Spike was out on the covered porch of the flat he, Tara and Buffy were renting, leaning over the white, wooden railing and having a cigarette. He looked at the sun dwindling to nothing on the horizon. It was the color of a saffron thread, spilling over the oak trees and the small town slumbering down the hill. Though Spike couldn't walk out into broad daylight, he could stand the sunset without experiencing any burnt flesh, one of the many gifts he received from his sister.
The three had been in St. Charles for about two months living under the cover of false names. The elderly man who rented them the house knew Buffy and Spike as newlyweds Benjamin and Elaine Braddock. Their landlord had never met Tara and didn’t know that she shared the place. It was safer that way, should anyone ask about his tenants.
Before they’d settled in Missouri, he and the girls had been traveling across the country for the better part of a year, staying in hotel rooms and abandoned buildings. They were trying to evade capture while searching for something Giles had tried to accomplish before he was murdered; a way to make Buffy permanently undetectable. They knew the council would continue searching for Buffy as long as she was alive. Until her death, no other slayer would rise.
At first he, Buffy and Tara had gotten by on savings to pay for things. When their small stack of cash had been tapped, Buffy and Tara had pawned their jewelry. Spike had pleaded with them, especially Buffy, but she’d been adamant that surviving was more important than sentiment. Spike hated that she was being forced into sacrificing another piece of herself.
Buffy had decided to sell the invisibility ring because its rarity could fetch a fine price and because Tara had mastered several spells that would accomplish the same effect. Tara had also been able to cloak the Citroen. Whenever anyone looked at it they thought they were staring at a gray or white Toyota Camry of indeterminate year.
They’d gone to an infamous dealer in San Francisco who took both regular valuables and enchanted items. He was a Sloan demon named Joe Jones, which was a trio of plain names for a rather extravagant looking monster. Sloan demons looked like enormous toads with translucent, pinky flesh. Despite the fact that they only had four fingers, most passed as human by donning wigs and sitting in wheelchairs. The wig covered the superfluous second set of eyes they had swiveling on top of their heads and the wheelchair diverted any questions because most people didn't want to appear insensitive to a person with a disability.
Joe Jones paid them as fair a price for their heirlooms as could be expected and also gave them some invaluable information. The garnet ring Buffy wore on her index finger had been enchanted. Whoever had done it could see and hear the wearer of the gem any time he or she wanted.
Early on in their odyssey, Tara had used some notes in Giles’ diary to create talismans designed to thwart any tracking spells. Spike had assumed she’d gummed up the works because they’d been attacked three times by the Watcher’s Council. After the first time they were ambushed outside a Best Western in Raleigh, Spike had completely lost his shit. It was the first time he’d ever screamed at Tara and he’d reduced his gentle sister to tears. Buffy had to step in and defend Tara. In fact, his bossy Toy had ordered him out of the car and forced him to walk about a mile of dark highway before they picked him up. Afterward, he’d sat in the back seat alone, his soul feeling sick.
Luckily, they hadn’t thrown out the talismans because the objects had been expensive to make, and Tara was certain she could salvage the components for another spell, eventually. As they stood in the supernatural pawn shop, Spike took his sister’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Her magic had probably worked, had probably saved them from many more attacks. Spike decided he needed to apologize to Tara again; preferably bearing something highly caloric.
Jones held the garnet ring up to the light with his clammy, four-fingered hand and examined it with his jewelers loop.
“I don’t want that piece, seeing as it is ensorcelled, but I can send you to a fellow who’ll take care of the enchantment for you. Not only can he tell you who’s having you followed, he can reverse the spell so you can spy on the spyer and he can take these little nicks out of the silver, too,” Joe Jones had said.
The Sloan demon gave the ring back to Buffy and then wrote out the address with his oddly formal cursive script on the back of a brown, paper bag.
Spike, Buffy and Tara had found the place quickly. It was only a block away, with steps that led down from the street to a basement shop. Above the white, metal door had hung a red neon sign that read: Special Requests. They were buzzed in and the door opened into a dark work room. The walls were hung with more disparate crap than a TGI Fridays. All the spare bicycle parts, animal heads and bell jars were covered in a thick layer of soot. A man wearing a welding helmet came in from the back. He lifted the metal face mask and gave them a broad smile. His skin was soiled with powdery black, but his eyes were bright blue.
“Hi, I’m Duncan. Joe called and said you’d be by. Let’s have a look,” He said, holding out a hand encased in an elbow-length, loose, plastic glove.
Spike shook it and immediately wished he hadn’t; as he retracted his palm, Spike noticed it was covered in black grease. Tara dug a wet nap out of her purse and gave it to her brother, but the moist towelette had little impact.
Buffy eased Dawn's ring off her finger like she was unscrewing a bolt and then dropped it into Duncan’s filthy hand.
After a little magical fuss and bother, along with fifty bucks they couldn’t really spare, Duncan told them Wesley was the one who had enchanted the ring. Buffy had turned white at the news. The last remaining affection she had for Wesley Wyndham Price was burnt away with the knowledge that he’d installed what amounted to a magical video camera in the ring of her dead sister so he could monitor Buffy all the time.
That had been five months ago. Since then they hadn’t had to endure any more attacks from Council goons. There was no sign of Wesley, either, and Spike was relieved. Though he would’ve relished murdering the son-of-a-bitch, Spike would have hated to kill Wesley in front of Buffy. No matter what she said, Spike wasn’t certain she could come back from that.
After the rest of their money dwindled, they’d had to resort to theft. True, they were stealing from vampires and demons, but it still wasn’t the way Spike would have liked his sister or his girlfriend to live. Perhaps now that they were in one place he could get a night job, but he didn’t want to give up fighting alongside Buffy. Even though Buffy’s bosses were trying to kill her, she still took the calling very seriously. She could not abandon the world to fend off evil on its own. Spike hated and loved that about his Toy. Not only did he want to keep her safe, which was ironic given that she was definitely stronger than him, but he didn’t want to relinquish the exhilaration of being Buffy’s partner in crime, or rather, anti-crime.
Since they'd been on tour, Spike had killed not only demons but a person as well. Tara's magic had spared the lives of many council members by enabling them to escape without using brute force, and she was able to bring a few back from the brink with healing spells, but he'd killed at least one human being. Spike had snapped the neck of a Kevlar clad assassin who'd been closing on Buffy. Even though he hadn't drunk from the useless git, the killing had caused a near orgasmic reaction. It took everything in him not to back Buffy up against the wall and start fucking her in the middle of the battle zone.
Then he'd caught Tara's eye, and the feeling evaporated, leaving only the tang of shame.
Killing other vampires wasn't supposed to count as much against his soul, but it still felt the same. He got a rush from the kill and also a sense of guilt that never seemed to trouble Buffy. Still, fighting helped him quell his demon. A few times, when they were desperate for money, or when he was feeling particularly out of control of his blood lust, he'd drained some vamps before staking them. Buffy got jealous when he drained a female vampire, and sucking the life out of male vampires wasn't as satisfying, which was probably why Buffy got jealous. The last time he'd done it, Tara hadn't been protecting her mind, and it had made her incredibly sick. That night his sister only left her bed twice and that was to go to the bathroom to vomit.
It was the last time Spike had ever fed from another vampire.
He subsisted on animal blood, mainly. The only human blood he'd ever tasted was Buffy's, and it wasn't drawn from her in violence. She let him drink the blood her body expelled every month. It should have been grotesque but it felt so incredibly pure and right. Buffy was everything in the universe, all he needed to exist. Drinking from her made his skin warm, like a living being and Buffy would cling to him, loving the heat. They'd fall asleep like that, with his head between her legs after lapping at her for hours. It made Spike feel utterly complete. They'd get their own hotel room during that time and wouldn't leave it; Tara would not even bother trying to talk to either of them unless there was an emergency. He was fairly certain that even though she'd become nearly expert at blocking his moods, Tara spent those three days in a coma of meditation.
Spike inhaled deeply and savored the four-thousand-seventy-two chemicals impregnated in the smoke of his black, clove cigarette. The warm air swept across his bare chest. Summer was drawing to a close, but the heat was still extraordinary. It took a lot for him to feel hot these days, only Buffy's blood seemed to make him warm. Even though the temperatures were nearing one hundred, he was comfortable. Tara was the same way, hardly breaking a sweat in her long skirts and the sweeping shawls she’d grown to need as protection from the sun. Buffy was the only one suffering with the weather, so he’d sprung for an air conditioner for their bedroom. It wasn’t such a bad thing for Spike at all. When Buffy wasn’t running around in barely-there clothes, all she wanted to do was lie in bed, he thought with a smile.
Buffy hated that he’d started smoking, which was why she hadn't joined him to watch the sunset. Despite her opposition to the expense and the second hand smoke, she understood why he'd taken it up. Spike didn’t want to forget how to breathe and the habit helped retain his muscle memory, the burning in his chest was a little like feeling alive. He inhaled the last of the smoke. Then Spike stubbed out his cigarette on the railing and went back into the house.
Spike took the steps up to the small room he shared with Buffy. Buffy was sprawled out on the dark red comforter of their double bed in only her black panties. Tara had been at the Magic Shop on Main Street where she worked, so he and Buffy had made use of their privacy in his most favorite way. As part of their daily ritual, Buffy had shaved his face for him; she was his mirror now. Then they’d made love in the shower. Afterward, he'd painted her toenails a deep shade of navy called Midnight Blue. The foot rub led to a back rub which led back to bed.
He'd left her there for a few minutes to suck down his cancer stick, long enough for Buffy to begin reading Giles’ diary again. She looked it over every night like a religious person might a prayer book. When she saw Spike, Buffy’s eyes lit up. She put the black ribbon that had once adorned Spike’s first gift to her into the place where she’d left off and set the volume on the bedside table.
“I think I might have found something new,” Buffy said.
She was on her stomach with her legs spread, her freshly painted toes swaying back and forth through the air.
“You always say that, love,” Spike said.
He undid his fly as he walked to the bed. Buffy's eyes watched his hands.
“Oh no, way too sore,” she said.
Spike sat down beside Buffy and kissed her shoulder.
“But you made me cum twice and I only got you once,” Spike said with a pout.
He kissed her back and she made a happy, little sound.
“Give me a couple hours,” she said.
Buffy bent her arm back and touched the side of his face as he traced little circles on her skin with his nose.
“Can be gentle,” he said.
“You might start out that way…”
“I swear to you, soft, little kitten licks and my tongue is cold,” he said, lightly running his chilly fingers along the round of her hips to her inner thighs. Her ass clenched, a not entirely voluntary reaction and he grinned. She twisted her head back and looked at him with mischief.
“You're trying to trick me,” she said.
“Never,” he said, and then planted a kiss at the base of her spine.
“Spike, I want to talk to you about something,” Buffy said.
The way she spoke made him still. He hovered over her back, wondering about the cause of her serious tone.
“What is it, love?” he asked, cautiously.
“I want to get the tattoo, I want to be bound to you,” Buffy said.
Spike flipped her over and fell on top of her, he stared into her eyes.
“Your soul could end up in hell, Buffy.”
“If I’m turned, I don’t want you to have to kill me, I don’t want to hurt you or Tara,” Buffy said.
“I don’t know if it can be done.”
“Try, I want this, Spike. I’ve lost too many people,” she said.
He wanted it, too, more than anything. Spike studied the set of her narrow jaw, her green eyes that looked so much younger these days. He could make those eyes sparkle and laugh now. It had been a turbulent year but during that time Buffy had regained a bit of who she used to be. She had hope. He grazed her shiny hair with the flat of his hand and stroked her cheek with curled fingers.
“We'll ask Tara when she gets home,” Spike said.
**
By the time Tara returned, Spike and Buffy had showered again and put on clean clothes, Buffy in a little denim skirt and yellow tank top and Spike in his standard jeans with black t-shirt ensemble. They were lounging in the living room, holding one another on the blue, plaid couch that had come with the flat. Buffy always said feeling his skin against hers cooled her down when it was hot. Spike wasn’t sure quite how to take that, but he liked cuddling with her anyway. Neither moved to greet Tara as she locked the door. Tara draped her black, fringed shawl over the banister of the front steps. Spike looked away from the television toward his sister.
“Hello, cutie, you're timing’s spot on, 'Innocent Blood'
just started,” Spike said.
“Ooh, Anne Parillaud. She’s like a vampire Amelie in that movie,” Tara said, a dreamy look touching her enormous, green eyes.
Spike smiled at hearing her uncluttered speech. Tara's stammer had completely vanished over the past few months. Spike liked to think it was at least one positive effect of the soul spell, being that she had to contend with light sensitivity and fits of rage. Tara hurried over to the couch where Buffy was lying against Spike’s chest. They moved their legs up and let Tara sit down before plopping all four of them back down in her lap.
“Yeah, and she’s into handcuffs. Makes her the perfect woman,” Spike said.
Tara nodded in agreement. Buffy looked up at him with a charming pout on her lips.
“I thought I was the perfect woman?” she asked.
“Sorry, love. Sure you’ve got the face of an angel, super-strength, brains, wit and an incredible body, but you’re not French. Out the door you go,” Spike said.
Buffy smacked his chest and then cuddled against him again.
“Look at all the Pittsburgh, it makes me homesick,” Buffy said.
“Me too,” Tara said, sadly. Spike knew she was thinking about Penny. He tapped his sister with his foot.
“It gets better, wait until Don Rickles explodes,” Spike said.
“Are you two going out to patrol after dinner?” Tara asked.
“Naturally,” Buffy said.
She looked up at Spike and he met her gaze. Buffy took a deep breath.
“Tara, how would you feel if I became part of your family in, like, a more official way?” Buffy asked.
Tara stared at them, her eyes somehow larger than they were a second before.
“Are you getting married?” she asked.
“We were thinking of something a bit more permanent,” Spike said.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter skips ahead a year.
Chapter End Notes:
Benjamin Braddock is the main character in "The Graduate." His girlfriend was Elaine Robinson.