Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. I borrow them here out of reverence, with respect, and for fun, not profit. I promise to return them when I've finished with them (but can I keep Spike, pretty please? I'll treat him well, sooo well!).
An Ending and a Beginning
Taking care to stay downwind so as not to alert his grand-sire to his presence, Spike watched Angelus exit the cemetery from the top of a tomb where he had been waiting all night for this moment. He sighed to himself, sad that the Slayer had taken comfort in the arms of Captain Forehead, but sadder still that the great hero was leaving the Slayer to grieve for her mother alone.
"Fucking git!" he murmured to the cold night air. Morning would be upon him shortly. He had just enough time to pay his respects to his surrogate mum, snatched from this world before her time. Wiping an unbidden tear from his eye, and checking to make sure he could no longer sense Angelus nearby, Spike jumped from the tomb and made his way to the earth pile that covered the mortal remains of a woman he had come to love.
"Spike?" There were equal measures of contempt and surprise in Buffy's voice.
Spike came to a sudden halt by a row of recent headstones. Buffy was standing alongside the newly dug grave and her tense posture showed she was ready to spring into action at any moment.
"Slayer? Thought you'd have toddled off to bed when your pen-pal left."
"Pen-pal? Oh, so you saw Angel?"
"Angel, Angelus, White Knight with Shining Forehead, whatever," Spike sarked dismissively.
Buffy's body relaxed into a slouch, taking on an air of immense tiredness.
"Look Spike, I'm not in the mood. Will you just go away?"
"Come to pay my respects, pet," he replied softly.
"Oh, I, er, oh, er, ok. I mean, really?" Buffy's deeply furrowed brow showed that she was having difficultly processing this piece of information.
"Yeah, pet. She was a smashing woman, your mum. She was decent and she didn' have any airs. I'll miss my chats with her and the hot chocolate she used to make with those little marsh ….."
Buffy cut him off before he could finish, her incredulity tinged with anger, "You're talking like you were friends or something. She put up with you. My mum didn't know the real you or she wouldn't have …. wouldn't have been so …. so ….. nice!"
"Yer mum was a nice lady, pet. And she liked me!"
"Liked you?" Buffy's stance tensed again.
Spike's exasperation was evident. "Look, Slayer, you may not believe this; you may not like this. But the fact is that me and your mum were good mates. She was a fine woman, easy to talk to and, unlike her offspring, not at all judgmental. She treated me with respect and compassion. She treated me like a man. I just need to say my goodbyes. OK?"
Buffy looked bewildered as she nodded mutely and moved back to afford Spike access to the strip of lawn at the base of a pile of the recently turned earth that was piled with flowers.
Casting his eyes to the eastern horizon, Spike knelt on the damp grass. Mumbling, as if to himself, Spike began, "Sorry Joyce. I had hoped to get here earlier but you had visitors. Can't stay as long as I'd have liked 'coz sunrise is not my best time of day. But I promise I'll be by again. I'm glad you won't ever have those headaches again but I'm sorry that you won't be there for me with your hot chocolate and sensible advice. Keep safe, Joyce. I'll miss you."
With that Spike rose to his feet and inclined his head for a nanosecond before setting off in the direction of his crypt with long purposeful strides, leaving Buffy standing with her mouth open.
Back at his lair, Spike flicked the switch on his electric kettle, 'liberated' from Giles a while back, and solemnly set about preparing himself a cup of tea. "Joyce would approve", he mused out loud to the ether.
"Approve of what?"
Spike shot round at the sound of Buffy's voice. Engrossed in his thoughts about Joyce, he hadn't heard Buffy enter his crypt. He berated himself for being so lax and wondered why Buffy hadn't smashed her way in like she usually did when she wanted information or suspected him of some heinous crime.
"Wassup, pet?" He asked, head tilted to one side in enquiry.
"My mom would approve of what exactly?" Buffy stood, drawn to her full height, which wasn't much for a Californian girl, with her hands firmly on her hips and distaste written across her features.
"Me having a cuppa, if you must know, Slayer."
"A cup of what? Blood?" Because my mom would really NOT approve .."
She didn't get to finish her sentence before Spike cut in, "Tea you colonial clot! A cuppa is a cup of tea! Crikey, what do they teach you in these schools?"
He rummaged around for a tea bag in an old insulated ice box that served as his larder-cum-dresser, before chucking it in a mug bearing the legend "Willy's Bar, Cable Sports and Fights Daily", along with a poor reproduction of a photo of said Willy wearing a scowl to make any demon feel at home.
"So's how lil' bit bearing up?" He asked conversationally.
"Er, ok I guess. You know: as well as. Tara's taken her back to hers tonight."
"S'good. Glinda's a good un'."
He got a distracted "Mm," in reply.
Spike poured the boiling water into the mug and, acutely aware that his every move was being scrutinised, asked, "D'you fancy a cuppa, Slayer."
No, er no, er, oh alright, yes please." She sounded confused by what Spike thought was a simple enough question.
"Right y'are, Slayer. One cuppa coming up!" He didn't ask if she took sugar; he knew from his observation of her that she only took sugar in coffee.
Spike grabbed another mug from the ice box, this one boldly stating 'World's Best Uncle', adding tea bag and water as before.
He retrieved a carton of milk from his eBay fridge which he poured into each mug after discarding the tea bags and adding them to a pile of used tea bags in a jar alongside.
"There you go, pet," he said as he handed Buffy her drink.
Taking the proffered mug with a brief nod of thanks, Buffy asked with ill-concealed disbelief, "Uncle? You're an uncle?"
Rather than explain that Clem's daughter called him Uncle Spike, a title he was immensely proud of but didn't want to be widely known for fear of further damaging his already tarnished 'Big Bad' reputation, he simply lied, "Must've eaten one once."
A derisive snort from Buffy told him his lie had been believed.
An uncomfortable silence began to envelope them before Spike remembered his manners and, indicating towards a junkyard sofa, he murmured, "Take a seat, luv."
After a moment's hesitation accompanied by look of confusion on Buffy's face, she moved slowly to the sofa and sat perched on the edge as though she was sitting on razor blades on the edge of a volcano.
"Relax, luv," Spike said softly as he flopped into a faux leather recliner that he'd exacted in payment for a poker debt, instead of the usual kittens, so that Clem would have somewhere comfy to sit when he visited. "You've had a rough day."
As he watched, an amazing sight unfolded: the Slayer began to cry!
For a few seconds Spike sat there mesmerised as Buffy dipped her head and shook with silent sobs.
As the first tear hit the surface of her mug of tea, Spike sprung into action. Putting his own mug on the upturned beer crate that served as a coffee table, he shifted out of his seat to the sofa in one seamless movement. He prised Buffy's mug from her hands that were clamped together on her lap and, without a conscious thought, he scooted next to Buffy, flung his arm round her shoulder and pulled her against his body. If Buffy objected she gave no sign but instead turned her head into his chest and began to cry audibly.
Spike was hit by a wave of unfamiliar feelings. He marvelled that only a few short weeks ago he had stormed to this chit's home, gun in hand to end her life. And no, he hadn't managed to sustain his anger long enough to carry through with his plan, but then he and plans had never worked that well together.
Now he found himself stroking the Slayer's arm murmuring words of comfort to her and, as wrong as it seemed, wanting desperately to end her pain.
Lost in his thoughts Spike couldn't say how long he had sat trying to comfort the Slayer, rocking her gently, before her tears stopped and she sat bolt upright pulling away from him.
"I'm s-sorry. S-so sorry," she mumbled staring down at her feet as she shuffled sideways to put some space between them.
"Hey, pet, no worries," Spike said softly. "You've had a rough time; been through a lot lately. It's understandable you're upset. I know what it's like to lose a mum before her time."
Buffy's raised her head to look directly at him, her eyes filled with surprise. "You - you lost your mom?" she managed feebly.
"Well, yeah! Over a hundred years old here so kinda inevitable, y'know," he smiled weakly at her. "But, yeah, she died before she should have. Took me a long time to deal."
"I'm sorry"
"Thanks, but it was a long time ago." It was Spike's turn to look intently at his footwear.
"Does, does it always feel this painful?"
Spike raised his head, his blue eyes meeting red-rimmed green ones. "Aw, bless you, luv! Don' worry, it will get easier, promise."
"I hurt so much," came Buffy's candid declaration, barely audible even to the being sitting next to her with vampire hearing.
Spike slid across and again threw his arm around her shoulders without thinking. He was surprised at his own actions and even more surprised when she didn't pull away again.
"Buffy, luv, we all hurt when we lose someone we love. It's just nature's way. But it will get easier."
Buffy raised her eyes to meet his once again, a questioning look, tinged with hope.
Spike continued, "You never stop loving them, right? And don' believe all that crap about time being a great healer and all that rot. This kinda wound never heals."
He felt a sharp intake of breath and tightened his arm around the small chit of a girl who had had more than enough to deal with already in her short life.
"No, luv, I don' mean it won' get better. It will, I promise. But you never forget the person or the pain of their loss. It's just that you get better at living each day with the knowledge of that loss. You get more practised at pushing your hurt into a little box in your head where you can lock it away. But it's still there, like some precious package to remind you of how much you loved that person."
"Precious package?" Buffy's brow creased with confusion.
"Yeah, pet. You never want to forget your mum, right?"
Buffy shook her head.
"Right, so nature leaves you with that memory, but for each yin, there's a yang in nature, right? So you get to remember the pain of loss too. It's how you know how much you loved."
Buffy nodded slowly, appearing to digest Spike's words. After a moment she asked, "Do you still remember the loss of your mother?"
Spike turned to regard some seemingly fascinated point on the far wall of his crypt. "Yeah, luv. Worst night of my life," he confided quietly.
"Worse than being, um, turned?" Buffy wanted to know.
"Thousand times, thousand times. But it was the night after I was turned so not such a good week for me, y'know."
"Tell me," Buffy urged.
"Not much to tell. M'mum was dying. TB. We called it 'consumption' then. Incurable. Dru had just turned me and was trying to carry out her role as Sire – y'know, tell me what it meant to be a vampire. But she was as cracked then as she is now, which is why Angelus had to step in eventually to finish what she had started."
Spike could feel Buffy tense at the mention of that part of the Scourge of Europe. He continued on quickly.
"Yeah well, the night after I rose, me and Dru paid a visit to me mum. Mum was coughing as usual, but trying to be a good hostess to Dru, who was floatin' everywhere saying how we should all be a family. Well, then it struck me. Vamps don' get ill; I could cure my mum's TB."
"Cure? How cure?" Buffy asked with naked curiousity.
"Don't you geddit, Slayer?" Spike eyes now staring at her. "I turned her! M'own mum!" He looked to his boots again.
"Oh," Buffy's comment was without emotion.
"Yeah, what a poor excuse for a son! I turned my own fuckin' mother. And then I had to stake her!"
A sharp intake of breath spoke to Buffy's shock.
"So, yeah, worst day of my life, unlife, whatever." A hard edge had crept into his voice.
"I'm sorry. But sounds like you had no choice." came a small voice from beside him.
Spike looked up at Buffy, making no attempt to hide his amazement.
Buffy continued, "It's clear you loved your mom, Spike. You tried to cure her illness but you couldn't bear for her to be a vampire. I get that. I do, really."
"Bless you, luv, you have such a good opinion of people. But it wasn't because mum was a vamp. Me and Dru had this idea of being a family with me mum. Would've been good that. We could've ditched Peaches an' that bitch Darla. Could've had our own clan." He paused to catch his unneeded breath.
"So why …"
"Why did I stake her, me own mum? 'Coz I didn' understand that turning vamp changes you. It hadn't changed me. I felt the same way as I did before I got turned. Stronger, yeah. But I was still me. But Dru, bless her cotton socks, she didn' explain the vamp thing properly. Hell, stupid cow was so out of her skull, thanks to that git Angelus, that she couldn't explain shit. But I didn' know that; trusted wot she told me. So I didn' know mum would come back wrong. She wasn't me mum. Mum was kind, lovin', gentle. Mum as a vamp was gross and vulgar. She wouldn't've wanted to've lived like that. She would've hated that. So I did the only thing I could do; I dusted her."
Tears were now rolling down Spike's face and Buffy raised her hand and wiped a tear from his cheek.
"It's ok, Spike, you didn't know. How could you know? You did what you had to do. You shouldn't beat yourself up about it.
Without warning Spike's tears became huge sobs and his shoulders slumped as he wept freely. This time it was Buffy who threw her arms around Spike as she tried to reassure him in his obvious distress.
Spike hugged Buffy back, grateful for the first opportunity in over a century to genuinely grieve for his mother and for his part in her death. Buffy, tears now falling again down her own cheeks, murmured words of comfort.
The two hugged each other until their tears had run dry. Slowly the couple disentangled their arms. Spike felt awkwardness fall heavily even as the weight of his sorrow was lifting. He found himself lost for words for probably the first time in his life.
"Spike," Buffy whispered, "thank you."
"S'me who should be thanking you, pet. I've never told anyone 'bout me mum before. Guess I hadn' let go of my grief."
"I'm sorry about your mom, Spike. But you know you weren't to blame, don't' you? You did what any loving son would do in that situation. You tried to help her; to save her life. That can't be wrong Spike."
Spike didn't know how to respond. He had always felt his culpability deeply.
"Thanks, pet. But I shouldn've burdened you with my worries. Not when you have your own troubles." He swallowed visibly, then continued, "Um, I'd like to help if I can."
"You have, Spike, honestly. I feel better now, I do really. I mean, I'm still upset but I don't feel so, so, empty, I guess." Buffy smiled shyly at him.
Spike sighed, running his hands through his hair.
"Look, I dunno what's happened here, luv," his hand gestured between them, "but I think it's like they say: 'a trouble shared is a trouble halved'. For both of us, yeah?"
Buffy nodded.
A silence descended, broken suddenly when Spike asked almost brightly, "Fresh cuppa?"
