NB: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! Every comment is really treasured!
Tara makes her way to the Magic Box. It's still early and Anya is downstairs taking inventory. She climbs the ladder up into the higher stacks, skimming the shelves with her fingers.
When she finally finds the book she needs she levers it out quietly, slipping it into her bag, climbing back down the ladder.
At the desk she scribbles a quick note for Anya;
Borrowed the Construction of the Soul, will bring back asap, Tara x
"Spike?"
"Mmm?" they've been leaning against the lid of the coffin for what seems like hours, doing nothing but holding each other.
"Why do you think it's different? The way you are without a soul, and... the way Angel is."
He pulls her a bit tighter, pulling her hair away from her shoulder where his head is lying.
"Got my theories. Not sure you'll like them, luv."
She sighs, brushing his cheek with hers.
"Tell me anyway."
He pulls a breath in, bracing himself for the words he needs to say.
"When Dru was sired, Angel had spent months torturing her, driving her to the brink. Pushing her over it. Killed her family in front of her. She was insane by the end of it. It's that insanity that drives her demon. The ground that it stands on. The last piece of her humanity that was left before it took over. When Liam became Angelus, he'd just left a pub after being thrown out for fighting, threw a punch that nearly broke a man's jaw. He spotted Darla... thought he'd have a different sort of fun to finish the night off. If she wasn't willing I don't think that would've ultimately stopped him. Whether he was that man all the time or just that night his demon has it's feet firmly planted on the violence that was running through him then."
He's quiet for a long time.
Buffy stirs against him.
"And you?"
He sighs deeply, and she feels the muscles in his neck tense.
"...The girl I loved told me I was beneath her. That's what I stand on. I'll be loves bitch 'til I'm dust."
She freezes at those words, her breath catching in her throat.
That night in the alley.
He'd lean in to kiss her and she backed away repulsed. But not at him, at herself for how much she'd wanted to.
..."Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."
"Say it's true. Say I do want to. It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you. You're beneath me."...
Did I really say those words...
She pulls back to look at his face. He looks tired beyond words.
"Mm... wondered if you'd remember. Funny innit, how history repeats itself."
Tara buys a coffee and a pack of cookies from the coffee shop. Once she's back at her apartment she settles in at the kitchen table. The book is thick, it's depth nearly the length of her forearm. She takes the first cookie from the box, and makes a start.
Should've bought a 2nd coffee.
It's slow, gruelling reading, endless paragraphs of historical factoids and religious debate. On and on and on for hundreds of pages.
By midday she makes a pot of coffee, adding extra grounds to make it as strong as possible. While it brews she takes a hot shower, trying to unknot her back that's started to seize from sitting at the kitchen table for hours. As the hot water scolds her back her mind drifts to Willow. She'd skim through this density with ease. Even before magic she could whip through a book in a matter of hours, sucking every little bit of useful information from it.
If that's not magic...
She tries to bury the ache that surfaces inside, turns the heat up higher until the only thing in her mind is the nearly burning water.
When she finally emerges the coffee has finished brewing. It's incredibly bitter, but she drinks it black, sitting back down in front of the book again. The letters crawl and wiggle on the page, trying to avoid her gaze.
They stand together in the dappled light filtering through the crypt windows.
It's getting late in the afternoon.
"I should go. Dawn will be home from school soon."
"Wait until it's dark. I'll come with you," he reaches for the collar of her shirt, fingering the top button, "stay a bit longer."
He moves a hand onto her lower back, pushing her hips against his.
"Spike, I-"
"Just a bit longer, luv."
By the time Tara reaches the relevant chapter it's getting dark out, and she's finished the pot of coffee. A soft inky blue hue darkens the room. She switches the lamp on and blinks uncomfortably in the sudden light, her eyes feel like they're liquifying.
There's a long rambling piece on the restoration of the soul, one side the original text in Sumerian, the other it's translation. As she flicks back and forth between the two she notes a discrepancy... something a little out of sequence.
She walks to her bookcase and fishes out a book from the bottom shelf, a compendium of Sumerian translations. Not exactly syllabus reading but unendingly useful for half the stuff she's been involved with since being with Willow.
She places it down next to The Construction of the Soul, retrieving a notepad and pencil from her bag and starts the translation from scratch.
"Oh..." she double checks her work, but the words are clear as day, "Oh my God."
She dials Buffy's home, let's it ring but there's no answer. She re-dials, but nothing. She grabs her bag, gently lowering the book into it along with her notepad, and is out the door.
Tara pulls the crypt door open, it's stiff and she has to put her back into it.
"Spike? BUFFY?"
There's a noise from the hole in the floor and she moves towards it before thinking better of it.
After a moment Spike crawls out of the hole, buttoning the last buttons on a red shirt. Buffy follows him, in the same clothes she had on that morning.
"Tara... you- did you find something?" Buffy conscientiously runs her fingers through her hair trying to untangle a clump of knots that's nestled at the back of her head. A dark blush blemishes Tara's face. Spike is watching her, smirking like a cat that's got the cream. Several times over.
"I did. I... I-" she lowers her bag onto the coffin and levers out the book.
Spike raises an eyebrow at it.
"That the same volume Red used?"
"Yes."
"Someone else been messing about with it?"
"No. I mean... no."
Spike fishes in his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one.
"Fill us in then."
"It's-" she feels suddenly dizzy from the run there. All she's eaten is a box of cookies and about 8 cups of coffee. She sways and Spike grabs her arms before she topples back.
"Whoa now, Glinda, don't trip out on us just yet."
He helps her into the armchair, settling her back.
"Just start from the beginning, alright pet?"
Tara nods, taking a few steadying breaths.
"Ok... So...There's more than one way to.. force... a soul back in."
"More than one way?" Buffy asks, glancing at the book.
"The way Willow used, and the way it was used on Angel the first time, it's like... planting a tree. Straight into the ground. Even if the tree looks sturdy, the roots are shallow, and it's easy to pull out again. The other two ways it's like planting a tree from a seed. When it grows, it's roots are much deeper, a-and it can't be removed the same way... the way.." she looks at Buffy then and bites her lip.
"What are the other ways?" Spike drags on his cigarette, betraying a shaking in his hand.
"The first way is through trials. Either a Demi-god or a demon shaman can... inflict these trials. They're often agonising, but once passed a soul is granted."
There's a long pause.
"But that's not what we're talking about is it?" Spike mutters, smiling sourly.
"The other... it's hypothesised but never proved.. it's said," she takes a moment to steady herself, " it's said that an Angel can restore the soul."
"An angel?" Spike furrows his brow.
"That's what the translation says. But there's a deviation from the original text."
"Which is?"
"In it's original words, the term angel is the closest comparison to the word used. But if you expand on it... what it really translates to is... One Who Is Heaven Sent."
They both turn to look at Buffy. All the colour has drained from her face.
"...Oh."