Ch-ch-changes - Part Three
NOTES AND SUMMARY: Giles&Spike-centric AU, end of Season 6, following from my "Going Underground" series. Our heroes are back in Sunnydale; last chapter, Spike left Giles to chat with Buffy, while he returned to his newly arranged crypt (thanks, Clem). Unfortunately, two rather nasty demons created a thunder/lightning strike which knocked Spike unconscious on his doorstep. This part is just Fluff, Chat, and Exposition.
Funny what eight hours of sleep (and a London phone call revealing the professional demise of Quentin Travers) could do for a man. Giles felt almost human again. He hummed 'Town Called Malice' under his breath as he unlocked the front door of the Magic Box.
The interior of the shop was darkened, and it smelled of too many herbs left too long. He shut the door behind him, then flicked on a couple of lamps. The golden light revealed dust, disarray, the uncared-for look of what Anya once had tended so assiduously.
Anya, his poor darling. In the three hours of post-cyclone discussion with Buffy last night, Giles had heard more about the disaster Xander had created. It had been all he could do not to go upstairs, where the little bastard sat vigil by Willow's bedside, and give him a piece of his mind then a piece of his fist. Only his exhaustion and his promise to Spike stopped him.
He opened the lid on his take-away cup of tea and sipped; dear Lord, it was disgusting. England still did some things best, and tea was one of them. He flashed on the memory of sharing a cuppa with Spike at a caff before they left for the airport. Twisting sugar packets until they burst, Spike had confessed his-- indiscretion-- with Anya, explaining not only his regret ("Didn't mind hurting Harris, Giles, but Buffy's a different story. As are you") but also the drunken-comfort nature of the liaison.
Giles, once Ripper, knew a little something about drunken- comfort sex, indeed he did. And it wasn't as though he'd been in town, was it. The story made him uncomfortably jealous and guilty, but he understood Anya's pain.
He wanted to help her heal.
He wished he could do something for Buffy, too. She had told him of the dark months past, sliding around the tricky subject of Spike but giving him enough to confirm Spike's information. Those two had mucked it right up. Add love woes to her bad decision-making-- working at that fast-food horror, what was she thinking?-- and resurrection trauma, and Buffy had certainly had a winter of discontent. He had to be careful with her, though. She showed signs already of wanting him to fix everything. That pattern had been broken forever, and she needed to accept it.
She also needed to accept that Willow was no longer who she'd been. Giles had spent a few moments at the redhead's side, listening as she moaned in what seemed to be sleep. He couldn't have said why he felt so wary, why even in his thoughts he emphasized 'seemed', but he did.
Giles took another sip of so-called tea, sat down, then pulled some notes from his pocket. Willow had murmured "gate" and "Spigos" a couple of times, and he probably should get to research--
And a horrible crash came from the cellar. "Giles! Giles, are you here? Help me!" Buffy called.
He ran down the stairs to find Buffy surrounded by debris by the trap-door, cradling Spike's body. She lifted tear-filled eyes to Giles. "Giles, please help me-- I went by the crypt this morning, just to, I don't know... and I found him just lying in the doorway, unconscious. The sunbeams were only a couple of feet away, oh God..."
He bent and did a cursory examination; a knot had formed on the back of the vampire's skull. "Just knocked on the head, Buffy, or so it seems. If you got him away from the sun, you saved him from the real danger. But how... why here?"
She was crying, her body-tremors rocking Spike. "I carried him through the sewers. I know, I didn't think, but I was so scared. I should have left him at the crypt, but I didn't know, I thought you'd be here--"
"Buffy, it's all right." He hoped. She hunched over the vampire, tenderly tracing his cheekbones, until he stirred.
"Oh God," Spike moaned. "Buffy?"
"What happened, Spike?" Buffy's fingers moved to his temples, massaging. Giles didn't think she knew she was doing it.
Spike struggled to open his eyes. "Don't know, love. Hullo, Rupert." He took a breath. "Lightning strike, thunderclap all but bloody inside my bones, 'sodding hell that hurt'-- pretty much all I remember."
Buffy stared at him for a moment, then dropped his head on the concrete floor. He yelped in pain. She jumped to her feet and stood over him. "What the hell were you thinking, you idiot? First you leave, and I needed you, but you were gone, and now this! You're not allowed to dust, Spike, unless I stake you! You are not ALLOWED, do you hear--" She choked on a sob, then another. And she bolted upstairs, her feet heavy on the steps.
Spike pulled up to rest on his elbow, the other hand feeling the knot on his skull. "Nice to know the little woman cares... enough to break my head again. Bloody buggering hell."
Giles helped him scramble to his feet. "I have to ask. Did your unlife pass before your eyes? 'Had a smoke, a pint, and a shag; bollocksed everything up; had a smoke, a pint, and a shag; bollocksed'--"
"Oh, shut it." Spike shot him a baleful look. "How long you been savin' that, then?"
"Since February. It feels good to use it at last." Giles experimentally let Spike go, to see if he could stand alone. "There, you're a big boy now. Want to try the stairs?"
"Thank you, Nanny Giles." Spike swayed a bit, then moved forward. "How did I get here, if I might ask?"
Following him up the stairs, Giles allowed himself an evil grin. "Buffy carried your unconscious body through the sewers."
Spike winced. "Please tell me you're lying! Did anyone see her do it? Oh balls, I'll never be able to show myself in public again."
Giles was ready to make a caustic remark concerning Spike's ego and its tenuous relation to reality, but then he looked up. Anya stood by the counter, fingering her amulet. She said, "Buffy just ran out of here in tears, saying something about stupid vampires. What happened?"
"Take the hand away from the necklace, pet, it was nothing," Spike said. "Just a little weather-related accident." He caught Giles's eye and smiled. "I think I'll just go wash my head. In the training room. By myself." And albeit with an involuntary groan, he sauntered away, leaving the two of them alone. Extremely alone.
"Anya." Giles hated the way his throat closed up on the thousands of words he wanted to say. He could only look at her and repeat her name. "Anya."
"Giles. You've said my name twice, is that bad?" she asked.
He forced himself to laugh. "No, no. Come, let's sit down. At the table." Yes, do be specific, Rupert, because there are so many other places to sit in the shop, he thought. While chastising himself, he absently caught at Anya's hand, and she gripped it tightly.
"Giles, I--I-" she stammered, clutching at him even harder. He put her in a chair, but kept hold of her hand while he took the next seat. "I want to say-- oh dear God, Spigos!"
What? He hadn't quite expected that. Oh, wait. "Spigos?" She pointed toward his scribbled notes. "Right. Willow said the word a couple of times last night. I thought I'd look it up, but what do you know about it? Or is it him?"
"Either. Oh, Giles, this is bad. When Willow went crazy and called up the storm, she must have left a trace of dark energy, enough to affect dimensional balance. Spigos is the Gate-seeker for a variety of demon-entities: he finds weakened doors between dimensions, then sends out his two Tollers to open the door."
"A door, which means the Hellmouth?" She nodded. Giles continued, "And how do these Tollers operate?"
"Well, they're very good at adjusting wherever they go, but honestly, it's mostly weather-stuff. Lightning, wind, water, all to shred the fabric between the worlds. They also drain human forms, human energy. And what follows is never a good time."
"Weather-- the thunderclap and lightning Spike described. Well, bugger." Anya raised her eyebrows at his language, and he shrugged. "Sorry, dear, didn't mean to swear."
"That's all right, Giles. It was rather manly and attractive."
"Oh, NOW you bloody tell me what you like." He grinned at her.
She gazed at him. "Giles. Are you flirting with me?" Then she looked down at their still entwined fingers.
No telling what madness he might have committed, had the front door not crashed open. Buffy stood there with a super grande coffee drink of some kind. Finishing a huge gulp, she came into the shop and shut the door. "Okay. Okay, I'm calm now. Where is he?"
As if summoned by trumpets rather than a mere bell over the door, Spike appeared in back. "Were you looking for me, love?"
"Of course not." Giles couldn't repress a snort at the reflexive lie, and Buffy glared at both males impartially. "Well, maybe. You-- I mean, it wasn't--Giles, what are you and Anya doing?"
He briefly considered saying something along the lines of "I'm on the pull here, take your vampire and go." But duty was duty, and he hadn't changed that much. "We've discovered the source of Spike's strange weather. Apparently Willow's spell let in a couple of nasty customers, demons who want to open the Hellmouth for some bloke named Spigos."
"Again?!" Buffy and Spike said.
"Yes, again. And we need to plan how to stop them."
Anya nodded. "The Tollers probably will do the ritual this evening. They always like to follow local customs, so I'm guessing it'll be at midnight. And stopping them will be tricky, because either could kill with just a touch."
Spike and Buffy came to the table. Now, that's interesting, Giles thought: Spike without thinking held Buffy's chair for her, and as soon as he had sat down, Buffy just as absently told him to lean forward so she could check his wound. He hadn't expected such unconscious domesticity from them. Perhaps they could manage hearth-fires as well as conflagrations, after all.
Then the two of them looked at him expectantly, ready to go to work. Giles sighed and let go of Anya's hand, but she leaned closer to him. She whispered, "Just to confirm this. You were flirting?"
"Yes, Anya, I was." And after we're done with the immediate crisis, he thought, you won't have to ask.