Author’s Notes: Thanks to Kar and my readers, and to zanthinegirl and Victoria for an early run-through. Now that I am back from Thanksgiving vacation, I hope to get back to a more regular posting schedule. A draft for the next part is in the works!

In our eight installment the First appears again, Buffy and Willow finally talk, and Anya has something for Giles.


Chapter Eight: Clues

Spike heard her humming to herself as she came in, so she must have done well on her test. He listened to her moving about the apartment, going through her after-class rituals; first kicking off her boots and dropping her keys and bag, then going through the mail. He stretched, letting the covers ride down his body and settled in to wait for her to come to him.

The phone rang and she grabbed it. "Hey! No, nothing's wrong. Spike’s asleep is all. I didn’t want the phone to wake him up. No, he’s not going to be here tonight, he knows we’re doing girly stuff. Well, if he wants to think we’re doing that kind of girly stuff, it’s not like I can stop him. Probably poker somewhere or cheating frat boys at pool. He doesn’t ask me for permission, Will, I’m not his mom. Yeah, seven is good. It’s Faith’s night to patrol, but… I, um, I guess you probably knew that. See ya then.”

I’m not his mom. Spike clutched at the pillow and tried very hard to push aside any thoughts of his mother. Instead he focused on his slayer, the flowing water as she turned on the faucet, the slide of the crisper drawer as she retrieved a piece of fruit from the bin. The thought of her sinking her teeth into a pear, licking the juice off her lips effectively overrode any other whims he might be entertaining.

“How was your test, pet?” he called out. She appeared in the doorway, clad in her knickers and tank top, holding her half-eaten fruit. So like something he’d dreamed sometimes that it scared him, this living with her. Buffy took another bite and settled at the edge of the bed.

“Fine. The grades will be posted next week.” She shrugged and finished her snack. With her usual precision she tossed the core into the waste bin. “Willow’s still coming over later.”

“She bringing Faith with her?”

Apparently he’d asked this with a bit too much interest, because she was giving him The Look. The expression that informed him that he had mortally wounded her and would pay dearly. She gestured at the blanket tented over his pelvis and frowned. “If that’s not for me, then forget it.”

Spike gave her one of his sly grins and squeezed himself under the sheet. “Oh, this is all yours, love,” he informed her with a raised eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, but slid her warm hand under the covers to take the place of his. A bit of pink tinged her face; during daylight hours she was shy, even after all this time. Not that he minded. It merely added variety, to have her blushing and coy, willing to let him take it slow from the outset, to have to seduce her a bit.

He threw off the blankets and pulled her in close, gave her exposed skin a thorough going over before getting rid of her under things. Buffy was a wonder, all warm and wanting and breathy little noises when his mouth found just the right place. The sunlight beating against the thick drapes made them both drowsy. After a vigorous round with her legs twined around his neck, he rolled them onto their sides and guided her leg up over his hip.

“This is nice,” she murmured as he thrust into her lazily. He snorted and she twined her fingers with his own where they weighed her breast. “Don’t be like that. I just mean, I like it that we don’t have to always be so… I don’t know… grr about it.”

He nipped at her shoulder. “You don’t like it when I’m all grr?”

She sighed. “That’s not what I said,” she protested. “I just feel really safe with you.”

Spike thought about that after, as she napped in his arms. He could feel the blood pumping in her limbs and the constant push and pull of his desires. But he knew that wasn’t the kind of trust she meant. That was taken for granted between them, a minor miracle of its own. It was how she could open herself to him so fearlessly that was still surprising them both.

Trust is for old marrieds. An odd bit of philosophy from somewhere. Was that what they were then? In their own roundabout, screwy way; it was probably the closest either of them would ever get to such a state.

He couldn’t go back to sleep. Her pulse against his mouth was making his stomach growl. In the kitchen he heated his blood and turned to see his mother sitting at the new dining table.

"This one is a bit more like me," she sighed. "The hair, the name. Even the perfume of impending death. How that must--"

"Be off," he muttered, taking a deep draught of his blood. It wouldn't do to show how shook up he was. Had the First known somehow, that his mother had been on his mind, or was this a random appearance? "I bloody well know what you are." He gave the apparition a long looking-over. "And what you're not. So unless you've something more interesting to do than masquerade around as my ancestors, then bugger off."

The vision coughed into a lace-edged handkerchief, and the gesture was so like his mother that he felt a nauseating urge to comfort It. "Oh William, you'll be meeting your ancestors in the flesh soon enough," It informed him before it shattered into dust and vanished. A wave of memory rushed up over him and he clutched at the countertop against the vertigo.

When he opened his eyes again, Buffy was standing there. "Hey. Are you okay? I thought I heard voices."

"Yeah," he managed gruffly. "Ghosty Boy was here again. Says we'll be meeting my ancestors soon."

Her little forehead wrinkled in thought. "What does that mean?"

Spike let her draw him into her arms. He counted off a few dozen ways in which she was nothing like his mum. "Don't know. Can't say as I'm particularly eager to find out."

"Stupid cryptic enemies. Why can't they all be like you? All 'just so you know, I'll be killing you on Saturday' instead of big with the vague."

There was a teasing note in her voice, but it still itched a bit, thinking how much he used to want her death. All those hours healing in solitude, listening to Dru and her sire, yanking himself to the thought of the slayer's murder, spilling useless buckets of salt over her ending. Remembering that, he clutched her tighter so that the knot in her robe cut into his stomach.

"Sorry, bad memories, I know." She gripped his arms.

"Yeah," he agreed, trying very hard to hold on to the present as tightly as he held on to her.

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Willow played with a pizza crust while Bridget Jones rambled on about her weight. She wasn't sure what to say to Buffy, and it would appear the feeling was mutual. Her friend kept taking deep breaths and pursing her lips, but so far all she'd done was comment on the accents in the movie.

"So," Buffy said finally. "You never said what it was like, being all temporarily invaded by big evil."

You should know. Willow pushed away her mean thoughts and tried to match her friend's light tone. "Kinda buzzy." She picked the olives off another slice. "I don't really remember it. It just felt... black, oily. Like those aliens on the X-Files, you know? I just wish it had been more of a learning experience. 'Cause all I learned? Was that It can mess with me big."

Buffy nodded. "It's messing with all of us. It popped over earlier today to say hi to my... to Spike."

Willow perked up. "Uh huh. And what were you about to call Spike?" she teased.

Buffy made a face, but there was a smile underneath. "What do you call Faith?"

"I know. It's weird. I mean, we used to hate each other."

"Uh huh," Buffy agreed knowingly.

"I used to want to pummel her every time I saw her."

Buffy just smiled and nodded.

"And then suddenly... not so much pummeling being the first thing on my mind any more."

Buffy leaned in close and dropped her voice. "Best sex ever. Isn't it?"

Willow covered her face and leaned back. She peaked through her fingers and saw Buffy with the knowing smile and the raised eyebrow. Willow swallowed. "It's possible that there's... writhing."

"Uh huh," Buffy said again, all authoritative.

"You're still a little freaked, aren't you?" she asked seriously. She really wanted to know the answer. Besides, it was better than having to think about the fact that she didn’t know what to call Faith either. They were drinking buddies who had sex. It wasn’t like they went to dinner or got coffee or sat around talking. That didn’t really scream girlfriend to her.

"About the Faith thing? I just... I know it's dumb, but it feels a little like she's taking you away, you know? And after the whole thing with Faith and Angel, and Faith and Xander... I really am sorry. It's just my stupid Faith issues and I shouldn't be taking it out on you." Buffy blew out a breath. “Also, I want to give you some big lecture about her dark past and how she’s big with the helping now, but I still worry that she’s going to turn on us again, but then…” Buffy’s eyes wandered to the stack of Clash CDs on the bookshelf.

“Then you look at your vampire honey?” Willow suggested. She remembered suddenly Buffy saying, a million years ago or so that none of them were ever going to have a normal relationship.

Buffy tilted her head in acknowledgement. "We should do stuff like this more often, you know."

"That would be nice." And it would, except... she was a little busy, with classes and research and naked Faith...

Buffy was giving her that knowing look again. "When you feel like coming up for air again, give me a call, okay?"

Willow tried not to think about that in a literal way. Instead she searched for something else to talk about. "Oh! Hey! You know who I saw today? Andrew Wells."

"Ugh. Why isn't he in jail yet?"

"He said he and Jonathan pled down the diamond theft thing. They're back in classes, I guess. He didn't really talk to me much. He seemed pretty eager to get home. All that raw meat, I guess."

"And to that, a giant huh?"

Willow shrugged. "He was coming out of the butcher's, so I guess he wanted to get that stuff on ice."

"Or, you know, it could be what happened with Warren."

"That could be it." Willow took a deep breath. "Um, by the way, about what happened with Warren? Thank you."

Buffy grabbed her hand. "You're my best friend, Will."

"Still?"

Buffy's grip tightened. "Always."

Willow relaxed. They would definitely have to do this more often.

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Anya opened another box and started ticking off the contents on her list. She could hear Giles muttering at the computer. He was supposed to be helping her restock since the winter holidays were on them and business was booming. Instead he had been typing and fussing and mainlining tea.

She sighed and stomped around to see what he was doing. "I'm sure I can help you find whatever you're search for... on Amazon?"

"I am trying to find something to get Tara. The girl is impossible to shop for."

Anya rolled her eyes and wandered back up to the locked book cases. "Here."

"The Codex of Amarash?" Giles took off his glasses and gave her a quizzical look.

"She's always asking for it. I have suggested several times that she purchase it, however, she insists she just needs to look up 'one little thing'. Give her the book."

Giles turned it over in his hands. "Thank you," he said finally.

She reached into the desk drawer. Carefully, she placed a cloth-wrapped volume on the counter and handed him some gloves. "I ordered something for you."

Giles took off his glasses and fingered the gloves. "Something delicate, I see." He put one glove on, making a sour face all the while, and slowly peeled back the cloth.

"The Chronicles of Chava! Is this genuine?"

"My supplier knows I have a contingent of slayers in my acquaintance. I doubt he would try to swindle me.” Besides, the local Lushokites were eager to curry favor with the slayer, ever since Dennis and his Suvolte egg scam had made Buffy much more aware of their operations. “I think it's the real thing. Or as real as a copy can get."

"Well, of course, no original could have survived so long. However did you find this?" He was fondling the first page reverently. “It’s in Faryl. This must be an early copy.” Giles put his glasses back on and carefully turned the page. “And it came to pass in the time of my fathers that the Old Ones left us,” he read slowly. “Some say left our kind to peace and prosperity and let us sing glory to Y’w. Yet the Halflings still walk among us and infect the children of Y’w with their madness. Here I shall lay out for my children the stories of how They left and what They left behind.”

She had already read a few chapters, just enough to know it was the book she was looking for. Although some small part of her hoped it would turn out to be a red herring, her pragmatic sensibilities spurred her on. “Your Faryl is very good,” Anya commented.

“I’ve had far too frequent occasion to practice,” he replied.

Anya took a deep breath. “This book, it’s about the Old Ones, and the First is older than the Old Ones. Ask any demon; It wants the old order back.” She watched as a look of horror and then fierce determination settled over her business partner’s face. Giles had read enough to have some inkling of what that would mean, a world overrun by pure demons. Humanity had prevailed once, but past performance was no guarantee of future results.

There were lots of theories about that, of course. Some accounts claimed that the Old Ones had tired of the ‘plague of humanity’ and simply left for greener pastures. Others said the earth itself had objected to the foreign presence on its surface and had yielded secrets to a human elite who had taken care of the problem. Chava recounted the story of the soldiers of Y’w, a young god who had somehow defeated the Old Ones and another tale of a warrior woman, which was why Anya had sought out a copy. In all likelihood, none of the stories were entirely true. She just hoped their was enough truth in Chava.

“I’m hoping there’s something in here we can use. Because if they come back…”

Giles laid his glasses on the page. “It will be up to us to get rid of them again.”

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Thank you for your patience. Obviously I’m beginning to spin up to the meat of the plot. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.