Avocation

Author: enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>

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.

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 a 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.