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Dawn has been acting fishy for about a month.
It started with a phone call from Janice that sounded suspiciously like plans for a secret trip to Los Angeles on a school day.
Which is totally and completely not allowed without adult supervision.
Tara grounded her for a week on the grounds that she was neglecting her chores (she was not) and had been talking back lately (she was not). Buffy seemed half-confused and half-amused and mostly just shrugged when Dawn whined, I’d probably ground you all the time just for being annoying if I thought you’d listen to me.
Dawn spent most of that week curled up on Sunggyu’s futon in the basement watching old episodes of Hogan’s Heroes with the aide of his battered laptop and refusing to speak to anyone. (Except Spike who on Wednesday – the fourth day of her grounding – brought over a (stolen) boxed set of Hogan’s Heroes and a pint of Cream Stone’s cake batter with strawberries, peanut butter, and hot tamales.)
Why won’t she just go to her own room?
Boycotting while following the rules, I guess.
I walked in on Sunggyu and that leggy boyfriend of his on the couch today.
Just rattle your keys in the lock really loudly before walking in.
To my own house?
It’s only three more days.
Why is she grounded anyway?
Anya and Sam don’t complain about the boys on the couch.
Yup. We’re having pizza for dinner because this conversation made my head hurt.
It’s not your day to cook, anyway.
Oh babe, you deserve a break.
You just want pizza.
No anchovies this time. If Dawn’s grounded, that means I choose what’s on the pizza.
A few weeks later, Buffy tried grounding Dawn for repeated incidents of clothes-borrowing gone horribly, horribly awry.
Dawn laughed and spent most of the week at Janice’s house.
Tara baked her a cake and Anya bought her a new sweater to replace the one Buffy stole back.
But in the meantime, things were still weird and Tara’s retroactive grounding didn’t work all that well. For one thing, Spike just kept bringing over presents. For the other, Dawn had no idea why Tara had grounded her.
Which in hindsight was probably a bit counter-intuitive.
Like the school calendar with an entire day near the end of the month filled up with white-out. Right there between a bake sale and a PTA meeting about the bake sale there was a day Dawn had scribbled over with a black pen and then liberally distributed liquid paper over the top of.
She claimed that a gross guy in her Geometry class drew a picture of a penis on her school calendar while she was studiously listening to the teacher. The ensuing chaos that erupted around the kitchen island at this news was epic on the levels of that time that Sam brought home an injured raccoon in a cat-carrier and claimed that it was a small dog. Buffy even threatened to call the school and Sunggyu looked a little murderous (and green about the gills at the same time) (threats of physical violence somehow made him look more mature and five years old sick from too much cotton candy at the same time) and Anya couldn’t stop laughing.
(That weekend Anya bought penis molds from a bridal shop and made a three-tiered birthday cake. Sunggyu hid out at his boyfriend’s apartment for four solid days while Sam was crawling the walls convinced he was dead or vamped. Buffy groaned and had to admit it was the best darn cake she’d ever eaten. And then Dawn walked around the house thinking up as many penis-puns as she could. Anya and Spike kept track of her progress with a dry erase marker they attached to the refrigerator with a string. It stayed there, periodically being added to; until Olivia tried her hand at Super Smash Brothers which resulted in a household-wide competition that lasted months.)
Like the letter from school that had been ripped into dime-sized pieces and distributed by the handful in every trash can in the house, with no hope of anyone being able to piece it all back together.
Except Tara was very familiar with the standard font used by official documents at Sunnydale High by now.
So she did what any sensible girlfriend-to-a-young-guardian-of-a-sneaky-teenage-girl would do.
She just so happened to bump into Janice’s mother at the trendy coffee shop five blocks out of her way at a time of night when she definitely doesn’t need coffee or carbs right at the end of the older woman’s book club. She threw on her brightest smile and didn’t introduce herself, just bandied Janice’s name around, and intimate details of PTA meetings she knew for a fact Mrs. Janice’s-Mom had neglected to attend due to her new tennis hobby and sophisticated talking points about the novel in her hand that Tara was completely certain most of the women in the book club had chosen because there was a film version out there with a hunky male lead and not at all for the sociological commentary on the LGBTQIA community.
The last time that Dawn had gotten squirrely about a school event, Sam and Spike had had to coax her drunk-on-schnapps-limbs out of a tree in the back yard. The hangover was three days of crying in a bathtub that had far less to do with the schnapps she found in the cupboard over the oven and more to do with life just being too heavy.
It was the Father-Daughter dance at school and it came just two months after they she lost Joyce. Granted, that was well over a year ago, but Tara could recognize the signs now.
She gleaned absolutely nothing from Mrs. Janice’s-Mom except that she never, ever wanted to become that kind of mother, and that her excellent undercover skills were sorely underused. She bought two chocolate-chocolate-blended cappuccinos and snuck into Dawn’s room with a copy of that novel she had been coveting. They read together until Buffy came home from patrolling with an overly-enthusiastic and stinky Sam and hitting the books took on a whole other meaning – with donuts.
The next morning she drove Dawn to school (with the promise of more coffee because late nights aren’t good for growing teens) (neither is coffee, hate to break it to you) (hey, I’m the cool sister-in-law, I get to ruin you with coffee) (it’s like a rite of passage) and then not very stealthily claimed she needed to get information from the main office about a job shadow assignment in her Sociology class.
It didn’t make logic. And Tara could practically see the sass about to come out of Dawn’s voice when a girl with curly-brown hair and thin lips grabbed Dawn’s arm with a giggle and turned her towards the opposite end of school.
The secretary in the main office was chatty and bubbly and seemed neither astonished nor completely mystified by Tara’s youth or presence in her office. Just grabbed a new event calendar from a pile on the desk behind her and wrote out instructions on the back to be a member of the email group so that Tara wouldn’t have to deal with misplaced letters or announcements anymore.
Halfway to the car, Tara decided not to send out an SOS to the group. She folded up the calendar and put it into her purse. She went to the library and finished outlining the paper that was due in two weeks and didn’t spill coffee on herself once during the day. She helped her professor grade some truly abysmal freshman essays that seemed to all begin with the sentence, “In the beginning…” On her way home she stopped at the discount cd/dvd store and picked up the next season ofM*A*S*H and then back in the kitchen scrounged up the ingredients for her special vegetarian lasagna with spicy peppers and cream sauce while she twirled around to her favorite girl power playlist. Olivia called about halfway through dinner prep to check in from her trip to visit a cousin in Paris. And then everyone was home eating around the dining room table and Anya produced a bottle of white wine. After the girls had gone off to patrol and Dawn was in bed and Anya was busy dying Sunggyu’s hair (again), Tara sat down and wrote a carefully worded email to each of her professors.
Two days before the auspicious event Dawn had tried to hide, she started coming down with a cold. Came tumbling down the stairs twenty minutes behind schedule with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose wearing just a hoodie and leggings with her worn-out Uggs. Tara bit back a smile and let Buffy be concerned. The next day she was really feeling better I swear and went to school despite Buffy and Sunggyu’s protests that she stay home in bed – because she was really looking gross and the bags under her eyes had brought a whole host of friends.
On the night before the auspicious event Dawn had tried to hide, she laid rather pathetically at the foot of the stairs with her ‘I’m sick’ teddy bear under one arm and a box of tissues under the other. Anya made her soup and put her to bed with a compress on her chest. They all insisted that she was not allowed to go to school the next day and she nodded her head drowsily.
On the morning of the day that Dawn had liberally attempted to scratch out of existence, Tara woke up at her normal time, and went in to see the patient.
How are you feeling?
Like ten times past gross.
Yeah… I think I don’t believe you.
What?
I know what today is.
So do I. It’s Thursday.
It’s also ‘Take Your Daughter to Work Day’ right?
… wait …
So it’s really too bad that you are so terribly, awfully sick, because I had this really great day planned.
Tara?
But if you really aren’t sick then I won’t feel like you don’t want to spend time with me and would rather lie in bed and pretend to be gross than hang out with me.
Are you emotionally blackmailing me? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.
Your case won’t hold up in court.
Dawn looked suspicious. But also curious. Which was what Tara called progress. What did you have in mind?
Well I can’t introduce you to a movie star or anything; but you can just see what I do all day.
… does anyone else know?
I had to ask for permission to drag you around campus with you, and I arranged for us to have a tour of the archeology department’s special collection.
The one that’s closed to the public except like… super official British Giles-type-people?
Olivia made a few phone calls. We told them you were interested in studying there, but were worried their program wouldn’t stand up to Oxford.
What.
Oh! They offered you a scholarship, too.
Tara! the high-pitched squeal that erupted from Dawn’s tiny frame nearly burst Tara’s eardrums and surely woke up everyone else in the house.
But she got a hug that was not at all covered in sick-germs, so that was a definite plus.
They had coffee in the campus cafeteria – and it was cheap and disgusting and Dawn loved it.
They spent a couple of hours in the library, Tara (and Dawn’s short skirt) sweet-talked the herd of undergrads behind the counter to give Dawn a tour while Tara worked on her paper (which Dawn read over and actually helped with). Tara put a stack of books on hold for them to pick up at the end of the day that Dawn had somehow acquired on her tour.
Actually, Tara nearly had to drag Dawn out of the library in order to make it to her first class.
Dawn stole paper and a pen about ten minutes into Medieval and Early Modern Philosophy in order to take copious amounts of notes. And halfway through History M104D: Assyrians she started a debate over the ethics of translation, which started with her asserting that the TA’s translation of the text was incorrect. She was asked out for coffee by the TA after class and Tara had to quickly intervene. Women and Power in Ancient World went a bit more smoothly, primarily because Dawn had purchased a notebook during the break and was scribbling out what looked like an essay completely written in Ancient Sumerian. Tara caught her wiping away a tear during Queer Literatures and Cultures, 1850 to 1970 and was glad that there wasn’t anything more for them to deal with that day.
Their tour of the Archeology Department’s secret wing had Dawn nearly come to blows with their tour guide (pompous ass) (internationally acclaimed specialist in his field, Dawnie) (actual fraud on toast) (what does that taste like?) (Anya probably knows), but also awarded her with another coffee date offer from his shy assistant in Mary Jane’s and owlish round glasses.
Afterwards, Tara made her sit quietly in her advisor’s office with her stack of library books while they graded more papers (it never ends!), but the three of them ended up taking off their shoes and curling up on the floor drinking tea and discussing the gender politics of Shakespeare instead of grading (always another day Miss Maclay).
They stopped in at the Magic Box to help Anya with a huge shipment from Australia that came in earlier that weekend (yes, I’m feeling much better thank you). Then they went grocery shopping – it was Dawn’s night to cook – and picked up enough cheese and tortillas for enchiladas. Which were a delicious success.
And Dawn didn’t speak a word about her day with anyone.
Later, after homework and dishes and The Golden Girls, Tara knocked on Dawn’s door. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her mysterious scribbles in front of her and books strewn everywhere.
So it wasn’t too bad, right? Tara leaned into the doorframe and tried not to feel too nervous. It had gone well, but you could never tell how a seventeen year old with only three years to her name and a dead mom and a missing dad and a resurrected sister was going to react to something like this.
Dawn stared up at her, Man. I thought for sure that the whole day would be Anya and Buffy and Sam fighting over who got to take me to work with them. This was so much better! Do you think I can come to school with you on my next day off?
Tara stood stunned for a minute before forcing out a bizarre chuckle and something that sounded like “maybe” or “sure” or possibly even “Independence, probably”. And then she admonished Dawn not to stay up too late reading because it was a regular school day for her tomorrow and quietly closed the door.
When Buffy came home from patrolling she nearly catapulted into their room, where Tara was sitting on the floor.
Babe? Are you laughing or crying because it’s weird but I can’t tell and I usually can tell so I need you to use words.
A bit of both?
What happened?
I… Tara shook her head. I just spent the last three to four weeks mentally preparing for Dawn to have a total emotional breakdown and you know what? She’s fine. She has a date with a really cute History major this weekend and she’s fine.
Buffy blinked. Well of course she’s fine. We’re all fine.
That’s just it, Buffy. I keep waiting for us to fail and I was like totally completely sure that this was the week that everything hit the fan and we’d have to face the inevitable fact that this isn’t working and Dawn is just one step away from a drug addiction or … or…
Or heterosexuality?
Tara raised her eyebrows at her girlfriend, who was now across the room stripping out of her black Slaying-sweats. Be serious.
After I take a shower. It’s muggy outside and I hope it rains soon and Sam challenged me to a race and then pushed me into a completely unnatural and probably demonic in origin swampy thing which we should probably investigate tomorrow and I want a shower. Buffy wrapped herself in a towel and bunched her blonde hair into a bun at the top of her head. At the door she turned, Everything really is okay.
I can’t help but… worry.
Shower?
Tara waved, I know, I know. Go shower. We can discuss my emotional crisis over our stabile – if totally weird – lives when you’re out.
Buffy shifted from foot to foot, No… I mean. Shower?
Tara blushed and nodded.
I’ll get the water nice and toasty for you. Buffy practically bounced away.
From down the hall Anya shouted, NO SEX IN THE SHOWER ON A SCHOOL NIGHT, KIDS.
A screech of humiliation followed from Dawn’s side of the house and a slight echo from Sunggyu's domain under the kitchen.
Tara stood up and looked around the room.
It was once so much Buffy that it had hurt, her childhood all around them, suffocating Tara with her absence sometimes and with everything they had lost othertimes.
But now there were signs of all of them in it – her shoes and Anya’s incense holder and Sam’s crossbow and Dawn’s old skirt Tara needed to mend and Sunggyu’s old acoustic guitar that needed new strings and a scarf of Olivia’s hanging on the doorknob and a book of poetry Spike had left one night months ago.
And it wasn’t always good – sometimes the floor was littered with blood-stained clothing and the house was still with waiting. Sometimes the air reeked of magick and desperation. Sometimes there was nothing to hear but unspoken pain.
But for all of that, they were okay.
Tara grabbed her towel and the new bodywash from under the bed she had been saving and pulled a hairtie around her wrist.
Everything really is okay.
(It was a whisper and maybe it was more of a plea than a promise, but it was what she had.
But for now she'd continue trying to fix them before they broke because she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to glue together another broken girl hiding in a tree, sobbing for a life that had already slipped them by.)