Under the Sun

Author: enigmaticblue

Rating: PG-13

Archive: Sure, if you already have my stuff. If not, just ask.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters herein; Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other lucky folks do. Of course, I'm not the one making money off of them.

Summary: Set after Avocation in an alternate S4 where many events of canon get thrown out the window. This one won't make any sense if you haven't read the previous story.

A/N: The title comes from Ecclesiastes, which most people know from the phrase, "A time for everything, and a season for everything under heaven." Really, this story is based on the entire book, which is probably my favorite in the Bible. It talks about making the most of what one has now, and while some find it depressing, I love it. If you've got the time, I'd really recommend you read the whole thing.

Chapter 21

"Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;/Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;/ Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:/The firefly wakens: waken thou with me./Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,/And like a ghost she glimmers on to me./Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves/A shining furrow, as thy thoughts on me./Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,/And slips into the bosom of the lake:/So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip/Into my bosom and be lost in me." ~Alfred Lord Tennyson, "Summer Night"

"Where are your parents?" Wesley asked, wondering a little at the silence of the house. Although he was aware that Willow was Jewish, and therefore her parents were unlikely to celebrate Christmas, their absence seemed strange.

"They went to visit some colleagues," Willow replied. "I think they might be coming back next week."

Wesley raised his eyebrows. "They seem to be gone quite a bit."

Willow shrugged, as though she didn't care. "Their work keeps them busy."

"I'm sure."

"So how are things going with the treasure?" Willow asked.

"We got the paperwork sorted today. It's strange to have so much extra cash," Wesley admitted. "It's a bit hard to know what to do with it."

"How much was there?" she asked, curious. Willow didn't think that Buffy even knew the full extent of what was in the cave.

"A lot," he said vaguely, uncomfortable with revealing exactly how much there had been. There was probably enough to pay off whoever was behind the mysterious soldiers and then some, although they hadn't discussed that option. "Enough to keep the both of us quite comfortably."

Willow frowned, realizing that if money wasn't an issue, Wesley could go back to England if he wanted to see his family. "How come you aren't going home for Christmas then?" At the expression on his face, she hurried on to add, "Not that I think you should go back. I mean, if you wanted to go, I think it would be good. But I think it's great that you're staying."

Wesley chuckled at Willow's backpedaling. "My father and I aren't quite on speaking terms at the moment."

"Because you're working for Spike?"

"That's one reason." He took the soda that she silently offered him. "My dismissal from the Council would be another. He had some choice words to say about Spike the last time we spoke, and I hung up on him."

"Oh." Willow led the way into the living room. It was odd to be back here, in her parents' house, after living in the dorms for the last few months. She didn't really understand fighting with parents, since hers had never been the sort to fight with her. The closest she'd ever come to fighting with her mother had been over that thing with MOO. It had taken a spell to cause her mom to pay attention to her. Even her dating Oz hadn't really raised her mother's eyebrows.

Willow sometimes wondered if her parents saw her as one more interesting study on the human condition. Not really as a person, not as their daughter, just as an intriguing experiment.

Wesley appeared uncomfortable. Not even Spike knew much about his relationship with his father, or what it consisted of, although the vampire could probably make some fairly accurate guesses. "It's probably for the best. I'm sure the distance will do us good."

"You guys don't get along?"

Wesley met her eyes, and then said softly, "I've never really measured up, you know."

"Oh," Willow repeated, but she did understand this time. "I get that." They were facing each other, sitting sideways on her couch, and she was suddenly reminded of last Christmas, and her failed seduction attempt with Oz.

No, not failed. They'd gotten back together, after all.

She leaned forward, meeting his lips with her own with a brief caress. When she pulled back, Wesley was watching her. "Why?"

Willow shook her head. "I don't know. You've been nice. You've changed."

"Have I? Sometimes I still feel like the same man."

"I know." They were two of a kind, Willow thought. She often wondered if people saw her any differently than they had when she was in high school. Did they still see mousy little Willow Rosenberg, or could they see glimmers of the powerful witch she dreamed of becoming? Oz had been the only one to see her as more than that, outside of Buffy and Xander, who had their own conception of her. Willow saw herself reflected in Wesley's eyes, and she thought perhaps he might see her clearly.

Or maybe they were beginning to see each other.

She leaned back against the couch. "Do you ever wonder if anybody sees you the way you see yourself?"

Wesley laughed, a little uncomfortably. "I hope not," he said fervently.

"Really? It can't be that bad," Willow objected.

He shook his head, unwilling to explain. "How do you see yourself?"

Willow hesitated, then said, "I don't know. I thought I had it all figured out, and then Oz left. It changed everything."

"It's odd how that works," he acknowledged. "When something you believed to be secure proves to be ephemeral, it's hard to know what to do next."

"What did you believe to be secure?"

"The Council; everything I learned there." Wesley grimaced. "Most of it has turned out to be half-truths at best."

"Are you disappointed?" she asked.

"No," Wesley admitted. "I never would have thought it, but I'm glad things have turned out the way that they have."

Willow didn't know that she would be able to ever say that, but she was beginning to think that one of these days things might turn out okay.

~~~~~

Joyce had decided to wait until after Christmas to speak with Spike. She understood all too well that meddling had to be done judiciously. Done too often, and people stopped listening when you spoke. The timing had to be just right.

She also knew her daughter, and Buffy was young enough to still believe that if you loved someone, you told them everything, that you would always be close. Joyce knew better; sometimes it was those you loved that you found hardest to connect with. She'd wanted to get a feel for Spike over Christmas, to see whether Buffy's worries would disappear with a little more time, or if she needed to have a talk with him.

In truth, Joyce wasn't sure she'd have noticed anything amiss with the vampire if she hadn't known what to look for. Spike had managed to get thoughtful gifts for everyone, even Anya. He helped her with dinner preparations and made small talk. The signs of trouble were all in the eyes, in the spaces in between the words, in the silences.

It was in the way Spike would go from being the center of attention to being on the fringes when no one was watching.

Joyce thought that he was doing a good job at hiding his discomfort. The only people who seemed to notice, besides herself, were Buffy and Wesley. Both of them watched Spike with concern at odd moments, although neither commented.

By the end of the day, Joyce had made her decision; she just had to wait for the right moment. It was a good thing she was a patient woman.

She decided to wait until after the chaos of the holidays, when Giles had gone back to his shop, and Buffy had gone back to school. Joyce turned the gallery over to her assistant early, then went home and called Spike, asking him to meet her. She knew very well that her rather cryptic request would bring him running.

Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

Spike appeared on her doorstep about fifteen minutes after she made the call, blue eyes concerned. "What's up?" he asked without preamble. "Your car giving you trouble again?"

"Why don't you come inside, William?" she invited. It had been a long time since she'd called him by his given name, and Joyce used it deliberately. "Do you want something to drink?"

Spike looked at her, his eyes wary. "No, that's alright."

"Are you sure? It's been a long time since I've made hot chocolate, and I have the little marshmallows."

He seemed to give up trying to figure out what it was she wanted at that point, shrugging. "Sure. That would be fine."

"It's been awhile since we've had the chance to talk," Joyce explained. "I haven't seen you much recently."

"We've both been busy," he replied, sitting down at the kitchen island, appearing deeply uncertain. "Works that way sometimes."

"Yes, it does," she agreed. Joyce let the silence hang, going about making the hot chocolate with practiced movements. She didn't think it would be long before Spike's curiosity got the better of him, and she was right.

"You didn't just call me over to have hot cocoa," Spike stated.

Joyce took her time answering, waiting until she'd poured them both a mug. "I might have. Would that be so strange?"

Spike toyed with the handle of his mug, ignoring the bag of marshmallows she'd set next to him. "Did Buffy talk to you?"

"She did, but that's not why I called you, William."

He shook his head impatiently. "I know she's not real happy with me right now, but I'm working on it. I just need a bit more time is all."

"Buffy's not angry with you," Joyce corrected him. "She's worried about you."

"I'm fine." Spike stood. "I've got some things to take care of. Thanks for the cuppa, but if you don't need me, I should be going."

She stopped him with a hand on his arm, the gentlest of gestures. He could have shrugged it off easily, but Joyce had always brought out the best in him. Spike stilled under her touch. "Sit," she said, waiting until he sat back down. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong," Spike replied. "It's just the soldiers—they worry me. Haven't seen hide nor hair of them for the last couple weeks, and it makes me nervous. I want to know what their game is before someone gets hurt."

Spike's slip was telling. "Before someone else gets hurt," she corrected him.

He looked away, uncomfortable. "Yeah, sure."

Joyce searched his face, ruddier now with his exposure to sunlight. The color made him look more human; in fact, if she hadn't known that his skin was cool to the touch, or that his heart wasn't beating, Joyce would never have known that he was a vampire.

Somehow she thought that might be part of the problem.

"You know," she began conversationally, "when Hank and I divorced, I didn't think I'd be able to get close to anyone again. I certainly couldn't see myself falling in love. I was sure that the entire world would look at me and see a failure. I had failed at my marriage, and I was failing at parenthood. We had to move here to find a school that would accept my daughter, who had burned down a school gymnasium."

Spike was silent, staring into his rapidly-cooling drink. "It took me a long time to see that I wasn't a failure, and longer still to be open to the idea of being in love again." She paused, waiting to see if he'd reply. "William, they were wrong."

His head came up, and he met her eyes. "What?"

"No one looks at you any differently than we ever have," she said gently, knowing from the expression on his face that she'd hit the nail on the head. "What they did—it doesn't make a difference. Not to us. Not to me."

Spike's head dropped down. "I know," he admitted hoarsely. "I do. It's just—"

"It takes a long time to feel it." Joyce understood. "It's easier when you let people in, though."

"I spent almost a century alone," Spike replied. "Old habits die hard, yeah?"

Joyce sighed, knowing all too well how that worked. "Yes, they do." Then, because she would have done the same for her daughter, Joyce pulled him into a hug. Spike returned her embrace after only a moment's hesitation.

Joyce wasn't fooling herself. It was going to take a lot more than a hug and hot chocolate to ease the pain that was obvious in Spike's eyes, but she hoped that it got him moving in the right direction. She only wished there was more she could do.

~~~~~

"So, you and Wesley, huh?" Buffy asked. She and Willow were both back in the dorms. Although Buffy would have preferred to continue to stay with Spike full-time, he had insisted that he would be fine. The Slayer thought that he'd wanted to prove it to himself as much as to her.

She could be sensitive when she wanted to be.

"Yeah," Willow replied, fingering the pentacle he'd given her when everyone had exchanged gifts. It was a truly beautiful piece of jewelry, and she just hoped that the shirt she'd given him didn't look like a stupid gift in comparison. She'd thought it would look good on him, and also that he probably had a tendency to ruin a lot of clothes in his line of work. He had appeared pleased, rather than disappointed, so she hoped it was okay.

The night she'd asked him inside, they had talked for hours—about family, magic, school, the future. She'd asked about his Watcher training, and what it had been like. Wesley had asked what she wanted to accomplish in her training as a witch. It turned out they had more in common than she'd ever dreamed.

Buffy sat down on her own bed. "Are you okay with things?"

"We're taking it slow," Willow replied. There had been a few goodnight kisses, but nothing more intense than that. "He said he wanted to give me as much time as I wanted."

"That's good," Buffy replied. "Right?"

"It is. I like him, Buffy," Willow confessed. "It's just—"

"You still miss Oz," Buffy finished for her. "I get that."

"I know you do." Willow decided that it would be a good time to change the subject. "What about you and Spike? How are things between you guys?"

"Better, I think," Buffy replied. "He's talking more, anyway, so that has to be a positive thing, right? We're supposed to go see Giles tonight. He said that he wanted to talk to us about the information he's gathered from his sources, although I don't think there's been much."

"The more you guys know, the better you'll be able to protect Spike, though, right?" Willow asked. "And Wesley and I are almost ready with that spell. We should be able to do it in another couple of days. As long as Spike's wearing the Gem of Amara, no one will know that he's not human."

"That's really good." Buffy sighed. "He's been going out, hunting. I think he's looking for the soldiers, but I don't know if he's seen any of them or not."

Willow's eyes widened. "Did he tell you that?"

"I followed him the other night," Buffy admitted. "I woke up when he was sneaking out of bed, and I waited until he left before I went after him. I think he's done it more than once, but I don't know exactly what he's been doing. He didn't run across any soldiers the other night."

"He might just be trying to get some information," Willow suggested.

"I might believe that if I thought information was all he wanted," Buffy replied. "It's Spike, though, and I trust him. He won't kill anybody unless he has to."

~~~~~

Spike hadn't killed anyone yet. The first time he'd run across a group of soldiers taking down a vampire, he'd been sorely tempted. Had, in fact, nearly twisted the head off one of the buggers. Instead, he made sure that every single one of them had a broken bone of some kind, and then he dusted the vampire they'd been trying to capture.

Let them figure that one out.

That first occasion had been more accident than anything else. Spike hadn't gone looking for the soldiers, mostly because he had no idea whether he'd be able to resist the temptation to kill. Well, he'd resisted, and that had made him feel a bit better.

Okay, so the sound of their bones cracking had made him feel a lot better.

He hadn't told Buffy what he was doing because he didn't know that she would understand. Wesley might have, but Spike wasn't about to bring the man along, and the ex-Watcher would insist upon it. He'd be concerned that if something happened to Spike, it could be hours or days before anyone knew about it.

Spike didn't plan on allowing anything to happen. He knew he'd become a little soft in Sunnydale. The luxury of friends and a safe place to stay would do that to a bloke. He'd let down his guard; that was why the soldiers had been able to capture him in the first place. Spike wasn't a legend for nothing, though; he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

He'd taken up hunting the soldiers, wanting to know everything he could about their habits, their patrols, their intentions. After the first night, he didn't intervene unless they attempted to capture a demon or vampire. It had only occurred twice more after that first occasion, and Spike had meted out the same punishment—killing the Polgara demon they'd meant to capture the first time and letting the Kirwnsal free with a word of warning the second. He had no idea what they wanted with the Kirwnsal, because they were peaceful buggers, and were typically scared of their own shadows.

Spike had appreciated Joyce's words, and her kindness, but he didn't think that opening up or sharing his feelings was going to do any good in this situation. He wasn't going to be satisfied until he knew exactly what the soldiers wanted and made sure they didn't get it.

He started off in the direction of the Summers' home. Remembering Joyce's intervention had reminded him that he was supposed to be meeting Giles and Buffy to talk about what the Watcher had found out through his sources.

They were waiting for him when he arrived, and Spike settled down next to Buffy on the couch. "So what's the word, Rupert?"

"So far, not much," Giles responded. "There are rumors circulating, of course, but nothing solid. The little I have been able to pick up would seem to indicate that this is a military-sponsored organization. What their ultimate goals might be, I can't say, but my contacts were concerned enough that they're digging deeper."

Spike sighed. "That's it? That's the big news?"

"Spike," Buffy said, her tone a warning. "Be nice."

"Sorry," Spike muttered, not sounding very apologetic. "But that doesn't give us much help."

"No, it doesn't," Giles agreed. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue to rely on our own resources."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "What resources? We haven't got much."

"We agreed that it would be better to wait, rather than drawing attention to ourselves," Giles reminded him. "This is going to require patience, Spike. That might not be your strong suit, but I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with it."

"Yeah, right," Spike said, rising. "Maybe we should go patrol, Buffy. Let the Watcher get back to his regularly scheduled life."

"Spike."

Giles managed to turn his name into a rebuke, and Spike nodded wearily. "I'm sorry. I'm in a foul mood tonight."

Giles nodded. "Of course. I'll see you both soon, then."

"I do appreciate the help," Spike said before he left.

Buffy lingered behind for a few minutes to talk to her Watcher. "I'm sorry, Giles. He's been really prickly lately."

"Don't worry about it, Buffy," Giles responded. "We all have our bad days."

Buffy sighed. "Maybe so, but these days, Spike's bad days are outnumbering his good ones."

~~~~~

Buffy was daydreaming her way through class, thinking more about Spike and his weird moods than the professor's lecture. He'd been so strange the last few weeks—back to his old self one day, and quiet and withdrawn another. Or he was just plain pissy. Buffy didn't have a problem telling him to knock it off when he got short with her; he'd returned the favor a number of times himself. It was just that she didn't know what to say to get through to him. To make things go back to the way they had been.

She didn't like to think about the fact that things might never be the way they'd been.

Sitting up straight, Buffy suddenly realized that the room had gone dark. "Why has the sun gone down?"

"Maybe because it's that time of day." Spike was smiling at her from the front of the now-empty lecture hall. "You know the monsters only come out at night. Guess that's why I'm here."

"You're not a monster," Buffy responded, coming down to meet him. "The light isn't a threat anymore."

"No, but the darkness still is." He turned and walked away from her, out into the hallway.

Buffy followed, close on his heels. "What does the darkness bring?"

"Listen," Spike said, pointing.

She turned to see a little girl standing at the end of the hall, a carved wooden box in her hands. The child was singing, and Buffy thought it sounded like a nursery rhyme. "Can't even shout, can't even cry, the gentlemen are coming by. Looking in windows, knocking on doors, they need to take seven, and they might take yours. Can't call to mom, can't say a word, you're gonna die screaming, but you won't be heard."

Buffy swallowed hard, feeling a hand on her shoulder. Certain that it was Spike, she turned, only to see a grotesque, grinning face.