Spike lay on his back, the Slayer‘s head resting against his chest, soft golden hair tickling his skin. He wondered what it felt like to her, not hearing the heartbeat that should have been pounding beneath her ear. She was unusually quiet, nowhere near as chatty as her usual self. Then again, she hadn‘t really been herself since she‘d walked into the apartment with that frightened look in her eyes.

Whatever she had seen had done a number on the Slayer. Had scared her enough to come running back to his arms, whether or not she’d admit to it. Spike may not have known her intimately for very long, but he knew nonetheless that it wasn’t often that Buffy Summers sought support so desperately.

Deciding to break the silence--as nice as it was--the vampire voiced the question that was on his mind. He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle her. “So, what brought that on? Not that I‘m complaining, mind you.”

Buffy nestled closer to the vampire, clinging to him in a strong grip. She didn’t want to bring up the memory of what she’d witnessed, of the near army of Pelorak, getting stronger, swifter by the moment. And that young man--he could be no other but Evan Blakeford. The way he’d killed without remorse... Despair weighed her down, burning in the pit of her stomach.

“Pet--are you ok?” Spike was beginning to worry. The Slayer hadn’t answered his question. Instead, she acted as if she was alone in the room. Gently, he brushed the back of his fingers against her shoulder. “Buffy, please answer me.”

Buffy sighed and turned her face up towards him. “I’m not sure we’re gonna win this, Spike. What I saw over there, it was.. It wasn’t good. Really not good.” She leaned in towards the hand that was now caressing her face. The constant contact was a relief, and it kept her grounded. “I think they know we’re coming. Not you and me specifically, but the Council. There must have been over a hundred Pelorak--they were training and sharpening their weapons. They looked ready for battle, Spike. How are we supposed to win against that?”

Over a hundred Pelorak... In his century-plus of existence, the vampire couldn’t imagine anything that had ever instilled even an iota of fear into him. Ok, maybe there was that time in Prague. That definitely scared some sense into him--there had been no taunting the mob that night, that was for sure. But apart from Prague, he’d faced death... undeath... redeath?... he’d faced the possible end of his existence numerous times; each time he’d laughed in its face.

But his own niggling doubts were of no consequence. He needed to convince Buffy that it could be done. “Piffle, love. You’ve thwarted apocalypses and prophecies before. I heard about you and the Master--good riddance, by the way. Ol’ grandad got what he deserved, the pontificating batfaced wanker.” Buffy’s giggling made him pause. Obviously his plan to lighten her mood was working. “An’ then there was Angelus. Sent him on his way to hell, like a good little Slayer...”

“Angel...”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but Spike caught the word clearly. “What about Angel, love? It was Angelus you sent back, not the poofter.”

He doesn’t know. Buffy realised that Spike had no idea what had transpired on the bier a few years prior. The searing pain she’d always felt at the memory of her sacrifice was now only a dull ache. Over the time that had spanned since Acathla, she had come to terms with her actions. Angel’s forgiveness had helped, too.

“It was Angel, not Angelus, Spike.” Sigh. “Willow managed to restore his soul, but it was too late--the portal had already been opened. If I hadn’t gone through with it, Acathla and who knows what else would have come through. I... I didn’t have a choice.”

Spike’s heart bled for her. Well, figuratively, anyway. He couldn’t ever imagine putting anyone or anything ahead of the love he had had for Dru (before she left him, the cheating bitch), or Buffy. Cradling her close to him he kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry love. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I truly am.”

Buffy sniffled. “I don’t want to have to go through that again, watch people I love die. Spike, I don’t want to watch you die. I just couldn’t take it, you know?”

“Not gonna happen. I mean, you dropped an organ on me and broke my back, yet here I am, shagging you to unconsciousness...”

“I did not black out! I was sleepy...”

“I know, I‘m just teasin‘ you. But, look. We’ll call the Council, get them involved. With the odds that are against us, they’re going to have to back us up somehow.” When Buffy giggled, he looked at her questioningly.

“Sorry. I just had a funny image pop into my head. An army of Watchers all made up like in Braveheart, but with tweed jackets over their kilts.” She reached up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “But you’re right. I’ll call Amelia and we’ll set up a meeting for first thing tonight.” Stretching, she yawned. “First, though, let’s get some sleep--real sleep, buster. I need to get rid of these stressy feelings.”

***

“What do you mean we’re on our own?!” Buffy and Spike had arrived at the Council of Watchers an hour ago, and had been kept waiting. No one had come by to give them a reason for the delay, not Amelia, not the old bat, and certainly not Travers. They, among others, had been holed up in the board room in an emergency meeting.

And then, when they were finally let in, the two blondes didn’t even have a chance of speaking up before their request was quashed.

Her question was aimed at Travers, who, for once, looked like he was acting on someone else’s orders. Usually immaculately attired and groomed, tonight he... well, he looked like hell, Buffy thought. His eyes looked glassy, his hair was unruly and his tie was askew. Nope, not a good night for the head Watcher, she mused.

The older man sighed and, before answering, caught the eye of another watcher. One who had a smug look on his face. Travers’s lips were stretched thin, as if he were being coaxed into something with which he didn’t wholeheartedly agree. “I’m sorry, Miss Summers, but the Council has limited resources which are already spread thin...”

“Limited resources, my ass! Listen here...”

“No, you listen here, Miss Summers.” It was the smug man. He rose from his leather armchair with an air of importance. His voice was nasal and high pitched--Buffy thought he’d be perfectly cast as the bad guy in a Dickens novel. “Against its better judgement, the Council board of directors agreed with Quentin’s idea of enlisting you and it” he motioned towards Spike, ignoring the bleach blonde’s low growl, “a renegade Slayer and a vampire, to find this child and thwart Evan. If you’re not up to the task, we’ll just have to find champions who are.” He looked around and smiled. A few members were nodding and ‘yes’ing.

Something about the man was familiar to Buffy. It wasn’t just the tweed--she’d seen enough of that since being chosen to last her a lifetime. No, she just... she’d seen him somewhere, and recently at that. Where had she been recently? The Calico, the Pul... the Nex--no, she‘d definitely remember seeing tweed in a demon hangout. That small grocery store, the butcher’s... the museum? No, none of those places either. Then it struck her, in full technicolour. Oh, shit... the shipyards!

Spike couldn’t believe that the Slayer was just standing there after having been interrupted by that pompous prig. All high and mighty with his yes men. How smug would he still be faced with his demon? He was about to open his mouth, to defend their request--and how lame was that, that William the Bloody was reduced to begging the Council of Watchers--when he felt Buffy’s hand on his arm. Her hazel eyes were filled with apprehension and silently asked him to go along with her.

“You know what, guys? You’re absolutely right.” Irritated Man, as she’d dubbed him on her recon mission earlier that day, stopped his posturing out of shock. Travers, Amelia and a few others looked crestfallen, but the room’s general consensus was one of satisfaction. Apparently, they were buying it. In spades. “What kind of a Slayer would I be if I couldn’t at least try to do this on my own? Or, with Spike here? You guys keep your resources, go use them on... well, more important things. We‘ll just be on our way and leave you guys to your tweedy stuff.”

Had he not implicit trust in his Slayer, Spike’s jaw would be as slack as everyone else’s. Instead, he puffed out his chest, making it look like he was brassed off, and grumbled. “Well, that was a waste of my time, Slayer. Let’s get the hell out of here; I’m sick of this place.”

Buffy caught Amelia’s eye before turning around. “Oh, can it will you? You big whiner... It’s not like you had anything better to do with your time. We’ll just be on our merry way, then.”

As they waited to be let back onto the elevator, Spike nudged the Slayer. “Why the hell did you change your mind? We’ll never get...” He cut it short, noticing that Amelia was walking towards them.

Ignoring the vamp--for now, Buffy waited until Amelia was right behind her. Loud enough for anyone to hear, she sighed. “What, you think we’re going to steal the numbers on the elevator pad, or something? Fine, do as you wish.” More quietly, though, she added: “Come with us, ok?”

Never having been slow on the uptake, the watcher opened the door. “Come on, then. You’ve got some planning to do--no dilly-dallying!”

When they were in the elevator, Buffy busied herself by looking around. “Is this thing bugged?”

“No, the surveillance equipment starts at the waiting room just outside the elevator. Buffy, what’s wrong?” Amelia was worried. Every nerve in her body was telling her that something very, very bad was happening for Buffy to have capitulated against Morehead.

“Good.” The young woman pressed the stop button, and the lift clunked to a sudden halt. “This morning I went to the docks, for that recon mission we discussed last night. I found the building that Simon told you about, and I had a chance to look inside. Aside from about a hundred well-armed Pelorak and someone who’s obviously Evan Blakeford, was that idiot from the meeting. The one who told me to buck up and take it like a Slayer.”

“Stewart?! He’s a wanker, but... Are you absolutely sure it was him? Irrevocably positive?” It was more than possible that Blakeford had inside contacts. He would have lured more corruptible watchers with promises of power and wealth. She was upset that Travers, Washburn and the others hadn’t brought it up. But then again, if they suspected it, to whom would they disclose their fears?

“Yes, irrevocably positive. As sure as God made little green apples, Amelia. He was there, in his tweedy evilness, arguing with Blakeford.” Then it struck her, what he’d said. “He’s been pitting people against Travers and the good guys. Split the council, make it weaker, undermine the mission. Why else would he try to convince the Council that Spike and I aren’t up to the task? Because we’re your only hope, that’s why!”

Spike watched with admiration as the Slayer’s back straightened and her chin once again took its upright position. Now there’s my fierce warrior, he thought to himself. This is what it had taken for her to regain confidence. If Blakeford and this Stewart wanker (he gave Amelia bonus points for having used the term) were trying so hard to plant hurdles in their path, then obviously they were fearing the worst.

Amelia smiled, herself proud of the young woman who stood before her. She was the epitome of what a Slayer should be--strong, defiant, sure of herself; actually, if every woman shared those qualities, the world would be a much different place. “This is very big news, then, Buffy. I’ll have to catch Quentin on his own, but I’m sure he’ll hear me out. He’s been rather haggard these past few days; I fear that he may suspect this exact scenario.” Pressing the button that would allow their ride to resume, she looked both of them over. “Quentin was very wise in choosing his champions. Never forget that. Either of you.”

Author's Note: First of all, thanks to everyone and their kind words regarding my previous note. It means much to me to know that my readers are so thoughtful :) And I hope the story's plot has picked up a bit, action-wise. We're nearing the point where I'm still writing, and it's a slow go right now. But don't worry--this will never be an incomplete WIP. It might just take a bit of time, is all...