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

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

AUTHOR'S CHAPTER NOTES: I absolutely love the idea of Spike and Tara being friends and always felt that if she had lived longer on the show, they'd have been confidantes. So, hopefully you share my sentiments. Or, if not, hopefully you can tolerate it enough to continue reading! :)
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"Spike!"

The vampire's eyes were wide, afraid, angry. "You! You've been doing this!" He wanted to shove her away and hide.

"What? No!" Willow reached out to him. "We've been trying to find you!"

"We?"

Willow's hands were on Spike now, feeling him in amazement that he was real. Like, really real. "Me and Tara."

His world was being turned inside-out right there in the street. He shook his head. "I think I need to lie down for a bit." His hand went to his eyes painfully.

"Please! Wait!" Willow cried. This was not how she imagined their meeting. Panic rose in her until she realized that he was leading the way to his home, the building next-door.



"What did you do?" Spike asked Willow. His voice was shaky, and he knew it. Half angry, half amazed, he held his hands up to mirror Tara's ghostly ones before him. This was, to him, too much like Buffy's resurrection.

"Nothing!" Goddess, when will everyone stop blaming me for things they can't explain?

Tara hadn't said a word since she led Willow to that bar. Even though she knew Spike was "alive," she still couldn't really believe that there he was, himself, corporeal, soulful, chipless. She concentrated on him, on his hands that were held up before her. Her fingers crackled.

Spike couldn't believe he'd see Glinda again in his waking hours. She was lacking that thick sound of a pulse, but the scent of her—oh, there was no mistaking it. Heavy sandalwood and earth, sunshine and rain; it filled his sensitive nose, and he breathed her in. Remembering that trick again from his days as a spectre, he concentrated on her, on her hands that were held up before him. His fingers reached out to entwine with hers.

And each felt the other.

Tara gripped Spike's fingers tight, looking at him in awe. But Spike tore his hands away suddenly. The absence of touch was shocking, but only for a split-second. Because Spike had meant only to pull her into his arms.

He held her tight, a combination of "thank you" and "I never thought I'd see you again."

Willow watched the flickers of magic crackle off of them, knowing that they both must be concentrating hard. She smiled to herself. We did it. We found him.



Buffy dusted a nest of vamps half-heartedly. She was feeling a bit like she did when Willow had brought her back from the dead. Like something got left behind.

Only, this time, she knew what it was.

Her eyes went to her hand as she walked back to the apartment. She had left Spike's ring on today in the hope that it would make her feel alive again, like he always had. But the conversation she'd had with Angel the other day still haunted her, made her ache, and reminded her that her heart had been left in that crater that was Sunnydale.



Spike made Willow spill the whole story, leaving no detail out. He'd spent enough time with the Scoobies (and Giles, the stuffy tosser) to know that nothing that Red dabbled with was trivial. Everything she had ever dealt came fraught with consequences. So, straight away, he wanted to know every move she made so he could prepare himself for the fallout. As she spoke, Spike was able to pull some threads together. The "storm" Gar had told Spike was brewing at the Hellmouth—he could put money on it being because of the magic used to search for him. That Grrr'Rr thing? The sudden appearance (and then disappearance) of Prekians? The burning pain of his soul? Oh, he could understand those things now. Damn witch.

Willow yawned after her tale. Tara ran a transparent hand through the girl's hair. That made Spike soften a bit. He couldn't harbor so much anger towards her—hell, if anyone would know how Buffy was doing, it was Red.

He'd had no idea if she had somewhere to stay, so he offered her the small bed in his second room. His apartment had been Maria's once, and she had left behind some things in the small office room next to the bedroom. Spike had little use for the room since he had neither roommates nor guests. Currently, it housed the spare furniture and his weapons chest.

"It's not much to look at, but you're welcome to it," he said.

Willow hugged him gratefully, nearly falling asleep in his arms. Tara was nowhere to be seen.



Once he had safely put Willow to bed, Spike grabbed a bottle of Jameson and a pack of cigarettes, then locked himself away in his room. This was too much for one night. He opened the window, letting the cool spring air drift in. Slipping out of his clothes and under his sheets, he lit his cigarette, poured himself a shot, and gazed up at the moon, hoping that, somewhere, his Slayer was doing the same.



It was nearly dawn where she was, and Buffy mouthed a silent goodbye to the faint outline of the moon. This was the time of day she dreaded most, when the sun came up and everyone returned to life—everyone except her.

She could tell Dawn was trying hard to cheer her up. The Angel jokes were being laid on pretty heavily these days. But how could she explain to her little sister when she couldn't explain to a 200-year old vampire? She didn't want to "get over" Spike. She wanted him in her life, in any way she could have him. Now she understood why he was willing to settle for the scraps she tossed him all those years. She'd give anything for the chance to apologize, to make it all up to him (or at least try). If the pain of his absence was all she had of him now, then she'd wed herself to it.

She ran her thumb over his ring.

I do, I do, I do.



The flutter of Spike's curtains rippled through her.

"Would you mind some company?" Tara asked, not wanting to approach if it would disturb him.

He blew out a long stream of smoke, then patted the spot beside him in bed.

The witch became more opaque now, changing from transparent to translucent. When she settled on the bed, she made an indentation in the sheets.

"Please don't be angry with her. I planted the thought in her head to find you. After Andrew..."

Spike coughed, holding his cigarette away from her. "So that little bugger did say something."

Tara blushed. "He tried not to, but..."

A soft, sad chuckle slipped from the vampire's lips.

The witch leaned back on the bed, matching his position. They were reclined against the headboard, pillows bunched at the small of their backs.

"So, I guess the Slayer's moved on, then?" He tried to keep the pain and bitterness out of his voice, but he could feel Glinda rest a hand against his chest.

"We don't think she even knows."

Spike turned to her.

"We think that Giles and Angel have kept you a secret."

The vampire tilted his head back, a slight hitch in the drag he took from his nearly-spent cigarette.

He didn't need to say a word. Tara could taste the hurt he felt just by being near him. She looked at his eyelids sealed tight, trying to stave off tears. The sharpness of his jaw, clenched. His throat, constricted. The smooth marble of his chest, still. How Buffy must have looked at him at one time. Oh, it broke her heart.

"We'll find her for you," Tara whispered, reaching for his pale face.

Spike shuddered when the witch's fingertips grazed his skin. He didn't dare open his eyes, because if he was dreaming he didn't want it to end; he needed his friend's comfort right now.

"How did you know what my mum was like?"

She leaned in and gently kissed each eyelid. "I didn't."

"But, she was so real."

Tara nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "That's because it was her."

Spike opened his eyes then, red-rimmed and glassy.

"I just found her and helped her come forth."

His lips parted to speak, but, for once, he had no words.

Tara placed her lips upon his, exhaling some held magic. He felt her as if she were flesh and blood before slipping into the warmth of sleep...and his dear mother's welcoming arms.

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