Digressions - Nihilistbear's Writings

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It Falls Apart Author’s Note: Spike/Tara, Spike/Anya, Spike/Dawn Friendship, Spike/Buffy implied. Set from the end of “The Gift” through “Entropy”, and it’s all in canon. I’m kinda crazy that way. A gift for Nora Beta’d by Romany. Go give her hugs, kisses and sexual favours (if that's your kind of thing)as thanks for getting it done so quickly Rated NC-17 for one kinda-but-not-quite smutty scene and sexual language. ~~~~~~~ He’s not sure how this is happening. In fact, he can count a hundred reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, but he can’t stop this. Can’t find it in himself to stop. Tara moans as he thrusts inside her, and he forgets what he was trying to justify. ~~~~~~ Looking back, in the afterglow, as Tara wraps her full body around him like a cat and curls up to his shoulder, pressing soft kisses to his rapidly cooling skin, he figures it all began over the summer Buffy had been gone. Him and Dawn against the world, right? He was keeping a promise he hadn’t meant to make. He wasn’t supposed to be watching over Buffy’s kid sis once Buffy was dead. He was supposed to be watching over her to show off his bright and shining conscience-type thing, so Buffy would one day look at him with love in her eyes, and she’d tell him he was worthy of her, even if he was a soulless barely-caged monster. Tell him that she saw the man she’d created, that she was past all the bullshit and training and knew she could love him. They’d live happily ever after, with sweet Dawn wandering off to college on a marvelous scholarship and making a life for herself apart from them. But it hadn’t worked out like that at all. He’d screwed up. Dawn had started bleeding, and Buffy had died. She left him with a hole inside and a brand new terminally fucked up girl, who asked hard questions he could never answer properly, and who withdrew further and further into herself hourly. Another Drusilla- only this one had a chance to be normal- but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t know how to fix her. Enter Tara, gorgeous, full bodied Tara, whose soft curves and sweet glances fairly glowed with maternal instinct. She clucked over Dawn, remembered her favourite foods and clothes, and brought one sad eyed little girl slowly but inexorably back from the brink. Tara saved Dawn’s life, because Spike didn’t know how. She and Willow left the dorm and moved into Joyce’s room. Dawn woke up every day to her favourite breakfast and Tara’s beautiful voice singing black folk songs from the Deep South as she washed the dishes. Eventually Dawn lost the dead look in her skyblue eyes. And Spike was more than ready to give her over to the earth mother, walk away and be done with this task he couldn’t possibly perform. He was a demon, made to kill and destroy, made to eat fourteen-year-old girls, not raise them. But Dawn clung to Spike, needing someone who could tell her stories about bloodshed and war, so she would know she wasn’t the first person who’d killed someone else so she could live. She needed Spike’s silent stillness when he was caught inside his mind. She needed his skill with cards, and his ability to live in the moment. She needed him to keep his promise because Buffy hadn’t. Thus Tara and Spike found themselves thrown together quite often. Dawn would beg them both to take her to a movie, and she’d sit between them, never feeling truly safe unless surrounded by people who cared for her. She’d wake up screaming from nightmares, and refuse to go back to sleep unless they both crawled into her incredibly small bed along with her. Spike and Tara would lie on their sides with Dawn between them, and Spike would play with Dawn’s hair as Tara wove magic with her lullabies. Dawn would fall asleep, as would Spike and Tara. He’d wake up when he felt morning creeping into the sky, kiss Dawn’s forehead, silently thank Tara, and leave to spend the day resting in the crypt. Soon enough, Spike and Tara would stay up for the few hours it took for Dawn’s dreams to overcome her rather than bothering to fall asleep at all. Tara would come home, wave hello and run up stairs to put on her pyjamas, warm flannel plaid, the symbol of motherhood, then come back down and wait with him in the kitchen. Those late nights had a surreal quality. Tara would make a pot of tea, something fruity and clearly caffeine free. He’d sip at it, try very hard not to make a face and she’d laugh. She’d get up and make him cocoa, scolding him for drinking something so caffeine-rich late at night. He’d raise his scarred eyebrow and remind her he was a vampire. She’d blush and mumble something like, “I forgot.” Then they’d talk. It had been ages since Spike had sat back and just talked with anyone, without the ‘I love you’ or ‘I’ll save you’ or ‘you’re crazy but I love you and I’ll save you’ baggage. At first they’d made the proper noises about weather and school, comments on Dawn, bets on when she’d wake up and what she’d dreamed about this time. But Tara was incapable of small talk, and Spike found it ridiculous and tiresome. Eventually they’d settle into silence and Spike would think, in true Williamesque style, in this moment I am content. And he’d wonder if it was something Tara gave off, like the scent of rose soap and autumn days. Then one day Tara skipped the small talk. He’d gone on a bender inspired by finding a sweater that still smelled of Buffy in his crypt. He’d tossed aside his usual sleep plans and grabbed the whiskey he kept on hand. He settled into his armchair and drank himself into as much of a stupor as he could with one bottle of rotgut. When the sun set, he grabbed some blood from the fridge and made his way to the Summers’ home as steadily as he could. He walked inside, headed to the microwave and began heating some blood. Dawn ran down the stairs as soon as she heard the door shut. “You’re here!” she said happily, wrapping skinny arms around his waist and holding him close. He closed his eyes and forced his thoughts away from his dead love. “I have an English final I need to write tomorrow. Stupid make up classes. Can we go over some stuff?” Spike growled. Here he was, William the Bloody, a scourge feared by demon and Slayer alike, and he was going to help a fourteen-year-old girl with her homework. Dawn pulled away slightly, and her eyes became shuttered. “Or not,” she said woodenly. “It doesn’t matter.” “No, Dawn, wait,” but it was too late. He’d lost her. Cursing softly, he dumped the blood into a mug and went to find the fragile girl. She was sitting on the back porch, long legs dangling over the steps. He sat beside her and began drinking his blood. They were silent. Spike swallowed the last of the reheated blood and grimaced. “Tastes like piss” he said conversationally. “Whatever,” Dawn replied sullenly, arms crossed over her budding breasts. “Not like I care.” He sighed. “Listen Dawn. I had a bad day. That’s no excuse; I know I shouldn’t have growled at you. Of course I’ll help with your homework. But you remember our blood oath, right?” Dawn smiled slightly and loosened the death grip her arms had on her torso. She held up her right hand, and, trying not to giggle, said, “I, Dawn Summers, solemnly swear I will never tell anyone that William The Bloody read Literature at Cambridge, under penalty of hideous torture in the form of being tickled mercilessly for hours.” “Right,” Spike said amiably. “Now, what do you need to review?” Dawn ran inside and grabbed her books, turning on the back porch light when she returned. Spike refused to study in the house; too many opportunities to have his intellectual side discovered. For the next three and a half hours Spike talked about Shakespeare and Marlowe, outlining their different writing styles as Dawn took notes in bubbly script. “Well, that should be plenty for now, Dawn,” Spike said, rising to his feet. Dawn slapped her binder shut and stuffed it back in her backpack. “Go get ready for bed, okay, Bit?” Dawn made a face. “I wanna stay up and watch a movie,” she whined. Spike grinned. “I want hundreds of beautiful virgins offering their bodies and necks to me. We don’t always get what we want.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “You know the drill. You have a test tomorrow, so on Friday we’ll stay up late and watch some godawful movie about teens in lust.” Dawn giggled. “Yeah, you know you love it,” she teased before heading into the house. Spike lit a cigarette and leaned against the railing. He was trying to think of anything but Buffy when the back door opened and Tara stepped out. “So, you read Literature at Cambridge, huh?” she said with a soft smile. Spike frowned, then looked over at the kitchen window, which was open. He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I think someone’s been eavesdropping, pet.” He said with an embarrassed smile. Then his frown returned. “Did anyone else hear?” he asked gruffly. “No,” Tara replied, her smile faltering a little. “Willow’s busy. Again. She and Xander are always at the Magic Box, and when I go in, they stop talking.” Her smile wobbled. “I’m beginning to feel unwelcome in my girlfriend’s life.” A tear slid down her face. Spike threw his cigarette onto the deck, crushed it beneath his heel, and wordlessly held out his arms to Tara, who collapsed into them, her arms pressed between her body and his, and sobbed. Spike whispered what he hoped were soothing phrases in her ear as he rubbed her back gently. A few minutes later, she pulled back slightly. “Um, thanks,” she whispered. “Sorry about…” she gestured vaguely towards his shirt, which was somewhat damp near his left shoulder. “No worries, Tara,” Spike replied. “Not like I have a shortage of black tee-shirts.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Isn’t this when you usually try to make me drink some hideous hot liquid that you feel deserves the name of tea before making me cocoa?” Tara laughed and wiped away the last of her tears. “You know, the ancient Chinese believed tea had the power to grant longevity,” she scolded. “I’m immortal,” Spike deadpanned. “My longevity beats the hell out of any ancient Chinese person, and I say that herbal tea will kill me.” Tara smiled. “Well, there’s that,” she conceded. Spike shrugged easily. “When I’m right, I’m right.” He opened the door and held it, and Tara walked into the house and began boiling the water for tea and the milk for Spike’s cocoa. “So, why were you drunk earlier?” she asked casually. Spike’s head shot up. “Excuse me?” he said huffily. “What makes you think I was drunk?” “I grew up in a household of alcoholics, Spike,” she said, casually dropping a piece of information about herself that Spike had considered but never actually known. “I know when someone’s drunk; it interrupts their aura.” “Oh.” He moved to the counter top and pulled himself onto it easily. “Just, well…” He trailed off then continued. “I found something of Buffy’s today in the crypt…” Tara looked over her shoulder and smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I get that. Willow has those moments, too. She’ll open a drawer, and something she borrowed from Buffy’ll be there and she’ll just cry for hours.” Spike frowned. “I don’t cry,” he protested. Tara shrugged. “Will cries, you drink. A coping mechanism is a coping mechanism, Hon.” She poured boiling water into a teacup, then added the cocoa powder to Spike’s milk, stirring slightly. He warmed at the endearment, but kept it hidden. He didn’t want to scare away the shy little witch who had more strength than he’d ever seen. He thought about that for a second. Actually, Tara hadn’t been shy at all as of late with him. He looked at her curiously as she continued to stir the cocoa with a whisk, removing all the lumps. Tara looked at him, catching him mid stare. “Is something on my shirt?” she asked. “No.” Spike reassured her. “Now I get to ask a personal question. Why aren’t you stuttering and looking at the ground around me anymore?” Tara smiled. “Because I’m not afraid of you.” Spike growled. “You should be,” he said angrily. “I’m a scary person.” Tara nodded. “I know. You used to terrify me, with your scowls and your leers. But I know better now.” She poured the hot chocolate into a mug and handed it to him, before grabbing her tea and settling on the island, sitting across from him. “So what changed?” he asked. “I set your hand on fire in the camper,” she said softly. “You didn’t hit me.” “Couldn’t,” Spike said dismissively. “Chip. This is great,” he added, tipping the cup to her. “Thanks,” she replied. “But it’s more than the chip,” she continued, “because you were really patient with me. You didn’t swear or yell, at me anyway; you made a joke of it. I remember that.” She sipped her tea. “That’s when I stopped being afraid of you.” Spike chuckled. “You were crazy,” he said teasingly. “You shouldn’t trust judgments you make when you’re out of your mind.” She laughed softly. “I know. But I also see you with Dawn.” She stood and sat beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re good for her. You know that, right?” Spike sighed. He had no idea why he was opening up to this girl. Probably another one of her maternal skills. Tara made a person feel safe talking about the less manly things in his life, his fears and worries. His own nightmares. “I’m a bad choice of guardian for her,” he said honestly. “Couldn’t save her on the tower, couldn’t save her when she was sad.” He looked at Tara. “I’m made to look after wreckage, not stop it from happening. She’d be lost without you.” Tara smiled sweetly and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him lightly. “She needs us both, Spike. Don’t sell yourself short.” Spike was about to reply, but just then Dawn’s screams tore through the peace in the house. They bolted up the stairs. “Snakes, Dawn whimpered as they entered her room. “Snakes all over me and I couldn’t get them off me.” She was shuddering. “They were hideous,” she said shakily. Tara climbed onto the bed quickly and held Dawn tightly, whispering soothing noises in her ears. Spike did his usual fake search of the room then joined the two girls on the bed. “I checked,” he declared. “No snakes here. Not a single little slithering bastard.” He lifted the covers for a final check. “See? All gone.” Dawn smiled at him through her tears. “Promise?” she said. Spike nodded solemnly. He knew better than to belittle the nightmares of someone who’d gone through trauma; a hundred years of Drusilla’s delusions had taught him that. “I swear. Let’s get you tucked back in, okay?” Dawn lay back obediently, and Tara got off the bed. They took the comforter and pulled it up to Dawn’s chin, then secured the blankets on each side. Tara lay on one side and Spike lay on the other. Spike played with Dawn’s hair and Tara said, “What would you like to hear, sweetie?” she said quietly. “Something new,” Dawn said. “Something I’ve never heard before, without snakes, if possible.” Tara smiled. “I don’t think I know any songs about snakes,” she said softly. “There’s this one I learned from my English teacher; she was from London.” Dawn smiled sleepily. “Okay.” Tara opened her mouth and started singing softly, “Early one morning just as the sun was rising…” Spike closed his eyes. Seemed today was the day for painful memories, first Buffy, then his mother’s favourite song. He wrapped an arm around Dawn’s waist and held tightly, more for himself than for her. Tara finished the song. Dawn’s eyes were closed, but experience had taught them if they left her alone too soon she’d wake up screaming again. So Spike lay there, trying to hold back the memories. Trying to forget the things he did when he was young. Trying to forget the first love that he’d killed. “Spike?” Tara whispered softly. She could have screamed. Dawn could sleep through anything while they were next to her, but he understood her reason. Tara liked the peace they had in these moments, the sensation that nothing was wrong in the world. It was something they’d both craved. “Yeah?” he asked quietly. “What’s wrong?” Damn her sensitive nature anyway. No one else would have sensed anything different about him. Not even after a hundred years could Drusilla decipher his less obvious mood shifts. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?” he asked defensively, trying not to tense up and alert Dawn. Noise didn’t bother her but try either of them to leave the bed… “You’re holding on to Dawn as if your life depends on her. Also, you usually smile when I sing, and hum along a bit.” Spike looked away. “Sorry. Memories. You know.” Tara smiled sleepily. “Yeah, I do.” She didn’t press for more information. You could count on Tara to know when to stop asking. “Goodnight, Spike.” She closed her eyes and slept. Spike stared at the two girls curled against each other. As usual, when he felt the tension leave Dawn’s body a few hours later, he rolled off the bed and placed a kiss on her forehead. He looked over at Tara, arms still wrapped around Dawn and after a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her forehead as well, and whispered, “Thanks, luv,” before leaving the room and heading to his crypt. Their nightly conversation was different after that. They’d still drink tea and cocoa, but then instead of basking in the comfortable silence, he’d felt compelled to tell the story of his life. His life amongst the living, anyway. He told her about being a poet, and a mama’s boy; about the people who laughed at him and Cecily, who’d torn him to shreds and sent him off in tears to become a demon. He poured out his secret past on Tara, and she absorbed it all. Tara began telling him snippets of her own life before Sunnydale: about the mother who died too soon, her alcoholic and controlling father, being told she was a demon and filthy all her life. Things that Spike suspected had never been mentioned to Willow either. Like the cousin who’d tried to rape her in the woodshed when she was eleven, before she’d shoved him off of her, or her brother trying to sell her to his friends, until she cast a spell to scare them off. Spike listened to it all of it and marveled at the quiet beauty of the girl in front of him. He’d known her family had been terrifying; hell, he’d punched her to scare them away. He’d never have guessed they were that bad, though. He’d long known the evil humanity was capable of, had witnessed it for a century or more, but he’d never seen someone emerge from something that horrible and be so sweet. “You’re beautiful,” he’d blurted out one night, when she’d told him about the boys at school who’d called her an ugly freak. “They were fools, and you’re amazing.” Then he looked at his mug, cursing himself for being so poetic. Tara smiled shyly. “If I’m amazing, it’s because my mother never gave up on me.” she looked down. “She taught me magic, even though my dad beat her whenever he caught her.” Spike frowned. “Why didn’t she leave?” he questioned. “She sounds resilient enough.” Tara looked away and her voice hardened. “He told her she was a demon,” she said angrily. “He made her believe she’d hurt people if she left.” She laughed bitterly. “And of course, she bought it. They always buy it.” Spike looked up, surprised. Tara had never said anything about her past in any tone of voice beyond disinterested, as though she was telling someone’s else’s story, not her own. He looked at her hands, clenched tightly around the fragile teacup, and removed the cup from her hands before she could shatter the fragile china and hurt herself. “Not everyone’s like that, pet,” he said soothingly, catching her chin and tilting her head up to make her look at him. “Not everyone’s a bastard who’ll try and control you.” Tara smiled weakly. “I know,” she whispered. “Willow doesn’t. You wouldn’t. Dawn wants me to stay the same forever. I can be myself here and no one would try and take that from me.” Spike smiled at her. “Because the you that’s you is wonderful.” Then he let go of her face and coughed slightly. “Anyways. Do you like Shakespeare?” he said desperately, trying to clear the air of the lovey dovey feelings he’d let escape. Tara had smiled and opened her mouth, but Dawn screamed and they ran upstairs, the conversation forgotten as they went off to save the day. The next night Tara had recited a Shakespearian sonnet, Sonnet 29, from memory. Spike had clapped lightly, and she’d blushed and affected a small curtsy. “It’s the only thing I remember from high school, besides that song” she confessed. “I remember thinking, if I ever found someone who loved me, I could make it through. Really loved me, not like Mom. My English teacher….” The sentence trailed off and Spike looked at her. She was staring at the floor and fiddling with her pyjama top. “She was a nice person,” she finished. “Very, um, sw-sweet.” He noticed the return of the stutter and watched her carefully. A smile spread across his face. “Were you hot for your teacher, Pet?” he’d said teasingly. The blush on her face deepened. “You were!” he crowed. Tara blushed pure red, and it moved from her face down her neck. Spike chuckled. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Tara.” Tara looked up then, a sly smile on her face. “She was hot for me, too,” she said coyly and Spike’s jaw dropped. Tara grinned and continued, “and so I discovered women.” Spike closed his mouth and blinked a couple times. “You’re taking the piss,” he said accusingly. “You never.” Tara nodded slowly, trying to control her blush. Spike stared at her and tried to process the information. Then he laughed loudly. “You’re something, Tara,” he said through snickers. “You really, really are.” Tara laughed along with him, then her eyes widened. “You can’t tell Willow!” she admonished. “She doesn’t know. Promise?” Spike’s jaw dropped again, and his eyes widened. “You haven’t told Red?” he said incredulously. “How’d you explain the whole, y’know” he nodded his head at her, “Sapphic thing?” “I told her I met a girl in high school,” she explained. “An older girl. But I never said she was my teacher.” Tara frowned. “I thought she’d judge me or something.” Spike grinned. “Well, I’m honored to bear your secret,” he said formally. Then his eyes lowered and he looked at her through his lashes. “And a little titillated to be honest. You and an older woman, hmmm? Dark, raven hair, sharp cheekbones? Slender, but strong? Sort of Scarlett O’Hara meets Xena, yeah?” Tara looked at him in surprise. “How’d you guess?” she asked. “I didn’t,” Spike said lightly. “I was drawing from my own little fantasies is all.” Tara gasped and threw a wet washcloth at him. Spike caught it and laughed. “You are so bad, Spike,” she scolded. “So very, very bad.” “Yeah,” Spike conceded. “That’s why the women fall at my feet. It’s either bad boy in leather or brooding and dark. Don’t have the stomach for the brooding, so bad it is.” Tara laughed and swatted his arm. “Oh, you lady killer, you.” Spike grinned and finished his hot chocolate. “So, why do you tell me these things?” Spike asked curiously. “Why not Willow, or one of you goddess type friends? Aren’t you confiding in the enemy?” Tara mock glared at him. “Men aren’t the enemy, Spike,” she said with a shake of her finger. “Don’t stereotype us.” Spike held up his hands, affecting surrender. “Fine. Don’t get all militant on me.” Then he looked at her curiously. “Seriously, Tara. Why are you telling me this?” Tara smiled softly. “Because we’re the same people, Spike. We’re the outsiders.” She sighed. “We love the people in the group, and occasionally we’re run to when they need help, but in the end, it’s always Xander, Willow, Giles and-” she coughed. “It’s them. We’re not a part of that.” Spike nodded. “I know. It’s hurtful, yeah?” Tara nodded slightly. “Yeah, a little. Which is why we outsiders must stick together, right?” She held out a hand. “You, me and Dawn.” Spike grinned and shook her hand. “Done. We few, we happy few.” “We band of brothers,” she said softly, and Spike remembered the slightly paraphrased words coming from his own mouth. Before Buffy jumped. He dropped her hand before he crushed it in the force of memory. “And Anya?” he asked quickly, ending the moment before it could begin. “No offense to Anya, she’s- well, not sweet- um, refreshing?” she tried. Spike chuckled. “But she’s not really interested enough in the lives of those around her to be lonely being on the outside.” Spike smiled. “Got it.” He stood. “More cocoa?” he asked. “Please,” he added with a pout at her raised eyebrow. Tara smiled and made some more, heating up the water for more tea as well. They chatted about other things then, and the hours flew by. Neither noticed, too attuned to Dawn’s sleep patterns to pay attention to the time. At four in the morning, Tara yawned loudly, and glanced at the clock. “Oh my God!” she squeaked. “It’s four AM!” She looked around the kitchen. “Why didn’t Dawn scream?” Spike shrugged. “Maybe the nightmares are going away finally. It’s been six weeks.” Tara rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Where’s Willow?” she asked softly. “Didn’t she come home?” Spike shook his head. “We’d have noticed,” he added gently. Tara’s face fell. “I’m sure she’s doing something important, Tara,” he added softly as her chin wobbled. “And she probably didn’t call because she figured you were asleep with Dawn. Tara tried to smile. “Yeah, probably,” she said softly. She stood. “I’m going to bed, Spike. I think the night’s safe. You can go to the crypt, okay?” Spike nodded. “I’ll just wash up. You run off to sleep, right?” She nodded again. “See you tomorrow night.” The next night Spike came to the house and Tara was unusually silent. She went through the motions of making tea and cocoa, handed him his mug and started chattering about her day. Looking back, Spike knew that Willow had told Tara about the spell to bring Buffy back - and had told her to keep it from Spike. That was Willow, playing the mediator, but sharply dividing the group into hers and not hers. Those she could control – Tara, Xander and by way of Xander, Anya- and those whom she would never control – Giles, who would tell her she was taking a dangerous and unnecessary risk; him, Spike, who couldn’t always be trusted to do the right thing; and Dawn, rebellious little brat that she was, who had taken to ignoring everyone but Spike and Tara. But that night he’d been oblivious to the witch’s plan and had only sensed that Tara was off. That something was bothering her. And, more personally, that she wasn’t being open with him. “What’s this, then?” he’d asked angrily as Tara launched into a discussion of the weather. “Now that Dawn’s all settled, we’re not friends? We’re not the outsiders, sticking together?” Tara flinched. “It’s not like that, Spike,” she said softly. “It’s complicated.” Spike stood and grabbed his duster. “Well, Dawn seems to be sleeping the night through, so how about I leave, and you can go back to uncomplicatedly pretending that I’m just the babysitter, yeah?” He didn’t wait for Tara to answer but left, being careful to close the door quietly so as to not wake Dawn. For the next three days, Spike showed up at dusk, hung out with Dawn and left as soon as she went to bed. He refused to look at Tara, feeling betrayed, which was ridiculous and irritating, and angered him even more. On the fourth night he awoke to the sound of someone in the crypt. He got out of bed warily, threw on his jeans and grabbed a knife. Most demons in town avoided his crypt. They knew it was his and they knew he was vicious, but there could be someone new in town, ready to prove his name. He climbed the ladder. Tara and Dawn stood by the door, both carrying a backpack. Tara looked apologetic and Dawn was shuddering. “You weren’t there,” Dawn said with a sob. “The roaches were after me and you weren’t there.” Spike raced across the room, tossed the knife on the armchair and wrapped Dawn in his arms. “Sorry, Niblet,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone.” She cried in his arms and he cradled her gently, placing soothing kisses on the top of her long brown hair. “Can we stay here tonight?” Tara asked softly. “I don’t want to intrude, but Willow’s working on the robot, trying to get it ready for patrol. I think that’s what brought them back.” Spike closed his eyes tightly. Inconsiderate bitch, he thought angrily. Could at least do it at the shop. Could try and think about others’ feelings. “Yeah. My bed’s down the ladder. It’s cold though; I’ll grab us some blankets.” He pushed Dawn towards Tara gently. “Take her downstairs, Bit. Show her the bedroom.” Dawn nodded, her tears gone, the hitching of her chest fading. She headed for the trap door and Tara followed, looking at the ground. Spike grabbed some extra blankets from the sarcophagus and threw them down the ladder before heading down it himself. He looked in the room to find Dawn curled up in a ball on the bed, her chin buried in the knees she’d brought up to her face. He crossed the room and joined her, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “Where’s Tara?” he asked softly. “She’s in the alcove, getting changed,” Dawn whispered. “Sorry we bothered you.” Spike shook his head and held her more tightly. “You’re never a bother, Dawn,” he replied. “‘Cept when I’m trying to watch my stories and you won’t stop nattering.” Dawn giggled. “Other than that, you’re a decent person to have around. I thought the nightmares were gone?” he asked. “Me too,” Dawn said softly. “But they came back tonight.” Tara exited the alcove, her hair in a braid, her pyjamas in place. She sat on the bed beside Dawn. “Feeling better, sweetie?” she asked softly. Dawn nodded. “But don’t go away, okay?” she pleaded. Tara nodded. “I told Willow we were leaving for the night. Don’t worry. We’ll go home tomorrow.” Dawn smiled. “Tuck me in?” she said softly, and both adults got off the bed. Dawn crawled under the covers, and they repeated the ritual of pulling them to her chin. Tara bent to tuck in the sides but Spike shook his head. “No, it’s too cold in here,” he said softly. “Just crawl in with her.” Tara complied and Spike slid onto his side of the bed. “You come in too, Spike,” Dawn whispered. Spike raised an eyebrow and Dawn blushed. “Please?” she said softly. “I’m afraid.” She gave him her best puppy dog eyes and Spike sighed. He crawled under the sheets as well. “Sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’, okay Tara?” Dawn said sleepily. “My mom said that song was about me.” Tara smiled. “Your mom was a smart lady,” she said softly. She began, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” Spike closed his eyes and remembered New Orleans after the Second World War, dancing in the streets with Drusilla and growling this song in the back of his throat to her delighted giggles, back when it was new and fresh. Back when he’d thought they were forever. He smiled and hummed the tune as Tara sang all the verses, including the ones about jambalaya and giant shrimp. He raised his eyebrows at Tara and she grinned. “Louisiana’s State song. My mother lived there for a while before she met my dad. She sang it all the time when she told me about New Orleans.” Spike smiled, then remembered he was angry with her. He looked away. Tara sighed. “Listen, Spike,” she began. “I’m sorry about the other night. I was worried about Willow.” “What? She stepping out on you?” he asked cruelly. Tara winced at the meanness in his voice. “No, she’s got this spell. A big spell, and dangerous,” she said softly. “For what? Been quiet this summer; just a few vamps here and there.” He sighed. “Boring as anything, really. Figure the smart ones took off for parts unknown when they heard Glory was going to unleash hell.” “I can’t tell you,” she said softly. “She asked me not to.” Spike growled. “So it was all rot, about the outsiders sticking together.” He was furious with himself, buying that crap because Tara hadn’t seemed like the deceitful type. “No, we’re still the outsiders. But we’re also the ones who love the insiders,” Tara said softly. “If Buffy entrusted you with a secret and begged you not to tell anyone, you’d do what she asked. It’s part of loving someone.” Spike wanted to argue, but couldn’t. “I understand,” he said softly. “I don’t like the thought of a spell you’re worried about Willow doing, since you think she’s the most powerful witch on this planet, but I understand. Just tell me this,” he added, catching her eyes. “Will it put Dawn in danger?” “No,” Tara said firmly. “I’d never agree to that. You know that.” Spike nodded. “I do.” And he did know; Dawn was Tara’s baby, her daughter not born to her. She’d protect her as a mother would. They lay silently, then Tara whispered, “Dawn said you had a shower. I brought a change of clothes for the both of us. Can we stay here tomorrow?” Spike smiled. “Sure. It’s dull as tombs in this place, though, and the shower’s more of a leaky pipe. It’s cold.” Tara laughed lightly. “Nice pun, Spike,” she said with a grin. “You come up with that all by yourself?” Spike scowled. “You’re lippy for a girl in bed with another girl and a half-naked man.” Tara blushed. “You’re terrible,” she scolded. “And in front of Dawn, no less.” “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” He smiled at her. “And Dawn’s asleep. You should be too. You’ve had a long night.” Tara snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. Spike wrapped an arm around Dawn, and ended up with his hand resting lightly on Tara’s hip. She didn’t notice, and Spike was too tired to care. ~~~~~~~~~~ Continues 18 February 2004