Just as Giles was picking up the phone to call Willow, it rang under his hand, and he jumped, muttering a soft, “Bloody hell!” under his breath.
The disconcerting conversation he had just had with Buffy had left him unusually jumpy and unsettled. The violence that Buffy had described was very troubling to him, and he knew that they had to find a solution, and quickly – before someone got hurt. But it was going to be very difficult to find a solution when they really had so little understanding of what the problem was.
It was difficult for him to comprehend how Buffy could feel as if she was being controlled by some force other than herself, and still feel at the same time that the violent actions she had committed were truly her own. He could not seem to reconcile the two ideas in his mind. He hoped very much that Willow’s input as to just exactly what spell she had used and how she had used it might shed some light on the entire situation.
And then, there was the other troubling issue to the whole situation, the one thing that he had been trying very hard not to think about since this whole matter had come to light the night before – the fact that his Slayer was eternally, irrevocably bound by a mating claim to an evil, soulless vampire, who currently had nothing but that claim standing between him and his next killing spree.
Buffy’s dominance through the claim would keep Spike under control, and her reasonably safe, the Watcher reassured himself, as she could easily put a stop to any attempts the vampire might make to harm her, or anyone else.
Unless of course he caught her off guard – or asleep – or somehow managed to get around her commands and surprise her, not giving her time to stop him.
An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Giles wished, not for the first time, that Xander’s first suggestion, of freeing Buffy from the claim by simply dusting the blonde vampire, was possible. Spike was no longer completely helpless, the way he saw it – so that was not an issue anymore; and he did not see why Buffy should have to spend the rest of her life looking after the vampire and keeping him in line.
The problem with that idea was, again, the claim itself. After witnessing the way Buffy had turned on Xander the night before, the Watcher was certain that there was no way Buffy would allow any of them to harm Spike; she was fiercely protective of the vampire, and it did not seem to matter to her who she hurt in the process of defending him.
He had momentarily considered the possibility of staking the vampire *now*, while Buffy was chained up and unable to defend him. It was quite possible that, if all of what Buffy was experiencing was due to the claim, if the vampire was simply dusted, its effects would be broken and she would return to normal. He could just unchain her and she could go back to her life as usual, with the added bonus of being rid of the bleached blonde annoyance that had invaded his home and all of their lives for the past few weeks.
It was also quite possible that the Slayer would lose her mind completely with grief over the loss of her eternal mate – and they would *never* get Buffy back.
No, Giles had decided with some regret. It was best to simply research the situation thoroughly, to find out just what exactly the problem was before attempting to solve it – which was why he *really* needed to speak with Willow as soon as possible.
With clear annoyance at the delay, that he absently noted was probably not good for business, he spoke curtly into the phone, “Thank you for calling the Magic Box. How may I assist you?”
“Mr. Giles?” a woman’s voice asked sweetly – perhaps a little *too* sweetly.
He was surprised to recognize the voice of Buffy’s mother on the phone – and then, suddenly very nervous, as he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, just why she would be calling him.
“Mrs. Summers!” His greeting was forcedly cheerful, as he attempted to maintain a façade of innocence. “How delightful to…”
“Mr. Giles,” she interrupted him with a note of impatience in her now coolly polite voice. He heard her take a breath to speak – and then pause, before going on thoughtfully, “How can I say this nicely?” After a moment’s consideration she concluded, “I *can’t*. This is not a conversation you can have ‘nicely’.”
After her calmly pensive out-loud musing, it took him by surprise when she snapped, “Cut the crap.”
Startled, the Watcher flinched slightly, glad that the woman was not actually there to see it. After all, although she had a reason and a right to be upset, it would not do to let her see that she had shaken him. “Excuse me, Mrs. Summers, but I don’t believe…”
“Excuse *me*, Mr. Giles,” she interrupted emphatically, a note of warning to her voice that refused to be ignored. “But *I* believe I was talking!”
Taken aback by her unexpected forcefulness, Giles was silent for a beat. Dreading what she would say, but having little choice, he finally replied, “Quite right, so sorry – go right ahead.”
“I want to know what you did to my daughter.”
Giles felt his stomach drop at the low, threatening sound to her voice, as he was reminded first of how dangerous a mother could be when her child was threatened, and secondly of the fact that not *all* of Buffy’s fire came from the fact that she was the Slayer.
*It’s just Joyce Summers – she’s angry, but not truly dangerous,* he reminded himself. *I’ve just got to attempt to calm her…*
“Mrs. Summers, I am truly very sorry, but I assure you that Buffy is in no immediate danger. And as we speak, I am doing everything in my power to uncover the source of these – episodes – she’s having, and…”
“So what you’re saying is you don’t have a clue.” Her voice was cold and hard as stone.
*Just Joyce – no need for alarm – just explain to her…*
“I’m – not quite sure yet…”
“Well, you’d better *get* sure and right away!” Joyce interrupted him again in a tone of quiet, barely controlled righteous fury. “Because it sounds to *me* like what you’ve done is to send my baby to perform a dangerous ritual which you didn’t even fully understand the requirements of – a ritual which could have ended with the complete loss of her free will, by the way – don’t think I missed that part! And all to control a vampire who can’t bite – can’t even hit – and was at the time your *prisoner* in chains!”
“Mrs. Summers…”
“I’m *not* finished!” she snarled, and he cringed in spite of himself, glancing around the shop at his thankfully oblivious customers, certain that they had to be able to hear her.
But they could not. Though the anger was unmistakable in her tone, she was not actually yelling. Her voice was still low and controlled – which only made her all the more terrifying, as she went on.
“And in the process, you put my daughter in a position to allow *something* -- you still don’t know what, because you don’t seem to know much of *anything* useful, do you? – to take her over and endanger my entire family, and not only that but to *abuse* someone who can’t even begin to defend himself, and in front of my fourteen-year-old daughter, by the way…”
“I’m extremely sorry that Dawn had to witness what Buffy did to Spike…”
“You should be extremely sorry that it even *happened* to Spike!” Joyce raised her voice slightly then, a warning sound to it that indicated that, if possible, his last words had made her even angrier than before.
“You think it doesn’t matter if she hurts Spike, because he’s not human? At the moment, I think he has more humanity in him than you seem to! How can you possibly justify something like this, taking a helpless creature and deliberately attempting to turn him into a virtual slave? How can you even begin to think that that’s *okay*? And you’re the man that my daughter turns to for *guidance*?”
“Mrs. Summers, you must understand – he’s a very *dangerous* creature!” Giles interrupted, a bit incensed himself by her accusations. “That chip controlled him – but the moment it went down, without this claim in place, he would have been free to…”
“The chip only *went* down because of what you did!” Joyce snapped. “And the only thing I see that needs controlling around here is your over-inflated sense of self-importance and your unbelievable ego! That you could think that you could do something like this – just manipulate circumstances and people to suit your own desires and ideas of how things should be…”
“He’s not *people*!” Giles nearly shouted without meaning to, frustrated beyond measure. “He’s a bloody *vampire*!”
Joyce was stunned to silence for a moment by the audacity of his words – long enough for the Watcher to realize his careless mistake, as several customers stopped what they were doing to look at him with alarmed, disbelieving expressions.
“Giles!” Anya called much too loudly from behind the counter, her words obviously for the benefit of the customers. “That’s not nice! Umpires are people too!” Immediately she turned to Xander, who had come to help for a little while and was standing beside her behind the counter, explaining in a loud whisper, but fortunately not loud enough to be heard by the customers across the room, “I said that so that they’d think he said ‘umpire’ when what he really said was ‘vampire’. You told me you did that once, and it worked.”
“Good girl, Anya,” Xander said patiently but distractedly, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard her, and seeing with relief that the customers were going on about their shopping again. Either they had believed her – or had just shrugged it off as one of the many daily weirdnesses of life in Sunnydale.
Anya was so pleased at his rare words of approval that it took her a few moments to realize that he had just spoken to her as if she were a puppy.
Meanwhile, Joyce was speaking to Giles as if he were – well, something infinitely more repulsive and less deserving of cuddles than a puppy. His comment about Spike not being a person had infuriated her to her breaking point.
“Obviously you don’t know anything that can help my daughter or Spike right now,” she stated in a low voice of intense anger, barely restrained. “So I’ll tell you what, *Mr.* Giles…you go do your research or whatever it is you do that makes Buffy so convinced that she needs you…” Her derisive tone said clearly that she thought otherwise. “and you better find a way to get my Buffy back! I had to work today, or this conversation would be taking place in person…”
*Thank heavens she had to work today!*
“…but I’m off work tomorrow, Mr. Giles,” she went on in a frighteningly pleasant voice; he could almost see her menacing smile. “…and I *will* be in your store, and I *will* expect some answers…”
*Who does she think she is?* Giles thought with indignation born of genuine fear. *Like she’d ever actually do anything to…*
“…and I don’t care if you think Spike matters or not. If Buffy hurts him again before you manage to undo the massive amounts of damage your ignorance and arrogance has caused, I’m going to take Spike and hide him away somewhere safe, and when that *thing* that you allowed to gets its claws into my daughter comes looking for him – I’ll tell her *you* know where he is!”
*Dear God.*
Giles was sure his heart skipped a beat at that chilling threat. Okay – so maybe Joyce *could* actually hurt him, after all.
“Mrs. Summers,” he said in an uncharacteristically timid voice that broke over her name in a decidedly unmanly fashion. “I can assure you that won’t be necessary. I’m going to find the source of the problem…”
“I believe I’ve found the source of the problem, Mr. Giles,” Joyce cut him off again relentlessly in a scathing tone of disgust. “You just find the solution. By tomorrow. Goodbye.”
And the line went dead.
With a shaking hand, muttering British curses under his breath, Giles replaced the receiver for just a moment. He drew a deep breath to steady himself, his hand resting on the phone, before picking it up again to dial Willow’s number.
They had to find the answer tonight – before Hurricane Joyce struck the next morning.
It was just past three o’clock as Willow turned the key in the door of the dorm room she shared with Buffy, just returning after her last class for the day. As she struggled against a load of books and school supplies to unlock the door, she heard the phone begin to ring inside.
Her heart leapt up into her throat, and she hurried to get the door open, dumping the books unceremoniously on the floor beside the desk and snatching up the phone.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly.
There was a moment’s hesitation, before she heard Giles’ voice. “Willow? Are you all right?”
Her heart sank with disappointment – disappointment that she should not have allowed herself, she thought with self-directed anger. She should know by now that it wouldn’t be…
“I – I was just running. To get the phone. Because, you know – it could have been…”
*Oz.*
“…important. You know, Hellmouthy badness.”
“Oh – well, yes…yes, it is, actually, Willow…of the variety we were discussing last night…”
As the Watcher began to explain what Buffy had told him, Willow felt a cold sensation of dread come over her, as her mind went back to the spell she had performed a few nights ago to disable Spike’s chip.
She had wondered when Spike’s chip had not turned back on, if perhaps the spell was at the bottom of the entire situation – but had been too afraid and embarrassed to speak up about it then, reassuring herself mentally that that could not be the case – she had done everything exactly as the book told her to.
Well – with just a tiny bit of tweaking.
*But – it was just to be sure that Buffy would win!* she thought, desperately defending herself in her mind, as Giles told her about his and Buffy’s rising doubts about the spell.
“I’m sure I did it right, Giles,” she said in a small, trembling voice, feeling guilt wash over her at the almost-lie.
Okay, *total* lie.
“I’m sure you did, too, Willow, but spells are tricky things. There may be something that you missed when selecting the spell – something that allowed something other than what was intended to occur. Just – please bring the book with the spell in it and come to the Magic Box as soon as possible. I’m very sure that Buffy must be getting very tired of being in chains, and it would be most preferable if we could fix this and she could sleep in her own bed tonight.”
“Okay,” Willow agreed quietly, swallowing back a sick feeling that rose in her throat as she hung up the phone.
How had things gone so wrong? she wondered. And then – how could she wonder? she thought darkly. Things *always* went wrong here. This was Sunnydale, the Hellmouth – the natural habitat of “things going wrong”.
Best friends rejected you for annoying snobs and ho-bag skanks – parents tried to burn you at the stake…
Werewolf-boyfriends left you for werewolf-sluts…
All part of Sunnydale’s natural charm.
As she gathered up the books, a bitter resentment began to set into her mind. If something had gone wrong, it was not *her* fault. It had gone wrong because -- *hello*! – things always went wrong here! As she made her way across the campus and toward the Magic Box, she tried to determine just how much to tell the Watcher and her friends.
After all – she had only been trying to help.
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