Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

The Sweetness
By Amykins
For A Secret Slasha Dropout

Tara comes over one night, when it's kind of cold but not because of the California climate, and makes her hot chocolate.

When Buffy answers the door, she frowns and looks up the stairs. "Willow isn't here." She says.

"I know." Tara says. "I came to see you."

Tara has a bag of chocolate she's bought from an import market, the kind where barely anyone speaks English. Buffy sits at the counter in the kitchen and watches as Tara melts the chocolate and adds the milk and uses an oddly-shapped stirrer to blend it all together.

"Do you have whipped cream?"

"Only from the spray can." Buffy replies.

"Perfect." Tara searches the drawers and cupboards for coffee mugs and finds cinnamon along her way. She pours two mugs and adds whipped cream, with cinnamon on top.

They sit quietly, Buffy staring at her chocolate. She sips it.

"It's thick."

"I know." Tara says, sipping her own. "Do you want to talk?"

"About what?" Buffy asks.

"About what's going on." Tara says.

"Nothing is going on, so there's nothing to talk about." Buffy replies quickly. Tara nods.

"It's just... sooner or later we need to talk about it."

"You were the one who understood." Buffy blurts out.


"When my mom died. You understood. Willow and Xander, both of their parents are alive, even if they're not close. They coudldn't relate. We've all suffered a lot of loss of friends, and lovers, but not parents. Parents are different."

"They are." Tara agrees.

"It's been a tough couple of years."

"It has."

"Were you always this agreeable?" Buffy asks.

"Sometimes." Tara smiles. "There's often things we don't notice until later." Buffy nods. There's no lights on in the house, only candles. Sometimes the light hurts her eyes, and Buffy isn't sure if that's a side effect of being dead or if she just doesn't like harsh light. So she lights candles instead, ones with soft floral scents.

"Thanks. For coming over." She says.

"Of course. You know, you've got an uphil battle here."

"I know."

"It's all darkness where you are. You have to get out of it."

"I know."

"Or you can stay in it. That's easier, you know."

"I know."

"Just so long as you know." Tara says, and licks the whipped cream.

"The cinnamon is a nice touch." Buffy says. "I never thought of using it before. Whipped cream either. Mom was more of a marshmellows person." She smiles a bit.

"I know." Tara says. "My father made hot chocolate like this. One of the few things he felt was ok for men to do that women usually did."

"Do you ever talk to him?"

"About as often as you talk to your dad." Tara says. Buffy nods.

"Yeah. Sometimes dads are like that."

There's more silence, comfortable but not real.

"Would you like to lay down?" Tara asks, and Buffy shakes her head.

"Not yet. I'm almost done with my chocolate. Then I will."

"All right. But don't take too long. We only have so much time."

"I know."

More quiet sipping. Buffy wonders why Tara gets to be different.

"I thought that you would want to see Willow." Buffy says.

"In time." Tara replies. "There will be plenty of time for me to see her. Right now I want to see you."

"Why?" Buffy asks.

Tara looks at her, doe eyes and too-pink lipstick looking all too acurate. It's not fair. "You know why." Tara says.

"Sort of." Buffy dips a finger in the melting whipped cream and sucks on it.

"This would be easier for you if you would lay down." Tara tells her. She looks anxious as she says this. Buffy looks down, the grains of chocolate not quite melted clinging in a circle to the bottom of her cup.

"Not yet." She protests softly.

"You know I can touch you in your dreams."

"I remember." Buffy says. She stands and takes her cup to the sink, rinsing it and placing it in the drying rack. It's oddly quiet in the house. She thinks about it.

Tara leaves her empty mug on the counter as Buffy ascends the stairs, following. Tara doesn't even glance at the Master bedroom, the one she used to share with Willow. Just into Buffy's room, helping her change into night clothes and slide into bed, tucking her in and murmuring soothing words.

"You'll be a good mom." Buffy says as they lay down, her head resting on Tara's shoulder. She wonderes if Tara took her shoes off or if she ever had shoes on in the first place.

"I already am." Tara replies. Buffy considers the truth of this. "Are you afraid to go to sleep?" Tara asks.

"Sometimes, when it's really dark and no one else is home. If I fall asleep I might miss something." She admits. Tara runs her fingers through Buffy's hair and Buffy closes her eyes, but not sleep.

"I never knew you dreamt of this." Tara says.

"I didn't. Not until now." Buffy replies. "You made me dream this."


There's a deeper silence.

"Are you going to leave?"

"You're going with me."

"Not yet I'm not."

"Then I will leave, and you'll wake up." Tara's stutter suddenly appears, but it's too late, Buffy thinks. "You know that if you wake up I have to leave."

"You should go." Buffy says.

"I'll come back." Tara says reassuringly. Buffy sits up to look at her. Soft face, without harsh lines and planes. Smooth and creamy skin, warm. Lips pouted, eyes blinking back and forth between looking down and looking up.

"I know you will." Buffy says, and very softly kisses the pouty lips, which pout just a little bit more for her to kiss them just a little bit harder. Kissing girls is not something Buffy is used to, but she thinks maybe she could get used to it if it's always like kissing Tara.

"Buffy?" Willow asks.

It's morning. Buffy sits up, dazed. Morning light pours in through her window, soft but blinding.

"Yeah?" Buffy asks.

"Xander's going for coffee, 'cause Dawn is complaining that she wants some and that made all the other girls want coffee and other coffee related pasteries, so do you want something from Starbucks?" Willow asks. The words are so quick and so fast that Buffy has to take a moment to find the sentance in them.

"Yeah. Just regular coffee. That's good." She says. Willow nods, smiles and leaves.

Buffy gets up, washes her face and gets dressed. Looks downstairs at the mayhem in her living room and out the window as Xander drives off on a coffee mission. Goes downstairs and into the kitchen, looking for an empty coffee mug on the counter or one on the drying rack, but instead some girl with black hair is standing there, washing the dishes.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Dawn greets, bouncing in.

"Morning." Buffy replies. They sit at the counter and talk breifly, about wether its a good idea or not to go to school.

Xander returns, carting cardboard drink holders and bags of breakfast items, and Buffy takes her cup of coffee. She drinks it black and bitter, the way she likes it after dream-filled nights.

Xander notices. "Bad dream?" He asks, sitting with her at the counter as she looks into the cup.

"Sort of. It's getting closer, it's trying to get under my skin." She says.

"Yeah, but you're tougher than it is. You can fight it." Xander says, empty words and empty promises to make himself feel better about his own personal supergirl.

She smiles and squeezes his hand, real touches that exist when she's not dreaming. "I can." She says. "It's just trying to play my weak points." She says.

"What kind of weak points?"

"Tempting me. With a normal life." She says.

Xander pokes her in the ribs. "You know better than that, though. There's no such thing as a normal life."

"I know."

"Are you and Dawn going to school today?"

"No." She says. "There's not really a point. She's better here, where I can keep a closer eye on her and she can help with girls."

"Sure. Anything you need me to do?" He asks.

"There's a hole where some of the boards in the front window came out. Can you fix them?" she asks, almost feeling bad because there's little else he can do.

"Just call me Handy Xandy." He says. Buffy smiles. As he leaves, other people leave the kitchen, getting ready to start the day.

Buffy goes to the cupboard and finds the cup she drank hot chocolate from. She looks over it, pondering.

She throws the cup on the floor and watches it smash into tiny pieces. She's not going to let it win. It doesn't matter what it tempts her with. She steps on a few pieces for emphasis before she sweeps them up and throws them away.