Love & Ghosts
Title: Love & Ghosts
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Willow/Lenore, past Willow/Tara
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Buffy season 6, SPN 2x03 "Bloodlust"
Disclaimer: Nothing is real.
Warnings: References to very unpleasant deaths...but they're only Buffy canon.
Summary: A chance encounter brings Willow face-to-face with the veritable ghost of her former girlfriend...except not.
Author's notes: This is one of those things that I'm sure someone else has done, and done better. It's also one that I thought of on the first watch-through and didn't get written until now, for no good reason whatsoever. Basically, when I saw Amber Benson as a vampire, I had a spaz attack and just had to know what would happen if the Slayer's best friend met a vampire who looked exactly like the deceased love of her life. The ending is terrible and I'm only posting it because I'm pretty sure no one will read it.
There was exactly one butcher shop in Paris that stayed open past dark in the middle of summer. The sun didn't set until nearly nine at night, and Lenore had always had sensitive skin. If she dared venture out in the evening light for as long as it took to walk from the Metro station to the closest shop, her skin would blister by the time she found shelter once more. It didn't help in the slightest that the nearest shop faced west, so the late sunlight slanted in strong through the plate glass window, flooding the storefront.
There was a magic store down the block from the butcher shop. Lenore had stopped in once, wondering whether it was a new-agey hippie sort of place, or one of the few legitimate establishments that catered to true witches. She had determined that it was a mixture of both; the front of the store was stocked with powerless glass amulets and impotent, though nice-smelling, incense, but to those who knew what to ask for, it could be a source of dangerous power.
The magic shop stayed open late, as well. The reason for that was fairly obvious, when Lenore stopped to consider it. Midnight was the most magical time; a witch who hadn't planned ahead might find herself in urgent need of a reagent as the witching hour approached. A magic store could lose a lot of business by restricting its hours of operation to only daylight.
Lenore's arms were full, carrying a paper bag that contained several pints of cow's blood. The butcher had found Lenore's request odd the first time she ordered it, but he didn't ask too many questions and had begun to keep the blood in stock specially for her.
The bell tinkled as the magic shop's door opened, a red-haired woman calling a farewell over her shoulder in accented French, waving at the shopkeeper with her free hand the moment before she smacked into Lenore. "Oh! I'm sorry," she said in English, steadying herself with a hand on Lenore's shoulder. "I didn't see you!"
"That's all right," Lenore replied, resettling her grip on her bag. She'd nearly dropped it, and if one of the containers of blood had burst open she would have had a hell of a time explaining the bloodstain to the other woman.
"Tara?" The woman's face had gone as white as Lenore's, reflecting the light of the streetlamps. Her hand, still on Lenore's shoulder, tightened into a vicelike grip. "Tara..." she repeated, her voice breaking. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she reached up to touch Lenore's face, cupping her cheek.
Lenore jerked away from the touch, unsettled. "I don't--I'm not Tara," she said, nervously. The woman was clearly the more enlightened sort of Wiccan, the kind who knew what she was doing; she nearly vibrated with power, in a way that made Lenore's skin prickle. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
"You don't remember me? Tara, it's me. It's Willow." She stared at Lenore, her expression a mixture of horror and heartbreak. "You're a vampire," she breathed. "How? You were dead..."
Of course, a witch would recognise a vampire by sight. Lenore winced. "I'm not Tara," she repeated helplessly. "Please, I don't want any trouble. I don't drink human blood." She held out her paper bag full of blood, offering it as proof.
Willow looked at it for a moment, briefly, as though it were inconsequential. "Do you have a soul?" she demanded. "How--when did you become a vampire? Who turned you? It wasn't--it wasn't Angel, was it?"
"What angel?" Lenore asked blankly. "A soul? I have no idea...that's more philosophical thinking than I tend to engage in." She felt a strange mixture of fear and irritation; this witch seemed a little crazy, but she was very likely dangerous, as well.
"You're not Tara," the witch said.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Lenore snapped. She fought to keep her anger in check; it wouldn't do to lose control of her baser instincts and get fangy. If she did that, the witch might kill her.
Willow burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "You, you look just like her, you sound like her--God, I miss her so much. I thought you were her, I thought I could see her one more time, and if you had a soul that would mean it was still you...but you're not her..."
There were few people out at this time of night, but a couple passersby on the opposite side of the street had stopped to stare at the Americans making a scene. "Hey," Lenore said, awkwardly, "it's okay." She reached out to pat the woman's shoulder, gently, aware of the gazes of the passersby. "Look, do you want to go somewhere and talk about this? We can get a coffee or something..." She didn't know what made her suggest it, but the witch knew what Lenore was and hadn't tried to kill her yet, and that struck her as a promising sign.
"Yeah," Willow said, sniffling, "let's. I know a place..."
A short Metro ride and a cappuccino later, Willow was somewhat calmer. "Tara died in my arms," she told Lenore bluntly. "She was my girlfriend. We'd been broken up for a while, and it was awful, being without her, and we had finally made up. This monster was shooting at my friend, and he missed her and hit Tara."
"God," Lenore said, horrified, "I'm so sorry."
"So it's not really feasible that she could have been vampified, after that," Willow continued. "But you look exactly like her, except for the hair. I don't know how it's possible."
"I was...vampified...long before your Tara's death," Lenore told her apologetically. "In 1723."
Willow almost smiled. "You look good for your age."
Lenore did smile. "Thanks."
They fell into silence, Willow stirring the thin film of cappuccino foam on the bottom of her cup with a spoon. Lenore sipped blood from the paper cup she'd poured it into. Some tiny, treacherous part of her mind wondered what a witch's blood tasted like. She could almost feel the air crackling with arcane power, like an aura around Willow.
"Did you kill him?" she asked suddenly.
Willow laughed humourlessly. "I flayed him alive," she said. "It was a dark time in my life. I'm not sorry for what I did to him."
Somehow, Lenore wasn't at all surprised. "I don't blame you," she admitted. It made her nervous, the force of this woman's vengeance and the extent of her capabilities, but she found that she could sympathise.
"I don't make a habit of it," the witch said. "Flaying, I mean. It's pretty unpleasant, all told. Besides, it wouldn't kill a vampire. Not that I want to kill you," she added hastily.
"Why not?" Lenore asked, genuinely curious. "Most witches--hell, most humans aren't too sanguine towards my kind, no pun intended. Least of all Buffy Summers' best friend." That was a gamble--it might not be her, but Willow Rosenberg was a legend, a red-haired witch with incredible power, and this woman certainly fit the bill.
"So you know who I am," Willow noted. "Well, I've met my share of nasty evil vamps, but every now and then there's a decent one. You seem to be one of the latter. The Slayers don't always stake first and ask questions later."
"And it has nothing to do with me looking like your girlfriend?"
The witch smiled wryly. "Maybe a little. I won't pretend I didn't hope you were her, as impossible as I knew it to be."
"I'm sorry," Lenore offered, "to disappoint you. I'm sorry I'm not who you wanted me to be."
"Hey, you're not apologising, are you? Don't apologise." Willow leaned across the table toward Lenore, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze, then let go. "It's okay that you're not who I thought you were. I'm glad I met you, regardless."
Lenore regarded her, curious. "Why's that?"
The witch gave a half-shrug. "It's good to know there are more decent vampires out there, soul or no."
She wasn't quite sure how to answer that, so she smiled awkwardly and sat in silence for a moment. After a bit, she noted, "It's getting late..." At Willow's look of confusion, she clarified, "I mean, for you, assuming you're not nocturnal like me."
Willow chuckled. "Yeah. You're right, I should probably get going." She stood, leading the way toward the exit and the dark street beyond. "I'll tell the Slayers to leave you alone, let them know you're harmless," she offered.
"Thank you," Lenore said, and paused, uncertain. "Willow?"
"Yes?"
"Do I sound like Tara?"
"Just like her," Willow said softly.
Lenore bit her lip nervously. "If you like...I mean, you could close your eyes, and..."
Willow's eyes filled with tears in the moment before she shut them. "Yes."
Lenore leaned in and kissed her. Willow's mouth was soft and trembling under hers, and she kissed back gently as Lenore stroked her hair.
The other woman broke the kiss, her eyes still closed. "I miss you, Tara," she murmured.
"I know," Lenore whispered back. "I love you, baby. I always will."
"Thank you," Willow said. She kept her eyes shut until Lenore was gone.
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Willow/Lenore, past Willow/Tara
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Buffy season 6, SPN 2x03 "Bloodlust"
Disclaimer: Nothing is real.
Warnings: References to very unpleasant deaths...but they're only Buffy canon.
Summary: A chance encounter brings Willow face-to-face with the veritable ghost of her former girlfriend...except not.
Author's notes: This is one of those things that I'm sure someone else has done, and done better. It's also one that I thought of on the first watch-through and didn't get written until now, for no good reason whatsoever. Basically, when I saw Amber Benson as a vampire, I had a spaz attack and just had to know what would happen if the Slayer's best friend met a vampire who looked exactly like the deceased love of her life. The ending is terrible and I'm only posting it because I'm pretty sure no one will read it.
There was exactly one butcher shop in Paris that stayed open past dark in the middle of summer. The sun didn't set until nearly nine at night, and Lenore had always had sensitive skin. If she dared venture out in the evening light for as long as it took to walk from the Metro station to the closest shop, her skin would blister by the time she found shelter once more. It didn't help in the slightest that the nearest shop faced west, so the late sunlight slanted in strong through the plate glass window, flooding the storefront.
There was a magic store down the block from the butcher shop. Lenore had stopped in once, wondering whether it was a new-agey hippie sort of place, or one of the few legitimate establishments that catered to true witches. She had determined that it was a mixture of both; the front of the store was stocked with powerless glass amulets and impotent, though nice-smelling, incense, but to those who knew what to ask for, it could be a source of dangerous power.
The magic shop stayed open late, as well. The reason for that was fairly obvious, when Lenore stopped to consider it. Midnight was the most magical time; a witch who hadn't planned ahead might find herself in urgent need of a reagent as the witching hour approached. A magic store could lose a lot of business by restricting its hours of operation to only daylight.
Lenore's arms were full, carrying a paper bag that contained several pints of cow's blood. The butcher had found Lenore's request odd the first time she ordered it, but he didn't ask too many questions and had begun to keep the blood in stock specially for her.
The bell tinkled as the magic shop's door opened, a red-haired woman calling a farewell over her shoulder in accented French, waving at the shopkeeper with her free hand the moment before she smacked into Lenore. "Oh! I'm sorry," she said in English, steadying herself with a hand on Lenore's shoulder. "I didn't see you!"
"That's all right," Lenore replied, resettling her grip on her bag. She'd nearly dropped it, and if one of the containers of blood had burst open she would have had a hell of a time explaining the bloodstain to the other woman.
"Tara?" The woman's face had gone as white as Lenore's, reflecting the light of the streetlamps. Her hand, still on Lenore's shoulder, tightened into a vicelike grip. "Tara..." she repeated, her voice breaking. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she reached up to touch Lenore's face, cupping her cheek.
Lenore jerked away from the touch, unsettled. "I don't--I'm not Tara," she said, nervously. The woman was clearly the more enlightened sort of Wiccan, the kind who knew what she was doing; she nearly vibrated with power, in a way that made Lenore's skin prickle. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
"You don't remember me? Tara, it's me. It's Willow." She stared at Lenore, her expression a mixture of horror and heartbreak. "You're a vampire," she breathed. "How? You were dead..."
Of course, a witch would recognise a vampire by sight. Lenore winced. "I'm not Tara," she repeated helplessly. "Please, I don't want any trouble. I don't drink human blood." She held out her paper bag full of blood, offering it as proof.
Willow looked at it for a moment, briefly, as though it were inconsequential. "Do you have a soul?" she demanded. "How--when did you become a vampire? Who turned you? It wasn't--it wasn't Angel, was it?"
"What angel?" Lenore asked blankly. "A soul? I have no idea...that's more philosophical thinking than I tend to engage in." She felt a strange mixture of fear and irritation; this witch seemed a little crazy, but she was very likely dangerous, as well.
"You're not Tara," the witch said.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Lenore snapped. She fought to keep her anger in check; it wouldn't do to lose control of her baser instincts and get fangy. If she did that, the witch might kill her.
Willow burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "You, you look just like her, you sound like her--God, I miss her so much. I thought you were her, I thought I could see her one more time, and if you had a soul that would mean it was still you...but you're not her..."
There were few people out at this time of night, but a couple passersby on the opposite side of the street had stopped to stare at the Americans making a scene. "Hey," Lenore said, awkwardly, "it's okay." She reached out to pat the woman's shoulder, gently, aware of the gazes of the passersby. "Look, do you want to go somewhere and talk about this? We can get a coffee or something..." She didn't know what made her suggest it, but the witch knew what Lenore was and hadn't tried to kill her yet, and that struck her as a promising sign.
"Yeah," Willow said, sniffling, "let's. I know a place..."
A short Metro ride and a cappuccino later, Willow was somewhat calmer. "Tara died in my arms," she told Lenore bluntly. "She was my girlfriend. We'd been broken up for a while, and it was awful, being without her, and we had finally made up. This monster was shooting at my friend, and he missed her and hit Tara."
"God," Lenore said, horrified, "I'm so sorry."
"So it's not really feasible that she could have been vampified, after that," Willow continued. "But you look exactly like her, except for the hair. I don't know how it's possible."
"I was...vampified...long before your Tara's death," Lenore told her apologetically. "In 1723."
Willow almost smiled. "You look good for your age."
Lenore did smile. "Thanks."
They fell into silence, Willow stirring the thin film of cappuccino foam on the bottom of her cup with a spoon. Lenore sipped blood from the paper cup she'd poured it into. Some tiny, treacherous part of her mind wondered what a witch's blood tasted like. She could almost feel the air crackling with arcane power, like an aura around Willow.
"Did you kill him?" she asked suddenly.
Willow laughed humourlessly. "I flayed him alive," she said. "It was a dark time in my life. I'm not sorry for what I did to him."
Somehow, Lenore wasn't at all surprised. "I don't blame you," she admitted. It made her nervous, the force of this woman's vengeance and the extent of her capabilities, but she found that she could sympathise.
"I don't make a habit of it," the witch said. "Flaying, I mean. It's pretty unpleasant, all told. Besides, it wouldn't kill a vampire. Not that I want to kill you," she added hastily.
"Why not?" Lenore asked, genuinely curious. "Most witches--hell, most humans aren't too sanguine towards my kind, no pun intended. Least of all Buffy Summers' best friend." That was a gamble--it might not be her, but Willow Rosenberg was a legend, a red-haired witch with incredible power, and this woman certainly fit the bill.
"So you know who I am," Willow noted. "Well, I've met my share of nasty evil vamps, but every now and then there's a decent one. You seem to be one of the latter. The Slayers don't always stake first and ask questions later."
"And it has nothing to do with me looking like your girlfriend?"
The witch smiled wryly. "Maybe a little. I won't pretend I didn't hope you were her, as impossible as I knew it to be."
"I'm sorry," Lenore offered, "to disappoint you. I'm sorry I'm not who you wanted me to be."
"Hey, you're not apologising, are you? Don't apologise." Willow leaned across the table toward Lenore, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze, then let go. "It's okay that you're not who I thought you were. I'm glad I met you, regardless."
Lenore regarded her, curious. "Why's that?"
The witch gave a half-shrug. "It's good to know there are more decent vampires out there, soul or no."
She wasn't quite sure how to answer that, so she smiled awkwardly and sat in silence for a moment. After a bit, she noted, "It's getting late..." At Willow's look of confusion, she clarified, "I mean, for you, assuming you're not nocturnal like me."
Willow chuckled. "Yeah. You're right, I should probably get going." She stood, leading the way toward the exit and the dark street beyond. "I'll tell the Slayers to leave you alone, let them know you're harmless," she offered.
"Thank you," Lenore said, and paused, uncertain. "Willow?"
"Yes?"
"Do I sound like Tara?"
"Just like her," Willow said softly.
Lenore bit her lip nervously. "If you like...I mean, you could close your eyes, and..."
Willow's eyes filled with tears in the moment before she shut them. "Yes."
Lenore leaned in and kissed her. Willow's mouth was soft and trembling under hers, and she kissed back gently as Lenore stroked her hair.
The other woman broke the kiss, her eyes still closed. "I miss you, Tara," she murmured.
"I know," Lenore whispered back. "I love you, baby. I always will."
"Thank you," Willow said. She kept her eyes shut until Lenore was gone.