CHAPTER FOUR

"Did you come here often as a child?" Buffy asked as she and Spike passed through the massive Greek columns guarding the entrance to the British Museum.

"'Course. We all did."

Their voices echoed in the cavernous entry, along with every other whisper and movement by the assortment of people milling about. Buffy turned in place, feeling more than a little overwhelmed at huge marble foyer with its corridors leading deeper into the historical behemoth.

"This place is huge." Buffy turned in place. "Where do we start?"

"Here." Taking her hand, Spike strode over to the information desk to plonk down a handful of money. "Need a guidebook."

"Six pounds, please."

"Six POUNDS?" The vampire growled and added more bank notes. "Was only a few pence back in the day."

The girl at the counter offered a polite smile, took the money, and slid a thin volume toward the vampire. "Enjoy your visit, sir."

"We'll be sure to do that, yeah."

Spike stalked away from the desk with Buffy following in his wake. Well away from the foot traffic, he leaned against the stone wall and began leafing through the guide.

Pretty black-leathered vampire standing against pretty white marble, Buffy's brain supplied. He really does look like an alabaster Greek statue sometimes.

"So here's a map to this floor and the collections they've got." Oblivious of his companion's poetic mental comparisons, Spike flipped the guidebook's pages so fast that Buffy couldn't see anything. "Haven't been back here in over a hundred years, so my memory's rusty about where the good stuff is."

"You think?"

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, missy."

"What? I'm all ears. Really."

"Hmph." Spike flipped more pages. "You've got Ancient Greece and Egypt upstairs. Both exhibits spill over to this floor, keeping company with your part of the world." He turned a map on its side and squinted at it. "Cor, could spend a week in here and not see everything. No idea where to take you first. 'Cause visiting the British Museum? Unless you've got the luxury of popping in regularly, it's an exercise in prioritization."

"Is that what the guidebook says?"

"Yeah."

"I thought it didn't sound like you. Let's see..." She rubbed her nose. "Since we're the original apocalyptic couple, let's pretend all of London is about to be destroyed."

"Bite your tongue!" He sounded truly horrified.

"Nope. That's the way it is, Spike. You’ve got a magic wand and can save just one room in here, so what would you save?"

"Too easy." He grabbed her hand. "Come on."

Spike hustled Buffy further into the museum, moving so quickly that the slayer was hard-pressed to keep up with him. They shot through a narrow corridor opening onto a huge rectangular courtyard, and Spike stopped so abruptly that Buffy nearly crashed into his back.

"What's with the vampire speed and hard stops all of a sudden?"

"You're standing in the Great Court. And that—" He nodded at a huge round building dominating the middle of the court. "That's the Reading Room."

She looked at the people strolling casually up the steps. "So? Nobody else is in a hurry."

"So, it's a library." Spike pulled her toward the stairs running up the side of the building. "Like your Library of Congress, only better."

"Uh-huh." Buffy tried to sound impressed. "So there are lots of books in there?"

"Three bookcases deep, all round the room."

"That's not a lot, Spike."

"The rest are in warehouses round the courtyard."

"I don't see any warehouses," Buffy protested. "I see a couple of café s and oh, look! There's shopping!" She yanked Spike's hand to redirect him, to no avail.

"Shop later. When you want a book, it's brought from warehouses you don't see. Come on. Want to show you." He began hauling her up the rounded stairway.

"I don't get why you're showing me books when we could be looking at pretty trinkets. Buffy and books, not mixy. But hey, we should call Willow! She likes books."

Ignoring Buffy's protests, Spike pushed through the heavy doors only to stop abruptly on the other side. Coming up beside him, Buffy saw the vampire drop back his head to stare up at the ceiling.

"Look at that, they've restored it."

"Restored what? And hey, where are the mummies? Aren't there supposed to be mummies in this place?"

"Look at that ceiling, it's papier mache, pet. Delicate like." Gazing around the room, Spike flared his nostrils. "Smells different than it did. You know those reading tables over there are older than me?"

"That's... um... really fascinating. I didn't know you liked books that much." Buffy lagged behind while Spike wandered farther into the room. "Are you sure you don't want to go see the mummies?"

"Where's the card catalog gone?" Spike demanded.

A young man behind the front desk greeted them. "Welcome to the information center. How may I assist you?"

"Where is the card catalog?" Spike repeated.

"It was removed, sir. The Great Court and Reading Room have been restored, and we replaced the books."

"With what, may I ask, did you replace them?" Spike's tone held clipped menace as he approached the desk.

"Our Reading Room now houses the Paul Hamlyn Library. We have twenty-five thousand books, catalogues and other printed material focusing on the world cultures represented in the British Museum."

"Bugger." Spike's jaw clenched.

"Let me show you how it works." The attendant gestured at his computer. "This is our new object database. Simply touch the screen to find information on five thousand objects from museum collections. We have links between objects, background information, and suggestions for further reading."

"How fascinating." Spike's expression and low growl told Buffy he was anything but fascinated. "What the bloody hell did you do with all the books?"

"The Hamlyn books are in the stacks, sir."

"Not your bloody horrid museum books, you nit. I'm talking about the British Library's collection."

"Oh, that. It was relocated to St. Pancras."

"Relocated? Are you mad?" The vampire's voice rose. People at the tables turned to stare.

"We ran out of room here. It was most inconvenient—"

"You sodding moron!"

"Um, Spike—" Buffy laid a hand on his shoulder. "You want to calm down?"

Shrugging off her hand, Spike loomed over the counter. "The bloody Reading Room is a British institution, you nit. You can't up and move it like a bunch of kiddie books thrown out of the nursery once the babe is half-grown!"

"The collections were not thrown out, sir. St. Pancras is a much larger, more modern and comfortable facility for our patrons."

"Yeah? Well, I'm a patron who's bloody uncomfortable and fucking upset!" Spike shouted. "Bloody buggering sods have fucked with my books! I'll break your fucking neck for that!"

The attendant's eyes widened as Spike's eyes went yellow. Shifting into game face, the vampire snarled and lunged across the counter. Shrieking, the young man leaped back against the placards introducing his new, shiny information system and cringed when they tumbled to the floor.

"Get back here!" Spike leaped onto the information desk.

"You're bleeding mad, mate!" squeaked the clerk.

"I'll rip out your scrawny throat, I will!"

"Okay, that's it." Gathering two handfuls of leather duster, Buffy yanked . Hard. Spike slide toward her like a great cat crouched on a kitchen counter. "Get down from there, and leave the poor guy alone."

"He stole my books!"

She yanked harder and overbalanced the vampire, who had no choice but to jump backward off of the counter. Spike's boots thudded on the thin carpeting. Lifting his lip, he snarled again. Grabbing Spike's jaw, Buffy turned his face toward her.

"Chill out," she ordered. "Now. He did not steal your books, they've just been moved."

"They've been meddled with!" He lisped slightly through his fangs.

"We got that part, William." She stroked his ridged brow. "Put it away, okay?"

The vampire growled softly, but complied, letting his features melt back into their human mask.

Buffy smiled kindly at the attendant who was shivering so hard, his teeth were chattering. "I'm sorry, where did you say they've been moved to?"

"S-St. Pancras. In Euston Street. Easily found." Whirling, the attendant retrieved a piece of paper and held it out with violently shaking fingers. "We have maps. You could be there in a matter of minutes."

Spike reached past Buffy to snatch the paper.

Sliding in between the vampire and the clerk, Buffy shoved her weight back against Spike to begin forcing him toward the door.

"Thank you for your help." She offered another smile. "You've been really patient with my boyfriend who is... um... William's a really avid Victorian scholar. Thanks again. Really."

Buffy ignored the terrified looks of the other patrons and whirled to grab Spike by the lapels of his duster. "You've got your map? Let's go."

She hustled the unresisting vampire out of the Reading Room, down the clean marble steps, and toward the canopied terrace of the nearest café.

"I swear I'm trying to be patient with you," Buffy railed, "but stuff like this makes it really hard. Now sit." Shoving him into the nearest chair, she flung herself into the one next to it. "And behave. No more bellowing, no more flashy fangs."

"Buffy—"

"You shut up and listen to me. You know this sort of erratic vamp behavior pisses me off. After you died, you weren't there to piss me off, and the silence was horrible. I'm really thankful to have you back to piss me off, and I'm willing to cut us both some slack for what we've been through, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you frighten people for no good reason."

His sidelong glance was sullen. "Had a reason."

"Good. You can tell me about it after you cool off."

She ordered a pot of tea while Spike spread out his crumpled map and concentrated on uncrumpling it. Clearly distressed, the vampire ran a hand through his hair, which mussed the straight-gelled strands into curly disarray.

Pouring the tea when it finally arrived, Buffy asked, "You want milk or sugar?"

"No."

She could have sworn she saw tears shimmering in the vampire's eyes before he gulped down the hot tea.

"Do you want a refill?"

"Yes. Thank you," Spike added as a seeming afterthought. He stared at the mangled map to St. Pancras.

Taking the vampire's hand, Buffy wound her fingers through his. He didn't resist, but he didn't respond either.

"Can you tell me what happened back there?" she prodded gently. "I've seen you spin out, but never over a bunch of books."

"Never before seen the William-git part of me throw a tantrum, have you?" He sounded miserable.

"Didn't I meet the William part of you back in Sunnydale?" she asked carefully, still holding his fingers. "In the high school basement?"

"Met the souled part of me, yeah. Was barking mad then, with the Victorian guilt and moral conscience shoved back in to live alongside the memories of what I'd done for over a hundred years. Never mind what the First was doing." He shook his head ruefully.

"Don't know what stranger-soul Angelus got shoved inside of him, but the demon in Africa made sure I got what I went for. Got my own back, so what you saw a few minutes ago was all William. All souled up and ready to fight for what's his, even when it's not. The original William wanted to beat up on stupid people, but he resisted the impulse like a good little gent and ran away from a fight. Don't have that problem now, do I? Right embarrassing wanker when I want to be." Spike looked away. "Sorry you had to see that."

Buffy watched him tighten his jaw so that his cheeks hollowed even more. The vampire was breathing erratically as though he was still struggling to force down his emotions.

"Are you saying the demon and the man are two different beings? Two different people are inside of you?"

"I'm saying when I was turned, it's as if my own soul left and a demon's guilt-free soul walked in. I was still me, still William, just left behind my morality."

"But Giles told me—"

"Sod what he said." Pulling his hand away, Spike locked gazes with Buffy. "Never been turned, has your watcher? Doesn't know what it feels like 'cause he's never lived through it, has he? I know what losing my soul felt like. Know what it felt like to get it back, too. Know the weight of every wrong I did since Dru turned me. Haven't behaved like a proper demon since before Sunnydale sank, and I don't want to now. Not hurting anybody anymore, am I? Not interested, not even tempted."

Buffy gave a slight smile. "Not still evil?"

The vampire scowled. "Could if I wanted, same as anybody with a soul. Just don't want to. Get up every morning and say to myself, 'Not going to eat anybody today," and I stick to it. More than can be said for a lot of humans out there. This museum is full of relics from those sorts of people."

"So you went to Africa specifically to get back your own soul?"

"Yeah." He played with his spoon.

Buffy sat silent for a long moment before asking, "Would you let the William part of you tell me why you're upset that a bunch of books got moved?"

"Just am, all right?"

"Please, tell me, William? Let me in?" she wheedled. "If we're going to be together, I need to understand why you feel the way you do about things."

The vampire's blue eyes softened, and she knew however unfair it was to appeal to 'the William-git,' that part of Spike couldn't deny her. No matter what she might ask, if it was within Spike's power, he'd grant it.

It would be so easy to abuse that, she realized.

"Bloody hell." Closing his eyes, Spike considered. "It's not just a bunch of books, Buffy. Reading Room's a national treasure. Has every publication in the UK and Ireland and more. Millions of things, like DaVinci's personal sketchbook and Mozart's musical diary. William Blake's notebook—"

"Oh, I know him," Buffy interrupted. "He's the one who wrote 'The Tyger.' I read that before I had to drop out of my poetry class in college. It was so beautiful and terrible, it made me wonder why there's bloodshed and pain and horror in the world."

Spike cocked his head. "Figured out the answer yet?"

"I don't think there is an answer."

"Got that right. When I read 'The Tyger,' I wanted to know more about William Blake. So I carried myself off to the Reading Room, and you know what I discovered?" Spike leaned forward as if about to impart a secret hidden in the mists of time.

"What?"

""Blake was a real radical, both politically and philosophically. He and his wife practiced nudism in a friend's garden. You know the sort—'It's all right, we'll just pretend we're Adam and Eve.' Nothing extreme about that now, but it was immoral behavior back then. Then he got himself tried for treason after saying something like, 'You bloody soldiers of the god-damned king, I hope Napoleon kills the lot of you,' while throwing a drunken soldier out of his own garden."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Are you making this up?"

"No more than I made up the stuff in the Tower. Story gets even better because Blake used to see visions and hear voices. His notebook's got the sketches he made of the famous people who visited him. Everyone and every thing in this world's a story, Slayer, and the Reading Room was full of 'em."

"That's why you're upset to have it moved?"

"Yeah. Bit of a shock, you know, havin' a universe move on you?" Sitting back, Spike sipped his cold tea. "I was eight when my da brought me here for the first time. The whole place was musty and scholarly and just...neat. The tables were crowded, the room was a shabby sanctuary used by philosophers and conspirators. Dreamers, writers and eccentrics."

"Which one were you?" Buffy asked, genuinely curious.

"Thought I was all of them at different times. Know I was none of them now." Spike glanced around the Great Court. "Look what they've done to the place, Slayer. Cleared it out to put in theatres and exhibit halls. Don't even have to go into the museum proper to explore things, you can shop and eat when the museum's closed."

"Got lots of space to entertain London's movers and shakers, don't they?" Spike continued. "Give 'em the best champagne and canapés. Get a taste of art free, and go into the Reading Room to admire its fancy computer. Don't read a thing, just look at the pictures on the magic screen."

"What's wrong with all of that?" Buffy asked.

"What's the point in entertainment without scholarship? There's no depth, is there? It's all empty."

She leaned forward, her chin in her hand. "I never knew part of you was such a snob when it comes to books and art."

"Not a snob," he murmured. "Love beautiful things, that's all." Reaching out, Spike wove a strand of Buffy's hair around his finger. "Like I love you."

His blue eyes were sad and Buffy shivered, feeling as though the vampire had been left behind, and she was seeing pure William in the moment. Reaching out, she stroked his cheek.

"You're amazing," she whispered.

"How's that?"

"Somewhere inside of you is an obstinate, opinionated Victorian gentleman who survived being turned into a vampire and having mad Dru as your sire and Angelus and Darla as your elders. You fought and won against two slayers, and stayed with your crazy girlfriend for over a hundred years. You survived having a chip shoved inside your head and not being able to eat people. You cared about my Mom and took care of Dawn, and endured being tortured by a hell-god and the First. You changed for me and got your soul and survived being burning up in Sunnydale's hellmouth. A few weeks ago, you thumbed your nose at a demon army sent against Angel, and now you're freaking because your books have been moved."

Spike shrugged. "We all have our breaking points, love."

"You weren’t upset with the new restaurants in the Tower of London, so why are you upset with the ones here?"

He scowled fiercely. "Those other restaurants didn't replace friends of mine, did they? Know better than most people that everything changes. Had to change along with everything to survive, didn't I? But the Reading Room'd been there since before I was born. Thought it would always be there."

"It's still there. It's just been relocated." Smiling, she ran her fingers through his scattered curls. "We could go there now, if you like?"

Spike thought for a moment before shaking his head. Getting to his feet, he held out his hand. "Am over my fit for now, and there's a fair lot of other stuff—other stories--to show you."