Idecided to post a day early since so many will be busy with mothers-day tomorrow. Happy Mother's Day to all of you hiding out there.

Thanks to sexymermaid and bogwitch for the beta.

Chapter 14

Tara wiped at the tears and snot that streaked her face, locating Spike by the sound of his cursing. Only a few feet away, he still sneezed even though the pepper had settled.

They were in a kitchen, large, comfy, with pine and oak furniture, counters piled with apples and pears and jars of herbs and spice. The aroma of warm apple pie battled with the stringent scent of pepper. Anya, in a cook's uniform, hovered by the fireplace, a ladle in one hand, a canister in the other. Another woman sat at a table. A blanket-wrapped bundle wriggled in the woman's arms, and she shook it with vigor.

"Stop that! You'll hurt the poor thing." Tara paused. She didn't want to play tug-of-war with an infant as the tuggee.

"I told you pepper wouldn't stop that annoying little beast from crying." Anya ignored Spike and Tara, and wagged a finger at the other woman. "What kind of mother are you to think it would?"

"Yo! I meant rub it on his gums, not throw it in his face! And I never wanted to be a mother. Queen Walsh insisted." The woman shook her offspring again. His squeals were sharp enough to stab Tara's eardrums.

"Careful with that baby!" Spike's eyebrows bunched. "You good Faith or bad Faith, now?"

"That depends on you, bub. I can only be good if someone has faith in me. Get it"
Tara recognized Faith's aura now. A slayer and a vengeance demon. She and Spike were outclassed.

Anya prattled on, "Pepper just inflames. Throw it, rub it in, doesn't matter. It's not the answer, believe me. I once trapped a man in a pepper factory. He sneezed til his eyes bled but not once did he say his gums felt better. The only practical way to ease teething is to pull the teeth! I've got some tongs here somewhere that should do the job."

"Anya!" Tara shoved her hands toward Faith. "Give me that child." Just let either of them try that plan. She didn't care how powerful they were.

"Five by five! Someone who cares. All this family stuff is a drag. The Mayor was cool as a Dad—gave me that killer knife—but then I get stabbed with it. I get a baby and all it does is squeal. Here. You're his mom, now." Faith thrust the baby carelessly into Tara's arms.

"Careful!" Tara fought to hold on; the baby performed impossible gyrations. "Oh, his bonnet's covering his face. The poor thing can't breathe!"

Faith headed for the archway between the kitchen and the hall. "Well if there's such a bee in your bonnet just keep it! I've gotta go. It's been a slice." She sneezed and sniffed, and swept out of the room.

Spike grabbed the baby with firm hands. Quickly, Tara untied the straps, and let the bonnet fall to the floor. Squinty little eyes glowered up at her; a soft pink snout wiffled at her. A pig! Tara understood the teething problem. Tiny tusks protruded through his upper lip. He squealed, twisting again, and a tusk slashed across her arm.

"Ow." She jerked her arm away, and the pig squiggled free. He thumped to the floor, head first, and tottered toward the open doorway.

"See. I told you it was best to pull the teeth. But does anyone ever listen to me?" Anya agitated the pepper canister, and followed the pig. "Get back here, you pugnacious little pork chop. I haven't cooked dinner, yet." The pork squealed in disapproval. He flew outside, Anya hot on his heels. They watched the wild chase in bemusement, the screeching and screaming audible long after Anya and the pig disappeared from sight.

Tara looked at Spike, and they erupted into laughter.

He examined her wound. "Doesn't look too bad. Bet it hurts, though."

"Not much. I don't know this place. Is this somewhere from your past"
"My...?" He looked around in puzzlement. "Never been here before."

"I was so sure. We figured things out in the mushroomy place and ended up in Grandma's root cellar. I thought the same thing would happen this time."

He shrugged. "Maybe it only works once. We got the armor instead."

Tara examined the gash on her arm. "Do you think we lost points because of this? Anya warned us after a fashion."

"Both acted like they didn't know us. Never knew Faith that well, but Anya…" He shuffled uneasily, "I knew her well enough. They were giving us clues. Preferred Lorne's style."

"We're supposed to keep the bonnet. That's the only thing I'm sure of."

"Well, you pick it up. My luck, I'd find myself in a maid's uniform."

Tara eyed him from under lowered lids, and one side of her mouth curled up in a slow smile.

"No." Spike produced a slow grin of his own. "Not that I'm adverse to dress up, mind you. But you've got the better legs."

"I want something more exciting. Like Wonder Woman's outfit. Her golden lasso would come in handy." She grinned at Spike's growl of approval. After a moment's hesitation, she picked the bonnet off the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

"Last time, we kissed." He waggled his eyebrows, and stepped closer to her.
Her breath caught in her throat, but she quashed the feeling of anticipation that swelled inside. Her brow crumpled in apology. "I know. And that's why we need to not kiss now. If the magic's part of the game that's one thing. But our magic's too dangerous to play around with."

Spike's expression resembled that of a man who'd been slapped. "You keep shying away from it, pet, but you know we'll have to use it sooner or later. Pretty much the nature of things—whatever you're most afraid of you have to face."

"I killed Willow with that magic."

"Willow killed Willow. She just used you to do it. Wasn't you and wasn't the magic."

She shook her head. "It's not safe."

"Safe." He spat the word. "The magic's there whether it's safe or not." Spike touched Tara's face. "The magic's us. What we have between us. If you can't deal then we have nothing."

"If the magic is all we have, then it isn't love."

"Both parts of the same thing. Can't separate one from the other."

"Now, Spike." A man stood leaning against the hallway arch, dapper in a black suit and yellow shirt. Tara recognized him from newspaper accounts in Giles' journals.

Mayor Wilkins smiled. "The young lady's just being proper. I know that's difficult for a strong young vampire such as yourself, to respect. But a marriage is always stronger when a couple have saved themselves for that special night. And after all, I'm sure you'll want Tara to wear white at your wedding."

TBC…