Quick and Bitter, Slow and Sweet

by Miss Murchinson

Copyright © 2006

missmurchison@mchsi.com

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Author's Site: http://home.mchsi.com
Spoilers: This starts sometime after "Normal Again" and partway through "Entropy," but the timeline is scrambled as the story starts to go AU. Tara has been interrupted on her way to see Willow. And she is in time to interrupt someone else, who is on his way to perform a different errand.
Feedback: Yes please.
Author's Notes: Someone asked me for Spike/Tara. At first I couldn't see my way to writing it, then I sent her a brief fic that I never intended to post about Tara and unsouled, vamp Spike as an established couple. But my imagination kept worrying at the problem of how those two got together – and another friend who read the story wanted to know as well. Here's a Spike/Tara romance, in which they are assisted by an unlikely, sneaky, and frequently whiny Cupid. The story is complete, with an epilogue coming very soon. Also, I was having a problem with Spike's POV, so although this is set in late Season 6 BtVS, I used a thought that struck me while watching Season 5 of AtS. It seemed to me that Spike was suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder and that for some strange reason, none of the other characters noticed. I don't know if anyone else has written MPD Spike, but here goes . . and trust me, it's not as goofy as it sounds!
Pairing: Spike/Tara

Part 1

Vampires were hybrids; Spike knew that. So he assumed it was normal, more or less, to have warring voices constantly battling in his brain. But he suspected that in his case there was something extra that didn't belong there. Something that didn't belong even in something as fundamentally wrong and contrary to nature as a vampire.

The demon's presence he understood. That monster made him what he was, let him walk and talk and fight like a simulacrum of a man when he should have rotted to dust over a century before. The demon was the easiest part of himself to understand, if not always the easiest to unlive with.

The fool was understandable too. A brief, painful effort of memory was all that was needed to tell Spike where the fool had come from. Bloody useless William had been the fool incarnate.

It was the poet that confused him. The poet should have been a part of the fool, should have shared that idiot's babblings, and most certainly should have let himself be hushed by the demon. Because it was right and proper that the demon should always have the last word. If not, what was the point in being a sodding creature of the night?

Now there's a question to ponder, asked the poet. What is the point of being evil? Or of doing good, for that matter? We've done both, so we have a basis for discussion.

No, said the demon, that's not the right question. The question to ponder is where did a silly ass like you come from in the first place?

I'm the silly ass, said the fool, and what I want is for the two of you to stop the damned philosophical debate and find a way to make all of us stop hurting.

Don't want much, do you? sneered the demon.

We're in love. It's supposed to hurt, said the even less helpful poet.

And what do you expect I could do anyway? added the demon to the fool.

Not much, said the poet. You're the cause of most of our problems, after all.

And just how did you reach that brilliant conclusion? Not even the demon liked being blamed for everything.

I know the answer to that, said the fool. You're the part of us that Buffy hates.

Bugger that, said the demon. The Slayer would never have looked at you lot if I weren't about. Likes the monster, she does, even though she won't admit it. Face it, mates, our precious little Buffy is even more fucked up than we are.

Impossible, said the poet sadly. Although her confusion and sadness pierces me to the depths of our unbeating heart. It pains me as much as or more than her rejection of us.

Just the mawkish nonsense I'd expect from a wanker like you, mocked the demon. If she wasn't so fucked up, she'd never have shagged us, so I say it's an ill wind that blew us…

Shut up, interrupted the poet. Saying things like that helped drive her away. If you could only have realized that and held your tongue…

Wasn't me, said the demon. It was the fool, with his bright idea to get money for her, but not bothering to ask if those eggs were dangerous.

Not my job to be clever, muttered the fool. One of you two should have thought it through, but all I remember hearing from you bright chaps was that it would be fun, and that we had to rescue the lady…

The voices rattled on, constantly and uselessly.

Spike blamed Buffy for most of his problems, but he couldn't blame her for the poet. That third voice had become more vocal these past few years, but it had always been there, whispering at inconvenient moments, making him fuck up one evil plan after another in ways the fool never could.

He strode through the cemetery, resisting the impulse to bash his brains against one of the monuments until all three voices were silenced together. He'd just wake up eventually in physical as well as psychic pain. He needed a better solution. A permanent solution.

He could only think of one place where he might find it. Only one place that was open to him, that was. There were other places, but he wasn't welcome there.

He had reached the sidewalk and was heading for downtown Sunnydale when he sensed a familiar presence. He hesitated, but she wasn't anyone he wanted to talk to just then – or ever, now that he let himself think about her for a moment. It wasn't that he disliked her particularly, although her surprisingly sharp tongue had needled him mercilessly the last time they'd met. She just wasn't someone he bothered thinking about at all. He was turning away, setting a course for his original destination of the Magic Box, when she called his name.

"Spike?" Tara heard the question in her own voice. It wasn't that she didn't recognize him – there weren't many people around who could be confused with Spike, after all. The hesitation in her tone reflected her own doubts about speaking to him.

She wasn't afraid of him, of course. But she was in a hurry, and she hadn't really thought this encounter through. She'd been on her way to Buffy's when she saw him leaving the cemetery grounds, and it had occurred to her that she could ask him for help. Halfway through calling his name, she'd remembered that the last time they'd been in the same house for an extended period, she'd made a point of giving him a hard time whenever he'd tried to embarrass Buffy.

At least he didn't look angry with her. On the other hand, he looked as if he could barely remember who she was.

Trying to meet his distracted gaze, she fumbled for words. "Something's gone wrong," she explained at last. Well, Tara, that was lame.

"There's a shocker," he said, confirming the lameness. But he reached out a hand to steady her. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he led her away from the sidewalk and the glow of the streetlamp. They walked into the cemetery and over to a low monument. She sank down on it gratefully, suddenly realizing how fast she'd been running and how out of breath she was. Spike sat down next to her, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

Tara gulped down more oxygen and tried to explain as quickly as she could without leaving out any important facts. "This friend of mine – she's kind of a witch, but she doesn't know many spells yet – she said she saw something scary out by that park just past the old high school. She didn't want to admit it, but I'm sure she made it happen, because she and this other guy, who's kind of a warlock, were asking me yesterday about portals and stuff. I think they were trying to find a way to stretch time, on account of it being midterm and there being lots of papers due and exams coming up, so –"

"So it's spells gone wrong time again?" asked Spike. "And I'm betting they pissed themselves, turned tail, and ran as soon as they knew they'd bitten off something that was likely to bite them back."

"I think so too," said Tara. "It was their first real brush with something this bad. Coherent isn't the way I'd describe them." She fumbled in her pocket and displayed a piece of paper. "Danae gave me the spell she found, and I'm sure I know how to reverse it. But I'm worried about the Scheite."

"Scheite?"

"From what Danae said, I think one was released."

"One of what, pet?"

"Oh, sorry." She was mildly surprised he didn't already know. She had the impression his demon-knowledge was encyclopedic, but now that she thought about it Scheites weren't just rare, they were from a metaphysical plane much removed from vampires and other more mundane demons. If demons could ever be said to be mundane.

Tara marshaled an explanation. "A Scheite is a pan-dimensional manifestation of the demonic energy that was released when Danae and Jess created a crack in the temporal matrix. And it really can bite. And do worse things."

"Of course it can," he said dryly. "What with that demonic energy and all. Well, what do you expect me to do, pet? This is Sunnydale. Scheite happens."

She laughed, but quickly became serious again. "Spike, it's probably still hanging out by the portal now, drawing energy from its dimension of origin, but it will be raising hell all over town by morning if something isn't done right away."

"Okay," he said in his most annoying drawl. "Any clue what that should be? A pan-dimensional being, you said? Doesn't sound like something you can stake or stab."

"Actually, it is," she said in a rush. She stopped, took another deep breath, and tried to state her conclusions calmly. She was trying not to seem insecure in her opinions, but it was hard, especially with someone like Spike who could be so sarcastic and biting. You know this, Tara, she told herself. Just take your time and explain to him. He's annoying, but not stupid. He'll get it.

"Scheites are the physical manifestation of the demon in this reality. Which means they adhere to some of our physical laws, and can be fought – at least at first."

"That's good," he said.

"What's bad is they can fight back," she said. "And I'm not good at the bam-bam-pow stuff." She mimicked throwing a few punches, but realized when he gave an amused bark of laughter that she had done so very awkwardly. Embarrassed, she dropped her hands back into her lap. "I was going to Buffy's to see if there was anyone there who could fight this thing while I close the portal. But I'm not sure there's even anyone at the house, and I'm kind of in a hurry. Besides –" She stopped.

He didn't ask besides what? Spike knew that the residents of 1630 Revello Drive were still trying to recover emotionally from the last demon attack, which had left Buffy so confused she'd tried to kill her friends and her sister. Tara knew that was something she didn't need to spell out to him.

"If you could just hold the Scheite back while I do a spell…" said Tara, her hopeful tone trailing off. She didn't know why she should feel so strange asking Spike for help. The Scoobies had done it all the time the summer Buffy had been gone. Of course, things had changed a lot since then. Tara knew that Spike and Buffy had become, well, intimate, and she thought that would make him anxious both to help and to spare Buffy pain. But suddenly she was her old insecure self, out of her depth and not knowing if she'd said something terribly wrong. She looked down at her hands.

He was silent for a long time before muttering, "She bloody well doesn't need more to worry about. But neither do we." He seemed to be talking to himself, and Tara didn't know how to respond. A moment later he said, in a louder voice, "I'll do it, but on one condition."

She looked up at him suspiciously, but couldn't make out his features. "What?" she demanded suspiciously. Tara might be naïve about some things, but she knew better than to promise Spike anything before finding out exactly what she was getting herself into.

"Afterwards, you make me forget Buffy."

"What?" Tara gasped in astonishment. "Why?"

"Why?" She was astonished at the anguish she heard in his voice. "Because I can't keep on like I am. It's all wrong – I'm all wrong. I know that. I need something to make this stop."

"Make what stop?" she asked, although she was sure she knew. When he didn't respond, she said reluctantly, "Loving Buffy?"

"Of course. That's my disease, isn't it? Caring about her."

"I wouldn't call it a disease, Spike. I've seen it change you. And – you did a lot of good things because of it."

His tone became even more vehement. "But, see, that's what's all wrong. Because I shouldn't. I'm a vampire. I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't care about these things, and I bloody well shouldn't be tearing myself up inside because I'm not good enough to deserve her."

Tara's instinct was to reassure, although she wasn't sure how to manage that with a demon agonizing over his desire to do good. "Maybe that's not true. You've changed a lot, Spike. I've seen it. Maybe you can become what she needs. Because she needs something or someone." She said that in all sincerity. Tara had spent a lot of time worrying about Buffy these past few months.

"I know. She's only half-alive, and it kills me all over again to see it. But I can't fix her, Tara. I've tried. But I'll never be good enough. She's made that clear. Walked away from me. Won't use me for anything at all any more – not even a sex toy." He paused, as if waiting for a response. When she made none, he said, "You knew, didn't you? That she and I were shagging like minks?"

"She told me," admitted Tara. "Not in those words." Actually, Buffy's description had been more disturbing than his. "But she told me."

"Thought so. Thought so when you kept snarking at me during her birthday party. Knew it just now when you didn't scream at the notion." There was bitterness in his voice now along with the pain. "Already had your chance to squeal in horror when Buffy spilled her girlish confidences. Makes it a bit easier on me."

"Actually," said Tara slowly, "I told Buffy it was okay."

She felt him move next to her in the darkness and sensed his gaze on her face. She remembered that he could see much more clearly than she could, and flushed. "I told her it was okay," she reiterated bravely. "I said it was okay if she loved you."

"Well, she doesn't think it's okay," he said. "It's not all right with our Buffy. And, now I've had her, I can't let go of the thought of her. It's worse than when she was dead. She's with me, every second, even when I'm alone, and all I can think about is that I'll never really have her. Because I'm just a dead thing. No good in me anywhere, she said, and it's the truth. Hard thing to fight, the truth."

"But you've done a lot of good," said Tara again, deciding not to mention she'd pointed this out to Buffy as well. She took a deep breath. "Spike, I'd like to help you. But there's just no way I'll do a forgetting spell. Not for you. Not for anyone. Maybe I can help, but not that way."

He was silent for a long time, and she knew they were both remembering a long night without memories followed by a dawn of grief and partings.

"Something else, then," he said at last. "You'll work it out. You're the clever girl. Willow's all flash and sparkle, but you're the one who thinks things through."

Finally, he had said something that did shock her. "Oh, no. Willow is able to do the most amazing things, things I'd never even dare try."

"No, because you've too much sense," he spat out. "One of the reasons I'm asking you and not her. You've done a couple of foolish things – that spell to hide demons when you thought you were one, and backing Red when she decided to bring back the Slayer for another. But you learn from your mistakes. I don't think you'll solve my problems by accidentally turning me into a toad."

"No," promised Tara hurriedly. "I won't do that. But – Spike, I don't know just yet what I can do. I'll need to research, think about it. It may take a while." She added firmly, "but the Scheite needs to be taken care of right now. So I need to know if you'll help me. If you'll take my word for it that I'll try to help you later."

There was surprise in his voice when he said, "Never occurred to me not to trust you, pet." He stood up. "All right then, where is this bugger you want me to fight?"

It turned out to be buggers. Plural. As in four or five Scheites. They were hard to count because they were not entirely corporeal, which was something else Tara hadn't expected. And something that caused Spike to curse long and loudly.

He didn't abandon her, though. He waded into the crowd of not-quite-transparent things, trying to avoid their long claws and sharp teeth, waving the axe he'd gotten from his crypt and snarling with his fangs bared. The Scheites fought back, hissing and biting, their long blue tails waving over their heads as they darted in, ignoring Tara as they concentrated on attacking him.

Tara gasped as a Scheite's claws raked the side of Spike's head, drawing blood and even louder curses from him, but the vampire lashed back with his weapon and was soon holding the other demons at bay. He spared a glance for Tara as his axe crashed into a wavering body, causing no permanent damage that she could observe, but making the thing howl with pain and draw back.

"Well, witch, do your bloody spell!" he called. "I don't fancy being at this all night."

Tara nodded and turned towards the garish orange-red vortex that swirled over a picnic table. It wasn't a happy pan-dimensional rift – it was emitting raucous blasts that sounded like cries of pain.

Tara noticed some text books and a backpack lying near the table – apparently Danae and Jess hadn't taken all their belongings with them when they fled the scene of their crime. Ducking her head and beginning to mutter under her breath, Tara prepared to undo the damage they'd caused.

Her counterspell would create a magical patch that would close that space, like threads darning a hole in a sock. If she could weave her charm fast enough. She dropped into a light trance, her lips moving rapidly. Slowly, the mystical energy she generated began to form itself into the warp and woof of the solution she had chosen.

Halfway through her chant, a shout penetrated Tara's consciousness. She glanced at Spike and blinked in astonishment. With the words of her counterspell creating protoplasmic eddies around her, she could see the Scheites more clearly. Their shapes were similar to creatures from this plane, but –"Spike!" she called out urgently.

He couldn't hear her. There was too much noise, from the vortex beside her and from the Scheites' howling. Spike! she called again, using her mind to reach his.

He staggered back, but recovered quickly as he lashed out at two swirling shapes. Balls, he thought back. I thought only Red could do that.

Tails? his mind demanded incredulously.

Tails, she repeated firmly, trying to hold onto the threads of her counterspell even as she directed the information to him. Look.

She showed him what she was seeing – that the Scheites were drawing their energy from the vortex, and the tails, so useless in the corporeal world, were actually the conduits for their strength –

Spike got the message immediately. The sound of Scheites' pained screaming echoed in Tara's ears as she finished weaving the counterspell and drawing the vortex almost closed. Its mouth narrowed, first to the size of a human, then to a shape like a small dog, then to a space even a cat would have trouble squeezing through.

Tara gulped to hear Spike's voice in her mind. She hadn't realized the channel she'd opened to him was still clear. But a moment later, she knew why he'd asked her to pause. A Scheite flew by her, dragged back into the vortex like a thread drawn by a needle. The creature thinned and stretched out, becoming fully transparent as it was swallowed, screaming, by the swirling mass beyond the opening. Two or three more demons followed so quickly Tara could not be sure of their numbers.

Just. One. More.

She turned and saw Spike, axe raised above his head, blood running down his face and across his chest, aim for the last squirming, hissing Scheite. The creature backed away from him and slid towards the vortex, spreading its thinning claws.

One impossibly long arm raked towards Tara as the Scheite went by, and she cringed away from it.

Spike's axe rose and fell. The Scheite wailed, abandoned its attack on Tara, and fled into the hole.

"Close that bloody door!" howled Spike, and Tara, crouched on the ground at his feet, muttered the final words of the counterspell. As if pulled closed by the final stitch of a needle, the vortex blinked out of existence.

"It's gone," she whispered, staring up into Spike's yellow eyes. "They're all gone."

He stared back down at her, fangs bared, covered in blood, his axe still upraised threateningly. Then his pose wavered, and his eyes dulled from gleaming amber to fading blue sparks.

"That was bloody brilliant," he said as he dropped the axe and collapsed at her feet.

Tara helped him back to his crypt, surprised at first that he consented to lean on her strength during the trip, his arm thrown over her shoulders as he staggered along. She had never been in such prolonged physical contact with him before, but his scent – mostly cigarette smoke and old leather – was familiar, and he wasn't leaning on her enough to make his weight overwhelming. After the initial shock of touching him, she didn't mind helping him at all. But she was surprised that he was so exhausted from this battle, when she'd seen him smiling and energetic after far worse encounters.

Slowly, she became aware of the faint light streaking the eastern sky. She realized that there must have been a lot of temporal distortion coming from the portal; it was almost dawn already. No wonder Spike was so tired – while she'd been muttering a few words of a spell, caught in a timeless trance, he'd been fighting for hours.

And getting badly hurt. After they reached the crypt, she managed to peel the black leather duster off his back, and she discovered that in addition to the head wound, he'd taken a lashing across the stomach from a Scheite's claw. It wasn't exactly bleeding freely, but it did look nasty.

She found some first aid supplies in a corner. She supposed even someone as careless as Spike must have figured out he'd need them from time to time and planned accordingly.

"Bloody hell. My shirt's a goner, and a few hours ago these were my best jeans. What about my coat?" was all he asked as she dabbed at his stomach. His flesh wasn't as cold as she anticipated. No colder than anyone's would be if they were lying shirtless in this chilly old crypt. What was strange was that he didn't seem to mind the cold in the air around him. He wasn't shivering, and no goose bumps marred his fair skin.

"The coat's fine," she said, and heard the exasperation in her own voice. "At least, it's no worse than it was a few hours ago."

"That's all right then," he said, sprawling across the top of the big sarcophagus that squatted near his refrigerator. "Except you need to have a serious chat with this Danae bint about setting loose pan-dimensional beings without learning first how to put them through obedience school."

"I'm planning on it," said Tara as she wiped blood off his belly. The wound underneath was healing already. "Do you want a bandage on this?"

He struggled up to a half-sitting position, leaning on his elbows. "Ta, but no," he said, glancing at the wound. "It'll be almost gone by tonight. Not bad enough to scar, that one." He met her eyes. "So, you're dating another public menace of a witch who can't say 'no' to a good spell? Or a bad one either?"

"No!" Tara was shocked. "I'm not involved with Danae. I'm not involved with anyone new. I didn't really break up with Willow, you know." The firm skin under her fingers was amazingly clear of scars, considering the beatings he'd taken just since she'd known him. But here and there along his flat belly, she could see the relics of some wound that had been bad enough to leave a permanent mark. There were more on his chest and shoulders; on his face she could see nothing except the white slash across one eyebrow.

His next words dragged her thoughts back to Willow. "Oh, so that was just pretend moving out of the house and refusing to talk to Red for months, was it?"

Now he had reopened her wounds. She responded as calmly as she could, "We're talking again. Sometimes. I was even going –"

He cocked his head on one side and regarded her intently. "Going to what?"

"Never mind," said Tara. "I'm not going to do it anyway." She looked at the rag in her hand and grimaced at the blood. "You're right. Doing spells without considering consequences is really dangerous, and – and –" She sat miserably, wringing the cloth in her hands until they were covered with his blood.

His hand came up to cover hers and still her anxious fingers. "Didn't mean to rub it in, pet," he said softly.

She looked down at him and tried to smile. "It's okay, Spike." She dropped the rag in a bowl and wiped her fingers on a marginally cleaner one. "I'm going to go home now, unless you need something else. I've still got midterms and a paper to worry about. And other things."

"I don't need anything," he said. "It's getting light out. Bedtime for good little vampires. But you be careful."

"I will," she said, almost absently.

"Don't want you getting yourself killed before you do what you promised. You won't forget?" he called as she opened the door to his crypt.

"I won't," she said. "I'll do something to make you stop feeling so bad about Buffy."

Only I have no idea what, she thought worriedly as she scurried out into the early morning mist. I'll just have to hope I can come up with something. Something that can change the way he thinks and feels without tampering with his free will. Because that would be wrong on so many levels. Except, using magic to change the way someone thinks and feels is pretty much the definition of taking their free will, isn't it?

As perplexing as that dilemma was, she was oddly grateful to him for asking for help. Because working on his problem would distract her from her own. And she needed something to keep her from running back to Willow, from abandoning all common sense, from telling the woman she loved that they didn't really need more time before they could get back together again. This conundrum would be something to keep Tara from forgetting the evidence of all those hidden magic supplies that had turned up on Buffy's birthday, to keep her from convincing herself that it was safe to trust Willow again. Because Tara knew in her heart that it wasn't safe. Not at all.

Well, as diversions go, at least it should be more interesting than Intro to Statistics or Inorganic Chem.

"Spike is helping you move?" Dawn stood in the doorway of Tara's new apartment, staring incredulously as she watched Spike thump a box down on the counter in the tiny kitchen area.

"Spike, be careful with that," said Tara, who was on her knees in front of a box of books on the other side of the room. "There are plates and things in there, and I don't have enough of them to afford breakage." She smiled up at Dawn. "Hi, honey. Spike came over to – to ask me about something. My friends had to leave for their evening classes, so he offered to stay and help me sort some stuff out."

Dawn looked at Spike in surprise, but he just shrugged. "Found the witch standing like Dido amid the ruins of Carthage. Felt like I should give her a hand."

"When did Dido perform in Carthage?" asked Dawn. "Isn't that, like, in the Middle East?"

"No," said Spike emphatically, ripping open his box, taking out a spatula, and staring at it as if he were trying to decide what to do with it. He turned to Tara. "Trade you this lot for a chance to sort through your undies."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Put all that down, and help me with the bookcase, okay?"

"Why do I always let you females order me around?" he grumbled. "And I meant a different Dido, Bit. That school of yours isn't just boring you to tears, you're learning bugger all."

"See, that's what I think," said Dawn, dumping her backpack on the floor and a bag of fast food on the tiny table that looked as if it was pre-pre-pre-owned. "No purpose in going at all. But I can't convince Buffy. Anyway, I'm going to help unpack too. Tara said yesterday that if I came over after school, she'd give me money to pick up dinner on my way." She held up her haul. "Look what I brought!"

"Taco Bell?" Tara looked horrified. "Dawn, do you have any idea how many calories –"

Dawn rolled her eyes and plunked the bag down on the kitchen table. She started unpacking items. "Oh, come on, Tara. It's not fair that I never get any fast food except that gross Doublemeat Palace stuff Buffy brings home. And I'm having another growth spurt. I must need calories or something. Otherwise, I wouldn't crave them, right? And look at you, doing all this running around, and carrying, and unpacking. You need something solid to keep you going."

"It's solid all right," said Tara, coming over to the table and staring at the supersized tray that held about a dozen tacos. "Solid saturated fat. I can feel my arteries stiffening already."

"I bet Spike doesn't mind having tacos for dinner," said Dawn. She had no fears about asking Spike to back her up on her food choice. This was the guy who thought the three greatest culinary inventions of the twentieth century were Cheez Whiz, Cheetos, and those bags the Red Cross used to collect blood. There was no way he'd turn down a plastic plate of salty chips covered with yellow, red, and white goop that might or might not be real cheese, tomatoes, and sour cream.

Sure enough, he was already peeling off the cover of the Nachos Bell Grande and sorting through the salsa packets looking for the extra hot sauce. "Your arteries are pumping brilliantly," he told Tara. "I can hear them chugging along just lovely. And so are the Bit's. But if you don't want to stun them with a Mexican pizza, I'll eat your share."

"No way," said Dawn. "You are not eating the whole thing. You don't even need real people food." Realizing that the nachos were already half-gone and that she hadn't had a bite yet, she slapped his hand away from the plate and snatched it back. He grinned at her, pulled Tara's desk chair over next to the scruffy kitchen chairs, and helped himself to a taco instead.

"Well, since I can't have real people, or that even that stupid dog on their adverts –"

"I like that little dog," said Tara.

He licked a streak of hot sauce off the side of his little finger. "For your sake, witch, the dog can live. But only if you let the Bit and me have our nachos."

Tara sat down next to him, admitting defeat. "Okay," she said, picking up a taco and staring at it with intense suspicion. "But you have to promise me that sometime today –"

"– I'll eat something green," interrupted Dawn around a mouthful of chips. "You always say that. But look – I already am. I paid extra for the guacamole. And there's lettuce in those tacos."

"Iceberg lettuce," said Tara. "No nutritional value."

"Yeah," said Spike. "Just the way I like my people food." He took another bite, showering lettuce and crumbled bits of ground beef over the table as the taco crunched between his teeth. "You know what else is brilliant, Dawn? That new pizza they have at the place two doors down from the magic shop."

"The deep dish, double-stuffed one with everything on it? The one where they finally use enough anchovies?" asked Dawn. "Janice and I had that last week, and then we went over to the ice cream shop for banana splits." She caught Tara's horrified eye and pointed out, "There was fruit! Bananas. And, like, peppers and pineapple and stuff on the pizza."

"You know what's even better," Spike went on, "those potato skins with the cheese all over them. And they make this garlic butter for their bread that's amazing. They use elephant garlic, I think."

"I don't know which of you two has worse eating habits." Tara looked worried. "Spike, I'm no expert on vampire nutrition, but I don't see how garlic butter can be good for you."

"It's not like I drink holy water," protested Spike. Dawn couldn't tell if he were amused or touched that Tara had bothered to fret over him. He certainly didn't look offended.

"Garlic is only a mild repellant to vampires," said Dawn. "And it loses most of its efficacy once cooked."

"That was a direct quote from Rupert, wasn't it?" said Spike.

"Yeah," admitted Dawn. "I guess the 'efficacy' part gave that away, huh?"

"Yeah. But, spot on, Bit. Cooked garlic is to vampires as habañeros are to humans. If you've got the stones to stand it, it's a wild rush to the taste buds."

"I guess I learn something new every day," said Tara, who, in spite of her protests, was already on her third taco. "I just wish some of it was the stuff I'm racking up huge student loans to learn." She looked at Dawn. "Speaking of learning, do you have any homework, honey?"

"Nothing that matters," said Dawn.

"Why doesn't it matter?" asked Tara.

"Because I don't know how to do it." She beamed at Tara. "And neither do you. It's French, and I know you took Spanish."

"Tant pis. Donne-moi le livre, Petit Morceau," said Spike around a mouthful of Mexican pizza.

"Huh?" said Dawn, trying to act surprised and annoyed. "Oh, crap."

Later, as she finished unpacking some clothes and stowing them in the room's one, inadequate closet, Tara watched Dawn and Spike settle down again at the tiny kitchen table she'd bought at the local thrift shop. She felt a pleasant sense of familiarity sweep over her. She'd seen them like this many times during that long summer when Buffy'd been gone. Dawn had had to retake two courses to be eligible to go to high school in the fall, and Spike had helped her with both History and Language Arts, giving her an accurate, if bloodcurdling, grounding in Twentieth Century history, and then picking over the grammar and logic in her term paper on Emily Dickinson. His knowledge of history had been no surprise; he'd lived it, after all. His knowledge of poetry – especially Dickinson – had stunned them all, but Spike had ignored even Xander's heckling because Dawn needed his help.

Dawn really had needed him, and not only because Willow had been too busy researching magic to help with homework, or because Xander had seemed to spend most of his time arguing with and reassuring Anya, or because Giles had retreated into himself in an agony of grief. Tara had tried to step in at first, but she had quickly realized how much Spike's presence meant to Dawn, so she'd pulled back, watching the blond and dark heads bent together over the books spread over Joyce's dining room table. Tara was good at effacing herself, and she suspected that those two had no idea she'd kept an eye on them during those long, hot months. She wondered if she was the only one who suspected how deep the bond between them ran.

So Tara knew just what Dawn was up to now. Instead of being repaired, the girl's family had been fragmented by Buffy's return. Giles was gone, Tara had moved out, Spike never visited, Anya and Xander were caught up in their own little melodrama, and most of the time Willow and Buffy looked more like the walking dead than Spike did. So now Dawn was seizing the chance to draw Spike back into her life for a few hours.

That worked for Tara. She didn't think that Spike was good, but she was certain he was good for Dawn.

Tara had no illusions that Spike was "reformed." Giles had used that word once in a puzzled, wondering tone, but Tara had rejected the description. There was nothing in Spike to reform or redeem. He was a demon, not a human, and it was absurd to talk about him as if he'd consciously rejected human values and was somehow coming to accept them again.

Spike had nothing resembling a human conscience. He didn't care about people in general, and Tara could see no reason why he should, any more than she should care about vampires as a species. But for the few people that Spike had inexplicably come to love, there was nothing he wouldn't do, from letting himself be tortured by a hell god, to risking his life in battle, to keeping his promise not to smoke indoors, to apologizing for a sarcastic comment about a sensitive teenager's new outfit. And Tara suspected that it was those small courtesies that cost him the most. He adored making grand gestures; petty annoyances drove him mad.

Except when Dawn was providing those annoyances, as she was now, with her stubborn inability to mimic his pronunciation of a phrase. He was grumbling at her, but with anyone else he would have long since stalked away.

It seemed to Tara that when Spike was with Dawn he was calmer, different, closer to whatever it was he was becoming than what he had been.

Because Tara was sure that although Spike wasn't redeemed or reformed, he was changing. He was almost as far now from an ordinary vampire as he was from a human. She wondered what he would turn into if he didn't wind up as dust after some wild battle or relapse into savagery out of frustration and despair.

"Say, 'j'ai faim,' not 'j'ai femme.'" Spike's coaching was almost patient.

"That sounds just the same to me," complained Dawn. "What's the diff?"

"Well, one means I'm hungry, the other that I've got a woman," said Spike.

"Yeah, I guess that could cause some confusion in a restaurant," snickered Dawn. "Although, being a vamp, it could work if it meant you wanted a woman. But, you know what, Spike, that kind of sounds like a line you'd use in one of those businesses that we don't practice dialogues for in French class." She was grinning now. "Hey, that would be cool! I have to write my own conversation for the final, and this sadist of a teacher wants it to actually be in French, and it has to use numbers and stuff. Want to help me do one about figuring out the prices at a whorehouse?"

Tara was about to protest. There was no telling with Spike – he just might not understand that this not-so-brilliant idea would be a direct route to detention and failure for Dawn. But his expression was suddenly serious, even wounded, and for a moment she thought he really had been offended by Dawn's comment. Then she heard the knock on the door. As she stood up to answer it, she saw him pick up his coat and slip behind the screen that she had found at a garage sale to separate the dingy sink area from the main living space.

"Hello, Buffy." Tara smiled awkwardly at the Slayer, who stood in the dark hallway outside her apartment door.

"Hi, Tara," said Buffy, stepping inside. She was moving slowly, her clothes were rumpled, and her hair and makeup obviously hadn't seen any attention for several hours. She saw Dawn sitting at the table with her books spread in front of her and smiled wearily. "Hi, Dawn."

"Hi." Dawn's tone was tight, resentful. She cast a glance at the screen and her lips tightened. She slammed her books shut and started shoving them in her backpack. "Let's go."

Buffy looked dismayed. "We don't have to leave right away. I haven't seen all of Tara's apartment yet." She stared around the room. Tara, who had barely begun to brighten its drabness with touches like the intricately patterned Chinese screen, knew Buffy was finding it hard to think of something positive to say.

"Yes, you have," said Dawn before Buffy summoned any words. "This is it. Now, let's go."

"Dawn!" Buffy gave Tara an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry. I –"

"It's okay," said Tara. "I think she's tired. She was fine, really."

"Thanks for taking care of her," said Buffy, and Dawn grimaced in annoyance at the implication she needed a babysitter.

"She took good care of me," Tara hastened to say. "Bringing over dinner, helping to unpack, and stuff." She hesitated. "How are you, Buffy?"

"Good. I had to pull a long shift and then kill a short demon." Buffy tried to smile at her own joke and stood uncertainly for another minute, obviously still searching for something to say. "This is a nice place," she commented at last.

"No it's not," said Dawn. "It's a hole. But Tara will make it nice." She stormed out the door, and Buffy, after another helpless glance in Tara's direction, followed her.

Tara was still staring at the closed door when Spike stepped out from behind the screen. He was pulling on his coat. "I'd better go. You're all moved in now," he said in a hollow tone. He glanced around again as Buffy had done, as if he were really noticing the place for the first time. "Except for not having anywhere to sleep, that is."

Tara looked around. That was literally true. The apartment consisted of one biggish room and a bathroom. It wouldn't take much furniture to fill it up. But right now, she had only a small bookcase that sat atop a tiny desk, a table, a few straight-backed chairs, and a couch.

"I know someone who's leaving school and wants to sell a decent bed," she said. "I can buy it from her really cheap, but I have to wait a week. In the meantime, I can sleep on –" she looked at the couch, which seemed both smaller and uglier here than at Goodwill –"on the floor in my sleeping bag."

"You rich Americans," drawled Spike. "No wonder you're the envy of the rest of the world."

Tara flushed. "I'm trying to make it through school without getting into too much debt," she said. "This place is fine. It's extra cheap because it's a basement apartment, and it shouldn't cost much for utilities."

"Fine with me," he said, leaning against the wall and reaching in his pocket for a cigarette. She caught his eye and he stopped, stowing the pack away with an exasperated sigh. "Look, pet, it's been lovely helping you unpack your bits and pieces, and I admit I was glad for the chance to see the Bit again. But that's not why I came here, and you know it. I came –" and he stared at the doorway where Buffy had stood –"I came for you to fix things for me. I've been waiting over a week now."

"Spike, I want to," said Tara. She heard the doubt and fear in her own voice and tried to sound more assured. "I think I can find something. But what I've come across so far, I just don't like the possible consequences."

"Let me judge that." His voice was harsh. "What consequences?"

"Well, one thing might backlash on Buffy –" she started to say.

"No." His voice was even colder and more emphatic.

"And the other, well, that could be uncomfortable for you. There's a possibility of –" She peeked at him nervously.

He stood up straighter. "Of what?"

"Impotence," she confessed.

"Impotence?" He looked outraged. "Me? Bloody hell, no! Bad enough I can't eat anyone, if I can't shag them either –"

"I said I didn't think you'd like the consequences." Tara tried to keep any laughter out of her voice, but it was hard. The truth was that she was smiling as much from relief that he was adamantly against any harm coming to Buffy as from his reaction to the other option. "And that I was going to look for some other way."

"Well, hurry," he said, and Tara lost all desire to snigger when she saw the depths of despair in his face. He sagged back against the wall and grimaced as if in physical pain. "You don't know what this is like. You can go back to your girl any time. You walk into that house, and Red will welcome you with open legs. If I so much as knock on the door, I risk finding I've been disinvited – or worse."

"Worse?" What could be worse? Staking? Surely not. However twisted Buffy's feelings for Spike had become, she was too aware of how much she owed him to do that. Suddenly, Tara knew. "Buffy did it, didn't she? Those bruises you had at her birthday party. That was her." Tara turned away, sickened. "If that's what she was doing, she was right to stop seeing you, Spike."

"Easy for you to say, isn't it?"

"No, Spike, it isn't easy for me to say, and I know it wasn't easy for her to do. Not if she cares anything at all about you, and I know she must. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to run back to that house and go back to Willow? The night I met you by the cemetery, I was going there. I thought I'd just tell her we could skip all the waiting and seeing if she was really getting better, and –" Tara forced herself to meet his eyes and speak firmly. "It was a good thing Danae called and told me about the vortex. Because it wouldn't have worked if I'd done it, Spike. I know things would have gone bad. As bad as one of Willow's worst spells."

"Yeah, but at least you'd have the memory of a few more good shagging sessions –" He stopped, apparently struck by her expression and rushed to add, "Sorry, pet. Didn't mean to make you cry." He crossed the room with a few quick steps, returned with one of the Taco Bell napkins, and held it out to her, careful to keep an arm's length away from a crying female. "Keep forgetting, it's harder for you. You have a conscience and a soul and all. Must be a bitch, that."

"You had a soul once yourself, Spike," said Tara, dabbing carefully at her cheeks to avoid smearing them with salsa from the napkin.

"Long time ago. Remember it was inconvenient, though. Do remember that."

"Oh?" Tara tried to imagine what he had been like. A street tough, perhaps, struggling for a position in some gang in spite of his slight build and too-pretty appearance? "What did it keep you from doing?"

"Pretty much bugger all," he admitted. "Didn't do much in the way of enjoying myself until I was turned."

"Really?" She stared at him in astonishment.

His eyebrow quirked up wryly, and he grimaced. "Ruining my image, am I?"

She didn't press for details. From his expression, he'd just revealed his darkest secret, and she wondered if even Buffy knew. "It's just – it's hard to imagine you not finding some way to enjoy yourself. I mean – even when Buffy was dead, you used to love going on patrol and killing things, and playing cards and watching TV with Dawn, and arguing with Xander."

"Yeah." He thought about this. "You know, it was easier to find ways to be happy when she was dead."

Tara thought this was the saddest thing she'd ever heard him say. "'I'll find a way to help you, Spike. I don't know what I'll do, yet, but I'll do something."

He looked up at her and added, "Sorry I said you didn't understand." He reached out carefully and wiped a tear off her cheek with one finger, then backed away. Before she could think of anything else to say, he was gone.

Tara sat down on the ugly little couch and tried to think about how long it would be before she could afford to buy a pretty throw to cover it up. But she couldn't stop worrying about Spike instead.

He's wrong. It is harder for him than me. He doesn't have a conscience, and he's fighting instincts that I can't begin to understand. That chip keeps him from killing, but it never forced him to do good. He really won't be able to go on like this without some help.

But Buffy hadn't looked capable of helping anyone tonight.

Spike stalked through the streets of Sunnydale, running the events of his very unusual evening over in his mind as he made his way back to the cemetery. When he'd left his crypt, he'd thought he'd wind up spending the night chasing down a runaway witch. The last thing he'd anticipated was working as a furniture mover and a French tutor.

I told you two she wasn't lying, said the poet. You made me look like I was the fool, especially since I'd told her we trusted her.

Couldn't help being suspicious, muttered the demon.

Yeah, agreed the fool. Leaving a note in our crypt saying she was moving and giving an address. Sounded like she was skipping town maybe, and trying to throw us off the scent.

Tara's sort doesn't skip town, said the poet severely. She's the kind that's so conscientious she lets a soulless demon know she's moving so he won't think she's forgotten a promise.

She may not have forgotten, said the demon, but she hasn't helped us either.

She will, asserted the poet. I can feel it.

She wants to, the fool agreed. But she has no idea how to.

Sure she does, said the demon. You heard her. Castration! That's what she's come up with! We'll wind up a eunuch if we keep depending on her. I'd like to keep Spike's balls safer than we did his head, with this sodding chip.

Tara isn't a careless person, said the poet firmly. Our balls are safe in her hands. He hesitated, dismayed by his own choice of words. Er –

Now, that I wouldn't mind, snickered the fool.

Both the poet and the demon met this comment with stony silence.

Well, I wouldn't, insisted the fool.

What about Buffy? demanded the poet in outrage.

I haven't forgotten Buffy, muttered the fool. It's just – Tara's not half bad.

Great knockers, agreed the demon. But she's less than half bad. She's too bloody good. Never look at us, her kind. Even if she did give us an accidental sex-change first. So give up thinking about her.

Okay, muttered the fool, adding rebelliously, But at least she's nice to Dawn. Nicer than Buffy.

Buffy died for Dawn! howled the demon and the poet in unison.

Yeah, agreed the fool. But what the Bit needs now is someone who wants to live for her.

Dawn lurked near the entrance to the graveyard, waiting until it was almost dark. It wouldn't do at all to march into Spike's crypt in broad daylight, when she needed no escort to travel around Sunnydale. She didn't want to be tossed back out into the safe sunlight.

In a few more minutes, the sun's rays would be only a faint, rosy glow on the horizon, and lots of nasty things would start to stir. No one who bothered to take the time to worry about Dawn and what she was up to would let her wander around alone then.

Spike wouldn't. Neither would Tara.

For the umpteenth time, Dawn sulked over the fact that it had been Tara who moved out when she and Willow broke up. It just wasn't fair.

Dawn had been miserable when Tara left Willow, and for a time, she'd lain awake at night hoping the two would get back together. But her rage at Willow for putting her in danger and making her suffer the pain and inconvenience of a broken arm had settled into cold anger. With the absolute certainty of someone too young to perceive shades of gray, she'd decided that Willow wasn't good enough for Tara.

Dawn's feelings had reminded her of something, and it had taken a while before she'd identified the false memory of Joyce and Hank's divorce. She remembered resenting Joyce for moving them to a strange town and taking them far away from Hank. But, slowly, she'd come to realize her father was becoming more distant and had begun to suspect that his cheating had precipitated the divorce. She would have been indignant on Joyce's behalf, if her pseudo-mother had ever said a nasty word about Hank. But, being Joyce, she hadn't.

Now, in this new situation, Dawn's sympathies had swung to Tara. Tara never said anything bad about Willow either. But Willow had been out of control, and Tara had been right to leave. Besides, Willow was gloomy and self-absorbed, while Tara was sensible and friendly. These days, Tara's apartment felt more like the home Joyce had made than the house on Revello Drive.

And one of the things that made it feel like home was the fact that Spike was welcome there.

Joyce had liked Spike, and Dawn was pleased to realize that Tara did too. No one else did. Except for Dawn herself, of course. Buffy used to tolerate him, but now she looked at him with an unfathomable expression that was close to hatred. Dawn couldn't understand that. Spike had done everything he could to save her on the tower, and he loved Buffy like crazy. He didn't deserve hatred. Not any more.

Dawn used to think that Willow hadn't minded Spike much, but Willow wasn't liking much of anything these days. She was running Buffy a close second for the gloom and doom award. And the only other visitor they ever seemed to have, except for the occasional social worker, was Xander. Since the wedding that hadn't happened, it hurt Dawn to look at the constant pain in Xander's eyes.

When she'd found Spike helping Tara move into that apartment, Dawn had felt a surge of hope for the first time in weeks. Here were two of the people she loved, actually working kind of together and snarking at each other in a friendly way. She'd pitched in happily, and been thrilled when she'd successfully manipulated Spike into staying and helping her with her homework.

A few months back, Spike had forbidden her to visit him in his crypt any more. That had caused lots of tears at the time, but now it gave her a great idea how to lure him into a friendlier environment.

Too bad Tara's gay. This was a new thought, and Dawn considered it carefully. Spike needed to stop brooding over Buffy, and it would be cool if he liked Tara instead. Or it would be if Tara wouldn't be almost as wigged out about it as Buffy had been. Dawn couldn't decide if Tara would be wigged or pleased. So she needed to be cautious. She didn't want to cause trouble. Not really, even though it usually worked out that way.

Spike had enjoyed teasing Tara while he helped her move in. And Tara had been smiling and having a good time too. So it was clearly a public service or something to get Spike to visit Tara again. Dawn decided she'd risk it.

The streetlight above her head clicked on. Dawn threw her shoulders back and marched across the cemetery grounds to Spike's crypt.

"Bloody hell, Bit, if Buffy says you're supposed to spend the evening with Tara, that's where you're spending the evening." Spike was yelling angrily, but Dawn wasn't fooled. She was sure he'd been pleased to see her at first, before he remembered that he'd told her a few months earlier never to brighten his doorway again.

"It's not fair," she insisted. "I bet you're not doing something as boring as homework tonight."

"No, I am going to a demon bar to engage in illegal gambling in a back room while getting drunk. That's my proper place in the world. And yours is at Tara's, helping her tack more cheap fabric on the walls so's she won't have to see the peeling paint, eating whatever tofutti thing she's made for dinner, doing algebra, and watching The Osbournes."

"So you're just going to shove me out of here and go off boozing?"

"Hardly, Bit." He picked up her backpack and tossed it at her feet. "It's after dark. I am taking you to Tara's, and then I'm going boozing."

Dawn pouted. "It's not fair. You'll be having fun, and Tara will probably make me work on that stupid paper on John Donne."

He stopped in the act of pulling on his duster. "Donne?" he asked.

"Yeah, my teacher says I need extra credit to pass and she gave me this assignment. But those stupid poems make no sense." She picked up her backpack. "Tara's reading him too in her lit class, and I'm not sure she gets him, either."

"I'm sure Tara does," he said dryly, settling the coat over his shoulders and opening the door of the crypt. "She's the clever one, our Tara."

"Oh, and I'm the stupid one?" Dawn stomped out the door in front of him. "It's these poems that are stupid, Spike. Like the one about the compass! What's that about? So the compass goes round and round. First of all, I read it three times before I figured out it's the kind of compass you use in geometry and trig. But I still don't see what that's got to do with his girlfriend."

"Just everything, Bit. He's the one who wanders off, you see, and she's his calm center. And when he comes home, the leg of the compass comes erect, and – uh –" His voice trailed off suddenly. He turned away to pull the door shut behind them.

"Oh!" Dawn's eyes got wide. "I get it now. Wow." She marched along beside him in silence. "Maybe I should give this guy another chance."

When she bounded through the door of Tara's apartment, she'd announced that Spike knew everything about John Donne and could help them with their homework. Spike had tried to escape anyway, or acted like he wanted to escape, but he wound up sitting at the kitchen table with the two girls, struggling occasionally to explain something to Dawn without shocking her. Tara, Dawn noticed, wasn't embarrassed at all, and she seemed to like talking about the poems to Spike. She even compared them to Shakespeare and someone called Marvell, making Spike smile in a way that wasn't snarky or mean.

"So he plays with paradox," said Tara. "Like right here, when he says, 'To enter in these bonds, is to be free.'" And the way he insists that love is spiritual, but can only be experienced in the flesh."

"''And yet the body is his book,'" said Spike. "'To our bodies turn we then, that so weak men on love revealed may look.'"

Spike didn't look embarrassed when he talked about stuff like that to Tara. He looked – Dawn gazed at him covertly for a while to confirm her impression – he looked the way he used to look sometimes when Buffy was around. Except, kind of happier.

Dawn let them talk while she struggled with her paper analyzing one of the poems. She read it through, took out some of Spike's insights about what the couple in the poem were probably up to (no point in antagonizing her teacher – not over something this trivial) and handed it over to him for approval.

While Tara packed away leftovers, Spike settled down on the couch in front of the television he had acquired somewhere and presented to Tara a few days earlier, along with promises that there would be no unpleasant consequences to accepting the gift. The corners of Tara's mouth lifted upwards as she remembered how he had wheedled her into taking it. "You can't say I nicked it, pet, seeing as the previous owner is in no condition to own anything at all any more. And even your kind heart wouldn't mourn that wanker. Besides, it's cable ready." Then he'd slipped away almost before she'd had time to thank him.

It was hard to believe the man who had come to her doorstep with that TV was the same as the one who had just spoken with passionate insight about the poetry of a man who had been dead for hundreds of years. Or the creature who'd fought for hours to guard her back while she closed a temporal portal. Spike, you are multifaceted.

Right now, the set was off, and he was busy correcting Dawn's homework. Tara reluctantly turned her attention to the dirty dishes in her sink, leaving him to his task.

Dawn came over to help, and Tara was surprised to find the girl was still thinking about literature. "There's something I don't get. Most of the poems we read in class are about guys and girls doing it, or wanting to do it, or complaining they can't do it any more." She picked up a dish towel and started drying the plates Tara had just washed.

"Well, love is a big deal with poets," said Tara with a smile.

"But how come we don't read any poems about guys wanting to do it with guys or girls breaking up with girls?"

"I don't know," said Tara in a tight voice. "They're out there. It's probably the evil, homophobic school system. Or the evil textbook writers. But don't say that to your teachers." She looked up and saw that Dawn's expression was horrified and guilty.

"I'm sorry, Tara," she said. "I didn't mean to remind you of Willow. I mean, you seemed so happy, and now –"

"It's okay, honey," said Tara. She stared down at the dishes in the sink.

"It's just – I was thinking about, well –" There was a long silence, while Dawn stood frowning in thought and Tara wondered anxiously what she was thinking about.

"How do you know if you're gay?" asked Dawn at last. "Because, like, this guy asked me out, and I don't really like him much, because sometimes he's okay, but then the next minute he'll be like, in my face about stuff. So I said no, but I wasn't mean or anything, only he went and said to someone else maybe I was a lezzie, and, okay, I know that mostly only means he's a total asshole, but it made me start wondering about me. I don't think I am, but – how do you know?"

Well, that's not nearly as bad as some of the questions I was expecting. Tara shrugged. "I don't know."

Dawn blinked in surprise. "But you had to figure it out sometime, didn't you? I mean, in high school or somewhere."

"When I was your age, I was too busy trying to figure out what kind of demon I was and what horrible things I'd suddenly start wanting to do to worry about sexual orientation. And – to tell you the truth, Dawn, it was Willow who was always so big on the 'hey, I'm gay now!' thing. It was important to her. But I never thought about it much. I just met Willow and fell in love with her."

"So – before Willow, you had boyfriends." Dawn's eyes gleamed. She was obviously imagining lots of good stories.

Tara grimaced, remembering her life before Willow. She'd just have to disappoint Dawn on this one. "No. No boyfriends, no girlfriends. No friends, really, before college." She saw the shock in Dawn's face and tried to smile. "I didn't exactly fit in back home. I took care of my mother a lot, when she was sick, so I didn't have time – I wouldn't have had time, even if people had wanted me. But I was one of those demon Maclay girls, you know. So no one wanted me."

Dawn was still now, listening intently, her eyes locked on Tara's face.

"After mom died, I went a little crazy, and I tried to – not to make friends, I don't think I really understood how to make friends. But I tried to make people like me. I crashed the wildest parties I knew about, kissed a few boys, and a few girls too, got drunk a lot, but –" She spread her hands. "They were afraid of me. And I was afraid of them. Nothing much happened in my life before Sunnydale, except some petty humiliations."

"I'm sorry," said Dawn, her expression showing how inadequate she thought her words were.

"I'm not," said Tara. "It wouldn't have been any good with any of them. I'm glad I waited until I came here. And found Willow."

"You're glad?" Dawn sounded incredulous. "In spite of –?"

"In spite of everything." She gave Dawn a hug. "Real love is never wasted, Dawn."

Dawn hugged her back, resting her head on Tara's shoulder for a moment. The girl was getting so tall, she had to stoop to do that now. Tara held her close, hoping that unburdening herself so openly would help Dawn understand it was okay to give herself time to grow up inside as well as outside. That there was no need to prove her sexuality – or her humanity – by rushing into the arms of someone she wasn't ready to love.

There was a small noise from behind them. Tara looked up at the faint rustle of paper and saw Spike sitting by the television, Dawn's homework assignment spread on the coffee table in front of him. He was watching the two girls intently.

Tara had forgotten he was there. She gulped, trying to remember exactly what she'd revealed about herself, unsure if he'd even bothered to listen to what he would probably describe as girlish confidences.

He must have sensed her embarrassment. He gave a quick, sympathetic nod, and bent his head over the papers again, as if in tacit apology for hearing too much and invading her privacy.

Spike was really the most surprising creature. He could be almost tactful sometimes, Tara thought, smiling as she rubbed Dawn's back.

Tara slipped through the door of her apartment and let her backpack slide to the floor, reaching out a hand to fumble for the still-unfamiliar location of the light switch. The walk from her evening class had seemed to take forever, her textbooks growing heavier step by step, the straps of the pack digging into her shoulders. During the trip home, this lonely room had been her goal, but now, as she leaned against the wall and stared around her, she felt a surge of panic. Desperately, she tried to reassure herself.

As she fought down her fear, her eyes fell on the box sitting on the kitchen counter, and she felt the knot in her stomach begin to unclench. She remembered Dawn standing at the door that morning, dropping off the carton on her way to school.

"I asked Buffy's permission, so don't worry," the girl had said, her eyes sparking with pride at herself for having carried out her mission to help Tara. "But there's tons of stuff in the kitchen we never use, you know that. Willow's talent begins and ends with burnt pancakes, and Buffy can't cook at all, so you should keep this stuff from going to waste."

Tara stepped forward to caress the battered cardboard box, its unprepossessing surface a reminder that there was someone who cared about her and relied on her. Slowly, she peeled open the flaps and removed each item.

Soon, a fondue pot, a fancy ice cream scoop, an espresso maker, a popcorn popper, and a waffle iron were lined up on her counter. Conspicuous by their absence were gadgets like salad spinners and vegetable steamers. There was, however, a very lovely set of coffee cups that Joyce used to set out on special occasions. Tara put those aside to return to Buffy or just hold for Dawn. They were too much a part of the Summers family for her to keep.

She'd accept the rest of the gifts, though. They might not lead to healthy eating, but the presence of these snack-creators would encourage Dawn to come over and help use them.

Tara was putting the waffle iron away in the cupboard when there was a knock on the door. She answered it to find Spike standing in the hall, dressed in that battered leather coat he was so incomprehensibly fond of, holding a cardboard box even more tattered than the one Dawn had brought over that morning. He looked tired, and there was a bruise on one cheekbone, testament to a recent fight, but his swagger and smirk convinced her he'd been the victor. She was trying to decide if the sight of him pleased or exasperated her, when she remembered she still owed him a favor.

"'Lo, witch," he said.

"Hello, Spike," she said uneasily. "I'm afraid I still haven't figured out a spell for you."

"Guessed that," he said, a look of vague surprise crossing his face, almost as if he'd forgotten about his request. "Or you would have said. Not why I'm here. Came to bring you this lot." He thrust the box into her arms.

She reached out to take it automatically, but stared at the corrugated folds with suspicion. "What is it?"

"Some things I, uh, found," he said. "Thought you might like them."

"Found?" She carried the box over to the kitchen table and opened it. He trailed through the door behind her, long since past the need for an invitation to this place. "As in, they fell off a truck?"

"Not exactly," he said, leaning against the wall and watching her. "The wanker who owned them doesn't need them any more."

"Another one?" she said, glancing over her shoulder at the television set. "Sunnydale seems suddenly full of people who are disappearing and leaving their belongings behind."

He shrugged. "Sunnydale's full of a lot of nasty things," he said. "And a bloke like me needs to keep busy. Get too bored, otherwise."

Cautiously, she peeled open the four folded pieces of cardboard that formed the top of the box. They felt old and musty under her fingers, as if Spike had found a container that had been lying abandoned in some dank corner. But when she saw what lay within, she heard herself gasp, "Oooh!"

"I thought so," said Spike, as she reached down and picked up the slender blade that glowed against a sapphire background. She held the long, elegant length of tarnished silver carefully, turning it over in her hands as a few phrases of incantation dropped from her lips.

His voice was smug as he added, "Didn't look like much, but I could feel the magic in it."

She looked up at him and nodded. "It's been misused, though. But I can cleanse it. I've already made a start." Carefully, she carried the dagger over to her desk and laid it next to her laptop. "It's not something that should be in evil hands, Spike. But I can be trusted with it."

"Knew you'd know what to do," he agreed. "Didn't want to touch it myself. Used the cloth to pick it up."

"Good idea." She went back to the box and reached into it. "So this is just wrapping –" She stopped again, as the folds of fabric spilled out over the cardboard and the table, flowing down to the floor.

He shifted uneasily, his expression almost shame-faced, although his eyes glowed with something else. "Not exactly. Thought you'd like that as well." His voice dropped to a definitely embarrassed mutter. "Hoped the color would match your eyes."

"It's beautiful," said Tara, her fingers tracing the pattern woven into the lush sapphire material. "So heavy and rich." Her eyes strayed to the hated sofa. This would cover its ugliness and change that corner of the room from something to be ignored to a space that drew the eye and welcomed her.

"You like it, then?" he said, sounding assured again.

"Yes, thank you." Her eyes strayed downward, and she noticed one more object in the box. "What's this?"

"Uh. Not sure about that one."

Tara was sure enough, but she bit her lip to stop from either laughing or blurting out her opinion of his third and final gift. "What an – uh, interesting picture," she said as steadily as she could. She stared down at what she assumed was supposed to be a woman warrior, judging by the number of sharp weapons the figure was carrying. But she had to wonder who would head into battle with so little clothing – and the lack of a bra would certainly be a problem for a woman so considerably endowed. Set in a heavy, dark frame, the picture glowed with garish colors and gleaming, sweaty flesh.

"Yeah, well – wasn't sure you'd like it. Know you like girls though, and she's – uh –," and a hint of panic entered his tone. "I think it might be worth something. Frazetta, you know."

"I'm not familiar with his work," she said marveling that her voice didn't quaver. "Well." She paused, searching for words. "The frame is pretty."

"Yeah." He leapt on this. "The frame. I thought you could use that." He glanced around almost desperately for some way to change the subject, and his glance fell on the box and the new kitchen equipment on the counter. "Been on a scavenging expedition of your own, have you?"

She put the picture back in the box and turned to follow his gaze. "Dawn brought me those." She reached out a hand to touch the popcorn maker and smiled. "She didn't exactly let practicality be her guide."

"Yeah." He came to stand beside her and picked up the fondue pot. "Haven't seen one of these since the seventies –" He stopped as something inside the round red belly of the vessel rattled. "What's that? The ghost of cheese dip past?"

Their heads bent over the pot as he tugged off the lid and reached inside. Instead of the fossilized remains of a forgotten bit of hors d'oeuvre, he pulled out a small plastic bag of some dried leafy substance. He sniffed it cautiously. "Not even the ghost of Thai stick past. Some herb, but not the kind that's fun to smoke."

Tara stepped away from him. "Lethe's Bramble," she said in an angry, tight voice.

His head snapped up at her tone. "Lethe's Bramble?"

She turned away, hugging her arms around her, trying to hide quick tears, only to have her quavering voice betray her when she said, "It's what Willow uses for forgetting spells."

"Oh." His eyes seemed suddenly darker, as if reflecting her own dismay, and he spoke, his words tumbling out a bit too fast. "Doesn't have to be a secret stash, though, does it? Who knows how long it's been sitting here? This thing probably hasn't been used for decades. You know how humans are, hanging on to old kitchen gadgets long after some infomercial's lured them on to Ronco's latest and greatest slicer and dicer. Willow probably put this in here months ago and then forgot her forgetting weed – ironic, that."

Tara shook her head, denying herself the refuge of his clumsy reassurance. "No, we made fondue just the week before I moved out. I remember, because it was one of the last evenings we all spent together. Trying to cheer up Buffy, and –" She swallowed hard and reached out to take the pot from him. "That didn't work either."

"No," he said softly. "It doesn't, does it? Nothing helps. To make Buffy happy, to make Willow better."

Her tears flowed freely then, her shoulders shaking. He stood quietly, letting her cry for a few minutes until finally he said awkwardly, "Hard to know what to say to you. You're not like most women." He caught her quick glance and added with what he meant to be reassurance, "Not because you're a dyke, pet. I mean –" He stopped for a moment, seeming to go through some internal struggle before he went on in a different, softer tone, his accent more polished than usual.

"To another woman, I'd say, 'forget her, she doesn't deserve you.' But that won't work for you, will it? Because of the way you are. You don't think of yourself, of what you deserve. Even your sorrow is all focused outward. You're standing here, worrying about and loving a woman who betrayed you into forgetting yourself." There was another pause as he battled with himself before he uttered, "You're noble, that's what you are."

She gulped back a sob, so astonished by his words she was drawn a bit out of her despair. "Thank you, Spike. I don't deserve that, but thank you."

He went on awkwardly. "You're all right, pet. You'll be all right."

She shook her head, finding herself confessing things she'd been unable to say to anyone else. "I don't know, Spike. Days like today, I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I can manage on my own. I'm not noble. I'm too much of a coward." She ducked her head, ashamed of her words and made even more miserable by her conviction they were true.

They were silent a long time. She stood holding the chipped red fondue pot in front of her, staring down at it as if it were a crystal ball. He moved at last, reaching out to touch the slightly-crooked index finger of her right hand where it was wrapped around the container, and saying, "This never healed completely straight, did it? After that skanky hell god broke it."

"N-no," Tara said in surprise.

"After you sat there and let that bitch Glory break it, because you wouldn't tell her Dawn was the Key," he went on. His finger just barely stroked hers, his eyes following the movement before he glanced up to meet her gaze, his expression intent. "Not something a coward would do, that."

"I – I just couldn't think of anything else. I kept trying to think of a spell, but I was too terrified. I wasn't brave, Spike."

"They say everyone has their vices, Tara, but they definitely left out conceit when they met you. Don't even have it in you to think well of yourself for what you did then, do you?"

His eyes were an incredibly bright blue. It was hard, staring into them, to find the strength to contradict him. He seemed so sure and certain. It was even harder, at this moment, to remember he was someone whose opinions couldn't be trusted.

But she did know that he could be trusted in some things. She remembered how he'd proven that.

"Glory did worse to you," said Tara. "You let her do worse."

"No," he said. He spread his hands in a dismissive gesture. "And, me, I'd boast about it if I had. Because conceit is something I've got by the cartload. But it's been pointed out by people with less than perfect opinions of me that vampires aren't much good for lots of things. And brain-suck happens to be one of them. Whatever Glory did to me, I always knew she couldn't do that. She could kill me, but she couldn't steal who I was. But you let it happen to you. Gave all of yourself. For the Little Bit's sake." He took the fondue pot away from her and set it on the counter, turning back to take her fingers in his. Slowly, bowing from the waist in a way that seemed eerily natural and not the least bit awkward, he kissed the back of her hand. His lips were cool but not cold, and very soft as they grazed her skin.

Her mind went blank with something that was more than surprise. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, but it wasn't fear or embarrassment. It didn't occur to her to be self-conscious until he straightened up, looking shocked, horrified as if he'd just done something truly outrageous. Which, considering what he was, she supposed he had. He couldn't blush, of course, but she thought that he was even paler than usual, his eyes refusing to meet hers. He backed away hastily.

"Uh," he stuttered, bumping into a chair as he made his way towards the door. "Better be going, then. Got to see a bloke about – about –"

"A dog?" she asked.

"Something like that," he said, his hand finding the doorknob at last. He turned it, and slipped through the opening with a "Bloody hell!" as he tripped over something in the hall. The door slammed behind him.

Tara stared after him for a moment, unsure of her feelings until she heard herself burst into laughter. She was, she realized with surprise, really happy, although she couldn't have put the reason into words. It might have been Spike's insistence that she wasn't as much of a coward as she thought, or it might have been simple amusement at his embarrassment. But even as she snickered, the fingers of her left hand stroked the spot Spike's lips had touched, wondering if she'd dreamed that unlikely caress. It seemed impossible that the man who had just bumbled backwards outside her door was capable of that courtly gesture.

But, then, she lived in an impossible world. And it was suddenly easier to continue living in it. It was as if the future had at least momentarily become something to look forward to, instead of a dreaded unknown.

She dropped the Lethe's Bramble into the garbage can and shoved the fondue pot into the back of the cupboard, setting the popcorn popper in front of it. She decided on a corner of the tiny counter as the espresso maker's permanent home, although she wouldn't have enough spare cash for coffee until her next paycheck. She set the empty cardboard boxes by the door to drop into the apartment's dumpster the next morning. Then she picked up her backpack from the floor where she had abandoned it earlier and carried it over to her desk.

As she pulled out her textbooks, her gaze fell on the dagger Spike had brought her. The books slipped from her hands, and she cautiously let one palm hover over the dark grey blade, fingertips approaching the hilt but not touching it. She was unsure exactly what hand had held it last, but the emanations made it clear the thing had been evil. Spike had said his only motivation in killing had been to avoid boredom, but Tara knew that whether he cared or not, he'd done Sunnydale a favor if he'd rid it of the thing that had desecrated that weapon.

The power that was inherent in the blade itself was neither good nor evil, though. She would need to pick up a few ingredients before she could weave a spell that would cleanse the dagger, but she was confident that in a day or so she would convert what had been an evil tool into an instrument she could safely use.

Turning her back on the dagger, she went to the table and started to gather up the length of blue cloth. But she noticed the other object still lying in the tattered old box, and the fabric slipped from her fingers.

The picture was completely ludicrous, but the frame was pretty. She flipped it over, pulled out the backing, and removed the print. Then she turned to her desk, opening a drawer and taking out some photos, flipping through them quickly. Her first instinct was to choose one of her favorite candids of Willow, but when she looked down at that quirky, smiling face, the leaden feeling in her stomach returned.

Much as I love her, staring at this picture will only bring me pain. Reluctantly, she slipped the photo back into the drawer.

Several other snapshots, too reminiscent of happier times with Willow, Buffy, and her other friends, followed. At last, Tara found herself staring at the most recent picture in the pile, and she was surprised to realize the corners of her mouth were tilting upwards.

A few days earlier, Dawn had offered to take Tara out for coffee, showing up with a digital camera that she had displayed proudly and used ineptly, deleting picture after picture as she struggled to understand its mysteries. Tara had been suspicious, but Dawn had told her she hadn't stolen the device, just "liberated" it from the lair of three stupid nerds who'd been harassing Buffy. One of them had finally been arrested for killing his ex-girlfriend, and Buffy and the others had perused the "evidence." This tale had been less than reassuring, but Tara felt powerless to protest the continued possession of the camera when Dawn explained that Willow had a scored a huge haul of sophisticated electronics and Xander had packed up several boxes of comic books and Star Wars paraphernalia and taken them back to his apartment.

Spike, who had somehow wound up at the espresso bar at the same time Dawn was insisting she could afford to buy Tara dessert, had been predictably unappreciative of any moral dilemmas presented by the acquisition of the camera, but he had been distinctly annoyed at having his picture snapped a half-dozen times. Dawn had ignored his complaints, finally handing her new toy to a passer-by and insisting he take a picture of the three of them. The next day, she'd coaxed a friend into printing out the result on glossy paper and had presented the picture to Tara.

Three pairs of blue eyes peered out from the photo. Spike was slouched in his chair, one arm stretched out along the table, his features cast in sharp relief as he mock-glared at Dawn. Dawn smirked back at him, twitching a strand of her hair self-consciously as she preened for the camera. Tara, caught between them, looked as if she didn't know whether to be amused or worried by her companions.

Tara didn't think the three figures in the photo looked the least as if they belonged together. And it wasn't as if the composition had any intrinsic artistic merit. But without thinking too much of the reason for her actions, she slipped the picture into her pretty new frame and went to hunt for a nail and a hammer to hang it over her desk.

Spike stumbled out into the hall, tripping over the box he'd left standing outside Tara's door, and almost slamming into the opposite wall before he managed to regain his balance. Grimacing at his own clumsiness, he snatched up his second box of loot and hurried out onto the dark streets of Sunnydale. But once he was on the sidewalk, his steps slowed again, and he turned to gaze at the warm yellow light emanating from the basement apartment.

Uh, we'd better get busy fencing this lot so's we can get to the bar in time for a few hands of poker, said the fool after a few minutes.

Take your time, said the demon, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Thought I'd be bored, watching you two chat up the witch. But now I'm all busy trying to decide which one of you wankers made us look like more of an ass back there.

Spike turned and began to walk briskly again.

I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, said the poet haughtily. We certainly were not 'chatting anyone up,' as you put it.

The fool brayed with laughter. I wasn't! But what do you call kissing her hand?

A simple, polite gesture, acknowledging the lady's bravery. The poet was at his stiffest. I certainly had no ulterior motive.

I'm not sure you'd know what to do with one if you did, snarled the demon. Kissing hands and mooning about outside a girl's house is all you're good for.

I hope so, said the fool. Because we don't want him to actually start writing poems again. And I don't remember you complaining about hanging around Buffy's place.

No, agreed the demon, as they reached Sunnydale's miniscule downtown. But we got something out of that, usually. Until she walked out on us for good.

Yeah, said the fool, distracted for a moment by the memory of Buffy's body in Spike's arms. Eventually, though, another thought occurred to him. But why are we lurking around Tara's now?

The demon provided a response while the poet was still mulling over the question. We need to keep an eye on the Bit. She doesn't know how to take proper care of herself, that one, and we promised to guard her.

The Bit wasn't there just now, pointed out the fool inexorably.

No, agreed the poet. And do you know what else shouldn't have been there? That horrible picture you stuck in the box while I was folding up that cloth and the demon was trying to make sure we handled that knife properly!

Thought she might like it, said the fool in a chastened tone. I mean, seeing she's gay and the girl was starkers and all.

Pretty stark bad taste, snapped the poet. I'm trying to match fabric to her eyes and you're giving her bimbos on velvet!

It wasn't the one on velvet! Knew she wouldn't like that one, said the fool, adding after a moment, I kept that one for us.

You did what? cried the poet. If you think you're putting that thing up in our crypt…

If you don't like it, you can just prance off with those pre-Raphaelite prints you're so fond of and find some place else to hang them, snapped the fool.

I've never let him put those bloody mawkish things up either, pointed out the demon. As for you, I don't care if it is a picture of a naked bird, I draw the line at velvet. Only a wanker like you…

The argument ceased as the three realized Spike had thumped their box down on a counter and reached a tentative agreement with a spiny purple demon over the worth of the various artifacts inside. "Seventy-five bucks," the fence was saying. "And I'll throw in two cartons of cigarettes."

Spike opened his mouth to agree, then stopped, staring around at the piles of contraband and stolen goods heaped over the floor of the warehouse. "What's that?" he said, pointing at a box filled with squishy-looking gold foil bags.

The fence might have grimaced, but it was hard for even someone as familiar with demonkind as Spike to tell for sure. "That fancy gourmet coffee they sell in those dumps where they charge a week's salary for a thimble of sludge. Some loser dumped it here as part of a bigger haul."

"Throw in the lot and you've got a deal," said Spike.

The fence reached out a slender appendage, scooped up the box easily, and dropped it on the counter. "There's enough caffeine there to keep you awake nights for the next century or so. Didn't know fancy java was one of your vices."

"Got more vices than I'm about to share with you," said Spike, carefully counting out the bills the fence handed him. "And a friend with a new espresso maker."

"The vices don't surprise me," said the fence as Spike headed for the door. "But the friend does."

"Me too," muttered Spike as he headed out into the night.

"Dawn, be careful!" Tara shouted, watching in horror as the huge, lizard-like demon lashed out at the girl.

Dawn jumped up into a crevice a few feet above the cave's floor, turned around, and kicked a shower of pebbles and stones at the monster. It hissed, and raised itself up on its front eight legs. Before it could strike, Spike stumbled forward, brushing away a trickle of blood where his face had been cut by the thing's whipping tail.

The demon turned back to Spike, and the vampire backed up as he fought, clearly trying to achieve the dual goals of killing the lizard and drawing it away from Dawn. In a few seconds, his back was up against the wall of the cave as his sword lopped off one clawed leg. The demon responded by using the dozens that remained to dart forward and slash at him.

Tara realized she was cursing beneath her breath, and forced herself to stop, trying to modulate her breathing so she could enter trance and do a spell. Her mind was racing through the possibilities. The huge lizard was magical, but just barely. Anything too sophisticated might slide off its scaly hide. It was time for strength, not finesse.

She reached into her backpack and slid the now-gleaming silver dagger out of the sheath she'd crafted for it. As she tried to order her thoughts, she saw the lizard swipe at Spike's leg and almost rip through the fabric of his jeans before he leapt to one side. She didn't dare take the time to utter words aloud. She didn't make a conscious decision to transmit her reassurance directly, and she was almost surprised to hear her own mental shout. Hold on, Spike. I'm going to try something.

Now would be good, witch. His sword blade flashed and she saw his amber eyes gleam as he moved sideways again, retreating further.

"Bitter, bitter, bite," Tara muttered as she aimed the dagger at the lizard. A dense cloud emerged from its tip, misting up under the demon's belly. The lizard's attack slowed.

Coughing and cursing, Spike pressed his advantage, hacking off first another leg, then the lizard's head.

"Yay, Tara!" Dawn jumped down from her perch, picked up the sword she'd dropped earlier, and cut off the twitching tail. "I don't know what you did, but thanks for the rescue."

Tara backed away and let Spike and the teenager finish the dismemberment on their own.

Spike dropped his sword arm and turned to Dawn, his features morphing into human form. "That's enough. I think these bits are too small to wander off on their own and eat anyone else. Now back off and let me collect the parts I can sell." He picked up an aged carryall that had been tossed on the floor by the cave wall and opened the lizard's mouth.

Tara felt her stomach heave and she looked away, catching the teenager's eye. "Dawn," she said, her relief melting into exasperation and retroactive terror, "If you ever, ever leave me a message again saying you can't come over because you're helping Spike kill demons by the hellmouth, I promise you I'll see to it that you're living with your father in San Diego by the next sunrise."

Dawn's expression of triumph changed to almost comical dismay. "Why? I was just trying to help."

"Help who?"

"Well, humanity. The world." The words were uttered in an unconvincing grumble. "By getting rid of the forces of evil and all that stuff. And it's not like I went out looking for trouble. Some of the kids at school came down here on a dare and saw that thing. I heard about it during gym class."

Tara resisted an impulse to tear at her hair. "So, why didn't you tell Buffy?"

That comment sparked a look of indignation, followed by lots of eye-rolling. "That's not fair, Tara. I don't even know where Buffy is. Holding Xander's hand while he cries into his beer maybe, or escorting Willow to a meeting of Amnesia Inducer's Anonymous. There was no one home, so I found a description in one of Willow's books, and it turns out you can sell these lizard's tongues for lots of money. People in China think it helps with their sex life. That's why I went to Spike."

Tara tried to wrap her thoughts around this new concept. "You're helping Spike find aphrodisiacs to sell on the Asian black market?"

"Well, only this once. And don't go all tree-hugger on me, Tara.
I mean, I know these things are endangered. But they should be extinct. They're pretty dangerous."

"Yeah," said Spike, dropping the carryall on the ground at their feet. It landed with a thud that said it was now filled with something heavy and disgusting. "Seemed like a no-brainer."

"That's lucky," snapped Tara, turning her attention to him. "Because you certainly weren't using any brain power when you decided on this expedition."

"Now, look –" Spike started to say, but she interrupted him.

"No, Spike, you listen! I can't believe you brought Dawn down here. I'd ask what you were thinking, but you've already admitted that you weren't!"

"It's not as if it was the first time she's been here. Besides, I told her to stay back and watch!"

He stepped closer to her, his eyes sparking amber, but she stood her ground. "And you expected her to listen? Just how stupid can you be, Spike?"

He pointed at the carryall. "Look, you showed up in time, the monster's dead, and I stand to make a few quid out of the deal. No harm done."

"Yes, Spike, there is harm done when you take Dawn into situations like this. This isn't like sneaking around to let her gorge on spicy chicken wings before you come over for tofu night at my place. And don't look so surprised that I know about that. The garlic stink even overwhelmed the cloud of Marlboro smoke and Bazooka sugar that you two drag along with you everywhere. But just because I let you get away with taking her to R-rated movies or teaching her to drive that motorcycle of yours around the cemetery, doesn't mean you can take her dragon-slaying!"

Surprisingly, Tara's words seemed to be having an impact. Spike looked down and shuffled his feet. "Thought I'd take the thing by myself. Didn't expect her to jump in and start hacking at it."

Tara was still glaring at him when she heard Dawn say in a small voice, "It bit you, Spike. You screamed."

The vampire's expression became indignant again. "I did not scream. I may have uttered a warlike yell, but I did not scream."

"Well, you yelled, then," said Dawn. "But it did bite you. What else could I do?"

"Nothing else, at that point," agreed Tara. "And, Spike, just how would it have been so much better if you had been taken to pieces by that thing because you were too stupid to ask for help?"

He opened his mouth to retort, and then shut it again, as if her last words had presented an idea so novel that he had no idea how to respond. "All right, witch," he muttered at last. "Won't do it again. Not without asking you first."

Tara nodded, feeling no hesitation at accepting his word. In spite of his many faults – and she was suddenly in no mood to dwell on them – he kept his promises.

"Is the fight over?" asked Dawn in a timid voice.

Tara turned to her in surprise, about to say that the fight had been over for some time. But the sight of the teen's frightened and distressed face stopped her, and she exchanged glances with Spike.

He, too, understood immediately that it was the argument between Spike and Tara that was distressing Dawn, not the dismembered corpse at her feet. "Yeah, pet," he said quickly. "Fight's over."

Dawn went over and took him by the arm. The gesture seemed to make him uneasy, and he pulled away after a moment, flexing the fingers of his hand. "What was that spell anyway?" he asked. "My hand is numb."

"It's just cold," Tara said. "I figured, being a lizard and all, if there was an intense temperature drop, it would slow down."

"Cold, eh?" Spike looked at his fingers. "So this should wear off?"

"As soon as you get someplace warmer," said Tara. "It might take longer for you than Dawn and me because of your bad circulation." She was attacked with renewed worry for him, which was ridiculous. He wasn't dust, so he would be okay.

"His total lack of circulation, you mean," said Dawn, who seemed to take a more casual attitude towards Spike's injuries. "Hey, you know where's warmer? That pizza place with the garlic butter and the potato skins. And Buffy gave me money for dinner." She glanced at Tara. "Come on. I'm sure they have something green there too. You can make me eat that as an appetizer." She set off down the tunnel that led back up to the surface.

Tara trailed behind Dawn and Spike. "But – but I have a nice, healthy dinner already stewing in my crock pot."

"Oh?" asked Spike, with a suspicious glance over his shoulder. "I happen to know it's two days before your payday and I don't recall you saying you'd won the lottery. What's in this lovely stew of yours?"

"Well –" Tara hesitated. "A few potatoes and carrots and onions. Because –"

"They're cheap," said Spike understandingly.

"And some nice dried herbs," added Tara brightly, but then forced herself to admit, "And pretty much everything else that was sitting in the back of the fridge."

Spike and Dawn exchanged looks. "Pizza," said Dawn definitely.

Spike nodded towards Tara. "What about the witch?"

"I think it's a major act of kindness to drag her away from whatever's in that crock pot," said Dawn with a shudder. "Hey! That and killing this lizard makes two good deeds in one day, which means I can be as bad as I like tomorrow."

Tara sputtered with indignation at this fallacious logic, letting Spike and Dawn tease her all the way to the restaurant as a way to make up for her previous, uncharacteristic anger at them.

But as she bit into a slice of really excellent pizza and listened to Dawn's efforts to convince Spike to buy her an mp3 player with his profits from the lizard's tongue, Tara realized she was proud of her wrathful outburst. She had asserted herself for once. Well, she did remember other times when she'd asserted herself. But tonight, it had been different.

Spike had yelled back at first, but he had listened. Really listened. He hadn't tried to change the subject or say he didn't understand what she meant. He'd listened, and at the end, he'd agreed with her. The thought made her almost dizzy.

She smiled up at the vampire as he came to the table, sliding over the mug of beer he'd bought her without being asked and handing Dawn a glass of Coke.

Spike could be, and usually was, the most amazing idiot. But in addition to admitting she could be right, he could also say and do astonishingly nice things. Tara remembered his visit to her apartment and had to admit it felt good to be praised for being strong sometimes. So unlike Willow, who had always seemed threatened whenever it was clear Tara had more experience or –

Tara pushed that idea away. Aside from the fact that it seemed disloyal, thinking about Willow did her no good.

She began paying attention to the conversation around her.

"And if I buy you this thing, Bit, will you use it for good or evil?" Spike was saying.

"What do you mean?" asked Dawn, falling into his rhetorical trap in spite of her obvious suspicions.

"I may be a demon, but I have my limits. Even a dump like Sunnydale shouldn't be polluted with the sounds of Evanescence and White Stripes."

Tara bent her head over her pizza, hiding her smirk from Dawn as she waited for the teenager's inevitable protest.

Dawn was having a pretty good Friday evening. At least, it was pretty good up until the moment she turned the corner onto Revello Drive.

She'd been invited to this really wild party by a girl she hardly knew. So she'd left a note for Buffy saying she'd be at Tara's and then snuck into Spike's crypt. She'd left him a note saying where the party was and mentioning there'd be boys and maybe a keg and wasn't that cool?

Then she'd shown up at the party wearing her best jeans and a shirt that she probably should have given to charity because it was getting too small. It was fun for a while, and just when it started to get a little scary, Tara had come in without knocking and hauled her out onto the street, where Spike was stalking up and down and growling so loud Dawn was surprised he hadn't switched to game face.

"If you ever do this again –" he snarled at her.

Dawn took a step back. He was angrier than she'd expected. It was always so hard to know what would upset him and how much. He didn't mind letting her see dismembered demons, but apparently kegger parties were something else altogether. "I thought you'd be glad I was having a good time."

"Is there some new monster in Sunnydale that sucked out what little brains you have? What made you think this was a brilliant idea?" His blue eyes sparked with gold flecks. "And then leaving me that daft note, and me not able to get in there without an invitation."

"Oh," said Dawn in a small voice that she hoped didn't sound smug. "So that's why you went to get Tara."

"Yes, that's bloody well why I went to get Tara! Or would you rather I tracked down your sister and let her find you in there?"

"Oh, no!" Dawn had no problem looking horrified at this idea. "Buffy doesn't deal with this kind of stuff well." She just looks at me with dead eyes and moves on. She hardly ever bothers to yell at me at all.

"And what makes you think I'm dealing well?" asked Tara in a level tone. "Dawn, I'm so disappointed in you."

Dawn turned around, and her heart sank at the sadness in her friend's eyes. "I'm sorry," she stammered sincerely. "Please, please don't be angry." She threw herself into Tara's arms and was relieved when she received a hug back.

However, Tara's voice was still stern a moment later when she said, "We're taking you home now."

"But –" Dawn raised her head and looked back and forth from Tara to Spike. "I don't want to go back to that big, stupid, empty house and just sit until Buffy finally gets back from killing something or making burgers or whatever it is she's doing or until Willow comes in to moan about how she can't do magic any more. It's not fair. I wouldn't even have wanted to go to that party if I'd just had someone I could really talk to." She crossed her hands in front of her chest and sulked.

Tara and Spike exchanged looks.

So they went back to Tara's apartment instead. Tara and Dawn made popcorn while Spike sprawled on the couch with the remote, switching back and forth between Titus Andronicus and South Park.

Then Spike went out for a smoke and Dawn used up some of the apartment's vast supply of coffee by making experimental mochas with the espresso machine while Tara sat on the couch and paged through her Statistics text with one hand, using the clicker to switch back and forth between Xena and C-SPAN with the other.

Then all three of them squeezed onto the couch together, and after much argument, most of it from Spike, watched two episodes of Daria.

Sometime after Dawn started wondering why Sick, Sad World didn't film in Sunnydale, Tara noticed how late it was. Spike volunteered to walk Dawn home, and Tara said she couldn't go with them because she had to get up early to go to her part-time job at the campus bookstore.

But even without Tara's company, the walk home was fun. Dawn chattered about how it was too bad Tara had to work so hard, but at least she was around books, and she liked books, so that couldn't be so awful.

"Depends on the books," Spike retorted.

"I wonder what kind of job she'll get when she's finished with college." This thought led to an even more intriguing, Dawn-centered speculation. "I wonder what kind of job I'll get when I'm grown up. It's kind of scary to think about, you know, because there are so many different things to choose from."

"Keep going the way you have been, Bit, and you'll have to choose something you can do from inside a prison cell. That should narrow the options down." She could see the blue flash of his eyes over the glow of the cigarette dangling from his lips.

"That isn't fair, Spike! I am not going to wind up in jail. I haven't stolen anything for months and months."

"No? Well, they'll just have to nab you for truancy then, or underage drinking, or –"

Just then a bunch of guys came around the corner, moving together like a pack of predators. Dawn stiffened, and started to fumble in her backpack for one of the weapons Spike had been teaching her how to use.

But Spike just stared at the other men, all of them taller and bulkier than he was, and gave a single, deep-throated growl.

The gang parted to let them go by.

Dawn waited until they were out of earshot to ask, "What would you have done if that didn't scare them?"

"Gone into game face," he said. "That usually works."

She thought his expression looked desolate. "Having that chip kind of sucks," she said inadequately. "You must really miss being able to fight humans."

"I don't like not being able to defend my girl proper," he said in a voice that sounded almost as vicious as the snarl he'd used to scare off the gang. "And I'm not fond of being humiliated by someone I should be able to toss across the room. But I don't miss fighting humans."

"No?"

"No. Just eating them. Barring Slayers and a few others, humans are no challenge. I'd rather rumble with a demon who gives me a run for my money."

That made sense to Dawn. She didn't find most humans good for very much either.

On the next block, a vampire jumped out from behind a tree, and Spike let Dawn try out some of the self-defense moves he'd taught her. She managed to hold her own for almost a minute before he stepped in and snapped the creature's neck. He tossed her a stake and held the vampire out in front of him so she could dust it herself before it had time to recover. Then he said she'd done a good job. That was so cool it made her completely forget he'd called her a future jailbird.

With his approval of the way she'd kicked the vamp in the balls ringing pleasantly in her ears, Dawn turned the corner onto Revello Drive.

And felt her stomach lurch.

It wasn't that there was anything scary or unpleasant on the street. In fact, everything looked way too normal and quiet for Sunnydale. It was just that she didn't want to go home. She started dragging her feet.

Spike realized she was falling behind and turned to look at her. "What's wrong, pet?"

"Nothing," Dawn was going to leave her reply at that, but his incredulously raised eyebrow spurred her into speech. "Spike, how come Tara can live in her own apartment and make pretty good meals with vegetables and stuff when she only works part-time?"

He shrugged, his head tilted to one side. "I think she gets some kind of money the government gives to students," he said. "But that place of hers doesn't cost much. Less than the dorm, she said. That's why she moved."

"Yeah," said Dawn. "I think the grant money she gets goes mostly for tuition. But –" She stared at the house her mother had bought, trying to think it through. "If Buffy sold the house, wouldn't it mean she'd have to work less? I mean, there are lots of taxes and repair bills and electric bills she wouldn't have to pay."

"Maybe," said Spike. "But in case you haven't noticed, Bit, I'm not a real estate agent or a financial planner."

"It's just, when Buffy talks about taking care of me, it's all about money stuff. Getting me clothes and making the mortgage payments so I have a roof over my head. She never wants to talk with me about other stuff." Dawn kicked at a neighbor's fence. "She doesn't talk much to anyone except Willow and Xander. Not like Tara. Tara tries to make friends with people and go places sometimes. Buffy never has any fun any more."

Clearly, Spike wasn't much more comfortable talking about this kind of stuff than Buffy was. "Bit, I'm not a family counselor either. And I'm not one to give anyone advice, But this I do know. Your sister's doing the best she can for you."

He always looked so sad when he mentioned Buffy. Dawn forgot about her own problems for a moment. "I don't know why you're being nice about her. She never did the best she could for you, Spike."

"I'm not so sure about that, Bit." She stared up at him in surprise and saw he was looking up at her house. "When did that happen?" he asked, gesturing. "Something forget where the door is?"

She looked over her shoulder at the boarded-up front window. "More or less. A really stupid demon smashed in a few days ago. Xander has the glass to fix it on order."

"Oh," he said blankly, and it occurred to Dawn that once he would have known about an event like that immediately. Once he would probably have been around to help throw the demon back out the window.

After an awkward moment, Spike said, "Better get inside. It's late."

She gave him a quick hug, feeling him stiffen before he responded awkwardly. She hardly ever touched him any more, but she was trying to change that. He'd seemed so distant for a long time, until they'd started hanging out with Tara. He still seemed awfully lonely, and she wanted to let him know she cared about him. And hugging him made her feel stronger. She took a deep breath, let go of him, and ran into the house before her courage failed her.

Buffy was coming out of the kitchen when Dawn came in the front door. She looked tired and kind of depressed, so Dawn supposed everything was normal.

"Hi," she said as she headed for the stairs.

"Tara isn't coming in?" Buffy asked with a glance at the door.

"Uh – no." Dawn stuttered the syllables.

Buffy stiffened. "Tara did walk you home, didn't she?"

Better not lie. Dawn made her voice as casual as possible and started making her way up the stairs as she said, "She couldn't, so Spike did."

Buffy's voice was as sharp as a stake. "Spike? How did that happen? Why was he around you two?"

"He brought something over to Tara's." That would be me. "You know, she needs stuff, and he's good at finding stuff, and I don't think she feels comfortable going to the magic shop any more." Dawn opened the door to her room and tossed her backpack on her bed.

"Dangerous stuff?" asked Buffy from the doorway.

I hope not. Not really, even though I know I've been being pretty bad. She turned to face her sister. "Come on, Buffy, we're talking about Tara. Do you think she'd be into dangerous stuff?" There, I managed to not tell the real truth without actually lying!

Buffy relaxed visibly. "No, of course not. If we can't trust Tara – But, Dawn, I don't want you around Spike. Walking you home once in a while is okay, but you shouldn't hang out with him."

Dawn stiffened. "Why not?"

"Why not? He's evil, Dawn."

Dawn realized suddenly that Buffy was actually paying attention to this conversation and that her voice held real emotion. She threw herself into the argument. "No, Buffy, he used to be evil. Now, he's whatever it is that he is. Maybe not all the way good, but not evil either."

Buffy shook her head. "Dawn, do you have any idea of the things he's done?"

"Those things don't matter to me!"

"Well, they should!" There was real pain of some kind in Buffy's eyes.

"You are just never fair to him, Buffy." Dawn's initial pleasure at seeing her sister react, even negatively, about something was fading fast.

"Fair? You want me to be –" Buffy took a step back, hesitating for a moment before taking refuge in an old argument. "Do you think he's changed? People don't change. Not that much. Not from evil to good." Then she added the clincher, the one Dawn had known was coming. "Not without a soul."

"I don't care!" shrieked Dawn, turning up the volume of her voice to its most ear-splitting. "It's not fair!"

Apparently even Buffy realized that there was no arguing with that statement, especially when it was uttered at those decibels. She left the room, her only answer the vicious slam with which she closed the door.

Dawn listened to Buffy stomp down the stairs. She was shaking with reaction, and she wished that she'd been able to stay calm and try to make Buffy listen to her. But her sister's words had made her so crazy she hadn't been able to keep from screaming.

Why didn't Buffy understand? Why did she insist Spike was still the same monster who'd come to Sunnydale? Why couldn't she see that some things did change?

Maybe Buffy was right that people didn't change much, but Spike wasn't human. And things that weren't human could change. Dawn was sure of that.

She'd changed. She'd gone from shiny ball of energy to whatever she was now. What used to be a Key was a Dawn-shaped thing, and maybe she had a soul and maybe she didn't. But she was all right. At least, she hoped she was. And she was sure Spike was all right too.

Why didn't Buffy understand?

Once Dawn was safely through the front door, Spike took a few steps down the street, moving out of the glow of the street lamp in front of Buffy's house. At first he moved purposefully, but then his steps slowed, and he turned back, staring at the lighted windows, straining to hear the voices within. He could make out the tones, but not the words.

The Slayer and the Bit are going at it, said the demon.

Nothing new about that, said the fool.

I hope Dawn isn't being made miserable on account of us, said the poet. And I hope Buffy – He stopped, bewildered.

Sometimes it was hard for even the poet to know what to hope for Buffy.

Spike sensed movement in the front of the house. He stepped further back into the shadows as the front door opened. "Spike?" Buffy stepped out onto the porch and leaned over the rail, peering under the tree in the front yard. After a moment, she went over and laid a hand on the trunk, her head down, as if she were searching for something by the roots.

Checking for the butts from our fags, said the demon.

Finding nothing, the Slayer slowly climbed the porch steps and went back into the house, looking over her shoulder. Less than a minute later, Spike heard the back door open.

Thinks we're lurking out there, said the fool. It always used to be there, if it wasn't under the tree.

All three of them realized with some surprise that they hadn't lurked anywhere near Revello Drive for weeks.

She's waiting for us, said the poet.

Yeah, but why? asked the demon.

They mulled over the possibilities. Most likely Buffy was going to yell at Spike for hanging around Dawn. Or maybe she wanted to tell him again to get out of her life? Or maybe, just maybe –

Doesn't matter, said the poet with certainty. We're not going back there.

Because even if she did invite him back into her life for a time, it wouldn't be with love. Soon, she would reject him again. And she would loathe herself for her renewed weakness even more than she loathed him for making her weak. None of them, not even the poet, who was the worst masochist of the trio, wanted to experience that again. And none of them, especially the poet, wanted that for Buffy.

She deserved better. But he wasn't the man to give her what she deserved. He wasn't even the man to figure out what the devil that was.

Spike lit a cigarette and stood where he was, in the darkness, too far to be seen from the house, but close enough to sense her. He wasn't going to step into the back yard, but it seemed like there was something else he should do before he slipped away.

The poet rummaged through his store of borrowed thoughts and phrases and found some words.

She won't listen, said the demon.

I know, said the poet sadly. She hasn't heard me in a long time.

Do it anyway, said the fool with surprising wisdom. Sometimes the words just need to be said.

So, alone, deep in the shadows, Spike spoke to a woman who was too far away to hear him.

Spike dropped his cigarette in the dirt and ground out the bright spark. "'Quick and bitter.'" He looked back at the house for a long moment. "'Had we remained together, we could have become a silence.'"

He turned and walked away down Revello Drive.

Tara sighed and picked up a textbook. She was trying to concentrate on her homework, but the memory of an unfulfilled promise kept intervening. She really should keep her word to Spike and start looking for something to help him get over Buffy. She kept intending to – just as soon as she could catch up on her schoolwork, stop being distracted by the need to fight stray demons, and keep Dawn under sufficient control to get a moment's rest.

She looked down at the book in front of her, and her brows twitched in perplexity over the words on the page. It was hard to concentrate on Romantic Poetry. Spike loved this stuff, though. Maybe if she asked him to help with her lit paper, she'd have more time to look into his problem. She'd ask him when he came over later.

Then she remembered that there was no reason for him to visit her apartment that night. Dawn had a thing at school, and Buffy would probably be taking her. And maybe Xander. And most likely Willow, which was why Tara had no intention of going herself. She didn't want to see Willow.

Tara was surprised by her own train of thought, but before she could think through her feelings, her eye was caught by the light blinking on her answering machine. She'd been too distracted to notice it when she'd come in. Setting her book aside, she went to check her messages.

Spike strode along the sidewalk, trying to ignore the voices in his head as he made his way back to his crypt from downtown. It was depressingly early in the evening for them to be this confused and angry.

Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into, said the fool.

Oh, please, moaned the poet, before adding to the demon, I keep telling you we shouldn't let him watch all those stupid comedy shows.

Yeah, said the demon, you're a good one to talk about where to tune the dial. You cry every time we see "Random Harvest."

You're no better, said the fool to the demon. If it were up to you, it would be all Sam Peckinpah and Quentin Tarantino.

And porn, said the demon. Don't forget the porn.

Let's face it, the only things we all agree on are porn and Kevin Smith films, said the fool. But that's not the point. I want to know what we're going to do about her.

All three voices were silent, contemplating the her in question.

We're no better off than we were before, said the fool at last. Worse, in fact. At least Buffy liked blokes.

Tara said she didn't think of herself as gay. Just as a woman who fell in love with another woman, said the poet. Such a beautiful thought. He sniffled a bit.

Makes me have beautiful thoughts, said the fool in a very different tone, his mind slipping back towards porn.

Yeah, but when did you ever see her look at us with a real awareness of the hotness that is Spike? said the demon resentfully. I'll tell you when. Never. Because I would know.

You're sure? asked the fool.

But if she's resorting to maths not to, perhaps there's hope, said the poet doubtfully.

Yeah, said the fool eagerly. Statistics? That has to be avoidance.

Never mind Statistics, snapped the demon. What are we going to do to get through this night?

Well, we've made a start, said the fool. Gone to the shops and all.

Yeah, that killed a whole half-hour, said the demon. Now, find me something else to kill. Because we've hours and hours ahead of us, and you lot keep telling me we need to stay away from Dawn and that high school.

Because Buffy will be there? asked the fool.

And Willow, snarled the demon. And you know Tara will go. And –

Nothing will happen, said the poet as soothingly as he could manage. Tara is all honor and integrity. She knows that Willow cannot and will not control her magical powers. And Tara has too much common sense not to realize that if she goes back to Willow it won't make the woman she loves stronger – just more reckless.

Very reassuring, said the demon sarcastically.

Not really, said the poet. Because I'm afraid that she also has too much integrity and common sense to fall in love with us.

There was a long silence as all three of them contemplated this unpleasant truth.

It's not as if we would be any good for her, anyway, murmured the poet.

Wouldn't be so bad, said the demon. We make her laugh, make her smile. Could make her smile even more, given the chance.

The fool laughed. Yeah, we're just what a wise, beautiful, and powerful white witch needs for a lover. A toothless, crazy vampire.

We are not crazy! chimed the demon and the poet in unison.

We are not symptoms of Multiple Personality Disorder, snapped the poet. We are merely a coping device Spike uses to work out his issues.

Coping device? Issues? mocked the demon. We have issues now? I knew we shouldn't let a certain someone watch Dr. Phil.

Spike snarled at all three of them to shut up. He'd alm