Disclaimers: None of these wonderful characters are mine, so, umm, I'm sad.
Feedback: Of course, I love it. Gives me a reason to write.
Author's Note: To the people that commented about Joyce knowing Spike: I know that. I'm quite aware of it; I've seen every episode and have a decent memory. Please, believe in me! I just thought that maybe, upon first glance, Joyce wouldn't recognize Spike, that's all. Thanks for all of the wonderful comments, though, I really look forward to reading all of the feedback. All right, in this chap, some Spike/Joyce interaction, and a teensy bit o' Buffy.
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She peered at him through the crack in the door. "You look so familiar," she mused, suddenly remembering where she had seen him before. "You're Buffy's friend, right? The vampire?"
"Uh, yeah, that would be me. Spike, at your service." He fidgeted on the doorstep, not sure what to do. He hadn't really taken Buffy's mother into account.
'Maybe I shouldn't have come here . . .'
"Maybe I shouldn't have come here," he mimicked, avoiding Joyce's curious eyes. "Buffy's not around, is she? 'Cause if she's not, I'll just go back to my crypt, see her some other time."
"Oh, no," Joyce said, "Buffy told me that she'd be coming over later . . .why don't you just wait for her here? It would save you the walk back to your . . . crypt, was it?"
"I don't know . . . you sure you don't mind? Me bein' a vampire and all?"
"Not at all," she replied, "With Buffy around, I've had my share of vampires over, let me tell you." She looked at the fidgety vamp on the doorstep and realized that she hadn't invited him in yet. "Oh," she said, opening the door wider, "won't you come in?"
"Thanks." He stepped inside the house, feeling more than a little awkward. Attempting nonchalance, he took a seat on the couch and crossed his legs.
"Make yourself at home," she said, taking note of Spike's nervousness underneath his cool exterior. "There's food in the fridge if you'd like . . . wait, you don't eat, do you? Besides blood, I mean . . . or hot chocolate," she added, with a twinkle of laughter in her eyes. "Still, there are snacks in the kitchen if you get hungry."
Taking a seat next to Spike, Joyce couldn't help but study the man's face; he looked so lost. As she peered at him inquisitively, he turned his face away from her, uncomfortable with her lingering gaze.
"How are things with your girlfriend?"
"Huh?" he looked over at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Girlfriend?"
"The one we had the chat about the last time I saw you . . . last year, wasn't it? You know, Dre . . . Dra . . . well, her name escapes me at the moment -"
"Drusilla," Spike interrupted.
"Right, Drusilla. Did things work out for you?"
"Oh, that. They did work . . . for a little while. About a month, actually, then she was back to her . . . 'ways'."
"Oh," Joyce replied, unsure of what to say. "Well, sometimes I think it's just . . . better to make a clean break, like you did."
He snorted. "Wasn't my break, Joyce, s'all her idea . . . 'We should see other people' . . . and trust me, I'm usin' the term 'people' loosely. I give, and I give, and I give and I get nothing in return. Not from her, and not from . . . others."
"Well, the world can be a pretty unfair place sometimes," she commiserated.
"As far as I'm concerned, women are the cause of all my problems, 'specially Dru. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have had to come here in the first place. Sunnydale, that's where all of the trouble began. I'd leave, 'cept it's like home to me now, don't got nowhere else to go, you know what I mean? If it weren't for that bloody bint, then I never would have had to leave Czech; I'd still be there, most likely. I liked Prague, y'know? S'a nice place . . . God, I thought that first year here was the worst, but this one takes the cake.
He glanced over at Joyce, who was listening intently to him. Spike felt a warming sensation in the pit of his stomach; no one had ever really listened to him except for her.
'Buffy's lucky to have such a great mum.'
"What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern, "What made this year so horrible?"
"Right," he said, trying to clear his head, "well, it all started when I came back to Sunnydale. The Gem of Amara, you ever heard of it?" Joyce shook her head. "Figured as much. It's this stone that, when worn by a vampire, makes 'em invulnerable. You could stake 'em, toss 'em out into the sun, hell, even give 'em a bath in holy water, and nothing would come of it, as long as they had it on. Yeah, well, I found it. Let me tell you, that was one of the happiest days of my unlife . . . at least the first few hours were. Then I made the mistake of tryin' to take down the Slayer."
"Buffy," she murmured to herself.
"Right, Buffy. Well, long story short, she kicked my ass all over town and stole it from me, which was a might bit depressing, having spent so many months searching for it. She sent the gem to Peaches, so I went to LA to find it. Yeah, that didn't work out either . . . not at all."
"Peaches?" Joyce asked, confused.
"Oh, you probably know him as Angel." Spike hated saying the name, and made a mental note to wash his mouth out as soon as he got back to his crypt.
"So, anyway, after that botched attempt, I came back to Sunnydale . . . like I told you, just can't stay away from this place. I was plottin', well . . . something not so nice for Buffy, but of course that went to hell, like all of my plans do. I was attacked by a bunch of commandos; knocked me out cold, they did. Woke up in some sort of laboratory with a bunch of other guinea pigs. They did all kinds of experiments on us . . . but I managed to escape. A little worse for wear, unfortunately."
"What happened to you?"
"The soldiers, scientists . . . whoever did the experiments, put this bloody thing in my head. Won't let me feed."
"So . . . you can't eat anything?" she queried.
"No, no, I can eat. Just not like I normally do. I can't kill anything; can't even hit people." He buried his head in the palm of his hands, feeling miserable. He didn't realize how pathetic the whole situation sounded until he said it out loud. "I'm a worthless excuse for a vampire."
"Don't say that," Joyce said, sympathetically. "Just because you can't kill anymore doesn't mean that you can't do a lot of other things."
He peered up at her through his fingers. "Like what?"
"You could . . . well . . . you could help Mr. Giles with research," she finished, lamely.
Spike groaned. "I'm not going to be some librarian's assistant! Just 'cause I'm helpless doesn't mean that I'm going to turn into some nancy boy! Besides . . . don't even like Rupert. He's a . . . a poncy bugger," he finished, halfheartedly. "I just . . . I don't know what to do, Joyce."
She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee. "We'll think of something."
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The car pulled up to the large, familiar house and Buffy stepped out.
"Thanks for giving me a ride, Xander, I owe ya," she said, slamming the door shut.
'I owe Giles, I owe Xander . . .who don't I owe?' Buffy mused as she walked towards the front door. She was about to knock when she heard the voices coming from inside of her house . . . '-Two- voices. I recognize mom and . . . that can't be who I think it is.'
She rang the doorbell and listened to the steadily approaching footsteps. Her mother opened the door, a grin on her face.
"Buffy, you came," she said, sounding quite happy to see her daughter. Buffy felt a pang of guilt and promised herself to come see her mother more often.
"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry that I was so late, something came up . . ." She peered over her mother's shoulder, trying to see into the living room. "I, um, I thought I heard voices coming from inside the house . . . more than one. Do you have visitors over?"
"Oh, no, your friend Spike dropped by, he's been looking for you. We've been chatting for the past half-hour . . . I was wondering if you were ever going to show up. He's been lovely company, and . . ."
"Spike?" Buffy pushed past her mother and into the empty living room. "Spike? Where are you?"
Joyce entered the house and looked around, confused. "He was just here a minute ago . . ."
The kitchen curtains fluttered and Buffy realized, for the first time, that the window had been opened.
'Thinks he can get away that easily, does he?'
"I think I know where I can find him . . . I'll just be gone a minute."
And with that, Buffy stormed out of the house and into the night.
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To be continued . . .
Feedback: Of course, I love it. Gives me a reason to write.
Author's Note: To the people that commented about Joyce knowing Spike: I know that. I'm quite aware of it; I've seen every episode and have a decent memory. Please, believe in me! I just thought that maybe, upon first glance, Joyce wouldn't recognize Spike, that's all. Thanks for all of the wonderful comments, though, I really look forward to reading all of the feedback. All right, in this chap, some Spike/Joyce interaction, and a teensy bit o' Buffy.
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She peered at him through the crack in the door. "You look so familiar," she mused, suddenly remembering where she had seen him before. "You're Buffy's friend, right? The vampire?"
"Uh, yeah, that would be me. Spike, at your service." He fidgeted on the doorstep, not sure what to do. He hadn't really taken Buffy's mother into account.
'Maybe I shouldn't have come here . . .'
"Maybe I shouldn't have come here," he mimicked, avoiding Joyce's curious eyes. "Buffy's not around, is she? 'Cause if she's not, I'll just go back to my crypt, see her some other time."
"Oh, no," Joyce said, "Buffy told me that she'd be coming over later . . .why don't you just wait for her here? It would save you the walk back to your . . . crypt, was it?"
"I don't know . . . you sure you don't mind? Me bein' a vampire and all?"
"Not at all," she replied, "With Buffy around, I've had my share of vampires over, let me tell you." She looked at the fidgety vamp on the doorstep and realized that she hadn't invited him in yet. "Oh," she said, opening the door wider, "won't you come in?"
"Thanks." He stepped inside the house, feeling more than a little awkward. Attempting nonchalance, he took a seat on the couch and crossed his legs.
"Make yourself at home," she said, taking note of Spike's nervousness underneath his cool exterior. "There's food in the fridge if you'd like . . . wait, you don't eat, do you? Besides blood, I mean . . . or hot chocolate," she added, with a twinkle of laughter in her eyes. "Still, there are snacks in the kitchen if you get hungry."
Taking a seat next to Spike, Joyce couldn't help but study the man's face; he looked so lost. As she peered at him inquisitively, he turned his face away from her, uncomfortable with her lingering gaze.
"How are things with your girlfriend?"
"Huh?" he looked over at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Girlfriend?"
"The one we had the chat about the last time I saw you . . . last year, wasn't it? You know, Dre . . . Dra . . . well, her name escapes me at the moment -"
"Drusilla," Spike interrupted.
"Right, Drusilla. Did things work out for you?"
"Oh, that. They did work . . . for a little while. About a month, actually, then she was back to her . . . 'ways'."
"Oh," Joyce replied, unsure of what to say. "Well, sometimes I think it's just . . . better to make a clean break, like you did."
He snorted. "Wasn't my break, Joyce, s'all her idea . . . 'We should see other people' . . . and trust me, I'm usin' the term 'people' loosely. I give, and I give, and I give and I get nothing in return. Not from her, and not from . . . others."
"Well, the world can be a pretty unfair place sometimes," she commiserated.
"As far as I'm concerned, women are the cause of all my problems, 'specially Dru. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have had to come here in the first place. Sunnydale, that's where all of the trouble began. I'd leave, 'cept it's like home to me now, don't got nowhere else to go, you know what I mean? If it weren't for that bloody bint, then I never would have had to leave Czech; I'd still be there, most likely. I liked Prague, y'know? S'a nice place . . . God, I thought that first year here was the worst, but this one takes the cake.
He glanced over at Joyce, who was listening intently to him. Spike felt a warming sensation in the pit of his stomach; no one had ever really listened to him except for her.
'Buffy's lucky to have such a great mum.'
"What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern, "What made this year so horrible?"
"Right," he said, trying to clear his head, "well, it all started when I came back to Sunnydale. The Gem of Amara, you ever heard of it?" Joyce shook her head. "Figured as much. It's this stone that, when worn by a vampire, makes 'em invulnerable. You could stake 'em, toss 'em out into the sun, hell, even give 'em a bath in holy water, and nothing would come of it, as long as they had it on. Yeah, well, I found it. Let me tell you, that was one of the happiest days of my unlife . . . at least the first few hours were. Then I made the mistake of tryin' to take down the Slayer."
"Buffy," she murmured to herself.
"Right, Buffy. Well, long story short, she kicked my ass all over town and stole it from me, which was a might bit depressing, having spent so many months searching for it. She sent the gem to Peaches, so I went to LA to find it. Yeah, that didn't work out either . . . not at all."
"Peaches?" Joyce asked, confused.
"Oh, you probably know him as Angel." Spike hated saying the name, and made a mental note to wash his mouth out as soon as he got back to his crypt.
"So, anyway, after that botched attempt, I came back to Sunnydale . . . like I told you, just can't stay away from this place. I was plottin', well . . . something not so nice for Buffy, but of course that went to hell, like all of my plans do. I was attacked by a bunch of commandos; knocked me out cold, they did. Woke up in some sort of laboratory with a bunch of other guinea pigs. They did all kinds of experiments on us . . . but I managed to escape. A little worse for wear, unfortunately."
"What happened to you?"
"The soldiers, scientists . . . whoever did the experiments, put this bloody thing in my head. Won't let me feed."
"So . . . you can't eat anything?" she queried.
"No, no, I can eat. Just not like I normally do. I can't kill anything; can't even hit people." He buried his head in the palm of his hands, feeling miserable. He didn't realize how pathetic the whole situation sounded until he said it out loud. "I'm a worthless excuse for a vampire."
"Don't say that," Joyce said, sympathetically. "Just because you can't kill anymore doesn't mean that you can't do a lot of other things."
He peered up at her through his fingers. "Like what?"
"You could . . . well . . . you could help Mr. Giles with research," she finished, lamely.
Spike groaned. "I'm not going to be some librarian's assistant! Just 'cause I'm helpless doesn't mean that I'm going to turn into some nancy boy! Besides . . . don't even like Rupert. He's a . . . a poncy bugger," he finished, halfheartedly. "I just . . . I don't know what to do, Joyce."
She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee. "We'll think of something."
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The car pulled up to the large, familiar house and Buffy stepped out.
"Thanks for giving me a ride, Xander, I owe ya," she said, slamming the door shut.
'I owe Giles, I owe Xander . . .who don't I owe?' Buffy mused as she walked towards the front door. She was about to knock when she heard the voices coming from inside of her house . . . '-Two- voices. I recognize mom and . . . that can't be who I think it is.'
She rang the doorbell and listened to the steadily approaching footsteps. Her mother opened the door, a grin on her face.
"Buffy, you came," she said, sounding quite happy to see her daughter. Buffy felt a pang of guilt and promised herself to come see her mother more often.
"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry that I was so late, something came up . . ." She peered over her mother's shoulder, trying to see into the living room. "I, um, I thought I heard voices coming from inside the house . . . more than one. Do you have visitors over?"
"Oh, no, your friend Spike dropped by, he's been looking for you. We've been chatting for the past half-hour . . . I was wondering if you were ever going to show up. He's been lovely company, and . . ."
"Spike?" Buffy pushed past her mother and into the empty living room. "Spike? Where are you?"
Joyce entered the house and looked around, confused. "He was just here a minute ago . . ."
The kitchen curtains fluttered and Buffy realized, for the first time, that the window had been opened.
'Thinks he can get away that easily, does he?'
"I think I know where I can find him . . . I'll just be gone a minute."
And with that, Buffy stormed out of the house and into the night.
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To be continued . . .