Chapter 56:

“Ran into a bit of trouble,” Alric murmured to Spike while transferring Buffy into his sire’s arms. “Sorry. Couldn’t be avoided.”

“Angelus,” Spike muttered, having caught the scent of the elder vampire on his childe. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Not too bright, your grandsire. Idiot tried to take me on even after I had my sword out and pointed straight at him.”

Spike snorted.

“Anyway, I knocked him out and left him there.” At Spike’s quirked brow, he explained. “Just a little love tap. Enough to see us safely away. He’s probably already awake and gone by now.” He didn’t mention the fact that the Slayer hadn’t wanted him to dust the overbearing vampire. “Anyway… I’m sure Buffy is still dealing with the effects of the spell that brought you both back and would like to get cleaned up.” Alric refrained from wrinkling his nose at the foul odor staining both his and her clothes. The sewer tunnels, for all their smells and sludge, did afford their group daytime mobility… besides, he’d smelled a lot worse over the years.

Spike nodded at the other vamp and glanced down at his wife. She’d barely moved after having been placed in his arms. The agitation he’d sensed permeating her body when the pair had first shown up subsided the moment the steel doors had slid shut, sealing them off from the outside world. The tension coiled tight within her petite frame melting away now that she knew she was safe. And he couldn’t help but smile softly as she started to fall asleep nestled against his chest.

“Come on, luv. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

She murmured something that sounded like an affirmative as she dozed, and Spike moved off, leaving the others to seek their own beds. Not surprised that the Slayer was too drained to even notice or question her friend’s absence.

~*~*~*~*~

“Why am I so tired?” Buffy complained plaintively to Spike while she stood unmoving beneath the hot spray, frowning because, unlike her, he seemed to have already gotten over his malaise.

“Your body got the brunt of the spell. Stands to reason it’s gonna take you a bit longer to recover,” he explained, his hands continuing to lather her body with soap, running them over muscles a little too tense for his liking. ‘Bloody magicks,’ he grumbled to himself.

Rather than chance Buffy getting hurting in her weakened state, he’d shed his clothes right along with the Slayer and climbed in shower behind her, telling himself that he was just going to get her washed up, then dried off and tucked into their bed. That she was too drained from her watcher’s spell to do anything more than curl up next to him and rest.

Just thinking about the spell caused his hands to tighten about the Slayer’s arms. His eyes sought the latest insult to the pale flesh of her neck. The set of marks he’d given her were jagged and would take a bit longer to heal than usual, but finesse had been the furthest thing from his mind once she’d started to weave at the dinner table, rising unsteadily to her feet and using both hands to clutch at her temples in pain. He’d panicked as her complexion had gone paler than normal, the plaintive mewl forced out through pursed lips something he could do without hearing for another hundred years. Something had triggered in his mind then, the reason behind his disappearance along with her own, and he’d had only a few seconds to lunge towards her neck and bite deep before they’d both been sucked into some type of vortex and disappeared. The bursting kaleidoscope of colors that had happen next was blinding in their intensity, causing both Slayer and vampire to pass out. Coming to on the cold, cement floor inside the warehouse that had started it all.

Spike could only imagine what his childer had gone through at their abrupt departure from the dining hall of their Scotland estate. The sense of loss they’d felt. The last thing he’d seen before his fangs had latched onto the Slayer’s throat and his eyes closed shut as the delicious tang of her blood tempted his palate was the concerned gazes of each member of his clan staring fixatedly at Buffy.

When the group had made the Highlands their latest home, almost fifty years had passed since that fateful night on the open seas. Fifty years that had created a false sense of security amongst the clan. But, as the years had passed with no sign from the Powers as to their return to the future, Spike had thought he and Buffy were meant to stay in the past with the others. Drifting from country to country, maintaining the balance.

In the beginning – just after they’d taken control of the pirate ship, in fact – both he and the Slayer had taken great pains to tell the clan all that they could remember about Sunnydale. Even going so far as to write everything down in a journal to have some record of it, if need be. But, as the years became decades, countries and languages started to blur. And Sunnydale, and everyone in it, became a distant memory.

Now, as he stepped beneath the spray, washing off the artificially scented soap from his and the Slayer’s body, he couldn’t help grieve for what they’d lost. For what they’d been brought back to. Neither he nor Buffy needed the reminders of what they’d left behind. They’d forged a new life in the past, and being dragged back now… it was going to force both of them to deal with things that were long since dead and buried.

Not liking the direction of his thoughts, Spike spun the Slayer around and pinned her against the wall. She was his. And nothing, or no one, was going to change that.

He growled possessively; one hand grasped her thigh and dragged it up along his leg so that she could grip his waist. The sleepy look left her eyes, and her pink tongue darted out to trace her lips in anticipation. It surprised him sometimes, the way she looked at him. Whether he reached for her, or vice versa. Her eyes would lighten for a split second, then darken perceptively as desire – never very far from the surface – took hold. She’s stare at him like she was doing right now, as if she wasn’t complete unless he was filling her, arms and legs entwined while their bodies moved together to reach the pinnacle of pleasure. And the look of love she bestowed upon him in the aftermath of their mutual desire, the way she curled up next to his body, murmuring her love for him….filled him with such peace.

Spike gasped a muffled oath that could have been her name when her hand suddenly closed around his shaft and started pumping it from base to tip and back again. Not that he’d needed any further stimulus. His cock had been rock hard from the moment she’d slipped out of her plaid dress and stepped beneath the shower, the water having instantly drenched her hair and then sliding in rivulets down her breasts, belly, and beyond.

His eyes closed, and he gave himself over to the pleasure of her touch. The sensation, something close to nirvana, as one hand worked his length while the other reached down to fondle his balls. Rolling them. Testing their weight. Slowly driving him out of his mind. He needed to be inside her. Filling her. Possessing her. Claiming her.

He needed….

“Fuck me, Spike. Make me yours again.” She bit his earlobe after voicing that demand. Her body reacting to the sense of urgency she felt in him. His need to reaffirm their bond, their commitment to one another, in the uncertainty of being brought back.

Yeah. That’s what he needed. Taking what she so freely offered.

Spike braced himself to take her weight, then gripped her other thigh and lifted her off the ground. He spread her legs wide and shifted closer, nudging her core with the head of his cock.

“Ready for me, Slayer?” he growled, and when Buffy looked up at his face, her eyes softened for a second at seeing amber eyes gazing down at her, uncertainty mixed with a need to dominate – his demon desperate to demonstrate its ownership.

Buffy didn’t answer, just tilted her head meekly to the side and bared her neck to his gaze, showing her husband without words to whom she belonged. Her legs tightened about his waist, drawing him closer, and a second later he’d rammed his way home, the force of his entry driving her back against the tiles – forcing a gasp from her. His grip on her was punishing, his deep thrusts bordering on painful. But, she wasn’t going to stop him. Knowing that he needed this. Her complete submission in the face of this new, uncertain reality. That she was his one constant.

She heard his possessive growl and a second later his fangs had sliced into her throat, and then he was drawing deeply. Huge gulps of her blood that struck a cord deep within her pussy. Driving her closer to climax.

Spike snarled against her throat as her muscles contracted around his length. Combined with the taste of her blood, he was soon roaring his release.

“Mine!” he growled around her throat, to which she could do nothing but nod in supplication.

His demon finally appeased by her acquiescence to his claim, Buffy felt him shudder against her, having managed to gain control. Yet, he refused to lift his head from where it was buried against her neck after having retracted his fangs and licking the wound closed.

“Sorry, luv,” he managed to whisper against her throat after a time, unable to look at her in the aftermath of his brutal possession.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Spike.” Her fingers threaded in his hair, drawing his head back and forcing him to look at her. He stared down at her, eyes full of remorse, their bodies still intimately joined. “I love you.” She caressed the ridges on his brow, smiling at the way he leaned into the touch, his chest rumbling softly in appreciation. A sound she never got tired of hearing.

The water grew cold and Spike reluctantly pulled away, turning off the water, much to the Slayer’s disappointment. She allowed him to help her from the shower and bundle her up in a towel, sighing happily, if somewhat longingly, when he easily lifted her in his arms and made for their room.

After he’d tucked her into bed, Buffy was set to curl up against his side and sleep, but her husband seemed to have other plans. Diving beneath the covers with the comment he had something to see to. A second later, she felt his hands on her thighs, then the cool touch of his tongue tempting her nether regions. And she gave silent thanks that Spike wasn’t one to leave a lady hanging.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel snarled as he paced back and forth in his living room, waiting for the sun to set. He’d debating returning to Drusilla’s side to try and glean more information from his crazed childe. She had, after all, been correct in guiding him back to the warehouse in time for Spike and Buffy’s reappearance. Her incoherent babblings about returning to the place had taken him a while to decipher, but the moment she’d started talking about light and where it all began, he’d known. But, even his childe’s special ability to “talk to the stars,” as she was wont to call it, wouldn’t keep him from tearing her head from her shoulders in his frustration over the situation with Buffy. Just seeing how she’d rested so comfortably in the arms of a killer was shocking enough, but for her to claim the vampire as her own?

Jealousy and rage were fighting for equal dominance of his emotions.

Never mind the fact of how easily he’d been beaten by the younger-looking vamp.

True, it had been stupid to attempt to take him on when he’d already been holding a weapon, pointed towards the ground, yet no less threatening. But, his rage and astonishment had prevented him from realizing his age. That the vampire was a Master in his own right, and not one of the numerous fledglings flooding the Hellmouth. His thoughts to disarm the bastard had met with an embarrassingly easy dressing down on his part.

Another thing to add to his list of grievances.

He stilled suddenly as the weight of the situation hit him. They had a new player on the Hellmouth, one obviously involved in some way with the Slayer.

He had to get to Buffy’s watcher. And fast.

~*~*~*~*~

With a snort of disgust, Giles pushed away the book he was reading. He’d been staring at the same page for so long that the print had started to blur. He didn’t know why he was bothering with Vampyric History, A Watcher’s Tale, but put it down to trying to make a better impression on the newest Slayer. After all, watchers researched, right?

But his mind wasn’t on his task. No, his thoughts were consumed with his own Slayer, not the one making use of his spare bed upstairs. Something in Buffy’s manner wasn’t sitting well with him. It wasn’t anything specific she’d said, discounting the foreign sounding mumblings when she’d first reappeared, sprawled on the warehouse floor. Rather, it was the way in which she spoke that had him stumped. Her lack of teenaged colloquialisms and slang that was so much the norm in her conversations.

The tea he’d been drinking suddenly wasn’t strong enough libation for his contemplations, and he stood up from the small table and crossed to the kitchen to pour himself a health dose of whiskey. This he knocked backed in one gulp, then poured himself another, sipping at it more leisurely as was intended with fine liquor. With one hand firmly around his snifter, he used the other to draw his glasses off, unconsciously sticking one of the ends of the frame in his mouth as he silently ruminated about his Slayer’s condition.

As he paced about the lower levels of his apartment, he went over every aspect of his encounter with Buffy. From the moment she’d reappeared, up until he and the two children had departed her mother’s home. Every word, every gesture, was fodder for his silent deliberation.

The sun dipped on the horizon, not that he noticed, as he replayed each event over and over. And, two things stuck out in his mind. The first was that Buffy had, indeed, seemed to almost struggle with speaking. The second, and he’d only just now realized it, was that she seemed almost stiff in their presence, like she wasn’t exactly sure of her place with them.

Giles drew up short, went to take another swig of his drink, and realized that it was empty. He started towards the kitchen to add another two fingers to his glass, but the sudden pounding on his door diverted his attention. Replacing the spectacles on his nose, he started for his front door, placing his empty glass on the table along the way.

The pounding continued; someone was obviously very intent on seeing him, and his pace increased to reach the front portal before it could be knocked off its hinges.

When he opened the door, he drew back in surprise. Angel was standing there, and he looked none to pleased.

“Angel? What—”

“It’s Buffy,” the brooding vampire interrupted, indicating with a tilt of his head, a desire to be let inside.

“What… oh… do come in…” Giles stepped back out of the doorway to allow Angel to enter.

~*~*~*~*~

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Adam eyed the TV monitor that showed the watcher’s front door. He stood up from his chair and moved off towards the bedrooms. It was time to rouse the others and plan their strategy.
 

Chapter 57:

Buffy and Spike were the last to arrive in the meeting room, the Slayer a step or two in front of her husband as they walked down the short hall leading from their bedroom. Therefore, everyone seated at the table got a good look at her face when she stepped into the room and a quick glance around revealed the lack of her closest friend present.

“Buffy—” Marcus began, already rising to his feet at her stricken expression.

Spike was faster, though he could have kicked himself for not remembering to tell her before now.  But, after seeing to his wife’s needs, the two had fallen into a restorative slumber, sleeping away the remainder of the daylight hours.  Then Adam had woken them with news of Angel’s arrival at the watcher’s house, and both had hurriedly dressed so the group could map out what they were going to do.

Gripping her shoulders tight before her emotions could get the best of her, he leaned forward, whispering in her ear.  “Close your eyes, luv, and concentrate.  She’s still here.”

Buffy forced herself to do as he asked, breathing deeply to will away the instant anguish, the rising anger, the need for revenge at her friend’s dusting – Renee’s absence having made her think the worst.  Her senses sharpened until only… there!  Faint, but the blood didn’t lie.  She was still alive.

“Where?” she whispered, relieved beyond words.

“New York,” Spike answered immediately.

The adrenaline that had been building within her, left her body in a rush, and she nodded, sagging against his study embrace for a moment.  Whatever had happened to cause the vampiress not to be with the others, the clan wouldn’t have let her just disappear without a trace.

“I’m going.”  Her tone brooked no argument.

“Slayer, I don’t think now’s—”

She pulled away and turned around, staring hard at her husband.  “I’m going.” 

Spike had every intention of seeing Renee brought back.  Knew first hand what Renee meant to his wife.  And if it hadn’t been for this latest development with his grandsire, he would have told everyone to be ready to leave inside the hour.  That they were putting Sunnydale behind them.  But, Angel’s knowledge of the connection between Buffy and one of his childer wasn’t something that could be left unresolved. 

“Sire.”

Adam’s voice broke into his and the Slayer’s silent battle of wills.  Spike looked away, frowning at the vamp for interrupting him.  Adam just gestured to the monitors.

“Bloody hell…”  Now they really couldn’t leave.  He turned back to see his wife, arms crossed over her chest, one brow arched in a good imitation of him.  Demanding to get her way in this.

“Fine.  You’ve got twenty-four hours,” he told her; knowing there was no way in hell he could prevent her from going, his voice was unnaturally gruff.  “And take someone with you.”  He ignored Buffy’s quick grin, before she masked it and looked contrite, turning back towards Adam.  “I assume you’ve got secure transportation for my wife?”

Adam nodded.

Angelina nudged Marcus.  “Go with Buffy,” she told him, but loud enough for the others to hear.

He drew his mate close, nuzzling her cheek, then glanced over at his sire to see him give his assent.

“Twenty-four hours, Marcus.  Not a minute more.  Alric, you’ll go with them to the airport and make sure they’re not seen or followed.  Everyone else… stay put.  I’ve got an old friend to see.”

~*~*~*~*~

He grumbled under his breath, bringing his car to a halt near the watcher’s house.  Damn thing had crapped out on him on a deserted stretch of road, and if it hadn’t been for a semi driving in his direction, he would have missed arriving in Sunnydale on time.  As it was, he knew the shit had already started to hit the fan. 

After killing the engine, he climbed out of the relic and slammed the door shut – not because he wanted to, but because it took that much force to get it to close – wincing at the overly loud noise.  As he passed by the rear of the vehicle, he gave it a kick, then instantly regretted it, comically hopping about on one leg at the sudden burst of pain that shot up his foot.  A stream of curses lit the air, directed towards himself and the inanimate object at the root of his suffering.  When he’d worked his way through two languages of swear words, he directed his gaze upward and started over.

It was their fault he was in this mess.   Hell, wasn’t like they couldn’t just zap him, or beam him, or whatever the hell it was they did to him every other time they wanted him somewhere.  No, they were probably sitting on their collective asses in some cloud, laughing over his latest predicament.  Stupid Powers.  What was it that Spike called them?  Powers That Fuck With Me? 

His friend had the right of it.

The throbbing in his foot finally subsided enough for him to climb the curb and limp his way towards the watcher’s front door.  On the doorstep, he hesitated, turning around and peering intently into the distance.  Something was out there, watching him; he was sure of it.  But, when he inhaled deeply to figure out what it was, nothing came back to him except the light scent from the few shrubs that made up the apartment complex’s landscaping.  That, and the trail Angel had left.

His arrival was a plus, at least.  Two for the price of one, so to speak.  Definitely beat repeating the same story at a later date.  And, maybe with the watcher present, the perpetually brooding vampire – as the Powers were secretly wont to call him – might actually listen.  Unlike Spike, who eventually believed what he told him – even if most of the times it was after a good shouting match, Angel would no doubt need a little bit more in the way of proof.  ‘Too bad a two-by-four to the forehead wouldn’t work,’ he thought.  Unfortunately, the truth would just open up a whole other can of worms.  And, yeah, a bit of assistance would be nice right about now…

Like usual, though, the damn Powers were silent.  Assholes.  Nothing like letting a bloke flounder.

Shaking off his unease, he faced the door and gave it a few good raps with his knuckles.  The muted conversation he was able to hear halted abruptly at his interruption, and a moment later the door swung open.

Doyle rolled his eyes as the watcher went on instant alert, his body visibly stiffening while his hand reached behind him trying to fumble about for something.  A weapon maybe.  Or some type of ward.  Not that a ward would actually keep him out.  Definitely one of the perks of being the Powers little play toy.

“None of that is necessary, I assure you,” Doyle rushed to explain, his dry, accented tone causing the older man to pause momentarily in his search at having been found out.  “May be half demon, but ‘ve got a higher calling.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that rather hard to believe,” Giles drolled back, eyes never leaving the man – demon – in front of him.  But, he did stop trying to grab at the stake lying on the accent table near the door.

He just knew the creature standing on his front doorstep wasn’t completely human, but didn’t know for certainty whether or not it had the same invite clause as vampires…. and didn’t want his ignorance to get him killed.

“Look, it’s not like I’m a card carrying member or anything, but I can tell you this, Rupert Giles, formerly of London, England, and watcher to one Buffy Summers, of the ‘Chosen’ variety… what I have to say concerns both you and the vampire currently hiding behind your front door.”

“How—”

“It’s a gift.  No… really, it’s not.  I told you, well, maybe I didn’t, now that I come to think of it.  Look.  I work for the ‘Powers That Be’.  I’m an emissary of sorts.  Usually, it’s just visions of the skull-splitting variety, but after that stunt your associate pulled…”

“Powers that Be?  Associate?”

“You know, a higher power?  Infinite beings of wisdom and power that watch every day on Earth play out like some chess game?  And, I’d be referring to Ethan Rayne.”

“Oh.”  That brought him up short.  But, he plucked on like the good watcher he was, explaining away his acquaintance with the warlock.  “Ethan, as I’m sure you’re well aware, is a former associate.  And, you know about what he did?  To Buffy?”  Even as he voiced his question, he could have kicked himself.  Of course he would have.

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  Can I come in please?  It’s been a long drive.”

“Drive?  But if you’re an emissary of the Powers, surely it comes with some sort of perks…”

“Yeah, tell me about it…” Doyle grumbled.  “Which is why I’m not in a particularly good mood.  Not to mention the foot’s throbbing like a son of a bitch.  So, are you gonna make me stand out here all night, or do I get to come in?  Lots of Big Bads out here that can come along at any moment and eat me… before I have a chance to spill the beans, as it were.”

Giles opened the door a bit wider and stepped back, indicating his assent, if not actually voicing the words that would grant the demon entry.

“Doesn’t work on me,” Doyle informed him.  “Was just being polite, is all.”

“Oh.”

Doyle had to hand it to the watcher, he recovered very well, calmly informing him in a no-nonsense manner how adept he was with the various weapons stashed about his flat.  And his lack of hesitation in using them against someone of his persuasion.  Not to mention his bodyguard, of sorts, in the brooding vampire, who stood leaning against a bookcase, arms akimbo, doing his best to stare Doyle down.  Like a souled up version was going to scare him.  Shyeah…

He rolled his eyes at the dark-haired vampire, clearly unimpressed with his posturing.  But, hell, after arguing with William the Bloody as often as he had, and living to tell the tale, the half-breed didn’t think anything could scare the spikes into appearing on his face.

“So, what’s this all important news you wished to impart to both myself and Angel,” Giles demanded after closing the front door and directing the newcomer to the apartment’s living space, gesturing for Doyle to sit in one of the empty chairs.

“Dropped the ‘us,’ now, did you?” Doyle asked, looking squarely at the vampire as he sat down.  “Think that makes a difference?  You’re still him, you know, changing your name ain’t gonna change who you are.”

Angel growled at him, but, Doyle being Doyle, refused to be cowed.  Instead, his smile grew wide, unknowingly reminiscent of Spike’s in the face of the elder vamp’s ire.

“Just saying,” the half-breed added.  “No need to take offense, Angel.”

“Why don’t you just get to the point, demon,” Angel snarled back.

“Oooohhh, look at you with the big insultin’ words.  And, for the record, it’s only half demon.  Me mum’s human.”

“Really?” Giles interjected, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two. 

The surprise in the older man’s voice caused Doyle to turn away from the vampire and stare for a moment in shock, before shaking his head in wonder at the watcher’s ignorance.

“Yes, really.  God, almighty, some demons do actually coexist peacefully with humans.  Need to pull your head out of your arse, watcher.  Quit relying on the tried and true of the Council of Wankers.  They’re just men… and corruptible at that.”  Doyle gave the man a pointed look, informing the other that he was well aware of the Council’s history, and the less-than-stellar way they’ve dealt with some of their Slayers in the past.

Giles blinked owlishly.  His mouth opened and closed, imitating that of a fish for a moment, then finally closed for good – without refuting anything Doyle had said.  He ignored the half-breed’s implied meaning about some of the Council’s former administrations, concentrating instead on what he actually had said.  Was it really possible for certain demons and humans to live together?  The concept fairly boggled the mind.  And, if it were really true, it would negate everything he’d ever learned about demons and their habits.  Everything the Council had instilled in him.

“Look.  I don’t mean to sound like a sanctimonious prick… it’s just been a long day, and well, you wouldn’t happen to have a beer or something would ya?” Doyle asked, turning on the charm and praying the man had some of the good stuff, rather than the watered down piss he was often forced to drink to quench his thirst.  The watcher left the room, and when he finally came back, Doyle had to refrain from licking his lips when a bottle of Guinness was presented to him.

“Cheers.” Doyle tipped the bottle in Giles’ direction and took a healthy swig of the dark stout.  “Name’s Doyle, by the way.”

“You were getting to the part about telling us something,” Angel interrupted.

“Right… yeah, about that.”  His eyes fixed on the watcher, telling him, “Forget about Buffy.  She is lost to you.  Kendra’s the Chosen One now.”  Then he turned to vampire.  “Have you ever thought about living in LA?  Name like yours, you’d fit right in.”

He intentionally left out mentioning Spike, hoping neither of the men – well, one man and one demon – before him wouldn’t bring up the vampire, or the situation earlier in the warehouse.

Best laid plans and all that…

~*~*~*~*~

“What happened, Marcus?  Why did Renee leave?”

The pair was ensconced inside the clan’s private jet, one that had been bought by one of the numerous dummy companies they owned.  Buffy was nervous, but trying desperately not to show it.  She’d never been on a plane quite so small, or seemingly that fast.  Her fingers gripped the armrest as the jet reached a cruising altitude and abruptly leveled out, causing her stomach to dip tremendously.

Marcus laid a reassuring hand on hers.

“You’ll get used to it, Buffy.  Hell, I think it’s the only way we travel now.”  He grinned, and Buffy was reminded once more why she liked him so much.  It was that devil-may-care attitude so similar to Spike’s.  But, whereas Spike was often unapproachable to any but his own, Marcus had this type of boyish playfulness about him that was completely offsetting.

It was that look that had fooled one too many into a sense of trust.

“As far as Renee…. Well, you know her best.  She never talked much about Jared after he…”  His voice trailed off.

“Yeah.”  The Slayer leaned back in her seat.  “She really loved him.”

“And after you and Spike disappeared…”

“She didn’t handle it too well?” Buffy asked.

“No.  Even knowing we’d be seeing you again.  She’d been lulled into thinking that you both were meant to stay with us.  Hell, we all were.  I’m not gonna lie to you, Buffy.  It was a rough couple of years.  If I’d not had Angelina…”

“I’m sorry….”

“Wasn’t your fault.  If it was anyone’s, it was those damn Powers.”

“Yeah… but still.  We’d stopped talking about it.  About Sunnydale…and the possibility.  So much time had passed.  We had a good thing going…”

“I know.  Anyway.  After Renee left, we drifted apart for a bit.  Surprisingly though, we all made our way home in under a year.  Everyone, except for Renee.”

Buffy didn’t ask which home.  She knew.  Knew that of all the countries they’d been to over the years, their place in Japan had been their home away from home.  A calming influence to every one of them.

“Why?”

“Why did we go home, or why not Renee?”

“I don’t know… both?”

Marcus lifted the Slayer’s hand, drawing it towards his mouth.  In the blink of an eye, his demon emerged and his fang lanced her palm, leaving a fine trail of blood.  “There’s no denying who we are.”

“Yes.”  She nodded at the vampire as he leaned down and drew his tongue along the shallow cut he’d made, easily closing the wound.

“We’re family.  It didn’t feel right to be apart, especially after all the time we’d been together.  We stayed there another year, then Adam told us it was time to get back to work.  Guess he got wind of a problem in Africa, so we left home and haven’t been back since.”

“But why not Renee?  How come—”

“She’s searching, love,” he told her gently.  “Her demon has been unsettled for quite some time, but with you… and Spike… she was content, if not completely happy.  Don’t worry.  She would have come back after she’d found what she’s been looking for.”

The two lapsed into silence for a while, content just to sit there while the jet brought them closer to New York.  Buffy dozed off and on throughout the remainder of the flight, her head resting comfortably against Marcus’ shoulder.  When she was awake, he told her about what they’d done in the last hundred and fifty years, give or take.  The would-be dictators they’d dispensed with – human and demon alike.  The apocalypses they’d averted.  And all the other things the clan had done nothing to prevent.

Buffy listened to it all, knowing they were there to maintain the balance.  Good and bad, like opposite sides of the same coin.  Couldn’t have one without the other.  It still didn’t prevent her eyes from tearing up at hearing it, however. 

Probably never would.

~*~

“Wake up, Buffy.”

The Slayer sat up and stretched in her seat.

“What time is it?” she asked sleepily.

“Little after four.  We should be on the ground in another twenty minutes.”

“Do you have any idea where she is?”

“No, but it won’t be difficult to track her once we land,” Marcus told her.  “The closer we get, the stronger the bond.”

Buffy nodded.  Even now she could feel a slight tug of the blood bond they all shared.   An unconscious pull towards their wayward family member.

Chapter 58:

“Are you sure this is the place?” Buffy asked as Marcus drove the car into the underground parking garage.

Marcus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his brow rising slightly.

“Sorry. Dumb question. It’s just that I figured Renee would be keeping a low profile. Seems strange she’d be here.”

“You can ask her when we catch up to her. Come on.”

The vampire pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine, and together, they got out of the car, walking towards the elevators that would take them upstairs and into the hotel. As the two neared, Buffy noticed the security cameras sticking out of the ceiling and fixated on the doors and gripped Marcus’ arm.

“What about…” Her head tilted slightly towards the stationary recording device.

“Doesn’t matter. Besides, we can always come back and make the tape disappear.”

~*~

Renee disentangled herself from the girl lying unmoving on top of the comforter and rose quietly to her feet. By all rights, she should be preparing for sleep, the lightening sky telling her demon to seek her own bed. To rest.

But too many thoughts kept her awake. Not to mention the tug of family. And not the one that would be rising with the moon.

She walked out into the suite’s darkened living space. The windows that would normally provide a spectacular view as the sun crested from the east were covered by a state-of-the-art blind system that completely obliterated the deathly rays. The vampiress paced for a bit, the pull of her bond steadily growing stronger, until in sudden realization, she knew.

Moving swiftly about the various rooms in the penthouse suite, she hunted for the key that would gain her access to the private elevator, raising it in triumph when it was finally found. With a burst of speed, she was at the door, and disengaging the lock, hurrying inside and pushing the garage level button. All the while praying she wasn’t too late, and that they’d not take another car.

Because the elevator she was in was the only one that had access to Jocelyn’s private suite.

~*~

Marcus had one foot in the elevator when Buffy’s hand reached out and told him to wait.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing just…”

Suddenly, the keyed elevator next to the one they’d been about to enter came to life.

“Buffy…”

“It’s Renee. She knows we’re here.”

Marcus stepped back and allowed the steel doors to close and the two waited as the second elevator descended towards the parking garage. There was a ding announcing the car’s arrival, then the doors slid open to reveal the raven-haired vampiress.

“Buffy!”

“Renee!”

Buffy launched herself at her friend, holding her tight as tears of happiness streamed silently down her cheeks. “I thought you were dead,” the Slayer sobbed into Renee’s neck.

Renee lifted her own tear-filled gaze to see Marcus standing there with a soft smile of understanding on his face.

“Welcome home, Renee.”

“Marcus,” she whispered. Their own special language had sounded like music to her ears and rolled off her tongue without hesitation. “I’ve missed you all so much. I just…” Her voice faltered.

“I know. But you were never very far from us.”

Buffy finally got her emotions under control and leaned back to regard her friend. She wiped away her wet face with the back of her hand, smiling half-heartedly at her emotional outburst.

“You look happy,” the Slayer announced.

“I am, Buffy. I am. Come, I’ve something I want to show you.”

Renee smiled, gesturing for Marcus to step inside the elevator and allow the doors to close.

~*~*~*~*~

He got one moment of silence. One blessed moment before what he’d said had worn off and they’d both been on him in a shot. Talking over each other as they told him in no uncertain terms what they thought of his ideas.

Like they were his ideas. He did mention the part about being an emissary, right? Just the messenger here.

The Powers were going to owe him big time for this! At least with Spike, after a brief emotional outburst, the two would move on. Share a brandy. Maybe play some chess… or cards.

After the third time the pair repeated themselves, he put two fingers to his lips and let loose with a shrill whistle. The one-side conversations ceased abruptly, and Doyle let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t suppose you can just take my word for it?” Doyle reasoned with the pair one more time.

“Accept this…this foolhardy notion?” Giles asked. “Just give up my Slayer on your say so?”

“Fine… Fine.” Doyle looked up at the ceiling. “You can always just wipe their memories later,” he reasoned. “Not like you’ve not done it before. Send me the book.”

He ignored the dubious stares from both the watcher and the vampire, instead eyeing the coffee table in front of him. The thick, worn leather-covered tome materialized out of thin air and Doyle leaned forward in his chair to snag it onto his lap. His expression turned smug at their startled looks. Finally, a modicum of respect!

“You want to know why the Slayer is lost to you?” Doyle patted the book. “This is why. Sit down, both of you. This may take some time.”

Angel opened his mouth to object, but at a harsh look from Giles, he closed it. And sat.

~*~

“You expect me to believe that Spike, evil, soulless Spike, is the sire of a group of former Aurelian vampires… and they traipse around the world fighting evil?” Angel’s tone was incredulous, with a heavy dose of mocking. The tale the half-breed had spun, too preposterous by half. “Not to mention that I would have known if there’d been a break from the clan.”

“You were off with Darla at the time. England held no appeal to you both. Plus, I think there was a little matter of a demon hunter named Holtz.”

Angel stiffened, but didn’t comment. After killing off the man’s family, he and Darla had left England behind, traveling towards Italy. Angelus had had a thing for nuns, specifically young girls bent on joining the convent. And he figured the city would offer up plenty of victims in that regard.

Doyle noted the vampire’s tortured expression and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hmmm… I see that you do remember.”

“It was a long time ago. Before the soul,” Angel argued quietly.

“Funny… Spike didn’t need one to follow his destiny. Just the love of a Slayer. And a family of his own.”

Tormented, his worst fears realized, Angel stood abruptly and stormed from the watcher’s home and out into the night.

Doyle didn’t bother to turn around as the front door slammed shut behind him. Instead, his eyes were on the watcher. Taking note of his reaction to what his Slayer had become – and why.

Giles, for his part, was floored. Leaning back in his chair, his hands swiped the glasses from his face.

“I knew she was special… I just never realized…” His voice trailed off. “And Spike, you say…”

Doyle got up and walked into the kitchen. He opened and closed cabinets until he found the watcher’s secret stash. His hand closed around the bottle of Lagavulin, and he spent another minute looking for a couple of glasses before returning to the living room. Back to the man still coming to grips with what had been told about his Slayer and her new role she played on behalf of the Powers. He sat down and uncorked the top, pouring a healthy dose into both tumblers and handing one to Giles.

“Thanks,” Giles murmured absently.

“Cheers.” Doyle saluted the watcher, and took a sip, smiling as the whiskey slid down his throat, warming him considerably.

They sat there in silence, both lost in thought as they savored their drinks. Doyle had just finished off his glass when there was a knock at the door.

“Pardon me.” Giles stood and walked to the entrance.

He opened the door and nearly jumped back in alarm. Standing on his front step, dressed all in black, was Spike. His hair was longer than he remembered, darker, falling in waves to his shoulders, but the smirk was right. The cold, deep blue eyes, too.

“W-what do you want?” he stammered out.

Spike quirked a brow.

“He’ll be wantin’ me,” Doyle announced, stepping up beside the watcher. “You just missed Angel,” he told the vampire.

Spike’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his grandsire, but he said nothing.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Nos es quam ventus.”

“Ahh… so that was you I felt?”

“Slow…slow down. It’s been a while… wanker.” The corner of Spike’s lips curled up as he uttered the remembered insult, even if it sounded funny coming from such a formal tone.

“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have your ken for languages. Where’s Buffy? I’m assuming she’s with you. And the others?”

“You told him?” Spike growled, suddenly angry.

“Don’t worry about it. Powers’ll probably wipe it from their memory later.”

“Their memory? As in more than one?”

“Well, yeah. I told you Angel just left here,” Doyle admitted. “He was like a dog with a bone. I had to do something.”

“You could have left him to me.”

The half-breed leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no need to rub his nose in it. You won. He lost.”

Alric’s report of how the elder vampire had tried to attack him – even after the blood bond had been revealed – came back to him, and his eyes flashed.

“Buffy is my wife, not some prize.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“And he dared touch one of mine.” His voice grew softer, telling Doyle just how pissed Spike actually was.

“Spike…”

“I won’t kill him, Doyle. But, I’ll not stand for the insult either. I’m not one of his any longer. He should have known better.”

“Cut him some slack. He’s barely had a day to deal with everything. You’ve had well over seventy. We still need him.”

“You need him, I don’t. I may do your dirty work, but I’m nobody’s lapdog.”

Doyle nodded, well aware that the vampire would do what he wanted.

“We’ve a few things to see to then we’ll leave Sunnydale,” the vampire told him. “Keep the new Slayer on a tight leash, and leave Angel to me.”

“Excuse me? Leave?” Giles had watched the byplay between the two, but at the vampire’s last statement, he couldn’t help but speak up.

“That’s right, watcher. World’s a big place.”

“But what about Buffy?”

Spike rushed the door, stopping just before the barrier would jar him backwards. “She’s mine, watcher. Mine! She goes with me.”

“But her family. Her friends.”

“She’s been with us for the last seventy-five years. Do you think she even remembers them? We’re her family now.”

Giles knew not where he gained the strength to talk back to the vampire. But, he did.

“Easy enough to say. But, what about her mother? Who’s probably home right now, wondering where she is.”

“Not my problem.” Spike turned to Doyle, growling out his name.

“Can we not at least see her before you go? Please, Spike. She was like a daughter to me.” He didn’t care that he was begging a vampire. His only wish, to see for himself that this was what Buffy truly wanted. Only then could he feel comfortable letting her go, like Doyle had warned him to do.

“I make no promises,” Spike told the Englishman, then turned and walked away.

Doyle thanked the watcher for his hospitality and took off after the retreating vampire.

~*~*~*~*~

“Look, Spike. I know you’re mad.”

Spike ignored the half-breed and kept on walking.

“You had to come back. At some point, you had to come back.”

It was said quietly, but the vampire heard. And stopped. He turned, glaring at his friend.

“Why.”

So much anguish in that one word. Emotion he’d never reveal to anyone else outside his family. Save one.

“Because. You had to become you. If you’d stayed in the past… well, I don’t understand the logistics of it myself. But, it would have done something. If it’s any consolation, I pushed to keep you there as long as possible.”

“It’s not.”

“Spike…”

But, the vampire had already started walking again. Forcing Doyle to run to catch up with him.

“Spike… come on. Spike…”

Spike stopped abruptly, causing Doyle to almost run into him. He stopped just in time…barely.

“I was happy, Doyle. For once in my soddin’ life. I, William, The Bloody Awful Poet, was happy. Now I’m back here. We’re back here. Dealin’ with this.” His arms gestured to encompass all of Sunnydale and everything it held.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah… well…you should be.”

“Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. Be like old times.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at his demon friend. “Low profile, Doyle. Remember?”

“Right. We can go back to your place. I’m sure you have something there to drink. Especially if Adam was seeing to the details. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to catch up with the others. Say hello to your more amenable other half.”

“Buffy’s not in Sunnydale right now. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Not in Sunnydale? Where? Aaah… Renee. Yeah, about that. Nah, scratch that. I’ll let them surprise you.”

“Surprise me? You forget who I am. It’s why I let her go in the first place,” Spike told him smugly.

“So, you know about Jocelyn?”

“That the bird’s name?”

“Yeah. She’s family, believe it or not.”

“Of course she is, you git.”

“No, I mean, really family. She’s a descendant of Nicholas Allen, Renee’s brother. The last, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two walked on, Doyle with complete confidence in Spike’s awareness of his surroundings – that they’d not encounter anyone on their way to the vampire’s temporary home.

“You gonna let the Slayer say goodbye to her mum? Her friends?” Doyle asked some time later.

Spike’s step faltered, indicating he’d heard the question.

“If she wants to. I told you. It’s been damn near seventy-five years. You really think she’s going to remember them? Care about them?”

“I’m sure there’s some part of her that does.”

“She’s not that girl anymore, Doyle. What good’s it gonna do? Besides, it’s not like they’re gonna remember her anyway, right?” Spike reasoned. “Or, were you just blowin’ smoke up my arse earlier?”

“Well, they can’t have anyone knowing about you,” he told the vampire, referring to the Powers. “Kinda’ defeats the purpose of you being ‘invisible.’ But, it can’t hurt either. And, you can watch how she completely ignores Angel.”

“Who said anything about the bloody poof bein’ there?”

Doyle just gave him the “look.”

“Fine!” he growled, pulling up short in front of a seemingly abandoned warehouse.

Chapter 59:

“Don’t see what good this is going to do,” Spike grumbled. “I say we just wait until Buffy gets back… or better yet, make the watcher do it.”

“You are her husband.”

“Yeah, and that’s going to go over well, too, now isn’t it. Fuck, Doyle, the last time she saw me, I was leaning over her daughter intent on making her my third dead Slayer. Got an axe to the head for my troubles. Now you want me to… what? Explain things to her?”

“I don’t know, Spike. Maybe you’re right. This is a bad idea. Forget I mentioned it. Blame it on the Lagavulin. Good stuff always did go straight to my head.”

Spike snorted but didn’t say anything in response, just veered off from his path to the Slayer’s house and started walking back towards home. He’d not gone too far when he felt the presence of his grandsire lurking somewhere behind him. Not that Spike had done anything to prevent it from happening. Hell, he’d been hoping the git would confront him. Needed the release their brief fight might grant him.

And there’d been no doubt in his mind that there would be one. Angelus would view Spike’s relationship with the Slayer as poaching on his property. Not that Buffy had ever belonged to him, or anything – she’d been a virgin, and there’d been no bite marks. At least none from the broody one. No, Angelus was just a territorial bastard, and had some strange notion that the Slayer was his. Not even the soul would be enough deterrent to keep the elder vamp from trying to ram home that fact to Spike.

Try being the operative word.

He stopped, a smirk transforming his sensual lips. Doyle drew to a halt and looked at his friend, frowning upon seeing the vampire’s eyes alight with mischief.

“Spike… what are you doing?”

“Just a bit of family business to clear up,” he told the half-breed conversationally. Then continued in a louder voice, sure enough to carry, “Isn’t that right, Angelus?”

“Angelus? What?” Doyle glanced around frantically for the souled vampire, and seeing no signs of Angel, looked pointedly at his friend. “Spike, now is not the time...”

“As if you could stop it.” He turned around, and sure enough, the elder vampire was striding towards him. Every step he made, the rigid set of his shoulders, conveying his rage. Spike was surprised he wasn’t sporting his demon, given his obvious anger.

“Spike…” Doyle tried again.

“Look, this will be over in a minute. Now step back out of the way before you get hurt.”

Spike’s words to the Powers’ emissary were like salt to an open wound for Angel. The stake was out of his pocket and he charged. Fueled by his resentment at being usurped by the younger vamp, Angel’s brain shut down, allowing his emotions to rule his actions. He wanted only to dust his descendent. Wanted it so bad, he could practically taste it.

How dare Spike take what was his!

Spike caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Saw that it was Alric and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head – even as he twisted his body away from the intended blow and grabbed the wrist holding the stake. In the blink of an eye, Spike had the wooden object out of his grandsire’s hand and gave a push to his back, sending Angel sprawling onto the ground.

Angel’s eyes widened at how easily he’d been disarmed… again… but managed to recover enough that he rolled on the ground and was back on his feet in an instant, ready to take on his troublesome grandchilde once more.

“Leave off, Angelus. You can’t beat me. I’m not him anymore.”

The statement threw the elder vamp, causing him to pause in his attack. “Not who?”

“William. Spike. Take your pick. I’m not the hotheaded, reckless vamp I used to be. I won’t be cowered. Not by you. Not by anyone. I’m master of my own clan now. And you… you’re just a souled up pseudo-champion living off animal’s blood.”

Angel growled, his eyes narrowing.

“Do you really think you could take me when you couldn’t even defeat one of my own childer?” Spike kept his eyes on the vampire in front of him and quietly spoke Alric’s name.

Angel stared in disbelief as the vampire that had been with Buffy in the sewers stepped out of the shadows and joined Spike.

“I thought I told you to stay in the warehouse,” Spike commented quietly – his words unrecognizable to either Angel or Doyle – once Alric stopped next to him.

“I waited until the plane took off first. I was on my way back to the warehouse when I saw doofus there following you.” He inclined his head towards the seething vampire, who made no move to attack with both of them standing there. “So, I followed him while he followed you.”

“I knew he was there. And as you can see, I have the situation well in hand.”

“I know. I came to watch.” Alric winked and Spike laughed. He so enjoyed his childe’s wit. Sensing the half-breed’s regard, Spike sobered.

“You both finished your pissin’ contest now?” Doyle asked, stepping away from the tree and walking across the grass towards Spike and Alric.

“For now,” Spike allowed, switching back to English for the benefit of his friend. “All depends on him.” His gaze had yet to deviate from the elder vampire.

Angel, seeing his chance to do away with Spike was now gone, turned and stalked off, his coat tails billowing out behind him.

“Wanker,” Spike grumbled, starting towards the warehouse once more.

“What’s a wanker?” Alric asked.

“See you haven’t been in England of late,” Spike commented. “Hmmm… how to translate…”

Doyle held up his hand and interrupted the two.

“What the hell are you guys talking about? You know it’s rude to speak in a language not everyone can understand.”

“Well, ‘m a bad, rude man,” Spike told him in English.

“Oh, look who’s a comedian of a sudden.”

Spike said something that Doyle didn’t catch, but figured it wasn’t very nice since Alric started laughing. He narrowed his eyes at the blond vampire, grumbling under his breath, “You’re lucky I like you, asshole.”

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy watched over the three vampires as they slept in the plush chairs of the small jet. Though the sun was high in the sky – a time she would normally be sleeping thanks to having spent so much time with Spike and the others – she found herself unable to close her eyes. Marcus slept with his head in her lap, feet flung over the arm of his chair. Renee was snuggled with her new childe, her arms wrapped protectively around the girl that bore such a striking resemblance to her friend. Though they could have spread out and been more comfortable, the four huddled together in two sets of chairs facing the other, unwilling to be separated after so long of an absence – at least for the vampires it had been. They needed the reassurance the touch of one of their family provided.

Rather than wait for the cover of darkness to leave New York behind, it had been decided that they’d return to the airport right away and fly back to Sunnydale. When Jocelyn woke, it would be around the entire clan. With the decision made, it was an easy matter of Marcus incapacitating the security cameras to make good their escape without raising questions as to the undead girl’s state. Then, rather than using the car they’d rented, the vampire had thought to show off his grand theft auto skills, stealing a car that would provide a more secure means of transportation in the daylight hours. But at the Slayer’s protestation of not being able to drive, they’d put in a call to Adam to arrange for a limousine to pick them up at the hotel and see them back to the airport.

They’d been in the air for almost six hours when the co-pilot left the cockpit to inform them of their descent into Sunnydale. Marcus woke at the man’s arrival into the cabin and sat up, nodding at their trusted employee. Renee and Jocelyn slept on until the plane actually touched down and pulled into a private hangar. Even then, Buffy had to nudge her friend awake when the small plane rolled to a stop.

Once the plane had been secured, the pilot came out to inform them of the car waiting to escort them home – that he’d received word from Adam while they’d been in the air, confirming its security. Marcus thanked the man and told them that they’d be in touch –they weren’t sure how long they would be in Sunnydale.

“I’ve got a mandatory down time. FAA rules. But, you know how to reach me if you need me beforehand.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Marcus shook the pilot’s hand and reached down and gently lifted Jocelyn out of Renee’s arms.

Renee smiled her gratitude and followed behind the male vampire, linking her arm with Buffy’s as she went.

“You should have slept,” Renee chided her friend, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

“I slept on the way out. And, I can go back to bed once we’re home.”

They descended the short flight of stairs and started walking across the cement slab towards the waiting vehicle.

“I still can’t get over how alike in appearance you two are,” Buffy commented.

“You! You should have seen her, Buffy.” Renee smiled fondly at the memory. “Walked into the club like she owned the place. Even seemed to recognize a few of the fledges casing the joint, too. Thought it was just going to be a thing, ya know? But then I finally got a look at her face… and I just knew.”

“You’re truly happy then?”

Renee nodded.

“Then I’m happy for you.”

“We’ll have to go back, Buffy. I haven’t told you everything. She knew about us…. Well, vampires at any rate. She thinks… believes… that… she thinks my family, my human family, has been able to track me. Jocelyn… she knows Travers. Knows about the Council. We’ve got to get those books back.”

“Don’t worry, Renee. We’ll get it sorted.” Inside, Buffy was trying not to panic.

“I hope so. I don’t want our family at risk because of what she knows. Or, who she is…”

“Spike won’t let that happen. Now stop worrying. Come on, I’m sure the others are as anxious to see you as I was.”

The two women climbed into the back of the waiting limousine, allowing the door to be shut behind them by the driver. Jocelyn had been laid out on one seat, and Renee sat down there, lifting the girl’s head onto her lap. Buffy plopped down next to Marcus and curled into his side.

“Thanks for coming with me, Marcus,” she told him quietly.

Marcus slipped his arm around the Slayer’s shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. “As if you didn’t know you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Buffy.”

“Well, there is that.” She grinned for a moment before her face grew serious once more. “No more… promise me?”

“No more what?”

“I just… I don’t like it when we’re apart. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know it doesn’t. But—”

“No buts, Marcus. Please…”

Marcus sighed.

“I can’t promise you that. We don’t have the sight,” he told her. “We don’t know the future. But you know we’d never willingly leave our sire’s side.”

“I know. I’m being selfish… and unreasonable.” She paused, unsure how to proceed. “I’m scared, Marcus,” she finally told him in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.

He felt her burrow closer to him, seeking his reassurance, and he tightened his grip on her shoulder.

“What are you scared of?”

“This. Being back here. What it means. Why did we have to come back?” she asked, nearly in tears.

“I don’t know the answers to that, Slayer.” And Marcus didn’t. Too many people knew about Buffy – about Spike – in this time. Though no one knew about him and Spike’s other childer, or the fact that Spike was no longer considered a true Aurelian vampire, it was only a matter of time before others found out.

Then how would they continue on as they were?

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy wasn’t surprised to see Spike standing just inside the door as she walked inside. She rushed forward, throwing herself in his arms.

“Missed you, pet,” he murmured into her hair.

“I was only gone about twelve hours,” she replied – her sassy tone belied the fact that she had a death grip on his neck. “I missed you, too.”

“See Renee brought someone with her,” Spike commented casually.

Almost too casually, and Buffy lifted her head to glare at him.

“You knew!” Her anxiety over their situation was forgotten in light of her husband’s omission.

“Well, of course I did. Wouldn’t be her sire if I didn’t.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Buffy frowned at her husband.

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

He gaze swung towards the doorway as Marcus came in carrying Renee’s sleeping childe. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the girl’s features.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

Marcus smirked at his sire. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the consensus. ‘Bout threw me and Buffy for a loop.”

“Me too,” Renee added as she hurried into the door behind him. Though the entrance to the warehouse was completely covered in shadow, walking about in broad daylight never sat well with her demon. “Is there some place I can take her?”

Esme and Angelina both came forward. “Come on,” Angelina commented, trailing a hand down along her mate’s cheek in welcome. “We’ll show you.”

Buffy tried to hide her yawn behind her hand, but Spike saw it anyway.

“Come on, luv. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Sire!” Adam’s voice called out. “Think you might want to see this.”

Spike walked with Buffy over towards the monitors. He saw who was slowly walking up to the Slayer’s house and couldn’t help muttering, “Better him than me.”

“Spike!” Buffy’s hand tightened reflexively around Spike’s. “Oh my god! My mom! She’s—”

“It’s alright, pet. Think your watcher is there to explain things to her.”

“Giles? Why would he… how does he…”

“Hey, Buffy.”

“Doyle,” she greeted at the half-breed’s approach, her voice gruff as she struggled with her English for his benefit. Then as she put his sudden appearance together with Giles’ appearance at her mother’s front door, her eyes narrowed in understanding. “You told him, didn’t you? Why?”

“Sorry, Buffy. And don’t look at me like that,” he added at her hurt expression. “It’s not like I have any say so in the matter.”

Spike mumbled something that sounded like him not being the only one led about on a string.

“If anyone’s going to be able to get your ‘mom’ to understand, it’ll be Giles,” he whispered quietly for her benefit, not that Doyle would understand what he’d said, even if he could hear. Spike wasn’t quite ready to let his friend off the hook for one, telling his grandsire about him and his childer, and two, for not letting him finish what the other started earlier – not to mention the fact that he was going to have to put up with the git once this proposed “reunion” took place.

Buffy watched the monitor as Giles fidgeted on the front porch for a moment, apparently working up his nerve to ring the doorbell. She noticed a few books under his arm – ammunition, no doubt, to get her mother to believe him.

“She’s probably wondering where I am,” Buffy commented almost to herself. “Spike…”

“You want to call her?” he guessed.

She looked up to see his guarded expression, and she nodded.

“Alright, luv. Adam, get her a secure phone. I don’t want any traces.”

Chapter 60:

Giles schooled his features into a pleasant smile and struggled with the books in his arms; finally managing to get them settled in one, he used the other and extended his forefinger to push quickly on the doorbell. The noise, though muffled by the barrier of the closed door, still reverberated in his head, and he shifted on his feet, struggling to subdue the moan rising automatically on his lips.

After Doyle had left, he’d had every intention of going to Joyce to try to explain things to her. But, as he’d walked back into his living room to retrieve a few books that might aid him in his cause, he’d seen the uncorked bottle of Lagavulin and figured he could do with another shot of liquid courage. One thing had led to another, one glass had become five, until he’d lost count and damn near finished off the bottle.

He didn’t remember passing out on the couch, but the crick in his neck and the pounding in his head told him that he wouldn’t pull a stunt like that ever again.

The door was jerked open, Buffy’s name shouted from the woman’s lips before she could see who was standing on the front porch.

“Oh… Mr. Giles!?”

Giles smiled wanly, the woman’s shocked greeting setting off a new round of throbbing inside his head.

“Hello, Mrs. Summers. I, uh, was wondering if I might have a word with you.” When he saw her hesitate, he added, “It’s about your daughter, Buffy.”

“Buffy?” she gasped. “Do you know where she is? Is she alright?”

Joyce’s shrill screeching set his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t hide his wince as his headache bloomed anew. “She’s…” He struggled to find something to say that would placate the woman enough so that she wouldn’t call the police – if she hadn’t already.

“Are you all right, Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked upon noticing his pained expression.

“Yes… yes, I’m fine. Would you mind if I came in, Mrs. Summers? This may take some time.”

Joyce stood there in indecision for a moment before finally stepping back and allowing the librarian to enter. She eyed the books tucked under his arms curiously as he crossed the threshold and waited patiently in the foyer; she closed the door and led him to the living room.

“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Giles?” she asked, manners getting the best of her. “I have a pot of coffee that I just brewed.”

Tea would have been preferred, but he wasn’t going to turn down something hot and loaded with caffeine.

“Coffee would be perfect. Black, please, if you don’t mind. And, please, call me Rupert, or just Giles. The ‘mister’ reminds me of my father.” He affected, what he hoped was a grateful expression, then watched as she nodded and smiled, finally moving off towards the kitchen.

With the room to himself, his lips turned downward, his face taking on a greenish tinge, and he mentally worked to still his rolling stomach. He set his books down on the coffee table and sat down gingerly on the couch, moving in exaggeratedly slow movement as he catered to his hangover. When that was accomplished, he leaned back against the cushions and allowed his eyes to close while he waited for Joyce to return.

~*~

Joyce stilled her shaking hands and carefully removed two mugs from the cabinet. Her flight home last night had been delayed and she’d been unable to reach Buffy to let her know that she was going to be late. After three unsuccessful attempts, she’d finally left a message, giving her daughter the new arrival time – not that Joyce would needed a ride, she’d left her Jeep at the airport, but to let her daughter know that she wouldn’t be home for dinner and to use some of the slush fund to order something to eat.

It had been an exhausted Joyce that had entered her home around eleven last night. She’d dropped her suitcases just inside the front door and made her way wearily up the stairs to check on her daughter. When she’d opened her bedroom door and Buffy hadn’t been inside, Joyce had begun to panic. It was too late to call Willow’s house to see if Buffy had gone there, though she’d rushed to her bedroom and had the receiver in her hand, the number halfway dialed, before her reasoning resurfaced.

Besides, it wasn’t like her daughter hadn’t made use of her friend’s house often enough in the past when she didn’t feel like being home alone.

Thoughts of a note left on the refrigerator telling of Buffy’s whereabouts had her returning the handset to its cradle and walking downstairs. In the kitchen, she’d turned on the light, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. But, once they had, the glaringly obviously lack of a note tacked to the refrigerator was the first thing she noticed. The second was the blinking red light on the kitchen phone’s answering machine.

Her daughter hadn’t been home to check the messages.

Anger filled her as she’d begun to panic, and Joyce had paced the small confines of the kitchen trying to determine what to do.

She’d met her daughter’s friends, Xander and Willow, and thought them both nice enough. Had actually thought their influence would rub off on her daughter. Especially Willow’s; the girl seemed quiet and studious, traits her daughter would do well to possess.

But, Joyce had begun to notice things recently. Things her daughter thought she’d been able to cover, or wouldn’t notice. Clothing that seemed to disappear, Buffy’s vague comments at not knowing, drawing suspicion – especially when she’d been cleaning the trash can in the basement and come across a mangled shirt with what appeared like dried blood on it. The winces of pain her daughter thought she hid. Her constant exhaustion, similar to when they’d been living in Los Angeles.

Joyce had feared her daughter had hooked up with a bad crowd again. And, was using her mother’s absences out of town to her advantage.

Only the fact that her grades, though not stellar, seemed to improve from what they’d become those last few months in LA, had kept her from confronting Buffy. Joyce had eventually moved to the living room, too tired to remain on her feet to wait up for her daughter. Determined to speak with her once and for all about her behavior.

She’d fallen asleep waiting for Buffy to come home, only waking as the sun peeked through the partially open curtains on the living room windows. She’d sat up abruptly, momentarily confused as to where she was. Then it had come back to her.

She’d rushed upstairs and burst inside her daughter’s room, praying that the girl had slipped in sometime late last night. But, no, the room had still been empty. And there was no sign of her missing teenager anywhere.

Frustrated, angry and near tears at her daughter’s behavior, she’d trudged off and taken a shower, washing away the dirt and grime of the flight home. Then she’d gone down to make some coffee. She’d been debating calling the school to see if her daughter was in class, but didn’t want to appear a failure in their eyes, so had held off. Instead, she’d called the gallery and told them she wouldn’t be coming in, that her flight had been delayed and she was still dealing with jetlag, and that she would be in tomorrow. Her assistant had laughed and told her to have a lazy day at home.

She’d been just about to pour herself a cup of coffee when the doorbell had rung. Setting the pot down, Joyce had hurried to the front door, calling out Buffy’s name as she opened it – even knowing that her daughter had her own key and could let herself in.

It had thrown her for a loop seeing the school’s librarian standing there – a little green around the gills, shuffling nervously on his feet.

After fixing two cups of coffee, peppering her liberally with sugar and cream, Joyce carried them back to the living room. Pausing to hand one to Rupert before taking a seat on the chair. She forced herself to wait for the man to speak. Watched as he waged a silent battle in his mind, his mouth opening and closing at intervals. When he did open his mouth and speak, she could only stare in shock at what came she heard.

“What do you know of vampires, Mrs. Summers?”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Joyce demanded. She set her cup of coffee aside, her eyes boring holes into the man.

Then the phone rang.

Joyce was going to ignore it, really she was. After that out-of-left-field question, she was determined to get some answers. But, thoughts of her daughter had her rushing from the room and into the kitchen to reach the phone, giving the man a pointed look leaving no doubt that they were going to finish their discussion.

“Hello!” Her barked greeting was a carry over from the living room.

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice was soft, hesitant.

“Buffy?” Just an instant of motherly concern, relief that her daughter was safe… then she exploded. “Buffy! Where the hell are you? I want you home right this instant, young lady! Do you hear me!!?” Tears were welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over as the anxiety of last night caught up with her.

“Mom. Can I… speak with Giles for a minute?”

“What…? How did you know Mr. Giles…” Her voice trailed off and she looked around frantically for some sign of her daughter nearby.

“I saw him walk up to the house.”

“Saw him walk up to the house?” She peered out the window over the sink, but no one was about. “Buffy, where are you?”

“Someplace safe. Mom, can I please speak with Giles for a minute? Then he can explain things to you. Alright?”

Joyce nodded, more confused than ever, but something in her daughter’s tone had her relenting. Then realizing Buffy probably couldn’t see her, she mumbled, “Okay.” She turned, surprised to see Rupert standing in the entryway to the kitchen.

He just stared at her, his eyes unusually somber.

“It’s Buffy,” she told him uselessly. “She…she wants to speak with you.” She held out the phone in his direction.

“Joyce, I…” Her first name slipped unconsciously from his lips, wanting, no… needing to explain things to this woman. He stopped, though, at seeing her upheld hand and nodded wearily, silently taking the phone from her.

“Hello, Buffy.”

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy held the phone to her ear, listening to the sound of her watcher’s greeting. She had wanted to be there when he told her mom about what she was. That she was the Slayer. Only, she didn’t want to go alone. Needed the reassurance her husband’s presence would bring her.

The problem was that it was early, barely nine o’clock in the morning. And, she didn’t want to wait until nightfall because Renee’s childe would be due to rise and she wanted to be there for her friend. Wanted all of them to be there to welcome the newest member into their clan.

She lifted her head, seeking guidance from Spike.

The vampire sighed and took the phone from her hands.

“I’m sending Doyle,” he told the man brusquely. “He’ll bring you to us.”

Spike hung up the phone before the watcher could reply.

Buffy leaned up and brushed her lips across her husband’s, her hand a smooth caress along his cheek in gratitude. She slipped silently from the open room and towards Renee and the other women, leaving Spike to hash out the details with Doyle. After checking briefly with the others, taking a moment to catch up with both Angelina and Esme since she’d left so abruptly after her arrival, Buffy left them to get cleaned up. Praying a long, hot shower would chase off the jetlag threatening to consume her.

In the bathroom connected to the room she shared with Spike, the Slayer quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. She’d set the water as hot as she could stand it, and in minutes, steam had enveloped the tiny room. As she went through the motions of getting clean, tears fell silently down her face, mingling with the spray.

Everything that had happened – was about to happen – was crowding in on her, and it wasn’t long before her shoulders were heaving. Huge, wracking sobs shook her body, and she leaned back against the tile for support… then slid slowly to the ground as her legs gave out on her. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, her arms hugging her legs, face resting on her knees, crying, but the curtain soon parted and she was wrapped in cool arms and cradled against a chest quickly warmed by the hot water raining down on them.

“Shhh… luv, it’s ok. ‘ve got you now,” Spike murmured against her wet hair.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike watched the Slayer walk from the room and struggle not to throw something. Instead, he turned to the half-breed. Telling him to retrieve his wife’s mother and watcher and bring them here.

“Adam, have the car brought round. Doyle, blindfold them. I don’t want that wanker getting wind of where we are. If they don’t, they’re not to get within a mile of the warehouse. Is that understood?”

Doyle nodded.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Spike grumbled to himself. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the monitors and stared at the screens.

“Come on, Doyle,” Clayton told the half-breed. “I’ll walk you up.”

“Yeah…ok.”

The two walked together companionably towards the exit.

“He means it, you know,” the vampire said after awhile. “If they won’t submit to a blindfold, don’t bring them here.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded cloth. “Or, you can just open this.”

“What is it?” Doyle asked.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies, Clay.”

Clayton grinned. “It’s just a little something I picked up a few years back. Knocks human’s right out. Harmless though. They’ll wake up in about an hour. Tried it on Buffy once.” The vampire smiled in memory.

At Doyle’s raised eyebrow, Clayton elaborated. “I didn’t think it would work on her since she was claimed by Spike. It worked, only it was more like five minutes instead of an hour. Too bad the thing doesn’t have a memory loss component to go with it. Girl woke up and had murder in her eyes. Lit into me for about an hour once she came round.”

“I’ll bet. Bet Spike wasn’t too pleased either.”

“She never told him. Was a bitch trying to hide the limp from my sire, though, let me tell you! And her, struggling not to laugh. She’s evil, I tell you.”

Doyle snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Anyway… keep it in your pocket. If you need to use it, just pull it out and uncover it. The gemstone works instantly.”

“Yeah, and what about me? I’m only half demon, you know.”

“So, you take a little nap. Bob will get you all back safely.”

They arrived at the exit, and Clayton punched in the code that allowed the door to open. He stepped back, enabling the other to step out into the alley. Bob was waiting there, a smaller blackened out vehicle idling quietly.

“Mr. Doyle,” the employee greeted, holding the rear door open for him.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Doyle told the vampire and walked out into the sunlight to get in the car. A silent hiss and click as the door slid closed and locked was his only answer.

“I gave him the orb as a backup,” Clayton told the others when he stepped back into the room.

Spike perked at that bit of information.

“Orb?”

“It’s a sleeping gemstone. Incapacitates humans for about an hour. Knocks them right out. Acquired it from a warlock a few years back.” The vampire’s grin told Spike there was a story behind it. Once things settled down, he’d have to remember to ask his childe about it. Hell, he had a lot of catching up to do with all of his childer.

Spike looked back at the monitor and saw the black car disappear out of range of the monitors. Nothing stood out on any of the others, so he stood, telling the others in the room to come get him when the others arrived.

He was walking down the hall when he heard Buffy weeping.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles held the phone to his ear for a moment, not realizing that he was listening to a dial tone. When he finally did, he slowly lowered it and pressed the disconnect button.

“Ok, I think I’ve been fairly reasonable about everything, but if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on in the next second, I’m… I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She gave him her best “I’m the mom and you’re going to tell me the truth” face. “But, I promise you, it’s going to hurt. Where is Buffy and what was that remark about vampires?”

Giles set the phone on the island countertop, then removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache, while a muted memory a moment ago, was throbbing painfully now.

“Joyce, I know you’re not going to believe me, but your daughter is a vampire slayer.” He took a breath waiting for the woman’s explosion. “And I’m her watcher.”

“Drugs. You’re on drugs, aren’t you? Or dealing drugs. And, somehow, you’ve managed to drag my daughter into this with you. I’m right, aren’t I?” She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, grateful to have the island between them.

“No, Joyce, I’m not on drugs. Everything I’ve just said is the truth. If you come with me to the living room, I’ll prove it to you.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I want you out of my house. I’m calling the cops.” She made to reach for the phone, but his words chilled her to the core.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Summers.”

At her frightened expression, he relented a bit. “Look… I really am telling you the truth. There’s someone on their way to retrieve us right now and take us to Buffy. I just…I just wanted to explain a few things so they didn’t come as a shock. Please, Mrs. Summers… Joyce. Let me just show you my books.”

Joyce stared at him, her wide eyes narrowing, as if it would allow her to see into his mind. Determine the veracity of his words.

When she finally nodded, Giles breathed a sigh of relief and turned to head back to the living room.

~*~*~*~*~

It was a stunned Joyce that opened the door to reveal a dark-haired man standing on her doorstep. Garbed in normal, everyday clothes, the man didn’t appear to be a threat, but after looking through the book on demons and reading a few excepts from another that Giles had called his “Watcher’s Diary,” she wasn’t quite sure.

“Mrs. Summers,” he greeted her pleasantly enough.

“You’re not a vampire.”

“Errrr… no, ma’am. I’m not. I’m, uh… a friend of Buffy’s and Spike’s.”

“Spike? Who’s Spike?”

“Ho boy…” Doyle looked over the woman’s shoulder and was pleased to see the watcher step into view. “Giles,” he greeted.

“He’s not a vampire,” Joyce commented. “Is it ok to invite him in?” Joyce knew she probably sounded like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown, but she was having a bit of trouble dealing with everything that Rupert had just told her.

Her daughter was a Slayer. Went out night after night, slaying demons. Then came home, calmly as you please, going about her life like it was no big deal if she didn’t come home one night.

“It’s all right, Joyce. This is Doyle. I don’t want to get into the particulars, but he’s a good guy.”

“Oh… ok.”

Seeing the woman’s eyes glaze over, Doyle could have kicked Spike for putting him in this position. “Mrs. Summers, if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to your daughter.”

“Buffy?” Her voice was small, far away.

Giles caught her before she crumpled to the ground.

“I’ll get the door. Bob will help you,” Doyle told the man.

Giles nodded and easily swung Joyce up into his arms and walked to the car. Doyle secured the front door and, mindful of the cameras hidden somewhere on the property, gave an improper gesture for the benefit of whoever was watching, before returning to the car.

Doyle allowed Bob to see him inside and shut the door behind him. He glanced over to see Giles with a tender expression on his face as he gazed down at the woman he held in his arms. However, when the watcher looked up and stared at him, no trace could be found. It was like a mask had slipped into place, hiding whatever the man was thinking. Doyle bit back a smile and silently regarded the other.

“Blindfold or sleep?” he asked, finally, the car well on their way to their destination.

“I get a choice,” Giles asked drolly, knowing right away what the emissary meant.

“Spike’s idea. Not mine. He’ll do anything to protect his clan. Even blindfolding his wife’s mother. But, since she seems to be a bit out of it, I’ll just worry about you.”

“I’ll take the blindfold.”