Faithful Friends Who Are Dear To Us
by SpikesKat
A simple protection spell sounded from her lips – a cross
held in her right hand for good measure – just as Tara stepped inside the
cemetery that was home to Spike’s crypt. The sun had yet to completely set, but
she’d not wanted to chance coming by earlier and perhaps waking the vampire.
Though now that she thought about it, she probably should have checked with
someone to see if he was still there.
He’d been conspicuously absent of late. Something to do with Riley’s abrupt
departure and Buffy’s constant weepiness, or so Willow had told her. Apparently,
Spike had informed the Slayer about her boyfriend’s “habit” and the threads that
had been holding their relationship together had been unable to endure the
strain.
Willow and Xander – and even Giles – blamed the vampire. Tara had her doubts.
Especially after seeing Buffy and Riley’s auras, how no matter how much they
might wish it otherwise, they just didn’t mesh. Instead clashing against one
another in disharmony.
Now Spike and Buffy’s on the other hand…
Berating herself under her breath for not paying attention to her surroundings,
she steeled herself and moved forward. Spike’s crypt wasn’t too deep inside the
cemetery but it didn’t mean that her coming here was entirely without danger.
But it was necessary. Or so she believed. She’d yet to really thank the vampire
properly for what he’d done when her father had shown up unannounced. Besides,
it was Christmas. Christmas Eve, precisely. And she had a present for him.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike wasn’t quite sure what to think upon hearing the timid knock at his door.
Company was in short supply, and Clem knew to just let himself in. The only
other person that visited was the Slayer and she had a much more dramatic
approach, consisting of her slamming his front door against the inner wall and
bellowing his name quite loudly… and snidely.
Angelus would do well to take lessons on her ability to project extreme
distaste.
He fought back a grimace of pain when he stood up; the gaping hole in his chest
where Riley had driven a plastic stake into him had yet to fully heal. What
little pig’s blood he’d managed to acquire over the last month had been unable
to right the damage done to him. He needed a packet or two – or several – of
human blood.
“While I’m at it, I may as well just ask the Slayer to open up a vein for me. Like
that’ll bloody happen,” he grumbled.
The knock came again and Spike shuffled across the floor, muttering under his
breath for whoever it was to not get their knickers in a twist, he was coming
already.
Just a lot more slowly these days.
When he caught a whiff of who was standing outside his door, surprise made him
wrench it open, his shocked expression giving way to one of pain when the
movement jarred his ribs and as yet unhealed wound right above his heart.
“Glinda? What are you doing here?” he greeted the witch pleasantly enough,
though his eyes were unable to hide the sudden throbbing pain the rash action
cost him.
“Spike… I… oh, you’re hurt!” Her eyes grew wide at seeing the circular patch of blood
right on his chest, blood his dark shirt was unable to hide. “What happened?”
“’s nothin’… I…” Part of him wanted to tell the girl that it had been Riley that
did it, had staked him with a plastic version of a stake. Sick bastard that he
was. Just like the chip. Couldn’t kill a demon good and proper like he was
supposed to, no sir. Had to torture and humiliate them. If it had happened to anyone
other than himself, Spike might have actually appreciated the man’s sadistic
nature. May have entertained thoughts of turning him, maybe strengthening the
Aurelius line that had fallen off in the wake of his grandsire’s curse. But it
had happened to him – his capture, his imprisonment, numerous rounds of torture,
culminating in that thing being implanted in his head, making it impossible for
him to be a true demon – and all he could feel was resentment. Resentment and a
whole lot of anger.
Anger that he could feel rising within him again, and it was a bloody good thing
Soldier Boy had disappeared, or Spike was seriously contemplating calling in a few
favors to exact a bit of revenge.
“Just a bit of a disagreement. Nothin’ a bit of blood and some kip won’t set to
rights,” he finally allowed with a bit of a growl. Oh, yeah… damn good thing
the Slayer’s boy toy was gone.
Tara’s eyes narrowed on his face. He was lying, she was sure of it. She didn’t
call him on it however. Whatever it was, Spike apparently didn’t want to talk
about it.
“… reason you stopped by?” Spike asked, changing the subject.
The girl blushed at being caught daydreaming, or whatever it was she did when
her eyes seemed to fade to opaque sapphire disks and she stood there in eerie
silence – and Spike had to wonder if she was aware that she did that sometimes.
He would bet that no one else had ever called her on it before.
Smelling the magic on her, he wasn’t about to either. Wouldn’t do to piss off a
witch. He liked his bollocks fine just where they were, thanks ever so.
“Erm… can I… can I come in for a minute?” Tara stuttered out a reply.
Spike stepped back carefully and let her enter. Some small part of him thrilled
as her heart rate kicked up a notch when the closing door echoed in the dank
interior. He was still the Big Bad after all.
“I’d offer you a drink, but ‘m not much for entertainin’. Though, now that I
think about it, I’ve prob’ly got a bit of whiskey around here somewhere.”
“Oh… uh… that’s alright. I’m not really thirsty.”
“Would you like to sit down?” Spike asked, gesturing to the two pieces of
furniture he’d managed to acquire for the upper level of his home. The ratty
loveseat and chair were clumped around an even more decrepit-looking television
set, whose weight seemed ready to do in the stand it set upon.
Tara sat, then waited for Spike to do the same before speaking. Surprisingly, he
sat beside her on the couch, angling his body in the far corner so that his back
was against the arm and his side leaned against the back. He looked tired and
still in pain, and in a moment of clarity, she realized that his lack of
presence these past few weeks was probably due to his injury.
“How long have you had that?” she blurted out before she could stop herself,
gesturing towards his chest. Wincing when his face became guarded and his body
stiffened defensively.
“Don’t worry your pretty li’l head, Glinda.”
“But… you’re hurt.”
“Told you… some kip and some blood…”
“But—”
“’m fine,” he practically growled.
“No you’re not.” Concern for the vampire made her bold for once. “You’re hurt… I
can tell… your aura—”
“’m sure you didn’t come all the way over here to tell me about my aura,” Spike
interrupted. “Ain’t you got some place to be? Red know you’re here?”
“Uh… no…” Her face bloomed anew at the mention of her girlfriend, and for once,
Tara wished her complexion wasn’t quite so fair. “She’s at Buffy’s. I told her I’d
meet her there later…”
“Uh huh… Well, let’s have it then.”
“What…? Oh! Why am I here?”
Spike couldn’t help but crack a smile. The girl was an open book and he enjoyed
the wide range of emotions that played across her expressive face. He quirked a
brow and waited.
“I wanted to thank you… you know… for before…” Tara made a little jabbing
gesture with one of her hands. “When you hit my nose…”
It was a good thing he was sitting down, Spike thought. One of the Scoobies was
actually saying thank you? True, it was Glinda, and the most likely of the lot
to exhibit some manners around the evil undead – she was just made up that way.
Still and all…
Then she went one step further, and Spike was sure William, the poetic sap, just
about shed a tear.
“It’s for you,” Tara told him, holding out the small, tastefully wrapped box.
“Merry Christmas, Spike.”
Spike took the gift with trembling hands, expecting to wake up any minute from
having fallen asleep watching daytime television. He started at it for what
seemed like forever, and only began tearing at the paper at the witch’s urgings.
“It’s an aura stone.”
He didn’t care what it was. It had been a long time since someone got him
something. Bought, stolen, or otherwise. His jaw worked as he stared down at the
small pendant in his hands, trying to keep a rein on his emotions.
“Thank you.”
The stilted words broke the silence, Tara’s anyway, and she launched into a
history of the stone and why she’d gotten it for him. How she’d noticed his aura
changing from when she first met him. How muddy red and green amidst a swirl of
black were now being infused with color. What was once murky red was becoming a deeper
red with hints of orange and yellow. And forest green was now a brighter shade,
mixed with blue and silver.
“You’re changing… growing…” she finally told him. “I just… I wanted you to see
what I see… may-maybe in time, the others will see it too.”
Spike finally lifted his head and looked at the girl. The conviction in her gaze
filled him with hope. Hope that dreams were possible. He nodded and was
rewarded with a tentative smile. A smile that he returned with one of his own.
“Well, I better be going. I don’t want Willow to worry,” Tara stammered out
after a minute of awkward silence. She stood and smoothed her skirt, gave Spike
a wave goodbye.
“Hold on, Glinda. Lemme get my coat. I’ll walk you to the Slayer’s home. Just
‘cause it’s Christmas doesn’t mean nasties aren’t about.”
“I… thank you, Spike. I’d appreciate that.”
The End
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