Chapter Three
Boys Lie
"Hey guys, sorry I'm late!" Buffy breezed as she forced the door to the Magic Box shut behind her, against the icy wind that tried to beat it back. "A little unscheduled slayage on the way over."
Nobody seemed to mind. Xander and Anya were huddled together over an open book that neither seemed to be paying much attention to, much more interested in the score of the fascinating tonsil hockey game they were involved in at the moment. (Anya appeared to be winning.)
Willow looked up and smiled briefly at Buffy before rolling her eyes toward them and returning her attention to her laptop. Dawn gave her sister a slightly annoyed look, muttering, "as usual", but she smiled and patted the empty seat beside her.
Tara did not look up from the book she was reading.
"Where's Spike?" Dawn asked. "I thought he was with you."
Tara's eyes darted up to Buffy's briefly as Buffy shrugged her shoulders. "How should I know? I don't keep tabs on the evil undead...unless I'm killing them."
Chilled by the flippant tone Buffy used, especially in light of what she now knew about her relationship with Spike, Tara swallowed down the sickness in her throat and looked back at her book.
Dawn looked very disappointed. "He said he was gonna be here tonight," she whined.
Too quickly, Buffy said, "Oh that's right, I forgot. I ran into him last night on patrol, he said to tell you he wasn't gonna be able to make it tonight. He was gonna be busy."
Tara glanced around, wondering if Buffy's lie was as obvious to the others, but Dawn was blissfully unaware, and the others were all too lost in their own affairs to even be aware of the conversation in the first place. Tara returned her gaze to Buffy for a moment, as the Slayer glanced around the table. "So anything new?"
The group chatted lightly for a few minutes before Tara suddenly said, "Oh, my gosh! I'm sorry, guys, I totally forgot! I have to watch my little cousin in like, half an hour! I don't know how it slipped my mind, I'm so sorry!" The last was directed at Willow, whose crestfallen face was almost enough to change Tara's mind.
Willow had been trying desperately to spend time with Tara over the past few weeks, and Tara had finally agreed to come to the next Scoobie meeting, because it seemed like a nice, safe way to spend non-alone time with Willow, without placing herself in a position to be once again begged and cajoled to reinstate their relationship, when she was simply not ready to make a decision on that yet.
"Ok," Willow said quietly. "If you have to...I guess I'll just...call you? Later?"
Tara nodded, smiling apologetically. "Of course, Will. I'm sorry again, guys. See ya!" And she headed for the door.
Buffy watched her for a moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Maybe it was just her, but she wondered if the girl was telling the truth.
"Buffy?...Buffy!" Xander's voice broke into her thoughts.
"Sorry, guys," she said, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "Zoning. What was that again?"
Tara knocked softly on the door to Spike's crypt, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief at having reached her destination. The cemetery at night was a terrifying place, and she would never have come here alone unless she had no other choice. But she couldn't imagine any of the others wanting to help Spike anyway, except Dawn, and taking her along would have drawn too much unwanted Slayer-attention, not to mention being potentially traumatic for the girl.
When there was no answer, she knocked a second time, harder, and the door fell open a little under her touch. She only hesitated a moment before entering, calling softly, "Spike?"
She didn't want to startle him. If he had been through as much as she thought, he was likely to be a little jumpy, and a jumpy vampire was a dangerous vampire, chip or no.
"Spike!" she called, louder, looking carefully around the room. A few candles were lit, casting a dim glow across the room, revealing that no one was upstairs. She remembered what Dawn had once told her about the layout of the crypt, and headed for the open sarcophagus at the center of the room.
Gazing down into the bottomless darkness, she suppressed a shudder. There was not a hint of light from the lower level of the crypt; anything could be down there. It was almost enough to make her turn around and go home.
But remembering Spike's battered, miserable face the day before, she steeled herself, took a candle from the side of the tomb, and headed down the ladder.
Reaching the bottom, she held the candle up, but could only see a few yards around her. She was beginning to feel a little foolish, and more than a little scared. What if Spike really was ok, just out for the evening? And here she was, alone in his crypt, where any number of creepy things could be lying in wait?
And what if he was lying a few feet ahead of her, beaten and bleeding, and she walked away and left him?
Again gathering her resolve, she felt her way along the wall, and found a little nook with a candle in it. Eagerly she used her candle to light it. In the dim glow from the new candle she could see another such nook a few feet further, so she lit it as well. In this fashion she made her way around the circumference of the room, and when she turned around to face the room, she was relieved to see it awash in a golden glow of light.
Her relief vanished in a cold sickness of terror as her adjusting eyes took in the sight before her. Spike was lying on the floor on his back, a towel draped loosely about his waist, his body battered and bruised. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, as were his legs and his chest and stomach.
Mentally yanking herself out of her shock, Tara hurried to his side. "Spike...Spike!" she loudly spoke his name, trying to rouse him. Shaking him gently by the shoulder, she tried again louder, "Spike!"
He moaned softly in pain, turning his head toward her, and she felt her body trembling all over in relief. He opened his eyes slowly and peered up at her, as if trying to place her, and she wondered how well he could see right now.
"Tara," he finally whispered, dropping his head back to the floor as if it was simply too heavy and painful to hold it up. "What are you doing here, love?"
"Making sure you're all right," she smiled sadly, her hand on his shoulder gentling to an almost-caress.
"Doing a soddin' awful job of it, aren't you, pet?" he replied, but his laugh was gentle and self-mocking, and she knew he was trying to make light of the situation.
She laughed, but it died quickly as she looked over his battered body more closely. "Come on," she said, putting her arm gently under his shoulders, and trying to help him sit up.
"Oh, God!" he cried out, in a spasm of pain. "No! Wait!"
She froze, holding him up just a little, not wanting to cause him pain, but also painfully aware of how difficult it would be to get him up, and therefore unwilling to lose the little bit of ground she had gained.
He laughed, a short laugh cut off in pain, as he said softly, "Best just let me wait it out, pet. Vampire healing and all...a couple days is all it'll take. And I don't think you can get me off this floor."
"And leave you here so tonight when some vamp insults her dye job she can come here and take it out on you?" Tara snorted. "I don't think so."
He looked at her for a moment, and she could almost see him considering whether or not to attempt to deny the truth. She saw it in his eyes when he gave up, and laughed softly as all of her words sunk in. "God, don't let her hear you say that!"
Tara's expression hardened as she said, "Oh at this point, Slayer or no, she does not want to mess with me!"
He looked at her a little more closely for a moment, and she saw a new respect dawning in his eyes. "I don't think she does at that," he softly replied, a slow smile crossing his lips.
"Now, I am going to help you, and you're going to let me, because...well because you really don't have a choice," Tara replied truthfully, an almost cheerful smile on her lips.
His smile widened and he said, "You've got me there, love. Well then. Let's do this, shall we? If I pass out, we'll just take a little breather."
"If you pass out, I'll probably get you into bed easier," Tara retorted, and then her eyes widened as she realized the second meaning behind her words.
Spike grinned suggestively at her. "And you've just voiced the pathetic dream of horny frat boys everywhere," he smirked.
Tara blushed beet red as she gently lifted his shoulders again. "Come on, now. Let's get you up...on your feet," she shook her head. "Shutting up now," she muttered.
He laughed softly, then sucked his teeth as a new spasm of pain shot through his body at the motion. "You're gonna kill me yet, love. Haven't laughed this much in months, and just now laughing's probably not the best medicine I could be taking."
"Sorry," she whispered, distractedly, focusing on the effort of getting him to his feet with the least pain possible. After a brief struggle they managed to get him on his feet, though he was almost wholly leaning on her.
Looking down beside her to take some stock of his injuries, she frowned, confused. "Don't tell me she beat the crap out of you and then stuck around to clean your wounds."
"No," he smiled, not a happy smile. "I made it to the shower. Just didn't quite make it out."
"So...she beat you...you managed to get cleaned up...and then she knocked you out?" Tara tried to make sense of the situation.
"Something like that," he responded grimly.
"My God, Spike, you'd think she'd have worked it all off already!" Tara sounded angry, disgusted.
Spike felt uncomfortable, ashamed. "Well, I suppose I could have kept my mouth shut. Might have helped."
"What did you say?"
He paused for a moment, as if debating whether or not to tell her, or how much. Then he said without expression, "I told her I hated her."
Tara could not imagine anything that could have shocked her more. Never would she have imagined that Spike would say those words to Buffy.
"My God, Spike, what did she do to you?" she asked, her voice soft, almost awed.
Spike was suddenly fascinated by a spot on the bedspread, and he could not look up at her. "Between me and her, pet," he said softly.
"I'm sorry," Tara quickly replied. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No...it's not...you..." Spike struggled to find the words, then looked up to meet her eyes. Sighing heavily, he continued softly, again gazing at the bed, "This...what you're doin, love...it means something, yeah? Don't think I don't appreciate it, cause I do...I just...that's just..." Suddenly he looked up at her again, fear in his eyes. "She can't ever know that you know, Tara. If she finds out I'm as good as dead. You know that, love."
Tara nodded solemnly. There was no way that Buffy would let her dirty little secret get out to the rest of the gang. She had proven with her actions and words that she saw Spike as something to be used at her whim, and therefore expendable. And Tara did not expect to get any defense for him from the rest of the group. She would keep his secret. For now.
"I won't tell her," she assured him. "But we have to find a way to stop this, Spike. It can't go on." She reached up a gentle hand to cup his cheek, and did not back down when he flinched. Her words were slow, deliberate, as she caught his gaze and held it with her own. "She will kill you anyway. You know that."
He nodded slowly. "I know," he whispered. "After all, I'm not alive...not a person...no soul...just her toy to play with...and little girls like Buffy...their toys don't last very long." His eyes welled with unshed tears, and he looked away quickly before she could see them fall.
"Spike. Look at me," Tara insisted, and the soft command drew his eyes back to hers. "You are a person. You matter. No matter what, she does not have the right to do this to you. And I promise you, Spike. I will find a way to help you."
He did not move, did not make a sound for a long time. Then finally he whispered, so low that she almost didn't catch it, "Thank you."
Removing her hand from his face with a soft caress, she deliberately lightened her tone, "Now. Got any bandages?"
An hour later he was lying comfortably in his bed, his bruises and cuts bandaged, his ribs bound. Physically he felt better already; emotionally...that was a different story.
The walls he had built to protect his fragile feelings from Buffy's assaults--which did not work, anyway--had been torn down in an hour of tenderness. Somehow Tara's kindness made him feel that much more raw and vulnerable. She had even tried to insist on going home for her car and taking him to her house to get better. She was worried about Buffy coming back before he was up to defending himself. He didn't think it would be wise to tell her that that would be precisely "never".
But he had insisted on staying put. He did not think it would be a good thing for him or for Tara if Buffy found out that she knew what was going on, or that she had come here tonight and taken care of him. She may have treated him like a possession, a toy, but she never left any doubt that he was HER possession... HER toy.
To be treated like a person...like someone who mattered...after so long...it almost hurt. And to be allowed to make the decision for himself, even when Tara was obviously worried sick at the idea of his staying here alone...still she had left it in his hands. Buffy would have ignored his wishes and simply dragged him back to her house. And after the ultimate savagery that Buffy had inflicted on him the night before...
He shuddered. He did not want to relive that memory again. He laid all the way down in the bed, wanting to go to sleep to escape thinking of what had happened that night.
But again and again that night, in his dreams, the scene played over again...
With a hiss of pain, he turned to return her kiss. If she was determined to ruthlessly plunder his heart and body of all she could take from him, he would at least take what he could from her in the process. At least for a few brief moments, feel like she was as much his as he was hers.
She pulled him closer to her, and he pulled away, crying out in pain. "Oh God! Buffy, no!"
She only pulled him closer. "No, no, stop!" he fairly sobbed in agony. "I can't, wait!"
Barely able to control herself, Buffy reluctantly pulled away from him, her eyes nearly glazed with desire and need. "What's the problem?" she hissed, obviously desperate to resume.
Trying a weak smile, to take any accusation out of the statement, he said softly, "I'm in too much pain, love. I think I'm going to be pretty useless to you tonight."
Buffy let out an exasperated sound that was more like a moan of frustration. Then she looked at him, with eyes dark with desire, anger...and something darker, that cruel smile back on her lips. "Maybe not," she whispered, twining her arms about his neck and leaning in close. Suddenly she shoved him forcefully to his knees in front of her.
As a lightning bolt of pain shot from his knees up through his legs and through his body at the impact, a cold, sick feeling overwhelmed him. He struggled frantically to get back to his feet on the slippery shower floor, but he was too weak and could not get any leverage. "No! No, Buffy!" he gasped.
"Just shut up and do it," she muttered, holding him down on his knees, her head already arching back in anticipation of the pleasure she sought.
Still he fought her, uselessly. "Buffy, no, please!" he sobbed. She had used and abused him for months, perhaps years, but this was different. She was making it perfectly clear that this was not the least bit about him...he was hers to do with as she pleased, nothing but a possession to be used. His desires, his pain, meant nothing to her. It felt like such a violation, and he felt panicked, desperate to escape.
She gripped his hair with one hand, jerking his head back painfully, leaning in close with a menacing sneer, "Don't be stupid!" she snarled. "Do it!" The threat in her eyes and voice was clear, and he knew that to deny her in this frame of mind would be very dangerous.
So he submitted, knowing he had no other choice. Although he was simply going through the motions, had shut away his heart and mind to protect them from the cruel humiliation his body was being subjected to, she did not seem to notice. She took her pleasure of him, and then helped him to his feet and out of the shower.
As she got dressed in the bedroom after, he stood in painful silence, his back to her
Buttoning her shirt in front of the mirror he kept there only for her benefit, she smirked cruelly and said in a self-satisfied tone, "If you keep using that mouth like that, Baby...less talk, more action...you just might convince me to love you yet!"
The words were a more devastating blow than any she had ever given him. The flippant tone, the cruel mockery of his love, in the face of the ultimate degradation she had just subjected him to...it was all too much. Turning slowly to face her, he stared at her with a cold dead expression and spoke softly, calmly.
"I hate you."
Buffy turned slowly toward him, a smile of indifferent surprise on her lips as she slowly approached him.
"Well," she said softly, coldly, as she reached him. "Maybe we're making some progress after all." Suddenly her eyes became hard with hurt and rage, and she dealt him a savage blow across the face that sent him to the ground. Leaning down with menace in her eyes, she gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Doesn't matter if you hate me or not. You're still mine. Don't forget that." With one final kick to his ribs that caused enough agony to send him spiraling into dark oblivion, she stalked out of his life once again.