Tara ran her hand through his hair, along his shoulders, down the curve of his spine.  His head was resting on her breasts as she sprawled on her bed, her shoulders supported on a pile of pillows.  The book was under his hand, propped on her stomach and her naked, upraised thighs.  The pages were caught in the warm light from the lamp on the bedside table as his voice murmured the lush, beautiful words. 

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state . . ."

She smiled, listening to Spike's voice recite the poetry that he'd copied into a leather-bound journal in his astonishingly beautiful handwriting.  This was a gift she'd never anticipated from anyone, especially not from someone like him.

"Yet in these thoughts of myself most despising, haply I think on thee . . "

Of course, there really wasn't anyone else like Spike.  She'd never slept with another man, and she'd certainly never been with a vampire before, but she was sure of that.  It had been months since they first made love, and in many ways he was still a mystery to her.  She never knew exactly what to expect from him.   One day, he would woo her with silly jokes and absurd humor, her laughter melting into joyous ecstasy as he indulged them both in lascivious play.  Later that night he might become so wild that she would find herself shivering with the realization of just how dangerous he could be.  She had been astonished to find that instead of cowering from him, an untamed corner of her soul responded on those occasions with an almost feral delight.

But tonight, she had a considerate and romantic lover.  He'd made love to her twice already, and now he was lying in her arms, his body pressed close against hers, holding the promise of more lovemaking even as those gorgeous words flowed continually from his lips.

Yes, there was promise of more.  The fingers of his left hand strayed from the binding of his book occasionally and skimmed the softness of her breasts and belly, gently, almost worshipfully.  But she could feel him where he pressed against her thigh, and she knew that each time he touched her like that, he became more aroused.  Soon, he would be hard and passionate, his hands would become more insistent, and he would turn his attention to bringing her to climax once again. 

She wondered idly how they'd do it this time.  If she expressed a preference, he'd honor it, of course.  He'd do anything to please her.  He'd proven that many times, most recently less than an hour ago.

"For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings . . ."

This time, she decided, she'd insist that they do whatever he wanted.

She traced the line of his cheekbones with one finger as his voice murmured on.  Moved to his forehead, and—

She stopped.  His eyes were closed.  She looked down at the book, realized he hadn't turned a page in some minutes, and saw that the words on the heavy linen paper didn't match the ones flowing from his lips.

"That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

He'd memorized every poem he'd written down for her.  He'd probably transcribed them from memory.

Her arms tightened around his shoulders.

Before she could tell him she'd discovered this new secret of his, he stiffened and the recitation stopped.  He closed the book and sat up, staring at the door to her tiny apartment.

"What—?" she began to ask as there was a knock on the door.

"Buffy and the Scoobies," he said grimly, and turned to face her.  "Willow's there.  And Dawn's with them."

"Oh."  She was silent for a moment, then reached down to the floor to pick up the dress she'd worn earlier in the evening.

"You don't have to—"

"I need to," she said.  She met his gaze carefully.  "Not because it's Willow. Because they may need something important."

He slid out of bed as she stood up.  She called, "Just a moment," as she slipped the dress over her head, feeling the soft silk swirl around her body before she turned to the door.

"Are you sure this is Tara's new place?" asked Xander.

Dawn nodded grimly.  "I'm sure.  I still visit her, you know."  She looked away from Willow as she said it.

"I've been here," said Buffy, adding a bit less defensively, "Months ago."

"Maybe we should try someone else," said Willow.  A few minutes ago, she'd been thinking that it would be worth almost anything to see Tara again, under any circumstances.  But now a cold conviction that this was a very, very bad idea was taking hold of her gut.

"Who?" said Dawn.  "Amy?  One of your evil magic suppliers?  That should help a lot."

Before anyone could reprimand her, the apartment door opened halfway.  Tara stood in the gap, flicking on the light switch by the door, her body positioned protectively as if she were hiding something in the room beyond her.

"Tara?" said Buffy in surprise.

"Tara?" echoed Xander.  "Um, wow."

Tara glanced down at the low-cut green silk dress she wore, as if noting for the first time how its folds molded to her body and just how much of her it revealed instead of covering.  She didn't seem particularly embarrassed by that fact, just puzzled, as if she'd grown accustomed to admiring stares and found the visitors' astonishment disconcerting.  She raised a hand to her tumbled hair as she asked, "Is something wrong?"

Tara seemed to be avoiding Willow's eyes.  Willow, on the other hand, was staring with painful intensity, taking in Tara's rumpled appearance, taking in the fact that the first garment that had come to her hand after midnight was a very expensive and sexy dress, taking in the state of her lips, which seemed slightly swollen and fuller than Willow remembered them. 

"Yes," Buffy was saying.  "Something's wrong.  We're sorry to bother you, but we need a witch, and—"

Willow caught the Slayer's glance and winced.  No need for Buffy to add, and the one we have is worse than useless these days.  Willow saw Tara's reaction, the tightening of those tender lips, the narrowing of her eyes. 

"You need me to do a spell for you."  It wasn't a question.

"Uh, yeah."  Xander looked over his shoulder, down the narrow hallway of the small apartment house.  "Can we come in?  Not a story we want to shout out to the neighbors."

Before opening the door, Tara looked back into the room, over her shoulder.  She seemed to meet someone's eyes and see a message there.  She stood very still for a moment, then nodded before stepping back and opening the door to let them in.

Willow had heard the rumors, of course.  And Dawn had hinted that they were true, as ridiculous as they'd seemed.  But it was still a shock, something that seemed beyond the possibilities even of her magical world, to see Spike standing by the bed, doing up the front of his black shirt before reaching for the buttons on his cuffs.  The shirt looked new, as did his jeans, as if he'd expended special effort on his appearance. His gaze was steady but guarded; he appeared ready for anything from a violent verbal outburst to an attempted staking.

It was even more shocking to see Tara move over to the bed with a decided swish of those silken skirts, to see her stand beside him, clearly stating her new loyalties before she turned to face the Scoobies again.  Willow noted irrelevantly that Tara wore jewelry she didn't recognize, a set of intricately wrought silver earrings.

"Are—are you okay, Tara?" asked Willow.  It was a stupid thing to say, but she hadn't seen her ex-lover for months and she felt as if something were called for.  It was impossible to shout, What are you doing?  Why are you with this creature?  How could you reject me for misusing magic and then have sex with a monster?  Because the having sex was no longer in doubt. The rumpled bedclothes, most of the sheets kicked aside, confirmed what she'd known must have been happening as soon as Tara had opened the door.  The bottle of champagne and half-empty glasses resting on the side table next to a leather-bound book were a bizarre romantic touch that seemed designed to make the insult hurt as much as possible.

"I'm fine," said Tara, almost impatiently.  "How are you?"  She made the "you" include all the Scoobies, her gaze resting interrogatively on Buffy and then lingering worriedly on Dawn.

It was Dawn who replied.  "We're okay.  Mostly."  The teenager looked at her sister.

Buffy was watching Spike with that blank, dead stare that Willow had come to hate so much.  After a moment, the Slayer shifted and shrugged.  Willow thought that Spike's pose relaxed a fraction.  He seems glad she's not upset.  What does that mean? Is he happy she doesn't care?

Spike was looking at Tara now, and all the concern that had been missing when he looked at Buffy was there in his eyes.  Yes, thought Willow.  He's glad Buffy seems not to care.

Whatever Willow had expected, it wasn't this.  After her first rage of jealousy at hearing the news, she'd solaced herself with the conviction that even if it were true, Tara and Spike could only be drowning their misery at losing the real loves of their lives, clinging to each other while pining for Willow and Buffy.  

But they didn't look like two desperate people who were marking time together while dreaming of others.  They looked like—

They look like they belong together.  She and Tara had looked like that once, and Willow'd hugged tightly to the hope that they would again some day.  The last few times they'd met, she'd assured herself that there was still longing in Tara's eyes.  But Willow now realized just how hard she'd had to work to convince herself after the last time they'd run into each other in the Bronze.  And she finally admitted that she'd avoided later meetings out of fear of shattering her fantasies of a reunion.

All hope was gone now.  Tara didn't share Willow's grief and despair at their breakup any more.  I'm the only one still in love with that past.  She's moved on to something new.

"What do you need?" 

Willow cringed at this strange, all-business Tara.  Well, what do you expect?  You've dragged her out of the bed she was sharing with her boyfriend, and she knows you're expecting a favor.  How many people would be thrilled to see you under the circumstances?

Buffy opened her palm to reveal an ugly lump of twisted silver.  "It's a talisman," said the Slayer.  "Willow and Dawn did some research.  We can use this to find the lair of a creature that's killed a dozen people in the past three nights."

"Except it doesn't work," said Xander.

"It's not whole," said Tara, staring at it with distaste.  "And I don't think I'd like it any more if it was."

"The rest of it is on another plane," said Willow.  "I have the coordinates-"  She stopped, as Tara cautiously stroked the thing in Buffy's hand.

"I know where it is," said Tara evenly, pulling her hand back.  An expression of revulsion passed over her face.  "I can sense the place."

"Can you go there and get it?" asked Xander.

"No!" said Spike forcefully. 

"You've done it before," said Buffy to Tara, ignoring him.  "You did it when Faith stole my body."

"That was something different," said Tara, "and—"

"It's bloody obvious this thing you want her to get doesn't live on Sunnybrook Farm," said Spike harshly.  "You come here, in the middle of this of all nights, after not even stopping by to ask after her health for months, and want—"  Tara touched his arm lightly, and he stopped.

"Just a minute," said Tara to the Scoobies. 

She tugged at Spike's sleeve, and he followed her behind the Chinese screen that hid the kitchen from the rest of the small apartment.  She pulled him just out of sight, but Willow could sense her leaning towards him, whispering words in his ear.

His responses were low mutters, obviously angry, but controlled.  The debate went on for some time. Willow and her friends shifted on their feet, and she was suddenly very conscious that they hadn't been invited to sit on the small couch or the single desk chair that adorned the opposite corner of the room.

After a few minutes, Tara came back out, Spike a step behind her.  "I'll do it, but I'll need an anchor."

Willow started forward uneasily, and Tara rushed to add, "Spike will do that."

"No!"  Willow burst out in horror.  "You can't—not a demon.  The anchor—"

"—has to be someone I trust," said Tara flatly.  "Spike can do it."

"If he's convinced you of that—"  Willow's voice stuttered to a stop.  She couldn't imagine what it meant if Spike had actually talked Tara into this.

"No, I convinced him," said Tara.  She reached out her hand for the talisman, and reluctantly, Buffy handed it over.  Willow noted almost automatically that the Slayer's eyes were dark, perhaps angry, perhaps sad.  Because of what she had lost when she'd rejected Spike?  She claimed she had never really wanted him.  Willow shrugged helplessly.  Maybe it was just Buffy's perpetual fury at having a job that put her life and the lives of her friends in danger. 

It had been a very long time since Willow had been able to decipher Buffy's thoughts.  She gave up the futile task.

Tara sat down at her desk, pushing her laptop aside and carefully piling a few books away from the talisman.  She looked up at the Scoobies and saw Willow, Buffy, and Xander watching her curiously, with Dawn standing a little off to the side.  Poor Dawn.  She can't break into that charmed circle, any more than Anya or Spike or I could.  Except these days, it seems cursed rather than charmed.

The Scoobies might never have fully accepted Tara, but Spike was right that they had no trouble using her.  On the other hand, they were fighting in a good cause, and she should help them.  Tara stared down at the ugly little talisman resentfully, then took a deep breath and reached one hand up over her shoulder.  Spike grasped it, and Tara's heartbeat began to slow and calm.  Carefully, she touched his mind.

We are together.

Yeah, love.  You and me against the overworld.

Tara smiled grimly as she laid her other hand on the talisman.  It was indeed broken, fractured.  The other piece—

She was far away and in her tiny apartment.  Eons passed and the moment froze in time.

The other half of the talisman dwelt in a strange and evil place.  Demons abounded.  These were monsters that were spirit instead of flesh, and the more frightening for that.  These things ate souls as well as bodies.

A soulless force rushed to her rescue, chasing away a foul-smelling thing that had been reaching for her hair.  Her savior wrapped itself about her, supporting her like a strong arm around her waist on a blustery day.

Spike.  You're here too.

        Part of me.  Just enough.  Get what we need quick, love.  I've got your back.  You find, I'll fight.

        She let him chase away the monsters while her magic sought out what was needed.  It was cleverly hidden, but she was clever too.  She'd never stopped learning.  Not in Willow's way, by wild experiments, but by her own slow, careful, scholarly means.  She remembered a passage in an arcane book, about a particularly crafty demon ruse.  She saw the riddle then, convoluted and ugly as it was.  Her mind moved quickly now, working like deft fingers sorting fastidiously through warped and perversely shaped puzzle pieces, searching for the right one—

She had it.  Now all she had to do was bring it back.  Easier said than done.

I can't get back by myself.

        You don't have to, pet.

        I know.  I'm reaching for you, Spike.  Hold me tight.

This wasn't the first time she'd tapped into his strength.  Each time she did, she was amazed at her daring, because she could feel the viciousness of the monster that raged within him.  But she had grown secure in her conviction that together she and Spike had caged that animal, and now she drew on it to build a psychic bond, thick as rope, strong and taut, that stretched between her and her lover.  Surges of power like living vines were thrust out by his half-demon spirit and twisted around her astral body, around and inside her insubstantial form, penetrating her, holding her in so tight a grip that Tara knew if she were lost, he would be too.