26. Tacos
"Man, okay... wow... you really like tacos," Tara laughed, watching as Illyria crunched down on her fifth one, a smear of taco sauce across her cheek.
"Yeah," she grinned back. "These are just okay, but oh, there's this place in L.A. near the Hyperion where they're to die for. And their queso dip is just... ohh. It's the only place in California I've found that makes queso dip like they do at home. Isn't that weird? Y'know, Mexican food, you'd think you take it out of Mexico and it'd all be the same, but nope. Queso dip's different everywhere. I took Spike there once, when he first got his corporeal form back. It's so funny that he eats, y'know? Angel never does. I meant to research that... but, y'know, stuff's always happening..."
Illyria looked at Tara's pale, stricken face, her smile fading as one thin hand rose to pat her new haircut. "What? Is it the hair? Does it look stupid? You think Wesley's gonna hate it?"
"No, no, it's p-pretty. You look nice as a redhead. I'm just not very used to you in this... uh... mode yet."
"Oh!" Illyria grinned. "Yeah, it is kinda weird, huh? Didn't think I oughta walk around the mall in the leather bodysuit and, y'know, the whole blue thing. Well, unless we go into Hot Topic..."
She crunched back into her taco.
"So, um... should I call you Illyria when you're... like this? Or would you rather be called Fred?"
Illyria swallowed, her tongue darting out to snag a piece of wayward lettuce from her lip. "Oh, you can just call me Fred. Kinda goes with the package. I mean, do I look like a God-King right now?"
Tara cast her eyes over the woman across the food court table from her, hair newly permed and dyed red, all little giggles and snorty laughter and manic movements. "You are a bit too... adorable."
"You don't think it makes me look like Little Orphan Annie?"
"Wha... oh! The hair! No, your hair looks good. Looks great."
"How come you didn't do anything? You didn't even get a trim."
"Well," Tara smiled. "My body's a loaner. Don't want to lose my deposit."
Fred's taco drooped to the paper plate, her eyes meeting Tara's pleadingly. "Do you think Wesley will be able to look at me now?"
Tara bit her lip. "I don't know, Fred, I..."
"Tara?" Fred queried, reaching across the table. "Tara... you're kinda goin' spacey on me..."
Blood dripped from Tara's lip; she bitten through it, her eyes rolling up until only whites remained, her hands clawing into the tabletop.
"Tara? Tara? Tara, say something..."
Tara thrashed in the plastic chair, the music from the carousel seeming to slow and bend around them as Fred leapt to her side. "Tara, can you hear me? Are you epileptic? Was Dawn? Is this a seizure?"
Fred sprung back, her eyes roaming the food court, falling on a set of chopsticks on an abandoned tray. She grabbed them, reaching for Tara. "Honey, open up, I need to give you something to bite down on, okay?"
Tara lurched forward, her neck snapping back, her arms shooting out, knocking tacos and sodas and trays to the floor, napkins sailing slowly down to earth, her purse flying after...
And the sound of breaking glass as something inside of it shattered on impact.
The Polaroid fluttered out of Buffy's fingers as she slumped onto the floor.
"No."
Xander's voice was quiet, controlled, a corset on rage; he opened his bloodied fist, making a circling gesture... and Willow gaped as the lavender fire that had begun to surround her was pulled towards him, stretched out like spinning wool, flowing into his palm, the blackness draining from Willow's eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Kennedy rasped.
"Saving your ass," Xander replied in that same cold, calm tone, magic crackling in a haze around him.
Willow could only blink. "Xander?"
"Real bad idea, Will. Top Ten of all time."
"Xander, I..."
"Kennedy," Xander said, "Get out of here."
"Who the hell do you..."
Xander's eyes remained fixed on Willow's. "Kennedy. I could make you. Or you could go. Your choice."
"You? You? You can't make me do..."
Xander met her eyes then, and Kennedy gasped. "This is for your own good, Kennedy. You don't want to be in this room right now."
"I'm not going anywhere..."
"Kennedy, I just sucked up an assload of really black magic. I am so not feeling the niceness right now, especially towards you. So I really suggest you make with the gone before I remember that you called me fat."
Kennedy inflated. "You want to fight? Bring it, mister."
"He's busy," Faith drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "How 'bout I bring it instead?"