Two Ladies of Quality
Author's Website: http://www.angelfire.com/rebellion/riani1/
Feedback: riani1@yahoo.com
It's been a quiet summer, since they defeated Glory. The quiet of waiting for the other shoe to drop. And some new shoes are heading for the floor.
Willow lay in bed next to Tara, tracing her eyebrows and nose and lips. "You are so beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful."
Tara's lips smiled under Willow's fingers. "So are you."
"You're more beautiful."
"No, I'm not."
Willow kissed her. "Yes, you are. So there."
Tara lowered her eyes, but she was smiling.
With a contented sigh, Willow snuggled in close. "I love you so very much."
"I love you more." Tara kissed her to stop the protest. "So there." Willow laughed and let it go.
They lay together in happy silence, watching the candles flicker lower. Miss Kitty hopped onto the bed and found her favorite spot in the curve behind Tara's knees. Tara's blinks finally became nearly indistinguishable from someone fighting sleep.
"Go to sleep, sweetie," Willow whispered. "I love watching you sleep."
"Voyeur," Tara murmured.
"Darn tootin'." Willow lightly ran her finger tips along Tara's forehead and cheekbones. "Go to sleep." Tara's eyelids slid closed and her breathing deepened. Willow continued to run her fingers along Tara's face. "Sweet dreams, my sweet. Deep sleep and sweet dreams." She kissed her lover's forehead and slipped carefully out of bed.
She stood a moment, watching Tara sleep. She still wasn't completely over the terror from Glory's theft of Tara's mind, the feeling of helplessness when she didn't think she'd ever have her beloved back. She wished she'd watched more of the fight that had taken Glory down, just for the satisfaction.
There were still so many bad things out there, still so many ways your loved ones could get hurt. She had to learn every way she could to protect them. Nothing was ever going to hurt her family again.
She dressed quickly, gathered some things, and left as quietly as she could. The wards of protection on the door got an extra bit of energy. As tough as those wards were now, the whole building could catch fire and Tara would sleep peacefully on in a room completely untouched.
Not many people were still around in the break between summer school and fall semester. No one noticed Willow leaving the building--not that there was anything to notice, just a girl heading out with a knapsack over one shoulder. She strolled off casually, heading for the east side of town.
She took a shortcut through the smallest and oldest of Sunnydale's myriad cemeteries, filled with really neat crypts and Spike's former home. She wasn't far from the Du Lac crypt when she heard the sound of metal on stone.
"Oh, bother," she sighed, and changed directions.
When she was closer she heard voices. "Why do we have to be the ones breaking into crypts?" said a half-familiar voice.
"Because we lost the lightning round of Next Generation trivia," answering a completely unfamiliar voice.
"I'm still not sure he's right about that mistranslation of the Klingon subtitles."
Another clink of metal against stone. "Well, when there's a discrepancy between dialogue and subtitles, canon always follows the dialogue. That's just a given."
"I'm not arguing that, but the Klingon lexicon has gone through some changes since the dictionary was published. It's out of date, I don't care if it's the only authorized edition. 'Undiscovered Country' alone introduced new vocabulary that isn't adequately declined in the published sources."
"But Rule 32 says 'The Klingon Dictionary is the final arbiter of translation debates in trivia contests.' We all voted on that."
"Yeah, but that was when they were going to update the dictionary."
Willow peeked through the bushes at the two arguing young men. Yep, that was Jonathan, but who was the blond guy? And why were they using crowbars on the lock on the Du Lac crypt, which had been installed and magically reinforced by Giles himself years ago?
She debated several approaches, then decided on a Buffy-esque confrontation. She stepped around the bush. "Hi, guys. Whatcha doing?"
The resulting screams of shock were very gratifying.
Jonathan clutched his chest. "Wil--Wil--Willow."
"Hi, Jonathan." She looked at the other person. "Hi, have we met?"
The blond young man blinked, hugging his crowbar to him. "We were at school together. I'm Andrew."
Willow thought a moment, then nodded. "Tucker's brother."
Andrew beamed. "You remember me?"
She shrugged a little. "I think I saw you getting beaten up in the hallway one day."
"Oh, well, yeah, that happened a lot."
She looked at Jonathan. "So what brings you two out in the middle of the night? To the cemetery? With crowbars?"
Jonathan and Andrew stared at each other, then at their crowbars, then back at Willow.
"Um . . ." Andrew started.
"Live action role playing," Jonathan said.
Willow blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah, like Dungeons & Dragons."
"I know what a LARP is." She looked them over doubtfully. "So what are your characters?"
Andrew perked up. "We're brave adventurers in a modern-day setting, in a world populated by dark and dangerous creatures, where mystic powers and arcane rituals are the keys to power beyond understanding."
Willow blinked again. "You said that all in one breath." He shrugged in bashful pride. "Dark and dangerous . . ." She glanced out into the shadowy cemetery, considered the contents of the bag she was carrying, and decided not to explore any further the boundary between role-playing and the real world. "So what are you doing here?"
Jonathan fielded this one. "There's an artifact inside we're supposed to get."
"I don't think you're supposed to do any actual breaking and entering in LARPs. Besides, there's nothing interesting in the Du Lac crypt--except what's left of the Du Lacs, of course."
"There isn't?" Jonathan frowned. "How do you know?"
"Um, well . . ." Wait a minute, she wasn't the one who had just been caught committing desecration. "It's something Buffy dealt with a few years ago. We closed it up afterwards, there's nothing interesting there, now." She smiled cheerfully.
Jonathan and Andrew looked at each other uneasily. "The, um, game master said we had to check the place out," Jonathan said.
"Well, then you can tell him you ran into a wandering witch with local knowledge who said not to bother." She continued smiling in her best "I'm only here to help" manner.
Andrew fidgeted with his crowbar. "Our gamemaster was really sure something interesting is in here."
Willow was starting to get curious about this gamemaster. "What's supposed to be in there?"
Jonathan smacked Andrew's arm, making Andrew wince. "If you say nothing's in there, then you're probably right. You're certainly one with the local knowledge, Willow. Come on, Andrew, we've got other places to check tonight." He began tugging on Andrew's arm. "Good night, Willow, be careful out here."
"Stop pulling!" Andrew protested, but he followed Jonathan into the shadows.
Willow debated following them, but she had an appointment she was already nearly late for.
On the edge of the failed Sunrise Grove development on the east side of town, Willow paused to carefully speak a chant. She then took a deep breath and paid as much attention to her surroundings as it was witchily possible to do.
She did not take the main street down towards the recreation center. One of the crumbling paved roads circled through the half-built houses to a point on the other side of the vampires' lair. Other creatures had moved into the area, those that didn't mind the proximity of the undead. None of them would be pleased to find a human about, and Willow walked very carefully.
Loud punk music and bright light came from the open garage doors on the south side of the rec center. The red BMW convertible was there, along with three big motorcycles. The center of attention, though, was an old black car with the hood up. Two figures were bent over either fender, heads buried in the engine. Both were wearing black jeans, and Willow identified the one on the right as Spike, from the Doc Martins on the feet. She didn't know who the other one was, wearing running shoes. She crept carefully to the edge of the light.
Spike straightened from the engine compartment and reached for his cigarettes. "Evenin', Red," he called.
The other vampire pulled up and stared into the night, started. She recognized Sammy, who seemed to hang out with Spike a lot. He didn't see Willow until she stepped into view.
"Darn it, Spike, how did you know I was there?"
"Smelled you." He smirked at her over his lit match. "The wind shifted a couple of minutes ago, and I smelled the blonde witch. Left her with pleasant dreams, I trust."
Willow tried to answer, but she was blushing too hard.
"If it's any comfort," Spike went on, "I didn't know you were there till then. You're getting good with that misdirection spell."
Willow beamed.
"But you still need to work on shielding the magic itself," said a new voice. She squeaked and turned. Giles stood right behind her, smiling.
"How did you--" She blew air out in frustration. "Darn it."
Giles put an arm around her shoulder and led her into the garage. "I was watching for you, and I felt the magic when you invoked the spell when you got here. But that was much smoother tonight, no sudden flash of power. I may not have noticed if I wasn't looking for it." He cleared his throat. "The scent matter, though, is relevant." He glared at Spike. "Though someone without specific knowledge may not have realized the significance."
Spike just smiled. "Other than knowing it smells good." Sammy snickered, then smothered it at Giles' pointed look.
"We can," Giles continued, "modify that misdirection spell to cloak all traces of your presence."
Willow sighed. "Every time I think I have something down, somebody pokes a hole in it."
"Nature of the beast, I'm afraid. Magic is more art than science. Come along, we can go over your exercises."
As Willow followed, she glanced at the black car. "Oh, is this the famous De Soto? Or did you get a replacement?"
Spike patted the fender fondly. "Nope, this is the one. I tracked her down and got her back."
"I bet it's a gas hog."
He grinned at her. "She may not be fuel efficient, but she's got it where it counts. I'll give you a ride someday, if you want."
Willow saw Giles' glare from the corner of her eye, but she was used to innuendo from Spike. "Is it a stick shift? I don't like stick shifts, they just don't drive as smooth as automatics."
Sammy let out a guffaw before he could stop himself, then focused his attention on the engine compartment of the De Soto. Spike winked at Willow, who smiled back before following Giles.
"Did you have any trouble getting away?" Giles asked.
"None at all, once Tara went to sleep. Everybody's busy. Buffy's on patrol, and Xander's off with Joyce. They're on a road trip to the Convent of St. Eugene."
Spike turned back again. "Where's Joyce?"
"Road trip to the convent. She's been gathering donations, and she drafted Xander to drive her up there. I guess he and Anya didn't have anything set up this weekend. They'll be back tomorrow."
"Who's looking after Dawn?"
"She's at a sleep over."
Spike frowned. "And Buffy's out patrolling alone."
"She's a big Slayer, Spike," Giles said. "I'm sure she's fine."
Willow glanced at Giles. He sounded just like himself, warning Spike away from Buffy, with just a little growl in the sub-harmonics. But Spike looked oddly confused at he nodded at Giles' words, then turned back to the car. Giles tugged lightly on her arm, and she followed him into the rest of the building.
Willow wasn't sure how many vampires lived at Sunrise Grove. There always seemed to be new faces but not the same ones. When she had begun to come to Giles for magic lessons at the beginning of the summer, he'd made a point of introducing her to the four others living there at the time. Warning them off, she realized. New faces began to appear at the rec center, she got used to covert stares and badly disguised hostility.
A month ago, when she was still practicing the misdirection spell, one of the new fledges ambushed her on the way in, snarling that humans were food, not pets. Giles caught the panic flare of her instinctive reaction, but when he got there all that was left was the fading stench of burning vampire and a witch shaking with the reaction of pulling a fireball out of nothing. He hugged her in relief, but that night's lesson had been short. Spike walked her home, muttering to himself that he hoped Ripper didn't dust the lot of them as a lesson. Two more new vampires had been missing the next the next time she went there, and the others kept their distance.
Willow took a deep, appreciative breath when she entered Giles' workroom. There were always interesting smells there, old books, exotic spices. Granted, some of the smells were interesting but less pleasant, like blood and other organic things.
She checked his desk for anything new he might be working on. A gnarled hand and arm lay in the middle of some wrapping paper and string.
"What's that?" she asked.
Giles went over and picked the piece up carefully. "The hand and arm of a lesser Tyrenian imp from Madagascar."
"Oh." She looked at it for a couple of seconds. "Why?"
He chuckled and gave in. "For some reason, the hands of the lesser imp are the second favorite choice in the creation of Hands of Glory. I was curious as to why?"
"What's the first choice?"
He gave her one of those "your worldview will not be enhanced by this answer" looks. "Human."
"Oh. I should have guessed. I wonder why. Humans aren't inherently magical, unless they have the knack for magic."
"I think it's a matter of ease of availability. To be honest, a great many Hands of Glory were constructed by people who had no idea of the true nature of things but who thought that the blasphemous aspects of dismembering a corpse would provide the extra power. The hands of criminals, particularly murderers, were quite sought after."
Willow grimaced. "Do they work?"
"Inasmuch as the intent of the item is evil and therefore leads the focus of the magician into darker areas, then it works. If the hand is prepared with the proper rituals, it can be an authentic artifact, but most mages don't bother."
"What are the proper rituals?"
Giles studied for a long moment. "Are you needing an artifact of evil for something?"
"Oh, gosh, no! No evil artifacts, not at all. I was just wondering."
"We'll leave it to academia, then." He put the arm back on the desk. "Now, then." He considered a moment, his hands in his trouser pockets, then, with vampiric speed, he tossed a small marble at her.
It bounced off the point of Willow's chin. "Ow!" She gave him a look of betrayal and rubbed the budding red spot.
Her look was more than matched with a perturbed look of Giles' own. "Willow, what were you supposed to be practicing?" he asked sternly.
She managed not to go "eep!" "Blocking things, stopping them and holding them. And I did! I have! Last night I caught Buffy's frappachino and held it in midair for her. I went to the batting cages a few days ago and practiced with the pitching machine."
He glanced pointedly at the marble, lying in the corner.
"I wasn't expecting that--and don't give me that look, I know the bad guys don't give warning." She began to wonder if even the resolve face would be able to stand up to the stern vampire look.
He gave her a very old-fashioned "Giles is disappointed" sigh. "One of these days it might not be a marble. I'm glad you feel safe enough to relax here, but you shouldn't drop all your defenses. Not everyone here is your friend. All right?"
Willow nodded quickly. Giles went over to pick up the marble--and he flicked it towards her while still crouched. The marble stopped dead six inches in front of Willow's face, and she smiled serenely at him.
"Very good," he laughed. "Now we'll try it in multiples."
For the next hour, Willow practiced catching balls. Giles tossed them at her in varying numbers, then she had to catch them and hold them as he threw more at her. The weight ranged from ping-pong balls to large ball bearings, and she was sweating at the end of it.
Giles picked up a baseball and considered, then shook his head. "Enough. Put them all in the box over there, and we're done."
Willow took a deep breath and very carefully moved the mass of suspended balls to the box on Giles' desk. The first time she'd tried this, she'd dropped everything on the desktop. There were still dents. This time only the ping-pong ball tried to escape, and she magically nudged it back into the box.
"Well done, Willow." Giles patted her shoulder. "Very well done. Here, sit down."
She dropped gratefully into a chair at the table where Giles' electric kettle lived. The water was just coming to a boil, and her very own dark-blue-with-gold-stars-and-moons mug was waiting. She watched him pour the water into the teapot with the leaves, letting her mind slow down. This was nearly her favorite part, where it was almost like those long hours in the library.
"So what's new in your world?" Giles asked, pushing the box of cookies--no, biscuits--closer. "Have you decided on a major yet?"
They settled into a nice long chat ranging from college to magical theory to whether Sunrise Grove could support an internet connection.
"We could set up a wireless hub and network," Willow said. "I don't think you have a phone line out here. You could do online banking and email, plus there's all these neat websites about magic and demons and such."
"Online banking?" Giles repeated. "That might be useful."
"Oh, yeah. It's the 21st century, Giles. Geeks are cool. Or maybe not. Is there anything left in the Du Lac crypt?"
Giles sipped his tea. "Other than the Du Lacs? I don't think so. Why?"
"I found Jonathan and a buddy of his trying to break in tonight. They said they were playing a role playing game and their gamemaster told them something was in the crypt."
"Jonathan . . . he was the one with that calendar, wasn't he."
"Uh huh. I don't know his buddy that well. His name's Andrew. Tucker's brother."
"Tucker--oh, yes, Tucker. The hellhounds. Why am I not comfortable with the idea of Jonathan and Tucker's brother trying to break into a heretic's crypt?"
"I can't imagine," Willow said solemnly. "I should have asked them who their gamemaster is."
"If they are up to something, I'm sure we'll find out." He put down his empty mug decisively. "We need to modify your misdirection spell to completely mask your presence from everyone. Instead of baffling the senses, we need to change it to something that causes people to ignore you if they perceive you."
Willow bounced. "It's the Jedi mind trick spell! These aren't the droids you're looking for!
He gave her a pained but amused look. "Indeed. However, I doubt you'll find the information you need indexed under Jedis. Or, if you do, I want to know about it." He nodded towards the bookcases.
Lessons always went like this: an hour or so of actual practice, then recuperation and visiting over tea, then book time. Willow wondered if this was how the English went to school, guided by a mentor to the information but having to dig up the answers themselves. It was so much nicer than sitting in a lecture hall.
She got to her feet, studying the books. "I should start with Artoris' Compendium, right?"
"That would be best. I think you'll find Ceraso's Dream a useful next step. I really must start teaching you non-human languages."
As Willow began searching the shelves, Giles turned to the imp arm laying on his desk. She watched him out of the corner of her eye until he picked up a nearby book and began reading. Casually she went back to the shoulder bag she'd brought, pulled out a notebook and pen, then, slinging the bag on her shoulder, she went back to the bookcases. She pulled out Artoris' Compendium, then moved slowly down the row of books. As she studied the spines of several books, she pulled an old leather-bound volume out of the bag and slipped it into a gap on the shelf. She wandered back towards a work table, removing Ceraso's Dream as she went. She sat down at the empty work table she used for studying and got to work.
A few minutes later, Giles, muttering to himself, got up and went to the shelves himself. He searched them all, then tugged a slender volume off a top shelf and headed back to his desk. Willow, still watching him surreptitiously, relaxed and focused on the Latin in front of her--until Giles paused and turned to study the books curiously. He went slowly back, staring at the books, then reached the section where she'd returned the book she'd borrowed. His eyes flickered into vampiric yellow briefly, then faded back to their usual green. He reached towards the book she had put on the shelf.
She turned and put all her attention on the printed page and her notes.
"Willow?"
"Hm?"
"Willow."
Bracing herself, she looked up slowly. Giles stood over her, the book in his hands. The stern look was back on his face. "Y--yes?"
"This book is warmer than the others. As if someone with a higher body temperature than mine has been handling it. And the only other person remotely likely to have been handling these books is Spike. Did you borrow this book without my knowledge?"
She knew the look on her own face was answer enough, but it was still several moments before she could nod. Even human, Giles' annoyance was frightening. Now, though . . . He even glanced away for a moment before he spoke.
"Willow, how many times do I have to tell you, there are things in this library that will devour you if you're not careful. You cannot just take any book that catches your fancy and start rummaging around in it." He glanced at the title of the book. "'Guide to the Higher Planes.' Well, it could be worse, but not by much. Did you try to open a portal?"
"Yes."
"Did it work?"
"No."
"What happened?"
"It didn't look the way it was supposed to according to the book, so I didn't let it open all the way."
He nodded. "At least you have some sense."
"I was careful!" she flared. "I knew it might not work, so I only opened up a viewing portal, just the way it says to in the book. You didn't do that when you opened the gateway to Sqaon."
"That was because I went over every syllable of the incantation with someone who had actually been there." He pinched his nose, only missing the handkerchief and glasses to have the classic Giles pose. "Willow, I don't deny your power or your talent. I'm only concerned about your caution. There are spells in the 'Guide' that open portals to places that despise human life, that are inherently inimical to humans. Even a viewing portal can attract the attention of things strong enough to break through into our world. Please, don't do anything like this without guidance, please."
She sighed and nodded.
His frown deepened. "Willow, I want your promise. No portals without me there to help."
"I promise," she muttered, glaring at the table.
"All right. How are you coming with the, um, Jedi mind trick?"
"I think I've got the basic parameters worked out." She pushed her notebook towards him.
He read her notes and nodded. "Excellent, I think you've got a working model there. Work on that, and the next time you're here we can fine tune it. You might want to have it handy when I do the demonstration I was thinking of."
She perked up. "Demonstration? Of what?"
"Some of the things that live on the other sides of portals. A summoning."
"A summoning? Ooh, of what?"
"That will have to wait. Until then, work on your new spell."
Willow tried to glare at him. "I know what you're up to. Scold Willow, then give her a present to make up for it."
"Would I do that?" Giles smiled very faintly, then went to put back "The Guide to the Higher Planes" before going back to his own work..
It was well after midnight when Willow left. She was trying to hide yawns, but she swore she could get back to campus without problems.
"Please do try not to get eaten," Giles said as he walked her to the front door of the rec center. "I would be very upset to lose my favorite pupil."
Willow turned and beamed at him. "Your favorite pupil? Really? Wait, I'm your only pupil-- aren't I?"
He smiled and hugged her. "Yes, you are. That doesn't mean you're still not my favorite."
She tried to frown, but she was still smiling. "Good night, Giles. Thank you for the lesson."
"Good night, Willow. Walk carefully."
She waved and disappeared into the darkness. He stood at the door, listening with magic and vampire ears until she was back in populated areas of town. He then headed off towards a nearby dilapidated house, where he smelled cigarette smoke.
Spike was reclining on a pile of rubble in the depths of the ruin, gazing up at the rafters as the smoke rose. A bottle of whiskey was propped up next to him. Giles strolled up to him and borrowed the bottle for a swig.
"Not going stalk-about tonight?" he asked.
Spike blew a smoke ring and didn't answer.
Giles raised an eyebrow and settled onto a nearby pile of debris. "You're being unwarrantably solemn."
"Bugger off."
"Not here, too many splinters." He smiled at the glare he got. "Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were hiding in here, brooding." He had to duck as Spike threw the lit cigarette at him. "So, touched a nerve. Why aren't you doing your--deep thinking outside the window of your Belle Dame Sans Merci, alone and palely loitering? With Dawn and Joyce out of town, there's no one to see."
Spike looked away, studying a far corner for a moment. "Got the little witch away, did you?" he asked. "After your . . . lesson? Terribly eager, Red is, comes hurrying here from her lover's bed, all anxious to be . . . taught." His glance slid back to Giles, one eyebrow quirked knowingly.
Giles' eyes narrowed. "Yes, she's a very enthusiastic student. I'm quite pleased with her." He let Spike smirk for a moment. "Still, I doubt you put off your Buffy lurking just to make sure Willow left safely. With Dawn at her friend's house and Joyce out of town, I'm sure Buffy will be doing extra-late patrols. If you leave now, you can probably catch her."
Spike grabbed the bottle instead of answering. Giles pondered the development. Was Spike's fatuous obsession with Buffy finally running its course? He was acting more like a sullen boy pouting because his favorite toy didn't work any longer, rather than a lover frustrated by a discouraging woman. Unless the obsession had shifted targets. Spike seemed oddly upset that Joyce was out of town, but there didn't seem to be any unexpected developments in that direction. Giles knew that Spike still visited Joyce on occasion, most often dropping by the gallery when she was working late, giving her escort to her car and maintaining his chivalrous guard over Revello Drive.
If it wasn't Joyce that Spike was sulking about, then who . . . "Oh, no."
Spike gave him a concerned look. "What?"
"Good lord, no."
"What?"
"Xander? You're obsessing over Xander Harris?"
"I am not!"
"Well, you were annoyed when you heard that Joyce was out of town, and I don't think you've started mooning over her, and you're too depressed to go haring off after Buffy, which means that the person you prefer to be stalking isn't around. Which leaves Xander." He paused and thought about it again. "Xander?"
Spike took another swig of whiskey. "I thought you liked Harris."
"Oh, he's a nice enough lad, though a bit dogmatic in his beliefs. Certainly he's loyal and brave and faithful and all that."
"So's a Labrador retriever, mate." Spike shook his head. "You don't see it, then."
Giles frowned. "See what?"
"There's darkness in that boy. You just have to tease it out."
"Darkness? In Xander?" He considered the painfully earnest young man he'd watched grow up. "I know there are things in his past he doesn't talk about, but once he got out of his parents' house he seemed much happier."
Spike sighed. "The whelp's very, very good at facades. If you're not looking close, all you see is the happy-go-lucky overgrown puppy. That's what he wants you to see."
"Since when did you start looking closely at Xander?"
"I was stuck in his basement for a long time, I saw a few things he wishes I hadn't. But it was that night with Glory. Ripper, you should have seen him. Him against an army, and he faced down the whole bloody lot of 'em."
"Guns make men brave."
"Guns make cowards brave. Guns make brave men make hard choices. Harris made the choices." Spike picked up the whiskey bottle and stared at it. "He went somewhere dark that night. Someone had to. I don't think he's come back yet."
Giles studied Spike for several moments. "And are you hoping he does make it back? Or that he gets lost there?"
A predatory smile curled across Spike's face. "There? 'There' is where we are, Ripper. I like having Harris here in the dark. He's not quite comfortable here yet. There's just a few more steps left before he realizes that he's wasted over on the other side."
"You're being uncharacteristically patient about it all, I must say. It's been months since we finished Glory." He reached over and grabbed the whiskey from Spike, took another swig, and handed it back.
Spike tapped his forehead. "You can teach an old dog new tricks, if you kick him in the head often enough. And Harris knows me too well to fall for anything direct. There are enough obstacles in his life for him to trip over."
Giles became aware of an odd sense of outrage. "And you're throwing Buffy over for Xander? The Vampire Slayer for a--well, he's a very nice young man and all, but he's no Slayer."
"And he's not going to be more than a very nice lad while he's still trying to fit in with the goody two shoes brigade. There's potential there, mate. Be honest now. In all the years you've known him, have you never once looked at him and thought about the possibilities? I know what you used to call fun. Never once did you have a picture in your head of him on his knees in front of you--"
"No," Giles said firmly. "I haven't." He ignored the disbelieving grin. "So you're exchanging your Buffy-obsession for a Xander-obsession."
Spike's pensive look came back. "Not exchanging, no."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Collecting the whole Scooby set, are you?"
"No, I'm leaving Red for you." The leer faded. "With Buffy--you said it right, La Belle Dame Sans Merci. I can't help myself. I still want her. I'm just not sure if I want to drag her down to me or . . ."
"Or pull yourself up to her," Giles said softly. He was treading on very thin ice here. Sometimes Spike was willing to admit to the instincts of a shy young poet, but sometimes the merest mention of the name William made bodies scream.
Spike only nodded slowly. "Nothing cuts deeper than that look of suspicion she gives me. Angelus couldn't inflict pain the way she can. And I disgust myself for letting it get to me."
"The man versus the demon." Giles braced himself for a reaction, but Spike let it go. "Whereas this thing with Xander . . ."
The tension fled Spike's shoulders. "That's pure. In a very impure way, of course. Uncomplicated. You get the feeling that playing with him for a few centuries would be a festival of claws and snarls and good times."
Giles blinked. "Centuries? My god, you're not saying--What are you saying? I'm not spending the next several decades listening to Xander Harris natter."
"Oi, who said I'd let you? Don't have to hang around, you know. You could spend your time on Red. Or why else are you spending so much time on our Willow's . . . education?"
He drew himself up with dignity. "She's starving for knowledge, she's going to find it somewhere. Better through me than willy nilly, when she could wreak untold havoc."
Spike still smirked. "Plus you get to give her those little hugs and let her gaze at you adoringly. Not that that has any bearing on anything."
"Of course not."
"Perish the thought."
"Indeed."