A Symphony of Echoes

A Symphony of Echoes
by Eurydice

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare's "Sonnet LXIX."
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Xander and Spike have come to an uneasy truce, and Esme has tried to get some of Willow's blood to analyze, only to be stopped by Willow herself...

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

Chapter 24: The Voice of Souls

Spike watched Red in his rearview mirror as surreptitiously as he could, wary of any more of her flambé outbursts. He didn't really expect something to happen, but considering how unpredictable her magic had been and the fact that she was sitting in the back seat of his new car, he thought it best to be on the lookout, just in case. Good thing he didn't have a reflection for her to cotton on to.

Didn't stop Buffy from noticing, however.

He scowled when a particularly vicious jab in his thigh came from the passenger seat. "Quit it," Buffy mouthed when he glanced in her direction.

"It's OK," Willow said from the back seat. The creak of leather preceded her elfin chin appearing on the back of the seat between them. "I get that I'm making Spike nervous. I would be, too, if I was extra-flammable and had a burning match in my new old car."

"Not nervous," Spike protested.

"And you're not burning," Buffy said.

"Not now," Willow pouted, and then bitterly added, "But who knows? Piss me off and you, too, could have the sunburn from hell."

"Way I see it," Spike said, doing his best to appear nonchalant and not glance in the mirror again, "if someone's daft enough to brass off a powerful witch, they deserve whatever it is you dish out to them."

"But that's just it." She was leaning further across the seat, her rising mood bringing twin spots of color to her cheeks. "I'm not a powerful witch. I'm a loose cannon, and things keep going kerplooie on me whether I want them to or not."

"So we just have to get Wesley and Giles to tighten you up," Buffy said with false perkiness. It took a moment of both Spike and Willow staring at her in disbelief for her eyes to widen. "And I so didn't mean that to sound as kinky as it did."

"I need a drink," Willow muttered.

Reaching across Buffy's lap, Spike flipped open the glovebox and extracted his flask. "Only got a drop," he said, holding it up for Willow to take. "But you're welcome to it."

Her nose wrinkled. "I was thinking more Slurpee-flavored, but thanks anyway."

"Stop at the 7-Eleven," Buffy instructed. "I'll run in and get something."

They rode in silence for the few blocks to the store, and Spike left the motor idling as Buffy hopped out to get the drinks. He was about to turn on the radio and start looking for some decent music, when Willow slid forward again to peek over his shoulder.

"Is Buffy OK?" she asked.

He twisted in his seat so he could look at her without craning his neck. "What're you fussing about her for?"

She glanced quickly through the windshield to make sure there was no sign of the Slayer. "She was out of it before she got your note today," Willow explained. "I think it's just pregnancy stuff, but...I worry. She's my best friend, and she's not really talking to me right now."

He heard what she wasn't willing to say out loud. "It's got nothin' to do with you," Spike assured, softening his voice to convey his sincerity. "Buffy's just...preoccupied with everything, and yeah, she's worried about you and the mojo, but her closing herself off is just classic Summers conditioning. You know that."

"I know. Doesn't mean I like it."

"Just give her a couple days. Between the baby and this vigilante business, she's got her head pretty full. Not to mention what hearin' the old witch was in town did to her."

"Plus, you." It came out without thought, and Willow colored when he cocked an eyebrow in question. "You know what I mean," she stammered. "All those love letters, and then showing up weeks later than when you said you would? And she can't even try to justify it like she did with Angel. Not without the soul, though to be honest, I was kind of surprised she brought the whole issue up in the first place."

It was the second time someone had brought up the issue of his lack of soul, but where Spike had been quick to scoff at Harris' casual bandying about of the deficiency, hearing that Buffy had voiced something similar---and not to him---made him run cold.

The shock must have shown in his face, because Willow's eyes turned into saucers, and she jumped to try and correct what she'd volunteered.

"It was just intellectual speculation," she said quickly. "Of the, 'did I think you'd be different' variety." She made a chopping motion with her hand. "But I put a stop to that kind of thinking right then and there. I told Buffy it wouldn't do what she wanted, even if I could somehow figure out how to put your soul back---."

"She asked you to do that?"

He knew he sounded like a wounded puppy, but it had never occurred to Spike that Buffy would try to make him over into Angel, and he couldn't stop the pain from leaking through into his voice.

"No! That's what I'm saying. It was just speculation. Definitely. And she hasn't mentioned it since, so she's probably even forgotten that she ever brought it up which means you should forget I ever said anything about it, too. Please?"

His hand passed wearily over his face. "Forget it. Right. 'Cause that's not a bloody elephant you've just set loose."

Willow looked stricken, knuckles white from where she gripped the seat, and her eyes darted from side to side as she searched for her next words. "I know I haven't had the chance to really talk to you about everything that happened this summer," she began again, "but I told Buffy this, and now I'm going to tell you. I think you being around is a good thing for her." He looked up at that, searching her open features for any sign of duplicity. "I mean it, Spike. I know how much you love her, and this summer, when Buffy was dreaming of Will---of you, that was the happiest I've seen her in a long time. Sure, things kind of went wonky after that business with Esme and April, but I think you just need to give Buffy time. She'll come around. As long as you don't do anything stupid."

He snorted at that last, and turned away, staring through the windshield to watch his Slayer emerge from the shop. Backlit from the bright fluorescents inside, she almost seemed to pulse with life as she sipped at one of the two drinks she carried, and shot him a quick smile when their eyes met. It made him ache. Was he really what she wanted? Was he just deluding himself into believing that he could actually have a real place in her and the baby's lives?

She was still smiling when she slid back into the car, passing one of the drinks over the seat to Willow. "I got you blue flavor," Buffy said brightly. She nestled her own drink in between her legs and pulled out a small plastic bag from her purse. "And since they don't exactly have blood on tap here," she said to Spike, "I got this for you instead."

He took the bag with a frown, but his brows shot upward as soon as he pulled out the tiny candy dispenser.

"It's a vampire Pez," Buffy explained. She reached and pointed to the top. "And see? He's even got little fangs. Can't give you a blood fix, but no reason I can't cater to that sweet, non-bitey tooth of yours."

"Thanks," Spike said slowly. He wasn't entirely certain what to make of the gift, especially when Willow started babbling excitedly in his ear.

"Aren't these adorable?" she said. "Oz and I have a whole collection. They're so cute, I can't stop buying them for him. But, you know, werewolves and witches, and that kind of thing."

Buffy flushed when she caught Spike's amused glance. "I never said it was an original idea," she said.

Grabbing her hand before she could pull away, he lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the palm. "All that matters is that you thought of me," he said with more conviction than he felt. He was rewarded with the quickening of her heart, the slight rise in her body temperature, and set aside the doubt that Red's words had instilled him.

For the time being, at least.

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

Baltozar was waiting for Havi when she finally returned to their apartment, pacing the floor in the tiny living room like a caged animal. He turned on her the moment the front door opened, striding forward to yank her inside and then pinning her violently to the wall.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he growled.

His forearm was pressed against her windpipe, and, frantically, her hands came up to claw at the corded muscles. "Let me go," she hissed. She was strong, but he was stronger, and when his hold only tightened, Havi did the only thing she could under the circumstances.

Her knee jerked up, finding its target with painful accuracy. Immediately, Baltozar let her go, staggering back as he grabbed his crotch, gasping just as desperately as she was.

"What the hell's got into you?" Havi shouted. She put the couch between them, unwilling to have to hurt him again but not keen to be at his mercy, either. "I told you I would be out late."

"Late's one thing," he snarled. "All the time's another. I want you to tell me what the fuck's going on. What's so goddamn hush hush about you being on the Hellmouth?"

When he began circling the furniture separating them, she countered his approach, all the while keeping her eyes trained for another attack. "You know what I am," she said carefully.

"I know what you were. The seer's dead, Havi. You're not a part of that life any more."

"Rose's death changes nothing." Somewhere, in the back of her head, she'd always known this confrontation would come. That Baltozar would push the envelope about her purpose in Sunnydale. And while Havi had her own suspicions about the extent of his involvement with the forces Rose had warned her about, she'd always hoped that his love for her would make him turn his back on it. There was a part of him that was good, deep inside, but often, she felt that she was the only one who could see it.

"Are you crazy? It changes everything. You're a Protector with nothing to protect. If that doesn't---."

She must've betrayed something in her face, or else Baltozar made the connection more quickly than she would've ever imagined. He cut himself off, eyes narrowing in sly scrutiny, and stopped his prowling, regarding her in a growing silence that sent shivers across her skin.

"Who is it?" he asked suddenly.

"Who's what?" she shot back.

She stood frozen as he took a step closer to her. The outward menace was gone, but in its place remained an eerie stillness that was almost more frightening.

"I know you're up to something," he said, his voice like rough silk. "I saw the scratches. And you know, I couldn't help but wonder what you'd done to get them. In the middle of the night? Those don't come from a normal workout."

Her heart was hammering inside her chest when he advanced even more. Only Baltozar could mesmerize her like this, and while the danger of it was often exhilarating, there were other times when it made her wish she didn't love him quite as much as she did.

"I always knew you were too eager to come with me," he continued. He was within arms' reach now, and stretched a hand to cup around the back of her neck, drawing her to him. "You wouldn't just follow me because I asked you to. You came to the Hellmouth because you had to."

"I came because you asked me to," she managed to say. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already."

His thumb was making small circles in the hollow below her ear, but it didn't feel tender. It felt dangerous. Like he was preparing to squeeze. Havi stiffened.

"Why do you lie to me?" Baltozar murmured. "You know I love you, you know I'd do anything for you. Why can't you tell me this one thing?"

"Because..." This close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath, suspected just what had been the impetus for his mood change. She whimpered when his mouth pressed into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and then summoned all her strength to flatten her palms against his chest and push.

Baltozar stumbled backward, taken by surprise at her show of power, but when he moved toward her again, Havi was swift to reposition the couch between them.

"If you can't trust me," she said, "how do you expect me to trust you?"

"Because I love you."

"Is that enough?"

He cocked his head. "It was before tonight."

"Remarkable how that coincides with you attacking me so tonight, then, isn't it?"

"I didn't---."

"Why are you doing this?" Havi demanded. His face was growing increasingly mottled, the efforts to contain his temper beginning to falter. "I was out, and now I'm home. Isn't that enough?"

"No," Baltozar said through clenched teeth.

She skittered away to avoid his sudden lunge, ending right next to the still-open front door. "And here I thought helping you kill Rose would've proved my loyalty," she whispered. "You know how hard that was for me. Thank you for making it meaningless."

With that, she whirled and dashed out the door, disappearing into the darkness.

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

It took Buffy a few minutes of riding in stiff silence to realize something must've happened while she was in the store. Willow had gone from gabble girl to Marcel Marceau, curling into the corner of the backseat and staring out the window. Spike, on the other hand, couldn't stop fidgeting while he was driving, changing the radio station every other second, playing with his rearview mirror, even pulling out the little Pez dispenser that had caught her eye and downing all its candy in one single gulp, like an addict popping his pills.

She wasn't going to ask about it, though. Too much other stuff had gone on that night for her to be adding to the chaos inside her head; she wasn't about to voluntarily add to it if she didn't have to.

When they pulled up in front of the dorm, Willow surprised Buffy with a thin hand on her shoulder.

"If it's not a big deal," Willow said, her eyes darting from Buffy to Spike, and then back to Buffy again, "I'd kind of like a little bit of time alone. Just to...decompress."

She didn't like the idea of leaving Willow alone. "Are you sure?"

Willow nodded. "It'll give you some alone time with Spike," she said with a smile. Another glance, even more noticeable this time, and Buffy was convinced that something big really had been said between the two. "And...maybe you could go check on Oz? Not that I think anything will happen tonight, but...better to be safe than sorry."

As much as she hated the idea of abandoning her best friend, Buffy had to agree on the goodness of ensuring Oz's wellbeing, and gave Willow a quick hug before watching her head up the dorm walk. "You heard the girl," she said when she slid back into the car. "Upward and Ozward."

She waited until he'd pulled back onto the main street. "So," Buffy said brightly, half-turning to face Spike, "feel like playing twenty questions? I'll go first. What secret are you and Willow not sharing?"

He frowned as he glanced over at her. "Me and Red? You're kidding, right? There's no secret, luv. Girl's just a bit rattled. Not that I can blame her."

"OK, let's try this again. How about...what were you and Willow talking about when I was getting the Slurpees?"

This time, she noticed the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel before he answered, and knew she'd struck a nerve. "Red's just worried about you, is all," Spike said. "She wanted to know if I thought you were all right."

The words came easily to him, flowing with either the ease of truth or the practice of a century of lying. Buffy's gut told her that it was more of the former. "So, why does she want us to have some alone time?" she pressed.

"Maybe because it's only a matter of time before the little one's goin' to make that a precious commodity."

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. And it made sense for Willow to. For whatever reason, Willow had become head cheerleader of the Support Spike squad, and worry about Buffy's pregnancy was a prime example of how she would want to ignore her own issues.

They were both quiet for a couple blocks as they lapsed into their own thoughts. As they approached the corner to turn left toward Oz's hideaway, Spike suddenly swerved the steering wheel in the opposite direction, pulling them into the empty parking lot of the public library and killing the engine.

"What're you doing?" Buffy asked with a tiny frown.

He didn't answer, just opened his door and got out of the car. After a moment of watching him pace through the window, Buffy got out, too.

"What's your problem?" she demanded, coming around the front of the car. She took a defensive stance by his door, barring his way with arms folded over her chest. "You've been acting all weird since we left 7-Eleven."

Whirling with a sweep of black leather, Spike marched back to face her, opening his mouth as if to speak. He froze like that for a second, and then his jaw snapped shut again with an audible click, his feet spinning to send him stalking off in the opposite direction.

Now she was starting to get pissed off. With her hands balled into fists, Buffy strode forward and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and look at her again.

"If you've got something on your mind," she said, "then say it. Otherwise, quit with this passive-aggressive shit because it's driving me crazy."

He stared down at her, his skin glowing beneath the street lights, his eyes abnormally blue in spite of the moonlit sky. "Fine," he finally said. "You got your question. I want mine."

"Fine. What is it?"

His jaw twitched. "Would you really rather I had my soul back? Is that what it's going to take to get a real place in your life?"

It wasn't what she'd been expecting to hear, and the fact that he sounded more like William in that moment---both in choice of words and in intonation---only made it strike all that much deeper into Buffy's chest.

"Why would you ask that?" she said faintly, but Spike was already shaking his head before she'd finished the question.

"Don't try and deny that you haven't thought of it," he warned. "Red told me all about your little conversation."

"Willow has a big mouth," Buffy muttered.

It was his turn to grab her, to stop her from turning away. "Just tell me," he said, and his voice was low from the entreaty he was trying so desperately to contain. "You're the only one who ever thought I was just fine the way I am, Buffy. You're the only one who's ever believed that..." He stopped, choking on the next words, and all the anger that had been wound tightly inside of her dissipated at the bleak look she caught in his eyes before he turned his head.

"It's not the way you think," she said, taking a step closer.

"No point in sugarcoating it, Buffy. Just thought...after everything..." He glanced back at her through his lashes, the tilt of his head curiously diffident. "Is it true, then? You want me all souled up so you can have your Angel redux?"

"No!" Hearing Angel's name made her snap. "Why would you think such a thing? When have I ever compared you to Angel?"

"You tell me. You're the one who brought up this whole soul business."

"I was only asking Willow what she thought about it because we'd just left Giles' and telling everybody about the baby, and I was trying to figure out a way for everyone to get along. Did Willow tell you that? Of course not," she said, answering her own question. "Because you probably didn't give her the chance to. You got all tied up in your Angel jealousy, when, really, there's nothing for you to be jealous of. If anything..." She poked him in the chest to emphasize her words. "...he should be jealous of you."

Spike snorted, shaking his head. "I'd love to hear you try and justify that one, pet," he said. "Angel's too puffed up with his delusions of self-importance to ever give a toss about me, one way or another."

"Oh, yeah?" Buffy lifted her chin defiantly. "So, you don't think he's going to turn green when he finds out that I'm pregnant and he's not the father? Better yet, that I'm pregnant with your baby? Oh, wait, how about finding out I'm pregnant, you're the father, and that I love you in ways that make what he and I had look like puppy love? We're talking the Jolly Green Giant of Jealousy, Spike. So trying to turn this soul thing around on me? So not going to work."

She waited for the snide retort, for the blatant ignoring of her point, but it never came. Instead, a look of wonder softened his face, and his lips moved silently for a moment before vocalizing his words.

"You said it," Spike murmured. "I didn't think you'd...do you mean it?"

It took racking her brains over what she'd just uttered to realize what he was referring to. For a split second, Buffy panicked, furious with herself for giving voice to the feelings that had been warring inside her over the past few days, the past few weeks. But when Spike's delight started to fade as he became aware of her runaway adrenaline, he lifted a tentative hand to cup her cheek, and her terror faded away.

"Yes," she said softly. It was just easier to admit, she decided. She'd been skirting saying anything resembling the words since she'd seen him at the Factory, though she'd said almost everything but. They both deserved to have it out in the open at last. "I love you. I've loved you since I was lucky enough to find you in those first dreams."

He stiffened slightly, his hand stilling. "You met William in those dreams," Spike said carefully.

"And I told you last night, I was wrong to try separating the two of you. I know he's still inside you. Everything I love about William is standing in front of me right now."

"But...the soul?"

She turned her head into his hand, closing her eyes to succumb to the sensation of his skin. "I was feeling overwhelmed," she admitted. "Mom and Giles were freaking out about the baby, and you, and I was reaching for straws, trying to figure out a way to get them onboard with the idea of us." Buffy looked up then, meeting the brilliant blue of his gaze. "But I'd already decided that it was a no go when I saw you that afternoon," she went on. "I'm not going to pretend to understand why Angel was so different without his soul, but I just can't believe that you getting yours back is going to make any real change to the William that I know. You wrote me all those letters without the benefit of a soul, all that poetry, all those beautiful words. You love me as much now as you did in London. And I can see how hard you're trying to fit in with my life here. What difference is getting the soul going to make?"

Suddenly, she was crushed to his chest, his arms like iron around her, his lips seeking hers in a fervent kiss. They were both trembling by the time their mouths parted, and Spike leaned his forehead against hers, his lashes tickling her brow.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know what I promised, and I know you never promised anything in return, but I started dreaming, right? There's so much that's good between us, and with it all...when Red said how you'd asked about the soul, it just brought it all crashing down."

"We've both got a lot of stuff to deal with," Buffy replied, just as quietly. "But what's important is that we're all in this together. This is what being in my life for real is like, Spike. It means relying on each other, and trusting each other. That's how we get from day to day. That's how we always end up on top."

His lips pressed to her skin for a fleeting moment before he straightened. "Well, as long as you promise that I get to be on top at least part of the time, I think I can work with that," he said, with a suggestive smirk.

Buffy smiled. "You know, the sexual innuendo thing has a completely different effect coming from you than it did when you were human."

"Different, as in more shagging?"

Pushing his hands playfully away, she turned back to the car. "If you want to be the one to explain to Willow why we didn't get around to checking on Oz, then sure."

Scowling, Spike shook his head as he opened his door. "Dirty pool, pet. You know he's the one bloke who's been decent to me here."

The grin she shot him was brilliant. "I know."

He grabbed her as soon as she slid into her seat, pressing his mouth to hers in a quick and hungry kiss. "You could always say it again to make up for me having to wait for you," he said.

"I love you, Spike," Buffy murmured. She pulled away to meet his eyes. "Can I call you William sometimes?" she asked quietly. "Sometimes, it just feels right, but...I didn't know how wiggy you'd think it was."

"Thing is..." A strong hand pushed back her hair, his head tilting to drink in her moonlit visage. "With you, I can be him. I can let the git out without bein' afraid of what you're going to say."

"Does that mean I can?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "'Course. Just not in front of Harris. I have a rough enough time with that boy's mouth as it is."

They each settled back into their seats as Spike turned the ignition. "So, this thing with Xander's mouth you have," she teased. "Is this something for me to be jealous about?"

"Watch it, luv."

Her laughter floated through the open window.

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

She feigned unconsciousness until Wesley had left her alone in her hotel room. Only then did Esme open her eyes, staring up at the black void above her head.

The bloodletting hadn't gone as she'd anticipated. When young Willow had grabbed her hand, the blood making contact with Esme's aged skin had burned with the force of a thousand suns, ending just as abruptly as it had started. There had been a long moment when Esme was convinced she was finally going to die, but when the pain vanished, and she'd woken to the hushed voices of the Watchers discussing what had occurred, all fear had fled.

There was no need to conduct an analysis of Willow's blood. Esme knew now how she could set about getting back her magic. The pinprick and the Watchers had told her everything she needed to know.

They had said Willow had healed the tiny injury, and that that had been the impetus for Esme to collapse and break the magical circle that protected them. Rupert and Wesley had then gone on to discuss how Willow had done the same thing during a vampire attack a previous evening, being injured and then using the magic to both fight back and heal the wounds that had been left.

It was the blood.

When Willow's blood flowed, so did the magic, returning to its source.

Returning to Esme.

She had felt it, in those precious seconds, beneath the pain. She had felt it in her hotel room when she'd first arrived in California, when it had woken her from her sleep before dissipating like mist. The magic had been hers again.

To get it permanently, all it would take was Willow's death. Destroy the vessel, and the power would have nowhere to go but back to where it had originally been stolen.

Esme smiled.

She did so adore simplicity. And what could be more simple than a full circle?

To be continued in Chapter 25: The Living Record of Your Memory...

Buffy'd hoped to sneak back into her dorm before anybody else was up. This spending the night at Spike's hotel was starting to make her look skanky. But when she'd tried slipping out of the bed before dawn, Spike's arm had curled around her waist, pulling her back into his naked body and against his rock-hard erection, and the rest was just a matter of nature taking its course.

In fact, nature decided to take a couple laps. Which was why she was only now drumming her fingers on the arm rest of the passenger door, waiting for Spike to pull up to a comfortable enough stop before hopping out and making the run for her room.

"You've got time until your first class," Spike said. One hand twisted the wheel to navigate closer to the curb, while the other reached across the distance between them and curled around her wrist to tug her toward him. "No reason to be so jumpy."

"I'm not jumpy," Buffy protested. "I just don't want to look like a ho. Getting that kind of a rep my first few weeks will stick, no matter what I do, and that's trouble I don't need."

He nuzzled his face in her loose hair, just breathing in her scent. He'd been doing that a lot since she'd let slip how she really felt about him, and while Buffy found it more than a little endearing the way he still seemed so in awe of the revelation, the smelling thing was borderline creepy.

"Could just stay with me," he murmured. A cool hand began stroking along the exposed skin at her waist, sending shivers along Buffy's spine in spite of the heat inside the car. "Forget this dorm nonsense and let me take care of you, good and proper."

"Oh, because that's an excellent way to win over Mom's support." Firmly, Buffy extricated herself from his embrace. "It's too soon, Spike. You know that. Mom'll freak if she finds out I'm bailing on school stuff, and the first person she's going to blame is you. You want this to be even harder than it is?"

Scowling, Spike slumped back in his seat, pulling his cigarettes out from his duster pocket. "Sure," he said, sticking one between his lips. "Throw logic back in my face."

She plucked the cigarette from his mouth and slid back to her side of the car. "And no smoking in front of me any more," she chided. Pushing open the door, she checked for ambient light before letting it swing wide, dropping the cigarette to the ground and smashing it with the toe of her boot. "I actually have lungs that still work."

"Bossy bint," he grumbled, but shoved the pack into his pocket with enough good humor to tell her that he didn't really mind all that much.

Buffy got out of the car, then turned when a soft roar of an engine pulled up behind the Thunderbird. She watched as Oz nodded at her through the windshield, only calling out in greeting when he climbed out of the van.

He didn't say a word as he strolled up to her side, peering inside and giving another nod to Spike. "This what Devon's friend set you up with?" he asked Spike.

"Sounds like a fair trade." He straightened, looking back to Buffy. "Is everything all right with Willow?" he asked. "She's usually around when I wake up."

Her blood chilled. Oz still didn't know about what had happened at Giles'. Crap. Why did she always have to be the bearer of not so great tidings?

But she didn't get any further before he caught on to her reluctance. "What happened?" Oz demanded. "You didn't just come from the hospital, did you?"

In the car, Spike snorted. "Only for the old witch. Red gave her what-for, for tryin' to pull that kind of stunt."

"We're not sure. Esme passed out right after. Giles was going to find out what exactly was going on."

With a curt nod, Oz took a step toward the dorm and then stopped, choosing instead to bend down again and address Spike. "What're you doing today?" he asked.

Oz straightened. "I'm going to check on Willow before heading over and finding out what happened."

"I'll get Willow's notes later. I've got a feeling this is a little more important."

No better way to start the day than with sugary goodness, Xander thought with a smile as he took the bag from the cashier. I'll just eat my donut and then---.

He stopped in mid-turn. A bowed head at a table outside the Espresso pump had caught his attention, and the sight of the unmistakable neck studs had made his body instantly hard.

I'm a sick, sick bastard, Xander groused silently as he stared at Havi's back. It was the only explanation why just the sight of the piercings would arouse him so. Of course, he'd spent the greater part of the previous day fantasizing about her in one way or another, so maybe it was just the fact that he really, really, really needed to get laid that was sending his body into overdrive just from seeing her back. Yeah, that was it. Had to be.

Carefully, he edged away from the counter, taking care not to spill his steaming coffee. Maybe she won't see me. His eyes darted to where his beat-up car was parked on the curb outside, just a few feet away from she sat, and he frowned. Only if I suddenly turn into the Invisible Man.

Of course, he'd somehow managed to get in without even seeing her there, so maybe it was just a matter of keeping his eyes away and being nonchalant. In and out, like getting coffee and donuts was the most natural thing in the world for him.

With his eyes downcast, Xander pushed open the coffee shop door, keeping his attention on his coffee and doing his best to look deep in thought. Even if she did see him, maybe she wouldn't bug him for fear of disrupting some internal concentration. He'd actually taken two whole steps to his car when he heard it.

His two best friends were girls. There was no way on this green earth he could not know what a post-crying jag sniffle sounded like. And Havi was the only one on the outside patio, other than himself, and he knew for a fact that he hadn't been the one to make the noise.

A paper cup of coffee sat on the table in front of her, a shiny film across its surface indicating its age. Today's newspaper was folded open to the classifieds at her side, but Havi was no longer looking at it, staring instead at some spot only she could see on the sidewalk. She still wore the clothes she'd worn the previous day, rumpled slightly as only twenty-fours of continued wear could do, but at her neck, barely visible beneath her shirt's collar, was a sight Xander was all too familiar with.

Bruises. Hand and finger-shaped bruises so large as to only be of the male persuasion.

He was stepping forward before he could tell his feet not to, and the hand with his coffee lowered to set his own cup in front of her.

"It tastes a lot better when it's hot," he said. He flashed his widest smile when she turned dark eyes to stare at him. "Go on. Try mine for comparison."

She didn't move, just continued to look at him, her gaze unwavering, inscrutable. This close, he could see the unmistakable swelling in her face that could only come from crying, but all evidence of it was gone, the whites of her eyes clear, her cheeks free of tear tracks. Only the sniffles remained.

"Xander," he corrected. "The only time anyone calls me Mr. Harris is when they think I'm my dad, or I'm in trouble, and neither of those options has me jumping with joy, let me tell you."

His smile faded in confusion, and he lifted his donut bag to give it a little shake. "Same reason you are, I think."

"No." She looked pointedly at his coffee, and then back to him. "I meant, why are you giving me your drink?"

He shrugged. "Because yours is cold." He waved to the other seat. "Can I sit down?"

Her nod was tentative, her dark brows thickening as they drew together. Ignoring her discomfort, Xander straddled the other chair, ripping open his bag and settling it between them. "Help yourself," he said.

Now he knew something really was wrong. He was sharing his donut. With Havi, of all people. That was the second sign of the apocalypse, wasn't it?

She didn't take any, but the set of her shoulders softened, her pose relaxing slightly in the uncomfortable seat. "I'm not hungry," she said in explanation. "But...thank you."

Now that he was actually talking to her, Xander wasn't so sure of what he was going to say. Mentioning the clothes was out; girls hated having wardrobe issues brought up. And he really didn't want to bring up the bruises if he didn't have to. How would he explain that he'd seen them? "I was staring at your neck and thinking how much I'd like to jump your bones, and gee, did some guy use you as a punching bag or something?"

Her eyes flickered to her side, a shadow darkening her face. "A place to stay," Havi replied.

"I think it must be that time of the month or something," he joked, remembering Giles' comments about Spike and Wesley needing to find someplace to live in Sunnydale as well. "Getting tired of the Holiday Inn party lifestyle?"

"Oh. Friends kicking you out then? I hate it when that happens, though in my case, it wasn't a friend, so much as my dad. But he did let me move back in after the summer. And charged me the rent to prove it."

"No. I'm not..." She paused. She was having trouble meeting his eyes, he realized, but he waited as she reached and pulled a tiny morsel from his donut. "Where I've been staying...is no longer entirely safe."

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly why it wasn't safe. And for some reason, watching her nibble at the crumb she'd taken from his offering, Xander wanted to be part of the solution to help her get that feeling of security back.

"Let's see here," he said, reaching across the table to grab the paper. He scanned the columns, noting the smudges where her fingers must've lingered extra long. "Well, this one's out of the question. Bad neighborhood. Lots of miscreants. Lots of mister-creants, too, for that matter."

He glanced up. Havi watched him, confusion clear on her face. "Helping you find a place."

Chewing at his cheek, Xander considered his words before answering. "You're here to help Willow and Buffy, right?" he finally said.

He dropped the paper to the table with a sigh, leaning forward to address her more directly. "Willow and Buffy are my best friends. That puts you and me on the same side, which, frankly, is more than a little reassuring considering I think you could probably take both Xena and Wonder Woman without even breaking a sweat." He felt a twinge of satisfaction when her lips quirked. Maybe she wasn't so hard after all. "So, since I happen to be a resident expert on everything Sunnydale, it only makes sense that you let me help you find someplace to live that doesn't need anything more than the requisite stake beneath the pillow in order to be safe."

Taking another pinch from the donut, Havi chewed it thoughtfully before giving him a curt nod. "I accept," she announced, and then paused before adding, "Though I'd prefer to think that I would be even more effective against real warriors."

He did a double take. "Was that a joke you just made?" Xander said, amazed. There had to be an apocalypse on the way. Buffy was pregnant by Spike, Willow was setting mysterious vigilante guys on fire, and now Havi was cracking jokes. He glanced up at the sky. Still blue. No hellfire raining down.

Spike ignored Giles' disparaging looks as he propped his boots up on the coffee table. "What's a bloke got to do to get some blood around here?" he complained in a too-loud voice.

"How is Willow?" Giles asked Oz, deliberately turning his back to the blond on the couch.

"Well, that's a bloody surprise," Spike said, dryly. "You're too busy serving the wanker his breakfast on a silver soddin' tray. His mouth's probably too full to do any talkin'."

"Well, you're piddlin' about with this interrogation business. He's not goin' to talk 'til you give him a reason to, Rupert. Pull out the knives, show him the stakes. Do something. Buffy didn't go to the bother of bringing him in to have you flake out on this."

Giles lips thinned, his nostrils flaring, and for a second, Spike thought the Watcher might actually take a swing at him. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I do have a plan. And since you're here, you can help. I could use your particular expertise."

Spike leapt to his feet, rubbing his hands. "That's more like it. Show me the weapons. Let's get this torture rolling." He froze when he spotted the book Giles thrust at him. "What's this?"

"And...what? I'm s'posed to thump him over the head with it until he spills what you want to know?"

Giles sighed, shoving the book into Spike's hands and turning back to the kitchen. "We're doing a truth spell. And your treat for showing up unannounced is getting to prepare the translation."

He'd been about to sit again when the announcement came. "What? You've got to be bloody kidding me!" He trailed after Giles, holding out the book. "In case you hadn't noticed, Rupert, my reputation when it comes to spellcasting is less than sterling. In fact, it's pretty damn piss poor, so if you think---."

"That's why you're not casting the spell. You're merely helping me finish the translation while Oz fetches the remaining ingredients." Giles held up a warning finger. "And don't try to tell me you can't," he said. "I'm very well aware of your education." He paused, his gaze calculating. "As is Buffy, I believe."

There it was. The gauntlet. Thrown down in the form of a bloody book. There was no way Spike could refuse to help. Not without looking bad to Buffy.

Teamwork, she'd said. That was supposed to mean helping her tear the heads off the baddies out on patrol, not becoming some sort of unbreathing Latin primer for the tweed set.

He glared down at the text he still held in his hands. "Didn't figure I'd be the one cracking the books today," he said.

"Looks like I turned out to be the lucky one, then," Oz said from the kitchen entrance. "Maybe you should ask Buffy to take notes for you, too."

For a moment, Giles seemed flummoxed by the camaraderie between the two younger men, but Spike did nothing to ease his obvious questions. Let the old man stew a bit, he thought. Serve him right.

"What about Esme?" he asked instead, changing the subject at hand. It was a topic nearer to his interest, and Spike was surprised that Oz hadn't jumped at it as soon as they'd stepped through the Watcher's front door. Of course, Oz didn't really seem like the jumping sort, and when Giles had immediately launched into the vigilante issue---which was just as important to Oz, for just as personal of reasons---there hadn't been much opportunity for him to ask.

"She's still unconscious," Giles explained. "Wesley phoned me first thing this morning to let me know. As soon as he has the opportunity to question her, he will."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that." Ripping a sheet off his notepad, Giles handed it over to Oz. "This is the list of the ingredients I need. Hurry back so we can get started."

"Oh, yes, do hurry," Spike muttered. He stalked back to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, the book heavy in his hand. "Before the magic's gone out of this relationship entirely."

The thing about magic was that, for some inexplicable reason, it was always smelly. Spike didn't care that he couldn't breathe, but turning off one of his favorite senses just because Rupert wouldn't know the right end of a bunch of motherwort from his ass hardly seemed fair.

Necessary, though. Because the entire flat stank to high heaven, and Spike was fairly sure that hell had got a good whiff of the stench as well.

The vigilante guy sat in the middle of the floor, still chained, a circle of herbs scattered around him. Oz stood near the open doorway, getting what fresh air he could, but Giles had recruited Spike to be in charge of the stinky portion of the spell, waving his little sheaf of weeds back and forth as he followed the Watcher around the circle, Rupert all the while reading the spell out loud.

"Let no untruths be spoken," Giles finished. He stopped where he faced Graham, tilting his head as he scrutinized the young man.

Spike sighed. "Well, get on with it then," he complained as the seconds stretched on. "The thing about truth spells is that you've got to actually talk to the bloke you've mojo'd if you want it to be of any use."

"Yes, quite..." Giles cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose as he attempted to look stern. "I suppose we should start with some simple questions, then. What is your name?"

There was no hesitation in the answer, which seemed to take Graham just as much by surprise as it did Giles. "And how old are you, Mr. Miller?"

Shaking his head, Spike tossed his herb bundle aside. "At this rate, we might get some real information 'bout New Year's," he said.

"Then test it with something a little less obvious, mate. Those're questions he would've answered with or without the mojo."

Whether he would admit it out loud or not, Spike knew by the tightening of the Watcher's mouth that Rupert recognized Spike had a point. He folded his arms across his chest and waited, blue eyes flashing in defiance, to see just whether it would make a difference.

"No." Graham squirmed against his chains, his stoic face creasing into probably the first expression Spike had seen on the man. "What did you do to me?" he asked, with a frown.

For the first time, Spike grinned. "Well, this could be fun," he drawled, but before he could say anything more, Giles was shooting him a dirty look, driving him to retreat to one of the stools at the breakfast bar to watch in glowering quiet.

"I assure you, magic is very real," Giles continued. "And I've only resorted to such means because you've refused to talk to me any other way."

It was the use of the word "orders" that pricked everyone's ears. Combined with the shrinking the vigilante seemed to do within his chains, and Spike was suddenly much more interested in just what might get said.

"It's a top secret operation. The public can't find out or it will create havoc."

Graham was starting to get agitated, the sweat starting to drip from his forehead. Giles, however, seemed oblivious to the physical changes his captive was undergoing, and started pacing as he asked his questions.

The room was silent while Giles waited for a reply. Finally, Spike piped in, "Forgot to phrase it in the form of a question, Rupert. Never heard of a little guy called Alex Trebek?"

More silence, during which the only sounds were the chains rattling as Graham squirmed around and Giles' quiet pacing.

"Am I the only one finding the idea of demons wearing stripes and making license plates just a little bit funny?" Oz said.

Spike's lips quirked at seeing the look of horror on the vigilante's face at having answered such an inane question. "Think it's funnier imagining a lot of these gits tryin' to get prison stripes on a Fyarl without losin' a chunk of flesh," he said.

"You can't be serious," Giles said to Graham. "Why on earth would you capture demons instead of killing them?"

"HST's get implanted with a behavior modification chip. It renders them harmless to the general population."

Something in the back of Spike's mind triggered, and his amusement faded as he tried to grab hold of the thought. He barely registered Graham's increasing distress, though the sound of the chains rattling was starting to reach ear-shattering levels.

The scream that was torn from Graham's throat was curdling, and before any of the men in the room could react, he had slumped to the side, unconscious.

Giles rushed forward, hands flying expertly over the body to search for signs of life. "He's passed out."

He acted without thought, crossing to lift Graham effortlessly from the ground and stretching him out as best he could within the confines of the chains. This close to him, it was impossible not to notice the smell of fear emanating from the unconscious man, or the way the blood vessels had popped in his skin around his closed eyes. He'd been straining against something, and by the looks of it, it hadn't felt pretty.

"Mr. Miller may not have believed in magic," Giles observed, "but I'd wager whoever he works for does. I think he was triggered in some way to black out before revealing anything too incriminating."

With a sigh, Giles removed his glasses and began to absently clean them. "Xander was convinced this was somehow related to the military. I...brushed him off."

The reference to the military set off even more alarms in Spike's head, and he frowned in consternation. There was something innately familiar about all this, but what it was exactly, he couldn't quite put his finger on. He'd just have to mull it over while they waited for the git to wake up, though already, he was starting to get a headache from the combination of stinky herbs and forced concentration.

There was something oddly reassuring about walking to class with Willow. As weird as the past few days had been, and as much new stuff as had been thrown at her to deal with, Buffy knew she could find comfort in the familiar pattern of stepping down concrete paths, books tucked in her arm, gabbing away with Willow about boyfriends and bemoaning her own ineptitude at the academic arts. It made thinking about all the mystery and all the drama just a little bit easier. Simpler. Like this was the pattern of her world and all she had to do to follow it was put one foot in front of the other.

It helped that Willow was being so weirdly supportive of Spike. Buffy had called her on that again, up in their room after Oz had left, and had got the same non-answer Willow had given the last time she'd asked the question.

"He's the father of your baby," she'd said. "Don't you want me to be supportive of him?"

What was she supposed to say to that? So, she took the gift of the acceptance for what it was, and filed it away as something that they'd talk about at a much later date, preferably one after this magic business was fixed for Willow.

For her part, Willow seemed in much better spirits today, babbling away about what was coming up in class and the joys of advanced education as only she could do. It wasn't until they were entering the lecture hall that Buffy brought up the incident with Esme.

"I don't know," Willow said in response to how she felt about it. "On the one hand, I'm still all freaked out by it, you know, with the not knowing what I'm doing part or what Esme wanted in the first place. And on another hand, it's kind of empowering, because Giles is really kind of right. I can take care of myself. And then, on another hand, there's this whole sense of awe that I've got all this power tucked away in me, just waiting to come out, and wouldn't it be cool if I could just figure out how to harness it. And then, I think that I'm just a freak no matter how I look at it, because apparently, I have three hands."

Buffy giggled at the image. "Could you see me with three hands?" she asked. "I would be so effective then. Cut patrolling time right in half, I bet."

They were still laughing over the advantages of various extra appendages when the doors to the lecture hall opened and Dr. Walsh came striding confidently in, a tall young man a few steps behind.

"Good morning," she said to the class, setting her folders down on the desk. "As you can see, I'm not alone today. Though Riley will be sorely missed, I have found a replacement for him, so that both you and I can make this a productive semester. You, because you won't have to put up with me all the time, and me, because I won't have to do all my own grading any more." A small titter rippled through the room. "You don't know him, as he's not a student here, but I can assure you his credentials are impeccable. I taught him myself, back in New York, and he was one of my star pupils.

Stepping aside, she half-turned toward him for the introduction. "Ladies and gentleman, I'd like you to meet my new teaching assistant, Robin Wood."

It was hard not to stare. He hadn't seen any pictures, and he'd only had the brief document Maggie had faxed to him in New York---and he really had to have a talk with her about her prose; working with the military was turning it into tumbleweed---but Robin spotted Buffy Summers even before Maggie so discreetly made her identity known by calling on her to answer a question.

It was the way she played with her pencil that convinced him. The dexterity. The controlled power.

Which was a good thing for the Slayer, because when it came to intelligence, Robin wasn't entirely sure why she was wasting her time in college.

Not that she didn't try. But when Maggie ignored all the raised hands and instead called on Buffy to answer the question about how to solve problems with the scientific method, the girl had stammered out an ass-backward reply that left Maggie tapping her foot and the Slayer flushed in embarrassment. The redhead sitting next to her had jumped in to answer when the Slayer lost the thread, but it didn't stop the blonde from sinking into her seat, eyes returning to her notebook and her mind returning to whatever daydream had been involving her when she'd first been called upon.

He'd not really had a lot of contact with Slayers over the years, except for the odd occasions when a Watcher showed up on Bernard's doorstep needing someplace for his Slayer to spend a night. Those were rare, and always awkward, and eventually they had stopped altogether as Bernard distanced himself from the Council. But in spite of his lack of physical interaction, Robin was very well-versed in the histories, the Watcher methodology, anything that was written down about the Slayers. He'd read it all.

Buffy Summers didn't seem to fit anything he'd ever studied. Physical looks were always deceiving; he knew that. But this distracted, California girl thing she had going for her didn't seem like an act. It was hard to believe that she'd survived almost four years as a Slayer, when his own mother, a woman more dedicated to the mission than any other he'd ever read about, had lasted only a little over five. It was even harder to imagine that Maggie was worried about her interfering in whatever projects the military was running these days.

This was going to be an interesting puzzle to fathom out. As long as he could get himself to stop staring at her long enough to actually concentrate on the teaching part of why he was in Sunnydale.

She'd never been so relieved for a class to end before in her life. As soon as Dr. Walsh dismissed them, Buffy was twisting to stuff her books into her bag, desperate to be free of the humiliation that still shrouded her like an ethereal dunce cap. Memo to self? Daydreaming equals bad. Just say no.

She hadn't meant to drift away from the lecture. It was just that Dr. Walsh was so boring to listen to. The woman only had one tone to her voice, and Buffy was fairly certain she only had that one on loan. It was inevitable, really. And it wasn't like she'd raised her hand to answer the teacher's stupid question anyway. Shouldn't that be the first clue that she wouldn't know it if she was called on?

She heard a ripping sound as she shoved the last notebook into the bag, and grimaced as she turned it over and saw the tear in the bottom seam. "Great," Buffy muttered. "The perfect ending to the perfect class."

"Actually, I thought it was really interesting," Willow chimed in with a smile. "And I don't know why you're complaining. The new TA has totally been checking you out all hour."

"No, he's staring at the stupid girl, wondering how she ever got into college," Buffy replied.

She winced at the sound of Dr. Walsh's voice, but put on her best smile when she turned to face the teacher. "Yes?"

The lecture hall emptied far too quickly, leaving Buffy alone with Dr. Walsh and the new teaching assistant. She fiddled with her bag strap, holding the bottom so that the contents wouldn't spill out, while she waited for the professor to notice her. When the TA finally caught Buffy's eye, he leaned over Dr. Walsh's shoulder and whispered something in her ear.

"Right," Dr. Walsh said. Reaching across her desk, she pulled out a blank sheet of university letterhead and scribbled out a quick note, folding it in half when she was done and passing it to Buffy. "Here."

"The deadline for getting full reimbursement when dropping courses has passed," came the terse reply. "That's my statement for you to give enrolment requesting them to waive that for you."

It took a moment for what she was saying to sink in. "You want me to drop?" Buffy asked, amazed.

Dr. Walsh lifted her head and stared at her with cold eyes. "You're dead weight, Miss Summers," she said bluntly. "Clearly, you're not able to keep up with the class, even at this elemental level. It's in both of our best interests if you get out now."

"Look, I know I was out of it today, but..." She hesitated, debating if the pregnancy was a card she was willing to play. It would explain her distraction and---. No. It would likely just convince the professor that it was an even better idea for her to drop. "I haven't been well," she said instead. "I've had this stomach bug, and it's been affecting my sleep. Please, Dr. Walsh. I can do this. Just tell me how I can prove that to you."

The woman's lips thinned while she considered Buffy's words. "Tutoring," she finally said. "Demonstrate a strong score on the first test, and I'll drop the matter."

She almost sighed in relief. She could do tutoring; her best friend was a brainiac. This was going to be OK.

"Arrange a time to meet with Robin," Dr. Walsh said as she picked up her materials and started heading for the door. "I expect improvement from you, Miss Summers. Don't let me down."

Buffy exhaled as soon as the woman was gone, turning back to face the assistant. "You know," she said with her perkiest smile, "it's really not necessary for you to help me. My best friend, Willow? She's in this class, too, and wouldn't you know it, but she tutored me all the way through high school, and did a bang-up job of it, I might add. I graduated and everything, and this really isn't helping my credibility, is it?"

Robin shook his head. "Look, I know Dr. Walsh can be a hardass, but trust me, inside that crusty exterior lies the heart of a real bitch." They smiled together at his small joke, and Buffy found herself relaxing even more. "If you're serious about sticking it out, Buffy, this doesn't have to be so bad. We'll set up some regular study sessions, and by the time the test comes around, you should be flying high."

At the very least, Giles didn't have to put up with Spike's annoying commentary any longer. Ever since the hostage had passed out, Spike's mood had grown increasingly ruminative, and he'd only made a single sarcastic remark while moving the unconscious Graham back to the bathroom. He'd not even said anything when Oz volunteered to stand guard while they waited for Graham to wake up. Though it had been a welcome relief when Giles retired to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, now, nearly ten minutes later and with silence still prevailing in the other room, Giles was beginning to get unnerved.

Spike stopped in the path he'd been wearing into Giles' floor. "Not exactly the most romantic proposition I've had today," he said with a cocked brow.

"Something's clearly on your mind." He paused, wary of asking but unable to resist the temptation. "Is this about Buffy?"

Rolling his eyes, Spike resumed his pacing. "Right," he said. "'Cause old William's not capable of havin' a thought that's not about Buffy. Be sure to remind me of that next time you're wantin' to pluck my brain for a spot of translation."

Giles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping back. "My apologies," he said, his voice tight. "I shouldn't have presumed."

Sitting on the couch, he poured a cup of tea while pretending not to watch Spike out of the corner of his eye. It was hard to admit, but his doubts were growing about his personal opinions on the vampire. So much of Buffy and Lydia's vehemence seemed justified at times, and then to see Oz not only accept Spike as a friend but to defend him as well...Giles had always believed Oz to be one of the more astute of Buffy's friends. How could he discount an opinion merely because he disliked the subject in question?

"There's something familiar 'bout all this," Spike said. "I'm just havin' a devil of a time tryin' to put my finger on it."

"This twaddle with bureaucrats sticking their nose into demon business. If I didn't know better, I'd say this wasn't the first time it's happened."

Spike snorted in derision, waving his hand in dismissal. "You're givin' that lot more credit than they deserve. Besides, don't tell me they fuss with the rehab, because we both know that's not true. Search and destroy. That's their creed." He shook his head. "It's something else. Something about the military that sparks it."

"It's a shame, then, that enhanced memory isn't a vampire trait," Giles said, turning back to his tea.

"Yes, well..." At least, he now knew what was bothering Spike. It was probably best to leave him to his attempts to remember in peace.

Except said vampire seemed to have found his tongue again. "Speakin' of Buffy..." Spike said, coming to a halt in front of the couch.

"I'm not. But since you brought her up, what's to be done with her patrols now that she's got the little one on the way?" His face was deadly serious, his eyes dark. "Demons find out the Slayer's pregnant and they're goin' to think she's weak enough to take on. Things could get a little sticky around Sunnyhell if you're not careful."

It was a situation Giles had considered. Between worrying about that and the Council's reaction when they found out---because it was inevitable that they would, later rather than sooner, hopefully---Buffy's pregnancy had occupied more time than any of the other issues at hand combined, including Willow's magic and the hostage currently unconscious in his bathtub. It was almost reassuring to hear that the more pragmatic aspects of it were troubling Spike as well.

"I thought that was part of your purpose here," he said, as casually as he could manage. "To...be there for the Slayer? Stand by her as a testament to your feelings for her?"

Anger suddenly flared in Spike's eyes. "This is an old argument, mate. I'm not in the mood to debate how I feel about Buffy. Accept it, and move on."

"That was part of it, yeah. But you know as well as I do that I can't tell her she's not goin' to do something. Nothin' gets her back up quicker."

"I'm going to start working with her on relearning her center of balance," Giles said. "It will help her until she realizes that she's putting the baby at too great a risk by patrolling so regularly. The rest of us will have to take up the slack. We've done it before when Buffy's been absent; I'm sure the others will be more than happy to do so again."

"You get Red under control, she'll be more powerful than the lot of you. Demons won't stand a chance."

He didn't need to be reminded of the extent of Willow's powers. "I'll take that under advisement."

Unexpectedly, Spike sat in the chair, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees as he addressed Giles. "I was planning on spreading the word in the community that takin' on the Slayer means takin' on me," he said. "My rep should still count for something, and it'll keep at least some of 'em from even tryin'."

Giles nodded. "If you're comfortable with such a gesture, I think that's a splendid idea."

"Thing is, I don't want Buffy to know." His fingers twisted together as his gaze fell to the floor. "She's got a lot to be dealing with right now, and---."

"She would try to prove your contribution unnecessary," Giles finished. "And probably do something foolhardy in the bargain."

"Exactly." He leveled his eyes, dark and solemn. "I'm not goin' to be the reason she gets hurt, Rupert. I'll stake myself before I let that happen."

The funny thing was...Giles believed him. "I'll do what I can to help," he said.

With a relieved sigh, Spike leaned back, sprawling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Now, if I could just bloody well remember this business about the military," he complained good-naturedly. "Might make this day turn out a bit of all right, after all."

He woke up cold and achy, his head feeling like a gang of Fyarl demons had used it for football practice. It had been a long time since Baltozar had had such a bad hangover, but considering how much he'd actually had to drink the night before, it wasn't unexpected.

What was unexpected was the fact that Havi hadn't returned yet. Her side of the bed was unslept in, and there was no sign that she'd been in the apartment since he'd passed out. That wasn't a good sign.

In spite of the pain in his head, Baltozar sped through a shower, getting dressed in record time, before racing out the door. She had to have been hurt, doing whatever it was she was keeping from him. It was the only explanation why she wouldn't have come back. So what if they'd had a fight? They fought all the time. It had never stopped her from coming back to him before.

Just to be safe, he checked the hospital first. Relief flooded through him when they told her there was no one admitted under that name, but that just started his internal questions of whether she'd been actually killed before she could get medical attention. She could have bled out, unable to ask for help, while he was lying passed out in their bed. He should've stopped her from going. If she was dead, he was never going to forgive himself.

Cemeteries were next. The scratches she'd had could've come from fights, and if she was looking for violence, slaying vampires was a good way to do it on the Hellmouth. But two hours of tromping through landscaped greenery---and how many fucking graveyards did one city need, anyway?---only turned up a few open graves, and the one body he found had clearly been dead for over a week. He just kicked it to the side in his frustration.

It was when he was heading toward the demon bar he'd found that he spotted her. She was emerging from a low apartment building, wearing the same clothes she'd left in the night before, but it wasn't the small smile he saw on Havi's face that almost made him crash into the parked car opposite. It was the dark-haired man holding the door open for her, the one who led her to the tiny, beat-up car at the curb and then held that door open for her, that made Baltozar want to rip the steering wheel from the driving column.

He drove around the block while he tried to calm his racing nerves. By the time he was in front of the apartment building again, Havi and her unknown friend were gone, though with as small as this town was, Baltozar wasn't worried about picking up her trail. That wasn't what he wanted, though. Instead, he pulled into the spot they'd left vacant and proceeded to head inside.

The manager's office was just inside the entrance, and he silently gave thanks that it was a woman behind the desk. Elderly, sure, and just a few pounds shy of hitting that three hundred pound mark, but he had a better shot at getting information from her than he would a guy.

He gave her his most charming smile. "I was supposed to meet some friends here," he said, and then smiled wider when she caught his accent. Stupid Americans. "Her name is Havi Aronowicz?"

His blood chilled at the appellation, but he did his best not to let it show. "I don't suppose you were able to help her?" he asked, glancing at the paperwork that was littered across the desk.

"Oh, my, yes. As soon as Xander agreed to vouch for her, I put her lease application straight into my accepted pile. He's a good boy, that Xander Harris. He was best friends with my grandson until Jesse got killed their sophomore year. Tragedy, really. But Xander pulled through. He even took over mowing my lawn afterward, wouldn't let me pay him a nickel..."

The rest of her babbling was lost on him as Baltozar's ire flamed within his veins. So, Havi thought she was moving out, did she? He hadn't done all this just to lose her at this point, and no do-gooder teenager was going to take her away. He'd skip out of the Hellmouth altogether if that was what it was going to take to get Havi's head straight again.

He barely remembered thanking the old woman and making his way back out to the street. Climbing behind the steering wheel, Baltozar stared blankly at the road ahead while he debated what he was going to do next.

She was going to need her stuff. If Havi was going to try and move out, at some point or another she'd go back to their apartment for her few belongings.

Viciously, he turned the key in the ignition. He knew what he had to do now. Wait. Not exactly his strong suit, so if Havi didn't want her new friend to lose more than his balls when they showed up, she'd better make it quick.

Her bones literally ached by the time she reached Giles' door, but before Buffy could knock, it opened to reveal a frowning Watcher and a triumphant Spike standing not too far behind.

"Told you it was her," Spike said. "One of these days, you might want to start believing me." His glee faded as he drank in the sight of her, taking a step closer. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softening.

Buffy shook her head, brushing past Giles to head straight for the sofa. "I'm dumb," she complained, collapsing into the corner.

"You're not dumb," Spike countered. He sat down next to her, settling his arm across the back of the couch instead of touching her. "What happened?"

Though she had been frugal with public displays, especially considering how Giles had reacted about the baby news, Buffy acted on instinct, sliding across to nestle into Spike's side. "My psych teacher hates me," she mumbled as she buried her face in his shirt. "College sucks."

The soothing flex of his muscles beneath her cheek was followed by a familiar arm around her back when he drew her even closer to him. "It can't be that bad," Spike murmured. Strong fingers began stroking her hair, settling some of the tension that had been eating at Buffy the entire walk from campus.

"It is. She tried to get me to drop her class today because she said I was dead weight." Pulling back slightly, she met his worried gaze with a small pout. "I'm not dead weight, am I?"

In the circle of Spike's arms, Buffy had forgotten that Giles was even in the room, and twisted to see him looking down at them with a frown on his worn face. "Yeah," she said. "But she's got a replacement for him already. Some guy named Robin."

"You wouldn't say that if you saw him. Which, unfortunately, is going to be my fate three extra days a week for the next month."

Briefly, Buffy explained what had happened, glossing over just how badly she'd fudged the answer when she'd been called on. "But it all comes back to the same thing," she ended grumpily. "This whole college thing is just one big fat mistake."

"Now you listen to me." Grasping her upper arms, Spike held her slightly away from him as he leveled his gaze at her. "We've had this discussion, yeah? And I know I was a bit of an old-fashioned git at the time, but that doesn't change the fact that you deserve to be at that school. It's a door, Buffy. And it can be as simple to open it as you want it to be."

Maybe it was something in his tone, or maybe it was the fact that he'd chosen her own words against her to make his argument, but in that second, Buffy wasn't on Giles' lumpy couch. She was back in the park, with an injured shoulder, trying not to cry as she told a sensitive young poet about why her life was so much harder than he might imagine.

"This...Angel," William said, his gaze speculative, "if you will pardon my saying so...he rather strikes me as a fool."

His words took her by surprise, and Buffy took a half-step back, looking up at him with wide eyes. "What?" she asked. "Why would you... you don't even know him."

His hand was still on her shoulder, and gently, his fingers began to knead the knotted muscles, relaxing her so surprisingly that her eyes fluttered shut so that she could give herself over to the sensation.

"He's a fool because he left," William murmured. His voice floated softly down to her, coaxing her to believe him. "Were I in his shoes, with a woman such as yourself wanting to be a part of my life, I would find whatever means possible to overcome the obstacles that separated us. He's a fool because he didn't even try."

And here was Spike, trying beyond anything Angel had ever done. Staying even when he found out about the baby. Helping her friends, helping her, doing so much to try and make it easier for her. Not out of obligation, but because he wanted to. Because he loved her.

She launched herself at him, knocking him back against the cushions as her arms wound around his neck and her mouth attacked his. He responded immediately, fingers digging into her hips, and vaguely in the background, Buffy heard Giles mutter something about Oz before rushing away, leaving them alone in the room.

"Thank you," Buffy murmured when they finally broke apart. She smiled, sinking even further into the depth of his gaze when he responded in kind. "Though I still think you're being an optimist about this."

Spike shook his head. "Got my eyes wide open here," he said softly. "And I see my beautiful, brilliant Buffy right in front of me."

She kissed him again, unable to give voice to the tumult of emotion coursing through her. This was right. He was right.