Chapter Eight

Revelations

Tara's mind raced, trying to think of what to do, as she listened to Buffy's well-intentioned advice on her non-existent problem. She did not have her car, and there was no way that she could beat Buffy to Spike's crypt on foot. She had to find a way to put off Buffy's return to Spike's crypt that would not require her to personally keep her here. She had to somehow get to the crypt and make him see reason before Buffy arrived.

Tara felt her heart sing with relief when a loud crash of breaking glass sounded from the other room, and suddenly the training room door burst open. The timing could not have been more perfect.

"Buffy! Quick! I have burglars!" Anya announced, wide-eyed, gesturing wildly for Buffy to come. Anya said "I have burglars" like someone might have said, "I have chicken pox".

"With the lights on and you in plain sight?" Buffy was incredulous at the nerve of Sunnydale's criminal element.

Anya rolled her eyes as if it should have been obvious. "Demon burglars, Buffy! They broke my windows and they're taking my merchandise!"

Tara thought absently that it seemed an oddly brazen, not to mention mundane, act for demons. But her main focus was the realization that here was the distraction she needed.

Buffy turned to her quickly and said, "Tara, go on and go home. We can finish this later. You don't wanna be here, just in case it gets dangerous."

Tara nodded obediently and hurried out the back door to the training room. Once in the street, she took off at a dead run for the cemetery and Spike's crypt.

Without her usual regard for propriety, Tara slammed the door open and rushed inside, looking around. No Spike; must be downstairs. She hurried to the ladder and rushed down, turning quickly.

She stopped short, her breath caught in her throat, at the sight of him. He sat straight and still on the edge of his bed, and judging by his panicked, desperate eyes, he had expected someone else to appear at the bottom of the ladder. Just waiting--just as Buffy had commanded. When he saw it was her, he looked surprised--then guilty.

Looking away, staring at the floor to his right. "Heard you come in...thought it was her," he explained unnecessarily.

"I would have knocked and waited, but I'm trying to save your life, here!" Tara retorted, and her voice held a bit more of an edge than she had intended, she realized when he flinched.

"Not worth it, love," he said, his voice low, despairing.

She suddenly could not say another word; her throat seemed to be blocked. She felt the hot pin-prick of tears in her eyes and then she had reached him and her arms were around him.

He turned his head back toward her, closing his eyes, clinging desperately to the arm she had wrapped around his shoulders, and she heard and felt him taking in several short gasping breaths. He was trying hard not to break down; as much as she felt it would do him good, she could not help but agree with the sentiment at the moment.

Safety in her apartment now; emotional breakthroughs later.

"Come on," she whispered, pulling away with an effort. "I don't know how much time we have. We have to get out of here, now!"

He shook his head, still looking at the floor. "It's no use, love. She'll still find me. Might as well face the music now."

Crouching down so that she was on eye-level to him, she placed a gentle hand on his already-bruising cheek. He flinched away from her touch, but her hand followed the motion and turned him back to face her. Looking him in the eye, she said, "Listen to me. We talked about this. Remember?"

He tried to look away but her hand held him, gently but firmly, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"She can't hurt you at my apartment. We'll figure this out, ok? We're gonna find a way to get our own Buffy back. But if you stay here tonight, she may kill you, Sweetheart. Just come with me."

Finally his terror-filled eyes focused on her with an intensity so strong that now she was the one who tried not to break his gaze. "You don't understand..." he rasped in a voice ragged with fear and anguish.

"Yes, I do," she replied, her voice soft but loaded with meaning beyond the three words. "I have been where you are now, Spike. And I can tell you that the only way is to get away from her. Come with me."

"No." With the simple refusal he pulled away from her grasp, and she let him go.

Frustration building, she took a step back, straightened up and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Fine. I'll stay too."

He looked back up at her in alarm. When he spoke it was slowly, over-exaggerated, as if she were a not-particularly-bright child. "No...you need to go. The state she's in, she'll kill anything in her path. Get out of here, love, while you can."

With a stubborn tilt to her chin, Tara shook her head. "I'm not leaving here without you, Spike."

His own frustration was obviously mounting as he stood up, assuming the most threatening position he could under the circumstances, drawing close to her. "You'll get out," he stated in the low, rumbling-thunder tones of the Big Bad he had once been, sending a strange little tremor-thrill through her. "Or I'll put you out, love."

Tara could not help but laugh. "Try it," she said, her tone only slightly taunting. "I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head a little. Of course he had been bluffing; they both knew he wouldn't lay a hand on her. Still he seemed unable to believe that she was still there; that she hadn't left, when faced with his blatant rejection of her help.

His eyes welled with fresh tears, and he suddenly seemed unsteady on his feet; so much smaller than the menacing pose he had just attempted to strike.

She reached out and caught him in her arms just before he collapsed, and the two of them went down to their knees together. She rocked him gently for a few moments, cradling his head against her breast, repeating in a soothing whisper, "I'm not going anywhere...not going anywhere, Spike." She held him close for just a little while, before gently taking his arms and pulling him away from her.

"We have to get out of here, she'll be here any minute, Honey."

This time, he nodded quickly, sniffling, wiping a hand across his eyes. "Right, then," he whispered, letting out a soft, shuddering breath. "Let's go, love."

Half an hour later, they were safely locked into Tara's apartment, in her bedroom with that door locked as well. It was relatively pointless, as they were the only ones in the house, but Tara was intent on making Spike feel as safe and secure as possible, and even the smallest of gestures could help.

He was sitting on the bed, and she was sitting behind him, gently ministering to his latest injuries. Buffy had only gotten in a few blows, but she had been enraged, and they had been vicious ones, with the full force of her Slayer-strength behind them. The first blow had bruised the left side of his face and split his lip, at the same time giving him a nasty swollen bump and a bleeding scrape on the back of his head where it had been slammed into the brick wall of the Magic Box.

It was this wound that concerned Tara the most. Frowning in concentration, trying not to hurt him, she gently blotted the wound with a gauze pad soaked in an antiseptic.

It hurt like hell, and he winced, but made no complaint. Upon reaching the apartment, he had become quiet, contrite. It was unspoken but acknowledged between them that if he had not gone to the Magic Box it would not have happened. Therefore he did not feel that he had the right to complain if her attempts to help him caused him some pain. It was only his due, he supposed, for being a bleedin idiot and all but throwing himself at Buffy's feet.

When his thoughts went down this track, he turned his head slightly toward her, his eyes downcast. "I--I'm sor--"

"Shhh," she whispered, shaking her head and gently turning his head back with her hand so that she could resume her work. "Don't even think about that." Her voice was gentle, soothing, without a trace of blame, and it made him feel better.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, before his voice broke it again, softly, "Who was she?"

"Hmm?" Tara was distracted by her efforts, and not sure who he was talking about.

"In my crypt...you said you'd been here...the girl what hurt you...who was she?" he asked, his voice hesitant and halting, as if he knew he was quite possibly encroaching on private territory, but couldn't quite help himself.

Tara was silent for a moment...just long enough for him to decide that he had once again bollixed everything up...should never have asked such a personal question...

"Wasn't a girl," she finally replied, her voice calm and even. "When I was 17, I was with this guy..."

"You were with a guy?" he echoed, incredulous...and a little hopeful, Tara could not help but notice. She also could not help but notice that the hopeful note in his voice sent a little thrill through her as well.

She smiled at his surprise. "Yes...several actually." Her smile faded. "Each one a bigger control freak than the last. I think I attracted them because I'm so..." she hesitated over the word, then decided, "weak," as she finished with the bandage on his head.

Immediately Spike shook his head, "Not weak," he countered, his voice low and soft as he turned in one fluid motion to face her, his eyes capturing hers, as hypnotic as blue flame. "Never weak. Quiet, maybe. Gentle." Bloody perfect "Never weak."

Tara smiled at his openness, and turned his face slightly so that she could go to work on his split lip. Focusing her attention on it, she could face him without having to meet his eyes as she continued her story.

"Well, something about me attracts that type," Tara shrugged, trying to stay casual. "I've gotten my share of beatings from abusive lovers, I'll tell you that, Sweetie," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "It's a pattern. You find yourself in the same trap again and again. Different relationship, but the same situation. And in the end, you just have to leave. Because letting them do it and staying is the same as saying it's ok."

He looked down at the blanket, but he nodded slightly, thoughtfully. Angelus...Drusilla...Buffy...

"If they'll let you go," he whispered finally, his voice thick with emotion.

"Sometimes it's hard," Tara conceded. "Will's not willing to let me go."

He smiled a secret smile to himself. No, he's not. But then the implication of her words struck him, and he looked up at her sharply.

"Willow? She didn't...did she...?"

Tara's mouth was working as if she was not sure what she wanted to say. Finally, her words, slow, even, and careful, she said, "Willow never hit me...never hurt me...physically. But she still...well...we had this fight...I thought she was doing too much magic..."

"She is," Spike pointed out with a dark look.

Tara nodded. "I know. Well, she didn't want to fight anymore...so instead of talking it out...asking me to forgive her... instead she did a spell...she made me forget we had the fight."

He was silent, watching her, waiting for her to go on. He could imagine the violation that such a thing would be, if he couldn't fully understand.

"I told her...it felt like...like being raped," Tara whispered, shocking him with the intensity of her words and tone. "Like she just reached into me and ripped out something that wasn't hers to take. And what's worse...I told her how I felt...I told her what it was to me...and she did it again."

She paused, taking a deep breath, and laid down the last of the bandages, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

Tentative, wanting to do or say something to comfort her, but still not sure where the boundaries were, what was allowed, he gently reached out a hand and simply placed it on her arm supportively.

She smiled reassuringly at him and went on, "It's like... she wanted to force the resolution...the forgiveness... I would have given it to her... if she'd asked I would have forgiven her. God, I loved her! But she didn't give me a choice; she forcibly took it from me, like all that mattered was her needs and I was nothing to her but the thing that met those needs. And when I told her and she did it again...she didn't care that she'd hurt me, it didn't matter to her..." Her voice broke off and she frowned at him. "Spike?" she said softly. "Are you all right?"

His face had gone paler than usual, and his eyes were focused not on the quilt, but some point beneath it, seeing, hearing, events past. He was trembling visibly, and she saw a small, darkened circle where a tear hit the bedspread.

"Spike?" she whispered, pulling him gently into her arms. "What is it, Honey?"

He allowed her to hold him, putting his head on her shoulder and sobbing softly, finally crying openly in front of her. Tara was alarmed; what had she said or done to bring about this breakdown?

"Sweetie, what?" she murmured, pulling him away just a little so she could look in his eyes with her own full of concern. "Is there something--"

He shook his head, gazing up at her through tear-filled eyes. "No...please, Tara...I c-can't...don't...just...just..."

Understanding what he couldn't put into words, she pulled his head back down on her shoulder and just held him, whispering comforting shushing sounds and gentle words, just allowing him to let his tears flow, washing healing over wounds too deep to put into words.