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Author's Chapter Notes:
Firstly I want to offer my gratitude to Cordykitten, PhotographyNut and Lyndsy for reviewing the last chapter. You have no idea what it means to a writer to hear your opinion and just have evidence that someone is reading.

In contrast to that, I'm going to share a little of how I feel. I'm very disillusioned with the response to my work on this site. Not necessarily this fic, as it's possibly been my most popular until recently. I can't explain the massive drop in reviews, but it depresses me nonetheless. Last chapter received almost 300 hits and yet only three people reviewed. It's heartbreaking and added to the fact that RL has me a little tender, I find it something that I don't want to continue feeling. So I have decided that once this fic is finished being updated, I'll likely stop posting fic here. I'm not going anywhere else and have actually been considering stopping all posts on archives and just leaving them on my site so the lack of response isn't so obvious.

I don't mean this to be a "please, review me now or else" post, but just information about why my work won't be updated any longer. I thank you all for your support over the past two years (yes, I can hardly believe it myself!) and hope you continue to enjoy the rest of this story. Megan
It wasn’t grief that made Buffy avoid eye contact with Willow the next morning. It was the big grin the redhead had aimed at the two blonde’s entangled on the couch when they woke and Buffy realised Spike was still buried deep and wet inside her. The sensation of him swelling up and she stretching accommodatingly around him was enough to make the humiliation kick in tenfold, knowing that there was no way she could gracefully let him slide out and she could stand as if nothing happened and go take a morning shower. Wash away the ravages of make-up sex after Spike’s blunder about her mother.

Willow had persistently sat staring, that grin never faltering as Buffy felt several moans cut off in her throat before they could be released. Spike slept on, but apparently consciousness wasn’t a requirement when a dick needed seeing to and Buffy was stuck impaled on him while he gently thrust himself to another orgasm. And Buffy buried her head in his chest and tried her best to ignore Willow’s mounting hysterical giggles.

“Oh God,” she muttered into his tee and wondered how the hell she was going to fix this. How was she going to get Spike awake and decently tucked in before Xander worked out what was going on?

The dilemma was solved when Giles let out an ear-splitting shriek and came half tumbling down the stairs. “I thought you Americans were too civilised for vermin?”

Xander jumped to his feet, stumbling as he struggled to wake, his manly heroics ready to be displayed. “Where is the dastardly pest, G-man?”

Giles pointed toward his room at the top of the stairs, spluttering his outrage. “It’s a bloody mouse, of all things horrid.” He shuddered, then jumped a foot in the air as Willow shrieked, and turned just in time to see the creature run down the stairs and do a terrified, galloping circuit around the living room.

The distraction was enough, Buffy now standing awkwardly and Spike rubbing his abused ears with his jeans pulled up and properly zippered. Buffy’s face, however, went an extreme shade of red as she felt two times worth of goo slowly slide down her inner thigh. With a pretend squeal of fear, she dove for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and vowing to not return until the mouse was caught. And then they heard the bathroom pipes groan and shudder and knew that Buffy was waking happily with the aid of soothing hot water. Willow eyed Spike suspiciously, only realising this was the first time they’d been left alone in a room with a fully operational master vampire when he sneered and cupped his now flaccid appendage.

“See something you like, Pet?” he smirked as Willow eeped and ran as far from him as she could go, which wasn’t as far as she might have liked with her flannel pj’s altering the number of places she could respectably visit.

Forty minutes later, the pandemonium was at an end. Stomachs had been filled courtesy of a butcher and baker drop, and the research had begun. It continued in that fashion—for once in blessed silence due to the gravity of their subject and the uncertainty of how Buffy would take a jovial approach—until belly’s began a rumbling order for lunch.

Instead of announcing a break like any normal head researcher would, Giles slammed his book closed in irritation and jumped to his feet. "Blast it! How bloody hard can it be to ensoul a vampire?"

The Scoobies stared at him, bleak and sad at the lack of the progress with dealing with their problem, until Spike laughed and broke the spell.

“Oh, not bleeding hard at all. That’s why there was only one, you git!”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted,” Giles informed dryly, feeling a little the fool that he’d left himself open to such a comment from a—possibly former—evil vampire. “As much as it is unnecessary,” he felt churlish enough to add.

Spike snorted and then stomped his way to the bathroom, not even looking over his shoulder at the gaping onlookers as he broke the lock and let himself into a room bursting with very embarrassed slayer.

Xander stared after him with obvious envy. “There are moments when you’ve got to love vampire abilities. Pity the blood diet doesn’t quite mix with Twinkies. I so couldn’t get into that even for wet, naked Buffy.” The wistful expression dived headlong into embarrassment as Willow choked in shock and Giles pinned him with a disgusted look.

The awkwardness was solved by a frantic swan dive into the books, each of them trying their best to ignore the noises that every so often bounced down the hall from the bathroom.

Buffy’s cheeks were slightly tinged pink when she at last reappeared in the living room, squeaky clean and hair damp from a second impromptu shower. “How goes the research?” she ventured, her voice weak of emotion as she flopped down in the armchair and deftly avoided inquiring eyes.

Giles quickly looked at his crack research team and sighed. He did his best to ignore the strutting demon that slunk up to Buffy and perched easily on the arm of the sofa, her hand dropping to massage his thigh.

“There’s no luck, I’m afraid. It perhaps would have been useful to know the name of the clan that originally cursed him, but as it is, there is no mention at all of any gypsy clan even having this fascinating ability.” Giles paused, contemplating what kind of weapon such a thing could be. His eyes suddenly bulged and his gaze rested on the only other vampire he’d been forced into contact with; new options of security started to flow like seductive whispers along thought synapses and only after the damage was done did he notice the pressure of his teeth in the plastic coated temple of his reading glasses.

Spike bounced to his feet, feeling very defensive at that look that made the Watcher’s eyes shine with planning and corruption.

“You can go wash your mind out with soap, Rupert. There is no way you’re shoving a soul in me. I’m not going to hurt any of you. Wouldn’t want to, anyway. Been right decent to me, an’ all. Wouldn’t be right.” He hoped it was enough. It was true, but Spike could still understand why Buffy’s mates might not be willing to trust him. A week ago he’d still hated them all—would gladly have sucked them dry even if it meant facing the fury of his ponce of a grandsire. “Look, whether you believe me or not, m’loyalties have switched sides. Buffy helped me where my own sire couldn’t be bothered. I’ll admit pig’s blood isn’t much a step up from dog, but beggars are grateful for the smallest of things. And the Slayer isn’t small.” He aimed a sultry leer at Buffy and felt gratified at her mixed look of lust and reproach.

“Let’s just concentrate on souling up the one vamp.” Buffy paused uncertainly, sadness evident no matter how much she tried to repress. “And Mom. I don’t know if I could handle more than one broody ex-Big Bad. Let’s leave Spike just how he is for the moment and work out how to save my mom and the world.”

Giles flushed before lowering his eyes. “Indeed.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He just appeared, like a bruise with no clue to its origin. Right in the middle of Giles’s apartment, complete with quirky accent and totally ratty out-of-date hat. He grinned expectantly while the crowd around him stared stunned at the mystical intrusion.

“Evenin’ all.”

Nobody uttered a word in response, confused eyes tracing a repetitive trail from the still closed door to where the little man with the atrocious dress sense stood in the middle of them—Spike standing, Giles at his table surrounded by his beloved mystery solving books, and Willow and Buffy snickering on the couch at the final one of their group: Xander. His silent Giles impersonation came to an abrupt and guilty stop now that there were more witnesses.

“Er, if you don’t mind my asking,” said Giles as he stood from the table, glasses dangling from tired fingers, “where exactly did you come from?”

The intruder pointed seemingly to the heavens, tapped his nose and winked like he was hiding a big secret. Two quick beats and they learned secrets and this guy just weren’t on the same wavelength. “Nah, just playing with you. The Power’s sent me. Seems you’ve been allowed a hint or two with your little problem because the rate you lot are going, Angelus would manage to take over the world and you guys would still be left scratching your heads.”

“And yet, that so doesn’t answer the question. And who the hell are you?” Buffy had fluidly found her feet, standing in preparation of defending her friends if this weirdo got even a little bit more cryptic with the explanation.

“Whoa! Stand down, Slayer. Name’s Whistler. I’m here to point you guys in the right direction. Not my fault you all need to be guided toward the obvious. Still, Angel was supposed to be your guide though this Chosen gig—and look how that turned out. Really not what the big guys upstairs planned.” He stood in front of them expectantly and he grinned as Buffy met the challenge.

“You can really stop with the loving the sound of your own voice any minute now and tell us what the hell you’re talking about. What is so obvious that we’ve missed it?” Her arms crossed, Buffy Summers stared down this unknown quantity and felt fire whip through her veins at the presumption that Angel was any kind of guide.

“You don’t need to bury your heads in the books. You would have found exactly the one that could tell you about the curse if you’d not gone into hiding. Called into work recently, Watcher?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked to the elder, more responsible and supposedly switched on member of the troupe. “Anyone at the school that might have missed your absence? Or anyone you wish would notice you not being around?”

Giles whipped his glasses off again and tried hard to push down the blush that would betray him to a bunch of opportunistic children. “P-perhaps. What of it?”

“Well, there’s your answer. Jenny Calendar has been trying to translate the original soul curse since The Gelled One went and lost it. Now, she’s just about got it cracked, and turning the Slayer’s mother gave her enough time while the evil duo were otherwise occupied. But now Spike here’s mad ex has worked it out. Your teacher is the answer, but she’s on borrowed time.” A sudden grin split his face and he tipped his hat in farewell. “Good luck to you.” As unexplained as his original appearance was, the disappearance was just as confounding.

The clock on Giles’ wall ticked ominously the hour and as one, Giles and Buffy looked out the window at the rapidly darkening sky.

“Bloody hell,” Giles blustered. “The little prat could have told us where she is.”

Spike stood, his face thoughtful. “What’s she like? How’s she likely to do the research?”

“Oh oh,” Willow shouted frantically, her voice too high and excited as she alerted them all to her increasing fear. “She’d be doing it on the school’s computer. She does all her research there.”

“Oh come on. She’s researching how to put the trap back on Angelus. She can’t possibly be stupid enough to stay at the school once it’s getting dark,” Spike scoffed. Even the annoying whelp couldn’t be that daft.

The human contingent exchanged worried glances, the vampire now restrained in Buffy’s basement uppermost on their minds. Without consultation, without confirmation, they all ran to the door and bolted to Giles’s car. It was soon obvious that not all of them would fit—particularly if they had to bring back a foolish, risk-taking teacher and her work.

“Willow, Xander, you stay here at Giles’s. We’ll bring back Miss Calendar.” Steely determination gleamed brightly in Buffy’s eyes and they nodded and stepped back, retreading their path back to the apartment and locking themselves behind the closed door.

Buffy, Giles and Spike piled into the car and it was soon apparent that frustration was going to make things ugly.

“Take your bloody foot off the brake, pops. You want to save this bint or not?”

Buffy and Spike were flung back as the misleading chunk of metal picked it up a notch and clunked as it sped around the town. Streetlights were flickering to life as the little car blurred down streets and finally screeched to a stop outside the school. The two superheros practically flew into the school to do the rescuing while Giles fought to keep himself behind the wheel. He could understand the need to have a quick getaway, and to have his eye open for vampiric threats in the vicinity, but everything inside him screamed at his need to go to the woman he’d been neglecting for no good reason the past few days.

He could feel the anticipation on the night as it squeezed all rational thought from his mind. Just as he was about to damn them all with his idiotic need to be in it to his neck, Buffy ran like lightening back to the car, dragging a terrified and tear-stained Jenny along beside her. Spike kept up with what looked like a computer tower under his arm, his black coat flapping wildly behind him.

They hit the car and slid inside hardly without stopping, bunched up grunts of pain groaned around desperate calls to get the car moving. The blurred form of Angelus fast approaching brought focus back to his mind and Giles slammed his foot on the accelerator, nearly peeing himself as the car fishtailed before straightening and rocking out of the street like a bullet. A hard bump hit the back and he grinned in unrestrained glee as he felt the great thumping pillock slide off and hit the asphalt hard. He wanted to shout insults out the window, but the frightening swerve of his car even as he started winding down the window put paid to that idea and Giles just concentrated on pointing his car toward safety.

Childish retribution could wait.





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