Those Left Behind

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“God Dammit!” His curse spreads through the house, harsh and clipped and followed by much softer, but not less heated muttering. Dawn and Tara share a raised brow look before the older woman sets down her paintbrush to find out what happened. She walks out of the back bedroom they are painting-the room Spike has claimed, thereby leaving the two bedrooms upstairs for the girls-and starts down the hall. In the two weeks since they have moved in, the repairs have been coming along. Usually with a lot of cursing from him. Replacing drywall was his least favorite activity and it seemed that there was an awful lot to replace.

“Spike, you ok?” She moves almost hesitantly into the small dining room. He’s standing by the door leading to the kitchen, his arms, face and hair covered in a fine sheen of dry wall dust. Its almost automatic for her to scold him for not wearing a mask. Until she remembers that he doesn’t need to breathe. He turns to look at her, his eyes hot with his annoyance, his mouth tense with it.

“Shoulda gotten this bloody pile of sticks for free. We’re rebuilding the son of a bitch, not fixing it up,” he growls, holding out his thumb for her to inspect. Apparently, the hammer has met it again, if the rather large bruise forming on the bad and behind the nail is any indication. He’s already broken it once.

“It’s not that bad,” she says, dutifully inspecting his newest bruise. He snorted rather loudly as she took his hand in hers. It nearly changed to a sigh with the feel of her warm fingers sliding gently over the digit to assess the damage, but he bites it back. He can’t help the reaction of his body from her touch, however. His jeans are suddenly more than a little uncomfortable and he silently prays she doesn’t look down.

“Maybe not for you and Nibblet it’s not. All you’re doin’ is paintin’ and sewing throw pillows.” She looks up sharply, to inform him in her best prim school marm voice that they are doing much more than that, he’s sure. He almost wants to hear it. It makes him want to ruffle her all the more. To hear it fall away to moans and pants full of passion and heat. And that train of thought is getting you nowhere, mate, he reminds himself as he smiles at her to take the bite out of his words. She glares at him for a second more before relenting into a smile herself.

“For a vampire, you certainly are a big baby,” she teases. It sufficiently douses all his arousal in a wave of injured manly pride.

“Hey!” he snaps, his chest puffing out in indignation. “Am not,” he mumbles, his bottom lip curling into something that looks a lot like a pout. Tara rolls her eyes and laughs.

“Okay,” she agrees, but he can tell she’s just humoring him. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?” Her words are soft, her cheeks stained pink. And just like that, he finds his arousal back in full, throbbing force. She isn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes are trained solely on his thumb, but he can hear the way her breath has quickened, the way her blood is rushing beneath her skin. This isn’t the first time she’s said something so seemingly innocent. However, it’s taken on a different meaning between them, twisting and turning until neither are sure just what the hell is going on.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice low and husky. He watches, wrapped as she lifts his hand, bringing it to her lips. He wants to warn her from the dust on his skin, but she doesn’t seem to care. As her mouth brushes across his thumb, her eyes dart up to his, dark and smoky and filled with the stuff of dreams. His unneeded breath explodes from between his parted lips as the coil of tension in his abdomen twists that much tighter, with the moist feel of her mouth on his flesh. He starts to wonder how damaging it would be to Dawn if she were to wander in here and find them coupling amongst the dust, the drywall pieces and the second hand power tools.

She lingers longer than she should over his thumb, her eyes taking in the stark hunger on his face. She’s been seeing that look more and more over the weeks and she’s finding that she likes it. When she finally releases his hand, it’s not hurried or shameful. She simply gives it a little stroke and lets go, where it hovers for a second before he realizes her hand is no longer cupping his. He actually looks embarrassed as he lets it fall back to his side and she smiles. Before that day, she couldn’t’ remember ever seeing him flustered. Since then, she’s seen it more than once.

At the sound of her soft laugh, he looks back up at her, his brows pulled together over his bright eyes. She vaguely wonders if it’s possible to grow a soul, because there was no way she could call him soulless. Not with the way his eyes changed with what he was feeling. Right now, she could see confusion, amusement and desire, all swirling in them. She wonders why she never took the time before Glory to really see him as more than just a vampire.

“I’m going to start dinner. You’ll eat before you leave?” He blinks at her question, clearly not expecting it. Then, he smiles, a real heart stopping, genuine smile.

“Sure thing, pet.” he says. “Just let me clean up.” He turns away, but not before his eyes rake over her. She feels a passel of butterflies explode in her stomach at the look in his eyes but doesn’t try to hide from it. She doesn’t know where this sudden bravery has come from. This almost playful ability to face the way he wants her and not go screaming out into the night in fear. She arches a brow at him and gives him a little secretive smile then walks through the door to the kitchen.

“Why don’t you two just get it on already?” Spike rolls his eyes at Dawn’s question and looks over his shoulder at her.

“Not that easy, Nibblet. And you shouldn’t be considerin’ such things.” the thought of Dawn thinking about sex set a very close to queasy feeling swirling in his stomach. He ponders locking her in her room until she was about, oh, 40 sounded good, as he cleans up his tools. He checks the newly hung piece of drywall and nods a bit in approval. Who would have thought that a book and a few home improvement shows would teach him how to replace drywall. Who would have thought that he would have wanted too. “You know, ‘bit. You have an uncanny sense of timing.” He tells her, turning back to her once the tools are put away. He reaches for the broom and starts sweeping up the dust as Dawn moves further into the room and scoops up the dustpan.

“Why do you say that?” she sounds innocent enough, but he sees the smirk she tries to hide. His scarred brow shoots up and he snorts.

“Let’s see, every time me and Tara get close, you seem to pop up. Why is that?” Dawn shrugs and stands with the full dustpan then looks at him with her azure eyes.

“Luck, I guess.” She offers, flashing him a grin before she heads into the kitchen to dump the trash. She doesn’t tell him she’s been secretly hoping for a while now that the blonde pair would get together. Then they could be like a real family. She feels the usual pang of guilt that accompanies these thoughts, but it has lessened in intensity. “What’s for dinner?” She asks Tara, tossing the dustpan to the floor and walking over to peer over the blonde woman’s shoulder.

“Back up,” Tara demands as whatever she’s cooking pops ominously. The smell of bacon fills the air, teasing their noses with its delicious smell. “Just bacon and eggs. I need to go to the store.” She quickly flips the bacon over with an expert hand to let the second side brown. “Dawn, start the toast. Spike, there’s a mug of blood in the microwave.” He puts the broom in the small storage closet next to the back door and walks across the cracked linoleum while mentally adding that to the list of fixes. He opens the second hand microwave-a device he’s sure is older than he is-and pulls his mug out. A quick test of temperature proves it to be just right. He turns around and leans a hip on the counter and watches the girls as they move easily around the kitchen.

It hits him how right they look, working together like they had been doing it for years as opposed to a few months. The faded rose covered wallpaper lent a certain charm to the scene, as did the old appliances and cabinets. They just. . .fit.

It’s been a long time since he’s woken up shaking, images of blood and death-her death-circling his brain like a dog does his tail. He still misses her, feels the ache of losing her every time he looks into Dawn’s eyes. But, its not as sharp, not as crippling. He loved her, more than an enemy should love another. And he no longer curses the day he first stepped into Sunnydale. That day was the beginning of a change in him. A change that was supposed to be impossible and that was ever progressing and far from complete. He was a soulless vampire, who had fallen in love with a Slayer, and had found himself in the process.

“Spike?” He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Tara’s amused voice.

“Yeah, luv?”

“I asked you if you wanted your eggs scrambled or fried?”

“Oh,” he had apparently been so lost in thought that he’d missed her talking to him. He grinned and shrugged.

“Whatever you’re having,”

“Ok,” she gave him one of her secretive smiles then turns back to the stove to finish cooking. “Scrambled all around, then.”

He moved to the cabinets to get their deluxe china-paper plates-to set the table and snorts at how tame he’s become. Somehow, as they all sit down to eat the simple dinner, it doesn’t seem to bother him near as much as it should.

~*~*~

“Spike?” it’s early when Tara knocks on his door. Or maybe it’s late. She’s not sure how it will feel to him as she pushes open his bedroom door and peers in. She was in bed when he came home the night before and she just woke up a few minutes ago with the almost desperate need to see him. She had padded downstairs without thought, until she hit the bottom landing. She’d almost turned around and gone back up. But, with a sudden courage that she had never experienced before, she went to his room, detouring only to heat him a mug of blood as a peace offering for waking him up.

The sun was rising fast through the faded curtains of the kitchen. She knew it was only a matter of time before Dawn would be up, bounding down the stairs and hunting for something to eat. The teen would then flop herself on their newly slip covered couch and watch cartoons for a couple of hours. She’s only a little surprised at how well they have fallen into this new life. How quickly they have acclimated to it. Pain and death had been almost a daily occurrence in Sunnydale. Here, in good old broken down Prosper, they could forget about it. Despite the fact that they were living with a man that had been dead for over a century. And who, just barely two years ago would have killed them as soon as looked at them.

Funny how life works out sometimes.

“Spike?” she calls again, moving further into the dark room. The first thing they had done was black out the windows so there would be no danger to him from the harsh rays of the sun as they spilled into the house while he was sleeping. Of course, he had a habit of being up and about before sunset, so they often had to make sure the curtains were drawn throughout the rest of the house as well.

“Yeah, pet?” He rolls over and looks at her through half closed lids. His hair is sleep tousled and curling wildly around his head. Her fingers itched to run through it, to trace the curl and memorize it. His skin was almost as pale as the sheets he was lying on, the top one slung low to expose the sharpness of his hip bone.

“Do you mind if I come in?” she felt suddenly nervous and was berating herself mentally for doing this. What had she been thinking, coming in here while he was sleeping and looking so deadly sexy it should have been a sin.

“No, come on. S’something wrong?” He pushed up in the bed until he was sitting up, the sheet carefully pulled along to keep him covered.

“No, no. I just wanted. . .” she pauses, wondering what exactly it was that she did want. “Some company,” she finishes, walking further into the room. Self consciously, she holds out the mug, and she jolts when his fingers brush over hers. She quickly laces her fingers together to stop the tingle shooting up her arm, but it doesn’t work.

“Thanks. Wanna sit?” He shifts his leg to make room. He takes in her sleep wear and wonders just when full length, cotton gowns became sexy. He carefully strips his face of emotion and watches her, resting the mug against his stomach without even tasting it. “I don’t bite,” there was no missing the sensuality of the statement, but when her eyes shot up to his, all he did was tap the side of his head, indicating the chip.

“Yeah, sure,” she said with a nervous burst of laughter. Gingerly, she sat on the edge, as far away from his as possible without sliding onto the floor. “So, how was last night?” her voice sounded overly bright and chipper. A brow shot up at it, but he didn’t’ comment.

“S’alright. Only made a hundred.” She jumps when he shifts again and watches him as he leans over to the nightstand to pick up a stack of bills laying there.

“Well, its something.” she takes the money, expecting the thrill when their fingers brushed, but no less unnerved by it.

“Yeah,” he settles back against his pillow to look at her, taking n the way her hair falls around her shoulders like a honey colored waterfall. His undead heart clenches at how beautiful she looks, her eyes averted in that shy manner she hasn’t really used with him in weeks. “Tara?”

She loves the way he says her name, so rich and deep and full of something intoxicating. Her eyes dart to his and she finds her breath catching in her throat by how intense his eyes look in the darkness. He’s looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world and he wants nothing less then to possess her.

“Y-yes?” he almost smiles when she stutters. He likes that he makes her nervous. Likes that she seems to be as affected by him, as he is by her. After months of want that was so one sided it had become almost desperate, this thing with Tara was a nice change.

“Can I kiss you?” The question even surprised him, since that wasn’t what he had planned to say. But, now that it was out, he waited expectantly for her to answer. He didn’t realize that he was holding his non-existent breath as he watched the play of shock across her face. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted on a gasp. But, she didn’t look frightened, which was good, in his opinion. Then, the shock faded and she seemed to be thinking over what he had asked. Working it out like it was a tough problem that needed solving. Unfortunately, as the seconds ticked past, he started to feel a little foolish for asking. After all, just a few short months ago, she had been very heavily involved with a woman. He could be imagining her attraction to him, or worse yet, it could just be a case of transferred affection. If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.

“Never mind, luv. Was just feeling a little lonely is all. Have no right to ask such a thing.” His eyes dropped from her to a point on the blanket. It hurt more than it should have that she had rejected him. They were friends. In fact, she was the first ‘friend’ he’d had since the day he was turned. Except for Dawn of course. Why was he trying to ruin that? He was suddenly fumbling for the half empty pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, needing something to take away the sting he was feeling. But, then, her hand was there, curling around his wrist, warm and soft and so damn alive.

He looks up at her again, and she’s so close he doesn’t know how he missed her move. Her eyes aren’t on his though. They are trained on his mouth, an almost desperate hunger darkening those eyes of hers to smoke. He wonders again what color they are when she cums.

“Please,” she breathes, her eyes darting up to his briefly. He can’t help the moan that slips from his lips. Somehow, he manages to get the mug onto his nightstand without dumping it on the floor, then raises that hand to cup her cheek. The skin is silky under his fingers, her complexion the color of peaches and cream. Her eyes drift closed for the slightest of seconds, before opening once more, shining brighter and hotter than he’d ever seen. Then, he can’t wait any longer. He needs to taste those pink lips, to feel them sliding under his. It’s almost a relief when his mouth slants against hers, the air going electric and pulsing as they test at first. When his tongue brushed over her bottom lip she moaned, low and long, opening her mouth to let him in.

A hot rush of arousal slid through them both and they instinctively clung tighter to each other. She was half sprawled against him now, one hand clutching desperately at his shoulder, the other pressed over his heart. She had never kissed a man before, and she wasn’t sure what she expected. She certainly hadn’t expected his lips to be this soft, or that the slight taste of cigarettes would be anything but unpleasant.

She was everything he has expected and more. Sweet and fresh and delicious. His fingers slid through her hair, testing the texture as his mouth played over hers.

“What’s going on here?” she asks when they finally pulled apart so she could breathe.

“I dunno,” he admits, his eyes taking in her bruised lips and flushed skin. He wants her so bad right now, and it’s taking everything in him not to act on it. “What do you want to go on?”

“I dunno,” she says with a little laugh.

“Well, let’s just see what happens?” he suggests, running his fingers through her hair. She looks at him for a long minute, that puzzled look back. He thinks it’s cute.

“Ok,” she agrees, her smile widening before she leans in and catches his mouth with hers again. He smiles against her lips, a strange feeling blooming in his chest. A feeling that was amazingly close to happiness.

Part Six-All I Want for Christmas...is You

It seems strange to him, how quickly time can pass when not much is going on. Already, the bite of winter was in the air, the smell of impending snow, when he was sure it was just yesterday Dawn was complaining of the lack of air conditioning in her new school. He remembers waiting for the big show down with Glory and how time seemed to slow and stretch until a second took as long as an hour. But now, before he knew it, summer had turned into fall and fall was fading rapidly into winter.

Around the time Dawn started school, Tara had gone out and gotten a job, despite his protests. He didn’t want her working at night, or in some menial job that was beneath her. She had merely leveled those cool, calm eyes on him and told him that it wasn’t fair for him to bring in the only income. She was capable of working and that was the end of it. So, off she had gone to that den of hell and got a job. The plus, was that he never had to step foot in there again unless he wanted to. She could pick up whatever they needed before she came home. The negative, was she got minimum wage and that was it. But, it was better than nothing.

When she works nights, he drops her off and picks her up. He’s always there early. He doesn’t like the idea of her waiting even five minutes outside by herself. They might not be near a Hellmouth anymore, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any nasties lurking around just looking for the right victim. Of the demon or human variety. He usually has Dawn with him as well, since leaving her alone is about as appealing as making Tara wait.

They both humor him with this. The truth of the matter is, neither of them wants to take the chance either.

Sometime around the end of October a boy had started calling for Dawn. On the phone, he was soft spoken and polite, which set him immediately on edge. His first response was ‘no’ when the teen had come home squealing that the cute boy in her first period had asked her to the Halloween dance. He’d watched the girls dance around the kitchen like a couple of hens in a farmyard for a few minutes, then had made his pronouncement. She couldn’t go.

Of course, that had been met with the utmost respect and dignity on Dawn’s part. And pigs are flying over the Antarctic as we speak.

At first, she had thought he was kidding. Only to realize quickly that he was not. She demanded why. His answer, she was only fifteen. To which she rolled her eyes and pointedly told him that Buffy had been dating well before that age. Tara had tried to diffuse the situation, but the vampire and the key were squaring off, toe to toe, eyes blazing. They got nastier and nastier, opening old wounds that had just begun to heal over.

It was with his final, unmovable ‘no’, that Dawn said the unthinkable.

“I hate you. I wish I had died on that tower.” Then, she had stormed off, leaving the stunned vampire gasping for words in the kitchen. A lone tear had dripped down his cheek as he stared unseeing at the wall. He didn’t feel Tara’s soft fingers on his cheek, or hear her when she said she’d talk to the teen. All he could see was that night, replaying over and over in his head, Dawn’s face replacing Buffy’s on that pile of rubble. And the horrible thing was, it crippled him worse to think that it could have been her.

Needless to say, Dawn got to go to the dance.

Dawn had apologized for what she said, and he had actually swallowed some more pride and had almost begged her to forgive him. Almost. By the time the night of the dance had come around and she had come downstairs to meet her date-a dark haired, Hispanic looking boy named Rick with a lean build and soft brown eyes-it was like they had never fought. He managed only to growl a little in warning to the kid. Tara’s nails digging into his arm also reminded him to mind his manners.

So, off she had gone, like some kind of princess to a ball, beaming like a star. He was still apprehensive, letting her out of their sight, but he couldn’t begrudge her. After all, he’s the one that had wanted them to stop. Had wanted her to have a chance for her normal life. And now she was having it. It was kind of stupid for him to complain.

Especially when he realized, once she was out the door, that he and Tara were alone in the house for the first time.

And wouldn’t you know, she had to work. He had forgotten until she’d emerged from the living room, wearing that damn blue smock they made her wear. At least she had smiled apologetically at him. And the kiss she had given him had curled his toes and had him begging her to call out. Unfortunately, cooler heads-hers-prevailed.

They’ve kissed a lot since that morning in his bedroom. Soft hello kisses when they see each other in the hall. Hot, passionate kisses, stolen when Dawn is in her room on the phone. Tender, sweet kisses when he drops her off for work. It’s a lot less and a lot more than he’d ever hoped for. He wants more, desperately. She haunts his dreams, takes over his thoughts when he’s supposed to be lining up a shot. He’s lost more than one game because of her. Luckily, he can usually make up for it on the next one.

They talk all the time. Talk in ways he’s never felt he could before. She knows about his life as a human. How pathetic and soft he was and why he made the choice to become a vampire. He finally got the whole story about her family and the fear she had lived with believing that she was a demon. She tells him, that because of him, she doesn’t think it would have been so bad. He’s not sure how to react, so all he can do is kiss her. And know in his heart that she’s too good for him.

~*~*~

Before he knows it, Thanksgiving has past and Christmas is just around the corner. Its snowed once already, coating the town in a sheet of white that makes it look almost cheery. Decorations are everywhere, in the store windows, all over the houses and huge light up Santa’s decorate almost every lawn. And their house was no exception.

Tara had come out of work one night, piled down with bags. He had quirked a brow and had asked if she’d done a little shopping. That’s when she’d revealed she’d just pulled off a lay-away. A lay-away that consisted of nothing but Christmas lights, ornaments, a tree and who knew what else. By the end of the week, she and Dawn had the entire house decked out in silver and gold. And blue and white and a few other colors of the rainbow. There’s an obnoxious Santa that says ‘ho ho ho’, every time someone walks by it. He almost wishes it were the real Santa so he can drain him and get some peace.

There’s something simmering just below the Holiday cheer, under the carols that Tara hums and the laughter that Dawn lets out shaking the packages that appear under the tree. It’s the sadness that has eased off over the months, only to rear up during the time that’s supposed to be about family and friends. But, they muddle through, determined to honor the memories of the lost while forging ahead with life.

It’s a Friday night and suddenly, they are alone again. Dawn has gone to a sleep over at some giggly girl named Rhonda’s house. She’s sure to come home the next day, tired from lack of sleep, and crashing from a sugar high. But that’s not what concerns the two blondes left in the house. The tension between them has been coiling tighter and tighter over the last couple of weeks, fueled by kisses and touches and more than a little heavy petting. But, until now, they wouldn’t do more with the teen in the house. And now, she’s gone.

He’s sitting on the couch, watching the lights as they flicker in their random pattern. They are the only lights on in the house, save for the kitchen light, where Tara is finishing up the dinner dishes. She doesn’t have to work tonight, and nothing short of an apocalypse would get him to leave. He’s waited to long, wanted to hard. Now, unless she shot him down, it seems that they would finally get what they both wanted.

He wonders, as he sits here on the couch, the steady blink of the lights almost hypnotizing as he stares at them, when he had let go of Buffy. When had the all consuming love he’d felt of her fade to the sweeter, but no less intense feelings he held for Tara. He knows he still loves the Slayer. Besides Dru, she was the most amazing creature he had ever seen. But, something inside him knows, had they ever had their chance, it would have been messy. Messy and painful and probably would have ended very, very badly. They were both too passionate and volatile for it to have turned out any other way.

Not that he’s sure this thing with Tara will end much better. She’s good and kind and caring and sweet. She doesn’t judge him for his past deeds, when he knows he should be judged. She looks at him like he’s a man, not some monster waiting for the chip to malfunction, so he can bathe in their blood. It terrifies him that he may fall short of her expectations of him.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” He turns toward her, all his apprehension melting when his eyes fall on her and he crushes out his cigarette. She’s standing just outside the door, hidden by the darkness of the hall. He pushes to his feet and walks over, his eyes intent on her as he stalks across the floor. She feels the urge to bolt as he comes to a stop in front of her.

“I like the dark,” he answers, his voice silky smooth. He leans against the doorframe, invading her personal space, but she doesn’t move away. She just stares at him, her smoky eyes wide and just a little scared. Her tongue darts out to moisten her bottom lip before she captures it in her teeth and he can’t help the moan that rumbles his chest. Every night he’s dreamed about tasting her lips, touching her and not just for comfort. Her flavor is a phantom memory on his tongue, tangy and sweet. But, he wants more than that.. And he knows he has no right wishing for it.

“Tara,” she trembles at the sound of her name falling from his lips, as she often does. It always sounds so thick, so full of want and heat that she’s afraid she might get lost in it. She realizes, looking up at him now, that that’s just what she wants. She wants to get lost in it, in him. To finally move past the pain of half a year ago and live again. Love again. She knows he doesn’t feel he’s worthy of it, of her. She knows him better than he thinks. And she wants desperately to make him understand that he is worthy of it.

“Spike,” her hand raises to trace her fingers along his jaw. She can see the reflection of the tree lights on his skin and she follows their path along the sharp plane of his cheek, the scarred brow, the bridge of his nose and over the fullness of his lips. His eyes drift closed with her touch, even as his lips part to release the tip of his tongue to taste her skin. She gasps at the contact and unconsciously takes a step closer to him. He can feel the hem of her skirt tapping gently against his calf, can feel the hot bursts of her breath on his neck. He leans into her touch as he reaches out with his own trembling hand to slide it around her waist. He gently massages the area, almost afraid to try anything more. It’s ironic, he knows, that he’s afraid to ask for what he would have just taken in another time. Another life.

His eyes open and settle on hers again, the rich blue almost as black as the night outside. She steps even closer to him and raises her hand to his cloth covered chest, almost hating the black cotton T that’s keeping her touch away from the pure alabaster of his skin. With a deep breath, she gathers all of her courage and looks him straight in the eyes.

“I want to touch you,” her voice is barely a whisper but the words pack a punch to his gut. He nearly whimpers as his eyes drift closed. He struggles to keep his control, to not snap and take his fill of what he’s been wanting for months. He reminds himself that she’s inexperienced with men and waits until he’s sure he won’t embarrass himself before opening his eyes again.

“Are you sure,” he hears himself gasp, his voice so thick it can barely expel itself from his throat. The play of the lights in her eyes is enchanting, making them shine brilliant in the dimness of the room. His fingers are still working methodically on her waist, teasing the flesh beneath the simple cotton sweater she’s wearing and sending tingles along her nerve endings. Her breath hitches with the sharp pang of arousal in her abdomen and she’s afraid her knees aren’t going to hold her up much longer.

“Yes,” she breathes, leaning into him. Her head tilts up, her lips part. Her mouth is inches from his and he can practically taste her. They stay like this, just staring into each other’s eyes as the seconds tick off on the clock, both just a little terrified of closing those last few inches between them. It’s different this time, than any of the other times they’ve kissed. So much would change when they did and they want to memorize this last moment before they succumb.

Finally, they both think when their lips meet. Neither one is sure exactly who moved first to close the distance. But, it doesn’t matter. Because now, their mouths are touching, molding together easily as if this was who they were made for. It starts as a few, gentle brushes then, Tara’s hand fists in his shirt, pulling him closer and covering his mouth fully with hers. Soft and wet kisses follow, each a little more open then the last, until the first swipe of his tongue across her bottom lip makes her moan. Her other hand has come up to slide through the silky locks of his hair just as his hand on her waist tenses, drawing her body flush against his.

He slants his head, changing the angle of the kiss and dips his tongue inside her parted lips. Her breath is hot against his skin as she gasps. She parts her lips more, allowing him further access. He moans and delves further into the warmth of her mouth, tasting the cavern fully before sliding his tongue across hers. She whimpers with the harsh bolt of desire that slams into her and she kisses him back hungrily. When she sucks gently on his tongue, a growl rumbles through him, vibrating his chest under her hand. It fascinates her, she wants to know how to do it again. A long stroke of her tongue against his has the desired affect. A wave of wetness rushes to soak her panties when she hears it, feels it. She wants to be closer. Closer than their clothing allow, closer than skin. Her hand fists so tightly in his shirt, she can hear the fabric protesting. She doesn’t care.

She’s so sweet, so fucking sweet. Her kisses have stopped being hesitant weeks ago. But this, this near devouring she’s doing to him is about to do him in. He can smell her desire in the air, can feel the way her heart is stampeding behind the breasts that are pressed flat against his chest. Her skin is practically vibrating with her want. And all he can do is respond. Is to show her just how much he wants her, too.

It’s with great reluctance that they pull apart. As she looks up at him, her stormy gaze caught in the gold flashing blue of his, she wishes she were a vampire. So she can keep kissing him without the annoying need to breathe. She moves without hesitation when he links his fingers with hers and draws her further into the room. They pause by the tree and she can see the question in his eyes. He’s giving her one last out. One last chance for her to step away and deny this thing that is happening between them. Her heart melts at the caring she sees in his eyes, at the almost shy way he looks down at her. She knows then that she’s fallen and she gives it freely. She wants him more than ever in these seconds, and if he stops, she’s afraid she’ll shatter.

She takes his face in her hands and tries to convey the emotion flowing through her with her eyes. She’s afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell that swirls around them in the silence. She knows when he sees it, when he understands it. The blue of his eyes soften, his lips part a bit in wonderment. That’s when she leans in, her mouth caressing his as one hand drops to his and brings it up to her breast. She feels his gasp then his low moan is lost in her mouth. He curls his fingers around the soft mound, rolls his palm around the nipple until its stiff and straining against the cotton of her sweater, begging for his touch. Her knees buckle with the force of the arousal that shoots through her, but he catches her, one strong arm banding around her waist to hold her close. Then, as his own knees give, they slide bonelessly to the floor.

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a/n-I know, I know. What a place to leave off. But, this chap would be a leeetle long if I kept going and that would break the flow of the story. So, its getting broken up into two. Review lots if you want more quickly. </evil cackle> Big gigantimous thanks to Kantayra for allowing me to use her OC Rick (you know, from Haunted. You’ve read it right? Right!?) as Dawn’s little side love interest in this story. Smooches hon! :) L

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Part Seven-Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree

They settle on the floor, her back pressed flat against the colorful, woven area rug. He’s next to her, one leg thread through hers, the evidence of his arousal throbbing against her thigh. Somehow, they never stopped kissing. One arm is trapped under him, so she uses the other to slide over the corded muscle of his arm, his shoulder. Her fingers thrill at the feel of his soft hair gliding through them. She drinks deeply of him, whimpering softly with her need. Her entire body is pulsing, aching, wanting. His hand is still molding her breast, making the ache hotter, tighter. More intense. She wants to feel that hand on her bare skin, to feel his lips there as well. Wants it more than she can remember ever wanting anything before.

“Please,” she begs, pulling away from his delicious lips to look at him. To convey to him that she wants more. She sees a smile tug at his lips and she has the slight urge to hit him with how self-satisfied he looks. Then, she feels that hand slide away from her breast to the top button of her sweater and she holds her breath as it come easily undone. His eyes are burning into hers, branding her. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and watches her face as he quickly undoes the rest of the little, pearly buttons. Her breath comes out in one, loud ‘whoosh’ when he finally, finally slides his hand inside the fabric.

His fingers skim lightly over her skin, almost too lightly to even be called a touch. But it sends shivers coursing over her anyway. Her back arches just slightly when she feels those fingers brush delicately below the curve of her breast. The sweater falls completely away from her torso, exposing her unfettered breasts to his hungry gaze.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, drawing his eyes away from hers to take in the delicate peach of her skin, now flushed with desire. Her nipples are stiff and eager, silently begging for him to wrap his lips around them. His mouth is practically watering with anticipation, but still, he holds back. He wants to make this last, to memorize every detail, to pull their pleasure out as long as possible until they think they might die from it. He’s still touching her with that ghost of a caress, and he can feel the skin under his fingers quiver. Her breath is coming in short, hot gasps and already her eyes are glazing over. Every second or so, her head thrashes once and her back keeps arching, trying to get him to touch her with more pressure. Her eyes are half closed. Her hand has fallen away from him and is now moving restlessly over the rug, her nails digging into the woven threads as her body responds to his.

With agonizing slowness, he dips his head. He hears her gasp, then hold her breath as he hovers, just above the stiff peak of her breast. A fist pounds on the floor in frustration when he doesn’t immediately take it into his mouth. He chuckled, the cool burst of air on her skin making the nubbin harden even further. She’s whimpering, the sounds close to a sob. Each second he waits is like sweet torture, the anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in her stomach until she thinks she might scream. Or die. Or both.

“Oh God,” her back comes completely off the floor when his lips encircle her nipple, sucking lightly before nipping gently with his teeth. He soothes it with his tongue than repeats the process. It feels exquisite, but its still not enough. She wants him to take her fully into his mouth, to devour her. Blindly, she reaches up and fists her hand in his hair. She hears him chuckle again, but is too lost in sensation to care. He takes pity on her and opens his mouth wide, softly sucking on the warm mound while his tongue laves the hard nubbin. She moans, loudly, her fingers tensing ever tighter in his hair.

His fingers have never stopped moving over her skin. She’s so hot, he’s surprised she’s not burning him. They dance around the waist of her skirt, teasing her stomach before sliding gently underneath. Her hips buck in response, and he gets another moan for his efforts. He shifts against her, drawing the hem of her skirt up with his knee so his fingers can skim along her thigh. His mouth moves in a trail of wet kisses across her chest, until he reaches the other breast. She’s panting desperately by then, her brain completely shut down to anything but the things he’s doing to her.

He shifts again, until he settles on his knees between her thighs. His lips move from her breasts, over her ribcage. He pays thorough attention to each rib, licking and nipping the flesh above them. He revels in the moans and soft pleading she’s emitting. She’s writing beneath him, and now that her other arm is free, her hands are sliding over him, testing the play of muscle beneath his shirt. She has now definitely decided that she hates this shirt and her fingers pluck at it in a vain attempt to get it off. He chuckles again, the sound low and sensual and full of promise. Still, she pounds a fist against his shoulder.

“I want you,” she breathes desperately, hoping it would move him into a quicker pace. But, he stops touching her completely then, so she wonders if that was such a good idea. Then, his face is over hers, his eyes burning black and gold in the lights from the tree.

“You’ll get me, luv.” He promises, before taking a playful bite at her full lower lip. “Now, be a good girl and lift up so I can get this skirt off,” He doesn’t have to ask twice. If he chuckles one more time, she’s going to put the whammy on him and turn him into a toad or something, she thinks. That is, until she feels the feather light material of her skirt pull away from her skin. She looks up at him, sitting there on his knees between her wantonly splayed thighs. He’s staring down at her like he’s never seen her before, his jaw set like he’s fighting for control.

“Spike?” she’s afraid she’s done something wrong, that she doesn’t please him in some way. She reminds herself that he’s seen her naked before. That he’s touched and tasted her before. But that was months ago and under very, very different circumstances. Then, he looks up at her, the blue heat of his eyes intensified to scorching and she knows that she more than pleases him.

He looks down at Tara, his eyes drinking in every line of her lush form. She looks like Aphrodite, lush and warm and wanton. Her hair is spread like a gold fan around her head, her eyes are heavy lidded and almost opaque with desire. Her skin is flushed and warm and as smooth as any silk he’s ever touched. Her lips are bruised from his kisses, and her panties-those damn, virginal white panties of hers-are soaked through with her juices. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, but he promises the God that he stopped believing in a long time ago that he would do anything he could to keep deserving it. She was beauty and light and sunshine. She was everything he wasn’t and more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says again, his voice low and filled with awe. She’s not used to compliments, not used to hearing such things, especially from a man. It warms her, even more than his touch, to hear it.

“So are you,” she counters, taking in the sharp beauty of his face. He’s still fully clothed, still looking at her like she’s some statue that’s too priceless to touch. It angers her, that she can still see just the slightest flare of self-doubt in his eyes. Without thinking, she sits up, her hands coming to the hem of his shirt and pushing. She’s been patient long enough. He’s a bit surprised at her taking the initiative and he doesn’t try to stop her as the shirt goes over his head and gets tossed away. Then, her fingers are tracing over the pale marble white of his skin, her nails scraping lightly over his nipples. He growls in response, then gasps when her hot, wet tongue slides along the muscles of his stomach.

“Jesus, Tara,” She meets his eyes as she licks at his skin. They are as dark as black smoke, the pupils so dilated with arousal that it almost blots out the blue. Her teeth are blunt but sharp as she nibbles along his flesh. His jeans have surpassed uncomfortable by now, and was bordering on excruciating. His cock was throbbing and hard and desperate for her. It won’t take much to have him cumming in his jeans like some over eager boy. Gently, his hands settle on her shoulders and push. She resists at first, but his insistence-and considerable strength-finally gets her to lay back.

His eyes never leave hers as his fingers hook in the band of her panties. She watches, rapt, and dutifully lifts her hips as he draws them down over her legs. Her eyes widen when, instead of discarding them, he lifts them to his nose and takes a deep breath. The smile of pleasure that lightens his face is breathtaking. Then, with grin, he tucks them into his pocket before pushing to his feet.

“Where. . .” she drifts off when she sees his hands go to his fly. Her eyes are riveted to the buttons as each on slips easily from its hole, exposing more of his delicious skin to her view. She feels a flash of apprehension when she sees the tip of his swollen shaft, but quickly squelches it. She wants this, him. Nothing was going to stop her now. She mewls, deep in her throat as he drags the denim down slowly. Every inch of him is sculpted and lean and seeming chiseled from stone. Her mouth waters than goes as dry as dust as he is finally revealed to him in his full, heart stopping glory. He is a gorgeous a sin and every bit as tempting. If she goes to hell, she’ll fan the flames willingly as long as it means she can have him.

Slowly, he lowers himself forward, then crawls up her body until he is settled comfortably between her thighs. His shaft prods at her folds, his chest crushes hers. She can feel him trembling, and her arms come up to enclose him in her warmth, just as her legs entwine with his. She lifts her head to kiss him, brushing her lips across his in a butterfly touch. He’s being so careful with her, it almost breaks her heart. She smiles when she lays her head back, thrusting her hips a bit to let him know that she’s ready. A sharp jolt of pleasure stabs through her when the action brings her clit in contact with the head of his erection and she hisses in a breath. Her eyes are impossibly dark now and clouded with need.

He can feel her, burning him just from this little contact. He can’t imagine how it’s going to feel to be inside her, to be encased in all that warmth. He can’t wait much longer, is not sure why he hasn’t already started to push. Something is building in him, something much more intense than an orgasm. Something much more scary than desire. She’s moving against him insistently, her tiny gasps inflaming his blood. But still he waits. Something is working its way through him, out of him. Something he has said before but isn’t sure he’s known really what it meant until this second. And its as he starts to push inside her clenching heat that he lets it fall.

“I love you.”

Pure, white hot bliss spreads through her with his words, with the way he feels as he slowly slides into her. Tears slide from her eyes and a brilliant smile curves her lips. His shaft his stretching her, filling her, completing her. His words fill a void in her heart that’s been empty since that day Willow was ripped so cruelly from her. She cries out in joy, not pain when he’s completely sheathed within her hot depths. Her eyes fall closed with the force of emotion rolling over her and the sensations of being taken.

He stills when he’s buried fully in her warmth, partly because of the slick grasp he has on his control-she’s so damn tight, so damn hot he thinks he might combust right now. And partly because he’s holding his unneeded breath, waiting for her reaction to his words. He’s afraid to hope that what he saw in her eyes was love. That the tears sliding down her cheeks is because she’s happy. Then, her eyes open again, the smoky blue alight with something pure and beautiful.

“I love you, too,” she says, her voice soft and filled with awe. Again, his eyes widen, his breath catches. He’s afraid that he’s heard her wrong, or that this is some kind of cruel dream. Like the ones he used to have about Buffy. But, when she starts to kiss him and thrust against him, there’s no more room for thought. She was going to push him to the edge and back again, whether he was an active participant or not. Her words echo in his mind, over and over, as his hips piston against hers. His tongue battles with hers playfully, parrying and retreating before diving into play again.

Her legs wrap around his lean hips, her nails dig into his shoulders. She’s never felt anything like this before. He was a vampire, but he was so alive in her arms, so perfect and wonderful, she thinks that maybe she has died and gone to heaven. Then, the tip of his shaft hits something deep and hidden within, just as his pelvis grinds against her clit and she’s suddenly moving against him in a frenzy.

He pulls away from the kiss as he feels her walls tighten further around him. Little tiny ‘ohs’ are falling from her lips with each thrust. Her hands are in constant motion over his skin, restless as the feelings build inside her at an almost painful rate. She uses her legs to urge him faster, harder, pushing her further towards her climax. Her eyes drift closed as the first waves crash over her, stealing her breath and making her heart pound crazily against her ribs.

“Open your eyes,” he says, his tone pleading. Somehow, she complies, her lids going wide as the crests and crashes on a wave of pleasure so intense, she can’t believe it’s real.

Her eyes are gray and blue and sparkling with the rainbow from the lights blinking beside them. The colors merge together in a beautiful tapestry as she explodes around him, his name tearing from her throat in a hoarse cry as she rides out the orgasm. He finally knows what color her eyes are when she cums, and he lets himself go behind her. He falls forward, burying his lips in her throat and slams hard into her, once-twice-three times. On the final time, he pushes as far into her as he can, emptying his seed into her womb. He cums harder and longer than he ever has before, pulsing deep inside her body for what seems like an eternity. He says her name over and over, softly, and reverently as the aftershocks twitch along his nerves.

They stay like this for a long time, entwined lazily well after their climaxes have subsided. Neither wants to move, to break this peaceful haven they have created for themselves in front of the Christmas tree. Eventually, he does move, groaning with loss as he slides from her body. She turns toward him as he lies down next to her, snuggling as close as she can and resting her head on his silent chest. She smiles when she realizes she’s still wearing her sweater.

“I meant it, you know.” He says after a few minutes. She’s tracing patterns on his chest with her nail, just basking in the afterglow of amazing sex. She’d never much thought of men before, but now she thinks that maybe its because she’s been waiting for him.

“I know,” she replies with a smile. She contemplates raising her head to look at him, but she’s too comfortable. So, she just shifts ever closer and wraps her arm around him. “I did too,”

“Amazing,” she giggles at that proclamation.

“Yes, it was,” she feels him huff and giggles again.

“S’not what I’m talking about. But yeah, it was.” he says with a snort.

“What’s so amazing then? That I love you?”

“Yeah,” he says, hesitantly.

“I don’t think it’s so amazing,” she counters with a yawn. “I think it’s perfectly and completely right.” Her eyes drift closed as satisfied fatigue starts to settle over her. Then, they pop open when she feels a rumble against her cheek. Not like when he growls, but more steady and rhythmic. “You’re purring?” she gasps in amazement, fascinated by the sound.

“M’not.” he says rather unconvincingly.

“Yes, you are.” she replies with a giggle. He merely huffs in disgust, but doesn’t deny it again. His arms band tight around her, holding her close. She lets her eyes drift closed again and listens to the steady purr resonating from his chest.

“I love you, Tara McClay.” is the last thing she hears as she slips into a contented sleep, wrapped in the unexpected warmth of her vampires’ embrace.

Part Eight-But without you, without you. . .

Play-off season sucks as far as he's concerned. Especially when you lived outside of Philly and the Philadelphia Eagles were in them. Nobody wanted to play pool or get into a friendly poker game because they were either watching the football game or talking about the game. It was bloody ridiculous.

"S'not even proper football," he grumbles. He takes one last drag of his cigarette then flips it away with disgust as he gets closer to home. "Don't touch the soddin' ball with their feet unless they are kicking it away. Tossers." It will all be over soon, he reminds himself. Then maybe he can get back into making some real money again. He hates that they've had to rely heavily on Tara's meager checks for the last month or so and all he can do is be thankful that she was so bloody good with money. Of course, he did know other ways of making money. But the thought of seeing any kind of disappointment in her eyes directed at him made his silent chest feel like it was caving in. So, no, he would keep his activities on the barely legal side and never cross that invisible boundary.

He trots up the back porch steps and lets himself into the kitchen and immediately considers turning tail and walking back out again. All activity stops as the back door slams shut and he suddenly finds himself pinned in the cross hairs of six teen age girls eyes. He'd forgotten that Dawn was having a sleep over tonight.

"Hi, Spike," Dawn says, digging her spoon into the half gallon of Rocky Road that lay open on the table.

"‘Ello, bit. Ladies," he inclines his head to the stunned looking girls, all of them dressed in their pj's and robes, their faces slathered with some god awful green stuff. They are all staring at him as if they have never seen him before. He gives them a rakish grin and starts toward the kitchen door. "Where's T...your sis?" he has to stop himself before he says Tara's name. He forgets that the people around here don't know the girls by their proper names.

"She's around somewhere," Dawn replies with a shrug. The other girls seem to have recovered from his sudden appearance and were currently helping her polish off the ice cream. A couple of them still slid glances his way and he was sure that the mothers of the community would be appalled by the amount of blatant teen lust that was in their daughters eyes.

"Have fun," he tosses over his shoulder, heading into the dining room.

"Oh. My. God. You're brother-in-law is so hot," he smirks when he hears this, and chuckles when the bubble of girlish giggles explodes behind him.

"Seems you have quite the fan club," his eyes find Tara leaning against the dining room doorway, arms crossed over her breasts and an evil glint in her smoky eyes. He sidles right up against her, his own eyes gleaming with mischief as he drags them over her body. She's wearing one of his t-shirts-a habit that made his undead heart clench with pleasure-and a pair of old jeans that were faded and frayed at the cuffs. Her hair was in a sloppy ponytail, her face completely devoid of even the lip gloss she wore to work. Her feet are bare and she smells fresh and clean, like a summer day after a good rain. She looks absolutely edible to him.

He takes a deep breath and savors her scent as he leans in and braces an arm above her head on the jamb. She can feel the bite of the winter night he's carried inside with him, can smell the intoxicating scent of leather and smoke clinging to his skin.

"What do I need with a gaggle of little girls when I got a woman waiting for me, eh?" He asks, his voice low and husky, his eyes hungry. It never ceases to amaze her that that particular look in his eyes is for her and only for her. Her eyes flash with a spark of arousal and the soft smile that has been curling her lip deepens. She lifts a hand to his face, her fingers tracing over the sharp plains she has memorized hundreds of times before. This creature-this man was hers.

"Oh come on, all those nubile young bodies in there don't tempt you even a little bit?" she teases, sliding her hand back to lace through the silky strands of his hair. His eyes drift closed briefly at the gentle pressure and a soft purr rumbles his chest, delighting her.

"No, luv. Not even a bit," he assures her, before leaning in and capturing that smiling mouth with his. She sighs into his kiss, easily parting her lips to accept his thrusting tongue. They kiss languidly for a few seconds, saying hello with the play of their mouths against each other. When he pulls back, she's breathing raggedly, her skin on fire from just that little bit of contact. "Miss me, pet?"

"Goddess, yes," she breathes, giving a little giggle that sounds like the ones filtering out of the kitchen behind them. Her arms twine around his neck as he pulls her closer, encompassing him in warmth like he's never known.

"Good. Missed you too," he tells her before covering her mouth again in a kiss that curls her toes. He lifts her off her feet and starts moving her down the hall to his room-their room really, since she hasn't spent a night in her room for a month. The adult, responsible part of her is telling her to stop him, they have a house full of impressionable teenagers. The other part-the part that is completely in tune with his ravenous appetite-is saying screw it, they are all old enough to understand what goes on between a woman and her man. Even if that man is a vampire.

"Have to be quiet," she manages on a gasp of air, trying in at least some way to act like an adult in charge of a bunch of girls. The door slams behind them and he's steadily moving them toward the bed, pausing long enough to allow her to push the duster to the floor.

"You'll have to scream into a pillow then, won't you luv?" he flashes her a wicked grin, before they fall to the mattress. The air is pushed out of her with a whoosh, then sucked back in when his lips find her nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt. She arches against him as her fingers pluck at his shirt. She needs to feel him, sleek and naked above her, his lean frame cradled against her, his body pushing her into the bed.

He moves away from her long enough to heed her silent plea, helping her slide her clothes of as well. Then, he's back in her arms, his hips settle comfortably between her thighs, his chest flattening her breasts with delicious pressure. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms his shoulders, holding him to her. He slides inside her body, his shaft stretches her, fills her, completes her. She's already fluttering around him, her body twitching with small spasms as a mini-climax rips through her. She's so responsive to him, so eager and willing, he's not sure he'll ever have his fill of her.

He waits for the glaze in her eyes to pass and the small trembling of her limbs to pass before he starts to move. Long, deep strokes, angled just right to bring her the most pleasure. He watches her as he thrusts, the wild abandon of her head thrashing, the feel of her hips meeting his. How could she even remotely think that any of those teenage girls could fulfill him. Their coltish limbs and newly rounded bodies had nothing on hers. Full and warm and lushly female, she was the epitome of womanhood.

Her nails are digging little half moon's into his back, raising blood. Her teeth are biting into his skin over his silent pulse, urging a growl to rip from his throat. She realized a long time ago that even the slightest pain could heighten his pleasure tenfold. The fact that she did it, willingly giving him that sharp edge without judgement or disgust, made him love her even more. In the near-year its been since that night, he's watched her transform from that shy, always silent girl that tried to hide in the shadows with the Scoobies to a woman that knew her own mind and heart and didn't mind telling anyone-including him-when she'd had enough bullshit. How could he not love her.

"Love you so much, Tara. Always you," he whispers against her throat. His hips are thrusting faster, harder, eliciting tiny delicious moans from her. She's moving against him, her own body erratic as her orgasm starts to flutter along her nerves. She feels the bones of his face shift against her throat, feels her body tense with the first waves of bliss that crash over her. She turns her head to bare more of her throat to him, silently inviting him to take. She's noticed his demon emerging more and more over the last month since they've become lovers. A little research assured her that it wasn't death the demon had in mind for her. She cries out his name and holds his head against her skin, the prick of his fangs in her flesh spiraling her completely out of control.

He doesn't even think about the chip when she silently entreats him to bite. He has no desire to cause her pain, just to taste her essence, to pull it into him and make them as close to one being as they can possibly be. The first drop of her sweet blood sends him over the edge, his cock throbbing inside of her in time with his pulls from her throat. A burst of warmth and color and light spreads through him, stripping him clean of all that made him a monster. She's rich and powerful, her witch’s blood pure and magical.

"Mine," he gasps as his shaft empties deep inside of her womb. They are trembling together, humbled by the power singing between them, exhausted by the emotional bond they've created.

"Yours," she agrees, her limbs tightening around him despite the jelly-like feel of her muscles. "I love you," she whispers against his ear and smiles when he raises his head, the demon still on the forefront.

"Love you," he murmurs, his face melting back to their human plains once more. He leans in to kiss her, the play of their tongues lazy but heated. As he rolls them over to watch her rise above him, her hair wild and her neck freshly marked with his bite, they both decide that Dawn and her friends will be alright without them for the rest of the night.

~*~*~

It's another cold, bitch of a night a month later as he makes his way home. He'd gone all the way into Philadelphia tonight, since the folks around Prosper seemed to still be recovering from their Super Bowl dream losses. He doesn't notice the cold much, unless its like this. Cold enough to turn your breath into icicles and have your joints hurting from the bite of it. And of course, the DeSoto's heater is on the fritz.

He's cursing an impressive blue streak by the time he finally pulls into the driveway. At first, he doesn't notice that all the lights are on in the house. At 2 am. But, as he walks across the dead grass and up onto the porch, he does notice. As well as the stench of several other people. And gun oil. He pauses at the door, his heart clenching painfully in his chest as he stares at it. He's afraid to go inside, afraid to find what he knows to be true.

NO, his mind screams, denying the absence of heartbeats in the house. The scent of dinner lingering in the air is gone, the smell of cinnamon and apples blotted out by the stink of several male bodies. And a dog. K-9 unit, he thinks numbly as he finally reaches out a shaking hand and slips inside. A violent rage rips through him at the destruction he encounters. Their home, their nest created outside of reality has been violated.

The vases Tara always kept full of flowers were overturned, spilling water on the floor and spreading the blossoms out like dying soldiers. The living room was tossed, but nothing broken. Each room he walked through, save the kitchen was the same. Their life had been invaded, their quiet existence shattered. And worst of all, his girls were gone.

He stood in the middle of the living room, his blue eyes taking in the evidence of their absence. Despair and anger and crippling grief had him sinking to his knees, tears sliding down his cheeks unnoticed as he curls up in the middle of the floor and hopes for death.

~*~*~

He has no clue what time it is. And he doesn't really care either. Sometime during the night, he's fallen asleep, images of his girls dancing through his head in a hodge podge of dreams that have him crying in his sleep. Tara, crying out for him, accusing him of not being there when they needed him. Dawn, his sweet little bit, looking at him with betrayed eyes because he couldn't keep this from happening. They'd been foolish, thinking they could pretend they weren't who they were. That Hank wouldn't find them someday. But the dream had been so beautiful, so perfect, it was easy to get lost in.

He jerks awake with the sound of the screen door opening. Swiftly, he rolls away from the sun shining in through the window and crouches low beside the couch, waiting. He will rip whoever is slowly walking up the hall to shreds if they have anything to do with his girls being gone. Cop or not, chip or not.

But the person that moves into the living room, his dark eyes wide and searching is not a cop. In fact, it's the last person he would have expected. Rick.

"What do you want, boy?" he growls, finding a small bit of satisfaction in the way the young man jumps at the sound of his voice.

"S-spike?"

"Answer me! If you have anythin' to do with this..." he lets it hang, pins the boy with flashing yellow eyes and makes it clear just what he will do.

"I-I didn't. I swear. I just heard about it in school today. I ditched....I had to see...had to know for myself," the boy sounds heartbroken, like he's lost the best thing that ever happened to him. He sighs, empathizing, because he has lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

"Close those curtains. Tell me what happened,” he demands, waiting to slide out of his hiding place until the suns rays are safely shut out of the house. Rick looks at him warily as he sits on the couch and digs for a cigarette. There's no emotion on his face, which belies the rage storming through him with each passing second. "Well?"

"You are vampire," Rick says instead, his dark eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Don't tell me you're surprised," he counters dryly. He has to remind himself that Dawn wouldn't like it if he eviscerated her boyfriend. He smokes his cigarette, tension singing along his nerves as the boy studies him.

"No, I guess I'm not." He starts to move about the room, skirting as far away from the figure on the couch as possible. He smirks at that, then blows smoke rings in the air. "One of Kim...er Dawn's friends...her mother saw something on the news. About that cult of people in California that died. And how the one girls sister was still missing. They had Melissa's face all over the report as a suspect."

"Tara," he corrects without thought. Hiding behind the name didn't seem to matter anymore. Guilt, rich and thick, clogged his throat. He curses himself for not being there once again. He can imagine their fear as they were raided and dragged from the house.

"Tara," Rick tests the name out, finds it strange but shrugs it off. He has to remind himself that the girl's he knew as Kim and Melissa weren't the people he knew at all.
"So this chit's mum called the cops?" he prompts, impatience making his words clipped.

"Yes. They raided the house. That is all I know." Rick finishes, dropping into one of the chairs and looking over at the man on the couch. "They will probably be looking for you,"

"Don't think so. I'm good at flying under the radar. And my girls, they won't give me up," he says, stabbing out his cigarette.

"But they would have searched the house. Found your things. I wouldn't be surprised if they were still watching this place."

He shrugs, not concerned. The cops will never take him and he knows it. Even with the chip, he has no fear that he can get away. If they had still been watching the house, he would have had a few visitors last night the second he'd set foot inside. No, they got what they had come for.

With a sigh, he scrubs his hands through his hair and forces himself to think. To try to figure out what to do next. They would take them back to California, that he was sure. And there was only one person in California that might be able to help him.

"I'm gonna make a few calls. I might need help getting out of town. Y'think you can do that?"

"Are you going to bring them back?" Rick asks, his eyes narrowed again. He can see the boy is trying to figure him out, trying to force him into the cubby hole of things he's probably heard about vampires.

"Yeah. They're my girls. This is their home. We belong here," he says simply, his face set in a hard mask. Rick looks at him for a long moment before finally nodding.

"I will help. Just bring K...Dawn back to me," for the first time, he sees the genuine affection that Rick feels for his Bit, and he feels some of the hostility he's harbored towards the young man fade.

"I'll do m' best." he answers, pushing to his feet and walking out of the room, despair and guilt sagging his usually proud shoulders.

a/n-Again, thanks to the lovely Kantayra for allowing me to play with her OC Rick. And the Eagles may or may not have made the play offs when this story would have taken place. I don't care, I wanted to use them. And you know what to do to make the next part come out faster. ;)