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 8

"Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,/Tears from the depth of some devine despair/Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,/In looking on the happy autumn-fields,/ And thinking of the days that are no more...Dear as remembered kisses after death,/And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned/On lips that are for others; deepest love,/Deep as first love and wild with all regret;/O Death in Life, the days that are no more!" ~Alfred Lord Tennyson, "Tears, Idle Tears"

Joyce was a little surprised when she opened the back door to find Spike on the other side. The soft tapping that had alerted her to his presence seemed—out of character. She'd thought he was more of a front door kind of man, the kind who would ring the doorbell.

Then again, what did she know? Until Giles had filled her in, she hadn't even been aware that Spike was a vampire.

"Hello, William."

"Buffy in?"

Joyce shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. You've just missed her. I think she was planning on going to the Bronze with the others. You could probably catch her there if you wanted to."

"No, that's alright," Spike replied. The tentative truce he and Buffy had reached was holding, but only because she was doing her best to avoid him. The Slayer seemed intent on demonstrating that she could get by quite well without his presence.

His feelings weren't all that hurt. Spike was getting paid to keep her safe, not to be her friend. And his word was gold. No matter how many temper tantrums Buffy threw, he wasn't going anywhere.

Still, he thought it was only polite to let her know he'd taken care of the demons Giles had warned them about at their last meeting. Otherwise, she'd be spending the bulk of her evening wandering around and accomplishing nothing.

Oh, well. He'd tried.

"Do you want to come in?" Joyce asked. "I could make us a drink. Tea? Or hot chocolate?"

Spike hesitated. He liked Joyce. She was a sight more pleasant to be around than most of the people he'd encountered over the years. "You have any of those little marshmallows?"

"I can check." She opened the door wide in a silent invitation. Spike ducked inside, going to sit at the counter. "What are you up to tonight?"

Spike shrugged. "The usual. Wandering about, killing demons, that sort of thing."

"How are you settling in?" Joyce asked.

"Fine." Spike watched as she fixed their drinks. "What about you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What about you? How are you coping with finding out about Buffy and everything?"

Joyce moved her shoulders, as though trying to adjust some great burden. "It hasn't been easy," she admitted in a low voice. "I'm always wondering when she leaves—" She stopped, unwilling to give voice to her concerns.

"Buffy's good, you know," Spike said, his tone conversational. "And she's got me, for what it's worth."

"Why?" Joyce asked bluntly. "I mean, I know that Buffy and Mr. Giles said that you have a soul, but I don't understand." In an undertone, she added, "No one ever explains anything to me."

Spike chuckled slightly. "You're getting left out of the loop, I take it." He watched her for a moment, not realizing that he'd completely let his guard down. Joyce met his eyes, a blue so clear she thought she could see the soul everyone had talked about.

Perhaps that was what drew her to this vampire. Angel's eyes had been secretive, closed. Joyce hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of the man underneath, and that had ignited danger signals her maternal instinct could not ignore. There was nothing fake about Spike, on the other hand. Nothing unreal.

He was open, his depths waiting to be plumbed.

"I am," Joyce replied. "I know Buffy thinks she's doing it for my own good, but it doesn't prevent me from worrying about her."

"You're her mum," Spike said, shrugging. "Of course you're going to worry."

"And you're trying to distract me," Joyce accused. "Why are you different?"

Spike sighed, considering how to answer her question. "I don't rightly know, to be honest. I guess the soul is a little like a leash. It doesn't completely keep a person under control, but most of the time it does. A vampire's a creature that's slipped its leash. If you put it back on—well, the shock does something to the system."

"Was it very hard for you?"

No one had ever asked that question. Spike wondered if Joyce knew what those words did for him, what they loosed inside. "Yeah. It was bad."

Joyce was a mother, first and foremost, and she knew a closed subject when she found one. Spike's eyes had gone blank with old memories, and she thought she knew the look he had on his face. It was one she'd seen in the mirror on occasion when she'd been thinking about the divorce, or about some other event better left in the past.

There were truths you didn't tell strangers, and so she asked no more questions.

"You know," she began, wondering if she wasn't just a little crazy for making the suggestion, "I was thinking about watching a movie tonight. Do you want to join me?"

Spike opened his mouth to say no, and then he closed it again. For the first time in a while, he felt safe—relaxed. He was in the company of a beautiful, gracious woman. There was no reason to hurry off. "That sounds right nice, Mrs. Summers. Thanks."

"Call me Joyce," she replied, relishing the idea of having company for the evening. Even if it was the company of a vampire.

~~~~~

Buffy thought she was doing pretty good, overall. Maybe she hadn't been all fun and games the last few weeks, but she was trying to get back in the swing of things. She'd slayed, she'd gone to the Bronze with her friends, and she had avoided social activities with the undead. It was just what she needed to get her life back on track.

After all, it was summer. She was supposed to be relaxing; it was her job. It was about time she got to it.

"It's too bad Spike couldn't make it tonight," Willow commented idly. She would have been dancing, except that Oz's band was playing, and Buffy didn't seem inclined to grace the dance floor. There was no way she was going to do her impression of a third wheel with Xander and Cordelia.

Buffy's head shot up at the mention of Spike's name. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her tone sharp.

Willow's expression was reproachful. "Never mind."

"No, I'm sorry, Wills," Buffy said, making an effort to soften her tone. "It's just—I wasn't sure what you meant. Did you invite him tonight?"

Willow shook her head. "Not exactly. I just told him at the Scooby meeting that we'd be here. I thought maybe he would come."

That was the one blot on an otherwise decent summer. Spike had begun inviting himself to their meetings, insinuating himself into the group. Buffy was trying to forget about his existence and he kept spoiling her plans by showing up. It really wasn't fair.

"You like him?" Buffy asked, sounding incredulous.

Willow shrugged. "Why not? He saved our lives, and he's pretty nice. You should give him a chance, Buffy."

"He's a vampire, Willow," Buffy reminded her. "The last time I gave a vampire a chance, badness ensued."

"I'm not saying sleep with him." Willow made a face. "It's just that it wouldn't hurt you to be polite. Spike doesn't have any other friends."

"Spike is a card-carrying member of the undead." Buffy was trying to be patient, but it was getting hard. "Undead people don't have friends. They have drinking buddies."

"If you say so," Willow replied, knowing a losing battle when she was right in the middle of one. Even Xander wasn't all that rabidly anti-Spike. Giles, after a lot of prodding, had told them a couple of the stories he'd heard as a Watcher, and Xander had later asked Spike point-blank if they were true.

Spike had shrugged. "Wasn't a big deal at the time," he'd insisted. "I was leaving the country anyway, and I knew a few of the back routes."

"But then you went back!" Xander had protested, finding the flaw in that argument.

Spike had just smiled slightly. "Sure, but they were paying me, weren't they? It's not hard to be a hero when folks are lining up to give you money."

Of course, he'd been paid in Riechsmarks, which weren't worth the paper they were printed on outside of Nazi Germany. That's what Giles had said. That's what made the Council think that they were just tall tales.

A mercenary vampire was one thing, but one who took worthless money in exchange for saving lives? It wasn't to be believed.

Willow wished Spike was just a little more forthcoming. He'd seen and done so much, she wanted to ask him all about it.

Buffy, of course, didn't share her interest in history.

"I don't get why everybody likes him so much," Buffy muttered. "You guys weren't that impressed with Angel."

"Angel was different," Willow responded, knowing that it wasn't much of an answer. She could understand why Buffy had such a difficult time liking Spike. The vampire had a tendecy to poke fun at her anytime he was in her vicinity. Buffy, of course, jibed back with an intensity that startled Willow at times.

Willow wondered briefly if Spike or Buffy realized that the tension running between them could easily turn into something else. Not that Willow was in a hurry to encourage any sort of romantic liasons. She had done that with Buffy and Angel, and look how that had turned out.

Still, it was an interesting thought, even if she'd never mention the prospect out loud.

"I'm going to patrol," Buffy announced abruptly, pushing back from the table. "I'll see you later."

Willow watched her go, wondering if things would ever be the same again. It felt as though Angel's ghost was a constant presence.

~~~~~

It was stupid. Buffy knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help herself.

The dreams weren't helping matters any. They wouldn't leave her alone, and she was as terrified of them stopping as she was of them continuing. Seeing Angel every night kept the pain fresh, but she didn't want to forget him.

She didn't want to let go of her last connection to him.

There was no grave she could visit, so she went to the mansion. Its monolithic bulk seemed out of place in a town like Sunnydale—too big, too modern, and too archaic. Perhaps in a few months or a few years people would talk about it being haunted. Teenagers would dare one another to come after dark.

For now, however, Buffy had the place to herself.

There was no trace of Angel's ashes. She hadn't been thinking clearly enough to gather them up herself. Idly, she wondered if Spike had done it for some reason known only to himself.

The Slayer lowered herself to the floor and went over the fight again in her mind. No matter how many times she thought about it, no matter how many times she went over the details again, Buffy couldn't make herself believe that she could have acted any differently.

She hated herself as much for that as for not saving Angel. Buffy wanted to blame herself; she wanted to point out a specific moment in time and say, "There. That's what I might have done differently."

She was too good a warrior for that, however. Buffy had done her best, and it hadn't been good enough.

It frightened her to think that it might happen again.

Swiping a hand across her cheeks to get rid of any tear tracks, Buffy stood to go. There was no use in coming here anymore. Her time would be better served in hunting down the remaining demons and vampires in Sunnydale.

If Buffy was very lucky, she would run into Spike and manage to goad him into a fight. Sparring with him would be just what she needed to clear her head.

~~~~~

Spike whistled softly, the tune so soft as to be nearly indecipherable. An astute listener, had they been close enough, might have recognized the Ramones' "Do You Wanna Dance?"

There was no one nearby, though. Really, Spike preferred it that way. At least, that's what he usually tried to convince himself of. Once, a long time ago, he had thought differently.

Spike had learned the hard way that even the bonds of blood did not prevent betrayal.

Occasionally, over the years, there had been chances at friendships, but they didn't last. He was immortal, and he had no desire to consort with others of his kind. Demons, as a rule, didn't like vampires. They regarded them as second-class citizens, and his soul put him on the lowest rung of the ladder.

Spike was neither fish nor fowl—unwelcome among demons, regarded with distaste by other vampires, looked upon with fear and awe by humans.

And yet, for the first time since he'd been cursed, Spike didn't feel that tension.

"Why are you in such a good mood?"

The sour tone jolted him out of his pleasant thoughts, and he glanced over to see the Slayer glaring at him. "It's a beautiful evening, Slayer. Why shouldn't I be happy?" He could, on closer inspection, see the faint traces of tears on her cheeks. Spike could understand why she'd be so put out on seeing another person's happiness.

Apparently, Buffy's frame of mind was such that she wasn't going to let him go. "So where have you been? Painting the town red?"

"Matter of fact, I was with your mum," Spike replied cheerfully enough. The Slayer seemed to want a fight tonight. Spike was feeling good enough to oblige her.

She frowned. "What were you doing with my mom?"

"Went to see you, and you weren't there," Spike said, looking off to the side, pretending to be distracted. "I thought I'd let you know I took care of those demons your Watcher was going on about."

Buffy wasn't mollified in the least. "Those were mine!" she protested.

Spike raised an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. "You put your name on them then?"

"Giles told me about the demons, Spike. It was my job to take them out." Buffy was seriously pissed off at this point, although she couldn't have pinpointed the exact reason. It wasn't like she didn't appreciate the help. It wasn't even that Spike had taken the matter out of her hands.

In truth, it was just Spike.

"I thought I'd save you the trouble," Spike said, knowing that his insolent tone would just serve to anger her further. "Give you a chance to find a bloke to ease off some of that tension."

He didn't get a chance to finish that thought because Buffy was after him immediately. From the expression on her face—half fury, half exultation—Spike figured he'd managed to give her exactly what she needed.

Spike, in turn, got to spar with the Slayer again. He would have to make sure they made this a regular tradition.

Of course, if Buffy actually carried out her threat to stake him, he'd never get that chance.

The Slayer managed to get past his guard somehow and they both hit the ground. She wound up straddling his waist, a stake poised above his heart. "You gonna do it, then?"

Spike waited, watching her carefully, wondering if she'd carry out her unspoken threat. If he had to dust, he thought he'd rather it be at her hands. She was a worthy opponent, even if they were supposed to be on the same side.

"No." Buffy wasn't sure why she didn't stake him. She could have and then just pretended to be surprised at his disappearance.

It just didn't seem right.

She rose slowly and then offered him a hand up. "You want to have another go?"

Buffy looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"You don't get to practice on a real vampire, right?" Spike replied. "Why not spar with me? It would help both of us."

"Not tonight, Spike," Buffy replied, turning towards home. "I'm tired."

"Well, of course not tonight." Spike's tone told her he thought she was being stupid again. He sounded like that a lot. "I just meant for the future."

Buffy rounded on him. "Why won't you just go?" she demanded. "Just leave me the hell alone! You know I don't want you here. Why should making sure I survive matter so much to you?"

It was impossible to mistake the compassion in his eyes for anything else. Buffy didn't understand it, and that angered her. Angel, even when he was playing cryptic-guy, hadn't looked at her like that.

"You think you're the only one that's ever loved and lost," Spike said quietly. "I know you'll probably hate me for saying this, but you're young, Buffy. You don't think you'll get past this because you never have before."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she accused him.

"Don't I?" Spike asked. "In a hundred-odd years I've loved exactly three women. All three of them are dead now. I think that gives me some knowledge on the subject."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. She didn't want to believe him. She didn't want to let his words penetrate to the heart of things. "What three women? Drusilla?"

"That's one." Spike regarded her from a long moment, his eyes suddenly opaque. Buffy couldn't read the expression on his face. "My mum and a girl named Cecily make three."

Buffy had the brief urge to tease him for including his mother on a list with his lovers, but something held her back. "What happened to them?"

"It doesn't matter," Spike said brusquely. He had no intentions of ever telling the Slayer about his mother, or Cecily.

She considered arguing, and then shook her head, as though ridding herself of the questions. "How long did it take you?"

"What now?"

"How long did it take you—to get over Drusilla?"

Spike was startled by the question, although he supposed he probably shouldn't have been. "I don't know. She...by the time she was done with me, I couldn't love her anymore."

It was the most open thing he'd said to her, and Buffy could suddenly understand why the others might like him. Moments like this, it wasn't all that hard.

"I get that."

Something rather amazing began in that moment, although neither one of them was quite aware of it. All they knew was that it felt right.