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.

Dedication: For Speaker-to-Customers, who said he wanted me to try my hand at Spara, and for Heather, who thinks I can write anything, bless her heart.  

Chapter 29

"Love is the immortal flow of energy that nourishes, extends, and preserves. Its eternal goal is life." ~Smiley Blanton

Dawn could feel Tim trembling against her, and he kept muttering apologies for his weakness. "I'm sorry, Dawn."

It was about the fifth time he'd uttered those words, and she was getting just a little tired of hearing it. "It's not your fault," she replied. "Xander was being a total jerk."

"Yeah, but we were supposed to go out to dinner, and—"

She halted them both. "Stop it right now, Tim. You don't have anything to be ashamed of. It was a flashback, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's—it was the worst one in a while."

Dawn sighed. "Well, it's no wonder. It's dark, Xander grabbed you from behind—he couldn't have recreated the circumstances better if he tried."

Tim let out a shaky breath, acknowledging the truth of that statement. The playful mood from earlier had been thoroughly broken. In fact, if things went the way they typically did, he was going to be jumpy and out of sorts for days. Looking over his shoulder constantly and waiting for the next attack. "Look, Dawn, I'm not going to be much fun to be around. Maybe you should—"

"I told you to stop, Tim," Dawn said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."

He sighed. "So what do you think we should do?"

"We're going back to your place," she replied. "Then, we're going to order take-out and watch movies. I've seen your DVD collection. There's plenty to choose from."

Tim wasn't sure how to reply. He felt pathetically grateful for her willingness to stick around, and he had no idea how to tell her that. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Dawn responded. "You need me right now, whether you know it or not."

"I do know it." Tim glanced over at her. "Spike's the only one who ever—"

"Spike's not the only one who cares about you." Dawn looked up at him. "You were strong for me, Tim. It's time to let me return the favor."

"Okay," he agreed softly. "I can do that."

~~~~~

Giles took Xander to the only place he knew they wouldn't be disturbed—the Magic Box. The shop was closed, and the Watcher knew he need not worry about Tara or Spike walking in on them. In fact, he had the suspicion that the vampire would be avoiding Xander like the plague.

At least, Giles hoped that Spike would be avoiding Xander. Otherwise, he wouldn't give the younger man good odds on survival. "You want to tell me what that was all about?" he asked, putting a cup of coffee down in front of him.

They sat at a table nearly identical to the one he'd had when the store first opened. It brought back memories for both of them to be sitting there. Xander stared down into his cup. "I don't know, Giles. I saw that kid go for Dawn, and I thought—"

"He has a name, Xander," Giles corrected gently. "And Tim wouldn't hurt her. I think you know that."

"It's all different since Buffy died," Xander admitted in a low voice. "Willow left, and Tara—she's with Spike now. I thought maybe Willow would come back, but she's not going to, is she?"

"I dare say not," the other man admitted. "Sunnydale isn't a good place for Willow anymore. Perhaps it isn't a good place for you either."

Xander frowned. Giles was voicing some of the same thoughts that had been going through his own head for the last few months. Granted, he'd soon diverted them into thinking about how if Spike left everything would be better for everyone, but the fact remained that he'd thought about leaving Sunnydale.

The prospect frightened him more than he could say.

"I don't know, Giles."

Giles sighed. He had thought he'd outgrown the parenting role he'd taken on, back when he was the librarian. It was one of the reasons he'd returned to England, so that he didn't have to be a father-figure any longer. He had convinced himself that they didn't need him, not really.

The Watcher had been right to a certain extent. There had been those in the group who hadn't really needed looking after any longer. What Giles hadn't counted on was the fact that no one ever truly outgrows the need for a parent. There is always a certain comfort in the sense of security that someone is looking out for your best interests. For Xander, that security had been shaken with Buffy's death, and then had been demolished more surely with Willow's departure.

The young man needed someone to tell him what he needed to do.

"I think you need to get out of town for a while," Giles said. "If only to give Spike some time to cool off. I have no doubt that if you run into him in the near future, you may present more of a temptation than he can handle."

Xander glowered. "Spike can kiss my ass," he grumbled. "I didn't—"

"You attacked an innocent boy," Giles interrupted, his tone severe. "That is not something to be treated lightly. What would have happened had Spike not been there to pull you off?"

Xander couldn't admit that he would have released Tim immediately, not without completely acknowledging his guilt in the matter. "I wouldn't have hurt him," he finally mumbled. There was a long pause while Giles waited for him to continue. "I never meant to hurt anyone, Giles," he finally whispered. "I just—I wanted things to be like they were. I thought if you—if Willow came back..."

He looked up, his dark eyes meeting Giles' for the first time. "It's not ever going to be like it was, is it?" Xander asked plaintively. "They're gone, and they're not coming back."

"No, they're not coming back, Xander." Giles looked at the other man with compassion. "They've moved on, and it's time you do the same."

Xander shook his head. "How? I don't know how." Then his shoulders started shaking from tears long repressed. "Tell me how, Giles. God, I miss them so much."

Giles had no words, and so he simply sat and watched over Xander as he wept for the friends he'd lost, for the life that had passed him by, for the past that was now out of reach.

~~~~~

They had reached the house, both of them silent on the walk back. Tara knew that Spike had badly wanted to hurt Xander, that his protective instincts were driving him to exact revenge. She understood, of course. The expression on Tim's face had told her exactly how much he'd been hurt. When a person had been scarred as badly as he had been, it was all too easy to re-open old wounds.

At the same time, Xander had obviously been drinking, and he wasn't in full control of himself. He'd been moving towards doing something stupid for the last few months now, but he hadn't done any lasting damage. Or, rather, he hadn't caused any new damage.

She hoped.

Still, Spike was wound up and ready to fight, with her or anyone else who got in his way, and so she stayed silent.

Tara sat on the couch and watched as he paced the living room, finally speaking up. "Why don't you sit down, Spike?"

"Can't," he replied shortly. Spike stopped dead-still in the middle of the floor. "I'm goin' out. Don't wait up."

Tara stood. "Spike, your shoulder—"

"Is fine." His voice was a virtual snarl. "I need to kill something." Spike was gone a moment later, and Tara knew that this was one of those times that she couldn't ask him to stay, not without risking their relationship.

Spike might be willing to do almost anything for those he loved, but he was not quite a tame vamp. Not always.

After a few seconds of dithering, however, Tara reminded herself that she was a full-fledged witch in her own right, and fully capable of taking care of herself on patrol. It was stupid to sit around worrying about the vampire when she could do something about it.

She hurried out of the house after him, and was thankful that Spike wasn't moving nearly as quickly as he was might have. She caught sight of his dwindling figure, and rushed to catch up with him. "Spike!"

He stopped to wait for her, but his face resembled a thundercloud. "I don't need a babysitter."

"This isn't about you needing a babysitter," she said tartly. "This is about you needing me."

"Don't need anyone at the moment, Glinda," Spike barked. "What I need is space."

Tara knew that he meant it. If she was going to be wise about this, she'd back off and let him have his space. She would wait until he came to her.

This time, however, Tara really didn't want to be wise. She wanted to keep him in one piece.

"You're not fully healed," she pointed out.

Spike actually growled at her. "I've been takin' care of myself for over a hundred years! I appreciate your concern, but I just need you to back off."

"I'm not backing off," Tara shot back. "What happens if you get hurt? Have you thought about what it would do to me to lose you? I need you!"

She had hinted at it in the past week, gently reminded him that she wanted him around, but Tara was tired of subtleties. Her emotion was raw and real and more powerful than any she'd felt in a very long time. Walking away from Willow for a second time had nearly killed her. Losing nearly everything and everyone she'd held dear in one way or another had cut her more deeply than she'd ever admitted.

Tara understood that Spike needed his space, time to deal with the anger that watching Xander attack Tim had engendered. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if Spike wasn't also running from her because he was uncomfortable letting her see just how angry he was.

He'd told her he was a monster, and that she needed to accept that. Tonight, Tara needed to see it, because she had the feeling that it was the monster that would keep him safe.

Spike was torn between staying and going. He knew that he could run fast enough to lose her. There was no reason that she should see him like this—when he was so close to losing control.

Spike didn't like it when he was unable to protect those he loved.

In a perfect world, Xander would have kept pushing, would not have broken off his attack, and Spike would have been able to inflict some damage without feeling guilty. In a perfect world, Xander would have been the bad guy, the enemy.

This wasn't a perfect world.

Spike hated that his soul could feel sympathy with the other man, could understand how the loss of Buffy—and Willow—might make him a little crazy. It angered him that he couldn't hate Xander, that life wasn't black and white, that there was nothing he could do to make it so. Spike wanted to hate him, wanted to hurt him, and he couldn't do either.

And now, Tara wouldn't let him hurt anything else.

"You don't need me around while I'm this angry, Tara," Spike warned. "I'll hurt you."

"Weren't you the one who told me you were a monster?" she demanded. "I can handle it."

Spike vamped out. "You sure about that?"

In response, Tara kissed him, fangs and all.

It wasn't actually all that different than kissing Spike when he was wearing his human face, because it was still Spike. Her fingers explored the ridges and bumps of his forehead, her tongue tentatively traced his fangs.

She could hear him groan, and she knew that if they did this it was going to be a wild ride, one where neither of them was in control. It was a frightening prospect.

It was also freeing.

Spike pulled back, staring at her, still not certain that this was what they needed to be doing. He was scared to death of hurting her.

"If you need blood, you can have mine," she said, meeting his gaze with a strength he had known was there but had never seen.

He swallowed hard. "You sure, pet?" It was a plea and not a challenge this time. It was a bridge Spike had never crossed with Buffy, something she had never allowed him to do. The idea that Tara might let him taste her made him want to run—and it made him want to worship at her feet.

It was, in a sense, the point of no return. The point where this relationship became distinct from every other relationship he had ever had.

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," Tara replied. "If you need to unleash the demon tonight, we do it at my place. In my bed."

His heart would have beaten its way out of his chest if it still beat. Spike nodded slowly. "If that's what you want."

"I want you," Tara replied simply. "That's all."

It was enough.

~~~~~

They watched Monty Python because it was silly, and they both needed to laugh. They ate sweet and sour pork and lo mein and egg rolls until they were both full. "Do you want to go to sleep?" Dawn finally asked after the third movie. It was either very late or very early, and Luz was already asleep next to the couch.

Tim shook his head. "Nightmares," was all he said, but the one word was more than enough. Dawn could understand. For months after Buffy had died, she had dreamed of having to go identify the body. In the dream the woman on the slab had sometimes been her sister, and sometimes her mother.

It had always been horrible.

It was too soon, Dawn knew. She was done jumping into sex, and yet she thought it might be something he needed. That maybe she could give Tim something that no one else could. That, maybe, this was what making love was all about—letting the other person know just how wonderful they really were.

She didn't say anything; she just lifted up her head from where it rested on his shoulder, and she kissed him. When he started to respond, Dawn moved to straddle his waist, putting her hands on either side of his face and deepening the kiss.

After a few minutes, Tim's hands slipped under her shirt. She could feel his calloused palms, and the very roughness was erotic—yet another sensation in the overwhelming mixture. It was the scent of his soap, the feel of his skin, the strength that lay in him.

Dawn realized that her love for him was vast—a deep-seated need that went down to her bones.

Her hands got busy undoing the buttons of his shirt, and Tim broke away. "We don't have to do this."

"Don't you want to?" she asked.

He blinked. "More than anything, but you don't have to—"

"That's why I want to," she replied. "I love you."

Tim realized he wasn't breathing and started again. "You—"

"I love you." There those three little words were again, and this time she said them louder and with more emphasis, as though she realized that he might have trouble believing his ears.

He took a deep breath again and took the plunge. "I love you too."