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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Spike meets Joyce, and Buffy's mother forms a new relationship.
CHAPTER FOUR

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Joyce tossed and turned on her mattress, not able to relax at all. She still couldn't come up with a viable solution to her problem. She thought she would go insane with worry if she had to remain where she was much longer. Of course, she thought, maybe I'm crazy now.

The almost middle aged woman had heard about revenants, and she'd seen the Lugosi, Langella, and other films chronicling their blood sucking existence.

But she had always laughed them off as so much fiction, stuff that was designed to prey on the minds of impressionable teens and fantasy writers. Joyce had even thought that the newspaper articles about the Vampire Beast were just things the media did to sell more copies.

She would have laughed at the articles totally if it weren't for her daughter's dreams. Buffy had told Joyce about her first one at age seventeen. Joyce remembered about when her youngest girl had awakened, screaming, from a nightmare.

"Mom!" Buffy had called out. Joyce rushed into Buffy's room in an instant, and she'd found her, curled up in a ball, holding Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig, tightly.

She went to her youngest daughter, hugging her and whispering, "I'm here, sweetheart. What is it? Bad dream?"

Buffy whispered, "I dreamed about a vampire. H-he was tall, had long fangs, and he was attacking someone in San Francisco, I think."

Joyce had rubbed Buffy's back as the girl continued. "What is it, Mom?" she shrieked. "What does it mean?" Outside, the sounds of Cordelia's snoring across the hall could be heard. Joyce almost cracked a smile. Cordy could sleep through a nuclear disaster without waking up.

Joyce rocked Buffy back and forth, saying, "It's okay, honey. It's just a bad dream. That's all."

"But Mom," Buffy had protested, "It seemed so real."

"I know, sweetie," Joyce soothed. "But you know as well as I do that vampires are the stuff of fantasies. They don't really exist, unlike your father. Be thankful you didn't dream about him."

Buffy laughed, and after that, relaxed. "All better now, huh, sweetheart?" Joyce had asked. Buffy nodded, settling back down on her pillow. "Good night, and don't let the bed bugs bite," Joyce told her, walking out and leaving her daughter sleeping peacefully.

Joyce's mind returned to her surroundings. The appearance of a vampire cemented what she had suspected all along: that vampires were real, and that her daughter for whatever reason was somehow connected with them.

She looked around for a weapon and saw a small sliver of glass on the floor. It was sharp enough to use against its neck, or something. If she could threaten it enough to make an impression, maybe it would let her go. Then, she would get home and tell Riley about it, and he and his friends would take things from there.

The door opened. It was time. "Hello?" a cultured, young British voice called.

The sound of the voice was followed by a young, fairly attractive, twenty something man with dark hair and intense blue eyes. He had a little stubble on his heart shaped face, and he wore a cotton jacket, blue jeans, and a royal blue polo shirt.

"Ah, Joyce, is it? Spike told me you were, ahem, staying here," Wesley said, opening a very small section of the bars at her feet, not enough for anyone to pass through; just enough to slide a tray of food to someone.

**Spike,** Joyce thought, turning the vampire's name around in her mind.

That seemed to fit him, she'd decided. His fangs certainly were sharp like spikes. He had probably impaled many girls with those teeth.

Wesley had pulled a chair in the corner of the basement closer to the bars, but not close enough for her to use her weapon on him.

She turned pleading, blue eyes on him, saying, "You have to help me! There is a monster here, and I need to escape."

Wesley shook his head, saying, "Sorry, I can't do that." He gestured to the soup, saying, "Please, eat something. You must be starving. My name's Wesley, by the way, and I will get you more food, if you like, once you finish your soup."

Joyce smelled it, and although her mind was telling her not to eat, her growling stomach had other ideas. She took a small amount in the spoon Wesley had provided and took a gingerly taste. When she didn't feel faint or anything, she swallowed one bite, then took a second.

"It's really good," she told him honestly. "Did you make it?"

"Goodness, no!" Wesley exclaimed. "I can cook some things, but I primarily eat out most of the time." Joyce dropped the spoon as she guessed what must have made the soup.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said lamely. Wesley regarded her bowl.

"But you've hardly eaten anything," he stated. Joyce looked at him.

"HE cooked this, didn't he?" she accused. Wesley guessed then what she must be thinking, and he wanted to assure her.

"He did, but he means you no harm," he said.

Joyce gave him a scathing look. "If he means me no harm, then why am I being held here against my will?" she ground out.

"That's…something I'm here to discuss with you," he said. He studied her, trying to see if he could judge her motives with his eyes.

"What did you want?" she asked.

Wesley thought about how he should phrase his next words. He didn't want to frighten Joyce, but neither did he want her to be so complacent that she would not realize the seriousness of the situation at hand.

"I wanted to swear you to secrecy," he said. "If word about Spike gets out, the authorities will destroy him. That, I will not permit."

"But if he attacked those victims…" Joyce protested.

"He didn't," Wesley said with conviction.

"But…" Joyce tried once more, wavering.

"He DIDN'T!" Wesley shouted with even more confidence.

He pressed his point further home, saying, "Think about it, Joyce. He didn't kill you tonight when he had the chance. I've been here a long time, and he didn't kill me. If he wanted to attack us just to feed, don't you think he would have done that way before now?"

Joyce considered Wesley's words. Maybe he was right. Maybe Spike was not the fiend she had taken him for. Then again, maybe he had another agenda; one involving torture before feeding.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she asked warily. Wesley sighed.

"You don't actually. I have no way of proving my veracity," he replied honestly. "You just have to trust me, and him." Joyce adamantly shook her head.

"I wish I could believe you," she said. "But I know all about vampires. I know they aren't trustworthy."

"You know only what movies and books tell you," the young college student told her. "All of that, or at least most of it, is pure rubbish, particularly where good vampires are concerned!"

Joyce looked at Wesley for a long time. He didn't seem to be crazy, but GOOD vampires? She could hardly believe that! Still, like her favorite childhood heroine, Alice in Wonderland, she tried to believe at least three impossible things before breakfast, or at least before dinnertime. She decided to examine exactly who, or what, she was dealing with.

"What's in this for you, Wesley?" Joyce wondered as she ate some more soup. "Is he paying you to keep his secret?"

Wesley blanched; then, his expression turned to one of icy fury. "Money?" he spat. "You think I would do this for money?"

Joyce felt instantly guilty about what she'd just said. She didn't even know the man, yet she implied that he was mercenary. But she knew she couldn't take her words back.

"If I had wanted money," Wesley said with disgust, "I would have told the media and the paparazzi about Spike years ago."

He got up from the chair and walked over to a wall made from solid rock. The only opening in it was a window which was high off the ground, and was covered with bars. He looked up at the moonlight illuminated on the floor, then turned back to Joyce.

"When I was thirteen, my parents and I came to America in search of a better life. My father wasn't doing very well in his native country, you see, so he and my mother decided to move to California so that Father could get a higher paying job," Wesley told her. "He managed to get a nice flat in China, CA, a small town not fifteen miles from here, and for the first year, everything was bliss."

Joyce listened with rapt attention. Wesley shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "Then, on the eve of my fourteenth birthday, everything changed. Father and Mother decided to take me out to dinner and the movies, but since the town we lived in didn't have a movie theatre, they decided to go to a slightly larger town, Sunnydale," he said. Wesley sat in the chair once more.

"We had just come out and we started to walk back to the car when a gang of thugs sprang up out of nowhere," he said. "My father didn't want any trouble. He gave them his wallet, like they had ordered. But they were out for blood. They shot my father in the back, and then, when my mother tried to grab me and make a run for it, they killed her, too.

"They would have shot me, except that before any of them could make a move, one of them was thrown against the pavement. I made out a man who seemed to move at incredible speed jumping on top of him. He lowered his face to the gang leader's neck and drank his blood. Before the others could react, the man had grabbed the second gang member and flung him on the roof of a nearby car. The last two marauders ran, but the man chased after them. I followed discretely, hiding behind a dumpster when he attacked one before the gang member could reach their hideout."

Joyce chewed on a cracker as Wesley went on. "The last one was also bitten violently, and as the man who had saved my life looked up, I saw a pair of glowing, orange yellow eyes," he told her. "I followed the creature, but he didn't want me to hang around…"

"So Spike saved you from the gang?" Joyce inquired. At Wesley's nod, she asked, "And then you moved in with him?"

Wesley looked at her empty tray and opened the bars to remove it before continuing. "I had to run to keep up with him," he said. "Spike didn't want to have anything to do with me at first. He even tried to keep me down here when all else failed. But, over the last nine years, we have bonded. I have no siblings, nor any family. Spike is more than a friend to me. He is a brother. We share practically everything. He has helped me get through school, and I in turn was able to get blood for him from hospitals and butcher shops so that he wouldn't have to go through the sewers to get it. We look after each other."

Joyce couldn't help feeling that Wesley was a kindred soul in his own way. He looked after Spike and would go through fire to save him, just as she looked after Buffy and Cordelia and would give up her life for her daughters.

"I'll talk to him; see if I can convince him that you won't say anything about us" Wesley said, adding, "but I can't promise what he'll agree to."

"But what can I tell my family and friends?" Joyce asked.

"Tell them you lost your way, and it took awhile to get petrol and find your way back. They'll believe you," he answered.

Joyce mulled that over. It really was close to the truth, and she trusted Wesley. Before she could respond, she heard heavier footsteps coming downstairs.

"Save your breath, boy wonder," a familiar Cockney accented voice said. "Even if she agreed, the truth would get out somehow 'bout me." Spike came downstairs into her line of vision, his demonic visage looking more frightening than ever.

"Please, both of you, you have to let me go," Joyce begged, her hands gripping the bars of her cell. "I promise I won't tell! I give you my word!"

"Still no reason why we should, pet," Spike said. "I don't trust you."

"If I don't go back home, they'll search for me! They'll find me!" she shrieked, flinging herself against her bars in desperation. "Look, I couldn't tell anyone. Even with the media hype, who'd believe me?"

Spike snorted, saying, "Someone would believe you. Even if they din't at first, they'd follow an' find my li'l hideaway."

"No, no they wouldn't. My family is very secretive; they keep to themselves," Joyce said rapidly.

"You just said they'd find you," he reminded her. "They'd move heaven an' Earth to save you, wouldn't they?"

The vampire turned from her, considering. Wesley caught the gleam in Spike's eyes as he saw his friend formulating a plan. The younger man's eyes met the older being's in an attempt to warn Spike away from what could be a disaster. Spike gave no sign of wanting to listen, however.

"I'll make a bargain with you," the vampire told her. "I let you go, an' you don't tell anyone about us. In exchange, I'll let you go on with your life. It'll be like Carol-fucking-Brady. But if I so much see a want ad 'bout me in the papers, I'll find you and tear you all apart with my bear hands. Got that, Ms. Joyce?"

Wesley looked at the mother, silently begging her to take the deal. Joyce knew that that was the best she could expect from Spike.

She nodded, asking softly, "When can I leave?"

"Tonight," Spike answered. "That way, the story about you losin' your way'll stick."

Joyce thought a moment, then realized that she still had a problem. "But, my car is out of gas."

"I could drive you back," Wesley offered. Spike shook his head.

"'S risky enough with you making too many trips into town to university an' your job," Spike told him. "Don't want your license plate to be traced, an' whatnot."

"Then how will I get back?" Joyce asked. Spike pursed his full lips together, then grinned, showing Joyce his full set of fangs. She fought the urge to pee just then.

"In my garage, I have a motorcycle," he said.

"But I can't ride one," Joyce responded.

Spike held up his hand which, Joyce noted, had black fingernails.

"You'll be able to ride my cycle," he said dismissively.

"It's magic, you see," Wesley clarified. "You can ride it easily, even if you've never ridden one before, and it will take you wherever you want to go."

"All you have to do is tell it your address, an' it will drive itself until it reaches there. It'll also return back here instantly," Spike said.

Joyce looked at Wesley. "If he has a magic motorcycle, why do you have a car?" she asked, curious.

Wesley said reverently, "It's the only thing I have left of my parents. Besides, can you really see me on the back of a Cecily 923 motorcycle?"

Joyce looked at the yuppie looking Brit and smiled, shaking her head. "No, can't say that I can see you on one," she said. After a beat, she told both of them, "Okay. You've got a deal."

"I'll have your car brought back by morning," Wesley assured her. "You could tell them that it was found abandoned while you searched for a phone for a tow truck."

"Okay," Joyce agreed. Spike fixed her with a venomous stare before he took some keys out of his pocket and let her out.

"Remember, if I have any reason to take care o' you an' your family to save myself, I will," he reminded her. Joyce swallowed nervously, but nodded. She started walking to the stairs when his voice stopped her.

"You gotta picture?" he asked suddenly. She turned around as he continued. "I mean, if I'm not going to attack you, I want to have some idea of who I won't be going after."

Joyce dug around in her pocket for a photo and pulled out a small picture that had been taken last year at a carnival. It was a grainy picture, but it had her, Buffy and Cordelia smiling in the photo booth. Cordelia had a wide smile, as if she were posing at a modeling school.

Buffy looked shyer, but cracked a hesitant grin. Joyce beamed, proud to be photographed with her two fine daughters. She handed the picture to Wesley, who in turn gave it to Spike. Spike looked down at it, then froze as his eyes lit on Buffy.

He threw the picture down to the ground, growling as he bounded up the stairs, muttering, "No! It can't be!"

Joyce turned confused eyes on Wesley. "What is that all about?" she queried.

Wesley met her confused look with one of his own. "I have no idea," he finally told her. He went upstairs, Joyce following hot on his heels.

When they reached the living room, Spike was pacing. "Go home," he said. "I won't do anythin' to you or to them. But leave here immediately."

"Why the urgency?" Joyce asked.

Spike put the picture in his pocket just then, not waiting for Joyce to tell him he could have it. She decided not to antagonize him any further; she had several copies of the photo, after all.

"Just go," Spike said quietly, walking away from the pair of humans.

Joyce looked at Wesley again, but he shook his head, saying, "Sometimes, my friend perplexes even me. Best not to analyze it. You should leave before he changes his mind."

She needed no further urging. Joyce went to the garage she had seen and, spotting Spike's motorcycle, did as the vampire had told her.

"I want to go to 3110 Rodello Drive in Sunnydale," she commanded. The bike instantly came to life, and drove off with its lone passenger. Wesley, meanwhile, went outside and got into Joyce's car.

"Don't worry," he told his vampire friend. "I'll put enough petrol in her car, then take it to the edge of the road, far enough out of Williamstown. They'll find it, and assume she abandoned it to get enough gas to get to Sunnydale, or something." After he filled up Joyce's car, Wesley started up the engine, then paused.

"What was the photo business all about?" he asked Spike suddenly. Spike looked to the road, and when he answered Wesley, the young man had to strain to hear him.

"Dreams," Spike answered cryptically.





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