Spike was awakened by the sound of someone coming down the ladder from his crypt. He was alert and upright in a second, damaged nerves screaming at the motion. In spite of the intrusion, Meret did not budge from the pillow. His senses told him that it was early in the evening; he had slept nearly an entire night and day. Shaking off the worst of his lethargy and pain, Spike inhaled deeply to identify the intruder.

Glinda!

The quiet witch stepped forward into the room, a tiny ball of bright light guiding her steps. Spike had purposely left all of his candles unlit the night before, preferring total darkness in which to rest and heal.

“Lighter’s in my coat pocket, assumin’ it wasn’t incinerated,” Spike drawled from the darkness.

He heard rather than saw Tara jump at his words. He couldn’t see her very well beyond the magical guide, its light hindering his usually acute sight, and he assumed that same was true for her as well. After a moment, the witch responded, oddly enough, “I don’t think I can handle that too.” The glowing ball passed quickly over the wide array of candles decorating his dresser, bathing the chamber in flickering light. When the last candle was lit, the ball disappeared with a faint wisp of smoke.

It was then that Spike saw that the witch’s arms were full. From all appearances, she had brought more smurf-goo to treat his burns and the rest of his charred clothing from the watcher’s bathroom.

“Rupes send you?” the vampire’s voice was low and flat.

“No. Your bandages needed changing and I… I wwwanted to see how you were,” her final words came out in an unsteady whisper.

Now that she had mentioned them, Spike realized how much the gauze was irritating his skin. His burned skin had absorbed as much of the gel as it could, leaving the fabric behind to rub the wounds. “Itches,” he commented absently as Tara searched for a place to drop her burden.

Spike slid himself to the edge of the bed and raised an arm for inspection when the witch neared. With deft fingers, she unwound the gauze, exposing the skin beneath. The less severe burns on his upper arms and around the perimeter of his torso had almost completely healed. The same could not be said of his forearms, hands, and the center of his chest. There, where the fireball had hit directly, the skin was still red and raw with blackened patches throughout the injuries. The vampire winced a little as the bandages stuck to the worst of the burns on his chest. Tara flinched along with him and murmured a quick apology before continuing.

“You know Mr. Giles didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she murmured as she started smearing gel and herbs on the new strips of gauze.

“Not hurt,” Spike groused. “Just wanted to make sure no one had ransacked the crypt while I was out.”

Not a likely excuse, especially since the warlock’s stooges had not managed to track Meret. When Spike had moved into the tomb, he had cut each wrist and smeared his blood around the doors and stone passages. To other demons, the scent lasted for a very long time and stood as a warning. “Caution,” it said, “An old and very dangerous vampire lives here. Piss off!” Or at least that was how Spike imagined it.

The witch looked at him critically. “That’s not what Meret was saying.”

Spike simply looked at her, face impassive.

Bugger! Didn’t think about that.

“I wasn’t lying to Mr. Giles; I have started being able to hear her. She was projecting enough back there that the message came through loud and clear,” Tara said.

As if the sleeping serpent realizes she was being discussed, the young coatl rustled her wings and curled into an even tighter knot of scales and feathers.

Spike sat in silence as Tara whispered her incantation over the healing gel. She started with his hands and wrapped them up to the elbows. He submitted willingly to her touch. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but Spike rather enjoyed having someone fuss over his wounds. It made them seem more important, being worthy of such attention. The feel of the cooling bandages on his burned flesh made him hiss softly in relief.

After wrapping the majority of his torso as well, the witch looked around before moving to wipe her hands on her batiked skirt. Spike motioned for her to stop. “There’s a busted pipe down that tunnel. The water pools in the floor. I use it to wash up sometimes. It’s not much, but there’s soap and a towel.” Tara nodded and soon disappeared down the dimly lit corridor with one of the room’s many candles. Spike managed to scrape together her things with his nearly useless hands and maneuver them into her bag before she returned.

After some brief splashing sounds, Tara reappeared with towel in hand. She held it up. “I don’t suppose Holiday Inn knows about these?” she asked with a small smile. Unless he missed his mark, Spike thought the shy witch was teasing him.

“Yeah, I contract with them for my bathin’ digs,” he commented blandly. “You have anythin’ to do tonight?” he asked, false briskness covering his tentative hope.

“No. Everyone’s busy tonight.”

“Well, I’ve got some popcorn upstairs and there’s supposed to be some kind of marathon ‘secrets of the occult’ bollocks on the telly. Those tend to be good for a laugh. Want to stick around?” he offered.

“Sounds like fun,” she replied.

*****

And it was. Slightly burned popcorn in hand, both the vampire and the witch soon found themselves lounging in front of the television. By a sheer stroke of luck, the first episode claimed to reveal the secrets behind myths of the undead. After the first five minutes, Spike was convulsing with laughter and soon, even Tara’s composure was shaken, and the usually reserved witch giggled along with his hearty guffaws. Their mirth woke Meret, and the three were soon arranged comfortably around the television.

“Anemia?!” Spike howled from his seat on the floor. “Do I look anemic to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Tara responded.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he growled in mock anger before they both dissolved into laughter again. Meret peeked around the witch’s head from her vantage on the back of the easy chair and let her mouth drop open in amusement, tongue lolling.

“Oh, this stuff is rich. I’d love to pay some of these ‘experts’ a visit, scare them right and proper… Anemia…” he snorted. He was truly enjoying himself, especially after he realized that Tara had added some kind of numbing ointment into the blue ooze on his bandages. He was able to hold his own mug of blood, if not without difficulty, then at least without pain.

Tara leaned over and looked at the bowl resting between them. “Um, did you spill blood in the popcorn?”

Spike looked down.

Oops.

“Protein,” he commented blandly. His hands were not quite up to the finer mechanics of popcorn consumption, or else he would have suited his endorsement by tossing the red handful into his mouth. He nudged the bowl closer to the witch, who recoiled from it.

“I, uh… No thank you.”

“Yeah… Sorry about that” he relented, eyes twinkling mischievously. He sipped from his mug before stopping to gesture at the television. He swallowed quickly and chuckled, “Good old Carmilla! She was actually a Myrtock demon, not that these wankers would know the difference. Dracula’s probably the only real vampire they managed to peg. Tosser still owes me money.”

Tara only nodded in befuddled sympathy.

The next episode dealt with mummies, which would have been much more interesting had either of them known more than the bare bones of Xander’s failed high school romance. Spike caught Tara looking at his bandages with a quirked smile a few times, much to the vampire’s chagrin. The following hour covered witchcraft, which ended with Tara rolling her eyes and pretending to ignore him after the vampire started asking how Satan was in the sack. Even though she put up a noble front, Spike could tell that she was struggling to keep from laughing at his antics.

Surprisingly enough, Meret took Tara’s part and started batting at Spike’s head with her wings. Spike could feel playfulness coming from the coatl in waves. With his bandaged arms, Spike could not effectively defend himself, and his resigned sighs touched off more quiet laughter from the witch.

When the witchcraft episode came to a close, Tara rose from her chair and dusted popcorn kernels from the folds of her skirt. “I should really be heading back home.” She scooped up her bag and gave Meret a fond pat. “I’ll come back tomorrow to change the bandages again.”

Spike offered to accompany her to Revello Drive; something about the shy witch brought out his old, courtly manners. He would not leave a lady to walk home alone, especially on a Hellmouth. They walked for a while, Meret’s rustling wings the only sound as she wheeling around to two.

Despite the comfortable silence, Spike could not keep quiet for long. “Glinda?”

“Yes?”

“How long do I have before Rupes tells the others about Meret?”

She continued to walk, eyes straight ahead, but Spike could see her fiddle with the cuff of her gauzy blouse. “He already has, but everyone has been so busy worrying about Buffy, and some other things, that she isn’t a top priority.”

Spike was not sure if he was relieved by that answer. His mind latched onto the hanging statement in her admission. “Other things?”

Tara ducked her head, ashen blond hair falling across her face like a shroud. Her pace never slowed.

“Glinda?” No answer.

Spike moved to block her path. “Tara?” He was shocked to see a tear glide down the witch’s cheek. “Tara, what’s wrong?” he pleaded. He silently promised pain to whoever had made one of his girls cry.

“It’s Wwwillow,” she said in a small, choked voice. “She’s using so much magic, and not like it was meant to be used. I,” she paused to raise her head to meet the worried gaze of the vampire. “I think she’s been changing my memories.”

Spike did not know what to say. He knew what it was like for someone to treat his mind like a playground. After Glory’s violation, he could not understand how Willow could do such a thing to her gentle girlfriend. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” her eyes were cast down again. At a loss, Spike stepped to the side and they both started walking again, lost in dark thoughts. Meret, drawn by the distress in both Spike’s and Tara’s minds, came to rest on the vampire’s shoulder and sent comforting thoughts through the link. Spike saw Tara glance at the little serpent and smile gratefully.

“Want me to bite her?” Spike asked after a while.

The sound that came from Tara’s throat was half laugh, half sob. “No.”

“Not that I could, but you know…” he trailed off.

“I understand Spike. And thank you,” Tara wiped her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. They had reached the slayer’s back yard. Even though he knew that no one was inside of the house at the moment, he was hesitant to leave the cover of the trees with Meret resting on his shoulders.

Tara put up a brave front and smiled at him. “I know what Mr. Giles said, and I know how the others feel. I want you to know that I don’t agree with them, and not just because of her,” she nodded towards the coatl, who was still wrapped around the vampire’s neck. Spike was dumbstruck. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Spike.” She gave his arm a quick pat and walked away.

The vampire stood staring for a long time after the witch had unlocked the door and disappeared inside from his vantage in the shadows.