AN: Thank you! to my awesome beta avadriel. The amazing banner is by Vette Hayden, whom I adore for her generosity. Last but not least, a huge thank you to everyone who reads. Hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter Four


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A slight tingle on the edge of her periphery tugged at her attention. Buffy didn't bother trying to fight the small smile that pulled at her lips, and with a casual twirl of her stake she changed direction, following her senses. It had been a slow night so far, and she hated it when she got all charged up and ready for slaying only to not come across anything that fell in the 'To Be Slayed' column. It left her itchy and restless by the time she finally wandered home to bed.

The tingling sensation pulled her away from the dorms and toward the frat houses, the source steadily moving away from her, no doubt seeking out its own victim. It didn't seem to matter that it was a Tuesday night, loud music drifted from several houses and students loitered along the lawns and sidewalks. Buffy pressed her stake close along her arm. Some of these guys were pretty cute, and you never know. 'Blonde carrying a piece of wood' was not the first impression she wanted to make. She smiled at one particularly tall brunet, as she passed by. He was definitely a hottie, in a wholesome, all American sort of way.

Pushing the thought out of her mind she concentrated on the pulling sensation in her gut. Rounding the corner of a two-story frat house, she stopped short.

"Oh, they told me you would come."

Standing there, in a white gown turned luminescent in the moonlight, was Drusilla. She clutched a student by the throat, pressing his back to her side, and wore a delightfully pleased expression on her face.

Cold fear tightened around Buffy's heart. She didn't know if she could save the boy, and she didn't know if she could dust Drusilla to save herself. "Let him go." Her voice came out firm and strong. The exact opposite of how she was feeling. Points for her.

Drusilla shook her head. "Oh, no," she said, voice and movements languid. "He's mine to keep. Just like Spike."

"No," Buffy said firmly, taking a step forward. "He's mine to save."

Drusilla dug her nails into the boy's neck and he yelped, small rivulets of blood started to trickle down his throat. With a snarl, Drusilla's face morphed, yellow eyes gleaming. "You won't! I was the one who saved him! Me! I won't let you ruin him. Midas fingers ruining everything you touch. Think you can turn my Spike."

Buffy's eyes widened as she tried to follow the turn in conversation. "What in the land of the sane are you talking about?" A light went off in her head and she scoffed in disbelief. "I was talking about him," she cried, brandishing her stake at the frat boy still in the vampire's grasp. "What's there to save about Spike? What part of Vampire Slayer are you not getting?"

"He's mine," Drusilla hissed. "From soft flesh to chitin armor, I made him. My prince." Buffy stood, flabbergasted, as this old, powerful vampire glared at her with murder and hate. "I'll make him kill you. Everything will go back once you're gone."

Buffy stared at her, patience evaporating. "You're insane, and I'm done talking." She moved forward and then something funny happened. The fear in the boy's face smoothed away, and his struggles stopped.

His face morphed into a demon's and he smiled with a mouth full of fangs. "Good. I was getting bored anyway," he said. Stepping away from Drusilla, he lunged at Buffy.

The few seconds that shock gripped her were all the vamp needed to land a punch that snapped her head back. She kept her footing, but only just. Shaking the spots from her vision, Buffy hooked her arm around the back of his neck, bowing his body to knee him in the gut. Following it up with an elbow to the top of his spine, the vampire crumbled. Buffy punched her stake through his back, straight into his unbeating heart, before he could reach the ground.

"Never send a lackey to do a ..." Buffy trailed off, bewildered. Drusilla was gone. ".. Master vamp's job?"

Buffy sighed disgustedly. How many times was she going to have these run-ins with Spike and Drusilla without dusting at least one of them. And what did she mean by 'saving' Spike? "Crazy woman is crazy," Buffy muttered. She shook her head and began the long walk home. "I'm getting a bicycle. Or moving on campus," she grumbled.


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Xander presented the small globe with a showman's flourish. "There you are, Will. One Orb of Thessela, all the way from Lawrence, Kansas. And you wouldn't believe what a jerk the guy who had it was. He makes Cordelia look pleasant and friendly."

Gingerly, Willow took the small box that cradled the orb. "Xander, you're amazing."

He made an 'aw shucks' gesture before shoving his hand in his pockets. "I mean, if it does as advertised then I figure it's worth it. And it looks like I got it just in time what with Buffy just getting here and already she's all tangled up with our least favorite vampire duo." He paused, looked at the ground and then back up before pressing on. "And it's good to see you being spell gal again. Tara wouldn't have wanted you to give up."

A pang of guilt and pain struck Willow, but she quickly shoved it aside. What she was doing was a good thing. It was. They just... wouldn't understand. She cleared her throat. "Yeah," she nodded quickly. "This should help Buffy loads."

"So, how does it work again? Is it like a protective bubble? Cause a bubble seems like it could be awkward."

"No," Willow kept her voice light as she busied herself with the various ingredients on her desk, not able to look at him. "It's more like a temporary protective barrier that clings to her form. So that if something hits her, it doesn't have as much an impact."

"Ah. So she's invulnerable. Like Wonder Woman. Minus the lasso and star-spangled bathing suit." Xander paused, eyes distant.

"Xander. Gutter. Get out of it."

He jumped. "Right, sorry, so when are we going to do this?"

"Soon. It's almost ready. So, you still down for dinner tonight?" She winced internally as her words came out in a rush.

He smiled, oblivious. "Yup, you bet."


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Spike tossed the rest of his whiskey back and savored its burning glide down his throat. "So," he said. He propped his forehead up on the heels of his hands, staring down at the now empty glass on the table. The alcohol wasn't working fast enough. He could still see Drusilla's cold face and he could still feel the Slayer's body pulled tight against his. Smell the sweat of her skin.

"So?" Tara said, mockingly, bored.

Spike sat up, took a drag on his cigarette. He signaled the bartender for another before looking at her. He sniffed. "So, when you going to get over this obsession for the witch?"

Her lip curled in a small sneer. "When are you going to get over Drusilla?"

His first thought was to fist her hair and slam her head against the tabletop of their booth. But he liked Tara, and he just wasn't in the mood, so he didn't. He took another drag off his cigarette instead.

Tara pushed her long hair behind her ear and sipped her glass of wine. Rose. He hadn't even known Willy's served the stuff until he first took her here. "Why are you in a bad mood? I thought you liked fighting slayers. Is it because you can't kill her?"

He shot her a baleful look before snatching the whiskey up as soon as the serving girl put it down. "I can kill her," he said around the glass before taking a sip. His hand shot out and grabbed the girl's arm. "Bring the bottle." She glared at his hand on her arm, eyes flashing red to match the stripes on her skin. Pursing her lips, she nodded, jerked out of his grasp and made her way back to the bar.

"Then why won't you?" Tara asked. "The sooner you do, the happier Drusilla will be, and then the happier we'll all be."

He grimaced. It was true. Her nonsensical raging was worse than usual. As were her sexual flirtations with the minions. They always came back cut up and smelling of her and then he had to dust them. Shame, red and hot, seized him as he remembered hearing her moans from another room.

"You were pathetic, you know," he said with a forced smile. "When you were human. So scared, you couldn't find a spell to save your life."

Tara looked down at her glass. "I was scared," she said quietly, not rising to the bait as she swirled the wine around in her glass. "And I don't know."

He raised an eyebrow in question as he ashed his cigarette.

"I don't know when I'll get over Willow." She looked away from her glass and out at the rest of the bar. "I don't know what I want from her."

His hand spasmed around his glass.

She saw it. She looked at him, eyes seeing far too much.

"You already knew her name wasn't 'Sara' didn't you? You already knew it was Bu-"

A cool hand seized her throat, cutting her off. She eyed him warily with large brown eyes as he stroked his thumb over her jugular. "I don't want to think about the Slayer right now," he said, voice cool and measured.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand. Instantly, the serving girl plunked a bottle of Jack on the table and whisked away as quickly as she could.

Spike took the bottle and poured another glass. He downed it and immediately refilled it.

Tara looked bemused. "Are you going to get completely smashed tonight?"

Spike didn't hesitate. "Utterly, and as quickly as possible."

Tara took another slow sip of her wine. She eyed him cautiously. "And what were you like when you were human?"

This is the part where Spike lied through his teeth. "Just like you. Bloody pathetic." Except, apparently, with Tara. "Stuttering and useless and completely besotted over a woman." He looked out over the crowd, pale eyes shuttered. "Except she didn't love me, like yours did." His voice dropped almost to a whisper, and if she was still human she would've struggled to hear him in the noisy bar. "She despised me."

He ran his tongue over his teeth, lips curling into a rude smirk as he looked back at her. "And then I met Drusilla. The demon freed me. I became what I was always meant to be."

"Freedom," Tara murmured. She looked intently at the sticky, scarred tabletop, and dragged a hand through her hair, causing it to fall in cinnamon waves over her shoulders. "That's what we have now."

Still smirking, Spike raised his whiskey glass. "To blood, and sex, and doing whatever the hell we want."

Tara's smile, as she clicked her glass against his, but was just a moment too slow. Spike let the amber liquid flow down his already numbed throat, and wondered if he'd made her wrong.

He hadn't even put his glass down before it happened. An invisible force slammed Tara bodily against the wooden booth. The back of her head cracked against the wood and the headboard splintered.

Spike jerked, startled, sloshing his drink and dropping his cigarette. "Tara, what - "

She opened her mouth and screamed. The sound was hair-raising. The bar fell completely silent save for the wrenched scream. Her eyes blazed gold, light pouring out of them like sunbeams.

Spike grabbed for her, but the possession abruptly let go of her and she fell face first against the table like a limp doll.

Spike stood, bending awkwardly over the table. He ran his hand over her head, pushing glossy hair aside so he could see her face. "Tara." He pushed her up against the seat and her body sagged, eyes shut. "Tara," he said, more urgently.

She groaned and her eyelids fluttered before falling shut again. Spike swiftly slid out of his seat and bent over her, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other cradling the back of her head to hold her up.

"Hey!" came a man's shout over his shoulder. "Y-you can't have magic like that in here." A small quaver ruined his bluster.

With a loud snarl, Spike whirled, baring his fangs at the bartender. The man visibly paled and Spike turned back to Tara. He pulled her from the booth, scooping her into his arms. Her head lolled, body completely limp.

A quiet chatter started up again as he made his way to the door. Every demon in the place practically killing themselves trying to watch them go, but not look like they were watching. Spike was just about to kick the front door open when the bartender's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"You haven't paid yet!"

Clenching his jaw, Spike slowly turned to look at the man in disbelief. The man's face was flushed, like he couldn't believe he had said the words himself.

With a sigh, Spike sought out the group of vamps in the corner. He couldn't remember their names. It didn't matter. Looking at them, he nodded toward the bartender. "Kill him."

He watched them smile as they turned their eyes to the man behind the counter. Satisfied, Spike readjusted Tara and kicked the door open with a heavy black boot. Cool air rushed to greet him as he stepped outside. As he made his way over to his DeSoto, he only stumbled once on the gravel. He laid Tara down heavily on the bonnet of the car. Normally he didn't mind driving sloshed, but he'd have to be a mite more careful with Tara in the car.

He peered down at her as she lay, still as death on top of the car. As he had watched her convulse under the power of balls knows what, he had come to a dreadful realization. He actually gave a shit about her.

Spike sighed, disgusted with himself, and began rifling through his pockets for another fag. "That's what you get for turning the silly cow instead of eating her and being done with it," he muttered to himself. Fishing a cigarette out of a battered package, he promptly dropped it when Tara suddenly twitched violently. Rolling his eyes at himself, he bent over her and gave her cheek a light slap. "You awake in there, luv?"

Her eyes flew wide open. They were unfocused, staring straight through him. "Make them stop," she whispered. She blinked and her eyes focused on him. Tara lunged upwards, hands grasping either side of his face. "Make them go away," she whispered piteously. "Spike, make them stop. Please."

His stomach turned to lead. "Who, pet? What do you see?" He took her by the wrists and gently lowered her hands.

"A-all of them. All the ones I - " She stopped suddenly. And then she started thrashing.

Spike struggled to hold her down. "Tara." He grit his teeth and pressed his body down over hers, pinning her limbs. "Stop this, you have to stop."

She bucked and slammed her head into his.

Spike cussed and staggered backwards. In a flash, she leapt off the car and started running down the street. Shaking his head clear, he started to take off after her, the whiskey making his steps seem oddly precarious. He came to a slow halt in the middle of the quiet street as he realized she was gone.

He debated tracking her by scent before scowling and turning back towards the car. "Sod it," he said, crossly. "She wants to go crazy, she can bloody well go crazy."

Gravel and broken glass crunched underneath his boots as he reentered the parking lot. The tinkle of a bell sounded across the street. Spike looked over to see a woman locking up a store front. She was small and blonde. He changed course.