Avocation
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters aren’t mine, but Joss said I could play. Really.
Archive: Anywhere that already has my stuff. Anywhere else, just ask.
Summary: The gypsies curse the wrong vampire, and by the time they rectify their mistake, Spike has been fundamentally altered. Nearly a century later, the Slayer needs help, and there’s only one person qualified for the job. Of course, he’s not real interested in taking it.
A/N: I have a secret (or not-so-secret) weakness for early canon Spuffy fics. The only problem is that Spike is evil. No, really, he is. Which means that actually writing Spuffy pre-chip requires more suspension of disbelief than I can manage. Reading it is a different matter altogether. So, this is how I write early canon Spuffy. By altering events entirely. By the way, the title comes from a Robert Frost poem, “Two Tramps in Mud Time.” Pay special attention to the last stanza.

Prologue

Spike tore another strip of cloth from the ragged shirt he’d removed. One of Angelus’ lay next to him, ready to be donned when he was finished bandaging his wounds.

There wouldn’t be much left of the old one by the time he was done.

“Spike—”

“Shut it.” His tone was hard. Spike didn’t care to hear what the other vampire had to say. Even though he knew what Angelus had to be suffering, he couldn’t say he felt much sympathy. He was simply glad that those stupid gypsies had finally caught up with the right vampire.

Angelus shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to make things right, but he didn’t know how. The guilt was overwhelming; he didn’t understand how Spike had lived with this for so long. “I could help,” he offered hesitantly.

Spike kept one wary eye on the other vampire and continued ministering to his own wounds. “Don’t want your help,” he growled.

Spike knew he would need blood soon. There was a part of him that wanted to make Angelus fetch it, knowing that the remorse the larger vampire felt would compel him to do so. A bigger part of him wanted to get as far away from his grandsire as possible.

Spike frowned, thinking. His best option would probably be to find a cow or some other large animal to drain. Of course, he would need to make certain that he wasn’t eating a pet or the only possession of some impoverished family. Spike hardly needed more guilt to add to what he was already experiencing.

Tying off the last bandage, Spike pulled the clean shirt over his head. It was too big for him, but at least it was in one piece. That was more than he could say for the old rag he’d been wearing.

“Spike—”

“Don’t!” Spike spat, turning, his teeth bared in a snarl. “If I never see you again, it’ll be too soon.”

Angelus shrank back, cowed by Spike’s ferocity and the new curse. After all, the younger vampire had had three years to get used to it.

Spike’s yellow eyes glittered in the darkness of the barn. The sun had finally gone down, and he could be rid of Angelus, hopefully for good. “I’m leaving. If you follow me, I’ll put a stake through you.”

Angelus stared at him. “Where will you go?”

“Wherever,” Spike said coldly. “Spent enough time tied down that I don’t think I’ll be staying in one place for a while.”

Angelus flinched at the unsubtle reminder. Darla and Drusilla had done their share of playing with Spike, but he had been the ringleader. He’d been the one most responsible for it, for keeping Spike around long after the girls had gotten tired of the games.

He might never have tired of it, except for the gypsies’ unquenchable thirst for vengeance. That had put an end to his fun.

“I’m sorry.”

Spike’s face melted into his human visage, in spite of his hunger, although his expression was just as fierce. In fact, Angelus found that Spike’s blue eyes provided even more of a reproach. “It’s done,” he said. “Stay out of my way.”

Spike turned his back, limping off into the night. With any luck, Angelus would either wait for a while before leaving the barn where they’d holed up for the day, or he would head in the opposite direction. As long as he didn’t have to deal with the bastard, Spike didn’t much care what option Angelus chose.

What no one had told him, what William had never known, was that you could kill love. Even the purest sort of love could be choked to death, could be starved. Spike had believed himself in love with Drusilla, even after Angelus had proven that he could take her away from him at any given moment.

Spike didn’t really blame Dru. It was how Angelus had made her.

From the moment the gypsies had taken their revenge out on the wrong vampire, till they had finally caught up with the Scourge of Europe once again three years later, Spike had had the opportunity to discover just what hell was. At first, he’d blamed Angelus for the torture. After all, the big vampire had thought it humorous that Spike had a soul, had thought the curse a good joke. Drusilla and Darla had simply followed suit.

When Drusilla seemed willing to help him escape, and then had revealed his plan to Angelus, however—when she had clapped her hands in glee at the punishment that followed—

Well, a man could only stand so much. Spike didn’t much care for betrayal, and so he’d discovered the hard way that love could die.

What Spike hadn’t yet figured out was that love could live again.
 

Chapter 1

“…But yield who will to their separation,/My object in living is to unite/My avocation and my vocation/As my two eyes make one in sight./Only where love and need are one,/And the work is play for mortal stakes,/Is the deed ever really done/For Heaven and the future’s sakes.” ~Robert Frost, “Two Tramps in Mud Time”

Whistler wasn’t very happy with this assignment. Dragging Angel out of the gutter and getting him cleaned up had been bad enough. The last thing he wanted was to deal with the other souled vampire. The reports suggested that Spike was the more difficult of the two.

He had no desire to wind up dead.

The bar was loud and raucous, its denizens an odd mixture of humans and demons. This was a place where blood was frequently spilled, and where patrons often didn’t leave of their own accord.

The vampire in question was seated in a corner booth, watching the goings-on with an expression of sardonic amusement on his face. There was a pocket of calm around him, as though no one wanted to invade the space he’d designated as his own. Dangerous was one word for him, Whistler thought, remembering the warnings. He was certainly nothing like Angel.

Rumor had it, you didn’t mention Angel’s name around him if you wanted to live.

Whistler didn’t bother stopping by the bar, instead heading straight for the corner booth. “You’re Spike.”

“What of it?” The words came out in a low growl, with a barely concealed threat.

Whistler dropped into the seat across from him. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“Not interested,” Spike replied.

“I heard you’d work for a price.”

“Price is too high for you,” Spike replied. “Sod off.”

Whistler lowered his voice, knowing he was taking a gamble. “This is about revenge—on Angel.”

The change happened so quickly Whistler didn’t have time to brace himself. Spike’s hand shot across the table, grabbing the demon by his shirtfront and pulling him halfway out of his seat. Yellow eyes glowed in the dim light. “You don’t know me, so I’m going to let that pass,” Spike snarled. “Don’t say that name in my presence again.”

“You don’t want a chance to get even?” Whistler asked, careful not to repeat the forbidden name.

Spike sneered. “I am even. The bastard got cursed, didn’t he? Has to live with unending pain and torment? That’s enough. Don’t want to see his ugly face again.”

“He lost the soul.”

Spike blinked, releasing the demon abruptly. “What are you going on about then?”

Whistler smoothed down the front of his bright Hawaiian shirt, knowing that the worst was over if Spike started asking questions. He might manage to pull off this little assignment after all. “You know about the loophole.”

“Sure,” Spike replied. “One moment of happiness and the soul’s gone. What of it?”

“What do you think?”

“What?” Spike snorted. “That prat? Get a moment of happiness? What did he do? Find some brainless chit to fall in love with him?” At the expression on Whistler’s face, Spike started laughing. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not. He’s planning on ending the world.”

That cut the laughter off quickly enough. Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Right, then. I’m interested. Who are you, and what do you want from me?”

“The name’s Whistler,” the demon replied, leaning back in his seat. “I work for the Powers.”

Spike chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s rich. The Powers That Screw With You want my help to save the world? Forget it. Thanks for the laugh, mate.” He stood, tossing a few bills on the table and striding out of the bar.

Whistler hurried along in his wake, determined to get Spike to listen. “You’re needed, Spike.”

The vampire whirled to face him. “You’re pushing your luck. You don’t want to end up dead, leave me alone.”

“Angelus is going to end the world,” Whistler called after him. “And Drusilla is with him.”

Spike froze. He hadn’t heard that name in years. He’d have preferred to go through the rest of his unlife without being reminded of her. “What do you want from me?”

“The Slayer is trying to prevent him from opening Acathla and sucking the world into hell,” Whistler explained, catching up. “She can’t fight both of them on her own.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Whistler stared at him. “I would have thought that was obvious. You get to keep the world. I’ve heard you like it here.”

Spike shook his head. “I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of Slayers. They usually come out on top.”

“Not this time.”

“I’ll need something,” Spike said. “I’m not doing this for free. You just end up getting screwed over in the end.”

Whistler had been given instructions that should the vampire make demands, certain things could be done. “What do you want?”

Spike smirked. “You got a pen?”

~~~~~

He roared into town, feeling the vibration of the motor through the steering wheel. The old Mustang was exactly what he’d requested—classic, powerful, and speedy. Spike had the feeling that he probably could have asked for more. Either that or the Powers That Screw With You had known exactly what he wanted from them.

Spike rather hoped it was the former. He didn’t like the idea of anyone knowing what went on in his head.

In the end, he’d agreed to a lot more than just helping to save the world. They had wanted him to take Angel’s place and play the hero. Spike snorted, whipping the car around a corner with ease. He had refused, of course. Spike had no desire to emulate Angelus in any way.

Then Whistler had named a price, and Spike had agreed. Getting paid to save the world wasn’t a bad gig. Besides, as the demon had so astutely pointed out, he liked the world—spicy wings, dog races, Manchester United, and everything else.

What he had now was a picture of the Slayer, a few scant scraps of information about this Acathla, and a fat bank account.

Oh, and the promise of a battle ahead. That always put him in a good mood.

Whistler had told him where to find the Slayer and her friends. It seemed odd that their choice of headquarters would be a school library, but Spike didn’t much care. As long as he could locate the chit in time to keep his end of the deal, that was all that mattered.

Spike always kept his word—and he’d given his word that he’d make certain this Slayer survived. She had a destiny. It almost made Spike feel sorry for her.

Silent as a shadow, Spike stalked the school hallways. The scent that caught his attention was a familiar one, though not something he’d come across in almost a century. It had been a long time, but not long enough as far as he was concerned.

Grim-faced, Spike came in through the stacks, making sure to keep his footsteps silent. Drusilla was there, along with half a dozen minions. She was working her magic on a dark-skinned girl. Spike knew the chit didn’t have a prayer of surviving, but that didn’t much matter to him. She wasn’t the one he’d been paid to protect.

Of course, if he interrupted Drusilla’s thrall, she’d be pissed as hell, and it would probably throw her off for hours. So maybe he’d save this girl for free.

Spike swung himself over the railing, landing lightly and putting a stake through the nearest vampire. His sudden appearance had Drusilla looking towards him, breaking her concentration and freeing the girl from the vampiress’ hypnotic stare.

His actions indicated to the others in the room that he was on the humans’ side, and Drusilla’s minions instantly mobbed him. A manic grin grew on Spike’s face as a ducked one punch, whirling to put his stake through another vampire who had tried to sneak up behind him.

An older man picked up a crossbow and started firing, causing Spike to hope that he was a decent shot. The last thing he wanted was to be dusted by some middle aged librarian. The other humans, children really, were doing what they could against the few minions left.

Drusilla was screeching about her plans being ruined, and when the two minions left standing fled, Spike turned to her. “Been a while, Dru.”

“Bad Spike,” she hissed at him. “You’ve ruined all Daddy’s plans.”

Spike’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh, have I? I feel terrible about that.” He strode towards her. “Time to go, Dru.”

The crazy vampire turned just as Kendra was about to put a stake through her heart. “Don’t think so. You’ve still got to learn your lesson.”

Spike realized what she was going to do too late. In a flash, Drusilla had slashed Kendra’s throat with her fingernails, shoving her dying form into Spike’s arms and slowing him down. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, staring into the girl’s eyes, already glazing over in death.

Spike forced down his hunger at the scent of her blood. This wasn’t the Slayer he had been hired to help, but she was a Slayer, and the temptation was nearly too much for him to resist. There was no point in chasing Dru down at this point—she was quick and canny and he didn’t know the area as well as she did.

He felt the sharp point of something prick his back, right over his heart. “Put her down.”

Spike laid the girl’s body down carefully, not wanting to appear disrespectful, especially when he was in danger of being staked. He raised his hands, showing himself to be unarmed. “Not interested in fighting you.”

After a moment, the weapon was removed, and Spike slowly turned around to face the older man who had been wielding the crossbow. “Who are you?”

The voice was cold, and Spike was impressed in spite of himself. Unless he was greatly mistaken, this man was not just a librarian. “The name’s Spike. William the Bloody if you want to get real formal.”

He had the satisfaction of watching the man’s eyes widen. The crossbow dipped down. “I’ve heard of you,” he replied, a thin thread of respect running through his tone. “You were supposed to be a legend.”

Spike shrugged. “I’m real enough.”

“Giles?”

The redheaded girl spoke, anxiety writ large over her pale face. Her eyes kept darting from Giles to the vampire to the body of the Slayer. Giles glanced back at the girl. “Gather your supplies, Willow. Xander, help her. I imagine the police will be here soon enough.”

“Are we going to tell them the usual story?” the dark-haired boy asked, staring at Spike with ill-concealed suspicion.

Giles sighed. “What else would you suggest we tell them, Xander?” He turned his attention back to the vampire in front of him. Spike had brought his hands down and was busy lighting up a cigarette. “There’s no smoking in here,” Giles said sharply.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “And I care because? Look, Watcher, I’m here for your Slayer. Where is she?”

“Why should I tell you where Buffy is?”

“Because I’m being paid to make sure she stays in one piece,” Spike replied easily. “Can’t do that if the bint isn’t around, can I?”

Their eyes met, and a brief battle of wills commenced. Giles had heard of this vampire, but he was supposed to be a myth, a legend. The stories painted him as a mercenary, although one who was careful about the assignments he accepted. He was the vampire who didn’t kill humans. It was no wonder the Council had deemed the stories tall tales.

Giles’ jaw tightened. “She went out to meet Angel, although my guess is that it was a mere distraction to keep her from being here when Drusilla attacked. I’m not sure what they wanted.”

Spike shrugged. “Whatever it was, they didn’t get it. Slayer’ll be back soon enough, and then we can work on killing Angelus.”

“‘We?’” Xander demanded. “We don’t need your help.”

Spike smirked. “That right? It’s not what I heard.”

“Xander, do be quiet,” Giles ordered sharply. He turned to face Spike. “You shouldn’t be here when the police arrive. You’re the only person whose presence I cannot account for.”

The vampire nodded. “Fair enough.” He cocked his head to the side, listening. “Right on time,” he murmured. “I’ll be close.” Spike jumped up and over the railing that separated the lower level from the stacks with ease, startling Willow and another girl just coming out of hiding. He gave both of them a cocky grin and then disappeared as the police came storming through the doors.

Principal Snyder was there as well, shouting orders and questions indiscriminately, which Giles did his best to shield his students from, all the while wondering where his Slayer was.

~~~~~

Buffy was heading towards the school at a dead run when she ran into a very solid someone. “There you are.”

She tensed, tearing herself away from the hands that had come to rest on her upper arms. The Slayer felt the tingle that told her the man was a vampire, and she reached for her stake. Buffy didn’t have time for this. Her friends—

“Your friends are fine,” the vampire said, apparently reading her mind. “Just came from the school. You’ll want to stay away until the cops are gone.”

Buffy backed up a couple steps, her hand clutching her stake tightly. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Spike.” She watched as he smiled, amused, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “I came to help you fight Angelus.”

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. “I’m supposed to believe you?” she demanded. “Sorry, but I don’t make it a habit of working with vampires.”

“Even souled ones?”

“Especially souled ones,” Buffy snarled in reply. She really didn’t have time for this. She had every intention of dodging him, checking on Giles and the others, and then figuring out how she was going to keep Angel from killing her and her friends.

“You won’t be able to stop him,” the vampire called after her. “Not when he’s got Dru with him. I should know. I’ve tried.”

She stopped. “Where are they? If you can take me to them—”

“Told you. Cops. Your Watcher told me to get out so he didn’t have to explain me being there.”

There was no way she could trust him. He was a vampire, and Buffy had learned the hard way what happened when you trusted a vampire.

No, that wasn’t right. She’d learned what sleeping with a vampire brought. “What do you want?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Spike asked with a raised eyebrow. “I want to help you stop Angelus from sucking the world into hell. You want me to draw a diagram?”

Buffy glared at him, contemplating staking him just because he was annoying. “How do I know you’re not leading me into a trap?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “You don’t. If we can find your Watcher, he’ll vouch for me, though. After all, I was the one who made sure Dru and her minions didn’t kill your friends.”

“Fine.” Buffy shrugged her shoulders, trying to release some of the tension that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there. “Let’s go.”

The school was still swarming with cops when they arrived, and Spike quickly took her arm, leading her past. “You want to try and look helpless?” he suggested in a low voice.

“What?”

“Try to look less like we’re casing the joint and more like we’re out for a stroll,” Spike suggested, his tone dry. “Bloody hell, Slayer. I’d almost think you were new on the job.”

“Shut up.” Buffy shrugged off his hand, trying not to make it so obvious. Spike adjusted his grip but didn’t let go. “Get your hands off me,” she hissed.

Spike stopped dead in his tracks. “You know what? Nothing is worth this hassle. You want to act like such a bitch, you can deal with Angelus on your own.”

Buffy watched as he stalked away, and she felt a sinking sensation. He was right, even though she would never admit it out loud. She knew that there was no way she could take both Angelus and Drusilla on her own. “Wait! Spike!”

He stopped, and then turned, meeting her eyes with a hard expression. Raising an eyebrow, he waited for her to catch up. “Ready to play nice?”

“Answer my question first,” she challenged.

Spike shrugged. “Ask away.”

“Why help me?”

“Revenge.” He gave her a crooked smile. “That and I’m getting paid.”

“By who?”

“The Powers That Screw With You.” Spike sighed. “Look, pet, we don’t have time for this. I promise, if we make it through this, I’ll let you buy me a drink and then I’ll explain.”

Buffy wasn’t satisfied, but she knew that was all she was going to get out of him. “Fine. Where are Giles and the others?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Depends on if the cops have let them go or not. You got a meeting place other than the library?”

“How did you know about the library?” Buffy demanded.

Spike rolled his eyes. “The sodding Powers. Have you not been listening?” Buffy scowled. She knew she was being obtuse, but she was exhausted, and Angel had really pissed her off. “Slayer, I know this isn’t easy, but let’s at least try to work together, shall we?”

His tone was almost gentle, and she sighed. Whoever this vampire was, whatever he really wanted, Buffy knew she didn’t have much choice.

Spike was all she had at the moment.
 

Chapter 2

“Pain has an element of blank;/It cannot recollect/When it began, or if there were/A day when it was not./It has no future but itself,/Its infinite realms contain/Its past, emlightened to perceive/New periods of pain.” ~Emily Dickinson

Buffy finally decided to call Giles first, wanting to be sure he was home before heading to his apartment. After the seventh ring, she hung up. “They aren’t there.”

“You got another meeting place in mind?”

Buffy frowned, considering her options. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure they’d go there.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I thought you were the one with the big plan.”

“No,” Spike said, his voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “You’re the Slayer. You know this town better than I do. You know where Angelus and Drusilla are. I came to make sure you survived and they didn’t.”

When he put it that way, Buffy couldn’t really argue. “My house to get weapons,” she decided. “We can call Giles from there.”

“Lead on, pet.”

They walked in silence, Buffy stealing occasional looks at the vampire. He wasn’t very tall; Angel was at least a head taller. He was on the thin side, and he looked like a punk with his disheveled, bleached hair and black leather jacket and black jeans.

“I don’t get it.”

Spike glanced over at her. “What don’t you get?”

“You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah.” This was said slowly, with the sort of inflection that told Buffy he thought she was being stupid.

“You’re helping me.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m doing this because I want revenge and I’ve been waiting about a century for the right time to take it.” Spike shrugged. “This is just convenient.”

“So you don’t really want to save the world?”

Spike snorted. “Of course I want to save the world. I don’t know what Angelus is thinking. If he sucks the world into hell, there certainly won’t be anything for him to eat.”

Buffy blinked. Put that way, Angelus was really stupid. “You’re doing this because you don’t want to lose your food supply.”

Spike caught the hint of disgust in her voice. “Well, yeah. Although, it’s not quite like that. I haven’t been on a people-diet for years. The world goes to hell, and a lot of other decent things go too, things I happen to like. So really, I’m just a selfish bloke with an itch for payback.”

The Slayer wasn’t sure she believed him, but she didn’t have time to ferret out the truth. Or what passed for the truth with a vampire.

Buffy was feeling rather anti-undead at the moment.

They were approaching her house now, and Buffy was really hoping that her mom would be gone. Ever since Angel had shown up at her house and told her mom that she’d slept with him, things had been rather strained. Turning up with another guy in tow, another obviously-older guy, was not going to make things any better.

No such luck.

Buffy was still trying to decide whether or not she wanted to invite Spike inside when her mom opened the front door. “Buffy? I thought you were staying at Willow’s tonight.”

Caught in a lie, Buffy could only make the best of the situation. “I forgot some stuff.”

Joyce frowned, obviously not buying it. “Yes, well, Mr. Giles just called. He wanted you to call him back when you got home. I told him you were at Willow’s, but—” She stopped, catching sight of Spike. “Who’s your friend?”

The question was asked in the sort of tone that told Buffy that her mom wasn’t going to believe anything she said. “This is—”

“William Brighton.” Spike was suddenly on the porch next to her, holding out a hand for Joyce to shake. “I ran into your daughter and insisted on walking her home. You never know what can be hiding in the shadows, you know.”

The voice and accent he used for her mom was more polished, all charm. Although Joyce still appeared skeptical, Buffy could see some of the suspicion dissipating. “And you know Buffy how?”

“Through my uncle,” Spike replied easily. “I’m in town visiting.”

“Giles, Mom,” Buffy quickly explained, catching on to Spike’s story. She had to admit that it was a pretty decent lie, and one that her mom wouldn’t have any trouble believing. “Sp—William is Giles’ nephew.”

All suspicion drained away, and Joyce looked relieved. “Oh, well, it was so nice of you to walk Buffy home, William.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Summers,” Spike replied easily, as though he made a habit of charming parents of girls all the time. For all Buffy knew, he did, right before he ate the whole family.

“I should get my stuff,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t want to keep Willow waiting.”

Buffy was about to head inside—without inviting Spike—when the vampire called out a warning. “Slayer!”

She felt the attack coming, and whirled to meet the vampire coming out of the shadows. Spike grabbed the creature by the collar of its jacket, jerking it back and giving Buffy a chance to use her stake. A split second later and it was gone, just dust floating on the wind.

Joyce stood with her mouth hanging open, staring at the empty space where the vampire had been. “What—Buffy, that man—did he just turn to dust?”

Spike cocked an eyebrow, looking over at her. “Your mum doesn’t know?”

Buffy scowled at his amused tone. “No.”

“Buffy?” Joyce had recovered enough from her shock so that her tone was sharper now, impatient with her daughter’s lack of response.

“He was a vampire, Mom,” she said. “I’m a vampire Slayer. It’s what I do.”

Joyce shook her head, unwilling to buy into it. “Buffy, that’s nonsense. There must be some other explanation.”

Buffy ran a hand through her hair. She was just as impatient, although that was because she needed to get her supplies and then get to the others. She wanted to talk to Giles about her companion, and she wanted to kill Angel. “There isn’t, Mom. I don’t have time for this now.”

“You get your stuff, I’ll explain,” Spike said. His tone of voice told the Slayer that he was still getting a great deal of enjoyment out of this scenario, which didn’t endear him to her. On the other hand, if he could explain things to her mother, that would speed up the process.

“Fine.” Buffy sighed. “You explain. Come in, Spike.” She ran up the stairs, hoping that she wasn’t making some huge mistake.

She couldn’t afford another mistake.

~~~~~

Spike watched as the older woman stared after her daughter’s retreating figure. “Why don’t we sit down?” he suggested.

Joyce shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a bit much,” he agreed. Spike watched her carefully, not quite sure why he was the one who got stuck with this task. Placating the Slayer’s mom was definitely not in the job description Whistler had given him, but he was used to this sort of thing. No matter how carefully a job might be planned out, there were always problems.

Joyce sat obediently. “You knew about all this?”

Spike contemplated changing. It would probably scare the hell out of her, which could be funny, but something held him back. Some remnant of William reminded him that Joyce was a lady, and an innocent. “Yeah, for a while now.”

She set her jaw. “Well, Buffy will just have to stop.”

Spike couldn’t help himself; he started chuckling. “Sorry, ducks, but it’s not that simple. Slayers don’t get to quit. That’s not the way things work.”

Joyce blinked. “Can’t I do something? Talk to someone?”

“Take it up with the Fates, Mrs. Summers,” Spike replied quietly. “We don’t have a choice when destiny is involved.”

Buffy reappeared in the living room. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ve already called Giles, and he’s expecting us.”

Spike stood. “Right behind you, Slayer.”

Joyce stood again. “Buffy, what are you doing?”

“I’m saving the world, Mom,” Buffy replied.

Joyce shook her head, feeling the need to pull the parent-card. “You can’t. You are not leaving this house until you explain what’s going on.”

“No, Mom, this is what you don’t understand. I don’t have time to have a mother-daughter chat with you because my ex-boyfriend is trying to suck the world into hell. If I don’t stop him, having this conversation isn’t going to do either of us any good.”

They faced off, and Spike watched, some forgotten emotion welling up in his chest. He felt—was it compassion? He generally tried to avoid feeling things like that.

Spike generally tried to avoid feeling, period.

“We should go.”

Buffy glanced over at him, and she realized that he was no longer amused. In fact, there was something akin to sympathy in his eyes. “Let’s go.” She tossed the duffel bag with her weapons in it at him. Spike caught it easily and started towards the front door.

“You aren’t leaving this house!”

Her mother’s voice was desperate, and Buffy could hear the fear. “I have to.”

She didn’t allow her mom to say anything more. Instead, she was out the door, Spike on her heels, as she went towards Giles’ place. They were about a block ago when she shot a glare at the vampire at her side. “You didn’t tell me about Kendra.”

Spike frowned. “Who’s—the other Slayer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was dead?”

“Would it have made a difference?” he asked.

Buffy’s jaw clenched. “No, but you should have told me.”

“Why?” Spike asked. “And when? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a bit of a crisis situation at the moment. There wasn’t exactly time to run through a list of casualties with you.”

Buffy decided to let it go. She’d kick his ass for not mentioning Kendra’s death later. “Giles said you saved their lives.”

Spike shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

“He also said you did this kind of thing a lot. That you were a mercenary.”

“That’s one way of describing what I do,” Spike admitted cheerfully. “I’ve been put on retainer, though, so I won’t be looking for a new job for a while.” He grinned. “May not have to work again if I don’t want to.”

Buffy huffed. “Great. That’s just great. I have to save the world because it’s my destiny, and you’re getting paid.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t shagged Angelus,” Spike pointed out. He wasn’t sure why he said it, knowing that the words would cut, but he said it anyway. After having seen his sire for the first time in decades, and now with the imminent confrontation with Angelus around the corner, Spike wasn’t inclined to be nice.

He just managed to block the punch that Buffy threw at his face. “You’re a pig, Spike.”

“That right?” Spike sneered.

“You—” She broke off and started walking again. Spike followed behind, keeping a steady pace but not bothering to catch up. Buffy came to a halt outside a group of apartments. Turning to face him, she said, “Please give me a reason to stake you.”

For a second, Buffy almost thought he would do it, and then something in his eyes changed. “We’ve both been burned by Angelus, pet.”

She scoffed. “You’re a vampire. What could he have done to you that was so bad?”

“Not what did he do,” Spike corrected her, his voice quiet. “It’s what didn’t he do.” He looked at the door they were standing in front of. “You want to knock, or shall I?”

Buffy hesitated, then finally rapped on the wood without replying. She didn’t understand her companion, and she didn’t know how to deal with him. There was no time for her to dig the answers out of him either.

Giles opened the door, waving them inside. “Come in, both of you,” he said. “I called as soon as the police allowed us to leave.”

Xander, Willow, and Cordelia were all perched around his living room, looking at Buffy’s companion curiously. “You okay, Buffy?” Willow asked, sounding timid.

“I’m fine,” Buffy replied, sparing her friend a smile. “What’s the what, Giles? Kendra—”

“There was nothing anyone could do, I’m afraid,” her Watcher said, pulling off his glasses and polishing the lenses. “Drusilla is a formidable opponent.”

“I’m sorry.” This came from Spike, although he wasn’t speaking to Buffy, but rather to Giles.

Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, well, if not for you, we don’t know what Drusilla would have been able to do.”

“We have to do this, Giles,” Buffy said. “Tonight.”

“I won’t disagree,” he replied.

“Are you going to kill him, Buffy?” Xander asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Buffy shook her head. “Only if I have to. Wills, can you do the curse?”

“I can try,” Willow replied. “I don’t know.”

“You’re going to try and curse him again?” Spike asked, sounding almost disappointed. “I thought that spell had been lost.”

Giles winced. “No. Not entirely,” he said softly.

“So now what?” Cordelia asked.

Buffy took a deep breath. “So now you guys try and do the spell on Angel. I’ll try and keep him busy until you can finish it, but—”

“Buffy—”

She met her Watcher’s eyes. “I’m ready, Giles. I’ll do what I have to do.” Looking over at Spike, Buffy pulled Giles over to one side of the room. “Can I really trust him?”

“He’s a legend, Buffy,” Giles replied. “I don’t know. What I do know is that he most likely saved our lives. He tried to save Kendra.”

Buffy shook her head. “Why didn’t Angel ever mention him?” she asked. “He always made it sound like he was the only…” She trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

“It’s difficult to say,” Giles replied, lowering his voice further. “Rumor has it that Spike is somehow related to Angelus and Drusilla, although no one is sure how. Perhaps Angel is ashamed, as he was of his connection to Drusilla.”

Buffy sighed. “Well, with any luck, I’ll get a chance to ask him.”

“Be careful, Buffy.”

“Always.”

They shared a look that said more than words ever could.

“Time’s a-ticking,” Spike said.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Are you sure I can’t stake him?”

Giles smiled. “Why don’t you wait until after you’ve taken care of Angelus?”

“Let’s go, Bleach-Boy,” Buffy said.

Spike shrugged. “After you, Slayer.”

After the door had closed behind them, Xander looked at Giles. “How can we trust another vampire, Giles?”

Giles shook his head. “You don’t understand, Xander. There are stories—” He sighed. “Willow, do you need any help setting up?”

She shook her head. “I think I’ve got it under control.” She gave the Watcher an anxious look. “Is Buffy going to be alright?”

“I don’t know, Willow,” Giles murmured, staring at the door. “I really don’t know.”
 

Chapter 3

“Why should I blame her that she filled my days/With misery, or that she would of late/ Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,/Or hurled the little streets upon the great,/ Had they but courage equal to desire?/What could have made her peaceful with a mind/ That nobleness made simple as a fire,/With beauty like a tightened bow…” ~W. B. Yeats, “No Second Troy

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” Spike muttered as the mansion came in sight. Angelus always had been a pretentious bastard, and it looked like he hadn’t changed much over the years.

Buffy looked over at him sharply. “What?”

Spike shrugged. “He always did have to have the bloody best.”

“Wait.” Buffy put a hand on Spike’s arm, stopping his progress. “When we get in there—are you ready to kill them?”

“Oh, I have no problem dusting either or both of them, pet,” he said, his eyes hard. “Better question is if you have a problem.”

“If we can do the restoration spell—”

“What?” Spike asked. “Everything will go back to normal?”

“No, but—” Buffy broke off. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I can’t understand the fact that you still love him, is that it?” His voice was no more than a whisper, but Buffy’s head jerked back as though she’d been struck. “Let me tell you something, Slayer. I loved Dru with my whole being. Loved her more than my own unlife.”

“And now you’re willing to stake her.” Buffy said it as though it proved her point, as though the fact that Spike was ready to kill the vampiress disproved his feelings for her.

Spike grinned, but there was no humor in it. “Let me assure you that whatever torture Angelus managed to devise in the last few months is nothing compared to enduring three years of it, with the woman you love as a willing participant.”

Buffy’s eyes widened as she realized exactly what he was saying. “I don’t—”

“I’ll take care of Drusilla,” Spike said, completely business-like, as though they’d never gotten off track. “Don’t think her thrall works on me, and if it does, I’m ready for it anyway. He’ll have minions—he always does. I figure we can split those up pretty evenly. You’ll have to decide what you want to do about Angelus. You want me to do him for you, just let me know. I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Buffy shook her head, swallowing hard. “No. No, if—if it comes to that, it should be me.”

Spike met her eyes. “Right, then. In we go.”

Buffy paused only to pull the sword Kendra had given her out of the bag. Giles had kept it safe from the police. She stuck a couple extra stakes in her pockets and then watched as Spike rifled through the bag for a few stakes of his own.

Not another word was spoken. Everything had been said that needed to be said. Buffy had no idea how she’d wound up with another vampire as a companion, but there was something about Spike that made her feel just a little safer than she would have if she’d gone in by herself. It wasn’t trust—she didn’t trust him.

But he was dangerous, and right now he was on her side. There was something to be said for that.

They entered the mansion with as much stealth as possible, Buffy staking the lone vampire on guard from behind. Angelus was pacing up and down in front of Acathla. The sword was still firmly in place, and Drusilla was standing close by him, wringing her hands and muttering about everything going wrong. Spike glanced over, and he could see the relief in Buffy’s eyes. He knew she was going to try and wait for the spell to be cast.

He nodded once, and then they burst out of hiding.

Under different circumstances, Spike would have taken a moment to admire the Slayer’s form and grace. She was a phenomenal fighter, both creative and intuitive. As it was, he barely had time to notice that they fought quite well together before he found himself face to face with Drusilla.

“H’lo, Dru.”

“You reek of goodness,” she spat.

Spike gave her a thin smile. “We all have our faults.”

“You were to be my brave knight! You don’t love mummy any more!” She took a swipe at him with her fingernails, which Spike ducked. He was circling her, keeping a wary eye out for the Slayer and Angelus.

Then Drusilla attacked him in a full-out assault, forcing Spike to keep his entire attention on his insane sire. Drusilla was out for his blood, and she could be formidable in a fight when she was truly riled up.

Whatever Spike had told Buffy before entering the mansion, he wasn’t quite as ready to dust Dru as he had said. No matter that he didn’t love her any longer; she was his sire. She had been the one to save him from a life as William.

There was a piece of him that still loved her just a little bit for that.

The rest of him remembered her laughter as Angelus tortured him for hours after his unsuccessful escape attempt.

Spike dodged another blow but couldn’t pull himself out of reach of her claws. They tore through the fabric of his shirt where his jacket gaped open, drawing blood. Spike hissed in pain and then quickly backhanded her. She screeched, and he turned in a tight circle, hitting her square in the chest with the stake in his left hand.

She stared at him in shock, whispering, “William,” as she turned to dust.

Standing frozen for a moment, Spike quickly looked around. The minions were gone, either dusted or fled, and all he could hear was the sound of swords clashing. He ran to the door leading out to the courtyard, watching as Buffy and Angelus dueled.

It was a furious fight, Buffy’s sword a silver blur in the pre-dawn light, clashing with the long poker Angelus was wielding. Spike could see the concentration on the Slayer’s face. She had the disadvantage, since she wasn’t nearly as willing to kill Angelus as the vampire was to kill her.

Briefly, Spike considered stepping in, staking his grandsire if the Slayer wouldn’t. He held himself back, however, understanding that this was something the girl would have to do herself. Spike would save her if he could, but he wouldn’t make this decision for her.

Watching from the outside as he was, Spike could see the turning point in the battle. There was always a moment when things could go either way, when you had no choice but to kill your opponent lest you be killed yourself. Spike saw it—and like the Slayer she was, Buffy took her opening, ramming the sword through Angelus’ chest.

The vampire grimaced, and then his eyes narrowed, became yellow. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he rasped, pulling the sword out of his chest. Angelus leapt for her, fully intending on sinking his fangs into Buffy’s throat.

Buffy met him halfway with a stake.

She stood for some minutes, staring at the pile of dust on the ground, taking a deep breath to hold the tears at bay.

“Slayer?” Spike called.

She held out a hand in warning. “Stay away from me, Spike.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“Stay away!” She was nearly screaming, staring at him with wide eyes. “Just—stay away!”

If he had been a different man, Spike might have ignored her warning. He might have gone to her, tried to hold her. He might have gotten a stake through the heart for his troubles—or something else altogether.

Spike respected the fact that Buffy wanted to mourn on her own, though, and he nodded shortly. “I’ll see you around, Slayer.”

“Get out of town, Spike!” she warned him, grief making her angry and combative.

He smirked at her over his shoulder. “Sorry, Slayer. I still have a job.”

~~~~~

Spike pushed all thoughts of Buffy out of his mind as he sprinted out of the mansion. He would need to hurry if he wanted to get back to the Watcher’s flat before the sun made the journey deadly.

If the truth were to be told, the Slayer’s grief hit far too close to home. Spike was trying not to think about the fact that the last links to his past were dust on the wind. He was finally free of them.

Spike wondered why he didn’t feel happier about that.

The first true rays of the morning were creeping out over the horizon, causing Spike to curse his stupidity. He should have insisted on driving to the mansion, but when he’d suggested it, the Slayer had flatly refused to get in a car with him. “Stupid bint,” he muttered as he skidded to a stop in the Watcher’s courtyard.

Spike rapped sharply on the door, slipping inside as soon as the door was open, before Giles could ask any questions. “Where is Buffy?”

The vampire shrugged. “She’s fine.”

“Where is she?” Giles grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him up against the closed door. “Spike, if you left her to—”

“I left before I got stuck in that damn mansion all day!” Spike shot back, grief causing his mask of indifference to drop. “Angelus and Drusilla are dead. The Slayer told me to get out, so I did.”

“Is she okay?” the redhead asked.

Spike shook his head. “She didn’t get hurt. As for whether or not she’s okay, that’s not something I’m in a position to judge. Bloody hell, I don’t know. She was trying to keep him occupied so the spell—” Spike broke off. He wasn’t entirely sorry that Angelus was dead, and then again he was. The confused mix of emotions irritated him. “Did it work?”

“Did what work?” Giles asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Spike snorted. “Did the sodding curse work?”

“I—I don’t know,” Willow replied for the group. “I felt the power go in, but then it just fizzled.”

The vampire sighed. “You might not want to mention that to the Slayer, ducks.”

“What are you still doing here?” Xander asked.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“What are you still doing here?” Xander persisted. “You got what you came for. Why aren’t you leaving?”

“Because I didn’t get what I came for, you git,” Spike retorted. “I got paid to do a job, and I gave my word. I’m staying. Get used to it.”

Giles sank down on the couch wearily. “What job, Spike?”

“Stay and help the Slayer through the next apocalypse,” he said glibly. “Apparently, there was supposed to be a souled vampire here to help. It was very important, and then it all got shot to hell.” He gave them a thin, humorless smile. “I’m the second-string hero.”

Giles shook his head. “And how do you know that your presence won’t make it worse?” he asked. “What if you lose your soul just as Angel did?”

Spike grinned. “Because I’m not a complete idiot, Watcher. My soul is my own. It’s not going anywhere.”

~~~~~

Buffy trudged home, her feet feeling like leaden weights. She didn’t particularly want to go home, but where else was there to go? She knew her mom would be full of questions. Heck, Buffy figured she was probably going to be grounded into the next century for leaving the house like she did.

Somehow she couldn’t work up the energy to care.

Angel was gone.

It seemed impossible; he had been such a big part of her world. It was like everything had gone gray, because Angel wouldn’t be coming back. Buffy had believed she was ready for him to be gone, but she’d been deluding herself. Secretly, she had hoped that one day her Angel would return.

Instead, she’d had to kill him, and in his place was that bleach-blond idiot. Buffy felt a spark of guilt. Spike had helped. Taking on both Drusilla and Angelus would have been suicide. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d felt some pain on their deaths. It didn’t matter, though. Spike was a poor substitute for Angel.

Buffy slipped through the back door, hoping that her mom would still be in bed. Maybe she could be asleep by the time Joyce woke, and she could avoid the confrontation she knew was coming.

“Buffy?”

She stopped short, staring at her mother. Joyce was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in a robe. From her mother’s eyes, Buffy could tell that she’d been waiting up all night for her to return. “Mom, I don’t—”

“Are you okay?” The argument from the night before faded in Joyce’s mind as she met Buffy’s eyes. There was more pain there than Joyce had ever wanted to see.

Against her mother’s question, Buffy had no shield. She had held the tears at bay up until that moment, but grief suddenly overwhelmed her. Shaking her head, Buffy’s face crumpled. Joyce rushed forward, hugging her daughter.

Joyce didn’t understand what it meant that Buffy was the Slayer. She didn’t understand why Buffy couldn’t just stop being the Slayer. What she did understand was that her daughter was in pain. Nothing else mattered at the moment.

She rocked Buffy in her arms as she had not done in a long time. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Joyce murmured. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

A mother’s promises were all that Joyce could offer.

~~~~~

“Would you like a drink?” Giles asked. He had finally sent the others home. The Watcher knew that Spike probably expected to stay on his couch for the day, and he had decided not to begrudge the vampire a place to sleep. After all, Spike’s presence had most likely kept Buffy in one piece.

“Little early, isn’t it?” Spike asked with some amusement.

Giles smiled. “Perhaps. But since I did not sleep, I’m going to say that it’s rather late.”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, taking the proferred glass with a sigh of relief. “Ta, mate.”

Giles sat down on the couch, watching Spike sip. He hadn’t said much more about the soul, other than there was no danger of him losing it. Giles had a hundred questions, and yet he was bone-weary. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to start the interview now or wait.

“Spit it out.” Spike’s eyes were closed, and his head was tipped back, resting against the chair.

Giles took a deep breath. “Why is it that you cannot lose your soul where Angel could?”

“Because if there’s one thing I’m not it’s stupid,” was Spike’s rejoinder. “I wanted to know exactly what I had been cursed with, and so I did a little digging. If Angelus hadn’t been so busy brooding, he might have done the same.”

“So you discovered the loophole,” Giles mused. “That still doesn’t explain why you would take steps to ensure that you didn’t lose the soul. I would have thought you would want to get rid of it.”

“What? So I could kill more people?” Spike asked. “So that the three years I spent—” He broke off, unwilling to talk about that aspect of his past. “No. The soul was mine. I didn’t want to lose it because the blasted gypsies were idiots.”

The vampire’s words were clipped, almost angry, and it caused Giles to watch him thoughtfully. Spike was shaping up to be an enigma. “You got it anchored.”

“I did.” Spike snorted. “After I got it made permanent, the guilt got more manageable, too, which just proves that it was part of the curse.” He rolled his eyes. “Stupid, ignorant fools. They wanted to make Angelus suffer, and they didn’t care how it got done.”

There was a pause and then Spike continued. “Angelus was always about the planning, you know. Sometimes I thought the wanker was more into the preparation than the actual kill. Always thinking about the future or the past. I’ve always been of the opinion that you should live for the present. Doesn’t take much to make me happy, yeah?”

Giles nodded slowly in understanding. It would have been much easier for Spike to lose his soul than it would have been for Angel. “I’ll want to talk to you about this some more.”

“I figured that,” Spike replied. “I won’t promise to answer your questions, Watcher, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“In exchange for shelter?”

Spike smiled. “For now. I’ll be looking for my own place, though. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Spike looked at him sharply and then shrugged. “It’s what I’m getting paid for.”

Giles wasn’t so sure that was the only explanation for things.
 

Chapter 4

“A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,/That sat it down to rest,/Nor noticed that the ebbing day/Flowed silver to the west,/Nor noticed night did soft descend/Nor constellation burn,/ Intent upon the vision/Of latitudes unknown…” ~Emily Dickinson, XLIX

For a brief moment after waking, Buffy didn’t remember. The first thought that went through her mind, as had been the case for weeks, was what she was going to do about Angel. It was only then that she remembered.

She rolled over in her bed, pulling the pillow over her head. She had dreamed of him—dreamed that she and Angel were standing on a beach in the sunlight. He had put his arms around her and told her that he would love her forever.

The thought ran through her head that Angel had been a liar. Surely if he had really loved her the soul wouldn’t have mattered so much.

Buffy squashed that thought ruthlessly. Angel had loved her; she was certain of it. She had loved Angel, and Angel was the one with a soul.

The phone was ringing, but Buffy had no desire to answer it. It stopped after two rings, which let Buffy know that her mom was home. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be happy about that. On the one hand, her mom might be inclined to spoil her a little. On the other, the Slayer really didn’t want to deal with the questions she knew were coming.

“Buffy? It’s Mr. Giles.” Joyce had let her daughter sleep late, but it was now early afternoon, and Giles had been very intent on speaking with her. While she had questions, Joyce was willing to wait for answers—at least for now. She thought perhaps that Buffy would not be the one to ask anyway. Mr. Giles, or even his nephew, would be better.

Buffy groaned. “I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“He says he needs to speak with you.”

Buffy’s head emerged from under the pillow. She winced from the light entering the room. Her eyes were sore and probably puffy from tears and lack of sleep. “Fine.”

Joyce handed her the phone and left the room, stopping just outside the door so she could listen in on the conversation. It probably wasn’t the best etiquette, but she was beginning to think it was the only way to know what was going on in her daughter’s life.

“What is it, Giles?”

“Are you alright?”

Buffy felt a flush of guilt for her shortness at the concern in his voice. “Yeah, I’m fine, Giles. You know what happened?”

“Spike told us this morning when he returned.” Giles was quiet. “I’m very sorry, Buffy.”

Buffy knew he wasn’t, not really. How could Giles be sorry when Angelus had killed Jenny? She understood that Giles was just saying that because he was sorry she was in pain. “I’m okay.”

He didn’t question her assertion. “Of course. Will you be over later this evening?”

Glancing at the clock, Buffy realized that it was much later than she’d thought. “Sure, Giles. I’d better patrol tonight anyway. I’m sure Drusilla and—and Angelus left us with plenty to clean up.”

“Then I will see you later.”

Buffy hung up the phone, taking in a deep breath. She hadn’t been ready for this, but that didn’t matter, because Angel was gone. He was never coming back. She’d better just get used to that.

~~~~~

Spike woke from his nightmare with a snarl, his gold-green eyes glowing in the dim light of the living room. Giles was slightly taken aback, and he stilled, waiting for the vampire to fully waken, hoping that Spike wasn’t going to attack.

A moment later, he was looking into a pair of confused blue eyes. “What—” Spike shook his head. “Sorry about that,” he muttered.

“A bad dream?” Giles asked, having had a few of those himself.

Spike shrugged. “The past haunts you, yeah? There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Would you like something to eat? I took the liberty of getting some blood for you. I wasn’t sure—”

“Anything will do,” Spike said, pushing himself off the couch. “I’m not real picky.”

Spike had forgotten. He did that sometimes, simply because mirrors didn’t work for him. A few times in the past, he’d had companions who would comment, but most of the time they weren’t looking at him—not really. The women he spent time with wanted nothing more than a quick shag; Spike made certain of it.

He remembered now because he’d taken off his shirt to sleep, and he could hear Giles pull in a quick breath behind him. “Good Lord,” Giles muttered. “What—”

“Angelus.”

One word was all it took, and Spike quickly pulled his shirt over his head, hiding the scars. It wasn’t easy to scar a vampire, but it could be done. From what others had told him, the network of scars over his back was extensive. He didn’t blame the Watcher for being shocked.

“I don’t understand,” Giles said. “I realize that both you and he received your souls from the gypsies, but—”

Spike shook his head. “They screwed up, Watcher. Cursed the wrong vampire. I’m not saying I was a saint, but they were aiming for Angelus and they missed. He thought me having my soul was funny. The bastard always did have a twisted sense of humor.” Spike wanted to change the subject. “You said something about eating?”

“In the fridge,” Giles replied, watching Spike with still more interest. “How long had you been a vampire before you got your soul?”

“Almost twenty years,” Spike replied off-handedly, pulling the container of blood out and beginning to drink it cold. He preferred it warmed up, but he was too hungry to take the time. That had been part of his dream—the hunger. Angelus had often prevented him from feeding until he was ravenous and then—

Spike closed his eyes, grateful that his back was to the Watcher. He pushed back the memories.

“And after?”

He laughed, but the sound was bitter. “What does a vampire who won’t eat people do, Watcher? Tell me that. I did what I could. Made the best out of a bloody bad situation. What the hell else do you want me to say?” Spike glanced out the window. It would be hours yet before he could get his car and then start looking for a place to live.

Spike had money now. He could find an apartment of some kind, or a house. Or, he could do what most vampires did and find a crypt or a similar hole in the ground. Somehow, Spike rather liked the idea of something a little more classy, although not pretentious.

He refused to be anything like his grandsire.

“Why are you here, Spike?”

The question was almost gentle. There had been precious little gentility in his life the last few years. Scratch that. The last few decades.

“Got an offer I couldn’t refuse, didn’t I?” Spike asked, his tone thoughtful. “Save the world, bugger Angelus, get enough dosh to set myself up. Get a decent ride.” He turned, giving Giles a quick grin. “It was the car that decided me.”

“I haven’t seen it,” Giles replied, entranced by the vampire’s quick changes in mood. One moment he was morose and thoughtful, the next as excited as a boy at Christmas. The Watcher wasn’t sure why he trusted the creature so much, unless it was because he had a bit of hero worship left from his Watcher training.

Everyone knew about Spike. Half the stories were probably false, but Giles was suddenly certain that enough of them were true to make the feeling real.

“1965 Mustang,” Spike said proudly. “Mint condition, and more than a little power.”

“Convertible?”

Spike snorted. “Hard top. Bloody hell, mate, I’m a vampire. What do I need a convertible for?”

Giles had to acknowledge that point. “Buffy will be stopping by shortly.”

“Hopefully after the sun goes down so I can be gone.”

“You don’t want to see her?”

“Why would I?” Spike asked. “She wanted to stake me—after I dusted Dru, I might add.”

“She’s not too fond of vampires right now,” Giles commented. “I doubt she’ll trust you.”

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. “Don’t care,” he insisted. “She doesn’t have to trust me.”

“It might make things easier.”

“When have things ever been easy?” Spike asked. He glanced out the window again. It would be more than an hour before it was safe enough for him to leave the apartment. “Mind if I use your shower, Watcher?”

“Go right ahead,” Giles replied.

The vampire remained an enigma that ignited his curiosity. It would be an interesting summer.

~~~~~

Buffy was less inclined to stake Spike than she had been that morning. He wasn’t trying to kill her—he had, in fact, helped her quite a bit—and she was just too tired to care about the fact that he was sitting in Giles’ living room as though he belonged there. Still, there were appearances to keep up.

“What are you still doing here?”

“And good evening to you too, pet,” Spike said, completely ignoring her question.

Buffy sighed. “I thought I told you to get out of town.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing, Slayer,” he replied. “You didn’t hire me, which means I don’t answer to you.”

She frowned. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long are you staying?”

“Through the next apocalypse.” Spike almost regretted his words when he saw the look on her face. The weariness deepened, and she closed her eyes as though the very idea was too much to bear.

“What do you know?” Buffy asked. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she mused. If Spike knew when it was, or who—

He appeared apologetic. “Nothing more than that. I’m sorry.”

Buffy didn’t even have the energy to come back with something snarky. “Fine. Whatever, Spike.”

“Buffy, are you sure you want to patrol tonight?” Giles asked. “Perhaps it might be better if—”

“You know what they say about getting back in the saddle, Giles,” Buffy replied, making herself get up off the couch. The apartment suddenly felt too small. She needed to be out, doing something, killing something. After all, wasn’t that what she did? Buffy killed things while she tried to forget about the fact that her whole life had gone to hell.

She wasn’t pleased when Spike stood as well. “I’ve got to get my car,” he said. “Figure I’ll find somewhere else to stay for tomorrow. I’ll be in touch, Watcher.”

Buffy knew Giles wanted to say more, wanted to talk to her about what had happened with Angel, and she found herself absurdly grateful for Spike’s presence. Giles would wait until they were alone to speak, and Buffy planned on avoiding that scenario for a while.

She wasn’t real happy when the vampire fell into step beside her. “What are you doing?”

“Like I said, I’ve got to get my car,” Spike repeated patiently. “Just so happens you’re going my way.”

Buffy turned on her heel and started heading the opposite direction, half-expecting Spike to follow her. When he didn’t, she looked back over her shoulder to find that he’d kept going, ignoring her rather rude dismissal entirely.

There was a part of her that was curious. She wanted to know more about why Spike had been so intent on getting revenge, why he had decided to come to Sunnydale. She wanted to know if staking Drusilla had hurt him as badly as staking Angel had hurt her.

Buffy kept walking. The last thing she needed was another vampire with a soul running around, even if Giles seemed to trust him. She was just fine on her own.

~~~~~

Spike had just reached his car when he heard their voices. The children he’d met last night were walking in his direction, arguing over whether or not they should go see Buffy. The redhead was saying that they might need to give her some more time, while the boy was loudly voicing his opinion that she’d need the support of her friends.

Hiding a smirk, Spike unlocked his vehicle. It sounded to him as though the lad had a crush on Buffy that he wasn’t quite over. If he didn’t miss his guess, the Slayer had turned him down flat. He’d been able to smell the bitterness on the boy the previous night.

“Spike!”

He froze, wondering if he’d been imagining things.

“Hey, Spike!”

He hadn’t. Turning, Spike looked up to see girl approaching, the witch. With some difficulty, he remembered that her name was Willow. “Hi,” she said brightly, stopping in front of him.

“Hello,” he replied cautiously. “Something I can do for you?”

Willow frowned and then shook her head. “No, I just thought I’d say hi. It seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Spike blinked twice, belatedly realizing that she was serious. “Right.” He had no idea what to say. People—or demons—had a tendency to avoid him completely or try to kill him. This was new.

“Is this your car?” The hostility in Xander’s tone was overshadowed by admiration.

Spike shrugged. “Yeah, it’s mine.”

Xander let out a low whistle, touching a tentative hand to the glossy black paint. “She’s a beauty.”

“Yeah, she is,” Spike agreed, still feeling a trifle hesitant about this.

“You’re really a vampire?” The dark-haired girl that had been introduced as Cordelia was watching him with undisguised suspicion.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “You didn’t get the memo?”

“You don’t act like a vampire,” Cordelia pointed out.

He was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes. “How the bloody hell do you know what a vampire acts like?”

“Hey, this is the Hellmouth, mister,” Cordelia shot back. “We all know what vampires are like.”

“Cordelia,” Willow said, stopping her. Spike could hear a touch of impatience in her tone, and thought that the witch wasn’t hiding her dislike of the other girl very well. “Spike’s a different kind of vampire. Like—” she faltered slightly, not wanting to bring up the subject of Angel.

It wasn’t that Spike was nice. He wasn’t. Normally, he would have brushed off the children easily, made several cutting remarks, and then left. It was simply that Willow had done him the kindness of saying hello, and Xander had admired his car, and so he was a little less inclined to ignore them.

That was all it was, of course.

“You lot need a ride somewhere?” he asked.

“Do you know where Buffy is?” Willow asked hopefully. “I mean, we don’t know if she really wants to see us or not, and when we called her house earlier, Mrs. Summers said she was still sleeping, but if she’s out maybe—”

Spike held up a hand, cutting her off in mid-ramble. “The Slayer’s out on patrol, and I don’t know where she was going. The opposite direction that I was heading is about all I know.”

He noticed that while Xander and Willow appeared disappointed, Cordelia was unphased. “So what else are we going to do this evening?” she demanded. “I’m sure there are other places we could be.”

The other two exchanged looks. “Should we leave Buffy alone?” Willow asked doubtfully. “I mean with…”

Spike cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow to demonstrate his impatience. “Either you figure out where you want to go and get a ride, or I leave. Take your pick.”

“What about the Bronze?” Cordelia said, batting her eyelashes at Xander. “We haven’t been there in forever.”

Xander hesitated, and then glanced over at Willow. “We haven’t done the post-apocalypse party yet.”

Willow bit her lip. “Oz is playing tonight.”

“Well?” Spike asked.

“The Bronze,” Cordelia said decidedly. “We’re going to the Bronze.”

Spike shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just get out of here, shall we?” He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d gone from saving the world to playing chauffer to a bunch of high school students, but he couldn’t say he minded. Their chatter, mindless as it might be, was keeping his mind off of Drusilla. He couldn’t ask for much more than that.
 

Chapter 5

“…what if a dawn of a doom of a dream/bites this universe in two,/peels forever out of his grave/and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?/Blow soon to never and never to twice/ (blow life to isn’t;blow death to was)/—all nothing’s only our hugest home;/the most who die,the more we live.” ~e.e. cummings, “what if a much of a which of a wind”

The Bronze was like any other club that Spike had been into—not that he’d been in many. If he’d been a different sort of vampire, this would have been prime hunting ground. Before the soul, Spike had liked his victims young. Even now, entering a place like this with so many people, hearing the blood pumping and the quick heartbeats—was nearly too much for him to take.

Spike was no fledgling vampire, however, nearly crippled by bloodlust and hunger. He’d been around for a long time, and he’d worked on his control. There wasn’t much that could shake it at this point.

Of course, he’d soon need to eat something a little more substantial than the snack the Watcher had supplied, but that could wait until he was alone.

The band playing wasn’t complete shit, and Spike found himself relaxing, almost against his will. Xander and Cordelia left them almost immediately for the dance floor, and so the vampire found himself alone at a table with Willow.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” she asked brightly, obviously deciding that small talk was the way to go. Spike decided to humor her.

“Not too bad.”

“The guy playing the guitar up there? That’s Oz. My boyfriend.”

The way she said it gave Spike the impression that it was either a very new development or she was still a bit in shock that she had a boyfriend. Possibly both. She was—cute, he decided. She was also one of the friendliest birds he’d ever come across. Spike decided to play along, more for the entertainment value than anything else. “New bloke?”

“Sorta,” Willow replied. “I mean, we’ve been going out for a while now, but it’s not real serious. Not yet, anyway. I think it’s going to get serious, though. What about you?”

Spike raised an eyebrow, surprised. He was having trouble getting used to this friendly communication thing. “What about me? Do I have a new bloke?”

“No!” Willow said quickly. “Although, that’s fine, if you do. I mean, being gay isn’t anything to be ashamed of. If you are. Gay, that is. I’m really making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

Spike was startled into a deep chuckle. He decided he liked this girl, although he wasn’t sure why. “I prefer women, luv, and no. There isn’t anybody.”

Willow caught the flicker of sadness that danced through his eyes and wisely refrained from asking him about it. Spike wasn’t anything like Angel. He seemed less solemn, for one thing, and somehow more human. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask,” Spike allowed, not promising to answer.

“How old are you?”

“That’s not usually considered a very polite question,” Spike countered, although the twist of his lips told Willow that he wasn’t upset.

She shrugged. “That’s only true when a person is actually aging and doesn’t want to admit it.”

Spike nodded. “Point. I was turned in 1880, so you do the math.”

“You must have seen so much,” Willow said, not bothering to disguise her jealousy. “Been all over.”

“Pretty much all seven continents,” Spike agreed. “Ask me about it sometime, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Hey, Willow.” The band had taken a break, and Spike looked over at the short, redheaded boy watching the two of them with mild interest.

Willow’s smile brightened. “Hey! Oz, this is Spike. Spike, Oz. I told you about him.”

“Hey.” That was all Oz said, and Spike was impressed by the boy’s equanimity.

“H’lo.”

Oz turned back to Willow. “You want something to drink?”

“I can get it,” Spike said, standing. “I’m a bit thirsty myself.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for their orders. Both of them asked for sodas and Spike headed for the bar.

He was a little bemused. Spike had never spent this much time with humans before, let alone children. And he was actually enjoying himself. That was the strangest part.

When he arrived back at the table, Spike was somehow unsurprised to find the Slayer. She didn’t look pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

Willow stepped in to play peacemaker. “Spike gave us a ride, Buffy.” Her eyes clearly held a plea for her friend to be polite.

Buffy was obviously struggling with herself. “Okay.”

That was all she said, but it was a sight more pleasant than some of the other comments she might have made. Spike gave Willow and Oz their drinks and pulled his beer bottle out of an inner pocket. Now that Buffy had arrived, Spike wasn’t so sure he wanted to stay since he didn’t want to deal with her attitude.

On the other hand, he did want to finish his beer.

“How long are you going to be staying with Giles?” Buffy asked, sounding almost courteous.

Spike decided to return the favor. “I’m not. Figure I’ll get a hotel room for the night and start looking for another place tomorrow.”

“I know of a few places,” Oz offered unexpectedly. “Any special requirements?”

Spike considered the question. “Not too sunny, for obvious reasons, plus ready sewer access and some kind of garage. Other than that, I’m not too particular.”

Oz thought for a second and then scribbled down a phone number. “I know a guy. His rates are pretty low.”

Willow and Buffy were both staring at him, open-mouthed. “How do you know a guy?” Willow asked.

“Remember Jordy?” Oz asked, just a trace of amusement in his tone.

“The cousin that bit you?”

“The guy is his dad, my uncle.”

“So you’re really staying?” Buffy asked Spike. “For good?”

“For now,” Spike hedged. “As long as it takes.”

Buffy shook her head. “And if the apocalypse is tomorrow?”

Spike shrugged. “Then it’ll probably be longer. I’m a bit tired of traveling at the moment.”

“You said you’d tell me why you wanted revenge so badly,” Buffy reminded him.

Spike shook his head. “No, Slayer. I said I’d let you buy me a drink and then I’d tell you. I’ve done the purchasing this evening.” He stood, swallowing the last of his beer and nodding at Oz. “I appreciate the tip.”

“Not a problem,” Oz replied. “As long as you don’t go eating the other tenants.”

Spike smiled. “Not a chance.” He swaggered off through the crowd, smirking just a bit as he caught a young woman giving him the once-over. Spike winked at her, feeling a sense of pleasure when she blushed but didn’t look away.

Sunnydale was showing some promise.

~~~~~

“I want to know what the Slayer is,” Joyce said without preamble, as soon as the door swung open.

Giles took a step back in surprise, and she took it as an invitation. “Mrs. Summers, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Don’t,” Joyce said shortly. “I want to know what Buffy being the Slayer means, and how to get her out of it.”

“That’s not possible.” Giles wished he could have softened the words as soon as they left his mouth. “Forgive me, but it’s true.”

Joyce took the seat he offered. “Then at least tell me why Buffy. Why does my daughter have to be the Slayer?”

“Believe me, Mrs. Summers, if I could relieve Buffy of this burden, I most certainly would.” Giles removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Would you like some tea?”

She very nearly refused, wanting to throw the offer back in his face. Joyce wanted to somehow force this man to understand that he had taken her entire world and turned it upside down on its head.

Wasn’t Buffy almost her entire world? And hadn’t her daughter’s position as the Slayer removed some of her maternal prerogatives?

Joyce was still feeling shaky over it. Maybe tea would be good after all.

“Yes, thank you.”

Giles set about making the tea, the silence in his flat broken only by the rattle of the teakettle and cups and saucers. “I know this must be very distressing for you,” he said gently as he brought the tray out into the living room.

It was the understatement of the year. “You could say that.”

“I really am sorry,” Giles reiterated. “I wish it was not Buffy who was Chosen. I’m—I’m very fond of her, you know.”

Joyce did know, and seeing the distress in Giles’ eyes did something to relieve the fear in her own. “I know.” She glanced around the flat. “Is your nephew staying with you?” she asked politely, suddenly fearful of broaching the subject of Buffy again. Joyce wasn’t sure she was ready to know the answers to her questions.

“My nephew?” Giles asked, surprise evident in his tone.

Joyce frowned. “Yes, that nice young man who walked my daughter home the other night. He said he was—” She stopped, realizing that it had been a lie. “Why am I not surprised?” she muttered, feeling like an idiot.

“You mean Spike?” Giles was slightly taken aback by the lie, but he could see how it would have made things simpler. “He’s not my nephew, no, but—I believe he’s someone you can trust.”

“Who is he?” Joyce asked. “Another vampire?”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple.” Giles sighed. Nothing about this whole business was simple. “Spike has a reputation among the Watchers’ Council.” At her silent question, he explained, “I work for the Council. Simply put, I am Buffy’s Watcher. My job is to train her, and give her whatever help I can.”

“And Spike works for the Council?”

“Good Lord, no!” Giles exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that Joyce wouldn’t know why that was such a ridiculous question. “The Council would never employ a vampire. At least, I don’t think that the Council ever has. No, Spike is something of a legend, along the lines of Robin Hood.”

Joyce frowned. “He robs the rich and gives to the poor?”

“He has a reputation for saving people,” Giles corrected her. “Most of the time when we have heard of him, it’s in connection to, well, something slightly shady. Occasionally, however…” Giles trailed off.

“And he’s here now because?” Joyce asked.

Giles smiled. “Because he’s been asked to keep your daughter safe.”

Joyce remembered the charming young man who had been nothing but polite. He had also looked slightly dangerous. “Then he won’t hurt Buffy?”

“If I thought there was a chance of that, he wouldn’t be walking around right now,” Giles replied.

Joyce looked at him, sensing Giles’ own ability to be dangerous. Somehow it made her feel just a little bit better. “Then maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me what exactly has been going on these last few months?”

It was phrased as a question, but her tone left no room for refusal. Giles knew when he was outmatched, and he conceded as gracefully as possible. “Of course,” he agreed, bracing himself for a long evening.

~~~~~

Spike found the butcher first, finding it easier than he expected to get blood. They were open late, which was a pleasant surprise, and he set up a regular order, relieved when the man in charge didn’t ask any awkward questions.

Once he’d found a hotel room, Spike fed until he felt comfortably full, putting the rest of the blood in the mini-fridge. Then he went out hunting.

Spike found a curious pleasure in dusting vampires, particularly those he knew had been sired by Angelus or Drusilla. He didn’t particularly care about saving anyone, nor was he interested in killing demons or vampires just because they were there.

What he did enjoy was making certain that no trace of his sire or grandsire was left on the face of the planet—except for himself. Spike had always been the exception to the rule.

Feeling rather cheerful after dispatching a half dozen or so of Angelus’ minions, Spike went back to his hotel room and slept like the dead.

When he awoke in the late afternoon, Spike quickly showered and changed into clean clothing, then called the number that Oz had given him. “Ken Osborne.”

“The name’s William Brighton,” Spike said. “Your nephew gave me your number. I’m new in town and looking for a place.”

“Rent or buy?”

“Either.” Spike smiled. It sounded like the uncle was just as phlegmatic as his nephew. “I’m looking for something without a lot of sun and some sort of covered parking.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then the other man replied, “Think I’ve got something you might like. What time do you want to see it?”

“After sunset?” Spike asked. “I have a sun allergy,” he lied smoothly.

“Right.” From the amused drawl, Spike got the impression that the other man knew he was lying. “That’ll be fine. Around nine?”

Spike got directions, and a slow smile came over his face. This was looking to be his kind of town. A little on the quiet side, maybe, but there was easy access to blood, a Hellmouth to keep things interesting, and a Slayer to needle.

This assignment could be pleasant indeed.
 

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