A Mother Knows Best by angelic_amy
 
 
Chapter #1 - Denial.
 


A/N:Written for the Spring round (April 2006) of Seasonal Spuffy.

*hugs and squishes* go to Sue and Megan for the wonderful beta job!


A Mother Knows Best
By angelic_amy




Chapter 1: Denial.


Crisp air turned cheeks rosy, noses red and caused nipples to tighten into deadly points. Winter was well and truly on the way. Which was surprising, really; Sunnydale was generally one of those abnormal little towns that were sunny and bright almost all year round. Apparently not this year.

Buffy pouted as she wrapped her arms around her torso to guard against the chill, her flimsy cotton shirt providing little protection. “Stupid weather forecaster,” she muttered with annoyance. It would be the last time she would forego a sweater on patrol.

Deciding her appendages would appreciate the extra blood circulation, the blonde slayer dropped down from the headstone she had previously been perched upon and resumed the circular pattern of her patrol. Tonight had been exceptionally dead, no pun intended. Save for one incredibly stupid fledgling, which had struggled to free himself from his own grave, the night had been uneventful. Bored didn’t adequately cover how Buffy felt right now.

The slayer had swept Weatherly Park, the factory district, and Shady Hill Cemetery tonight, her travels covering a good third of the town. Proximity wise, there was normally one other place she would patrol when doing this particular sweep. A place that tonight she was using every delay tactic in the book to avoid.

Restfield Cemetery.

Where Spike lived.

Scrunching up her nose in disgust, Buffy studiously flooded her mind with hate filled thoughts of the bleached menace in an attempt to drown out the less than unsavoury images that popped into her mind. No matter how hard she tried to quash them, the surround sound, cigarette smoke-scented, leather-filled visions were refusing to be ignored.

It wasn’t fair.

Ever since Willow’s ‘my will be done’ spell, Buffy hadn’t been able to get Spike out of her head. At first the thoughts had been righteously indignant, as was to be expected. But now? It bothered her to admit that Spike was in her thoughts more often than not.

They’d been betrothed; there’d been talk of cakes and place settings and honeymoon locations. Thinking about how excited she’d been then didn’t make her feel queasy like she’d have hoped. Not that marriage was something Buffy didn’t think about. Being a slayer didn’t make her that different from other girls. The future of a slayer was uncertain and unguaranteed; happily-ever-afters were not something a chosen one lived to experience. Perhaps that was partly to blame for the numerous hours that had passed during her earlier teenage years, daydreams of a life with Angel, complete with the wedding, house, a puppy and 2.5 kids.

When he’d left Sunnydale, left her those many months earlier, any and all dreams of a perfect future dissipated. Angel had been Buffy’s life, and when he disappeared he took her heart with him. Rude much…

Buffy hated Angel for that.

Completely and without reservation she’d trusted him, given him her heart and love. She basically put him on a pedestal. And what had he done? Pocketed the best bits and put the rest through a mince grinder for her to piece together again. “Bastard,” she cursed half-heartedly.

Until recently, Buffy truly believed her heart would never recover. The damage caused by her relationship with her former true love, combined with the gut-busting realisation that Parker had used her to get what he wanted—nothing but a tacky physical release—would have broken a weaker girl. Should have broken her. Physically, Buffy’s strength was extraordinary. Emotionally, she was as fragile as a porcelain doll. If not for her friends she might never have begun to heal her wounded heart.

Even with their support, she was unconvinced it would ever be whole again.

Then she met Riley and things were beginning to look up. A nice, normal, human guy, someone Buffy could actually have a future with. Riley liked her and he didn’t seem like the heart shredding type… not that her heart was on the menu. What Buffy had liked most about the TA was the way he’d look at her. It was a look that caused little butterflies to fly around in the pit of her stomach. Nothing monumental, but it was something—a big something to a person who was worried they’d lost the ability to feel.

Thoughts of a possible relationship with Riley used to conjure up imaginings of what kissing him would be like. Now, any thoughts of kissing caused a different face to rise in her minds eye: a countenance with razor sharp cheekbones, scared eyebrow and the permanent fixture of a cocky grin.

It infuriated her beyond belief. The feelings she’d felt were the result of a spell. When the spell ended, they should have been cut off. So why did they linger? Buffy had loved Spike. She realised that love was not something a person got over at the click of fingers, but this was getting to be beyond a joke. Magically induced feelings shouldn’t stay behind after the spell was ended. Loitering in the Slayer’s heart was neither permitted nor welcome.

An involuntary shudder rolled through Buffy’s shoulders, this time not caused by the temperature. No, this shiver was a baser reaction, her slayer sensing danger and responding to it. Vampire… it hissed.

Buffy sighed with relief, both mentally and physically, that something had at last appeared. Removing a stake from her back pocket, she moved into a defensive stance and waited for the creature to happen upon her. Any time not spent imagining the ice cool lips of --

“Spike?” she uttered with complete disbelief.

“Miss me, pet?” Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth and arched his scarred brow as he lasciviously eyed the Slayer from head to toe. She was a sight for sore eyes. Jeans sat low on her hips, and the rear view Spike had been admiring before she’d turned had been a pleasant one, the denim hugging her every curve. The red shirt she wore was no exception. Cut midway down her arms and scooped at the neck, the tightness of it left little to the imagination.

The Slayer huffed in response to his deliberate jibe, which caused her breasts to heave in a delightful manner. There was no doubt about it; Buffy Summers was a delectable little bite. This observation was not a new one. Spike had been aware of the Slayer’s obvious qualities from the first night he’d set eyes upon her. However, at the time her blood had been the only facet he’d been desperate to taste. A slayer’s blood was like nothing else, and this little spitfire of a girl had promised to be quite the tasty treat.

A week ago Spike’s appetite for Buffy had been whetted, and each night since he’d dreamed and imagined nothing else. He remembered everything about their little encounter as bride and groom-to-be. How gentle her loving caress was, the glide of her velvet soft lips against his, the pressure of her weight against his aching cock, and the smell of her undeniable arousal. If he closed his eyes and was very still, he could almost feel her hands ghosting across his skin as they had that day.

When the spell had been broken, Spike had been at a loss of what to think—of how to react. So he’d waited. Buffy’s disgust was immediate. He’d expected that response from her, but hadn’t foreseen was how her revulsion would make him feel. Discarded. Disheartened. Rejected.

Even reminders that those feelings were produced as a result of magic did little to numb the sharp, unexpected pain her reaction had caused within him. Did he really care what the Slayer thought of him? How she felt about him? Several weeks ago he would have said no. Now Spike wasn’t so sure.

“Why would I miss you?” Buffy scoffed, hand on hip in patented fashion. “And what the hell are you doing unshackled and out of Giles’ apartment?”

Spike clenched his jaw in frustration; annoyed that Buffy had turned the tables on him. Well, he wasn’t going to answer her question. There was one way he would be able to regain control of this situation, and Spike knew exactly what to do.

Taking three decisively precise steps forward, he manoeuvred himself within the Slayer’s personal space. Close enough so he could almost feel the heat resonating from her flesh. Slowly but surely, Spike leaned closer to speak into her ear. His cool un-needed breath tickled at Buffy’s ear and caused an involuntary shudder to roll through the slayer. The simple little response bolstered his confidence.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t missed this,” Spike purred as he lifted his right hand to trail down her left arm, gooseflesh rising beneath his touch.

“Stop it,” Buffy demanded with a lot less force than she was aiming for. What was happening? Why was she letting Spike touch her? Why wasn’t she pushing him away? Stupid vampires, aren’t they supposed to have some sort of thrall or something?

The thought that the only reason she was allowing Spike to touch her, in such a personal manner, was because of some sort of vampiric control brought some relief. But she couldn’t honestly say she believed it whole-heartedly. If Spike had the ability to thrall, why had he never used it on her before, when it would have been helpful while he’d been trying to kill her?

“Is that what you really want?”

Spike’s tone was seductive, like liquid satin, and it was doing things to Buffy’s resolve it had never done before. It’s gotta be thrall… or residue from the spell… or…

Buffy was desperately clutching at straws, searching for an explanation, an excuse for why she had let her guard down around another vampire. There was no future in that. Relationships with vampires were bad and wrong and frowned upon by the Council and they could never end well. Was I really just thinking about a relationship with Spike?

That thought broke the moment. Buffy gasped with disgust, mostly at herself, and backtracked away from the vampire.

“Don’t touch me.”

The loss Spike felt when Buffy withdrew was immediate. And it terrified him. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Vampires were supposed to want to kill slayers, not kiss them. Because that was the very direction they had been headed right before Buffy’s abrupt departure. The very notion of doing such a thing left Spike bewildered. He wanted her. Spike wanted Buffy. Not her throat, her blood, her death. No, Spike wanted ALL of her. And it wasn’t a side effect of the spell - it was real.

The venom in Buffy’s voice was a surprise and Spike belatedly blinked in shock, having been lost in the realisation he had feelings for the Slayer. Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, had a crush on Buffy Summers! He wanted to be disgusted with himself, wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. The worst part of this whole situation was that the feeling was obviously not reciprocated, judging by the look on the Slayer’s face.

“You weren’t complainin’ ‘bout it the other night,” he retorted petulantly.

“That was a spell!” Buffy threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “That wasn’t real, Spike.”

Spike couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t accept what had transpired between them was solely because of Red’s spellcasting. “And just now? What was that?”

Buffy swallowed nervously. She didn’t have an explanation, but she needed to give him an answer. Something to shut him up. “It was nothing.”

“Bollocks!” Spike prowled toward her again and stopped when he was within her reach. “It was real.”

“Thrall!” Buffy blurted out. “You… you were using some vampire control thrall thing.”

“Bloody well was not!” Spike retorted.

Crap… Buffy had been hoping she was right on that assumption. “Spell residue.”

“After a week? Not bloody likely,” Spike snorted.

“It can happen…”

Spike arched a brow. “And I s’pose Ripper’s vision is still foggy? And Xander’s got demons chasin’ him ‘bout town?”

“Well, Anya is…” Buffy trailed off.

An ear-to-ear grin stretched across Spike’s face. He’d deflected her excuses and she was struggling to find an answer. Maybe he was wrong; maybe the Slayer did feel something for him.

“Stop smirking like that,” Buffy pouted.

The almost whine in her voice only furthered his amusement. Then his eyes zeroed in on her plump bottom lip and he leaned forward. Spike couldn’t help himself; it was just begging to be suckled.

Spike’s lips barely ghosted over Buffy’s when she seemed to remember herself again. With a violent shove she pushed him away from her. “Don’t touch me.”

“What the bleedin’ hell is your problem, Slayer?” Spike demanded. “We were havin’ a moment there and you had to --”

“We were not!

Spike tried to close in on her again but stopped when Buffy took on a defensive stance and balled her fists.

“Stay away from me, or I swear, I’ll --”

“Hit me?” Spike interrupted. “And that’s s’posed to be a threat?”

Buffy stamped her foot in frustration. “When did you become such a pain in the ass?”

“When did you become such a prude?”

Buffy’s fist shot through the air with blinding speed, zeroing in on Spike’s nose.

And froze.

Energy crackled in the air. There was a flash of blue light and a black circle appeared, followed by the whirring sound of wind rushing through a tunnel as two figures emerged.

One was Joyce Summers. She was wearing the suit she’d worn to the Gallery that day, and a bewildered expression on her face.

The male beside her was shorter than her, with dark hair hidden beneath a broad rimmed hat. A Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants completed his outfit. While the Slayer’s mom was obviously in shock over her sudden transportation from her workplace to what appeared to be a cemetery, he was not.

“Well Joyce, here’s where it all begins.”





A/N: Hope you like! This fic is complete so chapters will be going up pretty quickly – dependant on my net access.

 
 
Chapter #2 - Shocking Revelations.
 


A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Stacy - our wonderful archive Mum! (And yes, Mum - aussie remember! *grins*) I wasn't going to put this chapter up so soon but because she asked so nicely, here it is.

*squishy hugs* go to Megan and Sue for the wonderful beta job.



Chapter 2: Shocking Revelations.


The words filtered through Joyce’s shock and found her ears, but currently she was fighting the urge to hurl from the sensation of being ripped from one place and then deposited in another, all in the blink of an eye. Travel by that method should be made illegal, in her opinion. In fact, logic deemed it shouldn’t even be possible. A year ago, no, even a few months earlier she may have been able to chalk it up as one of those bizarre things that could not be explained. But not now. Humans could not move in that manner. The prospect that her travel companion wasn’t human did little to settle her frazzled nerves.

After several slow, deep breaths, Joyce felt confident enough to examine her surroundings in more detail.

Minimal lighting, headstones… this is definitely a cemetery. And that’s --

“Buffy!” Joyce exclaimed. Several hurried steps were taken toward her daughter, though she need not have rushed. Buffy was frozen, almost as if someone had hit a pause button. Fury blazed in her gaze and her stance was threatening, fist balled and extended in mid swing, mere inches away from --

“Spike?”

Whirling around to face her escort, Joyce pasted on her best ‘don’t-even-think-about-arguing-with-me’ face. “Whatever you’ve done here, I demand you undo it, immediately.”

The smaller man, or demon as it were, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as he pondered how best to make the purpose of his little visit clear, without angering the Slayer’s mom. “I don’t think that would be the best thing to do at present. You see, we weren’t around as this was happening. If time is restored now, the consequences could be catastrophic.” He was lying through his teeth but he doubted Joyce Summers was a scholar of the space-time continuum.

Folding her arms over her chest, Joyce made her annoyance blatantly obvious. “If this is hurting her…” She trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

“It’s not, scout’s honour.”

Why she trusted he was telling the truth, she didn’t know. Nodding, Joyce waved a hand to consent that he continue, or begin as it were, his explanation for tearing her from the Gallery in the first place, remembering his name from the brief introduction he’d given before they’d blinked to their current location. “Please continue, Whistles.”

“Whistler,” he corrected automatically, continuing when he saw annoyance flare in Joyce’s eyes. Mother and daughter were more alike than they probably realised.

“I’ve brought you here tonight because this,” he gestured toward the frozen pair of blondes, “is a crossroads. The decision your daughter makes regarding Spike this evening will greatly affect the future. And depending on which choice she makes, it could be a good or bad influence.”

Joyce frowned as she turned her gaze from the man speaking to her, to study her daughter. From what she could gather, Buffy and Spike appeared to be in the middle of a fight. Well at least Buffy did. Spike had barely reacted to the fist that was mid air before him. Joyce surmised that was either because he wasn’t expecting it, or Buffy was faster than he anticipated.

“Is Buffy going to…” she trailed off as she searched for the correct terminology. “Slay, Spike tonight?”

“No.” Whistler shook his head. “Spike is of no threat to the Slayer. The chip in his brain prevents him from --”

“Harming human beings,” Joyce interrupted, details of a conversation she’d shared with her daughter a week or so ago coming to mind. “Then why is Buffy about to hit him?”

Whistler shifted uncomfortably. He had been hoping to avoid this line of questioning. As a rule, he preferred to explain a situation without putting all the cards on the table. Judging by Joyce’s firm expression, he wouldn’t be able to get away with that this evening. “Buffy and Spike were discussing --”

Joyce snorted with disbelief. “Buffy doesn’t discuss things with Spike.”

“Right you are. I should have known better than to try and fool the mother of the finest Slayer the world has seen in centuries.” The praise was in no way subtle, they both knew it, but it was appreciated none the less. No one could deny Buffy’s abilities as a chosen one. Whistler knew the reason she’d managed to survive so long, facing the foes that she had, was because of her independence and resourcefulness. Buffy’s blatant refusal to be controlled by the Council was a source of much amusement for the demon population and the PTB’s alike, and he believed it too played a part in her longevity. A mother’s influence and guidance was also undoubtedly a factor.

“What exactly were they arguing about?” Joyce questioned when an answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming.

“Their relationship.”

Joyce blinked with surprise. “Relationship?”

“Or lack there-of, in Spike’s case.” Whistler smiled kindly. “About a week ago, Miss Rosenberg performed a spell which… had side effects.”

“Side effects? What sort of side effects?” Panic rose within Joyce. The thought that her daughter had been harmed in any way became her immediate concern.

“I apologise for my wording, Joyce. Buffy is quite all right,” he assured. When Joyce breathed a sigh of relief, he continued.

“The spell was one of the will. Meaning, that anything she commanded – eventuated. For the duration of time the magicks were in effect, Buffy and Spike were…” Again Whistler sought the right word. Mentioning their betrothal was probably not the wisest decision. “In the beginnings of courtship.”

“They were dating?” Joyce laughed good-humouredly. “I can’t imagine Buffy --” The realisation that Willow was the cause of any relationship between the pair of mortal enemies, only served to further confuse her. “Why would Willow wish for Buffy and Spike to… date?”

“She didn’t wish it, she willed it. Wishing is the domain of vengeance demons and that’s completely beside the point.” Whistler chuckled quietly. “At the time, Miss Rosenberg was unaware the spell was in effect. Frustrated words were said in the heat of the moment, and bingo! Her will was done.”

Joyce’s brows arched slightly as she began to comprehend what Whistler had explained. “So Buffy and Spike had a pseudo relationship? How long was the spell in effect?”

“A few hours. Not long enough to cause any major damage. Of course, that is dependent on who you speak to.” Buffy’s name hung unspoken in the air between them.

“And the two of them, they’re arguing about that… connection now?”

Whistler nodded.

“You mentioned a crossroads.” Joyce frowned as she tried to piece the information together in her mind. “Considering the argument, and what little I know about Spike, I suspect you meant whether or not Buffy was open to the possibility of dating, uninfluenced this time.”

A whistle of appreciation left Whistler’s lips. “You’re quite the intelligent woman, Joyce. I suspect that’s why you were chosen over the others.”

Joyce blushed with pleasure at the compliment, her lips preparing to ask a question that Whistler continued on to answer. “Rupert Giles and Willow Rosenberg were also considered as possible candidates.”

“Candidate for what?” Joyce questioned suspiciously.

“Sorry, thought it was clear.” He paused for effect, a wide grin stretching his face. “We, and by we I mean the Higher Powers, want you to—in effect—play matchmaker.”

Joyce blinked. She certainly had not expected that answer. “Excuse me?”

“Matchmaker, Cupid, the guiding hand that pushes the pair togeth--”

With a snort of annoyance and a roll of her eyes, Joyce interrupted. “I understand the concept. It’s the reasoning that confuses me.”

“Ah.” Now came the tricky part. How was Whistler supposed to explain that the fate of the world depended on the pair behind him being able to work side by side, without wanting to rip each other’s heads off? That through shared love they would become the strongest and deadliest force of good the world had ever seen? Even harder to explain was the fact that if they didn’t become involved, the world, as he and Joyce alike knew it, would cease to exist. Do you skirt around something like that, or just come right out with it?

“Out with it already. Whatever it is you’re holding back, tell me. I like to think I have an open mind; it was only a short time ago I was still unaware that Slayer’s and vampires existed and I’ve come to accept both as facts.” Joyce’s voice was clear and confident, the complete opposite of what she felt inside. Of all the words that had come from his mouth, the simple utterance of ‘ah’ held the most weight.

“You’re an admirable woman, Joyce Summers.” With a deep inhalation of breath, he began the explanation in the clearest way possible. “The fate of the world depends on them.”

If Joyce was shocked by his statement, she didn’t show it, and Whistler’s admiration for her grew in that moment. “I’m sure you would have been informed of the numerous apocalypses your daughter has averted?”

Joyce nodded.

“Without Spike’s assistance, Buffy won’t survive the next.”

This time Joyce couldn’t contain the jolt of terror his words inspired. “But as you said, Buffy has averted so many, what makes this one different?” Her voice trembled as the possibility of losing her daughter began to sink in. To lose a child was every mother’s worse fear.

Whistler’s tone was deadly serious. “Because it’s not your regular kind, not just some demon with an urge to end the human race. It’s the apocalypse. The end, not only of this world but of all the worlds. Dimensional walls will be ripped down and hell will literally exist on earth.”

A quiver of cold fear ripped right through Joyce and caused her knees to buckle beneath her in response. Whistler knew the weight of the situation would affect her at some point, although honestly he’d expected it sooner. As such, he’d prepared by assuring he was within reaching distance. Before Joyce had the chance to drop to her knees, Whistler had her by the upper arms and led her toward a park bench.

“H-how?” she finally asked when her voice returned to her.

“A crazed hell-god, mystical key, and a whole list of things I really shouldn’t get too in depth with right now.”

“And Buffy…?”

There was no way to break this gently. “She’ll die. And not only Buffy, the whole --”

“I’ll do it,” Joyce responded firmly. Her baby’s life was on the line. And Buffy’s life meant more to Joyce than her own. If it meant coercion to convince her stubborn daughter to give Spike the chance he apparently deserved, she’d do it.

“I knew you were the right person to approach,” Whistler commented gently. The more time he spent with her, the deeper his admiration for the woman grew.

“When?”

Whistler shook his head. “I can’t answer that question. The less you know, the better. In fact, this conversation will be wiped from your memory the moment I leave.”

Joyce frowned. “Then how --”

“Will you remember?” Whistler smiled as he finished her thought. “You’ll be left with a strong urge for making sure it happens, but won’t be able to explain why.”

Mild relief washed over her. Knowing her daughter could possibly be dead soon was something Joyce was glad to be spared from, so long as her involvement would alter the outcome. Whistler stood and prepared to leave. When Joyce stood to follow, he waved for her to stop.

“But you said before about the continuum…” She trailed off when she spotted the sheepish smile on his face.

“A little white lie,” Whistler admitted. “Even if you followed me, when time restarts and your memories are righted, you’ll assume the location dictated by the PTB’s to kick start your ‘matchmaking’.”

Joyce nodded, watching as the messenger began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

“Oh, and Joyce?” Whistler called over his shoulder. “Make sure you don’t miss the doctor’s appointment you’ve got scheduled for next week.”

“Doctor’s appointment? But I don’t have an appoin--”

In a flash of blue light, Whistler disappeared and time restarted.





A/N: Just want to say thanks for all the lovely reviews - you guys are the best! *hugs* readers.

 
 
Chapter #3 - Plan Formulation.
 


*squishy hugs* go to Megan and Sue for the wonderful beta job.

Thank you to everyone who has left me reviews!



Chapter 3: Plan Formulation.


Buffy’s fist shot through the air. It connected with a loud—and what sounded like a painful—crunch.

Spike’s hands flew to his nose as he staggered a few feet away and a string of curse words flowed from his mouth. “What is your problem, Slayer?”

My problem? MY problem?” Buffy’s voice rose in volume as she stalked toward Spike with deadly intent in each step. “YOU! You’re my problem. The fact you stick around when you should be elsewhere. Do you want a pointy introduction with my stake?”

The weapon in question suddenly appeared from her person, the speed with which she retrieved it causing Spike to continue to back away from the enraged Slayer.

“Giles might have a problem with me dusting a ‘helpless’ former --”

Spike’s growl of annoyance interrupted the tirade. “I’m not bleedin’ helpless.”

“No?” Buffy arched a brow. “You can’t fight back, you can’t protect yourself. Enlighten me, how would you describe your… condition.” The last part was spoken with blatant, biting scorn.

“’s temporary,” Spike muttered beneath his breath.

“Your entire existence is going to be temporary if you, and your lecherous lips don’t back the hell off!”

Spike responded in the worst way possible, he leered. Tongue curled behind the back of his teeth, scarred brow arched skyward, and a lascivious stare that began at Buffy’s feet and settled on all the right places before he met her gaze again. And held it. Playful cerulean blue clashed with fiery hazel, neither willing to be the first to look away. This battle of the wills could go on all night; the only thing that could interrupt was --

A scream ripped through the night.

Buffy broke the stare and took off at a run in the direction of the frightened sound, a silent prayer of thanks muttered beneath her breath as she tracked the noise.

For a moment Spike remained still, staring after Buffy as she dashed off into the night. Then he realised that she had broken the stare first, he’d won! A minor victory yes, but still a victory. And Spike was never one to waste a good gloating opportunity. Once the Slayer had finished saving the damsel in distress, he’d pick up their argument right where it left off.

Baiting her like this was a deadly and dangerous game to play, especially for someone currently lacking the ability to defend himself. But Spike liked to live on the edge. Pressing the Slayer’s buttons, getting her all fired up, it was the most fun he’d had in a long time. The spell of Red’s directed his thoughts toward pressing other buttons. And that sounded just as much, if not more, fun.

With a burst of vampiric speed, Spike broke into a run in much the same way as Buffy had just moments earlier.

~*~*~


This was a bad, bad idea. Why on earth Joyce thought seeking her daughter whilst she was out on patrol was a good thing, she had no idea. All she knew, all she felt, was a strong need to find and speak to her daughter. Pushed by an unidentified driving force, Joyce had left the Gallery and walked the streets of Sunnydale, headed for the first place she thought to check. The cemetery. Or in the case of their hometown which had an inordinate amount of them, the cemetery closest to home.

Joyce realised her mistake as she passed through the wrought iron gates of Shady Hill, and immediately felt eyes upon her. Like a burning in the back of her head, she could feel it. Never in her life had Joyce felt so vulnerable, not even last year when she’d been held captive by an obviously disturbed Faith. That’s right, Joyce; think of all the scary things that have happened over the last few years and distract yourself even further. Buffy would be so proud to find out you’ve put yourself in the position to become dinner once more.

The mental chastising was enough incentive to make her move faster. All seemed well for a minute or two, then she heard it. A growl. Shivers of fear raced up Joyce’s spine, the slivery fingers of ice stretching out and wrapping around her heart which was beating with the speed of a racehorse. She stopped walking and spun a full circle; her eyes straining to stare into the shadows, she felt mocked her for daring step into the darkness of night.

From the edge of her peripheral, she caught the first sign of movement. Then it disappeared again. This cat and mouse game of toying with the prey was most certainly not an experience Joyce liked. Nor did she like the fact she’d just identified herself as a target for the predators of the night. Several uneasy steps backward were made before the demons finally showed their faces.

Three, all of them male, skulked out from the shadows and stiffly moved toward her. The first thing Joyce noticed was their eyes—yellow and angry—and filled with a strong desire for violence. Yet they lacked a certain spark… a something Joyce couldn’t quite put her finger on. The ridges of their bumpy foreheads wrapped from the temple right to the bridge of the nose, like someone had grabbed a chunk of play dough and mushed it onto their faces. They didn’t look right.

With relief, Joyce realised this mental dissection of the demons before her was slowly weakening her fear. Then her observation dropped to the needle sharp teeth that hung from gaping maws and the fear kicked right back up again.

Joyce stumbled a few steps further before the back of her knees hit a low headstone, daring not to remove her sight from the creatures before her. Carefully sidestepping the grave marker, she continued in her attempts to put some distance between her person and the demons salivating with thoughts Joyce did not even want to contemplate.

They pressed onward, continuing the slow hunt as they prowled toward her. It was as she watched their movement that Joyce came to a startling realisation. These vampires, while still filled with deadly murderous intent, were young in their unlives. Their movements were rigid and restrained, like a person holds themselves on the first day of a new job. She may not have spent a lot of time out in the dark studying creatures of the night like her daughter and her friends, but Joyce had seen a master vampire before. Two in fact. And neither moved in such a stilted manner.

When Spike moved, it was with a leisurely grace, like a panther that had risen from an afternoon nap. Even when moving at a slow pace, his entire being rippled with unbridle power and strength. Sex on legs. The languorous pace he employed was seductive, lulling those around him into a false sense of security. Spike’s ability to inflict harm upon humans might currently be restrained, but his power was still very much in effect.

Joyce was not ashamed to admit she’d noticed Spike’s obvious charms; she did have eyes. In fact, if the vampire wasn’t so taken with her daughter, and Joyce herself were a few years younger, she would probably make her appreciation for his aesthetic qualities public. Not only was he a beauty to the eye, but he was also an incredibly intelligent and emotional being. The cocky swagger and sometimes overuse of British slang, it was all part of a façade constructed to protect his gentler more refined side from mockery. Joyce knew this because the few opportunities she’d had to speak with him sans Buffy’s presence, Spike had shown his softer self. Even before the chip was embedded in his brain. He respected her and Joyce doubted he’d ever harm her, even without the small plastic muzzle.

How Buffy could be so blind to the catch before her was beyond Joyce. But then, she supposed maybe it was hereditary; she’d never thought Hank would be the type to cheat.

Joyce knew her acceptance of the possibility of Buffy being with Spike, another vampire, was a complete twist on her attitude just mere months earlier with Angel. Truthfully she felt little guilt over her role in his leaving town. Maybe it was because she suspected the souled vampire didn’t truly love Buffy as much as he professed. If that were the case, if he did love her as completely as he alleged, he shouldn’t—no make that couldn’t have been able to leave so easily. With Spike however, Joyce knew from her few personal interactions with the vampire that where his emotions were concerned, when he loved someone it was deep and real. Not just infatuation.

It was decided. If Joyce walked away from this confrontation with her life, which she seriously doubted considering her faltering concentration, she vowed she would force her daughter to open her eyes and realise Spike wasn’t the evil nasty thing she so loudly professed he was.

As one, the vampires attacked.

Joyce screamed.

~*~*~


Buffy darted between the headstones, adrenaline fuelling her muscles to increase her speed as she neared the location of the scream. Under the low hanging branches of a tree, around a hulking stone mausoleum and she was there.

There were three of them and Buffy could practically see the saliva dripping from their gums as they stalked toward --

“Mom?”

~*~*~


Spike could hear the crunch and slap of Slayer fists on vampire flesh. He almost pitied the poor buggers on the receiving end of one of Buffy’s attacks, knowing all too well just how painful they were.

The original plan had been to sit back and watch as the pint-sized blonde worked out her frustrations on his unfortunate kinsmen, then slide in and take advantage of the post fight arousal. While he’d never let it be known—which was surprising considering it was the golden of all opportunities for mockery—Spike was and had always been, aware of just how turned on a good fight left the Slayer. Afterward, her scent always permeated the air so thickly he could almost taste it.

Any and all decisions to remain a spectator fled the moment he saw the intended prey. Joyce Summers.

Murderous rage infused Spike’s entire being. He literally saw red. How dare they even consider harming a single hair on her head? How dare they. Consequences not forgotten but shoved aside, Spike balled his fist and threw the mother of all sucker punches into the face of the vampire closest to him. Instinctively his hands flew to cradle his head from the pain. But it never came.

Eyes blinked wide and Spike decided to test it a second time before voicing his glee. The vampire he’d slugged whirled on him in fury, mouth open and ready to snarl what would probably be a commonly overused threat, when Spike slammed another fist into its face. The would-be attacker flew through the air from the force of Spike’s punch and landed in a mangled thump.

Spike’s grin became epic in proportion.

No pain.

He could hit demons.

With a whoop of delight, he threw himself into the fray.

~*~*~


Buffy dusted her second vampire and whirled around the finish off the third and was struck dumb at the sight before her. Spike, whaling on the vampire, each attack punctuated with a joker like grin which in no way matched the enraged comments which flew from his mouth.

“Not…” Upper cut punch to the jaw. “This…” Lightening fast jab to the throat. “Woman!” Bone breaking kick to the groin, a move that made both Summers women wince in reaction.

With a theatrical flourish, Spike twirled the stick-cum-stake in his hand once before plunging the weapon into the un-beating heart of his demon opponent.

Buffy was completely and utterly stunned. She never knew Spike was so fiercely protective of her mother. The rage she’d seen dancing in his expressive eyes was boundless. Buffy had no idea Spike cared about her mother so much. But judging by the smug look on Joyce’s face, this protectiveness wasn’t a new development.

The second fact that had Buffy reeling was that Spike had been able to hit the vampire. Correction… make that beat the living shit of it. Not that Buffy wouldn’t have done exactly the same; the point was, Spike wasn’t supposed to be able to. The chip prohibited him from harming anything. It could only mean one thing. Wrapping her fingers tightly around the wooden stake still clutched in her hand, Buffy took one step forward.

And was stopped by her mother’s outstretched arm and a look that clearly said ‘don’t.’

“I have to,” Buffy mumbled. Spike was a viable threat again, and she couldn’t let him live. The thought of staking him, of him no longer being, made her stomach turn in a way that surprised her.

Spike’s delight at his new discovery was instantly dampened at the sight of the intent in Buffy’s eyes. Looking down at her hand, he could see just how tightly she clutched the stake, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. A flash of confusion, followed by betrayed pain washed over him. He’d just helped to protect Joyce and Buffy still wanted to kill him. Spike visibly deflated.

“Buffy, he helped save my life. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Joyce questioned in her best guilt-trip mom voice.

Buffy sighed. “Of course, but he’s still a demon. One who can kill. I have to do this. I’m the Slayer and he’s a vamp--”

“Angel’s a vampire,” Joyce interrupted bluntly, a frown crossing her face. “You let him live.”

“Angel is good!” Buffy protested. She couldn’t believe her mother pulled the ‘past love’ card on her, especially since she knew how much the loss still burned her.

“He wasn’t always.”

Spike watched with curiosity as Joyce argued with Buffy, batting down every explanation the Slayer brought forward.

“He’s changed.”

“So could Spike.”

Buffy restrained herself from stamping her foot like the petulant child she currently felt like. Why didn’t her mother see that she had to do this?

“Things aren’t so black and white, Buffy.”

“Yes, they are.” Now that did sound a little like a whine, but Buffy didn’t care. She had to make her mother see. “Vampires are evil, and I’m a vampire slayer. My job description is pretty clear.”

“How does Angel fit into your ‘clear’ little job description? He’s a vampire and by your own definition --”

“Mom! Please, just butt out and let me do my job!”

Spike growled with irritation. He didn’t like how Buffy was speaking to her mother and --

“Would you just quit the fake protecto-gig you’ve got going already, no-one’s buying it.” Buffy rolled her eyes.

“I’m not bloody well fakin’!” Spike cried in frustration.

“Oh, give me a break, Spi--”

“I believe him,” Joyce interrupted.

Buffy blinked. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

Joyce folded her arms over her chest.

“This is all just some sort of… ploy, an act.” Buffy turned her furious stare toward the vampire in question. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pretended to feel something he doesn’t.”

Joyce frowned in confusion but Spike knew exactly what Buffy was talking about. She thinks before… that was an act?

“You wanna keep your mum safe, Slayer, I get that. But I couldn’t harm Joyce even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.” The expression in his eyes was soft; his voice was clear and deadly serious. “You think ‘cos I beat up a few demons that ol’ Spike has broken his leash? Well you’d be wrong. The bitty piece of plastic is still doin’ its job. Can practically feel it buzzin’ in my brain as we speak.”

“Liar.” Buffy lifted her chin in defiance, almost daring Spike to argue with her.

Since Buffy didn’t appear to be open to listening to reason, Spike figured a demonstration was the best way to show he was telling the truth. This is gonna hurt like a bitch…

Spike rushed Buffy, his intent to push her to the ground and pin her in much the way he’d dreamed of when all he could think of was her blood in his throat. The second he laid one finger on her, the shocks of pain spider-webbed through his brain, eliciting a roar of pain which dropped him to the ground at her feet.

“You tried to attack me!” Buffy cried in anger.

“And it bleedin’ well hurt like a…” Spike censored himself when he remembered Joyce’s presence.

Buffy blinked in shock as realisation flicked a little light bulb on in her head. “You mean --”

“I can hit demons,” Spike interrupted as he lifted himself to his feet.

“And the chip…”

“Still brings brain meltin’ pain, just like it’s s’posed to.”

Joyce looked from Spike to her daughter and back again. “Good, now that’s sorted, how about we head home for some hot chocolate? I’m in the mood for something sweet after that little ordeal.”

Buffy knew her mom was including Spike in the ‘we’, and that just didn’t sit right with the slayer. Spike might not be able to harm humans, but he was still a pain in the ass. “Mom, you can’t possibly mean --”

“Of course I do.” Joyce’s pointed stare left no room for argument. “How about it, Spike? I haven’t forgotten your love of those little marshmallows.”

With a slow smile, Spike nodded his acquiescence. “I’d love to.”

Joyce linked her arm through Spikes and headed in the direction of the cemetery gates, leaving a dumbfounded Buffy staring after them before she begrudgingly followed.

“Irritating fake vampires,” she muttered beneath her breath.





A/N: Hope it was worth the wait!

 
 
Chapter #4 - Divine Intervention.
 


*squishy hugs* go to Megan and Sue for the wonderful beta job.

Thank you to everyone who left me lovely reviews!




Chapter 4: Divine Intervention.



If Buffy polished her weapons any more, she’d probably start wearing the metal away. She’d followed her mother and Spike for the first few minutes on the trek home, but had quickly grown impatient with the leisurely stroll with which they walked, and the easy-going conversation they shared. Not that attempts to include her hadn’t been made, she’d just ignored them. With the feigned excuse of the need to check another cemetery before she turned in for the night, Buffy had escaped.

Lucky for her, she’d stumbled upon a couple more vamps. None of the battles were life threatening; fledglings weren’t exactly known for their intelligence. Beating heart equalled food. None of them had seen her as the threat to their existence that she was. You would think that after the how many hundreds of years their kind had trawled the earth, evolution would have shown some sort of development and ingrained in them from rebirth the knowledge that strong little girls were dangerous and to be avoided. Hey, it might make her nights more interesting if the regular Joe vamps she fought each night had any clue what a slayer even was.

So after several quick and easy fights, Buffy had finally trudged her way home.

Masculine laughter could be heard as she’d approached the front door, causing a thrill to roll up her spine. Disgust with herself had followed immediately, and Buffy had stomped inside the house and upstairs for a quick shower to remove the vampire remains from her hair. When she’d emerged from the steam filled bathroom a full thirty minutes later, and heard a peal of more of her mother’s laughter, she knew Spike had yet to leave. This only increased her ire further.

Buffy had reached into her closet and removed the large suitcase she used for weapons storage and dragged it out of the room, down the hall, and with great satisfaction thudded it down each step. When she reached her destination of the living room, she spilled the entire contents of the case on the floor, the loud clanging and clacking noises pleasing to her ears, and had begun the somewhat tedious task of cleaning each and every piece.

That was over an hour ago.

Despite the noise she created, her mother had refrained from leaving the kitchen to scold her. This in itself was just as frustrating. Her mother was ignoring the noise she made, which only encouraged Buffy to be louder, her noise-making petulant and bordering on childish behaviour. And still they paid no attention to her.

Each and every weapon now clean to the point that they sparkled, Buffy reached for the remote and pressed the power button. Hopefully there would be something interesting to watch. Or ever better, Spike would leave. The last thing Buffy needed, or wanted, was the… annoying, bleach-haired, leather wearing, cigarette smoking vampire with the soft lips and sexy behi--

“Oh God, I’m losing my mind!”

~*~*~


After he rinsed and dried their mugs from the third, or was it the fourth cup of hot chocolate, Spike decided he’d worn out his welcome. Joyce had been far too hospitable. Judging by the huffs of annoyance and random thumps coming from the living room, Buffy agreed with his conclusion.

When she’d first returned from her ‘necessary’ extra patrol, Spike had tried to excuse himself and leave. But Joyce would hear none of it. “Buffy can sulk about your presence here as much as she wants, but I won’t have her running you out of this house. You’re my guest, Spike.”

Thumps and thuds and clinks and clangs had sounded from all over the house as the pint-sized Slayer had tried her best to annoy her mother into abandoning her ‘guest’. Despite a few choice muttered comments and the pursing of lips when a particularly loud clatter was made, Joyce had refrained from reacting.

The walk to the Summers house from Shady Hill had been… nice. It wasn’t often Spike was given the opportunity to engage in intelligent conversation. Demons, by design, weren’t exactly known for their conversational skills, and neither a fondness for discussion of Literature or admiration of the visual arts. For the sake of his reputation, he kept his passion for knowledge a secret. And he’d missed it. Once they’d reached the house, the easy conversation had continued—uninterrupted, save the odd noise from Buffy.

Somehow, Joyce had coaxed him with relevant ease to lower his defences, although only around her. Nothing was off limits, although there were certain topics Spike had been thankful she’d tactfully avoided.

“Tell me, Spike, how’s your love life lately?”

Apparently her tact had run out.

Spike aimed for easygoing, but to his ears it seemed much more like he was flustered. “Oh, you know, tryin’ to keep my options open.” A nervous smile flickered hesitantly across his face and he had to force himself not to look in the direction of the living room. A good poker player didn’t give tells.

When a broad grin stretched across Joyce’s face Spike knew he’d been made.

Joyce bit back the burble of laughter that rose in her throat. Ever since the impromptu decision she’d made in the cemetery to ensure her daughter no longer mistreated Spike, Joyce had been flicking through memories of her encounters with the young looking vampire and the changes she’d seen within him. Especially those she’d witnessed over the last few weeks.

It was a nagging sensation at the very back of her consciousness that had prodded her in the direction of a more personal line of questioning. A feeling that told her maybe, just maybe, there was something to the fleeting looks the vampire had thrown in the direction of the door before Buffy’s return. That maybe the man sitting with her who was prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve had found a new someone he wished to give his affections.

Right now, the look of trepidation that flooded his features was enough to confirm her suspicions. “How long?” she asked calmly, lowering the volume of her voice ever so slightly, just as a precaution.

A stunned blink and then fear took up residence in the expressive blue eyes that stared at her in disbelief.

Rushed, panicked words tore from his lips. “Joyce, whatever you might be think--”

“Shhh,” Joyce shushed as she gently placed a hand over his on the counter. “I won’t say a word.”

The whispered promise brought a little relief. How on earth Joyce knew, how she had identified his burgeoning feelings for the small, blonde and deadly young woman in the other room, was beyond him. The woman had an uncanny knack of being able to read him like a book. Per’aps I should start wearin’ sunglasses…

The sound of approaching feet found his ears and Spike muttered an apology before he darted through the kitchen door and out into the safety of the backyard for a smoke.

~*~*~


When the television refused to yield a program worthy of viewing, Buffy lifted herself to her feet and padded toward the kitchen. Tired as she was beginning to feel, sleep was not an option while there was still a vampire in the house. Intent on sending Spike packing, Buffy strolled confidently into the kitchen.

And was met with a fierce glare from familial eyes.

The Slayer opened her mouth to question the lack of a vampire-shaped body but was denied the opportunity when her mother launched into a tirade.

“Buffy Anne Summers. I am beyond disappointed with your behaviour this evening.”

“My --” Buffy cut off her own argument at the glower she received.

“After everything Spike has done for you, aft--”

“What Spike has done for me?” Disbelief at her mother’s choice of words was evident in Buffy’s tone. “Spike… Spike is nothing but a pain in the ass! For years, all he’s done,” Buffy snorted before amending her explanation, “all he’s tried to do, is kill me and my friends.”

~*~*~


Outside on the porch, all of Spike’s self confidence shrivelled and died. Any and all respect Joyce may have held for him, the friendship that was blossoming between them, was as good as flushed down the toilet.

Who was he to even contemplate the possibility that Buffy would ever see him as anything more than a soulless, murdering monster?

~*~*~


“Buffy, language!”

“No, Mom, you need to listen to me,” Buffy continued, surprising herself with her audacity. “Spike is a killer. The temporary…” She trailed off as she sought the right descriptor. “Leash, that is stopping him from returning to his normal nature of feeding, and killing, is just that, temporary. At any moment it could malfunction and he would be --”

She’s not going to listen… Joyce thought to herself as Buffy launched into her ‘reasons why Spike can’t be trusted’ list. She won’t believe anything unless she sees…

Joyce rolled her eyes at her daughter’s stubbornness, and looked toward the Heavens for assistance. The call was answered.

Buffy’s rant came to an abrupt halt when Joyce collapsed in a heap on the floor.

~*~*~


Spike was fighting both tears and anger at the same time as disparaging remarks about his character flowed from Buffy’s mouth. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact Buffy’s words were so callous, or that he cared. Turnin’ soft, well bugger that… ‘m not some nancy boy stalker who hides in the shadows. Sticks ‘n stones ‘n all that rot. Anyhow, ‘t’s not like I haven’t said worse in my time…

The decision was made to thank Joyce for the hot chocolate and leave when a sudden thump snapped his attention to the goings on inside the house.

“Mom? Mom! MOM!”

The self-pity Spike had been wallowing in dissipated instantly when the Slayer’s frantic cries met his ears. With a quick stomp he extinguished his cigarette before he reached for the back door, almost tearing it from the hinges with the force he exerted when opening it.

Joyce lay prone on the kitchen floor.

After a frozen moment, while shock set in, Spike was on his knees beside Buffy. He’d never seen her so frightened in all the time he’d known her. “What happened?”

Buffy’s fear-filled eyes blinked toward Spike as quivering took over her hands that were moving forward to brush the hair from her mom’s face. “Sh-she just collapsed. Fainted.”

“Just like that?” As far as Spike was concerned, Joyce wasn’t the fainting type. Something must have caused it. When Buffy nodded numbly in response to his question, he made up his mind. If he was right, and Joyce’s collapse was due to some outside force, they were going to need all the help they could get. If he was wrong, and the collapse was because of medical reasons, there would be people around to support Buffy. “Call the watcher, tell him what happened and to get here as quick as possible.”

Panic widened Buffy’s eyes even further. “W-why? What are you thinking? Is something wrong?” Buffy grasped her mother’s hand and squeezed it tightly, only just managing to control her Slayer strength from crushing as terror gripped her with its brawny strength. Common sense fled her capabilities. “Oh God, she isn’t… she can’t be…”

“She’s fine, pet. Can hear her heartbeat, ‘t’s strong and steady. And she’s breathin’ fine,” Spike interrupted when he realised Buffy’s direction of thinking. “’m just not convinced she fainted, is all. Better safe than sorry, yeah?”

Buffy nodded again, scrabbling to her feet in her haste to retrieve the phone.

~*~*~


A few minutes later the call had been made and Buffy was on the kitchen floor again. Spike had rolled up his duster and placed it beneath Joyce’s head.

“Made the call,” Buffy stated unnecessarily. The duration of the short conversation had managed to quell some of the initial concern she’d felt. Spike’s confirmation her mother was physically okay, combined with Giles’ reassurances they’d get to the bottom of it all, served to calm her nerves. “Giles and the others are on their way.”

“Good.” Spike was at a loss of what to do. The welfare of both Summers women was his primary concern. But when the others showed up he knew his presence would be neither welcome nor appreciated, especially knowing everyone was coming over.

“Uh, per’aps I should head off then? Don’t think your mates would be happy with my bein’ here. Besides, ‘m not s’posed to be out of the watcher’s bathroom and he might have a few choice words to say ‘bout broken bath taps.” Spike smiled ruefully and prepared to stand when Buffy’s hand on his stilled his movements.

“Stay,” she pleaded. “Until they get here?”

Her gentle touch awakened memories from when he’d last been the recipient of her kindness the week before. The strength of want to melt into her touch was frightening, and Spike almost pulled away with a lie of having places to be when he saw the naked earnestness in her eyes. Despite the tough exterior she presented to the outside world, Buffy was just as delicate as everyone else. Right now she was afraid and wanted comfort. And she’d chosen him, even if it was only until her friends arrived. It was more than enough to make Spike stay.

“Let’s move her to the sofa, yeah?”

Buffy nodded slowly.

When Spike moved to lift Joyce, Buffy linked her fingers with his and gave his hand a quick squeeze. He stopped and turned to face the frightened girl beside him. “She’ll be right as rain,” he assured as he squeezed her hand in much the same manner.

The air became electric all of a sudden and twin frowns appeared on their faces. Spike didn’t like it, and reached for Joyce. “Come on, we’ll move --”

The sentence was never completed.

The second Spike’s fingers touched Joyce’s shoulder, he froze.

So did Buffy.





A/N: I hope you enjoyed it!

 
 
Chapter #5 - Prophetic Visions.
 


*squishes* go to Megan and Sue for betaing.

Note: snippets from the episodes The Gift, Touched and Chosen are used in this chapter.

Thank you to everyone who has commented, I love reading what you guys think of my work!




Chapter 5: Prophectic Visions.



When Willow, Xander, Anya and Giles arrived at the Summers house, the first thing the Wicca noticed was the noise. Or lack thereof. It was too quiet. A dripping tap, the static buzz from the TV, and nothing else.

“Buffy?” Willow called out as she slowly opened the front door all the way. The creak of hinges in need of a little attention was the only response. “Giles?” she threw over her shoulder in question. “Something’s wrong.”

Giles stepped inside the door and held his breath as he strained his hearing, trying to identify if there was even anyone in the house. The watcher might not have the sensitive hearing of a slayer, or vampire for that matter, but his training at the Watcher’s Academy had included how to stretch the senses. Excluding ones own breath was the first step. So breath was held. Except the only result he received was a sudden burn in his lungs for air when holding it became unbearable.

Xander became increasingly impatient the longer they stood on the front porch. When Giles made no move to walk further than the entryway, the teen stepped inside and immediately began moving toward the kitchen, convinced it should be the first and most logical place they check.

“Xander, what do --” Giles began.

“They could be in trouble,” he interrupted, as if his reason should be plainly obvious. Without waiting for a response, he continued, the rest of the gang following more cautiously.

The moment he reached the doorway and saw the flash of peroxide blond hair, Xander had no doubt in his mind what the reason for Buffy’s panic had been. “Spike!” he identified as he turned his furious glare from the vampire in question, to the watcher. “I thought he was locked up in your bathroom?”

“Er, well, he was,” Giles fumbled momentarily.

“Well, now he’s out and Mrs Summers has suffered for it,” Xander fumed. “I knew Buffy should have just staked him.”

“Xander, I’d appreciate it if --”

“Would both of you just shut up for one second and look at them?” Willow snapped, as she positioned herself between the two arguing males. “In case you hadn’t noticed, they aren’t moving.”

And right she was.

Giles walked around the three on the kitchen floor so he could gain a 360° view. Looking at the scene before him, Giles clinically deconstructed their positions in the hope it could explain why they weren’t moving.

Buffy was sitting on the floor, knees beneath her and resting on her heels. As was often the case with his Slayer, she wore her feelings out in the open. Worry lines crinkled her forehead and caused a downward slope in her lips. Her gaze was directed at Spike. One of her hands was curled around that of her mother’s, while the other was --

Giles blinked in surprise. Buffy’s other hand was linked with Spike’s. The watcher cleared his throat in surprise, almost feeling as if he’d walked in on a private moment. He returned to his visual analysis.

Buffy’s fingers laced with Spike’s, and judging by the whiteness around her knuckles, her grasp was not a gentle one. The vampire was balancing on the balls of his feet in a crouched position, looking almost as if he were about to stand. His attention was focussed on Joyce, his eyes filled with concern, his jaw set and mouth in a firm line. Spike very much appeared to be the one in charge of the situation.

Joyce lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, her head resting on what appeared to Spike’s duster. Her eyes were closed. To Giles, it almost looked as if she were sleeping.

None of them wore marks or abrasions and the pallor of their skin seemed normal, which ruled out a freezing agent. The only thing he could determine was that magic played a part.

“Willow, would you be able to determine if magic were involved? Perhaps perform a… er, unveiling spell?” Giles suggested. “If the stasis they are in is the result of a mystical influence, there should be some sort of residue, or signature.”

Willow nodded. “I’ll need to get some books and supplies, but it shouldn’t be too har--”

“This isn’t the work of magic.”

Three confused sets of eyes turned to face Anya, who had up until now remained silent.

“Ahn, please, let Giles and Will do their thing, ‘kay?” Xander suggested with an almost condescending pat on her shoulder—not that he really meant it that way.

The look Anya shot Xander was venomous. “Thousand year old ex-demon here, I think I know a little about what I’m talking about.”

Willow blinked in surprise, a new appreciation for the currently brunette female forcing itself into the kitchen light. Any girl who could put Xander in his place was all right in her book.

“Pray tell, Anya,” Giles replied, his lips pursed in disbelief. “What exactly do you propose is the reason for the frozen state they’re in?” he continued, with a flourished wave in the air.

Anya lifted her chin in the air confidently as she met Giles’ gaze. “Ever heard of divine intervention?”

~*~*~


Everywhere around her there was darkness. No colour, no light, nothing distinguishable. Just black nothingness. She couldn’t smell anything, and when she opened her mouth and licked her lips, Buffy realised she couldn’t taste anything in the air that could identify what had happened to her. When she tried to move forward, she discovered her limbs weren’t cooperating.

“What’s going on?” Buffy demanded as she struggled to move muscles and limbs that almost didn’t feel like they were there. Almost as if everything below her neck was non-existent. It was like being in a dream, where you can see and hear what’s going on, but all other senses were irrelevant. Except for the fact that Buffy couldn’t actually see anything.

“Buffy?”

Spike’s voice sounded just as confused and worried as hers.

“Spike, where are you?”

“I dunno. Can’t see or move a bleedin’ muscle,” he muttered irritably in response.

By the sounds of it, he was somewhere to her left. And close by. It brought her a little comfort, knowing he was nearby, but not nearly enough to settle her completely. They still had no idea where they were. “Have you tried?”

“’f course I’ve bloody well tried,” Spike snorted in response.

“No need to snap at me,” Buffy snapped, completely ignoring the obvious contradiction.

“Where are we? Is Mom here with us? What are we going to do?” The questions flew from her mouth as panic began to set in and grip tightly. Buffy didn’t like not knowing where she was or what was going on. Mix that with concern for her mother’s welfare and the result was one terrified slayer.

“Buffy, pet, we just need to --” Spike was cut off mid sentence by the sound of Buffy’s voice. This time however, it sounded as if it were coming from inside his head, not beside him.

“We’re not all going to make it, you know that?”

“I didn’t say that!” Buffy gasped with alarm, the words playing in her mind as well. “That wasn’t me!”

“Yeah. Hey, I always knew I’d go down fighting.”

“Spike!” Buffy cried. “What’s going on?”

“Shhh…” Spike said slowly. “I think we’re s’posed to listen.”

Buffy opened her mouth to object when she heard her voice again.

“I’m counting on you… to protect her.”

“Till the end of the world.”


The Spike inside her head chuckled, the sound bittersweet. Buffy opened her mouth to speak but stopped when the voice continued.

“Even if that happens to be tonight.”

“Spike, what’s going on?” The voices, they definitely belonged to them. But the conversation, it wasn’t something they’d shared, not something they’d talked about. “Am I…” If Buffy could have shaken her head, she would have. “Is the voice talking about Mom?”

Buffy’s tone was fearful. It felt as if they’d walked in half way through a conversation, which made it difficult to discern exactly what the people, these versions of them, were talking about. Hearing the promised words from Spike’s lips confused her and only caused more questions to form. Why he would promise to protect… someone, and by the sounds of it at the risk of his own life, Buffy didn’t know.

“I don’t know, but it’ll be all right, Buffy,” Spike soothed calmly. “I think… I think someone’s tryin’ to show us somethin’.”

~*~*~


“Divine intervention?” Willow repeated in awe. “Are… are you sure?”

A lift of one eyebrow was the only response Anya gave. That in itself seemed to satisfy the witch. Giles, however, didn’t seem completely convinced.

“I’m not convinced that what you are suggesting is --”

“Why not?” Anya interrupted with a huff, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “Take in their position for starters. The way they’re all linked. Buffy to Spike, Spike to Joyce, Joyce to Buffy. A complete circle.”

~*~*~


Something told Buffy that this was a different conversation than the one they had overheard before. The tone with which they, the others, were speaking was almost intimate. Like two people who’d shared a hell of a lot more than she and Spike had. Buffy wondered what this was all about; if it were a vision from the future, or something that they of another world had experienced. Whatever the answer, all she knew was that this Buffy and Spike cared about each other.

“A hundred plus years and there’s only one thing I’ve ever been sure of. You.”

Spike drew in a hasty un-needed breath, hearing a matching gasp come from Buffy.

“Here, look at me. I’m not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it’s not because I want you.”

“Buffy, I don’t know what he… what I…”

“Shhh,” Buffy shushed urgently, interrupting the fumbled excuse. “Maybe you’re right, maybe they’re… we’re, trying to tell us something.”

Her shutting up Spike had less to do with the fact she believed his earlier explanation, and more to do with wanting to hear the pretty words this other Spike was saying.

“… nothing to do with me. I love what you are. What you do. How you try.”

The urge to cry overwhelmed Buffy, and she had a feeling the other her was probably feeling the same thing. And as the words continued, the stronger the urge became.

Spike was positively, absolutely, terrified. The earnestness in his—in the other’s voice was so blindingly obvious. That Spike loved Buffy. And if he looked deep enough inside himself, he knew he would find the beginning of those feelings within him.

“…with perfect clarity what you are. You’re a hell of a woman.”

“Agreed,” Spike mumbled beneath his breath.

~*~*~


Giles opened his mouth to argue but Anya continued, walking in a circular pattern around the ‘on pause’ trio. “The way I see it, Joyce went down first.”

“And Buffy and Spike came to tend to her,” Willow added, picking up of the sequencing of events when her own ideas about what happened sprung forth. She pointed to the open back door. “I’m guessing Spike was outside and came in when… something happened.”

“If Buffy discovered Joyce first, why didn’t Spike call?” Xander asked. “He was probably sitting outside smoking like a chimney. He could have done something.”

“He did,” Willow answered. “Buffy called you, Giles, right?” When Giles nodded his confirmation, Willow continued. “Well there’s no way Buffy would leave her mom alone if she though she were hurt or in danger. And it’s not like Spike would know Giles’ phone number. I’m guessing Spike watched over Joyce while she did that.”

“Explains the pillow,” Anya added.

“He could have been the one to make the phone call,” Xander insisted. “Buffy could have given him the phone number.”

“Because Giles would really have listened to what Spike had to say?” Willow snorted, hastily adding, “No offence.”

Giles pursed his lips for a moment. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and began wiping them clean with a handkerchief, using the time to sort out the questions in his mind.

~*~*~


The conversation switched abruptly a third time, and both Buffy and Spike listened as their other selves spoke.

“Someone with a soul but more than human. Angel meant to wear it so that means I’m the qualified party.”

Buffy gasped. This Spike… has a soul? “Spike? What --” Her question was interrupted by her other self.

“It’s volatile. We don’t know that…”

“So you’ll need someone strong to bear it. You planning on giving it to Andrew?”


“Who’s Andrew?” Spike demanded, his jealousy evident. First Angel, now some new bloke?

“I don’t know.”

“Angel said the amulet was meant to be worn by a champion.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re talkin’ ‘bout that ponce!” Spike all but snarled.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my time…”

Spike was stunned speechless. He had been about to continue with a tirade of insults about his poofy haired sire, but they died on his lips at the sudden realisation. Buffy was talking about me?

~*~*~


“Why the intervention?” Giles asked; the watcher’s gaze was steadily fixed on Anya as he clarified. “Why this moment, when they were all linked as you pointed out?”

Anya answered as if the reason should be the most obvious thing on earth. “To show them something, of course.”

The room fell silent.

After several long moments passed, with each person trying to imagine what it was they were seeing, Willow finally spoke.

“How do we,” Willow frowned and then gestured at the group on the floor as she continued, “wake them up?”

The former vengeance demon shrugged. “Whatever they’re seeing, it’s obviously just for them.”

“And that means…?” Xander questioned with a circular wave of his hands.

Anya rolled her eyes as Willow realised what she’d been saying. “If someone not meant to see what they’re seeing were to touch them, it should stop and they would wake up.” The redhead looked to Giles for confirmation. “Right?”

“I would imagine so,” he answered with a nod.

“Alright, who’s going to do the touching?” Xander asked, the double entendre recognised after the words had been spoken aloud. “If it doesn’t work, well I for one have no desire to see whatever sick perverted desire Spike is --”

“I’ll do it,” Willow offered with annoyance at Xander’s constant persistence to think badly of Spike. She would like to think he’d be more open minded about the vampire. If Buffy trusted him enough to be near her mother, then why shouldn’t they? It wasn’t as if he could bite them anymore.

With a deep breath, Willow moved closer and reached her hand toward Buffy’s shoulder. One more little stretch and --

~*~*~


“Faith still has my room.”

“Well you’re not staying here. You can’t buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk. You’ve got Angel breath. I’m not going to just let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I got my pride you know.”


“Oh god!” Buffy’s earlier assessment that herself and Spike from this time or place were close was obviously on the money.

“I understand.”

The other her sounded so disappointed.

“Buffy, luv, all you have to do is ask,” Spike voiced smugly. “Needy is not something I’d pegged you for, pet.”

“Clearly you don’t because the whole having my pride was a smokescreen.”

“Who’s the needy one now?” Buffy retorted.

“Oh, thank god.”

~*~*~


-- Willow’s fingers made contact.

The response was immediate, the three unfreezing and gasping mirrored breaths.

“Oh, thank god!” Buffy muttered.





A/N: Hope you guys liked, only one more to go! I did tell you it would be shorter than my normal fics. *grins*

 
 
Chapter #6 - New Perspectives.
 


*squishes* go to Megan and Sue for betaing.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented, I love reading what you guys think of my work! On to the final part!




Chapter 6: New Perspectives.



Giles and Xander immediately went to Joyce’s aid, lifted her to her feet and began leading her to the living room.

“Buffy, you’re all right!” Willow exclaimed with relief. Before the Slayer could respond, she was wrapped in a warm hug. The girls separated a moment later. “It was so strange, like you were all frozen in a block of ice.” The redhead frowned at the imagery her words presented. “Except, without the actual ice involved.”

Buffy laughed as her friend dragged her into the living room. Their departure left Spike and Anya alone in the kitchen. Spike was completely lost in thought. What he’d heard, what had been said, no, what he had said, played over and over in his mind like a CD stuck on repeat. And the closer he examined the snippets of conversation, the more he began to read into them. Was it possible he would one day have such deep feelings for Buffy? The answer was absolutely, unequivocally, indisputably, yes.

Spike didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at what would soon be, apparently, a change of heart. It was a revelation. For a hundred years he’d lived for, and loved, only Drusilla. When she’d dumped him, for a chaos demon no less, he’d been utterly devastated. The pain had burned long and hot, until it felt as if he would suddenly combust from the loss of his sire’s affections. This was the turning point in Spike’s un-life, when he’d realised—or remembered—the true purpose of his existence, to kill the Slayer. Though try as he might, he couldn’t. After each and every defeat he’d assumed it was because he’d not tried hard enough, the Slayer had surprised him, or his heart wasn’t really in it. It seemed the truth might have lain in the latter all along.

While they’d been in Brazil, Drusilla had moaned and groaned about Spike’s obsession with the Slayer. She’d told him he tasted of her, that she could feel his desire for the diminutive blonde in his touch. Spike had assumed she meant his craving to kill her, perhaps she’d sensed an alternate sort of longing. Drusilla was known for her abilities with the sight, but the thought that she knew he would eventually fall for the Slayer was almost a little too much for Spike to bear.

A sudden decrease of heartbeats within his immediate proximity alerted Spike to the fact the room was almost cleared out. Almost.

The ex-vengeance demon was studying him with intensity hard enough to bore holes into his skin. It was unnerving and Spike squirmed in response.

“See anything you like?”

Anya shrugged as her lips quirked into a smile. “I’m sure your body would be very pleasurable. I will enjoy speaking with Buffy after you have given her many orgasms.”

Spike’s jaw dropped as Anya left the room. Then the reality of her words sunk in and a thrill rolled over him at the thought of being responsible for giving Buffy that sort of enjoyment. A lascivious smile curled his lips and he quickly left the kitchen to join the others.

~*~*~


“Mom, are you sure you’re all right?” Buffy asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

Joyce patted her daughter's hand, more than comfortable now that she was resting on the sofa. “Sweetheart, I’m perfectly fine. It’s not everyday my body is hijacked by a Higher Power to act as a conduit, but --”

“Higher Power you say?” Giles interrupted, his attention grasped and interest piqued the moment those words left Joyce’s lips. While the woman had not had a lot of experience with the mystical and demon world since learning about its existence a little over a year ago, she had come to accept its existence. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure,” Joyce snipped in response, her lips forming a thin line at the hint of disbelief in Giles' voice. “I may not be as knowledgeable about the paranormal as you are, but I am confident in my hearing abilities.”

“What did they want?” Willow questioned curiously.

At that precise moment Spike entered the room and both Xander and Giles stared at him suspiciously. Neither of them believed the reason the vampire was involved in all this could be a good one.

“To pass on some information,” Joyce shrugged nonchalantly. Not that she didn’t know; she was completely aware of what had happened, what had been said while they were ‘frozen’. But she didn’t believe it was her place to explain. “All I know is something bad was possibly going to happen, and Buffy and Spike needed to be informed.”

“Buffy, what did you learn?” Giles inquired.

One person smirked knowingly in her direction. Another shyly ducked their head. And three sets of questioning eyes turned upon her.

“I… ah, well you see…” Buffy fumbled for an answer as she shot a pleading look in Spike's direction.

“’t’s alright, Slayer. You can tell ‘em.”

Spike was right, she could do this, she could answer the question. The other her, the one from the vision or future, whatever, hadn't been afraid of expressing what she felt. She didn’t have to go into detail, she could just relay the overall message - Spike was going to become an ally, and from now on he should be treated as such. With a deep, shakily inhaled breath, Buffy opened her mouth. And lied. “I don’t remember.”

The spark of hope fled Spike’s eyes. Without saying a word, he turned and walked out of the room, the front door closing with a quiet click.

“Buffy! Why did --” Joyce began.

“I don’t know, Mom,” Buffy sighed. But she did know. She was afraid. Afraid of what her friends might think, afraid of what the broken fragments of conversation might mean about her future, afraid that admitting it—out loud—would make it true.

It wasn’t as if Buffy had never contemplated what being with Spike would be like; she had, on numerous occasion. Both before and since Willow’s spell. A girl would have to be blind not to notice the obvious physical appeal of the vampire. Strangely, especially considering her limited experience with men, it wasn’t the thought of physically being with Spike that frightened her most. It was the notion she could possibly, one day, have very deep feelings for him that had caused her to back-pedal. To lie…

“Go and talk to him,” Joyce insisted firmly. “I can explain while you sort out the mess you’ve created.”

Buffy opened her mouth to argue, a ‘but Mom’ excuse ready to deliver, when she caught her mother’s glower and decided against it.

Giles frowned with curiosity as Buffy disappeared through the front door in search of Spike. “Can you please enlighten us explain what happened?”

~*~*~


“Spike?” Buffy's step was hesitant as she moved onto the front porch. The red glow of a cigarette butt from the shadows in the corner betrayed his position. Folding her arms across her chest to guard against the chill in the air, Buffy moved toward him.

“Spike, look…” She sighed. “I'm sorry. I don’t know why I said that, why I lied. I guess it’s all a bit much to comprehend. I mean, for as long as I’ve known you we’ve been at each other’s throats. And to think that will all suddenly change, and instead we’ll be --”

“At each other’s lips?” Spike interrupted with a half-hearted, sardonic chuckle. Slowly he moved forward, stopping when he was close enough to reach her. “Is it so hard to believe?”

Buffy’s searched his eyes, and was blinded by the naked longing she found. Its presence wasn’t the shock it should have been. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she’d seen it before—several times over the last week. Not as intense, not as fervent, but still there.

“This isn’t some fairytale, Spike,” Buffy said quietly. “We can’t just all of a sudden be together because some voices told us to.”

“Why not?” Spike demanded. “They weren’t just some voices, they were us. That was me.” He thumped his chest to reinforce his point. “What he... what I felt, it was real. Do I believe it’s possible? Yes. Because I feel at least some of it now. I care about you, Buffy.”

Buffy closed her eyes and clenched them shut, trying to block out what he was saying. If she couldn’t see the truth of his words reflected in his eyes, she wouldn’t have to believe him. And if she didn’t believe him, she wouldn’t have to admit she shared some of the feelings with the other version of her self.

“Spike, I --”

“Open your eyes, Buffy,” he pleaded. “If you’re going to deny that you feel, even a tiny morsel, then I need to see it.”

Slowly, Buffy lifted her lids and tilted her gaze upward, and was once again blown away by the intensity of Spike’s eyes. “Spike, I do--” The words died on her lips, she couldn’t finish the sentence.

Just moments ago she may have been able to lie to herself, to her mother, to her friends, but when Spike looked at her like he was now, Buffy couldn’t lie to him. Terrified by the prospect that she was about to admit there were some feelings there, Buffy did what she did best, she avoided it. Instead of voicing it, she let her answer shine from her eyes.

Understanding dawned on Spike and a brilliant smile broke its way across his face. Before he could say or do anything, his arms were suddenly filled with a slayer-sized package and rosy lips latched on to his.

~*~*~


Excuse me?” Xander spluttered, his disbelief monumental. It wasn’t possible. No way. This was some sort of sick practical joke. Spike must be somehow responsible for all this.

Giles’ own shock at the information Joyce had relayed to them had been presented by a frantic cleaning of his glasses. Twice. In a matter of minutes.

“Wow…” Willow breathed. “This is just…”

“A little much to comprehend,” Giles finished.

“Or believe,” Xander snorted with derision.

“Xander!” Anya chastised. Her boyfriend’s intense dislike for the vampire was bordering on manic, and she was convinced it had more than a little to do with the vampire’s affections for the Slayer.

“I was actually going for amazing,” Willow retorted as she folded her arms over her chest.

“Willow, you can’t be serious!” Xander exclaimed. “Spike is an evil vampire! There’s no way that he could possibly --”

“Turn a new leaf?” Willow finished. “Why not?”

“Well, because he’s... evil, and --”

“Spike is harmless. The chip is still in his head, remember?” Willow reminded.

“If Spike were truly evil, why did he jump in to protect me in the cemetery?” Joyce questioned. “He could have let me die.”

“Well, Buffy was…” Giles fumbled, also searching for some other viable reason why Spike had acted heroic, apart from what Joyce was suggesting. Spike had terrorised the world’s population for over a hundred years. A vampire like that doesn’t just change overnight.

“Rupert, please don’t make me doubt your intelligence.” Joyce’s tone was firm and left no room for argument. “You saw what happened, and I told you what I heard.” Her eyes roved the room, making sure she made herself quite clear. “Sometime in the future, there is going to be an apocalypse. The voice that communicated with me explained very clearly that without Spike’s help, something very bad would happen.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

“The words bad, apocalypse and Buffy are not three things I would like to see combined.”

“Me neither,” Willow agreed quickly.

With a deep sigh, Giles relented. No matter what he protested, he knew there would be no arguing with Joyce, not where the safety of her daughter was concerned. And he had to admit, he agreed with her. If Spike’s presence would keep Buffy safe, then so be it. He’d just have to learn to be more tolerant of the vampire. Besides, he could always do some research into the matter.

“Alright,” Giles nodded. “But if he sets one foot, one tooth out of line…”

“What makes you think Buffy won’t put him back in his place?” Joyce questioned.

“Ah huh,” Anya nodded. “All Buffy would have to do is threaten to withhold orgasms and I’m sure he’ll behave.”

“Ahn! So did not need the visual!” Xander protested.

Joyce smiled. “I don’t know, Xander. Spike is quite easy on the eyes.”

Anya nodded in agreement, which caused Willow to break into giggles at the jaw dropped expression it caused in Xander.

“How about some coffee?” Giles suggested hastily as he walked toward the kitchen.

~*~*~


It was like they were in their own little word and nothing could interrupt them.

A thrill of pleasure and pure delight washed over Spike as Buffy's lips gently caressed his own. Part of him was waiting for the fantasy to end, to find out this was all just a dream. But his dreams had never been this vivid.

Spike’s arms banded around Buffy’s waist, pulling her flush against him as he coaxed her lips to part for his insistent tongue. The challenge was made and Buffy rose to the occasion, refusing to surrender. Their tongues duelled like Titans, neither willing nor wanting to be the one to end the embrace of their lips. She recognised that with Spike, it would always be like this. He'd give his all, no matter how small—or significant—the situation. Because that’s what Spike was like—if he cared about something he gave it his everything. And Spike cared about Buffy.

The thought made Buffy gasp, and she reluctantly broke the kiss when oxygen became an issue.

A pink flush rose on her cheeks.

“Hey now, none of that,” Spike said gently, as his fingers lifted to brush across her jaw. He was in awe, in complete and utter disbelief. When he’d begged her for an answer, Buffy kissing him was the reaction he’d least expected. Which made it all the more special.

A gentle smile teased its way across her face when the sounds of conversation from inside met her ears. Buffy groaned. She didn’t expect Giles or Xander to be too impressed with this new development in her life. Surprisingly, she didn’t care. She’d done the whole ‘live her life like her friends expected her to’ with Scott back in senior year, and look how great that had worked out. Nope, if Buffy was going to do this, was going to be with Spike, it was all or nothing. No hiding from her friends. It brought a smile to her face.

“Should we go inside?”

“Do we hafta?” Buffy groaned. “There’s going to be questions and looks, and you know Giles gives the worst ones, and --”

Spike chuckled, pulling her close to him once more, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “Come on, Slayer, ‘t’s not like they can really complain.”

“And why’s that?”

“You heard your mum, the fate of the world is depending on us,” Spike answered with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “And if that means I’ll have to shack up with you, who am I to complain?”

“Hey! That’s not --” Buffy started, but was cut off when Spike interrupted.

“I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be, than right here with you on this doorstep.”

Spike’s tone was gentle, his gaze heavy with affection, and Buffy melted.

“Surprisingly, me either,” Buffy laughed, leaning up on her tiptoes to steal another kiss, the first of many to come, before Spike could argue any further.

~*~*~


Whistler watched from across the street as the new lovers embraced; bodies, hands and lips joined. The plan had originally been to convince Joyce to aid the plight of the PTB’s, clear her mind of all unneeded information, and cross their fingers everything went to plan. He guessed they should have expected Buffy would need more than some gentle prodding from her mother to be convinced. Not that Joyce hadn’t done a spectacular job, because she really had. In fact, if it weren’t for her call for assistance, mother and daughter would most likely still be arguing. The opportunity had been too good to pass up. Allowing Joyce to be party to the information shared, and sharing some of the less sensitive information she’d previously heard from Whistler, meant that if Buffy were still stubborn, at least they had someone on their side. And it had worked.

Relieved now his task was complete, Whistler let some of the tension drain out of him. Buffy and Spike were on good terms, to say the least. Which meant the Hellmouth would be a safer place. After a moment of observing the new couple, he turned his back and began to walk down the street and into the dark of the night.

“It’s up to them now.”



The End... for now...



A/N: Well, there you have it! Firstly, I want to say a BIG thank you to Megan and Sue for betaing this for me - they kept me writing when my deadline was nearing.

Secondly, *big hugs* to all you wonderful readers! The response this little ficcie has gained blew my mind away! A sequel is possibly in the pipeline, something that will be much longer than this. If you'd like to see a continuation, let me know!

Finally, a little self pimp. For those of you who've read my other work, you would know that this is not my normal style of writing. A Mother Knows Best was a lot fluffier, and much more comedic than my normal writing. Action, drama, angst... that's what you'll normally find in one of my stories.

My current baby, Parting Gifts is that and more. This fic is much darker than what I would normally write, and is something I'm extremely proud of. Post The Gift set in an alternate reality, this fic definitely steps outside my comfort zone. If you decide to read and watch the story unfold, any comments you may have along the way would be greatly appreciated. First chapter can be found HERE. Chapter 10 was just posted up today.

That's all from me for now.

In Spuffy Love,
Amy.