Lying on his side, his cheek resting on his closed fist, Spike was watching the delicious creature that was sleeping right next to him.  Her head was against his chest, her arm around him, holding him close, one of her legs trapped between his.  Her lips were curled up in a contented smile, and every now and then she made that adorable little purr sound.  A couple of lit pillar candles cast dancing shadows on the room and on her as he detailed this face he knew so well.  Earlier, he had had doubts that this was his Buffy.  Now, the doubts were gone.

He had let Buffy drink.  He had allowed her to bite someone and take blood.  True, she had bitten before he could react, but he could have stopped her immediately instead of very deliberately waiting.  He couldn’t have said why.  Maybe to give her an idea of what he did when he hunted wrongdoers to scare them?  Maybe because she had just begged her way through his defenses?  He didn’t know why.  All he knew was that now he felt nauseous, and had a very strong urge to apologize to his Childe for simply letting her do what she had wanted to do all day long.

They were walking back home, having left the car in the alley by the shop.  Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, but Spike felt worn out.  Buffy, on the other hand, had a light bounce to her step.  He could see from the corner of his eye that she was smiling, and it was a surprise.  He had expected her to complain that he had stopped her before she could kill the man.  But she wasn’t complaining.  She wasn’t saying anything, actually.  Just smiling and humming lightly.

As they came in, she shrugged out of her duster and left it on the banister, then went up the steps, turning briefly to blow him a kiss from the tip of her fingers.  He watched her disappear upstairs, a little puzzled by her attitude, but too tired to think about it.  He went in the kitchen to check if Willow had left a message, and indeed she had.  But her few words did not announce her success as he had hoped.  Instead she apologized for not finding answers and announced she had called Giles and asked his and the Council’s help.  And Spike couldn’t help but wonder if this day in hell would ever stop.  He had a sickening idea of how the Council would help, and it involved a stake and ashes.  He doubted Giles would be able to stop them, and wasn’t even completely sure he would want to.

Trying to stifle the despair that was tightening his throat, he joined Buffy upstairs.  She was waiting for him by the door, clad in a long red silk gown, his favorite, and he was surprised to see a long satin ribbon in her hands.  He was usually the one who initiated this kind of games.  She silenced his questions with a finger on his lips, and brought the ribbon up, silently asking for his permission.  Once again unwilling to deny her what she wanted, he nodded his assent, and she tied the black length over his eyes as a blindfold.

With his sight gone, he paid more attention to his other senses, and noticed the faint music that played in the background, soft piano notes, calming rhythms.  Buffy brushed against his back, startling him as he hadn’t noticed she had moved, and he took a sharp intake of breath that brought to his nose the lavender and sage scent of the candles that lit the room.

Still behind him, Buffy took hold of his duster and pulled it off his shoulders.  Then his unbuttoned shirt and his t-shirt followed, until he could feel the silk of her garment against his bare back as she slipped her arms around him, hugging him from behind.  Her skin was as soft as the silk, and he let out a little sigh as his jeans suddenly were becoming uncomfortably tight.

“I want you,” she whispered right against his ear, her tongue darting out to trace his earlobe, and he shivered at both the words and touch.

She nudged him forward, and at the same time he felt her remove his belt and unbutton his pants.  When his knees touched the bed, she pulled his jeans just past his waist and asked him in a silky whisper to sit down.  He obeyed her request, a small part of his mind wondering if maybe her soul had finally returned.  The softness and care she displayed were light years from the aggressive coupling she had demanded earlier.  He didn’t give the idea much attention, though, because Buffy was now in front of him, removing his boots, socks and jeans, and the little devil was deliberately breathing right against very sensitive parts of his aroused anatomy.

Her forced breathing stopped, and he almost whimpered because she wasn’t touching him at all anymore.  Yet he knew she was still there, because he hadn’t heard her move, and her scent was all around him, tantalizingly close.  He had no warning.  Her tongue was suddenly caressing his length, excruciatingly slow, bathing each inch of him but avoiding the very tip.  Unwittingly, he brought his hands toward her, just trying to touch her, but she batted them away.  Gently, she pushed against his chest to make him lay down and asked him to move up on the bed.  Once more, he did as she asked without a word.  Ordering her around all day long had become painful, and he was glad to give her back all control.  At least for now.

Lying flat on his back, his arms up above his head, he waited for her touch to return, trying to fake a patience he had never had.  The caresses resumed, but not where he had expected and hoped.  Butterfly kisses right along the bottom line of the blindfold soon became tiny licks down his cheek and to his mouth.  It was torture not to reciprocate, and he couldn’t help parting his lips to invite her in.  For an instant longer, her tongue ran along his lips, as if to point out she was following her own agenda, then it slid in, caressing his tongue as an old friend before exploring his mouth thoroughly, with particular attention to where his fangs hid, but he refused to let them come into play.  Soft and nice was perfect, no need to bring blood into it.  She finally abandoned his mouth and traveled on his throat, nibbling her way down without ever coming anywhere close to biting, paying special attention to the already healing marks she had left on him in the afternoon.

As she was kissing him, she had moved on the bed so that her body was now alongside his.  It became very difficult not to move when he realized the gown had disappeared, and it was now the silk of her skin that stroked his flesh.  Always down, she went, stopping on her way to tease his flat nipples in turn, nibbling again until she reached and licked his navel.  He was shivering by then, his body tense with anticipation, but her course shifted as she reached what he had thought was her goal, and she turned her attention to his left thigh instead.  A quiet moan escaped his lips, and he could feel hers curve into a smile against his skin.

“Anything you want?” she asked softly, and he could feel the air moved by her words just at the base of his cock.

“Just you,” he replied, and his voice was thick with need.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

He jerked when she shifted over him and gradually crawled up.  Her hard nipples drew twin lines of fire as they caressed his body, and soon they were right against his chest, her mouth was back to his, and her hand was slowly guiding him into her moist depths.  They both sighed in contentment when he was finally buried in her to the hilt.

He was surprised when, instead of starting to move against him, she tugged the blindfold and returned his sight to him.  He watched her as she watched him, her face too serious.

“Who do you see?” she asked quietly.

“You.  My Buffy.”

She nodded slightly.  “Your Buffy.  Even without it, I’m still me.  Still yours.  You know that, right?”

Without it…  It took him a couple of seconds to realize what ‘it’ was.  And a couple more to understand she was just proving him she didn’t need a soul to be his as much as she had been before.

“I know,” he agreed with a small smile.  “All mine.”

“All yours.”

Her fingers laced with his above his head and she started rocking her hips, her eyes never leaving his.  There were no more words until the end.  No fangs, no shared blood.  For a short moment of eternity, there were just a man and a woman, two demons, dancing a dance that was older than time.

If he had let her know in any way how far from him she had seemed when they slept together the previous afternoon, Spike might have wondered if she had put up a show to convince him she was still the same.  But he was very sure he had not let his feelings appear.  So this surprisingly tender lovemaking had come from her and her only.  Which meant, as she had said, that she was still the same.  Still Buffy.  Still his.

Very lightly, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, and carefully extricated himself from her embrace.  A brief frown crossed her face then, which disappeared when he stroked her back soothingly.  Picking up his jeans, he tiptoed to the door, giving her a last loving glance before he walked out of the room.  All his.

A few minutes later, he was in the kitchen, an empty mug in front of him, a cigarette at his lips, thinking, when the phone rang and broke his train of thought.  He picked it up before the second ring, hoping that he had been quick enough to spare his Mate’s sleep.  It was already the middle of the afternoon, but they had had a long night.

“Red?” he said immediately, hopeful despite himself.  “Found something?”

The voice however was not the one he expected.

“No, Spike, this is Giles.  How is Buffy?”

“You know how she is,” Spike replied coldly.  “Red told you.”

There was a pause, and Spike could very well picture the Watcher taking off his glasses for some pointless polishing.

“She told me disturbing things, yes.”

“And you told the Council of Wankers?”

“I am afraid I had to,” the man said, maybe a little too defensively.  “We need all the help we can get to return her soul to Buffy as soon as we can.”

Spike mumbled something that might have passed for agreement.

“We are… we are coming to Sunnydale,” the Watcher added, now hesitant.

“We?”

“Me, Andrea, the new Slayer, and some members of the Council, including some magic specialists.”

A warning sounded in Spike’s mind at the word Slayer.

“Why bring the new Slayer, Rupert?” he asked suspiciously.

There was another pause.  “The Council wants her to meet Buffy and train a little with her.  Once she has her soul back, of course.”

“Of course,” Spike repeated blandly.

“We will be in Sunnydale in a couple of days.”

“OK.”

The man let out a quiet sigh that Spike barely heard, and he added, very quiet now:

“Take care of her, please.  Don’t let her do anything she’ll regret.”

After a few parting words, Giles hang up, and Spike let himself slide against the wall until he was sitting on the floor.  They were going to kill her.  He had feared the reaction of the Council ever since he had realized Buffy had lost her soul and now there was no doubt left in his mind.  They were bringing a second Slayer to Sunnyhell, as well as Witches or Warlocks, and no one would make him believe they did not intend to kill Buffy if they didn’t immediately manage to restore her soul.  Would they even try?

His hands shaking, he lit another cigarette and tried to calm down.  Buffy was his Childe and Mate, two very powerful reasons for him to do everything that was in his power to keep her safe.  And he had promised.  Pledged himself to her.  The soul he didn’t have any more.  The dreams he wanted to live with her.  The nights he wanted to spend at her side, in her arms.  All of it was hers.  All of him.

Minutes ran as he thought.  He finished the cigarette and lit another one, using his empty mug as an ashtray.  The decision wasn’t that hard to make, even though it meant breaking away from all they had.  And everyone.  At least, she wouldn’t want to eat anyone they knew anymore.  His mind made up, he pondered the next thought for a while.  In the end, he picked up the phone and dialed the number.  He just couldn’t disappear without a word.  He knew firsthand how much that kind of things hurt.

“Angels Investigation.  We help…”

The poof sounded tired and worried despite the fake interest in his voice.  Spike was already regretting having called, his Sire certainly didn’t need to lose any more sleep, when he paused in the middle of his canned greeting and added, almost in a whisper:

“Spike?”

The vampire almost smiled around his fag, wondering how the human had guessed.

“Yeah, Peaches, it’s me.  Feeling better?”

“Just fine.  How are you?”

“Buffy’s still soulless.  Pretty damn happy about it too.  She’d make a great huntress, y’know.”

Come to think of it, she had always been.

“No Spike,” Angel said slowly.  “How are you?”

The concern in that faraway voice felt like warm honey, but Spike didn’t let it touch him.

“Me?  I’m peachy.  Just fucking wonderful, I am.”

A bit too enthusiastic, maybe, because the poof seemed to see right through it.

“William.”

The softly uttered name broke down Spike’s facade.  As he sat on the kitchen’s floor, the phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he allowed his fears to get to the surface.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked hollowly.  “I had gotten used to blood bags.  Used to wearing a white hat.  All for her.  Anything for her.  And now all she wants, for her and for me, is what I denied myself for years.”

There was a short pause, followed by a quiet but forceful statement.

“You’re strong.  You can do this until her soul is back.  I know you can.”

Spike took a long drag on his cigarette, holding the smoke in, trying not to let himself say too much, but failing in the end.

“That’s just the thing, Peaches.  Will she ever get it back?”

“What?”

Angel sounded startled, to say the least.  He probably hadn’t thought one second Buffy wouldn’t get her soul back.  Hadn’t wanted to think about it.  Just like Spike had tried to ignore the possibility.  But he couldn’t play that game anymore, not when her unlife was at risk.

“Willow didn’t find anything,” Spike explained morosely.  “She called the Watcher.  He’s coming here with his friends, the wankers.”

“Giles wouldn’t hurt her.”

How Spike wished there hadn’t been that almost imperceptible hesitation in Angel’s voice that echoed his own doubts…

“Giles wouldn’t,” he agreed.  “But the others?  I don’t think we’re going to stay and find out.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean…  Buffy wants to go away.  Travel.  And it might just be the best solution for us.”

Angel didn’t say anything, but Spike heard the unasked question.

“I can’t.  Can’t argue with her every night, every minute, about why she shouldn’t kill anyone.  My Mate wants to be a true vamp.  I’ll be a true vamp with her.  There’s nothing stopping either of us any longer.”

Another silence, and Spike started to wonder if he had made a mistake.  Was Angel getting any staking ideas?  He hadn’t planned to say all this when he had called.  He just wanted to make sure his Sire was alright.  But the words were coming out almost by themselves.

“I understand,” Angel said at last.  “More than I wish I did.”

Taking a long drag on his fag, Spike let the smoke out with a sigh, and asked, very quietly:

“Was she right?”

“About what?”

“Did you want it?”

And once more, the silence, until Angel murmured:

“God help me, but, yes, some part of me wanted it.  Glad you stopped her, though.”

“’Couldn’t just let a fledgling turn my Sire,” Spike tried to say on a light, joking tone.  “If anyone’s gonna do it, it’s me.”

“Yes Childe,” Angel replied, and there was no humor in his voice.  “It would be you.”

Spike would have given a bloody lot to be in front of Angel right now, to be able to look into his eyes and see what was or was not there.

“So,” the human asked.  “When will you leave?”

“Dunno.  Tonight or tomorrow.  Before the wankers arrive.  We’ll send you postcards on our way.”

“Don’t.”

There was pain in that simple word, as if it had cost a lot to Angel to say it.

“Afraid they might track us through our mail?”  Spike asked, frowning at the thought.

“No,” Angel replied in a murmur.  “Afraid I might decide to join you.”

Calling had been a bad idea.  The worst idea ever.  They should just have dropped by on the way and asked him, face to face, what he wanted.  Too late now.

“Do you need anything?  Fake passports?  Money?”

Again, too much concern.  Way too much for Spike’s comfort.

“Yeah, I suppose we could use both,” he mumbled.

“I can have them ready for you tomorrow night.  You need anything else?”

Nope.  Nothing.  You’re doing more than you should already.  I don’t know why you bother but really I didn’t…

“You.”

As soon as the word escaped Spike’s lips, he regretted it, because there was nothing but silence answering that whisper.  Until finally another whisper rose through the line.

“Spike…  I…”

One corner of Spike’s mouth curled up in a sad half smile.

“That's OK, Peaches.  You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  Don’t really want you with us anyway.  You and your habits of stealing my girls.”

The words could have been harsh, prelude to a war.  But they were delivered in a slightly teasing tone, and Angel picked up on the bantering.

“Well, you’re the one with the habit of falling in love with my girls.”

“Hey, not my fault.  You’re a big poof, but you have good taste.”

“And you are the unliving proof of that.”

Despite himself, Spike laughed.  A real laugh, if just a little sad, soon echoed by Angel’s.

“So, you’ll come get the papers tomorrow?” the human asked after a few seconds.

“Yeah. I’ll just be in and out, don’t want Buffy to get ideas about you again.  Don’t want to see the kids either, too much to explain.”

And if he stayed more than a few seconds, he might get tempted to tempt Angel.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.  Take care of you.  And of her.”

“Always.  You do the same, Peaches.  You’re the mortal one, now.”

“I will.”

Was it time for goodbyes already?  Spike had never been good at goodbyes.

“Angel?”

“Yes Spike?”

There were actually many things he wasn’t good at saying.  Like the words that were burning his lips and mind now.  He had been beaten, once, long ago, for daring to say them while he thought his Sire was asleep.  He had never made that mistake a second time.  And still couldn’t seem to make himself say them.  But maybe he didn’t need to, after all.

“I know, William.  Me too.”

Smiling a grateful smile that he was very glad Angel couldn’t see, Spike hung up the phone.  Filled with a new resolve now that he had a plan, he sauntered back to his sleeping lover, wondering whether to tell her about his decision or to keep it a secret until they actually left.  Slipping back into her arms, he decided to make it a surprise for her, because right now his mouth had found more interesting things to do than talk.
 
 
 

Sitting in a nicely comfortable armchair, a glass of scotch in hand, Giles was pretending very hard not to hear the insistent knocking on the door.  He had a pretty good idea of who was trying to intrude and right now had no particular wish to see the lady.  Taking a swig from his glass, he let out a sigh.  He wasn’t even fooling himself.  Of course he wanted to see her.  And talk some sense into her.  Except that she was proving to be just as inflexible as her father.  In any other case, he might have enjoyed hearing her arguments and trying to convince her with his own.  But it was Buffy’s life that was in the balance and there were no compromises possible.

“I can’t believe I left Manon with them!”

“How could you have guessed?”

They were back in Quentin Travers’ old office, one of the rare places they could talk without anyone within earshot.  He had settled into one of the so uncomfortable chairs, and was already regretting it, while she was in front of the window, looking out.

“It’s my job to guess,” Andrea insisted.  “I’m her Watcher, I have to keep her safe.  And instead I leave her in the care of two vampires.”

“Even the High Council told you it was OK”, Giles reminded her softly.

“It was before they knew Buffy lost her soul. It’s valuable for the Slayer to train with friendly vampires, but it’s not OK when they turn murderous.”

Giles shut his eyes tight, wishing that when he opened them he would discover it was just all a horrible nightmare.  He had thought that Buffy being turned had been the most dreadful experience of his life as her Watcher, coming very close to seeing her broken body at the foot of Glory’s tower.  But this…  Learning that after three peaceful years, and right after preventing one more apocalypse, she was now soulless and, according to Willow, seemingly impatient to drink warm human blood…  The one thing all Watchers feared for their Slayers.  Because if it happened, it was the Watcher’s responsibility to see that the undead Slayer became ashes.  His responsibility, for, supposedly, a turned Slayer never waited long before coming after her Watcher.  But he wouldn’t let that happen to her.  They would find a way.  They had to find a way.  And, in the meantime, all of Giles’ hopes rested on a creature he had loathed for a long time, until their quiet truce evolved slowly into something very close to friendship.  Spike had to restrain her.  Willow had confirmed that was what he was doing, and on the phone the vampire had said he wouldn’t let her do anything she would have to feel guilty for.

“Spike will control her,” Giles said, once more, with all the confidence he could muster.  “Manon and everybody else will remain safe until Buffy regains her soul.”

She turned to him, and he could see the conflict in her eyes.  She wanted to believe him, but she didn’t dare to.

“I can admit that Spike is an unusual vampire,” she said slowly.  “And I am grateful to him for saving Manon’s life, more so than I can say.  But are you really, completely sure that he will control her?  He may act like he has one, but he doesn’t have a soul either.  What is to prevent him from going on a killing spree with her?”

Giles blocked out the thought.  He just refused to think one second about that possibility.

“He knows her soul will be restored, sooner or later.  He won’t let her be hurt by her own guilt.  He loves her too much for that.”

“What if we can’t restore her soul?”  Andrea persisted.  “What if…”

“Don’t”, Giles interrupted her, rising from the chair.  “We will find a way.  We have to.”

“There is nothing in our books.  Seventy-eight Watchers are rereading everything they can for the second time today, but you know it as well as I do, they would have found it the first time around if there was anything.  And if we don’t find anything, she is too great a menace to be allowed...”

He opened the door and turned back to look at her.

“When you’ve been Manon’s Watcher for a decade,” he said coldly, “when you’ve seen her bleed and cry and still keep fighting so many times that you wish you could just take her burden away and let her live the life that has been stolen from her, then you can tell me again what we can allow Buffy to do or not.”

With that, he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.  Clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly, he strode to the master index, the one book that listed every single volume the Council possessed.  There had to be something else, something they hadn’t looked through yet.  And he would find it.

He hadn’t found anything.  Neither he nor any of all the Watchers present in London.  They still had a few books to check, there were a few volumes missing from the library, borrowed by some Watchers abroad, and they were trying to contact the last few of them.  But for Giles, all hope was gone.  For a moment, he had dared believe in another possibility, but the Council had quickly stopped him in his tracks.

The Mage wasn’t really his friend.  Just an acquaintance, really.  And he had only helped out before with Angel to pay off his very unusual debt.  But Giles had trusted that he would be willing to help against some kind of payment, and he had contacted him.  He had no idea then what the payment would be, and had been surprised when the answer had come.  A trinket.  The Mage would agree to help Buffy for a trinket.  But not just any kind of trinket.  A pendant.  One that was worth as much as half of the Crown Jewels.  One that had magical powers that the Council was reluctant to let anyone but high ranking Watchers know about.  More powers, it was rumored, than the Council even knew.  Just a bauble, really, hidden in a safe in the headquarters’ basement, unseen and untouched by anyone for years.  A bauble the Council would never let go.

Bringing his glass back to his lips, Giles realized with surprise that it was empty.  And noticed at the same time what he had been successfully ignoring so far, the continuous banging on his door by a very determined person.

Sighing, he rose to his feet, not very sure whether he was going to get a refill or open the door.  He finally did both.

“My dear, I think you are the most obstinate and annoying person I ever had the pleasure to meet.”

To his own ears he didn’t sound inebriated, but he couldn’t deny, at least not to himself, that his head wasn’t quite so clear right now.  Andrea seemed to notice, because she crossed her arms in that so exasperating feminine fashion, and eyed the glass in his hand reproachfully.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked coolly.

Giving her a mock bow, he took a step back and allowed her in.

“Drinking is not going to help Buffy,” she remarked, still very calm, as she entered his apartment.

“It’s not going to kill her either”, Giles shot back.  “And neither am I.”

She sighed softly and shook her head.  “Even if it came to that, you know they wouldn’t ask you to do it.  They would send Manon and Chloe.  Or a full team.  Or the Slayers and a full team.”

“And Buffy would best them all with one hand tied be...”

He frowned and tilted his head.  “Even if?” he asked, surprised.  “They said earlier that it was decided, either we found a solution before we got there, or she was dust.”

“You commented yourself that I am the most obstinate person you know, didn’t you?”

A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips as she slowly removed her gloves, and Giles could only watch her in silence, not daring to let himself hope again.

“They will give him the pendant,” she said softly.  “They want to talk to her first, make sure she’s not too far gone, but they agreed to pay the price of your Mage.”

Giles mouth opened, words already filling his mind, questions and thanks mixed together, but she placed a finger across his lips to silence him.

“Do realize,” she said very seriously, “that if Buffy has already killed humans, with or without Spike’s help, or if the Mage can’t help, she might still get staked.”

He nodded, slowly, knowing that it would never get to that.  Spike wouldn’t let her.  And the Mage would be able to help.  He was just certain of it.

So far, for everything that concerned Hostile 17 and its removal, there had been one very clear rule: do not let anyone know that anything akin to the Initiative was back in Sunnydale.  And when the orders said anyone, they really meant any of the so-called Scoobies.  So that meant no uniforms when they were on mission.  And, of course, nothing that could alert anyone who had seen the weapons before.  No tasers, no walkie-talkies, not one of the many little gadgets that would have made their lives so much simpler.

But that rule had changed.  They had believed the vampire still unable to hurt anyone, which meant that they had time.  The events of the previous night proved that he could hurt again.  No time left to watch and wait.

So the high tech toys were out in full force.  And so was the team.  Two nondescript vans, each packed full.  A nice little device revealed someone, a woman judging by her curves, under a hot shower on the first floor.  And someone else, in the kitchen, who appeared on the screen at the same temperature as the air around him.  It was now or never.  Riley gave the order, and was among the first to run to the backyard.

At that moment, if Cordelia had had a body, she would have screamed her irritation and thrown a very memorable temper tantrum.  Something to shake everything from Heaven to Hell.  It was even more infuriating to know that it would take barely more than a snap of her fingers to right that awful mess.  And the Powers That Be only knew how much her fingers itched!  Except that she didn’t really have fingers here.

It might have been better if Angel stopped calling out to her.  She could have answered him, but to tell him what?  That she knew, had known at the moment it happened, but wouldn’t do a thing about it?  No, she couldn’t say that.  He wouldn’t understand.  After all, she wasn’t even sure she understood herself.  Wasn’t sure she would be able not to do a thing if she started thinking about it too deeply.

Something else might have helped.  If only she could have taken her mind and incorporeal eyes off the two vamps…  But she kept watching, with the sick fascination and certainty that she was going to assist in a horrendous, monstrous train wreck, with the knowledge that it would be incredibly easy to stop it before it got too far, with the awareness that she couldn’t.

And now… with these idiots who thought they were so smart…  Spike would unlive or die his final death, Buffy would create a carnage or control herself, her soul would return or not, the Council would be broken or strengthened, the two Slayers would survive or a new one would be Called, the Scoobies would be fine or shattered…  A snap of her fingers was all it would have taken.  But she would keep watching and do nothing else until the end.  And just hope it would end quickly and well.
 
 

Spike frowned at the computer screen, and hesitated between laughing and cursing.  One thing was sure, it wasn’t his soul that made him a bad poet.  That particular trait seemed to have persisted through undeath.  But then again, he had never really had any doubt about it.

Shaking his head at the latest of his pathetic attempts at poetry, he repeatedly hit the backspace key until the whole thing had disappeared into nothingness.  One thing he liked about computers… no papers to burn, no traces left when he once more realized his skills were still adamantly lacking.

For a little while, his finger remained on the key as he tried to decide.  Should he erase all the stuff his souled self had written a couple of weeks before?  He hadn’t read any of it again since his return to vamphood, but he had no doubt that it was just pitiful.  And yet… writing these things had helped him survive, just as Buffy had.  Most of them were about her, too.  For her.  He had let her read a couple of them, the ones that seemed not as bad as the rest.  He certainly wouldn’t let her read any more of it now; he didn’t quite fancy being on the receiving end of that recently too blunt tongue.  But at the same time, he couldn’t make himself erase these words that ultimately belonged to her.

He planned to take the laptop when they left, maybe use it to keep in contact with Dawn just a little, make sure she was alright.  Maybe.  Or maybe not.  Would it even be safe?  Could they be tracked through the net?  That was a possibility to check out.  He couldn’t leave anything to chance.

Leaving the computer on, he sauntered into the kitchen.  He could still hear Buffy’s shower running, so he had a little more time to finish his transfers – he was leaving Buffy’s laptop behind, with all the data for the online Magic Box, so that Anya wouldn’t need to start again from scratch.

As he emptied a bag of blood into a mug to warm it, the thought suddenly struck him that maybe it was the last time he would be doing this particular thing.  Tonight, they would be on their way.  As soon as she came down, he would tell her.  They would keep a low profile until the next night, then they would go see the poof and get their passports before heading out of the country.  Maybe grab a bite before leaving the town completely, LA was big enough that they could hunt safely away from the Hyperion.  Enough wrongdoers who deserved a painful death, too.  He was pretty sure he could convince Buffy that murderers and rapists tasted better than common folks.  Not that he had ever cared one way or the other in the past, it just was a last tribute he wanted to pay to his Slayer’s soul if he could.

The microwave beeped and startled him out of his thoughts.  He hadn’t hunted in so long…  Really hunted.  The bastards he had been punishing for the last few months didn’t count, because he always knew he wouldn’t kill them.  But a real hunt…  Picking out a prey, playing with it just a little, and then draining it dry…  And doing all of this with his Childe…  The blood he was sipping from the mug suddenly tasted very bland, even if it was human.

For some reason, he just couldn’t picture himself really hunting with her.  And yet, he had seen very clearly that she was just as much a demon as he was.  Maybe more, even, because she had no qualms killing people she had known, while he…

He had maybe two seconds of warning between the time he heard abnormal noises in the backyard and the moment the back door burst open.  The mug shattered on the floor, spilling blood everywhere, as his foot caught the first intruder in the middle of the chest, sending him backward against his fellow trespassers.  It didn’t slow them down though, and Spike just had the time to realize that these people suspiciously looked like his old friends of the Initiative before a couple of them shocked him with tasers.  The last thing he saw before he passed out was Soldierboy, a stake in his hand, and he just had time to think that Buffy would kill the wanker, and that it would be a pity for him not to see that.

The day was long for Manon, and incredibly boring.  Willow and Tara, after her little attempt at magic, seemed reluctant to leave her alone, so they awoke her early and dragged her to the Magic Box with them.  Willow had called the programming company where she worked, and Tara her preschool, both claiming to be sick so that they could research some more on Buffy’s soulless state.  Manon was a bit puzzled by it, since the night before they had agreed that they would probably find nothing and needed the help of the Council.  Andrea had phoned earlier, to make sure Manon was alright and safe with the Witches, and announce that she was coming back to Sunnydale with other Watchers to find a solution.  So really, all they needed was to wait, and the problem would soon have an answer.  Except that the two women, as well as Xander, kept researching as if no help was on the way.  Anya was the only one who had given up.

So, all day long, she was trapped in the store, with nothing to do but train alone, since the Scoobies had decided it was more prudent not to let her look through magic books.  It wasn’t long until her thoughts settled on the two absent vampires.  She was sorry for Buffy, sincerely, because she had liked the kindness of her elder, and, from the little she had witnessed, the new soulless Buffy was anything but kind, at least not to anyone human.  She was also sad for Spike.  True, he had come very close to killing her, and the ring of fading bruises around her neck was a proof of that, but she had seen afterwards how deeply he was shaken by what was happening to Buffy, so she couldn’t really hold it against him.  She only wished he didn’t know about her attempted spell.  He must really think she was pathetic, now, if he had time to think a second about her, which she really doubted.

Finally, by the end of the afternoon, the Scoobies decided to visit the not so friendly anymore vamps.  Anya declined to go, and forbade Xander to tempt fate by meeting Buffy.  So it was just the Witches and Manon who went there to check if Spike was still in control of the situation, and of Buffy.

When they knocked on the door, no one answered.  Exchanging a worried glance with Tara, Willow tried to open the door, finding it unlocked, and they all entered, as quietly as they could.  There was no sound in the house.  The living room was empty, and so was the kitchen.  But all three women let out surprised gasps when they noticed the mess in there.  There was drying blood all over the floor, spread by footprints.  There were also shards of porcelain.  A stake.  And ashes.

Blinking repeatedly, almost trying to make the scene in front of her disappear, Manon stepped further inside the kitchen, avoiding walking in the blood, and picked up the stake, careful not to touch the ashes.  She looked at the cold object in her hand, as if by staring long enough she would make it tell the story it had witnessed.  Make it say whose ashes were on the floor.

“What… what do you think happened?”  Tara mumbled.

“They would never have fought each other,” Willow said strongly, though Manon could see that she was shaking too.

There were a few seconds of perfect quiet, until suddenly Manon’s senses alerted her that a vampire was close.  Her eyes found Buffy, by the kitchen’s door, who was looking at the oblivious women in front of her with something that looked way too much like hunger for Manon’s comfort.  Her golden gaze shifted, trailing over Manon, dismissing her like she was inoffensive, and then finding the mess on the floor.

“What happened?” she growled softly, startling the two Witches.

They both turned and took a step back, walking in the edge of the blood traces.  If they answered the vampire’s question, Manon didn’t hear it.  Because an awful realization had come to her.  If Buffy was fine, then it could only mean that the ashes on the floor were Spike’s, and she was sure she was going to be sick.

The first thing Buffy saw as she came downstairs after her shower was the two Witches.  They had their backs to her, and hadn’t noticed her presence, so it would have been very easy to kill them both.  There was of course the Slayer just a step farther, and the kid had seen her, but she didn’t have a chance against Buffy, even with the stake already in her hand.  Then Buffy found the source of the strong scent of blood, scattered on the floor.  And mixed with the blood, ashes.

In a fraction of second, she was ready to attack and kill all three women, who had the sheer stupidity to come to her lair, kill her Mate and stay around for her to find out, when she noticed something else.  The flame in the back of her mind was still there, bright and warm, unwavering.  Spike had said she would know the very instant he died, because the flame would disappear.  So.  The ashes weren’t him.

“What happened?” she asked coldly, and the Witches finally became aware of her.

“We just came in,” Willow said, her voice slightly shaky.  “We don’t know what…”

“Did you kill him?”  Manon cut in suddenly.

Buffy crossed her arms as she observed the kid.  She was gripping the stake so hard it was a surprise it wasn’t snapping in two pieces.  Her whole body was trembling, and her eyes were cold, angry.  And full of tears.  Did she really believe she could take Buffy, let alone when she was obviously upset?

“I should kill you for even suggesting I would do such a thing,” Buffy said with a growl, baring her fangs.

“Then who?”

“No one.  Spike is fine.  Wherever he is.”

It was her Slayer sense giving her this little bit of information.  If her Sire had been in the house, she would have been able to feel his presence.

“But the ashes…”  Manon insisted.

“Not him,” Buffy replied curtly, then turned her attention to the Witches.  “Do a spell.  Locate him.”

Her demand seemed to pull them out of their shock.  They looked at each other, then to Buffy again.

“How do you know he isn’t…”  Willow started.

“I know, that’s all.  Are you going to do that spell or will I have to resort to threats?”

A little angry light appeared in the Witch’s eyes, but she didn’t comment.

“I need a map,” she said levelly.

Nodding briefly, Buffy walked out of the kitchen to retrieve the maps they kept in the dining room.  She noticed that both computers were on, and it only confirmed that Spike had been taken away.  He wouldn’t have left these things on.  He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without telling her.  Someone had taken him by surprise in the kitchen, more than one person judging by the numerous footprints in the blood.  Someone had put ashes on the floor, trying to make her believe he was dead.  Someone was going to pay.  And die a very painful death.

My sincere apologies to JJ Goldman and anyone who likes his songs for using, abusing, mistranslating and shamessly adapting to my purpose a very beautiful song of his called "Confidential".
 
 

The teleconference began and Riley unconsciously straightened into a more appropriate posture as his boss’ image appeared on his computer screen.

“Your report, agent Finn.”

“Yes sir. We have secured Hostile 17.  The chip will be extracted very shortly so that we can determine why it stopped working.  Then with your permission I will terminate him.”

If Riley hadn’t known better, he might have thought there was a smile trying to show on his superior’s face.

“Let’s not act too fast, Finn.  We might still need him.  I’d like to know more about this… thrall thing.  He’s the first we catch that we are sure can do it, let’s not waste that chance.  Anything else?”

“No sir.  Everything went fine.  The Slayer did not intrude on the removal, and we left clues for her to think the vampire is dead.”

And in a few days, Riley would, seemingly by accident, meet her, and with the thrall broken she would certainly be friendlier.

“What about the… spell?” the man on the screen added with a twinge of irritation.

It had been difficult to convince him that it was necessary to cast a spell to protect the location of the base.  It had been hard to prove to someone who had never witnessed any magic that anyone could use an incantation and who knew what else to locate their prisoner.  Riley knew about some of the things Willow was capable of, and he suspected she could do much more that he didn’t know about.

“The spell was done,” Riley said shortly.  “The base is secure.”

“Good.  Let me know as soon as you know what caused the chip to stop working.”

“Yes sir.”

Night had passed in a flash, and like any self-respecting vampire, Buffy was returning to her lair after hunting.  She was dressed all in black, for black suited her mood.  Black leather pants and a black shirt she had borrowed from her Sire.  The silk felt nice on her skin, as light as his caresses.  And something of his scent clung to the piece of fabric, making her feel safe despite his absence.  It was for the same reason that she had slipped on his duster and not her own.  Her hands, thrust deep in the pockets, played with a stake on one side and his lighter on the other.

She had been out of the house as soon as the sun had disappeared.  The Witches had tried to stop her, but a quick flash of her fangs had changed their minds.  She might have had more trouble from them if they had not believed that Spike’s commands still prevented her from hurting anyone, and she had given them no reason to think otherwise.  She just should have killed them.  The worthless humans had been unable to find Spike for her.  If he was still alive, they said, as if they doubted her words, something was hiding his location.  Another spell, probably.  And they could do nothing about it.  This had sent Buffy into a blinding rage.  But she had not acted upon it.  She had not allowed herself to.

Her Sire had asked her not to kill the Scoobies.  She still thought it was a stupid request, and if he had been around she would either have tried to convince him or go past his order.  But he wasn’t around.  She had this weird feeling that, if she dismissed his wishes so easily, it was like taking advantage of his kidnapping.  It was like being on the same side as his enemies.  So until she found him again, she had decided to respect his last orders.  But at the instant she found him, if whoever had taken him was human, she was going to feast.

She had walked around the town all night, killing a few vamps and demons after they proved unable to tell her anything about Spike. Potential meals, she had forced herself to ignore.  All she was focused on were her senses, and particularly that little tingle that always told her when her Sire and Mate was close by.  But nothing.  She was aware she really shouldn’t have hoped so much, for her chances of accidentally coming close to wherever Spike was being kept were slim.  For all she knew, he wasn’t even in Sunnydale anymore.  And still, she hoped.  Because if she allowed herself to wonder if she’d ever see him again, she knew despair would engulf her.  She was too close from it already, pushing it back with sheer willpower.

The sky was starting to turn pink just as she reached Revello Drive.  With sunrise being so close, she realized that for the first time in three years she and Spike hadn’t spent the night together, and her spirit sank a little more.  Even when they argued, they always made up before morning, always ended up sleeping together.  But the night was over, and still no trace of him.  She felt like howling to the menacing sun, begging for it to grant her a few more hours to find him.  But she wasn’t yet maddened enough to forget that staying outside a few more minutes would put a permanent end to her search.

As she opened the door and stepped inside the deserted house, she glanced back to the shadow that had followed her all night long.  She had heard the girl argue briefly with the Witches as she left the house earlier, and had soon been aware that the kid was stalking her.  She had pretended not too notice, too wrapped up in her search of Spike to even care what the baby Slayer’s intentions were.  The night had been long and restless, but the kid had not wavered, staying at the same distance behind Buffy, following without a word, without trying to hide, but without trying to catch up either.  Now that Buffy had made eye contact, Manon came closer, holding her jacket tightly closed around her.  She must have been cold, early morning was always a bit fresh.

“He is really OK, right?” she asked quietly.  “You didn’t just say that because you want him to be OK, did you?”

Buffy was tempted to snap at the girl, no one had the right to worry about her Mate except her.  But she was surprised to hear her voice answer evenly.

“If he was dead, really dead, I would know it.”

Manon nodded imperceptibly, and turned around, starting to walk away.  Buffy watched her for a second before calling out for her.

“Hey, kid.”

She was the Slayer.  She was Buffy’s natural enemy and prey.  But she was also someone who truly cared about Spike.  She was just someone.  And right now, Buffy would rather have been with anyone, even an enemy, than alone in the big empty house.

“Want some hot chocolate to warm yourself?” she proposed nonchalantly.

The kid tilted her head, as if trying to see if something was hidden behind the offer, and the vampire almost closed the door on her, already regretting her suggestion.  But Manon was faster.

“Chocolate sounds good,” she agreed, coming back toward Buffy and following her inside.

“I’m pretty sure I can find some marshmallows too,” Buffy muttered as she led the way to the kitchen.

“Like he likes,” Manon whispered.

They both stopped by the kitchen’s entrance.  The Witches had cleaned the blood mess off the floor, and it was easy to imagine that nothing had happened here.

“Yeah.  Just like he likes.”

Buffy could feel her eyes filling with unwanted tears, and she stomped inside the room angrily, pulling milk out of the fridge with moves so jerky that she spilled some.  Her back to the kid, she began warming the milk and melting chocolate in it, blinking repeatedly to get rid of the extra moisture in her eyes.  Her demon was enraged at displaying such emotions in front of the Slayer, and yet she couldn’t stifle them.  Even if her Sire had been refusing to let her kill, she hadn’t envisioned one single second living without him.  Now that he was gone, maybe she should have felt free, but all she felt was cold, and incredibly alone.

“Buffy…”

The quiet voice brought her back to where she was, what she was doing, and she turned down the fire under her chocolate before it began to boil over.

“What?” she said harshly, glad that her pain didn’t pierce through her voice.

“You’ll find him, won’t you?”

Irritated, she turned to the kid, ready to give her a sound tongue-lashing.  But she froze at the almost spilling tears she saw in Manon’s eyes.  The same tears that she herself had almost shed.  The same pain.  The same fear.

“I will find him,” she claimed forcefully.  “And whoever took him will die.”

She thought she saw the kid give an imperceptible nod.

Waking up was a surprise to Spike, especially since the last thing he remembered was Iowa standing over him with a stake.  What wasn’t a big surprise however was that he was tied to a wall with chains, arms and legs spread too much for him to get any good leverage.  No surprise either that he was in a cell.  Still no surprise to find his captor in front of him, looking utterly composed.

“Finally coming back to us, Hostile 17?”

“I have a name, wanker,” he shot back.

“Monsters do not have names,” Riley replied coolly.

Ignoring him, Spike tried to get a grip on his chains, to see if he could pull himself free, but the angle was too wide.

“You know,” Riley said idly, “right now some people should be examining your brain very close.  You should be glad you’re just tied to a wall instead.”

Spike snorted.  “Just wait ‘til I’m free,” he said very low, “and I’ll show you exactly how glad I am”.

“Of course,” Riley continued, ignoring the threat, “it would be useless to search your brain for what is not there any more, wouldn’t it?  Be glad also my surgeon took an x-ray of your head before opening.”

The vampire didn’t comment, and feigned not to pay attention to the discourse, though he was listening, and trying to understand what was going on.  Why wasn’t he ashes already?

“Where is the chip, Spike?”  Riley asked as he came closer to him.  “Who took it out for you?  How?  When?”

A smirk was the only answer the human received.

“Fine.  I’ll just beat the answers out of you.  Not a problem.  My pleasure, really.”

With that, the first blow was delivered to Spike’s jaw, sending his head to bang in the wall behind him.

“I pity you, y’know,” he said with a grin, spitting out some blood.  “When Buffy finds us, she’s going to be really cranky, and you’ll be begging for me to let her kill you.”

Riley shook his head, and it was his turn to smile.

“She won’t find us.  She won’t even look.  She thinks you’re dead.  And now that you’re not close to keep her under your thrall, she’ll have much more interesting things to do than think about you anyway.”

Eyeing the boy incredulously, Spike started laughing out loud.  Buffy wouldn’t look for her Mate?  Buffy would think he was dead?  And what thrall?  It would have been very satisfying to enlighten the idiot.  But Spike couldn’t do that, couldn’t risk revealing how exactly Buffy would know he was still among the unliving.  Soon, she would come to him.  She was probably on her way already.  And when she did come, Spike would be very glad to let her kill the wanker.  He would even help her.

More blows came, and still the same questions, but Spike didn’t care.  His Childe would come for him, and soon they would leave this cursed town forever.  Soon.
 

A long day had passed, and an even longer night.

Buffy had thought that being cloistered in her lair, with nothing to do but worry about Spike and wait for sunset, would be the worst part.  But in the middle of the morning she had finally managed to fall asleep, wrapped in his duster, in his scent, and a few hours had vanished in a dreamless slumber.

The night, however, when she should have felt more useful since she was actually doing something as she prowled around Sunnydale, had brought her no contentment.  Endless hours with no success leading only to frustration and exhaustion.  The few demons she had killed hadn’t brought her any relief, because they weren’t the ones who had taken her Mate and when she – quickly – questioned them they knew nothing about Spike.

She had been surprised, come nightfall, to find the Slayer back on her doorstep.  The kid hadn’t asked to come along, and Buffy hadn’t proposed, but they had left together, barely exchanging more than a couple of words during the whole night.  It had ended like the night before, with cups of hot chocolate shared at sunrise before the kid returned to the Witches’ place.  Apparently, the Scoobies still had no clue that Buffy wasn’t bound by Spike’s orders, which was logical since she hadn’t even tried to take a bite of the kid or the Witches when they had, briefly, visited again.

Two nights already without Spike, and the second day almost gone.  She had slept, again in the cocoon of leather, but this time dreams had come, in which faceless demons tortured and killed her Sire while he vainly called for her.  For a long time, she had stayed in bed, staring at their sky above her, trying to decide whether it had been a Slayer dream or not.  She could just hope it wasn’t.

In the middle of the afternoon, she came downstairs, still shaken from her nightmares, and tried to warm herself with some blood.  There wasn’t any human bags left, so she had to settle for pig’s blood.  With all her searching, she hadn’t thought of going by the hospital.  And even if she craved human blood, she knew she wouldn’t go that night either.  Feeding was a necessity, but not a priority right now.

Still shivering, she wandered aimlessly through the too empty house.  She could have gone to the Magic Box through the sewers, but she didn’t feel like seeing the Scoobies.  She supposed they were still looking for a way to get her soul back to her, and it just exasperated her.  She wished they had been looking for a way to find Spike instead.  But in truth, they just had no leads, even she could admit that.  All they knew about Spike’s disappearance was that it had happened during the day, so it couldn’t have been vamps, that the culprits had tried to trick Buffy into believing Spike was dead, and that Spike was still a member of the undead.  If the kidnappers didn’t want Buffy to look for them, then maybe they were still close.  If they hadn’t dusted Spike yet, then maybe they didn’t plan to.  These were the two hopes that kept Buffy sane.  These, and the promise she had made to both herself and her absent Sire that she would find him.

Tired of walking aimlessly, she eventually sat down in front of Spike’s laptop that she still hadn’t bothered to turn off.  She half smiled as the screensaver proclaimed: “Hands off!  Big Bad’s property!”.  It was soon replaced by a blank word processing page, and she was about to shut the program when she realized it was only the last page of two dozen or so.  Curious, she scrolled up, and found some text.  Poems, actually.  Familiar words caught her attention, and she unconsciously fingered the three interlocked rings on her left hand as she read Spike’s promise to her.  They had been different, then.  Both souled.  Both humans.  How much had changed?  She still couldn’t fathom life – or unlife – without him.  She didn’t care so much about a wedding anymore, human conventions did not bind her any longer.  But maybe he would still want to get married.  He had always been a very special vampire, after all, unconcerned by what was expected from him, interested only in what he wanted.  And in whom he loved.

One after the other, Buffy read the poems that her Sire had crafted.  It didn’t take long for her to realize that most of them were about her, or written for her.  No, not most of them.  All of them.  Every last word.  It only fueled her love for this man so always full of surprises.  And, at the same time, fueled her rage that he had been taken from her.  A rage that she had no way to let out.

When the phone pulled her out of her reading, her heart seemed to take a beat, and she couldn’t help hoping that it was Spike.  She picked it up before the second ring, her eyes tightly shut as she waited for the loved voice to talk.

“Hello?” she said quietly.

“Buffy, it’s Angel. Can I talk to Spike?”

She was so disappointed that she almost hung up the phone right then.  Not only wasn’t it Spike, but obviously Angel didn’t know her Sire had disappeared.

“He is not here,” she said coldly.

A sigh.  “Where is he?”

“Someone has taken him.”

There was a blank, and she wondered whether Angel had understood, until he finally asked:

“What do you mean, someone has taken him?  Who?  When?”

“If I knew who,” she replied angrily, “they would already be dead.  The day before yesterday.  There were traces of a fight in the kitchen, and Spike disappeared.”

“But he is alive, right?” he asked urgently.  “You two are Mates, so you should…”

“Yes”, she interrupted him.  “He is alive.  But I don’t know where.  I don’t know who.  I don’t know why.  I don’t…”

She forced herself to stop talking and took a deep breath.  Breaking down wasn’t going to help Spike.  Crying wasn’t going to help Spike.  Shouting wasn’t going to do any good either.

“I’m coming to Sunnydale,” Angel said suddenly.  “I’ll be there before night.”

“What for?” she asked, bitter.  “For all we know, he’s not even in California anymore.  I don’t need you here.”

There was a pause, and Buffy could easily imagine she had hurt the human’s feelings.  She wished she didn’t care, but she couldn’t lie to herself.  She did.  She wouldn’t have tried to turn him in the first place if she hadn’t.

“Listen,” she added with a sigh, “I’m trying to do as Spike wishes, but I’m not sure I will be able to if you come around and he’s not there to stop me.  For your own good, stay away.”

“Are you hunting to feed?”

The question took her by surprise, because it was delivered in a very calm voice and because she had just said she was doing as her Sire wanted her to.  Didn’t Angel know Spike had not allowed her to hunt?

“No”, she answered through clenched teeth.

“Are the Watchers there?”

“The Watchers?” she repeated, puzzled by the sudden change of topic.

“They’re on their way to Sunnydale,” Angel said almost reluctantly.  “Spike…  Spike feared that they were coming to kill you.  Please don’t give them any reason to decide to do so.  He needs you alive.”

“How do you know about the Watchers?” she asked, suspicious.

“He told me.  Two days ago.  Before he was kidnapped, I suppose.”

“Why would he tell you that?”

That didn’t make any sense.  At the Hyperion, after her attempt at turning the brunette, Spike had been angrier with him than he had been with her.

“Because…” Angel hesitated.  “I can’t tell you, Buffy.  When you find him, he will explain.  Just make sure not to do anything stupid until then.”

She rolled her eyes at the almost patronizing tone he was now using, but said nothing.  At least, he seemed convinced that she would see Spike again, and for that she was grateful.

“Take care of yourself, Buffy”, he said quietly.  “And let me know as soon as he is back.”

He said his goodbyes, and, a little troubled by the whole exchange, Buffy hung up the phone.  She didn’t have much time to think about it all however, because almost instantly someone was knocking on the door.  For a half second, the foolish hope that it was her Sire filled her entirely.  Then she realized that, for one thing, it was still daylight, for another Spike wouldn’t knock at his own door, and finally there were no tingles going down her back.  Not him, then.  She didn’t really feel like seeing anyone, but whoever it was might have some news about it, so she finally went to open it.

“Hey, Wills… can we say déjà vu or what?”

Xander’s mock whisper brought a half smile to Willow’s lips.  Yes, the scene felt strangely familiar.  Watchers, too many of them, invading the Magic Box as if they owned the place.  OK, one of them had owned the place at some point, so at least he had cause.  Giles seemed tired, though, as his eyes traveled around the room and his occupants, and despite his warm smile he appeared to be ten years older than only a few days before.

Before they could exchange more than short greetings, an old woman, white hair gathered in a tight bun at the back of her head, round glasses perched high on her nose, asked in a commanding voice that made Willow think she might be the new Head Watcher:

“Where are the vampires?”

She wasn’t addressing anyone in particular, and actually no one answered.  Giles, however, came closer to the table where the Scoobies were gathered, followed by Andrea.  The woman frowned slightly as she saw that Manon was asleep, her head resting on her folded arms, and she gently shook the teen to wake her.

“Where are Buffy and Spike?”  Giles asked, his eyes resting on Willow.

“Buffy is at home.  Spike… well, Spike disappeared two days ago.  We think he’s been kidnapped.  We can’t find him, but Buffy says he’s still alive.  Well, undead rather.  You know what I mean.”

There were several exclamations of surprise among the dozen or so Watchers, but all seemed to protest Buffy being left alone rather than to inquire about Spike’s situation.  Giles didn’t say a word, but his gaze seemed suddenly even more lost than before.

“Has she been killing?”  Andrea asked suddenly, her voice tinted with worry.

It was Manon who answered, her eyes still red from sleep.  She had insisted on going out with Buffy two nights in a row, proclaiming that it was her duty to keep an eye on the vampire and that if Willow and Tara didn’t let her she would just run away.  Willow suspected that her feelings for Spike might also be part of her reasons, but she hadn’t commented on that.  In any case, Manon had come back each time after sunrise, unharmed, but exhausted.

“She can’t hurt anyone,” she said with a stifled yawn.  “Spike… he ordered her not to, so she can’t.”

“We can’t know that for sure unless there’s someone constantly with her,” one of the Watchers, an old man, intervened.

“I’ve been with her all the time at night,” Manon defended Buffy and herself.  “And she can’t go anywhere during the day.  She hasn’t hurt anyone.”

Andrea’s worried gaze suddenly took a heated tint as she glared successively at Manon and the Scoobies.

“You’ve been alone with Buffy, soulless Buffy, for an entire night?” she asked incredulously.

“Two,” Manon replied, flinching slightly.

“She could have killed you!”

“But she didn’t.  And she won’t.”

“You don’t know…” Andrea started, but was interrupted by the old woman’s light coughing.

“If you are convinced that Miss Summers is that dangerous, Andrea,” she said sternly, “then why did you insist for us to come here and meet her?”

To Willow’s surprise, Andrea didn’t answer, but instead blushed slightly.

“Rupert, go ahead and tell Miss Summers that we shall interview her,” the woman continued.  “Do you want Chloe to accompany you?”

Willow followed Giles gaze and noticed for the first time the young woman who was among the older crowd of Watchers.  She looked a bit older than Manon, Dawn’s age, maybe, but from the confidence and sense of readiness that came from her posture, there was no doubt that she was the new Slayer, the one who had been called when Manon’s heart stopped beating, ages ago or so it seemed.

“I do not need protection against my own Slayer,” Giles said strongly.  “I will call when she is ready to see you.”

With that, he nodded briefly at the Scoobies, gave a half smile at Andrea, and left the store.  Willow wished she had been able to warn him about how Buffy had changed, but she was really reluctant to do that in front of the others.  He had to know, anyway.  He was a Watcher, after all.

“Chloe,” the old woman spoke once more, “you will spar with Manon.  I believe the back room has training facilities.  Andrea, Matt, go with them and supervise your Slayers.  Miss Rosenberg, we want to hear everything you tried to restore Miss Summers’ soul and everything you might have discovered.”

As she gave orders, in a tone that implied she wouldn’t take no for an answer, the two Slayers and the two designated Watchers left for the back room.  Three of the other Watchers, the youngest it seemed, though they weren’t younger than Giles, came closer to the table, all ready to take notes.  The remaining nine Watchers gathered in two groups, speaking quietly among themselves.

Willow suddenly had an awful feeling.  This seemed more like a jury and executioners than like the help she had asked for.  She hated thinking that, but it seemed like Spike had been right when he cautioned her against trusting the Council.  And he wasn’t even here to roll his eyes at her with an annoyed ‘told you so’.  If someone had ever told her she would one day miss the bleached blonde vamp as much as she missed him now, she would never have believed them.

The door opened, revealing a wary Buffy who was careful to remain out of reach of the sunlight.  She frowned slightly when she saw him, and Giles repressed a small sigh.  He was all too aware of the stake his hand gripped, and, judging by the slight flickering of her eyes, she was aware of it too.  She took a step back, and he wasn’t sure if it was to get out of his reach or let him in.

“Came to dust me, Watcher?” she asked, half growl, half snicker.

He shook his head but did not move from his place on the doorstep.

“Not unless you try to kill me first,” he replied as calmly as he could, trying to gauge her reaction.

For a few seconds, she considered him coldly, and he wondered whether she was deciding if he was going to be her meal or not.  For all the assurance he had displayed in front of the High Council that Buffy wasn’t a threat to him or any of them, he really wasn’t completely convinced.

“What do you want?” she asked finally.

“Just to talk with you.  Can I come in?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and her smile was oddly reminiscent of Spike’s smirk.

“You don’t need an invitation, do you?  At least, not yet.”

She turned her back to him, walking toward the living room, never glancing back to see whether he was following.  Giles entered the house, closing the door behind him, and joined her, sitting in an armchair across from her seat on the sofa.  He wished he wasn’t glad that the coffee table between the two of them might slightly slow her down if she decided to attack him.  It frightened him how easily he had started to view her as more than a potential menace.  But then, the usual warmth in her eyes when she looked at him had disappeared and all he could see there was ice and anger.  She was curled up on the sofa, her legs drawn under her, her hands resting on her knees, but despite the apparent calm Giles had no doubt that she was very much ready to take him down if she decided to do so.  He just hoped she wouldn’t.  He had been hoping so many things, lately, that at least some of them had to become true.

“The High Council is in town,” he said slowly.  “They’re the ones who will decide of the actions of the Council until a new Head Watcher is nominated.”

“And I should care?” she asked with a twinge of irritation

“You should, because they are here to decide whether to kill you or not.”

She had a short, wry laugh.  “Oh, I am so scared now!”

“You should be,” he lied through his teeth.  “Not all Watchers are as reluctant as me to put an end to your existence.  Turned Slayers never last long once the Council starts hunting them.”

Of course, he privately thought that she might be the one vampire able to destroy the Council by simply killing all Watchers or Slayers sent after her, but he couldn’t quite say that aloud.

“It doesn’t have to go that far,” he continued before she could laugh off his argument.  “We have a plan to restore your soul.  The High Council just wants to meet you before they make the final decision.”

“And again, why should I care?” she asked harshly.  “I’m quite happy as I am now, thank you very much.  I don’t need a bloody soul.”

It was just about the reaction Giles had expected.  What he hadn’t expected, though, was that his ally to convince her would have disappeared before his arrival.  But there might still be a way, he realized suddenly.  Even gone, Spike could help.

“If you play the game, I am sure the Council will help you find Spike and whoever took him.”

Her hazel eyes suddenly turned completely gold, though her face did not change.  The same controlled anger was in her voice when she asked:

“How do I know you didn’t take him to begin with?”

She hadn’t completely rejected the idea, he noticed with a small satisfaction.  All he had to do was convince her that the Council hadn’t taken Spike, then get her to be more friendly in front of the nine Watchers, then show the Council why they had to pay to restore her soul and find Spike as well, and hope the Mage could help…  A piece of cake, really.

“As far as we know,” he replied truthfully, “Spike is the reason you haven’t killed anyone yet.  Why would we be so stupid as to take him and leave you free to kill?”

For a long moment, she was silent, her eyes unfocused as she clearly was lost in deep thoughts.

“Why do you care?” she finally asked, green again eyes looking at him quizzically.  “What does it change for you that I get Spike and my soul back or that I get staked?”

Giles felt his heart break.  Long ago, he had warned innocent teenagers about this very mistake, thinking that the vampire their friend had become was still the same person despite the demon.  The mere fact that she was asking about his motivation reminded him all too clearly that she wasn’t the Buffy he knew.  But then, she still cared about Spike, deeply or so it seemed, so why not about the rest of them?

“I’ve survived three of your deaths, Buffy,” he murmured.  “I won’t go through another one if I can help it.”

“What if my soul can’t be restored?” she asked defiantly.  “What will the Council do then?  What will you do?”

He took a deep breath.  He hadn’t planned to answer that question.  Not now, at least.  He knew what he had decided to do in that unimaginable and yet still possible case, but he hadn’t thought she would ask.  Just the same, he replied sincerely.  He wasn’t here to lie to her, or manipulate her.  He was here to give her the help he felt he owed her.

“If your soul is gone for good, the Council will try to have you staked.  And I…  I will do whatever I can to help you escape from them.”

Her eyes widened in obvious surprise, and a small smile danced on her lips.

“You know what, Watcher?  I think I like you.  I’ll meet your Council and play nice.  But I want Spike back before anything else happens.”

He nodded slightly.  “I have to talk to them.  We didn’t know coming here that we would need…”

He stopped talking as she rose to her feet and watched her, puzzled, as she went up the steps.  She was back a few seconds later, now bundled in her black leather duster.  No, not hers, he realized.  Slightly too long for her, this one had to be Spike’s.

“You talk to them all you want,” she said disinterestedly.  “I have things to do.  Just know that if I find him before you, the deal is off.”

She opened the front door, and Giles realized then that night had fallen while they talked.  He walked to the entrance just in time to see her walk down the street.  And by her side, he was surprised to realize, was Manon.
 
 

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