Summary: AU beginning during the months between Seasons 5 and 6. Tara is just your typical college student at UC Sunnydale. Or at least, she’s trying hard to be…until a series of strange dreams of a mysterious, suffering stranger begin to haunt her nights. When this stranger unexpectedly crosses her path, he will draw her down a road she never expected, toward a love and a future she never thought she’d find.
Notes: This story will span the course of a very AU Season 6, as Tara gradually uncovers the secrets of Spike’s tormented past amidst events very different from canon Season 6. At the beginning of this story, Tara has not met Willow or the rest of the Scoobies, and though it has been several months since Buffy’s death, the Scoobies have not yet planned to raise the Slayer from the dead. Also, for the purposes of this story and the ‘ship it involves, Tara is heterosexual. J
There had been a time when he would not have dreamed of giving them the satisfaction of hearing him plead for mercy.
That time had come and gone, around the second time they'd performed this particular sort of experiment.
"Please..." He barely managed to choke out the word past the tight strap they had fastened across his throat. "Don't...don't do this..."
Of course, he was ignored, as the white-coated scientists surrounding him continued to prepare for the procedure they were about to perform. Spike was not sure just exactly what they were about to do, but he knew that it could not be good. The telltale way in which they had secured his head to the table made that all too clear.
"Please," he tried again, his voice nearly a sob in the eerie silence that filled the room, broken only by the occasional clink of metal against metal as surgical implements, glinting viciously in the bright whiteness of the room, were cleaned and arranged on the tray beside his bed."Please...I'm sorry...I'll do whatever you tell me...I swear it, just...*please*..."
"Shouldn't we do something to shut it up?"
"No, wait...please, just..."
"Well, if it's gonna do this through the whole procedure...that *will* get a little distracting..."
Spike's eyes widened with dismay as he saw the sterile white cloth gag being brought toward his face. He tried to shake his head, but the straps would not allow the futile gesture as he pleaded in a frantic, shaking voice - useless words his sinking heart already knew would be ignored.
"I'll do anything you say, just please...don't do this again, *please*..."
But then, the gag was in his mouth, bound in tightly with yet another leather strap, and the strap already around his throat was cruelly tightened, leaving him helpless even to protest as his eyelids were caught in tiny metal clamps and held open. He struggled for breath, further panicked by the choking sensation of the gag in his mouth and the tight restriction at his throat. A strangled moan of despairing anguish remained trapped in his throat. The scientist who seemed to be in charge of this particular operation held up a vial of clear, yellow liquid between his thumb and forefinger.
"Subject 17," he stated in a flat, droning tone of voice for the benefit of his assistant, who carried a clipboard and noted his words as he proceeded. "Test series four, variable number six is hydrochloric acid. For comparison with the corrosive effects of variable number three, commonly known as holy water..."
Panic suddenly turned to searing agony as the fluid was poured into his eyes, forced open and unable to turn away from the heartless torment forced upon them. An anguished, desperate scream was silenced by the strap across his throat as his back arched and he struggled against the bonds that held him, and the bubbling, searing liquid slowly burned his eyes from their sockets.
Enshrouded in darkness once more, all that was left to him on which to focus was the savage, mind-numbing pain, roaring in his ears and screaming across the surface of his senses.
Suddenly, the bed beneath him seemed to fall away, and Spike thrashed wildly in a panic as he felt himself falling, sinking beneath the burning liquid that now seemed to surround him. The difference was subtle, but he could feel it; it was no longer acid that seared his vulnerable flesh, immersing him in a world where there was nothing but torment, but holy water this time. His bare back abruptly jarred against a cold, smooth surface that he knew was the bottom of a large tub of some kind, and fresh terror struck him - because he remembered what came next.
*Oh God, please...please don't...please let me out...*
He struggled to rise, frantic in his need to escape the searing, bubbling liquid that burned the flesh from his body...but cold iron chains held him down against the bottom of the tub, and he was helpless to escape, to protect himself, even to cry out for mercy as the holy water slowly ate through his battered, emaciated flesh to the bruised and broken bones beneath it.
As he struggled to scream, the liquid around him filled his mouth, his nose, his ears, a dull, muffled echo engulfing his senses as he fought uselessly to free himself. He was still utterly blind, surrounded by nothing but pitch blackness and pain. The roar gradually, faded, shifted, becoming the harsh cacophony of mingled, laughing voices, as he felt himself suddenly falling again, endlessly falling toward a dreaded place he knew by heart, but could not name. He knew exactly where it was that he was going to land, and that when he did, things would become so much worse for him than they already were.
His knees impacted with cold, unyielding concrete, and the din around him suddenly stood out with glaring clarity, as he found that he was not only able to distinguish the individual voices of his captors, but able to see them as well. He nearly collapsed with relief with the realization that somehow, impossibly, his eyes had been restored.
But his torment was by no means ended.
He was suddenly acutely aware of the cold, metal circle that hung around his neck, still loose and unrestricting, but heavy with the weight of a dread that was verging on panic. Desperate, he reached up with trembling hands and tried to pull it free. In that moment, he knew only one thing - he had to get it *off*, and he had to get it off *now*, before it was too late...before...before they...
"Hello, Seventeen..."
Spike scrambled to rise from his kneeling position, acutely aware of his long-cold heart pounding in his chest in terror at the sound of the familiar, menacing voice, and vaguely aware that something about that was not...not *right*...
But he did not have time to think about that now.
The other in the room, his tormentor, pressed a button on a handheld control - and the steel ring around his neck began to slowly tighten. He forgot his attempts to rise, desperate fingers scrabbling against the unyielding metal in a frantic attempt to dislodge it before...before...
His panic rose within him as despite his efforts, the metal continued to tighten...and the world around him began to go dim.
*My eyes...no...not again...please, no...*
But the pleading words were only in his own mind. The collar around his throat was already tight enough to prevent sound from escaping. He gasped for breath that wouldn't come, feeling his dead lungs beginning to burn with their frantic need for air that he shouldn't have needed.
The heartbeat that shouldn't have been at all became erratic and began to slow as he fell forward onto his face on the floor, eyes wide and desperately straining to see as the darkness swiftly fell around him, his vision failing with his breath. His shaking fingernails scratched against his own throat, vainly attempting to dislodge the collar, and in the process, gouging deeply enough to draw blood - though he could not smell it, could not smell anything anymore.
His airways were completely cut off.
And his vision had once more been stolen away from him.
*Please...please stop... please don't...*
As the last remaining traces of his weakening heart began to ebb, and the burning in his lungs began to fade away into a dreadful, numb nothingness, Spike felt the last traces of himself - his courage, his confidence, everything he had once been before falling into the hands of his savage captors -- disappearing with them.
His mind filled with images of his past deeds, both heinous and heroic...and all fading into the same deep, black nothing that was swallowing him whole. All he had done, all he had been...none of it mattered anymore, not here...not with what they had done to him, what they had made of him.
Panic and desperation turned to despairing acceptance, as the last sputtering attempts of his all-too-human heart failed, and the darkness around him became complete. He collapsed to the ground, unable to move or speak, utterly helpless, yet still somehow able to hear the chilling echo of slow, measured footsteps on the cold concrete. That familiar creeping cold sensation overwhelmed him with dread as he sensed the approaching enemy crouching beside him, felt a cruel hand grip the back of his neck and yank him up onto his knees again.
"Now you're ours, Seventeen," a familiar voice whispered with malicious satisfaction. "Now you're ours...completely...and you always will be..."
*****************************"No! Please, no!"
The hoarse, jagged sound of his own voice startled Spike from sleep, and he flinched, immediately bracing himself for the brutal punishment he knew would follow his daring to speak. Gradually he became aware of the softness beneath him that had replaced the cement floor of his cell, and his heart lurched with dismay.
No...not allowed...can't let ‘em see me...
He jerked back away from the soft cushions, not realizing yet what they were, his damaged eye unable to see where he was or what was around him in the darkness of the room, and suddenly found himself falling, toppling backward off the couch and into the coffee table. The pain of the impact on his ragged back barely registered with him, as he frantically recoiled from the contact and the clattering noise of heavy objects falling to the floor, some of them breaking.
Spike jerked back against the sofa, layers of cloth wound around his legs and torso making him feel overwhelmingly trapped, apparently boxed in on all sides, and utterly confused and terrified.
The sound of pounding footsteps only served to increase his fear, as he struggled blindly, frantically, to escape the approaching threat.
Please...please don't...don't hurt me, please...
*******************************Tara rushed down the stairs, heedless of the noise, her heart racing with apprehension, dreading what she might find in the living room. Mac followed at her heels, but she did not take time to stop him, concerned only with what state she might find Spike in when she reached the bottom of the stairs. She peered through the darkness for a few brief moments before fumbling for the light switch and flooding the room with light that seemed far too abrasive.
The coffee table was turned over on its side, the few glass knickknacks Tara had not thought to move from it shattered in pieces on the floor. She cringed inwardly, cursing her own thoughtlessness in leaving such things around to increase Spike's panic at waking alone.
And he was indeed panicked.
The trembling vampire was crouched against the wall beside the sofa, his knees pulled up in front of him, his head buried against them under the weak protection of his frail, shaking arms, still pitifully bruised despite the healing spell she had performed. Her heart ached for him as he flinched away from the light, cringing back against the wall, shaking his head frantically and whispering under his breath, his breath ragged and shallow and sobbing.
Tara realized through her alarm that Mac was there, standing right behind her, but strangely, not lunging forward in defense against the vampire's strange behavior. The dog just stood there, watching calmly, glancing up at her every few moments inquisitively.
"Easy, Mac," she whispered, though it seemed rather unnecessary, given the dog's surprisingly good behavior.
Raising her voice only slightly as she made her way swiftly across the room to Spike's side, afraid that he might have hurt himself again and wanting to check him over as quickly as possible, she did her best to reassure the shaken, terrified vampire. "It's all right...it's okay...you're all right, it was just a dream..."
Her heart sank when Spike just shrank back further against the wall.
She was not getting through - not at all.
"It's okay...it's okay, Sweetie...you're all right..."
Cautiously she knelt beside him, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his arm - which, unfortunately, was mere inches from his face, buried in his cradling arms. The close proximity to his damaged eyes only furthered his panic, and Spike flinched violently away from her, cracking the back of his head painfully against the wall in the process.
"No," he cried out in a weak voice of trembling, pleading anguish that rang out in the stillness of the room. "Please, n-no...not...not again..." A convulsive swallow was clearly visible in his throat, before he continued in a hoarse, desperate whisper, "N-not my eyes...please, not my eyes...not again..."
Tara's heart broke with those words, and her eyes welled with tears, her face crumpling in an expression of sorrow and anguished sympathy as she realized that he actually thought she intended to blind him again. He was reliving a terrible, painful memory - and she had to find a way to break him out of it.
She didn't dare to touch him again, aware that he would likely misunderstand her intentions. He was nearly hyperventilating, pressed as far as he could against the wall, huddled and trembling with his head bowed in submission, and she sensed that now, he not only feared the dreaded re-blinding of his barely healing eyes, but punishment for his resistance as well.
"Please," he whispered, the word barely over a breath, shaking his head despairingly. "Please, don't...please, I'm s-sorry...please..."
"It's all right," she assured him softly, keeping her voice carefully calm. "Please...please listen to me...it's okay, Spike...it's..."
Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened with surprise when she realized that at the sound of his own name, the vampire had frozen completely. She remembered the number on the collar, his first response when she had asked for his name, and understood that most likely, his captors had never used his real name with him. A faint sense of hope crept into her heart, as she guessed that maybe, maybe she had found a way to get through to him.
"It's all right, Spike...it's just me...I'm right here, Spike..."
**************************************The sound of that name - so familiar, and yet so foreign to who he had become - filled Spike's mind with an entirely different set of memories from the ones that haunted his nightmares.
Buffy...Dawn...
He shook his head, something in him resisting the idea of bringing their memories to mind, so near to the other memories, the dark reality of what had been done to him.
If they knew...if they knew what they've made of you...
"It's okay, Spike...shhh, calm down, Spike...it's all right..."
The gentle, almost musical sound of Tara's voice broke through his darkly infectious thoughts, and Spike desperately focused on the sweet, reassuring words she was speaking.
Tara...oh, Tara...it's her...she's still here...still *real*...so...so it has to be real, yeah? Not just a...just a lovely dream? She's really here, and *I'm* really here, and not...not there...not anymore...please, not anymore...
***********************************Tara kept talking softly, aware that she was repeating herself, but also aware that it didn't matter. It was the sound of her voice as much as her words that seemed to be grounding the traumatized vampire again. She glanced to her side as Mac approached slowly, sitting down beside her and whining softly, his nose twitching as he scented the air, no doubt picking up traces of the vampire and his terror, but making no move toward Spike.
Gradually, the panic seemed to loose its hold on Spike, and the vampire began to tremble uncontrollably once more, though this time with shock and relief, his legs falling to the side beneath him as he nearly collapsed face first on the floor. The increasingly familiar scents of both Tara and Mac helped to ground him, reminding him where he was, and soothing the ever-present fears that always seemed to consume him.
"I'm s-sorry," he whispered, though now the words did not seem to hold so much dread of punishment, as acknowledgement of his own mistake. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."
"It's okay, nothing to be sorry for," Tara assured him softly. "It's all right...you just had a nightmare, Spike. You woke up and didn't remember where you were, and you knocked some stuff over. That's what all that banging was. I'm sure it scared you, but it's okay. Everything's okay, and you're safe, Spike. You're safe here, I promise..."
She reached toward him instinctively, immediately withdrawing her hand in anguished indecision. He looked so pitiful, huddled against the wall, blind and utterly helpless, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and hold him. He had been through so much torment...and he was still going through it. She wanted to make him know that he was safe...but if she reached for him, she knew that it might have quite the opposite effect.
He was shaking violently now, as if in a delayed reaction to the full horror of his dreams, and his head was buried once more in his arms, which he had lowered to rest on his own trembling thighs.
Tara took a deep breath, then hesitated, before finally making her decision.
"Spike," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly over the awkward, honest question. "Can I...can I hold you, Sweetheart? Just...j-just hold you...nothing else...can I just h-hold you?"
******************************Spike stopped breathing for an instant, trembling but otherwise frozen, stunned by the question. A deep, terrified part of him - the greater part of him - filled with alarm at the thought. He wasn't allowed such comfort; what would be required of him in return for such luxury? How could he dare to accept such tenderness and compassion from her, after all that had happened, all he had been made to do?
But another part of him, weak and nearly starved out of existence, but now screaming out from the depths of his shattered heart for the sweet sustenance in Tara's offer, responded for him before he could stop it.
Spike turned slightly toward her without even realizing he was going to, nodding in answer to her question, scarcely able to believe she had actually asked it. A moment later, he felt her gentle hands on his arms, pulling him in closer to her and wrapping him in soft, comforting warmth.
He tensed, every muscle in his damaged body poised for flight, expecting the punishment he knew was sure to follow such undeserved comfort.
Except...it won't...it won't, because...because she's real...please let her be real...and I'm really not there...please, let me not be there...please...Tara, please, please let me stay...
*******************************"It's all right," Tara whispered, closing her eyes as she leaned her back against the wall and held Spike close to her, rocking slightly as she rested her cheek gently on the top of his head. "It's okay, Spike. You're safe...you're safe, Sweetie...those dreams...they weren't real..."
She allowed her tears to flow freely down her face, choking back a sob as she felt a tremor flow through his tense, still frame in response to her words. Her throat ached with tears, her heart with a deep anguish for what he had been through, as she rocked him gently and continued to whisper soothing words in his ear.
"It wasn't real, Spike...this is real...you're safe in this house, with me, and you're not going anywhere, all right? You're okay...you're safe..."
The trembling in his slight shoulders began to increase, and Tara held him tighter, feeling a deep shaking in the pit of her own stomach to match the tremors that shook him. Words failed her as her sobs overwhelmed her, and all she could do was hold him, doing her best to drive away the remnants of his nightmares, and will away the anguish and torment that haunted his shattered heart.
Then, his breath hitched in his throat, and his shoulders jerked slightly, as a soft sighing sound left his trembling lips. Tara froze for a moment, unsure of what had caused the difference in his reaction, and drew back just slightly, just enough to look at his downcast head...and to see the tears that flowed in silent streams down his bandaged face.
For the first time since she had found him, and in far too long...Spike was crying.
~ TBC