[fic] Postcards From the Edge of the World (BtVS/SPN, Jo/Tara) [R-ish]
Title: Postcards From the Edge of the World
Author: havocthecat
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Pairing: Jo Harvelle/Tara Maclay, mild Jo/OFC
Summary: There aren't many people from her old high school Jo keeps in touch with. But somehow, Tara's postcards keep finding her. Set vaguely season six of BtVS and season two of SPN.
***
The postcards show every few months, no matter where she's moved, or that she hasn't left a forwarding address. Guess that's what comes of being friends with the shy girl in high school that turns out to be a witch. Which makes it only slightly awkward that her dad was a hunter.
The postmark reads "Sunnydale, CA," and the bright, cheerful beach scene seems almost ominous.
Moved into the dorms. College Wicca group more concerned with lemon bar recipes than spellcasting. Lost my voice the other day.
With Tara, the silences are more important than the words, and she checks online to get the Sunnydale news reports. Sudden laryngitis affecting anyone inside the town's border? Mysterious deaths? Hearts cut out of their chests? Jo grabs a postcard, scrawls down the address to Tara's dorm room, and writes out her own message.
Glad to hear you didn't lose your heart. Meet any cute girls? Any good shops in town?
The next postcard doesn't come for a while, and when it arrives, Jo's in Chicago, getting set to open a smoky blues bar for the night. There's a palm tree on the front of this one.
Her name is Willow! She's got red hair, and she says she loves me.
She's got a free minute before they unlock the doors and let in the hordes for the evening, so she grabs one of the ad postcards from by the bathroom.
Then she's got the best girlfriend ever. Met a guy. He's an ass. Think you can lend me your lesbian card?
She scrawls her e-mail address below her name before she sends it out, and she gets an e-mail back from Willow, not Tara, asking for all the embarrassing details of Tara's high school years. Jo frowns, remembering her run-ins with Tara's family, and makes up a story about Tara accidentally spilling grape juice down Jo's shirt one day.
The fact that it happened to Tara's brother instead, and he humiliated her for weeks after never makes it to the e-mail.
The postcard she gets later, when she's road tripped to Toronto and gotten work in a gay bar, has a bikini-clad girl on the front of it, and Alli gives her a wink from where she's washing up glasses. "Knew you weren't as straight as you pretended to be, girl."
Thank you. You should get your own lesbian card. Boys are icky.
Jo covers her mouth to hold back her laughter, then finds the raciest postcard she can, and writes a card back, Alli peering over her shoulder and making lewd suggestions. Jo grins at Alli and shakes her head ruefully.
If I join up, do you get a free toaster? Alli says you should come and visit.
The next postcard doesn't come for a while. Jo's still in Toronto. Canada's nice, if colder than she's used to, and she's busy earning her lesbian card with Alli. When it finally gets there, it's a riot of colors, and Tara's handwriting is shaky. Jo flips it over in her hands a few times, trying not to think about when Tara's penmanship wobbled when they were in school.
It's been an interesting school year. Will you be home for the summer?
She sits for a long time after reading the postcard, then abruptly gets up to find a subdued violet design to write back on.
Nah, I like traveling. You should come and visit.
Toronto doesn't have the sheer concentration of weird stuff that Jo sees when she checks the internet for news about Sunnydale, but it's enough to keep her on her toes. She's on the road soon enough after one too many screaming fights with Alli, and abruptly a very angry-looking woman is sitting in her car. "I understand you've recently been scorned," she says. "Since you're the girl who keeps sending Tara postcards, I'm going to offer you a wish. I don't normally work with lesbians. It's the principle of the thing, you see, but you're a friend of a friend."
Jo rolls her eyes. Vengeance demons come out of the woodwork any time a relationship ends; her dad taught her that. "No, thank you," she says.
"Are you sure?" asks the woman. "Because I do a very good vengeance curse."
"I'm sure," says Jo, her voice tight.
"Suit yourself," says the woman, shrugging. She hands over a business card. "Call me if you change your mind. Ask for Anyanka."
She vanishes before Jo can do anything but toss the card in the back seat.
When Jo checks into her motel room, a postcard is waiting for her. It's a serene landscape, rolling dunes and waves, and Jo can practically hear the ocean as she sinks down onto her bed.
I broke up with Willow. A while ago.
The only postcard at hand is the one with the motel's logo on it, so Jo snatches it up without hesitation and scrawls out a note in return.
She doesn't know what she lost. Let me know if you want to drop out of college and drive across the country for a while. The scenery's relaxing.
Jo ignores all of Willow's e-mails, asking for one more story of Tara's childhood, maybe the words of a spell Tara used when they were kids. Maybe a listing of herbs Tara liked to gather, what she used them for? Whatever. Jo'd been too busy learning how to be a hunter like her dad when Tara was learning how to be a witch to pay much attention to that sort of thing.
The postcards die off for a long time. One day, though, she gets a call from Anyanka, and Jo's racing for her car, pedal floored all the way from Colorado Springs to Sunnydale, running into the hospital. A dark-haired guy is there, his arms around a shaking redhead that must be Willow, and some blonde girl propping an older man with glasses, and a teenage girl with long, straight brown hair is tapping her feet and staring anxiously at the door to Tara's room. Anyanka's off to the side, arms crossed, and glaring at all of them except the older man. "Tara Maclay's room, right?" she asks, and opens the door, not waiting for an answer.
Tara's eyes are open, and she smiles weakly. "Jo," she whispers.
Jo shuffles forward. "Sunnydale kinda sucks," she says, trying for casual, but her voice trembles. "Mom says hunters all avoid it, because anyone living here is stupid enough to deserve what they get." She ignores the outraged exclamation from the hallway, and the snort of laughter from Anyanka.
Tara just smiles, accepting Jo's worry, and Jo collapses into the seat. "Your cousin's hair turned green, Mom said," she tells Tara. "She went swimming the day after she bleached it."
When Tara can't stay awake any longer, Jo slips out of the room, where the only person waiting is the older man, giving her a hard-edged stare. "I wasn't aware Tara had kept in touch with anyone from her past," he says, eyes flinty behind his glasses.
"Yeah, well, most people from our high school kinda sucked," says Jo, shifting and glaring right back. This guy seemed harder to fool than her mom, though.
"I hope you haven't informed her family," he says. "They visited once."
Jo rolls her eyes and tosses her head back. "Only once? Then you got lucky. Look, we're friends. We wrote to each other. She never mentioned you either."
When Tara came home from the hospital, Jo drives her, having brushed off well-meaning offers from Willow and company, but she doesn't bother trying to budge the brown-haired girl, Dawn. They walk into Tara's apartment, and Dawn shrugs offhandedly and says she kept the place clean while Tara was recuperating.
Jo checks out of her motel that day, pulls the cross and the garlic off the doors and windows, and spends her night tracing the scar over Tara's heart with first her fingertips, then her mouth, moving slowly and carefully over Tara's body. She was cuddling up close as they fell into dreams, and it was almost like sleepovers when they were girls, only with more skin, and no teddy bears. They wake up together in the morning, Tara gingerly moving for the bathroom to brush her teeth. Jo sits her down after at the kitchen table later, makes pancakes for them, and extra for Dawn, who shows up at first light with milkshakes--three of them--and an eager smile. The pancakes are slightly burned around the edge, but Tara's face is serene as she eats every bite.
Author: havocthecat
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Pairing: Jo Harvelle/Tara Maclay, mild Jo/OFC
Summary: There aren't many people from her old high school Jo keeps in touch with. But somehow, Tara's postcards keep finding her. Set vaguely season six of BtVS and season two of SPN.
***
The postcards show every few months, no matter where she's moved, or that she hasn't left a forwarding address. Guess that's what comes of being friends with the shy girl in high school that turns out to be a witch. Which makes it only slightly awkward that her dad was a hunter.
The postmark reads "Sunnydale, CA," and the bright, cheerful beach scene seems almost ominous.
Moved into the dorms. College Wicca group more concerned with lemon bar recipes than spellcasting. Lost my voice the other day.
With Tara, the silences are more important than the words, and she checks online to get the Sunnydale news reports. Sudden laryngitis affecting anyone inside the town's border? Mysterious deaths? Hearts cut out of their chests? Jo grabs a postcard, scrawls down the address to Tara's dorm room, and writes out her own message.
Glad to hear you didn't lose your heart. Meet any cute girls? Any good shops in town?
The next postcard doesn't come for a while, and when it arrives, Jo's in Chicago, getting set to open a smoky blues bar for the night. There's a palm tree on the front of this one.
Her name is Willow! She's got red hair, and she says she loves me.
She's got a free minute before they unlock the doors and let in the hordes for the evening, so she grabs one of the ad postcards from by the bathroom.
Then she's got the best girlfriend ever. Met a guy. He's an ass. Think you can lend me your lesbian card?
She scrawls her e-mail address below her name before she sends it out, and she gets an e-mail back from Willow, not Tara, asking for all the embarrassing details of Tara's high school years. Jo frowns, remembering her run-ins with Tara's family, and makes up a story about Tara accidentally spilling grape juice down Jo's shirt one day.
The fact that it happened to Tara's brother instead, and he humiliated her for weeks after never makes it to the e-mail.
The postcard she gets later, when she's road tripped to Toronto and gotten work in a gay bar, has a bikini-clad girl on the front of it, and Alli gives her a wink from where she's washing up glasses. "Knew you weren't as straight as you pretended to be, girl."
Thank you. You should get your own lesbian card. Boys are icky.
Jo covers her mouth to hold back her laughter, then finds the raciest postcard she can, and writes a card back, Alli peering over her shoulder and making lewd suggestions. Jo grins at Alli and shakes her head ruefully.
If I join up, do you get a free toaster? Alli says you should come and visit.
The next postcard doesn't come for a while. Jo's still in Toronto. Canada's nice, if colder than she's used to, and she's busy earning her lesbian card with Alli. When it finally gets there, it's a riot of colors, and Tara's handwriting is shaky. Jo flips it over in her hands a few times, trying not to think about when Tara's penmanship wobbled when they were in school.
It's been an interesting school year. Will you be home for the summer?
She sits for a long time after reading the postcard, then abruptly gets up to find a subdued violet design to write back on.
Nah, I like traveling. You should come and visit.
Toronto doesn't have the sheer concentration of weird stuff that Jo sees when she checks the internet for news about Sunnydale, but it's enough to keep her on her toes. She's on the road soon enough after one too many screaming fights with Alli, and abruptly a very angry-looking woman is sitting in her car. "I understand you've recently been scorned," she says. "Since you're the girl who keeps sending Tara postcards, I'm going to offer you a wish. I don't normally work with lesbians. It's the principle of the thing, you see, but you're a friend of a friend."
Jo rolls her eyes. Vengeance demons come out of the woodwork any time a relationship ends; her dad taught her that. "No, thank you," she says.
"Are you sure?" asks the woman. "Because I do a very good vengeance curse."
"I'm sure," says Jo, her voice tight.
"Suit yourself," says the woman, shrugging. She hands over a business card. "Call me if you change your mind. Ask for Anyanka."
She vanishes before Jo can do anything but toss the card in the back seat.
When Jo checks into her motel room, a postcard is waiting for her. It's a serene landscape, rolling dunes and waves, and Jo can practically hear the ocean as she sinks down onto her bed.
I broke up with Willow. A while ago.
The only postcard at hand is the one with the motel's logo on it, so Jo snatches it up without hesitation and scrawls out a note in return.
She doesn't know what she lost. Let me know if you want to drop out of college and drive across the country for a while. The scenery's relaxing.
Jo ignores all of Willow's e-mails, asking for one more story of Tara's childhood, maybe the words of a spell Tara used when they were kids. Maybe a listing of herbs Tara liked to gather, what she used them for? Whatever. Jo'd been too busy learning how to be a hunter like her dad when Tara was learning how to be a witch to pay much attention to that sort of thing.
The postcards die off for a long time. One day, though, she gets a call from Anyanka, and Jo's racing for her car, pedal floored all the way from Colorado Springs to Sunnydale, running into the hospital. A dark-haired guy is there, his arms around a shaking redhead that must be Willow, and some blonde girl propping an older man with glasses, and a teenage girl with long, straight brown hair is tapping her feet and staring anxiously at the door to Tara's room. Anyanka's off to the side, arms crossed, and glaring at all of them except the older man. "Tara Maclay's room, right?" she asks, and opens the door, not waiting for an answer.
Tara's eyes are open, and she smiles weakly. "Jo," she whispers.
Jo shuffles forward. "Sunnydale kinda sucks," she says, trying for casual, but her voice trembles. "Mom says hunters all avoid it, because anyone living here is stupid enough to deserve what they get." She ignores the outraged exclamation from the hallway, and the snort of laughter from Anyanka.
Tara just smiles, accepting Jo's worry, and Jo collapses into the seat. "Your cousin's hair turned green, Mom said," she tells Tara. "She went swimming the day after she bleached it."
When Tara can't stay awake any longer, Jo slips out of the room, where the only person waiting is the older man, giving her a hard-edged stare. "I wasn't aware Tara had kept in touch with anyone from her past," he says, eyes flinty behind his glasses.
"Yeah, well, most people from our high school kinda sucked," says Jo, shifting and glaring right back. This guy seemed harder to fool than her mom, though.
"I hope you haven't informed her family," he says. "They visited once."
Jo rolls her eyes and tosses her head back. "Only once? Then you got lucky. Look, we're friends. We wrote to each other. She never mentioned you either."
When Tara came home from the hospital, Jo drives her, having brushed off well-meaning offers from Willow and company, but she doesn't bother trying to budge the brown-haired girl, Dawn. They walk into Tara's apartment, and Dawn shrugs offhandedly and says she kept the place clean while Tara was recuperating.
Jo checks out of her motel that day, pulls the cross and the garlic off the doors and windows, and spends her night tracing the scar over Tara's heart with first her fingertips, then her mouth, moving slowly and carefully over Tara's body. She was cuddling up close as they fell into dreams, and it was almost like sleepovers when they were girls, only with more skin, and no teddy bears. They wake up together in the morning, Tara gingerly moving for the bathroom to brush her teeth. Jo sits her down after at the kitchen table later, makes pancakes for them, and extra for Dawn, who shows up at first light with milkshakes--three of them--and an eager smile. The pancakes are slightly burned around the edge, but Tara's face is serene as she eats every bite.