Human and Humanity

By Kathy

PAIRING: Spike/Tara

SPOILERS: none - set after "Family"

RATING: PG (?)

WORDS: 2802

There was a fine mist hanging over the cemetery, that early autumn chill common to desert city suburbs far from the central heat island of the concrete-and-steel downtowns. There was light shining from the windows of the mausoleum, something which would probably be commented on and taken care of, if, of course, any normal person wandered through Sunnydale's cemeteries at night. But most normal people, even cemetery caretakers, stayed far from Sunnydale's cemeteries after dark, in unspoken acknowledgment of the dangers therein. In most places, the dead were just that -- dead. In Sunnydale, that wasn't always a given.

Nonetheless, a figure hovered near the crypt. The figure was nondescript, carefully so, and it hugged a covered basket close. Voices floated through the partially-open door of the crypt, one gravelly and deep; the other high-pitched and grating. The figure whispered a word and moved one hand, and it was immediately blended smoothly into the shadows around it. She waited.

A moment later, the door of the crypt was pulled fully open to reveal what appeared to be a lovely, young, blonde woman, probably around seventeen. Or at least, she'd died at seventeen, and been made into a vampire. She was dressed extremely well, her hair shone in a flawless long golden sheet, and her makeup was likewise perfect. Her shoes and handbag matched. "I'm going shopping. Don't wait up!" she enthused back into the crypt.

The gravelly voice responded, "Hadn't planned on it, Harm," in a tone rather less enthusiastic.

The hidden figure watched the blonde girl leave, keeping very still until she was completely gone, then moved closer to the entrance of the crypt. For several moments, she lingered on the front "porch," hesitating. She didn't want to accidentally run into Harmony, someone she'd never met personally, but had made an effort to avoid other girls just like her, human or vampire, for every one of her own teen years. She was more afraid of the taunts and torments from the Beautiful Elite than she was of vampires. Vampires were predictable.

She jumped when the deep voice inside barked, "I can smell you out there, you better come in." Drawing a deep breath, she moved from the darkness of the cemetery into the flickering light of the television inside the crypt.

In the light, she was less nondescript. She was a tall, full-figured woman with mid-length dishwater-blonde hair that didn't exactly shine in a smooth golden sheet; she was wearing a somewhat shapeless pastel yellow dress covered by an equally shapeless brown sweater, which did nothing to enhance her shapeliness; and the heavy red knee socks and dark blue Doc Marten boots left no doubt as to her utter disregard for style or fashion. Still, for all the lack of care given to her outward appearance, there was a gentle, luminous glow about her that came from inside, giving her a beauty that a casual eye would miss. For herself, Tara never considered her looks, and regarded herself as rather plain. She never saw what others could see in her.

Tara took a steadying breath. She had walked willingly into the lair of the vampire, and she would go through with her task. Vampires were predictable, she reminded herself.

A platinum-haired man sat in front of the television, and he hastily pushed aside a red shirt he'd had in his hands. He lifted his head to look sharply at the intruder. He blinked a few times, and straightened to his full height, which was not impressive - rather, it was his demeanor, coupled with tightly-muscled limbs, which made him appear formidable. "Oh. It's you. What do you want?" he said, his voice a clipped, flat North London drawl.

Tara nodded, realizing she was holding that steadying breath, and let it out as slowly as she could. "I-I-I-I c-c-came- " she started, her nerves making her stutter far worse than usual. Spike rolled his eyes.

"Relax, will you? Slow down and say what you want to say, but do it quick. I'm busy." He flopped back on his chair, returning his attention to the television.

Tara swallowed and drew another deep breath as she came further into the crypt, down the steps and into what appeared to serve as Spike's living room. To her surprise, Tara noted he was watching the BBC production of "Pride and Prejudice." "Oh! I l-l-love this," she said almost involuntarily. Spike gave her an appraising look.

"Yeah, well, it's got its points," he said, looking a little embarrassed. "So, kitten, what can I do for you?"

Tara smiled softly and held out the basket she was carrying. "I-I w-w-wanted to thank you for- for hitting me the other d-day," she said, slowly and carefully.

Spike blinked. "Pardon?"

"I-I-I know it sounds w-w-weird," she said, lifting her soulful eyes to dare to look straight at his hard-planed face, "B-but it was i-i-important. To m-me. What you did for me. I mean, well, it hurt, but- thank you." She handed him the basket.

Spike's searching blue eyes moved slowly from her face to look down at the basket she'd put in his hands. Below a clean, pale yellow dishcloth was a pile of big chocolate cookies, laden with chunks of nuts and more chocolate. Pleasure shot across Spike's face, an emotion quickly and ruthlessly suppressed by the time he lifted his gaze back to her face. "Well. Isn't this nice." His tone was deeply sardonic.

Tara felt her face flush. "I-I-I know you- I know that you're-" Tara struggled to find the right words.

"I'm evil?" he supplied helpfully.

"Yes! Well, no," she looked away from his deeply penetrating gaze. Really, for an evil vampire, Spike could show more emotion in his eyes than most humans she knew. "I guess I don't know much about you," she finally managed to say, all in a rush, without stuttering. "But I know you helped me when my f-father tried to take me back home, and I wanted you to know I appreciated it. Even if you don't care." She tossed his words from the other night back at him, words she'd heard even through the buzzing fear that had filled her head during that terse confrontation with her family.

Spike's eyebrows twitched. "No, I don't," he agreed, and took one of the cookies. "Can I offer you one?"

"Thank you," she said, and took one of her own cookies.

"Have a seat," he gestured to the chair he had vacated. "I don't too often get thanked for hitting someone, even when I mean well by it," he said after a moment. "Certainly not by that crowd." He jumped up to perch on the nearest sarcophagus, near the television, and bit into the cookie.

"Well, I wanted you to know," said Tara. "I can't believe what my father did to me. To my mother." She frowned at the stone floor. "I miss her."

Spike made a nondescript sound in the back of his throat. "Pretty nice racket your family had going there. I'm surprised your mum put up with it."

"I guess he made her believe that demon story," Tara whispered. "I believed it."

"Yeah, but you're a kid. Kids are supposed to believe spooky stories," said Spike. "He had himself a pretty sweet deal there. Get the ladies in line, keep 'em under his thumb. Isn't anything new, kitten. Men've been keeping women 'in their place' like that forever, you know. Mostly with lies."

"I know. That doesn't make it feel any better." Tara lifted her head and looked squarely at Spike. "Your solution wasn't elegant, but it got right to the heart of the matter. It solved the problem and kept me here."

"With your new family, all cozy. You're lucky, you are. The little Scooby gang took you right to their hearts, didn't they?" His voice was heavily sardonic, but then, Tara reasoned, Spike almost always sounded sardonic, even when he was sincere. It was in his eyes where his true feelings were easily read, and he wasn't looking at her now.

"Not really. I mean, you saw how tough that was. If my family wasn't so horrible..." She paused, then went on, "Willow kept me hidden for a long time and then didn't let them know we were, you know, dating. Xander didn't even find out until we'd been together for months."

"Well, Xander," he let out a snort through pursed lips, "That nearsighted git wouldn't notice two people in love if he tripped over them." He gave a dismissive move of his hand. "He can barely see his own. Ever notice the way he treats Anya? Acts like she embarrasses him all the time and talks down on her in public. Not that she notices, she's got the social skills of a rabid dog, but still I don't think it's very gentlemanly. And she gets the ol' heave-ho from him any time Buffy calls him to dance."

It was the most Tara had ever heard Spike say all at once. "Well, he..."

"Well, it's not all about him. Like you said, Red never even told them. You'd think, wouldn't you, that if she was happy she'd love to tell her buddies, right? But no, she keeps you secret until she's all up and ready."

"She... she told me she didn't want to share," said Tara, remembering Willow's gigantic eyes, glowing with affection, as she'd said those beautiful words, words Tara had gathered to her heart and kept the way some people kept love letters. If it were physical, it'd be wrapped in a blue silk ribbon. Spike gave her a knowing look.

"Yeah, right. She didn't want to risk them getting the squick because she was playin' cuddlies with a girl," he said, pinpointing Tara's unspoken fear, the one she didn't even like to think about. "They're all about that, you know. No one's ever really honest about anything because no matter how much they 'love' and 'admire' each other, the minute their darkest, deepest fears are revealed they're at each others' throats with the recriminations, always aimin' to hurt most the people they claim to love best. No, she didn't want to share you because you weren't a fella."

Tara swallowed, her throat suddenly too dry for the cookie. "You're wrong," she managed.

"Am I?" He reached for his whiskey bottle and handed it to her. "Sorry I can't offer you a glass," he apologized. "I have one somewhere, but I'm not sure where it got off to."

Tara looked at the bottle a moment, then drank. He watched her, and a look of admiration stole across his face when she swallowed without wincing. "I guess it's good for you they do get over their squicks eventually. Eventually." His lips pursed.

"To be fair, I may have made demons invisible to them briefly, but I never tried to sell them out to a Frankenstein monster," said Tara, gaining a bit of false courage from the whiskey. It hit her bloodstream with a pleasant warmth, and she wondered if that was what Spike really liked about it. Maybe it could make a vampire feel warm.

"You have me there," he acknowledged, taking the bottle back from her and raising it in a toast. "But as you noted before, I am evil."

"And I'm not," Tara smiled crookedly at him. Spike's eyes sparkled with mirth, then returned his attention to the television screen.

"Oh, bugger this," he said, frowning as he jumped down from the sarcophagus to turn his full attention back to the show, "What'd I miss?"

Tara looked at the television a moment, then said, "Oh, that was important, I'm sorry I distracted you. Mr. Darcy just came to tell Lizzie how much he admires and loves her despite her unfortunate relations," she smiled as she said it, thinking about Willow, "and Lizzie tells him the left-handed compliment doesn't sit well with her and sends him packing with some pretty harsh words."

"Well, I guess that's that, then," said Spike.

"Don't you know this story?" asked Tara.

Spike shifted slightly in his seat. "I never read much of Miss Austin," he said after a moment. "When I was alive her books were in a place where they were no longer new but hadn't made it to 'classic' yet, and I never seemed to have much time after I died. Somehow I just missed them. Besides, I was always more interested in poetry." He gave a shrug, and looked somewhat embarrassed, then gave her a brief "Don't-You-Dare-Tell-Anyone-What-I-Just-Said" glare.

Tara smiled, pleased at his openness. "Don't worry," she said, "there's a lot of the story left. Eventually Lizzie discovers that she loves Mr. Darcy too, despite his appearance of overbearing pride. And he realizes that what he said was pretty mean, too. And that's not ruining the story for you, either. There's a lot that leads up to that."

"I see," said Spike, appearing to ponder her words deeply as he picked up his red shirt again. Tara was surprised to see there was a needle and thread attached. He was sewing a button on. He noticed her attention and he shrugged, self-consciously, "Buttons fall off of even a vampire's shirts."

"Oh, I understand," she said. "I guess I was just surprised to see... well, y-you doing it yourself."

"I had to learn. Drusilla wasn't given to domestic tasks. Tell the truth, she didn't have the attention span. She'd start to thread a needle and next thing you know she's playin' tea party with her dolls." He paused, apparently looking at the past, then, "And God knows Harmony doesn't know which end of the needle to thread..." he pursed his lips, focusing on the television instead of his sewing. He smirked and went for the humor, "I guess you could just magic it all fixed, then, couldn't you?"

"I could, but I don't," said Tara with a shrug. "It's always too easy to rely on magic. It makes you lose sight of the real world when you do that, I suppose. My mother always taught me to do things by hand if I could and only use magic for special situations."

"Very wise mum," he murmured. "So. Mr. Darcy loves Lizzie, does he?"

"Yes. She loves him, too, but she doesn't know it yet."

"So how does he prove it to her?" he asked. Tara gave him a quizzical look. He wasn't talking about Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett. "That he really loves her and she loves him?"

"It just takes time, I guess," said Tara. "And a little work."

Spike was silent, digesting this information, then he shook himself. "No! No, I meant... on the show."

"Oh!" Tara felt herself starting to blush. "Oh... um... well, Darcy does something very nice for the family and Lizzie appreciates it," Tara said. They sat in companionable silence for a time, just watching as the mannerly romance played on the small screen. Tara occasionally took the whiskey bottle when Spike passed it to her, and was feeling more than a little warm in her sweater. The night's chapter of Pride & Prejudice ended and the Masterpiece Theatre theme song filled the crypt.

Tara looked at the slim little watch she wore on her wrist. "You know, I better get going. I-I-I'd like to get out of here before Harmony comes back," she added, lest he think she wasn't enjoying the quiet evening or the company. To be honest, she was.

"Yeah, I don't think Harm would be all that understanding of you hanging out here," said Spike, taking back his whiskey and setting it on the edge of the tomb nearest him.

"S-she's not exactly someone I would have hung around with even if she were alive," Tara admitted after a moment, as she got up. To her surprise, Spike stood up, too.

"Yeah, me, too," he said, and smiled. It was a real smile that lit up his eyes and made him startlingly attractive. It was a good thing, she thought, that she preferred girls. He was actually a pretty handsome fellow, and he was not at all her type.

"So why are you with her?" she asked, handing him his whiskey bottle and tucking her hands into the pockets of her sweater.

Spike was silent for a few moments, then said, with a wry twist of his lips, "I always seem to need a girl around me," he admitted, and Tara somehow knew it hadn't been easy for him to say. She nodded tacit understanding.

"Me, too," she said. She smiled. "Well... bye."

"So long, kitten. Be seein' ya." Spike sat back down. Tara moved out, pausing only once to look back. Spike reached out and picked up his sewing. Smiling to herself, Tara slipped out and into the chilly night.