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Author's Chapter Notes:
I just want to say thank you to all the people who left reviews for me. It's such a wonderful thing to know that there are people out there who genuinely like what you do, even if it is just fanfiction. ^^ So thank you again and I hope you will continue to enjoy the story.
"I sit here clutching useless lists, keys for doors that don't exist.
I crack my teeth on pearls. I tear into the history.
Show me what it means to me in this world.
'Cause I am due for a miracle, I'm waiting for a sign.
I'll stare straight into the sun, and I won't close my eyes,
Till I understand or go blind.”
- Thrice, "Stare At The Sun"

* * *

He hadn’t suspected that Giles would have assigned a waiting party for him, but it wasn’t long after he left the plane’s hold that he took note of the two men trailing him on the tarmac. Despite their crisp suites and scholarly air they had the air of people who were not only familiar with violence, but liked it. It was an aura Spike recognized well; not too long ago he could’ve been described that way. What worried his though wasn’t the sense of brutality, or even the fact that outnumbered him; he was more than certain that, given the right circumstances he could handle twice as many guys on his own. The problem was that the two gentlemen who were rapidly catching up to him were human. Thanks to the circuitry floating around in his brain now Spike was defenseless against them.

He hoped that they were not privy to that information.

He resisted the urge to speed up, letting the two men follow him nonchalantly out of the airport and into the streets of the city. The skin on his back began to instinctively crawl, a shudder of recognition passing through him as he breathed in the night air that was flavored with the distinctive scent of home. He hadn’t fancied ever coming back here. Memories, the fragment of a song lyric flew though his mind, All alone with the memory of my days in the sun. He made a short turn, the old route still ingrained in the wrinkles of his mind. For a moment he let his feet guide him, the sounds of the past rising up in a rush to fill his ears and he had the feeling that if he squinted sideways long enough he would see this city as it had been when he had still needed to draw breath to exist.

The sound of footsteps up ahead shook him out of his reverie and he looked up to find that one of them men who had been following him had managed to cut him off at the end of the alley while the other stood with his hands in his pockets behind him. The man before him smiled comfortably and began to walk toward him slowly, "I take it you're Spike, correct?"

Spike shrugged, shifting his duffel around on his shoulder as he took the other man’s measure, "Depends on who wants to know, mate."

The man before him was a sinewy fellow, neatly but casually dressed in what stuck his as distinctively Wesylian rogue. The blank smile remained plastered on his face but his eyes shifted around Spike to meet those of his larger counterpart, "We have been expecting you. A mutual contact notified us of your arrival and we were sent to assist you as it becomes necessary."

Spike snickered, turning slightly so that he was able to get a clear view of the men on both sides of him, "Let Rupert know that I'm appreciative of his help but I don't need any babysitters. Now why don't you two sods toddle off somewhere before you get hurt?"

"Very well then, we’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way." They came at him as one unit and it was sheer luck that Spike managed to avoid their grip, sending the heavier one tumbling into the trash behind him as the other struggled to keep his balance, "Here now, and I thought we were friends."

"The Council doesn't befriend your kind, demon."

"Your loss," Spike taunted before, much to his chagrin and the surprise of the two men, he turned and fled. Their shock only gave him a momentary advantage and he could hear the two of them gaining behind them as he wove through the darkened streets. They were well trained and despite his best efforts managed to stay just behind him. Desperate to lose them once and for all Spike scaled a fire escape and took to the rooftops, hoping to keep them confused and on the ground. Behind him he could hear the two men on the fire escape and with a muttered, "You've got to be kidding me," took off across the roof. It ended abruptly and Spike, sending a small plea to whatever being listened to vampires, took a flying leap to the building across.

He landed with a thud and a roll. Behind him, the goon squad cursed and the slender one ordered his companion to jump for all he was worth. Spike didn't bother to spare a glance backward, choosing instead to hurriedly locate and climb down this building’s fire ladder. He felt the roof vibrate with the impact of the heavy man and just when he thought he would have to make his last stand there among the air conditioning units and weather vanes he found the ladder and began to shimmy down the building. He was halfway down when he heard a shrill scream tear through the night air followed by a sickeningly wet thud far below him. Slender had failed to make the jump.

One down, one to go. Spike felt the alley floor hit his feet and took off running towards what appeared to be a large boulevard. He heard the remaining man hit the ground with a determined grunt and Spike raced across the street and into the shadows of a large building. He'd barely had time to plan his next move when from behind him he heard the terrible shriek of brakes and the snap, crackle, pop of a man's body yielding to the greater force of a machine. His pursuer lay half beneath a black gypsy taxi, a dark pool beginning to spread beneath him. His heartbeat was steady but growing weaker by the moment and Spike knew that if he had any hope of getting information from him it would have to be now. He threw his shoulders back and sauntered forward casually, letting his face take on a sardonic hue as he stared down at the dying man, "Well, well, whatever do we have here?"

"You're a fool, vampire."

It wasn't exactly the words Spike had hoped to hear but it wasn't surprising either. He already had an inkling that the man was a tough git and it didn’t appear that death would have a softening effect, "You're dying."

The man made an attempt at laughter, emitting a horrible rasping sound which decorated his filmy lips with a layer of spittle. Spike didn't bother to hide his disgust as he stared down at the mess. In the car he could hear the taxi driver beginning to revive and he knew that soon enough their tête-à-tête would come to an end and there was a very real possibility that the man would pass without uttering a single clue . Begrudgingly, Spike began to scout around for an escape and was about to make his exit when the faint voice of his assailant carried back to him, "You're a bleeding idiot."

"I believe you already said something to that effect, mate."

"You think that you've won, but you're wrong. The Council will never let a demon piece of trash like you do what they can't."

Spike shrugged, "Can't see that the Council's will matters much to me, mate. I'm here on Giles' say so, not theirs."

The man let out another rasping breath, as he struggled to get out one final sentence, "Despite his occasional rebelliousness at his heart dear old Ripper is a Council man through and through."

There was no more to be said on the subject; the taxi driver was rousing and the man let his eyes close as he struggled to breathe, the slow weak thudding of his heart a taunting refrain in Spike's ear. With one final glance at the scene Spike left and began to retrace his steps back to the alley where the confrontation had begun. All the while he turned over the dead man's words in his brain, trying to figure out how all the inconsistencies would come to play in his quest. The warning had been sound and had carried a ring of conviction in it. The man truly believed that Giles had played him for a fool. It was just the type of dirty trick that Spike normally wouldn't put past the Watcher but the nature and importance of his journey belied the thought. No matter how much Giles might enjoy watching him blowing in the wind, he wouldn't do it at the expense of his Slayer. As long as Spike was charged with finding this crucial weapon he could be assured that Giles wouldn't harm him. It was once he was back in Sunnydale that his continued undead status would be questionable.

His duffel bag was still lying where he'd dropped it behind the dumpster and Spike allowed himself a moment of gratitude as he lifted it up and stepped back out into the streets. His feet fixed on a path towards his destination, Spike once again allowed himself to ruminate on the events of the day. There was still the unanswered question of how the goon squad had known when to expect him and the specifics of his mission. It was a vicious cycle: the only plausible answer led him back to Giles' involvement in the assassination attempt but common sense was firm in it's belief that, whatever his personal misgivings, Giles would do nothing to endanger or weaken Buffy right now. Buffy needed the weapon ergo Giles needed Spike alive to bring it back to her. It was clear that the two men were playing him but to what purpose Spike was still unsure.

With a start Spike realized that he had stood for some time before a modest townhouse. Hesitantly, he fingered the single key in his pocket and for a moment he considered turning around and finding some nondescript motel to hunker down in while he was here. The idea was immediately pushed aside by the realization that those were the very places he could expect the Council or whoever wanted to track him to look. In the daytime he would be at the mercy of any assailants. Here though they would never think to look for him and Spike would wager that they didn't even know of its existence. He’d worked carefully to conceal all surviving remnants of his past from everyone else. There were only ghosts and memories here to plague him.

The door slid open quietly as he turned the lock and Spike stepped into the still foyer. Closing the door quietly behind him he braced himself and turned into the small parlor, the sheets covering the furniture gleaming in the pale moonlight. Unceremoniously he sat down on the sofa and proceeded to open his duffel. There, wrapped up in his extra t-shirts was the treasure he had thought so regretfully of when he'd been forced to drop the bag. He held the picture gingerly between his fingers, careful not to get a smudge across the face of his girl as she smiled up at him. It was one of the few pictures that Spike had managed to salvage after the destruction of his altar to Buffy. He held it now like it was a direct connection to her, fancying for a moment that perhaps she would sense his regard across the miles of ocean and land that separated them. It was a lover's fantasy but he refused to lose it as he settled against the sofa to wait out the coming day.


Chapter End Notes:
The song lyric is from the musical 'Cats'.



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