Caught in the Act

Summary Spike runs into someone he’d never expect at Giles’
Rating R
Disclaimer No B&E was committed in the writing of this story. Really, officer, that door was open. Any injured copyrights were unintenal
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Notes Part of the Ménageaverse. Takes place immediately after Wild on the Side. Thanks, Mydeira, for letting me have this one! For more from the Menageaverse, please visit our website at http://www.responsibleadults.sadbhyl.riverworld.net.


Spike pushed the door of the Watcher’s apartment open gingerly. It was three in the morning, and the whole place was dark, but Spike knew better than anyone that the man kept strange hours. No point in taking more of a chance than he already was.

He ran over his mental shopping list. Booze, whatever Wheetabix or other crunchies Giles might have picked up this week, cash out of the desk.

The smell hit him as he stepped down off the landing, made his eyes water and his cock snap to attention. Damn! Rupert got a girl! Would wonders never cease? To Spike’s sensitive nose, the whole place reeked of it, sweet and musky and vibrant. He sucked in a lungful of it and let it ooze through his whole body. Too bad Harmony had ditched him, he was going to need some kind of attention tonight. He looked down at his hand. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Lefty,” he said softly.

Two boxes of Wheetabix and a package of chocolate chip cookies went into his pockets. Must have gotten ‘em for the bird, Watcher never had decent cookies in the house before. Nothing but copper in the change jar.

He had just started rifling the desk when he heard soft footfalls on the stairs down from the loft. Bugger! No time to hide, he’d just have to brazen this out. Spike pulled on his best charming smile and looked up.

To see Joyce Summers standing on the landing, her hair all a-tumble, her torso covered in one of Giles’ dress shirts, tan legs and feet bare. She looked content and drowsy, ten years younger. And dead shocked at the sight of him.

She managed to keep her voice down in spite of her surprise. “Spike?” she whispered, continuing down the stairs. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

And suddenly all the cues he’d been picking up the silent morning of the Gentlemen’s attack made perfect sense. Rupert’s preoccupation with the attention the chaos mage had been paying her, the meaningful looks that had passed between the two when the Slayer was arranging for the Watcher to look out for her mum. And the faint, familiar scent Spike had picked up off of Giles underneath the smell of his soap and cologne. Joyce’s scent.

He propped his hip on the desk and studied her. “Well, I might ask you the same thing,” he said, trying not to grin. “Buthinkhink we both know the answer to that.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Please, Spike.” Her tone was resigned. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“No? It’s not you and the Watcher having generous amounts of sex? And not for the first time either, I’d wager.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”

His eyes narrowed. “So why don’t you tell me what it is?”

“Spike, you aren’t my keeper. I don’t have to explain things to you.”

He put a hand to hisst. st. “I’m hurt, Joyce. I thought wee fre friends. Don’t friends talk about these things?”

It worked. He’d always found the best way to wear Joyce down when he wanted something was to amuse her. And he was dead curious about what was going on. He liked Joyce, and hated to see her alone so much. She could do worse than old Rupert, stick in the mud that he was.

She conceded with a sigh. “We can’t talk now, he’ll miss me if I’m gone too long. Come by the house early tonight and we’ll visit.”

Spike smiled boyishly. “I appreciate that, petok fok forward to it.” With a glance up the stairs, he crossed to the Watcher’s liquor cabinet, extracting a bottle of scotch and one of vodka. “Can I bring anything? Some wine maybe?” He held up a bottle of merlot for her approval.

Joyce just shook her head, giving him a stern look that he knew was her trying not to laugh. “Just get out of here so you are in one piece to bring yourself.”

He paused as he passed her on the way to the door, looking at her seriously. “Does Buffy know?”

“No.” She could have threatened him, but she didn’t need to.

“She won’t hear it from me,” he promised.

“Thank you.” And she kissed his cheek lightly.

And for one brief instant, Spike was jealous of the Watcher.



Spike tapped lightly on the back door when he got to Joyce’s house. She smiled her usual welcoming smile when she opened the door for him. “Spike! Come in.”

He offered her the half-wilted bouquet he’d brought with him as she closed the door. “Only seemed right, considerin’ the topic of conversation.”

She took them graciously, inhaling the fragrant, slightly overripe blooms. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, well.” He shuffled his feet, not wanting to show embarrassment. “Just don’t ask where I got them.”

“I won’t. Have a seat. Hot chocolate? Or tea? I picked up some marshmallows.”

“Can’t let those go to waste then.” He was touched by her thoughtfulness.

“Hot chocolate it is, then.” She turned back to the stove.

He fidgeted as she prepared the drinks, pulling a rubber spatula out of the utensil jar to roll it between his fingers. What was he thinking? He liked this woman, she actually gave a rat’s ass about him. And now he was going to pry into her personal life? She was right, she didn’t owe him anything.

He was just about to bolt when she turned and set his mug down in front of him, sitting down across from him with her own. “So, how have you been?”

“Oh, me?” he shrugged, sipping at the steaming liquid. “’M fine. Found me a nice cozy crypt over at Restfield, got all the amenities.”

“Do you have everything you need there? I mean, I’ve never been to a crypt warming, but . . .”

He smiled. “Nah, I’m good. Managed to salvage or pinch about everything I needed.”

“You steal a lot of things?”

“Only from those who can spare it. Or who deserve it.”

“And Rupert deserves it?”

“Kept me chained in a bloody bathtub for a week, didn’ he?”

She chuckled, drinking from her own mug.

“Glad you think it’s so funny.” But he smiled wryly as well.

“I’m sorry.” But she didn’t look the least repentant. “It must have been terribly uncomfortable for you.”

“Just wait until it happens to you,” he grumbled. “See how you like it.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” She watched him unflinchingly, but he saw the blush flooding her cheeks.

“You talk to your daughter with that mouth?”

“Frequently. She squirms about as well as you do.”
“Can you blame me? You have to give me some room here, Joyce. Just found out today Slayer’s mum and the Watcher are knockin’ boots, add the image of you playin’ sub, it knocks a man for a loop.”

“Never said I was a sub,” she replied innocently, toying with her cup.

He choked, barely avoiding spraying chocolate all over her. “Joyce!”

She snatched up a rag and sopped up the mess. “Spike, you can hardly expect me to make it easy on you when you insist on poking into my affairs. Suffice it to say my partners like to play, and I don’t mind . . .”

Spike choked again, this time on his own tongue. “Partners?”

She sighed. “I told you it was difficult to explain.”

He held up a hand as he pulled his tattered composure together. “Joyce, I do understand. Sort of. I was in a four way relationship myself for . . . well, longer than I like to admit. I get the dynamic. But why?” You and Rupert . . .”

“Does there need to be a reason be the the fact that it feels good and we want to?”

“There usually is one.”

She nodded. “There is here too. But I’m not going to share it with you.”

“This other bloke . . . it is a bloke?”

She nodded.

“He anyone I know?”

She shrugged. “You might. But I wouldn’t tell you even if you did.”

“Ashamed of him?”

“No. It’s not your business.”

“Joyce.” He put his hand over hers. “I know I look like I’m Buffy’s age, but I’m a hell of a lot older than the lot of you combined. I’m just trying to make sense of it. I don’t what to see you get hurt.”

“I’m perfectly safe, Spike. And happier than I’ve been in a very long time.”

“Well hell, Joyce, if it’s quantity you want, you should give me a tumble.” He realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth how horribly they could be taken.

But she wasoffeoffended. “I’m sorry, honey, but you just aren’t my type.”

“No?” He was surprised to feel that hurt just a little.

She smiled. “I like a little more magic in my men, apparently.” She took his mug. “Do you want some more?”

He grabbed her wrist. “Joyce. If it was Buffy sittin’ here telling you she was sleepin’ with me and Harris, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t have misgivings.”

She hesitated, thinking about it. “If she were, I hope I would tell her to be careful, and to make sure that you both were treating her right. I just want her to be happy, even if that means the relationship is . . . unusual.”

He looked her full in the face. “Joyce, be careful,” he repeated in all seriousness. “Make sure they’re both treating you right. We all just want you to be happy. And if either one of them ever hurts you, I’ll gladly rip him apart and broil up his entrails for you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You can’t, remember?” She tapped his forehead. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Well, I know some guys who know some demons . . .”