Title: Got to Be Certain
Author: Dolores Labouchere
E-mail: dolores_l@hotmail.com
Summary: Joyce goes along to a special meeting of women and meets Tara.
Rating: R (J/T slash. Oh yes.)
Spoilers: Season 4 in a manner of speaking, but nothing specific, a small
reference to 'Ted' and an oblique reference to the second ep of season 3,
not that I can remember its name.
Distribution: UCSL, JustJoyce, JOYFFA, anyone else just ask
Disclaimer: With the exception of Jeannie, they're not mine, they never have
been and they probably never will be. I promise to put them back, although
they may be slightly soiled. Ergo, don't sue.
Notes: This is set in the summer between Seasons 3 and 4.  I can only blame
Faithtastic for persuading me that I needed to write slash involving Joyce.
Anyway, I hope she likes the result. I also dedicate it to Charles, for
being such a cool Listdad. The title is from the song by Kylie Minogue, just
because.

"This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with
great force." – Dorothy Parker

***

Rubbing her sweating palms together, Joyce checked her appearance in the
mirror of the restroom for the sixth time in two minutes. She whispered a
quavering mantra, "You look fine, Joycie. You look fine." After one last
check, she left the restroom and moved into the corridor outside. It was
empty apart from a bust of Abraham Lincoln. The long-dead President looked
at her accusingly from under his plaster brows.

Ignoring him, and with her heart thumping in her chest, she took a deep
breath and walked into the Eleanor Roosevelt Room of Sunnydale Community
Center. A small circle of women sat on faded blue chairs, chatting quietly
to one another. Joyce felt the blood rush to her head, making her a little
faint. Taking one of the unoccupied chairs, she sat down and looked at her
clasped hands and the wedding band she still wore. Her throat tightened, so
she pulled it off, wincing at the pain when she dragged it over the joint in
her finger. She deposited it in her clutchbag, and then looked up in time
for the meeting to be called to order by a black woman in her fifties
wearing a baggy jumper and jeans.

"Good evening everyone, welcome to this week's meeting of the Sunnydale
Lesbian and Bisexual Women's Group. As most of you know, I'm Jeannie, the
Group's co-chair. Anna, our other co-chair, is on holiday this week, but she
sends her best wishes to you all. Now, we have a new member along this
week," with this she regarded Joyce, "so maybe you'd like to introduce
yourself, honey."

About a dozen pairs of eyes came to rest on Joyce. Trembling, she got to her
feet, and she heard herself say, "Well, uh, hi. Hi. I'm Joyce, and… and I
think I might be a lesbian. Or at least bisexual."

Wow. She'd finally said it out loud.

"You can sit down, honey, we're not Alcoholics Anonymous." Jeannie gave
Joyce a warm smile as the younger woman sat down again. "But welcome, Joyce,
we're very glad to have you here." A murmur of assent rippled around the
circle. "Is this the first time you've told anyone that?"

Joyce nodded, and felt herself well up with the emotion of the moment. The
other women made supporting noises, and those on either side of her squeezed
her shoulders, whispering "well done, well done."

Jeannie spoke again, "Congratulations Joyce, and welcome again." She
addressed the rest of the group now, "Tonight we're going to discuss the
depiction of lesbian or bisexual women on television. Would anyone like to
start?"

Most of the rest of the meeting was a blur as Joyce sat in her faded blue
chair and tried to grasp what she had just done. Finally admitted to the
world – well, a little part of it – how she really felt about her sexuality.
And it felt *so* good. Like the biggest weight had been lifted from her
shoulders, like she could begin live the life she'd secretly always wanted
and had never had. Just sitting there listening to the other ladies sit
there and discuss Xena and Ellen and Ross' wife on Friends and that gorgeous
doctor on ER was a wondrous, wondrous thing. When she nervously ventured the
opinion that there weren't enough older gay women on TV and how she wished
Janeway was a lesbian she was greeted with a chorus of "yes!" and the
conversation lurched to debating whether Janeway or Seven of Nine was the
more gorgeous. And she was a part of it. She wanted to cry with joy. She
couldn't believe it had taken her this long. The question was, what now?

After the formal part of the meeting was over, the women sat around drinking
coffee, chatting away in their own little groups. Joyce sat on her own, as
she always seemed to at these meetings. She was about to get up and make her
excuses when a younger woman, probably about Buffy's age, sat down next to
her, and have her a shy smile.

"Uh, hi, I'm T-Tara."

"Joyce."

"I remember." Of course, she had introduced herself to the whole group.

"So, do you come here often?" Oh, Joyce, was there a worse thing you could
have said?

Tara shook her head. "This is my uh, my third week."

"Oh, that's nice. So what do you do?"

"N-nothing at the moment. I graduated from High School about a month ago and
I'm off to college in the f-fall. What do you d-do?"

"I run the gallery in town."

The girl lit up at that comment. "Oh, cool. I've been there before. It's
really nice."

"Thank you."

Tara just smiled at her.

"You know, I'm really in awe of you," Joyce said, "being able to be so open
so young. About being a… I mean, thinking about women in that way."

"I think it takes more courage to come out at your age," replied Tara, "I
mean, n-not telling anyone for so long!" Then Tara's eyes widened as she
realised the implicit insult, "N-not that I mean that you're old or or
anything. Uh, I'm sorry, I, uh…"

"It's OK. I am old." Joyce patted the younger woman on the knee and Tara's
breathing seemed to slow down.

"You're not, n-not at all." Tara assured Joyce, her eyes round and solemn.

"Thanks. It's nice to know someone thinks so. My dau… uh, my doctor doesn't
think so." Now that was just vanity Joyce. Or was it not wanting to think
about Buffy in this situation?

Tara's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I-I just meant that, you know, not
to be able to be w-with a g-girl until you're… uh… I mean…"

The blonde woman trailed off and Joyce felt the need to fill the silence.
"There was one woman, once. She was called Pat. We never said we were
lesbians. We just said that we happened to love each other. We never got the
chance to take it further than kissing before… before she died."

"I'm sorry." Tara put her hand on Joyce's thigh and gave her a look of
sincere sympathy.

"All in the past." Joyce put her hand over Tara's. "All in the past. What
about you?"

"Oh, I've n-never had a g-g-gi, a g, someone else."

"Well, you're a pretty woman. You will soon, I'm sure."

Tara gave another shy smile at the compliment, and Joyce smiled back.

***

Joyce looked up at the sound of Buffy coming down the stairs, and placed the
last spoon onto the table. Her daughter wandered into the dining room.

"Hey, mom… what's with the dinner table? I'm going out with Will and Oz
tonight, you know that."

"There are other people I can have dinner with apart from you, Buffy."

Buffy's eyes widened, "I don't have anymore homicidal robots to deal with do
I?"

Joyce glared at her daughter. "I should hope not."

Buffy grinned mischievously, "So it is a date?"

"No! Just a friend I met at one of my evening classes."

"A *male* friend?"

Joyce rolled her eyes, "Buffy, no. Just a friend." It came out a little
harsher than she'd meant.

"Sorry Mom, I was just teasing."

"I know, dear, I'm just tired."

"Oh. Well, have a nice night."

"I will."

Buffy gave her mother a quick hug, then left to join her friends. Joyce
returned to the kitchen.

***

Clutching the small bunch of flowers, Tara reached Joyce's house a little
after seven thirty. She rang the doorbell and through the little windows in
the door she could see Joyce quickly fluffing her hair in a mirror that hung
in the hallway before answering the door.

"Tara, hello," the older woman said, standing to one side and motioning for
Tara to come in.

"H-hi," Tara said, silently cursing herself for her nervous voice, though
dwelling on it only made things worse. "These are for you." She proffered
the flowers.

"Why, thank you. That's so sweet. Come into the kitchen and I'll put these
in a vase."

Silently, Tara followed Joyce through the house to a kitchen filled with
food smells, baking pastry and fragrant herbs. Joyce moved over to the sink
and opened the cupboard underneath it to retrieve a clear glass vase. She
filled it with water then put the posy into it, spent a few seconds
arranging the blooms, then placed the vase on the windowsill.

"Now, that looks pretty. Oh, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?
Water, juice, Coke?"

Tara nodded, "Juice, please."

Joyce smiled again at Tara, and the girl felt her stomach flip.

The meal was delicious, succulent chicken in a creamy white wine sauce.
Joyce opened a bottle of white wine, and eventually persuaded Tara to take a
glass.  They sat and talked at the table about love and Oprah and endangered
animals and Ally McBeal, with some discussion about whether Ling or Nell was
the more attractive.  Neither woman liked Ally very much.

Eventually the meal was finished.  "I'm just going to put these dishes in
the kitchen.  Why don't you go into the other room and I'll join you there
in a second," said Joyce as she emptied the last of the bottle into their
glasses.  Tara nodded, and trotted through the door and sat down on the
sofa.

Tara could hear the faint clink of crockery from the kitchen as she looked
at the pictures on display.  Most involved a blonde girl that Tara assumed
was Joyce's daughter.  Maybe that was why the older woman was interested in
her; it was a maternal thing, not a sexual attraction.  Which made more
sense.  But Tara so hoped that it was more than just a motherly concern.
She found Joyce so attractive, with her experience and maturity.  /She's
funny and modest and so lovely… but why would she be interested in someone
like me?/

/Maybe it's because she does find you attractive/

/Maybe/

It was probably just the wine talking, but Tara decided she had to find out,
one way or another.

***

"I'm on the wrong side of forty, my hair's going grey and I have
stretchmarks.    You can't tell me that I don't look old."

"But you're b-beautiful."

Joyce flushed a little at the compliment.  "Thank you Tara, you're very
sweet."

"But I *mean* it."  Tara's hand was on Joyce's thigh, squeezing it gently.

"Tara… I… you're only 19," Joyce said weakly, trying to avoid Tara's intent
gaze.  She'd been trying to avoid it all night.  Not because she found it
uncomfortable, but because she knew she'd just end up staring back.

"Age doesn't m-matter."

"It shouldn't but…"

The hand was removed, and Tara began to get up.  Her voice cracking, she
whispered, "I-I'm sorry.  I'd better…"

Joyce's chest felt tight, and she was wracked with indecision.  She looked
down at the wedding band she wore.  /You don't get many chances in this
life, Joycie.  Take them/ She grabbed Tara's arm, pulling the blonde back on
to the sofa.  The older woman looked into Tara's hazel eyes.  "I think
you're beautiful too."

For a moment both paused, then Tara, eyes shut and mouth a little open, bent
her head towards Joyce.  Joyce didn't respond immediately, instead sliding
her hand around Tara's neck, feeling the warm, peachy soft skin, and
inhaling through her nose to take in the flowery perfume Tara was wearing.
Then she moved in to take Tara's bottom lip in her mouth, sucking and
pulling on the sweet flesh.  Tara's tongue pushed into Joyce's mouth,
running along the older woman's lips and teeth.  Joyce moaned softly; she
felt like she was about to burst out of her skin with joy at this wonderful,
forbidden sensation.  The two fell into an embrace on the sofa, their hands
running across each other's bodies, Tara's mouth leaving a wet trail along
Joyce's neck as it nibbled and sucked and kissed the skin there.

They stopped, make-up smudged and a little breathless.  Joyce whispered,
"Are you OK with this?"

"Yes.  I want this."

It vaguely occurred to Joyce before she lost herself in more forbidden
sensation that Tara wasn't stuttering anymore.

***

Tara threaded her fingers through the russet hair of the older woman then
leaned in to steal another kiss.

Joyce kissed back then laid her head on the pillow.  Tara laid her head on
the ample bosom of her new lover, and revelled in the feeling of the soft
skin on her cheek.  She felt Joyce's fingers in her hair, and then the older
woman asked, "So what do you like to do in your spare time?  If it's
something we can do together…"

"You'll think it's s-stupid."

"Tara, as long as it's important to you, I don't care."

"Promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"Wicca."

"Wicker?  Basket weaving?"

Tara giggled.  "No.  *Wicca* - it's sort of like witchcraft."

When Joyce said nothing Tara continued, "You probably think that I just
think I can do witchcraft.  But really I can.  I can show you, if you like."

"I rather you didn't." Joyce tone was cold.  Something was wrong.

"It's not bad, I-I don't do anything b-bad."

"Look, Tara…"

"What?"

"I can't… It's not your fault, but…"

Tara sat up and looked down at the reclining Joyce.   "But what?"

"I didn't know that you were into… that sort of thing."

"But I told you, I'm not bad.  It's not like I'm in league with the
d-devil."

"Don't worry, I'd probably know about it if you were."  Joyce muttered, as
she too sat up.

"What do you want me to do?  Stop?  I can't.  W-wicca's really important to
me.  R-really.  But so are you."

"I know, dear.  I just… I can't explain.  It just makes things complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Complicated.  I'm sorry, more than you can know, but it's probably better
that we don't…"

"Don't what?!" Tara's voice was nearing hysteria now.

In a barely audible voice, Joyce said, "Don't see each other."

Tara gave an anguished howl, and tears rushed down her cheeks.  "I don't
understand.  What have I done?"

Joyce couldn't look at her.  "Nothing.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."

"Then *why?*"

"I *can't* tell you."

Tara got out of the bed and began to pull on her clothes, sobbing as she did
so.

"Tara…"

"I can't b-believe I mean this l-little to you."

"Tara, you mean a great deal to me, I'm just in a really difficult
situation."

"I-I thought I loved you."

"You couldn't know that, we hardly know each other."

"I thought I knew enough."  With that, Tara ran out of the door and down the
stairs.  She opened the front door and ran into the night.  She heard
Joyce's calling of her name in the distance, but paid no heed.  She needed
to get away.  Away from Joyce, and away from the pain.

***

When Buffy walked into the house after Patrol she was surprised to find that
the light was till on in the kitchen.

"Mom?"

She walked in to find her mother in her robe, sitting nursing a mug of hot
chocolate – actually cold chocolate by the looks of it – crying softly.

"Mom!  What’s wrong?"

Her mother looked up.  "Nothing, dear, I'm just being a little emotional.
Worrying that I can't protect you."

"Oh, Mom."  Buffy gave her mother a hug, and Joyce gratefully sobbed into
her daughter's embrace.

***

The meeting dragged on; the PFLAG co-ordinator speech was all very
interesting, but Joyce had other things on her mind.  This was the third
week in a row that Tara hadn't turned up and Joyce was worried.   She wanted
to try and make things up to the younger woman.  She'd been so scared that
Buffy would somehow get involved with Tara through the Wicca – and she just
wasn't ready to tell Buffy about… all this.  Worse yet, that Tara would get
involved with Buffy through Joyce and it was bad enough worrying about
Buffy, let alone her lover too.  It had seemed the best thing to do at the
time.  Now she realised that it was just cowardice.  It was easier to push
Tara away than deal with being a lesbian and having a teenage lover.  The
Wicca was a handy excuse. But now things were too late and in all
probability she'd missed her chance.

In the post-meeting coffee and chat Joyce walked up to Jeannie.  The other
woman smiled at her and asked how things were going.

"Fine. I was wondering – Tara hasn't been along to the last few meetings and
I'm concerned."

"Why?  Should you be?"

"Oh, no, I just worry."

Jeannie shrugged.  "I wouldn't.  A lot of the younger women come along when
they first come out, but then they find friends their own age and we don't
see them again.  It's just the way it happens.  The group tends to be more
directed at us oldies!" She grinned at Joyce.  "It's hard to get out of
being maternal for them, isn't it?"

"Something like that."

"Tara's due to start college soon, isn't she?  Well, I daresay she's just
getting ready for that. Probably can't wait to meet all the other girls and
start having some *real* fun.  I know I couldn't!"  Jeannie chuckled then
was interrupted by someone else.

Joyce sat down on a faded blue chair and sighed.  It looked like she had
indeed missed her chance, and Tara was no doubt waiting to meet a nice
college girl.  She would probably be really happy.  Joyce was already
jealous.

***