White Magic

"We need to find a way to get through that stupid sanctuary spell."

Willow nodded her agreement to the Slayer's declaration, without looking up from the book in front of her on the table. They had reached the adjoining hotel rooms, only to find that each of them was too troubled to actually sleep. The remnants of the Scoobie gang ended up gathered in the room that Anya and Xander were sharing, around a much smaller circular research table than usual, poring through the magic books Willow had brought, trying to think of a way to rescue Tara and Dawn from Spike's evil clutches.

"Yeah. If we can just get past that, and get Dawnie and Tara *home*, then maybe we can find a way to break the spell," the redhead replied to Buffy's words.

Anya frowned, troubled. "Shouldn't we be focusing on breaking *Spike's* spell...if it really is a spell he's using? I mean...why should we be trying to break the spell that allows violence, instead of the one that's actually making Tara and Dawn take his side?"

"What do you mean, *if* it's a spell?" Buffy demanded angrily. "Anya, if you're not actually on my side in this..."

"There are other kinds of mind control," Anya hastily pointed out, uncomfortable under the mutual glares of her fiancée and his best friend. "I'm not saying it's not a trick; I'm just saying...maybe it's not a *spell*."

"In which case we don't have time for intensive deprogramming," Buffy snapped tersely, turning back toward the table. "If that *is* the case, the only option we have is to get them away from Spike and home, where we can figure out how to help them."

"But...maybe it *is* a spell," Willow reminded her, sounding as if she almost hoped that it was. "In which case, we ought to be able to find a way to break it..."

"Killing Spike. That should break it. If we can break the *other* spell."

"Or, killing Spike could just mean that they're stuck like that forever," Anya put in flatly. "If it's the sort of spell that only the spellcaster can break."

"*God*, Anya, will you *shut up*?" Buffy snarled, jumping up from her seat furiously, causing both Anya and Xander at her side to flinch away from her. "I do *not* need this from you!"

"Buffy," Xander spoke up cautiously. "Buffy, she's only trying to help...we talked about this, remember? The not taking it out on innocent and humanly fragile bystanders? The innocent, fragile bystanders who want to *help you*?"

Buffy drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an obvious attempt to control her temper.

"I need a minute," she bit off the words as she stalked stiffly away from the table and toward the door to the next room.

"Buffy..."

"Just leave me alone!" she snapped, putting just the right sound of tears in her voice to throw the stupid children off the scent, and imply to them that her anger was simply a byproduct of her fear for her sister, as she slammed the door hard behind her.

Without stopping or slowing her pace, she made her way to the bed, reaching under it to pull out a small briefcase she had brought along with her. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to be sure no one was following her before she opened the case, and took out the old, leather bound book she had placed there...the one that detailed the history and possible uses of the bond she had placed between her and Spike.

"Let's see," she murmured to herself as she climbed into her bed and paged through the book. "There's gotta be a way in here...gotta be a way to hurt him, without using actual violence..."

After a few moments, her eyes lit up with interest, and a slow smile began to spread across her face.

"Perfect," she whispered, as she closed the book and put it back in the briefcase, replacing the case under the bed. "Just perfect...I'll have that pathetic little slut *walking* out of there and *begging* me to take him back in no time!"

With a satisfied smile on her face, the Slayer turned off the light and nestled down into the bed for a long, peaceful, and much-needed rest.

*************************************

"Sweetie...I know you've gotta be pretty shaken up and all, what with big sis pulling her psycho act...but could you make with the *not* pacing for a few seconds? You're making me dizzy...and Angelcakes isn't gonna be thrilled if you wear a hole in his carpet."

Dawn had been tirelessly pacing back and forth across the lobby floor, glancing anxiously every now and then toward the stairs, and the room where they had left Tara and Spike. She stopped, turning her attention toward the green demon sitting on the sofa, watching her with a concerned expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, flopping down on the sofa beside him, her gaze once more fastened on the top of the stairs. "I just...I mean...do you think he's gonna be okay?"

Satisfied that they were all relatively safe for the night, the effectiveness of the sanctuary spell having been proven beyond all doubt, most of Angel's crew had retreated to their rooms for what was left of the night, after making plans to reconvene first thing the next morning to continue working on solving the Buffy problem.

Angel had gone into his office and closed the door -- or rather slammed it with an impatient growl of frustration -- to all appearances in full-on brood mode.

"Spike?" Lorne's crimson eyes followed Dawn's gaze upward. "Yeah, Sweet Pea...with you, and his terrifyingly overprotective sire, and the good witch Glenda all in his corner? The wicked bitch of the west doesn't stand a chance. He's gonna be just fine." He was quiet for a long moment, before adding in a softer, more serious tone, "It's just gonna take a little time, Honey. She just did a major number on him up there...messing with his mind, trying to prove how much control she still has over him...and as much as I hate to say it, it kind of worked. He's been through hell, Sweetie, and that's not the sort of thing you just get over overnight, you know?"

Dawn said nothing, taking in his words, staring toward the closed bedroom door upstairs with a heartsick expression in her wide, tearful blue eyes. Finally, she whispered an aching, fearful question in response to his words.

"Is it the sort of thing you get over *at all*?"

"Depends."

"On?"

************************************

"I'm a bloody ponce."

Spike's words were slightly muffled as they broke the stillness that had fallen between him and Tara, as he did not bother to raise his head from where it was pillowed on her chest before speaking. When his tears had finally ebbed, they had moved to the bed, where Tara lay down and pulled him gently down to rest against her, offering him the physical comfort of her closeness in addition to her words.

Tara was quiet for a moment, her fingers trailing slowly, soothingly, through his disheveled blond hair, stroking down across his forehead before moving through his hair again.

"I think we need a new rule," she stated after a moment, her voice light and mild. "Nobody's allowed to say bad stuff about Spike. Not when I'm around, because I like him, and I don't like hearing bad stuff about him. Not even *from* him. ‘Kay?"

Spike did not respond, though he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, overwhelmed once more by her tenderness and the gentle way she had with him...both things that he no longer felt he deserved.

"‘Ponce' *is* a bad thing, isn't it?" Tara asked uncertainly when he did not answer her. "It means, like...wimp, or something...doesn't it?"

Spike hesitated a moment, before replying in a low, hoarse voice, "Something like that."

"See? I knew I didn't like it. Because it's not even true, anyway," Tara continued. "Spike's not that at all. He's strong, and determined, and brave...brave enough to give his life for the people he cares about...and that's all I need to know to know that I don't ever want to hear anyone call him that again." Her fingertips moved downward to tip his chin up, leading him to meet her eyes, and she gave him a gently teasing smile and wink as she added with false sternness, "Not even you, Mister."

Spike's gaze locked onto hers, softening with a sort of awed, wondering adoration. He could scarcely bring himself to believe that she was lavishing such concern and affection on *him*. The love, the genuine devotion in her eyes was overwhelming, everything he had longed to see in Buffy's eyes, but never found there.

Unbidden, images suddenly flooded his mind of the Slayer, glaring at him with sheer malice and disgust in her eyes...degrading him with her words, her look, her touch... knocking him viciously to the ground beneath her, breaking and brutalizing him with her fists, her sex, until there was nothing left of him but her broken, devastated sex slave.

*That's where you belong, Spike...* Her voice filled his head, echoing his own doubtful thoughts. *At my feet. You're nothing...a monster...a slave...a whore...nothing but my whore to be used...and you'll never be anything else, no matter how hard you try to pretend...*

The tenderness in Tara's gaze was such a contradiction; Spike found that he couldn't bear it. He looked away, his troubled eyes diverted to the bedspread beneath them -- but not before Tara noticed that the light had gone out of them.

"Spike," she said in a voice that was both soft and firm at the same time. "Look at me."

"I can't." The whispered words seemed to slip from his mouth before he could stop them, although he did not quite understand why he believed them.

With no judgment or reproach in her voice, Tara asked, "Why can't you, Sweetheart?"

Spike kept his eyes downcast, swallowing back a sob as Tara 's fingertips lightly stroked his cheek, silently reassuring him with physical affection while he tried to find the words to explain what he was feeling.

"I...I just...Tara...you look at me like...like I'm actually worth..." His voice broke off abruptly, and he shook his head, unwilling or unable to finish that thought. "It's just...I don't think you really know...I m-mean...you don't see me for..."

His voice was barely over a whisper, and he struggled to get the words out while keeping some semblance of a rein on his emotions...until Tara gently placed the tips of her fingers against his lips, silencing his halting explanation. He uncertainly, reluctantly raised his gaze to meet hers, and the compassion he saw there drew his tears out to fill his eyes, as she leaned in to press a chaste, tender kiss against the fresh purple bruise on his cheek.

"I see you, Spike," she whispered, drawing back again, but only slightly, so that mere inches separated their faces as she searched his eyes, admiration in her own. "I see you...better than you see yourself, right now. And what I see...what I see is amazing."

*Dirty...worthless...soiled and broken...you'll contaminate her, you disgusting little...*

Tara 's hands on his arms tightened as she felt him tensing, beginning to pull away, and pulled him firmly back toward her.

"No," she objected sternly in a hoarse whisper. "No, Spike, don't you listen to her! I know what she told you, but it doesn't matter now...it was all lies, Spike. All of it...you're so incredible...I just wish...I wish you could see..."

Spike's voice broke with his resolve, as he replied in a voice that was almost a sob, "I wish I could... Tara , I can't..."

"If you could see yourself...through my eyes, Spike...God, Spike..." Tara whispered, sounding breathless as her hands softened on his arms, trailing up and down, her own lips parted and softly panting now, her eyes darkening with desire. "I just...I wish you could...could see..."

Her voice trailed off as Spike unintentionally shifted closer to her, his lips a bare inch from hers now, as he whispered barely audible words of pleading invitation, wide blue eyes gazing up at her, full of a raw, aching need for affirmation that only she could fulfill.

"Show me..."