Chapter 1
Title: Cake
By: remember_nomore & gwyddfid
Chapter: 1 of ?
Pairing: Spike/Tara/Lindsey - eventually
Rating: PG-13, NC-17
Word Count: 2937
Beta: strangecreature
Authors Notes: Welcome to the first chapter, it's been a wild ride to get here. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is so wonderful. This story would have less meaning without everyone's support.
The day was overcast, so much so it even looked likely it might storm. Not too common an event here in good old Sunny D, but it did happen. Either way, overcast was good for him, meant a bloke could step out in daylight, maybe find himself a nice patch of shade to hang about in, catch the going ons of the day, so to speak. ‘Course even thought it broke the monotony - change from sleeping and boozing and Passions - Spike wasn’t too sure if it was worth it. It sure as hell wasn’t earning him any sodding brownie points with the Scoobies, seeing they didn’t even know he was about. Not that he bloody cared about that anyway, although it did make life a might easier for him from time to time. He sighed and stubbed his fag out on the tree, only to pull out his lighter and light another one.
Yeah, at least if there’d been a nice blazing sun in the sky he would’ve been able to justify staying in his crypt and drinking himself into a stupor like he usually did these days. Wasn’t though, was he? No, he had to be a glutton for sodding punishment as usual, had to come and join the bloody grief parade, or at least get himself a nice front row seat to watch the proceedings. And front row seat it was because from his safe little vantage point under the big elm near his crypt he could see each and every one of those sodding do-gooders as they stood huddled ‘round the second freshly dug grave in so many months. He couldn’t see the thing itself, or the coffin that was no doubt hovering over it, but he could smell the upturned earth, and the smell of it tickled his nostrils. Like always, it took him back to his own brief time under the damp earth.
Seemed so bloody far away from the sham he was living now that it made him want to kill people. “A bloody lot of people,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the black clad group huddled in the distance. The thought crossed his mind that Buffy wouldn’t be too pleased about that little nugget of info, if she’d heard him say it ‘course she wouldn’t would she? Good thing too, because maybe now he’d say things like that a lot more.
Harris moved aside a little and once again, thoughts of Spike’s own death ran through his mind. He remembered it like it was yesterday, waking up in that bloody box, being scared out of his mind, slashing at the wood like a madman before his fist cracked through the wood and sunk into the wormy earth above it. He remember how he pulled himself upwards, the earth pressing around him, falling into his gaping mouth and dead lungs as he gasped for unneeded air and then the joy he felt when he reached the surface, and saw the dark angel that was standing there, waiting for him.
Most important journey of his life, that.
Willow wouldn’t be making that same journey though or anything like it. No she was staying put. Staying put ‘til there was nothing left of her but dust, that was the difference and they all knew it. He’d not been to Buffy’s funeral. No, couldn’t have bloody stomached it, watching them all carry on and even if he had put on a brave face he doubted he’d have been welcome. He knew it would have been different from how it was today though. They would’ve been sad, yeah, angry of course, but there would’ve been something else too; that little spark of hope hiding in the back of their minds, the hope that Red could work her mojo and bring the Slayer back to them. ‘Course, he hadn’t had the luxury of that hope, had he? Because the bloody bratpack hadn’t seen fit to tell him a damn thing about their plans.
Probably for the best though, because it didn’t work. Now he was glad he hadn’t been given advance warning because he could see that it was now a hundred times worse than it would have been if they hadn’t tried at all. Not only had they lost the Slayer and Red, but they’d lost their hope too. He saw it on their faces now, as they stared at the coffin that encased Red’s magic addled body as it was lowered jerkily into the earth.
They knew it was the end of their merry little band of do-gooders.
Just then a sob broke through the pre-storm stillness of the day and Spike saw the Bit stoop over and start for the grave. Before she could throw herself onto it, or something equally bloody melodramatic, Tara caught her and pulled her into her arms. Spike watched as the blonde held her tight and from where he was standing he could almost catch the soothing words the witch was whispering into her ear as she stroked her hair. Spike wondered briefly how much of what she was doing for Dawn was for Dawn’s benefit, and how much was for her own. Hell, it was her girlfriend that was getting the big send off. There was no way to tell either way though, because the girl stood steady, face blank of emotion as she comforted the bit, whispering something a little longer to her that he still couldn’t quite catch.
He went to take another drag on his cigarette only to find that it’d burned down and out while he’d stared at the goings on ahead of him.
“Bugger this,” he murmured, turning from the scene and walking back to his crypt, being sure to stay under cover of trees even though the day was getting dark and darker. It’d rain soon, he’d wager, he could smell it coming and he really didn’t want to be out in it, whether it was a novelty or not.
The only thing he wanted to drown in right that minute was the bottle of Jack in his crypt.
* * * *
Spike was halfway through the second bottle when he heard the crypt door squeak open softly. Even the increasing sedation of the alcohol wasn’t enough to keep his brain from instantly thinking Buffy was at the door. He was about to turn around, smirk and say, “Slayer” when he realised. The pain he felt at the realisation was physical, worse than the chip in some ways and he dropped his face into his hands, forgetting in his drunken haze that he’d even heard the bloody door.
“S-spike?”
On hearing the soft voice, he spun around to see Tara standing at the door. Bloody brilliant, this was just what he needed; a visit from Glinda the good witch.
“What’dya want?” He said, surprised at how slurred his voice was…and how strong and confident hers sounded. Whose funeral had they just had again?
“Spike,” she said, taking a few hesitant steps into the crypt, her black skirt swishing softly around her calves. “What are you doing? Y-you’re supposed to be t-taking care of Dawn tonight. R-remember?”
Fuck. She was right; he’d promised the Bit yesterday that she could spend the night here after the funeral. Not like he could say no, could he? That kid’d had enough disappointment lately…and besides, he figured it’d mean he’d be able to squeeze some money out of droopy boy for videos or something and since she’d be content to sleep or play around with Dru’s old crap, that meant he could spend it on more booze. So see? It worked out for everyone.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, making a gesture with his arm to invite her in. “Bring ‘er in then,” he grinned and snorted out a laugh. “Think I can find another glass ‘round here for ‘er…she probably needs a drink right ‘bout now.” He leaned forward to grab his fags and collapsed back into the chair. “Know I do.”
“Spike, y-you’re drunk! She c-can’t come here now.” He heard her sigh and turned to look at her. “S-she was really looking f-forward to it, w-what will I t-tell her?” She sighed again, and Spike heard the sadness and tiredness in her voice this time. “I-I…I don’t t-think I can-“
“Don’t fret, love,” Spike said, struggling to his feet and trying not to sway. He had to feel sorry for the bird, s’pose the last thing she wanted to do was look after the Slayer’s little sis at a time like this. He promised he’d have her over and he would. Couldn’t break a promise to a lady, after all. “Bit under the weather now, but tell you what.” He bend down to pick up his coat. “I’ll walk over to the house; time I get there I’ll be right.”
She looked at him sceptically, but he could tell she was desperate and wouldn’t argue.
“Promise,” Spike assured her. “Vampire constitution.”
“O-okay,” she said softly. “C-come by in an hour or t-two.” Without saying anything else she turned and walked out of the crypt. He watched her go, thinking that he knew what her problem was, why she always ended up with the short end of the bloody stick. It was because she always thought about everybody else over herself. Willow, now Dawn… kinda pathetic really.
The door slammed behind her and Spike sighed, dropping back into his seat and taking another swig from the bottle. He had two hours to sober up, meant he could drink for at least another hour.
* * * *
Sighing in frustration Spike took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the trunk of the tree he was standing under. Thing sure has taken a beating, he thought, looking at its pock marked bark and grimacing slightly, ‘course that could be said most things around good old Sunny D. In the tree’s case though, you couldn’t really blame a bloke. He’d been standing around under the sodding thing for the best past of an hour waiting for Dawn to finish up with the big group mourning bit so he could get the bloody hell out of here and back to the crypt to finish drinking.
He looked over at the soft glow coming from the windows of Bu-the Summers’ house. Soaked in death that place was, couldn’t even bring himself to step foot in it today and he was already dead, that’s how bad it was. All joking aside though, it was the sodding truth. First Joyce then Buffy and now Red…how Dawn was going to carry on was beyond him. Hell, he could hardly cope with Buffy’s…
But he wasn’t going to think about that, ‘least not when there wasn’t a steady supply of Jack on hand back at the crypt.
Bloody hell, he was going to piss off in a minute if the Bit didn’t get her little arse out here. By all rights he should have pissed off long before this, but he made promise to Buffy; said he’d look after Dawn, and so what choice did he have? Anyway, wasn’t like he was going to last long anywhere else with this fucking chip stuck in his head.
“Oh bugger this,” he grumbled, stalking out from underneath the tree and heading towards the house. The last bloody thing he needed to be doing was standing around letting his mind wander, dwelling on the past only led to more misery and he’d been there, done that and didn’t intend to repeat the trip.
Not intending to waste any more of his valuable time. He jogged up the front steps and pounded on the front door. If Dawn was staying with him tonight she was coming now or not at all. The door swung inward and there was Tara. Bugger, he thought, why’d it have to be her again? Spike looked into her red rimmed eyes for a moment before averting his eyes and looking past her into the house.
Part of Spike couldn’t stand seeing the girl like they’d never talked much, well not unless you counted the insults and the face punching, but he’d always…bugger it, let’s be honest about things; he’d always liked her. She had a strength, a grace even and she was no little girl. Look at her now for god’s sake, holding the place together while the rest of them fell to bits. Didn’t seem fair.
“So, is she ready to go, then?” he asked, looking past Tara and up the stairs. “Got all her stuffed toys and whatnot packed?”
"S-she'll be down in a minute,” she replied, looking Spike over, trying to tell if he was still drunk. He was, but she needn’t know about it. “How are you doing?"
Bloody typical, asking everyone how they were, when she was the one needed asking after, it was actually enough to piss a bloke off, really. Why didn’t she just cry or something? Get it the hell over with. Problem seemed to be that nobody had bothered to ask her how she was doing, not any of the Scooby mourning brigade anyway. All too busy wallowing in their own pain he’d wager. Especially droopy boy and hell, if that wasn’t funny to watch…pathetic git…
“I’m doing just brilliant. You know, for a once bad-ass creature of the night that now has an electronic babysitter buried in the middle of his brain.” He sighed, “But that isn’t going to change any time soon.” Spike shoved his hands into the pockets of his duster and rolled his eyes. Why the hell did picking up the pieces of this family have to be left to him? He looked at her, trying to catch her gaze.
“How are you doing, pet?” he asked softly.
"Thank you. F-for the past six m-months I've asked everyone that. You're t-the first to ask me." Tara managed a weak smile, trying to get across that she was being serious and his words had meant something to her.
Spike watched as she sighed and a thoughtful look crossed her face. If what she said was true, someone in that bloody house needed their arse kicked good and proper. If only he could do it…well, he’d’ve probably done it a long time ago, but still.
After a moment she finally spoke again, speaking honest words for once in a long time. "I'm breaking. I n-need to get away. I've been thinking of leaving town actually. There’s a great art s-school that I’ve been wanting to go to… I don't know, I don't have anything keeping me here."
Leaving? Well, that was a bloody awful idea. Suddenly Spike realised that if she left then it was going to be down to him to make sure the nibblet didn’t get eaten or bled like a stuck pig by some bitch God from hell, and no way was he signing up for sole guardianship of any mystical key, or a teenaged girl, come to that. No bloody thanks. Oh yeah, Glinda needed to stay put.
“Uh…you know I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Leaving and all,” he started, staring absently up the stairs and listening for any sign of Dawn and wishing she’d hurry the hell up.
“I mean, where’re you going to go?” he asked. “Plus, there’s Dawn to think of. Who’s going to look after her if you’re not around? Droopy boy and his ex-demon girlfriend?” Spike chuckled lightly at the idea. “Not bloody likely. I’ve lived with him, you know and it’s not pretty.”
She still looked unconvinced. Time for the big guns then.
“Can’t imagine Red would’ve wanted you to skip town and leave Dawn to fend for herself.”
Spike watched as her face fell at his words and realised that he hadn’t changed; he was a bad, evil man.
Oh well.
"Spike. Get out," she spat. Okay, maybe he’d gone a bit far with the Red bit. "Spike, it might be best if you leave now. Wouldn't want you to fall on anything wooden..."
He couldn't help smirking. All that anger and all that pain, the fumes just came off her in waves and apart from making her smell bloody fantastic when you've got no soul things like that really are pretty damn funny.
'Cept lately they weren’t. Not so much. He felt the grin fading from my face. There were a lot of people in the world that deserved to be hurting, hell, he could name ten right of the top of his head, but Spike was pretty sure that Tara wasn't one of them.
“All right, all right, no need to get your knickers in a twist,” he said. “I'll go just as soon as…" he raised my voice and looked up the stairs. "…Dawn gets her dawdling little butt down here!"
There was no sign of her though and Spike sighed, looking back at Tara. Maybe he should apologise… it wasn’t like Tara pissed him off as much as the others, after all, and she’d been nice enough to him.
“Look, love,” he began. “I-“
“I’m ready!” He heard from behind Tara and Dawn came bounding down the stairs. She had a bag full of god knew what, and a look on her face that told Spike she wanted out of there fast. He had to agree with the sentiment.
“Come get her tomorrow,” he said to Tara, grabbing Dawn’s bag and making his way down the stairs. “And not to early yeah? Creature of the night here.”
By: remember_nomore & gwyddfid
Chapter: 1 of ?
Pairing: Spike/Tara/Lindsey - eventually
Rating: PG-13, NC-17
Word Count: 2937
Beta: strangecreature
Authors Notes: Welcome to the first chapter, it's been a wild ride to get here. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is so wonderful. This story would have less meaning without everyone's support.
The day was overcast, so much so it even looked likely it might storm. Not too common an event here in good old Sunny D, but it did happen. Either way, overcast was good for him, meant a bloke could step out in daylight, maybe find himself a nice patch of shade to hang about in, catch the going ons of the day, so to speak. ‘Course even thought it broke the monotony - change from sleeping and boozing and Passions - Spike wasn’t too sure if it was worth it. It sure as hell wasn’t earning him any sodding brownie points with the Scoobies, seeing they didn’t even know he was about. Not that he bloody cared about that anyway, although it did make life a might easier for him from time to time. He sighed and stubbed his fag out on the tree, only to pull out his lighter and light another one.
Yeah, at least if there’d been a nice blazing sun in the sky he would’ve been able to justify staying in his crypt and drinking himself into a stupor like he usually did these days. Wasn’t though, was he? No, he had to be a glutton for sodding punishment as usual, had to come and join the bloody grief parade, or at least get himself a nice front row seat to watch the proceedings. And front row seat it was because from his safe little vantage point under the big elm near his crypt he could see each and every one of those sodding do-gooders as they stood huddled ‘round the second freshly dug grave in so many months. He couldn’t see the thing itself, or the coffin that was no doubt hovering over it, but he could smell the upturned earth, and the smell of it tickled his nostrils. Like always, it took him back to his own brief time under the damp earth.
Seemed so bloody far away from the sham he was living now that it made him want to kill people. “A bloody lot of people,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the black clad group huddled in the distance. The thought crossed his mind that Buffy wouldn’t be too pleased about that little nugget of info, if she’d heard him say it ‘course she wouldn’t would she? Good thing too, because maybe now he’d say things like that a lot more.
Harris moved aside a little and once again, thoughts of Spike’s own death ran through his mind. He remembered it like it was yesterday, waking up in that bloody box, being scared out of his mind, slashing at the wood like a madman before his fist cracked through the wood and sunk into the wormy earth above it. He remember how he pulled himself upwards, the earth pressing around him, falling into his gaping mouth and dead lungs as he gasped for unneeded air and then the joy he felt when he reached the surface, and saw the dark angel that was standing there, waiting for him.
Most important journey of his life, that.
Willow wouldn’t be making that same journey though or anything like it. No she was staying put. Staying put ‘til there was nothing left of her but dust, that was the difference and they all knew it. He’d not been to Buffy’s funeral. No, couldn’t have bloody stomached it, watching them all carry on and even if he had put on a brave face he doubted he’d have been welcome. He knew it would have been different from how it was today though. They would’ve been sad, yeah, angry of course, but there would’ve been something else too; that little spark of hope hiding in the back of their minds, the hope that Red could work her mojo and bring the Slayer back to them. ‘Course, he hadn’t had the luxury of that hope, had he? Because the bloody bratpack hadn’t seen fit to tell him a damn thing about their plans.
Probably for the best though, because it didn’t work. Now he was glad he hadn’t been given advance warning because he could see that it was now a hundred times worse than it would have been if they hadn’t tried at all. Not only had they lost the Slayer and Red, but they’d lost their hope too. He saw it on their faces now, as they stared at the coffin that encased Red’s magic addled body as it was lowered jerkily into the earth.
They knew it was the end of their merry little band of do-gooders.
Just then a sob broke through the pre-storm stillness of the day and Spike saw the Bit stoop over and start for the grave. Before she could throw herself onto it, or something equally bloody melodramatic, Tara caught her and pulled her into her arms. Spike watched as the blonde held her tight and from where he was standing he could almost catch the soothing words the witch was whispering into her ear as she stroked her hair. Spike wondered briefly how much of what she was doing for Dawn was for Dawn’s benefit, and how much was for her own. Hell, it was her girlfriend that was getting the big send off. There was no way to tell either way though, because the girl stood steady, face blank of emotion as she comforted the bit, whispering something a little longer to her that he still couldn’t quite catch.
He went to take another drag on his cigarette only to find that it’d burned down and out while he’d stared at the goings on ahead of him.
“Bugger this,” he murmured, turning from the scene and walking back to his crypt, being sure to stay under cover of trees even though the day was getting dark and darker. It’d rain soon, he’d wager, he could smell it coming and he really didn’t want to be out in it, whether it was a novelty or not.
The only thing he wanted to drown in right that minute was the bottle of Jack in his crypt.
* * * *
Spike was halfway through the second bottle when he heard the crypt door squeak open softly. Even the increasing sedation of the alcohol wasn’t enough to keep his brain from instantly thinking Buffy was at the door. He was about to turn around, smirk and say, “Slayer” when he realised. The pain he felt at the realisation was physical, worse than the chip in some ways and he dropped his face into his hands, forgetting in his drunken haze that he’d even heard the bloody door.
“S-spike?”
On hearing the soft voice, he spun around to see Tara standing at the door. Bloody brilliant, this was just what he needed; a visit from Glinda the good witch.
“What’dya want?” He said, surprised at how slurred his voice was…and how strong and confident hers sounded. Whose funeral had they just had again?
“Spike,” she said, taking a few hesitant steps into the crypt, her black skirt swishing softly around her calves. “What are you doing? Y-you’re supposed to be t-taking care of Dawn tonight. R-remember?”
Fuck. She was right; he’d promised the Bit yesterday that she could spend the night here after the funeral. Not like he could say no, could he? That kid’d had enough disappointment lately…and besides, he figured it’d mean he’d be able to squeeze some money out of droopy boy for videos or something and since she’d be content to sleep or play around with Dru’s old crap, that meant he could spend it on more booze. So see? It worked out for everyone.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, making a gesture with his arm to invite her in. “Bring ‘er in then,” he grinned and snorted out a laugh. “Think I can find another glass ‘round here for ‘er…she probably needs a drink right ‘bout now.” He leaned forward to grab his fags and collapsed back into the chair. “Know I do.”
“Spike, y-you’re drunk! She c-can’t come here now.” He heard her sigh and turned to look at her. “S-she was really looking f-forward to it, w-what will I t-tell her?” She sighed again, and Spike heard the sadness and tiredness in her voice this time. “I-I…I don’t t-think I can-“
“Don’t fret, love,” Spike said, struggling to his feet and trying not to sway. He had to feel sorry for the bird, s’pose the last thing she wanted to do was look after the Slayer’s little sis at a time like this. He promised he’d have her over and he would. Couldn’t break a promise to a lady, after all. “Bit under the weather now, but tell you what.” He bend down to pick up his coat. “I’ll walk over to the house; time I get there I’ll be right.”
She looked at him sceptically, but he could tell she was desperate and wouldn’t argue.
“Promise,” Spike assured her. “Vampire constitution.”
“O-okay,” she said softly. “C-come by in an hour or t-two.” Without saying anything else she turned and walked out of the crypt. He watched her go, thinking that he knew what her problem was, why she always ended up with the short end of the bloody stick. It was because she always thought about everybody else over herself. Willow, now Dawn… kinda pathetic really.
The door slammed behind her and Spike sighed, dropping back into his seat and taking another swig from the bottle. He had two hours to sober up, meant he could drink for at least another hour.
* * * *
Sighing in frustration Spike took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the trunk of the tree he was standing under. Thing sure has taken a beating, he thought, looking at its pock marked bark and grimacing slightly, ‘course that could be said most things around good old Sunny D. In the tree’s case though, you couldn’t really blame a bloke. He’d been standing around under the sodding thing for the best past of an hour waiting for Dawn to finish up with the big group mourning bit so he could get the bloody hell out of here and back to the crypt to finish drinking.
He looked over at the soft glow coming from the windows of Bu-the Summers’ house. Soaked in death that place was, couldn’t even bring himself to step foot in it today and he was already dead, that’s how bad it was. All joking aside though, it was the sodding truth. First Joyce then Buffy and now Red…how Dawn was going to carry on was beyond him. Hell, he could hardly cope with Buffy’s…
But he wasn’t going to think about that, ‘least not when there wasn’t a steady supply of Jack on hand back at the crypt.
Bloody hell, he was going to piss off in a minute if the Bit didn’t get her little arse out here. By all rights he should have pissed off long before this, but he made promise to Buffy; said he’d look after Dawn, and so what choice did he have? Anyway, wasn’t like he was going to last long anywhere else with this fucking chip stuck in his head.
“Oh bugger this,” he grumbled, stalking out from underneath the tree and heading towards the house. The last bloody thing he needed to be doing was standing around letting his mind wander, dwelling on the past only led to more misery and he’d been there, done that and didn’t intend to repeat the trip.
Not intending to waste any more of his valuable time. He jogged up the front steps and pounded on the front door. If Dawn was staying with him tonight she was coming now or not at all. The door swung inward and there was Tara. Bugger, he thought, why’d it have to be her again? Spike looked into her red rimmed eyes for a moment before averting his eyes and looking past her into the house.
Part of Spike couldn’t stand seeing the girl like they’d never talked much, well not unless you counted the insults and the face punching, but he’d always…bugger it, let’s be honest about things; he’d always liked her. She had a strength, a grace even and she was no little girl. Look at her now for god’s sake, holding the place together while the rest of them fell to bits. Didn’t seem fair.
“So, is she ready to go, then?” he asked, looking past Tara and up the stairs. “Got all her stuffed toys and whatnot packed?”
"S-she'll be down in a minute,” she replied, looking Spike over, trying to tell if he was still drunk. He was, but she needn’t know about it. “How are you doing?"
Bloody typical, asking everyone how they were, when she was the one needed asking after, it was actually enough to piss a bloke off, really. Why didn’t she just cry or something? Get it the hell over with. Problem seemed to be that nobody had bothered to ask her how she was doing, not any of the Scooby mourning brigade anyway. All too busy wallowing in their own pain he’d wager. Especially droopy boy and hell, if that wasn’t funny to watch…pathetic git…
“I’m doing just brilliant. You know, for a once bad-ass creature of the night that now has an electronic babysitter buried in the middle of his brain.” He sighed, “But that isn’t going to change any time soon.” Spike shoved his hands into the pockets of his duster and rolled his eyes. Why the hell did picking up the pieces of this family have to be left to him? He looked at her, trying to catch her gaze.
“How are you doing, pet?” he asked softly.
"Thank you. F-for the past six m-months I've asked everyone that. You're t-the first to ask me." Tara managed a weak smile, trying to get across that she was being serious and his words had meant something to her.
Spike watched as she sighed and a thoughtful look crossed her face. If what she said was true, someone in that bloody house needed their arse kicked good and proper. If only he could do it…well, he’d’ve probably done it a long time ago, but still.
After a moment she finally spoke again, speaking honest words for once in a long time. "I'm breaking. I n-need to get away. I've been thinking of leaving town actually. There’s a great art s-school that I’ve been wanting to go to… I don't know, I don't have anything keeping me here."
Leaving? Well, that was a bloody awful idea. Suddenly Spike realised that if she left then it was going to be down to him to make sure the nibblet didn’t get eaten or bled like a stuck pig by some bitch God from hell, and no way was he signing up for sole guardianship of any mystical key, or a teenaged girl, come to that. No bloody thanks. Oh yeah, Glinda needed to stay put.
“Uh…you know I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Leaving and all,” he started, staring absently up the stairs and listening for any sign of Dawn and wishing she’d hurry the hell up.
“I mean, where’re you going to go?” he asked. “Plus, there’s Dawn to think of. Who’s going to look after her if you’re not around? Droopy boy and his ex-demon girlfriend?” Spike chuckled lightly at the idea. “Not bloody likely. I’ve lived with him, you know and it’s not pretty.”
She still looked unconvinced. Time for the big guns then.
“Can’t imagine Red would’ve wanted you to skip town and leave Dawn to fend for herself.”
Spike watched as her face fell at his words and realised that he hadn’t changed; he was a bad, evil man.
Oh well.
"Spike. Get out," she spat. Okay, maybe he’d gone a bit far with the Red bit. "Spike, it might be best if you leave now. Wouldn't want you to fall on anything wooden..."
He couldn't help smirking. All that anger and all that pain, the fumes just came off her in waves and apart from making her smell bloody fantastic when you've got no soul things like that really are pretty damn funny.
'Cept lately they weren’t. Not so much. He felt the grin fading from my face. There were a lot of people in the world that deserved to be hurting, hell, he could name ten right of the top of his head, but Spike was pretty sure that Tara wasn't one of them.
“All right, all right, no need to get your knickers in a twist,” he said. “I'll go just as soon as…" he raised my voice and looked up the stairs. "…Dawn gets her dawdling little butt down here!"
There was no sign of her though and Spike sighed, looking back at Tara. Maybe he should apologise… it wasn’t like Tara pissed him off as much as the others, after all, and she’d been nice enough to him.
“Look, love,” he began. “I-“
“I’m ready!” He heard from behind Tara and Dawn came bounding down the stairs. She had a bag full of god knew what, and a look on her face that told Spike she wanted out of there fast. He had to agree with the sentiment.
“Come get her tomorrow,” he said to Tara, grabbing Dawn’s bag and making his way down the stairs. “And not to early yeah? Creature of the night here.”