CHAPTER TWO

Dawn had pouted at first, when Buffy told her she was going to England, but when Andrew casually mentioned that it would mean the apartment would be empty for a lot of the time, Dawn perked right up. Buffy tried hard not to think about what would be going on with her away, and after all, Dawn was almost an adult now. In the end, Dawn and Andrew saw her off at the airport, both begging for some mementoes when she returned. Andrew particularly requested some Twinings breakfast tea – loose leaf, not bags – and smiled enigmatically when Buffy accused him of being a mini-Giles in the making. She supposed he could be worse.

And now she was at Heathrow, scanning the crowds for her escort. Even before she could see the sign, she knew exactly which member of the throng in arrivals was her driver. He was wearing tweed, for a start, and nervously adjusting his glasses on his aquiline nose. What was it about young watchers-to-be that they all wanted to be Giles? And where did they get their suits? He showed no sign of recognising her – and why should he? – so Buffy moved to stand in front of him, dragging her luggage easily and shoving her overly large sunglasses back on her head to nestle in her hair.

“Hey – looking for me?’”

Vincent Castle blinked at the young blonde standing in front of him. He’d been a nervous wreck when Mr Giles had summoned him and asked him to be responsible for escorting a slayer… the Slayer … to the Council headquarters, but this petite young thing wasn’t what he’d expected. He thought she’d be taller… and he was gawping at her like a prize idiot…

“Miss… Miss Summers? Buffy Summers?” At Buffy’s nod, he continued. “I’m Vincent Castle, Mr Giles sent me to escort you. May I?” Buffy distractedly handed him the enormous case she was dragging with one hand, Vincent’s arm jerking downwards as he failed to cope with the weight of Buffy’s light packing. He tried to drag it, sweat beading his brow, but getting nowhere, so it was with relief and no small amount of embarrassment that he let go of the handle and let Buffy take it from him. She hefted it as if it weighed nothing and waited for him to lead the way.

An anonymous dark grey car waited for them in the car park, the driver – not in tweed, surprisingly – stashing her luggage in the trunk… the boot Buffy reminded herself… and moving off swiftly into heavy traffic. Buffy had no idea where the headquarters was in relation to the airport but she settled back against the seat and gazed excitedly out of the window. She’d only been to England once before and that was just after the demise of Sunnydale, so she had very little memory of it. She had been too busy thinking about Spike; and once again he was at the forefront of her mind as she watched the buildings whizzing past the window. Had they been there when he was a young boy? Had he seen them? Had he lived near here? She was driving herself crazy so was glad of the distraction when her chaperone started making small talk, asking about her journey.

It didn’t take long to make it to the Council building, and Giles was waiting for her on the doorstep earning him a disapproving tut or two from the few remaining older members of the Council who weren’t used to open displays of affection. Ignoring them, Giles wrapped Buffy in a bearhug and she collapsed against him hugging him back with bruising pressure.

“So good to see you, Buffy. How was your journey? Are you hungry? I can have some tea and scones brought up. Yes? Good.” With a nod, this seemed to be arranged and Buffy smiled to herself as they made their way along the dark corridor with its deep red walls. People bowed their heads respectfully as they passed by, muttering “good afternoon, Mr Giles” and “pleasant day, Mr Giles”, and Buffy couldn’t resist a sly dig at her companion.

Falsetto style, she teased him, “oh, Mr Giles, you’re my idol! Please notice me, Mr Giles.” She giggled as he tried to look stern, his lips twitching in a smile that he struggled to suppress.

“I see you’re still a handful, Buffy. But I admit, you do have a point. It takes some getting used to and I have tried to discourage the stuffiness that is rather prevalent within these walls. In fact, I hear murmurs that some of the old school Watchers that have returned from retirement since the unfortunate decimation of the Council are accusing me of being too American. Can you believe it?”

Buffy laughed, a tinkling sound that echoed off the walls. “No, to be honest I can’t, but I suppose you can’t have hung out with us for that long without picking up some bad habits.” They’d reached a large, polished oak door and Giles swung it open to reveal a quiet sanctuary that suited him perfectly; there were his beloved books arranged on shelving that lined all four walls, his desk, empty and neat save for a few papers squared up in the centre, a discreetly small telephone and a green glass-shaded reading lamp. No computer, of course.

Giles moved ahead of her, removing his jacket and placing it carefully on a coat-hanger inside a small closet in the corner of the room; Buffy took a turn around the shelves, feeling more and more at home as she recognised some of the texts from the school library proudly taking their place alongside more ancient tomes. He'd obviously been careful to remove the books at some stage and ship them back to England, no doubt to his great relief; Giles went pale when he saw a creased corner, so the thought of his beloved books burning in hellfire would have probably sent him into spasms. Buffy giggled at her musings, earning her an inquisitive look that she took as invitation to give Giles another hug. She hadn't realised just how much she'd missed him.

When the tea and scones had been delivered, Giles motioned to Buffy to take a seat, pushing the tray towards her and pouring the steaming liquid into two delicate china teacups with matching saucers. Buffy gripped hers uneasily, the wafer thin china making her nervous. As she sipped the tea, liberally dosed with sugar, much to Giles’ amusement, she struggled to contain her curiosity, finally setting the teacup down with a disturbing rattle.

“I give up, what’s the big emergency?”

Giles drew in a ragged breath, really unsure what to tell her. After the spat with Spike, the vampire had come to see him bearing gifts – a particularly fine single malt and two heavy, crystal glasses – and the two of them had come to an uneasy truce. Giles would not reveal Spike’s existence to Buffy and would merely advise her that some mystical forces had required her attendance, until Spike felt it the right time to show himself. In return, Spike was to detail the final year at Wolfram and Hart in exquisite detail, allowing Giles the luxury of unfettered questioning whenever he chose. Only when the watcher decided that the record was complete would the bargain be over. Unfortunately, due to the fact that by the time the agreement was reached, so was the bottom of the bottle, the exact details of what Giles was to say to Buffy to explain her visit hadn’t been discussed.

He panicked. “There’s a demon. An… an apocalypse. Here.”

Buffy nodded, leaning forward to steeple her hands and resting her chin on them. “Great… that’s just… great. So, I’ll slay, no big. I’ll still have time to shop before I head home, right?”

“Ahem… yes… that would be… fine. Slay, then shop. Every girl’s dream.” Giles giggled, stifling the sound with a hand over his mouth. He’d rarely been this nervous, even in the face of the fiercest opponent.

Buffy tilted her head and pouted. “You could’ve just told me this on the phone, you know. I could’ve brought my best axe if I’d known I’d be on a slayfest. I’ve barely brought any weapons at all, just the one suitcase, and they’re all teeny ones due to the customs gorillas. Can I borrow some of yours?”

Giles nodded, and jumped when his phone rang, almost knocking it over in his haste to answer it and stop Buffy’s inquisition. “Yes, Rupert Giles.” His eyes widened as he recognised the drawling, disrespectful voice that assaulted his ears.

“Watcher, you’d better be good or I’ll gut you like a fish.” On the other end of the phone, Spike paused to gather himself, excited beyond measure that Buffy was only about twenty feet away from him, separated only by a flimsy wall. He couldn’t help himself. “How is she? What does she look like? Did she mention me?”

Giles darted a glance at Buffy who was now leaning back in her chair and playing with a strand of hair, sighing with boredom. “No, that’s fine. I quite understand, yes. Oh, fine, fine… same as always. Not as of yet, no… but I’m sure that will come. I have to go now, thanks for calling.” Spike’s snarling and threats were lost as Giles replaced the receiver and got to his feet.

“I think the best thing, Buffy, is to get you settled into your room and then I’ll have someone take you on the tour. There’s no immediate danger from the demon that I’m aware of, so relax, unpack, familiarise yourself with the house. I’ve booked us a dinner at a little restaurant nearby so I’ll call for you at eight; nothing formal but perhaps a little less denim would be in order. Is that agreeable?”

Buffy stood too, eager to get out of her grime-stained clothes. “Yeah, sure. I’ll scrub up, don’t worry. I can do sophisticated when I need to.”

Giles smiled and reached for the phone again, summoning a young man to escort Buffy to her room and see to her luggage, and asking him to organise a short tour of the facilities. After a brief hug, Buffy left; Giles sagged back into his chair and removed his glasses. It took less than a minute before the connecting door to the next office burst open and Spike sauntered through, trying to regain his swagger. As he got to the chair that Buffy had sat in he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his knees buckling as he caught her scent. Still the same, musky and unique. Buffy Summers, Slayer. His eyes grew damp as he ran his fingers over the arm of the chair, Giles’ ‘ahem’ jolting him from his musing.

“Good enough, Watcher. You did alright. You’ll take care of her tonight, yeah? ‘kay, then I’m off, out to hunt, feel like a bit of physical exertion if you get me. Catch you later.” With a quick salute, Spike was off, leaving Giles to contemplate the pickle in which he found himself.

+ + + +

Buffy pleaded jet lag as soon as dinner was finished and they headed back to headquarters where Buffy took her leave and went to bed in her well-appointed room at the top of the house. She crashed almost immediately, luggage ignored, barely making it into her jammies before sleep took her.

As soon as her eyes closed, Spike knew; having found no relief in stalking demons, he’d spent the hours she’d been gone going through her room, sniffing her clothes, his fingers lingering over the silken smalls packed haphazardly Buffy style in her cases. He’d waited for her to return hiding in the shadows opposite her door, and she’d been too tired to sense him when she trudged up the stairs. He pressed his face and hand against the door to her room, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of her even breathing and her strong heartbeat. He’d missed that rhythm, the thud-thud, thud-thud that gave him the semblance of life. Without her he walked, he talked, he laughed, he cried – but he didn’t live.

Silently, he turned the knob on her door and sidled through the slight gap. She’d left the bedside lamp on, the soft light shining on her golden hair as it fanned out on the pillow, strands of it clinging to her cheek. He ached to reach out and touch her but it would be too soon; tonight he would just watch and marvel, share the night with her and watch over her. That would be enough for now. He needed to gather his thoughts and strength so as not to blubber like a tosser the minute she saw him.

In her sleep, Buffy snuffled and smiled, stretching out and kicking off the covers to reveal silken pyjamas clinging to toned flesh. Her arms stretched above her head exposing her midriff and the belly button that Spike had spent snatched moments in the past licking and nibbling when he could get her to linger beyond the shagging. She always giggled when he did that, so he had done it often, loving the sound of her happiness, albeit that it was usually a short interlude in the day-to-day duties of a slayer. Her eyes fluttered as she fell deeper into sleep and she murmured, indistinctly.

“Spike… just there… mmmmm, harder…”

Spike’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he leant over her to see if she was awake and messing with him. Of course, he realised immediately that that was a stupid thought, because if Buffy knew he was there she’d be slapping him about and removing his body parts, not playing mind games with him. He was under no illusion that there would be a hell of a lot of explaining needed. No, her breathing was still even; she must be dreaming.

Being so close to her was tempting him beyond bearing, and despite his earlier oath to simply watch over her - he being a vamp of little restraint - he couldn’t help but softly stroke her hair and lift the golden strands to slip between his fingers. He could smell her unique scent and he was salivating at the thought of tasting her skin once more. Still standing, he lowered his head to scant inches away from her and moved along her supine form from her head downwards, inhaling deeply as he followed her outline, keeping that bare few inches between them the whole way. When he’d soaked in her scent, he moved back up, stopping at the golden oasis of her tummy. He dipped his head quickly and swept his tongue across her flesh, freezing when she giggled and scrunched herself up, relaxing again when she turned on her side and sighed her contentment.

He moved to the other side of the bed so that he could see her face and settled himself on the floor to watch her. Maybe while he was here he could figure out exactly what he was going to do now.

While she slept, Buffy dreamed vividly, feeling cool fingers stroke her hair, icy breath sweep her skin. She curled up on herself, giggling, as a tongue laved at her abdomen, her dream self swiping at the owner of the tongue, grabbing at him.

/Spike! Not fair – you know that tickles! Come here right now and fix it…I mean it, vampire…/

Her legs jerked as she wriggled in her sleep, kicking the sheets off the bed completely to pool on the floor. Spike shuffled round so that he sat with his back against the bed, facing away from her and concentrating on breathing in time with her rhythm, wanting to experience all that she did, needing to exist in the same space she did. If he looked at her for any longer all his restraint would fly right out the window, and he had things he needed to say to her, even if she didn’t hear them. He started to speak, softly but clearly, and sleeping Buffy heard every word and processed it in her dream.

‘No you don’t but thanks for sayin’ it’. Didn’t mean it, love. Just had to say that to get you to leave, couldn’t have you crushed beneath the rubble, had to get you out. You needed to see to the Niblet, and the Scoobies – stupid sods though they are. They don’t really see you, never have. They see your strength, yeah, your power. Might even see a glimpse of your heart from time to time. But they don’t see your weaknesses, your needs and your desperation. Left all that to me, then kicked me away so’s I wouldn’t make ‘em feel guilty. But I told you I’d never leave you and I never break my promise, love, you should know that.’

Buffy mumbled, her arms now hugging herself. “Never leave me, Spike. Promise me…”

Spike wiped away the stray tear that had filtered through his lashes and made its way down his pale cheek. He longed to kiss her awake and see her eyes shining, but now that he was so close, he was filled with self-doubt. Poets always wrote about the dream of love, so perfect with no flaws. What if Buffy had fallen in love with her rose-coloured spectacles vision of him, and the reality of his existence didn’t make the grade? He needed to know more before he revealed himself, make sure that that little seed of hope that was burning and growing inside him at what he’d witnessed tonight was flourishing for the right reasons.

Buffy murmured his name once more and smiled, ending up hugging the pillow and spread eagle on the bed, drawing forth a soppy grin from Spike as he got up from the floor and dropped a final kiss on her hair. He couldn't count the times he'd spied on her sleeping that way in her old bedroom on Revello Drive.

Quietly, he opened the door, closing it softly behind him, whispering while keeping his eyes on her as long as he could. “Goodnight, love. See you tomorrow…”

Buffy murmured back, “Goodnight, Spike. Love you…”

TBC