DREAMS DO SHOW THEE TO ME

CHAPTER 3




The next morning, Giles was astonished to find Buffy tucking into breakfast in the senior Watchers’ dining room, demolishing a full English and calling for more toast and marmalade. From what Dawn had been saying, and certainly in accord with the evidence of his own eyes, Buffy hadn’t been eating properly for months, probably not since leaving Sunnydale – but right now she seemed set to empty the kitchen of food. She spotted him, beckoning him over with her mouth full, licking her fingers and reaching for more.




“Giles! This is awesome! Why didn’t you ever give me this stuff?”




Giles smiled and took a seat across from her, opening out his newspaper and signalling for a pot of tea to the waitress staring agog at the young girl and her second empty plate. “I think, Buffy, that you told me once that all English food was bland and tasteless? And that mushy peas sounded like the work of the devil?”




Buffy grinned and pounced on the new rack of toast that had just been delivered. “Yeah, well – if I knew what mushy peas were I’d be willing to give them a go now. You’ve been holding out on me.”




“Glad to see you’re eating, Buffy. Dawn tells me you’ve been skipping meals.” He peered at Buffy over his spectacles in his best schoolteacher fashion, but Buffy flipped him off.




“Nah, not really. Well…sometimes, but I’m busy, you know? I forget … but I do love cooking now – you should see me in the kitchen. And I have my own ricer.” They both smiled as they remembered the altercation one Thanksgiving when Buffy forced Giles to host it. Her smile faltered, and Giles guessed she was recalling a petulant Spike tied to a dining chair and peppered with arrows. He chose that moment to try a little delving.




“Buffy.” He waited until she looked at him, a piece of toast dangling from her fingers, forgotten. “It’s alright to grieve for him. I can’t say we saw eye to eye on everything…no, not on anything to be honest…but I do believe – reluctantly – that he loved you. I’d be the first to dissuade you from having a relationship with a vampire, but I will admit that I think I misjudged Spike. For whatever motivation, noble or selfish, he died to save the world. And he’d do it again, for you, Buffy. That means something.”




Buffy reached across and gripped his hand. It meant a lot to her that Giles was speaking out about Spike, helped to heal the rift that had never quite righted itself from the assassination attempt Giles had made with Wood. “Thank you,” she murmured.




Giles’ tea arrived, disrupting the moment, and Buffy munched her toast in silence as Giles read his paper and sipped his tea. It was nice and domestic, and Buffy relaxed, feeling more at home than she had for such a long time. And she’d had such a wonderful dream…




“I dreamed about him.” Her words were low and Giles looked up slowly from his newspaper, letting her know that he was listening. “He was there, in my room, talking to me, stroking my hair, kissing me. He made me giggle… he’s … he was always able to do that. I miss the giggling.” Even that caused a pang of more anguish as she'd taken great pains to hide her pleasure from her friends. Now, she really didn't know why, her smile lingering as she remembered the way he used to laugh with her.




Giles smiled. It was nice to see her happy. And he had the distinct feeling that the dream had been a lot more realistic than Buffy imagined. What on earth was Spike playing at?




“Maybe it’s because I’m in England, you know? Near to where he’s from. Do you know where he’s from, Giles? The Council, I mean? I never thought about it before, but while I’m here…”




“NO! No… we’re not sure.” He did know quite well, but he was certain that Spike wouldn’t want Buffy nosing around his past life. “Ahm… maybe there’ll be something… I’ll… I’ll look things up… in… in my books.”




Buffy tilted her head in perfect imitation of her dream lover. “You alright, Giles? You look spooked - and it’s no big, just wondered. Look, I’m gonna go hang my stuff up finally, and grab a shower. What’s the plan for today, so’s I can pick out the best outfit? Don’t wanna let you down.”




“Oh! Well…I hadn’t really thought. Erm…yes. Yes! The Slayer School – I think you could put in an appearance, give the girls something to look forward to. Faith really does work them hard, you know, although she’s actually in France at the moment as Willow is having some difficulty with the latest slayer to be recruited.”




Buffy was disappointed. Strange as it felt, she’d been looking forward to seeing Faith, catching up, comparing moves. “Oh, right. I just thought...no big. Never mind, maybe they’ll be back before I have to leave. Or I could go join them once I’ve slayed the beastie. You’re gonna give me some more to go on about that, right?”




Giles panicked again, knocking over his teacup and flooding his newspaper. “Yes, yes… of course. Later… I have a meeting right now. In fact, if you’ll be alright? I’ll have someone fetch you in about an hour, if that’s acceptable?”




“Yeah, gives me plenty of time to pick the outfit to stun the slayers with, and matching boots. I’ll be fine, catch you later. Oh! And I should call Dawn. But I can never figure out the time thingy, or the code – little bit of help?”




Giles left her with instructions and reassurances about the time in Rome and scuttled off before she could ask any more questions for him to avoid.




+ + + +




The door to Giles’ office slammed almost before he was through it.




“Took your time, Rupes. What did she say? Did she mention me?”




Giles ignored the vampire pacing in front of his desk, taking his time to settle himself down and arrange his papers before speaking.




“You do realise, Spike, that you sound like a teenager with a crush?”




Spike shot Giles a venomous glare, dragging a chair out and collapsing into it, his feet once again coming to rest on the polished surface of the expensive, mahogany desk. “Piss off.”




“Nice.”




There was silence, punctuated only by Spike’s fingers drumming out his internal beat on the arm of the chair. His truculent voice broke the stalemate. “So? You gonna answer my question, or what?”




Giles considered lying, but decided against it. Avoiding Spike’s eyes, he replied. “Yes, Spike – she did mention you. Do a little visiting last night did you?”




Spike smirked. “Yeah, what of it? Had to see her.”




Giles was taken aback by the blazing blue of the vampire’s eyes, the intensity and vulnerability barely hidden by the brash façade that Spike habitually wore. He knew enough about Spike’s background to know that in life William had been a very gentle soul, reputedly a ‘mother’s boy’. The Council had quite detailed records, in fact, of his history and his education. A Classics scholar, gifted at Latin and Ancient History, but somewhat lacking in the necessary talent to become the poet he aspired to be. It was quite chilling to think that such a gentle, poetic soul should become one of the Aurelius clan’s most vicious killers.




Still, sitting here with Spike now, cheekbones tight beneath his pallid skin as he ground his teeth, Giles could see more of the poet than the vampire. He issued himself a stern warning to remember that Spike was unpredictable and no longer leashed by the chip. With a shiver of fear, Giles asked the question that raced to his tongue.




“Ahem… I just wondered… for… for the record, you know… ahem… your soul. Did it survive the hellmouth?”




Spike smirked and rolled his tongue around his slowly lengthening fangs, inhaling with theatrical flamboyance and licking his lips with a smack. He paused just long enough to hear Giles’ heartbeat race then took pity, crashing the chair legs down on the wooden floor with a thunk and swinging down his boots from the desk.




“Course it did, you dick. What? D’ya think I’ve come here to off the Slayer and your sorry arse?”




It was clear from Giles’ shaking hand as he adjusted his tie that that was precisely what had been going through his mind and Spike got some satisfaction from it, momentarily. He was still the Big Bad…




“No, Watcher. Come to get my girl back, haven’t I? She needs me, you know it. Even more convinced of it after last night. I’d say she yearns for me but I’d sound like that poofter Drac. But she does, just the same.”




Satisfied, if a little shaken, Giles asked Spike the same question he’d asked twenty four hours or so earlier, not really expecting a different answer but pressing on regardless. “Do you have a plan you’d like to share with me? A snippet, even, will do. I only ask because I have a very boisterous Slayer expecting to see off a demon and I don’t have a demon to give her. I can only hold her so long, Spike. Oh, and she’s asking questions about your human past… I could just point her in the direction of the Council archives…”




Spike stood up, bending forward over the desk. “You wouldn’t! You lousy bastard. Thought I was the evil one.” Giles stared Spike right in the eyes, unflinching, drawing a snort from the vampire. “You bloody well would, you tosser.”




Giles continued to stare the vampire down, waiting for a response to his question.




“Well? What's it to be, Spike? Are you going to share your plan and this mysterious prophecy or does the Slayer get 'This is Your Life, William---'”




“Stop right there! You're sick, you know that watcher, but you win – for now.” Spike started pacing, trying to think, but coming up empty. “Oh bugger it. Don't have a soddin' plan, and there's no prophecy. Just need to see her and I'm a bloody wuss and can't get up the courage. So, I'm taking it slow until I find my balls, and that's the truth. Happy now?”




Giles was flabbergasted, speechless. He'd truly believed the vampire when he'd turned up full of bluster and spouting off about a destiny and the Slayer. He couldn't believe he'd been so taken in.




Maybe he'd wanted to be...




“I must say, Spike, this is most disappointing. I really don't know what to say to you. No prophecy? So this is purely a mechanism for getting Buffy within your sick reach?”




Spike felt as if he was back in his father's study receiving a dressing down for missing chapel. He shrugged. “'m not sick. Love the girl, don't I? Just... I didn't know how else to get near enough to her so that she'd listen before kicking me in the head. And just 'cause you don't know about one, doesn't mean there isn't a prophecy... right? Could be one...” Spike mumbled the last bit, hands in his pockets, toeing the ground with a shiny Doc like a recalcitrant schoolboy.




Giles opened his mouth to shoot Spike down, but stopped before the first roar came out. He recalled the look in Buffy's eyes when she'd spoken of her dream, of Spike. He had the sickening feeling that Spike could be right about a prophecy or fate, call it what you will, even if it had been nothing but a ploy. He was caught in the rush of the future bursting like a dam, and he could do nothing else but go with the flow. Or be crushed. “Well, I suggest”, Giles blustered, “that you simply get this farce over and done with, allow Buffy to make up her own mind what she does to you.”




Spike hung his head, bravado deserting him. That was the thing; what would Buffy do to him. Apart from rip out his unbeating heart and keep it captive – but oh, she'd done that already, many years ago...




“Yeah. Suppose I'd best let the lady decide; I've got nothing else, watcher.”




As the vampire slumped off, and recalling Buffy's shining eyes when speaking of him earlier, Giles got the distinct feeling that despite his misgivings, Spike had much more than he realised.




+ + + +




Buffy's face was aching with the smile she'd kept on it all day. She was bruised from all the grabbing she'd tried to sidestep but failed, and her hand was bent into a permanent claw where she'd signed autographs, if you could believe it. Giles was beaming behind her as she backed out of the enormous room that served as the training centre for the ever increasing number of slayers taught at the Council's school.




“Drink”, Buffy muttered. “Large drink, very strong, right now.”




Giles chuckled. He'd often felt that way after dealing with Buffy on her own in the past, so he experienced a certain amount of glee at her discomfort at being faced with a horde of young, eager, hero-worshipping slayers.




“Come on, Buffy. I know just the place.”




Buffy gulped down a large white wine, and nodded when Giles offered another. “Get a bottle!” she shouted after him as he made his way to the bar in the 'Mucky Duck' pub opposite the Council building.




As Giles slid back into his seat and handed Buffy the chilled bottle of Pinot Noir, she started to relax. “How do you deal with all that ... energy?” she asked. “I swear, I was never that eager.”




Rupert Giles snorted, the scotch he was savouring burning his throat as it fought its way down. “Buffy,” he chuckled, “you were like sunlight harnessed, and just as dangerous. Still are, I'll wager. No, I'd rather face a whole roomful of those girls than you at your most... slayerest, if you'll excuse my lack of proper grammar. I shudder at the thought of going through your school years again.”




“Was I that bad?”




“Truthfully? You were quite a handful... but I wouldn't swap you.”




The two sipped their drinks, musing over times past. It was pleasant to sit in silence, shared memories warming them. When Buffy's head dipped, her knuckles white where she gripped the stem of the wine glass, Giles shifted over to her side and put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her to lean against him.




He itched to tell her it would be alright, that she didn't need to mourn any more – but something prevented him doing so. It wasn't his secret to spill...




“Home?” he questioned softly when her grip on the glass relaxed a little. At her nod, Giles got to his feet and helped her on with her coat, leading the way back to the Council building. Neither of them noticed the pale figure watching them from a shadowed doorway, his eyes glowing with the hope that maybe – just maybe – the Slayer and the vampire would have a fairytale ending.




TBC