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Disclaimers: They aren't mine, honest! They belong to Joss and the cardboard aliens. I am just a lowly peon, a simple-minded T/W 'shipper, please don't hurt me. *cowers in corner*

Contains spoilers for "New Moon Rising"- my new favorite episode, now tying with "Hush." This is only a PG kinda piece- angst without smut... not that there's anything wrong with smut, it just doesn't appear here.

Feedback can go to ressick@yahoo.com if you're so inclined. Archiving: Gary's welcome- you rock, man! Anyone else, ask and ye most likely will receive.

Summary-type thingie: Tara's thoughts from the second half of NMR on. MAJOR SPOILERS!

Special Thanks: To the writer of NMR, Marti Noxon, for writing such a sweet story, to Joss, because you have approached this so sensitively, and especially to Alyson Hannigan and Amber Benson for making Willow and Tara so real, so expressive, that this little piece just poofed! into existence. Honest, it just appeared on my computer screen...

*****

What Matters In The End...

by Ressick

...

I held her to me, comforting, saying good-bye, reassuring, all at once. No matter what I could do, I don't think I could have stopped the tears running down her face, or stopped the hurt in her voice. I did want her to be happy, that still is my goal, but she knew it would hurt me, or him, no matter what choice she made. Either way, the kindest, most gentle soul I know would hurt someone that she cares about. And it tore both of us up inside.

At that moment, I was saying good-bye to all my hopes and dreams and saying hello to all my fears, as I held her. Part of me was torn away at the thought of her returning to him, going back to the first person she really loved- in my mind, maybe the only person she'd ever loved. But what did my wishes matter, what were my pipe dreams and half-conscious hopes, compared to her happiness? Nothing.

All I could do was hold her, tell her everything would be all right in the end. That even though the here and now seemed desolate, full of conflicting wants and desires and needs too, that in the future she'd be okay, she'd be loved and be able to love without fear. All I could do was hold her for a long, long second, and wipe her tears away as mine flowed unchecked. All I could do was comfort her while my world fell down around my ears.

And then, as I sat on the floor and ran my fingers through her hair as she pillowed her head in my lap, I watched a bit of peace enter into her tranquil gaze, and her sniffling quieted. I knew then that she'd made her choice, and the thought chilled me. It ran like cold tentacles up and down my spine, the thought that she'd chosen him- because she loved him, enough to make love with him. And I was just the friend, would always be just the friend. Never what I wanted, maybe needed, to be for her. So I held onto the moment, memorizing its every quirk and most minute detail. I took into my heart and soul the feel of her hair against my fingers: silk against my skin. I captured in exquisite detail the weight of her head against my thigh. The sound of her gentle breathing was reverent prayer to me. Because I never thought that I would have this moment again, when she turned to me, made me seem more than just shy old Tara.

She had taken off her sweater when she lay down next to me, and as the minutes passed and I thought the room chilled a bit- my own foolish perception, I picked it up and tucked it around her. She huddled into it, and I let my hand come to rest on her shoulder. After a long minute, just the two of us there, silent, she reached up and entwined our fingers together, there on top of her shoulder, and for a blissful second, I could dream that maybe, someday...

Then she was gone, with an ever-too-brief embrace my last memory of her. The morning trudged on against my will, with all I could do being to go to class. And I met him, in the hallway, as he called out for her. And he talked to me, demanded to know if she loved me- goddess what I would have given to know then too! The rage must have been too much to bear, and he wolfed out, in broad daylight. And I ran, and was chased, and then he was gone, and it felt like my fault, because I made him angry. I wore the sweater she had left behind thoughtlessly because it was my only tangible connection to her. He smelt her scent on me, and it changed him. So I ran to her study group, trying to make up for my trespass. And she was gone, then, to rescue him. Because she loved him.

*Loved* him. She cares for him, no doubt. I would be proud to be anyone that she cares for. And I am even more proud, honored, to be the one she loves *now*. For some reason, she loves me, and I can only pray, and pray, and hope, that I can be enough of a person for to be worthy of her love.

I sat there, staring out into the darkness of a powerless Sunnydale, and all I really saw was a reflection of my own soul. Darkness triumphing over the light that she had thrown into my life, leading me away from loneliness and despair. Then she was at my door, a few scant feet away from me in my room. And then, she as so much echoed my own statements. She knew I was hers. Now, I know she is mine.

What happened afterward is for us to know. It is something that only we two should share. It is enough to say, however, that I am in love. That I am loved by someone. That I love her so much as to make my heart burst with feeling. In the end, I think, no matter what happened beforehand, somehow, things have worked out. It pains me to think of him, of the desperation and pain that he's going through now, that I've felt myself. But she's here, with me now, and perhaps it's enough to know that in the grand scheme of things, two people found each other, and love each other. Maybe in the end, that's all that matters. Because love is just that precious, that it's worth the pain it causes.

Finis