Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Joss Whedon
Summary: Part of my Gambit series; belongs between Deadly Beloved and
Gambit
Gardez- warning in chess that is given to a player whose queen is threatened.
He had never known such terror.
He studied her face carefully. At first, he'd feared physical harm had come to her; then, that fear laid to rest, he dreaded emotional damage, like the trauma experienced by rape victims.
But there was none.
Instead she met his eyes serenely, a bit shy and blushing, but looking just as if this had been some ordinary bridal. As if her wedding had been the usual joining of hopes and hands, with no desperate purpose underlying the union.
Even so, he choked out the words, "Are you...?"
"I'm fine, Giles." Buffy's gaze was as clear and untroubled as a summer morning.
"Did you expect to find her dead, Watcher?" the mocking voice that grated of the London streets sounded jarring in Giles' ears.
Had he? Well, why not? He'd been compelled to wed his Slayer to a vampire, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And once, long ago, another vampire had left another woman in Giles' bed...a woman as beautiful, as beloved, as the girl who now smiled at him reassuringly.
Later, when they'd gone, Giles went upstairs to his bedroom.
Someone- Buffy, he supposed- had changed the sheets and set the room to rights, but there were still traces of their wedding night. Mere stubs of candles in their holders, and a few drifting petals from the flowers on the table....
Strange to think of them together, Spike and Buffy. The vampire and the Slayer- age-old enemies united now in a reckless gamble to produce a dhampir and stop the Millennium Plague.
Giles thought about the millions who would die before that happened; of the thousands that had already perished.
Then he shook his head. He'd known from the day he'd first taken up his Watcher duties that he could not possibly hope to save everyone. It was enough to make a difference; to take a stand against the forces of darkness, armed with a shining weapon of light- the Slayer.
But now they'd embraced the dark, he and his Slayer both; and he trembled in fear that it would somehow sully her, leaching away her golden light.
Amazingly, she seemed happy. She and Spike were living in the house on Revello; and Joyce reported that they were behaving almost like...a normal couple.
"Of course, most public places are closed; but they go for long walks, they watch television, sometimes he'll even...help her study."
"Yes, well," Giles frowned, "it's in the vampires' best interests to bring the Plague to a swift end, so it isn't likely he'll be a threat to her."
"A threat?" Joyce looked anxious. "No, it isn't like that...he won't hurt her."
Giles wasn't so sure; but he didn't wish to worry Joyce.
He was more forthcoming to Whistler, who had become his unwelcome house-guest.
"Relax," Whistler told him, forraging through Giles' refrigerator. "Just because they were enemies once doesn't mean they always will be. Wheels turn. Things change."
They changed with startling rapidity.
One moment they were all gathered at the dining room table, sharing a meal;
the next, Buffy was pushing violently against the table and rushing up the
stairs to the bathroom. Spike followed; but Giles wasn't far behind.
Spike surveyed the locked door. "Slayer," he ordered, "open this door!"
Giles held back, unnoticed in the shadows.
"Buffy," Spike tried again, "Let me in there. Or I swear I'll break it down!"
"No! Go away," came a muffled voice.
The vampire's tone softened. "C'mon, kitten, I want to see you. Please?"
The door swung slowly open; and Giles had a clear view of his Slayer, standing in front of a mirror.
Spike took a few steps forward, then hesitated. "What is it, love?"
Buffy turned sideways and gave him a tremulous smile. "Look!" She pulled up her shirt, displaying the gentle rounding of her belly; and his hand reached out, almost fearfully, hovering as it once had over the Du Lac cross.
"May I...touch?"
How strange, Giles thought. A vampire who was overawed by the new life he'd helped create.
Giles withdrew steathily; but not before he saw Spike sink to his knees, clutching his wife and pressing his head against her swelling womb...
Giles pondered as he made his way downstairs; had his eyes deceived him, or had Spike's face been wet with tears? But in the weeks that followed, Spike's puzzling reaction troubled him less than his anxiety for Buffy. There was little information on the birth of a dhampir; and all of them gathered frequently at Joyce's to share their concern.
"Buffy's mother took her to the doctor," Cordelia informed him one night. "She finally found one!"
Spike entered from the kitchen, clutching a wineglass that Giles knew did not contain wine. He looks...almost human, Giles thought in surprise.
"It's just to look her over. She's obviously never been better. The girl is glowing!"
Giles never knew what alerted him...an infinitesimal flicker in Whistler's eyes?
"She looks great," Oz was heartily endorsing Spike's opinion.
"You should feel that kid kick!" Spike told him proudly. "Like he's ready for Manchester United!"
"You bastard!" Giles' voice was a poisonous hiss that stilled every sound in the darkening room. The others were frozen in place, but Giles saw no one but Whistler.
"You knew...didn't you? You knew she could never survive the birth! Didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!"
Whistler met his eyes. "Yes."
Cordelia found her voice. "What? You mean...Buffy will die?"
"We needed a dhampir to stop the Plague." Whistler's voice held no apology.
Giles was agonized. "And you let her, you LET her..."
"No," Whistler said steadily. "She knew the risks. She's always known."
"NOOOOOOO!" The wineglass shattered as Spike hurled it against the wall. He grabbed Whistler by the neck and held him up, shaking him as a terrier would a rat.
"Get rid of it," he snarled, his demon's face surfacing. "Do you hear me? Get rid of the get. Or I will, if I have to cut it out of her myself. Do it tonight!"
Whister stared into fearsome yellow eyes. "No."
Spike flung the other demon the length of the room. Whistler slammed into the wall, but his face remained implacable.
"Spike!" Giles used every ounce of command in his voice to stop the enraged vampire. " He's right, eliminating the dhampir is not the answer. We need to stop the Plague."
For an instant he was afraid the vampire hadn't heard him; but then his human face slid back.
"Giles." Oz sounded shaken but determined. "There has to be some way to do this, without killing Buffy. There must be!"
"I'll turn her," Spike growled. "Don't try to stop me."
"Slayers can't be turned." Cordelia's face was as white as chalk.
"It's true," Giles conceded reluctantly. "Vampires have no souls, and a Slayer without one is too powerful a force for the other side. So- a soulless Slayer inevitably dies."
Yet something niggled at the edges of his mind....something he'd read, long ago?
"Damn you!" Spike was raging at Whistler. "You bloody wanker...you've killed my wife!"
Whistler spread his hands. "One life against millions...."
It was true, Giles thought bleakly, but that one...was Buffy's.
Suddenly it hit him..."Whistler! What if Buffy DIDN'T lose her soul?"
Whistler nodded. "Always a loophole, isn't there, Watcher?"
Giles was following out his own thoughts...."If Buffy were sired...by a vampire who already HAD a soul..."
"Angel." Spike spat the name. "Where?"
"I don't know," Whistler admitted. "We lost touch; he could be anywhere. He may even be dead..."
"No." Spike's voice cut like a knife. "My sire's not dead." He strode to the door.
"Spike," Whistler warned sadly, "You may not find him...in time...."
Spike looked at Giles with burning eyes. "I'll find him."
Then he was gone, the gathering night swallowing him whole.
"Giles?" Oz turned to the older man, a thousand questions in his voice. "Do you think Spike will be able to...to..."
"I don't know, Oz," Giles answered honestly.
Everything depended, now, on two vampires- both of whom loved a Slayer.
A Slayer who was under a death sentence.
Giles stared out into the dark; and for the first time in his life, whispered a prayer.
A prayer for a demon.
The End