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Out of Joint -- Chapter 8 (Part 1)
Here is the first of what will probably be three sections of Chapter 8. Thanks again to the wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
makd, especially with this chapter, which had indeed left me with one or two headaches. (I decided to axe that awkward part I mentioned. I think it sounds better this way.) All the best in the coming days; I'll be thinking of you, dear.
Previous Chapters
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Setting: Picks up mid-"Destiny" and goes AU from there.
Feedback: Delightful, delicious, de-lovely.
Out of Joint
by Sharelle
Chapter 8 – Catch-22
Xander Harris sighed heavily as he walked beside Willow. He hated getting into arguments with his best friend. And the latest one had the makings of a real no-win situation.
"Will, it's not that I don't think astronauts can be all technological and badass," he reiterated as they pulled open the double-doors and entered the school, making their way toward the Sunnydale High School Library. "It's just that cavemen had that raw primal energy thing going on." He pounded a gorilla-like fist into his chest. "Manly men triumph," he grunted, his voice suffused with a heavy dose of Tarzan. "Inner Neanderthal grab nearest bone. Smash little science men and tinker-toy machines! Though don't get me wrong," he smirked, slipping slightly out of character, "shallow-me has nothing against tinker-toy machines. Shallow-me gets much fun from tinker-toy machines."
Willow rolled her eyes with a giggle. "All I'm saying is we've started to rely just as much on computers for research while we're helping Buffy as anything else," she replied good-naturedly. "We can't always solve the problem by going gunning for it. We have to find out what's behind Spike's magical appearance in Buffy's house before we can really try to fix it. I mean, say we dust him and his threshold-crossing ability just bounces to some other vamp. Sometimes logic and academic examination count for as much as brute strength," she concluded with a raised finger and a pointed nod of her head, glancing over to allude to the stake Xander had been carrying around all evening.
Xander gave an appreciative nod and a wide self-satisfied grin at the notion that the term 'brute strength' was used in any manner associated with himself.
"I-its just that," Willow stammered slightly, "we've found out some things that it would have taken forever to look for in Giles' books. All the things that Ms. Calendar's shown us . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she sheepishly mumbled their computer teacher's name. Though they all wanted to be loyal to Giles and Buffy, it was clear that Willow still respected the woman and everything she'd learned from her.
Xander cleared his throat and tried to veer away from the awkward subject. "Caveman concedes," he grunted as they rounded the corner into the library's hall. "Technology do good in demon-fighting world." He smiled down at his friend's profile and dropped the character completely. "All I'm saying is, what's the first thing we turn to when it's more of a life or death situation? Logic or instinct? Personally, I rely on—"
"Xander . . . ."
Xander grinned broadly and tilted his head with a show of exaggerated modesty, hefting the stake to his shoulder like a free weight. "Well, it's true, the Xan-Man does his best to make with the manly when the chips are down. I've just—"
Willow's hand on his wrist silenced him faster than a slap to the face. Her fingers were like ice. He quickly faced her and saw that she hadn't turned to look at him, her profile frozen instead in a horrific mask as she stared down the hallway toward the library. The girl was trembling slightly. Xander could feel it through her fingers as she made a feeble attempt to fasten them upon his wrist. She only managed a flaccid shaky grip.
Xander felt a strange twisting in his gut at the look on her face and he reluctantly turned his head to see what she had been staring at.
His eyes caught the far corner of the hallway ahead of them, beyond the library, in time to see a dark figure swing around it and out of sight. The tail of a leather duster swept dramatically along the corner, licking briefly at the wall, before it slithered away like the writhing tail of a serpent. For the first time, Xander detected the acrid sting of cigarette smoke in his nostrils and noticed a thin curtain of it hanging like a dead haze in the dim light at the far end of the hall. Willow's boneless fingers finally managed to grip his wrist tighter.
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, frozen like children trying not to attract the attention of the monsters under the bed.
"Giles," Willow finally said, her voice quiet, so full of infirmity and hopelessness. Xander felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
Spike, he thought as clarity hit; he tightened his fist around the stake in his hand. A primeval explosion of red fury erupted in front of his vision. Xander broke into a run toward the library with Willow hot on his heels, calling out the librarian's name a second before throwing the doors wide open.
As he entered the library, the sight and the smell hit him at the same time.
Blood.
* * *
Giles hurried from the office washroom a few moments after hearing someone cry out his name. He had been up past his wrists in the overly-small sink, rinsing the last dregs of his beverage out of the coffee mug so could use it to hydrate Spike's mangy peace offering. The desperation in the voice was such that he hastily finished up, turned off the tap and grabbed a towel on his way out the office door.
Giles emerged from behind the main library counter and noticed that the vestibule of the room had become a bit of a mess -- even more so than before. The magazine rack against the opposite wall was overturned onto its front; its carefully arranged periodicals spilled across the floor. The battle axe was no longer in its place beside the stairs. It was wedged up against a table leg, apparently jostling the stakes from its surface; they were now scattered upon the linoleum. Giles also noticed that his jacket had been removed from its place on the back of one of the chairs and was crumpled into a mound of tweed beside the book cart.
Giles surveyed the damage. Good lord, how long had he been in the other room, anyway? All this in the time it took to rinse out a bloody cup? And just where was that bloody animal, anyway? Not to mention the literal bloody mess that had already been there - the liquid from Spike's cup still caked the floor, the florescent lights on the ceiling casting macabre glints upon it. He'd have to get a mop right away.
Giles heard a sniffling whimper and walked farther around the counter toward the sound. Finally able to see the full expanse of the room, he noticed for the first time two people standing just inside the electronic security detector in the library doorway and recognized them immediately as Xander and Willow. Something was obviously very wrong.
Xander's back was to Giles, hunched slightly over Willow with the type of body language only real despair can convey. The girl's arms were thrown around him, clutching great handfuls of his rather luridly-colored sweater and trembling. Her face was buried in Xander's shoulder and quiet whimpering gulps of air were emitting softly from her throat. Xander's one hand stroked down her hair as the other held onto her tightly. Giles could hear the young man murmuring calmingly. "Don't look. It's okay, just don't look."
Giles was suddenly so panicked, he nearly dropped the mug in his hands. He set it down on the counter with shaky fingers and took a step forward. "Dear Lord, has something happened?" His voice was rasped with worry.
The two teenagers before him stiffened like marionettes whose strings had been pulled taut. For a moment they froze and held each other, then Willow's large eyes appeared warily over Xander's shoulder. Her face was blanched and her eyes rimmed with the red of someone who had tried to keep from crying. She blinked at him and Giles met her gaze in concern. He took another step forward . . . .
And was conversely forced into an abrupt retreat as Willow called out his name and pulled away from Xander. She bulleted toward Giles, catching him in a fierce hug and sending him staggering backward. Giles was stunned for a moment, then stumbled back another several feet, as Xander launched himself into the hug as well. With two teenaged children hanging from every visible inch of him, Giles did what any self-respecting, seasoned Watcher would do – he stood there completely still, flummoxed.
"Giles!" Xander finally said, a little louder than necessary, his voice filled with both relief and melodrama. He lifted his head from Giles' shoulder and looked the man right in the eye. "You're alive!" Then he replaced his head where it had been – somewhere just below the crook of Giles' neck – and squeezed harder.
The Watcher glanced around for a moment or two, taking in his bound limbs, his constricted lungs and his new living appendages. Xander and Willow showed no signs of letting go just yet. When he couldn't take it any longer Giles cleared his throat. "I realize we do dangerous work on occasion," he said. "But is . . . this . . . how we're greeting each other now?"
The two teens took the hint and released him, no small amount of relief still showing on both their faces. Willow's previous tears were replaced by widened eyes and her patented overexcitement. "W-we thought you were hurt!" she stammered.
"Or dead!" Xander chimed in.
"Or dead!" Willow repeated.
"Why on earth . . . ?" Giles breathed.
"There was the mess," Willow answered hastily, indicating their surroundings.
"A-and the weapons," Xander added, pointing under the table.
"And all the blood!"
"And the Spike sneaking down the hallway!"
Realization dawned and Giles nodded slowly. "Ah," he said. "I see." He turned to where he had set the mug upon the counter.
Willow's brow knotted with confusion. "Giles?" she said. "What was he doing here?"
Giles picked up the mug and turned back to face the two teenagers. "I'm still not entirely certain of the real reason behind his appearance," he answered. "He made mention of a prophecy that he needed help researching."
Xander snorted. "Yeah, we could help him with that," he said. "Sure, in crazy we-do-random-favors-for-the-undead world!"
"He didn't hurt you?" Willow interjected, still looking at Giles with concern. She shot a quick apprehensive glance to the blood puddled upon the floor.
"No," he answered, "which, I admit, was very surprising since he was presented with ample opportunity."
"Then, if the blood's not yours . . . ," Willow began.
Giles walked over to the trash and bent down beside it, retrieving the Styrofoam cup Spike had brought. "It came from this," he said. Willow and Xander came to look over his shoulder.
"'A Cut Above' Butcher Shop and Grill," Xander read the label on the quart-sized container. "That's over on Lyndon Street, a few blocks from The Bronze. What would Dead Boy be doing with a super-sized pig's blood?"
"One would have to wonder," Giles muttered. "Either changing his diet, or putting on a very good show."
"He may have planted this here just to get us to trust him," Willow offered.
Giles nodded. "I'd considered that as well."
"Sooo," Xander drawled as he stepped back and looked around the messy vestibule, "what? He asked you to research a prophecy for him and then decided to strike fear into your heart by breaking out his mad cluttering skills?" He scrunched up his face in mock fury. "Diabolical!"
Giles mimicked Xander's scan of the area. "Yes, Spike certainly left a mess behind," he grumbled. "Albeit, some of it indirectly."
Suddenly, a movement caught their attention. The heap of tweed jacket on the floor jumped and shuddered, then started to glide a little across the linoleum. The two teens stared wide-eyed at it. Giles groaned and walked over to the jacket. He lifted it off the floor before it wandered into the smear of blood, only to find himself in an unwanted tug-of-war with the scampering creature that had been nestled underneath.
Willow gasped a split second before her face melted into a puddle of gooey delight. "Ohhhh," she cooed adoringly.
"Yes," Giles grunted as he managed to wrestle the fabric away from the animal. "It seems our friend Spike decided to make his appeal partnered with a bit of a peace offering."
Xander glanced from Giles to Willow, who was still ogling the dog with a giddy expression. So much for not being swayed into false well-being by things Spike left behind. "He brought you a puppy," the young man mused aloud. "That sadistic bastard!"
"I don't understand how a small thing like that could make such a mess," Giles went off on a tangent of his own, as he glanced at the clutter on the floor. He noticed that the dog clearly tracked some of the blood further into the room. There were circles of little crimson paw prints rounding the periodical rack and disappearing under the table. Giles sighed forcefully. "I was only in the back for a few minutes . . . ."
"So," Xander attempted to bring everyone back to task. "Evil bipedal dead shows up, asks for some prophecy research, pays in canine currency, . . . . Did I mention how much I love living on a Hellmouth?"
Willow had crept forward and sunk to her knees, uttering nonsense baby-talk syllables as she drew the small brindle animal into her arms. "Aren't you precious? Aren't you just the sweetest thing?"
"Watch it, Will," Xander warned. "If it came from Spike it's probably some hellhound vampire dog, all ready to bite your face off."
Willow gasped reproachfully at Xander, covering the little dog's ears and hugging it even closer. "Don't listen to the bad, bad man, precious," she tutted, bouncing the puppy like a baby in her arms. "You're perfect! Yes, you are. Yes, you are!"
"Guess I hadn't realized how much she must have missed her pet fish," Xander muttered.
"Actually, Xander, I'm fairly certain that Spike's only reason for leaving the animal here was to display a rather bizarre act of benevolence," Giles said. "He had expressed a desire to prove he'd not been feeding from innocents while asking us for help. After all, there's the dog, the butcher's blood . . . although," Giles amended, glaring at the suddenly docile puppy in Willow's arms, "perhaps his ulterior motives were to drive me slowly insane with the bloody pest." He again scanned the havoc the dog had wrought throughout the vestibule.
"What's its name?" Willow asked from her spot on the floor.
Giles sighed, resigned to the fact that the girl's puppy-love probably meant the mongrel was going to be sticking around. He removed his glasses and began wiping at them wearily. "Spike called it Sunshine."
Xander snorted again. "First dawn-jonesing and now this? That vamp has got a seriously unhealthy daylight fetish. Not that that's a bad thing for us. Maybe he'll up and decide to take an afternoon stroll."
"I doubt Spike named the animal," Giles guessed. "He said he'd rescued it from one of Drusilla's victims. Though we can't really be certain of his story's truthfulness."
"So, undead boy makes good, but only in theory," Xander said. "We're still not gonna help him, are we?"
"My initial reaction was the same," Giles told him, setting the mug on the floor of the library. The puppy squirmed out of Willow's arms and trotted over to it, lapping sloppily at the water inside. Willow continued to stroke the dog's fur while it drank. "However, given the vague skeletal outline of the prophecy that I've heard so far, I believe it would be in our best interest to at least learn what we can about it. Whether or not we ever share that information with Spike remains to be seen."
"So what are we going to do first?" Willow asked, looking at both of them but not bothering to get up.
Giles finished cleaning his glasses and put them back on. "I need to make a phone call," he said. "And I feel it would also be best to inform Buffy of what happened as soon as possible."
"Then we hit the books?" Xander said overenthusiastically, rubbing his hands together. Giles tossed him a small key and Xander had to back up a step to catch it. "What's this for?" he asked. "Some secret stash of highly classified Watcher documents?"
"The janitor's closet down the hall," Giles answered dryly. "We need a mop."
***
To be continued . . .
makd, especially with this chapter, which had indeed left me with one or two headaches. (I decided to axe that awkward part I mentioned. I think it sounds better this way.) All the best in the coming days; I'll be thinking of you, dear.Previous Chapters
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Setting: Picks up mid-"Destiny" and goes AU from there.
Feedback: Delightful, delicious, de-lovely.
by Sharelle
Chapter 8 – Catch-22
Xander Harris sighed heavily as he walked beside Willow. He hated getting into arguments with his best friend. And the latest one had the makings of a real no-win situation.
"Will, it's not that I don't think astronauts can be all technological and badass," he reiterated as they pulled open the double-doors and entered the school, making their way toward the Sunnydale High School Library. "It's just that cavemen had that raw primal energy thing going on." He pounded a gorilla-like fist into his chest. "Manly men triumph," he grunted, his voice suffused with a heavy dose of Tarzan. "Inner Neanderthal grab nearest bone. Smash little science men and tinker-toy machines! Though don't get me wrong," he smirked, slipping slightly out of character, "shallow-me has nothing against tinker-toy machines. Shallow-me gets much fun from tinker-toy machines."
Willow rolled her eyes with a giggle. "All I'm saying is we've started to rely just as much on computers for research while we're helping Buffy as anything else," she replied good-naturedly. "We can't always solve the problem by going gunning for it. We have to find out what's behind Spike's magical appearance in Buffy's house before we can really try to fix it. I mean, say we dust him and his threshold-crossing ability just bounces to some other vamp. Sometimes logic and academic examination count for as much as brute strength," she concluded with a raised finger and a pointed nod of her head, glancing over to allude to the stake Xander had been carrying around all evening.
Xander gave an appreciative nod and a wide self-satisfied grin at the notion that the term 'brute strength' was used in any manner associated with himself.
"I-its just that," Willow stammered slightly, "we've found out some things that it would have taken forever to look for in Giles' books. All the things that Ms. Calendar's shown us . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she sheepishly mumbled their computer teacher's name. Though they all wanted to be loyal to Giles and Buffy, it was clear that Willow still respected the woman and everything she'd learned from her.
Xander cleared his throat and tried to veer away from the awkward subject. "Caveman concedes," he grunted as they rounded the corner into the library's hall. "Technology do good in demon-fighting world." He smiled down at his friend's profile and dropped the character completely. "All I'm saying is, what's the first thing we turn to when it's more of a life or death situation? Logic or instinct? Personally, I rely on—"
"Xander . . . ."
Xander grinned broadly and tilted his head with a show of exaggerated modesty, hefting the stake to his shoulder like a free weight. "Well, it's true, the Xan-Man does his best to make with the manly when the chips are down. I've just—"
Willow's hand on his wrist silenced him faster than a slap to the face. Her fingers were like ice. He quickly faced her and saw that she hadn't turned to look at him, her profile frozen instead in a horrific mask as she stared down the hallway toward the library. The girl was trembling slightly. Xander could feel it through her fingers as she made a feeble attempt to fasten them upon his wrist. She only managed a flaccid shaky grip.
Xander felt a strange twisting in his gut at the look on her face and he reluctantly turned his head to see what she had been staring at.
His eyes caught the far corner of the hallway ahead of them, beyond the library, in time to see a dark figure swing around it and out of sight. The tail of a leather duster swept dramatically along the corner, licking briefly at the wall, before it slithered away like the writhing tail of a serpent. For the first time, Xander detected the acrid sting of cigarette smoke in his nostrils and noticed a thin curtain of it hanging like a dead haze in the dim light at the far end of the hall. Willow's boneless fingers finally managed to grip his wrist tighter.
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, frozen like children trying not to attract the attention of the monsters under the bed.
"Giles," Willow finally said, her voice quiet, so full of infirmity and hopelessness. Xander felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
Spike, he thought as clarity hit; he tightened his fist around the stake in his hand. A primeval explosion of red fury erupted in front of his vision. Xander broke into a run toward the library with Willow hot on his heels, calling out the librarian's name a second before throwing the doors wide open.
As he entered the library, the sight and the smell hit him at the same time.
Blood.
Giles hurried from the office washroom a few moments after hearing someone cry out his name. He had been up past his wrists in the overly-small sink, rinsing the last dregs of his beverage out of the coffee mug so could use it to hydrate Spike's mangy peace offering. The desperation in the voice was such that he hastily finished up, turned off the tap and grabbed a towel on his way out the office door.
Giles emerged from behind the main library counter and noticed that the vestibule of the room had become a bit of a mess -- even more so than before. The magazine rack against the opposite wall was overturned onto its front; its carefully arranged periodicals spilled across the floor. The battle axe was no longer in its place beside the stairs. It was wedged up against a table leg, apparently jostling the stakes from its surface; they were now scattered upon the linoleum. Giles also noticed that his jacket had been removed from its place on the back of one of the chairs and was crumpled into a mound of tweed beside the book cart.
Giles surveyed the damage. Good lord, how long had he been in the other room, anyway? All this in the time it took to rinse out a bloody cup? And just where was that bloody animal, anyway? Not to mention the literal bloody mess that had already been there - the liquid from Spike's cup still caked the floor, the florescent lights on the ceiling casting macabre glints upon it. He'd have to get a mop right away.
Giles heard a sniffling whimper and walked farther around the counter toward the sound. Finally able to see the full expanse of the room, he noticed for the first time two people standing just inside the electronic security detector in the library doorway and recognized them immediately as Xander and Willow. Something was obviously very wrong.
Xander's back was to Giles, hunched slightly over Willow with the type of body language only real despair can convey. The girl's arms were thrown around him, clutching great handfuls of his rather luridly-colored sweater and trembling. Her face was buried in Xander's shoulder and quiet whimpering gulps of air were emitting softly from her throat. Xander's one hand stroked down her hair as the other held onto her tightly. Giles could hear the young man murmuring calmingly. "Don't look. It's okay, just don't look."
Giles was suddenly so panicked, he nearly dropped the mug in his hands. He set it down on the counter with shaky fingers and took a step forward. "Dear Lord, has something happened?" His voice was rasped with worry.
The two teenagers before him stiffened like marionettes whose strings had been pulled taut. For a moment they froze and held each other, then Willow's large eyes appeared warily over Xander's shoulder. Her face was blanched and her eyes rimmed with the red of someone who had tried to keep from crying. She blinked at him and Giles met her gaze in concern. He took another step forward . . . .
And was conversely forced into an abrupt retreat as Willow called out his name and pulled away from Xander. She bulleted toward Giles, catching him in a fierce hug and sending him staggering backward. Giles was stunned for a moment, then stumbled back another several feet, as Xander launched himself into the hug as well. With two teenaged children hanging from every visible inch of him, Giles did what any self-respecting, seasoned Watcher would do – he stood there completely still, flummoxed.
"Giles!" Xander finally said, a little louder than necessary, his voice filled with both relief and melodrama. He lifted his head from Giles' shoulder and looked the man right in the eye. "You're alive!" Then he replaced his head where it had been – somewhere just below the crook of Giles' neck – and squeezed harder.
The Watcher glanced around for a moment or two, taking in his bound limbs, his constricted lungs and his new living appendages. Xander and Willow showed no signs of letting go just yet. When he couldn't take it any longer Giles cleared his throat. "I realize we do dangerous work on occasion," he said. "But is . . . this . . . how we're greeting each other now?"
The two teens took the hint and released him, no small amount of relief still showing on both their faces. Willow's previous tears were replaced by widened eyes and her patented overexcitement. "W-we thought you were hurt!" she stammered.
"Or dead!" Xander chimed in.
"Or dead!" Willow repeated.
"Why on earth . . . ?" Giles breathed.
"There was the mess," Willow answered hastily, indicating their surroundings.
"A-and the weapons," Xander added, pointing under the table.
"And all the blood!"
"And the Spike sneaking down the hallway!"
Realization dawned and Giles nodded slowly. "Ah," he said. "I see." He turned to where he had set the mug upon the counter.
Willow's brow knotted with confusion. "Giles?" she said. "What was he doing here?"
Giles picked up the mug and turned back to face the two teenagers. "I'm still not entirely certain of the real reason behind his appearance," he answered. "He made mention of a prophecy that he needed help researching."
Xander snorted. "Yeah, we could help him with that," he said. "Sure, in crazy we-do-random-favors-for-the-undead world!"
"He didn't hurt you?" Willow interjected, still looking at Giles with concern. She shot a quick apprehensive glance to the blood puddled upon the floor.
"No," he answered, "which, I admit, was very surprising since he was presented with ample opportunity."
"Then, if the blood's not yours . . . ," Willow began.
Giles walked over to the trash and bent down beside it, retrieving the Styrofoam cup Spike had brought. "It came from this," he said. Willow and Xander came to look over his shoulder.
"'A Cut Above' Butcher Shop and Grill," Xander read the label on the quart-sized container. "That's over on Lyndon Street, a few blocks from The Bronze. What would Dead Boy be doing with a super-sized pig's blood?"
"One would have to wonder," Giles muttered. "Either changing his diet, or putting on a very good show."
"He may have planted this here just to get us to trust him," Willow offered.
Giles nodded. "I'd considered that as well."
"Sooo," Xander drawled as he stepped back and looked around the messy vestibule, "what? He asked you to research a prophecy for him and then decided to strike fear into your heart by breaking out his mad cluttering skills?" He scrunched up his face in mock fury. "Diabolical!"
Giles mimicked Xander's scan of the area. "Yes, Spike certainly left a mess behind," he grumbled. "Albeit, some of it indirectly."
Suddenly, a movement caught their attention. The heap of tweed jacket on the floor jumped and shuddered, then started to glide a little across the linoleum. The two teens stared wide-eyed at it. Giles groaned and walked over to the jacket. He lifted it off the floor before it wandered into the smear of blood, only to find himself in an unwanted tug-of-war with the scampering creature that had been nestled underneath.
Willow gasped a split second before her face melted into a puddle of gooey delight. "Ohhhh," she cooed adoringly.
"Yes," Giles grunted as he managed to wrestle the fabric away from the animal. "It seems our friend Spike decided to make his appeal partnered with a bit of a peace offering."
Xander glanced from Giles to Willow, who was still ogling the dog with a giddy expression. So much for not being swayed into false well-being by things Spike left behind. "He brought you a puppy," the young man mused aloud. "That sadistic bastard!"
"I don't understand how a small thing like that could make such a mess," Giles went off on a tangent of his own, as he glanced at the clutter on the floor. He noticed that the dog clearly tracked some of the blood further into the room. There were circles of little crimson paw prints rounding the periodical rack and disappearing under the table. Giles sighed forcefully. "I was only in the back for a few minutes . . . ."
"So," Xander attempted to bring everyone back to task. "Evil bipedal dead shows up, asks for some prophecy research, pays in canine currency, . . . . Did I mention how much I love living on a Hellmouth?"
Willow had crept forward and sunk to her knees, uttering nonsense baby-talk syllables as she drew the small brindle animal into her arms. "Aren't you precious? Aren't you just the sweetest thing?"
"Watch it, Will," Xander warned. "If it came from Spike it's probably some hellhound vampire dog, all ready to bite your face off."
Willow gasped reproachfully at Xander, covering the little dog's ears and hugging it even closer. "Don't listen to the bad, bad man, precious," she tutted, bouncing the puppy like a baby in her arms. "You're perfect! Yes, you are. Yes, you are!"
"Guess I hadn't realized how much she must have missed her pet fish," Xander muttered.
"Actually, Xander, I'm fairly certain that Spike's only reason for leaving the animal here was to display a rather bizarre act of benevolence," Giles said. "He had expressed a desire to prove he'd not been feeding from innocents while asking us for help. After all, there's the dog, the butcher's blood . . . although," Giles amended, glaring at the suddenly docile puppy in Willow's arms, "perhaps his ulterior motives were to drive me slowly insane with the bloody pest." He again scanned the havoc the dog had wrought throughout the vestibule.
"What's its name?" Willow asked from her spot on the floor.
Giles sighed, resigned to the fact that the girl's puppy-love probably meant the mongrel was going to be sticking around. He removed his glasses and began wiping at them wearily. "Spike called it Sunshine."
Xander snorted again. "First dawn-jonesing and now this? That vamp has got a seriously unhealthy daylight fetish. Not that that's a bad thing for us. Maybe he'll up and decide to take an afternoon stroll."
"I doubt Spike named the animal," Giles guessed. "He said he'd rescued it from one of Drusilla's victims. Though we can't really be certain of his story's truthfulness."
"So, undead boy makes good, but only in theory," Xander said. "We're still not gonna help him, are we?"
"My initial reaction was the same," Giles told him, setting the mug on the floor of the library. The puppy squirmed out of Willow's arms and trotted over to it, lapping sloppily at the water inside. Willow continued to stroke the dog's fur while it drank. "However, given the vague skeletal outline of the prophecy that I've heard so far, I believe it would be in our best interest to at least learn what we can about it. Whether or not we ever share that information with Spike remains to be seen."
"So what are we going to do first?" Willow asked, looking at both of them but not bothering to get up.
Giles finished cleaning his glasses and put them back on. "I need to make a phone call," he said. "And I feel it would also be best to inform Buffy of what happened as soon as possible."
"Then we hit the books?" Xander said overenthusiastically, rubbing his hands together. Giles tossed him a small key and Xander had to back up a step to catch it. "What's this for?" he asked. "Some secret stash of highly classified Watcher documents?"
"The janitor's closet down the hall," Giles answered dryly. "We need a mop."
To be continued . . .
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