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 XXV."
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Maggie has put Graham into isolation in order to determine what has happened to him, Baltozar is planning to kill Willow at Esme's request, and Spike and Buffy have had a fight about how she's treating him...

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

Chapter 31: The Painful Warrior Famoused for Fight

Six hours of brawling later, and Spike felt like a new vamp. Truth be told, he hadn't really killed that many of the demons he'd found at Willy's, but the fear he'd instilled by ripping apart the few he had was more than enough to accomplish what Buffy wanted. He'd colored the truth a little, making it look more like Buffy was granting him amnesty in return for a little help keeping the demon population under control. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his feelings for her, but that was a weapon he didn't want to just hand over to anyone who might feel inclined to use it. This way, Spike figured he looked like he was using the Slayer to return to power in Sunnydale, and Buffy got a brief respite from having to look like she had a weakness in a new relationship. It would be hard enough when news of her pregnancy leaked out.

It wasn't the way she'd probably envisioned him going to work for her, but Spike was more concerned with getting the necessary results. Besides, she would likely never find out about his little tall tale. Buffy wasn't known to sit around having lattes and chitchat with the demon set.

He went back to the hotel to shower. There were more cuts and scrapes to add to his current black-and-blue palette, but nothing extraordinary. Most of it washed away beneath the spray, turning the water to pink before Spike emerged feeling more refreshed than he had in days. He looked better, too, he wagered. Good enough to head over to the Summers' house and take Joyce up on her offer.

The fight he'd had with Buffy still rankled slightly. Yes, she'd given him the green light to accept the housing offer if he wanted, but the fact that they'd had to have the blowout in the first place tarnished it. He wasn't sure what he expected. Part of him understood this was a tumultuous time for Buffy, that between the mess about the baby, his arrival in town, and everything else, he couldn't really expect that she'd be able to deal with it so easily. Another part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, tell her to snap out of it already.

Spike kept flipflopping about which part he should pay attention to.

He was checked out of the hotel, the few measly dollars he had left stuffed into his pocket, when he remembered what Joyce had said the night before. She was taking that Havi bitch over to the Watcher's to confirm her story. She wouldn't be home. Bugger. Without knowing when she'd be back, Spike was reluctant to head over and wait; he'd bake sitting in the T-bird all day.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he debated what he could do.

He was going to have to find a job sooner or later. His cash was close to gone and while he felt no compunction about nicking what he'd need, he knew there would be hell to pay if Buffy found out. Things were on enough of a tight rope as they were; this was one thing he'd always been prepared to cave on for her anyway.

Trouble was, he didn't feel like looking for a job. He felt like seeing Buffy.

Right then. Decision made.

Humming, Spike spun the wheel of the car and headed for campus.

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

It had been an unsettling night, Xander staying long after Buffy and Spike had left, longer even after Mrs. Summers had gone to bed. He didn't ask questions about what had been said, and he didn't make any attempt to trick her into talking about it. Instead, he'd just turned on the TV and settled next to her on the couch, extolling the virtues of some program called "Mystery Science Theatre 3000."

Havi fell asleep on his shoulder. She woke up to Mrs. Summers gently prodding Xander awake, the morning sunlight already filtering through the curtains behind her.

The sheer niceness of it all kept her on edge. Havi had known William the Bloody would react as he did, and had been prepared for it. She hadn't been prepared to be believed by strangers, though, nor for Xander's continued offers of friendship. He got nothing from helping her; it made no sense for him to go on doing so.

Yet he did. And he'd left that morning looking decidedly rumpled but grinning nonetheless, as if he'd been given some great gift.

Mrs. Summers was the epitome of graciousness, cooking Havi breakfast and lending her some toiletries for the shower. While it was impossible to completely relax---she kept expecting Buffy or Spike to come barging in to finish what had been started the night before---the chance to wash away the past twenty-four hours was as close to nirvana that Havi could hope to get these days.

It left her ready to face the Watcher as Mrs. Summers had requested.

There was a moment when Havi hesitated before getting out of the car, but the questioning glance from Mrs. Summers was all she needed to re-gird her strength. There was nothing to fear with this encounter. She had already spoken with Mr. Giles and walked away empowered, believed. She had revealed everything she knew to the Slayer. She had no more secrets to hide.

Why, then, did Havi have this sense of impending doom weighing her steps as she followed Mrs. Summers to his apartment?

The crushed flowers at his front window and the few inches the door stood ajar only confirmed it.

Without waiting for Mrs. Summers' social niceties, Havi hurried past her to shove the door open the rest of the way, sending it crashing into the wall with a greater force than she intended.

"Wait here," she ordered the older woman, holding up a hand to stop her from crossing the threshold.

Mrs. Summers nodded. It was as if she could see that Havi was completely in her element.

And she was. This was the life Havi had always trained for. This was the life she'd led as a Protector, first for the Guardians as a whole and then later for Rose. She was accustomed to seek out the danger that threatened those in her charge, and for the first time since coming to Sunnydale, Havi felt utterly in control.

The main room appeared untouched, a half-empty tumbler of whisky sitting forgotten on the coffee table. The light was still on in the kitchen. It was as if the Watcher had either been cleanly interrupted, or left with every intention of returning.

Havi stopped.

Listened.

The apartment still breathed.

Picking up a sheathed dagger from a nearby shelf, she held it at the ready as she crept forward. Dark eyes flickered upward to the loft. If someone was up there, she'd be able to turn and fight them the moment they started moving. Better to check the bathroom first.

She noted the open door just seconds before seeing the top of the Watcher's head. He was on the floor in front of the sink, sprawled as if he'd collapsed on the spot. Rushing forward, Havi pushed the door open the rest of the way, revealing nobody else in the room, and then crouched at his side.

"Mrs. Summers!" she called out. "Come here!"

Her long fingers flew to Mr. Giles' wrist. Though there was dried blood on his brow from some kind of blunt force, his pulse was steady and sure. Quickly, she looked around for the weapon and almost immediately spotted the red smear on the outer edge of the porcelain sink. Ah, now it made sense. He'd hit his head and been knocked unconscious.

The empty tub made Have amend her conclusion.

The captured soldier had been the force behind the blow. And now, he was gone.

"Oh, my god, Rupert!" All of Mrs. Summers' fear vanished at the sight of the Watcher, and she bent to join Havi in looking him over for more injuries. "What happened?"

"He's been hurt."

"I can see that," Mrs. Summers said, annoyed. She looked up and noticed the chains on the floor behind Havi. "What's he doing with those?"

"Mr. Giles had a young man here."

Mrs. Summers' brows shot upward. "Really? But I always thought Rupert was straight." Her gaze returned to the chains. "Though, oddly enough, those don't come as a surprise."

It took a moment for Havi to understand what the other woman was implying. "Oh. It's not what you think. He brought the young man here the other night to chain him in the tub."

"Somehow, that's still what I'm thinking."

"For interrogation purposes. Mr. Giles and the Slayer rescued the werewolf from him."

Mrs. Summers began to relax. "Well, that does make more sense."

Havi straightened. "The prisoner obviously escaped. Buffy will want to be told what's happened. Can you tend to Mr. Giles while I go and get her?"

"You can find your way from campus from here?"

She kept her chin high. "I am familiar with where Willow and the Slayer reside. I needed to be in order to fulfill my orders to protect them."

The room was silent. Then, Mrs. Summers reached into her pocket and extracted a thick keyring.

"Take my car," she instructed. "You'll get there faster."

Havi faltered, but took the keys anyway. "How do you know I can drive it?"

Mrs. Summers smiled. "The way I figure it, even if you don't, you still can't be as bad as Buffy."

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

Spike could only blink at Willow in dismay. "She's in class?" he said, repeating her last words. "What in bloody hell is she doin' there?"

Her smile was nervous, and she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, her fingers unable to keep still. "Hopefully, not falling asleep like last time," she said brightly. After a moment of awkward shuffling, she half-turned and gestured broadly toward the empty room behind her. "Wanna come in and wait for her to get back?"

He stalked across the threshold, his boots clomping heavily against the floor. When Buffy had given the excuse of an early class last night to get out of quality bonding time with Havi, Spike had thought she was kidding. He was going to have to get her to write down her schedule so he didn't show up like such a fool any more.

Scurrying around him, Willow rushed to the window to pull the curtain against the morning sun. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "The way Buffy was talking over breakfast, it sounded like you two had patched things up."

Bollocks. He'd forgotten the rule about best friends sharing everything they could about men. Drusilla had only ever really had Darla for the girly stuff, and he'd had Buffy all on her own back in the day. Or this past summer. Or both.

Bollocks. He hated trying to keep the timing shit straight.

"Just had a few hours to kill," he said. He sat on the edge of Buffy's bed, leaning back on his elbows to watch Willow flit around the room. "Think the better question is, how are you doin', Red? Can't say you've been frolicking in your usual annoying way since I hit town."

"I'm dealing. It's actually a little better now after Esme tried to voodoo me."

"How's that?"

She perched on her bed, facing him. Spike could practically see her need to talk about it pulsating beneath her skin.

"Because I'm not afraid of it any more," she admitted. "Up 'til then, everything about the magic wigged me out. It was always right there, bubbling away, and I was scared about it boiling over."

"Smart thinkin'. That's a lot of juice you've got there."

"And it totally changed the way I was seeing people, too." She was speaking faster now, like a locomotive gaining speed going down a sharp incline. "Everywhere I look, power just blinks back at me. Most of the time, it's nothing, but sometimes, like when I look at Buffy, it's blinding."

While Spike had dabbled in his own magic a few times over the years, he was just a dilettante. He knew his limitations, and he'd learned enough to know there was a lot more to this mojo business then waving a few stinky herbs and chanting some bad Latin. What Willow said made sense.

"What do you see when you see Esme?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her glee in being able to talk about this faded. "Dark," she replied. "Like a...black hole. Like there had been great power there and just got...sucked away."

Spike grinned. He couldn't help himself. "That's 'cause it did, Red."

She had the grace to blush. "I know, but..." She bit at her lip, contemplating her next words. "When she showed up at Giles', I just wanted to run away. Not me, Willow---well, yeah, me too, but...something inside me. The magic, I think. I had to fight just to be in the same room as her."

"Why fight it? Nothin' good is goin' to come of her bein' around. Mark my word."

"Maybe."

"No maybe about it."

She fell silent at that, obviously weighing the certainty in his voice against her own experience. "You know what it was like?" she finally said.

"Pray. Enlighten me."

"Like two positive ends of a magnet. Or two negative ends. Doesn't matter which." She held up her hands in front of her, palms facing each other, and simulated trying to push them together but failing. "As long as they're both charged the same, they repel each other. It felt like that."

"Your mime act needs a spot of work, pet."

"But you see my point, right?"

"Yeah. Now let me make mine, all right?"

"OK."

He nodded toward her right hand. "Make that negative while the other stays positive. What happens then?"

Frowning, Willow regarded her hands for a moment. "They---." She clasped her hands together, and her eyes widened. "Oh. Oops."

"Rest my case, Red."

Hastily, she separated her fingers and slid them beneath her, as if sitting on her hands would make his analogy less tangible. "Doesn't matter," she said. "Giles was right. She's an old lady who can't hurt me now. What happened the other night only proved that."

Spike shook his head. "You're askin' for trouble, you know that, don't you? Didn't you learn anything this past summer?"

"You're just paranoid because of what she did to you and Buffy."

"Bloody right, I'm paranoid!" He shot up, indignant at her casual dismissal of his worries. "What's it goin' to take for you to realize you're playin' with fire here, little girl? Magic or no, you're still a fuckin' child compared to that old bitch. She's had a whole lifetime to get around the track, and you're just gettin' out of the starting gate. There's not a chance in any hell dimension you wanna name that you can suss out what evil plan she's hatching, and by the time you do find out, someone's goin' to get hurt, or be dead already. You want that on your conscience?"

She'd gone increasingly pale during his rant, and vehemently shook her head at his final question.

Spike relaxed back onto the bed. "You've got something of hers, and if she doesn't want it back, I'll eat my coat. Take it from the evil one in the room here. Give the old witch even a fraction of an inch, and there'll be hell to pay."

His words cast Willow into a deep, contemplative silence that weighed heavy in the small room. Frankly, Spike couldn't believe that she was being so blind as to not see what looked so obvious to him. What was it with this lot and their second chances for people who fucked them over? Didn't they see how it would only mess with them in the end?

He, of course, was the exception to that little observation. Spike considered himself the exception to a lot of things.

"What would you do if you were me?" she asked all of a sudden.

He snorted. "Thought I'd made that pretty clear. Get rid of her."

"But..." She chewed at her lower lip. "...I think I need Esme. For a little while, at least. She really is the only person who understands the magic. She can help me get it under better control."

"So, then, why are you askin' my opinion?"

Willow ignored his annoyed observation, rising to her feet to begin pacing the room again. "If you're right," she said, "it's probably safe to say I can't anticipate what she'll do next. I didn't see the pricking coming, and god knows she took everybody by surprise this summer."

Spike didn't say a word. He just narrowed his eyes, watching her closely as he waited to see where she was going with this.

"So, if I can't do anything about Esme, that means my only choice is to do something about people she might want to hurt. Me. Buffy. You. Any of us, really. I can do that. That shouldn't be hard at all."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Her eyes gleamed in delight as she lifted them to meet his. "A protection spell," Willow said. "It would have to be something generic, because I don't know what the specific threat could be, and that would mean it wouldn't be all that powerful, but anything is better than nothing. It could at least give us all a heads-up if something was wrong. Give us an added means of defending ourselves against her if she decides to try something like you think she will."

Somewhere in her convoluted reasoning, Spike was sure there was a flaw to this. There had to be. The solution seemed too simple for it to really work.

"You can do that?" he asked instead, his tone wary. "Without mucking it up?"

Willow bristled at the accusation. "Sure," she said. "I mean, I'd have to do a little research, but it couldn't be that hard. And it's not like I don't have the means. I just need to find the way."

"Buffy won't like it. She's got this thing 'bout people overprotecting her, remember?"

That stopped her only for a moment. "Then, maybe Buffy shouldn't find out."

A single brow shot up. "You'd try to pull one over on your best friend?" he said, disbelievingly. "Thought you two were joined mouth to ear."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right, that's why I had to use magic to find out what you wro---." Her eyes went wide, and her lips clamped shut as she realized what she'd been about to reveal. Spike's estimation of the little witch went up a full notch.

"Pulled a little peekaboo, did you?" he said with a smirk. He shrugged. "Doesn't make no never mind to me. I've never tried to hide how I feel about Buffy."

"You love her."

"Well, yeah. Thought that was obvious with the whole comin' over to join you white hats."

"So, you'd do what whatever you could to make sure she was safe."

"'Course."

"Using whatever means were at your disposal."

It was the repeat of the word "means" that brought Spike up short. Willow watched him, waiting for him to respond, but he knew that behind her seemingly wide-eyed innocence, lurked a mind ready to trap him into a logical corner if he let it. Hell, she'd already done it, and the thing of it was...he agreed with her. Hadn't he done the same thing with Rupert in regards to Buffy's patrols? And he'd spent half the night tossing a lot of demons with half-truths and all-too-real threats just to accomplish the same thing Willow wanted.

"She finds out, it's on your head," he warned.

"I know. I'm going to talk to Giles about it. I don't want to screw it up."

He didn't say anything more, just let her prattle on about the possibilities of what the magic could do for them once she had it under control. He was all for using what tools were at hand as much as the next guy, and the fact that Willow had such power at her disposal was certainly reassuring. But magic always had consequences, and whether or not he was growing fond of her and Oz, Spike remained wary about the wisdom of her growing reliance on it.

He'd have to keep an eye out on her, too. If it looked like she was going a little too far, they'd just have to have a little chat.

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

The little witch was supposed to be leaving for class soon. Baltozar had gotten her schedule and according to what he'd learned, she wasn't the type to be tardy or skip. Within the next half hour, she should be walking out the front door of her dorm, her stack of books tucked in her overachieving arms, and the rest would be history.

He found the perfect vantage point on a rooftop across the street. After getting Esme's instructions, he'd decided the best way to kill the witch was with good old-fashioned artillery. A single shot through the brain and the job would be over. It lacked flair, and personally, he liked a little bit more blood and panic when he killed someone, but this wasn't the time for catering to his own tastes. There would be time enough for that later.

He just had to be careful not to hurt the blonde roommate if she was with Miss Rosenberg. After he'd learned of the connection, Baltozar had rung Esme up to see what was going on. Esme had made it very clear that no harm could come to that one; apparently, she had other plans for the blonde that required her to be alive.

Shame. He would've liked to put the screws to the vampire just one more time.

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

Graham knew when he opened his eyes and saw the sterile ceiling of the isolated hospital room that his fall out of the frying pan could very well have landed him straight into the fire. He was back on Initiative territory and the fact that he couldn't move but couldn't see any restraints holding him down had to mean that they were using every pharmaceutical means within their power to keep him under their control. That wasn't good.

"You're awake. I'm glad."

He couldn't move his head to see Dr. Walsh, but her voice was neutral which could mean just about anything. "It's not that bad, is it?" he croaked. His throat was dry. It felt like he hadn't had anything to drink for days.

"Just precautionary measures," she said. "Until we're satisfied you're not a threat to the organization."

Graham's eyes fluttered shut again. That was what he'd feared.

"Someone tried interrogating you," Dr. Walsh continued.

"They didn't succeed."

"We know. Can you tell us who it was who abducted you?"

This was the question he'd been dreading. He'd known it would come, and he'd known it would come very quickly. Until the werewolf had come into the bathroom and spent so long talking to him, Graham had had every intention of giving up the people who'd gone to such lengths to find out who he worked for.

But some of what the young man had said had struck a nerve. Stuff about honor. Stuff about friends. Stuff about doing the right thing. Graham didn't want to believe the whole story about how the werewolf tried to secret himself away, but he'd seen the cage when they'd grabbed him. It was hard to discount what he saw with his own eyes.

"I asked you a question, Captain Miller." Dr. Walsh's voice had hardened. "Who did you escape from?"

When he opened his eyes again, she was standing at the side of the bed, her face implacable as she gazed down at him. "Demonhunters," he said without pause. "They were watching the werewolf. When the sedative wore off the HST, they took advantage of the chaos. They thought I'd be able to lead them to more hostiles, which is why they kidnapped me. Apparently, they capture hostiles for profit."

Her ensuing silence made him wonder if his lie was just going to get him into further trouble. He'd always had a good poker face; Graham was hoping it wouldn't fail him now.

"What changed in your captivity last night that allowed you to escape?" she finally asked.

"I was left with one of the weaker members of the team," he said. "I neutralized him and freed myself."

Dr. Walsh nodded. "There has been some new activity in town that we haven't been able to account for," she said. "Last night in particular, there was a rash of fights reported amongst the HST's. That seems to fit with your circumstances." For the first time, her face softened, and she patted Graham's arm in what was supposed to be a maternal manner but was actually stiff and awkward. "Rest, soldier. We'll need to debrief you on these demonhunters as soon as you're up to the task."

He closed his eyes again once she left the room.

His hope was that it would take him a long time to mend. He wanted his lies firmly in place before the Initiative started their own interrogation.

To be continued in Chapter 32: Power to Hurt...

With classes in full swing, there were few options for parking. Havi had little choice but to leave Joyce's SUV in an adjoining neighborhood and jog to the campus, intent on reaching the Slayer and relaying the new information about the Watcher as quickly as she could. This would show them her loyalty, she thought as she ran. Spike would have to accept her at face value once he saw how eager Havi was to help.

So focused on her goal, she almost missed the familiar scent drifting along the slight breeze. Only when she reached the walk outside the dorm did Havi hesitate, sniffing pointedly before looking around with a frown. It smelled of Baltozar's cigarillos, dusky and slightly sweet. She didn't think people smoked that particularly brand outside of Europe.

Then, she saw the crushed white butts, ground into the earth beneath a nearby tree. The grass was trampled, and when she looked up, she saw the dried ash that still clung to the rough bark of a low-hanging branch.

Whirling on her heel, Havi broke into a dead run for the front door of the dorm. She only hoped that she wasn't too late.

"I've already told you what I think about the blue one, Red. The other's more fetching."

Spike rolled his eyes. How Oz put up with his girlfriend's insecurities about her looks, he had no idea. He was about to tell her exactly what she could do with the sweater he preferred when a furious pounding came at the door.

His relief was short-lived when Havi pushed her way past Willow, her dark gaze sweeping the room with a practiced eye. Leaping to his feet, he yanked Willow out of the way, placing himself between her and the new arrival before Havi could surprise them with a weapon, letting his fangs slip into place.

To her credit, she didn't cower in the face of his fury. Instead, she looked past him to Willow, her mouth grim. "You must come with me," she said to her. "You are in grave danger."

When Willow remained behind him, mute in the face of the supposed threat, Havi seemed to realize she would get nowhere until she'd dealt with Spike. "Baltozar has been watching the dorm," she said, this time to him. "I do not know why, but it cannot be good. We must get Buffy and Willow to safety."

The Spaniard's name did nothing to ease his foul mood, but Spike refused to step back. "And you just conveniently showed up to do the totin', huh? Funny how that works."

"Uh, not that I don't worry about Giles," Willow said, poking her head out from behind Spike, "but that's not really all that surprising. He gets knocked out a lot."

"What makes you so sure that Baltozar's been pokin' his nose around?" Spike asked.

Wordlessly, Havi held out her hand, opening it to reveal a crushed white cigarette butt. His nose wrinkled at the familiar scent.

"Damn," he muttered. His gaze flew to the window, but with the sunlight still deadly on its other side, he was barred from using it to search the grounds.

He swiveled his eyes back to Havi. "I understand he's a killer who's already made shish kebab of one person I cared about," he said. His fingers wrapped around Willow's wrist, his human countenance returning. "C'mon, Red. I'll get you out of here so that Buffy can take care of the bastard."

Pulling Willow past Havi to get to the door, Spike was jerked to a halt when the other woman grabbed Willow's free wrist, trapping her between the two who were each so determined to be the one to protect her.

"Let her go," he snarled, and started to yank to free Red from the unwanted hold.

Electricity began to surge across Willow's skin, making it ripple and glitter, and her eyes sparked with orange flame. "Stop it!" she ordered.

Spike was thrown off like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall with a loud thump as his body sang from the electricity still rushing through it. As he blinked against the stars dancing before his eyes, he saw Havi in a similar position on the opposite side of the room, though she had managed to knock over a chair at the same time. Good, he thought angrily.

Slowly, it dawned on Willow what she'd done, and contrition softened her features. Rushing to Spike's aid, she babbled, "Sorry, sorry," and pulled at his arm to help him back to his feet. "I guess I just don't know my own strength."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather you left me out of your hat tricks, Red," he complained. He turned a wary eye to Havi, stifling the iota of alarm Willow's magic burst had momentarily aroused. "Good to see you got it at least half right, though."

It was taking Havi longer to recover from the blast, wobbling slightly as she finally managed to stand. "Why...did you do that?" she asked.

Pressing her lips together, Havi strode determinedly to the window, pulling aside the curtain to peer outside.

"Watch it!" Spike cried out, leaping away from the golden shaft of light that cut across the floor.

She ignored his irritation and continued her visual search. "He could be anywhere," she said. "It would be foolish to linger longer than is necessary."

"Tell you what," Willow said, holding up her hand to cut Spike off when his mouth opened to interrupt again. "Spike and I will go check on Giles, while you go wait for Buffy at her class to let her know about the possibility of Baltozar hanging around."

"It's not like Buffy can't take care of herself, Spike." Grabbing her backpack, Willow slung it over her shoulder as she headed for the door. "And if there's really danger, she's the best one to deal with it, right?"

Willow flushed in the face of Havi's confusion. "No offense, but I know Spike, and I know he's not going to hurt me. Plus, vampire strength. Big bonus."

Spike was left grinning at Havi with wicked delight when Willow opened the door. Though she was waiting for the pair of them to leave with her so that she could lock it behind her, he remained rooted long enough to get one last word in with Havi.

"What can I say?" Nonchalantly, he shrugged his shoulders. "The bird's got excellent taste."

He sauntered out into the hallway, the memory of Havi's wide-eyed frustration burning brightly on his mind's eye.

Baltozar's blood ran cold when he saw Havi go into the dorm. What the fuck was she doing here? Her purpose on the Hellmouth couldn't coincide with Esme's in some way, could it? But why would she show up at the one place he'd been instructed to watch if it didn't? Had she found out and was here to stop it?

It didn't matter. He couldn't risk Havi getting caught in any kind of crossfire. His marksmanship was good enough that he wasn't worried about hitting her, but if for some reason she was involved with the witch, Baltozar couldn't guarantee she wouldn't get hit with backlash of some sort. He was going to have to abort his immediate plan.

He was almost to his car when he saw the black Thunderbird parked beneath the covered walkway that led from the back of the dorm. Baltozar paused. Spike was here, too. When had he arrived? It must've been when he'd been getting into place for the shot, Baltozar decided. It was the only time he hadn't been watching the building like a hawk. Come to visit the girlfriend, most likely.

If Havi really was here to see the witch, she was now in danger. There was no way a powerful vampire like William the Bloody wasn't going to be able to detect the scent of the Guardians all over her, and if Spike suspected for a second that Havi might be in some way connected to Rose's murder, he'd attack without even thinking about it.

His feet were moving before he could finish the thought, his hands searching his pockets for anything he could use as a weapon.

Maybe it wouldn't take doing Esme's job to get Havi back. Maybe all it would take was playing the hero, swooping in to save her life from the vengeful vampire determined to take it.

He liked that scenario a hell of a lot better than relying on the old bat's non-existent magic. That one was all about him.

She really hadn't meant to do anything to Spike and Havi, but when they'd decided to turn her into the Thanksgiving wishbone, something inside Willow had swelled to the surface. It was hot, and it was angry, and in those few seconds when it took control, she felt freer than she'd ever felt before.

Then, she'd seen Spike slumped against the wall, his hair curling from the electrical discharge. And the guilt had set in with a fierce vengeance.

It wasn't quite so strong with Havi, though. She still wasn't sure what her deal really was.

This was the one part of the magic that Willow couldn't deny still wigged her out. Freaky with more than a little deaky, it surged beyond her control every time something seemed to threaten her. She recognized it for what it was now. It had been the impetus for what had happened to Esme the other night when she'd pricked Willow's finger. And the fact that it could react so vehemently against even the tiniest of threats did not fill Willow with sunshine.

To make it worse, she had to pretend it was OK. If Giles or Wesley or anyone knew just how out of control those moments left her, they'd forget the New Age feel-good therapy with Esme and go straight for the padded room and strait jacket. Not that it would do them any good. After realizing that the magic would lash out at those she knew wouldn't harm her, like Spike, Willow was starting to wonder if maybe it might not be a better idea to figure out how to siphon off some of the power instead of trying to control it. She would have to feel the Watchers out on that idea the next time she saw them.

This wasn't going to be the next time, however. This was the let's-get-the-hell-out-of-here-before-some-creepy-guy-tries-to-hurt-her time, with a side of let's-help-Giles. This was running for safety.

She wasn't entirely sure why Havi bugged Spike so much, but Willow wasn't going to question it. She just followed him doggedly to his car, and pretended not to hear Havi just a few footsteps behind her.

Spike had a harder time with that part. On the first floor of the dorm, he whirled in the hallway and bared his best non-fangy snarl at Havi, forcing her to come up short.

"Me gettin' Red to Rupert's doesn't require a bloody bodyguard," he said. "Shove off."

"No, you're goin' to leave us the hell alone or I'm goin' to put a couple extra holes in the back of your neck, understand?"

Havi lifted her chin in defiance. "The Slayer would not be pleased with that," she said.

"She will not condone your murdering of humans, regardless of the fact that you're the father of her child."

His cold grin made Willow's insides shrink in fear. "Looks like there's a lot you don't know about my Slayer," Spike said.

While Havi didn't appear to be swayed by Spike's retort, Willow edged closer to the wall, her eyes darting between the two as they continued to argue. She was going to need to have a serious talk with Buffy about what the deal was. If she didn't know better, she would've said that Spike was actually serious about killing Havi on the spot.

"Not to be a spoilsport," she said in a brief lull, "but aren't we supposed to making with the getaway because of the impending psycho that's supposedly hunting me down?"

The reminder stopped Spike's next retort, and he straightened his shoulders as he continued to glare at Havi. "Right then," he said. "Best we get on. Make sure the door hits you on the way out, Studs."

He turned on his heel and stalked to the exit, grabbing Willow by the wrist as he brushed past her. She stumbled against him, wincing slightly at the pressure of his hold, but took a small measure of comfort in the fact that the magic didn't rise to the surface. So it could differentiate intent to a mild extent. That was good to know.

Sunlight surprised him when he pulled open the door, and Spike growled as he instinctively shrank away from it. "Don't s'pose you could get the bitch back there to fetch me a blanket," he said, releasing Willow to slap at the flame that had erupted on the back of his hand. "Might be easier to keep you safe if I'm not a big pile o' dust in the process."

Willow was knocked onto her bottom when Spike flew past her to wrap his burned hand around Havi's throat and shove her into the wall.

"Gettin' a mite tired of this holier than thou act," he growled. "'Specially since bein' unholy is something I've always prided myself on."

Havi's fingers clawed at his grip, but there was no submission in her eyes. "This isn't about us," she hissed. "This is about the Slayer. And Willow."

So rapt in the confrontation, Willow didn't hear the back door open again until it was clicking shut. She did, however, see the hatred gleaming in the face of the man who entered, and there was no way she could miss the makeshift stake he clutched in his large hand. Especially when he made a fierce lunge for the fray.

The witch's shout was an irritant more than anything else. Couldn't she see that he was in the middle of a perfectly good tussle here?

He was already starting to move when he felt the wood plunge into his back. The scream ripped from Spike's throat was almost as much from surprise as it was from pain, and he let Havi fall to a crumpled heap as he whirled to face his attacker.

Rage made Baltozar's face a livid red, and his fist slammed forward into Spike's jaw before the vampire could react. "I should've killed you in Barcelona," Baltozar said. His foot drove into Spike's gut, sending him down to the floor next to Havi. "Vampires always have such a way of ruining perfectly good lives."

Spike reached to grab the nearby ankle, but Baltozar danced back out of his way. "And you didn't kill a perfectly good Guardian," he said. "Right."

Falling had driven the stake deeper into Spike's flesh, scraping along inner organs with a burning rasp. At least the bastard had missed the heart. Spike figured he had Red to thank for that one.

It wasn't the voice Spike expected. Behind him, Havi rose to her feet and stepped over his prone form, placing herself between him and Baltozar.

"Don't tell you're protecting him," Baltozar said in disbelief. "Wake up, Havi! He was trying to kill you!"

"It's not something you haven't tried yourself," she said. Her voice was cold, emotionless, and Spike frowned up at her through his haze of pain.

Now Willow's intervention is what Spike had expected. She could start with the fireworks any minute.

Spike rolled his eyes. Red's cred just bottomed out with the begging of the bad guy. He was going to have to talk to her about that when they got out of this particular mess.

The muscles in his jaw twitched, and the glance he shot Willow betrayed his intent.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Don't think that's it, Studs," he said carefully. "Just think that was an added bonus for your boyfriend here."

For the first time, Havi faltered. "You can't hurt her, either," she said. "I won't allow it."

"Because it's your grand calling?" It came out as a sneer, and Spike's dislike for Baltozar swelled. "She's a child. A nothing. You're better than that. We're better than that."

"Hey! The nothing child is standing right here!" Willow protested. "And...I'm not so nothing. Just try attacking me. See how much of a nothing I really am. I'll make you go all poof. Really."

Maybe it was the final really that set Baltozar off. With a grimace, his leg swung back in a wide kick, sweeping Willow from her feet and sending her tumbling to the floor again.

Havi reacted first, springing forward to with fists and snarls to start pummeling against Baltozar. It took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered, lashing back with almost as much rabid fury as hers was ice, crashing into opposite walls to send plaster flying while Spike just tried to stay out of their way.

The fight lasted for only seconds before a fireball appeared from nowhere and crashed into Baltozar's back.

With a fearful shout, Spike rolled out of the reach of the flames, ignoring the pain shooting through his torso from the wood embedded in his back. Beyond the burning Spaniard, he could see Willow's outstretched palms, her skin still charged with electricity from the magic that continued to swell to her fingertips.

"A little consideration, Red!" Spike shouted. "Wankers aren't the only things that can burn here, remember?"

But she didn't seem to hear him. All her attention was trained on the man who'd hurt her, and Spike's gut sank. She was going to set the whole place on fire if she kept it up. And he couldn't exactly stop her without going up in flame himself.

That didn't stop Havi, though. She saw the threat and dove to place her long frame between Willow and Baltozar, her cheek bleeding from a nasty gash.

"Be smart," she ordered. Behind her, Baltozar had dropped to the ground, rolling around on the floor, trying to extinguish the inferno that had already scorched through his clothing. "You do this, and you'll be killing yourself."

"He won't be a threat," Havi continued. Slowly, she backed up until she reached the spot where Baltozar had stopped. "I'll see to that. Just...do not do this."

A groan came from Baltozar's curled-up form. Havi's heel slammed into his face, effectively silencing him.

"Listen to her, Red," Spike said. When the witch turned incredulous eyes to him, he shrugged. He couldn't believe he was saying it, either. "The prat's out for the count. He can't hurt you now."

Slowly, her hands fell to her sides. "I...I..." But she couldn't finish the sentence. The strength in her shoulders dissipated as quickly as it had come, and she slumped back against the wall.

Stepping forward, Havi crouched at Willow's side, examining the bruising that was already starting to bloom on the witch's cheek from where she'd impacted on her fall. "You must rest," she instructed. "Can you walk well enough to return to your room?"

"Nothin' wrong with me that a little extraction won't cure," he said, struggling to stand. "Though why these pillocks are always takin' a poke at me through my back, I have no idea."

"Buffy will be home from class soon," Willow said. She stopped at his side and put her arm around his back, careful not to touch the wood that still protruded slightly from the leather. "She can help me patch you up."

Spike caught her wide eyes as she looked at his back. "Tell me the leather's not ruined," he said with growing fear.

He scowled. "But you can mojo it back the way it was, right? It's not like I didn't get it tryin' to save your skin, Red."

Havi stepped in front of them before they could continue to the stairs. "What do you wish me to do with him?" she asked, gesturing toward Baltozar's unconscious body.

After only a moment's thought, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "Stow him in my boot until Buffy gets back," he said, tossing her the jangling ring. "Black T-bird. And hold your breath when you open it up."

"I'm trustin' you with my car and you can't trust me with this? Be that way then. But it's your nose, Studs."

He turned his back on her and let Willow start leading him toward the stairs, leaning on the small witch a little more heavily than he would've liked. The wound hurt like a bitch, and it was only the thought of a little TLC from Buffy that kept him going at that point.

"So," Willow said when they reached the door, "you save my life, so I save yours? Does this make us all tit for tat now?"

"Think there's still a spare tit out there somewhere," he replied with a sly grin. "Might belong to your beau, though."

She giggled at his small joke, and as they started to climb the stairs, Spike couldn't help but relax more in her presence. Yeah, her magic was starting to scare the hell out of him, but the easy camaraderie Willow offered in its aftermath was almost too enticing to resist. It was something she and Oz seemed to share. Each powerful in their own right, but when not utilizing that power, two of the friendliest faces he'd run across in decades.

It was a feeling Spike thought he could get used to. Very fast. This Sunnydale arrangement just might end up being the best thing that ever happened to him, he decided.

It was probably the last scene she would've expected to walk in on. Well, maybe not the last scene. The dream Buffy had had about Giles and Xander playing pick-up-sticks on her dorm room floor while Willow danced in the background to Madonna's "Vogue" would probably qualify for that spot.

Still, opening her door to see Spike lying on his stomach across Willow's bed, his t-shirt in pieces on the floor while Havi stitched a gaping wound in his back with fluorescent thread rated as fairly unusual. Even for her.

It took a second of gaping to realize that a wan Willow was lying on Buffy's bed, and currently waggling her fingers to her in greeting.

"How was class?" she asked. Though she was obviously trying for chirpy, she was failing miserably.

"Apparently not nearly as exciting as what happened here," Buffy replied. She walked around to Spike's head, crouching down to look him in the face. "Are you aware of who exactly is sewing you up?"

"Don't remind me," he groused, and then winced when Havi pulled a stitch particularly tight. "Hey! Told you to watch it with the pointies back there, Studs!"

Her gaze flickered between the two of them before deciding it was unlikely she'd get an easy answer from either. "Willow?" Buffy asked. "Care to share why we've become triage central?"

"Havi's boyfriend showed up and tried staking Spike when he was fighting with Havi."

Well, that certainly made more sense than any of the scenarios she'd been contemplating.

Spike's unexpected intervention made Willow flush. "Oh, it's no biggie," she said to Buffy's expectant face. "I just kinda, sorta, maybe...set the guy on fire." She gave her friend a brave smile. "Oops?"

"What?" Buffy looked around the room for burn damage, but found nothing out of place. "You didn't...kill him, did you?"

"Baltozar is still alive," Havi offered. "We've contained him in Spike's trunk, waiting your return."

"Well, I'm as returned as I'm going to get," Buffy said. Dropping her bookbag to the floor, she grabbed the keys she recognized as Spike's from the nearby desk. "Let's get him out of there. He's probably going to need medical attention."

She turned at Spike's call, folding her arms across her chest. "Something tells me this is going to be an attempt to stop me from getting the crispy critter out of your car."

"The tosser showed to try and have a go at Red there," he said. He batted at Havi's hands, wincing slightly as he rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "Just think maybe we should suss out what we're goin' to do with him before we start healing him up, is all. Or have you forgotten that this is the same bloke who skewered Rose not too long ago? You really want him doin' the same to your best bunkmate?"

Buffy paused. She hadn't made the connection between Rose and the fact that this was Havi's ex. That changed things a little bit.

"We'll have to interrogate him," she said. She chewed at her lip. "Normally, I'd say, let's take him to Giles', but he's already got his hands full with one interrogatee."

"Actually..." Havi straightened from the first aid, looking pensive for the first time since Buffy's arrival. "...that's no longer true."

Buffy listened with growing amazement as Havi related the story of finding the Watcher unconscious and his hostage missing. "And you were going to tell me this when?"

"Well, we got a little distracted," Willow said. "Plus..." She gestured toward Spike. "...ouchies."

When she glanced at Spike, he affected such an obvious pout of pretend pain that Buffy just had to smile. "Fine," she said. "But you're better now, right?"

Carefully, Spike stood up, and though his back still looked a mess in spite of the stitches, he nodded. "Take more than that wanker to put me down," he said.

"Sometimes, I think it would take a whole army of Slayers to take you down," she shot back.

She turned away before he could see the amused grin she couldn't hide. "Let's get over to Giles' then," Buffy said. "Obviously, we're going to have some talking to do."

Everybody stopped in their paces to stare at Havi, but she only lifted her chin higher.

"He is your friend as well, isn't he?" she said. "He will wish to know what is going on."

They were left gaping as Havi went to the phone first, pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket and starting to dial. Willow edged closer to Buffy's side and whispered, "At least this one's not a demon."

Spike's snort of derision rang through the room. "Think the jury's still out on that one, Red." He grabbed his coat before snatching the keys from Buffy's unexpecting hand. "And nobody's drivin' my baby except for me. Get what you need. I'll pull the car around."

It was a ragged bunch that came together in Giles' living room. Wesley regarded them with fascination, wondering if they were completely aware of the picture they presented. Buffy and Spike had taken over Rupert's big chair, and she was fussing over his disinterest in his recent injury. Willow was curled against Oz in the corner of the couch, while Havi sat next to Xander, who apparently was having difficulty figuring out what to do with his hands, alternating between folding them between his knees and aborting touches of the woman at his side. While Joyce fussed in the galley kitchen preparing drinks and snacks for everyone, Rupert leaned against one of the stools, holding a compress to his head.

The only one missing from the scene was the unfortunate would-be assassin. Apparently after discovering that he'd lapsed into unconsciousness, Buffy had insisted that they take him to the hospital before coming to her Watcher's flat. His burns had been more extensive than the young people had realized, and coupled with some malodorous stench from being locked in Spike's boot, he was immediately placed into critical care by the emergency room staff. They had left him there with their contact information should there be a change in his status, but the doctors were not optimistic.

"There is a bright side to your encounter this morning," Wesley said to Willow, drawing everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. "You didn't suffer from any sort of blackout this time, correct?"

Willow's eyes widened. "Oh! No, you're right. I didn't. I mean, I got all woozy, and it's probably a good thing I didn't have to operate any heavy machinery, but, yeah, I was all awake girl this time." She turned a bright smile to her boyfriend. "Go me!"

"She needs to learn to control her powers, though," Havi interjected. "I was not a threat to her, and still she lashed out to me."

"Not a threat," Spike said. "Bugger that. That's why you wouldn't take no for an answer, right? Even when Red told you to back the fuck off."

"It doesn't matter who said what," Buffy intervened. "We have to draw some boundaries here. Like, knowing who're the good guys and who're the bad guys and living with those choices."

"Let's do a show of hands," Xander said. He stuck his right up in the air. "All those against the powers of evil, say aye."

Though nobody spoke up, people around the room followed Xander's innocent example and raised their hands.

When Spike just sat there, unmoving, Buffy poked him expectantly in the side. He looked at her, startled, until, very deliberately, she raised her hand a little higher.

"Oh, right," he said, lifting his left hand to join the crowd. "Still manage to forget that sometimes. Must be all those years of..." His voice trailed off at her raised eyebrows. "Let's go fight that evil," he added with fake enthusiasm.

"Yes, well, as...enlightening as it is to see that we agree we're all on the same side here," Giles said, "it doesn't tell us what we should do next. There's the problem of the missing vigilante, not to mention Willow's power---."

"---qualifies as being as dire as GI Joe gone bad or Willow's mojo control issues."

"I wouldn't call it dire," Willow grumbled. "Important maybe, or even serious, but not dire."

"Regardless of our definitions," Wesley said, "Rupert is right. We need to sit down and reflect on just how we plan to proceed."

The room lapsed into quiet as everyone pondered his declaration. Joyce wove between the furniture, passing out drinks, and then returned to sit next to Giles.

"Personally, I'd like to make sure the issue of Havi and Spike is resolved," she said. "I have to say, I do feel better about believing Havi's story now, but if Spike is going to move into my house---."

"Wait a minute." Setting aside his compress, Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as he spoke. "Let me get this entirely straight. You are suggesting that both Spike and Havi live with you, under the same roof, indefinitely? Have you gone completely mad?"

"No, I didn't think you had." He cut Joyce off without pause. "Neither is exactly a known variable, and yet you seem ready to just accept everything they say as gospel, without thought as to what the repercussions might be."

It was said simultaneously, though not by the injured parties themselves. Buffy and Xander exchanged a quick glance, gathering strength from their solidarity, and then Xander rose to his feet.

"You didn't see that Baltozar, Giles," he said. "You have no idea what he's capable of, so don't go jumping on the wrong opinion bandwagon about Havi just because she's new in town. Doesn't the fact that she helped protect Willow against him just this morning mean anything?"

"Xander's right." Buffy stood to stand beside him. "She's done nothing but help since she got here. I have to admit, I'm not that thrilled she wants to sleep next to my old room, but if there's a fight coming, there's no way I'm going to turn down extra muscle. Especially if mine are busy with babymaking."

Wesley caught Giles' wince of discomfort at Buffy's cavalier mention of her pregnancy, and stepped away as she confronted her Watcher even closer.

"As for Spike, we've had this discussion, Giles. And we'll keep having it until you start believing me. He's here, and he's not going anywhere. This baby? As much his as it is mine, and if he wants to be even closer to us by moving into my mom's basement, then so be it. Would you rather he and I were sharing an apartment someplace?"

The idea seemed to shock both Giles and Joyce, and there was a glimpse of something resembling awe in Spike's eyes as he regarded the Slayer. Her Watcher might not be ready to accept the inclusion of the vampire into the group, but between Lydia's repeated stories about Spike's search for Rose and the obvious love he exhibited for Buffy, Wesley was inclined to place his faith in their repeated avowals. After all, he'd learned his lesson about going against Buffy the hard way the previous year. He was not a stupid man.

"My suggestion is we just take this one day at a time," Buffy went on. "Willow keeps going with whatever meditation techniques you and Wesley can teach her, and Spike and I keep an eye out for these vigilantes. When this Baltozar guy wakes up, we talk to him. Until then, we don't even know what we're fighting. Havi doesn't even know, and she had a seer to help her out. Getting all worried isn't going to accomplish anything except get somebody else hurt. None of us wants that."

"I would still like Spike's assurances that his problems with Havi are in the past," Joyce said. "I won't have the same kind of displays I saw last night repeated in my house."

Spike shot Havi a black look, but slumped back in his chair in defeat. "You got my word," he said. "So long as Studs plays nice, I'll do the same. But if I find out she's even looked at Buffy cross-eyed, all bets are off."

"That's that, then," Buffy said brightly. She glanced at the empty tray her mother had set down. "Were you doing any food to go with those drinks, Mom? Maybe something without any redeeming nutritional value whatsoever?"

Joyce and Giles exchanged a look. "I have some...chocolate McVitie's I brought back from my last trip to England," he said warily.

Spike immediately brightened, leaping from the chair to head for the kitchen. "Why didn't you bloody well say so?" he said loudly. They heard the sound of the refrigerator opening. "Don't suppose you have any bags of blood lyin' around, too? Something about dunking a digestive in a mug of A-positive sounds too good to pass up right about now."

"Myth," Joyce said with a knowing nod. "When I was pregnant with Buffy, Hank gained almost as much weight as I did. Of course, that could've been because I refused to eat alone every time I had a craving."

"Does that mean Spike's going to swell up into our very own Goodyear Vampire?" Xander asked with far too much excitement.

"Tattletale," she hissed, and then, louder for the others in the flat to hear, "Sorry!"

"Dear lord," Giles muttered. "How on earth are we going to survive another nine months of this?"

"It could be worse," Havi said, completely deadpan. "They could be living with you instead of Mrs. Summers."

It took a moment for the sentiment to sink in, but all too quickly Willow was giggling, Oz was smiling, and Xander was proudly declaring that his comedic influence was finally rubbing off on the stalwart Havi. Wesley took the opportunity to pull Giles aside, lowering his voice so that his words couldn't be heard by the others.

"What about Esme?" he asked. "How do you feel we should proceed in Willow's teaching?"

"Frankly, part of me is hoping that the next person she sets on fire is that blasted witch," Giles said with more malice than he probably intended. "I can't help but think that there's something else going on there that we just don't haven't fathomed yet."

"I can go back to the hotel and speak with her. String her along, perhaps? If I play up the events of this morning, it's possible she could tip her hand."

Sighing, Giles turned away from the conversation to see the various young people chatting in the room. "No," he admitted. "Willow seems more than willing to continue."

"Please don't remind me." He shook his head. "We'll just have to go on as we have been. Until something more definitive turns up, I don't see as we have much of a choice."

Wesley nodded. "I'll speak with Esme anyway. The fact that Willow didn't lose consciousness this morning might mean something, and if it does, it's better if we hear it first."

She hid her troublesome emotions until after Wesley had left her room. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Esme felt the first fingers of true fear creep into her consciousness, bile rising in her throat at the prospect that all her hopes would go with her to her grave.

Baltozar had failed. What was worse, he was now in the hospital, courtesy of a coma and third degree burns, and the Slayer was ready to interrogate him once he was well enough to be subjected to such a thing. Any means to accomplish the more physical aspects of her tasks had just been snatched out of her hands by a foolish, lovesick Spaniard.

The news about Willow was worrisome as well. During the most recent outburst, the young witch had managed to maintain enough control not to lose consciousness and to stop when requested. Granted, neither consequence was without its problem, but the sheer fact that the magic protecting her from physical harm was already starting to mold to her psyche meant that it would be that much more difficult to separate from her later on. The longer Willow had to grow accustomed to the magic, the harder it would be for Esme to take it back.

She'd lied to Wesley, of course. He didn't need to know that this new turn of events meant that the magic was starting to settle on its own. It was still going to consume Willow, but they wouldn't know that until it was too late. To them, it would just look like she was starting to control it. They'd think that Esme was redundant and ship her back to the UK to die under the Council's aegis, a shadow of her former self.

"It's growing erratic," she'd said. "The longer she contains it, the more difficult it'll become to predict."

"That's because you didn't live with the power your entire life. Think of it like a pot of boiling water. Every time the power gets used, it makes it boil harder. But water doesn't boil consistently. Sometimes the surges are big, and sometimes they're small. Willow was lucky today. She had a small surge."

The Council idiot believed every word. It was the only good thing Esme could muster from the entire conversation.

She would have to do everything she could to derail Willow's assimilation of the magic. At the same time, she had to do something about Baltozar. When he woke from his coma, he might be a liability, though Esme didn't think he would talk very easily. To top it all off, she needed to find someone else she could manipulate in the meantime. Someone either mercenary enough or with a strong enough reason to wish to join her side.

That would be the hardest part. She had no contacts in Sunnydale. She didn't have her magic yet. If she ever hoped to retrieve the power of the Slayer artifacts, Esme would have to start getting creative.

Dr. Walsh wasn't going to wait long before interrogating him for real, Graham knew. When she did, there was even the possibility that the magic that had been utilized to keep him from spilling too much to strangers would be turned around to force him to tell them exactly what he knew. Then, they'd find out he lied to them. His situation would go from bad to much, much worse.

Shifting in his hospital bed, Graham felt his healing body protest at the slight movement and had the stirrings of an idea. Dr. Walsh had made it clear that they wouldn't question him until he was stronger, but if for some reason he was forced to stay in the hospital a little longer, maybe enough time would lapse that their attentions would be diverted. Or maybe, they'd decide it wasn't important after all, and take him at his word. After all, he'd been a star soldier up to this point. They really had no reason to doubt him.

Well, except for the fact that he was lying through his teeth about what had happened to him.

He was still staring at the ceiling, contemplating how he was going to proceed, when the door opened and Dr. Walsh came walking confidently in. She held a file folder in her hand, but kept it closed as she stepped to his side.

"Better," he replied carefully. His gaze flickered to the folder but he held his tongue. She would tell why she was there soon enough.

"We've had an interesting report from Sunnydale Memorial today," Dr. Walsh said. "I'd like for you to take a look at a photograph and tell me if you recognize someone."

Graham waited as she pulled out a shiny eight-by-ten and held it out for him to examine. Though nothing was betrayed on his face, the sight of the burned body made his stomach turn. Additionally, there were bruises on the swarthy man's face that indicated a vicious fight, and one in particular near the left eye was so dark as to be black. Someone, or something, had had its own angry way with the man; he could only hope that whatever he'd done had been wrong enough to merit such an attack.

Dr. Walsh was watching his reaction intently. "Do you know him?" she asked. "Have you seen him before?"

That's when it clicked. This was a test of his earlier declaration. Dr. Walsh wanted him to either identify this man as one of the demonhunters or catch him in his lie.

"The injuries make it hard to tell," Graham said evenly. It still surprised him how easily he found it to lie. "But he does look familiar."

"His name is Baltozar Marroquin," Dr. Walsh interrupted. She slid the photograph back into the folder. "He's a Spanish mercenary, renowned in Europe for some of his more bloody involvements. This morning, he was admitted to Sunnydale Memorial in a coma, with third degree burns covering most of his back. The person listed in his contact information is Willow Rosenberg."

"We've backtracked Mr. Marroquin's presence in Sunnydale," Dr. Walsh continued. "His arrival coincides with this month's full moon. Considering the retribution that seems to have been paid, we think it's highly likely this is one of the demonhunters currently in town to try and catch the werewolf ahead of us."

"He's not the one that I was left with," Graham answered truthfully. Now came the lie. "But I heard the name mentioned once or twice."

"I don't know if all of them were. The one I dealt with the most was British. He was the one I knocked out in order to escape." Better to pepper his story with enough truth to make it more realistic. It would make any future interrogation easier to manipulate.

Dr. Walsh seemed satisfied with his response, and something inside Graham loosened. "We're going to keep an eye on this situation," she said, moving back to the door. "I've decided not to pursue our capture of the werewolf until we've better assessed what the threat actually means to us. If such a well-known mercenary can suffer such an attack, I'm reluctant to lose any more good men."

When she finally walked out of the room, Graham was left with a sense of relief. Somehow, he had a feeling that his debriefing had just taken a backseat to finding out more about what had put the demonhunter in the hospital. He wasn't going to argue. Any respite he got from imminent death was a good one.

Maybe it was because he was wounded that Joyce gave in so readily to Buffy's demands to be allowed to spend the night. Spike didn't care. The end result was still the same. He was stretched out on the cot in the cluttered basement, a mug of warm blood on the floor beside him, Buffy bustling around to try and bring a sense of order to the space.

"OK, remind me to have a talk with Mom about this newfangled fad going around called garage sales," she said as she shifted yet another box. Stopping, she sat back on her heels and turned curious eyes to him. "How is it you don't have this much crap? You've been around way longer than Mom has."

Spike shrugged, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back from the movement. "Left a lot of stuff behind in South America when Willow mojo'd me to London this summer," he said.

"Some. Not like the lot of it can't be replaced, though. Just need to find a decent music store in this hellhole."

She looked thoughtful. "So, you don't have any Freston heirlooms you've been toting around for the past century? Nothing we can pass on to Schmoo?"

In spite of his initial horror at the nickname, Spike grinned, even as he shook his head. "This is goin' to be a nine-month battle with you, isn't it?" he asked, rolling onto his side to make more room on the cot. He curled his arm around her waist when she snuggled in beside him, spooning against his front as naturally as if she'd been molded specifically for the purpose.

"What is?" Her voice was already getting sleepy. It had been a long day for both of them.

"The little one's name." Sliding his hand beneath her shirt, he splayed his fingers across her stomach, taking warm comfort from the twin echoing heartbeats he could feel beneath his touch. It was impossible not to lean forward and nuzzle the exposed skin of her neck. "You know, I like it better when we're like this. Much better."

"No, not fightin' 'bout..." Spike stopped. He didn't want to spark another argument like the one from the previous night.

Buffy caught onto his meaning anyway. Carefully, she placed her injured hand over the one he had on her stomach. "I'm working on it," she whispered. "Accepting...all of it. You're not the only one who can love so much that it hurts, you know."

It was a good thing she couldn't see his face. Spike's eyes fluttered closed as the emotion overwhelmed him, and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her until it seemed to flood through his pores. "I've got time," he said. "Just...don't shut me out, OK? What was said last night...it's still there, Buffy. Know we haven't talked about it today, but...that doesn't mean it's gone."

Her breathing was slow and even, and as the silence stretched out, Spike began to wonder if maybe she'd fallen asleep. It was all right if she did. It had been a long day for both of them, and there was more than enough time ahead of them to---.

Shifting slightly in his arms, Buffy looked over her shoulder at Spike. "For the baby. If it's a girl. Phoebe Noelle."

Her lower lip jutted into a pout before she brightened again. "What about switching it around? Noelle Phoebe?"

The pout returned, and Buffy settled back into his embrace. "You're going to be a stick in the mud about this naming business, I can tell," she complained.

"Since when has my stick ever been a problem?" he teased, thrusting his hips slightly into hers.

She slapped at his hand, but snuggled in deeper. "Go to sleep, Spike," Buffy said.

There was a lot that was still wrong, that still needed to be talked over and fixed and worked at. There were issues of ex-Protectors living under the same roof as him and comatose demonhunters in the hospital and Red's increasingly scary mojo. There was Joyce and Giles and Xander and Oz and that Esme bitch and all Buffy's profs at college who were giving her such a hard time. There was a lot of shit that just didn't want to be ignored.

But there was a lot that was right, too. And in that moment, Spike knew that though it was going to take time, he wasn't going to have to skirt those hazards all on his lonesome.

"Love you, too, pet," he murmured. His fingers brushed along her stomach. "Love both of you."