"Elysium"
By Dana Woods © 2003
Disclaimer: The characters/concepts of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and everyone else who makes money from the show. The rest is mine. Ooh, I bet Joss is jealous.
***
Part 6
They received more than their share of odd looks at the Paris airport: Spike wrapped head to foot in the thick black material, Tara black and blue with one arm in a sling.
It didn't help that the bright color of Tara's shirt kept her from blending into the background like her usual faded colors did. She'd donned one of his, the front closure being easier to manage with the bum shoulder, and the royal blue silk practically glowed against her skin and hair. Also perfectly framed the handprint around her throat, but Spike thought he was probably the only one in the airport that enjoyed that fact.
He ignored everyone. Tara met the eyes of every person who stared until they looked away.
Once again, they were brought to the interior of the airport, this time a lower level employee lounge that reeked of wine and cigarettes. Yes, this was definitely Paris. Tres bloody magnifique. Tara's French didn't extend beyond yes, please, and thank you, so Spike had handled all of the interaction with the airport staff. They'd already booked a flight out of Paris for sometime in the middle of the night. The plan was to go to the cavern, put the onyx in the pit, take the onyx out of the pit, and then go directly back to the airport and hop on a flight to California. There were some scheduled stops along the way, though. They were checking in at a hotel for the simple fact that Tara would need a shower after the pit.
In the meantime, they were waiting in the windowless room for sunset. It looked like old, discarded bench seats from the terminals had been pawned off on the lower level employees. Most of them were in a bad state of disrepair, and had suffered more than a few wine spills and cigarette burns, Spike noticed as he unwrapped himself.
Tara made a small face, but carefully eased herself onto a row of seats, wincing when her shoulder was jostled. That was her own stubborn fault. Absolutely refused to take the painkillers the hospital in Florence had sent them off with.
"I'll take them before we get on the plane back," Tara said, and Spike started at her apparent mind reading. Then he realized that he was scowling at her, and had probably started doing so the moment she'd flinched.
Spike tossed their bags on the seats next to Tara and pointed at her. "I'm holding you to that. Hopefully the things'll knock you out for a bit. Let you get some rest." He tossed himself back on the seats across from Tara, lying on his back with his hands clasped under his head, and his legs crossed at the ankles. "Speaking of rest...we've got an hour to kill if you want to nap."
"Yeah, um, I don't think so," she dismissed, looking at his sprawled out form, and then at the row of seats. "I doubt I'll be able to get comfortable."
Spike offered to rifle through his bag for the playing cards, but Tara shook her head.
He was tired. A tired that went beyond physical exhaustion. This trip seemed never ending, even though it would be ending the next day. Every stop had been short but horrible, taking chunks of Tara with it and leaving him to try to help her pick up the pieces. Only she hadn't. Not yet. She'd only pushed everything aside even as she'd faced it. That took a real determination and heavy handed avoidance.
It was going to bite her in the arse.
The rage that was keeping her on her feet was either going to buck at the reigns shortly and explode, or melt away. When that happened, she was going to have to deal with everything properly and he didn't know if she was going to be able to. He'd seen strength in her since this trip began, but he didn't know if it was all due to the anger, or if *she* was strong. He truly hoped it was the latter, because she didn't stand a chance otherwise.
"Not to eager to spend the next bit of time staring at the wall, pet," he commented half an hour later.
"I'm just not in the mood for, uh, cards," she said apologetically.
"How about I tell you about the others, then." He cut a glance in her direction. "If you're interested?"
She nodded, her pale eyes lighting up a small amount. "Is Dawn all right?"
Spike turned his head to the side and grinned at her. "Niblet's great," he said easily. "All sucked into school--socially, not academically--and has lots of nice, normal friends. She's thriving."
Tara's face softened. "Good," she said quietly. "I was...worried. I couldn't really help her that summer..." She cleared her throat. "Does she have a boyfriend? Oh. Or a girlfriend?"
Spike glared at her. "No. She doesn't need some slobbering moron attached to her hip and trying to get in her pants," he snapped. "Or some googly eyed chit, either."
"I, uh, hate to break it to you, Spike, but no one will ever be good enough for her," Tara said with a smile. "Let her have fun. She deserves it." Her eyes darkened. "I don't think the others had much fun in high school."
"You'd be surprised." Tara frowned, and he grinned. "Neither patrolling, nor apocalypses nor my demented grandsire could keep that group from the Bronze," he recited soberly and Tara laughed. He tilted his head and considered it for a moment. "Or from anything, actually," he amended, snorting lightly. "They were teenagers, and they acted like it. You should ask Rupes about it; damn near drove him nuts to hear him tell it."
The eye that wasn't swollen shut twinkled. "Poor Mr. Giles."
Spike waved a hand. "Watcher needed every minute of it to keep him young. Should've seen him back then: all tweed suits--in Cali-bloody-fornia, no less--and ties and loafers. It was pathetic."
"Hm. Is he still...?"
"Drinking like a fish?" Spike finished wryly. "No. Got himself back together in Merry Ole England. Works with the Counsel, still, but mostly just spends his time aggravating us."
Tara digested that. "I guess it *would* be hard for him," she mused finally. "New people replacing his people."
Spike sat up and looked at her. "No one replaced anybody," he said harshly. "Hell, if you ask me, there's no replacing that bunch. Faith, Olson and Josh are just doing what needs to be done."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I know," she hastened to assure him. "I'm not saying, uh, that's what I think, just that Mr. Giles probably can't help but see it like that." Spike nodded and sat back. At least Tara wouldn't be joining Giles in picking at Faith and the lovey-dovey couple. "How is Faith doing with the whole, um, being good thing?"
"Much to my dismay," he replied dejectedly, "she's all reformed." He shared a smile with Tara, then shifted awkwardly and looked away. "Faith--well all of them, actually, aren't *entirely* incompetent or annoying."
"High praise," she noted idly and he curled his lips at her. "I know that Olson is Faith's Watcher, but who's, uh, Josh?"
Spike looked back at her, smirk planted firmly on his lips. "Josh is Olson's pretty boy lover."
Tara stared at him with surprise. "A gay Watcher," she said slowly. "Wow."
"Yeah, Slayer was pretty shocked to find out that her feminine wiles weren't going to be twisting him around her finger." Tara laughed again and Spike was glad to hear the sound. There wasn't going to be a lot of laughter once they left the airport. "His boy toy actually comes in handy, though. At first he just stood around looking pretty, but now he's spot on with the research."
"Gay and not entirely incompetent or annoying," she teased him. "Can't wait to meet them." Spike rolled his eyes, but frowned at her next question. "And what about you? Why are you still, um, there?"
"Figured I owed it to Buffy to make sure they had their feet under them, and it's a quick trip to see the Bit," he explained casually.
"There is that," she agreed, but she was watching him curiously. "I'd imagine their, uh, feet are where they should be now."
"Olson pays me," he said abruptly. "More than enough for fags and booze and blood. With this soddin' chip..." Another female, and another pause while he hoped he wouldn't be pushed for a real answer. But this was Tara, he remembered when she simply shook her head. She already knew the real answer and they had an unspoken agreement not to voice what they already knew. "Still set on wasting away at the Cracker Barrel?"
The look she gave him was pure admonishment and a long silence fell upon them. Maybe she thought he didn't need an answer, but he did. "I don't know," she said finally. "It all seems like forever away right now."
They didn't say much else until an airline representative came to bring them back upstairs. Spike took care of renting a car and he drove them to the hotel he'd stayed at the last time he'd been in Paris for the Onyx Heart. Seemed like years ago, but it had only been a little over a week. Either way, he knew the sultry concierge behind the desk.
"Welcome back, Mr. Strathmore," she cooed lyrically in her native French. The look in her eyes clearly said she believed herself to be the reason he'd returned. Hell, maybe he should have found another way to pass the time before his taxi had arrived on his last visit.
"I need a room for the night," he drawled.
The woman leaned forward, and Spike raised a brow at her come hither position. "Just for the night? This is Paris. I'm sure there must be...something here that will take more than a night to see. Or do," she added suggestively.
Definitely should have just had a couple of drinks in the hotel bar last time.
"Ouch."
Spike turned and frowned at Tara. "All right?" he asked quickly, scanning her to see what had caused the noise. She was touching her ribs, staring with dismay at a couple that was hurrying away.
"Just got bumped," she explained. "Are we set?"
"Not quite," he grumbled. "Come up here out of the way. Don't want you getting jostled again, luv." He drew her to his side and turned to the concierge again. The nametag pinned to her blazer indicated her name was Marie. Oh. He hadn't known that.
Marie's eyes flickered to Tara, widened slightly at the bruises, and then casually dismissed her. "Should I arrange for two rooms?" she asked him.
Spike smiled, and bent forward until his mouth was almost next to Marie's ear. "We only need one room," he whispered. "With one bed." He stood up straight and stared down on her. "Understand?" he asked coolly.
Marie stiffened into a more business-like manner. "I understand," she said with a nod. A few minutes later she handed Spike a card key. "Enjoy your stay."
He and Tara wound their way through the lobby to the elevator, but Tara stopped suddenly, staring down a hall. "There's a gift shop," she noted. "Come on."
"Souvenirs, pet?" he asked with confusion as they changed direction.
"I think I've got all the, um, souvenirs I need from this trip," she muttered. "But I need shirts with buttons."
Spike followed her into the small shop and frowned. "Why? Don't like mine?"
"Well," she said hesitantly, staring up at him with her nose scrunched up. "On you, yes. Not on me."
He grinned and tapped her nose. "Think they look good on you," he commented. "You should wear the vibrant colors more."
Standing by the counter, their bags at his feet, he watched her go straight to the shirts and glance at a couple of tags before taking three from a rack and walking to him. "You're gonna look like a bloody tourist," he said with distaste, staring at the flags and logos on the long-sleeved, button down cotton shirts. "And why do they even have crap like this here? French are supposed to be fashion savvy."
"Probably for the tourists," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I don't think the...Guntry is going to care what I'm wearing," she added under her breath. Well, yeah, there was that. Thinking about the pit, he was suddenly glad she'd decided not to use his shirts.
He paid for the shirts with one of the credit cards Olson had supplied him with, and they finally made their way to the room. Tara slipped into the bathroom to switch shirts, then wandered back out, the sling dangling from her arm. Spike helped her slide it back on properly. "How long did they say you had to use this contraption?"
"Um, just a couple of days," she told him. "It's just to let the joint take a break."
He grunted, and ran a hand through his hair. "Right. I've got the onyx. Set the wards and get a change of clothes to take with you. I'll get some towels." He grabbed one of the bags the shop had packed the shirts in and went into the bathroom, gathering every towel in the place and cramming them into the shopping bag.
"Ready then?" he asked as he came out of the bathroom.
Tara nodded. "Ready."
***
They made the drive in silence. Every so often Spike glanced at Tara, but she steadfastly refused to look at him, instead choosing to stare down at her lap. She did, however, sneak one hand over to his side of the car, wedging it under his thigh. He drove out of the city, taking narrow winding roads and trading paved roads for dirt ones.
It only took about an hour to get to the cave, and Spike forced the small car over the terrain so that they could stop just a few feet away from the entrance.
Spike held the foliage aside and waved Tara through before following her. The pit and the Guntry were only ten feet in, and Spike sighed as he set the bag with the towels and clothing down. The place smelled wet. Old and wet, actually. Rather like some basements he'd been in, but the wetness wasn't the stagnant kind. There was fresh water somewhere nearby. If he concentrated, he could hear it trickling.
The demon was perched on an outcropping of rock, its long limbs folded inwards. It resembled a gargoyle, with its thick gray hide, and its position. But, most gargoyles didn't have seven-inch long tusks growing from the bottom part of their mouths and curling up to rest on either side of their nose. The Guntry did.
It opened one eye large eye--also gray--which narrowed when it saw who the visitors were. The other eye opened as it clambered down from the rock, its large taloned hands clenching into fists. It walked towards them, its body bobbing up and down as its legs bent and straightened.
"Leg came back pretty fast," Spike commented. "Impressive, really."
Tara made a noise and scrambled away from him. Smart chit. The Guntry demon glared at him, and the next thing Spike knew, he was halfway across the cave, the side of his face throbbing. Guntries had a mighty reach. Bloody hell. He got to his feet and shrugged philosophically at the stooped demon. "Guess I had that coming," he conceded.
"Why are you back here?" the Guntry asked around his incisors. "You got what you came for."
Tara was watching them both, her head moving back and forth carefully. She was a bit tense, he noticed, but a lot calmer than she would have been a month ago, that was for sure. Spike slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the Onyx Heart, holding it up for the Guntry to see. "Actually, I got what she came here for," he replied, nodding at Tara.
Pulling his arm back, Spike threw the onyx into the empty pit. The Guntry stared at Tara with its large eyes. "You will be attempting to retrieve the onyx again?" he asked, and she nodded. "Very well. Let me know when you're ready."
Tara moved next to Spike and held onto him as she toed her sandals off. Then he helped her remove the sling. "How does the shoulder feel?" he asked.
"Better," she said quietly. "Still sore, though."
She took his hand and they walked over to the edge of the pit. Tara took a breath and nodded at the Guntry, who motioned Spike to let go of Tara. He released her hand and watched the pit fill.
Tara didn't look surprised at the contents, and when Spike thought about it, he wasn't surprised either. Somehow, a churning mess of blood, brains and bits of skull was exactly what they'd been expecting since Germany. Spike took hold of her chin and tilted her head around, staring closely at her. She seemed resigned more than anything else. He thought that maybe she'd given up hope of any of this being easy, and as harsh as that was, it was probably what she needed.
Lifting her own hand, she brushed his from her chin and then faced the pit again. She was directly in front of the steps and she raised her leg and started descending. There was no hesitation in her, even when her bare foot was immersed in the mess. As she sank deeper, her shirt was soaked through, the white material weighed down and clinging to her. When she got to chest- level, he saw the concoction sluice over the skin exposed by the shirt, disappear down the neck of it, and she grimaced but kept moving.
Once she got to the center of the pit, she stopped. Her head swiveled from side to side as she looked around herself, then she closed her eyes and gently dropped backwards, vanishing beneath the surface. He wondered if her bible-thumping family had taken her to the water as a child, brought her into it and watched as she was pushed back, submerged as the sins of others were washed from her.
He wondered how the hell she'd managed to do that, to go under and into the stuff of her worst memory, let it surround her completely, let it take over her senses and trap her in its midst. Was it getting in her nose? In her ears? Was her mouth closed tightly? Had it traveled up the legs of her jeans to places that kind of stuff should never go? Inside of her bra?
Just twenty seconds later she emerged, her face calm beneath the blood-- this time all too real--that sluiced from it, taking chunks with it, leaving small fragments behind. She came to the edge and ascended the steps more slowly than before. Her jeans were soaked through. Her hair was plastered to her head, completely saturated, bone and tissue entwined in the now red tresses.
In her right hand, she held the onyx.
Spike brought one of the towels to her, wiping her face clear. Her eyes fell on her empty hand, which she was holding palm up. She frowned, and then closed her hand into a fist, staring at the flesh that seeped out from between the creases of her fingers.
Had she found absolution? Her eyes said no, but the shadows--the ones that had been there since that night and that months at Wildwind hadn't eased-- those shadows had retreated some, and reluctant acceptance was easing in. She seemed so...normal. She'd become desensitized somewhere along the way and it hadn't come without a price.
Spike pried her fist open and wiped her hand clean before taking the onyx from her other hand and shoving it in the pocket of his coat. He cleaned that hand, as well, and drew her past the Guntry, tossing the towel aside and picking up a clean one. Standing in front of her, he pressed the cloth to her scalp, then wrapped the material around the length of her hair and wrung it out. She watched him with wide, unblinking eyes and it was the sanest he'd seen her in almost a year. He swiped the material behind and in her ears before turning his attention to her neck and the exposed skin above the shirt.
"You have somewhere she can change?" he asked the Guntry.
"No, but I will turn away."
Spike grunted. "Can you manage?" he asked Tara blandly.
She tilted her head to the side in a contemplative manner, then nodded. Spike handed her another one of the purloined towels and went to the Guntry's side, their backs to Tara. She made some small, pained noises every so often, but none of them were severe enough for him to check on her. Until she called his name several minutes later.
"Yeah, pet?"
"Um, can you help me?" she asked uncertainly.
He turned around. She was fully dressed in her khakis and another of the shirts from the gift shop. She'd even managed to get the sling back on. "Shoes?" he guessed as he walked to her.
"Well, yeah. But...my, uh, bra first," she said awkwardly. "It's--the other one closed in the front. This one...this one doesn't."
"It just so happens," he said as he moved behind her, "that I'm an expert at bras. Mostly taking them off, but I'm sure I can figure out how to reverse the process."
She looked back at him. "I have faith in you," she said solemnly, and he bent forward and dropped a kiss on the side of her cheek. She shivered a little when he slid his cool hands under the shirt and fumbled for the sides of her bra. Deftly, he drew the two ends of material together and hooked them.
"All set, luv. Let's get your shoes back on." He looked around the cave, his eyes settling on the rock the Guntry had been perched on when they'd arrived. "Have a seat there. You can turn around now, mate," he said to the Guntry.
Tara sat gingerly on the rock, and Spike scooped up her sandals.
"I don't understand," the Guntry said to Tara. She looked up at it and waited.
Spike reached down and grabbed one of her ankles, lifting her leg and trying to figure out just how the hell the bloody shoes were supposed to stay on. Was that a buckle of some kind? What had happened to the good old days of buttons?
"You didn't hesitate," the Guntry went on. "The pit is supposed to be a trial. The contents--"
"I knew what it would be," Tara interrupted. She touched Spike's arm and he looked up from the sandal. "Bring that strap over the top." Oh, well, that made sense. Buttons were still easier.
The Guntry, however, wasn't finished. "But you were so calm," it insisted. "Did it malfunction? Was that not something that you didn't want to traverse?"
The sandal was on, and Spike let go of her foot, staring up at the Guntry incredulously. Who the hell *wanted* to traverse what had been in the pit? The stupid sod. "It's called strength of will," he told the demon, reaching for Tara's other foot. "Doesn't mean it was any less of a trial because she didn't freak out." He got this sandal on more quickly and patted her leg when he was done.
"True enough," the Guntry mused. He paused for a moment. "A human has never before retrieved the Onyx Heart."
Spike and Tara exchanged glances. "But other humans have done the Cerno," Tara said carefully.
The Guntry nodded its massive head. "And they were destined to fail before they even begun. Without all of the objects, there is no chance."
"And with them?" Tara ventured.
"There's a chance, of course. I'm aware of the fantastic failure rate. Some are unable to take what the onyx gives them."
"Which is what, exactly?" Spike asked with interest.
"The right frame of mind," the Guntry informed him. Its large eyes slid to Tara and stayed there for a long moment. "You may go now."
As dismissals went, it was pretty blunt. Spike helped Tara down from the rock. "Can you take care of that stuff?" he asked the demon, motioning at the soiled clothing and towels.
Already back on his perch, the Guntry nodded before closing its eyes. Tara and Spike were quiet as they walked outside and got in the car. Spike started the engine and stared out of the windshield. "How're you holding up?" he asked without looking at her.
"Not very well," she answered lowly. "Just drive. I don't want to talk about it."
***
"What does the onyx do in the ritual?"
Tara looked up from brushing her wet hair. "Nothing," she said with a sigh, sliding the brush into her overnight bag and zipping it.
They'd gone back to the hotel and Tara had immediately gone to the bathroom to shower. Forty-five minutes had gone by, and Spike had been about to charge in when the water had stopped. Tara had reappeared, looking downright red against the navy blue of her pants and the white of the "Vive La France" shirt, and Spike had known there wasn't a drop of hot water left in the bathroom.
She wasn't supposed to have washed her hair with the stitches in, but Spike figured that it was better that she'd done so rather than leave that mess in place. That stuff from the pit had to be worse than some soap and water.
"Every other object is part of the ritual," she went on, sitting on the edge of the bed that he was sprawled on. "But the onyx is only in the list of components."
"Probably why some of the others didn't bother getting it," he guessed, and she nodded in agreement. "You know much about the onyx?"
"No. I guess we can look into it before I, uh, do the ritual," she told him.
"Count on it," he snorted, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing. "Also count on an argument with Rupes."
She grimaced. "I don't do too well, um, standing up for myself."
Spike stared at her. "Bollocks," he dismissed. "Faced me down a time or two since Cairo. Rupes will be a cakewalk."
"Hm," she murmured doubtfully. "We should get to the airport."
***
The flight to California was direct and long. True to her word, Tara swallowed two pain pills once they'd been seated, and promptly zoned out. Spike would have preferred for her to sleep, but she seemed to be easily distracted by the smallest of things, and was slurring her words a bit. By the time they disembarked at LAX, she was ready to drop. Her eyes were barely staying open and she was yawning almost constantly.
"Should maybe only take one next time, pet," he drawled, and she blinked lazily at him.
"Okay."
He snickered and took her arm, following the signs for ground transportation. They were driving to Sunnydale. They could have taken another plane to a small airstrip just outside of the Hellmouth, but for some *strange* reason, there were no flights after sunset. Go figure. Was actually faster to just drive.
During their walk to the rental car counter, and their trip to the sidewalk while the car was being pulled around, Spike noticed that Tara was moving more stiffly than ever. The aches and pains of the beating, combined with the cramped airline seats were taking a toll on her.
"Want to hold off until tomorrow?" he asked.
There was more slow blinking. "Feels too much like stalling," she finally said.
Spike's eyes widened incredulously. "Pet, you haven't taken a moment since this started. And, trust me, it's going to be real *fun* dealing with Rupes, or doing the ritual. If you need to prepare yourself, you're entitled."
"I'll take a moment on the drive," she insisted.
"Fine, have it your way," he sighed. "Stubborn chit."
The attendant pulled up, reluctantly getting out of the cherry red convertible and handing off the keys. Tara gave Spike an amused look, once she'd processed what she was seeing. He shrugged uncomfortably. "You seemed to like the ride in Peaches' car."
She leaned against him. "Thank you," she whispered.
He rubbed her back for a moment, remembering the two hours they'd spent in the back of Angel's Plymouth on the way to Wildwind. After giving the Pouf a heart attack with her move from the front to the back with Spike, she'd twisted his body to her will until every inch of it was touching hers because it hadn't been enough that he'd had plastered himself against the back of the front seat to drape his arms around her.
He'd ended up on his back, with Tara lying on him like he was a bed, and he'd managed to rig the seatbelts in such a way that they were strapped down. She'd stared up at the sky the entire way, one of her hands tickling the skin at the side of his neck while he'd run his fingers through her hair, trying to smooth the tangles out.
And after arriving at Wildwind, he remembered the shock on Angel's face when Tara had announced to the doctor on call that she wanted to be admitted. The words had been quick and strange, but they'd been sensible. Spike didn't know what had gone on during the hour long interview between Tara and the doctor, but it had been enough for her to be deemed in a sound enough state of mind to voluntarily admit herself so that they would have no hold on her.
At the time, Spike hadn't been sure if she was surprised or not. Hadn't cared to think about it enough to decide, either, because Tara was coming out to the lobby to say goodbye and then she was going to be shut away from the world, from him, and he'd suddenly realized that there would be no place for him to go from then on. No escape from anything.
She'd made her way to him, her bare feet slapping lightly on the tiled floor, her hair only marginally less tangled than it had been. Her words had come in a barely decipherable rush, running together at one point only to falter off at an odd syllable. "You have to take care of yourself and remember when the sun is coming up and to lock the door behind you so that no one steals stuff and you should stop but I know you won't so you have to remember going and know when you have to leave."
Angel had frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about, but Spike had just leaned down to kiss her forehead, and she'd jumped at him, legs around his waist and arms around his neck, her grip painful.
Spike roused himself from his thoughts and gently pushed nudged Tara towards the car. "Go on, get in." He loaded their two bags into the trunk, then loped around the side of the car and leaped over the door, landing in the driver's seat.
Tara paused in the process of getting the seatbelt across her chest and scowled at him. "Show off."
Spike brushed her hands from the buckle and pulled it across her, securely latching it. "So, the question is," he said as he started the car. "Are you a speed ninny?"
"Speed ninny?" she repeated around a yawn.
"The roads are dead," he explained, "and I'm not about to creep along at the speed limit. Are you scared of going fast?"
"Not with you driving," she replied easily, leaning her head back.
Spike paused. "Think you got that backwards, pet."
"No, I didn't. Let's go."
Shaking his head, Spike put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He took her at her word, and as soon as they merged onto the freeway, he picked up speed until they were flying along, the wind deafening. He chanced a look at Tara. She'd reclined the seat some, and was watching the scenery blur past them. Her hair was being blown in every direction at once, and there was a small smile on her face.
He shook his head again, smiling quietly, and went faster. Half an hour later he noticed that she'd fallen asleep.
It was almost three in the morning when they got to Sunnydale, and Spike turned the car towards the flat. No matter if they went there or the Magic Box, the others would descend on them like a swarm of wasps. Might as well go somewhere that had a bed Tara could curl up on.
He parked the car in front of the building and retrieved the all-important paper bag from the trunk before going around to the passenger seat of the car. He unbuckled Tara and dropped the bag on her lap, then lifted her in his arms. It was when he was turning around that he saw Olson's SUV parked across the street, and he scowled. The scowl turned into a glare when he stepped into the courtyard and saw that every bloody light in the flat was on and a handful of heartbeats were sounding in his ears. As he drew closer, he could hear Giles' raised voice clearly.
"--believe how grossly unconcerned--"
They'd congregated here instead of at the shop. He got to the door and cursed. His keys were in his bag, which was in the trunk of the rental. Lovely.
Sighing tiredly, he shifted Tara in his arms, and kicked at the door with his foot.
"Home bloody home," he mumbled as the door swung open.
***
End Part Six
Disclaimer: The characters/concepts of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and everyone else who makes money from the show. The rest is mine. Ooh, I bet Joss is jealous.
***
Part 6
They received more than their share of odd looks at the Paris airport: Spike wrapped head to foot in the thick black material, Tara black and blue with one arm in a sling.
It didn't help that the bright color of Tara's shirt kept her from blending into the background like her usual faded colors did. She'd donned one of his, the front closure being easier to manage with the bum shoulder, and the royal blue silk practically glowed against her skin and hair. Also perfectly framed the handprint around her throat, but Spike thought he was probably the only one in the airport that enjoyed that fact.
He ignored everyone. Tara met the eyes of every person who stared until they looked away.
Once again, they were brought to the interior of the airport, this time a lower level employee lounge that reeked of wine and cigarettes. Yes, this was definitely Paris. Tres bloody magnifique. Tara's French didn't extend beyond yes, please, and thank you, so Spike had handled all of the interaction with the airport staff. They'd already booked a flight out of Paris for sometime in the middle of the night. The plan was to go to the cavern, put the onyx in the pit, take the onyx out of the pit, and then go directly back to the airport and hop on a flight to California. There were some scheduled stops along the way, though. They were checking in at a hotel for the simple fact that Tara would need a shower after the pit.
In the meantime, they were waiting in the windowless room for sunset. It looked like old, discarded bench seats from the terminals had been pawned off on the lower level employees. Most of them were in a bad state of disrepair, and had suffered more than a few wine spills and cigarette burns, Spike noticed as he unwrapped himself.
Tara made a small face, but carefully eased herself onto a row of seats, wincing when her shoulder was jostled. That was her own stubborn fault. Absolutely refused to take the painkillers the hospital in Florence had sent them off with.
"I'll take them before we get on the plane back," Tara said, and Spike started at her apparent mind reading. Then he realized that he was scowling at her, and had probably started doing so the moment she'd flinched.
Spike tossed their bags on the seats next to Tara and pointed at her. "I'm holding you to that. Hopefully the things'll knock you out for a bit. Let you get some rest." He tossed himself back on the seats across from Tara, lying on his back with his hands clasped under his head, and his legs crossed at the ankles. "Speaking of rest...we've got an hour to kill if you want to nap."
"Yeah, um, I don't think so," she dismissed, looking at his sprawled out form, and then at the row of seats. "I doubt I'll be able to get comfortable."
Spike offered to rifle through his bag for the playing cards, but Tara shook her head.
He was tired. A tired that went beyond physical exhaustion. This trip seemed never ending, even though it would be ending the next day. Every stop had been short but horrible, taking chunks of Tara with it and leaving him to try to help her pick up the pieces. Only she hadn't. Not yet. She'd only pushed everything aside even as she'd faced it. That took a real determination and heavy handed avoidance.
It was going to bite her in the arse.
The rage that was keeping her on her feet was either going to buck at the reigns shortly and explode, or melt away. When that happened, she was going to have to deal with everything properly and he didn't know if she was going to be able to. He'd seen strength in her since this trip began, but he didn't know if it was all due to the anger, or if *she* was strong. He truly hoped it was the latter, because she didn't stand a chance otherwise.
"Not to eager to spend the next bit of time staring at the wall, pet," he commented half an hour later.
"I'm just not in the mood for, uh, cards," she said apologetically.
"How about I tell you about the others, then." He cut a glance in her direction. "If you're interested?"
She nodded, her pale eyes lighting up a small amount. "Is Dawn all right?"
Spike turned his head to the side and grinned at her. "Niblet's great," he said easily. "All sucked into school--socially, not academically--and has lots of nice, normal friends. She's thriving."
Tara's face softened. "Good," she said quietly. "I was...worried. I couldn't really help her that summer..." She cleared her throat. "Does she have a boyfriend? Oh. Or a girlfriend?"
Spike glared at her. "No. She doesn't need some slobbering moron attached to her hip and trying to get in her pants," he snapped. "Or some googly eyed chit, either."
"I, uh, hate to break it to you, Spike, but no one will ever be good enough for her," Tara said with a smile. "Let her have fun. She deserves it." Her eyes darkened. "I don't think the others had much fun in high school."
"You'd be surprised." Tara frowned, and he grinned. "Neither patrolling, nor apocalypses nor my demented grandsire could keep that group from the Bronze," he recited soberly and Tara laughed. He tilted his head and considered it for a moment. "Or from anything, actually," he amended, snorting lightly. "They were teenagers, and they acted like it. You should ask Rupes about it; damn near drove him nuts to hear him tell it."
The eye that wasn't swollen shut twinkled. "Poor Mr. Giles."
Spike waved a hand. "Watcher needed every minute of it to keep him young. Should've seen him back then: all tweed suits--in Cali-bloody-fornia, no less--and ties and loafers. It was pathetic."
"Hm. Is he still...?"
"Drinking like a fish?" Spike finished wryly. "No. Got himself back together in Merry Ole England. Works with the Counsel, still, but mostly just spends his time aggravating us."
Tara digested that. "I guess it *would* be hard for him," she mused finally. "New people replacing his people."
Spike sat up and looked at her. "No one replaced anybody," he said harshly. "Hell, if you ask me, there's no replacing that bunch. Faith, Olson and Josh are just doing what needs to be done."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I know," she hastened to assure him. "I'm not saying, uh, that's what I think, just that Mr. Giles probably can't help but see it like that." Spike nodded and sat back. At least Tara wouldn't be joining Giles in picking at Faith and the lovey-dovey couple. "How is Faith doing with the whole, um, being good thing?"
"Much to my dismay," he replied dejectedly, "she's all reformed." He shared a smile with Tara, then shifted awkwardly and looked away. "Faith--well all of them, actually, aren't *entirely* incompetent or annoying."
"High praise," she noted idly and he curled his lips at her. "I know that Olson is Faith's Watcher, but who's, uh, Josh?"
Spike looked back at her, smirk planted firmly on his lips. "Josh is Olson's pretty boy lover."
Tara stared at him with surprise. "A gay Watcher," she said slowly. "Wow."
"Yeah, Slayer was pretty shocked to find out that her feminine wiles weren't going to be twisting him around her finger." Tara laughed again and Spike was glad to hear the sound. There wasn't going to be a lot of laughter once they left the airport. "His boy toy actually comes in handy, though. At first he just stood around looking pretty, but now he's spot on with the research."
"Gay and not entirely incompetent or annoying," she teased him. "Can't wait to meet them." Spike rolled his eyes, but frowned at her next question. "And what about you? Why are you still, um, there?"
"Figured I owed it to Buffy to make sure they had their feet under them, and it's a quick trip to see the Bit," he explained casually.
"There is that," she agreed, but she was watching him curiously. "I'd imagine their, uh, feet are where they should be now."
"Olson pays me," he said abruptly. "More than enough for fags and booze and blood. With this soddin' chip..." Another female, and another pause while he hoped he wouldn't be pushed for a real answer. But this was Tara, he remembered when she simply shook her head. She already knew the real answer and they had an unspoken agreement not to voice what they already knew. "Still set on wasting away at the Cracker Barrel?"
The look she gave him was pure admonishment and a long silence fell upon them. Maybe she thought he didn't need an answer, but he did. "I don't know," she said finally. "It all seems like forever away right now."
They didn't say much else until an airline representative came to bring them back upstairs. Spike took care of renting a car and he drove them to the hotel he'd stayed at the last time he'd been in Paris for the Onyx Heart. Seemed like years ago, but it had only been a little over a week. Either way, he knew the sultry concierge behind the desk.
"Welcome back, Mr. Strathmore," she cooed lyrically in her native French. The look in her eyes clearly said she believed herself to be the reason he'd returned. Hell, maybe he should have found another way to pass the time before his taxi had arrived on his last visit.
"I need a room for the night," he drawled.
The woman leaned forward, and Spike raised a brow at her come hither position. "Just for the night? This is Paris. I'm sure there must be...something here that will take more than a night to see. Or do," she added suggestively.
Definitely should have just had a couple of drinks in the hotel bar last time.
"Ouch."
Spike turned and frowned at Tara. "All right?" he asked quickly, scanning her to see what had caused the noise. She was touching her ribs, staring with dismay at a couple that was hurrying away.
"Just got bumped," she explained. "Are we set?"
"Not quite," he grumbled. "Come up here out of the way. Don't want you getting jostled again, luv." He drew her to his side and turned to the concierge again. The nametag pinned to her blazer indicated her name was Marie. Oh. He hadn't known that.
Marie's eyes flickered to Tara, widened slightly at the bruises, and then casually dismissed her. "Should I arrange for two rooms?" she asked him.
Spike smiled, and bent forward until his mouth was almost next to Marie's ear. "We only need one room," he whispered. "With one bed." He stood up straight and stared down on her. "Understand?" he asked coolly.
Marie stiffened into a more business-like manner. "I understand," she said with a nod. A few minutes later she handed Spike a card key. "Enjoy your stay."
He and Tara wound their way through the lobby to the elevator, but Tara stopped suddenly, staring down a hall. "There's a gift shop," she noted. "Come on."
"Souvenirs, pet?" he asked with confusion as they changed direction.
"I think I've got all the, um, souvenirs I need from this trip," she muttered. "But I need shirts with buttons."
Spike followed her into the small shop and frowned. "Why? Don't like mine?"
"Well," she said hesitantly, staring up at him with her nose scrunched up. "On you, yes. Not on me."
He grinned and tapped her nose. "Think they look good on you," he commented. "You should wear the vibrant colors more."
Standing by the counter, their bags at his feet, he watched her go straight to the shirts and glance at a couple of tags before taking three from a rack and walking to him. "You're gonna look like a bloody tourist," he said with distaste, staring at the flags and logos on the long-sleeved, button down cotton shirts. "And why do they even have crap like this here? French are supposed to be fashion savvy."
"Probably for the tourists," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I don't think the...Guntry is going to care what I'm wearing," she added under her breath. Well, yeah, there was that. Thinking about the pit, he was suddenly glad she'd decided not to use his shirts.
He paid for the shirts with one of the credit cards Olson had supplied him with, and they finally made their way to the room. Tara slipped into the bathroom to switch shirts, then wandered back out, the sling dangling from her arm. Spike helped her slide it back on properly. "How long did they say you had to use this contraption?"
"Um, just a couple of days," she told him. "It's just to let the joint take a break."
He grunted, and ran a hand through his hair. "Right. I've got the onyx. Set the wards and get a change of clothes to take with you. I'll get some towels." He grabbed one of the bags the shop had packed the shirts in and went into the bathroom, gathering every towel in the place and cramming them into the shopping bag.
"Ready then?" he asked as he came out of the bathroom.
Tara nodded. "Ready."
***
They made the drive in silence. Every so often Spike glanced at Tara, but she steadfastly refused to look at him, instead choosing to stare down at her lap. She did, however, sneak one hand over to his side of the car, wedging it under his thigh. He drove out of the city, taking narrow winding roads and trading paved roads for dirt ones.
It only took about an hour to get to the cave, and Spike forced the small car over the terrain so that they could stop just a few feet away from the entrance.
Spike held the foliage aside and waved Tara through before following her. The pit and the Guntry were only ten feet in, and Spike sighed as he set the bag with the towels and clothing down. The place smelled wet. Old and wet, actually. Rather like some basements he'd been in, but the wetness wasn't the stagnant kind. There was fresh water somewhere nearby. If he concentrated, he could hear it trickling.
The demon was perched on an outcropping of rock, its long limbs folded inwards. It resembled a gargoyle, with its thick gray hide, and its position. But, most gargoyles didn't have seven-inch long tusks growing from the bottom part of their mouths and curling up to rest on either side of their nose. The Guntry did.
It opened one eye large eye--also gray--which narrowed when it saw who the visitors were. The other eye opened as it clambered down from the rock, its large taloned hands clenching into fists. It walked towards them, its body bobbing up and down as its legs bent and straightened.
"Leg came back pretty fast," Spike commented. "Impressive, really."
Tara made a noise and scrambled away from him. Smart chit. The Guntry demon glared at him, and the next thing Spike knew, he was halfway across the cave, the side of his face throbbing. Guntries had a mighty reach. Bloody hell. He got to his feet and shrugged philosophically at the stooped demon. "Guess I had that coming," he conceded.
"Why are you back here?" the Guntry asked around his incisors. "You got what you came for."
Tara was watching them both, her head moving back and forth carefully. She was a bit tense, he noticed, but a lot calmer than she would have been a month ago, that was for sure. Spike slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the Onyx Heart, holding it up for the Guntry to see. "Actually, I got what she came here for," he replied, nodding at Tara.
Pulling his arm back, Spike threw the onyx into the empty pit. The Guntry stared at Tara with its large eyes. "You will be attempting to retrieve the onyx again?" he asked, and she nodded. "Very well. Let me know when you're ready."
Tara moved next to Spike and held onto him as she toed her sandals off. Then he helped her remove the sling. "How does the shoulder feel?" he asked.
"Better," she said quietly. "Still sore, though."
She took his hand and they walked over to the edge of the pit. Tara took a breath and nodded at the Guntry, who motioned Spike to let go of Tara. He released her hand and watched the pit fill.
Tara didn't look surprised at the contents, and when Spike thought about it, he wasn't surprised either. Somehow, a churning mess of blood, brains and bits of skull was exactly what they'd been expecting since Germany. Spike took hold of her chin and tilted her head around, staring closely at her. She seemed resigned more than anything else. He thought that maybe she'd given up hope of any of this being easy, and as harsh as that was, it was probably what she needed.
Lifting her own hand, she brushed his from her chin and then faced the pit again. She was directly in front of the steps and she raised her leg and started descending. There was no hesitation in her, even when her bare foot was immersed in the mess. As she sank deeper, her shirt was soaked through, the white material weighed down and clinging to her. When she got to chest- level, he saw the concoction sluice over the skin exposed by the shirt, disappear down the neck of it, and she grimaced but kept moving.
Once she got to the center of the pit, she stopped. Her head swiveled from side to side as she looked around herself, then she closed her eyes and gently dropped backwards, vanishing beneath the surface. He wondered if her bible-thumping family had taken her to the water as a child, brought her into it and watched as she was pushed back, submerged as the sins of others were washed from her.
He wondered how the hell she'd managed to do that, to go under and into the stuff of her worst memory, let it surround her completely, let it take over her senses and trap her in its midst. Was it getting in her nose? In her ears? Was her mouth closed tightly? Had it traveled up the legs of her jeans to places that kind of stuff should never go? Inside of her bra?
Just twenty seconds later she emerged, her face calm beneath the blood-- this time all too real--that sluiced from it, taking chunks with it, leaving small fragments behind. She came to the edge and ascended the steps more slowly than before. Her jeans were soaked through. Her hair was plastered to her head, completely saturated, bone and tissue entwined in the now red tresses.
In her right hand, she held the onyx.
Spike brought one of the towels to her, wiping her face clear. Her eyes fell on her empty hand, which she was holding palm up. She frowned, and then closed her hand into a fist, staring at the flesh that seeped out from between the creases of her fingers.
Had she found absolution? Her eyes said no, but the shadows--the ones that had been there since that night and that months at Wildwind hadn't eased-- those shadows had retreated some, and reluctant acceptance was easing in. She seemed so...normal. She'd become desensitized somewhere along the way and it hadn't come without a price.
Spike pried her fist open and wiped her hand clean before taking the onyx from her other hand and shoving it in the pocket of his coat. He cleaned that hand, as well, and drew her past the Guntry, tossing the towel aside and picking up a clean one. Standing in front of her, he pressed the cloth to her scalp, then wrapped the material around the length of her hair and wrung it out. She watched him with wide, unblinking eyes and it was the sanest he'd seen her in almost a year. He swiped the material behind and in her ears before turning his attention to her neck and the exposed skin above the shirt.
"You have somewhere she can change?" he asked the Guntry.
"No, but I will turn away."
Spike grunted. "Can you manage?" he asked Tara blandly.
She tilted her head to the side in a contemplative manner, then nodded. Spike handed her another one of the purloined towels and went to the Guntry's side, their backs to Tara. She made some small, pained noises every so often, but none of them were severe enough for him to check on her. Until she called his name several minutes later.
"Yeah, pet?"
"Um, can you help me?" she asked uncertainly.
He turned around. She was fully dressed in her khakis and another of the shirts from the gift shop. She'd even managed to get the sling back on. "Shoes?" he guessed as he walked to her.
"Well, yeah. But...my, uh, bra first," she said awkwardly. "It's--the other one closed in the front. This one...this one doesn't."
"It just so happens," he said as he moved behind her, "that I'm an expert at bras. Mostly taking them off, but I'm sure I can figure out how to reverse the process."
She looked back at him. "I have faith in you," she said solemnly, and he bent forward and dropped a kiss on the side of her cheek. She shivered a little when he slid his cool hands under the shirt and fumbled for the sides of her bra. Deftly, he drew the two ends of material together and hooked them.
"All set, luv. Let's get your shoes back on." He looked around the cave, his eyes settling on the rock the Guntry had been perched on when they'd arrived. "Have a seat there. You can turn around now, mate," he said to the Guntry.
Tara sat gingerly on the rock, and Spike scooped up her sandals.
"I don't understand," the Guntry said to Tara. She looked up at it and waited.
Spike reached down and grabbed one of her ankles, lifting her leg and trying to figure out just how the hell the bloody shoes were supposed to stay on. Was that a buckle of some kind? What had happened to the good old days of buttons?
"You didn't hesitate," the Guntry went on. "The pit is supposed to be a trial. The contents--"
"I knew what it would be," Tara interrupted. She touched Spike's arm and he looked up from the sandal. "Bring that strap over the top." Oh, well, that made sense. Buttons were still easier.
The Guntry, however, wasn't finished. "But you were so calm," it insisted. "Did it malfunction? Was that not something that you didn't want to traverse?"
The sandal was on, and Spike let go of her foot, staring up at the Guntry incredulously. Who the hell *wanted* to traverse what had been in the pit? The stupid sod. "It's called strength of will," he told the demon, reaching for Tara's other foot. "Doesn't mean it was any less of a trial because she didn't freak out." He got this sandal on more quickly and patted her leg when he was done.
"True enough," the Guntry mused. He paused for a moment. "A human has never before retrieved the Onyx Heart."
Spike and Tara exchanged glances. "But other humans have done the Cerno," Tara said carefully.
The Guntry nodded its massive head. "And they were destined to fail before they even begun. Without all of the objects, there is no chance."
"And with them?" Tara ventured.
"There's a chance, of course. I'm aware of the fantastic failure rate. Some are unable to take what the onyx gives them."
"Which is what, exactly?" Spike asked with interest.
"The right frame of mind," the Guntry informed him. Its large eyes slid to Tara and stayed there for a long moment. "You may go now."
As dismissals went, it was pretty blunt. Spike helped Tara down from the rock. "Can you take care of that stuff?" he asked the demon, motioning at the soiled clothing and towels.
Already back on his perch, the Guntry nodded before closing its eyes. Tara and Spike were quiet as they walked outside and got in the car. Spike started the engine and stared out of the windshield. "How're you holding up?" he asked without looking at her.
"Not very well," she answered lowly. "Just drive. I don't want to talk about it."
***
"What does the onyx do in the ritual?"
Tara looked up from brushing her wet hair. "Nothing," she said with a sigh, sliding the brush into her overnight bag and zipping it.
They'd gone back to the hotel and Tara had immediately gone to the bathroom to shower. Forty-five minutes had gone by, and Spike had been about to charge in when the water had stopped. Tara had reappeared, looking downright red against the navy blue of her pants and the white of the "Vive La France" shirt, and Spike had known there wasn't a drop of hot water left in the bathroom.
She wasn't supposed to have washed her hair with the stitches in, but Spike figured that it was better that she'd done so rather than leave that mess in place. That stuff from the pit had to be worse than some soap and water.
"Every other object is part of the ritual," she went on, sitting on the edge of the bed that he was sprawled on. "But the onyx is only in the list of components."
"Probably why some of the others didn't bother getting it," he guessed, and she nodded in agreement. "You know much about the onyx?"
"No. I guess we can look into it before I, uh, do the ritual," she told him.
"Count on it," he snorted, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing. "Also count on an argument with Rupes."
She grimaced. "I don't do too well, um, standing up for myself."
Spike stared at her. "Bollocks," he dismissed. "Faced me down a time or two since Cairo. Rupes will be a cakewalk."
"Hm," she murmured doubtfully. "We should get to the airport."
***
The flight to California was direct and long. True to her word, Tara swallowed two pain pills once they'd been seated, and promptly zoned out. Spike would have preferred for her to sleep, but she seemed to be easily distracted by the smallest of things, and was slurring her words a bit. By the time they disembarked at LAX, she was ready to drop. Her eyes were barely staying open and she was yawning almost constantly.
"Should maybe only take one next time, pet," he drawled, and she blinked lazily at him.
"Okay."
He snickered and took her arm, following the signs for ground transportation. They were driving to Sunnydale. They could have taken another plane to a small airstrip just outside of the Hellmouth, but for some *strange* reason, there were no flights after sunset. Go figure. Was actually faster to just drive.
During their walk to the rental car counter, and their trip to the sidewalk while the car was being pulled around, Spike noticed that Tara was moving more stiffly than ever. The aches and pains of the beating, combined with the cramped airline seats were taking a toll on her.
"Want to hold off until tomorrow?" he asked.
There was more slow blinking. "Feels too much like stalling," she finally said.
Spike's eyes widened incredulously. "Pet, you haven't taken a moment since this started. And, trust me, it's going to be real *fun* dealing with Rupes, or doing the ritual. If you need to prepare yourself, you're entitled."
"I'll take a moment on the drive," she insisted.
"Fine, have it your way," he sighed. "Stubborn chit."
The attendant pulled up, reluctantly getting out of the cherry red convertible and handing off the keys. Tara gave Spike an amused look, once she'd processed what she was seeing. He shrugged uncomfortably. "You seemed to like the ride in Peaches' car."
She leaned against him. "Thank you," she whispered.
He rubbed her back for a moment, remembering the two hours they'd spent in the back of Angel's Plymouth on the way to Wildwind. After giving the Pouf a heart attack with her move from the front to the back with Spike, she'd twisted his body to her will until every inch of it was touching hers because it hadn't been enough that he'd had plastered himself against the back of the front seat to drape his arms around her.
He'd ended up on his back, with Tara lying on him like he was a bed, and he'd managed to rig the seatbelts in such a way that they were strapped down. She'd stared up at the sky the entire way, one of her hands tickling the skin at the side of his neck while he'd run his fingers through her hair, trying to smooth the tangles out.
And after arriving at Wildwind, he remembered the shock on Angel's face when Tara had announced to the doctor on call that she wanted to be admitted. The words had been quick and strange, but they'd been sensible. Spike didn't know what had gone on during the hour long interview between Tara and the doctor, but it had been enough for her to be deemed in a sound enough state of mind to voluntarily admit herself so that they would have no hold on her.
At the time, Spike hadn't been sure if she was surprised or not. Hadn't cared to think about it enough to decide, either, because Tara was coming out to the lobby to say goodbye and then she was going to be shut away from the world, from him, and he'd suddenly realized that there would be no place for him to go from then on. No escape from anything.
She'd made her way to him, her bare feet slapping lightly on the tiled floor, her hair only marginally less tangled than it had been. Her words had come in a barely decipherable rush, running together at one point only to falter off at an odd syllable. "You have to take care of yourself and remember when the sun is coming up and to lock the door behind you so that no one steals stuff and you should stop but I know you won't so you have to remember going and know when you have to leave."
Angel had frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about, but Spike had just leaned down to kiss her forehead, and she'd jumped at him, legs around his waist and arms around his neck, her grip painful.
Spike roused himself from his thoughts and gently pushed nudged Tara towards the car. "Go on, get in." He loaded their two bags into the trunk, then loped around the side of the car and leaped over the door, landing in the driver's seat.
Tara paused in the process of getting the seatbelt across her chest and scowled at him. "Show off."
Spike brushed her hands from the buckle and pulled it across her, securely latching it. "So, the question is," he said as he started the car. "Are you a speed ninny?"
"Speed ninny?" she repeated around a yawn.
"The roads are dead," he explained, "and I'm not about to creep along at the speed limit. Are you scared of going fast?"
"Not with you driving," she replied easily, leaning her head back.
Spike paused. "Think you got that backwards, pet."
"No, I didn't. Let's go."
Shaking his head, Spike put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He took her at her word, and as soon as they merged onto the freeway, he picked up speed until they were flying along, the wind deafening. He chanced a look at Tara. She'd reclined the seat some, and was watching the scenery blur past them. Her hair was being blown in every direction at once, and there was a small smile on her face.
He shook his head again, smiling quietly, and went faster. Half an hour later he noticed that she'd fallen asleep.
It was almost three in the morning when they got to Sunnydale, and Spike turned the car towards the flat. No matter if they went there or the Magic Box, the others would descend on them like a swarm of wasps. Might as well go somewhere that had a bed Tara could curl up on.
He parked the car in front of the building and retrieved the all-important paper bag from the trunk before going around to the passenger seat of the car. He unbuckled Tara and dropped the bag on her lap, then lifted her in his arms. It was when he was turning around that he saw Olson's SUV parked across the street, and he scowled. The scowl turned into a glare when he stepped into the courtyard and saw that every bloody light in the flat was on and a handful of heartbeats were sounding in his ears. As he drew closer, he could hear Giles' raised voice clearly.
"--believe how grossly unconcerned--"
They'd congregated here instead of at the shop. He got to the door and cursed. His keys were in his bag, which was in the trunk of the rental. Lovely.
Sighing tiredly, he shifted Tara in his arms, and kicked at the door with his foot.
"Home bloody home," he mumbled as the door swung open.
***
End Part Six
