Here We Found Plutus, The Great Enemy
There was a feeling of resonating trepidation in the air even before Wright’s cell phone released its high unnerving shrill into the still of the encompassing silence. He tossed a cautious glance to Spike, who had a sleeping Slayer cradled in his arms; her body curled into his side on the sofa as the last of Casablanca ran its course. They exchanged a brief but meaningful glance, and the peroxide vampire nodded to the entry hall so she would not awake.
After the excitement had died down the day before, it had taken a long time for Buffy’s nerves to give her a break and allow an escape for even a catnap, much less an undisturbed night of rest. Never before had he seen her so overwrought—when she did fall asleep, she wasn’t able to remain comfortable enough for anything productive to come of it. Spike had held her, massaged her tensed body with calming hands, and even tried to lull her with the soothing notes of his lyrical voice. He made it through Berlin’s Count Your Blessings and the opening of Halleluiah before she nodded off, only to awake an hour later with a tremulous gasp that seized his heart.
Silly him. He had gone the sensual route when all it took was the opening credits of a classic Bogie film to do the trick. She had been sleeping soundly throughout the full of it, and if he had a say, she wouldn’t awake until it was time to get something to eat.
In the crypt, and even at the Hyperion, the inconvenience of telephones had never occurred to him. He had never had any use for them—while at the hotel, he was usually far and away when Angel Investigations lit up with any meaningful leads. Thus, the sound of Wright’s phone going off was the most unprecedented interruption he could have counted on.
Zack rose apologetically and quickly scurried to the entry, flipping the phone on and speaking in a fast, whispered hush. “Yo?”
The Cockney’s lips quirked. The man had been spending too much time with Gunn.
The next note to escape his friend’s lips was deadpan, completely void of jollity. And similarly, on the same accord, his cautionary tactic in maintaining the Slayer’s rest abandoned him. “Okay man, slow down and start from the beginning. Right…right… What? What? You’re shitting me. You’re fucking shitting me. Goddammit, when did this happen?” There was a meaningful pause, and his tone dropped even lower. “What? And it took this long to call me? Fuck that, do I sound like I care that it was…a fucking half hour, Wes! I could’ve been on my…no, from now on, something like this happens, I’m your first fucking phone call. I’m your first anything. You got it? No. I’m coming home. Well, hold the fuck off until I get there. No, if she’s in danger, I…” Wright drew in a deep breath and caressed his brow, breaking into a heavy pace without realizing it. “Well, find one. Find one now and have it ready. I’m coming home.”
By the time the call concluded, moving out of the room had been proven a fruitless activity. Buffy was awake—groggy and strangely alert at the same time—and reclined against Spike’s chest. She studied the hunter carefully, features depressing in concern.
There hadn’t been one sentence of that trade that anyone had liked.
“Zangy,” the peroxide vampire greeted darkly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Anyone ever tell you that you swear like a sailor when you’re brassed? An’ loudly?”
Wright nodded, eyes absent. “Sorry.” He turned to the Slayer. “I’m really sorry.”
She waved dismissively. “Don’t pay attention to him. I’m fine. What’s wrong?”
A sigh rolled off his shoulders, and just like that, his reality crashed and sent trembles down his body in unsteady affect. “It’s Cordy.”
Spike sat up sharply, arm tightening around Buffy’s middle and pulling her with him. The sudden tension in his muscles spoke for every ounce of worry, but could not compare to the hurried emotion in his voice. “What happened?”
Zack ran a hand through his chestnut strands, his trembles coming harder. “You know that girl in her vision? The one we were pretending to chase across town when we were just trying to keep busy? Yeah. Apparently, she got sucked into Lorne’s alma mater about five years ago.”
“Five years ago?” Buffy repeated, confused.
“Yeah. It threw them…up until one of Lorne’s cousins punched through with some creature he was hunting. Trashed Caritas, by the way. Anyway, they tracked it, killed it, sent Lorne’s cousin back…and Cordy, in the process.” The tremors wracking his body became more pronounced. As though saying it aloud made it all the more final. “She’s gone.”
There was a long pause. Then Spike exploded.
“What? She’s gone? They’re jus’ gonna sit back an’—”
“No. Fuck no. I wouldn’t let that.”
“Better bloody believe it.” The peroxide vampire rose to his feet. “Well, tha’s it. We gotta go back.”
“No. I’m going back. You’re staying here.” Wright nodded to Buffy. “You got other things to worry about. Besides, I need someone to watch Rosie for me.”
“Glinda’ll do it.”
“She’ll want you.”
A growl climbed up Spike’s throat and his eyes darkened. “Are you meanin’ to tell me you jus’ expect me to wait here while my friend’s out lost God knows where? Bugger that. Otherworldly dimensions aren’t fun, kiddies. You’ll need—”
“You’re. Needed. Here. You have yours to protect.”
“The only thing I got here that matters to me ‘s Buffy, an’ she’ll come.” He turned to her, gaze suddenly wide and imploring. “You will come, right?”
There was no questioning that. “I want to help,” the Slayer agreed. “Cordelia did so much for us.”
Wright’s eyes widened. “God, you’re both insane! You have a hellgod to fight here. Didn’t either of you listen to Giles last night?” He turned heatedly to the peroxide vampire. “Look, I appreciate it. I do, and she does, too. But we’ve got Wes, Charlie, Nikki, and your bestest friend of all joining the hunting crew. Hell, Wes is even talking about recruiting that pansy-ass lawyer if he isn’t too busy. We have a big party going; we’ll find her.”
Spike arched a flawless brow. “How?”
“By—oh, I don’t know—looking. The hot spot the demon used to punch through has gone cold. They better have found another by the time I get back or there’ll be hell to pay.” The hunter exhaled deeply and attempted to regain control of himself. He was still shaking from head to toe. “I appreciate it…your offer, that is. But I can’t accept. You have too much to lose here.”
The meaningful gaze he sent Buffy was all the clarification he needed. And slowly, Spike’s furious glow faded, and he returned to himself.
There was no way he was going to put his girl in further danger. Not when he had drawn her from one hell into another. And Zack was right—they had enough trouble here. They had Glory. Adding another trip to Los Angeles, not to mention a time warp to whatever-dimension, would not help anyone. And he loved her too much to take any chances.
Even for Cordelia.
“Right,” Spike said finally. “You’re right.”
“I know.” He released another long breath. “I’m leaving now. I can’t wait.”
“Don’. Jus’ get her back.”
“Trust me; I’m not gonna lose Cordy. I can’t.” He shook his head, reliving old memories that bore new faces. It was disconcerting but revealing in all the same breath. He knew where he stood now. “I think that’d kill me.”
That was sentiment that Spike knew like a brother. An understanding smile crept over his face, and his eyes turned without thought to study the woman he had sold himself to find, knowing that her downfall would finalize his destruction, even if it were at his own hands. “Yeh,” he agreed hoarsely. “I know what you mean.”
Wright was already at the door, jingling his keys. “Tell Rosie where I went, and that I’m sorry. I just can’t wait.” He paused then, hand on the doorknob, and turned back to them with large eyes and sharply drawn bated breath. “Watch out for her with your lives…or unlives…whatever. I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if anything—”
The platinum vampire held up a hand. “Trust me, mate. I won’ let anythin’ happen to the Bit. Ever.”
“Neither of us will,” Buffy added with a soft smile. “We love that little girl.”
Zack nodded, a ghost of a grin shadowing his face. “Me, too. Make sure you tell her that.”
That was it. Just like that, he was gone. A man on the move. He had done this scene way too often. Gotten a call and moved out less than five minutes later. It was normal for him. No clothes but what he had on his back. Even the weapons he deemed worthy enough to bring to Sunnydale were left behind; not even referred to. He hadn’t a moment to waste.
It took a few minutes to regroup and realize exactly what had just transpired. After calming a sea of raging nerves with tacit cooperation, the couple collapsed wearily onto the sofa again, curled in each other with encircling comfort.
“Wow,” Buffy murmured. “That happened fast.”
Spike nodded. “Yeh. But he’ll get to her in time. He bloody well has to.”
“He will. Did you see him moving? He was out of here like…something really fast that isn’t a sordid cliché.”
“Not fast enough. ‘F it were you, I wouldn’t’ve waited to explain.”
She smiled, nuzzling his chest in a manner that was almost kittenish. “It was me, Spike,” she reminded him softly. “And you came for me.”
“Not like that. I ran it by your mates firs’ to make sure they din’t do anythin’ stupid.” A sigh coursed through the platinum vampire, and he rested his cheek upon the crown of her head, hands massaging artless patterns of comfort into her back. “Heaven forbid anythin’ like that ever happens to you again, I wouldn’t stop for anythin’ in the world.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I’m honest.”
“You’re sweetly honest.”
Spike rolled his eyes, unable to shade the worry that lingered there. “I mean it, luv. Things’ve changed. Before when I left, it was different. I loved you, ‘course, but I din’t know why.”
“And now you do?”
“Oh yes. Difference bein’, I was in love at you, not with you.” A gentle smile kissed his lips. “That’s changed, too. Never thought I could get it this good. Now everythin’s next to perfect, an’ I’m so bloody afraid somethin’ like this Glory’s gonna take it away.” A sigh ran through him. “Like Zangy. Zangy an’ Cordy got it next to perfect, too, an’ now she—”
“They’ll get her back.”
“I know. ‘F he feels a fraction for her what I feel for you, they’ll have her back an’ then some.”
“He feels fractions. Many, many fractions.”
“Does he?”
Buffy shrugged. “I can tell. It’s a girl thing.”
A wicked grin crossed Spike’s face, and a naughty hand dipped between her thighs. “I like your girl things.”
“Well, they like you back.”
“Glad to hear it.” His fingers grew even more boisterous, pressing against her intimately as he inhaled her scent and enjoyed the feel of dampened denim against his skin. Her appreciative sigh sent ripples through his body, and he buried his mouth in her throat to tease her flesh with awe and perseverance. “You’re here,” he murmured. “You’re actually here.”
A watery smile crossed her face. “I’m here.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
“Why?”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re beginning to sound like Rosie. Which reminds me…you do know that when Zack left us in charge of his daughter, that sort’ve made us honorary parents.”
“’F I was beginnin’ to sound like the Bit, I’d ask why fish lived in water.”
“I notice you heard that but not the parent thing.”
A sigh spilled from his lips. “I don’ know why Zangy figures she’ll be any safer with us, ‘specially with a hellgod runnin around.”
She shrugged. “Because he trusts you. And this is a controlled environment.”
Spike arched a brow.
“Well, more controlled than a dimension he’s never been to. At least he has an idea of what to expect here.” Buffy exhaled needlessly and arched up to rest her head against his shoulder. “She’s not safe anywhere, though. I have a battle ahead of me that I’m not ready to fight with demons and vamps and gods running around, and her father’s run off to save his girlfriend.”
“We’ll take care of her, luv. I won’ let anythin’ happen to that li’l girl.”
“I know you won’t.” She sighed against him once more. “There’s just too much right now. I can’t feel it anymore.”
A worried frown creased his brow. “What, baby?”
“I can’t…feel. Last night after…when Giles was talking about Glory after we got everything else…he was talking about stuff that we need to do. Prepare for. All I could think about was how I don’t wanna do this anymore.” She shook her head heatedly. “I’ve worn the Miss Slayer crown for six years, Spike, and I want to hand it over. I’ve died twice, stopped god-knows-how-many apocalypses, and I’m sorry if the word apocalypse doesn’t faze me anymore. I guess I grew skeptical the third time Giles told me the world was about to end.” A break then. Buffy tore her eyes away from his and focused on a spot on the floor, her vision growing blurry. “Six years and the only thing I’ve done is get older and dead. I’m tired of trying to save the world, and the last thing anyone needs right now is an apathetic Slayer. I just don’t care anymore. I want someone else to…someone else to start caring and start fighting so I can finally start living. It’s not fair for me to sacrifice my life so other people can have theirs. Not one part of this deal is fair to me, or to anyone else called to take the plate.”
There was a long, heavy pause as he studied her. It took a minute before she could reestablish eye contact. Before she could bring herself to look at someone after she admitted her own inadequacies, as though the want of living was a treacherous faux pas. Instead, what she found was a small, albeit sincere smile of reassurance and faith. Whatever it took, she had his support.
Such unburdened knowledge was a rarity she took for granted.
“Hey, luv,” he murmured soothingly. “Preachin’ to the bloody choir, here. You don’ need to convince me of anythin’.”
She shook her head. “I just feel so…there’s nothing I can do, Spike. I’m caught in the middle.”
“Bollocks.”
“Well—”
“Well nothin’. You’re not caught in the bloody middle. That’s bollocks. Not ’f you get off your arse an’ do somethin’ about it. You don’ wanna do this? Fine. ‘S not like you’re the active Slayer, anyway. Baby, you’ve died twice. Twice. I honestly don’ see why you din’t hand over the title the firs’ time a new bird came to town.” Spike shook his head. “I remember thinkin’ the same thing when you firs’ introduced us, too. Thinkin’ that it was a bloody fool thing to keep on tryin’ when you din’t have to, ‘specially since all Slayers end up prematurely dead.”
“You thought that? In the chapel?” She arched a brow. “When you were going to kill Angel to restore Drusilla?”
“Y’know, everythin’ except the ‘restoring Dru’ part makes me sound like an all right guy, given what’s happened between then an’ now.” The remark earned a thwap to guise her wry grin, but he didn’t mind. It had been there, and he had seen it. “An’ even then, at full power, Dru’s nowhere nearly as nasty as Angelus. She’s a bit loony an’ unpredictable, but—”
“Spike?”
He nodded obligingly. “Point?”
She shrugged in turn. “It would be nice. And without the mention of ex girlfriends, if I might…command.”
The platinum vampire smiled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I jus’ love seein’ you wear green, luv. Think it might be my favorite color.”
“Your favorite colors are red and black and you damn well know it.”
“You know me so well.”
“SPIKE!”
“Right.” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Teasing her was a delight he would never forfeit, and she always stepped up to plate admirably, ready to hit every curve he threw her way. “I remember wonderin’ why you din’t quit, other than the need for a spot of violence, which you could’ve gotten anywhere. The job’s known for its perks an’ its less than desirable attributes throughout the demon world, pet. You din’t quit then because you couldn’t. Because that was all you knew, an’ at the time, all you had a chance of knowin’. I respected you for that. Not many people could be offered a free ticket out of somethin’ like that an’ not take it. But you’ve done your time. ‘S gonna end up destroyin’ you ‘f you keep to it like you were before…before all this happened.” A wry grin settled on his lips. “The irony, ‘course, ‘s that you can’t not do good, Buffy. You’re a beacon of pure light, an’ when you see others wanderin’ in the dark, you wanna help them. You wanna share what you got. An’ you do—you share an’ share without realizin’ they’re not givin’ back to you. Without realizin’ you’re inches away from your light goin’ out. I don’ want that to happen. I don’ want who you are to kill your spirit. You’re so much better than the rest of this bloody awful world, an’ you deserve to take somethin’ back out of what it’s taken from you.”
A still beat settled between them, heavy and personal. Spike sat up carefully, navigating her off his lap to add a degree of neutrality free of distraction, even if it was a forethought too late. “Bottom line, sweetheart,” he continued. “I don’ want you to do this, either. I’ve been there—I’ve seen what kinda uglies go after Slayers, an’ you can handle yourself with the best. You’ve done it, Buffy. You’ve done more than anyone could’ve ever asked of you, an’ since I’ve known you, I’ve seen you do nothin’ but suffer for it. I want you safe an’ with me, ‘cause I’m a selfish bastard like that. ‘S over now. Let someone else worry about savin’ the world. ‘S time for you to cash in an’ go to Disney Land. Whaddya say?”
The temptation in her eyes was impossible to conceal. There alongside her sense of honor and duty—the same he wanted to eradicate, especially when Sunnydale was so wholly unworthy of her. Since her involvement in the supernatural happenings that occurred on and under its surface, she had gained nothing but age, heartache, and bitterness. Forever was in their grasp now. He wanted to make the most of it. He wanted to give her what no one else had. A life.
Buffy finally glanced up, wrought with confused indecision. “And leave the Hellmouth unguarded?”
Spike’s brows arched appraisingly. “An’ I s’pose the world ended several times that ‘m not aware of before you an’ yours arrived to make it impossible? Luv, the Hellmouth survived here for centuries before you showed up. Before any Slayer showed up. ‘Sides, ‘s not the only one. I happen to know the Hellmouth in Cleveland ‘s jus’ as dangerous, an’ even more active an’ very unguarded.” He waited passively while she chewed on that one. “You’re jus’ one person. One amazin’ person, yeh, but you can hardly be everywhere at the same time. There’s more danger out there than what we’re sittin’ on right now. An’ we’re still here.”
A wry snort rolled off her shoulders. “How encouraging.”
“I try.” He waited for a long minute and released a deep, pensive sigh. “All that, an’ the world still hasn’t ended.”
“But what if—”
“It does?”
She nodded.
He shrugged. “Hasn’t yet. An’ as we saw in LA, there are others keepin’ check. You’re not alone.”
“You’re talking about—”
“You know what I’m talkin’ about. They’re good at what they do, an’ they have Evil Incorporated sittin’ jus’ a few blocks away. My guess is, the apocalypse…the next an’ twenty after that, not to mention the one’s that’s actually apocalyptic will have somethin’ to do with Wolfram an’ Hart.” A dry smile tickled his mouth. “Chances are, the ones you’ve faced so far? All a part of their game plan.”
Buffy stared at him for a long minute. “How’s that possible?”
“Wolfram an’ Hart’s been around forever, luv,” he explained. “They’re the original evil—shape shifters that mold every now an’ then to keep up with the times. The LA branch has things ‘under control’ as they see fit here. Conveniently near a Hellmouth. How ‘bout that?” There was a hefty pause; he ran a hand through platinum locks and shuddered another breath. “They stand for everythin’ you oppose, luv. They’re jus’ organized about it.”
“And Giles has never mentioned any of this, why?”
“Because they’re there, an’ you’re here.”
Buffy glanced off at that, eyes growing distant with the weight of serious contemplation. “I don’t know,” she murmured after a few minutes. “I just don’t know how to not do this, Spike. And that’s what scares me. I barely remember life before I was the Slayer. I know it happened. I know it existed. I just don’t remember it. Sometimes I think that was someone else entirely. My life ended then and picked up again. I don’t remember not being the Slayer. It’s all I have that…it’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
That was it. Spike couldn’t maintain his own imposed hands-off policy; he reached for her hand, delicately caressing her knuckles with his thumbs. “You’re not anythin’ less than what you are. Who you are. Sod the Slayer—you’re Buffy Summers. The woman. You’re jus’ closin’ one book of your life an’ gettin’ ready to open the next. We’ll make the third the longest…” He leaned forward and teased her with his mouth, seeking her lips in a sweeping, sensual kiss that did nothing to guise the taste of her tears. He loved her like this—so raw and emotional. The side that only a privileged few got to see, much less know. “An’ the best. ‘F I have to lasso the bloody moon for you, I’ll see to that.” A soft smile graced his face. “I’ll make you happy, Buffy.”
Of everyone in her life, she supposed Spike was the only person who could render her to genuine tears with nothing more than heartfelt confessionals and promises she knew he would die protecting. There was no pretending around him. No driving need to be someone that she wasn’t. He accepted her for everything she offered. And he understood all her reservations with a touch of his own.
She was so open now; she didn’t think the gate could ever close.
And there was nothing to say to that. Nothing but a hoarse, “You already do.”
A shiver melted between them. Three simple words. Who knew they could have such a profound affect? “Sweetheart,” he replied huskily. “We’re only gettin’ started.”
“I know,” she returned, smiling gently.
“This place doesn’ deserve you,” he continued. “You’re always around where the walls are bleedin’.”
So much left unsaid in that alone.
“This thing with Glory,” Buffy stated slowly. “It’s unavoidable, isn’t it?”
“That depends, luv. Depends on how you treat what you know.” He smiled with a shrug, running his hand up and down her arm with unnamed sensuality. “I want to take you away. From here, from the Hellmouth. Give you somethin’ you haven’t had. This thing with Glory ‘s unavoidable only ‘f we let ourselves get cornered.”
There was a long pause.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m gonna have a li’l chat with Rupert,” Spike replied simply. “You deserve more than this, baby. So much more. An’ I’ll cross the bloody Styx to give it you.”
There was something in his eyes that she could not deny. A feverous spark of life that had known existence before this sense of together. Amazing. He was so much more than she had ever imagined. He exceeded all boundaries of prospect. Breaking the standards, shattering everything that had ever measured in the realm of expectancy.
For once, she was planning for a future she could live in.
And it felt good.
Even before he reached his front door, Giles knew what to expect on the inside. No sense of forward premonition and no shock to coincide with blatant knowledge. He simply knew. Perhaps it was a reflex of having provided housing for a notorious vampire the previous year. Perhaps there was something in the air, forewarning his complete lack of predestined inclination. Perhaps it was because he knew that he had a case of Brandy that he was saving for that one particularly noteworthy occasion that never managed to show up on time, and that more than half of it would be gone before the night was over; none down his own throat.
Of course, if there were something to know, the Watcher would always be at the top of it. Thus, without any pretense of formality, he threw open the door with a ceremonial roll of the eyes.
“I knew there was something I was forgetting,” he observed drolly, removing his overcoat and casting it to the coat rack. “Of course, one tends to cast the disinvitation of nonthreatening vampires into a concern of the secondary nature, so I suppose it is not wholly surprising.”
There was no burst of surprise. The platinum vampire tipped his glass and nodded. He was leaning against the nearest sofa, thoroughly unbothered by the unfriendly greeting. This was not a leisure call. He meant business. “Allo, Rupes,” he returned with a curt nod. “Nice to see you, too.”
The salutation made Giles even more rigid, though it did not seem possible. He robotically offered a nod of offhand abbreviation and moved inward with more of the same. “Spike,” he drew formally. “To what do I owe the extreme displeasure?”
Ah. So that was how it was to be.
“Simple. I want you to do somethin’ for me.”
There was a long beat of silence. Then Giles laughed.
Hard.
“I-I’m sorry,” he said a minute later, gaining composure. “My hearing must be failing me. I could’ve sworn—”
“Stop playin’ dumb with me, ole man, an’ get off your high horse. When I say I want you to do somethin’ for me, you’re automatically to assume I mean me an’ Buffy, understand?” Spike rose to his feet slowly, capping off the rest of his drink with dark intensity. He allowed himself a second to enjoy the astonishment on Giles’s face. After so much experience to suggest the contrary, he was not accustomed to being talked back to with such ferocity.
Not where the vampire was concerned, and certainly not in manners such as these. Despite the tenor of their past dealings, the Watcher had always remained in control. Always.
Not now.
“Once more,” the Cockney continued, “you’re gonna listen. You’re gonna listen, then you’re gonna do as I say. ‘S that quite understood?”
That was it. Giles was livid. There was a blur of unseen movement that resulted in several angry steps forward to coincide with the sharp removal of his glasses. A blank nothingness to go with his anger. “Why you pompous little ingrate, who the hell do you think you are?”
“I am William the Bloody,” Spike replied calmly—a mechanism he hardly indulged that only seemed to aggravate the other man further. “’m a vampire by which the likes of this town has always taken for granted. ‘m the killer of two Slayers, an’ the lover of one. Furthermore, ‘f I wanted, I could rip your head off without a flinch. So you bloody well will listen.”
That merited a stare of astonishment. The vampire reveled in it.
“The chip?”
“Long gone. I got diffused weeks ago.”
“Buffy—”
“Knows. An’ loves me all the same. Imagine that.” Spike cocked his head with an ironical leer, moving to the counter where he had placed the bottle of Brandy. He refilled at his leisure, perfectly aware and seemingly apathetic that every move he made was being scrutinized. As though he expected no less. “Firs’ things firs’, let’s get over that. The Slayer loves me, I love her. Very much. We’re together, we’re blissfully happy, an’ that’s the way it is. Case bloody closed. That’s why I’m gonna give you a second chance to be nice to me, mate. I know how much you mean to her…sides the fact that when you’re not buggin’ the hell out of me, you’re a bit of all right.”
“Oh yes,” Giles retorted. “You speak on behalf of my Slayer. The same you managed to—oh, what was that? Right. Get sired. I’m sorry if I’m not following your word too closely there, William. You see, your track record isn’t something I’d brag about.”
The platinum vampire’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “She’s not your Slayer, mate. Not anymore. For that matter, she’s not Sunnydale’s Slayer. She doesn’ belong to your Watcher’s Council or your bleedin’ cause. Hell, she doesn’ even belong with me.”
“I’m glad we agree on that much.”
“Though I like to think of her as a li’l more mine than those other things I mentioned.”
“Spike—”
“But that’s beside the point. ‘m here because we both love her very much, an’ we both want what’s best.”
“I have no desire to hear your version of ‘what’s best’.”
The vampire’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “Ask me how much I care. Here’s the deal. I want you to take Dawn, Joyce, Red, Glinda, an’ Harris, an’ leave.”
“If you think—”
“Buffy an’ I are leavin’ too, with the Bit. Soon as bloody possible. An’ we’re not comin’ back for a long time.”
A bated breath drew between them along with a line of irrefutable understanding. This was a bulletin. It was not a matter that stood ground for negotiation. It was the way it was going to be. Case closed.
“All right,” the Watcher said shortly. “All right. You have my attention. Why?”
“Because ‘f we don’, Glory will win.” There was no doubt beneath that tone. It was an understanding. Something recognized. Something known as an inevitable conclusion. Something that would happen. “You know it. You knew it last night when you gave off that spiel about our defense tactics. The same that are buggered either way you go. You know it ‘cause of what the Council told you.”
There was no denying that. Giles finally receded his stance and glanced down in acknowledgement. “We discovered…many things about Glory while we were in England.”
“I’d imagine so. You had a lot of time.” Spike shifted and turned to lean against the counter, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting up without waiting for permission. And to his credit, the Watcher didn’t call him on it. “I found out some things, too. Buffy an’ I sang at this demon bar in LA. The one I told you about.”
Giles nodded absently. “Yes. The one with the empath demon. And he read you?”
“Yeh. He told Buffy to avoid doctors an’ towers…whatever that means. ‘E told me somethin’ different. Somethin’ I haven’t shared yet.” The vampire drew in a long breath, tapping the butt of his fag and watching the ashes as they sprinkled the ground. “’S not important, I guess, an’ I’m not sure who he read it off. Might’ve been a combo of us both.”
“What is it?”
Spike glanced up solemnly. “She was gonna die. Even ‘f everythin’ that happened hadn’t happened, she was gonna die. All final like. Lorne…he…he told me not to blame myself for what happened. Said it was gonna go down like that anyway. Said even ‘f…there’s nothin’ we could’ve done to prevent her dyin’.” There was a lengthy silence and he shivered, the thought uncovering emotions he wanted far and buried. Seeing her dead was one thing. Having her like this was something else.
He had already seen her dead once, and would never allow that to happen again.
“You know ‘s the blood. How Glory will activate the Key.”
Giles nodded. He had not moved beyond the first revelation.
“How I figure it, Buffy an’ Dawn match up on the DNA level, despite whatever mojo those wanker monks punched the Nibblet with. The Slayer was gonna—”
“Be the Key.” A long breath hissed through the Watcher’s lips. “I think I need a drink.”
“Right there with you.”
Spike poured. Giles drank. Spike poured another.
“Cheers,” the vampire toasted with an ironic smile, downing his own.
It took a minute for the other man to gather his bearings. The Watcher wiped his mouth solemnly, shaking himself to his senses. “And now? Now with…with everything that happened…what now?”
“Now she’s a vampire,” the Cockney returned. “She can’t play that part. But that doesn’ stop others from steppin’ up to the plate.”
There was no sense in guising the inherent understanding. The null feeling left resonating in a downward spiral of realization.
“There’s no way to stop Glory.”
Giles shook his head. “No way…”
“Which ‘s why you gotta take the Nibblet, Joyce, an’ the others an’ get the fuck outta Dodge.” Spike expelled a deep breath and poured himself another drink. “Chances are, you risked too much in comin’ back at all.”
“I…we had to.”
“I know. But ‘s time to leave again.”
There would be no more dispute. The Watcher nodded. And that was that.
“Where will you take Buffy?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Back to Los Angeles?”
Spike shrugged. “Haven’t decided. We’ll head back there initially. Gotta to drop the Bit off.”
The Watcher frowned, searching his memory. “The girl? Rosalie?”
“Zangy had to leave. Cordy got sucked into an alternate dimension, so he headed back to play search an’ rescue.” The vampire offered a smile that disguised his own concern. “Duty, honor, an’ all that.”
“And you wouldn’t consider going with us?” Giles paused immediately after speaking, his eyes wide as he realized how that sounded. And despite their understanding, there would not be any admission of anything beyond abhorrence between them. Not yet. “Y-you and Buffy, of course.”
“I knew what you meant.”
“And?”
“No.”
The Watcher frowned. “Why not?”
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Think about it. ‘m not exactly Mr. Popularity with the Scoobies. The last thing Buffy needs ‘s to be lectured on the choices she’s made. The last thing I need ‘s a bunch of reminders ‘bout how unworthy I am of her. I already know that, mate. ‘m jus’ lucky she doesn’ care.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “An’ I’d like to give her somethin’ she hasn’t had a in a good, long while.”
“And what would that be?”
He simply shrugged. “A vacation.”
“A what?”
“Time away from the Hellmouth that’s not bein’ used up in torture miles.” Spike smiled. “Time to make some of the bigger decisions we got comin’ up. We’ll be back…eventually. Right now, though, ‘s jus’ us. She loves her mates a lot, but she has things to work out.”
“And time alone…with you…will help?”
“Well, let’s think about who’s spendin’ an eternity with who.”
Giles shook his head. “I still cannot believe you stole sunlight from her. Regardless of…the circumstances…a girl like Buffy needs sunlight.”
“A woman like Buffy needs a life, Rupes, an’ crazy as it may sound, that’s jus’ what I gave her. In the end, ‘s this or the other. You’d know what ‘m talkin’ about had you been there to see it, Rupes. Angelus had done the deed—Zangy did what he thought he had to do, an’ now that’s over, I can finally say I’m glad.” Spike finished off his drink, stamped out his cigarette, and pushed himself off the counter to head for the door. “Anyway, ‘s been fun, but I gotta fly. Stuff to do, an’ what all.” He stopped at the threshold, not turning around. There was a sense of gravity in his voice that could not be taken lightly. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow night.”
He didn’t wait for a response; he didn’t need to. With everything he had seen, he needed no diagram to measure Giles’s sentiment. No bother. That was the way it was. Some means were meant to never be resolved. As a matter of fact, it was expected.
And all things considered, that was fine by him.
To be continued in Chapter Fifty: Dance with the Devil…