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A/N As always thanks to April for being such a great help with the grammer.
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“We need a plan.” Buffy’s statement was greeted by blank looks. “A plan,” she told them again. “We have to think of some way to attack The First; we can’t just sit here waiting!” Her voice held anger as well as fear, desperation making her tattered nerves jangle.

“We’re trying,” Willow told her softly, “but we haven’t got much to work with, and it’s not like you can go out and just kick its ass. You know—incorporeal and all.”

“Could we maybe make it corporeal,” Dawn asked, “with magic? Like you did with that thaumogenesis demon that came back with Buffy. Then Buffy and the potentials could kick its ass.”

“I think that would be a mistake,” Giles told the teenager gently. “Who knows what damage it could do if it were given form?” He glanced nervously at the vampire seated opposite him: he looked pensive, distracted, his fingers drumming a quiet but relentless rhythm on his knee. Obviously, Spike was finding this charade as distasteful as he was, pretending to be working with the team. Playing at planning when they both knew the real planning would come later when the others were finally asleep.

Dawn yawned loudly and the watcher leapt on the opportunity. “You’re all tired; perhaps it would be best to get some sleep. We’ll resume this in the morning.” He made his tone casually authoritative and it seemed to work. One by one, they trudged off to whatever cramped corner of the crowded house they had claimed as their own.

Finally only three remained: just Spike, Giles and a rather agitated Buffy, who seemed eager to draw Spike outside for a private conversation. Giles couldn’t help wonder again at her reliance on the vampire, how when things got difficult or frightening she instinctively sought out the demon’s company, finding some reassurance in his presence. Was she right—could she really not do this without Spike’s support? Giles prayed she could, because soon, one way or another, she would be losing that support.

Buffy finally gave up, grumbling slightly that she wished them both goodnight, and climbed the stairs to her room, turning back only to issue a half-serious command: “Don’t kill each other, okay?”

It was a long time before either spoke. Eventually, Spike tired of the silence and wandered into the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a half empty bottle of scotch and a pair of tumblers. “So,” he began, setting down the glasses and pouring a generous amount into each, “tell me what I have to do.”


“Once inside the temple,” Giles began, glad to be focusing on something other than the terrible act Spike would have to perform to get that far, “you’ll face what are described as the ‘three Areathan tasks.’ These will be challenges—tests of strength and commitment—perhaps physical, perhaps not. If you successfully meet the challenges, you will be granted access to the Scythe and returned to this dimension.”

Spike gave the watcher a cocky look. “Right. Well, challenges I can do,” he told him. “Faced one or two out in Africa.”

“Er, quite,” the watcher conceded, uneasy at acknowledging the vampire's audacious quest for his soul. “There are also a few incantations you will need to perform at the, er, entrance to the temple. Just a few phrases when you offer the...” He looked down, troubled by the topic, “the sacrifice.”

“Right, let’s have ‘em.” He held out his hand for the watcher's notes. “I’ll leave tomorrow as soon as the sun goes down. You need to cover for me with Buffy; can’t have the Slayer running after me.”

“No, of course not. I’ll make sure she’s, um, occupied until you have time to reach the temple.” He removed his glasses, rubbing them distractedly with his handkerchief.

Spike poured healthy shots of whiskey, and Giles smiled his gratitude to the vampire. “I’ll try to make her understand,” he said suddenly, causing the vampire to look quizzically at him.

“Buffy,” he clarified. “I’ll try to make her understand why you had to do it.”

“‘Preciate the sentiment, Watcher,” Spike replied, his voice holding an unmistakable note of dejected acceptance, “but you won’t have to.”

He didn’t explain, and Giles didn’t ask, merely sipped his whiskey and watched the vampire retreat into the basement.

……………………..

“Does this count as a plan?” Buffy asked, annoyance colouring her voice.

“No,” Giles told her patiently, quickening his pace to match hers as she stormed through the woods. “This is reconnaissance. We have to follow every possible lead, and my source reported unusual activity in this area.”

“What area, Giles?” She stopped, turning to him. “Where are we going? We’ve been walking for miles. Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Of course,” the watcher told her, hiding his guilt with mock offence. “It’s just a little farther,” he picked a direction at random and pointed, “that way.”

“Well, come on then.” She set off purposefully. “I don’t like leaving Spike chained up for too long.”

He followed her, watching the tense set of her shoulders, wondering if she would ever forgive him for what he had done.

“I’ll see to Spike,” he had told her as she prepared for their ‘reconnaissance’ mission. “You collect some weapons, just in case.”

He’d gone to the basement, the key to Spike’s chains in his hand. “Spike,” he’d whispered as he descended the stairs, “Spike, are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” the vampire's strained voice had sounded in the darkness. “Just keep Buffy busy tonight.”

“Do you have an idea of where you will obtain a, er, a sacrifice?” He’d stumbled on the word, pushing the reality of Spike’s mission out of his mind.

“Got a couple of options lined up.” Spike’s voice had held a strange hint of wry humour and for a moment Giles had doubted his decision to trust the vampire.

“Don’t worry, Watcher, I’ll take care of it,” the vampire had assured him, stepping into the pool of light shining down the stairs, his expression pained and sincere. “I’ll do it right, don’t worry.”

………….

Spike had slipped out of the house as soon as he was sure Buffy and Giles were far enough away. He wouldn’t be missed; no one but Buffy checked on him. Dawn had come down once, when he had first moved into the Summers’ basement. She had stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared reproachfully at him, hurt, betrayal and mistrust coming off her in angry waves. He hadn’t said anything and neither had she. Eventually, she’d just left and he had watched her go without protest. He’d wanted to call out to her, to try and explain, to beg her forgiveness—anything—but he hadn’t. What do you say to the ones who used to love you when you’ve tossed their love aside so negligently? What do you say to a girl who thought you were a hero, when you’ve tried to rape her sister?

He shook off his maudlin thoughts as he mounted his stolen motorbike. He remembered a poem by Frost, whose last lines had swum in his mind for weeks after reading them: "I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep."

He kicked the engine into life, feeling the bike vibrate with contained power. One last glance at the house where he had once dreamt he would find happiness and he was gone, speeding away from all his dreams and false hopes, with promises to keep and miles to go…

……………………….


A/N Thanks Caroline, I hope I can continue to please. Reviews and encouragment help.





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