Author: ophelia11
Rating: PG-13 for pottymouths and innuendo. Strong chance for naughtiness later on.
Disclaimer: The story is mine. The characters are not. :(
Feedback: Pretty please? Please leave feedback on the Impulse thread on the Kitten Board.

What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. It is always the same step, but you have to take it. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939

"So, Tara? We haven't seen you around these parts much lately." Matt was wiping down the counter while there was a lull in business. "On a Friday evening no less..."

"Awww. Is that your way of saying you missed me?" Tara was sitting on her usual stool by the back counter of Dragon Palace. She dropped by to visit and have an early dinner. Now she was dutifully accepting jabs from Matt for her absence of late.

"Don't flatter yourself. Just wondering where you've been lurking." He glanced up at her and winked before returning to his task. The young man now wore a shadow of facial hair that didn't quite make him look older, but gave his appearance a rougher edge.

Before she could answer, Jake strolled in and leaned over one of the counters. He was eating a bag of cheddar popcorn and orange sprinkles covered his hands and were sprinkled down his shirt. He was slightly taller than Matt, solidly built, with short wavy brown hair. Where Matt had frat-boy good looks, Jake had classic boy next door appeal. "I know where she's been hanging out...although it's not so much a 'where' as a 'with whom'. Right, Tara?" He grinned from ear to ear. Several kernels slipped from his fingers and landed on Matt's freshly cleaned counter, shedding their cheesy coating in the process.

Tara couldn't help but blush from the attention. "Oh, hush." She fidgeted on the stool and nearly knocked her shoulder bag off the one next to her.

The younger man ignored the conversation as he watched Jake undo his hard work. "Hey Jake. You mind? I'm trying to clean here?"

Jake raised two slightly orange-stained hands in surrender. "Sorry man." He chuckled as he watched Matt diligently re-clean the area. It was fun to rile him up, but it was always done good-naturedly. His attention returned to Tara. "Am I right? 'Cause you made a delivery for me months ago and now you're mysteriously absent most of the time. Putting two and two together..." He grinned when he saw her cheeks deepen to bright crimson.

"I haven't been gone that often," she said sheepishly.

Shaking his head, Jake eyed her knowingly. "Hard to believe you'd want to replace our fine company, but I can't really blame your good taste. So about yay high..." he held out his hand slightly below his own shoulder, "bright red hair...killer..." noting Tara's eyebrows raised in challenge, he coughed lightly, "...eyes..."

Matt stopped what he was doing, suddenly very interested in the conversation. "No way. You met someone? No one tells me anything." He pouted and threw down the rag.

Jake chuckled. "That's because you sit around here all the time waiting for the information to come to you. Besides, you were always too busy making jokes about her when she called." Turning to Tara, "It is the cute redhead that's caught your eye?"

Tara was interrupted by Matt before she could answer. "Seriously? The crazy take-out delivery lady?" He stared at her as if she sprouted horns.

The blonde scowled and grabbed a fortune cookie from the nearby canister. She threw it hard at Matt's head and it cracked on impact. "Stop calling her that."

Jake couldn't hold back the laugh at Matt's shocked expression. He turned to look at Tara with new interest. "You really like this girl?"

Turning her attention to the taller man,"Yeah." Her brow furrowed, "Don't you?"

He backed up, hoping to avoid a similar cookie attack. "No, I do. I think she's a cool girl that got dealt a tough hand. I just meant you like her."

Tara shifted on the stool. "I..." She frowned slightly and sighed. "Well, I'd be lying if I told you I didn't find her attractive..."

Jake reached out a hand and squeezed her arm. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just kinda figured by now the two of you would be playin' a little tongue hockey and it wouldn't be a big deal to ask."

Tara's confusion was evident. "Sorry to disappoint, but she's straight...so no uh...tongue sports..." The comment couldn't help but conjure images to her mind that made her cheeks get even hotter.

It was Jake's turn to be surprised. "Really? Huh... I guess I must've picked up on nothing."

"What do you mean?" Tara was curious what Jake could have seen during his encounters. Things she didn't notice during all of her time with Willow.

"Nothing specific I can remember. I just never really got the impression she liked guys. Guess I was wrong." He shrugged and walked in to the back area to toss his empty snack bag.

Matt remained quiet after Tara's unexpected burst, but now returned to the conversation. "So you've been hanging out with the redhead..."

"Willow..." Tara offered.

He nodded. "Willow. You've been spending all your free time with Willow who is the girl that orders the take-out?" He waited for her nod of confirmation. "Look I'm sorry for teasing before, but you have to admit, the ordering thing is weird."

"She has her reasons..." Tara said softly.

Matt's hands went up in a protective stance. "Fine, fine. If you and Jake both say she's all right, that's good enough for me."

The blonde smiled. "Thank you."

"You just stay away from the fortune cookies." His brown eyes twinkled and he winked for emphasis, "I'm still putting all this together so...Jake thought she was gay. You say she's straight...but you do have um...let's say...more than friendly feelings toward her?"

Tara groaned and dropped her head to the counter. "No! Yes...I don't know. This sucks."

"It's not a crime if you do. It's just weird. In all the time I've known you, I've never seen you like this over anyone."

Without raising her head, she mumbled. "Like what?"

"Not being here for starters. I mean people were beginning to think you worked here. One couple thought you were my wife." They shared a look of amusement before shuddering at the thought. "You show up today, Jake just mentions this girl, and you get all red and start grinning like a teenager."

"Frickin' hell." She cursed through a veil of hair then dropped her head to cover herself behind a wall of arms.

"Stop," he chuckled. When Tara made no effort to look back at him, he shook his head. "I'm just trying to understand. Whatever you've got going with her is good." He smiled when the blonde head rose slowly, revealing a bright red face. "Seriously. You've never smiled like that before.The way I see it, she's good for you."

Jake returned from the back room and walked around the counter to sit on the empty stool next to Tara. "So...jumping back in here...why is she straight?"

"Is that some existential question like why are we here?" Matt grinned.

He tried glaring at Matt across the counter, but ended up laughing in spite of himself. "No, I mean...how did you determine she's straight?"

Tara barely considered the question. "Boyfriend. Big clue."

"Damn. She's got a boyfriend? She never mentioned anyone to me." Jake continued to be puzzled.

"No. Not now, but the mention of a boyfriend is usually a good indicator." Tara was ready to drop her head again, but Jake reached out and placed his arm over hers, effectively blocking her.

"Maybe. So tell me more about this ex-boyfriend."

Tara shrugged. "She doesn't mention him much. They were together in college. I guess he was some kind of musician. They broke up when she was still in school, but they've stayed friends."

Matt joined in. "Why'd they break up?"

"What does that matter?" Tara couldn't understand why the two men were trying to figure out something she'd already agonized over for extended periods of time.

Matt tried to explain. "It could matter a lot. You know, did one of them cheat?"

"Did one of them meet someone else," Jake added.

"Maybe it was all for show." Matt noticed two customers walk in and reached for a few menus. "Be right back."

Tara sighed. "She told me they realized they no longer wanted the same things and were better as friends. I do think she started dating someone else a few months later. After college she moved out here with him."

Jake nodded, "But they aren't together now?" Tara looked up at him with exasperation. "Look, I don't want to get your hopes up or anything. I know you've always been all 'Gay and Proud'...it's just...not everyone figures these things out right away. Two boyfriends from years ago isn't exactly damning evidence."

Tara shook her head. "Even if I ignore all the 'what ifs' and 'maybes'...I came out to her over a month ago. If she was gay, that would've been a good time to share."

His eyes narrowed. "Okay, I'll give you that one. You definitely gave her an open door of sorts. Just because the time was right for you doesn't mean it was the right time for her. I'm sure you know her a lot better that I do...I just remember picking up on something. I'll be the first to admit being wrong."

Matt returned to the area and began filling two glasses with water. Adding to the discussion, "Let's not forget about Tara's broken gaydar."

Glaring, "What does that mean?" She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly annoyed.

"C'mon Tara. I'd trust Jake's gaydar over yours. If you weren't unbelievably hot, you would never get laid." He looked at her seriously. "You're always so convinced that a girl can't possibly be interested in you that you miss out on the most obvious signals."

"That's not true." When she felt two sets of eyes boring in to her, she hunkered down on her stool. "Okay, so it's kinda true. I just..."

Matt shook his head. "Don't go explaining yourself. Just do me a favor. Previous opinions aside, start paying attention to her. Don't look for evidence that she's gay or straight or whatever. Just see how she is with you."

"How do you suggest I do that?" For all the years they were friends, it was the first time she could remember either of the men offering girl advice.

"Believe it or not, when a girl likes you, there are signs." He couldn't help the patronizing tone to his voice. What he was sharing seemed remedial, yet Tara was oblivious. "If I'm with a girl and she's particularly attentive...like stuff is going on all around, but she's only noticing me."

Jake nodded. "Simple, but true. Does she touch you?"

Tara lowered an eyebrow suspiciously. "That doesn't mean anything. Girls touch each other more than guys. Unless we're comparing to football players. It seems like there's lots of guy on guy touching then."

Matt smirked, ignoring Tara's sports comment. Looking straight at Jake, "So that's a big 'yes'. Okay. I know girls are touchier with each other, so some of this may not apply. You all do your hugs hello and hugs goodbye and hugs because there's a shoe sale. In between those times, if she's touching your knee, holding your hand, other stuff? She likes you. Whether or not she even realizes she's doing it, she likes you." He walked off to deliver the drinks.

Though he knew Tara didn't want to hear it, Jake chimed in. "I hate to agree with Matt, but I think he's right."

Across town Willow was battling her own demons. For the last ten minutes she sat idly on her couch staring at the closed door of the guest room. Given the lack of visitors, the term 'guest' was a loose one. However, the room could hardly go by its alter identity 'office' either. Since moving in a year ago, she stepped in to the area less than a dozen times.

This is Tara's fault. If it weren't for her...her...her Taraness, I wouldn't be thinking about writing. Maybe I don't even want to write anymore. Cars run out of gas. I ran out of stories. It happens. Then Tara waltzes in and makes me start thinking I have new stories. Dammit. At one point, she had to laugh at herself. She felt comfortable blaming Tara for an inclination to write again, but found no fault in her own actions of ignoring an entire room of her apartment for the better part of a year.

With a new wave of motivation, she stood right outside the door, as if waiting for the room to invite her in. One last, deep breath then she reached for the knob and twisted. In the open doorway she was assaulted by stale air and the scent of old paper. Her eyes scanned the room and she had to wonder how she allowed such a mess to exist.

In reality, it wasn't the amount of stuff in the room, but rather the contents. There was a honey oak roll-top desk and matching book case that ran almost floor to ceiling. An aging futon was pressed against the wall directly in front of her. It always lingered on the charity donation list in her mind, but she could never bring herself to get rid of it. Though overnight guests were rare, it was handy to have. A floor lamp stood awkwardly in the corner next to it. The rest of the room held a variety of boxes in different colors and sizes. Her life's work was in this room and until now she found the idea of entering the space too depressing to consider.

The last time she attempted to organize the published books, unfinished manuscripts, and various articles she lasted five minutes. Telling herself a sandwich was needed to sustain her, she busied herself in the kitchen. While preparing said sandwich, she also decided to clean out the refrigerator, alphabetize her spices, and re-stack the Tupperware. By the time she finished, a nap was in order and the office remained in disarray.

Today was going to be different. Today she was a woman with resolve. Few things were quite as resilient as Willow's resolve. She stood in the doorway considering her layout options. Since the room lacked much furniture, any layout would work. Ultimately she opted for comfort and convenience. With some effort she pushed the bookshelf against the wall and shoved it to the right side of the window in the corner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. And I guess you would be Moe. The box she picked was deceptively heavy. Rather than pick it up, she nudged it along with her feet until it was in front of the bookshelf. When she pulled off the lid her own first edition books greeted her. Apparently the challenges will start early. Bottom shelf seems a little ridiculous. Middle shelf is eye level but do I really want them staring at me every time I walk in? She decided the books deserved to be displayed and ultimately arranged them on the top shelf. This way they weren't tucked away in a closet, nor did they draw her immediate attention. Soon she was at the bottom of the first box and tossed it through the doorway.

The next several boxes were a mix of reference books, writing materials, and her private reading collection. She lined them up on the second and third shelves and added more empty boxes to the growing stack. One box contained magazines and journals that held some of her lesser known works. She left them in a stack and shoved them to one side of the fourth shelf. Another two boxes were her works in progress. There were half written stories, some rejected works, and a few completed pieces she never dared to submit. They were relegated to the other side of the fourth shelf. The bottom one remained empty, awaiting works yet to be written.

She stepped backwards to the center of the room to admire her work. By no means was she looking at a masterpiece, but it was the first time she could acknowledge this side of herself in some time. Before she could delve deeper into unresolved feelings, she moved closer to the desk. It was awkwardly shoved in to the corner opposite the bookshelf. Deciding that a writer's desk needed a view of something more than a dank corner, Willow wanted it in front of the window. If she thought the bookshelf was heavy and awkward, then the desk was an absolute beast. It took several minutes to move it out of the corner. She squeezed between the wall and desk and used her legs and butt to inch it in to place.

In the process of getting the desk to its final location, she managed to collect many of the dust layers on her own clothing. She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a small bucket of cleaning supplies. A healthy dose of Windex removed a layer of grime from the window that she never noticed before. Disgusted, she vowed never to allow such a buildup in the future.

Once the window and sill were spotless, she retrieved a rag and furniture polish. With a firm, but gentle touch, she worked the polish in to the old wood of her desk. It once belonged to her father and she remembered hiding under it as a small girl while her father worked on his latest journal article or research project. The memories brought a smile to her face while she restored some of the desk's luster.

Two boxes still remained against the wall. She guessed they contained accessories to her desk and dragged them over. When she sat in her chair, she sighed with relief, happy to be sitting down for a few minutes. After removing the box lid, she set to work unpacking the contents. Tablets, printer paper, and post-its were arranged neatly in the bottom drawer.

Her favorite coffee mug earned a spot on the corner of the desk. It was plain white and in red were the words: 'Ladies Sewing Circle and Terrorist Society'. Her mother never understood the humor and once dropped it while unloading the dishwasher, splitting it in to several large pieces. Willow was heartbroken when she discovered it in the trash and carefully rescued it. With immense patience and strong glue she meticulously put the mug back together and it now proudly held her highlighters and multi-colored pens.

Miscellaneous clips, a stapler, and extra pens were unceremoniously deposited in to the small center drawer. She got lost in the thrill of arranging her desk and was surprised when she reached the last box. A case of disks with more old work was placed in the opposite corner as her mug. Blank discs and cases were stored in an empty drawer along with labels and different sized Sharpies.

Several picture frames were carefully wrapped in newspaper and tucked together. Though they were not unfamiliar, she approached their unveiling in a similar fashion to opening presents on Christmas morning. The first was a group shot of her with Xander, Buffy, and Oz. Another was of Buffy and Dawn sitting on the front steps of their house. She stood up and set them up on the top part of her desk.

A few unframed candid shots were also tucked in and she slipped them in to one of the open cubbies of the desk. She needed to find tape before she could put them up. A smaller frame held a picture of Xander and his on-again off-again girlfriend Anya. Willow had mixed feelings about the girl, but set it up with others. She strategically positioned it behind the others so it wasn't the first image she saw. The last one was a close-up of Buffy, Willow, Dawn, and a tall, brunette woman. It was taken at an awards banquet two years earlier. The woman, Holly, was considered Dawn's mentor and joined the celebration when the teenager won her first student journalism award.

Once the pictures were set to her liking she couldn't help but frown. No Tara pictures. Of course I didn't know Tara when this box was packed, but still...I should have a picture. Note to self...Self...follow Tara and take her picture so I can tape it on my desk. Giggling at her own silliness, she turned back to the box and was surprised to find it empty. Glancing around the room, she realized that all the unpacking was finished. After the stress she associated with the work for so long, its completion felt anticlimactic.

At some point, she still needed to set up the remaining computer components. However, her printer still had no place to sit so she left it on the top shelf in the closet. Her laptop was packed away in its case and she decided to leave that in the closet as well. She couldn't remember coming across a surge protector and decided it was time to make a list.

Willow opened the bottom drawer and pull out a fresh pack of post-its. She wadded the plastic wrapper in her hand and looked around for a place to discard it. Not finding one, she dropped it on the desk and pulled out a pen. In large, block letters she wrote SHOPPING LIST with two underlines. Beneath it she made a series of dots and began writing items after them. TRASH CAN. SURGE PROTECTOR. PRINTER STAND. She considered asking Tara to join her on a shopping excursion in the near future. The idea made her smile and she realized how Tara's presence in her life made even routine tasks more exciting. Suddenly the world was full of new possibilities.

There was a sense of accomplishment that came with getting her office set up. She stood and looked around the room to see if there was anything she forgot. It still looked barren without posters or knick-knacks to warm up the space. Though Willow knew that such items would make the room more aesthetically appealing, such things served as distraction for an author, such as herself, with recurring writer's block.

She decided that her office was a work in progress and there was little more she could do at the moment. Before leaving the room, she reached for her shopping list in case she thought of other items she needed. She picked up her bucket of cleaning supplies and used one foot to push the empty boxes out of the doorway. With one last nod to the room, she turned off the light and closed the door behind her.

It was tempting to leave the mess in the middle of the room, but she decided it was better to get it over with now. She settled herself right outside, broke down each box, and sorted the flattened cardboard in to piles of similar size. Once that was complete, she retrieved some masking tape from the kitchen drawer and used it to bind each bundle together. Finally, she put all the stacks together and stacked them by the front door, vowing to find a recycling center nearby.

Worn out from the day's labor, Willow walked over to the couch and collapsed. She allowed her head to fall back against the cushions and her eyes fluttered closed.