Clearing his throat, and keeping a wary eye on Spike, Quentin Travers spoke up. As the haughtiness disappeared from his voice, all that remained was a polished, well-educated accent.

“Five weeks ago, the child was taken from its home in South Kensington. We’re at a loss as to who took the child, and where they are.”

Buffy jumped off the table, momentarily forgetting her vigil. “Five weeks?! How do we know they’re not halfway to China by now? Why did you take so long before calling Giles?”

“Because you were our last recourse, Ms. Summers.” Travers straightened in his seat, and looked the Slayer straight in the eyes, unmasked hatred pouring from his narrow, grey eyes. “Do you really think that the Council’s first impulse is to cajole a wayward Slayer and William the Bloody to fix... to help us?” His slip was obvious, and both blondes did a double take.

“Fix what, Travers?” Buffy’s interest was piqued. “Just how responsible is the Council for this apocalypse?” At the silence with which she was met, the young woman headed for the door. “Come on, Spike. Let’s see if we grab something to eat. I don’t think he’s serious about getting our help.”

The blonde vampire stood, despite a moment’s hesitation at obeying an order by the Slayer. Maybe he could find that old bat and drain her...

A feeble voice called out, just as Buffy had her hand on the doorknob. “A former student of ours has the infant.”

Oh, now this is just getting better, Buffy thought to herself. “So you do know who has it? You were going to let us waste time, and possibly fail, because you didn’t want to admit this is all your fault?” Turning to face the watcher, who was beginning to look haggard, she put her hands on her hips. “Fine. We’ll sit back down, and you’ll tell us everything, and I mean everything. If I even suspect that you’re holding out on us, we’re back in Sunnydale before you can say ‘apocalypse’.” She plopped back into her chair, and motioned for Spike to find himself a seat as well.

Rolling his eyes, the vampire did as he was bidden. Guess that snack’ll have to wait. He took a seat at the head chair and propped his feet up on the table. “Yeah, and hurry up ‘cause I’m starting to feel a mite peckish.”

Travers stood up, and walked to a large window decorating one of the walls. He pulled the curtain aside, peering outside. Sensing the vampire’s nervous glance, the older man broke the silence. “Don’t worry, the windows face North. You don’t have to worry about the sunlight.” Closing the heavy drapery, he sighed and turned back to his audience.

“Evan Blakeford was one of our most promising watchers-in-training. He had a natural aptitude for other languages, history and, of course, the occult. Neither of his parents had been members of the Council. His father taught at a private school and his mother was a nurse--but we took him in regardless. We never really questioned where he had discovered us; his talents exceeded that of some of our more seasoned students, and it’s needless to say that our attitude was, succinctly put, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.” With an acerbic smile, he added, “That was our first mistake.” He took off his blazer, draped it across the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat.

“In retrospect, we should have wondered where a young man of such modest beginnings--modest in terms of everything the Council deals with--could have such a natural penchant for any of it. Every spare moment had Evan poring through books of all sorts. The first time he was caught with a restricted book he pleaded ignorance--he said he’d found it along with the other books to which students have access. Since it was his first transgression and he was a remarkable student, we let him off with simply a warning. We had no other problems with him for a good six months.

“The second indication we had that Evan was not honest with his intentions at the Council happened last year, just before the winter solstice. One of our resident witches detected the use of dark magic here within our headquarters. She performed a location spell, which indicated that it was taking place in the cellar. When they reached him,” Travers paused and looked down, “he had already killed the young woman. He was offering her blood to darker influences in exchange for greater power.”

More composed, the watcher brought his gaze back up to his audience. “We thought we’d arrived in time, that he hadn’t had time to complete the spell. We expelled him from Council training that same night. The oddest thing, at that time, was that he was nonplussed about being expelled. He shrugged his shoulders and said that he’d gotten everything he needed from us. A few months later we noticed that the book he’d been caught with the first time had been taken. Luckily, one of our members had another copy of this tome, and we were able to read through it; it was at that point that we put it all together.”

Spike took advantage of the pause to air out one of the thoughts he’d been mulling over. “So, if this pillock hadn’t pretty much led you all to this prophecy, you’d still be in the dark? Doesn’t the Council have some bloody calendar with these things marked up? ‘Ooh, look! The world will be sucked into the void next week--gotta get workin’ on that!’”

“As a matter of fact, we do not have such a calendar, useful as it would prove to be. Our members are continually researching the texts we have at our disposal, but sometimes something will slip by us.”

“Like disco? There’s no way that originated in this dimension...” Buffy shuddered at the memory of retro disco videos she’d seen on MTV.

Spike chuckled, and even Travers smirked. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Summers--disco is invariably a human creation. We can’t blame it on anyone else.”

Buffy got up from her seat. The Slayer in her was now in full gear and didn’t allow her to sit still for too long. “So this Evan guy is who we’re looking for? Do you have any pictures of him, or any information that can help us?”

Travers slid a folder down the table. Buffy opened it, and Spike, despite trying to look unaffected, slid into the seat next to hers to get a better look at the papers.

“This folder contains all the information we have on Evan. The rest, I’m afraid, is up to you two. We were able to keep tabs on him for a short period of time, but he’s proven to be rather slippery. He’s managed to elude our network for the past two weeks; we’re no longer sure if he’s still in London, much less in England.”

Snorting in derision, Spike spoke up. “Let me guess--this is where I come in, with all my demon contacts...”

“Precisely. We know he’s been dealing with some Pelorak demons, but our inside people haven’t been able to get any information on them. Perhaps with your contacts, you’ll be able to succeed where we’ve failed.”

“You do realize that I haven’t been in London for over 50 years... All my contacts might have disappeared for all I know. And I betcha all the better demon bars have been torn down and replaced by Starbucks.” Leaning back in his chair, the vampire lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. “It’s going to be real difficult making any headway. You’re going to have to make this worth my while, Watcher.”

Travers got up and headed towards a small cabinet which rested against the far wall. “Ah, yes--your ‘requests’. We’ve already fulfilled the first one--the 1st class airfare. I do hope you were comfortable enough; I wouldn’t want the extra money to have gone to waste. As for your accommodations, we’ve done a bit of research and have found the perfect lodgings for your stay here--I’m sure you’ll appreciate them. They have all the comforts of home. As for your third demand, the limitless credit card, we find ourselves unable to meet it.” He pulled a manila envelope out of the top drawer, and turned back towards the two blondes.

Buffy’s lips curled into a smirk and she turned to watch the vampire’s reaction to this bit of news. Heh heh--serves him right...

“Bloody hell! Rupert told me that you’d accepted my demands. That blighter--he tricked me into coming over here! Let’s see how well he can catalogue his stupid diaries with his throat torn out...”

Buffy jumped up from her seat and punched him square in the nose. She yelled at him as he held his nose, cursing. “You try anything with Giles, and I’m going to kick your pale ass from here to the next sunrise--understand?”

“Oh, God! Why is it always the nose with you?”

Enjoying the interaction, Travers felt it a pity to interrupt. “Actually, Mr. Giles was not told the entire truth. We did tell him that your requests were still being processed, but we did not give him any specific information. The Council is not in a situation where we are able to provide someone with your... eccentric taste... a free ticket to anything he so desires; we’d be in financial ruin after one week.”

Pulling a small packet out of the envelope, he slid it over to Buffy. “We are providing you with the financial assistance we deem necessary. The card is in Ms. Summers’ name--that ensures that you don’t decide to leave us, William--and has a limit of 500 pounds.”

“500 pounds! Is that some sort of gag? One needs money to get into these demon bars. You don’t get in with just a smile and a handshake, you know! We’ll need money for transportation, and the Slayer here has to eat. She needs to get some meat on those skinny bones of hers. A good British diet’ll do her some good.”

“Hey! Don‘t insult the woman with the credit card. Maybe I won‘t want to share, William.” Examining the rectangular piece of plastic, the Slayer asked. “Just how much is 500 pounds in American dollars, anyway?”

“Not bloody much, that’s how much.” Spike got up, and walked up to Travers. The watcher stiffened, on guard for any attack. However, the vampire only leaned in and held himself nose to nose with the other man. “Fine--she gets the wallet, I get the wheels. You can’t expect us to travel by public transit...” He narrowed his eyes. “...do you?”

Glad to still be in one piece, Quentin Travers let out a breath of relief. “There is a car waiting for you at your hotel. I’ve had one of the residents from the local coven put a spell on the windows--you’ll be impervious to sunlight while you’re in the vehicle.” He held out a set of keys, as well as a laminated card. “Here are the keys, and your driver’s license. I’m sure you’ll recognize the name we’ve given you.”

Spike examined the keys, BMW--not bad, and then looked at the license. “Bloody hell...” This exclamation came under his breath, hardly audible to the two humans in the room. He fell back into the nearest chair and just stared at the card.

Ignoring him, Travers handed out birth certificates and passports to Buffy and the sedate vampire. “These will be your identification papers for your stay here. We decided that it would raise fewer questions if you were travelling as a married couple. You look to be about the same age, so it will be rather easy to pull off.”

Buffy cringed, expecting some sort of crass comment from Spike--something about fulfilling wifely duties. However, the blonde vampire simply sat there staring into space. Turning to the watcher, she pleaded. “How did you do that? Please let me know--I didn’t even know there was a way to shut him up.”

When the vampire didn’t even rise to her bait, she knew something was off. “Spike? Uh, I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you ok?”

“How did you find out? How did you know?”

The young woman was baffled. “Find what out? Spike, what are you talking about? Don’t get weird on me before this thing even starts, ‘cause...”

“I believe I can answer that for you, Ms. Summers. Look at the name that we’ve given you.”

Buffy looked at the driver’s license she’d been handed. “Ok, so it says Elizabeth Sinclair. What’s special about the name?” Before Travers could reply, the Slayer’s eyes shot up and stared at Spike. “Wait a minute--William Sinclair. That was your name before you were turned...”

“Haven’t heard that name in a hundred and twenty years...” His eyes hardened and he looked at the watcher. “Tell me,” he said to Travers, “did you toss off thinking of the thrill you’d get at my reaction? Bet you spent days wondering ‘How can I get William the Bloody back for all the shit he’s put the Council through?’. Well, your jollies are over, Watcher, and I’m still way in the lead.” Not waiting for Buffy, he jumped off the chair and made his way out of the room, duster billowing behind him.

Buffy got up, collected the folder and their paperwork--she figured that although Spike didn’t want to travel down memory lane, he would still need his ID--and stared at the door. “Great. He’s in a pissy mood and I’m stuck with him. Thanks for everything, Travers.”

Ignoring her insubordinate tone, he answered coolly. “Just make sure you successfully complete your mission, Ms. Summers. You’ll need his help, but you’ll also need to keep him under control. His moods may prove to work against reaching your goal.”

“No. That’s where you’re wrong. I may not like the bleached wonder very much, but his ‘moods’, as you call them, are the reason why he’s one of the most feared vampires still around. They’re what make him a stronger, more dangerous opponent. Anyway, if he’s gotten to the point where the Council of Watchers needs his help, he must be doing something right.” With that, the young woman walked out the door.

***

Buffy caught up to Spike as he waited for the elevator that led back to the underground car park. Mimicking him, she looked straight ahead, saying nothing.

The door opened and they both entered.

“Ok, Slayer, out with it.”

“Out with what, fang face?” Maybe a bit of verbal sparring would put him back in a better mood.

“Isn’t this the part where you tease the Big Bad about his nancy-boy reaction to his past?”

Buffy turned to face the peroxide blonde. With as serious a demeanour as she could muster, she answered: “Actually, I was trying to find a way to say ‘Hey, I think you handled that great’ without sounding like I actually like you.”

Spike’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out whether or not he’d been insulted. The smirk that broke out across his companion’s face provided him with his answer, and he smiled back.

“Spike, what Travers did in there was a low blow, and I can see how it would have caught you off guard. I’m just happy you didn’t try to rip his throat out, ‘cause I would have had to kick your skinny ass.”

The vampire chuckled and was about to reply when the doors opened. As they exited the lift, and approached their ride, he softly whispered “Thanks.”

Author's note: So, you guys are now in the loop. Well, as much as Buffy and Spike are :)
Please read and review, as always--reviews are fodder for my imagination (yeah, that's a veiled threat ;P )
And, of course, happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canucks!!