“Are you sure about this?” Spike asked Willow, who was fussing over what few spell components they had found after searching the Summers’ house.

The redhead met Spike’s gaze with serious eyes. “I am absolutely, positively sure that this spell is fifty percent likely to work.” She smiled weakly in the face of the vampire’s fierce scowl. “Tara’s gonna be my backup, so if something goes wrong, she can channel the magicks off. The spell’ll just fizzle.”

“Fizzle,” he repeated dubiously.

“Yuh huh. And fizzle like flat Pepsi, not, you know, like Chernobyl.” Willow carefully placed the last of the candles on the coffee table. Even though her face was averted, he could still see her chewing on her lower lip. Her fingers flickered nervously over the candles, feathers, and a ball of velvet cloth, checking and rechecking as if to make sure everything was in its place.

Spike was torn between his deep rooted dislike of magic and his promise to Tara to give the redheaded witch a chance to regain his trust. He finally grunted in what could have been interpreted as acceptance. The tension in Willow’s shoulders seemed to lessen just a little bit with that marginal vote of confidence.

When Buffy appeared in the foyer, arm looped awkwardly around a still-unconscious Giles, Spike leapt to her aid, taking up some of the dead weight of the watcher’s body. Willow darted forward as well, but the slayer waved her away. The witch stepped aside and gestured furtively.

“Could you put him on the couch? The three of you will need to be in contact for the spell, and that’ll probably be the most comfy.” She started wringing her hands again, and went back to rearranging the candles. Spike wondered what in particular was setting the young with off – Giles’ condition, excitement over the spell, nervousness about the magic – none of the options were good.

Buffy nodded to herself, and Spike helped her manhandle the watcher’s slack form onto the couch. They propped him up on the sofa and sat on either side of him: Spike on his left, Buffy on his right. Free from their grip, the watcher slumped limply, head coming to rest of the vampire’s shoulder. They had tried cleaning the angry cuts left by the Starlings’ attack, but the watcher still looked torn and ragged, even with his face slack in sleep. Spike tried to discreetly nudge the watcher back up, but when his attempts proved to be futile and his efforts increased, the movement attracted Buffy’s attention.

She arched an eyebrow and rolled her eyes at him.

Least someone’s findin’ some humor in this whole mess.

Feeling thoroughly ridiculous, Spike slouched further down into the sofa, sulking when the motion made the watcher’s head loll further against the side of his neck. His breath smelled like the rancid soup from the cauldron. The vampire scowled fiercely and made a point to stop inhaling.

Obviously oblivious to the mini-drama unfolding on the couch, Willow picked up a notepad and started reading feverishly, making notes and mouthing incantations to herself. Neither slayer nor vampire spoke, and both studiously avoided looking at the figure slumped between them. The whole situation was just too awkward, but it did leave the witch to her research in peace. The minutes crawled past like hours.

Spike was about half a heartbeat away from shoving Giles right over into the slayer’s lap when the others finally arrived. Anya burst through the front door, cradling an obsidian dagger, wrapped handle brown and flaking with age, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Tara, Xander, Dawn, and Meret followed. The first three were lugging a carved piece of limestone, and the latter was riding on the stone like a lounging queen.

Willow leapt to her feet. “Oh! Put that next to the table,” she gestured to the three struggling to carry the rough-hewn block.

Meret took flight, fluttering skyward when the block was brought into the foyer. Buffy tried to get up to help, but her movement almost sent the limp watcher sliding into the floor. She caught him at the last second, stammering apologies to the others. Spike managed to get a glimpse of the block as the two of them settled Giles back on the sofa. It was a cube: roughly two feet along all its edges. In all honesty, it looked suspiciously like the blocks that Harris’ construction crew had just installed as a decorative wall around the Sunnydale federal court house. Between the petty theft and the black (or at least grayish) magic, Spike decided that he was having an impressively positive effect on the Scoobies.

After making sure Giles wasn’t going to keel over again, Buffy darted around the table and deftly moved the block closer to the table. Anya circled wide to avoid the group crowding the slayer and the stone. She handed the dagger to Willow and said in what was probably meant to be a gracious tone, “This has a roughly equivalent resale value, so just return it after the spell and we won’t even have to worry about cooking the books.” Spike caught Tara smiling with good-natured amusement at the former vengeance demon and winked.

Once the stone was settled, the den became a flurry of activity. Despite their preparations, Spike couldn’t help but notice that no one mentioned the unconscious subject of their labor. If there was any unifying coping mechanism amongst the Scoobies, it was their amazing ability to pretend that nothing was wrong when the walls were falling down around their ears. They looked though, darting glances from lowered eyes and averted faces. Despite their industry and outward good cheer, a dark pall descended over the group. Spike himself found it hard to avoid thinking about Giles’ condition, what with the watcher’s body sprawling against him.

Meret swooped to Spike’s shoulder, almost sending him cross-eyed with rapid-fire flashes of the discreet ‘borrowing’ of the limestone block and the drive back to 1630 Revello Drive. He shook his head slightly to clear his vision, but the light touch of encouragement and affection that always laced the coatl’s thoughts stayed. He ruffled the tuft of feathers between the serpent’s wings, a gesture that was soothing to them both.

Tara disappeared upstairs, and returned moments later with a coil of hemp rope and a pack of sidewalk chalk. She set the cord aside and set to work sketching on the top surface of the stone, working in green and red with touches of yellow and blue until the forms of two mirrored serpents started to take shape.

Buffy, who had been eyeing the twine nervously, finally spoke up. “Um, Tara?”

The blond witch looked up from her chalk drawing. “Yes?”

“We’re not going to have to, you know,” she paused, forehead crinkling in worry, “Run that rope through our tongues, are we?”

“What?!” Tara looked horrified. “W…w…why would you think that?”

Spike couldn’t keep from snickering. The look on the Wiccan’s face was priceless.

Buffy blushed bright red, but managed to get a slayer-worthy scowl in place for the chortling vampire. Tara looked so flustered that she just stared at the both of them as if they had lost their minds.

Dawn cut in. “Nah. That was a Mayan thing.”

Buffy nodded in apparent understanding, “And this is more Aztec stuff. Gotcha!” She seemed well pleased with herself until she noticed the surprised looks from the rest of the Scoobies. Even Willow, who had been so very distracted with the obsidian dagger just moments before, stopped to gawk at the slayer. She favored them with a defensive pout. “What? We just covered sacrifices in Dr. Alvarez’s class.”

“Go Buffster, with the collegiate success!” congratulated Xander, grin doing much to distract from his still raised eyebrows.

Willow finally shook her head with a smile and retreated to a chair with her knife.

Anya just shrugged at the proceedings, and shooed her fiancé and Dawn into the kitchen. Buffy started to follow the trio into the kitchen, but seemingly changed her mind and dashed upstairs instead. The younger Summers quickly returned with a bowl of water and a towel thrown over one arm. Willow accepted the bowl with a grateful smile and started chanting over the dagger. She took the towel from Dawn without missing a beat, and dipped the blade into the water, cleaning it slowly with the proffered towel, accompanying each swipe of the fabric with another line of spell. Spike could feel the tendrils of magic starting to gather around the young witch.

Free of her burden, Dawn plopped down on the couch next to the vampire. “So, that promise to Xander stands double for me, right?” Her wide, blue eyes dialed up the puppy-factor, and even though Spike knew that the wounded look was mostly contrived, he melted.

“No beer,” he smirked at her playful sulk, “but yeah. There’s just been so much goin’ on that I lost track of keepin’ you up on matters, Nibblet.” Her grin lit up her face, and Spike couldn’t help but smile genuinely in return. “How’s the pre-looting research goin’?”

Dawn looked like she was about to start bouncing in excitement. “Everything’s a go for that gold stash, but I think I might have found something even better.” She darted a glance over the vampire’s shoulder, at the sleeping figure who shared the couch with them. In one of her lighting-fast mood swings, her previous excitement turned to obvious worry. “I kinda wanted to run it past Giles before I said anything.” Dawn started twisting her hands in her lap and managed to look everywhere but at the watcher.

“Hey, Bit.” Spike managed to turn towards Dawn without dumping Giles unceremoniously in the floor. “He’s gonna be okay, yeah?” She nodded, but still looked a little doubtful. “When has your big sis ever failed when it really mattered?”

She smiled tremulously. “Does freshman algebra count?”

Spike grinned. A snarking Dawn was a coping Dawn. “No.”

“Okay, like, hardly ever. Especially when she’s got you fighting beside her.” No matter how many times he saw that utter faith in him shining in her eyes, Spike was always astounded. He wasn’t going to argue in the face of so obvious a sop to his ego, even if long-held doubts and insecurities were gnawing at the corners of his mind.

The slayer in question appeared at the base of the stairs, a particularly worn and twisted stake clutched in her hand. When she noticed Spike’s startled expression, she smiled apologetically and slipped the weapon into the back of her waistband.

Dawn had noticed too, and when Buffy retook her place on the couch, the girl whispered conspiratorially in the vampire’s ear, “She only brings out Mr. Pointy when she’s seriously damage-bound. Elaine better look out!”

Slayer would bring a pet stake instead of a rabbit’s foot for luck. Despite his amused thoughts, Spike couldn’t find it in himself to tease the slayer about her little foible. Not when he was feeling the lack of his trench coat so very keenly.

Anya and Xander reappeared with a few small bowls and a worn book of matches that had obviously been harvested from the kitchen cabinets. Tara took the dishes, placed them next to the stone block, and knelt to light the various candles on the coffee table. The former vengeance demon stared worriedly at Giles as her fiancé lead her to the corner desk and out of the two witches’ way. Trust Anya to blatantly ignore everyone else’s tacit agreement to pretend that everything was just peachy.

“Guys?” Willow’s voice was uncertain, drawing everyone’s attention. Spike couldn’t decide if that particular tone of voice was more or less comforting than her old strident self-confidence. “I think we’re ready to go.”

Dawn gave him a discreet pat on the knee before joining the others on the far side of the coffee table.

“What do we do?” Buffy asked, general’s mask firmly in place.

Willow traded an unreadable look with Tara, who nodded encouragingly. The redhead let out a long breath. “I’ll, uh, need a little blood from each of you,” she said in a rush. “I’ll be using it to paint a symbol on the altar and to coat the rope to start the binding spell. Then there’ll be some chanting and some fancy knot-work. Meret’s already connected to both of you, and any other spell of mine will just bounce, but contact will probably help. She can wrap around your hands or something. That’s when you’ll do your thing, Spike.” The Wiccan was fidgeting with the knife in her hands by the end of her litany.

The vampire shrugged, it certainly sounded easy enough. “Do your worst, Red.”

Willow smiled in nervous relief and scooted around the table. She took his cold left hand in her own. The redhead kept her eyes on her task, and the blade didn’t falter once as she drew it across his open palm with a steady hand. Spike managed not to flinch, but he couldn’t help but stare with the unique fascination of a creature steeped in blood lore at the thick liquid dripping out of his hand and into one of Joyce’s old custard dishes. The wound stopped seeping almost immediately, sluggish from his lack of pulse.

Willow dipped the blade back in the bowl of water and wiped it clean. Tara traded the first bowl for a clean one. Buffy’s donation to the spell followed, her rich blood staining the air with the taste of power. Spike closed his eyes against the subtle call of that scent, only opening them again when Meret brushed her face against his jaw.

Tara took the second bowl and arranged them along one side of the makeshift stone altar. Willow moved to kneel beside her and picked up Buffy’s red feather, the talisman from Quetzalcoatl, first. She dipped the soft tip in the slayer’s blood and painted a circle around the head of the red serpent drawn on the rock. As Willow worked, Tara laced her fingers in her lover’s left hand.

Together, they started to chant quietly.

Next Willow picked up Spike’s token, Mictlantechutli’s green feather, and made a similar mark on the other serpent with the vampire’s darker blood. Then she poured the two bowls together, mixed them with both feathers, and swept the impromptu pens as one to create a third, larger circle, linking the first two together. A few added swipes crossed the three circles, lines and swirls that created an intricate pattern of interwoven parts. The chanted duet came to an end and Willow breathed a long sigh of relief. Tara gave her hand a little squeeze before letting go.

Willow smiled, but quickly turned her attention to the altar again. She coated the hemp cord with what little blood remained, making sure to soak up every possible drop. “Ready?” she asked the waiting pair.

Spike found his bloody fingers interlaced with Buffy’s own. Even though it wasn’t the normal way the liquid entered his body, a warm tingling started in his palm and was soon radiating up his arm as tiny amounts of their blood mixed. His hand closed spasmodically over Buffy’s, but she only squeezed back.

Willow leaned across the table, careful not to upset the many candles, and looped the wet rope around their hands, binding them together with intricate knots. Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sticky, itchy slide of the soaked cord, but held her tongue. When the Wiccan was done, Meret wound her way down Spike’s arm and coiled herself tightly around their bound hands, locking them even more tightly together.

Spike spoke around the dry tightness of his mouth. “’S that all?”

Tara answered when Willow hesitated. “No, while you’re inside, we’ll be using this,” she unwrapped a glass sphere from the velvet cloth on the coffee table, “To anchor Mr. Giles’ soul in case something goes wrong.”

Buffy visibly winced, and Spike did the same, though probably for a different reason. “That what I think it is?” he asked the blonde witch.

“It’s an Orb of Thesuslah.” Her voice was quiet, but firm.

Spike felt every eye on him. To say that he was uncomfortable was an understatement, the smooth crystal ball made his skin crawl, and not just from its inherent magic. A thousand thousand thoughts rushed through his mind. Angel. Angelus. More Angel. More Angelus. Those damned gypsies who had planted the seeds of so much pain with their ill conceived, fatally flawed curse. Angel. Darla. Angelus. Dru. Angel. Acathla. Angelus… All the while, a little voice in the back of his mind was asking why the Scoobies had one of the Orbs at hand anyway, seeing as how the sanctimonious bastard was in L.A., but he shoved that nagging idea aside.

“Just watch where you point that thing,” he said roughly.

Xander snorted. “No thanks. One brooding drama vamp in the world is more than enough.”

Wry chuckles and quickly suppressed smiles swept around the room.

Spike could only stare. He couldn’t help it, not in the face of such an unexpected vote of confidence. And coming from Harris of all people? There was no other way to describe it, the vampire was floored.

A pressure on his hand pulled Spike out of his shock. He looked over to find Buffy smiling at him around her watcher. She picked up Giles’ limp hand with her free one. “Ready to wake Sleeping Beauty?” she asked, giving his hand one last squeeze.

Spike smirked. “You can snog the watcher; he’s really not my type.” Before she could retort, he quirked an eyebrow and grabbed the watcher’s left hand, completing the circle.

Contact catalyzed his desire and the Summers’ living room faded to white.