Resolutions

A/N 1: I must apologise for the delay in updating this story. No, I haven’t abandoned it and don’t intend to. It’s just that since Christmas Real Life has thrown me a curve ball that has drastically reduced my writing time and affected my concentration. Chapters may appear at wider intervals than any of us would like, but please be assured that they will continue to appear.

A/N 2: In my ‘verse Spike wasn’t at Buffy’s 21st birthday party so the teasing confrontation with Tara never happened. It’s one of my favouritest ever Buffyverse exchanges so I just couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to recreate the moment. In this chapter you will therefore no doubt recognise a few lines of dialogue by Drew Z. Greenberg that I’ve pinched from ‘Older and far away’.

Chapter 5


Spike was dawdling in the bathroom. There were the unmistakable sounds of physical labour going on downstairs and he wasn’t getting involved in that until he had to.


Buffy had left their bed at an unreasonably early hour so it was the second day in a row that he had woken up alone. He had reluctantly become accustomed to her going out early on Saturdays to escort Dawn to her self-defence class, but he felt that depriving him of his morning cuddle on two consecutive days was cruel and unusual punishment.


He had sulked while she ate her breakfast and then when it had become clear by her determined mood and the sounds of furniture being shifted that she wasn’t coming back to him he had ambled into the bathroom. He had showered, lingering under the hot spray to bring himself to the release that Buffy had denied him, smirking at her frustration at being unable to satisfy her own sympathetic arousal as he did so.


As he brushed his fangs he could tell from her semi-amused irritation that he was going to pay for it later, but it had been worth it to pay her back for leaving him wanting.


As an added delaying device he decided to shave too. As a human he’d never had a strong beard or much body hair, not like Angelus who would look like a walking hearthrug if he hadn’t submitted to being regularly shaved or waxed all over as Darla had insisted. Now, as a vampire, Spike’s body hair grew even more slowly meaning he only had to make the effort every couple of weeks.


Drusilla had preferred him to be completely hairless so he had indulged her. In a rueful burst of belated awareness he realised this was probably prompted by her desire for him to feel more like Angel.


After lathering he took up his old-fashioned straight razor and began the routine in which Angelus had so painstakingly, and so painfully, tutored him so many years before. At first it had been surprisingly difficult to trace the contours of his face without being able to follow the razor’s progress in the mirror, but after all if the blade had slipped it was only blood, and the newly turned William was no longer squeamish.


When he progressed to the casual but deceptively precise sweeping motions across his chest and stomach, expertly avoiding slicing into his nipples, his right hand automatically went up to clear the steam from the mirror. As he did every time, he quietly cursed himself for expecting to see his reflection. It was so much easier to pretend when there weren’t any mirrors around.


At last, running out of excuses to postpone the inevitable, he dressed and ventured downstairs into what at first appeared to be utter chaos.


The big rug from the living room had been rolled up and laid along the hall and all the furniture had all been stacked in the little rear room between the kitchen and the living room that Joyce had sometimes used to do her paperwork for the gallery.


All the blinds and remaining curtains had been taken down allowing the sun to stream into the big room that was now empty except for large dust sheets and a couple of sawhorses with a plank balanced between them.


The sound system from the living room had been set up on the side table in the dining room and a plastic cloth covered the dining table which had been stocked with soft drinks and bottles of water.


Spike smirked smugly. His assigned task had been to help Xander paint the ceiling. Buffy had evidently forgotten that with sun shining in he wouldn’t be able to access more than a small fraction of the room. It looked as he had been let off.


He padded along the hall to the permanently sun-proofed kitchen for his breakfast to find Tara sitting at the counter sipping a cup of tea. She started when he entered her field of vision, not having heard him coming.


She gave a little self-conscious smirk and muttered, “I’m never going to get used to the way you just pop up out of nowhere. I think I’m with Dawn, you definitely need a bell around your neck to let us know when you’re around.”


Spike chuckled. “Buffy used to say the same thing.” Pouting suggestively, he added, “She never came up with the nice leather collar for it though.” Tara gave a rather half-hearted chuckle.


He heated up his blood and drank it down quickly then gave a shudder as he rinsed out his mug.


“Is it really that nasty?”


“Bloody horrible, pet.” He reached into the cookie jar for a sweet treat to take away the taste. As he munched he leaned against the counter and watched the blonde Wicca fiddling nervously with her cup, a little frown marring her features. “What’s got you all afidget then?”


Tara sighed. “Willow’s going to be here shortly.”


“You don’t want to see her?”


“It’s just… she keeps apologising and pleading with me to forgive her and take her back. I can’t stand it when she cries, but…”


Spike nodded in understanding. “You’re not ready to take that step yet.”


Tara raised troubled eyes to him. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready. I just can’t help thinking I’m never going to be able to trust her again. She uses magic so recklessly.” She gave a sad little sigh. “I thought I could cope with her today because everybody’s going to be here, but Buffy’s got us down for doing the food together.” She indicated the chart fixed to the fridge door with magnets. “If she starts begging again I’m afraid I may lose my temper with her and say something that’ll make everything worse.”


Spike nodded. “Then we’ll just have to make sure she can’t catch you alone, kitten.” He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze then gestured towards the living room, telling her, “I’m not gonna be able to work in there ‘cos of the sun, so what if we make a change to Buffy’s plan and you and I team up to see to the food instead?” He absently dropped a little kiss on her forehead and went over to make the appropriate alterations to the chart. “You stick with me, Pickle. The Big Bad’ll protect you from the cute little redhead.”


Tara smiled sadly, then straightened her shoulders with fresh determination and agreed, “Yes, why not? You’ve got a deal.”


A few minutes later the conspirators were sorting through the supplies in the fridge deciding what they were going to prepare, when the front door banged open and Buffy and Xander entered carrying a long plank between them. Dawn followed with the pots of paint that had been stored in the garage.


Spike’s mouth fell open and he gaped, totally mesmerised. Buffy was wearing a pair of cut-off denims so frayed and faded that they looked on the point of falling apart. They had already lost their waistband making them hang precariously low on her hips. They were also the shortest shorts Spike had ever seen and he sidled over to look through the rear access into the living room to get a longer look. When she bent to set her end of the plank down on one of the trestles Buffy’s buttocks peeked out cheekily, demonstrating that she either had no underwear on or she was wearing one of her tiny thongs.


When she straightened again she turned and smirked at Spike and wiggled her hips provocatively, the movement drawing his attention to his favourite brief red lacy half-cup bra that she was wearing. The one that her nipples peeked out of when she leant forward. The outline was clearly visible through the tight white cropped tank top that left her toned midriff bare.


Spike leaned against the wall and groaned as he felt a flood of fresh arousal. His wank in the shower was going to backfire badly if she was going to flirt with him like this all day in retaliation.


Buffy giggled mischievously and knowing he would be the only one to hear her, as she passed him on the way to the basement she covertly ran a single fingernail down the bulge in the front of his jeans and whispered, “Serves you right, you evil tease! I’m gonna make you burn!”


Spike caught a whiff of her musk as she disappeared downstairs and smirked. Two could play at that game! He glanced over at Tara and saw her regarding him with a lopsided smirk and an intrigued raised eyebrow.


Hoping that Buffy’s teasing gesture had gone unnoticed Spike shrugged and came out with the first thing he could think of. “I had… a… muscle cramp. Buffy was… uh… helping.”


“A muscle cramp? In your… pants?”


He realised that he had probably sounded incredibly lame but clung desperately to the excuse. “What? It's a thing.”


Tara grinned and nodded very slowly in obvious disbelief. “Riiiight.” Spike shrugged and tried to look innocent. He must have failed badly because Tara then shook her head and chuckled.


Accepting that he had been busted, Spike smiled and went back to his exploration of the available provisions.


Xander had gone straight back outside after setting down his end of the plank and he returned a few moments later bearing the traditional big box of doughnuts and a couple of bulky bags that he held up triumphantly. “I bear sugary fried goodness for now, and movies, beer and popcorn for the benefit of the exhausted decorators when we’ve all done.”


Dawn looked up from where she was prising the lid off a pot of paint, giggled and pointed out, “Uh… Xander, did you forget we’ve no TV at the moment?”


The young man deflated in disappointment then almost immediately perked up again. “No matter! The Xanman has the answer! We’ll simply have to go over and initiate Giles’ new place into the wonders of The Scooby Movie Night!”


Emerging from the basement laden with brushes, rollers and other assorted decorating equipment, Buffy smiled. “That’s not a bad idea, Xander. It’ll allow time for all the yucky fresh paint smell to fade a bit while we’re not here.”


As she turned to go into the living room Spike sidled up behind her and cupped and squeezed an exposed buttock, whispering hoarsely, “Playin’ with fire, darlin’. Mind it’s not you who gets burned.” He abruptly turned back to wink at Tara, leaving Buffy gulping for air as she glared at him over her shoulder before she continued on her way.


After that she kept making excuses to pass through the kitchen, each time teasing him with a wiggle or a sultry look and darting the tip of her tongue out to lick her lips suggestively, or if she was in range with a brief tantalising touch. Once she managed to drop something so she had to bend over right in front of him which prompted Spike to take a sharp intake of breath as he was forced to adjust his jeans… and Tara failed to suppress a quiet but very wicked chuckle.


In response, whenever Buffy made a provocative move Spike would strike back with a scrape of a nail over his mark or a stroke of firm belly or soft buttock. If he wasn’t in a position to touch her he would twitch an eyebrow, run his tongue over his teeth and give her his most lascivious leer projecting urgent lust through the Bond.


Tara entered wholeheartedly into the game, nudging Spike to draw his attention to opportunities he might otherwise have missed and reacting with conspiratorial silent cheers or commiserations as the situation demanded. Buffy seemed oblivious to her contributions which made the proceedings even more entertaining for Spike.


Even though the front door and all the windows were open in an attempt to dispel the smell of paint Spike became increasingly aware of the scent of his Mate’s arousal in the air and as he worked he was acutely conscious of the intense desire simmering under the surface in both of them. It was a delicious sensation that he relished, knowing that Buffy was undergoing the same sweet torture.


Xander began painting the ceiling with Buffy petulantly complaining that she was too small to reach even when standing on the makeshift platform, so she and Dawn started working their way around the walls with filler, obscuring all the damage done by carelessly wielded swords, axes and crossbow bolts over the past few years, as well as the more mundane marks made by picture hooks.


Buffy had suggested Tara and Willow should prepare handy snack-style finger food for them to pick at as they worked but Tara pointed out that at some point there would be a natural lull in the decorating activity so they would be able to stop for a proper lunch. She and Spike therefore were busy preparing the components for a stir-fry when Giles and Anya arrived.


Buffy immediately set Anya to pressing the packing creases out of the new curtains and then followed Giles who had continued into the kitchen.


Spike looked up from where he was slicing chicken breasts into strips to marinate to see Giles holding out a long white envelope. “This is addressed to you, Spike. I found it at the shop last night. I think it must have been slipped under the door while we were closing up.”


With one eyebrow raised in surprise Spike wiped his hands and took the envelope. When he saw what it contained he grinned delightedly. “Outstanding, Duchess!” He turned to Tara. “You gonna be all right with doing all the veg, Pickle? I’m gonna be making the best spice cakes you ever tasted!”


Giles held up a package and cleared his throat to attract everyone’s attention, “The kit for the DNA testing has arrived. I thought today would be an ideal opportunity to gather the samples since I knew you’d all be here.” He looked between Buffy and Spike and then over Buffy’s shoulder at Dawn who had come through from the living room to see what was going on. “Perhaps we could see to it when we break for lunch? You should start thinking about whether you want to take samples from anyone other than the three of you, and if so who. There’s sufficient equipment here to take six samples.”


When Buffy, Spike and Dawn exchanges questioning glances and no suggestions were immediately forthcoming, Buffy claimed Giles to help Xander with the ceiling and Spike quickly finished preparing the chicken then began searching the cupboards for the ingredients he would need for the pyraniki.


Before long first coat on the ceiling was finished and Dawn and Anya took over from Xander and Giles to start the second coat at the end of the room where it was already dry. Buffy continued wielding the filler while Xander and Giles took a well earned rest.


They took drinks then gravitated to the kitchen where Tara had mixed up a batch of brownies to fill the time while the spice cake mixture was cooling in the fridge. The two men hovered, persistently proposing themselves as quality control for the chocolate goodies.


The ensuing commotion as Tara tried to defend the fruit of her labours attracted everyone to the fray, resulting in an impromptu snack break during which the unanimous opinion was that Tara made world-class brownies.


When Buffy had chivvied everyone back to work the two cooks squabbled happily about what shapes to create from the rolled out honey-rich dough. Spike was putting the case for the classic rounds while Tara insisted upon a variety of funny shapes. They started at opposite ends of the mixture working towards each other, cutting out their chosen shapes and placing them on the prepared baking trays.


As they got closer and closer they playfully bumped each other with their hips elbows and shoulders to nudge each other away from the workspace, descending into helpless laughter as they met in the middle and their fingers got tangled up and their heads collided as they each resisted the other’s pressure to move. Meanwhile they both got increasingly sticky and spattered with flour.


With the pervasive paint smell melding with the aromas of chocolate, honey and spices largely masking personal scents, and the music from the dining room combined with cheerful banter from the decorators as they worked added to his own and Tara’s laughter as they wrestled over the spicy dough smothering the sounds of footfalls, the first Spike knew of Willow’s arrival was a quiet voice from the doorway hesitantly asking, “Tara? Sweetie? What are you doing?”


Tara gave a faint gasp and breathed, “Willow…” Then taking a deep breath and straightening up she glanced aside at Spike and down at the dough on the counter and said calmly, “I’m making piri… uh… pira…”


Spike prompted her, “Pyraniki, pet.”


Nodding her thanks, Tara continued, “We’re making pyraniki, Willow.”


Willow shook her head in denial, “But Buffy said she’d planned… That is… I brought chocolate chips…” Her voice took on a deliberately pleading tone. “I’d thought that as Buffy wanted us to take charge of the food we could make cookies together and… uh...” She blinked and gave a flirty little shrug and smile. “You know, make with the girly-talk?” She directed a meaningful look at Spike. “Alone?”


Spike ignored the redhead’s hint and continued reshaping the remaining dough and rolling it out to cut out more shapes.


Tara hesitated a few moments and replied, “We… uh… needed to change Buffy’s plan ‘cos Spike couldn’t work in there…” She nodded towards the living room, “…because of the sun. We’ve got it all under control, Willow. Why don’t you go and ask Buffy what she’d like you to do instead?”


Willow pouted and whined, “But... I didn’t come to make with the painting. I wanted to spend some time with my girl and…” She held up her bag and said seductively, “Chocolate chips and girly talk, sweetie?”


Tara’s heartbeat and breathing were speeding up and Spike glanced aside at her to check whether the emotion that caused it was excitement or distress so he would know what he should do. The blonde witch’s face was flushed but her shoulders were tense and there was a slight frown creasing her brow. Not excitement then. He noticed a little smear of sticky dough on her cheek from when she’d pushed her hair out of her face and automatically reached up to brush it away. It wasn’t until the little smear became a big smudge that he realised his own hands were just as messy and he gave a snort of laughter.


Tara gave him a mock glare and batted him on the nose, leaving a blob of dough behind which he could see if he squinted. They chuckled together as he stuck his tongue out to try to hook it into his mouth, making grotesque faces in the process, and they resumed their teasing hip bumping for a moment until Willow cleared her throat loudly, impatient for them to notice that she was still waiting for a response.


Tara’s laughter broke off and her face fell as she unconsciously leant against him and Spike realised she was approaching the breaking point she had mentioned earlier.


When Tara hesitantly said, “W.. we don’t need the chocolate chips, Willow, and we haven’t really got anything to talk about so w.. why don’t you…”


Willow frowned, but her voice still held the rather whiny pleading tone when she broke in, “What do you mean we haven’t got anything to talk about? I haven’t seen you properly for ages and I want to know what…”


Spike lost patience with her. “Girl doesn’t want to talk to you just now, Red.” He made a flicking shooing motion with his hand. “Be a good little witch and go do some painting or something.”


Willow’s tone became hard as she spoke directly to Spike. “I said… I didn’t come to do painting. I came to make cookies and spend time with Tara.” She gestured imperiously. “Why don’t you go and find something else to do, Spike? Can’t you tell you’re not wanted here?”


Spike cocked one eyebrow and shrugged. “Bit busy here, pet.” He turned away from her dismissively and addressed Tara. “You got yours ready to go in, Pickle? I’ll open the oven and put mine on the top shelf, you slide yours in under, then we can fill the next couple trays ready.”


Once the prepared spice cakes were in the oven the two cooks continued cutting and shaping the second batch, ignoring the figure still standing on the other side of the island.


“Tara, sweetie, why don’t you tell Spike to leave us alone for a while? I’m sure we can finish off these… cookie things without him and I really want to talk to you.” The request was made in an irritated tone that made it more of a command.


Tara softly but decisively replied, “No, Willow.” Willow let out a gasp of disbelief. After a few seconds Tara took a deep breath and added deliberately, “I don’t feel like talking to you at the moment.”


Willow pursed her lips angrily and stepped forward, “But Tara, sweetie. I want…”


“Please don’t.” Tara’s voice was a quiet plea and Spike could tell she was close to tears.


Spike shook his head and commented sadly, “Still haven’t learned, have you, Willow? ’T’isn’t all about what you want, now is it? Never was, however much you’d like to think so. Stop pestering the poor girl.”


Willow’s shoulders went back and her nostrils flared in exasperation. “I don’t recall asking your opinion, Spike. This is between Tara and me and it’s none of your business.


“Well, I’m making it my business when you’re hurting my girl, here. Sod off and leave her alone.”


Willow’s eyes flashed dark for a split second and Spike felt a sudden chill as he wondered if he’d gone too far. It was all too easy to forget the tremendous power encased in the deceptively fragile form in front of him and the impulsive ease with which she wielded it.


Willow’s eyes narrowed maliciously. “You should be careful how you speak to me, Spike. I really think it’s you who should…”


Tara broke in anxiously, “Willow, you can’t throw Spike out of his own kitchen. I told you,..”


Willow’s eyebrows went up in shock and she blurted, “Since when is it Spike’s kitchen?”


“Since he pays half the mortgage and does most of the cooking, Willow. Now please…”


Willow tried one more time. “Tara, baby. You know I’d never hurt you...”


Wearing her own version of Willow’s patented ‘resolve face’, Tara sadly declared, “But you already have hurt me, Willow. You’ve lied to me and broken promises. You’ve disregarded my legitimate concerns about your abuse of magic and tried to control my thoughts. I tried to forgive you ‘cos I love you but then when we got trapped in the forest dimension, you went against Giles’ advice and decided you needed to ‘rescue’ me as if I was a helpless little girl, and caused all this.” She waved a sticky hand towards the living room. “You forget, I have magic of my own and I’m quite capable of using it when necessary.” She squared her shoulders and resolutely insisted, “I’ve told you, I’m not ready for The Talk. Please understand…”


Willow drew herself up in displeasure and coldly declared, “Very well. Since you’re not ready to talk to me yet, Tara, I’ll wait until you are ready. You’ll know where to find me when you’ve finished playing house with your…” She gestured dismissively at Spike and sneered, “…pet vampire baking buddy.”


With that she opened the back door wide and swept out, prompting Spike to yelp and dodge to one side to avoid the sun.


When Tara had darted forward to close it he came up behind her and set his jaw angrily as he peeked over her shoulder through the blind and watched the redhead settle on the lawn. She fussily arranged her skirt neatly around her and scowled out across the garden. He growled, “Now she’s gone too far. That’s just…”


A gentle hand on his fist and a tearful voice brought him up short. “Please just leave it, Spike. She’s upset. She doesn’t mean it. She’ll calm down and then I’m sure she’ll apologise.”


Immediately forgetting his anger on his own behalf, Spike regarded the weary eyes turned to him. He wanted to wrap his arms around the tearful Wicca and comfort her but his hands were still covered in spice cake dough so he contented himself with resting his arms on her shoulders to draw her in towards him and tilt his forehead against hers. “Don’t mind me, Pickle. I can take it. It’s you she should be apologising to.”


By the time Tara had collected herself and they’d finished preparing the second batch of pyraniki and tidied up, the house was filling with the warm appetising aroma of honey and cinnamon and nutmeg. Tara replaced the cooked batches with the raw ones and Spike brushed the warm cookies with a simple lemon glaze and set them to cool.


Once more the kitchen filled with drooling decorators and Tara displayed her forceful side again when she insisted that as it was nearly lunchtime the pyraniki should be left for dessert. The majority accepted this decision and went back to complete their tasks and clean up ready to eat, but while Tara put the rice on to cook Buffy sidled up to Spike.


Pouting and looking pleadingly up at him through fluttering lashes she pressed herself the length of his body, slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and ground herself against him as she wheedled, “Surely I could have just one? They smell so good…”


Against the pouty lip resistance was generally futile but Spike managed to deflect Buffy’s attention from the spice cakes with a smouldering kiss. He curled one hand around the back of her head to guide their mouths together while sending the other to slide down inside the back of her shorts to cup her bottom and pull her even tighter against him.


As he squeezed and caressed the warm soft flesh he encountered a narrow strip of flimsy fabric and solved the mystery as to whether she was wearing underwear.


When Buffy dragged her lips away so she could breathe, Spike murmured into her ear, “Where’s your wok, sweetheart?”


Her eyes were glazed and her legs rather unsteady as she panted for air and it took her a few moments to process his question. Even after she had, her response wasn’t particularly intelligent. “Where’s my huh?”


He lowered his voice and repeated huskily, “Your wok, love. Where’s your wok?”


She took a couple more breaths to gather her wits then frowned slightly, “Isn’t it in the fridge?” After a beat she gazed up at him wide-eyed and innocently asked, “What’s a wok?”


Spike suppressed an amused snort and said, “Cooking pan. Wide and kinda curved. Domed lid. Looks a bit like a flying saucer.”


Buffy’s eyebrows went up. “Oh is that what that is? I remember seeing it in the basement when we did the clearout after the Great Flood of the Full Copper Repipe. How did you know we’d got one?”


“Cooked lunch for your mum in it occasionally. She liked stir-fries too, although she preferred a nice bit of beef to chicken.”


She gaped up at him in disbelief. “Wait… You cooked lunch for my mom?”


Spike shrugged. “Few times, yeah. Sundays mostly, when you were at college and Dawn was off at her mate’s. Was my way of thanking her for being kind enough to do my laundry for me. I cooked and we chatted while she was doing the books for the gallery. Both of us felt better for the company and she always made me welcome. She was the first real friend I ever had.” He felt a bit ashamed as he sheepishly admitted, “Wasn’t quite so welcome after the Dru incident… couldn’t cook for her any more and had to drink my cocoa out on the back porch. She said it was you disinvited me so it was up to you if I got reinvited.”


Buffy’s voice rose even higher as she asked incredulously, “Mom did your laundry?”


“Well, yeah. No washing machine in the crypt, was there? ‘Sides, last time I tried to do it I bloody shrunk everything.”


“Why did she never tell me any of this?”


“Well it wasn’t about you, was it, darlin’? Was just between us.”


Tara brought them back to the matter at hand by poking Spike in the back. “Wok, Spike. We don’t want the rice to get all soggy.”


“Yeah, wok. Right.” He bent his head for another kiss and pulled Buffy tightly against him again, pressing his thigh into her centre as he kneaded her bottom and the scent of her arousal rose above the warm spicy aroma from the oven. When he released her mouth he whispered very quietly so that Tara wouldn’t hear, “Stay with her for a minute, love. She’s feeling a bit fragile.” He nodded towards the back door to indicate she should look out. A bit louder he suggested, “Perhaps you could see to the table, Buffy.”


As he turned away towards the basement door, with a quick twist of his wrist he liberated her panties and furtively tucked the torn scrap of red lace into his pocket.


Buffy squeaked and rubbed her hip where the elastic had caught, and he smirked at her amused scowl as he started down in search of the wok.


He managed to get as far as the fourth step before he succumbed to the temptation to retrieve Buffy’s panties from his pocket and hold them to his nose, inhaling deeply to absorb as much of her musk as he could.


As he reached the basement floor level he stopped resisting the urge to act upon his increased excitement and by the time the door at the top of the stairs opened his head was thrown back to balance the scrap of lace over his nose and his eyes were closed in utter bliss as he stroked himself, his hands warm enough from repeated washing in hot water to allow himself to imagine they were Buffy’s.


Dawn’s voice from half way down the stairs prompted him to splutter in shock and dodge round the corner out of sight as he desperately tried to fasten his jeans and tuck the incriminating evidence away so he could present a calm demeanour when she arrived beside him.


Oblivious to the potentially embarrassing confrontation that had been narrowly averted she cheerfully asked, “You’ve been down here ages. Haven’t you found it yet? I put it over here on the shelves.”


Resigned to spending the rest of the day in a state of unresolved frustration Spike grabbed the wok and followed Dawn back up to the kitchen, determined that once they were finally alone he and Buffy would spend several hours making up for lost time.


******


If he hadn’t been so distracted by Buffy’s teasing glances across the dining table as she ate with sensuous glee, meeting his eyes as she slid her chopsticks in and out of her mouth, licked her lips or sucked a finger provocatively, Spike would have been highly entertained by the various furtive glances that were being directed around the table.


The sullen expression Willow displayed as she pouted across at Tara, who had carefully placed herself between Xander and Giles to evade her, was very amusing. Tara had kept a wary eye on her former lover but had deftly managed to avoid meeting her gaze.


Xander had tried very hard to grab a seat next to Anya, but she had scuttled into a chair between Giles and Buffy and refused to respond to his half-hearted banter. Instead she had concentrated on her rather stilted conversation with Giles and Dawn, and Xander was relegated to the chair at the end of the table closest to the hallway, and was therefore the designated person who had to keep jumping up to fetch and carry between the kitchen and dining room, effectively disrupting any attempts he made to begin a conversation with his former fiancée.


Dawn’s attention had been split between Anya and the package on the side table which she frowned at frequently, clearly deep in thought.


The situation might have gone on indefinitely as they deliberately delayed getting back to the decorating, everyone waiting curiously for the impending DNA testing procedure, but to audible sighs of relief the building air of tense anticipation was broken when Althanea arrived.


She breezed in through the open front door and greeted the group seated around the table with a beaming smile, then addressed Buffy. “I’m so sorry I’m late, my dear. I hope Willow explained what we’ve been doing? I’ve finally managed to assemble all the right components so the spell is all ready to go, and I’ve coupled it with a blessing for the house to try and dispel the last echoes of the dark magic Willow unleashed.”


While Buffy gaped in confusion Spike noticed that Althanea seemed to be searching for something. He suddenly realised there were no vacant seats and said, “Harris, get up and let Her Ladyship have your chair.” As the witch nodded her thanks to him and got settled, Dawn pushed the plates of pyraniki and brownies towards her and Tara offered her a drink.


Anya piped up cheerfully “Willow hasn’t explained anything. She’s been too busy sitting in the garden sulking because Tara was doing the cooking with Spike instead of with her.” She turned to Buffy and added in a sharper tone. “She hasn’t been helping with the decorating either. I don’t see why I should have to help when she doesn’t feel she has to, after all it was she who caused all the damage.” She glared at the young witch and crossly added, “She hasn’t even had the decency to offer to pay for the materials.”


All eyes turned to Willow who had flinched guiltily when Althanea reminded her that she had failed to pass on her message and then tried to vanish into the background when Anya pointed out her shortcomings. She muttered to Althanea, “Sorry… I kinda got distracted…”


With a disapproving glance towards the negligent redhead Althanea explained, “Willow told me of the exclusion spell you cast, Ripper, to keep demons out of Buffy’s house. Unfortunately, if I correctly understand the way it was worded, Willow’s invitation to Angel will have nullified it. The combination of spell and invitation may even have disrupted the permanent mystical barrier against vampires. Just in case, I’ve formulated a similar protection spell that should be permanent despite individual invitations. It’ll just need a little boost every few weeks to keep it at full strength and that is a task any competent spellcaster can undertake. I’ve incorporated a disinvitation specifically directed at Angel to cover the potential eventuality of him losing that detachable soul of his again. The final blessing will simply be a plea to my Goddess for a cleansing and a sort of ‘earthing’ procedure for the house that I tacked on the end. Willow will act as my second for the first part…”


Giles frowned, raised a hand and opened his mouth, clearly to question that decision but Althanea noticed and forestalled him. “Willow helped me research and formulate the combined spell, Ripper, and everything has been double and triple checked by the entire coven as insurance. You should be aware that she won’t be the one in control of casting the spell, though. She’ll merely be my power backup. All the magic will be channelled through me so it will be quite safe. Willow has to learn to accept the discipline of being subordinate to other more experienced practitioners before she’ll be allowed to perform any more spells alone.”


Refraining from commenting upon Willow’s embarrassed flush and her mouth tightening in disgruntled frustration she turned to Tara, “I was wondering if you would like to join us, Tara? I think your calm strength will combine with our distinct skills to make the protection spell rock solid. Besides, as you no doubt are aware all spells are more effective when performed by a triad of witches. I would appreciate your assistance with the blessing too. I’d like to get a sense of your magic without Willow’s power affecting my focus. I’m afraid her foray into the darker side of magic will preclude her participation in that kind of working, at least until she’s been through a thorough purification ritual, and I have a feeling your wholesome input would be beneficial.”


Tara flushed, smiled shyly and murmured, “I think I’d like that. Thank you.”


Althanea addressed Buffy, “I’m afraid the burning of some rather stinky herbs with all the windows and doors firmly sealed will be involved for the spell, Buffy, but then the blessing should help clear the air both of the smoke and the paint fumes. I thought it would be best if we did it today, when all the decorating is done, so we could get all the bad smells out of the way in one go.”


Buffy nodded gratefully. “Thank you Althanea. That would all be very reassuring.”


Spike had picked up on one point the older witch had touched on and wanted clarification. “So Milady, this disinvite for Angel. Is it worded for Angel or Angelus? ‘Cos much as I dislike the git I don’t think he’d be a threat to anyone…” He gave a rueful little chuckle and qualified the statement, “…except possibly me, that is… in his souled state.”


Nodding that she understood the distinction the older vampire drew between his souled and unsouled personas Althanea answered, “Oh, the same incantation will apply to both eventualities, William. The spell is directed towards the individual, not the name he uses.”


Spike frowned. “I thought you all bought into his insistence that he was two different people, one souled and one not. Surely in that case an invitation for one shouldn’t apply to the other?”


Giles shifted uneasily in his seat and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh dear Lord… Of course we all readily accepted that once Angel was invited in, Angelus automatically had full admittance to our homes. It never occurred to me that if he was in fact a distinct individual a fresh invitation should have been necessary…”


An uneasy silence descended as those who had been involved at the time remembered the terror they had lived through in the months when Angel had been without his soul. It was only broken when Giles cleared his throat again, took a deep breath and deliberately changed the subject.


He reached over to lift the DNA testing kit onto the dining table and as he opened and unpacked it he asked, “Have you thought who else you’d like to be tested, Buffy? I know you’re all but convinced that Dawn is your biological daughter and we’ve accepted that the possibility is high that Spike is her biological father, but I thought that as there are three spare testing units and there are three of you, you could each nominate one extra person… Just to increase the likelihood of finding a match, you understand….”


While Dawn and Spike submitted to having one of the little wands provided scraped over the inside of their cheeks Buffy darted upstairs for a few moments, returning with a small bag. When Giles had repeated the process on her he asked, “Buffy? Who…?”


Buffy took a deep breath and glanced at both Spike and Dawn apologetically. “I don’t want it to be him… but we’re not sure of the timing… it’s just…” She took another breath and blurted out, “Here’s Riley’s washing kit he used when he stayed over. He forgot it here when he left in such a hurry. I’ve seen enough CSI to know that they can get DNA from personal items. There’s one of those disposable razors that he’s used and his toothbrush…” She nervously placed the navy blue nylon zip fastened bag in the centre of the table.


Giles took his glasses off for a long overdue polish and frowned in consideration. “I don’t know if they’ll agree to test these without Riley’s authorisation, Buffy, and I’ll have to read through the instructions that came with the kit to confirm that they’ll accept samples taken this way.” He put his glasses back on and adjusted the position of the bag so it sat next to the testing kit and murmured as if to himself, “Or perhaps I’ll give them a ring and check that it’ll be all right…”


He turned to Dawn. “Dawn? Is there anybody…?”


The teenager shook her head and gestured that Giles should ask Spike next, so the Watcher turned and raised his eyebrows questioningly at him.


Spike ran his hand through his hair nervously as he considered how to phrase the suggestion he’d decided upon. Finally he addressed Buffy. “The monks knew you were the Slayer, didn’t they Buffy? That’s why they sent the Key to you as Dawn in the first place, yeah? So… who is the one person who can be counted on the stay at the Slayer’s side and help her protect something precious, no matter what? Whoever else comes and goes from her life the Slayer always has her…”


Buffy’s eyes widened dramatically as she turned to look at Giles. She breathed, “Her Watcher…”


Dawn huffed, folded her arms crossly and said scathingly, “Except when he scuttles off to England ‘cos he’s decided she doesn’t need him any more even though she’s going through the worst time of her life…”


Buffy glared at her sister, “Dawn! Don’t…”


Giles broke in sadly, “It’s all right, Buffy. I know I made an error of judgment when I made the decision to go. I didn’t realise…” He sighed deeply. “You can rest assured I won’t be leaving again, that is… not permanently… until you can give me your assurance that you don’t need me any more. I shall have to go back to England at some stage to deal with some personal issues, but I should be able to get everything straight in a matter of weeks.”


Buffy nodded decisively and declared, “In that case you’ll be staying for good.” She nudged one of the testing wands towards him and he wordlessly took it and used it on himself. He then turned to the other side of the table. “Dawn?”


Dawn licked her lips anxiously and hesitantly asked, “What if we’ve got it all wrong? What if I really am Buffy’s sister, not her daughter, after all? I think we ought to do the test on dad… that is… Hank Summ… oh, you know who I mean!”


Xander gave an exaggerated sigh and with his hand pressed over his heart he exclaimed, “Oh thank all the little gods and goddesses you didn’t pick me, Dawnie. I don’t think I could handle being a father…” He caught Anya’s pensive expression and hastily added the qualification, “…yet.”


Willow glared at him and then confidently explained, “I don’t think we’d need a sample from your da… that is... Hank. If you and Buffy are really sisters the DNA tests will tell us.” She glanced at Giles. “If it’s a test for possible family relationships…?” When Giles nodded in confirmation she continued, “Then when they test the samples they’ll be able to tell if you’re full or half sisters, and if you’re not, they’ll be able confirm whether you’re mother and daughter.”


Dawn shrugged. “In that case, there’s no-one else I want tested. We’ve got Spike, Giles, Riley and Hank… and if it turns out it’s none of them, I don’t think I want to know.”


*****


Althanea stood at the dining table sorting through the various pieces of equipment and spell components she had brought with her, setting them out in order on the dining table. At a loose end, Spike sat and watched her while ostensibly reading the Slayer Handbook.


He had expertly avoided doing the clearing away and washing up which occupied Dawn and Tara, while everyone else had returned to the living room to sand down the patches of filler and begin painting the walls.


Anya had ensured that Willow had been handed a sanding block and set to work, although the witch still managed to peek around the corner on a regular basis in the hopes of being able to catch sight of Tara as she moved between the kitchen and dining room.


Anya meanwhile was skillfully evading all attempts by Xander to corner her to ‘discuss their situation’ and Buffy was persisting in her flirting with Spike, although he had decided on a change of tactics and was playing it cool, pretending not to notice her provocative antics as he studied the English wicca from behind the book.


With all her requirements neatly set out and checked off her list, Althanea gave a little satisfied nod and sat down, turning a speculative gaze upon Spike. After a few awkward moments she asked, “William, I’ve been hearing some of your history from Ripper. I gather you’re no stranger to magic yourself? He tells me you’ve taken part in more than one major ritual in your time.”


Spike shrugged. “Well… yeah. Not regularly, you understand. Only done a few rituals, just when they became essential. Assisted with quite a few spells back in the early days when Darla got it into her head to try something, but that was a long time ago when I was young and ignorant and wasn’t in a position to refuse. That’s when I learned that things didn’t always turn out the way you want.” He grinned mischievously at a particularly amusing memory. “She had some right spectacular failures… there was this one time she conjured an Uh-Paber demon when she’d been trying for a U’Barroba demon. Got the inflection all wrong and ended up with a giant slimy caterpillar that ate the carpets and constantly farted methane gas, instead of the armoured bodyguard she was after. Bloody thing… couldn’t get its stink out of our clothes for weeks.”


Althanea chuckled and nodded. “Ripper told me you have a ‘healthy respect’ for magic and distrust it in general.”


“Yeah. Too many people use it for a quick fix when that’s not what it’s for. Always consequences you don’t expect.” Spike couldn’t help glancing across the room to where Willow was once more peeking around the corner watching Tara as she carried a tray of glasses back into the dining room to put away in the sideboard.


Althanea noticed the look with amused interest. “So as someone who has come across more than a few magic practitioners through the years, perhaps you’d give me your opinion of our two young witches here.” She indicated Willow and Tara. “What do you think are their principle strengths and weaknesses?”


Spike’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Uh… it’s really not my place to say.”


“Oh, please? I would really appreciate your perspective, as their friend.”


Spike gave a short ironic laugh and protested, “I don’t think they’d call me their friend…”


“You’re my friend, Spike. Please. I’d like to hear your opinion.” Tara’s confident request took Spike aback. She leaned against the sideboard and folded her arms, addressing her former lover with what amounted to a defiant challenge, “You’d like to hear what Spike thinks too, wouldn’t you Willow?”


The redhead gaped, hesitating for a second then drew herself up and glared at him, demanding coldly, “Yes, go on Spike. Trust me, I’m very interested in hearing what you have to say.”


Spike took a few seconds to consider the experienced witch beside him. She was probably the only person who had any chance of getting Willow to give up her habitual misuse of magic permanently, and if giving his honest opinion helped in any way it was worth the risk of upsetting the young redhead who could be very scary when things didn’t go her way.


Resigned to an extended period of awkwardness around Willow he sighed and said, “Well… all right then.” He pointed at Willow and only half-jokingly warned her, “But don’t you dare turn me into a frog if you don’t like what you hear!”


He turned back to Althanea. “See… It might appear that Red and Pickle… er… Tara have different types of magic, Red… that is Willow… appears to use powerful dark magic whereas Tara here seems to use gentler white ‘earth mother’ type magic, but it’s not about the magic at all really, it’s about personalities.”


“With Willow it’s all about the control. She has so much power she’s careless with it, always trying to ‘fix things’, which is no bad thing. Trouble is she tries to fix things to be the way she thinks they should be, whether they need fixing or not. Doesn’t take anybody else’s feelings or opinions into account. Always thinks she knows best and thinks it’s up to her to control everything… and everyone… when things don’t go her way.”


Willow spluttered an angry denial, but Althanea hushed her and gestured for Spike to continue.


With increasing unease, he avoided looking at the fuming Willow and went on, “She takes short cuts instead of working through problems, particularly when she’s upset. She can’t handle negative emotions and is willing to try anything, go as dark as she must, just so she can feel better. Like when Wolfboy left and she did her ‘My will be done’ spell. Name says it all. Her will be done and sod everyone else. Nearly got her best mate killed and blinded the Watcher. Poor bloke. Blind Watcher’s as much use as a chocolate teapot.”


Spike tried to ignore the choked of whimper from the doorway as he resolutely concluded, “Truth is she frequently does more harm than good ‘cos she throws power at a problem without thinking it through, sorta like trying to use a sledgehammer to crack a nut. Nut gets good and cracked, but gets smooshed in the process. Consequences, see. Not enough respect for the rules and no proper training, so she goes off half cocked and more often than not it all goes wrong.” He gestured at the living room to illustrate his point.


Spike dared at last to look at Willow. She stood at the end of the table with a scarlet face and one hand clamped over her mouth. It was hard to tell whether she was more upset or angry at his description, but Spike knew only too well that either was potentially dangerous. He glanced past her shoulder to see Giles standing at the door to the living room, paintbrush forgotten in his hand. He was surprised to receive an approving nod from the Watcher which made him feel better about being so blunt, so when Althanea murmured her thanks and prompted him to continue he resumed his analysis more confidently.


Smiling at Tara he said, “Now with our sweet Tara here, it’s all about self-control. True wicca. Uses her power reluctantly and sparingly, always with due consideration and nearly always with the full knowledge and consent of any interested parties.” Tara pulled a guilty grimace, possibly recalling the same incidents that Spike was thinking of, her disastrous attempt the previous year to hide her supposed demon heritage and her experiment with the healing potion in LA.


More seriously he commented, “She’s terrified of going into the dark stuff ‘cos she grew up being told by that manipulative jerk of a father of hers that she was part demon and that her magic came from an evil source.” He waved away the ridiculous notion. “All a loada cobblers of course, her magic comes from exactly the same source as Willow’s, but that ingrained fear keeps her from fulfilling her full potential. She’d rather not do a spell at all than risk hurting anybody. She’s grown up with the fear of becoming evil and as a result has stifled herself, become so cautious that she’s stuck to the few simple spells she’s certain she can perform faultlessly and is reluctant to try anything new without meticulous research. Sticks to the Wiccan Creed like glue and is terrified of getting out of control. Something tells me there’s a bottomless well of power in our Tara just waiting to be tapped if only she can find the confidence to dig for it.”


Heaving a sigh of relief that he’d finished his assessment and was still in one piece, Spike turned back to Althanea and asked apprehensively, “Is that the sort of thing you wanted, Milady?”


The Englishwoman nodded and smiled at him. “A very perceptive appraisal of our two young witches, William. Thank you. Taking in the girls’ flushed faces she suggested, “Perhaps you could leave us to have a chat about what you’ve said for a few minutes? We’ll need to discuss how best to join to perform the spell anyway…” She looked between the two young women and proposed, “…and then all three of us can join the others to finish the decorating that much quicker.”


Spike hastily got up to leave Althanea to reap the fallout from her sly little manoeuvre, carefully filtering out the ensuing conversation as he concentrated on the lively chatter in the living room. He ambled into the kitchen and tucked the Slayer Handbook under his arm as he leaned against the wall and watched Buffy as she carefully painted up to the edges of the wainscotting with a brush while Xander worked above her with a roller. She had her tongue clamped firmly between her teeth as she concentrated, the pink tip peeking out temptingly.


She got to the end of the section she was working on and straightened up, rolling her shoulders to relieve the strain. Evidently sensing he was watching her she turned and grinned at him then spying the book under his arm she laid her brush down, sidled up to him and tried to ease the book away from him. Pouting when he wouldn’t release it she asked, “So… learn anything that I should know?”


Spike chuckled as he wrapped an arm around her waist, dropped a brief kiss on her upturned lips and snuggled her into his side. “Yeah. Learned that you’re a very lucky little Slayer. According to the ‘standard procedure’ it sets out in here, Giles has been going very easy on you. Says here you should have three hours demonology study every morning and two hours hand to hand and an hour’s weapons training every afternoon. Then after you’ve received explicit instructions from your Watcher you should do a four hour patrol every night. After patrol you should check in with your Watcher with the number and location of all vamps dusted and describe in detail every demon you encountered and any useful information you might have learned. You’re supposed to keep a personal journal too where you record all that plus any injuries you receive… and a dream journal too, in case you get any Slayer dreams.”


During Spike’s explanation Buffy’s eyes had got wider and wider in disbelief and she had trouble keeping a straight face. When he finished she turned to look at Giles with a fond smile and quietly commented, “You’re right, I’m very lucky. Poor Kendra, that’s what it must have been like for her.” She turned back to him and said, “I do keep a dream diary, though. I’ll show you one day, it’ll make you laugh…”


She abruptly turned serious and asked, “You didn’t have any blood at lunchtime, did you? Why not?”


Spike shrugged. “Not hungry, Buffy. Can’t seem to work up an appetite for animal blood any more, it’s so disgusting. ‘Sides, your blood is so rich I’m coming to think my couple mouthfuls a day might be enough for me to live on as long as I don’t get injured. Only had my breakfast mugful out of habit.”


Nodding to herself she edged him up to the wall and pressed herself against him, baring her neck. She whispered insistently, “In that case, as we’ll be over at Giles’ later you’d better have your BuffyDessert now.


Knowing better than to disagree with her when she was in such a determined mood, Spike gave a resigned sigh and began nuzzling at his mark. Buffy’s heart rate and breathing sped up as they shared the anticipatory excitement of the bite, then when he felt she was ready he released his demon to feed.


He closed his eyes in bliss and she gave a contented gasp when his fangs slipped into her flesh and the first taste of her delicious blood hit his tongue… and then Buffy’s warmth had vanished and he was abruptly standing alone by the wall with her blood dribbling from his mouth.


He opened his eyes at her startled cry, shocked to see her flying into the living room and landing hard on the dust sheet, a spurt of arterial blood from the gaping wound in her throat shooting across the floor.

TBC

A/N 3: You’ll gather from Spike’s speech towards the end of this chapter that I don’t buy into the whole ‘magic addiction’ theme we were fed for Willow’s OOC actions in season 6. IMHO Willow wasn’t addicted to magic at all, although that was her excuse. In my view she needed the sense of security that the ability to control her environment (and her friends) gave her. Magic was simply the tool she used to implement this control which demonstrated a selfish abuse of magic rather than an addiction.