Chapter 1 - May 2006

The cab pulled up to a disreputable looking office building lodged between a tattoo parlor and a seedy delicatessen. The address, on Broome Street, deep in Greenwich Village, New York, was hardly a posh one, but that didn’t bother the passenger. He paid the driver, who was a bit nervous about the neighborhood at this time of night, and gave him a generous tip. William always overtipped cab drivers... it made them less reluctant to come to his address, plus it was a small reparation for a time, not so long past, when cab drivers had been his favorite victims. William strode from the cab, black duster swinging, boots pounding the pavement. As always, he stopped and looked at the modest plaque next to the door. Under "Psychic Readings by Madeline", and above the suspiciously vague "Import/Export Ltd.", was his listing, "Big Bad Investigations." The logo, a brown wedge, tipped with scarlet, could represent either a blood-drenched stake or a railroad spike, depending on one’s interpretation or knowledge of William’s history.

William shoved his key into the lock and went into the dank vestibule, which smelled sour and musty like every other vestibule in every other ratty apartment building since the beginning of time. There was a lift of sorts, but it was out of repair most of the time, and moved like molasses on the rare days that it was in order, so William ran up the two flights of stairs to his office. Though it was almost dawn, and William had been out all night, he wasn’t physically tired, just weary and eager to be home. He had been fighting a Fyarl demon tonight... nasty thing. He hadn’t seen one since Giles…William frowned. He didn’t want to go there, so he turned his mind to tonight’s battle, and how he had evaded the Fyarl’s poisonous mucus, and slit its throat with a silver cake server. At the top of the stairs, and down a short hallway was a door. Etched into the dirty glass was a larger version of his downstairs logo. He unlocked the door, and went inside, turning on the lights, as he did so. The first thing that caught his eye was the flashing light on the answering machine. 15 new messages, the display read. Typical. But first things first. William took off the duster and hung it on the coat tree near the door, so it was the first thing the customers saw when they walked in. Worn and stained, with at least three poorly mended holes in the leather, the coat was as much a part of Big Bad Investigations as was William, and for that reason he put up with it, though he would have gladly chucked it long ago. Not to mention these bloody boots, William thought, big heavy clodhoppers, but again part of the image, as was the seedy office, and the crappy address.

William unlocked a back door and entered his flat. This was a far cry from the run down office, a lush space decorated with taste and skill. Heavy drapes covered the windows and one whole wall was devoted to an expensive entertainment center featuring a large screen television, and every state-of-the-art device money could provide. William loved movies, music and TV... They were his only vices these days, and he indulged them. The other walls contained loaded bookshelves and several paintings, a few of which he had done himself. They weren’t very good, despite some night courses at NYU, but he wasn’t planning on inviting any art critics into the place, anyway. William would have loved to flop down on his leather sofa and see what goodies he had taped this evening, but first he had to get rid of "Spike." He went into his small bedroom and sitting on the bed with a sigh, pulled off the shitkicker boots. After that came the inevitable black tee shirt and black jeans, black belt flying across the room. Black! He was bloody well sick of it, but it worked, so he wore it. During business hours, that is. He stepped into the shower, washing out the gel that kept his hair slicked back into the same style he had worn since the 1980s. One thing he had done when he moved to New York was to let his natural hair color grow out... no more peroxide. Nobody here knew the difference anyway. He got out of the shower and dried his golden brown hair, which would dry naturally into soft curls. He put on blue jeans, and a soft gray jumper. Sticking his feet into supple loafers, he was ready to tackle his messages, and then relax and sleep until late afternoon.

Back in the tacky office with its ratty blinds and dusty disorganized desk, William took out his notepad and pushed the play button on his recorder. As he expected, 13 of the messages were related to cases past present and future. Spike took notes, planning to return calls later in the afternoon. One call was from Holly, his latest human girlfriend, asking him to some theater opening or other. She was beginning to sound a little too attached to him these days. It was probably time for William’s patented, "I’m a soulless vampire and incapable of love," speech. It was very successful, first, in getting the birds into his bed, since they all thought they could change him, and then in getting rid of them, when they realized that they couldn’t. Of course, it was all a lie... He could love, and did, but the object of his love was not here, and probably never would be. The 15^th message was from Cordelia. It was very simple. Just "Call me, Spike, as soon as you can," with her home number, not the number of Angel Investigations.

"Shit," thought William. Why couldn’t she have left a bloody message? The call had come in at 3am his time, which was midnight her time. What could be so important that she would call him at midnight, but so personal that she couldn’t leave a message? He looked at the clock on the wall. 6am... only 3am her time. He was tempted to call her anyway... ... serve her right... Stupid bint, torturing him like this. What if something had happened to Buffy? Or even Dawn? Surely she would have said! At least 4 more hours before he could decently call. He tossed the message pad angrily onto his desk and stormed into his apartment. He would bloody well calm down. He wasn’t crazy Spike any more, tearing the furniture apart and doing rash things that ruined his bloody life. He could wait. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV. He would watch his tapes and maybe a movie, and then he would call Cordelia, like a civilized being... and tear her bloody head off! But as he sat numbly in front of the television, a mug of blood congealing in his hand, his mind was miles way from the silly soap opera in front of him... 3,000 miles to be exact, in a little town called Sunnydale.

It was 3,000 miles and five years ago, shortly after Buffy’s mother died, that they had finally defeated Glory and her alter ego, Ben. It had actually been a plan of William’s devising, after he had followed Ben one night and seen him morph into Glory. That bloody poofter, daring to be interested in Buffy... if she’d only seen Glory in those Intern Pajamas, she would have lost all her foolish notions of wanting a normal boyfriend.

But Buffy wasn’t interested in boyfriends then, normal or otherwise. She wasn’t even all that interested in Glory, though the hell god was an immediate threat to herself and Dawn. Buffy’s grief over her mother was like a big stone sarcophagus, locking her inside, and her friends and family out. Nobody could reach her emotionally, so physically she was a perfect target. When Spike…he was still calling himself that then... heard about Joyce’s death, he knew exactly how Buffy would react. He had commissioned a robot from a nerd named Warren. True, his original plan had had nothing to do with Glory... He had wanted the robot as a Buffy substitute, since the real thing had rejected him in no uncertain terms. But, when he heard about Joyce’s death, all that changed. Putting his own grief aside - he had really liked and admired Joyce more than any human he had ever known - he approached Buffy’s friends with his new plan. They, of course, wanted no part of him or his plan, but he finally convinced them to at least listen. It was Giles who finally came around, realizing that Spike could be either an ally or a threat and he was much better as an ally. Good old Giles. On the leather sofa, William ground his teeth.

Spike allowed himself to be captured and tortured by Glory for his information about the key. He finally, grudgingly "revealed" that the key was a blue crystal that Buffy wore on a chain around her neck, in exchange for Glory’s promise to remove his Government chip. He pretended to be unconscious when Ben brought Buffy back to his apartment where he turned into Glory and attacked her. Buffy, of course, was prepared for this and Spike watched as she fought Glory with a strength that she had never shown before. Bursting his chains, he leapt into the fray, accompanied by the rest of the Scooby gang, who fought Glory’s minions. When Glory was finally knocked unconscious, Willow and Tara had put her into a binding spell. They all watched in fascination as Glory, continually morphing between herself and Ben, bound, and unable to move or to drain the sanity from others, slowly disintegrated into a howling wreck. Then, as the pressure built up beyond bearing, "her" human body exploded, and her energy and Ben’s was let free into the cosmos, formless and scattered. She never did find her key, which in the persona of Dawn was safe at home with the real Buffy. Incredibly, once the threat to the key was dissolved, the knights of Byzantium, who had assembled outside in ominous numbers, simply dispersed. This was a major relief to all, since Spike’s plan hadn’t dealt with fighting a whole bloody army!

Finally, the Scooby gang was grateful to Spike. They actually thanked him, and Giles shook his hand. But, they weren’t about to welcome him into their little circle with open arms, knowing how he felt about Buffy. He could have stood their coolness, however, if Buffy had shown him any warmth. But she thanked him politely and coldly and that was all. No hatred, no fire, just ice and indifference. He really hadn’t expected her to throw herself into his arms, especially since his great plan hadn’t included her, or at least the *real* her. The fact that she even agreed to stay home with Dawn revealed to Spike the depth of her emotional detachment and pain. The old Buffy would never have stood by and let a robot fight her battle. And now she didn’t even seem to care that she had missed all the action. Anger and hatred... *that* Spike could deal with... but apathy was more than he could take. Though Spike understood how she felt and what she was going through, he suddenly couldn’t be around it anymore. Thinking that maybe it would be a good idea to put a little distance between them for a while, Spike donated the Buffybot to the Magic Box, where it was put on display, and left for Los Angeles and Angel Investigations.

True, Angel and he weren’t exactly best friends in those days. There was the little matter of the Gem of Amara and some torture, for which Angel had every right to hold a grudge. But as Spike explained, family was family and, besides, he wasn’t really evil anymore... and *could* actually be an asset to the business. Didn’t he have "destroyer of hell god" on his resume? Grudgingly, and after a fairly intense fistfight, Angel took Spike in, gave him a room at the hotel, and hired him at Angel Investigations. Wesley and Cordelia knew Spike, of course, and regarded him with much suspicion, but he and Gunn really hit it off, since Gunn had no preconceived notions about him. Eventually he even became friendly with Wesley and Cordelia, especially after he began bringing in work. Lots of work... Angel looked upon AI as more of a quest for redemption than as a business, while Cordelia and Wesley struggled to make ends meet. That all ended when Spike arrived. Not bothering to wait for Cordelia’s visions, Spike went out and drummed up business, hitting the demon bars and infiltrating the grapevine, playing up his Big Bad Spike image for all it was worth. Nobody here knew about his chip, or that he was a demon "turncoat." Soon AI had all the business it could handle, and Angel and the gang were out every night on cases, though Spike himself kept a low profile during the actual demon slayings, so as not to blow his cover. Desperate for news from Sunnydale, Spike turned to Cordelia as a friend and confidant, since she occasionally spoke to Willow. He found Cordy attractive, in a birdlike manner, but he quickly saw that she had her eye on Gunn, and he on her, though neither would admit it. So, while the two of them seemed content to play ‘Moonlighting’ ad infinitum, Spike decided to stay out of it. But he did talk to Cordy and confide his feelings for Buffy and the whole sorry sordid story. Cordelia really let him have it, in her no-nonsense way, about the whole crypt disaster, the robot, everything. She agreed that the only intelligent move he ever made was getting away from Buffy until she got over her mother’s death, and forgot... a whole lot of things. Cordelia started phoning Willow once a month or so, just to keep in touch and she passed on the news and gossip to Spike. So, all in all, Spike would have been fairly content in LA, except for just one little factor... Angel.

Angel Investigations was Angel’s baby, and Spike was turning it into a…success! Angel only needed enough money to keep his beloved old hotel going, though he certainly didn’t begrudge Cordy and Wesley making a living. What he didn’t like was Spike coming in and taking over, dealing with customers, charming them with his attitude and phony Cockney accent. Big Bad Spike indeed! He’d known William when he was a poncy little poet who couldn’t even get a girl except batty Drusilla, who only chose him out of a kind of insane pity for his sniveling. Spike had been a thorn in his side ever since. Worse, the word from Sunnydale via the Willow/Cordy grapevine was that Spike had been a big hero in the Glory business, and that he was supposedly in love with Buffy. Fortunately for Spike, Angel also heard that Buffy had righteously kicked his butt. Reluctant to evict Spike from AI for fear of driving him back to Sunnydale, Angel managed to be civil to his rival, but just barely. The tension between them grew thicker every day, especially since Spike had no compunctions about needling Angel about anything and everything, from his Shanshu to his shampoo. The fact that he and Gunn and Cordy were now friends was almost more than he could bear. A soul wasn’t enough to keep him in torment... did he also have to have Spike?

Spike, for his part, loved tormenting Angel. It put a spring in his step and a song in his heart. But he felt that Angel Investigations, and the Shanshu thing that fueled it, was really holding him back. Spike had never really been a team player, even in the old days of the gang of Four, when he, Angel, Dru and Darla were the scourge of Europe. But he stuck it out for a year, while he waited to hear the news from Sunnydale via the Cordy/Willow grapevine. It was Cordy who told him about Xander and Anya’s marriage and the birth shortly thereafter of their first child. Not that he gave a bloody damn, but he would have loved to see Anya as a Mother. Hah! She’d probably try to trade the kid in for a new Mercedes! It was Cordy who reported that Willow and Tara had broken up. Not that Spike cared about them at all, but he would have liked to have placed a small wager on what flavor Willow was going to go for next... And it was Cordy who told him that Buffy had gotten married, suddenly, and surprisingly. When he heard the name of the groom, Spike was extremely shocked but not terribly surprised. He understood Buffy all too well... He knew what she had been looking for, and what she thought she had found. Understanding, however, didn’t prevent Spike from breaking a whole lot of expensive furniture, including his beloved new large screen TV. A shocked and upset Angel found him in the wreckage of his room, and took him to Caritas, where the two old rivals drank way too much bourbon and sang way too many sappy songs. The Host was indulgent, though; he could see what they shared and what they had lost.

Though he and Angel finally reached a truce that night, Spike decided it was time to put a little more distance between himself and Buffy, and moved to New York. He had lived there before, in the 1970’s in a little walk up in the village, not far from where he was now. He’d feasted on hookers and cabbies, and even snagged himself a Slayer, not to mention a new black leather duster. Maybe New York would be a good place to start over.

William looked at the clock on the wall... 9:30am... Close enough to normal hours in LA. He picked up the phone and dialed the number Cordy had given him. A sleepy voice answered, "Hello?"

"Cordy, it’s me... Will... uh, Spike. I got your message... What’s wrong? Is it Buffy?"

"Huh... Oh Spike!" Cordy was suddenly wide-awake. "I’m so glad you called. No, don’t worry... Buffy is fine, so is Dawn and, uh, Emily Joyce."

Emily Joyce, Buffy’s 3-year-old daughter, named for her two deceased Grandmothers. Cordelia had been responsible for that little piece of good news also.

"Well, what the bloody hell is it then? Willow and Tara break up again? You had me pacin’ the floor here for hours. "

William could hear that Cordelia had started to cry "No, it’s, it’s Mr. Giles... He had a heart attack... he’s dead."

"Bloody hell!" Spike was stunned and couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought " I-I see. Thanks, Cordy, for tellin’ me. "

"The funeral is Wednesday. Morning. Same place as Buffy’s mom. Uh... Do you think you might go? To Sunnydale, that is?"

"I dunno. I’ll have to think. Gotta go now Cordy. Thanks again."

Spike hung up the phone, and stood there in a state of shock. Giles was dead. Rupert Giles, Buffy’s watcher. Giles who had reluctantly taken Spike into his home when the Initiative had captured him and turned him into a bloody lab experiment. Giles who had once offered him a chance to be a member of the Scooby gang, which he, stupidly, had turned down cold. Giles who had turned against him in a big way when Spike had revealed his feelings about Buffy, and had almost physically thrown him out of the Magic Box. Giles who had shaken his hand as though he were an equal after the Glory fight but who had shed no tears when he left Sunnydale. Rupert Giles, Buffy’s husband, was dead.

Chapter 2 - February 2002

Buffy unlocked the door to the apartment, trying to be as quiet as possible, given the lateness of the hour. As she crept into the living room, she saw that she was wasting her stealth, for Giles was sitting on the sofa in front of the television, a cup of tea in his hand.

"Giles," she smiled at her watcher, "what are you doing up at this hour? Is Dawn okay?"

"Dawn is fine. I, uh, just got involved in this film and stayed up to, uh, see how it ends."

"Oh... What movie?" Buffy walked over to Giles and studied the screen." Hmm. Well, John Cusack gets the French exchange student, his brother launches a space shuttle through the roof of the house, and the paperboy never gets his two dollars. Or at least that’s the way it ended the last 50 times we saw it. Though, maybe this time will be different. Never can tell."

Giles smiled sheepishly. "Well, it was either this or that charming program about the George Forman grill."

"And you already bought one of those, so where’s the suspense there?"

"It happens to be very good for low-fat cooking," Giles countered defensively.

"And love those shish kabobs! But seriously Giles, why are you up? You haven’t suddenly taken to waiting up for me, have you?"

"No Buffy, but I confess you caught me... I’ve been having trouble sleeping again." Buffy was always fussing over him like a mother hen and he was reluctant to admit any problems. "But please don’t worry about it... Willow gave me some herbal tea... Would you like some?"

"Sure." Buffy went into the kitchen for a cup.

"How was the Bronze?" Giles asked as Buffy came in and sat down beside him on the sofa. She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot.

"You should have come. Sure cure for insomnia! Nah, it was fun. The Bronze was fun."

"Sounds like it," Giles said dryly. "How are the newlyweds? "

"Oh. They are happy as clams. Though Anya did have to pee every ten minutes. At least she’s over the vomiting part. Oh, by the way, Anya says to bring all our tax stuff to the shop this week. She is filing online this year, and says that she will get our refunds early."

"Incredible. Smartest thing I ever did hiring that girl."

Buffy tasted the herb tea and grimaced. She put the cup down. "Oh, and Willow and Tara had another fight... they were barely speaking to each other tonight, and Willow kept sniping at Anya. I think she’s jealous, of the whole baby thing. You know?" Buffy sighed.

"What’s wrong Buffy? Is everything all right?" Buffy sighed again, this time with exasperation. Giles was always fussing over her like a mother hen. She hated that he could always tell when she was upset.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me Giles. I mean, this is working out really well with Dawn and me living here with you since Dad sold the house. Dawn is doing really well at school. And my grades have never been better. I wanted to surprise you when the announcement came, but I made the Dean’s list this semester." She grinned as Giles’ face lit up.

"Buffy, that’s, that’s wonderful. Your Mother would have been so proud."

Buffy’s face clouded again. "Yeah... too bad I couldn’t have done it last year when she *could* have been proud of me."

"Buffy! Last year you had an incredible amount to deal with. You did extremely well, considering."

"I know, Giles. I guess it helps that so far this year the Hellmouth has been incredibly quiet. Not a brain-sucking hell god in sight. But mostly it’s really easy to study here, you know, and you’re always there to help. Having you around full time has been really good for us."

"But... " Giles poured more tea. He sensed that this wasn’t going to be good.

"I turn 21 in a couple of weeks, Giles. Maybe it’s time that Dawn and I were out on our own. We’ve imposed on your life, big time."

"Buffy! You have not imposed. Having you and, uh, Dawn here has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. And if, as you say, everything is great, why change it?"

"I don’t know. It just seems like everyone is growing up and getting on with their lives and I’m... not." She studied her feet. "Maybe I’m jealous of Anya and the baby too."

Giles studied the cup of cold tea in his hand. "Well, if d-dating is the issue... I would never cramp your style. You know I’ve been encouraging you to date."

"I know Giles."

"Your mother has been dead for almost a year now, Buffy. I didn’t see anything in the mourner’s handbook about joining a convent."

"I’m not doing the nun thing, Giles. I’ve been out. I’ve dated."

"Yes... two first dates in six months."

"Well, tonight at the Bronze there were two, count ‘em, two perfectly eligible guys talking to me."

"Ah, but did you talk to *them*?"

Buffy smiled. "Yes Giles, there was mutual talkage."

"Well, did they ask for your phone number? Or is that an archaic practice these days?

Buffy sighed again. "They asked. I didn’t give."

Giles shook his head, "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, it’s only been an hour, and I can’t remember either of their names, or which one was pre-law and which was pre-med. Plus... they seemed so…young."

"Y-young? How do you mean?"

"I dunno... they were just perfectly normal college guys, drinking and goofing around. They have no idea of what I’ve been through this past year or the years before that... I felt at least ten years older then them. It’s silly, I know, but young frivolous Buffy has left the building."

"No, Buffy, it isn’t silly in the least. What you have gone through, it’s only natural to feel as you do. But you can’t shut yourself off from life, Buffy, or from love."

"Oh, you’re a good one to talk, Giles! Except for your gigs at the Espresso Pump, you just sit here night after night playing father figure to a 15 year old, and, and me too, I guess. Why aren’t *you* out there dating? Don’t you have groupies, or folkies or whatever?"

Giles bristled, "Well, as a matter of fact several young ladies *have* asked me for my phone number. At the shop also."

"And... "

"They asked. I didn’t give."

"Why not?"

"I realized a while ago that I am perfectly happy as I am. I was lonely, I admit, but since you and Dawn came into my home, I’ve never been happier."

"Giles, that is so sweet."

"Well, it’s true, Buffy, so please don’t think about moving out on my account. And I can say without a moment of hesitation, that you are a much better housemate than Spike was."

Buffy started to laugh, "Oh my God! *Spike!* At least you don’t have to keep me chained up in the bathtub."

"Or watch ‘Passions’ with you!"

"Or put up with my smoking!"

"Not to mention watching you eat blood mixed with Weetabix!" Buffy looked puzzled. "Don’t ask!"

"Oh, Giles... Willow mentioned that she heard from Cordelia that Spike is actually working for Angel these days. Isn’t that bizarre?"

"What surprises me is that he actually left town and didn’t try to capitalize on the whole Glory business."

"Well, you know, it’s all part of that Love Me and Leave Town effect I have on people. I’ll bet if *you and I* were dating, you’d be hot footing it back to London before the month was out!"

Giles, who had been pouring more tea, jerked suddenly and knocked over Buffy’s still full cup. He grabbed his handkerchief and started mopping the mess. "That-that’s ridiculous! We, uh... I’m not going anywhere!"

"Giles... I was kidding! Overreacting much? I mean it’s not all *that* ridiculous! Look at Michael Douglas and that Catherine Beta Jones!"

"Zeta! And it is ridiculous. It’s totally preposterous and out of the question."

"Okay Giles. I get the picture. You don’t have to hit me with a brick."

Giles sat up wearily, "What picture is that, Buffy?"

"Look, Giles. It’s okay if you’re not attracted to me."

Giles stood up, angry. "Buffy! What in heaven’s name has come over you? This is inappropriate. I am your watcher and, uh, old enough to be your father. It has nothing to do with whether or not I find you attractive."

Buffy was contrite, "I am so sorry Giles. Please forgive me? It’s just that, well, I guess being the Slayer has spoiled me for ordinary guys like those two at the Bronze tonight. I mean, how do you make that awkward transition from, ’what’s your sign?’ to ‘I slay vampires’? Anya found a guy who loves her for what she is; why can’t I find a guy who isn’t threatened by what I am and who can love the real me?"

"Buffy," Giles said gently, "every man who has ever met you has fallen in love with you, not to mention vampires. You *will* find someone who can also accept your calling."

"But where is he now, huh?" Buffy walked towards her room. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Giles. Good night."

Giles was left alone in the living room. He sat down and poured some more tea. It would be a long night.

It was a week later and Giles was again holding down the living room sofa. Buffy was out patrolling. There had been a report of a strange creature lurking in the School Playground. Except for a stray vampire or two, things had been ominously quiet around Sunnydale for months. Willow’s tea had been judged a failure, and Giles was contemplating actual sleeping pills, but he distrusted drugs, having had some rather bad experience with them in his younger, wilder days.

Suddenly there was a pounding at the door, and he heard Buffy’s voice calling, "Giles, help!"

He leapt up and pulled open the door, catching Buffy as she staggered in. Her blouse was in shreds and blood dripped from long gashes on her arms and back.

"My God, Buffy! What did this to you?" He helped her right into the bathroom, where he could assess the damage.

Buffy moaned. "I don’t know, but it was big and hairy and had these Freddy Krueger claws. My weapons weren’t long enough... I could have used a spear! I got him though. But not before he got me."

"Excuse me, Buffy, but I have to take this off," he said referring to her blouse.

She was obviously in a lot of pain. "It’s okay Giles." He pulled off what was left of her blouse. Long gashes ran up her arms and across her back. "Freddie Krueger, did you say?"

"You know... Nightmare on Elm Street... big long nails. It wasn’t a demon, exactly... too hairy." Giles wet a washcloth and washed the gashes. A couple were so deep that on anybody but a Slayer, they would have required stitches. Buffy healed so quickly that a few butterfly bandages would suffice. Giles dabbed the wounds with disinfectant, and wrapped her arms with gauze. Tears of pain came to Buffy’s eyes, but she didn’t cry out.

"Buffy, I’m sorry, but I have to get these ones on your back."

"It’s okay, Giles."

She reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. Holding it against her chest, she leaned forward on the toilet seat. Giles dabbed disinfectant on the 4 long gashes that ran down the length of her back. These weren’t very deep, but Giles was concerned about infection. "I’ll get you a robe to put on."

Buffy sat huddled on the toilet seat. Giles came back and held out the robe, looking away while she put it on. "I have to get my books and look this thing up. Can you help me?"

"I’m fine, Giles. Honestly, it looks much worse than it is. I’ll do a sketch for you." Buffy went into the dining room with Giles, and drew a rudimentary sketch of a tall hairy creature with foot long needle like nails. Giles started flipping through his books looking for a match. "Interesting," Giles remarked.

"What?"

"Is this your beast? " Buffy looked in the book. "Yep, that’s him. Cute, isn’t he? Kind of like a great big teddy bear with foot long claws, and a nasty temper. What is he called?"

"Oddly enough, this creature doesn’t have an actual name. It is listed as Beast 916."

"No name? Poor beast. Maybe we should name it. I’m going to call him Rufus!"

"Rufus?"

"He looks like a Roofish, don ya think?" Buffy seemed to be having trouble forming words. Giles looked up, concerned.

"Buffy, are you alright?"

"Absolutely," said Buffy.

"If you say so," Giles said dubiously. He was reading the listing under the drawing of the beast. "Good Lord, Buffy... This creature’s claws are pois... " he was interrupted by a loud crash. Buffy lay unconscious at his feet.