Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER PAIRING: Willow/Tara, Spike & Tara

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions.

CHAPTER CREDITS: Lyrics in the bar scene from "Too Drunk to Fuck" by the Dead Kennedys

AUTHOR'S CHAPTER NOTES: Here we go! This chapter is dedicated to my hubby (who is stuck having to hear about how Spike would do for me all the stuff that he complains about doing—Ha!) and my fellow readers/writers ginar369, A Dreamweaver, Darkfaerie18, cavemenftw, & hollowjb.
.

Okay, that was it. Spike didn't care how much he had loved Drusilla—she was not going to use Glinda against him.

He'd had another of those dreams, this time even stronger than ever. The good witch had been sitting with him in Hyde Park, circa 1875, nibbling on berries whilst he read poetry to her from his leather-bound journal. Unlike the others, she was deeply interested, captured by his use of verse. The look in her eyes broke his heart metaphysically as he viewed the scene while it happened, and he wanted desperately to wake up.

Now that he was awake, he could feel his soul and how that dream affected him. If he had been given such attention back then, how would his story have turned out? Would he still have met his fate in that dark alley five years later? Or would he have been long-dead, having spent his mortal life humbled by appreciation? He didn't know if those poems he was reciting to Tara had been the same ones he had written to Cecily; so many years had passed and so much suppression of that painful humanity had occurred that he honestly couldn't remember just how much of his mortal life he had obsessed over the ungrateful woman. But Tara hadn't seemed to mind either way. Her lips, plump and dreamy, were stained red with strawberries and blackcurrants, sometimes moving as though she had heard his verses before and was mouthing the words with him as he read. Something so very like Drusilla to do.

Spike ached, sending out a mental plea to his dark princess, wherever she was, to spare him from further torment. If she was coming for him, let her come; he wouldn't fight her. Just, enough with the witch. He missed Tara deeply, more than he thought he should have. His soul is what made it worse—now that he had that added dimension back, he could see and understand how she gave him chances the others didn't, how she related to him, trusted him. She trusted him to be a good man even when she knew he was soulless, a monster...

Please, Dru, let the bird go.

He could take Buffy. Dru could have her fun with that; Buffy gave as hard as she got, and he deserved whatever could be hurled at him. But Tara was an innocent.

Please, let her go.




"I found him. He's on the west-side," Tara spoke confidently in Willow's mind. She was brushing her dark blonde hair as she walked through her lover.

Willow shivered, not realizing the sensation was from Tara. Her thoughts had been pre-occupied with the energy from the Hellmouth ever since they had arrived in Cleveland.

"Huh?"

"Spike. He's west of here. Maybe 10 miles, maybe less."

"Oh! Yeah!" Willow spoke aloud. "Spike. West. Good."

Willow's hands were shaking around the thin paper coffee cup. It was now morning, and they were still at the Greyhound station. Enough of the other bus riders had just fallen asleep on the benches at the station that the witches figured they'd do the same and save some money instead of trying to find an affordable hotel for the night. While Willow slept, Tara had taken the time to reach out to Spike again. Now that they were on a Hellmouth—and in the same city as him—Tara found it much easier to gather the energy to connect with the vampire. She was confident they'd find him within the week. Interestingly, though, the witch had not felt the familiar tingle of a Slayer. Willow had been sure that Faith would be here, but Tara hadn't found any indications of her. She hoped that that had nothing to do with Spike. Tara knew that Spike has lost the cruel chip and that there had been some rough moments, but she still had faith (no pun intended) in him and in what she knew he could become. That summer without Buffy was all the proof she ever needed as to what kind of person (yes, he's a person) he is.

But Willow was acting odd. Even for Willow. Tara thought it was just nerves, but she felt something different coming off her lover. Something like static. Something she wasn't sure she liked.




Someone dropped a few coins in the jukebox and the vibrating sound of the Dead Kennedys slithered past the demons' heads.

.

Went to a party

I danced all night

I drank 16 beers

And I started up a fight


.

Krolik lit his cigarette off Spike's as they sat at the bar counter of the 5 O'Clock Lounge. The place was a dive, filled with a mix of demons and heavily-tattooed humans. The vampire and the Miquot preferred this bar to others because of the heavily-punk rock crowd, the cheap beer, and the fact that it was only a parking lot away from Spike's apartment. Couldn't get more convenient than that.

.

But now I'm jaded

You're out of luck

I'm rolling down the stairs

Too drunk to fuck

.

"You sick?" Krolik coughed out after a long drag.

Spike eyed the demon. His yellow skin looked beige in the dark, smoky haze of the bar. The shirt the Miquot was wearing bared his muscular arms, showing off a new tattoo he had gotten.

.

I like your stories

I like your gun

Shooting out cop tires

Sounds like loads and loads of fun

.

"You do that on purpose?" Spike moved his eyes quickly to the ink before bringing them back to Krolik's. He took a swig of piss-poor beer.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

.

But in my room

Wish you were dead

You bawl like the baby

In Eraserhead

.

The vampire's gameface appeared. "Looks a might bit familiar, mate."

The tattoo featured a lithe succubus with cascading locks. Not unlike Drusilla.

Krolik stretched his arm out and looked down at it. "Guess it does." He went back to his drink, stubbing out his cigarette on the counter.

.

I'm about to drop

My head's a mess

The only salvation is I'll never see you again

.

Spike shook off his demon guise and smoked. This whole Dru thing was wearing him out. "Not sick. Just not sleeping," he finally admitted.

Krolik smirked, running a strong hand over the mohawk-like reptilian spine on his head. "It's the shit you're drinking."

Spike frowned as he looked at his beer.

.

You give me head

It makes it worse

Take out your fuckin' retainer

Put it in your purse

.

"Not that. When was the last time you tasted a kill?"

The vampire grumbled.

"That's what I'm saying. If you were meant to live on pig's blood, you'd have been a fucking wolf."

.

Too drunk to fuck

You're too drunk to fuck

Too drunk To fuck

.

Krolik leaned back on his stool, sorting out all the humans in the bar. "How 'bout that one?" The Miquot's head nodded over to a hazy female approaching them, her long hair moving independently of the low-hanging smoke in the room. "If I were a vamp, I'd have my fangs buried deep in those juicy tits faster than..."

Spike didn't hear a word Krolik said after that. The woman they were gazing at looked like Tara.

He quickly stumbled out to the street to catch his breath and clear his head. But, doing so, he ran straight into someone on the sidewalk. Someone whose familiar gasp sent a shiver of fear through his cold body that nearly made his undead heart start beating again...

.





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