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 3
"It is easier to forgive an enemy than it is to
forgive a friend." ~William Blake
Tim was used to waking up in new places and different beds. Waking up in Tara's guest room was rather pleasant. He'd noticed the night before that her place smelled fresh, like herbs, and she had been as welcoming as anyone he and Spike had met on their travels.
He trusted his nose. Tim appreciated a place that smelled sweet and clean; he'd been in plenty of places that didn't.
It was strange, however, to stumble out to the kitchen and find Tara brewing coffee, and she greeted both him and Luz with a warm smile. "Did you sleep alright?"
"Yeah, thanks." Tim watched her warily. He wasn't used to this sort of treatment, although it was appreciated. "Uh, do you have a dish or something I could use? I've got food for Luz in the car, but..."
"I'll find something," Tara replied. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Please." Tim ordered the dog to stay, and she flopped down under the table with a heavy sigh, which made Tara chuckle.
When Tim came in with a bag of dog food, Tara was scratching an appreciative Luz behind the ears while the dog tried to lick her hand. "She's a good dog."
"She is," he agreed, pouring the dog food into the dish that Tara had set out. "Spike didn't want to keep her, but I convinced him to bring her with us when we left New York."
"Is that where you're from?" Tara asked.
Tim shrugged. "Born and raised."
Tara reflected that she should have known from his accent, but the young man had been largely silent up to now. His dark hair was cut short, although it still managed to look shaggy. Bright yellow-green eyes watched her warily, deep-set in a swarthy face. He had some Italian blood, if Tara didn't miss her guess. There was pain there, more than seemed possible for a young man of no more than twenty.
Her eyes were drawn of their own accord to his stomach, where an intricate design was etched in color into his skin. Tim scratched his head self-consciously. "I can put on a shirt."
Tara shrugged. "If you want. It doesn't bother me."
"Okay." He shifted from foot to foot, taking the cup of coffee she held out, looking everywhere but at her. Tara just watched him, taking in the tattoos and piercings—the tough image and vulnerable eyes. In that, at least, Tim reminded her of Spike.
"Do you want breakfast?"
"Uh, if you've got something handy. I don't want to put you to any trouble."
Tara smiled. "It's no trouble. I enjoy cooking."
"Okay then." Tim sat down with his coffee, watching Tara intently. "How long have you and Spike known each other?"
"A few years," she replied, beginning to whip up the pancake batter. Tara paused to think, trying to come up with a more exact timeframe. "Actually, we first met eight years ago."
"Oh." Tim wondered what it was that had brought Spike and this gentle woman together, how they had known each other, why the man they'd seen at the shop had been so willing to kill him.
"He punched me in the nose."
"Oh." He blinked, trying to imagine that.
Tara smiled at his tone. "Spike did it to prove I wasn't a demon. You know about the chip?"
"The chip?" Tim asked. He really knew next to nothing about Spike. The few times he'd tried to ask questions, the vampire had shut him down completely, and Tim was too grateful for everything Spike had done for him to push it.
"It kept him from hurting humans," Tara explained. "Before he had his soul."
Tim did know about the soul. Spike had to give him some explanation for why other vampires wanted to munch on him and he didn't. "That's kind of cool," he commented. "So you guys were friends then?"
"No." Tara frowned. "Spike wasn't really friends with anyone except Dawn or Buffy. It was more that we had mutual friends."
"Tellin' all my secrets now, Glinda?" Spike asked, ambling into the kitchen. He tossed a shirt at Tim's head. "Doubt the girl wants to see all your pretty pictures, lad."
Tim frowned. "She said she didn't mind," he replied, pulling the shirt over his head anyway.
"I don't mind," Tara said, a smile hovering around the edges of her lips.
"She's making breakfast," Tim pointed out.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "I make breakfast."
"Once in a blue moon."
"So?"
"Tara's making breakfast."
"Rounds or funny shapes?" Tara asked, interrupting the little spat. She was trying (unsuccessfully) to hide a grin. Spike and Tim sounded like brothers, which she found highly amusing.
Tim frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Rounds or funny shapes?" Tara repeated patiently. "Hasn't anyone ever made funny shaped pancakes for you before?"
"No one's ever made me pancakes before," Tim replied. "Except in restaurants where you don't get a choice."
"Spike didn't make pancakes for you?"
"I make eggs," Spike defended himself. "And waffles."
"Eggo waffles," Tim pointed out.
"Then you need to have funny shaped pancakes," Tara decided. "Dawn always thought they tasted better that way."
"Alright," Tim agreed, willing to try anything.
Tara started pouring the batter into the pan, glancing back at Spike. "I thought I'd call Dawn this morning and invite her for dinner tonight."
"Whatever," Spike said, rather ungraciously.
Tim frowned. "Are we staying?"
"For a while," Spike said. "Seems I'm needed for the moment."
Tim wasn't sure how he felt about that. Staying in New Orleans had been one thing; there were plenty of people and lots of things to do there. Here in Sunnydale the options were much more limited. "We gonna have to find a place to stay?"
"You both can stay here for as long as you need," Tara offered. Then, looking at Tim, she said, "If you want a job for a while, I could use some help in the Magic Box. I'm running it alone right now."
It wasn't as though Tim had never worked, although his jobs were never of the type that were strictly legal. On the other hand, he wanted to get some more work done on his tattoos, and that required ready money.
Plus, there was the fact that he wanted to be able to help Spike for once, rather than relying on the vampire for everything.
"That could be alright," he allowed, glancing over at Spike, who shrugged.
"Do what you like, Tim," Spike said. "You do anyway," he muttered under his breath.
Tim rolled his eyes. "Just because you think tattoos are stupid—"
"I never said that," Spike replied, his voice raising just a bit. It was obvious to Tara that the two had had this conversation a number of times before. "I just pointed out that you have to live with them for the rest of your life."
"Which might not be that much longer," Tim replied. Tara noticed that argument shut Spike up quickly, although she could see the flash of pain in the vampire's eyes.
Spike got up from the table abruptly. "Think I'll catch a few more hours sleep if you two are leavin'." The slamming of the bedroom door punctuated his comment.
"You shouldn't say things like that," Tara said quietly.
Tim glanced up at her. "What?"
"You shouldn't say things like that," she repeated. "Spike cares about you."
"Spike took me in because he felt like it was his responsibility," Tim stated bluntly. "He'd have left me behind a long time ago if I hadn't followed him."
Tara shook her head, touching the boy gently on the cheek. So tough—so vulnerable. "Spike doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do," she said quietly. "That much hasn't changed."
~~~~~
Dawn entered the Magic Box in something of a funk. Well, it was probably a hangover, but she'd needed to have some fun the night before, and the jello shots had seemed like a good idea at the time. It just figured that Tara would pick today to have dinner, when Tara would take one look at her and know she'd been drinking.
Tara was really the only one who cared one way or the other at this point, of course. Giles and Willow—who might have said something—were in merry old England, doing their own thing. Now that Buffy was gone, there was nothing keeping them here in Sunnydale. And Xander had his own problems with drowning his sorrows. In fact, he probably would join her if he could ever get over the fact that he was drinking with Buffy's little sister.
Tucking her hair behind her ears impatiently, Dawn blew out her breath, steeling herself for the lecture she knew was coming.
Except that Tara was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, a guy about her own age lounged behind the counter, a worn paperback in his hand. He glanced up as the bell above the door rang and smiled at her a little uncertainly. "Can I help you?"
Dawn found herself unexpectedly angry that Tara had hired someone to work in the Magic Box without even saying anything to her. The witch had asked her if she wanted the job just the week before, and Dawn had turned her down flat, but she hadn't expected Tara to go out and find someone else. "Where's Tara?"
"In the back, I think," he replied, running a hand through his hair. Dawn thought he might have been cute, except for all the tattoos he had. The piercings—one through his eyebrow, both ears and one right below his lower lip—were cool, though. "Do you need help finding something?"
"I need to find Tara," Dawn replied huffily. "She's a friend."
"Oh, okay." Tim knew this girl was angry, though he had no idea why. "I'll see if I can find her. Luz, stay," he ordered, and walked toward the back.
Dawn watched him go, admiring the way his ass looked in jeans. He might make for an interesting time.
Tara followed him out a few moments later, and her warm greeting dimmed a bit as she noticed Dawn's red eyes and pallor. "Hey, Dawnie. How are you?"
"I'm fine," Dawn said, a note of impatience in her voice. "Really. How are you?" She glanced over at Tim, who had ensconced himself behind the counter again and was making a serious effort to ignore their conversation.
"I'm good," Tara replied easily. "I have some news. Spike's back in town."
For one, brief moment, Dawn's heart leapt. And then she remembered that she was supposed to be pissed off at him for leaving as he had. "So what?"
Tara frowned. "Dawn—"
"He left, Tara," she said quickly. "He should have stayed gone."
"He still cares," Tara said quietly, pulling her away from the counter. "Besides, you don't know everything, Dawnie. Spike had his reasons for leaving."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Right. Everybody has a reason to go. Well, it's just too bad that he didn't see fit to fill me in."
Tara frowned at her, disappointment sparking in her eyes. It was an expression Dawn was getting used to. "Then maybe you should give him a chance. Spike's going to be around for a while."
"Oh, really?" Dawn said. "Until when? Until he gets tired of Sunnydale and leaves without saying anything again? Forget it, Tara, I don't want to see him."
"You don't know him anymore," Tim spoke up from behind the counter, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. "You don't know anything about him."
Dawn stared at him. "He left me and my sister when we needed him. That's all I need to know."
Tim frowned, wanting to reply, and not knowing what to say. "You don't know him," he repeated.
"And you do?" Dawn asked archly, angrily. Like she needed some punk kid to tell her how to feel about Spike.
Tim was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this girl was a bitch and that Spike really didn't need her attitude. "Considering that I've lived with him for the last five years, yeah."
Dawn was pissed off—and jealous. Spike was her friend; he'd been her surrogate brother at one time. The fact that he'd been taking care of someone else, when Buffy might have used his services, really made her angry. If Spike had stayed in Sunnydale, the Slayer might not have been killed. "Fine, whatever. I don't want to see him."
"Come to dinner tonight, Dawn," Tara said, and there was a calm command in her voice. "We'll be eating at seven."
Dawn looked away, biting her lip, torn between telling Tara she could go to hell and obeying. The witch was the only one who even pretended to look after her anymore, and so she was hesitant to brush her off completely. "I'll see you at seven," Dawn finally said, turning to sweep out of the shop.
Tim watched her go and then turned to Tara. "Is she always like that?"
"She's had a rough time."
The boy frowned. "So what? There are other people whose lives suck, and they don't act that bitchy."
Tara sighed. That was true enough. She herself had
her own burdens to bear, her own pain to deal with, and Dawn seemed bent
on ignoring everyone's stuggles but her own. Rightly or wrongly, Tara knew
that Dawn would have to let go one of these days.