Every Day I Write the Book - Part Five
DISCLAIMER: The title belongs to Elvis Costello.
NOTES AND SUMMARY: When last we saw our heroes, Dawn and Wesley decided to e-mail Giles about Scary!Willow (but they don't know the half of it); Spike put on designer clothes, and he, Giles and Buffy were off to see the Watchers. This part: well, er, they see the Watchers. Followers of Dawn "Nancy Drew" Summers and Wesley "Hardy Boy" Wyndham-Pryce, please have patience til Part 6. <g>Spike had expected the Council of Wankers to have a more, well, ancient base of operations. Somehow he'd gotten the idea they worked in spaces like the Reading Room at the old British Library: aged desks in a round room, where tweed-bound people pursued lines of inquiry through series of incunabula or in leather-bound texts like the ones he'd used at university; where servitors scrambled with slips of paper into huge warehouses of vampire and demon lore, finding treasure to bring back to the dust-covered researchers.
It was entirely possible, he thought, that he romanced too bloody much.
Because here he was, walking down a newly carpeted corridor in a modern (and extremely ugly) office building just south of the Euston Road. Giles strode along in the lead, and Spike was doing his undead best to combine the assurance of a master vampire with the don't-stake-me-I-have-a-conscience humility appropriate in the middle of a substantial number of people who made a living by hunting his kind. This tricky balance would have been easier to pull off, had the love of all his lives not gotten a death-grip on his arm. Lucky thing he didn't actually have circulation.
Giles stopped in front of a conference room and knocked on the door. It was opened by the poor git who'd been with Travers that first night he'd met up with Giles-- what was his name? "Spike, you remember Imran Cumberbatch. Cumberbatch, this is William the Bloody."
Detaching Buffy with some difficulty, Spike extended his hand. Cumberbatch's eyes got a bit wide, but he shook hands with little hesitation. "Cumberbatch? Not properly introduced that night, as I recall. Nice to meet you. And, er, Giles? 've dropped the Bloody." He hoped his tone conveyed 'Think for half a mo, tosser," which he didn't dare say aloud in this company.
"Oh, of course." Giles's eyes twinkled behind his glasses, and Spike had a sudden sharp impulse to kick his friend's smug, amused arse. But he refrained. Eyes on the prize and what all.
Cumberbatch said, "I never got to thank you, William. Quentin Travers had certainly done for me if you hadn't pulled me out of the demon's way."
"You saved someone, Spike? Really?"
"Damn it, love, you needn't sound like I've never done it before," he muttered to her. To Cumberbatch he replied, "No worries. Shrods are evil business."
Giles interrupted, "Spike, Cumberbatch here is your guide during your visit. And this is Reginald Khan, supervisor of your, um, project." A tall, buttoned-up fellow stood at the conference table inside the room and nodded. Not the friendliest of blokes, then.
Clapping Spike on the back, Giles said, "Well, I'll leave you to it. Cumberbatch, bring William to my office when you're done." Then the bastard took Buffy off down the hall with nothing more than a quick hand-clasp, and Spike was left alone with the other two Watchers.
Cumberbatch pushed him into the room and indicated a seat at the conference table. Taking out a pair of half-glasses, Khan half- smiled. "Sit down, William. Shall we start our discussion with your report? I've taken the liberty of making a few notes. Let's begin with page three."
William had taken a First at Oxford. William had always shone in tutorials. William also had been dead for over a hundred and twenty years. Time to pull him up from the depths, then.
Spike took his own spectacles (the ones Buffy pretended not to know about, bless her) out of his inner jacket pocket and put them on, flipped open his folder, and sat down with an air. "Page three it is, Reginald." And he smiled a Big Bad smile.
***
Giles didn't feel as amused as he'd let on; it was rather as if he'd abandoned a poor innocent to the wolves. One would have to define "poor innocent" in a fairly idiosyncratic way, of course, to have the phrase ever apply to Spike. The thought made him grin.
Then he winced, because Buffy latched onto his arm with the same desperation she had used with Spike. "Buffy, dear, I'm human. Blood must flow."
It was a second before she understood; she let go immediately and twisted her hands together instead. Another poor innocent, he thought, then realized it applied to Buffy no more than to Spike. This time he laughed. "Come on, no wiggins in the hallway please." When she rolled her eyes at that, he knew they'd be all right.
He shepherded her into a larger conference room, where Emily Jenkins and Rosemary Goodwin waited. Giles had requested them specially, the kindest women in the Human Resources department (known as the Hell Resources department by many other CoW personnel).
Jenkins smiled, while Goodwin said "Hello, Ms. Summers. Please take a seat."
As Buffy sat, Giles looked for his chair-- there wasn't one. Jenkins saw his look and said, "We thought it'd be more appropriate to hold this conversation without you, Rupert. So Ms. Summers could talk freely."
Under cover of the table Buffy's hand shot out and grabbed Giles right over the knee. He suppressed a yelp of pain and said, "I believe Buffy will be able to talk freely with me in the room."
"Freely, all kinds of freely. The land of the free, the home of the brave. With Giles right here." Buffy must have realized she was babbling; she visibly centered herself, then said like the tested field general she was, "Sorry, I'd prefer to have him with me. Giles knows a lot about my situation and can refresh my memory if I need it."
***
"You say here on page six, William, that before your trip you felt remorse at a negative action you'd committed. Yet our research indicates that soulless vampires cannot feel any such emotion."
"Ah. Your research is basically sound, Reginald, but there are anomalies. Or perhaps I'm extraordinary. You may choose which you prefer. Remorse is an understatement for what I felt."
"Do you have any corroboration for your statement?"
"If you look at page seven, paragraph two, you'll note that indeed my friend Clement-- and I have a contact number, if you'd like-- witnessed my initial distress. He is more than able to confirm my story."
"Ah. Quite. Missed that part."
***
"Ms. Summers, can you describe your average work week?"
"Hmm. Since I've been working at the Double-Meat Hell-hole-- excuse me, in the food service industry-- I haven't had an average week. Hours vary, usually about 36, often during Slaying time. This barely brings in enough to feed and clothe my sister and me, much less do anything else frivolous like shelter."
"Yes, we have the figures. The job certainly doesn't seem adequate to your needs."
"You have the figures?"
"Yes. Apparently your, er, male companion and sister went through your records and compiled the data. Very exhaustive income and outgo report."
"My male companion and my sister. Uh-huh. Giles, did you know about this?"
"Buffy, I believe we're getting off track. Next question, Rosemary?"
***
"Now after your quite extraordinary adventures in Africa, you found yourself in London. Might I ask why you didn't head back to Sunnydale at once?"
"Covered on page eighty-two, Reginald. Lack of funds."
"And if I might interject-- I am very grateful that, er, William was here. Down in the Underground on assignment-- Mr. Travers went quite mad and pushed me in front of that demon, where I would certainly have been ripped to--"
"Thank you, Cumberbatch, you've told me the story several times. That raises another question, William: why didn't you include the story of your London encounter in the account you've written?"
"Oh hell, so sorry. Didn't quite get that you wanted me to add in all the people I've saved along the way; hardly relevant, wouldn't you say, Reginald?"
"Hmmm."
***
Emily Jenkins closed the file, and Giles barely repressed a sigh of relief. All in all, Buffy had done quite well, and he was sure that the nail marks on his leg would subside. In a fortnight or so. Jenkins smiled again. "That clarifies all our questions, doesn't it, Rosemary?"
"Indeed it does." She smiled warmly across the table at Buffy, who nodded with a now regal air. Giles stifled his amusement; yes, one could see why Spike sometimes referred to her as Queen Buffy (though that was his and Spike's secret. No need for heads to roll). Goodwin continued, "We certainly begin a new era-- a more enlightened one-- when our Slayers are compensated for the work they do. Will this figure per annum suffice? In American dollars, of course."
As Goodwin pushed the paper across the table, Buffy whispered, "That's per year, right? Yeah, I knew that." Then she looked at the figure on the paper. Twice. In a voice that shook, she said, "I think we'll find that acceptable."
Giles was so suffused with pride, he almost couldn't breathe. She had broken the strangle-hold of centuries; his girl was amazing. His incipient crowing was interrupted by Jenkins saying, "We have only two conditions. One, Ms. Summers, is that occasionally the Council will ask you to leave the Hellmouth in order to ward off apocalypse in other parts of the globe." Buffy nodded, then Jenkins added, "And of course you will need a Watcher onsite."
"Giles, you're coming back?" Buffy glowed up at him.
Hang on. He hadn't known about this-- "I understood I would remain here at Head Office. What's this new clause?"
Goodwin said, "Oh, not you, Giles." And she grew a most disturbing grin. "I believe the recruitment of the necessary new staff is going on right now."
***
"Reginald, mate, what have you been smokin'?"
Khan smiled. It was nasty and shark-like, and Spike didn't know how he'd missed the predatory gleam in those eyes. "Let me reiterate, William. We of course will purchase your report at the agreed-upon price, but that's merely a beginning. We have a task for you to complete while you're here in London, a simple matter of gathering information and writing a report. Should you perform as competently as I'm sure you can, then you'll be the first Watcher in history who also happens to be a vampire." Khan's teeth gleamed, looking damn like fangs to Spike. "And you'll be assigned to Ms. Summers as soon as you bring us what we need to know here. Have you ever heard of a demon who calls himself Lord Ternis?"
Oh. Bloody. Hell.
***
The ride home was certainly unlike the morning's ride to HQ.
After the meeting he and Buffy had found a shell-shocked Spike outside his office, and Giles had immediately decided to take them away, give them time to process. He didn't even unlock his office or check his e-mail, just collared them both and said, "We're going home for the rest of the day." Cumberbatch, mildly protesting, had tripped against him, but Giles was firm.
It was raining, and the wipers had a soothing rhythm, water diverted with every swoop. Spike sat in the front seat, his eyes hooded and his fingers drumming on the arm rest; Giles was fairly sure he didn't know he was doing it, keeping time with the rain. Buffy was silent and motionless in the back seat. Giles didn't know how to break the ice which encased them.
He pulled up in front of his home-- thanks to Anya for her little spell, keeping their spot secure-- and shut off the engine. No one spoke. Until Giles exploded, "Good God, you two, bloody say something before I rip out your tongues and you CAN'T."
Spike looked at him, amusement warming his chilly blue eyes. "Mate, you've been spending entirely too much time with me."
"I've been saying that for days. No, weeks," Buffy piped up.
At least that had shattered the ice-floe, Giles thought. "All right, all right, in."
Spike cast an eye to the drenched sky, picked up an umbrella, then ran off toward the house. Buffy gazed at the lithe, designer-clad form as he disappeared inside. Then she followed without benefit of brolly, dodging raindrops as if they were kicks and punches.
There had been too many of those, and there'd be too many more. Giles breathed out, then opened his own car door. Wind off the Thames could be a bit nippy, even in August, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.
And found a slip of paper. Slowly he uncrumpled it and read "Khan's setting Spike up. Be careful."
Cumberbatch. Outside the office. Tripping, hands patting Giles down as if in apology. Clearly the man had unsuspected depths.
Bugger.
***
"Love, easy, calm down--" But she was off, galloping up the stairs with Anya close behind. Neck and neck race to see who got to the computer first. Bugger.
Giles entered, and Spike turned. "Problem, Rupes."
"What now?"
"E-mail from Dawn and Wesley. Willow's playing in the Dark Arts sandbox again, they think, although they don't have details. Buffy's gone spare, Anya's trying to make sure she doesn't break the computer with the frantic e-mail she's about to send."
"Hell and blast." Giles threw his keys on the table and went into the kitchen. Strange reaction, Spike thought, and followed. Giles grabbed a sparkling water out of the fridge, unscrewed the top with some force, gulped. Then he looked at Spike and tossed a bit of paper his direction. "Found this just now in my pocket."
Spike took in the message. "I knew it, I knew it, I bloody-damn knew it." Rage started to swell hot and fierce, but he cracked his neck to one side, breaking his anger's back. Okay, then. "So I've got two problems. T'riffic."
"You knew what?" Giles asked.
"Khan asked me to research Lord Ternis. Heard of him-- Rexos demon, complete nutter, vicious, minions all over the shop. Hardly seemed right the Council didn't know all there was to know about him already." He banged his fist on the countertop. "Buggering hell. What exactly is the set-up, though?"
"Not sure. And I don't think Cumberbatch knows more, or he'd have said." Giles took a drink of his water. "You still going to gather information? I knew that Khan was impressed with your account, knew he might ask you to freelance--"
"And you didn't tell me? Thanks, mate."
"Oh, shut it. I had no idea he had a potential job available. With Buffy, no less."
"Because he didn't think I'd make it through the first assignment." Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, sod him. I will make it through, and I will be Buffy's Watcher."
"Impressive, mate. Are you sure you want to? After all the things you've said about my organization in the past, many of which were richly deserved?"
Did he want to become The Man, part of an institution, enforcer of rules? God, a thought to make a vampire shiver in his boots. Or loafers, as it were-- past time he changed clothes. But there was really no choice to make. "Well, Rupes, as long as there are no rules forbidding a Watcher to shag his Slayer, I'm good."
Giles grinned. "Only restricted if she's a minor." He tossed his empty bottle into a bin, then nodded to himself. "Right then. You're going out tonight, to fact-find?" Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Then I'm going too."
Spike was outraged at the implication he couldn't take care of himself, yet absurdly pleased that Rupert would offer. "Appreciate it, Dad, really. But you should stay with Buffy and Anya, work on the Willow angle."
"No. Nothing to be done about Willow now, I suspect, except advise Wesley to be alert. Your problem is first priority." As Spike tried to formulate another protest, Giles thumped him on the back. "You have to understand, Spike. I'd do anything, just so I can take the piss when you become my Brother Wanker."
They both burst out laughing, a comforting moment, and then Spike remembered. "But what do we tell Buffy?" She hated not being told things, hated when they had secrets. But still, she couldn't really do anything, and she was so worried about Dawn. Giles had followed the same line of thought, apparently, because they said in unison, "We say as little as possible."
Speak of his love: Buffy and Anya entered the kitchen, Buffy saying, "Okay, I'll try. Just don't tell me I'm being irrational, Anya, it makes me crazy." She came straight to Spike's arms and kissed him. "Wes said they just have suspicions, they want us to be careful. Willow's stealing magick texts." She laid her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Spike. I'm so tired of this."
"Know you are, love." He tried to ignore the smacking sounds from the other side of the kitchen; if that was what he and Buffy had been like during Willow's first Picard-spell, he suddenly understood Giles's revulsion at the time. Still--"Buffy, why don't you take tonight off? Do something fun?"
"Right." Giles pulled himself away from Anyanka's lips for a moment. "Spike and I have some Watcher business to transact; we thought we'd go out on our own. You two could find something to do, perhaps?"
"You want to do this, honey?" Buffy asked him, her eyes intent on his. He nodded. He had to do this.
Anyanka said, "Okay, fine, you can desert us now, but you have to come home early. I've been very concerned, and only hours of sex can make it up to me." Giles smiled, and she added, "Here's how I see it, Buffy. They go off and do boring manly things. You and I-- we go shopping. Since you have money, now, right, we'll go to Harvey Nicks for an hour or two before it closes, then we can have dinner at the Fifth Floor."
Buffy clearly was torn: hours with Anya, versus clothes and food. However, Spike knew which she'd choose, and God it was endearing. She said decisively, "Okay. Girls' night out, boys' night out it is!" She grinned, "Wow, it's like we're normal or something."
She might think so, but Spike couldn't possibly comment.