Moving On by Dark Angel

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these people, just loaning them from Joss Weldon for the duration of this piece. Nothing resembling profit will be made.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Anywhere as long as you tell me and include my contact details for feedback.
Spoilers: Could be potential spoilers (no pun intended) for upcoming episodes, in particular Touched but really anything after The Killer In Me. Pairing: Willow/Kennedy

Summary: A middle of the night trip to the kitchen allows Buffy to see a different side of Kennedy and the opportunity to help Willow move another step closer to healing.

My first impulse is to do a complete about face and tip toe my way out of the kitchen when I realize I am not alone, at least until I catch sight of who the young potential silhouetted against the open back door is watching in my garden.

You might think it strange even for me how I can distinguish these youthful features from any one of the twenty other girls currently eating me out of house and home. But this particular SIT has been taking up space here for months and often at a much closer proximity to me than I would like.

Kennedy acknowledges my presence with a brief incline to an otherwise stationary head continuing as I do now to observe the situation outside.

Because standing in a robe that looks too big for her my best friend, mega witch and general all round genius appears anchored to the very ground beneath her feet. She holds herself tightly as if by doing so she'll be able to ward off some unseen threat. She's bare foot I think and rocks a little on her heels occasionally turning her head like she's answering someone neither I, nor I assume Kennedy can see.

The sight is all too familiar, at least to me, starting when Will returned from England almost nine months ago. It wasn't every night or even every week, just regular enough to remind me she still had a ways to go in letting go of her pain and grief.

Thankfully the nocturnal wanderings seemed to vanish when the potentials started arriving. I think because there were so many strangers around and frankly Will was too tired not to sleep. For a moment I wonder when they started again, and when Kennedy took my place watching over her?

"Been here long?" I ask trying not to pry. It's a bizarre concept really considering there is no such thing as privacy at Casa Summer's these days.

Another tilt of Kennedy's head relays she's heard me. But no sign she's concerned or necessarily welcomes my company, anymore than I welcome hers. It's three am and I came looking for coco and quiet. She, I guess, is only here because of the redhead in the yard.

I figure it's the closest thing I'll get to an invite and move further into the room, settling myself between the servery and open door.

She shrugs and pushes off the wall facing me with what I've dubbed her 'I've got it covered' look.

Normally, I don't like to draw conclusions about people too quickly. You can't afford mistakes in my line of work. But I do know I trust my instincts, and something about 'the look' and Kennedy in general just rubs me up the wrong way.

Maybe it's the way she always has an opinion whether she has all the facts or not. Or that she manages to drop how privileged her upbringing was around the same time I get another bill I know I can't pay.

I know the first part for me is about dealing with new territory, leading a group of slayers, or at least potential slayers, rather than working alone. The whole balancing skill and knowledge with determination and readiness is slow. I worry we don't have the time we need to get battle ready for what's on its way. The second part too really is about time or lack there of for any of us to set ourselves up as better than the rest.

But if I'm honest, the thing that bothers me the most about Kennedy really is totally none of my business. That she's set her sights on my best friend almost from the minute she walked through the front door of this house. And I'm not talking about a I'm just interested in you're petrified hamster collection and cool jewelry, type way.

You see when Willow first told me about her relationship with Tara, I freaked. It was only a small freaked and not because I had any issues with the whole girls loving other girl's deal. It was just—in all the years we'd been friends, she'd never even hinted she could feel that way.

The freaked feeling lasted a good sixty seconds. I worked through whatever residual freakiness in quiet moments while out on patrol, but even that was short lived before I came to the conclusion that nothing had changed between Will and I. When came down to it all I really wanted was for her to be happy—and there was no denying Tara Maclay made her that.

As things turned out finding out about Tara was a very good thing for Willow and I. We'd both been keeping things from the other until then and it had taken its toll. Doing away with the biggest secret Will ever had to keep took us to a new level, a kind of intimate understanding that we'd not known before and allowed us to accept that we were just growing up, not growing apart.

With Tara's death and Will working so hard on her recovery I know I should be pleased she has someone new in her life instead of finding fault. I don't know maybe I'm still working on my own letting go. And for all the time I know we don't have, I just wish for one member of this household's sake there was a little more.

Kennedy's look tells me for all my verbal, she knows I'm not as happy about their relationship as I lead the red head to believe.

I wonder if it's her intention to come off sounding tacky as I rummage through a cupboard near where she stands, ignoring that most of the contents is now either chipped or broken. I take three cups down and add a spoon of coco to each before setting the water to boil on the stove.

"You don't have to pretend about being okay with Willow and I." She tells me as I work.

I could ignore it I think, it wouldn't be the fist time she and I had had a one sided debate. I know I can't pretend I don't know what she means. My hands are raised in mock surrender when I stop myself and decide for diplomatic truth after all.

Her features are strained, tired and a little lost as she whispers, "I'm not trying to hurt her."

It's the first hint I have of something beneath the bravado and self-assurance she wears like a badge. It's also a bit unnerving so I turn my attention back to hot water and cups, adding a scoop of sugar to one knowing Will likes it sweet. I don't know how Kennedy drinks her coco and don't feel inclined to ask. When the water boils I push one of the cups minus the sugar forward in her direction and pick the other up realizing she is no longer staring out in the garden but watching me, waiting for an answer I guess.

"No its not," she tells me—as if she knows how I think. I know I am too tired to play games anymore so I relinquish my cup back to the servery before I've even taken a sip, stepping up close to get this done.

"Alright," I agree. "I don't need to ask what your intentions are? It's pretty obvious you're looking for more than a cribbage partner with Willow. I don't need to tell you she's still suffering. She lost the woman she believed—heck even I believed she'd be with forever. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you if you so much as cause her to have a blue day, you won't need a bus ticket to leave this town, because I'll personally kick your privileged ass all the way back to where you came."

With the briefest resistance Kennedy forfeits whatever battle she might have had planned.

I go back to my coco not sure why I'm staying and she to her post. The clock on the wall says a quarter to four.

"So tell me why you're in here and she's outside?" I wager over the brim of my cup, figuring my little speech has given me carte blanc on lots of things now, at least in the asking of truly personal questions department.

Part of me knows this could go on all night; the one or two word volleying from us both and perhaps it's all I can expect. But the way she cradles her own cup, how her shoulders have dropped tells me she's more in need of back up now than she wants to admit. I'm the slayer and the balls in my court.

And almost feel sorry for my judgments as I hear the scraping tone to her voice.

"It frightens me how quick its all been for us both. How strong I feel…about her. I know you think I'm too young or that I'm pushing too hard but …"

She's looking right at me and saying the words yet part of me still can't believe what I hear.

I know my mouth is open but the words get stuck and all I'm capable of is a kind of odd sounding "Oh."

Super confident 'I can do anything' potential is in love and its with my best friend and not only that all the boldness by the by its real and she scared she won't be able to convince Will she's worthy or to reach back and try again.

We're sitting on the cold tiles by four thirty, me with my legs pulled up under my shirt for warmth, she just inside the door eyes keenly peeled against the dark of night.

"Does she often stay out this long?" Kennedy asks without turning back. "I mean I don't want to crowd her but it's got a be like forty degrees out there."

I close the distance between us on my hands and knees to take a look. It's not exactly what I thought I'd be doing with the little of downtime I get. But hey I've stayed for coco and confessions why not a crawl across my kitchen floor.

Willow is still in the yard but I have no idea when she decided to sit down. It's pretty clear Kennedy will not leave without her and she's right it's damn chilly out there.

"Do me a favor?" I ask pulling myself up. My own attempt at something—not quite an apology, but closer than dismissing or the anger I don't rightly comprehend. "Let me go bring her in."

Kennedy's expression speaks louder than words. I understand the struggle, she sees it as her place—her responsibility not mine. I don't want to argue or come off sounding territorial.

It doesn't take slayer senses to realize my friend is freezing as I settle myself down taking both her hands in my own. I rub them back and forth in time to how her body sways. Looking for a glimpse of the hacker, the witch even the babbling white sneaker wearing brain. Any or all of them—anything but empty grieving I don't want to be here girl.

"Came out to tell you there is hot coco and extra squishy mash mellows with your name on them in the kitchen." I tell her thinking I need to sound up.

"You don't want to wait too long cause there's extra squishy and then there's so squishy you can drink it through a straw."

"Couldn't sleep," I go on. "Felt the compelling draw of coco and best friend company. And well if it's the back yard where you want to meet who am I to say…"

"Shouldn't have what?" I follow Willow's gaze towards the back door and I figure she knows Kennedy has been there all along.

"Every time we move closer—I feel like its one more goodbye. I don't want to say goodbye."

A tear slides the length of her cheek abandoned. "I never wanted to say goodbye."

She doesn't need to explain who or what she means. This part of her middle of the night routine hasn't altered a pinch even though I've long run out of something new to offer in the form of relief.

Fact is I miss Tara too. Oh I know its not anything like Will does, but I miss her all the same. I miss the calm she could bring to a room simply by being in it. I miss I could tell her anything—God I even miss that for a long time I only understood about fifty percent of what she said.

Mostly I miss the way she completed Willow. And that between them they showed me magic is as much about what you do as how someone can make you feel.

Long after she came down from her super evil faze and Will returned from England, she was still a shadow of her old self and I feared she'd find someway to be with Tara. Part of me almost welcomed the nights I would find her standing here because at least it meant some part of her hadn't given up entirely. Now I realize we just can't go on this way. Wow I'm totally Willow-babbling in my head!!! And that too needs to stop.

"Never having that giddy butterflies in your belly feeling again?" I risk. "Never believing you can do away with world hunger or end a war just by the way she looks at you?"

Willow pulls back, meeting this revised plea of mine with an expression that speaks more of disbelief than anger. Of all the nights of all the talks that have brought us here I have never braved such a tone, a speculation of the future rather than simply mourning the past. She doesn't realize I'll do whatever takes to have my friend back home.

She doesn't answer but I saw for myself how she morphed into Warren the first time she and Kennedy kissed. I know about the gun and that she was close to killing them both out of grief and shame of letting Tara go—for just that second. I also know it was Kennedy who talked her down and helped break the spell.

I let go of her hands, needing to lighten the mood at least for the moment, and reach up to ruffle the flash of red hair that is surprisingly everywhere on her head. To let her know it's ok what ever she's feeling. I understand or at least am trying to. I get a little ahead of her and pull her dressing gown open to peak inside to show her too that there's no one in there this time but her. It hadn't occurred to me she'd be wearing nothing underneath. Or there'd be evidence in the form of scratch marks and new bruises to what may have actually driven her out here tonight.

"Looks like only Willow bits under there." And help as she ensures the robe is closed high about her neck this time. "Nothing remotely un-Willow that I can see."

"More Willow than I am totally comfortable with right now." She volunteers, more uneasy than withdrawn now and unable to meet my eyes.

"No, no, absolutely not." Her mood visibly shifts again like she's trying to understand the meaning of what she's about to say herself, offering up what comes with surprising candor for once.

For all the conversations Will and I've had since she became involved with Tara, discussions around the specifics of their sex life have been pretty much non-existent. It's why I feel like I've just jumped head first into majorly unknown waters. She did tell me once that it just got better and better the longer she and Tara were a couple, but that was pretty much it. I do know from the lack of sound proofing between our two rooms that what ever they did happened often and Tara was much more vocal than I ever would have thought.

With or without specifics I've tried to stay open and let Will know it was her call to speak about it if she chooses, just like she always been there for me.

She is shy again and I awkward because I didn't see that coming. Of course she and Kennedy would be taking things slow.

But her turmoil is palpable and I watch the characteristic Willow struggle as she searches for the right way to say what she means.

"Not that there is anything wrong with different, or different about good. I mean I am used to good. Me and girl snuggling has always been up there in the highest of good."

"With Tara, it was very much about the magic and the connection of our shared power—I mean there was always the love that was central—the most important part to us both. With Kennedy the physical—it's more."

Will gives an uncomfortable chuckle and rolls her eyes surrendering to whatever rule that has kept her sex talk shy with me all this time. Her cheeks take on the familiar glow of embarrassment I realize I have also sorely missed.

Her mood grows more reflective. "I just thought that after what happened when Kennedy and I kissed that I didn't want to risk anything else. In fact as much as my more basic needs have been screaming get into it girl, I convinced myself that I was, you know, going to do without it from now on in."

She doesn't miss a beat and before I realize it a cheeky smirk is appearing where a frown had been. Her attention moves back to the house for a moment and I see she's checking if Kennedy is still standing at her post before leaning forward dropping her voice down low.

"Well you see that's where my clever yet totally in-practical plan fell down too. Turns out I am not a nun. Turns out I'm a red-blooded lesbian mega- witch after all. And once more my body has a mind of its own and won't take any calls from my head."

By the time Will's finished the smirk is a fully-fledged smile, one that actually reaches for and lights up her eyes.

As nonchalantly as I trust my hands to be I endeavor to comb the mass of red tresses covering her head into some organized state. My friend smiling, really smiling is also a sight I thought I would never see again and I find my own need for touching—to touch her, to make the renewed connection we have complete.

She's pulling a face now; like I have totally gone crazy or she's missed something huge.

"You have wild sex hair." I tell her with complete sincerity and almost lose my balance when she bats my hands away trying to tidy it herself. In the panic she forgets about her robe or the sight it affords me as the material parts again.

"I do not have wild sex hair." She insists. "You get wild sex hair, me I get I get mild disorder, wayward tangles at best."

The fighting and rearranging doesn't last long and indignantly she soon gives up with a very Willowy huff.

My face is burning with approval unable resist a final jab into this newest and most tenderest of defenses she's trying to build.

"Will, you might have had mild disorder in the past, but right now you have wild sex hair—and you know what?"

We're back holding each other in another beat, me not giving her a chance to pull away and wrap us both in all my strength.

"Living doesn't mean we forget about the dead, Will. It just means we go on, cherishing the memory but staying true to what they would want for us."

I feel her squeeze me back and a fresh round of tears start to flow. Mine too this time.

Despite only have a partial sense of what Will is learning to live with and even with how painful or how revealing this night has been for her I sense it's brought her a step closer to being back home. Whether she realizes it or not Kennedy has given her the gift of life again through the very things she's denied was still her due. For that I am grateful beyond words—beyond books and book of words.

Through my own tears I find myself looking up, watching as the curtain of day is slowly being pulled clear. For some reason the garden is always much bigger to me in the daylight, patchy and unforgiving of the abandon that comes from too much foliage and too little time.

Strangely though today the beds look trimmed, the weeds are gone and flowers bloom where I swear I'd planted none. In the far corner just beyond the big native, I catch a glimpse and I have to squint to make sure. I have no idea how I keep my calm how I silence a voice so desperate to share it with her friend. But I do, knowing somehow I must. In a breath it's gone and I sit here questioning whether I saw it—Her—at all.

Will starts to shift, my cue to move us inside I think. With sunlight so comes heat and neither of us believes she can do with losing any more weight right now.

Reluctantly I disentangle myself and pull her up. I'm exhausted and she well beyond that point. We're still holding on to each other when Kennedy greets us just inside the kitchen door.

The empty and un-drunken cups are gone from the servery and replaced by new steaming breakfast type drinks along with cartons of juice and cereal boxes not worth their label in nutrition. The fry pan's sizzling and in the lounge I hear Dawn taking orders for funny shapes or rounds.

Will leans into me and I lean back, stealing a kiss from the top of red locks before giving her up to the young Potential who's witnessed it all.

All of a sudden I feel like I'm intruding though neither of them say anything a like.

I leave them in the kitchen and wade my way through the sleeping bags and half dressed teenagers still waking up in the lounge and upstairs hall. .

I stand in line for fifteen minutes just to use my own bathroom and take calls from Xander and Principal Wood before I even reach my bedroom door.

As I climb under cool sheets and a comforter I rescue from the floor the sounds from downstairs are all but a blur. It makes me think if I want any peace I really should start sleeping through the day.

And yet the rest I need seems to take forever, my head is full of everyday things, like did I pay that gas bill we got last week and does Dawn know they'll be an extra group of SITS arriving around dinner time tonight. Will Anya call the repairman about the leak in the basement and whose turn is it anyway to run first drill?

My thoughts drift back to the garden, to Willow and the figure I saw before. I wonder if she ever knew how much we all loved her each in our own ways, how much grief still persists a full year on. I wonder if she knows she changed our lives just by being. And finally if I'll see her again, or if this morning vision was her way of saying goodbye to me, fight the good fight—its time to move on.

Main What's New Fiction by Author Fiction by Pairing eBooks

Subject Index Submissions Gallery Forums Links Awards Contact Us

If you find problems on these pages please email your host.

Moving On

by Dark Angel

Copyright © 2003

darkangelxena@hotmail.com