Spike followed Giles down the hall to his room, and closed the door behind them. Giles sat down in the desk chair, turning it around to face the vampire – who was leaning against the door, his eyes closed, as he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The reality of the terrible fate he had so narrowly escaped was just beginning to hit him – hard.

Giles regarded him for a long moment, a speculative look on his face, before rising and crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. Spike opened his eyes, giving the Watcher a wary look.

“Allow me to take care of that for you,” Giles said mildly, gesturing toward the bleeding wound in Spike’s chest from Willow’s stake.

Spike frowned in confusion, and then his eyes widened as he realized what Giles meant. “Thanks but no thanks, Watcher,” he replied in a dark tone. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not so very fond of magic. And that’s not just since the witch decided to play bloody pin the stake in the Spike! That’s since…” He paused, then shrugged as he admitted, “Well, since – since *ever*.”

“You know, Spike,” Giles smiled calmly. “Magic *does* have its *good* uses – in the hands of someone who respects its power and uses it wisely.”

“I’m sure you’re right, that’s all well and good,” Spike muttered dismissively. “But those uses *don’t* include anything to do with me!”

“Spike,” Giles’ voice was soft and though his smile was one of amusement, it was not mocking. “Trust me.”

Spike met his eyes with a searching gaze for a moment. “Not quite there yet, Watcher,” he stated frankly. “But I’d like to know just what it is that’s changed your mind – that makes you think I’m suddenly so necessary to this whole thing when you were ready to stake me yesterday – and what you’ve got in mind yourself, because I can tell you’ve got *some* bloody scheme in the works!”

“Right to the point, then,” Giles nodded appreciatively, a surprised and impressed expression on his face, as if he had not expected Spike to pick up on that so quickly.

“And as for the bleedin’ magic,” Spike added, giving him a slightly suspicious look. “Have you always had so much power lying about, not using it, or is this something new?” he asked with a sarcastic smile.

Giles smiled, looking away thoughtfully. "A bit of both would be the truth I suppose," he replied before looking back at Spike, his smile fading. "A person doesn't become as...involved...with dark magics as Willow has apparently gotten...or as I was at one time...without holding on to a bit of it from that point on, whether they want to or not."

Spike was surprised at that revelation about the Watcher's past. "Never knew you went in for any of the dark arts, mate," he commented casually, his piercing eyes focused on Giles' face.

"I have done quite a lot of studying, and know very much about your history...*William*..." Giles said pointedly with a smile, as he returned Spike's challenging look. "...but it seems you know very little of mine."

"Seems so," Spike conceded with a slow nod. "Don't s'pose you'd care to enlighten me?"

Giles smiled, a little sadly, his eyes distant with memory. "Suffice it to say that there was a time when I did not take magics as seriously as they ought to be taken," he said simply. "And, as always...there were consequences. I *did* manage to overcome it, became a Watcher, and so forth..." he went on, his tone a bit brighter at that part of the story. "But there's a bit of that darkness that remains to this day."

"Can't say that's a bad thing at the moment," Spike said dryly. "'Least from my perspective, Watcher."

"It's not the darkness in me that was able to stop Willow, Spike," Giles informed him, his expression serious, meeting the vampire's eyes with an expression that told him it was very important that he understand what he was saying. "If I'd gone into a confrontation with her holding only the remnants of the dark power I had as a young man...she'd have merely taken it from me and used it to kill us both, I dare say."

Spike frowned, confused, giving Giles a questioning look but not saying a word.

“When I returned to England last spring,” Giles went on. “Well…a Watcher without a Slayer doesn’t have a lot of responsibilities – not much to fill his time. I spent a lot of mine studying magics while I was there, and became quite proficient.”

“Obviously.”

Giles smiled. “Yes,” he conceded. “Obviously. I managed to obtain a great deal of power in my own right,” he admitted modestly. “But I have been very careful about the sorts of spells I’ve performed, and the circumstances under which I’ve performed them. Magic should only be used of necessity – not as a cure-all for any little problem.”

“Yeah – tell that to Red,” Spike muttered.

“I hardly think she sees you as a ‘little problem’,” Giles pointed out. “She sees you as an enemy in the camp, Spike.”

“What a coincidence,” he shot back sarcastically. “Feeling’s mutual, witch,” he muttered to the girl whom he knew could not hear him…not anymore. Thanks to Giles. Which brought him back to the original question, and he looked up to the Watcher’s eyes again. “And how about you, Watcher?” he asked. “What size problem do *you* think I am?”

“I don’t believe you’re a problem at all,” Giles laughed softly. “I rather think that you may be a tremendous asset in this battle.”

“How’s that?” Spike asked, his eyes focused on Giles, with a sense of expectation – and a little apprehension.

“You have first hand knowledge about Faith – logistic information about the layout of her lair; tactical information such as how many followers she has, what positions they hold, her plans – not to mention other information of a more…personal…nature.”

Spike looked up at Giles sharply, trying to gauge from his eyes and his tone what sort of underlying message lay beneath the casual comment. But Giles’ expression was unreadable as he looked back at him and went on without missing a beat, “Her motives… tendencies…weaknesses…”

Spike studied the Watcher’s face for a long moment. “Something tells me it’s a bit more than that, in’nit?”

Giles seemed pleased and impressed that the vampire had so easily picked up on the fact that there was more he was not saying about his reasons for rescuing him. “Aren’t you the perceptive one,” he remarked mildly. “As a matter of fact, I *do* have an idea – in which you would play a key role -- of how to stop Faith…once and for all.”

Spike was silent for a moment, taking in his grim expression, before he corrected bluntly, “By ‘stop’ – you mean kill the bloody bint…ain’t that right?”

Giles grimaced at the frank words, but nodded reluctantly. “It’s beginning to appear that there is no other way. The Council would have no trouble dealing with a rogue Slayer if she was one they had identified prior to her calling, trained and conditioned to follow their guidance. A girl like Faith, however – not discovered until late in her teens, having already grown up under…well, very undesirable circumstances…she’s developed a certain…well…”

“She’s street smart,” Spike supplied, catching on to what he was saying. “Tough. Doesn’t trust anyone. She’s not an obedient little drone like other Slayers have been, and she’s unpredictable – so they can’t find a way to trap her.”

Giles turned serious eyes on him and nodded slowly. “Precisely.”

“And what makes you think that we’ll fare any better?” Spike raised his eyebrows, curious. His own carefully thought out plans to kill Faith had ended in disaster. If he could not trap her after coming as close to earning her trust as anyone ever had, what could the Watcher possibly have in mind that might actually work?

Giles’ expression was grim as he said softly, “I believe the girl is getting desperate…and with desperation comes carelessness.” He paused. “I didn’t mention it to Buffy. I didn’t want to discuss my study of magic and such at that time – but I knew about the ritual. Before she told me about it.”

“How’s that?” Spike asked, surprised. “The Wanker’s Council’s bloody seers?”

“Spike,” Giles pointed out with a patient smile, “At my level of magical proficiency – I’ve no need for a seer.”

“You *are* a seer,” Spike concluded flatly, understanding dawning in his eyes. “That’s why you trust me, in’nit? You *know* I’m telling the truth!”

“In a manner of speaking…yes,” Giles admitted with a hint of pride in his voice. “I knew when Faith came here – and I knew when Buffy returned. I was never even at the Council when Xander or Buffy called – because I was already on my way here.”

“I *knew* something was off about that!” Spike smiled, with a knowing nod.

Giles nodded as well. “And I knew when Faith started planning this ritual. I think it stands to reason that she was likely hoping to convince *you* to aid her in her plan.”

Spike let out a derisive snort. “Not bloody likely. The psychotic little bint’s nearly killed me enough as it is! Why would I want to help her become a bleedin’ super Slayer?”

“Indeed,” Giles’ smile took on a sly edge as he added, “It *would* require…the proper persuasion…to convince *any* vampire to go along with such a scheme.”

“Where exactly are you going with this?” Spike asked slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he watched the to-all-appearances older man slowly pace the floor, his hand moving unconsciously to cover the wound in his chest, still bleeding, though slower now, and still painful.

Giles turned to him, an excited sparkle in his ice blue eyes at the idea he had formulated. “Perhaps the greatest loss of ground our side has suffered in this whole thing is your being found out by Faith. Her believing that you were on her side was possibly our best opportunity to stop her.”

“I know, Watcher, I bollixed it up,” Spike admitted irritably, though his irritation was with his own failure. “What bloody difference does it make now? There’s nothing to be done about it.”

Giles’ smile was secretive as he met the vampire’s blue eyes with a challenging look. “What if there was?”

Spike frowned; the idea of going back undercover was not the least bit appealing to him. But the Watcher was right…they were running out of time, and options. “I’m listening,” he said slowly in a low, even voice.

“Of course…” Giles told him cautiously. “It would require…a certain level of… sacrifice.”

“Just what do you mean by ‘sacrifice’?” Spike asked with a little grimace, his hand pressing harder over the wound in his chest, which seemed to be growing more painful than when it had first been inflicted, rather than lessening in intensity.

“Let me tell you what I have in mind,” Giles went on, then seemed to suddenly notice the way Spike was holding his chest. “Spike…” he said, his voice patient and gentle. “Please allow me to heal that for you.” He placed an almost fatherly hand on his shoulder, and urged him kindly, “Come now, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Looking into his eyes, Spike wanted to trust him. He had felt so very alone for so long, being able to trust no one – and the pain was so severe…

“Right, then,” he nodded with a sigh of resignation. “Go ahead,” surprised even himself when he agreed to allow it.

But the Watcher’s open blue eyes were sincere and genuinely concerned – and he *had* aid he needed him – and his arguments made sense…

He only flinched a little as the Watcher placed his hand over the wound – over his heart – and he felt the warm rush of the magic as it began to flow through his body.


While Spike and Giles were having their discussion, Buffy had been in the living room tending Angel’s wounds. Now, twenty minutes later, she had just had her startling revelation about Angel’s invitation – the invitation he shouldn’t have had.

Her mind raced, wondering who had invited him into her home. It couldn’t have been her friends; they would have told her if they had known he was back. And it had to have been someone who lived there, anyway. Buffy had been in LA; Dawn would never have invited Angel in, she had always seemed a little afraid of him. There was only one person it could have been.

Her mother.

A blind rage consumed her, all she could see as she looked at the man she had once loved with all her heart, and saw only a monster. The hell she had sent him to must have somehow claimed his soul again, she thought – but it did not matter how, or why. All that mattered was that her mother’s killer was here, sitting across from her, acting as if he had done nothing wrong at all, seeking refuge and acceptance from her.

All he would get from her was death.

She lunged at him, grabbing for his throat with one hand and her stake with the other, releasing a roar of fury as she attacked.

“Buffy!” he gasped. “Buffy, what the…”

“You murdered!” she snarled, releasing his throat to punch him in the face, again and again, unleashing her rage. “Evil…soulless…killer! You killed my mother! I hate you!”

Suddenly, Angel leapt up from the couch, throwing her off of him, rising to his feet with a snarl, his vampire features firmly in place. He should not have been strong enough to push her off like that – not if he was really hurt as badly as he had appeared to be.

Buffy’s rational mind quickly realized that she could be in danger if she was dealing with Angelus. “Spike!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Spike, help!” A little help couldn’t hurt.

In a matter of moments, the vampire came rushing down the stairs, her Watcher following in his wake. No sign of the injuries Willow had caused marred his face or his chest. At the sight of Angel – or Angelus, no difference as far as Spike was concerned – in game face, snarling menacingly at Buffy, Spike rushed him without hesitation, morphing into his own game face and throwing his grand-sire back against the wall.

Angel tried to knock him back, but Buffy was there in a heartbeat, pinning his arm back before he could strike. Between the Slayer and the master vampire holding him down, Angel couldn’t move an inch. Spike reached into his back pocket to retrieve his own stake, more than ready to dispatch the vampire he despised once and for all.

“Wait.” Buffy’s voice stopped him, hard, but calmer than it had been moments before. “I want him to say it. I want to know from his mouth.” Leaning in with fury joining the tears in her eyes, Buffy bit off the words in Angel’s face, “I want you to tell me how you killed my mother.”

“Buffy!” Angel gasped, dark eyes searching hers, imploring, as he shifted back to the human features she had once adored. “Buffy…I didn’t! Why would you think…” His words were cut off in a groan of pain as she plunged her stake without warning or mercy into his shoulder, inches above his heart.

“Liar,” she hissed, and looking at the light of cold hatred in her eyes, Spike was very glad that she no longer suspected him of the crime. “How did you get in here? You didn’t have an invitation,” she pointed out, twisting the stake in her strong hand and eliciting another muffled cry of pain from her prisoner. “Until my *mother* invited you in. Isn’t that right?”

“Buffy…please!” Angel gasped with pain, and Spike could not help but feel a certain amount of pleasure. The last time he had seen his grand-sire he had just gotten out of a wheelchair where he had spent months, suffering humiliation and abuse at Angel’s hands. To see Angel suffer was not in any way an unwelcome sight. “Buffy…I didn’t hurt your mother! I swear it!” Angel insisted.

“Then how do you explain the fact that you’re here? In my house?” Buffy demanded calmly, a cold smile on her face, menace in her glittering green eyes.

“She – she *did* invite me,” Angel admitted. “But we talked! I didn’t kill her, I swear!”

Buffy stepped back a bit, surprised at the admission, and withdrew her stake. “When?” she asked, her voice low and full of pain and anger.

“Right when I got back,” Angel admitted, his eyes downcast. “I – I *did* want to see you, Buffy. Bad. I was – scared, and – and alone – and hurt. And your mom let me in.” There was surprise in his voice, even so long after the events of which he spoke. “I wouldn’t have thought that she would have, especially as out of it as I was then. But – she did.” He paused. “*She* didn’t know where you were, either.”

There was a heavy silence over the room, until Buffy spoke, her voice considerably calmer, “And this was *before* Faith found you?”

Angel nodded.

“What?” Spike frowned, confused. “Faith?”

“Let him go,” Buffy spoke to Spike while still looking at Angel. “For now. Angel – tell them what you told me.” She was not sure what to believe yet, but Angel’s story did seem to make sense, and she could not know for sure that he was lying.

As Angel finished his story, Spike was already shaking his head in distrust. “No,” he said firmly. “No. I would have known. I would have known if you’d been there, *Angelus*.” He spoke the name with contempt.

“That’s what *I* thought,” Angel said quietly, his eyes suddenly meeting Spike’s. “*William.*”

Spike just glared at him. He didn’t believe a word Angel had said. “Buffy,” he said, not taking his eyes off Angel. “I would have known.”

Buffy looked between the two vampires for a long moment, then let out a weary sigh. This was just too much to deal with, on top of everything else. But she realized it was going to be up to her to come up with a solution. “Okay,” she said flatly. “We’ve got to figure this out. Maybe Willow could do a – a truth spell or something.”

Spike and Giles exchanged a discreet look.

“Perhaps,” Giles said. “We’ll have to ask her in the morning. She’s already gone to sleep.” His tone made it clear to Spike that he did not want his secret revealed, not yet, so he said nothing, following his lead for the moment.

“Oh,” Buffy sounded disappointed. “Well – for tonight, I guess it’ll have to be a different vampire in the chains.”

Spike shot her a warning look, and she barely suppressed a smirk. “In the basement,” she clarified casually, much to Spike’s relief.

She was surprised at how she just naturally rushed to reassure him, when only minutes before, she had been wondering how Angel’s return would affect her feelings for Spike. Something about the possibility that Angel might have hurt her mom, even if it turned out not to be true, brought back the memories of Angelus, and how he had hurt her and those dear to her.

It took any affection for him out of her in a moment. She knew that he had gotten his soul back before she had sent him to hell, and at the time that fact had made all the difference in the world.

Somehow, now…it didn’t matter.

Spike, unsouled, had already demonstrated such a huge capacity for love and devotion. The way he had come running to help her when she had called, attacking Angel without hesitation at the first inkling that she might have been in danger – it filled her heart with warmth and affection for him, and made her choice between the two terribly easy.

And, well…it made her hot.

Spike went with her to the basement to chain Angel up, and the protective, if unnecessary, gesture only served to increase her attraction. She met Spike’s eyes as she closed the cuffs around Angel’s wrists with an audible click, the corner of her mouth turning up in just the hint of a smile, gratified when his eyes widened and he swallowed hard.

“Um…Buffy…about what happened last spring…” Angel began tentatively, trying to catch her eye. His voice was tender and earnest, as if he wanted to tell her something he had been waiting to say for a very long time.

Not looking at him, her eyes focused on Spike as he gave her a long, lingering look before heading toward the stairs, Buffy said quietly, “Good night, Angel,” and followed Spike up the stairs and into the kitchen.

The moment the basement door was closed, noting that there was no one around to see, Buffy suddenly grabbed him around the waist and pushed him forcefully against the wall, one leg pressed between his. She was pleased and surprised to find that he was already ready for her.

*That’s right,* she remembered. *Heightened senses and all. So he already knew I wanted him…and it made him want me. Well, let’s see if I can still surprise him…*

As she rubbed her leg lightly against the coarse fabric that covered his swelling erection, he gasped and reached his hands toward her waist to pull her close to him. She caught his wrists and pinned them quickly together above his head, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry about the chains…I have a spare set upstairs.”

He stifled a low moan of pleasure at her words and her touch, straining toward her to touch her, to kiss her, before she slowly pulled away, sauntering toward the stairs that led to her bedroom, with a seductive backward glance. He would have followed her anywhere at that moment, and was right behind her.

Giles met them at the top of the stairs, and Buffy jumped guiltily in surprise. “Oh! Hey, Giles,” she said too brightly.

“A word with you, Buffy,” Giles returned her smile calmly, heading toward his room and beckoning for her to follow, casting Spike a knowing look that told him that he was going to fill the Slayer in on their plan, and thought she would probably take it best from him alone.

Dejected, Buffy obeyed, glancing over her shoulder to give Spike an agonized look and mouth, “I’m sorry!” She shook her head emphatically. “I *won’t* be long!” she told him soundlessly.

Frustrated beyond belief, he walked into the bedroom, muttering to himself, “*Better* not be long, you sadistic little tease, getting a bloke…”

His voice trailed off when he looked up to see Willow, standing across the room glaring at him balefully. Despite the fact that he knew she was powerless at the moment, the sight of her standing there in silent fury was a chilling surprise; he had forgotten that they had left her here.

And the look on her face said that she had some things she wanted to say.

He heaved a weary sigh and steeled himself for the conversation with the sarcastic thought, *Well, *this* oughta be fun!*