Brandon leant over to whisper as quietly as he could in Dawn's ear. "She's gonna let him win, right? I mean all that stuff... she bought it for him. She's hardly going to just give it all to someone else?"

Dawn's eyes flicked briefly from where her sister was doing stretches to warm up and Spike was stripping down to just his jeans to look at her boyfriend. "You wanna bet? If Spike thinks she's letting him win he won't touch that stuff with a twenty foot pole... and Buffy knows it. There's more chance that he'll throw it than she will."

"Huh?"

"Spike's... Spike. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's not exactly a fluffy puppy, but he won't go all out unless Buffy pushes him into it. He won't want to risk hurting her... even though he knows that she'll heal up quicker than he will... or, at least she used to heal up quicker than him, but then he started healing quicker and now I don't know... Anyway, he'll be looking to make one decisive move. Buffy'll pummel him into the ground if that's what she has to do to prove she's not taking it easy on him."

"So you think Buffy's going to win?"

"I'd say that depends more or less on one thing..."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's that?"

"That's easy," Tara responded from where she stood at Dawn's other side, her mouth curving into a mischievous, asymmetrical smile. "It's all down to how much Spike wants to win."

 

* * * * *

 

It seemed that word had somehow spread about the contest. At first there were just the extended Scoobies, or at least those who hadn't found other things to occupy their time. Bee and Wes were still in their respective beds, making up for their late night. Anya had already left for the magic shop. Xander was holding off as long as possible before heading for the high school construction site but would probably have to leave before the bout reached its climax. Oz had resisted the lure of the combat and headed straight for the library to pick up where he had left off on the previous day's research but the remaining occupants of the upper floor had all come to line the walls of the gym and watch the fight. Even Giles had chosen to leave instructions for the various research groups and come to watch, unable to resist the urge to coach his slayer as she fought.

Then, as Spike tilted his head first to one side and then the other until his neck cracked, James slipped into the room, followed a few seconds later by Lydia, Quentin and Roger Wyndam-Pryce. As the bout progressed potentials and watchers made their way quietly into the room in twos and threes and fours.

 

* * * * *

 

Spike raised an eyebrow as Buffy appeared to call a halt to her warm up. "Ready, pet?"

The slayer indicated the time on the clock that adorned the wall of the gym. "Still a couple of minutes to go," she teased as she closed the gap between them. She checked that the vampire's trim body shielded her from the view of any spectators, especially teenaged ones, her small hand reaching out to cup Spike's cheek and draw his lips down to hers. His arms slid around her waist, drawing her in so she was caught in a Spike-scented intoxication of spicy cologne, sex and cigarettes.

"Aren't you frightened I'll make an early start?" he asked as he tipped his head forward at the end of the kiss so that they rested forehead to forehead.

"Nope, 'cause I'd just disqualify you."

"An' who made you the referee?" Spike crooned in a voice smooth as satin. "Seems like you might not be exactly impartial."

Buffy's eyes moved to the clock behind his head once more before she stole another long-lasting kiss, pressing her whole body against his as she did so, even slipping one thigh between the vampire's and grinding her hipbone against him. "Like The Big Bad is going to play by the rules?" she asked as the clock's minute hand slipped the last ratchet to reach the vertical.

She tried to lodge her heel behind Spike's while he was distracted by her amorous endeavour, but whether he had been paying more attention to the subtle ticking of the clock than she was aware or whether he reacted to the switch in her mood as she stifled her own arousal and brought her slayer persona to the fore, he slipped deftly away from her.

"You're going to have to do better than that, love." The vampire moved easily backward toward the vaulting horse, beckoning his opponent forward, both hands raised, palms inwards, flexing his fingers in an age old gesture that meant 'Bring it on'.

Buffy's hand dipped into the back of her waistband... and came up empty.

"Looking for this?" The vampire pulled a heavy metal pin from behind his back, throwing it to the far end of the room, where it slid into a corner. "Shouldn't go getting all up close an' personal with the opposition."

It took no more than a fraction of a second for Buffy's eyes to scan the room, looking for an alternative weapon as she equally swiftly considered the various options. She had a feeling that Quentin would happily present her with a bill for any equipment she broke into kindling. Vaulting horses and balance beams, she suspected, were probably expensive.

Along one long wall were several large windows, interspersed with sets of double doors. All were currently shrouded by heavy drapes. Pull down, or simply open, enough curtains and the vampire would find his movements severely hampered. Part of her felt that this would be rather unfair, as in the normal run of things, the Gem of Amara aside, the slayer of slayers would not be hunting his prey in daylight. She hadn't allowed Spike the advantage of surprise and, with strength and speed already in her favour, it seemed unsportsmanlike to use a factor that would not be relevant had he chosen the time and place of their encounter.

On the opposite wall, much like in The Magic Box training room, was mounted an array of weapons. Many of them were of little more than nuisance value when fighting a vampire, throwing daggers and the like which could cause superficial wounds but were unlikely to incapacitate. Several swords and axes of various sizes and designs also graced the board, but should she misjudge the point when she needed to pull a beheading blow or should Spike step into the swing, Quentin might find it diverting but she would not. This left her with limited options, but it wasn't as if she was totally unprepared for this eventuality. It was Spike himself who had taught her that a slayer needs her weapon and Buffy had listened, though she wasn't averse to breaking necks when she ran out of other alternatives. One of the quivers on the board contained not wooden crossbow bolts, but metal ones. Like the pin the vampire had discarded, the bolts had been daubed with fluorescent paint to denote that for the purposes of their fight an injury from any of these items was to be regarded as fatal if it pierced the vampire's heart.

Buffy sprinted for the board, taking a slightly curved path to try to stay out of reach of the damnably attractive demon she had to fight, until she could reach her chosen weapon. Instead of coming towards her to cut her off as she had expected, Spike turned and, with no more than a couple of steps run up, leapt on top of the vaulting horse. The higher position meant he would be able to launch himself into a flying tackle that could take her down as soon as she tried to pass between the vaulting horse and the wall. However, by the time Buffy realised this, her forward momentum didn't really allow her to stop or change course. Instead, she threw herself into a pair of tightly curled forward rolls, one following straight after the other. She uncoiled, right next to the quiver of arrows she wanted, but it was as if a metal bar slammed into her stomach. As she fell backwards, she saw Spike spin to a stop, his right leg lowering from the horizontal to its normal position. 'Okay, no metal bar then, just firm, strong vampire leg muscle,' she thought before giving herself a mental shake to clear the 'bad' Spike images from her brain.

Flipping to her feet, she found that Spike had reached the quiver of crossbow bolts before her, launching them into the same corner of the room as the metal pin.

"How..." Buffy couldn't prevent the puzzlement she felt from showing even as she launched into a series of kicks and punches, all successfully evaded or blocked by her opponent.

The vampire grinned. "Smell that paint a mile off, love," he replied, launching his own counter offensive, which seemed to Buffy not so much designed to cause injury as to wear her down.

'Okay, two can play at that game,' Buffy decided.

 

* * * * *

 

The bout had taken on more of the appearance of a sparring match. At times, each fighter seemed to gain the ascendancy, but things in general were running more in Spike's favour than his fiancée's. It seemed as if Buffy was just a fraction slower in anticipating the vampire's moves whereas Spike seemed to know what Buffy was going to do almost as soon as she did.

"You're dropping your shoulder!" Giles coached from the sidelines.

Aside from an almost involuntary eye roll, Buffy ignored the watcher. 'You try keeping your shoulder up when you've been going toe-to-toe for an hour with an opponent that doesn't even get out of breath.'

As her fist struck out she felt it clasped in an iron grip. Spike pulled her off-balance and before she could right herself, he had stepped behind her, without releasing her hand, so that her arm was wrapped uselessly around her body. The familiar crunch of shifting bone sounded by her ear and two sharp canines barely grazed her neck. The fight was over.

 

* * * * *

 

"Okay, give!" Dawn insisted as she slid her tray onto the table and sat down opposite the blond vamp. Brandon slipped into the seat beside her.

"Wha', Nibblet?" Spike swung a leather-clad arm and the mug at the end of it toward the teen. "Don't think you really want to swap breakfasts."

"Gross! No-o-o! I mean tell me what was going on in that fight. Last time I saw you two sparring, it was a lot more even than that... Unless somebody wasn't really trying?" She gave her sister, who was just joining them, a pointed look.

"Heyyyy! I was trying!"

"Yeah, Bit, I'd have known if she wasn't really going for it."

Contrary to her previous protestations, Buffy seemed to take exception to Spike's confident assertion. "How do you know? Maybe I just didn't want to take all the stuff back?"

Spike smirked like a tomcat who not only got the cream but the tuna and unlimited access to a female in heat as well. "I know, love, because if you hadn't been thinking of it as a proper fight - at least after I took away your toy stake, you were - you wouldn't have been broadcasting all your moves to me as you thought them."

Buffy's jaw dropped a fraction of an inch.

"Remember what I told you about blocking you so that you didn't pick up on my fights when you weren't talking. All that practice came in handy."

"You cheater!" Buffy sputtered.

"What did you expect, pet? I am evil." With a grin, the blond tugged slightly at the cuff of his new leather duster so the sleeve sat just as he wanted it to. "It's all part of my sinister charm."

Buffy found herself unable to argue.

"How's the case going?" Wes asked, taking a long sip from the glass of red wine that he had ordered to accompany his pasta.

"The case is going fine," Marie responded with a tight little smile. "But that's not why you called, is it?"

The crystal peal of Wes's glass as his trembling hand replaced it upon their table seemed distressingly loud in the half empty restaurant. "No. No, it isn't, I'm afraid."

"So what exactly did your father have to say?"

"Bee?"

Marie gave a nonchalant shrug, tilted her head on one side and raised an eyebrow all at the same time in a combination of gestures that could have meant anything from, 'What do you think?' to 'Could be,' or even 'Well, it wasn't you, was it?'

Wes nervously swirled his wine as if he was savouring the bouquet, but when the liquid spilled over the edge of his glass to leave a carmine bloom on the white of the tablecloth, it was obvious his attention was elsewhere. Marie reached out and pressed her hand over his until the base of the glass rested squarely on the table. Her sad gaze travelled from the shaking hand she still held, up to meet Wes's eyes in a way that would have made him ashamed to do anything other than return her attention like for like.

"He-. Em-. He intimated that, in his opinion, it was inappropriate for a watcher to be involved with someone who had a half-demon child."

"And?" Wes found himself completely unable to judge Marie's reaction. Years of courtroom stand-offs schooled her features into an unreadable mask.

"And there was some sort of diatribe about the family name or some such."

Marie kept her voice decidedly neutral in tone. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'And what was your response to that?'."

"Em, well, I'm..."

"You agreed with him."

Wes hadn't even realised the warmth of Marie's hand until it was gone. "Well, yes, but not the way you mean." He rushed his words in an effort to explain. "I know that a sizeable proportion of the council would find our situation to be inappropriate, but they came to me and offered me the job, knowing that we were together and if there had been any mention of breaking off the relationship when they gave me that cheque, I would have ripped it into a dozen pieces. If I have to choose between you and the council, there really isn't any choice at all." Wes leaned across the table to gently lift Marie's fingertips from the table and this time she didn't move away.

"And if you have to choose between us and your family?" she asked in a soft voice that sounded almost timid.

Wes gave a small shrug. "My mother would never force me to make a choice like that. As for my father, I think my life might be greatly simplified if I were to sever my ties with him, but as much as I might think that, somehow, I've just never been able to make the break. After ten minutes with him, I lose track of which of my many shortcomings I'm meant to be apologising for. I can't guarantee that I'll not turn into a nervous wreck. I can't say that he won't twist my words until I'm ready to swear black is white, but what I can tell you is that, when all is said and done, my father's home is in England. Sooner or later he'll leave and when he does I'll be right here and, God willing, I'll be with you and Rosa. I just wanted to warn you there might be some rough sailing ahead."

"You think your father will make trouble for me? Querido, if he interferes with my family he'll find out the meaning of the word trouble."

 

* * * * *

 

Buffy looked up, yet again, from the book in which she was barely managing to pretend an interest. Every time the door of the library opened, she couldn't help but check whether it heralded her mate's return. Rotating the patrols sounded wonderful in theory, but when the rotation for the night meant that Faith and Spike were out and about while she was left to baby-sit Watcher Central, the practical side was infinitely less appealing. She was surprised to see Marie, in her post-work outfit of jeans, t-shirt and ponytail, slip through the library door. The brunette exchanged a few whispered words with Giles before he pointed her in the direction of the corner where both Wyndam Pryces were working.

Buffy lowered her head, reading the same paragraph for what she was sure was now the fifth time. This particular conflict wasn't slayer business. Of course, depending how things went she just might have to step in as Wes and Marie's friend, but for now she returned her attention, however briefly, to the text in front of her.

"I can't make any sense of this at all." She closed the book with a heavy thump.

Oz peered at the front cover and drew the book towards him. "That might be because I don't recall you taking German." He was about to swap it for one from his unread stack when Rupert nudged the topmost book from the central pile with his head so that it fell into the space Oz had made.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, kitty, I get the message. No rest for The Buffy."

 

* * * * *

 

"Really, Wesley, I'm sure you've forgotten half of what you learned at The Watcher's Academy."

"It's-. I just-."

"Never mind. I'll work from this one. Why don't you find something in English? That shouldn't be too taxing for you."

"Yes, fath... er." Wes stumbled over his reply as Marie came to stand in front of the desk he and his father shared, his embarrassment obvious.

Marie gave him a brief encouraging smile before the lines of her face hardened. "Mr Wyndam Pryce?"

"Yes?" The elder watcher looked up impatiently, scanning Marie from head to toe (or at least as far as his view was unimpeded by the desk) before dismissing her. "If you've come about one of the domestic positions I believe Miss Chalmers is dealing with the recruitment procedures."

"F-f-father-."

"Oh for heavens sake, boy, spit it out."

Marie refused to let the old man upset her. "I think Wes is trying to tell you that I have no need for any further employment. My position at the district attorney's office leaves me little enough time to spend with my daughter... or with your son."

"Aaaahhh." One word managed to convey a wealth of comprehension and not a little condescension. "Wesley failed to mention that you were Hispanic."

"I doubt that Wes considered it to be relevant, one way or the other."

"Under the circumstances... I suppose not," the old watcher crowed.

"And what circumstances would those be?"

"Father!"

"Querido?" Marie's eyes met her boyfriend's in an expression of sympathy. "Why don't you let your father explain what he means?" Her voice soothed Wes's frayed nerves like a potent balm, but if he had seen her at work in the courtroom, he might have realised that this was her at her most dangerous.

"I mean, of course, that my son's association with you is at an end. Wesley has returned to the watcher's council and as such he can no longer afford to maintain such an inappropriate relationship."

Marie held out her hand and Wes rose from his seat, walked around the table and took his place at her side. "Let us make ourselves clear. Our relationship will continue for as long as your son and I wish it to continue. Should you, or any other members of the council, try to pressure Wes into ending the relationship on the basis of either my heritage, or that of my daughter, you will find yourself contesting so many racism lawsuits you won't have time to deal with The First Evil, and when, at some future date, I bring my daughter with me to visit, should she be the victim of any abuse, verbal or otherwise, then I will happily arrange for restraining orders to be issued to the guilty parties."

Roger Wyndam Pryce rose from his seat, allowing him to stare down at Marie from his considerably greater height. "I doubt that any such measures would be necessary on our part. After all, the simple fact that there is no way that you could have been legally married to your child's father shows you to be an immoral who-."

Wes's fist smacked into his father's jaw, knocking his bridgework loose and sending it flying. In the hushed library, the sound brought all the 'Scoobies' to their feet ready to intervene if necessary.

"Father, I suspect that it's rather late for us to ever have anything resembling a civilised relationship and I cannot make you leave, as this is not my home, but I strongly suggest that you learn to treat all my associates, but especially Marie and Rosa with respect or-."

The strident sound of a vehicle horn ripped through the night. Beep, beeeep, beeeep... Beep... Beep, beep, beep.

The noise drew watchers and Scoobies alike to gather at the library windows. A sleek Japanese motorbike pulled a one-eighty in the gravel at the front of the building. Its rider was hidden by tight blue racing leathers and a helmet, but several people in the room recognised Ha Nath's outfit and motorcycle. Only two people recognised the lanky teenaged girl who was desperately holding on behind her.

Giles and Wes began to run toward the school's main door, but as Dawn and Brandon looked to follow suit Buffy laid a firm hand on each of their shoulders. "Where do you think you're going?"

Roger Wyndam Pryce picked up his dental piece from the highly polished floor of the library and reinserted it into his mouth. With his dignity restored he made to follow Giles and Wes, no doubt intending to take control of the situation outside. Instead he found his path blocked by a young man that up to that point had largely escaped his notice, other than to be disparagingly written off as one of the slayers' motley crew of undesirables. Somehow, standing face to face with the slayer's friend, his presence seemed to far outweigh his physical stature.

"My Morse code's a little rusty," Oz admitted, referring to the way Clem's girlfriend had sounded the horn on her motorcycle, "but it seemed to me like it was Wes the ladies asked for." Marie came to stand just behind the lycanthrope's right shoulder. Tara positioned herself at his left, her expression slightly nervous at standing up to an authority figure who surely reminded her all too well of her own father, but, nevertheless, resolute.

At the other end of the room, Dawn could be heard half pleading, half arguing with her sister before both the Summers girls and Brandon turned for the door.

"This is preposterous. I will not be dictated to by a bunch of children. As senior watcher here, if there is a situation it's my duty to oversee what is happening."

"It seems to me, in the absence of one of the senior council members, that the watchers assigned to the current slayer would claim that privilege... even if we were inclined to ignore your retired status," Marie informed him. "And since at least one of the ladies in question is personally acquainted with Wes and knows Mr Giles by reputation but has good reason not to trust the council in general, I think it might be better if we adhere to protocol. I also think, even from the little I've heard of how Buffy's friends have helped her in the past, that you would be more of a fool than I already take you for, if you dismiss them as mere children."

There was a muted roar as the motorcycle took off down the school's gravelled drive, only quieting slightly as Ha Nath reached the turning onto the street before she accelerated once more.

The watcher's eyes narrowed as he reassessed the Latina as an opponent, but for once he kept his silence.

"W-Wasn't there a t-translation you were working on?" Tara suggested, as she picked up an empty cup and its saucer from the table where the watcher had been seated. "I'll make some fresh tea." The Wiccan waited anxiously until Wyndam Pryce, finally admitting that whatever had happened, he was going to have to content himself with second hand reports, returned to his former seat before she turned to leave.

 

* * * * *

 

Buffy passed the mug of chocolaty goodness to the young girl. "There you go. Maybe you could tell us what happened now?"

The girl shifted forward in her seat on the attic's decrepit sofa between Dawn and Brandon, her elbows resting on her knees and the mug held in both hands. She looked apprehensively at the two watchers and the slayer, as if reluctant to begin.

"It's okay, Amanda. They're all friends. You can trust them." Dawn tried to settle the girl.

"It's just... so... well, weird."

Brandon treated the girl to a reassuring smile and slid an arm around her to gently rub her back, his eyes briefly meeting Dawn's to check that the gesture of friendship didn't violate the 'girlfriend code'. "From what I can tell, weird pretty much passes for normal in Sunnydale. Just start at the beginning."

"Oh, okay... People, well they kinda say that... well, you're into all this freaky stuff." Amanda nodded toward Buffy.

"Sometimes, people are right."

"Well, see... on Friday nights my Aunt Karen goes to this Tae Kwon Do class at the Y and well, I watch my little cousin Susie... So I was on my way home and I know I'm meant to stick to the main streets but it saves like ten minutes if you cut through the park and it was only just beginning to get dark and I was late... so..." Amanda took a sip from the mug in her hands. "I'm like cutting through the park, and you know how you start to like hear things but it's really just the wind and maybe you can see shapes in the shadows but there's not really anything there but you still kinda have to convince yourself that everything's okay?"

"Sure..." Brandon encouraged her to keep going. "Only this time there was something, wasn't there?"

"Lots of somethings... or someones... I'm not really sure. I mean they kinda looked like people... only without the hair and with the eyes... Their eyes were all kinda... messed up and they... I mean it sounds weird but they were all wearing these robes and they had these weird knives... so I was thinking that maybe they were like a cult or something..."

"Or something," Buffy answered, her voice thick with a mixture of resignation and sarcasm. She could see now where Amanda's tale was going. "Sorry. On with the story. It's just that we've run into these guys before."

When the girl looked like she might stall once more Dawn interceded. "Go on, Amanda. The more you can tell us, the better the chances we can figure out what's going on."

"Well, like these guys start sorta sneakin' up on all sides, and at first... I just, y'know... think that I'm imagining it, but then, well this one, he pulls his knife and you, like, know that the wind doesn't make that sort of noise and when I look around to see where the noise is coming from there's like two of them on the path behind me and by the time I look back there's one ahead of me as well, so I figure I gotta get out of there quick as I can, y'know?"

By now the group were beginning to get used to Amanda's style of description and they mostly answered with solemn nods that encouraged her to go on without interrupting her.

"So, anyway, I just take off. I mean, it's not totally dark, yet, and I figure those guys wouldn't see so well anyway and I know the park pretty well, so I reckoned if I headed south I'd come out on Hawthorn in a few minutes and I'd be able to flag someone down, maybe... or whatever, but then there's another one of these guys right in my face and he's lookin' to cut me up with that knife of his, so I just throw my book bag at him hard as I can an' that kinda takes him by surprise so then I'm past him and I just keep running till I reach the road, but I can hear them all coming behind me, like maybe half a dozen of them. An', y'know, you would think that someone would stop, but there's like all these cars driving past like they just don't want to know, so I start running up the middle of the road because by now they're starting to get pretty close. And then there was the motorcycle and it was kinda weird 'cause like nobody can really like do that stuff outside of films. I mean she's riding along and then she's got her feet up on the seat but the bike's still doing like seventy or something and she just kicks one of these guys and he goes flying like a rag doll... Well, I mean you would, wouldn't you, if someone kicked you doing that sort of speed? And then like I thought she was gone but she musta done a U-ey but because of that sort of dip in the road I couldn't see her, 'cause next thing I know she's coming back over the brow of the hill, but now she's got like some sort of sword in her hand and before they know what's happening she takes the head off two of 'em and there's like blood all over. An' then she pulls up next to me, an', well, I'm not too sure whether I'm more scared of her than I am of the guys in the robes, but I figure at least she hasn't tried to hurt me yet, so I like get on and I'm trying to tell her which way to go to take me home but she doesn't listen and she brings me here instead and then, like, Dawn's here and like Brandon, but I don't know him so well, 'cause like only the last couple of weeks in music, but isn't this meant to be some girls' boarding school, so like he shouldn't be here at all... And I really gotta call my mom and get her to pick me up... And what are you all doing here?"

Giles did his best to give the young girl a comforting smile. "That happens to be rather a long story. How about Buffy and I take you home and we can explain it all to your parents at the same time?"

 

* * * * *

 

"Willy said I didn't have to tell you guys nothin'."

"And the little weasel was right..." Spike calmly lit a cigarette as Faith pulled the barman's wrist until his hand lay flat on the counter. "...Just so long as you're not too worried about me an' the slayer systematically breakin' every bone in your body."

Faith used her other hand to lift up the barman's pinkie just enough for the strain on his muscles and tendons to be painful. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Heyyy!" the young demon protested. "I thought you were meant to be the good guys..."

Spike hawked up a gobbet of phlegm from his throat and spat it to land within inches of the bartender's splayed hand, treating Faith to a quirk of the eyebrow and a winning grin when she gave him a look of distaste. After all, it was her hands that were holding the demon's in place. "You're kinda behind the times, mate. See, this fight isn't about good and evil or any of that fairy tale crap. This is about survival an' there's two sides but mostly it comes down to 'us' an' 'them as get in our way'. That right, kewpie doll?"

Faith increased the pressure on the barman's finger as she replied. "I guess, but you talk too much, Billy. Let's just get on to the crunchy noises." There was a quiet pop as the demon's finger dislocated.

"Pegaral, you psycho bitch! Try the old vineyard. Used to be some vamps holed up in the cellar down there but none of them been in here in weeks-."

A rather tinny version of 'Whisky in the Jar' interrupted the bartender's exposition. Spike rolled his eyes before pulling his new cell phone from his pocket and wandering to a quiet corner of the rather emptier than usual bar to take the call. "What's up?... Hawthorn? We'll swing by that way on our way back. Can't exactly guarantee anything, mind... Tell your sis that Willy's new barman sends his love. An' get yourself to bed before I get in tonight. No sitting up all night watching football... I don't care if all the watchers are staying up. You want to watch the England match then you get to bed now an' I might wake you up when it's time. An' if that lad of yours is hangin' 'round he can take the spare bed in Percy's room. I don't want a repeat performance of this morning when we got in, the two of you curled up on that sofa like a pair of interlockin' pretzels... Yeah, alright... Same to you... No, I'm not sayin' it. Not here. You know it anyway... Bog off an' get some kip."

Spike swaggered back to where the dark slayer was now sipping at a glass of bourbon. She pushed another toward the vampire as he approached. "I miss anything?" the blond asked.

"Vamps ain't been seen for a couple of weeks, some guy no one knows drivin' their truck around and the vines nearest the winery don't seem to be thriving too well."

Spike knocked back his shot and tossed a twenty on the bar. "Now, see, wouldn't it just have been simpler to tell us what we wanted to know without all the theatrics?"

The demon slunk from his safe haven, as far away from the pair as the bar would allow, to grab the bill. As his good hand snatched out to reach for the money, Spike grabbed it and pulled the bartender close enough to land a resounding right jab on the demon's nose.

"...And then, you wouldn't have used a nasty name like that in front of the lady and I wouldn't have had to break your nose." Spike left the twenty on the bar and made for the door. "Come on, pet. We've got places to be an' I want to be back in time to watch the Krauts an' see if I can convince Glinda to put a hex on 'em or somethin'."

"Don't you want your salmon, Rupie-bear?" Bee stood at the library door rubbing her thumb against the first two fingers on her right hand to summon the feline. The cat, however, remained in its spot on the desk that Oz had only recently vacated for the night. "It's poached, just the way you like it... and with a teeny bit of butter melted on top."

The blonde gave a sigh and began to make her way over to the table. "What have you found, darling? Let mommy see." The demi-angel pulled the book nearest the cat toward her and scanned the open pages. Almost without being aware of her actions, she pulled out the chair that Buffy had abandoned at Amanda's dramatic arrival and lowered herself into it, only for the Siamese to leave the room. Perhaps it was time for dinner after all. It wasn't as if he hadn't earned it. Bee scooped the book up into her arms and followed behind the suddenly hungry cat, reading as she went.

 

* * * * *

 

"We need these." Bee slapped a floppy magnetic backed sheet of whiteboard down onto the table between Giles and James. The sheet had a prominent logo for a well known brand of cat food and had once had a drawing of a black and white cat at the top. Giles vaguely recognised it as having recently been attached to one of the fridges in the kitchen so that people could use it to make a note for whoever was doing the shopping if stocks of a particular item were running low. Bee had seen it and proclaimed the illustration to be an affront to every member of the feline race, impugning their dignity in an unforgivable manner. She had grudgingly agreed that until such time as a less offensive substitute could be found that cutting the picture from the top and consigning that part to the rubbish where it belonged would be an acceptable compromise.

It was, however, the comprehensive series of titles listed in slightly smudged black ink that drew both watchers' attention. As their eyes skimmed the list, each item it included (or those in languages that the watchers understood) seemed so obviously to be exactly the right reference with which to begin the search for information on the ceremonial knife, the goat-headed seal or The First, that they found it hard to believe they hadn't already tracked down the volumes. Then again, this was a list of a mere dozen books, from a library of tens of thousands, which was still in the process of being unpacked, not to mention the fact that Giles doubted that even the council had copies of all of them.

"Where did you get this list?" the elder watcher asked.

"From the bibliography of the other book."

"Which book?"

"Stayforth's Mythologies and Deities of the Lesser Demonic Races."

"And this is where?"

For a second, Bee looked puzzled and then she dashed off in the direction of the kitchen as fast as her high heels would allow. Both watchers abandoned their cafeteria-style dinners to follow.

 

* * * * *

 

"So this is where you're hiding? Here!" Faith dumped Amanda's bag of disappointingly mundane library books onto the desk that Giles and the blonde were sharing. Her eyes swept around the office without comment but she wasted no time dropping into the spacious leather sofa and swinging her legs up to rest along part of its length. "I think you can skip the testing on this one. You've definitely got a potential. No human without some sort of supernatural strength would carry 'round that weight in books for fun... well, unless she's a potential watcher.

And check out the sheet music. Seasons in the Sun?" Faith raised a quizzical eyebrow at the lack of cool. "So, what're you doing?" the slayer asked as she threw herself upright again and walked around the desk so she could see the computer screen that occupied both the researchers' attention.

"I'm searching the database of the books that were shipped from England, to see which of these we have and whether they've been unpacked yet. Mr Giles is hovering behind my shoulder like a technophobe because I lost him around the point where I said we could construct a query."

"I-I I say! I'm not a technophobe. I just prefer traditional methods."

"Despite the fact they're slower and less efficient? Even bearing in mind the fact that some of the volumes are in different languages, a simple search by author names will run far more quickly than you could currently search the shelves, never mind the lading notes for the boxes in the basement."

Faith smirked. "Well, when you find what you need I'm sure you'll pass on the Cliff notes. The kitchen is calling. I have the urge for a bacon sandwich or two."

"Spike did come back with you?"

"Well, we split up toward the end. He went to check out a lead while I played hide and seek in the park. Why d'you ask?"

"No reason really. No reason at all." Giles sounded almost embarrassed as he swiftly assured himself that his inquiry definitely did not stem from any form of concern for the vampire's wellbeing.

 

* * * * *

 

"But how long are you going to be?"

"Why not find yourself a tape measure and we can check that one out when I get back?"

"Spi-ike..."

The vampire considered. Even with his current plan to keep himself entertained he doubted he'd last too long before the boredom became unbearable. "Couple of hours... Three tops. Don't bother to wait up. Wes or Giles can disconnect the phone at your end when the match finishes."

"Wes might. Giles has been MIA since he went running off after Bee and that other watcher in the middle of dinner. You're sure you don't want me to come and join you?"

Spike gave a self-mocking snort of laughter. "If you came out here, my lush sweet peach, neither of us would end up watchin' the bald guys. Just prop up your phone next to the TV speaker so I can hear the commentary and get some rest."

Buffy hesitated briefly before whispering an almost inaudible, "Love you," into the receiver, and waited just long enough to catch a similar reply before she set her phone down next to the TV which was showing the warm up for the game that would decide whether Germany or Paraguay made it through to the quarter-finals of the soccer tournament.

Back at the vineyard Spike connected up the earpiece for his hands-free kit and set about finding a good location from which to keep an eye on the winery without being spotted himself.

 

* * * * *

 

"Don't worry about it, Roger. I'm sure one of our legal department can have the paperwork drawn up and ready for you by tomorrow lunchtime." The council head shook hands with the older man as he ushered him out of his office. "And, if you can't buy her off directly, then we'll simply do what we must to make her association with Wesley less appealing."

"That woman's far too sharp on her feet to be interested in a milk sop like Wesley for anything other than his money. She'll disappear quickly enough once she realises that she'll never get her hands on any of it."

"We'll get rid of the woman and her demon brat in no time... and once she's out of the way I'm sure we can find a nice English girl for him to meet. After all, these matters are best kept within the 'family', so to speak. Outsiders tend to have a problem with the watcher lifestyle," Quentin observed.

"Huntingdon has a daughter a few years younger than Wesley, or there's Harry's girl. Neither of them are exactly the sharpest tools in the box, but they're pretty enough to look at and they're good enough girls. Either one would give the boy more stability and at least the children would be brought up C of E." Wes's father discussed the young women who had travelled to America as little more than nannies for the youngest of the potentials as if they were brood mares.

"I'm sure we can do a little better than that. Young Wesley seems to have matured somewhat during his time in the colonies. I think it might take more than just a pretty face to hold his interest but let's not get ahead of ourselves..."

 

* * * * *
Saturday, June 15th, 2002

 

"Corner," Wes announced.

"Come on, Beckham..." Spike encouraged as the blond footballer lined up by the corner flag to take the kick.

"That's Mr Posh Spice, right?" Dawn asked.

"Yeah, Bit," Spike's reply was little more than a mumble as he watched the ball soar toward the box. "Ferdina-a-and! You beauty!" Spike leapt to his feet. "One-nil, one-nil, one-nil, one-nil," the vampire sang almost to the tune of the opening bars of Amazing Grace.

"There's another eighty five minutes to go, yet," Wes tried to remind his fellow countryman. "The game's not over by any means."

"Come off it, watcher! Their goalkeeper plays for Sunderland, for Christ sake. Man U strikers against a Sunderland goalie? And Owen."

The door to Spike and Buffy's room opened and a bed-headed Buffy came toddling out in her pyjamas. "Sleep isn't really an option at this point, is it?"

 

* * * * *

 

"Owen... Two-nil, two-nil, two-nil, two-nil! Three lions on our shirt, thirty years of hurt never stopped the dreaming!"

"Are you sure he's only had beer?" Dawn asked.

"I don't think you understand the importance of soccer to the English national psyche," Marie observed as Wes joined in with Spike's impromptu sing-along. The lawyer was impeccably dressed, ready to go straight to the office at the game's conclusion. Unlike Spike or Wes she had gone home and got a few hours sleep, getting back to the school just in time for the kick off.

"Then where's Giles?" Buffy asked.

"Giles used up all his soccer hooligan play passes when he went through his rebellious phase. Now he only gets excited over musty books," Dawn suggested. "He's probably in the library drooling over something right now."

"Well, since our little bumblebee hasn't made it upstairs either, I say good luck to him if he is," Spike interrupted his singing rather briefly to comment.

 

* * * * *

 

"It's coming home. It's coming, football's coming home. It's coming home..." Spike sang as the final whistle blew, the score line being three-nil in favour of the English team. The vampire caught his slayer's eye, the tip of his tongue running along the edge of his upper teeth.

Buffy flushed beneath his gaze, hating that her desire was so obvious. She set her attention on the floor, picking her way through the debris of empty beer cans that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. "I guess maybe I could fit in another hour or two before breakfast if you two are done serenading the rest of the building for the night."

 

* * * * *

 

Giles opened a weary eye, a stream of brilliant sunlight that broke through the narrow gap between the office curtains causing him to squint. The empty scotch bottle that sat on the desk seemed to accuse him as he stretched tired muscles. The movement brought a low moan of protest from the warm body that lay atop him on the leather couch. The watcher tilted his head downward almost afraid to confirm the identity of the woman with him.

A night spent working on the problem of finding Bee's list of books, first by locating those items in council possession and then speaking to his magic shop contacts while his companion used her own resources, had merged into an early morning of watching England's soccer triumph on a small TV tucked away in a corner of the office. Funnily enough, Giles found it difficult to remember much of the second half of the game. He wasn't entirely sure which of them had made the first move, but in a sense that was unimportant.

Long golden tresses draped both their bodies, nearly covering the red England shirt that his companion wore.

"'Morning," the blonde murmured, brushing a gentle kiss against his collarbone before she tilted her head back to look him in the eye.

"Good morning, Lydia... Or maybe that should be good afternoon."

"Tell me that they've got their own TV and video in there," Xander begged Oz as he stumbled into the attic's main living area, his hair rumpled and a towelling robe over his black satin pyjamas.

"Nope. Why?" The werewolf continued tuning his acoustic guitar.

The brunette gave a heartfelt sigh. "Don't ask. Let's just say I was hoping I could convince Anya that they were watching porn films in there."

"Ah." The redhead made a chord and strummed over all six strings, evidently satisfied with the results since he began to absently finger a tune from the instrument.

"Little lady trying to make you keep up with that vampire stamina? Boy! Is she in for a disappointment!" Faith drawled as she too made her way into the room, looking far too alert for Xander's taste, her damp hair suggesting that she was recently returned from the shower, a large white envelope clutched in her hand.

"Heyyyy and what part of don't ask... Okay, yeah, laugh it up. At least she missed the last four hours what with going to work. So what's with the paperwork? You never struck me as the love letters type." Xander made a passing attempt to change the subject.

"Present from Quentin." Faith pulled an official looking document from the envelope. "Pretty, huh? President's signature and everything. Now all I need is his cheque book."

Oz stopped strumming to take the sheet of paper from her outstretched hand, scanning through the text that granted the slayer amnesty for her crimes. "Cool."

"Cool? This is better than cool! This is great-sex-on-a-rollercoaster wild... This is like being given my whole life back. Course if this little deal with The First goes pear-shaped that might only be a week or two, but hey..." The slayer shrugged, but her mood was obviously still buoyant.

Xander looked at the document over Oz's shoulder. "So that's it? You kill two guys, do a couple of years and then walk away with a presidential pat on the back, all forgotten and forgiven?"

Faith's eyes clouded over and then hardened before she met the carpenter's glare. "It's not forgotten. It'll never be forgotten, not by me and sure as hell not by you an' the rest of Snow White's dwarves, but I've spent as long as I need to contemplating my navel. Another couple of decades in the can isn't going to change how I feel about what happened, so, the way I see it, I'm going to put more on the positive side of the scales out here kicking some butt than I will feeling sorry for myself. You got a problem with that, then I suggest you take it up with good old George W."

Xander let his gaze drop to the floor. "No, I guess I haven't got a problem."

Oz picked up the TV remote, flicking through a couple of channels before he paused. "Wacky Races?"

Faith's smile brightened and she flung herself into one of the vacant armchairs. "Sure."

"I think there might be some popcorn left from last night, if anybody wants some," Xander offered, heading for the microwave that had originally come from Spike's crypt.

 

* * * * *

 

"You three should go and get some proper sleep," Tara suggested kindly as she passed mugs of coffee to Bee and James and placed a saucer of milk on the table for their feline companion.

"I've slept," Bee argued.

"Passing out in a wooden chair with your head on a book is not sleep. It's exhaustion... and no wonder, after moving round all those boxes of books in the basement to get at the ones you wanted."

"But the answer could be right here in one of these books," James protested.

"And if it is, you'll likely be so tired you miss it or fumble the translation," the Wiccan pointed out reasonably. "I can make a start on any that are in English or even have a reasonable try at something in Latin. Wes'll be here as soon as he has a shower, at least until Marie finishes at the office. He might only have had an hour or two but at least he went to bed. I'm sure Oz would help and probably Xander if you asked. Dawn would jump at the chance and she would probably drag Brandon in as well."

"Slight problem," Bee argued. "Only one of these books is in English. There were a couple of others on the list but the council didn't have copies. Giles and Lydia were making some calls last night to see if they could scare them up."

"See, even Giles went to bed. If it was urgent Giles would have been right here reading."

"Actually," Wes interrupted from the doorway, sounding rather shamefaced. "Giles didn't go to bed last night at all. We-. Ehm, well, we rather assumed that he was with Bee... unless he came upstairs after the football finished."

"Oh crap!" The words came from Bee's mouth but they rather effectively mirrored the thoughts of the whole group. After all, with the exception of a slayer, what better prize could The First claim than her beloved watcher? Coffee and books were forgotten in an instant as every person in the room headed toward the attic, hoping against hope that Giles would be in his room. Only Rupert affected an air of unconcern, sniffing at Bee's coffee mug as if considering a caffeine boost before strolling over to his saucer of milk and lapping delicately at its surface.

 

* * * * *

 

The room was a wreck. The beds, somehow, had ended up one upside down on top of the other pushed against one of the side walls. The holdalls that had been tidily stored away under them had ended up pushed roughly under the angle of the roof by arms, legs or other body parts, one of the bags tipping on its side as it had been moved and leaving a trail of Spike's washing in its wake. The comforter took up most of the rest of the floor and the once bare light bulb had acquired a shade that bore more than a passing resemblance to Buffy's pyjama top.

Spike pulled Buffy onto the centre of the quilt so that he could wrap its edge over her as her sweat-soaked body began to cool once more. He curled against her back, propping himself on one elbow to better watch her face, while under the quilt his free hand roamed up and down her side.

Buffy squirmed just that little bit closer, her eyes widening in mock surprise at the firmness of the flesh which rubbed against her behind as she did so. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, her voice tired but teasing.

"Marry me and keep me as a trophy husband." Unable to resist, Spike ducked his head so that he could breathe gentle kisses along the line of his lover's shoulder, his tongue snaking out to savour the salt taste of the perspiration that gathered by her collarbone.

As his lips moved to the juncture of her neck and shoulder Buffy tried to force herself to pull away slightly before the vampire could wreak more havoc by stimulating her claim mark, but as if he knew what she was thinking, Spike's lips pressed over the mark in an almost chaste kiss. "Mine," he whispered the tender acknowledgement of belonging.

Buffy nuzzled against his cheek as she answered him. "Yours... always." As she began to turn in his arms to reciprocate his caress, the vampire stilled, suddenly alert.

"Best cover up, moonbeam. That many pairs of runnin' feet has to mean trouble." Before Buffy could absorb the sudden change of pace, Spike had gained his feet and taken Buffy's robe from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. He passed it to her before grabbing the nearest pair of black jeans from the mess on the floor.

 

* * * * *

 

By the time Spike opened his and Buffy's bedroom door, lounging against the frame until Buffy joined him, in order to curtail her friends' view of the room behind them, Wes had already established that the other watcher had not returned to his room.

"So who actually saw him last?" Wes asked.

Faith shrugged. "He was with Watcher Wonder Woman when I got back from patrol. Something about tracking down some books. That's the last I saw of him."

"He came down to the basement at around one to give us the list of which crates contained the books we were looking for. He said he was going back to Lydia's office after that to ring 'round various book dealers and such to see whether he could locate the missing volumes," James volunteered.

"We didn't see him after that," Bee admitted. "We assumed that by the time we finished unpacking he would have gone to bed."

"Not if he called himself a red blooded Englishman, he wouldn't. He'd have to have a damn good reason to miss the match."

Bee lifted an eyebrow in James' direction.

"I'm Scottish. We didn't actually qualify," he admitted slightly sheepishly.

"Okay, when you finished in the basement did you see any signs of a struggle when you left?" Buffy asked.

"I can't say that I did, but then we were carrying the books and there weren't all that many lights on," James qualified his denial.

"Has anyone actually seen our delightful headmistress this morning?" Spike asked.

Everyone shook their heads or looked blank.

"Right then, option the first, the newest Big Bad's got both of 'em. Option the second, Travers is playin' some sort of silly buggers double-cross to try an' keep you ladies from runnin' the show. You do what he says or he pulls Rupert's bits off with rusty pliers or some such or option the third..." Spike gave a soft snort of disbelief. "He's gettin' his end away with Miss Prim an' Proper."

"Whatever," Buffy interjected. "It sounds like her office is a good place to start... but first-."

"You really really need to go pee," Spike finished for her in his best 'Buffy' voice.

 

* * * * *

 

Giles couldn't help wishing that Lydia had slept just a bit longer, preferably long enough for a clean getaway. He wasn't gullible enough to believe that women twenty years younger than him were just going to throw themselves at him. It wasn't as if they had any common ground between them, not in any real sense. She was Travers' protégée. At some point down the line Quentin was going to use this against him, he was sure, and if he was fool enough to allow it to carry on the end result would just be more catastrophic... Not that-. 'Control yourself, man. It wasn't that good... Okay, yes it was... but that was the point. Travers probably sent her to study at some geisha school or something. Get a hold of yourself and get out of here before you end up like Xander, being led round by your blasted prick for the rest of your life.'

He cleared his throat in preparation for politely asking her to move so that he could get dressed, but when she looked into his eyes it was as if she already knew what came next.

"Ohh!"

'Damn, she is good. That looked like real confusion and embarrassment there.'

"You want to go, don't you?"

'That vulnerable look really might have worked if I hadn't seen her whole Burmese burning eyeballs statue act... Besides it's probably just because she can't focus properly without her glasses... At least she got rid of those damn awful black things.'

As she scrambled backward to get out of his way, Giles became aware of several things at once. The first was his total lack of clothing. Second was that while his brain was back-pedalling like mad to get him out of there, certain parts of his anatomy weren't necessarily in agreement. The third thing was the frown of what looked like acute pain that crossed Lydia's face when she moved and the fourth and possibly most disturbing was the babble of voices just outside the door.

When the blonde collapsed to her hands and knees and grabbed for the wastepaper basket, her bare behind peeking provocatively from below the hem of her football shirt, he just couldn't help himself. He simply couldn't walk away from a woman being ill like that. His hands automatically stroked the long hair away from her face as her stomach wretched and heaved, bringing up bile and little else, his voice providing soothing whispers.

He was barely even aware of the crunch of metal as Buffy twisted the lock to breaking point or the press of people who practically fell through the doorway as she pushed it open.

"Oh-oh!" Buffy covered her eyes and turned to leave. "Option the third."

Spike, having delayed his entry long enough to check that he wasn't going to be scorched by a stray sunbeam, leant against the doorframe with a smirk. "So, does every woman that sees you starkers puke her guts up the morning after or is this a special case?" he drawled.

 

* * * * *

 

The office's security guard knocked on the door to Marie's office. "Your eleven thirty appointment is here." The lawyer quickly closed all the files she had been working on and slid them into her desk drawer.

"Thanks, Richard." Her appreciative smile faded when she realised that the man accompanying the part-time body builder was not who she expected.

"I'm afraid there has been some kind of mistake. Mr Wyndam Pryce doesn't have an appointment. I'm sorry but I'm expecting someone else. I think it would be better if he left."

The guard looked momentarily confused and Roger quickly butted in. "This will only take a few moments and I'm afraid the gentleman whose deposition you were due to take became ill. It was all rather sudden."

Marie's mouth set into a grim line. "It's okay, Richard. I'll speak to him. Let's say I'm starting my coffee break now. If Mr Wyndam Pryce hasn't left by eleven forty five, perhaps you could come and escort him out."

 

* * * * *

 

"It's all very simple. You sign here and now to say that you will refrain from seeing my son again and the money is yours. You know the sort of trouble that is building here. I'm offering you enough to take your daughter and the rest of your family anywhere you want within reason. Enough to allow you time to pick and choose where you want to continue your career.

The only condition is that once I leave this office the offer is null and void."

"And if I don't sign?"

"Should you refuse to sign you take the chance that Wesley might be more amenable to persuasion. His mother and I don't really use the town house any more, except for theatre trips and such. It may be time to pass it on to Wesley and if that is insufficient incentive then it's worth bearing in mind that at the moment Wesley stands to inherit a considerable sum when I die. His cousin, however, may turn out to be a better candidate for carrying on the Wyndam Pryce name. His wife is the daughter of one of the most successful watchers of the twentieth century.

Really, can you afford to take chances with your daughter's wellbeing? This is the battle the council has dreaded since its inception. Do you honestly want her in the middle of all that?

This thing with Wesley is all very new... Is it worth taking risks with your daughter's safety? More to the point, will Wesley think it's worth that much? Will he walk away from his birthright on the off chance that this thing between you might turn out to be more than a fling? Or deep down will he be glad that he doesn't have to bring up something else's brat?"

Marie picked up a pen and with a determined glare she scrawled along the dotted line.

A shocked gasp was enough to rapidly curtail Spike's gloating, his movements so fast as to be almost undetectable. One second he lounged in the room's doorway, the next he stood behind the slayer's sister, one hand covering her not so innocent eyes as he turned her around and marched her from the room. "I don't think you're precocious enough for that part of your education, Dawn."

"But lots-." The teenager started to protest before the warning inherent in the fact that Spike had, for once, used her given name percolated through into her consciousness.

"But nothing. You aren't going to win this argument. You know, I know and lover boy there..." Spike nodded toward Brandon, who by default had been left to grab Rogue's collar before the dog could try to investigate the bin into which Lydia was currently being sick. "...Had better bloody know that that was the last you're goin' to see of any bugger's dick until you're in college at the very earliest, so shut up, stop whining and go see if there's anything useful you can be doin'."

The vampire's voice faded as he marched the young girl along the corridor and Wes cleared his throat. "I think, now that we've ascertained that Giles and Lydia are safe, that it's time we gave them both some privacy."

"And, however belated that sentiment might be, I'm sure we both congratulate you on it." Giles' tone betrayed his impatience with the crowd of spectators, but he didn't bother to move from where he knelt on the floor with one arm around the female watcher's back and his other hand smoothing her hair away from her face. He ignored the shuffle of slightly abashed feet and waited until the door clicked shut once more before he so much as cast a glance over his shoulder to check that he and Lydia were alone.

 

* * * * *

 

It took some time for the blonde watcher's stomach to finally still enough that Giles felt safe to settle her once more on the sofa, finding a couple of blankets and tucking them around her before he combed all four corners of the room to find his clothes and get dressed.

He crouched down by Lydia's head and his hand tucked a corn gold lock behind her ear. "I feel that I owe you an apology."

Tired but defiant grey eyes looked into Giles' own. "I may be younger than you but I am a consenting adult, Giles. I wasn't exactly sober but then neither were you. Obviously we made a mistake, but to suggest that our responsibility is anything other than equally shared would be patronising in the extreme."

"That wasn't the apology to which I was referring." Giles did his best to sound soothing and sincere and his best was far better than he would have given himself credit for. "I'm- Well, I'm afraid that I allowed an element of paranoia to dictate my actions when I first woke up this morning. After my boorishness I would quite understand if-." The watcher rose to his feet, one hand reaching fruitlessly for the glasses that, due to a vestige of male vanity, he had failed to replace as yet, and then running through his greying hair in a gesture of frustration as he began to pace to and fro in front of the sofa.

"What I'm trying to say is that I made somewhat of an ass of myself earlier. If, however, you might be prepared to overlook that and if you feel well enough later, perhaps you might accompany me for dinner?"

Despite Giles' recent solicitousness, Lydia felt that she had good reason to be sceptical. Nevertheless, she found it a strain to keep a note of hope from her voice. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Perhaps..." Giles hastened to explain. "I don't know if it would really be safe for us to go out alone after dark and if you're still feeling fragile then, in that case, it might be easier to order in but we could probably manage some candlelight if you wanted and possibly even some privacy if I haven't...

We-. Ehm, well, we might have skipped a few of the steps in a normal courtship but it seems to me that it might be worth taking the time to get to know each other a little better before we decide whether it was a mistake. It's possible that on closer acquaintance you'll find me a crashing bore-."

"Before I answer, can I ask what brought about your change of mind? Until we were interrupted you seemed to be in rather a hurry to leave."

"I'm afraid that my reasoning doesn't make a great deal of sense."

"Try me."

"It did seem rather too good to be true that a gi- woman as young and attractive as yourself would be genuinely interested in a man my age, especially in light of your allegiance to Quentin. Then, I found myself thinking that no one would make themselves so ill simply to further some political agenda."

"You think a woman would be more likely to sleep with a man she wasn't attracted to than to wilfully make herself ill?"

"Well, no... It was around that point in my deliberations that I realised my logic might be somewhat spurious. I know that my earlier conclusions don't reflect particularly well on my opinion of you but-."

"That would be rather an understatement." The words themselves may have been harsh but Giles' head swung around to look her in the eye, hoping that he had heard the underlying humour in Lydia's tone correctly.

"In my defence, some of our previous encounters have been more acrimonious and it has been pointed out to me rather often of late that perhaps I'm not the figure of a man that I was even a few years ago."

"Experience can have its own attractions. Has it also been pointed out to you that the way you kiss would make almost any woman go weak at the knees? ...Or perhaps that was the whisky." This time there was no doubting the gentle teasing in her tone. "Though, I do think, if I were to accept your invitation it would in all probability require some grovelling on your part before I let you off the hook for implying that I might be Quentin's Mata Hari."

"That could be arranged... assuming of course, that on further acquaintance I don't find that you need enough alcohol to make you ill before you can steel yourself to socialise with an old man such as myself."

"If it didn't involve moving my head, which is rather painful at the moment, and if my teeth were clean, rather than my mouth justifiably smelling like I spent the last half hour regurgitating my entire stomach contents, then I would prove to you just how little persuasion I need to do far more than socialise. For now, though, I think I'll just lie here for a decade or two until I feel better."

"Perhaps some tea and toast might help with that? You could call it a first instalment on the grovelling."

"Tea would be lovely and if you could rustle up a couple of painkillers that would be great, but maybe after that you should check to see how the others got on with their research last night. You don't need to hover over me all day. I'll be alright."

Giles nodded slowly. "On one condition... You let me pop in every hour or so to check on you."

 

* * * * *

 

"So, how did your meeting with the little chica go? All wrapped up satisfactorily?" Quentin ushered Roger into his office and then hailed a pair of potentials who had the misfortune to be using that stretch of corridor. His eyes raked over them both, mentally linking them to their files. He totally disregarded one of the pair, his lip almost curling in distaste at her obviously Americanised form of dress, and focused fully on the other.

"You, girl! Michael Varley is your watcher, isn't he?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Good. He should have taught you how to make a decent pot of tea, then. I believe the tea service is kept in the cupboard above the sink. Run along and make a pot for two and make it quick!"

Quentin closed the door behind him, taking his time as he walked around his desk to pick up the contract that the elder Wyndam Pryce sent spinning over the wide mahogany surface with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

"Perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger?" the council head asked his guest.

"Tempting... Very tempting, but it's still rather early for me."

"I know it must rankle somewhat to have to disburse family money to a total stranger, but I'm sure in the long run-."

"I rather think you need to take a closer look at the signature on that document, Quentin."

Quentin sat down and opened out the pages, holding them at a precise ninety degree angle in front of him and turning to the final page. His long sigh somehow seemed to combined sympathy and understanding. His fingers traced the ink that, instead of M. Alvarez, read 'Vaya al Diablo!' "I do suppose it would be difficult to make that stand up in court."

"The woman had the gall to call some muscle-bound beach bum of a security guard to escort me out of the building like a common criminal."

"Don't worry about it Roger. When Wesley leaves her high and dry and she realises just what sort of pay day she's missed out on she'll be wishing she'd been a bit less stubborn. So-o-o... What now?"

"No doubt our little puta del Diablo will come running to Wesley, but as the boy so rightly pointed out the other day there's nothing he can do to make me leave. I think we should allow him a few days to realise just exactly what he could potentially be giving up before I approach him. Let him think the papers aren't ready for him to sign yet."

"Yes." Drawing the word almost into another sigh, Quentin steepled his fingers together in front of him. "The girl almost seems to give him some back bone. It may be best to allow his temper to cool somewhat before making your approach."

 

* * * * *

 

Wes glanced up from the yellow legal pad that contained his translation notes, a huge smile brightening his face as he saw Rosa running through the library toward him.

"You're late," he gently admonished the child as she impacted and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her so that her face was level with his own.

"It was mommy's fault. I was ready hours and hours ago."

Wesley settled the girl so that she rested on his narrow hip with his arms supporting her and turned to watch the lady in question approach. Her hair hung in loose waves down her back, swaying and glistening with reflected light as she strolled across the room. The tailored suit of this morning was gone, replaced by a white T-shirt that left several inches of bare golden stomach between it and the top of the skin tight denim shorts that, judging by what he could see from this angle and the expressions on the faces of the male watchers who had a better view, would barely cover the deliciously rounded curves of Marie's behind. Canvas sandals, with a high wedge-heel, fastened by ribbons that twined up her calves like particularly fortunate clinging vines, completed the ensemble. Wes had never seen her wear an outfit in public that covered less or attracted him more, though not entirely for the obvious reasons. In the watchers' world of circumspect tailoring it was a declaration of war.

"Hard day at the office?" the watcher asked, his lips twisting in amusement at the stir this beautiful, confident woman was causing.

"You might say that... though the problem was more in the way of a personal nature but I had to make a phone call or two, out of range of flapping ears."

Wes's grin took on an evil twist as he turned back to the little girl. "How about we see whether your Uncle Will wants to read to you for half an hour or so while me and your mommy get all caught up?" he suggested.

The little girl rolled her eyes at being fobbed off, even if it was on one of her favourite uncles, but acceded fairly gracefully. "Can we go to the beach and get ice-cream later, then? Mommy and me have got our swimsuits on underneath so we can go straight in."

"That's a deal, Rosita. Come on!" He led the pair from the library, taking Rosa up the stairs in his arms alone when Marie paused at the sight of Bee pulling tray upon tray of chocolate cookies from the catering-sized ovens in the school's kitchens.

 

* * * * *

 

"What's up?" Marie asked.

"Who says there's anything up? Can't a girl just want to binge out on chocolate cookies for no reason?"

"Are you telling me that there's nothing but chocolate in these cookies? Because my nose tells me otherwise."

"Okay, okay! That particular batch of double chocolate chip may have some additional seasoning but the rest are all just chocolate."

Marie picked up one of the cookies that Bee had pointed at and broke it in half, nibbling carefully on the smaller part and passing the other half to the demi-angel. "As far as I know no one we know is planning a party so why don't you tell me why you need to chill out?"

"Well, say every day you go past this dress shop and one day in the window there's this really stunning outfit. You know that if you tried it on that it just wouldn't look right on you. The waist would be too loose or it wouldn't sit right on your hips. Maybe the colour would just make you look washed out... whatever. You know it just wouldn't be right but it's so pretty you just keep looking at it on the mannequin and wondering if maybe you should go in and try it on... because even though you know it wouldn't be right, just maybe you're wrong?" Bee looked up as she took a large bite from the half cookie in her hand.

"I think I know what you mean," the lawyer probed cautiously for further detail.

"Well, some bitch is wearing my dress! And I thought it liked me, too. So, maybe there's another dress that if I wait long enough it'll be ready and it'll be even better but I was kinda enjoying the whole window shopping experience and now there's just that naked dummy in the window and that woman's wearing my Donna Karan."

"This all translates to Giles is seeing someone, doesn't it?"

"Who says I'd be interested in a Laura Ashley number like that?" Bee responded in indignation.

"I think I would have had a vague idea anyway but you do remember who my 'mother-in-law' is? If it's any help she seemed to think the wait for the 2005 collection would be worth it?"

Bee pulled out a chair at the table and sank into it before pushing the rest of her cookie into her mouth all in one and reaching straight away for one of the chocolate-only ones. "2005? I'm just meant to wander around bare-ass-nekkid for the next three years, huh?"

 

* * * * *

 

There were girlish giggles coming through the ajar door of Spike and Buffy's room as Marie made her way to Wes's current sanctum. The watcher lounged on one of the room's camp beds and as Marie used her behind to push the door closed after her he held out the arm that wasn't propping him up to draw her onto the bunk beside him.

"Personal? Want to tell me about it?" he asked as Marie shimmied as far into his embrace as possible, her hands loosening the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Your father scared off my eleven thirty appointment and then offered me a six figure sum if I would sign an agreement saying that I wouldn't see you."

Wes tried to keep his face neutral. "That would go a long way toward paying off the mortgage on the apartments and letting you take Lily, Clem and Rosa away from here. I couldn't blame you if you decided to take it..."

"Does that mean you would take it?" The Latina's eyes searched Wes's face for clues.

Sensing her insecurity, Wes rolled them both so that the weight of his lower body pressed Marie into the bed, stalling any thoughts of escape that she might have before they could fully blossom.

"We're talking about the man who I wouldn't even ask for my air fare back to England when the council fired me. He would have to come up with a far more enticing offer before I would let you go... but I don't have anyone else who's dependent on me."

"We're all dependent on you, you and the others. Your father doesn't realise that I know there won't be anywhere in this world where we can run, if you all fail. Maybe the only thing I can do to help is to be here for you. It's not a big thing or an important thing. When people talk about what happened, no one will remember me or Rosa but if it helps even a little then I don't want to be anywhere else."

Wes lowered his head slowly, watching the shifting emotions in Marie's dark eyes until he was too close to focus on her features. His eyes drifted shut as he drew her lower lip between his own, his kiss unhurried, making each taste of her flesh last. He teased her chin, the hollow between her jawbone and her neck as her face tilted back, the dip above her collar bone that was only just visible above the tight cotton of her top and finally his lips and teeth nipped their way back up until he nibbled on one golden earlobe. "You help," he whispered. "You and Rosa give me something real to fight for. Please tell me you'll turn him down."

Somewhere during that long exploratory kiss, Marie had wrapped her legs around Wes's waist, her ankles crossing behind his back, and now she used the muscles in her legs to grind against Wes's pelvis, her hips undulating against him in tiny circles that became ever more urgent. "I already told him to go to hell."

Wes's moan was almost louder than the creak of mattress as he responded to her words with a forceful buck of his hips.

"He won't stop there," Marie gasped, even as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders. Her hands explored the liberated planes of his back, alternating soft strokes with the drag of long nails.

"Rosa?" Wes asked, knowing that they both teetered at the point of no return.

"You think Spike won't be able to hear that we're busy? Just make sure we don't push his patience too far."

Strong hands pushed at the bottom of Marie's top until the hard peaks of her nipples were hidden by only a thin layer of Lycra and, as if they had never diverged from it, Wes returned to the topic of his father. "He can't offer me anything I want more than this... more than you or Rosa." He worked by feel alone, his eyes never leaving her own, wanting her to understand the sincerity of his words. "So beautiful," he murmured in a voice cracked with passion, letting his fingers mould and massage her breasts for several seconds before he responded to the way she squirmed against him, biting down on one firm peak while he twisted the other tight between thumb and forefinger.

Blood blossomed on Marie's lip as she bit down hard in an effort to still her moans and she had to wait some time before she recovered enough to continue their talk. "If bribes won't work he says he means to disinherit you."

"Let him. The cantankerous old bastard will probably outlive all of us in any case." Wes's words stirred the tiny hairs on Marie's rib cage as his mouth quested ever lower.

"True," Marie agreed, before, as she tried to flip them both until she was on top, the narrow bunk tipped and left the couple on the floor. "But I don't think we should let him win without a fight."

Wes looked up, enjoying the way Marie's muscles moved under her golden skin as she pulled her T-shirt over her head. "These phone calls you made... You have some sort of plan?"

Marie's top had been joined by the upper half of her bikini and her reply came as she unfastened Wes's belt and pushed down his jeans until they would go no further without removing his shoes. "Just promise me that you won't sign anything... not for a few more days."

"A couple of days would be the least I could do, but I've no intention of letting him blackmail me into leaving you... ever."

"I believe you, but I have a feeling that when you turn him down, he'll try to get you to sign something to say you won't contest his will. If he tries to do that, then I want you to stall."

"And what exactly am I stalling for? He can keep his money. I don't want it."

"I don't either, but if he chooses finances as a weapon to use against us, then I will use it as a way to retaliate."

"I'm not entirely sure I want to know..." Wes commented as Marie's hands moved toward the fastenings on her shorts and those were the last words either of them spoke for quite some time.

Wes was anticipating at least an 'I know what you've been doing' smirk from the vampire when he and Marie knocked on the door of Spike and Buffy's room. Instead, the vampire lay back on one of the two cots, holding up a battered paperback book to one side of his face so that he could easily transfer his gaze from the book to the young girl who was using his stomach as a seat. Her eyes were full of enchantment and delight as Spike detailed the attractions of 'The Ning Nang Nong' and other nearby lands.

"I see you're introducing her to the classics?" Wes wondered what it would have been like to have someone read such frivolous material to him as a child, rather than trying to make the most of a young brain's adaptability to introduce him to Latin, Ancient Greek, or whatever language happened to be foremost in their research at the time.

"Well, she's a bit young yet for Shakespeare but this seemed to fit the bill."

Rosa nodded enthusiastically. "Unker Will told me about the wiggle woggle. It's silly... But first I had to help him tidy up his room so we could sit down properly. Auntie Buffy messed it all up looking for her earring. Does that count as chores, mommy?"

"Only if you can convince your Uncle Will to help you tidy your room in return... Nice try though," Marie answered.

A small frown marred the girl's face for at least a fifth of a second before she decided that her room wouldn't be an issue until long after their return from the beach. She scrambled off of Spike, ready for a new excitement. "Are we going now?"

 

* * * * *

 

"So?" Wes looked over toward where Marie had taken the passenger seat in her own car. It wasn't that she expected Bee to have put enough in the cookies for the amount she had eaten to have any discernable effect but she wasn't taking any chances. Rosa twisted in her seatbelt to watch Wes's expression in the rear view mirror.

"So what?" Marie teased, her hair rippling in the draught from the open window.

"So are you going to tell me about your evil plan to bankrupt my father or not?"

"I didn't say bankrupt... That would... well, it might not be more than he deserves, but it would be more than my conscience could live with... And no."

"No? Haven't I got a vested interest in the situation?"

"You have... and I know it's not fair, but the less you know, the less your father can torture out of you."

Marie had only been joking, but Rosa caught the look, somewhere between startlement and panic, that flickered briefly in Wes's eyes as he thought of long hours imprisoned in the cramped darkness under the stairs. "We-e-es?" The girl asked, "Does it mean that I'm bad if I don't like your daddy?" There was something unsettling about that young voice, something that sent a shiver down Wes's back. Only after the feeling had gone did his eyes find the child's in the mirror. The crone-like wisdom and slow burning anger he glimpsed in them concerned him even more.

"Rosa..." Her mother spoke to save Wes the embarrassment. "If not liking someone made you bad, then 'round about now, I would be Lucifer himself. You can't help feeling that way about some people and you should trust your instincts and try to stay away from people that you don't like, but you still have to be polite and well-behaved when you can't avoid seeing them."

"Even when they hurt people?"

"That's sort of a judgement call, honey. Let's say you have to be polite until I say it's okay for you not to be... or Wes or your grandma."

"Unker Will isn't polite to people he doesn't like."

"And that would be why his name isn't on the list of people who can say when it's okay to be rude."

Rosa considered this. "Oka-ay." After all, as long as it wasn't sunny, she was sure that she could talk Unker Will into keeping her company the next time she saw Wes's daddy. She was fairly certain that she could get him to be rude on cue as well and he was a lot better at rude than she was, especially the 'off' words. Mommy wouldn't let her use any of the 'off' words.

 

* * * * *

 

"Something smells interesting." Faith wiped the sweat from her brow with one end of the towel that was draped around her neck. She gave the diminutive blonde in front of her the once over. The classic 1920's bob in platinum and gold, the heels designed to compensate for her diminutive stature, the all-black clothing with the blouse one size too small, so that her cleavage was highlighted to best effect, and the tidied-up Robert Smith eyeliner-lipstick colour combo that might as well be tattooed in place all made her look every bit the neat little watcher's apprentice that the brunette remembered. However, the slayer couldn't imagine that anyone to do with the council had helped with the baking.

"Help yourself." Bee pushed one of the plates toward the other woman.

Faith snagged one of the cookies and munched down on it. "Well, that takes care of the hungry part of the equation... at least until the munchies set in." Bee pushed the larger plate of cookies over as well and Faith stacked up four or five of the assorted treats in front of her before she pushed the plate back over. "Pity there's no prospect of doing anything about the other half."

"Do I want to understand what that means?"

"Nah... Probably not... But speaking of understanding, you're supposed to be the whiz when it comes to demon languages, right?"

"I get by... which is more than most of these watcher types." Bee gave a toss of her head that somehow seemed to indicate that she held the library's occupants in derision.

"Okay, then. Say some demon said something that sounded like 'piggy roll' what would that mean?"

Bee's eyes narrowed and she gauged the slayer's mood as she spoke. "Pegaral? Literal translation is just the name of a certain species of demon. Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to work out whether someone already had the punishment he deserves or whether I need to pay him a visit later... So what's with these demons?"

Bee sighed. "You really want Demon 101 now?"

"Well, unless you've got a pitcher of margaritas and a couple of male strippers hidden away under the table, I can't think of anything better to do..."

"Okay, well, outside their home dimension pegaral demons only really show up as slaves. Lowest of the low type of thing. They, well, they kind of have this super efficient digestive system... So, well, what would be waste to anyone else is food to them."

"So they eat trash? That's it?"

"Not just trash. Think bunny rabbits, maybe... Let's just say a lot of them end up in brothels catering to people with certain preferences."

Faith considered for several seconds to make sure she had fitted all Bee's hints together. "So, basically, the guy called me a slave-hooker who licks out freaks' asses? Is that about the size of it?"

Bee's head tilted on one side and she seemed to put a lot of concentration into deciding the matter before she replied. "Yep!" Her hand reached out for another of the 'normal' cookies.

"Did I just hear that right?" Tara stepped from the stairway that led to the attic and pulled out a chair, taking a pecan and white chocolate chip cookie from the pile.

"That'd be a 'hell yeah'... A broken nose isn't enough for that slime ball..." The brunette struggled briefly to maintain the impetus of the unfairly treated before she gave a shrug and picked up another of the dope cookies. "Slayer metabolism... Well, actually, apart from the fact it was Willie boy that did it rather than me, a broken nose is quite satisfying... And I guess I did dislocate his finger. The thing is, it'd be so much easier to get with the righteous indignation if I hadn't at least tried it a couple of times." Bee's hand stopped midway to her mouth, perhaps not so much fazed by what the slayer had done as by the fact that she had admitted it in front of two relative strangers. Tara simply lifted one eyebrow, her chewing doing nothing to disguise a mischievous grin. "Of course, that was just for fun, not for profit," Faith continued.

Bee's looked distinctly uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken and the brunette deliberately caught the artist's gaze, asking, "What's up, princess? You telling me you've always stuck to vanilla?" The half-angel's cheeks flared bright red at the memories Faith's question prompted and the slayer chuckled. "Or maybe not..."

Tara spoke up for her roommate. "Don't tease. It's been a rough day."

The slayer raised both hands in the air, though she didn't lose the gleam in her eye. "No harm, no foul. Just thought since none of us seem to be able to get any that we could at least talk about it. It's not like anybody's gonna force you into anything."

"Speak for yourself," Tara told the brunette. "Some of us have had offers- an offer... not from anyone that I'd want to be with even if... Well, even if I was at a point in my life where I was looking for a relationship, but an offer just the same."

"Oka-ay!" The slayer's mood brightened at the admission, and Bee cast a curious sideways glance the witch's way. "Now you've got to spill."

"Spillage comes at a price. You help me work out how we're going to feed everyone, and I'll talk as we work."

 

* * * * *

 

The room full of slayers in training fell silent as Spike pushed through the double doors, his new duster billowing out behind him. Dawn followed on his heels, and each seemed to scan the room looking for someone. The vampire didn't take long to find the potential he was seeking.

"Hoi! Little Miss Likes to Fight! Get your arse over here."

Kennedy's eyes filled with suspicion and then excitement. "Why?"

"Why d'you bloody think? 'Cause I damn well say so an' if I have to knock your hoity-toity little block off to prove a point then I won't think twice about doin' it."

The S.I.T. seemed to consider arguing further, but the vampire and his companion were already checking out the rest of the room's occupants as if her compliance were taken for granted. Much as she longed to stand her ground, she knew that if this were for a patrol or some other duty and she balked now, then she might not be given another chance.

Dawn tugged at Spike's sleeve and nodded toward the far corner of the room. Spike followed the teenager's gaze. "You Amanda?" he asked in a far softer voice.

The coltish girl tried to stand, put down her coffee cup and nod all at the same time.

"Alright then, Twiggy. Get some shoes on an' the Bit'll tell you what's goin' on."

"And is somebody going to tell me?" Kennedy asked, flinching as the vampire's hand closed none too gently on her shoulder to steer her from the room as soon as she came within reach.

"Sure, pet. 'Cause we all know you wouldn't like to just go into a situation, fists an' feet flyin', without havin' a big discussion as to what's goin' on first."

The vampire pushed her toward the main door of the building with a steady pressure, leaving Dawn and Amanda to follow in their own time.

"I attacked a demon! Hello? Slayer in training? Pretty much my raison d'être."

"And yet you don't seem to be in a hurry to take on Spike?" Buffy's voice carried from where she waited by the front door with Giles and Lydia. The two watchers hovered around each other, Giles' hand often reaching out as if he would take the blonde by the hand or wrap an arm around her shoulder and yet every time it dropped back to his side without touching her. "Timid, flabby demons who wouldn't say boo to a girl scout... They're fair game! Well, newsflash, we can't defeat The First if we're busy fighting the entire demon population of this town when we should be dealing with it. And especially not if you're going to try to kill the only guy who'll take payment in Cheese Doodles for babysitting my little sister."

Spike grinned mirthlessly as the girl's steps faltered. "See, pet. We're havin' a bit of a get together tonight... an' one of our guests is the guy you laid into for no reason whatsoever."

Kennedy wrenched her shoulder from the blond's grasp and turned to face him, her hatred spilling from her eyes. "I don't see what that has to do with me."

"Don't you?" Buffy asked. "You instigated an attack against a peaceful demon. I don't think it'd even be stretching it to call him an innocent. You allowed your ignorance, your arrogance and your prejudice to endanger us all and when Clem gets here, you are going to make it right. You are going to apologise to him... to his family... and to his girlfriend."

"I don't think so. I'll take this straight to Mr Travers," the debutante protested.

"Actually, Mr Travers is aware of the plans for the evening," Lydia interjected. "I am here, in part, as his representative."

"I don't believe it. He wouldn't go along with this. That thing did this to me." She held up her still swollen hand in its wrappings.

"An' what would you do if you came out the lav an' found somebody beatin' up on your honey bun?" the vampire was quick to ask before the watcher could comment. "Just because he doesn't look like Brad Pitt doesn't mean nobody loves him."

"Mr Travers may not like the situation that he finds himself in. He might prefer that he is not seen to personally condone tonight's events. That doesn't mean he doesn't understand the delicate balance that has to be maintained here on the Hellmouth. You will make a full and free apology."

"And if I don't?"

Lydia gave a sigh of exasperation. "I doubt even the bodyguards your parents could afford would be able to keep you safe outside these walls."

"Are you threatening me?"

Giles stepped in like the metaphorical white knight. "I believe Miss Chalmers simply stated a fact. Quite aside from the fact that you need to learn that there is more to slaying than 'Demon, Kill, Kill!', if you cannot bring yourself to do what is needful for the group as a whole then you cannot expect the protection of the group. The lesson must be conveyed that the S.I.T.s cannot get into fights willy nilly, disturbing the equilibrium between demon and human population. Either through ignorance or arrogance, your actions have fostered ill will, and if you expect to remain here you will put that right."

"I'm a slay-er! What-."

"Actually," Spike drawled. "Unless our little jailbird has popped her clogs in the five minutes since we left her helping to sort out the room, you're a wannabe. An' believe me, if I thought the world was relyin' on you, I'd be tempted to shift the line of succession on a notch."

"Like you're so altruistic?"

Spike's blue eyes turned cold and his grin feral. His tongue flicked out to run along the edge of his upper teeth and for once the message of predation that it sent had nothing to do with sexual appetite. "Hell, no, pet. Never denied that I'd enjoy it. Could spend hours beatin' you to a bloody pulp an' watchin' you suffer before I chalked up number three... but you're no slayer an' judgin' by how those frown lines are comin' in, past your prime like you are, chances are you never will be." His sneer suggested that she wasn't even worthy of his attention.

Buffy's raised eyebrow, welcoming smile and outstretched arm softened her words as she interrupted. "Heel, Spike. I think she gets the message... Besides, you'd have to beat the bringers to her." The vampire slipped into the slayer's embrace, his arm wrapping around her waist even as her hand snaked under his coat. Contentment radiated from him as his head tilted slightly so that his cheek rested against Buffy's forehead.

The potential stared at the couple as if their very closeness sickened her, but the underlying warning, in not only their eyes but those of Buffy's watcher, stilled her tongue.

In the temporary hush Amanda's excited chatter carried along the corridor. "So, she was like an actual demon?"

"Sure," Dawn answered. "I guess what with all the leather and the full-face helmet it'd be pretty hard to tell."

"And I get to talk to her? Say thanks for-. Well, it sounds kinda melodramatic, but it seems like if it weren't for her..."

"You wouldn't be here?"

"And her boyfriend is Spike's best friend?"

Buffy gave a wide grin but her eyes turned cold as she stared down the potential. "Did we mention that Clem's going to be our best man?"

 

* * * * *

 

By the time Ha Nath's motorcycle roared down the drive, followed by Marie's people carrier, Amanda had stopped trying to make up for Kennedy's sullen silence with her own chatter, even if it had taken the older girl several minutes of dirty looks to quell her enthusiasm.

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise as she viewed the black, skin-tight PVC cat suit and matching knee-high lace-up stilettos that Ha Nath wore with her blue biker's jacket, and Spike whispered in her ear in explanation. "Work clothes. Must reckon she might need to leave straight from here."

"Tell me she doesn't wear a mask and dance in that bowl down at The Fish Tank," the slayer whispered back.

"The dancers down at The Fish Tank don't wear much more than a bit of iridescent body paint... from what I remember... from a long, long, long time ago. Bloody awful place. Only ever went there once, maybe twice... An' anyway when Clem's not around the only dancin' she does is the same kind you do. Told you, she's a bouncer."

"You said at a club... not a brothel."

"It is a club," Spike argued sotto voce. "...And a brothel or sort of..."

As the demoness removed her helmet and used her fingers to comb her hair back into place, Wes helped Lily from the car, leaving Marie to release Clem and Rosa from their side of the childproofed rear compartment.

Ha Nath waited for the others to draw level with her, taking Clem's hand in her own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. They walked the last few yards of the gravel drive six abreast, Lily in the centre flanked by her son on her left and her 'daughter-in-law' on the right. Rosa held her mother's hand and the two significant others took up positions at the edges of the group, instinctively protecting them. The line became more of a flying V as they made their way up the front steps, Lily's assessing gaze drawn immediately to the sullen woman at the back of the entrance hall. Her attention often returned her even as she hugged the vampire, his mate and her sister and then shook hands with the two watchers.

Clem, Marie and Rosa followed in the demoness's tracks, but Wes and Ha Nath maintained a watchful distance, ready to intervene if things should go awry. Finally, Buffy stepped forward to introduce the newcomers to the two potentials.

"Lily, Clem, Ha Nath, Marie, Rosa, this is Amanda."

The S.I.T. gave a nervous smile, accompanied by an equally nervous wave. "Hi there." She stepped first toward Ha Nath, her right hand outstretched. "I kinda wanted to say thank you for the other night. I- em- well, I didn't realise you were like part of the 'family'." Ha Nath took the proffered hand and shook it firmly but briefly. "It was real good of you helping out like you did with those guys. I mean it was like awesome and I know like you can't really thank somebody for well, like saving my life 'cause I mean like words just don't cut it when you're talking about something way huge like that but, well, thanks anyway."

The teenager turned to the demoness's boyfriend. "And you must be Clem. It's real nice to meet you, to meet you all. I mean what with me owing Ha Nath-. Did I pronounce that right? I mean that'd be just plain rude if you saved my life and then I got your name wrong..."

Spike rolled his eyes and stepped between Amanda and the demons. "You got it right, pet, or close enough for government work at any rate, an' I think they all know how pleased you are to see them an' meet a real live demon or three, seein' as how vampires don't seem to count, so why don't we leave the gettin' to know you session for after the conclusion of business an' let Trust Fund say her piece."

He spun round in a half turn, his coat swirling around his legs. With a flourish almost worthy of a game show hostess, he indicated the other potential, who had hung as far back as she could during the rest of the introductions. "Kennedy, I believe you've already met Clem an' his lady Ha Nath. This here is his mum, Lily, an' the pretty little thing in pink is his niece, Rosa, an' you might have seen her mum around before, seein' as how she's steppin' out with the watcher here." The vampire nodded toward the Latina. "Marie."

Giles cleared his throat loudly as the pause after Spike finished the introductions turned into more of an elongated silence. "I believe you have something to say... Kennedy, is it?"

The potential looked around all the members of the assembled group, her dark brown eyes showing disbelief. She hesitated for a few seconds, as if she hoped she would find an ally somewhere in the crowd. When none was forthcoming, she turned on her heel and ran.