All About Spike - Plain Version

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Chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  Epilogue

Present Tense
By Miss Murchison

Sequel to A Glorious Morning Have I Seen

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes: This is a sequel to A Glorious Morning I Have Seen, as I continue my mission to give Joyce a fun storyline of her own. And, of course, lots of sex with Spike.

Setting: A mildly AU early Season 5. Dawn doesn’t exist, and instead of falling for Buffy, Spike has discovered the attractions of an older woman.

Thanks: To DorothyL , Keswindhover, and Devil Piglet for correcting my errors and for all the encouragement. And to Keswindhover and Devil Piglet for the great manip of Spike and Joyce.


Chapter Seven

"I know you despise me," muttered the Guecubu.

"Well, if I gave it enough thought I probably would," said Spike as he hauled the demon out of the back seat of the De Soto. He grabbed it by the shoulder and swung it around so he could unlock the handcuffs. Joyce swiveled around in the front seat to watch as the vampire gave the Guecubu a shove. "Hit the road, mate."

The little demon staggered forward a few steps before turning around to gaze at the others in dismay. "You and that vicious human female can't just abandon me out here!"

Spike growled impatiently. "It's not the bloody Mojave dessert. It's the Greyhound station. And you can thank the lady for that favor." He slammed the passenger door shut and got back behind the wheel.

"You can start your trip back home here," said Joyce soothingly. "Don't worry, we'll take care of the jaguar."

"No, no! I'm the one who's supposed to kill it! And you can't take my magic dagger. It's mine. I did all the work." The thing threw its head back and wailed as they drove away. "It's not fair!"


"Maybe we shouldn't have kept the dagger," said Joyce an hour later. "Maybe we should have let little Texaco-gesundheit keep it. Maybe he is the only one who can find and kill this jaguar thing."

"That little wanker couldn't successfully swat a cockroach," said Spike. "No, love, we'll find this kitty and kill it." He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked down a wooded path.

She leaned against him gratefully. The streetlights were far behind now, as they searched the grounds of the third park they'd visited that night. Each time, Spike had stated with assurance that there were no jaguars, demon or otherwise, in the vicinity, and they'd moved on. At first, she'd been filled with the thrill of the chase, but now doubts and worries were overtaking her. "Anything here?"

"Something's coming." He stopped at the top of a small rise, pulling her off to the side of the path, behind some scrubby bushes. "Down there." He pointed. "But it's no feline."

"Not even vaguely cat-like," agreed Joyce, watching the huge shape that was lumbering along the dirt road of the park beneath them.

"Elephantine is more like it." Spike was staring at the Hummer. "Except for the color. Bloody thing practically glows in the dark. And it has a friend." He tugged her back in the opposite direction as a more ordinary SUV pulled up behind the Hummer. "No point in us lurking about here, pet. Let's leave the lonely hearts down there to crash about in their yellow submarine while we check out the cemeteries."

Behind her, Joyce heard a babble of voices arguing about where to look first. Tara was saying something about trying a locator spell again. Willow started to respond, then squeaked in dismay as there was a crash. Anya coughed and whined about careless witches who dropped smelly potions and activated other people's allergies. Hank fussed about the dirt road and worried that his paintwork had been scratched. Xander gave a warning yelp, there was a loud thwang, and Buffy scolded him sharply about the proper way to handle a crossbow. Riley begged Hank to stop waving the flashlight around quite so much, and Giles’ voice carried loudest of all as he pleaded for quiet.

"Even if the thing had been here, it would have headed for the hills by now." Spike's voice echoed with disbelief. "Still can't understand how that lot always comes out on top, when there are plenty of perfectly competent evildoers about."

"At least I know for sure that Buffy hasn't gotten hurt while we've been hanging out with that silly demon and searching for that cat," said Joyce, heading back to his car. "Let's keep looking."


But an hour closer to dawn, they were no nearer to finding their quarry, and she was discouraged again. She stomped onto the grounds of yet another cemetery, trying to make out Spike's features in the dim light trickling in from some streetlamps a few yards away. He took in a deep breath, concentrated hard, and relaxed.

"No?" she asked sadly.

"No," he confirmed. "Nothing here but some frisky little woodland creatures of the ordinary sort. And, about two hours ago by my calculation, a couple of frisky creatures of the human sort. Sorry, love."

Sighing, she turned with the intention of striding back to the car, tripped over a tombstone, and wound up sinking down on a large flat monument, rubbing her shin with one hand and wiping sudden tears out of her eyes with the other.

Spike was sitting beside her in a moment. "All right, pet?"

"Yes," she stammered. "No. I mean, this isn't working, is it?"

"Not yet." He gestured back towards the sidewalk. "We can try driving about just outside of town."

"No." She tried to keep her voice from cracking with despair. "It's not a very effective way to look, and it's too close to sunrise. You know how I worry about you being caught out during the day."

His arm was around her now. "I'm good at taking care of myself. You don't need to worry about me, pet."

"I can't help it." She rested her head on his shoulder. For once, his embrace did little to cheer her. "I think that's one of the few things I'm good at, Spike. Worrying about people."

He gave the lascivious snicker she adored. "Not true, Joyce. And I'll testify to that wherever and whenever you want."

She chuckled a little, but the laugh ended in a sob. "I'm useless at this demon hunting stuff, Spike. I should never have tried to fix things on my own. I should have just told Buffy about the Chac Mol and let her and the others handle it. I need to face facts. I'm not a hero. I'm just a hero's mom."

"Bollocks," said Spike forcefully. "You're a brave and beautiful lady, that's what you are. And you and me, we're a great team. We got that dagger, didn't we?"

Joyce refused to be consoled. "I thought we could be like Bogey and Bacall in The Big Sleep. Figuring it all out. Except, when I thought that, I forgot I've never even managed to understand the plot of the movie. So how could I expect to do this?"

His arm tightened around her. "No one understands the plot of that bloody film, love. And just because we haven't caught that cat tonight doesn't mean we can't do it tomorrow night."

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "I just don't think I'm cut out to be a smart-talking detective who foils the bad guy."

"Well, of course not," he said surprisingly, patting her on the back. "But there's nothing wrong with you, love. You've just got the wrong movie."

She looked up at him. "The wrong—"

He waved one arm dramatically. "Look around you, Joyce. Do you see guns and drugged socialites, and whatever other shite was going down in The Big Sleep? No." He smirked down at her. "What you see is two fiendishly sexy people wandering about the woods, trying to avoid her relatives and friends, while they search for a great big wildcat."

She caught on immediately, and choked on a laugh.

"That's it," he confirmed. "Pet, this isn't film noir. It's screwball comedy. We're not Bogey and Baby, but that's nothing to worry about. Because we're something better."

"Cary and Kate in Bringing Up Baby!" she agreed triumphantly, all her despair falling away as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

"Yeah, it's Bringing Up Baby," said Spike, returning her embrace enthusiastically. "And everything turned out all right for that lot in the movie."

"Except for the dinosaur," said Joyce, her spirits rising to pedantry.

"Yeah, I forgot the bloody dinosaur. But now we've got the right movie, everyone except huge, lumbering, useless beasts is going to be perfectly safe. You'll see, love."

"Spike, that's perfectly ridiculous logic," she sputtered, but she couldn't help feeling reassured by its very absurdity. Or perhaps she was just warmed by the way his hands had moved from patting to stroking her.

"This is Sunnydale," he pointed out as his thumb slipped under her bra and began caressing the soft underside of one breast. "You're hunting a magical jaguar and making love to a vampire who's carrying a charmed dagger." He was breathing the words against her collarbone now, as his lips moved softly over her exposed skin. "Don't see why my logic won't work here."

She tried to think of an intelligent response, but after a minute or so of not very coherent thought, she gave up. It wasn't that she was convinced by his argument, but she was suddenly aware that he'd managed to unhook her bra and was pushing her down on the monument.

Joyce gasped once at the touch of the chill granite, and again from dismay when Spike pulled her to her feet again. "Sssh," he reassured her, nuzzling her behind one ear briefly before stepping back and pulling off his coat. "Just want to take care of my lady proper."

A moment later she was lying back on the stone, snuggled in the lining of his duster, welcoming the feel of his body moving over hers as his hands reached for the snap of her jeans. She relaxed back, and felt her whole body flush with warmth as he began to take care of her as only he could.

Five minutes later, the jeans were gone and Spike was saying, "Old Archie Leach here is caressing your bottom. Good thing this coat of mine is between you and him or I'd be jealous."

"Is that who we're lying on? My eyes aren't as good as yours. I couldn't make out the inscription." She wriggled happily beneath him. "But I'm good at other kinds of making out."

"That you are," said Spike, using the hand he'd slipped between her thighs to prove his own skill. "I'm sure old Archie hasn't had a treat like this for a long while."

She twisted her hips and shoulder, and he let her roll them both over, so she was on top and he was sprawled across the late Mr. Leach. "Now Archie's rubbing your butt," she giggled. "Are you sure you didn't just go gay all of a sudden?"

"Oh, I'm sure," he said, lifting her by the waist and arranging her astride him. He purred, doing his best Cary Grant imitation, "But, my dear young lady, you don't seem to realize you've placed me in a very embarrassing position."

She giggled again. "You seem to be holding up pretty well under the stress." Since her hand was in a position to verify this, she guided his cock inside her and rocked against him.

He relaxed his hold on her, letting her set the pace of their lovemaking, lying back and gazing up at her through his narrowed eyelids. His voice was husky as he said, "And look at you. I think I caught a wildcat tonight after all."

"I do feel wild when we do this." She bent over him, licking the side of his neck until he shivered and thrust upward into her, harder, uncontrollably.

"Admit it, pet," he gasped. "You like me because I make you feel sexy."

She raised her head and met his eyes in surprise. "Oh, no, Spike."

He stilled beneath her. "I don't make you feel sexy?"

She laughed joyously in response to his worried tone. "I didn't mean that, silly. I meant that I always felt sexy." Her lips moved back to his throat, and she clenched her thighs tighter around him until he began to thrust again. "I like you because you're the only person who's ever really made me feel like that's okay."

"'Okay' isn't the word for what you are, pet. Brilliant, magnificent . . ."

She interrupted him with a finger across his lips and sat back, running her hands over his chest and settling her hips down against his until they were both moaning with pleasure. She had him now, he was her captive deep inside her. If she were ever to get a real admission out of him, this was the moment. "Never mind that. Your turn, Spike. Tell me the whole truth. Why do you like me?"

Before answering, he rolled her over onto her back again, grinding into her as he muttered in her ear, "Because of this, of course. Because you're my passionate, sexy, lovely lady, and I can't get enough of you." She held him close, feeling his body start to shudder in climax, listening to him praise her. She was his queen, an enchantress, an insatiable siren; he adored her gorgeous body, her profound eyes, her luscious breasts, the stunning legs that she wrapped around him, the velvety warmth of her quim; he loved the way she shagged him without embarrassment, never holding anything back, beautifully shameless.

So silly. As if I have anything to be ashamed of. We're not doing anything wrong. Still, she gloried in his words, her body responding to his even as she was sure he was the one still holding something back. But then she heard him breathe against her ear, so quietly she could barely make out what he said, "Because you're the only one who calls me a person."

She came in his arms, smiling blissfully as he dropped his head on her shoulder, because she knew he'd surrendered to her utterly in that moment.


She was incredibly warm, lying there beneath him, all soft curves and rosy flesh, the sweet throb of her pulse echoing in his ears, the intoxicating scents of her blood and her arousal surrounding him. But Spike's feelings of extreme satisfaction gradually shifted to a vague sense of unease. He tried to remember exactly what words he'd used in those last moments of passion. He began to wonder if he'd said what he thought he'd said, or if he'd just thought so hard about saying it that it seemed as if he'd actually said it.

That train of thought made his head hurt, so he lay still and waited to see if she would mention the foolish sentiment he was pretty sure he'd uttered.

At first, she lay peacefully, skin to skin, snuggling against him as her breathing quieted and her heart stopped racing from their exertions. Then, suddenly, she squirmed away, pushing at his chest and twisting her body to one side. "Let me up, Spike," she demanded urgently.

He moved aside slowly, dismayed. "What's wrong, pet?" he asked hoarsely, cursing himself for his revelation, wondering if he'd managed to say the wrong thing at last, the damning thing that would make her reject him.

She was squirming into her jeans. "Nothing. Well, something. I need a bathroom. Right away."

"You need—" He watched in disbelief as she yanked her top down and shoved her feet into her sneakers. "Just go over there." He gestured at the shrubbery.

"Oh, I can't do that!" She seemed sincerely appalled at the idea. "And there's a rest room just down this path. I've used it sometimes. I bring Buffy hot chocolate when she patrols this cemetery. Be right back."

Spike watched her run off. "That's my Joyce," he muttered as he pulled up his jeans and reached for his coat. "Sees nothing wrong with having sex in public, but thinks taking a piss in the bushes just isn't ladylike."

He was about follow her when he paused, drawing in a deep breath as he sensed a change in the surrounding air. He thought he caught the scent of something new, dangerous, and more than a little magical. But it was far away, and he wasn't about to chase after it and leave his lady wandering around in the dark on her own. He turned and followed the path Joyce had taken.


Joyce scampered into the concrete block that was the public restroom, flicking the switch that turned on a single bare light bulb overhead. She skidded into the first stall, and after the quickest of glances to make sure the seat was clean, she was pulling down her pants even before she had the battered wooden door bolted behind her. She dropped down on the stool with a sigh of relief.

Her discomfort eased, she looked down at her jeans and grimaced in annoyance. Her panties were missing in combat—again. She supposed it would be a waste of time to go back to Archie's resting place and crawl around in the dark looking for them. But her underwear drawer had become seriously depleted. She was either going to have to make time for a trip to the mall soon or raid Spike's breast pocket for replacements.

She was zipping up her pants when she heard someone come into the rest room. Booted feet sounded on the uneven cement floor, and there was the sound of someone's clothing shifting, but no one entered the stall next to her. She froze momentarily, and then relaxed as she heard the flick of a lighter and smelled the harsh tang of tobacco burning.

Joyce smiled. Spike wouldn't let her do something dangerous like taking a pee without his protection, of course. Men could be silly sometimes. She flushed the toilet and opened the stall door.

Spike was leaning against the wall by the paper towel dispenser, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He was staring in consternation at a sign posted on the side of the first stall.

Joyce turned to read it. "If you sprinkle where you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat." It was adorned with hand-drawn yellow and pink flowers.

"That is the most obscene thing I have ever seen," he said.

She ignored this hyperbole and turned to wash her hands. As she reached for the faucet, the door to the restroom opened behind her.

Joyce looked up into the mirror over the sink and met the eyes of an elderly lady in a bright pink jogging suit. The woman stared at her in horror and shrieked at the top of her lungs. A moment later she was gone, the door slamming behind her.

Joyce turned around and saw Spike standing between her and the spot where the woman had been. He shrugged, but she noticed he smirked a little at the effect he'd had on the poor thing. Joyce wondered if the woman had noticed his lack of reflection or if the mere sight of a black-clad, peroxided male in this bastion of femininity had done the trick. She frowned at him. "You should have waited outside," she said severely. "Let's go."

They had barely stepped outside the door when they heard another, even more blood-curdling, screech. Joyce looked at Spike, but there had hardly been time for someone to register his presence, much less be appalled by it.

He was staring down the path that led back towards the cemetery. "It's that jogger," he said. "I think she's seen a puddy cat."

He was gone a moment later, and Joyce saw the flash of the Guecubu's dagger in his hand as he ran. She set off after him, but as she rounded the corner of the path, she was almost knocked off her feet by the elderly woman from the restroom, who was now moving considerably faster than a jogging pace. Joyce staggered into a bush, almost swore as she scratched herself, and regained her balance to run after Spike.

She heard him cursing before she saw him, and when she saw his attacker she couldn't be surprised at his language.

The jaguar was huge, at least six feet long, not counting the whipping tail, and its muscles looked incredibly sleek and powerful. Joyce could barely make out the patterns on its back in the moonlight, but the gleaming yellow eyes and bared fangs were all too clear.

It was backing away from Spike, moving slightly to the side, as it emitted a curious, coughing growl. Spike was growling too, and his eyes were as yellow as the jaguar's. He crouched, ready to strike.

The jaguar struck first. It leapt on Spike, knocking him to the ground, but the vampire somehow managed to thrust it away, striking out with the dagger as he did so.

Joyce caught her breath in relief when she saw Spike roll to his feet, but then she saw the dagger lying on the ground, with the jaguar between him and the weapon.

Fangs bared, amber eyes locked, the jaguar and the vampire circled around each other. The blade must have glanced off that smooth hide, without striking the heart. Spike too appeared uninjured. The main result of that first assault seemed to be that each combatant had gained a healthy respect for the other's strength.

Joyce dove for the dagger, snatching it up. Spike's eyes flicked to hers. "Toss it here!" he bellowed. But the jaguar took advantage of his momentary break in attention to strike.

Later, Joyce had trouble remembering exactly what she'd done. But the jaguar was on top of Spike, she was on top of the jaguar, her fist was striking something as hard as she could, and then a huge weight was on top of her and she felt a searing pain up her right leg.

"Joyce!" Spike's voice was tense with fear. "Joyce, love, are you all right?"

The heavy shape was hauled off her, and she was cradled in his arms, clinging to him as she stared at the huge bulk of the jaguar lying across the path. "Did you kill it?" she asked.

He stared at her in astonishment. "I did bugger all, love. You got him through the heart. I know I called you a wildcat before, but you really do fight like one." He gestured, and she saw the hilt of the dagger sticking up from the mottled fur. "Thought he'd taken you with him for a moment."

"No," she assured him in a shaken tone. "My leg's cut a little, I think."

As he bent to look at it, she became aware of a distant roar, and she had the definite sensation that the earth was shaking beneath her. "What--?" she started to ask.

Spike began swearing again, this time softly under his breath as a half-dozen voices erupted into cacophonous argument just a few yards away. Joyce could hear a deep, steady hum that sounded like the low growl of some strange creature, and then she made out Buffy's voice yelling, "I think I see it."

"Balls," shouted Spike, ducking as an arrow flew just over his head, landing on the ground just beside him.

"I think I got it!" shouted Buffy again.

"Don't go in there alone!" Giles' voice. "It's hurt you once already."

"Let's get out the nets, like we talked about," urged Riley. "Xander, back up and—"

"Get out of here," said Joyce urgently to Spike.

"Not leaving you with a trigger-happy Slayer—"

"You heard them. They're not shooting again until they see what's in here. And I'm not sure what Buffy will do if she sees you here and me bleeding." She leaned over and pulled the dagger out of the jaguar's hide. "Besides, it will be dawn in just a couple of minutes, and you don't have time to hang around and make explanations. Take this and go."

He tried to protest again, but she pushed the dagger into his hand and gave him a shove. "They'll take care of me. Buffy will find me lying here, and she'll think she saved me from the monster like always. Everything will be fine. But you have to go!"

Buffy's voice sounded just a few feet away now. "I hear someone talking," she was saying in an astonished voice. "It sounds like—Mom?"

Spike stopped hesitating and took off at full speed in the opposite direction from the approaching voices. The moment he was gone, Joyce grabbed the arrow lying on the ground, shoved it into the jaguar's body, and let herself fall back and give way to the pain in her leg. She almost fainted as she realized her long night was about to end at last. But she was jerked back to consciousness as a crash sounded, followed by a horrified scream from the direction of the street.

Joyce recognized Hank's voice and struggled back to a sitting position, terrified that his scream meant some harm to their daughter.

But Buffy was there a second later, holding her mother in her arms, exclaiming over the blood, calling for Willow to run for bandages, and not acting as if anyone else had been injured.

Joyce passed out in her child's embrace. She had no idea what was causing Hank's continued cries of anguish, and she was too hurt and tired to care. For the moment, all she knew was that she had succeeded in what she set out to do. Buffy was safe.


Continued in Epilogue

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