Chapter 16
 
Spike lifted his face into the shower spray and luxuriated in the warmth.
 
He’d spent the best part of the night prospecting for the Amara treasure. Upon selecting the most promising location to begin his excavation, he’d decided to clean up before heading to Willy’s to recruit a few minions before the bar closed for the day at sunrise. He would need to project an air of authority and confidence, something that would have been difficult when covered from head to toe in rock dust, mud and sewer slime.
 
His motivation for finding the treasure as soon as possible had been reinforced when he had once more been forced to part from Buffy for the night. Something that was becoming as upsetting and frustrating for her as it was for him. The sooner he could convert some valuable items into cash, the sooner they’d be able to get a place of their own.
 
He shook his head and chuckled ruefully as he turned the shower off and reached for a towel. He was getting excited by planning to set up home with a human woman and their child. He could hardly believe it himself.
 
Over the past couple of years, he’d been forced to get accustomed to being alone for the first time since he had been turned. Now though, he remembered what it was like to love and be loved in return. To be with someone who regarded him as an equal partner whose opinions counted for something. After living with Buffy, he understood that Drusilla hadn’t truly loved him the way he’d loved her. It had come as a rude awakening to realise that she’d always treated him as a cross between an attentive slave and a wilful puppy.
 
He’d finished towelling his hair and begun to dry his chest and arms when he heard footsteps in another part of the mansion. He froze and listened intently. There it was again. He fastened the towel around his waist, slipped into his bedroom and picked up the double-bladed battle axe he had left propped up against the bedside table. He’d learned long ago always to have weapons readily to hand when there were no minions to stand guard.
 
Axe raised high, he silently padded towards the source of the noise. He cautiously peeked through the doorway into the great room and immediately relaxed. Resting the haft of the axe on his shoulder, he walked up behind the intruder who was standing at the table bending over the maps.
 
From about a foot away, he quietly said, “Watcher.”
 
He smirked when Giles jumped about a foot, let out an unmanly squeak and clutched at his chest.
 
“Oh! Damn it Spike, you startled me. I did knock, I assure you…”
 
“But when I didn’t answer, you decided to barge in and nose about in my home anyway.” While Giles dithered and frantically polished his glasses, Spike swung the axe down and propped it against the table, cocking his head to one side. “To what do I owe the pleasure so early in the morning? No, let me guess. You’re here to give me the ‘hurt her and you’re dust’ speech, right?”
 
“No, as a matter of fact that’s not... Well, perhaps that was part of it, but…” Giles broke off and gestured helplessly at Spike’s near-nakedness. “Do you think you could put some clothes on? It’s impossible to hold a serious conversation with so much blindingly white flesh on display. And do please call me Giles. It is my name, after all.”
 
“Now where would be the fun in that?” Spike chuckled as he sauntered back to his bedroom. Out of sight of the watcher, his smile faded and he berated himself for having left the maps out. Thankfully, he’d managed to resist the urge to dash in and bundle them away. If he’d done that, he knew the watcher’s curiosity would have been heightened to an impossible degree. He was just thankful that none of his clear notations on the modern map included the words ‘Amara’ or ‘Gem’. Thus far Giles had accepted him as well-intentioned, but if he got wind of the possibility that Spike might soon become invulnerable, there was no telling what his reaction might be.
 
A few minutes later he returned to the great room, fully dressed except for his duster which he had yet to clean. “Let’s take the fatherly warning as delivered and accepted in the spirit in which it was intended and get down to the real reason you’re here, Roopert.”
 
Giles pursed his lips impatiently, but made no protest about the mode of address. He gestured at the maps. “I meant to ask you before. It’s obvious you’re looking for something here in Sunnydale. What could possibly be worth you going to all this effort?”
 
Spike regarded the man thoughtfully, trying to decide how open to be. Apart from the questionable matter of the Gem, the proceeds of his quest would be for Buffy’s benefit, so with a little smirk he said, “Joyce wanted me to ensure I could support Buffy and the Bit, so I’m on a bit of a treasure hunt.”
 
“Good Lord!”
 
Spike leant forward and placed his finger on the ancient map, making sure he obscured the almost illegible word ‘Amara’. “All I have to do now is start digging.” He straightened up and casually rolled up the treasure map and slid it into its tube. “And that’s not why you’re here either.”
 
“Well, no.” Giles removed his glasses again and pinched the bridge of his nose.
 
Spike took in his appearance; hair tousled, clothes rumpled and shoulders drooping. “Heavy night? You look bloody knackered.”
 
“I am, rather. I’ve spent the past few hours trying to persuade a group of particularly tenacious fanatics that their entire purpose in life has been accomplished and they are free to move on. Regrettably, I’m not entirely certain I succeeded.”
 
It occurred to Spike that the watcher would be a major presence in his unlife now that he and Buffy were intending to be together. Consequently, that unlife would run a lot more smoothly if he could manage to keep on the man’s good side.
 
“Come on old man, I know what you need.” Spike led the way into the kitchen and gestured for Giles to take a seat at the scrubbed pine table while he bustled about. He was glad that along with his blood, he had had the forethought to buy a few basic groceries in preparation for eagerly anticipated visits from Buffy.
 
A few minutes later he placed a big mug of strong tea in front of the watcher, and beside it he laid a packet of Ginger Nuts. “There you go.” He sat at the opposite side of the table, tore open the packet of biscuits, dunked one in his own mug and crammed half of it into his mouth.
 
Giles gaped at him in astonishment for a few moments, then with a small smile he picked up his mug and cradled it between his palms. “You can take a man out of England…”
 
Spike snorted. “Yeah.” He shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth then broadcasting a fine spray of crumbs onto the table, said, “Come on then, man. Out with it.”
 
Giles took a sip of his tea, let out a long satisfied breath and set his mug down. “Well, I feel I must act upon the assumption that I haven’t managed to convince the Knights of Byzantium that Glorificus is dead and the Key has been destroyed. The General assured me that he would pray upon the matter and consult his clerics before determining his next course of action. However, we can be sure that they are certainly not going to desist in their quest until they’ve made their own investigations.
 
“With Willow’s help, I have devised a spell to shield Dawn’s Key attributes from magical detection to help reinforce my assertion. However, there is one factor that might overturn any decision he might make. At the moment, they have no idea what form the Key was given…”
 
“Dawn…”
 
“Precisely. If they had any idea that the Key still existed and was housed within a human being with all the vulnerabilities that entails…” Giles started absently fiddling with a biscuit and very deliberately looked Spike in the eye. “Dawn will never be wholly safe while the knight in the mental ward of the hospital, the one person outside our group who knows that she is the Key, is capable of passing on that information.”
 
“And why are you telling me this?”
 
“You’re not stupid, Spike. I think you know exactly why I’m telling you.”
 
“Riiight.” Spike had just witnessed Buffy’s distress at the mere thought that one day she might accidentally kill a human, so he knew she would be appalled by what her watcher was so carefully avoiding suggesting. “And what do you think Buffy will say about that?”
 
“Buffy doesn’t need to know. In fact, I must insist that she never finds out. She could never accept that sometimes a human being has to be sacrificed for the greater good. She's a hero, you see. She's not like us.”
 
Spike hadn’t known the watcher had such pragmatism in him. His respect for the man was raised several notches. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
 
“Or in this case, the one.”
 
“And when one person has to die, the slayer’d want to find a way to protect everyone else by sacrificing herself. Since that is totally bloody unacceptable, better the brain damaged knight than Buffy’s beloved little sister.”
 
“I knew you’d understand.”
 
 
~*~*~*~
 
 
Spike looked down into the wide, uncomprehending eyes of the brain-sucked knight and pressed the pillow harder over the young man’s nose and mouth.
 
By the time that Giles had finally departed after a second cup of tea, the sun had been well on its way into its daily climb into the heavens and Willy’s had been closed. Consequently, Spike had figured he might as well act upon the watcher’s implied suggestion immediately.
 
It had been ridiculously easy to use the tunnel system to sneak into the hospital that was only just beginning to come alive for the day. Spike had made a brief stop in a deserted locker room to secrete his duster in an empty locker and appropriate a set of scrubs. He’d pulled on a surgical cap to cover his striking hair then he’d followed the signs towards the mental ward. On the way, he’d effortlessly lifted a stethoscope from a dozing intern’s neck to complete his disguise.
 
He’d had no trouble identifying his target from Giles’ description of the intricate tattoo that each of the knights sported on their foreheads.
 
He monitored the helpless man’s heartbeat as his chest heaved, his lungs instinctively struggling for the air that they were being denied. In his weakened, confused state, the knight put up no real resistance, unable to defend himself with his arms strapped to the bed frame.
 
Spike heard a low murmured, “Look out for the purple sunflowers,” and looked up to see one of the other patients shifting uneasily in his sleep. When the man didn’t wake, it occurred to Spike that with the ward full, these patients had very likely been sedated to allow the overworked staff to enjoy an undisturbed night.
 
After only a couple more minutes, the knight’s heartbeat stuttered to a halt and his chest stilled. Spike cautiously lifted the pillow and waited a few seconds to check, then nodded to himself and tucked the pillow neatly back under the knight’s head. He closed the staring eyes, smoothed the distorted mouth and cheeks into a more natural, relaxed expression and turned the head so that the man faced away from the door, then straightened the bedcovers to make it look as though the knight was sleeping peacefully.
 
Exiting the hospital unobserved was slightly more problematic now that there were more people about. Patients had started wandering the halls in their nightclothes and extra members of staff were arriving to take the day shift.
 
Spike had removed the scrubs and stuffed them into a laundry hamper but had yet to retrieve his duster when a couple of young doctors who were complaining loudly about their working hours burst into the locker room.
 
He vaulted up onto the dusty top of a bank of lockers and lay motionless while the pair changed and greeted another young man who arrived as they left. When the room was once again empty, Spike rolled off the lockers, brushed himself down, grabbed his duster and edged out of the room before he could be delayed again.
 
A few minutes later, he was whistling merrily as he navigated the tunnels back to the mansion.
 
He had time to grab a few hours sleep before making preparations for Buffy’s stay and getting ready for the Summers family dinner. He fell silent and frowned as he contemplated how he could make a good impression on Joyce. He had very little practice in socialising with humans who weren’t Buffy. He didn’t want to screw up and embarrass her. Perhaps it was time to consult the memories of his life as William. Social attitudes had changed drastically in the intervening years, but with a bit of thought he might be able to come up with some kind of workable plan.
 
 
 
A/N:
I have borrowed lines from BtVS S5 Ep22 The Gift written by Joss Whedon, and the novel A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens (a line which was quoted in the movie: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan).