Author's Notes: A quick note for all of you who are worried about Buffy backsliding: Buffy has very good reason to worry that Spike might betray her. Yes, she was making some steps forward, but that doesn’t mean she trusts him. Yet. Be patient, young padawans and let me tell the story. I promise she won’t stay mad forever. Besides… if she didn’t get mad at him, and he didn’t have a bit of a temper on him, I wouldn’t have been able to do THIS scene.

For all of you who were hoping for a Lydia-Buffy-Spike scene, enjoy…

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits:This chapter contains lines adapted from the episodes "Checkpoint" written by Douglas Petrie and Jane Espenson and "Bloodties" written by Steven S. DeKnight

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae

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Chapter 21

Thesis

"What do you make of it?" I ask Giles the next day. I wrote out the whole dream, just as soon as I warmed up enough that my fingers weren't trembling. He's peering at my handwriting as if the secrets of the universe are written there.

"Can you describe again the creature you saw? The one at the very end?"

I shiver. "Horrible. Female, definitely. Long white hair, really hard white skin… kinda craggy, actually, and veiny. Her eyes were weird… like… um… like frozen ice over a pond, when you scrape away the snow? And lots of sharp teeth."

"Like vampire teeth?" Lydia wants to know. She’s sitting at the research table, beside the others, elbow deep in books, trying to find something that matches my description of the thing I saw in my dream.

"No, like… um… like icicles. Really pointy. All of them, too, not just the fangs."

"Did she say anything?" Willow asks.

"No," I say. "She just… grinned. Trust me, it was wiggy enough. I'm kinda glad I didn't have to hear her voice."

"Why was I wearing a sombrero?" Giles mutters.

"Hello, creepy demon chick?" I remind him.

"Yes, yes. I just… Some of the earlier things, are you sure they weren't just regular dreams that led into a Slayer dream?"

"I was getting the whole Slayer-dream vibe the whole time," I tell him. "Even when you were wearing the sombrero."

He frowns, then his face lights up. "Of course!" He hurries over to the bookshelves.

"What?"

"Cinco de Mayo," he says, flipping rapidly through a book.

"Five of Mayonnaise?" Xander asks.

"Fifth of May," Willow says.

"It falls within the time frame we're looking at. Perhaps the sombrero is our clue to when this Slayer's Night is," Giles says. “It’s between the solstice and the equinox.”

"It's a theory," I agree, although I think he's kinda stretching. "What about the rest of it, though? The … costumes and the car full of Slayers and my mom and the three Spikes?"

"Well," Lydia says, polishing her glasses. "The part about the car full of Slayers might be the easiest to explain. There is a theory, among the Council, that after your… your drowning incident, that the Slayer line passed to Miss Young, and then to Miss Lehane. Therefore, if you were to… say… um, pass on, again, a new Slayer wouldn't be called until Miss Lehane were to… ah, follow."

"Way to euphemism there," I tell her. "But I think I see what you mean."

She blushes. "As for the three Spikes, perhaps you could ask him what they might represent."

Great. One more thing to beat out of Spike.

***

"He… lives in a graveyard?" Lydia looks nervous, despite the fact that the sun is beaming cheerfully down and she's wearing a cross around her neck big enough to ward off a half dozen vampires. "I thought vampires usually nested in abandoned places?"

"Spike doesn't so much nest as much as he lurks, and thankfully he does it solo," I tell her. I'm still irritated about the demon attack last night, and the creepy Slayer dream on top of it isn't helping much either. Having to play show and tell with my least favorite neighbor and one of the Watcher's Council? So not high on my list of ways to spend my day.

"Whatever became of Drusilla?" she asks as we make our way through the snow around Restfield’s gates. Someone has helpfully shoveled the walk. But everything off the path is covered in snow. The gravestones look like they’re drowning. "I thought the two of them were nearly inseparable."

"Drusilla turned out to be not only crazy but also a big ho. She left his pasty ass somewhere in Brazil. With any luck, something ate her." Lydia nods, then looks confused.

"What, exactly, is a… 'ho'?"

I can’t help the feeling that Spike is hiding something from me. After all his talk about changing and, you know, wanting to be useful, it’s nearly disappointing. Or it would be if it weren’t so… Spike. All that pretty much adds up to a really grumpy Buffy.

Lydia’s constant stream of Spike related questions on the way over here? Really not helping.

By the time we get to Spike's crypt, I've worked myself into a decent temper. Kicking open his door has become almost therapeutic. Gotta love that bang.

"If you've come round for eggs and sausage, we're fresh out," he calls out. When we step into the crypt I’m surprised to see him not plunked in front of the TV. Instead he's sitting on top of a stone sarcophagus… painting his nails? Ugh. He doesn’t even lift his stupid bleached head when I storm into the room. Instead he just goes on ignoring me and giving himself the world’s ugliest manicure.

I grab the edge of the stone lid and yank it out from under him, sending him tumbling into the coffin underneath. "Hey!" he yells, sitting up and showing me his freshly lacquered black nails. "Watch it! These are wet."

I so don't care. With a shove, I pin him against the inside of the coffin with the lid. He grunts and glares.

"Why were there dead demons all over my lawn last night, Spike?"

"Was looking kinda bare. I thought it could use some lawn ornaments. Why the bloody fuck do you think there were dead demons all over your bleedin' lawn, you daft bint?"

"I think you killed them," I tell him.

"Sussed that one out all by yourself?" he snarks.

"I think you sent them there, then killed them while my mother watched just to make yourself look good."

That surprises him. His head tilts to the side and he stares at me as if he thinks I’m the stupidest Slayer he’s ever seen. "Are you off your trolley, Slayer? Why the hell would I want to do that?"

"You tell me, Spike," I say, stepping back and watching his temper boil over.

The minute I let go of the heavy lid he flips it off with enough force that it flies across the room and shatters against the wall. Behind me, I hear Lydia squeak in fright, but neither of us pay her any attention. Seething, Spike stalks toward me. Standing in the coffin gives him an extra foot or two in height and he glares down at me with all the menace he can muster. Even with the chip, that’s a lot of menace.

"Know what I think, Slayer?” Spike growls. “I think you're brassed off because while you were out traipsing about town trying to pin something on me, I was the one protecting your mum from the demon assassins there looking’ to kill you. I think you're so busy looking for conspiracies and betrayals where there are none that you can't see past the end of your ridiculous nose. You cocked up, and now the only way you can save face is to come round here and play a few rounds of Kick the Spike. Well I won't have it. I've been doing you bloody favors for months now and I don't get a lick of respect from you or your lot. From now on, Slayer, you want something from me you can either treat me decent and say 'pretty please' or you can fork over the dosh. Your choice."

He steps up onto the lip of the coffin then drops easily in front of me, radiating enough anger and violence that my Slayer sense is going wild. Well, I'm mad, too. I step into his space, nearly nose to nose with him… well, nose to chin. At least he's not as tall as Angel. The air between us is so thick I could cut it.

"How do I know you didn't set that up, Spike? How do I know you haven't been setting up all these demon attacks lately? You're always there. Whenever there's a new demon around, here comes Spike, barging in. How do I know that this isn't just you trying to get me killed?"

"If I were trying to kill you, Summers, you'd already be dead," he growls. His eyes flash gold.

"Like you could, with that chip in your head," I say.

He snorts. "Think what you like," he says finally.

A thud behind us makes both of us turn. Lydia has backed up into Spike's side table and is staring at us with her eyes wide. The thud was a big, heavy book falling off the table and hitting the floor. "S-sorry," she stutters, then bends down to pick up the book, frowning at the title. Before I realize he's moving, Spike is across the room and snatching it out of her hands with enough force that he winces and presses his fingers to his forehead.

"Not nice to snoop," he growls at her, recovering from the zap the chip must have just given him. He glances at me. "Who's this, then? Since when do you need a bloody chaperon?"

"This is Ms. Lydia Markham," I tell him. "Watcher's Council."

Spike eyes her up and down. Lydia blushes.

It's amazing how Spike can go from cranky to Casanova so easily. His shoulders relax, his head tilts, and his hips jut forward. With a slow smirk he thrusts his thumbs in his pockets, his hands framing the crotch of his jeans in a way that I just know is designed to draw every woman's attention there. "Watcher's Council, eh?" he says, giving her a little smile. "Been a long time since I met a woman who wanted to Watch."

He curls his tongue behind his teeth and gives her another once over. Ugh. Only Spike would find some stuffy British woman attractive. Only… when I glance at her, she's blushing, and batting her eyelashes and some of her hair has loosened from her bun. She's not pretty, but for the first time I realize she's not all that old, either.

I stomp up to them and give Lydia a little nudge. "We don't flirt with the undead," I tell her.

"Hypocrite," Spike mocks, all traces of his temper tantrum gone. What's left is sly and playful and about as friendly as a fully grown jaguar.

"Jerk," I shoot back. He just grins.

"So, why's the Watcher's Council suddenly interested in ol' Spike?" he asks. He takes a step back and leans casually against another sarcophagus, then fishes in his pockets for his cigarettes.

"Oh," she says. "Not… not the Council. Just, well, m-me."

He looks up at her from beneath his dark lashes as he lights his cigarette. He lets it dangle loosely from his lips while he puts away his lighter. "Just you, hmm, pet?"

Oh my god, did he just purr?

"She's never met a vampire before," I tell him, putting some warning in my tone.

"That right?" he says, as if that only made him more interested. "Nasty fellows, vampires. Rough crowd. But then, some birds like it rough, don't they Slayer?" He slants me a teasing glance.

"Don't be a pig, Spike."

"'M not. I'm having a nice conversation with Ms. Markham here and you're being rude, Summers. Know your mum didn't bring you up to be such a bitch."

"You're William the Bloody," Lydia says, as if puzzled.

"Heard of me, have you?" The smug, self-satisfied look on his face is pure predator. I wonder if this is how he used to lure prey, back when he had a reason to, you know, be lure-boy. If Lydia’s expression is any indication it wouldn’t take much for her to offer Spike her neck if he asked. I thought Watchers were smarter than this.

"I…” she blushes again. Ugh. What is up with this woman? "I… did my thesis on you."

Oh, crap.

"Is that right?" Spike straightens, and snuffs out his cigarette, looking like he's just scented blood. "And what was your thesis, exactly?" Oh, yeah. He’s definitely purring. Not in that weird demonic way that tells you that there’s something not human in him, but in a totally male way that makes even me react.

Unfortunately for Spike, my reaction is to get annoyed.

"It… ah, was an examination into your… history, um, postulating what you might have been before t-turning and the… the possible effect it may have had in creating, uh, creating one of the most v-violent vampires in history," she says.

Spike smirks. Oh, for heavens sake.

"Got a copy of it, pet? I'd like to read it," he says.

"I… I can get a copy of it, yes," she says a little breathlessly. I’m pretty sure if Spike asked her to strip right now she’d do it.

"Spike, we're not here for you to flirt with Lydia," I remind him. "I still need information."

"And I told you how to get it,” he says. "Say the magic words, Slayer."

If I had any cash on me, I’d stuff it down his throat. "Fine. Spikewillyouprettyplease stop being a jerk and tell me what I want to know?"

"Was that so hard?" he asks, his gaze finally flicking back to me, and there’s anger there, still, mixed in with the amusement. His eyes are anything but friendly when he looks at me.

"Look, I know you know more about this Ice Demon thing than you're letting on. I want to know what you know." We glare at each other. His jaw works and he keeps glancing around the walls of the crypt as if the answers are written there.

Finally he huffs out a sigh.

"I know… that whatever it is it’s sending demons after you," he says. "I killed ten or so of them last night, and they were hissing out your name the whole bloody time. This… thing. It's got it in for you, Slayer."

"How long has it been here?"

"Don't know," he says.

"What's it after?"

"Can't say," he arches a brow.

"Do you know when the Slayer's Night is?" I ask. He eyes my fists warily.

"No, and if you punch me in the nose I stop singing."

"You're barely talking," I tell him. "I swear, Spike, if I find out that you're hiding information from me or working against me, I won't just dust you. I'll stake you out in the middle of the desert and wait for the sun to rise." He just rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine, one more thing… do you know about Slayer dreams?"

He frowns. "Read somethin' about them once. Prophetic junk, yeah? You seein' visions, Slayer?"

"No," I tell him. "But… I had a dream last night. And there were three of you in it." He smirks.

"Sounds dirty. Gotta say, Slayer, never figured that for one of your kinks. Gonna tell me more or leave it up to my imagination?"

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.

"There were three of you," I manage to bite out. "One looked like you do now, only with the duster. He was trapped in ice. One of you was in game face, and dressed like a punk band reject complete with safety pins and dog tags and ripped up, too-tight jeans. And the third had brown hair, glasses, and dressed like he was from another time. He was kinda see-through. They all three warned me that 'The Cold One' was coming, even though vamp you was the only one who could talk. Oh, and demon Spike wanted to eat poetry."

Spike is staring at me as if I'm the one who has three heads. He is, if possible, paler than usual.

"Do you know what it means?" I ask.

"No," he whispers. "Not…"

He drags a hand through his hair, loosening his curls and making them stick up all over, then hoists himself up on the coffin lid and scrubs his hands over his face.

"Don't lie to me, Spike," I warn him.

"I'm not lying, Buffy," he says, looking me straight in the eye. "I don't know what it bloody means."

"But you have a guess," Lydia says. I'd almost forgotten she was there.

Spike's eyes don't leave mine. "Yeah," he says. "I've got a guess."

"I need to know," I tell him. "You told me you wanted to help. I've got a possible apocalypse coming and I need to know what's going on."

He glances at Lydia. "Go on outside, pet," he tells her, all flirting gone. "This is between me and the Slayer. You've had your bleedin' interview." She glances at me and I nod. With a last curious glance at Spike, she leaves.

"Look," he says, spreading his hands. "Forget for a moment all that rot those wankers feed you about vampires. Forget what Angel told you. Some of it's bollocks and I don't have time to suss out what's what. What you saw…" he plants a hand on his chest, fingers splayed. "It’s like… there's me, there's the demon, and there's… whatever is left of the human I was. That's what you saw. I don't know what it means, Buffy. But if all three of … them, me, whatever, were warning you… it means that whatever the hell we were warning you of, it's bad, and when the chips are down, I'm on your bloody side."

He's serious. I can see it in his eyes that he's serious.

And if my dream is to be believed… he probably is.

"I don't trust you," I tell him.

"I know," he says with an odd little smile. "But I trust you. Funny old world, innit?"

***

“So, that’s all he had to say?” Giles asks. We’re back in the Magic Box, and it’s close to closing time. Outside, the snow is falling again. I really don’t want to patrol tonight.

“Yep,” I tell him. “And the thing of it is… I think I believe him.”

“Buffy, I don’t think I need to remind you that Spike is a soulless demon. It’s in his nature to lie,” Giles says.

“I know,” I say with a sigh, sinking back in my chair. “but Spike is an amazingly bad liar. And besides that… when he came to me for that truce over Acathla, he said that he liked the world. That he didn’t want to see it end. Spike isn’t stupid. I think he’d do just about anything to get that chip out of his head, but I can’t see him working with someone with world-endage plans.”

“What about Adam?” Giles reminds me.

“He didn't really want to end the world, though, did he? Just… you know, massive demon army type stuff.”

“I hope you’re right, Buffy,” Giles says.

“I think she is,” Lydia says. We both turn to look at her.

“Oh, yeah. That’s another thing. How come you didn’t tell us that Spike is your celebrity vampire crush?” I ask, feeling my temper start to heat up again.

“Pardon?” Giles looks surprised. Okay, so he didn’t know either.

“Turns out our Ms. Markham here wrote her whatsis on Spike,” I say, feeling grouchy and not at all like being friendly.

“Thesis,” she says. “And I’d hardly call it a crush.” She glances between Giles and I. “It’s merely a…a professional interest.”

“You batted your eyelashes,” I point out.

“Yes, well, the books don’t have a great deal in the way of pictures. I hadn’t expected him to be quite so…”

“Annoyingly good looking?” I say dryly.

“Attractive,” she says primly.

“Yeah, yeah, Spike’s a hottie. He also doesn’t have a pulse, and if it weren’t for the chip you’d have been vamp food,” I point out. “You practically offered your neck to him.”

“I’m not entirely without sense,” she says, her face getting red again. She busies herself with straightening the edges of her books.

“No? Were you going to blush him to death?” I don’t know why I’m so irritated with her, but I am. “You wrote your thesis thingie on him, right? Don’t you know how dangerous he is?”

“Oh, yes,” she says. “His body count isn’t as high as, say Angelus’, but he’s far more volatile and violent. Not to mention cunning and resourceful. We’ve always postulated that he was a member of London’s working class before he was turned, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s not far more educated than we thought.”

Ew, she’s actually sounding turned on by … Spike. Gross. She’s totally old. Shouldn’t she be past the whole crush on the famous vampire stage?

“A hundred and twenty odd years is plenty of time to gain an education,” Giles points out.

“Yes, but how many vampires choose the collected works of Lord Tennyson for their light bedtime reading? And dog-ear the pages?” she asks.

Giles’s expression is surprised.

“So that’s where that went,” he says.



Author’s Postscript: Now tell me you didn’t enjoy Spike being all bad ass and flipping that coffin lid off… ‘cause I did. That’s why I kept it.