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 5

"...what if a dawn of a doom of a dream/bites this universe in two,/peels forever out of his grave/and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?/Blow soon to never and never to twice/ (blow life to isn't;blow death to was)/—all nothing's only our hugest home;/the most who die,the more we live." ~e.e. cummings, "what if a much of a which of a wind"

The Bronze was like any other club that Spike had been into—not that he'd been in many. If he'd been a different sort of vampire, this would have been prime hunting ground. Before the soul, Spike had liked his victims young. Even now, entering a place like this with so many people, hearing the blood pumping and the quick heartbeats—was nearly too much for him to take.

Spike was no fledgling vampire, however, nearly crippled by bloodlust and hunger. He'd been around for a long time, and he'd worked on his control. There wasn't much that could shake it at this point.

Of course, he'd soon need to eat something a little more substantial than the snack the Watcher had supplied, but that could wait until he was alone.

The band playing wasn't complete shit, and Spike found himself relaxing, almost against his will. Xander and Cordelia left them almost immediately for the dance floor, and so the vampire found himself alone at a table with Willow.

"They're good, aren't they?" she asked brightly, obviously deciding that small talk was the way to go. Spike decided to humor her.

"Not too bad."

"The guy playing the guitar up there? That's Oz. My boyfriend."

The way she said it gave Spike the impression that it was either a very new development or she was still a bit in shock that she had a boyfriend. Possibly both. She was—cute, he decided. She was also one of the friendliest birds he'd ever come across. Spike decided to play along, more for the entertainment value than anything else. "New bloke?"

"Sorta," Willow replied. "I mean, we've been going out for a while now, but it's not real serious. Not yet, anyway. I think it's going to get serious, though. What about you?"

Spike raised an eyebrow, surprised. He was having trouble getting used to this friendly communication thing. "What about me? Do I have a new bloke?"

"No!" Willow said quickly. "Although, that's fine, if you do. I mean, being gay isn't anything to be ashamed of. If you are. Gay, that is. I'm really making a mess of this, aren't I?"

Spike was startled into a deep chuckle. He decided he liked this girl, although he wasn't sure why. "I prefer women, luv, and no. There isn't anybody."

Willow caught the flicker of sadness that danced through his eyes and wisely refrained from asking him about it. Spike wasn't anything like Angel. He seemed less solemn, for one thing, and somehow more human. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask," Spike allowed, not promising to answer.

"How old are you?"

"That's not usually considered a very polite question," Spike countered, although the twist of his lips told Willow that he wasn't upset.

She shrugged. "That's only true when a person is actually aging and doesn't want to admit it."

Spike nodded. "Point. I was turned in 1880, so you do the math."

"You must have seen so much," Willow said, not bothering to disguise her jealousy. "Been all over."

"Pretty much all seven continents," Spike agreed. "Ask me about it sometime, and maybe I'll tell you."

"Hey, Willow." The band had taken a break, and Spike looked over at the short, redheaded boy watching the two of them with mild interest.

Willow's smile brightened. "Hey! Oz, this is Spike. Spike, Oz. I told you about him."

"Hey." That was all Oz said, and Spike was impressed by the boy's equanimity.

"H'lo."

Oz turned back to Willow. "You want something to drink?"

"I can get it," Spike said, standing. "I'm a bit thirsty myself." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for their orders. Both of them asked for sodas and Spike headed for the bar.

He was a little bemused. Spike had never spent this much time with humans before, let alone children. And he was actually enjoying himself. That was the strangest part.

When he arrived back at the table, Spike was somehow unsurprised to find the Slayer. She didn't look pleased to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Willow stepped in to play peacemaker. "Spike gave us a ride, Buffy." Her eyes clearly held a plea for her friend to be polite.

Buffy was obviously struggling with herself. "Okay."

That was all she said, but it was a sight more pleasant than some of the other comments she might have made. Spike gave Willow and Oz their drinks and pulled his beer bottle out of an inner pocket. Now that Buffy had arrived, Spike wasn't so sure he wanted to stay since he didn't want to deal with her attitude.

On the other hand, he did want to finish his beer.

"How long are you going to be staying with Giles?" Buffy asked, sounding almost courteous.

Spike decided to return the favor. "I'm not. Figure I'll get a hotel room for the night and start looking for another place tomorrow."

"I know of a few places," Oz offered unexpectedly. "Any special requirements?"

Spike considered the question. "Not too sunny, for obvious reasons, plus ready sewer access and some kind of garage. Other than that, I'm not too particular."

Oz thought for a second and then scribbled down a phone number. "I know a guy. His rates are pretty low."

Willow and Buffy were both staring at him, open-mouthed. "How do you know a guy?" Willow asked.

"Remember Jordy?" Oz asked, just a trace of amusement in his tone.

"The cousin that bit you?"

"The guy is his dad, my uncle."

"So you're really staying?" Buffy asked Spike. "For good?"

"For now," Spike hedged. "As long as it takes."

Buffy shook her head. "And if the apocalypse is tomorrow?"

Spike shrugged. "Then it'll probably be longer. I'm a bit tired of traveling at the moment."

"You said you'd tell me why you wanted revenge so badly," Buffy reminded him.

Spike shook his head. "No, Slayer. I said I'd let you buy me a drink and then I'd tell you. I've done the purchasing this evening." He stood, swallowing the last of his beer and nodding at Oz. "I appreciate the tip."

"Not a problem," Oz replied. "As long as you don't go eating the other tenants."

Spike smiled. "Not a chance." He swaggered off through the crowd, smirking just a bit as he caught a young woman giving him the once-over. Spike winked at her, feeling a sense of pleasure when she blushed but didn't look away.

Sunnydale was showing some promise.

~~~~~

"I want to know what the Slayer is," Joyce said without preamble, as soon as the door swung open.

Giles took a step back in surprise, and she took it as an invitation. "Mrs. Summers, what a pleasant surprise."

"Don't," Joyce said shortly. "I want to know what Buffy being the Slayer means, and how to get her out of it."

"That's not possible." Giles wished he could have softened the words as soon as they left his mouth. "Forgive me, but it's true."

Joyce took the seat he offered. "Then at least tell me why Buffy. Why does my daughter have to be the Slayer?"

"Believe me, Mrs. Summers, if I could relieve Buffy of this burden, I most certainly would." Giles removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Would you like some tea?"

She very nearly refused, wanting to throw the offer back in his face. Joyce wanted to somehow force this man to understand that he had taken her entire world and turned it upside down on its head.

Wasn't Buffy almost her entire world? And hadn't her daughter's position as the Slayer removed some of her maternal prerogatives?

Joyce was still feeling shaky over it. Maybe tea would be good after all.

"Yes, thank you."

Giles set about making the tea, the silence in his flat broken only by the rattle of the teakettle and cups and saucers. "I know this must be very distressing for you," he said gently as he brought the tray out into the living room.

It was the understatement of the year. "You could say that."

"I really am sorry," Giles reiterated. "I wish it was not Buffy who was Chosen. I'm—I'm very fond of her, you know."

Joyce did know, and seeing the distress in Giles' eyes did something to relieve the fear in her own. "I know." She glanced around the flat. "Is your nephew staying with you?" she asked politely, suddenly fearful of broaching the subject of Buffy again. Joyce wasn't sure she was ready to know the answers to her questions.

"My nephew?" Giles asked, surprise evident in his tone.

Joyce frowned. "Yes, that nice young man who walked my daughter home the other night. He said he was—" She stopped, realizing that it had been a lie. "Why am I not surprised?" she muttered, feeling like an idiot.

"You mean Spike?" Giles was slightly taken aback by the lie, but he could see how it would have made things simpler. "He's not my nephew, no, but—I believe he's someone you can trust."

"Who is he?" Joyce asked. "Another vampire?"

"Yes, but it's not that simple." Giles sighed. Nothing about this whole business was simple. "Spike has a reputation among the Watchers' Council." At her silent question, he explained, "I work for the Council. Simply put, I am Buffy's Watcher. My job is to train her, and give her whatever help I can."

"And Spike works for the Council?"

"Good Lord, no!" Giles exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that Joyce wouldn't know why that was such a ridiculous question. "The Council would never employ a vampire. At least, I don't think that the Council ever has. No, Spike is something of a legend, along the lines of Robin Hood."

Joyce frowned. "He robs the rich and gives to the poor?"

"He has a reputation for saving people," Giles corrected her. "Most of the time when we have heard of him, it's in connection to, well, something slightly shady. Occasionally, however..." Giles trailed off.

"And he's here now because?" Joyce asked.

Giles smiled. "Because he's been asked to keep your daughter safe."

Joyce remembered the charming young man who had been nothing but polite. He had also looked slightly dangerous. "Then he won't hurt Buffy?"

"If I thought there was a chance of that, he wouldn't be walking around right now," Giles replied.

Joyce looked at him, sensing Giles' own ability to be dangerous. Somehow it made her feel just a little bit better. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind telling me what exactly has been going on these last few months?"

It was phrased as a question, but her tone left no room for refusal. Giles knew when he was outmatched, and he conceded as gracefully as possible. "Of course," he agreed, bracing himself for a long evening.

~~~~~

Spike found the butcher first, finding it easier than he expected to get blood. They were open late, which was a pleasant surprise, and he set up a regular order, relieved when the man in charge didn't ask any awkward questions.

Once he'd found a hotel room, Spike fed until he felt comfortably full, putting the rest of the blood in the mini-fridge. Then he went out hunting.

Spike found a curious pleasure in dusting vampires, particularly those he knew had been sired by Angelus or Drusilla. He didn't particularly care about saving anyone, nor was he interested in killing demons or vampires just because they were there.

What he did enjoy was making certain that no trace of his sire or grandsire was left on the face of the planet—except for himself. Spike had always been the exception to the rule.

Feeling rather cheerful after dispatching a half dozen or so of Angelus' minions, Spike went back to his hotel room and slept like the dead.

When he awoke in the late afternoon, Spike quickly showered and changed into clean clothing, then called the number that Oz had given him. "Ken Osborne."

"The name's William Brighton," Spike said. "Your nephew gave me your number. I'm new in town and looking for a place."

"Rent or buy?"

"Either." Spike smiled. It sounded like the uncle was just as phlegmatic as his nephew. "I'm looking for something without a lot of sun and some sort of covered parking."

There was a moment's silence, and then the other man replied, "Think I've got something you might like. What time do you want to see it?"

"After sunset?" Spike asked. "I have a sun allergy," he lied smoothly.

"Right." From the amused drawl, Spike got the impression that the other man knew he was lying. "That'll be fine. Around nine?"

Spike got directions, and a slow smile came over his face. This was looking to be his kind of town. A little on the quiet side, maybe, but there was easy access to blood, a Hellmouth to keep things interesting, and a Slayer to needle.

This assignment could be pleasant indeed.