5. The Things You Left Behind

Of course, in between the nasty, confusing sobriety and the sweet moment of oblivion when he had finally poisoned his brain cells faster than his body could heal them, there was a vast minefield of him with lowered inhibitions and still capable of movement... which was, to quote a slightly-less-bleached blonde of his acquaintance, definitely of the bad.

What was saltpeter, anyway? Did it work? And could he possibly buy it at the Revco?

It was times like these that he really loathed the whole enhanced senses thing... he could hear her, unable to sleep either, heartbeat accelerated, breathing faster, shallower, than she should be... silky hair sliding across her pillow as she tried to get comfortable, skin rasping against the sheets, sending up body-heat-warmed wafts of anticipation, uncertainty, frustration and arousal that answered his own, and it felt for all the world like an electric current ran between them, making him restless and twitchy and empty and needy and... dammit!

You'd think with his ears and nose working overtime, his vision would take the opportunity for a bit of a vacation, but oh no... it was busy too, delving into his memories for a rerun of Dawn Summers Midnight Theater that was really, really not helping matters.

Her thumb, slowly dragging blood across her lip, a moment before she'd grinned and sucked it clean... her eyes never leaving his, mischief and dark promises dancing in their depths...

The ecstatic arch of her neck as she'd ground herself against him, lips parted, gasping, eyes fluttered closed...

The second before he'd shoved her off, when her lips had been on his...

Spike sighed in frustration, heaving his legs off the side of the bed and rolling to sit up, his body freezing as he heard Dawn's breath catch, her heart speeding up.

She heard me. She thinks I'm coming over there.

He stood up, bedsprings squeaking beneath him, and her breathing grew faster; he bit back a grin at the distinct sounds of her arranging herself to best advantage on the bed, fanning out her hair and draping the sheet artistically.

Her breathing turned unnaturally even; pretending to be asleep, then, faking relaxation while frozen in her prettiest position, eyes smashed closed.

Incredibly bloody adorable, that. Be a real shame to leave the girl hanging... ought to at least go in and make her primping worthwhile, just to say hello, really, and not at all to ogle the final effect of all that artful arranging... and definitely not to slide in between her body-warmed covers and get exquisite, tongues-and-teeth vengeance for her teasing of him earlier...

Spike's spine snapped to attention.

What the bleedin' hell was that?

Noise, upstairs; he grabbed a knife off the small bookshelf, wrenching it out of its sheath as he soundlessly climbed the ladder. A dark figure stood beside his end table; a quick breath identified it.

"Buffy," Spike said cautiously.

She turned towards him, expressionless.

"You should be careful," he joked, showing her the dagger. "Never know what kind of villain's got a knife at your back."

She remained silent, and he gestured towards the sofa with the knife. "You can sit down - got furniture."

She sat down awkwardly on the edge of the comfy chair, and he tried on a smile. "You should see the downstairs, too, it's quite posh."

"Dawn asleep?"

"In bed, at any rate." He dropped the knife onto one of the candle ledges, perching on the edge of a table opposite her. "Thought you were at Harris'?"

"Couldn't sleep." She wrapped her sweater tighter around her.

"Patrollin', then? Reckon I'm up for a spot of violence..."

"No, not... I kinda just came to... um, talk. Y'know, we've got the Scooby meeting tomorrow, and... uh. Stuff."

"Oh." Spike glanced around awkwardly. "Er... offer you somethin'? If it's got sugar, think we've got it..."

"Spike?" Buffy blurted, her hands twisting around themselves.

"Yeah, pet?"

"Angel... a-and Cordelia. Tell me about them."

"S'about like you'd expect," Spike scratched his eyebrow. "She cracks the whip, he not-so-secretly gets off on it, they change nappies and whatnot. Y'know, when she's not grabbin' her head n' screamin' an' he's not stickin' swords in things."

"But... they're happy? Really... happy?"

"Seem to be." Spike shifted uncomfortably, his hand rising to toy with the back of his neck. "Cheerleader's not quite the girl you remember, love. Still got a tongue on her makes Simon Cowell sound like Oprah, but she's good to Angel."

Heat flickered in Buffy's eyes. "Oh, and I wasn't?"

"Did I say that? If anything, pet, you were too bloody kind to him."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Spike?"

Spike sighed. "Right. Might as well insert the other foot. Look... granddad's got an ego with its own zip code, soul or no soul. Either he's the high-martyr Champion of Good and don't you bloody well touch his engraved cross n' nails, or he's the bleedin' Picasso of Evil. You bought it, Slayer, an' that's why he had you dancin' on a puppet string, just like friggin' Dru. Look at Darla, look at Cordy... hell, take a look at yours truly. Trust me, love, if you'd ground Angelus' face in the dirt as many times as you did mine? He'd be lickin' your stylish yet affordable boot right now."

Buffy huffed with indignation, springing from the chair. "You don't understand anything! I can't believeI came here to..."

She broke off, glaring, and Spike's eyebrows soared. "Came here to... what?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Talk. Just... talk. Which is why I am clearly insane, because talking to you? So like asking someone to just hit me over the head with a hammer repeatedly."

"Y'know what, Slayer? You'd be insulted a hell of a lot less if you didn't assume that every soddin' thing in the universe was about you!"

Buffy stalked towards him. "Well, it'd be nice if something was!"

"Are you off your nut? You flounce off to soddin' France, and your fan club just keeps fightin' the good fight! You think they're doin' it because they like gettin' kicked in the head by demons? You got the slightest clue what Red goes through? Way you whinge about lookin' after the Nibblet - take one bleedin' second to think about what it's like for her!"

Buffy stared at Spike, open-mouthed.

"An' speakin' of your little Scooby club, let's talk about Harris. Red's at least got the mojo... what's he got? You ever ask what happened to him n' Anya, Slayer? Did you even care? Boy almost got himself paralyzed, that's what. Spent four bloody months in hospital, half that unconscious, still can't walk straight when it's rainin'. Anyanka gave him an ultimatum, right? Her or the 'slayage', and guess what he picked? Wanker's so soddin' devoted to you he can't see straight, and where are you, Slayer? Out here in the cemetery pumpin' the undead for info about your precious Angelbear."

Spike stood, the shadows painting his face in razor-sharp angles. "You want to see somethin' all about you, Slayer? Get Harris to take off his shirt sometime. I'm bloody well goin' to bed."

"Spike..." Buffy pleaded. "Look. This isn't... this isn't why I came here, I came here to..."

"Think I can guess. Got a little preview earlier, didn't I?"

"I, uh..." Buffy flushed. "Well, I thought... I..."

Spike closed his eyes a moment. "Slayer. Respect the hell out of you, love, always have, even when I wanted to kill you; think you know that. Think I know you pretty well by now, too. Whatever you think you want me for - it'd make things worse. Be your friend, be your backup, be anything you need from me - but I'm done bein' your whippin' boy. Bloody tired of beggin' for Angelus' crumbs - been at it for a century plus. I'm goin' to bed, an' I suggest you do the same."

Buffy's eyes shone in the darkness; she nodded silently, turning on her heel.

And in the darkness, Dawn Summers finally let out the breath she'd been holding, eyes wide with hope.

-

Buffy shut off the water, drying her hands on a threadbare green hand towel and looking around the small bathroom with dismay.

Like every other room in the single-wide Willow and Tara rented, the bathroom was claustrophobic, sun-faded, and clammy; generations of landlords replacing whatever had broken with whatever was cheapest. Willow had made a few ragged attempts to brighten the place up, but she lacked Tara's eye for color and form, lacked her gift for making a home - the kindest words to be bestowed were that it had obviously been well-scrubbed.

She flicked off the bathroom light and passed into the darkened hall, pausing to examine framed photographs nailed into the cheap, thin paneling; Willow and a thin brunette that rang a faint bell as Fred, the Magic Box at Christmas... oh God, was that Angel wearing a Santa Hat? Cordelia, Wesley, and... Gunn, wasn't that his name? And the green guy was... Larry? Lenny? Louis? Lorne, maybe?

A collage of Xander and Willow through the years... Anya in the bunny suit... a faded one of a Victorian gentleman in a ponytail, and oh holy crap that was Spike! ... a picture of herself she didn't recognize, and... oh geez, that was the Bot, how weird... Giles in the library, caught unawares shelving books... several high school photos she remembered...

And Tara, of course... tiny and pigtailed, dwarfed by the cow she was petting... on her mother's knee, beaming... and later, aging, hiding more and more towards the back of the photos, hair falling in her face, trying to escape the camera...

Until she'd met Willow, and it was these that dominated; Tara laughing in their old dorm room, Tara and Willow at some festival, both holding poofs of cotton candy... Tara and Willow in the mall photo booth, Tara studying in bed, chewing on the end of a highlighter.

Tara whole, Tara sane, Tara giggling and cooking and thinking and playing.

Buffy moved down the hall as if she were being chased.

She blinked as she entered the kitchen, blindingly bright after the shadows; the screen door banged and Giles appeared, with an armful of books and politeness stretched tight over the same horror she'd worn when she'd first seen the Rosenberg/MacLay residence an hour before.

"Hey, Giles!" Willow said brightly, kicking the screen door with her toe to make it close all the way. "Mi casa es su casa. You want tea? I made tea... everyone's in the living room."

"Sorry I'm late," Giles shifted his armload of books, smiling kindly. "I got a bit... lost."

"Yeah, we're kinda in podunk," Willow agreed, taking half his stack of books and motioning him with her elbow to follow her. Buffy trailed after into the den, where yet more paneling warred with lime-green shag carpet, mercifully covered up for the most part by sprawled Scoobies.

"Hey, G-man!" Xander grinned, motioning him towards the empty brown plaid couch. "Now the party can begin."

"I'm afraid I have rather no idea what your current... er... situation is," Giles set his books down next to him. "So perhaps you could carry on as usual, and Buffy, Dawn and I will ask questions as needed to catch up?"

Buffy sat down on the couch next to Giles' book-pile, waiting for Willow to take charge... and blinked in shock as Willow, Anya, Spike and the Bot all turned expectantly to Xander, who pulled out a battered spiral-bound notebook from beside his bean-bag chair and flipped through it.

"Right," Xander said, drawing his finger down a page. "Okay, item one... the spell for Tara. Ayn, how you doing on ingredients?"

"All my suppliers came through except one, and Spike thought he could handle that..."

"Spike?" Xander asked, turning to him.

"Got 'em." Spike reached into his duster pocket, pulling out a fistful of sharp four-inch teeth and setting them on the coffee table in front of him. "Also got the Varnak skin. Still workin' on gettin' enough venom, but Willy says there's a group of 'em in town. Can't hide from me forever."

"We're kinda on a deadline here," Xander reminded him.

"I know, an' I'll get it. An' oh... hey, bonus..."

From the other pocket, Spike pulled a long, wickedly curved knife, and Willow gasped.

"Thought that might get a grin, Red."

"It's perfect," Willow sighed, taking it from his hand and holding it up to the light. "Where did you...?"

"Vamp nest," Spike shrugged. "Who knew?"

"Wil, how's the spell itself coming?"

"It's ready. And Bot reprinted the spell for me phonetically, so no mistranslation poofies."

"AndI found the burial ground," Xander grinned. "Let's have a big warm Sunnydale lack-of-surprise, it's right under the Toys R' Us in the mall."

"Oh, that is just a creepy talking-doll movie waiting to happen," Willow shuddered.

"Spike, how's the mall security?"

"Assumin' they haven't improved it since my last visit? Not gonna be a problem."

"Do some shopping, check it out, okay? All right, Item Two, the... God, I still can't pronounce this..."

"Glarghkguhl Kashma'nik," Spike said. "And... dead."

"Excellent deadness, moving on to Item Three... Bot, the warehouse?"

"False alarm," the Bot smiled. "The blood was red paint and the suspicious symbol checks out as the band logo of Judas Priest."

"Okay... that's the old stuff... anything new?"

"Had a customer come in asking for mandrake root, hellesbore, and wolfsbane," Anya offered.

"Ouch," Willow winced. "You think she's really gonna..."

"Not the talky type. Fortunately, she was the pay-with-check type." Anya handed a Xerox of a check over to the Bot.

"On it," the Bot smiled.

"New vamp nest in Shady Pines," Spike said. "At least fifteen fledges, looks like some lonely fella's gotten real sire-happy. Thought we could hit it with a team."

"Sounds good. Wil?"

"High school's pretty quiet. We had a little revenant issue in the second floor Faculty bathroom, but I found the talisman... other than a mentally scarred Intro French teacher, all clear."

Xander nodded, then pulled out a backpack from behind him, reaching inside. "The crew uncovered this breaking ground for the new Burger King."

He set an intricately carved metal box onto the coffee table. "I'm pretty sure it's safe to touch; the guys gave it a pretty good fondling before I saw it. Could be some little old lady's jewelry box, but I'd feel better if you checked it out, Wil... maybe get Wesley on it."

"We're both kinda up to our ears in this Vail stuff, Xander..."

"It's not top priority. Just something to look at if you get a chance. Anything else?"

"I have a faculty meeting on Thursday," Willow said. "Spike, could you drive Tara to the doctor?"

"What time?"

"Four p.m."

"I'll be there with blanket on." Spike reached out, sliding the knife out of Tara's reach. "Don't wanna play with that, Princess."

"Shiny," Tara smiled.

"Okay, that's all I had," Xander flipped a page in his notebook, checked it, nodded. "Buffy?"

She shook her head. "Huh?"

He shrugged. "Questions, comments? You have a new patrol schedule for us?"

"No, I uh... what's your... um. Current... patrol schedule?"

"Spike and Bot on weeknights. Weekends, we take two teams... Spike and Anya, me and Bot, do it twice as fast."

"It might be best if you started off by accompanying Spike and Rachael, Buffy," Giles offered. "They would be far more familiar with the current demonic situation..."

"Or hey, I bet the Buffster has a lot of non-Slayage stuff on the brain," Xander said quickly, shooting an uneasy glance at Spike. "Big move and all... what if we waited for the weekend, and Buffy and I could head out together? Be like old times."

Anya's little snort was too quiet for anyone but Spike to hear.

"If that means that Spike and Rachael would have the other patrol... Anya, I'd love the time to discuss the shop," Giles smiled, and Anya's frown melted into an answering grin.

Spike's eyes flicked back and forth across the cheap coffee table, lips twitching.

Bloody Scoobies. Sometimes they made Passions seem simple.