(Author's Note: The subject of Angel will be seriously addressed in the next chapter, for those of you lying in wait. I just wanted Buffy and Spike to have some more together time before he comes an ruins it all again.)
“Tell me secrets. But stick to the nice ones for now. I want to talk about the scary stuff, just not yet.” Buffy snuggled down into Spike chest and revealed in the feel of his arms around her.
They lay in Buffy's dorm room, managing to remain fully clothed in a bed for once. After the reassuring conversation on their bench, Buffy had wanted some together time and Spike seemed happy to oblige.
“If I tell secrets, I want to hear secrets.” Spike remarked teasing a bit.
“All right. I'll ask a question then you ask a question. What's your favorite movie?”
“Do you want what I tell everyone, or what it really is?” Spike asked feeling a bit exposed.
“Both.”
“All right. It's The Wizard of Oz. There. Now you can laugh.” Spike hid his face in her hair.
Buffy did giggle a bit, “What do you tell everyone is your favorite?”
“Terminator. My turn, same question.”
“Do you want what I tell everyone, or what it really is?” Buffy replied completely in playful mode.
“Both.” Spike rolled his eyes and Buffy knew he did it without having to look up.
“O.K, I tell everyone it's Bridges of Madison County, but really I love Dumb and Dumber.”
It was Spike's turn to chuckle and he did so to the point where Buffy poked him, “My turn again. When you were alive and a kid, what was your best friend's name?”
“Spike.” Spike answered promptly.
“Seriously?” Buffy nearly sat up to look into his face.
“Seriously. I had a bulldog named Spike I got when I was nine. He was my best friend, no one else ever fit the bill.”
“You named yourself after a dog?” Buffy asked incredulously.
“Seemed to fit at the time. I was Drusilla's pet and Angelus and Darla's thing to kick. She called me 'bad dog' all the time. Dru I mean. Angelus and Darla were much more creative with what they called me. My turn. If you could be any character on a T.V show, who would you be?”
Buffy grinned, “You'd answer with someone from 'Passions', wouldn't you? I don't know, maybe Phoebe from 'Friends'.”
Spike raised an eyebrow; “I would have thought you'd be Rachel if you stuck to that show.”
“What can I say, I'm a woman of mystery. You may never figure me out.” Buffy kissed his throat right above the old scar Drusilla had left on him.
“You've got that right, pet. I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“Oh! My turn again. If you could be any cartoon character, who would you be?” Buffy bit her lip. She was betting he would say Batman or someone equally tall, dark and dressed in black. She could so see Spike in a cape. And she was really wishing she could get him into a pair of tights.
“Homer Simpson.” Spike replied without hesitation.
Buffy stared at him, “Huh?”
“He has the best time of anyone I've ever seen. Even in that one where he broke out of prison to kill the bartender he was going 'Wheee!' all the way down the hill in a shopping cart. He's too dumb to realize his own ignorance and so he doesn't care about it.”
Buffy blinked at him, “O.K, I'm beginning to think YOU'RE the mysterious one that I'm never going to figure out.”
Spike snickered, “What fun would I be if you could predict everything that was going to come out of my mouth?”
* * *
Spike entered the house with a spring in his step and a broad smile. He hugged Tara from behind and swung her around the kitchen. She giggled, “Spike! I have to stir the sauce or it's going to burn.”
Spike put her down a snuck a taste, Tara pretended not to see him because of his stealthy vampire ways and went on chopping vegetables, “You're in a good mood today.”
“Made up with Buffy and I haven't seen hide nor hair of the Poof. What's not to be in a good mood about?” Spike began rooting through the cookie jar.
“That's going to spoil dinner. Willow's coming over, we're going to talk, remember?” Tara resumed chopping, “So, what? She said she was sorry and you just forgave her?”
“Yeah.” Spike glanced over and realized all was not happy in the state of Tara, “What's wrong?”
Tara put down the knife and took a deep breath, “If this is what you want, I'll try to understand. But I'm not happy with the way she reacts to you when you do something she doesn't like.”
Spike sat down at the table, “She said she was sorry and she meant it. What more does she need to do to make it up to you?”
Tara nearly dropped the knife, “Make it up to me? It's you I'm worried about.” Tara thought for a minute, “But I supposed she has made it up to you. It really isn't my business but-“ Tara sighed, “I'll stay out of it. But make sure she knows if she makes you cry again there's a very nasty wart hex with her name on it.”
Spike smiled when he realize Tara was joking.
At least he hoped she was joking.
All right, maybe she wasn't joking, but he hoped she wouldn't do anything permanent anyway. He liked Buffy wart-free.
But then, even if she had warts he'd still love her, Spike thought dreamily.
Tara noticed Spike was off in la-la land and kept preparing dinner with a smile, at least when Buffy wasn't making him cry she made him happy.
But she was serious about the hex it was bookmarked in her master grimore.
* * *
The conversation with Willow had been emotionally exhausting. Willow had gone back to the dorm to process everything and Tara was almost grateful. She loved Willow dearly, but she needed some time with someone who knew her so well she didn't need to explain anything and Willow wasn't quite there yet.
“So at least now I know I'm not going to have any awkward 'Why haven't you let me meet your family?' conversations.” Tara said softly, leaning against Spike for support. He strummed 'Hey Jude' idly on his guitar and smiled at her.
Tara sang along softly.
'And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain.
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
Well don't you know that it's a fool, who plays it cool?
By making his world a little bit colder…'
“The Beatles, right?”
Spike stopped strumming, “'Lo, love.”
Tara looked at Buffy. Buffy looked at Tara.
Spike looked at them both and nervously began playing some very quiet Bob Dylan and decided it was best to let them sort themselves out.
Buffy sat down on the porch steps and smoothed the fabric of her skirt over her legs.
Tara examined her. She really looked quite sincere, her strawberry lipgloss was being licked away nervously and her eye make-up had that just too perfect to be casual look. She wanted to impress. Buffy sat in silence listening to Spike play.
Tara decided she was deserving of a few more chances, she hadn't known the exact nature of Spike and Angel's history after all. That didn't absolve her from the hurting Spike blame, but it got her closer to forgiveness in Tara's books.
She had a soft spot for Buffy ever since she had come to her in the garden that time and Tara really did think they worked well together.
But no one hurt Spike with impunity, absolutely no one.
“Did you start the paper for Walsh's class yet?” Tara asked out of the blue.
Buffy visibly relaxed, “No, I have piles of reading to do before I get to it. I have to finish The Communist Manifesto for Monday. Can you believe that? I've flipped through it, can you sat 'snore'?”
“It's not that bad pet. A bit idealistic, but what wasn't in those days.” Spike picked away at a difficult riff.
“You've read it?” Buffy looked up at him.
“A few times. You have to remember, back in the day we had no T.V, no X-Box, no internet porn-“ Buffy reached up and poked him for that, “No anything, really. It was mostly a lot of long, lonely evenings between very long, boring parties. It was either read things over and over or get my mum to teach me embroidery.”
“So can you give me the Cliff Notes version?” Buffy pulled a copy of the small volume out of her bag.
“No,” said Spike, plucking it from her hands and opening it to the first page, “But I'll read it to you, if you want.”
Buffy hopped up the steps to cuddle beside him, Tara on the other side, Buffy had long ago figured out that Spike could make the phone book sound interesting with that voice of his.
“The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles…”
* * *
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