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Chapter 21    


Suddenly feeling very stupid, Joyce clutched her fists tightly and her mouth tightened in a grim line. "You already know Buffy."  
 

Buffy was relieved when Spike fielded the question, getting to his feet and crossing the room to stand next to her in a show of solidarity.

Joyce shook her head as random thoughts and disturbing scenarios flitted through her mind. Oh sure she’d always been flattered by the attention that William had paid her; his suave manners coupled with his bad boy looks had made him the talk of the gallery and every female employee secretly coveting a visual taste of him on the few occasions he had stepped foot into the gallery. She hadn’t even given thought to why William had chosen HER gallery to use for his club when LA bred art galleries faster than germs could breed but now she was beginning to get a disturbed idea.


There was an easy familiarity between her daughter and this man that Joyce was wondering how it had been missed when they had first show up together, but blamed it on the shock of seeing William in such an unfamiliar setting. True, he had never flirted with her openly, and tonight had been no different. William had the reputation for knowing exactly what he wanted, uncaring of how much it cost to get it, making him a very valued customer. It had been more her own lonely urgings that had prompted her own actions this evening.

In her defense, why should she think that William knew her daughter? It was something that had been beyond ridiculous to even consider. Buffy was sixteen years old and while she didn’t know how old William was; by appearance alone, she suspected he was at least twice Buffy’s age.

And that is where Joyce realized how naive she had been.

Anger and a thin tendril of fear began working its way through her, as implications of what she had learned about her daughter this evening began shedding light on this possible relationship.

“You bastard,” Joyce ground out, her entire body rigid with rage.

Buffy and Spike exchanged looks, not quite sure how to approach this.

“You came to the gallery so you could recruit my daughter, didn’t you? You sick, sick man,” Joyce accused.

“What?” Buffy exclaimed. “No mom, it’s totally not like that. When he came to your gallery, I didn‘t even KNOW he was here.”

“Buffy, do you really think I am inclined to believe ANYTHING you have to say?”

Tears sprung unbidden to pool in Buffy’s eyes as that helpless feeling overwhelmed her again. Beside her, she could feel Spike tense, his body practically vibrating with anger.

“Joyce. You have no idea what you are saying here. I suggest that before you say anything you REALLY regret, you sit down and let Buffy say her piece,” Spike suggested, his tone deceptively mild.

“You’re her Judas Priest, aren’t you?” Joyce accused.

“I’m her bloody WHAT?” Spike laughed outright.

“The one who guides her through demon worshipping. Her mentor, guide, whatever.”

Spike looked thoughtful. “Well, you’re not far off….”

“Spike!” Buffy hissed. “So not the time for the cryptic demon humor.”

Spike shot her a smirk before turning his attention back to the elder Summers.

“So your name isn’t even William, is it?” Joyce asked, her lingering mortification at her flirting making the words that much harsher.

“William is my name. Spike is more of an… acquired nickname.” He turned to Buffy. “When is your dad getting here? Do you want to wait for him?”

Buffy looked thoughtful. For support? Oh she was all for the waiting. But she also knew her mom didn’t deserve this mental torment of thinking her daughter was this bad, evil thing, completely ignoring the thought of the other bad, evil thing at her side.

Heaving a pained sigh, Buffy shook her head and gave her mom a pleading look. “Can we uh, maybe sit down and do the talking thing?”

With a steely look at Spike, Joyce nodded her head and managed to rein in her turbulent emotions to settle herself down to have a civilized conversation with her daughter, taking a quick detour to the liquor cabinet first.

Spike was not offered a refill.

A sick feeling began churning in Joyce’s gut when she witnessed the close proximity of this familiar stranger to her daughter on the couch, barely registering Buffy’s subtle attempts to put some distance between them for propriety’s sake before Buffy finally succumbed to the comfort that Spike’s presence at her side gave her.

“What did you do to my little girl?” Joyce opened with, her tone still hostile and suspicious.

Buffy tensed, almost dreading Spike’s response to that rudely posed question.

Spike’s lips worked into a slight frown before allowing a heavy sigh to be expelled. “Joyce, before we go into how I know your daughter, something else needs to be cleared up before hand.”

Buffy watched as her mom actually snorted and jumped to her feet, stomping across the room to grab a few items off the side table. She held them up for inspection, gesturing wildly.

“You mean something that has to do with these?” She read the title of one of the books she held in her hands. ‘Recognizing and Correctly Identifying Your Most Common Demons in Five Easy Steps’

At the incredulous look Spike gave her, Buffy shrugged defiantly. “What? I told you they were courtesy of Giles. Think he’d actually give me something interesting to read?”

“Mr. Giles?” The eagle ears of her mom had not missed the reference. “Is he involved in this… cult also?” Joyce demanded.

“Mom! There is no cult!”

Joyce threw the book down to the ground where it bounced and landed with a resounding thud. She grabbed a stake to take its place, not seeing Spike‘s flinch. “Don’t play me as stupid, Buffy. How else can you explain this?” She tossed the stake aside to palm a small sword, her wobbly air slashes giving Buffy cause for alarm.

“And this? I may just work in an art gallery, but even I know that this is dried blood caked on here.” Her eyes teared up as they shot accusations in Buffy‘s direction. “Buffy, how COULD you? Live sacrifices?”

“You don’t clean your weapons, pet?” Spike questioned, his eyes taking on the gleam of the slightly amused.

Buffy shot him a warning look before lumbering to her feet to join her mother across the room, ignoring the flash of hurt when her mom took a step back from her. “You didn’t find my diary, did you?” she asked softly


The blank look on her mom’s face gave her the answer she already possessed and Spike saw her draw herself up, his beautiful Slayer.

“Because if you did and you had sank low enough to read it as you obviously were to search my room, you wouldn’t be standing here scared of me, thinking I am all with the worshipping of satan and killing of live animals.”

“Then please Buffy. Explain it to me.” Buffy didn’t miss the desperate pleading in her mom’s voice, the hopeful beseeching that Buffy would have an explanation that would make all this pain and hurt go away. That she really hadn’t been a bad parent, allowing her daughter to be led astray right under her nose.

Buffy opened her mouth to finally admit to her Chosen status only to find that her voice had spontaneously decided to cease working.

Helplessly, she cast a pleading glance at Spike, watching with relief as he came to stand next to her.

“Your daughter is a bloody miracle, Joyce,” Spike finally said, pressing his hand into the small of Buffy’s back.

Instead of relief, her mom only looked angrier. “So this is some sort of religious cult, is it? Not satanic at all? Don’t tell me,” she added scornfully, “you were chosen by God to lead her on the path of righteousness.”

Spike couldn’t help the snicker that escaped. “You have no idea how far from the truth you are with that one, Joyce.”


Even Buffy had to see the humor in that misguided accusation. But seeing her mom’s mental agony wasn’t funny anymore, if it ever had been.

Finally finding her voice, Buffy announced, “Mom, I am not into satanic worship or and I’m not into any creepy cult. I kill vampires,” she gestured to the weapons on the table behind her, “and I guess you could say those are sort of tools of the trade.”



*****

Xander had finally convinced Angel that it would be in Buffy’s best interest to make sure she was all right, no matter what the brooding dead guy kept trying to tell him.

Of course it had taken a precious forty-five minutes to convince him of the fact, during which time Xander and Willow had been forced to bear witness to Angel and Giles taking advantage of the two for one drink special that continued throughout the evening at the bar.

It had been a harsh and brutal three quarters of an hour for both teens, neither having faced a truly inebriated Giles before. Adding the morose moans and self-recriminations in, and it was more than either of them could stomach.

“How could I have been so blind?” Giles kept muttering over and over, his imported beer replaced with scotch.

“I should have known,” Angel kept arguing, keeping up with Giles and the scotch drinking.

“Fine, both of you should have known. Doesn’t help the fact that Buffy is now out there with a vampire whose unlife mission has been to pretty much want her dead,” Xander complained, finally fed up. “And I cannot BELIEVE that you two are just sitting here getting sauced when Buffy could be in danger. Furthermore, I REALLY can‘t believe you are just taking Angel‘s word for this, Giles, that Spike is not a danger to Buffy. Like to hear you explain THAT one to the council when Buffy winds up dead.”



That had finally penetrated the self-pity cocktail hour, and they had regrouped, Willow babysitting Giles while Xander went with Angel.

They had just turned on Revello Drive, a continuous mutual stretch of silence extending between them when suddenly Xander broke the quiet with an almost pained moan.

“Oh god.”

Angel’s head quickly whipped around for any hint of danger to find nothing registering. He could, however, pick up the scent of Spike and Buffy.

“What?” he asked exasperated.

Xander didn’t answer, merely pointed and again, Angel’s sharpened eyesight scanned for what it was that the irritating boy was talking about.

“I don’t see anything?”

“You don’t…” Xander echoed. He pointed again. “That. That wet dream called a car.”

“You mean the Porsche?”

“Yes I mean the Porsche! Do you see any other wet dreams around?” Xander exclaimed, drawing close to the object of his desire. “Oh baby, one day you will be mine, oh yes,” he murmured gently to it as he leaned to stare into the passenger window.

When Angel began growling softly, Xander jerked back. “What? I was just looking!”

“That’s Spike’s car. His scent is all over it,” Angel ground out. “And so is Buffy’s.”

Xander looked like he wanted to cry. “That is so unfair. I don’t think I like this new version of Spike. What happened to his old piece of crap car? It so fit him! All with the slogan of ‘Spike is Crap.’ What is WRONG with him? The old Spike, hey we could always count on the fact that his one goal in life was to kill Buffy.” Xander gestured widely. “But this new version of Spike? Now he’s all with the sexy Billy Idol stage thing, and he freakin’ owns the Bronze, and he gets the girl and…drives my dream car and… is it just me, or is all of this just WRONG?”

Fury was pounding through Angel as each one of Xander’s announcements hit home, the old internal battle of Angel vs. Angelus taking place.

They were interrupted by a new car pulling up to the curb behind them and shutting off the head lights.

TBC...

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