Mother Childe

�Have a seat, Spike.  I�m not sure when Buffy will be back, but you�re welcome to wait for her.�

�Thanks, Joyce,� Spike said, taking the offered seat on the couch.  He didn�t bother to remove his leather duster, since he was pretty sure he�d be thrown out the minute Buffy got home.  Still, he had to try to talk to her. 

Joyce followed him into the living room, sat down next to him, and patted his knee.  �Do you want to talk about it?�  She asked when he looked at her.

He opened his mouth to pour his heart out like he�d done in the past, but then thought better of it.  This was her daughter.  It was different when he�d whined about Drusilla, but how could he tell her what he�d done to Buffy?  So, instead he gave her a disarming smile, placed his hand over hers, and said, �Not this time, love.  But thanks.�

As he withdrew his hand, he could hear her heart rate increase and smirked to himself, assuming his touch had flustered the conservative lady.  A moment later, he smelled the fear.  Her own hand moved from his leg, to her head and she vigorously rubbed at a spot over her left eye.  Her right hand flailed out to the side, waving towards the lamp, which she turned away from. 

Spike leaped up and tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away from him and clutched her head.  �Joyce!�  She only moaned in response.  �Joyce!  What�s happening?�  She still couldn�t answer him, but she took another swipe at the lamp so he turned it off.  It didn�t do much to soothe her, though she no longer had to shield her eyes.  

Suddenly having a coherent thought, Spike turned and grabbed the phone from the table, intent on calling an ambulance.  Just as he got it to his ear, Joyce fell quiet.  He dropped the phone and knelt next to her.  She wasn�t dead, but he could feel death descending on her.  An ambulance would never make it in time.  He thought of Buffy coming home, finding her mother gone, after all she�d been through, not a little bit of which had been his fault.  He thought of Dawn and how she�d never be able to accept her existence as a human child without a mother in her life.  And he made a decision.

Fleeing to the kitchen, he ripped open cabinets and drawers until he found what he wanted.  The knife was wonderfully sharp, maybe because a slayer lived there and always needed a weapon handy, but whatever the reason, it would do for his purposes.  He rushed back into the living room, and curled Joyce�s limp fingers around the handle of the knife.  He put his arms underneath her and lifted her to a sitting position.  Her eyes opened, tried to focus on him.  She was fading fast, the blood pumping out of the ruptured artery in her brain, depriving it of oxygen, taking her out of the world. 

�Joyce, listen to me.  I can save you.  You can be like me.�  She tried to frown, but he went on.  �I know it won�t be like it was, but there are ways.  Do it for your girls, Joyce.  Be here for them.  They can�t get by without you.�  A vague uncertainty remained in her eyes.  �We don�t have much time.  If you�re going to stay here, with us, you need to decide now.  Stay with us, Joyce.  We need you.  Buffy, Dawn, even their little friends.  You�re their Mom.  Be their Mom, Joyce.� 

Her face was slack now, she couldn�t shift her features to indicate that she heard him.  But once more, her heart rate sped up, this time in anticipation.  She wanted to do it, he was sure.  He placed the wrist of her other arm under the hand holding the knife.  �You�ll have to do it.  I can�t bite you, not with this chip in my head.  Just a quick cut, then I can do the rest.  Can you do it, love?�

In response, her fingers tightened ever so slightly around the knife, and with the last of her strength, she drew it down quickly across her wrist, nicking a vein just enough for the blood to rush to the surface.  Then she dropped the knife and he could hear her heart slowing again. 

Wasting no time, he grabbed her wrist and fastened his mouth over the cut.  He could only hope that Buffy wouldn�t pick *that* moment to walk in the door.  As soon as the blood hit his tongue, thoughts of Buffy were violently expelled from his mind, and the demon took over, seeing nothing but red. 

When Spike had taken enough blood, he forced himself to release the flesh of his dying friend and finish what he started.  He couldn�t be sidetracked by the wonders of fresh human blood, such a rarity in his diet since the chip, or she would be lost forever. He picked up the knife and slashed his own wrist, wincing at the sting it caused.  With one arm under her shoulders, he held the cut over Joyce�s mouth letting the blood drip between her parted lips.  She swallowed unconsciously. 

After a few minutes, her mouth moved on it�s own, seeking more of his blood and he lowered his wrist until it touched her lips, letting her latch on to him, and pull strength from him.  He had never made a childe before.  Her lips on his skin, sucking gently, taking the blood that would bind them for eternity, affected him strangely.  As he watched her in her utter, helpless dependence on him, she ceased to be Buffy�s mom to him.  She was his now and the possessiveness he felt towards her both thrilled and astonished him. 

He had little time to ponder his new reactions.  Joyce had taken all she needed to become a strong childe, and now she lay still on the couch, dead, but not for long.  His first order of business was to take her somewhere safe to wait for her to rise.   The safest place he could think of was his crypt.  No one would look for her there. 

How to get her there was easily solved by laying her down in the backseat of her own car.  Though Spike could have carried her the entire way, that would�ve drawn some attention, even in Sunnydale.  Taking her car had the added benefit of delaying the start of Buffy�s search since she would assume her mother was simply out somewhere at first.

It wasn�t until he had gently tucked Joyce into his bed that he started to think of some of the flaws in his plan.  He�d always been somewhat impulsive, an act first and worry about it later kind of guy.  Angelus had often warned him that it would eventually get him killed, and for the first time, he wondered if that might be true. 

He realized he had no way to prove to Buffy that her mother would have died a permanent death if he had not intervened.  She had no reason to trust him and every reason to think he would do something vengeful, like, oh say, turn her mother into a vampire.  The newly risen childe would not necessarily remember the circumstances of her death, and even if she did, she might not see the motivation to tell the truth about it.  Being evil had the unfortunate side effect of encouraging lies. 

Spike paced back and forth at the foot of his bed, smoking and stressing about what he�d done.  What if Buffy rejected her mother and wanted to stake her right away?  It was possible she had learned her lesson with Angelus and seen the consequences of overlooking evil that wore the face of a loved one.  He stopped his pacing and shuddered, remembering his own mother and her unfortunate fate at his hands. 

Taking a good look at his childe and assuring himself that she wasn�t ready to rise just yet, Spike tore himself away from his vigil over her and left the room to find some blood.  No one had fed so deeply from him since he had become a vampire and he was surprised at how tired and hungry he was from the blood loss. 

His nerves were on edge, and just waiting for the microwave to beep felt as stressful as waiting to see if a grenade thrown at his feet would explode.  He jumped when it finally beeped even though he was expecting it.  Flopping down on his dilapidated old couch, he forced his hands to be still as he sipped from his mug.  Being this keyed up wasn�t helping anything. 

The only thing he could imagine worse than Buffy wanting to stake her mother was if Joyce wanted to kill Buffy.  It would be a natural reaction for the demon inside her. Against his will, he had been desensitized to being around the slayer and at some point his desire to kill her had mellowed into simple desire.  Joyce would never have the same bizarre circumstance of being unable to kill whoever she wanted. 

The worst of Spike�s turmoil actually came from his own handicap.  Joyce was his to protect and he knew he would kill anyone to keep her safe.  Only he couldn�t.  His inability to defend her against human enemies gnawed at him, tore him apart inside.  He wanted desperately to be a good sire to her and the violence he felt welling up in him because he couldn�t only hurt that much more because he could not let loose that violence on those who deserved it, even if they stood right in front of him at that very moment.  If he�d thought that the worst part of the chip was his inability to feed, he�d just been proven utterly wrong.

Having had his fill of the vile pig�s blood, Spike returned to the bedroom and his watch over Joyce.  In spite of his bagged meal, he imagined he could still taste the sweetness of the rich human blood that had graced his tongue such a short time ago.  His eyes moved to the healed slash on her wrist.  When she was risen, he could feed from her again if he wanted to, and she wouldn�t have to cut herself for it.  He could pierce that enticing blue vein in her smooth white neck and not feel a twinge of pain.  He closed his eyes and could almost hear her sighing softly as he tasted her, possessed her body, showed her that she was his forever. 

His eyes flew open and darted around the room, looking for something else to focus on.  Such fantasies were of no help to his concentration.  He still needed a solution to keeping both Joyce and Buffy, not to mention himself, in one piece until the situation could be sorted out.  He tried sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, and thinking things through.  It wasn�t much use.  The presence of his childe was a constant distraction and he could not bring himself to leave her.  The desire to be closer was overwhelming and he finally gave in, kicking off his shoes and crawling under the covers next to her.  Beneath the sheets his hand found hers and took it, unwittingly pressing together the matching cuts on their wrists.  Inexplicably more content, far from coming up with a brilliant idea, Spike fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke it was nearly sunset again.  Alarmed that he had slept so long, he jumped out of the bed and looked around the crypt, disoriented and panicked.  Finally it sunk in that everything was still ok.  His childe slept on, and no one had disturbed them during the day.  Relieved, he went about his usual routine of breakfast, changed his clothes, and then wondered what else he should do to prepare for his childe�s rising.  She would wake at any moment and he found himself looking forward to his first glimpse of her demon. 

He hoped she would be happy to see him and forgive him for what he�d done.  He remembered waking up to Drusilla and thinking that he�d died and was with the angels.  It was a brief illusion, but the perception of Dru as a being to be worshipped and adored had remained for many years.  That Joyce might look at him like that filled him with excitement and impatience.  He was tempted to shake her, force her to wake, even though he knew it would have no effect.  The undead woke on their own schedule; he would just have to wait.

He didn�t have to wait long.  When her eyes first opened, they were the same soft, kind eyes that had closed at the end of her life.  He heard her take a habitual breath as she became aware of her own consciousness.  Sitting up, she began to realize that she was not in her own bed and all was not as it was when she had fallen asleep. Seeing Spike in the corner, sitting, watching her, her eyes lit up and she smiled, something inside her recognizing that he was a welcome sight.  Then she frowned and seemed puzzled, her human memories mixing in and making her wonder where she was and why he was there with her. 

He smiled back at her and stood up to approach the bed.  She didn�t shy away from him.  When he sat down next to her and took her hands in his, she returned his grip and suddenly seemed interested in nothing other than gazing at his face.  �Spike?�  She asked, still uncertain about the rightness she felt in being in his presence.

�Yeah, pet.  It�s me.  You�re safe here, with me.  How do you feel?� 

She didn�t answer right away, taking time to think and come up with a suitable description of how she felt.  All she knew was that she had never felt anything quite like this before.  There was one sensation that stood out above all the others that warred for her attention.  She hoped that naming it would satisfy Spike�s question since it was suddenly very important for Spike to approve of her answer.  �I�m hungry, actually.  I� I know it�s more than that, that there�s so much more.�

He nodded and smiled and she was relieved that he understood and did not expect her to make any further effort to vocalize the strangeness that each and every moment brought her.  �Come on, then.  Let�s get you something to eat.�

She eagerly followed him into the outer room and waited while he heated her up a mug of blood.  When he presented it to her, she held it cupped in both hands and brought it to her face, taking a sniff.  She frowned and lowered the mug.  �I don�t think I�m hungry for� this,� she said, hoping he didn�t get angry but unable to suppress the demands of the demon within her. 

Spike shrugged and said, �Sorry, it�s all we�ve got in stock.  Drink up, love.  It�s not great, but it takes the edge off.  We�ll see about getting you something with a bit more flavor when you�re better able to appreciate it.  If you�re feeling like I think you�re feeling, you won�t taste much yet.  Blood is blood at this point.�

Still not pleased with the scent of the stuff in the mug, Joyce drank it down as Spike asked her to.  When it was gone, she couldn�t describe herself as satisfied just yet, more like she�d had a salad and bread, not a main course.  It did take the edge off of the urgency in her hunger and allowed her to relax and appreciate other things.  Like the vampire in front of her.

She set down the mug and approached her sire.  �Thank you,� she said.  �That was��

He grinned at her, �Nasty?  Vile?  Only slightly better than fried rat guts?�  She looked away sheepishly, and nodded.  She stood in front of him, expectantly, and he wrapped her in his arms, understanding the need to be in contact with him that even she did not yet comprehend fully.  She rested her head against his shoulder and relaxed in his embrace.  In this strange new world, this was what she needed to feel safe again.  It no longer seemed odd that it should be this eccentric creature that had come in and out of her life at random intervals that provided this comfort.  It was simply right, and as natural as drinking the blood had been, only without the aftertaste.  Thinking of the blood for what it was, as opposed to simply a substance she craved, gave her some insight.

She raised her head to look in Spike�s eyes.  �I am a vampire, right?� 

He chuckled softly and stroked a hand through her curly hair.  �Yeah, love.  Vampire, just like I promised.�

�And we drink blood?�

�That we do.  Much as we can get, generally,� he confirmed, pleased that she was taking the transition so easily.

�Do we drink each other�s blood?  Because,� she bent her head and let her tongue dart out and take a quick swipe along his neck. �I think yours would be very good.�

Surprised, but not displeased, he answered her as best he could, trying to ignore the tingle she had sent through him.  �Well, sometimes, yeah.  You wouldn�t feed from most vampires.  It�s not cool to walk around with fang marks in your neck when you�ve got fangs of your own.  Kind of like a bloke wouldn�t let someone give him a black eye.  Shows weakness.�  Her face fell, disappointment creasing her forehead.  �It�s different between a sire and childe, though.  More accepted, especially at first.�  He tried not to grin at her as she did her best to conceal the hope in her eyes. 

He thought about how to explain it, to make sure she understood that she wouldn�t be getting all her meals out of his veins.  �See, sometimes a childe needs a little extra to get as strong as possible.  Or if they get hurt, sire�s blood is great for that.  Goes the other way too.  A sire can feed from his childe to show dominance or to punish disobedience.  Or just for fun.�  He couldn�t help the smirk now.  Joyce didn�t have a prayer of hiding just what she thought of all he said.  She clearly wanted to take advantage of any opportunity to get her fangs in him. 

�So, do you think I need to be stronger?�  She asked.

Her question brought back the memory of how it had felt when she took the blood from his wrist and now, feeling her breath against his neck, he was powerless to deny her, even though somewhere in the back of his head his demon screamed that this was no way to raise a childe.  �I think maybe, yeah.  You could use a boost.�

He tipped his head, not caring that he was baring his neck to his own childe, so eager was he to feel her feed from him again.  As she pulled back to examine his neck and take aim, he got his first look at her demon.  It was startling to see the amber eyes appear in that gentle face, and fangs descend from beneath the softness of her lips.  The pride he felt was all but unbearable, and he wanted to dance about the room in celebration of his creation.  Instead he held still and let the marvelous creature slide untested fangs into the juncture of his neck and his shoulder.  He had a moment to appreciate that she had aimed low enough that the mark would easily be covered by a collared shirt or his jacket, then the feel of his blood flowing out of him and into his beautiful creation blocked out all other thought and he was lost in her.

She took much less blood than she had for her turning, which was only natural.  When she pulled away, they were both panting.  Spike realized the absurdity of it first and stopped, and she followed his lead.  �You�re delicious,� she told him, and from the way she was staring at him, he was suddenly quite sure she wasn�t only referring to his blood.  She moved in closer to him again, back in her human face, and this time she aimed for his lips, not his neck.  He didn�t stop her.  Their mouths met with a mutual hunger that had nothing to do with blood.  She pressed up against him, fitting herself into the contours of his body.  She couldn�t not notice how her feeding and kisses affected him. 

When he realized she was deliberately grinding her hips into his, he broke the kiss and took a step back, suddenly embarrassed.  Memories, very recent memories, of her as Buffy�s mom rushed in and displaced his new obsession with her as his childe.  How could he think the thoughts he was thinking about her?  He was supposed to be in love with her daughter!  Not that he was suddenly in love with Joyce, but it sure wouldn�t win him any points with Buffy to see them together in any way.  Especially not in the way Joyce had in mind. 

She matched his step back with a step forward, but didn�t touch him at first.  �I�m hungry for something else now,� she said, in case he hadn�t noticed.  Her fingers moved to her blouse and she began to unbutton it, slowly, her eyes fixed on Spike�s.  He watched her progress in a trance, wanting to stop her, and equally wanting to see what she would uncover.  The blouse dropped to the floor and she stood before him in a lacy white bra, completely unperturbed by his gaze. 

Her hands moved to the button on his jeans, fumbling with it impatiently.  Her newly exposed flesh reversed his inhibitions about her past life and he pulled her back into his arms, crushing her to him, to his lips, her arms trapped between them, still working on removing his pants even as their mouths locked in a heated kiss.

Neither of them heard the door open, but they both heard the small voice that cried, �Mom?�

They jumped apart and whirled to glare at the intruders, matching amber eyes flashing in anger and fear from being caught unaware.  In the doorway, Dawn shrieked to see her mother�s demon, and covered her face.  Buffy stood, mouth slightly open, rooted to the ground in shock that would wear off far too soon. 

Recognizing the two, Joyce resumed her human face and said, �Oh, hi girls.�  Then she turned and looked at Spike.  �I want to eat them.  Is that okay?  Or did you want them?�

Her voice brought Spike out of his own deer-in-headlights pose.  �Shit!� Was all he could think to say.  Delighting in his newly risen childe, he�d completely forgotten that this moment was inevitable.  Well, maybe not this exact moment.  The one he�d so dreaded at least had them both fully clothed. 

Thinking fast, he grabbed Joyce�s blouse and propelled her backwards, into the bedroom, and with a quick order to stay put, he shut the door and turned to face the enraged Summers children.

Buffy had a stake out and was twirling it casually.  Dawn cried the tears of a little girl who knows her mother is not coming back.  �You have three seconds to tell me that I�m going crazy and my mother is NOT a vampire, or I am sending you on a long overdue trip to hell,� said Buffy, her voice low and deadly.

�It�s not what it looks like,� Spike began.

�Really?�  She countered.  �So your pants aren�t unbuttoned because you were about to get it on with my MOM, who you killed?�

�No,� He said firmly.  �I didn�t kill her.  She was going to die.  That� that thing in her head was about to do her in and I saved her.  I saved her for you, Buffy.�  He gave her a tentative smile, and put on his best honest puppy face.

�Your three seconds is up,� she announced and strode across the room towards him.  There was little room to run, but he tried.

�Wait!� Shrieked Dawn, running to get between them.  �You can�t kill him.  You� you just can�t.  I believe him.�

Buffy glared at her little sister and tried to go around her, but Dawn was having none of it.  �Just, let him say what happened.  You know he can�t kill.  Something must have happened.�

�Yeah, something like him getting that chip out.  Dawn, he�s dangerous now.  Obviously he can kill again.�

�No!� Spike protested, drawing attention back to himself against his better judgment. 

�Please, Buffy.  Let him just tell us what happened.  I have to know.�  She swallowed back a sob.  �I need to know what happened to Mom,� she finished softly.

Buffy lowered the stake.  �Talk,� she said, her own eyes glistening.

Spike talked.  He talked faster than he�d ever talked in his life, knowing that his continued existence, and that of his childe, depended on him and what he said at this moment.

It didn�t take long.  And really, the actual events he recounted had happened in only a few minutes.  When he was finished all three of them were silent.  Buffy slowly sank down on the couch, the reality of her mother�s death, and her rebirth as a member of the evil undead, finally hitting her.  She wanted to blame Spike.  It would be incredibly easy to blame Spike.  But she knew he was telling the truth.  She knew about her mother�s health problems, and she knew it had to have been her mother�s choice to be turned. 

�What now?� She asked, unable to keep the desperation out of the quietly spoken words.  The question was rhetorical, but Spike answered her.

�I�ll tell you what now.  Now you�ve got to go and find your little witch and your watcher and curse your mum with a soul if you ever want to be able to see her again.  I might be able to control her now, but she�s strong, and getting stronger all the time.�  He reminded himself that Buffy and Dawn would not be impressed with how strong his childe was and turned the pride down a notch.  �Someday soon, she�ll find you when I�m not there, and then it�s her or you.  You don�t want that day to come.�

Buffy sat, gaping at him, horror and possibility shining on her face in equal measure.  �A soul?�

�Yeah, a soul.  She won�t be a tortured hero like Angel.  She hasn�t killed anyone, won�t feel any guilt.  I�ll keep it that way long as I can, but you�d better get going.�

Dawn stopped crying.  �Can we?  Can we really do that?  Make her a good vampire like Angel?� 

Spike refrained from rolling his eyes.  �Yes, pet.  If you hurry, it should work.�

Buffy stood up, pulling Dawn with her.  �Keep her safe,� she said to Spike.  �I can�t believe I�m saying this to you, but� just do it.� 

They left and the door slammed shut behind them.  Spike almost collapsed in relief.  He wasn�t thrilled about the idea of his shiny new childe getting a soul, but he couldn�t see any other way for everyone to live through her transformation.  Somehow, it didn�t seem as bad as getting a chip in her head, not that the Initiative was performing the surgery on request.  At least she would be able to protect herself. 

The bedroom door cracked open.  �Spike?  Can I come out?�

�Sure, love.  They�re gone.�

She came to him immediately, as if she hadn�t seen him in months.  Her bare arms wrapped around him and she pressed her head against his chest.  �You let them go?� She asked, puzzled.

He nodded.  �You�ll understand.  Later.  Don�t worry about them right now.�

�I�m not,� she agreed.  �I�m worried about you.�  Her tone was so familiar that for a moment, he had a pang of longing for the woman she would never quite be again, in spite of his pleasure at what she had become. 

�Oh, yeah?  Why you worried about me?�

�That slayer,� she said, her distaste equal to the distaste she held for the pig�s blood.  �She could�ve killed you.  And you can�t hurt her, or any of them.�

Spike groaned inwardly.  The last thing he needed to complete his emasculation was his own childe feeling protective of him.  �It�s ok, really.  I can handle her.�

Taking some comfort in his firm tone, she brightened and smiled mischievously at him.  �Can I handle you?� She asked, reaching down to do exactly that.

Thoughts of slayers and government chips were quickly banished to be replaced a fresh wave of desire for his new childe.  Their time together would be short.  She would most likely spurn him as soon as she received her soul, not unlike his own sire had done.  Circle of life, he supposed.  He was doomed to be deserted by his family on both ends.  So be it, he decided.  She didn�t have a soul yet, and while he promised that she wouldn�t have human death on her hands, he could still give her a thing or two to feel embarrassed about once she got her conscience back. 

A trail of clothes decorated the floor between the spot where Joyce had approached her sire and the bedroom door.  As they fell onto the bed, consumed by their frantic passions, Spike knew that Joyce might very soon deny that she had ever belonged to him, but he intended to make sure that by the time that happened, she would never be able to forget the truth.