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Disclaimers: I don't own ANYTHING, except this story. The sweet young ladies whose travails are at the center of this little work, plus all their buddies, belong to Joss Whedon and those other lucky buggers over at the WB & Mutant Enemy. The title is from T.S. Eliot. References to other shows/cartoons/personalities means that the aforementioned stuff belongs to the aforementioned stuff's creators/licensers/etc. Got that? Good. Moving on...

This piece contains two young ladies who are more than just friends, if you know what I mean. Should that get your shorts in a wad, my condolences. You haven't any clue what you're missing. You may go back under your rock now.

If you'd like to post this, or any of my other fic, somewhere else, go ahead, just drop me a note with the URL. However, if you're running a porno or Young Republican site, that offer is rescinded. If you just want to tell me what you think of this (eek!), you can also drop me a note. The addy is ressick@yahoo.com and I like feedback (note that I'm not begging).

Probably contains spoilers for Buffy: the Vampire Slayer episodes. I'm not sure which ones, but some. I have this habit of messing with canon, so I confuse myself until I could be doing spoilers for "Iron Chef" but wouldn't know it... (Just FYI, "Iron Chef" is a weird Japanese cooking show.)

The first part is in the first person, and the rest in third person. Sorry for any confusion this may cause. Also, angsty warning. Don't smack me when you get to the end.

****

Between the Emotion And the Response

by Ressick

Where's the dividing line between friendship and love? Is there really one? I mean, I know there's different kinds of love- I don't love my goldfish the same way that I love my grandmother- but who's to say that once you cross THIS LINE, your feelings are more than those between "just friends"? And how do you tell? Oh, goddess, how do you tell?

And more importantly- how do you tell the object of your affection? Should you? Do you have the courage? Will she run away from you?

Just friends is a wonderful, stock phrase, used the world over to denote that nothing is going on, no sex or lifelong commitment or anything beyond playing Parcheesi together.

Just friends is horrible. Each touch of the hand, each platonic pat on the back or hug, alludes slightly, if you will it, if every breath you take prays for it, to what can happen when you move away, beyond, just friends. Behind the smile plastered on your face can be the tears of wishing, of desire melded with devotion, that threaten to fall each time you cannot speak the words.

Tara, I... There, they fall, tears coursing their way down my cheek. I can start to say them, alone, with my fear and dread and prayers. Not when it matters, not when her face falls because I have to be with my friends. My other friends. The Scooby gang, that has nurtured me throughout my adolescence, led unquestionably by my best friend the Slayer. Buffy, who I can't go to anymore, because this is new, so new that each time I let myself dwell on the particulars, I freeze with terror.

Oh, goddess, I love- yes, love- a girl! If I let that seep through my consciousness any more than it already has, I think I'll die. Demons, vampires, Regis, those things I can deal with. But to admit, finally, that I'm more like that vamp-version of Willow Rosenberg that I ever could deal with in high school, that I can't deal with. Give me back-to-back boy-bands before making me say those words. Gay. Dyke. Lesbo. Queer. Homo. Lezzie. Pervert. One of those.

But how can I not love Tara? Soft pale skin, silky blonde hair, eyes so deep I could drown without thought, a smile that melts rock, not to mention a bad-ass wicca and the most beautiful soul I think I've ever met, even counting that entire busload of nuns we saved from vamps back in junior year. I admit, I've fallen hard. Very hard. Bruises and a concussion.

When I was seven years old I decided that when I fell in love, it would be forever. Whomever I fell for would be stuck with me. I don't give up on true love. For a while, I thought it was Oz, sweet and kind and crazy for me- not like you could tell with the monosyllables and lack of expression- but you take what you can get. I even let him be my first. It was gentle, and tender, and everything a straight girl could hope for in a first time. But the sparks were dull, and every time he touched me, something said that this wasn't what I really wanted. The passion I so wanted to be there, wasn't. I thought, it's just the first time, maybe it'll get better. Then he left, and I was angry, sad, hurt, that our relationship wasn't everything I wanted it to be and that I didn't have a chance to try and make it into what I wanted, what he deserved.

Then Tara came into my life. Well, she'd been there before, but not really a presence. After Oz left, I threw myself into my magic, hoping it could fill the void where my heart was hiding. And in the midst of the wiccan wannabes I found someone with real power, someone who just might understand the magic. The Scooby gang accepted the magic as a part of me, but they didn't understand it, or how it affects my life. Tara could be that, I sensed. Maybe more.

****

Tara slipped into the dormitory. It was supposed to be locked this late at night, but a quick spell released the bolt. From behind the closed doors, there was a mixture of silence and the reverberating bass beat of heavy metal. She stopped in front of her room, and leaned up against the doorjamb for a second. From the next room she could feel, more than hear, her neighbor's favorite Cream CD. Luscious Jackson played from across the hall, and Melissa Etheridge from her own room. I don't remember leaving the stereo on. Hurriedly, she opened the door and found Willow curled up on her bed. She stopped, gazing at her friend, rooted to the floor in surprise and the sudden lurch of emotion that welled up in her at the sight of the hacker asleep.

Willow opened her eyes to a vision of pale blond hair and skin. She smiled and stretched, sitting up slowly. "Sorry to have broken into your room, but after you weren't home at midnight, I got worried. I wanted to wait up for you. Guess it was a long day."

She tried to speak, but words wouldn't come. Instead, a shy half-smile edged onto her face, flattered that Willow was concerned about her.

"So you don't mind?" Willow asked, peering at her silent friend.

Tara shook her head, "No, no, of course not," she said. "Did you need something? Help with a spell or whatever?"

The hacker blushed fiercely, "No, I just wanted to see you. Is that okay?"

Another half-smile. "Yeah, definitely." She's blushing- goddess she's cute when she does that- but why? Tara was too self-depreciating to be able to articulate anything coherent, but she felt a little lurch in her chest at the idea of Willow wanting to just see her. "So, um, how was your day?" She mentally smacked herself for such a stupid line, but it seemed to work.

Willow brightened a little, her skin returning slowly to its normal color. She started talking about a computer class, and they spent the rest of the night chatting about inconsequential things, just letting themselves bask in the other's presence, not really wanting to understand or think about why.

****

A few days later...

Bone-tired, Willow Rosenberg found that she was in front of the wrong dorm. It had been a very long night, and as the sun peeked over the horizon, she thanked whatever gods were listening for keeping her friends alive lately. The demons had been busy, and she offered another thanks for not having been sprayed with monster goop during the evening's slaying. She spared a thought for Xander, currently drenched in green and brown demon bits after he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Willow giggled and looked up at the dorm she was standing in front of. Hm, Tara's. I might as well go apologize now for breaking our study date. A small flutter in her stomach accompanied the thoughts of the painfully shy girl, and she smiled despite her exhaustion. Unlocking the door took a few minutes of concentration, but she soon slipped in and up the stairs towards her friend's room.

Tara looked up at her mother through the eyes of her ten-year-old self, seeing the fine lines of worry on the older witch's face. They were in their kitchen, cheerfully concocting a potion in one pot on the stove, and soup for dinner on another burner. The smells mingled in the air- thyme and newt mixing in her child's nostrils. She could hear knocking on the front door; her mother went to answer it, and didn't come back. The potion boiled, then Tara awkwardly took it off the burner, switching the heat off before wandering towards the front door, where her mother lay in a pool of blood...

She woke up screaming, the pain still raw, the metallic scent of her mother's blood still seemingly in the air. Tara clutched the sheets to her chest, and her heart raced. Knocking again, at the door, insistent, and muted worried yelling. Terror gripped her until she recognized the dorm room around her. Who the hell would be here this early? she thought, then opened the door hastily at the same time as Willow magiked it open and came flying in to bowl her over. They landed in a heap on the floor, limbs tangled together.

"Tara!" Willow yelped, clutching her friend's shoulders, "Are you okay?!"

She let her heart slow down to an acceptable rate, then nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine, just a nightmare." The blood of her dream appeared unbidden before her eyes, and she shuddered. The terrifying image was chased away by the warm sensation of her friend almost completely on top of her, the weight somehow comfortable.

Willow cocked her head at Tara, not quite believing the story. Then she realized where she was, and blushed furiously, much to the other girl's amusement. She rolled off Tara, her heart mourning the loss of contact, and helped her friend off the floor. She noticed the long flannel pajamas that Tara was wearing, covered in little Tweetie Bird pictures, and smiled. Tara's hair was mussed, and the entire picture was heart-wrenchingly adorable.

Her friend was rumpled, the mint-green sweater and light gray cargo pants looking like they'd just survived a long trek through some nasty wilderness, and her hair was pulled back from her face. Tara frowned, noticing the bags under Willow's eyes and the sense of utter exhaustion that emanated from the hacker's slight form. She tugged the redhead into her room further, closing the door to her neighbors' prying eyes.

"Long night?" she asked concernedly. Willow only smiled faintly and nodded.

"Are you sure you're okay, Tara? That seemed like a really bad nightmare." She hesitated, then seemed to gird her mental loins before tentatively asking, "Would you like me to stay around a bit, keep you company?"

"I'm fine, really," Tara insisted, then watched as the hacker's tentative smile almost inperceptively faded. "But if you don't mind, you're welcome to stay around." She watched the smile brighten, and smiled herself.

Tara bent her head, and a cascade of fine blond hair hid her face for a moment, before, without realizing she was doing it, Willow tucked the hair gently behind Tara's ear. They started at the touch, shivering at the tenderness inherent in the act, and at the emotions that resounded from it in both of them. Willow turned away, slightly, flush with embarrassment, and Tara coughed lightly.

She realized she was on the verge of something, but her exhaustion-muddled brain couldn't quite figure out what the something was. Then it hit her, and her knees began to shake a bit. No, no, I'm so not ready for this, she thought, running a hand through her short, rumpled locks.

"Look, Tara, I'm sorry," she babbled, "I'm just really, really tired, and maybe I wouldn't be very good company for you and I hope you feel better and I'm going to go home now. I'm sorry." She couldn't deny the insistent emotion that forced her to take Tara in her arms for a brief second before practically running out the door. She closed it quietly behind her, and slumped against the wall. Coward, she cursed herself, feeling the tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

Inside her room, bereft of her friend's comforting presence, Tara leaned against the wall next to her door, and began to cry, only a few scant inches of drywall away from an exhausted hacker.

Finis, for now...