Chapter Seven

Regression

Across the street and one block down, at the Espresso Pump, Tara sat on a soft leather sofa in a back corner, a novel in one hand and a double caramel latte in the other. This was nice, she told herself. She in no way minded helping Spike; after weeks of worry since Buffy had told her about them and the beatings had started, it was a blessed relief to know that he was safe.

And she had to admit, although she knew she had made the right decision in breaking up with Willow, the past month without her had been very lonely, and to her slight surprise, Spike was good company. All that considered, with Spike not leaving the apartment, Tara-time had been at a minimum lately. It was nice to be able to spend a little quiet, cozy time with a book and a hot drink, in comfortable solitude.

So why did she keep thinking about him?

She told herself that it was just concern because he was out on his own for the first time since he'd come to stay with her. Her protective maternal instincts come to the forefront, making her think about where he was, what he was doing.

But the way her visual image of him centered in on fathomless blue eyes, framed by lush dark lashes... the warmth she felt low in her stomach at the thought of his brilliant smile, so rare these days...she had a sneaking suspicion that those thoughts were at the very least bordering on something not-at-all maternal.

She tried to shake off the thoughts, that were wrong in so many ways. First of all, he was a man--sort of. Actually, that was points one and two on her list. And the reason that stood out the most firmly to her at the moment was the fact that he was incredibly vulnerable at the moment.

Tara was not blind or stupid. She had not failed to notice the blatant adoration that he occasionally got in his eyes when he looked at her. She noticed him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking, and knew that he was developing feelings for her. But she was intelligent enough to know that enough time had not yet passed for him to fully get over his intense feelings for Buffy, and any affection he was feeling toward her was most likely a combination of gratitude and transference. To take advantage of that would be undeniably wrong.

Still, she had to admit that he was gorgeous. And sometimes, when she would turn around to find him gazing at her with those adoring eyes, her breath would catch in her throat, and she would find her face flushing and her heart pounding unexpectedly.

And what about Willow? she wondered, laying aside her book with a frown, gazing out the window pensively at the snow-gilded street. It was not as if she had never been with a man before; Willow was in fact the first woman she had ever been with. But when she had found Willow, she had thought that she had found herself--her identity--in their relationship. Here lay the reason why her relationships with men in the past had gone so horribly wrong--didn't it?

But then, hadn't her relationship with Willow gone horribly wrong as well?

Almost in spite of herself she found herself reaching out for the thread she had caught earlier.

Spike?

There was a slight pause in which she heard nothing, and then a faint reply, Yeah, love?

She smiled at the sound of his voice in her head. Just thought I'd see what you're doing...if you're having a good time.

Yeah, 's good to get out, came the distracted reply.

Where are you? she asked out of mere curiosity and to make conversation.

There was a lengthy pause, with no reply. Tara felt a little unsettled.

Spike? she prompted.

Finally the reply came, At the Magic Box.

Tara's heart dropped. Why? she asked urgently. Spike that's too dangerous! Buffy--

Buffy's patrollin'. Nobody even knows I'm here, pet. I'm in the training room.

Why'd you go there, Spike? What if she finds you? Tara felt sick with fear.

Just thought I might here some word about the Niblet, Spike responded. There was another brief pause before he continued, I miss her a lot, love. Thought maybe they'd say something bout how she's doin', or maybe she's even in there. I could hear them from here...supernaturally enhanced hearin' and all that.

Spike, be careful Tara urged him. I don't like this...I've got a really bad feeling...

Spike silently wandered around in the training room, picking up weapons randomly, putting them back down, all the while keeping his ears tuned for the sound of conversation from the store. But nothing but silence reached his hearing; must be a heavy-duty study session going on, either that or no one was even there but Anya. Glancing around, his eyes fell on a small black and white composition notebook sitting on a pommel horse. Idly he went to it and picked it up. It was Buffy's, in which she kept notes on the various things the Scoobies faced lately. She had taken up the habit since Giles had returned to England.

That's odd. Seems Buffy left her book here.

Suddenly Tara felt overwhelmingly ill with the unexplainable certainty that Buffy would be coming back for the book.

Spike! You need to get out of there!

Don't worry, love. She's patrolling. She won't come back here for hours. Don't worry bout-- The thought cut off suddenly, and without warning Tara's senses were assailed with an overwhelming sense of fear. Crippling, paralyzing, absolute terror.

With a sick realization she suddenly knew that the emotion she was feeling was Spike's, carried to her on his thoughts. In the next moment, she heard his voice again in her mind--loud, panicked, desperate.

Tara, Tara! Oh God, TARA!

I'm coming she responded, jumping up from the couch and rushing out the door into the snowy street.

Before he knew what had happened, Spike found himself pinned against the wall next to the pommel horse, Buffy's strong arm across his throat, cutting off his breath. He did not need it to live, but he did need it to speak, and he could not make a sound.

Leaning in, a cold smile of triumph on her face, she whispered, "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here. I think we need to have a little talk, don't you, Baby?" Her smile faded instantly as she hissed in his ear, "If you make one sound without my permission I will kill you, understand?"

He nodded quickly, desperately, gasping for breath. He knew intellectually that he would not die for lack of oxygen, but it seemed to be a left-over reflex from his humanity that having his air cut off sent him into a panic.

"Good," Buffy sounded satisfied; she was still whispering. Someone else must be in the Magic Box still. Not that it made any difference to him; he knew better than to defy her by making a sound.

Besides, no one in the Magic Box would help him anyway. If they were to come into the training room and see this scene, they would only assume that he was at fault. After all, he was the one who was an "evil thing"; Buffy was the one Chosen to rid the world of his kind. She was only exercising her right--no, her duty-- if she chose to take his life.

She released his throat but stayed intimidatingly close, her hands on his shoulders instead, pinning him helplessly. "Now," she began, and without warning rared back and backhanded him so viciously that his head slammed back against the wall and he would have gone down had her hand not been holding him up. "About your little tantrum the other day..."

Halfway down the block to the Magic Box, moving as quickly as she could in the snow in her heels, Tara suddenly felt a strong jolt that was not quite a physical pain that nearly dropped her in her tracks. She knew in some deep part of her that this was Spike's pain. Buffy had gotten to him, and she was hurting him.

Tara...oh Tara...please...hurry...

His voice sounded muddled, confused...as if he was having a hard time putting his thoughts together.

I'm coming, Spike, hold on!

"And what, now you're going through my things, too?" Buffy hissed furiously, holding up the composition notebook in his face, her fingernails digging painfully into his shoulder.

He shook his head, "No! Please Buffy I didn't--"

Dropping the book, Buffy yanked his head back by the hair, hard, leaning in close to snarl, "Did I say you could talk?"

He shook his head, trembling uncontrollably by now, his eyes closed against the terror of the moment. "N-no, Buffy, I'm sorry!" he whispered. "I'm sorry, please!"

"Then shut up!" she snapped in a loud whisper, delivering a brutal blow with her fist across his face.

Spike? Spike? Tara urgently sought him as the Magic Box came in sight ahead of her. She had not heard anything from him in a minute or two.

There was a long silence.

Say something, Sweetie! Are you ok?

Tara...hurry...now! the words came weak, faint, barely able to be heard.

Tara threw all her strength into a run as she hurried on toward the lights of the store.

Buffy had a stake in her hand now, still gripping his hair painfully. "So where were you hiding all this, time, Sweetie?" she asked, her tone patronizing, a mockery of tenderness that chilled his heart after the reality of it in which he had spent the last week.

He knew that he could not tell her he had been at Tara's. Tara believed that Buffy would not hurt her, but he was not so sure, and he refused to put her at risk. But his thoughts were too scattered from the brutal blows he had taken to compose any believable story, so he just stood there in silence, trying desperately to pull himself together.

A dangerous gleam in her eyes, Buffy drew very close to him, so that her body was pressed a bare half an inch from his, held the stake against his chest and hissed menacingly, "You had best answer me, Baby. Now."

Tara flung herself through the Magic Box door, looking wildly about. Anya saw her and took a step away, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Tara? Are you all right?" Then she frowned. "Have you been crying? Did something attack you?"

"No, no," Tara gasped for breath, realizing that she did indeed have tearstains on her face. She had not even realized that she had been crying. But that might prove to be useful. "Have you seen Buffy?"

"She's in the training room. She went in there to work out about 10 minutes ago."

Tara did not wait for the rest of her explanation but headed straight for the training room door.

"Where were you, Spike?" Buffy asked again, her voice low and threatening. She was still pinning him against the wall with her body, so close that he could not move, and with her left hand she held his wrist against the wall above his head.

He was shaking, sobbing silently, but he would not say a word. Wordlessly, Buffy turned the stake around in her free hand so that the larger, blunt end was toward his hand, immobilized against the unyielding brick wall behind it. He knew what she intended; braced himself against the brutal blow that would crush his hand mercilessly.

"Last chance, Baby," Buffy whispered, so close that her lips brushed his ear. "Where. Were. You."

Still he did not reply. With a cold-hearted shrug, Buffy pulled away and pulled back the stake to strike. At that moment, the door to the training room flung open. Instantly Buffy dropped her hold on his wrist, putting the stake back in her pocket, and turned to face the door with an expectant expression, looking for all the world like she had just been having a casual conversation.

Spike was considerably more shaken, but he stood up a little straighter and tried to gain his composure, because he knew she expected it of him. Just a few minutes in her presence, and he was back to complete, helpless obedience to her every command.

Tara entered the training room, disheveled and distraught, tears streaming from her eyes. Ignoring Spike completely, she headed straight for Buffy.

"Buffy," she sobbed. "Do you have time to talk?"

"Of course, Tara, what's the matter, Honey?" Buffy asked in a voice filled with warmth and concern, nothing like the icy menacing one she had used moments before.

"It's Will--I don't know what to do...I'm sorry to come to you like this and disturb you but I just have to talk to someone--"

"No problem, Sweetie, just a second," Buffy insisted, giving her a brief hug. She turned back to Spike with a wide, cold smile on her lips. Drawing intimidatingly close, she placed one hand firmly on the wall inches from his head, assuming a menacing stance.

"Look at me," she murmured, seeking out his eyes with hers.

Immediately he obeyed, drawing his own tearful, frightened gaze up to meet her eyes.

"You're gonna go back to your crypt. You're gonna wait for me there. And then we're gonna finish this conversation. Right?"

He nodded quickly, desperately.

"Any questions?"

He shook his head, looking away again, unable to hold her gaze for long.

"Good," Buffy said, bringing one hand up to touch his face in a caress that was meant to be subtly threatening. He flinched, and she smiled. "Go on," she ordered softly with a slight nod of her head toward the back door.

Without so much as a glance at Tara, he headed for the door.

Spike

No response.

Spike!

There was a long pause, before the soft response came, just as the door closed behind him, Yeah

Go to my apartment. She still can't find you there. I'm gonna stall her for a while and then I'll meet you there. Ok?

No response.

Tara found this deeply unsettling. Even as she started pouring out her story to Buffy, putting her college drama classes to good use, she urgently tried again.

Spike? Ok?

Still no response. That was when she knew that he was going to go back to his crypt, as Buffy had ordered, to wait for her to come there and beat him again, possibly kill him--like a good broken little slave. A surge of anger flowing through her, Tara somehow managed to keep up her act with Buffy, even as her mind raced ahead with a firm determination.

Not if I can help it!