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The End Of Summer	By : Prophecy Category: BtVS AU/AR > FemmeSlash - Female/Female Views: 4063 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Prophets littered the streets holding signs promising the impossible.
Babies cried, children screamed and dazed parents ignored them all.
Elsewhere, the teens and twenty-somethings gathered in crowded warehouses where disco balls spun swirling myriads of colors across the dingy walls. Heavy bass beats mingled casually with thumping beeping electronics and across the floor hundreds of estranged children of the night flashed with the strobes, pounding in and out of sight.
Buffy stood in the middle of all that, the quiet center of the hurricane universe created by the impending apocalypse. The raver children around her did not interest her, though occasionally the drugs they had, did. She smoked silently in a corner, wrecking her body with harsh menthol tobacco. It didn't matter anymore--there wasn't time enough for her to die from cancer.
For the first time in a week, she returned home not strung-out. Sober. Somber.
Tara waited for her and was happy to see her supposedly having all of her wits about her. She was meditating on a small rug with her bare feet locked in the lotus position, her hair loosely tied behind her head with a deep chartreuse velvet scrunchy. She wore a matching cardigan cuffed loosely around her throat and a pair of baggie grey sweat pants that Buffy could swear were hers.
Buffy watched her closely for awhile. Her smooth rosy skin was unmarred by worry lines, unlike Buffy's own, and her lips were a vibrant scarlet that she herself could only get from a tube. Her own hair was lackluster and frayed at the edges from too much dye. Her collarbone was too defined and her hips jutted out unnaturally.
And yet Tara was as glossy and undamaged as ever. She smoked "Ecstacy" cigarettes that contained only natural herbs. She ate no meat (not that much was available these days, anyway) and meditated every day. She was pure.
Buffy found it rather annoying, actually.
She put out her cigarette and disappeared into the kitchen for a bottle of wine she knew she'd stashed somewhere. She carefully poured some into a glass and handed it to Tara, who carefully unfolded herself before taking it and settling onto the overstuffed black leather couch. Buffy drank directly from the bottle, ignoring Tara's disapproving looks, and lit another cigarette.
Tara puffed away on one of her herbals, not poisoning her lungs, not wishing the cancer would come and eat her alive, not wallowing in the pit of despair that everyone else that was left seemed to be drowning in.
It made her want to claw Tara's eyes out sometimes. How dare she be so at peace, so accepting of her fate that she could live so freely where others could not? Didn't it matter to her?
Buffy drank deeply from the bottle as though trying to suck it dry in just one swill. She felt as though she were living hard and fast, careening out of control towards the cliff in the distance while Tara calmly strolled the path next to her. Probably stopping to feed the deer along the way, Buffy scoffed to herself.
She wondered if Tara knew how much she hated her some days. Oh, yes. Some days she dreamt of killing her in her sleep just to be through with her. Just to be rid of her, get her out of sight. To not have to come home to find her peacefully meditating, or on some feng shui kick and rearranging the livingroom.
Then there were other times, when looking into her cobalt eyes reminded Buffy that Tara was all she had, all that was left of what she once knew. This was the end of the world and all they had was each other, no matter how strong the hate might be where once there was none.
Simpler times had brought them close, even. But now all they had known was gone. Everyone was dead. And they were left.
So Buffy dealt with her zen-Buddhist-whatever it was she was into that made her like some throwback hippie. Though sometimes she had other suspicions as to what was in those Ecstacy cigarettes and had made up her mind to steal one sometime.
It had never occurred to her to just ask.
They finished their wine and Tara exited to the balcony to watch the ocean for awhile, a favorite hobby of hers before bedtime. Buffy cleaned up, washing out the wine glass and storing the half bottle that was left back underneath the sink. She dumped the ash trays that littered the living room and found herself amused by the thought that Tara smoked just as much as she did. Her one downfall. The one thing that let Buffy know she was still human inside, still touchable, still affected.
Well, that and one other thing.
They went to bed at the same time and curled around each other the same way they did every night. She wondered if Tara pretended she was Willow. Tara was just.. Tara to her. There was no one she could pretend for. Tara was too small to be a man and her clutch, though desperate, was not brutal enough to be Faith's. So for the night, she was just Tara. Peaceful Earth Mother Tara, pure and simple.
And most nights, that was enough.
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The End Of Summer