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Forever and a Day by Lilachigh
 
Chp 2 Some Higher Reason
 
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Forever and a Day

by Lilachigh


Chapter 2 Some Higher Reason

Rupert Giles parked his little red MG sports car outside the block of apartments where he lived on the bank of the River Thames. He patted the scarlet bonnet lovingly, then glanced round cautiously, embarrassed that someone might have seen him.

He cleared his throat and lifted his suitcase off the back seat. He was very fond of his new car. He’d ignored Willow’s whoops of laughter when she saw it. All right, perhaps it wasn’t a particularly sensible car for a Watcher of his age to have. Perhaps he was a little old to enjoy quite so much the noise the engine made when he revved it, but after all the death and dying and destruction he’d lived through over the past few years, he thought he was entitled to a little fun!

Anyway, being small, it was far easier to park, he finished telling himself as the lift decanted him outside his penthouse apartment on the very top of the block.

He wondered how Willow and Buffy had spent the New Year. It was a shame he hadn’t been able to get back to London, but the demon nest in Norwich had proved more troublesome than he’d expected. In the week since January 1st, he’d tried phoning the apartment on several occasions, but only got the answer phone. He’d left text messages, then the battery on his mobile had run out and he realised he’d forgotten to pack the charger when he left London in such a hurry.

Willow’s car was missing from it’s parking slot. He imagined the girls were out shopping this morning. He knew exactly how much gossip they would have to catch up on.

His key turned silently in the lock and he stepped onto the thick carpet of the hallway. Then he froze. Why were all the curtains still drawn tightly across the windows at eleven in the morning? He moved slowly, cautiously into the living-room and stood, staring round, aghast.

There had obviously been some sort of dreadful fight here. The sofa cushions were on the floor in heaps, the sheep-skin rug in front of the fireplace was lying in a heap as if someone had been rolled in it; the TV was still on but with the sound turned down, candles had burnt out, candlesticks had been knocked over, the coffee table was on its side and he could smell blood!

Giles spun round suddenly, the skin on the back of his neck tightening. He knew, without knowing why, that he wasn’t alone in the apartment. Old friends of his would have noticed that his Ripper expression appeared as he lifted an ancient Persian sword from the wall.

He crept down the long passageway, checking off the rooms as he went. Kitchen - empty, but someone had been there recently - it looked as if Buffy and Willow had shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate the New Year.

His bedroom - empty and untouched. Willow’s, empty. He reached the far end of the passage where the guest rooms lay. Reached out and softly pushed open the door. It wasn’t locked. He took a deep breath - blood, he could smell it quite clearly - raised the sword and charged through the entrance.

Two bodies lay naked on top of the covers, limbs entwined. It was hard to see where one ended and the other began. Giles found it almost impossible for his brain to compute what he was seeing - Buffy naked - oh god, don’t look - Buffy dead - no, her breath was stirring the tangles of blonde hair that hung across her face - a naked man, long pale limbs, blood smeared across his mouth - the best champagne flutes that Dawn had sent him for Christmas on the bedside table - one half full of champagne, the other half full of blood.

And the naked man - as the great sword dropped to the floor, a platinum head was raised from Buffy‘s naked breast - don’t look! don’t look! - and someone who was Spike’s double winked at him!

Giles was pouring himself a third slug of whisky when the living-room door opened and Buffy and Spike came in. Spike, clad just in jeans, barefoot, was carrying the sword that Giles had left lying on their bedroom floor. Buffy was wearing a red silk shirt that reached her knees. Giles knew only too well who that belonged to.

“Rupert. Good to see you. This is yours, I believe,“ Spike said politely, proffering the sword, hilt first.

Giles took it and made a great fuss about putting it back on the wall. “Yes, thank you, Spike. Well, it’s - it’s interesting to see you alive and obviously well. Buffy?“

Buffy sat on the sofa and looked at him, her eyes very green. “Giles, don’t be cross. I’m sorry you had to - well - had to see - but nothing you can say is going to make any difference to us. I’ve found Spike again. I thought I’d lost him forever. But we’ve been given another chance. Rightly or wrongly, we belong together.“

Giles took off his glasses and polished them on the end of his tie. He’d been sitting, thinking, concocting elaborate little speeches about her duties as a Slayer, how untrustworthy William the Bloody was, soul or no soul, saviour of the world or not. But faced with the two of them, sitting hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder in front of him, the words ebbed away out of his brain.

“Buffy - Spike - I think you’re both – “ He took a deep breath. “I think what you’re doing goes against all nature as we know it. But – “ He shrugged helplessly. “There seems to be an inevitable symmetry about your meeting again, especially at this time of the year. Perhaps - I don’t know - perhaps there is some higher reason for you two to be together - a reason I can’t see, a reason we might not ever understand.“

Spike smiled wryly. “Blimey, Rupert, why do all you public school boys take ten sentences to say something simple. I love Buffy, Buffy loves me. End of story.“

Giles pulled a face and said sarcastically. “From what I recall of your history, Spike, you were a public school boy, too. So don’t knock it!”

Buffy grinned and ran her fingers through Spike’s already dishevelled hair. “Spike! Did you go to Eton? Did you wear a top hat and one of those big white collars? Did you bully people and have to fag for the prefects - which, believe me, I never really understood in English class for a long time until Willow told me fag had a different meaning then, so – ”

“Enough, missy!” Spike yelped. “Come out of the pages of Tom Brown’s Schooldays, will you!”

She smiled. “Seriously, Giles, I’m sorry if Spike and me being together upsets you, but perhaps, as you say, there is a reason. Let’s face it, we’ve gone through more trials and tribulations than most couples!”

Spike disengaged himself gently and walked across to where a long black bag was half hidden under the dining-table. He opened it and took out several large leather covered books. “Rupert – ” He turned hesitantly towards the watcher, his expression suddenly serious. “Wesley – ” He stopped.

Giles sunk down in a chair and sipped his Scotch. “Wesley is dead. I know. I heard on the grapevine up in Norwich.”

Spike’s eyes went very dark. “Can’t say we were ever close, but he fought a good fight. Left these books behind. Thought you’d better have them. Angel’s off in Tibet and - well, there’s no one in L.A. who can make head or tail of them.”

Giles sighed. “Thank you, Spike. That was - that is very thoughtful of you. We’re desperately short of reference material since the Watchers’ Council was blown up by the First. These look - valuable.”

“And very dirty!” Buffy grimaced, running her finger along the leather spine. “Oh, icky, Spike. Is this blood? No, it can’t be, can it. It’s glue. How on earth did Wesley manage to spill glue on his precious volumes? Or was it you?”

Spike shrugged. “Not guilty, pet. Hang on a sec - Rupert, look!”

Spike pulled at the edge of the heavy brown cover on the topmost book and before Giles could stop him, the whole front of the book peeled away. “What the bloody hell?” Spike frowned. There was a carefully folded piece of paper hidden inside the leather covering. “Hey, Rupert - this is weird. It‘s addressed to you!”

Giles took the paper. Spike was right. His name was scrawled across the outside in handwriting he knew well. Wesley Wyndham-Price had written that - and in a great hurry by the slight tearing of the paper.

“But how on earth did he know you would bring the books to me?” he murmured.

“Wes obviously had more faith in me than you did, Watcher,” Spike said, regaining his place on the sofa and wrapping his arm tightly round Buffy’s waist.

“What does it say?” she asked.

Giles frowned as he read. “Well, it seems to be, let me see, a list of places, dates, times - and – ” he paused, put the paper down and stared sightlessly into space.

“Giles!”

He started. “Sorry, Buffy. I’ll read what Wesley wrote. Dear Rupert, listen carefully, not much time left here. Probably won’t survive. Don’t really want to. What we’re fighting will probably end the world so you won’t get this, but if we succeed and anyone comes through it will be Spike. The devil looks after his own! I’ve been working on this research for a year now. Thought it was just a tarradiddle of mythology and fairy stories, but I think I could be wrong. If that’s the case, then I’m glad I won’t be alive to see it happen. There’s a plague coming, Rupert. And it’s going to destroy the world.”


to be continued














 
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