Useless Desires
Author: enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>
Rating: Mild R for adult themes and language.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except for Tim. He's mine. Of course, I don't make money off of any of them. Oh, and the title is from a Patti Griffin song of the same name.
Archive: Anywhere that already has my stuff. Anywhere else, just ask.
Summary: Spike leaves after a slightly altered "Seeing Red," and doesn't come back. This fic is set about five years or so later.
A/N: A few things before we get started.
1) This fic is not Spuffy. Even if you don't normally read anything not Spuffy, I hope you'll stick with me, because I think it'll be good. Who knows? You might surprise yourself by actually liking a different pairing.
2) This fic is darker than my usual. I'm going to be exploring some pretty adult themes including prostitution, sexual abuse, and suicide. It's not going to be graphic, and I'm going to be sensitive, but I wanted to give fair warning.
3) I don't think I really have to say this, but I will anyway. I am
not trying to make any kind of political statements with this fic. I'm
doing Spara because I like the pairing and for no other reason.
Personally,
I think sometimes you just fall in love with someone, regardless of
gender.
Chapter 18
"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved." ~George Sand
Spike woke slowly, warm to his bones. His lack of body heat never really bothered him except when he was sleeping. Then even the heaviest sheets and blankets didn't help keep him warm. Spike always felt that one should be warm while sleeping.
He could count the number of times Buffy had let him hold her like this on one hand. Actually, it had been more like on two fingers. In those moments when she had slept, Spike had had the waking dream that she would finally understand, that she would finally love him in return. He could then pretend that she really was his girl. Spike had the fantasy that she would wake up and turn to him and smile, and then they would just talk.
It had very nearly happened once, but she had left him broken in an alley soon after.
Every time, however, the dream would become a waking nightmare as she rose hastily, threw on her clothes, and told him that it would never happen again. It was a continual dance—a waltz that had nearly ended in madness.
There was still a part of Spike that was desperately afraid of Tara's reaction when her eyes opened. He knew that she cared about him; the blonde witch had never sent him a message she didn't back up with action. She had been the one to invite him into her home, into her bed. Into her life.
Spike was scared to death that Tara would open her eyes, realize who she was with, and flee. Or kick him out, since it was her bed.
So he lay there, not sleeping, watching the slight flutter of her eyelids that told him she was dreaming. Spike wondered what she was dreaming about, and if it was about him or someone else. He wondered if she would tell him if he were to ask.
The dream must have been a precursor to waking, because Tara's eyes soon fluttered open. Spike would have been holding his breath if he'd needed to breathe.
She smiled at him in the next moment. "Spike. I'm glad you stayed."
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be, luv," he responded. "You alright?"
Tara smiled, a slow, lazy smile. "Better than. You?"
"I'm good." After a long moment when she didn't move except to shift positions slightly, Spike ventured to ask, "You don't have to be anywhere this morning?"
"Tim's opening the shop," Tara replied. "So we can stay in bed a little longer."
Spike didn't mind that scenario a bit, especially when she shifted again, this time to get just a little closer, so that her head rested against his bare chest. She started drawing shapes on his upper arm with a gentle finger. "Was it—was it okay, luv?"
"It was perfect, Spike." Tara started to laugh. "You know, I always thought that was supposed to be the woman's question. Traditionally, you know, I would be the weaker partner, especially where I'm from."
"You're anything but weak, luv," Spike replied. "You're one of the strongest people I know."
She shifted slightly. "What about the Slayer?"
"There's strength, an' then there's strength, Glinda. You've got the sort that lasts." Spike smiled admiringly. "You're like one of those trees that stands for hundreds of years. Solid, you know."
Tara had never thought of herself as a tree; that had always been Willow. For the longest time, she had thought of herself as standing in Willow's shadow. To hear Spike speak of her like that, it caused Tara to wonder what led Spike to see in people things no one else saw. "I don't always feel all that strong."
"That's the beauty of it, luv," he replied easily. "People who know they're strong, they can beat you over the head with it, make you feel weak. You bring out the best in people."
"I didn't bring out the best in Willow." The words were out of Tara's mouth before she could pull them back in, and she immediately regretted her comment. The last thing a new relationship needed was a reminder of a previous one.
She had underestimated Spike, however. Underestimated his understanding of how the people you knew affected your life long past when they probably should. They both had their own special regrets, and for that reason they understood each other better than anyone else might. Tara knew that a part of the vampire's heart would always remain with Buffy, six feet under the topsoil. Spike knew that a part of Tara would always mourn her relationship with Willow. It was the way of things.
It was how they both loved.
"Willow brought out the worst in herself, Tara-luv," Spike replied quietly. "She was goin' a bit nuts before you came along. You weren't around for the 'my will be done' spell, but that nearly got all of us killed, an' no one really said anythin' about it."
Tara sighed. "I know, but sometimes—"
"You wonder if you could have stopped her," Spike finished for her. "You wonder if you'd just found the right words to say, at the right time, you might have been able to salvage it all. You wonder if it was somethin' in you, or if it really was her, but you're not quite sure, because you've always figured it was your fault in the past when somethin' went wrong. That 'bout cover it?"
She shook her head, unbelieving. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"How do you know me so well? I never would have guessed it."
"Special talent of mine," Spike replied quietly. "Doesn't always make people happy, though."
"I suppose not."
There was a long pause, and then Spike said quietly, "Can I ask you a question, luv?"
"I've asked you plenty," Tara replied. "I guess turn-about's fair play."
"Have you ever gone back? Gone home, I mean?"
"No." Tara fell silent, remembering. She had thought about it occasionally. As happy as she'd been to finally escape, Tara had wondered if she would be strong enough to go back and visit, to try and reclaim some kind of family. Right after her father and the others had found her, after Spike had proven that she wasn't a demon, she'd had no desire to see them again.
Ever.
That had been when Willow and the others had proclaimed themselves her family, and for a long time she'd believed it. Later, after things had fallen apart, Tara had pondered the nature of blood kin, and whether or not her father hadn't been right. Blood kin was always blood kin. A chosen family could break apart at any time.
In the end, Tara had decided that it didn't matter, that she was better off without them. Some families seemed to destroy or twist every member, and she'd refused to be twisted, refused to be ruined by their small-mindedness.
Perhaps Spike wasn't so far off when he compared her to a tree after all. "I never did thank you for that," Tara finally commented.
"For what?" Spike asked, having watched the play of emotions across her face. He saw all the answers there in her expressive eyes.
"For hitting me." She gave him an impish grin. "You proved I wasn't a demon."
He snorted. "That should have been obvious to anyone with eyes. Your git of a father actually had the Scoobies goin' for a mo."
Tara's face turned solemn. "But you saw right through him. You always do."
Spike stared at her. "You—he didn't—I mean, he wasn't—"
"He never touched me," Tara replied quietly. "Unless you count his belt. The belt made a fairly frequent appearance."
"It was your brother then," Spike said knowingly.
Tara didn't bother asking how Spike knew. At this point, she simply accepted that he seemed to pull the information out of her head. "He tried," Tara said. "It was one of the reasons I left."
In response, Spike pulled her closer to him, as though he could erase with his love the damage that her family had wrought. "If you want, I could eat them," he offered.
Tara giggled. "That's a lot more tempting than it probably should be." She stroked his face. "Thank you for being here, Spike. I'm so glad you came back to Sunnydale."
"Me too, Tara-luv. Me too."
~~~~~
Tim shifted from foot to foot as he stood outside Meredith's door. He was thanking his lucky stars that Tara had been able to stabilize Spike a bit. Not that he really believed that the vampire would go off on a rampage, but it had been entirely possible, and Tim wasn't sure he would have been able to stop Spike.
Then again, he wasn't completely sure that he wanted to.
Still, this little undercover mission could turn out to be rather interesting, and hopefully fruitful. If he could get proof that this Alan guy was responsible for the roofies, Meredith would get her story and the guy would probably get into some deep shit. Tim was very okay with that scenario.
Meredith's door swung open, and Tim had the satisfaction of watching her jaw drop. "Told you I could clean up."
She blinked. Tim had removed all his jewelry, so that none of his piercings were noticeable. He was wearing khakis and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, and his shaggy hair looked as though it had been styled. The tattoos were completely covered, and Meredith suddenly realized that he looked like an Abercrombie and Fitch model—only with more clothing. "Wow."
He grinned. "What can I say? I'm an undercover expert. I blend."
"You're definitely going to blend, Tim," Meredith replied, standing aside so he could enter. "In fact, you look like you belong to a frat house. I never would have thought it was possible."
Tim shrugged. "Just because I can fit in doesn't mean I want to. Is your friend here?"
"She said it would be a few minutes." Meredith gave him an amused look. "You do realize that you're going to be used as arm candy tonight, don't you?"
"I've got no problem with that," Tim said, flashing her another grin. Meredith was thinking that Emily was going to be thanking her for years to come.
Emily was, indeed, perfectly happy with her date. She had harbored the suspicion that Meredith was passing off some ugly guy on her for some reason, but Tim was anything but ugly. He wasn't even the typical punk that Meredith tended to hang out with.
In fact, Tim played the attentive date to the hilt, knowing that he needed Emily's cooperation if his mission was going to be successful. To his relief, no one looked at him askance, and when asked, Emily explained that he was from out of town. Tim was rather grateful for his accent, since it lent credence to her story.
At one point, Emily went off to talk to some of her sorority sisters, probably to discuss the qualities of their dates. Tim decided to circulate to see if he couldn't listen in on a few conversations.
People were talking about the usual kinds of things they did
at parties—deep philosophies that really weren't so deep, bands they'd seen
recently, cars they wanted to buy, girls they desired. Tim was well aware that
the people there were probably the future leaders of
And they had no idea what life was really like for the majority.
He spotted the guy that had been with Dawn that night they'd met up at the Bronze, and Tim drifted closer to their corner of the room, trying to be inconspicuous.
A moment later, Tim couldn't believe his luck. He watched as Alan passed a small plastic bag to another young man, with a secretive grin. Tim needed to know if he had anymore of the drug on him in order to make a decision. It would be easier to call the cops and let them deal with the prick, but it wouldn't do any good if Alan came up clean.
"What are you looking at?"
Tim started, realizing he'd been caught staring. "Nothing."
Alan's eyes narrowed. "That right?"
With a sinking feeling, Tim knew that the other man thought he'd seen the exchange. And then he had an idea. "Just a bit at loose ends, you know. The girl I was with took off to talk to some of her friends and kind of left me hanging."
There was a moment where Tim was sure Alan would just shrug and walk away. If that was the case, his other option would be to find a more surreptitious way of searching him. Of course, if Alan was selling roofies to his frat brothers, it could have very easily been another guy that took advantage of Dawn.
To his relief, Alan made a face. "Sorry about that, man."
Tim shrugged. "It's no big deal. This is just the first date, so I wasn't sure if it was going to work out anyway."
Alan raised an eyebrow. "You're letting her go pretty easy."
"There are other fish in the sea," Tim said, looking around the room appreciatively. "You here with somebody?"
Alan smirked. "Not yet. Like you said, there's plenty of girls here tonight." Seeing Tim's empty hand, he asked, "You want something to drink?"
He was about to refuse, but then decided that alcohol was an excellent way to lower someone's inhibitions. "Sure."
An hour later, Tim was grateful that Emily seemed content to hang out with her friends, because he was feeling like he'd been swimming in raw sewage. Alan was everything he hated—a bully, an elitist, and worst of all a chauvinist. He had no problem using a girl for his own pleasure and then leaving her high and dry—and he liked to brag about his conquests.
After Alan seemed sufficiently drunk enough, Tim decided the time was right to ask the key question. "So what do you do if they won't sleep with you?"
"What do you mean?" Alan said, his words slurring slightly. "They always want to sleep with me."
"But what if they play hard to get?" Tim asked patiently. "You ever just cut one loose?"
Alan scoffed vociferously. They'd found their way to the den area of the frat house so that the man could talk freely. "Not without getting what I wanted first. There are ways. There was this one girl—Dawn—" He looked around to make certain they weren't being overheard. "Can I trust you?"
It was about the stupidest question Tim had ever heard, but he let nothing show on his face except earnest interest. "Sure."
Alan fished around in his pocket and brought out a little plastic sack, just like the one Tim had seen earlier. "Drop one of these into a girl's drink, and she'll do anything for you. It loosens her up so she won't say no."
'She can't say no, you bastard,' Tim thought as he listened to the other man ramble on. He had a couple of choices. He could go after the guy right then. Tim knew he'd get a few hits in before anyone pulled him off. Of course, there was a good chance someone would call the cops, and given the fact that he was the outsider there, he'd be considered the instigator, Tim knew he would be the one to get arrested.
The other option was to call the cops and get him arrested. That seemed like the
better option at the moment.
Waiting until he had an opening, Tim informed Alan that he was going to visit the john and made good on his escape, relieved that he didn't have to listen to that shit anymore.
Tim made his way through the crowd, looking for Emily. Once he found her, he pulled her away from her friends, ignoring their titters. "I need you to do me a favor," he said in a low voice.
She frowned. "What?"
"There's a guy here with a pocket full of roofies. I want you to call the cops, tell them you saw him with them, and that you know he's planning on using them tonight." Tim's eyes bored into hers, and Emily looked a little frightened at his intensity. "Then we're going to get out of here."
Emily shook her head. "I can't. What if they ask—"
"Tell them you're worried about a friend, but you don't want her to be mad at you," Tim said, interrupting her. "Trust me. The cops will find a way to get in here. They'll MIP half the crowd, and then they'll search the guy with the evidence they got from the anonymous tip. Even if the evidence doesn't hold up in court, it'll be all over the papers, and that's all I really care about."
Emily frowned. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"When you've been where I have, you learn to know the law as well as the cops do," Tim said with a wry smile. "Will you do it?"
She frowned, thinking about it. The guy in question was president of the fraternity, and very popular on campus. He was known to be something of a player, but she'd never suspected him of using roofies to get what he wanted. Emily hadn't thought he would need to.
The very idea of someone drugging her and then—well, it freaked her out.
"I'll do it."
~~~~~
It had been a long, lonely week for Dawn. Other than going to classes and the occasional trip to the library or the Magic Box to study, she hadn't gone anywhere. She had also discovered that most of her friends were drinking buddies; there was no one other than Spike and Tara that she could think of to call and talk to about what had happened.
Unbeknownst to her, Dawn hadn't actually made any real friends in the last year or two. She could think of a few people from her freshman year that might have become true friends, but Dawn had let those relationships slide as she'd delved further into the party-girl scene. There might have even been people there that she could have counted on, but she hadn't tried to develop those friendships.
Now the only person she could think to call was Tim, but Dawn felt uncomfortable doing so. He had been really nice, but she was afraid to grow too dependent upon him, to appear too needy, especially after the way she'd treated him.
Dawn had thought about hanging out with Tara or Spike, but the few times she had been around them in the last few days, they had been totally immersed in each other. While she couldn't begrudge them their obvious happiness, it just seemed to highlight what a mess she had made of her own life.
She lay on her couch, curled up, letting the light from the TV flicker over her without really taking in what was playing. It was just reruns of shows she'd seen a hundred times, some of those times with her sister or her mom. Watching brought back memories Dawn would have rather left buried so that they didn't hurt quite so much.
Dawn wanted to cry, but she didn't have any tears left.
The soft knock on the door surprised her, and she looked through the peephole cautiously before unbolting the door. "What are you doing here?"
Tim shrugged. "Thought I'd stop by."
Dawn stared at him. His piercings were gone, and he was dressed nicely—really nicely. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled up halfway, revealing his inked arms. "Why do you look like you fell into the Gap?"
"I had a party to go to tonight," he said. "Can I come in?"
She blushed slightly. "Sure. I'm sorry. It's just—I'm a little tired."
"I'm surprised you're still awake," he commented.
"Sleep's been kinda hard to come by these last few days." Dawn sat on the couch, waiting until he was sitting next to her to ask, "Why did you come by, Tim?"
"The party I went to—" he began. "Spike asked me to go to. To find out what happened. I promised I'd give him the information, but I thought you had the right to be the first to know if you wanted."
"I asked Spike to tell me," Dawn said quietly. "If he found anything, I asked him to let me know. Did you—"
"The guy—Alan, right?—was there." Tim's voice was soft, gentle. "He was bragging about what happened, and he pulled out a bag of pills. I had someone call the cops. As far as I know, the cops are searching him right now. If nothing else, it's going to be in the school paper."
Dawn blanched. "Do they—will they know I—"
"Your name isn't in it, Dawn. The only thing people are going to be talking about is the fact that he has to drug a girl to get them to sleep with him." Tim smiled, trying to lighten the moment. "Maybe we'll get lucky and the cops will actually get a possession charge to stick."
Dawn shook her head. "It was really him," she whispered.
"Yeah, it really was." Tim hesitated and then put a wary hand on her shoulder, ready to snatch it back if it appeared as though he'd crossed a line. Instead of pulling away, Dawn leaned towards him, and Tim put his arms around her. "I'm so sorry, love."
Though her tears were all dried up, Dawn buried her face in his shoulder. She needed to be held, needed to feel someone's arms around her. In that moment, she missed her mom with an intensity she found shocking, given how much time had passed since Joyce's death. Dawn missed Buffy, too, knowing that her sister would have held her the same way Tim was doing now. Would have smoothed her hair back and promised her things were going to be okay, even if they both knew it was a lie.
She let Tim hold her, taking comfort in the embrace, even though it wasn't the same.
But it was something.