Giles sighed contentedly and sipped from his cup of aromatic cappuccino. The small piazza was quiet, the soft earth hues of the walls of the tall, elegant buildings touched with gentle morning light. He sat in a pool of golden sunlight slanting down from a clear blue sky warm with the promise of a beautiful spring day ahead. The gentle flutter and coo of pigeons blended with the distant sound of a scooter in an adjoining street, the clatter of heels as an immaculately dressed woman made her way across the square and the sudden burst of rapid, expansive Italian and shout of laughter from the depths of the shaded doorway of the small hotel. The distant strains of Verdi drifted through the open, flower-bedecked window of an apartment, love and loss as only the Italians could sing it.

Ah, Rome. He closed his eyes and basked in the warmth. The eternal city - the arrogant opulence of the Vatican, the timelessness of the Forum, the majestic solidity of the Coliseum, the grandiose thrill of centuries of turbulent history beneath one’s feet…

“Ooo! Chocolate pastries! Heaven!” Buffy collapsed noisily into an adjacent chair.

Giles winced. And the pastries, naturally. “Cornetti,” he sighed without opening his eyes.

“Who’s he?” Buffy’s voice was muffled by a huge mouthful of flaky pasty and chocolate sauce.

“Not he. The thing you’re eating. Cornetti.” He turned a pained look on Buffy who grinned back, chin smeared with chocolate. She flashed a wide-eyed, winning smile at the blushing young waiter who brought her coffee, picked up the cup, downed half of the frothy liquid in a single gulp and reached for another pastry. Giles shook his head. “Good morning, Buffy.”

Buon giorno, Giles.” Buffy smiled. “Che bella giornata! See? Not been wasting my time. I speaka da Italiano. Little bit, anyways.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“So, how was your trip?” Buffy leaned back in her chair, positioning herself under the shadow of the parasol, away from the strengthening sunlight. “And the hotel? Sorry we couldn’t put you up at the apartment. You could’ve had Andrew’s sofa now he’s not around, but …” she wrinkled her nose, “…it’s never been quite the same since he slept on it. There are the weirdest stains …”

“The hotel is very comfortable … very nice indeed,” Giles reassured her rapidly, “and we could hardly be any closer.” He gestured to Buffy’s apartment block on the other side of the small piazza.

“Well, it’s real good to see you. So – you gonna tell me why this sudden urge to visit?” She raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile. “You wouldn’t be checking up on me, now, would you?”

“Heaven forefend.” Giles drew a deep breath and began. “The thing is, Buffy, there’s something I need to tell you. When Andrew was in LA…”

“Oh! Dana!” Buffy interrupted. “How’s she doing?”

“Ah… as well as can be expected… she…”

“Poor thing.” Buffy shook her head sadly. “I hear things were pretty rough over there.” She frowned. “Not that Andrew talked about it much. Which is odd really, because you know Andrew, never one to pass at the chance of a good story, ‘specially if he gets to be the hero.”

“Ah… no… the thing is…” Giles began again.

“If I asked about it he used to do this thing… like this.” Buffy tapped the side of her nose with one finger and give an exaggerated wink. “I think that meant it was all secret. Seemed to think it made him look cool and James Bond-y. It didn’t. Really.”

“Buffy…” Giles persevered.

Buffy wasn’t to be stopped. “But then, in fairness he was no sooner back then – whoosh! You’d whisked him away on another mystery assignment. How’s he getting on in Uzbekistan?”

“Oh, he’s…” Giles shook his head and tried to drag the conversation back on track. This was going even less well that he’d expected. “Buffy, there’s something you need to know…”

“Can he even speak Usbekese? Or should that be Usbekistani?”

“Actually, I believe it’s Uzbek. But they mostly speak Russian, a-a throwback to Soviet…” he stopped himself and tried again, “Buffy…”

“Not sure that’ll help,” Buffy interrupted. “Andrew’s hardly big with the multilingual. His idea of speaking Italian was always just to add an ‘-a’ to everything and gesticulate a lot. I guess it’ll just be a ‘-ski’ for Russian. ‘How do you doski? The name’s Wellski, Andrew Wellski.’ D’you think the Russians speak Nerd-ski? He’ll…”

“Buffy, Spike’s in LA!” Giles put in suddenly before his nerve completely deserted him.

There was a moment pause as she looked at him blankly. “No he’s not,” she said eventually.

Giles sighed. Denial. One of the potential reactions he’d expected. Feeling slightly more in control, he softened his voice and leaned toward Buffy. “I know it’s hard to believe, Buffy, but the truth of it is… well, the truth of it is that Spike is back.”

She blinked at him. “In LA?”

“Yes… with Angel. He’s working with Angel at Wolfram and Hart.”

Buffy shook her head in bemusement. “Angel and Spike? Together? Are Wolfram and Hart up to it?” She looked down into her coffee cup, frowning. “When? How did you find out?”

“Ah. Well, Andrew met him, when he went to deal with Dana. He... he was rather excited about it.”

“You don’t say,” Buffy said dryly. “Well, it fits with all the big secret ‘I am’-ness that was going down – it must’ve nearly killed him to keep quiet. And also the oh-so important assignments to Buffyless climes.” She put her cup down on the table with exaggerated care and looked up at him, her face set. “It’s taken you a while to get round to this,” she said grimly. “Andrew’s been back for… what, coupla months?”

“Ah. Yes, well, there was quite a heated debate at the Council about whether… umm… that is…” Giles stuttered to an uncomfortable halt.

“About whether I had the right to know?” Buffy’s voice was dangerously level.

“I… well, that is, we…” Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Buffy, this is very difficult…”

“Oh, my heart bleeds.”

“You know, the Council has your best interests at heart. You’re important to us. And you’re very special to me.”

“I am? Well, you have a strange way of showing it.”

“Buffy…”

“Giles, you know how I felt about Spike.”

“Yes… yes, I mean after all he did…you were, naturally, very… attached…”

“I loved him,” she said quietly.

“Buffy…”

“Say it!”

Giles winced. “You… you loved him. But…”

“No. Don’t even.” Her eyes flashed angrily. She pressed her lips together and glared at him. “And why have the Council,” she emphasised the word with a healthy dose of contempt, “suddenly condescended to tell me this?”

“Well, as … as I said, we naturally have your best interests at heart and we felt that … well, we felt that …” Giles ground to a halt in the face of the patent Buffy glare. She raised an eyebrow. Giles swallowed hard and decided that the truth was probably the safest option. “Dawn found out,” he admitted with a sigh. “You know she been in London helping with the translation of the Quierchi manuscripts. They really are very interesting you know, there’s a whole new level of demon lore that we are only just brushing the surface of, and Dawn has been a great help, she’s very…well, she’s… gifted… umm... languages… and…” Giles stopped again as his distraction resulted in a significant deepening of the Buffy glare. He marshalled his thoughts and tried again. “Well, the fact is – the fact is she overheard some discussions about... S-Spike.” He flushed uncomfortably. “She made it clear in no uncertain terms what she thought of us for not telling you. She was … ah … rather cross. And not a little scary.”

“That’s my girl.” Buffy gave a stiff smile. She looked down to where her finger was describing small, tight circles on the table top. “So, if Dawn hadn’t laid into you to the point you were all shaking in your Watcherly shoes, you still wouldn’t have thought it worth the telling.”

“It’s not that it wasn’t worth… it was just… we thought…”

“You thought you’d kinda rather not have Spike back on the scene. Despite everything. He saved us all, Giles,” she spelt out the words deliberately. “Still not enough, huh?”

“Yes. No. I… I’m sorry.” Giles rubbed his eyes wearily. Well, he’d hardly expected it to be easy... “Really Buffy - I am sorry.”

“Oh, you should be. You so should be. And I’m not just talking about this time, Giles.” She shook her head. “Can you just imagine what would have happened if you’d had your way? If Spike hadn’t been there at the end? If he hadn’t stood by me – by all of us? Well,” she gave a bitter laugh, “I guess we wouldn’t have been here to have this conversation, huh?”

”I…” Giles began defensively.

“No! Spare me the excuses.” Buffy held up a hand. “There is absolutely nothing you can say right now.” She glared at Giles coldly. “So, Spike’s back, huh?” she said, her voice tense.

“Yes. Spike’s back.” Giles looked down at his hands clasped on the table. There was a long silence and eventually he looked up to find her watching him, her face fixed.

Then suddenly she smiled brightly. “Neat!” She sat back on her chair. “I could use more coffee. You want a refill?” She looked around and signalled with her cup to the waiter.

“I… coffee?” Giles looked at Buffy in stunned disbelief.

“You know, brown stuff? Comes in a cup with the froth and chocolate? Like tea only not.”

“Yes – yes I know what…It’s just we…” he watched her bemusedly, “We thought you might be… well, rather more…”

“Pissed?” she offered.

“Well, upset, certainly…” Giles gestured vaguely at his pocket. “I brought tissues ... for… for any… well.… ah… A-and arnica… for... for the bruises…”

“Really?” She shrugged. “Well, y’see? Turns out you all really don’t know everything, do you? So – coffee?” She smiled as the attentive waiter appeared at her side. “Oh, and we’ll need another cup.” She looked over at the doorway of her apartment block and raised a hand in greeting.

Giles glanced over the square… and froze.

A black-clad figure stood in the doorway, apparently nonchalantly surveying the piazza from behind a pair of stylish designer sunglasses. Having studied the pattern of shadows cast by the buildings and parasols, he made a controlled dash for their table arriving with only the slightest suggestion of steam hazing the morning air.

Spike sat down and shrugged his duster straight. “Pet.” He leaned over to meet Buffy’s lips in what Giles, even in his somewhat stunned state, thought was a quite unnecessarily long and lingering kiss.

“Mmm…” Buffy purred. “‘Morning, honey.” She moved her chair and rested against Spike, easy and comfortable. “Hey, guess what? Giles here has come all the way from London to bring me some news!” She picked up her cup and smiled innocently at Giles. “Although it turned out to be yesterday’s papers.”

“S’that a fact?” Spike took off his sunglasses and glanced across the table. Cool blue eyes met Giles’, a lazy smile hiding a challenge. “Mornin’, Watcher.”

“Good morning… ah…Spike.” Ingrained politeness barely hid Giles’ shock. Spike’s lazy smile sharpened.

Buffy broke off a piece of her pastry and held it Spike’s lips. “Here, try this. Flaky chocolate goodness.”

Spike grinned, snapped at the pastry, and caught her hand in his, ostentatiously sucking chocolate from her finger tips. He gave her a slow smile and raised an eyebrow. “Mmmm… chocolate covered slayer…we should try this again,” he purred seductively

Buffy flushed. “Spike…

He returned his attention to Giles. “So - news huh? Pray do tell.”

“Well, it would appear my news is somewhat belated,” Giles shifted uncomfortably.

“Behind the times again, Rupert? How positively annoying for you,” Spike drawled. “So – what was it? Just heard about the Titanic? Wasn’t anythin’ to do with me, if that’s what you were thinkin’.”

Giles glared at him coldly. “The Council were unaware that you had already made contact with Buffy.”

“Really? Wonder why we didn’t feel like rushin’ to tell you all.” Spike grinned then looked down at his hand and flexed his fingers. “Had a bit of a problem diallin’, you know, without the arms - but soon as the Wolfram and Hart mojo did its stuff, gave my girl a call.”

“And he was on the next plane to Rome.” Buffy reached up to touch his face and examined his left eye critically. “You know, the bruises faded real quick…”

“You still pack one hell of a punch, love.” Spike smiled fondly at the memory.

Giles winced as Buffy and Spike snuggled ostentatiously, mainly, he felt for his benefit. “Well, it would have been nice to be informed,” he sniffed crossly. “I would have thought you might consider it important enough to tell me.”

“Keep your cardie on, mate!” Spike looked Giles over. “An’ while we’re on the subject of cardies, d’you want me to knot you a hankie to go with that one? You do know you’re in Rome, don’t you? City of style an’ all?” He shook his head. “Bloody English abroad…”

“It’s not a cardigan, it’s a gilet…” Giles bristled.

Gilet!” Spike gave a disparaging snort. “It’s a bloody cardie with the arms cut off!”

“Will you stop!” Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike then turned to Giles. “Seriously, we had a lot to sort out. A lot of things to get straight. Signals to unmix.” She and Spike shared a look so intimate that Giles’ heart headed straight to his boots. “Besides,” Buffy turned back to him, “we didn’t want to get your hopes up and all.” She smiled brightly. “You know, Spike and I have your best interests at heart. You’re important to us. And you’re very special to me.” Giles hung his head. “But now - you know I think we should spend the day together, little bit of quality watcher-slayer-vampire time. I mean, now Spike and me are a proper couple and all…” Giles winced, and Buffy’s smile sharpened. “You’re going to have to get used to that, huh?”

“Daytime’s not so good for me, pet. ‘Sides, I had plans for today.” Spike whispered something into Buffy’s ear, keeping eye contact with Giles, eyebrow cocked.

“Oh, right…! I think that probably beats sightseeing.” Buffy flushed. “Tonight then. Oh! I should also mention. You know you keep on asking me to come over to England, Giles? Well, we’ve decided it might be fun! Spike’s gonna show me the old country. But first we’re gonna have a bit of a holiday, which naturally the Council will be happy to fund, given the circumstances. Somewhere secluded. Kinda… expensive. And then when you’ve sorted out a nice, cosy …”

“Bed,” Spike put in hopefully.

“… room,” Buffy went on, shaking her head, “for Spike and me in London, we’ll be over to give our thanks in person. Maybe we can all work together!” She smiled with steel-edged sweetness and bent to kiss Giles noisily on each cheek. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Spike bent towards him and for one horrified moment Giles feared he was about to repeat Buffy’s actions, but he only leaned down to growl “Ciao… segaiolo” in what Giles felt was an unnecessarily threatening manner in his ear. Although he hadn’t the first idea what ‘segiolo’ meant, he was pretty much convinced it wasn’t polite. “Oh, dear Lord,” he sighed as he watched the two of them run, laughing, across the piazza and into the entrance to Buffy’s apartment block. From the shadowed doorway Spike raise a hand in mocking farewell. “Oh… once again…dear Lord,” Giles repeated helplessly. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and wondered desperately if it was too early for scotch.





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