Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter One

Since before time began, it was common knowledge that the air carries a growing musky scent identifiable to all living things when a storm approaches. Consciously or not, humans could detect rain long before it hits without having to consult the sky for an impending forecast. Old-timers would associate it with an uncomfortable twitch or pain; others might note the atmosphere tingled with a twitch of variation. Compact with moisture and forewarning. Of course, there were the more subtle hints. A crash of thunder following a streak of lightning, the pre-storm drizzle. Cloudy skies rolling with treacherous clouds: all signs that the weather is about to change. That God was preparing to throw another temper tantrum.

For vampires, the sensory was especially receptive. It was accepted and never questioned: demons of the night carried a higher will to sense such things. The lowest of mortal men could smell blood if they knew how to identify it, but vampires knew exactly when a person was cut. The rich scent tackled the air and stomach with little forewarning, rendering them helpless to do anything but obey and follow their noses. As was such with rain. Even before he peeled his eyes open, William perceived the telling aroma permeating the air. It was several hours away still, but he sensed it nonetheless.

Vampires would make the best meteorologists.

There was something else. The long years had taught him never to be unprepared for the oddest of events. Besides his ability to detect an oncoming storm, his mastery of location allowed him to never be caught off guard, should he awake in an environment that he did not close his eyes to. William knew the scent of Paris before it rained and could identify it anywhere. Likewise, the raw dryness of Prague was lodged deep into the layers of his cranium. Prague. He could never forget Prague. Even as a man, feeling nothing but sorrow for Drusilla, he was defenseless to suppress the shudder from shimmying up his spine.

There was Sunnydale where every gust of wind carried the salt of her skin, a whiff of her hair, a tease of her perfume. Where he could not go anywhere without seeing something to remind him-something to bring her again and again to the tortured palace of his mind. She was housed there comfortably, watching him watch her. Taunting him. Teasing him. Loving him, if only in his dreams.

It was a nice fantasy.

Now, though, William was far from Sunnydale. It took only a huff of air to determine his location. Then it all came back as it always did. Every painful last recollection. Every stab at his broken soul.

London.

The room he occupied was dark, chilly, and not too unlike the crypt back home. A similar knowledge of the intricate sewer systems had allowed travel for nearly a month. It felt odd being back in the old country. A part of him stressed that he never really had left, and yet so much had happened. Conversely, at times it didn't seem too long ago that he crawled to his feet with his newly acquired soul and made a break for the only other place that felt remotely close to home.

Nothing could be further away than the day he last held her.

Life after leaving Africa had been more or less the same old. To William, doing the things birthed into his system as only Spike would know it came simply. Guilt struck at intervals-seeing a familiar face in a crowd of many to remind him of some aged kill. However, the torment wasn't constant. It wasn't a curse.

There was that stable harboring of secreted agony that deactivated him every time he left to search for blood. Unlike Angel before him, William refused to revert to the readily accessible animal essence if an alternative was available. Granted, he couldn't kill for his meals even if he wanted to, but there was a lovely underground society that rightly suited his needs. A bill here, a pint there. Willy the Snitch came to mind more than once.

The chip was ineffectual now. William's desire to remove it remained intact only for its uselessness. It left only shock waves of superfluous pain through his head. Spider-webbing patterns of futile restraint. He was long accustomed to feeding from bagged blood and animals or whatever he could locate-the lack of the killing drive was nearly second nature.

Bloody well housebroken...

Watching people was fascinating.

Long ago, William had related to the slayer that people were only happy meals with legs. The infestation of his revived consciousness added greatly to structured perception. Hours were spent at cafés: hours in which he watched this oblivious creatures act out their lives.

It was better than Passions. So much better. The anger, the joy, the anxiety, the laughter, the betrayal expressed all through colorful eyes and contorted faces-voices raised or whispered hushes. Tears that poured against the strongest will. Confessions of uncontained love, similarly unkempt as husbands and wives made excuses to fornicate with their various paramours.

The greatest understanding of life came from watching it unfold. So many things Spike had never comprehended were painfully evident to William's eyes. A small part of him whispered that it shouldn't surprise him, but it did. Understanding humanity was a necessity of life that not even the living could grasp. In fairest regards, the demon had come closer.

That, and the irrefutable knowledge that time and experience had worn him down, and that he was eerily similar to the monster that inhabited his body. Together they screamed their plight, voices mending into one calling. Not because they used the same vocals, rather because it was the same provocation. They loved the same woman, spoke the same language, used the same words, and led damn near the same life. But for all the similarities, he had to remind himself that they were not one. There was Spike and there was William.

Which one was he?

So much. They shared memories, yearnings, even personality. William was far from the creature he was before humanity was stolen from him. Spike made him confident. Knowing the things he did, having committed the monstrosities he had, having felt as much fervor as any creature could. Demons couldn't-by definition-experience guilt or remorse. Spike had. It had fueled his escapade and led him here.

He had willingly given William back. The demon had risen above everything that structured the flow of life and understanding. It was something Angelus was not capable of. Something no self-respecting vampire could feasibly accomplish.

A campaign for his freedom had brought him to his knees. Spike sacrificed himself because he loved her so much. To protect her from his capabilities-leaving a shell of a man in his place. William felt her still, but unlike his persistent demon, he bade himself to stay away. No good could come from a return to the States. It ensured only heartbreak and resentment and the fortunes of bad tidings. No penance.

He wanted to write again.

The sensations alone were inspiration enough to course a thousand pages. To feel alive again after being dead so long. To walk in the shoes of a man reformed. To see the things he saw. A world filled with as much poetry as this could not be forever caught in so many words, but he would be damned before he spent an eternity without trying.

The world flowed with poetry. Poetry as he could never have captured without the multiple lifetimes' experience weighing on his shoulders. Earth had many places for William the Broken-Hearted

His hair was somewhat longer now. Bleached streaks were beginning to fade at long last, his natural brown bleeding through after years of neglect. Characteristics that had died with him fought Spike's trademarks to surface for power. He did not want to revert to either self that had formerly hosted his body.

This was a new man.

Again his mind wandered across the ocean as he raised a mug of blood-flavored coffee to his lips. With a little provocation, he contemplated what she was doing. Thinking. If her thoughts rested with him.

If she missed him at all.

A bitter chuckle coursed through his system. Missed him. Hah! William ignored the scorn of sorrow that reverberated in affect and shook his head. "Bloody likely..."

So this was the way it would be from now on. Rather than mourn the hundreds of people he killed, eternity would be spent mourning the one he lost. Likely long after she was cold in the ground, he would still be bleeding-repenting-for what he did to her. It was a punishment centuries in the making, and would undoubtedly last until man saw his last era.

And it was deserved. William felt no unjust resolution in his punishment. After everything he had done to her, loving her from afar for the rest of his days was a minimal sentence. He had practice enough.

There was a nagging eating at his insides, however, that he could not deny. Though he did not doubt for a second that she could not thoroughly take care of herself, he had witnessed her slipping in the last year of their acquaintance. After everything that had happened to her -to them- it was only fair that she be granted the long awaited calm. The idea of anyone robbing her of her life pumped him with rage beyond control.

However, were she to die, he hoped to whatever deity that her friends knew to leave well enough alone. With as selfish as he was, he knew as he had known then that resurrection of any soul was risky business. It had damn near killed her the first time around. Satirical. Restoration nearly killing someone.

Ah, with perpetuity on his hands, he had time to stop and appreciate the irony.

Surely they would know enough by now. With the exception of Harris, the Scoobies were not entirely dense.

William grinned in spite of himself. Even in his transformed state, he could not abide the idiocy of her platonic associations. Xander annoyed him immensely as he had Angel. The boy simply gave off a bad vibe for vampires.

He had wondered more than once if Harris had abandoned Anya at the altar because of harbored feelings for Buffy. William snickered. While his sire had never made a hard habit of it, he had from time to time revealed how very much the boy rubbed him the wrong way.

Some people never surmount the memory of their first love. Of course, it would be hard to get over Buffy-especially if he had the luxury of seeing her when none other could. When she was carefree. Happy. Smiling.

Not with him.

These meditations likely would have ensued for some time had a recognizable scent not tackled his senses. Immediately, William perked, body tense and alert. His eyes scanned the crowds of passing civilians, seeing no familiar faces. It didn't matter. He knew who was near-visual confirmation was uncalled for. The question -why?- arose, unbidden. Wherever he went for sanctuary, his past was waiting there to flaunt its violent self in his face. Despite the knowledge beckoning his wits, he didn't want to accept the primal senses of higher perception.

After a minute, he forced himself to concede that it made sense. Out of everyone that could be there, this clicked within the lines of plausibility.

When he raised his eyes, William realized that he had similarly been detected. The man studied him strangely-confusion and more than confusion sprawled across his face. A face that demanded compensation in answers.

William understood immediately that he could not express anything that weaned toward humanity. The last thing he needed was someone to announce to the slayer that she had pushed another vampire fuckbuddy into a further soulful change. It wouldn't matter that instead of driving one away she had inspired him to reclaim his. While he trusted the man not to betray his confidence-they both wanted the best for her, and would both agree such terms meant he had to stay as far from her as possible-even if one person knew of the transformation, it was one too many.

Thus he did what came natural, what had been natural for a century. With confident casualness, he leaned back and propped his feet over the café table, smirking unpleasantly. "Well, looky looky. Hello, Ripper."

Rupert Giles blinked his surprise away, stepping forward to gauge a better look at him. A briefcase was clutched protectively to his chest, hand adjusting his glasses best to his ability as if to sharpen the focus, unbelieving. "Spike. Wha...what are you doing here?"

"Don't look too surprised, old man. This is home for me, too."

"Buffy mentioned that you had left Sunnydale." If Giles noticed how William flinched at the reference, he wisely ignored it. "I thought perhaps you had returned to Los Angeles. That scene seems a bit more...you."

He quirked a brow. "To what? Work beside Angel and friends? No can do, Ripper. The old country was calling me home."

Giles's eyes narrowed skeptically. "You're not here at all because of Buffy?"

He flinched again. Visibly. The Watcher caught the reaction with ease and stepped forward, deciding against a discreet confrontation. "Ah, so it is. Must have been something to drive you out of town. After all the years we spent trying to get you to leave, they managed to finally discover the killing method. Tell me...how did they accomplish the feat?"

The man's tone was justifiably cold, and William understood there was no reason to remain diplomatic. Of course he knew. Buffy wouldn't hide something like this. With a sigh, he removed his feet from the table and leaned forward, letting his head fall into his waiting hands. "Good God," he rasped, voice losing its permanent confident backing. "You must hate me."

"Believe it or not, Spike, you have never held my high opinion." Giles stalked forward like a predator, the epitome of a protective father. "But I never suspected that you would sink to such a low. I should have, but I didn't. How we ever came to..." He paused, the word tasting wrong on his tongue. "...trust you in such an implicit and illogical manner is beyond me. What you did to her was unforgivable, and-"

"I know!" William finally erupted, releasing straining tension as his eyes welled with tears. "Don't you think I...I'm not a complete idiot. I just-Oh God-I-" And then he couldn't speak, couldn't support himself. He fell to his knees at Giles's feet, sobbing until he could produce no more tears. When the tremors subsided, he held his head to the ground, awaiting a kick to the gut or a punch to the face; something a person -a thing- of his crimes deserved. There was nothing. Baffled, he speculated the man would simply walk away and allow him his eternity to wallow in misery. He wondered if Giles would laugh at the display, if he would mock that he had driven William The Bloody to tears with nothing more than words.

However, the Watcher was more the wiser and did none of these things. He merely set the briefcase beside him on the ground, quieted, and studied him. What William did not expect was a hand to grasp his and help bring him to his feet. His eyes remained on the ground, unable to meet Giles's gaze, looking up only when he sensed it was anticipated. A shade of confusion and reluctant faith had replaced the arctic storm behind the Watcher's eyes. Comprehension blossomed and dawned, and he knew.

He knew.

The burden of being released was too magnanimous for William to pause and consider the negative consequences of his breech. Former convictions be damned. Someone knew. Someone knew. In that wonderful moment, nothing else mattered. Not the likelihood of his exposed cover, not the knowledge that would likely tell the Scoobies. It didn't matter that instead of facing an eternity being hated he would face it pitied instead. It simply didn't matter. Someone was here and they understood and that was all he cared about.

He wondered idly how she would react, but knew somewhere that she was only prone to feel compassion beyond seething hate. William The Once Bloody. William The Pathetic.

"They have cursed you, haven't they?" Giles concluded with suspended disbelief. "Somehow...to make you more docile." His eyes sought answers, finding them to his expectations before a response was vocalized, and he furiously whipped the glasses from his nose. "Fools! How can they not see that this will-"

"Calm the bloody hell down, Ripper," William berated softly; pulling himself together in a manner that nearly seemed too simple even as tears still skidded down his cheeks. "Scoobies didn't do anything to me." He met the questioning gaze and continued without waiting for the inevitable question. "I did it. All on my own. Went to Africa to get this sodding chip out of my head, and got all souled up instead."

For a minute there was nothing but balanced silence. Gazes exchanged in rapidity as Giles digested the new information, disbelief evident. Hesitance to think anything so...noble could- "You...you got a soul. You chose a soul?"

"I'm not sure," William answered honestly, heaving out a sigh. "I didn't ask for the chip out, if that's what you mean. I asked for what she deserved, and they gave her this. Me with a bleeding soul." Emotion welled within him, threatening to produce more tears. His chest constricted with familiar pain, the sort that sought air despite the host of a body that did not need it. "It was right, you know. I earned this soul, and she deserves it." He huffed out another ineffectual breath. "I need to stay away from her, Ripper. After what I...I don't suppose you'll believe me if I say that I never meant to hurt her. Then, I mean. I know I've meant to hurt her plenty of times, but not then. I wouldn't...I've never..."

Gaze still suspicious, Giles motioned for the table he had occupied a few minutes before. "Sit, Spike. With credibility, I learn to forgive many things. Angelus killed Jenny, but I forgave Angel. Spike hurt Buffy, but-"

"I didn't mean to!" he cried defensively, tears rising again. "You'll believe me, right. Because I'm all souled up with no place to go, but believe the demon, too. I was there, remember? I know what I was feeling, just as Peaches knew what he felt when he made Dru go all topsy turvey." Eyes shining like birthstones, he leaned forward and emphatically pounded his fist onto the table. "I. Didn't. Want. To. Hurt. Her. The truth, mate, is I've been...in this state of euphoria for a while. The soul can't take all the bloody credit."

"But you would have done it," the Watcher accused coldly. "Had she not-"

"I know!" William cried strenuously. "That was the demon. And it kills me. But the...I loved her. I do love her. That includes the monster." When he saw the man's disbelieving gaze, he gave up, head crashing into waiting arms. "I know I'm to blame, Ripper. Don't get me wrong. But you don't understand. You can't. You don't know what it's like to have your entire belief system set up and lived by for a hundred happy years, then crushed by the girl who's supposed to be your enemy. I don't understand it half the time; how the bloody hell should I explain it?"

"Because it's impossible, Spike!" Giles spat. "Demons CAN'T love!"

At that, William grew angry. The demon within him raged to be released and correct that overstated misconception. Everyone stressed the point. Did they think he was deaf? "Explain it to me, then, how I could have stayed with Dru all those years? If it was sins of the flesh, why wouldn't I not have left her the minute she lost her strength for someone strong and durable? Cor, you can't get a bloke to stay married to his honey for three months in this world anymore. I was with Dru for a century, faithfully, before I ever heard the name Buffy Summers. You can't tell me it was fun for me, mate. I saw Dru do some damn near intolerable things, things that make the black hearted squirm when they're not too busy squealing with delight. She played me like a bleeding yoyo, but I stayed. Because I loved her." Seeing no response in Giles's cynical expression, he rolled his eyes and bristled. "Forget it. Anyone who hasn't walked a mile in my shoes would never understand."

"Forgive me if I fail to see the redeeming light while knowing that that very same demon tried to rape Buffy."

"The demon, mate. She brought out the humanity in the demon. I wouldn't-it wouldn't...whatever, wouldn't have changed for just anyone." William scoffed, hurt, but convictive. "She played me, too, you know. Worse than Dru ever did. At least she-"

He suddenly found himself with a faceful of fist, a blow that knocked him out of his chair. Then he knew he had gone too far. There was no way to explain this without going too far. Rubbing his jaw agilely, he clamored to his feet.

"How dare you?" Giles rasped. "How dare you compare Buffy to Drusilla? How dare you insinuate-"

"It's the bloody truth!" William roared, the volume of his voice alone provoking attention. "Stop acting like a sodding father who can't stand to hear something about his girl unless it makes her look like a bleeding model citizen. I am not trying to defend myself! I wanted to die that night. I've wanted to die every night since getting this blasted soul. All I'm saying is that Buffy...she would show me tenderness, then kick my arse. She kissed me then socked me, slept with me then beat me to a bloody pulp. I deserve all I got, and more than. But I didn't then. All I did was love her, and she...she used me. Said so, too. Said she was using me, then beating me senseless to vent the rage she had at herself." Calming at last, he looked up and waited for another punch. Another well-deserved punch. It didn't come. Instead, Giles sat down again, his eyes trained with distrust. "Neither of us did right by that." Silence then, allowing time for the Watcher to collect his thoughts and reply. A few minutes passed with nothing; just the noisy streets behind them, people passing and speaking of random things. Nothing of interest.

Finally, William stood, shaking his head. "What's the point? Whatever I say, whatever I do-"

"How did you...the demon feel after Buffy kicked you out?"

"I already told you, Ripper. Like I wanted to stake myself." His shoulders relaxed, hands finding home at his hips. "Demons aren't supposed to have a bloody conscience. She made me...human. The monster." He shook his head and looked down. "It hurt more than anything I've ever-"

"And you wanted the chip out?"

"I thought so." William shook his head again heavily, closing his eyes. "I really thought so. I...think so. Bloody hell, I don't know what I wanted. Mostly, I wanted rid of the cursed sense of...loving but not having. Of loving at all."

"And now?"

"Wha? Oh, the chip? Yeah...I want it out. There's no point, mate." Discreetly, he pointed to his heart and shrugged. "It's there. Bleeding soul, and everything that comes with it. Guilt and likely years of excessive brooding." He scoffed. "Maybe I do belong in LA with Peaches. He could gimme some pointers."

Giles frowned. "Is it just Buffy...what you did to her that drives your guilt?"

"Honestly, yes. Because, mate, a part of that was me. Not all of it, but a part. Demon or no demon, it loved her and I love her. It wasn't me who killed all those people. That was the demon before it was tamed." He laughed unpleasantly at the insinuation. "Domesticated. Point is I rather doubt I hurt anyone ever again without putting a bloody stake through my chest two seconds later. The chip just...hurts." At that he paused, considered, frowned, and retracted. "You know, forget I said it. Take it all back. Leave the sodding chip in. I deserve it."

"You do," the Watcher agreed. "Just remember that."

Bitterly, William scowled at him. "If this is the best thing you have to do then I suggest you bugger off, Ripper. I give myself enough hell. I don't need any pointers from the peanut gallery."

The air turned cold and nothing passed between for another long minute. The vampire managed to maintain contact, not about to admit that he did not feel worthy enough to even look at Giles. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, he had to attempt to preserve one shred of dignity. Finally he sighed, looking away and shaking his head with culmination. "Forget it. Do me a favor: don't tell Buffy that you saw me when you see her again. Don't tell her anything. I don't want her to stop hating me just because I got me a soul." He sighed, turning away. "She won't, I know, either way...but she can't know. She can't know that I'm..."

Without turning back, he sensed Giles rising behind him. Then a hand was at his shoulder, oddly comforting.

"Whatever happened between you and Buffy wasn't good for her," the Watcher observed coldly, unapologetic for the reference that made the vampire's flinches more and more perceptible each time it was recycled. "It put her in a place that might take years to bring her out of." There was a sigh. "I can't believe I am about to say this. You don't deserve to hear it, but here it comes anyway. Spike, I don't believe she would have reacted as she did if she did not feel something for you. But I agree. It is right that you two stay apart. Nothing good could ever come from-"

"Right then." William stepped out of arm's reach and turned to face him. "Then it was good seeing you, Ripper. Take care of her for me."

A vague look of surprise cascaded over Giles's face. He frowned and stood-the embodiment of British etiquette whenever one, even a lowly bloodsucking fiend, was the departing party. Conflict sprawled across his features and, just as the vampire stepped near the boundaries of earshot, he called after him.

Witnessing Giles jog was a sight to remember. One arm swinging gracefully at his side, the other tucking his briefcase tightly near his chest, he stopped and caught his breath, ignoring the look of bewilderment that William was shooting in daggers. At that, the Watcher sneered and gathered himself, making a move to straighten his tie. "Don't even bother," he suggested. "You can't be anywhere as surprised as I am."

William's eyebrows perked and he reached into his coat pocket-notably not his duster-and withdrew an unopened pack of cigarettes. "Wanna place a pretty wager on that?"

"You still smoke?"

"Bloody right, I do." He lit the cigarette and blinked, scowling in confusion. "Just out of curiosity, why would I not? Not going to die of cancer anytime soon."

"Well...I know Angelus smoked, but Angel never expressed the-"

The vampire scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Bollocks," he sneered. "Is this the way it's going to be every five seconds? 'When Angel has a soul, he does this. When Angel has a soul, he does that.' Angel's a bloody pedestal. Do I look like Angel to you?"

Giles looked at him resignedly.

"Right," William continued. "I'm not Angel. Angel couldn't love her without a soul. I can. I did. I've been there. Think Angelus would have let her lead him around like a sodding dog on a leash?"

"Are you going to make me hit you again?"

He blinked in surprise, words miraculously stolen from his lips. "Are you asking permission? That's a first."

"Do not test me, Spike," he warned grimly. "Soul or no soul, you're still rather harmless when it comes to the living." The skies began to thunder, a streak of lightning painting the shadows of a cloud before fading to black. Neither made note of it, simply continued walking as couples scurried from the sidewalks in search of shelter.

"What is it you want, old man?" William asked at last, puffing the last of his cigarette away before tossing it aside. "With as much as-"

"I want your help."

He stopped cold in his tracks as the heavens opened and it started to rain. Giles paused a few strides ahead of him and turned, manifestly unashamed of the reference that nearly provoked tears from his companion. A few wayward flashes of surprise streaked across his face with timely cracks of lightning, but he did not withdraw his statement or leap to an explanation. They simply watched each other: one untrusting, one unworthy. One willing, one hesitant.

A war raged within him. Helping the slayer's former watcher would likely not do much to banish her from his mind, however futile the task was predetermined to be. The inward voice he had grown so accustomed to listening to screamed that no good could come from this. Any remaining associations with-

If he helped Giles, he inadvertently helped her. He owed her that much.

"Why?"

"To prove that you love her, Will." The man simply astonished him. The intractable use of his given name, spoken without hindrance. With understanding. Almost Man-To-Man. "To start from the very bottom and make as many amends as you can within this lifetime. I have to take Willow back to Sunnydale in a few days. There I do not intend to stay for too long..." He broke off and sighed, looking down. "I need to see her do better. To finally progress. Last year was such a...hard year on all of us." Wisely, he ignored the flinch that crossed William's face. "In order for her to grow, she must do so without me there telling her what to do. But as you might understand..." He laughed slightly. "I cannot stay out of her life. I cannot stop watching after her. I have for so long. It feels wrong not to."

"Then why don't you stay there? Or somewhere closer to there?" The vampire drew a hand across his head, swiping elongated strands of browning hair from his eyes. Rain continued to pour, and they both ignored it. "She'll need you eventually, Ripper. She's the slayer, but she's different. Don't you get it? The slayer without friends and family to support her is the one who dies. You think either of the slayers I did in had a support system? Think I'd be here if they did? Bloody no. You, Red, Soldier Boy, Peaches, even Harris and the Nibblet have kept her alive this long, and-"

A pained look crossed the Watcher's face, and William could see what was coming. More words that were earned in a rite of passage, but made no less comfortable to admit, much less vocalize. "You forget someone. You have too, Will. Much as it pains me to admit it, you've done a lot of good in your day." A shadow crossed his face. "But still managed to cause a world of hurt. I do not know if she will ever be able to forgive you, but allow me the chance to help her try." Giles spoke casually, though it was obvious that every word was stinging him as though he had walked into a barbed wire fence, and each step was digging into him a little bit more than the last. "When I return from Sunnydale, I will maintain my watcher duties by researching prophecy dates and keeping steady contact with Xander. He told me he would...watch out for her and alert me to all the demonesque happenings back home." He stepped forward again, beyond the fence and into new territory. Willful evolution passed residual prejudices. "I could really use your assistance...your knowledge and your experience about vampire habitués and what upcoming dangers she might face. If prophecies do look to be occurring, you can...well..."

"In other words," William sneered, shaking his head, "you want me to be your replacement Angel? Lost yours a few years ago, you did. Your helpy helper with all the books and..." He broke off when he saw Giles's face, smirk fading, resonance setting in immediately. "You know I would do anything for her."

Though he nodded, the Watcher could do nothing but observe him doubtfully-the sort of look that read: You're my only choice, but you'll do. "You keep saying that," he noted. "Prove it. Help me."

"I will." And that was that. A contract constructed through dialogue. An understanding. A comfort zone. The promise was made and would not be broken. No fee was offered and none would be asked. This was not a job-it was retribution. His way, however meager, to compensate for multiple wrongs. "What do you want me to do, then?"

"Keep quiet, firstly. We do not need Willow seeing you and passing along the news back home. The more people who know of your condition, the more likely Buffy is to find out." The promise was still unspoken, but William understood with no ceremony that Giles would keep to the request and remain silent about these matters. "I suggest you stay in for a few days. When I return, we will begin our studies."

So simple. "Right." William blinked then as though his eyes had just opened and realized he was sodden from head to toe. "Ummm...when did it start raining?"

"A while ago, Spike."

"Will. I liked it better when-"

"I'll call you what I like. Where will I find you, when I return?"

Making no move for shelter, William stood back and turned to the vacant tables outside the café, lights still spry as people hovered over warm cups off coffee to shake off the storm. "Good a place as any. I'm there mostly every night."

"Doing what exactly?"

"Watching. People are so..."

"Inedible."

He grinned wickedly. "Have been for a while, pops." He pointed with familiar matter-of-factness to his cranium and tapped. "Then it is, then. I would say hi to Red, but..."

"Yes, yes." Giles began moving with more fervor, as though just realizing that he, too, was drenched with rainwater. "Then it is. When I return, I-"

"Just find me, old man. I'll be lurking about somewhere." William turned as the Watcher did and they stalked in their separate directions.

The rain continued to beat for a few seconds before ceasing with cold asperity. He did not notice. Like a reptile, the climate was rarely a concern. Same old. His thoughts were far away. Wondering, debating if he had made the right decision for her.

A part of him wanted her to know so badly, but he knew it was wrong.

No, no. This was much better. He would help without involvement.

This way, he could protect her without harming her with his presence.

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