He had to blink more than once to be sure it was her.

She seemed smaller than he remembered, more frail. Paper-thin skin revealed the blue veins beneath, but contrary to her otherwise brittle appearance, the heart he heard was strong and healthy. Even without her magic, Esme was a force to be reckoned with, though she might look otherwise. Perhaps because she might look otherwise.

She stood amidst a brilliant patch of sunlight that filtered in through the front window, a black hole sucking up the energy surrounding her. As Spike slid from his booth, the leather of his coat squeaked against the worn plastic, and she turned her head toward the sound.

She immediately smiled. And Spike's skin crawled.

"Bitch," he muttered, and launched forward without thought, knocking over the overweight trucker sitting at the end of the counter. He flew into the light, and then immediately jumped back when his hands caught on fire, leaving Esme chuckling under her breath, untouched.

"William," she said with delight, and her voice was exactly as he remembered. From both times of his life. It was disconcerting, like having the same echo repeating at slightly different intervals inside his head. One where she'd offered a hand of friendship, the other where she'd promised him the return of his love. Of course, Spike had assumed that she'd meant Dru at the time, but then both bids had turned out to be based on falsehood. Both parts of him hated the bloody witch.

Then again, both parts of Spike owed her for bringing him Buffy. It was kind of hard to hate that.

He grabbed the towel from the hands of the waitress who'd frozen in mid-swipe of the counter, and wrapped them around the burns on his fingers. "That takeaway better be for the plane trip back to England," he growled, glaring at the witch.

Her smile widened, and she took a deliberate step further into the sunshine that protected her from him. "You mean you're not glad to see me?" she commented. "My feelings are hurt."

"Do you need me to call the police?" the waitress asked Esme, her eyes darting nervously from her to Spike and back again.

"That won't be necessary," Esme said.

"Like I couldn't bloody take the old bill, anyway," Spike muttered with a roll of his eyes.

"William and I are old friends," she continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Oh, yeah." His voice was suddenly too loud. "We go way back. Could say I've known the bitch since before she was bloody born."

The waitress looked disbelieving, but with Spike seemingly held at bay and Esme's apparent lack of fear, she backed off, watching them warily. "Your sandwich will be up in just a few minutes," she said.

He was left glaring at the old witch, the pain in his hands just starting to ebb. Leave it to her to hide in plain sight, he thought angrily. He could risk jumping into the sun after her, but he had no doubt he'd be in flames within seconds. "What the hell are you doin' here?" he demanded instead.

"The same as you. Having lunch." Her dark gaze flickered over the patrons who were still observing the encounter, even as they pretended to be returning to their meals. "Well, perhaps not the same. I wouldn't think your Slayer would be very pleased to find out you were snacking on the local population."

"My..." A sickening sense of dread began to seep into his gut. "Stay the hell away from Buffy," he growled. "For that matter, stay away from Red, too. You've done enough damage."

Her mirth vanished. "On the contrary," she said, "I've been victimized just as surely as your love or her young friend. That seer raped me of my powers---."

"Leave Rose out of this!"

"Don't tell me you're siding with her," Esme chided. "She stole your memories from you, just as she stole my magic. You can't possibly think that was a good thing, William. You were denied knowing of Buffy for how long? And all because she thought it best."

In spite of the slight sting of truth in her words, Spike said, "Rose was a good woman."

Esme shook her head. "Rose was a manipulator, who chose to toy with the lives of people who deserved better."

"Like you didn't mess about with me and Buffy. Nice try, but it doesn't wash." He paused, the extent of Esme's statement finally sinking in, and his eyes narrowed. "You said 'was.' What makes you think she's dead?"

"Considering she lived a century ago, I'd say it's safe to say she isn't currently tending her garden in the heart of London. She was powerful, not invincible."

The response came smoothly, without pause. It was logical, something he would've expected anyone with half a brain to say, but somehow, Spike couldn't help but feel that it was just a little too easy. His gut was telling him that she'd had that answer ready, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to use it, and if there was anything he'd learned over the years, it was to trust his first instinct.

"None of this is tellin' me why you'd show your puss around Sunnydale," Spike said carefully. He began circling the edge of the sunlight that streamed in through the window, grateful that the sun hadn't moved enough yet to make the exit unreachable, and stopped just by the door. "And none of this is tellin' me why I shouldn't tear your throat out here and now."

A few of the patrons visibly started at his threat, causing Esme to regard her surroundings and the fact that it would now be impossible for her to leave without passing right by him. "Perhaps we should discuss this in private," she said.

"Don't think so," he said, and took a sprawling seat in the bench by the door. "Rather like doin' this here. It'll keep you honest, if that's possible."

With a sigh, she turned her back to him. "I don't understand what your concern is, William. I'm just an old woman, trying to hold on to what little respect she can. Without my magic, I'm perfectly harmless."

"We both know there's nothin' harmless about you---." The door opening beside him interrupted Spike's thought, and he glanced up to see Wesley come to a halt just inside the entrance, the Watcher's eyes widening as they jumped from Spike to Esme and back again.

"Spike," he said, and then coughed to clear his throat when the single word came out as a squeak. "Spike," he repeated in a lower voice. "What are you doing here?"

It took only a moment to size up the situation.

"Oh, no," Spike said, rising to his feet. He jabbed a finger back at Esme, who had turned to watch the exchange with amusement. "That's who that prat Travers sent here to help Red? Have you all gone completely daft?"

"Spike, please, let's not make a scene---."

"Bit late for that. Did none of you think for a second how Buffy was goin' to feel about this? Not to mention Red."

"Willow already knows, and she's accepted this as necessary." Wesley's hand curled around Spike's elbow, but was thrown backwards against the glass when Spike shook him off. Straightening as if he'd never intended to stumble, Wes lifted his chin. "Might I suggest we go back to my room? We can speak a bit more freely there."

"Like I told the bitch, I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm not about to let her slip through my fingers again."

"I assure you, Esme won't be leaving Sunnydale any time soon. And without her powers, she poses no threat to you, or Buffy, or Willow. There's really no need for any further retribution."

"That's because you weren't the one on the other end of her magic wand," Spike muttered.

"If you'd just come with me---."

"Can't. Tried that already." He rolled his eyes at Wesley's frown. "Was comin' to see you, all right? But the sewers don't get any closer to your hotel than right here, so thought I'd kill some time while I waited for the sun to move out of my way."

"Why were you coming to see me?"

Spike pressed his lips together. He'd hoped to make this look a bit more autonomous. "Something Buffy said to me," he finally managed.

Understanding relaxed the Watcher's tight features, and he nodded as if he'd known that was the case all along. "We can still have that discussion, if you wish," he said. He glanced around the half-full restaurant. "Perhaps over lunch?"

"I'm not lettin' that bitch outta my sight."

"Then Esme can join us."

He didn't like it, but with the Watcher now around, Spike knew his choices in dealing with Esme were limited. Anything he did would be reported back to Rupert, which meant that it would only take as long as it took him to pick up a phone before Buffy knew, too. He'd been able to get away with killing the vigilantes without too much undue recourse because her friends' lives were at stake. If he were to take the same freedom with Esme, he wasn't so sure he'd get the same reception, especially since in so many sets of eyes, the witch really was powerless.

"I've already ordered," he said, stalking around the sunlight to head back to his table. He shot Esme a malicious glare as he passed by. "But there's always room for what's not on the menu if I find myself peckish."

"Let me just make a quick call," Wesley said behind him.

He turned around and caught the Watcher in mid-flip of his cell phone. "Make sure you tell Rupes I didn't touch her," Spike warned. He chuckled when Wesley paled at being found out so readily. "You can tell him, too, that I'm not makin' any promises I won't."

*************

The three sat in stiff silence while they ate, though Esme's amusement at the entire situation was too noticeable to be missed. Wesley had lost his appetite long before his food had been served, though he picked at the dry sandwich anyway. Well, truth be told, he hadn't had much of an appetite before he'd arrived, but seeing Spike so obviously livid at encountering Esme had driven the remainder of it away. It was the worst possible scenario he could've envisioned, but he'd talked the vampire down as best he could, relief flooding him when it became obvious Spike wouldn't attempt anything violent just yet. Even Rupert had seemed impressed, though admittedly, the other Watcher had been extremely distracted by his own awkward situation. The fates were not with them that day, it would seem.

Though Wesley attempted more than once to start a conversation regarding Spike's purpose in seeking him out, the vampire's surly responses weren't exactly conducive to such discourses, most of his comments barely disguised threats aimed directly for Esme. To her credit, she remained unruffled, and when Spike realized he wouldn't get a rise out of her, he'd promptly lapsed into a sullen silence, leaving Wes wondering just what he thought he could've possibly accomplished.

When he saw the vehicle pull up outside the diner, it took all of Wesley's control not to react to its presence. He cast a sly glance toward Spike and was glad that the vampire was focused on stabbing his untouched burger to a non-dusty death rather than the activity on the street. A reprieve just might be possible, after all.

He didn't hear the door open, but before he could question why such a middle America establishment didn't have the proverbial bell over their door, the soft shuffle of footsteps approached the table.

Spike's head snapped up at the new arrival, and immediately, annoyance clouded his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered. He sprawled back against the seat, shaking his head in disgust as his eyes met Wesley's. "Decide you needed to bring the boy in to talk me down? Is that it?"

Oz frowned. "I don't know anything about talking you down," he said. "Giles called Willow to see how she was doing and mentioned you were stuck. I'm just here to give you a ride if you want it."

Spike tilted his head as he assessed this calm assertion, his gaze darting back and forth. "Right," he drawled. "And this has nothin' to do with me and the witch here."

"Nope. You ready to go?"

Before Spike could get up, Wesley cleared his throat. "We're not quite done eating here," he said. "Perhaps you'd like to join us."

The roll of the vampire's eyes and the slight line between Oz's told Wes he hadn't been quite as nonchalant as he'd wished, but it didn't stop Oz from sliding into the booth next to Spike. This wasn't exactly the aid Wesley had requested from Rupert, but it appeared as if it would work out anyway.

"You eating that?" Oz asked Spike, pointing to the mangled burger.

"Help yourself," came the reply, accompanied with a push of the plate.

"I don't believe you've met Esme," Wesley said. His voice was too loud, but he wasn't sure how to stop that. "Esme, this is Oz, Willow's...boyfriend. Oz, Esme."

For a moment, he thought he'd gone too far. Though little actually changed in the young man's demeanor, Wesley had been around Oz enough to finally be able to tell when he was perturbed. The whitening of his knuckles as he tightened his grip on the burger. The deepening of the line between his brows. In the end, he only gave the witch a curt nod and turned his attention to Spike.

"I owe you some thanks, man," he said. "That makes two now."

"Who's counting?" Spike grinned. "Oh, right, I am."

"Buffy said you needed to get some wheels."

"Thinkin' 'bout it."

"It might not be much, but Devon knows a guy who doesn't ask a lot of questions. I could take you to talk to him, if you want."

"Thanks, mate. When?"

"Something wrong with now?"

Wesley could only watch, dumbfounded, as the two men stood up and Oz handed over his keys to Spike.

"I'm parked around the side," he said. "I'll be right out."

With one last venomous glance at Esme, Spike strolled to the door, hiking his coat over his head before making a dash out in the sunshine.

"I thought---," Wesley started.

"Save it," Oz interrupted. "You didn't really think you'd get anything accomplished with her sitting right across from him, did you?" When Wesley flushed deep red, Oz sighed. "Giles wanted me to tell you to be at his place at six. Willow's going to be there."

Esme's voice stopped him when he started to walk away. "I suppose I should thank you," she said.

"Don't." Though he didn't move, the brusque tone of his voice conveyed it all. "I'm not going to pretend to like you, but I'm not going to stand in your way, either. Willow needs all the help she can get, and Giles made it clear that nobody understands the magic better than you do."

"I---."

"But if you hurt Willow," he continued, without even so much as blinking, "I'll be standing right next to Spike when Buffy gives him the green light to come after you. I promise you that."

Esme smiled, a cold, knowing rictus, and Wesley winced as she refused to let the matter lie. "The Slayer would never allow a vampire to hurt a human. Even if she does love him."

"Don't be so sure about that. Buffy's world isn't quite so black and white any more."

The waitress approached the table as Oz left it behind, setting the check face down next to his tea cup. "Anything else?" she asked.

"I'd like---."

"Do be quiet, Esme." He was suddenly weary, tired of feeling ineffectual. Shaking his head at the waitress, Wesley sighed as he reached for his wallet to pay for the bill. He had much yet to learn for his stay here in Sunnydale, and it would seem that the two most likely to teach him were currently out car shopping. In the meantime, he would do everything in his power not to allow Esme to hurt Willow any further.

"Let's go," he said, his tone curt as he rose from the booth. "We have much to prepare before we see Rupert."

*************

He could hear two voices, both men, neither familiar. Their words were too muffled for Graham to discern, but he'd heard shouting at one point before they had fallen back into normal conversation, and wondered through his somnolent haze if they were arguing about him.

He'd been captured; the chains wrapped around his chest and the duct tape over his mouth were more than enough testimony to that. By whom, however, he had no clue. The last thing he remembered was the van going off the track, and hearing the werewolf get free from the hold before he blacked out. His head still ached from where it had hit the steering wheel, though he could see the bandages on his injuries beneath the chains.

So, he'd been captured, but tended before they'd bound him. That ruled out HST involvement. At least he didn't have to worry about being turned now.

Torture was another matter. Especially if they didn't let him take a piss some time soon.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Graham quickly closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness. The door opened, but the steps stopped.

"How long can one guy sleep?" It was the voice of someone young, male. Graham didn't recognize it.

"He took a severe blow to the head. We should consider ourselves fortunate he's still alive." This one was British. That definitely ruled out any involvement with the Initiative.

"So, let's wake him up. Wasn't the whole point of having him here to find out why he and his boys want Oz?"

Oz. Graham knew that name. The werewolf. These were friends of his.

"Be patient, Xander."

Silence. But they weren't moving from the bathroom door.

"Maybe he's in a coma." Xander again.

"He's not in a coma." The British guy sounded like he was getting annoyed. Frankly, Graham thought he would too, if he had to put up with so many stupid questions.

"I just think it's weird you haven't heard a peep out of him. When I left last night, it looked like he was starting to come around. Did something happen?"

"Nothing...unusual."

"So, maybe he's faking it. It's not like you've been vigilante-sitting around the clock, right?"

All right, so maybe Xander wasn't so stupid.

Graham came to a quick decision. If he continued to pretend to be out of it, there was no telling what Xander and the British guy would do to try and wake him up. He didn't think the Brit would do anything unusual, but in light of Xander's persistent nagging, it was probably better to face the situation head-on.

It didn't mean, however, that he had to cooperate.

*************

Giles was just about to drag Xander back into the outer room when he saw the vigilante's eyes flutter open. Carefully, he took a step closer to the tub, watching for any untoward signs, but when none came, leaned forward and pulled the tape from his mouth.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Intelligent blue eyes bored into him, far more alert than they should've been if he'd only just awoken. Xander's jocular assessment seemed to be correct, and Giles kicked himself for failing to pursue the interrogation sooner.

"I'll take that as an, 'I'm fine,' then," Giles continued.

"Release me." The voice was low, terse, but something about the clipped tones seemed familiar to him.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Not until you've answered some questions for us." When the vigilante's lips pressed into a thin line, Giles sighed. "We're already aware of your identity, Mr. Miller. All we're interested in is knowing why you and your partners are so interested in capturing demons instead of killing them."

Still, no answer, and Graham turned his head so that he was staring at the tiled wall instead.

"Aw, c'mon," Xander wheedled from the doorway. "Not even name, rank, and serial number? That's what all good hostages are supposed to rattle off. You're disappointing me here."

For a moment, Giles thought he saw the chained man start. Before Giles could say anything, though, Xander's hand curled around his upper arm.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he murmured.

Following Xander back into the hall, Giles closed the door behind him so that they wouldn't be heard. "What is it?"

"I realize I'm just the dumb but lovable sidekick here..." His voice was surprisingly low, his attempt to keep from being overheard obvious. "...but I'd bet my last donut that that guy's involved in some kind of military operation."

"Anybody can wear camouflage---."

"It's not just the clothes. I was just kidding about the name, rank, and serial number schtick, but the guy jumped at it, like I'd caught him out on something. And did you hear him talk?"

"Xander, he's said two words to us."

"I'm telling you, I'm right about this. Go ahead and grill him all you want, but there's no way you're going to get him to tell you anything. He's trained not to talk. We're going to need bigger guns."

Giles frowned, glancing back at the closed door. "That may very well be, but I'm not willing to resort to those without exhausting more conventional methods." His mind made up, he began walking back to the kitchen, Xander close on his heels. "I'm going to put the kettle on. I imagine we're going to have a very long day."

*************

When Havi arrived two hours later, Giles had yet to get anything more from Graham beyond a request to use the bathroom and a repeat of his desire to be released. It was frustrating, especially in light of what little they already knew, cutting his temper ever shorter by increasing degrees. It took everything he had not to slam the door in her face when he opened it.

"Now is not the best time," he said to Havi.

Her gaze darted past him to see Xander hovering in the background. "Is it Willow?" she asked. Her obvious concern for someone she barely knew, should not even recognize, was unsettling. "Has she not recovered?"

"She was doing just fine when I spoke to her this morning," he replied warily.

"What of your prisoner?"

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated how to answer her. He still didn't understand what she was doing here, what this protectorate she talked about actually was. The desire to find out was most definitely there, but with so many other volatile events occurring around him, he just didn't have the wherewithal to pursue it at the moment.

"Giles? Who's this? How does she know about our No. 6 and Willow?"

Havi looked past him to Xander, answering before Giles could think of an appropriate response.

"You're Willow's friend," she said. "You took her home last night."

Xander frowned. "Yeah..." he said slowly. "And again, who are you?"

"My name is Havi. I'm---."

"Just leaving," Giles finished.

Her arm shot out to stop him from closing the door in her face. "We still need to talk, Mr. Giles. There's much I have to tell you."

"And as fascinating as I'm sure it is, I have more pressing matters at hand than studying the Guardians. I'm sorry."

But her strength was greater than his, and her arm unyielding. The compliance Havi had demonstrated on her first visit was gone, replaced by a solemn determination that stared Giles down, her dark eyes without remorse for refusing him the right to shut her out.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Mr. Giles. I can't let you avoid this any longer. There's too much at stake now, including the wellbeing of your Slayer and her friend. Do you think the events of last night were an accident? Willow's power grows beyond her control. Measures must be taken---."

"Wait. What do you know about Willow?" Xander elbowed his way past Giles to face Havi directly. "What kind of measures? Are we talking a little ruler, or one gigantic yardstick?"

"We've already arranged for Willow to start the process tonight," Giles said. "She'll be working directly with one of the Council's most powerful witches. As for Buffy, her only worries are for Willow, and for her studies. She is doing perfectly fine."

"Really?" Havi's gaze never wavered, though a single brow lifted in curiosity. "And what of the child she carries? Even with William the Bloody at her side, the Slayer will need stronger allies than her friends and the father of her baby. The Slayer needs me."

At his side, Giles felt Xander stiffen at mention of Buffy's pregnancy, but it was the chill that settled in his own gut that caught his attention. It was impossible for this woman to know of Buffy's circumstances, when Buffy herself had only learned the truth two days earlier. Havi even knew that Spike was the father. How could that be?

She had worked for Rose Rhodes-Fanshaw, who had proven her powers on more than one occasion. None of this could be a coincidence.

Slowly, Giles lowered his arm and stepped away from the door. "Come in," he said stiffly. It was almost a smile that curved her lips as she crossed the threshold, and she nodded in gratitude when their eyes met. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all, Giles mused. But, only time would tell.

To be continued in Chapter 22: Yet We Must Not Be Foes...

"Ready to go?"

It was a fake bravado that Willow forced into her voice, one that she'd had a lifetime to perfect. But Buffy had been distant for most of the day, daydreaming during class, only half-heartedly bantering over lunch. It wasn't sparked by a bad mood---the uncharacteristic softness that seemed to linger in the Slayer's face would've been stepped on and squashed by anything remotely resembling an ill temper---but Willow couldn't put her finger on what exactly was the trigger. Part of her agonized that Buffy was fearful because of what had happened the night before, that seeing Willow turn Firestarter may have drawn some sort of line between them. If that was the case, Willow had messed up even worse than she could've imagined. She didn't want to lose her best friend over the magic. It just wasn't worth it.

"Gimme a sec," Buffy said, her voice muffled from where she was rummaging around in her closet. She stepped back with two different pairs of slacks in her hands, her gaze jumping between each before turning to show them to Willow. "Black or blue?" she asked.

"Black," she replied automatically. Her smile wavered when Buffy weighed the options again, and hung the black pair back in the closet. "Or blue," she went on, determined not to let the snub get to her. "I heard it's this season's black anyway."

"Since when is dressing myself so hard?" Tossing the blue pants to the side, Buffy walked back to her bed and plopped down, landing first on her stomach and then rolling hurriedly onto her back. Her hands flew to her abdomen, her eyes wide. "Crap," she muttered. "I keep forgetting about being careful."

"I think it's OK," Willow said gently. "You're not even showing yet."

Hormones. It had to be. Combine pregnancy jitters with all the brouhaha of the past week, stir in a little Spike, and it was no wonder that Buffy was all brou and no haha. Willow really had to stop overanalyzing everything or her head was going to go pop.

"You don't even have to come with me," she continued. "It's probably going to be pretty boring. Just a lot of meditation and ohm-ing and stinky candles. That stuff can take forever to wash out of your hair."

"No, I gotta." Buffy sighed. "I have to know what's going on with Graham, and if Giles isn't having any luck getting answers, I'm going to have to have a crack at...cracking him."

Willow only nodded. Truthfully, she didn't want Buffy to go. This was the first time she was going to meet up with Esme, and Willow still hadn't found the right time to tell her best friend that the new witch in her life was the same one who'd almost wrecked their summer. It was a conversation she was dreading having.

"What do you wear for an interrogation, anyway?" Buffy asked, rising back to her feet. "Do I go with pants, for that don't-mess-with-me vibe? Or do I go the girly route and try and soften him with up a little leg?"

There was a knock at the door, saving Willow the need to answer. Letting Buffy return to her wardrobe dilemma, Willow went and answered it, opening up to a guy she didn't recognize.

"Here," he said, shoving a plain white envelope at her.

"What's this?" She turned it over in her hands and saw Buffy's name on the other side. Her heart jumped. She recognized that handwriting. It was Spike's.

"I don't know. Some guy gave me ten bucks to drop it off."

"What's the what?" Buffy asked as Willow closed the door.

"For you." Silently, she handed it over, and watched as the question in Buffy's face melted into something else when she saw the careful script.

Turning away, Buffy slit open the seal and pulled out a single piece of folded paper. It was impossible to see what it held, but the fact that the Slayer stood there for what seemed an eternity, reading it over and over and over again, told Willow all she needed to know.

"You might as well go on without me." Buffy's voice was reflective as she folded the note back up and set it on her desk. She returned to her closet and pulled out a long skirt. "Let Giles know I'll be around later."

"You're meeting up with Spike?"

"Yeah. He says he's got something to show me."

Willow nodded. This was better. Being around Spike would put Buffy in a better mood when she showed up at Giles'. Maybe everybody would survive her encounter with Esme with body parts still intact.

*************

The studs in her neck kind of freaked Xander out. It wasn't that he thought he was all that uptight; body piercings on women could be the ultimate in sexy. Pierced belly buttons, for instance. He'd seen more than one flat stomach with a silver ball in it that made him want to get to his knees and use his tongue to worship the woman who wore it.

But on Havi...the studs made him squirm where he sat opposite her. Maybe it was because she just seemed so hard. He couldn't shake the impression that those weren't pierced through her skin; they were nailed in. And that she'd remained completely emotionless while whoever did the nailing did it. Of course, it didn't help that she was as tall as he was, that she looked like she'd just walked off of American Gladiators after leaving a trail of unconscious bodies behind her, and that she could completely take him if it came down to a fight.

He squirmed some more. He'd just flashed on an image of a sweaty Havi, wearing one of those skimpy unitard outfits that were more spray paint than clothes, wrestling with an even more scantily clad female gladiator, and his cock had chosen that moment to practice its youthful right to go hard at a second's notice. Well, more than a second. He'd been staring pretty consistently at Havi ever since she showed up at Giles' door.

Hard? Yes, she was. Stoic? Most definitely.

But with a body to die for. Even if the studs still freaked him out.

Giles had tried to get him to leave when Havi had come in. "It's likely that she'll want discretion in what she wishes to discuss," he'd said.

"Is this going to be about Willow?"

"Yes," Havi had replied before Giles could intervene with another argument. "And your friend, Buffy. You are welcome to stay."

That had been that. Giles couldn't argue when the invitation came straight from the proverbial horse's mouth.

"Before we start," Giles said, "I'd like to know how exactly you're aware of Buffy's...condition." He wasn't sitting like Xander. Instead, he stood behind the couch, forcing Havi to look up to him.

She was unfazed by his obvious attempts to establish superiority. "Rose told me," she said. "Before she died."

"Rose?" It took a moment of playing back the story he'd heard earlier about the summer in London for Xander to have an idea about who this Rose was. "That's who did the mojo that juiced Willow up, right?"

"As I understand it, she had no choice," Havi said. "It was the only way to effectively neutralize the witch---."

"This is not the time to defend the efficacy of Rose's choice," Giles interrupted. "It's done, and now, it's up to us to determine how best to aid Willow in dealing with the repercussions. Tell me, Miss Aronowicz, what exactly did Rose say to you about Buffy?"

"That she was expecting, and that the father was William Freston."

Xander turned a confused frown to the Watcher behind him. "You said Spike was the dad."

"He is. That's his given name. Why would she tell you this?"

The last question was directed to Havi, and Xander sat back just in time for her to lift a curious brow. "Why wouldn't she tell me?" she countered. "I was her Protector. If she could entrust me with her life, sharing simple details such as that would be nothing."

"And yet, Rose is now dead. An interesting conundrum, don't you think?"

Havi's lips thinned, and if it was at all possible, she sat up even straighter in her seat. "That was out of my hands," she said. "Rose said her death was both inevitable and necessary. I was instructed specifically not to intervene."

"So you know who killed her?"

A long pause. "Yes."

"Spike's under the impression it was a Spaniard he was doing business with. A man named Baltozar Marroquin. Is that true?"

A longer pause. "Yes."

"And yet you did nothing to prevent it."

"There was nothing I could do."

"What kind of Protector fails to do the one thing she's supposed to?" Giles came around the edge of the couch to stand over her, his temper flaring. "For that matter, what exactly is this Protectorate you speak of?"

This was something she felt much more comfortable speaking about, and almost smiled as she addressed him. "For as long as there has been a Chosen One, there have been Guardians to help guide those who train her. They watch the Watchers, you could say."

Giles sighed. "I know this part," he said. "I'm interested in your role. I assume you're some sort of bodyguard?"

"Exactly. There came a point, centuries ago, when the existence of the Guardians became threatened. The Protectorate was formed to preserve their continued survival. When Rose returned to her own time, I was assigned to protect her."

"Where is this Protectorate?"

"They are everywhere. Evil proliferates in every corner, Mr. Giles. It would hardly do to have the most advanced security system in your home, and then leave the back door unlocked, don't you think?"

"Yes, quite." He was starting to pace, digesting the information she'd supplied already, but his lengthy pause grated on Xander's nerves, driving him to speak before the Watcher could.

"What does any of this have to do with Buffy and Willow?" Xander asked. "I'm hearing guardian talk, and Watcher talk, and protector talk, but I'm not hearing any Slayer or witchy best friend talk. They don't sound like they have anything do with you."

Her dark gaze bored through him. "I was unsure myself until I arrived. Rose merely told me that Willow needed to be protected, that there was great danger in her future, and that I needed to come here and do what I can to keep her safe."

Giles stopped in mid-pace. "She didn't specify what this danger was?" he asked carefully.

Havi shook her head. "Just that I was to see you and enlist your aid in fulfilling my duty. I consulted the Protectorate upon my arrival to get clarification. They wouldn't tell me what the specific threat was, but they did inform me why I've been involved."

"And why is that?"

"Willow possesses great power now, and Rose's death has considerably weakened the Guardians. They would like Willow to consider taking her place among their number."

The proclamation left both men stunned. "But...Willow is just a child," Giles stammered. "And hardly in control of her powers."

"All the better for her to join them as soon as possible," Havi said. She seemed unflustered by the questions. "She is young enough yet to be molded to the strictures of the Guardians. They will help her hone her magic to best serve the greater good."

"No," Xander announced, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Willow is not some cosmic play-doh for your bosses to try shoving into their presses. Everyone's been saying how she's got too much magic now. You know what happens when you shove too much play-doh into one of those presses? You break the press. And play-doh squeezes around the sides and gets all over the place. Big mess. Trust me."

"Xander, I'm not sure that analogy is entirely appropriate."

"Isn't it?" He turned to Giles. "Don't tell you're actually considering this."

"There's nothing for me to consider. If this is the case, the choice is entirely Willow's to make."

"The Watcher is right, Mr. Harris---."

"However..." Giles wasn't as willing just to accept this as Xander had thought. "...there is far too much going on in Willow's life right now for her to be confronted with such a serious decision. I will agree to support your need to protect her, based on Rose's visions, but I would ask that you refrain from posing the other to her until she's in better control of her new powers. She's of little use to the Guardians until then anyway."

"Agreed." Havi rose to her feet. "Thank you for being so reasonable, Mr. Giles. Rose told me that you were a man of intelligence. I'm glad to see that her championship of your acumen was founded in truth."

She was already heading for the front door, as if her business was concluded, and both Giles and Xander trailed after in confusion.

"Is that it?" Xander asked. "You drop this bomb and just go? What about Buffy? You never said what any of this has to do with her."

She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. "I didn't say because I don't know," she confessed. "Rose only explained about the Slayer's new circumstances, and that I was to come to the Hellmouth and give my aid when the time came."

"And that time is...?"

"I don't know. I only know she said I would recognize it when it arrived."

"Willow will be here in a short while," Giles said. "You should stay so that we can explain this to her together---."

"No." Pushing the door open, she crossed the threshold into the dusky evening. "Please don't tell Willow what I've said. If she isn't to make this decision now, I'd rather not burden her further when she has so much already to think about. It will only make her uneasy, and that makes protecting her more difficult." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "If you need to get a hold of me, this is my cell number. I'm willing to give you help in demonhunting, or your problems with the men after the werewolf, or anything else. I'm more than capable. All you have to do is ask."

She was walking through the courtyard before either man could speak, leaving them in silence.

"You know," Xander said, "something tells me she's someone I would want on my side in a fight." He glanced at Giles. "You think she's telling the truth? About just wanting to help Buffy and Willow?"

"I'd like to think so," he replied. "But we should still exercise caution when we deal with her."

Xander followed him back inside, but not without another inopportune mental image of Havi. Still in the unitard, but this time her long limbs were twisted in the yoga contortions he'd seen in more than one of the exercise videos he occasionally filched from his mother's collection.

Damn it. He was hard again. And this time, he couldn't even do something about it because that stupid Graham guy was in the bathroom.

It was going to be a long night.

*************

She stood outside the Espresso Pump, frowning at the surprising number of people going inside. What was so special about coffee at this time of night? Buffy wondered. And why would Spike want to meet her here?

A faint tingling on the back of her neck diverted her from staring at the coffee shop, and Buffy turned to survey the street, trying to determine where the vampire could be hiding. The sun had only just set, but the sky was still streaked with flames of orange and red. Only the most suicidal vamps would be out in the open already, so what exactly was provoking her Slayer senses?

Her eyes settled on a parked car near the alley, one that had most definitely seen better days. Its windows were blacked out. There was her vampire.

As she walked up to the passenger side, Buffy's hand slipped into her purse, curling around her stake. Up close, the paint wasn't as thick, as though it had been applied hastily, and she leaned in to try and peer through one of the cracks.

"Gotta say, I love this particular view."

She whirled at the sound of Spike's voice, heat flooding her cheeks as she watched him lift his eyes from where he'd been staring at her ass. Leaning against the building at the mouth of the alley, he was shadowed from the remaining sun, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as his eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Didn't know you had a thing about peeping," he continued. "I'll have to file that one away for future use."

Releasing her hold on the stake, Buffy crossed to join him in the alley. "What's the big surprise?" she asked. "Your note was pretty heavy on the cryptic."

He jerked his chin back at the car. "You were looking at her."

Puzzled, she turned around and gave the car a closer inspection. It was a two-door, black Thunderbird that looked like it had come straight out of "American Graffiti," but she only knew the make because of the silvery writing across its back wing. The black was being generous, though; the paint was severely chipped in more than one place, and almost faded to gray in others. Whitewall tires helped add to the Happy Days look, but when she stepped around to see its front, that effect faded. A bright and shiny new grille beamed back at her, its ornate decoration looking remarkably like fangs.

"Know she's not much to look at," Spike said, venturing forward from the shadows. "But the engine's solid, and there's plenty of room in the boot for weapons or baby stuff or the like."

"This is, like, fifty years old."

"Yeah." A nostalgic grin was on his face. "They don't make 'em like this any more."

For a reason, she thought, but held her tongue. He was obviously so pleased with what he'd done that she didn't have the heart to drag him down with any snide remarks. But there was one question she had to ask.

"Where'd you get it?" Buffy said. It was too nonchalant, and the fact that she couldn't even look at him while she asked it probably made it all too clear that she worried he'd killed someone for it.

"Oz hooked me up with a bloke who knows how to separate the wheat from the chaff. Took one look at me and knew I'd treat his baby right." His hand shot out and grabbed hers, tugging her away from the car and into his arms. "It's all legit, Buffy. Papers are in the glovebox if you want to see them."

One look into the dark blue of his eyes, and she just shook her head. "I believe you," she said. "But I thought you didn't have much money. Of course, he probably paid you to take it off his hands---hey!"

She grinned and twisted away when he pinched her for her insolent remark. "Made him a deal he couldn't refuse," Spike said. "But yeah, it means I'm just about tapped out in the way of funds right now. She's worth it, though. A lick of paint and a decent stereo, and I could probably sell her off for twice what I paid."

Going back around to the passenger side, Buffy tested the handle and found it unlocked. To Spike's credit, the interior was in much better condition. Black leather lined the seats and the dashboard sparkled from a recent clean. Only the smell of fresh paint detracted from it.

"Fancy a ride?" He was suddenly behind her, his arm around her waist as he pulled her gently back against his chest. "Got a full tank of petrol, just in case you might."

She couldn't help but relax in the circle of his arms. "You told me to dress up," she said, plucking at her skirt. "I almost thought you wanted to go out."

"I just want you to have the option." His mouth was buried in the crook of her neck, his lips ghosting over her skin. "Still have enough dosh left to take you out proper, if you want."

She sighed. "I can't," Buffy said. "I'm supposed to head over to Giles' to help with the interrogation later on. And Willow's got her first meeting with the coven witch tonight. I wanted to be there to support her."

He stiffened as soon as she mentioned Willow's name. "Don't s'pose Red told you anything about who they've hooked her up with," he said carefully.

"No. Why?"

"It looks like we'll be takin' a drive, then." Stepping back, Spike held the door open and nodded for Buffy to get in. "Got something you need to hear 'bout Red's new teach, and as much fun as it might be to see you take it out on the locals, I think you might end up regretting that later."

*************

It had been a long, impossible day for Maggie. Minutes crawled. Her students were even more dim-witted than usual. Someone keyed her car in the staff parking lot. By the time she reported to the Initiative's base at sundown, her temper was not just short, but completely gone, leaving her barking and sniping at any who dared to address her.

And all because of one missing soldier.

She didn't know if Graham was dead or alive. By the time she reached her office, Maggie didn't care. All she wanted was an answer, to know one way or another what exactly had happened.

When Graham had failed to report in at his designated hour, Maggie's stomach had plummeted while the night of Riley's death replayed in her head. This werewolf was costing her good people, and she was getting sick and tired of losing to it. Recon had brought in the dead body of Graham's partner, but the fact that Miller was nowhere to be found was diminished by the knowledge that his tracking device was all too quickly located. Right at the scene of the crash.

Miller was either AWOL, dead, or taken hostage. Maggie didn't like any of the options.

She liked even less that she was being ordered to abandon the werewolf project. According to the memo she'd been sent, "the number of deaths associated with the HST's retrieval greatly increased the risk of exposure, and thus its benefits are outweighed by the need for security." The phone call she'd placed to debate the merits of the memo had been fruitless as well, leaving her half a dozen men down, werewolf-less, and with a potential security leak in the missing Miller.

She hoped for his sake that he was dead. The Initiative would not take too kindly to a breach in their operations.

The only bright spot of her day came with another phone call, this time from the airport. At least one thing was according to plan. And he'd even be able to attend class in the morning for introductions. It was still possible to keep her sights on the Slayer after all.

Now, if she could only get her hands on Graham again.

To be continued in Chapter 23: Blame Me Not...

If she hadn't seen the nearly-full box of donuts in the kitchen, Willow would've thought Xander was on a sugar high, what with all the fidgeting he kept doing. Giles had informed her that Xander now knew about Buffy and Spike and the baby, but still, in her eyes, that didn't justify the constant fidgeting or the way he kept complaining about how they either had to do something about the vigilante guy, or Giles was going to have to get a second bathroom because the lack of privacy in the one he did have was just not good enough.

When she heard Wesley's voice at the doorway, Willow was almost glad that she wasn't going to have to hang around Xander any more. Whatever was agitating him, was starting to make her edgy, too, and the whole purpose for even being at Giles' was to be non-edgy. Lately, Willow being edgy meant things went up in smoke, and it would be very much of the not good if the next thing to make her edgy was her best friend. Not good at all.

Before she could rise from the couch, icy fingers tickled down Willow's spine, her bare arms erupting in gooseflesh. There was nobody behind her---almost everyone was still in the doorway---but the oppressive weight of something made her suddenly fearful of greeting the arrivals, the impulse to take flight stirred to rabid proportions. To where, she had no idea. Just...anywhere but here.

"Are you OK?" Xander was suddenly crouching in front of her, his warm gaze searching her face. "You look like you're going to be sick." A flash of panic made his outstretched hand jerk back, causing Willow to roll her eyes.

"No, Xander," she said, annoyed. "I'm not pregnant, too."

He let out a sigh of relief, and then caught himself, flushing an appropriate red. "Do you need me to get you anything?" he asked, desperate to cover up his jumped-to conclusion.

"No, I just..." Her voice trailed off. Esme had entered the room and now stood off to the side of the sofa, watching the display with barely disguised amusement. Swallowing down the fear that had glued her to her seat, Willow waggled her fingers at the witch in greeting. "Hi."

"You look unwell," Esme said. "Are you sure you're up to starting this tonight?"

The question brought the Watchers into the conversation before she could reply. "Willow?" Giles asked, concern darkening his face.

"I'm fine," she said. She waved everybody away. "Just...nervous."

"To be expected." Glancing around the apartment, Esme shook her head in disapproval. "This won't do," she said. "We'll need privacy. She'll never relax with an audience watching her every move."

"What? You never said---."

"You expected her to meditate while in the middle of a three-ring circus?" Esme shook her head. "You disappoint me, Mr. Giles. I'd thought you more perceptive than that."

"This is your first meeting with her. If you thought you could---."

"It's OK, Giles." Wobbily, Willow stood up, helped by Xander's hand on her elbow. She felt better in a vertical position, but the fact that the feelings of panic grew stronger when Esme came closer weren't lost on her. Something---the magic, it had to be---wasn't thrilled about its old host's presence, but something else told Willow not to voice that out loud. For whatever reason, she couldn't let Esme know about the weakness.

"I suppose you could use my bedroom," Giles said, gesturing toward the loft. "It's not completely contained, but it will afford more privacy than...here."

Esme nodded. "That will do." She turned to Willow with a cold smile. "Shall we begin, then?"

"Okey dokey." Wearing her best brave little toaster face, she trailed after the older woman, ignoring the pounding of her heart. She could do this. This was for her own good.

She just had to be strong.

*************

It was taking every inch of whatever self-control Buffy possessed not to kick Giles' door in. As it was, her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her nails were digging half-moon trenches into her palms, and her heels clicked against the sidewalk as she marched up to his apartment.

Be calm, be calm, she intoned silently. Don't rip any heads off. Giles always complains about blood on the floor and that will definitely leave a mess.

Still, her knock was more violent than she intended, and Buffy winced as one of the carved panels higher up on the door cracked from the force.

Giles opened it almost immediately, but before he could say a word, she was brushing past him, eyes burning as they jumped around the apartment to survey the occupants.

"Where is she?" Buffy demanded through gritted teeth.

"I have no idea who---."

"Don't lie, Giles. Spike told me what was up." She whirled on her heel to confront him, her voice rising. "I can't believe you want that witch to fix Willow!"

"All right, first of all, Willow is not broken. Secondly, I'm certain that whatever Spike told you, you aren't aware of the full extent of the situation at hand."

"Is she here?"

"Yes, but---."

"Then that's all the extent I need to know."

At the couch, Wesley looked panicked, and she caught the nervous glance he shot toward the stairs. It was Xander, though, who blocked her path to the loft, and she paused at the abashed shake of his head.

"I know you're worried about her," he said, "and I know you think that Esme is bad news, but you can't go up there."

It wasn't the fact that he was trying to stop her that made Buffy frown. "You know about Esme?" she asked in confusion. "How?"

"Giles told me. So, yeah, I know what you did last summer." He held up a warning finger. "That doesn't mean you and I aren't having a long talk about why exactly you thought you couldn't tell me, but now's not the time. Now, it's about Willow. And she needs this, Buffy. She went up there of her own free will, even when Giles tried to keep a safety net for her."

"Esme's dangerous."

"So's Willow, or have we forgotten already about the Bonfire of the Vigilantes last night?"

Her hesitation wasn't missed by either of the Watchers.

"Esme is certainly the most qualified to instruct Willow how to manage the magic," Wesley said, coming around to stand at Xander's side. "And should something go awry, Esme is fully aware that she will be shipped back to England without recompense."

"I would never have agreed to this if I thought Esme posed a real threat any longer," Giles added softly. "But the fact remains, she's an elderly woman with no residual powers. Even if it came to a physical altercation, Willow would win."

But Buffy wasn't quite willing to give up. Ever since Spike had given her the news, all she could think about was getting back at the old witch. After all the turmoil she had caused, Buffy thought it was the least Esme deserved.

"I'm not leaving," she announced. "I want my face to be the first she sees when they come back down. I have a few things I'd like to say to her."

The or do to her remained unsaid, and Buffy let Xander guide her to the couch. She hadn't expected to have guilt about him added into her baggage for the night, but at least she was being granted a reprieve from that particular conversation. Why deal with that stress today when she could deal with it tomorrow? It's not like her plate wasn't already full.

"I'm rather surprised Spike didn't come with you," Wesley said casually. "It was quite difficult to keep him from attacking Esme this afternoon when he discovered her presence here."

The vampire's name made Xander stiffen at her side. "Buffy's still her own Slayer," he said defensively. "She doesn't need the bleached wonder glued to her side when he's not wanted."

She shrank slightly away from him. "Actually, he's just outside," she admitted. "He gave me a ride, but he didn't want to get in the way."

"Sounds more like he's running scared."

Buffy jumped up when Xander suddenly rose and started marching to the door. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"I just want to have a word with Spike," he said. He ground to a halt when he reached the threshold, then turned back to grab a stake from the desk. "Just in case," he said in explanation.

"He's not going to hurt you, Xander. He promised." She paused. "And I want the same from you."

"That I won't hurt myself? Sure. Never really been one about the pain," he said with a grin.

"You know what I mean."

His grin faded. She almost felt bad about asking but after what she'd walked into at her dorm, Buffy knew she didn't have a choice.

"Yeah, OK," Xander conceded. Very slowly, he set the stake back down, but his eyes never left hers. "But if you hear any screams, you'll know we've moved beyond words into outright terror and come running, right?"

"Of course." She gave him her bravest smile, hoping for one in return. All she got was a curt nod before he disappeared outside.

*************

Dropping the cigarette butt to the gutter, Spike crushed the dying tip beneath the toe of his boot, already reaching into his pocket for another. Knowing who Buffy was confronting made him twitchy, and short of getting into the brawl himself, this was the best way for him to stay calm enough to let her do what she wanted.

He was taking a deep drag, his nose filled with the rich scent of tobacco, when the voice came from the direction of the complex.

"I'm starting to think the bleach is a good thing. It makes you glow in the dark. Anything that gives me the time to run away has to be a plus, right?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Harris?" he asked. "Fancy havin' another go at staking me?"

"Nah, Buffy already made me surrender my weapon. Besides, I think she might get a little pissy if I killed her baby's father."

He said it so casually that it was impossible not to know he meant to took Spike by surprise with the knowledge. Good thing Spike had a century of knowing when to expect the unexpected.

"Told you, did she?" he said instead.

"Nope. Giles did."

Spike's brow lifted. Well. He hadn't seen that one coming.

"He told me a lot of things," Xander continued, stepping closer to where Spike leaned up against the hood of the car. "Like what really went down this summer, and why it is Buffy all of a sudden thinks you're the second coming, and...is that a Thunderbird?"

Pride swelled inside Spike's chest. "It's my bird," he announced.

"Fifty-nine?"

"Sixty, actually."

Xander nodded as he began to circle the car. "She needs a paint job. How's the engine?"

"Solid." Spike cocked his head, watching the inspection in bemusement. "Didn't take you as the sort to be interested in this sort of thing."

"Never used to be. But Buffy and Willow weren't the only ones around here who had a summer of adventure." He turned a speculative eye back to Spike. "So who'd you have to kill to get this? More importantly, does Buffy know that you're killing just for cars these days?"

He straightened, bristling at the accusation. "She's mine, all square. And as for Buffy---."

"Save it," he said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not the one wearing Spike-colored glasses. I know you couldn't have afforded this. It's a classic."

"Well, I got myself a deal. Bloke let her go for a song."

"Really? What's wrong with her?"

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, both determined. Finally, Spike let out a sigh, tossing aside his cigarette.

"You have to promise not to tell Buffy," he said, pulling the keys from his duster pocket and going around to the back of the car.

A grin split Xander's features. "This sounds promisingly like blackmail material," he gloated as he moved to join Spike. "I think I like it."

"Got your word?"

"Sure, just tell me---." He jumped away from the car when the trunk opened before him, his hand clamping over his nose. "God, what died in there?"

"More like what didn't," Spike said, looking ruefully down at the expanse. "Used to be owned by some shark who used it to move around the bodies of the gits who didn't pay up when their time came 'round."

"Shut it, shut it." Waiting until the trunk was closed again, Xander began gulping at the clean air. "How in hell did Buffy not notice that?"

"There's a dampening spell around it. The bloke I bought it from put it on, hoping to find some idiot willing to buy it without popping the boot."

"And he got you. Figures."

Spike leaned against the car and stuffed his hands deep into his duster pockets. "Just part of the work I've got to do on her," he said defiantly. "I can get rid of it before Buffy's ever the wiser."

Xander wrinkled his nose at the obvious possession in the vampire's voice. "Which brings us back to why I'm out here in the first place," he said.

"What? You didn't come 'cause you missed my sparkling personality?" He clicked his tongue in mock reproof. "I am shocked and dismayed, I tell you."

Stepping forward, Xander poked a finger into Spike's chest. "I know what you're doing, so don't think you're getting away with this. It's not going to happen."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Buffy loving you. OK, so maybe she did fall for William, but newsflash, Spike. You're not him. You don't have a soul. It doesn't matter who the father of that baby is, you are never going to be the guy who gave it to her and you are never going to be a real part of its life, understand?"

Spike moved before Xander could react, reversing their positions so that he could pin the young man to the car. "I'm only goin' to say this once," he hissed. He loosened his grip on Xander's wrist when he felt one of the bones start to give; the last thing he needed was to give the prat ammo to use against him. "That baby is mine, just as much as it's Buffy's. She knows that, and you know what? She's fine with it. Even more, she knows that I'm goin' to stick by her and the little one until the day I dust, so if you've got a problem with it, I suggest you either learn to keep that gob of yours shut or start accepting that Buffy's a grown woman who knows what she wants."

"You can't seriously think that's you," Xander spat.

"No reason it can't be."

"Oh, yes, there is. It's called a soul. She couldn't be with Angel without one, so do you really think you can do better than that?"

Shoving Xander quickly against the car before letting him go, Spike took a step away, shoving his fists deep into his pockets to keep from using them on the boy's face. "You have no bloody idea what you're talking about," he said, his voice tight. "You weren't there, Harris. What happened between me and Buffy---."

"William and Buffy. Big difference."

"Not really, you nit. You're just too soddin' stupid to realize it. But my point is that not one of the lot of you has the right to start judging Buffy. She's saved your pathetic lives how many times now? And you repay her by making her miserable. That's bloody terrific."

"We don't make her miserable. We're her friends. We just don't want her to make another huge mistake."

Spike shook his head. "Buffy's a helluva lot smarter than any of you give her credit for," he said. "All you see is the Slayer---."

"Like that's not all you see, Spike. Another kill for the record books."

"Not so. Not any more."

"Why? Because she's pregnant?"

"No. Because I love her."

Spike was expecting a flip rejoinder, some glib comment about how he wasn't capable of any kind of real emotion, but for a second, Xander looked unsure. Brown eyes squinted in confusion, scanning the vampire as if seeing him for the first time. It was actually more unsettling than dealing with Harris on a normal basis.

"Last time I heard, you loved Drusilla," Xander commented.

"Things change, mate."

"Not you."

"Really? So, that wasn't me who saved your friends' skins the past couple nights?" Spike shook his head. "Bloody pathetic. You bang on about helping Buffy, but you're too daft to see what's right under your nose."

"What's under my nose is a vampire who doesn't know when to get out while the going's still good." Xander's voice was tight, though not quite as vehement as before. "Why do I think buying the Thunderbird wasn't so that you'd have to walk it when you skip town?"

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Need wheels to get around, don't I?" he said warily. "And Buffy doesn't drive. She's goin' to start having appointments with the doc soon enough. Bein' her friend..." he practically sneered the word, "...I'd've thought you'd be all for anything that makes life a bit easier for her."

"I am. I do." He took a deep breath, and his gaze fell, the next said so quickly that Spike almost missed it. "That's why I'm not going to be the one rocking the boat for her."

"Well, that's right big of you."

"That doesn't mean I won't be watching you, though. And I don't care how many promises I make to Buffy, if I find out that you've hurt her in any way---."

"Save it. You'll have to stand in line." Bored with the conversation, Spike glanced up at the apartment complex. "I'm guessing by the lack of bloodcurdling screams that ol' Rupert's talked Buffy down. Shame, that."

"She was talked down before I came out," Xander said. "Stop changing the---."

"So what's she still doin' in there?"

"Waiting for Willow and Esme to get done. She said she wanted to talk to the old lady. Look, Spike---."

He tilted his head. "Why exactly are you still blathering, Harris?" he commented. "Got the picture already. I'm an evil, soulless creature, unworthy of even bein' in the Slayer's presence, and if I hurt her, you'll stake my sorry ass. That about sum it up?"

Xander looked nonplussed. "Well, yeah."

"Fine. Now, sod off. I'm in the middle of a right pleasant nicotine fix, and you're spoiling the effect."

He had another cigarette lit and was standing in front of the new grille he'd spent most of his dosh on when he realized Xander hadn't actually gone back up to the apartment. Instead, the young man was loitering on the walk, his gaze jumping from Spike to various parts of the car.

"What?" Spike asked, annoyed.

Xander shrugged. "Just wondering what kind of work you're going to be doing on her," he said.

"Why? You fancy offering a hand?"

"I might even offer two if you'd let me take it for a ride once or twice."

"Ha. Not bloody likely. Not with my baby."

"I just thought you might want some help from someone who's actually worked on T-birds before."

That made Spike look up. "You're kidding me."

"Nope. Well, it was only one T-bird, and I probably did more ogling than actual working because Marco was kind of anal about who touched his car." He grinned. "Kind of like you, it looks like."

"Who the hell is Marco?"

"Just some guy I worked with this summer at the str---." He stopped, his face suddenly turning red. "Long story and I'm not going to share it. My point is, I can help, if you want."

From threatening his unlife to offering a hand in fixing up his car. The boy had more personalities than brains, it looked like.

Spike was about to demand what the fuck was going on, when a new idea struck him.

Buffy would love this idea. She wanted everyone to get along, wanted everyone to play nice. With so much else already in flux, she was counting on the people she trusted most around her to help make that as easy as possible. It was likely Xander was counting on Spike telling him to go to hell, and then turning around to gloat to Buffy that he'd at least tried, and come out looking like the better man.

Couldn't have that.

"Think we can work something out," Spike said. He grinned when he saw the surprise in the other man's face. Oh, yeah. Buffy was definitely going to love this.

Playing nice was just the first step in getting her to finally admit out loud that she loved him, too.

*************

The first step had been surprisingly simple. Young Willow was so eager for any kind of direction, she'd accepted Esme's instructions without argument, tracing the circle that surrounded them and even uttering the small protection spell so that they couldn't be interrupted now. She'd had no clue the extent they were now cut off from the others; otherwise, she would never have slipped into the meditation as easily as she had. Now, Willow sat opposite Esme in the circle, her breathing slow and even, eyes closed.

Oblivious.

Considering her more insidious fantasies over the past two months, what Esme had planned was reasonably harmless. She just wanted to get a drop of Willow's blood to analyze. If she could determine how it was the seer had done the transfer---a detail even Quentin had been rabid about protecting---perhaps she could discover the way to undo it. It shouldn't be that difficult to find someone on the Hellmouth willing to make a trade to aid her in her quest.

Carefully, Esme pulled her trousers leg up to expose the safety pin she'd attached to her stocking. She hadn't known how paranoid the Watchers would be, whether they'd go so far as to search her for dangerous weapons before allowing her to work with Willow. Since her requirements were so few, the safety pin had seemed like the most innocuous tool she could use; it was the primary reason she had insisted upon such privacy.

Without moving any more than necessary, Esme reached across the circle to grasp Willow's hand lightly in hers. The girl was deep within the meditation, easily led, but it was always wise to be cautious. Her skin was pale, peppered with the occasional freckle, and it amazed Esme that such a vessel was coping as well as it was with the powers within its frame. The strength of youth, she decided as turned Willow's palm upward.

She jabbed the point of the pin into the fleshy part beneath the thumb, and immediately, a drop of crimson swelled to the surface. A jolt of electricity jumped between them, and Esme gasped, just as Willow's eyes shot open.

"Ow!" she cried out, yanking her hand away.

But Esme was unheeding of the alarm in the girl's voice. Her dark gaze was fixated on her gnarled hand, watching her fingertips glow from an inner power, the startled seeping of magic---cool, glorious, intoxicating magic---already beginning to permeate deeper.

"What did you do?" Willow demanded. Her voice had risen, but when Esme didn't respond, the pinpricked hand darted forth and wrapped around the frail wrist.

The pain was excruciating. All Esme could do was scream.

*************

They'd heard Willow cry out, but it was the death rattle of Esme's voice almost immediately following that compelled them to dash up the stairs, Buffy in the lead. The sight that greeted them made them only hesitate for a second before the Slayer took charge. Or tried to.

Within a circle of flickering candles, Willow and Esme sat opposite each other, the younger woman cross-legged, the older awkwardly situated on a pillow. Willow held Esme's hand in hers, but when Buffy rushed forward to try and separate the two, she ended up bouncing off an unseen barrier.

"It's a protection spell," Wesley said before she could ask. He watched the display with rapt attention. "To safeguard them during the meditations."

"Yeah, well, it's keeping me from breaking this up!" She waved a frustrated hand at the pair. "Get rid of it!"

The sound of the front door slamming echoed from downstairs, and Spike and Xander burst into the loft, skidding to a halt when they saw everyone else just watching helplessly.

"What's going on?" Xander asked, breathless.

"She cut me."

All heads whipped around to stare at Willow, who still focused on the elderly witch opposite her. Buffy took a tentative step closer.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

Slowly, Willow let Esme go, and lifted her hand to see the small droplets of blood smeared on her palm. There was a moment of dead silence, and then she pursed her lips, blowing a directed stream of air onto the injured area.

Buffy's eyes widened as the blood disappeared, leaving behind a stretch of unbroken skin, as if the wound had never happened. The instant the blood was gone, Esme fell backward, knocking over several of the candles and collapsing half out of the circle.

Everyone surged forward. The Watchers gathered an unconscious Esme and stretched her out on the bed, while Buffy and Xander hovered around a suddenly shaky Willow.

"I'm OK, I'm OK," she kept saying, but let her friends guide her from the room anyway. Spike trailed after them, staying in the background as they led her to the couch.

Buffy took Willow's hand in hers, looking over the smooth skin before letting it go. "I guess you can handle yourself around her after all," she commented.

"I guess," Willow echoed faintly.

"Neat little trick you've got there," Spike said. "Could prove handy in a fight, I'd reckon."

She shook her head. "I'm...I don't know how I did it. I was...meditating, and so relaxed. More relaxed than I've been since all this started, I think. And then..." Glancing down at her palm, she brushed over the pad with a trembling finger. "...she cut me."

"Pricked you, actually," Giles interrupted from the stairs. He held up a safety pin as he approached. "Hardly lethal, but enough to draw blood."

"Why?"

"We won't know until she wakes up. She seems to be unconscious from whatever it was you did to her."

Wildly, Willow's eyes jumped to the faces of the people surrounding her. "I didn't do anything," she said. "I just..."

Buffy slipped her arm around her friend's shoulder. "It's OK," she soothed. "Whatever it was, it's going to be OK."

"And hey, no flashfires this time," Xander joked. "That's a step in the right direction, isn't it?"

Nobody laughed. "I think...I think I need to go home," Willow said.

Buffy glanced up at Spike, who nodded almost immediately. "We'll take you," she said. She helped Willow stand, and together, they followed Spike's long stride to the door.

"I want you to call me in the morning," Giles said. "When you're up to discussing what exactly happened."

Giving him the assurance they would, the girls slipped into the darkness. Nobody knew quite what to say, and thus stayed silent all the way to the car. It wasn't until the car had pulled away from the curb that Buffy even remembered the other reason she'd wanted to see Giles that night, but now, in light of what was going on with Willow, vigilante groups clearing the demon population almost seemed insignificant.

*************

He heard the scream, muffled through the closed bathroom door. Though he didn't think they'd honestly forgotten about him, Graham instinctively realized that he was no longer the top priority for whoever it was that had captured him, especially when the minutes dragged by and nobody poked their nose in to try and start up with the questions again. He wasn't so sure whether that was a good thing or not, though considering the low-tech aspect of the kidnapping, he was inclined to think it didn't matter one way or another. These were just a bunch of amateurs, with problems of their own to sort out. Once they got tired of his non-answers, they would let him go.

The one thing that did worry him was what would happen once he returned to the Initiative. If they suspected he'd breached security, he knew there would be no hesitation about punishment. He'd probably be shipped off on some dangerous mission where everyone was expected to die, and while he certainly believed in the good of what the Initiative was doing, he didn't particularly have any sort of death wish he wanted to see fulfilled.

Closing his eyes, Graham listened to the muted voices from the outer rooms, wondering just how many people were out there now. The girl he'd heard shouting earlier was either no longer speaking or gone; his money was on gone because she'd been fairly vocal up to that point. As for the others, it was hard to tell, but one by one, they drifted away, leaving the apartment in silence.

The opening of the door startled him, and the chains scraped against the tub as Graham looked up to see the British guy hovering in the entrance.

"I suspect you're probably hungry," he said. His voice was weary, sparking even more curiosity in Graham's thoughts about what had actually transpired. "Would you like some soup?"

After only a moment's hesitation, Graham nodded, watching as the man left again. He didn't have any fear that it was going to be poisoned, not with this crowd, and he needed to keep his strength up. He would find a way to escape; he would just have to bide his time for the perfect opportunity.

Which wouldn't be tonight, unfortunately.

To be continued in Chapter 24: The Voice of Souls...

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