Author's Note, Six Years Later

This story was my first ever attempt at fanfiction, written early 2008. Looking back at it I notice it veers between surprisingly good and surprisingly bad, often between sentences. Some of the female POV thoughts in particular are a little cringe-worthy now. But overall, I am very proud of it, especially as a first attempt. If nothing else, I have something to back up the claim that I could write a better human/vampire love story than Stephanie Meyer.

But My Dreams, They Aren't As Empty…

Epilogue Immediately after 'Not Fade Away'

All Hell had broken loose. In a very literal way. Well, more accurately, all Hell had been unleashed upon them, the price of opposing the Senior Partners, and Ilyria had clearly thought it a good idea to respond in kind. Spike didn't quite know how she had opened up the trans-dimensional rift, and was becoming steadily more certain that he didn't want to. It always surprised him that he could have such wandering, abstract thoughts in the midst of a fight for his very existence.

Nimbly ducking to avoid 10-foot claws trying to slash at him, he ran and dodged and rolled and jumped, attacking anything he could with a broadsword he seemed to have acquired somewhere. All around him, the air was as fire, lightning rent the sky, and blood soaked the ground, making it sodden beneath his New Rock boots. He caught occasional glimpses of Angel or one of the others fighting desperately, and was surprised to realise, as he parried a blow from a Jir demon, that he was glad the great ponce wasn't dead yet.

His sword lashed out in a quick swing above his head, swiftly relieving the Jir of one of its own. He spun and managed to get a kick in, right in its chest, then dived in close to snap its remaining neck. He grunted with pain as he dived left, narrowly avoiding a searing ball of liquid fire. He'd always known she was a bit crazy, but Ilyria must have been sodding mental to think that rift would be a decent plan. He'd been singing about anarchy for years, but he was pretty sure this level of chaos wasn't quite what those songs had envisioned, and couldn't help feeling vaguely cheated.

It wasn't just the armies of assorted demons, or the unstable nature of reality in the other dimension, or even the battle violent enough to make him vow to never again use the term 'bloody hell,' now he'd seen the real thing. It was the sense that something was wrong with this place, with the things on this side of the rift, something profoundly wrong. He saw impossible things, things he knew could never be, things that made him want to hide and cry like a scared child.

And then Angel was there, dragging Spike towards the rift, running for the relative safety of their own dimension with all the strength they had left. He stumbled, and managed a glance back as he scrambled back up. Far off, deep into the fire and lightning and blood, a blue-haired figure was surrounded by a blinding light, with seemingly-endless hordes of demons beyond that.

As the rift slowly started to close, Spike realised where they were. And he realised what Ilyria was doing. If Angel's already accepted it, he thought, she must really have her heart set on going through with it. He would miss her, he knew, he had grown fond of the smurf in their time together, a demon trapped among humans, stripped of most of her power, collared, but never tamed. Well that certainly sounded familiar.

Spike had never thought she'd be the one to sacrifice herself to save the world, he'd assumed that would be the prancing poofter beside him, not she who belonged here least. But then, that sounded familiar as well. She had lured the armies of the Senior Partners to this dimension, and now she intended to trap them here, and herself with them. Which was why he was sure he knew where they were, not just any alternate dimension, this one. This was the place where things came after they died.

He was almost through the rift when he saw her. Angel was already on the other side, and the doorway to his world was rapidly closing. But Spike knew he had to go back for her. It wasn't a conscious choice, something simply clicked into place, and he had known all along what he would choose. The chances of him making it out in time were slim, much less so if he was carrying her, but he would be damned if he would lose her again. Well, he was already damned, but that wasn't the point.

After what seemed an age, but was really a fraction of a second, he reached her, and his hand closed around her wrist. He was surprised that he wasn't surprised that she was solid, this was something else he had known all along. Pulling Tara in close, he scooped her up in his arms, and dived for the almost-closed rift…

Chapter 1 – My Friend Of Misery Post-'As You Were'

Walking the streets alone at night scared her. She assumed it scared most people, and she knew she had defensive spells at her disposal if necessary, but all the same. It hadn't been as bad back home, but in Sunnydale she was all too aware of the things that preyed on the innocent in the night. Ordinarily she would have stayed in, gone to great lengths to avoid being in such a situation, but seeing Willow earlier had considerably shaken her, and she didn't like sitting in her dorm on her own.

She hadn't known where she was going when she left, and wouldn't have imagined ending up in a pub, and yet there she found herself, a short while later. She had rarely ever been into pubs before, particularly not the traditional kind, with a bar and a fire in the hearth and ales on tap, but had decided upon glancing inside that it was better than simply going back to her dorm. Back home, she thought, uncomfortably aware that however much she thought of Buffy's house as her home, and the room she had shared with Willow as being her room, she knew her dorm was all she had now.

She was sat at a table in a quiet corner, out of the firelight but not far enough away to not feel the warmth it spread around the room. The light was dim here, and she sat in silence with her lemonade. Of course I'm sitting in silence, it's not like I've anyone here to talk to. It slowly dawned on her that a pub like this was a rare find in Sunnydale, it seemed far more European (Irish maybe?) in nature than American. There was no music playing, only the low noise of conversation, punctuated by the crackling fire.

Her gaze drifted slowly to the bar, but she didn't recognise the names of many of the drinks. That was surprising, given her all-too-clear experiences of her father's drinking. Sure, she recognised the usual suspects like Vladivar Vodka and Jameson Whiskey, and even Guiness, on one of the pumps, but what was Freedom, or Iron Horse, or Harvey's? Eager to distract herself from her lonely thoughts, she finished the rest of her lemonade and went to the bar, deciding to sample some of the previously-unknown drinks.

A couple of pints later, she decided she rather liked the pub, with its warm but quiet atmosphere, and was rather glad she came there that evening. She was feeling happier, and was idly wondering if any of her friends would appreciate it. But are they really my friends, or do they just see me as an extension of Willow? That wasn't such a pleasant thought, and she hastily got up to get another drink.

Standing at the bar, she noticed the pretty barmaid quickly bracing herself before taking a drink over to a figure in another darkened corner. There was a slight strut in her step, and she bent a little too low over the table, clearly allowing the receiver of the drink a view straight down her top. She returned to the bar with a mildly annoyed expression, obviously unsuccessful in her efforts. She certainly looks pretty enough to me, she thought with a glance over to the table the girl had just returned from.

She'd always had quite good eyesight, but despite the low light in the corner where he sat, she really didn't need it. Spike was instantly recognisable, sprawled in an armchair in his black duster and matching leather trousers. He picked up a shot glass from the table in front of him and knocked it back, then leaned back, resting his head on the low back of the chair, running a hand through his hair and staring up at the ceiling. He lacked his usual swagger, and she thought he looked lonely.

The last she had heard, he and Buffy were on the verge of self-destruction together, Riley's brief return a few days ago must have driven them over the edge. She knew how it felt to be in that situation, and couldn't just walk back to her own seat and ignore him. She remembered how threatened she had felt when Oz had come back to Sunnydale a couple of years ago. She'd liked him, and Willow had since assured her that she'd never have gone back to him, but she'd worried all the same, and felt quite intimidated by him at the time.

"Sp-Spike?"

She winced inwards as his head snapped forwards and she almost flinched from his piercing blue eyes. She remembered how much he'd scared her when she'd first encountered him, and how she'd slowly gotten used to him. Last summer she'd realised that he had a very sweet side, something that she felt only herself and Dawn noticed. And Buffy, of course. Well, sort of, she doubted 'sweet' was quite what Buffy was looking for in him. But however much he had grown on her, he still scared her just a little bit, and she could never relax around him.

"Glinda? Didn't expect to be seeing you in these parts. You alright?"

Spike's brow furrowed lightly, but she couldn't tell if it was in concern or puzzlement. She smiled at him and nodded, wondering if he was actually at all interested in her state of well-being.

"I've n-not come in here before," she said, "I was passing and it looked, uh… I n-noticed the uh, interesting beers."

She saw Spike's eyebrows climb rapidly when he spotted the drink she was carrying, realising that he had probably only ever seen her drink herbal tea before. What? She could drink alcohol, she did sometimes, she didn't do it that often but there was nothing to suggest that she didn't drink at all. Although, from the looks of it, Spike was well ahead of her that evening.

"Bloody Hell, girl, what's that you're drinking?"

"Hobgoblin," she said, one corner of her mouth rising into a small, lopsided smile. "I thought it sounded, uh, kinda cute."

"Jesus, kids these days…" Spike said, shaking his head in mock despair. He reached across beneath the table with his leg and pushed a chair out towards her. She smiled shyly and muttered thanks, quickly sitting down. Noticing that both their drinks were nearly empty, she saw Spike catching the eye of the barmaid, who soon came over with another drink for him.

"And a pint of Iron Horse, for the lady," Spike told her. It was much more told the barmaid than asked, anyway.

That one Tara certainly hadn't seen coming, and her eyes widened in surprise. She also felt slightly apprehensive, why had he done that? And what if she didn't like it when it arrived? The barmaid shot her a venomous glare before she left, it must have hurt such a pretty girl to have her advances rejected, only for Spike to buy a drink for someone who didn't really stand out. She thought of mentioning this, but worried it might sound rude and ungrateful.

Spike's eyes narrowed slightly, and she realised that some of her thoughts must have shown on her face.

"Never had a man buy you a drink before?"

She blushed slightly and nodded, her eyes downcast. Ok, he was a lot more perceptive than she had given him credit for. She had always known Spike was great with Dawn, those two were closer than most suspected, something she wasn't certain Buffy would entirely approve of. Well, from the way Spike had taken care of Dawn last summer, he had earned that closeness, as far as Tara was concerned anyway.

"Well, ordinarily I wouldn't oblige," Spike said with a smile, "but when a lady starts drinking bitter, it gets my attention."

"I-I think the girl over there has been trying to get your attention all evening."

She blushed slightly, but Spike snorted quietly with laughter. He'd found it funny? Sometimes her humour really didn't come across very well, but she'd actually made him laugh, albeit quietly and briefly. She had certainly never expected that.

"Alright, let me rephrase. When a girl starts drinking bitter, it gets my attention. But when a girl starts drinking bitter alone…"

Tara nodded, she understood. But what did Spike know about loneliness? He'd spent a century in a happy relationship, or so she had heard. He'd had no shortage of attention since then, either. That was how she had known something was up with him tonight, that he had completely ignored the advances of the pretty barmaid. But if she was right, and he and Buffy had finally fallen apart, she could appreciate why he would take pity on others in the same position. Still, she hadn't expected it, she would have predicted a more isolationist, 'leave me alone'-type reaction.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a bit, as she nervously fiddled with her skirts in her lap, and Spike gazed idly at nothing in particular, sipping his drink.

"Uh, are you ok, Spike? I-I saw you over here, and… just thought I'd… you didn't look… thought I'd come over."

Spike cocked his head on one side and looked right at her for a long moment, and she nervously smiled and lowered her eyes. When she had first seen him, it was obvious something was up, and he'd try to hide it when she'd come over. Getting him to actually admit to it though would be the tough part.

"Me? Same as ever. Sorry, 'scuse the nancy boyband gaze into middle distance, just thinking. But yeah, I'm still here. Ha, the world may end but I'll still be here."

Tara wasn't certain, but she thought she heard Spike add "Still alone," under his breath. She realised that the only way to encourage him to open up a little would be to let him know that Buffy had let her in on their secret, but the shock of that might put him on the defensive. She'd have to be careful, but it was worth a try.

"I-is it uh, Buffy? I know you two were… s-she told me everything."

She didn't think she'd ever seen Spike so surprised. He froze, even his breathing stopping, and his eyebrows climbed his forehead as high as they possibly could. There were several moments of very uncomfortable silence.

"Well," he said at last, "talk about giving a guy mixed bloody signals. She makes it public knowledge, but then ends it."

Tara shook her head rapidly and explained.

"No, s-sorry, I'm the only one that… she only told me."

But Spike had confirmed it, Buffy had finished with him, and from the sound of it, permanently. He looked slightly unkempt, now she studied him a bit more closely, and she didn't think he could have managed that in one night. So she must have broken up with him two or three days ago, and he's been drinking and feeling sorry for himself ever since. She couldn't blame him, she knew how much Buffy had meant to him, and knew how them getting closer had only really made it worse for him.

She remembered the first time they had encountered the Buffybot, had mistaken it for the real thing and believed that Buffy and Spike were sleeping together. And how ridiculous it had seemed back then. She recalled how she'd greeted the news with declaring Buffy to be 'nuts.' And she hadn't been too far wrong. She understood why Buffy had done it, well, she thought she did, but it was never going to end happily, she must have known that. And though Buffy had emerged from that relationship, if that was even the right word, a feeling little better off, it had left Spike all the worse. And she didn't think he deserved that.

Spike nodded slowly in understanding. His lips twisted into a wry, self-pitying smile, and he took a long drink of his pint. And in that moment she felt so sorry for him, not because of the pain, but more because he was so accepting of it. It was as if that was the way he expected it to be, as if he knew no different.

"Well it's over now," he said, "and here I am."

She watched him descend into silence again, while she tried to think of what to say. Nothing good really came to mind, and she sipped her pint and avoided his eyes in the meantime. She wished she had his strength though, his ability to get knocked down and beaten up, and still go on as he always had done. Still here, as he had put it. Although, in fairness, his everyday business involved drinking and fighting, and that was about it, as far as she knew.

"You know," he said with a snort and a small smile, "the last time this happened, I tied up and tortured the girl in question. Yet here I am now, just drinking myself into unconsciousness. Think I must be going soft."

Tara knew the look on her face was somewhere between surprise and disbelief. He tortured her?! She had never known Spike without his chip, and had heard numerous tales of how nasty he had been, but she still found it hard to believe that someone so protective of Dawn had once done such horrible things to girls just like her.

Spike must have seen her expression, because he shrugged and offered his brief explanation, "Love's a funny thing."

She decided not to pursue that any further. She thought it was probably a good thing he hadn't tried to torture Buffy, as he might have died in the process. Well, died again. She wondered how deep Buffy's feelings for him went, if she actually would stake him or not. As things were at the moment, she might even enjoy him trying. I can't believe I just thought that! She came back rather different, but surely not that strange.

Setting his drink down on the table in front of him, Spike looked up at her again. He took a deep breath, and then spoke rather apprehensively.

"How are things with Red?"

A wealth of images and emotions hit her, and all the things she had been trying to ignore came flooding back. She felt her breath catch, and desperately hoped she was past the point of her eyes welling up. That had happened every time she'd thought of Willow for the first few days they'd been apart, but she was doing much better now. It had been tough seeing her today, brought back lots of memories.

Tara was quite proud of herself for taking charge and ending things with Willow, well, she would have been, if only it hadn't left her feeling so very miserable. She hoped that one day they could get back together, but wouldn't let that happen until Willow was back in control of her magic. Tara had made her choice, and woke every morning wishing herself to be strong enough to stick with it.

She was still sitting there, thinking about Willow, about what the future held for them, when she realised that Spike was watching her. Why's he…? Oh, right! She had completely forgotten he had asked her the question that had lead to those thoughts in the first place. She had also forgotten that he almost sounded nervous when he asked, as if her were afraid to bring up the subject.

"I don't re-really know," she said, realising it to be the truth. "I saw her today, she seemed a lot better. I just hope she doesn't…"

Spike smiled sympathetically, and gently nodded. There was something comforting in his blue-eyed gaze. Another thing she'd never have expected.

"Well, she'd have to be bleeding mad to mess things up with you, love."

"That didn't stop her last time."

Spike paused, and pursed his lips, frowning slightly. But his eyes didn't leave hers, and she couldn't help wondering what he was thinking.

"No," he said after a short while, "and I don't have a smart answer for that. But I could try torturing her, if you'd like."

And then his smile was back, and she laughed in spite of herself.

"I don't think that would be wise," she said, the corners of her mouth being drawing upwards into a slightly lopsided smile. "She might turn you into a toad."

Spike grinned back. "Ok, on second thoughts, you do the torturing, I'll direct by phone. Do I have to be wary of toad transfiguration from you too?"

"Were you planning on torturing me?"

Spike grinned again, and this time there was a wicked glint in his eye. He took a long swig of his pint, finishing it off, and she followed suit. It had been so long since she had laughed or smiled, she couldn't remember offhand smiling since Willow. She hadn't expected that from… Well, Spike had been so unpredictable this evening that maybe she'd been completely wrong about him from the start.

She then tried to pin down what she had thought of him previously. She had never been one of the firm believers that Spike was evil, in fact she had rarely known him to do anything particularly malicious. He always came through in a crisis, which seemed to be every other week in Sunnydale, and though he constantly argued with Xander, they could sometimes be rather funny together. He had slowly become an integral part of the group, in her eyes, but she thought that most of the others did not see this. Was it really the lack of a soul that caused such division? Anya was accepted with little hesitation, yet they dragged their heels in against Spike at every opportunity.

He signalled to the barmaid again, and then repeated his gesture to her more emphatically. Tara could only imagine the girl's expression over her shoulder. And yet she seemed to be coming over anyway, unable to resist a pretty face. Am I like that? Would it only be a matter of time before she gave in and stopped resisting Willow, despite knowing that it was the wrong thing to do?

Wait a minute, Spike, a pretty face? Where had that thought come from? She supposed he was rather striking, the shining white hair, the midnight black coat, and the haunting blue eyes, but she was sure she'd never thought of him as 'pretty' before. In fact, that wasn't a word she had ever used to describe a man. It seemed more sensible to associate him with the term 'handsome,' and yet, while he was indeed quite handsome, in a dark, rebellious way, Spike was also probably closest to 'pretty,' of all the men she knew. Hold on…

"Transfiguration?"

Spike shifted slightly in his seat and tried to look innocent. She saw straight through it, and, for the first time, she knew exactly what he was thinking, and it gave her the upper hand. Not that she considered their conversation to be a struggle for dominance, but it was nice to have the tables reversed, even briefly.

"What? It's a word," he said defensively, "means changing something into something else." His eyes, for once, were anywhere but on her.

"Yeah, it's a word," she replied. "An accurate term, but only a modern one, and I know exactly where it originates from. Spike, have you been reading Harry Potter?"

"...No…"

She raised her eyebrows at him sceptically.

"…Well maybe."

He shrugged his coat around him defensively, drawing back a bit into the shadows. "Look," he said in explanation, "it's not like I work during the day, got lots of free time. Passions was cancelled for a fortnight 'cause of snooker, bloody wankers, and Dawn had left the first book in my crypt at some point…"

Tara nodded, smiling. He'd fallen for it, just like every other poor sucker to have had a moment of weakness and read the first page. And then not been able to put it down until he'd finished the series so far.

"Don't tell the Niblet," he said firmly, and she laughed again.

"Your secret's safe with me."

They had stayed for hours, in the end. They had kept drinking, laughing and smiling together, and had talked about things they wouldn't usually have revealed, certainly not to each other. They hadn't noticed the time passing, and had only been brought back to reality when the landlord had rung the bell for last orders. They had stumbled out of the pub, and Spike had insisted on walking her home, overruling her protests with concerns for her safety, of what might happen this late to a girl in Sunnydale walking home alone. And in her state, too. He might have had a point there.

She seemed to remember them singing together while walking, to show all the beasties out there that we're not afraid, Spike had said. And so the neighbourhood had been treated to a stirring midnight rendition of My Way, and Tara had a sneaking suspicion the blond vampire had been singing the original Sinatra version, she thought he had been slightly too close to the right key to be Sid Vicious, much though he had maintained otherwise. Although, Spike had clearly remixed it to add a great deal of cursing when he had tripped over his own coat.

They eventually reached her dorm, and stopped outside the door. Her vision was more than slightly blurred, and from the way he was swaying, she guessed Spike to be in a similar state.

"Well, this is my room," she said. He looked the door up and down and nodded his head approvingly.

"You gonna be alright?" There was real, genuine concern in his voice, and she thought he wasn't just referring to how her head would feel in the morning. She nodded in response, smiling to let him know she was really ok.

"Are you sure you're alright walking home in this state?"

He snorted with sarcastic amusement, but he also smiled. I guess it's not often people care about things like that with him.

"Believe me, love, if I can't make it home in one piece after a few pints, then I really am going soft."

She knew full well that he'd had far more than 'a few pints,' in fact she still found it hard to believe he was still comatose, let alone upright. She knew he was aware of this as well, and combined with his chip, left him far more vulnerable than usual. But she also knew that there would be no convincing him otherwise, so she resigned herself to letting him go his own way.

"I had a really good night tonight," she told him. "I haven't felt this, um, relaxed for quite a while."

"Me neither," Spike admitted, "we should get drunk more often." He turned to go, then stopped and spoke again, his back still mostly to her.

"Don't get too hung up on Red. As I said before, she'd have to be completely bloody crazy to let you get away."

Well, we'll see, won't we? He headed off down the corridor, and she fumbled with her keys and tried to get one to fit in the lock. Spike was about to disappear around the corner when he stopped and looked back at her, catching her eye and calling to her.

"And 'completely bloody crazy' ain't your type, pet. It's mine."