The two blondes jumped at the sound of the voice that came from the darkness of their suite. Turning the light on, Buffy’s eyes grew large. “Amelia? Hetty?! What are you guys doing in our living room?”

In the surprise of it all, Spike had vamped out, not taking any chances as to whom might be waiting in the dark for them. He turned his amber eyes on the young watcher and scowled. “Bloody hell! Not you!”

The watcher stood up, straightening the wrinkles out of her skirt. “Now, now, Mr. Sinclair, that’s not a way to greet guests, now is it?” The corners of her mouth were turned upwards in a barely restrained grin. Neither blondes had noticed, but their appearance was very telling--ripped clothes, fresh bite marks and scratches. Anyone who didn’t know them would have assumed that they had been attacked, but Amelia knew better, thanks to Hetty.

Clutching the sides of Spike’s coat together--God forbid if either of their ‘guests’ saw the condition of her dress--Buffy spoke up. “Uh, I didn’t exactly take courses by Miss Manners or anything, but guests don’t usually invite themselves in and wait for people in the dark. Why. Are. You. Here?”

That’s my Slayer, Spike thought. Straight to the point, no bullshit. And she loved him... Wait, scratch that last one--no time for poncey thoughts right now. He shook his demon’s visage off and chimed in. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind hearin’ that one, too.”

For the first time since the two blondes had entered the room, Hetty spoke up. “All in due time, my loves. Right now it looks like you both need a bit of freshening up.” She raised an eyebrow at them, making an obvious show at looking them over.

Both vampire and Slayer took a moment to look at themselves. Uh, maybe Hetty was on to something...

“Fine--but you guys stay here. I’m sure we have some talking to do when we’re ‘freshened up’.” Buffy took Spike by the hand and led him to the bedroom area. He gave the two other women a smirk as he was pulled in front of them.

Clothing for both her and Spike balled in her hand, Buffy headed for the bathroom, before being intercepted by Amelia.

“Sorry, dear, but I’ll have to insist that you go in there one at a time. We’d love to get this chat over with sooner rather than later, if you know what I mean.” Looking at Spike, she mimicked the smirk that he had thrown her way just a moment earlier.

Face beet red, the Slayer tossed Spike’s clothing at him before running into the bathroom. Oh, my God, she kept thinking. They know what we did. As she pulled her clothing off, and looked at herself in the mirror, it dawned on her just how obvious their little session had been. She had a number of hickeys on her neck and collarbone, scratch marks on her arms, and--of course--the new set of bite marks. She leaned in towards the mirror and pulled her hair aside to get a better look at them. Rubbing her fingers against the almost-healed punctures--yay slayer healing--she felt a shiver run through her. For some strange reason, Spike’s marks were a new erogenous zone. The Master’s bite hadn’t been like that--that would have been gross beyond words--and both Angel’s and Dracula’s had been tingly, but only for a short while. But Spike’s? All she had to do was think about them, and a rush of heat made its way to her centre. Maybe it had something to do with the claim. She’d have to make a point to ask him when they had a moment to themselves.

The pull towards his new mate was almost more than Spike could handle. He kept wondering if she realized what the reciprocal claim meant. A lifetime together. Would he hold her to that? No, probably not. His demon raged at the thought, but the little bit of logic he had reminded him that she was human. Humans got married, went for picnics in the sun, had kids... They didn’t spend their lives in the dark. He’d resigned himself to spending as much time with her as she’d let him, and to appreciate however much time that was.

The vampire looked at the two women sitting on the sofa. The watcher--well, he could take a guess as to why she was here. They hadn’t succeeded in their mission yet, had they? All they’d pretty much done was gotten into each other‘s knickers. Sure, they’d had a great lead with the babysitter, but that’s about all they had.

But the innkeeper? What the hell was she doing here? Had their shagging disturbed the other guests? Come to think of it, he’d never actually heard anyone else coming or going in the hotel. Old buildings like this had squeaky stairs, and creaky floors. They should have been able to hear people talking through the paper-thin walls... Something was truly off at the Sheffield Arms Hotel.

Tired of staring at the two women, Spike got up and paced a little before speaking up. He had no idea where this Williamesque urge came from--maybe it was one of those little human foibles that had stayed with him--but he offered them something to drink. So un-vampire like of him... “Don’t know if we’ve got much. I know the Slayer keeps a pitcher of water in the icebox, and I know we seem to have an eternal supply of Champagne...” He threw a pointed look at Hetty, who only smiled back.

“Actually, a glass of water would be nice, William.” Although Amelia wasn’t all that thirsty, she just had to experience being served by a vampire. It was just too unreal. Heh--wait till I tell the others this. It’ll ruffle their feathers right nicely...

After what seemed an eternity, the bathroom door opened and a refreshed Slayer came out. “Bout bloody time, Slay.. Buffy.” He had to consciously work on using her given name--he knew that much from the ‘discussion’ they’d had just before entering the restaurant. “Thought you’d never come out.” He handed the two women their drinks and made his way towards the bathroom.

Before Buffy knew it, she was in Spike’s arms and was being thoroughly kissed. An end of the world, last embrace ever kind of kiss. Although she knew he was just showing off in front of Amelia and Hetty, she couldn’t help but feel like she was made of Jell-O. Almost as quickly as it had started, the kiss ended and the vampire walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Her face flushed, her breathing ragged, Buffy had to lean against the wall for support. Catching the eyes of the other two women, she blushed furiously. “I... uh... well...” She just couldn’t find anything to say.

Hetty, feeling bad for the poor girl, spoke up. “That’s alright dear. We’ve all heard of the virtues of a vampire lover. No need to explain.” She winked a turquoise-lidded eye at the Slayer.

Buffy’s mind was racing a mile a minute. “Huh? You know he’s a...”

“I know a lot more than I let on, Buffy Summers. But we won’t get into that until your William comes back out to join us.” The older woman took a sip of water, leaving a bright-pink trace of lipstick on the glass.

“Ok, you two are going to tell us everything that‘s going on.” The quick wash had done nothing to calm Spike down. Quite the contrary, he’d spent most of the time fuming about how they’d been played. Of course, he didn’t know how they’d been tricked, but he just knew they had. Why else would the Slocombe wanna-be be sitting in the living room with a member of the Council of Wankers?

When the only response he got was two pairs of raised eyebrows, he growled and sat down on the coffee table facing the two women, his knees brushing with theirs. “Fine. You want to play that game?” He pointed to the older woman. “First things first. What the hell is your role in all this?”

The hotelier put her glass down beside the vampire and brushed his finger away from her face. “Now, now, William. No need to be uncivilized. I’m not sure what you mean by my ‘role’. If you mean with the Council of Watchers, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Aside from being Amelia’s great-aunt, I have no ties to them. As for my role in the recent development in your relationship with Miss Summers... Well, I must admit that‘s been a little pet project of mine since we met that first day.” She cast an affectionate glance at both blondes. “However, I must admit that my assistance hasn’t been as necessary as I would have believed--you seem naturally drawn to each other.” Her eyes flitted towards the bedroom. “Although I’m sure the canopied bed didn’t hurt...”

Spike bit back the suggestion that the two women leave them to test out the canopied bed once more. Instead, he simply rolled his eyes, making a conscious decision to ignore her comments on his and Buffy’s relationship--now was certainly not the time to discuss it. “Alright, so you’ve got a Cupid complex and willingly play host to a vampire and slayer. I’ve seen stranger.”

The vampire’s eyes darted to Amelia, but his interrogation remained aimed at her great-aunt. “However, I’m not quite convinced that that’s all there is to it. Funny how this little impromptu meeting of yours happens just after we bring a strange bird up to the room...”

For the first time, Hetty had the decency to look abashed. She cast her eyes down to her hands before bringing them back up to meet the vampire’s. “Yes. You’re absolutely right about that, my dear. Amelia asked me to let her know if anything out of the ordinary occurred; the girl you brought in the other night seemed an odd enough occurrence to give my niece a call.”

Without being prompted, the watcher put her glass of water down and spoke up. “When Hetty told me about the girl, I had an idea as to who she was.” She looked at Buffy, then Spike. “She was the nanny, wasn’t she?” When both blondes nodded, she smiled. “Her body was never found, which led us to believe that she could still be alive. Wherever did you find her?”

Spike gave a quick account of that particular night’s adventure, leaving out some of the more risqué parts, before reminding Amelia that it was her own story that they wanted to hear. The two women had been there for almost an hour and were yet to divulge their own secrets.

“The Council has received information about the sacrifice.” There. It was out in the open and, by the look on the two blondes’ faces, they were more than eager for her to continue. “One of our members had managed to infiltrate himself into Blakeford’s entourage. Although a constant contact would have alerted them to his presence--or his status as an informant, rather--Simon was able to send us the occasional message as to what was going on. The last one was received this past Thursday and relayed what may be the location for the sacrifice.”

Buffy jumped out of her seat and began to pace in front of the couch. Pacing was Spike’s MO, but at that moment she was making it hers. Why hadn’t they been told about the informant? Heck, why didn’t any of the information make its way to them quicker? After a bit more thought, the answers were clear enough to the Slayer--the informant’s safety would have been paramount, and the Council may have wanted to double-check the information before relaying it to her and Spike. But the most important question--to her, at least--was yet to be asked.

“Why don’t you get this Simon guy to sneak the baby out?”

Spike nodded in agreement--that same question was on his lips. Why even bother with him and the Slayer when they had someone on the inside? His brow creased, however, when he felt the watcher’s heartbeat accelerate and saw her hand tremble as she reached for her glass. One sideways glance at Buffy told him that she’d noticed as well.

Amelia worked hard at keeping her voice even. The news had hit the Council hard, but as Simon had been one of her classmates, she’d taken it even harder. “Because... because he was sent back to us. Or, rather, parts of him were sent back.” Hetty’s steady hand on her shoulder helped the watcher keep her emotions in check.

“Bloody hell--Council should have known better than anyone about the Pelorak’s fascination with dismemberment!”

Buffy froze at these words. This was the kind of demon Spike had gambled her freedom against? She made a mental note to talk to the vampire when their guests left...

“Simon was well aware of it, but he was sure of himself and of his ability to infiltrate them. The Pelorak, actually, were a bit of an infatuation for him. He’d written his final thesis on their social structure and its resemblance to that of the human race.” She smiled ruefully. “Not that any of that helped him, in the end.”

No one knew what to say to that; the room was silent until Buffy finally spoke. She felt that there was something more to Simon and Amelia, something that was being left unsaid--but something that was none of her business.

So she decided that it was time to resume the impromptu meeting. “Amelia, what information did Simon get about the location?”

Glad to get her mind back to business, the watcher straightened back up and tried to be as forthright with her information as possible. “The last message we received, the one from Thursday, gave us a location of a warehouse along the waterfront.”

Not a bad start, if the waterfront didn’t span for miles. “Okay... Do you know precisely where, along the waterfront?” Buffy reeled at the image of herself scouring dock after dock for a building that probably looked like all the others surrounding it. At that rate, the baby’s fate could be to die of old age and she still couldn’t save her.

At this, the watcher’s face fell. “No. We don’t. But we do know that it’s in the East End, possibly just east of the Tower Bridge. What we do know for certain is that the building itself sports a faded Alpha symbol on its frontispiece.”

At the Slayer’s confused look, Spike leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Alpha--you know, the Greek...”

Buffy turned to face the vampire. Did he think she was stupid? “I know what an Alpha looks like! It’s the fronty thingie that I’m not sure of...”

“It’s the front of the building, love.”

“Oh.” Then why hadn’t Amelia just said so? Stupid British people. Why don’t they just speak English?! “Ok, then. Here’s the plan. Tomorrow morning, I head out and try to locate this Alpha building. I scope it out, try to find out as much as possible about it--does it have windows, how many entrances/exits, blah blah. If I can get in, I’ll do that so I can get a good idea of what we‘ll be up against once we‘re in there. Heck, I might even get a glimpse of how many we‘ll be against.”

The Slayer paused, waiting for a reaction to her plan.

“No.”

Ok. Spike obviously had a reaction. A negative one.

“No, what? Could you maybe be more specific?” Really, she wasn’t in a mood for guessing games. Her body was telling her that it was bedtime--two hours ago, her eyes kept trying to close of their own volition, and here Spike was playing ‘guess my objection’.

“You‘re not going on your own.” What was she trying to prove? That she was stronger than him? That she could take care of herself? That she didn’t need him? “You’ll right likely get yourself killed if you do.”

Great. Mr. Victorian misogynist makes an appearance. “Oh, so I just managed to survive all these years on my own because of luck? Sorry, Spike, but I can hold my own on a recon assignment. I may be a girl, but I don’t need you shadowing me all the time.” Buffy instantly regretted lashing out at the vampire. The hurt in his eyes betrayed the anger that his body was exuding. She paused and took a breath, allowing her voice to soften; she wasn’t mad at him, because she understood that he was worried about her. Taking his hand in hers, she smiled at him. “Anyway, I’m just looking--remember? It’s not like I’m going to walk in the midst of a big Pelorak pow-wow and say ‘hey, guys!’.”

Amelia’s mouth quirked at the couple’s bickering. It was so... normal, even though there was nothing normal about either the situation or the people involved. A century-old vampire and a girl with heightened powers arguing about gender stereotyping.

The watcher stood up and pressed her hands down her skirt, flattening out the wrinkles. “It’s settled, then. Buffy will head over to the East End to find the warehouse in question and gather as much information as possible. That should provide us with a basis upon which we can determine what actions we must take to retrieve the baby.” She directed a weary yet compassionate gaze towards the Slayer. “And do be careful, Buffy. William isn’t the only one who’s grown fond of you.”

Spike was fuming. That’s what happens when you’re surrounded by women, mate. You get outvoted... “So, what am I supposed to do while she goes out? Keep the home fires burning?!”

“Don’t worry, William. You may feel that your talents are unappreciated, but you‘re an integral part of this operation. The Council specifically requested your presence--you have a role to play and you‘ll be expected to be at your best when the time comes. Now,” the watcher said, motioning for her great-aunt to follow, “we really should be leaving. It’s gotten rather late, I’m afraid, and there’s much to be done tomorrow.”

Just as she was closing the door behind her, Hetty popped her head back in. “Almost forgot, dears. Tomorrow is laundry day. What time should I pop in to fetch the sheets and towels?”

Buffy looked at Spike and hunched her shoulders. He was going to be the only one in, so it was up to him.

“Anytime after noon will do, luv. Just knock first. Wouldn’t want you to catch me starkers.”

Only Spike’s vampiric hearing caught the ‘wouldn’t be bad for me’ comment that the older lady mumbled as she closed the door.

Buffy sighed and sat down on the couch. “You know, this whole thing would be so much easier if we knew where to go. I mean, I don’t even know where the East End is! How can I find the building if I can’t even find the East End?” When silence met her rant, the young woman looked up. Had Spike gone out for a smoke without her noticing? Figures she’d be sitting around talking to herself...

But no, the vampire was right there in the living room, busying himself with cleaning up. That’s how the Slayer knew something was up. She smiled inwardly at her partner’s attempt to ignore her. So he was still pissed off--why should that surprise her? Maturity was obviously something he’d neglected to pick up in his century-plus of existence.

“Stop.”

Gaze still averted, Spike replied in a monotone voice. “Stop what?”

“Stop. Sulking.” Good--at least that got him to look at her.

“I’m not sulking, Slayer. Vampires do not sulk.”

Why me? Buffy stood up and crossed her arms across her chest. “Fine, then. Stop ignoring me by pretending to keep busy because you’re mad at me.”

Spike’s brow creased as he tried to decipher what had been said. Finally cluing in on her sarcasm, he replied, “I’m not...” Unable to restrain his emotions any longer, he threw the glass against a wall, shattering it into jagged pieces. “Bloody hell! You expect me to just sit around tomorrow waiting to see if you’re going to make it back in one piece? Didn’t you hear what she said about that Simon nit? Pelorak are bad news, and if they catch you sniffin’ around...”

“Spike...” She kept her voice calm and steady. The last thing she needed to do was fuel the fire that was raging within the vampire, especially when it burned for fear of her welfare. Walking towards him slowly, she placed a hand on his forearm. “They won’t catch me. I’ll be uber-careful girl. I’ll, like, hide behind old boat pieces and sneak around on my tiptoes like they do in cartoons.”

Damn that Slayer. He couldn’t even stay mad at her. “I know, pet. It’s just... It’s gonna be hell for me not being there to back you up. I’ll feel useless sittin’ around waiting for you.”

“You’d better not just sit around. Spike, you’ve got over a hundred years of experience in the demon world. You yourself used to plot all kinds of hairbrained schemes.” Buffy smiled at the vampire’s mock protest. “I need you to come up with a plan. Plans. As many as you can come up with--we don’t know how this is going to go down, and we need to be as prepared as we can. I know you can’t do much without the information I’m going out for, but we still need to get our gears turning. We might be separated tomorrow, but we‘ll be working towards one goal: getting that baby back.”

When she was done, Spike knew more than ever why he’d fallen in love with the Slayer. Strong enough to put him back in his place, yet diplomatic enough to make him agree with her. She was his equal, yet as different from him as anyone could be. Bringing his hand up to cup her neck, he stroked the newest set of bites with the pad of his thumb. “We’d best get to bed, then. See you off to an early start so you can come back sooner.”

Buffy turned towards the bed, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need as much sleep as possible. It‘s been a truly crazy day.”

(Author’s note: I used my creative liberties in Buffy’s transit fiasco. Please don’t fret if the bus numbers don‘t exist... It’s all part of my own little world)

Buffy grimaced as she pulled her shoe out of a puddle of... well, she didn’t know what it was, but it was green and oily-looking. Probably not good for her leather boots, though. Her mantra, ever since embarking on her little solo mission that very morning, was ‘Spike was right’. Not something she would admit out loud, and especially not in the vampire’s presence, but each and every step of the way had been peppered with aggravations.

She had started off well enough, calling transit information to find out which bus to take to the Tower Bridge from the hotel. Giles would have been proud--Buffy, action girl, actually took the time out to plan before heading out.

Well, that had been the intention. The woman at the transit help desk, as helpful and cheery as she was for such an early hour--Hey! 9am is early!--explained that Buffy needed to take ‘bus number 24’ before the Slayer thanked her and hung up. In retrospect, Buffy was pretty sure that, had she listened to the whole of the woman’s instructions, she would have arrived at her destination two hours earlier.

When she had stepped onto the platform at the small bus terminal, she’d quickly found bus 24A. That was easy! She walked over to the vehicle and hopped on, proud of her independence. It was when the bus returned to the same terminal--without, of course, having reached the Tower Bridge--that Buffy began to have her doubts. Maybe she’d missed it. Maybe she’d been looking the other way, at some old church or a cool house, when the bus had driven by. This time, the young woman was prepared--she wouldn’t miss a thing.

Same terminal, no Tower Bridge. Crap.

The bus driver must have noticed her confusion--that or he was tired of seeing her sitting there--because he walked over to her after the last passenger had left. “Excuse me, miss? Is there something I can do for you?”

Trying to steady her breathing--she certainly didn’t want to come across as an idiot--Buffy opened her mouth and... everything came out at once, words tripping one over the other, a hundred miles an hour. “I’m supposed to get to the Tower Bridge, and I called this morning so I’d be prepared, cause I don’t usually do that--I usually get lost and everything, and the lady--who was really nice, by the way--told me I needed to get on bus number 24, and I did, but you haven’t gone there yet and...” Embarrassed at her frustrated outburst, she pouted. “And I think I’m on the wrong bus.”

The driver held back a smirk. This one was a real charmer. “Don’t worry about it. You’re certainly not the first to make that mistake. You need to be on bus 24B. This is 24A. We do mirror loops of London--you’ve been taking in the city’s West side. 24B is just over there,” he pointed to the bus behind them, “if you hurry, you should be able to hop on.”

Buffy shot up out of her seat and flew out of the bus’s rear doors. Five seconds later, she popped her head back in and gave the driver a wide grin, a heartfelt “Thanks!!”, and disappeared again. The man just shook his head and returned to his seat, chuckling. As crazy as this job was, it did have its finer moments.

The first thing that came out of the Slayer’s mouth as she faced the other bus’s driver was “do you go to the Tower Bridge?” At the driver’s nod, she let out a breath of relief and thanked him. There was no way she was going to take another useless two hour ride, no matter how neat London was.

The drive to the bridge was quicker than she expected and as she saw it looming in the near distance, Buffy chimed the bell to be let off at the next stop.

The young woman thanked the driver, hopped off the bus, and took a moment to look around her. Hmm... now where to?

***

There was no way Buffy could have missed her destination. All she had to do was follow her nose. The docks were everything she’d imagined, and then some. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the stench that assaulted it. Fish, oil, sulphur and a hint of something else of which she’d rather remain ignorant hung thick in the air. She was so going to need a bath after this.

Locating the docks had been the easy part. Navigating them--well, that was a mite trickier. Although she’d been born with a keener sense of navigation than most--yay Slayer powers!, Buffy was glad that she’d earned her orienteering badge during her short stint with the girl guides.

As she wound her way around stacks of skids and old boat hulls, she kept her senses open to any danger. She was all too aware of the threat posed by humans in these kinds of places.

The buildings around her were in various states of collapse. She couldn’t really tell that any of them were still in use. Broken windows, missing doors--the buildings lay vacant, simple shells of their former selves.

As a young girl, Buffy had often wondered if houses and buildings had memories. Did they sit there, empty and forgotten, thinking of better days gone by? Could these factories remember the office gossip, the Christmas parties, the tears shed on the last day before their doors were closed?

A noise shook the Slayer from her thoughts. Deciding that she didn’t want to make the acquaintance of anyone else who might be lurking among the piles of garbage, she hid behind a large rusted piece of machinery. Peering in between giant gears and metal rod... thingies, she spied two men dragging a bag behind them.

A lumpy bag.

A lumpy bag that was struggling and quite unhappy, if the stifled screams coming from it were any indication.

Buffy whimpered and crouched down even lower behind her makeshift blind. Fighting the urge to run, she remained rooted to the spot, unable to peel her eyes from the scene that was unfolding before her.

The two men dragged the bag behind a pile of wooden skids, so that only their upper bodies were visible. The Slayer jumped at the sound of muffled gunshots and a subsequent splash. When they emerged from behind the skids, the bag was no longer in their possession.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Buffy was understandably wigged. Obviously the docks held secrets more dangerous to her than the Pelorak.

Slinking out of her hiding spot after seeing the killers’ car pull away--why do all these hitmen-type guys always drive big, expensive black cars with tinted windows, anyway?--Buffy stretched and took in her immediate surroundings.

Straight ahead of her was the land’s edge, right where... whoever... had been sent to swim with the fishes. She shuddered at the thought and fought back a momentary pang of guilt at her inaction at someone’s murder. To her left and right stretched the waterway, a roadway following its length. She looked down one way, then down the other, trying to decide which way to turn, when she decided to look behind her.

There it was. A tallish building of about four stories’ height. The Meridian Marine Freightways Company head office loomed behind her, broken windows marring its otherwise intact fronty-thingie.

In a disturbing way, the line of windows along its front reminded Buffy of an insincere smile, broken teeth adding to its dementia.

Swivelling on the spot to face the building, the young woman began to walk towards it at a quick pace. From its outer appearance, she couldn’t tell whether or not anything evil was going on inside. It would take more than a cursory glance to determine if Blakeford and the Pelorak were using it.

The threat of dismemberment kept the Slayer at her stealthiest. A lot of good a limbless Slayer will be, guarding the Hellmouth, she thought wryly as she stepped around yet another puddle of viscous greenish liquid. Scrunching her nose at the vile ooze, she tried to quash thoughts of toxic waste. Not because it was a silly idea, but rather because it was too plausible for her own liking.

When she reached the building’s side, she looked up to the windows’ edge and cursed under her breath. “Shit.” She was about four inches too short, even with the solid three inch heels on her boots. Looking around for something on which she could stand, she spied an empty electrical wire spool. She looked up to the skies and mouthed a quick thanks before scooting over to fetch her makeshift stand.

Rolling the spool over to one of the windows, she flopped it over onto its side and pushed it against the wall. Glancing one last time around her, she hopped up onto the spool, peered into the building...

“Fuck... Oh God...” Her heart rate doubled as she digested what she had seen. There must have been over a hundred Pelorak in the warehouse, many in various training sessions. Some with weapons, some without. Others were along the walls sharpening weapons.

Although taken aback at the sheer number of these purple demons, her attention became fixed on the warehouse’s centre. A platform had been erected there, and two men stood on it, obviously in the middle of a heated discussion. Well, one of the men was visibly agitated, but the second seemed aloof. He may even have been amused by the first man’s irritation.

Buffy looked closer at Irritated Man. Of medium height, middle aged from what she could see, and wearing a very antiquated suit, the man looked like he’d walked off a page of the Council’s handbook.

The other man, however, was much different. Both physically and in character. Much younger than Irritated Man, this one was very tall and thin. He was also a hell of a lot calmer than his partner. Arms crossed over his chest, a corner of his lips turned upwards into a smirk, he seemed amused by the other’s outburst. Buffy couldn’t help but snicker along, as the scenario reminded her of pretty much every lecture she’d had from Giles.

The Slayer’s attention became even more riveted to Calm Man as he held his hand out, effectively cutting off Irritated Man’s rant. Calling out to a Pelorak that was walking by, he motioned him up onto the platform. They seemed to be comfortable with each other, the young man’s hand amicably placed on the demon’s arm as they chatted about something.

Then something strange began to happen. The point of contact between man and demon began to fizzle. The Pelorak looked surprised and began to struggle, but Calm Man’s demeanour never changed. His friendly smile never faltered, and the other’s struggles didn’t even seem to bother him, as he remained at ease in his stance.

Slowly, the Pelorak began to shake, his skin burning. Buffy could hear its screams from where she stood; as much as she hated demons, she couldn’t help but feel pity for this particular one’s agony. She closed her eyes and counted slowly to fifteen, hoping that she could miss the worst of it. When her eyes reopened, her gaze settled on something that nearly made her toss her breakfast.

Right there on the platform lay the Pelorak’s body, or rather what remained of it. She could still see it from the waist down to its feet, but its upper body seemed to have... melted.

Buffy gasped at the horrible sight and promptly lurched back, losing her balance and falling down onto the ground. She scooted backwards, away from the building, on her hands and feet before rising to a stand.

Then, she did one of the most sensible things she’d ever done in her life. She ran. One Pelorak she and Spike could take. Five, probably. Ten, they’d have to be in top form, on a really good day. One hundred? Nope, no siree Bob. Not gonna go there, not even gonna try. And never mind the unhinged wizard--she didn’t even want to think about him and his melty badness. It no longer mattered to her how many doors the building had, what its layout was or whether the sun filtered in. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the formidable size of the enemy, and how futile this plan seemed to be all of a sudden.

***

Spike leaned against the counter, propped on the same stool he’d been occupying for the past three hours. Unable to get his mind off the Slayer--he was worried, he could admit that freely and without shame--he’d been staring at the same blank piece of paper forever. He wondered if she’d made it to the port okay. Knowing her, she probably ended up on the wrong side of town...

The sound of the room’s door slamming open startled the vampire. Jumping up out of his seat and knocking it over in the process, he looked over to see a pale, dishevelled Slayer. The vampire opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but no sound came out. All his attention was focussed on the small blonde, who was approaching him with a very unreadable expression.

“Buffy?”

The young woman lifted her fingers to his lips. “Shh, don’t. Just make love to me.” Her mouth crashed against his feverishly, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, her tongue seeking his own out.

Spike knew this had to do with something the Slayer had seen on her field trip. Obviously something bad. Very bad. But he knew better than to put a stop to her actions, when she seemed to need the contact so badly. So he responded in kind, pulling her body close to his until only the breadth of their clothing separated them.

Hands desperate to memorize every inch of skin flew to their clothing, ripping it when its fasteners wouldn’t give way quickly enough. Inch by inch their legs brought them to the massive bed’s edge, bringing them that much closer to the much-needed encounter.

It was all too much yet not enough for Buffy. She wanted it all right away, skin against skin, slick with perspiration, the feel, taste and smell of her lover. But the faster it happened, the sooner it would be over.

And, she was afraid.

Afraid that this would be the last time she’d ever know ecstasy, ever melt under the ministration of her lover. The feel of his hands cupping her breasts, the way his thigh ground against her clit as his hips pressed against hers, the cool sensation of his breath against her lips as he told her over and over again how beautiful she was, how much he loved her.

Every time her mind was assaulted by images of a dark wizard or a mutilated Pelorak, Buffy would hold him closer, whisper “more”, or “harder”, trying to postpone the inevitable apocalypse.

And Spike acquiesced to her every demand. His body was hers, as was his heart and--wherever it was--his soul.

The frenzy of their coupling couldn’t last forever. At last, when they both felt the hitch in their rhythm, they let themselves fall freely over the precipice, holding on to each other as they plummeted.

Spike lay on his back, the Slayer‘s head resting against his chest, soft golden hair tickling his skin. He wondered what it felt like to her, not hearing the heartbeat that should have been pounding beneath her ear. She was unusually quiet, nowhere near as chatty as her usual self. Then again, she hadn‘t really been herself since she‘d walked into the apartment with that frightened look in her eyes.

Whatever she had seen had done a number on the Slayer. Had scared her enough to come running back to his arms, whether or not she’d admit to it. Spike may not have known her intimately for very long, but he knew nonetheless that it wasn’t often that Buffy Summers sought support so desperately.

Deciding to break the silence--as nice as it was--the vampire voiced the question that was on his mind. He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle her. “So, what brought that on? Not that I‘m complaining, mind you.”

Buffy nestled closer to the vampire, clinging to him in a strong grip. She didn’t want to bring up the memory of what she’d witnessed, of the near army of Pelorak, getting stronger, swifter by the moment. And that young man--he could be no other but Evan Blakeford. The way he’d killed without remorse... Despair weighed her down, burning in the pit of her stomach.

“Pet--are you ok?” Spike was beginning to worry. The Slayer hadn’t answered his question. Instead, she acted as if she was alone in the room. Gently, he brushed the back of his fingers against her shoulder. “Buffy, please answer me.”

Buffy sighed and turned her face up towards him. “I’m not sure we’re gonna win this, Spike. What I saw over there, it was.. It wasn’t good. Really not good.” She leaned in towards the hand that was now caressing her face. The constant contact was a relief, and it kept her grounded. “I think they know we’re coming. Not you and me specifically, but the Council. There must have been over a hundred Pelorak--they were training and sharpening their weapons. They looked ready for battle, Spike. How are we supposed to win against that?”

Over a hundred Pelorak... In his century-plus of existence, the vampire couldn’t imagine anything that had ever instilled even an iota of fear into him. Ok, maybe there was that time in Prague. That definitely scared some sense into him--there had been no taunting the mob that night, that was for sure. But apart from Prague, he’d faced death... undeath... redeath?... he’d faced the possible end of his existence numerous times; each time he’d laughed in its face.

But his own niggling doubts were of no consequence. He needed to convince Buffy that it could be done. “Piffle, love. You’ve thwarted apocalypses and prophecies before. I heard about you and the Master--good riddance, by the way. Ol’ grandad got what he deserved, the pontificating batfaced wanker.” Buffy’s giggling made him pause. Obviously his plan to lighten her mood was working. “An’ then there was Angelus. Sent him on his way to hell, like a good little Slayer...”

“Angel...”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but Spike caught the word clearly. “What about Angel, love? It was Angelus you sent back, not the poofter.”

He doesn’t know. Buffy realised that Spike had no idea what had transpired on the bier a few years prior. The searing pain she’d always felt at the memory of her sacrifice was now only a dull ache. Over the time that had spanned since Acathla, she had come to terms with her actions. Angel’s forgiveness had helped, too.

“It was Angel, not Angelus, Spike.” Sigh. “Willow managed to restore his soul, but it was too late--the portal had already been opened. If I hadn’t gone through with it, Acathla and who knows what else would have come through. I... I didn’t have a choice.”

Spike’s heart bled for her. Well, figuratively, anyway. He couldn’t ever imagine putting anyone or anything ahead of the love he had had for Dru (before she left him, the cheating bitch), or Buffy. Cradling her close to him he kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry love. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I truly am.”

Buffy sniffled. “I don’t want to have to go through that again, watch people I love die. Spike, I don’t want to watch you die. I just couldn’t take it, you know?”

“Not gonna happen. I mean, you dropped an organ on me and broke my back, yet here I am, shagging you to unconsciousness...”

“I did not black out! I was sleepy...”

“I know, I‘m just teasin‘ you. But, look. We’ll call the Council, get them involved. With the odds that are against us, they’re going to have to back us up somehow.” When Buffy giggled, he looked at her questioningly.

“Sorry. I just had a funny image pop into my head. An army of Watchers all made up like in Braveheart, but with tweed jackets over their kilts.” She reached up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “But you’re right. I’ll call Amelia and we’ll set up a meeting for first thing tonight.” Stretching, she yawned. “First, though, let’s get some sleep--real sleep, buster. I need to get rid of these stressy feelings.”

***

“What do you mean we’re on our own?!” Buffy and Spike had arrived at the Council of Watchers an hour ago, and had been kept waiting. No one had come by to give them a reason for the delay, not Amelia, not the old bat, and certainly not Travers. They, among others, had been holed up in the board room in an emergency meeting.

And then, when they were finally let in, the two blondes didn’t even have a chance of speaking up before their request was quashed.

Her question was aimed at Travers, who, for once, looked like he was acting on someone else’s orders. Usually immaculately attired and groomed, tonight he... well, he looked like hell, Buffy thought. His eyes looked glassy, his hair was unruly and his tie was askew. Nope, not a good night for the head Watcher, she mused.

The older man sighed and, before answering, caught the eye of another watcher. One who had a smug look on his face. Travers’s lips were stretched thin, as if he were being coaxed into something with which he didn’t wholeheartedly agree. “I’m sorry, Miss Summers, but the Council has limited resources which are already spread thin...”

“Limited resources, my ass! Listen here...”

“No, you listen here, Miss Summers.” It was the smug man. He rose from his leather armchair with an air of importance. His voice was nasal and high pitched--Buffy thought he’d be perfectly cast as the bad guy in a Dickens novel. “Against its better judgement, the Council board of directors agreed with Quentin’s idea of enlisting you and it” he motioned towards Spike, ignoring the bleach blonde’s low growl, “a renegade Slayer and a vampire, to find this child and thwart Evan. If you’re not up to the task, we’ll just have to find champions who are.” He looked around and smiled. A few members were nodding and ‘yes’ing.

Something about the man was familiar to Buffy. It wasn’t just the tweed--she’d seen enough of that since being chosen to last her a lifetime. No, she just... she’d seen him somewhere, and recently at that. Where had she been recently? The Calico, the Pul... the Nex--no, she‘d definitely remember seeing tweed in a demon hangout. That small grocery store, the butcher’s... the museum? No, none of those places either. Then it struck her, in full technicolour. Oh, shit... the shipyards!

Spike couldn’t believe that the Slayer was just standing there after having been interrupted by that pompous prig. All high and mighty with his yes men. How smug would he still be faced with his demon? He was about to open his mouth, to defend their request--and how lame was that, that William the Bloody was reduced to begging the Council of Watchers--when he felt Buffy’s hand on his arm. Her hazel eyes were filled with apprehension and silently asked him to go along with her.

“You know what, guys? You’re absolutely right.” Irritated Man, as she’d dubbed him on her recon mission earlier that day, stopped his posturing out of shock. Travers, Amelia and a few others looked crestfallen, but the room’s general consensus was one of satisfaction. Apparently, they were buying it. In spades. “What kind of a Slayer would I be if I couldn’t at least try to do this on my own? Or, with Spike here? You guys keep your resources, go use them on... well, more important things. We‘ll just be on our way and leave you guys to your tweedy stuff.”

Had he not implicit trust in his Slayer, Spike’s jaw would be as slack as everyone else’s. Instead, he puffed out his chest, making it look like he was brassed off, and grumbled. “Well, that was a waste of my time, Slayer. Let’s get the hell out of here; I’m sick of this place.”

Buffy caught Amelia’s eye before turning around. “Oh, can it will you? You big whiner... It’s not like you had anything better to do with your time. We’ll just be on our merry way, then.”

As they waited to be let back onto the elevator, Spike nudged the Slayer. “Why the hell did you change your mind? We’ll never get...” He cut it short, noticing that Amelia was walking towards them.

Ignoring the vamp--for now, Buffy waited until Amelia was right behind her. Loud enough for anyone to hear, she sighed. “What, you think we’re going to steal the numbers on the elevator pad, or something? Fine, do as you wish.” More quietly, though, she added: “Come with us, ok?”

Never having been slow on the uptake, the watcher opened the door. “Come on, then. You’ve got some planning to do--no dilly-dallying!”

When they were in the elevator, Buffy busied herself by looking around. “Is this thing bugged?”

“No, the surveillance equipment starts at the waiting room just outside the elevator. Buffy, what’s wrong?” Amelia was worried. Every nerve in her body was telling her that something very, very bad was happening for Buffy to have capitulated against Morehead.

“Good.” The young woman pressed the stop button, and the lift clunked to a sudden halt. “This morning I went to the docks, for that recon mission we discussed last night. I found the building that Simon told you about, and I had a chance to look inside. Aside from about a hundred well-armed Pelorak and someone who’s obviously Evan Blakeford, was that idiot from the meeting. The one who told me to buck up and take it like a Slayer.”

“Stewart?! He’s a wanker, but... Are you absolutely sure it was him? Irrevocably positive?” It was more than possible that Blakeford had inside contacts. He would have lured more corruptible watchers with promises of power and wealth. She was upset that Travers, Washburn and the others hadn’t brought it up. But then again, if they suspected it, to whom would they disclose their fears?

“Yes, irrevocably positive. As sure as God made little green apples, Amelia. He was there, in his tweedy evilness, arguing with Blakeford.” Then it struck her, what he’d said. “He’s been pitting people against Travers and the good guys. Split the council, make it weaker, undermine the mission. Why else would he try to convince the Council that Spike and I aren’t up to the task? Because we’re your only hope, that’s why!”

Spike watched with admiration as the Slayer’s back straightened and her chin once again took its upright position. Now there’s my fierce warrior, he thought to himself. This is what it had taken for her to regain confidence. If Blakeford and this Stewart wanker (he gave Amelia bonus points for having used the term) were trying so hard to plant hurdles in their path, then obviously they were fearing the worst.

Amelia smiled, herself proud of the young woman who stood before her. She was the epitome of what a Slayer should be--strong, defiant, sure of herself; actually, if every woman shared those qualities, the world would be a much different place. “This is very big news, then, Buffy. I’ll have to catch Quentin on his own, but I’m sure he’ll hear me out. He’s been rather haggard these past few days; I fear that he may suspect this exact scenario.” Pressing the button that would allow their ride to resume, she looked both of them over. “Quentin was very wise in choosing his champions. Never forget that. Either of you.”

“So, did she call yet?” Buffy barged through the door, grocery bags in hand. She hoped that this would all be over sooner than later--they were running out of money. Did England even have soup kitchens?

Spike’s head peered around the television for a moment before disappearing again. “Yeah. She and Travers, along with a few other Council members--an’ I’m guessing they aren’t members of Stewie’s entourage--will be here later on.” Message delivered, he returned his attention to his football match.

The young woman looked around at their digs and shrieked. “Did they say what time?!” The place looked like a disaster zone: the bed was unmade--really, really unmade, as in ‘mattresses hanging off the side’ unmade; there were clothes lying around; dishes on the coffee table.

“No... Argh! That wasn’t an offside! Get your bloody eyes... hey!” Spike sat up straight the second that the TV went black. “What’s this all about, then?”

Buffy’s eyes were narrow slits. Here she was, cleaning up the mess, and Spike was watching soccer. Typical guy... “What this is all about, then, is that we’re going to have people over here, at some unknown time because someone doesn’t know how to ask questions, and the place is a ‘bloody’ mess!!” She threw an armful of his t-shirts at him, catching him right in the face. “Now pick up your clothing, get it out of sight, and put the dirty dishes in the sink.”

Spike knew when to argue, and when not to. This was definitely the latter. So, grumbling, he gathered the clothing and went off to complete his assigned tasks. He mumbled under his breath, “used to be the bloody scourge of Europe, I’m William the Bloody, for Christ’s sake, fuckin’ stuck here cleaning a hotel room for the Council of Watchers...”

The Slayer rolled her eyes and let him kvetch all he wanted. There was no way she was having Council members--or anyone, for that matter--over in this mess. If there was one thing that Joyce Summers had instilled in her daughter, it was that one’s house (or hotel room, in this case) was an extension of one’s self. While Travers and Amelia were already sold on Buffy and Spike’s capabilities in this assignment, she needed to convince the others that weren’t relying on a spoiled brat and an undead slob.

And a clean apartment--with the cheese, crackers and appetizer fixins she’d picked up, just in case--would help project that image.

***

This watcher business was not new to Sylvia Washburn. She was a fifth generation watcher, third generation board member. Vampires, demons, Slayers--she had it all down pat. But, as she sat in a living room at the Sheffield Arms, she couldn’t help but feel that her whole world had fallen over on its ear.

The Slayer’s accusations against Stewart were grave. His own seniority and standing in the Council were even higher than Sylvia‘s; to boldly suggest that he was in league with darker powers was a serious insinuation. But she had given her word to Quentin and the others that she would remain open-minded until every detail was aired.

And, watching the scene in the kitchen through its reflection in the window, she had to be nothing but open-minded. Leaning over to pick up a carrot stick off of a tray, her eyes were glued on the Slayer and her vampire. There was no doubt that they were intimate: William gently laid his hand on Miss Summer’s lower back every time he needed to squeeze by in the tight quarters where they were working; when they weren’t quietly talking one blonde always had their eyes on the other; and then, of course, there was the moment when the vampire pressed the young woman up against the refrigerator, hands roaming and lips against her neck. If the notion of anyone being touched by a vampire didn’t revolt her so much, Sylvia might just have found herself flushed by what she’d witnessed.

So much passion, so much... love?

Shaking her head, the older woman snapped out of the voyeuristic trance. Her eyes darted to Quentin’s and, judging by the look he gave her, his mind was reeling with similar conclusions.

***

Buffy stared at the tray of cheese. She’d opted for Stilton, Gloucester and--her safe favourite--marble. Others could have all the stinky cheese they wanted; as far as she was convinced, whatever was left was heading for the garbage before she went to bed. “Do you think I put enough? I mean, I don’t want to put too much and make them think I’m trying too hard, but I want to put enough so I don’t look like I’m cheap or anything...”

She bit her lip and turned to the vampire, who was busy plopping pate onto the other tray. “Hey! Be careful with those--put them nicely.” She began to rearrange them, but her hand was smacked.

He was going to either kill something or throw himself out the window. Ever since she’d returned from the grocer’s, Buffy had been like a woman with a mission. The Hellmouth’s own twisted version of Martha Stewart. “Slayer, if you start fiddlin’ with anything else, I’m going to lose it. The trays are stocked just enough, and are pretty enough for the bloody Council. By the look on their faces when they walked in, they’re already more than impressed with you. So for the love of Christ, let’s get on with the talking so we can get some quiet time. All these watchers are making my nerves sing.” Grabbing a tray, he nodded towards the living room. “Now come on, and quit stalling.”

She didn’t know how he did it, but the bleached vampire always saw through her. And right now was no different, even with a roomful of watchers present. Sighing, she tossed a bunch of toothpicks on the cheese tray and picked it up. It was finally time to find out the Council’s position, and what she stood to gain from them.

Although she hadn’t expected so many Council members to show up at the hotel room, Buffy feared that these nine people were the only ones who hadn’t yet fallen to Stewie’s (great, now she was even thinking like Spike) ruse. While the cheese tray made its first round, she decided to break the ice. Fighting back the urge to start with ‘Hi, my name is Buffy and I have a thing for vampires’, she cut straight to the issue at hand.

“Ok. Someone’s going to tell me that we have a kick ass plan, that we have access to unlimited resources, and that you guys are the few elected by all the others in our corner to come to this meeting.” When all she got was a couple of blank stares, some sheepish half-smiles and even more averted gazes she started over. “Didn’t think that was gonna work.” Turning to the Council head, she asked him to put them all on the same page.

Quentin Travers ran his hand through his short greying hair. The time for posturing had passed and he didn’t even try to keep up any sense of decorum. “I’m afraid, Miss Summers, that those you see present are the only members whom I trust enough to be invited to this assembly. Stewart has been very busy poisoning the minds of Council members with seeds of dissention. A veritable Wormtongue, he’s become.”

Buffy turned to Spike, who snickered at the older man’s allusion. Giving him a ’well, out with it’ stare, she silently asked him to share.

“It’s Tolkien, pet. Too long a story for this shindig. I‘ll tell you about it later”

Travers bit back a compliment. There was no way he was going to give the master vampire the satisfaction of knowing he was impressed. “In consequence, you can imagine that our resources are rather... scant. To tell you the truth, we haven’t come up with a viable plan in regards to the prophecy.”

The Slayer immediately began to pace the limited floor space. Back and forth she walked, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed. Finally she stopped and faced her guests. “Well, we’ll just have to start at the beginning, then, won’t we?” She turned to Spike. “Could you grab a pen and a notepad or something? Your handwriting’s way better than mine...”

The vampire shrugged and got up, rummaging through the kitchen counters for something on which to jot down notes. He ignored the Council members’ stares--so he did as Buffy bade, no questions asked. It was no use arguing with her when she was in Slayer mode; anyway, of what use would it be to bicker? They were up shit creek without a paddle--no use trying to rock the boat on top of it.

When Spike was back in his seat--well, the floor, actually, seeing as all the seats were already taken by watchers--Buffy began. “We need to take note of all the resources we have. How many people, weapons, books... anything we can think of. It’s no use trying to come up with a workable plan if we don’t know what lies at our fingertips.”

***

The next two hours passed by quickly, as everyone gathered in the room put their heads together, trying to come up with a list of anything that would help them with their mission.

Buffy groaned. “Are you sure you can’t provide us with even ten guys that can help us fight the Pelorak? I mean, Spike and I are strong, but there’s no way that we can fight so many of them--never mind Blakeford on top of that.”

As Travers went into his third explanation of why the Council of Watchers didn’t keep an army of fighters on reserve, Spike noticed that Amelia seemed to want to speak up. She’d opened her mouth a few times, but had remained silent. Locking gazes with her, he interrupted the older man’s nattering. “Seems like someone’s got something to say.” Nodding towards the other woman, he raised his scarred eyebrow as an invitation to speak.

Amelia cleared her throat. All eyes were on her, and she didn’t quite know how she felt about that. She was frank with Travers, but she’d never been given the opportunity to join in with so many higher Council members. “I may have an idea, but I’m not sure how it’s going to be received.”

“Hey, right now anything’s better than the nada we’ve got.” Buffy was eager to hear a fresh idea after having the same crap rehashed over the past couple of hours.

Ok, here goes... “Well, Council may not have the resources to join Buffy and William on the battlefield, but we do have the resources to help them help themselves.” She’d expected the blank stares, so she went on with her oft-practiced explanation. “If we are able to increase their ability to cope with Evan and his army, it will be as if they actually have backup. Why can’t we get Ruth to teach Buffy a few spells--basic protection and self-healing spells can be taught to a beginner.”

Spike remained silent among the tumult that ensued. Aside from the Slayer, whose eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of magic, most present nixed the idea. “No Slayer has ever dabbled in magic”, “That’s a preposterous suggestion”, “How are basic spells supposed to help against Evan”... Strangely enough, though, Travers had also remained silent. The vampire watched him carefully, the older man’s eyes closed, lips pursed, index finger and thumb pressed against his forehead.

The sound of his voice, quiet as it was, brought silence to the room. “While unorthodox, Amelia’s suggestion is the most workable of the ones that have been brought up this evening. Miss Summers has the same potential for magic as any novice, due to the mystical nature of her powers. I agree that it wouldn’t be my first choice as a plan, but we are working with a very time-sensitive mission. Two days from now, Buffy will meet with Ruth at an assigned location for her first lesson.” Sternly, he interrupted the beginnings of more protests. “There will be no arguing. A decision has been made.”

A voice broke the silence that ensued. “And what about me? How the hell am I supposed to deal with a bloody army of Pelorak? Click my heels together three times and wish myself back to the hotel?!”

If his countenance hadn’t been grim before, by now Travers looked downright ashen. “You leave that detail up to me, William. When the time comes, your challenge will have been vastly altered.” He left it to that, and was glad the vampire didn’t question him.

At that, the Council members began to prepare to leave. Most were unsettled with the decisions that had been made, but resigned to trust their faith in the Head of Council. He had led them through some serious situations and was yet to let them down.

***

The door closed after the last departing guest, and Buffy quickly snapped the deadbolt into place. She turned to survey the room, let herself fall back against the door with a thud and groaned at the mess. “Ugh... I’m never going to bed.” Walking around the room, she began to gather up half-empty trays.

“Pet, just throw them into the fridge. You can worry about them later.” Spike followed her, gathering glasses and used napkins. Council members may be rich, but they certainly didn’t clean up after themselves. “Right now, you need sleep. That training’s going to wear you out--magic required immense concentration and if you don’t have at least one day to rest, you won’t be able to keep up.”

Closing the refrigerator door, the young woman sighed. “You’re right. All I need right now is a fluffy pillow, nice warm blankets and a special someone to snuggle up against.” She made her way to the bedroom as the vampire turned the lights off, imagining Willow’s jealousy at her official training. This was going to be so much fun...

***

Seated in his conservative black Mercedes sedan, Quentin Travers stared at his cell phone. He’d dialled the number--he still remembered it, after all these years--but was yet to press ‘send’. Sighing, he finally pressed it, knowing he had no other choice. Buffy and William depended on it; the baby depended on it; the world depended on it.

Three rings and someone finally picked up the line. “’Ello?”

*Sigh* He would have preferred to never hear that voice ever again. “It’s me.”

The other man seemed delighted, but in a self-important way. Voice teeming with false propriety, he chuckled. “Well, well. Never thought I’d ever hear from you again. And how are you doing, dear old Quentin?”

Travers ignored the taunt. “I need a... favour.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “There’s something that that I need you to do, and don’t bloody well ask me any questions. You know I wouldn’t contact you if it wasn’t of dire importance.”

There was a pause at this, as if the other held back a snide remark or two. All false pretence aside, his voice was now as cold as the Council Head’s. “Fine. I said I owed you one and, as much as you’d love to disagree, I’m a man of my word. What is it you need?”

Travers explained his requirements in fine detail to the man, glad that he’d allowed him to go straight to business. Sometimes, dealing with him was more than it was worth. “And it has to be done tonight.”

“Tonight?! Are you insane? How do you expect me to gather my resources on such short notice? Two, maybe three nights from now, but...”

“Two or three nights from now you’re going to be as knee deep in shit as the rest of the world, if this doesn’t get done tonight!” He didn’t lose his temper or swear often, but Quentin’s patience did have its limits. “Now, it gets done tonight. Do you understand?”

Resigned to agree--Lord knew what kind of apocalypse they were facing this time, the man let out a frustrated breath. “Yes. I understand. It will be done tonight, as you have ‘requested’. But that’s the last favour you’ll ask of me, big brother.”

The line went dead and Travers let his head fall onto the steering wheel, both relieved and nervous. This had to work, or they stood no chances at winning.

The two blondes sat at the edge of their seats, eyes glued to the scene unfolding on the television. They’d received an anonymous phone call earlier in the morning urging them to watch the twelve o’clock news and, although they’d had some doubts as to the veracity of the call, were now riveted to the screen.

On the screen, the fire could be seen from the viewpoint of a news helicopter. The location seemed familiar to Buffy, who had been experiencing more déjà vu these past few days than ever.

The images changed from the fire to stock footage of what the building once looked like, along with a background story on the company. Jumping up onto her feet, Buffy screamed, pointing to the television. “Aha! I knew I recognized the building. It’s where I saw Blakeford and the Pelorak!” Sobering up, she stopped her bouncing around. “Wow. I wonder if one of Blakeford’s spells went wonky or something...”

“Bloody hell...” Spike fell back against the couch’s cushions, his hand loosely covering his mouth. “I never imagined the old man had it in him.”

Huh?! The Slayer poked the vampire in the shoulder. Her voice tinged with more than a bit of aggravation, she drew an imaginary circle in the air. “See this? It’s a loop. Guess who’s out of it. Again...”

Rubbing his shoulder--damn, but she had pointy fingers--the bleached blonde explained. “Remember last night, when I was griping about how I’m supposed to go up against a hundred Pelorak?”

“Oh, so you finally admit you whine, huh?” It was just too tempting for Buffy--he’d left himself wide open with that one.

“Fuck off, Summers. Now, do you remember or not?”

“Sheesh! Talk about don’t poke the angry bear. Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

Spike gave her an exacerbated look. Speaking as if to a child, he asked: “Do you remember what Travers said?” Truly, he loved her, but sometimes he wondered if her brain had an on/off switch.

At least Buffy had the decency to blush. “Well, no. Amelia and I were discussing the blankets Hetty put on the bed...”

Why even bother to groan out loud? “He said something like ’Don’t worry about it, your task will be greatly altered’ or some such rot. Or so I thought.” Nodding towards the TV, he continued. “Pretty obvious, innit? The watcher’s responsible for the blaze.” More to himself, he also mumbled something about Pelorak casualties.

“Well, I just hope the baby wasn’t in there, cause that would be bad.” She didn’t mention it, but the Slayer was also impressed with Travers. It was now obvious that he had way more balls than she’d thought, and wasn’t afraid to hit hard when necessary.

“I doubt it, love. The warlock wouldn’t have held the baby in the warehouse--too obvious. He’s probably got it holed up in a house in the middle of suburbia somewhere.”

There was a silence as each blonde ruminated on the significance of that morning’s event.

Shaking out of her reverie, Buffy began cleaning up after their lunch. Picking up plates and glasses--and leaving a half-drunk mug of blood behind--she went across the room to the kitchen. “You’re gonna have to find something quiet to do for a while. I have to practice my meditation for tomorrow. As cool as learning magic is going to be, I’m going to have a sucker of a headache if I’m not in the right mindset.”

The vampire nodded and got up off the couch, stretching. “I’ll go take a bit of a walk--see if Hetty needs any help with anything.” Not for the first time, nor the last, he groaned inwardly at his newfound sense of helpfulness. Whipped didn’t even cover it...

***

Buffy licked her lips and rubbed her hands together. “Ok, I know I can do this.” Her eyes glanced over to Spike, who was reclining on a chair. She could tell he was biting back a smile and growled at him. “Quit looking at me like that! I’d like to see you try this--feeling your aura isn’t exactly easy you know.”

Ruth, the witch who was very patiently trying to teach the Slayer the basics, closed her eyes and counted to ten. She should have meditated for two full hours that morning, just to get that much more patience. They really should have told her about the vampire peanut gallery. Just as she opened her mouth to remind both blondes of this lesson’s importance, Miss Bishop walked into the room. Thank the goddesses for small favours... “Amelia! How nice of you to come by!”

Amelia nearly laughed out loud at the look on Ruth’s face. Her eyes were pleading, and the young watcher knew exactly why. She’d been listening through the door for the past few minutes, snickering at the blonde duo’s bickering and the witch’s exasperated sighs. “Hello, everyone. I just came by to see if William might like to go for a short walk--take a look around the Council.”

Yeah, sure. Spike wasn’t missing this for the world. “Sorry ducks, this is much more entertaining than a bunch of old goats dusting books.”

Well, she‘d known it wouldn‘t be that easy. Time to dangle the carrot... “Pity. I thought you might like to see the pub that’s on the fifth floor. It’s just been renovated--they added two new snooker tables.” When the vampire’s head shot up, eyes glowing like a tot’s on Christmas morning, she knew she’d said the magic word. But, just in case... “And they’ve got Guinness on tap.”

Before she knew what was happening, Amelia was being dragged out of the room by an eager vampire.

“Yeah, might as well leave the Slayer to her witchin’ lessons. Needs all kind of uh... concentration and the like.” Beer and snooker. This watcher knew the way to a bloke’s heart.

***

“You knew that beer and games were the only way you could have pried me from that room, didn’t you?” As they made their way through the stuffy hallways, lined with paintings of even stuffier Heads of Council, Spike had had time to think. He turned his gaze to the woman walking beside him, snickering when he saw her bite back a self-assured smile.

“Of course I did. Buffy’s lessons were going nowhere with you present as a distraction and, anyway, I kind of fancied myself some snooker.” Although that was partly the truth, Amelia never mentioned that she was itching to get to know the vampire better. It wasn’t every day that one got to spend time with one of the older demons, especially not one of Spike’s notoriety. That and his presence in the pub would cause quite a stir...

She knew bringing him there was a gamble, what with the rift that Stewart had created within the Council. But she could always fall on the babysitting excuse--after all, she was a junior watcher. She was always stuck with the menial tasks.

When they entered the tavern, Spike had to stifle a whistle. The Council sure knew how to spend its money. “Pretty posh digs, here, watcher,” he commented quietly. The room itself wasn’t all that vast, but its construction and adornment were lavish. Oak-panelled walls, hardwood herringbone flooring, antique chairs and tables, two huge snooker tables. Spike was temporarily set aback at the size of the tables; he’d been used to the smaller tables on which Americans played pool.

The vampire turned to the far end of the room, where a table of five older men--obviously watchers, judging by their stuffy suits--had turned to watch them enter. Spike grinned widely and waved, hollering a greeting in their direction. He laughed out loud when Amelia grabbed him by the sleeve to steer him away from the others, rolling her eyes and telling the insolent vampire to behave.

The two found themselves a table set apart from other patrons, more than happy for a little privacy. Spike gestured for Amelia to sit down and offered to get their drinks. Although she was chuffed at the offer, the watcher couldn’t help but be wary of the intentions behind it. Deciding to let this one ride out--she was more than curious to find out what the vampire had up his sleeve--she just smiled and indicated that a pint of whatever was on tap would be fine.

Spike chuckled to himself as he walked over to the bar. Lucky day, he thought to himself--the bartender was a woman. Turning the charm up to 11, he swaggered over to the counter and smiled at the brunette. “Evenin’, pet.”

Wow. Was this guy for real? Molly bit back a groan as she watched the bleached blonde try to win her over. God, these men. They all thought that women should swoon at their feet just because they were well-built, or good-looking. Well, at least this one was, on both counts--he sure beat out the old crusty watchers who tried to get her attention every day. But it didn’t really matter, since he wasn’t exactly her cuppa. She’d have to tell Carol about him--they’d share a good laugh over dinner.

But he looked like a nice enough bloke, so she smiled back at him. “Evenin’ to you, too. What can I get for you?”

The vampire toned it down a bit when her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. After a hundred and twenty years or so, a guy learns to read body language. Well, some do... “The watcher,” he nodded towards Amelia, “would like whatever you’ve got on tap. As for me, I’ve got a bit of a special request.”

Molly raised an eyebrow in question as she poured the draught into a mug. Please don’t let it be one of those bloody cosmopolitan drinks they serve downtown...

As coolly as he could, Spike leaned over the bar, eyes darting to the myriad bottles lined up in a row. Good thing there wasn‘t the eternal mirror or his joke would have been up before he could have pulled it. “Wonderin’ if you’ve got any O-Neg you can serve up? Been a while since I’ve had something fresh.” Of course, the vampire was just fishing for a reaction. Surprise, fright, anger... it would all have been funny. But he never expected the nonchalant ‘of course’ the bartender threw him.

Great. A vampire. A royal smart ass, so-full-of-himself demon. Molly knew that he was playing her, waiting to see her reaction. But she‘d seen much stranger things than vampires in this place--old men weren‘t the only things that sidled up to the oak counter. Giving him a what she hoped passed for a genuine smile. “Why don’t you sit back down, and I’ll bring your drinks over?”

Now it was the vampire’s turn to hide his surprise. Blood served to him at the Watcher’s Council? Human blood?! He nodded to her and turned away, muttering a couple of ‘bloody hell’s on the way.

Shaking her head, the bartender crouched behind the counter. O-Negative he wants, ‘O-Negative’ he gets, she mused, grabbing a bottle of Clamato and a frosted glass.

***

“This isn’t working. I suck at magic...” Buffy pouted, discouraged by her inability to feel her aura. Logically, it was an easy task. Close your eyes, empty yourself of all thoughts, all worries--it was just like meditating with Giles. Although she often had trouble with that one, too. But it was the next step--the ‘getting in touch with your inner self’ bit that had her frustrated.

“Buffy, you can’t be so hard on yourself. Magic isn’t something that is easily tapped, especially when it’s as difficult to reach as yours is. A Slayer relies heavily on her physical abilities--in this sense, you have a vastly superior prowess to the average human. But somewhere deep inside of you is a more mystical side, and we just have to find a way to help you find it.” Ruth smiled warmly at her young charge. “Now, maybe we can try this a different way. Close your eyes, and imagine yourself fighting. You’re surrounded by demons and you feel adrenaline surging through your entire being. Think of where this power comes from, try to trace it back to its source...”

***

“I still don’t think it was that bloody funny...” Spike pouted, then took another sip of his beer. He’d been had, royally had, with the Clamato. Nearly spit it all over the watcher, too.

And, watching her wipe tears of laughter from her eyes, he regretted not having done so.

“Oh, but it was!” Amelia had never seen anything so funny in her life. Not even when her brother Richard had stolen a wagonful of cabbages from old Mrs. Northamp’s field, and stuffed them in the neighbourhood’s mailboxes. The look on William’s face when he took a sip of his ’blood’... well, it was priceless. Surprise, then disbelief, then nausea; so many emotions flitted over his face as his mind--and mouth--processed the liquid he had ingested. “The look on your face, it was... it was...” Unable to find a fitting adjective, she just began to laugh anew.

Groaning in desperation, the vampire put his face in his hands. He’d wanted to attract attention to himself? Well, he’d succeeded. The table of watchers at the other end of the pub were craning their necks, trying to see what all the fuss was about. Managing to utter a few muffled curses, he lifted his head back up, eyes flashing amber as a warning. “This had better not make it to that damned diary of yours.” Of course, it was more of a plea with a bit of threat than anything too serious.

Calming down a little, Amelia decided that the vampire had been taunted long enough. It was time to make amends. She nodded towards the billiards table closest to them. “Up for a game?”

Relieved that the watcher was finally turning from his humiliation to their main reason for being there, Spike nodded curtly and got up, beer in hand. As the game began he couldn’t fathom the easy camaraderie he shared with Amelia. She was a watcher, but unlike any one he’d ever met. Even Rupert, who was about as far from what a watcher should be, was stuffy and priggish compared to her. Her easy going attitude made it easy for him to open up to her as he would to a good friend.

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when their conversation, always kept at a very low level--no use having the others hear them--turned to more personal musings.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Now you’re jumping to silly conclusions.” The young woman pulled her cue back and hit the ball. Although it hit its target, the second ball missed the corner pocket by a fraction. Ugh. I always miss that blasted left pocket...

“Look, Watcher, I’m not stupid. Been around too long not to be able to see through something like this. I’m being sent in as the muscle; it’s up to me to keep everything away from the Slayer while she does her job. Kill the baddie, get the baby, save the day--that’s her thing. Mine’s killin’ things.” Spike leaned in against the table, lining up his next shot. “Anyway, it’s the easiest way for the Council to get rid of me, innit? Stack the odds so I don’t make it?”

Amelia took a step back, allowing the vampire room to move to take his shot. She was taken aback at the calmness with which he was discussing the potential end to his existence. But the slight waver in his movements, leading to a missed shot, belied his relaxed demeanour. Her next words were almost a whisper; she couldn‘t afford to have any of the other patrons hear their conversation. “Then why would Travers have ordered the explosion at the warehouse?”

Spike knew she was trying to change his thoughts, to shed a new light on things, but this was the Council and every shred of his being mistrusted it. “Simple. If the odds against me are too great, I won’t be able to hold them off long enough.” When the watcher’s mouth opened again, he cut her off. “Look. I’m not saying this is gonna be the last of me--I’m gonna do my damnedest to walk out of there with Buffy and the baby. But odds are just as good that I won’t. And if that happens...” He let out a breath and cast his gaze to the pub’s floor. It took everything to bring his eyes back up to meet with the watcher’s worried face. “And if that happens, I want you to take care of Buffy. Give her a vacation or something--send her somewhere warm and sunny. She needs a break from all the darkness, you know... She’s like sunshine--it’s a bloody poncey thing to say, but it’s true. It’s like there’s something inside of her that keeps her above all the horrible things she has to live with, and I don’t want that light to ever go out.”

Amelia was speechless. There was no longer any doubt that Spike loved Buffy. After the meeting two nights ago, a few members voiced thoughts that the vampire was using the impressionable young woman (which was also a load of ballyhoo--Buffy was anything but naive) for his own purposes. Whatever those could be. William the Bloody was too well known for being rash and impatient; spending so much time by the Slayer’s side, playing sidekick, biding his time, didn’t fit his style.

And then an idea struck her. Something that would be even less popular than her magic proposal. But even if she had to resort to steal, she would make sure that the vampire had the best chance of coming out of this fight in one piece. “William, I’ll do everything I can to make sure that Buffy survives. But I’ll also do everything I can to have you there for her, to leave the care of her ‘light‘ up to you.” Leaning in even closer to him, she pretended to reach for the chalk.

“Have you ever heard of the gem of Amarra?”

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