Chapter Six

You've Got a Friend

The next couple of days were very strange for Spike. For one thing, he was not used to actually living in a house--or apartment, as was the case. Modern conveniences that most took for granted seemed like luxuries to him. He did not leave the apartment at all, as Tara had requested, but it was actually kind of nice, knowing that the magical barriers she had erected were in place, having the surety that he was really safe.

They fell into a routine of sorts; in the days he would sleep, while Tara was at work. When she got home she would wake him and either cook dinner or order in take-out. They found they had a shared passion for moo goo gai pan; he would enjoy a huge plateful with his blood. They would spend the evening together, chatting comfortably about little nothings. Tara would tell him about her day; he mostly just listened, interjecting his comical comments here and there.

She never pushed him to talk about his relationship with Buffy, or how he felt, and he was deeply grateful for it. At times he felt the weight of his painful memories bearing down on him excruciatingly, and a part of him longed to share the load with an understanding friend, as Tara had turned out to be. But as kind as she had been to him, something still held him back.

After all that she had done for him, he thought that she would probably want to know why--what it had all been about. And had she pushed him, he would have felt obligated enough that he probaby would have told her. But she never did.

At night, Tara would go to sleep, and he would stay up, watching television until the wee hours of the morning, when nothing was on of enough interest to keep him from his darkest thoughts--which he realized with a different sort of fear were suspiciously bordering on brooding.

This routine was comfortable, and he felt very safe and secure in it, so for a while he didn't even feel a desire to leave the apartment. But after about a week, he began to feel the beginnings of stir-craziness coming on. A creature of the night such as he was not meant to be kept indoors all the time, he thought.

The next morning, when Tara walked out of her bedroom, he was dozing lightly on the loveseat. Through the mist of half-sleep, he felt her gentle hands on his shoulders, kneading lightly for a moment to wake him.

"Come on, Sweetie," Tara softly said. "Get up and go to bed."

He felt a soft warmth spreading through him at her gentle words and tone. Tara peppered her talk with pet names as he did his with English curses. At first it had thrown him a bit, because although he used a lot of pet names in his speech, he had found that most Americans did not.

But he soon understood that for Tara, physical and verbal affection were not things to be reserved only for one special person, but rather just a part of her normal everyday communication.

Understandably, the first couple of times she hugged him, or casually swept her fingers across his arm or back in passing him, he had tensed, almost unconsciously, with a sense of alarm going through him. He had come to associate even gentle, affectionate touches with the brutality that, in his experience, had so often followed them. But it soon became obvious that Tara's physical affection was utterly guileless and without ulterior motives. She was affectionate simply for the sake of being affectionate, and did not expect anything in return--which was good, because at that point, he felt empty, drained, with nothing left to give.

He turned a warm smile up at her as he slowly stretched and rose from the loveseat. "Tara," he said, a nervous note in his voice. "I was thinking of going out for a bit this evening."

Tara frowned slightly, but nodded, as it was clear he had more to say.

"Please don't think I don't appreciate all this, love...I do, really...you've been better to me than I deserve, I know it. But I'm going crazy not getting out at all, yeah? I'll be careful, I promise."

His deep expressive eyes were apologetic and pleading at once, and it bothered Tara that he seemed to feel that he needed her permission. She felt that he would be safer in the apartment, but it was his decision to make.

"You can do whatever you like, Honey," she told him, looking him in the eye as she gently pushed an unruly blonde curl back from his face. "If you don't mind though, I'd feel better if you'd let me do one thing."

"Anything for you, Pet," he vowed, flashing her a brilliant smile that warmed her heart.

"I'd feel a lot safer about you being out there if I knew you could let me know if you get in any trouble."

"I hate to tell you, love, but there's not a lot you could do to stop Buffy if I run into her," Spike frowned slightly. "And to tell you the truth, I'd hate to see you try. I don't want her to hurt you..."

"She won't," Tara insisted. "She has no idea that I know what's going on. Just my being there would probably stop her. She doesn't want her friends to know. So if I came up in the middle of it, she'd stop."

He nodded slowly, reluctantly conceding that she had a point. "So what's your idea, pet?" he asked with a sigh.

It was Tara's turn to look uncomfortable and unsure, and he found it completely endearing. "Well," she began softly. "and this is only if you want to...I would never push you to do something so invasive...but...I was thinking...if we could establish some sort of... psychic link...so you could call me even if you can't call me out loud...you know?"

He frowned, trying to understand. "Like Red did last summer?" he asked. "When we all patrolled together?"

She nodded, relieved that he understood her. Then she frowned slightly, and added hurriedly, "Except that...I'm asking you. Not just doing it. Like she did." She looked embarrassed by her former lover's actions.

Though no one had thought much of it at the time, Spike remembered the shock of hearing Willow's voice in his head, that night at the tower. Of course, she had had a very good reason for doing so, and enough had happened that night to drive all thoughts of the appropriateness or not of that action from his mind. He hadn't given it a thought since then, but now that Tara mentioned it, it had been a little intrusive.

"So...you'd be able to read my thoughts?" he began, a little nervous. There were a lot of things rattling around up there that he'd rather never came to light, especially not with Tara.

"No, no," Tara insisted, shaking her head. "Only the ones you wanted me to. That is, only when you were talking to me."

"Well, then...ok," he agreed, nodding. "Sounds like a good idea. What do we do?"

"You don't have to do anything," she instructed, coming around the loveseat and taking both his hands in hers, leading him to sit down beside her. She closed her eyes in preparation, and her voice dropped to a husky murmur, "I'll just kind of... reach out...for your essence ...and try to find a thread...and then just sort of..." She searched for the word, then opened her eyes a moment and shrugged, "grab on," she finished with a sheepish smile, as she failed to think of a more technically magical term.

He closed his eyes with her, and tried not to think too much about the warm tingly sensations that accompanied her soft hands in his. Bloody stupid git he chided himself. Every bint you fall for has "doomed" stamped across her bleedin' head,but you fall for 'em all the same He knew he didn't have a chance with Tara--knew eventually she would go back to Willow--but for now, he would content himself with the warmth and comfort of her friendship.

A peaceful, almost drowsy feeling swept over him for a few moments, and he was almost afraid he would nod off.

...2,3, testing...Spike...can you hear me?

His eyes opened wide, and she was gazing at him with a serene expression, which broke into a smile when she saw him hear her words.

"I can hear you!" he exclaimed in surprise, wide-eyed and amazed.

She laughed aloud. Try it like this. Just think it...direct it at me..."

He squinted his eyes shut tight, and she giggled a little. It was actually quite cute.

Hey, now. None of that.

Tara laughed. I could get used to this

Me too, love

"Ok, good," Tara said aloud, releasing his hands and standing up. "If you get into any trouble, you just call out my name...and I'll come running." She smiled as she spoke the lyrics to the song, meeting his eyes with a warmth of affection he had never felt before.

He smiled back, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "Got it," he said in a voice that was low, not letting go of her gaze. "What if there's no trouble? And I just wanna see you?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when he was mentally kicking himself. Oh bloody hell, where did that come from? You stupid prat! Just announce to the girl that you've fallen for her bloody head over heels!

But Tara only laughed softly, reaching up a gentle hand to touch his face in an affectionate way. "I'll be there," she replied softly, and his heart did a funny little flip in his chest.

Surely she couldn't mean it the way it sounded. She was in love with Willow...wasn't she? No, no, no! Stop it now, Stupid! he told himself firmly. You do this every bleedin' time! She's your friend and that's all! It's just her way to be soft and girly and affectionate like that, she means nothing by it, so shut up!

He just smiled in return, feeling like an idiot for his silence.

"I'm off," she said brightly, turning away from him quickly. "Get some rest if you're going out tonight, ok?" And then she was gone.

And obediently he went into her room and lay down in her bed, drifting off to pleasant dreams for once, on the memory of her smile and her touch.

He awoke by instinct mere minutes after sunset. He had been looking forward to getting out of the apartment all day. Tara was not home yet; she must have had to work late, he thought. Well, she was expecting him to go out for the evening, so she would not worry. He got dressed and headed out, carefully locking the door behind him.

Tara?

He waited a few moments, and was beginning to think he had done it wrong or something, somehow it had not worked, when the soft response echoed in his mind, Everything ok?

Just peachy, love. Heading out, just wanted to let you know.

Thanks. I'm gonna be working still for another hour or so, so I'll just see you in the morning, ok?

Ok. Right convenient this is, innit? He smiled to himself, and imagined that she could feel it in his thoughts.

Tara's musical laugh echoed through his mind, and then the reply, The best way to reach out and touch someone.

Was it just his own permanently perverted mind that turned her innocent little comments into innuendos, or was she flirting with him? He couldn't tell, but kept insisting to himself that it must be the former. Tara was out of his league in sooo many ways!

He had been so looking forward to going out, but had not actually made any definite plans as to where to go. He was surprised and alarmed when he pulled himself out of his thoughts and realized that he was on the street where the Magic Box was.

He froze for a moment, an instantaneous panic coming over him, before reminding himself that the Slayer was probably either patrolling, or out looking for him, and certainly would not be here this late. Generally Scoobie meetings were held in the daytime, unless for some reason they required his presence, in which case Buffy would hold off until evening so that he could be there, as in the case of that last, disastrous meeting.

He wondered wistfully how Dawn was doing. He missed her. They talked less since Buffy had come back, but their bond remained, and he knew she was worried about him. Tara said she had asked about him, but she had thought it best to keep his current whereabouts hidden from her. He knew that Dawn loved him, and would never have done anything to hurt him, but she was fifteen years old, and all it would take was one innocent slip-up to place him right back in Buffy's brutal hands.

As for the rest of the Scoobies, he could care less. There had never been any love lost between him and Xander, and Anya got on his nerves. As for Willow, the two of them had always held a polite, reserved suspicion for each other, and he had read between the lines enough to know that Willow had not been making Tara very happy lately, so she was no one that he was very concerned with at the moment either.

Maybe it was the thought of Dawn that compelled him to do it. Maybe it was simply the pull that draws a recovering addict back to the substance he knows will someday kill him. He would not be able to tell later, why. But he found himself behind the Magic Box, at the back door that led into the training room. Glancing through the window cautiously, he saw that the room was empty, the door leading into the store shut. Not really sure why, he tried the training room door--and it opened in his hand.

Well that's bloody careless," he thought. Anyanka's slippin'. He hesitated for a moment, then walked through the door and into the training room.