A/N: I ended up enjoying writing this part a lot, since Tara is probably my favourite character in BtVS. This chapter is dedicated to anyone else who's fond of that shy, full-figured Wiccan and her tenderness. :)
IV. Sympathy For The Devil
The sun had just begun to set when Spike finally stirred, lightly roused from a very deep and much-needed sleep. He sighed wearily when it sunk in that he'd been dreaming once again, and he continued to lie motionless on the bed with his eyes closed for a long moment before slowly opening them and staring blankly at nothing in particular.
Twenty-five days. He'd saved her twenty-five times now.
Of course, he never actually saved her in the way that really counted. His dreams never did a thing to actually change the reality of that night. The Slayer was still dead. She was always dead when the dreams ended.
As he gradually began to fully wake up, various aches and pains made themselves known throughout his body, some worse than others. The injuries he would suffer during patrol always took so long to fade without blood to help him mend, a further drain on the energy he was having progressively less to spare of. He knew he'd really overdone it last night and that he was now paying for it. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, nearly pinning him down, and he briefly considered not bothering to get up at all. Then again, he really didn't want anyone thinking that something was wrong with him. Not that there was anything wrong with him, of course...right?
He winced as he gingerly stretched to get up, testing where he hurt and how badly. He was sore, but the damage wasn't bad, nothing he couldn't deal with and still kick some demon arse. Getting himself upright was a bit difficult, though, requiring a few attempts to compensate for the weak and woozy feeling in his head, and he had to pause to wait for the room to stop spinning once he managed to sit up. Still no big deal, he decided. He was sure he'd been worse.
Finally climbing off the bed and more or less finding his balance, he yawned and rubbed his eyes groggily and made his way downstairs.
Tara startled slightly and glanced up at the sound of Spike half-stumbling over the last couple of stairs, the shy witch still on the couch with her book. She'd been waiting for him, hoping for a chance to talk to him in private to possibly discern some clue as to what was wrong. "H-hi, Spike," she ventured uncertainly.
" 'Lo, Glenda," came the mumbled, sleep-slurred reply from the platinum-haired vampire, blinking blearily and glancing around as he entered the room. "Where're Red 'n the Niblet?"
Tara looked back down at her book, not actually reading it anymore, but feeling too uneasy to make eye contact. "They...they w-went to The Magic Box...I...I think," she answered haltingly, frustrated at her nervous stutter surfacing and hoping that he wouldn't notice how anxious she was. Trying to force herself to be calm, she chanced a brief glance in the direction of the vampire, noticing with worry the way that he seemed to be swaying in place slightly, as though dizzy. He also wasn't wearing his duster at the moment, making it all the more obvious just how painfully thin he'd become, the same clothes that had usually nearly appeared painted on now draping loosely off of him. She couldn't remember ever seeing him look so poorly. Steeling her nerves, she hesitantly tried, "H-how are you feeling?"
Spike tensed and gave her an odd look, clearly suspicious at the question and searching her expression for any sort of secret motive. " 'M fine, why?"
Hesitating, Tara racked her brain for a response that wouldn't make him too skittish. "You...j-just look hurt, is all," she finally decided on. He was sporting some slight bruises in a few places that she could see, so she figured it wouldn't give away her greater worry to say so.
He paused to glance at the injuries himself, nodding. "Er, yeah. Got a bit of a beatin' last night. No big, though. Vampire 'n all, can heal up right quick."
The soft-spoken witch knew exactly what she wanted to say to him next, but she had the feeling that this was going to be tricky. There was a definite increasing unease showing in his aura, worrying her that he'd shut himself off to her if she pressed him about this. Gathering her courage as best she could, she made her best effort to hide the concern in her voice as she told him, "Th-there's blood in the fridge. If...if you n-need it. You know...to heal up for patrol tonight." She was looking away again by the time she'd finished, studying the floor.
In the awkward silence that followed, it became increasingly clear to Tara that Spike had completely forgotten she'd bought that blood and was now trying to formulate an excuse for why he hadn't touched it. "Er, oh...I...I di'n't know you bought any, love," he finally responded, his words sounding a bit unnatural and stilted. "Don't gotta waste your money on me. I can take care a' m'self. Been, er, gettin' my own. 'M fine." She glanced at him again just long enough to notice that he was nervously looking everywhere but at her, likely aware of just how unconvincing he sounded. If he was taking care of himself, he'd clearly have to be doing an absolutely terrible job of it.
"Well, you d-don't have to let it go to waste," she tried, doubtful he would go for it, but maybe she could at least figure out why if he refused. "I think it's still good."
Spike got a trapped sort of look on his face at that, one that gave Tara the distinct feeling that he badly wanted to avoid having to drink it. If that was the case, she couldn't even begin to fathom why, but that possibility definitely worried her greatly.
"Uh...well, actually...no, I...it's pro'lly gone off by now," he stammered after another silence, looking down and slouching as though trying to disappear.
"I could get some more," she offered, though she wasn't completely sure if she believed his excuse. Her brow furrowed with worry as she looked at him, then she hesitantly added, "Are you sure you're feeling okay? Is...is anything wrong?"
"I'm fine," he shot back defencively with a snarl, standing with his shoulders hunched and completely refusing to look at her now.
This was going to be very difficult. Tara sighed, putting down her book. "I'm really worried about you, Spike," she confessed gently. When he gave no indication that he'd heard her and continued to glower at the floor, she continued very softly and hesitantly, "I mean it...when was the last time you ate?"
No response. His desire not to share the answer spoke far louder than words could have.
"Spike..." Tara's eyes began to tear up with the helplessness she felt at his withdrawal from her, and she felt increasingly afraid that she wouldn't be able to get through to him at all, when he clearly so badly needed help. "Please...talk to me."
The silence stretched out for several long minutes, then finally Spike just shook his head and stalked towards the door, grabbing his duster on the way out. "Goin' out for a smoke," he muttered, not even looking back on his way out and slamming the door rather forcefully behind him.
Tara stared helplessly in the direction the vampire had left, repeating the exchange in her head and trying to think if she could have said anything different to make him actually listen to her. She'd heard so many times that he couldn't love without a soul, but she didn't believe that. Even when Buffy was still alive, it had been obvious to her that his feelings were more than a mere 'obsession', as Giles had put it, and now... When the Slayer died, he seemed to have been hit hardest of all, the image of him breaking down and sobbing at the sight of her lifeless body surfacing in her memory at the thought. That wasn't the way an unfeeling monster would ever react, especially not to the death of his species' natural enemy, and an unfeeling monster definitely would never have tried to end his own life at the sight by moving towards the fatal sunlight with such clear intent.
Something clicked in Tara's head then, increasing her worry. Spike had tried to kill himself when Buffy died, and they'd stopped him. He hadn't made another attempt since then, but now he apparently wasn't eating anymore, and she had a very bad feeling that the two things were connected—he was slowly destroying himself. At this realisation, she felt it even more important now to somehow get through to him before it was too late to get him to see reason...if it wasn't already too late.
Shuddering with apprehension, she took a deep breath to steel her resolve, then stood up and followed him outside.
Thankfully, Spike hadn't run off; true to his word, he was sitting on the porch and smoking a cigarette, gazing off into the distance at nothing in particular.
"What now, Glenda?" he asked shortly without bothering to turn and look at her, and she jumped a bit at the sound of his voice, having forgotten that he could easily sense when anyone was around. It didn't seem like he was going to try to evade her again, motionless apart from moving the cigarette to his lips and blowing out the smoke, watching it slowly float away through the air in front of him.
Tara hesitated, cautiously searching for the right words. "Spike...you can talk to me," she offered gently, her voice barely above a whisper. "I won't tell anyone else what you say, if...if you need to talk. I'm here for you, okay?" She just barely caught sight of a tear running down his cheek as he hung his head and closed his eyes to try to hide it, moving her by the clear intensity of his pain. The shy witch refused to believe anyone else's accusations that this man's lack of soul rendered him unable to feel, not when he showed such astounding depths of emotion so often. She'd known humans with less feeling than this vampire.
"I really do care about you, you know," she reassured him softly when he said nothing, finding her own eyes growing damp at the sight of his obvious suffering. "The others might not, but I think you're a good man, and you have a good heart." Slowly taking a seat beside him on the porch, she gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, relieved when he didn't flinch away from it. "Please...I...I know you're hurting, and I want to help you."
Spike finally looked at her briefly, seeing the sincerity in her eyes, then turned away again as he drew in a shaky breath, blinking back tears. Pausing to compose his thoughts, he retrieved his pack of smokes from an inside pocket of his duster and extracted another, using the spent one to light it before discarding the butt and grinding it out with his boot. "It's so hard," he finally spoke up, his voice very strained. "Hell...I jus' can't 'andle this. Loved her, 'n now she's gone. What've I got to live for now? Keepin' my promise to protect the Bit...not much else..." His breath hitched in his chest with a barely suppressed sob, and he closed his eyes again. "Fail at bein' a monster, cos I've got this bloody chip in my head. Fail at bein' a man, 'cos I 'aven't got a soul, 'n that makes me no good in the eyes a' the Scoobies. What's my purpose?"
Tara remained silent as he talked, simply listening as she stroked his shoulder slowly, trying to console him. "I...I know it hurts," she said quietly, pained by how heartbroken he sounded. "All of us are grieving in our own ways, and I think you must have the worst of it. I wish you didn't have to hurt." She sighed sadly, at a loss for how to help. "I really do believe you, that you loved her. You changed so much for her, and a lot of people with souls wouldn't do half of what you did for her, just to make her happy. I don't think it's the chip that's keeping you from being a monster. I believe you had that goodness inside you all along, you just needed a reason to change."
Spike studied the glowing tip of his cigarette for a moment, his expression distant. "You're really somethin' special, y'know that?" he told the witch almost inaudibly, grateful affection in his eyes as he glanced at her face. "Tryin' to help a vampire pining after 'is lost love, odd bird you are." He laughed slightly in a self-deprecating sort of way. "Bloody 'ell, I've really turned into a right poof, 'aven't I? Sittin' 'ere, mopin', bein' consoled by a harmless chit I'd jus' as soon've eaten a few years ago..." When it then dawned on him what he'd just said, any trace of a smile vanished from his face to be replaced by a pained and stricken look, and he quickly looked away and down towards the ground, closing his eyes.
The witch didn't miss that look, and she had the feeling that the reminder of his bloodthirsty nature was very greatly troubling him. Though nervous of upsetting him, she nonetheless couldn't resist voicing her concern again. "You...you haven't been eating at all, have you?" she asked after a momentary silence. A flinch from the vampire along with a lack of an answer confirmed her suspicions. "...Why?"
He abandoned his cigarette and buried his face in his hands. "Don't wanna talk 'bout this."
"Spike...please..." Tara pressed.
There was no response for a very long time, and she'd begun to worry he'd closed himself off from her completely again before he finally spoke, his voice shaky and halting, "Made a promise. I failed. Niblet..." As he paused for another long moment, he uncovered his face to wipe at his eyes, trying to choke back a sob. "I let 'er get hurt. Wasn't fast enough. That Doc guy...'e cut 'er...I..." He shuddered violently. "Makes me sick now. Thinkin' 'bout it, smellin' it...I can't...jus' think of the Bit, bleedin'..." Fighting back tears, he shakily lit up another cigarette to try to compose himself, haunted eyes staring off into the distance.
Tara was struck speechless at this confession. Out of the many reasons she'd considered that could be keeping Spike from feeding, this was one that had never occurred to her at all. "Oh Goddess," she breathed, devastated and at a loss for words. Spike continued to simply smoke in silence, until finally Tara had recovered enough to voice another question, "But...don't you need blood to survive?" She winced sympathetically and added, "And d-don't you get hungry? You...you're skin and bones, Spike...I'd think—"
"Doesn't matter," he cut her off in a surprisingly forceful snarl, sending a shiver up her spine. He acted so human most of the time that she sometimes forgot just how frightening he could be when he wanted to. He took another deep drag from his cigarette, trying to calm down a bit. "Besides, it's my fault the Slayer's dead. She trusted me, 'n I let 'er down. I deserve a spot of sufferin'."
He sounded so bitter at himself that Tara didn't know what to say to that. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered, hanging her head.
"Don't be," Spike told her flatly. He glanced up at something, then stood up, tossing his cigarette to the ground and putting it out. "Well, the gang's nearly 'ere. Time for patrol."
The vampire started to walk off, then he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the shy Wiccan still sitting on the porch, his expression softening. "Thanks for the talk, love. Really," he told her sincerely, then turned again and walked away.
Tara watched him leave, her mind full of troubled thoughts. Spike's problems were even worse than she'd thought, and she genuinely had no idea what else to do for him. "I'm here for you," she said softly, knowing he could still hear her voice as he disappeared into the night. "Please don't give up."
