The Reforging of the Key

Chapter Five: Snapshots – Part Two

Warning: Part of this got darker than I intended. I had a plan. A good one. Then I got bore- no, wait, that's not what happened. One of the characters felt I was going too easy on someone and took matters into his own hands, resulting in Spike getting a bit creepier than I had planned.

Author's Note: At the beginning of each section change – as opposed to PoV change – how long they've been in the dream world will be shown. Spoilers for both the TV version of Red Dwarf and the novels.

…

:Eleven-and-a-half Months:

When Tara got home from her classes that afternoon, Spike was on the couch with Dawn sitting in his lap watching some weird British sci-fi show involving a guy on a spaceship with a hologram and a man evolved from a cat.

"The show is fairly decent," the vampire was saying to the little girl, "but it's not as good as the love story from the novels. Lister has this special, magical thing with the girl of his dreams, and then it's gone after such a short time. He goes through so bloody much without her, but in the end, as an old man, he ends up meeting her again, as her husband, in a place where time runs backwards. And you know he'll eventually end up back on the ship with her and his mates, because of the future vision thing with knobbly bits exploding out of one of his descendants.

"In the show, the future vision is made possible because of some rubbish about getting knocked up by a female version of himself in an alternate reality where it's the men who get preggers, which is just completely daft. Not the idea in general – lots of demon races are set up that way, seahorses too… also, you know, vampire, so more or less asexual reproducer here by way of getting snacked on by a Lunchable, so can't really judge – but, really, we're meant to believe that going to a different reality just up and changes your natural biology? That's just madness."

By the time Spike's semi-rant had wound down, Tara had put all of her things away. Now she sat on the couch, putting her arm around his shoulders without even thinking about it. Since the night of Rachel Hill's spell, there had been a lot of casual physical contact between the two of them.

She smiled a little, feeling a sense of satisfaction as she thought of what she and the coven had done about the other witch. If she didn't use her power to help someone at least once a day, she would lose some of it forever. Any time she tried to cast a spell with malicious intent, it would affect her instead of the intended victim. And if she tried to get all touchy-feely with anyone else without their consent, she'd get a nasty shock for her efforts.

I'll have to see if I can cast a sort of reverse version of that on Spike after we all wake up, Tara thought. He'd muttered darkly about humans and their "filthy paws" too many times for her to believe the dream world was the only place where a human had gotten excessively gropey with the vampire. She knew he'd gotten mugged at least once. Xander had found out somehow and had spent a week constantly bringing it up and laughing about it.

"Welcome home, pet," Spike said, hitting pause on the remote. Dawn crawled from his lap to Tara's to give her a hug. "Good day at uni?"

"Not bad. I need to get to work soon on a paper for psych class."

Too bad I can't write up something on the care and handling of codependent vampires. Then again, this is Sunnydale. Maybe the professor would believe it. And if anyone needs to come with an instruction manual, it's Spike.

Of course, the only people who would actually care enough to read such a thing were her and Dawn. Well, and maybe Anya, back in the waking world. The ex-demon was blunt and often inappropriate, but she had a good heart.

Spike hit play on the VCR remote, starting the show back up. Tara frowned slightly as she watched. Some of the language used was kind of nasty, even compared to the casual swearing Spike hadn't quite been able to eliminate from his speech around Dawn.

"Are you sure this is appropriate for Dawnie?"

"Can't keep Bit from learning godawful southern California valley speak, but I can at least make sure she's bilingual and knows actual English. It's a bit coarse, yeah, but it's not like smeghead is going to end up her first word or anything," he said, sounding exasperated.

"Smeh-eh!" Dawn squealed in delight.

The moment of stunned silence was broken by Spike's irritated mutter of, "bloody hell."

"Buh-ee-ell."

Tara knew she should have been appalled, but instead she was fighting back laughter. The dismayed looking vampire actually whimpered and buried his face in his hands.

"You'd think I'd learn to keep my bloody mouth shut, what with sod's law having an unnatural obsession for yours truly and all," he muttered.

Tara soothingly patted his back and glanced down at the little girl in her lap. "Your daddy is a silly vampire."

"Dada," Dawn said, copying Tara's motion and patting him on the arm. She'd uttered those particular sounds before, but never as more than just random baby babble that couldn't really be considered speech.

Spike looked up at Tara. "We can pretend that was her first word, yeah?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, it was her first American word, so I don't see why not," she teased gently.

…

…

:One Year and One Month:

Why do they always go for the soddin' ribs? Spike wondered vaguely as he coughed up blood from a punctured lung. That plus various bruises and cuts, three broken ribs, a broken arm – the right one, thankfully – and deep claw marks across his torso that had nearly disemboweled him were actually fairly light injuries considering the size of the demons he'd just taken out.

The smell of fresh human blood hit him at the same time as the pain filled whimpers. He was confused for a minute, then remembered the girl the demons had been after. Some daft little bint running about in the middle of the night in impractical and ugly footwear. One of her ridiculous six-inch heels had snapped, allowing one of the demons to get to her before he'd been able to get to it.

Now she was curled up in the alley, next to a dumpster, blood oozing from a nasty gash along the length of her upper arm. It smelt good, rich with a sort of maple syrup undertone that was the girl's personal essence. With the Tara flavor drops, he'd actually been drinking enough blood to keep himself healthy for the first time since he'd been captured and chipped, but he was injured badly enough that the instinct to bite the girl and drain her dry was nearly overwhelming.

Bloody well earned a bit of a snack, he grumbled to himself, eyeing the girl hungrily. I'm a soddin' vampire, s'posed to be evil. Can't expect me to be a bloody white hat all the time. 'S just not natural.

"You," he said, his voice coming out as a gurgling growl. He coughed again, trying to clear the blood out of his slowly healing lung. "Tell me 'bout yourself."

"Wha?"

"Now!" Stupid girl didn't realize that she was food, and he'd be on her in an instant if she tried to get up. If she was going to survive, she needed to be a person. "Talk 'bout your family."

"Um… I… I live with my parents. My dad-"

"Don't care. Your mum, she a good lady? Would she smack a bloke upside the head with an axe to protect you?" he demanded.

"Y-yes, she would."

Okay, I can work with this, Spike thought, some of the tension leaving him. The girl wasn't a person to him, but her mum… she could be like Joyce. He couldn't eat the daughter of a Joyce type. He'd wake up eventually, and then his weekly visit to her grave to talk and share a thermos of cocoa would just be awkward and weird. He ignored the fact that chatting with an imaginary version of a dead woman while pouring hot fluids on her grave probably already counted as weird, bordering on insane.

"Right then. Get on home. Your mum is likely worried."

The girl simply nodded, took off her idiotic, broken shoes and crept away from the alley.

…

…

:One Year and Two Months:

By the time she got home, Tara was shaking with rage. She had always been a good, diligent student, and that hadn't changed in the dream world. Her history professor didn't care about that. He just saw a shy, insecure young woman and had decided to take advantage of it.

She took a deep breath before opening the door, trying to bring herself under control. She could deal with this herself, so there was no point in upsetting Spike and Dawn. She settled a mask of serenity over herself and went inside. Which turned out to be pointless. Spike took one look at her and instantly knew something was off.

"What's wrong, pet?" he asked from where he was sitting on the floor. Dawn was toddling hesitantly from the couch to him. "That's a good girl, Nibblet," he murmured, glancing down at her and patting her on the head before looking back at Tara expectantly.

"There's nothing wrong, I'm fi-" He gave her a look, and she stopped mid-word.

Perceptive vampire is perceptive, she thought with a sigh. She sometimes wondered if he was at least a little bit empathic. The thought of an empath – even one only strong enough to have just a general feeling about people's emotional states – being turned into a vampire was a little bit horrifying. I hope Willow never takes it into that beautiful, brilliant head of hers to try to give him his soul back. That would be an evil thing to do to someone as sensitive as most empaths are.

She sat on the couch and rubbed her face as she gathered her thoughts. "Professor Jenkins… he said… he said, even though my work has been good, h-he would flunk me if I didn't…."

"He's dead," Spike said flatly.

"No!" Tara insisted. He'd been doing so well about not killing anyone. She wasn't going to let some disgusting, mockery of a teacher be the cause of a backslide. "He's not worth it. Don't kill him. Don't hurt him. I'll… I'll figure something out."

She expected an argument, but Spike just… smiled. A cold, vicious smile that sent a shiver down her spine and forcefully reminded her that she was in the presence of an apex predator.

"No worries, pet. I won't hurt him." He gathered Dawn in his arms and stood up. "Well, not much, anyway."

"Spike-"

He put a finger gently against her mouth, quieting her and putting Dawn down in her lap. "You just sit tight now, yeah? It's all gonna be alright. Be right back."

Tara was about to protest that it was still daylight, but Spike went up the stairs instead of out the door. She sighed and cuddled Dawn close.

"Tata." The little girl said happily.

Tara smiled and kissed her on the forehead. Something about just holding the warm little baby made everything feel like it would be alright. She felt a little surge of disappointment when Spike came back down after several moments and immediately took Dawn from her, holding her against his side with one arm. He used the other to haul Tara off of the couch and lead her up the stairs.

By the time they got to the bathroom, she had figured out what he had been up to, and the disappointed feeling was gone. The bathtub was full of hot water and bubbles. A glass of wine sat on the edge of the tub along with a small box of chocolates. There were a lot of things that just wouldn't work with someone who wasn't an insane vampire, but one of Spike's best techniques for dealing with women pretty much worked on any species. Dunk upset female in hot water and offer treats.

Tara smiled and hugged him. "Thanks," she whispered, giving him a platonic kiss on the cheek before turning back to the tub.

"Have yourself a good soak, love. When you're ready to come down, we'll find something stupid to watch on the telly. Take your mind off things."

"Just as long as it isn't Passions or any of those other soap operas you're addicted to," she teased.

"Oi, said stupid, didn't I?" he huffed in indignation.

Tara just grinned and shooed him out of the bathroom. Normally he would have offered to wash her hair for her, and she would have accepted once she was hidden away under the bubbles, but they both knew she needed to be alone for a little bit.

She sank into the hot water with a sigh and took a sip of wine, letting her tense muscles relax for a moment before taking stock of her emotions. She felt sick and furious. He was a teacher, someone meant to nurture and guide, and he was threatening to withhold the grades she had earned unless she slept with him.

She had another sip of the wine and was hit with sudden disgust at the attitude of the Scoobies back in the waking world. Her professor, with his bright, shiny soul, had violated her trust – wanted to violate her – while the soulless vampire she lived with had almost immediately figured out what she needed and was doing his best to see that she got it. A chance to work through her emotions in a safe, relaxing environment followed by a mindless distraction.

She needed to figure out what to do about Professor Jenkins before Spike took matters into his own hands. For the most part, he had put himself under her control, but when it came to her safety or Dawn's, he would ignore what she wanted in favor of what he felt was needed.

First thing Monday morning, I'll report him, she decided. She had a sinking feeling that he'd probably already been reported a time or two, but she didn't have any other options. Other than letting Spike do whatever it was he had planned.

No, she told herself resolutely. Though he did say he wouldn't hurt him… much. If… if he just plans to scare him…. Spike can be pretty scary when he wants to be.

She closed her eyes and sank deeper into the water. Something had to be done. She couldn't be the only one Professor Jenkins had tried to do this to. Maybe.... She took a deep breath and came to a decision. Being someone's moral compass meant more than just keeping them in the white as much as possible. Sometimes it meant helping them steer through the varying shades of gray.

…

…

An hour later, Tara went back downstairs, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas even though it was still afternoon. She sat down on the couch next to Spike and drew her knees up to her chest.

"You won't hurt him much?" she asked softly.

"Won't even need to go to hospital," he promised. "I'll take care of it tonight, before doing the rounds. And then I'll come back home."

"But… it's Friday," she reluctantly pointed out. She really didn't want him gone all night. She wished he didn't have to go out at all.

"Special circumstances, pet. And if you disinvite me for the night, I'll just sit on the roof above your window and bitch at you the entire time."

Her lips quirked up in a shaky smile. "A fate worse than death," she said solemnly.

"Bloody well right it is. You've not even begun to hear me bitch about what they did to the love story in Red Dwarf. And then there's your demented American spelling. I could go on about that for hours." He shook his head in disgust. "Putting zed in all kinds of words instead of a proper S and the weird aversion to the letter U. Did a giant U just up and bugger the Statue of Liberty when the rest of the world wasn't looking?"

"Maybe all of our extra Us ran off and eloped with your ability to say the er sound?" she shot back, the light bantering helping her to feel better.

He laughed at that, then suddenly became serious again. "Do you need me in your room tonight, love?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

Usually, Spike only slept in her room with her on Saturday, Sunday, and Wednesday, but after the disgusting way Professor Jenkins had leered at her during his proposition, she could definitely use a night of innocent cuddling. Sometimes Spike's body reacted to being in a bed with a woman, but they both ignored it when it happened. Even if she hadn't had Willow back in the waking world, he was the wrong gender, and she wasn't Buffy.

For the rest of the daylight hours, they sat together, Tara curled against his side as they watched bad movies and shared a pint of ice cream. Once the sun went down, Spike slipped out to take care of things.

…

…

Paul Jenkins was a large man. He stood at seven inches over six feet and was broad and muscular. He was used to easily intimidating others, and so wasn't the least bit afraid when a slender, white-haired man under six feet tall and dressed all in black suddenly appeared in front of him as he walked home from the college.

He did feel just a little bit of unease when the man smiled at him. It was an unsettling smile that, for a brief instant, filled him with the foreign feeling of being prey. Then the man spoke, and the unease drained away.

"Evening, mate, out for a bit of a stroll?"

Paul snorted in contempt. Just some little pretty boy Brit trying to be a badass. What was he going to do, make him drink tea until he exploded?

"Out of the way, pipsqueak."

He reached out to shove him aside, but his wrist was caught in a sudden vicelike grip. The creepy smile was back, and fear started to slowly bloom in Paul's heart.

"We need to have a bit of a chat about Tara Maclay. But first, a change of venue."

The man's fist came up at lightning speed and slammed into Paul's head, sending him down into darkness.

…

…

The burning agony of his shoulders and wrists made itself known even before awareness could fully return. It pushed and prodded him from the comfort of the darkness, forcing him first to that vague awareness and then to full consciousness. A low moan of pain escaped him as his eyes flickered open.

The soft light from several candles illuminated what seemed to be a crypt. He was chained to a wall, his weight dragging at his shoulders and bound wrists. Just as he managed to struggle to his feet, the platinum blond suddenly appeared in his line of sight, tapping a metal spike against his palm.

"Well, well, sleeping ugly hath awakened," he said cheerfully, flashing a disturbingly manic grin. "Sorry 'bout the sparse décor, mate. Only really use this version for weapon storage, so none of the cozy, homey touches like in the real world."

Oh, god, I've been kidnapped by a lunatic, Paul thought in growing horror. He'd always been large, even as a child, so the sudden feeling of helplessness was as foreign as it was unwelcome. He'd heard somewhere that crazy people sometimes had more strength than normal, but that didn't really seem to explain how someone that much smaller than him had knocked him out, dragged him away somewhere, and chained him upright against a wall.

Maybe PCP? he wondered, feeling sick. That would make someone stronger than they should be and harder to hurt. There were supposed to be a lot of PCP gangs roaming Sunnydale.

"I considered using a knife, you know," the man said. His tone was light and conversational, as if he was discussing the weather. "Cut you up a bit, show you some of your own innards. But, well," he shrugged and tossed the spike into the air, easily catching it as it came back down, "I went all over nostalgic and hunted up a nice railroad spike. Used to torture humans with them."

He began pacing as he spoke, a slight bounce in his step, as if he just couldn't keep still. "Not often, mind you. Nothing noble or anything, just never much had the patience for torture. Usually, if I came across your sort trying to bully, or worse, some poor girl, I'd step in. Appealed to the romantic in me. Course, half the time, I ate the victim before having a spot of fun with her tormentor, but well, vampire here." He shrugged again, his expression clearly saying, what can you expect?

Paul's fear morphed to full blown terror. He was chained up at the mercy of a crazy person on PCP who was casually talking about torture and claiming to be a vampire. His eyes were glued to the metal spike as the man spun it up into the air and caught it again. Then the blond was suddenly right in front of him, up on the balls of his feet and holding the point of the spike an inch from Paul's right eye.

"But we aren't here to talk 'bout what I used to do back in the day," he said softly. "We're here to talk about you and what you tried to do to Tara Maclay."

He was confused for a moment, and then remembered the timid, mousy girl in one of his classes. She was the type who usually would just give in and not report things. And if she got the courage to do it… well, he just played the "gentle giant" card, claiming that some girl had decided she'd claim he'd done something, thinking she'd be believed because of his size. He'd done it before and gotten away with it.

"I… I didn't-"

He was cut off by his own scream as the spike suddenly moved, the tip pressing into the side of his head with a steady, horrible pressure. The man leaned in and sniffed at his neck.

"I can smell it when you lie," he said softly. "And when you're afraid."

He fisted his free hand in Paul's hair and dragged his head down, the spike scraping harshly against his skin at the movement. A disturbingly cool tongue flicked out to lap at his blood. The college professor had to fight not to wet himself. Vampires are not real, he told himself desperately.

He cried out again in pain as the spike was pressed harder into the side of his head, this time with a slow, twisting motion.

"If I do this juuussst right," it was a strangely intimate whisper right into his ear, "I can shove this into your brain without killing you. You'll be a drooling idiot in nappies for the rest of your miserable life, but you wouldn't be dead."

Suddenly, the terrible pressure was gone and the grip on his hair was released as the man let him go and backed away a little. Paul shakily straightened up, struggling not to hyperventilate. It didn't matter if he didn't believe in vampires. There was something very, very wrong with his captor, and he was going to die here, chained to a wall and murdered by a psychotic pipsqueak he should have been able to crush with ease. All because of a girl who should have been flattered that he'd even noticed her.

"Unfortunately, a change in professors would be disruptive to Tara's studies. Can't have that. So you need to be alive and in possession of what few wits you have."

Paul whimpered as the man was suddenly right back in his personal space, the tip of the railroad spike resting just under his eye.

"Don't need two eyes to teach or grade papers, do you? Or…." The spike moved away from his face to rest against his shoulder. "I know a good one, though I'd have to modify it for you. Wouldn't survive the way Angelus did it."

From the moment he'd come to, Paul had thought the little blond was crazy. He was wrong he now knew as he watched the sanity slowly leak from those cold blue eyes.

"You see," he continued, his voice strangely light and breathy, "I'd have to tear you open and yank out a couple of ribs. Then pin you naked to the wall by shoving those ribs into your shoulders…. Wasn't s'posed to comfort Dru. She'd been bad, you see? Talking to the stars when he wanted silence. He hit her. Had to comfort her though, didn't I? Got punished. Pinned to the wall for a week."

The man smiled at him, a horrible, terrifying smile that was somehow strangely gentle. It shouldn't have been possible, but it became even more frightening as sanity crept back into his eyes.

"I could do that. Pin you to the wall for a week using a couple of spikes. Feed you rats."

"Please," Paul begged, "please let me go. I'll give her all As, just-"

"No!" he said, quietly but forcefully. "You're not to speak out of turn, and you're not to give her grades. You mark her papers fairly."

He took a step back, trailing the spike down Paul's body until it rested against his groin. "Don't need this to teach or grade with. In fact, seems like it would help if you didn't have it."

He drew his hand back, then slammed it forward, burying the spike into the wall. Paul screamed and wet himself before realizing that he was still intact. It had gone into the wall just under him, doing no more than tearing his jeans.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Would you look at that? Even smaller than I thought. Well, I know better now, don't I? I hear one word about you trying to get sex from your students again, and next time, I won't miss."

He unlocked the chains and left without a second glance, leaving Paul to carefully move forward away from the railroad spike before falling to the ground in a terrified, sobbing heap.

…

…

It was a little after two in the morning when the soft sounds of someone coming into her room pulled Tara from a troubled sleep. There was a faint rustling of cloth as Spike changed into a pair of sweatpants, and then he curled up in the bed with her. She turned towards him, tucking her knees up behind his and molding her torso along the curve of his back.

The vampire was practically vibrating with tension. Tara slipped her arm around him and murmured the words of a variation of her binding spell that would keep his wrists bound together until he wanted them not to be. He relaxed almost immediately.

Sometimes – and he always just sort of knew when those times were – she needed to be held, and they'd fall asleep together with her cuddled in his arms. Usually, though, this was how it was, with both of them getting what they needed from her holding him. It made her feel strong, in control, and confident.

Those were feelings that most of her relatives had tried to stomp out, leaving nothing but tiny, shriveled seeds in their wake. Being with Willow had started to fix some of the damage, but the redhead was very definitely the dominant one in the relationship. This, though, the friendship she'd developed over the course of a year with Spike, had nurtured those seeds of confidence and strength until they'd begun to blossom. The incident with Professor Jenkins had made the petals wilt.

Tara buried her face against the back of Spike's neck, breathing in the comforting scent of her vampire. She had power here. Not because she'd bullied or forced anything, but because she had been trusted with it. She sighed and drifted off into a peaceful sleep, letting the quiet feeling of strength regain its own.