn’t stand it anymore. “Why is he along again?” He still had to lean a bit to speak softly in her ear.
Spike heard anyway, and threw a brilliant wicked grin back over his shoulder. “Bait.”
“Better you than me,” Buffy grumbled. “I hate bait duty. Makes me miss Cordelia.”
“Who?” Riley asked.
“She was with us back in high school. Xander dated her for about a year. She’s down in LA with Angel now.”
“How is the cheerleader, anyway?” Spike didn’t look back as he spoke.
“Good, I guess. You talked to her more in the last year than I did.”
Spike knew Xander’s old girlfriend?
“Yeah, but I’d kidnapped Peaches and was threatenin’ her, so there wasn’t much meaningful conversation.” He glanced over his shoulder curiously. “You made two trips there yourself last year. Never made time for the girlish reunion?”
She shrugged. “The first time I was too upset.” She glanced surreptitiously at Riley, then pulled her eyes away quickly. But Riley caught it. She had been upset about Angel. About something Angel had done. “The second time I went, Cordy was smart and got as far away from Faith’s ground zero as she could. And even if she hadn’t, with all the arguing and running and fighting for our lives, there really wasn’t a lot of time for socializing.”
They walked on quietly, but after a minute Buffy asked curiously, “How do you know Cordelia? I didn’t think you two ever actually met?”
“I introduced myself, one night in the Watcher’s library while you lot were out Scoobying. Thought she’d make a pretty toy for Dru, send you a right clear message. Chit didn’t think too highly of that and pointed a crossbow at my privates. I got the hell outta there.”
Buffy chuckled at the image. “It wouldn’t have killed you, you chicken.”
“No, but it would have hurt like a son of a bitch. A special pain only a bloke can know.” He grinned wickedly. “I hope you get a chance to experience that during your visit to man land.”
“Shut up, Spike.”
Riley listened to them, and felt again that sense of isolation he always got around her friends. Everything in her life always returned to her high school years and all the experiences she had acquired there. But there was no way for him to break into that. He could never be a part of that, and so there would always be a part of her he didn’t have access to. Even Spike was more privy to it than he was.
“Shouldn’t bait be a little further out in front?” he asked, surprised at how sharp his words came out.
And Spike, damn him, picked up on it. “Wouldn’t want to interfere with your quality alone time. You two lovebirds have a cozy walk in the moonlight. I’ll be up ahead out of hearin’ range. Call you if I need you.” He turned and faded into the shrubbery. “Don’t break him, Slayer.”
“You’re a pig, Spike!” she shouted after him.
A soft, female “oink, oink” drifted back through the trees.
Buffy looked up at Riley, embarrassed, then turned away, her hands tightly clasped behind her back.
There were days he really hated that guy.