Author’s Note: I want to take a minute to thank my betas profusely. All of them.

Phuriedae and Science get most of the credit—and they totally deserve it. Especially Phurie who was with me from day one, who encouraged me and talked me through months and months of rough drafts, corrected me on Buffyverse and Angelverse lore and characterizations, and whose unwavering support and encouragement allowed this fic to be written. Also, she came with me over from the Labyrinth fandom and I would have been totally lost without her. (And have you bothered to really LOOK at that gorgeous banner she made me? It was absolutely perfect and I cannot thank her enough.)

Science joined me just recently, for the end of Part II and all of Part III. Her fresh POV and insight let me really polish the end of this story to a high gloss shine and I’m indebted to her for it.

Special thanks also go to Pika-la-Cynique, who handled all my French translations no matter how weird or freaky they got. Lixxle, who clamored unrelentingly for smut and was extremely patient (for her) about waiting for it. Thistledear, who kept quietly reading along and prodding me for more. And also my husband, who proofed the whole thing, despite his distaste for fanfiction and Buffy (though I think he doth protest too much) and romances, and made sure that my fight scenes were appropriately fight-y.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Betaed by Phuriedae and Science

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Chapter 74
Surprise



"Hello, cutie."

Spike leans against the doorjamb, dressed totally in black, every bleached white hair slicked into place, dangerous and annoyingly cool.

"I can't do this anymore!"

Spike ducks the pencil that I just hurled across the room.

"Don't suppose you could find something less deadly to throw about?" he complains. "What's the trouble?"

I shove the papers on the table away from me. "This," I say, settling into my sulk. I've been building up to it for the last half hour, but the stupid vampire was out ... doing stupid vampire stuff. Spike sets a paper bag with the logo of the local butcher on the countertop and saunters my way. He picks up a piece of paper, scanning it, then sucks on his cheeks for a minute.

"Talk about your pound of flesh," he says. "These all hospital bills?"

"Enough of them," I say, putting my head on my arms. "You'd think that there would be some kind of post-apocalypse holiday where they can't send out bills for a month or so. It's barely been a week. I mean, I've got to eat, right? The least the PTB could do is send me a fruit basket or something."

I pick up the checkbook and glance at the numbers to see if they've changed in the last fifteen minutes. They haven't. I sigh. "Mom's insurance covered most of it but... I don't think Slayers are equipped with magical money managing skills. No matter what I do, I can't make the numbers in here come up to more than the numbers there." Suddenly a thought occurs to me. "Hey, you were all Victorian guy, right? Didn't you have to like, balance ledgers and stuff, back in the day?"

"Back in the day?" Spike asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean. I've read historical romances. That's what you guys all did, right?" I say. "Look—in this corner we've got hospital bills, funeral bills, mortgage, utilities, and a bunch of other stuff that says ‘pay me.’ In this corner is income."

"Little guys are scrappy," he says.

"Be the adult this time?" I beg.

"Think my accounting skills moved out along with the soul, luv," Spike says.

I moan again and drop my forehead onto the table. "I'm gonna have to get a job, aren't I?"

Spike strokes my hair. "We could always rob a bank, I suppose," he says.

"That would be wrong," I tell the table. "But tempting." The phone rings. "If that's a collection agency, tell them I have an axe and I know how to use it."

Spike laughs and gets the phone.

It's kinda weird, being so domestic, but at the same time, it's almost natural. The last week, since everything happened, we've been taking one day at a time. We still bicker, still argue, but then Spike hands me the remote, or I get him a cup of blood, and then we go out and kill something.

And now that all the snow has melted, it's a heck of a lot more fun.

"'Lo, Rupes," Spike says, into the phone, then frowns. "Yeah, she's here." He hands me the phone, a weird look on his face. "Something not right," he murmurs.

"Hey, Giles, what's up?" I ask.

"Buffy, I need you and Spike to come down to the shop. It's not an emergency, but... I'm afraid something has come up."

"Giles," I say. "If you tell me there's a new prophecy or that the world is gonna end in the next week, I'm going to be a very grumpy Slayer. One apocalypse per spring, that’s the deal."

"Oh, no... nothing apocalyptic," he promises. "But there may be... er... fireworks."

I don't manage to get any more out of him than that before he hangs up.

"What do you think?" I ask Spike. "What's going on?"

"There were people there," he says. "In the background. Your friends and... others. They were trying to be quiet."

"Surprise party?" I guess.

"You know someone named Travers?" Spike asks.

"Crap."

***

The fact that they want to see both of us doesn't really bode well.

Even though it's dark, we slip in through the sewers and into the storeroom underneath.

"Can you hear anything?" I ask Spike. He's paused midway up the stairs with his head tilted toward the ceiling.

"Bunch of stuffy blokes reprimanding Lydia for the most part," he says. "Wankers. Want me to kill 'em?"

"No," I say. "You're still supposed to be chipped, remember?"

He looks down at where I'm waiting. "Yeah," he says, softly. "I remember. I'm still chipped, Slayer, for as long as you need me to be."

He's totally sincere about it, but there's something coiled in him, that dangerous part that isn't tamed and doesn't want to be tamed.

And I'm not sure I want to tame it, because it's what makes him Spike. It's the monster in him, and the warrior, and it's just as important to who and what he is as the poet and the man. I know he's not going to go around killing people anymore, but I can tell he's not happy about the restrictions the chip placed on him.

Maybe it's time we told everyone?

"Think it's safe?" I ask, meaning the Watcher's Council that's currently taken up residence in the Magic Box.

Spike just raises his eyebrows.

So we go up the stairs, him as silently as only a vampire can and me being extra stealthy. We pause for a moment at the door so I can listen.

"..some of the these things are extremely dangerous, Mr. Giles," says a voice that I recognize immediately. A shiver goes down my spine. "Yet you have them out for the general public?"

Giles mumbles something I don't quite hear.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid we'll need to suspend your... commercial endeavors here until we have concluded our appraisal of the situation."

"They're shutting the store down?" I whisper to Spike. "Can they do that?"

"Only if you let them," he says.

On the other side of the door, Travers is speaking. "Your Slayer is late, Mr. Giles."

"I wasn't aware that she was on your schedule," Giles says. "I wasn't aware that either of us were, for that matter. If you'll recall, you fired me, and Buffy quit."

"The Slayer cannot quit," Travers says. "It is her Calling. Her sacred duty. Clearly she hasn't shirked her responsibilities, though it appears that leaving her alone has resulted in her being disastrously misguided. You must admit that this situation is untenable, and wouldn't have occurred had Miss Summers been properly supervised."

Spike's hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me from busting down the door.

"Patience, pet," he whispers.

"I don't have to answer to them," I say.

"No," Spike says. "You don't. Wankers didn't want to help you, you don't owe them a damn thing."

"All they've ever done is try to get me killed," I whisper back.

"Maybe they should be the ones called 'Slayers of Slayers,'" Spike says. "Certainly done in more than any vampire ever has."

"Buffy is an adult," Giles says. "This last year has more than proved her maturity, without any guidance from the Council—aside from Ms. Markham, who was the only one of your number intelligent enough to recognize the signs of an imminent apocalypse and brave enough to come and face it head on. If anyone here deserves a reprimand—"

"Careful, Mr. Giles," Travers says, his voice hard. "Remember your place and the power the Council wields. This... all of this, can be gone. Shut down as if it never were, and your Green Card can vanish in the same puff of smoke."

"That's it," I growl, and push the door open, not really caring when I scare the crap out of the guy standing in front of it. Giles and Lydia are sitting at the research table, and the gang is perched up on the loft balcony, watching everything going on below. I catch Willow's eye and she shakes her head slightly, giving me her best 'Not-Good' Face.

"Miss Summers," Travers says, whirling around to see what the disturbance is. Spike emerges behind me. "And William the Bloody." A dozen crossbows swivel in our direction.

Spike sneers at them. "Ah, the Council of Wankers," he says. "In the flesh... and blood." The emphasis he puts on the last word doesn't slip past most of the Watchers.

Travers ignores him, turning his beady little eyes on me. "You've been busy, Miss Summers."

"Yeah," I say. "We just saved the world from turning into a giant ice cube. What've you been up to?"

Travers doesn't bat an eyelash. "It's come to our attention that we have been, perhaps, a bit lax in regards to your activities here on the Hellmouth."

"What? You mean, like, not informing us of a really important prophecy that you've known about for a century now?" I ask.

I think I can actually hear his teeth grinding, but he smiles at me. "Yes, well, to be fair it seemed to be little more than the ramblings of a madman. Hardly worth your time."

"Funny," I say. "'Cause it seemed to be totally worth my time. We wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for that."

Lydia gives me a tight but grateful smile from her seat next to Giles. She looks like she's been through the wringer a few times. I know how she feels, but I don't think I need to take the Council's crap anymore.

"Be that as it may," Travers says. "I fear that without the Council's help the prophecy has been grossly misinterpreted. Normally such things are vetted, you see, to prevent mistakes or... unfortunate consequences." He glances at Spike, who snarls at him. "There's no need for such posturing, creature. Mr. Giles and Ms. Markham have already advised us of your... condition. We're well aware that you pose little threat to us."

"Yeah. You're so brave. Which is why you've got all those crossbows and crucifixes," Spike sneers. He turns to look at the Watcher standing only a couple of feet away, who is holding out a wooden cross with a trembling arm. Spike growls and the Watcher yelps, edging back a foot or two, which only makes Spike laugh.

Travers just does his creepy old man smile again. "We've come to rectify our mistake, Miss Summers. We'll need to do a thorough investigation into your training and techniques, but we're prepared to allow you back under the Council's wing, and provide you with a fully qualified Watcher capable of assisting you in your duties."

"I already have a Watcher," I tell him.

"Mr. Giles no longer works for the Council," Travers says.

"No, he works with me," I tell him. "And he's the only Watcher I want, or need."

Giles' mouth twitches for a minute, trying not to grin. Travers grimaces.

"Provided he passes our investigation, we may be persuaded to allow him to resume his former position—with a probationary period under Council supervision."

Spike's hand touches my back again, and I realize I'm so tense I'm ready to hit something.

"Why do I think that you're not just here to offer me and Giles our jobs back?" I ask.

"Well, there is one other problem that needs dealt with," Travers says. Beside me, I feel Spike go very still. "I apologize for letting things get so completely out of hand, but you must realize that we simply cannot allow one of our Slayers to be so... intimately connected with a vampire. We were willing to overlook your prior transgressions with the vampire Angelus, due to his souled status and his choice to distance himself from you. However, this... alliance simply cannot be allowed. I'm very sorry, Miss Summers."

And before I realize what he's about to do, he nods. There's a soft thwack and a whistle as a crossbow bolt files through the air. Several voices shout "No!"

Spike jerks, and when I turn to look at him, he's holding the shaft of the bolt in his hand... but the rest of it is embedded in his chest, directly over his heart. Pain lances through my chest, and I feel a hard tug through our connection.

His eyes go wide, and he roars with pain. Around the bolt, darkness spreads in slow motion and I expect for him to dissolve right before my eyes.

Only he doesn't.

Spike somehow manages to rip the bolt out of his chest. The darkness solidifies, and then all that's left is a bloody hole in his chest and a really pissed off vampire.

"It didn't turn to dust," someone says.

"Spike?" I ask.

His game face slides into place.

"But... I hit the heart," another British voice says. "It's wood. I hit the heart. Why didn't it die?"

The Watchers shift nervously, and Spike growls, deep and feral. When I turn to look at him, Travers appears shocked, and for the first time, scared.

Still, Spike holds his ground, growling softly, his yellow eyes tracking every Watcher in the room, his muscles tight and ready to pounce.

"Slayer?" he asks, and I know what he wants.

And I'm through playing games.

"Go for it," I say.

Spike grins, showing a mouthful of fangs.

Then I spin and kick the crossbow out of the hands of the nearest Watcher before yanking the crucifix out of the hands of the other. Spike's nothing more than a black blur, unleashing nearly two years of pent up anger and frustration. Crossbows snap into kindling and wire; crosses smoke briefly as he snatches them out of the Watchers' hands and tosses them away. Watchers scream and scramble, trying to get away from him and over it all Travers is yelling.

"You said he couldn't hurt us!" he screams, and Giles and Lydia, horrified, back away into the corner under the loft while Spike herds the rest of them into the center of the room like a wolf cornering a flock of sheep.

I can tell he really wants to hurt them, but he seems to satisfy himself by punching out the guy who shot him. The Watcher collapses into the arms of his colleagues, clutching his bleeding nose. Spike just sneers and paces around the rest, including Travers, who is shaking hard and brandishing a silver cross around his neck.

"I knew that ridiculous story about a computer chip couldn't be true," Travers says. "I knew it. And you've allied yourself with this monster, this creature..."

"Yeah," I say. "About Spike's chip. It's not there anymore. Louhi took it out when he was in Hell. We might've forgotten to mention it."

From the direction of the loft I hear Xander start to say something, then shut up.

"And yes, Spike is part of my team now," I tell them. "My team. I've got two Watchers, two powerful witches, a former vengeance demon, and a guy who's clocked more field time than any of you. And now I've got one of the strongest vampires on earth fighting at my side. And I'm not going to let anyone put him back down. Now you can accept that, and go away. Or you can just go away. I really don't care. Because here's the thing. We don't need you, Mr. Travers. We've gotten along just fine now for more than two years without the Council's help, and we'll keep doing it, because that's what we do. But without me? You're just a bunch of old guys sitting around watching Masterpiece Theater in a big musty old library. Without me, you don't have a purpose."

Travers slowly lowers his cross, meeting my eyes.

"So here's what you're going to do," I tell him. "You're going to go away. Go back to England and your books, and if you ever find anything that might be of use to us, you let us know immediately. No more withholding information, even if you think it's dumb. Lydia is going to be our... uh...ambassador—"

"Intermediary?" Spike suggests.

"Yeah, that," I say. "Because I like her, and because I don't think she'll lie to me. She can do this from here or from there, that's her choice. Giles will be reinstated as my Watcher, with full pay—"

"Retroactive," Giles coughs.

"Paid retroactively from the date he was fired," I say. "He will be allowed to keep and run the shop, and you won't ever have him deported. And you will never, ever, ever try to put a hit on Spike again. Got all that?" Travers' face tightens. I glance over at Giles and Lydia, who are both wearing tentative grins. Up in the balcony, my friends are doing the same.

"Two more things," Spike says, surprising me.

"I don't think—" Travers says, but Spike just snarls again, interrupting him.

"Two more. First—I've known more than a few Slayers in my time. I've watched them fight for you wankers, bleed for you, die for you. And what do you give them in return? Nothing but grief. This girl, she just signed up for a long-term Slayer contract, so I think it's about time for you lot to do her a good turn. As long as she's willing to work for you, she gets a salary."

"A what?" Travers asks. I blink, shocked.

"A salary," Spike says. "Regular paychecks every month, enough to cover her bills, her schooling, and everyday needs, with more than a bit left over for pin money. She's got to fight every night, the least you can do is make sure she doesn't have to sling burgers just to make ends meet."

"And your second request?" Travers asks.

"She gets to take time off, now and then. All expense-paid holiday, wherever she likes. She's got to save the world, she ought to get to see some of it."

Something in my chest that I didn't know was bolted down suddenly flutters its wings.

"And that's it?" Travers asks. "Nothing for yourself, vampire?"

"I've got everything I want," Spike says softly. "But if you ever try to hurt her again, I'll kill you. All of you. Just thought you might like fair warning."

Travers nods, then looks at me.

"Do we all understand each other?" I ask, hardly daring to hope.

"I think we do," Travers says.

***

Later, after they go, the rest of us sit around the table in the Magic Box, recuperating.

"Congratulations, Buffy," Giles says. "Well done."

"I thought vampires didn't do anything altruistic," Tara says to Spike.

"We don't," Spike says.

"But... you asked for money for Buffy."

"Yeah," he says. "She was gonna make me her bloody accountant. Bugger that. Besides, you think I want her coming home every night reeking of Doublemeat Palace grease?"

Tara laughs, but I know she can see through him as easily as I can.

"Thank you," Lydia says to me. "I-I dreaded what they'd do to me, were they to find out."

"Think you'll stick around here?" I ask.

She glances at Giles and blushes deeply. "I... well, if I'm welcome...," she says. Giles smiles at her.

"Of course, you're always welcome."

Something clicks.

"Oh my god!" I say, glancing between the two of them. "You two... are you?"

"Didn't you know?" Spike asks, glancing at me, amused.

"No!" I say.

Spike curls his tongue behind his teeth. "Rupert, you dirty dog, you."

"Shut up, Spike," Giles says, but he's ducking his head and looking sort of pleased with himself.

"Hey," Willow says, "How come you didn't dust?"

Spike grimaces and fingers the bloody hole in his shirt. "Don't know," he says. "I felt... I felt it take. Then... it didn't."

"I felt it, too," I say. "Like a pain in my chest, then a tug. It was weird."

"I've got a theory," Giles say. "I... wasn't sure, but—after you fell, Buffy—you ought to have died. No human, not even a Slayer, could have fallen so far and not been seriously injured after. Even with the snow and Spike to break your fall. And Spike... ought to have burned. How long does it generally take, for a vampire of your age to burn?"

"Not as long as it took me to get across that rooftop and into the shadow of the hospital, that's for damn certain," Spike says, looking contemplative.

"I've a theory that, this binding ritual... it connects your life forces. So long as one of you lives, I don't believe that the other can die," Giles says. "We cannot be certain but... it would explain why Spike failed to burn completely in the sunlight, and why you survived the impact, Buffy. And earlier, Spike's failure to dust, despite the arrow through the heart."

"Huh," I say, looking at Spike.

"We're not testing it, Slayer," he says.

"There was a mention in the prophecy, to that effect," Giles says. "It was just, buried under the potato bits, so I didn't think much of it, at the time."

"Potato bits?" Spike says, raising his eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "Apparently our crazy prophet was big into potatoes."

"Potatoes," Spike repeats. "Mind if I take a look?"

Lydia and Giles blink at each other, then shrug. Lydia gets up and goes to get the prophecy. She flips it open and finds the right section, then hands it to Spike.

Apparently Spike reads French pretty well. He flips through it like it's a paperback novel. Then he puts it down and glares at Giles.

"You," he says, pointing an accusing finger at him, "are a disgrace to the mother country and all Watchers. Potatoes indeed." He snorts and tosses the book into the middle of the table.

Giles frowns. "Are you saying... what are you saying? That we've misread..."

"Look, your prophet was English, yeah? When was this written?"

"Ah... approximately 1880, I believe," Lydia says.

Spike crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "Yeah, and in 1880, before I crawled out of my grave and took up a liquid diet, had some angelic twat started nattering at me about chips, I'd have thought he meant potatoes. As in 'Fish and.'"

"The chip," Giles says. "You mean all this time, his... talk about the merits of potatoes was really talking about..."

"You're a moron," Spike says.

Giles groans. "I do believe, for once, you might be right."

"So," Xander says, "uh... about that chip? It's really gone? As in, gone gone?"

"With the wind," I say. "Louhi removed it when she took him."

"Right," Xander says. "So... uh, the other night, when I hit you..."

Spike just slants him a look so full of "duh" I can't help but giggle just a little.

"Right. Uh... Well, thank you, for not killing me," Xander says. "So... you're really on our side now? No more killing people?"

"Told you before," Spike says, "you can choose to be something other than what you are. Rising above your inner nature—makes you a man. Not saying it's gonna be easy, though."

"But we're going to help," I say, looking Xander in the eye. "Because it's what we do, right? Help?"

Xander nods a little reluctantly. The others do, too. We've all changed, this last year. Some of us in big ways, some of us in little ones. There’s been love and loss and grief. We’ve matured. And even though there’s been bad stuff, we have to keep going, have to work to make things better. Like Spike says, it’s never going to be easy, but we still try.

When it comes right down to it, we're family—a weird one, sure, a little dysfunctional and all, but...family. Maybe it’ll grow, over time. Maybe it’ll get smaller. But I know that right now, I’m surrounded by the people I love most in the world, and that’s what gives me the strength to go on.