Out of Joint -- Chapter 7 (Part 1)
Apr. 23rd, 2005 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sharelleI wanted to post some of what I’ve been working on, even if it is just once scene. Partly to make me feel some sense of accomplishment in getting back to normal after the major laptop crash, but mostly as a thanks to the people who have been stopping by to comment on this story lately. I’d hate to leave you hanging too long while I got my act together.
Hope you like this little offering! (And, as usual, the rest can be found here.)
Big thanks again to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
makd, finder of run-on sentences and exquisite corrector of awkward punctuation. Best of luck averting that apocalypse, hon!
Disclaimer: Only in my dreams. *le sigh*
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Setting: Picks up mid-"Destiny" and goes AU from there.
Feedback: You betcha!
Out of Joint
by Sharelle
Chapter 7 – What Is and What Is Not
Rupert Giles’ first thought was of Jenny. Where had she gone? Had the creature seen her as she left? Harmed her? Touched even a hair on her head? He stood frozen, watching the vampire’s icy blue eyes crease upward, in accordance with a broad grin which, no doubt, registered the Watcher’s fear. The fact that he was quite possibly about to die was only the second idea to flash through Giles’ mind.
Giles admonished himself for his earlier boldness -- or had it been downright foolishness? -- to stay here alone for so long. After what Buffy had told them of last night’s events, he had assumed the creature to be laying low for a few days. At the very least, he never would have dreamed the vampire would show up here, of all places. Especially not so soon after a violent encounter with the Slayer, since Spike’s modus operandi had always been to engage in a period of wound-licking after such an occurrence. But then Spike had never been like most vampires -- definitely unpredictable, which was exactly why it was so dangerous to underestimate his plans.
But would those plans involve Spike killing Giles outright, or attempting to use him somehow to get to Buffy?
Giles’ third thought was that he was going to make it as bloody hard as possible for Spike to do either one.
The Watcher’s hand flew of its own volition toward the inside breast-pocket of his tweed coat, and the crucifix he always kept there. In such close proximity to danger, he knew he’d have to calculate his movements to keep them smooth and methodical. Just because the monster hadn’t made a move on him yet didn’t mean there was room for even the slightest error. Vampires could move mercurially. So, even the smallest mistake could turn deadly. However, as Giles’ fingers grasped and twitched in the empty air above his chest, he realized that a potentially deadly mistake had already been made. His heart dropped down into his stomach and his hand tightened into a fist. He had forgotten that he’d removed his coat during the tedious bout of reading and left it on the back of his chair beside the table . . . on the other side of the room.
His eyes widened in horror in the split second it took to realize his grave error, but strangely the vampire didn’t take advantage of it. Spike merely cocked his head to the side, his face splitting into an even larger feral grin, almost emitting a chuckle as he reached into the pocket of his duster and drew out an unopened box of cigarettes. He unwound the cellophane strip at the top and upended the pack in his hand, smacking it several times into the opposite palm.
Spike’s hesitation disarmed Giles for a moment, as did his casual manner. Of course, the vampire was toying with him. Spike had preternatural speed and strength on his side and he knew it, threw the fact around like so much braggadocio. But his pause also gave Giles the opportunity to remember the back pocket of his trousers, where he kept a spare weapon for emergencies just like this. Just because Spike had begun a kind of game, didn’t mean Giles planned on playing right into his hands. His fist abruptly jerked away from where it hovered over his heart and darted behind him, diving into his back pocket and whipping out a plain black rosary. It was small, but would serve its purpose. If he could keep the beast at bay long enough to get to a stake or an axe from the weapon cage, he may just make it out of here alive.
Giles gripped the religious totem tightly in his hand, allowing the train of beads to slip through his fingers until he had a grip on the small crucifix at the end. The decades of tiny orbs swayed like a pendulum beneath his fist as Giles thrust them toward Spike’s grinning face.
A face which never lost its air of smugness, even as the miniature cross hovered inches from his nose.
Spike did laugh then, a hollow and ugly sound in the Watcher’s ears. It receded into a chuckle with an abrasive snort as Spike pulled one fag out of the pack, bringing it to his mouth before addressing the Watcher again. “Easy, Rupert,” he muttered around the cigarette as it dangled, unlit, from his lips. “You keep playing with the flammables, somebody’s bound to get hurt sooner or later.” He took a small step back, to place some distance between himself and the tiny cross, then reached out and laid his finger against it, easing it to the side and away from him. Giles was transfixed for a moment, so surprised by Spike’s casual contact with the crucifix, that he didn’t fight the movement and allowed his hand to be lowered.
Spike shook his finger out a little bit as he brought it back up, wincing slightly at the burn the cross had delivered to it. The stale scent of singed flesh, which briefly hung in the air between the two men, was the only other evidence that contact with the crucifix had affected Spike at all.
Giles couldn’t hold in a breathed, “Dear lord,” as he took an alarmed step back.
Spike grinned again at the Watcher’s retreat, curled a finger around the unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip and drew it away from his mouth, holding it out as he spoke again. “You got a thing or two to learn about welcoming guests politely, mate.”
Giles froze. No sudden movements. He clenched the rosary tightly in his hand as it swayed at hip-height, ready to thrust it outward again if the vampire rushed him. “I should think it would be fairly obvious that you’re not welcome here, Spike,” he returned. “Though, from what I’ve heard, you’re not terribly keen on staying within your boundaries these days.” Giles had tried to keep his tones even and measured as though trying to soothe a rabid animal, but he couldn’t prevent the antagonistic edge from seeping into his voice as he stared into the arrogant blue eyes of the monster in the hall.
Cigarette still between his fingers, Spike placed a hand over his unbeating heart as though wounded and slumped dramatically against the doorway. “Ouch, Watcher. Now, that really hurts,” he said, feigning injury. “And after all the social niceties I tried to extend your way.”
Against his better judgment, Giles scoffed.
“Oh, yeah,” Spike grinned in affirmation, straightening his posture a bit, though continuing to lean nonchalantly against the library door. “Could'a come knocking a bit earlier, but I thought it was only polite to leave you alone while you and your pretty little bird were having your . . .” The tip of his tongue nudged against the edge of his top teeth as his smile widened. “. . . moment.”
Giles’ previous scoffing sneer slipped from his face. He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified by Spike’s apparent voyeurism, or by the fact that the creature probably now saw Giles’ relationship with Jenny as a weakness. He took a small side-step toward the weapon cage, but kept his eyes on the vampire in the doorway.
“Thought it was right considerate of me to wait for your lady friend to leave,” Spike continued, shifting against the open door to lean his back against it. “Which, by the way,” he added with definite appreciation, “gotta say, Rupes, I’m impressed. Never had the chance to really admire that one, but I must admit, woman like that . . . ,” He grinned with a nod and wide approving eyes. “You may not be the tweed-clad pill I pegged you for.”
Spike’s words left behind a swirl of fury in Giles and, without thinking, he abandoned his retreat to the weapon cage and took a bold step toward the vampire, his eyes igniting with malice. “You stay away from her, you vile fiend.”
Spike held the Watcher’s gaze for a moment, his face stony and serious in response to the man’s unspoken threat, before exploding in a snort of raucous laughter. He slid the cigarette behind his ear as he mouthed the words ‘vile fiend’ again in mocking amusement. Slowly regaining control, he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes still glinting with laughter. “Well, if I don’t rate a heavy dose of the Watcher-speak,” he chuckled. “Bully for me!” With that, he relaxed, amusement still exuding from every pore, though his blatant hilarity had died down. “Relax, pops,” Spike placated. “I’m not here to bite you, kill you, or defile your woman.”
“Why are you here, then?” Giles threw his chin up, causing the need to look down at the slightly shorter vampire before him. “As much as I’d love for Buffy to finish the job she started last night, if you’re looking for her you’re going to be disappointed. She isn’t here.”
“Not looking for the Slayer.” Spike’s features almost imperceptibly softened. “I was sort'a hoping to get your help with something.”
It was Giles’ turn to laugh, not as heartily as Spike, but every bit as mocking. It may not have been a wise move, but if the vampire claimed to need him it was possible his life wasn’t in immediate danger at this exact moment. Giles thought he may be able to use that to his advantage. “You’re not serious.”
Spike dipped his head condescendingly to the side as though addressing a child as he answered. “No, I’m quite serious. Little problem’s come up and the only bloke I can think of who knows anything about it is decidedly unavailable at the moment. And since you’re the only other chap I know with the biggest coconut on your shoulders when it comes to the magical mojo, looks like you’re my guy.”
“And you actually think I’ll help you?” Giles grinned slightly at the strange compliment. He couldn’t help it. Regardless of the fact that he was addressing a killer, this was getting more amusing by the moment.
Spike shrugged as he regarded Giles in return. He had never liked this poncey bastard, and he certainly wasn’t above making with the intimidation. Funny how the soul didn’t seem to mind when Spike allowed his tongue to sharpen with Buffy’s Watcher, as with Angel or even bloody Harris. “Thought you could use a bit of persuading before you’d make with the helping,” he said. “'Course I could just threaten you to get it. We both know you’re just an over-the-hill bookworm without the Slayer around to buttress your ass . . . .”
That seemed to have struck a nerve, and Giles’ eyes darkened. “I think at least one of us would be quite surprised at what I’m actually capable of,” he returned, almost in a growl.
Spike’s lips curled into a disturbingly knowing smile. “I’m sure that’s too true, Ripper,” he said. “Which is why I’m going to ask politely.”
Giles felt his eyes widen, against his attempts to keep a stoic and impassive countenance. That name – the old and often-disregarded name, representing a dark and equally concealed past – had tripped over Spike’s tongue as though it was nothing. But to Giles, the word slipped up under his ribs like a blade, calling to mind not only everything that had happened at the time he’d still gone by that name, but also all the damage it very nearly caused to those he now cared about the last time Ethan Rayne had appeared in Sunnydale. Buffy . . . and Jenny . . . had almost died. The fact that Spike was at all familiar with ‘Ripper’ and everything that ‘he’ represented was unsettling beyond comprehension.
To Spike, however, the name-dropping had the desired effect. He ignored Giles’ shocked expression and continued speaking without waiting for a response. “Anyway, in terms of persuasion. This favor’s sort'a mutually beneficial, I’d wager.” He nodded his head toward the inner sanctum of the library. “Thought we might talk about it for a few minutes.”
Giles straightened his shoulders. If Spike knew about Ripper, then it stood to reason the vampire had some idea of his capabilities. Strength, dark magic . . . Giles decided to use all of this to his advantage as he gathered Ripper’s confidence around him like a cloak. He glared coldly at Spike. “What makes you believe I’d have even the slightest interest in helping something like you?”
Spike cocked his head to the side again, taking note of the stony change in Giles’ features. “Look,” he said, “all I ask is that you hear me out first. That’s not too painful, is it?” He raised his scarred eyebrow. “Us being countrymen and all, one of Victoria’s children to another.”
Giles allowed a smirk to grace his lips. “Well, since I’m more of an Elizabethan, I’d say you’re pushing the kindred ties, Spike. What do you want?”
Spike gave Giles an appreciative smile in response, as though appraising a worthy opponent. “Touché, Watcher,” he said.
Giles didn’t seem as receptive of Spike’s assessment of him and kept his ground as he repeated, “I said: what do you want?”
Spike abruptly pushed himself away from the door and straightened to his full height, placing his hands on his hips as he again addressed the Watcher from the other side of the doorway. “Well, for starters, I don’t fancy standing in the hall all night. Wouldn’t turn down an invitation to come in.” He grinned. “So can I?”
Giles’ face suddenly came over with a sense of questioning wonder. It had only just dawned on him that the vampire hadn’t once passed the threshold of the library. Perhaps whatever force had allowed him to enter Buffy’s house uninvited now worked in reverse for public facilities. Other vampires had, of course, entered the library, but perhaps there was something now keeping Spike at bay, and it hadn’t been the miniature crucifix Giles still clutched tightly in this fist.
He decided to test it. Pulling himself up with a bit more confidence at the prospect of an invisible barrier between them, Giles raised an eyebrow and said, “I don’t know. Can you?”
As though waiting for this, Spike tilted his head nonchalantly. “Well, yeah, I can,” he announced, bending forward at the waist and ducking his upper torso inside the room, an action which caused Giles to stiffen at the reality of the lack of protection now available to him. From his partially bowed position, Spike tilted his face up to look Giles directly in the eyes. “You may practically live here, Watcher, but it’s still a public place. Open to all knowledge-seekers. Like myself.” He straightened upright again, but never broke eye contact with the other man. “Just trying to be polite is all. I find a truce works much better when there’s at least some element of trust involved.”
Giles took a step back and instinctively held the rosary out in front of him again. “Is that what you think this is?” he asked, regarding Spike incredulously through narrowed eyes. “I think we should be quite clear on the fact that I do not trust you, Spike. Nor will I ever have any reason to.”
Spike’s features darkened and for the first time since appearing in the doorway, his voice took on a low and dangerous tone that sent icy ripples down Giles’ spine. “Believe me, Rupert; we’re transparently clear on that one.” His eyes flashed with dark reminiscence, calling up memories that Giles didn’t even have yet . . . memories of the Watcher and a certain demon-slaying principal plotting his demise. “Feeling’s more than mutual.”
The two stood there, still as duelists, as the words hung between them. Then Spike suddenly seemed to regain a bit of his previous devil-may-care attitude. “However,” he said, “seeing as how I’m in a bit of a bind, I haven’t got much of a choice, do I? Tell you what,” he added, crossing his arms over his chest again as a sign of backing off, “show of good faith and what-not, I won’t cross this line until you tell me to.” He dragged the toe of his boot across the threshold of the library.
“Then you’ll be waiting out there a very long time,” Giles replied offhandedly.
“Come on, Watcher,” Spike coaxed with building annoyance. “As it is, nothing’s keeping me out here except for my word. And honestly, if I’d really wanted to eat you I could have bloody well done it long before you even knew I was around. I’m here because it's important, and I’m willing to play on your terms. All I’m asking is that you hear me out.”
Giles stood thoughtfully in the vestibule of the library, absorbing the vampire’s logic. He wasn’t even sure why he was considering it. Perhaps because, for all Spike’s talk about playing things according to Giles’ terms, the ball was actually in the vampire’s court. The way things stood now, Giles was alone, unarmed, and practically naked to an attack. His only choice was to play along until he found out what Spike wanted, or until Willow and Xander returned as they had planned.
But one thing was certain: Spike had said Giles could govern the rules here. And Giles was going to take full advantage of that claim.
“Fine,” he replied. “I’ll listen to whatever absurd proposal you have, Spike, but before you enter here I ask for one thing.”
“Fire away, Rupes.”
Giles squared his shoulders and made his request. “I ask that you allow me a weapon first.”
To Giles’ great surprise, Spike simply shrugged and replied, “Fine. Arm yourself to the bloody teeth if that’s your fancy. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
Giles narrowed his eyes at the vampire in the hallway and backed away, cutting in a diagonal toward the supply cage and pulling the door open. He risked one last confused look at the creature before diving into the metal cabinet where the weapons were stored and rapidly pulling out whatever he laid his hands on – two stakes and a double-edged hand axe. He would have preferred the crossbow, as it would have permitted him to keep a greater distance from the vampire, but it wasn’t readily loaded and Giles was unsure as to how much time he had here. As a substitute, he pocketed a bottle of holy water instead, then dashed out of the cage, weapons in hand, and faced the doorway in a battle-ready stance.
What he saw there shocked him even more. Giles had fully expected the vampire to rush into the room as soon as his back had been turned. He’d even imagined finding Spike breathing down his neck as he’d floundered for weapons. Or maybe that he would have vanished completely; hiding somewhere in the library stacks, waiting for the Watcher to drop his guard before he struck. What Giles hadn’t expected was to discover Spike still standing in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet, drumming the fingers of one hand against the opposite arm, and contemplating the watermarks on the ceiling.
The thought that it probably wasn’t too late to go back for the crossbow niggled distantly at the back of Giles’ mind.
“Uh, . . . .” Giles was at such a loss, his words completely evaporated. The small noise attracted Spike’s attention, however, and he lowered his gaze from the ceiling to meet Giles’ eyes again.
He nodded appreciatively, regarding the axe. “Good choice, Watcher. I’m a bit of a blade man myself. You ready, then?”
“I . . . ,” Giles floundered, but then he nodded. “Er, yes.”
“Right, then,” Spike concurred. “Give me two seconds.” And he disappeared from the doorway, back into the shadowed hall. The door swung shut behind him.
Giles stood staring at the empty space Spike had just vacated, thinking that if they hadn’t deduced there was something seriously strange about that vampire already, he could have made an iron-clad case for it now. For a moment, Giles longed for a spot of scotch. There was no way this evening could get any stranger.
Then, inevitably, it did just that.
A curious scratching and clicking sound suddenly came from the hallway, like tiny pieces of gravel being dropped rhythmically onto the smooth surface of the floor. Or a scampering rodent. Giles had just enough time to wonder what the bloody hell Spike was doing out there and get his axe ready, just in case, when the door swung back open and a tiny creature scuttled into room, Spike sweeping behind in its wake.
Giles jerked backward for a moment as he watched the thing dash forward, occasionally losing its legs out from under it as it slid awkwardly across the slippery bare floor, its tiny clawed nails clicking against the linoleum as it ran. The Watcher’s first instinct was for his brain to list the possible types of demon Spike may have set loose on him. But after focusing, and a considerable amount of astonished blinking, he saw that the creature wasn’t a demon at all. It was, in fact . . . .
A puppy? “Good lord.” The axe lowered limply to Giles’ side.
He glanced up at Spike, who continued to keep his distance and his amused demeanor as the puppy sniffed first around Giles’ feet, then wandered off behind the library counter. “What . . . ,” Giles breathed, “. . . in God’s name is going on here? What is that?”
Spike raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "What is it? Thought you worked in a library, mate." Then he shrugged. "Call it a sort of peace offering, Rupes. Dru ate its owner, so I thought maybe you . . . ."
Giles watched the small brindle animal as it reemerged from behind the counter, chasing and pouncing after a large dust mote as if it were a rubber ball. “Spike, I realize it’s been some time since you – er, – interacted with humans, but unlike vampires we do not, as a general rule, eat domesticated animals.”
Spike’s face screwed up in what looked suspiciously like disgust. “I didn’t bring the mongrel here because I thought you were feeling peckish, Watcher. I know it’s customary for you lot to talk shop over food, but that,” he said, indicating the dog, “is not a research snack. That is just a sign of good faith.”
“That . . . ,” Giles began, trying to wrap his brain around the strangeness that had wandered into his library tonight.
“. . . is Sunshine,” Spike finished for him as the puppy renewed its fascination with Giles’ feet and began to nibble at the worn leather of his shoes. “And now it’s yours. Good thing, too, because I’m not being held responsible for any mess it might have made in that bloody broom closet while you were mucking around with me out here.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Spike seemed to get angry at that. “It’s a sodding peace offering, Rupert,” he repeated, exasperated. “Figured you’d need some proof that I wasn’t indulging in the blood of the innocent while coming to you for help. I mean, I didn’t eat the thing, did I? And believe me, it was no easy task, sittin’ around the factory all day with no other means of scaring up a decent meal. Thought it might at least count for something. Besides,” he added with a roguish smile, lifting up a large styrofoam container and placing it on the counter, "been ordering take-out quite a bit lately."
“What makes you think I’d want . . . this animal?” Giles asked, his confusion anything but abated.
Spike rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “You don’t take it, Dru’s just gonna end up eating it, Watcher. Aren’t we all about helping the bloody helpless, here?”
“We?”
“Besides,” Spike mused, “I figured it was about time the Scooby Gang had itself a real canine mascot.”
* * *
To be continued . . .
Hope you like this little offering! (And, as usual, the rest can be found here.)
Big thanks again to
makd, finder of run-on sentences and exquisite corrector of awkward punctuation. Best of luck averting that apocalypse, hon! Disclaimer: Only in my dreams. *le sigh*
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Setting: Picks up mid-"Destiny" and goes AU from there.
Feedback: You betcha!
by Sharelle
Chapter 7 – What Is and What Is Not
Rupert Giles’ first thought was of Jenny. Where had she gone? Had the creature seen her as she left? Harmed her? Touched even a hair on her head? He stood frozen, watching the vampire’s icy blue eyes crease upward, in accordance with a broad grin which, no doubt, registered the Watcher’s fear. The fact that he was quite possibly about to die was only the second idea to flash through Giles’ mind.
Giles admonished himself for his earlier boldness -- or had it been downright foolishness? -- to stay here alone for so long. After what Buffy had told them of last night’s events, he had assumed the creature to be laying low for a few days. At the very least, he never would have dreamed the vampire would show up here, of all places. Especially not so soon after a violent encounter with the Slayer, since Spike’s modus operandi had always been to engage in a period of wound-licking after such an occurrence. But then Spike had never been like most vampires -- definitely unpredictable, which was exactly why it was so dangerous to underestimate his plans.
But would those plans involve Spike killing Giles outright, or attempting to use him somehow to get to Buffy?
Giles’ third thought was that he was going to make it as bloody hard as possible for Spike to do either one.
The Watcher’s hand flew of its own volition toward the inside breast-pocket of his tweed coat, and the crucifix he always kept there. In such close proximity to danger, he knew he’d have to calculate his movements to keep them smooth and methodical. Just because the monster hadn’t made a move on him yet didn’t mean there was room for even the slightest error. Vampires could move mercurially. So, even the smallest mistake could turn deadly. However, as Giles’ fingers grasped and twitched in the empty air above his chest, he realized that a potentially deadly mistake had already been made. His heart dropped down into his stomach and his hand tightened into a fist. He had forgotten that he’d removed his coat during the tedious bout of reading and left it on the back of his chair beside the table . . . on the other side of the room.
His eyes widened in horror in the split second it took to realize his grave error, but strangely the vampire didn’t take advantage of it. Spike merely cocked his head to the side, his face splitting into an even larger feral grin, almost emitting a chuckle as he reached into the pocket of his duster and drew out an unopened box of cigarettes. He unwound the cellophane strip at the top and upended the pack in his hand, smacking it several times into the opposite palm.
Spike’s hesitation disarmed Giles for a moment, as did his casual manner. Of course, the vampire was toying with him. Spike had preternatural speed and strength on his side and he knew it, threw the fact around like so much braggadocio. But his pause also gave Giles the opportunity to remember the back pocket of his trousers, where he kept a spare weapon for emergencies just like this. Just because Spike had begun a kind of game, didn’t mean Giles planned on playing right into his hands. His fist abruptly jerked away from where it hovered over his heart and darted behind him, diving into his back pocket and whipping out a plain black rosary. It was small, but would serve its purpose. If he could keep the beast at bay long enough to get to a stake or an axe from the weapon cage, he may just make it out of here alive.
Giles gripped the religious totem tightly in his hand, allowing the train of beads to slip through his fingers until he had a grip on the small crucifix at the end. The decades of tiny orbs swayed like a pendulum beneath his fist as Giles thrust them toward Spike’s grinning face.
A face which never lost its air of smugness, even as the miniature cross hovered inches from his nose.
Spike did laugh then, a hollow and ugly sound in the Watcher’s ears. It receded into a chuckle with an abrasive snort as Spike pulled one fag out of the pack, bringing it to his mouth before addressing the Watcher again. “Easy, Rupert,” he muttered around the cigarette as it dangled, unlit, from his lips. “You keep playing with the flammables, somebody’s bound to get hurt sooner or later.” He took a small step back, to place some distance between himself and the tiny cross, then reached out and laid his finger against it, easing it to the side and away from him. Giles was transfixed for a moment, so surprised by Spike’s casual contact with the crucifix, that he didn’t fight the movement and allowed his hand to be lowered.
Spike shook his finger out a little bit as he brought it back up, wincing slightly at the burn the cross had delivered to it. The stale scent of singed flesh, which briefly hung in the air between the two men, was the only other evidence that contact with the crucifix had affected Spike at all.
Giles couldn’t hold in a breathed, “Dear lord,” as he took an alarmed step back.
Spike grinned again at the Watcher’s retreat, curled a finger around the unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip and drew it away from his mouth, holding it out as he spoke again. “You got a thing or two to learn about welcoming guests politely, mate.”
Giles froze. No sudden movements. He clenched the rosary tightly in his hand as it swayed at hip-height, ready to thrust it outward again if the vampire rushed him. “I should think it would be fairly obvious that you’re not welcome here, Spike,” he returned. “Though, from what I’ve heard, you’re not terribly keen on staying within your boundaries these days.” Giles had tried to keep his tones even and measured as though trying to soothe a rabid animal, but he couldn’t prevent the antagonistic edge from seeping into his voice as he stared into the arrogant blue eyes of the monster in the hall.
Cigarette still between his fingers, Spike placed a hand over his unbeating heart as though wounded and slumped dramatically against the doorway. “Ouch, Watcher. Now, that really hurts,” he said, feigning injury. “And after all the social niceties I tried to extend your way.”
Against his better judgment, Giles scoffed.
“Oh, yeah,” Spike grinned in affirmation, straightening his posture a bit, though continuing to lean nonchalantly against the library door. “Could'a come knocking a bit earlier, but I thought it was only polite to leave you alone while you and your pretty little bird were having your . . .” The tip of his tongue nudged against the edge of his top teeth as his smile widened. “. . . moment.”
Giles’ previous scoffing sneer slipped from his face. He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified by Spike’s apparent voyeurism, or by the fact that the creature probably now saw Giles’ relationship with Jenny as a weakness. He took a small side-step toward the weapon cage, but kept his eyes on the vampire in the doorway.
“Thought it was right considerate of me to wait for your lady friend to leave,” Spike continued, shifting against the open door to lean his back against it. “Which, by the way,” he added with definite appreciation, “gotta say, Rupes, I’m impressed. Never had the chance to really admire that one, but I must admit, woman like that . . . ,” He grinned with a nod and wide approving eyes. “You may not be the tweed-clad pill I pegged you for.”
Spike’s words left behind a swirl of fury in Giles and, without thinking, he abandoned his retreat to the weapon cage and took a bold step toward the vampire, his eyes igniting with malice. “You stay away from her, you vile fiend.”
Spike held the Watcher’s gaze for a moment, his face stony and serious in response to the man’s unspoken threat, before exploding in a snort of raucous laughter. He slid the cigarette behind his ear as he mouthed the words ‘vile fiend’ again in mocking amusement. Slowly regaining control, he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes still glinting with laughter. “Well, if I don’t rate a heavy dose of the Watcher-speak,” he chuckled. “Bully for me!” With that, he relaxed, amusement still exuding from every pore, though his blatant hilarity had died down. “Relax, pops,” Spike placated. “I’m not here to bite you, kill you, or defile your woman.”
“Why are you here, then?” Giles threw his chin up, causing the need to look down at the slightly shorter vampire before him. “As much as I’d love for Buffy to finish the job she started last night, if you’re looking for her you’re going to be disappointed. She isn’t here.”
“Not looking for the Slayer.” Spike’s features almost imperceptibly softened. “I was sort'a hoping to get your help with something.”
It was Giles’ turn to laugh, not as heartily as Spike, but every bit as mocking. It may not have been a wise move, but if the vampire claimed to need him it was possible his life wasn’t in immediate danger at this exact moment. Giles thought he may be able to use that to his advantage. “You’re not serious.”
Spike dipped his head condescendingly to the side as though addressing a child as he answered. “No, I’m quite serious. Little problem’s come up and the only bloke I can think of who knows anything about it is decidedly unavailable at the moment. And since you’re the only other chap I know with the biggest coconut on your shoulders when it comes to the magical mojo, looks like you’re my guy.”
“And you actually think I’ll help you?” Giles grinned slightly at the strange compliment. He couldn’t help it. Regardless of the fact that he was addressing a killer, this was getting more amusing by the moment.
Spike shrugged as he regarded Giles in return. He had never liked this poncey bastard, and he certainly wasn’t above making with the intimidation. Funny how the soul didn’t seem to mind when Spike allowed his tongue to sharpen with Buffy’s Watcher, as with Angel or even bloody Harris. “Thought you could use a bit of persuading before you’d make with the helping,” he said. “'Course I could just threaten you to get it. We both know you’re just an over-the-hill bookworm without the Slayer around to buttress your ass . . . .”
That seemed to have struck a nerve, and Giles’ eyes darkened. “I think at least one of us would be quite surprised at what I’m actually capable of,” he returned, almost in a growl.
Spike’s lips curled into a disturbingly knowing smile. “I’m sure that’s too true, Ripper,” he said. “Which is why I’m going to ask politely.”
Giles felt his eyes widen, against his attempts to keep a stoic and impassive countenance. That name – the old and often-disregarded name, representing a dark and equally concealed past – had tripped over Spike’s tongue as though it was nothing. But to Giles, the word slipped up under his ribs like a blade, calling to mind not only everything that had happened at the time he’d still gone by that name, but also all the damage it very nearly caused to those he now cared about the last time Ethan Rayne had appeared in Sunnydale. Buffy . . . and Jenny . . . had almost died. The fact that Spike was at all familiar with ‘Ripper’ and everything that ‘he’ represented was unsettling beyond comprehension.
To Spike, however, the name-dropping had the desired effect. He ignored Giles’ shocked expression and continued speaking without waiting for a response. “Anyway, in terms of persuasion. This favor’s sort'a mutually beneficial, I’d wager.” He nodded his head toward the inner sanctum of the library. “Thought we might talk about it for a few minutes.”
Giles straightened his shoulders. If Spike knew about Ripper, then it stood to reason the vampire had some idea of his capabilities. Strength, dark magic . . . Giles decided to use all of this to his advantage as he gathered Ripper’s confidence around him like a cloak. He glared coldly at Spike. “What makes you believe I’d have even the slightest interest in helping something like you?”
Spike cocked his head to the side again, taking note of the stony change in Giles’ features. “Look,” he said, “all I ask is that you hear me out first. That’s not too painful, is it?” He raised his scarred eyebrow. “Us being countrymen and all, one of Victoria’s children to another.”
Giles allowed a smirk to grace his lips. “Well, since I’m more of an Elizabethan, I’d say you’re pushing the kindred ties, Spike. What do you want?”
Spike gave Giles an appreciative smile in response, as though appraising a worthy opponent. “Touché, Watcher,” he said.
Giles didn’t seem as receptive of Spike’s assessment of him and kept his ground as he repeated, “I said: what do you want?”
Spike abruptly pushed himself away from the door and straightened to his full height, placing his hands on his hips as he again addressed the Watcher from the other side of the doorway. “Well, for starters, I don’t fancy standing in the hall all night. Wouldn’t turn down an invitation to come in.” He grinned. “So can I?”
Giles’ face suddenly came over with a sense of questioning wonder. It had only just dawned on him that the vampire hadn’t once passed the threshold of the library. Perhaps whatever force had allowed him to enter Buffy’s house uninvited now worked in reverse for public facilities. Other vampires had, of course, entered the library, but perhaps there was something now keeping Spike at bay, and it hadn’t been the miniature crucifix Giles still clutched tightly in this fist.
He decided to test it. Pulling himself up with a bit more confidence at the prospect of an invisible barrier between them, Giles raised an eyebrow and said, “I don’t know. Can you?”
As though waiting for this, Spike tilted his head nonchalantly. “Well, yeah, I can,” he announced, bending forward at the waist and ducking his upper torso inside the room, an action which caused Giles to stiffen at the reality of the lack of protection now available to him. From his partially bowed position, Spike tilted his face up to look Giles directly in the eyes. “You may practically live here, Watcher, but it’s still a public place. Open to all knowledge-seekers. Like myself.” He straightened upright again, but never broke eye contact with the other man. “Just trying to be polite is all. I find a truce works much better when there’s at least some element of trust involved.”
Giles took a step back and instinctively held the rosary out in front of him again. “Is that what you think this is?” he asked, regarding Spike incredulously through narrowed eyes. “I think we should be quite clear on the fact that I do not trust you, Spike. Nor will I ever have any reason to.”
Spike’s features darkened and for the first time since appearing in the doorway, his voice took on a low and dangerous tone that sent icy ripples down Giles’ spine. “Believe me, Rupert; we’re transparently clear on that one.” His eyes flashed with dark reminiscence, calling up memories that Giles didn’t even have yet . . . memories of the Watcher and a certain demon-slaying principal plotting his demise. “Feeling’s more than mutual.”
The two stood there, still as duelists, as the words hung between them. Then Spike suddenly seemed to regain a bit of his previous devil-may-care attitude. “However,” he said, “seeing as how I’m in a bit of a bind, I haven’t got much of a choice, do I? Tell you what,” he added, crossing his arms over his chest again as a sign of backing off, “show of good faith and what-not, I won’t cross this line until you tell me to.” He dragged the toe of his boot across the threshold of the library.
“Then you’ll be waiting out there a very long time,” Giles replied offhandedly.
“Come on, Watcher,” Spike coaxed with building annoyance. “As it is, nothing’s keeping me out here except for my word. And honestly, if I’d really wanted to eat you I could have bloody well done it long before you even knew I was around. I’m here because it's important, and I’m willing to play on your terms. All I’m asking is that you hear me out.”
Giles stood thoughtfully in the vestibule of the library, absorbing the vampire’s logic. He wasn’t even sure why he was considering it. Perhaps because, for all Spike’s talk about playing things according to Giles’ terms, the ball was actually in the vampire’s court. The way things stood now, Giles was alone, unarmed, and practically naked to an attack. His only choice was to play along until he found out what Spike wanted, or until Willow and Xander returned as they had planned.
But one thing was certain: Spike had said Giles could govern the rules here. And Giles was going to take full advantage of that claim.
“Fine,” he replied. “I’ll listen to whatever absurd proposal you have, Spike, but before you enter here I ask for one thing.”
“Fire away, Rupes.”
Giles squared his shoulders and made his request. “I ask that you allow me a weapon first.”
To Giles’ great surprise, Spike simply shrugged and replied, “Fine. Arm yourself to the bloody teeth if that’s your fancy. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
Giles narrowed his eyes at the vampire in the hallway and backed away, cutting in a diagonal toward the supply cage and pulling the door open. He risked one last confused look at the creature before diving into the metal cabinet where the weapons were stored and rapidly pulling out whatever he laid his hands on – two stakes and a double-edged hand axe. He would have preferred the crossbow, as it would have permitted him to keep a greater distance from the vampire, but it wasn’t readily loaded and Giles was unsure as to how much time he had here. As a substitute, he pocketed a bottle of holy water instead, then dashed out of the cage, weapons in hand, and faced the doorway in a battle-ready stance.
What he saw there shocked him even more. Giles had fully expected the vampire to rush into the room as soon as his back had been turned. He’d even imagined finding Spike breathing down his neck as he’d floundered for weapons. Or maybe that he would have vanished completely; hiding somewhere in the library stacks, waiting for the Watcher to drop his guard before he struck. What Giles hadn’t expected was to discover Spike still standing in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet, drumming the fingers of one hand against the opposite arm, and contemplating the watermarks on the ceiling.
The thought that it probably wasn’t too late to go back for the crossbow niggled distantly at the back of Giles’ mind.
“Uh, . . . .” Giles was at such a loss, his words completely evaporated. The small noise attracted Spike’s attention, however, and he lowered his gaze from the ceiling to meet Giles’ eyes again.
He nodded appreciatively, regarding the axe. “Good choice, Watcher. I’m a bit of a blade man myself. You ready, then?”
“I . . . ,” Giles floundered, but then he nodded. “Er, yes.”
“Right, then,” Spike concurred. “Give me two seconds.” And he disappeared from the doorway, back into the shadowed hall. The door swung shut behind him.
Giles stood staring at the empty space Spike had just vacated, thinking that if they hadn’t deduced there was something seriously strange about that vampire already, he could have made an iron-clad case for it now. For a moment, Giles longed for a spot of scotch. There was no way this evening could get any stranger.
Then, inevitably, it did just that.
A curious scratching and clicking sound suddenly came from the hallway, like tiny pieces of gravel being dropped rhythmically onto the smooth surface of the floor. Or a scampering rodent. Giles had just enough time to wonder what the bloody hell Spike was doing out there and get his axe ready, just in case, when the door swung back open and a tiny creature scuttled into room, Spike sweeping behind in its wake.
Giles jerked backward for a moment as he watched the thing dash forward, occasionally losing its legs out from under it as it slid awkwardly across the slippery bare floor, its tiny clawed nails clicking against the linoleum as it ran. The Watcher’s first instinct was for his brain to list the possible types of demon Spike may have set loose on him. But after focusing, and a considerable amount of astonished blinking, he saw that the creature wasn’t a demon at all. It was, in fact . . . .
A puppy? “Good lord.” The axe lowered limply to Giles’ side.
He glanced up at Spike, who continued to keep his distance and his amused demeanor as the puppy sniffed first around Giles’ feet, then wandered off behind the library counter. “What . . . ,” Giles breathed, “. . . in God’s name is going on here? What is that?”
Spike raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "What is it? Thought you worked in a library, mate." Then he shrugged. "Call it a sort of peace offering, Rupes. Dru ate its owner, so I thought maybe you . . . ."
Giles watched the small brindle animal as it reemerged from behind the counter, chasing and pouncing after a large dust mote as if it were a rubber ball. “Spike, I realize it’s been some time since you – er, – interacted with humans, but unlike vampires we do not, as a general rule, eat domesticated animals.”
Spike’s face screwed up in what looked suspiciously like disgust. “I didn’t bring the mongrel here because I thought you were feeling peckish, Watcher. I know it’s customary for you lot to talk shop over food, but that,” he said, indicating the dog, “is not a research snack. That is just a sign of good faith.”
“That . . . ,” Giles began, trying to wrap his brain around the strangeness that had wandered into his library tonight.
“. . . is Sunshine,” Spike finished for him as the puppy renewed its fascination with Giles’ feet and began to nibble at the worn leather of his shoes. “And now it’s yours. Good thing, too, because I’m not being held responsible for any mess it might have made in that bloody broom closet while you were mucking around with me out here.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Spike seemed to get angry at that. “It’s a sodding peace offering, Rupert,” he repeated, exasperated. “Figured you’d need some proof that I wasn’t indulging in the blood of the innocent while coming to you for help. I mean, I didn’t eat the thing, did I? And believe me, it was no easy task, sittin’ around the factory all day with no other means of scaring up a decent meal. Thought it might at least count for something. Besides,” he added with a roguish smile, lifting up a large styrofoam container and placing it on the counter, "been ordering take-out quite a bit lately."
“What makes you think I’d want . . . this animal?” Giles asked, his confusion anything but abated.
Spike rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “You don’t take it, Dru’s just gonna end up eating it, Watcher. Aren’t we all about helping the bloody helpless, here?”
“We?”
“Besides,” Spike mused, “I figured it was about time the Scooby Gang had itself a real canine mascot.”
To be continued . . .
