Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
Spoilers: HLoD.
A/N: I forgot to put the date on the last chapter. This first section takes place the same day as HLoD, just later that night. Deviation to note: Spike doesn't go to L.A. to chase the ring.
Many heartfelt thanks to ObscureBookWyrm.
Remember When
Sunnydale, October 19th, 1999
Chapter Thirty-Six
A half hour past sunset, Spike stood on the covered porch of 1630 Revello Drive. Except for the one in front of the Slayer's house, all the streetlights had flickered on, creating lakes of yellow light between the shadows.
Most of the other houses' porch lights were on timers, set for sundown. Not the Slayer's house though. The porch light stayed dark.
Jack-o-lanterns with their typical triangle eyes and gaping mouths were clustered unlit by the door, except for one that was cut to reveal gruesome fangs slathered with red paint. Undoubtedly Snack Size's work.
Inside, Spike could hear two heartbeats. One, slow and steady in the kitchen, the second, a fast patter in the upstairs.
Glancing around one last time, Spike pounded on the front door.
The first expression on Joyce's face when she answered the door was surprise, followed by pleasure. Spike didn't let the warmth her welcome ignited in his chest deter him.
"Is your brain rotten? You're the Slayer's mum for fuck's sake. You should know better. Turn on the porch light before answering the door. Use the soddin' peep hole. For that matter, this light should be turned on as soon as the sun sets." Joyce's welcoming smile melted off her face, Spike didn't care to notice. "And why is that goddamn streetlight still out? It was blown the last time I was here a year ago. Christ, woman. Do you want you and Snack Size to get eaten?"
Joyce slammed the door with enough force that it rocked him back on his heels.
Spike braced his hands on the door frame. "Fuck," he exhaled. Briskly, he rubbed his face, smoothing his hair back with both hands, and knocked again.
She made him wait for it. He knew that because he could hear her heartbeat on the other side of the door. No longer strong and steady, it pounded with anger.
He knocked again, a less intrusive, polite sound. A tap really. This time when Joyce answered, her face was not welcoming. Her mouth had the flat, pressed look of a woman who was beyond angry, and any man who wanted to retain full possession of his balls should scramble to spew apologies.
Spike didn't do apologies, but he knew pleasantries. He dug deep for the manners he should have started with in the first place.
"How do you do, Joyce? Been well?" Spike asked.
"I've been well, William. And yourself?" Joyce's face didn't lose any of its hardness as she replied in an even tone.
"Splendid."
They stared at each other. Arms still braced on the door frame, he tapped an agitated claw on the wood. She watched with narrowed eyes.
"Spike!" The shriek was followed by what sounded like stampeding horses as Dawn pounded down the stairs. Joyce turned to watch, barely dodging to the side as Dawn launched herself from the last riser, across the five feet of tiled foyer, and straight into Spike's arms.
If he hadn't been a supernatural creature with ungodly strength, he would've fallen on his arse in a tangle of coltish limbs and long brown hair, but as it was, he was a vampire, and only rocked back a step as Dawn barreled into him.
The teen damn near squeezed the unlife out of him, shrieking all the while in his sensitive ears. Antics like hers would kill a lesser man, and he thought that was a bit of alright. The Niblet deserved more than some pathetic wanker.
She finally dropped her feet to stand on her own, allowing him to push away.
"Bloody hell, Bit. You been eatin' your veggies, 'cause you've grown at least a foot." He scanned her before adding with a scowl, "And a half."
She snorted back her laughter. "I know. I totally tower over itsy-bitsy Buffy now."
Spike's answering grin was fierce. "I bet she soddin' hates that."
"Oh, yeah. Did you bring me a gift?"
"Dawn!" Joyce reprimanded.
Spike laughed with his whole body. Barely thirteen and as mercenary as any full-grown woman. His Bit was destined to drive men to misery. "Not this time, Bit."
Disappointment etched across her face. Spike had meant the gem to be his gift to them. But their bitch of a slayer tore it away from him.
"You staying for dinner? We're having sloppy joes."
Spike cast a questioning glance at Joyce. She looked hesitant, but nodded her head.
"Sounds tasty." It hurt that Joyce dithered in allowing him into her home. And hurt made him ornery.
"You know they sell timers down at the local hardware store. Real simple to install, but if you can't manage, I'm sure some strappin' lad could do it for you," he noted as he passed through the threshold.
Joyce slammed the door behind him. Spike hunched his shoulders, feeling her annoyance rake bloody furrows down his spine, but he didn't relent. Their safety was more important than her ire.
"And I know a bloke who sells them UV bulbs. Burn up any vamp to step into the light." He flashed her a grin from over his shoulder.
"Sounds absolutely perfect." Joyce purred, returning his smile with a nasty one of her own.
He chuckled, then proceeded to sweep away all bad feelings with his usual jovial antics. He followed them into the kitchen, pulling on Dawn's pigtails while launching into the most amusing stories of his travels he could muster. He knew he could win Joyce with his tales of European art and architecture and the Bit would giggle at all his exploits.
It felt good to be home. The cold spot just beneath his breastbone warmed as he sat at the island counter, a mug of cocoa in his hand, the Bit at his side, and Joyce across the way, slicing vegetables for the green salad.
"I've always wanted to go to France," Joyce sighed as she diced a red bell pepper. He had just finished telling them about his stay in Chablis, minus the drama of his cheating ex.
"It's a beautiful country. Rolling hills and vineyards as far as the eye can see. And the wine," Spike chuckled.
"What about Paris," Dawn asked. "Is it really built on bones?"
"Miles and miles. All down deep. Skeletons dancin' in shadows, waiting for little girls to gobble up," Spike leered.
Dawn giggled, not in the least terrified. Joyce rolled her eyes but didn't comment.
The phone rang, and Joyce excused herself to hunt down the handset in the den. Spike didn't pay the conversation in the other room any mind, too busy regaling the teenager with stories of girl-eating monsters.
When Joyce reentered the kitchen her mouth was in a hard, straight line, her face solemn.
"Trouble?" Spike asked. Readying himself for action, he vacated the stool and took his empty mug to the sink to rinse it out.
She flicked him a cold glance before returning her attention to Dawn.
"Dawn, say your goodbyes and go upstairs."
"What? Why?" she whined.
"Because I said so," Joyce clipped out.
Dawn shot a confused look at Spike, but did as she was told.
"Bye, Spike." She hugged him. "See you soon?"
Spike kept his eyes locked on Joyce. "Sure, Bit. Soon."
Dawn cast longing looks at him as she slowly walked out of the kitchen. Spike winked at her, but she could tell it was half-hearted.
After Dawn left the kitchen, Joyce returned to her place at the cutting board. She braced her shaking hands on the counter before looking up at Spike, who was leaning against the sink, his arms crossed, watching her.
"That was Mr. Giles on the phone. Apparently you attacked Buffy in the quad at her college today. She didn't want to tell me, but Mr. Giles thought it necessary to warn me."
Spike dropped his eyes to stare at the toes of his scuffed boots.
"Buffy has a few bruises. A couple of cracked ribs. Nothing major, Mr. Giles said." The way Joyce said the last few words let him know that she heartily disagreed with the assessment.
"She's the Slayer. She gets banged up."
"Yes. I've accepted that. I've accepted that she goes out and fights monsters and gets banged up," she spat distastefully.
"I'm a monster, Joyce. It's what I do."
Joyce's face screwed up into a mixture of rage and hurt. "I don't care if it's what you do," she shouted. "You can't keep doing it!"
Spike straightened from his easy sprawl against the sink, crossing a few steps towards her. "Or what?" All signs of humanity fled his handsome face, leaving only the guise of a predator staring back at her.
Fear thrilled up Joyce's spine, she reached for the carving knife next to the cutting board.
Spike froze. His eyes cut down to the knife, then back up to her face.
"You afraid of me?"
"You tell me, William."
He didn't reply. The only sounds in the kitchen were Joyce's ragged breaths and a slow drip from the faucet.
When Joyce finally spoke, her face was ravaged with regret, but her voice firm.
"I owe you a debt I can never repay. You saved my baby. For that I'll always be thankful." She sniffed. "Hell, for that I'll always love you. But I can't sit here and turn a blind eye while you try to steal away the life of my child. Buffy may be full grown. She may be the Slayer. But she is still my baby. And you're the monster trying to kill her."
I know I'm a failure, mother, but I try my best. I always try.
No matter. I will always love you, my darling boy.
Spike shook away the memory of his mother. The memory of the last time someone professed to love him. God knew that Dru never said the words in the century they were together.
Spike's growl was low and strangely wet.
"This can't go on. Until you change your ways you aren't allowed to visit."
It was a struggle not to stagger in shock. Her words were like a physical blow.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," she confirmed. "You won't be allowed to see Dawn either," she added just in case it wasn't clear.
Spike's expression was a mask of frustration and hurt, his voice raw, passionate as he spoke.
"I'm a vampire. I can't change. I drink blood to live. I hunt. I kill. And I like it. I live for it." He stalked closer, the tail of his duster swishing behind him. Eyes wide, Joyce leaned away, raising the tip of the knife until it pointed at his belly.
The spasm of pain across Spike's face wiped away all hints of predatory aggressiveness in his frame.
"You could choose not to hunt," she whispered.
The look he cast her was incredulous, his accompanying laugh hollow. "You give me too much credit, Joyce. I don't have that much control."
"Then you can't come back here," she said, her tone resolute. "No matter how much I like you…we like you…I won't take any more chances with either of my daughters."
Spike's eyes burned, his skin drawn tight over the hard bones of his face. "I would never hurt you or Dawn."
"How can I know? Like you said, you haven't the control. Besides, how in good conscience can I welcome you into my home when you are dead set on throwing my hospitality in my face by trying to hurt Buffy? I may owe you for Dawn's life, but Buffy's life isn't going to be the price."
Spike took a step forward, his mouth opened as if to say something. As if to argue another point, but one look at Joyce's pale, bloodless features stopped him dead.
With an anguished howl he spun around, sweeping the fat pumpkin cookie jar off the counter and hurling it into the wall. Orange and yellow Halloween cookies scattered across the floor, mixing with shards of crockery.
He stared down at the destruction, his chest heaving with strained breaths. The taint of Joyce's fear was heavy in the small space that had held scents of warmth and acceptance only moments before. He clenched his fists at his sides, quivering with rage.
"I am what I am, Joyce. I'll never be anything different." The words sounded wet and bloody, as if they crawled past yards of barbed wire to be heard.
"Yes, I realize that now. I should have never believed otherwise."
Pain knifed its way through his heart. Joyce's disappointment in him made him feel small. Inadequate. Unworthy.
He felt sick. Sicker than he had when he finally realized it was over with Dru. Sicker than when he realized he was alone for the first time in a hundred and twenty years. Even as he left Drusilla behind, a small part of him rejoiced that he was returning to Sunnydale. To his girls.
Now even that was gone. Spike was well and truly alone.
He moved to the back door, his back stiff. He didn't dare look back at her as he opened the door. He waited, desperate for her to call him back, but there was only silence, and for the first time since his rebirth he knew complete damnation. He slammed the back door, allowing himself to be swallowed up by the shadows.
Joyce's hands were shaking as she carefully laid the knife back down on the cutting board. She heard a small sound, and when she turned her head, she caught sight of Dawn, her round, wet face pressed between the carved spindles of the staircase.
Joyce opened her mouth, but Dawn scrambled up the stairs before she could speak, slamming her bedroom door in condemnation.
October 20th, 1999
Buffy sat in silence on the couch next to her kid sister while they pretended to watch The Powerpuff Girls. What a creepy cartoon. One had to wonder for what reason the Professor created little girls, made of everything nice, in his laboratory. Pervert.
Scientists and their zeal for experimentation always squicked her out. All their little boiling beakers of goo, trying to create things that shouldn't exist.
It made her wonder if Frankenstein's monster really existed. She'd have to ask Giles about that.
"Mom kicked out Spike."
"I know."
Giles told her that he'd informed her mom about the incident at the college and Buffy had rushed over to do damage control only to find there was nothing to control.
Joyce was firm on the matter. Spike wouldn't be allowed in their home until he gave up his murdering ways. Or at least his vendetta against Buffy.
Buffy couldn't refute her. Regardless of her confused feelings about Spike and her gut-deep acceptance that he'd never hurt Joyce or Dawn, the fact still remained that Spike was a homicidal vampire.
For that reason alone, there should be no socializing. There should only be hunting. As in, Buffy should be hauling her butt off the couch to hunt the master vampire who was in her territory, undoubtedly killing innocents right under her nose.
The fact that said butt was still firmly ensconced on the couch only reaffirmed Buffy's belief that she was a god awful slayer.
Yesterday, when she plunged her hair stick into Spike's chest, she felt her own heart break. She had a weird kind of connection with Spike, that if pressed to explain she wouldn't have an answer to.
He was a friend, but unlike any friend she ever had. For starters, he was the only person who really knew how dark she was on the inside.
He called her on her turmoil on living up to the Slayer title, and forced her to strive to do better. He compelled her strength and never doubted her abilities; he treated her like a woman, not a child.
Spike was the only one who knew that she got off on the pain of a vampire bite. A dirty little secret that she refused to acknowledge in the light of day, but that made itself known at the most awkward times.
Her night with Parker had been an epic fail, and not just because he discarded her the next day. Her second time having sex and still no joy. No finish. No big bang for her buck.
Not for lack of trying on his part either. He even, you know, went down there. All girls liked that. So it was her. She was wrong. Her night with Parker only confirmed what she already knew. She was sick.
Buffy squirmed on the couch, casting a look at Dawn's hard profile. Her little sister was mad at her. She blamed Buffy for Spike's banishment. Buffy rubbed her sweaty palms over her thighs, feeling the hard press of an object in her pocket.
Sighing, she pulled herself out of the plush couch.
"Where are you going?" Dawn's blue eyes flashed at her. They were big and wet and slightly murderous.
"Upstairs real quick. I'll be back in a sec."
Dawn's mouth firmed and she went back to staring at the TV.
Upstairs, Buffy flipped open the lid to her jewelry box. Once upon a time, it used to play Swan Lake, but the motor had long since worn out and the ballerina was lost somewhere between L.A. and Sunnydale. She dug through the discarded bits and bobs until she found a blue velvet box. Inside was her Hemery High class ring. She had never once worn it. She bought it in a fit of vanity, when she was at the peak of her Fiesta Queen best. She plucked it out of the box and threw it into the mess of tangled necklaces and earrings.
From inside her jeans' pocket she fished out the Gem of Amara. In the sunlight she examined the green stone, so dark it looked like jade, inside the chunky gold setting. The gem was rough and uncut, like it had been plucked straight off the ground, dipped into liquid metal and discarded to the side until it was set. No fancy design or magic runes. Just something you could buy on the dusty roadside along with fruit and dream catchers.
So much power in one tiny rock. The vampire who wore it would never know fear again. No weapon would hurt him; no holy artifact would burn him. He would be safe from sunlight and fire. Maybe even from hunger.
Utterly invincible.
She tucked the ring into the velvet box and snapped it closed.
"Come on," Buffy ordered Dawn as she descended the last few steps. Her little sister looked up from her cartoon, her face a study in mutiny.
"Where?"
"Outside."
"Why?"
"Just get your scrawny butt up or I'll never tell you."
Buffy stalked towards the kitchen. Unable to resist the allure of a possible secret, Dawn followed, watching as her sister dug out a plastic freezer bag and dropped a blue ring box inside.
"What's that?"
"It's called the Gem of Amara." Buffy hunted up a roll of silver duct tape and began to tightly wrap the box.
"What's it do?"
Buffy didn't reply immediately. She finished wrapping, satisfied only when her package was completely waterproof.
She headed for the back door and Dawn followed. Carefully, Buffy looked around, making sure they were alone.
"It's magic," she whispered. Dawn edged closer to hear. "Any vampire who wears it is invincible."
"Invincible how?"
Buffy selected a hand spade from the large tool box beside the house. "No weapon could stop him. Not a stake. Not as sword. Not holy water or the sun. Completely unkillable."
"Oh," Dawn breathed. The two girls stood side-by-side, staring out at the back yard. Joyce had lined the entire fence with rose bushes. It was both a natural defense and a personal pleasure. Joyce loved roses of all kinds.
"Are you going to give it to Spike?"
Buffy's face was emotionless as she stared into her little sister's innocent eyes.
"Do you think I should?" she asked seriously. When Dawn opened her mouth to answer, Buffy raised her hand to stop her. "Really think about your answer. Do you think I should give Spike a ring that would make him unstoppable?"
Dawn dropped her eyes to watch the toe of her sneaker drag through the dirt. Shoulders slumped, she took the time to think it through.
"No." The word sounded hollow.
"Why?" Buffy's eyes narrowed on her sister with intensity. Dawn lifted her head, but didn't look at her big sister; instead she studied the colorful roses strewn along the wooden fence.
"Because even though Spike loves us, he's still a killer."
"Spike doesn't love us!"
Dawn's eyes lit on her, but she didn't respond to Buffy's outburst. There was something about the thirteen year-old's eyes that made her seem much older than she was. Buffy found it unsettling.
"Which bush?" Buffy choked out.
"What?"
"Which rose bush should we bury it under?"
Dawn studied the back yard. Joyce had planted a startling array of roses, from pristine white Barbiers to soft pink Autumn Damasks to vivid scarlet Cadenzas, but the velvet lavender Waltz Time roses had always been Dawn's favorite.
Together the girls walked over to the bush, kneeling to dig a deep hole beneath the thorny branches.
"You and I are the only ones who know where it's hidden."
"I won't tell." Dawn pressed her lips together as she watched her sister reverently place the bundle at the bottom of the hole.
"I wouldn't have told you, but if something ever happens to me…"
Dawn shot Buffy a sharp look.
"Someone should know, just in case."
"Nothing's going to happen to you, Buffy."
Buffy's smile was grim as she patted the dirt into place.
Still kneeling, Buffy looked at Dawn. "I'm the Slayer, Dawn. Eventually, something will happen."
Dawn's eyes burned, the air in her chest suddenly superheated. Her sister couldn't die. She just couldn't. "I'll figure out a way to save you, Buffy. I swear it."
Buffy caught Dawn's hand tight in hers, their sweaty palms pressed together. Both girls stared down at the dark clumps of disturbed earth, at their small burial beneath the blooming rose bush.
The sun was setting when Buffy scattered a handful of fallen leaves to hide it away.