Disclaimer: Not my characters, someone else’s characters, but they let me play. Thanks to Sanity Fair for the lightning fast beta work!

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Chapter 6 The Hour of Revelation

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In the end she drank the pot of tea while watching Spike sleep and mulled over the situation until early afternoon. Finally, the vampire stirred and sat up. “Must’ve been really shagged out, I guess. Sorry about that, love.”
 
“It’s okay. I had some breakfast, got some more prophesy thrown at me by the friendly neighborhood seer.”
 
Spike caught the undercurrent of worry in her voice. “What did she say?”
 
Buffy came and sat down on the bed. “More of the same. Darkness, death, the usual suspects. She said there was peace on the other side of it, but I would be in the middle. ‘Heartbroken’ was the way she put it.”
 
Spike moved over next to her and put an arm around her. “It’s all right, love. We’ll figure it out.”
 
“It’s fine, Spike. Really. I get these stupid prophecies tossed at me all the time. I’m not going down without a fight and neither are you. I don’t care what we need to do, but we’re doing it together. You’re stuck with me,” Buffy finished defiantly.
 
“That’s my girl,” Spike said proudly. Her strength and determination were something he had admired even when they were enemies, and it made him love her all the more. “I suppose we should go downstairs for a while, try to see what we can see about how we’re supposed to save the world and all that.”
 
“It’s dark enough in these old buildings, don’t think you’ll have any dusting issues.”
 
“True enough. Those California houses with all the windows were a royal pain for us sunlight sensitive types. Nice to be back in the old country for a change.” Spike got up and located all his clothes, retrieving his hat from under the bed. “Right then. Shall I go be the squire who won the wild colonial girl?”
 
“Watch it, vam-squire,” Buffy quipped. They made their way downstairs to the large room once more, which was much more crowded than it had been previously. A group was singing over their ale in one corner, and everywhere people were talking and drinking. There were a few women in the crowd, and many of those seemed to be of the bawdy tavern wench ilk. Spike and Buffy found a corner near the back where they could observe the goings on in relative peace. Lucy saw them and brought them some ale but had no time to talk as the group of singing men paused to shout for service.
 
“Quite the hubbub around here,” Spike commented.
 
“It’s like the Bronze but with less rock music,” Buffy observed. They sipped their ale for a while, watching the crowd. “What are we going to do if we get stuck in this time? We can’t really make our living stealing.”
 
“Speak for yourself,” Spike said. Buffy gave him a dirty look. “I know, I know. On the side of good and all that. Not entirely sure what we could do.”
 
“What did you do for a living when you were alive?” Buffy wondered.
 
To her surprise, Spike scoffed. “Nothing particularly useful. I fancied myself a poet and supported me and my mum by a combination of clerking and inheritance from my father.”
 
“Clerking?”
 
“I was a bank clerk. Kept accounts, things of that nature.”
 
“You? An accountant?” Buffy laughed. “Now that I find hard to believe.”
 
“And you were wondering why I never wanted you to know about William Pratt? Becoming a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Spike toasted the idea with another drink of ale.
 
“Might want to keep your voice down. I’m guessing these folks were probably pretty intolerant of the supernatural crowd in these times,” Buffy pointed out.
 
“Good point,” Spike replied. They talked quietly together, catching up about the past year of their lives. Spike learned about Dawn’s boarding school, Willow and her coven, and the other Slayers. He had been dismayed to hear about Anya’s death. “She was quite a character. World’s a little poorer without her in it,” was his comment. Spike in turn told stories of Angel and his crew, Fred’s transformation into Ilyria, the battle over the Cup of Perpetual Torment, and all sorts of assorted odds and ends. The thought of Harmony Kendall as a secretary boggled Buffy’s mind as she remembered how airheaded Harmony had been in high school. “It’s amazing that the whole office didn’t come crashing down with Harmony saying ‘Oopsie’ in the middle of it all.”
 
“She was never big on the brains department,” Spike admitted. “But she turned out all right in the end, for a vampire that is.”
 
They kept talking until nightfall, when Spike said, “Well, we really should be out and about if we’re going to figure out what this long strange trip is for.” He stood up and offered her his arm. “Shall we, Mrs. Pratt?”
 
“What if I wanted to keep my own name?” she said with a mock frown.
 
“Nope, can’t be done. I’m the husband, and your duty is to honor and obey me, remember?” Spike said sternly, trying to keep a straight face.
 
“Yeah, right. Let me know how that works out for you.” They grinned at each other and headed out arm in arm, waving to Maggie on their way out. There were many people out strolling and bustling around in the early evening air, and they made their way aimlessly around the streets of Galway, trying to determine what to do next.
 
They came to a narrow street that seemed to have a number of inns and taverns along it, and they worked their way down it. Men called to each other and argued, barmaids bawled to the customers and each other; it seemed that every doorway held a noisy crowd. As they reached the next corner, it seemed that an all out bar brawl was happening in the tavern called “The Bell and Candle”.
 
“Rough spot,” Buffy commented as the sound of breaking glass reached her ears.
 
“My kind of place,” Spike said, his eyes bright with interest. At that point the brawl spilled out into the street, with half a dozen men throwing punches at each other, cursing and yelling. A barmaid with a broom was beating one large man across the back shouting, “Get out, ye drunken sot! I’m a good girl, I am, and I’ll not be handled by the likes of ye!” The man stumbled into the rest of the fray and was set upon by another drunk. Stumbling and rolling in the dirt they tussled until the large man finally subdued his opponent. As he sat there pounding his victim in the face, another brawler grabbed him by the shoulder.
 
“Liam, ye fool, ye’ll kill ‘im if you keep on like that. Leave off!”
 
Landing one more blow, the large man stood up. “Aye, not worth bein’ hung over the likes of ‘im.” He retrieved his hat, brushed it off, put it on his head and said to his friend, “The ale here’s like piss anyway. Time to move on.”
 
“Spike? What is it?” Spike had stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open, shaking his head. “Spike?” Buffy shook his arm, trying to get his attention.
 
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I think I know why we’re here, pet.” Buffy followed his gaze until she saw the large brawler turn their way slowly. With a sinking heart she stared into the face of the man Liam, who would someday become Angel.
 

TBC