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"I wan' answers, Ripper. Now!" Spike stormed into the library, pushing the wooden double doors open with a bang. His fists clenched tight, the whites of his knuckles showing how tense and restless he was.

"Y-yes well, it's not an easy translation. It can be interpreted many ways you see, and I've told you to stop calling me that! It was a long time ago."

'Ripper' Rupert Giles had first crossed paths nearly five years ago. During the covens reign the war had fallen onto his own lands and home and the backlash from the assault had been the massacre of his wife and only child. His furious and swift response to the demons who had taken his family from him had earned him the nickname 'Ripper' and you would be a fool to ever ask him the particulars of how he acquired such a nickname. Spike had taken him into his home after his successful attempt at killing a number of Angelus' top minions and vowed to offer him sanctuary for his help in return to kill Angelus.

Nowadays he preferred to be called Giles and had been living in Spike's mansion for the better part of five years.

Giles was quite skilled when it came to witchcraft, surpassing Willow by miles and had spent the last year training and honing her skills in the art.

"Well interpret one then!" Spike snapped.

"R-right well..." Giles pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them with the corner of his shirt and squinting as he struggled to read the fine transcript in front of him. "In sulum ingenero a electus unus est nate. Ille solus voluntas ado the unus ut habitum the vires of utriusque electus ac immortalis-"

"I don' speak Latin, Rupert. English if you please." Spike growled tersely, his patience running paper thin at how dense he was sometimes.

Giles let out a frustrated sigh and ripped the glasses from his face, having only just placed them back and sent Spike a glare as if to say 'You read the blasted thing then!'

"It basically says, into every generation a Chosen One is born. She alone will bring forth one that possesses the strength of both chosen and immortal. She is the beginning and the end. She is the Slayer."

"But that's incorrect isn' it, there used to be more than just one. There was a whole bloody bloodline of them!"

"Correct, but this points out very clearly that there is supposed to be a chosen ONE. It's very specific on the one."

"It doesn' make any bloody sense."

"Prophecy's can be very fickle." Giles eased himself into a chair at the desk where his scrolls and parchments were laying scattered across its top. He had been roused from his sleep in the early hours of the morning by Oz who had said that Spike demanded answers on a particular prophecy regarding the chosen bloodline.

Which he thought had been a very strange request indeed.

Giles hadn't looked over the scrolls and parchments since they had first been given to him to keep secret and safe many years ago. The chosen ones were a dead bloodline as far as anyone knew and he thought it quite peculiar that Spike would ask him to interpret them, which he told Oz as much. He was then informed of the young girl Spike had acquired on his return trip after successfully tracking down and capturing Angelus's right hand man, Riley.

He had spent nearly an hour staring at parchments and scrolls before coming across one that made any form of sense. Could it really be true? Was the woman in Spike's possession really one of the chosen. With his brows furrowed, Giles held back a yawn.

"Oz tells me that the young woman is covered in scars, is she not?" Giles asked, curious about a particular parchment he had seen earlier with a drawing of a woman on it.

"Her back's ripped to pieces. Got a bite mark and scratch marks on her hip." Spike paced, his own hands falling to his hips where Buffy's scars sat. "Drusilla-"

"Drusilla?"

"Mated to the great pillock himself." Spike scoffed out, bitterness in his words.

"She's alive then? W-well that's just... Healed scars, yes? That would suggest Angelus and Drusilla have had the young woman captive for a long time then."

"Two years, give or take she reckons."

"How old is she?"

"Can' be any older than eighteen I'd wager." Spike paused and came to stand in front of the desk, staring at parchments that Giles was now rummaging through.

"Interesting..." Giles pulled a parchment from the pile, his eyes scanning it before moving onto another. "No, that's not it."

Spike was getting restless again, his knuckles gripping the corners of the desk watching as Giles pulled out one parchment after the other before tossing each aside.

The Chosen bloodline had been deemed a threat to Spikes kind before he had been turned. He had only ever heard whispers and tales of their power and strength as they fought to kill off his kind and any beast they saw as evil. Witches, vampires, werewolves and any demon or beast they saw as a threat was hunted and killed.

Spike had sure enough jumped at the chance to taste but one drop of the euphoric blood that was said to run through the chosen ones' veins. The blood and strength of the chosen ones only ran in the females. Drusilla had giggled gleefully when the killing started, how she loved to hear people scream as they ran with fear and terror in their eyes. She had spent many evenings telling Spike the stories of the fall of the Chosen.

But he had never found a woman with the chosen blood until now.

Buffy.

She was different from anyone he had ever tasted. Her blood was like a drug and Spike had to clutch onto the desk he was leaning against to stop himself from tearing back up the stairs and into her room where he had just been about to tear into her flesh and taste her again.

"She said help. Why would a woman of the chosen bloodline ask a vampire for help?"

Willows words came to mind when Buffy had first passed out in his arms and he sighed. More unanswered questions which he doubted Giles would find the answers to.

"He was waiting."

"For what?"

Spike stared down wide-eyed at the parchment that Giles had placed down in front of him. There was a drawing of a woman in the center, her arms thrown out wide to the sides. Lines were drawn vertically though her, what he assumed was light or power rushing into her body. Around the picture was writing that circled the whole parchment.

The person who had written it seemed in a rush to do so because their script was scribbled and unrecognizable and in Latin.

"Always in bloody Latin." He growled and cast a glance at the words at the top of the page that were scrawled out in thick black ink.

"The Becoming."

"What does tha' even mean?"

Giles turned the parchment over and Spike felt his eyes widen. There were more words scrawled in a blurred rush on the back, but again like before there in the center of the parchment was a drawing of a woman's face.

Buffy's face.

Right down to the scar that trailed from her left cheek down to the bottom of her lips. Spike whispered his words, unbelieving.

"She's the one."


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