Title: The Color Of Magic

Summary: He’s painted in shades of gray, but she’s pure white light.  AR Tara left Sunnydale when she left Willow and was never killed by Warren. Lindsey/Tara

Rated: PG-13

A/N: Thanks to Lisa for the quick beta on this!

 

 

 

She couldn’t remember when she’d fallen in love with him, but she knew it had started with his eyes. She’d never seen anyone with eyes that shade of blue. She told him one time that his eyes were the color of the magic in her blood. He hadn’t understood, but he hadn’t cared. He’d just kissed her, said something sweet with that drawl that caressed every word and taken her back to bed.

 

The shower cut off and still she lazed in bed. She felt heavy, liquid and that tingly warm that at one time had been reserved for magic. Now it was magic and Lindsey. She watched through hooded eyes as he strolled into the bedroom clad only in a towel. Lindsey always strolled no matter where he went. He wasn’t in a hurry. He’d left that part of him behind in Los Angeles. A smile curved her lips.

 

“What brings that pretty smile out of hiding?” Lindsey asked.

 

She shrugged one bare shoulder. “Sight of you in a towel and nothing else isn’t reason enough?”

 

He grinned; tempted to crawl back into bed with her, instead he grabbed a pair of faded, worn jeans from the dresser.  “That usually prompts other actions, of which my ego is sorely bruised that you didn’t take upon sight.”

 

She laughed, gathered the sheet about her and got to her feet. “You make me feel like a cat, slinky, graceful and sexy.”

 

Lindsey snaked an arm around her waist. “Trust me, Darlin; you are all those things and more.” He pulled her flush against his chest.

 

Her fingers traced patterns on his skin, across his shoulders, down his arms. “You’ve got more shades of gray than any other person I’ve ever met,” she whispered.

 

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. His lips brushed hers. “And you’re a pure shade of white. Maybe that’s why you’re so good for me. You balance out my darker shades.”

 

She leaned into him, brushing the hollow of his throat with her lips. He tangled one hand in her dark blonde hair, groaning at the contact. “Two years ago, I thought my heart was dead,” she murmured against his skin.

 

He dipped his head, burying his nose in her hair. “My whole life mine has been. How do you do that?”

 

She looked up at him, her curtain of hair falling back. “Magic,” she whispered and kissed his chin.

 

He chuckled. “I’m certifiably insane for saying this, but get dressed. Dad is dying to meet you.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “What if they hate me?”

 

“As much as I love you? They can’t hate you. It’s impossible,” he promised.

 

*

 

 

The smell of hamburgers and hot dogs cooking tickled her nose the moment he pulled up in front of the tiny house.  There were four other pickups parked in the drive. She glanced at him, nervousness pinching her face. He leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “Relax, they’re gonna love you and if they don’t, we’ll have them killed because they’re obviously evil.”

 

Her laughter broke through her nerves. “Well in that case, what are we waiting for?”

 

The door of the old ford whined when he opened it for her. He led her around the back of the house to the yard where there were half a dozen people gathered. The man at the grill had white hair and Lindsey’s eyes.  He turned and walked toward them with an open smile. He slapped Lindsey on the back.

 

“Bout time you brought her ‘round. Pretty thing, prettier than you deserve,” he joked and then held his hand out to her. “I’m Tom McDonald.”

 

She shook his hand, noticing the calluses and roughness that adorned it. She froze for a moment, reminded of her father’s hands, but somehow she knew this man’s hands could never, would never hurt her. “Tara MacClay.”

 

*

 

She sat in the shade in a lawn chair with a glass of sweet tea, surrounded by the sound of family. She watched Lindsey as he, his father and his brothers tossed a rope at a plastic cow head stuck into a bale of hay.  She laughed at the sight of one of Lindsey’s nephews, the youngest, jumping up and down in place as one of the older boys threw a rope at his feet.

 

“Make sure you don’t pull the slack on that rope,” one of the men warned him. The teenaged boy just nodded.

 

“Don’t you got no rhythm? Cow sure ain’t gonna be all over the place like that,” the teenager complained. The little boy stuck his tongue out at him and kept jumping.

 

“How’d you and Lindsey meet?” One of the women interrupted her thoughts. Tara turned to her and smiled. She was pretty sure the bottle blonde was Lindsey’s Aunt Emily.

 

“It’s…” she trailed off, about to say it was a long story, but it wasn’t really. How she’d gotten there, now that was a long story.

 

*

 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been running, or rather she does. To the minute. Maybe the second depending on her heartbeat.  She closes her eyes, not surprised to find they’re weeping again. She knows what she did was right. It was the only way, but sometimes right hurts. Whoever says it doesn’t is lying.

 

This is her fourth town in a year and a half. None of them feel right, but then she’s begun to suspect that nothing will feel right. Ever. Again.  She lies across the rented bed of the little apartment wishing she were somewhere else. Somewhere that has red hair and green eyes. Don’t forget the addiction to magic.

 

Can’t ever be that somewhere again.

 

 

*

 

“You were saying, Sweetie?” Aunt Emily prodded.

 

“Oh, I met Lindsey when my car broke down. He stopped and picked me up on the side of the road,” Tara explained with a smile on her lips.

 

“She insisted on riding in the bed of the truck,” Lindsey added as he pulled her up out of her chair, sat down and then pulled her into his lap. “Thought I was an axe murderer.”

 

Tara laughed. “Or worse. You don’t know where I came from. Sunnydale, California, axe murderers are the nice guys.”

 

“Oh. I just lay in bed every night Lindsey was in California, praying he wouldn’t get himself killed there,” Aunt Emily exclaimed, her hand over her chest. She swooned dramatically.

 

The smile on Tara’s face didn’t reach her eyes. Lindsey didn’t even attempt a smile.

 

“We don’t have to worry about that now anymore, Em,” Tom said as he joined them under the shade tree. “Stayin’ right here, ain’t ya Linds?”

 

Lindsey nodded. “Yes, Sir. Job at the DA’s office in Odessa is going good.”

 

He was helping people this time around. The only demons left in Lindsey’s life were the ones that chased him in his nightmares.

 

 

*

 

 

He doesn’t know why he can’t forget her. Maybe it was because she’s the first girl since he was sixteen years old that didn’t open the pickup door and slide across the bench seat, wedging herself as closely as she could to his side. She sat in the bed of the truck, told him to stay on the main road right into the next town or she’d turn him into a frog.

 

“And don’t think I can’t,” she’d said in a voice that trembled, belaying the confident façade she presented.

 

So he’s standing on the porch of the only bed and breakfast in Monahans waiting for her to come outside. Dorothy, the owner of the Sunrise Bed and Breakfast won’t let him come inside unless “Miss Tara” says it’s alright.

 

Miss Tara is stubborn. She sits on the porch swing, one foot keeps it swaying. Country music pours out of the radio.

 

“I told you, Lindsey. I don’t date.”

 

“It’s the Dairy Queen for an ice cream. That doesn’t exactly qualify as a date,” Lindsey shoots back at her.

 

She sighs. “Ice cream and then you bring me back here.” She can’t help but laugh, even his grin has a southern drawl.

 

 

*

 

 

Aunt Emily got out the family album. She pulled a black and white photo from it and handed it to Tara. “That’s Lindsey when he was about eight years old. Tom dunked him in the horse tank. It was a hot, sweaty day and they were goofing off.”

 

Tara held the picture and laughed. She looked over at Lindsey across the yard and found he was watching her. That smile waltzed across his face.  She held up the black and white picture to illustrate what she was laughing at.  He shook his head, chuckled and kept his eyes on her.

 

He was painted in shades of gray, most of them darker, a few of them the dingy color white laundry turns after a few years.  She was pure white light, the color of magic. The magic that had salvaged the debris Wolfram and Hart had left behind of Lindsey McDonald.