And Then There Were Three
Chapter Nine: Chateau Scrappy

Turns out I moved in with a couple of early morning cartoon addicts. I stumble out of my room and avoid strips of sunlight. Tara stands up and, without taking her eyes off the telly, twitches the curtains more tightly closed. I like that she did that to protect me. Nice to know someone doesn't want me fried extra crispy. Anya tosses me a thick black blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. Wow, Anya wants me in one piece too. Will you look at all the lovely unbelievable occurrences that keep piling up?

I settle on the floor, hugging a cushion beneath my chest and pull the blanket up over my head, to protect me from the tiny sliver of sunlight that stubbornly fought it's way through the curtains, despite Tara's constant adjustments. They're watching Scooby Doo. Didn't like that when it first came out, probably why I took an instant dislike to the actual Scoobies. That and the fact their leader was my mortal enemy.

"I was thinking," Anya said.

"Don't hurt yourself," I answer and a cushion bounces off my head.

"As I was saying," Anya sniffs haughtily. "If Buffy, Xander and Willow are the Scoobies, are we the Scrappies?"

"I should bloody well hope not," I snort.

"I never liked Scrappy Doo much," Tara said, watching as the little twat pranced around on the screen, screeching about "pup-pyyy power!" Why doesn't the little wanker shove his power up his puppy sized arse? Better yet, why doesn't his uncle "let him at 'em!" with any luck they'd tear him into tiny, less annoying pieces.

"Why don't you like him?" Anya asked. "I thought cute things were loved by all. Is he not cute?"

"Yeah, I guess. But doesn't he grow and how doesn't he notice that his uncle Scooby's a yellow bellied coward?" Tara asks, studying the little thing. "And his head is out of proportion to his body."

"It's all a conspiracy," I agree. "To draw young children in and tempt them to by the toys which brainwash them and turn them into homicidal maniacs."

"Oh," Anya accepts this as the truth; living on the Hellmouth does that to you. "We should stop him," she tells us. "Kick puppy ass."

Tara and I turn and look at her.

"Ever heard someone's expression likened to that of a "kicked puppy"?" I ask her.

"Well, yeah, but if it's an evil puppy…"

"I don't hate him that much," Tara said. "And he is sort of sweet."

"Oh, yeah," Anya shrugs. "We don't fight the big evil anymore. Sorry, I forgot."

"Hey," I protest. "I fight evil! I kick demon arse every night!"

"Is that what you do?" Anya asks. "Tara told me you go to a knitting group."

I look at Tara, absolutely bloody outraged.

"Glinda!" I shout. "What the hell do you think you're playing at? Making me look pansy arsed?"

"You ass is quite nice," Anya informs me.

"Repeat that later when I'm less indignant," I tell her, not moving my eyes off Tara who's looking amused, if a little stunned.

"Hey, I was joking," she says, holding up her hands. "I didn't think she actually believed me."

"Don't you think I've got enough of a complex about being half baked without you babbling on about knitting?" Satan knows why I took it so to heart. Guess seeing Buffy and being told I was nothing hurt more than I thought.

"Spike," she says. "I was a joke. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Don't start that," I say, leaping up. "I know you don't mean it, just a way to get me to stick around and do stuff for you."

"No," Tara stands up and shakes her head, reaching out to touch my hand. I jerk away and the blanket slides off. I step back and my wrist is grazed by sunlight. I hiss and pull it back. "Calm down," she tells me, taking my hand and leading me into the bathroom where she gently binds the burn.

"Sorry," I mumble. "Didn't mean to go off on one."

"That's ok," she says quietly. "I didn't hurt your feelings, did I?"

I get a strange feeling then, not something I can actually put a name to. But to have her sweet little voice ask if she hurt my feelings, the feelings she insists I have, feels nice.

"No, pet," I shake my head and concentrate on the bandage she tenderly wrapped around my wrist. Don't know why she did it, she knows it'll heal in a few minutes. I feel her warm, soft hand cup my chin and pull my face up 'til I'm looking into her pretty and concerned face.

"Tell me why you're acting weird?" she seems to be asking permission, like she ain't got a right to know how I feel. All rot of course; girl's got more right to ask than most.

"Buffy," I sigh. "It's always her. Can't get rid of her. I try, Tara, then I'll see her. On patrol or at the Bronze and she'll make some little comment. And then sometimes, like that time I saw Dawn at her house and helped her with the essay, remember?" she nods and waits for me to continue. "She was really nice, thought we were getting somewhere. Then poof! She kills that as well as she kills a demon. Bang! Gone, over. Can't stop at that though, can she? Oh no, has to tell me I'm nothing, I'm disgusting and soulless. Has to tell me she didn't even have to get over me."

"Oh, Spike," Tara takes my hand and cradles it in hers. "You're not nothing to me. I like you. You're not disgusting and who cares if you don't have a soul? There are humans who do terrible things and they have a soul, I think that's worse. I care, Spike, I really do."

"Me too."

Tara and I turn and Anya's holding the door, leaning against it and watching us.

"I eavesdropped," she says bluntly. "I wanted to say I care about you too, Spike. And not only because you have a pretty ass, but because you came after me, you and Tara. Like the knight in shining armour only with a battered old black car instead of a white steade. And… you don't mind when I mess up and stuff, you don't get mad at me all the time, except the other night. But even then you weren't mad. So, I like you. You are a very nice person," she says brightly, smiling widely at me. Then she reaches over and taps me heartily on the hand, quite the little ray of sunshine, ain't she? "This is very Oprah, isn't it?"

"Then let's stop the caring and sharing," I say gruffly, but even I was quite touched by her little speech.

Tara laughs and pulls me up.

"I think Dexter's Lab is on now," she says.

"What's with cartoonists and short characters?" Anya asks. "Is it a joke? Why don't they make jokes about tall people?"

"You can't tread on tall people," I tell her.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, Tara?"

"If you ever snap at me again, I might consider turning you into a toad," I know she's not being serious, but it's nice to know she can joke about something that could have upset her. Might have at one time, but not now, bint knows me too well.

"Leastways if you did that, I could watch you two lovely ladies in the bathtub. All hot and sweaty," I leer.

"Spike!" both girls groan.

Been quite the busy week at Chateau Scrappy. Had Harris in here three times and Willow walked Tara home every day except Wednesday when she had a Scooby meeting which she didn't think to invite Tara to. Dawn dropped by a few times, but her presence wasn't resented. Buffy didn't come round, didn't really expect her to, but didn't stop me hoping.

She must have thought her first threat didn't warrant another, 'cause Red was quite pleasant to me. Harris on the other hand was his usual charming self. Ignored me twice but the third time, Anya asked him – dunno if asked is the right word though, more like an order from your commanding officer – never to come again and he decided it was my influence.

Huh, if I had my way, I'd've told her to contact D'Hoffryn, get back on the vengeance train and curse him. Dick boils could be nice, fun to watch him squirm. Or never having another woman ever. Or there's the ever appealing sending him to a dimension where every male demon to ever grace this or any other dimension, has their wicked way with him for the rest of eternity. Only problem is that I won't get to watch that chubby little face of his contort as he writhes in agony. Ah, what a lovely visual, complete with sound.

So, it's been an eventful week. Well, for Glinda and Sunshine anyway.

I light a cigarette and walk slowly up the stairs. Coming down off my violence induced high, the gloops of blue goo that cover my duster seem unsightly and they stink to high heaven. Been a good night, two vampires and a big ugly demon. I open the door and despite the stinking crap on my jacket, I'm smiling. That is until I see Anya sobbing on the couch with Tara holding her, murmuring soft words of comfort.

"What happened?" I ask, dropping my axe and hurrying over to them. "Did Xander have another - " that's the moment I notice the blood seeping from Tara's temple. I'm an ignorant fuck, how could I not've smelt it? Stupid fuckin' high.

"My arm!" Anya wails. "It hurt my arm!"

"Tara," I start urgently. "What happened, tell me!"

"A-a d-demon," she stutters.

Ok, gonna have to calm 'em down before I can get anything coherent out of her. I go into the bathroom and get Band-Aids, disinfectant, tissues and bandages. I gently disentangle Anya from Tara and tilt Tara's head back. I disinfect the cut, trying not to let the heady scent of her blood distract me. Then I press a Band-Aid over it and turn to Anya. Her shirt's ruined; the sleeve ripped to shreds. Her hand is pressed to it and blood seeps between her fingers.

"C'mon, Sunshine," I mutter, prying her fingers from the wound. "Lemme see."

She looks at me.

"It hurts," she whimpers.

"I know," I answer and pull the sleeve. I inspect the wound; it's not too deep. I disinfect it and wrap it. I put the kettle on and leave it to boil while I get Anya a shirt from her room. I hand it to her and disappear into the kitchen to make two coffees and a mug of blood.

Anya's changed her shirt when I go back into the living room. She and Tara are curled on the couch and I hand them their coffees. I drop into a chair and lean forward.

"You two ok?" I ask.

"I-I think so," Tara says.

"Tell me," I prompt.

"I went to the magic shop," Tara says. "To get some things and I waited for Anya so we could walk home together. We were almost home when we were attacked. I only had a stake and he kinda… broke it. We tried to run but it caught us and it knocked me over which is when I cut my head. I heard Anya scream and I think that's when it cut you?" the last part is a question aimed at Anya who nods. "I knocked it over with a spell and grabbed Anya and we just ran. We didn't stop until we got home."

"It didn't chase you?" I ask.

"I think I knocked it out."

"I hate Sunnydale!" Anya says. "Why can't Buffy do her job?"

"She tries," Tara said. "But she…" she looks at me. Ah, yeah, recently she hasn't had any help. Well, not help that's at her side, but I've been out there doin' my bit.

"Would it make you feel better if I killed it?" I ask Anya.

"Yes," she nods. "But you'll have to find out what it is."

"Why?" I ask, the thrill of the thought of violence dulled by the idea of research.

"If ou don't know what it is," Anya points out. "You don't know how to kill it."

"Cut it's soddin' head off!" I cry.

"Not always," she shakes her head. "But don't worry, at the Magic Box we have a wide selection of books that you can look in. Come over tomorrow with Tara and she can help you look."

"And what will you be doing?" Tara asks.

"Minding the shop and making helpful comments," Anya beams, maybe the thought of money cheered her up? Don't ask me to fathom her mind.

"Fine," I relent.

"Then we can kill it," Anya nods.

"We?" I ask.

Anya folds her arms and pouts slightly.

"It ripped my shirt. This shirt was my favourite and it was expensive. He won't get away with it."

"Sure?" I ask. "This could probably rip more than your shirt..."

"But," Tara starts. "You'd need… back-up? Right?"

"I don't think so, pet," I snort.

"But if you end up dust, who's going to help us pay the rent?" she asks.

"Oh, thanks. Good to know you're only after my money and not my body," I mutter.

"Oh, she's not after your body, you have no breasts," Anya says. Gee, thanks Anya, I wondered why I was a bit flat up top. Oh no, she's talking again. "But we are coming."

"Since when did you take an interest in killing your demon chums?" I ask.

"Since they started ruining perfectly good clothes."

"She's got a point," Tara says, the blush that had reddened her cheeks when Anya mentioned my lack of breasts has faded a little. "And I've been thinking that maybe I should start helping out with the staking again."

"Why?" I ask. "You don't have to. You can live a normal life."

"I live with a vampire and an ex-demon and I'm a witch, I don't think killing evil will scar me for life."

"No," I tell them, standing up so I can do my Giles impression. "It's too dangerous. You stay here and clean my axe when I get in."

"What about the research?" Anya asks.

"You can do that."

Tara and Anya glance at each other.

"Ok," they say.

Should've been suspicious then, shouldn't I? I'm a right blind sod. I s'pose you saw it coming? Yeah, well, no need to gloat.