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"No baby, don't spit it out, you have to eat."

"Witch! Poisoning me! I killed the poor fish. Again and again and again." She whines hopelessly.

Sometimes Tara seems to do better with finger foods she can hold. Other times it's easier to get her to eat liquids and puddings, and me and Dawn have to hand-feed her every bite. Dawn and Anya have been such a great help lately. Poor Dawnie blames herself. Tara let herself be tortured, her bones broken and her mind destroyed, rather than give up the Key.

"No, Tara... baby... I would never hurt you, you know that. Now come on baby, one more try. You like chocolate!"

She looks ashamed of herself. "No sweets. Bad, bad girl!" Some of her rantings I think come from her childhood with her abusive father. They break my heart.

Again she spits out the pudding and the pill. Half a pill every two hours... but nothing seems to mask the taste, and she often spits them out. But in just a few days I've already learned the hard way never to just skip a pill. If I don't keep her calm, she's going to hurt someone in one of her rages. Maybe herself. My cheek is still red from a particularly hard slap yesterday. As soon as she did it she looked so lost and grief-stricken, not even understanding what she had done to me but feeling bad all the same.

The hardest times are the moments when she falls silent and I see my sweet Tara, lucid just for an instant, looking out from behind a wall of terror and self-loathing. Being alive is hell for her since Glory permanently ruined her mind. And for me, too.

But I promised her I'd look after her forever. I still need her, just as much as I always did, and she needs me more than ever. "I'm your always," I told her, and I meant it. If that means 24-hour care and dropping out of college, then so be it. She's not going to an institution. Willow Rosenberg mates for life. And there's no treatment for the damage my Tara has suffered.

I finally get her to swallow her last pill for the day. I brush her teeth, wrestle the toothbrush from her when she clamps her jaws down on it, and then comfort her as she reaches pitifully to get it back, tears rolling down her cheeks. I think she might sleep tonight. She seems quiet and sleepy, anyway. More sad than scared. But she's never peaceful for more than an hour or so, even if she does fall asleep. So I still have to use the restraints they gave me.

It always seems to surprise her when I strap her down, as though every time is the first time. She looks at the leather bands holding her wrists, ankles, and middle, and tugs experimentally, completely bewildered and wondering what I've done to her. I keep the wrist strap looser on the right, where her arm is bandaged from Glory's cruelty. On a bad day, she'll fly into a shrieking, sobbing panic when I tied her down. But every night I see her through it, stroking her hair and telling her how much she's loved, until she gives up struggling.

No shrieking today, but as she tries to move her arms, her face falls, her lip trembles, and her eyes water. "Can't fly!" she cries. "Can't fly anymore ever! There are too many and they burn! Why am I in the forest?"

"Shhhh... baby...." I soothe. "You're right here, at home, with me. Willow. Who loves you."

She looks at me like I'm not even human. Who knows what she sees. But tears keep falling, and her eyes are starting to widen in fear.

I nuzzle her neck, letting my hair fall across her face. She likes the smell of my hair. It helps her remember me, sometimes. I know she sees and hears lots of things that aren't real. But I don't think scent lies to her.

A faint smile flickers across her face, but then it's gone and she starts to whimper in fear all over again, looking at me like I'm about to harm her.

"No, baby... no..... Here..." I unbutton my pajama top and expose my left breast, bringing it to her lips. A trick I learned on her first day home when she grabbed for it. The scent of my skin and the familiar feel of my nipple in her mouth bring the smile back. I think it calms her in deeper ways, too, triggering half-remembered instincts from when she wasn't just childlike, but truly a child.

Her suckling is earnest, almost desperate, and intensely arousing. In other words, it's exactly like it was before Glory took her from me. This kind of moment is soothing to me, too. "Yes, baby.... Willow likes that too... my sweet, sweet baby Tara..."

I change breasts–for my own sake, not for hers–and it's a mistake. Her eyes go from contented to pleading to grief-stricken in an instant when I withdraw my left nipple, feeling her saliva turn cold on me. I give her my right breast, but she barely notices it, licking the tip once and then beginning a low whimpering sound. I sit back, afraid that she may try to bite my nipple like she did yesterday.

I hold her cheeks, let her smell my hair again, and then finally bury her face between my breasts to smell my skin and feel my warmth and my heartbeat. But she's too far gone, and the hopeless crying now is even worse than when she shrieks and flails. "I'm bad. I'm dirtier than dirt." She doesn't remember me. In her mind, she's all alone in a dark and terrible place. Worse, she feels like she deserves it. Glory's special gift.

But there is one scent that has never yet failed to keep her with me. I slip my right hand inside the front of my pajama bottoms, and press two fingers into my vagina, already aroused and moist from her attention to my breast. I bring my hand to her face and her eyes focus as soon as she smells my sex.

"That's right, baby, it's me... Willow... Willow..."

"W...." she begins, her tears stopping for the moment. She sniffs my fingers, and I let her lick them. "W... W..." Her eyes close and the smile is back. "Fox... Pretty fox..." Her pet name for the red-furred place between my thighs. I smile back.

"Yes, Willow's fox... Willow is here, and I love you, and everything is OK... smell the fox, Tara. Taste the pretty fox." I slip my fingers into her mouth again to stroke her tongue.

She spits me out, pouting. "Want the pretty fox!"

I hurriedly return my fingers to my vagina, feeling an intense wave of new arousal at the sensation of her saliva entering me. I bring newly wet fingers back to her mouth, and she sucks them hungrily. "Yummy fox... want the fox..." her voice turns pleading and desparate. "Want the pretty pretty fox!"

"The fox wants you too, baby... the fox loves you." I quickly slip out of my pajama bottoms and climb over her, kneeling on her pillow with my feet by her shoulders. I hold onto the headboard of our bed and let her look at the fox. I never thought of it as a pretty thing until I met Tara.

She smiles. "So pretty... pretty yummy fox..." she strains her head upwards, telling me that I'm right about what she wants. And so I lower my sex to her face. Not settling my weight onto her as I might have done at times before all this happened. No, just bringing it to touch her lightly, giving her complete control.

She licks my lips lightly, and then not so lightly... and then inside and out, my thighs, my belly, my patch of red curls. "Pretty fox... pretty Willow..." She finally gets my name out. Her face becomes slick with my juices and as she becomes more lucid, I become less. We're soulmates, attuned to each other at every level, and she pleasures me instinctively in just the right ways.

"Oh, god...Tara... baby...." I begin to pump my hips, pressing harder into her.

"Fox's nose!" she says with delight, and sucks my clitoris between her teeth.

"Tara... Tara... Tara... I love you so much, baby... Tara... Oh, Tara...! Tara...! Taaaaaa....."

I rise almost to the peak, and then she says the words that push me over and drop me into an orgasm that shakes my entire body. "Love Willow!"

I slide down her body to cuddle, feeling as much like old times as I can these days. I stretch contentedly, and we smile at each other. Her face is sticky, with a few red curls clinging to her lips and nose, and her bound wrists prevent her from wiping her face. But I've learned not to help her clean up. She wants me on her like that.

"The trees are so green!" she says, happily.

"They sure are, baby." I kiss her forehead, wondering if she would react badly if I tried to bring her the same joy she gave me. It was a disaster last time, I scared her and she kicked me pretty hard. "It's going to eat me up!" she sobbed, having no idea who I was. I probably shouldn't risk it again. I should just let her touch herself, which she does whenever she feels like it anyway... making Dawn and Anya very uncomfortable.

But I think maybe this time is different. This time, I've let her pleasure me first. My taste is in her mouth, my scent in her nose, and my cries of passion ringing in her ears. Right now, she knows me.

I unbuckle her ankles and slip her pajama bottoms off, pondering how best to avoid another kick in the head. I remove her diaper, and it's pretty dry. She doesn't always urinate on herself, but often enough to need protection.

Her pubic hair has begun to grow back a little since she lost her mind. I can't bring myself to wax her like she used to do. But it's sparse and soft, and tickly on the backs of my fingers when I stroke her sex. My knuckles come away moist.

I bring her knees up to her wrists, bound beside her shoulders, and let out more strap so that her wrists straps can also hold her knees. She does not resist, but her smile is fading and she's becoming confused again.

I remove the ankle straps from the footboard entirely, and use them to bind each ankle to her upper thigh. There. She's exposed to me in all of her pink loveliness, but can't hurt herself or me if things go badly.

I kneel before her on the bed, bending down low to caress her thighs and butt. I blow gently on the soft fuzz around her ever-widening slit, and her smile returns.

"Do you want me to do this, baby? Do you want me to lick the kitty?" My name for her genitals isn't very creative, but I got jealous and wanted an animal name for her too!

"All the buses will be late forever," she says, pleasantly.

"I'll take that as a maybe." I kiss with closed lips just above her swollen clitoris. "Such a pretty kitty," I say, watching her reaction.

"Want more Willow."

I smile back. "Willow wants more Tara."

I use my tongue on the outside first, tasting her legs and her cheeks and her soft outer lips. Then I lick the skin below her slit, noting a slight taste of urine, but not really minding. She watches me, spellbound, her nipples pressing out against her T-shirt.

I lick my left middle finger and touch it to her pretty anus, massaging in slow circles. Her head falls back and her smile fades. But not from fear. A deeper, more primal pleasure is starting to fill her. Something a smile does not express.

I slip my tongue inside her finally, savoring the hot, wet feel of her, and her flavor, and her scent. I avoid the tempting tip of her clitoris, knowing that she doesn't like that sensation too early. But I keep massaging her openings, one with my finger and one with my lips and tongue. For a long while, neither of us speaks, but her breath grows rapid and sweat starts to bead on her legs.

I sense instinctively when to speed things up, and slide three fingers of my right hand into her hot vagina. I begin to suck her clitoris, gently at first but then very hard. I know what she likes. I slow down when she gets close, but I don't tease her too much. I'm not sure how she would take that.

As she comes, a low whining sound grows into a high-pitched squeal. I'm sure half the dorm can hear it. Before she became like this, she would shake silently at orgasm. But now she lets out the sounds that she used to hold back. I prolong the moment of ecstasy, nuzzling and sucking, my right hand massaging inside her, and my left finger on her anus rubbing more firmly.

I let the sucking give way to little kisses as she comes down from her high. "I love you, Tara. You're my always."

She breathes heavily, looking around the room, seeming fairly content and peaceful, but no longer aware of me. "There's no door. It's too much money if there's no door."

Pleased to have given her some joy, but saddened all over again at the reminder of her permanent condition, I remove my fingers from her and snuggle up next to her. She feels my pubic hair on her hip. "Pretty pretty fox." She yawns. I nuzzle her beautiful hair.

"I ate the clock," she announces. "The spiders all run away from me." Then her eyes focus on mine for a moment. "Love Willow. I love Willow."

"I love you too, baby." A tear rolls down my cheek.

"The doggies are singing. They make me sleepy."

As she drifts off, legs still raised and spread, I stare at my glistening fingers. There's something in the back of my mind. The barest beginnings of an idea. My pulse quickens. What is it? What is it about my fingers? Something to do with something I read recently? We've all been hitting the books pretty hard trying to stop Glory... I have no idea what could possibly have anything to do with my fingers.

I hold up both hands in front of my face, one slick with female juices, and stare at my fingers. Fingers that still remember being inside my lover.

And then I know. Just like that. My mouth and eyes widen. Out of fear at what must be done, but also out of hope.

I stare at my fingers for a long time, heart pounding, and then turn to whisper softly to my soulmate. "Willow is going to make you well again!"

Tara smiles in her sleep.

 

~ The End ~

(Note: the "fingers" ending is a reference to events in the Season 5 finale.)

If you enjoyed this story, try my other Willow/Tara fics, including Nowhere Far Enough and Witch's Faith. (Most of my other stories, including Dark Before Dawn and CV, also have Willow/Tara subplots.)

I always appreciate feedback in my Guestbook, or by email. Reader responses will determine whether I publish more stories, and will help improve them! Thanks for reading! (If you'd like to be notified when I post new stories, let me know.)

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