Full Circle Part Two

[shapinglight]

For setting, rating etc, see Part One.

Full Circle Part Two



When Giles woke, it was still dark in the room. He lay for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember where he was, and why his body ached so much. There was a dull throbbing in his knee, and his back was sore from lying on a hard surface.

Of course; Robson's wretched ottoman.

Surely, Giles thought, as he shifted his aching back, trying in vain to find a better position, a more uncomfortable item of furniture had never been invented. He couldn't explain otherwise why, after being so deadly tired, he'd woken again before morning.

Fumbling his glasses off the occasional table and onto his face, he peered at his watch in the gloom. Four am. This was ridiculous. He'd only been asleep for a couple of hours.

He sat up. Perhaps one of the armchairs would be better? Reaching out, he switched on the standard lamp, then jumped nearly out of his skin.

The chair he'd been planning to move into was already occupied.

"Hey, Giles," Buffy said. "How's it going?"

For one terrible moment, Giles thought it was really her, and his heart lurched in his chest. What was she doing here? Had something bad happened in Sunnydale?

He looked in the direction of the front door, expecting to see the makeshift barricade thrust aside. But everything was as it had been before they'd retired for the night.

He turned back, to regard the figure on the chair with cold fury.

"How dare you take on her likeness?"

The First laughed, in Buffy's voice. "Hey, she's died twice. Can if I wanna."

As it spoke, Giles realised the semblance was wearing the formal dress Buffy had been buried in after her fall from Glory's tower. He'd chosen it himself.

Somehow, this was the worst violation of all.

The First seemed to divine his thoughts. "Cute outfit, huh?" It gave Giles a coquettish smile. "I should let you dress me more often."

Giles's stomach lurched. The implication was all too clear.

He gritted his teeth. Don't let it provoke you!

"What do you want?"

The First put its hand on its chest. "Little me? Just wanna see how my guys are doing." It smirked. "My Watcher, my vampire..."

"I don't belong to you," Giles protested. "And neither does Spike."

The First's smirk grew broader. Giles hadn't thought Buffy's face could look so mean. "There's an old folk song - you know the one- that says different."

Giles opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again. He had no answer for that.

The mockery of Buffy grinned in triumph. "Poor little Spikey. He's set himself an impossible goal, hasn't he? You think she'll forgive him, Giles? You think she even should? I mean, I'm Ultimate Evil so I'm kind of fuzzy on the subject, but attempted rape is pretty bad, right?"

Giles only glared. "I am not discussing that...that incident with you."

"No, huh?" The First pouted a little. "But then you don't really know what happened, do you? Cuz he hasn't told you. Cuz he didn't dare."

It leaned forward, giving Giles back glare for glare. "You think you'd still have taken him into your home - into your damn bed - if you'd seen the bruises he left on her body?"

Giles resisted putting his hands over his ears, which were burning with shame and anger.

"You sent him to me," he gritted. "You wanted us to be intimate. Why did you do that, if this is what you think?"

The First only laughed - a sneering, unpleasant laugh, nothing like Buffy's.

"Oh hey," it said, "I don't care one way or the other who you boink. All I care about's causing as much pain and misery as I can. But that doesn't change the fact that you had sex with the guy who tried to rape your precious little Slayer, and Ultimate Evil - by which I mean me - called you on it. That's kind of rich, don't you think?"

Giles's skin crawled at the accusation. Again, he had no answer. Because it was true. All true.

"But it's not the first time you've betrayed her, is it?" the First sneered. "What about that Cruciamentum thing, huh? You poisoned her, took away her Slayer powers, almost got her killed. Fine father figure you are."

Giles put his head in his hands. This was unbearable.

The First laughed again. "And what about last year, when she came crawling back from the dead, all depressed and stuff? What'd you do that time? Walk out on her, that's what, because you were tired of playing nursemaid. When it comes to betrayal, Giles, you are a master. Couldn't have done it better myself."

Please stop, Giles wanted to say. Somehow or other, he managed to keep his mouth shut.

This was the First talking, he told himself. He had to remember that. Everything it said - even the truth - was lies and deceit.

But it was very cold comfort.

"Yeah," the First went on. "After what you did to her, it's no wonder she whored herself out to a vampire. Guess she thought she was pretty worthless. Picked herself a real prince, too, didn't she?"

Its tone dripped venom. So much so that Giles looked up again. The First's face was twisted and vicious. Suddenly, it didn't look like Buffy at all.

"And not just a rapist and murderer," the First hissed not so much at him as past him, "but a loser too. Pathetic, useless, can't even do evil right. I mean, what is with this getting a soul business? Who told him he could do that?"

It wasn't even looking at Giles now. Instead, its tirade appeared addressed only to itself.

"I'm Ultimate Evil," it snarled. "I'm the boss of him. Hell, I'm the boss of all vampires. But did he ask my permission? Did he hell!"

Its gaze focused on Giles again. The eyes - Buffy's eyes, and yet not - the green of poison.

"Also, just to be clear, I did not 'send him to you'." It made air quotes around the words. "Why would I? I mean, how dumb would I have to be, given how much of my precious time you two have already wasted? I did not make him come on to you either. And I sure as hell didn't make you say yes. You made the decision to betray your l'il Buffy by screwing him, all on your own."

It clapped its hands. "Good job."

Giles stared at the figment in astonishment. Could it really have just said what it had said? It might be trying to trick him again, of course, but a small voice seemed to whisper in his ear, "It's actually rather stupid, isn't it?"

"Hey, Giles," the First said, loudly, "pay attention. We're talking about what a fuck-up you are, remember?"

Its face became even more twisted and un-Buffy-like, as it snarled, "What's she gonna say, huh, your pathetic little Slayer whore, when you turn up at the Hellmouth hand in hand with her rapist? You think she'll be pleased to see you? You think she'll welcome you back with open arms?"

It laughed again. "More like it'll break her heart."

"Forgiveness!" The First seemed to swell, as if it could hardly contain its own malevolence. Its voice was a serpent hiss. "How could he be forgiven? He doesn't deserve it, and neither do you."

Giles looked at the First's distorted features - its twisted mockery of Buffy's face - of her entire being.

He laughed.

"You're wrong," he said. "But I'm not going to explain why, because I really can't be bothered arguing with you. In fact, if all you can do is sit there and sneer you're wasting both our time. I'd be obliged, thank you very much, if you'd bugger off and let me get some sleep."

The First blinked. For a moment, it deflated, looking genuinely taken aback at being talked to in such a fashion. Then, like the Meowlur demon bursting out of the body of poor Mrs Finch, it seemed to turn itself inside out, Buffy's face distorting out of all recognition, all teeth and screaming, like a black mouth leading to hell.

Then it was gone, its final words, still in that cruel parody of Buffy's voice, echoing in Giles's ears.

"Fine. Be like that. But you're still my guys - both of you. And, like it or not, you'll still do what I want."

*

Giles sat for a while, pondering what had just happened. At last, he got up and took all the remaining spare bedding out of the ottoman. It was a matter of moments to make up a bed of sorts on the floor. Then he went to the kitchen.

"Spike? Are you awake?"

Giles peered at the huddled figure on the chair.

"Wassat?" The figure sat up straighter. "Giles, that you?" Spike's voice was muzzy with sleep.

"Yes." Giles switched on the kitchen light. Kneeling at Spike's feet he began to unfasten the chains that bound his ankles.

"What're you doing?" Spike protested. "Thought we agreed s'best to leave me chained up."

"Perhaps." Giles hauled himself to his feet with an effort. His knee - the one he'd fallen on when Spike had pushed him clear of Griffiths' bullets - was stiff and painful. "I find it doesn't sit well with me, though. I would rather you slept with me."

Spike rubbed his wrists, where the heavy manacles had left red indentations in the flesh. "So you can keep an eye on me? S'pose it might be best."

"It might," Giles agreed. "But that's not what I meant. I want you by my side." He looked Spike straight in the eye. "Where you belong."

Spike's mouth dropped open. "Come again?"

His eyes narrowed. "Is that intangible fucker with the terrible taste in music messing with your head too now?"

Giles put a hand under Spike's elbow and urged him to his feet. The First might be listening, he thought.

Not that it mattered. Let it.

"After a fashion. Come with me, and I'll explain."

Taking Spike's cool hand in his, Giles led him into the living room. He drew Spike down onto the makeshift bed, the two of them lying side by side in the dark. Giles let go of Spike's hand, which was stiff and unresponsive. He could feel the tension emanating from Spike's body.

"Tell me, then," Spike said, out of the darkness. "'Cos if you don't mind my saying, this is all a bit weird."

Not that it was so dark now, Giles noted. The sky behind the blinds was growing pale. The traffic noise was louder too.

"As you surmised," he told Spike, "I had a visitation from the First. It appeared to me as Buffy."

Spike tensed. "But I thought..."

"Yes," Giles agreed, "it can only take on the form of the dead, but Buffy's been dead, remember? Twice, in fact. Something the First took great pleasure in reminding me of."

"That bastard!" Spike growled. "What did it want?"

"What it's wanted all along, I assume. To spread fear and distrust among its enemies, and to destroy the Slayer line." Giles could just make out Spike's face in the gloom. "But, in my opinion, it's afraid too."

Spike rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "What of?"

"Of you, for a start," Giles told him.

"Me?" Spike reached out and switched on the lamp. He stared at Giles in blatant disbelief. "Why the bloody hell should it be afraid of its own puppet?"

"Because that's not all you are, is it?" Giles countered. "The First may tell itself that it knows you inside and out, but it doesn't. Any more than it knows Buffy, despite taking on her shape. For instance, it's of the opinion - or claims to be- that she'll never forgive you - that she, indeed, shouldn't."

Spike seemed to shrink a little. He looked away across the room. "Maybe it's not wrong."

Giles grabbed his face by the chin and forced him to look at him. "Maybe. But it's really not the First's to decide one way or the other, is it? Any more than it's mine. Or yours."

Spike blinked. "When you put it that way..."

"I do. Buffy herself must make the decision. And you've decisions to make of your own. If you want her to forgive you, Spike, you'll have to work for it. As you said yourself, words alone are meaningless."

The same applied to himself, Giles thought, but he wouldn't muddy the waters for Spike by mentioning that just now.

Spike gazed at him, solemn-faced. "Fine by me," he said. "Always was crap with words anyway."

"Glad to hear it, because tomorrow night, we're flying to California, and I see no point in you accompanying us if you're not prepared to make the effort."

"'Course I'm prepared," Spike protested. "Don't see how I can come with you, though. Can't fly, can I? Not without getting fried anyway."

"It's all arranged," Giles assured him. " You'll be travelling, cargo, Spike. It will be a relief to your grieving family, I'm sure, to have your body returned to them. Once it's light, I'll go and collect the travel documentation from my contact, then our mode of transport. Then I'll drive us to the airport."

Spike whistled softly. "Sounds like a bloody good contact if it can arrange all that."

"It is."

Giles didn't add that he'd had to pay through the nose for services rendered, and not just in cash. Spike doubtless knew how the demon black market worked and would understand what was involved.

But Spike was looking uncertain again.

"You really think this is a good idea? Can't just turn up at Buffy's house, can I? Not after...well, s'not like she's gonna want me around, is it? Also, what if I go bonkers on the journey - break the plane, or something, and kill everyone? This First bugger might think making me do that'd be a right hoot."

"It might," Giles agreed, "but I doubt it. Despite its rather blatant attempt to turn me against you again, I think it wants us - or rather, it wants you - in Sunnydale, near Buffy. In fact -"he grimaced, "-that's been its aim all along. But you see, Spike, you keep blindsiding it."

Spike frowned. "What do you mean?"

Giles smiled at him. "I mean that you keep doing things it doesn't want you to do. Going by what it said to me, it's outraged that you've acquired a soul, for one thing. It does seem like a bit of a slap in the face to ultimate evil, wouldn't you think, a vampire doing that?"

Spike pondered this a moment. "S'pose so," he conceded.

"In fact," Giles went on, "based on previous experience, the First appears to find the very existence of a being such as yourself - a vampire with a soul- an affront to the established order. The last time it surfaced, four years ago, it tried to get Angel to kill himself."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Should've tried harder. Old Caveman Brow was still knockin' around last time I looked, more's the pity."

"That's not for you to say, is it?" Giles frowned in disapproval. "Buffy persuaded Angel to go on living. She told him he had to keep fighting - that he still had a part to play. I believe that the same is true of you, Spike. I believe the First thinks so too. Hence its desperate attempts to control you."

"You really think so?" Spike was gazing at him, expression ranging from hope to doubt and back again.

Giles nodded. "I do. The First wanted to make you its servant, so it played on your feelings about siring your mother - your shame, your fear of being unloved- and inserted the trigger in your brain. I daresay it meant you to return directly to Sunnydale, where it would sequester you in some dank basement and work its will on you, then use you in its quest to destroy the Slayer line. But instead, you came to me."

Spike chewed his lip. "Or maybe that's exactly what it wanted me to do? Bloody hell, Giles. We can't go on second-guessing this fucker."

Giles grimaced. Of course, it was possible that the First had been double-bluffing him, but what on earth would it gain from doing so?

"Maybe," he said. "But I doubt it. I think all that's happened since you came to me in Bath has been the First scrambling to keep up. It has to use the material to hand, after all. In our case, it tried to separate us, that didn't work, so it decided to keep us together but on its terms. After that, it's been busy herding us in the direction it wants us to go."

"So," Spike mused, "in that tunnel under Watchers' HQ, when we found we couldn't turn back to warn your Watcher mates, and when I said I thought it wanted us to see that bloody great hole full of dynamite, I was right all along, was I?"

"Indubitably." Giles nodded. "It wanted us out of there and on our way to Sunnydale. Quite possibly, shooting you in the head and taking you to Watchers' HQ is the only time I've done the complete opposite of what suited it."

No wonder, he thought, that the First had taken the time and effort to taunt him with his helplessness in face of the coming catastrophe.

Spike frowned. "But if it wants you to take me to Sunnydale, why the bloody hell are you doing it?"

Giles patted his shoulder. "Because, like I said, it thinks it knows you, but it doesn't. It doesn't know Buffy either. I think it's in for a shock."

Spike's eyes glistened. He turned his head away. "God, Giles, I hope you're right."

"I am." Giles wondered even as he spoke at his own certainty. "Now, if you're quite finished feeling sorry for yourself, I'd rather like to kiss you."

*

Spike's eyes widened in surprise, but his lips parted to let Giles's tongue enter. His eyelids flickered closed. He sighed into Giles's mouth, and his fingers dug into Giles's back.

Giles clutched Spike closer. Spike's leg slid over his. For a moment, they strained against each other, groin to groin. But then Spike's leg fell back onto the bedding. A moment later, Giles's hands fell away from his shoulders.

They broke apart, staring at each other.

"What's the matter?" Giles asked, at last.

Spike gazed at him, blue eyes bleak. "Would you believe me if I said it's not you, it's me?"

"I see."

He'd been a fool, Giles thought. He'd allowed his relief at the First's unintended revelation to override his better judgement. It was too late to go back. Too late for both of them. And maybe, despite the longing he'd seen in his eyes earlier, Spike didn't want to.

"I'm sorry." Giles sat up, then made to get to his feet. "I shouldn't have...Spike, I'm sorry. I've been an absolute bloody idiot. You sleep here. I'll go back on the ottoman."

But Spike grabbed his hand. "It's not that. God, Giles, it's not that I don't want to, for fucks' sake. There's nothing I want more." He raised Giles's hand to his mouth and kissed his bent knuckles. "I wanna roll on my belly for you. I want you to fuck my brains out. But...I can't. I just..." He shook his head. "Oh, fuck!"

Giles took slow breaths, forcing his body back under control, which, after what Spike had just said, was somewhat difficult. At last, he lay down again, put his arm around Spike and drew him close.

"I understand," he said, because it was blindingly obvious. "It's because of Buffy, isn't it?"

Spike nodded. "I just can't. Not until..." he drew a ragged breath. "Not until we've beaten this First fucker and she's forgiven me. If she ever does."

Giles looked deep into his eyes. "Are you still in love with her?"

Spike's gaze was steady. "Even if I am, it doesn't matter. That's over. I know it. Giles, I wouldn't touch her, I swear. I won't go near her - won't even speak to her, if she doesn't want me to."

"Good." Giles noticed that he hadn't answered the question.

Spike frowned. "I mean it, Giles. I want to be with you. But I have to earn that too. I came to you because I wanted you to look after me - stop me from hurting anyone again, the way I hurt Buffy. But I see now that's all bollocks. Only one's gonna stop me hurting people is me. An' until I get my head straight, I'm no good to anyone."

They stared at each other again. The room was light enough now that Giles could see without the lamp on.

"And when you have 'got your head straight', as you put it?"

"I'm yours," Spike said, simply. "If you still want me?"

Not too late after all, Giles thought. More like too soon?

Not just for Spike. For both of them.

There was a long silence. Outside, the sound of traffic had become insistent. Bright daylight spilled through the gap in the curtains.

Giles took Spike's face in his hand, leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth, until he felt Spike's cool lips warm against his.

At last, he let go, smiling at Spike, who gazed back at him with lips parted and wondering eyes.

"I hope that answers your question."

*

Giles pulled in to the kerb. For a moment, he sat with the engine running, using the side mirrors to look up and down the street. There was no one in sight, and after a moment, he turned off the ignition.

The envelope of precious documents lay beside him on the front passenger seat. Giles picked it up, opened the van door and climbed down onto the pavement.

It was still light, but shadows were gathering, clustered under trees and in doorways. When Giles looked up, the blinds on Robson's flat were closed, no chink of light escaping them. All seemed peaceful, and yet...

Giles shivered. A knot of unease was coiled tight in his belly, and no amount of telling himself that the First wanted him to take Spike and the girls back to Sunnydale and therefore a Bringer attack at this juncture was very unlikely could make it go away.

He opened the back door of the van, to check its contents a final time. One cheap pinewood coffin, lined with hessian, all ready for its occupant. Spike would be provided with blankets, of course, but travelling in such a fashion would be a big test of his resolve.

Giles closed and locked the van doors, and turned to enter the flat. But as he did so, his eye was caught by a blur of movement far down the street. For a moment, he thought it was his eyes playing tricks, but then the shadow under one of the trees resolved itself into the cowled form of a Bringer.

It stood, staring in Giles's direction, as if its sightless eyes could see him. Sunset light gleamed on the blade in its hand. Then, it stepped back into the shadows and was gone again, like ink poured back into the bottle.

Giles realised he was holding his breath and let it go. All at once, the mild evening light seemed sinister and full of menace. Clutching the envelope close to his chest, he hurried off the street and up the stairs to the flat.

*

"You look like you've seen a ghost. What happened?" Spike's voice was accusing. "Bloody idiot, goin' out on your own. Should've waited till it was dark so I could've come with you."

Giles waited until they were safely inside and Spike had piled the barricade back into place before answering. Seeing the Bringer lurking outside had rattled him thoroughly- a threat, or a warning, he wasn't sure which - and he needed a moment to calm himself.

"That wouldn't have helped me if a certain song had started playing, would it?" he said, at last.

Spike frowned. "Thought you said this First bugger wants us together, if only so you can take me back to old Sunnyhell. Thought you said it wouldn't do anything to us until we get there?"

Giles put the envelope down on the hall table. "I still think that. But, as it told me itself, it has many strings to its bow. I daresay it would still have found a way to get you where it wants you, even with me out of the picture."

Spike hunched his shoulders. "S'pose. When're we goin', then?"

Giles glanced at his watch. "There's a van outside with your...er, mode of transport in it. The flight's not till ten thirty, but we should leave at once. Is everyone packed?"

Spike grimaced. "Yeah, about that. While you were out, there was this phone call, see, an' your mate Robson..."

But he was interrupted by Robson himself, looking a great deal better. Almost cheerful, in fact. He gave Spike a deprecating glance, as if to say, it's not your story to tell.

"There you are, Rupert. I have news for you. Would you mind stepping into the kitchen a moment?"

Giles glanced at Spike, who shrugged helplessly.

"Of course," Giles said, to Robson.

He followed Robson through the living room, where Molly and Annabelle were sitting together on the ottoman, flicking through a magazine, and Norah was at a small table polishing Robson's collection of brass ornaments. The bloodstains on the parquet were gone, Giles noted. In fact, the whole flat had been cleaned.

Rather a waste of time in the circumstances, perhaps, but if it had kept Norah busy, that was a good thing.

Norah gave Giles a defiant glare as he went by. Her mouth was set into a stubborn line.

The niggle of unease started up in Giles's stomach again, which only increased when Robson closed the kitchen door behind them.

"All went well, I hope?"

Giles nodded. "I have the documentation - passports, tickets, visas. Unfortunately, I also have first- hand experience that the Bringers are still around."

Robson frowned. "You saw one?"

Giles nodded. "Right outside. I think it was watching the flat. The sooner we leave here, Charles, the better."

"Yes, indeed," Robson said. Then, all in a rush, "I should tell you, though, that I shan't be coming with you."

For a moment, Giles thought he hadn't heard right. "I beg your pardon?"

Robson looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I know it means more responsibility on your shoulders, but I'm afraid I can't leave. Not now."

Giles sat down at the kitchen table. He gazed at Robson in astonishment. "But why the bloody hell not?"

He leaned forward earnestly. "It's not safe here, Charles. You said so yourself. The Bringers are outside right this very moment. It's only a matter of time before they break in again, and I doubt anything we could do would keep them out."

"I know all that," Robson said, equably. "But I had a telephone call, you see. From Nigel's mother. He's alive."

Giles stared. "De Souza's mother called you?"

Robson nodded. "He never told her about us. Said she wouldn't understand, and of course I respected his wishes and kept quiet. She thinks we're just friends, which is why she phoned me. He's in St Thomas's - unconscious and badly hurt. She needs my support, Rupert, so of course, I said I would come at once."

Giles thought of Lydia. Might she be alive too?

"What about the others?" he asked. "Does she know about any of them?"

Robson shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but since I'm staying I'll endeavour to find out."

It was on the tip of Giles's tongue to tell Robson what De Souza had done to him. To say to him that if he thought this act of kindness to his mother would make De Souza love him back, he was in for a rude awakening.

But it seemed too cruel. Not to mention dismissive of Robson's gentlemanly urge to support Mrs De Souza at a difficult time.

He must say something, though. Not least because he now understood the expression on Norah's face.

"You do realise, don't you, that if you stay, Norah will want to stay too?"

Robson grimaced. "She's already intimated as much. Perhaps it might even be better if we travel separately? She seems to have rather taken against your vampire, and she doesn't get on very well with the other two girls."

He looked faintly embarrassed. "Spike leads me to understand that you and he have...as it were, reconciled?"

"Er...yes," Giles agreed. "I suppose we have." He frowned. "Really, Charles, aren't you being rather cavalier about this? If Norah stays here, she will be unprotected apart from yourself. If - when the Bringers attack again...well, do you really want that on your conscience?"

Robson shook his head. "Of course not. Believe me, Rupert, I've tried to persuade her she should go. But she won't have it. And I really don't see you faring any better. What choice is there, short of knocking her unconscious and bundling her into the coffin with Spike?"

Giles opened his mouth, then shut it again.

It was, he realised, the same dilemma that Griffiths had faced. And just as then, there were no palatable choices. It was either force Norah to go with them against her will - and, as Robson had said, Giles wasn't sure how that was to be accomplished - or leave her, and save what he could.

"Please, Charles. I beg you to reconsider."

But Robson shook his head. "I'm sorry, Rupert. My mind's made up. In fact, even if Mrs De Souza hadn't called me, I would have stayed anyway."

"What?" Giles gaped at him."But why, man, why?"

Robson gazed at him, solemn-faced. "I'm a Watcher," he said, simply.

The words resonated inside Giles's skull. He'd heard them before, and recently too.

Of course, he thought. Griffiths.

"Robson's a Watcher," Griffiths had said, contrasting him with Giles. "Unlike you, he still believes."

"I understand it's different for you, Rupert," Robson was saying. "You have a personal relationship with the Slayer, and she needs you. But it's our duty to ascertain how many of our comrades survived the explosion, help them where possible, and pass on information to other Watchers still in the field. So one of us must stay here."

Giles thought of the Bringer in the shadows under the trees. With Spike on his way to Sunnydale, there was no reason why it should hold back.

He shook his head.

"I disagree, Charles. You'll die, and for nothing."

Robson only looked grave.

"You can leave us our passports and visas," he said. "Once I've done what I can for any other survivors and made sure that Nigel's mother will be all right, Norah and I will follow you. I must say, I'm rather looking forward to it. Never seen an actual Hellmouth."

"I'll hold you to that," Giles said, against his better judgement.

*

Giles let the blind drop. The van stood where he'd left it. No sign of any Bringers outside at the moment. They should leave while the coast was still clear, he thought. Just one thing left to do before they went.

He turned back into the room, looking from Molly and Annabelle, already standing by the door, to Norah, her hand threaded defiantly through Robson's arm. To Spike, who was staring back at him, a troubled expression on his face.

Spike thrust his hands in his pockets, and crossed the room to stand by Giles.

"Not sure I can do this," he said.

Giles frowned. Not Spike too!

"What do you mean?"

Spike glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. "Like I said last night, I can't just turn up at Buffy's house, can I? Wouldn't be right. Anyway, she'd slam the door in my face - maybe even stake me. An' she'd be right to."

"That's true," Giles agreed. "Just as well I was about to call her, isn't it?"

He reached for the phone.

Spike looked panicked. He put his hand down over the receiver. "No, please..."

"Spike." Giles looked at him. When Spike didn't move his hand, despite the others in the room, Giles leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You know we have to."

Giles ignored Robson's embarrassed little 'harumph!' and the gasps of surprise from the three girls. He ignored, too, the tittering that followed from Molly's and Annabelle's direction. His feelings for Spike weren't going anywhere, and there was a long journey ahead. Best to let them get used to it.

The phone rang several times before anyone answered it. Giles glanced at his watch. It was early in California, but still a school day. Buffy should be up, if only to get Dawn up.

"Hello?"

Buffy's voice. Giles's heart leapt at the sound. It had been so long, and he'd missed her so much.

How had he not realised that before?

"Buffy? It's Giles. How are you?"

"Hey, Giles." Buffy sounded pleased to hear him too. "I'm fine. Well, when I say fine, a lot of freaky stuff is happening. Same old, same old, I guess. How's it going with you?"

The First's mocking tones echoed through Buffy's voice, but now he heard the real thing, there was no mistaking them, Giles thought. None.

"Things are rather...er, freaky here too," he told her. "I'm catching a flight later this evening, Buffy. I shall see you tomorrow."

"You're coming back?" Buffy exclaimed. "Glad to hear it, Giles, 'cuz when I say freaky, I mean hinky and strange, and weird as all get-out. Does From beneath you, it devours mean anything to you? Evil things keep saying it to me, and it's weirding me out big-time."

The knot of unease in Giles's belly tightened. Not that Buffy's words had surprised him.

"There's a wrongness spreading through the earth," the First had said.

It hadn't lied then either.

"I'll explain everything when I get there," he told Buffy. "Also, just so you know, I won't be alone. I'll have three companions, one of whom wants to speak to you. You may be shocked when you realise who it is, and I know that talking to him will be difficult for you. But I ask you, as a favour to me, to hear him out."

"Huh!" Buffy said. "You've gotten me seriously intrigued now, Giles."

Her voice took on a note of caution. "It's not that Quentin Travers guy, is it, cuz I can do without that first thing in the morning?"

"No," Giles assured her. "It's not Travers."

He reached out as he spoke and grabbed Spike's hand in his, arresting his headlong flight away from the phone. "Here."

Spike took the handset from him. He was shaking all over, like a man in a fever. But he held the handset to his ear and took a deep breath.

"Hello, Buffy. It's me."

THE END