Spike left the Summers residence with a bounce in his step, his favorite axe from the slayer’s weapons chest over one shoulder, the hideous folder under the other arm, and a scrap of paper that Dawn had given him as an afterthought shoved in his pocket. He had two more stops to make before leaving, and the approaching dawn was going to make travel iffy.

After dragging Dawn from her bed, Spike had even less compulsion against waking the watcher, but much to his surprise, the lights were on at the flat and his insistent knocking was met with a very awake Giles, still dressed and apparently working in the wee hours of the morning. Also, surprisingly, Meret took one look at the watcher, hissed in rage and flew away as if a flight of wyverns were on her tail. Spike tried to reach out to her, the coatl’s actions were confusing to say the least, but her thoughts were a wall of anger and fright.

The watcher’s voice drew the vampire’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Good evening, or is it morning, Spike. I do not know what to ask first: what you are doing here at this time of night or what I did to scare it off.”

Spike scowled. He thought they had settled that issue months before. “It’s ‘she,’ Rupert. I’m really not in the mood to discuss semantics and biology right now.” As for the “she” in question, Meret was high-tailing it back to the crypt, tail between her metaphorical legs. The vampire would talk the problem out of her as soon as he got back, but he had business to attend to first.

Giles looked at him with oddly bright eyes set in a haggard face. If not for the lack of aromatic evidence, Spike would have sworn that the man had been drinking. “Yes, my apologies. A slip of the tongue, I assure you.” The watcher turned his attention to the weapon slung over the vampire’s shoulder. “Have you been patrolling?”

“Nah. Goin’ on a trip soon. You know me,” he gave the axe a little twist before swinging it to rest on the ground next to his foot. “Don’t leave home without one.” After an uncommonly long period of silence, Spike arched an eyebrow. “You gonna let me in or what?”

The watcher looked surprised for a moment before standing away from the door and gesturing to the living room beyond. Spike sauntered into the apartment, dumping the axe next to the coat rack. After tossing Dawn’s pink monstrosity on the table, the vampire spun one of the chairs around and straddled it, arms folded over its straight back. Scuff marks marring the wood marked the chair as one of the participants in his captivity, two years ago. Spike smiled, remembering the various idiocies of that particular year, but he couldn’t be too angry. Those misadventures hadn’t all been bad, and every moment was worth the movie nights with Dawn and the rare occasions when he could coax a real smile out of the slayer. It was funny how even the most twisted of trees could still bear fruit under the right circumstances.

Giles closed the door behind them. “Scotch?”

The vampire’s grin was blinding. “When have I ever turned down a nip of your private stash?”

The watcher snorted. “More times than of which I am aware, no doubt.”

“Bought you that last bottle, didn’t I?”

“Hmm, yes. I never did thank you for that.”

Spike chuckled, mentally noting the careful omission. “Fair enough.” The faintest of smiles touched the watcher’s lips in return.

When Giles placed the two glasses on the table, Spike caught a quick glimpse of white gauze, previously hidden under starched cotton and brown tweed. “Just couldn’t take the pain of bachelorhood anymore, or did someone record over another of your World Cup videos?”

At the watcher’s quizzical look, Spike stared pointedly at the man’s left wrist. Giles smiled tersely and tugged on his sleeve, covering the bandages from prying eyes once again. “It seems that someone spilled one of the more caustic spell components on the counter at the Magic Box. Unfortunately, I leaned into the puddle before Anya could warn me of its presence. The doctors said that the worst of the burn would be healed in a week or two.”

Spike winced in sympathy before toasting the watcher sardonically and downing the glass. It was hard to remember how long injuries took to heal before being turned, but to a vampire, two weeks was a long, long time. “So yeah, business. Leavin’ town for a bit and I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything brewin.’ Don’t want to miss out on the fun if there’s a big party on the calendar.”

The watcher didn’t even wait to think about his answer. “Nothing of which I am aware.”

“What about Pandora’s jar? Turned up anything on that yet?”

“No. The inscriptions are proving more difficult to translate than I expected, and I will not risk opening it until I have some idea of what I might find.”

Spike was a little surprised. Usually when the watcher sank his teeth into a new research project, answers were quickly forthcoming. “Alright then. Nothing else that might need my particular attention?”

“There are, of course, your usual patrols with Buffy, both as part of her slaying and for the Magic Box. However, I believe that we could spare you for a few days if the trip is worthwhile.” Giles’ eyes glittered with interest, or was it anticipation? “May I ask what it is you’re after?”

Spike waved his hand dismissively. “Some trinket or another from Dawn’s basket of goodies. Ever heard of Vianne’s Mirror?”

“No. Will you be gone long?”

No curiosity. No inquisition. “Are you feeling alright, Rupes?”

“Fine, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind.” Spike retrieved his folder and rose from his seat. There were a few more hours until he could get his last chore out of the way and hit the road, but this particular engagement had taken much less time than he had expected. Showing unusual solicitude, Spike paused before he walked out of the door. “Get some sleep. You look like hell.”

The watcher snorted. “And you would know.”

Spike grinned. “Damn right.”

*****

“So, Anyanka. You know that thing you’ve been tryin’ to saddle me with for the last month?”

“Mmm?” Anya asked, barely raising her voice in question over the rest of her endless humming. The former vengeance demon was waltzing around the Magic Box with a broom and a new pair of white heels. She had airily mentioned something about breaking them in for the wedding when Spike had arrived, fresh from trying to talk some sense out of Meret.

He had been unsuccessful. The little serpent had buried herself under the tattered remains of an old shirt and her many treasures in her hanging nest and nothing short of physical force would get her down. Maybe she needed to get out of town as much as he did.

“God damn it Anya. Just give it to me.”

She continued dancing, twirling her broom around her. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to be a bit more specific. This store specializes in a wide variety of goods and services.”

Spike just snarled.

Anya finally twirled to a stop, skirt settling around her legs as she lifted one foot to inspect the shoes. “In all my centuries of vengeance, I’ve never had someone beg me for something they truly despised.” She turned a prim smile on the vampire. “You’d think it would have come up at some point. I mean, there are only so many wishes out there and a thousand years is more than enough to get through them all.” Anya’s eyes brightened and she crossed her arms.

The sound of grinding teeth was clearly audible in every corner of the Magic Box. Spike finally managed to force the words past his lips. “May I please have a cell phone.”

Anya grinned as she walked to the counter and stretched to reach into the drawer under the register. She tossed the vampire a little silver and black phone, the same kind she had managed to force on the rest of the Scoobies. Spike proceeded to stare at it as if it were a crucifix while Anya slid off her strappy torture devices and tossed them behind the counter. “You know, I think I remember something about Khymryl granting the wish that created these shoes. Too bad they caught on.” She flexed her toes. “Boy did she feel silly afterwards.”

Spike held the phone up between two fingers. “That’s all fine and good, but…”

“Yes, I know. Numbers! Here’s yours.” She handed over a post-it with a seven digit number scrawled on it. “Everyone else’s are programmed into the phone. Not that I think it will be an issue, because you’re, well, you, but if you run over five hundred minutes a month, I’m taking the overage charges out of your paycheck. Just so you know.”

“Um, right. So I guess I’m off.”

The former demon turned a speculative eye on Spike. “You said you’re going after Vianne’s Mirror?”

“Yeah, got any more info to pass along before I head out?”

“No,” she grinned. “Just tell Dawn that I expect her to share. Have a fruitful trip!”

What the hell is the Bit sending me after?

*****

As a rule, vampires didn’t feel cold, but the crisp California air still bit deep at eighty-five miles-per-hour. Spike’s helmet was tied behind him on the motorcycle, a miniature shelter for Meret. Over the coatl’s hiding hole was a bag holding a few jars of blood, human for once from Willy’s, Dawn’s pink folder, and the accursed cell phone. With Buffy’s battleaxe strapped across his back, he had everything he needed for a vampire’s perverse idea of a lost weekend.

Or avoiding highway interruptions. A cop had pulled up behind him on the outskirts of Sunnydale, and yeah, stopping to manually topple the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign had perhaps not been the best of ideas, but tradition was tradition. However, the glint of red and blue lights off of the axe on his back, not to mention the flash of his demonic face, had sent the patrolling officer scurrying in the opposite direction.

Spike wondered if the cop knew how lucky he was. A scant few years ago, the man would have ended up as a snack. The thought started with a grin and ended with a grimace. There it was again. That nagging feeling that twisted his insides and made thinking of the present much more pleasant than recalling the past.

And that was fine, because the present called for thinking. He still didn’t know what had frightened Meret or what, if anything, he needed to do about it. He needed a place to stay during the day and time to go over Dawn’s notes. However, there was one topic that Spike studiously avoided. Buffy. Even if he didn’t like admitting it to himself, the vampire was running away, if only for a little while. He needed a break, from within and without, so the slayer stayed buried in the back of his mind.

As for Meret, she made the trip in silence.