Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Two

Ten days passed with the same slow monotonous tenor. A number of random doings piled onto his work list-nothing he would ever construct into cold habit. Errand followed errand infinitely to pass time, and did so with ever unchanging slowness. William understood. In the old days, life sped with little interest to the timetables of others. Same old filled his plate like a reliable ice cream flavor. A kill here, a hunt there. Tedium in all its glory.

He had only had occasion to count the days once.

How he had ever gotten away with the never-ending complaints of ennui was beyond him. There were the slopes, yes, but everyone experienced those. The century had birthed him into a world-class complainer. Defending champion of the first rank.

He wished he could go back to that selfish waste of flesh and snap him out of it, though he knew Spike would likely break his neck in retribution-in the heat of denial that he could ever reach such a lowly state. The only thing that would save him was the indisputable presence of the demon's bigheadedness. That and perhaps the need to satisfy some perverse fantasy conjured up by Drusilla. Regardless of what she said about being ill, he knew that she enjoyed being petted in the way he had cared for her.

And so it was for ten days. Nightly visits to the café and the retreats that commenced at closing. Uneasy, disturbing sleep from dawn until sundown and begin again. Day by day trips made to the underground supplier of blood to paying vampires. There he remunerated with stolen funding, sampled, cringed at the foul secondary taste, then coughed up the extra bucks for an additional bag. Willy the Snitch had sold better stuff, but vampire regulars assured him that it was an acquired taste. He would get used to it, though he had never before tasted foreign packaged blood from inferior sources. As all things, he supposed it would take some getting used to. What choice was there?

Red had once made the transition from regular to diet soda by mixing the two to wean herself on the weaker product. While he couldn't mix pig's blood with humans unless there was a willing donor or an especially hot delivery to his supplier, it was blood-flavored coffee for him. Not completely despicable. It helped drain away the bad taste.

"It doesn't taste as sugary," Red had told him at the Magic Box as she popped open two cans and poured both into the same glass. It was one of those rare moments he had with her alone. Spike had always liked to think that the chip had forced him to forge the ridiculous alliance with the Scoobies, but truth be told, he had liked Willow for a long while. Long before he knew his love for Buffy. While they had never been particularly close, she treated him as close to a man as any of them ever had when they spoke. She was his first non-victim after the Initiative planted the chip in his skull. She gave him the cookie to get the Buffy taste out of his mouth. She was Red, plain and simple.

That particular day, she had been in a chipper mood. It was during one of her 'on' phases with Tara. "Takes some getting used to is all," she had observed, more to herself but loud enough to welcome commentary. "Soon I'll quit cold turkey and it'll be tasteless diety goodness for me." Then, with a slightly less enthusiastic grin, she had mimicked a cheerleader whoop and twirled her hand in the air. "Yay diety goodness."

On the tenth night, Giles approached him. Appearance worn and demeanor fatigued, he breathed a near inaudible greeting and took a seat without awaiting invitation. William nodded and took a hearty drink.

"You've looked better, Ripper," he noted casually after a few seconds. "Jet-lagged?"

There was a nod of confirmation, though no reply until the Watcher had ordered a latte. Perhaps it was the lack of jest in tone, but William was genuinely surprised at the man's passive conduct. No biting remark or stinging retort. Nothing to suggest he was the scum of the earth and deserved to be hated instantly by anyone who approached him. Best not to waste it; he was too smart to think such could last. He thought it wise to wait until addressed before speaking again.

Keeping Spike silent-soul or no soul-was a trying activity. Fortunately, his wait was not overly emphasized. As the waitress brought his order, Giles leaned forward and drew in a breath. "The trip lasted longer than I anticipated," he observed, taking a deep drink of much-needed caffeine. "Rehabilitating Willow into life without... she reacted better than I would have guessed. Buffy asked me to stay for a few days and accompany them to the regular places. The Bronze, and what have you." He paused thoughtfully. "For better or worse, Willow is staying with Xander until we know that she has fully recovered."

"Recovered?" William understood that Red had experienced a dark aversion into the black arts, but had yet to hear anything of the chaos that ensued following his departure. She had performed a number of potions and spells that somehow went awry over the past few years-often with what he considered to be amusing and self-beneficial consequences.

Giles regarded him with surprise. "Oh. I forgot you were elsewhere. Yes, Willow had a...rather serious episode last year."

Concern was the initial response, though he understood that if anyone was seriously injured the old man would have told him by now. Still, his thoughts were trained and he would not be at rest until he heard verification. "Is everyone...how are they?"

"Alive," Giles replied. "Though I suppose you guessed that." Then his voice grew grave and weary-an all around solemn air overcoming him. "My mistake. Tara...well, Tara was killed. It's what..."

William's eyes went wide and he leaned forward. "Oh God. Red...she..."

"Willow couldn't cope. Her regression into the dark arts presented itself with the deadliest of forces. She killed Warren and attempted to destroy the world."

He blinked disbelievingly. "Red? Destroy the world?"

"Xander brought her out of it." The Watcher sighed heavily. "It wasn't really her, Spike. It was almost like she was-"

"A vampire?" He pressed forward cautiously, aware that anything was liable to blow into his face. "Angelus?" It wasn't the best example he could have provided, but the only one that instantly sprang to mind. Angel was the only vampire the Scoobies had seen both sides to.

"A demon," Giles covered quickly, though he had reddened, as though scorched. "As if a demon had possessed her or...something. She was reacting to Willow's emotions, but she wasn't Willow." Though conviction splayed across his face, William could tell it was difficult convincing even himself. It was always complicated when a loved one goes bad.

Almost as hard as it was when a natural-born killer has a sudden attack of conscience.

Then the vampire's eyes darkened. Though he felt no justification at responding to a negative insinuation, the thought still made him writhe. And he couldn't stop himself. "Oh, so it's that... You can forgive Red for trying to wipe out all humanity. A demon inhabits for a century and everything is still my fault."

As soon as it was out of his mouth, William's pupils dilated with the foreknowledge of his ignorance and he looked away in shame before Giles could conjure a reply. Hearing confirmation was unneeded. He understood he had again crossed the line. It was difficult not to now that he didn't know where it was drawn. "I'm sorry, Ripper. I'm a bleeding fool. I..." he trailed off in desperation. "I just want to make everything right. I know I can't, but I'll spend the rest of time trying."

Silence still. He would not look up. Even now, the wrong word, the wrong thing, spoken before he could consider the consequences. The soul had not affected his already-suffering judgment. Lord knew he had done it time after time in her presence. Knowing what he felt, knowing what seemed most logical to him but speaking so insensitively that no one would give him a second's deliberation. Same old song but set to a different tune.

He had tried. He had tried so hard to understand compassion. No one had ever credited his attempts.

Though unsafe, a few silent seconds later he hazarded a look at the Watcher, surprised not to discover Giles's eyes arctic as he had suspected. Rather, he drew in a breath and looked down, reaction not reflecting through his expression. "I understand your aggravation, Spike. However, this is going to be difficult. Much more so than it was with Angel. We knew him before he lost his soul, and we understood how to talk to him. React to him. With you, we're all so accustomed to-"

"But even before that, Ripper!" William erupted, unable to help himself. He slammed an angry fist against the table, ignoring the crack that sprang beneath his fist and ran the length of the surface. "I was trying so bloody damned hard. Do you have any sodding idea how hard it was for me? How... I'm a demon, man! Soul or no soul, the demon is there. It will always be there. It's eating away at my insides, paining me with every turn-every time I crave blood, the demon begs to take over." He shook his head heavily. "But I've tamed it. I tamed my monster."

The Watcher's eyes were dark but not accusing. "How can you know?"

"I've been able to hit... hurt Buffy for... since before we were..." The word 'together' did not fit anywhere in their relationship. And gauging the expression on Giles's face, elaboration was not needed. "A kink in her revival. If I wanted to kill her... I've had plenty of opportunities." With a sad smile, he gazed off thoughtfully. "I used to just... just watch her. That first night... I couldn't stop watching her. As she slept... she breathed. Cor, I'd never seen anything so beautiful. She was warm. She was so small and deadly. So-"

"Not yours," Giles growled. Though he didn't twitch beyond his lip curling in disgusted-however bottled-rage, William was sure he saw his punching fist flex ever so slightly.

"Not anyone's," he agreed. "The point, mate, is that I came to a point where the sodding chip didn't matter anymore. If I wanted her dead, I would've killed her during-or-when I had a chance. When she was most vulnerable. I didn't." He exhaled deeply and took a sip of blood-coated coffee. "Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn't love. I've never known anything else. It felt... it was stronger than what I had with Dru."

"What you had with Drusilla wasn't-"

"Don't bloody judge until you've bloody been there, wanker," William snapped, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have to walk on bloomin' eggshells around you. We've already covered this." Contradiction was written clearly on Giles's face, but he ignored it and gazed off with thoughtful indifference. There were so many swarming emotions in his head; things he knew, things he remembered, things that were so new and viable that it took his breath away. It had been two months since he acquired his soul and the adjusting had yet to wear off.

"I didn't understand until now," he reflected gravely, unsure if he intended to speak aloud but continued when he saw no harm in it. "I couldn't grasp that loving meant leaving when she asked me to. It was all 'I want, so I stay until I get.' Bloody idiot."

Giles's gaze was unsympathetic and wary, though still far from furious. It seemed palpable to the place he was at, though he had made no attempt to grasp it. The vampire felt it every now and then, heard it creep into his voice, but the Watcher never allowed it to consume him. He was putting out every effort. "I'm not entirely inclined to disagree with you."

"But it doesn't matter at all that I was trying? It wasn't all for her, you know. I helped the Nibblet when big sis was bloody six feet under." William closed his eyes painfully. "I went against my nature willingly. I-"

"You can stop trying to convince me. I believe you, Spike," Giles announced without preamble. His voice was soft-spoken but carried the force of a massive storm-perhaps the four most liberating words in the English language. All at once, he felt himself swell with release and hope. The rarest form of hope.

I believe you, Spike.

That was all he would get from Ripper, and astonishingly, it was enough. Never before had something so meager been enough to sate his appetite. It was more than he had been allowed from a living being in the entirety of his demonic existence. Trust. Faith. From a man.

From Giles.

"Thanks, old man," he murmured, barely audible with the enormity of his gratitude. "I appreciate it."

The Watcher nodded and took a sip of latte. "I know."

"Still hate me?"

"With a passion." He smiled grimly. "And who are you to call me 'old man'?"

"You prefer Ponce? Or Poof? Or bloody poofter?"

"Unless I am mistaken, you turned one hundred twenty nine this year. Or was it a hundred thirty?"

"Yeah," William retorted with a cocky drawl, relaxing his hands behind his head. "Might as well say it if I can get away with it." His grin was authentic. It felt good. He hadn't smiled in weeks. "So, aside from Red, how was everyone?"

"Better. Xander is trying to win back Anya with a variety of...well-"

There was a perceptible huff. "Poor bloke. His girl all...well...she still demony?" The subject of Anya was a sensitive one, and he wasn't about to bring it up for the unlikelihood that Giles wasn't aware of that portion of his indiscretions.

The Watcher merely quirked a brow and took another sip of his drink. "Not really a remedy for that that we are comfortable working. Willow is completely off magic now, or should be. Buffy has to be sure to keep her away from the Magic Box, and Xander performs nightly inspections of her room and sorts through her personal things. All things witchcraft have been banished from the house. Beyond what did it for her the last time, Anya remains rather... demony, as well as cold to Xander's attempts. Repellant. No one said anything, but I believe everyone-or at least, no everyone-thinks you are to blame."

The smile dissipated from his face and blunt coldness washed over. Cold hardly affected him, but this did. It shook him until his insides rattled. "Because-oh, bloody hell. I really did bugger things up for myself."

"Putting it lightly," Giles agreed.

William sighed and snapped his eyes shut. The next question was futile and he knew what his answer would be, but it had to be asked. Just for that shimmer of hope that something had passed. That someone had made reference. Had remembered. Had forgiven. "So...no one...she didn't, mention me, did she?"

"No. Furthermore, they don't know that I've seen you."

It was difficult to feel disappointment at something that was manifest in answer, but it seethed still. "How's the Little Bit?"

"Cold and impervious to most everyone. She said all of three words to me over my visit. Dawn was glad to see Willow and appeared closer to Buffy than I have seen in... well, ever." The Watcher shook his head as though astonished. "I only saw her establish meaningful dialogue with her sister and Xander. Buffy's working with her, I think. Helping her learn how to defend herself and slay demons."

The vampire grinned but felt no joy behind it. "Good for her. The Bit deserves it." The thought that the man had been so close was nearly intolerable. Exhaling again quickly, he nodded and looked away. They needed to discuss something else. Quickly.

What else was there to talk about?

Shop.

"So, any big evil arising?" he drawled conversationally, best he could. "Anything I can-"

"Where are you staying, Spike?"

The question successfully astounded him and broke his line of thinking. "Below. Found me a place not as nice as home, but reasonable. Right near a finicky eatery for vamps. Sweet little set-up."

Giles grinned humorlessly. "You hate it, don't you?"

"With a bloody passion." For a minute, he thought the Watcher might do something completely out of character and offer him room and board. Under such circumstances, he would have to decline. The man had only recently gone from wanting to stake him to this level of civil conversation.

Besides, he couldn't afford to look like a bloody poofter. He might not be Spike any longer, but he had the demon's reputation to live up to.

As he suspected, his worries were in vain. Giles had far too much dignity to even hint toward such a suggestion and was still miles away from trusting him. It was understandable. In these early stages, he was learning still how to trust himself.

"I wonder, Spike... have you considered taking on an actual occupation? Something that would make a decent living?"

"Living?" he scoffed, curious but not about to reveal his interest. "Do I look alive to you?"

"Well, to the untrained eye, yes... I would say you do."

A brief pause. "That's beside the point. Sod the bloody untrained eye. Do you know how long it's been since I put in an honest day's work?"

"An honest day's work is not what it used to be, and furthermore, such is all the more reason to hear me out," Giles retorted with annoying insistence. "It won't be overly difficult. I have become aware of a position open that I thought might tickle your fancy."

Pointedly, William sat back and quirked a brow. "Go on, mate. I'm at the edge of my seat. Although, I warn you, if it's not as medical assistant for the Red Cross, I'm liable to up and leave."

"And what a shame that would be. The...well, a library near me has a curator position open. I know you are slightly less than...couth in such areas, but you do possess a first-person knowledge of various historical occurrences." Pause for input. Nothing. As his unimpressed gawk grew longer and more blasé, the Watcher only frowned and continued. "You would be required to remain indoors during light hours, I expect. As long as you stay away from windows, which shouldn't be any difficulty. There is a spacious basement with-"

"In other words, Ripper, you want me to do something that you would be great at." William's eyes narrowed skeptically. "We might be on better terms, mate, but I am not a younger... looking version of you."

"It could help us, Spike. I need a safehold for my volumes and a quiet place to research." Then, in a lower voice he added, "It could help her."

That was it. That was the killing blow, and Giles knew it. Briefly insinuate her in any form and he would obey like a well-trained dog. With a resigned sigh of defeat, he looked down and shook his head. "Dirty pool, old man. The things a bloke will do for a sodding dollybird."

The Watcher grinned victoriously. It was odd watching the man gloat; he hardly made a practice of it. "Excellent. Now, there are some preparations-"

"Preparations?"

"-that we need to cover. You'll have to get cleaned up..." His eyes studied William's appearance dryly from head to toe, as though he had just seen him. In truth, the vampire varied little in look excluding the coloring of his hair and the absence of the duster. There weren't many bathing opportunities when you lived underground, but in all fairness, he made due with what he could and cleansed as much as possible. "Considerably. And you'll need some respectful attire. A-"

"Wait just a bleeding minute! I refuse to become your dress-up doll."

Giles frowned at him. "For Buffy," he said shortly, deactivating his fire with instantaneous reflex.

"Garr!" the vampire growled. "Fine! Fine! Fine! Say the magic name and I'll do your bidding."

The Watcher grinned and had the decency to look mischievous. "That is the idea," he agreed. "I'll arrange a meeting with the administration tonight. Would..." Again he trailed off, features not as pleasantly occupied as before. A scowl tickled his lips before the façade of resolve set in. A disagreeable but essential condition. "You will have to stay with me tonight. I have some... suits you may borrow and I need to quiz you on your qualifications. Produce some paperwork and so forth." Giles looked up, saw he was about to protest and silenced him significantly by arching his brows, not needing to say the name again before the hint was taken without rebuttal.

William slumped in defeat. The echo of her name reverberating in his mind silenced the smaller voice that screamed, Bloody poof! "Fine," he grumbled. "Fancy me up, mate. You can take the bleeding paperwork, too. But I'll tell you right now-I'm not about to take any history lessons from you. I was born when the most interesting history was happening. My grandpap fought in the Revolutionary War and I can guaran-damn-tee you that my schooling as a youngster was much more-well, thorough than any of the Scoobies'. The World Wars, well... I had a bloody bloodfest with Dru. Damn near tasted all the warm foreign blood I could. As I recall, wars were the best times to feed. I-"

"And no guilt, how astonishing." The remark hit a barb and earned a glare; both of which went ignored. "Spike, I don't need an illustration of your experience."

"And I, Ripper, don't need you to tell me things that I would know more about than you." The vampire leaned back with a familiar tang of arrogance. "I speak several languages and can read a dozen more, have caused history as much as I witnessed it, and have more natural schooling than any twenty-year old poofter could imagine. So put that in your bloody pipe and smoke it."

Either the Watcher was too offended or too amused to reply. The look projected suggested neither and both at the same time. After a second, his lips curled in a grin and he arched his brows. "Well," he said with conservative air. "If you tell them that, perhaps with slightly less colorful language, I believe you will suffer no impediment in acquiring the job."

"Your artsy fartsy proprietors won't appreciate me calling them poofters." William retorted inquisitively. "But if I tell them that I survived a concentration camp, they'll step aside-no questions asked?"

"You can answer questions about demonic ritual, despite how very little you yourself participated in fulfilling the structured text." He was joking! The old English gent was actually joking with him! It was liberating. Encouraging. The smile on his face lingered only a minute before he recalled something and frowned in confusion. "You were in a concentration camp?"

"It was just an example, Ripper."

"Oh... of course. I knew that."

The walk back to Giles's hacienda was silent though comforting. They strode side-by-side, a respectful distance apart. There was no want or need for conversation. A million inquiries filled the vampire's head, but he dared not voice them. The information the Watcher provided was reluctant at best. To attempt and divulge any more would be disrespectful, and beyond futile.

Truthfully, Giles's residence was not altogether different than the one he had left in Sunnydale. The floor plan was notably dissimilar, but William felt a pained intake of familiarity as he beheld his surroundings. Everything was situated just so that made it so...Giles.

So unwrapped was he that he didn't notice he was already standing over the threshold. When he had been invited in, he did not know. He had not heard Giles speak, but somehow it didn't matter. What mattered was the faith that tinted the Watcher's gaze a shade darker every time their eyes met. The civility of simple conversation. The knowledge that a man who had thought so little of him could put prejudices aside so effortlessly and offer him that one sliver of redemption was beyond moving. If he lived a thousand lifetimes, if he saw the end of time and spent eternity doomed to repeat his mistakes, he would never be able to make it up to him.

"Lower the blinds," Giles said suddenly, indicating the windows along the far wall. "There isn't a spare room, I'm afraid. Well, there is, but I made it into a library a while back. The sofa is all yours."

William eyed the designated chaise with a quirked brow. "Where did Red sleep?"

"In my room. Don't presume to expect the same treatment."

"I wouldn't take it if you offered on a silver platter." It was the truth and they both knew it, despite how colorfully he accentuated his tenor. The vampire approached the windows and estimated the variety of angles that morning sunlight might strike the sofa, settling finally to do things the easy way. "What's with the friendly reminder about the sunlight? After a hundred years, it's a habit no bloody new scruples can get you out of."

"Yes, yes," Giles acknowledged airily. "Can't take any chances. I'm terribly fond of that settee."

"You have a telly in here?"

The Watcher looked at him cynically. "Don't tell me you still watch that dreaded soap opera. Passions, or what is it?"

There was a rich chuckle. "I got a soul, didn't lose my mind. Passions is still the best damn show in syndication."

"Well, I haven't checked, but I'll pray that those awful American soap operas aren't-"

"I have a bloody telly, mate. Think I could have survived underground with nothing better to do than count the cracks on the walls and wait until the shop down the sewage pipe opens up for business so I can cough up damn near highway robbery for a pint of cold pig's blood?" On cue, his stomach grumbled and a look of uncultivated hunger tackled his features. "Speaking of which, I don't suppose you-"

"No." Giles removed his glasses wryly and approached the kitchen. "When I came to London, I never thought I might again be playing host to a vampire, soul or no soul. But...umm...I'll be sure to keep some stocked, should this highly unlikely scenario find occasion to repeat itself." He was rustling with supplies where William could not see, and had not bothered to follow. "However, if you're that terribly hungry, I do have some Brandy and all the basics you would require to construct an absolutely splendid turkey sandwich."

The vampire coughed back a snicker, voice dripping with familiar cynicism. "Mmm. Right. Sounds nummy, but I'll pass. Do you have any gravy?" William had backtracked and was grinning tightly to himself. "Remember what she said, right after I got all chipped out?"

"It has blood in it?' Giles did a thorough scan of his refrigerator and shook his head cagily. "I'm afraid not. We'll get some-"

No sooner was the suggestion voiced that William shook his head with sudden persistence, eyes going wide. "No! No. I don't want you to go to any bloody trouble, Ripper. No more than you have already. I don't want to get too comfy here-I very doubt you'd like to sublet your sofa to a guy like me. You can't pretend it's your favorite set-up, either." The vampire shook his head and sighed. "'Sides, I should get that new place, according to you, a decent..." A pause as he struggled with the terminology, grinning against his better nature. "...living, so I'll have my legal means of getting the goods."

For a minute, all Giles could do was stare. Disbelief and more blazed behind his wide eyes-mouth gaped as he estimated the stranger before him. This thing that was neither demon nor man, but somehow more human than anyone could ever credit. Despite everything that colored their painfully bright history, despite every minute annoyance, the singular display served as the most unexpected of epiphanies.

"You are William," he concluded in awe. "And...you are Spike. I-"

Befuddled, the vampire arched a brow, regarding him as though a chicken's head had suddenly replaced his own atop his neck. "Yeah... what of it?"

The most astute realization took place when their guards were down, when William wasn't trying to convince and Giles was actually willing to listen. To stand there and be convinced that a character such as the Big Bad's was deserving of redemption. It came not in the form of a test or heroic identity-simply the willful cross of the emphasized line of separation. The consideration of others.

When at last his astonishment dwindled, the Watcher shook his head and brought himself back to the present. "Oh...oh..."

"What was that about?" To make the situation more extraordinary, William hadn't realized his step across the parallel-initiative move that blended word with action.

Giles cleared his throat, arching his brows briefly and offering a tight grin. "William," he said. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you like."

The invitation, presented any other time, would have made the Watcher consequentially flinch his regret and Spike snicker something not terribly flattering. Now, however, now with everything that had passed, the vampire felt his cold body fill with warmth and his heart burst with song. He would never accept, he knew, but simply knowing that within two weeks he could change the man's disposition into such a reverse was more rewarding than any tangible pat on the back.

To respond with similar compassion would have made both parties too uncomfortable, and neither wanted nor expected a heartfelt reply. When he smirked and arched a brow the tension dissipated. As his eyes screamed his thanks, his mouth returned, "Right. That's a good idea. Because we don't already look like a pair of bloody poofters."

The Watcher grinned. "I suppose you have a point. We don't want to over-emphasize our relationship. I should have thought. You know, I can hardly stand the sight of you."

There was nothing in his tone to convince. William snickered and nodded. "Oh, I know, mate. I'm the Big Bad, after all. Can't like me." Then, with a significant breath, he looked down, smile fading away. "I hope you don't mind, though, if I look up to you from time to time."

So it was to be. A cordial exchange followed immediately by a quick stab of banter to avoid a scorn on male pride. The look on Giles's face was more confirmation than he knew to trust with any language to portray.

The silence was cut only by a goodhearted smile. William snickered in spite of himself. "Right, then. Hate you, too, Ripper. Can't stand the bloody sight of you."

Unaffected, the Watcher chuckled. "Likewise."

Despite the pleasantries, it would be conceivably easier for both parties if the vampire acted as he should by nature. Rather-as normal as Spike could. The development of sentiment would only stand in the way, and neither could afford to forget the impending circumstances if one or the other lapsed.

Still, he was believed. William knew not to let the implicated residency of faith wear his ideals for reform-he understood that was not Giles's motive, and would play if it were so. He accepted there would never be a full redemption. That no one would ever truly forgive him-that he would never forgive himself.

The soul was there to stay. Regardless if he ever found a place within his sacrament to seek out complacency-it was his. He could not lose it by obtaining true happiness, and would not be concerned if that were so. The dry state of being he inhabited was a place so far from happiness that he doubted he would ever again feel its warmth.

"So, couch then," he said, indicating the waiting sofa with a jerk of his head. "Don't suppose you have any Wheatabix, do you?" When the Watcher arched a skeptical brow at him, William could not resist an eye roll. Would the comparisons ever end? A growl lodged in his throat. "Bloody hell. Yes-I still eat Wheatabix. Still thinks it gives my diet texture. I still smoke, and I still watch Passions. I still drink blood and would prefer the bona fide human over pig's any day. Not to say I would take it, even if I did get this sodding chip out of my skull. Couldn't-have a bleeding soul. Bleeding conscience. Doubt even that ponce, Peaches, could say he'd prefer to drain an animal than taste the good stuff." He huffed significantly, chest constricting as his body struggled with the preemptory need for air that he stored in empty lungs.

Silence again. Once more, the contempt he expected to reflect behind Giles's eyes never came. How many times would he speak out of turn and be forgiven? William knew not to press his luck, but his wits were tested in the same manner every time he opened his mouth. And yet, the Watcher had not shown him hostility since that first day. Every word that came from his mouth was patient and understanding, harsh at times but not without compassion.

This time was no different. With a frown, Giles stepped forward, crossing his arms. "You have my support, William," he said softly, as though that was the issue at hand. "I understand you are not Angel. I understand that your circumstances differ considerably. I would like to engage in research-but there might not be an explanation. You just might be the one vampire in history who kept more of his soul than lost when you were sired." He sighed meaningfully. "My first instinct is always research. However, in this instance, I believe I know to leave well enough alone. What you are-whatever you are, is enough. You are not Spike-I would not have invited you in if you were. You are also not William. With the restoration of your soul, I believe the balance was settled. The man within you had been surfacing for a year in full before it was allowed this second chance, and I can see that now. The demon was beaten back by the man to the point where they were forced to live together and not wrestle for dominance." Another heavy pause; Giles removed his glasses and cleaned them with the edge of his shirt. "I...we-and I use this term lightly... we befriended the man over time and could not accept it. How could we? How could anyone who has not seen you before now?" Then, without any warning or conclusion, the Watcher reached for the remote, flicked his seldom-used television on, and tossed William the controller. "Wheatabix is in the kitchen. Do try to not eat all of it."

It began and ended quickly. Before the vampire could attempt to conjure up any form of reply, Giles was gone, retiring to his bedroom with a subtle shut of his door. The telling turning of the lock was singular only that the undead guest understood the quest for undisturbed privacy.

To the empty room, William blinked in growing confusion. "This has been a bloody weird month," he concluded.

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