Tara gingerly stepped off the last stair of the bus, before hurling herself to the side to avoid being trampled by the others rushing out.

As they ran to find safety before night fully fell, Tara allowed herself a quick glance around.

It wasn't as...busy as she'd expected. Of course, that could be due to the impending apocalypse, but from what she'd been told, the streets should have been swarming with demons of all sorts.

She shivered at the thought. Carefully making her way down the street, her hand reached into her pocket and withdrew the faded sheet of notebook paper.

She looked at its crumpled state in distress. Perhaps she shouldn't have folded and refolded it constantly on the bus, lacking anything else to do- that's what she got for not bringing a book along. Well, aside from the one that would help her on this mission, and she really didn't think the other people would appreciate her pulling out a spellbook.

She already knew the address by heart, memorizing it just in case the fragile sheet had slipped out at some time.

Managing to calm her pumping heart, she moved quickly down the street, stumbling only a bit as she closed in on her destination.

Seeing the big monstrosity they called a hotel should have unnerved her, but it didn't. For once, she was actually needed. It felt good.

Angel had phoned Buffy a while back, letting her know about Lorne's dire predictions and...well, asking if she could afford to send a reinforcement.

Tara had immediately offered, despite the worried disagreements from Buffy, Xander, Dawn and Willow.

It seemed simple enough to her. Angel could use a Wiccan, she needed to have some time away from Willow. Not too hard of a decision.

But as she reached the front doors and held her hand over the knob, she felt a moment's hesitation.

Things were building here- she could feel them. Anger, hurt, betrayal, revenge- all swirled around the hotel as though it were cloaked in some kind of cosmic black hole.

But it was too late to back out now, and she was determined to give this a try.

Bringing her hand back to her skirt to wipe the clammy sweat from it, she straightened herself and lifted her chin.

The door creaked slightly as she entered, and her gaze was immediately drawn upwards to the vaulted ceilings.

Her breath caught. While there were bad feelings running amok, she felt simply overwhelmed by the majestic beauty of the hotel.

It may have had a long and brutal history, but Tara also felt a strange sense of comfort, of calming as she stepped further inside. She could definitely see why Angel had chosen it.

A noise from her left startled her, and she swiftly spun to find a young woman rushing towards her, hair flying and glasses askew.

"Hi! You must be Tara. I'm so glad to meet you. We haven't had a lot of new people come here lately. Not that it's a surprise, due to the whole apocalypse thingy, but I'm glad you're here!"

Tara couldn't help but smile at the woman's friendly babbling. Her wide brown eyes were open and welcoming, as was the hug she gave Tara.

"Oh, I'm Fred, by the way," she hurriedly added, noting Tara's bemused expression and standing back.

Tara felt as though she were being studied under a microscope, and was grateful when a man stepped from the shadows, laughing softly.

"Welcome. We're glad to see if, if you couldn't tell," he said, as amusement twinkled in his eyes.

This must be Gunn, Tara realized, as she automatically stuck her hand out to shake his own. But instead he brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing her knuckles.

Tara blushed slightly. In his eyes, she could sense power, yet an utter feeling of caring towards Fred, and surprisingly- herself. Definitely the heart of the group, Tara decided.

Before she could say more than ‘Hello,' another voice filtered from the darkness.

"Tara! I'm so glad you made it. How was your trip?" he asked, walking straight up to her and grasping her hand tightly.

Tara smiled at his candor. "I'm fine, Angel. The trip was long, but good. I just hope I can help you," she admitted, worry creasing her forehead, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

"We'll worry about that soon enough. I see you've met Fred and Gunn," he replied, and she gave a delighted grin. "Yes, I have," she said, and they both laughed slightly.

Tara heard boots outside a moment before the door creaked open and crashed closed. The new person simply spared her a quick glance before going up the steps, skipping every other one.

Tara locked her questioning eyes onto Angel's, and noticed the slight chagrin and annoyance lacing their pupils. "My son, Connor," he said, and Tara just nodded.

After living in the Summers residence for a while, she'd learned how difficult teenagers could be.

Angel seemed almost relieved when she wasn't offended, and his gaze quickly turned back towards one of the offices.

"Cordelia, Tara's here," he said, and Tara heard a snort before a young woman came out to scrutinize her.

"Gee, I couldn't see that for myself," she replied, but kept her eyes locked on Tara's. Then she smiled brightly, and Tara let go of the breath she'd been holding.

Tara always hated depending on people liking her, but having Cordelia look at her approvingly made her feel good, even as she swore at herself.

Cordelia easily shook Tara's hand, and in the grip Tara could feel an inner strength, mixed with the sense of humor lurking in the woman's eyes. She was exotic looking, beautiful, the type that normally would have tormented Tara for not having been blessed with such incredible looks and confidence.

But Cordelia just continued to give her a gentle smile as she released Tara's hand. Tara immediately worried about the sweat that had developed again on her palm, but Cordelia didn't seem to notice.

Then the other woman's gaze sharpened, and Tara felt a frisson of unease pass through her. "You're Willow's girlfriend, aren't you? I'm surprised she let you come alone," Cordelia stated, mouth tightening in clear indication of what she thought of Willow's easy way of letting her girlfriend go to her possible death.

Tara fought the urge to stomp her foot childishly. Cordelia clearly couldn't know, but Tara was sick of comments like that.

She was always Willow's girl, Dawn's best bud, Buffy's sense of stability, Xander's advice center. She liked being those things, being needed and wanted. But never once did she feel accepted for just being herself.

Her eyes dropped from Cordelia's and studied the floor. "Willow and I broke up a while back," she said softly, trying to keep the pain stuck in her throat and not allow it to float out.

There was a long period of silence, yet Tara didn't look up, blinking back the tears that still gathered at the mention of what she'd lost. What she and Willow had *both* lost.

Her eyes followed the cracks on the floor, and her brow furrowed slightly as her mind pondered the odd markings across it. Were those...burn marks?

"Why don't we show you to a room? We've got plenty to pick from," a voice piped up timidly from her side, and Tara shot a grateful look at Fred.

"That sounds great. I'm a little exhausted," Tara replied, sending a comforting smile towards Cordelia, who was clearly worried she'd said the wrong thing before.

"It's right up this way..." Fred began, leading Tara up the main staircase. Tara nearly hid a grin as Fred showed her just about every floor, taking the role of tour guide.

Her mind shut out some of Fred's babbling, but Tara found the young woman's presence absolutely comforting.

Then Tara realized Fred had stopped and was looking at her. Embarrassed at tuning out Fred's diatribe, Tara started to apologize, but Fred just smiled.

"So, which room d'ya want?" she asked, and Tara's mind whirled.

If she picked the fourth floor, she'd be near Fred and Gunn, which would be nice. But...she wanted to give them some privacy.

She'd stay away from the sixth floor, where Connor was staying, if the loud music was any indication.

The eigth floor was designated as Angel and Cordelia's, and she didn't want to intrude there.

Finally she made her choice. Moving up the stairs, she picked the ninth floor, and the room right near the...elevator? She didn't remember seeing that on the other floors, but was too engrossed in the atmosphere to notice.

"Fred, there's an elevator?" she asked, and Fred nodded.

"Yeah, but it doesn't work sometimes," she admitted, and Tara laughed.

"Sounds just like the elevators at the UC Sunnydale dorms," Tara replied, and Fred shared her smile.

Their conversation was interrupted by Gunn coming up behind them. "Has the lady chosen her room?" he asked, and Fred nodded eagerly.

"This one," Fred said, arm sweeping grandly towards the door as all three traipsed into the room.

"What do you have in this thing?" Gunn asked, heaving Tara's bag onto her bed. Tara's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot to bring it with me. I know it's heavy..." she started to say, but Gunn waved her off.

"It's lighter than some of the weapons we've got stored downstairs, but not by much," he replied, his grin teasing and light.

Tara laughed. "Dawn calls it my Mary Poppins bag. I...grabbed everything I needed, but maybe I should have left some things behind," she said, biting on her lower lip.

Gunn's expression softened a bit, and he laid his hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad you've got some things from home. Makes it a bit easier, doesn't it?" he asked, and she nodded.

"We'll be downstairs," he added, and he and Fred both left the room, but not before Fred gave Tara a little parting hug.

Tara sat down on the edge of the bed, lacing her fingers together nervously. She felt...very alone, even with such wonderful people around.

She should be used to that feeling by now, she reasoned, but she wasn't. She'd chosen this room for its brightness, and calming aura, but now it simply seemed as though the walls were cloyingly close.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and centered herself. Something had led her here, and she wouldn't let her fears get the best of her.

Clearing her mind, she inhaled and exhaled before reciting,

"Strength of day

Strength of night

Give me strength

Beyond my sight."

Feeling stronger and more grounded, Tara smiled briefly.

Opening her eyes, she reached into her bag. Pulling out a few sticks of incense and a couple of jars, she sat down on the floor and got to work.

Tara had chosen to stay in her room for the rest of the evening. Her cleansing seemed to have worked, and the previously cheery yet somewhat daunting room now just seemed...friendly.

As the sun had risen, Tara had hesitantly moved her neck, loosening the kinks that had formed there.

‘Note to self: Don't fall asleep on wood floors. They're uncomfy,' she'd told herself with a slight grin.

Feeling a bit more like herself, she'd chosen a light green peasant blouse and muted pink skirt for the day.

After hesitantly opening the door, she'd moved into the hallway and down the main staircase.

No one had been up, and she'd set herself to exploring a bit, but soon was waylaid by more pressing matters. And that's how Gunn and Fred found her.

Tara turned at the sound of voices, and smiled as two people hesistantly opened the door.

"Please tell me that I'm really smelling what I think I am. Cause otherwise, I won't be happy," the man greeted Tara suspiciously looking at her creation.

Tara's mood went from lighthearted to worried at his words, but the young woman who'd come in at his side quickly slid over to her.

"Don't mind him. He's kinda grumpy in the morning," she whispered almost conspiratorily to Tara, and they both shared a small laugh.

Then Fred's gaze went over Tara's shoulder as well, and she squealed happily. "It's pancakes! They're real!" she said over her shoulder, and Tara exchanged a look with Gunn.

He came up as well, and broke out into a grin at the sight of the fluffy meal. "I am your slave for life," he exclaimed, patting Tara on the shoulder.

He and Fred both eagerly took the plates that Tara had set aside for them, and plunked down at the table.

As Tara dutifully doled out portions, Fred smiled. "Look! And they've got fun shapes," she said, marvelling over her plate.

Tara froze for a moment. Fred sounded so much like Dawn...but Fred wasn't Dawn, and this wasn't Sunnydale, and she wasn't in her fuzzy slippers cooking for an impatient Dawn and an equally impatient Willow.

Resolving to make new traditions, Tara grinned back, before setting the pan in the sink. Then she stopped.

"Is anyone else coming?" she asked, wondering if she should make more. But Gunn and Fred both shrugged.

"Nah, we always do our own thing for breakfast. We haven't eaten here...well, we haven't really eaten here at all," Gunn replied.

Then his fork froze. "Uh, Tara, we don't eat here," he said slowly, and Tara wasn't sure what he was getting at. She shot him a questioning look and he continued.

"Are you sure this stuff hasn't been here since the hotel was built?" he asked cautiously, and Tara saw Fred's fork halt in midair as well.

Tara's laugh echoed in the kitchen, and she found that she hadn't been able to laugh in too long of a while.

"I checked the expiration date. Twice even. I guess someone keeps it stocked in case you ever choose to eat here," she replied, and watched with happiness as both of her dining companions dug in with abandon.

Even though there wasn't much conversation, Tara found herself at ease during breakfast.

As Gunn pushed his plate away, he looked at her lovingly. "You make that every morning, and I think Fred might have competition," he said mischeviously, and Fred swatted at him playfully.

Tara laughed again, some of the emptiness leaving.

"Seriously, do you cook anything else?" Fred asked, eyes gleaming with curiousity and kindness.

Tara smiled ruefully. "Unfortunately, funny-shaped pancakes and canned soup are my only specialties. Although I do make a wicked grilled cheese, if I do say so myself," she replied.

Gunn and Fred both laughed at her candor. "I think that pancakes, canned soup, and grilled cheese sound wonderful. Not together of course," Fred amended as Gunn and Tara sent her strange looks.

"We'll have to make you a chef's hat or something," Fred said, helping to clear away dishes as all three stood.

"Well, I'm honored that you think I can make boxed pancakes with the best of them," Tara replied.

"You want help with the dishes?" Gunn asked, but Tara waved them both off.

"No, I got it," she said, and they told her to meet them out in the lobby when she was done.

After the dishes were done and stacked neatly away, Tara walked out. But after reaching the first floor landing, she found herself veering away from Fred and Gunn's cheerful banter filtering out behind the one closed door.

Promising herself she'd just run up to get a new shirt that didn't have water stains splotched over it, she went up to her room.

But once there, the melancholy overcame her once more. While she might say she'd taken this trip to help out Angel and the others, it really was more to help herself.

Was that incredibly selfish? She worried it was. She'd needed some time away, but Tara feared that the price she paid would be far more than she had to offer.

Sitting on the wooden floor, fighting off the early-morning chill in the room, she pulled her bag out from under the bed and searched through it for her blue sweater.

She'd brought a few pieces of clothing, rolled carefully to avoid taking up too much room in her pack. She had no doubt that when she needed more clothes, Cordelia would be more than willing to help her shop.

The idea of shopping with Cordelia daunted her, especially after the tales she'd been told by both Willow and Xander, but the woman had to know where the best bargains were in the city.

Her fingers caught on an envelope, wedged between socks and her day planner, and Tara pulled it out.

Her fingers shook slightly as she pulled out the few pictures she owned. She hadn't even been able to buy frames for them, and their crumpled edges showed how often she held them.

Knowing that Willow was in the pile, Tara put them aside before the tears decorating her lashes could fall.

She reached back into the envelope to withdraw its other content. A Christmas card from Dawnie. Made by Dawn herself, who admitted that fact almost ashamedly when she handed Tara the card, saying she didn't have enough money to buy one.

Tara's hug had nearly squished Dawn. She didn't know how to tell Dawn that she'd never been given a Christmas card before. But from the way Dawn's eyes brightened and the hugs she gave Tara all throughout the day let Tara know that Dawn understood.

Tara's fingers traced over the swirls of purple ink inside the card. She wondered how Dawn was doing.

Dawn was the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister, and Buffy had seemed okay with sharing Dawnie's time with her.

Tara's brow furrowed. She hoped Dawn was doing alright. She wondered if Dawn was finishing her English essays on time.

Tara had always disliked schoolwork on principle, but she'd been the first to volunteer to help Dawn after Buffy revealed how her little sister's grades were slipping.

She'd sit at the table with Dawn, homework spread over the area like a tablecloth, a bowl of popcorn perched atop her science book.

Tara remembers how she used to sit next to Dawn, helping Dawn with her spelling and grammar, laughing with Dawn over how neither of them could figure out how to do algebra.

Then Tara's thoughts turned to Willow, a girl she still loved and cared for beyond measure, yet still worried about frequently. Was she still walking the straight and narrow without Tara's eyes haunting her at every turn?

Ever since she was a child, Tara promised herself that she'd never ever use that accusing gaze her father often turned on her. It made her feel cold, feel dull, feel worthless, and Tara had promised she'd never do that to anyone else.

But after Willow's spell on her, she'd found that same accusing gaze slipping into her eyes whenever she turned to Willow. She could tell it in the full-body flinch that Will would have, in the way those beautiful eyes would fall.

Tara couldn't help but feel guilty, but she couldn't stop it from entering her gaze. She hoped that someday she would.

Her mind flicks to Buffy, who never failed to amaze Tara with her power, both inside and out. A girl who was slowly retreating into herself, faster than Tara herself had.

Tara remembers nights when Buffy would come in late, a bag with grease congealing on it in one hand and an ashamed look on her elfin face.

Tara remembers how Buffy tried to hide her wrecked and soiled clothing from Tara's eyes, forcing a smile upon her face and rushing to throw the offending garments downstairs.

Tara wouldn't push Buffy, no matter how much she wished the girl would confide in her. She'd just wait til she heard Buffy get into the shower, then take a cup of the fresh tea she'd been steeping and placed it on Buffy's nightstand.

Then she'd go downstairs, find the clothes, and put them into the washer, with an extra helping of detergent. She'd bought the ocean-scent last time she'd shopped, hoping it would help dilute whatever smell Buffy feared was on them.

Knowing that it was a stupid, useless gesture. But even as infinitely small as that gesture was, Buffy was grateful Tara could always sense it in the worn-out yet appreciative smile she'd send Tara's way after smelling the tea after her shower.