And Then There Were Three
Chapter Five: Moving On

Tara did this squealing, clapping dance when I told her I'd put the deposit down.

"Calm down, love," I told her, catching her wrists to still her for a second. "You haven't even seen the place. You don't mind that, do you?" I suddenly think that I should have taken her to see it.

"No, no," she shakes her head, grinning widely. "I just know I'll love it. We move in tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I grab her hand and push it firmly through my arm as we walk, she giggles and leans on me. "Sure you don't mind the place being full of demons?"

"I'll be living with one," she twists her head to smile at me. "I don't mind. Like you said, you'll protect me."

"That I will. Always be safe with me, precious."

She blushes slightly at the name, but it is true, she is precious to me.

"Spike?"

"Yes, pet?"

"Would you like to stay the night?" she asks. "You could get your things from the crypt and bring them to my apartment, then stay over. We could get up really early and take everything over before dawn. If that isn't too much trouble?"

"No trouble at all," I smile. "I'll walk you to your door then nip back to get my stuff."

"Good," she nods. "I'll do the spell to find Anya. And, Spike," she puts on a stern voice. "You are not to make me laugh and kept me talking all night, we have to be up early."

"Scouts Honour," I raise a hand.

"I can't imagine you in the uniform," she looks me up and down. "Do you have knobbly knees?"

"I do not!" I retort sharply. "I'll have you know that I have the sexiest knees on the bloody planet!"

"Of course you do," she soothes.

"Don't patronise me!"

"All right then; your knee's are ugly."

I growl and she laughs again. She flits away from me and runs into the apartment block.

"C'mere!" I call. "You think you can outrun me?"

"You fiend!" she teases as she runs down the hall to her door.

I catch up to her at the door and for the first time, I notice how very beautiful she is. Her face is flushed slightly, making her eyes look bluer and her blonde hair flies around her face.

"You caught me," she breathes and we stare at each other for a long moment.

"That I did," I say quietly, as I wonder why neither of us is moving. "I'd better get my things."

"Yes," she nods and turns away, fumbling with her keys. "I'll see you in a while," she stands in the open doorway and passes me the keys. "Let yourself in, I might still be doing the spell."

"All right, love," I take them and she nods a little, then turns away and closes the door.

I stand for a second as I wonder what the hell that was. It would've been easy to kiss her, to reach out and touch her. Didn't though, didn't want to ruin what we had. She's a good girl is Tara. We're here for each other, 'cause of what happened. Never gonna happen again. Ever.

Bugger.

Buffy walked in on me while I was packing. Not much to pack, not much to show for a couple of years in this place.

I try to pretend she isn't there. She doesn't talk, doesn't open that pretty little mouth of hers. So I carry on packing. I throw my clothes into my duffel bag, followed by books and CDs Harmony didn't destroy. She's still being quiet, just watching. And I still pretend she isn't there. It's hard, 'cause she fills the space, my space. I can hear her, her heartbeat and breathing. I can smell her, her natural scent, the scent of her shampoo and soap and the faint aroma of grease from the DoubleMeat Palace that never really leaves her. It's hard not to run over to her and grab her in my arms.

The voice in my head is whispering to take her, to grab her roughly and throw her to the floor. To shag her, screw her. She wouldn't protest, because that's what she comes here for, that's why she comes to me. I don't though, I could, she'd push me away, but she's never serious. She wants it as much as I want her. But I don't want to shag her, screw her or fuck her, I want what I can't have; to make love to her, to prove I love her more than anything. So I don't touch her, I straighten up and look at her. There's an expression on her face that could be read as dismay. But I doubt that's what it is.

"You're leaving?" she asks, her voice choked.

"The crypt, yeah," I answer.

"Where are you going?" her voice is tiny and vulnerable. Maybe she just came to talk?

"Why do you care?" I snap. I can't do this. Can't stand here and tell her I'm moving in with her best friends exes – that is, if Anya decides to move in. I can't explain myself to her. I'm too tired of it all.

"I don't," there she is, the one I always see. Tough Buffy, the big bad Slayer.

"Then you don't need to know," I smirk. "But, if you want to have a shag to celebrate me leavin', for old time's sake, I'm right here, Slayer. all you gotta do is unwrap me."

She pauses for a second too long and I know she was seriously considering it. But only for a second.

"You're a pig, Spike," she says, spitting out the word.

"Yeah?" I heave my bag onto my bag, reach out to stuff my TV under one arm and the stereo under the other. "Well, this pig's about to sprout wings and fly."

"Where are you going?" she repeats, side stepping as I brush past her out of the crypt.

"Don't worry, Slayer, I'm not leaving town."

"No?" she sticks her nose in the air. "Now that's a shame."

"Oh, just stake me," I cry out suddenly, turning to face her. "I'm all vulnerable," I indicate with a couple of thrusts of my chin that my hands are full. "Can't fight you, can't stop you. So just put me out of my misery already!"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" she sneers.

"No, pet, can't say I much care for being dust."

"I could like you as dust."

"So stop yapping and stake me good an' proper!"

She steps towards me and I see her hand dip slightly to her waistband to retrieve her stake. She hesitates in her step and her fingers relax and fall to her side. She curls her lip in a familiar look of disgust.

"You're not worth it," she hisses.

With that, she turns and flounces off. I watch her for a second then shake my head and carry on my way back to my car to drive back to Tara's. I know she isn't worth it, well, she is, but I know we aren't worth it. I know we can never have a relationship, her being mortal and me being immortal. And I know that if ever she admits she cares, there'll always be Angel.

It was because of him that she got this whole "You can't love without a soul" crap, but she's wrong. As Dru said, "We can love quite well, if not wisely." I can never live up to him, not in her eyes, no matter what. I wouldn't want to. I'm me, not Peaches. I try to help her, Niblet and her friends, for the little thanks I get, but it's not enough and I know it never will be. I'll always be beneath her.

But as I walk back towards Tara's, knowing she cares a little about me, that she'll heat me up a mug of blood and make me a comfy bed on the floor, I can't find it in me to care that much.

She's found Anya. She told me as soon as I came in. Ran at me and grabbed me in a tight hug.

I'm lying here, listening to her breath. She's asleep. True to my word, I didn't keep her up. She fell asleep quite quickly, but I'm turning the night over in my head. That thing with Tara. God, what was that? I hit myself hard in the head with the heel of my hand. I will not think of her that way. Not Tara. Who is very sweet, very caring, very kind, very generous and very, very gay.

Gay. As in, she likes women, like Red.

And I love Buffy.

Doesn't matter that she don't love me, or that she don't even like me that much, the point is I love her and I'll always be there for her and Dawn. 'Cause I love 'em both and if I hadn't turned to the dark long ago. I've got huge problems. I don't think Satan could help me, let alone the big guy upstairs. If there is a big guy at all.

Problems? I hear you ask. What problems?

You think I've got it so good? You think that 'cause I'm immortal and gorgeous I have everything so cool? Well I haven't. For one, I'm in love with a complete bitch who just happens to be the Slayer, aka, my mortal enemy. I can't fight the way I used to, can't feed. Oh and there is the thing that I'm about to move in with a cranky, jilted ex-demon and a sweet young witch who I happen to have developed a very mild cru – oh fuck. See what I mean? You think you got problems? You don't know the half of it, mate.