"Spike?" Buffy dashed up the path and into the house, anxious to pass on the news that her instructor had pronounced her ready to take on her driving test. At the expression on Tara's face when the Wiccan emerged from the kitchen, she froze on the spot.

"He's already gone, hasn't he?"

Tara gave a solemn nod. "I guess because Wes was more familiar with the 'spell' this time 'round it didn't take him so long."

"Dawn?"

"Oz took her over in his van with the bigger bits and pieces. I said I would wait here until you got back and we'd take the rest of the stuff in the car."

Buffy's attention was suddenly fixed on a flattened patch on the carpet which was a few shades brighter than the surrounding pile. "She packed the TV?"

Tara gave a half-smile, "She said, if she didn't, Spike would do it when he got back... And to be honest, I figured there was more chance of keeping her where we can keep an eye on her with the TV there."

Buffy sighed deeply. "Guess so. Better go claim some territory before we end up sharing a broom closet with fifteen teenaged girls."

 

* * * * *

 

"Turok Han are nothing but a myth."

Giles resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, refusing to show any sign of weakness in front of the insolent young pup who confronted him. "In that case, I'm sure you won't mind being nominated as first in line to take one on, should one make an appearance. In the meantime, however, you and your little group of helpers will go through the volumes as the others unpack them and look for references to these mythical creatures so that, equipped with the requisite knowledge, the slayers can avenge your untimely death at the hands of something which doesn't exist."

"I- I-." The young man spluttered his righteous indignation, but Giles had already turned his attention to the next group of watchers.

The smile on the face of the young man who confronted him was filled with wry amusement. "I guess living in California hasn't improved your patience any... Uncle Giles?"

The appellation made Giles take a second look at the Puck-like countenance before him, suddenly equating the self-assured young man with a coltish teenager he hadn't seen in over a decade. "James?"

"One and only."

"R-right, well, no doubt we'll have a chance to catch up later-."

"But for now you've got a job for us..."

"Quite." Giles passed over the copies that Bee had made of the sketches she had done this morning and James kept one and passed the others around the group he seemed to head up. "We believe that this was the weapon used in last night's murder and the fact that it featured prominently in a slayer dream suggests that its use was more than simple happenstance."

James seemed to weigh Giles' words carefully, before commenting. "So this drawing is based on a dream? ...Drawn by someone other than the original dreamer?"

Giles nodded his confirmation.

The younger man turned to those around him. "Okay, you heard the man. Let's hit the books but bear in mind that there may be some level of inaccuracy in either how the dream has been remembered or in how the artist has interpreted the description. Any possible identifications, bring them to me or Mr Giles." As the man steered those under his command toward the growing piles of books, he further subdivided the research, setting some to try to identify what they could from the style of the weapon, trying to tie down its time and place of origin. Others, he set to investigate whether the pattern on the blade was simply that, or if some meaning could be interpreted from it and still others he instructed to find all they could about ritual bloodlettings.

When that group had dispersed, Giles was surprised to find himself face to face with Lydia Chalmers. "And what would you like me to look into?" she asked the older watcher.

"I rather expected that you would be tied up arranging other matters," Giles commented, somewhat flustered.

"I'm good at delegating and I made sure that those to whom I delegated were aware I'd be here if they had any questions."

"In that case, perhaps you can help me find the relevant crates for any information you have on The First."

The blonde shook her head regretfully. "I'm afraid the books on that subject were split over as many different crates as possible, in case of misadventure, but I can have the relevant volumes brought to you as they are found."

Giles sighed. "That would be most helpful."

The woman smiled in return. "Things will settle down once everyone works out where they fit in. In the meantime I'll see if I can round up someone to make some tea and find enough biscuits for a library full of watchers."

 

* * * * *

 

Buffy couldn't say she was exactly impressed with the accommodations that she and Spike had been allocated. However, at least the council hadn't decided to simply add the Scoobies in with either the potentials, who were to share rows of bunk beds in the barracks that had once been a ballroom, or to the marginally more private classrooms that had once been bedrooms that the watchers were now sharing six or eight to a room. Instead, the Sunnydale residents had been allocated rooms under the eaves of the converted mansion in what she was sure would once have been referred to as the servants' quarters.

She and Spike had the room nearest the "back" stairs at one side, with Faith and Dawn sharing the opposite room on the other side of the narrow corridor that ran down the centre of the roof space. Dawn had allocated the room beside Spike and Buffy's to Xander and Anya and the one beside that to Wes. It was yet to be decided whether Marie and her extended family would be joining the others in their tactical consolidation. Bee and Tara were sandwiched between the slayer and the one-time Key on one side and Giles and Oz on the other. There was an empty room on either side and then the remainder of the roof space was one larger room where the TV had already been installed.

Dawn watched her sister's face as Buffy surveyed the tiny space, taking in the doubled over sheet that Dawn had attached to the ceiling joists with thumb tacks so that it diffused the light from the tiny window set flush with the roof tiles and the fact that Dawn had pushed the two low narrow cots side by side instead of one against each side wall. Even though the bottoms of the beds were against the joists that supported the roof, the door still hit the headboard of the one nearest the centre of the room before it was fully open so that they had needed to slide into the room sideways and close the door before they could walk around the beds, and then only barely and beyond the first few feet into the room it was impossible for even Buffy to stand upright.

"I checked out the basement but there's this old coal boiler down there and I guess people would be coming in and out all the time and they're putting bunk beds in all the bigger rooms, even for the watchers, though I think Travers has a room to himself because he's sort of just put a cot in his office if you see what I mean, and I thought that you and Faith should be nearest the stairs in case of trouble and if Xander and Anya kept you awake with the loud, obnoxious sex then at least you could retaliate and vice versa and I put Bee and Tara together because they seem to get on and neither of them know Faith, not that I really want to share with Faith but if it gets too much I can always go visit you or Tara and I put Wes on his own in case Marie visited and the other rooms are kinda full of crap anyway but if Clem and everyone decide to fort up then we can shift it into the bit where the TV is and it's not like there's much in the way of sunlight so it's pretty okay for Spike-."

"Breathe, Dawnie. It'll do fine." Buffy slid the holdalls that she carried under the edge of the bunks.

"That's good because I think some of the watchers would have peed in their pants if they ended up bunking in with Spike."

Buffy couldn't help the smirk that briefly graced her lips, even though she was sure her mother would have disapproved of her sister's remark. "Come on. Let's go see how Faith is getting on with her 'Slayer Masterclass'... and then, I might just need to borrow your boyfriend for an hour or two."

 

* * * * *

 

"I don't suppose our friend here can tell us how much further it is in any sort of measurement that we might understand?" Spike asked as Wes chalked another arrow that pointed back the way they had come onto the tunnel wall.

Wes's voice had a slightly nervous tone as he answered the vampire. "I'm, em, fairly certain that it isn't much farther, actually."

"An' what makes you think that?" Spike asked irritably. "You didn't even wait for the great nightlight, here, to translate." Spike wasn't about to admit it, but the glow from Bee's body set off a headache similar to that which some people get from sitting around for too long in areas with fluorescent lighting. After four hours of spiralling downward, the vampire was almost remembering the chip fondly.

It seemed the tunnel must widen out slightly as the watcher moved to the right and Bee moved to the left, allowing the vampire to see more than Bee's rear view for the first time in the last ten minutes.

"They do." The watcher nodded toward the demon that pointed a trident at his, thankfully, invulnerable chest even as its companion recovered from its surprise at seeing Bee to go down on one knee by her feet, bowing its head before her mercury gaze.

It was almost as if Quentin had been waiting for their return. His gaze trailed over the slayer, her sister and their dog with no little disdain before settling on the spiky haired youth with black nail polish who carried their bags.

"I see that a mere apocalypse is insufficient to curb your yen for retail therapy."

Buffy returned the council head's gaze with a saccharine smile. "But isn't that the best time to shop... when the world's going to be sucked into hell before you need to pay the credit card bills?" she commented disingenuously.

Quentin's only rebuttal was a brief snort. "Is this yet another of your entourage? He certainly has the look of one of your paramours... or he would if it weren't for the fact he's openly walking around in daylight."

Dawn scowled at the older man and linked an arm through Brandon's, impeded slightly by the bulky bags he carried. "I guess good taste just runs in the family."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she attempted to stare the watcher down. "I would say that I hate to be rude, but I think Spike's beginning to rub off on me, so how about you just get to the point instead?"

"Then, perhaps, if it won't prove too great a strain for your sister and her... young gentleman to take care of your shopping on their own, you would accompany me to my office?"

"I wouldn't care to go anywhere with you without knowing why I'm doing it."

"I simply need you to sign some paperwork to finalise some of the arrangements that your Mr Giles stipulated as the price of your co-operation in these matters." The watcher frowned as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "That and one other small matter."

 

* * * * *

 

Buffy looked at the cheque and its accompanying sheet of calculations in disbelief.

"I can assure you it's perfectly correct," the watcher insisted, not realising that her expression stemmed from the fact that Giles had neglected to mention the few little perks he had added onto the list of things Buffy had requested. "A salary, calculated at the same rate as a watcher in charge of a slayer, plus an additional clothing allowance to cover wear and tear, all backdated to the time you were called, minus some deductions for that period when you were retired from active duty."

"Why don't you just say what you mean? Dead is so much shorter."

The watcher continued on regardless as if Buffy hadn't spoken. "I know that taxes and other deductions whittle it down somewhat, but I assure you that it has all been fairly calculated. I simply need you to sign to say you have received the cheque."

"And Faith?"

"Faith's earnings, for the brief period where she wasn't actually incarcerated or attempting to help bring about an apocalypse, have been offset against the cost of certain services we are to provide on her behalf, though perhaps once this particular situation is resolved we may write off any remaining debt on her part."

"And what services would those be?"

"We have had to go to considerable effort on your colleague's behalf, to not only arrange her continued freedom, but to ensure that she need not go through a lengthy appeals process but instead be a free woman with almost immediate effect."

Buffy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Ya, right! So you can do the whole red tape thing, like when you threatened to have Giles deported, but the only way she'd walk straight away was if you got her a presidential pardon or something."

Quentin's eyes narrowed at her scathing tone. "That was the agreement that Mr Giles insisted upon. As a former employee, he, perhaps, is more aware of exactly what the council's capabilities are than a young girl who failed to even complete college."

Buffy scrawled a signature to say she had received the cheque and lifted it and the accompanying paperwork from the desk. Her tone was icy cold as she asked, "Are we done, yet?"

"Almost."

Quentin held open the door of his office for Buffy to go through and then pulled open the door opposite which turned out to be a small cupboard. As soon as the door opened a loud yowling struck up from a wriggling pillowcase on the floor. "I would be obliged if you would take this animal back to its owner and make sure that it does not return to the library."

Buffy unceremoniously pushed past the older man and undid the cord which held the top of the sack closed, freeing the Siamese. "His owner is elsewhere and, as far as I'm concerned, Rupert is one of the team. If he wants to be in your mouldy old library, he can go where he pleases. Get used to it. You're in my world now... and, okay... maybe I can't hit someone who's practically a senior citizen, but I'm sure if you upset Bee by abusing her cat again and I asked Giles really nicely he would do it for me."

Even as Buffy gave her opinion, the cat strolled back to sit outside the nearby library doors and, when one of the watchers pushed the door open, it slipped between his legs. Soon the haughty feline was strolling from table to table, checking what progress the various researchers had made in his absence. Then, he insisted on curling up in Giles' lap as the watcher read through his piles of ancient texts, occasionally kneading at the most uncomfortable areas possible. After all, it was Giles' decision to combine a visit to Dunkin' Donuts with a brisk walk to clear away the stuffy feeling from being in the library all morning, which had allowed Quentin's minions to imprison the cat ...and the watcher hadn't even sought him out on his return.

 

* * * * *

 

The fact that the confrontation wasn't entirely unexpected did little to make Spike feel more comfortable. The demons were pointing sharp, potentially lethal objects in the direction of at least one of his friends (and part of Spike's brain still stuttered in reluctance over his use of such a word in respect to a watcher, even a rebel one). He had more than a sneaking suspicion that if there were three sentries, rather than two, a trident would be pointed in his direction, too. Even though he knew the weapon couldn't harm Wes as long as he carried the orbs, the vampire's first instinct, his every instinct, was still telling him to fight first and worry about it later. The fact that one of the demons seemed intent on bowing down to possibly literally kiss the feet of Madame Glowy-Arse, who was largely responsible for the headache that was contributing to the vampire's less than pleasant mood, in no way improved matters.

Even as Bee opened her mouth to speak in a language that sounded like it belonged in a middle-eastern bazaar, but which matched no tongue of which Spike was aware, the vampire clenched and unclenched his fists, tightening his grip on the heavy sword he carried. The half demon had only spoken a handful of syllables when the demon facing Wesley lowered his weapon and briefly bowed his head in greeting. Bee, however, continued talking for some time.

When the demon that knelt before her finally got a chance to respond she seemed somewhat taken aback by his reply.

"What's up, ducks?" Spike asked.

"Em, well, nothing really..."

Spike rolled his eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"Not really him. More it. They have this whole asexual thing going. Just the usual formal greeting... blessings on its house... live a life of peace and harmony... many strong offspring... spiritual enlightenment."

"And it said?"

"It said verbal communication is unnecessary and inefficient and that The Nezla Khan had already informed it of our purpose. They request that we sheathe our weapons as best we can and follow them."

"Follow them where?" Wes asked, sounding more curious than anything else.

Bee's admirer spoke as it rose from its position on the floor. The men looked to Bee for a translation as the two Nezla demons moved off obviously expecting them to follow and making no move to protect their backs from the visitors.

"They're taking us to see their high priest."

"They understood what I said?" Wes asked.

This time the Nezla's reply was preceded by something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Bee's mouth formed into a perfect O as the demon's words sunk in.

"They understood what you thought," she told the watcher in an awed whisper.

"Wha'? They know what we're all thinking? Or just Percy, here, 'cause he's got the marbles?"

The demon's response brought laughter to Bee's lips, purer somehow in tone than any human laughter. "He says you have no need to guard your mind, Spike. The Nezla Khan has told them that the strength of your heart is such that on closer acquaintance it compensates for the occasional roughness of your thoughts."

"Hmmph. Very nice of him, I'm sure." Spike didn't sound entirely convinced as they followed the demons deeper into the cavern system.

 

* * * * *

 

Wesley's gaze travelled across to where Bee walked beside him and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he closed it again and kept on walking. One of the two Nezlas looked back toward the brunette and shook his head almost pityingly. After several single file bits of corridor Wes could no longer tell whether it was the demon who had threatened him or the one who had almost seemed to worship Bee. It was that look that finally prompted the watcher to speak.

"Is it normal for demons to fall down and worship at your feet?"

Bee seemed to consider this for a brief period. "It happens occasionally... with the more enlightened ones... Even with an odd human, now and again."

"And this is something to do with what Spike said when he saw you in demon form, perhaps?"

This prompted a snort of amusement from the vampire as he brought up the rear once more. "You might say that," he replied his voice rich with irony. "Kinda thought with that huge watcher brain of yours you'd have sussed all this out."

"Is it really that important?" Bee asked.

"Not if you don't wish to tell me." The watcher tried his best not to sound disappointed but Bee could tell his feelings were hurt by her reluctance to share.

Bee's mercury gaze met Spike's piercing blue and the vampire gave a resigned sigh.

"Okay," he started as he turned his gaze to the watcher. "Apart from our little firefly here, who else do you know as can do the whole Blackpool illuminations bit?"

"We-ell, there's Cordelia. Hers is a bit more golden whereas Bee's is more sort of silvery but-"

"Right, and the cheerleader can do this how?"

"Because she was made part demon, but I don't-."

"An' what other party tricks does step-grandmamma have up her sleeve? Forget the seer thing that predates the rest."

"Well, she did that sort of cleansing thing on Connor-."

"And?"

"She sort of hovered once?"

"Okay, so what do we call a glowy humanoid as can hover in mid-air?"

It seemed like Spike could hear the racing beat of the human's heart as he hesitated to state the conclusion he had inferred from Spike's hints. "A fairy?" The vampire's right hand reached up to cover his eyes but the watcher carried on somewhat uncertainly in any case as if he were more thinking out loud than anything else. "Except she doesn't have any wings but that could be because they're both partly human."

"Watcher, forget the bloody wings. I wouldn't be surprised if our little glowworm could grow herself a pair if she saw fit but that's beside the point. They're only for decoration anyway... Not all demonkind are from the hell-dimensions. Did it never occur to you that if the cheerleader was bein' set up to be home for a higher power that it might not really want to live inside some sort of hellspawn? ...Not that when it comes down to it there's all that much difference except that damn holy light of theirs."

"An angel?" Wes's eyes bulged as he looked at Bee. "You're an angel?"

"Half an angel," Bee insisted.

His eyes widened even further. "Cordy's an angel? Cordy? We are talking about the same person here, aren't we?"

Faith wandered nonchalantly into the communal area of the roof space, her face flushed and her hair still damp from her recent shower, dressed only in a short robe that she had borrowed from Buffy. The robe didn't cover as much of Faith's rather more ample cleavage as it did of Buffy's. Brandon's wandering gaze earned him a swift elbow in the ribs from Dawn and a sultry smile from the brunette slayer before his eyes fixed firmly on the toecaps of his boots.

Buffy pointedly cleared her throat at the by-play before questioning her counterpart. "How did it go today?"

Faith shrugged. "The rugrats are nothing but a liability. Anything under thirteen I figured we might as well leave with the watchers. We'd have to be really desperate before we'd consider sending them into a fight. The rest I've split up into groups like we figured."

"How many of them are ready to go out on patrols?"

"That depends... Are you talking as ready as Xander and Willow back in the good old days or ready enough to have a hope in hell of getting out of there alive if they run into one of those Cro-Mag vamps of yours?"

Buffy gave a bitter smile. "Alive would be-." The blonde's words froze on her lips. Seconds stretched into minutes before her lips took on a warmer curve than before. "Looks like we've got first contact, guys, but so far no fight. Dawn, can you go and find Giles and the others? Tell them that they met up with a couple of sentries who seem to be taking them somewhere but that it faded out when Spike started to relax again."

Her younger sister scrambled up from her seat on a slightly dilapidated sofa, the tug on Brandon's hand making it plain that she had no plans to leave him unsupervised with a semi-naked Faith. Naturally, since Spike had managed to evade her, Rogue trotted along behind Dawn as the next best option. Buffy couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Quentin's face if he saw the dog following her sister into the library, but amusing as that might be she had no desire for a team of council operatives to follow their allies' trail in order to take back that which they had gone to considerable trouble to return to their rightful owners. "And, Dawn... Be discreet!"

"Yeah, right! And who's the one who's going to be using a cell phone?" Dawn retorted, gesturing in the direction of the device Buffy had taken from her pocket in preparation for passing on the news to Marie.

 

* * * * *

 

The tension in the air caused Dawn to sidle as quietly as possible over to the table Tara and Oz were sharing with one hand clasped in Brandon's and the other firmly on Rogue's collar.

Giles' face took on an uncharacteristic sneer as he faced off against what was undoubtedly a senior watcher. If he'd been your average Joe Public, Dawn would have said he was going grey and had a beer gut. For some reason, this guy struck her rather as portly and distinguished with his neatly trimmed beard. No doubt he and Quentin were the best of chums. Dawn edged 'round as Giles' voice dropped to the low, controlled tone that even Buffy wasn't particularly fond of dealing with, ready to take position at his back should her support be required.

"I'm surprised you didn't do your homework better. Had you done so, you would realise that having withstood torture at the hands of one of the more notorious vampires known to the council, I would hardly fall in line for an overblown bully such as yourself."

"I had merely hoped that you possessed the civility and good breeding to treat those whose experience in these matters exceeds your own with a modicum of respect."

"Length of service does not necessarily equate directly with experience. You may have managed to make your slayer into a cowed automaton who followed the council's every wish, but that is most likely why she only lived four months after she was called. Wesley was fortunate that he got the chance to escape your clutches and become a man instead of the simpering imbecile into which your domineering ways moulded him."

The older man exhaled in a derisive snort. "Wesley's mother made him soft, not I, but discussing my son's many inadequacies now will only lead to having to repeat myself when and if he deigns to return."

Dawn's shocked gasp as she realised the identity of Giles' aggressor did nothing to halt Roger Wyndam-Pryce's vitriolic rant, though the disparaging glance he gave her and her friends as she and Brandon stepped up on Giles' right and Tara and Oz moved to stand on his left did allow him a second's pause. Rogue's growl was a steady rumble and Dawn was forced to hold tight on her collar for fear that, should she attack, the watcher would doubtless ensure she was destroyed.

"Nevertheless, Wesley has now rejoined the council, as have you, you would do well to remember. If you know where he is, it would behove you to tell me."

"Wesley works for the council on a part-time basis, as do I. Whatsoever we may choose to do in our spare time and whomever we may associate with, it is of no concern to either you or anyone else within the council."

"And yet it is written that no man may serve two masters. How can either of you serve the council and at the same time harbour those who are its enemy?"

"I cannot answer for Wesley but the money I am paid by the council buys only my services, not my soul. I follow the dictates of the council only so far as they do not conflict with those of my conscience. If this means that at some point in the future the council and I shall part paths again it does not unduly distress me. I have long since learned that the council's way of doing things is far from the only way to get things done, even though its resources can prove useful from time to time."

"And your conscience fails to trouble you even though you seek to protect the very demons that ambushed one of the potentials you are purportedly protecting?"

"The demon, singular, of whom you speak, could, indeed, consider herself under my protection, such as it is, if she were to need it. However, it would appear that the account of the situation which you may have heard is somewhat divergent from the truth. Rather than being ambushed, the psychotic-in-training that you're trying to defend chose to make an unprovoked attack on an essentially harmless being, who was simply waiting for his friend to return from the ladies room at the local cinema, where, far from wreaking havoc or lying in wait, the couple had been doing nothing more morally reprehensible than watching Nicole Kidman prance around in something that purports to be a musical. The fact that, on her return, Clem's girlfriend was able to prevent the girl causing any damage in excess of a black eye, I consider a matter of extreme good fortune. I also consider her to be extremely forbearing in that she limited her retribution to ensuring that the hand which was raised against her loved one would not do so again any time soon. No doubt, the girl in question would not have been such a model of restraint had our friend, who was attacked, truly been on his own." Giles' emphasis on the word friend did not go unnoticed.

"So you make no attempt to hide the fact that you and Wesley are both consorting, not only with William the Bloody but with other demons, and that your relationships extend beyond professional expediency and are in fact personal?"

Giles squared his chin and looked the other watcher squarely in the eye, making no effort to hide his low opinion of the other man. "When demons live in peace with those around them, seeking little more than the chance to live quietly and protect their own... when they prove to be steadfast and true allies and help those I care for, at their own personal risk, then I find them deserving of my friendship and loyalty. That is more than can be said for most of the humans in this room who it seems even in the council's time of direst need are too caught up in prejudice and politics to see the situation in front of their eyes for what it really is. If you'll excuse me, my friends and I have more constructive things to do with our time."

Giles turned on his heel and, completely ignoring the other watcher, began to make his way around the various groups of researchers in the library to get updates on their progress. Wes's father was still standing in stunned silence at Giles' blatant disregard as Oz's nose twitched and a slow, lopsided smile formed on his face.

Dawn nudged the werewolf and whispered in his ear, wanting to know what had amused him so. Oz simply nodded toward the elder watcher's expensively tailored and now slightly speckled trouser leg. "I don't think the cat likes him any better than Giles does."

 

* * * * *

 

After leaving a brief, cryptic message for Marie with Lori, Buffy returned her attention to the other slayer. "So... how bad is it?"

Faith shrugged. "We've got girls who've never seen a day's training in their lives and one or two that were learning martial arts when they were still in diapers but they've never had to take on anyone that was actually trying to kill them. They know fancy names for all the moves but they think the bad guys are gonna walk up to them, bow and issue a formal challenge. I reckon we might have a dozen we can lick into good enough shape to patrol by the end of the week."

"It's a start."

"So, how are we gonna do this? One person teaching the same two groups all the time or rotate them round?"

"Rotate the groups, rotate the patrols but we each take overall responsibility for two of the groups. That way if they have a problem they know who to come to. Split the four best groups between the two of us. Make sure I get the one with Clem's little princess, otherwise she'll spend all her time complaining to you about me. Give Spike the two worst ones."

"Ain't that a little unfair to Debbie Harry?"

"Probably, but Spike's the only guy I know who can put the fear of hell into them until they can catch up but still be able to see if any of them are going to break. He'll get more of the weak ones through than either of us could."

"That's..." Faith seemed to pause, unsure how to express what she wanted to say. "The Buffy I used to know would have wanted to do it all herself. You must trust him a hell of a lot."

"Yeah..." Buffy's answer was little more than a whisper. "Yeah, I do. He's earned it."

 

* * * * *

 

Wesley could not have said what it was that made him follow their escorts' lead and kneel before the demon he assumed was their senior priest when they reached his chamber, nor if his motivation was the same as Spike's or Bee's. It could have been simple instinct or a sense of self-preservation. It could have simply been a sense of etiquette so finely tuned during his formative years that it was now almost second nature. Most likely, he suspected, it was the aura of sanctity that seemed to emanate from the demon, the feeling that here was a being worthy of the respect. Wes felt that if he were to meet the Dalai Lama, the renowned holy man's presence would be little different from that of the demon they currently faced with their heads bowed.

Unlike the others of his kind, he needed no translator but somehow conveyed his thoughts to the group fully formed without resorting to anything as crude as words or language. The three visitors rose as one at his silent bidding and it seemed that he offered each his personal thanks for the orbs' safe return. Wes tried not to notice as Spike's lips formed into a smile so serene it seemed alien on his pale visage and a few stray tears overflowed from his bright eyes. The vampire blocked Wes's view of Bee's face yet he knew that she could not fail to be equally overcome by the experience, just as he knew that none of them would ever ask or tell of the profundity of their encounter. It simply wouldn't be possible to adequately put it into words.

 

* * * * *

 

In an attic, miles away, a quiet tear fell onto the notebook where Buffy was drawing up schedules and lesson plans. Her communion with her mate, for once, wasn't a result of adrenaline-fuelled battle, but the gift of an improbably holy demon. It wasn't the only gift he gave them. He also gave them a promise.

"Who is it?" Buffy called out in a voice she hoped wasn't loud enough to wake Xander and Anya in the room next to hers. It had been a long time since she had answered a knock with a simple 'come in'. Her hair remained slightly damp from her post-patrol shower and she wore one of the black satin pyjama tops her fiancé had given her along with a pair of matching panties. It had been a couple of hours since her return and still there had been no further news from Spike and the others since early the previous evening.

"It's Lydia... Lydia Chalmers. Can I come in?" The watcher's voice was equally hushed.

Buffy gave a sigh, wondering what further surprises this day was going to bring. "Sure. Why not?" Buffy asked. "It's your place after all."

Buffy shuffled back on the cots until her back rested against the wall, her bare legs crossed in the lotus position, leaving the outside edge of the beds free for the watcher to sit on. "Help yourself to a seat. It's not all that comfortable, but it's all we've got." Buffy's gaze strayed between the lower lip which the other blonde seemed to only just prevent herself from chewing to the envelope in her hands, the name William etched in an anally miniaturised and unbelievably tidy script.

"Thank you. I'm sure it will be perfectly serviceable though I'm sorry we've been unable to offer you more luxurious accommodation."

Buffy shrugged. "Our bad. We pretty much invited ourselves, not the other way 'round. Anyway, how can I help?"

"More the reverse, actually... I thought you might have need of this." The watcher passed over the envelope, which turned out not to be sealed.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "May I?"

"I thought you might wish to check its contents before you passed it on, but for obvious reasons it needed to be addressed to William."

Buffy opened the single sheet of writing paper inside and read aloud. "Dear William, provided you mean no harm to those within its walls, you will always be welcome in my home. L. Chalmers." Buffy raised her eyes to meet those partially obscured behind the other woman's spectacles. "Thank you. It would have been rather awkward if that particular problem had presented itself in the middle of the night, though he never seemed to have a problem getting into the high school."

"Yes, well, given the other school's location, it did have a rather unfortunate motto, and we did deliberately arrange for myself and a couple of the teaching staff to take up residence on the property to make it more difficult for nocturnal callers to gain access. So far as I'm aware, it has yet to be put to the test but I thought it would be as well to err on the side of caution, just in case you and the others class as guests rather than residents."

"You've erred on the side of caution all 'round, it seems."

The watcher flushed slightly, her eyes dropping to the quilt that Buffy had brought from Revello Drive. "I don't know exactly what happened between Quentin and Robin Wood. I do know that it wouldn't be unreasonable for William to desire some sort of revenge, but the fact remains that Quentin is a good man."

Buffy's expression clearly betrayed her scepticism.

"I know he can seem ruthless and unbending. I know he can even at times seem inhuman, but he does what he does for the same reasons you perform your own duty, so that most of the world can live their lives as if demons don't exist."

"He treats people... slayers as if they're just pieces on a chess board."

"As must any general. This is a war... the longest war. I would never wish to stand in his shoes. I wouldn't want to be responsible for sending girls like those downstairs to almost certain death, but there must be people who can make those decisions."

The watcher removed her glasses, letting her gaze rest firmly on Buffy's hazel eyes before she continued. "William and Drusilla killed Quentin's grandfather before he was even born. His father disappeared, presumed killed, before he reached his teens. He had two sons both a few years older than me, both killed by vampires. If he's unable to see those qualities that mean William has been able to change, it's not so surprising. If he's retreated into a world where he has no wish to care for those he must sacrifice to protect the remainder of humanity, it doesn't make him an evil man or a bad one. It simply means he's a lonely one, whose life begins and ends with the duty he performs. To him William represented a threat and he saw it as his responsibility to do something about that threat. For now, rather unwillingly, he must accept William as an ally. Perhaps this will force him to change his view. Perhaps when the situation with The First is resolved he'll try to arrange another way to have William killed. However, so long as the 'truce' Mr Giles negotiated remains in effect Quentin will not make a move against William and I cannot allow William to harm him."

Buffy was stunned by the other woman's words. "You love him?" she whispered incredulously.

"No," Lydia replied sadly as she rose and moved toward the door. "I admire him. I respect him. On occasion, though he would find such an idea abhorrent, I even pity him, but I think any part of his personality that might once have inspired love died long ago."

The slayer nodded slowly. "He's safe, until the 'truce' is ended, but if he makes any attempt to harm Spike, you would do well to warn him that there are more of us than he might think who care about the platinum butt pain... a lot more."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," the watcher whispered as she closed the room door behind her.

 

* * * * *

 

Dawn rolled her eyes and snuggled in further against Brandon's side. "He's fine, Buffy. You know that if he was in trouble you would know about it."

Buffy stopped her pacing momentarily. "But it's four in the morning... and the soccer starts in half an hour. They're already doing the pre-match stuff. He would have been here if he could."

"Wearing a hole in the floorboards isn't going to help, and Rogue's claws make irritating clicking noises when she follows you."

"But he hasn't had anything to eat or anything."

"He's a big, butch vampire... okay, a slightly taller than me, lean, tough vampire, but I don't think missing a couple of meals is going to hurt."

Buffy was just about to point out that Spike didn't need to be any leaner than he already was when Rogue took off down the stairs at full pelt. Just after that those with human hearing picked up the sounds of a couple of distant engines coming closer. Snatching the letter Lydia had given her earlier from the arm of one of the chairs, Buffy set off in pursuit of the canine, unmindful of her own bare feet and the fact that her pyjama top only covered her to mid-thigh.

 

* * * * *

 

Lights still burned in the library as Bee's car and Spike's motorcycle pulled up side by side in the gravelled area at the front of the school building. Before Spike could turn off the engine and put the motorbike on its stand, the main door opened and Rogue streaked across the intervening ground as if she hadn't seen the vampire in weeks, closely followed by an equally eager slayer. The vampire dismounted and let the dog's momentum bowl him over as she impacted, rolling around on the ground with her and ruffling her fur in welcome for a few seconds. When Buffy came to stand over them, he arched that deliciously scarred eyebrow. "Not going to join us, pet?"

"I'll save my rolling around for somewhere I won't get gravel rash. Now, get up off your butt and say hello like you're pleased to see me." Buffy teased.

The vamp gave a mock salute before flipping to his feet in one agile move that made Buffy's stomach do somersaults. The pair melded together as if they were magnets of opposing polarities. Even Rogue finally gave up on receiving any further petting as their lip-lock continued on with no sign of abating, deciding to accost Wes and Bee instead. The watcher scratched behind the dog's ears and waited until Buffy came up for air, her eyes glazed with passion and her pupils dilated. Then, he noisily cleared his throat. "Maybe you could show us where our rooms are before you get too carried away?"

"Huh? What?" Buffy muttered before she finally absorbed the question. "Back stairs off the kitchen at the far end, top floor. Bee's second on the right. You're third on the left. Brandon's watching the soccer in the main room straight ahead. If you want a shower then the changing rooms are next to the gym." She nodded in the opposite direction from that she had indicated for the kitchens.

Wes and Bee both shook their heads. "More in need of some sleep than a shower," the kohl-eyed blonde admitted, but the couple were once more oblivious to anyone except each other.

Spike scooped Buffy into his arms, dawdling as he made his way toward the school's front doors to allow the watcher and his assistant to get ahead of them. Buffy's arms wrapped around his neck and she nibbled at his lower lip with her teeth, teasing at the cool flesh. "Missed you," she whispered into his mouth in a minty fresh breath.

"Show me where those showers are an' I'll make it up to you, pet," the vamp promised, but as he made to shoulder his way through the doors he came up against an unbreachable barrier. Before he could get into full stride with his litany of words beginning with the letter 'B' that would never be shown on Sesame Street, Buffy's thumb brushed over his cheekbone in a soothing gesture.

"S'okay." She opened out the now rather crushed envelope and showed him the note inside. The barrier gave way as if it had no more substance than wet tissue paper, and Spike staggered slightly as it ceased to support his weight.

Adjusting his grip once more, he rubbed his nose against Buffy's as he carried her toward the showers. "Who's my smart girl?" he asked, his voice rumbling in his throat.

"That would actually be the watcher, but if you want to say thank you, I can pass the message on."

"I'll work on it." The vampire's lips smashed into hers with a force that took her breath away, her lips opening eagerly to allow his tongue entrance, her own returning his every caress with equal fervour.

She struggled for air as he pushed his way through the door marked girls' changing rooms. "What about the soccer?" she gasped.

"Screw the bloody football," Spike retorted.

Wes and Bee were still making their way along the ground floor corridor that led to the kitchen when one of the library doors opened. Neither paid any particular attention until they recognised Giles' hushed tones.

"Wesley? Bee?"

The pair turned around, weariness etched into their features but nevertheless, a smile crept onto Wes's lips and finally reached his eyes when he noticed the tumbler of amber liquid in Giles' hand.

"I don't suppose there's more where that came from?" Wes asked.

"I think it could be arranged. James and I were just catching up a bit before we turn in... and celebrating a small breakthrough on the research. I take it your own endeavours were successfully resolved." The returning heroes noticed the young man at Giles' shoulder for the first time and Wes took his cue from the elder man's discretion.

"Matters have been brought to the desired conclusion, you could say."

The youngest of the watchers cleared his throat, and Bee's appraising gaze scanned him from head to toe. His hair was brown, but the sort of shade she suspected would take on a distinct coppery tinge before too long in the California sun. The locks were rumpled as if he had run anxious fingers through it over the course of long hours. Unsurprisingly, given the time, so late that it would soon be early, his eyes betrayed his tiredness but there was also a glint of good humour, and slight creases at the side of his mouth told of a face more used to smiles and laughter than frowns. The white shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone and his necktie loosened did little to hide his broad-shouldered physique. "I think, maybe, I should be going." While it was equally correct as the speech of the other two watchers, the younger man's voice had a slight lilt that Bee found endearing.

"Don't leave on our account." Bee nodded at the glass he had slid onto an adjacent table. "That would be a waste of good whisky."

"Right then..." Giles stepped away from the door, allowing Bee and Wes to follow him in and making introductions as he poured two more measures of single malt. "James, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Buffy's other watcher, and Bee, who is his business partner. They work as private investigators... with particular reference to cases that may involve the local demonic population. Bee, Wesley, this is James Urquhart. I suppose you could say that his father was my mentor during my early years as a watcher."

"You mentioned a breakthrough?" Wes enquired as he took a seat at the table the two men had obviously been sharing, nodding his acknowledgement of the introduction as he did so.

"Yes," Giles responded, eyes glittering with enthusiasm. "Actually, it was James who found it. Perhaps he should tell you."

"Assuming you don't want me to explode, either literally or figuratively, one of you should tell me," Bee hinted.

"Well, it's your drawings..." Giles began before nodding to the younger watcher who took up the tale.

"We thought at first the etchings on the blade were simply a design, possibly with some significance, like the naturalist elements of Celtic art, but I'm almost certain now that it's not simply a design, but that they're characters in an ancient demonic language..."

Bee picked up her original sketch, holding it at first so that the stylised bumblebee with which she signed her work and the date were at the bottom left of the page, but then as the young man continued to speak she held it first sideways and then upside down, her eyes flicking from one view of the blade to the other and back again.

"We think it's a language called-."

"Tawarick." Bee dashed the heel of her right hand against her forehead as she held the sketch in her left before raising her glass to take a swift sip.

"Ye-es," the young watcher looked at the woman before him in some surprise. "We didn't spot it at first because of how the words wind around the blade. If we'd only had one view we would never have been able to do it. How did you know? It's one of the more common demon languages, but it's still relatively rare for anyone outside the council to be aware of it, and this particular piece seems to be one of the earliest written versions available."

Giles gave the younger man a wry grin. "As you will probably learn, our Bee is a lady of many talents, few of which are ordinary."

"Well, as I was saying, it's a very old version of the language so it may take some time to translate it but at least we know what it is now," James elaborated, somewhat perplexed.

Giles and Wes, however, simply looked at the petite blonde with whom they shared a table. Bee might not have seen the significance of what she had drawn as she drew it, but her mind had been on other things. Both men were confident, once she recognised the language, that she would hold the key to its translation without the need for primers or grammatical texts.

"'Let the blood that I spill be consecrated to the oldest evil.' It's sort of convoluted and when I say 'I', I mean the knife... or the blood that the knife spills will be consecrated to The First."

"Lovely," Wes drawled. "And do we know if there is some sort of link between the knife and the 'oversized Alchemy trinket' as Spike calls it?"

"Not yet," Giles admitted, "but I'll try to focus some of the research teams in that direction tomorrow... check out the iconography from the communities where this form of Tawarick was in use and so on."

Wes stifled a yawn and Giles' eyes darted over to him. "I have some other news, as well, of a more personal nature. It appears that Quentin is not above using whatever means he can to lure those of us capable of rational, independent thought back into line with council policy. Your father is here - somewhere in the building. I wouldn't be surprised to find that he was camped out in your room, waiting for you to return. From the... conversation I had with him earlier it would appear that Quentin has filled him in on all our most grievous sins... from their point of view, at least. He knows about Marie, her existence if not her name, and he's heard his own twisted little version of what happened with Clem and how you tried to speak up on his behalf to Quentin."

Giles couldn't help the knot of sympathy that curled in his stomach at Wes's look of dismay. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm reliably informed that the other Rupert felt it imperative to announce to the world in the most pungent terms possible that he owned your father's trousers."

First Wes's face twisted into a smile and then a small chuckle escaped. "Amazingly enough, yes... yes, it does."

 

* * * * *

 

Spike carried Buffy through a short stretch of corridor before pushing open a second swing door that led to the changing rooms proper. On their left, was a bank of metal lockers while, to their right, was an area with benches and coat-hooks set out like the letter 'm' but rotated a quarter turn clockwise. Buffy squirmed in Spike's arms until he gradually lowered her feet to the ground, but the arm around her back refused to relinquish its hold and his lips continued to pay homage to the graceful column of Buffy's neck as her head arched back.

The slayer tugged at the edges of Spike's shirt, using it to draw him with her as she shuffled backwards until her heels brushed against the lockers. She moaned in impatience as Spike's lips brushed and nibbled from jaw line to barely exposed collarbone on her sensitive skin, everywhere except over his claim mark. She pushed up on her tiptoes and slipped her hands around Spike's waist and down. Her fingers pressed into firm, denim-bound buttocks as she ground her hips against him. If he could tease, so could she. She waited until the vampire groaned loudly before she pulled one hand away, reaching out for the combination padlock that secured the topmost locker at the end, where, several hours earlier, she had left her toiletries and a spare towel. Even if she could have focused her vision on the dial, she doubted that she would have remembered the combination. Spike dropped to his knees, the nails of her other hand raking his back through his shirt and T-shirt. Then, he began unbuttoning her oversized satin top one agonizingly deliberate button at a time, his lips worshipping at the narrow line of flesh he exposed down the centre of her body. The feeling of adoration was as real to her as the touch of his lips and her fingers clenched around the lock until it broke apart in her hand.

Finally, the last button was undone and cool fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties at the left and the right, sliding the slick fabric slowly down until she could step daintily out of them one tiny foot at a time. His mouth pressed cool kisses along her inner thigh to her knee and calf, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He cupped her foot as she raised it off the ground, teasing her ticklish instep until she gasped and then his eyes caught hers with a positively evil gleam as he closed those pouting lips over her big toe and sucked. Buffy arched back, rattling the lockers behind her as the sensation surged through her body in a rush of adrenaline-charged blood, setting off warm tingles in her stomach and a rush of dampness at the apex of her legs.

"Ohh god! Oh god!" she cried, the cabinets behind her shaking as they supported her trembling body. The purely physical effects of the vampire's touch roiled through Buffy's being, vying for supremacy with the emotions it engendered. Not least of these was an empathic satisfaction bordering on smugness. Her vampire was getting decidedly cocky about the effect he had on her.

Spike rose to his feet once more, barely letting his hands skim her flanks as he did so, his teasing touch making her squirm far more than a firmer hand would have done. As she began to recover her senses, her fingers tugged frantically at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to pull it free from the waist of his jeans, but the vampire stepped away with a gloating smile as Buffy held onto the lockers to stop her quivering knees from giving way. "What's the rush, kitten?" he almost whispered, his voice husky with desire. He waited until he was out of reach of her questing fingertips before he tantalisingly stripped his own clothes away.

First was the midnight blue shirt, which slipped gently from his arms to reveal corded muscles. Then as she watched, mesmerized by his pale, strong fingers, he opened his belt and the top two fastenings on his button-fly jeans, relieving the strain on the material just enough to let him ease loose the hem of his t-shirt and give her fleeting glimpses of flesh as he moved. The black cotton jersey glided over his head in slow motion to land on the bench beside him, exposing starkly defined abdominal muscles and a thin vertical line of dark hair that drew her focus once more to the open V at the waist of his jeans. As soon as Buffy realised she was staring, her eyes shifted nervously to Spike's face. The vampire's knowing expression held her gaze as he raised one eyebrow and ran the tip of his tongue over his upper teeth. The simple suggestion hit its mark every time and Buffy felt another rush of heat between her thighs.

Keeping his eyes on her face, he sat on the bench to untie the laces of his left boot and toe it off before dropping his sock inside it. Once he had repeated his actions to bare his right foot, he stood again.

His hands dropped once more to the front of his jeans and Buffy couldn't help the way her attention flicked up and down between there and his lust-darkened eyes as he swaggered a couple of paces forward. He spoke in a drawn out sultry drawl, undoing one button for each word until there were no more left. "Reckon... I... could... join... the Chippendales, pet?"

"Nugh!" Buffy knew that actual words existed. She just couldn't quite convince her mouth to make any as Spike turned so that he had to watch her over his shoulder, pushing the heavy denim over his perfect butt and down his legs until, at last, he was naked.

"Was that a 'no', love?" he asked as he straightened and turned back to face her. "Don't you think I'm good enough looking?" His bottom lip stuck out in a mock pout that he knew she would be unable to resist and he came back to her with that inimitable snake-hipped strut. His eyes met hers and then looked down between them while his hands eased the pyjama jacket from her shoulders and, without a backward glance, tossed it to hit the wall behind him and slide down until it pooled on the bench. "Or maybe you think the other ladies would think I was under endowed?" This last was asked with the wicked grin of a male more than secure in his own virility.

This time Buffy's answer came out almost as a growl. "Mine!" Dragging his head down until she could reach, she seared him with her lips on his before she ran the tip of her tongue along his jaw and down his neck, her teeth pressing hard against the flesh covering his collarbone but not quite breaking the surface. "Mine?" she repeated. The bond between them echoed with both their maelstrom emotions but she needed somehow to hear it in words.

"Yours... always yours... for eternity and a day..." Spike's voice rose and his hips thrust against her, shaking the lockers once more as Buffy bit down hard. "My beautiful, possessive girl."

She didn't bother to reply in words. Instead, she let her lips work their way down to a flat, pink nipple, sucking briefly on the already erect bud before biting down on the raised nub at its centre. The vampire's animalistic roar echoed around the room and by the time his fiancée worked out what he had done from her semi-inverted position and her view of a spectacularly firm ass, she barely had time to grab the toiletries bag that sat just inside her now gaping locker.

More to excite her mate further than from any real desire to be set free, she wriggled and squirmed on Spike's shoulder as he carried her around the end of the row of lockers toward the shower area behind. "Put me down, you fiend! I am so going to make you pay."

Spike had no intention of releasing his captive and Buffy's cries of protest ended in a sharp gasp as the hand that had formerly been holding her bottom in place curled between her thighs, stroking the slick flesh that was hidden there. There were no shower cubicles, just one large slightly sunken tiled area with a long row of showerheads. The vampire turned on shower after shower, letting them heat up before he worked his way backward along the line to adjust the scalding water to a temperature that wouldn't burn his mate.

"Isn't one shower enough for you?" Buffy teased as he finally lowered her to the floor, the hot spray splashing over both their bodies. "Or is your ego that big it needs the other three?"

"You really think we're going to stay upright the whole time?" the demon countered.

Hazel eyes gleamed with amusement as she dropped her bag on the floor just beyond the sunken area and reached down to circle the base of his shaft with a tiny hand. "I'll be very disappointed if you don't."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a lady." Spike slipped a foot between Buffy's and swept her off-balance, twisting as they fell together so that his body cushioned her impact with the unforgiving tile. His scream as he realised that the slayer had far too much practice keeping hold her stake was, however, quite a manly one. After all, vampires get off on certain types of pain.

The falling water cooled rapidly and the drops that splashed their skin as Buffy straddled his thighs were only a few degrees above normal human body temperature. Droplets pounded tiny hammer blows on their flesh until the nerve endings screamed at the lightest touch. Buffy lowered her head as Spike propped himself up on his elbows to watch her. Her lips placed tiny nibbling kisses along the ridge that ran up the broad shaft between whispered promises. "I think... maybe... I should... just... make sure... everything's still... in working order." Her grip on him as they fell had already pulled back his foreskin and as she finished speaking, her mouth closed over the sensitive glans and a swirl of her tongue swept away the tiny pearl of pre-cum that decorated the tip.

Spike's hand tenderly caressing her cheek and wiping her dampened tresses away from her face made her hesitate as she lowered her mouth to take him in deeper. "I'm supposed to be making it up to you for leaving you all alone, remember?" His gentle touch eased her back up. The water slicking their bodies made it simple for him to draw her up his body and roll her beneath him.

He slid into her with the grace and slow momentum of a huge ocean liner inexorably making its way down the slipway to its true home in the water. His lips claimed hers in butterfly caresses allowing her the necessary time to adjust to his presence inside her. Then, he pulled back, his eyes locking with hers as he propped himself on his elbows and withdrew from her warmth. Desire played its part in the sensations that swept through their mutual bond but that element was dwarfed by the devotion that Spike let his tempered movements convey. Matching him in every way, her hips lifting from the ground with each stroke, his mate allowed her love for him to present itself in its most sensitive form. Hours seemed to pass with them moving beneath the artificial downpour that framed their world until inevitably, linked as they were, body and mind, they shuddered together to their silent completion.