No! I snerked at the fact that you'd deign to write Willow. As your talents lie with far loftier characters.

(bed now. the SA is tired.)

Well, that's okay then. t mollified

Sleepy girl, go to sleep.

Elena, you may expect an email soon. I hope you don't mind if I summarize the rest of "Career Change" to you so I can set up what I'm trying to do.

Is there an etiquette for warning of spoilers for one's own fic? I think I may be getting overly meta.

Elena, insent.

connie, sent right back. And tickled to death, I might add.

And lobbed back. This is the kind of stuff I walk around muttering under my breath about. "But, no, wherever would he have gotten hold of hte Rocketts and three oranges? Hmm."

There ware mendi artists and jugglers and tin whistle players and African woodcarvers and hosts of other things that she'd never even heard of back in that small country town. Things that made her rejoice that she'd taken to her heels and run towards the sun, following it until she'd found the eternal ocean, and peace, and truth, and love. Tara raised her face to the sun, hoping the warmth would ease the tears.

Someone was supposed to be seeing these wonders with her. Someone strong and beautiful. Tara wanted to hurry back to the shop, beg forgiveness and reassurance. But the larger part knew she was right to worry. Willow knew no fear, knew no reason why she should ever imagine there were things in the universe that she should beware of. When you've defeated monsters and demons with your wits and your magic, you start to feel just a little indestructible.

Willow had learned the magic the way she'd learned computers, as a set of rules and commands that, when put together in the right order, would give a predictable result. The forces of the universe had their own ideas, though, and they weren't always amenable to being commanded. Willow hadn't learned what Tara had been taught: the powers of the universe had opinions and preferences, which might not match your own, and you'd best understand that the powers you're dealing with might want something other than you do and might be stronger than you.

Tara sometimes felt cynical in the face of Willow's simple faith in the essential benevolence and predictability of the universe. She also felt deeply frightened of the lesson that Willow had yet to learn.

She bought a vegetarian hot dog from a stand run by the Wiccan group on campus. The young woman--oops, womyn--tending the booth sneered just a little, but Tara didn't notice. She thought instead about blind innocence in all its forms.

There were belly dancers down by the river. Tara watched them with wistful interest as she ate her hot dog. Finally she sat on one of the benches on the promenade, looking out over the water and trying to think calm thoughts.

The bench settled beneath someone's weight. Delicate fingers took Tara's hand, and she looked up with a tearful smile.

"Yeah, I'm glad it's over, too," Glory said, smiling. "Not your fault, of course, the monks made you want to stay away from me, but, really, it's better this way."

Tara tried to pull her hand free, but the hellgod's fingers didn't budge. "You ..."

"Me. Well, not this me for much longer, thank me. Let's blow this popsicle stand, then we can both finally get rid of these stupid human shapes."

"No, please ..." Tara hated herself for crying, but she couldn't think past the fear.

Glory tilted her head. "Oh, sweetie, it's not so bad. You'll be happier when you're just the Key again, really. You can't tell me you like being squeezed into that silly mortal form. All the squishy feelings and weird noises it makes. Me, I can't wait to leave all this behind. Day after tomorrow, we go home!"

Glory hugged Tara enthusiastically, then froze. She grabbed Tara's chin and stared into her eyes.

"You're not the Key," she growled. "How dare you make me think you're my sparkly Key!"

"I didn't," Tara whispered. "I'm sorry, please don't hurt me."

"Dammit, it's one of you!" She shook Tara's shoulders. "Which one of you stinky human rats is my Key!"

"Demeter, Cybele," Tara whispered to herself, "your faithful daughter begs courage."

"Stop that praying! The only god here is me! Tell me!"

"Artemis, Hera, I beg mercy..."

Glory took Tara's hand in both of hers, held together in the attitude of prayer. "You're begging the wrong gods, little witch. Beg me for mercy. Tell me where my Key is, and I might just grant it." She began pressing her hands together, watching Tara's eyes fill with tears. "Tell me."

The long hand bones cracked, one after the other, making Tara whimper, but she managed not to speak. She thought of Willow and faith and courage and wished she could see her lover's face one more time.

Glory released her, and Tara cradled her hand against her, crying. "What is it with you people? The vampire won't talk, you won't talk. Do you really think these stupid lives of yours and this stupid world are that important? You're always whining and crying and bitching about how fate has done you wrong, taken away all the important stuff from you. Don't you just want it to end already? I can do that for you, I can make this silly existence of yours be over."

Tara glanced fearfully at the crowd around her, wondering if there was anyone around who could help her. On the far side of the fair, she saw a flash of red hair and eyes she recognized even at a hundred yards.

"Oh, please, yell for help, see what that gets you," Glory sneered. "Nobody's stopping me, I'm going to find my Key if I have to go through every rotten person in this rotten town." She put her hands on either side of Tara's head. "But you are good for something." She saw Tara look desperately towards the food booths. Glory glanced over and saw Willow interrogating vendors. "Sorry, kiddo, there isn't going to be a daring last-minute rescue by your lover in this movie." She leaned forward and put her forehead against Tara's, grinning madly into her eyes. "Say good-night, Gracie."

Willow ran to the Wicca group's food stall. "Becky, have you seen Tara?"

The girl behind the counter pouted. "My name is Sage Mountain Wisdom."

Something snapped in Willow's soul. She leaned over the counter and got as close as she could. "I don't care if your name is Athena Minerva and the stars themselves dance in your navel," she hissed, "have you seen Tara?"

The girl whimpered at whatever she saw in Willow's eyes. "She bought a--a hot dog, she headed towards the river."

Willow turned and dashed into the crowd, fighting her way to the river. Was that--yes, a blonde head at one of the benches, a familiar head--two blonde heads, the other woman with her hands on Tara's face and Tara crying . A big man with biker tattoos got in Willow's way, and she snarled at him. He started to snap back, but he faded back, a stammering apology on his lips. Willow shoved past, not caring what she'd almost unleashed in her terror.

The other woman, Glory, her head back with a blissful smile on her face, Tara no longer crying--a laughing couple in the way, likewise hurrying away at Willow's glare--Tara alone, staring at nothing, Glory vanished into the crowd...

Willow fell onto the bench, crying and reaching for her lover. Tara whimpered as Willow nudged her injured hand. "Baby, Tara, oh, please, God, Goddess, anyone ..."

Tara looked at her solemnly. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "but the rabbits, they tried, but they can't sing." Buffy found them there ten minutes later, Tara rocking over her arm and Willow crying as she ran a lock of Tara's hair through her fingers.

New stuff, by the way.

More good stuff! Lovely insight into Tara, Willow and magic.