Those Left Behind

AUTHOR: Jypzrose
EMAIL: jypzrose@aol.com
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Tara/Spike, Dawn Friendship
SPOILERS: through the end of The Gift, but only Spike, Tara and Dawn survive
AUTHOR'S NOTE: First chap contains slash. This is NOT a three-way fic. Just so you’re sure.
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He doesn't want to be driving this car with its blacked out windows and its stench of whiskey and blood, and the stuffiness that old cars just seemed to carry around with them. No, he didn't want to be here, with Tara slumped beside him in the front seat, her face pink and tracked with tears and Dawn in the back, her little snuffles of grief echoing in his ears. The images of what had happened on the tower bright an vivid images in his mind. He didn't want any of it, but here he was.

He hadn't been able to think when he saw her, broken, on top of that pile of construction rubble. All the broken bones in his body felt like surface cuts compared to the pain seizing his undead heart at the sight of her. His mind didn't want to believe what he was seeing was real. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. If for no other reason than the possibility of it would make him crazier than his Dark Princess.

But, the reality of it was. She was dead. And not just her. But all of them. Willow, Giles, Xander and Anya. Each of them gone like so much dust in the wind. Shoulda been my dust, he thinks, driving mechanically down the highway, eyes squinting against the patch of sunlight leaking through the clear spot in the windshield.

And it would have been too. He would have been quite content to curl up next to her to greet the morning creeping over the horizon. But frantic hands, reeking of the scent of blood, were clutching at him, begging him to come on. Telling him they had to get out of there. For what, he'd wanted to ask, even as he rose to his broken legs and allowed the other two to pull him away from the sight. Away from the pain of their crumpled and broken bodies littering the base of the tower.

Now here they were, running from what, he didn't know. He just drove, barely noticing the things they passed, the signs telling him where they were headed. Away from Sunnydale, away from them. Away from the questions without answers, the bodies that would need burying. Away from life.

The heroes were gone, defeated in battle as heroes often are, but still winning in the end. And this trio was all that was left. A neutered vampire, a broken witch and a girl with the power to open gates to other dimensions flowing through her veins.

He seriously didn't like their chances.

He ignored the physical pain shooting through his foot as he pressed on the accelerator. Unconsciousness threatened the edges of his vision, begging him to let go, to fall into it with reckless abandon and just stop. He had serious injuries, could feel them with each small movement he made. Legs, ribs, arms fingers. Not much of him didn't throb with pain. He needed blood, he knew, but he didn't care much. So, he just kept driving, driving until the needle on the gas gauge drifted too close to empty.

He pulled into a gas station. The three of them just sat, as if they didn't know quite what to do now. Then, he fumbled in his pockets, pulling out some loose bills he had nicked from Xander just for fun the night before. A way to keep his mind off impending death or world destruction. He handed it back to Dawn, figuring out of the three of them, she would be the most logical to get out. Tara was still huddled against the door, her eyes leaking tears and she was seemingly completely unaware of where she was. He wondered, as Dawn slipped out of the car, if Willow had been able to get her mind back, or if he was stuck dealing with a crazy witch for awhile.

"You might want to. . ." his voice sounded odd, detached, too calm for the way his insides were crawling with grief. She jerked a bit when he spoke, but didn't start the incessant babbling that she had been prone to the last few days. Her gaze flicked to his, wild and stormy, but showing no signs of insanity. He supposed he could breathe easier at that, if it didn't hurt so much to breathe.

"What?" her own voice sounded thick, far away. He sighed, and fished in his pocket for a cigarette, cursing softly with the pain that simple action caused in his chest and his arm.

"You might want to use the loo, not sure when we'll stop again," she sat up, and looked around, which was kind of silly since the only way to see out the windshield was directly in front of him.

"Where are we going?" She sounded hollow, like she didn't really care, but there wasn't much else to say.

"Dunno," he admitted, lighting the last cigarette from his crumpled pack and sucking in the nicotine deep. The slight buzz was welcome, but it did little to alleviate anything. Tara nodded at his answer, her body trembling and fresh tears leaking from her eyes. "Go, do what you got to do. Make sure Dawn gets the right kind of gas, or whatever." He waved a hand in the general direction of the station, making the smoke twirl in circles in front of his face. She nodded, her eyes going a little panicked. Taking a deep breath, she slid out of the car as quickly as she could, so as not to let in too much light.

He watched her as she made her way across the parking lot, huddled in the sweats she'd been wearing for days. Her head jerked left and right with every noise, her arms were pulled up close to her chest. She had her mind back, but she still wasn't quite right. He didn't know if she ever would be. He didn't know if any of them would be.

He saw Dawn, emerging from the ladies room, no longer wearing the robe she'd had on for the ritual. Instead, she was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, both emblazoned with some garish cartoon characters and a pair of plastic sandals on her feet. He has no idea where they came from, since he knew damn well they weren't in his car and they hadn't stopped by the house on Revello drive to get anything. He can see the cuts on her arms, feel his heart break just a little bit more because he hadn't been able to protect her. She'd cleaned them and they looked pretty much closed. He still found it hard to believe that such a little slip of a thing could destroy the world.

She walks over to the car and he can see her face better. It's tired and worn and stained with the tears she can't seem to stop. He hadn't thought about the way she looked when he sent her inside. This little road trip would be over if the guy inside called the cops thinking she was in trouble.

For the briefest of seconds, their eyes meet, crystal blue to deep azure, their shared grief thick in the bright sunny day. Somehow, she offers him a smile, then a little finger wave before walking around the side of the car and out of his sight. He can hear her, fumbling with the gas pump and he vaguely wonders if she's ever pumped gas before. He likes that his thoughts keep jumping, never settling on one thing long enough to really form a coherent string of anything. It keeps the reality away. Even seeing Dawn, with the evidence of what happened marring her young, elastic skin, or Tara, with her wide, haunted eyes didn't make it real. Thinking about it made it real. At least that's the way it seemed.

If he didn't think about it, it wasn't real. He'd go with that for a while.

A few minutes later, he was rejoined by the girls. Neither said anything as he started the car, and pulled back out into traffic. It wasn't asked again where they were going. Nobody cared anymore. He assumed it was just instinct that had him driving straight to his Sire.

Dusk had settled by the time they pulled into the Hyperion. Dawn looked at him strangely but didn't object. Tara just glanced at him, confusion cutting through the slightly vacant look she had adopted during the course of their drive.

"Angel," was all he said, the word sounding entirely to much like a prayer to him.

The girls struggled under his weight as they helped him inside. He could imagine the sight they made, two little girls supporting the broken master vampire. It should have been a laugh riot. However, Angel didn't look like he wanted to laugh.

He vaguely heard the girls scream when Angel charged, ripping him from their grasp and jerking him up a foot off the floor. He stared into the dark eyes that were filled with a mixture of love and hate and couldn't' hold it in anymore. He knew that Angel wanted to kill him, and he couldn't really make himself care anymore. But, the tears, the damn bloody tears wouldn't stop. Nor would the pleas for Angel to help, to make the pain go away. To stop it all from hurting so damn much.

Tara and Dawn were hanging on Angel's arms, trying to get him to let his childe go. Explanations fell from their lips, the entire horror story that had been their day and night and day again. With each word, Angel lowered him a fraction, his eyes filling with the quagmire of grief that plagued them all.

"Buffy. . ." Her name fell from the older vampire's lips, rough and filled with every ounce of pain permeating his being. His feet hit the floor and he collapsed against his Sire, sobs wracking his frame. Instinct or shared pain had Angel clutching Spike, holding him, cradling him against his chest as he crumpled into sobs himself.

"Sire," was it his voice that sounded like that, desperate and needy? Was it him that looked up into Angel's brown eyes, his own eyes pleading with the dark haired vampire for. . .something. And was it really Angel that nodded, tears flowing free from his eyes as he lifted the younger, broken vamp in his arms and carried him upstairs.

"He needs blood. Human. Get it, now," he barked as he walked up the stairs, leaving the rest of them to stare confusedly in the lobby. "Now!" he roared, before disappearing from sight.

He was on the verge of passing out from pain when Angel finally lowered him to the bed. In truth, he wasn't too sure how he'd stayed awake this long. His bones rubbing together were excruciating. Angel tried to be gentle, removing the clothes. More gentle then he ever remembered Angel being before, that's for sure. The strong sure feel of Angel's fingers on his skin made him whimper. As much as he hated the vampire that made him, he also loved him with as much fervor. They'd been rivals, lovers and enemies for so long, neither could really remember a time when they weren't. It never mattered how often they saw each other, it was always there.

"Here," when he was naked, Angel surveyed the damage. He could tell it was bad by the way his Sire's face turned sickened. He greedily latched onto the vein Angel offered him, sucking in his rich, sweet blood with fervor. He could feel his bones start to knit together, the cuts and abrasions healing with each pull from his Sire's neck. He arched into the touch of Angel's fingers as they coasted over his body, looking for the places that were the worst.

He jerked and growled when that big hand fisted around his cock and started to pump.

"Enough Spike," Angel's voice was hoarse, but commanding. Spike immediately stopped, licking the last drops of blood off his lips with relish. His hips moved in time with the hand on his shaft. He leaned back onto the bed, stretching out his still sore body for the dark vampire’s scrutiny. Angel devoured him with his eyes, grief and want warring for dominance in the chocolate orbs. Spike needed him too, needed him to make him forget the agony he was in, the agony they were all in.

He moaned when Angel's mouth closed over his, his lips parting to let the older vampire's thrusting tongue inside. His thighs spread easily as his Sire slipped between them, his fingers coming up to fist in the soft, sable locks of his creator. He could feel Angel fumbling with his zipper, and anticipation made him growl. Then, he felt the tip of Angel's cock bumping his anus and he thrust up, rubbing his own swollen cock against the other man’s stomach, the sleek silk of his shirt torture against his swollen flesh.

Angel broke the kiss as he slid inside his childe, watching the way Spike's face went slack with the pleasure of being filled. Taken. Claimed. Spike was his. No matter where they went, who they loved, even if it was the same woman (again), Spike belonged to him. And it was only with him that maybe they could let the pain go, if only briefly, and find comfort in each other.

Growls, moans, cries of pleasure filled the room, pushing away the grief, taking away the pain. Angel was mindful of his Childe's injuries, even as he pistoned hard into his body. Spike arched to meet him, welcoming the pain and the pleasure, reveling in it. It made him feel alive. Made him feel like maybe he could get through this. If only for a second.

Angel's hand steadily pumped Spike's cock, in time with his thrusts. He wanted-needed-to see that look of complete ecstasy on the younger vamp's face. Too soon, and with a cry of each other's name, they were pulsing together. Angel emptied himself deep into the yielding, clenching body beneath him, while Spike's cum shot in thick streams across his stomach.

Just as their shafts pulsed their last, Angel slipped his fangs into his mark on Spike's neck, taking one, quick pull of his blood. Spike purred, and nuzzled the side of his face with his nose and nipping at Angel's ear with his teeth. He groaned in protest when Angel slid off of him, even as his eyes drifted closed with fatigue.

"Sleep, childe." Angel said, after a finding a towel in the bathroom and cleaning them both off. By the deep sound of his breathing, Angel knew that his childe already was. He had just slid his pants back into place when the knock sounded at the door. He tossed the edge of the sheet over Spike's nakedness and went to answer. It was Cordy, holding a mug of blood, her face a mix of her own shocked grief and sympathy for him. "Thanks."

"The others, they want to see Spike," he could see the silent accusation, that they were afraid he'd hurt the younger vampire. He nodded, walking over to the bed and placing the mug on the nightstand.

"Send them up," he said simply, not turning as she closed the door and shut them in alone together again. He sat on the edge of the bed and nudged his childe until his eyes opened into slits. "Drink this." Angel supported him with one arm and held the mug with the other. Spike drank obediently, his eyes struggling to stay open. Once the mug was empty, Angel let him go, knowing he would be back asleep before his head hit the pillow. He watched his creation for a few seconds, hearing the questions he wanted to ask in his head, but not finding it in him to wake the blond again. Answers would some soon enough.

Another knock on the door and Angel prepared to leave. He opened it and looked at the grief filled faces of his ex-loves sister and friend. Dawn looked at him, distrust evident on her young features.

"He's sleeping. I'll have more blood sent up when he wakes up," Angel moved past them, leaving them with the unconscious vampire, knowing his part in this was coming to a close. In the morning, he and Spike would be back to being enemies. He couldn't' help the pang of regret that it caused. "We'll talk in the morning," he said as the door closed, closing him out. With a sigh, he went downstairs to the one person that would understand. Cordy.

~*~*~

When Spike awoke a few hours later, he was disoriented. He felt encompassed by warmth and sweetness. It took him a few seconds to sort out where he was and what was going on. A sob ripped from his throat as he remembered. She was dead. They all were.

A soft murmur and a shift of the bed had his attention going to the sensation of warmth. He quickly realized where it was coming from. He was flanked on either side by Tara and Dawn, both of them turned toward him, both of them enclosing him in their arms. From the depth of their breathing, he knew they were both asleep and was glad for it. Who knew how often it would be that they could get the kind of deep, dreamless sleep they seemed to be getting right now. Pushing all thoughts away, he snuggled deeper into their combined embrace and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of their hearts pull him back into sleep.

~*~*~

"Where will you go?" Angel asked him the next morning. The whole sordid story had been told. Tears had been shed, again, probably not for the last time. No accusations or blame were placed, only quiet understanding and sage words of comfort were given. Dawn and Tara never left Spike's side, and the residents of the Hyperion puzzled on it. All of them except Angel.

"I dunno," Spike answered with a shrug. He was wearing borrowed clothes, Gunn's he supposed. They weren't much his style, but he wasn't in the mood or place to complain. Dawn and Tara had also been found something clean to wear, and they sat on the circular couch in the lobby feeling like unknown citizens, adrift without a purpose left in the world.

"Your father. . ."

"Won't even notice I'm gone," Dawn finished vehemently. Angel could only nod. He didn't relish the idea of breaking up their already tight bond.

"Be careful, and give a call every once in a while." was all he said, as they finally rose to go. Spike was still weak, and could probably have stood a few days rest. But something was urging him on, something telling him to get going and do it fast. He took the hand Angel held out, both of them gripping a little longer than was necessary. He only gave token resistance when Angel pulled him into a quick, hard hug and looked curiously at his Sire when he felt a hand dip into his pocket. A swift inspection had his fingers feeling the small roll of bills that had been placed there.

"Thanks," he said, his throat closing with emotion. Angel just shook his head. Their eyes met and held, understanding flowing between them, before Spike turned away. The girls said their goodbyes and the three left the hotel, with no idea where they were going or what the hell they would do once they got there.

Part Two-One Week Since you Looked at me

One week passed.

One week since life had turned into this constant need to get further away, to distance themselves from anything and everything that would remind them. One week since they had slept in a bed separate from each other. One week since the world stopped turning.

They rarely say anything to each other. Never feel the need. Talking led to thinking and thinking was very, very bad. At least as far as he was concerned. Tara seemed to live in her own world, while Dawn drifted through the days like a ghost. He spends his time driving, smoking, watching them. He never stops watching them. He knows Dawn wakes up at night, her tiny gasp of breath hot on his neck when she remembers that her sister is dead and that she is sleeping next to a vampire. Tara would curl up next to him, her soft warmth huddled close as if he can protect her from the storm of emotions raging inside of her.

He wants to remind her that he couldn’t save Buffy, how the hell was he supposed to save her?

After one week, he thinks he might go insane being the only member of the testosterone laden in residence in the Desoto. So, that night, when they stop, where they are he has no idea, he gets two rooms instead of one.

He’s tried to sleep alone before. Let them take the beds while he stretched out on the floor. Invariably, however, when he’d wake up just before sunrise the next morning, he would find himself encompassed in the warmth of their arms. They clung to him like a security blanket and it was going to drive him bloody mad.

After all, if they were clinging to him, who the hell was he supposed to cling to?

He paid for the rooms, peeling the bills away from the ever shortening roll Angel had given him. They’d need money, soon. He just didn’t think Tara would approve of the only way he knew how to get it. She already casts him sharp looks for not reprimanding Dawn when she nicks something at their many convenience store stops. He’d ignore it for the most part, but he couldn’t’ help feeling a little resentful towards the witch. After all, he hadn’t asked to be put in the position of moral compass for a freshly minted teenager. And asking him to be moral about anything was like asking him not to drink blood. Stupid.

The sun had set when they let themselves into the room, Spike immediately going to unlock the connecting door to his room. He unlocked it, then left without explanation. When the door from the other room opened, the girls finally realized that he didn’t intend to sleep in the same room with them. He ignored the crushed look on Dawn’s face and only quirked a brow at Tara’s rather betrayed expression.

Why the hell did he have to be their vampire teddy bear? Didn’t they realize that if he didn’t get away from them, for at least five minutes, he was going to go mental? He couldn’t’ think with them around. Couldn’t bloody breathe. Ok, so he didn’t have to breathe. But it was the point of it.

“Goin’ out for blood. Bring you birds something back,” it wasn’t a question. He left them little choice but to watch him walk out the door, the slamming punctuating his leaving with an echo.

~*~*~

An hour later he’s sitting on a bar stool, a cigarette in one hand, his fourth shot of tequila in his other. This is what he needed, what he’s been craving since they’d left the Hyperion. He wants to get good and pissed and forget. Everything.

Girls come up to him and leave just as quickly, lured by the bad boy image, and immediately put off by the way he ignores them. He didn’t want women. He wants one woman. And she is dead. Lost to him forever. Granted, she was never his to begin with. But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? He gives a small toast to the tiny woman with the big attitude and slings the drink back without a flinch. He doesn’t bother with the lime or the salt, doesn’t need anything to kill the taste. He likes the burn, wants the burn, needs the burn.

He hates this shit.

He tosses some bills onto the bar and gets up to leave. He has to get the hell out of here. He’d craved the crowds when he came in, the sight of bodies pressing together with no more of a care than who they were going home with. The thrum of music, the sounds of conversation. Now, he just wants to get the hell out of there. To get home to his girls.

When the hell did they become my girls, he thinks, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the appraising looks of the women and the warning looks from the men. What did he care if their chits wanted to fuck him blind? Wasn’t like he was looking for it. He slips outside, taking a deep breath of the night air. He briefly wonders just what city they were in now, but shrugged it off almost as quick. He thinks he remembers seeing the Washington State sign, but again, what does it matter? It’s not Sunnydale, and that’s a good thing. And after living as long as he has, most cities look alike anyway.

He walks quickly, eager to get back to the room he had been just as eager to get out of. They hadn’t eaten, he knows that. Except for the few bagged snacks Dawn manages to get when they stop. Tara barely nibbles at anything that’s put in front of her. He has a feeling her eating anything at all is more from being watched than actual want of the food.

The hotel is up ahead and there is a market across the street from it. Although, as he trots across the street, maybe ‘market’ is too quaint of a word. Its roughly the size of a college football stadium and has a parking lot that rivals the size of sea. And once he steps inside, he’s pretty damn sure he’s stepped into a different world. There’s people everywhere, pushing their carts up rows of toys, antacids and lingerie. He’s never seen so much stuff in one place before and for the first time in a long time, he’s a little intimidated. He had no clue where to even begin. And all he wants is a couple of sandwiches for the girls and a pint of pigs blood for himself.

Bugger.

He growls low in his throat, squares his shoulders and dives in, walking the aisles in search of something remotely resembling food. When he finally finds it, and he realizes the damn grocery takes up half of the store, he’s carrying two teddy bears, a game of monopoly, a pair of jeans for him, a couple of t-shirts and stuffed hamster that sang ‘Kung Fu Fighting.’ He’s pretty much decided that this place was more evil than he could ever dream of being. And that maybe he should have grabbed a cart.

A few minutes later-after he goes and gets a cart-he’s back in the grocery section of the store, dodging old ladies that don’t seem to care if he was right in front of him. He growled at one and flashed her a set of gold eyes and a little fang, but he had a feeling the cataracts clouding her eyes ruined the effect.

“Pardon me, young man,” she says, giving him a near toothless smile and skirting past him like he was no more threatening than a kitten. Great, can’t even scare old ladies now, mate. You truly are pathetic, he thinks. Then he remembers that he’s a master vampire, pushing a cart around a department store, shopping, and decides that he has entered the final dimension of hell.

As quickly as possible, he trolls through the food isles, looking for anything that might be appetizing to two girls that didn’t really want to eat. He understands though. The only reason he’s feeding is because of them. Because they need him. And if he lets himself think about it, he needs them too. But he doesn’t let himself think about it.

After little deliberation, he tosses some bread, some packaged meat and cheese, a jar of mayonnaise and a 12 pack of soda in the cart. A bag of chips goes in as well, then he’s off to find the meat department. He has a brief thought that they might need. ..female things. Since that thought actually has fear sliding down his spine, he decides they can come over here later if they do. Without him.

It takes a few minutes after he rings the service bell at the meat counter to get someone to come out. Once they do, his request for pig’s blood is met with only the slightest of raised brow. A few minutes later, he’s putting the carton into his cart and heads purposefully towards the checkout line. And promptly wonders what demon is responsible for there being only three lines open when each line had people reaching back into the aisles.

He doesn’t realize, as he picks the shortest line and gets in it, that he hasn’t once thought of Buffy or that night since he stepped inside. It’s the longest she’s been away from his mind in seven days. The only people he’s been thinking about for the last hour is Tara and Dawn. And now, he’s edgy, because he wants to get back to them. To make sure they are all right.

By the time he makes it up to the checker, he’s killed everyone in the store and rolled in their blood with demented glee a hundred times over in his mind. He peels off more bills, reminding himself again that they are going to need to get more, and hands them over to the bored looking clerk with nails that look like talons. They are white and covered with some odd designs in orange, black and red and he finds himself staring at them as they fly over the keyboard.

“Nice nails,” he says as she hands him his change. “Used to do m’own once. Black’s more my color though.”

“Uh, yeah,” is all she says in response, her brows coming together as she obviously ponders why all the nuts come to her line. He rolls his eyes and grabs his bags-all six of them-and heads out of the store. A few minutes later, he’s fumbling with the bags and his key card, cursing all the way. Finally, he stumbles inside. There’s only one bed in this room, so he drops the bags on the floor, mindful of the one containing his dinner. He searches through them for a second, gathering the things he’s bought for the girls then walks through the connecting door to their room.

The TV’s on, the channel set on some inane game show with an overzealous announcer and overly dolled up co-host. Dawn’s in bed, her eyes closed and her breathing deep, so he’s sure she’s a sleep. She’s clutching a pillow to her chest like she does to him when they are sharing the same mattress. He feels a little pang of guilt when she jumps a bit in her sleep and a tiny whimper slips from between her parted lips. He pushes it away and puts the food on their table and the two teddy bears, one white, the other black. He hears the water running in the bathroom and figures Tara’s taking a shower, which gives him enough time to disappear back in his room. He’s suddenly nervous about her reaction to the stuffed animals, doesn’t want her to think he’s soft. Doesn’t really know why it matters, though.

He spends a ridiculous amount of time arranging the bears just so, and doesn’t retreat through the connecting door until he hears the shower shut off in the bathroom. He heads into his own bathroom, closes the door and strips. Once he’s inside the shower, the warm water cascading over his skin in long rivulets, is when it hits him that he hasn’t thought about Buffy since he left the bar. The tears start to flow then, mixing with the water to slide down his face. He thinks he’s betrayed her somehow, not realizing how strange it sounds for a soulless demon to feel remorse. It’s who he is, who he’s always been.

Her face swims behind his eyes, peaceful in her death even as it rips him apart inside. He sees her falling, hears the sickening crunch as she lands. He imagines all the ways he could have saved her, could have been a little quicker, a little more clever. But each time it ends the same. It doesn’t matter what he could have done. All that matters was what he didn’t do.

His body still hurts from his own fall, but he doesn’t care. He should feel pain, and not just the dull throb of re-knitted bones. The ache in his heart is worse, and he revels in it.

The water has run cold by the time he pulls himself together. He makes quick business of washing himself and gets out, drying off with one of the rough hotel towels then tying it around his waist. He’s glad he can’t see his reflection as he turns toward the mirror, but he can imagine what he must look like. Blue eyes faded from grief, his sharp features sharper thanks to his sporadic feeding. He can see the faded bruises marring his chest and stomach, knows there are more on his back. He takes a deep breath, feels the twinge his ribs give him from the action. He leaves the bathroom, thinking about falling into bed and into oblivion.

He stops short when he sees Tara, sitting on the edge of his bed, holding the white teddy bear.

He notices that she’s wearing only a t-shirt, the same one given to her at the Hyperion and her hair is tied up in a towel, a feat that women only seem to be able to accomplish. She raises her eyes to his, the blue-gray bright and stormy at the same time, the grief in them so thick he’s afraid he might choke on it. Her fingers are sliding nervously over the bear, ruffling its softness with her agitated touch.

“You all right, pet?” he asks, knowing it’s a stupid question, but not knowing what else to say. Her lip trembles a little and he thinks that his heart can’t take anymore of this.

“No,” she gasps as an answer. “It hurt. . .” she pauses, looking like she’s stumbling for words. A lone tear slides down her cheek and he watches it, the way the light plays off of it, until it drips from her chin. “It hurt w-when Glory s-stole my mind.” Her eyes have dropped as she speaks and her voice is thick and rough. Partially from under use, but mostly from the pain she’s been carrying around. “B-but this hurts worse. Knowing I can’t s-see Willow again. C-can’t touch her, can’t hold her. Can’t make love to her,”

He doesn’t want to hear this. Can’t help her with her pain when he still carried so much of his own. This was why they weren’t supposed to talk about it. It reopened the wounds, laid them all bare and exposed for everyone to see.

“Tara. . .” he never calls her by name. Never called anyone by name, as far as she can remember. Everyone had a nickname. Slayer, Whelp, Watcher, Red. Dawn was Nibblet and she was Glinda. All of them had been assigned a moniker in his brain and he forever seemed to forget that they had real names. But, hearing it now, ragged and rough and as full of anguish as she felt, it made her shiver.

“I want to forget,” she says, her words forced through trembling lips. “Can you. . .help me forget?”

He wants to pretend that he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Wants to send her back to her own room before he does something she’ll regret in the morning. He might have been grieving Buffy, but he was a soulless demon, and he would take what she was offering without a shred of being sorry for it. At first, he doesn’t think she realizes this. But then he notices that the door separating their rooms is closed and locked and he knows that she was counting on it. He feels his body stir, feels the blood rush to his nether regions in anticipation. And still, he wants to tell her to go away.

He looks back over at her, his eyes widened a little in surprise. He sees in her eyes his own grief mirrored back at him and it occurs to him that she’s just asking him for what Angel gave him. A few minutes of peace. How could he deny her that?

He takes another deep breath, nods slightly and scrubs a hand over his platinum curls. He sees the small flare of fear in her eyes as he starts towards her and he thinks that maybe she’s never been with a man before. This scares him a little as well. Why, he’s not sure.

She stares at his stomach as he comes to a stop in front of her. She jumps a fraction when he reaches out a hand to dislodge the towel, sending her damp tresses to lay in a tangle around her shoulders. Her eyes drift closed when his fingers slide through the honeyed locks, dislodging the tangles with a gentle touch. She sighs a little, pleasure softening her features. He reaches out with his other hand and plucks the bear from her lap and tosses it on the floor. She opens her eyes when he kneels in front of her and rests a hand on her thigh.

He can see the apprehension still deep in them, but there’s something else there. Arousal has darkened them, turning them a smoky blue and he wonders what color they will be when she cums. As he looks at her, he realizes something he never saw before. Tara was beautiful. Not an obvious beauty, like Buffy or Anya or even Willow. But the kind of beauty that you notice in degrees, until it suddenly smacks you in the face that she’s actually quite stunning. Even now, with her nose reddened from crying and her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he finds her beautiful.

He traces his fingers over her cheeks, memorizing the lines and wiping away the wetness that seemed to forever linger there. She leans into his touch, her breath hitting his skin in little hot bursts. He feels himself harden further in response. He drops his hand and brings it to the hem of her t-shirt, his right hand coming up to join it. He sees the flare of apprehension again and waits. After a moment, she nods, dutifully raising her arms when he draws it up and over her head. He’s struck momentarily dumb by the site of her breasts. Heavy and full and pink tipped, they practically begged for his mouth to taste them, for his fingers to touch.

“Close your eyes, luv.” she gives him a puzzled look at his suggestion but does it. As soon as her lids are closed, he reaches out and fills his palms with her softness, testing the weight in his hands and gently flicking his thumbs over her nipples. She gasps in response, her lips parting with it and her tongue darts out to moisten them. She arches into his touch, inviting him further. Her moan when he captures one, tight bud in his mouth is music to him. He’s never heard anything so intoxicating in his life. Her heat is intense, the blood rushing in her veins making it even more so. The sweet tang of her arousal drifts up to his nose, hardening him still further.

He thoroughly laves and nips the nipple in his mouth, listening to her gasps and moans to guide him. Her hands settle behind her on the bed, arching her back and giving him better access to the soft skin he is worshiping. He trails his tongue across the valley between her breasts to attend the other soft orb as thoroughly as he has the first. She smells clean and fresh and tastes just as good. Her head is thrown back, her hair trailing down her arms to tangle with her fingers splayed wide on the bed, her mouth slack with pleasure. Everywhere he touches quivers beneath him. As he works his way lower on her torso, she lowers herself to her elbows, unable to keep herself upright any longer. By the time he’s kissing the insides of her thighs, tracing his tongue along the silky skin instead of the place she wanted him most, she was laying completely back on the bed. Her hips were gyrating on the garish spread underneath her, her thighs falling open to give him a direct view of her center.

He moans when a fresh wave of arousal flows over her, rushing another wave of sweet scent from her quim. He runs his hands over her calves and up her thighs, across her abdomen and breasts. Her moans are getting a little louder now, her movements more urgent. When his thumbs run along her dripping slit, she jumps, then starts to pump her hips in reckless abandon, silently begging him to get on with it.

He settles more comfortably on his knees between her thighs and leans closer to the center of her heat. He takes a deep breath of her scent, growling slightly in anticipation. His erection is bordering on painful now, the tip of it seeping pre-cum onto the towel he’s still wearing.

“Yesssss,” she hisses when finally-finally-he parts her folds with two fingers. Glistening and pink and quivering for his touch, he can’t hold back anymore. She nearly screams with the first swipe of his tongue across her searing flesh. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she remembers Dawn sleeping in the next room and bites her lip hard to keep it in. Her fingers fist on the bed, her thighs close around his head as his tongue delves further into her cunt. She’s hot and sweet and better than anything he’s ever tasted before. She grinds against his face, racing towards the edge of oblivion that will block everything out but the feel of her orgasm.

He thrusts his tongue inside her channel, lapping the seeping juices eagerly. He pushes the towel out of the way and fists a hand around his throbbing cock and starts to pump it in time to his tongue’s thrusts, closing his eyes and imagining that it’s the scorching heat enclosing his erection and not his own hand. Her movements grow increasingly erratic with each thrust of his tongue inside her and he can tell she’s close. He feels his sac start to tighten, signaling his own impending orgasm and he finds her clit and sucks hard just as his cock starts to pulse in his hand.

“Willow!” she cries hoarsely as she explodes around him. Buffy his own mind screams in response while he cums all over his hand, the towel and his legs. He keeps licking her as she starts to calm, drinking her spendings like they were fine wine. He doesn’t stop until she collapses on the bed, a nerveless mass of flesh and bone. He pulls away after one final swipe of his tongue and looks at her. Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart a stampede in her chest. Her eyes are still closed and there’s a look of contentment on her face. He’s glad he could give her that, no matter how brief it would be.

In the few seconds it takes her to collect herself and get the nerve up to open her eyes and look at him, he uses the towel to clean himself off and pulls the jeans he’s bought out of one of the bags and stands to pull them on. He doesn’t yank the tags off until he is fully covered from her view, thinking it might make it easier for her. He doesn’t face her as she starts to move, just listens to the rustle of cloth as she puts her shirt back on.

“Thank you,” she says after a minute, her voice soft. He hazards a glance at her, sees she’s avoiding his gaze and smiles.

“Anytime,” he says and is surprised to find he means it. Her eyes dart to his then, to see if he’s mocking her or not. But all she sees in the brilliant blue of his gaze is honesty. Funny, she’d never thought of him as honest before, but there it was. Not knowing what to say, she just smiles and stands even though her knees feel like jelly. He reaches down and snatches the bear off the floor and holds it out to her. She smiles again and takes it, giving him another look before she moves to the connecting door and unlocks it. He watches her go back into her room and wonders at what just happened. Then, shaking it off, he goes in search of his duster and his cigarettes before settling onto the bed-surrounded by the scent of her climax-to watch TV.

He still wonders what color her eyes are when she cums.

Part Three-When Everything’s Made to be Broken

He called Angel today. And immediately wished that he hadn’t.

He sips his beer as he waits for the college prat to quit posturing and take his shot, while the conversation with his Sire plays through his mind.

“Hank’s looking for her, Spike,” The words echo over and over in his head, until he thinks he might scream. He didn’t ask how Angel knew, just accepts the statement as true and moves on. It’s been one month since they drove out of Sunnydale like the devil was on their tail. One month, and Hank Summers has finally remembered that he has a youngest daughter.

Ponce, his attention goes back to the pool table when a chorus of ‘boos’ explodes from College Boy’s friends. He smirks when he sees his opponent has scratched on the 8 ball. He puts down the beer and goes to collect his spoils and turns down all offers of best of three.

“Got a couple of ladies waitin’ for me.” he says with a grin. And he can see they are caught between believing him and thinking he’s full of shit. He lets them wonder and walks away. He waits until he’s outside of the crowded Honky Tonk before counting his winnings and keeps a cautious eye over his shoulder. They wouldn’t be the first to try to get their money back by jumping him. It’s happened twice since he’s taken to hustling as a means to keep his girls from having to sleep in the Desoto.

Three hundred bucks, not bad. It was another night in a hotel, another days worth of gas and food. Of course, he’s not sure how much money they have anymore, since Tara took over that chore. Maybe he’ll ask her when he gets back to the room. He’s been thinking that its time to quit running. To find someplace to settle. This life isn’t good for the girls and he knows that. Nibblet should be in school, making friends. Living some sort of normal life. As normal of a life that you can have if your sister was the Slayer and your current guardians are a soulless vampire and shy witch that is. He briefly considers calling Hank himself and telling him where his daughter is. At least then, she would have a chance of normal.

He discards the thought quickly enough, though. The three of them have come this far, and he made a promise to Buffy to always protect her. He can’t do that if she’s with her father, who doesn’t know the dangers out there or just how special his youngest child is. And that there are people out there that might want to hurt her. No, it’s better she stays with them. He realizes he’s being selfish, but can’t really bring himself to care overly much. Being soulless can be helpful. Knocks out pesky emotions like guilt.

He manages to forget that he’s felt guilt before. Like every time he looks in Dawn’s eyes and remembers that he couldn’t protect her from Doc. If he had been able too, Buffy wouldn’t have had to jump.

But for now, he forgets that guilt is an emotion he’s not familiar with.

His thoughts turn back to finding a place to stop for a while. Maybe the next town they come to. As long as it’s in the middle of nowhere and doesn’t have access to CNN or any of the other major news networks. They might have to consider coloring Dawn’s hair or something. To make her less recognizable. He’ll talk to Tara about it as soon as he gets back to their rooms.

He almost smiles when he thinks about the witch. Out of all of them, she has come the furthest. The mind suck has left its mark on her, but doesn’t seem to be letting it rule her. She’s practicing magic again-or at least reading about it. The last town they were in. . . or was it two towns ago? They have started to blur together for him. Whatever town it was, she had him stop at the local magic shop. He had given her some money and she had come out with three books. She’s had her nose in one of them for at least an hour every night since. She’s also started to meditate, centering herself and letting her grief run its course. Dawn joins her every so often. He smirks at them when they try to get him to join. He’s the Big Bad, wouldn’t do to sit around going ‘ohm’. He’ll deal with his pain the way he always has. With a bottle of Jack Daniels.

But, he hasn’t. Hasn’t gotten drunk once since they started this little trip. That one night was the closest he’d gotten. That night where he’d tasted heaven on Tara’s skin.

He hardens as the memory floods over him and it makes him stumble a step. He quickly recovers and keeps walking. He’s a little quicker now, eager to get back to them, eager to see her.

He realized a few days ago that he was in trouble.

At first, he used the memory of that night to keep Buffy’s face out of his mind so he could sleep. Of course, in his fantasies, he buried himself deep into her soft, lush body, savoring the heat he felt emanating from her when he’d made love to her with his mouth. It became more and more apparent as the days went by, that he was thinking of Buffy less and less in the daylight hours as well. He never made a decision without talking to Tara. She more than he, made the decision when to stop. Each day he watches her as she blossoms, stepping up to the position of caretaker for him and Dawn, and each day he feels his bruised heart heal a little.

He likes to think that their time together might have done some good for her. He knows that’s just wishful thinking, but he can’t seem to help himself. He was sure, afterwards, that she would freeze around him. That he would have to deal with shameful or disgusted looks in her eyes whenever she looked at him. But, he doesn’t. She smiles easily at him, although still shyly. She never hesitates to touch him, either. Casual, gentle touches. Squeezing his arm when he teases her, a pat on the hand when he hands her the nights take. The kind of touches that friends give each other. She doesn’t treat him like a demon on an electronic leash.

He’s surprised to find he likes it.

The grief still clouds her eyes sometimes, but she’s not letting it get the better of her. He sees how strong she is and he marvels at it. He’s just a vampire, immoral and soulless. But he can’t help feeling like more around her. Like maybe it’s ok to want to be more.

And even though she hasn’t come to him since that night, he still gets two rooms.

He trots up the stairs at the Super 8, pulls out his key card and lets himself into his room. They always try to stay at this hotel, since it has the best cable channels. So proven by the blare of MTV in the next room. He shrugs out of his duster, grabs his cigarettes and the money he’s made then heads through the connecting door. They are sitting on one of the beds, the monopoly game spread out between them. He glances at the TV to glare at the god-awful band playing on it and winds up snorting when he sees Harry the Hamster sitting jauntily on top. Dawn is doing a little dance in her seat as Tara smiles at her indulgently. He watches them, something warm and sweet expanding in his chest. It’s unexpected and frightening, even for a creature that doesn’t frighten easily.

My girls, he thinks, feeling a smile of his own tugging his lips. He has no problems with the claim now. A month together has brought them closer than any of them would have thought possible. They are his and he is theirs.

He does smile when Tara raises her eyes to his, the sparkle in the blue-gray orbs makes his chest tighten. He hopes he’s not imagining that her smile seems a little brighter as she looks at him.

“Hi, Spike.”

“Spike! I’m winning!” Dawn squeals and she looks so much like the carefree 14-year-old she’s supposed to be, he almost laughs. He has the quick thought that her birthday should be coming up soon. They should get a cake.

“That’s great, ‘bit.” he moves fully into the room and sits on the other bed to watch.

“Good night?” Tara asks, taking her turn. He shrugs and pulls out a cigarette.

“S’alright, I guess. Made 3 bills.” He reaches out and hands her the money. Her eyes light up and he feels like he could slay dragons if she keeps looking at him like that. Prat, he scoffs at himself even as their fingers linger a bit longer than needed for the money to exchange hands.

“I’ve got more than that,” Dawn exclaims, waving around a wad of blue, green and pink paper with pride. Tara giggles and quickly pulls away from him. She looks at him through her lashes and he thinks that he sees something n them, something he doesn’t dare hope for. Not now, not with them both still sore over losing loved ones and their futures a little less than stable.

“Well, if Monopoly money bought food, blood and smokes I wouldn’t have to scam college shits out of their parents hard earned cash.” Dawn sticks her tongue out at him, her azure eyes clear of pain for once.

“You’re just jealous,” she declares, picking up the dice to take her turn.

“Yeah, that must be it,” he says, sticking his tongue in his cheek. He finally lights the cigarette in his hand and takes a drag while he ponders how to broach the subject of her father. He finally decides that just spitting it out would be the best way. “Called Angel tonight.” Suddenly, he has two pairs of eyes on him, the game forgotten by the tone of his voice.

“And?” Tara prompts, tilting her head to the side so her smooth locks fall over her shoulder.

“Seems daddy bird’s looking for the little one that fell out of the nest,” he says as he studies the orange tip of his cigarette. He hears Dawn gasp and looks up at her. Her eyes are wide and he curses when he sees the pain back in their azure orbs. He feels like shit for ruining a rare moment of pleasure, but he doesn’t see any way around it. It needs to be dealt with.

“You’re not going to send me back, are you?” she asks, her voice quiet. Her eyes never leave him, and he feels like a butterfly pinned to a mat.

“Way I see it, that’s up to you,” he glances over at Tara, who is watching the both of them, her eyes carefully guarded.

“Good, cause I don’t want to go back,” the teen says with a definitive nod of her head. He lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding and nods in return.

“Tha’s fine. But, I think we should do something about your hair. ‘S really the only thing we can change to make you look different.” He has to laugh when her face brightens at the suggestion she dye her hair.

“Ooh, can I dye it purple?”

“No,” he and Tara say at the same time. Dawn pouts for a split second, but shrugs it off.

“Maybe I can go blond? Like you guys?” And Buffy. They all hear the end of her sentence, even though she doesn’t say it.

“If that’s what you want, Dawn. But maybe not white,” Tara says gently, sliding a glance at him. He grins ruefully and takes another drag.

“Not like mine’s white anymore, now is it?” he shoots back, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. True enough, the locks are growing out, the white heavily laced with near black. It’s starting to curl around his collar too, and it annoys the hell out of him.

“I could do it for you,” His eyes widen at Tara’s shy offer and he just stares at her for a second. He can see her skin pink up and he’s charmed by it. The blond pair miss the way Dawn watches them, her bright eyes considering them.

“You’d do that?” he doesn’t mean to sound so surprised, but he is. She nods and smiles.

“Sure. I can even trim it up a little if you want.”

“Yeah, thanks,”

“Sure,” They look at each other for a long moment, something strange and inexplicable passing between them. They don’t break out of it until Dawn’s voice cuts through the silence.

“So, when can I dye my hair?” Spike snorts and looks over at her. She’s practically vibrating with her excitement.

“Don’t see why not tonight. Sure they have one of them 24 hour dens of hell in this damn town.” They both laugh at his apparent lack of recovery over his first trip to Wal-Mart.

“Let’s go,” Dawn’s off the bed, sliding on her new sneakers and jacket. Tara laughs and gets up to look for her own shoes.

“Alright, a’right. Give a body a chance to finish smokin’.” He gripes before taking one last drag then crushing it out. After a quick trip to retrieve his duster they are off, piling into the Desoto like they have every day for the last month. But there is a decidedly different vibe this time. Gone are the heavy silences and monotone conversations. Now, there is laughter and talking, punctuated by a teen’s smart mouth comments. Seems that healing happens, even when those needing it aren’t paying attention.

~*~*~

“Thanks,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his newly shorn, white-again locks. He turns in his chair to watch Tara as she shakes the towel out over the trashcan.

“Sure. You know, your hair is a lot softer than I expected.” She could still feel it sliding between her fingers, silky and smooth. She wants to touch it again, to keep it ruffled from the usual slicked back look he wore. She doesn’t think he realizes how beautiful he is, and she’s a little surprised that she herself was just coming to realize it.

“Guess it’s a vampire thing,” he says with a shrug. He stands up and stretches, a motion Tara can’t help but watch. He’s shirtless, the pale skin shifting and bunching over hard muscle. Definitely beautiful, she thinks before catching herself. Their brief time together is never far from her mind, and it rears up now. She’s only ever been mildly attracted to men before. And she has only given her heart once. To a woman. But here and now, watching him stretch like a cat has something stirring inside of her, something deep and more than a little scary.

She drops her eyes when he turns toward her and busies herself with folding the towel.

“Was thinking, maybe it’s time to stop somewhere for a while.” he says. She looks up at him again, only after she’s sure she has her skittering emotions in check.

“Stop?”

“Yeah. Dawn needs to be in school.” he offers as explanation and she nods a bit as she thinks about it.

“How would we manage it? I mean, don’t we need identification? I don’t have any and I don’t think its wise for Dawn to use her name when her father’s looking for her.”

“Tha’s no problem to take care of,” he says with another shrug. “Can get papers for a price. New identities aren’t hard to come by,”

“Ok,” her brows draw together for a brief second before she smiles. “I think you’re right. Living out of a hotel is ok for a while. But it is a little tiring,”

“Good,” he smiles at her then, the action crinkling the sides of his eyes in a way she has never noticed before. She’s caught at how bright and sparkling the intense blue are, and by how young he looks. Much younger than she can remember him ever looking, even with him being perpetually young. The air changes around them. She feels it and she’s sure he does too, by the way his smile fades and those crystal eyes darken. “Tara,” she feels a shiver with the rough way his voice sounds and the way it caresses her name. Panic sets in, making her take a step away from him. He jerks back when she does it, almost as if she’s slapped him. A shutter comes down over those eyes and she feels a pang of regret.

“I guess we can decide in the morning. Where we’ll stop that is.”

“Yeah, sure,” his voice has lost some of its life, some of the vitality that had been seeping back into it with each mile that takes them away from Sunnydale. That pang turns into a throb but she can’t give him what he seems to want. At least not right now. She’s too confused, still too hurt over losing Willow. Just like he’s still too hurt over the loss of Buffy. Getting involved right now would be stupid. No matter how much looking at him, touching him even in the most casual way made her burn.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,”

“Yeah,” he turns away from now, looking for his cigarettes she’s sure. She stares at the smooth line of his back for a long minute, before sighing.

“Goodnight, Spike.” she says, laying the towel down on the dresser and moving toward the door.

“Night, luv,” she glances back at him, the way he says ‘luv’ makes her want to rethink her decision. But, he’s still not looking at her, which she decides to be thankful for. She takes another deep breath and steps through into her darkened bedroom where Dawn is sleeping peacefully. She quickly gets ready for bed herself and when she slides between the sheets, she realizes she hasn’t felt this alone since before she met Willow. The sound of the channels flipping at rapid speed coming from Spike’s room lets her know that he’s not doing any better than she is.

With determination, she turns on her side and closes her eyes. But sleep doesn’t come until the first rays of the sun start to peek through the ugly curtains of the motel room. And her last thought as she finally gives into the call of fatigue is of blue eyes and pale, hard muscle.

Part Four-Do You Believe in Life After Love

It takes another two weeks for them to finally stop. Partly because they have to wait to secure papers for Dawn and Tara. Another phone call to Angel takes care of getting them, but it takes time. Finally, however, they have them, thanks to Angel's contact in Philadelphia, a greasy little horned demon with bad teeth named Ed. Dawn-now raven haired-would be enrolled in school as Kimberly Myers, and Tara was her older sister and guardian, Melissa Myers.

Dawn's birthday has come and gone while they were waiting for the papers. They went for a rare night out at the local family fun place, where pizza, video games and mini golf came together in a loud, noisy mash of kids and parents. They hadn't gotten a cake, but Dawn had seemed thrilled with the giant chocolate chip cookie the place had instead. After the pizza and cookie, the girls had challenged him to a game of mini-golf. He had scoffed and snorted and said "No bloody way in hell." But then, Tara-Tara-had smirked at him. Asked him if he was afraid to be beaten by two girls. Well, he had to defend his manly pride, didn't he? Too bad they had whipped his ass.

They drive for another hour past Philly before they stop for the night. By silent agreement, it's this town, Prosper, that they'll stay in. Despite its name its far from prosperous. A tiny, dying steel town that reminds him of a Billy Joel song he'd heard once, it seems perfect. It's close enough to Philadelphia for him to go work the bars and far enough away from the real world to give them a sense of safety.

He looks around the room as the girls settle in to their newest temporary home. They have acquired quite a bit of stuff since this journey began. Duffle bags filled with clothes and girly things are dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Harry the Hamster is placed on his usual perch on top of the TV. The monopoly game, now joined by Clue and a deck of cards, are placed on the table. Magazine's, books, and a cd player are tucked into a tote bag that's put on the dresser. A bag of chips and other assorted junk is placed on the floor next to the cooler filled with sodas and a couple of cartons of blood. The teddy bears he bought them are placed on the beds. He thinks it's a good thing they have decided to stop here. Much longer, and the Desoto would be so filled with stuff there would be no room for them.

"Spike, when you go out tonight, can you pick up a local paper?" Tara asks as she pulls shampoo and other bath essentials out of a bag and starts toward the bathroom.

"Why?" he asks, following her. She smiles and shakes her head a little.

"We can't just take over a place to live, like you're used too. We have to actually look in the paper and find a place." Well, he knew that didn't he?

"I know," he answers with a scowl. She giggles then does something that has his face going slack with shock. She brushes her warm, soft mouth across his cheek. Arousal slams into him, hard and fast and so strong it almost buckles his knees. She smiles shyly up at him, looking at him under her lashes in her usual way. Without thought, his hand comes up to slide his fingers over her cheek. She shivers a bit under his touch but she doesn't pull away. He leans in, his eyes pinned to her lips, his own aching to taste her.

"Hey, I need to use the bathroom!" Dawn's voice has them jerking apart, guilty looks on both their faces. The teen is smirking at them, her azure eyes sparkling with mirth. He wants to snarl at her for interrupting them, but thinks better of it. She wouldn't have been impressed anyway. "Get a room," she huffs good-naturedly before breezing past the flustered adults to go into the bathroom.

"That girl needs a spanking," he mutters as he walks towards the door. He pauses before he walks out into the night, casting a look over his shoulder. Tara is still standing next to the closed bathroom door, looking extremely young in her black leggings and oversized t-shirt. And extremely edible.

"Have a good night," she says softly, her voice full of warmth. It takes all his will power not to walk back across the room and sweep her up in his arms like some evil incarnation of Rhett Butler and take her into his room to do all the things he'd been dreaming about. Instead, he flashes her a grin then walks out into the early evening, leaving her to watch him go and wishing for something she'd never even considered before.

~*~*~

"This one looks good," Tara says around a bite of a donut. He returned the night before, after both girls were asleep, and had left the paper sitting on their table. Dawn and she were now pouring over it, eating their breakfast and looking for a place to live. "Three bedroom fixer upper. For rent. Its only 500 a month." A pen was brandished and the listing circled.

"Hope fixer upper doesn't mean bathtub has fallen through the floor to the basement." Dawn mumbles as she tosses her section away. She looks over at Tara as she licks the powdered sugar off her fingers. "Can I ask you something?" Tara looks up at the suddenly serious tone of the girl's voice.

"Sure," she sets the paper aside and prepares to listen. Something about it makes tears well in Dawn's eyes. Nobody ever wanted to listen to her before. She has always been Buffy's annoying younger sister and they have all treated her as such. At least in the memories the monks placed in her brain they have. And even when they found out she was the Key, they never wanted to listen to her. The only two people that ever wanted to hear what she had to say were Tara and Spike. They didn't treat her like she was some obnoxious teenager or like a mystical object that needed to be protected. She was just Dawn. And she liked it.

"What's the matter, honey?" Tara reached out and took the younger girls hand. They had come so far in six weeks, not just in miles but in spirit as well. She can see it in the eyes looking back at her. The eyes that were no longer plagued by pain and sorrow.

"Are we. . .bad?" Dawn asks, her lower lip trembling a bit. Tara's brows draw together as she tries to understand the girls meaning.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're here, talking about houses and life and everybody we loved is dead. Is that wrong?" Understanding and sympathy floods through the older woman and she reaches out and takes Dawn's other hand, gripping them tightly.

"Honey, life goes on. As long as we keep them in our hearts and thoughts, they'll never be far away." Tears prick her eyes as Willow's smiling face rises up in her mind. But instead of crumpling under the weight of them, she smiles, choosing to remember her in life and not in those final moments when Glory stole her away.

"So, it’s okay to be happy?" Tara smiles again and lets go of Dawn's hand to tuck a strand of raven hair behind her ear then pats her cheek gently.

"Yes, honey. It's okay to be happy. They wouldn't want us to be miserable, would they?" Dawn thought of them, tears leaking from her eyes but a smile tugging at her mouth.

"No, I don't think so." she says finally with a shake of her head. She moves easily into Tara's arms and accepts the hug and comfort, thinking it almost feels like her mother. When the older woman pulls back, there’s suddenly a mischievous gleam to her eyes.

"Hey, how about we go steal the keys to the Desoto and go try to find this house?" Dawn's eyes light and she grins.

"Spike'll be pissed,” she warns. This only makes Tara’s eyes gleam brighter.

"I know," they both know, that he will rant and rave and strut around like a rooster because they dared to touch his ‘baby'. But none of it will mean anything. They figure he just does it for appearances now, to make himself believe that he's still the soulless monster he always was, as opposed to the man he's become.

"Ok," Dawn says eagerly.

"Get dressed, I'll go get the keys." They slide off the bed in unison, one going in search of clothes, the other moving soundlessly through the connecting doors to Spike's room. Once she's in the darkened room, she indulges herself for a few seconds with staring at him. She's seen him sleeping before, and it never ceases to amaze her how peaceful he looks. His face is softened, his body relaxed.

She's growing more accustomed to the strange attraction she feels for him, even if she's not quite ready to do anything about it. But, she steals little moments like these and tucks them away in that special place in her mind so she can think of them later. She studies the line of his back, imagining trailing her fingers over it. She wonders if it will be smooth, or rough. She likes his hands. Long fingered and calloused, she thinks they are the epitome of ‘man' hands. Beautiful, but still masculine. Like the rest of him. He's sprawled on his stomach, his face half hidden by the pillow but she can still see his scarred brow and the curve of his mouth. She feels a shiver pass over her as she remembers how that mouth felt on her skin.

Shaking her head to clear it, she averts her eyes from the pale form on the bed and goes in search of his duster. She rifles through it and finds the keys, palming them to stop their jingle. Then, she lays the duster back on the chair exactly the way she found it and tip toes out of the room to rejoin Dawn. She misses the brilliant blue eye that pops open to watch her leave and the smile that curves his lips before he snuggles further into the mattress to go back to sleep.

Better not even put a scratch on my baby, he thinks as he drifts back into dreamland.

~*~*~

He's not sure how she's done it, but by the end of the week, the house is theirs. And with a hundred dollar deduction in the rent if they do the work needed themselves. Of course, he's also not sure how they are supposed to do that, since his idea of home improvement was to paint the place with the owner's blood.

He stands in the middle of the living room, his eyes dubious as he takes in the peeling wallpaper, the scuffed wood floors and the badly in need of burning, furniture the owner provided. What a dump, he thinks. And that was saying something coming from a vampire who's last home had been a crypt. He turns to look at the girls, that sentiment on the tip of his tongue. It dies the second he looks at them however. Dawn is practically bouncing with excitement and Tara. . .well, her smile is wide enough and bright enough to steal his unneeded breath. He finds he can't slam the place, no matter how much in need of a wrecking ball it is.

"It's great, luvs. You did good," he tells them instead, finding that swallowing his pride isn't as hard as it sounds.

"See, I told you. All it needs is some fixing up and maybe some throw pillows and it will be perfect," Tara exclaims, her eyes alight with the possibility. He doesn't want to tell her that a mountain of throw pillows wouldn't help this place. Instead, he smiles and nods and reaches for a cigarette. "We had enough for me to pay three months worth of rent up-front. He didn't ask for a security deposit." She looks a little puzzled at this, and he looks around once more. Of course the blighter didn't ask for a security deposit. What would it cover? The moth eaten couch? "There's a school within walking distance and a Wal-mart twenty minutes away." She giggles at the look of horror on his face. "I'll go Monday to get Dawn registered. Or, Kim I should say."

"Well then. Looks like we've found a home." he says, looking back over to them. It hits him then that it doesn't matter where they are. They are home. Those girls were home to him and it doesn't matter if they are living in the middle of the desert in a shack. "Let's go get our stuff, then. Shall we?" He finds a bottle left behind by some teenager using the old house for a place to get drunk and drops his cigarette into. He then turns to his girls and holds out his hands. Without hesitation they reach out to him and curl their fingers around his. Then, hand in hand, they leave to get their meager things, thoughts of their new life playing around in their heads. They can almost feel the others watching them approvingly as they get into the Desoto and drive back to the hotel. Life, does indeed, go on.