Marcus watched Buffy and Spike spar. In all his years he had never seen anything so frightening or so beautiful. They moved with easy grace, all ferocity and passion. He felt his heart thump in his chest and rubbed his sternum. He had rubbed his skin raw reacting to this new world, this new existence was full of such strange sensations. His body felt foreign with its bouts of living, but it would be worth it.

"You are worse than a little baby with chicken pox." Joyce touched him on the shoulder. "Come on. Let me help you with that."

Following Joyce was easy. She was the center of this new existence. He took a deep breath, reveling in her warm cinnamon scent.

"They're something together." Joyce sighed. "It's hard to think of her as the slayer. I wish she was still just my teenage daughter, but that ship has sailed."

"She was never just your teenage daughter. She was born with a destiny. They weigh heavily, but she seems to stand up to it well." Marcus smiled. "She is remarkable. You have done well with her."

"I didn't do much. The divorce must have been horrible for her. She was going through upheaval on every front, and we let her do it with no support." She shook her head. "I let Hank put her in the mental ward when she came to us for help. Hell, I moved her to a hell mouth. Yeah, I'm a candidate for mother of the year. Sure."

"You've been robbed of the normal role you were supposed to fill. Your daughter is an adult with more life experience than you in many ways. You need to let go of the guilt." He stroked her hair back from her face. "You will find your feet."

She rolled her hands in the hem of her shirt and tilted her head slightly. Her eyes traveled over him, seemingly looking for a way in. He smiled. His Joy had lost so much. He wanted to give some back.

"I was in the temple of Mithras the first time I saw you." He tapped his finger against his temple. "I was still human, still so concerned with the power of my role, but you grabbed hold of some part of me then. I knew the battle to your side would be great."

"Battle?" Her slight frown and the furrow of concern on her brow made his heart leap.

"Mithras is a god with military leanings. He does not gift visions of fluffy bunnies, as your daughter would say. He gifts his faithful with visions of battles and redemption." Marcus locked his gaze with Joyce's. "You are my redemption."

"No." Joyce shook her head, setting her curls free. "I'm just me. I need to be my own. I lost myself in a marriage with a man that called me his treasure. I was a thing to him, and people grow bored with things."

"You could never be just a thing to me." Marcus cupped her cheek and trailed his thumb along her blushing cheek. "Humans are stupid as a whole, but your ex husband must have been the greatest fool of all. I want to spend eternity worshipping you."

"First, stop bashing humans. You're claiming to be in love with one. Second, I'm not an idol. I don't want to be put up on some pedestal. I want a man to be my partner. I want what Buffy has. Spike protects her, sure, but she protects him as well. They are equals." Joyce stepped back from him and looked sadly at the floor.

"I would be honored to be your partner." Marcus plowed his fingers through his hair. "I want to enjoy the world together."

"No offense, but your world doesn't seem like much fun." Joyce shook her head. "I like my art gallery and my regular house. I hate the constant war of your world."

"It isn't constant. You can go centuries without it. Your daughter is the slayer. Her world is more violent than most. It is the nature of the beast, I suppose." He shrugged.

"How can I protect her?" Joyce slumped against the wall.

"She is capable of protecting herself." He pulled Joyce into his arms, enjoying the softness of her as she relaxed against him. "You give her a foundation, a home."

"This place is Spike's." She mumbled into his chest. "He's the one providing the home."

"You simply can not be that obtuse, my joy." He grumbled against her ear. "You want to be upset. You want to feel like a failure."

"I do not." Joyce shoved back from him. "I want to be realistic."

"I have spent centuries dwelling on my failures. It's weak and serves only as a greater failure." Marcus narrowed his gaze and his fingers flexed. "Existence is easier at sword point. Live or die, it is easy. It is the day to horrible day that drags you down. Rome fell because I was too lost in my rumination to dig myself out of the catacombs and fight. I got caught in the empty hours and missed the important minutes. Your daughter needs you, not to provide shelter, but to give her a place to be safe when those empty hours come for her."

"Empty hours? What are you talking about?" Joyce paced the length of the room and back.

"She's a warrior. Her mate is a warrior. War is quite literally hell for them. They have the solace of each other, but they will need more. The empty hours allow the regrets drag you under. The losses haunt you." He shook his head. "She needs you to help her keep that away."

Joyce watched him. He felt her gaze dragging on his skin. His joy was pulling away, cataloging each flaw and enshrining it. She was too afraid. He knew what regrets would be taking him in his next quiet hours.

"She doesn't need me, not for that." Joyce stepped close to him. The heat of her body filled the pace between them, burning him and driving his heart back to frantic life. "You do though."

Joyce stood on her toes and pressed her lips to Marcus's. The gentle press of her lips against his drove of the regrets he marshaled. Joy flooded through him, purging the darkness. She pulled back and rolled her forehead along his, staring up at him.

"My Joy." Marcus whispered and dropped his mouth to hers.