KARMA CHAMELEON
by perletwo
For Mezzibelle and her Spike, who got bad news from the vet the day I wrote this.
Spike ambled through the cemetery, whistling and kicking leaves as he went along.
When he reached the grave he wanted, he knelt down on the brown grass and set the wire frame flower holder upright again, staking it firmly into the ground, and put the plastic cone back into the frame. He slipped the bouquet of mixed spring flowers he'd brought into the cone and carefully peeled away the cellophane wrapping. Then he settled down cross-legged in front of the headstone.
" 'Allo, luv," he said amiably. "Thought I'd catch you up on what's been goin' on down 'ere lately. Not much joy, I'm afraid. Passions 'as gotten pretty good lately, 'ave you been keepin' up with it up there? Timmy's on a quest to become a real boy, y'know. Part'a me wants to give the li'l blighter a good shake - wot's'e want to be givin' up all 'is power for? - an' the other part'a me's actually pullin' for the bloke."
His fingers idly picked stray leaves off the flowers as he talked. "Were you 'round for Buffy's birthday, luv? Ev'rybody else was, it seemed. You'd'a been so proud of Buffy, Joyce. The party went all Hellmouthy, an' she just stayed calm an' took it all in stride. Seems Dawn inadvertently 'ad a 'and in settin' all the madness in motion, an' Buffy 'andled 'er just beautifully. Reminded me so much'a you that day, an' night, an' next day, she did..."
"Dawn's in trouble, I'm afraid, m'dear, an' I don't know 'ow to 'elp 'er. Wot she needs more than anythin' is you, t'tell the truth. Like all teenagers, she needs somebody keepin' an eye on 'er at all times. Not just for 'er sticky fingers either - she needs t'know someone's watchin' 'er moods an' worryin' about 'er. An' right now, luv, there just isn't anyone in 'er life that can give 'er that kinda attention. I'd'a done it - I was doin' it, when Buffy was up there with you - but Buffy won't let me near 'er now she's back. Some'a 'er reasons're good ones, but she's not seein' what it's costin' Dawn."
He sighed and pulled his coat closer around himself against a sudden breeze. "Willow's much better, I'm 'appy to report. Anya was pushin' at 'er to do a counterspell when the party went all wonky, an' Will stood 'er ground. Even 'ad Tara backin' 'er up, which made 'er feel really good. She's gettin' the 'ang of manual labor again, so to speak."
"Anya...Joyce, were you watchin' over the Scoobies at Anya's wedding? I left before the fireworks lit off, but I gather the wedding didn't 'appen. Xander jilted 'er at the altar. Y'know, if it'd 'appened on Passions, you an' I woulda been sayin' over cocoa it was a stupid writers' trick, nobody'd really do that t'someone they loved so much in real life. But 'ere we are, luv, an' I know 'e musta 'ad wot seemed like good reasons at the time, but I can't for the unlife'a me come up with any likely possibilities..."
Spike sighed and pulled his legs up in front of him, resting his forearms on the shelf of his knees.
"This is the bit I been puttin' off 'til last, luv. Buffy...she's been in a bad way lately, Joyce. These boys've decided to play at bein' Lex Luthor an' Doctor Doom, silly arses, an' they've targeted Buffy. Which would be laughable, 'cept for two things: one, they got a real knack f'r 'ittin' her right where her 'ead's the most vulnerable...an' two, they've actually killed someone now, Joyce. Bad enough they tried to 'ang it on Buffy, but - murder? Playtime's over, y'know? By the by, if you could keep an eye peeled f'r a bird name'a Katrina Saunders, an' show 'er the ropes up there for us, luv?"
"Maybe you knew some'a this already though, luv, I gather you an' Buffy 'ad a chat lately. She...Joyce, they made 'er think she was crazy, that Sunnydale was an 'allucination an' she was really in a rubber room all this time. You an' your ex were there, an' Buffy wanted so bad to stay there an' let you take care'a 'er again...bad enough to almost kill Dawn 'fore she came to 'er senses. I think you musta said somethin' to 'er in that other place that cleared things up for 'er."
One hand brushed over the lettering incised into the stone. "Thank you f'r that, luv. Can't say's I blame 'er much. I'd like to see you around again m'self, y'know. Nothin' big or profound - just, 'ave us a cuppa, watch our stories on the telly. I miss 'avin' a real friend around, Joyce. Don't mind talkin' to you like this, but damn I wish you'd say somethin' back -"
A loud cry interrupted his monologue, as if on cue, and Spike jumped. "Wotthe'ell -?"
From the far side of the grave marker, a Siamese yearling kitten leapt gracefully onto the top of the tombstone and let out its distinctive grinding miaow. Spike relaxed and laughed at himself. " 'Ey there pet! Lucky you, you're a little too old t'gamble with..."
He put a couple of fingers out for the cat to sniff while he examined the animal. Its big blue-gray eyes and lilac points glowed in the moonlight, and it was just growing into the length of its tawny limbs and tail. After a disdainful sniff, it butted its head against Spike's outstretched hand, and gave a rumbly purr, so it wasn't a feral cat. It looked healthy and relatively well-fed, and didn't look like it had been in any catfights. No collar or animal society tattoo.
"Ah well. Looks like you're in good company 'ere now, Joyce, so I'll just be pushin' off now..." The cat issued a loud yowl and leapt into his path, twining around his ankles quickly enough to impede his stride. Then it danced from side to side in front of him, beckoning, and made its way back to the tombstone. It reared up on its hind legs and began pawing at the name carved into the marble.
Spike stood very, very still. "...Joyce?" The cat meowed knowingly as if in reply, and he knelt again. "Is that you, luv?" It meowed again, and this time he could make out an affectionate twinkle of mischief in its eyes and a ghost of a smile playing around its lips. It reared up and began kneading its pawpads against his knee, then hopped gracefully up to perch on his lap, claws clinging to the denim without reaching skin.
He sighed. "Only on the bloody 'Ellmouth..." The cat climbed gingerly up to his shoulder and settled itself around his neck like a scarf. "Okay, Joyce. Just watch the leather, luv, or you really *will* be needin' nine lives..." he muttered, standing and heading for home.
Joyce gave him a high-pitched whine and a growly purr, and licked gingerly at his ear. " 'EY! No fair with the ticklin', luv!"
An 'awr-awr-awr' meow that sounded almost like laughter rang out through the stillness of the cemetery.