Out of Joint -- Chapter 9 (Part 3)

[sharelle]

I was planning to finish the remainder of Chapter 9 in one larger post. However, the entire month of September (aka: the start of the academic year) is going be supremely busy for me as well as for my beta. Therefore, since Chapter 10 will be a bit longer in coming, I thought I'd space out the last two scenes of this chapter.

Hope y'all can be patient with me -- first year teaching in a brand-spankin'-new school, after all. *G* (I do have much more written, however – at least through the beginning of Chapter 13.)

Thanks, as always, to makd for being stupendous.

Previous chapter are here.



(Chapter 9 – Part 3)

* * *

The Council informed Giles that he should expect a fax with the information they'd been able to gather at some point during the next day. Upon learning this, Rupert Giles hadn't ventured very far from his home – not even to go to work. In fact, he'd practically been confined to his flat all day.

The previous night Buffy returned to the library and announced Spike's stay of execution until they learned more. Giles then informed everyone that he would call them with an update. Then, depending on when the Council's fax arrived, they would either meet at Giles' home that night or the following day at the library.

The conversation with Quentin Travers last night had been difficult and Giles was forced to be unintentionally evasive to his superior on the phone. Travers had been very interested in where Giles had acquired his information. However, Giles knew if he let it slip that the data regarding this Shanshu Prophecy and the Cup of Perpetual Torment had actually come from a vampire, there wasn't any way the Council would release what they knew – if they knew anything at all.

Unfortunately, when the fax finally came, Giles was disappointed; the Council didn't have much more information than he'd already gathered – which wasn't a great deal. What they were able to send seemed immaterial at best – and none of it about the prophecy Spike had described. However, Giles wasn't certain if he was more upset at the idea that this mysterious prophecy may not exist after all, or at the fact that he had obviously been duped by Spike for some unknown reason. Tricked into following a paper trail toward a mere dead end. Was the vampire trying to distract him? What could he possibly gain by leading them on a wild goose chase?

There was, however, that one thing . . . . But – Giles shook his head – that one thing could have been discovered by a bit of research on Spike's part. Not easy research, but still, it certainly wouldn't do to underestimate the vampire's determination – or, apparently, his sources.

As twilight dawned, Giles picked up the phone. He was halfway through dialing Buffy's number when there came a soft knocking at his front door. Giles replaced the phone's handset into its cradle and walked to the door, opening it only a crack. He was both momentarily startled, yet somehow unsurprised, at who stood cross-armed on his stoop.

"Spike," he said long-sufferingly. "Didn't you make it clear that we were to come and find you when we had some information?"

The vampire smirked. "And so you did, Watcher. Hasn't lost her touch for threatening, your Slayer."

Giles rolled his eyes. "For all the good that it apparently did."

"I would have come by sooner," Spike went on, ignoring him, "but I had to stop by the factory this afternoon and make an appearance for Angelus and Dru. They don't know about my time-share in the cemetery, you know."

"And here I was, wondering."

"So?" Spike raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Anything, yet?"

"Enough," Giles replied. "Enough to satisfy me, anyway."

Spike cocked his head impatiently. "Well?" he asked. "Let's have it. What did your Council have to say about the Shanshu?"

Giles' mouth curled complacently. "Nothing," he said.

The vampire looked legitimately thunderstruck. "What?"

Giles opened the door fully, stepping forward, as close as he could to the invisible barrier that kept the beast outside at bay. "I said, 'nothing.' Not a prophecy, not a paragraph, not a bloody footnote. According to the Council's records, your vampire-centric prediction does not exist. Which means our dealings together are officially over."

Giles had to hand it to Spike. He looked genuinely shocked. "That's . . . ," he breathed. "That's not possible."

"Oh, I assure you it's quite possible," Giles replied, his expression cold. "And while I don't know the details behind whatever scheme you may have been concocting, I can also assure you that we have definitively put an end to it."

Spike's eyes were averted; he didn't seem to be paying attention. In fact, he appeared to be staring blankly at a corner of the doorframe. "There's got to be a mistake," he finally muttered.

Giles shrugged matter-of-factly. "Then the mistake was yours. Don't make another one by wearing out your welcome." He moved to close the door.

He felt a sudden resistance against it as Spike reached out at the last moment and caught it before it latched. He managed to push the door open a few inches to meet Giles' eyes again. The vampire's were oddly pleading. "You don't get it, Rupert. Your info's got to be wrong. You have to check it again."

Giles' face darkened. "The only thing that has to happen, Spike," he warned, "is for your hand to be removed from my door before I remove it for you. I fulfilled my end of your absurd bargain, and I found nothing. That means we have nothing further to discuss. I can only hope that the next time I hear your name it is in the same sentence with the words 'staked' and 'finally'." He pushed on the door.

"No!" Spike insisted in a growl, keeping his hand immobile and his eyes nearly flashing gold. "Prophecy's real, Rupes, I've seen it! I've been in a bloody group reading of the thing – I know it exists. It has to. It's the whole reason I'm sodding here."

"And now," Giles returned, "you are leaving. Goodbye, Spike." He slammed the door all the way and stalked back into his apartment to call Buffy. He had no sooner reached the phone when a loud banging rattled the door again.

"Bloody hell." Giles straightened his glasses and marched back toward the entrance of his flat. He detoured on the way, stopping at his weapons chest and grabbing a stake. With the weapon gripped tightly in his hand, he raised it high as he flung the door open. "Right now, you're making yourself a very appealing target," he growled.

The vampire stood stock-still in the doorway. He met Giles' hostile gaze with stony eyes. "What if I could prove it?" he asked.

"I don't see how."

Spike looked like a person attempting to keep a heavy reign on his patience. "I told you that I've seen the prophecy, Giles," he said evenly. "I told you that I met a Watcher who's heard of it. The only way I figure that's possible . . . is if your Council just hasn't learned about it yet. And . . . ," He paused a moment before finishing. ". . . I may have an explanation for that after all. Didn't tell you before because I didn't think you'd buy it."

"There's very little I would from you," Giles replied, still gripping the stake. "At least in a time span of the next million years."

"Million's a little long," Spike said. "But I think just shy of six might be the lucky number."

"Number of what?"

"Years," Spike answered. "In relation to the prophecy in question."

Giles was incredulous. "So you learned about this prophecy-that-wasn't six years ag—"

"From now," Spike interrupted. He released a heavy sigh and placed his hands on his hips. "Almost six years from now."

Giles blinked several times, however the stake in his hand did not waver. "Do you have any idea how ludicrous that sounds, Spike?" he asked.

"Try having to say it, Watcher," Spike muttered in reply. "Doesn't feel any better. But it doesn't make it any less true. In about six years I learn about this Shanshu Prophecy, I fight Angel for a swig from this golden-y Cup of Perpetual Torment, and now here I am on your doorstep, hoping to find a way to save the world."

"But if you're here," Giles challenged, "where is the Spike who was still in a wheelchair?"

Spike held up a finger. "For the record, Rupes, I was already starting to get better at this point; just didn't want Angel and Dru to know. But to answer your question, I'm not sure. I know a fat lot about parallels and paradoxes and continuums, but I've seen enough to know that it's a bad scene to run into yourself – Star Trek reruns, among . . . other things. Haven't seen the other 'me' yet, though. It's pretty weird, truth be told."

Giles glanced suspiciously at a pile of papers on the table behind him before turning back to Spike. "You have to leave," he said abruptly and reached for the door.

"Whoa!" Spike caught it again before it shut him out a second time. "That's all you have to say?"

"At this point, Spike, I'm not certain I believe enough of what you've told me to warrant continuing this conversation," Giles returned. "There is, however, something I should check in order to prove—"

"Sod your checking," Spike growled. "I'll prove it right now. Answer a question, Watcher: Is there anyone, anyone in the world, who can give a vamp access to your flat?" His gaze bore directly into Giles' eyes. "Besides you?"

Giles straightened, standing a step away from the door, looking defiant. "No," he said sharply.

"S' what I figured," Spike replied. And he drew himself up, looked the Watcher dead in the face, and stepped forward. Without a twitch, a pause, or – most importantly – an invitation, the vampire strode uninhibited through whatever mystical barrier granted human safety from those of his ilk, and stood before Rupert Giles in his own foyer.

"Dear God," was all the Watcher could manage as his stake clattered involuntarily to the floor.

* * *

To be continued . . .