The two blondes sat at the edge of their seats, eyes glued to the scene unfolding on the television. They’d received an anonymous phone call earlier in the morning urging them to watch the twelve o’clock news and, although they’d had some doubts as to the veracity of the call, were now riveted to the screen.

On the screen, the fire could be seen from the viewpoint of a news helicopter. The location seemed familiar to Buffy, who had been experiencing more déjà vu these past few days than ever.

The images changed from the fire to stock footage of what the building once looked like, along with a background story on the company. Jumping up onto her feet, Buffy screamed, pointing to the television. “Aha! I knew I recognized the building. It’s where I saw Blakeford and the Pelorak!” Sobering up, she stopped her bouncing around. “Wow. I wonder if one of Blakeford’s spells went wonky or something...”

“Bloody hell...” Spike fell back against the couch’s cushions, his hand loosely covering his mouth. “I never imagined the old man had it in him.”

Huh?! The Slayer poked the vampire in the shoulder. Her voice tinged with more than a bit of aggravation, she drew an imaginary circle in the air. “See this? It’s a loop. Guess who’s out of it. Again...”

Rubbing his shoulder--damn, but she had pointy fingers--the bleached blonde explained. “Remember last night, when I was griping about how I’m supposed to go up against a hundred Pelorak?”

“Oh, so you finally admit you whine, huh?” It was just too tempting for Buffy--he’d left himself wide open with that one.

“Fuck off, Summers. Now, do you remember or not?”

“Sheesh! Talk about don’t poke the angry bear. Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

Spike gave her an exacerbated look. Speaking as if to a child, he asked: “Do you remember what Travers said?” Truly, he loved her, but sometimes he wondered if her brain had an on/off switch.

At least Buffy had the decency to blush. “Well, no. Amelia and I were discussing the blankets Hetty put on the bed...”

Why even bother to groan out loud? “He said something like ’Don’t worry about it, your task will be greatly altered’ or some such rot. Or so I thought.” Nodding towards the TV, he continued. “Pretty obvious, innit? The watcher’s responsible for the blaze.” More to himself, he also mumbled something about Pelorak casualties.

“Well, I just hope the baby wasn’t in there, cause that would be bad.” She didn’t mention it, but the Slayer was also impressed with Travers. It was now obvious that he had way more balls than she’d thought, and wasn’t afraid to hit hard when necessary.

“I doubt it, love. The warlock wouldn’t have held the baby in the warehouse--too obvious. He’s probably got it holed up in a house in the middle of suburbia somewhere.”

There was a silence as each blonde ruminated on the significance of that morning’s event.

Shaking out of her reverie, Buffy began cleaning up after their lunch. Picking up plates and glasses--and leaving a half-drunk mug of blood behind--she went across the room to the kitchen. “You’re gonna have to find something quiet to do for a while. I have to practice my meditation for tomorrow. As cool as learning magic is going to be, I’m going to have a sucker of a headache if I’m not in the right mindset.”

The vampire nodded and got up off the couch, stretching. “I’ll go take a bit of a walk--see if Hetty needs any help with anything.” Not for the first time, nor the last, he groaned inwardly at his newfound sense of helpfulness. Whipped didn’t even cover it...

***

Buffy licked her lips and rubbed her hands together. “Ok, I know I can do this.” Her eyes glanced over to Spike, who was reclining on a chair. She could tell he was biting back a smile and growled at him. “Quit looking at me like that! I’d like to see you try this--feeling your aura isn’t exactly easy you know.”

Ruth, the witch who was very patiently trying to teach the Slayer the basics, closed her eyes and counted to ten. She should have meditated for two full hours that morning, just to get that much more patience. They really should have told her about the vampire peanut gallery. Just as she opened her mouth to remind both blondes of this lesson’s importance, Miss Bishop walked into the room. Thank the goddesses for small favours... “Amelia! How nice of you to come by!”

Amelia nearly laughed out loud at the look on Ruth’s face. Her eyes were pleading, and the young watcher knew exactly why. She’d been listening through the door for the past few minutes, snickering at the blonde duo’s bickering and the witch’s exasperated sighs. “Hello, everyone. I just came by to see if William might like to go for a short walk--take a look around the Council.”

Yeah, sure. Spike wasn’t missing this for the world. “Sorry ducks, this is much more entertaining than a bunch of old goats dusting books.”

Well, she‘d known it wouldn‘t be that easy. Time to dangle the carrot... “Pity. I thought you might like to see the pub that’s on the fifth floor. It’s just been renovated--they added two new snooker tables.” When the vampire’s head shot up, eyes glowing like a tot’s on Christmas morning, she knew she’d said the magic word. But, just in case... “And they’ve got Guinness on tap.”

Before she knew what was happening, Amelia was being dragged out of the room by an eager vampire.

“Yeah, might as well leave the Slayer to her witchin’ lessons. Needs all kind of uh... concentration and the like.” Beer and snooker. This watcher knew the way to a bloke’s heart.

***

“You knew that beer and games were the only way you could have pried me from that room, didn’t you?” As they made their way through the stuffy hallways, lined with paintings of even stuffier Heads of Council, Spike had had time to think. He turned his gaze to the woman walking beside him, snickering when he saw her bite back a self-assured smile.

“Of course I did. Buffy’s lessons were going nowhere with you present as a distraction and, anyway, I kind of fancied myself some snooker.” Although that was partly the truth, Amelia never mentioned that she was itching to get to know the vampire better. It wasn’t every day that one got to spend time with one of the older demons, especially not one of Spike’s notoriety. That and his presence in the pub would cause quite a stir...

She knew bringing him there was a gamble, what with the rift that Stewart had created within the Council. But she could always fall on the babysitting excuse--after all, she was a junior watcher. She was always stuck with the menial tasks.

When they entered the tavern, Spike had to stifle a whistle. The Council sure knew how to spend its money. “Pretty posh digs, here, watcher,” he commented quietly. The room itself wasn’t all that vast, but its construction and adornment were lavish. Oak-panelled walls, hardwood herringbone flooring, antique chairs and tables, two huge snooker tables. Spike was temporarily set aback at the size of the tables; he’d been used to the smaller tables on which Americans played pool.

The vampire turned to the far end of the room, where a table of five older men--obviously watchers, judging by their stuffy suits--had turned to watch them enter. Spike grinned widely and waved, hollering a greeting in their direction. He laughed out loud when Amelia grabbed him by the sleeve to steer him away from the others, rolling her eyes and telling the insolent vampire to behave.

The two found themselves a table set apart from other patrons, more than happy for a little privacy. Spike gestured for Amelia to sit down and offered to get their drinks. Although she was chuffed at the offer, the watcher couldn’t help but be wary of the intentions behind it. Deciding to let this one ride out--she was more than curious to find out what the vampire had up his sleeve--she just smiled and indicated that a pint of whatever was on tap would be fine.

Spike chuckled to himself as he walked over to the bar. Lucky day, he thought to himself--the bartender was a woman. Turning the charm up to 11, he swaggered over to the counter and smiled at the brunette. “Evenin’, pet.”

Wow. Was this guy for real? Molly bit back a groan as she watched the bleached blonde try to win her over. God, these men. They all thought that women should swoon at their feet just because they were well-built, or good-looking. Well, at least this one was, on both counts--he sure beat out the old crusty watchers who tried to get her attention every day. But it didn’t really matter, since he wasn’t exactly her cuppa. She’d have to tell Carol about him--they’d share a good laugh over dinner.

But he looked like a nice enough bloke, so she smiled back at him. “Evenin’ to you, too. What can I get for you?”

The vampire toned it down a bit when her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. After a hundred and twenty years or so, a guy learns to read body language. Well, some do... “The watcher,” he nodded towards Amelia, “would like whatever you’ve got on tap. As for me, I’ve got a bit of a special request.”

Molly raised an eyebrow in question as she poured the draught into a mug. Please don’t let it be one of those bloody cosmopolitan drinks they serve downtown...

As coolly as he could, Spike leaned over the bar, eyes darting to the myriad bottles lined up in a row. Good thing there wasn‘t the eternal mirror or his joke would have been up before he could have pulled it. “Wonderin’ if you’ve got any O-Neg you can serve up? Been a while since I’ve had something fresh.” Of course, the vampire was just fishing for a reaction. Surprise, fright, anger... it would all have been funny. But he never expected the nonchalant ‘of course’ the bartender threw him.

Great. A vampire. A royal smart ass, so-full-of-himself demon. Molly knew that he was playing her, waiting to see her reaction. But she‘d seen much stranger things than vampires in this place--old men weren‘t the only things that sidled up to the oak counter. Giving him a what she hoped passed for a genuine smile. “Why don’t you sit back down, and I’ll bring your drinks over?”

Now it was the vampire’s turn to hide his surprise. Blood served to him at the Watcher’s Council? Human blood?! He nodded to her and turned away, muttering a couple of ‘bloody hell’s on the way.

Shaking her head, the bartender crouched behind the counter. O-Negative he wants, ‘O-Negative’ he gets, she mused, grabbing a bottle of Clamato and a frosted glass.

***

“This isn’t working. I suck at magic...” Buffy pouted, discouraged by her inability to feel her aura. Logically, it was an easy task. Close your eyes, empty yourself of all thoughts, all worries--it was just like meditating with Giles. Although she often had trouble with that one, too. But it was the next step--the ‘getting in touch with your inner self’ bit that had her frustrated.

“Buffy, you can’t be so hard on yourself. Magic isn’t something that is easily tapped, especially when it’s as difficult to reach as yours is. A Slayer relies heavily on her physical abilities--in this sense, you have a vastly superior prowess to the average human. But somewhere deep inside of you is a more mystical side, and we just have to find a way to help you find it.” Ruth smiled warmly at her young charge. “Now, maybe we can try this a different way. Close your eyes, and imagine yourself fighting. You’re surrounded by demons and you feel adrenaline surging through your entire being. Think of where this power comes from, try to trace it back to its source...”

***

“I still don’t think it was that bloody funny...” Spike pouted, then took another sip of his beer. He’d been had, royally had, with the Clamato. Nearly spit it all over the watcher, too.

And, watching her wipe tears of laughter from her eyes, he regretted not having done so.

“Oh, but it was!” Amelia had never seen anything so funny in her life. Not even when her brother Richard had stolen a wagonful of cabbages from old Mrs. Northamp’s field, and stuffed them in the neighbourhood’s mailboxes. The look on William’s face when he took a sip of his ’blood’... well, it was priceless. Surprise, then disbelief, then nausea; so many emotions flitted over his face as his mind--and mouth--processed the liquid he had ingested. “The look on your face, it was... it was...” Unable to find a fitting adjective, she just began to laugh anew.

Groaning in desperation, the vampire put his face in his hands. He’d wanted to attract attention to himself? Well, he’d succeeded. The table of watchers at the other end of the pub were craning their necks, trying to see what all the fuss was about. Managing to utter a few muffled curses, he lifted his head back up, eyes flashing amber as a warning. “This had better not make it to that damned diary of yours.” Of course, it was more of a plea with a bit of threat than anything too serious.

Calming down a little, Amelia decided that the vampire had been taunted long enough. It was time to make amends. She nodded towards the billiards table closest to them. “Up for a game?”

Relieved that the watcher was finally turning from his humiliation to their main reason for being there, Spike nodded curtly and got up, beer in hand. As the game began he couldn’t fathom the easy camaraderie he shared with Amelia. She was a watcher, but unlike any one he’d ever met. Even Rupert, who was about as far from what a watcher should be, was stuffy and priggish compared to her. Her easy going attitude made it easy for him to open up to her as he would to a good friend.

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when their conversation, always kept at a very low level--no use having the others hear them--turned to more personal musings.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Now you’re jumping to silly conclusions.” The young woman pulled her cue back and hit the ball. Although it hit its target, the second ball missed the corner pocket by a fraction. Ugh. I always miss that blasted left pocket...

“Look, Watcher, I’m not stupid. Been around too long not to be able to see through something like this. I’m being sent in as the muscle; it’s up to me to keep everything away from the Slayer while she does her job. Kill the baddie, get the baby, save the day--that’s her thing. Mine’s killin’ things.” Spike leaned in against the table, lining up his next shot. “Anyway, it’s the easiest way for the Council to get rid of me, innit? Stack the odds so I don’t make it?”

Amelia took a step back, allowing the vampire room to move to take his shot. She was taken aback at the calmness with which he was discussing the potential end to his existence. But the slight waver in his movements, leading to a missed shot, belied his relaxed demeanour. Her next words were almost a whisper; she couldn‘t afford to have any of the other patrons hear their conversation. “Then why would Travers have ordered the explosion at the warehouse?”

Spike knew she was trying to change his thoughts, to shed a new light on things, but this was the Council and every shred of his being mistrusted it. “Simple. If the odds against me are too great, I won’t be able to hold them off long enough.” When the watcher’s mouth opened again, he cut her off. “Look. I’m not saying this is gonna be the last of me--I’m gonna do my damnedest to walk out of there with Buffy and the baby. But odds are just as good that I won’t. And if that happens...” He let out a breath and cast his gaze to the pub’s floor. It took everything to bring his eyes back up to meet with the watcher’s worried face. “And if that happens, I want you to take care of Buffy. Give her a vacation or something--send her somewhere warm and sunny. She needs a break from all the darkness, you know... She’s like sunshine--it’s a bloody poncey thing to say, but it’s true. It’s like there’s something inside of her that keeps her above all the horrible things she has to live with, and I don’t want that light to ever go out.”

Amelia was speechless. There was no longer any doubt that Spike loved Buffy. After the meeting two nights ago, a few members voiced thoughts that the vampire was using the impressionable young woman (which was also a load of ballyhoo--Buffy was anything but naive) for his own purposes. Whatever those could be. William the Bloody was too well known for being rash and impatient; spending so much time by the Slayer’s side, playing sidekick, biding his time, didn’t fit his style.

And then an idea struck her. Something that would be even less popular than her magic proposal. But even if she had to resort to steal, she would make sure that the vampire had the best chance of coming out of this fight in one piece. “William, I’ll do everything I can to make sure that Buffy survives. But I’ll also do everything I can to have you there for her, to leave the care of her ‘light‘ up to you.” Leaning in even closer to him, she pretended to reach for the chalk.

“Have you ever heard of the gem of Amarra?”

Author's Note: Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it? Well, believe it or not, we have my mother to thank --she put an end to my writer's block with a very sharp idea. She put up with my whining about a story about a show she's never watched and came to the rescue. I don't even want to know how long this chapter would have taken if it wasn't for her. So I hope you're still reading this--please review!!