DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Robert Burns.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: This starts immediately after the season 5 episode, Family, so Spike has realized his true feelings for Buffy (albeit only recently), Tara knows she's not a demon, and Joyce has just recently fallen ill. Oh, and I hate to say it, but Buffy is still with Riley.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm not fond of splitting my attention between two lengthy WIP's, but the tone of my other major story is making me want to indulge in something light and romantic, hence the advent of Charms of the Clarion. This is for angstchic, who approached me with the initial ideas and set me off on this particular road of adventure, and for all her wonderful help in getting it off the ground and keeping it there. Oh, and in case you didn't know this already, this is Buffy and Spike all the way, baby…

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

The fumes hit her even before she could see the building, and Buffy grimaced, stopping in her tracks as she sniffed at the air. Blood, most definitely, and something that smelled like kerosene, and…was that chocolate? She breathed in again, somehow not repulsed by the combination, only to confirm that, yes, someone had most definitely tossed Hershey into the mix. No way could she miss out on that particular aroma, not after marathon midnight binges with Willow.

The door opened before she reached it, and the Slayer watched as Willy came rushing forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the bar's entrance. "Not in the front, not in the front," he hurried, pulling her around the side of the building.

With no effort, Buffy wrenched herself free, sending the little man sprawling to the ground. "You're the one who called me, remember?" she said, hazel eyes bright with annoyance.

"And it took you long enough to get here," he complained, scrambling to his feet. When she shook her head and turned from him, ready to walk away, he darted around to her front, putting up his hands to stop her although not daring to actually let them touch the young woman. "OK, OK, I'm sorry, but you gotta take care of this. I got no one else to call."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Take care of what?"

"He's out back. C'mon."

The smells were stronger at the rear of the club, and Buffy saw the overturned garbage cans sprawled around the littered alley. "I don't feel like playing Columbo, Willy," she said, stopping short as he opened the back door and disappeared inside. "So why don't we make this nice and easy, and you tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

"No problem." His voice was muffled from inside the bar, and she heard the unmistakeable tones of fighting, a second voice undercutting the high squeals of the owner's arguments. It only took a moment for her to recognize the baritone, and when a very familiar, "Bloody hell!," pierced the air, Buffy sighed. Great. This was about Spike.

Her irritation changed to amusement, however, as soon as the vampire came thundering from the bar, Willy's hands firmly planted on his back, propelling him to face the Slayer in indignation. Her gaze swept over his rumpled form, taking in the reddened knuckles, the bruising over his left eye, the distinctly wet shirt clinging to his torso, outlining his muscles as if the cotton was a second skin. What elicited the giggles from her throat, though, was the absence of his trademark platinum hair. In its place was a sticky brown tangle, with chocolate rivers streaking his face where he'd tried wiping away what was running down into his eyes.

"What's wrong, Spike?" she laughed. "Did you lose a fight with the Easter Bunny?"

"Don't. Start," he growled, sweeping past her in a flurry of black leather.

Buffy turned back to Willy. "As entertaining as this is---and I've got to say, this definitely rates high on the Slayer meter o' fun---what has any of it to do with me?"

"You're the only way he's going to make it home in one piece after what he pulled tonight. He's got half the demon population hot on his tail right now, including one very pissed off Truva, and if he sticks around here any longer, the whole block's going to go up in flames." The owner of the bar was hopping around on his feet like he was standing on something hot, his anxiety blowing up his normally nervous energy into an explosion that was making her dizzy.

"And that would be a bad thing because…?" she asked.

Spike sighed. "Told you she'd be a bitch about it," he snapped at Willy. "I'd rather take my chances running into that Truva wanker. Least then when she's havin' to put out all the little fires he decides to set once he's dusted my ass, you can have a right jolly good time laughin' in her face sayin' told you so." He swiped angrily at his eye as another drop of chocolate dripped into his lashes.

"Oh, great, throw my job back in my face." Buffy started walking away, shaking her head. "This better get me some major attitude adjustment next time I need info, Willy."

"Sure, whatever you say, Slayer. Just trying to do my part to contribute to the health and wealth of Sunnydale's finest, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. She was all the way to the end of the alley before she realized she was walking alone, and stopped, half-turning to glare back at the vampire. "For someone who's currently more closely resembling a Fudgsicle than a formerly deadly creature of the night, you're not moving very fast."

His boots echoed against the brick walls as he stomped down to meet her. "Don't suppose you'd take the back way to my crypt," he growled, attempting to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes, only to blink rapidly as yet another slip of chocolate made its way down the side of his face.

Her smile was wide, her laughter loud, and Buffy made sure her hair went sailing as she whipped herself around to stroll down the sidewalk. "Oh, no," she gloated. "I think this is definitely Main Street material."

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

He deliberately kept pace a few feet behind her, azure eyes locked on the swing of her hips as she marched along through the cemetery, his mouth watering every time the breeze caught a whiff of her perfume and blew it back to him. The parade downtown had almost been worth it for this spectacular view, though Spike thought that stopping to chat with Xander and Anya, or to look at every single shop window, was worth just a little bit more than watching her walk. Wonder what the bint would do if I tossed her in the shower with me? he thought, and felt his cock harden as a result. Naked Buffy, lots of soap…He grinned. Definitely had potential.

"So you going to tell me what actually happened back there?" she asked, the first words she'd directed to him since leaving Willy's. "Because anything that makes you look that ridiculous has got to be a good story."

"Thought it was obvious," he said, wiping the smile from his face before she could catch it. "I got in a fight."

There was no disguising the twinkle in her eye as she glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Fights don't usually involve chocolate," she said. "Unless they're of the romantic variety." Her grin widened. "You got a new girlfriend we should know about?"

"Since when do you give two figs about my personal life, Slayer?"

She shrugged. "I don't. It's just been a very slow night and I could use a little entertainment."

"I'm not in the mood to be your party pick-me-up," he growled, although inwardly groaned at the prospect. Pick me up, throw me against the wall, shag me senseless…Fuck. Gotta stop these kind of thoughts before she susses me out and stakes me for good.

"Whatever," she replied and turned back away, returning them to the silence they'd shared earlier.

Their footsteps seemed too loud in the deserted graveyard, and Spike frowned as the sight of his crypt loomed in the distance, bringing Buffy to a halt before him. "Home sweet crypt," she said, hazel eyes returning to his face. "Last chance to give me the scoop."

Using the hands he had stuffed deep inside his pockets, the vampire tightened his coat around his body, hiding his erection from her probing gaze. "Nothin' to dish," he said. "Went out to get some smokes and blood, and found that Truva pillock torching my favorite butcher's. He ran, I chased him to Willy's, and we got into a fight. End of story."

"That doesn't explain the chocolate sauce, or why Willy seems to think you're in danger."

Spike snorted. "Willy's a melodramatic little monkey who thinks just because a couple of demons threaten to barbecue me, my sorry undead life is on the ropes." Actually, he was lying here and seriously hoped that the Slayer wouldn't notice or call him on it. Truth was, that one Truva had turned into a gang of assorted lowlifes at the bar, and with Spike as the current thorn in their side, life around Sunnydale was going to be a little dicey until they got bored with him and decided to try and kill someone else. But there was no reason for Buffy to know that. He certainly didn't need her laughing at him more than she already was.

"And somehow that still doesn't tell me why you're just minus a big red cherry on top from being a sundae." She was enjoying this just a little too much, the sight of the chocolate-stained vampire the highlight of her boring night. Consciously lessening the breadth of her grin, Buffy waited expectantly for his forthcoming clarification.

"And you're not goin' to know," Spike retorted, pushing past her to head for the door to his crypt. He'd only sauntered a few yards, however, when the unmistakeable scents reached his nose, stopping his feet as his head tilted, blue gaze flickering to his right. "Think you're about to have some more sittin' to do, Slayer," he commented.

"Oh, I think I've done all the sitting I can handle in one night, thank you very much."

"Tell that to the group of humans hangin' out up there by my crypt then," the vampire drawled, lips curling into a smile. "Unless you just plan on leavin' them. I'm sure there's a few local vamps who wouldn't complain about havin' dinner delivered to their gravestep for a change."

"Crap," Buffy muttered, and reaching behind her, pulled the stake from the waistband of her trousers. "I'd like to find out when hanging out in cemeteries became Sunnydale's number one attraction." She glanced around, eyes jumping from one dark shadow to the next, the night swallowing up the surrounding area in an ebony gulp.

She was oblivious to him as she walked past, weapon poised, fingers curled around the stake in such a way that Spike's mouth watered, and he had to fight to keep his hands in his pockets and off her curves. Each muscle was a tense celebration of menace, her every movement an exercise in grace, and the anticipation of watching her fight made his blood seethe. Tiny flecks of gold flickered through his eyes as the demon within caught the lust that was surging through his body, but he kept it leashed, all too aware of the fact that vamping out without provocation would most likely earn him a good thrashing, if not a thorough staking…although the thought of a thrashing sounded like it could turn out to be fun…

"Am I alone on this, or do I not sense any demons around?" Buffy asked, glancing back at Spike. "Other than you, of course."

His eyebrow lifted. "You're askin' for my advice?" he queried. "Gee, Slayer, I'm touched."

"Hardly. We'll just consider that a rhetorical question." Slowly, her body relaxed, her hand lowering. "But I better go tell those people they should get out of here. It's probably just a bunch of kids looking for some post-Halloween creepiness, anyway."

"Actually, we were looking for William the Bloody."

Buffy whirled, the stake back at attention, and watched as a group of three dark-suited men emerged from the darkness, one holding a crossbow while the other two held large crucifixes before them. Even if she hadn't heard the accent in the leader's voice, she would've known that they weren't locals. Only the dead were that stiff in this cemetery.

"So, Spike…this a family reunion or something?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "'Cause the only British people in Sunnydale that I know are you and…" Her head swivelled back to stare at the trio. "Oh, no. Please, tell me this is some late Halloween prank, and that you're not really part of the Council."

One of the men holding the crosses stepped forward, hand extended in greeting. "Miss Summers, I presume," he said. "How fortunate we've found you here. It saves us a further trip before we convene with the others." Buffy held her ground, ignoring his offering, and after a moment of awkwardness, the man blushed, retracting his welcome with a clumsy shuffle. "Yes, well, I certainly understand your hesitancy. After all, you are the Slayer. That's your job…to be cautious, and to, of course, slay."

Spike's lips lifted in smile at the man's ramblings. Nice to know I'm not the only one Buffy gets to, he thought, and watched as she slowly crossed her arms over her chest.

"So what's the Council doing lurking around Spike's crypt?" she asked. "And for that matter, what's the Council doing in Sunnydale anyway? I haven't seen you guys since, you know, you tried to kidnap me last spring."

"Oh, that wasn't us," he rushed to explain. "That would've been one of our special operative teams. We're part of the board back in…England…the good guys, not the…bad…ones…" His voice trailed off as he realized he was only making his situation worse, and he cleared his throat. "We're here, actually, to fetch Spike and yourself to meet with Mr. Travers---."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And this just gets better and better," she drawled. "The head honcho decided to show up himself, huh? Is he tired of not having a Slayer to boss around anymore? Not that I really care." She brightened. "Oh! Unless he's here to apologize. That might be kinda fun to see."

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose the particulars," the man said. "We're merely here in a retrieval capacity."

"And Spike and I are the sticks?" Buffy said. "Sorry, but I've never been big on the doing tricks for other people gig, especially if those other people are the Council, so why don't you run on back to your boss, Mr. Watcher Guy---."

"It's Colin. Colin Sadler."

"---run on back to your boss, Mr. Colin-Colin Sadler, and tell him this Slayer doesn't roll over for him anymore." She seemed to notice the vampire behind her for the first time since the trio had arrived. "Oh, but Spike you can have. I don't care about him."

"Thanks so bloody much, Slayer," Spike growled.

Colin glanced over Buffy's shoulder and frowned at the vamp's dishevelled appearance before returning to address the young blonde. "Our instructions are for both of you," he said. "Now, the vampire we're prepared to take by force, if need be, but in the event you were to refuse to cooperate, I was authorized to offer you an incentive. Regarding your mother and her illness."

Buffy stiffened. "That doesn't sound like an incentive. That sounds like a threat."

"No, no, no!" Colin stuttered. "That's not what I'm saying. Mr. Travers is prepared to offer you expert medical attention for your mother, which, I'm sure you'll agree, is definitely an inducement for meeting with him. So, not a threat." He smiled nervously, doing his best to appear calm but inwardly cowering.

Spike watched as the young woman's eyes narrowed, the mention of her mother tensing her jaw as her brain worked over the Watcher's words. They had her attention now, and though he had no idea what the pillocks might want with him, if Buffy was going along for the ride, he planned on being right next to her.

"All right," she finally said, mouth grim. "I'll go. But first sign of trouble, I'm out of there, got it?"

Colin looked relieved, exhaling loudly as the weapon relaxed in his arms. "Well, we should really set on then," he said and nodded behind him. "Our vehicle is back there, so if you would---."

"Hey!" Each turned to look at Spike, standing in chocolaty splendor in the moonlight. "You think I'm goin' anywhere without gettin' a shower first, you've got to be off your box." He waited for an objection, and getting none, began sauntering toward his crypt.

The Watcher's eyes darted between the marching vampire and Buffy, his brow furrowed in worry. "Is it safe to leave him unattended like that?" he questioned.

She shrugged. "You want him so badly, you go watch him, 'cause Spike in a shower is one show I do not need to see." The Englishman hesitated, his fear in spite of his ready weapon shining through in his face, and the Slayer sighed. "Hello? Haven't got all night here. And besides, it's pretty much your job description, isn't it? Watcher, watching things…?"

"Right," Colin murmured, and took a bold step forward, only to stumble back when the vamp pretended to lunge at him.

"Spike!" Buffy admonished. "Don't make me get into this!"

He couldn't help his grin. "Just havin' a bit of a laugh," he joked before pushing open the door to his crypt. "Not my fault he didn't think it was funny…"

Standing in the silence of the cemetery, the young blonde felt her insides begin to clench in anxiety, the thought of facing the Council again worrying her more than she was prepared to show. I so don't have time for this right now, she thought, but the promise of help for her mother was just too good to ignore, especially since the Sunnydale doctors seemed so ineffectual in determining what exactly was wrong. Experts were of the good, and if that meant a showdown with Quentin Travers, well then, so be it…

The shrill whistle of the kettle pierced the close air of the kitchen, momentarily distracting Giles from the fury that was simmering beneath his skin. Hastening to remove it from the burner, he cursed under his breath as a few drops of the fiery liquid splashed onto his fingers, startling him into almost releasing his grip on the handle, renewing his ire at his unwanted guests. Arrogant, interfering bastards, he grumbled angrily, and cast a quick glance out of the corner of his eye at the recumbent form of his former employer.

"We've had remarkable weather in London this fall," Travers was saying. "Quite mild, considering."

He had to physically restrain himself from shaking his head. Why in bloody hell do Brits spend so much time discussing the damn weather? Giles thought as he poured the water through the strainer. It had been the only consistent topic of conversation since Quentin and his entourage had arrived on his step just minutes earlier, and though he wished he'd had the fortitude to just slam the door in their faces, the slight spark of curiosity as to their presence convinced the Watcher to allow them entrance.

"I'm afraid Sunnydale doesn't offer the same meteorological interest as the ways and means of British rainfall," Giles said, walking into the lounge with the tray of steaming cups of tea balanced in his hands. He set it down on the coffee table and stood back, gazing down at the elderly leader of the Council. "But I'm certain that isn't why you've flown across an ocean and an entire country to see me."

"Actually, you are not our primary interest here," Quentin replied, gingerly picking up his cup.

As if in direct response to his assertion, there was a knock at the front door, and Giles frowned as he glanced at the clock. The hour was much too late for proper visitors, leaving only the possibility that it was yet more of the Council arriving to make his life miserable. "I do wish you'd called first," he said as he crossed to answer it. "I would've arranged to be out."

Willow was the last person he expected to see on the other side of the entrance, her eyes wide in nervousness, cheeks pale in spite of the cool night air. "Hi, Giles," she said as brightly as she could manage, and jumped slightly as the stern woman accompanying her prodded her over the doorstep.

"What does the Council want with Willow?" Giles demanded as he shut the door.

"She told me this was about Buffy," the redhead exclaimed. "Isn't she here?"

"My apologies for the subterfuge, Miss Rosenberg," Quentin said. "We merely wanted you to come of your own volition. We do hate to use unnecessary force." He ignored Giles' snort of derision and smiled at the young woman. "Do sit down. I'm sure Rupert would be more than happy to provide with you some refreshment while we wait."

She glanced at her mentor before perching herself on the edge of the couch cushion, hands folded uncomfortably on her lap. "It's all right, Willow," he assured. "Would you---?" Another knock at the door interrupted him, and with one last glance at Travers, the Watcher returned to answer it.

"You have no idea how glad I am that Travers wants his little confab here," Buffy said as she breezed past, stopping when she realized the man to whom she was referring sat within just a few feet of her. "And speak of the British devil," she added.

For the first time, Quentin stood, inclining his head slightly in welcome. "Miss Summers, it's good to see you in such fine health."

Her brows lifted. "You expected to find me laid out on a cold slab?" she asked, and then held up her hand. "Wait. Don't answer that."

"Well, hail, hail, the gang's all here," Spike drawled, sauntering in to stand just inside the doorway.

Giles whirled at the sound of the vampire's voice. "What are you doing here?" he demanded irritably.

"I got myself an invite." He smiled, enjoying the Watcher's consternation.

"Yes, Rupert," Quentin confirmed. "Spike is here at my request. Although, I must say, I didn't expect him to be able to enter your flat without an express invitation. Are there perhaps details of your involvement that we should be aware of?"

"Like you bloody care," Giles muttered, containing his temper from slamming the door shut behind the three men who entered after the vamp. "Any other guests I should be expecting?" he asked, blue eyes blazing. "Xander? Anya? The Queen of England?"

Travers resumed his seat. "No, everyone is present." His watery gaze watched as everyone settled, Spike collapsing to a sprawl in one of the chairs while Buffy stood at the end of the sofa with her arms folded across her chest. "I'm sure you're curious as to our presence here. We haven't exactly been on the…friendliest of terms for the last few months unfortunately."

"Just cut to the chase," the Slayer said. "I'm not really in the mood to play out some bad movie scenario with you as the police inspector about to tell us someone was murdered and that one of us is a killer. You wanted us. We're here. Now talk."

"The chase, yes…" Quentin met her eyes with a directness she found unsettling, the urge to duck her head like a chastened schoolchild suddenly seeming too heavy to ignore, but Buffy remained firm, meeting his gaze with an assurance she didn't feel on the inside. "The Council requires your presence in Scotland for a matter that has grown…beyond our control."

"Requires?" For the first time since running into the trio at the graveyard, she began to feel some of her control returning to her grasp, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. "You got a vamp infestation you need a Slayer to take care of for you?"

"Not vampires, at least, we don't believe so. And it's not just your skills we need." He glanced pointedly at Willow and Spike before continuing. "Several months ago, the Council was requested to help with the renovation of a property in the Highlands as it held…historical significance. In the process of our excavation, however, we unearthed a network of tunnels that led into the nearby hills."

"The hollow hills…" Giles murmured, eyes crinkling as he began to get involved in his ex-employer's tale.

"Yes, Rupert, although fairies were certainly not what we were expecting to find."

Buffy couldn't help the smile that crept to her lips. "You want me to fight Tinkerbell?" she asked.

"According to Celtic mythology," Giles offered, "the hollow hills can be construed as the home of the fairies, or their death mounds, or even as portals to the Otherworld, but there's never been any conclusive evidence to support any of those theories in modern-day society." He turned to look at Travers. "What did you discover?"

For the first time, Quentin looked uncomfortable, lowering his gaze to his cup as he took a long sip of his tea. "It's not so much what we discovered," he finally said, "as what we…unleashed."

The Slayer's eyebrows lifted. "You let a big bad get out?" she asked, her amazement unable to be hidden any longer.

He was quick to respond. "I can assure you that was not our intention," he stated. "The entrance to the tunnels was found just a week before Samhain---."

"Sa-what?"

"Samhain," Willow interjected. "The old name for Halloween, although it's still considered a witch holiday in coven circles."

Quentin nodded. "We continued work as normal, but on the night of Samhain---."

"It got out." Giles finished the older man's thought, not even noticing when Travers nodded in agreement.

"It?" Buffy repeated. "You let some demon escape? Didn't you think, maybe, it might be a good idea to put a guard on it or something?"

"It's not quite that simple," her Watcher said. "On Samhain, the veil between our world and the Otherworld lifts, allowing those on either side to cross over. By exposing the tunnels, it appears the Council inadvertently opened a new path for them."

"So you need me to come to Scotland and kill whatever you let loose." She looked at the others in the room. "That doesn't explain why you've dragged Willow into this. Or how you could possibly need Spike."

"Killing the creature is only part of the task," Travers explained. "We also wish to permanently close the portal so that this sort of…incident doesn't occur again."

Very slowly, Willow raised her hand, waiting until Quentin looked at her before speaking. "That kind of magic isn't really my forte," she said meekly. "I mean, I'm getting pretty good, but a spell of that magnitude requires more juice than I can give you."

"That would not be your role, Miss Rosenberg, although your capabilities will most certainly come in handy. The ritual requires three---someone living…" He nodded at Buffy. "…someone dead…" His gaze turned to Spike. "…and a third to act as a host." His eyes returned to the young witch. "That would be you. We attempted the ritual ourselves the night after Samhain, but it proved…beyond our capacity at the time. Our next opportunity lies at the end of the month, and the Council believes that the three of you are more than strong enough to…fulfill the requirements."

"So once again, you guys make a mess of things and expect me to come in and save your asses." Buffy shook her head. "Why should I do this? Why should I let you place me and my friends in jeopardy when this is all entirely your fault?"

"Because if you agree, we will arrange for the world's finest specialists to come in and treat your mother." His face was implacable, his confidence in his offer enough to reaffirm his directness with the Slayer. "I understand that the Sunnydale physicians have yet to determine the cause of her illness. Do this for us, and we will guarantee her the best diagnosticians and treatment that money can buy."

The air was thick in the crowded living room, and both Willow and Giles turned their gazes to look at Buffy. Her concern over her mother's health had been her top priority lately, and though she had no love for the Council, they both knew this offer was not something she could just ignore.

"What about me? What do I get out of this little arrangement?" It was the first time Spike had spoken since sitting, and Quentin turned to gaze at the vampire as if his presence were negligible.

"We assumed cash would be sufficient for you," he replied.

There was a moment, and then the vamp nodded with a small shrug. "Yeah. Works for me."

"What about you, Willow?" This came from Buffy, her voice low as she addressed her best friend.

The redhead shook her head. "As long as I know we'll all come out of this alive and still breathing, I'm OK with it." She smiled. "Plus, I've always wanted to go to Scotland. It's supposed to be gorgeous."

"Giles?"

He shook his head, mirroring Willow's earlier action. "I will be there, no matter what you decide, Buffy."

She sighed. "Well, it's not like it's something we haven't done before. And if it helps Mom…" She lifted her chin. "Fine. You've got a deal."

Travers smiled. "Splendid. Now, about the arrangements---."

Buffy ignored him, turning to her Watcher. "You should call Xander and Anya and let them know so that they can start packing, and then I'll get on the phone with Riley---."

"They won't be coming."

With widened eyes, the Slayer turned to stare at Travers. "Excuse me?"

"They won't be coming," he repeated, unmoved by her hostile glare. "We've made accommodations for the four of you, as you are the only ones necessary in this…matter."

"Oh, but I don't want to go without Tara." Willow swiveled to face the man at her side. "She's a witch, too. She'd be a huge help in…whatever it is we have to do."

"And Xander and Anya are part of the team," Buffy added. "I wouldn't be here today without their help."

"They have no abilities to contribute to this," Quentin argued. "They will merely get in the way." He glanced at Willow. "Although I suppose another witch could possibly be beneficial."

"If Tara gets to go, then Riley does, too. He's big, and strong, and knowledgeable about demon stuff. He can help."

Spike snorted. "And if Soldier Boy goes, you can count me out. No amount of dosh is worth a month of torture from him."

"Gee, chip on your shoulder much?" Buffy retorted. "Oops, sorry. I meant, chip in your head."

"Well, let's just see how friendly you get when someone zaps you with one of their techno space guns and shoves a piece of metal in you that takes all the fun out of your sorry existence of a life," he snapped back, rising to his feet. "See how much you like hangin' around playin' at bein' best mates."

"It beats the hell out of hanging around with a whiny, over-bleached, pitiful excuse of a vampire, who doesn't even know better than to duck when someone throws a bucket of chocolate sauce at him!" The color was high in her cheeks as she took a step toward him.

"I'm not whiny!" he growled. "And for your information, you guessed wrong. It wasn't thrown, it was dropped from overhead. Do you have any idea how bleedin' tall Truva demons are?"

"Oh, like you'd even notice. You're not exactly starting center for the Chicago Bears, now are you?"

"That would be the Bulls, you stupid bint---."

"Enough!" Travers' voice crackled through the air, stopping the argument with the utterance of that single word. He frowned as his eyes flickered between the pair. "There will be no more discussion on this matter. Riley Finn will not be accompanying us to Scotland." Spike smirked at Buffy. "I will allow Miss Rosenberg's…friend to come along, but that will be it. Understood?"

"Not understood." The Slayer turned her furious form to face off with the head of the Council. "If Xander and Anya can't go, then I'm not going either."

"Me either," Willow said, hopping to her feet to stand by her friend.

"Xander and Anya have both proven to be valuable allies in the past," Giles offered. "Their particular skills may not be readily…apparent, but you can trust that they will be necessary."

They waited as Quentin regarded them, taking in their unsmiling countenances before finally settling with a sigh. "Very well," he acquiesced. "But their welfare will be in your hands, Miss Summers. I am not prepared to waste Council resources just so that your…friends can enjoy a free holiday." He stood. "We should let you start packing then," he said, striding toward the door. "We leave at dawn. I will send a car for you and your things."

"Dawn's not exactly good for me," Spike started, only to be cut off by the elder man's hand.

"We've taken the appropriate measures for your safety," he stated. "You will be picked up at sunrise."

The room was silent after they left, the four remaining lost in his and her thoughts. "I should probably be the one to call Xander," Willow finally said, shattering the quiet. "Anya gets cranky when people call in the middle of the night."

"And I'm going to go see Riley," Buffy said. "Someone's going to have to keep an eye on Mom and Dawn while I'm gone."

Spike followed after her to the door. "Don't suppose you'd mind swingin' by my crypt first?" he asked, jerking to a halt when she turned to glare at him. "Still got a Truva demon after me, remember?"

"I didn't think you had other clothes worth packing," she commented, hazel eyes sweeping over his traditional black garb.

"You want to be around me for a month wearin' the same thing, I got no problem with that. 'Course, I can always give them a wash, but then that'll mean not wearin' anything…"

"Fine." Buffy pulled open the door. "At least this time it won't feel like I'm walking through town with Willy Wonka."

Willow stared at the entrance as the pair exited the apartment. "Do you know what they were talking about?" she asked Giles, a small frown wrinkling her brow.

He shook his head. "And, for some reason, I really do not care to find out."

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

He couldn't help whistling as he tossed his few clothes into the ready sack. Three weeks or so with Buffy…having to work alongside her…getting to watch her without having to worry about getting caught under that bleedin' tree…and he was getting paid for it. Someone was certainly smiling down on him tonight.

At that very minute, she was standing outside his crypt, waiting for him to come out so that she could go and tell her paper doll boyfriend that she was leaving the country without him, that she was in fact leaving town with a certain blond vampire, off to foreign lands to play out her every fantasy…OK, so that was his own interpretation of how that little scene was going to play out, but Spike figured it was infinitely more interesting than how it would actually go.

"Oh, Riley…"

"Oh, Buffy…"

"I'll miss you…"

"I'll miss you, too…"

Absolute swill.

For a moment, he debated on whether he should leave a note for Harmony, let her know just what he was up to, but quickly dismissed the idea. She probably wouldn't even notice for a few days anyway, not 'til she needed something or got horny, and he wasn't about to go out of his way for someone who couldn't be bothered to see that he wasn't even around the crypt anymore. Let the silly bint suss it out for herself. And if she laid one finger on his nail polish while he was gone, Spike was going to kick her to the curb for good.

As he strolled to the door, the vamp's thoughts returned to the images of Buffy in Scotland that had been bouncing around in his head since they'd left Rupert's. This time of year, it'll be colder than a witch's tit, he reasoned, and his mouth watered as he suddenly imagined the Slayer out on the heather, kicking the crap out of some demon, nipples hard under a tight sweater. Gotta love those stiff Scottish breezes…

 

*************
 

Flying to another country was supposed to be exciting, the prospect of a few weeks living in a world so different from Sunnydale thrilling. New countryside to admire, new foods to try, new shops to explore. And all at someone else's expense. It had the makings of a dream vacation, a once in a lifetime opportunity to travel before her Slayer license finally expired. But, if that was the case, why was Buffy in such a foul mood?

Actually, she knew the reasons for that, and one of them was sitting just a few feet away, whistling something she didn't recognize under his breath as he flipped over the cards on the makeshift table in front of him. Not one of the Council guys had been willing to spend the entire flight to Scotland holed up alone with Spike, and it had fallen on Buffy's shoulders to volunteer to keep an eye on him, to make sure he didn't do anything about trying to escape or plotting to hurt anyone. Personally, she thought it was just a load of malarkey, paranoia on the part of a bunch of stuffed shirts who couldn't comprehend that the chip in his head meant the vampire couldn't do anything more than threaten to hurt them. But Colin's story about how he'd tried to attack him had spread fear throughout the group, in spite of her arguments that Spike had just been playing a joke, and now none of them would go near him without being heavily armed.

Giles had offered to vamp-sit, but Buffy had turned him down, extending the "He's a vampire, I'm the Slayer, it's my responsibility," argument. She'd lay good odds that nobody else would last more than a few minutes before they got fed up with Spike, and though the prospect hadn't exactly put her over the moon, it did give her another opportunity to find out about the chocolate sauce. He kept leaking details about what had happened at Willy's that made the story sound just too good not to hear.

Her bad mood probably wasn't helped by the fact that she was cut off from the rest of her friends for the duration of the trip, the area the Council had closed off for Spike being situated in the cargo area. It wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, for a cage, it was actually quite spacious, with enough room for two seats, a card table that had been bolted to the floor complete with two benches alongside it so that it more closely resembled a corner booth in some cheap diner, and a small fridge for refreshments. Still, a cage was a cage, and though they'd only been in the air for little over an hour, she was already starting to feel a little claustrophobic. She glanced at her watch and almost groaned. Great. Only eleven more hours to go.

"You don't have to sit there lookin' like someone just staked your best friend," he said, not even looking up from his spread. "I know games other than solitaire."

"Y'know, I've got a sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't like the kinds of games you play," Buffy said, and shifted painfully in her seat.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "Just thought it might help pass the time. We've got a long flight ahead of us and I'd hate for you to have to sit there and twiddle your thumbs the entire time." He couldn't help the smile that curled his lips as he glanced up at her. "Unless there's other things you'd rather twiddle."

She rolled her eyes. "The only response that that deserves is a big ewwww."

He watched her through his lashes as she struggled to get comfortable, squirming between the narrow armrests of the chair that had never been meant to really be put to use for long flights, the barely there cushion providing little padding between her bottom and the metal tracks of the seat. He'd been chuffed when he heard her offer to watch him, even more so when she'd told the Watcher he didn't have to bother, but that promise of quality alone time with the Slayer had quickly lost its sheen as she set about doing everything she could to ignore him.

"Look," Spike finally said, setting the cards down to address her. "This is bloody ridiculous, us sittin' here in silence like this. 'Specially since it looks like we're goin' to be workin' side by side on this Council problem, gettin' in each other's faces, watchin' each other's backs. Seems to me that might require actually communicating in ways other than with your fists."

Her hazel eyes were annoyed, meeting his directly for the first time since they took off, but her mouth remained closed, biting back the smart retort that had automatically sprung to her lips. She hated to admit it, but the vamp was probably right and she wasn't helping matters by being so antisocial. She sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt. "What other games do you know?" she asked, rising to join him at the table.

The impulse to suggest strip poker hung there on his tongue, but Spike pursed his lips, holding it back. "How 'bout cribbage?" he suggested.

"Don't know that one. Go fish?"

There was no mistaking his look of disgust. "With two people? Now there's a bloody challenge." He paused, then offered, "Canasta. Wait, we need two decks for that one."

"My turn. Crazy eights."

This time he grinned. "Do you know any grown-up games, Slayer?"

"Don't start, Spike. You're the one who wanted to play cards."

"I s'pose we could try whist, though I'm not sure I remember all the rules. Haven't played that one since Dru and I took that trip to China."

"And you're not playing it on this one, because I have no idea what you're talking about." Buffy bit her lip, thinking. "Will and I used to play 2-handed euchre."

"Boring. War?"

"Too much like real life. Rummy?"

"Only if we can't think of anything better."

The pair sat in silence, both brains ticking over possibilities, until finally Buffy brightened. "Oh! Let's play slapjack!"

He looked at her, brows knitted together. "OK, I'll bite," he said. "What the hell is slapjack?"

"Dawn and I used to play all the time." She reached forward and picked up the cards, handling them between her fingers as she shuffled. "It's super-simple. Basically, we deal out all the cards, and then we each lay down a single card at a time. Then, when a jack comes up, you yell out 'Slapjack!' and try and be the first to, well, slap it. Whoever gets there first gets the pile and you keep going on like that until someone has all the cards." She squared off the cards on the table and began dealing them between out.

Spike's face relaxed. "Sounds like Snap," he said, and then his frown returned. "Wait a minute. We can't play this."

She stopped. "Why not?"

"What happens if, and notice I use the word 'if', you beat me to it, and I end up hittin' your hand instead of the card? That soddin' chip'll be goin' off the entire flight."

"Oh." Buffy physically deflated, her shoulders slumping. "Darn it, that actually sounded like fun."

The sight of the potential return of her bad humor sent Spike's mind racing. Don't lose the moment, he thought. Figure out a way for this to work. "This slappin'," he mused aloud. "It's not like I'm tryin' to hurt you or anything. Could be that the chip won't fire if it happens."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she queried. "Are you trying to tell me it doesn't work all the time?"

He could hear the suspicion automatically creeping back into her voice, and jumped on his reply. "No, trust me, it works," he assured. "Just I've come to figure out that if there's no intention, like I know I'm not goin' to hurt you, it picks up on that and leaves me alone. Like with that Watcher bloke at my crypt. Sure, I made with the growl and attack, but I knew I wasn't goin' to do anything, so I walked away from it free and clear."

"Which is why none of them believe me when I say you're effectively neutered," Buffy replied, mildly annoyed. "Next time you pull a stunt like that, the least you could do is pretend that it hurts."

"They need to learn how to take a fuckin' joke," he muttered, and picked up the cards in front of him.

She bit her tongue, the desire to call off this whole charade countered only by the tiny, dark part of her that actually agreed with Spike's assessment of the Council. Even if she hadn't found it funny, it certainly wasn't anything for them to have gotten all freaked out about, and she wasn't going to make things potentially worse by stirring things up with the vampire now. Instead, she straightened her own cards in her hand and met his blue eyes. "Ready?"

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

Her sides hurt from the giggling. It had been ages since she and Dawn had had a good night of slapjack, and Buffy had forgotten just how silly it could get…the speeding up as each player tried to get their cards down quicker, knowing because they'd been through the decks so many times just when the next jack was going to show up…the bickering over who was indeed faster, when fingers got interlocked because both of their hands made it to the table at the same time…the couple times Spike's chip had actually gone off when his temper got the better of him and he hit at the jack just a little too vehemently. She was a little surprised their noise hadn't grabbed the attention of the others, but, for some inexplicable reason, found herself glad it hadn't. She was enjoying herself too much to have it interrupted by warnings of, "Keep it down in there." That would sound like Mom yelling up during sleepovers she'd had as a kid, and that kind of thinking was not someplace she needed to go right now.

She knew her face was flushed, could feel her heartbeat pounding from the adrenalin running through her system, and slyly, Buffy glanced up at her opponent, watching as his nimble fingers shuffled the deck of cards like an expert, his face relaxed but his body tense as he prepared to start a new game. Playing with Spike was different than playing with her sister. After becoming the Slayer, beating Dawn every time they played had taken the joy out of it for her. She was just too fast. Now, though, Buffy faced someone whose speed quite often matched hers, and, considering he'd won the last two games, occasionally even beat it. It was actually kind of a nice feeling getting to play someone she could consider an equal.

"No cheatin' this time," Spike said as he began to dole out the cards.

Her jaw dropped. "I did not cheat!" she protested.

"You think you're playin' with a novice here?" he asked, blue eyes twinkling. "I saw you slip that jack to the bottom of your deck." The sudden tightening of her lips was the only confirmation he needed, and the vampire laughed out loud. "Not that it did you any good. I'd beat you even if I had one arm tied behind my back." He saw her mouth open, and held up a warning finger. "Not that that's goin' to happen," he added.

"Maybe we should try a new game," she ventured, even as she picked up her cards.

Her words made him freeze. "You're not havin' fun?" He tried to keep his voice level, to not betray the fact that he was having the time of his life. Everything about the past few hours---the bantering, the fleeting touches of his fingers on her skin or hers on his, the sheer joy that seemed to bounce from her laughter---had been more than he'd imagined possible, almost surreal in what seemed now its inevitability. Spike had assumed she was enjoying his company; the thought that she hadn't wrenched in his gut, leaving his body aching.

"No. I mean, color me surprised, but you've actually not been a total pain in my butt for the past couple hours. Well, except for that comment about my hair last year. That was uncalled for."

His shoulders relaxed, just ever so slightly. "I stand by my assessment," he stated. "It was too fluffy."

She ignored his gibe. "I'm just feeling…jumpy," she said. "Like I don't want to be sitting anymore."

"That would be the adrenalin talkin'." He realized his mistake as soon as the words came out of his mouth, and the stiffening of Buffy's jaw caused him to curse silently.

"How do you…know about that?" she asked warily.

Best to play it cool, shrug it off. Don't make a big deal of it. He almost shook his head in disbelief. Like being around the Slayer was ever not a big deal. "'Cause I'm a vampire, remember?" he replied. "And you're a potential lunch. Well, you would be if I didn't have this leash on me right now. It's how we suss you out. Hear the heart, feel the blood pumpin'. Doesn't your Watcher teach you anything?" That was good. Shift the conversation to her training. Put her on the defensive. Don't let her think you're actually spending time assessing her every bodily function.

"I must've missed that lesson," she said, her body still rigid. "I was too busy concentrating on the just-tell-me-how-to-kill-them part."

"Oh, that's right. I keep forgettin'. Buffy Summers, the high priestess of wham-bam-slay 'em-ma'am." That was it. He had officially burned his last bridge in this little truce, and he knew it. When was he going to learn to just shut up while he was ahead?

She threw the cards down onto the table and stood, reaching behind her to grab her foot and stretch out her legs. Spike watched as this forced the Slayer to arch her back, torso thrusting forward as she sought to relax the muscles that had tensed while they played, and felt his jeans tighten across his thighs. Great, he thought. Even in the throes of defeat she still manages to press my buttons. He stood no chance in hell of surviving the next three weeks if she was going to play him as easy as this.

"I should probably thank you." Her voice was ice as she turned her back on him and walked over to the cooler that housed their food for the journey. "For a second there, I almost forgot what an asshole you are."

He sucked at his teeth, checking his temper as it flared. "Just call 'em like I see 'em, luv," he drawled. It was gone, the camaraderie they'd shared fleeing like tumbleweeds in the desert, and for a moment, Spike felt an ache echo in his gut. It was almost better not getting these glimpses into what being with the Slayer on a friendly basis might be like; it offered hope, when he should know better than anyone that there wasn't any.

"So tell me," he said, desperate to get away from those kind of thoughts, "how did Soldier Boy take the news? Can't imagine he'd be jumpin' with joy knowin' I'm along for the ride."

"I didn't…tell him that part," Buffy said, popping the top on a diet soda. She deliberately avoided his gaze, and didn't see the quizzical tilt of his platinum head.

"Well, now, ain't that a surprise. Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise?"

"No, no trouble. I just…didn't…want to worry him unnecessarily." Lie, big fat humungous lie, but no way was she going to tell Spike how Riley had just about blown his lid at hearing she was working for the Council again. Even the promises of medical care for her mother didn't seem to convince him they could be up to any good.

"You can't trust them," he'd argued. "Not after what they tried to do to you last spring."

"They thought I was Faith," she'd countered, but had only been met with his back as he began pacing around the room.

"It's just like what the government did to me," he'd raged. "They suck you in with all these promises and good wishes, and then just when they've got you relaxed and believing in them, that's when they throw you the left cross that sends you reeling to the mat."

Nope, no way was she going to add, "Oh, by the way, they want Spike and not you. See you in a month!" Too hard, and not worth the headache it would've caused.

"So I guess you're all for the secrets, huh?" the vampire was saying, and she jerked her head around to frown at him.

"What're you talking about?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Secrets from the boytoy, secrets from your friends…Oh, unless I misunderstood about the not-telling-Xander thing. Have to admit, I wasn't really payin' that close attention."

"Don't play dumb, Spike. I know you heard everything we said on the way over. And don't you dare blab a word to Xander and Anya. They don't need to know the Council didn't want them to come along. It would only hurt their feelings."

"Think it'll get obvious fairly soon, pet. 'Specially when they'll be standing around, asking for something to do and there's not even a donut shop for them to run to."

"They won't---." Buffy stopped, her brow furrowing. "Scotland doesn't have donuts?"

"Like Sunnydale?" Spike laughed. "Uh, no. And in the Highlands, depending on where we end up, you may not even be lucky enough to get a baker who'll sell you some buns."

She wanted to ask why she'd want bread instead of sugary treats but fear of looking even more foolish in front of the vampire stayed Buffy's tongue, and she drained the rest of the soda without saying another word. The more she thought about it, the more worried she got, as the reality of what she had done by getting on the plane only now began to sink in. Three weeks, in a foreign country, surrounded by people she didn't know and probably wouldn't be able to understand, with Spike as her right-hand man of all people…Was it too late to ask for a parachute so that she could try jumping to safety before they landed?

"I'm going to go to sleep," she mumbled, returning to the awful seat she'd vacated to play cards. "Try not to kill anybody while I'm out of it, OK?"

Spike watched as she buckled herself in, adjusting the incline of the chair so that she could at least have a sporting chance at getting some slumber, and ducked his eyes as she cast one last glance in his direction. Sleep for him was out of the question, not with the Slayer so near yet so untouchable, his body refusing to rest within her proximity as his fingers ached to reach out and curl into the long locks of her hair. It was maddening, knowing he'd had it within his grasp, had enjoyed even a few stolen minutes of a relaxed and smiling Buffy, relishing the fact that her laughter had been genuine and that he had been the cause. Three more weeks of this? he wondered. Part of him didn't think he could make it, and yet another---the louder, more opinionated part---screamed that he would, that he had to, that if ever he stood a chance to turn her from her dislike, this was it. And if nothing else, Spike was a vampire who knew when to grab his chances…

 

"Buffy…wake up…"

The touch was feather-light on her shoulder, and she shifted in her seat, trying to get away from it. "Don't wanna," she mumbled. What she wanted was to escape from whoever was trying to rouse her, to return to the warm dreams that promised easy answers and soft kisses, and so twisted her body away from where the voice had come, encountering a hard wall that she proceeded to bury herself against. The veil of sleep began to cover her again, and Buffy felt herself falling, lost in a cloud of black while faraway scents began to tickle her nose. Mmmm, leather, she thought drowsily…

"Buffy!"

It was louder this time, the grip harder, and this time, the Slayer batted it away, her forehead creasing into a frown as her lip jutted into a pout. "Said to wake me when we got there," she argued sleepily. "All nice and comfy here."

She felt the vibration under her cheek as it rippled across her skin and down her spine, waking her body with icy tingles before becoming audible to her ear. "Have to remember that," she heard. It took a moment for the baritone to register, but when it did, Buffy shot straight up, suddenly awake, suddenly alert, and suddenly staring into Spike's amused blue eyes.

"Have a nice nap, luv?" he asked, and, this time there was no mistaking the chuckle in his voice, or the curl of his lip as his tongue ran along the edge of his teeth.

Her head turned to see Willow on her other side, the young redhead's gaze wide. "Does this mean we're there?" Buffy asked, as calmly as she could, deliberately sliding herself away from any further contact with the vampire, ignoring his laughter as it floated to her ear.

"Just about," Willow replied. "Colin said it's around the next bend."

"Colin…?"

The witch nodded toward the driver, and Buffy's gaze shifted forward, noting the Council guy who'd been at Spike's crypt chatting with Tara in the front seat. Well, more like chatting at her. She seemed to be doing everything she could not to fall asleep in front of him. Poor thing, the Slayer thought. She's just too nice to say no.

When they'd landed at the airstrip, deciding who was going to ride with whom had taken longer than anyone had anticipated, since both the Council guys accompanying them insisted that Buffy had to travel with Spike in order to protect the rest from the vampire. "For the last time," she'd argued. "He. Can't. Hurt. You."

But they hadn't listened, and it had been up to the rest of the gang to divvy up the remaining seats. Xander, Anya, and Giles filed into one car, while the rest of them piled into the second. As Buffy had squeezed into the back, placing herself next to Spike at the Council guy's---Colin's---request, she was grateful that she had listened to Travers' limitation to one bag per person. The trunk of the car had been absolutely tiny, with barely enough room for their luggage as it was, and with the interior just as small, the option of placing any extra on the floor was out of the question.

She had fallen asleep almost right away, the gentle rocking of the car and the complete absence of light outside making it inevitable. All her protestations on the plane about needing rest had been in vain, because no matter what she'd done, Buffy couldn't get comfortable, all too aware of Spike's presence, her body betraying her with its own desire for some type of physical activity. It had taken ages for her adrenalin to ebb, and by the time it had, the vamp's incessant whistling was doing everything it could to keep her awake. She hadn't called him on it, but the young woman couldn't help but believe he'd done it on purpose, choosing the most annoying way possible to drive her crazy without actually stepping out of line. Stupid vampire.

Purposely ignoring the male presence at her side, Buffy leaned to look out Willow's window, wondering how it was possible it could be even darker now than when they'd landed. "Where are we?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "How come I don't see any houses or streetlights or anything?"

Behind her, Spike snorted. "You're in the middle of bleedin' nowhere, pet," he drawled. "Welcome to the Highlands."

Her eyes widened as they rounded a curve and the sudden scratching of tree branches across the window sent a dull screech throughout the car, startling her into jerking backward and landing quite effectively against Spike's chest again. "I thought they drove on the other side of the road in England," she said slowly, easing herself away from him.

"They do," Willow replied.

"So, if they drive on the left side, how come we just hit something on the right side?"

"Actually, we're on what we consider a B road here in Britain," Colin offered from the front. "And in a rural area such as this, they often go down to just one lane."

"One lane?" Buffy repeated in alarm. "What happens if a car comes from the other direction?"

"There are passing areas to pull into, to allow oncoming traffic to go by without barring their way," he explained further. "But, in an area such as this, it's actually quite rare to utilize them."

"And people wonder why I don't drive," the Slayer muttered.

"Here we are!" Colin announced, easing the car to a gentle stop.

"And here is…?" Buffy murmured, peering out into the night sky, trying to discern anything other than the big, black, blobby things that seemed to loom on the horizon.

As he lifted the hand brake, the Council member turned around to smile at the two girls in the back seat, doing his best at the same time to ignore the blond vampire in the corner. "This would be Dall Rath." He stiffened as Spike laughed, a short bark of derision that hit the windows in serrated edges, only to bounce back and fill the small space of the car. "Pardon?"

"Please tell me it was already named that," the vampire asked, leveling an azure gaze at the other man that made him shrink back in disquiet.

"Actually…" he stammered, "…we…the Council…named it. It was unknown until we came along."

When Spike shook his head and rolled his eyes, Buffy frowned. "What's so funny?" she demanded. "Dall Rath sounds like a perfectly normal-sounding name. Well, for being in a foreign country."

"Oh, it's a bloody great name," he replied. "As long as you don't speak Gaelic." His gaze returned to Colin. "You wankers have a twisted sense of humor."

"Why don't you let us be the judge of that?" Buffy asked. "Or is this just another story you're going to hold back on telling me?"

He hesitated for only a moment. "Seems your bosses have decided to drop us off smack dab in the middle of what they've dubbed, 'Blind Luck.'" He couldn't help his smile as her eyes widened and she turned to stare at the driver in disbelief.

The Watcher blushed, pulling his keys out of the ignition as he hastened to open his car door. "We really must be getting inside," he rushed, avoiding the stares of the three girls as he got out and scurried to the rear of the vehicle.

"Knew I should've jumped from the plane," Buffy said under her breath, sliding across the seat to exit the car behind Willow. She had half-turned to help Colin with the bags when she was stopped by her friend's soft gasp.

"Oh, my," the redhead breathed.

"What is it…?" she started to ask, only to have her own jaw drop as her hazel gaze fixed on what had captured the other girl's attention.

She had seen them in books, watched them in movies, but none of that quite prepared Buffy for the sight of the castle that now loomed in front of them, its weathered stone walls rising in august majesty to melt into the night sky. It didn't seem to end; in either direction, a low wall stretched in gentle curves to surround what looked like an inner building, a square block with twin towers that were crumbling from disuse. There were few windows, and what were there consisted of small, tiny squares devoid of glass, blacker even then the heavens overhead, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if anyone was actually at home.

Spike watched her reaction in amusement, swinging his bag over his shoulder as the three girls just stood in silent awe. "Don't be goin' all rosy on me now, Slayer," he drawled as he sauntered to her side. "If they're just renovating this place, it's goin' to look a helluva lot prettier on the outside than on the in."

"I'm afraid he's right," Colin offered as Buffy turned a curious gaze back to look at him. "It most definitely lacks some of the…amenities I'm sure you're accustomed to." The sweep of headlights across the path gave the Watcher the diversion he was so desperate for, and the group watched as the other car came to a halt.

"Where's Giles?" Buffy asked as Xander and Anya emerged from the vehicle.

"That's right, you were asleep," said Tara.

"We dropped Giles off," Willow added. "He's not staying here with us."

"Yes," Colin interjected, cutting off the Slayer's words before she could start. "Unfortunately, accommodations are rather limited here at Dall Rath, and since we already have one Watcher on site, it was decided Mr. Giles would stay at a bed and breakfast in the local village. No need to worry. He will be here during the day to help organize and research and such."

"So who's the stuffed shirt we've gotten saddled with this time?"

She could see his blush, even in the darkness. "That would be me."

"OK, am I the only one here dying to paint his face blue?" Xander asked as he approached the group, the enthusiasm in his voice belying the exhaustion in his shoulders.

At their confused frowns, Anya rolled her eyes. "Braveheart," she explained. "That's all he's been talking about since somewhere over Greenland."

"Ah, the film, of course." Colin grew thoughtful. "Actually, you might find it interesting to know that it's highly unlikely William Wallace ever painted his face for his battles, although Pictish warriors were reported to paint their bodies---."

"And as fascinating as the history lesson is," Buffy interrupted, "I'm freezing my Slayer tushie off here. You think we might, maybe, move this inside?"

"Right. Well, then." Colin slammed the trunk closed and tossed a quick smile toward the girls. "Onward and upward."

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

"Lemme guess," Buffy said, as they stood in blackness and listened to the Watcher stumble around. "Lights are one of those extra amena-thingies that the castle's short on."

"Well, not lights per se," the Englishman replied. There was the distinct sound of the flick of a lighter, and a tiny orange flame illuminated his face as they watched him reach for a candelabra that stood on a nearby table. "More like a…centralized power system."

"But if there's no power, how is there heat?" This came from Willow, and there was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice.

"Ah, well, that's a…very good question." His hand tremored slightly as he lit each of the wicks, but his mouth remained closed, looking for all intents and purposes that he was done speaking.

"Which deserves a very good answer," Buffy prompted.

Colin cleared his throat. "Well, as this is a very old castle, and we were really only in the beginnings of our renovations, there isn't any central heating in place yet. However," he hurried as he saw the looks of indignation spread throughout the group, even in the flickering candlelight, "we have equipped the bedrooms with their own space heaters and plenty of blankets for sleeping. The great hall, which is located behind us, has a large fireplace that will be stoked throughout the day. That is where we see most of your time being spent…researching, meeting, eating, and the like. When you're not out trying to find…what got out," he finished awkwardly. He began walking down the corridor, his heels clicking on the stone floor. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you your quarters."

The dull orange from the tapers bounced against the crevices in the walls, refracting the light into eerie shadows across the Scoobies' faces as they tagged after the Watcher. At the end of the hall, Colin pulled open a heavy door to reveal a narrow, spiral staircase. "The wing we've renovated is just above us," he instructed. "There are three bedrooms prepared for you, two doubles on the first floor---."

"I thought we were on the first floor," Buffy interrupted.

"You're in Britain now, pet," Spike said from behind her. "And here, this is the ground floor."

"And the second floor is really the first floor?" she queried, unable to mask her confusion as she glanced back at the vampire for confirmation.

"You got it." He grinned. "Ain't life grand?"

"Yes, well, like I was saying," Colin continued. "There are two doubles on the first floor and a single on the second that have been readied for your arrival."

"Just three rooms?" asked Xander. "How does that work? I mean, there's one for me and Ahn, one for Tara and Willow---."

Buffy's eyes widened. Of course there were only three rooms. The Council hadn't wanted Xander and Anya to even come so why would they make anything ready for them? Crap. "And one for me and Spike!" she hastened to finish, meeting her friend's perplexed eyes with a guileless smile. She was not going to have his feelings get hurt just because Travers couldn't possibly understand his contribution to the gang. "Because they need me to keep an eye on him, to…make sure he stays out of trouble."

The vampire watched as the color jumped into the Slayer's cheeks, her anxiety in keeping up her pretense that Harris was a useful member of the fold causing her heart to race as she buried herself in the lie. Not that he was going to argue with keeping up the charade now, not if it meant sharing sleeping arrangements, having her within arm's reach, where all he had to do was turn around and see her whenever his unbeating heart desired.

"Oh, yeah," Spike added. "Apparently this is my punishment for pretendin' to jump ol' Colin here. Council blokes don't trust me not to eat the lot of you." His cerulean gaze flickered down to meet Buffy's hazel one, her surprise at finding an ally in the vamp lifting her eyebrows just ever so slightly.

"But we know that's not true," Xander argued.

The young blonde shrugged. "And since when does that make a difference with the Council?" she said lightly. "Besides, it's no big. You guys take the doubles and I'll have the single." She laughed. "It's not like he's going to be in my bed or anything. Plus, he doesn't get cold so I get all his blankets. I'm going to be just fine."

"Um, what about b-b-bathrooms?" Tara asked.

Spike laughed. "In a castle? They don't have heat and you think you're goin' to have a walk-in bloody shower?"

"There is a toilet on the first floor for communal use," Colin explained. "We ensured that almost right away."

"But what about washing up?" Buffy shifted the weight of her bag in her hand as she stared at their supposed leader. "I mean, I'm hardly expecting to be able to take a bubble bath, but things are going to get pretty rank around here if we don't get to shower some time in the next three weeks."

"Each bedroom is supplied with its own tub and toiletries, and we have made arrangements for the woman we've hired to do the cooking to also fulfill your water needs for any bathing you wish. Of course, it'll have to happen during the day when she's here. At night, we will be pretty much left to our own devices."

"In our room?" she repeated.

"Yes."

Spike grinned. This was getting better and better. He had to remember to add Quentin Travers to his Christmas card list. The man just made his undead lifetime.

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

She deliberately avoided his gaze as she cupped her hand around the flame, making sure the candle didn't extinguish before she could light the other wicks. "OK, we're going to have some ground rules here," she said. "And the first argument you make about them, I'm going to stake you and say to hell with the Council and this stupid demon they let out."

"Sure, pet, whatever you say." Spike lounged against the wooden headboard of the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded behind his head. Actually, rundown castle or not, the room wasn't bad, definitely a step up from the crypt, not that he cared about that sort of thing. Furnishings were sparse---the bed, the screen that cordoned off the corner for a dressing/washing area, the ornate wardrobe that now housed the contents of their luggage---but the walls had character, carvings made into some of the stones as if to provide permanent artwork for its occupants to enjoy. The sconces were, if not original, then very nearly, the tarnishing of years of exposure only adding to their rustic charm as they swept into a curlicue that housed the tapers. The renovations had even gone so far as to include glass in the small, high window, so that some of the Scottish chill could be kept at bay.

She turned to finally see him and pursed her lips. "Off the bed," she ordered. "That's rule one. Bed equals Buffy's. Got it?"

He smiled as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood. "Obviously, you got it," he drawled. "Where do you expect me to sleep?"

"You get the floor."

"Figures," he muttered, glancing down at the worn stone.

"Rule two. Buffy takes a bath, Spike leaves the room."

He folded his arms over his chest. "What if Spike doesn't want to leave the room?"

"Spike gets staked."

"Why do I think all my questions are goin' to get answered with, 'Spike gets staked?'"

"Because they probably are."

"Do I get to make any rules in this little scenario?" he asked.

"No."

His teeth clicked together. "Then maybe Harris and I should have a little chat," he said, and took a step toward the door.

She had moved before he could even blink, grabbing his arm and whirling him around to face her before he could get any closer. "I told you not to tell him," Buffy said.

"And I haven't," he retorted, "but if you're going to be such a bitch about this, then I don't see any reason why I have to play nice."

"I'm not---." She bit back the words, feeling the familiar rush that fighting with Spike always gave her, and gritted her teeth. "Fine. You can make a rule. One rule."

She still hadn't let go of his forearm, and Spike glanced down at the delicate curl of her fingers around his flesh, noting with satisfaction the white of her fingertips as she held him firm. Her anger was a solid thrum against his skin, and when his azure gaze rose back up to meet hers, there was no denying the darkening of the irises, hazel almost completely swallowed by the black of her pupils. "Only need one," he finally replied. "But you're not goin' to like it."

"That's a big shocker. Since when is there anything about you I do like?"

"Oh, I dunno. You seemed to be OK with me while we were playin' cards. It was only the after bit that pissed you off."

"That's because for a while there you were almost acting human."

"Funny, I could've said the same thing about you, pet."

Her grip tightened on his arm as Buffy fought to control her anger. "What's your rule, Spike?"

His platinum head tilted as his lip curled. "Only one way I can get a good sleep," he said. "And that's if I sleep in the buff…Buff."

Her hand jerked back as if burned. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "You are not going commando in my room!"

"Our room. And too bad. That's my rule."

"You take your clothes off," she threatened, "and I will stake you."

Spike chuckled, and took a step toward her, inhaling deeply of the scents that were rising from her skin. "See, that's where I think you're all talk," he murmured, blue eyes sweeping over the flush of her face, stopping for a moment on the curve of her lip before lifting back up to meet her gaze. "'Cause if you stake me, your whole deal with the Council gets shot to hell, and your mum doesn't get the help she so richly deserves, and it'll be…all. Your. Fault." He watched as the doubt began to creep into her brow, the tiny lines etching themselves in shadow. "But, just for you, I'll forgo my one rule. Let you have a trade instead."

"What do you want?"

"The bed."

"I am not sleeping on the floor!"

"Didn't say you had to, luv." He knew he was pushing it, could see the fury glittering in her eyes, but the prospect was just too delicious not to put forward. To be honest, he had no idea how she was going to respond. If she was smart, she'd beat him within an inch of his undead life and put him in his place, or at least, what she considered was his place. But…and his palms itched as he drank in the aroma of the sweat that was pouring from her body, not visibly but in those dark, private areas that he had only dreamed of. Even if Buffy never admitted it, there was no way he was wrong about what being around him did to her. Could be all she needed was a little persuading.

"You can even have all the blankets," he offered. "Not like I need 'em. Hell, I'll sleep on top of them if you want. That way, you don't have to worry about tainting your precious Slayer skin with mine."

It was all he could do to hide his surprise when she answered. "And you'll stay dressed?"

"I'll even put on more clothes if you want."

"And you won't say a word to Xander and Anya?"

"Cross my heart and hope to not get staked."

"And if anyone asks, you say you slept on the floor."

"Curled up at your lily-white feet."

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," Buffy muttered as she turned away.

Spike smiled. Neither can I, luv, he thought. Neither can I.

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

Her eyes refused to stay closed, and Buffy stared at the shadows that were cast by the candles she'd insisted remained lit. Oh, look, she thought. There's a vampire. And that one's a stake…and, oh, that one kinda looks like Principal Snyder. She grimaced at the memory. Definitely need some sleep, she decided. When I'm playing Guess-the-picture with the shadows on the wall, it's definitely past my bedtime.

It wasn't like she wasn't warm enough. True to his word, Spike let her have all of the bedcoverings, laying on his side on top of the uppermost comforter, effectively tucking them around her like a cocoon. He wasn't even facing her. She could feel his hard back against her shoulders, the curve of his buttocks against hers. OK, that last part wasn't quite so distinct, not with four blankets between them, but still, she could tell he was there, and that it was unquestionably not his front that was pressing into her. Which was good. Except for the fact that she still couldn't sleep.

I shouldn't have slept in the car, she grumbled. That's my problem. I'm just not tired enough. Plus, unfamiliar bed. That doesn't help. What did she do when she couldn't sleep back home? Oh, yeah. She slayed things. And the only undead thing she could get her hands on at the moment, she unfortunately needed to keep alive for the time being, so that pretty much killed that idea. Shit. Sighing, Buffy closed her eyes, hoping one last time that they'd stay like that until morning.

Jet lag was a bitch in high-heeled shoes who insisted on tap dancing on his skull, and nothing Spike could do would get rid of, or even ease, the dull ache behind his eyes, or the blanket of needles that wrapped itself around his still wakeful body. Of course, the fact that he was still awake probably had more to do with the sleeping Slayer beside him than an eight-hour time difference---not that he was complaining about that aspect, not in the slightest---but it didn't mean he had to like what flying long distances always did to him. They couldn't have been digging around in Mexico or something, he grumbled to himself as he shifted his hips yet again in an attempt to get comfortable. At least that's on the same bleedin' continent.

His one small consolation was that Buffy had had just as much trouble falling asleep as he was, although her slow, even breathing now indicated that she had finally managed to succeed. He knew she hadn't slept on the plane, but her stubborn need to fake it had meant he could watch her unmolested, reveling in the graceful curve of her cheek as she rested her head against the seat, consumed by the lines of her legs as they stretched out before her.

Those same legs now pressed against his, indirectly of course, through too many soddin' blankets, but there nonetheless. At some point in the past half hour, Buffy had rolled over so that now her front faced him, her warm breath an erotic tickle on the back of his neck, an unnerving rhythm of in and out that beat in time with the throbbing in his cock. OK, so that was reason number three for his own current wakeful state. How in hell he ever thought he could handle being in such close proximity with the Slayer without being driven around the bend from the torture was beyond him. Stupid git, always thinking with the wrong head.

Although there was still no indication of light from the lone window, Spike knew that it was approaching dawn, the demon within long since practiced in sensing the sunrise. The candles had burned down quite low, leaving the room in an earthy dusk that prompted memories from long ago, and he decided then and there that if he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well get up. Most likely, the Slayer and her little friends would want to go exploring later in the day, and since even Scottish sun was deadly to him---even if it did so rarely poke out its head this time of year---that would leave him with plenty of time to catch up on rest.

The bed creaked as he swung his legs around, his boots hitting the stone floor with an audible thud that seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the bedroom. When the tiny moan came whispering from behind him, Spike froze, daring to glance over his shoulder to see if Buffy still slept. If he woke her up now, she'd be in a bitch of a mood with a yen to take it out on the nearest body…namely, his…and the thought of a pre-breakfast beating didn't exactly appeal.

Her lashes were dark against the shadow of her skin, and he felt his mouth soften as his gaze swept over the arc of her brow, the fine bone structure that was the sculpture of her face. How was it possible she was even more beautiful in repose? Actually, that answer was simple. Sleeping was the only time she wasn't looking at him in either distaste, anger, or frustration. Sleep softened her, made it possible for him to fantasize that she could ever house positive feelings for him. Sleep was a time for dreams.

Spike let his shoulders flatten against the mattress, his right leg swinging back up to the bed so that he lay on his back, head turned so that he could just watch her for a few more stolen moments. The gentle movement of her eyes beneath her lids told him she was dreaming, and the soft curve of her lips meant that it was a good one, something that brought her pleasure, something that…

Unbidden, his hand stole up to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek, the lightest of touches as his fingertips flitted across her skin. It was automatic, an impulse he doubted he could've stifled even if he'd wanted to, but though he instantly started chastising himself for such idiocy as to actually touch the Slayer in her sleep, Spike's simple gesture was rewarded with a satisfied groan from the back of her throat as she turned just ever so slightly into the touch. His slight frown was immediately replaced by a quirk of his lips, and he let his fingers stay, the tips tangling in the golden tresses while his thumb began gently stroking her cheekbone.

The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but that was one impulse the vampire knew he couldn't indulge, not if he wanted to make it to breakfast without having to go down in a dustbag. But he could watch…and he could touch…and he could pretend, for just a few seconds, that she was actually his…

"Mmmm," murmured Buffy, eyes still closed, still adrift in slumber. She began moving her head against his hand, allowing herself to be petted like some sleeping tigress, encouraging it further when she turned to rest her cheek more fully in his palm, sighing as she did so. "Riley…"

His body froze, the illusion shattered, and Spike's lips pursed as the other man's name hung between them. Of course. Dreaming of the boyfriend. What else could he have expected? Although, he guessed it could've been worse. She could've said Angel.

As carefully as he could manage, the vamp disengaged his hand from her hair, drawing it back as he slid himself off the bed. Her reaction to his absence was immediate, her eyes opening, blinking in vague confusion. Spike glanced at her over his shoulder as he strode to the wardrobe. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, voice crisp and matter of fact. "Didn't mean to snap you out of Soldier Boy slumberland."

"Wha…?" Buffy frowned, sitting up as she rubbed at her eyes. "I wasn't dreaming about Riley. Least I don't think so."

"You said his name, ducks. If that's not dreamin', I don't even wanna know." He kept his back to her, taking his time to pull out a clean t-shirt. He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to see the disgust on her face. There would be enough of that in the weeks to come; no reason to subject himself to it now if he didn't have to. "You should go back to sleep," he added. "It's still dark outside. Others won't be up for a couple hours yet."

"What're you going to do?"

Spike shrugged. "Thought I'd do a bit of explorin'. See what passes as a castle these days."

Buffy watched as the vampire reached over his shoulders, grabbing the cotton of his shirt to tug it over his head, exposing alabaster muscles that looked as if they'd been carved with the most delicate of chisels, before tapering down to the slimness of his waist, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans with promises of even more glory. Her eyes widened. Knowing the blond vampire was strong was one thing; seeing the evidence in the sculpture of his muscles was something else. Even Riley, with all his commando training and obsessive workout routines, didn't look like that. Wow.

Shoving the blankets off, the Slayer swung her legs around, setting her bare feet down on the stone, only to yank them back with a small squeal. Cold. Freezing. Should've packed slippers. "Mind tossing me some socks?" she asked. "'Cause these little piggies are not getting out again without cover."

Spike glanced back just in time to see her shove her feet back under the covers, and frowned. "Don't tell me you're gettin' up," he said. "You just fell asleep."

"I'm your leash, remember? You go wandering around, and the wrong somebody sees you? You're going to end up getting swept under the rug, and I'm going to get yelled at by Travers. So, hand me socks, because it is cold out there."

"Don't need a fuckin' babysitter," he muttered, but got them anyway, turning to toss them to the blonde on the bed, his annoyance shining in his blue eyes.

Were it not for Slayer speed, Buffy would've missed them, the sight of Spike's bare chest---ohmigod look at those pecs---taking her by surprise. Just as nice as the back, just as…She could feel her mouth open, and quickly snapped it shut, tearing her gaze away to concentrate on getting her socks on, the simple action suddenly the most important thing in the world right now. Naked Spike bad, she scolded herself. Stupid annoying vampire, remember? Can't even duck when someone tosses chocolate at him? And you've got a boyfriend…a cute, attentive, breathing boyfriend. Emphasis on breathing. Even if he's not quite as…

Spike saw the sudden rise in color in Buffy's face and tilted his head as he watched her become too absorbed in the minutiae of putting on her socks. Now what the hell had spooked her so? he wondered. Unless she just remembered her dream. He rolled his eyes, turning back away to slide the fresh shirt over his head. If she brings him up again, I swear the silly bint won't have to stake me. I'll do it myself.

It was better when she stood up, no more cold toes, no more naked Spike. Life could return to normal…well, as normal as it was going to get being stuck sharing a room with a vampire in a castle in the middle of Scotland. Actually, considering how her life usually went, this didn't seem so out of the ordinary at all.

"Did you have anything specific in mind?" she asked, ignoring him as she brushed past to stand before the wardrobe. "Or are we going to be all Stanley and Livingstone and just wander around?"

His eyes narrowed as he watched her extract a sweater and jeans from her side of the wardrobe. "Interesting analogy, Slayer," he drawled. "Which one do you want to be?"

"Why?"

"'Cause Livingstone disappeared."

She smiled wickedly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she strode to the screened-off portion of the room. "Then I want to be Stanley."

He couldn't help his grin. "Stanley's the one who found him."

"Figures," she snorted from behind the divider. "That's not any different to you and me now. You get in trouble, I get you out of it."

"Yeah, 'cept when he found him, he didn't go back." He could hear her changing, saw the clothes drop to the floor, and resisted the urge to slide his body over so that he could steal a peek behind the panel. When she emerged, pulling her hair out from underneath her collar, he added, "They went off exploring together 'til Livingstone died."

"Even more of a reason for me to be Stanley." She picked up her shoes and perched herself on the edge of the bed. "You get to be the one who dies."

"Already dead, luv."

"You never answered my question, though."

"There was a question in there somewhere?"

Buffy sighed, rising to her feet. "Where did you want to go exploring?"

"There's only one place in castles worth explorin'." His smile was wicked, his blue eyes dancing. "The dungeons."

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

When the candles went out the first time, Buffy realized that she had never been placed in such utter blackness before, the complete absence of light chilling as it sucked in around her. The sounds of Spike reaching for his lighter echoed in the narrow corridor, magnifying to proportions she knew were unrealistic, and she found herself holding her breath, doing everything she could not to add to the eeriness of the small space.

"First thing we tell that new Watcher," the vampire said as the wicks caught the flame, "is he needs to go and buy some bloody torches."

"I think this is the first time I've ever been glad you smoked," Buffy commented as she started walking down the corridor again. She poked her head through an opening to her left, her brow wrinkling into a frown. "When we were driving in," she asked, "did you see these hollow hills Giles was talking about?"

"Didn't see much of anything," he drawled, trailing along behind her. "Too dark." And too busy looking at you, he added silently.

"I'm just wondering if we're going in the right direction. This place is a maze down here." She stopped, looking back at him, noticing how the flickering candlelight made the planes of his face seem deeper, his eyes darker. "Maybe we should head back."

"What's wrong, Slayer? Afraid some big nasty's goin' to jump out and bite you?" Fuck, why did he do this to himself?

"Nooooo, more afraid of missing breakfast because we've managed to get ourselves lost."

He rolled his eyes. "Always thinkin' with your stomach." He brushed past her, holding the candles in front of him as he swept the light across their path. "And we're not lost."

"And you know this because…?" She scurried to catch up with him, the absence of the illumination sending shivers over her skin.

"Because we've gone in one big circle." Spike nodded toward the staircase that stood before them.

Buffy scowled. "Well…shit." Glancing back over her shoulder, she began tapping her foot against the stone. "How did we do that?"

"I believe it's called four right turns." He tilted his head, watching her consternation. "Ready to go back?"

"I was only half-serious," she murmured, and turned to look at the vamp with a small frown. "From what we've seen, can you figure out what's got the Council so uptight about this place?"

"You're askin' my opinion?" There was no hiding the incredulity in his voice.

"You're the only one down here other than me. And since I already know what I think…"

"Then, nope. I've got no idea what's got their knickers all in a twist."

"And double-shit," Buffy muttered. "Why do I keep feeling that the Council's just playing us?"

"Not to have it soundin' like I'm on their side and all," Spike said, "but maybe we should give them a chance to explain everything. We are kinda jumpin' the gun here by goin' off on our own."

She smiled, and he realized that it was the first genuine smile she'd given him since playing cards on the plane. "And William the Bloody decides to join the team!" she exclaimed. "Now that is something I wish Giles could've seen."

"I am not!" His glare was furious, brows knitted together, as flashes of gold speckled in his eyes. "You take that back!"

"Next thing you know, it'll be you and Xander as patrol buddies." She laughed as she brushed past him, a silver tinkle in the musty air. "And Willow will be asking you to help on spells." She stopped halfway up the stairs, grinning back at him. "I bet if you asked Giles really nicely, he'd even get you a white hat."

"Now that's hittin' below the belt, Slayer," Spike growled, his own feet stomping up the stairs after her. Not a fuckin' Scooby, he thought. No matter how much I love the girl.

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

Waking early wasn't nearly as difficult for Colin as he suspected it would be for the rest of the group; his two day stint in Sunnydale had not given him nearly enough time for his body clock to re-adjust itself, whereas the Slayer and her friends were still running eight hours behind. It was probably just as well. The woman from the village---why could he never remember her name?---never arrived before eight, which would ensure that the vampire would be firmly ensconced in his room upstairs, hiding away from the sunlight, and no uncomfortable explanations would have to be issued. As it was, Colin himself was being held responsible for supplying Spike with his food, making the necessary trips into the local butcher to retrieve the blood they'd requested be available on a regular schedule. Under no circumstances did the Watcher want the vampire to even think about looking for dinner elsewhere.

He understood Buffy and the others believed Spike when it came to the effectiveness of the government chip in his head, but until he saw it for himself, Colin was going to play it safe, carrying the bottle of holy water in his jacket pocket at all times just in case there was a recurrence of what had happened in the Sunnydale cemetery. It still gave him shudders to consider how close he'd come to actually being attacked, even armed, and the thing that bothered him most about it was that the Slayer had just stood there and let it happen. Quentin Travers was one of Buffy Summers' staunchest supporters within the Council---contrary to what Colin knew Rupert Giles believed---stating that she was one of the strongest Slayers they had been privileged to train in decades. But the young woman's rather curious relationships with those around her made her weak in this Watcher's perspective, and he fully intended to keep a close eye on her.

The sound of laughter captured his attention, and Colin halted in his path to the great hall, watching as the door to the dungeons flew open and Buffy herself came bouncing up. She spotted the Englishman right away and tossed him a bright smile. "Mornin'!"

His mouth opened to respond, and then froze as the platinum head appeared in the doorway, a thunderous scowl on the vampire's features. "Told you to take it back!" Spike called after her retreating form, boots thudding heavily on the stone floor as he marched after her.

Slowly, Colin's mouth closed, the lines deepening in his forehead. Yes, will most definitely keep an eye on her, he thought. And Spike as well. Most peculiar…