Chapter Six – When Youth and Blood are Warmer

WEDNESDAY

Giles sighed and frowned as he pulled the coverlet over Spike’s still form. The blonde vampire was still unconscious, and looked pasty, his lips white and waxy. Giles imagined that if Spike were human, he’d be exhibiting all the other classic signs of shock – clammy skin, shallow breathing, short jittering pulse.

But in the absence of such obvious symptoms, it was hard to tell exactly what his condition was. For now, he seemed stable. The wound on his arm and the burn on his chest had both been tended to – not by Giles – and he was tucked up in the spare room. ‘Spare’ being the operative word – the room was barely bigger than a cupboard, and suffered from a serious lack of furnishings, a camp bed and a chair about all that could be squeezed in.

Giles packed up his book and blew out the candle on the chair. He cast one last look at Spike – the vampire twitched in his sleep, and Giles knitted his brows, frustration and irritation warring on his face.

Then he exitted the room, and walked back downstairs. Buffy, Willow and Tara were gathered on the sofa in the living room, huddled and talking quietly. When he cleared his throat, they all turned. Buffy stood up, and looked at him expectantly.

"How is he?"

Giles’ face was reserved.

"He should sleep now. I think the convulsions are over, but he’ll need rest."

"Thanks for doing the healing spell, Giles," Buffy said with a grateful look.

Her Watcher put down his book, keeping his serious gaze focussed on Buffy.

"It was against my better judgement. And we need to talk."

Oh great – here we go. With a nod, Buffy’s expression hardened into stoicism.

"So let’s talk."

Giles glanced over at Willow and Tara, who were watching the exchange nervously. Willow quickly stood up, pulling Tara with her.

"I’ll, uh, make tea," she announced, then started for the kitchen.

"A-and I’ll help," Tara added awkwardly, before following.

With the witches safely out of firing range, Buffy’s gaze left their retreating forms and settled back on Giles. She decided she’d prefer to start this one – her face took on a placating expression as she spoke gently.

"Giles, I know you’re angry…"

"Angry doesn’t begin to cover it," Giles replied icily. But then his face softened into a frown. "Buffy, there was a time when you trusted me enough to be honest…"

Buffy met his eyes firmly as she cut in.

"I still trust you, Giles – you know that hasn’t changed."

"Only enough to tell me superficial details, it seems. Buffy, I asked if you and Spike had an involvement, and you fobbed me off. Then Psalter tells me that he saw you both last night…in an alley."

His expression was both mortified and indignant at the thought, and the mental image that it produced. Buffy’s face coloured hotly in response.

"It wasn’t like that!"

"Then what, exactly, was it like?"

Buffy tried to recover some of her lost dignity, fumbling with the words she needed.

"Giles, give me a chance to explain. This thing with Spike…it wasn’t…it isn’t…"

"What? Another vampire boyfriend?" Giles said thinly, his face set like stone.

Buffy blanched at his blunt words, then put both hands on her hips. Her expression was frosty.

"That’s low, Giles. And if you’re relying on what this Psalter guy says instead of listening to my version, then it’s not fair."

Giles frowned at her, getting a terrible sense of déjà vu in the whole turn of the discussion.

"I don’t think the position you’re putting me in is very fair either." He tried to reason with her, feeling the hopelessness of it already. "Buffy, you’re the Slayer. Spike’s your natural enemy. He’s not like Angel – he doesn’t have a soul to redeem him. You don’t know what his motivations or intentions are, and with his past history –"

"He’s not like that anymore!" Buffy responded heatedly.

And she knew it was true. She just couldn’t find the logic to explain how she knew – how do you explain a gut reaction?

"You can’t be sure of that!" Giles’ eyes narrowed as he glanced upwards towards the bedrooms. "I don’t trust him."

"What -" Buffy said sharply, "Spike’s only trustworthy when he’s useful to us and keeps his hands to himself?"

Giles replied stolidly.

"Spike is chipped – that doesn’t make him safe. You don’t know what he’s capable of."

"I think that’s the whole point, don’t you?" Buffy returned. With an expression of frustration, and an angry glance at Giles, she reached down for her jacket. "I still have to patrol. I’ll see you tomorrow."

She stalked towards the door, passing Willow and Tara who were peeking out from behind the kitchen hatch, scoping for flying debris. She caught Tara’s eye as she walked.

"Watch him for me."

Her voice was soft, but there was no question as to whom she was referring. With a startled look, Tara nodded in reply.

Willow edged out of the kitchen entrance, tray of tea things balanced in her hands, in time to catch Buffy as she left, slamming the door behind her. Willow’s eyes strayed back to Giles tentatively, and she held up the tray at an awkward angle.

"Uh - tea?"

oOo

5.03am

When Buffy opened her eyes, she was standing in Main Street, in her pajamas.

A cool breeze lifted the material of her drawstring pants against her ankles, and she broke out in goosebumps.

She rubbed her arms, trying to quell the chills, and looked down at herself – she was in the crop top and pants she’d worn to bed, after she’d come home and collapsed with exhaustion. She frowned down at herself.

Was it night? The sky was dark, but there was a haze of sunlight – it seemed to be early dawn, but it was hard to tell. Thunder clouds obscured the view above. There was a yellowish tinge in the air, the prelude to a storm.

She stood for a moment, chafing her hands and pressing her top against her skin, trying to spread her body heat around. There wasn’t anything she could do about her bare feet, and her toes were already starting to curl up from the cold.

Then she realised that there was no-one laughing and pointing – there was no-one around at all, in fact. The street was deserted, as though the town’s population had been sucked into a vacuum.

She began walking tentatively up the street, narrowing her eyes at the empty shop-fronts, the vacant sidewalks.

"Hello? Anyone?"

Her voice was small, as though it was absorbed into the emptiness of the street. She was about to call out again, then thought better of it. Her instincts kicked in automatically – drawing attention to herself, out here, in the open, might not be such a hot idea. She was too exposed, plus no weapons.

An uneasy feeling washed over her.

She stood, contemplating the screwy physics of dreams for a second, and then she heard a voice, calling faintly.

"Buffy! Buffy…"

She started towards the voice – it was there, a little way up ahead. She saw a park bench, and a pale figure sitting, calling out plainatively.

"Buffy!"

She sprinted the rest of the distance, heedless now of the cold. The figure on the bench was wringing it’s hands, the breeze blowing the white nightdress against the too-thin body.

"Mom!" Buffy reached forward, touched her mother’s hands to still them, and sat down gently beside her on the bench. "Mom, it’s cold out here…"

Joyce’s face brightened as she recognised her daughter.

"There you are! Honey, I’ve been calling for ages. Have you been out on patrol?"

"Um, yeah."

Buffy wrapped one arm around her mother’s shoulders, trying to warm her, leaving aside the dream-logic of the conversation.

"I’m here now though, it’s okay. But you might catch a chill out here – maybe we should go home, huh?"

"Oh, silly me!" Joyce exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled a touch too brilliantly, and Buffy felt a queasy fear in her breast. "Now, what am I doing out here?…" She looked around the park bench in confusion.

Buffy frowned and quickly helped her mother rise from the bench.

"It doesn’t matter, Mom," she said firmly. "Let’s get you home."

Buffy moved, and Joyce allowed herself to be led away, onto the sidewalk and down the street. Buffy cast furtive glances around the empty Sunnydale vista as they walked.

Before…something. There was something, she knew. What was it again? She couldn’t remember. It was important too. Damn.

Joyce was chatting as they walked, seemingly unaware of the strangeness around her.

"…getting Dawn ready for her geometry test. Or was it biology? Oh, I guess she can tell me. You’ll have to help her more with her homework, you know."

"Yeah, sure Mom," Buffy reassured.

She quickened her pace, trying to get her mother home before Joyce got too chilled. She looked up, and got a tingling in her stomach. They were passing the stone wall of the central cemetary, coming up to the grassy entrance way, the intricate old iron gates always open.

"…and if you’re lucky, I’ll bake those brownies that you like, the ones with the nuts."

Joyce continued talking as they moved, Buffy nodding her replies absently. Suddenly her mother’s feet shifted and she began veering towards the cemetary gates. Buffy brought them both to a halt. Joyce looked at her quizzically.

"Come on, honey – what’s the matter? Aren’t you going to come in?’

Buffy’s face contorted. The uneasy fear in her gut was spreading like a disease.

"Mom, this isn’t –"

But Joyce cut her off, pulled away and began walking towards the gates.

"Now, don’t be silly Buffy. Dawn’ll be waiting – we better get inside."

And she moved inexorably towards the cemetary, a cheerful smile on her face.

Buffy was rooted to the spot. She felt a wave of panic wash over her, colder than the breeze of before.

Her mother slipped between the iron, and vanished from sight behind a pillar crowned with a weeping child.

"Mom! Mom, no – don’t go in there!"

She pulled against the fear that was paralysing her in place, and ran to the cemetary.

She looked around – oh god, where had she gone? She’d been right there…

"Mom! Mom!"

Buffy heard her voice break as she cried out, stricken. Oh god, oh god… She searched amongst the tottering gravestones with her eyes – no white figures, nothing.

Buffy’s eyes began blurring as she moved quickly between the grey tombs. Her mother was here somewhere – she knew it. Maybe she was around the next headstone, or the next one. Maybe she was sitting down somewhere. She smeared a hand against her tear-filled eyes, her watery nose.

"Mom!"

She kept calling, as loudly as she could. Her mother would hear her, peek around the corner of a gravestone. Buffy would lead her home – everything would be alright.

But she was going deeper and deeper into the cemetery, and her mother still hadn’t appeared. The sky was darkening ominously. Her voice was getting hoarse from calling, and the wind had picked up now, making her shiver. She started to cry now, in earnest, couldn’t make herself stop.

"Mom! Oh mommy, come back! Mommy…"

She was sobbing with every breath. Every grave looked the same, and her mother wasn’t behind any of them. She felt the wracking in her body and gave herself up to it, raising her hands to her face, crying out, sinking to the damp ground beside an open grave.

"Mommy…"

But her voice was a whimper. She just couldn’t get past the overwhelming emotions. She sat on her knees, letting her hair fall about her face, hugging her arms around herself.

She keened softly to herself, and started rocking, a hypnotic, primal response.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy…"

Time slowed. It was just her, in a black hole of grief, rocking and crying, the wetness on her cheeks, the pain in her heart threatening to tear her to pieces. There was a noise approaching her, a clopping sound, but she ignored it.

"Slayer."

Someone above her, leaning down…

"Slayer, come on. Get up. Come on, you’re worrying me now."

Someone was rudely intruding on her grief. She opened her swollen eyes, saw a shape – a hoof. A number of hooves.

"Slayer."

She raised her gaze, following the length of the horse’s leg. A grey horse, she noted blearily, through a haze of tears. A grey horse, with a dark rider.

"Come on, are you deaf? Slayer, get up."

It was Spike. Spike, sitting bareback astride his shying mount with the ease of familiarity. Spike, in… Buffy blinked. Was that a tuxedo? An all-black tux, nonetheless – a black dress shirt, tie-less and open at the collar, under the unbuttoned lapels of the natty black formal morning coat. He had a red flower in his button-hole – a poppy? – and wore neat trousers and shiny dress shoes.

She peered up at him confusedly. He was controlling the reins with one hand, and reaching down to her with the other.

"That’s the girl – come on, take my hand."

"Have you seen my mother?" Buffy looked at him, then around at the cemetery, disoriented. "She’s here, somewhere – she came in, and then I lost her…"

"It’s alright, love – don’t worry. She’s okay. But we need to get you out of here."

His hand was close – close enough to grasp. Buffy reached out and let him pull her to standing. But her face was still tear-streaked, her breath still hiccupping.

"My mom –"

He gazed down at her with dark blue eyes, still holding her hand.

"Don’t worry about your mum, love. Come on, let’s get you home, before you freeze to death."

Unable to think around the depth of the sadness, she nodded blindly. He slid his hand down her arm to her bicep to move her closer, then leaned forward, slipped his arm around her waist and hoyed her onto the horse like she weighed no more than a feather.

She was so cold. She shivered again unconsciously, as Spike reached around her to gather the reins. His body provided a windbreak, but no warmth – dead men don’t have body heat, she reminded herself dully.

But her anxiety was fading – there was still a thick residue of sadness inside her; she remembered feeling an overwhelming grief… She looked around the gravestones as they moved out of the cemetary, bewildered.

"What - what was I doing here?" she whispered confusedly.

Spike’s face was close, his expression gentle.

"You were looking for something, love. But it’s okay now."

"Did I find it? What I was looking for?"

Spike grinned at her.

"I think it found you. Come on, you’re nearly home."

When she looked around again, they were on Main Street. The horse’s pace had slowed to a steady clip-clop. Buffy was lulled by the rhythmic movement beneath her – she leaned back against Spike’s chest with a yawn.

"I’m tired."

"S’alright, love. We’re almost there."

The wind picked up. Buffy felt the change almost at the same time as she felt Spike tense behind her.

"What is it?" she murmured.

She looked up into his face. The sky behind him was lightening, a strange orange glow in the air. Spike was frowning, and peering about the empty street.

"I don’t know. Something…"

Buffy followed his gaze, looking around the ghost town that Sunnydale had become, as the air coloured and the clouds began boiling over their heads.

"Something not right," she muttered.

Something not right…something building, an electricity crackling in the atmosphere. Her hair was whipping into her eyes – she brushed at it distractedly. She breathed in the charged air, felt it beginning a slow pulse in her blood. It energised her, but frightened her at the same time. Suddenly she was aware of Spike’s hands on her shoulders, heard his roughened voice.

"You should get off."

"What?"

She looked up at him, surprised. But what alarmed her more were his eyes – they were yellowing by degrees. She tried to speak around an unreasoning fear in her throat.

"But I just –"

"I said get off!"

His voice had thickened – he was clenching his hands on the reins, his jaw tight. He looked like he was controlling something, pulling something in, his eyes closing and opening quickly. And suddenly she felt genuinely scared.

But the thought carried no reassurance, and Buffy let herself slip from the horse’s back to stand in the street again, her cold toes twitching on the asphalt. She looked ahead, down the street – the view was obscured, like a horizon line shifting in the fog – and frowned.

What it was exactly she wasn’t sure, but she knew it with every atom in her body. She was dimly aware of Spike sliding off the horse behind her, but her eyes were fixed ahead, her senses extended, trying to feel, trying to understand. So when Spike’s voice sounded behind her ear, she jumped.

"You have to go."

"I know," she murmured back absently.

About to walk off, she turned her face to say goodbye. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Spike’s face was twisted, shifting back and forth from his human face to his vampire visage in rapid bursts, like a bizarre two-form image. He tried to grip the reins, like he needed something to hang on to, but the horse was shying away. When his head whipped back to face her, it was the demon that uttered the thick growl.

"Go!"

She stared, in horrified shock, momentarily paralysed. Spike’s face changed again, into the man she knew – the man she cared for – his expression agonised, the pleading in his eyes apparent in his voice.

"Buffy, go, now. You have to –"

Then he stopped. It was like he’d felt something shift dramatically inside his own body. His eyes went wide, and he barked a command.

"Run."

His low, flattened voice scared her more than anything else, snapping her out of her frozen pose. With a look of despair and horror, she stumbled away from him, turned, and bolted down the street.

She knew he was behind her – she could hear the clip of his dress shoes on the road. Her breath was gasping in her chest. She was running full pelt, but the end of the street never seemed to get any nearer. And he was overtaking…

She put on a sudden burst of speed, then chanced a glance back – it was her undoing. Spike’s figure was menacingly close behind her, and he took advantage of her distraction to lunge, and tackle her to the ground.

Her head cracking on the asphalt was painful, but it was nothing like the pain of seeing Spike, in full vamp face, looming over her. He pinned her around the waist with his legs, and grabbed for her wrists, slapping away her attempts to struggle. His gaze was feral, and he stared down at her mercilessly.

"Spike – Spike, no, don’t do this…" she whispered, too horrified to raise her voice, pleading with her eyes.

The demon above her leered in with a grin, then as she watched he shook his head, like a dog. And suddenly it was Spike again, looking at her with an expression of ghastly, age-less pain. His eyes were once again dark blue as he gazed down, then tentatively touched his forehead against hers. His voice was a whimper.

"Buffy – please. I can’t…"

She heard his voice begin to coarsen. His next words gave her a chill.

"Oh god, love – I’m so sorry…"

Then he raised his head, and transformed before her eyes – reached forward to grab her hair, pull her head to one side, force his way down against her desperate struggles, and plunge his fangs into her neck………

With a jerking, gasping cry, Buffy hurtled out of sleep, to find herself clutching the sheets with one hand, and her neck with the other.

oOo

7.12am

Dawn padded downstairs in her pajamas, yawning hugely and feeling distinctly bleary. She stretched on the last step, and was about to let out a groan when she remembered that Anya and Xander were in the living room, on the sofa bed – she restrained herself with an effort, and tip-toed into the kitchen. They’d been considerate enough to forgo crashing in her Mom’s room, the least she could do was be careful not to wake them at such an ungodly hour.

She wasn’t sure what had woken her so early – bad dreams… She frowned at foggy memories as she entered the kitchen. Something about feeling sad, then being chased by something…something nasty.

Shaking her head to clear her mind of the yucky after-taste of the dream, she made for the fridge with a grin. Nothing like chocolate milk to get rid of the flavour of morning-mouth –

She jumped and twirled as she registered the figure sitting at the far end of the bench. Then she relaxed when she saw who it was.

"Oh – it’s you. Geez, Buffy, you trying to scare the hell out of me or what?"

Her sister looked up confusedly, as if she was having a hard time recognising her. Then her eyes cleared, and she gave Dawn a wan half-grin.

"Sorry. Just…thinking, I guess. Good morning."

"If you say so," Dawn replied lackadaisically.

She opened the fridge, took out the chocolate milk and began raising the carton to her lips. Until she saw Buffy’s look over the rim of the carton. She brought the milk down and frowned.

"What?"

"Don’t."

"Don’t what? Why not?"

"You know why."

Dawn shrugged and was about to raise the carton again when Buffy’s voice stopped her.

"Because Mom would have kittens if she saw you. If she were here."

Dawn sighed, gave Buffy a cross look, then rolled her eyes and clomped forward to get a glass.

"Alright, alright. Fine."

She filled the glass and took a long slurp, coming up with a milk moustache.

"Is that better?"

Buffy grinned a little at the sight.

"Better. Thank you."

Dawn lumped herself onto a stool, glass in hand. She perused her sister curiously as she had another drink.

"So – what’s with the grumpy? And how come you’re up so early? Didn’t you have patrol last night?"

Buffy sighed and reached for her sister’s glass, helping herself to a sip. Mm – cold.

"Yeah. A late one, too. Something came up."

"Apart from a demon army?" Dawn said wryly.

"Yeah, apart from that."

Buffy looked at her sister, then decided that Dawn needed to be filled in. Since the Dawn-slashing-up incident, she’d realised that a reveal-all approach was better than keeping her sister in the dark. Besides, Dawn was so nosy that she’d be bound to find out anyway. She sighed again, and began relating the story softly.

"We got attacked by some weird woman at the Bronze. Some new demon-killer – I don’t know. And…Spike got hurt."

Dawn sat up at that, leaning forward with alarm.

"What do you mean ‘hurt’? Like, really hurt?"

"Like, almost dusted," Buffy admitted, the worry evident on her face.

Dawn looked shocked.

"Geez, Buffy – is he okay?"

"He was still out of it when I left Giles’ place. Willow and Tara are keeping an eye on him there.""

Dawn was frowning, trying to take all this in. Then Buffy’s exact phrasing filtered in, and she looked at her sister.

"Willow and Tara are watching him? But if he’s at Giles’ house, won’t Giles…"

Buffy’s expression stopped her. Dawn’s frown deepened.

"You’re worried about Spike staying with Giles…Buffy, why would Giles be a threat to Spike?"

Her voice was soft, coaxing an answer.

Buffy couldn’t meet her eyes. Hesitantly, she began explaining.

"We – Giles and me – we…had a fight. About Spike."

"You mean, Giles found out about you and Spike," Dawn stated.

Buffy glanced up at her with surprise.

"Um, yeah – but how did you know about me and –"

Dawn cut her off with a wave of her hand, her eyes raised to the ceiling.

"Please – come on. I’m not blind. You and Spike have had the hots for each other, like, forever."

She stared at Buffy again, as if daring her to deny it. Her sister could only blush and blink. Dawn tried a new tack for more information.

"So, what, Giles flipped out?"

"Totally," Buffy groaned softly. "He said I don’t trust him. Which isn’t true – I do, really. It’s just that this was…sensitive."

She slumped in her seat, searching for the right words.

"I mean, it’s…it’s hard to explain. I mean, I haven’t even told Mom –"

"Oh, that’s okay - she knows," Dawn added quickly.

Buffy gave her sister another astonished look.

"Mom knows?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, hello, what do you think Mom and Spike were talking about that night you came crashing in with your hell-bitch routine?"

Buffy’s mouth gaped – she couldn’t even think straight enough to berate Dawn for the remark. She digested the idea of Spike and her mom talking – about her – and coloured again.

Dawn went on with a dismissing wave.

"Anyway, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Mom’s cool. So,what about Giles?"

Buffy collected herself with an effort, then continued.

"Oh. Well, um, Giles is in total self-righteous mode, you know? ‘Spike’s evil, and you’re the Slayer’ and blah blah blah."

Buffy sighed remembering the argument. Dawn took this in with a nod.

"Sure. Kind of understandable, I guess. Poor guy’s probably having Angel-flashbacks."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah…I guess he is," Buffy realised. Then she heaved out a breath, as that awareness of Giles’ mental condition sunk in, and went on. "Well, anyway, the gist of it all was that Giles doesn’t trust Spike. Period."

Dwn tilted her head in comprehension.

"And so, now…you don’t trust him. Around Spike, that is."

Buffy nodded in reply, looking more than a little depressed at the idea. She hugged her arms around herself, reaching for consolation deep inside, or at least the semblance of logic.

What the hell was she doing? Giles was her Watcher – she felt like she was betraying that whole bundle of implicit faith and unconditional trust and stuff that the relationship required.

And for what? A crazy, hormonal reaction for a vampire who could only nominally be called ‘reformed’, who had tried to kill her on so many occasions in the past that she’d almost lost count, who’d proven his unreliability even more recently when her Mom fell sick…who attacked her in her dreams.

She hugged herself tighter and frowned.

Dawn watched the split-second play of emotions on her sister’s face, feeling sympathetic, wishing there was something she could do to make things better. Hey – maybe she could talk to Giles, tell him…on second thought, scratch that idea. He’d never take her seriously.

But she knew someone he would…

With a contemplative expression, she got up from her chair and moved around the counter to give Buffy a shoulder-hug.

"Hey – don’t knock yourself out about it. Giles will come round."

Buffy just nodded automatically and shrugged.

"We’ll see."

Dawn nudged her gently.

"Don’t worry. Come on, we should get ready to go see Mom."

"Sure," Buffy said, rousing herself and straightening in her seat. "Hey – thanks."

"Dawn just shrugged.

"No big."

Buffy looked at Dawn with a gentle eye, tucking a strand of her sister’s hair behind one ear.

"You’re really maturing, you know that?"

"I guess," Dawn replied, looking bemused by the idea. Then she grinned at Buffy mischevously. "But it’ll be a while yet ‘til I’m old and grey like you. Come on – race you to the shower."

"You go – I’ll tell Xander and Anya that we’re leaving."

Dawn nodded quickly, then dashed away. Buffy watched her go, then returned her gaze to the counter. The empty glass was still there, and the milk carton, making a small choclatey puddle on the counter-top. Buffy grinned and rolled her eyes – yep, it would still be a while…

oOo

9.15am

She entered the hospital room again to see her mother and Dawn huddled over the bed, fiddling with something. Her sister straightened quickly, fumbled something into her pocket, and glanced between her mother and Buffy.

"Hey. What’s up?" Buffy said with faint curiousity.

"Oh, nothing," Dawn replied quickly. She smiled at her mother as she flipped her hair. "I’m just gonna get a can of soda. You want anything?"

"Not for me," Joyce said with a gentle smile.

Dawn glanced at Buffy, who just shook her head, then she headed out for the foyer. Buffy’s gaze followed her for a moment, then she returned her eyes to her mother, moving to sit in a chair beside the bed.

Michael had been right. Joyce looked better, less pale, and the dark circles around her eyes were gone. She looks like Mom again, Buffy thought with relief. When her mother reached out to take her hand, Buffy felt a happy glow spread through her.

"Dawn’s not giving you too much trouble is she?" Joyce said with a grin.

"Nah. She’s fine. We’ve both just been a little stressed out, I guess." Buffy smiled back at her mother, pleased to see colour returning to her cheeks. Then she sighed.

"Anyway, Dawn is the least of my worries at the moment."

"I heard." Joyce rubbed her daughter’s hand as she let herself sit back a bit on the pillows. "Dawn told me. And about the Bronze, last night."

Buffy gave a tight smile, and tried to shrug it off.

"Oh – yeah. Well…anyway, everyone’s still walking, so that’s a plus."

"You look tired," Joyce said evenly, perusing Buffy’s face with concern.

"I guess."

Must be – haven’t had much in the way of sleep lately. But she wasn’t about to share that with her mother. She didn’t want her mother worrying about anything except getting herself well. That was more than enough.

But Joyce had other ideas. She patted the coverlet of the bed near her lap.

"Come here, sweetie."

At her mother’s urging, Buffy laid her head down on the bed. With a feeling of perfect happiness warming her, she relaxed as her mother began stroking her hair against the sheets. The familiar, comforting touch helped to loosen some of her self-imposed restraint. Her quiet voice floated up to Joyce’s ears.

"Yeah – I guess I am tired. But it’s okay. I mean, I’ve been so busy…I’ve hardly had time to think about it."

Joyce stared down at her daughter’s face, angled sideways away from her on the bed, and a look of sad anxiety flitted across her features. She kept her hand steady as she stroked Buffy’s hair, letting the warm-cool strands thread through her fingers.

"My poor girl," she said softly. "You never get a break from emergencies these days."

Buffy gave a muffled snort.

"Look at me. I should be the one comforting you."

"It’s okay. Just rest."

Buffy let her mother’s hand smooth her hair, smooth away her mental tangles. She sighed into the sheet, and enjoyed the feeling of solace and protection, and let her mind drift, closing her eyes.

Unseen above her, her mother blinked against the threatening tears, letting a few escape, to roll down in silent, salty trails on her cheeks.

oOo

10.12am

Dawn’s mental crowing was so loud in her own head that she was surprised Buffy couldn’t hear it. Actually her sister was giving her curious looks, so she started to think that maybe she should tone it down. But still, it was hard to wipe the huge grin off her face. Even the fact that Buffy had had to kill some big scaly thing with horns between the hospital and the Magic Box hadn’t put a dampener on her mood.

She smiled broadly at her sister again, and was rewarded with a cocked eyebrow.

"Well. You’re very chirpy now."

"Uh-huh."

Dawn nodded and grinned again, looking at Buffy’s face and thnking how spun her sister would be if she knew that her Giles-problem was now over. This reflecting once more on her own super-coolness, of course.

"Mom say something to cheer you up? Besides giving you permission to beg off school, I mean."

"Kinda."

It took almost all her willpower to bite her tongue about stuff, but she managed. So focussed, in fact, was she on not giving her secret away that she almost bumped into Ray as he exitted the shop.

"Whoah – hey there."

He lifted an arm to avoid a collision, and flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter with the other hand. Dawn looked up at him with surprise.

"Oh – hey."

She gave him a half-voltage smile – still felt weird, his being all angel-ly and everything. But she liked Ray. He had a warm, contented sort of glow about him.

"Ah – Miss Summers, and Miss Summers. Good morning to you."

Buffy smiled at the man. Of all the angels, he seemed the most…well, real. He’d even doffed his hat to them, letting the breeze attack his scruffy grey hair. He had a little bald spot near the top, she noticed.

"Hi, Ray. We’re just –"

" – on your way in. Yep, noticed that. Me, I’m heading out. Doing a recky," he said nonchalantly, replacing his hat.

"What’s a recky?" Dawn asked blithely.

"Reconnaissance," Buffy answered for him. She nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah, it’s gotta be hotting up near the outskirts of town. I’ll be doing a day patrol later, so I might catch up with you."

"A day patrol?" Dawn said with a surprised frown at her sister.

"Yeah – need to. What, you don’t remember? Xanthus demon?" Buffy took in Dawn’s raised eyebrows and elaborated. "Big, scaly thing, with horns, near Lilydale Avenue?"

Dawn just shrugged – one demon looked the same as the next these days.

Buffy turned back to Ray with a sigh, as he regarded the interaction bemusedly.

"Anyway – yeah. Might catch you later."

"Okay. Great. So – see you round then."

He gave a little hatlift as he began to move off. Then he caught Dawn’s eye with a wink, and leaned towards her.

"You too, Miss Sparkles. And y’know, you got a little glow of your own there, by the way."

Then he moved off down the street, chortling to himself as he went.

Buffy looked back into Dawn’s slightly astonished face.

"What was that about?"

Dawn could only gape, and shake her head.

"Uh…nothing. Let’s get inside, huh?"

And she grabbed the doorhandle and pulled, leaving Buffy perplexed, and regarding the open doorway with a sigh.

The inner gloom of the shop was a sharp contrast to the sunny streetscape outside, and she blinked her eyes. The door clanged shut behind her, and for the first time ever in her memory, it sounded vaguely doom-filled. Instead of the usual ‘ah, haven!’ feeling, she experienced a sudden claustrophobia.

She cast her eyes around the shop. Anya was over in a corner, serving customers. Giles was in his normal spot at the table. But he had company – Uriel Psalter and Michael (did he have a last name? was that really Uriel’s last name? did angels even have them?) were gathered around the research table too, amidst countless books and papers. The three men were obviously deep in discussion, and Giles was scribbling notes as they talked. He’d just added another sheet of paper to the disordered pile at his right, and didn’t even look up as the two girls walked in.

Dawn had moved over to the counter to dump her backpack, and Buffy used her for cover, discretely sidling past the counter and making for the back room.

She almost made it.

"Oh. Dawn. And – Buffy."

Giles looked up, pen in hand, with a distracted air.

"Buffy, do you think that we could –"

Buffy tried not to look so furtive, and fumbled for an answer.

"Uh, sure. Give me a sec. I was just gonna –"

The telephone brayed abruptly from the counter, and she seized her chance.

" – answer the phone."

She waved a hand in that direction, and quickly walked to the counter, catching Anya’s relieved glance, and Giles’ faint look of frustration. But he turned back to the round-table meeting as she picked up the receiver and put on her best receptionist voice, trying to remember if there was an accepted format for phone-answering at the shop.

"Uh, hi, you’ve reached the Magic Box –"

"Buffy, is that you?"

Willow’s voice sounded quietly on the other end of the line, and Buffy sagged in relief.

"Yeah, Will, it’s me. Just…hang on a sec."

She manhandled the phone off the counter, and trailed the extension cord into the tiny rear office. Dawn was hanging off the end of the counter – Buffy caught her eye, mouthing ‘Willow’, and was gratified by her sister’s answering nod and smile. Buffy pushed the door half-shut behind herself, and then settled into the hard wooden chair Giles kept in front of his desk-cum-personal library, pulling the receiver back up to her ear.

"Will – hey. I can talk now."

"Good. I almost forgot you were gonna be at the hospital, I nearly called earlier. How’s things?"

"Fine," Buffy said, not wanting to spare the time with the details. She went on without preamble. "How is he?"

"He’s okay – still a bit woozy. We’re at the dorm."

"You’re where? How did you work that?"

She could almost hear Willow’s dry grin on the other end.

"Hey, we’re resourceful, what can I say." Willow snorted into the phone, and explained. "We got a cab. Covered Spike up with a blanket, and told the driver that our friend had a hangover."

"Nice," Buffy replied with a grin of her own. Then she frowned. "But why the switch? Did you have problems at Giles’?"

If Giles had put the hard word on Willow and Tara, she was really gonna give him a piece of her –

"No – Buffy, it was okay," Willow reassured. "But Giles went out early, and we didn’t want to leave Spike on his own. You told Tara to watch him, so…"

"Oh," Buffy said, feeling her indignation abate. "Yeah. Well, thanks. Thanks for everything, Will."

"No problemo. Hey, how’s your mom?"

"Better. She’s coming home tomorrow."

"That’s great," Willow said with relief. Then her voice took on an impish note. "Hey – hold on, someone wants to talk to you."

There was a fumbling with the receiver, then Buffy heard a low, husky male voice.

"Slayer?"

She felt a flaring thrill, coupled with an odd, greasy fear in her stomach. She had a momentary mental flash – Spike, shaking his head and transforming, his fingers lacing through her hair to tug roughly, painfully, as he pulled her head to one side and…

"You there, love?"

She blinked and the image cleared.

"I’m here. Are you okay?"

"Improving. Still feels like I got hit by a truck. Any leads on that?"

There was more than curiousity in his voice – he was pissed off, she could tell. It wasn’t in his psychology to get clobbered and then pretend that he didn’t want to get up and clobber back. Buffy grinned, entertained by the idea that she and Spike really did have a lot in common.

"Sorry, but I just got here. That particular truck is still nameless. Apart from the info you got back at the Bronze, she’s still ‘Demon-Killer Unknown’."

"Huh. Figures. Well, if you find out anything…"

"…you’ll be the first to know, I guarantee."

"Ta. And thanks, y’know, for last night, by the way."

"For what?" Buffy replied, surprised. "For nearly letting you get dusted?"

"For saving my arse, and you know it. The witches told me."

Yeah, did they tell you I was a blubbering mess? she thought. Then she cast the thought aside, and tried to sound gracious.

"Well, that’s okay… I mean, I wasn’t gonna just stand there and watch."

"Anyway, I owe you one."

She could almost see his face as he said it – the wry grin spreading across his features, the twinkle in his eye. She smiled into the receiver.

"You don’t owe me anything." You owe me a good dream… Then she shook her head, and made her voice sound business-like. "But look, if I get any more info on that girl, I’ll call. Until then, I wouldn’t go back to the crypt. You were definitely the target last night, and she might be waiting for you there."

She could hear Spike grunt as he stretched on the other end of the line - she winced at the sound of his shoulder joint cracking. His voice was droll.

"Well, I’m not going anywhere right now. In fact, I’m thinking of moving in permanently. I’ve got a nice little set-up, with the girlies – curtains drawn, blood in the fridge, running water, two nubile – ow!"

Buffy jerked as he yelled into the phone.

"What was that?"

"Nothin’. Just blondie changing the bandage," he muttered. His next words were muffled, as he spoke away from the receiver. "Hey, that hurts, you know…"

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Spike. Earth to Spike…"

His voice rushed back into her ear.

"Yeah, love?"

"Spike, do me a favour and talk to Willow and Tara about preparing some protection spells for the Gathering. For the town, and for everyone in the group. And remember," she added, knowing that it would get on his nerves, but needing to say it anyway, "remind them that Angel will be with us. He’s arriving this afternoon."

"And my life will be complete," Spike replied drily.

Buffy grinned, not needing to see his face to read the matching expression.

"Just tell them. And I’ll…I’ll talk to Giles about the demon-killer."

She screwed up her face at the thought. When Spike spoke again, she was surprised to hear a hint of judicious encouragement.

"You shake hands with Tweedman yet?’

"Not…not quite. Well, not yet. And how do you know anyway?"

"Little birdies told me. Look – you take care of that, and quick."

"I guess," Buffy replied with a reluctant sigh.

"’Guess’ nothing – you do it."

Buffy was a little amazed at how emphatic he sounded, but his next words completely astonished her.

"You tell him…" A sigh. "…tell him, I’ll stay away, if that’s what it takes."

"You will not!" she shot back immediately.

But Spike was unequivocal.

"I will, if it makes the difference…" She heard him adjust the receiver as he leaned in to explain. "Listen, pet, he’s your Watcher. You need him – a lot more than you need me, right now."

"Spike, there’s no way –"

"Just…humour me, okay? The Gathering’s day after tomorrow. You can’t afford to start mixing it up with a demon army without His Holier-Than-Thou-ness behind you."

It was cool logic, she knew, but it stang all the same. The thought of not having Spike beside her on Friday wasn’t exactly a happy one. But what he’d said was true – she needed Giles on side for this…

Spike took her silence as aquiesence.

"Okay, pet?"

Buffy sighed, then resolved something in her mind. Her tone firmed down the line of the phone.

"Yeah, I’m okay. And Spike, thanks for the offer. But listen, I’ll play that card if I have to – but only if I have to. I’m hoping it won’t come to that." She grinned shyly at the receiver, as though he was present before her. "I’d kinda like to have you in attendance too, y’know."

She could hear his answering grin.

"Glad you think so."

"Well, you’re handy to have around," she countered playfully. In all sorts of ways…

"So, you could find a use for me then?"

She could hear his voice deepen a little as the banter turned flirtatious, and couldn’t help but smile.

"Oh, I think I could figure out something…" Buffy’s fingers strayed to her hair, and she twirled a strand around unconsciously, before realising that this was neither the time, nor the place. "Ahem. Well, okay, I gotta go."

"Right." His voice had also returned to it’s usual brusqueness. "Well, be seeing you then…What? Oh, the witches say their cheerios."

"Back at ‘em. Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I’ll see you soon," she said softly, knowing that he wouldn’t reply – it wasn’t his way – but knowing all the same that he’d catch the nuances. And that he would be grinning on the other side as he hung up the phone, just as she did on her end.

oOo

Giles didn’t want to speculate – speculation only lead to anxiety, and he already had his quota of that for the time being. He’d heard Willow’s name mentioned before Buffy sequestered herself in the office with the phone, so he assumed that she was talking both to the witches and to Spike. He sighed, and glowered discretely at the door of the office. It didn’t make Buffy emerge any faster, but it seemed to help.

He’d concluded the discussion with the angels on Buffy’s arrival, and was now making up another pot of Earl Grey, as the other men continued to confer. They now had as complete a report on the Gathering and the Balance, and their respective workings, as anyone had ever managed to compile. He’d have to forward a copy to the Council, of course. No doubt it would result in some major kudos, not that he cared enough about that anymore for it to matter. But it was good to know that at least the next generation of Watcher and Slayer that dealt with this situation – whether it be in a thousand years time or not – would have more complete information to work with.

It should have made him feel happy, satisfied. But all he could feel right now was frustration – and yes, anger.

He looked at the office door again with barely disguised annoyance. He didn’t know what hurt more – that she’d kept him out of the loop deliberately, or that she obviously hadn’t trusted him enough to be honest. Maybe both.

Was it him? Something he’d failed to do, or say, or… Oh, it was impossible to theorize. He reminded himself again that Buffy was still barely out of her teens, and that certainly couldnn’t have counted in his favour. Maybe it had nothing to do with him. Maybe…

He gave up hypothesizing, and put the lid on the pot of tea, letting the water warm the leaves inside as he turned the pot. Trying not to give in to unproductive feelings of irritation and anger again, he suddenly noticed Dawn as she sidled around the corner of the bookshelf and composed his face into a gruff smile.

"Hello, Dawn."

"Hey."

She was obviously trying to be casual about it, but she seemed to have made her way over with a purpose in mind. He nodded at her, thinking that Buffy had been about Dawn’s age when she’d been called. The thought came with an unhappy twinge.

"So. You’re, er, relieved of school today, I see?"

The brunette-haired girl replied with a shrug, her tone dry.

"Yeah. But it’s cool - I got a note from my mother."

Dawn flicked something into his line of vision – a folded piece of paper, which she then thrust into his hand with a quick grin. Giles took it automatically, wondering why she was giving it to him.

"Oh. Er, thank you."

He looked up at her, but she’d already wandered away again. His brow creasing, Giles returned his attention to the paper. A short slip folded twice, he opened it out and was surprised to see Joyce’s looping handwriting, addressed not to the school principal, but to him. With a blink, he read through the message, his frown deepening with every line.

Giles sighed heavily. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with, now the Slayer’s mother was sending him cryptic notes from her hospital bed…

But the thought conjured up a mental picture of Joyce. The bright eyes, warm clear face, gentle smile… And the practical, down-to-earth nature. He squashed for a moment the feeling that everyone seemed to be jumping into Buffy’s camp, and read through the lines again.

He frowned. She was right. It wasn’t the priority, no matter how strongly he may feel about the issue. There were other, more serious threats to deal with right now.

And having Spike as part of the group could mean a great deal. He’d proven his usefulness before – he was erratic, true, and hardly tended to favour a team approach, but his strength and insight could be invaluable, if Giles could only allow himself to trust that the vampire would stay true to his word.

More importantly, a schism between Giles and his Slayer right now could be disastrous. Combined with Buffy’s current state of anxiety about her mother, it could be enough to seriously distract her. And that would really be a problem.

Giles mulled over his own rationalising. It meant a compromise on his part, and he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea. But he wasn’t idiotic enough to dismiss the real danger that a division in the 'family' ’could produce.

With a sigh, he folded the note and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He looked over at the office again, but his expression this time was less annoyed, more contemplative. But he couldn’t help a quick snort of exasperation.

His mind dredged up a memory of his father – the man who had a word for everything, including the last word in every argument he and his son had ever had, Giles remembered with a frown. But all the same, the phrase his father had liked to use in reference to Giles’ propensity back then to attract ‘friends’ of the most unsavoury sort still seemed to apply pretty well.

Giles imagined what Buffy’s face would look like if she ever heard him use the phrase in reference to herself. That, at least, got him grinning.

oOo

Dawn was wandering around the back shelves, casting surreptitious glances at Giles, and making an effort to keep out of sight. She was pleased to see him read the note, then fold it away, with a faintly calmer air than he seemed to have before. She thought she could sense the storm-cloud above his head dissipating, and that had to be an improvement.

She allowed herself a quick, wide smile at the thought of her own part in the business – then folded that away too. Didn’t look good to crow too much about your super-coolness, no matter how fantastic you were. And she had a feeling that Giles and Buffy would both be kind of disconcerted at the idea of her scheming around behind their backs… Better to leave it. With a deep happy sigh, she let it go, and scoped the bookshelves.

She’d kind of hoped that the day might turn out a bit more interesting, but so far, apart from her message-bringing, she’d had nothing much to keep her busy. She’d already spoken to Anya, but it was made plain from the start that she wouldn’t be allowed to serve customers or count the money – the ex-demon had resumed her usual bossiness when it came to dealing with the shop affairs. Plus, Xander was going to be away most of the day on a weapons run. Xander’s absence tended to bring out Anya’s most irritating side, Dawn noticed.

She trailed a finger along the books on the shelves near the back room, hoping that this day wasn’t going to turn out more boring than school might potentially have been. If it was going to be this lame, she might even be reduced to doing her homework…

"Hey! Dawn!"

The stage whisper came from above. She looked up, and saw a familiar face peering over the side of the loft space over her head.

Huh. Gabriel. And he seemed to have free access to the ‘no-go’ area, where Giles kept all the full-on magic books. Now this had potential…

"Hey. Whatcha doing?"

She grinned up at him, keeping her voice low. Looking at his face again gave her a weird tingly feeling.

"Come on up. I’m checking out some stuff for Friday."

Dawn took a quick look around. Uriel and Michael were still deep in discussion. Giles was at the table with them, still casting expectant glances at the office door, sorting out his notes and sipping his trillionth cup of tea. Anya was ringing up purchases for a couple of kids at the counter, and Buffy was – obviously - still yacking. No one around to see her ascend the ladder to the Forbidden Zone…

Before anyone could notice and object, she made her way up the ladder. Then she plonked herself down next to Gabriel, in a spot she knew would be a little out of visual range from the floor below. Gabriel had a dozen books spread around himself, and was sitting in a loose crossed-legged pose, having turned his attention from the heavy book in his hands to smile in greeting.

"Hey."

Dawn frowned at the collection of magic books scattered on the floor, then looked at him with curiousity.

"I didn’t think you guys needed to use magicky stuff – aren’t you kind of…well, above it all?"

Gabriel shrugged.

"It’s not for me – for your friends. The blonde girl, and the redhead…"

"Tara and Willow," Dawn nodded in reply. "Yeah, well they’d fall at your feet if you could find ‘em a few decent tips for the Gathering."

"Well, Ray gave me couple of ideas, so…"

With a grin, he set a encyclopaediac-looking text in her lap. Dawn gave it a dose of eyebrow, and then glanced at him.

"You know, I’m supposed to be off school today."

Gabriel’s face immediately fell, the corners of his eyes and his mouth turning down sadly.

"You don’t wanna help?"

Dawn regarded him with a bemused expression.

She snorted, and opened the book in front of her at random to placate him.

"Hello – kidding. Of course I’ll help, you dope. What are we looking for anyway?"

Gabriel smiled with relief, then shrugged in the direction of the books spread around them.

"Anything in reference to protection spells, or conjurable weapons, or…well, basically anything that sounds useful."

"Great. Something specific," Dawn said with a droll look. Then she caught his expression of helpless apology. "But don’t sweat it, it’s okay – we’re used to it. Wild guesses and speculation are all standard procedure around here."

He returned her grin. The two of them set to work, and if a few Post-it notes got thrown around at the start, then nobody from downstairs noticed.

oOo

Buffy eased out of the office, fumbling the long lead and the cradle of the telephone back to their usual places beside the till. Smoothing down her white shirt-front, she slid out of Anya’s way as the auburn-haired girl bustled around, packing herbs and a crystal into a paper bag for the two teenagers in front of the counter, and parrotting instructions.

"Now remember – if you don’t focus the energy of the spell through the crystal correctly, your heads could explode. Then you could technically say that the spell hadn’t worked. And keep in mind that if that happens, we can’t really give you a refund on your purchases. "

The two teenagers glanced worriedly at each other, then turned back to Anya’s cheery smile.

"But don’t worry about it – I’m sure you’ll be fine," Anya reassured them belatedly. "Anyway, that’ll be eighteen-fifty."

Buffy grinned a little as they gulped, then reached for their wallets.

She stepped around the counter, and was still focussed on the material exchange, when she bumped into Giles, who’d obviously been waiting for her. With a little start, she conjured a tight smile, and tried to sound casual.

"Oh – hey. How did it go? The conference, I mean."

Giles nodded, and set his cup down on the corner of the counter.

"Well, I think. It was very useful."

Buffy tilted her head to look at his face – he seemed a little…mellowed. He was cleaning his glasses now, and watching her with an almost calm expression. It made a pleasant change. And encouraged now by his new attitude, and the remembrance of Spike’s prodding, she decided that it was time to clear the air.

"Giles –"

"Buffy –"

Giles opened and closed his mouth, stymied by the conversational collision. Buffy held up a hand, asking for a moment.

"Giles, can I start this one?" she said tentatively.

"Please."

He looked relieved that she was making the first move. His expression dissolved the words she had planned to stumble through to begin the talk, and she blurted out the general substance of the matter.

"I’m sorry, Giles. I really am. I should have been more honest with you. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you – I just didn’t know how to explain it so that you would understand. But I didn’t take into account how you felt, and it was unfair."

She sighed, the weight of anxiety about the situation dissappearing into the air as she apologised. Giles looked at her with a face that was gentle with acknowledgement.

"That’s alright, Buffy. I don’t think that fighting over this is very productive, and... I think I was too harsh." His expression creased as he reached for the words. "When I said that I didn’t trust Spike, I meant –"

" – that you didn’t trust him," Buffy said matter-of-factly. She grinned up at him. "That’s okay. And I can understand why. But…things have changed, Giles. He’s changed. I can’t really describe it to you, but…"

It was Giles’ turn to hold up a restraining hand as he took in her face, knitted with with an inability to express the right words.

"It’s fine, Buffy – really."

Buffy shook her head. She really wanted Giles to know how she felt, not just give him a glib apology. He deserved more than that.

"No – it’s not fine. I should have told you from the beginning. But it was only because I didn’t quite understand it all myself." She frowned. "I mean, I still don’t understand it all, but –"

"Buffy –" Giles cut in, trying to reassure her, "I accept your apology. But…only if you’ll accept mine."

"You’re apologising for doing your job as my Watcher?" she said, with a curious look.

"I’m apologising for over-reacting," Giles went on with a faint smile. Then he frowned at the memory of their argument. "And for not trusting you – your own instincts in the matter. I think you’ve proven, by this stage, that you have a – fairly – level head on your shoulders…"

"But?" Buffy added for his benefit. He was still looking a little anxious.

"But…I just…worry," Giles explained with a helpless shrug.

Buffy snorted.

"Yeah – well, I worry about me too sometimes."

The iciness between them had gone. Giles let his shoulders drop in relief. But he still wanted to make sure that he was clear on things – on everything.

"So you and Spike are?…"

"Yes," Buffy said firmly, meeting his eyes.

Giles frowned at the strangeness of it.

"And you say he?…" Cares? How was it possible?

"Yes," Buffy stated again, reading his train of thought. Her voice was gentle as she tried to clarify. "I really think he does."

"Right." Giles straightened, still looking a bit confused but more relaxed about the idea. "Well, I still haven’t quite got my head around it all. But I’ll be happy if we can lay it to rest for the moment, and deal with the matter at hand."

"The Gathering," she prompted.

"Yes," Giles nodded.

Buffy smiled, and took on her typical ‘off-to-battle-the-forces-of-darkness’ pose.

"Okay – then let’s get to work."

"Right."

They made their way over to the research table together, Giles retrieving his teacup and Buffy giving him a sly, sideways glance.

"By the way, that was a really bad pun, Giles."

He looked confused.

"I made a pun?"

"’Lay it to rest’? When I’m dating a dead guy? Come on, you have to admit…"

Giles grinned, realising as he mentally backtracked.

"Oh, yes. Well, put it down to a Fruedian slip."

Buffy smiled at him, then graced the other men at the table with the same smile. Uriel and Michael were looking over Giles’ notes, and interrupted their muted discussion when the Slayer and her Watcher returned to the table. Buffy slid into a chair, pulling one foot up under her comfortably.

"Hi there."

"Hello, Buffy," Uriel said with a smile. He glanced between Giles and his charge, realising that things seemed to be smoother between them. A good thing.

Michael gave a little wave in greeting, and Buffy nodded at him pleasantly. But she had other more urgent matters to deal with, so she started the conversation swiftly.

"Look, before we get into anything else too deep, I need to ask you about something."

Giles resumed his seat after pouring himself another hot cup from the pot on the sideboard. He looked up at Buffy’s introduction of a topic that he too had had uppermost in his mind.

"Your attacker last night – the demon-killer? I’ve been thinking about that – I’ve mentioned it already."

Michael nodded in affirmation.

"You said that there was a new threat?"

Buffy snagged his glance, as he turned back in her direction.

"Yep. But to Spike, more than me."

"Spike?" Michael sid with a querying frown.

Buffy looked at Uriel in reply – her expression was a tad droll.

"You’ve met him. Monday night - Oak Street?"

Uriel’s face opened as he remembered.

"Oh – you mean the vampire."

"My vampire," Buffy said meaningfully. The words were out of her mouth before her brain caught up, then she could only gasp mentally at her own turn of phrase. My vampire? God, did I really say that?

"Your vampire?" Michael said, his confused look deepening.

Buffy waved a hand, trying to shrug off her own emotional whirling.

"It’s complicated – you can meet him later."

"Uh, okay…"

"Anyway," Buffy firmed her tone and returned her gaze to Uriel. "So this girl who attacked us last night…"

"A girl?" Uriel looked quickly at Michael, then back to Buffy’s face, his expression darkening. "Describe her to me."

Buffy thought for a moment, pouting as she remembered the events in the Bronze.

"She looked Chinese, I think. Kind of an S&M fashion victim, y’know? – black leather, long black hair, big sword…"

Uriel stopped her gently.

"What I should have said was that I need your impressions of her. Her physical appearance may be deceptive – it could have…altered."

"Oh."

Buffy thought again. Her eyes narrowed as she let the memories trickle back through, and when she spoke again her voice was grim.

"Well…then I’d have to say – mean fighter. Fast, incredibly fast – faster than a master vamp, which is saying something. She seemed…unstoppable. Like a machine – the Terminator on overdrive." Her words chilled as she thought of the moment she’d stared into the girl’s emotionless face. "Cold eyes. And when I sliced her, I didn’t see her bleed."

She saw Giles frown as she related, and crooked an eyebrow up at him.

"It was mega-weird."

Then she realised that Uriel and Michael had turned to each other as if following the same line of thought. Both of the men were frowning.

"Grace," Michael muttered with a sigh.

"It has to be," Uriel nodded.

Buffy wanted to click her fingers in front of their faces, but she knew it would be considered rude. She settled for brusqueness.

"Who’s Grace?"

Uriel turned back to face her, and his expression was unsettled.

"A law unto herself. You’ve met the Powers’ most formidable weapon. If she’s been summoned…"

Giles cut him off as he leaned forward, looking amazed and confused together.

"She’s an angel?"

"She’s …one of us, yes," Uriel admitted.

Michael caught Buffy’s eye. Of the two men, he seemed the more transparent, and his face was now troubled with misgivings.

"She’s called the Death-Bringer."

"The Death-Bringer?" Buffy repeated, incredulous. "Well that sounds lovely."

But Giles had been cogitating in his seat, and now put his teacup to one side, staring at Uriel.

"Let me try to get this clear. Grace is…the Angel of Death?"

"Yes," Uriel reluctantly revealed.

Buffy’s eyes widened.

"I fought the Angel of Death? Man, no wonder she was so fast…"

"And she works for the Powers?" Giles interrupted. "You’ll have to excuse me if I say that sounds a little incongruous."

"Grace is an…anomoly, of sorts," Uriel tried to explain. He shrugged, a little too off-handedly for Buffy’s liking. "Rather like the black sheep of the family."

"But occasionally the PTB needs a little dirty work done, and she gets the job?" Buffy said pointedly.

Uriel stared into her face.

"Make no mistake – the job is a necessary one. Evil would be a stronger force in the world without Grace’s presence. Think of Caesar, Trujillo, Hitler –"

"Grace knocked off Hitler?" Buffy gasped.

Uriel continued through her interjection.

"Grace is the instrument of the Powers – the sword in the right hand."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly, thinking. "Then – why is she after Spike?"

In the back of her mind, she wondered if Spike would get a stupid kick out of being on the same assassination list as Hitler. She banished the thought with a mental shake, realising that Uriel was looking at her curiously.

"I don’t know. If the Powers have released Grace now, they must consider his presence to be a threat to the harmony of the Gathering."

Michael leaned in with a suggestion.

"There could be a concern…about the nature of your relationship with a vampire." His face indicated that he sure as hell had concerns.

Giles let out a breath, coming to understanding.

"They think that Spike could turn Buffy, and alter the Balance."

"Yes," Michael agreed.

Buffy sat back, amazed and frankly disbelieving.

"But…there’s no way that would ever happen."

She looked around the guarded faces at the table, and her memory flared to life – pulling her hair, the asphalt scraping under her nape as he sank his fangs… She pulled up short, and fixed her gaze on the angels furiously.

"It won’t happen. Believe me, I’d stake Spike myself if I thought for a minute…" But their expressions were still watchful. She turned to Giles, beseeching. "Giles, tell them. Tell them I’d die before I ever let it happen –"

Giles cut her off to nod at the men firmly.

"She’s telling the truth."

In fact, Buffy’s reaction to the whole idea made him even more certain that he’d made the right decision in trusting her judgement about Spike this time. He tried to let the confidence he felt come through in his words.

"Buffy would never let such a thing occur. It would be an abomination of everything she and I have ever fought for. And if it came to that, I’d…I’d wield the stake myself."

"Thank you," Buffy said softly.

He glanced down - she was looking up at him gratefully. Not quite the normal reaction when the closest thing you have to a father threatens to kill you, he thought, but he understood all the same.

"Please," Michael said gently, holding up a hand. "We believe you."

"So call her off!" Buffy snapped back. She looked exasperated now. "I mean, call the PTB up or something, and tell them –"

"We can’t," Uriel interrupted quietly. When Buffy stared at him, all he could do was shake his head. "We have no control in the matter. Once Grace is unleashed, there’s no returning until her purpose has been fulfilled."

"Until Spike is dead," Buffy said flatly. She threw up her hands. "Oh, this is just great."

Giles tried to find some light in the situation.

"Is there any way to fight her?"

"Not to the point of defeat," Uriel admitted. "I don’t think that’s possible. Each of us – Michael, Raphael, Gabriel and myself – has certain…gifts. Things we can do to help, or use in battle. Grace’s gift is simple – more pure in a way…"

Michael sighed out the words, revealing more in a short sentence than Uriel could in a whole liturgy.

"She’s the ultimate assassin." He looked at Buffy almost sadly. "Death is her gift."

Buffy snorted, and gave Giles a quick, frustrated glance.

"’Death is her gift’. Well, that has a familiar ring to it."