CHAPTER 2

The door was green. It had two panes of frosted glass, a knocker shaped like a lion’s head, and a brass letterbox slot. The paint was chipped just above the lock, showing the white undercoat beneath. There were bells for the four apartments (flats, he reminded himself, he was back in England after all), each with a faded card beside it bearing the occupant’s name. The card for flat 2 bore, in familiar handwriting, the name ‘Giles’. Just as it had for the past twenty minutes; he’d lay odds it probably wouldn’t change in the next twenty either, or for that matter in the twenty after that. Suppressing the temptation to wait and be sure, and damning himself for a stupid, nervous git, he reached out and rang the bell.

He heard the footsteps in the corridor, saw the door open. Warily met impatient hazel eyes. Watched them widen with recognition and astonishment.

“Spike?” Giles asked.

He shuffled, smiled. “Look, I’m sorry to disturb you. I know you’re probably –”

Giles stepped back, gestured inside. “Come in.”

Spike hesitated: surely it wasn’t going to be that easy. Straight to the hello-how-are-yous, skipping the didn’t-you-almost-rape-my-daughter?

Giles looked searchingly at him, then nodded once, slowly. What was done still lay between them, but suddenly the gulf between Spike and forgiveness didn’t seem so wide.

Spike stepped inside, following Giles up the stairs and into his flat. The front door opened onto a comfortable, quintessentially English sitting room. Shelves of old leather-bound books covered the walls. A display case on one wall held a variety of artifacts: statues and old books mostly. On its own shelf stood an Etruscan bowl containing a pencil with a tiny rubber monster on its end, waving his arms over the rim of the bowl.. Photos in silver frames decked a table beneath the window, and a familiar mug blazoned “Kiss the Librarian” sat on the coffee table, next to a bottle of red wine, two glasses and a bowl of pretzels.

Giles gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat, Spike. It’s good to see you. I’ve been wanting to get in touch to thank you for the tip-off about that Karkhur Demon nest.”

Spike turned as he hung his jacket on a hatstand by the door. “I wasn’t sure you’d know –”

“Oh, not at first, but your continued involvement in our lives started to become a little obvious. Calls from Dawn to thank me for presents I’d never sent; then Anya mentioned that she’d been receiving additional inventory that she’d never ordered. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Spike smiled. “How is Anya, anyway?”

Giles rubbed absently at his glasses. “She should be popping in any minute now. We decided it would be easier to – ah – discuss the business in person so she’s coming over for the weekend.” Spike looked at him quizzically, but decided it might be better not to ask any questions for the moment.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Giles offered. “I’m afraid I don’t have any blood on hand; Bath isn’t exactly renowned for its friendly vampires. I have wine, or tea, and I may even have a beer in the fridge.”

Spike grinned. “I brought my own, thanks.” He patted the silver thermos in the pocket of his jacket. “It’s warmed and everything. Very posh. Much cleaner than the old-fashioned way.”

The two men laughed, each aware of how strange it was that a vampire and a Watcher could have this conversation -- each glad to be having it with the other.

Giles poured himself a glass of wine, frowning thoughtfully. “I assume this is more than just a social call.. Not that you’re not welcome to just drop by,” he added hurriedly. He paused for a moment before reluctantly continuing, “Buffy told me a little of what happened between the two of you. While I don’t excuse your role in it, I do see – and so does she – that the responsibility has to be shared between you.

“She wouldn’t tell me why you left town, although Xander was quick to tell me his version of events.” His jaw tightened in remembered anger. “I certainly hope that what he had to say owed a great deal to his imagination. If I thought it was the literal truth, you’d be blowing in the wind now and not sheltering from it in my home.” The Watcher’s voice faded as he looked grimly at Spike. “Buffy wouldn’t talk about it, but she assured me she was fine, and that Xander had exaggerated.”

Spike studied the floor intently. “I wondered. Thought you might have a stake with my name engraved on it.” He looked up, meeting Giles’ eyes. “I doubt that Harris could invent anything worse than what I nearly did. Exaggerate it, maybe. But I deserve that stake, you know. Wouldn’t blame you at all.”

Giles shook his head. “Oh, there have been times when I’ve thought about it. But what was between you and Buffy had less to do with vampire and Slayer and more to do with chemistry and hormones. And frankly, as long as she’s all right, I don’t care to think that deeply about Buffy’s love life.”

Spike frowned. “It wasn’t love. Not on her side; I know that now. That’s why I left. It could have been, but she wouldn’t let it get there.” He paused to collect himself. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I ran into Willow in London a few days ago and she filled me in on what she’d been up to in Devon. Trouble is, I’m not sure that’s all she’s up to.”

Giles frowned, leaning forward. “In what way?”

“She told me a little of what happened. She said her powers were blocked somehow?”

Giles nodded. “I went over there on borrowed power, fuelled by the Devon coven. When she sucked my power, they tapped into it, trying to reach the humanity within her. In the end, it was Xander who stopped her.” He smiled at Spike’s incredulous expression. “He got through to her,” he explained. “He reminded her of all the other things she loved. I still don’t know how he got through all that rage and pain to find Willow.  Somehow, it seems, something inside her blocked her magic and stopped her from destroying the world. Even the Devon witches aren’t quite sure how it happened.” 

“She said the magic is still there, inside.”

“That’s right. One day, she may be able to fully access it again. The coven is rehabilitating her, which includes instructing her in how to use her magic responsibly. If she does manage to regain it we won’t have another apocalypse of our own creation.” Giles paused, looked solemnly at Spike. “I feel responsible, you know. I knew she was using dark magics when she resurrected Buffy. I should have stepped in then, done something.”

Spike shook his head. “There was nothing you could do. She wouldn’t have listened anyway; she would only have assumed you envied her powers. I heard her talking to you in the kitchen that night after you came back to Sunnydale.”   Both men paused, reminded of what – who – had brought Giles back to the United States.

Giles shrugged. “I just wish I could have done something. Noticed sooner –”

“Then Buffy would still be dead,” Spike pointed out. “There’s no point dwelling on the past, I’ve found. You just need to make the best of what you’ve got and move on.” He set his glass on the table then looked up to meet Giles’ eyes. His grim expression got the Watcher’s undivided attention. “Which brings me to my next point. When I saw Willow, she didn’t see me at first. She was talking to a shady-looking couple. I tracked them down after she went back to Devon. It seems she’s looking to get her powers back.”

Giles blinked. “Do you know how?”

“Not sure,” Spike said. “This couple, they’re demons -- not the evil kind,” he hastened to add. “They specialise in tracking down obscure artefacts. It seems Willow told them she’s a buyer for the Magic Box and she’s trying to track down a Talisman of Will.”

Giles frowned. “I suppose it’s possible she could be scouting things out for the shop, although that’s highly unlikely. We can ask Anya when she arrives. However, you’re right to be concerned; she could be planning to use the Talisman in some sort of invocation.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Actually, we could ask Anya about that as well.” ”

“About that,” Spike asked. “What’s she doing arriving at this time of night? She fly in to Heathrow and catch the bus or something?”

Giles rubbed absently at a spot on the sofa. “Actually, she’s teleporting in. It seems that, after Xander walked out on their wedding, Anya accepted an offer to resume her duties as a vengeance – er – justice demon.”

Spike blinked. “So you mean –”

“Yes, when you had your  -- encounter -- with Anya in the Magic Box, she was a demon already. She was hoping you would help her gain revenge on Xander through an injudicious wish. Instead, quite by chance, the two of you fell into the one thing that would most hurt him -- and Buffy as well.” He looked away, a little embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Spike insisted. “ It didn’t mean anything – it wasn’t planned. It was just about--” He groped for a word. “--forgetting. For both of us.”

Giles looked back at him. “I do understand. I’m just not sure that Buffy and Xander share that particular feeling.”

Spike shrugged. “Well it’s not like I’m in Sunnydale to annoy Buffy any more. Or like we were ever really a couple anyway; she’d made it pretty clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. And Harris never did know how to treat Anya. He was so busy focussing on what she wasn’t, he never bothered to look at what she was. The stupid git left her at the altar. Either he wanted to be with her or he didn’t, and that sounds a hell of a lot like ‘didn’t’ to me.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” replied Giles. “She’s taken the ‘justice’ side of things to heart. She’s trying very hard to steer clear of the more outrageous acts of vengeance for which she was famous. And, while running the Magic Box is admittedly an unusual occupation for someone in her position, there are worse things she could be doing.” He blinked as he realised what he’d said. “Much worse things, actually,” he added dryly. 

Spike smirked, then stood, reaching for his jacket. “I’d better be going, then. Just wanted to let you know what was up.”

Giles frowned. “Do you need to go now, or can you stay? I’m sure Anya would love to see you. And I’d like to talk to you about the Willow situation some more.”

Spike gestured to the mantel clock above the gas fire. “Last train’s at eleven. If I stay any longer, I’ll be here till tomorrow night.”

“Well, Anya will be in the spare room,” said Giles, “but you’d be welcome to sleep on the sofa here. I’d really like to discuss this some more, if you don’t have other plans.”

It was amazing how good a simple sentence like that could make him feel. He’d been serious about expecting to be staked, not welcomed. And he didn’t have any plans that couldn’t wait, not that he wouldn’t have changed them if he had.

A swirling mist in the corner alerted them to Anya’s arrival. She was looking good, Spike thought, although she’d lost a little weight. The past year had clearly taken its toll on her as well. Not surprising, really.

“Giles!” she observed as she stepped forward. “Spike is in your living room.”

Giles smiled broadly. The Watcher always took Anya’s comments in his stride, Spike mused as Giles placed one arm around her shoulders and guided her to the sofa, passing her a glass of wine before he looked up.

“Teleporting such an extreme distance can be tiring,” he explained to Spike before returning his attention to Anya. “Spike has just come down from London,” he told her. “He’ll be staying until tomorrow night. There are some things we need to discuss; I’d welcome your input as well.”

Spike recognized the look on Anya’s face; had Xander ever asked for her opinion? “I’d like to help you,” she replied eagerly. “Dawn and Buffy are looking after the Magic Box for me, and I don’t have to be back until Monday.”

“That works out nicely,” said Giles. “I have a pair of tickets for the theatre on Sunday night -- I’d be delighted if you would be my guest.” He gestured to the tickets, propped on the mantelpiece beside the clock. “It’s The Merchant of Venice,” he added.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at Giles: “’Though justice be thy plea, consider this / That in the course of justice none of us / Should seek salvation?’  I suppose it beats Hamlet,” he added.

Giles grinned in response. “’How all occasions do inform against me / And spur my dull revenge?’ I suppose you have a point.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “When you two are finished showing off your great learning, perhaps you could tell me what’s going on?”

Giles quickly outlined what Spike had learned.

“Have you spoken to the coven?” asked Anya. “Surely they should know.”

Giles frowned. “They’re a little preoccupied with the situation in Paris right now.”  He turned to Spike and explained, “Apparently a group of students at the university decided to spice things up in their dormitory and raised some rather angry demons from the Nisklum dimension. In fact, the coven has been talking about sending Willow back to Sunnydale in a few weeks, to see how she can cope back home. It’s been rather contentious actually; some of them feel very strongly that she should never be permitted to return to Sunnydale. On balance, though, they’ve decided that a one-month visit is appropriate at this stage of her rehabilitation.

“Essentially, it would be an extension of her weekend leave arrangements. I think it would be good for her to return to Sunnydale and face the situation there; adjust to living without Tara. It’s awkward, though, because if the coven knew that she had been actively trying to regain her powers they would restrict her even more. I’m worried that she would react badly to that; it was touch and go whether she would even stay with them at all. I’d feel better about it if there were someone to watch over her there.”

Anya frowned. “Where would she stay? I don’t see Buffy and Dawn opening their house to her again, however much they say they’ve forgiven her trying to destroy the world. And since you convinced the Council of Watchers to pay Buffy that very comfortable salary with many zeroes, it’s not as though they need to take in lodgers.”

“The coven has a contingency fund for these matters,” replied Giles. “It seems they have a rather lucrative sideline doing psychic readings over the telephone.”  He looked almost embarrassed by this, as though an association with what he had once described as ‘chicanery and balderdash’ might devalue the worth of the coven’s other work. “Apparently there’s an apartment for rent in Xander’s building. They’ve taken a lease on it; they seem to think, after what happened in Sunnydale, that it may do Willow good to have him nearby.”  He ventured a tentative glance at Anya.

To Spike’s surprise, the demon seemed calm as she considered Giles’s words.

“That could work,” she said matter-of-factly. “But how will we keep track of her? I can track where she is, of course – woman wronged, blah blah blah – but I’m already losing sales at the Magic Box because I have to close it whenever I need to be elsewhere. Even I can’t be in two places at once.” She paused, then added in a spirit of full disclosure, “Well, I could, but it gets tiring very quickly.” She focused on Spike. “Your friend Clem runs some deliveries for me, but floppy ears scare the customers. Dawn helps with stocking the shelves – she still owes me three hundred and seventy- two dollars and eighty-six cents of labour to make up for the mad thieving. I do have to wreak venge- – er – justice, as well, you know.”

“Yeah, how’s that going, love?” Spike grinned.

“Oh, very well,” she replied happily. “Yesterday I gave a guy horrible, weeping boils on his penis. He’d been cheating on his girlfriend. When he stops cheating, the boils will go away. It’s very clever, see, because he *will* stop cheating because of the boils; and they will only come back if he cheats on her again. Sooner or later, he will learn. It’s much more complicated than simply eviscerating him.”

“Yes, quite,” said Giles, clearly not entirely comfortable with the discussion, however much he was trying. “Going back to the situation in Sunnydale, then, I have a suggestion that I think might work admirably.”

 “I’ve given the matter some thought,” he continued. “As I understand it, the problem is this: With Xander at work and Buffy and Dawn at college and school during the day, you are the only person with the facility to watch over Willow.” Anya nodded. “But you are busy with the Magic Box and your – other duties. What you really need is an employee--someone who you can trust to run the shop for you while you are otherwise occupied.” He held up a hand to silence Anya before she could interrupt. “Your concern is that the Magic Box doesn’t generate the income to pay a full-time employee and, even if it did, it would be hard to find someone trustworthy enough to leave in a store full of magical texts and objects.”

Anya nodded. “That’s it exactly,” she said.

Giles continued, glancing from Anya to Spike. “When Xander’s crew rebuilt the Magic Box, I had them build a small apartment in the basement. It’s not much: a bathroom, kitchenette and two rooms. I intended to use it when I visited.” He laughed. “It’s even wired for cable television.” 

Surely he’s not going where I think he is, thought Spike as the Watcher turned to him. “I realise it’s asking a great deal of you, to give up the life you have here. But would you consider returning to Sunnydale?”

Spike froze, his eyes turned to the Watcher.

“It would be in an advisory capacity,” Giles added. “You’d be keeping an eye on things and reporting on Willow’s progress to me, here, and to the coven. You’d also help Anya out at the Magic Box as she requires. I’d need to discuss this with the coven but I would imagine that, in return, we’d pay you a smallish salary and supply you with the use of the apartment.”

Spike frowned. “I’d need to think about it,” he replied. “It’s not that there’s a lot keeping me here, but there’s a lot of people in Sunnydale have it in for me. They’re hardly going to be falling over themselves to kill the fatted calf and throw ‘Welcome Home’ parties for me.”

After a few more minutes of discussion, they agreed to meet again in a fortnight to hear Spike’s decision and the coven’s reaction and discuss their arrangements. After that, the conversation turned to more mundane matters. Anya and Giles were amused by Spike’s tales of his life in London, particularly the stories of the tour guides and the antics of some of the tourists. Giles filled them in a little on his activities as an Emeritus Watcher; he was still receiving the Council stipend but spent his time on research and the occasional hands-on project. Anya generally talked about the people back in Sunnydale: Buffy’s adjustment to life back on campus, Dawn’s progress at school (and at controlling thieving fingers) and – briefly – Xander’s assistance in rebuilding the Magic Box. Her chatter was both familiar and somewhat daunting to Spike, as for the first time he faced the thought of returning home and facing them all.

***

In the end, Giles and Anya drove him home the following morning. He lay on the back seat of Giles’ Rover under a rug while they zoomed up the motorway, discussing Magic Box business. He was almost envious; Anya had so clearly found her calling in running the store. He wasn’t sure yet what to make of her Justice Demon gig, but good for her if it kept the Scoobies on edge.

They came inside with him, briefly. Anya opened the door for him to run inside under cover of a rather grotty picnic blanket. He suspected they just wanted to see where he was living, to make sure that he was on the level. The flat wasn’t much, just a bed-sit really, but it was a step up from the crypt in which he’d spent the previous three years. It was clean and bare; almost minimalist. He’d rented it furnished and never bothered to decorate. Was it always just a temporary home? he wondered.

There was a bed, a writing desk, and a fridge that he kept well stocked with beer and blood. Aside from the TV, a radio and a comfy chair, the only items of interest were the journals and a couple of letters from Clem on top of the fridge.

The thought of a proper apartment, even a small one, certainly had appeal. He wasn’t so sure about returning to Sunnydale, but the irony of a Watcher and a coven (of Good Witches, no less) offering a vampire a job was not lost on him. Suppressing the thought – part longing, part dread – of seeing Buffy again, he tried to consider the prospect calmly. On the plus side, he’d be returning home. He wasn’t sure when he’d made that mental switch, but England was no longer the emotional safe haven he’d thought it would be. He’d have a nice apartment, plenty to read, and English telly certainly wasn’t a patch on what he could get in Sunnydale.

He had friends there, too: not Buffy or Xander, of course. He doubted that even the Bit would want him around these days; but Clem certainly qualified, and he thought Anyanka did too. He’d missed having companionship; packs of tourists in Birkenstocks and backpacks didn’t really count. And the prospect of working in the Magic Box held promise. At least its customers usually had more to say for themselves than the cattle carcasses with which he currently spent his working hours.

Who was he kidding? The only reason he wasn’t there now was that he hadn’t been game to face Buffy after what he’d done. He’d seen her horror at what had happened; he didn’t need to torture himself by seeing it again every day. Given the chance to help her, though, however indirectly, he really didn’t see that he could refuse.

Before he could leave, though, he had some personal business to attend to. A pair of addresses had been burning a hole in his pocket for the past six weeks. It was time to do something about them.

... Continue to chapter 3 ...