Too many people.

Buffy couldn’t believe that any place could hold so many people, all rushing somewhere. Business people with their cell phones and their laptops; mothers and fathers with their screaming kids; young hippie wannabes with their backpacks and Birkenstocks... It seemed that everyone under the sun was here, at Heathrow International Airport, at the same hour and on the same day as her.

Feeling nervous, and not for the first time like a little girl, she kept her eyes on Spike, who was pushing ahead of her, creating a part in the sea of people. Would it be blasphemous to compare a creature of the night to Moses? she wondered, a wry smile on her face.

No longer paying attention to where she was going, she bumped into something solid. She looked up into the amused blue eyes of her travel companion. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“Bit overwhelmed, pet?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Is there some kind of carnival or something going on? This is like Mardi Gras, only with twice the people.” She grunted as she was jostled. “Rude much? I thought Brits were supposed to be like Giles, Spike. You know, insufferably polite.”

“They usually are, but you’ve got more than Brits here. That ponce was probably French...” He took her arm and led her to where the baggage was coming onto the conveyor belt. “Keep your eye open for your bags. Wouldn’t want anyone nickin’ your skivvies.”

Although he gave off the appearance of someone at ease, Buffy could tell that Spike was wound as tight as a coiled spring. His nostrils were flaring, his eyes were skirting the large room, his fists were clenched; he was relying on his senses to tell him everything that was going on. He could probably tell what the short guy in front of them had for breakfast, he’d be able to smell all the different perfumes and deodorants, and though she wouldn’t want to know, he could probably also profess to know who had had sex, and which women were having their periods. Gross! He isn’t even saying it, and the thoughts are still sticking in my brain. Ugh...

She returned her attention to the bags dropping out of the chute, and idly wondered if hers would be last.

As if he’d read her mind, Spike leaned in. “Always seems like yours is last, doesn’t it? It’s like it’s a rule, or something. You get your bags last, there aren’t any carts left, and everyone’s snagged a cab.” He looked up and, seeing his duffel bag drop down, left Buffy peering for her own luggage.

As he walked over towards his bag, Spike tried to hold back a smirk. For once in their Slayer-vampire relationship, for the first time in four long years, he was in a situation where he was the stronger, more confident one. He should be basking in the glory of it all, taunting her wide-eyed naïvete, mocking her lack of worldliness; no--instead, what does he do? He moves in and protects her, surrounding her and cajoling her into a sense of security. He was royally on the road to poofterdom...

Contrary to what she’d expected, her bags were not last. Not far from it, but not last. She ran to grab them, snatching them almost before they fell onto the moving belt. A few minutes later, she was laden with suitcases and trying to find her way back to Spike. With a dramatic harrumph, she let everything fall at his feet. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she grimaced. “Remind me again why I decided to take my whole wardrobe?”

Slipping one of her bags on to his shoulder, Thank God these bleedin’ things aren’t pink, Spike grabbed another one by its handle. “Dunno. Something about ‘I don‘t even know what the weather is like out there’” he teased in an effeminate voice. “Come on, Buffy, they’ll probably think I’ve eaten you if we don’t go meet Mr. Council Wanker.”

As they made their way into the main concourse, Buffy was once again taken aback by the number of people at the airport. Her immediate reaction was to press herself closer to Spike; however, she fought off the feeling and increased their distance--minimally.

“Well, you’ll have to be lookout guy, ‘cause there’s no way I’m finding anyone in this crowd.” Had she missed a rule that said you had to be six feet tall to travel in England?

Spike easily spotted the woman holding the ‘Buffy Summers’ sign. “This way pet.” Snickering, he leaned in towards her. “Looks like they sent us a female version of Rupert.”

***

When they approached the Council representative, the blonde duo tensed up. They expected a stern reprimand about the amount of time it had taken them to reach her. At a quick glance she seemed severe, although she couldn‘t have been much older than 30: she wore a tweed skirt and blazer and had her hair up in a tight bun. Buffy was anticipating a lecture on the importance of being punctual. Spike, on the other hand, was expecting to see the wrong end of a pointy stick.

All preconceptions were thrown aside, however, as the woman’s seemingly stuffy demeanour was replaced with a more relaxed stance. Her face broke out into a wide grin and she warmly walked towards them.

Taking Buffy’s hands in her own, she spoke up. “Ah, Buffy. I’m so pleased to finally meet you! It’s not every day that one gets to meet someone as... talked about... as you.” Brushing a lock of hair behind the young woman’s ear, the watcher smiled. “You’re also as pretty as they said you would be.”

To say Buffy was floored would be an understatement. A watcher--smiling, complimenting, touching... This lady had to be an impostor. She realized that the woman was watching her. “Oh, sorry.” Nervous laugh. “You just don’t seem really, watcher-like. You kinda took me by surprise there, Ms...”

“Oh dear! How rude of me!” She took Buffy’s hand once again and gave it a proper shake. “I’m Amelia Bishop. And no, I‘m not what you would consider very ‘watcher-like‘, as you so finely put it. I‘m a bit of an odd duck--I believe that‘s why they sent me to greet you.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Amelia Bishop.” Buffy’s attention was diverted by an impatient cough from behind her. Rolling her eyes, she introduced her travel partner. “Amelia--Spike. Spike--Amelia.”

Though it seemed hardly possible, Amelia’s face brightened even more. “William--enchanted!” She gave him a very un-watcher like wink. “I’m sure you never expected to be joining us on Council matters...”

Spike took Ms. Bishop’s hand in his and placed a kiss on it. He presented her with his most bewitching smile. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Blushing, the Council member returned his smile.

This exchange tweaked something in Buffy--Are they flirting?! Well... so what if they are. It’s not like I’m jealous or anything. It’s not like it bothers me that he never aims a smile like *that* my way. With a pout, she shifted her bags, which were by now getting a little heavy.

Her movement caught the watcher’s eye. Helping Buffy with one of her bags, she apologized. “I’m sure you’re both very tired. We should be on our way. The quicker we get to the Council, the quicker you can get to your accommodations.” Looking at Buffy, she added: “And I’m sure you could appreciate a nice, long bath, followed by a good rest.” Turning to include Spike as well, she motioned with her arm. “Shall we, then?”

As they made their way towards the exit, Spike hesitated. Of all the bleedin’ luck--had to turn out to be a sunny day... As he approached the doors, he let out an unnecessary breath: their car was waiting under a concrete overhang--no worries about instant combustion.

The Council really seemed to want to make them feel at ease. This mission of theirs must be worse than they’re expecting...

As they got into the car, Spike thanked the powers that be for tinted windows. There was truly nothing worse than having to hide on the floor of a moving car, especially if the Slayer was there to taunt him.

As they made their way through the busy streets of London, the two blondes’ reactions couldn’t have been more different. Spike was dismayed at how modern the city had become since he’d left half a century ago. Glass office towers loomed over the old stone buildings he recognized, McDonald’s and Starbucks had replaced the human pubs he had frequented, and the old shops where he and Dru had bought their clothing were now Gaps and Old Navys. He felt lost and not a little betrayed by his city’s foray into the 21st century.

Buffy, on the other hand, felt like a kid at Disneyland. She emitted constant “ooh”s and “aah”s at all the usual tourist attractions. She secretly hoped that they could find the time to visit some of these places.

“Ooh! Look--it’s Big Bin! Although, I don’t know why they call it that. They should call it ‘Big Clock’, ‘cause that’s what it is...” The Slayer was now turned completely around, kneeling on the seat, watching the clock tower slowly recede.

Trying to hide a smirk, Spike motioned for her to sit back down. “’S called Big Ben, pet. Not Big Bin. It was named after some old stogy guy called Benjamin Hall--hence the moniker Big Ben.”

Craning her neck to take a last peek, the vampire’s explanation seemed sufficient. “Oh, well--that makes more sense.”

Finally, their car entered an underground car park. They drove until they reached the lowest level, and the driver parked in a reserved spot right by an elevator.

Waiting by the car’s trunk, Buffy and Spike watched Amelia and the driver walk to the elevator. Feeling ignored, the vampire hollered to them. “Oi there! What about our bags? I’m not leaving my stuff here for Council wankers to rifle through.”

Turning back towards them, Amelia gave them both a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about rifling of any sort, William. Your luggage is safe--we’re just leaving it there because the same car will be driving you to your hotel. Now, if you will, please follow me. There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Author's Note:First off, I hope I didn't offend anyone with the French joke. I'm French, but I just thought it was a funny thing for Spike to say. Second, thanks to all who are reviewing. The writing process is going better, but you guys don't have to worry--where are still many, many in reserve. Please read and review--you know the drill! :)