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Chapter Eighteen

Uncomplicated jealousy had driven his every step from the Watcher’s until he stood staring up at the front door of 1630 Revello Drive. Trepidation cautioned him on entering the house, knowing that he was facing a potential existence that he’d all but turned his back on just days ago, and wary of how easy it might be to want it back. He had over a century of bloodshed in his history and the one tethered below the house in the basement was just at the beginning of that journey, and he had no doubt that Dru and Angelus had done everything to make the new menu as enticing as demonly possible.

It wouldn’t have taken much to inspire the lust for the hunt—the desire to feel human flesh splitting beneath pointed fangs just dying to feed. Quenching the hunger that could almost drive a vamp mad—particularly if heartbeats deafened the monster within—was the most important thing to a fledgling’s existence and by the sound of her stories, Joyce had already brunched on her former employees. It had horrified Buffy, but Spike could appreciate the beauty of that first bloodbath of ones known in life—and it was exhilarating to relive it for himself. Becoming somehow spiritually joined with the Slayer was intoxicating to the extent that it made his fangs itch for the many good times they’d already shared, but it didn’t dull his lust for the sheer savage orgy of feasting on the demon’s weakness.

Blood.

Everything was about blood, and just because he’d tasted Buffy’s and knew no other could come close, he could bet he had more insight into the workings of the restrained vampire downstairs than anyone else might. Than anyone else cared to.

The thud of his boots was deafening as he made his way through the house, stopping at the closed basement door to gather himself and prepare for whatever eventuality might hit him once he was down there. She knew he was here—he could hear the soft laughter that greeted his arrival and he sighed sadly. Despite it all, despite wanting to celebrate the birth of a new sister, he felt Buffy’s devastation and loss as deeply as he’d felt his own all those years ago.

The door opened easily and there was no turning back; no running back to the Scooby stronghold to listen in bitter resentment to the story of Buffy and Angel while they expected him to be objective. No shrugging off this funk of sudden inadequacy—and what you can’t get rid of, you may as well lie down with. Thus, he descended toward Joyce.

“No fancy tricks,” he warned as he took the final steps in jerky, hesitant movements. And then he could see her, her paleness fairly glowing in the wisps of moonlight that had found shelter through the wall’s patchy solidity. She looked relaxed and calm, somehow knowing that she would be receiving visitors sooner rather than later.

Though he doubted it was him she’d quite been planning on.

Staying in the dark made the meeting seem more clandestine, more evil and Spike clung to the little example of retaining who he was with devilish glee. He’d never make any kind of connection with her if he was all high and mighty—like her daughter’s merry band of white hats. Still, it scared him how easily the switch came to him—now that he was supposedly a soldier at Buffy’s side. Destiny had seemed to place him at her side, merged them together in an instant without explanation, and while there was nothing he could regret about it, he saw now it was so fast—too fast maybe—that he hadn’t had a chance to really understand the trip.

“How you holdin’ up, pet? Getting used to the dark and dank hidey spots? ‘Cause that’s what you’re all about now that you’re a monster in the underbelly of society.” He pulled up and crouched just so that he was a bit too far for her to reach, even if the chains were a little long. His reminder of where she was and what the world had in store for her seemed to stun her for a second, and the demon that was once Joyce Summers frowned.

“Are you here to stake me so my baby girl won’t be put through the trauma?” And in a flash the smile was back and Spike wandered back in his mind to another gentle beautiful lady that was destroyed by his very own existence. He so easily got lost in those recollections, painful though they might be, and almost lost sight of the here and now.

When he pushed the memories back it was almost in surprise he saw Joyce before him, staring at him with an expression so muddled he couldn’t interpret it even if he’d wanted to.

“You remind me a lot of my mum,” he began, almost unwillingly before warming up to his tale. “Don’t tell many about it—like to keep that little failure locked up in my noggin. She was sick, but beautiful. She loved me more deeply and more faithfully than any other being has. But she was dying. I was already dead by then, by the time she was getting bad. I couldn’t bear the thought of all that gentility going to waste. All that love lost to the world. I wanted to bring her with me—because she was the only one I could be sure would love me.” Spike paused, wondering why he was handing her a weapon she could flail him with. And as he thought about the wisdom of continuing, she was there, the demon that wanted blood and wasn’t fussy about where it came from.

“I’ll bet it took her two seconds to wake up and see you for the needy brat you are and she attempted to run. What did you do? Stake her because she wasn’t your widdle mommy anymore?” The lust in her gaze was tainted with her disgust, and it was so reminiscent of what Spike had suffered in the past that he barely gave it credibility.

But it was reassuring. Somewhere in there it told him he was different—that whatever Dru had turned him for was not what he had become. He’d fooled them all for a hundred years—plenty well fooled himself if the truth be told. He’d done everything he could to prove he was as big and bad as his male lineage, and while Angelus had been gone to dim the comparison it had paid off and he’d kept Drusilla at his side. Now he wondered how devoted she would have been if he’d been more true to himself. If he’d not fed as often as her ravenous nature demanded. If he’d been more involved in the beauty he could still see in the world, would she still have seen him as something special? Or would she have dropped him for the first half-devoted cock that came her way? He could appreciate the football and the dog races, but the theatre, and opera…with a little sex pistols on the side. Even beautiful women—he’d rather look at them and see the glow in their faces, and even more the glow in some of their hearts, than drain them to resemble nothing.

“I staked my mum,” he confided and felt an enormous burden of what felt strangely like guilt slip from his shoulders to the floor. “She wasn’t right for a demon. Didn’t want that kind of twisted bitch along for the ride. Had Darla for that. So the moral of the story goes—don’t be thinking I don’t have the stones to take you out if that’s what’s decided. Only met you once, Joyce, and you near cracked my head open then. No love lost between us.” Spike stood, wondering why he’d felt it necessary to come here. Nothing was resolved—except he was feeling a bit lighter. Like something was resolved in the heavy catalogue of issues that needed to be.

While he’d been lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed Joyce’s defensive huddle. Maybe his unloading had had a purpose. Seemed to knock a bit of the arrogance off this newest of fledglings, and for that, Spike felt his familiar smirk return. Bint knew he could do it. If he could dust the one that had given him life, courage and love, he could dust a sister in death. Especially one that Angelus had plans for.

And then it all came together in his head. Joyce was Angelus’s little pawn in this game and Angelus didn’t let his playthings out of sight. Spike turned back to the woman; she had slumped against the wall in discouragement. “Dru sent you out, didn’ she? Didn’t want you competing for her precious Daddy. Stupid bint probably thought the Slayer or one of her crew would stake you and you wouldn’t be coming back.” He stopped and wondered at the warning he got on the air. Angelus was on the move and an unprotected slayer abode wouldn’t be the best place to leave her mother. “Well, I got a bit of news for you, luv. The Slayer’s your only chance of staying undusty. So, you’ve got a choice. You can wait here till Angelus comes back to claim you—and he’ll belt several shades of shit out of you for leaving without his say so—and try and fill in your time with as much hunting as you can before your daughter puts your miserable existence to rest. Or, you can come with me and I’ll try an’ protect you as best I can. On the Slayer’s side you’ve got more chance of survival. Take it or leave it.”

Spike watched as the woman’s alert eyes started darting around in panic. He scrounged around in his pocket until he came up with an almost empty pack of cigarettes, flicked one out and lit up, amused at the play of emotions on her face. He knew he could feel Angelus’s approach—though now he had to work at sensing it after being so successful in stamping it out in the past. Hell, he could feel it strongly and Joyce would be newly attuned to it, making it powerful and more urgent to not be far away from home. It was rather gratifying to see how a few words could scare her into this kind of frantic haste to choose a side.

“He’s angry?”

She sounded like she could hardly believe it, and even if the demon liked a bit of rough treatment now and again, Joyce had been a rather unabused woman in life and wasn’t used to the type of terror Angelus would make his daily regimen to break his newest family member.

“You don’t disobey Angelus, pet.” Spike stopped at that and almost laughed out loud. “Well, you do, but only if you know the wanker can’t hurt you. You, he can do much more than hurt. By the time he’s finished with you you’d be as barmy as Dru. Up to you now, but I’d get on with it. Clock’s tickin’.”

The end of the cigarette glowed bright on the short end of the stick and just as Spike threw it to the floor and stamped it out, he had his answer.

“I don’t want to dust,” she offered, much of the attitude and confidence cowering under the crushing nearness of her grandsire. “Please, take me where he can’t get me?”

Spike stalled, wondering if she was playing him or if she genuinely understood what she was in for if Angelus got his hands back on her not quite scrawny body. For all he knew, this could have been the plan. Dru could have sent her off in the hopes of luring him home, and if he’d not been open to a willing suggestion of return, maybe she could trick him.

“Not bloody likely,” he affirmed quietly, feeling the spade in his hands before he swung and knocked Joyce out cold. “Right handy bit of equipment, that!” Spike put down the shovel, casually leaning it against the basement wall and then set about unchaining his casualty and left. His legs were fully healed now, thanks to Buffy’s diligence, and he had no trouble carrying the weight of another body up the stairs.

Once out in the night, Spike knew he had few choices. As much as they could sense Angelus, he’d know how to track Joyce—and quickly. There was no option of an abandoned factory or other like building. He needed somewhere Angelus had no access, and the only place Spike was allowed that Angelus wasn’t was the Watcher’s place. While he was fine about dumping the Slayer’s mother at her feet, he wasn’t too keen to re-enter the conversation. He still felt relatively pissed enough to continue his walk.

He still needed to think—and without Buffy at his side.

There was nothing for it but to return, and hope the boy at least would wet himself over the new houseguest.

With that image firmly playing in his mind, Spike grinned. Oh yes, many beautiful things left in the world. And a good humiliating event was one of them.





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