Pressed Silence by DarkWiccan

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters associated with the show are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and their affiliates. If they belonged to me, none of the horrors of season six would ever have happened, and Willow and Tara would be on their honeymoon by now. But they don't, so for now I borrow and kindly ask the big, scary corporate lawyer-guy to look the other way. Also, even though W/T don't belong to me, this story does and so do any new characters found in it. Please don't plagiarize.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Just ask.
Feedback: Sure, just ask me.
Spoilers: Season 3 Doppelgangland.
Author's Notes: A friend of mine brought to my attention the fic "Tough Love" by CN Winters. Although I do owe the inspiration for my story to this already published work of fiction, this piece that you read now was not written with the desire to copy or steal from Ms. Winters. I feel that hate crime is important enough and wide spread enough that the issue can be and should be handled by as many creative endeavors as possible in an effort to better understand its roots and its ramifications.
Pairing: Just Willow

Summary: Perhaps there was more to Willow's quietude about her sexuality than simple naiveté? This story examines the brutal reality of hate and its influence toward fear.

Willow Rosenberg thought that she would be nervous coming to this place. It turned out that she was just bored. Sure she had been nervous to begin with, back when she thought there was a risk of running into people she knew. People from high school. Not necessarily Buffy or Xander, although that concern did play at the back of her mind a little, but she knew that her two closest friends would have no real business going to a place like this. She had been more worried about being seen by people who didn't hold her as a friend. People who could make her life at school even more socially difficult then it already was.

She had been worried about people seeing her, but not anymore. If people were going to see her, then, people actually needed to be there to do so. As it was, the place was empty, except for the barrista behind the counter. But she didn't know him, and he didn't know her, so who could he tell?

I thought this place would be a little more…flamboyant, Willow thought to herself as her eyes scanned the interior of Sunnydale's only gay coffeehouse, Little Bohemia. It was small with cast-iron chairs and little circular tables that had artistic designs painted on them in dark-green and white. The walls were painted red while black and white photographs in dark green frames tastefully adorned them. The counter was nothing exceptional, the standard fair you'd find in any coffeehouse anywhere. In fact, the only thing that acted as an indication of the lifestyle of its customers was a small bulletin board made out of the cork that hung next to the archway leading to the bathrooms. It had a small pride flag attached to it and a few buttons sporting pink triangles and slogans like, "Queer Nation!" and "Homophobia is a Social Disease!" among other things. There were flyers stick-pinned to the remaining space advertising PFLAG and GLBT Support Groups and recreational clubs. A few handwritten pieces of paper served as "Roommate Wanted" notices.

Willow thought about the strange series of events that had lead her to this little coffee shop, not the least of which was meeting her vampire-self from another dimension. The incident had forced her into a deep self-examination of who she really was, rather than who she thought she really was. Could she really be gay? A very good question, and not as easy to answer as she had hoped.

With Oz and the Dingoes out of town for the next few days playing gigs up and down the coast, Willow had taken advantage of the alone time without her boyfriend to figure out the weird mix of emotions and thoughts that had been plaguing her since her evil twin had wreaked havoc in Sunnydale. She couldn't really think about it with Oz around because he automatically clouded her judgment. With Oz there, she had a boyfriend, if she had a boyfriend, then how could she be gay? Willow knew the equation wasn't as simple as that. Ever the scientist, she had decided to conduct an experiment. She would place herself in a gay environment and see if she felt at home there, ergo, coffee shop.

She had been sitting there for a while, a couple of hours actually, nursing a small cup of chai tea and taking in the strange emptiness of the place. After the first hour she finally found the voice to ask the barista, who was also the shop's owner, where everyone was.

"Oh, Sugar, you picked the wrong night to come out," he said, enjoying the double entendre. His voice was quite effeminate, though laced with a gruff sound that indicated he was a professional smoker. "Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays this place is dead, dead, dead. I don't know why I even bother opening up."

That had been an hour ago. Now Willow's tea was cold and she was decidedly bored and apparently so was the owner.

"Listen, Honey," he said suddenly, "if you don't mind, I'm going to go ahead and close up shop."

"Would you like me to make you some tea for the road?" he offered. "It's gotten kind of chilly outside."

"I'll put the kettle on to heat up while I lock things up," he explained, moving to do so. "Would you mind helping a little? This queen's bones are getting too old to lift all of these chairs by herself."

This must be my remittance for the free tea, she thought a little wryly. But it's not like she anything better to do. "Sure," she said finally, standing from her seat. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'll wipe everything down if you could just put the chairs on the tables once I'm done," he replied. "Just flip the chairs upside down so the seats rest on the table tops." The shop owner quickly demonstrated with one of the chairs, his face grimacing a little with the effort.

"Right, I see," said Willow. The redhead followed the shop owner, picking up chairs that he had just wiped off and placing them on the tables. It only took a few minutes, as there were only about six tables in the whole place and those had merely four chairs apiece.

The kettle started to whistle just as they had finished. The owner quickly finished locking the front door to the shop and then made his way back around the counter, removing the hot water from the burner. He poured some of it into a paper cup and tossed in a bag of lemon tea before capping it off.

"Okay, Sweetie, there we go," he said brightly, handing it over. "Thanks for your help. Will we be seeing you in here again anytime soon?"

"Still not too sure, huh?" he stated. "Well, that's normal in one your age. This joint really gets jumping around Wednesday night. Come back and visit if you can."

Willow could only bring herself to nod. She couldn't tell if she was disappointed or not that the night had turned out to be such a dud. She started to go out the front, but the shopkeeper stopped her. "Sorry," he said, "I already locked the front. You'll need to go out the back way. Is that alright?" He sounded genuinely concerned. "If you don't mind waiting a few more minutes, I just need to count the till and start the dishwasher. I could walk you to your car."

"You mean you walked here from home? Oh, Honey, you've got some on you, I must say. Nearest neighborhood is ten blocks from here. How long have you lived in Sunnydale?"

"Then you should know better than to be out like this at night," he exclaimed. "Alone and without a car? You want me to give you a ride home?"

Willow thought about it for a moment. It seemed like a good idea, but then again she didn't know this man very well. She knew better than anyone besides Buffy, Xander and Giles the creepy creatures that inhabited the Sunnydale streets after nightfall. But thanks to Buffy, she also knew how to handle herself should danger rear its ugly, bumpy head. She had a cross with her, and a stake and a small vial of holy water. Besides which the Bronze wasn't very far, she could always stop in there and see if Buffy and Xander were still around. So rather than risk a ride home with a strange man who she barely knew, she decided to risk the familiar danger of the darkened streets and after a few minutes of quiet contemplation, declined the coffee shop owner's offer.

The owner sighed, "Well, if you're sure. Back door is down the hall, next to the restrooms."

Willow stepped out onto the gravel lot behind the small establishment, the rocks crunching together beneath her feet. She looked around to find the quickest way to the Bronze. If she went right up the alley in front of her, she could get to Main Street and take that downtown a couple of blocks to the more mainstream glorified coffee bar, The Espresso Pump, grab a mocha then swing over to the Bronze.

She crunched along the gravel quickly, wanting to get out of the alleyway as fast as possible without running. Suddenly she paused. Something had made noise behind her. The sound of shuffling, hurried feet through loose rock, a sound that was getting closer. Don't stop! Run! Her mind screamed out at her.

Willow started to lean forward to break into a sprint when an intense white-hot pain shot up through her spine as something hard and metal connected with her lower back. She tried to cry out, but she hit the ground with such force that the wind was knocked completely out of her lungs. Instinctively, she tried to roll onto her side, curling her self into her body, protectively. The action was met with another sharp blow to her back. This time she did scream out in pain.

"Oh no you don't, you fucking dyke," said a contemptuous voice above her. "You stay right there. Don't Move!"

She looked up through the corner of her eye at her attacker and prayed that it was double vision causing her to see three angry, self-righteous skinheads looking down on her. One held an aluminum baseball bat in his hand, waving it slightly, ready to pull back and swing down brutal punishment at any second. She couldn't see their faces clearly, the building light behind them having cast their features in dark shadow and making it near impossible for her to identify which one of them had spoken. Terrified, and unable to move, Willow did the only thing she could think of.

"Shut up, dyke!" the voice commanded her as she felt another blow of the bat to her back, coupled with a foot in her stomach, almost forcing her to vomit. "Your fucking dyke girlfriend isn't here to save you and even if she was, we'd kill her too."

"You and all your kind are an abomination against Christ," the voice continued to preach. "And we are here to cleanse God's earth of your filthy existence." It was a statement, matter of fact and calm, and the speaker truly believed it with all his being.

"NO!" Willow managed to scream in protest, which earned her another kick to the gut forcing her to cough hard against the dirt as she clutched her stomach.

Willow watched out of the corner of her eye as the skinhead with the bat pulled back into hitting stance, clearly aiming for her head. She squinted her eyes closed at this sight, waiting for the sound of the downswing, the sharp pain, and the oblivion. But all she heard was the jarring blast of a gunshot. Again she cried out. She'd been shot! Had she been shot? She didn't think so. She opened her eyes and saw her assailants looking away from her, back toward the coffee shop from where she had come.

"I think you boys have had enough fun for one night," she heard the voice of the shop owner say. "Or do you really want to mess with a faggot with a gun?" The skinheads stood unmoving for a moment, then they bolted off, down the alley and into the waiting darkness.

At the sound of feet running toward her, Willow flinched violently away, letting out a loud whimper. "It's okay, Sweetie," the owner said, "They're gone. It's only me. God, what have they done to you? Are you all right?"

The owner pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "I'll call an ambulance," he said as he started to dial.

"No," Willow said quickly, somehow finding her voice and placing a hand on his to stop him. No, she thought, no. Ambulance means hospital. Hospital means doctors. Doctors call parents or Giles. They can't know I was here. "No," she repeated. Even if I did blame this on vampires, they'd still want to know why I was on this side of town. Why I was here. They can't know I was here. They can't know that I might be gay.

"No?" the owner questioned. "Honey, you might have internal injuries, you should see a doctor."

"I'm fine," she replied, struggling slowly to her feet, willing herself to stand. "See?" She started to fall forward, her legs too shaky to support her own weight. The owner caught her.

"Yeah, I see," he stated dryly. "Listen to me, I know you're scared but you're badly hurt. You need to go to the hospital."

"No," she said again, pushing off of him to stand on her own. "No, I don't want to go to the hospital. I'm fine. I just… I just want to go home. Could you take me home?"

"No!" she cut him off. "No… I'm sorry… I'm fine. Really. Just… could you take me home… please?"

He looked at her sadly, understanding her paranoia, her fear of discovery, all too well. He let out a long sigh, before slowly nodding and conceding, "Fine. My car is right over there." The owner gestured toward a small Geo Prism parked near the back entrance of the coffee shop. Willow indicated for him to lead the way, which he did. It was only after she hard started moving toward the small vehicle, that she felt the dampness running down her thighs, and smelled the unmistakably familiar and embarrassing odor creeping up to her nose.

"Do you," she said, pausing a moment before continuing. "Do you have a plastic bag I could use?"

"No, I…" She was so embarrassed. "W-when the gun went off, it scared me… I … I… I think I wet my pants." Willow crossed her arms in front of her chest feeling very stupid and very alone.

"Oh…" the shop owner drifted off, unsure what to say, but wanting to say more. "Um, yeah… I think I have one in the back seat." He quickly opened the car's hatchback and reached in, sifting around the back seat until he stood up again, a plastic grocery bag in his hand. "Here you go," he said, handing it to her.

She nodded and opened the car door, carefully placing the bag on the seat and sitting down. Closing the door, she quickly rolled the window down in an effort to prevent the odor of her soiled clothes from pervading the cabin of the vehicle. Once the owner had climbed in, he did likewise, and then started the engine.

He put the car in gear and they were off. They drove in silence for a few minutes before the shop owner finally spoke up.

"Oh…okay… Claire," she smiled a little, allowing herself to enjoy the humor of it for a moment.

"All my real friends call me Claire," he went on, "and the sons of bitches that pretend to be my friends call me Ernie."

"People who I consider to be my friend, it goes without saying that I am their friend too and I just figured you could use one right now. So what's your name?"

"No," said Willow, "They were just going through their 'free thinking period' when they had me."

Claire nodded and directed his attention to the road for a moment, sending Willow back inside her thoughts.

"I mean, I don't even know if I'm gay. They just attacked me because they thought I was."

"And if you are gay, then what?" Claire stated. "Then their actions would have been justified? Because if you are gay you deserved it?"

Willow instantly realized what she had said and how it had sounded. "No," she spoke emphatically. "No, that's not what I meant. No one deserves…"

"I know," he cut her off gently. "Just… be careful what you choose to take from all of this."

"I don't even know if I'm gay," she said again. "After tonight, I'm not sure I should be."

"It's not a question of whether you should or shouldn't." Claire explained. "It's whether you are or aren't. There is no choice. The only decision you can make is if you will accept the truth once you discover it." He looked up to the street sign ahead as they approached an intersection in the residential part of town. "Stevens and Owens," he announced. "Which way should I turn?"

"I think so," Willow answered, letting out a deep breath. "Thanks for driving me home. I guess I should have accepted your offer in the first place."

"Willow, don't blame yourself for this," Claire said firmly. "What happened was not your fault. Not one iota of it. Clear?"

"Clear," she nodded, though on some level, she didn't entirely believe it. "Thanks, Claire. Maybe I'll go to your shop again some time."

"When you do, drinks are on me," he smiled. "You sure you don't want me to drive you up to your front door? I feel strange leaving you off here after everything."

Willow slowly stood up out of the low car, her back stiff, yet strangely numb, but she knew that she would feel the after affects in the morning. Her abdomen ached too, but she did her best to hide her grimace as she finally made it up onto her feet. She took the corner edge of the plastic bag she had been sitting on and lifted it from the seat, disgusted by her damp and grubby state. Closing the car door, she gave Claire a fatigued wave and started up the sidewalk to her house. Claire lingered for a moment, then finally drove off just as Willow made it inside the doorway of her parent's home.

Everything seemed so different now, so cold and strange and affected. It was like looking through a fish-eye lens, the shape of things was distorted and alien. The world had been turned upside down and Willow was forever changed by it.

She found her way to the bathroom, stripping herself of her dirty and soiled clothing. As she did so, she caught her own likeness in the mirror and gasped at the sight before her. A great deepening bruise wrapped itself up her side and around her back, marking where she had been struck. She noted that one particular point of discoloration was so traumatic that the weave of fabric to her shirt had become imprinted into the marking of her skin and the bash itself was quickly turning a deep and purplish black color. More marks covered her abdomen and stomach and she was so horrified by the sight of it all, that she swung open the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet inside, so that she no longer was forced to view her own terrifying reflection.

Willow now embraced the familiarity of routine. Turning on the shower, setting a towel on the toilet seat for use after, grabbing the shampoo and body wash from under the sink, picking up a fresh wash cloth from the rack, stepping inside under the spray and feeling it beating down, washing everything away.

After her shower again more routine. The brushing of teeth, the dressing for bed, the turning down of the covers, the picking out of clothes for school tomorrow, and the putting the soiled clothes and linens in the washer and starting it so Mom need never know she'd wet herself. This last one was new, but it was enough to destroy the safety of everything else. Finally the dam broke, and she wept and now with every movement there was pain. She crawled her sob-racked body into bed and her back screamed with every position that she tried and her stomach burned with every cry she uttered which only made her weep more in sympathy to the pain that finally she exhausted herself into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

The next day she woke up and went to school and bared the blinding ache of sitting on the hard desk chairs and tried to focus on her teachers as they droned on about suddenly inconsequential information that she had once craved the knowledge of. Finally she made her way to the library, desperately seeking the solace of her friends' familiar company. Stepping inside the tome-filled room she heard Buffy's cheerful voice announce her name.

"Willow!" The slayer sang out happily, running over to greet her best friend with a warm hug. "I haven't seen you all day!"

The pain of the embrace was too much and Willow found she could not stifle the plaintive cry that escaped her throat.

Buffy quickly stepped back, frightened by the redhead's reaction. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh," said the blonde, slouching a little with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I don't know my own slayer strength sometimes."

"Giles said he needed help picking up some books from his place, he took Xander with him," she explained as she took Willow's hand and lead her over to the research table, oblivious to her friend's uncomfortable expression in reaction to the affectionate gesture. Willow sat down as smoothly as she could, hoping that Buffy wouldn't notice her injured look as she did so. She didn't.

"I so have to tell you what happened at the Bronze last night," Buffy bubbled excitedly, "It's too bad you decided to stay in because it was amazing."

"Totally," the slayer went on. "Okay, first off, Cordelia was there, doing her usual 'I'm better than you' routine and then Angel…"

Willow listened to her friend recount the happenings of the night before, knowing full well that she could never share her own. She had been wrong when she had felt that it was the world that had changed. No, truly the world was the same, all that was different was that she had seen more of it and part of her now was broken because of it. She made the decision then to bury it down deep, to ignore it, all of it. The impulse, the feelings, and the pain she now put away. She chose not to accept the truth of it all. And she felt pressed flat.

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Pressed Silence

by DarkWiccan

Copyright © 2003

Darkwiccan23@yahoo.com