A/N: Much thanx to our wonderful beta, Immortal_Beloved :)



Andrew tried to tell himself that he had misunderstood what he had heard.

No, Giles had never really liked Spike, especially not when Buffy’s feelings for Spike had become so apparent just before the battle with the First. But surely the Watcher had to acknowledge the tremendous amount of good Spike had done, the fact that he had literally saved the world! Surely that was enough to protect Spike from any further attempts at harming him from Giles -- wasn’t it?

The telephone conversation he had just heard was not terribly reassuring of that idea.

*You just misunderstood…he’s just bringing someone in to help…that’s all…he’s not going to do anything to hurt Spike…not after everything he’s been through already…*

Andrew took a deep breath, letting it out with a shudder as he struggled against the sick feeling of apprehension in the pit of his stomach, trying to slow the frantic pounding of his panicked heart in his chest as he paced back and forth in the now-empty hallway.

*Okay…think, Andrew…think…*

*Buffy…*

*But…Buffy’s…who knows where? Only Giles knows where the real Buffy is…only he can reach her…but what if she’s the only one who can help Spike?*

Andrew continued his pacing, glancing anxiously down the hall toward Spike’s door, trying to come up with something he could do that might actually be helpful to his friend.

*Okay…can’t talk to Buffy…need to talk to Spike, figure out what Giles told him, and if it’s the same as what he was telling that guy on the phone…find out what he thinks they’re going to do…but…but Giles is in there with him, and I don’t want him to know I was listening…*

Andrew frowned, letting out a little cry of frustration as he stopped his pacing long enough to slam his fist against the wall beside him. Immediately his face twisted into a grimace of pain as he shook his battered hand, drawing in his breath through his teeth in reaction to the impact.

“*Ow*.”

***********************************

“So…so this friend of yours…when’s he gonna show up?”

Spike’s voice was low, subdued, and he did not look up as he addressed the question to the Watcher, once again seated beside him. He felt a sense of mingled relief and intense disappointment at the plan Giles had described to him, but did his best not to let it show to the man, who was being quite decent, all things considered, and going to quite a bit of trouble to help him.

He felt lost, bewildered, unsure really of what he *should* be feeling at a time like this, given all that had happened to him.

And the things that had happened to him…

At the very thought of Siron, and the violations that had been forced upon him, night after night, for so long, Spike felt an unintentional shudder come over him, a sick sensation of fear that made his throat go dry and his stomach lurch within him. He silently reassured himself that Siron was dead -- he had killed him himself -- and that painful, horrific chapter of his life was over.

But it did not *feel* over.

He longed, ached for the presence of the Slayer that he loved. She had come for him, before, when he had been captured and tortured by another enemy, what felt like a lifetime ago. Her strong yet compassionate voice reassuring him that she believed in him was what had gotten him through the days and nights of torment at the hands of the First and its minion.

He wanted her comforting embrace, her firm but gentle touch, so desperately that he could almost feel the soft warmth of her hands against his skin…but when he opened his eyes, he was faced with the bitter truth that she was not actually there.

And this time -- he could not let her come for him.

Spike felt broken, damaged, dirty, overwhelmed with a constant sense of shame and unworthiness because of the things that had been done to him. Though he knew it was not rational, knew it could not really be true, there was a part of him that was firmly convinced that anyone who looked at him could see it in his eyes…his shame, his helplessness, the terror that still filled him, despite his rational knowledge that he was reasonably safe now...

He could not begin to imagine allowing Buffy to see those things in his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning,” Giles replied quietly to Spike’s question, oblivious to the inner turmoil of the vampire’s mind. “My associate will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning, and if you wish to do so, you may expect to be able to leave before the end of the day.”

Spike nodded slowly, his face carefully expressionless, still refusing to meet the Watcher’s piercing gaze.

Nevertheless, Giles’ firm, steadying hand still ended up on Spike’s shoulder, as the Watcher rose to walk out of the room. “Give it some time, Spike,” he advised gently. “It may not seem like it now, but in time, your recent ordeal will be nothing more than a distant memory.”

Spike swallowed back a sob, infinitely relieved when the light touch -- so near to bringing him to tears -- was removed, and the Watcher finally left him alone.

He could not imagine ever being able to forget.

“Meanwhile,” Giles continued in a quiet, mild voice, turning away from Spike momentarily and opening a drawer in his nightstand, taking a small object from it and moving around to stand facing the vampire. “Allow me to help you to rest, while you await my friend’s arrival.”

Spike looked up at him uncertainly, before his eyes widened with understanding on the object in Giles’ hand.

It was a hypodermic needle.

Instinctively he shuddered at the sight, shaking his head slightly in rejection of the offer. As tormented as he was in his waking hours, unable to escape his anguished memories and the endless questions that flooded his mind -- the thought of being trapped in his nightmares was worse. The idea of being out of control, unaware, was a frightening one, considering all that had happened to him in the past few months.

“It’s a magical sedative,” Giles explained gently. “It induces a restful, dreamless sleep. There’s an antidote, which I would administer when my associate arrives.”

Spike opened his mouth to refuse, when one of the Watcher’s words registered with him, echoing in his mind with a tempting sound.

*Dreamless…*

The shake of his head became a slow, reluctant nod, as he held out his arm for Giles to inject the drug into his system.

********************************

*No, no, no!*

Andrew’s eyes went wide, and he silently clapped his hand over his own mouth, wondering momentarily whether or not he had spoken his protest aloud. When no unusual sound made its way through the slightly cracked door of Spike’s room to his ears, he let out the breath he had been holding in relief…though a short-lived relief.

Neither Giles nor Spike had apparently heard him outside the door -- but the soft hissing intake of breath from Spike’s lips told the boy that the Watcher had already administered the sedative.

*Shoot, shoot, shoot!*

There was nothing but silence from the bedroom for a few moments, and then Giles’ slow, steady footsteps could be heard making their way toward the door. Andrew staggered blindly backward into the room directly across the hall, closing the door quickly but quietly behind him, before the older Watcher could open the door and catch him there.

He waited with bated breath as he heard Giles make his way down the hallway, waited for thirty seconds longer after he could no longer hear his footsteps, before stepping cautiously out into the hallway and creeping across to Spike’s door. He opened it without knocking, well aware that he did not have any time to waste.

*Might be out of time already. Crap!*

He was relieved to see the vampire’s blue eyes look up at him as he entered; but the utter lack of surprise -- or of any reaction at all, for that matter -- was a bit less encouraging.

“Spike! Spike, you have to listen to me…” he began, his voice hushed and urgent, though he knew there was no one left to overhear their conversation.

“Ever…ever hear of knockin’?” Spike asked him, though the bite was stolen from his words by the slurred, unnaturally slow tone of his voice. “Wanker,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

But his eyes kept on rolling, back into his head, as his eyelids slid shut and his body went limp on the bed.

“Crap.”

**********************************

By the next afternoon, Andrew was unbearably nervous.

He had no idea what to do.

He did not know how to reach Buffy, to let her know that Spike might be in danger; and with Spike drugged unconscious, there was no way for him to warn his friend or even to find out if the vampire knew anything about what it was that Giles had in mind for him. It was true, he kept reminding himself, that Giles’ side of the telephone conversation had not made things all that clear. It was *possible* that he had nothing sinister planned for the unsuspecting blond vampire.

Possible -- but not likely.

If only there was some way to find out…

But Giles’ “associate” had already arrived at the Council’s airstrip in the countryside well outside of London. Giles had gone to meet his plane, to bring him back to Council Headquarters, to set into motion whatever plan he had in the works for Spike.

Spike was still unconscious -- and Giles was due back any minute.

Andrew was sitting in the chair beside Spike’s bed, his head in his hands, when he heard quiet voices approaching the door from down the hall. He swallowed back his momentary panic, reassuring himself that there was nothing suspicious about his being here. Spike was his friend; Giles knew that. It was not the least bit out of the ordinary that Andrew would want to say goodbye before he left.

*Except you’re not supposed to know he’s leaving, stupid!*

*Crap.*

*Well…nothing strange about just wanting to *visit* a friend…is there?*

The creak of the door opening made Andrew jump, and he gave Giles and the strange man walking with him a too-bright smile. The elder Watcher seemed a bit surprised by his presence in the room, but not upset.

Giles smiled politely at Andrew, waving a hand toward Spike as he explained, “I’ve given him a sedative. The poor chap’s been having nightmares…understandably so. I thought he could use a night or two of uninterrupted sleep. I‘m about to administer an antidote to wake him.”

“That’s nice…” Andrew began, alarmed by the high-pitched squeak that was his voice, before clearing his throat and beginning again in a comically lower tone, “That’s nice of you, Mr. Giles.”

“Yes, well…” Giles nodded, his tone becoming dismissive, “…thank you, Andrew, but if you don’t mind, my associate and I need to speak to Spike alone.”

*Yes, I mind, you treacherous fiend! I will never abandon a fallen hero to your foul betray…*

“Andrew…” The Watcher’s voice took on a warning note.

Andrew leapt to his feet, hurrying toward the door, as he replied without hesitation, “Yes, Mr. Giles…”

His heart sank as he left the room, closing the door almost completely behind him, but remaining close by so as to hear the conversation inside.

“Does he know…?”

“No.”

Giles’ friend sounded cautiously amused as he pointed out, “I didn’t finish.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Giles informed him, still dismissive. “He knows nothing. And I do mean that in the truest literal sense.”

Andrew did not have the time or energy left to invest in being offended by his words. Finding out what was happening to Spike, where this stranger was about to take him, was all that mattered at the moment.

And the fact that Giles and his friend did not want him to know was certainly a bad sign.

“All right. I’m going to wake him. Follow my lead.”

A few moments later, Andrew heard Spike’s sleepy, uncertain voice. “Wha…oh… mornin’, then, is it?” A brief pause, before he spoke again, his voice low and cautious, “This is him, then?”

“Yes,” Giles replied. “Spike, allow me to introduce my associate, Ethan Rayne.”

“A pleasure,” the unfamiliar Englishman replied smoothly, and Andrew could hear the slight shifting sounds inside as he moved forward to shake Spike’s hand, and the vampire quietly returned the gesture.

“You’re a Watcher.” There was a question behind the vampire’s skeptical statement.

“Yes,” Rayne replied immediately, but Andrew knew it was a lie.

“So…what’s the plan again, then?”

“You’ll fly as soon as you’re ready, to Ireland. Ethan is stationed there over a group of young Slayers, and you should find yourself…useful, there, once you have sufficiently recovered from the aftereffects of…well, again…as soon as you’re ready.”

Spike was quiet, and when he finally spoke, the pain in his hushed, restrained voice made Andrew wince.

“Might -- might be a while. Need some time to just -- just be let alone, yeah?”

“Of course,” Rayne spoke up, cutting off Giles’ attempt to respond, and Andrew found his hopes lifting slightly at the sympathetic sound of his voice. “As much time as you need, Spike, of course. But whenever the time comes that you feel you are ready to take up the good fight again, I assure you, you will find that your particular…skills, and talents, will indeed prove quite useful to our cause.”

There was a moment’s silence inside the room, and Andrew wondered suddenly what would happen, what Giles and Rayne would do, should Spike refuse the offer. He never found out, as the vampire’s unusually subdued voice spoke up softly.

“How soon can we leave?”

************************************

It was barely thirty minutes later when Spike was led out of the building, Giles and Rayne on either side of him in what appeared at first glance to be a protective formation -- but Andrew could not help but see it in a more sinister light.

He waited until Giles’ car had pulled out of the driveway, and he was certain that he would not be caught, to make his hurried way to Giles’ office. Glancing around to be sure he was not seen, he tried the door, which was fortunately unlocked, and made his way inside.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, drawing in a deep breath as he closed the door behind him and scanned the room. “If I was Buffy’s contact information…where would I be?”

He made his way to the desk, pulling out drawers and searching urgently, until he found a large, leather bound address book.

With a lock on it.

“Paydirt.”

He hesitated just a moment, before deciding and tearing the book open, tearing a hole in the leather of the front cover. He knew that it would be obvious that someone had been in Giles’ office, going through his things, but it would not likely be obvious that it had been *him*.

Not that he had a choice at the moment.

He had to get help for Spike before it was too late.

He turned to the S’s first and was not surprised to find no “Summers” listed there. He paused, frowning, before turning to the B’s with no better luck. He next tried the D’s, hoping perhaps to find Dawn’s number. If he could contact Dawn and let her know that Spike was in danger, then perhaps she would help him get in touch with Buffy.

When that proved just as unsuccessful as his other attempts, Andrew flipped idly through the book, breathing out a frustrated sigh, unsure where else to look. He stopped suddenly around the middle of the W’s when he noticed a listing for “Winters”.

*Maybe…*

“Joyce A. Winters,” he read aloud, frowning.

*Wasn’t Buffy’s mom named Joyce? Spike used to talk about her…*

Andrew decided not to waste any more time wondering. With trembling fingers he picked up the telephone and dialed the sequence of numbers to connect him with what was clearly an international line.

*It might not be her, might be coincidence, might just be…*

“Hello?”

It was Buffy.

Andrew took a deep breath, considering how much he should tell her, what he *could* tell her to ensure her help, without betraying the confidence Spike had entrusted him with in Rome the year before.

“Hello? Anybody there?” The Slayer’s tone said that she was clearly losing patience.

“Buffy, this is Andrew Wells, and I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t a matter of life and death. You are the last hope of defeating an unspeakable evil beyond the power of language to describe.”

There was a moment of total silence on the line, before Buffy let out an exasperated sigh and demanded, “Andrew…how did you get this number?”