Giles didn’t get paid enough overtime for the countless hours of his life that were occupied in the high school library. Not to mention all the extra work he put into saving the lives of ungrateful teenagers. There were some days when he barely got to enjoy his flat at all. His favorite albums were collecting dust. His favorite wine hadn’t been touched in months. His books were scattered across his den, each open to a different page so he wouldn’t forget where he’d been when he’d last sat down for a good read.
In many ways, he couldn’t wait for the school year to be over. Once Buffy graduated, he could retire his position as the undervalued high school librarian and rely strictly on the check the Council sent him every month.
Once again, it was nearing midnight and he was still in the library—tonight, so he could shelve books that he was sure had been moved by a poltergeist, as no one but Buffy and her chums ever set foot inside the library. More often than not, however, his late nights were attributed to his slayer’s training or research for some impending catastrophe.
Giles didn’t like being alone in the library. Too often, he was left with his thoughts, and that was always a dangerous thing. His thoughts led to questions, and his questions, more and more recently, revolved around Buffy. Her behavior recently had been most unusual. A random pregnancy scare from her one night with Angel? The same night that was nearly twelve months in the past? Either she wasn’t telling him something, or she’d returned from Los Angeles even loopier than he’d imagined.
He sighed and adjusted the titles along the historical fiction shelf. Bloody kids didn’t know how to alphabetize.
“Giles.”
A rather loud, unmanly squeak ruptured from his throat. He jumped, an armful of books flying into the air. Spinning around, he looked up to meet Angel’s eyes, a bitter taste running through his mouth.
“Get out,” he said sternly, arms falling to his sides. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of flapping paper finally hitting the ground.
Angel held up his hands. “I know I have no right to be here—”
“Something we can rectify quite simply. Get the hell out of my library.”
“It’s not that easy. I—”
“Oh really. Really? I, for one, think that it is exactly that easy. Matter of fact, I’m of the opinion that letting you walk away from me with your skin still attached is being a tad too reasonable. If I were you, I’d start counting my blessings.” His eyes narrowed. “Buffy might have forgiven you, Angel, but don’t think that her pardon makes your presence welcome. Now, I will reiterate…get the hell out of my library.”
“I’m sorry to bother you.”
Giles stared at him blankly before rolling out a long, bitter chuckle. Though his scars had healed, there was something about seeing the vampire that made every faded wound on his body scream out again. “Sorry,” he replied, “coming from you, that phrase strikes me as rather funny. Sorry to bother me.”
“I need your help.”
“And the funny keeps coming.”
“It’s about—”
“You know, I have this perfect memory of ordering you out of my library…twice. And yet, here you stand.”
“I understand that I have no right to ask for it, but there’s no one else. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.” Angel expelled a deep breath. “It’s about Buffy.”
Giles just looked at him for a minute, then ducked his head and laughed again. “You know, I don’t believe I ever gave you enough credit for your nerve. You certainly have a lot of it. Of the many things I am not willing to discuss with you, anything related to my slayer is at the very head of the list.” He sighed resignedly. “You really are going to make me say it again, aren’t you?”
“Giles—”
“Get the—”
“Something is wrong with Buffy.”
There were very few things that Angel could say to save himself from a long-overdue stake to the heart. Invoking Buffy’s name in such a way was most definitely one of them. Giles stared at him for a minute longer, and finally sighed and nodded when he detected no sign of deceit.
“Very well,” he said, stepping aside and motioning for Angel to move ahead of him. “But I warn you, if I find this wasn’t worth my time, you are surrounded by weapons and I am known in some parts of the world for my impeccable aim.” He paused, his brows perking. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“I—”
“If you think I’m leaving you at my back—”
Angel’s hands went up and he nodded shortly. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I’m going.”
Giles kept his eyes glued to the vampire’s oversized head as they moved into the foyer of the library. He waited until Angel had seated himself atop one of the large tables, then headed intently for his weapon chest.
“That’s not necessary—” Angel protested weakly, shutting up the next second when Giles whirled around, a crossbow in his arms.
“Oh, I believe it is. Now, what is the matter with Buffy?” He arched a brow. “I don’t suppose it was you that filled her head with that ridiculous notion that vampires could impregnate slayers, was it?”
Angel looked horrified. “What? No, absolutely not. I would never try—”
“Because we know mind games are beneath you, correct? Buffy hasn’t exactly warmed up to you the way you were hoping she might, following your little spiel where you tried to kill her friends.” Giles cocked his head. “How did that work out for you, while I have you here?”
The discomfort on Angel’s face was almost worth the pain that stabbed at his heart.
“I know I can never make up for what I did,” he began cautiously. “I can’t say I’m sorry. I am—of course I am, but I can’t…words are cheap compared to what I feel. But I would never attempt to manipulate myself back in like that. I was…I was afraid that Buffy and I wouldn’t be able to fight whatever was between us. It’s not that way, and though it hurts, I’m glad.”
“It hurts,” Giles echoed stoically. “Yes, I’m glad, too.”
“But here’s the thing: Buffy didn’t think she was pregnant with my child.”
He froze. “Just who would she be referring to, then?”
Angel swallowed hard. “Spike.”
The crossbow clamored noisily to the floor. “Spike?!” Giles demanded, his eyes shooting wide with horror. “Why would she…oh dear Lord…”
“I don’t think she—”
“What on earth…when did Spike get back? Why didn’t she tell me? Good Lord, why did she…why—”
“I don’t have all the details, so jumping to conclusions would be a very bad idea right now.” Angel sighed. “All I know is that I’ve smelled him on her. All over her. From what she’s told me, albeit reluctantly, it began the night that you went away for some retreat.” He paused. “I don’t think you should panic, or…but I think something might have happened.”
Giles stared at him. “Well, thank you for that,” he said slowly. “For telling me that Buffy was afraid that she might have been pregnant with Spike’s child—a vampire I loathe almost as much as I loathe you—and that you can smell him all over her, because you think something might have happened. Your vagueness notwithstanding—”
“Look, I’m only trying to help.”
“How is this helping?”
Angel did a rather remarkable impression of a fish, blinked stupidly, and rose to his feet, confused. “I thought…I thought you would want to know.”
“You’re sure you’re not just telling me that my slayer is sleeping with another evil vampire in an effort to make me forget that—oh, that’s right, she already did that? And you managed to murder my girlfriend in the fallout?” Giles arched a brow before his eyes fell once more with the burden of realization. “But Spike? Buffy and Spike?”
“I don’t think it was something she could help.”
“What do you mean?”
Angel sighed. “As far as that's concerned, there's no question that there's a way to look at this where it's my fault.”
“What’s another way of looking at it?”
He paused. “Well, as much as I hate to admit it, there is no other way of looking at it. When I…while I was evil…” He sucked in a deep, pained breath, his eyes falling shut. “When I was evil…I did everything I could to tear Spike apart. Darla wasn’t around, and I’d always…before I was cursed, I’d always done my best to make Spike completely aware that Dru was only his on loan. When I…after I lost my soul, I did that again…only worse. He’d had nearly a century of Dru to himself, so he had a complex, and I had to make sure that he knew she would never fully be his. I did things to and with her that I’d rather not discuss, oftentimes in front of him so that he’d get the idea.”
Giles made a face. “Not that this isn’t completely, well, disgusting, but why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think that something happened after they left. Something that compelled him to come back here and seek revenge. His truce with Buffy notwithstanding—”
“His what with Buffy?”
Angel paused again, frowning. “His truce…Giles, you knew that Spike and Buffy collaborated to stop the end of the world, didn’t you?” He waited a second before it became painfully clear that Giles knew nothing of the sort. “He…stopped me from killing you because of the truce. If he hadn’t been there, you’d be dead and there’s a chance the world would be in Hell right now.”
“Well, isn’t he a bloody prince?”
“I’m not—”
“What is this? Are you trying to sell me on Spike?”
“No. No, absolutely not. But this is what happened, and I think it’s better to be honest with you than downplay my guilt.”
“How very astute.”
“I think Dru saw something in Spike that sent him back here to prove himself to her.”
Giles’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a rather specific hypothesis.”
“I might have been out of his life for a century, but I still know how his mind works.”
“There’s something to be proud of.”
“I think he came back to prove himself to Dru.”
“And that’s how he ended up bedding my slayer?”
Angel was quiet for a second and shrugged. “I don’t know. Buffy won’t talk to me about this.”
“I can hardly imagine why.”
“But something changed. More than just…whatever happened with them, something changed.” He glanced down. “I have a couple theories…one that’s crazy, and another that’s even crazier than the first.”
“Those being?”
A long pause. He shook his head. “No. No, I don’t want to worry you without cause. Give me some time to eliminate one or both possibilities. I—”
Giles barked out an incredulous laugh. “You don’t wish to worry me? My, my, my, how considerate. So instead of explaining to me why my slayer might have slept with a vampire, particularly after what happened with you, you’re going to work out your theories on your own?”
“That’s right.”
“Then why did you come to me?”
“That’s a perfectly fair question.” Angel sighed. “I guess I just needed someone to know.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked for help.”
“If it turns out to be one of my theories, I am going to need help.”
“What are you, Agatha Christie? Tell me what—”
“Even if my theory pans out, it won’t explain why Buffy slept with him in the first place.” It likely wasn’t a good idea for Angel to become testy, particularly with a man who hated him; a man that had many pointy weapons at his disposal. “I don’t want you to worry.”
Giles arched a cool brow, kneeling forward to collect the crossbow from the floor. “It’s a bit late for that,” he replied. “I assure you, whatever it is, it can’t be worse than the worst scenario I have imagined.”
“I think Spike claimed Buffy.”
The crossbow plummeted to the floor again.
Giles was wrong. So very wrong.
It was much worse.
Buffy made a face and checked her watch. “This guy is never gonna wake up,” she decided, slumping against a headstone with a pout. “I’m running on three hours of sleep here, fella! The least you can do is be punctual!”
Not to mention the ache in her stomach was killing her, the burn of the bite mark had nearly consumed her leg, and she had the vague sensation that a giant hole was gnawing its way through her chest. But she wasn’t about to say that part aloud. Not with the company she kept.
Faith glanced up, rolling her eyes. “I don’t understand why we’re wastin’ so much time on…” She paused, then leaned over to study the epitaph. “Jeffrey Pilcher. Are you seriously that bored?”
“I just really need to kill something.”
“Yeah, okay. Remind me why I’m here again?”
“Because you’ve bailed on patrol every night for the past week. I did all the slaying, and this is what’s left.”
Faith made a face and shrugged. “Sorry, B. I just figured you and your honey-pot would want to take some time to discuss what color to paint the nursery.”
“In so many ways: bite me.”
“I would, but then Angel’d get mad.”
Buffy glowered at her in a sharp, electric reaction to Angel’s name, rubbing her thighs together to ease the screaming bite mark. If she ever needed Ghost Spike, now was the time. Only his mystical touch could make the pain go away. “There is nothing about you that I don’t hate,” she grumbled.
It was refreshing to feel rational dislike for someone. While the wealth of negativity for all things male had yet to be explained, this was something she understood.
“Ohhh, are we a bit touchy tonight?”
Buffy rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. As much fun as trading jibes with Faith wasn’t, she was especially not in any sort of mood tonight. It had been just over a day since she left Spike sitting naked in a crypt, his hair wonderfully rumpled from their romp, his eyes vulnerable and confused.
The ache would consume her eventually. And though she had resumed rubbing the bite mark to get herself off, while she moaned and whimpered and craved Ghost Spike’s touch, the sad reality remained that it was better to distance herself from him than give in to something that would never have anything to give back. Nothing but hot raunchy sex, that is, and as much as she enjoyed that, she needed something more. Something warm and real.
She liked Spike too much to only enjoy his body. She had no idea why she liked Spike so much—aside from her visits from Ghost Spike, she’d had such little time with the real deal. In the three times they’d crossed paths in the last month, there had been forced sex—albeit with mixed feelings, passionate kissage—sexy banter, and even sexier sex. She hadn’t had enough time for her feelings for him to develop all the way to liking, and yet, like him she did.
And it confused her like nothing else.
A heavy sigh rolled off her shoulders, coinciding nicely with the rustle of a vampire clawing to freedom. She eyed the fresh grave and sighed again, rising slowly to her feet. “About time,” she muttered, reaching for her stake.
“This one is so mine,” Faith declared, reaching for her stake at the same time.
“No way!”
“You’ve had dibs on vamps all week, B. Share the love!”
Buffy shivered at that and ignored the naughty image of Spike and his incredibly drool-worthy naked bod…well, as best she could, anyway. Besides, there was absolutely no way she was sharing anything of Spike’s with Faith. Not now. Not ever. “Yeah, you can imagine how bad I feel about that.”
“Oh, come on, B.”
“Really, I’m choking back tears.” She flashed the raven-haired slayer a triumphant grin, racing forward the second she saw the vamp’s head poke out of the ground. She seized a fistful of hair and dragged him out of the topsoil with an overly cheerful grin. “Hi! I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And this…” She raised the stake. “Is Mr. Pointy.”
“You’re Buffy?” the vampire repeated, brushing dirt off his jacket. “The pregnant one?”
What was left of her tattered self-esteem was thoroughly shot with Faith’s mocking laugh. “I am so not pregnant!”
“You bought a pregnancy test. Phil said so!”
“Phil?”
“The dude that bit me. He said so.” The vamp raised a hand to his neck and rubbed his mark in a way that Buffy envied. She wished she could be that open about her mark. “I think he was kinda gay. Got way into it. So you’re the chick that got herself knocked up with Abraham Lincoln’s seven-tentacled demon lovechild?”
Faith’s nose wrinkled. “Eww.”
“I am so not knocked up! I failed the test. I got a big massive F on the test. If I failed any more drastically, I’d practically be male.” Buffy demonstratively wiggled her stake hand. “And you’re about to be—”
Her witty retort died on her lips. The vamp exploded into dust the next second, and Faith winked at her through the particles. “You were taking too long,” she said, pocketing her stake and twisting on her heel. “Thanks for the laughs, B. It was a hoot and a half. Later!”
Buffy glared at her back and squeezed her stake so hard that it snapped in half, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Not patrolling. Not hating men. Not hating Faith. Not staking vamps, and not not staking vamps.
There wasn’t one part of her that didn’t yearn for Spike. Not one.
And the ache was only growing worse.
To be continued…